The Faithful Shepherdess

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 MayIs 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 he That dare I hope be bolder.Alex. Cloe!Clo. Now Great 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 AmoretShould 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.