Читать книгу The Faithful Shepherdess - Beaumont Francis - Страница 2

Priest. O Shepherds all, and maidens fair,

Fold your flocks up, for the Air

'Gins to thicken, and the sun

Already his great course hath run.

See the dew-drops how they kiss

Every little flower that is:

Hanging on their velvet heads,

Like a rope of crystal beads.

See the heavy clouds low falling,

And bright Hesperus down calling

The dead night from under ground,

At whose rising mists unsound,

Damps, and vapours fly apace,

Hovering o're the wanton face

Of these pastures, where they come,

Striking dead both bud and bloom;

Therefore from such danger lock

Every one his loved flock,

And let your Dogs lye loose without,

Lest the Wolf come as a scout

From the mountain, and e're day

Bear a Lamb or kid away,

Or the crafty theevish Fox,

Break upon your simple flocks:

To secure your selves from these,

Be not too secure in ease;

Let one eye his watches keep,

Whilst the t'other eye doth sleep;

So you shall good Shepherds prove,

And for ever hold the love

Of our great god. Sweetest slumbers

And soft silence fall in numbers

On your eye-lids: so farewel,

Thus I end my evenings knel. [Exeunt.

Clor. Now let me know what my best Art hath done,

Helpt by the great power of the vertuous moon

In her full light; O you sons of Earth,

You only brood, unto whose happy birth

Vertue was given, holding more of nature

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, long before prime

Of day; give me your names, and next your hidden power.

This is the Clote bearing a yellow flower,

And this black Horehound, both are very good

For sheep or Shepherd, bitten by a wood-

Dogs venom'd tooth; these Ramuns branches are,

Which stuck in entries, or about the bar

That holds the door fast, kill all inchantments, charms,

Were they Medeas verses that doe harms

To men or cattel; these for frenzy be

A speedy and a soveraign remedie,

The bitter Wormwood, Sage, and Marigold,

Such sympathy with mans good they do hold;

This Tormentil, whose vertue is to part

All deadly killing poyson from the heart;

And here Narcissus roots for swellings be:

Yellow Lysimacus, to give sweet rest

To the faint Shepherd, killing where it comes

All busie gnats, and every fly that hums:

For leprosie, Darnel, and Sellondine,

With Calamint, whose vertues do refine

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, from me and mine

I banish thee, with lustful Turpentine,

You that intice the veins and stir the heat

To civil mutiny, scaling the seat

Our reason moves in, and deluding it

With dreams and wanton fancies, till the fit

Of burning lust be quencht; by appetite,

Robbing the soul of blessedness and light:

And thou light Varvin too, thou must go after,

Provoking easie souls to mirth and laughter;

No more shall I dip thee in water now,

And sprinkle every post, and every bough

With thy well pleasing juyce, to make the grooms

Swell with high mirth, as with joy all the rooms.

The. This is the Cabin where the best of all

Her Sex, that ever breath'd, or ever shall

Give heat or happiness to the Shepherds 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 face

Of all the world, making the blue Sea smile,

To see how cunningly thou dost beguile

Thy Brother of his brightness, giving day

Again from Chaos, whiter than that way

That leads to Joves high Court, and chaster far

Than chastity it self, yon blessed star

That nightly shines: Thou, all the constancie

That in all women was, or e're shall be,

From whose fair eye-balls flyes that holy fire,

That Poets stile the Mother of desire,

Infusing into every gentle brest

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.

Clor. Shepherd, how cam'st thou hither to this place?

No way is troden, all the verdant grass

The spring shot up, stands yet unbruised here

Of any foot, only the dapled Deer

Far from the feared sound of crooked horn

Dwels in this fastness.

Th. Chaster than the morn,

I have not wandred, or by strong illusion

Into this vertuous place have made intrusion:

But hither am I come (believe me fair)

To seek you out, of whose great good the air

Is full, and strongly labours, whilst the sound

Breaks against Heaven, and drives into a stound

The amazed Shepherd, that such vertue can

Be resident in lesser than a man.

Clor. If any art I have, or hidden skill

May cure thee of disease or festred ill,

Whose grief or greenness to anothers eye

May seem impossible of remedy,

I dare yet undertake it.

The. 'Tis no pain

I suffer through disease, no beating vein

Conveyes infection dangerous to the heart,

No part impostum'd to be cur'd by Art,

This body holds; and yet a feller grief

Than ever skilfull hand did give relief

Dwells on my soul, and may be heal'd by you,

Fair beauteous Virgin.

Clor. Then Shepherd, let me sue

To know thy grief; that man yet never knew

The way to health, that durst not shew his sore.

Then. Then fairest, know, I love you.

C[l]or. Swain, no more,

Thou hast abus'd the strictness of this place,

And offred 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.

Then. Let me not (Thou all perfection) merit such a blot

For my true zealous faith.

Clor. Dar'st thou abide

To see this holy Earth at once divide

And give her body up? for sure it will,

If thou pursu'st with wanton flames to fill

This hallowed place; therefore repent and goe,

Whilst I with praise appease his Ghost below,

That else would tell thee what it were to be

A rival in that vertuous love that he

Imbraces yet.

Then. 'Tis 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 beguile

The easie soul, your hands and fingers long

With veins inamel'd richly, nor your tongue,

Though it spoke sweeter than Arions Harp,

Your hair wove into many a curious warp,

Able in endless errour to infold

The wandring soul, nor the true perfect mould

Of all your body, which as pure doth show

In Maiden whiteness as the Alpsian snow.

All these, were but your constancie away,

Would please me less than a black stormy day

The wretched Seaman toyling through the deep.

But whilst this honour'd strictness you dare keep,

Though all the plagues that e're begotten were

In the great womb of air, were setled here,

In opposition, I would, like the tree,

Shake off those drops of weakness, and be free

Even in the arm of danger.

Clor. Wouldst thou have

Me raise again (fond man) from silent grave,

Those sparks that long agoe were buried here,

With my dead friends cold ashes?

Then. 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 ye, and be still

The same Opinion speaks ye; let not will,

And that great god of women, appetite,

Set up your blood again; do not invite

Desire and fancie from their long exile,

To set them once more in a pleasing smile:

Be like a rock made firmly up 'gainst all

The power of angry Heaven, or the strong fall

Of Neptunes battery; if ye yield, I die

To all affection; 'tis that loyaltie

Ye tie unto this grave I so admire;

And yet there's something else I would desire,

If you would hear me, but withall deny.

O 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.

Clor. Doe, let time wear out

What Art and Nature cannot bring about.

Then. Farewel thou soul of vertue, and be blest

For ever, whilst that here I wretched rest

Thus to my self; yet grant me leave to dwell

In kenning of this Arbor; yon same dell

O'retopt with morning Cypress and sad Yew

Shall be my Cabin, where I'le early rew,

Before the Sun hath kist this dew away,

The hard uncertain chance which Fate doth lay

Upon this head.

Clor. The gods give quick release

And happy cure unto thy hard disease. [Exeunt.

Sullen. I do not love this wench that I should meet,

For ne'r did my unconstant eye yet greet

That beauty, were it sweeter or more fair,

Than the new blossoms, when the morning air

Blows gently on the[m], or the breaking light,

When many maiden blushes to our sight

Shoot from his early face: were all these set

In some neat form before me, 'twould not get

The least love from me; some desire it might,

Or present burning: all to me in sight

Are equal, be they fair, or black, or brown,

Virgin, or careless wanton, I can crown

My appetite with any; swear as oft

And weep, as any, melt my words as soft

Into a maiden[s] ears, and tell how long

My heart has been her servant, and how strong

My passions are: call her unkind and cruel,

Offer her all I have to gain the Jewel

Maidens so highly prize: then loath, and fly:

This do I hold a blessed destiny.

Amar. Hail Shepherd, Pan bless both thy flock and thee,

For being mindful of thy word to me.

Sul. Welcom fair Shepherdess, thy loving swain

Gives thee the self same wishes back again,

Who till this present hour ne're knew that eye,

Could make me cross mine arms, or daily dye

With fresh consumings: boldly tell me then,

How shall we part their faithful loves, and when?

Shall I bely him to her, shall I swear

His faith is false, and he loves every where?

I'le say he mockt her th' other day to you,

Which will by your confirming shew as true,

For he is of so pure an honesty,

To think (because he will not) none will lye:

Or else to him I'le slander Amoret,

And say, she but seems chaste; I'le swear she met

Me 'mongst the shady Sycamores last night

And loosely offred up her flame and spright