Condemned soul, Ate, from lowest hell, And deadly rivers of th' infernal Jove, Where bloodless ghosts in pains of endless date Fill ruthless ears with never-ceasing cries, Behold, I come in place, and bring beside The bane of Troy! behold, the fatal fruit, Raught from the golden tree of Proserpine! Proud Troy must fall, so bid the gods above, And stately Ilium's lofty towers be razed By conquering hands of the victorious foe; King Priam's palace waste with flaming fire, Whose thick and foggy smoke, piercing the sky, Must serve for messenger of sacrifice, T' appease the anger of the angry heavens; And Priam's younger son, the shepherd swain, Paris, th' unhappy organ of the Greeks. So loath and weary of her heavy load, The Earth complains unto the hellish prince, Surcharged with the burden that she nill sustain. Th' unpartial daughters of Necessity Been aiders in her suit: and so the twine That holds old Priam's house, the thread of Troy, Dame Atropos with knife in sunder cuts. Done by the pleasure of the powers above, Whose hests men must obey: and I my part Perform in Ida vales. Lordings, adieu! Imposing silence for your task, I end, Till just assembly of the goddesses Make me begin the tragedy of Troy. Silvanus, either Flora doth us wrong, Or Faunus made us tarry all too long, For by this mourning mirth it should appear, The Muses or the goddesses be near. My fawn was numble, Pan, and whipt apace, -- 'T was happy that we caught him up at last, -- The fattest, fairest fawn in all the chase; I wonder how the knave could skip so fast. And I have brought a twagger for the nonce. A bunting lamb; nay, pray you feel; no bones: Believe me now, my cunning much I miss, If ever Pan felt fatter lamb than this. { Sirs, you may boast your flocks and herds that bin both fresh and fair, Yet hath Silvanus walks, iwis that stand in wholesome air; And, lo, the honor of the woods, the gallant oaken bough, Do I bestow, laden with acorn and with mast enow! Peace, man, for shame! shalt have both lambs and dams and flocks and herds and all. And all my pipes to make thee glee; we meet not now to brawl. There's no such matter, Pan; we are all friends assembled hither. To bid Queen Juno and her feres most humbly welcome hither: Diana, mistress of our woods, her presence will not want; Her courtesy to all her friends, we wot, is nothing scant. Yea, Pan, no farther yet, and had the start of me? Why, then Pomona with her fruit comes time enough, I see. Come on a while; with country store, like friends, we venter forth: Think'st, Faunus, that these goddesses will take our gifts in worth? Yea, doubtless, for shall tell thee, dame, 't were better give a thing. A sign of love, unto a mighty person or a king, Than to a rude and barbarous swain, but bad and basely born, For gently takes the gentleman that oft the clown will scorn. Say'st truly, Faunus; I myself have given good tidy lambs To Mercury, may say to thee, to Phoebus, and to Jove; When to a country mops, forsooth, have offered all their dams, And piped and prayed for little worth, and ranged about the grove. God Pan, that makes your flock so thin, and makes you look so lean, To kiss in corners. Well said, wench! some other thing you mean. Yea, jest it out till it go alone: but marvel where we miss Fair Flora all this merry morn. Some news; see where she is.} Flora, well met, and for thy taken pain. Poor country gods, thy debtors we remain. Believe me, Pan, not all thy lambs and ewes, Nor, Faunus, all thy lusty bucks and does (But that I am instructed well to know What service to the hills and dales I owe), Could have enforced me to so strange a toil, Thus to enrich this gaudy, gallant soil. But tell me, wench, hast done't so trick indeed, That heaven itself may wonder at the deed? Not Iris, in her pride and bravery, Adorns her arch with such variety; Nor doth the milk-white way, in frosty night, Appear so fair and beautiful in sight, As done these fields, and groves, and sweetest flowers. Along the bubbling brooks and silver glide, That at the bottom doth in silence slide; The watery flowers and lilies on the banks, Like blazing comets, burgeon all in ranks; Under the hawthorn and the poplar tree, Where sacred Phoebe may delight to be, The primrose, and the purple hyacinth, The dainty violet, and the wholesome minth, The double daisy, and the cowslip, queen Of summer flowers, do overpeer the green; And round about the valley as ye pass, Ye may ne see for peeping flowers the grass, That well the mighty Juno, and the rest, May boldly think to be a welcome guest O Ida hills, when to approve the thing, The Queen of Flowers prepares a second spring. Thou gentle nymph, what thanks shall we repay To thee that mak'st our fields and woods so gay? Silvanus, when it is thy hap to see My workmanship in portraying all the three; First stately Juno with her port and grace, Her robes, her lawns, her crownet, and her mace, Would make thee muse this picture to behold, Of yellow oxlips bright as burnished gold. A rare device; and Flora well, perdy, Did paint her yellow for her jealousy. Pallas in flowers of hue and colors red; Her plumes, her helm, her lance, her Gorgon's head, Her trailing tresses that hang flaring round, Of July-flowers so graffed in the ground, That, trust me, sirs, who did the cunning see, Would at a blush suppose it to be she. Good Flora, by my flock, 't was very good To digt her all in red, resembling blood. Fair Venus of sweet violets in blue, Her plumes, her pendants, bracelets, and her rings, Her dainty fan, and twenty other things, Her lusty mantle waving in the wind, And every part in color and in kind; And for her wreath of roses, she nill dare With Flora's cunning counterfeit compare. So that what living wight shall chance to see These goddesses, each placed in her degree, Portrayed by Flora's workmanship alone, Must say that art and nature met in one. A dainty draught to lay her down in blue, The color commonly betokening true. This piece of work, compact with many a flower, And well laid in at entrance of the bower, Where Phoebe means to make this meeting royal, Have I prepared to welcome them withal. And are they yet dismounted, Flora, say, That we may wend to meet them on the way? That shall not need: they are at hand by this, And the conductor of the train hight Rhanis. Juno hath left her chariot long ago, And hath returned her peacocks by her rainbow; And bravely, as becomes the wife of Jove, Doth honor by her presence to our grove. Fair Venus she hath let her sparrows fly, To tend on her and make her melody; Her turtles and her swans unyoked be, And flicker near her side for company. Pallas hath set her tigers loose to feed, Commanding them to wait when she hath need. And hitherward with proud and stately pace, To do us honor in the sylvan chase, They march, like to the pomp of heaven above, Juno the wife and sister of King Jove, The warlike Pallas, and the Queen of Love. Pipe, Pan, for joy, and let thy shepherds sing; Shall never age forget this memorable thing. Clio, the sagest of the Sisters Nine, To do observance to this dame divine, Lady of learning and of chivalry, Is here arrived in fair assembly; And wandering up and down th' unbeaten ways, Rings through the wood sweet songs of Pallas' praise. Hark, Flora, Faunus! here is melody, A charm of birds, and more than ordinary. { The silly birds make mirth; then should we do them wrong, Pomona, if we nill bestow an echo to their song. O Ida, O Ida, O Ida, happy hill! This honor done to Ida may it continue still! Ye country gods that in this Ida won, Bring down your gifts of welcome For honor done to Ida. Behold, in sign of joy we sing, And signs of joyful welcome bring, For honor done to Ida. The Muses give you melody to gratulate this chance, And Phoebe, chief of sylvan chase, command you all to dance. Then round in a circle our sportance must be; Hold hands in a hornpipe, all gallant in glee. Reverence, reverence, most humble reverence! Most humble reverence! The God of Shepherds, and his mates, With country cheer salutes your states, Fair, wise, and worthy as you be, And thank the gracious ladies three For honor done to Ida. Venus, what shall I say? for, though I be a dame divine, This welcome and this melody exceeds these wits of mine. Believe me, Juno, as I hight the Sovereign of Love, These rare delights in pleasures pass the banquets of King Jove, Then, Venus, I conclude it easily may be seen, That in her chaste and pleasant walks fair Phoebe is a queen.} Divinest Pallas, and you sacred dames, Juno and Venus, honored by your names, Juno, the wife and sister of King Jove, Fair Venus, lady-president of Love, If any entertainment in this place, That can afford but homely, rude, and base, It please your godheads to accept in gree, That gracious thought our happiness shall be. My mistress Dian, this right well I know, For love that to this presence she doth owe, Accounts more honor done to her this day, Than for our country gods, I dare be bold, They make such cheer, your presence to behold, Such jouisance, such mirth, and merriment, As nothing else their mind might more content: And that you do believe it to be so, Fair goddesses, your lovely looks do show. It rests in fine, for to confirm my talk, Ye deign to pass along to Dian's walk; Where she among her troop of maids attends The fair arrival of her welcome friends. And we will wait with all observance due, And do just honor to this heavenly crew. The God of Shepherds, Juno, ere thou go, Intends a lamb on thee for to bestow. Faunus, high ranger in Diana's chase, Presents a fawn to Lady Venus' grace. Silvanus gives to Pallas' deity This gallant bough raught from the oaken tree. To them that doth this honor to our fields Her mellow apples poor Pomona yields. And, gentle gods, these signs of your good will We take in worth, and shall accept them still. And, Flora, this to thee among the rest, -- They workmanship comparing with the best, Let it suffice thy cunning to have power To call King Jove from forth his heavenly bower. Hadst thou a lover, Flora, credit me, I think thou wouldst bedeck him gallantly. But wend we on; and, Rhanis, lead the way, That kens the painted paths of pleasant Ida. Oenone, while we been disposed to walk, Tell me what shall be subject of our talk? Thou hast a sort of pretty tales in store, Dare say no nymph in Ida woods hath more: Again, beside thy sweet alluring face, In telling them thou hast a special grace. Then, prithee, sweet, afford some pretty thing, Some toy that from thy pleasant wit doth spring. Paris, my heart's contentment and my choice, Use thou thy pipe, and I will use my voice; So shall thy just request not be denied, And time well spent, and both be satisfied. Well, gentle nymph, although thou do me wrong, That can ne tune my pipe unto a song, Me list this once, Oenone, for thy sake, This idle task on me to undertake. And whereon, then, shall be my roundelay? For thou hast heard my store long since, dare say; How Saturn did divide his kingdom though To Jove, to Neptune, and to Dis below; How mighty men made foul successless war Against the gods and state of Jupiter; How Phorcys' imp, that was so trick and fair, That tangled Neptune in her golden hair, Became a Gorgon for her lewd misdeed, -- A pretty fable, Paris, for to read, A piece of cunning, trust me, for the nonce, That wealth and beauty alter men to stones; How Salmacis, resembling idleness, Turns men to women all through wantonness; How Pluto raught Queen Ceres' daughter thence, And what did follow of that love-offense; Of Daphne turned into the laurel tree, That shows a mirror of virginity; How fair Narcissus tooting on his shade, Reproves disdain, and tells how form doth vade; How cunning Philomela's needle tells What force in love, what wit in sorrow dwells; What pains unhappy souls abide in hell, They say because on earth they lived not well,- Ixion's wheel, proud Tantal's pining woe, Prometheus' torment, and a many moe; How Danaus' daughters ply their endless task, What toil the toil of Sisyphus doth ask: {All these are old and known, I know, yet, if thou wilt have any, Choose some of these for, trust me, else Oenone hath not many. Nay, what thou wilt: but sith my cunning not compares with thine, Begin some toy that I can play upon this pipe of mine. There is a pretty sonnet, then, we call it Cupid's Curse, "They that do change old love for new, pray gods they change for worse!" The note is fine and quick withal, the ditty will agree, Paris, with that same vow of thine upon our poplar tree. No better thing; begin it, then: Oenone, thou shalt see Our music figure of the love that grows 'twixt thee and me. Fair and fair, and twice so fair, As fair as any may be; The fairest shepherd on our green, A love for any lady. Fair and fair, and twice so fair, As fair as any may be; Thy love is fair for thee alone, And for no other lady. My love is fair, my love is gay, As fresh as been the flowers in May, And of my love my roundelay, Concludes with Cupid's curse, -- They that do change old love for new, Pray gods they change for worse! They that do change old love for new, Pray gods they change for worse! Fair and fair, etc. Fair and fair, etc. Thy love is fair, etc. My love can pipe, my love can sing, My love can many a pretty thing, And of his lovely praises ring My merry, merry roundelays. Amen to Cupid's curse, -- They that do change, etc. They that do change, etc. Fair and fair, etc.} But pray you, tell me, Juno, was it so, As Pallas told me here the tale of Echo? She was a nymph indeed, as Pallas tells, A walker, such as in these thickets dwells; And as she told what subtle juggling pranks She played with Juno, so she told her thanks: A tattling trull to come at every call, And now, forsooth, nor tongue nor life at all. And though perhaps she was a help to Jove, And held me chat while he might court his love, Believe me, dames, I am of this opinion, He took but little pleasure in the minion; And whatsoe'er his scapes have been beside Dare say for him, 'a never strayed so wide: A lovely nut-brown lass or lusty trull Have power perhaps to make a god a bull. Gramercy, gentle Juno, for that jest; I'faith, that item was worth all the rest. No matter, Venus, howsoe'er you scorn, My father, Jove, at that time ware the horn. {Had every wanton god above, Venus, not better luck, Then heaven would be a pleasant park, and Mars a lusty buck. Tut, Mars hath horns to butt withal, although no bull 'a shows, 'A never needs to mask in nets, 'a fears no jealous foes. Forsooth, the better is his turn, for, if 'a speak too loud, Must find some shift to shadow him, a net or else a cloud. No more of this, fair goddesses; unrip not so your shames, To stand all naked to the world, that bene such heavenly dames. Nay, Pallas, that's a common trick with Venus well we know, And all the gods in heaven have seen her naked long ago. And then she was so fair and bright, so lovely and so trim, As Mars is but for Venus' tooth, and she will sport with him: And, but me list not here to make comparison with Jove, Mars is no ranger, Juno, he, in every open grove. Too much of this: we wander far, the skies begin to scowl; Retire we to Diana's bower, the weather will be foul. Pallas, the storm is past and gone, and Phoebus clears the skies, And, lo, behold a ball of gold, a fair and worthy prize ! This posy wills the apple to the fairest given be; Then is it mine, for Venus hight the fairest of the three. The fairest here, as fair is meant, am I, ye do me wrong; And if the fairest have it must, to me it doth belong. Then Juno may it not enjoy, so every one says no, But I will prove myself the fairest, ere I lose it so.} <[They read the posy.]> The brief is this, Detur pulcherrimae, Let this unto the fairest given be, The fairest of the three,-and I am she. {Detur pulcherrimae,} Let this unto the fairest given be, The fairest of the three,-and I am she. {Detur pulcherrimae,} Let this unto the fairest given be, The fairest of the three,-and I am she. Nay, Pallas, by your leave you wander clean: We must not construe hereof as you mean, But take the sense as it is plainly meant; And let the fairest ha't, I am content. Our reasons will be infinite, I trow, Unless unto some other point we grow: But first here's none, methinks, disposed to yield, And none but will with words maintain the field. Then, if you will, t' avoid a tedious grudge, Refer it to the sentence of a judge; Whoe'er he be that cometh next in place, Let him bestow the ball and end the case. So can it not go wrong with me at all. I am agreed, however it befall: And yet by common doom, so may it be, I may be said the fairest of the three. Then yonder, lo, that shepherd swain is he, That must be umpire in this controversy! {Juno, in happy time, I do accept the man; It seemeth by his looks some skill of love he can.} The nymph is gone, and I, all solitary, {Must wend to tend my charge, oppressed with melancholy.} This day (or else me fails my shepherd's skill) Will tide me passing good or passing ill. Shepherd, abash not, though at sudden thus Thou be arrived by ignorance among us, {Not earthly but divine, and goddesses all three; Juno, Pallas, Venus, these our titles be.} Nor fear to speak for reverence of the place, Chosen to end a hard and doubtful case. This apple, lo, (nor ask thou whence it came,) Is to be given unto the fairest dame ! And fairest is, nor she, nor she, but she Whom, shepherd, thou shalt hirest name to be. This is thy charge; fulfill without offense, And she that wins shall give thee recompense. Dread not to speak, for we have chosen thee Sith in this case we can no judges be. And, shepherd, say that I the fairest am, And thou shalt win good guerdon for the same. Nay, shepherd, look upon my stately grace, Because the pomp that 'longs to Juno's mace Thou mayst not see; and think Queen Juno's name, To whom old shepherds title works of fame, Is mighty, and may easily suffice, At Phoebe's hand, to gain a golden prize. And for thy meed, sith I am queen of riches, {Shepherd, I will reward thee with great monarchies,} Empires, and kingdoms, heaps of massy gold, Sceptres and diadems curious to behold, Rich robes, of sumptuous workmanship and cost, And thousand things whereof I make no boast: {The mould whereon thou treadest shall be of Tagus' sands, And Xanthus shall run liquid gold for thee to wash thy hands; And if thou like to tend thy flock, and not from them to fly, Their fleeces shall be curled gold to please their master's eye; And last, to set thy heart on fire, give this one fruit to me, And, shepherd, lo, this tree of gold will I bestow on thee The ground whereon it grows, the grass, the root of gold, The body and the bark of gold, all glistering to behold, The leaves of burnished gold, the fruits that thereon grow Are diadems set with pearls in gold, in gorgeous glistering show; And if this tree of gold in lieu may not suffice, Require a grove of golden trees, so Juno bear the prize.} <[The tree sinks.]> Me list not tempt thee with decaying wealth, Which is embased by want of lusty health; But if thou have a mind to fly above, Y-crowned with fame, near to the seat of Jove, If thou aspire to wisdom's worthiness, Whereof thou mayest not see the brightness, If thou desire honor of chivalry, To be renowned for happy victory, To fight it out, and in the champaign field To shroud thee under Pallas' warlike shield, To prance on barbed steeds, this honor, lo, Myself for guerdon shall on thee bestow! And for encouragement, that thou mayest see What famous knights Dame Pallas' warriors be, Behold in Pallas' honor here they come, Marching along with sound of thund'ring drum. Come, shepherd, come, sweet shepherd, look on me, These bene too hot alarums, these, for thee: But if thou wilt give me the golden ball, Cupid my boy shall ha't to play withal, That, whensoe'er this apple he shall see, The God of Love himself shall think on thee, And bid thee look and choose, and he will wound Whereso thy fancy's object shall be found; And lightly when he shoots he doth not miss: And I will give thee many a lovely kiss, And come and play with thee on Ida here; And if thou wilt a face that hath no peer, A gallant girl, a lusty minion lass, That can give sport to thee thy bellyful, To ravish all thy beating veins with joy, Here is a lass of Venus' court, my boy, Here, gentle shepherd, here's for thee a piece, The fairest face, the flower of gallant Greece. Se Diana nel cielo e una stella Chiara e lucente, piena di splendore Che porge luc' all' affanato cuore; Se Diana nel ferno e una dea Che da conforto all' anime dannate Che per amor son morte desperate; Se Diana, ch' in terra e delle ninfe Reina imperativa di dolci fiori, Tra bosch' e selve da morte a pastori; Io son un Diana dolce e rara, Che con li guardi io posso far guerra A Dian' infern', in cielo, e in terra. <[Exit.]> Most heavenly dames, was never man as 1, Poor shepherd swain, so happy and unhappy; The least of these delights that you devise, Able to rape and dazzle human eyes. But since my silence may not pardoned be, And I appoint which is the fairest she, Pardon, most sacred dames, sith one, not all, By Paris' doom must have this golden ball. Thy beauty, stately Juno, dame divine, That like to Phoebus' golden beams doth shine, Approves itself to be most excellent; But that fair face that doth me most content, Sith fair, fair dames, is neither she nor she, But she whom I shall fairest deem to be, That face is hers that hight the Queen of Love, Whose sweetness doth both gods and creatures move; And if the fairest face deserve the ball, Fair Venus, ladies, bears it from ye all. <[Gives the golden ball to Venus.]> And in this ball doth Venus more delight Than in her lovely boy fair Cupid's sight. Come, shepherd, come; sweet Venus is thy friend; No matter how thou other gods offend. <[Venus takes Paris away with her.]> But he shall rue and ban the dismal day Wherein his Venus bare the ball away; And heaven and earth just witnesses shall be, I will revenge it on his progeny. Well, Juno, whether we be lief or loath, Venus hath got the apple from us both. <[Exeunt.]> O gentle Love, ungentle for thy deed, {Thou mak'st my heart} A bloody mark With piercing shot to bleed! Shoot soft, sweet Love, for fear thou shoot amiss, {For fear too keen Thy arrows bene,} And hit the heart where my beloved is. Too fair that fortune were, nor never I {Shall be so blest, Among the rest,} That Love shall seize on her by sympathy. Then since with Love my prayers bear no boot, {This doth remain To ease my pain,} I take the wound, and die at Venus' foot. <[Exit.]> {Poor Colin, woeful man, thy life forespoke by love, What uncouth fit, what malady, is this that thou dost prove ? Dig. Or Love is void of physic clean, or Love's our common wrack, That gives us bane to bring us low, and lets us medicine lack. That ever Love had reverence 'mong silly shepherd swains ! Belike that humor hurts them most that most might be their pains. Hobbinol, it is some other god that cherisheth their sheep, For sure this Love doth nothing else but make our herdmen weep. And what a hap is this, I pray, when all our woods rejoice, For Colin thus to be denied his young and lovely choice ? She hight indeed so fresh and fair that well it is for thee, Colin, and kind hath been thy friend, that Cupid could not see. And whither wends yon thriveless swain? like to the stricken deer, Seeks he dictamnum for his wound within our forest here ? He wends to greet the Queen of Love, that in these woods doth won, With mirthless lays to make complaint to Venus of her son Ah, Colin, thou art all deceived !she dallies with the boy, And winks at all his wanton pranks, and thy love a toy. Then leave him to his luckless love, let him abide his fate; The sore is rankled all too far, our comfort comes too late. Though Thestylis the scorpion be that breaks his sweet assault, Yet will Rhamnusia vengeance talce on her disdainful fault. Lo, yonder comes the lovely nymph, that in these Ida vales Plays with Amyntas' lusty boy, and coys him in the dales! Thenot, methinks her cheer is changed, her mirthful looks are laid, She frolics not; pray got, the lad have not beguiled the maid ! Beguiled, disdained, and out of love! Live long, thou poplar-tree, And let thy letters grow in length, to witness this with me. Ah, Venus, but for reverence unto thy sacred name, To steal a silly maiden's love, I might account it blame ! And if the tales be true I hear, and blush for to recite, Thou dost me wrong to leave the plains and dally out of sight. False Paris, this was not thy vow, when thou and I were one, To range and change old love for new; but now those days be gone. But I will find the goddess out, that she thy vow may read, And fill these woods with my laments for thy unhappy deed. So fair a face, so foul a thought to harbor in his breast! Thy hope consumed, poor nymph, thy hap is worse than all the rest. Ah, shepherds, you bin full of wiles, and whet your wits on books, And rape poor maids with pipes and songs, and sweet alluring looks ! Mis-speak not all for his amiss; there bin that keepen flocks, That never chose but once, nor yet beguiled love with mocks. False Paris, he is none of those; his trothless double deed Will hurt a many shepherds else that might go nigh to speed. Poor Colin, that is ill for thee, that art as true in trust To thy sweet smart as to his nymph Paris hath been unjust. Ah, well is she hath Colin won, that nill no other love ! And woe is me, my luck is loss, my pains no pity move ! Farewell, fair nymph, sith he must heal alone that gave the wound; There grows no herb of such effect upon Dame Nature's ground. <[Exeunt Hobbinol, Diggon, and Thenot.]> Here is a nymph that sadly sits, and she beleek Can tell some news, Pyracmon, of the jolly swain we seek: Dare wage my wings, the lass doth love, she looks so bleak and thin; And 'tis for anger or for grief: but I will talk begin. Break out, poor heart, and make complaint, the mountain flocks to move, What proud repulse and thankless scorn thou hast received of love. She singeth; sirs, be hushed a while.} <[Oenone sings as she sits.]> Melpomene, the Muse of tragic songs, With mournful tunes, in stole of dismal hue, Assist a silly nymph to wail her woe, And leave thy lusty company behind. Thou luckless wreath! becomes not me to wear The poplar-tree for triumph of my love: Then, as my joy, my pride of love, is left, Be thou unclothed of thy lovely green; And in thy leaves my fortune written be, And them some gentle wind let blow abroad, That all the world may see how false of love False Paris hath to his Oenone been. {Good day, fair maid; weary belike with following of your game, I wish thee cunning at thy will, to spare or strike the same. I thank you, sir; my game is quick, and rids a length of ground, And yet I am deceived, or else 'a had a deadly wound. Your hand perhaps did swerve awry. Or else it was my heart. Then sure 'a plied his footmanship. 'A played a ranging part. You should have given a deeper wound. I could not that for pity. You should have eyed him better, then. Blind love was not so witty. Why, tell me, sweet, are you in love ? Or would I were not so. Ye mean because 'a does ye wrong. Perdy, the more my woe. Why, mean ye Love, or him ye loved ? Well may I mean them both. Is Love to blame ? The Queen of Love Hath made him false his troth. Mean ye, indeed, the Queen of Love ? Even wanton Cupid's dame. Why, was thy love so lovely, then ? His beauty hight his shame; The fairest shepherd on our green. Is he a shepherd, than ? And sometime kept a bleating flock.} Enough, this is the man. Where wons he, then? About these woods, far from the poplar-tree. {What poplar mean ye?} Witness of the vows 'twixt him and me. {And come and wend a little way, and you shall see his skill. Sirs, tarry you.} Nay, let them go. Nay, not unless you will. {Stay, nymph, and hark to what I say of him thou blamest so, And, credit me, I've sad discourse to tell thee ere I go. Know then, my pretty mops, that I hight Mercury,} The messenger of heaven, and thither fly, To seize upon the man whom thou dost love, To summon him before my father Jove, To answer matter of great consequence: And Jove himself will not be long from hence. Sweet Mercury, and have poor Oenone's cries For Paris' fault y-pierced th' unpartial skies ? The same is he, that jolly shepherd's swain. His flock do graze upon Aurora's plain, The color of his coat is lusty green; That would these eyes of mine had never seen His 'ticing curled hair, his front of ivory, Then had not I, poor I, bin unhappy. No marvel, wench, although we cannot find him, When all too late the Queen of Heaven doth mind him, But if thou wilt have physic for thy sore, Mind him who list, remember thou him no more. And find some other game, and get thee gone; For here will lusty suitors come anon, Too hot and lusty for thy dying vein, Such as ne'er wont to make their suits in vain. <[Exit with the Cyclops.]> {I will go sit and pine under the poplar-tree, And write my answer to his vow, that every eye may see. <[Exit.]> Shepherds, I am content, for this sweet shepherd's sake, A strange revenge upon the maid and her disdain to take. Let Colin's corpse be brought in place, and buried in the plain, And let this be the verse, 'The love whom Thestylis hath slain.' And, trust me, I will chide my son for partiality, That gave the swain so deep a wound, and let her scape him by. Alas that ever Love was blind, to shoot so far amiss ! Cupid my son was more to blame, the fault not mine, but his. <[Exeunt Shepherds.]> O madam, if yourself would deign the handling of the bow, Albeit it be a task yourself more skill, more justice know. Sweet shepherd, did thou ever love 7} Lady, a little once. And art thou changed ? Fair Queen of Love, I loved not all at once. {Well, wanton, wert thou wounded so deep as some have been, It were a cunning cure to heal, and rueful to be seen. But tell me, gracious goddess, for a start and false offense Hath Venus or her son the power at pleasure to dispense ? My boy, I will instruct thee in a piece of poetry, That haply erst thou hast not heard: in hell there is a tree, Where once a-day do sleep the souls of false forsworn lovers, With open hearts; and thereabout in swarms the number hovers Of poor forsaken ghosts, whose wings from off this tree do beat Round drops of fiery Phlegethon to score false hearts with heat. This pain did Venus and her son entreat the prince of hell T' impose to such as faithless were to such as loved them well: And, therefore, this, my lovely boy, fair Venus doth advise thee, Be true and steadfast in thy love, beware thou do disguise thee, For he that makes but love a jest, when pleaseth him to start Shall feel those fiery water-drops consume his faithless heart. Is Venus and her son so full of justice and severity ? Pity it were that love should not be linked with indifferency. However lovers can exclaim for hard success in love, Trust me, some more than common cause that painful hap doth move: And Cupid's bow is not alone his triumph, but his rod; Nor is he only but a boy, he hight a mighty god; And they that do him reverence have reason for the same His shafts keep heaven and earth in awe, and shape rewards for shame. And hath he reason to maintain why Colin died for love ? Yea, reason good, I warrant thee, in right it might behove. Then be the name of Love adored; his bow is full of might, His wounds are all but for desert, his laws are all but right. Well, for this once me list apply my speeches to thy sense, And Thestylis shall feel the pain for Love's supposed offense. Welladay, welladay, poor Colin, thou art going to the ground, The love whom Thestylis hath slain, Hard heart, fair face, fraught with disdain, Disdain in love a deadly wound. Wound her, sweet Love, so deep again, That she may feel the dying pain Of this unhappy shepherd's swain, And die for love as Colin died, as Colin died. Shepherds, abide; let Colin's corpse be witness of the pain That Thestylis endures in love, a plague for her disdain. Behold the organ of our wrath, this rusty churl is he; She dotes on his ill-favored face, so much accursed is she. Ah, poor unhappy Thestylis, unpitied is thy pain ! Her fortune not unlike to hers who cruel thou hast slain.} The strange affects of my tormented heart, Whom cruel love hath woeful prisoner caught, Whom cruel hate hath into bondage brought, Whom wit no way of safe escape hath taught, Enforce me say, in witness of my smart, {There is no pain to foul disdain in hardy suits of love. There is no pain, &c. Cruel, farewell. Cruel, farewell.} Most cruel thou, of all that nature framed. {Most cruel, &c. To kill thy love with thy disdain. To kill thy love with thy disdain. Cruel Disdain, so lived thou named. Cruel Disdain, &c. And let me die of Iphis' pain, A life too good for thy disdain. Sith this my stars to me allot, And thou thy love hast all forgot. And thou, &c. <[Exit Thestylis.]> Now, shepherds, bury Colin's corpse, perfume his hearse with flowers, And write what justice Venus did amid these woods of yours <[The Shepherds carry out Colin's hearse.]> How now, how cheers my lovely boy, after this dump of love ? Such dumps, sweet lady, as bin these, are deadly dumps to prove. Cease, shepherd, there are other news, after this melancholy: My mind presumes some tempest toward upon the speech of Mercury.} Fair Lady Venus, let me pardoned be, That have of long bin well-beloved of thee, If, as my office bids, myself first brings To my sweet madam these unwelcome tidings. What news, what tidings, gentle Mercury, In midst of my delights, to trouble me? At Juno's suit, Pallas assisting her, Sith both did join in suit to Jupiter, Action is entered in the court of heaven; And me, the swiftest of the planets seven, With warrant they have thence dispatched away, To apprehend and find the man, they say, That gave from them that self-same ball of gold, Which, I presume, I do in place behold; Which man, unless my marks be taken wide, Is he that sits so near thy gracious side. This being so, it rests he go from hence, Before the gods to answer his offense. What tale is this? doth Juno and her mate Pursue this shepherd with such deadly hate, As what was then our general agreement, To stand unto they nill be now content; Let Juno jet, and Pallas play her part, What here I have, I won it by desert; And heaven and earth shall both confounded be, Ere wrong in this be done to him or me. This little fruit, if Mercury can spell, Will send, I fear, a world of souls to hell. {What mean these Cyclops, Mercury; waxed so fine, To send his chimney-sweepers forth to fetter any friend of mine?- Abash not, shepherd, at the thing; myself thy bail will be.- He shall be present at the court of Jove, I warrant thee. Venus, give me your pledge. My cestron, or my fan, or both? <[taking her fan].> Nay, this shall serve, your word to me as sure as is your oath, At Diana's bower; and, lady, if my wit or policy May profit him, for Venus' sake let him make bold with Mercury. <[Exeunt with the Cyclops.]> Sweet Paris, whereon dost thou muse? } The angry heavens, for this fatal jar, Name me the instrument of dire and deadly war. <[Exeunt.> Why, nymph, what need ye run so fast? what though but black I be? I have more pretty knacks to please than every eye doth see; And though I go not so upright, and though I am a smith, To make me gracious you may have some other thing therewith. Yea, Vulcan, will ye so indeed?-Nay, turn, and tell him, trull, He hath a mistress of his own to take his bellyful. Why, sir, if Phoebe's dainty nymphs please lusty Vulcan's tooth, Why may not Vulcan tread awry as well as Venus doth? Ye shall not taint your troth for me: you wot it very well, All that be Dian's maids are vowed to halter apes in hell. I'faith, i'faith, my gentle mops, but I do know a cast, Lead apes who list, that we would help t'unhalter them as fast. Fie, fie, your skill is wondrous great! Had thought the God of Wine Had tended but his tubs and grapes, and not been half so fine. Gramercy for that quirk, my girl. That's one of dainty's frumps. I pray, sir, take't with all amiss; our cunning comes by lumps. Sh'ath capped his answer in the cue. How says 'a, has she so ? As well as she that capped your head to keep you warm below. Yea, then you will be curst I see. Best let her even alone. Yea, gentle gods, and find some other string to harp upon. Some other string! agreed, i'faith, some other pretty thing; 'Twere shame fair maids should idle be: how say you, will ye sing ? Some rounds or merry roundelays, we sing no other songs; Your melancholic notes not to our country mirth belongs. Here comes a crew will help us trim. Yea, now our task is done. Then, merry Mercury, more than time this round were well begun. <[They sing "Hey down, down, down," &c. [The song done, the Nymph winds a horn in Vulcan's ear, and runs out.> A harlotry, I warrant her. A peevish elvish shrow. Have seen as far to come as near, for all her ranging so. But, Bacchus, time well-spent I wot, our sacred father Jove, With Phoebus and the God of War are met in Dian's grove. Then we are here before them yet: but stay, the earth doth swell; God Neptune, too, (this hap is good,) doth meet the Prince of Hell. What jars are these, that call the gods of heaven and hell below? It is a work of wit and toil to rule a lusty shrow.} Bring forth the man of Troy, that he may hear Whereof he is to be arraigned here. Lo, where 'a comes, prepared to plead his case, Under conduct of lovely Venus' grace ! I have not seen a more alluring boy. So beauty hight the wrack of Priam's Troy. <[The gods being set in Diana's bower; Diana, Juno, Pallas, Venus, and Paris stand on sides before them.> Lo, sacred Jove, at Juno's proud complaint, As erst I gave my pledge to Mercury, I bring the man whom he did late attaint, To answer his indictment orderly; And crave this grace of this immortal senate, That ye allow the man his advocate. That may not be; the laws of heaven deny A man to plead or answer by attorney. Pallas, thy doom is all too peremptory. Venus, that favor is denied him flatly: He is a man, and therefore by our laws, Himself, without his aid, must plead his cause. Then 'bash not, shepherd, in so good a case; And friends thou hast, as well as foes, in place. Why, Mercury, why do ye not indict him ? Soft, gentle Juno, I pray you, do not bite him. Nay, gods, I trow, you are like to have great silence, Unless this parrot be commanded hence. Venus, forbear, be still.-Speak, Mercury. If Juno jangle, Venus will reply. {Paris, King Priam's son, thou art arraigned o partiality, Of sentence partial and unjust; for that without indifferency, Beyond desert or merit fair, as thine accusers say, From them, to Lady Venus here, thou gav'st the prize away: What is thine answer?} Sacred and just, thou great and dreadful Jove, And you thrice-reverend powers, whom love nor hate May wrest awry; if this to me a man, This fortune fatal be, that I must plead For safe excusal of my guiltless thought, The honor more makes my mishap the less, That I a man must plead before the gods- Gracious forbearers of the world's amiss- For her, whose beauty how it hath enticed, This heavenly senate may with me aver. But sith nor that nor this may do me boot, And for myself myself must speaker be, A mortal man amidst this heavenly presence; Let me not shape a long defense to them That ben beholders of my guiltless thoughts. Then for the deed, that I may not deny, Wherein consists the full of mine offense, I did upon command; if then I erred, I did no more than to a man belonged. And if, in verdict of their forms divine, My dazzled eye did swerve or surfeit more On Venus' face than any face of theirs, It was no partial fault, but fault of his, Belike, whose eyesight not so perfect was As might discern the brightness of the rest. And if it were permitted unto men, Ye gods, to parle with your secret thoughts, There ben that sit upon that sacred seat, That would with Paris err in Venus' praise. But let me cease to speak of error here; Sith what my hand, the organ of my heart, Did give with good agreement of mine eye, My tongue is void with process to maintain. First, then, arraigned of partiality, Paris replies, ' Unguilty of the fact '; His reason is, because he knew no more Fair Venus' cestron than Dame Juno's mace, Nor never saw wise Pallas' crystal shield. Then, as I looked, I loved and liked at once, And as it was referred from them to me, To give the prize to her whose beauty best My fancy did commend, so did I praise And judge as might my dazzled eye discern. A piece of art, that cunningly, perdy, Refers the blame to weakness of his eye. Now, for I must add reason for my deed, Why Venus rather pleased me of the three; First, in the entrails of my mortal ears, The question standing upon Beauty's blaze, The name of her that hight the Queen of Love, Methought in beauty should not be excelled. Had it been destined to Majesty, (Yet will I not rob Venus of her grace,) Then stately Juno might have borne the ball. Had it to Wisdom been intituled, My human wit had given it Pallas then. But sith unto the fairest of the three That power, that threw it for my farther ill, Did dedicate this ball; and safest durst My shepherd's skill adventure, as I thought, To judge of form and beauty rather than Of Juno's state or Pallas' worthiness, That learned to ken the fairest of the flock, And praised beauty but by nature's aim; Behold, to Venus Paris gave this fruit, A daysman chosen there by full consent, And heavenly powers should not repent their deeds. Where it is said, beyond desert of hers l honored Venus with this golden prize, Ye gods, alas, what can a mortal man Discern betwixt the sacred gifts of heaven? Or, if l may with reverence reason thus: Suppose I gave, and judged corruptly then, For hope of that that best did please my thought, This apple not for beauty's praise alone; I might offend, sith l was pardoned, And tempted more than ever creature was With wealth, with beauty, and with chivalry, And so preferred beauty before them all, The thing that hath enchanted heaven itself And for the one, contentment is my wealth; A shell of salt will serve a shepherd swain, A slender banquet in a homely scrip, And water running from the silver spring. For arms, they dread no foes that sit so low; A thorn can keep the wind from off my back, A sheep-cote thatched a shepherd's palace hight. Of tragic Muses shepherds con no skill; Enough is them, if Cupid ben displeased, To sing his praise on slender oaten pipe. And thus, thrice-reversed, have I told my tale, And crave the torment of my guiltless soul To be measured by my faultless thought. If warlike Pallas or the Queen of Heaven Sue to reverse my sentence by appeal, Be it as please your majesties divine; The wrong, the hurt, not mine, if any be, But hers whose beauty claimed the prize of me. <[Paris having ended, Jupiter speaks.> Venus, withdraw your shepherd for a space, Till he again be called for into place. <[Exeunt Venus and Paris.> Juno, what will ye after this reply, But doom with sentence of indifferency? And if you will but justice in the cause, The man must quitted be by heaven's laws. Yea, gentle Jove, when Juno's suits are moved, Then heaven may see how well she is beloved. But, madam, fits it majesty divine In any sort from justice to decline? Whether the man be guilty, yea or no, That doth not hinder our appeal, I trow. Phoebus, I wot, amid this heavenly crew, There be that have to say as well as you. And, Juno, I with them, and they with me, In law and right must needfully agree. I grant ye may agree, but be content To doubt upon regard of your agreement. And if ye marked, the man in his defense Said thereof as 'a might with reverence. And did that very well, l promise ye. No doubt, sir, you could note it cunningly. Well, Juno, if ye will appeal, ye may, But first dispatch the shepherd hence away. Then Vulcan's dame is like to have the wrong. And that in passion doth to Mars belong. Call Venus and the shepherd in again. And rid the man that he may know his pain. His pain, his pain, his never-dying pain, A cause to make a many more complain. {Shepherd, thou hast been heard with equity and law, And for thy stars do thee to other calling draw, We here dismiss thee hence, by order of our senate; Go take thy way to Troy, and there abide thy fate. Sweet shepherd, with such luck in love, while thou dost live, As may the Queen of Love to any lover give.} My luck is loss, howe'er my love do speed: I fear me Paris shall but rue his deed. <[Exit.]> From Ida woods now wends the shepherd's boy, That in his bosom carries fire to Troy. Venus, these ladies do appeal, you see, And that they may appeal the gods agree: It resteth, then, that you be well content To stand in this to our final judgment; And if King Priam's son did well in this, The law of heaven will not lead amiss. But, sacred Jupiter, might thy daughter choose, She might with reason this appeal refuse: Yet, if they be unmoved in their shames, Be it a stain and blemish to their names: A deed, too, far unworthy of the place, Unworthy Pallas lance or Juno's mace: And if to beauty it bequeathed be, I doubt not but it will return to me. <[Lays down the ball.]> Venus, there is no more ado than so, It resteth where the gods do it bestow. But, ladies, under favor of your rage, Howe'er it be, you play upon the vantage. Then, dames, that we more freely may debate, And hear th' indifferent sentence of this senate, Withdraw you from this presence for a space, Till we have thoroughly questioned of the case: Dian shall be your guide; nor shall you need Yourselves t' inquire how things do here succeed; We will, as we resolve, give you to know, By general doom how everything doth go. Thy will, my wish.-Fair ladies, will ye wend? Beshrew her whom this sentence doth offend. {Now, Jove, be just; and, gods, you that be Venus' friends, If you have ever done her wrong, then may you make amends. <[Exeunt Diana, Juno, Pallas, and Venus.> Venus is fair, Pallas and Juno too.} But tell me now without some more ado, Who is the fairest she, and do not flatter. Upon comparison hangs all the matter: That done, the quarrel and the strife were ended. Because 'tis known, the quarrel is pretended. Mars, you have reason for your speech, perdy; My dame, I trow, is fairest in your eye. Or, Vulcan, I should do her double wrong. About a toy we tarry here too long. Give it by voices, voices give the odds; A trifle so to trouble all the gods! Believe me, Saturn, be it so for me. For me. For me. For me, if Jove agree. And, gentle gods, I am indifferent; But then I know who's likely to be shent. Thrice-reverend gods, and thou, immortal Jove, If Phoebus may, as him doth much behove, Be licensed, according to our laws, To speak uprightly in this doubted cause, (Sith women's wits work men's unceasing woes,) To make them friends, that now bin friendless foes, And peace to keep with them, with us, and all, That make their title to this golden ball; (Nor think, ye gods, my speech doth derogate From sacred power of this immortal senate;) Refer this sentence where it doth belong: In this, say I, fair Phoebe hath the wrong; Not that I mean her beauty bears the prize, But that the holy law of heaven denies One god to meddle in another's power; And this befell so near Diana's bower, As for th' appeasing this unpleasant grudge, In my conceit, she hight the fittest judge. If Jove control not Pluto's hell with charms, If Mars have sovereign power to manage arms, If Bacchus bear no rule in Neptune's sea, Nor Vulcan's fire doth Saturn's scythe obey, Suppress not then, 'gainst law and equity, Diana's power in her own territory, Whose regiment, amid her sacred bowers, As proper hight as any rule of yours. Well may we so wipe all the speech away, That Pallas, Juno, Venus, hath to say, And answer that, by justice of our laws We were not suffered to conclude the cause. And this to me most equal doom appears, A woman to be judge among her feres. Apollo hath found out the only mean To rid the blame from us and trouble clean. We are beholding to his sacred wit. I can commend and well allow of it; And so derive the matter from us all, That Dian have the giving of the ball. So Jove may clearly excuse him in the case, Where Juno else would chide and brawl apace. <[They all rise.> And now it were some cunning to divine To whom Diana will this prize resign. Sufficeth me, it shall be none of mine. Vulcan, though thou be black, thou'rt nothing fine. Go bathe thee, Bacchus, in a tub of wine; The ball's as likely to be mine as thine. <[Exeunt.> Lo, ladies, far beyond my hope and will, you This thankless office is imposed to me; Wherein if you will rest as well content, As Dian will be judge indifferent, My egall doom shall none of you offend, And of this quarrel make a final end: And therefore, whether you be lief or loath, Confirm your promise with some sacred oath. Phoebe, chief mistress of this sylvan chase, Whom gods have chosen to conclude the case That yet in balance undecided lies, Touching bestowing of this golden prize, I give my promise and mine oath withal, By Styx, by heaven's power imperial, By all that 'longs to Pallas' deity, Her shield, her lance, ensigns of chivalry, Her sacred wreath of olive and of bay, Her crested helm, and else what Pallas may, That wheresoe'er this ball of purest gold, That chaste Diana here in hand doth hold, Unpartially her wisdom shall bestow, Without mislike or quarrel any moe, Juno shall rest content and satisfied, And say the best desert doth there abide. And, lovely Phoebe, for I know thy doom Will be no other than shall thee become, Behold, I take thy dainty hand to kiss, And with my solemn oath confirm my promise, By Styx, by Jove's immortal empery, By Cupid's bow, by Venus' myrtle-tree, By Vulcan's gift, my cestron and my fan, By this red rose, whose color first began When erst my wanton boy (the more his blame; Did draw his bow awry and hurt his dame, By all the honor and the sacrifice That from Cithaeron and from Paphos rise, That wheresoe'er this ball of purest gold, That chaste Diana here in hand doth hold, Unpartially her wisdom shall bestow, Without mislike or quarrel any moe, Venus shall rest content and satisfied, And say the best desert doth there abide. <[Diana, having taken their oaths, speaks. Diana describes the Nymph Eliza, a figure of the Queen.> It is enough, and, goddesses, attend. There wons within these pleasant shady woods, Where neither storm nor sun's distemperature Have power to hurt by cruel heat or cold, Under the climate of the milder heaven; Where seldom lights Jove's angry thunderbolt, For favor of that sovereign earthly peer; Where whistling winds make music 'mong the trees, Far from disturbance of our country gods, Amidst the cypress-springs, a gracious nymph, That honors Dian for her chastity, And likes the labors well of Phoebe's groves. The place Elysium hight, and of the place Her name that governs there Eliza is; A kingdom that may well compare with mine, An ancient seat of kings, a second Troy, Y-compassed round with a commodious sea: Her people are y-cleped Angeli, Or, if I miss, a letter is the most. She giveth laws of justice and of peace; And on her head, as fits her fortune best, She wears a wreath of laurel, gold and palm; Her robes of purple and of scarlet dye; Her veil of white, as best befits a maid: Her ancestors live in the House of Fame: She giveth arms of happy victory, And flowers to deck her lions crowned with gold. This peerless nymph, whom heaven and earth belove, This paragon, this only, this is she, In whom do meet so many gifts in one, On whom our country gods so often gaze, In honor of whose name the Muses sing: In state Queen Juno's peer, for power in arms And virtues of the mind Minerva's mate, As fair and lovely as the Queen of Love, As chaste as Dian in her chaste desires: The same is she, if Phoebe do no wrong, To whom this ball in merit doth belong. If this be she whom some Zabeta call, To whom thy wisdom well bequeaths the ball, I can remember, at her day of birth, How Flora with her flowers strewed the earth, How every power with heavenly majesty In person honored that solemnity. The lovely Graces were not far away, They threw their balm for triumph of the day. {The Fates, against their kind, began a cheerful song,} And vowed her life with favor to prolong. Then first gan Cupid's eyesight waxen dim; Belike Eliza's beauty blinded him. To this fair nymph, not earthly, but divine, Contents it me my honor to resign. To this fair queen, so beautiful and wise, Pallas bequeaths her title in the prize. To her whom Juno's looks so well become, The Queen of Heaven yields at Phoebe's doom; And glad I am Diana found the art, Without offense so well to please desert. Then mark my tale. The usual time is nigh, When wont the Dames of Life and Destiny, In robes of cheerful colors, to repair To this renowned queen so wise and fair, With pleasant songs this peerless nymph to greet: Clotho lays down her distaff at her feet, And Lachesis doth pull the thread at length, The third with favor gives it stuff and strength, And for contrary kind affords her leave, As her best likes, her web of life to weave, This time we will attend, and in mean while With some sweet song the tediousness beguile. Humanae vitae filum sic volvere Parcae. Humanae vitae filum sic tendere Parcae. Humanae vitae filum sic scindere Parcae. {Clotho colum bajulat. Lachesis trahit. Atropos occat. Vive diu felix votis hominumque deumque. Corpore, mente, libro, doctissima, candida, casta. <[They lay down their properties at the Queen's feet.> Clotho colum pedibus. Lachesis tibi pendula fila. Et fatale tuis manibus ferrum Atropos offert. Vive diu felix votis hominumque deumque.} <[This song being ended, Clotho speaks to the Queen.> Gracious and wise, fair Queen of rare renown, Whom heaven and earth belove, amid thy train, Noble and lovely peers, to honor thee And do thee favor more than may belong By nature's law to any earthly wight, Behold continuance of our yearly due: Th' unpartial Dames of Destiny, we meet, As have the gods and we agreed in one, In reverence of Eliza's noble name; And humbly, lo, her distaff Clotho yields! Her spindle Lachesis, and her fatal reel, Lays down in reverence at Eliza's feet. {Te tamen in terris unam tria numina Divam Invita statuunt naturae lege sorores, Et tibi non aliis didicerunt parcere Parcae.} Dame Atropos, according as her feres, To thee, fair Queen, resigns her fatal knife: Long live the noble phoenix of our age, Our fair Eliza, our Zabeta fair! And lo, beside this rare solemnity, And sacrifice these dames as wont to do, A favor, far indeed contrary kind, Bequeathed is unto thy worthiness,- This prize from heaven and heavenly goddesses! <[Delivers the ball of gold to the Queen's own hands.]> Accept it, then, thy due by Dian's doom, Praise of the Wisdom, Beauty, and the State, That best becomes thy peerless excellency. So, fair Eliza, Venus doth resign The honor of this honor to be thine. So is the Queen of Heaven content likewise To yield to thee her title in the prize. So Pallas yields the praise hereof to thee, For Wisdom, princely State, and peerless Beauty. {Vive diu felix, votis hominumque deumque, Corpore, mente, libro, doctissima, candida, casta.} <[Exeunt Omnes.>