Читать книгу The Faithful Shepherdess - Beaumont Francis - Страница 1

Hail, holy Earth, whose cold Arms do imbrace

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 eyes

To thy still loved ashes; thus I free

My self from all insuing heats and fires

Of love: all sports, delights and jolly games

That Shepherds hold full dear, thus put I off.

Now no more shall these smooth brows be begirt

With youthful Coronals, 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 wind

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 summers Queen, whil'st every Shepherds Boy

Puts on his lusty green, with gaudy hook,

And hanging scrip of finest Cordevan.

But thou art gone, and these are gone with thee,

And all are dead but thy dear memorie;

That shall out-live thee, and shall ever spring

Whilest there are pipes, or jolly Shepherds sing.

And here will I in honour of thy love,

Dwell by thy Grave, forgeting all those joys,

That former times made precious to mine eyes,

Only remembring what my youth did gain

In the dark, hidden vertuous use of Herbs:

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 Cattel, be they stung with Snakes,

Or charm'd with powerful words of wicked Art,

Or be they Love-sick, or through too much heat

Grown wild or Lunatick, their eyes or ears

Thickned with misty filme of dulling Rheum,

These I can Cure, such secret vertue lies

In Herbs applyed by a Virgins hand:

My meat shall be what these wild woods afford,

Berries, and Chesnuts, Plantanes, on whose Cheeks,

The Sun sits smiling, and the lofty fruit

Pull'd from the fair head of the staight grown Pine;

On these I'le feed with free content and rest,

When night shall blind the world, by thy side blest.

Satyr. 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 Sun

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

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 race

Of the gods, for in thy face

Shines more awful Majesty,

Than dull weak mortalitie

Dare with misty eyes behold,

And live: therefore on this mold

Lowly do I bend my knee,

In worship of thy Deitie;

Deign it Goddess from my hand,

To receive what e're this land

From her fertil Womb doth send

Of her choice Fruits: and but lend

Belief to that the Satyre tells,

Fairer by the famous wells,

To this present day ne're grew,

Never better nor more true.

Here be Grapes whose lusty bloud

Is the learned Poets good,

Sweeter yet did never crown

The head of Bacchus, Nuts more brown

Than the Squirrels Teeth that crack them;

Deign O fairest fair to take them.

For these black ey'd Driope

Hath oftentimes commanded me,

With my clasped knee to clime;

See how well the lusty time

Hath deckt their rising cheeks in red,

Such as on your lips is spred,

Here be Berries for a Queen,

Some be red, some be green,

These are of that luscious meat,

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,

Till when humbly leave I take,

Lest the great Pan do awake,

That sleeping lies in a deep glade,

Under a broad Beeches shade,

I must go, I must run

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:

The Daughter of a Shepherd, he was mortal:

And she that bore me mortal: prick my hand

And it will bleed: a Feaver shakes me,

And the self same wind that makes the young Lambs shrink,

Makes me a cold: my fear says I am mortal:

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, Elfe, or Fiend,

Satyr or other power that haunts the Groves,

Shall hurt my body, or by vain illusion

Draw me to wander after idle fires;

Or voyces calling me in dead of night,

To make me follow, and so tole me on

Through mire and standing pools, to find my ruine:

Else why should this rough thing, who never knew

Manners, nor smooth humanity, whose heats

Are rougher than himself, and more mishapen,

Thus mildly kneel to me? sure there is a power

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'le dwell

In opposition against Fate and Hell.

Old Shep. Now we have done this holy Festival

In honour of our great God, and his rites

Perform'd, prepare your selves for chaste

And uncorrupted fires: that as the Priest,

With powerful hand shall sprinkle on [your] Brows

His pure and holy water, ye may be

From all hot flames of lust, and loose thoughts free.

Kneel Shepherds, kneel, here comes the Priest of Pan.

Priest. Shepherds, thus I purge away,

Whatsoever this great day,

Or the past hours gave not good,

To corrupt your Maiden blood:

From the high rebellious heat

Of the Grapes, and strength of meat;

From the wanton quick desires,

They do kindle by their fires,

I do wash you with this water,

Be you pure and fair hereafter.

From your Liver and your Veins,

Thus I take away the stains.

All your thoughts be smooth and fair,

Be ye fresh and free as Air.

Never more let lustful heat

Through your purged conduits beat,

Or a plighted troth be broken,

Or a wanton verse be spoken

In a Shepherdesses ear;

Go your wayes, ye are all clear.

                     [They rise and sing in praise of Pan.

Sing his praises that doth keep

  Our Flocks from harm,

Pan the Father of our Sheep,

  And arm in arm

Tread we softly in a round,

Whilest the hollow neighbouring ground

Fills the Musick with her sound.

Pan, O great God Pan, to thee

  Thus do we sing:

Thou that keep'st us chaste and free

  As the young spring,

Ever be thy honour spoke,

From that place the morn is broke,

To that place Day doth unyoke.

               [Exeunt omnes but Perigot and Amoret.

Peri. Stay gentle Amoret, thou fair brow'd Maid,

Thy Shepherd prays thee stay, that holds thee dear,

Equal with his souls good.

Amo. Speak; I give

Thee freedom Shepherd, and thy tongue be still

The same it ever was; as free from ill,

As he whose conversation never knew

The Court or City be thou ever true.

Peri. When I fall off from my affection,

Or mingle my clean thoughts with foul desires,

First let our great God cease to keep my flocks,

That being left alone without a guard,

The Wolf, or Winters rage, Summers great heat,

And want of Water, Rots; or what to us

Of ill is yet unknown, full speedily,

And in their general ruine let me feel.

Amo. I pray thee gentle Shepherd wish not so,

I do believe thee: 'tis as hard for me

To think thee false, and harder than for thee

To hold me foul.

Peri. O you are fairer far

Than the chaste blushing morn, or that fair star

That guides the wandring Sea-men through the deep,

Straighter than straightest Pine upon the steep

Head of an aged mountain, and more white

Than the new Milk we strip before day-light

From the full fraighted bags of our fair flocks:

Your hair more beauteous than those hanging locks

Of young Apollo.

Amo. Shepherd be not lost,

Y'are sail'd too far already from the Coast

Of our discourse.

Peri. Did you not tell me once

I should not love alone, I should not lose

Those many passions, vows, and holy Oaths,

I've sent to Heaven? did you not give your hand,

Even that fair hand in hostage? Do not then

Give back again those sweets to other men,

You your self vow'd were mine.

Amo. Shepherd, so far as Maidens modesty

May give assurance, I am once more thine,

Once more I give my hand; be ever free

From that great foe to faith, foul jealousie.

Peri. I take it as my best good, and desire

For stronger confirmation of our love,

To meet this happy night in that fair Grove,

Where all true Shepherds have rewarded been

For their long service: say sweet, shall it hold?

Amo. Dear friend, you must not blame me if I make

A doubt of what the silent night may do,

Coupled with this dayes heat to move your bloud:

Maids must be fearful; sure you have not been

Wash'd white enough; for yet I see a stain

Stick in your Liver, go and purge again.

Peri. O do not wrong my honest simple truth,

My self and my affections are as pure

As those chaste flames that burn before the shrine

Of the great Dian: only my intent

To draw you thither, was to plight our troths,

With enterchange of mutual chaste embraces,

And ceremonious tying of our selves:

For to that holy wood is consecrate

A vertuous well, about whose flowry banks,

The nimble-footed Fairies dance their rounds,

By the pale moon-shine, dipping oftentimes

Their stolen Children, so to make them free

From dying flesh, and dull mortalitie;

By this fair Fount hath many a Shepherd sworn,

And given away his freedom, many a troth

Been plight, which neither envy, nor old time

Could ever break, with many a chaste kiss given,

In hope of coming happiness; by this

Fresh Fountain many a blushing Maid

Hath crown'd the head of her long loved Shepherd

With gaudy flowers, whilest he happy sung

Layes of his love and dear Captivitie;

There grows all Herbs fit to cool looser flames

Our sensual parts provoke, chiding our bloods,

And quenching by their power those hidden sparks

That else would break out, and provoke our sense

To open fires, so vertuous is that place:

Then gentle Shepherdess, believe and grant,

In troth it fits not with that face to scant

Your faithful Shepherd of those chaste desires

He ever aim'd at, and—

Amo. Thou hast prevail'd, farewel, this coming night

Shall crown thy chast hopes with long wish'd delight.

Peri. Our great god Pan reward thee for that good

Thou hast given thy poor Shepherd: fairest Bud

Of Maiden Vertues, when I leave to be

The true Admirer of thy Chastitie,

Let me deserve the hot polluted Name

Of the wild Woodman, or affect: some Dame,

Whose often Prostitution hath begot

More foul Diseases, than ever yet the hot

Sun bred through his burnings, whilst the Dog

Pursues the raging Lion, throwing Fog,

And deadly Vapour from his angry Breath,

Filling the lower World with Plague and Death. [Ex. Am.

Ama. Shepherd, may I desire to be believ'd,

What I shall blushing tell?

Peri. Fair Maid, you may.

Am. Then softly thus, I love thee, Perigot,

And would be gladder to be lov'd again,

Than the cold Earth is in his frozen arms

To clip the wanton Spring: nay do not start,

Nor wonder that I woo thee, thou that art

The prime of our young Grooms, even the top

Of all our lusty Shepherds! what dull eye

That never was acquainted with desire,

Hath seen thee wrastle, run, or cast the Stone

With nimble strength and fair delivery,

And hath not sparkled fire, and speedily

Sent secret heat to all the neighbouring Veins?

Who ever heard thee sing, that brought again

That freedom back, was lent unto thy Voice;

Then do not blame me (Shepherd) if I be

One to be numbred in this Companie,

Since none that ever saw thee yet, were free.

Peri. Fair Shepherdess, much pity I can lend

To your Complaints: but sure I shall not love:

All that is mine, my self, and my best hopes

Are given already; do not love him then

That cannot love again: on other men

Bestow those heats more free, that may return

You fire for fire, and in one flame equal burn.

Ama. Shall I rewarded be so slenderly

For my affection, most unkind of men!

If I were old, or had agreed with Art

To give another Nature to my Cheeks,

Or were I common Mistress to the love

Of every Swain, or could I with such ease

Call back my Love, as many a Wanton doth;

Thou might'st refuse me, Shepherd; but to thee

I am only fixt and set, let it not be

A Sport, thou gentle Shepherd to abuse

The love of silly Maid.

Peri. Fair Soul, ye use

These words to little end: for know, I may

Better call back that time was Yesterday,

Or stay the coming Night, than bring my Love

Home to my self again, or recreant prove.

I will no longer hold you with delays,

This present night I have appointed been

To meet that chaste Fair (that enjoys my Soul)

In yonder Grove, there to make up our Loves.

Be not deceiv'd no longer, chuse again,

These neighbouring Plains have many a comely Swain,

Fresher, and freer far than I e'r was,

Bestow that love on them, and let me pass.

Farewel, be happy in a better Choice. [Exit.

Ama. Cruel, thou hast struck me deader with thy Voice

Than if the angry Heavens with their quick flames

Had shot me through: I must not leave to love,

I cannot, no I must enjoy thee, Boy,

Though the great dangers 'twixt my hopes and that

Be infinite: there is a Shepherd dwells

Down by the Moor, whose life hath ever shown

More sullen Discontent than Saturns Brow,

When he sits frowning on the Births of Men:

One that doth wear himself away in loneness;

And never joys unless it be in breaking

The holy plighted troths of mutual Souls:

One that lusts after [every] several Beauty,

But never yet was known to love or like,

Were the face fairer, or more full of truth,

Than Phoebe in her fulness, or the youth

Of smooth Lyaeus; whose nigh starved flocks

Are always scabby, and infect all Sheep

They feed withal; whose Lambs are ever last,

And dye before their waining, and whose Dog

Looks like his Master, lean, and full of scurf,

Not caring for the Pipe or Whistle: this man may

(If he be well wrought) do a deed of wonder,

Forcing me passage to my long desires:

And here he comes, as fitly to my purpose,

As my quick thoughts could wish for.

Shep. Fresh Beauty, let me not be thought uncivil,

Thus to be Partner of your loneness: 'twas

My Love (that ever working passion) drew

Me to this place to seek some remedy

For my sick Soul: be not unkind and fair,

For such the mighty Cupid in his doom

Hath sworn to be aveng'd on; then give room

To my consuming Fires, that so I may

Enjoy my long Desires, and so allay

Those flames that else would burn my life away.

Ama. Shepherd, were I but sure thy heart were sound

As thy words seem to be, means might be found

To cure thee of thy long pains; for to me

That heavy youth-consuming Miserie

The love-sick Soul endures, never was pleasing;

I could be well content with the quick easing

Of thee, and thy hot fires, might it procure

Thy faith and farther service to be sure.

Shep. Name but that great work, danger, or what can

Be compass'd by the Wit or Art of Man,

And if I fail in my performance, may

I never more kneel to the rising Day.

Ama. Then thus I try thee, Shepherd, this same night,

That now comes stealing on, a gentle pair

Have promis'd equal Love, and do appoint

To make yon Wood the place where hands and hearts

Are to be ty'd for ever: break their meeting

And their strong Faith, and I am ever thine.

Shep. Tell me their Names, and if I do not move

(By my great power) the Centre of their Love

From his fixt being, let me never more

Warm me by those fair Eyes I thus adore.

Ama. Come, as we go, I'll tell thee what they are,

And give thee fit directions for thy work. [Exeunt.

Cloe. How have I wrong'd the times, or men, that thus

After this holy Feast I pass unknown

And unsaluted? 'twas not wont to be

Thus frozen with the younger companie

Of jolly Shepherds; 'twas not then held good,

For lusty Grooms to mix their quicker blood

With that dull humour, most unfit to be

The friend of man, cold and dull Chastitie.

Sure I am held not fair, or am too old,

Or else not free enough, or from my fold

Drive not a flock sufficient great, to gain

The greedy eyes of wealth-alluring Swain:

Yet if I may believe what others say,

My face has soil enough; nor can they lay

Justly too strict a Coyness to my Charge;

My Flocks are many, and the Downs as large

They feed upon: then let it ever be

Their Coldness, not my Virgin Modestie

Makes me complain.

The. Was ever Man but I

Thus truly taken with uncertainty?

Where shall that Man be found that loves a mind

Made up in Constancy, and dare not find

His Love rewarded? here let all men know

A Wretch that lives to love his Mistress so.

Clo. Shepherd, I pray thee stay, where hast thou been?

Or whither go'st thou? here be Woods as green

As any, air likewise as fresh and sweet,

As where smooth Zephyrus plays on the fleet

Face of the curled Streams, with Flowers as many

As the young Spring gives, and as choise as any;

Here be all new Delights, cool Streams and Wells,

Arbors o'rgrown with Woodbinds, Caves, and Dells,

Chase where thou wilt, whilst I sit by, and sing,

Or gather Rushes to make many a Ring

For thy long fingers; tell thee tales of Love,

How the pale Phoebe hunting in a Grove,

First saw the Boy Endymion, from whose Eyes

She took eternal fire that never dyes;

How she convey'd him softly in a sleep,

His temples bound with poppy to the steep

Head of old Latmus, where she stoops each night,

Gilding the Mountain with her Brothers light,

To kiss her sweetest.

The. Far from me are these

Hot flashes, bred from wanton heat and ease;

I have forgot what love and loving meant:

Rhimes, Songs, and merry Rounds, that oft are sent

To the soft Ears of Maids, are strange to me;

Only I live t' admire a Chastitie,

That neither pleasing Age, smooth tongue, or Gold,

Could ever break upon, so pure a Mold

Is that her Mind was cast in; 'tis to her

I only am reserv'd; she is my form I stir

By, breath and move, 'tis she and only she

Can make me happy, or give miserie.

Clo. Good Shepherd, may a Stranger crave to know

To whom this dear observance you do ow?

The. You may, and by her Vertue learn to square

And level out your Life; for to be fair

And nothing vertuous, only fits the Eye

Of gaudy Youth, and swelling Vanitie.

Then know, she's call'd the Virgin of the Grove,

She that hath long since bury'd her chaste Love,

And now lives by his Grave, for whose dear Soul

She hath vow'd her self into the holy Roll

Of strict Virginity; 'tis her I so admire,

Not any looser Blood, or new desire.

Clo. Farewel poor Swain, thou art not for my bend,

I must have quicker Souls, whose works may tend

To some free action: give me him dare love

At first encounter, and as soon dare prove.

  Come Shepherds, come,

Come away without delay

Whilst the gentle time dot[h] stay.

  Green Woods are dumb,

And will never tell to any

Those dear Kisses, and those many

Sweet Embraces that are given

Dainty Pleasures that would even

Raise in coldest Age a fire,

And give Virgin Blood desire,

    Then if ever,

    Now or never,

    Come and have it,

    Think not I,

    Dare deny,

    If you crave it.

Here comes another: better be my speed,

Thou god of Blood: but certain, if I read

Not false, this is that modest Shepherd, he

That only dare salute, but ne'r could be

Brought to kiss any, hold discourse, or sing,

Whisper, or boldly ask that wished thing

We all are born for; one that makes loving Faces,

And could be well content to covet Graces,

Were they not got by boldness; in this thing

My hopes are frozen; and but Fate doth bring

Him hither, I would sooner chuse

A Man made out of Snow, and freer use

An Eunuch to my ends: but since he's here,

Thus I attempt him. Thou of men most dear,

Welcome to her, that only for thy sake,

Hath been content to live: here boldly take

My hand in pledg, this hand, that never yet

Was given away to any: and but sit

Down on this rushy Bank, whilst I go pull

Fresh Blossoms from the Boughs, or quickly cull

The choicest delicates from yonder Mead,

To make thee Chains, or Chaplets, or to spread

Under our fainting Bodies, when delight

Shall lock up all our senses. How the sight

Of those smooth rising Cheeks renew the story

Of young Adonis, when in Pride and Glory

He lay infolded 'twixt the beating arms

Of willing Venus: methinks stronger Charms

Dwell in those speaking eyes, and on that brow

More sweetness than the Painters can allow

To their best pieces: not Narcissus, he

That wept himself away in memorie

Of his own Beauty, nor Silvanus Boy,

Nor the twice ravish'd Maid, for whom old Troy

Fell by the hand of Pirrhus, may to thee

Be otherwise compar'd, than some dead Tree

To a young fruitful Olive.

Daph. I can love, But I am loth to say so, lest I prove

Too soon unhappy.

Clo. Happy thou would'st say,

My dearest Daphnis, blush not, if the day

To thee and thy soft heats be enemie,

Then take the coming Night, fair youth 'tis free

To all the World, Shepherd, I'll meet thee then

When darkness hath shut up the eyes of men,

In yonder Grove: speak, shall our Meeting hold?

Indeed you are too bashful, be more bold,

And tell me I.

Daph. I'm content to say so,

And would be glad to meet, might I but pray so

Much from your Fairness, that you would be true.

Clo. Shepherd, thou hast thy Wish.

Daph. Fresh Maid, adieu:

Yet one word more, since you have drawn me on

To come this Night, fear not to meet alone

That man that will not offer to be ill,

Though your bright self would ask it, for his fill

Of this Worlds goodness: do not fear him then,

But keep your 'pointed time; let other men

Set up their Bloods to sale, mine shall be ever

Fair as the Soul it carries, and unchast never. [Exit.

Clo. Yet am I poorer than I was before.

Is it not strange, among so many a score

Of lusty Bloods, I should pick out these things

Whose Veins like a dull River far from Springs,

Is still the same, slow, heavy, and unfit

For stream or motion, though the strong winds hit

With their continual power upon his sides?

O happy be your names that have been brides,

And tasted those rare sweets for which I pine:

And far more heavy be thy grief and time,

Thou lazie swain, that maist relieve my needs,

Than his, upon whose liver alwayes feeds

A hungry vultur.

Ale. Can such beauty be

Safe in his own guard, and not draw the eye

Of him that passeth on, to greedy gaze,

Or covetous desire, whilst in a maze

The better part contemplates, giving rein

And wished freedom to the labouring vein?

Fairest and whitest, may I crave to know

The cause of your retirement, why ye goe

Thus all alone? methinks the downs are sweeter,

And the young company of swains far meeter,

Than those forsaken and untroden places.

Give not your self to loneness, and those graces

Hid from the eyes of men, that were intended

To live amongst us swains.

Cloe. Thou art befriended,

Shepherd, in all my life I have not seen

A man in whom greater contents have been

Than thou thy self art: I could tell thee more,

Were there but any hope left to restore

My freedom lost. O lend me all thy red,

Thou shamefast morning, when from Tithons bed

Thou risest ever maiden.

Alex. If for me,

Thou sweetest of all sweets, these flashes be,

Speak and be satisfied. O guide her tongue,

My better angel; force my name among

Her modest thoughts, that the first word may be—

Cloe. Alexis, when the sun shall kiss the Sea,

Taking his rest by the white Thetis side,

Meet in the holy wood, where I'le abide

Thy coming, Shepherd.

Alex. If I stay behind,

An everlasting dulness, and the wind,

That as he passeth by shuts up the stream

Of Rhine or Volga, whilst the suns hot beam

Beats back again, seise me, and let me turn

To coldness more than ice: oh how I burn

And rise in youth and fire! I dare not stay.

Cloe. My name shall be your word.

Alex. Fly, fly thou day. [Exit.

Cloe. My grief is great if both these boyes should fail:

He that will use all winds must shift his sail. [Exit.