Act 2 — [Scene II.][3440]

Clo. Now let me know what my best art hath done, Helpt by the great power of the virtuous moon In her full light. Oh, you sons of earth, You only brood, unto whose [happy][3441] birth Virtue was given, holding more of nature5 Than man, her first-born and most perfect creature. Let me adore you! you, that only can Help or kill nature, drawing out that span Of life and breath even to the end of time; You, that these hands did [crop][3442] long before prime10 Of day, give me your names, and, next, your hidden power. This is the clote,[3443] bearing a yellow flower; And this, black horehound; both are very good For sheep or shepherd bitten by a wood[3444] Dog’s venom’d teeth: these rhamnus[3445] branches are,15 Which, stock in entries, or about the bar That holds the door, kill all enchantments, charms (Were they Medea’s verses), that do harms To men or cattle: these for frenzy be A speedy and a sovereign remedy,20 The bitter wormwood, sage, and marigold; Such sympathy with man’s good they do hold: This tormentil,[3446] whose virtue is to part All deadly killing poison from the heart: And, here, narcissus root, for swellings best:25 Yellow lysimachus,[3447] to give sweet rest To the faint shepherd, killing, where it comes, All busy gnats, and every fly that hums: For leprosy, darnel and celandine, With calamint, whose virtues do refine30 The blood of man, making it free and fair As the first hour it breath d, or the best air: Here, other two; but your rebellious use Is not for me, whose goodness is abuse; Therefore, foul standergrass,[3448] from me and mine35 I banish thee, with lustful turpentine; You that entice the veins and stir the heat To civil mutiny, scaling the seat Our reason moves in, and deluding it With dreams and wanton [fancies][3449] till the fit Of burning lust be quencht, by appetite41 Robbing the soul of blessedness and light: And thou, light vervain, too, thou must go after, Provoking easy souls to mirth and laughter; No more shall I dip thee in water now,45 And sprinkle every post and every bough With thy well-pleasing juice, to make the grooms Swell with high mirth, and with joy all the rooms.

The. This is the cabin where the best of all Her sex that ever breath’d, or ever shall50 Give heat or happiness to the shepherd’s side, Doth only to her worthy self abide. Thou blessed star, I thank thee for thy light, Thou by whose power the darkness of sad night Is banisht from the earth, in whose dull place Thy chaster beams play on the heavy face56 Of all the world, make the blue sea smile, To see how cunningly thou dost beguile Thy brother of his brightness, giving day Again from chaos; whiter than that way60 That leads to Jove’s high court, and chaster far Than chastity itself, you blessed star That brightly shines! thou, all the constancy That in all women was or e’er shall be; From whose fair eye-balls flies that holy fire65 That styled is the mother of desire, Infusing into every gentle breast A soul of greater price, and far more blest, Than that quick power which gives a difference ’Twixt man and creatures of a lower sense!70 Clo. Shepherd, how cam’st thou hither to this place? No way is trodden; all the verdant grass The spring shot up stands yet unbruised here Of any foot; only the dappled deer, Far from the feared sound of crooked horn,75 Dwells in this fastness. The. Chaster than the morn, I have not wand’red, or by strong illusion Into this virtuous place have made intrusion: But hither am I come (believe me, fair). To seek you out, of whose great good the air80 Is full, and strongly labours, whilst the sound Breaks against heaven, and drives into a stound[3450] Th’ amazed shepherd, that such virtue can Be resident in lesser than a man. Clo. If any art I have, or hidden skill,85 May cure thee of disease or fest’red ill Whose grief or greenness to another’s eye May seem unpossible of remedy, I dare yet undertake it. The. ’T is no pain I suffer through disease, no heating vein90 Conveys infection dangerous to the heart, No part imposthum’d, to be cur’d by art, This body holds; and yet a feller grief Than ever skilful hand did give relief, Dwells on my soul, and may be heal’d by you, Fair, beauteous virgin. Clo. Then, shepherd, let me sue96 To know thy grief: that man yet never knew The way to health that durst not show his sore. The. Then, fairest, know, I love you. Clo. Swain, no more! Thou hast abus’d the strictness of this place,100 And off’red sacrilegious foul disgrace To the sweet rest of these interred bones; For fear of whose ascending, fly at once, Thou and thy idle passions, that the sight Of death and speedy vengeance may not fright Thy very soul with horror. The. Let me not,106 Thou all perfection, merit such a blot For my true zealous faith. Clo. Dar’st thou abide To see this holy earth at once divide, And give her body up? for sure it will,110 If thou pursu’st with wanton flame to fill This hallowed place: therefore repent and go, Whilst I with prayers appease his ghost below, That else would tell thee what it were to be A rival in that virtuous love that he115 Embraces yet. The. ’T is not the white or red Inhabits in your cheek that thus can wed My mind to adoration; nor your eye, Though it be full and fair, your forehead high And smooth as Pelops’ shoulder; not the smile Lies watching in those dimples to beguile121 The easy soul; your hands and fingers long, With veins enamell’d richly; nor your tongue, Though it spoke sweeter than Arion’s harp; Your hair woven into many a curious warp,125 Able in endless error to enfold The [wand’ring][3451] soul; not the true perfect mould Of all your body, which as pure doth show In maiden-whiteness as the Alpine snow: All these, were but your constancy away,130 Would please me less than a black stormy day The wretched seaman toiling through the deep. But, whilst this honour’d strictness you do keep, Though all the plagues that e’er begotten were In the great womb of air were settled here,135 In opposition, I would, like the tree, Shake off those drops of weakness, and be free Even in the arm of danger. Clo. Wouldst thou have Me raise again, fond man, from silent grave Those sparks, that long ago were buried here140 With my dead friend’s cold ashes? The. 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 you, and be still The same opinion speaks you: let not will,145 And that great god of women, appetite, Set up your blood again; do not invite Desire and fancy from their long exile, To seat them once more in a pleasing smile: Be, like a rock, made firmly up ’gainst all150 The power of angry heaven, or the strong fall Of Neptune’s battery. If you yield, I die To all affection; ’t is that loyalty You tie unto this grave I so admire: And yet there ’s something else I would desire, If you would hear me, but withal deny.156 Oh, Pan, what an uncertain destiny Hangs over all my hopes! I will retire; For, if I longer stay, this double fire Will lick my life up. Clo. Do; and let time wear out160 What art and nature cannot bring about. The. Farewell, thou soul of virtue, and be blest For ever, whilst [that here][3452] I wretched rest Thus to myself! Yet grant me leave to dwell In kenning[3453] of this arbour: yon same dell,165 O’ertopt with mourning cypress and sad yew, Shall be my cabin, where I ’ll early rue, Before the sun hath kist this dew away, The hard uncertain chance which faith doth lay Upon his head. Clo. The gods give quick release170 And happy cure unto thy hard disease! Exeunt.