The Faithful Shepherdess

묪The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Faithful Shepherdess?by Francis Beaumont and John Fletcher
This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.net
Title: The Faithful Shepherdess
The Works of Francis Beaumont and John Fletcher (Vol. 2 of 10).
Author: Francis Beaumont and John Fletcher
Release Date: April 30, 2004 [EBook #12222]
Language: English
Character set encoding: ASCII
? START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE FAITHFUL SHEPHERDESS ***
Produced by Jonathan Ingram, Jonathan Ingram, Chjarles M. Bidwell and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team.
THE FAITHFUL SHEPHERDESS
The Works of Francis Beaumont and John Fletcher (Vol. 2 of 10)
Actus Primus. Scena Prima.
Enter_ Clorin _a shepherdess, having buried her Love in an Arbour.
Hail, holy Earth, whose cold Arms do imbrace?The truest man that ever fed his flocks?By the fat plains of fruitful Thessaly,?Thus I salute thy Grave, thus do I pay?My early vows, and tribute of mine eyes?To thy still loved ashes; thus I free?My self from all insuing heats and fires?Of love: all sports, delights and jolly games?That Shepherds hold full dear, thus put I off.?Now no more shall these smooth brows be begirt?With youthful Coronals, and lead the Dance;?No more the company of fresh fair Maids?And wanton Shepherds be to me delightful,?Nor the shrill pleasing sound of merry pipes?Under some shady dell, when the cool wind?Plays on the leaves: all be far away,?Since thou art far away; by whose dear side?How often have I sat Crown'd with fresh flowers?For summers Queen, whil'st every Shepherds Boy?Puts on his lusty green, with gaudy hook,?And hanging scrip of finest Cordevan.?But thou art gone, and these are gone with thee,?And all are dead but thy dear memorie;?That shall out-live thee, and shall ever spring?Whilest there are pipes, or jolly Shepherds sing.?And here will I in honour of thy love,?Dwell by thy Grave, forgeting all those joys,?That former times made precious to mine eyes,?Only remembring what my youth did gain?In the dark, hidden vertuous use of Herbs:?That will I practise, and as freely give?All my endeavours, as I gain'd them free.?Of all green wounds I know the remedies?In Men or Cattel, be they stung with Snakes,?Or charm'd with powerful words of wicked Art,?Or be they Love-sick, or through too much heat?Grown wild or Lunatick, their eyes or ears?Thickned with misty filme of dulling Rheum,?These I can Cure, such secret vertue lies?In Herbs applyed by a Virgins hand:?My meat shall be what these wild woods afford,?Berries, and Chesnuts, Plantanes, on whose Cheeks,?The Sun sits smiling, and the lofty fruit?Pull'd from the fair head of the staight grown Pine;?On these I'le feed with free content and rest,?When night shall blind the world, by thy side blest.
Enter a Satyr.
Satyr. Through yon same bending plain?That flings his arms down to the main,?And through these thick woods have I run,?Whose bottom never kist the Sun?Since the lusty Spring began,?All to please my master Pan,?Have I trotted without rest?To get him Fruit; for at a Feast?He entertains this coming night?His Paramour, the Syrinx bright:?But behold a fairer sight! [He stands amazed. By that Heavenly form of thine,?Brightest fair thou art divine,?Sprung from great immortal race?Of the gods, for in thy face?Shines more awful Majesty,?Than dull weak mortalitie?Dare with misty eyes behold,?And live: therefore on this mold?Lowly do I bend my knee,?In worship of thy Deitie;?Deign it Goddess from my hand,?To receive what e're this land?From her fertil Womb doth send?Of her choice Fruits: and but lend?Belief to that the Satyre tells,?Fairer by the famous wells,?To this present day ne're grew,?Never better nor more true.?Here be Grapes whose lusty bloud?Is the learned Poets good,?Sweeter yet did never crown?The head of Bacchus, Nuts more brown?Than the Squirrels Teeth that crack them;?Deign O fairest fair to take them.?For these black ey'd Driope?Hath oftentimes commanded me,?With my clasped knee to clime;?See how well the lusty time?Hath deckt their rising cheeks in red,?Such as on your lips is spred,?Here be Berries for a Queen,?Some be red, some be green,?These are of that luscious meat,?The great God Pan himself doth eat:?All these, and what the woods can yield,?The hanging mountain or the field,?I freely offer, and ere long?Will bring you more, more sweet and strong,?Till when humbly leave I take,?Lest the great Pan do awake,?That sleeping lies in a deep glade,?Under a broad Beeches shade,?I must go, I must run?Swifter than the fiery Sun. [Exit.
Clo. And all my fears go with thee.?What greatness or what private hidden power,?Is there in me to draw submission?From this rude man, and beast? sure I am mortal:?The Daughter of a Shepherd, he was mortal:?And she that bore me mortal: prick my hand?And it will bleed: a Feaver shakes me,?And the self same wind that makes the young