THE FAITHFUL SHEPHERDESS

The Works of Francis Beaumont and John Fletcher (Vol. 2 of 10)

_Actus Primus. Scena Prima. _

_Enter_ Clorin _a shepherdess, having buried her Love in an Arbour. _

Hail, holy Earth, whose cold Arms do imbraceThe truest man that ever fed his flocksBy the fat plains of fruitful _Thessaly_, Thus I salute thy Grave, thus do I payMy early vows, and tribute of mine eyesTo thy still loved ashes; thus I freeMy self from all insuing heats and firesOf love: all sports, delights and jolly gamesThat Shepherds hold full dear, thus put I off. Now no more shall these smooth brows be begirtWith youthful Coronals, and lead the Dance;No more the company of fresh fair MaidsAnd wanton Shepherds be to me delightful, Nor the shrill pleasing sound of merry pipesUnder some shady dell, when the cool windPlays on the leaves: all be far away, Since thou art far away; by whose dear sideHow often have I sat Crown'd with fresh flowersFor summers Queen, whil'st every Shepherds BoyPuts on his lusty green, with gaudy hook, And hanging scrip of finest Cordevan. But thou art gone, and these are gone with thee, And all are dead but thy dear memorie;That shall out-live thee, and shall ever springWhilest there are pipes, or jolly Shepherds sing. And here will I in honour of thy love, Dwell by thy Grave, forgeting all those joys, That former times made precious to mine eyes, Only remembring what my youth did gainIn the dark, hidden vertuous use of Herbs:That will I practise, and as freely giveAll my endeavours, as I gain'd them free. Of all green wounds I know the remediesIn Men or Cattel, be they stung with Snakes, Or charm'd with powerful words of wicked Art, Or be they Love-sick, or through too much heatGrown wild or Lunatick, their eyes or earsThickned with misty filme of dulling Rheum, These I can Cure, such secret vertue liesIn Herbs applyed by a Virgins hand:My meat shall be what these wild woods afford, Berries, and Chesnuts, Plantanes, on whose Cheeks, The Sun sits smiling, and the lofty fruitPull'd from the fair head of the staight grown Pine;On these I'le feed with free content and rest, When night shall blind the world, by thy side blest. 

_Enter a_ Satyr. 

_Satyr. _ Through yon same bending plainThat flings his arms down to the main, And through these thick woods have I run, Whose bottom never kist the SunSince the lusty Spring began, All to please my master _Pan, _Have I trotted without restTo get him Fruit; for at a FeastHe entertains this coming nightHis Paramour, the _Syrinx_ bright:But behold a fairer sight! [_He stands amazed. _By that Heavenly form of thine, Brightest fair thou art divine, Sprung from great immortal raceOf the gods, for in thy faceShines more awful Majesty, Than dull weak mortalitieDare with misty eyes behold, And live: therefore on this moldLowly do I bend my knee, In worship of thy Deitie;Deign it Goddess from my hand, To receive what e're this landFrom her fertil Womb doth sendOf her choice Fruits: and but lendBelief to that the Satyre tells, Fairer by the famous wells, To this present day ne're grew, Never better nor more true. Here be Grapes whose lusty bloudIs the learned Poets good, Sweeter yet did never crownThe head of _Bacchus_, Nuts more brownThan the Squirrels Teeth that crack them;Deign O fairest fair to take them. For these black ey'd _Driope_Hath oftentimes commanded me, With my clasped knee to clime;See how well the lusty timeHath deckt their rising cheeks in red, Such as on your lips is spred, Here be Berries for a Queen, Some be red, some be green, These are of that luscious meat, The great God _Pan_ himself doth eat:All these, and what the woods can yield, The hanging mountain or the field, I freely offer, and ere longWill bring you more, more sweet and strong, Till when humbly leave I take, Lest the great _Pan_ do awake, That sleeping lies in a deep glade, Under a broad Beeches shade, I must go, I must runSwifter than the fiery Sun. [_Exit_. 

_Clo_. And all my fears go with thee. What greatness or what private hidden power, Is there in me to draw submissionFrom this rude man, and beast? sure I am mortal:The Daughter of a Shepherd, he was mortal:And she that bore me mortal: prick my handAnd it will bleed: a Feaver shakes me, And the self same wind that makes the young Lambs shrink, Makes me a cold: my fear says I am mortal:Yet I have heard (my Mother told it me)And now I do believe it, if I keepMy Virgin Flower uncropt, pure, chaste, and fair, No Goblin, Wood-god, Fairy, Elfe, or Fiend, Satyr or other power that haunts the Groves, Shall hurt my body, or by vain illusionDraw me to wander after idle fires;Or voyces calling me in dead of night, To make me follow, and so tole me onThrough mire and standing pools, to find my ruine:Else why should this rough thing, who never knewManners, nor smooth humanity, whose heatsAre rougher than himself, and more mishapen, Thus mildly kneel to me? sure there is a powerIn that great name of Virgin, that binds fastAll rude uncivil bloods, all appetitesThat break their confines: then strong ChastityBe thou my strongest guard, for here I'le dwellIn opposition against Fate and Hell. 

_Enter an old_ Shepherd, _with him four couple of_ Shepherds_and_ Shepherdesses. 

_Old Shep_. Now we have done this holy FestivalIn honour of our great God, and his ritesPerform'd, prepare your selves for chasteAnd uncorrupted fires: that as the Priest, With powerful hand shall sprinkle on [your] BrowsHis pure and holy water, ye may beFrom all hot flames of lust, and loose thoughts free. Kneel Shepherds, kneel, here comes the Priest of _Pan_. 

_Enter_ Priest. 

_Priest_. Shepherds, thus I purge away, Whatsoever this great day, Or the past hours gave not good, To corrupt your Maiden blood:From the high rebellious heatOf the Grapes, and strength of meat;From the wanton quick desires, They do kindle by their fires, I do wash you with this water, Be you pure and fair hereafter. From your Liver and your Veins, Thus I take away the stains. All your thoughts be smooth and fair, Be ye fresh and free as Air. Never more let lustful heatThrough your purged conduits beat, Or a plighted troth be broken, Or a wanton verse be spokenIn a Shepherdesses ear;Go your wayes, ye are all clear. [_They rise and sing in praise of_ Pan. 

The SONG. 

_Sing his praises that doth keep Our Flocks from harm, _Pan _the Father of our Sheep, And arm in armTread we softly in a round, Whilest the hollow neighbouring groundFills the Musick with her sound. _

Pan, _O great God_ Pan, _to thee Thus do we sing:Thou that keep'st us chaste and free As the young spring, Ever be thy honour spoke, From that place the morn is broke, To that place Day doth unyoke. _ [_Exeunt omnes but_ Perigot _and_ Amoret. 

_Peri_. Stay gentle _Amoret_, thou fair brow'd Maid, Thy Shepherd prays thee stay, that holds thee dear, Equal with his souls good. 

_Amo_. Speak; I giveThee freedom Shepherd, and thy tongue be stillThe same it ever was; as free from ill, As he whose conversation never knewThe Court or City be thou ever true. 

_Peri_. When I fall off from my affection, Or mingle my clean thoughts with foul desires, First let our great God cease to keep my flocks, That being left alone without a guard, The Wolf, or Winters rage, Summers great heat, And want of Water, Rots; or what to usOf ill is yet unknown, full speedily, And in their general ruine let me feel. 

_Amo_. I pray thee gentle Shepherd wish not so, I do believe thee: 'tis as hard for meTo think thee false, and harder than for theeTo hold me foul. 

_Peri_. O you are fairer farThan the chaste blushing morn, or that fair starThat guides the wandring Sea-men through the deep, Straighter than straightest Pine upon the steepHead of an aged mountain, and more whiteThan the new Milk we strip before day-lightFrom the full fraighted bags of our fair flocks:Your hair more beauteous than those hanging locksOf young _Apollo_. 

_Amo_. Shepherd be not lost, Y'are sail'd too far already from the CoastOf our discourse. 

_Peri_. Did you not tell me onceI should not love alone, I should not loseThose many passions, vows, and holy Oaths, I've sent to Heaven? did you not give your hand, Even that fair hand in hostage? Do not thenGive back again those sweets to other men, You your self vow'd were mine. 

_Amo_. Shepherd, so far as Maidens modestyMay give assurance, I am once more thine, Once more I give my hand; be ever freeFrom that great foe to faith, foul jealousie. 

_Peri_. I take it as my best good, and desireFor stronger confirmation of our love, To meet this happy night in that fair Grove, Where all true Shepherds have rewarded beenFor their long service: say sweet, shall it hold?

_Amo_. Dear friend, you must not blame me if I makeA doubt of what the silent night may do, Coupled with this dayes heat to move your bloud:Maids must be fearful; sure you have not beenWash'd white enough; for yet I see a stainStick in your Liver, go and purge again. 

_Peri_. O do not wrong my honest simple truth, My self and my affections are as pureAs those chaste flames that burn before the shrineOf the great _Dian_: only my intentTo draw you thither, was to plight our troths, With enterchange of mutual chaste embraces, And ceremonious tying of our selves:For to that holy wood is consecrateA vertuous well, about whose flowry banks, The nimble-footed Fairies dance their rounds, By the pale moon-shine, dipping oftentimesTheir stolen Children, so to make them freeFrom dying flesh, and dull mortalitie;By this fair Fount hath many a Shepherd sworn, And given away his freedom, many a trothBeen plight, which neither envy, nor old timeCould ever break, with many a chaste kiss given, In hope of coming happiness; by thisFresh Fountain many a blushing MaidHath crown'd the head of her long loved ShepherdWith gaudy flowers, whilest he happy sungLayes of his love and dear Captivitie;There grows all Herbs fit to cool looser flamesOur sensual parts provoke, chiding our bloods, And quenching by their power those hidden sparksThat else would break out, and provoke our senseTo open fires, so vertuous is that place:Then gentle Shepherdess, believe and grant, In troth it fits not with that face to scantYour faithful Shepherd of those chaste desiresHe ever aim'd at, and--

_Amo_. Thou hast prevail'd, farewel, this coming nightShall crown thy chast hopes with long wish'd delight. 

_Peri_. Our great god _Pan_ reward thee for that goodThou hast given thy poor Shepherd: fairest BudOf Maiden Vertues, when I leave to beThe true Admirer of thy Chastitie, Let me deserve the hot polluted NameOf the wild Woodman, or affect: some Dame, Whose often Prostitution hath begotMore foul Diseases, than ever yet the hotSun bred through his burnings, whilst the DogPursues the raging Lion, throwing Fog, And deadly Vapour from his angry Breath, Filling the lower World with Plague and Death. [_Ex. _ Am. 

_Enter_ Amaryllis. 

_Ama_. Shepherd, may I desire to be believ'd, What I shall blushing tell?

_Peri_. Fair Maid, you may. 

_Am_. Then softly thus, I love thee, _Perigot_, And would be gladder to be lov'd again, Than the cold Earth is in his frozen armsTo clip the wanton Spring: nay do not start, Nor wonder that I woo thee, thou that artThe prime of our young Grooms, even the topOf all our lusty Shepherds! what dull eyeThat never was acquainted with desire, Hath seen thee wrastle, run, or cast the StoneWith nimble strength and fair delivery, And hath not sparkled fire, and speedilySent secret heat to all the neighbouring Veins?Who ever heard thee sing, that brought againThat freedom back, was lent unto thy Voice;Then do not blame me (Shepherd) if I beOne to be numbred in this Companie, Since none that ever saw thee yet, were free. 

_Peri_. Fair Shepherdess, much pity I can lendTo your Complaints: but sure I shall not love:All that is mine, my self, and my best hopesAre given already; do not love him thenThat cannot love again: on other menBestow those heats more free, that may returnYou fire for fire, and in one flame equal burn. 

_Ama_. Shall I rewarded be so slenderlyFor my affection, most unkind of men!If I were old, or had agreed with ArtTo give another Nature to my Cheeks, Or were I common Mistress to the loveOf every Swain, or could I with such easeCall back my Love, as many a Wanton doth;Thou might'st refuse me, Shepherd; but to theeI am only fixt and set, let it not beA Sport, thou gentle Shepherd to abuseThe love of silly Maid. 

_Peri_. Fair Soul, ye useThese words to little end: for know, I mayBetter call back that time was Yesterday, Or stay the coming Night, than bring my LoveHome to my self again, or recreant prove. I will no longer hold you with delays, This present night I have appointed beenTo meet that chaste Fair (that enjoys my Soul)In yonder Grove, there to make up our Loves. Be not deceiv'd no longer, chuse again, These neighbouring Plains have many a comely Swain, Fresher, and freer far than I e'r was, Bestow that love on them, and let me pass. Farewel, be happy in a better Choice. [_Exit_. 

_Ama_. Cruel, thou hast struck me deader with thy VoiceThan if the angry Heavens with their quick flamesHad shot me through: I must not leave to love, I cannot, no I must enjoy thee, Boy, Though the great dangers 'twixt my hopes and thatBe infinite: there is a Shepherd dwellsDown by the Moor, whose life hath ever shownMore sullen Discontent than _Saturns_ Brow, When he sits frowning on the Births of Men:One that doth wear himself away in loneness;And never joys unless it be in breakingThe holy plighted troths of mutual Souls:One that lusts after [every] several Beauty, But never yet was known to love or like, Were the face fairer, or more full of truth, Than _Phoebe_ in her fulness, or the youthOf smooth _Lyaeus_; whose nigh starved flocksAre always scabby, and infect all SheepThey feed withal; whose Lambs are ever last, And dye before their waining, and whose DogLooks like his Master, lean, and full of scurf, Not caring for the Pipe or Whistle: this man may(If he be well wrought) do a deed of wonder, Forcing me passage to my long desires:And here he comes, as fitly to my purpose, As my quick thoughts could wish for. 

_Enter_ Shepherd. 

_Shep_. Fresh Beauty, let me not be thought uncivil, Thus to be Partner of your loneness: 'twasMy Love (that ever working passion) drewMe to this place to seek some remedyFor my sick Soul: be not unkind and fair, For such the mighty Cupid in his doomHath sworn to be aveng'd on; then give roomTo my consuming Fires, that so I mayEnjoy my long Desires, and so allayThose flames that else would burn my life away. 

_Ama_. Shepherd, were I but sure thy heart were soundAs thy words seem to be, means might be foundTo cure thee of thy long pains; for to meThat heavy youth-consuming MiserieThe love-sick Soul endures, never was pleasing;I could be well content with the quick easingOf thee, and thy hot fires, might it procureThy faith and farther service to be sure. 

_Shep_. Name but that great work, danger, or what canBe compass'd by the Wit or Art of Man, And if I fail in my performance, mayI never more kneel to the rising Day. 

_Ama_. Then thus I try thee, Shepherd, this same night, That now comes stealing on, a gentle pairHave promis'd equal Love, and do appointTo make yon Wood the place where hands and heartsAre to be ty'd for ever: break their meetingAnd their strong Faith, and I am ever thine. 

_Shep_. Tell me their Names, and if I do not move(By my great power) the Centre of their LoveFrom his fixt being, let me never moreWarm me by those fair Eyes I thus adore. 

_Ama_. Come, as we go, I'll tell thee what they are, And give thee fit directions for thy work. [_Exeunt. _

_Enter_ Cloe. 

_Cloe_. How have I wrong'd the times, or men, that thusAfter this holy Feast I pass unknownAnd unsaluted? 'twas not wont to beThus frozen with the younger companieOf jolly Shepherds; 'twas not then held good, For lusty Grooms to mix their quicker bloodWith that dull humour, most unfit to beThe friend of man, cold and dull Chastitie. Sure I am held not fair, or am too old, Or else not free enough, or from my foldDrive not a flock sufficient great, to gainThe greedy eyes of wealth-alluring Swain:Yet if I may believe what others say, My face has soil enough; nor can they layJustly too strict a Coyness to my Charge;My Flocks are many, and the Downs as largeThey feed upon: then let it ever beTheir Coldness, not my Virgin ModestieMakes me complain. 

_Enter_ Thenot. 

_The_. Was ever Man but IThus truly taken with uncertainty?Where shall that Man be found that loves a mindMade up in Constancy, and dare not findHis Love rewarded? here let all men knowA Wretch that lives to love his Mistress so. 

_Clo_. Shepherd, I pray thee stay, where hast thou been?Or whither go'st thou? here be Woods as greenAs any, air likewise as fresh and sweet, As where smooth _Zephyrus_ plays on the fleetFace of the curled Streams, with Flowers as manyAs the young Spring gives, and as choise as any;Here be all new Delights, cool Streams and Wells, Arbors o'rgrown with Woodbinds, Caves, and Dells, Chase where thou wilt, whilst I sit by, and sing, Or gather Rushes to make many a RingFor thy long fingers; tell thee tales of Love, How the pale _Phoebe_ hunting in a Grove, First saw the Boy _Endymion_, from whose EyesShe took eternal fire that never dyes;How she convey'd him softly in a sleep, His temples bound with poppy to the steepHead of old _Latmus_, where she stoops each night, Gilding the Mountain with her Brothers light, To kiss her sweetest. 

_The_. Far from me are theseHot flashes, bred from wanton heat and ease;I have forgot what love and loving meant:Rhimes, Songs, and merry Rounds, that oft are sentTo the soft Ears of Maids, are strange to me;Only I live t' admire a Chastitie, That neither pleasing Age, smooth tongue, or Gold, Could ever break upon, so pure a MoldIs that her Mind was cast in; 'tis to herI only am reserv'd; she is my form I stirBy, breath and move, 'tis she and only sheCan make me happy, or give miserie. 

_Clo_. Good Shepherd, may a Stranger crave to knowTo whom this dear observance you do ow?

_The_. You may, and by her Vertue learn to squareAnd level out your Life; for to be fairAnd nothing vertuous, only fits the EyeOf gaudy Youth, and swelling Vanitie. Then know, she's call'd the Virgin of the Grove, She that hath long since bury'd her chaste Love, And now lives by his Grave, for whose dear SoulShe hath vow'd her self into the holy RollOf strict Virginity; 'tis her I so admire, Not any looser Blood, or new desire. 

_Clo_. Farewel poor Swain, thou art not for my bend, I must have quicker Souls, whose works may tendTo some free action: give me him dare loveAt first encounter, and as soon dare prove. 

The SONG. 

 _Come Shepherds, come, Come away without delayWhilst the gentle time dot[h] stay. Green Woods are dumb, And will never tell to anyThose dear Kisses, and those manySweet Embraces that are givenDainty Pleasures that would evenRaise in coldest Age a fire, And give Virgin Blood desire, Then if ever, Now or never, Come and have it, Think not I, Dare deny, If you crave it. _

_Enter_ Daphnis. 

Here comes another: better be my speed, Thou god of Blood: but certain, if I readNot false, this is that modest Shepherd, heThat only dare salute, but ne'r could beBrought to kiss any, hold discourse, or sing, Whisper, or boldly ask that wished thingWe all are born for; one that makes loving Faces, And could be well content to covet Graces, Were they not got by boldness; in this thingMy hopes are frozen; and but Fate doth bringHim hither, I would sooner chuseA Man made out of Snow, and freer useAn Eunuch to my ends: but since he's here, Thus I attempt him. Thou of men most dear, Welcome to her, that only for thy sake, Hath been content to live: here boldly takeMy hand in pledg, this hand, that never yetWas given away to any: and but sitDown on this rushy Bank, whilst I go pullFresh Blossoms from the Boughs, or quickly cullThe choicest delicates from yonder Mead, To make thee Chains, or Chaplets, or to spreadUnder our fainting Bodies, when delightShall lock up all our senses. How the sightOf those smooth rising Cheeks renew the storyOf young _Adonis_, when in Pride and GloryHe lay infolded 'twixt the beating armsOf willing _Venus_: methinks stronger CharmsDwell in those speaking eyes, and on that browMore sweetness than the Painters can allowTo their best pieces: not _Narcissus_, heThat wept himself away in memorieOf his own Beauty, nor _Silvanus_ Boy, Nor the twice ravish'd Maid, for whom old _Troy_Fell by the hand of _Pirrhus_, may to theeBe otherwise compar'd, than some dead TreeTo a young fruitful Olive. 

_Daph_. I can love, But I am loth to say so, lest I proveToo soon unhappy. 

_Clo_. Happy thou would'st say, My dearest _Daphnis_, blush not, if the dayTo thee and thy soft heats be enemie, Then take the coming Night, fair youth 'tis freeTo all the World, Shepherd, I'll meet thee thenWhen darkness hath shut up the eyes of men, In yonder Grove: speak, shall our Meeting hold?Indeed you are too bashful, be more bold, And tell me I. 

_Daph_. I'm content to say so, And would be glad to meet, might I but pray soMuch from your Fairness, that you would be true. 

_Clo_. Shepherd, thou hast thy Wish. 

_Daph_. Fresh Maid, adieu:Yet one word more, since you have drawn me onTo come this Night, fear not to meet aloneThat man that will not offer to be ill, Though your bright self would ask it, for his fillOf this Worlds goodness: do not fear him then, But keep your 'pointed time; let other menSet up their Bloods to sale, mine shall be everFair as the Soul it carries, and unchast never. [_Exit_. 

_Clo_. Yet am I poorer than I was before. Is it not strange, among so many a scoreOf lusty Bloods, I should pick out these thingsWhose Veins like a dull River far from Springs, Is still the same, slow, heavy, and unfitFor stream or motion, though the strong winds hitWith their continual power upon his sides?O happy be your names that have been brides, And tasted those rare sweets for which I pine:And far more heavy be thy grief and time, Thou lazie swain, that maist relieve my needs, Than his, upon whose liver alwayes feedsA hungry vultur. 

_Enter_ Alexis. 

_Ale_. Can such beauty beSafe in his own guard, and not draw the eyeOf him that passeth on, to greedy gaze, Or covetous desire, whilst in a mazeThe better part contemplates, giving reinAnd wished freedom to the labouring vein?Fairest and whitest, may I crave to knowThe cause of your retirement, why ye goeThus all alone? methinks the downs are sweeter, And the young company of swains far meeter, Than those forsaken and untroden places. Give not your self to loneness, and those gracesHid from the eyes of men, that were intendedTo live amongst us swains. 

_Cloe. _ Thou art befriended, Shepherd, in all my life I have not seenA man in whom greater contents have beenThan thou thy self art: I could tell thee more, Were there but any hope left to restoreMy freedom lost. O lend me all thy red, Thou shamefast morning, when from _Tithons_ bedThou risest ever maiden. 

_Alex. _If for me, Thou sweetest of all sweets, these flashes be, Speak and be satisfied. O guide her tongue, My better angel; force my name amongHer modest thoughts, that the first word may be--

_Cloe. _ _Alexis_, when the sun shall kiss the Sea, Taking his rest by the white _Thetis_ side, Meet in the holy wood, where I'le abideThy coming, Shepherd. 

_Alex. _ If I stay behind, An everlasting dulness, and the wind, That as he passeth by shuts up the streamOf _Rhine_ or _Volga_, whilst the suns hot beamBeats back again, seise me, and let me turnTo coldness more than ice: oh how I burnAnd rise in youth and fire! I dare not stay. 

_Cloe. _ My name shall be your word. 

_Alex. _ Fly, fly thou day. [_Exit. _

_Cloe. _ My grief is great if both these boyes should fail:He that will use all winds must shift his sail. [_Exit. _

_Actus Secundus. Scena Prima. _

_Enter an old_ Shepherd, _with a bell ringing, and the Priest of Panfollowing. _

_Priest. _ O Shepherds all, and maidens fair, Fold your flocks up, for the Air'Gins to thicken, and the sunAlready his great course hath run. See the dew-drops how they kissEvery little flower that is:Hanging on their velvet heads, Like a rope of crystal beads. See the heavy clouds low falling, And bright _Hesperus_ down callingThe dead night from under ground, At whose rising mists unsound, Damps, and vapours fly apace, Hovering o're the wanton faceOf these pastures, where they come, Striking dead both bud and bloom;Therefore from such danger lockEvery one his loved flock, And let your Dogs lye loose without, Lest the Wolf come as a scoutFrom the mountain, and e're dayBear a Lamb or kid away, Or the crafty theevish Fox, Break upon your simple flocks:To secure your selves from these, Be not too secure in ease;Let one eye his watches keep, Whilst the t'other eye doth sleep;So you shall good Shepherds prove, And for ever hold the loveOf our great god. Sweetest slumbersAnd soft silence fall in numbersOn your eye-lids: so farewel, Thus I end my evenings knel. [_Exeunt. _

_Enter_ Clorin, _the_ Shepherdess, _sorting of herbs, and telling thenatures of them. _

_Clor. _ Now let me know what my best Art hath done, Helpt by the great power of the vertuous moonIn her full light; O you sons of Earth, You only brood, unto whose happy birthVertue was given, holding more of natureThan man her first born and most perfect creature, Let me adore you; you that only canHelp or kill nature, drawing out that spanOf life and breath even to the end of time;You that these hands did crop, long before primeOf day; give me your names, and next your hidden power. This is the _Clote_ bearing a yellow flower, And this black Horehound, both are very goodFor sheep or Shepherd, bitten by a wood-Dogs venom'd tooth; these Ramuns branches are, Which stuck in entries, or about the barThat holds the door fast, kill all inchantments, charms, Were they _Medeas_ verses that doe harmsTo men or cattel; these for frenzy beA speedy and a soveraign remedie, The bitter Wormwood, Sage, and Marigold, Such sympathy with mans good they do hold;This Tormentil, whose vertue is to partAll deadly killing poyson from the heart;And here _Narcissus_ roots for swellings be:Yellow _Lysimacus_, to give sweet restTo the faint Shepherd, killing where it comesAll busie gnats, and every fly that hums:For leprosie, Darnel, and Sellondine, With Calamint, whose vertues do refineThe blood of man, making it free and fairAs the first hour it breath'd, or the best air. Here other two, but your rebellious useIs not for me, whose goodness is abuse;Therefore foul Standergrass, from me and mineI banish thee, with lustful Turpentine, You that intice the veins and stir the heatTo civil mutiny, scaling the seatOur reason moves in, and deluding itWith dreams and wanton fancies, till the fitOf burning lust be quencht; by appetite, Robbing the soul of blessedness and light:And thou light _Varvin_ too, thou must go after, Provoking easie souls to mirth and laughter;No more shall I dip thee in water now, And sprinkle every post, and every boughWith thy well pleasing juyce, to make the groomsSwell with high mirth, as with joy all the rooms. 

_Enter_ Thenot. 

_The_. This is the Cabin where the best of allHer Sex, that ever breath'd, or ever shallGive heat or happiness to the Shepherds side, Doth only to her worthy self abide. Thou blessed star, I thank thee for thy light, Thou by whose power the darkness of sad nightIs banisht from the Earth, in whose dull placeThy chaster beams play on the heavy faceOf all the world, making the blue Sea smile, To see how cunningly thou dost beguileThy Brother of his brightness, giving dayAgain from _Chaos_, whiter than that wayThat leads to _Joves_ high Court, and chaster farThan chastity it self, yon blessed starThat nightly shines: Thou, all the constancieThat in all women was, or e're shall be, From whose fair eye-balls flyes that holy fire, That Poets stile the Mother of desire, Infusing into every gentle brestA soul of greater price, and far more blestThan that quick power, which gives a difference, 'Twixt man and creatures of a lower sense. 

_Clor_. Shepherd, how cam'st thou hither to this place?No way is troden, all the verdant grassThe spring shot up, stands yet unbruised hereOf any foot, only the dapled DeerFar from the feared sound of crooked hornDwels in this fastness. 

_Th_. Chaster than the morn, I have not wandred, or by strong illusionInto this vertuous place have made intrusion:But hither am I come (believe me fair)To seek you out, of whose great good the airIs full, and strongly labours, whilst the soundBreaks against Heaven, and drives into a stoundThe amazed Shepherd, that such vertue canBe resident in lesser than a man. 

_Clor_. If any art I have, or hidden skillMay cure thee of disease or festred ill, Whose grief or greenness to anothers eyeMay seem impossible of remedy, I dare yet undertake it. 

_The_. 'Tis no painI suffer through disease, no beating veinConveyes infection dangerous to the heart, No part impostum'd to be cur'd by Art, This body holds; and yet a feller griefThan ever skilfull hand did give reliefDwells on my soul, and may be heal'd by you, Fair beauteous Virgin. 

_Clor_. Then Shepherd, let me sueTo know thy grief; that man yet never knewThe way to health, that durst not shew his sore. 

_Then_. Then fairest, know, I love you. 

_C[l]or_. Swain, no more, Thou hast abus'd the strictness of this place, And offred Sacrilegious foul disgraceTo the sweet rest of these interred bones, For fear of whose ascending, fly at once, Thou and thy idle passions, that the sightOf death and speedy vengeance may not frightThy very soul with horror. 

_Then_. Let me not(Thou all perfection) merit such a blotFor my true zealous faith. 

_Clor_. Dar'st thou abideTo see this holy Earth at once divideAnd give her body up? for sure it will, If thou pursu'st with wanton flames to fillThis hallowed place; therefore repent and goe, Whilst I with praise appease his Ghost below, That else would tell thee what it were to beA rival in that vertuous love that heImbraces yet. 

_Then_. 'Tis not the white or redInhabits in your cheek that thus can wedMy mind to adoration; nor your eye, Though it be full and fair, your forehead high, And smooth as _Pelops_ shoulder; not the smileLies watching in those dimples to beguileThe easie soul, your hands and fingers longWith veins inamel'd richly, nor your tongue, Though it spoke sweeter than _Arions_ Harp, Your hair wove into many a curious warp, Able in endless errour to infoldThe wandring soul, nor the true perfect mouldOf all your body, which as pure doth showIn Maiden whiteness as the Alpsian snow. All these, were but your constancie away, Would please me less than a black stormy dayThe wretched Seaman toyling through the deep. But whilst this honour'd strictness you dare keep, Though all the plagues that e're begotten wereIn the great womb of air, were setled here, In opposition, I would, like the tree, Shake off those drops of weakness, and be freeEven in the arm of danger. 

_Clor_. Wouldst thou haveMe raise again (fond man) from silent grave, Those sparks that long agoe were buried here, With my dead friends cold ashes?

_Then_. Dearest dear, I dare not ask it, nor you must not grant;Stand strongly to your vow, and do not faint:Remember how he lov'd ye, and be stillThe same Opinion speaks ye; let not will, And that great god of women, appetite, Set up your blood again; do not inviteDesire and fancie from their long exile, To set them once more in a pleasing smile:Be like a rock made firmly up 'gainst allThe power of angry Heaven, or the strong fallOf _Neptunes_ battery; if ye yield, I dieTo all affection; 'tis that loyaltieYe tie unto this grave I so admire;And yet there's something else I would desire, If you would hear me, but withall deny. O _Pan_, what an uncertain destinyHangs over all my hopes! I will retire, For if I longer stay, this double fireWill lick my life up. 

_Clor_. Doe, let time wear outWhat Art and Nature cannot bring about. 

_Then_. Farewel thou soul of vertue, and be blestFor ever, whilst that here I wretched restThus to my self; yet grant me leave to dwellIn kenning of this Arbor; yon same dellO'retopt with morning Cypress and sad YewShall be my Cabin, where I'le early rew, Before the Sun hath kist this dew away, The hard uncertain chance which Fate doth layUpon this head. 

_Clor_. The gods give quick releaseAnd happy cure unto thy hard disease. [_Exeunt_. 

_Enter_ Sullen Shepherd. 

_Sullen_. I do not love this wench that I should meet, For ne'r did my unconstant eye yet greetThat beauty, were it sweeter or more fair, Than the new blossoms, when the morning airBlows gently on the[m], or the breaking light, When many maiden blushes to our sightShoot from his early face: were all these setIn some neat form before me, 'twould not getThe least love from me; some desire it might, Or present burning: all to me in sightAre equal, be they fair, or black, or brown, Virgin, or careless wanton, I can crownMy appetite with any; swear as oftAnd weep, as any, melt my words as softInto a maiden[s] ears, and tell how longMy heart has been her servant, and how strongMy passions are: call her unkind and cruel, Offer her all I have to gain the JewelMaidens so highly prize: then loath, and fly:This do I hold a blessed destiny. 

_Enter_ Amaryllis. 

_Amar_. Hail Shepherd, _Pan_ bless both thy flock and thee, For being mindful of thy word to me. 

_Sul_. Welcom fair Shepherdess, thy loving swainGives thee the self same wishes back again, Who till this present hour ne're knew that eye, Could make me cross mine arms, or daily dyeWith fresh consumings: boldly tell me then, How shall we part their faithful loves, and when?Shall I bely him to her, shall I swearHis faith is false, and he loves every where?I'le say he mockt her th' other day to you, Which will by your confirming shew as true, For he is of so pure an honesty, To think (because he will not) none will lye:Or else to him I'le slander _Amoret_, And say, she but seems chaste; I'le swear she metMe 'mongst the shady Sycamores last nightAnd loosely offred up her flame and sprightInto my bosom, made a wanton bedOf leaves and many flowers, where she spreadHer willing body to be prest by me;There have I carv'd her name on many a tree, Together with mine own; to make this showMore full of seeming, _Hobinall_ you know, Son to the aged Shepherd of the glen, Him I have sorted out of many men, To say he found us at our private sport, And rouz'd us 'fore our time by his resort:This to confirm, I have promis'd to the boyMany a pretty knack, and many a toy, As gins to catch him birds, with bow and bolt, To shoot at nimble Squirrels in the holt;A pair of painted Buskins, and a Lamb, Soft as his own locks, or the down of swan;This I have done to win ye, which doth giveMe double pleasure. Discord makes me live. 

_Amar_. Lov'd swain, I thank ye, these tricks might prevailWith other rustick Shepherds, but will failEven once to stir, much more to overthrowHis fixed love from judgement, who doth knowYour nature, my end, and his chosens merit;Therefore some stranger way must force his spirit, Which I have found: give second, and my loveIs everlasting thine. 

_Sul_. Try me and prove. 

_Amar_. These happy pair of lovers meet straightway, Soon as they fold their flocks up with the day, In the thick grove bordering upon yon Hill, In whose hard side Nature hath carv'd a well, And but that matchless spring which Poets know, Was ne're the like to this: by it doth growAbout the sides, all herbs which Witches use, All simples good for Medicine or abuse, All sweets that crown the happy Nuptial day, With all their colours, there the month of _May_Is ever dwelling, all is young and green, There's not a grass on which was ever seenThe falling _Autumn_, or cold Winters hand, So full of heat and vertue is the land, About this fountain, which doth slowly breakBelow yon Mountains foot, into a CreekThat waters all the vally, giving FishOf many sorts, to fill the Shepherds dish. This holy well, my grandam that is dead, Right wise in charms, hath often to me said, Hath power to change the form of any creature, Being thrice dipt o're the head, into what feature, Or shape 'twould please the letter down to crave, Who must pronounce this charm too, which she gaveMe on her death-bed; told me what, and how, I should apply unto the Patients brow, That would be chang'd, casting them thrice asleep, Before I trusted them into this deep. All this she shew'd me, and did charge me proveThis secret of her Art, if crost in love. I'le this attempt; now Shepherd, I have hereAll her prescriptions, and I will not fearTo be my self dipt: come, my temples bindWith these sad herbs, and when I sleep you find, As you do speak your charm, thrice down me let, And bid the water raise me _Amoret_;Which being done, leave me to my affair, And e're the day shall quite it self out-wear, I will return unto my Shepherds arm, Dip me again, and then repeat this charm, And pluck me up my self, whom freely take, And the hotst fire of thine affection slake. 

_Sul. _ And if I fit thee not, then fit not me:I long the truth of this wells power to see. [_Exeunt. _

_Enter Daphnis. _

_Daph. _ Here will I stay, for this the covert isWhere I appointed _Cloe_; do not miss, Thou bright-ey'd virgin, come, O come my fair, Be not abus'd with fear, nor let cold careOf honour stay thee from the Shepherds arm, Who would as hard be won to offer harmTo thy chast thoughts, as whiteness from the day, Or yon great round to move another way. My language shall be honest, full of truth, My flames as smooth and spotless as my youth:I will not entertain that wandring thought, Whose easie current may at length be broughtTo a loose vastness. 

_Alexis within. _ Cloe!

_Daph. _ 'Tis her voyce, And I must answer, _Cloe_! Oh the choiceOf dear embraces, chast and holy strainsOur hands shall give! I charge you all my veinsThrough which the blood and spirit take their way, Lock up your disobedient heats, and stayThose mutinous desires that else would growTo strong rebellion: do not wilder showThan blushing modesty may entertain. 

_Alexis within. _ Cloe!

_Daph. _ There sounds that [blessed] name again, _Enter_ Alexis. 

And I will meet it: let me not mistake, This is some Shepherd! sure I am awake;What may this riddle mean? I will retire, To give my self more knowledg. 

_Alex. _ Oh my fire, How thou consum'st me! _Cloe, _ answer me, _Alexis_, strong _Alexis_, high and free, Calls upon _Cloe_. See mine arms are fullOf entertainment, ready for to pullThat golden fruit which too too long hath hungTempting the greedy eye: thou stayest too long, I am impatient of these mad delayes;I must not leave unsought these many waysThat lead into this center, till I findQuench for my burning lust. I come, unkind. [_Exit_ Alexis. 

_Daph. _ Can my imagination work me so much ill, That I may credit this for truth, and stillBelieve mine eyes? or shall I firmly holdHer yet untainted, and these sights but boldIllusion? Sure such fancies oft have beenSent to abuse true love, and yet are seen, Daring to blind the vertuous thought with errour. But be they far from me with their fond terrour:I am resolv'd my _Cloe_ yet is true. [Cloe _within. __Cloe_, hark, _Cloe_: Sure this voyce is new, Whose shrilness like the sounding of a Bell, Tells me it is a Woman: _Cloe_, tellThy blessed name again. _Cloe_. [_within_] Here. Oh what a grief is this to be so near, And not incounter!

_Enter_ Cloe. 

_Clo. _ Shepherd, we are met, Draw close into the covert, lest the wetWhich falls like lazy mists upon the groundSoke through your Startups. 

_Daph. _ Fairest are you found?How have we wandred, that the better partOf this good night is perisht? Oh my heart!How have I long'd to meet ye, how to kissThose lilly hands, how to receive the blissThat charming tongue gives to the happy earOf him that drinks your language! but I fearI am too much unmanner'd, far too rude, And almost grown lascivious to intrudeThese hot behaviours; where regard of fame, Honour, and modesty, a vertuous name, And such discourse as one fair Sister mayWithout offence unto the Brother say, Should rather have been tendred: but believe, Here dwells a better temper; do not grieveThen, ever kindest, that my first saluteSeasons so much of fancy, I am muteHenceforth to all discourses, but shall beSuiting to your sweet thoughts and modestie. Indeed I will not ask a kiss of you, No not to wring your fingers, nor to sueTo those blest pair of fixed stars for smiles, All a young lovers cunning, all his wiles, And pretty wanton dyings, shall to meBe strangers; only to your chastitieI am devoted ever. 

_Clo_. Honest Swain, First let me thank you, then return againAs much of my love: no thou art too cold, Unhappy Boy, not tempred to my mold, Thy blood falls heavy downward, 'tis not fearTo offend in boldness wins, they never wearDeserved favours that deny to takeWhen they are offered freely: Do I wakeTo see a man of his youth, years and feature, And such a one as we call goodly creature, Thus backward? What a world of precious ArtWere meerly lost, to make him do his part?But I will shake him off, that dares not hold, Let men that hope to be belov'd be bold. _Daphnis_, I do desire, since we are metSo happily, our lives and fortunes setUpon one stake, to give assurance now, By interchange of hands and holy vow, Never to break again: walk you that wayWhilest I in zealous meditation strayA little this way: when we both have endedThese rites and duties, by the woods befriended, And secrecie of night, retire and findAn aged Oak, whose hollowness may bindUs both within his body, thither go, It stands within yon bottom. 

_Daph_. Be it so. [_Ex_. Daph. 

_Clo_. And I will meet there never more with thee, Thou idle shamefastness. 

_Alex. [within] Chloe!_

_Clo_. 'Tis heThat dare I hope be bolder. 

_Alex. Cloe!_

_Clo_. NowGreat _Pan_ for _Syrinx_ sake bid speed our Plow. [_Exit_ Cloe. 

_Actus Tertius. Scena Prima. 

_Enter_ Sullen Shepherd _with_ Amaryllis _in a sleep. _

_Sull_. From thy forehead thus I takeThese herbs, and charge thee not awakeTill in yonder holy Well, Thrice with powerful Magick spell, Fill'd with many a baleful word, Thou hast been dipt; thus with my cordOf blasted Hemp, by Moon-light twin'd, I do thy sleepy body bind;I turn thy head into the East, And thy feet into the West, Thy left arm to the South put forth, And thy right unto the North:I take thy body from the ground, In this deep and deadly swound, And into this holy springI let thee slide down by my string. Take this Maid thou holy pit, To thy bottom, nearer yet, In thy water pure and sweet, By thy leave I dip her feet;Thus I let her lower yet, That her ankles may be wet;Yet down lower, let her kneeIn thy waters washed be;There stop: Fly awayEvery thing that loves the day. Truth that hath but one face, Thus I charm thee from this place. Snakes that cast your coats for new, Camelions that alter hue, Hares that yearly Sexes change, _Proteus_ alt'ring oft and strange, _Hecate_ with shapes three, Let this Maiden changed be, With this holy water wet, To the shape of _Amoret_:_Cynthia_ work thou with my charm, Thus I draw thee free from harmUp out of this blessed Lake, Rise both like her and awake. [_She awakes_. 

_Amar_. Speak Shepherd, am I _Amoret_ to sight?Or hast thou mist in any Magick rite;For want of which any defect in me, May make our practices discovered be. 

_Sul_. By yonder Moon, but that I here do stand, Whose breath hath thus transform'd thee, and whose handLet thee down dry, and pluckt thee up thus wet, I should my self take thee for _Amoret_;Thou art in cloths, in feature, voice and hewSo like, that sense cannot distinguish you. 

_Amar_. Then this deceit which cannot crossed be, At once shall lose her him, and gain thee me. Hither she needs must come by promise made, And sure his nature never was so bad, To bid a Virgin meet him in the wood, When night and fear are up, but understood, 'Twas his part to come first: being come, I'le say, My constant love made me come first and stay, Then will I lead him further to the grove, But stay you here, and if his own true loveShall seek him here, set her in some wrong path, Which say, her lover lately troden hath;I'le not be far from hence, if need there be, Here is another charm, whose power will freeThe dazeled sense, read by the Moons beams clear, And in my own true map make me appear. 

_Enter_ Perigot. 

_Sull_. Stand close, here's _Perigot_, whose constant heartLongs to behold her in whose shape thou art. 

_Per_. This is the place (fair _Amoret_) the hourIs yet scarce come: Here every Sylvan powerDelights to be about yon sacred Well, Which they have blest with many a powerful Spell;For never Traveller in dead of Night, Nor strayed Beasts have faln in, but when sightHath fail'd them, then their right way they have foundBy help of them, so holy is the ground:But I will farther seek, lest _Amoret_Should be first come, and so stray long unmet. My _Amoret, Amoret_. [_Ex_. Amaryllis, Perigot. 

_Per_. My Love. 

_Amar_. I come my Love. [_Exit_. 

_Sull_. Now she has gotHer own desires, and I shall gainer beOf my long lookt for hopes as well as she. How bright the moon shines here, as if she stroveTo show her Glory in this little Grove, _Enter_ Amoret. 

To some new loved Shepherd. Yonder isAnother _Amoret_. Where differs thisFrom that? but that she _Perigot_ hath met, I should have ta'n this for the counterfeit:Herbs, Woods, and Springs, the power that in you lies, If mortal men could know your Properties!

_Amo_. Methinks it is not Night, I have no fear, Walking this Wood, of Lions, or the Bear, Whose Names at other times have made me quake, When any Shepherdess in her tale spakeOf some of them, that underneath a WoodHave torn true Lovers that together stood. Methinks there are no Goblins, and mens talk, That in these Woods the nimble Fairies walk, Are fables; such a strong heart I have got, Because I come to meet with _Perigot_. My _Perigot_! who's that, my _Perigot_?

_Sull_. Fair maid. 

_Amo_. Ay me, thou art not _Perigot_. 

_Sull_. But I can tell ye news of _Perigot_:An hour together under yonder treeHe sate with wreathed arms and call'd on thee, And said, why _Amoret_ stayest thou so long?Then starting up, down yonder path he flung, Lest thou hadst miss'd thy way: were it day light, He could not yet have born him out of sight. 

_Amor_. Thanks, gentle Shepherd, and beshrew my stay, That made me fearful I had lost my way:As fast as my weak Legs (that cannot beWeary with seeking him) will carry me, I'll seek him out; and for thy CourtesiePray _Pan_ thy Love may ever follow thee. [_Exit_. 

_Sull_. How bright she was, how lovely did she show!Was it not pity to deceive her so?She pluckt her Garments up, and tript away, And with her Virgin-innocence did prayFor me that perjur'd her. Whilst she was here, Methought the Beams of Light that did appearWere shot from her; methought the Moon gave none, But what it had from her: she was aloneWith me, if then her presence did so move, Why did not I essay to win her Love?She would not sure have yielded unto me;Women love only Opportunitie, And not the Man; or if she had deny'd, Alone, I might have forc'd her to have try'dWho had been stronger: O vain Fool, to letSuch blest Occasion pass; I'll follow yet, My Blood is up, I cannot now forbear. 

_Enter_ Alex, _and_ Cloe. 

I come sweet _Amoret_: Soft who is here?A pair of Lovers? He shall yield her me;"Now Lust is up, alike all Women be. 

_Alex_. Where shall we rest? but for the love of me, _Cloe_, I know ere this would weary be. 

_Clo_. _Alexis_, let us rest here, if the placeBe private, and out of the common traceOf every Shepherd: for I understoodThis Night a number are about the Wood:Then let us chuse some place, where out of sightWe freely may enjoy our stoln delight. 

_Alex_. Then boldly here, where we shall ne're be found, No Shepherds way lies here, 'tis hallow'd ground:No Maid seeks here her strayed Cow, or Sheep, Fairies, and Fawns, and Satyrs do it keep:Then carelesly rest here, and clip and kiss, And let no fear make us our pleasures miss. 

_Clo_. Then lye by me, the sooner we begin, The longer ere the day descry our sin. 

_Sull_. Forbear to touch my Love, or by yon flame, The greatest power that Shepherds dare to name, Here where thou sit'st under this holy treeHer to dishonour, thou shalt buried be. 

_Alex_. If _Pan_ himself, should come out of the lawns, With all his Troops of Satyrs and of Fawns, And bid me leave, I swear by her two eyes, A greater Oath than thine, I would not rise. 

_Sull_. Then from the cold Earth never shalt thou move, But lose at one stroke both thy Life and Love. 

_Clo_. Hold gentle Shepherd. 

_Sull_. Fairest Shepherdess, Come you with me, I do not love you lessThan that fond man, that would have kept you thereFrom me of more desert. 

_Alex_. O yet forbearTo take her from me; give me leave to dyeBy her. 

[_The Satyr enters, he runs one way, and she another_. 

_Sat_. Now whilst the Moon doth rule the Skie, And the Stars, whose feeble lightGive a pale Shadow to the night, Are up, great _Pan_ commanded meTo walk this Grove about, whilst heIn a corner of the Wood, Where never mortal foot hath stood, Keeps dancing, musick, and a feastTo entertain a lovely Guest, Where he gives her many a Rose, Sweeter than the breath that blowsThe leaves; Grapes, Berries of the best, I never saw so great a feast. But to my Charge: here must I stay, To see what mortals lose their way, And by a false fire seeming bright, Train them in and leave them right. Then must I watch if any beForcing of a Chastitie:If I find it, then in hasteGive my wreathed horn a Blast, And the Fairies all will run, Wildly dancing by the Moon, And will pinch him to the bone, Till his lustful thoughts be gone. 

_Alex_. O Death!

_Sat_. Back again about this ground, Sure I hear a mortal sound;I bind thee by this powerful Spell, By the Waters of this Well, By the glimmering Moon beams bright, Speak again, thou mortal wight. 

_Alex_. Oh!

_Sat_. Here the foolish mortal lies, Sleeping on the ground: arise. The poor wight is almost dead, On the ground his wounds have bled, And his cloaths foul'd with his blood:To my Goddess in the WoodWill I lead him, whose hands pure, Will help this mortal wight to cure. 

_Enter_ Cloe _again_. 

_Clo_. Since I beheld yon shaggy man, my BreastDoth pant, each bush, methinks, should hide a Beast:Yet my desire keeps still above my fear, I would fain meet some Shepherd, knew I where:For from one cause of fear I am most free, It is impossible to ravish me, I am so willing. Here upon this groundI left my Love all bloody with his wound;Yet till that fearful shape made me be gone, Though he were hurt, I furnisht was of one, But now both lost. _Alexis_, speak or move, If thou hast any life, thou art yet my Love. He's dead, or else is with his little mightCrept from the Bank for fear of that ill Spright. Then where art thou that struck'st my love? O stay, Bring me thy self in change, and then I'll sayThou hast some justice, I will make thee trimWith Flowers and Garlands that were meant for him;I'll clip thee round with both mine arms, as fastAs I did mean he should have been embrac'd:But thou art fled. What hope is left for me?I'll run to _Daphnis_ in the hollow tree, Whom I did mean to mock, though hope be small, To make him bold; rather than none at all, I'll try him; his heart, and my behaviour tooPerhaps may teach him what he ought to do. [_Exit_. 

_Enter_ Sullen Shepherd. 

_Sul_. This was the place, 'twas but my feeble sight, Mixt with the horrour of my deed, and night, That shap't these fears, and made me run away, And lose my beauteous hardly gotten prey. Speak gentle Shepherdess, I am alone, And tender love for love: but she is goneFrom me, that having struck her Lover dead, For silly fear left her alone and fled. And see the wounded body is remov'dBy her of whom it was so well belov'd. 

_Enter_ Perigot _and_ Amaryllis _in the shape of_ Amoret. 

But these fancies must be quite forgot, I must lye close. Here comes young _Perigot_With subtile _Amaryllis_ in the shapeOf _Amoret_. Pray Love he may not 'scape. 

_Amar_. Beloved _Perigot_, shew me some place, Where I may rest my limbs, weak with the ChaceOf thee, an hour before thou cam'st at least. 

_Per_. Beshrew my tardy steps: here shalt thou restUpon this holy bank, no deadly SnakeUpon this turf her self in folds doth make. Here is no poyson for the Toad to feed;Here boldly spread thy hands, no venom'd WeedDares blister them, no slimy Snail dare creepOver thy face when thou art fast asleep;Here never durst the babling Cuckow spit, No slough of falling Star did ever hitUpon this bank: let this thy Cabin be, This other set with Violets for me. 

_Ama_. Thou dost not love me _Perigot_. 

_Per_. Fair maid, You only love to hear it often said;You do not doubt. 

_Amar_. Believe me but I do. 

_Per_. What shall we now begin again to woo?'Tis the best way to make your Lover last, To play with him, when you have caught him fast. 

_Amar_. By _Pan_ I swear, I loved _Perigot_, And by yon Moon, I think thou lov'st me not. 

_Per_. By _Pan_ I swear, and if I falsely swear, Let him not guard my flocks, let Foxes tearMy earliest Lambs, and Wolves whilst I do sleepFall on the rest, a Rot among my Sheep. I love thee better than the careful EweThe new-yean'd Lamb that is of her own hew;I dote upon thee more than the young LambDoth on the bag that feeds him from his Dam. Were there a sort of Wolves got in my Fold, And one ran after thee, both young and oldShould be devour'd, and it should be my strifeTo save thee, whom I love above my life. 

_Ama_. How shall I trust thee when I see thee chuseAnother Bed, and dost my side refuse?

_Per_. 'Twas only that the chast thoughts might be shewn'Twixt thee and me, although we were alone. 

_Ama_. Come, _Perigot_ will shew his power, that heCan make his _Amoret_, though she weary be, Rise nimbly from her Couch, and come to his. Here take thy _Amoret_, embrace and kiss. 

_Per_. What means my Love?

_Ama_. To do as lovers shou'd, That are to be enjoy'd, not to be woo'd. There's ne'r a Shepherdess in all the plainCan kiss thee with more Art, there's none can feignMore wanton tricks. 

_Per_. Forbear, dear Soul, to trieWhether my Heart be pure; I'll rather dieThan nourish one thought to dishonour thee. 

_Amar_. Still think'st thou such a thing as ChastitieIs amongst Women? _Perigot_ there's none, That with her Love is in a Wood alone, And would come home a maid; be not abus'dWith thy fond first Belief, let time be us'd:Why dost thou rise?

_Per_. My true heart thou hast slain. 

_Ama_. Faith _Perigot_, I'll pluck thee down again. 

_Per_. Let go, thou Serpent, that into my brestHast with thy cunning div'd; art not in Jest?

_Ama_. Sweet love, lye down. 

_Per_. Since this I live to see, Some bitter North-wind blast my flocks and me. 

_Ama_. You swore you lov'd, yet will not do my will. 

_Per_. O be as thou wert once, I'll love thee still. 

_Ama_. I am, as still I was, and all my kind, Though other shows we have poor men to blind. 

_Per_. Then here I end all Love, and lest my vainBelief should ever draw me in again, Before thy face that hast my Youth misled, I end my life, my blood be on thy head. 

_Ama. _ O hold thy hands, thy _Amoret_ doth cry. 

_Per. _ Thou counsel'st well, first _Amoret_ shall dye, That is the cause of my eternal smart. [_He runs after her. _

_Ama. _ O hold. 

_Per. _ This steel shall pierce thy lustful heart. 

[_The Sullen Shepherd steps out and uncharms her. _

_Sull. _ Up and down every where, I strew the herbs to purge the air:Let your Odour drive henceAll mists that dazel sence. Herbs and Springs whose hidden mightAlters Shapes, and mocks the sight, Thus I charge you to undoAll before I brought ye to:Let her flye, let her 'scape, Give again her own shape. 

_Enter_ Amaryllis _in her own shape. _

_Amar. _ Forbear thou gentle Swain, thou dost mistake, She whom thou follow'dst fled into the brake, And as I crost thy way, I met thy wrath, The only fear of which near slain me hath. 

_Per. _ Pardon fair Shepherdess, my rage and nightWere both upon me, and beguil'd my sight;But far be it from me to spill the bloodOf harmless Maids that wander in the Wood. [_Ex. _ Ama. 

_Enter_ Amoret. 

_Amor. _ Many a weary step in yonder pathPoor hopeless _Amoret_ twice trodden hathTo seek her _Perigot_, yet cannot hearHis Voice; my _Perigot_, she loves thee dearThat calls. 

_Per. _ See yonder where she is, how fairShe shows, and yet her breath infefts the air. 

_Amo. _ My Perigot. 

_Per. _ Here. 

_Amo. _ Happy. 

_Per. _ Hapless first:It lights on thee, the next blow is the worst. 

_Amo. _ Stay _Perigot_, my love, thou art unjust. 

_Peri. _ Death is the best reward that's due to lust. [_Exit_ Perigot. 

_Sul. _ Now shall their love be crost, for being struck, I'le throw her in the Fount, lest being tookBy some night-travaller, whose honest careMay help to cure her. Shepherdess prepareYour self to die. 

_Amo. _ No Mercy I do crave, Thou canst not give a worse blow than I have;Tell him that gave me this, who lov'd him too, He struck my soul, and not my body through, Tell him when I am dead, my soul shall beAt peace, if he but think he injur'd me. 

_Sul. _ In this Fount be thy grave, thou wert not meantSure for a woman, thou art so innocent. [_flings her into the well_She cannot scape, for underneath the ground, In a long hollow the clear spring is bound, Till on yon side where the Morns Sun doth look, The strugling water breaks out in a Brook. [_Exit. _

[_The God of the River riseth with_ Amoret _in his arms. _

_God. _ What powerfull charms my streams do bringBack again unto their spring, With such force, that I their god, Three times striking with my Rod, Could not keep them in their ranks:My Fishes shoot into the banks, There's not one that stayes and feeds, All have hid them in the weeds. Here's a mortal almost dead, Faln into my River head, Hallowed so with many a spell, That till now none ever fell. 'Tis a Female young and clear, Cast in by some Ravisher. See upon her breast a wound, On which there is no plaister bound. Yet she's warm, her pulses beat, 'Tis a sign of life and heat. If thou be'st a Virgin pure, I can give a present cure:Take a drop into thy woundFrom my watry locks more roundThan Orient Pearl, and far more pureThan unchast flesh may endure. See she pants, and from her fleshThe warm blood gusheth out afresh. She is an unpolluted maid;I must have this bleeding staid. From my banks I pluck this flowerWith holy hand, whose vertuous powerIs at once to heal and draw. The blood returns. I never sawA fairer Mortal. Now doth breakHer deadly slumber: Virgin, speak. 

_Amo. _ Who hath restor'd my sense, given me new breath, And brought me back out of the arms of death?

_God. _ I have heal'd thy wounds. 

_Amo. _ Ay me!

_God. _ Fear not him that succour'd thee:I am this Fountains god; below, My waters to a River grow, And 'twixt two banks with Osiers set, That only prosper in the wet, Through the Meadows do they glide, Wheeling still on every side, Sometimes winding round about, To find the evenest channel out. And if thou wilt go with me, Leaving mortal companie, In the cool streams shalt thou lye, Free from harm as well as I:I will give thee for thy food, No Fish that useth in the mud, But Trout and Pike that love to swimWhere the gravel from the brimThrough the pure streams may be seen:Orient Pearl fit for a Queen, Will I give thy love to win, And a shell to keep them in:Not a Fish in all my BrookThat shall disobey thy look, But when thou wilt, come sliding by, And from thy white hand take a fly. And to make thee understand, How I can my waves command, They shall bubble whilst I singSweeter than the silver spring. 

_The SONG. 

Do not fear to put thy feetNaked in the River sweet;Think not Leach, or Newt or ToadWill bite thy foot, when thou hast troad;Nor let the water rising high, As thou wad'st in, make thee crieAnd sob, but ever live with me, And not a wave shall trouble thee. _

_Amo. _ Immortal power, that rul'st this holy flood, I know my self unworthy to be woo'dBy thee a god: for e're this, but for theeI should have shown my weak Mortalitie:Besides, by holy Oath betwixt us twain, I am betroath'd unto a Shepherd swain, Whose comely face, I know the gods aboveMay make me leave to see, but not to love. 

_God. _ May he prove to thee as true. Fairest Virgin, now adieu, I must make my waters fly, Lest they leave their Channels dry, And beasts that come unto the springMiss their mornings watering, Which I would not; for of lateAll the neighbour people sateOn my banks, and from the fold, Two white Lambs of three weeks oldOffered to my Deitie:For which this year they shall be freeFrom raging floods, that as they passLeave their gravel in the grass:Nor shall their Meads be overflown, When their grass is newly mown. 

_Amo. _ For thy kindness to me shown, Never from thy banks be blownAny tree, with windy force, Cross thy streams, to stop thy course:May no beast that comes to drink, With his horns cast down thy brink;May none that for thy fish do look, Cut thy banks to damm thy Brook;Bare-foot may no Neighbour wadeIn thy cool streams, wife nor maid, When the spawns on stones do lye, To wash their Hemp, and spoil the Fry. 

_God. _ Thanks Virgin, I must down again, Thy wound will put thee to no pain:Wonder not so soon 'tis gone:A holy hand was laid upon. 

_Amo. _ And I unhappy born to be, Must follow him that flies from me. 

_Actus Quartus. Scena Prima. _

_Enter_ Perigot. 

_Per. _ She is untrue, unconstant, and unkind, She's gone, she's gone, blow high thou North-west wind, And raise the Sea to Mountains, let the TreesThat dare oppose thy raging fury, leeseTheir firm foundation, creep into the Earth, And shake the world, as at the monstrous birthOf some new Prodigy, whilst I constant stand, Holding this trustie Boar-spear in my hand, And falling thus upon it. 

_Enter_ Amaryllis, _running. _

_Amar. _ Stay thy dead-doing hand, thou art too hotAgainst thy self, believe me comely Swain, If that thou dyest, not all the showers of RainThe heavy clods send down can wash awayThat foul unmanly guilt, the world will layUpon thee. Yet thy love untainted stands:Believe me, she is constant, not the sandsCan be so hardly numbred as she won:I do not trifle, _Shepherd_, by the Moon, And all those lesser lights our eyes do view, All that I told thee _Perigot_, is true:Then be a free man, put away despair, And will to dye, smooth gently up that fairDejected forehead: be as when those eyesTook the first heat. 

_Per. _ Alas he double dyes, That would believe, but cannot; 'tis not wellYe keep me thus from dying, here to dwellWith many worse companions: but oh death, I am not yet inamour'd of this breathSo much, but I dare leave it, 'tis not painIn forcing of a wound, nor after gainOf many dayes, can hold me from my will:'Tis not my self, but _Amoret_, bids kill. 

_Ama. _ Stay but a little, little, but one hour, And if I do not show thee through the powerOf herbs and words I have, as dark as night, My self turn'd to thy _Amoret_, in sight, Her very figure, and the Robe she wears, With tawny Buskins, and the hook she bearsOf thine own Carving, where your names are set, Wrought underneath with many a curious fret, The _Prim-Rose_ Chaplet, taudry-lace and Ring, Thou gavest her for her singing, with each thingElse that she wears about her, let me feelThe first fell stroke of that Revenging steel. 

_Per. _ I am contented, if there be a hopeTo give it entertainment, for the scopeOf one poor hour; goe, you shall find me nextUnder yon shady Beech, even thus perplext, And thus believing. 

_Ama. _ Bind before I goe, Thy soul by _Pan_ unto me, not to doeHarm or outragious wrong upon thy life, Till my return. 

_Per. _ By _Pan_, and by the strifeHe had with _Phoebus_ for the Mastery, When Golden _Midas_ judg'd their _Minstrelcy_, I will not. [_Exeunt. _

_Enter_ Satyr, _with_ Alexis, _hurt. _

_Satyr. _ Softly gliding as I goe, With this burthen full of woe, Through still silence of the night, Guided by the Gloe-worms light, Hither am I come at last, Many a Thicket have I pastNot a twig that durst deny me, Not a bush that durst descry me, To the little Bird that sleepsOn the tender spray: nor creepsThat hardy worm with pointed tail, But if I be under sail, Flying faster than the wind, Leaving all the clouds behind, But doth hide her tender headIn some hollow tree or bedOf seeded Nettles: not a HareCan be started from his fare, By my footing, nor a wishIs more sudden, nor a fishCan be found with greater ease, Cut the vast unbounded seas, Leaving neither print nor sound, Than I, when nimbly on the ground, I measure many a league an hour:But behold the happy power, That must ease me of my charge, And by holy hand enlargeThe soul of this sad man, that yetLyes fast bound in deadly fit;Heaven and great _Pan_ succour it!Hail thou beauty of the bower, Whiter than the ParamourOf my Master, let me craveThy vertuous help to keep from GraveThis poor Mortal that here lyes, Waiting when the destiniesWill cut off his thred of life:View the wound by cruel knifeTrencht into him. 

_Clor. _ What art thou call'st me from my holy rites, And with thy feared name of death affrightsMy tender Ears? speak me thy name and will. 

_Satyr. _ I am the _Satyr_ that did fillYour lap with early fruit, and will, When I hap to gather more, Bring ye better and more store:Yet I come not empty now, See a blossom from the bow, But beshrew his heart that pull'd it, And his perfect sight that cull'd itFrom the other springing blooms;For a sweeter youth the GroomsCannot show me, nor the downs, Nor the many neighbouring towns;Low in yonder glade I found him, Softly in mine Arms I bound him, Hither have I brought him sleepingIn a trance, his wounds fresh weeping, In remembrance such youth maySpring and perish in a day. 

_Clor. _ _Satyr_, they wrong thee, that do term thee rude, Though thou beest outward rough and tawny hu'd, Thy manners are as gentle and as fairAs his, who brags himself, born only heirTo all Humanity: let me see the wound:This Herb will stay the current being boundFast to the Orifice, and this restrainUlcers, and swellings, and such inward pain, As the cold air hath forc'd into the sore:This to draw out such putrifying goreAs inward falls. 

_Satyr. _ Heaven grant it may doe good. 

_Clor. _ Fairly wipe away the blood:Hold him gently till I flingWater of a vertuous springOn his temples; turn him twiceTo the Moon beams, pinch him thrice, That the labouring soul may drawFrom his great eclipse. 

_Satyr. _ I sawHis eye-lids moving. 

_Clo. _ Give him breath, All the danger of cold deathNow is vanisht; with this Plaster, And this unction, do I masterAll the festred ill that mayGive him grief another day. 

_Satyr. _ See he gathers up his sprightAnd begins to hunt for light;Now he gapes and breaths again:How the blood runs to the vein, That erst was empty!

_Alex. _ O my heart, My dearest, dearest _Cloe_, O the smartRuns through my side: I feel some pointed thingPass through my Bowels, sharper than the stingOf Scorpion. 

 Pan preserve me, what are you? Do not hurt me, I am true To my _Cloe_, though she flye, And leave me to thy destiny. There she stands, and will not lend Her smooth white hand to help her friend:

But I am much mistaken, for that faceBears more Austerity and modest grace, More reproving and more awe Than these eyes yet ever saw In my Cloe. Oh my pain Eagerly renews again. 

Give me your help for his sake you love best. 

_Clor. _ Shepherd, thou canst not possibly take rest, Till thou hast laid aside all hearts desiresProvoking thought that stir up lusty fires, Commerce with wanton eyes, strong blood, and willTo execute, these must be purg'd, untillThe vein grow whiter; then repent, and prayGreat _Pan_ to keep you from the like decay, And I shall undertake your cure with ease. Till when this vertuous Plaster will displeaseYour tender sides; give me your hand and rise:Help him a little _Satyr_, for his thighsYet are feeble. 

_Alex. _ Sure I have lost much blood. 

_Satyr. _ 'Tis no matter, 'twas not good. Mortal you must leave your wooing, Though there be a joy in doing, Yet it brings much grief behind it, They best feel it, that do find it. 

_Clor. _ Come bring him in, I will attend his soreWhen you are well, take heed you lust no more. 

_Satyr. _ Shepherd, see what comes of kissing, By my head 'twere better missing. Brightest, if there be remainingAny service, without feigningI will do it; were I setTo catch the nimble wind, or getShadows gliding on the green, Or to steal from the great QueenOf _Fayries_, all her beauty, I would do it, so much dutyDo I owe those precious Eyes. 

_Clor. _ I thank thee honest _Satyr_, if the cryesOf any other that be hurt or ill, Draw thee unto them, prithee do thy willTo bring them hither. 

_Satyr. _ I will, and when the weatherServes to Angle in the brook, I will bring a silver hook, With a line of finest silk, And a rod as white as milk, To deceive the little fish:So I take my leave, and wish, On this Bower may ever dwellSpring, and Summer. 

_Clo_. Friend farewel. [_Exit_. 

_Enter_ Amoret, _seeking her Love_. 

_Amor_. This place is Ominous, for here I lostMy Love and almost life, and since have crostAll these Woods over, never a Nook or Dell, Where any little Bird, or Beast doth dwell, But I have sought him, never a bending browOf any Hill or Glade, the wind sings through, Nor a green bank, nor shade where Shepherds useTo sit and Riddle, sweetly pipe, or chuseTheir Valentines, that I have mist, to findMy love in. _Perigot_, Oh too unkind, Why hast thou fled me? whither art thou gone?How have I wrong'd thee? was my love aloneTo thee worthy this scorn'd recompence? 'tis well, I am content to feel it: but I tellThee Shepherd, and these lusty woods shall hear, Forsaken _Amoret_ is yet as clearOf any stranger fire, as Heaven isFrom foul corruption, or the deep AbysseFrom light and happiness; and thou mayst knowAll this for truth, and how that fatal blowThou gav'st me, never from desert of mine, Fell on my life, but from suspect of thine, Or fury more than madness; therefore, here, Since I have lost my life, my love, my dear, Upon this cursed place, and on this green, That first divorc'd us, shortly shall be seenA sight of so great pity, that each eyeShall dayly spend his spring in memoryOf my untimely fall. 

_Enter_ Amaryllis. 

_Amar_. I am not blind, Nor is it through the working of my mind, That this shows _Amoret_; forsake me allThat dwell upon the soul, but what men callWonder, or more than wonder, miracle, For sure so strange as this the OracleNever gave answer of, it passeth dreams, Or mad-mens fancy, when the many streamsOf new imaginations rise and fall:'Tis but an hour since these Ears heard her callFor pity to young _Perigot_; whilest he, Directed by his fury bloodilyLanc't up her brest, which bloodless fell and cold;And if belief may credit what was told, After all this, the Melancholy SwainTook her into his arms being almost slain, And to the bottom of the holy wellFlung her, for ever with the waves to dwell. 'Tis she, the very same, 'tis _Amoret_, And living yet, the great powers will not letTheir vertuous love be crost. Maid, wipe awayThose heavy drops of sorrow, and allayThe storm that yet goes high, which not deprest, Breaks heart and life, and all before it rest:Thy _Perigot_--

_Amor_. Where, which is _Perigot?_

_Amar_. Sits there below, lamenting much, god wot, Thee [and thy] fortune, go and comfort him, And thou shalt find him underneath a brimOf sailing Pines that edge yon Mountain in. 

_Amo_. I go, I run, Heaven grant me I may winHis soul again. [_Exit_ Amoret. 

_Enter_ Sullen. 

_Sull_. Stay _Amaryllis_, stay, Ye are too fleet, 'tis two hours yet to day. I have perform'd my promise, let us sitAnd warm our bloods together till the fitCome lively on us. 

_Amar_. Friend you are too keen, The morning riseth and we shall be seen, Forbear a little. 

_Sull_. I can stay no longer. 

_Amar_. Hold _Shepherd_ hold, learn not to be a wrongerOf your word, was not your promise laid, To break their loves first?

_Sull_. I have done it Maid. 

_Amar_. No, they are yet unbroken, met again, And are as hard to part yet as the stainIs from the finest Lawn. 

_Sull_. I say they areNow at this present parted, and so far, That they shall never meet. 

_Amar_. Swain 'tis not so, For do but to yon hanging Mountain go, And there believe your eyes. 

_Sull_. You do but holdOff with delayes and trifles; farewell coldAnd frozen bashfulness, unfit for men;Thus I salute thee Virgin. 

_Amar_. And thus then, I bid you follow, catch me if you can. [_Exit_. 

_Sull_. And if I stay behind I am no man. [_Exit running after her_. 

_Enter_ Perigot. 

_Per_. Night do not steal away: I woo thee yetTo hold a hard hand o're the rusty bitThat guides the lazy Team: go back again, _Bootes_, thou that driv'st thy frozen WainRound as a Ring, and bring a second NightTo hide my sorrows from the coming light;Let not the eyes of men stare on my face, And read my falling, give me some black placeWhere never Sun-beam shot his wholesome light, That I may sit and pour out my sad sprightLike running water, never to be knownAfter the forced fall and sound is gone. 

_Enter_ Amoret _looking for_ Perigot. 

_Amo_. This is the bottom: speak if thou be here, My _Perigot_, thy _Amoret_, thy dearCalls on thy loved Name. 

_Per_. What art thou [dare]Tread these forbidden paths, where death and careDwell on the face of darkness?

_Amo_. 'Tis thy friend, Thy _Amoret_, come hither to give endTo these consumings; look up gentle Boy, I have forgot those Pains and dear annoyI suffer'd for thy sake, and am contentTo be thy love again; why hast thou rentThose curled locks, where I have often hungRiband and Damask-roses, and have flungWaters distil'd to make thee fresh and gay, Sweeter than the Nosegayes on a Bridal day?Why dost thou cross thine Arms, and hang thy faceDown to thy bosom, letting fall apaceFrom those two little Heavens upon the groundShowers of more price, more Orient, and more roundThan those that hang upon the Moons pale brow?Cease these complainings, Shepherd, I am nowThe same I ever was, as kind and free, And can forgive before you ask of me. Indeed I can and will. 

_Per_. So spoke my fair. O you great working powers of Earth and Air, Water and forming fire, why have you lentYour hidden vertues of so ill intent?Even such a face, so fair, so bright of hueHad _Amoret_; such words so smooth and new, Came flying from her tongue; such was her eye, And such the pointed sparkle that did flyeForth like a bleeding shaft; all is the same, The Robe and Buskins, painted Hook, and frameOf all her Body. O me, _Amoret_!

_Amo_. Shepherd, what means this Riddle? who hath setSo strong a difference 'twixt my self and meThat I am grown another? look and seeThe Ring thou gav'st me, and about my wristThat curious Bracelet thou thy self didst twistFrom those fair Tresses: knowst thou _Amoret_?Hath not some newer love forc'd thee forgetThy Ancient faith?

_Per_. Still nearer to my love;These be the very words she oft did proveUpon my temper, so she still would takeWonder into her face, and silent makeSigns with her head and hand, as who would say, Shepherd remember this another day. 

_Amo_. Am I not _Amaret_? where was I lost?Can there be Heaven, and time, and men, and mostOf these unconstant? Faith where art thou fled?Are all the vows and protestations dead, The hands [held] up, the wishes, and the heart, Is there not one remaining, not a partOf all these to be found? why then I seeMen never knew that vertue Constancie. 

_Per_. Men ever were most blessed, till crass fateBrought Love and Women forth, unfortunateTo all that ever tasted of their smiles, Whose actions are all double, full of wiles:Like to the subtil Hare, that 'fore the HoundsMakes many turnings, leaps and many rounds, This way and that way, to deceive the scentOf her pursuers. 

_Amo_. 'Tis but to preventTheir speedy coming on that seek her fall, The hands of cruel men, more Bestial, And of a nature more refusing goodThan Beasts themselves, or Fishes of the Flood. 

_Per_. Thou art all these, and more than nature meant, When she created all, frowns, joys, content;Extream fire for an hour, and presentlyColder than sleepy poyson, or the Sea, Upon whose face sits a continual frost:Your actions ever driven to the most, Then down again as low, that none can findThe rise or falling of a Womans mind. 

_Amo_. Can there be any Age, or dayes, or time, Or tongues of men, guilty so great a crimeAs wronging simple Maid? O _Perigot_, Thou that wast yesterday without a blot, Thou that wast every good, and every thingThat men call blessed; thou that wast the springFrom whence our looser grooms drew all their best;Thou that wast alwayes just, and alwayes blestIn faith and promise; thou that hadst the nameOf Vertuous given thee, and made good the sameEv'en from thy Cradle; thou that wast that allThat men delighted in; Oh what a fallIs this, to have been so, and now to beThe only best in wrong and infamie, And I to live to know this! and by meThat lov'd thee dearer than mine eyes, or thatWhich we esteem'd our honour, Virgin state;Dearer than Swallows love the early morn, Or Dogs of Chace the sound of merry Horn;Dearer than thou canst love thy new Love, if thou hastAnother, and far dearer than the last;Dearer than thou canst love thy self, though allThe self love were within thee that did fallWith that coy Swain that now is made a flower, For whose dear sake, Echo weeps many a shower. And am I thus rewarded for my flame?Lov'd worthily to get a wantons name?Come thou forsaken Willow, wind my head, And noise it to the world my Love is dead:I am forsaken, I am cast away. And left for every lazy Groom to say, I was unconstant, light, and sooner lostThan the quick Clouds we see, or the chill FrostWhen the hot Sun beats on it. Tell me yet, Canst thou not love again thy _Amoret_?

_Per_. Thou art not worthy of that blessed name, I must not know thee, fling thy wanton flameUpon some lighter blood, that may be hotWith words and feigned passions: _Perigot_Was ever yet unstain'd, and shall not nowStoop to the meltings of a borrowed brow. 

_Amo_. Then hear me heaven, to whom I call for right, And you fair twinkling stars that crown the night;And hear me woods, and silence of this place, And ye sad hours that move a sullen pace;Hear me ye shadows that delight to dwellIn horrid darkness, and ye powers of Hell, Whilst I breath out my last; I am that maid, That yet untainted _Amoret_, that plaidThe careless prodigal, and gave awayMy soul to this young man, that now dares sayI am a stranger, not the same, more wild;And thus with much belief I was beguil'd. I am that maid, that have delaid, deny'd, And almost scorn'd the loves of all that try'dTo win me, but this swain, and yet confessI have been woo'd by many with no lessSoul of affection, and have often hadRings, Belts, and Cracknels sent me from the ladThat feeds his flocks down westward; Lambs and DovesBy young _Alexis; Daphnis_ sent me gloves, All which I gave to thee: nor these, nor theyThat sent them did I smile on, or e're layUp to my after-memory. But whyDo I resolve to grieve, and not to dye?Happy had been the stroke thou gav'st, if home;By this time had I found a quiet roomWhere every slave is free, and every brestThat living breeds new care, now lies at rest, And thither will poor _Amoret_. 

_Per_. Thou must. Was ever any man so loth to trustHis eyes as I? or was there ever yetAny so like as this to _Amoret_?For whose dear sake, I promise if there beA living soul within thee, thus to freeThy body from it. [_He hurts her again_. 

_Amo_. So, this work hath end:Farewel and live, be constant to thy friendThat loves thee next. 

_Enter_ Satyr, Perigot _runs off_. 

_Satyr_. See the day begins to break, And the light shoots like a streakOf subtil fire, the wind blows cold, Whilst the morning doth unfold;Now the Birds begin to rouse, And the Squirril from the boughsLeaps to get him Nuts and fruit;The early Lark that erst was mute, Carrols to the rising dayMany a note and many a lay:Therefore here I end my watch, Lest the wandring swain should catchHarm, or lose himself. 

_Amo_. Ah me!

_Satyr_. Speak again what e're thou be, I am ready, speak I say:By the dawning of the day, By the power of night and _Pan_, I inforce thee speak again. 

_Amo_. O I am most unhappy. 

_Satyr_. Yet more blood!Sure these wanton Swains are wode. Can there be a hand or heartDare commit so vile a partAs this Murther? By the MoonThat hid her self when this was done, Never was a sweeter face:I will bear her to the placeWhere my Goddess keeps; and craveHer to give her life, or grave. [_Exeunt_. 

_Enter_ Clorin. 

_Clor_. Here whilst one patient takes his rest secureI steal abroad to doe another Cure. Pardon thou buryed body of my love, That from thy side I dare so soon remove, I will not prove unconstant, nor will leaveThee for an hour alone. When I deceiveMy first made vow, the wildest of the woodTear me, and o're thy Grave let out my blood;I goe by wit to cure a lovers painWhich no herb can; being done, I'le come again. [_Exit_. 

_Enter_ Thenot. 

_The_. Poor Shepherd in this shade for ever lye, And seeing thy fair _Clorins_ Cabin, dye:0 hapless love, which [being] answer'd, ends;And as a little infant cryes and bendsHis tender Brows, when rowling of his eyeHe hath espy'd some thing that glisters nighWhich he would have, yet give it him, awayHe throws it straight, and cryes afresh to playWith something else: such my affection, setOn that which I should loath, if I could get. 

_Enter_ Clorin. 

_Clor_. See where he lyes; did ever man but heLove any woman for her ConstancieTo her dead lover, which she needs must endBefore she can allow him for her friend, And he himself must needs the cause destroy, For which he loves, before he can enjoy?Poor _Shepherd_, Heaven grant I at once may freeThee from thy pain, and keep my loyaltie:_Shepherd_, look up. 

_The_. Thy brightness doth amaze!So _Phoebus_ may at noon bid mortals gaze, Thy glorious constancie appears so bright, I dare not meet the Beams with my weak sight. 

_Clor_. Why dost thou pine away thy self for me?

_The_. Why dost thou keep such spotless constancie?

_Clor_. Thou holy _Shepherd_, see what for thy sake_Clorin_, thy _Clorin_, now dare under take. [_He starts up_. 

_The_. Stay there, thou constant _Clorin_, if there beYet any part of woman left in thee, To make thee light: think yet before thou speak. 

_Clor_. See what a holy vow for thee I break. I that already have my fame far spreadFor being constant to my lover dead. 

_The_. Think yet, dear _Clorin_, of your love, how true, If you had dyed, he would have been to you. 

_Clor_. Yet all I'le lose for thee. 

_The_. Think but how blestA constant woman is above the rest. 

_Clor_. And offer up my self, here on this ground, To be dispos'd by thee. 

_The_. Why dost thou woundHis heart with malice, against woman more, That hated all the Sex, but thee before?How much more pleasant had it been to meTo dye, than to behold this change in thee?Yet, yet, return, let not the woman sway. 

_Clor_. Insult not on her now, nor use delay, Who for thy sake hath ventur'd all her fame. 

_The_. Thou hast not ventur'd, but bought certain shame, Your Sexes curse, foul falshood must and shall, I see, once in your lives, light on you all. I hate thee now: yet turn. 

_Clor_. Be just to me:Shall I at once both lose my fame and thee?

_The_. Thou hadst no fame, that which thou didst like good, Was but thy appetite that sway'd thy bloodFor that time to the best: for as a blastThat through a house comes, usually doth castThings out of order, yet by chance may come, And blow some one thing to his proper room;So did thy appetite, and not thy zeal, Sway thee [by] chance to doe some one thing well. Yet turn. 

_Clor_. Thou dost but try me if I wouldForsake thy dear imbraces, for my oldLove's, though he were alive: but do not fear. 

_The_. I do contemn thee now, and dare come near, And gaze upon thee; for me thinks that grace, Austeritie, which sate upon that faceIs gone, and thou like others: false maid see, This is the gain of foul inconstancie. [_Exit_. 

_Clor_. 'Tis done, great _Pan_ I give thee thanks for it, What art could not have heal'd, is cur'd by wit. 

_Enter_ Thenot, _again_. 

_The_. Will ye be constant yet? will ye removeInto the Cabin to your buried Love?

_Clor_. No let me die, but by thy side remain. 

_The_. There's none shall know that thou didst ever stainThy worthy strictness, but shall honour'd be, And I will lye again under this tree, And pine and dye for thee with more delight, Than I have sorrow now to know the light. 

_Clor_. Let me have thee, and I'le be where thou wilt. 

_The_. Thou art of womens race, and full of guilt. Farewel all hope of that Sex, whilst I thoughtThere was one good, I fear'd to find one naught:But since their minds I all alike espie, Henceforth I'le choose as others, by mine eye. 

_Clor_. Blest be ye powers that give such quick redress, And for my labours sent so good success. I rather choose, though I a woman be, He should speak ill of all, than die for me. 

_Actus Quintus. Scena Prima_. 

_Enter_ Priest, _and old_ Shepherd. 

_Priest_. Shepherds, rise and shake off sleep, See the blushing Morn doth peepThrough the window, whilst the SunTo the mountain tops is run, Gilding all the Vales belowWith his rising flames, which growGreater by his climbing still. Up ye lazie grooms, and fillBagg and Bottle for the field;Clasp your cloaks fast, lest they yieldTo the bitter North-east wind. Call the Maidens up, and findWho lay longest, that she mayGoe without a friend all day;Then reward your Dogs, and pray_Pan_ to keep you from decay:So unfold and then away. What not a Shepherd stirring? sure the groomsHave found their beds too easie, or the roomsFill'd with such new delight, and heat, that theyHave both forgot their hungry sheep, and day;Knock, that they may remember what a shameSloath and neglect layes on a Shepherds name. 

_Old Shep_. It is to little purpose, not a swainThis night hath known his lodging here, or lainWithin these cotes: the woods, or some near town, That is a neighbour to the bordering Down, Hath drawn them thither, 'bout some lustie sport, Or spiced Wassel-Boul, to which resortAll the young men and maids of many a cote, Whilst the trim Minstrel strikes his merry note. 

_Priest_. God pardon sin, show me the way that leadsTo any of their haunts. 

_Old Shep_. This to the meads, And that down to the woods. 

_Priest_. Then this for me;Come Shepherd let me crave your companie. [_Exeunt_. 

_Enter_ Clorin, _in her Cabin_, Alexis, _with her_. 

_Clor_. Now your thoughts are almost pure, And your wound begins to cure:Strive to banish all that's vain, Lest it should break out again. 

_Alex_. Eternal thanks to thee, thou holy maid:I find my former wandring thoughts well staidThrough thy wise precepts, and my outward painBy thy choice herbs is almost gone again:Thy sexes vice and vertue are reveal'dAt once, for what one hurt, another heal'd. 

_Clor_. May thy grief more appease, Relapses are the worst disease. Take heed how you in thought offend, So mind and body both will mend. 

_Enter_ Satyr, _with_ Amoret. 

_Amo_. Beest thou the wildest creature of the wood, That bearst me thus away, drown'd in my blood, And dying, know I cannot injur'd be, I am a maid, let that name fight for me. 

_Satyr_. Fairest Virgin do not fearMe, that do thy body bear, Not to hurt, but heal'd to be;Men are ruder far than we. See fair _Goddess_ in the wood, They have let out yet more blood. Some savage man hath struck her breastSo soft and white, that no wild beastDurst ha' toucht asleep, or wake:So sweet, that _Adder, Newte_, or _Snake_, Would have lain from arm to arm, On her bosom to be warmAll a night, and being hot, Gone away and stung her not. Quickly clap herbs to her breast;A man sure is a kind of beast. 

_Clor_. With spotless hand, on spotless brestI put these herbs to give thee rest:Which till it heal thee, will abide, If both be pure, if not, off slide. See it falls off from the wound, Shepherdess thou art not sound, Full of lust. 

_Satyr_, Who would have thought it, So fair a face?

_Clor_. Why that hath brought it. 

_Amo_. For ought I know or think, these words, my last:Yet _Pan_ so help me as my thoughts are chast. 

_Clor_. And so may _Pan_ bless this my cure, As all my thoughts are just and pure;Some uncleanness nigh doth lurk, That will not let my Medicines work. _Satyr_ search if thou canst find it. 

_Satyr_. Here away methinks I wind it, Stronger yet: Oh here they be, Here, here, in a hollow tree, Two fond mortals have I found. 

_Clor_. Bring them out, they are unsound. 

_Enter_ Cloe, _and_ Daphnis. 

_Satyr_. By the fingers thus I wring ye, To my _Goddess_ thus I bring ye;Strife is vain, come gently in, I scented them, they're full of sin. 

_Clor_. Hold _Satyr_, take this Glass, Sprinkle over all the place, Purge the Air from lustfull breath, To save this Shepherdess from death, And stand you still whilst I do dressHer wound for fear the pain encrease. 

_Sat_. From this glass I throw a dropOf Crystal water on the topOf every grass, on flowers a pair:Send a fume and keep the airPure and wholsom, sweet and blest, Till this Virgins wound be drest. 

_Clor. Satyr_, help to bring her in. 

_Sat_. By _Pan_, I think she hath no sin, She is so light: lye on these leaves. Sleep that mortal sense deceives, Crown thine Eyes, and ease thy pain, Maist thou soon be well again. 

_Clor. Satyr_, bring the Shepherd near, Try him if his mind be clear. 

_Sat_. Shepherd come. 

_Daph_. My thoughts are pure. 

_Sat_. The better trial to endure. 

_Clor_. In this flame his finger thrust, Which will burn him if he lust;But if not, away will turn, As loth unspotted flesh to burn:See, it gives back, let him go, Farewel mortal, keep thee so. 

_Sat_. Stay fair _Nymph_, flye not so fast, We must try if you be chaste:Here's a hand that quakes for fear, Sure she will not prove so clear. 

_Clor. _ Hold her finger to the flame, That will yield her praise or shame. 

_Sat. _ To her doom she dares not stand, But plucks away her tender hand, And the Taper darting sendsHis hot beams at her fingers ends:O thou art foul within, and hastA mind, if nothing else, unchaste. 

_Alex. _ Is not that _Cloe?_ 'tis my Love, 'tis she!_Cloe_, fair _Cloe_. 

_Clo. _ My Alexis. 

_Alex. _ He. 

_Clo. _ Let me embrace thee. 

_Clor. _ Take her hence, Lest her sight disturb his sence. 

_Alex. _ Take not her, take my life first. 

_Clor. _ See, his wound again is burst:Keep her near, here in the Wood, Till I ha' stopt these Streams of Blood. Soon again he ease shall find, If I can but still his mind:This Curtain thus I do display, To keep the piercing air away. 

_Enter_ old Shepherd, _and_ Priest. 

_Priest_. Sure they are lost for ever; 'tis in vainTo find 'em out with trouble and much pain, That have a ripe desire, and forward willTo flye the Company of all but ill, What shall be counsel'd now? shall we retire?Or constant follow still that first desireWe had to find them?

_Old_. Stay a little while;For if the Morning mist do not beguileMy sight with shadows, sure I see a Swain;One of this jolly Troop's come back again. 

_Enter_ Thenot. 

_Pri. _ Dost thou not blush young Shepherd to be known, Thus without care, leaving thy flocks alone, And following what desire and present bloodShapes out before thy burning sense, for good, Having forgot what tongue hereafter mayTell to the World thy falling off, and sayThou art regardless both of good and shame, Spurning at Vertue, and a vertuous Name, And like a glorious, desperate man that buysA poyson of much price, by which he dies, Dost thou lay out for Lust, whose only gainIs foul disease, with present age and pain, And then a Grave? These be the fruits that growIn such hot Veins that only beat to knowWhere they may take most ease, and grow ambitiousThrough their own wanton fire, and pride delicious. 

_The_. Right holy Sir, I have not known this night, What the smooth face of Mirth was, or the sightOf any looseness; musick, joy, and ease, Have been to me as bitter drugs to pleaseA Stomach lost with weakness, not a gameThat I am skill'd at throughly; nor a Dame, Went her tongue smoother than the feet of Time, Her beauty ever living like the RimeOur blessed _Tityrus_ did sing of yore, No, were she more enticing than the storeOf fruitful Summer, when the loaden TreeBids the faint Traveller be bold and free, 'Twere but to me like thunder 'gainst the bay, Whose lightning may enclose but never stayUpon his charmed branches; such am IAgainst the catching flames of Womans eye. 

_Priest_. Then wherefore hast thou wandred?

_The_. 'Twas a VowThat drew me out last night, which I have nowStrictly perform'd, and homewards go to giveFresh pasture to my Sheep, that they may live. 

_Pri_. 'Tis good to hear ye, Shepherd, if the heartIn this well sounding Musick bear his part. Where have you left the rest?

_The_. I have not seen, Since yesternight we met upon this greenTo fold our Flocks up, any of that train;Yet have I walkt these Woods round, and have lainAll this same night under an aged Tree, Yet neither wandring Shepherd did I see, Or Shepherdess, or drew into mine earThe sound of living thing, unless it wereThe Nightingale among the thick leav'd springThat sits alone in sorrow, and doth singWhole nights away in mourning, or the Owl, Or our great enemy that still doth howlAgainst the Moons cold beams. 

_Priest_. Go and bewareOf after falling. 

_The_. Father 'tis my care. [_Exit_ Thenot. 

_Enter_ Daphnis. 

_Old_. Here comes another Stragler, sure I seeA Shame in this young Shepherd. _Daphnis_!

_Daph_. He. 

_Pri_. Where hast thou left the rest, that should have beenLong before this, grazing upon the greenTheir yet imprison'd flocks?

_Daph_. Thou holy man, Give me a little breathing till I canBe able to unfold what I have seen;Such horrour that the like hath never beenKnown to the ear of Shepherd: Oh my heartLabours a double motion to impartSo heavy tidings! You all know the BowerWhere the chast _Clorin_ lives, by whose great powerSick men and Cattel have been often cur'd, There lovely _Amoret_ that was assur'dTo lusty _Perigot_, bleeds out her life, Forc'd by some Iron hand and fatal knife;And by her young _Alexis_. 

_Enter_ Amaryllis _running from her_ Sullen Shepherd. 

_Amar_. If there beEver a Neighbour Brook, or hollow tree, Receive my Body, close me up from lustThat follows at my heels; be ever just, Thou god of Shepherds, _Pan_, for her dear sakeThat loves the Rivers brinks, and still doth shakeIn cold remembrance of thy quick pursuit:Let me be made a reed, and ever mute, Nod to the waters fall, whilst every blastSings through my slender leaves that I was chast. 

_Pri_. This is a night of wonder, _Amaryll_Be comforted, the holy gods are stillRevengers of these wrongs. 

_Amar_. Thou blessed man, Honour'd upon these plains, and lov'd of _Pan_, Hear me, and save from endless infamieMy yet unblasted Flower, _Virginitie_:By all the Garlands that have crown'd that head, By the chaste office, and the Marriage bedThat still is blest by thee, by all the rightsDue to our gods; and by those Virgin lightsThat burn before his Altar, let me notFall from my former state to gain the blotThat never shall be purg'd: I am not nowThat wanton _Amaryllis_: here I vowTo Heaven, and thee grave Father, if I may'Scape this unhappy Night, to know the Day, To live a Virgin, never to endureThe tongues, or Company of men impure. I hear him come, save me. 

_Pri_. Retire a whileBehind this Bush, till we have known that vileAbuser of young Maidens. 

_Enter_ Sullen. 

_Sul_. Stay thy pace, Most loved _Amaryllis_, let the ChaseGrow calm and milder, flye me not so fast, I fear the pointed Brambles have unlac'dThy golden Buskins; turn again and seeThy Shepherd follow, that is strong and free, Able to give thee all content and ease. I am not bashful, Virgin, I can pleaseAt first encounter, hug thee in mine arm, And give thee many Kisses, soft and warmAs those the Sun prints on the smiling CheekOf Plums, or mellow Peaches; I am sleekAnd smooth as _Neptune_, when stern _Eolus_Locks up his surly Winds, and nimbly thusCan shew my active Youth; why dost thou flye?Remember _Amaryllis_, it was IThat kill'd _Alexis_ for thy sake, and setAn everlasting hate 'twixt _Amoret_And her beloved _Perigot_: 'twas IThat drown'd her in the Well, where she must lyeTill Time shall leave to be; then turn again, Turn with thy open arms, and clip the SwainThat hath perform'd all this, turn, turn I say:I must not be deluded. 

_Pri_. Monster stay, Thou that art like a Canker to the StateThou liv'st and breath'st in, eating with debateThrough every honest bosome, forcing stillThe Veins of any that may serve thy Will, Thou that hast offer'd with a sinful handTo seize upon this Virgin that doth standYet trembling here. 

_Sull_. Good holiness declare, What had the danger been, if being bareI had embrac'd her, tell me by your Art, What coming wonders would that sight impart?

_Pri_. Lust, and a branded Soul. 

_Sull_. Yet tell me more, Hath not our Mother Nature for her storeAnd great encrease, said it is good and just, And wills that every living Creature mustBeget his like?

_Pri_. Ye are better read than I, I must confess, in blood and Lechery. Now to the Bower, and bring this Beast along, Where he may suffer Penance for his wrong. [_Exeunt_. 

_Enter_ Perigot _with his hands bloody_. 

_Per_. Here will I wash it in this mornings dew, Which she on every little grass doth strewIn silver drops against the Sun's appear:'Tis holy water, and will make me clear. My hands will not be cleans'd. My wronged Love, If thy chaste spirit in the air yet move, Look mildly down on him that yet doth standAll full of guilt, thy blood upon his hand, And though I struck thee undeservedly, Let my revenge on her that injur'd theeMake less a fault which I intended not, And let these dew drops wash away my spot. It will not cleanse. O to what sacred FloodShall I resort to wash away this blood?Amid'st these Trees the holy _Clorin_ dwellsIn a low Cabin of cut Boughs, and healsAll Wounds; to her I will my self address, And my rash faults repentantly confess;Perhaps she'll find a means by Art or Prayer, To make my hand with chaste blood stained, fair:That done, not far hence underneath some Tree, I'll have a little Cabin built, since sheWhom I ador'd is dead, there will I giveMy self to strictness, and like _Clorin_ live. [_Exit_. 

_The Curtain is drawn_, Clorin _appears sitting in the Cabin, _ Amoret_sitting on the one side of her_, Alexis _and_ Cloe _on the other, the_Satyr _standing by. _

_Clo_. Shepherd, once more your blood is staid, Take example by this Maid, Who is heal'd ere you be pure, So hard it is lewd lust to cure. Take heed then how you turn your eyeOn each other lustfully:And Shepherdess take heed lest youMove his willing eye thereto;Let no wring, nor pinch, nor smileOf yours his weaker sense beguile. Is your Love yet true and chaste, And for ever so to last?

_Alex_. I have forgot all vain desires, All looser thoughts, ill tempred fires, True Love I find a pleasant fume, Whose moderate heat can ne'r consume. 

_Clo_. And I a new fire feel in me, Whose chaste flame is not quencht to be. 

_Clor_. Join your hands with modest touch, And for ever keep you such. 

_Enter_ Perigot. 

_Per_. Yon is her Cabin, thus far off I'll stand, And call her forth; for my unhallowed handI dare not bring so near yon sacred place. _Clorin_ come forth, and do a timely graceTo a poor Swain. 

_Clo_. What art thou that dost call?_Clorin_ is ready to do good to all:Come near. 

_Peri_. I dare not. 

_Clor. Satyr_, seeWho it is that calls on me. 

_Sat_. There at hand, some Swain doth stand, Stretching out a bloudy hand. 

_Peri_. Come _Clorin_, bring thy holy waters clear, To wash my hand. 

_Clo_. What wonders have been hereTo night? stretch forth thy hand young Swain, Wash and rub it whilest I rainHoly water. 

_Peri_. Still you pour, But my hand will never scower. 

_Clor. Satyr_, bring him to the Bower, We will try the Soveraign powerOf other waters. 

_Satyr_. Mortal, sure'Tis the Blood of Maiden pureThat stains thee so. 

[_The_ Satyr _leadeth him to the Bower, where he spieth_ Amoret, _andkneeling down, she knoweth him_. 

_Peri_. What e're thou be, Be'st thou her spright, or some divinitie, That in her shape thinks good to walk this grove, Pardon poor _Perigot_. 

_Amor_. I am thy love, Thy _Amoret_, for evermore thy love:Strike once more on my naked breast, I'le proveAs constant still. O couldst thou love me yet;How soon should I my former griefs forget!

_Peri_. So over-great with joy, that you live, nowI am, that no desire of knowing howDoth seize me; hast thou still power to forgive?

_Amo_. Whilest thou hast power to love, or I to live;More welcome now than hadst thou never goneAstray from me. 

_Peri_. And when thou lov'st aloneAnd not I, death, or some lingring painThat's worse, light on me. 

_Clor_. Now your stainThis perhaps will cleanse again;See the blood that erst did stay, With the water drops away. All the powers again are pleas'd, And with this new knot appeas'd. Joyn your hands, and rise together, _Pan_ be blest that brought you hither. 

_Enter_ Priest, _and_ Old Shephe[rd]. 

_Clor_. Go back again what ere thou art, unlessSmooth Maiden thoughts possess thee, do not pressThis hallowed ground. Go _Satyr_, take his hand, And give him present trial. 

_Satyr_. Mortal stand, Till by fire I have made knownWhether thou be such a one, That mayst freely tread this place. Hold thy hand up; never wasMore untainted flesh than this. Fairest, he is full of bliss. 

_Clor_. Then boldly speak, why dost thou seek this place?

_Priest_. First, honour'd Virgin, to behold thy faceWhere all good dwells that is: Next for to tryThe truth of late report was given to me:Those Shepherds that have met with foul mischance, Through much neglect, and more ill governance, Whether the wounds they have may yet endureThe open Air, or stay a longer cure. And lastly, what the doom may be shall lightUpon those guilty wretches, through whose spightAll this confusion fell: For to this place, Thou holy Maiden, have I brought the raceOf these offenders, who have freely told, Both why, and by what means they gave this boldAttempt upon their lives. 

_Clor_. Fume all the ground, And sprinkle holy water, for unsoundAnd foul infection 'gins to fill the Air:It gathers yet more strongly; take a pairOf Censors fill'd with Frankincense and Mirrh, Together with cold Camphyre: quickly stirThee, gentle _Satyr_, for the place beginsTo sweat and labour with the abhorred sinsOf those offenders; let them not come nigh, For full of itching flame and leprosieTheir very souls are, that the ground goes back, And shrinks to feel the sullen weight of blackAnd so unheard of venome; hie thee fastThou holy man, and banish from the chastThese manlike monsters, let them never moreBe known upon these downs, but long beforeThe next Suns rising, put them from the sightAnd memory of every honest wight. Be quick in expedition, lest the soresOf these weak Patients break into new gores. [_Ex_. Priest. 

_Per_. My dear, dear _Amoret_, how happy areThose blessed pairs, in whom a little jarHath bred an everlasting love, too strongFor time, or steel, or envy to do wrong?How do you feel your hurts? Alas poor heart, How much I was abus'd; give me the smartFor it is justly mine. 

_Amo_. I do believe. It is enough dear friend, leave off to grieve, And let us once more in despight of illGive hands and hearts again. 

_Per_. With better willThan e're I went to find in hottest dayCool Crystal of the Fountain, to allayMy eager thirst: may this band never break. Hear us O Heaven. 

_Amo_. Be constant. 

_Per_. Else _Pan_ wreak, With [d]ouble vengeance, my disloyalty;Let me not dare to know the companyOf men, or any more behold those eyes. 

_Amo_. Thus Shepherd with a kiss all envy dyes. 

_Enter_ Priest. 

_Priest_. Bright Maid, I have perform'd your will, the SwainIn whom such heat and black rebellions raignHath undergone your sentence, and disgrace:Only the Maid I have reserv'd, whose faceShews much amendment, many a tear doth fallIn sorrow of her fault, great fair recalYour heavy doom, in hope of better daies, Which I dare promise; once again upraiseHer heavy Spirit that near drowned lyesIn self consuming care that never dyes. 

_Clor_. I am content to pardon, call her in;The Air grows cool again, and doth beginTo purge it self, how bright the day doth showAfter this stormy Cloud! go _Satyr_, go, And with this Taper boldly try her hand, If she be pure and good, and firmly standTo be so still, we have perform'd a workWorthy the Gods themselves. [_Satyr brings_ Amaryllis _in_. 

_Satyr_. Come forward Maiden, do not lurkNor hide your face with grief and shame, Now or never get a nameThat may raise thee, and recureAll thy life that was impure:Hold your hand unto the flame, If thou beest a perfect dame, Or hast truely vow'd to mend, This pale fire will be thy friend. See the Taper hurts her not. Go thy wayes, let never spotHenceforth seize upon thy blood. Thank the Gods and still be good. 

_Clor_. Young Shepherdess now ye are brought againTo Virgin state, be so, and so remainTo thy last day, unless the faithful loveOf some good Shepherd force thee to remove;Th[e]n labour to be true to him, and liveAs such a one, that ever strives to giveA blessed memory to after time. Be famous for your good, not for your crime. Now holy man, I offer up againThese patients full of health, and free from pain:Keep them from after ills, be ever nearUnto their actions, teach them how to clearThe tedious way they pass through, from suspect, Keep them from wronging others, or neglectOf duty in themselves, correct the bloudWith thrifty bits and labour, let the floud, Or the next neighbouring spring give remedyTo greedy thirst, and travel not the treeThat hangs with wanton clusters, [let] not wine, Unless in sacrifice, or rites divine, Be ever known of Shepherd, have a careThou man of holy life. Now do not spareTheir faults through much remissness, nor forgetTo cherish him, whose many pains and swetHath giv'n increase, and added to the downs. Sort all your Shepherds from the lazy clownsThat feed their Heifers in the budded Brooms:Teach the young Maidens strictness, that the groomsMay ever fear to tempt their blowing youth;Banish all complements, but single truthFrom every tongue, and every Shepherds heart, Let them still use perswading, but no Art:Thus holy _Priest_, I wish to thee and these, All the best goods and comforts that may please. 

_Alex_. And all those blessings Heaven did ever give, We pray upon this Bower may ever live. 

_Priest_. Kneel every Shepherd, whilest with powerful handI bless your after labours, and the LandYou feed your flocks upon. Great _Pan_ defend youFrom misfortune, and amend you, Keep you from those dangers still, That are followed by your will, Give ye means to know at lengthAll your riches, all your strength, Cannot keep your foot from fallingTo lewd lust, that still is callingAt your Cottage, till his powerBring again that golden hourOf peace and rest to every soul. May his care of you controulAll diseases, sores or painThat in after time may raignEither in your flocks or you, Give ye all affections new, New desires, and tempers new, That ye may be ever true. Now rise and go, and as ye pass awaySing to the God of Sheep, that happy lay, That honest _Dorus_ taught ye, _Dorus_, heThat was the soul and god of melodie. 

The SONG. [_They all Sing

All ye woods, and trees and bowers, All you vertues and ye powersThat inhabit in the lakes, In the pleasant springs or brakes, Move your feet To our sound, Whilest we greet All this ground, With his honour and his nameThat defends our flocks from blame. 

He is great, and he is Just, He is ever good, and mustThus be honour'd: Daffodillies, Roses, Pinks, and loved Lillies, Let us fling, Whilest we sing, Ever holy, Ever holy, Ever honoured ever young, Thus great_ Pan _is ever sung. [Exeunt. 

Satyr. _ Thou divinest, fairest, brightest, Thou m[o]st powerful Maid, and whitest, Thou most vertuous and most blessed, Eyes of stars, and golden tressedLike _Apollo_, tell me sweetestWhat new service now is meetestFor the _Satyr_? shall I strayIn the middle Air, and stayThe sayling Rack, or nimbly takeHold by the Moon, and gently makeSute to the pale Queen of nightFor a beam to give thee light?Shall I dive into the Sea, And bring thee Coral, making wayThrough the rising waves that fallIn snowie fleeces; dearest, shallI catch the wanton Fawns, or Flyes, Whose woven wings the Summer dyesOf many colours? get thee fruit?Or steal from Heaven old _Orpheus_ Lute?All these I'le venture for, and more, To do her service all these woods adore. 

_Clor_. No other service, _Satyr_, but thy watchAbout these thickets, lest harmless people catchMischief or sad mischance. 

_Satyr_. Holy Virgin, I will danceRound about these woods as quickAs the breaking light, and prickDown the Lawns, and down the vailsFaster than the Wind-mill sails. So I take my leave, and prayAll the comforts of the day, Such as _Phoebus_ heat doth sendOn the earth, may still befriendThee, and this arbour. 

_Clo_. And to thee, All thy Masters love be free. [_Exeunt_. 

_To my Friend Master_ JOHN FLETCHER _upon his Faithfull Shepherdess. _

_I know too well, that, no more than the manThat travels through the burning Desarts, canWhen he is beaten with the raging Sun, Half smothered in the dust, have power to runFrom a cool River, which himself doth find, E're he be slacked; no more can he whose mindJoyes in the Muses, hold from that delight, When nature, and his full thoughts bid him write:Yet wish I those whom I for friends have known, To sing their thoughts to no ears but their own. Why should the man, whose wit ne'r had a stain, Upon the publick Stage present his [vein, ]And make a thousand men in judgment sit, To call in question his undoubted wit, Scarce two of which can understand the lawsWhich they should judge by, nor the parties cause?Among the rout there is not one that hathIn his own censure an explicite faith;One company knowing they judgement lack, Ground their belief on the next man in black:Others, on him that makes signs, and is mute, Some like as he does in the fairest sute, He as his Mistress doth, and she by chance:Nor want there those, who as the Boy doth danceBetween the Acts, will censure the whole Play;Some if the Wax-lights be not new that day;But multitudes there are whose judgement goesHeadlong according to the Actors cloathes. For this, these publick things and I, agreeSo ill, that but to do a right for thee, I had not been perswaded to have hurl'dThese few, ill spoken lines, into the world, Both to be read, and censur'd of, by those, Whose very reading makes Verse senseless Prose:Such as must spend above an hour, to spellA Challenge on a Past, to know it well:But since it was thy hap to throw awayMuch wit, for which the people did not pay, Because they saw it not, I not dislikeThis second publication, which may strikeTheir consciences, to see the thing they scorn'd, To be with so much wit and Art adorned. Besides one vantage more in this I see, Tour censurers now must have the qualitieOf reading, which I am afraid is moreThan half your shrewdest Judges had before. _

Fr. Beaumont. 

_To the worthy Author_ M'r. Jo. FLETCHER. 

_The wise, and many headed_ Bench, _that sitsUpon the Life, and Death of_ Playes, _and_ Wits, (_Composed of_ Gamester, Captain, Knight, Knight's man, Lady, _or_ Pusill, _that wears mask or fan_, Velvet, _or_ Taffata _cap, rank'd in the darkWith the shops_ Foreman, _or some such_ brave spark, _That may judge for his_ six-pence_) had, beforeThey saw it half, damn'd thy whole Play, and more, Their motives were, since it had not to doeWith vices, which they look'd for, and came to. 

I, that am glad, thy Innocence was thy Guilt, And wish that all the_ Muses _blood were spiltIn such a_ Martyrdome, _to vex their eyes, Do crown thy murdred_ Poeme: _which shall riseA glorified work to Time, when Fire, Or mothes shall eat, what all these Fools admire. _

BEN. JONSON. 

This Dialogue newly added, was spoken by way of Prologue to both theirMajesties, at the first acting of this Pastoral at _Somerset-house_ onTwelfth-night, 1633. 

Priest. 

_A broiling Lamb on_ Pans _chief Altar lies, My Wreath, my Censor, Virge, and Incense by:But I delayed the pretious Sacrifice, To shew thee here, a Gentle Deity. _

Nymph. 

_Nor was I to thy sacred Summons slow, Hither I came as swift as th' Eagles wing, Or threatning shaft from vext_ Dianaes _bow, To see this Islands God; the worlds best King. _

Priest. 

_Bless then that Queen, that doth his eyes inviteAnd ears, t'obey her Scepter, half this night. _

Nymph. 

_Let's sing such welcomes, as shall make Her swaySeem easie to Him, though it last till day. 

Welcom as Peace t'unwalled Cities, whenFamine and Sword leave them more graves than men. As Spring to Birds, or Noon-dayes Sun to th' oldPoor mountain Muscovite congeal'd with cold. As Shore toth' Pilot in a safe known CoastWhen's Card is broken and his Rudder lost. 

APPENDIX

p. 369, l. 2. C] Antiochusl. 10. C _omits_] have. L. 12. C _omits] Princes. B _misprints] Prnices. L. 17. C _gives this line to_ Sel. L. 35. A] Cel. L. 40. C] I once more next [_instead of_ beg it thus]. 

p. 370, l. 9. C] sound. L. 10. C] beat through. L. 16. C _adds_] Finis. C _omits] Prologue _and_ Epilogue. 

p. 371, l. 1. A] And those. L. 6. A _omits_] Spoke by the _Lieutenant_. 

THE FAITHFUL SHEPHERDESS. 

(A) The | Faithfull | Shepheardesse. By John Fletcher. | Printed atLondon for R. Bonian | and H. Walley, and are to be sold at | the spredEagle over against the | great North dore of S. Paules. Undated, butprobably 1609-10. 

(B) The same, with slight differences in the Commendatory Verses and inone or two other sheets. 

(C) The | Faithfull | Shepheardesse. | By John Fletcher. | The secondEdition, newly corrected. London, | Printed by T. C. For Richard Meighen, in St Dunstanes Church-yard in Fleet-streete, | 1629. 

(D) The | Faithfull | Shepherdesse. | acted at Somerset | House before theKing and | Queene on Twelfe night | last, 1633. | And divers times sincewith great ap-| plause at the Private House in Blacke-| Friers, by hisMajesties Servants. | Written by John Fletcher. | The third Edition, withAddition. | London, | Printed by A. M. For Richard Meighen, next | to theMiddle Temple in Fleet-| street. 1634. 

(E) The | Faithfull | Shepherdesse. | Acted at Somerset | House, beforethe King and | Queen on Twelf night | last, 1633. | And divers timessince, with great ap- | plause, at the Private House in Black-| Friers, byhis Majesties Servants. | Written by John Fletcher. | The Fourth Edition. | London, Printed for Ga. Bedell and Tho. Collins, at the Middle | TempleGate in Fleet-street. 1656. 

(F) The | Faithfull | Shepherdesse. | Acted at | Somerset-House, | Beforethe King and Queen on Twelfth Night, 1633. | And divers times since, withgreat | Applause, at the Private House in | Black-Friers, by his Majesties| Servants. | Written by John Fletcher. | The Fifth Edition. | London, |Printed for G. Bedell and T. Collins, at the Middle | Temple-Gate inFleet-street, 1665. 

The verso of the title-page bears the date March 3, 166-4/5. Licensed, Roger L'Estrange. 

As neither the Second Folio nor the Quartos print any list of theCharacters it may be as well to give one here. 

Perigot. Old Shepherd. Thenot Priest of Pan. Daphnis. God of the River. Alexis. Satyr. Sullen Shepherd. Shepherds. Clorin. Cloe. Amoret. Shepherdesses. Amarillis. 

Scene: Thessaly. 

The following Dedicatory Verses were omitted from the Second Folio. 

_To my lov'd friend M. John Fletcher, on his Pastorall_. 

Can my approovement (Sir) be worth your thankes?Whose unkn[o]wne name and muse (in swathing clowtes)Is not yet growne to strength, among these rankesTo have a roome and beare off the sharpe flowtesOf this our pregnant age, that does despiseAll innocent verse, that lets alone her vice. 

But I must Justifie what privately, I censurd to you: my ambition is(Even by my hopes and love to Poesie)To live to perfect such a worke, as this, Clad in such elegant proprietieOf words, including a mortallitie. 

So sweete and profitable, though each man that heares, (And learning has enough to clap and hisse)Arives not too't, so misty it appeares;And to their fi1med reasons, so amisse:But let Art looke in truth, she like a mirror, Reflects [Reflect, C, D] her comfort [consort, D--F], ignorances terror. 

Sits in her owne brow, being made afraid, Of her unnaturall complexion, As ougly women (when they are araidBy glasses) loath their true reflection, Then how can such opinions injure thee, That tremble, at their owne deformitie?

Opinion, that great foole, makes fooles of all, And (once) I feard her till I met a mindeWhose grave instructions philosophical), Toss'd it [is, F] like dust upon a march strong winde, He shall for ever my example be, And his embraced doctrine grow in me. 

His soule (and such commend this) that commaund [commands, D, E, F]Such art, it should me better satisfie, Then if the monster clapt his thousand hands, And drownd the sceane with his confused cry;And if doubts rise, loe their owne names to cleare 'emWhilst I am happy but to stand so neere 'em. 

N. F. 

These verses are in A, B, C, D, E and F. In A and B they are signed 'N. F. , ' in C-F they are signed 'Nath. Field. ' The above text is that of A. 

To his loving friend M. _Jo. Fletcher_concerning his Pastorall, beingboth a Poeme and a play:[concerning. .. Play _omitted in_ D, E, F]

There are no suerties (good friend) will be takenFor workes that vulgar-good-name hath forsaken:A Poeme and a play too! why tis likeA scholler that's a Poet: their names strikeTheir pestilence inward, when they take the aire;And kill out right: one cannot both fates beare. But, as a Poet thats no scholler, makesVulgarity his whiffler, and so takeswith ease, & state through both sides preaseOf Pageant seers: or as schollers pleaseThat are no Poets; more then Poets learnd;Since their art solely, is by soules discerned;The others fals [fall, D, E, F] within the common senceAnd sheds (like common light) her influence:So, were your play no Poeme, but a thingThat every Cobler to his patch might sing:A rout of nifles (like the multitude)With no one limme [limbe, E, F] of any art indude:Like would to like, and praise you: but because, Your poeme onely hath by us applause, Renews the golden world; and holds through allThe holy lawes of homely pastorall;Where flowers, and founts, and Nimphs, & semi-Gods, And all the Graces finde their old abods:Where forrests flourish but in endlesse verse;And meddowes, nothing fit for purchasers:This Iron age that eates it selfe, will neverBite at your golden world; that others, everLov'd as it selfe: then like your Booke do youLive in ould peace: and that for praise allow. 

G. Chapman

These lines are in A, C, D, E and F. The text is that of A. 

_To that noble and true lover of learning_, Sir Walter Aston Knight_of the Balls_. 

Sir I must aske your patience, and be trew. This play was never liked, unlesse by fewThat brought their judgements with um, for of lateFirst the infection, then the common prateOf common people, have such customes gotEither to silence plaies, or like them not. Under the last of which this interlude, Had falne for ever prest downe by the rudeThat like a torrent which the moist south feedes, Drowne's both before him the ripe corne and weedes. Had not the saving sence of better menRedeem'd it from corruption: (deere Sir then)Among the better soules, be you the bestIn whome, as in a Center I take rest, And propper being: from whose equall eyeAnd judgement, nothing growes but puritie:(Nor do I flatter) for by all those dead, Great in the muses, by _Apolloes_ head, He that ads any thing to you; tis doneLike his that lights a candle to the sunne:Then be as you were ever, your selfe stillMoved by your judement, not by love, or willAnd when I sing againe as who can tellMy next devotion to that holy well, Your goodnesse to the muses shall be all, Able to make a worke Heroyicall. 

_Given to your service_John Fletcher. 

These lines are in A and B. 

To the inheritour of all worthines, _Sir William Scipwith. Ode. _

If from servile hope or love, I may proveBut so happy to be thought forSuch a one whose greatest ease Is to please(Worthy sir) I have all I sought for, For no ich of greater name, which some clameBy their verses do I show itTo the world; nor to protest Tis the bestThese are leane faults in a poet

Nor to make it serve to feed at my needeNor to gaine acquaintance by itNor to ravish kinde Atturnies, in their journies. Nor to read it after diet

Farre from me are all these Ames Fittest framesTo build weakenesse on and pittyOnely to your selfe, and such whose true touchMakes all good; let me seeme witty. 

_The Admirer of your vertues_, John Fletcher. 

These verses are in A and B. 

_To the perfect gentleman Sir_Robert Townesend. 

If the greatest faults may cravePardon where contrition is(Noble Sir) I needes must haveA long one; for a long amisseIf you aske me (how is this)Upon my faith Ile tell you frankely, You love above my meanes to thanke yee. Yet according to my TalentAs sowre fortune loves to use meA poore Shepheard I have sent, In home-spun gray for to excuse me. And may all my hopes refuse me:But when better comes ashore, You shall have better, newer, more. Til when, like our desperate debters, Or our three pild sweete protestersI must please you in bare lettersAnd so pay my debts; like jesters, Yet I oft have seene good feasters, Onely for to please the pallet, Leave great meat and chuse a sallet. 

_All yours_ John Fletcher:

These lines are in A and B. 

To the Reader. 

If you be not reasonably assurde of your knowledge in this kinde of Poeme, lay downe the booke or read this, which I would wish had bene theprologue. It is a pastorall Tragic-comedie, which the people seeing whenit was plaid, having ever had a singuler guift in defining, concluded tobe a play of contry hired Shepheards, in gray cloakes, with curtaild dogsin strings, sometimes laughing together, and sometimes killing oneanother: And misling whitsun ales, creame, wasiel & morris-dances, beganto be angry. In their error I would not have you fall, least you incurretheir censure. Understand therefore a pastorall to be a representation ofshepheards and shephearddesses, with their actions and passions, whichmust be such as may agree with their natures at least not exceeding formerfictions, & vulgar traditions: they are not to be adorn'd with any art, but such improper ones as nature is said to bestow, as singing and Poetry, or such as experience may teach them, as the vertues of hearbs, &fountaines: the ordinary course of the Sun, moone, and starres, andsuch like. But you are ever to remember Shepherds to be such, as all theancient Poets and moderne of understanding have receaved them: that is, the owners of flockes and not hyerlings. A tragie-comedie is not so calledin respect of mirth and killing, but in respect it wants deaths, which isinough to make it no tragedie, yet brings some neere it, which is inoughto make it no comedie: which must be a representation of familiar people, with such kinde of trouble as no life be questiond, so that a God is aslawfull in this as in a tragedie, and meane people as in a comedie. Thismuch I hope will serve to justifie my Poeme, and make you understand it, to teach you more for nothing, I do not know that I am in consciencebound. 

_John Fletcher_. 

This address is in A and B. 

Unto his worthy friend Mr _Joseph Taylor_upon his presentment of the _Faithfull Sheperdessebefore the King and Queene, at White-hall, onTwelfth night_ [F _stops here_] _last_. 1633. 

When this smooth Pastorall was first brought forth, The Age twas borne in, did not know it's worth. Since by thy cost, and industry reviv'd, It hath a new fame, and new birth atchiv'd. Happy in that shee found in her distresse, A friend, as faithfull, as her Shepherdesse. For having cur'd her from her courser rents, And deckt her new with fresh habiliments, Thou brought'st her to the Court, and made [mad'st, F] her beA fitting spectacle for Majestie. So have I seene a clowded beauty drestIn a rich vesture, shine above the rest. Yet did it not receive more honour fromThe glorious pompe, then thine owne action. Expect no satisfaction for the same, Poets can render no reward but Fame. Yet this Ile prophesie, when thou shall comeInto the confines of _Elysium_Amidst the Quire of Muses, and the listsOf famous Actors, and quicke Dramatists, So much admir'd for gesture, and for wit, That there on Seats of living Marble sit, The blessed Consort of that numerous Traine, Shall rise with an applause to [and, E and F] entertaineThy happy welcome, causing thee sit downe, And with a Lawrell-wreath thy temples crowne. And mean time, while this Poeme shall be read, _Taylor_, thy name shall be eternized. For it is just, that thou, who first did'st giveUnto this booke a life, by it shouldst live. 

Shack. Marmyon. 

These lines are in D, E and F. The text is that of D. The variations inthe dedicatory verses printed in the Second Folio will be found on p. 523. 

p. 372, l. 3. A-F] Actus Primi. L. 13. A and B _omit_] jolly. C _some copies_] merry games. L. 15. A, B and D] brows be girt. 

p. 373, l. 6. A and B] That I will I. L. 19. F _misprints_] fair heap. 

P-375, l. 12. A and B] these Groves. L. 17. A and B] mires. A and B _omit_] to find my ruine. L. 27. A-F _omit_] him. L. 29. C and D] have gone this. L. 30. A-F] his rights. L. 33. 2nd Folio _misprints_] yours. 

p. 376, l. 10. A-D] livers. 

P. 377, l. 13. A and B] fall speedily. L. 14. A-D] let me goe. L. 21. A-F] seaman. L. 22. A and B] than the straightest. 

p. 378, l. 19. A and B] our soules. L. 40. C] The gentle. 

p. 379, l. 11. A and B] a wild. L. 18. A and B] _Enter an other Shepheardesse that is in love withPerigot_. 

p. 381, l. 4. 2nd Folio _misprints_] ever. L. 11. A, B and F] their weaning. L. 18. A and B] _Enter Sullen. _ F] _Enter sullen_ Shepherd. L. 19. A, B and F _for Shep, (character) read] Sul. _l. 37. A-C _omit character] Shep_. D-F _print] Sull_. 

p. 382, l. 8. A-F _for Shep. ] Sul_. L. 25. 2nd Folio] sufficient, great to. L. 26. F] eye. L. 28. A and B] has foile enough. L. 38. A-F] dares. 

p. 383, l. 5. A-D _omit_] likewise. C] ayre is fresh. L. 10. A-C] are grown. A-D] Woodbines. L. 26. A-D] eare of Maid. E and F] eare of maids. L. 27. C and D] I love. L. 29. A] so sure a Mold. B-F] so sure the Molde. 

p. 384, l. 7. A-F] whose words. L. 13. 2nd Folio] dost, p, 385, l. 2. A-C] hee is here. 

p. 386, l. 21. A and B] grief and tine. L. 30. A-C] raine. L. 35. A-D] swains more meeter. L. 36. A and B] Than these. L. 38. A-D] Hide. 

p. 387, l. 3. A-D] hath been. L. 7. F] _Titans_. 

p. 388, l. 3. A-D] lowde falling. L. 21. A] his walkes keep. L. 32. F _omits_] great. L. 34. A] high birth. L. 36. A] born a most. 

p. 389, l. 1. A] did lop. L. 2. A] told me. L. 6. A] teeth. L. 8. A _omits_] fast. L. 14. A] Formentill. L. 16. A-F] roote. A-D and F] swellings best. L. 31. A] wanton forces. L. 39. A] and with joy. 

p. 390, l. 1. A] Enter Shepheard. L. 2. A] _Shep_. And so throughout. L. 10. A] make. L. 15. A and C] you blessed. L. 16. A] brightly. L. 19. A] That stiled is the. L. 36. A-C] into a stround. 

p. 391, l. 1. C] eies. L. 14. C] Thy way. L. 16. 2nd Folio _misprints_] Chor. L. 24. A _omits_] Then. (_char_. ). L. 30. A] flame. 

p. 392, l. 4. A] _Orions_. L. 5. A-D] woven. L. 6. A-C] unfould. L. 7. A] The errant soul. A-D] not the true. L. 9. A] _Alpen_. L. 13. A] you do keep. L. 14. E] that are begotten. L. 30. A-C] for their. L. 31. A and B] To seat them. 

p. 393, l. 3. A-D] Doe, and let. L. 6. A-C _omit_] that here. D _omits_] that. L. 9. A-F] mourning. A-F] Ewe. L. 18. A, B and D] For never did. L. 21. 2nd Folio _misprints_] then. L. 23. A-D] Shootes. L. 26. A and B] And present. L. 31. 2nd Folio _misprints_] maiden. L. 35. A-D] highly praise. 

p. 394, l. 4. C] ne're knit that eye. L. 17. C] her shame. L. 30. A-F] As grinnes. L. 31. A] at Conies, Squirrels. 

P. 395, l. 1. A-F] stronger way. L. 26. A and B] dipt over. 

p. 396, l. 8. A and B _insert before Enter Daphnis_] Actus secundus Scena quarta. L. 14. A-D] thy Shepherds. L. 19. A and B] My flame. L. 34. 2nd Folio _misprints_] blesseds. L. 35. A-F _insert_ Enter Alexis _after_ l. 36. 

p. 397, l. 10. A-D] those. L. 16. A and B] hold her. L. 20. A-C] though with. 

p. 399, l. 2. A-F] These rights. L. 17. A-C] Enter the. L. 27. C] the feet. 

p. 400, l. 21. A-C] _She awaketh_. L. 23. A-F] Magick right. L. 27. A and B] thus reformd thee. L. 31. C and D _omit_] that. 

p. 401, l. 6. A and C] moone beams. L. 7. A-D and F] true shape. L. 13. C] your sacred. L. 24. A, D and F] she hath got. L. 37. A-F] of Lyon. A and B] or of Bear. 

p. 402, l. 22. A and B] Ile followe, and for this thy care of me. C _omits the line_. L. 27. A-F] with a. 

p. 403, l. 29. A-E] never thou shalt move. 

p. 404, l. 33. A and B _read_] _Alex. _ Oh! _Sat. _ Speake againe thou mortall wight. L. 34. A and B _omit_] _Sat. _

p. 405, l. 3. A-C] beheld you shaggy. L. 17. A and B] O stray. L. 25. A-F] Who I did. L. 29. A-C] _Enter the_. 

p. 406, l. 2. A and B] _of a_ Amoret. L. 3. A and B] But all these. L. 29. A and B] swear, Beloved _Perigot_. L. 37. A-D] then that young. 

p. 407, l. 4. A and B] How should. L. 11. C] take my _Amoret_. L. 30. A and B _read_] div'd art, art not. L. 36. F] still as. L. 37. C] Though others shows. L. 38. C] and rest my. 

p. 408, l. 18. A and B _omit_] _in her own shape_. L. 26. A and B _omit_] Ama. L. 28. A and B _add_ Amoret _after_ path. 

p. 409, l. 17. A-D] _He flings her_. 

p. 410, l. 4. A and B] locke. L. 11. F] bank. 

p. 411, l. 9. A-C] silver string. 

p. 412, l. 2. E] Leave there gravel. L. 20. A-F _add_] Exit. L. 22. A and B _add_] _Finis Actus Tertis_. L. 23. A and B _omit_] _Actus Quartus. Scena Prima. _l. 34. A and B] Perigot _to Enter_. Amaryllis, _running_. 

p. 413, l. 2. A-F] heavy Clowdes. L. 18. A-C] of his breath. 

p. 414, l. 35. A-D] happy bower. 

p. 415, l. 7. A-F] Will undo his. L. 10. A-F] holy rights. L. 11. A-D] the feared. L. 22. A and B] the Gwomes. L. 35. A and B] thie wound. C] thy wound. 

p. 416, l. 20. A--D] Now a gapes. L. 31. A--F] to this destiny. 

p. 417, l. 1. A-D] not possible. L. 2. A and B] all heates, desires. L. 3. A-F] thoughts. L. 9. A and B] Playsters. 

p. 418, l. 1. A and B] To deserve the. L. 11. A-C] sought it. L. 13. A-C] or shade. L. 15. A-C] but I. 

p. 419, l. 7. A and B] imagination. L. 26. 2nd Folio _misprints_] thy and. L. 30. A and B _omit_] _Exit_ Amoret. 

p. 420, l. 26. A-D] thy lazy. L. 36. A-D] _looking of_ Perigot. 

p. 421, l. 2. A and B omit] art. E, F and 2nd Folio] thou darest. L. 12. A-F] Ribandes. L. 14. A-C _omit_] the. L. 17. A and B] those too little. L. 28. C] a fact so. L. 30. A and B] Came flowing. C] Come flying. 

p. 422, l. 10. A and B] men, most. L. 12. F] thy vows. L. 13. 2nd Folio] help. L. 17. A-F] till Crosse fate. L. 26. C] seeks. L. 30. A and B _omit_] _Per_. 

p. 423, l. 14. A and B] esteeme. 

p. 424, l. 11. A and B] denye. L. 18. C] sent my gloves. L. 26. A and B] bread. 

p. 425, l. 1. A-C] light shutts like. L. 23. A-D] vild. 

p. 426, l. 5. 2nd Folio] beings. 

p. 427, l. 10. A-C _omit_] to. L. 19. A-C] once loose both my. L. 27. 2nd Folio _misprints_] be. L. 36. A and B] Inconstance. 

p. 428, l. 6. A-D] shalt. L. 9. A-D] know thee light. L. 16. A-D] that gave such. L. 19. A and B _add_] _Finis Actus quartus_. L. 24. A-D] windowes. 

p. 429, l. 14. A-C] coate. L. 22. A-D _add_] _and Amarillis_. L. 31. C] sexes voice and. 

p. 430, l. 5. A-F] that doth thy. L. 6. A and B] but held to. L. 12. A-F] Durst a toucht. L. 22. A-C] will bide. 

p. 432, l. 33. A-F] mornings. 

p. 433, l. 39. A and B _omit_] _The_. 

p. 434, l. 2. C-F] those. L. 3. A and B] this long night. C _omits_] same. L. 5. C] eares. L. 12. F _omits_] and. L. 19. A-C _omit_] thou. 

p. 435, l. 7. F] I am. L. 16. A-F] thy chaste. L. 18. A-F] God. L. 25. A--D _omit_] To live. A-C] never after to. 

p. 436, l. 3. A and C] thy smiling. L. 21. A and B] any men may. L. 29. A-C omit] a. L. 33. A and B] willd. C] will. L. 38. A-C _omit_] _Exeunt_. 

p. 437, l. 1. A-F] hand. L. 2. A and B] in the mornings. L. 6. A-F] hand. L. 34. A-D] On these other. 

p. 438, l. 7. A-D] Whose base end is. L. 22. A and B] Thers a hand. C] Thers at hand. L. 39. A and B] kneeleth. 

p. 439, l. 7. A-C] Sticke once. L. 8. A-C] O canst thou. C] leave me. L. 9. A and C] soon could I. L. 20. A-D] Perhaps will cleanse thee once again. L. 24. A-F] are appeas'd. L. 27. 2nd Folio] Shephered. 

p. 440, l. 14. A and B] their live. L. 18. A and B _omit_] take a pair. L. 23. 2nd Folio] offenders, ;

p. 441, l. 13. 2nd Folio _misprints_] bouble. L. 20. A and B _omit_] and disgrace. L. 35. C] _brings_ Amoret _in_. 

p. 442, l. 23. A-C] wrong in. L. 28. 2nd Folio _misprints_] let let. C] wanton lusters. L. 29. A-F] rights. L. 30. A-E] Shepheards, l. 39. A-C] complement. 

p. 443, l. 1. A-C _omit_] still. L. 4. A-C _for Alex_. } All. L. 7. A and B] bless you after. L. 34. C] or bancks. 

p. 444, l. 14. 2nd Folio _misprints_] must. L. 16. C] tresses. L. 23. A and B] of the night. L. 24. C] me light. L. 26. A and B] bring the Coral. L. 33. A and B] I venter. L. 36. A-C] these Thicks. 

p. 445, l. 9. 2nd Folio _misprints_] Cle. L. 10. A-F _add_] Finis. A and B _add also_] _The Pastorall of thefaithfull Shepheardesse. _

p. 446, l. 6. A-D] with the. L. 14. A and C] this vaine. 2nd Folio] vain. L. 26. A-F] wants. L. 28. A-C] Some like if. A-D _omit_] not. L. 29. A-D] judgments. L. 32. A-C] aright to thee. D] a right to thee. 

p. 447, l. 8. A and B] much will and. L. 10. A-C _omit_] now. 

pp. 446-7. The lines by Fr. Beaumont are contained in A-F. 

p. 447. The lines by Ben Jonson are contained in A and C-F. 

p. 448. The Dialogue is contained in D-F. 

END OF VOL. II.