Act 1 — Scene I.

Clorin. Hail, holy earth, whose cold arms do embrace The truest man that ever fed his flocks By the fat plains of fruitful Thessaly! Thus I salute thy grave; thus do I pay My early vows and tribute of mine eyes5 To thy still-loved ashes; thus I free Myself from all ensuing heats and fires Of love; all sports, delights, and [jolly][3415] games, That shepherds hold full dear, thus put I off. Now no more shall these smooth brows be begirt10 With youthful coronals,[3416] and lead the dance; No more the company of fresh fair maids And wanton shepherds be to me delightful, Nor the shrill pleasing sound of merry pipes Under some shady dell, when the cool wind15 Plays on the leaves: all be far away, Since thou art far away, by whose dear side How often have I sat crown’d with fresh flowers For summer’s queen, whilst every shepherd’s boy Puts on his lusty green, with gaudy hook,20 And hanging scrip of finest cordevan.[3417] But thou art gone, and these are gone with thee, And all are dead but thy dear memory; That shall outlive thee, and shall ever spring, Whilst there are pipes or jolly shepherds sing.25 And here will I, in honour of thy love, Dwell by thy grave, forgetting all those joys That former times made precious to mine eyes; Only rememb’ring what my youth did gain In the dark, hidden virtuous use of herbs:30 That will I practise, and as freely give All my endeavours, as I gain’d them, free. Of all green wounds I know the remedies In men or cattle, be they stung with snakes, Or charm’d with powerful words of wicked art,35 Or be they love-sick, or through too much heat Grown wild or lunatic, their eyes or ears Thick’ned with misty film of dulling rheum; These I can cure, such secret virtue lies In herbs applied by a virgin’s hand.40 My meat shall be what these wild woods afford, Berries and chestnuts, plantains, on whose cheeks The sun sits smiling, and the lofty fruit Pull’d from the fair head of the straight-grown pine: On these I ’ll feed with free content, and rest,45 When night shall blind the world, by thy side blest.

Sat. Through yon same bending plain, That flings his arms down to the main, And through these thick woods, have I run, Whose bottom never kist the sun50 Since the lusty spring began; All to please my master Pan, Have I trotted without rest To get him fruit; for at a feast He entertains, this coming night,55 His paramour, the Syrinx bright.— But, behold, a fairer sight! He stands amazed. By that heavenly form of thine, Brightest fair, thou art divine, Sprung from great immortal race60 Of the gods; for in thy face Shines more awful majesty Than dull weak mortality Dare with misty eyes behold, And live: therefore on this mould65 Lowly do I bend my knee In worship of thy deity. Deign it, goddess, from my hand To receive what’er this land From her fertile womb doth send70 Of her choice fruits; and but lend Belief to that the Satyr tells: Fairer by the famous wells To this present day ne’er grew, Never better nor more true.75 Here be grapes, whose lusty blood Is the learned poets’ good, Sweeter yet did never crown The head of Bacchus; nuts more brown Than the squirrel’s teeth that crack them;80 Deign, O fairest fair, to take them! For these black-ey’d Dryope Hath oftentimes commanded me With my clasped knee to climb: See how well the lusty time85 Hath deckt their rising cheeks in red, Such as on your lips is spread! Here be berries for a queen, Some be red, some be green; These are of that luscious meat,90 The great god Pan himself doth eat: All these, and what the woods can yield, The hanging mountain or the field, I freely offer, and ere long Will bring you more, more sweet and strong;95 Till when, numbly leave I take, Lest the great Pan do awake, That sleeping lies in a deep glade, Under a broad beech’s shade. I must go, I must run100 Swifter than the fiery sun. Exit. Clo. And all my fears go with thee! What greatness, or what private hidden power, Is there in me, to draw submission From this rude man and beast? Sure I am mortal,105 The daughter of a shepherd; he was mortal, And she that bore me mortal: prick my hand, And it will bleed; a fever shakes me, and The self-same wind that makes the young lambs shrink Makes me a-cold: my fear says I am mortal.110 Yet I have heard (my mother told it me, And now I do believe it), if I keep My virgin-flower uncropt, pure, chaste, and fair, No goblin, wood-god, fairy, elf, or fiend,114 Satyr, or other power that haunts these groves, Shall hurt my body, or by vain illusion Draw me to wander after idle fires; Or voices calling me in dead of night, To make me follow, and so toll[3418] me on, Through mires and standing pools [to find my ruin:]120 Else why should this rough thing, who never knew Manners nor smooth humanity,[3419] whose heats[3420] Are rougher than himself and more mis-shapen, Thus mildly kneel to me? Sure there is a power124 In that great name of virgin, that binds fast All rude uncivil bloods, all appetites That break their confines. Then, strong chastity, Be thou my strongest guard, for here I ’ll dwell In opposition against fate and hell! [Retires into her bower.]