Chapter III: Part 3

_Seneca_. What meanes your mourning, this ungrateful sorrow? Where are your precepts of _Philosophie_, Where our prepared resolution So many yeeres fore-studied against danger? To whom is _Neroes_ cruelty unknowne, Or what remained after mothers blood But his instructors death? Leave, leave these teares; Death from me nothing takes but what's a burthen, A clog to that free sparke of Heavenly fire. But that in _Seneca_ the which you lov'd, Which you admir'd, doth and shall still remaine, Secure of death, untouched of the grave.

1 _Friend_. Weele not belie our teares; we waile not thee, It is our selves and our owne losse we grieve: To thee what losse in such a change can bee? Vertue is paid her due by death alone. To our owne losses do we give these teares, That loose thy love, thy boundlesse knowledge loose, Loose the unpatternd sample of thy vertue, Loose whatsoev'r may praise or sorrow move. In all these losses yet of this we glory, That 'tis thy happinesse that makes us sorry.

2 _Friend_. If there be any place for Ghosts of good men, If (as we have bin long taught) great mens soules Consume not with their bodies, thou shalt see (Looking from out the dwellings of the ayre) True duties to thy memorie perform'd; Not in the outward pompe of funerall, But in remembrance of thy deeds and words, The oft recalling of thy many vertues. The Tombe that shall th'eternall relickes keepe Of _Seneca_ shall be his hearers hearts.

_Seneca_. Be not afraid, my soule; goe cheerefully To thy owne Heaven, from whence it first let downe. Thou loathly[82] this imprisoning flesh putst on; Now, lifted up, thou ravisht shalt behold The truth of things at which we wonder here, And foolishly doe wrangle on beneath; And like a God shalt walk the spacious ayre, And see what even to conceit's deni'd. Great soule oth' world, that through the parts defus'd Of this vast All, guid'st what thou dost informe; You blessed mindes that from the _[S]pheares_ you move, Looke on mens actions not with idle eyes, And Gods we goe to, aid me in this strife And combat of my flesh that, ending, I May still shew _Seneca_ and my selfe die.

[_Exeunt_.

(SCENE 7.)

_Enter Antonius, Enanthe_.

_Anton_. Sure this message of the Princes, So grievous and unlookt for, will appall _Petronius_ much.

_Enan_. Will not death any man?

_Anton_. It will; but him so much the more That, having liv'd to his pleasure, shall forgoe So delicate a life. I doe not marvell[83] That _Seneca_ and such sowre fellowes can Leave that they never tasted, but when we That have the _Nectar_ of thy kisses felt, That drinkes away the troubles of this life, And but one banquet make[s] of forty yeeres, Must come to leave this;--but, soft, here he is.

_Enter Petronius and a Centurion_.

_Petron_. Leave me a while, _Centurion_, to my friends; Let me my farewell take, and thou shalt see _Neroes_ commandement quickly obaid in mee. [_Ex. Centur_. --Come, let us drinke and dash the posts with wine! Here throw your flowers; fill me a swelling bowle Such as _Mecenas_ or my _Lucan_ dranke On _Virgills_ birth day.[84]

_Enan_. What meanes, _Petronius_, this unseasonable And causelesse mirth? Why, comes not from the Prince This man to you a messenger of death?

_Petron_. Here, faire _Enanthe_, whose plumpe, ruddy cheeke Exceeds the grape!--It makes this[85]--here, my geyrle. (_He drinks_.) --And thinkst thou death a matter of such harme? Why, he must have this pretty dimpling chin, And will pecke out those eyes that now so wound.

_Enan_. Why, is it not th'extreamest of all ills?

_Petron_. It is indeed the last and end of ills. The Gods, before th'would let us tast deaths Ioyes, Plact us ith' toyle and sorrowes of this world, Because we should perceive th'amends and thanke them; Death, the grim knave, but leades you to the doore Where, entred once, all curious pleasures come To meete and welcome you. A troope of beauteous Ladies, from whose eyes Love thousand arrows, thousand graces shootes, Puts forth theire fair hands to you and invites To their greene arbours and close shadowed walkes,[86] Whence banisht is the roughness of our yeeres! Onely the west wind blowes, its[87] ever Spring And ever Sommer. There the laden bowes Offer their tempting burdens to your hand, Doubtful your eye or tast inviting more. There every man his owne desires enioyes; Fair _Lucrese_ lies by lusty _Tarquins_ side, And woes him now againe to ravish her. Nor us, though _Romane, Lais_ will refuse; To _Corinth_[88] any man may goe; no maske, No envious garment doth those beauties hide, Which Nature made so moving to be spide. But in bright Christall, which doth supply all, And white transparent vailes they are attyr'd, Through which the pure snow underneath doth shine; (Can it be snowe from whence such flames arise?) Mingled with that faire company shall we On bankes of _Violets_ and of _Hiacinths_, Of loves devising, sit and gently sport; And all the while melodious Musique heare, And Poets songs that Musique farre exceed, The old _Anaiccan_[89] crown'd with smiling flowers, And amorous _Sapho_ on her Lesbian Lute Beauties sweet Scarres and Cupids godhead sing.

_Anton_. What? be not ravisht with thy fancies; doe not Court nothing, nor make love unto our feares.

_Petron_. Is't nothing that I say?

_Anton_. But empty words.

_Petron_. Why, thou requir'st some instance of the eye. Wilt thou goe with me, then, and see that world Which either will returne thy old delights, Or square thy appetite anew to theirs?

_Anton_. Nay, I had rather farre believe thee here; Others ambition such discoveries seeke. Faith, I am satisfied with the base delights Of common men. A wench, a house I have, And of my own a garden: Ile not change For all your walkes and ladies and rare fruits.

_Petron_. Your pleasures must of force resign to these: In vaine you shun the sword, in vaine the sea, In vaine is _Nero_ fear'd or flattered. Hether you must and leave your purchast houses, Your new made garden and your black browd wife, And of the trees thou hast so quaintly set, Not one but the displeasant Cipresse shall Goe with thee.[90]

_Anton_. Faith 'tis true, we must at length; But yet, _Petronius_, while we may awhile We would enjoy them; those we have w'are sure of, When that thou talke of's doubtful and to come.

_Petron_. Perhaps thou thinkst to live yet twenty yeeres, Which may unlookt for be cut off, as mine; If not, to endlesse time compar'd is nothing. What you endure must ever, endure now; Nor stay not to be last at table set. Each best day of our life at first doth goe, To them succeeds diseased age and woe; Now die your pleasures, and the dayes you[91] pray Your rimes and loves and jests will take away. Therefore, my sweet, yet thou wilt goe with mee, And not live here to what thou wouldst not see.

_Enan_. Would y'have me then [to] kill my selfe, and die, And goe I know not to what places there?

_Petron_. What places dost thou feare? Th'ill-favoured lake they tell thee thou must passe, And the[92] blacke frogs that croake about the brim?

_Enan_. O, pardon, Sir, though death affrights a woman, Whose pleasures though you timely here divine, The paines we know and see.

_Petron_. The paine is lifes; death rids that paine away. Come boldly, there's no danger in this foord; Children passe through it. If it be a paine You have this comfort that you past it are.

_Enan_. Yet all, as well as I, are loath to die.

_Petron_. Judge them by deed, you see them doe't apace.

_Enan_. I, but 'tis loathly and against their wils.

_Petron_. Yet know you not that any being dead Repented them and would have liv'd againe. They then there errors saw and foolish prayers, But you are blinded in the love of life; Death is but sweet to them that doe approach it. To me, as one that tak'n with _Delphick_ rage, When the divining God his breast doth fill, He sees what others cannot standing by, It seemes a beauteous and pleasant thing.-- Where is my deaths Phisitian?

_Phisi_. Here, my Lord.

_Petron_. Art ready?

_Phisi_. I, my Lord.

_Petron_. And I for thee: Nero, my end shall mocke thy tyranny.

[_Exeunt_.

_Finis Actus Quarti_.

_Actus Quintus_.

_Enter Nero, Nimphidius, Tigellinus, Neophilus,
Epaphroditus and other attendants_.

_Nero_. Enough is wept, _Poppaea_, for thy death, Enough is bled: so many teares of others Wailing their losses have wipt mine away. Who in the common funerall of the world Can mourne on[e] death?

_Tigell_. Besides, Your Maiestie this benefit In their diserved punishment shall reape, From all attempts hereafter to be freed. Conspiracy is how for ever dasht, Tumult supprest, rebellion out of heart; In _Pisoes_ death danger it selfe did die.

_Nimph_. _Piso_ that thought to climbe by bowing downe, By giving a way to thrive, and raising others To become great himselfe, hath now by death Given quiet to your thoughts and feare to theirs That shall from treason their advancement plot; Those dangerous heads that his ambition leand on; And they by it crept up and from their meannesse Thought in this stirre to rise aloft, are off. Now peace and safetie waite upon your throne; Securitie hath wall'd your seat about; There is no place for feare left.

_Nero_. Why, I never feard them.

_Nimph_. That was your fault: Your Maiestie might give us leave to blame Your dangerous courage and that noble soule To prodigall[93] of it selfe.

_Nero_. A Princes mind knowes neither feare nor hope: The beames of royall Maiestie are such As all eyes are with it amaz'd and weakened, But it with nothing. I at first contemn'd Their weak devises and faint enterprise. Why, thought they against him to have prevail'd Whose childhood was from _Messalinas_ spight By Dragons[94] (that the earth gave up), preserv'd? Such guard my cradle had, for fate had then Pointed me out to be what now I am. Should all the Legions and the provinces, In one united, against me conspire I could disperce them with one angry eye; My brow's an host of men. Come, _Tigellinus_, Let turne this bloody banquet _Piso_ meant us Into a merry feast; weele drink and challenge Fortune.--Whose that _Neophilus_?

_Enter a Roman_.

_Neoph_. A Currier from beyond the Alpes, my Lord.

_Nero_. Newes of some German victory, belike, Or Britton overthrow.

_Neoph_. The letters come from France.

_Nimph_. Why smiles your Maiestie?

_Nero_. So, I smile? I should be afraid; there's one In Armes, _Nimphidius_.

_Nimph_. What, arm'd against your Maiestie?

_Nero_. Our lieutenant of the Province, _Julius Vindex_.

_Tigell_. Who? that guiddy French-man?

_Nimph_. His Province is disarm'd, my Lord; he hath No legion nor a souldier under him.

_Epaphr_. One that by blood and rapine would repaire His state consum'd in vanities and lust.

_Enter another Roman_.

_Tigell_. He would not find out three to follow him.

_A Mess_. More newes, my Lord.

_Nero_. Is it of _Vindex_ that thou hast to say?

_Mess_. _Vindex_ is up and with him France in Armes; The Noblemen and people throng to th'cause; Money and Armour Cities doe conferre; The countrey doth send in provision; Young men bring bodies, old men lead them forth; Ladies doe coine their Iewels into pay; The sickle now is fram'd into a sword And drawing horses are to manage taught; France nothing doth but warre and fury breath.

_Nero_. All this fierce talk's but "Vindex doth rebell"; And I will hang him.

_Tigell_. How long came you forth after the other messenger?

_Mess_. Foure dayes, but by the benefit of sea and Weather am arrivd with him.

_Nimph_. How strong was _Vindex_ at your setting forth?

_Mess_. He was esteem'd a hundred thousand.

_Tigell_. Men enough.

_Nimph_. And souldiers few enough; Tumultuary troops, undisciplin'd, Untrain'd in service; to wast victuals good, But when they come to look on warres black wounds, And but afarre off see the face of death--

_Nero_. It falles out for my empty coffers well, The spoyle of such a large and goodly Province Enricht with trade and long enioyed peace.

_Tigell_. What order will your Maiestie have taken For levying forces to suppresse this stirre?

_Nero_. What order should we take? weele laugh and drinke. Thinkst thou it fit my pleasures be disturb'd When any French-man list to breake his necke! They have not heard of _Pisoes_ fortune yet; Let that Tale fight with them.

_Nimph_. What order needs? Your Maiestie shal finde This French heat quickly of it selfe grow cold.

_Nero_. Come away: Nothing shall come that this nights sport shall stay.

[_Ex. Ner. Nimph. Tig. and attendants_.

_Mane[n]t Neophilus, Epaphroditus_.

_Neoph_. I wonder what makes him so confident In this revolt now growne unto a warre, And ensignes in the field; when in the other, Being but a plot of a conspiracie, He shew'd himselfe so wretchedly dismaid?

_Epaphr_. Faith, the right nature of a coward to set light Dangers that seeme farre off. _Piso_ was here, Ready to enter at the Presence doore And dragge him out of his abused chaire; And then he trembled. _Vindex_ is in France, And many woods and seas and hills betweene.

_Neoph_. 'Twas strange that _Piso_ was so soone supprest.

_Epaphr_. Strange? strange indeed; for had he but come up And taken the Court in that affright and stirre While unresolv'd for whom or what to doe, Each on [of?] the other had in iealousie (While as apaled Maiestie not yet Had time to set the countenance), he would Have hazarded the royall seat.

_Neoph_. Nay, had it without hazard; all the Court Had for him bin and those disclos'd their love And favour in the cause, which now to hide And colour their good meanings ready were To shew their forwardnesse against it most.

_Epaphr_. But for a stranger with a naked province, Without allies or friends ith' state, to challenge A Prince upheld with thirty Legions, Rooted in foure discents of Ancestors And foureteene yeares continuance of raigne, Why it is--

_Enter Nero, Nimphidius, Tigellinus to them_.

_Nero_. Galba and Spaine? What? Spaine and Gal[b]a too?

[_Ex. Ner. Nimph_.

_Epaph_. I pray thee, _Tigellinus_, what furie's this? What strange event, what accident hath thus Orecast your countenances?

_Tigell_. Downe we were set at table and began With sparckling bowles to chase our feares away, And mirth and pleasure lookt out of our eyes; When, loe, a breathless messenger arrives And tells how _Vindex_ and the powers of France Have _Sergius Galba_ chosen Emperor; With what applause the Legions him receive; That Spaines revolted, Portingale hath ioyn'd; As much suspected is of Germany. But _Nero_, not abiding out the end, Orethrew the tables, dasht against the ground The cuppe which he so much, you know, esteem'd; Teareth his haire and with incensed rage Curseth false men and Gods the lookers on.

_Neoph_. His rage, we saw, was wild and desperate.

_Epaph_. O you unsearched wisedomes which doe laugh At our securitie and feares alike, And plaine to shew our weaknesse and your power Make us contemne the harmes which surest strike; When you our glories and our pride undoe Our overthrow you make ridiculous too.

[_Exeunt_.

(SCENE 2.)

_Enter Nimphidius solus_.

Slow making counsels and the sliding yeere Have brought me to the long foreseene destruction Of this misled young man. His State is shaken And I will push it on; revolted France Nor the coniured Provinces of Spaine Nor his owne guilt shall like to me oppresse him. I to his easie yeelding feares proclaime New German mutenys and all the world Rowsing it selfe in hate of _Neroes_ name; I his distracted counsels doe disperce With fresh despaires; I animate the Senate And the people, to ingage them past recall In preiudice of _Nero_: and in briefe Perish he must,--the fates and I resolve it. Which to effect I presently will goe Proclaime a _Donative_ in _Galbaes_ name.

_Enter Antoneus to him_.

_Anton_. Yonders _Nimphidius_, our Commander, now. I with respect must speake and smooth my brow. --Captaine, all haile.

_Nimph_. _Antoneus_, well met. Your place of _Tribune_ in this Anarchi.

_Anton_. This Anarchy, my Lord? is _Nero_ dead?

_Nimph_. This Anarchy, this yet unstiled time While Galba is unseased of the Empire Which _Nero_ hath forsooke.

_Anton_. Hath _Nero_ then resign'd the Empire?

_Nimph_. In effect he hath for he's fled to _Egypt_.

_Anton_. My Lord, you tell strange newes to me.

_Nimph_. But nothing strange to mee, Who every moment knew of his despaires. The Curriers came so fast with fresh alarmes Of new revolts that he, unable quite To beare his feares which he had long conceal'd, Is now revolted from himselfe and fled.

_Anton_. Thrust with report and rumours from his seat! My Lord, you know the Campe depends on you As you determine.

_Nimph_. There it lies _Antonius_. What should we doe? it boots not to relie On Neroes stinking fortunes; and to sit Securely looking on were to receive An Emperor from Spaine: which how disgracefull It were to us who, if we waigh our selves, The most materiall accessions are Of all the Roman Empire. Which disgrace To cover we must ioyne ourselves betimes, And therefore seeme to have created _Galba_. Therefore He straight proclaime a _Donative_ Of thirty thousand sesterces a man.

_Anton_. I thinke so great a gift was never heard of. _Galba_, they say, is frugally inclinde: Will he avow so great a gift as this?

_Nimph_. Howere he like of it he must avow it, If by our promise he be once ingaged; And since the souldiers care belongs to mee, I will have care of them and of their good. Let them thank me if I through this occasion Procure for them so great a donative. [_Ex. Nimph_.

_Anton_. So you be thankt it skils not who prevaile, _Galba_ or _Nero_,--traitor to them both. You give it out that _Neroes_ fled to _Egypt_, Who, with the frights of your reports amaz'd, By our device doth lurke for better newes, Whilst you inevitably doe betray him. Workes he all this for _Galba_ then? Not so: I have long seene his climbing to the Empire By secret practises of gracious women. And other instruments of the late Court. That was his love to her that me refus'd; And now by this he would [gain?] give the souldiers favour. Now is the time to quit _Poppaeas_ scorne And his rivallity. Ile straight reveale His treacheries to _Galbaes_ agents here. [_Exit_.

(SCENE 3.)

_Enter Tigellinus with the Guard_.

_Tigell_. You see what issue things doe sort unto; Yet may we hope not only impunitie But with our fellowes part oth' guift proclaim'd.

_Nero meets them_.

_Nero_. Whether goe you? stay, my friends; 'Tis Caesar calls you; stay, my loving friends.

_Tigell_. We were his slaves, his footstooles, and must crouch But now with such observance to his feet; It is his misery that calles us friends.

_Nero_. And moves you not the misery of a Prince? O stay, my friends, stay, harken to the voyce Which once yee knew.

_Tigell_. Harke to the peoples cryes, Harke to the streets that _Galba, Galba_, ring.

_Nero_. The people may forsake me without blame, I did them wrong to make you rich and great, I tooke their houses to bestow on you; Treason in them hath name of libertie: Your fault hath no excuse, you are my fault And the excuse of others treachery.

_Tigell_. Shall we with staying seeme his tyrannies T'uphold, as if we were in love with them? We are excus'd (unlesse we stay too long) As forced Ministers and a part of wrong.

[_Ex. praeter Nero_.

_Nero_. O now I see the vizard from my face, So lovely and so fearefull, is fall'n off, That vizard, shadow, nothing, Maiestie, Which, like a child acquainted with his feares, But now men trembled at and now contemne. _Nero_ forsaken is of all the world, The world of truth. O fall some vengeance downe Equall unto their falsehoods and my wrongs! Might I accept the Chariot of the Sunne And like another _Phaeton_ consume In flames of all the world, a pile of Death Worthy the state and greatnesse I have lost! Or were I now but Lord of my owne fires Wherein false Rome yet once againe might smoake And perish, all unpitied of her Gods, That all things in their last destruction might Performe a funerall honour to their Lord! O _Iove_ dissolve with _Caesar Caesars_ world; Or you whom _Nero_ rather should invoke, Blacke _Chaos_ and you fearefull shapes beneath, That with a long and not vaine envy have Sought to destroy this worke of th'other Gods; Now let your darknesse cease the spoyles of day, And the worlds first contention end your strife.

_Enter two Romanes to him_.

1 _Rom_. Though others, bound with greater benefits, Have left your changed fortunes and doe runne Whither new hopes doe call them, yet come we.

_Nero_. O welcome come you to adversitie; Welcome, true friends. Why, there is faith on earth; Of thousand servants, friends and followers, Yet two are left. Your countenance, me thinks, Gives comfort and new hopes.

2 _Rom_. Doe not deceive your thoughts: My Lord, we bring no comfort,--would we could,-- But the last duty to performe and best We ever shall, a free death to persuade, To cut off hopes of fearcer cruelty And scorne, more cruell to a worthy soule.

1 _Rom_. The Senate have decreed you're punishable After the fashion of our ancestors, Which is, your necke being locked in a forke, You must be naked whipt and scourg'd to death.

_Nero_. The Senate thus decreed? they that so oft My vertues flattered have and guifts of mine, My government preferr'd to ancient times, And challenge[d] _Numa_ to compare with me,-- Have they so horrible an end sought out? No, here I beare which shall prevent such shame; This hand shall yet from that deliver me, And faithfull be alone unto his Lord. Alasse, how sharp and terrible is death! O must I die, must now my senses close? For ever die, and nere returne againe, Never more see the Sunne, nor Heaven, nor Earth? Whither goe I? What shall I be anone? What horred iourney wandrest thou, my soule, Under th'earth in darke, dampe, duskie vaults? Or shall I now to nothing be resolv'd? My feares become my hopes; O would I might. Me thinkes I see the boyling _Phlegeton_ And the dull poole feared of them we feare, The dread and terror of the Gods themselves; The furies arm'd with linkes, with whippes, with snakes, And my owne furies farre more mad then they, My mother and those troopes of slaughtred friends. And now the Iudge is brought unto the throne, That will not leave unto Authoritie Nor favour the oppressions of the great!

1 _Rom_. These are the idle terrors of the night, Which wise men (though they teach) doe not beleeve, To curbe our pleasures faine[d] and aide the weake.

2 _Rom_. Deaths wrongfull defamation, which would make Us shunne this happy haven of our rest, This end of evils, as some fearefull harme.

1 _Rom_. Shadowes and fond imaginations, Which now (you see) on earth but children feare.

2 _Rom_. Why should our faults feare punishment from them? What doe the actions of this life concerne The tother world, with which is no commerce?

1 _Rom_. Would Heaven and Starres necessitie compell Us to doe that which after it would punish?

2 _Rom_. Let us not after our lives end beleeve More then you felt before it.

_Nero_. If any words had[95] made me confident And boldly doe for hearing others speake Boldly, this might.[96] But will you by example Teach me the truth of your opinion And make me see that you beleeve yourselves? Will you by dying teach me to beare death With courage?

1 _Rom_. No necessitie of death Hangs ore our heads, no dangers threaten us Nor Senates sharpe decree nor _Galbaes_ arms.

2 _Rom_. Is this the thankes, then, thou dost pay our love? Die basely as such a life deserv'd; Reserve thy selfe to punishment, and scorne Of Rome and of thy laughing enemies.

[_Exeunt_.

_Manet Nero_.

_Nero_. They hate me cause I would but live. What was't You lov'd, kind friends, and came to see my death? Let me endure all torture and reproach That earth or _Galbaes_ anger can inflict; Yet hell and _Rodamanth_ are more pittilesse.

_The first Romane to him_.

_Rom_. Though not deserv'd, yet once agen I come To warne thee to take pitie on thy selfe. The troopes by the Senate sent descend the hill And come.

_Nero_. To take me and to whip me unto death! O whither shall I flye?

_Rom_. Thou hast no choice.

_Nero_. O hither must I flye: hard is his happe Who from death onely must by death escape. Where are they yet? O may not I a little Bethinke my selfe?

_Rom_. They are at hand; harke, thou maist heare the noise.

_Nero_. O _Rome_, farewell! farewell, you Theaters Where I so oft with popular applause In song and action--O they come, I die. (_He falls on his sword_.)

_Rom_. So base an end all iust commiseration Doth take away: yet what we doe now spurne The morning Sunne saw fearefull to the world.

_Enter some of Galbaes friends, Antoneus and others,
with Nimphidius bound_.

_Gal_. You both shall die together, Traitors both He to the common wealth and thou to him And worse to a good Prince.--What? is he dead? Hath feare encourag'd him and made him thus Prevent our punishment? Then die with him: Fall thy aspiring at thy Master's feete. (_He kils Nimph_).

_Anton_. Who, though he iustly perisht, yet by thee Deserv'd it not; nor ended there thy treason, But even thought oth' Empire thou conceiv'st. _Galbaes_ disgrace[d] in receiving that Which the sonne of _Nimphidia_ could hope.

_Rom_. Thus great bad men above them find a rod: People, depart and say there is a God.

[_Exeunt_.

FINIS.

INTRODUCTION TO THE MAYDES METAMORPHOSIS.

The anonymous comedy of the _Maydes Metamorphosis_ (1600), usually attributed to Lilly, shews few traces of the mannerisms of the graceful but insipid Euphuist. It is just such a play as George Wither or William Browne might have written in very early youth. The writer was evidently an admirer of Spenser, and has succeeded in reproducing on his Pan-pipe some thin, but not unpleasing, echoes of his master's music. Mr. Edmund W. Gosse has suggested that the _Maydes Metamorphosis_ may be an early work of John Day; and no one is better able to pronounce on such a point than Mr. Gosse. The scene at the beginning of Act ii., and the gossip of the pages in Acts ii. and iii., are certainly very much in Day's manner. The merciless harrying of the word "kind" at the beginning of Act v. reminds one of similar elaborate trifling in _Humour out of Breath_; and the amoebaean rhymes in the contention between Gemulo and Silvio (Act i.) are, in their sportive quaintness, as like Day's handiwork as they are unlike Lilly's. In reading the pretty echo-scene, in Act iv., the reader will recall a similar scene in _Law Trickes_ (Act v., Sc. I). On the other hand, the delightful songs of the fairies[97] (in Act iii.), if not written by Lilly, were at least suggested by the fairies' song in _Endymion_. It would be hard to say what Lilly might not have achieved if he had not stultified himself by his detestable pedantry: his songs (_O si sic omnia_) are hardly to be matched for silvery sweetness.

Mr. Gosse thinks that the rhymed heroics, in which the _Maydes Metamorphosis_ is mainly written, bear strong traces of Day's style; and as Mr. Gosse, who is at once a poet and a critic, judges by his ear and not by his thumb, his opinion carries weight. Day's capital work, the _Parliament of Bees_, is incomparably more workmanlike than the _Maydes Metamorphosis_; but the latter, it should be remembered, is beyond all doubt a very juvenile performance. Turning over some old numbers of a magazine, I found a reviewer of Mr. Tennyson's _Princess_ complaining "that we could have borne rather more polish!" How the fledgling poet of the _Maydes Metamorphosis_ would have fared at the reviewer's hands I tremble to think. But though his rhymes are occasionally slipshod, and the general texture is undeniably thin, still there is something attractive in the young writer's shy tentativeness. The reader who comes to a perusal with the expectation of getting some substantial diet, will be grievously mistaken; but those who are content if they can catch and hold fast a fleeting flavour will not regret the half-hour spent in listening to the songs of the elves and the prattle of the pages in this quaint old pastoral.

THE MAYDES METAMORPHOSIS.

_As it hath bene sundrie times Acted by the Children of Powles_.

LONDON: Printed by _Thomas Creede_, for _Richard Oliue_, dwelling in long Lane. 1600.

_THE PROLOGUE.

The manifold, great favours we have found,
By you to us poore weaklings still extended;
Whereof your vertues have been only ground,
And no desert in us to be so friended;
Bindes us some way or other to expresse,
Though all our all be else defeated quite
Of any meanes save duteous thankefulnes,
Which is the utmost measure of our might:
Then, to the boundlesse ocean of your woorth
This little drop of water we present;
Where though it never can be singled foorth,
Let zeale be pleader for our good intent.
Drops not diminish but encrease great floods,
And mites impaire not but augment our goods_.

The Maydes Metamorphosis.

_Actus Primus_.

_Enter Phylander, Orestes, Eurymine_.

_Eurymine_. _Phylander_ and _Orestes_, what conceyt Troubles your silent mindes? Let me intreat, Since we are come thus farre, as we do walke You would deuise some prettie pleasant talke; The aire is coole, the euening high and faire: Why should your cloudie lookes then shew dispaire?

_Phy_. Beleeue me, faire _Eurimine_, my skill Is simple in discourse, and vtterance ill; _Orestes_, if he we were disposde to trie, Can better manage such affaires than I.

_Eu_. Why then, _Orestes_, let me crave of you Some olde or late done story to renew: Another time you shall request of me As good, if not a greater, curtesie.

_Or_. Trust me, as now (nor can I shew a reason) All mirth vnto my mind comes out of season; For inward I am troubled in such sort As all vnfit I am to make report Of any thing may breed the least delight; Rather in teares I wish the day were night, For neither can myself be merry now Nor treat of ought that may be likte of you.

_Eu_. Thats but your melancholike old disease, That neuer are disposde but when ye please.

_Phy_. Nay, mistresse, then, since he denies the taske, My selfe will strait complish what ye aske; And, though the pleasure of my tale be small, Yet may it serue to passe the time withall.

_Eu_. Thanks, good _Phylander_; when you please, say on: Better I deeme a bad discourse then none.

_Phy_. Sometime there liu'd a Duke not far from hence, Mightie in fame and vertues excellence; Subiects he had as readie to obey As he to rule, beloued eueryway; But that which most of all he gloried in (Hope of his age and comfort of his kin) Was the fruition of one onely sonne, A gallant youth, inferior vnto none For vertue shape or excellence of wit, That after him vpon his throne might sit. This youth, when once he came to perfect age, The Duke would faine have linckt in marriage With diuers dames of honourable blood But stil his fathers purpose he withstood.

_Eu_. How? was he not of mettal apt to loue?

_Phy_. Yes, apt enough as wil the sequel proue; But so the streame of his affection lay As he did leane a quite contrary way, Disprouing still the choice his father made, And oftentimes the matter had delaid; Now giuing hope he would at length consent, And then again excusing his intent.

_Eu_. What made him so repugnant in his deeds?

_Phy_. Another loue, which this disorder breeds; For euen at home, within his father's Court, The Saint was shrinde whom he did honor most; A louely dame, a virgin pure and chaste, And worthy of a Prince to be embrac'te, Had but her birth (which was obscure, they said) Answerd her beautie; this their opinion staid. Yet did this wilful youth affect her still And none but she was mistres of his will: Full often did his father him disswade From liking such a mean and low-born mayde; The more his father stroue to change his minde The more the sonne became with fancy blinde.

_Eu_. Alas, how sped the silly Louers then?

_Phy_. As might euen grieue the rude vnciuilst men: When here vpon to weane his fixed heart From such dishonour to his high desert The Duke had labourd but in vaine did striue, Thus he began his purpose to contriue: Two of his seruants, of vndoubted trvth, He bound by vertue of a solemne oath To traine the silly damzel out of sight And there in secret to bereaue her quite--

_Eu_. Of what? her life?

_Phy_. Yes, Madame, of her life, Which was the cause of all the former strife.

_Eu_. And did they kill her?

_Phy_. You shall heare anon; The question first must be discided on In your opinion: whats your iudgement? say. Who were most cruell, those that did obay Or he who gaue commandment for the fact?

_Eu_. In each of them it was a bloody act, Yet they deserue (to speake my minde of both) Most pardon that were bound thereto by oath.

_Phy_. It is enough; we do accept your doome To passe vnblam'd what ere of you become.

_Eu_. To passe vnblam'de what ere become of me! What may the meaning of these speeches be?

_Phy_. _Eurymine_, my trembling tongue doth faile, My conscience yrkes, my fainting sences quaile, My faltring speech bewraies my guiltie thought And stammers at the message we haue brought.

_Eu_. Ay me! what horror doth inuade my brest!

_Or_. Nay then, _Phylander_, I will tell the rest: Damzell, thus fares thy case; demand not why, You must forthwith prepare your selfe to dye; Therefore dispatch and set your mind at rest.

_Eu_. _Phylander_, is it true or doth he iest?

_Phy_. There is no remedie but you must dye: By you I framde my tragicke history. The Duke my maister is the man I meant, His sonne the Prince, the mayde of meane discent Your selfe, on whom _Ascanio_ so doth doate As for no reason may remoue his thought Your death the Duke determines by vs two, To end the loue betwixt his sonne and you; And for this cause we trainde you to this wood, Where you must sacrifice your dearest blood.

_Eu_. Respect my teares.

_Orest_. We must regard our oath.

_Eu_. My tender yeares.

_Or_. They are but trifles both.

_Eu_. Mine innocency.

_Or_. That would our promise breake; Dispatch forthwith, we may not heare you speake.

_Eu_. If neither teares nor innocency moue, Yet thinke there is a heavenly power aboue.

_Orest_. A done, and stand not preaching here all day.

_Eu_. Then, since there is no remedie, I pray Yet, good my masters, do but stay so long Till I haue tane my farewell with a song Of him whom I shall neuer see againe.

_Phy_. We will affoord that respit to your paine.

_Eu_. But least the feare of death appall my mind, Sweet gentlemen, let me this fauour find, That you wil vale mine eyesight with this scarfe; That, when the fatall stroke is aymde at me, I may not start but suffer patiently.

_Orest_. Agreed, giue me; Ile shadow ye from feare, If this may do it.

_Eu_. Oh, I would it might, But shadowes want the power to do that right.

_Shee sings_.

Ye sacred Fyres and powers aboue,
Forge of desires, working loue,
Cast downe your eye, cast downe your eye,
Vpon a Mayde in miserie.
My sacrifice is louers blood,
And from eyes salt teares a flood;
All which I spend, all which I spend,
For thee, _Ascanio_, my deare friend:
And though this houre I must feele
The bitter power of pricking steele,
Yet ill or well, yet ill or well,
To thee, _Ascanio_, still farewell.

_Orestes offers to strike her with his Rapier,
and is stayed by Phylander_.

_Orest_. What meanes, _Phylander_?

_Phy_. Oh, forbeare thy stroke; Her pitious mone and gesture might prouoke Hard flint to ruthe.

_Orest_. Hast thou forgot thy oath?

_Phy_. Forgot it? no!

_Or_. Then wherefore doest thou interrupt me so?

_Phy_. A sudden terror ouercomes my thought.

_Or_. Then suffer me that stands in feare of nought.

_Phy_. Oh, hold, _Orestes_; heare my reason first.

_Or_. Is all religion of thy vowe forgot? Do as thou wilt, but I forget it not.

_Phy_. _Orestes_, if thou standest vpon thine oath, Let me alone to answere for vs both.

_Or_. What answer canst thou giue? I wil not stay.

_Phy_. Nay, villain; then my sword shall make me way.

_Or_. Wilt thou in this against thy conscience striue?

_Phy_. I will defend a woman while I liue, A virgin and an innocent beside; Therefore put vp or else thy chaunce abide.

_Or_. Ile neuer sheath my sword vnles thou show, Our oath reserued, we may let her go.

_Phy_. That will I do, if truth may be of force.

_Or_. And then will I be pleasd to graunt remorse.

_Eu_. Litle thought I, when out of doore I went, That thus my life should stand on argument.

_Phy_. A lawfull oath in an vnlawfull cause Is first dispenc't withall by reasons lawes; Then, next, respect must to the end be had, Because th'intent doth make it good or bad. Now here th'intent is murder as thou seest, Which to perform thou on thy oath reliest; But, since the cause is wicked and vniust, Th'effect must likewise be held odious: We swore to kill, and God forbids to kill; Shall we be rulde by him or by man's will? Beside it is a woman is condemde; And what is he, that is a man indeed, That can endure to see a woman bleed?

_Or_. Thou hast preuaild; _Eurymine_, stand vp; I will not touch thee for a world of gold.

_Phy_. Why now thou seemst to be of humane mould; But, on our graunt, faire mayd, that you shall liue, Will you to vs your faithfull promise giue Henceforth t'abandon this your Country quite, And neuer more returne into the sight Of fierce _Telemachus_, the angry Duke, Where by we may be voyd of all rebuke?

_Eur_. Here do I plight my chaste vnspotted hand, I will abiure this most accursed land: And vow henceforth, what fortune ere betide, Within these woods and desarts to abide.

_Phy_. Now wants there nothing but a fit excuse To sooth the Duke in his concern'd abuse; That he may be perswaded she is slaine, And we our wonted fauour still maintaine.

_Orest_. It shall be thus: within a lawne hard by, Obscure with bushes, where no humane eye Can any way discouer our deceit, There feeds a heard of Goates and country neate. Some Kidde or other youngling will we take And with our swords dispatch it for her sake; And, hauing slaine it, rip his panting breast And take the heart of the vnguiltie beast, Which, to th'intent our counterfeit report May seeme more likely, we will beare to court And there protest, with bloody weapons drawne, It was her heart.

_Phy_. Then likewise take this Lawne, Which well _Telemachus_ did know she wore, And let it be all spotted too with gore. How say you, mistresse? will you spare the vale?

_Eur_. That and what else, to verifie your tale. And thankes, _Phylander_ and _Orestes_ both, That you preserue me from a Tyrants wroth.

_Phy_. I would it were within my power, I wis, To do you greater curtesie than this; But what we cannot by our deeds expresse In heart we wish, to ease your heauinesse.

_Eur_. A double debt: yet one word ere ye go, Commend me to my deare _Ascanio_. Whose loyall loue and presence to forgoe Doth gall me more than all my other woe.

_Orest_. Our liues shall neuer want to do him good.

_Phy_. Nor yet our death if he in daunger stood:

_Or_. And, mistresse, so good fortune be your guide, And ought that may be fortunate beside.

[_Exeunt_.

_Eu_. The like I wish vnto your selues againe, And many happy days deuoyd of paine.-- And now _Eurymine_ record thy state, So much deiected and opprest by fate. What hope remaines? wherein hast thou to ioy? Wherein to tryumph but thine owne annoy? If euer wretch might tell of miserie Then I, alas, poore I, am only she; Vnknowne of parents, destitute of friends, Hopefull of nought but what misfortune sends; Banisht, to liue a fugitiue alone In vncoth[98] paths and regions neuer knowne. Behold, _Ascanio_, for thy only sake, These tedious trauels I must undertake. Nor do I grudge; the paine seemes lesse to mee In that I suffer this distresse for thee.

_Enter Siluio, a Raunger_.

_Sil_. Well met, fair Nymph, or Goddesse if ye bee; Tis straunge, me thinkes, that one of your degree Should walke these solitary groues alone.

_Eu_. It were no maruel, if you knew my mone. But what are you that question me so far?

_Sil_. My habit telles you that, a Forrester; That, hauing lost a heard of skittish Deire, Was of good hope I should haue found them heere.

_Eu_. Trust me, I saw not any; so farewell.

_Sil_. Nay stay, and further of your fortunes tell; I am not one that meanes you any harme.

_Enter Gemulo, the Shepheard_.

_Ge_. I thinke my boy be fled away by charme. Raunger, well met; within thy walke, I pray, Sawst thou not _Mopso_ my vnhappie boy.

_Sil_. Shepheard, not I: what meanst to seeke him heere?

_Ge_. Because the wagge, possest with doubtful feare Least I would beate him for a fault he did, Amongst those trees I do suspect hees hid. But how now, Raunger? you mistake, I trowe; This is a Lady and no barren Dowe.

_Sil_. It is indeede, and (as it seemes) distrest; Whose griefe to know I humbly made request, But she as yet will not reueale the same.

_Ge_. Perhaps to me she will: speak, gentle dame; What daunger great hath driuen ye to this place? Make knowne your state, and looke what slender grace A Shepheards poore abilitee may yeeld You shall be sure of ere I leaue the feeld.

_Eur_. Alas good Sir the cause may not be known That hath inforste me to be here alone.

_Sil_. Nay, feare not to discouer what you are; It may be we may remedie your care.

_Eur_. Since needs you will that I renew my griefe, Whether it be my chance to finde reliefe Or not, I wreake not: such my crosses are As sooner I expect to meet despaire. Then thus it is: not farre from hence do dwell My parents, of the world esteemed well, Who with their bitter threats my grant had won This day to marrie with a neighbours son, And such a one to whom I should be wife As I could neuer fancie in my life: And therefore, to auoid that endlesse thrall, This morne I came away and left them all.

_Sil_. Now trust me, virgin, they were much vnkinde To seeke to match you so against your minde.

_Ge_. It was, besides, vnnatural constraint: But, by the tenure of your just complaint, It seems you are not minded to returne, Nor any more to dwell where you were borne.

_Eur_. It is my purpose if I might obtaine A place of refuge where I might remain.

_Sil_. Why, go with me; my Lodge is not far off, Where you shall haue such hospitalitie As shall be for your health and safetie.

_Ge_. Soft, Raunger; you do raunge beyond your skill. My house is nearer, and for my good will, It shall exceed a woodmans woodden stuffe: Then go with me, Ile keep you safe enough.

_Sil_. Ile bring her to a bower beset with greene.

_Ge_. And I an arbour may delight a Queene.

_Sil_. Her dyet shall be Venson at my boord.

_Ge_. Young Kid and Lambe we shepheards can affoord.

_Sil_. And nothing else?

_Ge_. Yes; raunging, now and then A Hog, a Goose, a Capon, or a Hen.

_Sil_. These walkes are mine amongst the shadie trees.

_Ge_. For that I haue a garden full of Bees, Whose buzing musick with the flowers sweet Each euen and morning shall her sences greet.

_Sil_. The nightingale is my continuall clocke.

_Ge_. And mine the watchfull sin-remembring cocke.

_Sil_. A Hunts vp[99] I can tune her with my hounds.

_Ge_. And I can shew her meads and fruitfull grounds.

_Sil_. Within these woods are many pleasant springs.

_Ge_. Betwixt yond dales the Eccho daily sings.

_Sil_. I maruell that a rusticke shepheard dare With woodmen then audaciously compare. Why, hunting is a pleasure for a King, And Gods themselves sometime frequent the thing. _Diana_ with her bowe and arrows keene Did often vse the chace in Forrests greene, And so, alas, the good Athenian knight And swifte _Acteon_ herein tooke delight, And _Atalanta_, the Arcadian dame, Conceiu'd such wondrous pleasure in the game That, with her traine of Nymphs attending on, She came to hunt the Bore of _Calydon_.

_Ge_. So did _Apollo_ walke with shepheards crooke, And many Kings their sceptres haue forsooke To lead the quiet life we shepheards tooke (?), Accounting it a refuge for their woe.

_Sil_. But we take choice of many a pleasant walke, And marke the Deare how they begin to stalke; When each, according to his age and time,[100] Pricks vp his head and bears a Princely minde. The lustie Stag, conductor of the traine, Leads all the heard in order downe the plaine; The baser rascals[101] scatter here and there As not presuming to approach so neere.

_Ge_. So shepheards sometimes sit vpon a hill Or in the cooling shadow of a mill, And as we sit vnto our pipes we sing And therewith make the neighboring groues to ring; And when the sun steales downward to the west We leave our chat and whistle in the fist, Which is a signall to our stragling flocke As Trumpets sound to men in martiall shocke.

_Sil_. Shall I be thus outfaced by a swaine? Ile haue a guard to wayt vpon her traine, Of gallant woodmen clad in comely greene, The like whereof hath seldome yet bene seene.

_Ge_. And I of shepheards such a lustie crew As neuer Forrester the like yet knew, Who for their persons and their neate aray Shal be as fresh as is the moneth of May. Where are ye there, ye merry noted swaines? Draw neare a while, and whilst vpon the plaines Your flocks do gently feed, lets see your skill How you with chaunting can sad sorrow kill.

_Enter shepheards singing_.

_Sil_. Thinks _Gemulo_ to beare the bell away By singing of a simple Rundelay? No, I have fellowes whose melodious throats Shall euen as far exceed those homely notes As doth the Nightingale in musicke passe The most melodious bird that euer was: And, for an instance, here they are at hand; When they have done let our deserts be scand.

_Enter woodmen and sing_.

_Eu_. Thanks to you both; you both deserue so well As I want skill your worthinesse to tell. And both do I commend for your good will, And both Ile honor, loue, and reuerence still; For neuer virgin had such kindnes showne Of straungers, yea, and men to her vnknowne. But more, to end this sudden controuersie, Since I am made an Vmpire in the plea, This is my verdite: Ile intreate of you A Cottage for my dwelling, and of you A flocke to tend; and so, indifferent, My gratefull paines on either shal be spent.

_Sil_. I am agreed, and, for the loue I beare, Ile boast I haue a Tenant is so faire.

_Ge_. And I will hold it as a rich possession That she vouchsafes to be of my profession.

_Sil_. Then, for a sign that no man here hath wrong, From hence lets all conduct her with a song.

_The end of the First Act_.

_Actus Secundus_.

_Enter Ascanio, and Ioculo his Page_.

_Asca_. Away, _Ioculo_.

_Io_. Here, sir, at hand.

_Asca. Ioculo_, where is she?

_Io_. I know not.

_Asca_. When went she?

_Io_. I know not.

_Asca_. Which way went she?

_Io_. I know not.

_Asca_. Where should I seeke her?

_Io_. I know not.

_Asca_. When shall I find her?

_Io_. I know not.

_Asca_. A vengeance take thee, slaue, what dost thou know?

_Io_. Marry, sir, that I doo know.

_Asca_. What, villiane?

_Io_. And[102] you be so testie, go looke. What a coyles here with you? If we knew where she were what need we seeke her? I think you are a lunaticke: where were you when you should haue lookt after her? now you go crying vp and downe after your wench like a boy that had lost his horne booke.

_Asca_. Ah, my sweet Boy!

_Io_. Ah, my sweet maister! nay, I can giue you as good words as you can giue me; alls one for that.

_Asca_. What canst thou giue me no reliefe?

_Io_. Faith, sir, there comes not one morsel of comfort from my lips to sustaine that hungry mawe of your miserie: there is such a dearth at this time. God amend it!

_Asca_. Ah, _Ioculo_, my brest is full of griefe, And yet my hope that only wants reliefe.

_Io_. Your brest and my belly are in two contrary kaies; you walke to get stomacke to your meate, and I walke to get meate to my stomacke; your brest's full and my belli's emptie. If they chance to part in this case, God send them merry meeting,--that my belly be ful and your brest empty.

_Asca_. Boy, for the loue that euer thou didst owe To thy deare master, poore _Ascanio_. Racke thy proou'd wits vnto the highest straine, To bring me backe _Eurymine_ againe.

_Io_. Nay, master, if wit could do it I could tell you more; but if it euer be done the very legeritie[103] of the feete must do it; these ten nimble bones must do the deed. Ile trot like a little dog; theres not a bush so big as my beard, but Ile be peeping in it; theres not a coate[104] but Ile search every corner; if she be aboue, or beneath, ouer the ground or vnder, Ile finde her out.

_Asca_. Stay, _Ioculo_; alas, it cannot be: If we should parte I loose both her and thee. The woods are wide; and, wandering thus about, Thou maist be lost and not my loue found out.

_Io_. I pray thee let me goe.

_Asca_. I pray thee stay.

_Io_. I faith Ile runne.

_Asca_. And doest not know which way.

_Io_. Any way, alls one; Ile drawe drie foote;[105] if you send not to seeke her you may lye here long enough before she comes to seeke you. She little thinkes that you are hunting for her in these quarters.

_Asca_. Ah, _Ioculo_, before I leaue my Boy, Of this worlds comfort now my only ioy. Seest thou this place? vpon this grassie bed, With summers gawdie dyaper bespred, (_He lyes downe_.) Vnder these shadowes shall my dwelling be, Till thou returne, sweet _Ioculo_, to me.

_Io_. And, if my conuoy be not cut off by the way, it shall not be long before I be with you. (_He speakes to the people_.) Well, I pray you looke to my maister, for here I leaue him amongst you; and if I chaunce to light vpon the wench, you shall heare of me by the next winde. [_Exit Ioculo_.

_Ascanio solus_.

_Asca_. In vaine I feare, I beate my braines about, Proouing by search to finde my mistresse out. _Eurymine, Eurymine_, retorne, And with thy presence guild the beautious morne! And yet I feare to call vpon thy name: The pratling Eccho, should she learne the same, The last words accent shiele no more prolong But beare that sound vpon her airie tong. Adorned with the presence of my loue The woods, I feare, such secret power shal proue As they'll shut vp each path, hide euery way, Because they still would haue her go astray, And in that place would alwaies haue her seene Only because they would be euer greene, And keepe the wingged Quiristers still there To banish winter cleane out of the yeare. But why persist I to bemone my state, When she is gone and my complaint too late? A drowsie dulnes closeth vp my sight; O powerfull sleepe, I yeeld vnto thy might. (_He falls asleepe_.)

_Enter Iuno and Iris_.

_Iuno_. Come hither, _Iris_.