Beaumont and Fletcher's Works. Volume 9

Actus Quartus. Scæna Prima

Enter Jailor and his Friend

 
Jail.
Hear you no more? was nothing said of me
Concerning the escape of Palamon?
Good Sir remember.
 
 
1 Fr. Nothing that I heard,
For I came home before the business
Was fully ended: yet I might perceive
E'r I departed, a great likelyhood
Of both their pardons: for Hippolita,
And fair-ey'd Emilia, upon their knees,
Begg'd with such handsome pitty, that the Duke
Methought stood staggering whether he should follow
His rash oath, or the sweet compassion
Of those two Ladies; and to second them,
That truly noble Prince Perithous
Half his own heart, set in too, that I hope
All shall be well: neither heard I one question
Of your name, or his scape.
 

Enter 2 Friends

 
Jail. Pray Heaven it hold so.
 
 
2 Fr. Be of good comfort man; I bring you news
Good news.
 
 
Jail. They are welcome.
 
 
2 Fr. Palamon has clear'd you,
And got your pardon, and discover'd
How, and by whose means he scap'd, which was your Daughter's,
Whose pardon is procured too, and the prisoner
Not to be held ungrateful to her goodness,
Has given a sum of money to her Marriage,
A large one I'll assure you.
 
 
Jail. Ye are a good man
And ever bring good news.
 
 
1 Fr. How was it ended?
 
 
2 Fr. Why, as it should be; they that ne'er begg'd
But they prevail'd, had their suits fairly granted.
The prisoners have their lives.
 
 
1 Fr. I knew 'twould be so.
 
 
2 Fr. But there be new conditions, which you'll hear of
At better time.
 
 
Jail. I hope they are good.
 
 
2 Fr. They are honourable,
How good they'll prove, I know not.
 

Enter Wooer

 
1 Fr. 'Twill be known.
 
 
Woo. Alas Sir, where's your Daughter?
 
 
Jail. Why do you ask?
 
 
Woo. Oh Sir, when did you see her?
 
 
2 Fr. How he looks!
 
 
Jail. This morning.
 
 
Woo. Was she well? was she in health Sir? when did she sleep?
 
 
1 Fr. These are strange questions.
 
 
Jail. I do not think she was very well, for now
You make me mind her, but this very day
I ask'd her questions, and she answer'd me
So far from what she was, so childishly,
So sillily, as if she were a fool,
An Innocent, and I was very angry.
But what of her Sir?
 
 
Woo. Nothing but my pity, but you must know it, and as good by me
As by another that less loves her:
 
 
Jail. Well Sir.
 
 
1 Fr. Not right?
 
 
2 Fr. Not well? —
 
 
[Woo.] No Sir, not well.
'Tis too true, she is mad.
 
 
1 Fr. It cannot be.
 
 
Woo. Believe, you'll find it so.
 
 
Jay. I half suspected
What you told me: the gods comfort her:
Either this was her love to Palamon,
Or fear of my miscarrying on his scape,
Or both.
 
 
Woo. 'Tis likely.
 
 
Jay. But why all this haste, Sir?
 
 
Woo. I'll tell you quickly. As I late was angling
In the great Lake that lies behind the Palace,
From the far shore, thick set with Reeds and Sedges.
As patiently I was attending sport,
I heard a voice, a shrill one, and attentive
I gave my ear, when I might well perceive
'Twas one that sung, and by the smallness of it
A Boy or Woman. I then left my angle
To his own skill, came near, but yet perceiv'd not
Who made the sound; the Rushes, and the Reeds
Had so encompast it: I laid me down
And listned to the words she sung, for then
Through a small glade cut by the Fisher-men,
I saw it was your Daughter.
 
 
Jail. Pray goe on Sir?
 
 
Woo. She sung much, but no sence; only I heard her
Repeat this often. Palamon is gone,
Is gone to th' wood to gather Mulberries,
I'll find him out to morrow.
 
 
1 Fr. Pretty soul.
 
 
Woo. His shackles will betray him, he'll be taken,
And what shall I do then? I'll bring a beavy,
A hundred black-ey'd Maids that love as I do
With Chaplets on their heads [of] Daffadillies,
With cherry lips, and cheeks of Damask Roses,
And all we'll dance an Antique 'fore the Duke,
And beg his pardon; then she talk'd of you, Sir;
That you must lose your head to morrow morning
And she must gather Flowers to bury you,
And see the house made handsome, then she sung
Nothing but willow, willow, willow, and between
Ever was, Palamon, fair Palamon,
And Palamon, was a tall young man. The place
Was knee deep where she sate; her careless Tresses,
A wrea[th] of Bull-rush rounded; about her stuck
Thousand fresh Water Flowers of several colours.
That methought she appear'd like the fair Nymph
That feeds the lake with waters, or as Iris
Newly dropt down from heaven; Rings she made
Of Rushes that grew by, and to 'em spoke
The prettiest posies: thus our true love's ty'd,
This you may loose, not me, and many a one:
And then she wept, and sung again, and sigh'd,
And with the same breath smil'd, and kist her hand.
 
 
2 Fr. Alas what pity it is?
 
 
Woo. I made in to her,
She saw me, and straight sought the flood, I sav'd her,
And set her safe to land: when presently
She slipt away, and to the City made,
With such a cry, and swiftness, that believe me
She left me far behind her; three, or four,
I saw from far off cross her, one of 'em
I knew to be your brother, where [she] staid,
And fell, scarce to be got away: I left them with her.
 

Enter Brother, Daughter, and others

 
And hither came to tell you: Here they are.
 
 
Daugh. May you never more enjoy the light, &c.
Is not this a fine Song?
 
 
Bro. Oh, a very fine one.
 
 
Daugh. I can sing twenty more.
 
 
Bro. I think you can.
 
 
Daugh. Yes truly can I, I can sing the Broom,
And Bonny Robbin. Are not you a Tailor?
 
 
Bro. Yes.
 
 
Daugh. Where's my wedding-Gown?
 
 
Bro. I'll bring it to morrow.
 
 
Daugh. Doe, very rarely, I must be abroad else
To call the Maids, and pay the Minstrels
For I must loose my Maiden-head by cock-light
'Twill never thrive else.
Oh fair, oh sweet, &c.
 

[Sings.

 
Bro. You must ev'n take it patiently.
 
 
Jay. 'Tis true.
 
 
Daugh. Good ev'n, good men, pray did you ever hear
Of one young Palamon?
 
 
Jay. Yes wench, we know him.
 
 
Daugh. Is't not a fine young Gentleman?
 
 
Jay. 'Tis Love.
 
 
Bro. By no mean cross her, she is then distemper'd
For worse than now she shows.
 
 
1 Fr. Yes, he's a fine man.
 
 
Daugh. Oh, is he so? you have a Sister.
 
 
1 Fr. Yes.
 
 
Daugh. But she shall never have him, tell her so,
For a trick that I know, y'had best look to her,
For if she see him once, she's gone, she's done,
And undone in an hour. All the young Maids
Of our Town are in love with him, but I laugh at 'em
And let 'em all alone, is't not a wise course?
 
 
1 Fr. Yes.
 
 
Daugh. There is at least two hundred now with child by him,
There must be four; yet I keep close for all this,
Close as a Cockle; and all these must be boys,
He has the trick on't, and at ten years old
They must be all gelt for Musicians,
And sing the wars of Theseus.
 
 
2 Fr. This is strange.
 
 
Daugh. As ever [you] heard, but say nothing.
 
 
1 Fr. No.
 
 
Daugh. They come from all parts of the Dukedom to him,
I'll warrant ye, he had not so few last night
As twenty, to dispatch, he'll tickle't up
In two hours, if his hand be in.
 
 
Jay. She's lost
Past all cure.
 
 
Bro. Heaven forbid man.
 
 
Daug. Come hither, you are a wise man.
 
 
1 Fr. Does she know him?
 
 
2 Fr. No, would she did.
 
 
Daugh. You are master of a Ship?
 
 
Jay. Yes.
 
 
Daugh. Where's your Compass?
 
 
Jay. Here.
 
 
Daugh. Set it to th' North.
And now direct your course to th' wood, where Palamon
Lies longing for me; for the Tackling
Let me alone; come weigh my hearts, cheerly.
 
 
All. Owgh, owgh, owgh, 'tis up, the wind's fair, top the
Bowling; out with the main sail, where's your
Whistle Master?
 
 
Bro. Let's get her in.
 
 
Jay. Up to the top Boy.
 
 
Bro. Where's the Pilot?
 
 
1 Fr. Here.
 
 
Daugh. What ken'st thou?
 
 
3 Fr. A fair wood.
 
 
Daugh. Bear for it master: tack about:
 

[Sings.

 
When Cinthia with her borrowed light, &c.
 

[Exeunt.

Scæna Secunda

Enter Emilia alone, with two Pictures

 
Emil. Yet I may bind those wounds up, that must open
And bleed to death for my sake else; I'll choose,
And end their strife: two such young handsome men
Shall never fall for me, their weeping Mothers,
Following the dead cold ashes of their Sons
Shall never curse my cruelty: Good Heaven;
What a sweet face has Arcite, if wise nature
With all her best endowments, all those beauties
She [sowes] into the births of noble bodies,
Were here a mortal woman, and had in her
The coy denials of young Maids, yet doubtless,
She would run mad for this man: what an eye!
Of what a fiery sparkle, and quick sweetness:
Has this young Prince! here Love himself sits smiling,
Just such another wanton Ganimead,
Set Love a fire with, and enforc'd the god
Snatch up the goodly Boy, and set him by him
A shining constellation: what a brow,
Of what a spacious Majesty he carries!
Arch'd like the great ey'd Juno's, but far sweeter,
Smoother than Pelops Shoulder! Fame and Honor
Methinks from hence, as from a Promontory
Pointed in heaven, should clap their wings, and sing
To all the under world, the Loves, and Fights
Of gods, and such men near 'em. Palamon,
Is but his foil, to him, a mere dull shadow,
He's swarth, and meagre, of an eye as heavy
As if he had lost his mother; a still temper,
No stirring in him, no alacrity,
Of all this sprightly sharpness, not a smile;
Yet these that we count errors, may become him:
Narcissus was a sad Boy, but a heavenly:
Oh who can find the bent of womans fancy?
I'm a fool, my reason is lost in me,
I have no choice, and I have ly'd so lewdly
That Women ought to beat me. On my knees
I ask thy pardon: Palamon, thou art alone,
And only beautiful, and these th[e] eyes,
These the bright lamps of Beauty that command
And threaten Love, and what young Maid dare cross 'em
What a bold gravity, and yet inviting
Has this brown manly face! Oh Love, this only
From this hour is complexion: lye there Arcite,
Thou art a changling to him, a mere Gipsie.
And this the noble Bodie: I am sotted,
Utterly lost: My Virgins faith has fled me.
For if my Brother, but even now had ask'd me
Whether I lov'd, I had run mad for Arcite.
Now if my Sister; More for Palamon.
Stand both together: now, come ask me Brother,
Alas, I know not: ask me now sweet Sister,
I may go look; what a mere child is Fancie,
That having two fair gawds of equal sweetness,
Cannot distinguish, but must cry for both.
 

Enter Emil. and Gent

 
Emil. How now Sir?
 
 
Gent. From the Noble Duke your Brother
Madam, I bring you news: the Knights are come.
 
 
Emil. To end the quarrel?
 
 
Gent. Yes.
 
 
Emil. Would I might end first:
What sins have I committed, chaste Diana,
That my unspotted youth must now be soil'd
With bloud of Princes? and my Chastity
Be made the Altar, where the Lives of Lovers,
Two greater, and two better never yet
Made Mothers joy, must be the sacrifice
To my unhappy Beauty?
 

Enter Theseus, Hippolita, Perithous, and Attendants

 
Thes. Bring 'em in quickly,
By any means I long to see 'em.
Your two contending Lovers are return'd,
And with them their fair Knights: Now my fair Sister,
You must love one of them.
 
 
Emil. I had rather both,
So neither for my sake should fall untimely.
 

Enter Messenger. Curtis

 
Thes. Who saw 'em?
 
 
Per. I a while.
 
 
Gent. And I.
 
 
Thes. From whence come you, Sir?
 
 
Mess. From the Knights.
 
 
Thes. Pray speak
You that have seen them, what they are.
 
 
Mess. I will Sir,
And truly what I think: six braver spirits
Than those they have brought, (if we judge by the outside)
I never saw, nor read of: he that stands
In the first place with Arcite, by his seeming
Should be a stout man, by his face a Prince,
(His very looks so say him) his complexion,
Nearer a brown, than black; stern, and yet noble,
Which shews him hardy, fearless, proud of dangers:
The circles of his eyes, shew fair within him,
And as a heated Lion, so he looks:
His hair hangs long behind him, black and shining
Like Ravens wings: his shoulders broad, and strong,
Arm'd long and round, and on his Thigh a Sword
Hung by a curious Bauldrick: when he frowns
To seal his Will with, better o' my conscience
Was never Soldiers friend.
 
 
Thes. Thou hast well describ'd him.
 
 
Per. Yet, a great deal short
Methinks, of him that's first with Palamon.
 
 
Thes. Pray speak him friend.
 
 
Per. I ghess he is a Prince too,
And if it may be, greater; for his show
Has all the ornament of honor in't:
He's somewhat bigger than the Knight he spoke of,
But of a face far sweeter; his complexion
Is (as a ripe Grape) ruddy: he has felt
Without doubt, what he fights for, and so apter
To make this cause his own: in's face appears
All the fair hopes of what he undertakes,
And when he's angry, then a setled valour
(Not tainted with extreams) runs through his body,
And guides his arm to brave things: Fear he cannot,
He shews no such soft temper, his head's yellow,
Hard hair'd, and curl'd, thick twin'd, like Ivy tops,
No[t] to undoe with thunder; in his face
The Livery of the warlike Maid appears,
Pure red and white, for yet no beard has blest him.
And in his rowling eyes sits victory,
As if she ever meant to correct his valour:
His Nose stands high, a Character of honor,
His red Lips, after fights, are fit for Ladies.
 
 
Emil. Must these men die too?
 
 
Per. When he speaks, his tongue
Sounds like a Trumpet; all his lineaments
Are as a man would wish 'em, strong and clean,
He wears a well-steel'd Axe, the staffe of Gold,
His age some five and twenty.
 
 
Mess. There's another,
A little man, but of a tough soul, seeming
As great as any, fairer promises
In such a Body yet I never look'd on.
 
 
Per. Oh he that's freckle fac'd?
 
 
Mess. The same my Lord,
Are they not sweet ones?
 
 
Per. Yes, they are well.
 
 
Mess. Methinks,
Being so few, and well dispos'd, they shew
Great, and fine Art in nature, he's white hair'd,
Not wanton white, but such a manly colour
Next to an aborn, tough, and nimble set,
Which shows an active soul: his arms are brawny
Lin'd with strong sinews: to the shoulder-piece,
Gently they swell, like Women new conceiv'd,
Which speaks him prone to labour, never fainting
Under the weight of Arms, stout-hearted still,
But when he stirs, a Tiger; he's grey ey'd,
Which yields compassion where he conquers: sharp
To spie advantages, and where he finds 'em,
He's swift to make 'em his: He does no wrongs,
Nor takes none; he's round fac'd, and when he smiles
He shows a Lover, when he frowns, a Soldier:
About his head he wears the winners oak,
And in it stuck the favour of his Lady:
His age, some six and thirty. In his hand
He bears a Charging Staffe, emboss'd with Silver.
 
 
Thes. Are they all thus?
 
 
Per. They are all the sons of honor.
 
 
Thes. Now as I have a soul, I long to see 'em,
Lady, you shall see men fight now.
 
 
Hip. I wish it,
But not the cause my Lord; They would shew
Bravely about the Titles of two Kingdoms;
'Tis pity Love should be so tyrannous:
Oh my soft-hearted Sister, what think you?
Weep not, till they weep bloud: Wench it must be.
 
 
Thes. You have steel'd 'em with your Beauty: honor'd friend,
To you I give the Field; pray order it,
Fitting the persons that must use it.
 
 
Per. Yes Sir.
 
 
Thes. Come, I'll go visit 'em: I cannot stay,
Their fame has fir'd me so; till they appear,
Good friend be royal.
 
 
Per. There shall want no bravery.
 
 
Emil. Poor wench go weep, for whosoever wins,
Looses a noble Cosin, for thy sins.
 

[Exeunt.

Scæna Tertia

Enter Jailor, Wooer, Doctor

 
Doct. Her distraction is more at some time of the Moon,
Than at other some, is it not?
 
 
Jay. She is continually in a harmless distemper, sleeps
Little, altogether without appetite, save often drinking,
Dreaming of another world, and a better; and what
Broken piece of matter so e'er she's about, the name
Palamon lards it, that she farces ev'ry business
 

Enter Daughter

 
Withal, fits it to every question; Look where
She comes, you shall perceive her behaviour.
 
 
Daugh. I have forgot it quite; the burden on't was Down
A down a: and penn'd by no worse man, than
Giraldo, Emilias Schoolmaster; he's as
Fantastical too, as ever he may goe upon's legs,
For in the next world will Dido see Palamon, and
Then will she be out of love with Æneas.
 
 
Doct. What stuff's here? poor soul.
 
 
Jay. Ev'n thus all day long.
 
 
Daugh. Now for this Charm, that I told you of, you must
Bring a piece of silver on the tip of your tongue,
Or no ferry: then if it be your chance to come where
The blessed spirits, as there's a sight now; we Maids
That have our Livers, perisht, crackt to pieces with
Love, we shall come there, and do nothing all day long
But pick Flowers with Proserpine, then will I make
Palamon a Nosegay, then let him mark me, – then.
 
 
Doct. How prettily she's amiss! note her a little farther.
 
 
Da[u]. Faith I'll tell you, sometime we goe to Barly-break,
We of the blessed; alas, 'tis a sore life they have i' th'
Other place, such burning, frying, boiling, hissing,
Howling, chatt'ring, cursing, oh they have shrowd
Measure, take heed; if one be mad, or hang, or
Drown themselves, thither they goe, Jupiter bless
Us, and there shall we be put in a Cauldron of
Lead, and Usurers grease, amongst a whole million of
Cut-purses, and there boil like a Gamon of Bacon
That will never be enough.
 

[Exit.

 
Doct. How her brain coins!
 
 
Daugh. Lords and Courtiers, that have got Maids with child, they are in this place, they shall stand in fire up to the Navel, and in Ice up to th' heart, and there th' offending part burns, and the deceiving part freezes; in troth a very grievous punishment, as one would think, for such a Trifle, believe me one would marry a leprous witch, to be rid on't I'll assure you.
 
 
Doct. How she continues this fancie! 'Tis not an engraffed madness but a most thick, and profound melancholly.
 
 
Daugh. To hear there a proud Lady, and a proud City wife, howl together: I were a beast, and Il'd call it good sport: one cries, oh this smoak, another this fire; one cries oh that I ever did it behind the Arras, and then howls; th' other curses a suing fellow and her Garden-house.
 
 
Sings. I will be true, my Stars, my Fate, &c.
 

[Exit Daugh.

 
Jay. What think you of her, Sir?
 
 
Doct. I think she has a perturbed mind, which I cannot minister to.
 
 
Jay. Alas, what then?
 
 
Doct. Understand you, she ever affected any man, e'r
She beheld Palamon?
 
 
Jay. I was once, Sir, in great hope she had fix'd her
Liking on this Gentleman my friend.
 
 
Woo. I did think so too, and would account I had a great
Pen'worth on't, to give half my state, that both
She and I at this present stood unfainedly on the
Same terms.
 
 
Doct. That intemperate surfet of her eye, hath distemper'd the
Other sences, they may return and settle again to
Execute their preordained faculties, but they are
Now in a most extravagant vagary. This you
Must doe, confine her to a place, where the light
May rather seem to steal in, than be permitted; take
Upon you (young Sir, her friend) the name of
Palamon; say you come to eat with her, and to
Commune of Love; this will catch her attention, for
This her mind beats upon; other objects that are
Inserted 'tween her mind and eye, become the pranks
And friskins of her madness; sing to her such green
Songs of Love, as she says Palamon hath sung in
Prison; Come to her, stuck in as sweet Flowers as the
Season is mistriss of, and thereto make an addition of
Some other compounded odors, which are grateful to the
Sense: all this shall become Palamon, for Palamon can
Sing, and Palamon is sweet, and ev'ry good thing, desire
To eat with her, carve her, drink to her, and still
Among, intermingle your petition of grace and acceptance
Into her favour: learn what Maids have been her
Companions, and Play-pheers; and let them repair to
Her with Palamon in their mouths, and appear with
Tokens, as if they suggested for him, it is a falshood
She is in, which is with falshoods to be combated.
This may bring her to eat, to sleep, and reduce what's
Now out of square in her, into their former Law, and
Regiment; I have seen it approved, how many times
I know not, but to make the number more, I have
Great hope in this. I will between the passages of
This project, come in with my applyance: Let us
Put it in execution; and hasten the success, which doubt not
Will bring forth comfort.
 

[Florish. Exeunt.

Actus Quintus. Scæna Prima

Enter Thesius, Perithous, Hippolita, Attendants

 
Thes.
Now let 'em enter, and before the gods
Tender their holy Prayers: Let the Temples
Burn bright with sacred fires, and the Altars
In hallowed clouds commend their swelling Incense
To those above us: Let no due be wanting,
 

[Florish of Cornets.

 
They have a noble work in hand, will honor
The very powers that love 'em.
 

Enter Palamon and Arcite, and their Knights

 
Per. Sir, they enter.
 
 
Thes. You valiant and strong-hearted enemies
You royal German foes, that this day come
To blow that nearness out, that flames between ye;
Lay by your anger for an hour, and Dove-like
Before the holy Altars of your helpers
(The all-fear'd gods) bow down your stubborn bodies,
Your Ire is more than mortal; So your help be,
And as the gods regard ye, fight with Justice,
I'll leave you to your prayers, and betwixt ye
I part my wishes.
 
 
Per. Honor crown the worthiest.
 

[Exit Theseus and his train.

 
Pal. The glass is running now that cannot finish
Till one of us expire: think you but thus,
That were there ought in me which strove to shew
Mine enemy in this business, were't one eye
Against another: Arm opprest by Arm:
I would destroy th' offender, Coz. I would
Though parcel of my self: then from this gather
How I should tender you.
 
 
Arc. I am in labour
To push your name, your antient love, our kindred
Out of my memory; and i' th' self-same place
To seat something I would confound: so hoist we
The sails, that must these vessels port, even where
The heavenly Lymiter pleases.
 
 
Pal. You speak well;
Before I turn, let me embrace thee Cosin
This I shall never do agen.
 
 
Arc. One farewel.
 
 
Pal. Why let it be so: Farewel Coz.
 

[Exeunt Palamon and his Knights.

 
Arc. Farewel Sir;
Knights, Kinsmen, Lovers, yea my Sacrifices
True worshipers of Mars, whose spirit in you
Expells the seeds of fear, and th' apprehension
Which still is farther off it, goe with me
Before the god of our profession: There
Require of him the hearts of Lions, and
The breath of Tygers, yea, the fierceness too,
Yea, the speed also, to go on, I mean
Else wish we to be snails: you know my prize
Must be dragg'd out of bloud, force and great fea[te]
Must put my Garland on, where she sticks
The Queen of Flowers: our intercession then
Must be to him that makes the Camp, a Cestron
Brim'd with the b[l]ood of men: give me your aid
And bend your spirits towards him. [They kneel.
Thou mighty one, that with thy power hast turn'd
Green Neptune into purple.
Comets prewarn, whose havock in vast Field
Unearthed skulls proclaim, whose breath blows down,
The teeming C[e]res foyzon, who dost pluck
With hand armenipotent from [forth] blew clouds,
The mason'd Turrets, that both mak'st and break'st
The stony girths of Cities: me thy pupil,
Youngest follower of thy Drum, instruct this day
With military skill, that to thy laud
I may advance my streamer, and by thee,
Be stil'd the Lord o' th' day, give me great Mars
Some token of thy Pleasure.
 

[Here they fall on their faces as formerly, and there is heard clanging of Armor, with a short Thunder, as the burst of a battel, whereupon they all rise, and bow to the Altar.

 
Oh great Corrector of enormous times,
Shaker of o'er-rank States, thou grand decider
Of dusty, and old Titles, that heal'st with blood
The earth when it is sick, and curst the world
O' th' pl[u]resie of people; I do take
Thy signs auspiciously, and in thy name
To my design; march boldly, let us goe.
 

[Exeunt.

Enter Palamon and his Knights, with the former observance

 
Pal. Our stars must glister with new fire, or be
To day extinct; our argument is love,
Which if the goddess of it grant, she gives
Victory too, then blend your spirits with mine,
You, whose free nobleness do make my cause
Your personal hazard; to the goddess Venus
Commend we our proceeding, and implore
Her power unto our partie.
 

[Here they kneel as formerly.

 
Hail Sovereign Queen of secrets, who hast power
To call the fiercest Tyrant from his rage;
And weep unto a Girl; that hast the might
Even with an eye-glance, to choak Marsis Drum
And turn th' allarm to whispers, that canst make
A Cripple florish with his Crutch, and cure him
Before Apollo; that may'st force the King
To be his subjects vassal, and induce
Stale gravity to [daunce], the pould Batchelor
Whose youth like wanton boys through Bonfires
Have skipt thy flame, at seventy, thou canst catch
And make him to the scorn of his hoarse throat
Abuse young lays of Love; what godlike power
Hast thou not power upon? To Phœbus thou
Add'st flames, hotter than his the heavenly fires
Did scorch his mortal Son, thine him; the huntress
All moist and cold, some say, began to throw
Her Bow away, and sigh: take to thy grace
Me thy vow'd Soldier, who do bear thy yoak
As 'twere a wreath of Roses, yet is heavier
Than Lead it self, stings more than Nettles;
I have never been foul-mouth'd against thy Law,
Ne'er reveal'd secret, for I knew none; would not
Had I ken'd all that were; I never practis'd
Upon mans wife, nor would the Libels read
Of liberal wits: I never at great feasts
Sought to betray a beauty, but have blush'd
At simpring Sirs that did: I have been harsh
To large Confessors, and have hotly ask'd 'em
If they had Mothers, I had one, a woman,
And women 't were they wrong'd. I knew a man
Of eighty winters, this I told them, who
A Lass of fourteen brided, 'twas thy power
To put life into dust, the aged Cramp
Had screw'd his square foot round,
The Gout had knit his fingers into knots,
Torturing Convulsions from his globy eies,
Had almost drawn their spheres, that what was life
In him seem'd torture: this Anatomie
Had by his young fair [pheare] a Boy, and I
Believ'd it was his, for she swore it was,
And who would not believe her? brief I am
To those that prate, and have done, no Companion;
To those that boast and have not, a defyer;
To those that would and cannot, a Rejoycer.
Yea him I do not love, that tells close offices
The foulest way, nor names concealments in
The boldest language, such a one I am,
And vow that lover never yet made sigh
Truer than I. Oh then most soft sweet goddess
Give me the victory of this question, which
Is true loves merit, and bless me with a sign
Of thy great pleasure.
 

[Here Musick is heard, Doves are seen to flutter, they fall again upon their faces, then on their knees.

 
Pal. Oh thou that from eleven to ninety reign'st
In mortal bosoms, whose Chase is this world
And we in Herds thy Game; I give thee thanks
For this fair Token, which being laid unto
Mine innocent true heart, arms in assurance
 

[They bow.

 
My body to this business; Let us rise
And bow before the goddess: Time comes on.
 

[Exeunt. Still Musick of Records.

Enter Emilia in white, her hair about her shoulders, a wheaten wreath: One in white, holding up her train, her hair stuck with Flowers: One before her carrying a silver Hynd, in which is conveyed Incense and sweet odors, which being set upon the Altar, her Maids standing aloof, she sets fire to it, then they curt'sy and kneel

 
Emil. Oh sacred, shadowy, cold and constant Queen,
Abandoner of Revels, mute contemplative,
Sweet, solitary, white as chaste, and pure
As wind-fan'd Snow, who to thy femal Knights
Allow'st no more blood than will make a blush,
Which is their Orders Robe. I here thy Priest
Am humbled for thine Altar, oh vouchsafe
With that thy rare green eye, which never yet
Beheld thing maculate, look on thy Virgin,
And sacred silver Mistriss, lend thine ear
(Which ne'r heard scurril term, into whose port
Ne'er entred wanton sound,) to my petition
Season'd with holy fear; this is my last
Of vestal office, I'm Bride-habited,
But Maiden-hearted: a Husband I have pointed,
But do not know him, out of two, I should
Choose one, and pray for his success, but I
Am guiltless of election of mine eyes,
Were I to lose one, they are equal precious,
I could doome neither, that which perish'd should
Goe to't unsentenc'd: Therefore most modest Queen,
He of the two Pretenders, that best loves me
And has the truest Title in't, let him
Take off my wheaten Garland, or else grant
The file and quality I hold, I may
Continue in thy Band.
 

[Here the Hind vanishes under the Altar: and in the place ascends a Rose-Tree, having one Rose upon it.

 
See what our General of Ebbs and Flows
Out from the bowels of her holy Altar
With sacred Act advances: But one Rose,
If well inspir'd, this Battel shall confound
Both these brave Knights, and I a Virgin Flower
Must grow alone unpluck'd.
 

[Here is heard a sodain twang of Instruments, and the Rose falls from the Tree.

 
The Flower is fall'n, the Tree descends: oh Mistriss
Thou here dischargest me, I shall be gather'd,
I think so, but I know not thine own Will;
Unclaspe th[y] Mistery: I hope she's pleas'd,
Her Signs were gracious.
 

[They curt'sey, and Exeunt.