THE MAYDES METAMORPHOSIS.

As it hath bene sundrie times Acted by the Children of Powles.

LONDON: Printed by Thomas Creede, for Richard Oliue, dwelling in long Lane. 1600.

_THE PROLOGUE.

The manifold, great favours we have found, By you to us poore weaklings still extended; Whereof your vertues have been only ground, And no desert in us to be so friended; Bindes us some way or other to expresse, Though all our all be else defeated quite Of any meanes save duteous thankefulnes, Which is the utmost measure of our might: Then, to the boundlesse ocean of your woorth This little drop of water we present; Where though it never can be singled foorth, Let zeale be pleader for our good intent. Drops not diminish but encrease great floods, And mites impaire not but augment our goods_.

The Maydes Metamorphosis.

Actus Primus.

Enter Phylander, Orestes, Eurymine.

Eurymine. Phylander and Orestes, what conceyt Troubles your silent mindes? Let me intreat, Since we are come thus farre, as we do walke You would deuise some prettie pleasant talke; The aire is coole, the euening high and faire: Why should your cloudie lookes then shew dispaire?

Phy. Beleeue me, faire Eurimine, my skill Is simple in discourse, and vtterance ill; Orestes, if he we were disposde to trie, Can better manage such affaires than I.

Eu. Why then, Orestes, let me crave of you Some olde or late done story to renew: Another time you shall request of me As good, if not a greater, curtesie.

Or. Trust me, as now (nor can I shew a reason) All mirth vnto my mind comes out of season; For inward I am troubled in such sort As all vnfit I am to make report Of any thing may breed the least delight; Rather in teares I wish the day were night, For neither can myself be merry now Nor treat of ought that may be likte of you.

Eu. Thats but your melancholike old disease, That neuer are disposde but when ye please.

Phy. Nay, mistresse, then, since he denies the taske, My selfe will strait complish what ye aske; And, though the pleasure of my tale be small, Yet may it serue to passe the time withall.

Eu. Thanks, good Phylander; when you please, say on: Better I deeme a bad discourse then none.

Phy. Sometime there liu'd a Duke not far from hence, Mightie in fame and vertues excellence; Subiects he had as readie to obey As he to rule, beloued eueryway; But that which most of all he gloried in (Hope of his age and comfort of his kin) Was the fruition of one onely sonne, A gallant youth, inferior vnto none For vertue shape or excellence of wit, That after him vpon his throne might sit. This youth, when once he came to perfect age, The Duke would faine have linckt in marriage With diuers dames of honourable blood But stil his fathers purpose he withstood.

Eu. How? was he not of mettal apt to loue?

Phy. Yes, apt enough as wil the sequel proue; But so the streame of his affection lay As he did leane a quite contrary way, Disprouing still the choice his father made, And oftentimes the matter had delaid; Now giuing hope he would at length consent, And then again excusing his intent.

Eu. What made him so repugnant in his deeds?

Phy. Another loue, which this disorder breeds; For euen at home, within his father's Court, The Saint was shrinde whom he did honor most; A louely dame, a virgin pure and chaste, And worthy of a Prince to be embrac'te, Had but her birth (which was obscure, they said) Answerd her beautie; this their opinion staid. Yet did this wilful youth affect her still And none but she was mistres of his will: Full often did his father him disswade From liking such a mean and low-born mayde; The more his father stroue to change his minde The more the sonne became with fancy blinde.

Eu. Alas, how sped the silly Louers then?

Phy. As might euen grieue the rude vnciuilst men: When here vpon to weane his fixed heart From such dishonour to his high desert The Duke had labourd but in vaine did striue, Thus he began his purpose to contriue: Two of his seruants, of vndoubted trvth, He bound by vertue of a solemne oath To traine the silly damzel out of sight And there in secret to bereaue her quite—

Eu. Of what? her life?

Phy. Yes, Madame, of her life, Which was the cause of all the former strife.

Eu. And did they kill her?

Phy. You shall heare anon; The question first must be discided on In your opinion: whats your iudgement? say. Who were most cruell, those that did obay Or he who gaue commandment for the fact?

Eu. In each of them it was a bloody act, Yet they deserue (to speake my minde of both) Most pardon that were bound thereto by oath.

Phy. It is enough; we do accept your doome To passe vnblam'd what ere of you become.

Eu. To passe vnblam'de what ere become of me! What may the meaning of these speeches be?

Phy. Eurymine, my trembling tongue doth faile, My conscience yrkes, my fainting sences quaile, My faltring speech bewraies my guiltie thought And stammers at the message we haue brought.

Eu. Ay me! what horror doth inuade my brest!

Or. Nay then, Phylander, I will tell the rest: Damzell, thus fares thy case; demand not why, You must forthwith prepare your selfe to dye; Therefore dispatch and set your mind at rest.

Eu. Phylander, is it true or doth he iest?

Phy. There is no remedie but you must dye: By you I framde my tragicke history. The Duke my maister is the man I meant, His sonne the Prince, the mayde of meane discent Your selfe, on whom Ascanio so doth doate As for no reason may remoue his thought Your death the Duke determines by vs two, To end the loue betwixt his sonne and you; And for this cause we trainde you to this wood, Where you must sacrifice your dearest blood.

Eu. Respect my teares.

Orest. We must regard our oath.

Eu. My tender yeares.

Or. They are but trifles both.

Eu. Mine innocency.

Or. That would our promise breake; Dispatch forthwith, we may not heare you speake.

Eu. If neither teares nor innocency moue, Yet thinke there is a heavenly power aboue.

Orest. A done, and stand not preaching here all day.

Eu. Then, since there is no remedie, I pray Yet, good my masters, do but stay so long Till I haue tane my farewell with a song Of him whom I shall neuer see againe.

Phy. We will affoord that respit to your paine.

Eu. But least the feare of death appall my mind, Sweet gentlemen, let me this fauour find, That you wil vale mine eyesight with this scarfe; That, when the fatall stroke is aymde at me, I may not start but suffer patiently.

Orest. Agreed, giue me; Ile shadow ye from feare, If this may do it.

Eu. Oh, I would it might, But shadowes want the power to do that right.

Shee sings.

Ye sacred Fyres and powers aboue, Forge of desires, working loue, Cast downe your eye, cast downe your eye, Vpon a Mayde in miserie. My sacrifice is louers blood, And from eyes salt teares a flood; All which I spend, all which I spend, For thee, Ascanio, my deare friend: And though this houre I must feele The bitter power of pricking steele, Yet ill or well, yet ill or well, To thee, Ascanio, still farewell.

Orestes offers to strike her with his Rapier, and is stayed by Phylander.

Orest. What meanes, Phylander?

Phy. Oh, forbeare thy stroke; Her pitious mone and gesture might prouoke Hard flint to ruthe.

Orest. Hast thou forgot thy oath?

Phy. Forgot it? no!

Or. Then wherefore doest thou interrupt me so?

Phy. A sudden terror ouercomes my thought.

Or. Then suffer me that stands in feare of nought.

Phy. Oh, hold, Orestes; heare my reason first.

Or. Is all religion of thy vowe forgot? Do as thou wilt, but I forget it not.

Phy. Orestes, if thou standest vpon thine oath, Let me alone to answere for vs both.

Or. What answer canst thou giue? I wil not stay.

Phy. Nay, villain; then my sword shall make me way.

Or. Wilt thou in this against thy conscience striue?

Phy. I will defend a woman while I liue, A virgin and an innocent beside; Therefore put vp or else thy chaunce abide.

Or. Ile neuer sheath my sword vnles thou show, Our oath reserued, we may let her go.

Phy. That will I do, if truth may be of force.

Or. And then will I be pleasd to graunt remorse.

Eu. Litle thought I, when out of doore I went, That thus my life should stand on argument.

Phy. A lawfull oath in an vnlawfull cause Is first dispenc't withall by reasons lawes; Then, next, respect must to the end be had, Because th'intent doth make it good or bad. Now here th'intent is murder as thou seest, Which to perform thou on thy oath reliest; But, since the cause is wicked and vniust, Th'effect must likewise be held odious: We swore to kill, and God forbids to kill; Shall we be rulde by him or by man's will? Beside it is a woman is condemde; And what is he, that is a man indeed, That can endure to see a woman bleed?

Or. Thou hast preuaild; Eurymine, stand vp; I will not touch thee for a world of gold.

Phy. Why now thou seemst to be of humane mould; But, on our graunt, faire mayd, that you shall liue, Will you to vs your faithfull promise giue Henceforth t'abandon this your Country quite, And neuer more returne into the sight Of fierce Telemachus, the angry Duke, Where by we may be voyd of all rebuke?

Eur. Here do I plight my chaste vnspotted hand, I will abiure this most accursed land: And vow henceforth, what fortune ere betide, Within these woods and desarts to abide.

Phy. Now wants there nothing but a fit excuse To sooth the Duke in his concern'd abuse; That he may be perswaded she is slaine, And we our wonted fauour still maintaine.

Orest. It shall be thus: within a lawne hard by, Obscure with bushes, where no humane eye Can any way discouer our deceit, There feeds a heard of Goates and country neate. Some Kidde or other youngling will we take And with our swords dispatch it for her sake; And, hauing slaine it, rip his panting breast And take the heart of the vnguiltie beast, Which, to th'intent our counterfeit report May seeme more likely, we will beare to court And there protest, with bloody weapons drawne, It was her heart.

Phy. Then likewise take this Lawne, Which well Telemachus did know she wore, And let it be all spotted too with gore. How say you, mistresse? will you spare the vale?

Eur. That and what else, to verifie your tale. And thankes, Phylander and Orestes both, That you preserue me from a Tyrants wroth.

Phy. I would it were within my power, I wis, To do you greater curtesie than this; But what we cannot by our deeds expresse In heart we wish, to ease your heauinesse.

Eur. A double debt: yet one word ere ye go, Commend me to my deare Ascanio. Whose loyall loue and presence to forgoe Doth gall me more than all my other woe.

Orest. Our liues shall neuer want to do him good.

Phy. Nor yet our death if he in daunger stood:

Or. And, mistresse, so good fortune be your guide, And ought that may be fortunate beside.

[Exeunt.

Eu. The like I wish vnto your selues againe, And many happy days deuoyd of paine.— And now Eurymine record thy state, So much deiected and opprest by fate. What hope remaines? wherein hast thou to ioy? Wherein to tryumph but thine owne annoy? If euer wretch might tell of miserie Then I, alas, poore I, am only she; Vnknowne of parents, destitute of friends, Hopefull of nought but what misfortune sends; Banisht, to liue a fugitiue alone In vncoth[98] paths and regions neuer knowne. Behold, Ascanio, for thy only sake, These tedious trauels I must undertake. Nor do I grudge; the paine seemes lesse to mee In that I suffer this distresse for thee.

Enter Siluio, a Raunger.

Sil. Well met, fair Nymph, or Goddesse if ye bee; Tis straunge, me thinkes, that one of your degree Should walke these solitary groues alone.

Eu. It were no maruel, if you knew my mone. But what are you that question me so far?

Sil. My habit telles you that, a Forrester; That, hauing lost a heard of skittish Deire, Was of good hope I should haue found them heere.

Eu. Trust me, I saw not any; so farewell.

Sil. Nay stay, and further of your fortunes tell; I am not one that meanes you any harme.

Enter Gemulo, the Shepheard.

Ge. I thinke my boy be fled away by charme. Raunger, well met; within thy walke, I pray, Sawst thou not Mopso my vnhappie boy.

Sil. Shepheard, not I: what meanst to seeke him heere?

Ge. Because the wagge, possest with doubtful feare Least I would beate him for a fault he did, Amongst those trees I do suspect hees hid. But how now, Raunger? you mistake, I trowe; This is a Lady and no barren Dowe.

Sil. It is indeede, and (as it seemes) distrest; Whose griefe to know I humbly made request, But she as yet will not reueale the same.

Ge. Perhaps to me she will: speak, gentle dame; What daunger great hath driuen ye to this place? Make knowne your state, and looke what slender grace A Shepheards poore abilitee may yeeld You shall be sure of ere I leaue the feeld.

Eur. Alas good Sir the cause may not be known That hath inforste me to be here alone.

Sil. Nay, feare not to discouer what you are; It may be we may remedie your care.

Eur. Since needs you will that I renew my griefe, Whether it be my chance to finde reliefe Or not, I wreake not: such my crosses are As sooner I expect to meet despaire. Then thus it is: not farre from hence do dwell My parents, of the world esteemed well, Who with their bitter threats my grant had won This day to marrie with a neighbours son, And such a one to whom I should be wife As I could neuer fancie in my life: And therefore, to auoid that endlesse thrall, This morne I came away and left them all.

Sil. Now trust me, virgin, they were much vnkinde To seeke to match you so against your minde.

Ge. It was, besides, vnnatural constraint: But, by the tenure of your just complaint, It seems you are not minded to returne, Nor any more to dwell where you were borne.

Eur. It is my purpose if I might obtaine A place of refuge where I might remain.

Sil. Why, go with me; my Lodge is not far off, Where you shall haue such hospitalitie As shall be for your health and safetie.

Ge. Soft, Raunger; you do raunge beyond your skill. My house is nearer, and for my good will, It shall exceed a woodmans woodden stuffe: Then go with me, Ile keep you safe enough.

Sil. Ile bring her to a bower beset with greene.

Ge. And I an arbour may delight a Queene.

Sil. Her dyet shall be Venson at my boord.

Ge. Young Kid and Lambe we shepheards can affoord.

Sil. And nothing else?

Ge. Yes; raunging, now and then A Hog, a Goose, a Capon, or a Hen.

Sil. These walkes are mine amongst the shadie trees.

Ge. For that I haue a garden full of Bees, Whose buzing musick with the flowers sweet Each euen and morning shall her sences greet.

Sil. The nightingale is my continuall clocke.

Ge. And mine the watchfull sin-remembring cocke.

Sil. A Hunts vp[99] I can tune her with my hounds.

Ge. And I can shew her meads and fruitfull grounds.

Sil. Within these woods are many pleasant springs.

Ge. Betwixt yond dales the Eccho daily sings.

Sil. I maruell that a rusticke shepheard dare With woodmen then audaciously compare. Why, hunting is a pleasure for a King, And Gods themselves sometime frequent the thing. Diana with her bowe and arrows keene Did often vse the chace in Forrests greene, And so, alas, the good Athenian knight And swifte Acteon herein tooke delight, And Atalanta, the Arcadian dame, Conceiu'd such wondrous pleasure in the game That, with her traine of Nymphs attending on, She came to hunt the Bore of Calydon.

Ge. So did Apollo walke with shepheards crooke, And many Kings their sceptres haue forsooke To lead the quiet life we shepheards tooke (?), Accounting it a refuge for their woe.

Sil. But we take choice of many a pleasant walke, And marke the Deare how they begin to stalke; When each, according to his age and time,[100] Pricks vp his head and bears a Princely minde. The lustie Stag, conductor of the traine, Leads all the heard in order downe the plaine; The baser rascals[101] scatter here and there As not presuming to approach so neere.

Ge. So shepheards sometimes sit vpon a hill Or in the cooling shadow of a mill, And as we sit vnto our pipes we sing And therewith make the neighboring groues to ring; And when the sun steales downward to the west We leave our chat and whistle in the fist, Which is a signall to our stragling flocke As Trumpets sound to men in martiall shocke.

Sil. Shall I be thus outfaced by a swaine? Ile haue a guard to wayt vpon her traine, Of gallant woodmen clad in comely greene, The like whereof hath seldome yet bene seene.

Ge. And I of shepheards such a lustie crew As neuer Forrester the like yet knew, Who for their persons and their neate aray Shal be as fresh as is the moneth of May. Where are ye there, ye merry noted swaines? Draw neare a while, and whilst vpon the plaines Your flocks do gently feed, lets see your skill How you with chaunting can sad sorrow kill.

Enter shepheards singing.

Sil. Thinks Gemulo to beare the bell away By singing of a simple Rundelay? No, I have fellowes whose melodious throats Shall euen as far exceed those homely notes As doth the Nightingale in musicke passe The most melodious bird that euer was: And, for an instance, here they are at hand; When they have done let our deserts be scand.

Enter woodmen and sing.

Eu. Thanks to you both; you both deserue so well As I want skill your worthinesse to tell. And both do I commend for your good will, And both Ile honor, loue, and reuerence still; For neuer virgin had such kindnes showne Of straungers, yea, and men to her vnknowne. But more, to end this sudden controuersie, Since I am made an Vmpire in the plea, This is my verdite: Ile intreate of you A Cottage for my dwelling, and of you A flocke to tend; and so, indifferent, My gratefull paines on either shal be spent.

Sil. I am agreed, and, for the loue I beare, Ile boast I haue a Tenant is so faire.

Ge. And I will hold it as a rich possession That she vouchsafes to be of my profession.

Sil. Then, for a sign that no man here hath wrong, From hence lets all conduct her with a song.

The end of the First Act.

Actus Secundus.

Enter Ascanio, and Ioculo his Page.

Asca. Away, Ioculo.

Io. Here, sir, at hand.

Asca. Ioculo, where is she?

Io. I know not.

Asca. When went she?

Io. I know not.

Asca. Which way went she?

Io. I know not.

Asca. Where should I seeke her?

Io. I know not.

Asca. When shall I find her?

Io. I know not.

Asca. A vengeance take thee, slaue, what dost thou know?

Io. Marry, sir, that I doo know.

Asca. What, villiane?

Io. And[102] you be so testie, go looke. What a coyles here with you? If we knew where she were what need we seeke her? I think you are a lunaticke: where were you when you should haue lookt after her? now you go crying vp and downe after your wench like a boy that had lost his horne booke.

Asca. Ah, my sweet Boy!

Io. Ah, my sweet maister! nay, I can giue you as good words as you can giue me; alls one for that.

Asca. What canst thou giue me no reliefe?

Io. Faith, sir, there comes not one morsel of comfort from my lips to sustaine that hungry mawe of your miserie: there is such a dearth at this time. God amend it!

Asca. Ah, Ioculo, my brest is full of griefe, And yet my hope that only wants reliefe.

Io. Your brest and my belly are in two contrary kaies; you walke to get stomacke to your meate, and I walke to get meate to my stomacke; your brest's full and my belli's emptie. If they chance to part in this case, God send them merry meeting,—that my belly be ful and your brest empty.

Asca. Boy, for the loue that euer thou didst owe To thy deare master, poore Ascanio. Racke thy proou'd wits vnto the highest straine, To bring me backe Eurymine againe.

Io. Nay, master, if wit could do it I could tell you more; but if it euer be done the very legeritie[103] of the feete must do it; these ten nimble bones must do the deed. Ile trot like a little dog; theres not a bush so big as my beard, but Ile be peeping in it; theres not a coate[104] but Ile search every corner; if she be aboue, or beneath, ouer the ground or vnder, Ile finde her out.

Asca. Stay, Ioculo; alas, it cannot be: If we should parte I loose both her and thee. The woods are wide; and, wandering thus about, Thou maist be lost and not my loue found out.

Io. I pray thee let me goe.

Asca. I pray thee stay.

Io. I faith Ile runne.

Asca. And doest not know which way.

Io. Any way, alls one; Ile drawe drie foote;[105] if you send not to seeke her you may lye here long enough before she comes to seeke you. She little thinkes that you are hunting for her in these quarters.

Asca. Ah, Ioculo, before I leaue my Boy, Of this worlds comfort now my only ioy. Seest thou this place? vpon this grassie bed, With summers gawdie dyaper bespred, (He lyes downe.) Vnder these shadowes shall my dwelling be, Till thou returne, sweet Ioculo, to me.

Io. And, if my conuoy be not cut off by the way, it shall not be long before I be with you. (He speakes to the people.) Well, I pray you looke to my maister, for here I leaue him amongst you; and if I chaunce to light vpon the wench, you shall heare of me by the next winde. [Exit Ioculo.

Ascanio solus.

Asca. In vaine I feare, I beate my braines about, Proouing by search to finde my mistresse out. Eurymine, Eurymine, retorne, And with thy presence guild the beautious morne! And yet I feare to call vpon thy name: The pratling Eccho, should she learne the same, The last words accent shiele no more prolong But beare that sound vpon her airie tong. Adorned with the presence of my loue The woods, I feare, such secret power shal proue As they'll shut vp each path, hide euery way, Because they still would haue her go astray, And in that place would alwaies haue her seene Only because they would be euer greene, And keepe the wingged Quiristers still there To banish winter cleane out of the yeare. But why persist I to bemone my state, When she is gone and my complaint too late? A drowsie dulnes closeth vp my sight; O powerfull sleepe, I yeeld vnto thy might. (He falls asleepe.)

Enter Iuno and Iris.

Iuno. Come hither, Iris.

Iris. Iris is at hand, To attend Ioues wife, great Iunos hie command.

Iuno. Iris, I know I do thy seruice proue, And euer since I was the wife of Ioue Thou hast bene readie when I called still, And alwayes most obedient to my will: Thou seest how that imperiall Queene of loue With all the Gods how she preuailes aboue, And still against great Iunos hests doth stand To haue all stoupe and bowe at her command; Her Doues and Swannes and Sparrowes must be graced And on Loues Aultar must be highly placed; My starry Peacocks which doth beare my state, Scaresly alowd within his pallace gate. And since herselfe she doth preferd doth see, Now the proud huswife will contend with mee, And practiseth her wanton pranckes to play With this Ascanio and Eurymine. But Loue shall know, in spight of all his skill, Iuno's a woman and will haue her will.

Iris. What is my Goddesse will? may Iris aske?

Iuno. Iris, on thee I do impose this taske To crosse proud Venus and her purblind Lad Vntill the mother and her brat be mad; And with each other set them so at ods Till to their teeth they curse and ban the Gods.

Iris. Goddes, the graunt consists alone in you.

Iuno. Then mark the course which now you must pursue. Within this ore-growne Forrest there is found A duskie Caue[106], thrust lowe into the ground, So vgly darke, so dampie and [so] steepe As, for his life, the sunne durst neuer peepe Into the entrance; which doth so afright The very day that halfe the world is night. Where fennish fogges and vapours do abound There Morpheus doth dwell within the ground; No crowing Cocke or waking bell doth call, Nor watchful dogge disturbeth sleepe at all; No sound is heard in compasse of the hill; But euery thing is quiet, whisht,[107] and still. Amid the caue vpon the ground doth lie A hollow plancher,[108] all of Ebonie, Couer'd with blacke, whereon the drowsie God Drowned in sleepe continually doth nod. Go, Iris, go and my commandment take And beate against the doores till sleepe awake: Bid him from me in vision to appeare Vnto Ascanio, that lieth slumbring heare, And in that vision to reueale the way, How he may finde the faire Eurymine.

Iris. Madam, my service is at your command.

Iuno. Dispatch it then, good Iris, out of hand, My Peacocks and my Charriot shall remaine About the shore till thou returne againe. [Exit Iuno.

Iris. About the businesse now that I am sent, To sleepes black Caue I will incontinent;[109] And his darke cabine boldly will I shake Vntill the drowsie lumpish God awake, And such a bounsing at his Caue Ile keepe That if pale death seaz'd on the eyes of sleepe Ile rowse him up; that when he shall me heare He make his locks stand vp on end with feare. Be silent, aire, whilst Iris in her pride Swifter than thought vpon the windes doth ride. What Somnus! what Somnus, Somnus! (Strikes. Pauses a little) What, wilt thou not awake? art thou still so fast? Nay then, yfaith, Ile haue another cast. What, Somnus! Somnus! I say. (Strikes againe)

Som. Who calles at this time of the day? What a balling dost thou keepe! A vengeance take thee, let me sleepe.

Iris. Vp thou drowsie God I say And come presently away, Or I will beate vpon this doore That after this thou sleep'st no more.

Som. Ile take a nap and come annon.

Iris. Out, you beast, you blocke, you stone! Come or at thy doore Ile thunder Til both heaven and hel do wonder. Somnus, I say!

Som. A vengeance split thy chaps asunder!

Enter Somnus.

Iris. What, Somnus!

Som. Iris, I thought it should be thee. How now, mad wench? what wouldst with me?

Iris. From mightie Iuno, Ioues immortall wife, Somnus, I come to charge thee on thy life That thou vnto this Gentleman appeere And in this place, thus as he lyeth heere, Present his mistres to his inward eies In as true manner as thou canst deuise.

Som. I would thou wert hangd for waking me. Three sonnes I haue; the eldest Morpheus hight, He shewes of man the shape or sight; The second, Icelor, whose beheasts Doth shewe the formes of birds and beasts; Phantasor for the third, things lifeles hee: Chuse which like thee of these three.

Iris. Morpheus; if he in humane shape appeare.

Som. Morpheus, come forth in perfect likenes heere Of—how call ye the Gentlewoman?

Iris. Eurymine.

Som. Of Eurymine; and shewe this Gentleman What of his mistres is become. (Kneeling downe by Ascanio.)

Enter Eurymine, to be supposed Morpheus.

Mor. My deare Ascanio, in this vision see Eurymine doth thus appeare to thee. As soone as sleepe hath left thy drowsie eies Follow the path that on thy right hand lies: An aged Hermit thou by chaunce shalt find That there hath bene time almost out of mind, This holy man, this aged reuerent Father, There in the woods doth rootes and simples gather; His wrinckled browe tells strenghts past long ago, His beard as white as winters driuen snow. He shall discourse the troubles I haue past, And bring vs both together at the last Thus she presents her shadow to thy sight That would her person gladly if she might.

Iris. See how he catches to embrace the shade.

Mor. This vision fully doth his powers inuade; And, when the heate shall but a little slake, Thou then shalt see him presently awake.

Som. Hast thou ought else that I may stand in sted?

Iris. No, Somnus, no; go back unto thy bed; Iuno, she shall reward thee for thy paine.

Som. Then good night, Iris; Ile to rest againe.

Iris. Morpheus, farewell; to Iuno I will flie.

Mor. And I to sleepe as fast as I can hie.

[Exeunt.

Ascanio starting sayes.

Eurymine! Ah, my good Angell, stay! O vanish not so suddenly away; O stay, my Goddess; whither doest thou flie? Returne, my sweet Eurymine, tis I. Where art thou? speake; Let me behold thy face. Did I not see thee in this very place, Euen now? Here did I not see thee stand? And heere thy feete did blesse the happie land? Eurymine, Oh wilt thou not attend? Flie from thy foe, Ascanio is thy friend: The fearfull hare so shuns the labouring hound, And so the Dear eschues the Huntsman wound; The trembling Foule so flies the Falcons gripe, The Bond-man so his angry maisters stripe. I follow not as Phoebus Daphne did, Nor as the Dog pursues the trembling Kid. Thy shape it was; alas, I saw not thee! That sight were fitter for the Gods then mee. But, if in dreames there any truth be found, Thou art within the compas of this ground. Ile raunge the woods and all the groues about, And neuer rest vntill I find thee out. [Exit.

Enter at one doore Mopso singing.

Mop. Terlitelo,[110] Terlitelo, tertitelee, terlo. So merrily this sheapheards Boy His home that he can blow, Early in a morning, late, late in an euening; And euer sat this little Boy So merrily piping.

Enter at the other doore Frisco singing.

Fris. Can you blow the little home? Weell, weell and very weell; And can you blow the little home Amongst the leaues greene?

Enter Ioculo in the midst singing.

Io. Fortune,[111] my foe, why doest thou frowne on mee? And will my fortune neuer better bee? Wilt thou, I say, for euer breed my paine, And wilt thou not restore my Ioyes againe?

Frisco. Cannot a man be merry in his owne walke But a must be thus encombred?

Io. I am disposed to be melancholly, And I cannot be priuate for one villaine or other.

Mop. How the deuel stumbled this case of rope-ripes[112] into my way?

Fris. Sirrha what art thou? and thou?

Io. I am a page to a Courtier.

Mop. And I a Boy to a Shepheard.

Fris. Thou art the Apple-Squier[113] to an Eawe, And thou sworne brother to a bale[114] of false dice.

Io. What art thou?

Fris. I am Boy to a Raunger.

Io. An Out-lawe by authoritie, one that neuer sets marke of his own goods nor neuer knowes how he comes by other mens.

Mop. That neuer knowes his cattell but by their hornes.

Fris. Sirrha, so you might haue said of your maister sheep.

Io. I, marry, this takes fier like touch powder, and goes off with a huffe.

Fris. They come of crick-cracks, and shake their tayles like a squib.

Io. Ha, you Rogues, the very steele of my wit shall strike fier from the flint of your vnderstandings; haue you not heard of me?

Mop. Yes, if you be the Ioculo that I take you for, we haue heard of your exployts for cosoning of some seuen and thirtie Alewiues in the Villages here about.

Io. A wit as nimble as a Sempsters needle or a girles finger at her Buske poynt.

Mop. Your iest goes too low, sir.

Fris. O but tis a tickling iest.

Io. Who wold haue thought to haue found this in a plaine villaine that neuer woare better garment than a greene Ierkin?

Fris. O Sir, though you Courtiers haue all the honour you haue not all the wit.

Mop. Soft sir, tis not your witte can carry it away in this company.

Io. Sweet Rogues, your companie to me is like musick to a wench at midnight when she lies alone and could wish,—yea, marry could she.

Fris. And thou art as welcome to me as a new poking stick to a Chamber mayd.

Mop. But, soft; who comes here?

Enter the Faieries, singing and dauncing.

By the moone we sport and play, With the night begins our day; As we daunce, the deaw doth fall; Trip it little vrchins all, Lightly as the little Bee, Two by two and three by three: And about go wee, and about go wee.[115]

Io. What Mawmets[116] are these?

Fris. O they be the Fayries that haunt these woods.

Mop. O we shall be pincht most cruelly.

1 Fay. Will you haue any musick sir?

2 Fay. Will you haue any fine musicke?

3 Fay. Most daintie musicke?

Mop. We must set a face on't now; there's no flying; no, Sir, we are very merrie, I thanke you.

1 Fay. O but you shall, Sir.

Fris. No, I pray you, saue your labour.

2 Fay. O, Sir, it shall not cost you a penny.

Io. Where be your Fiddles?

3 Fay. You shall haue most daintie Instruments, Sir.

Mop. I pray you, what might I call you?

1 Fay. My name is Penny.

Mop. I am sorry I cannot purse you.

Fris. I pray you sir what might I call you?

2 Fay. My name is Cricket.[117]

Fris. I would I were a chimney for your sake.

Io. I pray you, you prettie little fellow, whats your name?

3 Fay. My name is little, little Pricke.

Io. Little, little Pricke? ô you are a daungerous Fayrie, and fright all little wenches in the country out of their beds. I care not whose hand I were in, so I were out of yours.

1 Fay. I do come about the coppes Leaping vpon flowers toppes; Then I get vpon a Flie, Shee carries me aboue the skie, And trip and goe.

2 Fay. When a deaw drop falleth downe And doth light vpon my crowne, Then I shake my head and skip And about I trip.

3 Fay. When I feele a girle a sleepe Vnderneath her frock I peepe. There to sport, and there I play, Then I byte her like a flea; And about I skip.

Io. I, I thought where I should haue you.

1 Fay. Wilt please you daunce, sir.

Io. Indeed, sir, I cannot handle my legges.

2 Fay. O you must needs daunce and sing, Which if you refuse to doe We will pinch you blacke and blew; And about we goe.

They all daunce in a ring and sing, as followeth.

Round about, round about, in a fine ring a, Thus we daunce, thus we daunce, and thus we sing a: Trip and go, too and fro, ouer this Greene a, All about, in and out, for our braue Queene a.

Round about, round about, in a fine Ring a, Thus we daunce, thus we daunce, and thus we sing a: Trip and go, too and fro, ouer this Greene a, All about, in and out, for our braue Queene a.

We haue daunc't round about in a fine Ring a, We haue daunc't lustily and thus we sing a; All about, in and out, ouer this Greene a, Too and fro, trip and go, to our braue Queene a.

Actus Tertius.