Chapter XCIX: Act I: Scene I

_Enter_ CLORIN, _a_ shepherdess, _having buried her love in an arbour_.

_Clorin._ Hail, holy earth, whose cold arms do embrace
The truest man that ever fed his flocks
By the fat plains of fruitful Thessaly!
Thus I salute thy grave; thus do I pay
My early vows and tribute of mine eyes 5
To thy still-loved ashes; thus I free
Myself from all ensuing heats and fires
Of love; all sports, delights, and [jolly][3415] games,
That shepherds hold full dear, thus put I off.
Now no more shall these smooth brows be begirt 10
With youthful coronals,[3416] and lead the dance;
No more the company of fresh fair maids
And wanton shepherds be to me delightful,
Nor the shrill pleasing sound of merry pipes
Under some shady dell, when the cool wind 15
Plays on the leaves: all be far away,
Since thou art far away, by whose dear side
How often have I sat crown’d with fresh flowers
For summer’s queen, whilst every shepherd’s boy
Puts on his lusty green, with gaudy hook, 20
And hanging scrip of finest cordevan.[3417]
But thou art gone, and these are gone with thee,
And all are dead but thy dear memory;
That shall outlive thee, and shall ever spring,
Whilst there are pipes or jolly shepherds sing. 25
And here will I, in honour of thy love,
Dwell by thy grave, forgetting all those joys
That former times made precious to mine eyes;
Only rememb’ring what my youth did gain
In the dark, hidden virtuous use of herbs: 30
That will I practise, and as freely give
All my endeavours, as I gain’d them, free.
Of all green wounds I know the remedies
In men or cattle, be they stung with snakes,
Or charm’d with powerful words of wicked art, 35
Or be they love-sick, or through too much heat
Grown wild or lunatic, their eyes or ears
Thick’ned with misty film of dulling rheum;
These I can cure, such secret virtue lies
In herbs applied by a virgin’s hand. 40
My meat shall be what these wild woods afford,
Berries and chestnuts, plantains, on whose cheeks
The sun sits smiling, and the lofty fruit
Pull’d from the fair head of the straight-grown pine:
On these I ’ll feed with free content, and rest, 45
When night shall blind the world, by thy side blest.

_Enter a_ Satyr [_with a basket of fruit_].

_Sat._ Through yon same bending plain,
That flings his arms down to the main,
And through these thick woods, have I run,
Whose bottom never kist the sun 50
Since the lusty spring began;
All to please my master Pan,
Have I trotted without rest
To get him fruit; for at a feast
He entertains, this coming night, 55
His 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 race 60
Of the gods; for in thy face
Shines more awful majesty
Than dull weak mortality
Dare with misty eyes behold,
And live: therefore on this mould 65
Lowly do I bend my knee
In worship of thy deity.
Deign it, goddess, from my hand
To receive what’er this land
From her fertile womb doth send 70
Of her choice fruits; and but lend
Belief to that the Satyr tells:
Fairer by the famous wells
To this present day ne’er grew,
Never better nor more true. 75
Here be grapes, whose lusty blood
Is the learned poets’ good,
Sweeter yet did never crown
The head of Bacchus; nuts more brown
Than the squirrel’s teeth that crack them; 80
Deign, O fairest fair, to take them!
For these black-ey’d Dryope
Hath oftentimes commanded me
With my clasped knee to climb:
See how well the lusty time 85
Hath deckt their rising cheeks in red,
Such as on your lips is spread!
Here be berries for a queen,
Some be red, some be green;
These are of that luscious meat, 90
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 long
Will bring you more, more sweet and strong; 95
Till when, numbly leave I take,
Lest the great Pan do awake,
That sleeping lies in a deep glade,
Under a broad beech’s shade.
I must go, I must run 100
Swifter 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 submission
From this rude man and beast? Sure I am mortal, 105
The daughter of a shepherd; he was mortal,
And she that bore me mortal: prick my hand,
And it will bleed; a fever shakes me, and
The self-same wind that makes the young lambs shrink
Makes me a-cold: my fear says I am mortal. 110
Yet I have heard (my mother told it me,
And now I do believe it), if I keep
My virgin-flower uncropt, pure, chaste, and fair,
No goblin, wood-god, fairy, elf, or fiend, 114
Satyr, or other power that haunts these groves,
Shall hurt my body, or by vain illusion
Draw me to wander after idle fires;
Or voices calling me in dead of night,
To make me follow, and so toll[3418] me on,
Through mires and standing pools [to find my ruin:] 120
Else why should this rough thing, who never knew
Manners nor smooth humanity,[3419] whose heats[3420]
Are rougher than himself and more mis-shapen,
Thus mildly kneel to me? Sure there is a power 124
In that great name of virgin, that binds fast
All rude uncivil bloods, all appetites
That break their confines. Then, strong chastity,
Be thou my strongest guard, for here I ’ll dwell
In opposition against fate and hell! [_Retires into her bower._]

[SCENE II.][3421]

_Enter an_ Old Shepherd, _with four couples of_ Shepherds _and_ Shepherdesses, [_among whom are_ PERIGOT _and_ AMORET.]

_Old Shep._ Now we have done this holy festival
In honour of our great god, and his rites
Perform’d, prepare yourselves for chaste
And uncorrupted fires; that as the priest
With powerful hand shall sprinkle on your brows 5
His pure and holy water, ye may be
From 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 [_Sprinkling them with water._]
Whatsoever this great day, 10
Or the past hours, gave not good,
To corrupt your maiden blood.
From the high rebellious heat
Of the grapes, and strength of meat,
From the wanton quick desires 15
They do kindle by their fires
I do wash you with this water;
Be you pure and fair hereafter!
From your livers and your veins
Thus I take away the stains; 20
All your thoughts be smooth and fair:
Be ye fresh and free as air!
Never more let lustful heat
Through your purged conduits[3422] beat,
Or a plighted troth he broken, 25
Or a wanton verse be spoken
In a shepherdess’s ear:
Go your ways, ye are all clear.
_They rise and sing in praise of_ PAN.

THE SONG.

Sing his praises that doth keep
Our flocks from harm, 30
Pan, the father of our sheep;
And arm in arm
Tread we softly in a round,
Whilst the hollow neighbouring ground
Fills the music with her sound. 35

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, 40
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 soul’s good.

_Amo._ Speak; I give 45
Thee freedom, shepherd; and thy tongue be still
The same it ever was, as free from ill
As he whose conversation never knew
The court or city; be thou ever true!

_Peri._ When I fall off from my affection, 50
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 winter’s rage, summer’s great heat
And want of water, rots, or what to us 55
Of ill is yet unknown, fall speedily,
And in their general ruin let me go!

_Amo._ I pray thee, gentle shepherd, wish not so:
I do believe thee; ’t is as hard for me
To think thee false, and harder, than for thee
To hold me foul.

_Peri._ Oh, you are fairer far 61
Than the chaste blushing morn, or that fair star
That guides the wand’ring seaman through the deep;
Straighter than the straightest pine upon the steep
Head of an aged mountain; and more white 65
Than the new milk we strip before day-light
From the full-freighted bags of our fair flocks;
Your hair more beauteous than those hanging locks
Of young Apollo!

_Amo._ Shepherd, be not lost;
Y’ are sail’d too far already from the coast 70
Of your discourse.

_Peri._ Did you not tell me once
I should not love alone, I should not lose
Those 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, then,
Give back again those sweets to other men, 76
You yourself vow’d were mine.

_Amo._ Shepherd, so far as maiden’s modesty
May give assurance, I am once more thine,
Once more I give my hand. Be ever free 80
From that great foe to faith, foul jealousy!

_Peri._ I take it as my best good; and desire,
For stronger confirmation of our love,
To meet this happy night in that fair grove, 84
Where all true shepherds have rewarded been
For their long service: say, sweet, shall it hold?

_Amo._ Dear friend, you must not blame me, if I make
A doubt of what the silent night may do,
Coupled with this day’s heat, to move your blood.
Maids must be fearful. Sure you have not been
Wash’d white enough, for yet I see a stain 91
Stick in your liver:[3423] go and purge again.

_Peri._ Oh, do not wrong my honest simple truth!
Myself and my affections are as pure
As those chaste flames that burn before the shrine 95
Of the great Dian: only my intent
To draw you thither was to plight our troths,
With interchange of mutual chaste embraces,
And ceremonious tying of our souls.
For to that holy wood is consecrate 100
A virtuous well, about whose flowery banks
The nimble-footed fairies dance their rounds
By the pale moonshine, dipping oftentimes
Their stolen children, so to make them free
From dying flesh and dull mortality. 105
By this fair fount hath many a shepherd sworn,
And given away his freedom, many a troth
Been plight, which neither envy nor old time
Could ever break, with many a chaste kiss given,
In hope of coming happiness; by this 110
Fresh fountain many a blushing maid
Hath crown’d the head of her long-loved shepherd
With gaudy flowers, whilst he happy sung
Lays of his love and dear captivity. 114
There grows all herbs fit to cool looser flames
Our sensual parts provoke, chiding our bloods,
And quenching by their power those hidden sparks
That else would break out, and provoke our sense
To open fires; so virtuous is that place.
Then, gentle shepherdess, believe, and grant.
In troth, it fits not with that face to scant 121
Your faithful shepherd of those chaste desires
He ever aim’d at, and——

_Amo._ Thou hast prevail’d: farewell. This coming night
Shall crown thy chaste hopes with long-wish’d delight. 125

_Peri._ Our great god Pan reward thee for that good
Thou hast given thy poor shepherd! Fairest bud
Of maiden virtues, when I leave to be
The true admirer of thy chastity,
Let me deserve the hot polluted name 130
Of a wild woodman, or affect some dame
Whose often prostitution hath begot
More foul diseases than ever yet the hot
Sun bred thorough his burnings, whilst the Dog
Pursues the raging Lion, throwing fog 135
And deadly vapour from his angry breath,
Filling the lower world with plague and death! _Exit_ AMORET.

_Enter_ AMARILLIS, _another_ Shepherdess _that is in love with_ PERIGOT.

_Amar._ Shepherd, may I desire to be believ’d,
What I shall blushing tell?

_Peri._ Fair maid, you may.

_Amar._ Then, softly thus: I love thee, Perigot; 140
And would be gladder to be lov’d again
Than the cold earth is in his frozen arms
To clip[3424] the wanton spring. Nay, do not start,
Nor wonder that I woo thee; thou that art
The prime of our young grooms, even the top
Of all our lusty shepherds. What dull eye, 146
That never was acquainted with desire,
Hath seen thee wrastle, run, or cast the stone
With nimble strength and fair delivery,
And hath not sparkled fire, and speedily 150
Sent secret heat to all the neighbouring veins?
Who ever heard thee sing, that brought again
That freedom back was lent unto thy voice?
Then, do not blame me, shepherd, if I be
One to be numb’red in this company, 155
Since none that ever saw thee yet were free.

_Peri._ Fair shepherdess, much pity I can lend
To your complaints; but sure I shall not love.
All that is mine, myself and my best hopes,
Are given already. Do not love him, then, 160
That cannot love again; on other men
Bestow those heats, more free, that may return
You fire for fire, and in one flame equal burn.

_Amar._ Shall I rewarded be so slenderly
For my affection, most unkind of men? 165
If I were old, or had agreed with art
To give another nature to my cheeks,
Or were I common mistress to the love
Of every swain, or could I with such ease
Call back my love as many a wanton doth, 170
Thou mightst refuse me, shepherd; but to thee
I am only fixt and set; let it not be
A sport, thou gentle shepherd, to abuse
The love of silly[3425] maid.

_Peri._ Fair soul, ye use
These words to little end: for, know, I may 175
Better call back that time was yesterday,
Or stay the coming night, than bring my love
Home to myself again, or recreant prove.
I will no longer hold you with delays:
This present night I have appointed been 180
To meet that chaste fair that enjoys my soul,
In yonder grove, there to make up our loves.
Be not deceiv’d no longer, choose again:
These neighbouring plains have many a comely swain,
Fresher and freer[3426] far than I e’er was; 185
Bestow that love on them, and let me pass.
Farewell: be happy in a better choice! _Exit._

_Amar._ Cruel, thou hast struck me deader with thy voice
Than if the angry heavens with their quick flames
Had shot me through. I must not leave to love,
I cannot; no, I must enjoy thee, boy, 191
Though the great dangers ’twixt my hopes and that
Be infinite. There is a shepherd dwells
Down by the moor, whose life hath ever shown
More sullen discontent than Saturn’s brow 195
When he sits frowning on the births of men;
One that doth wear himself away in loneness,
And never joys, unless it be in breaking
The holy plighted troths of mutual souls;
One that lusts after every several beauty, 200
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 youth
Of smooth Lyaeus; whose nigh-starved flocks
Are always scabby, and infect all sheep 205
They feed withal; whose lambs are ever last,
And die before their weaning: and whose dog
Looks, 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, 210
Forcing me passage to my long desires:
And here he comes, as fitly to my purpose
As my quick thoughts could wish for.

_Enter_ Sullen Shepherd.

_Sull. Shep._ Fresh beauty, let me not be thought uncivil,
Thus to be partner of your loneness: ’t was 215
My love (that ever-working passion) drew
Me to this place, to seek some remedy
For my sick soul. Be not unkind and fair,
For such the mighty Cupid in his doom
Hath sworn to be aveng’d on; then, give room
To my consuming fires, that so I may 221
Enjoy my long desires, and so allay
Those flames that else would burn my life away.

_Amar._ Shepherd, were I but sure thy heart were sound
As thy words seem to be, means might be found 225
To cure thee of thy long pains; for to me
That heavy youth-consuming misery
The love-sick soul endures never was pleasing.
I could be well content with the quick easing
Of thee and thy hot fires, might it procure 230
Thy faith and farther service to be sure.

_Sull. Shep._ Name but that work, danger, or what can
Be compass’d by the wit or art of man;
And, if I fail in my performance, may
I never more kneel to the rising day! 235

_Amar._ Then, thus I try thee, shepherd. This name night
That now comes stealing on, a gentle pair
Have promis’d equal love, and do appoint
To make yon wood the place where hands and hearts
Are to be tied for ever. Break their meeting 240
And their strong faith, and I am ever thine.

_Sull. Shep._ Tell me their names, and if I do not move
By my great power, the centre of their love
From his fixt being, let me never more
Warm me by those fair eyes I thus adore. 245

_Amar._ Come; as we go, I ’ll tell thee what they are,
And give thee fit directions for thy work. _Exeunt._

[SCENE III.][3427]

_Enter_ CLOE.

_Cloe._ How have I wrong’d the times or men, that thus,
After this holy feast, I pass unknown
And unsaluted? ’T was not wont to be
Thus frozen with the younger company
Of jolly shepherds; ’t was not then held good 5
For lusty grooms to mix their quicker blood
With that dull humour, most unfit to be
The friend of man, cold and dull chastity.
Sure I am held not fair, or am too old,
Or else not free enough, or from my fold 10
Drive not a flock sufficient great to gain
The greedy eyes of wealth-alluring swain.
Yet, if I may believe what others say,
My face has foil[3428] enough; nor can they lay
Justly too strict a coyness to my charge; 15
My flocks are many, and the downs as large
They feed upon. Then, let it ever be
Their coldness, not my virgin-modesty
Makes me complain.

_Enter_ THENOT.

_The._ Was ever man but I
Thus truly taken with uncertainty; 20
Where shall that man he found that loves a mind
Made up in constancy, and dares not find
His love rewarded? Here, let all men know,
A wretch that lives to love his mistress so.

_Cloe._ Shepherd, I pray thee stay. Where hast thou been? 25
Or whither go’st thou? Here be woods as green
As any; air [likewise][3429] as fresh and sweet
As where smooth Zephyrus plays on the fleet
Face of the curled streams; with flowers as many
As the young spring gives, and as choice as any; 30
Here be all new delights, cool streams and wells,
Arbours o’ergrown with woodbines, caves, and dells;
Choose where thou wilt, whilst I sit by and sing,
Or gather rushes, to make many a ring
For thy long fingers; tell thee tales of love,—
How the pale Phoebe, hunting in a grove, 36
First saw the boy Endymion, from whose eyes
She took eternal fire that never dies;
How she convey’d him softly in a sleep,
His temples bound with poppy, to the steep 40
Head of old Latmus, where she stoops each night,
Gilding the mountain with her brother’s light,
To kiss her sweetest.

_The._ Far from me are these
Hot flashes, bred from wanton heat and ease;
I have forgot what love and loving meant; 45
Rhymes, songs, and merry rounds, that oft are sent
To the soft ear of maid, are strange to me:
Only I live t’ admire a chastity,
That neither pleasing age, smooth tongue, nor gold,
Could ever break upon, so sure[3430] a mould 50
Is that her mind was cast in; ’t is to her
I only am reserv’d; she is my form I stir
By, breathe and move; ’t is she, and only she,
Can make me happy, or give misery.

_Cloe._ Good shepherd, may a stranger crave to know 55
To whom this dear observance[3431] you do owe?

_The._ You may, and by her virtue learn to square
And level out your life; for to be fair,
And nothing virtuous, only fits the eye
Of gaudy youth and swelling vanity. 60
Then, know, she ’s call’d the Virgin of the Grove,
She that hath long since buri’d her chaste love,
And now lives by his grave, for whose dear soul
She hath vow’d herself into the holy roll
Of strict virginity: ’t is her I so admire, 65
Not any looser blood or new desire. [_Exit._]

_Cloe._ Farewell, poor swain! thou art not for my bend;[3432]
I must have quicker souls, whose words may tend
To some free action. Give me him dare love
At first encounter, and as soon dare prove! 70

THE SONG.

[_Sings._]
Come, shepherds, come!
Come away
Without delay,
Whilst the gentle time doth stay.
Green woods are dumb, 75
And will never tell to any
Those dear kisses, and those many
Sweet embraces that are given;
Dainty pleasures, that would even
Raise is coldest age a fire, 80
And give virgin-blood desire.
Then, if ever,
Now or never,
Come and have it:
Think not I 85
Dare deny,
If you crave it.
_Enter_ DAPHNIS.
[_Aside._] Here comes another. Better be my speed,
Thou god of blood! But certain, if I read
Not false, this is that modest shepherd, he 90
That only dare salute, but ne’er could be
Brought to kiss any, hold discourse, or sing,
Whisper, or boldly ask that wished thing
We all are born for; one that makes loving faces,
And could be well content to covet graces, 95
Were they not got by boldness. In this thing
My hopes are frozen; and, but fate doth bring
Him hither, I would sooner choose
A man made out of snow, and freer use
An eunuch to my ends; but since he ’s here, 100
Thus I attempt him.—Thou, of men most dear,
Welcome to her that only for thy sake
Hath been content to live! Here, boldly take
My hand in pledge, this hand, that never yet
Was given away to any; and but sit 105
Down on this rushy bank, whilst I go pull
Fresh blossoms from the boughs, or quickly cull
The choicest delicates from yonder mead,
To make thee chains or chaplets, or to spread
Under our fainting bodies, when delight 110
Shall lock up all our senses. How the sight
Of those smooth rising cheeks renew the story
Of young Adonis, when in pride and glory
He lay infolded ’twixt the beating arms
Of willing Venus! Methinks stronger charms 115
Dwell in those speaking eyes, and on that brow
More sweetness than the painters can allow
To their best pieces. Not Narcissus, he
That wept himself away in memory
Of his own beauty, nor Silvanus’ boy,[3433] 120
Nor the twice-ravish’d maid, for whom old Troy
Fell by the hand of Pyrrhus, may to thee
Be otherwise compar’d, than some dead tree
To a young fruitful olive.

_Daph._ I can love,
But I am loth to say so, lest I prove 125
Too soon unhappy.

_Cloe._ Happy, thou wouldst say.
My dearest Daphnis, blush not; if the day
To thee and thy soft heats be enemy,
Then take the coming night; fair youth, ’t is free
To all the world. Shepherd, I ’ll meet thee then 130
When 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 ay.

_Daph._ I am content to say so,
And would be glad to meet, might I but pray so 135
Much from your fairness, that you would be true.

_Cloe._ Shepherd, thou hast thy wish.

_Daph._ Fresh maid, adieu.
Yet one word more: since you have drawn me on
To come this night, fear not to meet alone
That man that will not offer to be ill, 140
Though your bright self would ask it, for his fill
Of this world’s goodness; do not fear him, then,
But keep your ’pointed time. Let other men
Set up their bloods to sale, mine shall be ever
Fair as the soul it carries, and unchaste never. _Exit._

_Cloe._ Yet am I poorer than I was before. 146
Is it not strange, among so many a score
Of lusty bloods, I should pick out these things
Whose veins, like a dull river far from springs,
Is still the same, slow, heavy, and unfit 150
For stream or motion, though the strong winds hit
With their continual power upon his sides?
Oh, 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 tine,[3434] 155
Thou lazy swain, that mayst relieve my needs,
Than his, upon whose liver always feeds
A hungry vulture!

_Enter_ ALEXIS.

_Alex._ Can such beauty be
Safe in his[3435] own guard, and not draw the eye
Of him that passeth on, to greedy gaze 160
Or covetous desire, whilst in a maze
The better part contemplates, giving rein,
And wished freedom to the labouring vein?
Fairest and whitest, may I crave to know
The cause of your retirement, why you go 165
Thus all alone? Methinks the downs are sweeter,
And the young company of swains more meeter,
Than these forsaken and untrodden places.
Give not yourself to loneness, and those graces
Hide from the eyes of men, that were intended
To live amongst us swains.

_Cloe._ Thou art befriended, 171
Shepherd: in all my life I have not seen
A man in whom greater contents hath been,
Than thou thyself art. I could tell thee more,
Were there but any hope left to restore 175
My freedom lost. Oh, lend me all thy red,
Thou shame-fast Morning, when from Tithon’s[3436] bed
Thou risest ever-maiden!

_Alex._ If for me,
Thou sweetest of all sweets, these flashes be,
Speak, and he satisfi’d. Oh, guide her tongue,
My better angel; force my name among 181
Her 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 me in the holy wood, where I ’ll abide 185
Thy coming, shepherd.

_Alex._ If I stay behind,
An everlasting dulness, and the wind,
That as he passeth by shuts up the stream
Of Rhine or Volga, whilst the sun’s hot beam
Beats back again, seize me, and let me turn 190
To coldness more than ice! Oh, how I burn
And 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 boys should fail: 194
He that will use all winds must shift his sail. _Exit._