Chapter III: Act II: Scene I.19

[_Enter_] ENDYMION.

_Endymion._ O fair Cynthia! O unfortunate Endymion! Why was not thy
birth as high as thy thoughts, or her beauty less than heavenly; or
why are not thine honours as rare as her beauty, or thy fortunes as
great as thy deserts? (5) Sweet Cynthia, how wouldst thou be pleased,
how possessed? Will labours, patient of all extremities, obtain thy
love? There is no mountain so steep that I will not climb, no monster
so cruel that I will not tame, no action (10) so desperate that I
will not attempt. Desirest thou the passions of love, the sad and
melancholy moods of perplexed minds, the not-to-be-expressed torments
of racked thoughts? Behold my sad tears, my deep sighs, my hollow
(15) eyes, my broken sleeps, my heavy countenance. Wouldst thou
have me vow’d only to thy beauty and consume every minute of time
in thy service? Remember my solitary life almost these seven years.
Whom have I entertained (20) but mine own thoughts and thy virtues?
What company have I used but contemplation? Whom have I wond’red
at but thee? Nay, whom have I not contemned for thee? Have I not
crept to those on whom I might have trodden, (25) only because thou
didst shine upon them? Have not injuries been sweet to me, if thou
vouchsafest I should bear them? Have I not spent my golden years in
hopes, waxing old with wishing, yet wishing nothing but thy love?
(30) With Tellus, fair Tellus, have I dissembled, using her but as
a cloak for mine affections, that others, seeing my mangled and
disordered mind, might think it were for one that loveth me, not for
Cynthia, whose perfection alloweth (35) no companion nor comparison.
In the midst of these distemp’red thoughts of mine thou art not only
jealous of my truth, but careless, suspicious, and secure; which
strange humour maketh my mind as desperate as thy conceits are 40
doubtful. I am none of those wolves that bark most when thou shinest
brightest, but that fish (thy fish,[20] Cynthia, in the flood Araris)
which at thy waxing is as white as the driven snow, and at thy waning
as black as deepest darkness. (45) I am that Endymion, sweet Cynthia,
that have carried my thoughts in equal balance with my actions, being
always as free from imagining ill as enterprising; that Endymion
whose eyes never esteemed anything fair but thy (50) face, whose
tongue termed nothing rare but thy virtues, and whose heart imagined
nothing miraculous but thy government; yea, that Endymion, who,
divorcing himself from the amiableness of all ladies, the bravery of
all courts, (55) the company of all men, hath chosen in a solitary
cell to live, only by feeding on thy favour, accounting in the
world—but thyself—nothing excellent, nothing immortal: thus mayest
thou see every vein, sinew, muscle, and artery of (60) my love, in
which there is no flattery, nor deceit, error, nor art. But soft,
here cometh Tellus. I must turn my other face to her, like Janus,
lest she be as suspicious as Juno.

_Enter_ TELLUS, [FLOSCULA, _and_ DIPSAS].

_Tellus._ Yonder I espy Endymion. I will (65) seem to suspect
nothing, but soothe him, that seeing I cannot obtain the depth of
his love, I may learn the height of his dissembling. Floscula and
Dipsas, withdraw yourselves out of our sight, yet be within the
hearing of our (70) saluting. [FLOSCULA _and_ DIPSAS _withdraw._] How
now, Endymion, always solitary? No company but your own thoughts, no
friend but melancholy fancies?

_End._ You know, fair Tellus, that the (75) sweet remembrance of your
love is the only companion of my life, and thy presence, my paradise;
so that I am not alone when nobody is with me, and in heaven itself
when thou art with me. 80

_Tellus._ Then you love me, Endymion?

_End._ Or else I live not, Tellus.

_Tellus._ Is it not possible for you, Endymion, to dissemble?

_End._ Not, Tellus, unless I could make me (85) a woman.

_Tellus._ Why, is dissembling joined to their sex inseparable, as
heat to fire, heaviness to earth, moisture to water, thinness to air?

_End._ No, but found in their sex as common (90) as spots upon doves,
moles upon faces, caterpillars upon sweet apples, cobwebs upon fair
windows.

_Tellus._ Do they all dissemble?

_End._ All but one. 95

_Tellus._ Who is that?

_End._ I dare not tell; for if I should say you, then would you
imagine my flattery to be extreme; if another, then would you think
my love to be but indifferent. 100

_Tellus._ You will be sure I shall take no vantage of your words.
But, in sooth, Endymion, without more ceremonies, is it not Cynthia?

_End._ You know, Tellus, that of the gods we are forbidden to
dispute, because their deities (105) come not within the compass of
our reasons; and of Cynthia we are allowed not to talk but to wonder,
because her virtues are not within the reach of our capacities.

_Tellus._ Why, she is but a woman. 110

_End._ No more was Venus.

_Tellus._ She is but a virgin.

_End._ No more was Vesta.

_Tellus._ She shall have an end.

_End._ So shall the world. 115

_Tellus._ Is not her beauty subject to time?

_End._ No more than time is to standing still.

_Tellus._ Wilt thou make her immortal?

_End._ No, but incomparable.

_Tellus._ Take heed, Endymion, lest like (120) the wrestler in
Olympia, that striving to lift an impossible weight catch’d an
incurable strain, thou, by fixing thy thoughts above thy reach, fall
into a disease without all recure. But I see thou art now in love
with Cynthia. 125

_End._ No, Tellus, thou knowest that the stately cedar, whose top
reacheth unto the clouds, never boweth his head to the shrubs that
grow in the valley; nor ivy, that climbeth up by the elm, can ever
get hold of the (130) beams of the sun. Cynthia I honour in all
humility, whom none ought or dare adventure to love, whose affections
are immortal, and virtues infinite. Suffer me, therefore, to gaze on
the moon, at whom, were it not for thyself, I would (135) die with
wondering. _Exeunt._

SCENE II.[21]

[_Enter_] DARES, SAMIAS, SCINTILLA, _and_ FAVILLA.

_Dar._ Come, Samias, didst thou ever hear such a sighing, the one for
Cynthia, the other for Semele, and both for moonshine in the water?

_Sam._ Let them sigh, and let us sing. How (5) say you, gentlewomen,
are not our masters too far in love?

_Scint._ Their tongues, haply, are dipp’d to the root in amorous
words and sweet discourses, but I think their hearts are scarce
tipp’d on (10) the side with constant desires.

_Dar._ How say you, Favilla, is not love a lurcher,[22] that taketh
men’s stomachs away that they cannot eat, their spleen that they
cannot laugh, their hearts that they cannot fight, (15) their eyes
that they cannot sleep, and leaveth nothing but livers to make
nothing but lovers!

_Favil._ Away, peevish boy; a rod were better under thy girdle than
love in thy mouth! It will be a forward cock that croweth in the 20
shell.

_Dar._ Alas, good old gentlewoman, how it becometh you to be grave!

_Scint._ Favilla, though she be but a spark, yet is she fire. 25

_Favil._ And you, Scintilla, be not much more than a spark, though
you would be esteemed a flame.

_Sam._ [_Aside to Dares._] It were good sport to see the fight
between two sparks. 30

_Dar._ [_Aside to Samias._] Let them to it, and we will warm us by
their words.

_Scint._ You are not angry, Favilla?

_Favil._ That is, Scintilla, as you list to take it. 35

_Sam._ That, that!

_Scint._ This it is to be matched with girls, who coming but
yesterday from making of babies,[23] would before to-morrow be
accounted matrons.

_Favil._ I cry your matronship mercy. Because (40) your pantables[24]
be higher with cork, therefore your feet must needs be higher in the
insteps. You will be mine elder because you stand upon a stool and I
on the floor.

_Sam._ Good, good! 45

_Dar._ [_To Samias._] Let them alone, and see with what countenance
they will become friends.

_Scint._ Nay, you think to be the wiser, because you mean to have the
last word. 50

_Sam._ [_To Dares._] Step between them lest they scratch.—In faith,
gentlewomen, seeing we came out to be merry, let not your jarring mar
our jests; be friends. How say you?

_Scint._ I am not angry, but it spited me to (55) see how short she
was.

_Favil._ I meant nothing till she would needs cross me.

_Dar._ Then, so let it rest.

_Scint._ I am agreed. 60

_Favil._ And I. Yet I never took anything so unkindly in my life.
[_Weeps._]

_Scint._ ’Tis I have the cause, that never offered the occasion.
[_Weeps._]

_Dar._ Excellent, and right like a woman. 65

_Sam._ A strange sight to see water come out of fire.

_Dar._ It is their property to carry in their eyes fire and water,
tears and torches, and in their mouths honey and gall. 70

_Enter_ [_at the opposite side_] SIR TOPHAS [_and_ EPITON].

_Scint._ You will be a good one if you live. But what is yonder
formal fellow?

_Dar._ Sir Tophas, Sir Tophas, of whom we told you. If you be good
wenches, make as though you love him, and wonder at him. 75

_Favil._ We will do our parts.

_Dar._ But first let us stand aside, and let him use his garb,[25]
for all consisteth in his gracing.
[_The four retire._]

_Top._ Epi!

_Epi._ At hand, sir. 80

_Top._ How likest thou this martial life, where nothing but blood
besprinkleth our bosoms? Let me see, be our enemies[26] fat?

_Epi._ Passing fat: and I would not change this life to be a lord;
and yourself passeth all (85) comparison, for other captains kill
and beat, and there is nothing you kill, but you also eat.

_Top._ I will draw out their guts out of their bellies, and tear
the flesh with my teeth, so mortal is my hate, and so eager my 90
unstaunched stomach.

_Epi._ [_Aside._] My master thinks himself the valiantest man in the
world if he kill a wren; so warlike a thing he accounteth to take
away life, though it be from a lark. 95

_Top._ Epi, I find my thoughts to swell and my spirit to take wings,
insomuch that I cannot continue within the compass of so slender
combats.

_Favil._ This passeth! } 100
_Scint._ Why, is he not mad? } [_Aside._]
_Sam._ No, but a little vainglorious.}

_Top._ Epi!

_Epi._ Sir.

_Top._ I will encounter that black and cruel (105) enemy that beareth
rough and untewed[27] locks upon his body, whose sire throweth down
the strongest walls, whose legs are as many as both ours, on whose
head are placed most horrible horns by nature as a defence from all
harms. 110

_Epi._ What mean you, master, to be so desperate?

_Top._ Honour inciteth me, and very hunger compelleth me.

_Epi._ What is that monster? 115

_Top._ The monster _Ovis_. I have said,—let thy wits work.

_Epi._ I cannot imagine it. Yet let me see,—a “black enemy” with
“rough locks.” It may be a sheep, and _Ovis_ is a sheep. His sire so
(120) strong: a ram is a sheep’s sire, that being also an engine of
war. Horns he hath, and four legs,—so hath a sheep. Without doubt,
this monster is a black sheep. Is it not a sheep that you mean? 125

_Top._ Thou hast hit it: that monster will I kill and sup with.

_Sam._ [_Aside._] Come let us take him off. [SAMIAS, DARES, FAVILLA,
_and_ SCINTILLA _come forward_.] Sir Tophas, all hail! 130

_Top._ Welcome, children; I seldom cast mine eyes so low as to the
crowns of your heads, and therefore pardon me that I spake not all
this while.

_Dar._ No harm done. Here be fair ladies (135) come to wonder at your
person, your valour, your wit, the report whereof hath made them
careless of their own honours, to glut their eyes and hearts upon
yours.

_Top._ Report cannot but injure me, for that (140) not knowing fully
what I am, I fear she hath been a niggard in her praises.

_Scint._ No, gentle knight, report hath been prodigal, for she hath
left you no equal, nor herself credit, so much hath she told, yet no
(145) more than we now see.

_Dar._ A good wench.

_Favil._ If there remain as much pity toward women as there is in
you courage against your enemies, then shall we be happy, who, 150
hearing of your person, came to see it, and seeing it, are now in
love with it.

_Top._ Love me, ladies? I easily believe it, but my tough heart
receiveth no impression with sweet words. Mars may pierce it, 155
Venus shall not paint on it.

_Favil._ A cruel saying.

_Sam._ [_Aside._] There’s a girl.

_Dar._ Will you cast these ladies away, and all for a little love? Do
but speak kindly. 160

_Top._ There cometh no soft syllable within my lips; custom hath made
my words bloody and my heart barbarous. That pelting[28] word love,
how waterish it is in my mouth; it carrieth no sound. Hate, horror,
death, are (165) speeches that nourish my spirits. I like honey, but
I care not for the bees; I delight in music, but I love not to play
on the bagpipes; I can vouchsafe to hear the voice of women, but to
touch their bodies, I disdain it as a (170) thing childish and fit
for such men as can digest nothing but milk.

_Scint._ A hard heart! Shall we die for your love and find no remedy?

_Top._ I have already taken a surfeit. 175

_Epi._ Good master, pity them.

_Top._ Pity them, Epi? No, I do not think that this breast shall be
pest’red with such a foolish passion. What is that the gentlewoman
carrieth in a chain? 180

_Epi._ Why, it is a squirrel.

_Top._ A squirrel? O gods, what things are made for money!

_Dar._ Is not this gentleman over-wise?

_Favil._ I could stay all day with him, if (185) I feared not to be
shent.[29]

_Scint._ Is it not possible to meet again?

_Dar._ Yes, at any time.

_Favil._ Then let us hasten home.

_Scint._ Sir Tophas, the god of war deal (190) better with you than
you do with the god of love.

_Favil._ Our love we may dissemble, digest we cannot; but I doubt not
but time will hamper you and help us. 195

_Top._ I defy time, who hath no interest in my heart. Come, Epi, let
me to the battle with that hideous beast. Love is pap, and hath no
relish in my taste because it is not terrible.

[_Exeunt_ SIR TOPHAS _and_ EPITON.]

_Dar._ Indeed a black sheep is a perilous (200) beast; but let us in
till another time.

_Favil._ I shall long for that time. _Exeunt._

SCENE III.[30]

[_Enter_] ENDYMION.

_End._ No rest, Endymion! Still uncertain how to settle thy steps by
day or thy thoughts by night! Thy truth is measured by thy fortune,
and thou art judged unfaithful because thou art unhappy. I will
see if I can beguile (5) myself with sleep, and if no slumber will
take hold in my eyes, yet will I embrace the golden thoughts in my
head, and wish to melt by musing; that as ebony, which no fire
can scorch, is yet consumed with sweet savours, so my heart, 10
which cannot be bent by the hardness of fortune, may be bruised by
amorous desires. On yonder bank never grew anything but lunary,[31]
and hereafter I will never have any bed but that bank. O Endymion,
Tellus was fair. But (15) what availeth beauty without wisdom? Nay,
Endymion, she was wise. But what availeth wisdom without honour?
She was honourable, Endymion; belie her not. Ay, but how obscure
is honour without fortune. Was she not fortunate (20) whom so many
followed? Yes, yes, but base is fortune without majesty: thy majesty,
Cynthia, all the world knoweth and wondereth at, but not one in
the world that can imitate it or comprehend it. No more, Endymion.
Sleep (25) or die. Nay, die, for to sleep, it is impossible;—and
yet I know not how it cometh to pass, I feel such a heaviness both
in mine eyes and heart that I am suddenly benumbed, yea, in every
joint. It may be weariness, for when (30) did I rest? It may be
deep melancholy, for when did I not sigh? Cynthia! Ay, so;—I say,
Cynthia! _He falls asleep._

[_Enter_ DIPSAS _and_ BAGOA.]

_Dipsas._ Little dost thou know, Endymion, when thou shalt wake, for
hadst thou placed (35) thy heart as low in love as thy head lieth
now in sleep, thou mightest have commanded Tellus, whom now, instead
of a mistress, thou shalt find a tomb. These eyes must I seal up
by art, not nature, which are to be opened neither by (40) art nor
nature. Thou that layest down with golden locks shalt not awake until
they be turned to silver hairs; and that chin on which scarcely
appeareth soft down shall be filled with bristles as hard as broom.
Thou shalt sleep (45) out thy youth and flowering time, and become
dry hay before thou knewest thyself green grass; and ready by age to
step into the grave when thou wakest, that was youthful in the court
when thou laidest thee down to sleep. (50) The malice of Tellus hath
brought this to pass, which if she could not have intreated of me by
fair means, she would have commanded by menacing, for from her gather
we all our simples to maintain our sorceries. [_To_ BAGOA.] (55) Fan
with this hemlock over his face, and sing the enchantment for sleep,
whilst I go in and finish those ceremonies that are required in our
art. Take heed ye touch not his face, for the fan is so seasoned that
whoso it toucheth with (60) a leaf shall presently die, and over whom
the wind of it breatheth, he shall sleep forever.

_Bagoa._ Let me alone; I will be careful. [_Exit_ DIPSAS.] What hap
hadst thou, Endymion, to come under the hands of Dipsas? O fair
Endymion, (65) how it grieveth me that that fair face must be turned
to a withered skin and taste the pains of death before it feel the
reward of love! I fear Tellus will repent that which the heavens
themselves seemed to rue. But I hear Dipsas (70) coming! I dare not
repine, lest she make me pine, and rock me into such a deep sleep
that I shall not awake to my marriage.

_Re-enter_ DIPSAS.

_Dipsas._ How now, have you finished?

_Bagoa._ Yea. 75

_Dipsas._ Well then, let us in; and see that you do not so much as
whisper that I did this, for if you do, I will turn thy hairs to
adders and all thy teeth in thy head to tongues. Come away, come
away. _Exeunt_ [DIPSAS _and_ BAGOA]. 80

A DUMB SHOW[32] [_representing the dream of Endymion_].

_Music sounds. Three ladies enter: one with a knife and a
looking-glass, who, by the procurement of one of the other two,
offers to stab Endymion as he sleeps; but the third wrings her hands,
lamenteth, offering still to prevent it, but dares (85) not. At last,
the first lady looking in the glass, casts down the knife. Exeunt._

_Enters an ancient man with books with three leaves; offers the same
twice. Endymion refuseth. He rendeth[33] two, and offers the third, 90
where he stands awhile; and then Endymion offers to take it.
Exit [the Old Man]._