Actus primus. Schaena prima.

THou art a Ferriman, Phao, yet a free man, possessing for riches content, and for honors quiet. Thy thoughts are no higher thē thy fortunes, nor thy desires greater then thy calling. Who climeth, standeth on glasse, and falleth on thorne. Thy hearts thirste is satisfied with thy hands thrift, and thy gentle labours in the day, turne to sweete slumbers in the night. As much doth it delight thee to rule thine oare in a calme streame, as it dooth Sapho to swaye the Scepter in her braue court. Enuie neuer casteth her eie lowe, ambition pointeth alwaies vpwarde, and reuenge barketh onely at starres. Thou farest dilicately, if thou haue a fare to buy any thing. Thine angle is ready, when thine oar is idle, and as sweet is the fish which thou get­test in the ryuer, as the fowle which other buye in the market. Thou needst not feare poyson in thy glasse, nor treason in thy garde. The winde is thy greatest enemy, whose might is withstoode with pollicy. O sweete life seldom found vnder a goldē couert, oftē vnder a thach­ed cotage. But here commeth one, I will withdrawe my selfe aside, it may be a passenger.

It is no lesse vnseemely then vnwholsom for Venus, who is most honoured in Princes courtes, to so­iourne with Vulcan in a smithes forge, where bellowes blow in steede of sighes, dark smokes rise for sweet per­fumes, & for the panting of louing hearts, is only heard the beating of steeled hāmers. Vnhappy Venus, y ^t cariing fire in thine own breast, thou shouldest dwel with fire in [Page] his forge. What doth Vulcan all day but endeuour to be as crabbed in maners, as he is crooked in body? driuing nailes, when he should giue kisses, and hammering hard armours, when he should sing sweete Amors. It came by lot, not loue, that I was lincked with him. He giues thee bolts, Cupid, in steed of arrowes, fearing belike (iealous foole that he is) that if he shuld giue thee an arrow head he should make himself a broad head. But come, we wil to Syracusa, where thy deitie shal be shown, and my dis­daine. I will yoke the necke, that yet neuer bowed, at which, if Ioue repine, Ioue shal repent. Sapho shal know, be she neuer so faire, that there is a Venus, which can cō ­quer, were she neuer so fortunate.

If Ioue espie Sapho, he wil deuise some new shape to entertaine her.

Strike thou Sapho, let Ioue deuise what shape he can.

Mother, they say she hath her thoughtes in a string, that she conquers affections, and sendeth loue vp and downe vpon arrandes, I am afraid she wil yerke me, if I hit her.

Peeuish boy, can mortal creatures resist that, which the immortall Gods cannotredresse?

The Gods are amorous and therefore wil­ling to be pearsed.

And she amiable, & therefore must be pear­sed.

I dare not.

Draw thine arrow to the head, els I wil make thee repent it at the heart. Come away and behold the ferry boy ready to conduct vs. Prety youth, de you keep the ferry that bendeth to Syracusa?

The ferrie, faire Lady, that bendeth to Syra­cusa.

I feare if the water should begin to swel thou wilt want cunning to guide.

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These waters are commonly as the passengers be, and therefore carying one so faire in shew, there is no cause to feare a rough sea.

To passe the time in thy boate, canst thou de­uise any pastime?

If the winde be with me, I can angle, or tell tales: if against me, it will be pleasure for you to see mee take paines.

I like not fishing: yet was I borne of the sea.

But he may blesse fishing, that caught such an one in the sea.

It was not with an angle, my boy, but with a nette.

So was it said, that vulcan caught Mars with Venus.

Didst thou heare so? It was some tale.

Yea Madame and that in the boate I didde meane to make my tale.

It is not for a ferry man to talk of the Gods loues: but to tell how thy father could dig, and thy mo­ther spinne. But come, let vs away.

I am ready to waite.

Actus primus, Schaena sccunda.

Pandion, since your comming from the vni­uersitie to the court, from Athens to Syracusa, how doe you feele your self altered either in humor or opinion?

Altered Trachinus, I say no more, and shame that any should know so much.

Here you see as great vertue, far greater braue ry, the action of that which you cōtemplate▪ Sapho, faire by nature, by birth royall, learned by education by go­uernment politike, rich by peace: insomuch as it is hard to iudge, whether she be more beautifull or wise, vertu­ous [Page] or fortunate. Beesides, doe you not looke on faire Ladies in steede of good letters, and behold faire faces in steed of fine phrases: In vniuersities vertues and vi­ces are but shadowed in colours white and blacke, in courtes shewed to life good and bad. There, times paste are read of in old bookes, times present set downe by new deuises, times to come coniectured at by aime, by prophesie, or chaunce here, are times in perfection, nor by deuise, as fables, but in execution, as trueths. Beleeue me Pandion, in Athens you haue but tombs, we in court the bodies, you the pictures of Venus & the wise God­desses, we the persons & the vertues. What hath a seh ol­ler found out by study, that a courtier hath not found out by practise. Simple are you that think to see more at the candle snuffe, then the sunne beams, to saile further in a litle brooke, then in the maine Ocean, to make a greater haruest by gleaning, then reaping. How say you Pandion, is not all this true?

Trachinus, what would you more, all true.

Cease then to lead thy life in a study, pinned with a fewe boardes, and endeuour to be a courtier to liue in emboste rouffes.

A labour intollerable for Pandion.

Why?

Because it is harder to shape a life to dissem­ble, then to goe forward with the libertie of trueth.

Why do you thinke in court any vse to dis­semble?

Doe you knowe in court any that meane to liue?

You haue no reasō for it, but an old reporte.

Reporte hath not alwaies a blister on her tongue.

I, but this is the court of Sapho natures mi­racle, which resembleth the tree Salurus, whose roote is fastened vpon knotted steele, & in whose top bud leaues of pure gold.

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Yet hath Salurus blasts, and water boughes, wormes and Caterpillers.

The vertue of the tree is not the cause: but the Easterly wind, which is thought commonly to bring cankers and rottenesse.

Nor the excellencie of Sapho the occasion: but the iniquitie of flatterers, who alwaies whisper in Prin­ces eares suspition and sowrenesse.

Why, then you conclude with me, that Sapho for vertue hath no copartner.

Yea, & with the iudgement of the world, that she is without comparison.

We wil thither streight.

I would I might returne streight.

Why, there you may liue stil.

But not still.

Howe like you the Ladies, are they not passing faire?

Mine eie drinketh neither the colour of wine nor women.

Yet am I sure that in iudgemente you are not so seuere, but that you can be content to allowe of bewtie by day or by night.

When I behold bewty before the sunne, his beams dimme bewtie: when by candle, bewty obscures toarch light: so as no time I can iudge, because at anie time I cannot discerne being in the sunne a brightnesse to shadow bewtie, and in bewtie a glistering to extin­guish light.

Schollerlike said, you flatter that, whiche you seeme to mislike, and to disgrace that, which you moste wonder at. But let vs away.

I follow. And you sir boy goe to Syracusa about by land, where you shall meete my stuffe, pay for the cariage, and conuey it to my lodging.

I think all your stuffe are bundles of paper: [Page] but now must you learne to turne your library to a war drope, & see whether your rapier hang better by your side, then the penne did in your eare.

Actus primus, Schaena tertia.

Molus, what oddes betweene thy commons in Athens, and the diet in court? A pages life, & a scollers?

This difference: there of a litle I had somewhat, here of a great deale nothing, there did I weare Panto­pheles on my legs, here doe I beare them in my handes.

Thou maist be skilled in thy Logick, but not in thy Lerypoope: belike no meate can downe with you, vnlesse you haue a knife to cutte it: but come among vs, and you shall see vs once in a morning haue a mouse at a bay.

A mouse? vnproperly spoken.

Aptly vnderstoode, a mouse of beafe.

I thinke indeed a peece of beafe as bigge as a mouse, serues a great companie of such cattes. But what els?

For other sportes, a square die in a pages poc­ket, is as decent as a square cap on a Graduates head.

You courtiers be mad fellowes, wee silly soules are onely plodders at Ergo, whose wittes are claspt vppe with our bookes, & so full of learning are we at home, that wescarce know good manners when wee come a­broad, Cunning in nothing but in making small things great by figures, pulling on with the sweate of our stu­dies a great shooe vpon a litle foote, burning out one cādle in seeking for an other, raw wordlings in matters of substaunce passing wranglers about shadowes.

Then is it time lost to be a scholler. We pages are Politians: for looke what we heare our maisters talke of, ve determine of: where we suspect, we vndermine: and [Page] where we mislike for some perticular grudge, there we pick quarrels for a generall griefe. Nothing amonge vs but in steede of good morow, what newes: wee fal from cogging at dice to cogge with states: & so forward are meane mē in those matters, that they wold be cocks to tread down others, before they be chickēs to rise them­selues. Youthes are very forwarde to stroke their chins, though they haue no beardes, and to lie as lowd as hee that hath liued longest.

These be the golden daies.

Then be they very darke daies: for I can see no golde.

You are grosse witted, maister courtier.

And you maister scholler slender witted.

I meant times which were prophecied golden for plentie of all things, sharpnesse of wit, excellencie in knowledge, pollicy in gouernment, for,

Softe Scholaris, I denie your argument.

Why, it is no argument.

Then I denie it because it is no argument. But let vs go and follow our maisters.

Actus primus, Schaena quarta.

Is it not straung that Phao on the sodain shuld be so faire?

It cannot be straunge, sith Venus was disposed to make him faire. That cunning had beene better be­stowed on women, which would haue deserued thankes of nature.

Haplye she did in spite of women, or scorne of nature.

Proude else, how squeamish he is be come alrea­die, vsing both disdaineful lookes, & imperious words: insomuch that he galleth with ingratitude. And then Ladies you know how it cutteth a woman to become a wooer.

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Tush, children and fooles, the fairer they are, the sooner they yeeld, an apple will catch the one, a ba­by the other.

Your loouer I thinke be a faire foole: for you loue nothing but fruit and puppets.

I laugh at that you all call loue, and iudge it onely a worde called loue. Me thinks lyking, a curtesie, a smile, a beck, and such like, are the very Quintessence of loue.

I, Mileta, but were you as wise, as you would be thought faire, or as faire, as you think your self wise, you would bee as ready to please men, as you are coye to pranke your selfe, & as carefull to bee accounted a­morous, as you are willing to be thought discrete.

No, no, men are good soules (poore soules:) who neuer enquire but with their eies, louing to father the cradle, though they but mother the childe. Giue me their giftes, not their vertues, a graine of their golde weigheth downe a pound of their witt, a dram of giue me, is heauier then an ounce of heare me. Beleeue mee Ladies, giue is a pretie thing.

I cannot but oftentimes smile to my selfe, to heare men call vs weake vesselles, when they proue thē ­selues broken hearted, vs fraile, when their thoughtes cannot hang togeather, studying with words to flatter, and with bribes to allure, when we commōly wish their tongues in their purses, they speake so simply, and their offers in their bellies, they doe it so peeuishly.

It is good sporte to see them want matter: for then fall they to good manners, hauing nothing in their mouthes but sweet mistresse, wearing our hands out with courtly kissings, when their wits faile in court­ly discourses. Now rufling their haires, now setting their ruffes, then gazing with their eies, then sighing with a priuie wring by the hand, thinking vs like to be wowed by signes and ceremonies.

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Yet we, when we sweare with our mouthes wee are not in loue, then we sigh from the heart and pine in loue.

Wee are madde wenches, if men marke our wordes: for whē I say, I would none cared for loue more then I, what meane I, but I woulde none loued but I, where we cry away, doe we not presently say, go too: & when men striue for kisses, we exclaime, let vs alone, as though we would fall to that our selues.

Nay, then Canope, it is time to goe, and bee­hold Phao.

Where?

In your heade Ismena, no where els: but let vs keepe on our way.

Wisely.

Actus secundus, Schaena prima,

Phao, thy meane fortune causeth thee to vse an oare, and thy sodaine bewtie a glasse: by the one is seene thy need, in the other thy pride. O Venus, in thin­king thou hast blest me, thou hast curst me, adding to a poore estate, a proud heart: and to a disdained man, a disdaining minde. Thou doest not flatter thy selfe Phao, thou art faire: faire? I feare me faire, be a word too foule for a face so passing fayte. But what auaileth bewtie, hadst thou all things thou wouldest wish, thou mightst die to morrow, and didst thou want al things thou desi­rest, thou shalt liue till thou diest. Tushe Phao, there is growne more pride in thy minde, then fauour in thy face. Blush foolish boy, to think on thine own thoughts: cease complaints, & craue counsell. And loe, behold Sy­billa in the mouth of her caue, I will salute her. Ladye, I feare me I am out of my way, and so benighted withall that I am compelled to aske your direction.

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Faire youth, if you will be aduised by mee, you shal for this time seeke none other Inne, then my caue: for that it is no lesse perillous to trauaile by night, then vncomfortable.

Your curtesie offered hath preuented what my necessity was to entreate.

Come neere, take a stoole, and sit downe. Now, for that these winter nights are long, and that children delight in nothing more then to heare old wiues tales, we will beguile the time with some storie. And though you behold wrinkles and furrowes in my tawny face: yet may you happily finde wisdome and counsell in my white haires.

Lady nothing can content me better thē a tale, neither is there any thing more necessary for mee then counsell.

Were you borne so faire by nature?

No, made so faire by Venus.

For what cause?

I feare me for some curse.

Why, doe you loue, and cannot obteine?

No I may obteine but cannot loue.

Take heede of that my childe.

I cannot chuse good Madame.

Then hearken to my tale, which I hope shall be as a streight thread to leade you out of those crooked conceites, and place you in the plaine path of loue.

I attend.

When I was young, as you nowe are, I speake it without boasting, I was as bewtifull: for Phoebus in his Godhead sought to gette my mayden head: but I, fonde wench, receiuing a benefit from aboue, began to waxe sqemishe beneath, not vnlike to Asolis, which beeing made greene by heauenly droppes, shrinketh into the grounde when there fall showers: or the Syrian mudde, which being made white chalk by the sunne, neuer cea­seth rolling, til it lie in the shadow. He to sweete praiers [Page] added great promises, I either desirous to make trial of his power, or willing to prolong mine owne life, caught vp my handful of sand, consenting to his suite, if I might liue as many yeares as there were graines. Phoebus, (for what cannot Gods doe, and what for loue will they not do,) graunted my petition. And then I sighe and blushe to tell the rest, I recalled my promise.

Was not the God angry to see you vnkinde?

Angry my boy, which was the cause that I was vnfortunate.

What reuenge for such rigor vsed the Gods?

None, but suffring vs to liue, and know wee are no Gods.

I pray tell on.

I will Hauing receiued long life by Phoebus, & rare bewtie by nature, I thought all the yeere woulde haue beene May, that fresh colours would alwaies con­tinue, y ^t time & fortune could not weare out, what Gods and nature had wrought vppe: not once imagining that white and read should returne to black and yellow, the Iuniper, the longer it grew, the crookedder it waxed, or that in a face without blemish, there should come wrin­kles without number. I did as you do, go with my glasse, rauished with the pride of mine own bewtie, & you shall do as I doe, loath to see a glasse disdaining deformitie. There was none that heard of my fault, but shunned my fauour, insomuch as I stooped for age before I tasted of youth, sure to be long liued, vncerteine to bee beloued. Gentlemen that vsde to sigh from their heartes for my sweete loue, began to point with their fingers at my wi­thered face, & laughed to see the eies, out of which fire seemed to sparkle, to be suckered being old with specta­cles. This causeth me to withdraw my selfe to a solitary caue, where I must leade sixe hundred yeeres in no lesse pensiuenesse of crabbed age, then grief of remembred youth. Only this comfort, that being ceased to be faire, I study to be wise, wishing to be thought a graue matrō, since I cannot returne to be a young maide.

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Is it not possible to die before you become so old?

No more possible then to returne as you are, to be so young.

Could not you settle your fancie vpon any, or would not destinie suffer it?

Women willinglye ascribe that to fortune, which wittingly was committed by frowardnesse.

What will you haue me doe?

Take heede you do not as I did. Make not too much of fading bewty, which is fair in the cradle, & foul in the graue, resembling Polyon, whose leaues are white in the morning, and blew before night, or Anyta, which being a sweet flower at the rising of the sunne, becom­meth a weede, if it be not pluckt before the setting Fair faces haue no fruites, if they haue no witnesses. When you shall behold ouer this tender flesh a tough skinne, your eies which were wont to glaunce on others faces to be suncke so hollow, that you can scarce looke out of your own head, and when all your teech shall wagge as faste as your tongue, thē wil you repent the time which you cannot recall, and be enforced to beare what moste you blame. Loose not the pleasaunt time of your youth, then the which there is nothing swifter, nothing swee­ter. Bewtie is a slippery good, which decreaseth whilest it is encreasing, resēbling the Medler, which in the mo­ment of his full ripenes is known to be in a rottennes. Whiles you looke in the glasse, it waxeth old with time, if on the Sunne parcht with heate, if on the winde, bla­sted with cold. A great care to keepe it, a short space to enioy it, a sodain time to loose it. Be not coy, when you are courted. Fortunes wings are made of times fea­thers, which stay not whilest one may measure them. Be affable and curteous in youth, that you may be honou­red in age. Roses that lose their colours, keepe their sa­uours, and pluckt from the stalke, are put to the still. Co­tonea, [Page] because it boweth when the sunne riseth, is swee­test, when it is oldest: and children, which in their tēder yeeres sow curtesie, shal in their declining states reap pi­tie. Be not proud of bewties painting whose colours cōsume themselues, because they are bewties painting.

I am driuen by your counsell into diuerse con­ceites, neither knowing how to stande, or where to fall, but to yeelde to loue is the only thing I hate.

I cōmit you to fortune, who is like to play such prancks with you, as your tēder yeeres can scarse beare, nor your greene wits vnderstand. But repaire vnto me often, and if I cannot remoue the effectes, yet I will ma­nifest the causes.

I goe, ready to returne for aduice, before I am resolued to aduenture.

Yet hearken two words, thou shalt get friend­shippe by dissembling, loue by hatred, vnlesse thou pe­rish, thou shalt perish: in digging for a stone, thou shalt reach a starre: thou shalt be hated most, because thou art loued most. Thy death shalbe feared & wished: so much for prophecie, which nothing can preuent: and this for counsell, which thou maist follow. Keepe not companie with Antes, that haue winges, nor talke with any, neere the hill of a mowle, where thou smellest the sweetnesse of serpents breath, beware thou touch no parte of the bodie. Be not mery among those that put Buglosse in their wine, and suger in thine. If any talke of the Eclipse of the sunne, say thou neuer sawest it. Nourishe no co­nies in thy vaultes, nor swallowes in thine eues. Sowe next thy vine Mandrage, and euer keepe thine eares o­pen, and thy mouth shut, thine eies vpwarde, and thy fingers downe: so shalt thou doe better then otherwise, though neuer so well as I wishe.

Alas Madame, your prophesie threatneth mise­ries, and your counsell warneth impossibilities.

Farewell, I can answere no more.

Actus secundus, Schae na secunda.

Vnhappy Phao. But softe, what gallant troupe is this? What Gentlewoman in this?

Sapho, a Lady heere in Sycily.

What faire boy is that?

Phao, the Ferrie man of Syracusa.

I neuer saw one more braue: be al Ladies of such maiestie?

No, this is she that al wonder at and worship.

I haue seldome seene a sweeter face. Be all Fer­rie men of that fairenesse?

No Madame, this is he that Venus determined among men to make the fairest.

Seeing I am onely come forth to take the ayre, I will crosse the Ferrie, and so the fieldes, then going in through the park, I thinke the walke wil be pleasant.

You wil much delight in the flattering greene, which now beginneth to be in his glory.

Sir boy, will yee vndertake to cary vs ouer the water? Are you dumb, can you not speake?

Madame, I craue pardon, I am spurblinde, I could scarse see.

It is pitie in so good a face there should bee an euill eie.

I would in my face there were neuer an eie.

Thou canst neuer be rich in a trade of life of all the basest.

Yet content Madame, which is a kind of life of all the best.

Wilt thou forsake the ferrie, and followe the court as a Page?

As it pleaseth fortune Madame, to whome I am a prentice.

Come, let vs goe?

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Will you goe Pandion.

Yea.

Actus secundus, Schaena tertia.

Cryticus comes in good time, I shall not bee a­lone. What newes Cryticus?

I taught you that lesson, to aske what newes, & this is the newes: to morow ther shalbe a desperate fray betweene two, made at all weapons, from the browne bill to the bodkin.

Now thou talkest of Frayes, I pray thee what is that, whereof they talke so commonlye in courte, va­lour, the stab, the pistoll, for the which euery man that dareth is so much honoured?

O Molus, beware of valour, hee that can looke bigge, and weare his dagger pomel lower thē the point, that lyeth at a good warde, and can hit a button with a thrust, and will into the field man to man for a boute or two, he, Molus, is a shrewd fellow, and shall be well fol­lowed.

What is the end?

Daunger or death.

If it be but death that bringeth all this com­mendation, I account him as valiant that is killed with a surfet, as with a sword.

How so?

If I venture vpon a full stomacke to eat a rasher on the coales, a carbonado, drinke a carouse, swallow all things that may procure sicknesse or death, am not I as valiaunt to die so in a house, as the other in a field? Me thinkes that Epicures are as desperate as soldiours, and cookes prouide as good weapons as cutlers?

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O valiaunt kinght.

I will die for it, what greater valor?

Schollers fight, who rather seeke to choak their stomackes, then see their blood.

I will stand vppon this point: if it bee valour to dare die, he is valiaunt howsoeuer he dieth.

Well, of this hereafter but here commeth Cali­pho, we will haue some sporte.

My mistresse, I think hath got a Gadfly, neuer at home, and yet none can tel where abrode. My maister was a wise man, when he matcht with such a womanne. When she comes in, we must put out the fire, because of the smoake, hang vp our hammers because of the noise, and doe no worke, but watch, what shee wanteth. She is faire, but by my troath I doubt of her honestie. I muste seeke her, that I feare Mars hath found.

Whom doest thou seeke?

I haue found those I seeke not.

I hope you haue found those, which are honest.

It may be: but I seeke no such.

Cryticus, you shall see me by learning to proue Calipho to bee the deiull.

Let vs see but I pray thee proue it better, then thou didst thy self to be valiant.

Calipho, I will proue thee to bee the diuell.

Then will I sweare thee to bee a God.

The diuell is black.

What care I.

Thou art black.

What care you.

Therfore thou art the diuell.

I denie that.

It is the conclusion, thou must not denie it.

In spite of all conclusions, I will denie it.

Molus, the Smith holdes you hard.

Thou seest he hath no reason.

Trie him againe.

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I will reason with thee now from a place.

I meane to aunswere you in no other place.

Like maister, like man.

Yt may be.

But thy maister hath hornes.

And so maist thou.

Therefore thou hast hornes, and ergo a deuill,

Be they all diuelles haue hornes?

All men that haue hornes, are.

Then are there moe diuels on earth thē in hell.

But what doest thou answere?

I deny that.

What?

Whatsoeuer it is, that shall proue mee a diuell. But hearest thou scholler, I am a plaine fellow, and can fashion nothing but with the hammer. What wilt thou say, if I proue thee a smith?

Then will I say thou art a scholler.

Proue it Calipho, and I will giue thee a good Colaphum.

I will proue it, or els,

Or els what?

Or els I will not prooue it. Thou art a Smith: therefore thou art a smith. The conclusion, you say, must not bee denyed: & therfore it is true, thou art a smith.

I, but I denie your Antecedent.

I, but you shal not. Haue I not toucht him Cry­ticus?

You haue both done learnedly: for as sure as he is a smith, thou art a diuell.

And then he a deuill, because a smith: for that it was his reasō to make me a deuil being a smith.

There is no reasoning with these Mechanical doltes, whose wits are in their hands, not in their heads.

Be not cholericke, you are wise: but let vs take vp this matter with a song.

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I am content, my voice is as good as my reason.

Than shall we haue sweete musick. But come, I will not breake of.

Actus secundus, Schaena quarta.

What vnacquainted thoughtes are these Phao, farre vnfit for thy thoughtes, vnmeet for thy birth, thy fortune, thy yeares, for Phao: vnhappy, canst thou not be content to beholde the sunne, but thou muste co­uet to build thy nest in the Sunne? Doth Sapho bewitch thee, whome all the Ladies in Sicily coulde not wooe: Yea, poore Phao, the greatnesse of thy mind is far aboue the bewtie of thy face, and the hardnesse of thy fortune beyonde the bitternesse of thy words. Die Phao, Phao die: for there is no hope if thou bee wise, nor safetie, if thou be fortunate. Ah Phao, the more thou seekest to suppresse those mounting affections, they soare the lof­tier, & the more thou wrastlest with them the stronger they waxe, not vnlike vnto a ball, which the harder it is throwne against the earth, the higher it boundeth into the ayre: or our Sycilyan stone, which groweth hardest by hammeringe. O diuine loue, and therefore di­uine, because loue, whose deitie no conceite canne compase, and therfore no authoritie canne constraine, as miraculous in working as mightie, & no more to bee suppressed then comprehended. Howe now Phao, whe­ther art thou caried, committing idolatrie with that God, whome thou hast cause to blaspheme. O Sapho, faire Sapho; peace miserable wretch, enioy thy care in couert, we are willow in thy hatte, and baies in thy hart. Leade a Lamb in thy hand, & a Fox in thy head, a doue on the back of thy hand, & a sparow in the palme. Gold boyleth best, whē it bubleth least, water runneth smoo­thest, where it is deepest. Let thy loue hang at thy hearts [Page] bottome, not at the tongues brimme. Things vntold, are vndone, there can be no greater comforte, then to know much, nor any lesse labour, then to saye nothing. But ah thy bewty Sapho, thy bewty. Beginnest thou to blabbe? I blabbe it Phao, as long as thou blabbest her bewty. Bees that die with honney, are buried with har­monie. Swannes that end their liues with songs, are co­uered when they are dead, with flowers: and they that till their latter gaspe commend bewty, shall be euer ho­noured with benefites. In these extreamities I will goe to none other Oracle▪ then Sybilla, whose olde yeares haue not beene idle in these young attemptes, & whose sound aduice may mitigate (though the heauēs cannot remoue) my miseries. O Sapho, sweete Sapho, Sapho. Si­billa?

Who is there?

One not worthy to be one.

Faire Phao?

Vnfortunate Phao.

Come in.

So I wil, and quite thy tale of Phoebus, with one whose brightnesse darkeneth Phoebus. I loue Sapho, Sy­billa, Sapho, ah Sapho, Sybilla.

A short tale Phao, and a sorowfull, it asketh pitie rather then counsell.

So it is Sybilla: yet in those firm yeares me thin­keth there shold harbour such experience, as may de­ferre, though not take away, my destinie.

It is hard to cure that by wordes, which cannot be eased by hearbes, and yet if thou wilt take aduice, be attentiue.

I haue brought mine eares of purpose, and will hāg at your mouth, til you haue finished your discourse.

Loue, faire child, is to be gouerned by arte, as thy boat by an oare: for fancie, thogh it cōmeth by hazard, is ruled by wisdome. If my preceptes may perswade, [Page] (and I pray thee let them perswade) I woulde wish thee first to be diligent: for that womenne desire nothing more then to haue their seruants officious. Be alwaies in sight, but neuer slothful. Flatter I meane, lie, litle things catch light mindes, and fancy is a worme, that feedeth first vpon fenell. Imagine with thy selfe all are to bee won, otherwise mine aduise were as vnnecessary as thy labour. It is vnpossible for the brittle mettall of womē to withstand the flattering attemptes of men: only this, let them be asked, their sex requireth no lesse, their mo­desties are to be allowed so much. Be prodigall in pray­ses and promises, bewtie must haue a trumpet, & pride a gifte. Peacocks neuer spread their feathers, but when they are flattered, & Gods are seldome pleased, if they be not bribed. There is none so foule, that thinketh not her selfe faire. In commending thou canst loose no la­bor. for of euery one thou shalt be beleeued. O simple women, that are brought rather to beleeue what their eares heare of flattering men, then what their eies see in true glasses.

You degresse onely to make me beleeue, that women do so lightly beleeue.

Then to the purpose. Chuse such times to break thy suite, as thy Lady is pleasant. The wooden horse en­tred Troy, when the soldiers were quaffyng, and Penelope forsooth, whome fables make so coy, among the pottes wrong her wooers by the fists, when she lowred on their faces. Grapes are minde glasses. Venus worketh in Bac­chus presse, & bloweth fire vpon his lycour. When thon talkest with her, let thy speach be pleasant, but not in­credible. Chuse such words as may (as many may) melt her minde. Honney ranckleth, when it is eaten for plea­sure and faire words wound, when they are hearde for loue. Write, and persist in writing, they read more then is written to them, & write lesse then they thinke. In cō ­ceite studie to be pleasaunt in attire braue, but not too [Page] curious, when she smileth laugh outright, if rise, stande vp, if sit, lye downe. Loose al thy time to keepe time with her. Can you sing, shew your cunning, can you daunce, vse your legges, can you play vppō any instrument, pra­ctise your fingers to please her fancy, seeke out qualy­ties. If she seeme at the first cruell, be not discouraged. I tell the a straung thing, womenne striue, because they would be ouercome, force they call it: but such a wel­come force they account it, that continually, they study to be enforced. To faire words ioyne sweet kisses, which if they gently receiue, I say no more, they wil gently re­ceiue. But be not pinned alwaies on her sleeues, straun­gers haue greene rushes, whē daily guests are not worth a rushe. Looke pale, and learne to be leane, that who so seeth thee, may say, the Gentleman is in loue. Vse no forcerie to hasten thy successe, wit is a witch, Vlysses was not faire, but wise, not cunning in charmes, but sweete in speach, whose filed tōgue made those inamoured that sought to haue him inchaūted. Be not coy, beare, sooth, sweare, die to please thy Lady, these are rules for poore louers, to others I am no mistresse. He hath wit ynough, that can giue ynough. Dumbe men are eloquent, if they be liberall. Beleeue me great gifts are little Gods. When thy mistresse doth bend her brow, do not thou bend thy fiste. Camokes must be bowed with sleight, not strēgth, water to be trained with pipes, not stopped with sluses, fire to be quenched with dust, not with swordes. If thou haue a ryuall, be pacient, arte muste winde him out not malice: time, not might, her chaunge, and thy constan­cie. Whatsoeuer she weareth: sweare it becomes her. In thy louce be secrete. Venus cofers, though they bee hol­low, neuer sound, & when they seeme emptiest, they are fullest. Old foole that I am, to doe thee good, I beginne to doate, & counsell that, which I woulde haue concea­led. Thus Phao haue I giuen thee certeine regardes, no rules, only to set thee in the way, not to bring thee hōe.

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Ah Sybilla, I pray goe on, that I may glutte my selfe in this science.

Thou shalt not surfette Phao, whilest I diet thee. Flyes that die on the honney suckle become poyson to bees. A little in loue is a great deale.

But all that can be saide not enough.

White siluer draweth blacke lines, and sweete wordes will breede sharpe tormentes.

What shall become of mee?

Goe dare

I goe, Phao, thou canst but die, & then as good die with great desires, as pine in base fortunes.

Actus tertius, Schaena prima.

Sapho is falne sodenly sick, I cannot guesse the cause.

Some colde belike, or els a womans qualme.

A straunge nature of colde, to driue one into such an heate.

Your Phisick sir I thinke be of the second sort, els would you not iudge it rare, that whot feuers are in­gendred by cold causes.

Indeede Lady, I haue no more Phisick then wil purge choller, and that if it please you, I will practise vp­pon you. It is good for women that be waspish.

Fayth sir no, you are best purge your owne me­lancholy: belike you are a male content.

It is true, and are not you a female content.

Softe, I am not content, that a male and Female content, should go together.

Ismena is disposed to be merie.

No, it is Pandion would faine seeme wise.

You shall not fall out? for Pigions after byting fall to billing, and open iarres make the closest iestes.

[Page]

Mileta, Ismena, Mileta: Come away, my Lady is in a sowne.

Aye me.

Come, let vs make haste.

I am sorie for Sapho: because shee will take no Phisicke, like you Pandion, who being sick of the sul­lens, will seeke no friend.

Of men we learne to speake, of Gods to holde our peace. Silence shall disgeste what follye hath swallo­wed, and wisdome weane what fancie hath noursed.

Is it not loue?

If it were, what then?

Nothing, but that I hope it be not.

Why, in courtes there is nothing more com­mon. And as to be bald among the Micanyans it was ac­counted no shame, because they were all balde: so to be in loue among courtiers it is no discredit: for that they are al in loue.

Why, what doe you think of our Ladies?

As of the Seres wooll, which beeing whitest & softest, fretteth soonestand deepest.

I will not tempt you in your deepe Melācholy, least you seeme sowre to those, which are so sweete. But come, let vs walke a litle into the fieldes, it may bee the open ayre will disclose your close conceites.

I will goe with you: but send our pages away.

Actus tertius, Schaena secunda.

What browne studie ar [...] thou in Molus, no mirth? no life?

I am in the depth of my learning driuen to a muse, how this lent I shall scamble in the court, that was woont to fast so ofte in the Vniuersitie.

Thy belly is thy God.

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Then is he a deaffe God.

Why?

For venter non habet aures. But thy backe is thy God.

Then is it a blind God.

How proue you that?

Easie. Nemo videt manticae, quod intergo est.

Then woulde the sachell that hanges at your God, id est, your backe, were full of meate to stuffe my God, hoc est, my belly.

Excellent. But how canst thou studie, when thy minde is onely in the kitchen?

Doth not the horse trauell beste, that sleapeth with his head in the maunger?

Yes, what then?

Good wittes wil apply. But what cheere is there here this Lent?

Fish.

I can eate none, it is winde.

Egges.

I must eate none, they are fire.

Cheese.

It is against the old verse, Caseus est nequam.

Yea, but it disgesteth all things except it selfe.

Yea, but if a man hath nothing els to eate, what shall it disgest?

You are disposed to iest. But if your silkē throat can swallow no packthread, you must pick your teeth, and play with your trencher.

So shall I not incurre the fulsom & vnmanner­ly sinne of surfetting. But here commeth Calipho.

What newes?

Since my being here, I haue sweat like a dogge, to proue my maister a deuill, hee brought such reasons to refel me, as I promise you, I shall like the better of his witte, as long as I am with him.

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How?

Thus, I alwayes arguing that he had hornes, & therefore a diuell, he saide: foole, they are things lyke hornes, but no hornes. For once in the Senate of Gods being holde a solemn sesion, in the midst of their talk I put in my sentence, which was so indifferent, that they all concluded it might aswel haue beene lefte out, as put in, and so placed on each side of my head things lyke hornes, and called me a Parenthesis, Nowe my maisters, this may be true, for I haue seene it my selfe aboute di­uerse sentences.

It is true, and the same time did Mars make a full point, that Vulcans head was made a Parenthesis.

This shall go with me, I trust in Syracusa to giue one or other a Parenthesis.

Is Venus yet come home?

No, but were I Vulcan, I would by the Gods,

What wouldest thou?

Nothing, but as Vulcan halt by the Gods.

I thought you would haue hardly entreated Ve­nus.

Nay, Venus is easily entreated: but let that goe bie.

What?

That which maketh so many Parenthesis.

I must goe by too, or els my maister will not go by mee: but meete me full with his fiste. Therfore, if we shall sing, giue me my part quickly: for if I tarrie long, I shall cry my parte wofully.

Actus tertius, Schaena tertia.

Hey ho: I know not which way to turne me Ah, ah, I fainte, I die,

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Madame, I thinke it good you haue more clo­thes, and sweate it out.

No, no, the best ease I finde is to sigh it out.

A straunge disease, that should breede such a de­sire.

A strang desire that hath brought such a disease.

Where, Ladie, doe you feele your most paine?

Where no bodie els can feele it Canope.

At the heart?

In the heart.

Will you haue any Mithrydate?

Yea, if for this disease there wer any Mithrydate?

Why? what disease is it Madam, that phisick cā not cure?

Onely the disease Mileta that I haue.

Is it a burning ague?

I thinke so, or a burning agonie.

Will you haue any of this Syrope, to moysture your mouth?

Would I had some local things to dry my brain.

Madame will you see if you can sleepe?

Sleepe Fauilla: I shall then dreame.

As good dreame sleeping, as sigh waking.

Phao is cunning in all kind of simples, and it is hard, if there bee none to procure sleepe.

Who?

Phao.

Yea Phao, Phao, ah Phao, let him come presētly.

Shall we draw the cutteines, whilest you gyue your selfe to slumber?

Doe, but departe not, I haue such startes in my sleepe, disquieted I know not how.

Phao, Phao.

What say you Madame?

Nothing, but if I sleepe not now, you sende for Phao. Ah Gods.

There is a fish called Garus, that healeth al sick nesse, so as whilest it is applyed one name not Garus.

An euill medicine for vs women: for if we shuld be forbidden to name Garus, we shuld chat nothing but Garus.

Well said Eugenua, you know your selfe.

Yea Canope, and that I am one of your sexe.

I haue hearde of an hearbe called Lunary, that being bound to the pulses of the sick, causeth nothinge but dreames of weddings and daunces.

I think Ismena, that hearb be at thy pulses now: for thou art euer talking of matches and merymentes.

It is an vnlucky figne in the chamber of the sick to talke of mariages; for my mother saide, it foreshew­eth death.

It is very euill to Canope to sitte at the beddes feete, and foretelleth daunger: therefore remoue your stoole, and sitte by me.

Sure it is some cold she hath taken.

If one were burnt, I thinke wee women woulde say, he died of a cold.

It may be some conceite.

Then is there no feare: for yet did I neuer heare of a woman that died of a conceite.

I mistruste her not: for that the owle hath not shrikte at the window, or the night Rauen croked, both being fatall.

You are all superstitious: for these bee but fan­cies of doting age: who by chance obseruing it in some, haue set it downe as a religion for all.

Fauilla, thou art but a Girle, I would not haue a Weesel crye, nor desire to see a Glasse, nor an old wife come into my chamber: for then though I lyngred in my disease, I should neuer escape it.

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Ah, whoe is there? what sodeine affrightes bee these? Me thought Phao came with simples to make me sleep. Did no bodie name Phao beefore I beganne to slumber?

Yes, we told you of him.

Let him be heere too morow.

He shall, will you haue a litle broth to comforte you?

I can relish nothing.

Yet a little you must take to sustaine nature.

I cannot Mileta, I will not. Oh, which way shall I lye? what shall I doe? Heygh ho. O Mileta, help to reare me vp, my bed, my head lyes too lowe. You pester mee with too many clothes. Fie, you keepe the chamber too hotte, auoide it, it may be I shall steale a nappe when all are gone.

Wee will.

Ah impacient disease of loue, and Goddesse of loue thrise vnpitifull. The Eagle is neuer stricken with thunder, nor the Olyue with lightning and maye great Ladies be plagued with loue? O Venus, haue I not stra­wed thine Altars with sweete roses? kepte thy swannes in cleare rvuers? sead thy sparrowes with ripe corne, & harboured thy doues in faire houses? Thy Tortoys haue I nourished vnder my fig tree, my chāber haue I ceeled with thy Cockleshels, & dipped thy spung into the fre­shest waters. Didst thou nourse me in my swadling clouts with wholsome hearbes, that I might perish in my flow­ting yeares by fancie? I perceiue, but to late I perceiue, and yet not too late, because at last, that straines are caught aswell by stooping too low, as reaching to high: that eies are bleared as soone with vapours that come from the earth, as with beames that procede from the sunne. Loue lodgeth sometimes in caues: & thou Phoe­bus, that in the pride of thy hearre shinest all day in our Horizon, at night dippest thy head in the Ocean. Re­siste [Page] it Sapho, whilest it is yet tender. Of Acornes comes Oakes, of droppes floudes, of sparkes flames of Atomies Elementes. But alas it fareth with mee as with waspes, who feeding on serpents, make their stings more veno­mous: for glutting my selfe on the face of Phao, I haue made my desire more desperate. Into the neast of an Alcyon no birde can enter but the Alcyon, and into the hart of so great a Ladie can any creep but a great Lord? There is an hearbe (not vnlike vnto my loue) whiche the further it groweth from the sea, the salter it is, and my desires the more they swarue from reason, the more seeme they reasonable. When Phao commeth, what thē? wilt thou open thy loue? Yea. No Sapho: but staring in his face till thine eies dasell, and thy spirites fainte, die before his face: then this shall be written on thy Tomb, that though thy loue were greater then wisdome could endure; yet thine honour was such, as loue could not vi­olate, Mileta?

I come.

It wil not be, I can take no reste, which way soe­uer I turne.

A straunge maladie.

Mileta, if thou wilt, a Martiredom. But giue me my lute, and I will see if in songe I can beguile mine owne eies.

Here Madame.

Haue you sent for Phao?

Yea.

And to bring simples that will procure sleepe?

No.

Foolish wensh, what should the boy do heere, if he bring not remedies with him? you thinke belike I could sleep if I did but see him, Let him not come at al, yes, let him come: no, it is no matter: yet will I trie, lette him come: doe you heare?

Yea Madame, it shall be doone Peace, no noise: [Page] shee beginneth to fall asleepe. I will goe to Phao.

Goe speedily: for if she wake, and finde you not heere, shee will bee angry. Sicke folkes are testie, who though they eate nothing yet they feede on gall.

Actus tertius, Schaena prima.

I woulde eyther your cunning, Phao, or your fortune might by simples prouoke my Lady to some slumber.

My simples are in operation as my simplicitie is, which if they do litle good, assuredly they can doe no harme.

Were I sicke, the verye sight of thy faire face would driue me into a sound sleepe.

Indeede Gentlewomen are so drowsie in their desires, that they can scarce hold vp their eies for loue.

I meane the delight of bewtie would so blinde my senses, as I shoulde bee quickly rocked into a deepe rest.

You women haue an excuse for an aduauntage, which must be allowed: because onely to you women it was allotted.

Phao, thou art passing faire, & able to drawe a chaste eie not only to glaunce: but to gaze on thee. Thy yong yeares, thy quick wit, thy staied desires are of force to controll those which should commaund.

Lady, I forgot to commend you first, and leaste I shoulde haue ouerslipped to praise you at all, you haue brought in my bewtie, which is simple, that in curtisie I might remember yours, which is singular.

You mistake of purpose, or miscōster of malice.

I am as farre from malice, as you from loue, & to mistake of purpose, were to mislike of peeuishnes.

As far as I from loue? Why, think you me so dul I cannot loue, or so spitefull I will not?

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Neither Lady: but how shoulde men imagine women can loue, when in their mouths there is nothing rifer, then in faith I do not loue.

Why, wil you haue womēs loue in their tongs?

Yea,els do I think there is none in their harts.

Why?

Because there was neuer any thing in the bottō of a womans hart, that commeth not to her tongs end.

You are too young to cheapen loue.

Yet old ynough to talk with market folkes.

Well, let vs in.

Phao is come.

Who?Phao? Phao, let him come neere: but who sent for him?

You Madame.

I am loath to take any medicins: yet must I ra­ther thē pine in these maladies. Phao, you may make me sleepe, if you will?

If I can, I must, if you will?

What hearbes haue you brought Phao?

Such as will make you sleepe Madame, though they cannot make me slumber.

Why, how can you cure me, when you cannot remedy your selfe?

Yes Madame, the causes are contrary. For it is onely a drinesse in your braines, that keepeth you from rest, But,

But what?

Nothing, but mine is not so.

Nay, then I despaire of helpe, if our disease bee not all one.

I would our diseases were all one.

It goes hard with the pacient, whē the Phisiti­on is desperate.

Yet Medea made the euerwaking Dragon to snorte, when shee poore soule could not winke.

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Medaea was in loue, & nothing could cause her rest but Iason.

Indeede I know no hearb to make louers sleepe but Heartes ease, which beecause it groweth so high, I cannot reach: for,

For whom?

For such as loue.

It groweth very low, and I can neuer stoope to it that,

That what?

That I may gather it: but why doe you sight so Phao

It is mine vse Madame.

It will doe you harme, and mee too: for I neuer heare one sighe, but I must sight also.

It were best then that your Ladyship giue mee leaue to be gone: for I can but sigh.

Nay stay: for now I beginne to sighe, I shall not leaue, though you be gone. But what do you thinke best for your sighing to take it away.

Yew Madame.

Mee?

No Madame, yewe of the tree.

Then will I loue yewe the better. And indeede I think it would make mee sleepe too, therfore all other simples set aside, I will simply vse onely yewe.

Doe madame:for I think nothing in the world so good as yewe.

Farewell for this time.

Is not your name Phao?

Phao, faire Venus, whom you made so faire.

So passing faire, O faire Phao, O sweete Phao: what wilt thou doe for Venus?

Anything that commeth in the compasse of my poore fortune.

Cupid shal teach thee to shoote, & I will instruct thee to dissemble.

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I will learne any thing but dissembling.

Why my boy.

Because then I must learne to be a woman,

Thou heardest that of a man.

Men speake trueth.

But trueth is a she, and so alwaies painted.

I thinke a painted trueth.

Well, farewell for this time; for I must visit Sa­pho.

Actus quartus, Schaena prima.

Sapho, I haue heard thy complaintes, and pit­tied thine agonies.

O Venus, my cares are onely knowne to thee, and by thee only came the cause. Cupid, why didst thou wound me so deepe?

My mother bad me draw mine arrow to y ^e head.

Venus, why didst thou proue so hatefull?

Cupid tooke a wrong shafte.

O Cupid too vnkinde, to make me so kind, that almost I transgresse the modestie of my kinde.

I was blind, and could not see mine arrow.

How came it to passe, thou didst hit my hearte?

That came by the nature of the head, which be ing once let out of the bowe, cā finde none other ligh­ting place but the heart.

Be not dismaide, Phao shall yeelde.

If hee yeelde, then shal I shame to embrace one so meane if not, die: because I cannot embrace one so meane. Thus doe I finde no meane.

Well, I will worke for thee. Farewell.

Farewell sweet Venus, and thou Cupid, which art sweetest in thy sharpenesse.

Actus quartus, Schaena secunda.

Cupid, what haste thou done put thine arrowes [Page] in Phaoes eies, and wounded thy mothers heart?

You gaue him a face to allure, then why should not I giue him eies to pearce?

O Venus, vn happy Venus, who in bestowinge a benefit vpon a man, haste brought a bane vnto a God­desse. What perplexities dost thou feele? O faire Phao, and therefore made faire to breede in me a frenzie? O would that when I gaue thee golden locks to curle thy head, I had shackled thee with yron lockes on thy feete. And when I noursed thee Sapho with lettice, woulde it had turned to hemlocke, Haue I brought a smooth skin ouer thy face to make a rough scarre in my heart? and giuen thee a fresh colour like the damask rose, to make mine pale like the stained Turkie. O Cupid, thy flames with Psyches were but sparks, and my desires with Ado­nis but dreames, in respecte of these vnacquainted tor­mentes. Laugh Iuno, Venus is in loue, but Iuno shall not see with whom, least shee be in loue. Venus belike is be­come stale. Sapho forsooth because she hath many ver­tues, therfore she must haue all the fauours. Venus wax­eth old: and then she was a pretie wench, when Iuno was a young wife, nowe crowes foote is on her eie, and the blacke oxe hath troad on her foote. But were Sapho ne­uer so vertuous, doth she thinke to contend with Venus to be as amorous? Yeelde Phao, but yeeld to me Phao, I entreate where I may commaund, commaunde thou, where thou shouldest entreate. In this case Cupid what is thy coūsell, Venus must both play the louer & the dis­sembler, & therfore the dissembler, because the Louer.

You will euer be playing with arrows, like chil­drē with kniues, & thē when you bleede, you cry, go to Vulcan, entreat by praiers, threatē with blowes, wowe with kisses, banne with curses, trie al meanes to rid these extremities.

To what end?

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That he might make mee new arrowes: for no­thing can roote out the desires of Phao, but a new shafte of inconstancie, nor any thing turne Saphoeshart, but a new arrow of disdaine. And then they dislyking one the other, who shall inioy Phao but Venus?

I will follow thy counsell. For Venus, though she be in her latter age for yeares: yet is she in her Non­age for affections. When Venus ceaseth to loue, let loue cease to rule. But come, let vs to Vulcan.

Actus quartus, Schaena tertia.

What dreames are these Mileta? and can there be no trueth in dreams? yea, dreams haue their trueth. Me thought I saw a Stock doue or woodquist, I knowe not how to tearm it, that brought short strawes to build his neast in a tall Caedar, where, whiles with his bill hee was framing his buylding, he lost as many fethers from his wings, as he laid strawes in his neast: yet scambling to catch hold to harbor in the house he had made, he so denly fell from the bough where he stoode. And thē pi­tifully casting vp his eies, he cried in such tearmes (as I imagined) as might either cōdemne the nature of such a tree, or the daring of such a minde. Whilest he lay qua­king vpō the ground, & I gazing one the Caeder, I might perceiue Antes to breede in the rinde coueting only to hoord, & caterpillers to cleaue to the leaues, labouring only to suck, which caused mo leaues to fall frō the tree, thē there did feathers before frō the doue. Me thought Mileta, I sighed in my sleepe, pittying both the fortune of the bird, & the misfortun of the tree but in this time quils began to bud againe in the bird, which made him looke as though he would flie vp, and then wished I that the body of the tree woulde bowe, that hee might but creepe vp the tree, then and so▪ Hey, ho.

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And so what?

Nothing Mileta: but, and so I waked. But did no bodie dreame but I?

I dreamed last night, but I hope dreames are contrary, that holding my heade ouer a sweete smoke, al my haire blazd on a bright flame. Me thought Ismena cast water to quench it: yet the sparks fell on my bosom, and wiping them away with my hand, I was all in a gore bloud, till one with a few fresh flowers staunched it. And so stretching my self as stif I started, it was but a dream.

It is a signe you shall fall in loue with hearinge faire words. Water signifieth counsell, flowers death. And nothing can purge your louing humour but death.

You are no interpreter: but an interprater, har­ping alwaies vpon loue, till you be as blind as a Harpar.

I remember last night but one, I dreamed mine eie tooth was lose, & that I thrust it out with my tonge.

It foretelleth the losse of a friende: and I euer thought thee so full of prattle, that thou wouldest thrust out the best friend with the tatling.

Yea Mileta: but it was loose beefore, and if my friend bee lose, as good thrust out with plaine words, as kept in with dissembling.

Dreams are but dotings, which come either by things wee see in the day, or meates that we eate, and so the common sense preferring it to bee the imaginatiue.

Softe Philosophatrix, well seene in the secretes of arte, and not seduced with the superstitions of nature.

Ismenaes tongue neuer lyeth still, I think all her teeth will bee loose, they are so often iogged againste her tongue. But say on Eugenua.

There is all.

What did you dreame, Canope?

I seldome dreame Madame: but sithence your sicknesse, I cannot tell whether with ouer watching but I haue had many phantastical visions, for euen now slum­bring [Page] by your beddes side, mee thought I was shadowed with a clowd, where labouring to vnwrap my selfe, I was more intangled. But in the midst of my striuing, it see­med to mysell gold, with faire drops, I filled my lap, and running to shew it my fellowes, it turned to duste, I blu­shed, they laughed; and then I waked, being glad it was but a dreame.

Take heede Canope, that gold tempt not your lappe, and then you blush for shame.

It is good lucke to dreame of gold.

Yea, if it had continued gold.

I dreame euery night, and the last night this. Me though that walking in the sunne, I was stung with the flye Tarantula, whose venom nothing can expell but the sweete consent of musicke. I tried all kinde of instru­ments, but found no ease, till at the last two Lutes tuned in one key, so glutted my thirsting eares, that my griefe presently seased, for ioye whereof as I was clapping my handes, your Ladyship called.

It is a signe that nothing shall asswage your loue but mariage: for such is the tying of two in wedlocke, as is the tuning of two Lutes, in one key: for strikinge the stringes of the one, strawes will stirre vpon the stringes of the other, and in two mindes lincked in loue, one can­not be delighted but the other reioyceth.

Mee thought going by the sea side amonge Pe­bels, I sawe one playing with a rounde stone, euer thro­wing it into the water, when the sunne shined: I asked the name, hee saide, it was called Abeston, which being once whotte, would neuer be cold, he gaue it me, and va­nished. I forgetting my selfe, delighted with the fayre showe, woulde alwayes shewe it by candle light, pull it out in the Sunne, and see howe bright it woulde look in the fire, where catching heate, nothing could coole it: for anger I threwe it against the wall, and with the hea­uing [Page] vp of myne arme I waked.

Beware of loue, Fauilla: for women hearts are such stones, which warmed by affection, cannot be coold by wisdome.

I warrant you: for I neuer credit mennes words.

Yet be warie▪ for women are scorched somtimes with mens eies, though they had rather consume then confesse.

Cease your talking: for I would faine sleepe, to see if I can dreame, whether the birde hath feathers, or the Antes winges. Draw the curteine.

Actus quartus, Schaena quarta.

Come Cupid, Vulcans flames must quench Ve­nus fires. Vulcan?

Who?

Venus.

Ho, ho, Venus.

Come sweete Vulcan, thou knowest how sweete thou hast found Venus, who being, of all the gooddesses the most faire, hath chosen thee of all the Gods the most foule, thou must needes then confesse I was most louing. Enquire not the cause of my suite by questions: but pre­uent the effects by curtifie. Make me six arrowe heads: it is giuen thee of the Gods by permission to frame them to any purpose, I shall request them by praier. Why low­rest thou Vulcan? wilt thou haue a kisse: holde vppe thy head. Venus hath young thoughtes, and fresh affections. Rootes haue stringes, when boughs haue no leaues. But hearken in thine eare Vulcan: how saiest thou?

Vulcan is a God with you, when you are dispo­sed to flatter. A right womanne, whose tongue is lyke a [Page] Bees stinge, which pricketh deepest, when it is fullest of honnye. Because you haue made mine eies dronk with fayre lookes, you wil set mine eares on edge with sweete words. You were woont to say that the beating of ham­mers made your head ake, and the smoake of the forge your eies water, and euery coale was a blocke in your way. You weepe rose water, when you aske, and spitte vineger, when you haue obteined. What would you now, with new arrowes? belike Mars hath a tougher skin one his heart, or Cupid a weaker arme, or Venus a better cou­rage. VVell Venus, there is neuer a smile in your face but hath made a wrinkle in my forehead. Ganymedes must fill your cuppe▪ and you wil pledge none but Iupiter. But I wil not chide Venus: Come Cyclops, my wife must haue her will let vs doe that in earth, which the Gods cannot vndoe in heauen.

Gramercie sweete Vulcan: to your worke.

Heere Venus, I haue finished these arrowes by arte, bestowe them you by witte: for as great aduise must he vse that hath them, as hee cunning that made them.

Vulcan, nowe you haue done with your forge, lette vs alone with the fancye: you are as the Flet­cher, not the Archer, to meddle with the arrowe, not the aime.

I thought so: when I haue done working, you haue done woowing. Where is now sweete Vulcan? Wel, I can say no more, but this which is enoughe, and as much as any can say: Venus is a woman.

Bee not angrye Vulcan, I will loue thee a­gayne, when I haue eyther businesse, or nothing els to doe.

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My mother will make muche of you, when there are no more men then Vulcan.

Actus quintus, Schaena prima

Come Cupid, receiue with thy fathers instru­ments, thy mothers instructions: for thou must be wise in conceite, if thou wilt be fortunate in execution. This arrow is feathered with the winges of Aegitus, which ne­uer sleepeth for feare of his hen: the heade toucht with the stone Perillus, which causeth mistruste and ielousie. Shoote this, Cupid, at men that haue faire wiues, which will make them rubbe the browes, when they swell in the braines. This shaft is headed with Lidian steel, which striketh a deepe disdain of y ^t which we most desire, y ^e fea­thers are of Turtel, but dipped in the bloud of a Tigresse, draw this vp close to the head at Sapho, that she may de­spise, where now she doates. Good my boye, gall her on the side, that for Phaos loue she may neuer sighe. This arrow is feathered with the Phoenix winge, and headed with the Eagles bill, it maketh mē passionate in desires, in loue constant, and wise in conueiaunce, melting as it were their fancies into faith: this arrowe, sweete childe, and with as great ayme as thou canst, must Phao be stri­ken withall, and cry softly to thy selfe in the very loose, Venus. Sweete Cupid mistake me not, I wil make a quiuer for that by it selfe. The fourth hath feathers of the Pea­cocke, but glewed with the gum of the Mirtle tree, hea­ded with fine golde, and fastened with brittle Chrysocoll: this shoote at daintie and coy Ladies, at amiable and young Nymphes, chuse no other white but women: for this will worke lyking in their mindes, but not loue af­fabilitie in speach, but no faith, courtly fauours, to bee [Page] Mistresses ouer many, but constant to none: sighes to be fetcht from the longes, not the heart, and teares to bee wronge out with their fingers, not their eies, secrete laughing at mens pale lookes and neate attire, open re­ioycinge at their owne comlinesse and mens courtinge. Shoote this arrowe among the thickest of them, whose bosomes lye open, because they woulde be striken with it. And seeing men tearme women Iupiters fooles, wo­men shall make men Venus fooles. This shafte is leade in the head, and whose feathers are of the night Rauen, a deadly and poysoned shafte, which breedeth hate onely against those which sue for loue. Take heede Cupid thou hitte not Phao with this shafte: for then shall Venus pe­rishe. This laste is an old arrow, but newlye mended, the arrow which hitte both Sapho and Phao, working onely in meane mindes an aspiring to superiours, & in high estates a stooping to inferiours: with this Cupid I am galled my selfe, till thou haue galled Phao with the o­ther.

I warrant you I will cause Phao to languishe in your loue and Sapho to disdaine his.

Goe, loyter not, nor mistake your shafte. Now Venus, hast thou plaide a cunning parte, though not cur­raunt. But why should Venus dispute of vnlawfulnesse in loue, or faith in affection? beeing both the Goddesse of loue and affection? knowing there is as litle trueth to be vsed in loue, as there is reason. No, sweete Phao, Ve­nus will obtaine because she is venus. Not thou Ioue with thūder in thy hand, shalt take him out of my hands. I haue new arrowes now for my boy, and fresh flames, at which the Gods shall tremble, if they beginne to trou­ble me. But I will expect the euent, and tarye for Cupid at the forge▪

Actus quintus, Schaena secunda.

What hast thou done Cupid?

That my mother commaunded, Sapho.

My thinkes I feele an alteration in my minde, and as it were a withstanding in my self of mine own af­fections.

Then hath mine arrow his effect.

I pray thee tell me the cause?

I dare not.

Feare nothing: for if Venus fret, Sapho canne frowne, thou shalt bee my sonne. Mileta▪ giue him some sweete meates, speake good Cupid, and I will giue thee many pretie things.

My mother is in loue with Phao, she willed mee to strike you with disdain of him, and him with desire of her.

O spitefull Venus, Mileta giue him some of that. What els Cupid?

I could be euen with my mother: and so I will, if I shall call you mother?

Yea Cupid, call me any thing, so I may be euen with her.

I haue an arrow, with which if I strike Phao, it will cause him to loth onely Venus.

Sweete Cupid, strike Phao with it. Thou shalt sitte in my lappe, I will rocke thee asleepe, and feede thee with all these fine knackes.

I will about it.

But come quickly againe. Ah vnkinde Venus, is this thy promise to Sapho? But if I gette Cuppid from [Page] thee, I my selfe will be the Queene of loue. I will direct these arrowes with better aime, and conquer mine own affections, with greater modesty. Venus heart shal flame, and her loue be as common as her crafte. O Mileta, time hath disclosed that, which my temperance hath kept in: but sith I am rid of the disease, I will not be ashamed to confesse the cause. I loued Phao Mileta, a thing vnfit for my degree, but forced by my desire.

Phao?

Phao, Mileta, of whom nowe Venus is inamou­red.

And doe you loue him still.

No, I feele relenting thoughtes, and reason not yeelding to appetite. Let Venus haue him, no, shee shall not haue him. But here coms Cupid. How now my boy, haste thou done it?

Yea, and left Phao rayling on Venus, and cur­sing her name: yet stil sighing for Sapho, and blafing her vertues.

Alas poore Phao, thy extreame loue should not be requited with so meane a fortune, thy faire face de­serued greater fauours: I cannot loue, Venus hath harde­ned my heart.

I meruale Cupid commeth not all this while. How now, in Saphoes lappe?

Yea Venus, what say you to it, in Saphoes lap.

Sir boy, come hither?

I will not.

What now? will you not? hath Sapho made you so sawcie?

I wil be Saphoes sonne, I haue as you comman­ded striken her with a deepe disdaine of Phao, and Phao as she entreated me, with a great despite of you.

Vnhappy wag, what hast thou done? I will make thee repent it euery vaine in thy heart.

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Venus be not collerick, Cupid is mine, he hath giuen me his Arrowes, and I will giue him a new bowe to shoote in. You are not worthy to be the Ladye of loue, that yeelde so often to the impressions of loue. Immo­dest Venus, that to satisfie the vnbrideled thoughtes of thy hearte, transgressest so farre from the staye of thine honour. Howe sayest thou Cupid, wilt thou bee with me?

Yes.

Shall not I bee on earth the Goddesse of affecti­ons?

Yes.

Shall not I rule the fansies of men, and leade Ve­nus in chaines like a captiue?

Yes.

It is a good boy.

What haue we here? you the Goddesse of Loue? and you her sonne, Cupid? I will tame that proud heart, els shall the Gods say, they are not Venus friendes. And as for you, sit boy, I will teach you how to run away: you shalbe stript from toppe to toe, and whipt with nettles, not roses. I will set you to blowe Vulcans coales, not to beare Venus quiuer, I will handle you for this geare: well, I say no more. But as for the new Mistresse of loue, or Lady, I cry you mercie, I think you would be called a Goddesse, you shall know what it is to vsurpe the name of Venus. I will pull those plumes, and cause you to cast your eyes on your feete, not your feathers: your softe hayre will I turne to harde bristles, your tongue to a stinge, and those alluring eyes to vnluckynes, in which if the Gods ayde me not, I will cursse the Gods.

Venus, you are in a vaine aunswerable to your vanitie, whose highe woordes neither beecome you, nor feare mee. But lette this suffice, I will keepe Cupid in dispighte of you, and yet with the contente of the Gods.

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Will you? why then we shal haue pretie Gods in heauen, when you take Gods prisoners on earth. Be­fore I sleepe you shall both repent, and finde what it is but to thinke vnreuerently of Venus. Come Cupid, shee knowes not how to vse thee, come with mee, you knowe what I haue for you: will you not?

Not I.

Well, I will be euen with you both, & that short­lye,

Cupid, feare not, I will direct thine arrowes bet­ter. Euery rude asse shall not say he is in loue. It is a toye made for Ladies, and I will keepe it onely for Ladies.

But what will you doe for Phao?

I wil wish him fortunate. This wil I do for Phao, because I once loued Phao: for neuer shall it be said that Sapho loued to hate, or that out of loue she coulde not be as courteous, as she was in loue passionate. Come Mileta, shut the doore.

Actus quintus, Schaena tertia.

Goe to Sybilla, tell the beginning of thy loue, and the end of thy fortune. And loe how happilye shee sitteth in her caue. Sybilla?

Phao, welcome, what newes?

Venus, the Goddesse of loue I loth, Cupid causd it with a new shafte. Sapho disdaineth mee, Venus causd it for a new spite. O Sybilla, if Venus be vnfaithfull in loue, where shall one flye for trueth? Shee vseth deceite, is it not then likely she will dispence with subtiltie. And being carefull to commit iniuries, will shee not be care­lesse to reuenge them? I must nowe fall from loue to la­bour, [Page] and endeuour with mine oare to gette a fare, not with my penne to write a fancie. Loues are but smokes, which vanish in the seeing, and yet hurte whilest they are seene. A Ferrie Phao, no the starres cannot call it a worser fortune. Raung rather ouer the world, forsweare affections, entreate for death. O Sapho, thou haste Cu­pid in thine armes, I in my hearte, thou kissest him for sporte, I muste curse him for spite: yet will I not curse him Sapho, whome thou kissest. This shalbe my reso­lutiō, where euer I wāder, to be as I were euer kneeling before Sapho, my loyalty vnspotted, though vnrewar­ded. With as litle malice wil I goe to my graue, as I did lye with all in my cradle. My life shalbe spente in sighing and wishing, the one for my bad fortune, the other for Saphoes good.

Doe so Phao: for destinie calleth thee aswell from Sycily as from loue. Other things hange ouer thy head, which I must neither tell, nor thou enquire. And so farewell.

Farewell Sybilla, and farewell Sycily. Thoughtes shalbe thy foode, and in thy steppes shalbe printed bee­hinde thee, that there was none so loyall lefte behinde thee. Farewell Syracusa, vnworthy to harbour faith, and when I am gone, vnlesse Sapho be here, vnlikely to har­bour any.