A Select Collection of Old English Plays, Vol. VIII (4th edition) | Page 5

bestow your fingers. Serve God, and act cleanly. A fit of mirth and an old song first, if you will.
Enter SUMMER, leaning on AUTUMN'S and WINTER'S _shoulders, and attended on with a train of Satyrs and Wood-nymphs, singing_.[22]
_Fair Summer droops, droop men and beasts therefore, So fair a summer look for never more: All good things vanish less than in a day, Peace, plenty, pleasure, suddenly decay. Go not yet away, bright soul of the sad year, The earth is hell when thou, leav'st to appear.
What! shall those flowers that deck'd thy garland erst, Upon thy grave be wastefully dispersed? O trees, consume your sap in sorrow's source, Streams turn to tears your tributary course. Go not yet hence, bright soul of the sad year, The earth is hell when thou leav'st to appear.
[The Satyrs and Wood-nymphs go out singing, and leave_ SUMMER and WINTER and AUTUMN on the stage.
WILL SUM. A couple of pretty boys, if they would wash their faces, and were well breech'd[23] in an hour or two. The rest of the green men have reasonable voices, good to sing catches or the great Jowben by the fire's side in a winter's evening. But let us hear what Summer can say for himself, why he should not be hiss'd at.
SUM. What pleasure always lasts? no joy endures: Summer I am; I am not what I was; Harvest and age have whiten'd my green head; On Autumn now and Winter I must lean. Needs must he fall, whom none but foes uphold, Thus must the happiest man have his black day. _Omnibus una manet nox, et calcanda semel via lethi_.[24] This month have I lain languishing a-bed, Looking each hour to yield my life and throne; And died I had indeed unto the earth, But that Eliza, England's beauteous Queen, On whom all seasons prosperously attend, Forbad the execution of my fate, Until her joyful progress was expir'd.[25] For her doth Summer live, and linger here, And wisheth long to live to her content: But wishes are not had, when they wish well: I must depart, my death-day is set down; To these two must I leave my wheaten crown. So unto unthrifts rich men leave their lands, Who in an hour consume long labour's gains. True is it that divinest Sidney sung, _0, he is marr'd, that is for others made_. Come near, my friends, for I am near my end. In presence of this honourable train, Who love me, for I patronise their sports, Mean I to make my final testament: But first I'll call my officers to 'count, And of the wealth I gave them to dispose, Know what is left I may know what to give Vertumnus, then, that turn'st the year about, Summon them one by one to answer me. First, Ver, the Spring, unto whose custody I have committed more than to the rest; The choice of all my fragrant meads and flowers, And what delights soe'er nature affords.
VER. I will, my lord. Ver, lusty Ver, by the name of lusty Ver, come into the court! lose a mark in issues.
Enter VER, _with his train, overlaid with suits of green moss, representing short grass, singing.
The Song.
Spring, the sweet spring, is the year's pleasant king, Then blooms each thing, then maids dance in ring, Cold doth not sting, the pretty birds do sing, Cuckow, jug, jug, pu--we, to-wit, to-whoo.
The palm and may make country houses gay, Lambs frisk and play, the shepherds pipe all day, And hear we aye birds tune this merry lay, Cuckow, jug, jug, pu--we, to-wit, to-whoo.
The fields breathe sweet, the daisies kiss our feet, Young lovers meet, old wives a-sunning sit; In every street these tunes our ears do greet, Cuckow, jug, jug, pu--we, to-wit, to-whoo. Spring, the sweet spring_.
WILL SUM. By my troth, they have voices as clear as crystal: this is a pratty thing, if it be for nothing but to go a-begging with.
SUM. Believe me, Ver, but thou art pleasant bent; This humour should import a harmless mind. Know'st thou the reason why I sent for thee?
VER. No, faith, nor care not whether I do or no. If you will dance a galliard, so it is: if not--
_Falangtado, Falangtado, To wear the black and yellow, Falantado, Falantado, My mates are gone, I'll follow_.[26]
SUM. Nay, stay awhile, we must confer and talk. Ver, call to mind I am thy sovereign lord, And what thou hast, of me thou hast and hold'st. Unto no other end I sent for thee, But to demand a reckoning at thy hands, How well or ill thou hast employ'd my wealth.
VER. If that be all, we will not disagree: A clean trencher and a napkin you shall have presently.
WILL SUM. The truth is, this fellow hath been a tapster in his days.
VER