Front matter (continued 2)

Clor. 'Tis done, great Pan I give thee thanks for it, What art could not have heal'd, is cur'd by wit.

Enter Thenot, again.

The. Will ye be constant yet? will ye remove Into the Cabin to your buried Love?

Clor. No let me die, but by thy side remain.

The. There's none shall know that thou didst ever stain Thy worthy strictness, but shall honour'd be, And I will lye again under this tree, And pine and dye for thee with more delight, Than I have sorrow now to know the light.

Clor. Let me have thee, and I'le be where thou wilt.

The. Thou art of womens race, and full of guilt. Farewel all hope of that Sex, whilst I thought There was one good, I fear'd to find one naught: But since their minds I all alike espie, Henceforth I'le choose as others, by mine eye.

Clor. Blest be ye powers that give such quick redress, And for my labours sent so good success. I rather choose, though I a woman be, He should speak ill of all, than die for me.

Actus Quintus. Scena Prima.

Enter Priest, and old Shepherd.

Priest. Shepherds, rise and shake off sleep, See the blushing Morn doth peep Through the window, whilst the Sun To the mountain tops is run, Gilding all the Vales below With his rising flames, which grow Greater by his climbing still. Up ye lazie grooms, and fill Bagg and Bottle for the field; Clasp your cloaks fast, lest they yield To the bitter North-east wind. Call the Maidens up, and find Who lay longest, that she may Goe without a friend all day; Then reward your Dogs, and pray Pan to keep you from decay: So unfold and then away. What not a Shepherd stirring? sure the grooms Have found their beds too easie, or the rooms Fill'd with such new delight, and heat, that they Have both forgot their hungry sheep, and day; Knock, that they may remember what a shame Sloath and neglect layes on a Shepherds name.

Old Shep. It is to little purpose, not a swain This night hath known his lodging here, or lain Within these cotes: the woods, or some near town, That is a neighbour to the bordering Down, Hath drawn them thither, 'bout some lustie sport, Or spiced Wassel-Boul, to which resort All the young men and maids of many a cote, Whilst the trim Minstrel strikes his merry note.

Priest. God pardon sin, show me the way that leads To any of their haunts.

Old Shep. This to the meads, And that down to the woods.

Priest. Then this for me; Come Shepherd let me crave your companie. [Exeunt.

Enter Clorin, in her Cabin, Alexis, with her.

Clor. Now your thoughts are almost pure, And your wound begins to cure: Strive to banish all that's vain, Lest it should break out again.

Alex. Eternal thanks to thee, thou holy maid: I find my former wandring thoughts well staid Through thy wise precepts, and my outward pain By thy choice herbs is almost gone again: Thy sexes vice and vertue are reveal'd At once, for what one hurt, another heal'd.

Clor. May thy grief more appease, Relapses are the worst disease. Take heed how you in thought offend, So mind and body both will mend.

Enter Satyr, with Amoret.

Amo. Beest thou the wildest creature of the wood, That bearst me thus away, drown'd in my blood, And dying, know I cannot injur'd be, I am a maid, let that name fight for me.

Satyr. Fairest Virgin do not fear Me, that do thy body bear, Not to hurt, but heal'd to be; Men are ruder far than we. See fair Goddess in the wood, They have let out yet more blood. Some savage man hath struck her breast So soft and white, that no wild beast Durst ha' toucht asleep, or wake: So sweet, that Adder, Newte, or Snake, Would have lain from arm to arm, On her bosom to be warm All a night, and being hot, Gone away and stung her not. Quickly clap herbs to her breast; A man sure is a kind of beast.

Clor. With spotless hand, on spotless brest I put these herbs to give thee rest: Which till it heal thee, will abide, If both be pure, if not, off slide. See it falls off from the wound, Shepherdess thou art not sound, Full of lust.

Satyr, Who would have thought it, So fair a face?

Clor. Why that hath brought it.

Amo. For ought I know or think, these words, my last: Yet Pan so help me as my thoughts are chast.

Clor. And so may Pan bless this my cure, As all my thoughts are just and pure; Some uncleanness nigh doth lurk, That will not let my Medicines work. Satyr search if thou canst find it.

Satyr. Here away methinks I wind it, Stronger yet: Oh here they be, Here, here, in a hollow tree, Two fond mortals have I found.

Clor. Bring them out, they are unsound.

Enter Cloe, and Daphnis.

Satyr. By the fingers thus I wring ye, To my Goddess thus I bring ye; Strife is vain, come gently in, I scented them, they're full of sin.

Clor. Hold Satyr, take this Glass, Sprinkle over all the place, Purge the Air from lustfull breath, To save this Shepherdess from death, And stand you still whilst I do dress Her wound for fear the pain encrease.

Sat. From this glass I throw a drop Of Crystal water on the top Of every grass, on flowers a pair: Send a fume and keep the air Pure and wholsom, sweet and blest, Till this Virgins wound be drest.

Clor. Satyr, help to bring her in.

Sat. By Pan, I think she hath no sin, She is so light: lye on these leaves. Sleep that mortal sense deceives, Crown thine Eyes, and ease thy pain, Maist thou soon be well again.

Clor. Satyr, bring the Shepherd near, Try him if his mind be clear.

Sat. Shepherd come.

Daph. My thoughts are pure.

Sat. The better trial to endure.

Clor. In this flame his finger thrust, Which will burn him if he lust; But if not, away will turn, As loth unspotted flesh to burn: See, it gives back, let him go, Farewel mortal, keep thee so.

Sat. Stay fair Nymph, flye not so fast, We must try if you be chaste: Here's a hand that quakes for fear, Sure she will not prove so clear.

Clor. Hold her finger to the flame, That will yield her praise or shame.

Sat. To her doom she dares not stand, But plucks away her tender hand, And the Taper darting sends His hot beams at her fingers ends: O thou art foul within, and hast A mind, if nothing else, unchaste.

Alex. Is not that Cloe? 'tis my Love, 'tis she! Cloe, fair Cloe.

Clo. My Alexis.

Alex. He.

Clo. Let me embrace thee.

Clor. Take her hence, Lest her sight disturb his sence.

Alex. Take not her, take my life first.

Clor. See, his wound again is burst: Keep her near, here in the Wood, Till I ha' stopt these Streams of Blood. Soon again he ease shall find, If I can but still his mind: This Curtain thus I do display, To keep the piercing air away.

Enter old Shepherd, and Priest.

Priest. Sure they are lost for ever; 'tis in vain To find 'em out with trouble and much pain, That have a ripe desire, and forward will To flye the Company of all but ill, What shall be counsel'd now? shall we retire? Or constant follow still that first desire We had to find them?

Old. Stay a little while; For if the Morning mist do not beguile My sight with shadows, sure I see a Swain; One of this jolly Troop's come back again.

Enter Thenot.

Pri. Dost thou not blush young Shepherd to be known, Thus without care, leaving thy flocks alone, And following what desire and present blood Shapes out before thy burning sense, for good, Having forgot what tongue hereafter may Tell to the World thy falling off, and say Thou art regardless both of good and shame, Spurning at Vertue, and a vertuous Name, And like a glorious, desperate man that buys A poyson of much price, by which he dies, Dost thou lay out for Lust, whose only gain Is foul disease, with present age and pain, And then a Grave? These be the fruits that grow In such hot Veins that only beat to know Where they may take most ease, and grow ambitious Through their own wanton fire, and pride delicious.

The. Right holy Sir, I have not known this night, What the smooth face of Mirth was, or the sight Of any looseness; musick, joy, and ease, Have been to me as bitter drugs to please A Stomach lost with weakness, not a game That I am skill'd at throughly; nor a Dame, Went her tongue smoother than the feet of Time, Her beauty ever living like the Rime Our blessed Tityrus did sing of yore, No, were she more enticing than the store Of fruitful Summer, when the loaden Tree Bids the faint Traveller be bold and free, 'Twere but to me like thunder 'gainst the bay, Whose lightning may enclose but never stay Upon his charmed branches; such am I Against the catching flames of Womans eye.

Priest. Then wherefore hast thou wandred?

The. 'Twas a Vow That drew me out last night, which I have now Strictly perform'd, and homewards go to give Fresh pasture to my Sheep, that they may live.

Pri. 'Tis good to hear ye, Shepherd, if the heart In this well sounding Musick bear his part. Where have you left the rest?

The. I have not seen, Since yesternight we met upon this green To fold our Flocks up, any of that train; Yet have I walkt these Woods round, and have lain All this same night under an aged Tree, Yet neither wandring Shepherd did I see, Or Shepherdess, or drew into mine ear The sound of living thing, unless it were The Nightingale among the thick leav'd spring That sits alone in sorrow, and doth sing Whole nights away in mourning, or the Owl, Or our great enemy that still doth howl Against the Moons cold beams.

Priest. Go and beware Of after falling.

The. Father 'tis my care. [Exit Thenot.

Enter Daphnis.

Old. Here comes another Stragler, sure I see A Shame in this young Shepherd. Daphnis!

Daph. He.

Pri. Where hast thou left the rest, that should have been Long before this, grazing upon the green Their yet imprison'd flocks?

Daph. Thou holy man, Give me a little breathing till I can Be able to unfold what I have seen; Such horrour that the like hath never been Known to the ear of Shepherd: Oh my heart Labours a double motion to impart So heavy tidings! You all know the Bower Where the chast Clorin lives, by whose great power Sick men and Cattel have been often cur'd, There lovely Amoret that was assur'd To lusty Perigot, bleeds out her life, Forc'd by some Iron hand and fatal knife; And by her young Alexis.

Enter Amaryllis running from her Sullen Shepherd.

Amar. If there be Ever a Neighbour Brook, or hollow tree, Receive my Body, close me up from lust That follows at my heels; be ever just, Thou god of Shepherds, Pan, for her dear sake That loves the Rivers brinks, and still doth shake In cold remembrance of thy quick pursuit: Let me be made a reed, and ever mute, Nod to the waters fall, whilst every blast Sings through my slender leaves that I was chast.

Pri. This is a night of wonder, Amaryll Be comforted, the holy gods are still Revengers of these wrongs.

Amar. Thou blessed man, Honour'd upon these plains, and lov'd of Pan, Hear me, and save from endless infamie My yet unblasted Flower, Virginitie: By all the Garlands that have crown'd that head, By the chaste office, and the Marriage bed That still is blest by thee, by all the rights Due to our gods; and by those Virgin lights That burn before his Altar, let me not Fall from my former state to gain the blot That never shall be purg'd: I am not now That wanton Amaryllis: here I vow To Heaven, and thee grave Father, if I may 'Scape this unhappy Night, to know the Day, To live a Virgin, never to endure The tongues, or Company of men impure. I hear him come, save me.

Pri. Retire a while Behind this Bush, till we have known that vile Abuser of young Maidens.

Enter Sullen.

Sul. Stay thy pace, Most loved Amaryllis, let the Chase Grow calm and milder, flye me not so fast, I fear the pointed Brambles have unlac'd Thy golden Buskins; turn again and see Thy Shepherd follow, that is strong and free, Able to give thee all content and ease. I am not bashful, Virgin, I can please At first encounter, hug thee in mine arm, And give thee many Kisses, soft and warm As those the Sun prints on the smiling Cheek Of Plums, or mellow Peaches; I am sleek And smooth as Neptune, when stern Eolus Locks up his surly Winds, and nimbly thus Can shew my active Youth; why dost thou flye? Remember Amaryllis, it was I That kill'd Alexis for thy sake, and set An everlasting hate 'twixt Amoret And her beloved Perigot: 'twas I That drown'd her in the Well, where she must lye Till Time shall leave to be; then turn again, Turn with thy open arms, and clip the Swain That hath perform'd all this, turn, turn I say: I must not be deluded.

Pri. Monster stay, Thou that art like a Canker to the State Thou liv'st and breath'st in, eating with debate Through every honest bosome, forcing still The Veins of any that may serve thy Will, Thou that hast offer'd with a sinful hand To seize upon this Virgin that doth stand Yet trembling here.

Sull. Good holiness declare, What had the danger been, if being bare I had embrac'd her, tell me by your Art, What coming wonders would that sight impart?

Pri. Lust, and a branded Soul.

Sull. Yet tell me more, Hath not our Mother Nature for her store And great encrease, said it is good and just, And wills that every living Creature must Beget his like?

Pri. Ye are better read than I, I must confess, in blood and Lechery. Now to the Bower, and bring this Beast along, Where he may suffer Penance for his wrong. [Exeunt.

Enter Perigot with his hands bloody.

Per. Here will I wash it in this mornings dew, Which she on every little grass doth strew In silver drops against the Sun's appear: 'Tis holy water, and will make me clear. My hands will not be cleans'd. My wronged Love, If thy chaste spirit in the air yet move, Look mildly down on him that yet doth stand All full of guilt, thy blood upon his hand, And though I struck thee undeservedly, Let my revenge on her that injur'd thee Make less a fault which I intended not, And let these dew drops wash away my spot. It will not cleanse. O to what sacred Flood Shall I resort to wash away this blood? Amid'st these Trees the holy Clorin dwells In a low Cabin of cut Boughs, and heals All Wounds; to her I will my self address, And my rash faults repentantly confess; Perhaps she'll find a means by Art or Prayer, To make my hand with chaste blood stained, fair: That done, not far hence underneath some Tree, I'll have a little Cabin built, since she Whom I ador'd is dead, there will I give My self to strictness, and like Clorin live. [Exit.

The Curtain is drawn, Clorin appears sitting in the Cabin, Amoret sitting on the one side of her, Alexis and Cloe on the other, the Satyr standing by.

Clo. Shepherd, once more your blood is staid, Take example by this Maid, Who is heal'd ere you be pure, So hard it is lewd lust to cure. Take heed then how you turn your eye On each other lustfully: And Shepherdess take heed lest you Move his willing eye thereto; Let no wring, nor pinch, nor smile Of yours his weaker sense beguile. Is your Love yet true and chaste, And for ever so to last?

Alex. I have forgot all vain desires, All looser thoughts, ill tempred fires, True Love I find a pleasant fume, Whose moderate heat can ne'r consume.

Clo. And I a new fire feel in me, Whose chaste flame is not quencht to be.

Clor. Join your hands with modest touch, And for ever keep you such.

Enter Perigot.

Per. Yon is her Cabin, thus far off I'll stand, And call her forth; for my unhallowed hand I dare not bring so near yon sacred place. Clorin come forth, and do a timely grace To a poor Swain.

Clo. What art thou that dost call? Clorin is ready to do good to all: Come near.

Peri. I dare not.

Clor. Satyr, see Who it is that calls on me.

Sat. There at hand, some Swain doth stand, Stretching out a bloudy hand.

Peri. Come Clorin, bring thy holy waters clear, To wash my hand.

Clo. What wonders have been here To night? stretch forth thy hand young Swain, Wash and rub it whilest I rain Holy water.

Peri. Still you pour, But my hand will never scower.

Clor. Satyr, bring him to the Bower, We will try the Soveraign power Of other waters.

Satyr. Mortal, sure 'Tis the Blood of Maiden pure That stains thee so.

[The Satyr leadeth him to the Bower, where he spieth Amoret, and kneeling down, she knoweth him.

Peri. What e're thou be, Be'st thou her spright, or some divinitie, That in her shape thinks good to walk this grove, Pardon poor Perigot.

Amor. I am thy love, Thy Amoret, for evermore thy love: Strike once more on my naked breast, I'le prove As constant still. O couldst thou love me yet; How soon should I my former griefs forget!

Peri. So over-great with joy, that you live, now I am, that no desire of knowing how Doth seize me; hast thou still power to forgive?

Amo. Whilest thou hast power to love, or I to live; More welcome now than hadst thou never gone Astray from me.

Peri. And when thou lov'st alone And not I, death, or some lingring pain That's worse, light on me.

Clor. Now your stain This perhaps will cleanse again; See the blood that erst did stay, With the water drops away. All the powers again are pleas'd, And with this new knot appeas'd. Joyn your hands, and rise together, Pan be blest that brought you hither.

Enter Priest, and Old Shephe[rd].

Clor. Go back again what ere thou art, unless Smooth Maiden thoughts possess thee, do not press This hallowed ground. Go Satyr, take his hand, And give him present trial.

Satyr. Mortal stand, Till by fire I have made known Whether thou be such a one, That mayst freely tread this place. Hold thy hand up; never was More untainted flesh than this. Fairest, he is full of bliss.

Clor. Then boldly speak, why dost thou seek this place?

Priest. First, honour'd Virgin, to behold thy face Where all good dwells that is: Next for to try The truth of late report was given to me: Those Shepherds that have met with foul mischance, Through much neglect, and more ill governance, Whether the wounds they have may yet endure The open Air, or stay a longer cure. And lastly, what the doom may be shall light Upon those guilty wretches, through whose spight All this confusion fell: For to this place, Thou holy Maiden, have I brought the race Of these offenders, who have freely told, Both why, and by what means they gave this bold Attempt upon their lives.

Clor. Fume all the ground, And sprinkle holy water, for unsound And foul infection 'gins to fill the Air: It gathers yet more strongly; take a pair Of Censors fill'd with Frankincense and Mirrh, Together with cold Camphyre: quickly stir Thee, gentle Satyr, for the place begins To sweat and labour with the abhorred sins Of those offenders; let them not come nigh, For full of itching flame and leprosie Their very souls are, that the ground goes back, And shrinks to feel the sullen weight of black And so unheard of venome; hie thee fast Thou holy man, and banish from the chast These manlike monsters, let them never more Be known upon these downs, but long before The next Suns rising, put them from the sight And memory of every honest wight. Be quick in expedition, lest the sores Of these weak Patients break into new gores. [Ex. Priest.

Per. My dear, dear Amoret, how happy are Those blessed pairs, in whom a little jar Hath bred an everlasting love, too strong For time, or steel, or envy to do wrong? How do you feel your hurts? Alas poor heart, How much I was abus'd; give me the smart For it is justly mine.

Amo. I do believe. It is enough dear friend, leave off to grieve, And let us once more in despight of ill Give hands and hearts again.

Per. With better will Than e're I went to find in hottest day Cool Crystal of the Fountain, to allay My eager thirst: may this band never break. Hear us O Heaven.

Amo. Be constant.

Per. Else Pan wreak, With [d]ouble vengeance, my disloyalty; Let me not dare to know the company Of men, or any more behold those eyes.

Amo. Thus Shepherd with a kiss all envy dyes.

Enter Priest.

Priest. Bright Maid, I have perform'd your will, the Swain In whom such heat and black rebellions raign Hath undergone your sentence, and disgrace: Only the Maid I have reserv'd, whose face Shews much amendment, many a tear doth fall In sorrow of her fault, great fair recal Your heavy doom, in hope of better daies, Which I dare promise; once again upraise Her heavy Spirit that near drowned lyes In self consuming care that never dyes.

Clor. I am content to pardon, call her in; The Air grows cool again, and doth begin To purge it self, how bright the day doth show After this stormy Cloud! go Satyr, go, And with this Taper boldly try her hand, If she be pure and good, and firmly stand To be so still, we have perform'd a work Worthy the Gods themselves. [Satyr brings Amaryllis in.

Satyr. Come forward Maiden, do not lurk Nor hide your face with grief and shame, Now or never get a name That may raise thee, and recure All thy life that was impure: Hold your hand unto the flame, If thou beest a perfect dame, Or hast truely vow'd to mend, This pale fire will be thy friend. See the Taper hurts her not. Go thy wayes, let never spot Henceforth seize upon thy blood. Thank the Gods and still be good.

Clor. Young Shepherdess now ye are brought again To Virgin state, be so, and so remain To thy last day, unless the faithful love Of some good Shepherd force thee to remove; Th[e]n labour to be true to him, and live As such a one, that ever strives to give A blessed memory to after time. Be famous for your good, not for your crime. Now holy man, I offer up again These patients full of health, and free from pain: Keep them from after ills, be ever near Unto their actions, teach them how to clear The tedious way they pass through, from suspect, Keep them from wronging others, or neglect Of duty in themselves, correct the bloud With thrifty bits and labour, let the floud, Or the next neighbouring spring give remedy To greedy thirst, and travel not the tree That hangs with wanton clusters, [let] not wine, Unless in sacrifice, or rites divine, Be ever known of Shepherd, have a care Thou man of holy life. Now do not spare Their faults through much remissness, nor forget To cherish him, whose many pains and swet Hath giv'n increase, and added to the downs. Sort all your Shepherds from the lazy clowns That feed their Heifers in the budded Brooms: Teach the young Maidens strictness, that the grooms May ever fear to tempt their blowing youth; Banish all complements, but single truth From every tongue, and every Shepherds heart, Let them still use perswading, but no Art: Thus holy Priest, I wish to thee and these, All the best goods and comforts that may please.

Alex. And all those blessings Heaven did ever give, We pray upon this Bower may ever live.

Priest. Kneel every Shepherd, whilest with powerful hand I bless your after labours, and the Land You feed your flocks upon. Great Pan defend you From misfortune, and amend you, Keep you from those dangers still, That are followed by your will, Give ye means to know at length All your riches, all your strength, Cannot keep your foot from falling To lewd lust, that still is calling At your Cottage, till his power Bring again that golden hour Of peace and rest to every soul. May his care of you controul All diseases, sores or pain That in after time may raign Either in your flocks or you, Give ye all affections new, New desires, and tempers new, That ye may be ever true. Now rise and go, and as ye pass away Sing to the God of Sheep, that happy lay, That honest Dorus taught ye, Dorus, he That was the soul and god of melodie.

The SONG. [_They all Sing

All ye woods, and trees and bowers, All you vertues and ye powers That inhabit in the lakes, In the pleasant springs or brakes, Move your feet To our sound, Whilest we greet All this ground, With his honour and his name That defends our flocks from blame.

He is great, and he is Just, He is ever good, and must Thus be honour'd: Daffodillies, Roses, Pinks, and loved Lillies, Let us fling, Whilest we sing, Ever holy, Ever holy, Ever honoured ever young, Thus great_ Pan _is ever sung. [Exeunt.

Satyr._ Thou divinest, fairest, brightest, Thou m[o]st powerful Maid, and whitest, Thou most vertuous and most blessed, Eyes of stars, and golden tressed Like Apollo, tell me sweetest What new service now is meetest For the Satyr? shall I stray In the middle Air, and stay The sayling Rack, or nimbly take Hold by the Moon, and gently make Sute to the pale Queen of night For a beam to give thee light? Shall I dive into the Sea, And bring thee Coral, making way Through the rising waves that fall In snowie fleeces; dearest, shall I catch the wanton Fawns, or Flyes, Whose woven wings the Summer dyes Of many colours? get thee fruit? Or steal from Heaven old Orpheus Lute? All these I'le venture for, and more, To do her service all these woods adore.

Clor. No other service, Satyr, but thy watch About these thickets, lest harmless people catch Mischief or sad mischance.

Satyr. Holy Virgin, I will dance Round about these woods as quick As the breaking light, and prick Down the Lawns, and down the vails Faster than the Wind-mill sails. So I take my leave, and pray All the comforts of the day, Such as Phoebus heat doth send On the earth, may still befriend Thee, and this arbour.

Clo. And to thee, All thy Masters love be free. [Exeunt.

To my Friend Master JOHN FLETCHER upon his Faithfull Shepherdess.

I know too well, that, no more than the man That travels through the burning Desarts, can When he is beaten with the raging Sun, Half smothered in the dust, have power to run From a cool River, which himself doth find, E're he be slacked; no more can he whose mind Joyes in the Muses, hold from that delight, When nature, and his full thoughts bid him write: Yet wish I those whom I for friends have known, To sing their thoughts to no ears but their own. Why should the man, whose wit ne'r had a stain, Upon the publick Stage present his [vein,] And make a thousand men in judgment sit, To call in question his undoubted wit, Scarce two of which can understand the laws Which they should judge by, nor the parties cause? Among the rout there is not one that hath In his own censure an explicite faith; One company knowing they judgement lack, Ground their belief on the next man in black: Others, on him that makes signs, and is mute, Some like as he does in the fairest sute, He as his Mistress doth, and she by chance: Nor want there those, who as the Boy doth dance Between the Acts, will censure the whole Play; Some if the Wax-lights be not new that day; But multitudes there are whose judgement goes Headlong according to the Actors cloathes. For this, these publick things and I, agree So ill, that but to do a right for thee, I had not been perswaded to have hurl'd These few, ill spoken lines, into the world, Both to be read, and censur'd of, by those, Whose very reading makes Verse senseless Prose: Such as must spend above an hour, to spell A Challenge on a Past, to know it well: But since it was thy hap to throw away Much wit, for which the people did not pay, Because they saw it not, I not dislike This second publication, which may strike Their consciences, to see the thing they scorn'd, To be with so much wit and Art adorned. Besides one vantage more in this I see, Tour censurers now must have the qualitie Of reading, which I am afraid is more Than half your shrewdest Judges had before.

Fr. Beaumont.

To the worthy Author M'r. Jo. FLETCHER.

The wise, and many headed Bench, that sits Upon the Life, and Death of Playes, and Wits, (Composed of Gamester, Captain, Knight, Knight's man, Lady, or Pusill, that wears mask or fan, Velvet, or Taffata cap, rank'd in the dark With the shops Foreman, or some such brave spark, That may judge for his six-pence_) had, before They saw it half, damn'd thy whole Play, and more, Their motives were, since it had not to doe With vices, which they look'd for, and came to.

I, that am glad, thy Innocence was thy Guilt, And wish that all the_ Muses blood were spilt In such a Martyrdome, to vex their eyes, Do crown thy murdred Poeme: which shall rise A glorified work to Time, when Fire, Or mothes shall eat, what all these Fools admire.

BEN. JONSON.

This Dialogue newly added, was spoken by way of Prologue to both their Majesties, at the first acting of this Pastoral at Somerset-house on Twelfth-night, 1633.

Priest.

A broiling Lamb on Pans chief Altar lies, My Wreath, my Censor, Virge, and Incense by: But I delayed the pretious Sacrifice, To shew thee here, a Gentle Deity.

Nymph.

Nor was I to thy sacred Summons slow, Hither I came as swift as th' Eagles wing, Or threatning shaft from vext Dianaes bow, To see this Islands God; the worlds best King.

Priest.

Bless then that Queen, that doth his eyes invite And ears, t'obey her Scepter, half this night.

Nymph.

_Let's sing such welcomes, as shall make Her sway Seem easie to Him, though it last till day.

Welcom as Peace t'unwalled Cities, when Famine and Sword leave them more graves than men. As Spring to Birds, or Noon-dayes Sun to th' old Poor mountain Muscovite congeal'd with cold. As Shore toth' Pilot in a safe known Coast When's Card is broken and his Rudder lost.