''/- ^ '3 * 5 . . - % &< 8 & . 3 "%a3AIN IOS-AN Q ^ ^l-UBR/ ^ UJ 1 If ^ 5 1 Jl SWRi M |VdAi| vd ^n-invi-ja^" ^//n- Lilly himself tells us, in the preface to the second part of his Euphues, that the first part was published hurriedly, and that one year had elapsed between that time and the printing of the second part. MS. notes to Langbaine in Brit. Mus. Lib. 3 The transcripts are without date ; and Oldys' dates do not, in the least degree, tally with the few accurate dates of Lilly's career that we possess, nor with the inferences of the letters themselves : thus, in the first, he tells her Majesty he has been ten years at court in her service; and in the second he say it has reached to thirteen years. xviii JOHN LILLY " Most gratious and dread soueraigne, I dare not pester yo r highnes with many words, and want witt to wrapp upp much matter in fewe. This age epitomies the pater noster thrust into the compasse of a penny ; the world into the modell of a tenice ball ; all science molted into sentence. I would I were so compendious as to expresse my hopes, my fortunes, my ouertharts, in two sillables, as marchants do riches in fewe ciphers, but I feare to comitt the error I discomend, tediousnes ; like one that vowed to search out what tyme was, spent all his, and knewe y l not. I was enterteyned yo r Ma ts S'vant by yo r owne gratious fauour, strengthened with condicions, that I should ayme all my courses at the Reuells (I dare not saye with a promise, but a hopefull Item to the rev'con) for w ch these 10 yeres I have at- tended with an unwearyed patience, and nowe I knowe not what Crabb tooke me for an Oyster, that in the midst of yo r sun-shine of your most gratious aspect, hath thrust a stone betweene the shells to eate me aliue that onely liue on dead hopes. If yo r sacred Ma tie thinke me unworthy, and that, after x yeares tempest, I must att the Court suffer shipwrack of my tyme, my wittes, my hopes, vouchsafe in yo r neuer-erring judgment, some planck or refter to wafte me into a country, where in my sadd and settled devoc'on I may, in euery corner of a thatcht cottage, write praiers instead of plaies ; prayer for your longe and prosp'rous life, and a repent- aunce that I haue played the foole so longe, and yett like * Quod petimus pcena est, nee etiam miser esse recuso, Sed precor ut possem mitius esse miser.' " AND HIS WORKS. xii Collier is of opinion that this application was made for the place of Master of the Eevels on the death of I Sir Thomas Benger in March, 1577. In the next year, Thomas Blagrave was appointed to the office, pro tern. ; and in July, 1579, it was granted by letters patent of Edmund Tylney, Esq. " Why the vacancy was not supplied sooner after the death of Benger nowhere ap- pears," says Collier, who inclines to think that Lilly's claim " might possibly have some connection with the delay." Seeing little hope of success, he again addressed her Majesty : " John Lillies Second Petic'on to the Queene. " Most gratious and dread soueraigne, tyme cannot worke my petic'ons, nor my petic'ons the tyme. After many yeares seruice y* pleased yo r Ma tie to except against tents and toyles : I wish that for tennts I might putt in tenements, so should I be eased of some toyles, some lands, some good fines or forfeitures, that should fall by the just fall of these most false traitors ; that seeing nothing will come by the Revells, I may play upon the Rebells. Thirteene yeres your highnes ser- uant, but yet nothing. Twenty freinds, that though they saye theye will be sure, I finde them sure to be slowe. A thowsand hopes, but all nothing ; a hundred promises, but yet nothing. Thus casting upp the in- ventary of my friends, hopes, promises, and tymes, the summa totalis amounteth to just nothing. My last will is shorter than myne invenc'on, but three legacies, pa- tience to my creditors, melancholic without measure to my freinds, and beggerie without shame to my familie. xviii JOHN LILLY " Most gratious and dread soueraigne, I dare not pester yo r highnes with many words, and want witt to wrapp upp much matter in fewe. This age epitomies the pater noster thrust into the compasse of a penny ; the world into the modell of a teniee ball ; all science molted into sentence. I would I were so compendious aa to expresse my hopes, my fortunes, my ouertharts, in two syllables, as marchants do riches in fewe ciphers, but I feare to comitt the error I discomend, tediousnes ; like one that vowed to search out what tyme was, spent all his, and knewe y l not. I was enterteyned yo r Ma ts S'vant by yo r owne gratious fauour, strengthened with condicions, that I should ayme all my courses at the Reuells (I dare not saye with a promise, but a hopefull Item to the rev'con) for w ch these 10 yeres I have at- tended with an unwearyed patience, and nowe I knowe not what Crabb tooke me for an Oyster, that in the midst of yo r sun-shine of your most gratious aspect, hath thrust a stone betweene the shells to eate me aliue that onely hue on dead hopes. If yo r sacred M a tie thinke me unworthy, and that, after x yeares tempest, I must att the Court suffer shipwrack of my tyme, my wittes, my hopes, vouchsafe in yo r neuer-erring judgment, some planck or refter to wafte me into a country, where in my sadd and settled devoc'on I may, in euery corner of a thatcht cottage, write praiers instead of plaies ; prayer for your longe and prosp'rous life, and a repent- aunce that I haue played the foole so longe, and yett like * Quod petimus poena est, nee etiam miser esse recuso, Sed precor ut possem mitius esse miser.' " AND HIS WORKS. xix Collier is of opinion that this application was made for the place of Master of the Eevels on the death of Sir Thomas Benger in March, 1577. In the next year, Thomas Blagrave was appointed to the office, pro tern. ; and in July, 1579, it was granted by letters patent of Edmund Tylney, Esq. " Why the vacancy was not supplied sooner after the death of Benger nowhere ap- pears," says Collier, who inclines to think that Lilly's claim " might possibly have some connection with the delay." Seeing little hope of success, he again addressed her Majesty : " John Lillies Second Petic'on to the Queene. " Most gratious and dread soueraigne, tyme cannot worke my petic'ons, nor my petic'ons the tyme. After many yeares seruice y* pleased yo r Ma tie to except against tents and toyles : I wish that for tennts I might putt in tenements, so should I be eased of some toyles, some lands, some good fines or forfeitures, that should fall by the just fall of these most false traitors ; that seeing nothing will come by the Revells, I may play upon the Kebells. Thirteene yeres your highnes ser- uant, but yet nothing. Twenty freinds, that though they saye theye will be sure, I finde them sure to be slowe. A thowsand hopes, but all nothing ; a hundred promises, but yet nothing. Thus casting upp the in- ventary of my friends, hopes, promises, and tymes, the summa totalis amounteth to just nothing. My last will is shorter than myne invenc'on, but three legacies, pa- tience to my creditors, melancholic without measure to my freinds, and beggerie without shame to my familie. M JOHN LILLY 1 Si placet hoc merui quod 6 tua fulmina cessent Virgo parens princeps.' " In all humilitie I entreate that I may dedicate to your sacred Ma tie Lillie de tristib 3 , wherein shal be seene patience, labours, and misfortunes. ' Quorum si singula nostrum Frangere non poterant, poterant tamen omuia mentem.' " The last and the least, that if I bee borne to haue nothing, I may haue a protecc'on to pay nothinge, w ch suite is like his that haveing followed the Court tenn yeares for recompence of his service, comitted a robbe- rie, and tooke it out in a p'rdon." Lilly had produced several dramatic pieces at Court prior to 1589, when he engaged in the famous Mar- prelate controversy, and published his " Pap with a Hatchet ; alias, a Fig for my Godson : or, crack me this nut ; that is, a sound Box on the Ear for the Idiot Mar- tin, to hold his Peace ; written by one that dares call a Dog a Dog;" 1 which occasioned Harvey to enter into some gross personalities against himself and his friend Nash, who was a principal in this discreditable paper- war. 8 To this Nash replied in his Have with you to Saffron Walden, 1596, in which he thus delineates a ' In his play of Mother Bombie, Act 1, Sc. 3, our author aids us to understand the meaning of his title (see notes to vol. 2, p. 271 ,), and in Midas, Act 4, Sc. 3, he uses the last words (see notes to vol. 2, p. 268 ). 2 Sir E. Brydges, in his reprint of Greene's Grnatsworth of Wit (4to. 1813), has given^an account of the quarrel and its origin. D'Israeli has also produced it in a more popular form ; but the entire events may be best studied in the History J the Martin Maiyrelate Controversy, by Kev. W. Maskell (8vo. 1845). AND HIS WORKS. xxi personal trait of our author, who appears to have been a great smoker of tobacco. " For Master Lillie (who is halves with me in this indignitie that is offred), I will not take the tale out of his mouth ; for he is better able to defend himselfe than I am able to say he is able to defend himselfe, and in as much time as hee spendes in taking Tobacco one weeke, he can compile that, which would make Qabriett repent himselfe all his life after. With a blacke sant he meanes shortly to bee att his chamber window, for call- ing him the Fiddlestick of Oxford." * We are enabled to gather, from such accidental allu- sions, something like a notion of our author's personal characteristics, and from them we obtain three facts only, that he was a little man, was married, and fond of to- bacco. Lilly's success as a dramatist was considerable. Francis Meres, in his Palladis Tamia ; Wit's Treasury, 1598, after naming the best poets for comedy among the ancient Greeks, compares with them the dramatists of his own era, giving our author precedence to Shake- 1 The passage occurs in Harvey's Pierce 's Supererogation, or a new praise of the old Asse (1593), and runs thus: " Albeit every man cannot compete such graund volumes as Euphu.es, or reare such mighty tomes as Pap-hatchet ; yet he might have thought other poore men have tongues and pennes to speake something, when they are provoked unreasonably. But loosers may have their wordes and comedians their actes : such drie bobbers can lustely strike at other, and cunningly rapp themselves. He hath not played the Vicemaster of Poules, and the Foolemaster of the Theater for naughtes : himselfe a mad lad, as ever twangd, never troubled with any substance of witt, or circumstance of honestie, sometime the nddle-sticke of Oxford, now the very bable of London." ixii JOHN LILLY speare. The entire passage is curious, and runs thus : The best for Comedy amongst us bee, Edward Earle of Oxforde, Doctor Gager of Oxford, Maister Rowley once a rare scholler of learned Pembrooke Hall in Cam- bridge, Maister Edwardes, one of her Maiesties Chap- pell, eloquent and wittie John Lilly, Lodge, Gascoyne, Greene, Shakespeare, Thomas Nash, Thomas Hey wood, Anthonye Mundye our best plotter, Chapman, Porter, Wilson, Hathway, and Henry Chettle." Nash, in his Have with you, &c. incidentally notices the great popularity of his best comedy in these words : " If we were wearie with walking, and loth to goe too farre to seeke sport, into the Arches we might step, and heare him plead ; which would bee a merrier Co- medie than ever was old Mother Bomby" His antagonist Harvey also notes the general popu- larity of his dramas ; he says : " You were best to please Pap-hatchet, and see Euphues betimes, for fear lest he be mooved, or some one of his apes hired, to make a Playe of you ; and then is your credit quite undone for ever and ever : such is the publique reputation of their playes." 1 1 Pierce's Supererogation, at the commencement of which he says : " Surely Euphues was someway a pretty fellow ; would God Lilly had alwaies bene Euphues, and never Pap-hatchet." Nash, in his reply already quoted, declares that Harvey was first to blame in commencing the attack, " and M. Lilly and me by name beruffianized and berascalled, and termed us pi- perly make-playes and make-bates ;" and could not be " made to hold his peace, till Master Lillie and some others with their pens drew upon him." This quarrel, which was maintained for several years " with more vulgar abuse than real wit on both sides," has been very fully descanted upon by our literary antiquaries. AND HIS WORKS. xxiii Ben Jonson, in his commendatory verses on Shake- speare and his works, has an important reference to Lilly, showing the position he was then considered to occupy, taking precedence of Kyd or Marlowe : ^^ ^ i-ht, If I thought my judgment were of years, e" I!?M} * I should commit thee surely with thy peers, rf ,'<>. I-LA And tell how far thou didst our Lyly outshine, Or sporting Kyd, or Marlowe's mighty line." Modern critics have been favourable to our author. Malone was enthusiastic in his praise ; Bishop Percy has printed his song on Cupid and Campaspe with high com- mendation ; Hazlitt was a warm admirer of Lilly's En- dimion ; 1 Lamb quoted him largely ; and the living American author Longfellow has commenced his prose- poem Hyperion with a quotation from Endimion. Shakespeare was familiar with his works, and para- phrased some of his best passages. He was certainly j one of those authors Greene accuses him so bitterly of copying. In the notes to these volumes many such pas- sages are pointed out, and others may readily be added. 2 Such and so many resemblances could not be accidental. 1 " I know few things more perfect in characteristic paint- ing than the exclamation of the Phrygian shepherds, who, afraid of betraying the secret of Midas's ears, fancy that ' the very reeds bow down, as though they listened to their talk ;' nor more affecting in sentiment than the apostrophe addressed by his friend Eumenides to Endimion on waking from his long sleep : < Behold the twig to which thou laidest down thy head is now become a tree.' " 2 Collier, in his History of Dramatic Poetry, has noted the coincidence between the phrase used by Apelles (Campaspe, Act 3, Sc. 5) " Stars are to be look'd at, riot reach'd at;" and that used by the Duke (Two Gentlemen oj Verona, Act 3, Sc. 1)" Wilt thou reach stars, because they shine on thee ?" Shakespeare's lines : xxiv JOHN LILLY Despite the popularity of Lilly's works, his success as a court poet, and the honourable position his fellow- authors willingly accorded him, it is to be feared that little else than honour was his lot. His petition to the Queen speaks plainly of necessities borne patiently by him for years ; and it detracts still more from the little respect we may feel for that cold-hearted woman, when we find her neglecting the poverty of one who had flattered her assiduously in the works constructed for her amusement, and had assisted the speech of her courtiers by his Eu- phuism. Blount, in the preface to his reprints, certainly says she "graced and rewarded" him ; but this does not appear in other evidence, and may not have been more than payment for his labour at the cheap price of author- ship in her era. We find no record of the close of his life, " nor when he died, or where buried, only that he lived till towards the latter end of Queen Elizabeth, if not beyond, for he was in being in 1597, when the Woman in the Moon was published." 1 His plays, with the exception of Mother Bombie, are ah 1 constructed on classic stories, with many mytholo- gical characters. " It may not be unnecessary to state what was probably the intention of the poet, in, fixing upon stories apparently so unfit for dramatic represen- " Hark, the lark at heaven's gate sings, And Phoebus 'gins arise " are a close paraphrase of Lilly's song on the lark in Campaspe, Act 5 : " How at heaven's gate she claps her wings, The morn not waking till she sings." 1 Wood Athena: Oaiwienses. AND HIS WORKS. xxv tation as those of Midas and Endimion. And the true solution of this seems to be, that these were, what they were afterwards called, ' court comedies,' and in- tended for the particular amusement and gratification of Queen Elizabeth. In that of Midas, she is compli- mented as a queen ; in that of Endimion, her supposed charms and attractions as a woman are the more parti- cular objects which the courtly poet had in view ; and it is surely no mean praise to Lilly if he successfully fol- lowed the example of a poet like Spenser. Cynthia, under which name she is supposed to be depicted, is not only one of the names of Diana, or the moon, but is that under which Elizabeth was celebrated by Spenser in his poem of Colin Clout's Come Home Again. That was the age of allegory in English poetry ; and Elizabeth was not only generally depicted in the poem of that name as the ' Fairy Queen,' but is unquestionably meant by Mercilla in Book V. and by Belphrebe in Book II. Who was the person that sat for the picture of Endymion in the present drama (or whether any particular person was intended), is left to the judgment or imagination of the reader. But as the play in all probability was not re- presented till any idea of her Majesty's marriage was out of the question, the sentiments which he avows for his celestial mistress, in the third scene of the last act, and the manner in which she receives and acknowledges them, seem managed with much address, and probably were in a very high degree acceptable to the Cynthia who was meant, and before whom the plays were repre- sented." * 1 Introduction to Endimion in the Collection of Old Engl'uh Plays, 6 vols. 8vo. Load. 1814. xxvi JOHN LILLY Lilly's dramatic works consist of the following eight plays, here arranged in the order we may believe them to have been written : 1. The Woman in the Moone. " The Woman in the Moone. As it was presented before her Highnesse ; By John Lyllie, Maister of Artes. Imprinted at Lon- don for William Jones, and are to be sold at the signe of the Gun, neere Holburne Conduict. 1597." Ke- printed for the first time in the ensuing volume. In the concluding lines of the Prologue we are expressly told that this was the first work of the author ; this may account for its inferiority to his other productions, which has led Collier to doubt its being his work, although his name is on the title-page. 1 2. Campaspe. The first edition has the following title : "A moste excellent Comedie of Alexander, Cam- paspe, and Diogenes, played beefore the Queene's Ma- iestie on twelfe day at night, by her Maiesties Children, and the Children of Paules. Imprinted at London, for Thomas Cadman, 1584." This title was altered in the same year to " Campaspe, played beefore the Queene's Maiestie on new yeares day at night, by her Maiesties Children, and the Children of Paules. Imprinted at Lon- don for Thomas Cadman, 1 584." The third edition has 1 It may be noted here that the reason why it has not been printed first in our volumes, is because Blount's edition of his six plays forms the great basis of the whole ; they have conse- quently been reprinted in the order he adopts, and any varia- tions from the old quartos pointed out in the notes. But the Woman in the Moone and Love's Metamorphosis, having never been reprinted by him, are given literally, from the old quartos, in our second volume. AND HIS WORKS. xxvii the title somewhat varied. " Campaspe. Played bee- fore the Queene's Maiestie on twelfe day at night, by her Maiesties Children, and the Children of Paules. Imprinted at London by Thomas Orvvin, for William Broome. 1591." It has been reprinted by Blount, in 1632, in his duodecimo volume entitled Sixe Court Co- medies (a full notice of which will follow this list) ; and also in all the editions of Dodsley, where it has the title of Alexander and Campaspe. (See notes to the pre- sent volume, p. 284.) 3. Sapho and Phao. The first edition has the fol- lowing title : " Sapho and Phao, played beefore the Queene's Maiestie on Shrovetewsday, by her Maiesties Children, and the Boyes of Paules. Imprinted at Lon- don by Thomas Cadman. 1584." There is a second edition with the same title, " Imprinted at London by Thomas Orwin for William Broome. 1591." It also is reprinted by Blount. 1 4. Endimion. The first edition has the following title : " Endimion, the Man in the Moone, play'd be- fore the Queene's Majestic at Greenewich on Candlemas day at night, by the Chyldren of Paules. At London by 1 In an entry of the Stationers Company, April 6, 1584, it is thus noted : " Tho. Cadman. Yt is graunted unto him that if he can gett the commedie of Sappho lawfully alowed unto him, Then none of this companie shall Interrupt him to enjoye yt. . vj d. Mr. Collier remarks that the first edition was printed without the author's name ; and Lilly's claim to it, he says, has been disputed, notwithstanding it is in Blount's Six Plays; but his name has been written opposite the above entry in a different but contemporary hand. xxviii JOHN LILLY I. Charlewood, for the widdow Broome, 1591." It is reprinted by Blount, and also in Dilke's Old Plays, Lond. 1814, vol. 2. 5. Gallathea. The first edition has the following title: " Gallathea. As it was playde before the Queene's Maiestie at Greene-wiche, on Newyeeres day at Night. By the Chyldren of Paules. At London, printed by John Charlwood for the Widdow Broome. 1592." It is reprinted by Blount. 1 6. Midas. The first edition has the following title : " Midas. Plaied before the Queene's Maiestie upon twelfe day at night by the children of Paules. London, printed by Thomas Scarlet for I. B. and are to be sold in Paules churchyard at the signe of the Bible. 1592." It is reprinted by Blount, and also in Dilke's Old Plays, 1814, vol. 1. 7. Mother Bombie. The first edition has the follow- ing title : " Mother Bombie. As it was sundrie times plaied by the Children of Powles. London, Imprinted by Thomas Scarlet for Cuthbert Burby, 1594." It is reprinted by Blount, and also in Dilke's Old Plays, 1814, vol. 1. 1 Collier extracts from the Stationers Company the follow- ing entry under April 1, 1585 : " Gal Cawood. Kd of him, for printing a Commoedie of Titirus and Galathea [no sum.]" To which he appends this note : " Warton (H.E.P., iv, 232, edit. 1824) speaks of this ' comedy ' as if it had been printed in 1584, but it was not entered until April, 1585; and we may doubt if it were published at that date, seeing that no sum was paid for the license, and that no copy of it is known until it was printed in 1592. It was no doubt Lilly's comedy of Gala- thea." AND HIS WJ3RKS. xxix 8. Love's Metamorphosis. " Love's Metamorphosis. A wittie and courtly Pastorall, written by Mr. John Lyllie. First playd by the children of Paules, and now by the children of the Chappell. London : Printed by William Wood, dwelling at the West end of Paules, at the signe of Time, 1601." Collier inclines to think this " was probably the work of Lyly at an advanced period of life, and it has not the recommendation of the ordinary, though affected graces of his style." 1 It is reprinted, for the first time, in our second volume. Two other plays have been ascribed to our author : 1. A Warning for Faire Women, 1599, on the autho- rity of Winstanley and Wood ; but very erroneously, as it was written by an anonymous author, and bears no traces of Lilly's style. 2. The Maid's Metamorphosis, 1600, also published anonymously, and of which Mr. Collier thinks " there is no sufficient reason to deprive him, unless that it is better in some respects than his other plays." Unlike all other undoubted plays by Lilly it is written in rhyme, except some short comic scenes ; and it is so totally unlike his style of thought and phraseology, that it is evidently the production of ano- ther mind, and has not been included in this edition of Lilly's dramas ; a judgment we venture to think will be confirmed by any one who reads the plays in these two volumes, and who will then read a single page of this old drama. 8 1 History of Dramatic Poetry, vol. 3, p. 189. On the follow- ing page, however, he says : " Although the name of John Lyly is upon the title-page, it may be doubted whether he had any hand in it, as it is so decidedly inferior to his other pro- ductions." ' It is totally free from Lilly's Euphuism, and contains no xxx JOHN LILLY In 1632, Edward Blount, the bookseller and pub- lisher of many plays (having, among the rest, an inte- rest in some of Shakespeare's), brought out an edition in 12mo. of six plays by Lilly. He appears to have had access to the original manuscripts ; for in no earlier j printed editions do we find the Songs included, some ! few of which are very beautiful. But there are in- stances of slovenly printing in the volume, extending so far as the misplacing of many pages. The title runs thus : "Sixe Court Comedies. Often presented and acted before Queene Elizabeth, by the Children of her Maiesties Chappell, and the Children of Paules. Written by the onely rare poet of that time, the wittie, comicall, face- tiously-quicke and vnparalleld John Lilly, Master of Arts. Decies repetita placebunt. London : Printed by William Stansby for Edward Blount. 1632." " TJie Epistle Dedicatorie" is addressed "to the Right Honourable Richard Lumley, Viscount Lumley of Wa- terford," in the following words : " My noble Lord, " It can be no dishonor, to listen to this Poets Musike, whose tunes alighted in the Eares of a great and ever- famous Queene : his Invention was so curiously strung, that Elizaes court held his notes in Admiration. Light Ayres are now in fashion ; and these being not sad, fit the season, though perchance not sute so well with your more serious Contemplations. allusions to the fabulous tales of beasts, birds, trees, &c., he is so fond of referring to, and with which his style is completely identified. AND HIS WORKS. xxxi " The spring is at hand, and therefore I present you a Lilly, growing in a Grove of Lawrells. For this Poet, sat at the Sunnes table : Apollo gave him a wreath of his owne Bayes, without snatching. The Lyre he played on had no borrowed strings. " I am (My Lord) no executor, yet I presume to dis- tribute the Goods of the Dead : their value being no way answerable to those Debts of dutie and affection in which I stand obliged to your Lordship. The greatest trea- sure our Poet left behind him, are these six ingots of refined invention : richer than Gold. Were they Dia- monds they are now yours. Accept them (Noble Lord) in part ; and Mee " Your Lordships ever obliged and devoted " ED. BLOUNT." Then follows this Address : " To the Reader. Reader, I haue (for the loue I beare to Posteritie) dig'd vp the Graue of a Eare and Excellent Poet, whom Queene Elizabeth then heard, Graced, and Rewarded. These Papers of his, lay like dead Lawrels in a Churchyard ; But I haue gathered the scattered branches vp, and by a Charme (gotten from Apollo) made them greene againe, and set them vp as Epitaphes to his Memory. " A sinne it were to suffer these Rare Monuments of wit, to lye couered in Dust, and a shame, such conceipted Comedies, should be Acted by none but wormes. Ob- liuion shall not so trample on a sonne of the Muses ; And such a sonne, as they called their Darling. Our xxxii JOHN LILLY. Nation are in his debt for a new English which hee taught them. Epliues and his England began first, that language : All our Ladies were then his Schollers : And that Beautie in Court, which could not Parley Euphueisme, was as litle regarded ; as shee which now there, speakes not French. " These his plajes Crown'd him with applause, and the Spectators with pleasure. Thou canst not repent the reading of them over ; when old John Lilly, is merry with thee in thy chamber, Thou shalt say, few (or none) of our Poets now are such witty companions ; and thanks mee, that brings him to thy acquaintance. " Thine. ED. BLOVNT." f Anlograph of Lilly. T ILansdowne MA'. No. 36. J ENDIMION, THE MAN IN THE MOONE. PLAYED BEFOBE THE QUEENES MAJESTIE AT GREENE- WICH ON NEW YEERES DAY AT NIGHT BY THE CHILDREN OF PAULES. DEAMATIS PERSONS. ENDIMION, in love with Cynthia. EUMENIDES, his friend ; in love with Semele. CORSITES, ~\ PANTALION, >Lords of Cynthia's Court. ZONTES, J PYTHAGORAS, GYPTES, ' GERON, an old man, husband to Dipsas. SIR TOPHAS, a bragging Soldier. SAMIAS, Page to Endimion. DARES, Page to Eumenides. EPITON, Page to Sir Tophas. Master Constable. Watchmen. Fairies. Characters in Dumb Show. CYNTHIA. TELLUS, enamoured of Endimion. ELOSCULA, her confidant. SEMELE, "j SCINTILLA, ^Ladies of Cynthia's Court. EAVILLA, J DIPSAS, an Enchantress. BAGOA, her Servant. THE PKOLOGUE. MOST high and happy Princesse, we must tell you a tale of the Man in the Moone, which if it seeme ridiculous for the method, or superfluous for the matter, or for the meanes incredible, for three faults we can make but one excuse. It is a tale of the Man in the Moone. It was forbidden in olde time to dispute of Chymera, because it was a fiction, wee hope in our times none will apply pastimes, because they are fancies ; for there liveth none under the sunne, that knowes what to make of the Man in the Moone. AVee present neither co- medie, nor tragedie, nor storie, nor any thing, but that whosoever heareth may say this, Why here is a tale of the Man in the Moone. ENDIMION. ACTUS PEIMUS. SC^ENA PEIMA. ENDIMION. EUMENIDES. Endimion. FIND Eumenides in all things both va- rietie to content, and satietie to glut, saving onely in my affections ; which are so stayed, and withall so stately ; that I can neither satisfie my heart with love, nor mine eyes with wonder. My thoughts Eumenides are stitched to the starres, which being as high as I can see, thou maist imagine how much higher they are then I can reach. Eum. If you bee enamored of any thing above the Moone, your thoughts are ridiculous, for that things immortal] are not subject to affections ; if allured or en- chaunted with these transitorie things under the Moone, you shew your selfe sencelesse, to attribute such loftie titles, to such love trifles. End. My love is placed neither under the Moone nor above. Eum. I hope you be not sotted upon the Man in the Moone. 6 ENDIMION. [ACT i. End. No but setled, either to die, or possesse the Moone herselfe. Eum. Is Endimion mad, or doe I mistake ? doe you love the Moone Endimion ? End. Eumenides, the Moone. Eum. There was never any so peevish to imagine the Moone either capable of affection, or shape of a Mistris : for as impossible it is to make love sit to her humour which no man knoweth, as a coate to her forme, which continueth not in one bignesse whilst she is mea- suring. Cease of Endimion to feed so much upon fancies. That melancholy bloud must be purged, which draweth you to a dotage no lesse miserable then mon- strous. End. My thoughts have no veines, and yet unles they be let blood, I shall perish. Eum. But they have vanities, which being reformed, you may be restored. End. faire Cynthia, why doe others terme thee unconstant, whom I have ever found unmoveable? Injurious time, corrupt manners, unkind men, who finding a constancie not to be matched in my sweet Mistris, have christned her with the name of wavering, waxing, and waning. Is shee inconstant that keepeth a setled course, which since her first creation altereth not one minute in her moving? There is nothing thought more admirable, or commendable in the sea, then the ebbing and flowing; and shall the Moone, from whom the sea taketh this vertue, be accounted fickle for encreasing and decreasing ? Flowers in their buds, are nothing worth till they be blowne ; nor bios- sc. i.] ENDIMION. 7 somes accounted till they bee ripe fruite ; and shal we then say they be changeable, for that they grow from seeds to leaves, from leaves to buds, from buds to their perfection ? then, why be not twigs that become trees, children that become men, and mornings that grow to evenings, termed wavering, for that they continue not at one stay ? I, but Cynthia being in her fulnesse de- cayeth, as not delighting in her greatest beauty, or withering when she should be most honored. When malice cannot object any thing, folly will ; making that a vice, which is the greatest vertue. What thing (my mistris excepted) being in the pride of her beautie, and latter minute of her age, that waxeth young againe ? Tell mee Eumenides, what is hee that having a mistris of ripe yeeres, and infinite vertues, great honors, and unspeakable beautie, but would wish that she might grow tender againe? getting youth by yeeres, and never decaying beautie by time ; whose faire face, neither the summers blaze can scorch, nor winters blast chap, nor the numbring of yeeres breed altering of colours. Such is my sweet Cynthia, whom time cannot touch, because she is divine, nor will offend because shee is delicate. O Cynthia, if thou shouldest alwayes con- tinue at thy fulnesse, both Gods and men would con- spire to ravish thee. But thou to abate the pride of our affections, dost detract from thy perfections ; think- ing it sufficient, if once in a moneth wee enjoy a glimpse of thymajestie; and then, to increase our griefes, thou doest decrease thy glemes ; comming out of thy royall robes, wherewith thou dazelest our eyes, downe into thy swathe clowts, beguiling our eyes ; and then 8 ENDIMION. [ACT i. Eum. Stay there Endimion, thou that committest idolatry, wilt straight blaspheme, if thou be suffered. Sleepe would doe thee more good then speech : the Moone heareth thee not, or if she doe, regardeth thee not. End. Yaine Eumenides, whose thoughts never grow higher then the crowne of thy head. Why troublest thou me, having neither head to conceive the cause of my love, or a heart to receive the impressions ? follow thou thine owne fortunes, which creepe on the earth, and suffer mee to flic to mine, whose fall though it be desperate, yet shall it come by daring. Farewell. Eum. Without doubt Endimion is bewitched, other- wise in a man of such rare vertues, there could not harbour a minde of such extreme madnesse. I will fol- low him, least in this fancie of the moone he deprive himselfe of the sight of the sunne. [Exit. ACTUS PKIMUS. SC.ENA SECWDA. TELLUS. FLOSCULA. Tellus. Trecherous and most perjur'd Endimion, is Cynthia the sweetnesse of thy life, and the bitternesse of my death ? What revenge may be devised so full of shame, as my thoughts are replenished with malice? Tell me Floscula if falsenesse in love can possibly be punished with extremity of hate. As long as sword, fire, or poyson may be hired, no traytor to my love shall live unrevenged. Were thy oathes without num- ber, thy kisses without measure, thy sighes without end, forged to deceive a poore credulous virgin whose sc. n.] ENDIMION. 9 simplicitie had beene worth thy favour and better for- tune ? If the Gods sit unequal! beholders of injuries, or laughers at lovers deceits ; then let mischiefe be as well forgiven in women, as perjurie winked at in men. Flosc. Madame, if you would compare the state of Cynthia with your own ; and the height of Endimion his thoughts, with the meannesse of your fortune ; you would rather yeeld then contend, being betweene you and her no comparison ; and rather wonder then rage at the greatnesse of his minde, being affected with a thing more then mortall. 2W/ws.-No comparison Flosculal and why so? is not my beautie divine, whose bodie is decked with faire flowers ; and veines are vines, yeelding sweet liquour to the dullest spirits; whose eares are come, to bring strength ; and whose haires are grasse to bring abun- dance ? Doth not frankincense, and myrrhe breath out of my nostrils, and all the sacrifice of the Gods, breed in my bowels ? Infinite are my creatures, without which, neither thou nor Endimion, nor any could love, or live. Flosc. But know you not faire ladie, that Cynthia governeth all things ? Your grapes would be but drie huskes, your come but chaffe, and all your vertues vaine ; were it not Cynthia that preserveth the one in the bud, and nourisheth the other in the blade, and by her influence both comforteth al things, and by her authority commandeth all creatures ; suffer then Endi- mion to follow his affections, though to obtaine her be impossible, and let him flatter himselfe in his owne imaginations, because they are immortall. Tellus. Loth I am Endimion thou shouldest die, be- 10 END IM ION. [ACT i. cause I love thee well ; and that shouldest live it grieveth me, because thou lovest Cynthia too well. In these extremities what shall I doe ? Floscula no more words, I am resolved. He shall neither live, nor die. Flosc. A strange practice, if it be possible. Tellus. Yes, I will entangle him in such a sweet net, that he shall neither find the meanes to come out, nor desire it. All allurements of pleasure will I cast before his eves, insomuch that he shall slake that love which hee now voweth to Cynthia; and burne in mine, of which hee seemeth carelesse. In this languishing, be- tweene my amorous devises, and his owne loose desires, there shal such dissolute thoghts take root in his head, and over his heart grow so thicke a skin ; that neither hope of preferment, nor feare of punishment, nor coun- sell of the wisest, nor company of the worthiest ; shall alter his humour, nor make him once to thinke of his honour. Flosc. A revenge incredible, and if it may be, un- naturall. Tellits. He shall know the malice of a woman, to have neither meane, nor end ; and of a woman deluded in love, to have neither rule, nor reason. I can doe it, I must ; I will ! All his vertues will I shadow with vices ; his person 1 (ah sweet person) shall he decke with such rich robes, as hee shah 1 forget it is his owne person ; his sharpe wit (ah wit too sharpe, that hath cut off all my joyes) shall hee use, in flattering of my face, and de- vising sonnets in my favour. The prime of his youth and pride of his time, shall be spent in melancholy passions, carelesse behaviour, untamed thoughts, and unbridled affections. sc. n.] ENDIMION. 11 Flosc. When this is done what then, shall it con- tinue till his death, or shall he dote for ever in this delight? Tellus. Ah Floscula, thou rendest my heart in sun- der in putting me in remembrance of the end. Flosc. Why if this be not the end, all the rest is to no end. Tellus. Yet suffer me to imitate Juno, who would turne Jupiters lovers to beasts on the earth though she knew afterwards they should be stars in heaven. Flosc. Affection that is bred by enchantment, is like a flower that is wrought in silke, in colour and forme most like, but nothing at all in substance or savour. Tellus. It shall suffice me if the world talke that I am favoured of Endimion. Flosc. Well, use your owne will ; but you shall find that love gotten with witchcraft, is as unpleasant, as fish taken with medicines unwholesome. Tellus. Floscula, they that be so poore that they have neither net nor hooke, will rather poyson dowe then pine with hunger : and she that is so opprest with love, that she is neither able with beautie, nor wit to obtaine her friend, will rather use unlawfull meanes, then try untolerable paines. I will doe it. [Exit. Flosc. Then about it. Poore Endimion, what traps are laid for thee, because thou honourest one that all the world wondreth at. And what plots are cast to make thee unfortunate, that studiest of all men to be the faithfullest. [Exit. 12 ENDIMION. [ACT i. ACTUS PEIMUS. SOENA TERTTA. DARES, SAMIAS, SIB TOPHAS, EPITOX. Dares. Now our masters are in love up to the eares, what have we to doe but to be in knaverie up to the crownes. Samias. that we had Sir Tophas that brave squiro in the midst of our mirth, et ecce autem, will you see thedevill? Enter Sir TOPHAS. Top. Epi. Epi. Heere sir. Top. I brook not this idle humour of love, it tickleth not my liver, from whence the love-mongers in former age seemed to inferre they should proceed. Epi. Love, sir, may lie in your lungs, and I thinke it doth ; and that is the cause you blow and are so pursie. Top. Tush boy ! I thinke it but some device of the poet to get money. Epi. A poet? what's that? Top. Doest thou not know what a poet is ? Epi. No. Top. Why foole, a poet is as much as one should say, a poet. But soft, yonder be two wrens, shall I shoot at them ? Epi. They are two lads. Top. Larkes or wrens, I will kill them. Epi. Larkes? are you blinde? they are two little boyes. sc. m.J ENDIMION. 13 Top. Birds, or boyes, they are both but a pittance for my breakfast ; therefore have at them, for their braines must as it were imbroder my bolts. Sam. Stay your courage valiant knight, for your wisdome is so wearie that it stayeth it selfe. Dar. Why Sir Tophas have you forgotten your old friends ? Top. Friends ? Nego argumentum. Sam. And why not friends ? Top. Because Amicitia (as in old annals we find) is inter pares, now my prettie companions you shall see how unequall you be to me ; but I will not cut you quite off, you shall be my halfe friends ; for reaching to my middle, so farre as from the ground to the waste I will be your friend. Dar. Learnedly. But what shall become of the rest of your bodie, from the waste to the crowne ? Top. My children quod supra vos nihil ad vos, you must thinke the rest immortall, because you cannot reach it. Epi. Nay, I tell yee my master is more then a man. Dar. And thou lesse then a mouse. Top. But what be you two? Sam. I am Samias, page to Endimion. Dar. And I Dares, page to Eumenides. Top. Of what occupation are your masters ? Dar. Occupation, you clowne, why they are honour- able, and warriers. Top. Then are they my prentises. Dar. Thine, and why so ? Top. I was the first that ever devised warre, and 14 ENDIMION. [ACT i. therefore by Mars himselfe had given me for my armes a whole armorie ; and thus I goe as you see, clothed with artillerie ; it is not silkes (miUcesops) nor tyssues, nor the fine wooll of Ceres ; but yron, steele, swords, flame, shot, terrour, clamour, bloud, and mine, that rocks asleepe my thoughts, which never had any other cradle but crueltie. Let me see, doe you not bleed? Dar. Why so? Top. Commonly my wordes wound. Sam. What then doe your blowes ? Top. Not onely wound, but also confound. Sam. How darest thou come so neere thy master Epil Sir Tophas spare us. Top. You shall live. You Samias because you are little ; you Dares, because you are no bigger ; and both of you, because you are but two ; for commonly I kill by the doozen, and have for every particular adver- sarie, a peculiar weapon. Sam. May we know the use for our better skill in warre? Top. You shall. Heere is a bird-bolt for the ugly beast the black-bird. Dar. A cruell sight. Top. Heere is the musket, for the untamed, (or as the vulgar sort terme it) the wilde mallard. Sam. O desperate attempt ! Epi. Nay, my master will match them. Dar. I, if he catch them. Top. Heere is a speare and shield, and both neces- sary ; the one to conquer, the other to subdue or over- come the terrible trowt, which although he be under sc. ra.] ENDIMION. 15 the water, yet tying a string to the top of my speare and an engine of iron to the end of my line, I overthrow him ; and then herein I put him. Sam. O wonderfull warre ! Dares, didst thou ever heare such a dolt ? Dar. All the better, we shah 1 have good sport here- after, if wee can get leisure. Sam. Leisure ? I will rather loose my masters service then his company ! looke how he strowtes ; but what is this, call you it your sword ? Top. No, it is my simiter ; which I by construction often studying to bee compendious, call my smiter. Dar. What, are you also learned, sir? Top. Learned? I am all Mars and Ars. Sam. Nay, you are all masse and asse. Top. Mocke you mee? You shall both suffer, yet with such weapons, as you shall make choice of the weapon wherewith you shall perish. Am I ah 1 a masse or lumpe, is there no proportion in me ? Am I all asse ? is there no wit in me. Epi, prepare them to the slaughter. Sam. I pray sir heare us speake ! wee call you masse, which your learning doth well understand is all man, for Mas marts is a man. Then As (as you know) is a weight, and we for your vertues account you a weight. Top. The Latine hath saved your lives, the which a world of silver could not have ransomed. I understand you, and pardon you. Dar. Well Sir TopJias wee bid you farewell, and at our next meeting wee will be readie to doe you ser- vice. 16 ENDIMION. [ACT i. Top. Samias I thanke you ; Dares I thanke you ; but especially I thanke you both. /Sam. Wisely. Come, next tune weele have some prettie gentlewomen with us to walk, for without doubt with them he will be very daintie. Dar. Come let us see what our masters doe, it is high time. [Exeunt. Top. Now will I march into the field, where if I cannot encounter with my foule enemies, I will withdraw myselfe to the river, and there fortifie for fish : for there resteth no minute free from fight. [Exit. ACTUS PRIMUS. SC^ENA QUARTA. TELLUS, FLOSCULA, DIPSAS. Tellus. Behold Floscula, wee have met with the woman by chance that wee sought for by travell ; I will breake my minde to her without ceremonie or circum- stance, least we loose that time in advice that should be spent in execution. Flosc. Use your discretion, I will in this case neither give counsell nor consent, for there cannot be a thing more monstrous then to force affection by sorcerie, neither do I imagine any thing more impossible. Tettus. Tush Floscula ! in obtaining of love, what impossibilities will I not try? and for the winning of Endimion, what impieties will I not practise ? Dipsas, whom as many honor for age, as wonder at for cunning ; listen in few words to my tale, and answer in one word to the purpose ; for that neither my burning desire can afford long speech, nor the short time I have to stay sc. iv.] ENDIMION. 17 many delayes. Is it possible by herbs, stones, spels, incantation, enchantment, exorcismes,fire,metalls, plan- ets, or any practice ; to plant affection where it is not, and to supplant it where it is ? Dipsas. Faire ladie, you may imagine that these horie haires are not void of experience, nor the great name that goeth of my cunning to be without cause. I can darken the sunne by my skill, and remove the moone out of her course ; I can restore youth to the aged, and make hils without bottoms ; there 'is nothing that I cannot doe, but that onely which you would have mee doe ; and therein I differ from the Gods, that I am not able to rule hearts ; for were it in my power to place affection by appointment, I would make such evill appetites, such inordinate lusts, such cursed desires, as all the world should be filled both with superstitious heats, and extreme love. Tellus. Unhappie Tellus, whose desires are so despe- rate that they are neither to be conceived of any crea- ture, nor to be cured by any art. Dipsas. This I can, breed slacknesse in love, though never root it out. What is he whom you love, and what shee that he honoureth ? Tellus. Endimion, sweet Endimion is hee that hath my heart; and Cynthia, too too Mre Cynthia, the miracle , of nature, of time, of fortune, is the ladie that he delights in ; and dotes on every day, and dies for ten thousand times a day. Dipsas. Would you have his love, either by absence or sicknes aslaked ? Would you that Cynthia should mistrust him, or be jealous of him without colour ? 18 ENDIMION. [ACT n. Tellus. It is the onely thing I crave, that seeing my love to Endimion unspotted, cannot be accepted, his truth to Cynthia (though it be unspeakable) may bee suspected. Dipsas. I will undertake it, and overtake him, that all his love shall be doubted of, and therefore become desperate: but this will weare out with time, that treadeth all things downe but truth. Tellus. Let us goe. Dipsas: I follow. [Exeunt. ACTUS SECUNDUS. SC^ENA PEIMA. ENDIMION. TELLUS. Endimion. FAIKE Cynthia! Ounfortunate^ncZzmzon/ Why was not thy birth as high as thy thoughts, or her beauty lesse then heavenly? or why are not thine honours as rare as her beautie ? or thy fortunes as great as thy deserts ? Sweet Cynthia, how wouldst thou be pleased, how possessed ? will labours (patient of all extremities) obtaine thy love ? There is no mountaine so steepe that I will not climbe, no monster so cruell that I will not tame, no action so desperate that I will not attempt. Desirest thou the passions of love, the sad and melancholy moods of per- plexed minds, the not to be expressed torments of racked thoughts? Behold my sad teares, my deepe sighes, my hollow eyes, my broken sleepes, my heavie counte- nance. Wouldst thou have me vow'd onely to thy beautie, and consume every minute of tune in thy ser- so. i.] ENDIMION. 19 vice? remember my solitarie life, almost these seven yeares, whom have I entertained but mine owne thoughts, and thy vertues ? What company have I used but con- templation ? Whom have I wondred at but thee ? Nay, whom have I not contemned, for thee? Have I not crept to those on whom I might have trodden, onely because thou didst shine upon them ? Have not injuries beene sweet to mee, if thou vouchsafest I should beare them? Have I not spent my golden yeeres in hopes, waxing old with wishing, yet wishing nothing but thy love. With Tellus, faire Tellus, have I dissembled, using her but as a cloake for mine affections, that others ' seeing my mangled and disordered mind, might thinke it were for one that loveth me, not for Cynthia, whose perfection alloweth no companion, nor comparison. In the midst of these distempered thoughts of mine thou art not only jealous of my truth, but carelesse, suspi- cious, and secure : which strange humour maketh my minde as desperate as thy conceits are doubtfull. I am none of those wolves that barke most, when thou shinest I brightest. But that fish (thy fish Cynthia in the floud anis) which at thy waxing is as white as the driven snow, and at thy wayning, as blacke as deepest dark- nesse. I am that Endimion (sweete Cynthia) that have carried my thoughts in equall ballance with my actions, being alwayes as free from imagining ill, as en- terprizing ; that Endimion, whose eyes never esteemed any thing faire, but thy face, whose tongue termed nothing rare but thy vertues, and whose heart imagined nothing miraculous, but thy government. Yea, that Endimion, who divorcing himselfe from the amiable- 20 ENDIMION. [ACT n. nesse of all ladies, the braverie of all courts, the company of all men, hath chosen in a solitarie cell to live, onely by feeding on thy favour, accounting in the world (but thyselfe) nothing excellent, nothing immortall ; thus maist thou see every vaine, sinew, muscle, and artery of my love, in which there is no flatterie, nor deceit, error, nor art. But soft, here commeth Tellus, I must turne my other face to her like Janus, least she be as suspicious as Juno. Enter TELLUS. Tellus. Yonder I espie Endimion, I will seeme to suspect nothing, but sooth him, that seeing I cannot obtain the depth of his love, I may learne the height of his dissembling ; Floscula and Dipsas, withdraw your- selves out of our sight, yet be within the hearing of our saluting. How now Endimion, alwaies solitarie? no company but your owne thoughts ? no friend but me- lancholy fancies ? End. You know (faire Tellus) that the sweet remem- brance of your love, is the onely companion of my life, and thy presence, my paradise ; so that I am not alone when nobodie is with mee, and in heaven itselfe when thou art with me. Tellus. Then you love me Endimion. End. Or else I live not Tellus. Tellus. Is it not possible for you Endimion to dis- semble ? End. Not Tellus, unlesse I could make me a woman. Tellus. Why, is dissembling joyned to their sex in- separable ? as heate to fire, heavinesse to earth, moysture to water, thinnesse to aire ? sc. i.] ENDIMION. 21 End. No, but found in their sex, as common as spots upon doves, moles upon faces, caterpillers upon sweet apples, cobwebs upon faire windowes. Tellus. Doe they all dissemble ? End. All but one. Tellus. Who is that? End. I dare not tell. For if I should say you, then would you imagine my flatterie to be extreme ; if another, then would you thinke my love to be but indifferent. Tellus. You will be sure I shall take no vantage of your words. But in sooth Endimion, without more ceremonies, is it not Cynthia ? End. You know Tellus, that of the gods we are for- bidden to dispute, because their deities come not within the compasse of our reasons ; and of Cynthia wee are allowed not to talke but to wonder, because her vertues are not within the reach of our capacities. Tellus. Why, she is but a woman. End. No more was Venus. Tellus. Slice is but a virgin. End. No more was Vesta. Tellus. Shee shall have an end. End. So shah 1 the world. Tellus. Is not her beautie subject to time ? End. No more then time is to standing still. Tellus. Wilt thou make her immortall ? End. No, but incomparable. Tellus. Take heed Endimion, lest like the wrastler in Olympia, that striving to lift an impossible weight catcht an incurable straine, thou by fixing thy thoughts above thy reach, fall into a disease without all recure ? But I see thou art now in love with Cynthia. 22 ENDIMION. [ACT n. End. No Tellus; thou knowest that the stately cedar, whose top reacheth unto the cloudes, never boweth his head to the shrubs that grow in the valley; nor ivie that climeth up by the elme, can ever get hold of the beames of the sunne ; Cynthia I honour in all humilitie, whom none ought, or dare adventure to love; whose affections are immortall, and vertues infinite. Suffer me therefore to gaze on the Moone, at whom, were it not for thyselfe, I would die with wondering. [Exeunt. ACTUS SECTJNDUS. SC^ENA SECUNDA. DARES, SAMIAS, SCINTILLA, FAVILLA. Dar. Come, Samias, diddest thou ever heare such a sighing, the one for Cynthia, the other for Semele, and both for mooneshine in the water ? Sam. Let them sigh, and let us sing ; how say you gentlewomen, are not our masters too farre in love ? Scint. Their tongues happily are dipt to the root in amorous words and sweet discourses, but I thinke their hearts are scarce tipt on the side with constant desires. Dar. How say you Favilla, is not love a lurcher, that taketh mens stomacks away that they cannot eate ; then- spleene that they cannot laugh ; their hearts that they cannot fight; their eyes that they cannot sleepe; and leaveth nothing but livers to make nothing but lovers ? Favil. Away peevish boy, a rod were better under thy girdle, than love in thy mouth : it will be a forward cocke that croweth in the shell. Dar. Alas ! good old gentlewoman, how it becommeth you to be grave. sc. ii.] END I MI ON. 23 Scint. Favilla though shee he hut a sparke, yet is she fire. Favil. And you Scintilla be not much more then a sparke, though you would be esteemed a flame. Sam. It were good sport to see the fight betweene two sparkes. Dar. Let them to it, and wee will warme us by their words. Scint. You are not angry Favilla ? Favil. That is Scintilla, as you list to take it. Sam. That, that. Scint. This it is to be matched with girles, who comming but yesterday from making of babies, would before to morrow be accounted matrons. Favil. I cry your matronship mercie ; because your pantables be higher with corke, therefore your feet must needs be higher in the insteps : you will be mine elder, because you stand upon a stoole, and I on the floore. Sam. Good, good. Dar. Let them love, and see with what countenance they will become friends. Scint. Nay, you thinke to be the wiser, because you meane to have the last word. Sam. Step betweene them least they scratch. In faith gentlewomen, seeing wee came out to be merry, let not your janing marre our jests : be friends, how say you? Scint. I am not angry, but it spited me to see how short she was. Favil. I meant nothing, till she would needs crosse me. 24 ENDIMION. [ACT n. Dar. Then so let it rest. Sdnt. I am agreed. Favil. And I, yet I never tooke any thing so unkindly in my life. Sdnt. Tis I have the cause, that never offered the occasion. Dar. Excellent and right like a woman. Sam. A strange sight to see water come out of fire. Dar. It is their propertie, to carrie in their eyes, fire and water, teares and torches, and in their mouthes, hony and gall. Sdnt. You will he a good one if you live ; but what is yonder formall fellow ? Enter Sir TOPHAS. Dar. Sir TopTias, Sir Tophas, of whom we told you : if you be good wenches make as though you love him, and wonder at him. Favil. We will doe our parts. Dar. But first let us stand aside, and let him use his garbe, for all consisteth in his gracing. Top. Epi. Epi. At hand sir. Top. How likest thou this martiall life, where nothing but bloud besprinkleth our bosomes ? Let me see, be our enemies fat? Epi. Passing fat : and I would not change this life to be a lord ; and yourselfe passeth all comparison, for other captaines kill and beate, and there is nothing you kill, but you also eate. Top. I will draw out their guts out of their bellies, sc. ii.] ENDIMION. 25 and teare the flesh with my teeth, so mortall is my hate, and so eager my unstanched stomacke. Epi. My master thinkes himselfe the valiantest man in the world if hee kill a wren : so warlike a thing he accompteth to take away life, though it bee from a larke. Top. Epi, I finde my thoughts to swell, and my spirit to take wings, in so much that I cannot continue within the compasse of so slender combates. Favil. This passeth ! Scint. Why, is he not mad ? Sam. No, but a little vaine glorious. Top. Epi. Epi. Sir. Top. I will encounter that blacke and cruell enemie that beareth rough and untewed locks upon his bodie, whose sire throweth downe the strongest walls, whose legs are as many as both ours, on whose head are placed most horrible homes by nature, as a defence from all harmes. Epi. What meane you master to be so desperate ? Top. Honour inciteth me, and very hunger com- pelleth me. Epi. What is that monster? Top. The monster Ovis. I have said, let thy wits worke. Epi. I cannot imagine it ; yet let mee see, a blacke enemie with rough lockes? it may be a sheepe, and Ovis is a sheepe : his sire so strong, a ram is a sheepes sire, that being also an engine of war; homes hee hath, and foure legs, so hath a sheepe : without doubt 26 ENDIMION. [ACT n. this monster is a blacke sheepe. Is it not a sheepe that you meane ? Top. Thou hast hit it, that monster will I kill and sup with. Sam. Come let us take him off. Sir Tophas all haile. Top. Welcome children, I seldome cast mine eyes so low as to the crownes of your heads, and therefore par- don me that I spake not all this while. Dar. No harme done ; here be faire ladies come to wonder at your person, your valour, your wit, the report whereof hath made them carelesse of their owne honours, to glut their eyes and hearts upon yours. Top. Eeport cannot hut injure me, for that not know- ing fully what I am, I feare she hath beene a niggard in her praises. Sdnt. No, gentle knight, Report hath beene prodi- gall; for shee hath left you no equall, nor herselfe credit, so much hath she told, yet no more than we now see. Dar. A good wench. Favil. If there remaine as much pittie toward women, as there is in you courage against your enemies, then shall wee be happy, who hearing of your person, came to see it, and seeing it, are now in love with it. Top. Love mee ladies ? I easily beleeve it, but my tough heart receiveth no impression with sweet words. Mars may pierce it, Venus shall not paint on it. Favil. A cruell saying. Sam. There's a girle. Dar. Will you cast these ladies away, and all for a little love? do but speak kindly. sc. ii.] ENDIMION. 27 Top. There commeth no soft syllable within my lips, custome hath made my words bloudy, and my heart barbarous : that pelting word love, how watrish it is in my mouth, it carrieth no sound j hate, horror, death, are speeches that nourish my spirits. I like hony but I care not for the bees, I delight in musique but I love not to play on the bagpipes, I can vouchsafe to heare the voice of women, but to touch their bodies I disdaine it, as a thing childish, and fit for such men as can disgest nothing but milke. Scint. A hard heart ! shall wee die for your love, and find no remedie. Top. I have alreadie taken a surfet. Epi. Good master pitie them. Top. Pitie them, Epi ? no I doe not thinke that this breast shall bee pestered with such a foolish passion. What is that the gentlewoman carrieth hi a chaine ? Epi. Why, it is a squirrill. Top. A squirrill ? O Gods what things are made for money. Dar. Is not this gentleman overwise ? Favil. I could stay all day with him, if I feared not to be shent. Scint . Is it not possible to meete againe ? Dar. Yes at any time. Favil. Then let us hasten home. Scint. Sir TopJias, the God of warre deale better with you, then you doe with the God of love. Favil. Our love wee may dissemble, disgest we can- not; but I doubt not but time will hamper you, and helpe us. 28 ENDIMION. [ACT n. Top. I defie time, who hath no interest in my heart : come Epi, let me to the battaile with that hideous beast, love is pap and hath no rellish in my taste, because it is not terrible. Dar. Indeed a blacke sheepe is a perilous beast, but let us in till another time. Favil. I shah 1 long for that time. [Exeunt. ACTUS SECUNDUS. SOENA TEKTIA. ENDIMION, DFPSAS, BAGOA. End. No rest Endimion? still uncertain how to settle thy steps by day, or thy thoughts by night ? thy truth is measured by thy fortune, and thou art judged unfaithfull because thou art unhappy. I will see if I can beguile myselfe with sleepe, and if no slumber will take hold in my eyes, yet will I imbrace the golden thoughts in my head, and wish to melt by musing: that as ebone, which no fire can scorch, is yet con- sumed with sweet savours ; so my heart which cannot be bent by the hardnesse of fortune, may be bruised by amorous desires. On yonder banke never grew any thing but lunary, and hereafter I will never have any bed but that banke. O Endimion, Tellus was faire, but what avayleth beauty without wisdome ? Nay, En- dimion, she was wise, but what avayleth wisdome without honour ? Shee was honorable Endimion, belie her not, I but how obscure is honour without fortune ? Was she not fortunate whom so many followed ? Yes, yes, but base is fortune without majestic : thy majestie Cynthia all the world knoweth and wondereth at, but sc. in.] ENDIMION. 29 not one in the world that can imitate it, or comprehend it. No more Endimion, sleepe or die ; nay die, for to sleepe, it is impossible, and yet I know not how it commeth to passe, I feele such a heavinesse both in mine eyes and heart, that I am sodainly benummed, yea in every joint : it may be wearinesse, for when did I rest ? it may be deepe melancholy, for when did I not sigh ? Cynthia, I so, I say Cynthia. [Hefals asleepe. Dipsas. Little doest thou know Endimion when thou shalt wake, for hadst thou placed thy heart as lowe in love, as thy head lieth now in sleepe, thou mightest have commanded Tellus whom now instead of a mistris, thou shalt finde a tombe. These eies must I seale up by art, not nature, which are to be opened neither by art nor nature. Thou that laist downe with golden lockes, shalt not awake untill they bee turned to silver haires : and that chin, on which scarcely appeareth soft downe, shall be filled with brissels as hard as broome : thou shalt sleepe out thy youth and flowring time, and become dry hay before thou knewest thyselfe greene grasse ; and readie by age to step into the grave when thou wakest, that was youthfull in the court when thou laidst thee downe to sleepe. The malice of Tellus hath brought this to passe, which if shee could not have in- treated of mee by faire meanes, shee would have com- manded by menacing, for from her gather we all our simples to maintaine our sorceries. Fanne with this hemlocke over his face, and sing the inchantment for sleepe, whilst I goe in and finish those ceremonies that are required in our art : take heed yee touch not his 30 ENDIMION. [ACT n. face, for the fanne is so seasoned that who so it toucheth with a leafe shall presently die, and over whom the winde of it hreatheth, hee shall sleepe for ever. [Exit. Bagoa. Let me alone, I will be carefull. What hap hadst thou Endimion to come under the hands of Dipsas. O faire Endimion ! how it grieveth mee that that faire face must be turned to a withered skin, and taste the paines of death before it feele the reward of love. I feare Tellus will repent that which the heavens themselves seemed to rewe ; but I heare Dipsas comming, I dare not repine, least shee make me pine, and rocke mee into such a deepe sleepe, that I shall not awake to my marriage. Enter DIPSAS. Dipsas. How now, have you finished ? Bagoa. Yea. Dipsas. Well then let us in, and see that you doe not so much as whisper that I did this, for if you doe, I will turne thy haires to adders, and all thy teeth in thy head to tongues ; come away, come away. [Exeunt. A DUMB SHEW. Musique sounds. Three ladies enter ; one with a knife and a looking glasse, who by the procurement of one of the other two, offers to stab Endimion as hee sleepes, but the third wrings her hands, lamenteth, offering still to prevent it, but dares not. At last, the first lady looking in the glasse, casts downe the knife. [Exeunt. sc. in.] ENDIMION. 31 Enters an ancient Man with booTces with three leaves, offers the same twice. Endimion refuseth, hee readeth two and offers the third, where hee stands awhile, and then Endimion offers to take it. [Exit. ACTUS TEKTIUS. SCLENA PKIMA. CYNTHIA, three Lords, TELLUS. Cynthia. jjS the report true, that Endimion is stricken into such a dead sleepe, that nothing can either wake him or move him ? Eum. Too true madame, and as much to be pitied as wondred at. Tellus. As good sleepe and doe no harme, as wake and doe no good. Cynth. What maketh you Tellus to be so short ? the time was Endimion onely was. Eum. It is an old saying madame, that a waking dogge doth afarre off barke at a sleeping lion. Sem. It were good Eumenides that you tooke a nap with your friend, for your speech beginneth to be heavie. Eum. Contrarie to your nature, Semele, which hath beene alwayes accounted light. Cynth. What have wee here before my face, these unseemely and malepart overthwarts ? I will tame your tongues, and your thoughts, and make your speeches 32 ENDIMION. [ACT nr. answerable to your duties, and your conceits fit for my dignitie, else will I banish you both my person and the world. Eum. Pardon I humbly aske ; but such is my un- spotted faith to Endimion, that whatsoever seemeth a needle to prick his finger, is a dagger to wound my heart. CyniJi. If you be so deere to him, how happeneth it you neither goe to see him, nor search for remedie for him ? Eum. I have scene him to my griefe, and sought re- cure with despaire, for that I cannot imagine who should restore him that is the wonder to all men : your high- nesse, on whose hands the compasse of the earth is at command, (though not in possession) may shew your- selfe both worthy your sex, your nature, and your favour, if you redeeme that honourable Endimion, whose ripe yeares foretell rare vertues, and whose un- mellowed conceits promise ripe coun&ell. Cynth. I have had triall of Endimion, and conceive greater assurance of his age, then I could hope of his youth. Tellus. But timely maclame crookes that tree that will be a camocke ; and yong it prickes that will be a thorne ; and therefore hee that began without care to settle his life, it is a signe without amendement he will end it. Cynth. Presumptuous girle, I will make thy tongue an example of unrecoverable displeasure, Corsites carrie her to the castle in the desert, there to remaine and weave. sc. i.] ENDIM10N. 33 Cars. Shall shee worke stories or poetries ? Cynth. It skilleth not which, goe to, in both, for shee shall find examples infinite in either what punishment long tongues have. Eumenides, if either the sooth- sayers in Egypt, or the enchanters in Thessaly, or the philosophers in Greece, or all the sages of the world, can find remedie, I will procure it; therefore dispatch with all speed : you Eumenides into Thessalie : You Zontes into Greece, (because you are acquainted in Athens.) You Pantalion to Egypt, saying that Cynthia sendeth, and if you will, commandeth. Eum. On bowed knee I give thankes, and with wings on my legs, I flie for remedie. Zon. We are readie at your highnesse command, and hope to returne to your full content. Cynth. It shall never be said that Cynthia, whose mercie and goodnesse filleth the heavens with joyes, and the world with marvaile, will suffer either Endimion or any to perish, if he may be protected. Eum. Your majesties words have been alwayes deeds, and your deeds vertues. [Exeunt. ACTUS TEETIUS. SC1ENA SECUNDA. CORSITES, TELLUS. Cars. Heere is the castle (faire Tellus) in which you must weave, till either time end your dayes, or Cynthia her displeasure. I am sorrie so faire a face should be subject to so hard a fortune, and that the flower of beautie, which is honoured in courts, should heere wither in prison. VOL. I. 34 ENDIMION. [ACT m. Tellus. Corsites, Cynthia may restraine the libertie of my bodie, of my thoughts shee cannot, and therefore doe I esteeme myselfe most free, though I am in greatest bondage. Cors. Can you then feed on fancie, and subdue the malice of envie by the sweetnesse of imagination. Tellus. Corsites, there is no sweeter musique to the miserable then despaire ; and therefore the more bitter- nesse I feele, the more sweetnesse I find ; for so vaine were libertie, and so unwelcome the following of higher fortune, that I chuse rather to pine in this castle, then to be a prince in any other court. Cors. A humour contrary to your yeeres, and nothing agreeable to your sex : the one commonly allured with delights, the other alwayes with soveraigntie. Tellus. I marvaile Corsites that you being a captaine, who should sound nothing but terrour, and sucke nothing but bloud, can find in your heart to talke such smooth wordes, for that it agreeth not with your calling to use words so soft, as that of love. Cors. Ladle, it were unfit of warres to discourse with women, into whose minds nothing can sinke but srnooth- nes ; besides, you must not thinke that souldiers be so rough hewne, or of such knottie mettle, that beautie cannot allure, and you being beyond perfection enchant. Tellus. Good Corsites talke not of love, but let mee to my labour : the little beautie I have, shall be be- stowed on my loome, which I now meane to make my lover. Cors. Let us in, and what favour Corsites can shew, Tellus shall command. sc. n.] ENDIMION. 35 Tdlus. The onely favour I desire, is now and then to walke. [Exeunt. ACTUS TERTIUS. SOENA TEKTIA. Sir TOPHAS, and EPI. Tophas. Epi. Epi. Heere sir. Tophas. Unrigge me. Hey ho ! Epi. What's that ? Tophas. An interjection, whereof some are of mourn- ing : as eho, van. Epi. I understand you not. Tophas. Thou seest me. Epi. 'I. Tophas. Thou hearest me. Epi. I. Tophas. Thou feelest me. Epi. I. Tophas. And not understand'st me ? ^)i. No. Tophas. Then am I but three quarters of a nowne substantive. But alas Epi, to tell thee the troth, I am a nowne adjective. Epi. Why? Tophas. Because I cannot stand without another. Epi. Who is that? Tophas. Dipsas. Epi. Are you in love ? Tophas. No: but love hath as it were milkt my thoughts, and drained from my heart the very substance 36 ENDIMION. [ACT m. of my accustomed courage ; it worketh in my head like new wine, so as I must hoope my skonce with iron, least my head breake, and so I bewray my braines : but I pray thee first discover mee in all parts, that I may be like a lover, and then will I sigh and die. Take my gun, and give me a gowne : Ccedant arma togce. Epi. Heere. Tophas. Take my sword and shield, and give mee beard, brush, and cyssers : bella gerant alii, tu pari semper ama. Epi. Will you be trim'd sir ? Tophas. Not yet : for I feele a contention within me, whether I shall frame the bodkin beard or the bush. But take my pike and give me pen : dicere qucepuduit, scribere jussit amor. Epi. I will furnish you, sir. Tophas. Now for my bowe and bolts, give me inke and paper ; for my semiter a pen-knife : for Scalpel- lum, calami, atramentum, charta, libelli, sint semper studiis armaparata meis. Epi. Sir, will you give over warres, and play with that bable called love ? Tophas. Give over warres ? no Epi, Militat omnis amans, et habet sua castra Cupido. Epi. Love hath made you very eloquent, but your face is nothing faire. Tophas. Nonformosus erat, sederatfacundus Ulisses. Epi. Nay, I must seeke a new master if you can speake nothing but verses. Tophas. Quicquid conabar dicere versus erat. Epi. I feele all Ovid de arte amandi lie as heavie at my heart as a load of logges. O what a fine thin haire sc. m.] ENDIMION. 37 hath Dipsas ! What a pretie low forehead ! What a tall and stately nose ! What little hollow eyes ! What great and goodly lips ! How harmlesse she is being toothlesse ! her fingers fat and short, adorned with long nailes like a byttern ! In how sweet a proportion her cheekes hang downe to her brests like dugges, and her paps to her waste like bags ! What a low stature shee is, and yet what a great foot she carrieth ! How thriftie must shee be in whom there is no waste ! How vertuous is she like to be, over whom no man can be jealous ! Epi. Stay master, you forget yourselfe. Tophas. O Epi. even as a dish melteth by the fire, so doth my wit increase by love. Epi. Pithily, and to the purpose, but what? begin you to nod ? Tophas. Good Epi let mee take a nap : for as some man may better steale a horse, then another looke over the hedge : so divers shall be sleepie when they would fainest take rest. \He sleeps. Epi. Who ever saw such a woodcock, love Dipsas ! without doubt all the world will now account him valiant, that ventureth on her, whom none durst undertake. But heere commeth two wagges. Enter DARES and SAMIAS. Sam. Thy master hath slept his share. Dar. I thinke he doth it because he would not pay me my boord wages. Sam. It is a tiling most strange, and I thinke mine will never returne, so that we must both seeke new masters, for wee shall never live by our manners. Epi. If you want masters, joyne with me, and serve 38 ENDIMION. [ACT m. Sir Tophas, who must needs keepe more men, because hee is toward mariage. Sam. What Epi, where's thy master ? Epi. Yonder sleeping in love. Dar. Is it possible ? Epi. He hath taken his thoughts a hole lower, and saith, seeing it is the fashion of the world, he will vaile bonet to beautie. Sam. How is he attired ? Epi. Lovely. Dar. Whom loveth this amorous knight ? Epi. Dipsas. Sam. That ugly creature ? Why she is a foole, a scold, fat, without fashion, and quite without favour. Epi. Tush you be simple, my master hath a good mariage. Dar. Good? as how? Epi. Why in marrying Dipsas, hee shall have every day twelve dishes of meate to his dinner, though there be none but Dipsas with him. Foure of flesh, foure of fish, foure of fruit. Sam. As how Epi? Epi. For flesh these; woodcocke, goose, byttern, and rayle. Dar. Indeed hee shall not misse, if Dipsas be there. Epi. For fish these ; crab, carpe, lumpe, and powting. Sam. Excellent, for of my word, she is both crabbish, lumpish, and carping. Epi. For fruit these ; fritters, medlers, hartichokes, and lady longings. Thus you see hee shall fare like a king, though he be but a begger. sc. in.] ENDIMION. 39 Bar. Well, Epi, dine thou with him, for I had rather fast then see her face. But see thy master is asleepe, let us have a song to wake this amorous knight. Epi. Agreed. Sam. Content. THE FIKST SONG. Epi. Here snores Tophus, That amorous asse, Who loves Dipsas, With face so sweet, Nose and chinne meet. All three, -j At si & ht of her each fur y ski P s ( And flings into her lap their whips. Dar. Holla, holla in his eare. Saw. The witch sure thrust her fingers there. Epi. Crampe him, or wring the foole by th' nose. Dar. Or clap some burning flax, to his toes. Saw. What musique's best to wake him ? Epi. Baw wow, let bandogs shake him. Dar. Let adders hisse in's eare. Sam. Else eare-wigs, wriggle there. Epi. No, let him batten, when his tongue Once goes, a cat is not worse strung. All three i ^ llt ^ ^ e P e nor mout ^' nor e ^ es ' { He may in time sleepe himselfe wise. Top. Sleepe is a binding of the sences, love a loosing. Epi. Let us heare him awhile. Top. There appeared in my sleepe a goodly owle, who sitting upon my shoulder, cried twit, twit, and be- fore mine eyes presented herselfe the expresse image of Dipsas. I marvailed Avhat the owle said, till at the last, I perceived twit, twit, to it, to it : onely by con- traction admonished by this vision, to make account of my sweet Venus. 40 ENDIMION. [ACT m. Sam. Sir Tophas, you have over-slept yourselfe. Top. No youth, I have but slept over my love. Dar. Loue ? Why it is impossible, that into so noble and unconquered a courage, love should creepe ; having first a head as hard to pierce as steele, then to passe to a hart arm'd with a shirt of male. Epi. I but my master yawning one day in the sun, Love crept into his mouth before hee could close it, and there kept such a tumbling in his bodie that he was glad to untrusse the points of his heart, and entertaine Love as a stranger. Top. If there remaine any pitie in you, plead for me to Dipsas. Dar. Plead ? Nay, wee will presse her to it. Let us goe with him to Dipsas, and there shall wee have good sport. But Sir Tophas when shall wee goe ? for I find my tongue voluble, and my heart venturous, and all myselfe like myselfe. Sam. Come Dares, let us not loose him till wee find our masters, for as long as he liveth, wee shall lacke neither mirth nor meate. Epi. We will travice. Will you go sir? Top. I prce, sequar. {Exeunt. ACTUS TEETIUS. SOENA QUAKTA. EUMENIDES, GEBON. Ewm. Father, your sad musique being tuned on the same key that my hard fortune is, hath so melted my minde, that I wish to hang at your mouthes end till life end. sc. iv.] ENDIMION. 41 Oer. These tunes gentleman have I beene accus- tomed with these fiftie winters, having no other house to shrowde myselfe but the broad heavens, and so fami- liar with mee hath use made miserie, that I esteeme sorrow my chiefest solace. And welcommest is that guest to me, that can rehearse the saddest tale, or the bloudiest tragedie. Eum. A strange humour, might I enquire the cause ? Ger. You must pardon me if I denie to tell it, for knowing that the revealing of griefes is as it were a renewing of sorrow, I have vowed therefore to conceale them, that I might not onely feele the depth of ever- lasting discontentment, but despaire of remedie. But whence are you ? What fortune hath thrust you to this distresse ? Eum. I am going to Thessalie, to seeke remedie for Endimion my dearest friend, who hath beene cast into a dead sleepe, almost these twentie yeeres, waxing olde, and readie for the grave, being almost but newly come forth of the cradle. Ger. You need not for recure travell farre, for who so can cleerly see the bottome of this fountaine shall have remedie for any thing. Eum. That me thinketh is unpossible, why what vertue can there be in water ? Ger. Yes, whosoever can shed the teares of a faith- full lover shall obtaine any thing hee would ; reade these words engraven about the brim. Eum. Have you knowne this by experience, or is it placed here of purpose to delude men ? Ger. I onely would have experience of it, and then 42 ENDIMION. [ACT m. should there be an end of my miserie. And then would I tell the strangest discourse that ever yet was heard. Eum. Ah Eumenides ! Ger. What lacke you gentleman, are you not well ? Eum. Yes father, but a qualme that often commeth over my heart doth now take hold of me ; but did never any lovers come hither? Ger. Lusters, but not lovers ; for often have I seene them weepe, but never could I heare they saw the bot- tome. Eum. Came there women also ? Ger. Some. Eum. What did they see ? Ger. They all wept that the fountaine overflowed with teares, but so thick became the water with their teares, that I could scarce discerne the brimme, much lesse behold the bottome. Eum. Be faithfull lovers so skant ? Ger. It seemeth so, for yet heard I never of any. Eum. Ah Eumenides, how art thou perplexed ? call to minde the beautie of thy sweet mistris, and the depth of thy never dying affections : how oft hast thou honoured her, not onely without spot, but suspition of falshood ? And how hardly hath she rewarded thee, without cause or colour of despight. How secret hast thou beene these seven yeeres, that hast not, nor once darest not to name her, for discontenting her. How faithfull ! that hath offered to die for her, to please her. Unhappie Eumenides ! Ger. Why gentleman did you once love ? Eum. Once ? I father, and ever shall. sc. iv.] END1MION. 43 Ger. Was she unkind, and you faithfull ? Eum. Shee of all women the most froward, and I of all creatures the most fond. Ger. You doted then, not loved: for affection is grounded on vertue, andvertue is never peevish : or on heautie, and beautie loveth to be praised. Bum. I but if all vertuous ladies should yeeld to all that be loving, or all amiable gentlewomen entertaine all that be amorous, their vertues would be accounted vices, and beauties deformities ; for that love can be but between two, and that not proceeding of him that is most faithfull, but most fortunate. Ger. I would you were so faithfull, that your teares might make you fortunate. Eum. Yea father, if that my teares cleare not this fountaine, then may you sweare it is but a meere mockerie. Ger. So saith every one yet, that wept. Eum. Ah, I faint, I die ! Ah sweete Semele let me alone, and dissolve by weeping into water. Ger. This affection seemeth strange, if hee see no- thing, without doubt this dissembling passeth, for nothing shall draw me from the beliefe. Eum. Father, I plainly see the bottome, and there in white marble engraven these words, Aske one for all, and but one thing at all. Ger. O fortunate Eumenides, (for so have I heard thee call thyselfe) let me see. I cannot discerne any such thing. I thinke thou dreamest. Eum. Ah father thou art not a faithfull lover, and therefore canst not behold it. 44 ENDIMION. [ACT m. Ger. Then aske, that I may he satisfied by the event, and thyselfe blessed. Eum. Aske ? so I will : and what shall I doe but aske, and whom should I aske but Semele, the possess- ing of whose person is a pleasure that cannot come within the compasse of comparison ; whose golden lockes seeme most curious, when they seeme most carelesse ; whose sweet lookes seeme most alluring, when they are most chaste ; and whose wordes the more vertuous they are, the more amorous they be accounted. I pray thee fortune when I shall first meete with faire Semele, dash my delight with some light disgrace, least imbracing sweetnesse beyond measure, I take a surfet without recure : let her practise her accustomed coynesse, that I may diet myselfe upon my desires: otherwise the fulnesse of my joyes will diminish the sweetnesse, and I shall perish by them before I possesse them. Why doe I trifle the time in words ? The least minute being spent in the getting of Semefo, is more worth then the whole world : therefore let mee aske, What now Eume- nides ? Whither art thou drawne ? Hast thou forgotten both friendship and dutie ? Care of Endimion, and the commandement of Cynthia 1 Shall he die in a leaden sleep, because thou sleepest in a golden dreame ? I, let him sleepe ever, so I slumber but one minute with Semele. Love knoweth neither friendship nor kindred. Shall I not hazard the losse of a friend, for the obtayn- ing of her for whom I would often loose myselfe ? Fond Eumenides, shall the inticing beautie of a most disdain- full ladie, be of more force then the rare fidelitie of a tried friend? The love of men to women is a thing sc. iv.] ENDIMION. 45 common, and of course : the friendship of man to man infinite and immortall. Tush, Semele doth possesse my love. I but Endimion hath deserved it. I will helpe Endimion. I found Endimion unspotted in his truth. I but I shall find Semele constant in her love. I will have Semele. What shall I do? Father thy gray haires are embassadors of experience. Which shall I aske ? Ger. Eumenides release Endimion, for all things (friendship excepted) are subject to fortune : love is but an eye-worme, which onely tickleth the head with hopes, and wishes : friendship the image of eternitie, in which there is nothing moveable, nothing mischievous. As much difference as there is between beautie and vertue, bodies and shadowes, colours and life so great oddes is there betweene love and friendship. Love is a came- lion, which draweth nothing into the mouth but aire, and nourisheth nothing in the body but lungs : beh'eve me Eumenides, desire dies in the same moment that beautie sickens, and beautie fadeth in the same instant that it flourisheth. When adversities flow, then love ebbes : but friendship standeth stifly in stormes. Time draweth wrinckles in a faire face, but addeth fresh colours to a fast friend, which neither heate, nor cold, nor miserie, nor place, nor destinie, can alter or diminish. O friendship ! of all things the most rare, and therefore most rare because most excellent, whose comforts in miserie is alwayes sweete, and whose counsels in pros- peritie are ever fortunate. Vaine love, that onely com- ming neere to friendship in name, would seeme to be the same, or better, in nature. 46 ENDIMION. [ACT ra. Sum. Father I allow your reasons, and will there- fore conquer mine owne. Vertue shall subdue affec- tions, wisdome lust, friendship beautie. Mistresses are in every place, and as common as hares in Atho, bees in Hybla, foules in the ayre : but friends to be found, are like the Phscnix in Arabia, but one, or the Phila- delphi in Arays, never above two. I will have Endi- mion : sacred fountaine, in whose bowels are hidden divine secrets, I have increased your waters with the teares of unspotted thoughts and therefore let mee receive the reward you promise : Endimion, the truest friend to me, and faithfullest lover to Cynthia, is in such a dead sleepe, that nothing can wake or move him. Oer. Doest thou see any thing ? Eum, I see in the same piller, these words : When she whose figure of all is the perfectest, and never to be measured: alwayes one, yet never the same: still in- constant, yet never wavering: shall come and Icisse Endimion in his sleepe, he shall then rise, else never. This is strange. Oer. What see you else ? Eum. There commeth over mine eyes either a darke mist, or upon the fountaine a deepe thicknesse : for I can perceive nothing. But how am I deluded? or what difficult (nay impossible) thing is this ? Ger. Me thinketh it easie. Eum. Good father and how ? Oer. Is not a circle of all figures the perfectest ? Eum. Yes. Oer. And is not Cynthia of all circles the most abso- lute? Eum. Yes. so. iv.] ENDIMION. 47 Ger. Is it not impossible to measure her, who still worketh by her influence, never standing at one stay ? Eum. Yes. Ger. Is shee not alwayes Cynthia, yet seldome in the same bignesse ; alwayes wavering in her waxing or wayning, that our bodies might the better be governed, our seasons the daylier give their increase ; yet never to be removed from her course as long as the heavens continue theirs ? Bum. Yes. Ger. Then who can it be but Cynthia, whose vertues being all divine, must needs bring things to passe that be miraculous? Goe, humble thyselfe to Cynthia, tell her the successe of which myselfe shall be a witnesse. And this assure thyselfe, that shee that sent to find meanes for his safetie will now worke her cunning. Eum. How fortunate am I if Cynthia be she that may doe it. Ger. How fond art thou if thou do not beleeve it ? Eum. I will hasten thither that I may intreat on my knees for succour, and imbrace in mine armes. my friend. Ger. I will goe with thee, for unto Cynthia must I discover all my sorrowes, who also must worke in mee a contentment. Eum. May I now know the cause ? Ger. That shall be as we walke, and I doubt not but the strangenesse of my tale will take away the tedi- ousnesse of our journey. Eum. Let us goe. Ger. I follow. [Exeunt. 48 ENDIMION. [ACT iv. ACTUS QUAETUS. SC^ENA PEIMA. TELLTJS, COBSITES. Tellus. 'MAKVELL Corsites giveth me so much libertie : all the world knowing his charge to be so high, and his nature to be most strange; who hath so ill intreated ladies of great ho- nour, that he hath not suffered them to looke out of windowes, much lesse to walke abroad : it may be he is in love with me, for (Endimion, hard-hearted En- dimion, excepted) what is hee that is not enamoured of my beautie ? But what respectest thou the love of all the world? Endimion hates thee. Alas poore Endi- mion, my malice hath exceeded my love : and thy faith to Cynthia, quenched my affections. Quenched Tellus 1 nay kindled them afresh ; insomuch that I find scorch- ing flames for dead embers, and cruell encounters of warre in my thoughts, in steed of sweet parlees. Ah that I might once againe see Endimion : accursed girle, what hope hast thou to see Endimion : on whose head already are growne gray haires, and whose life must yeeld to nature, before Cynthia end her displeasure. Wicked Dipsas, and more devillish Tellus, the one for cunning too exquisite, the other for hate too intolerable. Thou wast commanded to weave the stories and poetries wherein were shewed both examples and punishments of tatling tongues, and thou hast only imbrodered the sweet face of Endimion, devices of love, melancholy sc. i.] ENDIMION. 49 imaginations, and what not, out of thy worke, that thou shouldest studie to picke out of thy minde. But here commeth Corsites, I must seeme yeelding and stout, full of mildncsse, yet tempered with a majestic : for if I be too flexible, I shall give him more hope then I meane ; if too fro ward, enjoy lesse libertie then I would ; love him I cannot, and therefore will practise that which is most contrary to our sex to dissemble. Enter CORSITES. Cor. Faire Tellm, I perceive you rise with the larke, and to your selfe sing with the nightingale. Tellus. My lord I have no playfellow but fancy, being barred of all company I must question with myselfe, and make my thoughts my friends. Cor. I would you would account my thoughts also your friends, for they be such as are only busied in wondering at your beautie and wisdome ; and some such as have esteemed your fortune too hard ; and divers of that kinde that offer to set you free, if you will i set them free. Tellus. There are no colours so contrarie as white and blacke, nor elements so disagreeing as fire and j water, nor any thing so opposite as mens thoughts and i their words. Cor. He that gave Cassandra the gift of prophecy- ing, with the curse that spake she never so true she should never be beleeved, hath I thinke poysoned the fortune of men, that uttering the extremities of their inward passions are always suspected of outward perjuries. 50 ENDIMION. [ACT iv. Tellus. Well Corsites I will flatter myselfe and be- leeve you. What would you doe to enjoy my love ? Cor. Set all the ladies of the castle free, and make you the pleasure of my life : more I cannot doe, lesse I will not, Tellus. These he great words, and fit for your call- ing : for captaines must promise things impossible. But will you doe one thing for all. Cor. Anything sweet Tellus, that am readie for all. Tellus. You know that on the lunarie banke sleepeth Cor. I know it. Tellus. If you will remoove him from that place by force, and convey him into some obscure cave by policie : I give you here the faith of an unspotted virgin, that you onely shall possesse me as a lover, and in spight of malice, have me for a wife. Cor. Kemove him Tellus? Yes Tellus, hee shall be removed, and that so soone, as thou shalt as much com- mend my diligence as my force. I goe. Tellus. Stay, will yourselfe attempt it ? Cor. I Tellus : as I would have none partaker of my sweet love, so shall none be partners of my labours : but I pray thee goe at your best leisure, for Cynthia beginneth to rise, and if shee discover our love we both perish, for nothing pleaseth her but the fairenesse of virginitie. All things must be not onely without lust, but without suspicion of lightnesse. Tellus. I will depart, and goe you to Endimion. Cor. I flie Tellus, being of all men the most fortu- nate. [Exit. sc. r.] ENDIMION. 51 Tellus. Simple Corsites, I have set thee about a taske being but a man, the gods themselves cannot performe : for little doest thou know how heavy his head lies, how hard his fortune : but such shifts must women have to deceive men, and under colour of things easie, intreat that which is impossible : otherwise we should be cum- bred with importunities, oathes, sighes, letters, and all implements of love, which to one resolved to the con- trary, are most lothsome. I will in, and laugh with the other ladies at Corsites sweating. [Exit. ACTUS QUAETUS. SC^NA SECUNDA. SAMIAS, DARES and EPITON. Sam. Will thy master never awake ? Dar. JN"o, I thinke hee sleepes for a wager : but how shall we spend the time ? Sir Tophas is so farre in love that hee pineth in his bed, and commeth not abroad ? Sam. But here commeth Epi, in a pelting chafe. Epi. A poxe of all false proverbs, and were a pro- verbe a page, I would have him by the eares. Sam. Why art thou angry ? Epi. Why ? you know it is said, the tyde tarrieth no man. Sam. True. Epi. A monstrous lie ; for I was tide two houres, and tarried for one to unlose mee. Dar. Alas poore Epi. Epi. Poore ? No, no, you base conceited slaves, I am 52 ENDIMION. [ACT iv. a most compleate gentleman, although I be in disgrace with Sir Tophas. Dar. Art thou out with him. Epi. I, because I cannot get him a lodging with Endimion, he would faine take a nap for fortie or fiftie yeeres. Dar. A short sleepe, considering our long life. Sam. Is he still in love ? Epi. In love ? why he doth nothing but make sonets. Sam. Canst thou remember any one of his poems ? Epi. I, this is one. The beggar Love that knowes not where to lodge : At last within my heart when I slept, He crept, I wakt, and so my fancies began to fodge. Sam. That's a very long verse. Epi. Why the other was short, the first is called from the thumbe to the little finger, the second from the little finger to the elbow, and some hee made to reach to the crowne of his head, and downe againe to the sole of his foot : it is set to the tune of the blacke Saunce, ratio est, because Dipsas is a blacke saint. Dar. Very wisely, but pray thee Epi how art thou compleate, and being from thy master what occupation wilt thou take ? Epi. No my harts, I am an absolute Microcosmus, a pettie world of my selfe, my library is my head, for I have no other bookes but my braines : my wardrope on my backe, for I have no more apparell then is on my bodie; my armorie at my finger ends, for I use no other artillarie then my nailes ; my treasure in my purse. Sic omnia mea mecum porto. sc. ii.] ENDIMION. 53 Dar. Good! Epi. Now sirs, my palace is paved with grasse, and tiled with stars : for ccelo tegitur qui non habet urnam, he that hath no house, must lie in the yard. Sam. A brave resolution. But how wilt thou spend thy time ? Epi. Not in any melancholy sort, for mine exercise I will walke horses, Dares. Dar. Too bad. Epi. Why is it not said : It is good walking when one hath his horse in his hand ? Sam. Worse, and worse, but how wilt thou live ? Epi. By angling ; O tis a stately occupation to stand foure houres in a colde morning, and to have his nose bitten with frost before his baite be mumbled with a fish. Dar. A rare attempt, but wilt thou never travell ? Epi. Yes in a westerne barge, when with a good winde and lustie pugges one may goe ten miles in two dayes. Sam. Thou art excellent at thy choice, but what pastime wilt thou use, none? Epi. Yes the quickest of all. Sam. What! dice? Epi. No, when I am in haste, one and twentie games at chesse to passe a few minutes. Dar. A life for a little lord, and full of quicknesse. Epi. Tush, let mee alone ! but I must needs see if I can find where Endimion lieth ; and then goe to a cer- taine fountaine hard by, where they say faithfull lovers shall have all things they will aske. If I can find out 54 ENDIMION. [ACT iv. any of these, ego el magister meus erimus in tuto, I and my master shal be friends. He is resolved to weepe some three or foure palefuls to avoide the rheume of loue that wambleth in his stomacke. Enter the Watch. Sam. Shall wee never see thy master Dares ? Dar. Yes, let us goe now, for to-morrow Cynthia will be there. Epi. I will goe with you. But how shall we see for the Watch? Sam. Tush, let me alone ! I'le begin to them. Mas- ters God speed you. 1 Watch. Sir boy, we are all sped alreadie. Epi. So me thinkes, for they smell all of drinke like a beggars beard. Dar. But I pray sirs, may wee see Endimion ? 2 Watch. No, wee are commanded in Cynthias name that no man shall see him. Sam. No man ? Why wee are but boyes. 1 Watch. Masse neighbours he sayes true, for if I sweare I will never drinke my liquor by the quart, and yet call for two pints, I thinke with a safe conscience I may carouse both. Dar. Pithily, and to the purpose. 2 Watch. Tush, tush, neighbours, take me with you. Sam. This will grow hote. Dar. Let them alone. 2 Watch. If I say to my wife, wife I will have no raisons in my pudding, shee puts in corance, small rai- sons are raisons, and boyes are men. Even as my wife sc. H.] ENDIMION. 55 should have put no raisons in my pudding, so shall there no boyes see Endimion. Dar. Learnedly. Epi. Let Master Constable speake : I thinke he is the wisest among you. Master Constable. You know neighbours 'tis an old said saw, Children and fooles speake true. All say. True. Mast. Const. Well, there you see the men be the fooles, because it is provided from the children. Dar. Good. Mast. Const. Then say I neighbours, that children must not see Endimion, because children and fooles speake true. Epi. O wicked application ! Sam. Scurvily brought about ! 1 Watch. Nay hee sayes true, and therefore till Cynthia have beene here he shah 1 not be uncovered. Therefore away ! Dar. A watch quoth you ? a man may watch seven yeeres for a wise word, and yet goe without it. Their wits are all as rustic as their bils. But come on Master Constable shall wee have a song before we goe ? Const. With all my heart. [Exeunt. THE SECOND SONO. Watch. Stand : Who goes there ? We charge you appeare Fore our Constable here. (In the name of the Man in the Moone) To us Bilmen relate, Why you stagger so late, And how you come drunke so soone. 56 ENDIMION. [ACT iv. Pages. What are yee (scabs ?) Watch. The Watch : This the Constable. Pages. A patch. Const. Knock'em downe unlesse they all stand. If any run away, Tis the old watchmans play, To reach him a bill of his hand. Pages. O gentlemen hold, Your gownes freeze with cold, And your rotten teeth dance in your head ; Epi. Wine, nothing shall cost yee. Sam. Nor huge fires to roast yee. Dares. Then soberly let us be led. Const. Come my browne bils wee'l roare, Bownce loud at taverne dore, Omnes. And i'th' morning steale all to bed. ACTUS QUAKTUS. SC^NA TEKTIA. COESITES SOluS. Corsites. I am come in sight of the Lunaric banke ; without doubt Tellus doteth upon me, and cunningly that I might not perceive her love, she hath set me to a taske that is done before it is begun. Endimion, you must change your pillow, and if you be not wearie of sleepe I will carrie you where at ease you shall sleepe your fill. It were good that without more ceremonies I tooke him, least being espied I be intrapt, and so in- curre the displeasure of Cynthia, who commonly setteth watch that Endimion have no wrong. [He tries to lift Endimion.] What now, is your mastership so heavie ? or are you nail'd to the ground ? Not stirre one whit ? then use all thy force though he feele it and wake. sc. HI.] ENDIMION. 57 "What stone still ? turn'd I thinke to earth, with lying so long on the earth. Didst thou not Corsites before Cynthia pull up a tree, that fortie yeeres was fastned with roots and wreathed in knots to the ground ? Didst not thou with maine force pull open the iron gates, which no ramme or engine could move? Have my weake thoughts made braun-fallen my strong annes? or is it the nature of love or the quintessence of the minde to breede numnesse, or lythernesse, or I know not what languishing in my joynts and sinewes, being but the base strings of my bodie ? Or doth the remem- brance of Tellus so refine my spirits into a matter so subtill and divine, that the other fleshie parts cannot worke whilst they muse ? Eest thyselfe, rest thyselfe ; nay, rent thyselfe in pieces Corsites, and strive in spight of love, fortune, and nature, to lift up this dulled bodie, heavier then dead, and more sencelesse then death. Enter Fairies. But what are these so faire fiends that cause my haires to stand upright, and spirits to fall downe ? Hags, out alas, Nymphs I crave pardon. Aye me, but what doe I heere. \_The Fairies daunce, and with a Song pinch him, and hee falleth asleepe, they kisse En- dimion, and depart. THE THIRD SONG BY Fairies. Omnes. Pinch him, pinch him, blacke and blue, Sawcie mortalls must not view What the Queene of Stars is doing, Nor pry into our fairy woing. 58 ENDIMION. [ACT iv. 1 Fain/. Pinch him blue. 2 Fairy. And pinch him blacke. 3 Fairy. Let him not lacke Sharpe nailes to pinch him blue and red, Till sleepe has rock'd his addle head. 4 Fairy. For the trespasse hee hath done, Spots ore all his flesh shall runne. Kisse Endimion, kisse his eyes, Then to our midnight heidegyes. [Exeunt. CYNTHIA, FLOSCULA, SEMELE, PANELION, ZONTE, PYTHAGORAS, GYPTES, CORSITES. Cynth. You see Pythagoras what ridiculous opinions you hold, and I doubt not but you are now of another minde. Pyfhag. Madame, I plainly perceive that the per- fection of your brightnesse hath pierced through the thicknesse that covered my mind ; in so much that I am no lesse glad to be reformed, then ashamed to remember my grossenesse. Oyptes. They are thrice fortunate that live in your palace, where truth is not in colours, but life ; vertues not in imagination, but execution. Cynth. I have alwayes studied to have rather living vertues then painted Gods ; the bodie of truth, then the tombe. But let us walke to Endimion, it may be it lieth in your arts to deliver him ; as for Eumenides, I feare he is dead. Pythag. I have alledged all the naturall reasons I can for such a long sleepe. Gyptes. I can doe nothing till I see him. Cynth. Come Floscula, I am sure you are glad that you shall behold Endimion. sc. m.] ENDIMION. 59 Flosc, I were blessed if I might have him recovered. Cynth. Are you in love with his person ? Flosc. No, but with his vertue. Cynth. What say you Semele ? Sem. Madame, I dare say nothing for feare I offend. Cynth. Belike you cannot speake except you be spightfull. But as good be silent as saucie. Panelion, what punishment were fit for Semele, in whose speech and thoughts is onely contempt and sowernesse ? Panel. I love not madame to give any judgment. Yet sith your highnesse commandeth, I thinke, to com- mit her tongue close prisoner to her mouth. Cynth. Agreed ; Semele, if thou speake this twelve moneth thou shalt forfet thy tongue. Behold Endi- mion, alas poore gentleman, hast thou spent thy youth in sleepe that once vowed all to my service. Hollow eyes ? gray haires ? wrinckled cheekes ? and decayed limbes ? Is it destinie, or deceit that hath brought this to passe ? If the first, who could prevent thy wretched starres ? If the latter, I would I might know thy cruell enemy. I favoured thee Endimion for thy honour, thy vertues, thy affections : but to bring thy thoughts within the compasse of thy fortunes I have seemed strange, that I might have thee stayed, and now are thy dayes ended before my favour begin. But whom have we here, is it not Corsites ? Zon. It is, but more like a leopard then a man. Cynth. Awake him. How now Corsites, what make you here ? How came you deformed ? Looke on thy hands, and then thou seest the picture of thy face. Cors. Miserable wretch, and accursed. How am I 60 ENDIMION. [ACT iv. deluded ? Madame, I aske pardon for my offence, and you see my fortune deserveth pitie. Cynih. Speake on, thy offence cannot deserve greater punishment : but see thou rehearse the truth, else shalt thou not find me as thou wishest me. Cors. Madame, as it is no offence to be in love being a man mortall, so I hope can it be no shame to tell with whom, my ladie being heavenly. Your majestic com- mitted to my charge the faire Tellus, whose beautie in the same moment tooke my heart captive that I under- tooke to carrie her bodie prisoner. Since that time have I found such combats in my thoughts betweene love and dutie, reverence and affection, that I could neither endiire the conflict, nor hope for the conquest. Cynth. In love? A thing farre unfitting the name of a captaine, and (as I thought) the tough and un- smoothed nature of Corsites. But forth. Cors. Feeling this continuall warre, I thought rather by parley to yeeld, then by certaine danger to perish. I unfolded to Tellus the depth of my affections, and framed my tongue to utter a sweet tale of love, that was wont to sound nothing but threats of warre. She too faire to be true, and too false for one so faire, after a nice deniall, practised a notable deceit ; commanding mee to remove Endimion from this caban, and carrie him to some darke cave ; which I seeking to accomplish, found impossible ; and so by fairies or fiends have beene thus handled. Cynth. How say you my lords, is not Tellus alwayes practising of some deceits ? In sooth Corsites, thy face is now too foule for a lover, and thine heart too fond sc. m.] ENDIMION. 61 for a souldier. You may see when warriors become wantons how their manners alter with their faces. Is it not a shame Corsites, that having lived so long in Mars his campe thou shouldst now be rockt in Venus cradle. Doest thou weare Cupids quiver at thy girdle, and make launces of lookes ? Well Corsites, rouse thy selfe, and be as thou hast beene, and let Tellus who is made all of love, melt her selfe in her owne loose- nesse. Cors. Madame, I doubt not but to recover my former state ; for Tellus beautie never wrought such love in my mind, as now her deceit hath despight ; and yet to be revenged of a woman, were a thing then love it selfe more womanish. Gyptes. These spots gentlemen are to be worne out, if you rub them over with this lunarie ; so that in place where you received this maime, you shall find a medi- cine. Cors. I thanke you for that. The gods blesse mee from love, and these pretie ladies that haunt this greene. Flosc. Corsites, I would Tellus saw your amiable face. Zont. How spightfully Semelt laugheth, that dare not speake. Cynthia. Could you not stirre Endimion with that doubled strength of yours ? Cors. Not so much as his finger with all my force. Cynih. Pyihayoras and Gyptes, what thinke you of Endimion 1 what reason is to be given, what remedie ? Pyth. Madam, it is impossible to yeild reason for things that happen not in compasse of nature. It is 62 ENDIMION. [ACT iv. most certaine, that some strange enchantment hath bound all his sences. Cynth. "What saj you G-yptes. Gyptes. With Pythagoras, that it is enchantment, and that so strange that no art can undoe it, for that heavinesse argueth a malice unremoveahle in the en- chantresse, and that no power can end it, till she die that did it, or the heavens shew some means more miraculous. Flosc. O Endimion, could spight it selfe devise a mischiefe so monstrous as to make thee dead with life, and living being altogether dead ? Where others num- ber their yeares, their houres, their minutes, and step to age by staires, thou onely hast thy yeares and times in a cluster, being olde before thou remembrest thou wast young. Cynih. No more Floscula, pittie doth him no good, I would any thing else might, and I vow by the unspotted honour of a ladie he should not misse it : but is this all Gyptes, that is to be done ? Gyptes. All as yet. It may be that either the en- chantresse shall die, or else be discovered; if either happen I will then practise the utmost of my art. In the meane season, about this grove would I have a watch, and the first living thing that toucheth Endimion to be taken. Cynth. Corsites what say you, will you undertake this? Cors. Good madame pardon mee ! I was overtaken too late, I should rather breake into the midst of a maine battaile, then againe fall into the hands of those faire babies. so. m.] ENDIMION. 63 Cynih. Well, I will provide others. Pythagoras and G-yptes, you shall yet remayne in my court, till I heare what may be done in this matter. Pyth. We attend. Cynth. Let us goe in. - [Exeunt. ACTUS QUINTUS. SC^ENA PEIMA. SAMIAS, DABES. Samia*. ^UMENIDES hath told such strange tales as I may well wonder at them, but never beleeve them. Dar. The other old man what a sad speech used he, that caused us almost all to weepe. Cynthia is so desirous to know the experiment of her owne vertue, and so willing to ease Endimions hard fortune, that shee no sooner heard the discourse, but shee made her selfe in a readinesse to try the event. Sam. We will also see the event; but whist! here commeth Cynthia with all her traine: let us sneake in amongst them. Enter CYNTHIA, FLOSCULA, SEMELE, PANELION, Sons to Sylvius. TRICO, J GBANICUS, Servant to Plato. MANES, Servant to Diogenes. PSYLLUS, Servant to Apelles. Page to Alexander. Citizens of Athens. LAIS, a Courtezan. SCENE Athens. THE PKOLOGUE AT THE BLACKE FEIEKS. r I THEY that feare the stinging of waspes make JL fannes of peacocks tailes, whose spots are like eyes: And Lepidus, which could not sleepe for the chattering of birds, set up a beast, whose head was like a dragon : and wee which stand in awe of report, are compelled to set before our owle, Pallas shield, thinking by her vertue to cover the others deformity. It was a signe of famine to JZgypt, when Nylus flowed lesse than twelve cubites, or more than eighteene : and it may threaten despaire unto us, if we be lesse courteous than you looke for, or more cumbersome. But as The- seus being promised to be brought to an eagles nest, and travailing all the day, found but a wren in a hedge, yet said, this is a bird : so we hope, if the shower of our swelling mountaine seeme to bring forth some ele- phant, performe but a mouse, you will gently say, this is a beast ! Basill softly touched, yieldeth a sweete sent, but chafed in the hand, a ranke savour: we feare, even so, that our labours slily glanced on, will breed some content, but examined to the proofe, small commendation. The haste in performing shall be our excuse. There went two nights to the begetting of Hercules. Feathers appeare not on the Phoenix under 90 PROLOGUE. seven moneths, and the mulberie is twelve in budding : but our travailes are like the hare's, who at one tune bringeth forth, nourisheth, and engendreth againe ; or like the brood of Trochilus, whose egges in the same moment that they are laid, become birds. But howso- ever we finish our worke, we crave pardon if we offend in matter, and patience if wee transgresse in manners. Wee have mixed mirth with councell, and discipline with delight, thinking it not amisse in the same garden to sow pot-hearbes, that wee set flowers. But wee hope, as harts that cast their homes, snakes their skins, eagles their bils, become more fresh for any other labour : so our charge being shaken off, we shall be fit for greater matters. But least like the Myndians, wee make our gates greater than our towne, and that our play runs out at the preface, we here conclude : wishing that although there be in your precise judgements an universal! mislike, yet we may enjoy by your wonted courtesies a generall silence. THE PKOLOGUE AT THE COUET. WE are ashamed that our bird, which fluttereth by twilight seeming a swan, should bee proved a bat set against the sun. But as Jupiter placed Si- lenus asse among the starres, and Alcibiades covered his pictures being owles and apes, with a curtaine imbroi- dered with lions and eagles ; so are we enforced upon a rough discourse, to draw on a smooth excuse ; resem- bling lapidaries, who tliinke to hide the cracke in a stone by setting it deepe in gold. The gods supped once with poore Baucis, the Persian kings sometimes shaved stickes : our hope is your Highnesse wil at this time lend an eare to an idle pastime. Appion raising Homer from hell, demanded only who was his father, and we calling Alexander from his grave, seeke only who was his love. Whatsoever wee present, we wish it may be thought the dancing of Agrippa his shadowes, who in the moment they were seene, were of any shape one would conceive : or Lynces, who having a quicke sight to discerne, have a short memory to forget. With us it is like to fare, as with these torches which giving light to others, consume themselves : and we shewing delight to others shame ourselves. CAMPASPE. ACTUS PRIMUS. SCLENA PEIMA. CLYTUS, PARMENIO, TIMOCLEA, CAMPASPE, ALEXANDEK, HEPHESTION. Clytus. \ ARMENIO, I cannot tell whether I should more commend in Alexanders victories, courage, or courtesie ; in the one being a resolution without feare, in the other a liberalitie above custome : Thebes is razed, the people not racked, towers throwne downe, bodies not thrust aside, a conquest without conflict, and a cruell warre in a milde peace. Par. Clytus, it becommeth the sonne of Philip, to bee none other than Alexander is : therefore seeing in the father a full perfection, who could have doubted in the sonne an excellency? For as the moone can borrow nothing else of the sunne but light, so of a sire, in whom nothing but vertue was, what could the child receive but singular? It is for turkies to staine each other, not for diamonds ; in the one to bee made a dif- ference in goodnesse, in the other no comparison. 94 CAMPASPE. [ACT i. Clytus. You mistake mee Parmenio, if whilest I commend Alexander, you imagine I call Philip into question ; unlesse happily you conjecture (which none of judgement will conceive) that because I like the fruit, therefore I heave at the tree ; or coveting to kisse the childe, I therefore goe about to poyson the teat. Par. I, but Clytus, I perceive you are borne in the east, and never laugh but at the sunne rising ; which argueth though a dutie where you ought, yet no great devotion where you might. Clytus. We will make no controversie of that which there ought to be no question ; onely this shall be the opinion of us both, that none was worthy to be the father of Alexander but Philip, nor any meete to be the sonne of Philip but Alexander. Par. Soft Ctytus, behold the spoiles and prisoners ! a pleasant sight to us, because profit is joyned with honour ; not much painfull to them, because their capti- vitie is eased by mercie. Timo. Fortune, thou didst never yet deceive vertue, because vertue never yet did trust fortune. Sword and fire will never get spoyle, where wisdome and fortitude beares sway. O Thebes, thy wals were raised by the tf sweetnesse of the harpe, but rased by the shrilnes of the trumpet. Alexander had never come so neer the wals, had Epaminondas walkt about the wals : and yet might the Thebanes have beene merry in their streets, if bee had beene to watch their towers. But destinie is sel- dome foreseene, never prevented. We are here now captives, whose neckes are yoaked by force, but whose hearts cannot yeeld by death. Come Campaspe and sc. i.] CAMPASPE. 95 the rest, let us not be ashamed to cast our eyes on him, on whom we feared not to cast our darts. Par. Madame, you need not douht, it is Alexander, that is the Conquerour. Timo. Alexander hath overcome, not conquered. Par. To bring all under his subjection is to conquer. Timo. He cannot subdue that which is divine. Par. Thebes was not. Timo. Vertue is. Clytus. Alexander as hee tendreth vertue, so hee will you; hee drinketh not bloud, but thirsteth after honour, hee is greedie of victorie, but never satisfied with mercie. In fight terrible, as becommeth a captaine ; in conquest milde, as beseemeth a king. In all things, than which nothing can be greater, hee is Alexander. Camp. Then if it be such a thing to be Alexander, I hope it shall be no miserable thing to be a virgin. For if hee save our honours, it is more than to restore our goods. And rather doe I wish he preserve our fame than our lives ; which if he doe, we will confesse there can be no greater thing than to be Alexander. Alex. Clytus, are these prisoners ? of whence these spoiles ? Clytus. Like your Majestic, they are prisoners, and of Thebes. Alex. Of what calling or reputation ? Clytus. I know not, but they seeme to be ladies of honour. Alex. I will know : madam, of whence you are I know ; but who, I cannot tell. Timo. Alexander, I am the sister of Theagines, 96 CAMPASPE. [ACT i. who fought a battell with thy father, before the citie of Chyeronte, where he died, I say which none can gain- say, valiantly. Alex. Lady, there seeme in your words sparkes of your brothers deedes, but worser fortune in your life than his death : but feare not, for you shall live without violence, enemies, or necessitie : but what are you faire ladie, another sister to Theagines 1 Camp. Xo sister to Theagines, but an humble hand- maid to Alexander, born of a meane parentage, but to extreme fortune. Alex. Well ladies, for so your vertues shew you, whatsoever your births be, you shall be honorably en- treated. Athens shall be your Thebes, and you shall not be as abjects of warre, but as subjects to Alexander. Parmenio, conduct these honourable ladies into the citie, charge the souldiers not so much as in words to offer them any offence, and let all wants bee supplied so farre forth as shall be necessarie for such persons and my prisoners. [Exeunt Parmenio et captivi.^ Heplies- tion, it resteth now that wee have as great care to governe in peace, as conquer in warre : that whilest armes cease, arts may flourish, and joyning letters with launces wee endevour to bee as good philosophers as souldiers, knowing it no lesse prayse to bee wise, than commendable to be valiant. Hep. Your Majestic therein sheweth that you have as great desire to rule as to subdue : and needs must that commonwealth be fortunate, whose captaine is a philosopher, and whose philosopher a captaine. [Exeunt. sc. H.] CAMPASPE. 97 ACTUS PEIMUS. SC^ENA SECUKDA. , GBANICHTJS, PSYLLUS. Manes. I serve in stead of a master, a mouse, whose house is a tub, whose dinner is a crust, and whose bed is a boord. Psyllus. Then art thou in a state of life, which phi- losophers commend. A cruin for thy supper, an hand for thy cup, and thy clothes for thy sheets. For Na- turapaucis contenta. Gran. Manes, it is pitie so proper a man should be cast away upon a philosopher : but that Diogenes that dogge should have Manes that dog-bolt, it grieveth nature and spiteth art: the one having found thee so dissolute, absolute I would say, in bodie, the other so single, singular in minde. Manes. Are you merry ? it is a signe by the trip of your tongue, and the toyes of your head, that you have done that to day, which I have not done these three dayes. Psyllus. What's that? Manes. Dined. Gran. I think Diogenes keepes but cold cheare. Manes. I would it were so, but hee keepeth neither hot nor cold. Gran. 'What then, lukewarme ? That made Manes runne from his master the last day. Psyllus. Manes had reason : for his name foretold as much. Manes. My name ? how so, sir boy ? VOL. i. H 98 CAMPASPE. [ACT i. Psyllus. You know that it is called Mons a Movendo, because it stands stiU. Manes. Good. Psyllus. And thou art named Manes, a Manendo, because thou runnest away. Manes. Passing reasons ! I did not run away, but retire. Psyllus. To a prison, because thou wouldst have leisure to contemplate. Manes. I will prove that my bodie was immortall : because it was in prison. Gran. As how ? Manes. Did your masters never teach you that the soule is immortall ? Gran. Yes. Manes. And the bodie is the prison of the soule. Gran. True. Manes. Why then, thus to make my body immortall, I put it in prison. Gran. Oh bad ! Psyllus. Excellent ill ! Manes. You may see how dull a fasting wit is : therefore Psyllus let us goe to supper with GranicJius : Plato is the best fellow of all philosophers. Give me him that reades in the morning in the schoole, and at noone in the kitchen. Psyllus. And me. Gran. Ah sirs, my master is a king in his parlour for the body : and a god in his studie for the soule. Among all his men he commendeth one that is an excellent musition, then stand I by and clap another on the shoulder and say, this is a passing good cooke. sc. ii.] CAMPASPK 99 Manes. It is well done Granichus ; for give mee pleasure that goes in at the mouth, not the eare ; I had rather fill my guts, than my braines. Psyllus. I serve Apelles, who feedeth me, as Diogenes doth Manes; for at dinner the one preacheth absti- nence, the other commendeth counterfaiting : when I would eate meate, he paints a spit, and when I thirst, O saith he, is not this a faire pot ? and pointes to a table which containes the banquet of the gods, where are many dishes to feed the eye, but not to fill the gut. Gran. What doest thou then ? Psyllus. This doth hee then, bring in many exam- ples that some have lived by savours, and proveth that much easier it is to fat by colours, and telles of birdes that have been fatted by painted grapes in winter : and how many have so fed their eyes with their mistresse picture, that they never desired to take food, being glutted with the deh'ght in their favours. Then doth he shew me counterfeites, such as have surfeited with their filthy and lothsome vomites, and with the riotous bacchanalls of the god Bacchus, and his disorderly crew, which are painted all to the life in his shop. To conclude, I fare hardly, though I goe richly, which maketh me when I should begin to shadow a ladies face, to draw a lambs head, and sometime to set to the body of a maid, a shoulder of mutton : for semper ani- mus meus est in patinis. Manes. Thou art a god to mee : for could I see but a cookes shop painted, I would make mine eyes fatte as butter. For I have nought but sentences to fill my maw, as plures occidit crapula quam gladius : musa jejunantibus arnica : repletion killeth delicatly : and an 100 CAMPASPE. [ACT i. old saw of abstinence by Socrates: The belly is the heads grave. Tbus with sayings, not with meate, he maketh a gallimafray. Gran. But how doest thou then live ? Manes. With fine jests, sweet ayre, and the dogs almes. Gran. Well, for this time I will stanch thy gut, and among pots and platters thou shalt see what it is to serve Plato. Psyllus. For joy of it Granichus let's sing. Manes. My voice is as cleare in the evening as in the morning. Gran. Another commoditie of emptines. SONG. Gran. O for a bowle of fatt canary, Rich Palermo, sparkling sherry, Some nectar else, from Juno's daiery, O these draughts would make us merry. Psyllus. O for a wench, (I deale in faces, And in other dayntier things,) Tickled am I with her embraces, Fine dancing in such fairy ringes. Manes. O for a plump fat leg of mutton, Veale, lambe, capon, pigge, and conney, None is happy but a glutton, None an asse but who wants money. Chor. Wines (indeed,) and girles are good, But brave victuals feast the bloud, For wenches, wine, and lusty cheere, Jove would leape down to surfet heere. sc. m.] CAMPASPE. 101 ACTUS PEIMUS. SCJENA TERTTA. MELIPPUS, PLATO, ARISTOTLE, CRYSIPPUS, CBATES, CLEANTHES, ANAXARCHUS, ALEXANDER, HEPHES- TION, PARMENIO, CLYTUS, DIOGENES. Melip. I had never such adoe to warne schollers to come before a king : First, I came to Crisippus, a tall leane old mad man, willing him presently to appeare before Alexander ; hee stood staring on my face, nei- ther moving his eyes nor his body ; I urging him to give some answer, hee tooke up a booke, sate downe and saide nothing : Melissa his maide told mee it was his manner, and that oftentimes shee was fain to thrust meat into his mouth: for that he would rather sterve than cease studie : well thought I, seeing bookish men are so blockish, and great clearkes such simple cour- tiers, I will neither be partaker of their commons, nor their commendations. From thence I came to Plato and to Aristotle, and to divers other ; none refusing to come, saving an olde obscure fellow, who sitting in a tub turned towardes the sunne, read Greeke to a young boy ; him when I willed to appeare before Alexander, he answered, if Alexander would faine see mee, let him come to mee ; if learne of me, let him come to mee ; whatsoever it be, let him come to me : why, said I, he is a king ; he answered, why I am a philosopher ; why, but he is Alexander ; I, but I am Diogenes. I was halfe angry to see one so crooked in his shape, to bee so crabbed in his sayings. So going my way, I said, thou shalt repent it, if thou comest not to Alexander : 102 CAMPASPE. [ACT i. nay, smiling answered hee, Alexander may repent it if hee come not to Diogenes : vertue must bee sought, not offered : and so turning himselfe to his cell, hee grunted I know not what, like a pig under a tub. But I must bee gone, the philosophers are comming. [Exit. Plato, It is a difficult controversie, Aristotle, and rather to be wondered at than beleeved, how natural causes should worke supernaturall effects. Aris, I do not so much stand upon the apparition is scene in the moone ; neither the Demonium of Socrates ; as that I cannot by naturall reason give any reason of the ebbing and flowing of the sea ; which makes me in the depth of my studies to crie out, ens entmm mise- rere mei. Plato. Cleanthes, and you attribute so much to na- ture by searching for things which are not to be found, that whilest you studie a cause of your owne, you omitt the occasion it selfe. There is no man so savage in whom resteth not this divine particle, that there is an omnipotent, eternall, and divine mover, which may be called God. Cleant. I am of this minde, that that first mover, which you terme God, is the instrument of all the mov- ings which we attribute to nature. The earth which is masse, swimmeth on the sea, seasons divided in them- selves, fruits growing in themselves, the majestie of the skie, the whole firmament of the world, and what- soever else appeareth miraculous, what man almost of meane capacitie but can prove it natural ? Anax. These causes shall be debated at our philo- sophers feast, in which controversie I will take part with sc. HI.] CAMPASPE. 103 Aristotle, that there is Natura naturans, and yet not God. Cra. And I with Plato, that there is Deus optimus maximus, and not nature. Aris. Here commeth Alexander. Alex. I see Hephestlon, that these philosophers are here attending for us. Hep. They are not philosophers, if they know not their duties. Alex. But I much mervaile Diogenes should bee so dogged. Hep. I doe not thinke but his excuse will be better than Melippus message. Alex. I will goe see him HepTiestion, because I long to see him that would command Alexander to come, to whom all the world is like to come. Aristotle and the rest, sithence my comming from Thebes to Athens, from a place of conquest to a pallace of quiet, I have re- solved with my selfe in my court to have as many phi- losophers, as I had in my camp souldiers. My court shal be a schoole wherein I wil have used as great doc- trine in peace, as I did in warre discipline. Aris. We are all here ready to be commanded, and glad we are thatwe are commanded, for that nothing better be- commeth kings than literature, which maketh them come as neare to the gods in wisdome, as they doe in dignitie. Alex. It is so Aristotle, but yet there is among you, yea and of your bringing up, that sought to destroy Alexander; Calistenes, Aristotle, whose treasons against his prince shall not be borne out with the rea- sons of his philosophic. 104 CAMPASPE. [ACT i. Aris. If ever mischief entred into the heart of Ca- listenes, let Calistenes suffer for it ; but that Aristotle ever imagined any such thing of Calistenes, Aristotle doth denie. Alex. Well Aristotle, kindred may blinde thee, and affection me ; but in kings causes I will not stand to schollers arguments. This meeting shal be for a com- mandement, that you all frequent my court, instruct the young with rules, confirme the olde with reasons : let your lives bee answerable to your learnings, least my proceedings be contrary to my promises. Hep. You said you would aske every one of them a question, which yesternight none of us could answere. Alex. I will. Plato, of all beasts, which is the sub- tilest? Plato. That which man hitherto never knew. Alex. Aristotle, how should a man be thought a god ? Aris. In doing a thing unpossible for a man. Alex. Crisippus, which was first, the day or the night? Cris. The day, by a day. Alex. Indeede ! strange questions must have strange answers. CleantJies, what say you, is life or death the stronger ? Cle. Life, that suffereth so many troubles. Alex. Crates, how long should a man live ? Crates. Till hee thinke it better to die than to live. Alex. Anaxarchus, whether doth the sea or the earth bring forth most creatures ? Anax. The earth, for the sea is but a part of the earth. so. ra.] CAMPASPE. 105 Alex. HepJiestion, me thinkes they have answered all well, and in such questions I meane often to trie them. Hep. It is better to have in your court a wise man, than in your ground a golden mine. Therefore would I leave war, to study wisdom, were I Alexander. Alex. So would I, were I HepJiestion. But como let us goe and give release, as I promised to our TTieban thrall. [Exeunt. Plato. Thou art fortunate Aristotle, that Alexander is thy scholler. Aris. And all you happy that he is your soveraigne. Crisip. I could like the man well, if he could be contented to bee but a man. Aris. He seeketh to draw neere to the gods in know- ledge, not to be a god. Plato. Let us question a little with Diogenes, why he went not with us to Alexander. Diogenes, thou didst forget thy duety, that thou wentst not with us te the king. Diog. And you your profession that went to the king. Plato. Thou takest as great pride to be peevish, as others do glory to be vertuous. Diog. And thou as great honour being a philosopher to be thought court-like, as others shame that be cour- tiers, to be accounted philosophers. Aris. These austere manners set aside, it is well knowne that thou didst counterfeite money. Diog. And thou thy manners, in that thou didst not counterfeite money. . 106 CAMPASPE. [ACT i. Aris. Thou hast reason to contemne the court, being both in bodie and minde too crooked for a courtier. Diog. As good be crooked, and indevour to make my selfe straight, from the court; as bee straight, and learne to be crooked at the court. Cris. Thou thinkest it a grace to be opposite against Alexander. Diog. And thou to be jump with Alexander. Anax. Let us goe : for in contemning him, we shal better please him, than in wondering at him. Aris. Plato, what doest thou thinke of Diogenes 1 Plato. To be Socrates, furious. Let us go. [Exeunt philosophi. ACTUS SECIINDUS. SC^ENA PEIMA. DIOGENES, PSYLLUS, MANES, GEANICHUS. Psyllus. EHOLD Manes where thy master is ; seek- ing either for bones for his dinner, or pinnes for his sleeves. I will goe salute him. Manes. Doe so ; but mum, not a word that you saw Manes. Gran. Then stay thou behinde, and I will goe with Psyllus. Psyllus. All hayle, Diogenes, to your proper person. Diog. All hate to thy peevish conditions. Gran. O dogge ! Psyllus. What doest thou seeke for here ? Diog. For a man and a beast. sc. i.] CAMPASPE. 107 Gran. That is easie without thy light to bee found, be not all these men? Diog. Called men. Gran. What beast is it thou lookest for? Diog. The beast my man, Manes. Psyllus. Hee is a beast indeed that will serve thee ! Diog. So is he that begat thee. Gran. What wouldest thou do, if thou shouldst find Manes? Diog. Give him leave to doe as hee hath done before. Gran. What's that ? Diog. To run away. Psyllus. Why, hast thou no neede of Manes ? Diog. It were a shame for Diogenes to have neede of Manes, and for Manes to have no neede of Diogenes. Gran. But put the case he were gone, wouldst thou entertain e any of us two ? Diog. Upon condition. Psyllus. What? Diog. That you should tell me wherefore any of you both were good. Gran. Why, I am a scholler, and well scene in philosophy. Psyllus. And I a prentice, and well scene in painting. Diog. Well then Granichus, be thou a painter to amend thine ill face ; and thou Psyllus a philosopher to correct thine evill manners. But who is that Manes ? Manes. I care not who I were, so I were not Manes. Gran. You are taken tardie. Psyllus. Let us slip aside Granichus, to see the salutation betweene Manes and his master. 108 CAMPASPE. [ACT n. Diog, Manes, thou knowest the last day I threw away my dish, to drinke in my hand, because it was superfluous; now I am determined to put away my man, and serve my selfe : Quia non egeo tui vel te. Manes. Master, you know a while agoe I ran away, so doe I meane to doe againe, quid scio tibi non esse argentum. Diog. I know I have no money, neither will have ever a man : for I was resolved long sithence to put away both my slaves : money and Manes. Manes. So was I determined to shake of both my dogges, hunger and Diogenes. Psyllus. O sweet consent betweene a crowde and a Jewes harpe, G-ran. Come let us reconcile them. Psyllus. It shall not neede : for this is their use, now doe they dine one upon another. [Exit Diogenes. Gran. How now Manes, art thou gone from thy master? Manes. No, I did but now binde my selfe to him. Psyllus. Why you were at mortall jarres. Manes. In faith no, we brake a bitter jest one upon another. Gran. Why thou art as dogged as he. Psyllus. My father knew them both little whelps. Manes. Well, I will hie me after my master. Gran. Why, is it supper time with Diogenes ? Manes. I, with him at all time when he hath meate. Psyllus. Why then every man to his home, and let us steale out againe anone. Gran. Where shall we meet? so. i.] CAMPASPE. 109 Psyllus. Why at Ala vendibili suspensa hcedera non est opus. Manes. Psyllus, habeo te loco parentis, thou bless- est me. {Exeunt. ACTUS SECUNDUS. SC^ENA SECUNDA. AJLEXANDER, HEPHESTION, PAGE, DIOGENES, APELLES. Alex. Stand aside sir boy, till you be called. He- pJiestion, how doe you like the sweet face of Campaspe 1 Hep. I cannot but commende the stout courage of Timodea. Alex. Without doubt Campaspe had some great man to her father. Hep. You know Timodea had Theagines to her bro- ther. Alex. Timodea still in thy mouth ! art thou not in love? Hep. Not I. Alex. Not with Timodea you meane ; wherein you resemble the lapwing, who crieth most where her nest is not. And so you lead me from espying your love with Campaspe, you crie Timodea. Hep. Could I as well subdue kingdomes, as I can my thoughts ; or were I as farre from ambition, as I am from love ; ah 1 the world would account mee as valiant in armes, as I know my selfe moderate in affection. Alex. Is love a vice ? Hep. It is no vertue. Alex. Well, now shalt thou see what small difference 110 CAMPASPE. [ACT n. I make betweene Alexander and Hephestion. And sith thou hast been alwaies partaker of my triumphes, thou shalt bee partaker of my torments. I love Hephestion, I love ! I love Campaspe, a thing farre unfit for a Macedonian, for a king, for Alexander. Why hangest thou downe thy head Hephestion? Blushing to heare that which I am not ashamed to tell. Hep. Might my words crave pardon and my coun- sell credit, I would both discharge the duetie of a sub- ject, for so I am, and the office of a friend, for so I will. Alex. Speake Hephestion ; for whatsoever is spoken, Hephestion speaketh to Alexander. Hep. I cannot tell Alexander, whether the report be more shamefull to be heard, or the cause sorrowful to be beleeved? What! is the son of Philip, king of Macedon, become the subject of Campaspe, the captive of Thebes'? Is that minde, whose greatnes the world could not containe, drawn within the compasse of an idle alluring eie? Wil you handle the spindle with Hercules, when you should shake the speare with Achil- les? Is the warlike sound of drum and trump turned to the soft noise of lyre and lute? the neighing of barbed steeds, whose lowdnes filled the aire with terrour, and whose breathes dimmed the sun with smoake, con- verted to delicate tunes and amorous glances ? O Alex- ander, that soft and yeelding minde should not bee in him, whose hard and unconquered heart hath made so many yeeld. But you love, ah griefe ! but whom ? Campaspe 1 ah shame ! a maide forsooth unknowne, unnoble, and who can tell whether immodest? whose eyes are framed by art to enamour, and whose heart sc. ii.] CAMP ASP E. Ill was made by nature to enchant. I, but slice is beau- tiful; yea, but not therefore chaste: I, but she is comely in all parts of the bodie : but shee may bee crooked in some part of the minde : I, but shee is wise, yea, but she is a woman : Beautie is like the black- berry, which seemeth red, when it is not ripe, resem- bling precious stones that are polished with honie, which the smoother they looke, the sooner they breake. It is thought wonderfull among the sea-men, that Mugill of all fishes the swiftest, is found in the belly of the Bret of all the slowest : And shall it not seeme monstrous to wise men, that the heart of the greatest conquerour of the world, should be found in the hands of the weakest creature of nature ? of a woman ? of a captive ? Her- myns have faire skins, but foule livers ; sepulchres fresh colours, but rotten bones ; women faire faces, but false hearts. Remember Alexander thou hast a campe to governe, not a chamber ; fall not from the armour of Mars to the armes of Venus ; from the fierie assaults of warre, to the maidenly skirmishes of love ; from dis- playing the eagle in thine ensigne, to set downe the sparrow. I sigh Alexander that where fortune could not conquer, folly should overcome. But behold ah 1 the perfection that may be in Campaspe ; a haire curling by nature, not art ; sweete alluring eyes ; a faire face made in despite of Venus, and a stately port in disdaine of Juno ; a wit apt to conceive, and quicke to answere ; a skin as soft as silke, and as smooth as jet ; a long white hand, a fine little foot ; to conclude, all parts answerable to the best part ; what of this ? Though she have heavenly gifts, vertue and beautie ; is shee not of 112 CAMPASPE. [ACT n. earthly metall, flesh and bloud ? You Alexander that would be a god, shew your selfe in this worse than a man, so soone to be both overseene and over-taken in a woman, whose false teares know their true times, whose smooth words wound deeper than sharpe swords. There is no surfet so dangerous as that of honie, nor any poyson so deadly as that of love ; in the one phy- sicke cannot prevaile, nor in the other counsell. Alex. My case were light HepTiestion, and not worthy to be called love, if reason were a remedie, or sentences could salve, that sense cannot conceive. Little do you know, and therefore sleightly doe you regard, the dead embers in a private person, or live coales in a great prince, whose passions and thoughts doe as farre exceed others in extremitie as their callings doe in majestie. An eclipse in the sunne is more than the falling of a starre ; none can conceive the torments of a king, un- lesse he be a king, whose desires are not inferiour to their dignities. And then judge Hephestion if the ago- nies of love be dangerous in a subject, whether they be not more than deadly unto Alexander, whose deepe and not to bee conceived sighes, cleave the heart in shivers ; whose wounded thoughts can neither be expressed nor endured. Cease then Hepliestion with arguments to seeke to refell that, which with their deitie the gods cannot resist ; and let this suffice to answere thee, that it is a king that loveth, and Alexander; whose affections are not to be measured by reason, being immortall ; nor I feare me to be borne, being intolerable. Hep. I must needs yeeld, when neither reason nor counsell can bee heard. sc. n.] CAMPASPE. 113 Alex. Yeeld Hepheslion, for Alexander doth love, and therefore must ohtaine. Hep. Suppose shee loves not you ; affection commeth not by appointment or birth ; and then as good hated as enforced. Alex. I am a king, and will command. Hep. You may, to yeeld to lust by force; but to consent to love by feare, you cannot. Alex. Why, what is that which Alexander may not conquer as he list ? Hep. Why, that which you say the gods cannot re- sist, love. Alex. I am a conquerour, shee a captive ; I as for- tunate, as shee faire : my greatnesse may answere her wants, and the gifts of my minde, the modestie of hers : Is it not likely then that she should love? Is it not reasonable ? Hep. You say that in love there is no reason, and therefore there can be no likelyhood. Alex. No more Hephestion : in this case I will use mine own counsell, and in all other thine advice ; thou mayst be a good souldier, but never good lover. Call my page. Sirrha, goe presently to Apelles, and will him to come to me without either delay or excuse. Page. I goe. Alex. In the meane season to recreate my spirits, being so neere, wee will goe see Diogenes. And see where his tub is. Diogenes ! Diog. Whocalleth? Alex. Alexander : how happened it that you would not come out of your tub to my palace ? VOL. i. i 114 CAMPASPE. [ACT n. Diog. Because it was as farre from my tub to your palace, as from your palace to my tub. Alex. Why then doest thou owe no reverence to kings? Diog. No. Alex. Why so? Diog. Because they be no gods. Alex. They be gods of the earth. Diog. Yea, gods of earth. Alex. Plato is not of thy minde. Diog. I am glad of it. Alex. Why? Diog. Because I would have none of Diogenes minde, but Diogenes. Alex. If Alexander have any thing that may plea- sure Diogenes, let me know, and take it. Diog. Then take not from mee, that you cannot give mee, the light of the world. Alex. What doest thou want? Diog. Nothing that you have. Alex. I have the world at command. Diog. And I in contempt. Alex. Thou shalt live no longer than I will. Diog. But I shall die whether you will or no. Alex. How should one learne to bee content ? Diog. Unlearne to covet. Alex. Hephestion, were I not Alexander, I would wish to bee Diogenes. Hep. He is dogged, but discreet ; I cannot tell how sharpe, with a kind of sweetnes ; full of wit, yet too too wayward. sc. ii.] CAMPASPE. 115 Alex. Diogenes, when I come this way againe, I will both see thee, and confer with thee. Diog. Doe. Alex. But here commeth Apelles, how now Apelles, is Venus face yet finished ? Apel. Not yet: beautie is not so soone shadowed, whose perfection commeth not within the compasse either of cunning or of colour. Alex. Well, let it rest unperfect ; and come you with mee, where I will shew you that finished by nature, that you have beene trifling about by art. ACTUS TEKTIUS. SC^ISTA PEIMA. APELLES, CAMPASPE. Apelles. \ ADIE, I doubt whether there bee any co- lour so fresh, that may shadow a counte- nance so faire. Camp. Sir, I had thought you had bin commanded to paint with your hand, not to glose with your tongue ; but as I have heard, it is the hardest thing in painting to set downe a hard favour, which maketh you to des- paire of my face; and then shall you have as great thankes to spare your labour, as to discredit your art. Apel. Mistris, you neither differ from your selfe nor your sexe : for knowing your owne perfection, you seeme to disprayse that which men most commend, drawing them by that meane into an admiration, where feeding themselves they fall into an extasie ; your mo- 116 CAMPASPE. [ACT m. destie being the cause of the one, and of the other, your affections. Camp. I am too young to understand your speech, though old enough to withstand your devise : you have bin so long used to colours, you can doe nothing but colour. Apel. Indeed the colours I see, I feare will alter the colour I have :. but come madam, will you draw neere : for Alexander will be here anon. Psyllus, stay you here at the window, if any enquire for mee, answere, Non lubet esse domi. [Exeunt. ACTUS TEETIUS. SC^NA SECUNDA. PSYXLUS, MANES. Psyllus. It is alwayes my masters fashion, when any faire gentlewoman is to be drawne within, to make me to stay without. But if hee should paint Jupiter like a bull, like a swanne, like an eagle, then must Psyllus with one hand grind colours, and with the other hold the candle. But let him alone, the better hee shadowes her face, the more will he burne his owne heart. And now if any man could meet with Manes, who I dare say, lookes as leane, as if Diogenes dropped out of his nose Manes. And here comes Manes, who hath as much meate in his maw, as thou hast honestie in thy head. Psyllus. Then I hope thou art very hungry. Manes. They that know thee, know that. Psyllus. But doest thou not remember that wee have certaine liquor to conferre withall. sc. n.] CAMP AS PE. 117 Manes. I, but I have businesse ; I must goe cry a thing. Psyllus. Why, what hast thou lost ? Manes. That which I never had, my dinner ! Psyllus. Foule lubber, wilt thou crie for thy dinner ? Manes. I meane, I must crie ; not as one would say crie ; but crie, that is make a noyse. Psyllus. Why foole, that is all one ; for if thou crie, thou must needs make a noyse. Manes. Boy, thou art deceived ; Crie hath divers significations, and may be alluded to many things; Knave but to one, and can be applyed but to thee. Psyllus. Profound Manes ! Manes. Wee Cynickes are mad fellowes, didst thou not finde I did quip thee ? Psyllus. No verily ! why, what's a quip ? Manes. Wee great girders call it a short saying of a sharpe wit, with a bitter sense in a sweet word. Psyllus. How canst thou thus divine, divide, define, dispute, and all on the sodaine ? Manes. Wit will have his swing ; I am bewitcht, inspired, inflamed, infected. Psyllus. Well, then will I not tempt thy gybing spirit. Manes. Doe not Psyllus, for thy dull head will bee but a grindstone for my quicke wit, which if thou whet with overthwarts, perlisti, actum est de te. I have drawne bloud at one's braines with a bitter bob. Psyllus. Let me crosse my selfe: for I die, if I crosse thee. Manes. Let me doe my businesse, I my selfe am 118 CAMPASPE. [ACT. m. afraid, lest my wit should waxe warme, and then must it needs consume some hard head with fine and prettie jests. I am sometimes in such a vaine, that for want of some dull pate to worke on, I begin to gird my selfe. Psyllus. The gods shield me from such a fine fellow, whose words melt wits like waxe. Manes. Well then, let us to the matter. In faith my master meaneth to morrow to flie. Psyllus. It is a jest. Manes. Is it a jest to flie ? shouldest thou flie so soone, thou shouldest repent it in earnest. Psyllus. Well, I will be the cryer. Manes and Psyllus one after another. O ys, O ys, O ys, All manner of men, women, or children, that will come to morrow into the market place, betweene the houres of nine and ten, shall see Diogenes the Cynicke flie. Psyllus. I doe not thinke he will flie. Manes, Tush, say flie. Psyllus. Flie. Manes. Now let us goe: for I will not see him againe till midnight, I have a backe way into his tub. Psyllus. Which way callest thou the backe way, when every way is open ? Manes. I meane to come in at his backe. Psyllus. Well let us goe away, that we may returne speedily. [Exeunt. sc. m.J CAMPASPE. 119 ACTUS TEETIUS. SOENA TEETIA. APELLES, CAMPASPE. Apel. I shall never draw your eyes well, because they blinde mine. Camp. Why then paint mee without eyes, for I am blind. Apel. "Were you ever shadowed before of any ? Camp. No. And would you could so now shadow me, that I might not be perceived of any. Apel. It were pitie, but that so absolute a face should furnish Venus Temple amongst these pictures. Camp. What are these pictures ? Apel. This is Lceda, whom Jove deceived in likenesse of a Swan. Camp. A faire woman, but a foule deceit. Apel. This is Alcmena, unto whom Jupiter came in shape of Ampliitrion her husband, and begate Hercules. Camp. A famous sonne, but an infamous fact. Apel. Hee might doe it, because hee was a God. Camp. Nay, therefore it was evill done, because he was a God. Apel. This is Danae, into whose prison Jupiter drizled a golden showre, and obtained his desire. Camp. What gold can make one yeeld to desire? Apel. This is Europa, whom Jupiter ravished ; this Antiopa. Camp. Were all the Gods like this Jupiter ? Apel. There were many Gods, in this, like Jupiter. 120 CAMPASPE. [ACT ra. Camp. I thinke in those dayes love was well ratified among men on earth, when lust was so full authorised by the Gods in Heaven. Apel. Nay, you may imagine there were women pass- ing amiable, when there were Gods exceeding amorous. Camp. Were women never so faire, men would be false. Apel. Were women never so false, men would be fond. Camp. What counterfeit is this Apelks? Apel. This is Venus the Goddesse of love. Camp. What, bee there also loving Goddesses ? Apel. This is shee that hath power to command the very affections of the heart. Camp. How is she hired, by prayer, by sacrifice, or bribes? Apel. By prayer, sacrifice, and bribes. Camp. What prayer? Apel. Vowes irrevocable. Camp. What sacrifice ? Apel. Hearts ever sighing, never dissembling. Camp. What bribes? Apel. Hoses and kisses : but were you never in love ? Camp. No, nor love in me. Apel. Then have you injuried many ! Camp. How so ? Apel. Because you have been loved of many. Camp. Flattered perchance of some. Apel. It is not possible that a face so faire, and a wit so sharpe, both without comparison, should not be apt to love. so. m.] CAMPASPE. 121 Camp. If you begin to tip your tongue with cunning, I pray dip your pensill in colours ; and fall to that you must doe, not that you would doe. ACTUS TEETIUS. SC^ENA QUARTA. CLYTUS, PABMENIO, ALEXANDER, HEPHESTION, CBYSUS, DIOGENES, APELLES, CAMPASPE. Clytus. Parmenio I cannot tell how it commeth to passe, that in Alexander now a dayes there groweth an unpatient kind of life : in the morning he is melan- choly, at noone solemne ; at all times either more sowre or severe, than hee was accustomed. Par. In King's causes I rather love to doubt than conjecture, and thinke it better to bee ignorant than in- quisitive : they have long eares and stretched armes, in whose heads suspition is a proofe, and to be accused is to be condemned. Clytus. Yet betweene us there can bee no danger to find out the cause : for that there is no malice to with- stand it. It may be an unquenchable thirst of con- quering maketh him unquiet : it is not unlikely his long ease hath altered his humour: that he should be in love, it is impossible. Par. In love Clytus ? no, no, it is as farre from his thought, as treason in ours : he, whose ever waking eye, whose never tired heart, whose body patient of labour, whose mind unsatiable of victorie hath alwayes beene noted, cannot so soone be melted into the weake con- ceits of love. Aristotle told him there were many worlds, 122 CAMPASPE. [ACT m. and that he hath not conquered one that gapeth for all, galleth Alexander. But here he commeth. Alex. Parmenio and Clytus, I would have you both readie to goe into Persia about an ambassage no lesse profitable to me, than to your selves honourable. Clytus. "Wee are readie at all commands ; wishing nothing else, but continually to be commanded. Alex. Well then, withdraw yourselves, till I have further considered of this matter. [Exeunt Clytus and Parmenio.'] Now wee will see how Apelles goeth for- ward : I doubt mee that nature hath overcome art, and her countenance his cunning. Hep. You love, and therefore think any thing. Alex, But not so farre in love with Campaspe, as with Bucephalus, if occasion serve either of conflict or of conquest. Hep. Occasion cannot want, if will doe not. Be- hold all Persia swelling in the pride of their owne power ; the Scythians carelesse what courage or for- tune can do ; the Egyptians dreaming in the southsay- ings of their augures, and gaping over the smoake of their beasts intralls. All these Alexander are to be subdued, if that world be not slipped out of your head, which you have sworne to conquer with that hand. Alex. I confesse the labour's fit for Alexander, and yet recreation necessarie among so many assaults, bloudie wounds, intolerable troubles : give me leave a little, if not to sit, yet to breath. And doubt not but Alexander can, when hee will, throw affections as farre from him as he can cowardise. But behold Diogenes talking with one at his tub. sc. iv.] CAMPASPE. 123 Crysus. One penny Diogenes, I am a Cynicke. Diog. Hee made thee a begger, that first gave thee any thing. Crysus. "Why, if thou wilt give nothing, no bodie will give thee. Diog. I want nothing, till the springs drie, and the earth perish. Crysus. I gather for the Gods. Diog. And I care not for those Gods which want money. Crysus. Thou art not a right Cynick that wilt give nothing. Diog. Thou art not, that wilt begge any thing. Crysus. Alexander, King Alexander, give a poore Cynick a groat. Alex. It is not for a king to give a groat. Crysus. Then give me a talent. Alex. It is not for a begger to aske a talent. Away. Apelles! Apel. Here. Alex. Now gentlewoman ? doth not your beautie put the painter to his trumpe ? Camp. Yes my lord, seeing so disordered a coun- tenance, hee feareth hee shall shadow a deformed coun- terfeite. Alex. Would he could colour the life with the fea- ture. And mee thinketh Apelles, were you as cunning as report saith you are, you may paint flowres as well with sweet smels, as fresh colours, observing in your mixture such things as should draw neere to their savours. 124 CAMPASPE. [ACT in. Apel. Your majestie must know, it is no lesse hard to paint savours, than vertues; colours can neither speake, nor thinke. Alex. Where doe you first begin, when you draw any picture ? Apel. The proportion of the face in just compasse, as I can. Alex. I would begin with the eye, as a light to all the rest. Apel. If you will paint, as you are a king, your majestie may beginne where you please ; but as you would bee a painter, you must begin with the face. Alex. Aurelius would in one houre colour foure faces. Apel. I marvaile in halfe an houre hee did not foure. Alex. Why, is it so easie ? Apel. No, but he doth it so homely. Alex. WTien will you finish Campaspe ? Apel. Never finish : for alwayes in absolute beauty there is somewhat above art. Alex. Why should not I, by labour, be as cunning as Apelles? Apel. God shield you should have cause to be so cunning as Apelles I Alex. Me thiuketh foure colours are sufficient to shadow any countenance, and so it was in the time of Apel. Then had men fewer fancies, and women not so many favours. For now if the haire of her eye- browes be blacke, yet must the haire of her head be yellow : the attire of her head must bee different from the habit of her bodie, else would the picture seeme like sc. iv.] CAMPASPE. 125 the blazon of ancient armory, not like the sweet delight of new found amiablenesse. For as in garden knots diversitie of odours make a more sweete savour, or as in musique divers strings cause a more delicate consent : so in painting, the more colours, the better counterfeit ; observing black for a ground, and the rest for grace. Alex. Lend me thy pensill Apelles, I will paint, and thou shalt judge. Apel. Here. Alex. The coale breakes. Apel. You leane too hard. Alex. Now it blackes not. Apel. You leane too soft. Alex. This is awrie. Apel. Your eye goeth not with your hand. Alex. Now it is worse. Apel. Your hand goeth not with your minde. Alex. Nay, if all be too hard or soft, so many rules and regards, that one's hand, one's eye, one's minde must all draw together, I had rather bee setting of a battell, than blotting of a boord. But how have I done here ? Apel. Like a king. Alex. I thinke so : but nothing more unlike a painter. Well Apelles, Campaspe is finished as I wish, dismisse her, and bring presently her counterfeit after me. Apel. I will. Alex. Now HepJiestion, doth not this matter cotton as I would ? Campaspe looketh pleasantly, libertie will encrease her beautie, and my love shall advance her honour. Hep. I will not contrarie your majestie ; for time 126 CAMPASPE. [ACT n. must weare out that love hath wrought, and reason weane what appetite nursed. Alex. How stately shee passeth by, yet how soberly ! a sweete consent in her countenance with a chaste dis- daine ! desire mingled with coynesse ! and I cannot tell how to terme it, a curst yeelding modesty ! Hep. Let her passe. Alex. So shee shall for the fairest on the earth. [Exeunt. ACTUS TEETIUS. SC^NA QUINT A. PSYLLUS, MANES, APELLES. Psyllus. I shall be hanged for tarrying so long. Manes. I pray God my master be not flowne before I come. Psyllus. Away Manes ! my master doth come. Apel. Where have you beene all this while ? Psyllus. Nowhere but here. Apel. Who was here sithens my comming? Psyllus. Nobodie. Apel. Ungracious wag, I perceive you have beene a loytering ; was Alexander nobodie ? Psyllus. He was a king, I meant no mean bodie. Apel. I will cudgell your bodie for it, and then will I say it was no bodie, because it was no honest bodie. Away in. \Exit Psyllus.'} Unfortunate Apelles, and therefore unfortunate because Apelles ! Hast thou by drawing her beautie, brought to passe that thou canst scarce draw thine owne breath ? And by so much the more hast thou increased thy care, by how much the more thou hast sc. v.] CAMPASPE. 127 shewed thy cunning : was it not sufficient to hehold the fire, and warme thee, but with Satyrus thou must kisse the fire and burne thee ? O Campaspe, Campaspe, art must yeeld to nature, reason to appetite, wisdome to affection ! Could Piymalion entreate by prayer to have his ivory turned into flesh ? and cannot Apelles obtaine by plaints to have the picture of his love changed to life ? Is painting so farre inferiour to carving ? or dost thou Venus more delight to bee hewed with chizels, then shadowed with colours ? what Pigmalion or what Pyrgoteles, or what Lysippus is hee, that ever made thy face so faire, or spread thy fame so farre as I ? unlesse Venus, in this thou enviest mine art, that in colouring my sweet Campaspe, I have left no place by cunning to make thee so amiable. But alas ! shee is the para- mour to a prince, Alexander the monarch of the earth hath both her body and affection. For what is it that kings cannot obtaine by prayers, threats and promises ? Will not shee thinke it better to sit under a cloth of estate like a queene, than in a poore shop like a huswife ? and esteeme it sweeter to be the concubine of the lord of the world, than spouse to a painter in Athens ? Yes, yes, Apelles, thou maist swimme against the streams with the crab, and feede against the winde with the deere, and peck against the steele with the cockatrice : starres are to be looked at, not reached at : princes to be yeelded unto, not contended with : Campaspe to be honoured, not obtained : to be painted, not possessed of thee. O faire face ! O unhappy hand ! and why didst thou drawe it so faire a face ? beautifull countenance, the expres image of Venus, but somwhat fresher : the 128 CAMPASPE. [ACT m. only patterne of that eternitie which Jupiter dreaming asleepe, could not conceive againe waking. Blush Venus, for I am ashamed to ende thee. Now must I paint things impossible for mine art, but agreeable with my affections : deepe and hollow sighes, sad and melancholic thoughtes, woundes and slaughters of conceits, a life posting to death, a death galloping from life, a waver- ing constancie, an unsetled resolution, and what not, Apelles? And what but Apdlest But as they that are shaken with a feaver are to be warmed with cloathes, not groanes, and as he that melteth in a consumption is to be recured by colices, not conceits : so the feeding canker of my care, the never dying worme of my heart, is to be killed by counsell, not cries ; by applying of remedies, not by replying of reasons. And sith in cases desperate there must be used medicines that are ex- treame, I will hazard that little life that is left, to re- store the greater part that is lost ; and this shall be my first practise: for wit must worke where authoritie is not. As soone as Alexander hath viewed this portrai- ture, I will by devise give it a blemish, that by that nieanes she may come againe to my shop ; and then as good it were to utter my love, and die with deniall, as conceale it, and live in dispaire. SONG BY APELLES. Cupid and my Campaspe playd, At cardes for kisses, Cupid payd ; He stakes his quiver, bow, and arrows, His mother's doves, and teeme of sparows j Looses them too ; then, downe he throwes The corrall of his lippe, the rose sc. v.] CAMPASPE. 129 Growing on's cheek, (but none knows how) With these, the cristall of his brow, And then the dimple of his chinne ; All these did my Campaspe winne. At last, hee set her, both his eyes ; Shee won, and Cupid blind did rise. O love ! has shee done this to thee ? What shall (alas !) become of mee ? ACTUS QUAETUS. SOENA PEIMA. SOLINUS, PSYLLUS, GBANICHUS, MANES, DIOGENES, POPULUS. Solinus. EEIS is the place, the day, the time, that Diogenes hath appointed to flie. Psyllus. I will not loose the flight of so faire a foule as Diogenes is, though my master cudgell my no body, as he threatened. Gran. What Psyllus, will the beast wag his wings to day? Psyllus. Wee shall heare : for here commeth Manes : Manes will it be ? Manes. Be ! he were best be as cunning as a bee, or else shortly he will not bee at all. Gran. How is hee furnished to flie, hath he feathers ? Manes. Thou art an asse ! capons, geese, and owles have feathers. He hath found Dedalus old waxen wings, and hath beene peecing them this moneth, he is so broad in the shoulders. O you shall see him cut the ayre even like a tortoys. 130 CAMPASPE. [ACT iv. Sol. Me thinkes so wise a man should not bee so mad, his body must needs be too heavie. Manes. Why, hee hath eaten nothing this seven night but corke and feathers. Psyllus. Touch him Manes. Manes. Hee is so light that hee can scarce keepe him from flying at midnight. Populus intrat. Manes. See they begin to flocke, and behold my master bustels himselfe to flie. Diog. You wicked and bewitched Athenians, whose bodies make the earth to groane, and whose breathes infect the ayre with stench. Come ye to see Diogenes flie ? Diogenes commeth to see you sinke : yea call me dogge, so I am, for I long to gnaw the bons in your skins. Yee tearme mee an hater of men : no, I am a hater of your manners. Your lives dissolute, not fear- ing death, will prove your deaths desperat, not hoping for life. What do you else in Athens but sleepe in the day, and surfeit in the night : backe-gods in the morning with pride, in the evening belly-gods with gluttony ! You flatter kings, and call them gods, speak truth of your selves, and confesse you are divels ! From the bee you have taken not the honey, but the wax, to make your religion ; framing it to the time, not to the truth. Your filthy lust you colour under a courtly colour of love, injuries abroad under the title of policies at home, and secret malice creepeth under the name of publike justice. You have caused Alexander to drie up springs and plant vines, to sow rocket and weed sc. i.] CAMPASPE. 131 endiff, to sheare slieepe, and shrine foxes. All con- science is sealed at Athens. Swearing commeth of a hot mettle : lying of a quick wit : flattery of a flowing tongue: undecent talke of a merry disposition. All things are lawfull at Athens. Either you think there are no gods, or I must think ye are no men. You build as though you should live for ever, and surfeit as though you should die to morrowe. None teacheth true philosophic but Aristotle, because hee was the kings schoole-master ! O times ! O men ! O corruption in manners ! Remember that greene grasse must turne to drie hay. "When you sleepe, you are not sure to wake ; and when you rise, not certaine to lie downe. Looke you never so high, your heads must lie level with your feet. Thus have I flowne over your disordered lives, and if you will not amend your manners, I will studie to flic further from you, that I may bee neerer to honestie. Sol. Thou ravest Diogenes, for thy life is different from thy words. Did not I see thee come out of a brothell house ? was it not a shame ? Diog. It was no shame to goe out, but a shame to goe in. Gran. It were a good deede Manes, to beate thy master. Manes. You were as good eate my master. One of the people. Hast thou made us all fooles, and wilt thou not flie ? Diog. I tell thee, unlesse thou be honest, I will flie. People. Dog ! dog ! take a bone ! Diog. Thy father need feare no dogs, but dogs thy father. 132 CAMPASPE. [ACT. iv. People. We will tell Alexander, that thou reprovest him behinde his back. Diog. And I will tell him, that you flatter him be- fore his face. People. Wee will cause all the boyes in the streete to hisse at thee. Diog. Indeede I tliinke the Athenians have their children readie for any vice, because they bee Athe- nians. Manes. Why master, meane you not to flie? Diog. No, Manes, not without wings. Manes. Every body will account you a lyar. Diog. No, I warrant you ; for I will alwayes say the Athenians are mischevous. Psyllus. I care not, it was sport enough for mee to see these old huddles hit home. Gran. Nor I. Psyllus. Come, let us goe ! and hereafter when I meane to rayle upon any body openly, it shall bee given out, I will flie. [Exeunt. ACTUS QUAKTUS. SOENA SECUNDA. CAMPASPE, APELLES. Campaspe sola. Campaspe, it is hard to judge whe- ther thy choyce be more unwise, or thy chance unfor- tunate. Doest thou preferre but stay, utter not that in wordes, which maketh thine eares to glow with thoughts. Tush ! better thy tongue wagge, than thy heart breake ! Hath a painter crept further into thy minde than a prince ? Apelles, than Alexander ? Fond sc. n.] CAMPASPE. 133 wench ! the basenes of thy minde bcwraies the mean- nesse of thy birth. But alas ! affection is a fire, which kindleth as well in the bramble as in the oake; and catcheth hold where it first lighteth, not where it may best burne. Larkes that mount aloft in the ayre, build their neasts below in the earth ; and women that cast their eyes upon kings, may place their hearts upon vas- sals. A needle will become thy fingers better than a lute, and a distaffe is fitter for thy hand than a scepter. Antes live safely, till they have gotten wings, and ju- niper is not blowne up till it hath gotten an high top. The meane estate is without care as long as it con- tinueth without pride. But here commeth Apelles, in whom I would there were the like affection. Apel. Gentlewoman, the misfortune I had with your picture, will put you to some paines to sit againe to be painted. Camp. It is small paines for mee to sit still, but infinite for you to draw still. Apel. No niadame ! to painte Venus was a pleasure, but to shadow the sweete face of Campaspe it is a hea- ven ! Gamp. If your tongue were made of the same flesh that your heart is, your words would bee as your thoughts are : but such a common thing it is amongst you to commend, that oftentimes for fashion sake you call them beautifull, whom you know blacke. Apel. What might men doe to be beleeved ? Camp. Whet their tongue on their hearts. Apel. So they doe, and speake as they thinke. Camp. I would they did ! 134 CAMP AS PE. [ACT iv. Apel. I would they did not ! Camp. Why, would you have them dissemble ? Apel. Not in love, but their love. But will you give mee leave to aske you a question without offence ? Camp. So that you will answere mee another without excuse. Apel. Whom doe you love best in the world ? Camp. He that made me last in the world. Apel. That was a god. Camp. I had thought it had beene a man : But whom doe you honour most, Apelles 1 Apel. The thing that is likest you, Campaspe. Camp. My picture ? Apel. I dare not venture upon your person. But come, let us go in : for Alexander will thinke it long till we returne. [Exeunt. ACTUS QUAETUS. SC^NA TEKTIA. CLYTUS, PABMENIO. Clytus. We heare nothing of our embassage ; a colour belike to bleare our eyes, or tickle our eares, or inflame our hearts. But what doth Alexander in the meane season ; but use for tantara sol, fa, la for his hard couch, downe beds ; for his handfull of water, his standing cup of wine ? Par. Clytus, I mislike this new delieacie and pleas- ing peace : for what else do we see now than a kind of softnes in every mans minde ; bees to make their hives in souldiers helmets, our steeds furnished with foot- clothes of gold, insteede of sadles of steele : more time sc. in.] CAMPASPE. 135 to be required to scowre the rust of our weapons, than there was wont to be in subduing the countries of our enemies. Sithence Alexander fell from his hard ar- mour to his soft robes, behold the face of his court ; youths that were wont to carry devises of victory in their shields, engrave now posies of love in their ringes : they that were accustomed on trotting horses to charge the enemie with a launce, now in easie coches ride up and down to court ladies ; in steade of sword and target to hazard their lives, use pen and paper to paint their loves. Yea, such a feare and faintnesse is growne in court, that they wish rather to heare the blowing of a home to hunt, than the sound of a trumpet to fight. O Philip, wert thou alive to see this alteration, thy men turned to women, thy souldiers to lovers, gloves worne in velvet caps, in stead of plumes in graven helmets, thou wouldest either dye among them for sorrow, or counfound them for anger. Ctytus. Cease Parmenio, least in speaking what becommeth thee not, thou feele what liketh thee not : truth is never without a scracht face, whose tongue although it cannot be cut out, yet must it be tied up. Par. It grieveth me not a little for Hephestion, who thirsteth for honour not ease ; but such is his fortune and neernesse in friendship to Alexander, that bee must lay a pillow under his head, when hee would put a target in his hand. But let us draw in, to see how well it becomes them to tread the measures in a daunce, that were wont to set the order for a march. {Exeunt. 136 CAMP AS PE. [ACT iv. ACTUS QUAETUS. SC^NA QUAKTA. APELLES, CAMPASPE. Apel. I have now, Campaspe, almost made an ende. Camp. You told mee, Apelles, you would never end. Apel. Never end my love : for it shal be eternall. Camp. That is, neither to have beginning nor end- ing. Apel. You are disposed to mistake, I hope you do not mistrust. Camp. What will you say if Alexander perceive your love ? Apel. I will say it is no treason to love. Camp. But how if hee will not suffer thee to see my person ? Apel. Then will I gaze continually on thy picture. Camp. That will not feede thy heart. Apel. Yet shall it fill mine eye : besides the sweet thoughts, the sure hopes, thy protested faith, wil cause me to embrace thy shadow continually in mine armes, of the which by strong imagination I will make a sub- stance. Camp. Wei, I must be gone : but this assure your selfe, that I had rather be in thy shop grinding colours, than in Alexander's court, following higher fortunes. [Campaspe alone.'] Foolish wench, what hast thou done ? that, alas ! which cannot be undone, and there- fore I feare me undone. But content is such a life, I care not for aboundance. O Apelles, thy love commeth from the heart, but Alexander's from the mouth. The sc. iv.] CAMPASPE. 137 love of kings is like the blowing of winds, which whistle sometimes gently among the leaves, and straight waies turne the trees up by the rootes ; or fire which warmeth afarre off, and bnrneth neere hand ; or the sea, which maketh men hoise their sailes in a flattering calme, and to cut their mastes in a rough storme. They place affection by times, by policy, by appoyntment ; if they frowne, who dares call them unconstant ? if bewray secrets, who will tearme them untrue ? if fall to other loves, who trembles not, if hee call them unfaithfull ? In kings there can bee no love, but to queenes : for as neere must they meete in majestic, as they doe in affection. It is requisite to stand aloofe from kings love, Jove, and lightening. [Exit. ACTUS QUAKTUS. SOENA QUINTA. APELLES, PAGE. Apel. Now Apelles gather thy wits together : Cam- paspe is no lesse wise then faire, thy selfe must be no lesse cunning then faithful!. It is no small matter to be rivall with Alexander. Page. Apelles, you must come away quickly with the picture ; the king thinketh that now you have painted it, you play with it. Apel. If I would play with pictures, I have enough at home. Page. None perhaps you like so well. Apel. It may be I have painted none so well. Page. I have knowen many fairer faces. Apel. And I many better boyes. [Exeunt. 138 CAMPASPE. [ACT v. ACTUS QUINTUS. SC^N"A PEIMA. DIOGENES, SYLVIUS, PERIM, MILO, THICO, MANES. Sylvitis. HAVE brought my sons, Diogenes, to be taught of thee. Diog. What can thy sonnes do ? Syl. You shall see their qualities: Dance, sirha! [Then Perim danceihJ\ How like you this : doth he well? Diog. The better, the worser. Syl. The musicke very good. Diog. The musitions very bad ; who onely study to have their strings in tune, never framing their manners to order. Syl. Now shall you see the other: tumble, sirha! {Milo tumbleih.'} How like you this? why do you laugh? Diog. To see a wagge that was borne to breake his neck by destinie, to practise it by art. Milo. This dogge will bite me, I will not be with him. Diog. Feare not boy, dogges eate no thistles. Perim. I marvell what dogge thou art, if thou be a dogge. Diog. When I am hungry, a mastife ; and when my belly is full, a spannell. Syl. Dost thou beleeve that there are any gods, that thou art so dogged ? sc. i.] CAMPASPE. 139 Diog. I must needs beleeve there are gods: for I thiiike thee an enemie to them. Syl. Why so? Diog. Because thou hast taught one of thy sonnes to rule his legges, and not to follow learning; the other to bend his bodie every way, and his minde no way. Perim. Thou doest nothing but snarle, and barke like a dogge. Diog. It is the next way to drive away a theefe. Syl. Now shall you heare the third, who sings like a nightingale. Diog. I care not : for I have a nightingale to sing her selfe. Syl. Sing, sirha ! [Trico singeih.~\ SONG. What bird so sings, yet so does wayle ? O t'is the ravish'd nightingale. J u gj J U S J u o J u g> tereu, shee cryes, And still her woes at midnight rise. Brave prick song ! who is't now we heare ? None but the larke so shrill and cleare ; How at heavens gates she claps her wings, The morne not waking till shee sings. Heark, heark, with what a pretty throat Poore Robin red-breast tunes his note ; Heark how the jolly cuckoes sing Cuckoe, to welcome in the spring ; Cuckoe, to welcome in the spring. Syl. Loe Diogenes! I am sure thou canst not doe so much. Diog. But there is never a thrush but can. 140 CAMPASPE. [ACT v. Syl. What hast thou taught Manes thy man? Diog. To be as unlike as may be thy sons. Manes. He hath taught me to fast, lie hard, and run away. Syl. How sayest thou Perim, wilt thou bee with him ? Perim. I, so he will teach me first to runne away. Diog. Thou needest not be taught, thy legges are so nimble. Syl. How sayest thou Milo, wilt thou be with him ? Diog. Nay hold your peace, hee shall not. Syl. Why? Diog. There is not roome enough for him and me to tumble both in one tub. Syl. Well Diogenes, I perceive my sonnes brooke not thy manners. Diog. I thought no lesse, when they knew my ver- tues. Syl. Farewell Diogenes, thou neededst not have scraped rootes, if thou would'st have followed Alexander. Diog. Nor thou have followed Alexander, if thou hadst scraped rootes. [Exeunt. ACTUS QUINTUS. SC^ENA SECUNDA. Apel. \aloneJ] I feare mee Apelles, that thine eyes have blabbed that which thy tongue durst not. What little regard hadst thou, whilest Alexander viewed the counterfeit of Campaspe ! thou stoodest gazing on her countenance. If he espie or but suspect, thou must needs twice perish, with his hate, and thine owne love. Thy pale lookes, when he blushed ; thy sad countenance, sc. H.] CAMPASPE. 141 when he smiled ; thy sighes, when he questioned ; may breed in him a jelousie, perchance a frenzie. O love ! I never before knew what thou wert, and now hast thou made me that I know not what my selfe am ! onely this I know, that I must endure intolerable passions, for unknowne pleasures. Dispute not the cause, wretch, but yeeld to it : for better it is to melt with desire, than wrastle with love. Cast thy selfe on thy carefull bed, be content to live unknown, and die unfound. O Cam- paspe, I have painted thee in my heart : painted ? nay, contrary to mine arte, imprinted; and that in such deepe characters, that nothing can rase it out, unlesse it rubbe my heart out. [Exit. ACTUS QUINTUS. SC-/ENA TERTIA. MILECTUS, PHRYGIUS, LAIS, DIOGENES. Mil. It shall goe hard, but tliis peace shall bring us some pleasure. Phry. Downe with armes, and up with legges, this is a world for the nonce. Lais. Sweet youths, if you knew what it were to save your sweet blood, you would not so foolishly go about to spend it. What delight can there be in gash- ing, to make foule scarres in faire faces, and crooked inaimes in streight legges ? as though men being borne goodly by nature, would of purpose become deformed by folly ; and all forsooth for a new found tearme, called valiant, a word which breedeth more quarrels than the sense can commendation. Mil. It is true Lais, a feather-bed hath no fellow, 142 CAMPASPK [ACT v. good drinke makes good blood, and shall pelting words spill it? Phry. I meane to enjoy the world, and to draw out my life at the wire-drawers, not to curtail it off at the cutlers. Lais. You may talke of warre, speake higge, con- quer worlds with great words : but stay at home, where in steade of alarums you shall have dances; for hot battailes with fierce men, gentle skirmishes with faire women. These pewter coates can never sit so well as satten doublets. Beleeve me, you cannot conceive the pleasure of peace, unlesse you despise the rudenes of warre. Mil. It is so. But see Diogenes prying over his tub : Diogenes what sayest thou to such a morsell ? Diog. I say, I would spit it out of my mouth, because it should not poyson my stomacke. Phry. Thou speakest as thou art, it is noe meate for Diog. I am a dogge, and philosophy rates me from carrion. Lais. Uncivil wretch, whose manors are answerable to thy calling ; the time was thou wouldest have had my company, had it not beene, as thou saidst, too deare. Diog. I remember there was a thing that I repented mee of, and now thou hast tolde it ; indeed it was too deare of nothing, and thou deare to no bodie. Lais. Downe, villaine ! or I will have thy head broken. Mil. Will you couch? Phry. Avant, curre ! Come sweet Lais, let us goe to some place, and possesse peace. But first let us sing, sc. m.] CAMPASPE. 143 there is more pleasure in tuning of a voyce, than in a volly of shot. Mil. Now let us make hast, least Alexander fiiide us here. [Exeunt. ACTUS QUINTUS. SCJENA QUAETA. ALEXANDEB, HEPHESTION, PAGE, DIOGENES, APELLES, CAMPASPE. Alex. Me thinketh, Hephestion, you are more melan- choly than you were accustomed ; but I perceive it is all for Alexander. You can neither brooke this peace, nor my pleasure ; bee of good cheare, though I winke, I sleepe not. Hep. Melancholy I am not, nor well content : for I know not how, there is such a rust crept into my bones with this long ease, that I feare I shall not scowre it out with infinite labours. Alex. Yes, yes, if all the travailes of conquering the world will set either thy bodie or mine in tune, we will undertake them. But what thinke you of Apelles? Did yee ever see any so perplexed ? Hee neither an- swered directly to any question, nor looked stedfastly upon any tiling. I hold my life the painter is in love. Hep. It may be : for commonly we see it incident in artificers to be enamoured of their owne workes, as Ar- chidamus of his wooden dove, Pygmalion of his ivorie image, Arachne of his wooden swanne ; especially painters, who playing with their owne conceits, now coveting to draw a glancing eie, then a rolling, now a winking, still mending it, never ending it, till they be 144 CAMPASPE. [ACT v. caught with it ; and then poore soules they kisse the colours with their lips, with which before they were loth to taint their fingers. Alex. I will find it out. Page goe speedily for Apelles, will him to come hither, and when you see us earnestly in talke, sodainly crie out, Apelles shop is on Jire! Page. It shall he done. Alex. Forget not your lesson. Hep. I marvell what your devise shal be. Alex. The event shall prove. Hep. I pittie the poore painter if he be in love. Alex. Pitie him not, I pray thee ; that severe gra- vity set aside, what doe you thinke of love ? Hep. As the Macedonians doe of their hearbe beet, which looking yellow in the ground, and blacke in the hand, thinke it better scene than toucht. Alex. But what doe you imagine it to be ? Hep. A word by superstition thought a god, by use turned to an humour, by selfe-will made a flattering madnesse. Alex. You are too hard hearted to thinke so of love. Let us goe to Diogenes. Diogenes, thou may'st thinke it somewhat that Alexander commeth to thee againe so soone. Diog. If you come to learne, you could not come soone enough ; if to laugh, you be come too soone. Hep. It would better become thee to be more cour- teous, and frame thy self to please. Diog. And you better to bee lesse, if you durst dis- please. sc. iv.] CAMPASPE. 145 Alex. What doest thou thinke of the time we have here? Diog. That we have little, and lose much. Alex. If one be sicke what wouldst thou have him doe? Diog. Bee sure that hee make not his physician his heire. Alex. If thou mightest have thy will how much ground would content thee ? Diog. As much as you in the end must be contented withall. Alex. What, a world ? Diog. No, the length of my bodie. Alex. Hephestion, shall I bee a little pleasant with him? Hep. You may : but hee will be very perverse with you. Alex. It skils not, I cannot be angry with him. Diogenes, I pray thee what doest thou thinke of love ? Diog. A little worser than I can of hate. Alex. And why? Diog. Because it is better to hate the things which make to love, than to love the things which give occa- sion of hate. Alex. Why, bee not women the best creatures in the world? Diog. Next men and bees. Alex. What doest thou dislike chiefly in a woman ? Diog. One thing. Alex. What? Diog. That she is a woman. 146 CAMPASPE. [ACT v. Alex. In mine opinion thou wert never borne of a woman, that thou thinkest so hardly of women ; but now commeth Apelles, who I am sure is as farre from thy thoughts, as thou art from his cunning. Diogenes, I will have thy cabin removed neerer to my court, be- cause I will be a philosopher. Diog. And when you have done so, I pray you remove your court further from my cabin, because I will not be a courtier. Alex. But here commeth Apelles. Apelles, what peece of work have you now in hand ? Apel. None in hand, if it like your majestic : but I am devising a platforme in my head. Alex. I thinke your hand put it in your head. Is it nothing about Vemts? Apel. No, but some thing above Venus. Page. Apelles, Apelles, looke aboute you, your shop is on fire ! Apel. Aye mee ! if the picture of Campaspe be burnt, I am undone ! Alex. Stay Apelles, no haste ; it is your heart is on fire, not your shop; and if Campaspe hang there, I would shee were burnt. But have you the picture of Campaspe? Belike you love her well, that you care not though all be lost, so she be safe. Apel. Not love her : but your majestic knowes that painters in their last workes are said to excell them- selves, and in this I have so much pleased my selfe, that the shadow as much delighteth mee being an arti- ficer, as the substance doth others that are amorous. Alex. You lay your colours grosly ; though I could sc. iv.j CAMPASPE. 147 not paint in your shop, I can spie into your excuse. Be not ashamed Apelles, it is a gentleman's sport to be in love. Call hither Campaspe. Methinkes I might have beene made privie to your affection ; though my coun- sell had not bin necessary, yet my countenance might have beene thought requisite. But Apelles, forsooth, loveth under hand, yea and under Alexanders nose, and but I say no more. Apel. Apelles loveth not so : but hee liveth to doe as Alexander will. Alex. Campaspe, here is newes. Apelles is in love with you. Camp. It pleaseth your majestic to say so. Alex. Hephestion, I will trie her too. Campaspe, for the good qualities I know in Apelles, and the vertue I see in you, I am determined you shall enjoy one another. How say you Campaspe, would you say I ? Camp. Your hand-maid must obey, if you command. Alex. Thinke you not Hephestion, that shee would faine be commanded? Hep. I am no thought-catcher, but I ghesse unhap- pfy- Alex. I will not enforce marriage, where I cannot compell love. Camp. But your majestie may move a question, where you be willing to have a match. Alex. Beleeve me, Hephestion, these parties are agreed, they would have mee both priest and witnesse. Apelles, take Campaspe; why move yee not? Cam- paspe, take Apelles ; will it not be ? If you be ashamed one of the other, by my consent you shall never come 148 CAMPASPE. [ACT v. together. But dissemble not Campaspe, doe you love Apelles ? Camp. Pardon my lord, I love Apelles ! Alex. Apelles, it were a shame for you, being loved so openly of so faire a virgin, to say the contrarie. Doe you love Campaspe 1 Apel. Onely Campaspe! Alex. Two loving wormes, Hephestion ! I perceive Alexander cannot subdue the affections of men, though he conquer their countries. Love falleth like a dew as well upon the low grasse, as upon the high cedar. Sparkes have their heate, ants their gall, flies their spleene. Well, enjoy one another, I give her thee frankly, Apelles. Thou shalt see that Alexander maketh but a toy of love, and leadeth affection in fetters ; using fancie as a foole to make him sport, or a minstrell to make him merry. It is not the amorous glance of an eye can settle an idle thought in the heart ; no, no, it is childrens game, a life for seamsters and schollers : the one pricking in clouts have nothing else to thinke on ; the other picking fancies out of books, have little else to marvaile at. Go Apelles, take with you your Campaspe, Alexander is cloyed with looking on that which thou wond'rest at. Apel. Thankes to your majestic on bended knee, you have honoured Apelles. Camp. Thankes with bowed heart, you have blessed Campaspe. [Exeunt. Alex. Page, goe warne Clytus and Parmenio and the other lords to be in a readinesse, let the trumpet sound, trike up the drumme, and I will presently into Persia. 8C. IV.] CAMPASPE. 149 How now Hepliestion, is Alexander able to resist love as he list ? Hep. The conquering of Thebes was not so honour- able as the subduing of these thoughts. Alex. It were a shame Alexander should desire to command the world, if he could not command himselfe. But come let us goe, I will trie whether I can better beare my hand with mj heart, than I could with mine eye. And good Hephestion, when all the world is wonne, and every country is thine and mine, either find me out another to subdue, or on my word I will fall in love. [Exeunt. THE EPILOGUE AT THE BLACKE FKIEKS. WHEEE the rain-bow toucheth the tree, no caterpillars will hang on the leaves: where the gloworme creepeth in the night, no adder will goe in the day. "Wee hope in the eares where our travailes be lodged, no carping shall harbour in those tongues. Our exercises, must be as your judgement is, resembling water, which is alwayes of the same colour into what it runneth. In the Troyan horse lay couched souldiers, with children ; and in heapes of many words we feare divers unfit, among some allowable. But as Demos- thenes with often breathing up the hill amended his stammering ; so wee hope with sundrie labours against the haire, to correct our studies. If the tree be blasted that blossomes, the fault is in the winde, and not in the root ; and if our pastimes bee misliked, that have beene allowed, you must impute it to the malice of others, and not our endevour. And so we rest in good case, if you rest well content. THE EPILOGUE AT THE COUET. WE cannot tell whether wee are fallen among Diomedes birdes or his horses; the one re- ceived some men with sweet notes, the other bit all men with sharpe teeth. But as Homer's gods conveyed them into cloudes, whom they would have kept from curses ; and as Venus, least Adonis should be pricked with the stings of adders, covered his face with the wings of swans : so wee hope, being shielded with your Highnesse countenance, wee shall, though wee heare the neigh- ing, yet not feele the kicking of those jades ; and receive, though no prayse (which wee cannot deserve) yet a pardon, which in all humilitie we desire. As yet we cannot tell what we should tearme our labours, iron or bullion ; only it belongeth to your Majestie to make them fit either for the forge, or the mynt ; currant by the stampe, or counterfeit by the anvill. For as nothing is to be called white, unlesse it had beene named white by the first creator, so can there be nothing thought good in the opinion of others, unlesse it be christened good by the judgement of your selfe. For our selves againe, we are like these torches of waxe, of which being in your Highnesse hands, you may make doves or vul- tures, roses or nettles, laurell for a garland, or ealder for a disgrace. SAPHO AND PHAO. PLAYED BEFOBE THE QUEENES MAJESTIE ON SHEOVE TUESDAY : BY HEB MAJESTIES CHILDBEN, AND THE CHLLDBEN OF PAULES. THE PKOLOGUE AT THE COUET. r ^HE Arabians being stuffed with perfumes, burn 1 hemlocke, a ranke poyson : and in Hybla being cloid with honie, they account it daintie to feed on wax. Your Highnesse eyes whom variety hath fild with faire showes, and whose eares pleasure hath possessed with rare sounds ; will (we trust) at this time resemble the princely eagle, who fearing to surfet on spices, stoopeth to bite on worme-wood. Wee present no conceits nor wars, but deceits and loves, wherein the truth may ex- cuse the plainenesse: the necessitie, the length: the poetry, the bitternesse. There is no needles point so small, which hath not his compasse : nor haire so slen- der, that hath not his shadow: nor sport so simple, which hath not his shew. Whatsoever we present, whether it be tedious (which wee feare) or toyish (which we doubt) sweet or sowre, absolute or imperfect, or what- soever : in all humblenesse we all, and I on knee for all, intreat, that your Highnesse imagine your selfe to be in a deepe dreame, that staying the conclusion, in your rising your Majesty vouchsafe but to say, and so you awakt. SAPHO AND PHAO. ACTUS PEIMUS. SC^ENA PEIMA. PHAO, VENUS, CUPID. Phao. 'HOU art a ferriman, Phao, yet a freeman ; possessing for riches content, and for honours quiet. Thy thoughts are no higher than thy fortunes, nor thy desires greater than thy calling. Who climbeth, standeth on glasse, and falleth on thorne. Thy hearts thirst is satis- fied with thy hands thrift, and thy gentle labours in the day, turne to sweete slumbers in the night. As much doth it delight thee to rule thine oare in a calme streame, as it doth Sapho to sway the scepter in her brave court. Envie never casteth her eye low, ambition pointeth alwayes upward, and revenge barketh only at starres. Thou farest delicately, if thou have a fare to buy any- thing. Thine angle is readie, when thine oare is idle ; and as sweet is the fish which thou gettest in the river, as the foule which other buy in the market ; thou needest not feare poyson in thy glasse, nor treason in thy gard. The wind is thy greatest enemy, whose might is with- 158 SAPHO AND PHAO. [ACT i. stood with pollicie. sweet life, seldome found under a golden covert, often under a thatched cottage. But here commeth one, I will withdraw myselfe aside, it may be a passenger. Venus. It is no lesse unseemely than unwholsome for Venus, who is most honoured in princes courts, to sojourne with Vulcan in a smiths forge ; where bellowes blow in steed of sighes, darke smoakes rise for sweete perfumes, and for the panting of loving hearts, is onely heard the beating of steeled hammers . Unhappy Venus, that carrying fire in thine owne brest, thou shouldest dwell with fire in his forge. What doth Vulcan al day but endevour to be as crabbed in manners, as hee is crooked in body ? driving nailes, when he should give kisses, and hammering hard armours, when he should sing sweet amours. It came by lot, and not love, that I was linked with him. Hee gives thee bolts, Cupid, in steed of arrowes, fearing belike (jealous foole that he is) that if he should give thee an arrow head, hee should make himselfe a broad head. But come, wee will to Syracusa, where thy deitie shall be showne, and my dis- daine. I will yoke the necke, that yet never bowed, at which, if Jove repine, Jove shah 1 repent. Sapho shall know, be shee never so faire, that there is a Venus, which can conquer, were shee never so fortunate. Cupid. If Jove espie Sapho, hee will devise some new shape to entertaine her. Venus. Strike thou SapTio, let Jove devise what shape he can. Cupid. Mother, they say she hath her thoughts in a string ; that she conquers affections, and sendeth love sc. i.] SAPHO AND PHAO. 159 up and downe upon errands ; I am afraid she will yerke me, if I hit her. Venus. Peevish boy, can mortall creatures resist that, which the immortall gods cannot redresse ? Cupid. The gods are amorous : and therefore wil- ling to be pierced. Venus. And shee amiable, and therefore must be pierced. Cupid. I dare not ! Venus. Draw thine arrow to the head, else I wil make thee repent it at the heart ! Come away, and be- hold the ferry boy readie to conduct us. Pretie youth, doe you keepe the ferry that bendeth to Syracusa 1 Phao. The ferry, faire ladie, that bendeth toSyracusa. Venus. I feare, if the water should begin to swell, thou wilt want cunning to guide. Phao. These waters are commonly as the passengers be ; and therefore carrying one so faire in shew, there is no cause to feare a rough sea. Venus. To passe the time in thy boate, canst thou devise any pastime ? Phao. If the winde be with mee, I can angle, or tell tales : if against mee, it will be pleasure for you to see me take paines. Venus. I like not fishing : yet was I borne of the sea. Phao. But he may blesse fishing, that caught such an one in the sea. Venus. It was not with an angle, my boye, but with a nette. Phao. So was it said, that Vulcan caught Mars with Venus. 160 SAPHO AND PHAO. [ACT i. Venus. Didst thou heare so ? It was some tale. Phao. Yea madam, and that in the hoate I did meane to make my tale. Venus. It is not for a ferrie man to talke of the gods loves : but to tell how thy father could dig, and thy mother spinne. But come, let us away. Phao. I am readie to waite. [Exeunt. ACTUS PEIMUS. SOENA SECUNDA. TEACHINGS, PANDION, CBYTICUS, Moms. Trachi. Pandion, since your comming from the uni- versitie to the court, from Athens to Syracusa, how doe you feele yourselfe altered either in humor or opinion ? Pandi. Altered Trachinus, I say no more, and shame that any should know much. Trachi. Here you see as great vertue, far greater braverie, the action of that which you contemplate. Sapho faire by nature, by birth royall, learned by edu- cation, by government politicke, rich by peace : inso- much as it is hard to judge, whether shee bee more beau- tifull or wise, vertuous or fortunate. Besides, doe you not looke on faire ladies instead of good letters, and behold faire faces instead of fine phrases ? In universities vertues and vices are but shadowed in colours, white and blacke ; in courts shewed to life, good and bad. There times past are read of in old books, times present set downe by new devises, times to come conjectured at by aime, by prophesie, or chance : here are tunes in per- fection ; not by devise, as fables ; but in execution, as truths. Beleeve me Pandion, in Athens you have but so. ii.] SAPHO AND PHAO. 161 tombs, we in court the bodies ; you the pictures of Venus and the wise goddesses, wee the persons and the vertues. What hath a scholler found out by study, that a courtier hath not found out by practise. Simple are you that thinke to see more at the candle snuffe than the sunne beames ; to saile further in a little brooke, than in the maine ocean ; to make a greater harvest by gleaning than reaping. How say you, Pandion, is not all this true? Pandi. Trachinus, what would you more, all true. Traehi. Cease then to lead thy life in a studie pinned with a few boards, and endeavour to be a courtier to live in emboste roofes. Pandi. A labour intolerable for Pandion. Traehi. Why? Pandi. Because it is harder to shape a life to dis- semble, than to goe forward with the libertie of truth. Traehi. Why, doe you thinke in court any use to dissemble ? Pandi. Doe you know in court any that meane to live? Traehi. You have no reason for it, but an old report. Pandi. Eeport hath not alwaies a blister on her tongue. Traehi. I, but this is the court of Sapho, natures miracle, which resembleth the tree Salurus, whose roote is fastned upon knotted steel, and in whose top bud leaves of pure gold. Pandi. Yet hath Salurus blasts and water boughes, wormes and caterpillers. Traehi. The vertue of the tree is not the cause, but VOL. I. M 162 SAPHO AND PHAO. [ACT i. the easterly wind ; which is thought commonly to bring cankers and rottennesse. Pandi. Kor the excellencie of SapTio the occasion, but the iniquitie of flatterers ; who alwayes whisper in princes eares suspition and sowrenesse. Trachi. Why, then you conclude with mee, that Sapho for vertue hath no co-partner. Pandi. Yea, and with the judgement of the world, that shee is without comparison. Trachi. "We will thither straight. Pandi. I would I might returne streight. Trachi. Why, there you may live still. Pandi. But not still. Trachi. How like you the ladies, are they not pas- sing faire ? Pandi. Mine eye drinketh neither the colour of wine nor women. Trachi. Yet am I sure that in judgement you are not so severe, but that you can be content to allow of beauty by day or by night. Pandi. When I behold beautie before the sunne, his beames dimme beauty : when by candle, beauty obscures torch light ; so as no time I can judge, because at any time I cannot disceme ; being in the sunne a brightnes to shadow beauty, and in beauty a glistering to extin- guish light. Trachi. Schollerlike said; you flatter that, which you seeme to mislike ; and seek to disgrace that, which you most wonder at. But let us away. Pandi. I follow. And you sir boye, go to Syracusa about by land, where you shall meete my stuffe ; pay for the cariage, and convay it to my lodging. sc. ii.] SAPHO AND PHAO. 163 Trachi. I thinke all your stuffe are bundles of paper, but now must you learne to turne your library to a wardrope, and see whether your rapier hang better by your side, than the penne did in your eare. [Exeunt.. ACTUS PEIMUS. SC^NA TEKTIA. CRYTICUS, MOLUS. Cryti. Molus, what oddes betweene thy commons in Athens and thy diet in court ? a pages life and a schol- lers? Molus. This difference ; there of a little I had some- what, here of a great deale nothing ; there I did weare pantophles on my leggs, here doe I beare them in my hands. Cryti. Thou maist bee skilled in thy logick, but not in thy lerypoope : belike no meate can downe with you, unlesse you have a knife to cut it : but come among us, and you shall see us once in a morning have a mouse at a bay. Molus. A mouse ? unproperly spoken. Cryti. Aptly undcrstoode, a mouse of beefe. Molus. I thinke, indeed, a peece of beefe as big as a mouse, serves a great company of such cattes. But what else ? Cryti. For other sports, a square die in a pages pocket, is as decent as a square cap on a graduates head. Molus. You courtiers be mad fellowes ! we silly soules are only plodders at Ergo, whose witts are claspt up with our bookes ; and so full of learning are wee at home, that wee scarse know good manners when we come abroad. Cunning in nothing but in making small things 164 SAPHO AND PHAO. [ACT i. great bj figures, pulling on with the sweate of our studies a great shooe upon a little foote ; burning out one candle in seeking for another ; raw worldlings in matters of substance, passing wranglers about shadowes. Cryti. Then is it time lost to bee a scholler. Wee pages are Politians, for looke what wee heave our mas- ters talke of, we determine of, and where we suspect, we undermine : and where we mislike for some parti- cular grudge, there wee picke quarrels for a generall griefe. Nothing among us but instead of good morrow, what newes? we fall from cogging at dice, to cogge with states : and so forward are meane men in those matters, that they would be cocks to tread downe others, before they be chickens to rise themselves. Youths are verie forward to stroake their chinnes, though they have no beards, and to lie as loud as he that hath lived longest. Molus. These be the golden dayes ! Cryti. Then be they very darke dayes : for I can see no gold. Molus. You are grosse witted, master courtier. Cryli. And you master scholler slender witted. Molus. I meant times which were prophesied golden for plentie of all things, sharpnesse of wit, excellencie in knowledge, pollicie in government, for Cryti. Soft Scholarls, I denie your argument. Molus. Why, it is no argument. Cryti. Then I denie it, because it is no argument. But let us goe and follow our masters. [Exeunt. so. iv.] SAPHO AND PHAO. 165 ACTUS PBIMUS. SOENA QUAKTA. MILETA, LAMIA, FAVILLA, ISMENA, CANOPE, EUGENTJA. Mileta. Is it not strange that Phao on the sodaine should be so faire ? Lamia, It cannot be strange sith Venus was disposed to make him faire. That cunning had beene better be- stowed on women, which would have deserved thanks of nature. Isme. Haply she did it in spite of women, or scorne of nature. Canope. Proud elfe ! how squeamish hee is become already ; using both disdainefull lookes, and imperious words; insomuch that hee galleth with ingratitude. And then ladies, you know how it cutteth a woman to become a wooer. Euge. Tush ! children and fooles, the fairer they are, the sooner they yeeld ; an apple will catch the one ; a baby the other. Isme. Your lover I thinke bee a faire foole : for you love nothing but fruit and puppets. Mileta. I laugh at that you all call love, and judge it onely a word called love. Methinks liking, a curtesie, a smile, a becke, and such like, are the very quintessence of love. Favllla. I, Mileta, but were you as wise as you would bee thought faire ; or as faire, as you thinke yourselfe wise ; you would bee as ready to please men, as you are coy to prank e yourselfe ; and as carefull to 166 SAPHO AND PHAO. [ACT i. to be accounted amorous, as you are willing to be thought discreete. Mileta. ~No, no, men are good soules (poore soules) who never enquire but with their eyes, loving to father the cradle, though they but mother the childe. Give mee their gifts, not their vertues ; a graine of their golde weigheth downe a pound of their witte ; a dramme of give mee, is heavier than an ounce of heare mee, Be- leeve mee ladies, give is a pretie thing. Isme. I cannot but oftentimes smile to myselfe to heare men call us weake vessels, when they prove them- selves broken hearted ; us fraile, when their thoughts cannot hang together; studying with words to flatter, and with bribes to allure ; when wee commonly wish their tongues in their purses, they speake so simplie ; and their offers in their bellies, they doe it so peevishly. Mileta. It is good sport to see them want matter : for then fall they to good maners, having nothing in their mouthes but sweet mistres, wearing our hands out with courtly kissings, when their wits faile in courtly dis- courses. Now rufling their haires, now setting their ruffes ; then gazing with their eyes, then sighing with a privie wring by the hand ; thinking us like to bee wooed by signes and ceremonies. Euge. Yet wee, when we sweare with our mouthes we are not in love ; then we sigh from the heart, and pine in love. Canope. Wee are mad wenches, if men marke our words: for when I say, I would none cared for love more than I, what meane I, but I would none loved but I ; where we cry away, doe wee not presently say, go sc. iv.] SAPHO AND PffAO. 167 to : and when men strive for kisses, wee exclaime, let us alone, as though we would fall to that ourselves. Favilla. Nay, then Canope, it is time to goe, and behold Phao ! Isme. Where? Favilla. In your head Ismena, nowhere else : but let us keepe on our way. Isme. "Wisely. [Exeunt. ACTUS SECUNDUS. SCLENA PEIMA. PHAO, SYBILLA. Phao. HAO, thy meane fortune causeth thee to use an oare, and thy sodaine beautie a glasse : by the one is scene thy neede, in the other thy pride. O Venus ! in thinking thou hast blest me, thou hast curst me ; adding to a poore estate, a proud heart; and to a disdained man, a disdaining mind. Thou dost not flatter thyselfe Phao, thou art faire : faire ? I feare mee faire bee a word too foule for a face so pas- sing faire. But what availeth beauty ? hadst thou all things thou wouldest wish, thou mightst die to morrow ; and didst thou want all things thou desirest, thou shalt live till thou diest. Tush ! Phao, there is growne more pride in thy minde, than favour in thy face. Blush foolish boy, to thinke on thine owne thoughts ; cease complaints, and crave counsell. And loe ! behold Sy- billa, in the mouth of her cave ; I will salute her. Ladie, I feare me I am out of my way, and so benighted withall, that I am compelled to aske your direction. 168 SAPHO AND PHAO. [ACT n. Syl)i. Faire youth, if you will be advised by me, you shall for this time seeke none other inne, than my cave : for that it is no lesse perilous to travaile by night, than uncomfortable. Phao. Your courtesie ofFred, hath prevented what my necessitie was to intreate. Sybi. Come neere, take a stoole, and sit downe. Now for that these winter nights are long, and that children delight in nothing more than to heare old wives tales, wee will beguile the time with some storie. And though you behold wrinckles and furrows in my tawnie face, yet may you happily finde wisdome and counsell in my white haires. Phao. Lady, nothing can content me better than a tale, neither is there anything more necessary for me than counsell. Sybi. Were you borne so faire by nature. Phao. No, made so faire by Venus. Sybi. For what cause ? Phao. I feare me for some curse. Sybi. Why, doe you love, and cannot obtaine ? Phao. No, I may obtaine, but cannot love. Sybi. Take heed of that my childe ! Phao. I cannot chuse, good madame. Sybi. Then hearken to my tale, which I hope shal be as a streight thread to lead you out of those crooked conceits, and place you in the plaine path of love. Phao. I attend. Sybi. When I was young, as you now are, I speake it without boasting, I was as beautifull : for Phoebus in his godhead sought to get my maidenhead : but I fonde sc. i.] SAPHO AND PHAO. 169 wench, receiving a benefit from above, began to waxe squemish beneath ; not unlike to Asolis, which being made greene by heavenly drops, shrinketh into the ground when there fall showers : or the Syrian mudde, which being made white chalke by the sunne, never ceaseth rolling, till it lie in the shadow. Hee to sweete prayers added great promises ; I, either desirous to make triall of his power, or willing to prolong mine owne life ; caught up my handfull of sand, consenting to hia sute, if I might live as many yeares as there were graines. Phoebus (for what cannot the gods doe, and what for love will they not do) granted my petition. And then, I sigh and blush to tell the rest, I recalled my promise. Phao. Was not the god angrie to see you so unkind? Sybi. Angrie my boy, which was the cause that I was unfortunate. Phao. What revenge for such rigor used the gods ? Sybi. None, but suffring us to live, and know we are no gods. Phao. I pray tell on. Sybi. I will. Having received long life by Phcebus, and rare beauty by nature, I thought all the yeare would have beene May ; that fresh colours would alvvaies con- tinue, that time and fortune could not weare out, what gods and nature had wrought up : not once imagining that white and red should returne to blacke and yellow ; juniper, the longer it grew, the crookeder it wexed ; or that in a face without blemish, there should come wrin- kles without number. I did as you doe, goe with my glasse, ravished with the pride of mine owne beautie ; and you shall doe, as I doe, loath to see a glasse, dis- 170 SAPHO AND PHAO. [ACT n. daining deformitie. There was none that heard of my fault, but shunned my favour ; insomuch as I stooped for age hefore I tasted of youth ; sure to he long lived, uncertaine to be beloved. Gentlemen that used to sigh from their hearts for my sweet love, began to point with their fingers at my withered face ; and laughed to see the eyes, out of which fire seemed to sparkle, to be suc- coured being old with spectacles. This causeth me to withdraw myselfe to a solitarie cave, where I must lead six hundred yeares in no lesse pensiveness of crabbed age, than griefe of remembred youth. Only this com- fort, that being ceased to be faire, I studie to be wise ; wishing to be thoght a grave matron, since I cannot re- turne to be a yong maid. PJiao. Is it not possible to die before you become so old? Sybi. No more possible than to return as you are, to be so young. PTiao. Could not you settle your fancie upon any, or would not destinie suifer it ? Sybi. "Women willingly ascribe that to fortune, which wittingly was committed by frowardnesse. Phao. What will you have me doe ? Sybi. Take heed you doe not as I did. Make not too much of fading beautie, which is faire in the cradle, and foule in the grave ; resembling Polyon, whose leaves are white in the morning, and blue before night ; or Anyta, which being a sweet flowre at the rising of the sun, becommeth a weede, if it be not pluckt before the setting. Faire faces have no fruites, if they have no witnesses. When you shall behold over this tender sc. i.] SAPHO AND PHAO. 171 flesh a tough skinne ; your eyes which were wont to glance at others faces, to be sunke so hollow that you can scarce look out of your owne head ; and when all your teeth shall wagge as fast as your tongue ; then will you repent the time which you cannot recall, and bee enforced to beare what most you blame. Loose not the pleasant time of your youth, than the which there is nothing swifter, nothing sweeter. Beautie is a slip- perie good, which decreaseth whilest it is increasing ; resembling the medlar, which in the moment of his full ripenes, is knowen to be in a rottennesse. Whiles you looke in the glasse it waxeth old with time ; if on the sun, parcht with heate ; if on the winde, blasted with colde. A great care to keepe it, a short space to enjoy it, a sodaine time to loose it. Bee not coy when you are courted ; Fortunes wings are made of Time's fea- thers, which stay not whilest one may measure them. Be affable and curteous in youth, that you may be ho- noured in age. Koses that lose their colours, keepe their savours ; and pluckt from the stalke, are put to the stil. Cotonea because it boweth when the sun riseth, is sweetest, when it is oldest : and children, which in their tender yeares sow curtesie, shall in their declining states reap pitie. Bee not proud of beauties painting, whose colours consume themselves, because they are beauties painting. Phao. I am driven by your counsell into divers con- ceipts, neither knowing how to stand, or where to fall : but to yeeld to love is the onely thing I hate. Sybi. I commit you to fortune, who is like to play such prankes with you, as your tender yeares can scarse 172 SAPHO AND PHAO. [ACT n. beare, nor your greene wits understand. But repaire unto mee often, and if I cannot remove the effects, yet will I manifest the causes. Phao. I goe readie to returne for advice, before I am resolved to adventure. Sybi. Yet hearken to my words, thou shalt get friendship by dissembling, love by hatred ; unlesse thou perish, thou shalt perish ; in digging for a stone, thou shalt reach a starre ; thou shalt be hated most, because thou art loved most : thy death shal be feared and wished. So much for prophecie, which nothing can prevent : and this for counsell, which thou maist follow. Keepe not company with antes that have winges, nor talke with any neere the hille of a mowle ; where thou smellest the sweetnes of serpents breath, beware thou touch no part of the body. Be not merry among those that put buglosse in their wine, and suger in thine. If any talke of the eclipse of the sun, say thou never saw- est it. Nourish no conies in thy vaults, nor swallows in thine eves. Sow next thy vines Mandrage, and ever keepe thine cares open, and thy mouth shut, thine eyes upward, and thy fingers downe : so shalt thou doe better than otherwise, though never so well as I wish. Phao. Alas ! madame, your prophecie threateneth miseries, and your counsell warneth impossibilities. Sybi. Farewell I can answer no more. [Exit. sc. n.] SAPHO AND PHAO. 173 ACTUS SECUNDUS. SC.ENA SECUNDA. PHAO, SAPHO, TRACHINTJS, PANDION, CRYTTCUS, MOLUS. Phao. Unhappy Phao ! But soft, what gallant troupe is this ? what gentlewoman is this ? Cryti. Sapho, a ladie here in Sicily. Sapho. What faire boy is that? Trachi. Phao, the ferriman of Syracusa. Phao. I never saw one more brave : be all ladies of such majestic ? Cryti. No, this is shee that all wonder at and worship. Sapho. I have seldome scene a sweeter face ; be all fcrrimen of that fairnesse ? Trachi. No, madam, this is he that Venus deter- mined among men to make the fairest. Sapho. Seeing I am only come forth to take the ayre, I will crosse the ferric, and so the fields, then going in thorough the parke, I thinke the walke wil be pleasant. Trachi. You will much delight in the flattering greene, which now beginneth to be in his glorie. Sapho. Sir boy, will yee undertake to carie us over the water ? Are you dumb, can you not speake ? Phao. Madame, I crave pardon, I am spurblind, I could scarce see. Sapho. It is pittie in so good a face there should be an evill eye. Phao. I would in my face there were never an eye. Sapho. Thou canst never bee rich in a trade of life of all the basest. 174 SAPHO AND PHAO. [ACT n. Phao. Yet content madame, which is a kinde of life of all the best. Sapho. Wilt thou forsake thy ferric, and follow the court as a page ? Phao. As it pleaseth fortune madame, to whom I am a prentice. Sapho. Come, let us goe. Trachi. Will you goe Pandion. Pandi. Yea. [Exeunt. ACTUS SECIINDUS. SOENA TEETIA. MOLUS, CB.YTICUS, CALYPHO. Molus. Cryticus comes in good time, I shall not be alone. What newes Cryticus 1 Cryti. I taught you that lesson to aske what newes, and this is the newes: to morrow there shall a des- perate fray bee betweene two, made at all weapons, from the browne bill to the bodkin. Molus. Now thou talkest of fraies, I pray thee what is that, wherof they talke so commonly in court, valour, the stab, the pistoll, for the which every man that dareth is so much honoured ? Cryti. O Molus, beware of valour ! he that can looke big, and weare his dagger pomel lower than the point, that lyeth at a good ward, and can hit a button with a thrust, and will into the field man to man for a bout or two ; he Molus is a shrewd fellow, and shal be well folowed. Molus. What is the end ? sc. m.] SAP HO AND PHAO. 175 Cryti. Danger or death. Molus. If it bee but death that bringeth all this com- mendation, I account him as valiant that is killed with a surfet, as with a sword. Cryti. How so ? Molus. If I venture upon a full stomack to eate a rasher on the coales, a carbonado, drinke a carouse, swallow all things that may procure sicknesse or death ; am not I as valiant to die so in an house, as the other in a field ? Meethinkes that epicures are as desperate as souldiours, and cookes provide as good weapons as cutlers. Cryti. O valiant knight ! Molus. I will die for it, what greater valor ? Cryti. Schollers fight, who rather seeke to choake their stomakes, then see their bloud. Molus. I will stand upon this point, if it bee valour to dare die, he is valiant howsoever he dieth. Cryti. Well, of this hereafter: but here commeth Catypho, wee will have some sport. Caly. My mistresse, I thinke, hath got a gadfly, never at home, and yet none can tell where abroade. My master was a wise man, when hee matcht with such a woman. When shee comes in, we must put out the fire, because of the smoake ; hang up our hammers, be- cause of the noyse ; and doe no work, but watch what shee wanteth. She is faire, but by my troth I doubt of her honestie. I must seeke her, that I feare Mars hath found. Cryti. Whom dost thou seeke ? Caly. I have found those I seeke not. 176 SAPHO AND PHAO. [ACT n. Molus. I hope you have found those, which are ho- nest. Caly. It may be : but I seeke no such. Molus. Cryticus, you shall see me by learning to prove Calypho to be the divell. Cryti. Let us see : but I pray thee prove it better than thou didst thyselfe to be valiant. Molus. Calypho, I will prove thee to be a divell. Caly. Then will I sweare thee to be a god. Molus. The divell is blacke. Caly. What care I ? Molus. Thou art black. Caly. What care you ? Molus. Therefore thou art the divell. Caly. I deny that. Molus. It is the conclusion, thou must not denie it. Caly. In spite of all conclusions, I will denie it. Cryti. Molus, the smith holds you hard. Molus. Thou seest he hath no reason. Cryti. Trie him againe. Molus. I will reason with thee now from a place. Caly. I meane to answere you in no other place. Molus. Like master, like man. Caly. It may be. Molus. But thy master hath homes. Caly. And so mayest thou. Molus. Therefore thou hast homes, and ergo a devill. Caly. Bee they all devils that have homes ? Molus. Ah 1 men that have homes are. Caly. Then are there moe devils on earth than in hell. EC. m.] SAPHO AND PHAO. 177 Molus. But what doest thou answere ? Caly. I deny that. Molus. What? Caly. Whatsoever it is, that shall prove me a devill. But hearest thou scholler, I am a plaine fellow, and can fashion nothing but with the hammer. What wilt thou say, if I prove thee a smith ? Molus. Then will I say thou art a scholler. Cryti. Proove it Calypho, and I will give thee a good Colaphum. Caly. I will prove it, or else Cryti. Or else what ? Caly. Or else I will not prove it. Thou art a smith : therefore thou art a smith. The conclusion, you say, must not bee denied : and therefore it is true, thou art a smith. Molus. I, but I denie your antecedent. Caly. I, but you shall not. Have I not toucht him, Cryticus ? Cryti. You have both done learnedly : for as sure as hee is a smith, thou art a devill. Caly. And then hee a devill, because a smith: for that it was his reason to make me a devill, being a smith. Molus. There is no reasoning with these mechanicall dolts, whose wits are in their hands, not in their heads. Cryti. Bee not cholericke, you are wise : but let us take up this matter with a song. Caly. I am content, my voice is as good as my reason. Molus. Then shall wee have sweet musique. But come, I will not breake off. [Exeunt. VOL. I. N 178 SAPHO AND PHAO. [ACT n. SONG. Cryti. Merry knaves are we three-a. Mains. When our songs do agree-a. Caly. O now I well see-a, What anon we shall be-a. Cryti. If we ply thus our singing. Molus. Pots then must be flinging. Caly. If the drinke be but stinging. Molus. I shall forget the rules of grammer. Caly. And I the pit-apat of my hammer. f To the tap-house then let's gang, and rore, I Cal hard, 'tis rare to vamp a score, ' I Draw dry the tub, be it old or new, I And part not till the ground looke blew. ACTUS SECUNDUS. SC^NA QUAETA. PHAO, SYBILLA. Phao. What unacquainted thoughts are these Phao, far unfit for thy thoughts, unmeete for thy birth, thy fortune, thy yeares ; for Phao, unhappy, canst thou not be content to behold the sunne, but thou must covet to build thy nest in the sunne ? Doth Saplio bewitch thee, whom all the ladies in Sicily could not wooe? Yea, poore Phao, the greatnesse of thy minde is farre above the beautie of thy face, and the hardnesse of thy for- tune beyond the bitternesse of thy words. Die PJiao, Phao die : for there is no hope if thou be wise ; nor safetie, if thou be fortunate. Ah Phao, the more thou seekest to suppresse those mounting affections, they soare the loftier ; and the more thou wrestlest with them, the stronger they waxe ; not unlike unto a ball, which the harder it is throwne against the earth, the higher it ec. iv.] SAPHO AND PHAO. 179 boundeth into the ayre : or our Sydlian stone, which groweth hardest by hammering. O divine love ! and therefore divine, because love ; whose deitie no conceit can compasse, and therefore no authoritie can constraine ; as miraculous in working as mightie, and no more to bee suppressed than comprehended. How now Phao, whether art thou carried ? committing idolatry with that God, whom thou hast cause to blaspheme. O Sapho ! faire Sapho ! peace miserable wretch, enjoy thy care in covert, weare willow in thy hat, and bayes in thy heart. Leade a lambe in thy hand, and a fox in thy head, a dove on the backe of thy hand, and a sparrow in the palme. Gold boyleth best, when it bubleth least ; water runneth smoothest, where it is deepest. Let thy love hang at thy hearts bottome, not at the tongues brimme. Things untold, are undone ; there can be no greater comfort, than to know much ; nor any lesse labour, then to say nothing. But ah ! thy beautie Sapho, thy beautie ! Beginnest thou to blab ? I, blab it Phao, as long as thou blabbest her beautie. Bees that die with honie, are buried with harmonic. Swannes that end their lives with songs, are covered when they are dead with flowers : and they that till their later gaspe commend beautie, shall be ever honored with benefits. In these extremities I will goe to none other oracle, than Sybilla ; whose olde yeares have not beene idle in these young attempts ; and whose sound advice may mitigate (though the heavens cannot remove) my miseries. Sapho ! sweet Sapho ! Sapho : Sylilla ! Sybi. Who is there? Phao. One, not worthy to bee one. 180 SAPHO AND PEAO. [ACT H. Sybi. FairePhao? Phao. Unfortunate Phao ! Sybi. Come in. Phao. So I will ; and quite thy tale of Phoebus, with one whose brightnesse darkeneth Phoebus. I love Sa- pho, Sybilla, Sapho ! ah Sapho, Sybilla ! Sybi. A short tale Phao, and sorrowful ; it asketh pitie rather than counsell. Phao. So it is Sybilla : yet in those firme yeeres mee thinketh there should harbour such experience, as may deferre though not take away, my destinie. Sybi. It is hard to cure that by words, which cannot be eased by hearbs ; and yet if thou wilt take advice, be attentive. Phao. I have brought mine eares of purpose, and will hang at your mouth, till you have finished your dis- course. Sybi. Love, faire childe, is to bee governed by art, as thy boat by an oare : for fancie, though it commeth by hazard, is ruled by wisdome. If my precepts may perswade, (and I pray thee let them perswade) I would wish thee first to be diligent : for that women desire no- thing more than to have their servants officious. Be alwayes in sight, but never slothfull. Flatter, I meane lie ; little things catch light minds, and fancie is a worme, that feedeth first upon fennell. Imagine with thyselfe all are to bee wonne, otherwise mine advice were as unne- cessary as thy labour. It is unpossible for the brittle mettle of women to withstand the flattering attempts of men : only this, let them bee asked ; their sex requireth no losse, their modesties are to bee allowed so much. sc. iv.] SAPHO AND PHAO. 181 Bee prodigal! in prayses and promises, beautie must have a trumpet, and pride a gift. Peacockes never spread their feathers, but when they are flattered ; and gods are seldome pleased, if they be not bribed. There is none so foule, that thinketh not herselfe faire. In com- mending thou canst loose no labour : for of every one thou shalt be beleeved. Oh simple women ! that are brought rather to beleeve what their eares heare of flat- tering men, than what their eyes see in true glasses. Phao. You digresse, onely to make mee beleeve that women doe so lightly beleeve. Sybi. Then to the purpose. Chuse such times to breake thy suite as thy lady is pleasant. The wooden horse entred Troy, when the souldiers were quaffing ; and Penelope forsooth, whom fables make so coy, among the pots wrung her woers by the fists, when she lowred on their faces, grapes minde glasses. Venus worketh in Bacchus presse, and bloweth fire upon his liquour. When thou talkest with her, let thy speech bee pleasant, but not incredible. Chuse such words as may (as many may) melt her minde : honey rankleth, when it is eaten for pleasure ; and faire words wound, when they are heard for love. Write, and persist in writing; they reade more than is written to them, and write lesse than they thinke. In conceit studie to be pleasant ; in attire brave, but not too curious ; when shee smileth, laugh out-right ; if rise, stand up ; if sit, lie downe ; loose all thy time to keepe time with her. Can you sing, shew your cunning ; can you dance, use your legges ; can you play upon any instrument, practise your fingers to please her fancie ; seek out qualities. If shee seeme at 182 SAPHO AND PHAO. [ACT n. the first cruell, bee not discouraged. I tell thee a strange thing, women strive, because they would bee overcome : force they call it, but such a welcome force they account it, that continually they studie to bee en- forced. To faire words joyne sweete kisses, which if they gently receive, I say no more, they will gently (receive. But bee not pinned alwayes on her sleeves, strangers have greene rushes, when daily guests are not worth a rush. Looke pale, artd learne to be leane, that who so seeth thee, may say, the gentleman is in love. Use no sorcerie to hasten thy successe. Wit is a witch ; Ulisses was not faire, but wise ; not cunning in charmes, but sweete in speech ; whose filed tongue made those inamoured that sought to have him inchanted. Bee not coy, beare, sooth, sweare, die to please thy ladie : these are rules for poore lovers, to others I am no mistresse. He hath wit enough, that can give enough. Dumbe men are eloquent, if they be liberall. Beleeve me great gifts are little gods. When thy mistresse doth bend her brow, doe not thou bend thy fist. Camockes must bee bowed with sleight, not strength ; water to bee trained with pipes, not stopped with sluces ; fire to bee quenched with dust, not with swords. If thou have a rivall, bee patient; arte must winde him out, not malice; time, not might ; her change, and thy constancie. Whatso- ever shee weareth, sweare it becomes her. In thy love be secret ; Venus coffers, though they bee hollow never sound ; and when they seeme emptiest, they are fullest. Olde foole that I am ! to doe thee good, I begin to doate, and counsell that, which I would have concealed. Thus, Phao, have I given thee certaine regards, no so. iv.] SAPHO AND PHAO. 183 rules, only to set thee in the way, not to bring thee home. Phao. Ah Sylitta, I pray goe on, that I may glut myselfe in this science. Sybi. Thou shalt not surfet Phao, whilst I diet thee. Flies that die on the honiesuckle become poyson to bees. A little in love is a great deale. Phao. But all that can bee said not enough. Sybi. White silver draweth black lines, and sweete words will breed sharpe torments. Phao. What shall become of me ? Sybi. Goe dare. Phao. I goe ! Phao, thou canst but die ; and then as good die with great desires, as pine in base fortunes. [JBri*. ACTUS TEETIUS. SCLENA PKIMA. TEACHINGS, PANDION, MILETA, ISMENA, EUQENUA. Trachi. ^APHO is falne sodainly sicke, I cannot ghesse the cause. M'deta. Some cold belike, or else a wo- mans qualme. Pandi. A strange nature of cold to drive one into such an heate. Mileta. Your physicke sir, I thinke be of the second sort; else would you not judge it rare, that hot fevers are ingendred by cold causes. Pandi. Indeed, lady, I have no more physicke than 184 SAPHO AND PHAO. [ACT in. will purge choller, and that if it please you, I will prac- tise upon you. It is good for women that be waspish. Isme. Faith, sir, no, you are best purge your owne melancholy : belike you are a male content. Pandi. It is true, and are not you a female content ? Trachi. Soft! I am not content, that a male and female content, should go together. Mileta. Ismena is disposed to bee merrie. Isme. No, it is Pandion would faine seeme wise. Trachi. You shall not fall out: for pigeons after biting fall to billing, and open jarres make the closest Euge. Mileta ! Ismena ! Mileta ! come away, my ladie is in a sowne ! Mileta. Aye me ! Isme. Come let us make haste. Trachi. I am sorrie for Sapho, because shee will take no physicke ; like you Pandion, who being sicke of the sullens, will seeke no friend. Pandi. Of men wee learne to speake, of gods to hold our peace. Silence shall disgest what folly hath swal- lowed, and wisdome weane what fancie hath noursed. Trachi. Is it not love ? Pandi. If it were, what then ? Trachi. Nothing, but that I hope it be not. Pandi. Why, in courts there is nothing more com- mon. And as to be bald among the Mycanians it waa accounted no shame, because they were all bald ; so to bee in love among courtiers it is no discredit ; for that they are all in love. Trachi. Why, what doe you thinke of our ladies ? sc. i.] SAP HO AND PHAO. 185 Pandi. As of the Seres wooll, which being whitest and softest, fretteth soonest and deepest. Trachi. I will not tempt you in your deepe melan- choly, least you seeme sowre to those which are so sweet. But come, let us walke a little into the fields, it may be the open ayre will disclose your close conceits. Pandi. I will goe with you: but send our pages away. [Exeunt. ACTUS TEETIUS. SO3ENA SECUNDA. CRYTICUS, MOLUS, CALYPHO. Cryti. What browne studie art thou in Molus, no mirth ? no life ? Molus. I am in the depth of my learning driven to a muse, how this Lent I shall scamble in the court, that was woont to fast so oft in the universitie. Cryti. Thy belly is thy god. Molus. Then is he a deafe god. Cryti. Why? Molus. For venter non habet aures. But thy backe is thy god. Cryti. Then it is a blind god. Molus. How prove you that ? Cryti. Easie. Nemo videt manticce, q^tod in tergo est. Molus. Then would the sachell that hangs at your god, id est, your backe, were full of meate to stuffe my god, hoc est, my belly. Cryti. Excellent. But how canst thou studie, when thy minde is onely in the kitchen ? 186 SAP HO AND PHAO. [ACT in. Molus. Doth not the horse travaile best, that sleepeth with his head in the maunger ? Cryti. Yes, what then ? Molus. Good wits will apply. But what cheere is there here this Lent ? Cryti. Fish. Molus. I can eate none, it is windie. Cryti. Egges. Molus. I must eate none, they are fire. Cryti. Cheese. Molus. It is against the old verse, Caseus est nequam. Cryti. Yea, but it disgesteth all tilings except itselfe. Molus. Yea, but if a man hath nothing else to eate, what shall it disgest? Cryti. You are disposed to jest. But if your silken throate can swallow no packthred, you must picke your teeth, and play with your trencher. Molus. So shall I not incurre the fulsome and un- mannerly sinne of surfeting. But here commeth Ca- lypto. Cryti. What newes ? Caly. Since my being here, I have sweat like a dogge to prove my master a devill ; hee brought such reasons to refell me, as I promise you I shal thinke the better of his wit, as long as I am with him. Molus. How? Caly. Thus, I alwayes arguing that he had homes, and therefore a devill : hee said, foole, they are things like homes, but no homes; for once in the senate of gods being holden a solemne session, in the midst of their talke, I put in my sentence, which was so indif- so. n.] SAPHO AND PHAO. 187 ferent, that they all concluded it might as well have beene left out, as put in, and so placed on each side of my head things like homes, and called me a Paren- thesis. Now my masters, this may be true, for I have seen it myselfe about divers sentences. Molus. It is true, and the same time did Mars make a ful point, that Vulcans head was made a Parenthesis. Cryti. This shall goe with me : I trust in Syracusa to give one or other a Parenthesis. Molus. Is Venus yet come home ? Caly. No, but were I Vulcan, I would by the gods. Gryti. What wouldst thou ? Caly. Nothing, but as Vulcan, halt by the gods. Cryti. I thought you would have hardly entreated Venus. Caly. Nay, Venus is easily entreated : but let that goe by. Cryti. What? Caly. That which maketh so many Parenthesis. Molus. I must goe by too, or else my master will not goe by me, but meete me full with his fist. There- fore, if wee shall sing, give me my part quickly : for if I tarrie long, I shall cry my part wofully. [Exeunt. SONG. Omnes. Arme, arme, the foe comes on apace. Caly. What's that red nose, and sulphury face ? Molus. Tis the hot leader. Cryti. What's his name ? Molus. Bacchus, a captaine of plumpe fame : A goat the beast on which he rides, Fat grunting swine run by his sides, His standerd-bearer feares no knockes, 188 SAPHO AND PHAO. [ACT m. For he's a drunken butter-box, Who when i' th' red field thus he revels, Cryes out, " ten towsan tunne of tivells !" Caly. What's he so swaggers in the van ? Molus. O ! that's a roring Englishman, Who in deepe healths do's so excell, From Dutch and French he beares the bel. Cryti. What victlers follow Bacchus campes ? Molus. Fooles, fidlers, panders, pimpes, and rampes. Caly. See, see, the battaile now growes hot, Here legs flye, here goes heads to th' pot, Here whores and knaves tos e broken glasses, Here all the souldiers looke like asses. Cryti. What man ere heard such hideous noyse ? Molus. O ! that's the vintners bawling boyes. Anon, Anon, the trumpets are, Which call them to the fearefull barre. Caly. Rush in, and lets our forces try. Molus. O no, for see they flie, they flie ! Cryii. And so will I. Caly. And I. Molus. And I. Omnes. 'Tis a hot day, in drinke to die. ACTUS TEKTIUS. SC^NA TEETIA. SAPHO in her bed, MILETA, ISMENA, CANOPE, ElJGENUA, FA VILLA, LAMIA. Sapho. Hey ho : I know not which way to turne me. Ah ! ah ! I faint, I die ! Mileta. Madame, I thinke it good you have more clothes, and sweat it out. Sapho. No, no, the best ease I find is to sigh it out. Isme. A strange disease that should breed such a desire. Sapho. A strange desire that hath brought such a disease. so. m.] SAPHO AND PHAO. 189 Oanope. Where, ladie, do you feele your most paine ? Sapho. Where no bodie else can feele it, Canope. Canope. At the heart ? Sapho. In the heart. Canope. Will you have any Mithrydate 1 Sapho. Yea, if for this disease there were any Mithry- date. Mileta. Why ? what disease is it madame, that phy- sicke cannot cure? Sapho. Onely the disease, Mileta, that I have. Mileta. Is it a burning ague ? Sapho. I thinke so, or a burning agonie. Euge. Will you have any of this syrope to moysten your mouth? Sapho. Would I had some locall things to dry my braine. Favilla. Madame, will you see if you can sleepe ? Sapho. Sleepe, Favilla 1 I shall then dreame. Lamia. As good dreame sleeping, as sigh waking. Euge. Phao is cunning in all kinde of simples, and it is hard, if there be none to procure sleepe. Sapho. Who? Euge. Phao. Sapho. Yea, Phao! Phao! ah Phao! let him come presently. Mileta. Shall wee draw the curtaines, whilest you give yourselfe leave to slumber ? Sapho. Doe, but depart not ; I have such starts in my sleepe, disquieted I know not how. \_In a slumber. ~\ Phao! Phao! Isme. What say you, madame ? 190 SAPHO AND PHAO. [ACT in. Sapho. Nothing, but if I sleepe not now, you send for Phao. Ah gods ! [Shefalkth asleepe. The cur- taines drawneJ] Mileta. There is a fish called Garus, that healeth all sicknesse, so as whilest it is applied one name not Garus. Euge. An evill medicine for us women : for if wee should hee forbidden to name Garus, we should chat nothing but Garus. Canope. Well said, Eugenua, you know yourselfe. Euge. Yea, Canope, and that I am one of your sexe. Isme. I have heard of an hearbe called Lunarie, that being bound to the pulses of the sick, cause nothing but dreames of weddings and dances. Favilla. I thinke, Ismena, that hearbe bee at thy pulses now : for thou art ever talking of matches and merriments, Canope. It is an unluckie signe in the chamber of the sicke to talke of marriages : for my mother said, it fore- eheweth death. Mileta. It is very evill to Canope to sit at the beds feet, and foretelleth danger : therefore remove your etoole, and sit by mee. Lamia. Sure it is some cold shee hath taken. Isme. If one were burnt, I thinke wee women would Eay hee died of a colde. Favilla. It may be some conceit. Mileta. Then is there no feare : for yet did I never heare of a woman that died of a conceit. Euge. I mistrust her not : for that the owle hath not ehrikt at the window, or the night raven croked, both being fatall. sc. in.] SAPHO AND PHAO. 191 Favilla. You are all superstitious, for these be but fancies of doting age : who by chance observing it in some, have set it downe as a religion for all. Mileta. Favilla, thou art but a girle ; I would not have a weesell cry, nor desire to see a glasse, nor an old wife come into my chamber ; for then though I lingred in my disease, I should never escape it. Sapho. Ah, who is there? what sodaine affrights be these ? Methought Phao came with simples to make me sleepe. Did no bodie name Phao, before I beganne to slumber? Mileta. Yes, we told you of him. Sapho. Let him be here to-morrow. Mileta. He shall, will you have a little broth to com- fort you ? Sapho. I can relish nothing. Mileta. Yet a little you must take to sustaine nature. Sapho. I cannot Mileta, I will not. Oh which way shall I lie? what shall I doe? Heigh ho ! O Mileta, helpe to reare mee up, my bed, my head lies too low. You pester mee with too many clothes. Fie, you keepe the chamber too hot ! avoide it ! it may bee I shall steale a nap when all are gone. Mileta. We will. Sapho sola. All ! impatient disease of love, and god- desse of love thrice unpitifull. The eagle is never striken with thunder, nor the olyve with lightning, and may great ladies bee plagued with love ? O Venus, have I not strawed thine altars with sweete roses? kept thy swannes in cleare rivers ? fed thy span-owes with ripe corne, and harboured thy doves in faire houses ? Thy 192 SAPHO AND PHAO. [ACT in. tortoys have I nourished under my fig tree, my chamber have I sieled with thy cockleshels, and dipped thy sponge into the freshest waters. Didst thou nurse me in my swadling clouts with wholsome hearbes, that I might perish in my flowring yeares by fancie ? I perceive, but too late I perceive, and yet not too late, because at last, that straines are caught as wel by stooping too low, as reaching too high : that eyes are bleared as soone with vapours that come from the earth, as with beames that proceed from the sun. Love lodge th sometimes in caves : and thou, Phoebus, that in the pride of thy heate shinest all day in our horizon, at night dippest thy head in the ocean. Kesist it, Sapho, whilest it is yet tender. Of acornes comes oakes, of drops flouds, of sparkes flames, of atomies elements. But alas, it fareth with me as with waspes, who feeding on serpents, make their stings more venemous : for glutting myself on the face of Phao, I have made my desire more desperate. Into the neast of an Alcyon no bird can enter but the Alcyon ; and into the hart of so great a ladie, can any creepe but a great lord ? There is an hearbe (not unlike unto my love) which the farther it groweth from the sea, the salter it is ; and my desires the more they swarve from reason, the more seeme they reasonable. When Phao commeth, what then ? wilt thou open thy love ? Yea ? No ! Sapho : but staring in his face till thine eyes dazell, and thy spirits faint, die before his face; then this shall be written on thy tomb, that though thy love were greater than wisdome could endure, yet thine honour was such, as love could not violate : Mileta I Mileia. I come. sc.m.] SAPHO AND PHAO. 193 SapJio. It wil not be, I can take no rest, which way soever I turne. Mileta. A strange maladie ! Sapho. Mileta, ifthouwilt, amartyrdome. But give me my lute, and I will see if in song I can beguile mine owne eyes. Mileta. Here, madame. Sapho. Have you sent for Phao 1 Mileta. Yea. Sapho. And to bring simples that will procure sleepe ? Mileta. No. Sapho. Foolish wench, what should the boy doe here, if he bring not remedies with him ? you thinke belike I could sleepe, if I did but see him. Let him not come at all : yes, let him come : no, it is no matter : yet will I trie, let him come : doe you heare ? Mileta. Yea, madame, it shall be done. Peace, no noise : she beginneth to fall asleepe. I will goe to Phao. Isme. Goe speedily : for if she wake, and finde you not here, she will be angry. Sicke folkes are testie, who though they eate nothing, yet they feede on gall. SONG. Sapho. O cruell Love ! on thee I lay My curse, which shall strike blinde the day ; Never may sleepe with velvet hand Charme thine eyes with sacred wand ; Thy jaylours shal be hopes and feares ; Thy prison-mates, grones, sighes, and teares ; Thy play to weare out weary times, Phantasticke passions, vowes, and rimes ; Thy bread bee frownes ; thy drinke bee gall ; Such as when you Phao call, 194 SAPHO AND PHAO. [ACT in. The bed thou lyest on by despaire ; Thy sleepe, fond dreames ; thy dreames long care ; Hope (like thy foole) at thy beds head, Mockes thee, till madnesse strike thee dead ; As Phao, thou dost mee, with thy proud eyes ; In thee poore Sapho lives, for thee shee dies. ACTUS TEETIUS. SOffiNA QUAETA. MlLETA, PHAO, ISMENA, SAPHO, VENUS. Mileta. I woxild either your cunning Phao, or your fortune, might by simples provoke my ladie to some slumber. Phao. My simples are in operation as my simplicitie is, which if they doe little good, assuredly they can doe no harme. Mileta. Were I sicke, the very sight of thy faire face would drive me into a sound sleepe. Phao. Indeede gentlewomen are so drowsie in their desires, that they can scarse hold up their eyes for love. Mileta. I meane the delight of beauty would so bind my senses, as I should bee quickly rocked into a deepe rest. Phao. You women have an excuse for an advantage, which must be allowed, because onely to you women it was allotted. Mileta. Phao, thou art passing faire, and able to draw a chaste eie not only to glance, but to gaze on thee. Thy young yeares, thy quicke wit, thy stayed desires, are of force to control those which should command. Phao. Lady, I forgot to commend you first: and sc. iv.] SAPHO AND PHAO. 195 least I should have overslipped to praise you at all, you have brought in my beauty, which is simple, that in curtesie I might remember yours, which is singular. Mileta. You mistake of purpose, or misconster of malice. Phao. I am as farre from malice, as you from love ; and to mistake of purpose were to mislike of peevishnes. Mileta. As farre as I from love ? Why, thinke you mee so dull I cannot love, or so spitefull I will not ? Phao. Neither, lady : but how should men imagine women can love, when in their mouthes there is nothing rifer, than in faith I doe not love. Mileta. Why, will you have women's love in their tongues ? Phao. Yea, else do I thinke there is none in their hearts. Mileta. Why? Phao. Because there was never any thing in the bot- tome of a womans heart, that commeth not to her tongues ende. Mileta. You are too young to cheapen love. Phao. Yet old enough to talke with market folkea. Mileta. Well, let us in. Isme. Phao is come. Sapho. Who? Phao? Phao, let him come neere: but who sent for him ? Mileta. You, madame. Sapho. I am loath to take any medicines : yet must I rather than pine in these maladies. Phao, you may make me sleep, if you will. Phao. If I can, I must, if you will. 196 SAPHO AND PHAO. [ACT m. Sapho. What hearbs have you brought, Phao ? Phao. Such as will make you sleepe, madame, though they cannot make me slumber. Sapho. Why, how can you cure mee, when you can- not remedie yourselfe ? Phao. Yes, madame, the causes are contrarie. For it is onely a drinesse in your braines, that keepeth you from rest. But Sapho. But what? Phao. Nothing, but mine is not so. Sapho. Nay, then I despaire of helpe, if our disease be not all one. Phao. I would our diseases were all one. Sapho. It goes hard with the patient, when the phi- sition is desperate. Phao. Yet Medea made the ever- waking dragon to snort, when shee poore soule could not winke. Sapho. Medea was in love, and nothing could cause her rest but Jason. Phao. Indeede I know no herb to make lovers sleepe, but hearts-ease ; which because it groweth so high, I cannot reach for. Sapho. For whom ? Phao. For such as love. Sapho. It stoopeth very low, and I can never stoop to it, that Phao. That what? Sapho. That I may gather it : but why doe you sigh so, Phao 1 Phao. It is mine use, madame. Sapho. It will doe you harme, and me too : for I never heare one sigh, but I must sigh also. sc. iv.] SAPHO AND PHAO, 197 Phao. It were best then that your ladyship give me leave to be gone : for I can but sigh. Sapho. Nay stay, for now I begin to sigh, I shall not leave though you bee gone. But what doe you thinke best for your sighing to take it away ? Phao. Yew, madame. Sapho. Mee? Phao. No, madame, yew of the tree. Sapho. Then will I love yew the better. And indeed I thinke it would make me sleepe too, therefore all other simples set aside, I will simply use only yew. Phao. Do, madame : for I thinke nothing in the world so good as yew. Sapho. Farwell for this time. Venus. Is not your name Phao ? Phao. Phao, faire Venus, whom you made so faire. Venus. So passing faire ! faire Phao, O sweete Phao : what wilt thou doe for Venus ? Phao. Any thing that commeth in the compasse of my poore fortune. Venus. Cupid shall teach thee to shoote, and I will instruct thee in dissembling. Phao. I will learne any thing but dissembling. Venus. Why my boy ? Phao. Because then I must learne to be a woman. Venus. Thou heardest that of a man. Phao. Men speake truth. Venus. But truth is a shee, and so alwaies painted. Phao. I thinke a painted truth. Venus. Wei, farwell for this time : for I must visit Sapho. [Phao exit. 198 SAPHO AND PHAO. [ACT iv. ACTUS QUAETUS. SC^ENA PKIMA. VENUS, SAPHO, CUPID. Venus. \APHO, I have heard thy complaints, and pittied thine agonies. Sapho. O Venus, my cares are onely knowne to thee, and hy thee onely came the cause. Cupid, why didst thou wound me so deepe ? Cupid. My mother bad mee draw mine arrow to the head. Sapho. Venus, why didst thou prove so hatefull ? Venus. Cupid tooke a wrong shaft. Sapho. Cupid, too unkind to make me so kind, that almost I transgresse the modesty of my kinde. Cupid. I was blinde, and could not see mine arrow. Sapho. How came it to passe, thou didst hit my heart? Cupid. That came hy the nature of the head, which being once let out of the bow, can finde none other lighting place but the heart. Venus. Bee not dismaid, Phao shall yeeld. Sapho. If he yeelde, then shall I shame to embrace one so meane, if not die ; because I cannot embrace one so meane. Thus doe I finde no meane. Venus. "Well, I will worke for thee. Farwell. Sapho. Farwell sweete Venus, and thou Cupid, which art sweetest in thy sharpnesse. [Exit Sapho. sc. ii.] SAPHO AND PHAO: 199 ACTUS QUAKTUS. SC^NA SECUNDA. VENUS, CUPID. Venus. Cupid, what hast thou done ? put thine ar- rowes mPhao's eyes, and wounded thy mothers heart.. Cupid. You gave him a face to allure, then why should not I give him eyes to pearce ? Venus. O Venus ! unhappie Venus ! who in bestow- ing a benefit upon a man, hast brought a bane unto a goddesse. What perplexities dost thou feele ? O faire Phao ! and therefore made faire to breed in mee a frenzie. would that when I gave thee golden locks to curie thy head, I had shackled thee with yron locks on thy feete. And when I noursed thee, Sapho, with lettice, would it had turned to hemlocke. Have I brought a smooth skin over thy face, to make a rough scarre in my heart ? And given thee a fresh colour like the damask rose, to make mine pale like the stained turkis ? O Cupid, thy flames with Psyche's were but sparkes, and my desires with Adonis but dreames, in respect of these unacquainted torments. Laugh, Juno! Venus is in love ; but Juno shall not see with whom, least she be in love. Venus belike is become stale : Sapho forsooth because she hath many vertues, therefore shee must have all the favours. Venus waxeth old : and then she was a pretie wench, when Juno was a yong wife ; now crowes foote is on her eye, and the black oxe hath trod on her foot. But were Sapho never so vertuous, doth she think to contend with Venus to be as amorous ? Yeeld, Phao ! but yeeld to me, Phao ; I intreat where I may com- 200 SAPHO AND PHAO. [ACT nr. mand ; command thou, where thou shouldst intreat. In this case, Cupid, what is thy counsel! ? Venus must hoth play the lover and the dissembler ; and therefore the dissembler, because the lover. Cupid. You will ever be playing with arrowes, like children with knives ; and then when you bleed, you cry: go to Vulcan, intreat by prayers, threaten with blowes, wooe with kisses, ban with curses, trie ah 1 meanes to rid these extremities. Venus. To what end ? Cupid. That he might make me new arrowes : for nothing can roote out the desires of Phao, but a new shaft of inconstancie, nor any thing turne Sapho's heart, but a new arrow of disdaine. And then they disliking one the other, who shall enjoy Phao but Venus ? Venus. I will follow thy counsell. For Venus, though she be in her latter age for yeares : yet is she in her nonage for affections. When Venus ceaseth to love let love cease to rule. But come let us to Vulcan. [Exeunt. ACTUS QUAETUS. SC^NA TEETIA. SAPHO, MlLETA, ISMENA, ElJGENTJA, LAMIA, FA VILLA, CANOPE. SapTio. What dreames are these, Mileta 1 And can there be no truth in dreams ? yea dreames have their truth. Methought I saw a stockdove or woodquist, (I know not how to tearme it) that brought short strawes to build his nest iu a tall cedar, where, whilst with hia sc. m.] SAPHO AND PHAO. 201 bil he was framing his building, he lost as many feathers from his wings, as he laid strawes in his nest : yet scambling to catch hold to harbor in the house he had made, he sodainely fell from the bough where he stood. And then pittifully casting up his eyes, he cryed in such tearmes (as I imagined) as might either condemne the nature of such a tree, or the daring of such a mind. Whitest he lay quaking upon the ground, and I gazing on the cedar, I might perceive antes to breed in the rinde, coveting only to hoord ; and caterpillers to cleave to the leaves, labouring only to suck; which caused moe leaves to fall from the tree, than there did feathers before from the dove. Methought, Mileta, I sighed in my sleepe, pittying both the fortune of the bird and the misfortune of the tree : but in this time quils began to bud againe in the bird, which made him looke as though he would flie up ; and then wished I that the body of the tree would bow, that he might but creep up the tree ; then, and so Hey ho ! Mileta. And so what? SapJio. Nothing, Mileta ; but and so I waked. But did nobody dreame but I ? Mileta. I dreamed last night (but I hope dreames are contrarie), that holding my head over a sweete smoake, all my haire blazd on a bright flame. Methought Is- mena cast water to quench it : yet the sparkes fel on my bosom, and wiping them away with my hand, I was all in a goare bloud, till one with a few fresh flowers stanched it. And so stretching myselfe as stiife, I started, it was but a dream. Isme. It is a signe you shall fall in love with hearing 202 SAPHO AND PHAO. [ACT iv. faire words. "Water signifieth counsel!, flowers death. And nothing can purge your loving humor but death. Mileta. You are no interpreter, but an interprater, harping alwaies upon love, till you be as blind as a harper. Isme. I remember last night but one, I dreamed mine eye-tooth was loose, and that I thrust it out with my tongue. Mileta. It fortelleth the losse of a friend : and I ever thought thee so ful of prattle, that thou wouldest thrust out the best friend with thy tatling. Isme. Mileta, but it was loose before ! and if my friend bee loose, as good thrust out with plaine words as kept in with dissembling. Euge. Dreames are but dotings, which come either by things we see in the day, or meates that we eate, and so the common sense preferring it to be imaginative. Isme. Soft Philosofatrix, well seene in secrets of art, and not seduced with the superstitions of nature. SapTio. Ismenaes tongue never lyeth still, I thinke all her teeth will be loose, they are so often jogged against her tongue. But say on, Eugenua. Euge. There is all. Sapho. What did you dreame, Canape 1 Canope. I seldome dreame, madam: but sithence your sicknes I cannot tell whether with our watching, but I have had many phantasticall visions : for even now slumbring by your beds side, meethought I was shadowed with a cloud, where laboring to unwrap my- selfe, I was more intangled. But in the midst of my striving it seemed to myselfe gold, with faire drops ; I filled my lap, and running to shew it my feljowes, it sc. in.] SAPHO AND PHAO. 203 turned to dust: I blushed, they laughed; and then I waked, being glad it was but a dreame. Isme. Take heede, Canope, that gold tempt not your lap, and then you blush for shame. Canope. It is good lucke to dreame of gold. Isme. Yea, if it had continued gold. Lamia. I dreame every night, and the last night this. Methought that walking in the sunne, I was stung with the flie Tarantula, whose venom nothing can expell but the sweet consent of musick. I tried all kinde of in- struments, but found no ease, till at the last two lutes tuned in one key so glutted my thirsting eares, that my griefe presentlie ceased : for joy whereof as I was clapping my hands, your ladyship called. Mileta. It is a signe that nothing shall asswage your love but marriage : for such is the tying of two in wedlocke, as is the tuning of two lutes in one key : for striking the strings of the one, strawes will stirre upon the strings of the other, and in two minds linked in love, one cannot be delighted, but the other rejoiceth. Favilla. Methought going by the sea side among pebels, I saw one playing with a rounde stone, ever throwing it into the water, when the sunne shined ; I asked the name, he saide, it was called Abeston, which being once hot, would never be cold; he gave it me, and vanished. I forgetting myselfe, delighted with the faire show, would alwaies shew it by candlelight, pull it out in the sunne, and see how bright it would looke in the fire, where catching heate, nothing could coole it : for anger I threw it against the wall, and with the heaving up of mine arme I waked. 204 SAP HO AND PHAO. [ACT iv. Mileta. Beware of love, Favilla : for women's hearts are such stones, which warmed by affection, cannot be cold by wisdome. Favilla. I warrant you : for I never credit men's words. Isme. Yet be wane : for women are scorched some- times with men's eyes, though they had rather consume than confesse. SapTio. Cease your talking : for I would faine sleep, to see if I can dream, whether the bird hath feathers, or the ant wings. Draw the curtaine. ACTUS QUAETUS. SO&NA QUARTA. VENUS, VULCAN, CUPID. Venus. Come, Cupid, Vulcan's flames must quench Venus' fires. Vulcan? Vulcan. Who? Venus. Venus. Vulcan. Ho, ho ! Venus. Venus. Come sweet Vulcan, thou knowest how sweet thou hast found Venus; who being of all the goddesses the most faire, hath chosen thee of all the gods the most foule ; thou must needes then confesse I was most lov- ing. Enquire not the cause of my suit by questions : but prevent the effects by curtesie. Make me six arrow heads, it is given thee of the gods by permission to frame them to any purpose, I shall request them by prayer. Why lowrest thou Vulcan 1 wilt thou have a kisse ? hold up thy head, Venus hath young thoughts, and fresh affections. Rootes have strings, when boughes sc. iv.] SAP HO AND PHAO. 205 have no leaves. But harken in thine eare, Vulcan : how sayest thou ? Vulcan. Vulcan is a god with you, when you are disposed to flatter. A right woman, whose tongue is like a bees sting, which pricketh deepest, when it is fullest of hony ; because you have made mine eyes drunke with faire lookes, you will set mine eares on edge with sweet words. You were wont to say that the beating of hammers made your head ake, and the smoake of the forge your eyes water, and every coale was a block in your way. You weepe rose water, when you aske ; and spit vineger, when you have obtained. What would you now with new arrowes ? belike Mars hath a tougher skin on his heart, or Cupid a weaker arme, or Venus a better courage. Well, Venus, there is never a smile in your face but hath made a wrinckle in my forhead; Ganymedes must fill your cup, and you wil pledge none but Jupiter. But I will not chide Venus. Come, Cy- clops, my wife must have her will ; let us doe that in earth, which the gods cannot undoe in heaven. Venus. Gramercie sweet Vulcan ! to your worke. [The SONG, in making of the Arrowes.] Vulcan. My shag-haire Cyclops, come, let's ply Our Lemnion hammers lustily ; By my wifes sparrowes, I sweare these arrowes, Shall singing fly Through many a wantons eye. These headed are with golden blisses. These silver-ones feathered with kisses. But this of lead Strikes a clowne dead, 206 SAPHOANDPHAO. [ACT iv. When in a dance Hee fals in a trance, To se his black-brow lasse not busse him, And then whines out for death t' untrusse him. So, so, our worke being don lets play, Holliday (boyes) cry holliday. Vulcan. Here, Venus, I have finished these arrowes by art, bestow them you by wit: for as great advise must he use that hath them, as he cunning that made them. Venus. Vulcan, now you have done with your forge, let us alone with the fancie : you are as the fletcher, not the archer, to medle with the arrows, not the aime. Vulcan. I thought so : when I have done working, you have done wooing. Where is now sweet Vulcan 1 Well, I can say no more, but this, which is enough, and as much as any can say, Venus is a woman. Venus. Be not angry, Vulcan, I will love thee againe, when I have either busines, or nothing else to doe. Cupid. My mother will make much of you, when there are no more men than Vulcan. ACTUS QUINTUS. SC^ENA PKIMA. VENUS, CUPID. Venus. OME, Cupid, receive with thy father's in- struments thy mother's instructions : for thou must bee wise in conceit, if thou wilt be fortunate in execution. This arrow is feathered with the wings of