The Faithful Shepherdess
John Fletcher

Francis Beaumont




Francis Beaumont

The Faithful Shepherdess / The Works of Francis Beaumont and John Fletcher (Volume 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 imbrace
		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
		To thy still loved ashes; thus I free
		My self from all insuing heats and fires
		Of love: all sports, delights and jolly games
		That Shepherds hold full dear, thus put I off.
		Now no more shall these smooth brows be begirt
		With youthful Coronals, 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
		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 summers Queen, whil'st every Shepherds Boy
		Puts 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 spring
		Whilest 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 gain
		In the dark, hidden vertuous use of Herbs:
		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 Cattel, be they stung with Snakes,
		Or charm'd with powerful words of wicked Art,
		Or be they Love-sick, or through too much heat
		Grown wild or Lunatick, their eyes or ears
		Thickned with misty filme of dulling Rheum,
		These I can Cure, such secret vertue lies
		In 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 fruit
		Pull'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 plain
		That flings his arms down to the main,
		And through these thick woods have I run,
		Whose bottom never kist the Sun
		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
		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
		Of the gods, for in thy face
		Shines more awful Majesty,
		Than dull weak mortalitie
		Dare with misty eyes behold,
		And live: therefore on this mold
		Lowly do I bend my knee,
		In worship of thy Deitie;
		Deign it Goddess from my hand,
		To receive what e're this land
		From her fertil Womb doth send
		Of her choice Fruits: and but lend
		Belief 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 bloud
		Is the learned Poets good,
		Sweeter yet did never crown
		The head of Bacchus, Nuts more brown
		Than 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 time
		Hath 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 long
		Will 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 run
		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:
		The Daughter of a Shepherd, he was mortal:
		And she that bore me mortal: prick my hand
		And 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 keep
		My 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 illusion
		Draw me to wander after idle fires;
		Or voyces calling me in dead of night,
		To make me follow, and so tole me on
		Through mire and standing pools, to find my ruine:
		Else why should this rough thing, who never knew
		Manners, nor smooth humanity, whose heats
		Are rougher than himself, and more mishapen,
		Thus mildly kneel to me? sure there is a power
		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'le dwell
		In 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 Festival
		In honour of our great God, and his rites
		Perform'd, prepare your selves for chaste
		And uncorrupted fires: that as the Priest,
		With powerful hand shall sprinkle on [your] Brows
		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,
		Whatsoever this great day,
		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,
		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 heat
		Through your purged conduits beat,
		Or a plighted troth be broken,
		Or a wanton verse be spoken
		In 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 arm
		Tread we softly in a round,
		Whilest the hollow neighbouring ground
		Fills 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 give
		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,
		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 us
		Of 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 me
		To think thee false, and harder than for thee
		To hold me foul.

		Peri. O you are fairer far
		Than the chaste blushing morn, or that fair star
		That guides the wandring Sea-men through the deep,
		Straighter than straightest Pine upon the steep
		Head of an aged mountain, and more white
		Than the new Milk we strip before day-light
		From the full fraighted 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
		Of our 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,
		You your self vow'd were mine.

		Amo. Shepherd, so far as Maidens modesty
		May give assurance, I am once more thine,
		Once more I give my hand; be ever free
		From that great foe to faith, foul jealousie.

		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,
		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 dayes heat to move your bloud:
		Maids must be fearful; sure you have not been
		Wash'd white enough; for yet I see a stain
		Stick in your Liver, go and purge again.

		Peri. O do not wrong my honest simple truth,
		My self and my affections are as pure
		As those chaste flames that burn before the shrine
		Of the great Dian: only my intent
		To 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 consecrate
		A vertuous well, about whose flowry banks,
		The nimble-footed Fairies dance their rounds,
		By the pale moon-shine, dipping oftentimes
		Their stolen Children, so to make them free
		From dying flesh, and dull mortalitie;
		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
		Fresh Fountain many a blushing Maid
		Hath crown'd the head of her long loved Shepherd
		With gaudy flowers, whilest he happy sung
		Layes of his love and dear Captivitie;
		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 vertuous is that place:
		Then gentle Shepherdess, believe and grant,
		In troth it fits not with that face to scant
		Your faithful Shepherd of those chaste desires
		He ever aim'd at, and—

		Amo. Thou hast prevail'd, farewel, this coming night
		Shall crown thy chast hopes with long wish'd delight.

		Peri. Our great god Pan reward thee for that good
		Thou hast given thy poor Shepherd: fairest Bud
		Of Maiden Vertues, when I leave to be
		The true Admirer of thy Chastitie,
		Let me deserve the hot polluted Name
		Of the wild Woodman, or affect: some Dame,
		Whose often Prostitution hath begot
		More foul Diseases, than ever yet the hot
		Sun bred through his burnings, whilst the Dog
		Pursues 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 arms
		To clip 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
		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
		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 numbred in this Companie,
		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, my self, and my best hopes
		Are given already; do not love him then
		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.

		Ama. Shall I rewarded be so slenderly
		For my affection, most unkind of men!
		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;
		Thou might'st 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 Maid.

		Peri. Fair Soul, ye use
		These words to little end: for know, I may
		Better call back that time was Yesterday,
		Or stay the coming Night, than bring my Love
		Home to my self again, or recreant prove.
		I will no longer hold you with delays,
		This present night I have appointed been
		To 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 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,
		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 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 breaking
		The 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 youth
		Of smooth Lyaeus; whose nigh starved flocks
		Are always scabby, and infect all Sheep
		They feed withal; whose Lambs are ever last,
		And dye before their waining, 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,
		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: 'twas
		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
		Enjoy my long Desires, and so allay
		Those flames that else would burn my life away.

		Ama. Shepherd, were I but sure thy heart were sound
		As thy words seem to be, means might be found
		To cure thee of thy long pains; for to me
		That heavy youth-consuming Miserie
		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
		Thy faith and farther service to be sure.

		Shep. Name but that great 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.

		Ama. Then thus I try thee, Shepherd, this same 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 ty'd for ever: break their meeting
		And 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 Love
		From his fixt being, let me never more
		Warm 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 thus
		After this holy Feast I pass unknown
		And unsaluted? 'twas not wont to be
		Thus frozen with the younger companie
		Of jolly Shepherds; 'twas not then held good,
		For lusty Grooms to mix their quicker blood
		With that dull humour, most unfit to be
		The 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 fold
		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 soil enough; nor can they lay
		Justly too strict a Coyness to my Charge;
		My Flocks are many, and the Downs as large
		They feed upon: then let it ever be
		Their Coldness, not my Virgin Modestie
		Makes me complain.

Enter Thenot.

		The. Was ever Man but I
		Thus truly taken with uncertainty?
		Where shall that Man be found that loves a mind
		Made up in Constancy, and dare not find
		His Love rewarded? here let all men know
		A 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 green
		As any, air likewise 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 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 Ring
		For thy long fingers; tell thee tales of Love,
		How the pale Phoebe hunting in a Grove,
		First saw the Boy Endymion, from whose Eyes
		She took eternal fire that never dyes;
		How she convey'd him softly in a sleep,
		His temples bound with poppy to the steep
		Head of old Latmus, where she stoops each night,
		Gilding the Mountain with her Brothers 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:
		Rhimes, Songs, and merry Rounds, that oft are sent
		To 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 Mold
		Is that her Mind was cast in; 'tis to her
		I only am reserv'd; she is my form I stir
		By, breath and move, 'tis she and only she
		Can make me happy, or give miserie.

		Clo. Good Shepherd, may a Stranger crave to know
		To whom this dear observance you do ow?

		The. You may, and by her Vertue learn to square
		And level out your Life; for to be fair
		And nothing vertuous, only fits the Eye
		Of 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 Soul
		She hath vow'd her self into the holy Roll
		Of 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 tend
		To some free action: give me him dare love
		At first encounter, and as soon dare prove.


The SONG

		Come Shepherds, come,
		Come away without delay
		Whilst the gentle time dot[h] stay.
		Green Woods are dumb,
		And will never tell to any
		Those dear Kisses, and those many
		Sweet Embraces that are given
		Dainty Pleasures that would even
		Raise 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 read
		Not false, this is that modest Shepherd, he
		That only dare salute, but ne'r 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,
		Were they not got by boldness; in this thing
		My hopes are frozen; and but Fate doth bring
		Him hither, I would sooner chuse
		A Man made out of Snow, and freer use
		An 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 take
		My hand in pledg, this hand, that never yet
		Was given away to any: and but sit
		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
		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
		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 memorie
		Of his own Beauty, nor Silvanus Boy,
		Nor the twice ravish'd Maid, for whom old Troy
		Fell by the hand of Pirrhus, 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
		Too soon unhappy.

		Clo. Happy thou would'st say,
		My dearest Daphnis, blush not, if the day
		To thee and thy soft heats be enemie,
		Then take the coming Night, fair youth 'tis free
		To all the World, Shepherd, I'll meet thee then
		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 I.

		Daph. I'm content to say so,
		And would be glad to meet, might I but pray so
		Much 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 on
		To come this Night, fear not to meet alone
		That man that will not offer to be ill,
		Though your bright self would ask it, for his fill
		Of this Worlds 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 unchast never. [Exit.

		Clo. Yet am I poorer than I was before.
		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
		For stream or motion, though the strong winds hit
		With 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 feeds
		A hungry vultur.

Enter Alexis.

		Ale. Can such beauty be
		Safe in his own guard, and not draw the eye
		Of him that passeth on, to greedy gaze,
		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 ye goe
		Thus 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 graces
		Hid from the eyes of men, that were intended
		To live amongst us swains.

		Cloe. Thou art befriended,
		Shepherd, in all my life I have not seen
		A man in whom greater contents have been
		Than thou thy self art: I could tell thee more,
		Were there but any hope left to restore
		My freedom lost. O lend me all thy red,
		Thou shamefast morning, when from Tithons bed
		Thou 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 among
		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 in the holy wood, where I'le abide
		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 suns hot beam
		Beats back again, seise me, and let me turn
		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 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 Pan following.

		Priest. O Shepherds all, and maidens fair,
		Fold your flocks up, for the Air
		'Gins to thicken, and the sun
		Already his great course hath run.
		See the dew-drops how they kiss
		Every 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 calling
		The dead night from under ground,
		At whose rising mists unsound,
		Damps, and vapours fly apace,
		Hovering o're the wanton face
		Of these pastures, where they come,
		Striking dead both bud and bloom;
		Therefore from such danger lock
		Every one his loved flock,
		And let your Dogs lye loose without,
		Lest the Wolf come as a scout
		From the mountain, and e're day
		Bear 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 love
		Of our great god. Sweetest slumbers
		And soft silence fall in numbers
		On your eye-lids: so farewel,
		Thus I end my evenings knel. [Exeunt.

Enter Clorin, the Shepherdess, sorting of herbs, and telling the natures of them.

		Clor. Now let me know what my best Art hath done,
		Helpt by the great power of the vertuous moon
		In her full light; O you sons of Earth,
		You only brood, unto whose happy birth
		Vertue was given, holding more of nature
		Than man her first born and most perfect creature,
		Let me adore you; you that only can
		Help or kill nature, drawing out that span
		Of life and breath even to the end of time;
		You that these hands did crop, long before prime
		Of 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 good
		For sheep or Shepherd, bitten by a wood-
		Dogs venom'd tooth; these Ramuns branches are,
		Which stuck in entries, or about the bar
		That holds the door fast, kill all inchantments, charms,
		Were they Medeas verses that doe harms
		To men or cattel; these for frenzy be
		A 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 part
		All deadly killing poyson from the heart;
		And here Narcissus roots for swellings be:
		Yellow Lysimacus, to give sweet rest
		To the faint Shepherd, killing where it comes
		All busie gnats, and every fly that hums:
		For leprosie, Darnel, and Sellondine,
		With Calamint, whose vertues do refine
		The blood of man, making it free and fair
		As the first hour it breath'd, or the best air.
		Here other two, but your rebellious use
		Is not for me, whose goodness is abuse;
		Therefore foul Standergrass, from me and mine
		I banish thee, with lustful Turpentine,
		You that intice the veins and stir the heat
		To civil mutiny, scaling the seat
		Our reason moves in, and deluding it
		With dreams and wanton fancies, till the fit
		Of 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 bough
		With thy well pleasing juyce, to make the grooms
		Swell with high mirth, as with joy all the rooms.

Enter Thenot.

		The. This is the Cabin where the best of all
		Her Sex, that ever breath'd, or ever shall
		Give 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 night
		Is banisht from the Earth, in whose dull place
		Thy chaster beams play on the heavy face
		Of all the world, making the blue Sea smile,
		To see how cunningly thou dost beguile
		Thy Brother of his brightness, giving day
		Again from Chaos, whiter than that way
		That leads to Joves high Court, and chaster far
		Than chastity it self, yon blessed star
		That nightly shines: Thou, all the constancie
		That 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 brest
		A soul of greater price, and far more blest
		Than 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 grass
		The spring shot up, stands yet unbruised here
		Of any foot, only the dapled Deer
		Far from the feared sound of crooked horn
		Dwels in this fastness.

		Th. Chaster than the morn,
		I have not wandred, or by strong illusion
		Into this vertuous place have made intrusion:
		But hither am I come (believe me fair)
		To seek you out, of whose great good the air
		Is full, and strongly labours, whilst the sound
		Breaks against Heaven, and drives into a stound
		The amazed Shepherd, that such vertue can
		Be resident in lesser than a man.

		Clor. If any art I have, or hidden skill
		May cure thee of disease or festred ill,
		Whose grief or greenness to anothers eye
		May seem impossible of remedy,
		I dare yet undertake it.

		The. 'Tis no pain
		I suffer through disease, no beating vein
		Conveyes infection dangerous to the heart,
		No part impostum'd to be cur'd by Art,
		This body holds; and yet a feller grief
		Than ever skilfull hand did give relief
		Dwells on my soul, and may be heal'd by you,
		Fair beauteous Virgin.

		Clor. Then Shepherd, let me sue
		To know thy grief; that man yet never knew
		The 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 disgrace
		To the sweet rest of these interred bones,
		For fear of whose ascending, fly at once,
		Thou and thy idle passions, that the sight
		Of death and speedy vengeance may not fright
		Thy very soul with horror.

		Then. Let me not (Thou all perfection) merit such a blot
		For my true zealous faith.

		Clor. Dar'st thou abide
		To see this holy Earth at once divide
		And give her body up? for sure it will,
		If thou pursu'st with wanton flames to fill
		This hallowed place; therefore repent and goe,
		Whilst I with praise appease his Ghost below,
		That else would tell thee what it were to be
		A rival in that vertuous love that he
		Imbraces yet.

		Then. 'Tis not the white or red
		Inhabits in your cheek that thus can wed
		My mind to adoration; nor your eye,
		Though it be full and fair, your forehead high,
		And smooth as Pelops shoulder; not the smile
		Lies watching in those dimples to beguile
		The easie soul, your hands and fingers long
		With 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 infold
		The wandring soul, nor the true perfect mould
		Of all your body, which as pure doth show
		In Maiden whiteness as the Alpsian snow.
		All these, were but your constancie away,
		Would please me less than a black stormy day
		The wretched Seaman toyling through the deep.
		But whilst this honour'd strictness you dare keep,
		Though all the plagues that e're begotten were
		In the great womb of air, were setled here,
		In opposition, I would, like the tree,
		Shake off those drops of weakness, and be free
		Even in the arm of danger.

		Clor. Wouldst thou have
		Me 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 still
		The same Opinion speaks ye; let not will,
		And that great god of women, appetite,
		Set up your blood again; do not invite
		Desire and fancie from their long exile,
		To set them once more in a pleasing smile:
		Be like a rock made firmly up 'gainst all
		The power of angry Heaven, or the strong fall
		Of Neptunes battery; if ye yield, I die
		To all affection; 'tis that loyaltie
		Ye 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 destiny
		Hangs over all my hopes! I will retire,
		For if I longer stay, this double fire
		Will lick my life up.

		Clor. Doe, let time wear out
		What Art and Nature cannot bring about.

		Then. Farewel thou soul of vertue, and be blest
		For ever, whilst that here I wretched rest
		Thus to my self; yet grant me leave to dwell
		In kenning of this Arbor; yon same dell
		O'retopt with morning Cypress and sad Yew
		Shall be my Cabin, where I'le early rew,
		Before the Sun hath kist this dew away,
		The hard uncertain chance which Fate doth lay
		Upon this head.

		Clor. The gods give quick release
		And 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 greet
		That beauty, were it sweeter or more fair,
		Than the new blossoms, when the morning air
		Blows gently on the[m], or the breaking light,
		When many maiden blushes to our sight
		Shoot from his early face: were all these set
		In some neat form before me, 'twould not get
		The least love from me; some desire it might,
		Or present burning: all to me in sight
		Are equal, be they fair, or black, or brown,
		Virgin, or careless wanton, I can crown
		My appetite with any; swear as oft
		And weep, as any, melt my words as soft
		Into a maiden[s] ears, and tell how long
		My heart has been her servant, and how strong
		My passions are: call her unkind and cruel,
		Offer her all I have to gain the Jewel
		Maidens 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 swain
		Gives 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 dye
		With fresh consumings: boldly tell me then,
		How shall we part their faithful loves, and when?
		Shall I bely him to her, shall I swear
		His 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 met
		Me 'mongst the shady Sycamores last night
		And loosely offred up her flame and spright




Конец ознакомительного фрагмента.


Текст предоставлен ООО «ЛитРес».

Прочитайте эту книгу целиком, купив полную легальную версию (https://www.litres.ru/beaumont-francis/the-faithful-shepherdess/) на ЛитРес.

Безопасно оплатить книгу можно банковской картой Visa, MasterCard, Maestro, со счета мобильного телефона, с платежного терминала, в салоне МТС или Связной, через PayPal, WebMoney, Яндекс.Деньги, QIWI Кошелек, бонусными картами или другим удобным Вам способом.


