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Bat with which I cannot tell,
DORON. O boy, how thy abundant vein, So my gallant youths farewel.
Even like a food breaks from thy brain,
Nor can thy Muse be gaged.
DORILUS. Why Nature forth did never bring. THE THIRD NYMPHAL
A man that like to me can sing,
If once I be enraged.
DORON. Why, Dorilus, I in my skill
Can make the swiftest stream stand still,
Nay, bear back to his springing.
DORILUS. And I into a trance most deep
Can cast the birds, that they shall sleep
When fain'st they would be singing.
DORON. Why, Dorilus, thou mak'st me mad, At which the Muses are the certain guests,
And now my wits begin to gad, Th'observe one day with most imperial state,
But sure I know not whither. To wise Apollo which they dedicate,
DORILUS. O, Doron, let me hug thee then,
There never was two madder men,
DORON. Hermes the winged horse bestrid,
And founder'd through the fountain.
Against the forked mountain.
DORON. How say'st thou, but py'd Iris got The Muses from their Heliconian spring
Into great Juno's chariot, Their brimful mazers to the feasting bring :
I spake with one that saw her. When with deep draughts out of those plenteous DORILUS. And there the pert and saucy elf bowls,
Behav'd her as 'twere Juno's self,
DORON. I'll borrow Phæbus' fiery jades,
With which about the world he trades, And not a word that any one car speak
And put them in my plough. But 'tis prophetic ; and so strangely far
DORILUS. O thou most perfect frantic man, In their high fury they transported are,
Yet let thy rage be what it can,
I'll be as mad as thou.
DORON. I'll to great Jove, hap good, hap ill,
And beg of hiin a boon, As ever kept on the Elysian plains,
DORILUS. To swerve up one of Cynthia's beams, First by their signs attention having won,
And there to bathe thee in the streams, Thus they the revels frolicly begun.
Discover'd in the Moon. DORON. Come Dorilus, let us be brave,
DORON. Come, frolic youth, and follow me, In lofty numbers let us rave,
My frantic boy, and P'll show thee With rhymes I will enrich thee.
The country of the fairies. DORILUS Content, say I, then bid the base, DORILUs. The fleshy mandrake where't doth grow, Our wits shall run the wildgoose-chace,
In noonshade of the misletoe, Spur up, or I will switch thee.
And where the phenix airies, DORON. The Sun out of the east doth peep,
DORON. Nay more, the swallow's winter bed, And now the day begins to creep
The caserns where the winds are bred, Upon the world at leisure.
Since thus thou talk'st of showing. DORILUS. The air enamour'd with the greaves, DORILUS. And to those indraughts I'll thee bring The west wind strokes the velvet leaves,
That wonderous and eternal spring And kisses them at pleasure.
Whence th' ocean hath its flowing. DORON. The spinners' webs 'twixt spray and spray DORON. We'll down to the dark house of sleep, The top of every bush make gay,
Where snoring Morpheus dotb.keep, By filmy cords there dangling.
And wake the drowsy groom. DORICUI. For now the last day's evening dew DORILUS. Down shall the doors and windows go, Even to the full itself doth shew,
The stools upon the flopr we'll throw, Each bough with pearl bespangling.
And roar about the room.
The Muses bere commanded them to stay,
CLOE. To these rillets parling,
Dance tow'rd their springing.
Nalis. The wood-nymphs sit singing,
Each grove with notes ringing, When Orpheus, Lynus, and th’ Ascrean swain
Whilst fresh Ver is flinging Took lusty rouses, which hath made their rhymes
Her bounties abroad. To last so lung to all succeeding times.
CLOE. So much as the turtle And now amongst this beautious bevy here,
Upon the low myrtle,
Her cares doth unload.
Nais. Nay, 'tis a world to see
The birds with mirth and glee
Woo'd as they woo.
CLOE. The rubin and the wren, NATIS. Amongst you all let us see
Every cock with his hen, Who is't opposes me,
Why should not we and men Come on the proudest she
Do as they do. To answer my ditty.
Nalis. The fairies are hopping, CLOE. Why, Najis, that am I,
The small flowers cropping, Who dares thy pride defy;
And witli dew dropping, And that we soon shall try
Skip thorow the greaves. Though thou be witty.
CLOE. At barley-break they play Nals. Cloe, I scorn my rhyme
Merrily all the day, Should observe feet or time,
At night themselves they lay Now I fall, then I climb,
Upon the soft leaves. What is't I dare not.
NAIIS. The gentle winds sally CLOE. Give thy invention wing,
Upon every valley, And let her flirt and fling,
And many times dally Till down the rock she ding,
And wantonly sport. For that I care not,
CLOÉ. About the fields tracing, Nais. This presence delights me,
Each other in chasing, My freedom invites me,
And often embracings The season excites me
In amorous sort. In rhyme to be merry.
NAITS. And Echo oft doth telt CLOB. And I heyond measure,
Wondrous things from her cell, Am ravish'd with pleasure,
As her what chance befel, To answer each ceasure,
Learning to prattle. Until thou be'st weary.
CLOE. And now she sits and mocks. NAJIS. Behold the rosy dawn,
The shepherds and their flocks, Rises in tinsel'd lawn,
And the herds from the rocks And smiling seems to fawn
Keeping their cattle, Upon the mountains.
When to these maids the Muses silence cry, CLOB. Awaked from her dreams
For 'twas th' opinion of the company, Shooting forth gotden beams,
That were not these two taken off, that they Dancing upon the streams
Would in their conflict wholly spend the day. Courting the fountains.
When as the turn to Florimel next came, NAIIS. These more than sweet showrets, A nymph for beauty of especial name, Entice up these flowrets,
Yet was she not so jolly as the rest; To trim up our bowrets,
And though she were by her companions prest, Perfuming our coats.
Yet she by no entreaty would be wrought
To sing, as by th' Elysian laws she ought: CLOE. Whilst the birds billing
When two bright nymphs that her companions Each one with his dilling,
And of all other only held her dear, (were, The thickets still filling
Mild Cloris and Mertilla, with fair speech, With amorous notes.
Their most beloved Florimel beseech,
T'observe the Muses, and the more to woo her, NATIS. The bees up in honey rollid
They take their turns, and thus they sing unto her. More than their thighs can hold, Lapp'd in their liquid gold,
CLORIS. Sing, Florimel, O'sing, and we Their treasure us bringing
Our whole wealth will give to thee,
We'll rob the brim of every fountain,
I would Jove of my counsel make, Strip the sweets from every mountain,
And have his judgment in it, We will sweep the curled valleys,
But that I doubt he would mistake Brush the banks that mound our allies,
How rightly to begin it: We will muster Nature's dainties,
It must be builded in the air, When she wallows in her plenties,
And 'tis my thoughts must do it, T'he luscious smell of every flower,
And only they must be the stair New wash'd by an April shower,
From earth to mount me to it: The mistress of her store we'll make thee,
For of my sex I frame my lay, That she for herself shall take thee;
Each hour ourselves forsaking, Can there be a dainty thing,
How should I then find out the way,
To this my undertaking ?
Yet changing every minute,
Will show that it requires some skill, We will make them like a widow,
Such difficulty's in it. And in all their beauties dress thee,
We would things, yet we know not what, And of all their spoils possess thee,
And let our will be granted, With all the beauties Zephyr brings,
Yet instantly we find in that Breathing on the yearly springs,
Something unthought of wanted : The gaudy blooms of every tree
Our joys and hopes sych shadows are, In their most beauty when they be,
As with our motions vary, What is here that may delight thee,
Which when we oft have fetch'd from far, Dr to pleasure may excite thee,
With us they never tarry : Can there be a dainty thing
Some worldly cross doth still attend That's not thine, if thou wilt sing?
What long we have been spinning, But Florimel still sullenly replies,
And ere we fully get the end, “ I will not sing at all, let that suffice:”
We lose of our beginning. When as a nymph, one of the merry ging,
Our policies so peevish are,
That with themselves they wrangle, Seeing she no way could be won to sing; “ Come, come," quoth she, "ye utterly undo her
And many times become the snare,
That soonest us entangle ;
For that the love we bear our friends,
Though ne'er so strongly grounded,
Hath in it certain oblique ends, Must work another way: let me come to her,
If to the bottom sounded: Either I'll make her sing, or I'll undo her.”
Our own well wishing making it CLAIA. Florimel, I thus conjure thee,
A pardonable treason ; Since their gifts caņnot allure thee;
For that it is deriv'd from wit, By stamp'd garlic that doth stink
And underpropp'd with reason. Worse than common sewer or sink;
For our dear selves' beloved sake, By henbane, dogsbane, wolfsbane, sweet
(Even in the depth of passion) As any clown's or carrier's feet;
Our centre though ourselves we make, By stinking nettles, pricking teasels,
Yet is not that our station ; Raising blisters like the measles;
For whilst our brows ambitious be, By the rough burbreeding docks,
And youth at hand awaits us, Ranker than the oldest fox;
It is a pretty thing to see By filthy hemloc, pois'ning more
How finely beauty cheats us. Than any ulcer or old sore;
And whilst with time we trifling stand By the cockle in the corn,
To practise antique graces, That smells far worse than doth burnt horu :
Age, with a pale and wither'd hand,
Draws furrows in our faces.
When they which so desirons were before
To hear her sing; desirous are far more May all filthy stinking weeds
To have her cease; and call to have her staid, That e'er bore leaf, or e'er had seeds;
For she too much already had bewray'd. Florimel, be given to thee,
And as the thrice three sisters thus had grac'd If thou’lt mot sing as well as we.
Their celebration, and themselves had plac'd
Where they at will might view the festival,
To gratify the heavenly girls again, And to this ditty instantly doth fall.
Lastly prepare in state to entertain FLORIMEL. How in my thoughts shall I con
Those sacred sisters, fairly and confer, The image I am framing,
On each of them their praise particular, Which is so far superlative,
And thus the nymphs to the nine Muses sung, As 'tis beyond all paming?
When as the youth and foresters among,
That well prepared for this business were, Which, neatly, with thy staff and bow,
Motion and gesture that dost teach,
That every height and depth can't reach; That daily offer to the sacred shrine
And dost demonstrate by thy art
What nature else would not impart.
CHORUS. Dear Erato, crave Phoebus to inspire Their acts, which every day thou view'st,
Us for his altars with his holiest fire And from a lethargy dost keep
And let his glorious ever-shining rays Old podding Time, else prone to sleep.
Give life and growth to our Elysian bays. CHORUS. Çlio, O crave of Phoebus to inspire NYMPHs. To thee, thou brave Calliope, we come, Us for his altars with his holiest fire,
Thou that maintain'st the trumpet and the drum, And let his glorious ever-shining rays
The neighing-steeds that lov'st to hear, Give life and growth to our Elysian bays.
Clashing of arms doth please thine ear;
In lofty lines that dost rehearse NYMPIIs. Melpomene, thou melancholy maid,
Things worthy of a thund'ring verse, Next, to wise Phæbus, we invoke thy aid,
And at no time art heard to strain
On aught that suits a common vein.
CHORUS. Calliope, crave Phoebus to inspire
Us for his altars with his holiest fire, That lov'st the sighs, the shrieks, and sounds
And let his glorious ever-shining rays Of horrour, that arise from wounds.
Give life and growth to our Elysian bays. CHORUS. Sad Muse, O crave of Phoebus to in NYMPHS. Thou, Polyhymnia, most delicious maid, Us for his altars with his oliest fire, (spire In rhetoric's flowers that art array'd; And let his glorious ever-shining rays
In tropes and figures richly drest, Give life and birth to our Elysian bays.
The filed phrase that lovest best,
That art alt elocution, and NYMPHS. Comic Thalia, then we come to thee,
The first that gav'st to understand Thou mirthful maiden, only that in glee
The force of words, in order plac'd,
And with a sweet delivery grac'd.
CHORUS. Sweet Muse, persuade our Phoebus to Loud laughter through the theatre,
Us for bis altars with his holiest fire, [inspire That with the peasant mak'st thee sport,
And let his glorious ever-shining rays As well as with the better sort.
Give life and growth to our Elysian bays. CHORUS. Thalia, crave of Phæbus to inspire NYMPHS. Lofty Urania, then we call to thee, Us for his altars with his holiest fire,
To whom the Heavens for ever open'd be, And let his glorious ever-shining rays
Thou th' asterisms by name dost call, Give life and growth to our Elysian bays.
And show'st when they do rise and fatl;
Each planet's force, and dost divine
And how the starry frame still rolls
Between the fixed stedfast poles.
CHORUS. Urania, ask of Phæbus to inspire
Us for his altars with his holiest fire, Those which wind-instruments we call,
And let his glorious ever-sbining rays
Give life and growth to our Elysian bays.
THE FOURTH NYMPHAL.
Chaste Cloris doth disclose the shames The touch of the most curious hand,
Of the Felician frantic dames, When every quaver doth embrace
Mertilla strives t'appease her woe,
To golden wishes then they go.
MERTILLA. Way, hox now Cloris, what, thy
(head CHORUS. Terpsichore, crave Phoebus to inspire Us for his altars with his holiest fire,
Is the cold ground become thy bed? And let his glorious ever-shining rays
The grass become thy pillow?
O let not those life-lightning eyes
In this sad veil be shrouded,
CLORIS. O, my Mertilla, do not praise
With wishes of each other's good, These lamps, so dimly burning,
From our abundant treasures, Such sad and sullen lights as these
And, in this jocund sprightly mood
Thus alter we our measures.
MERTILLA. O I could wish this place were strew'd Now, whilst the Spring lays forth her locks,
(grass With blossoms bravely braded.
And that this bank were thickly thrumb'd with
As soft as sleave or sarcenet ever was,
CLORIS. O that these dews rose-water were for Without which Nature cannot:
thee, Say what it is that troubleth thee,
'These mists perfumes that hang upon these thicks, Increas'd by thy concealing,
And that the winds were all aromatics, (be. Speak, sorrows many times we see
Which if my wish could make them, they should Are lessen'd by revealing.
MERTILLA. O that my bottle one whole diamond CI.ORIS. Being of late too vainly bent,
So fill'd with nectar that a fly might sup, [were, And but at too much leisure,
And at one draught that thou might'st drink it up, Nor with our groves and downs content,
Yet a carouse not good enough I fear.
CLORIS. That all the pearl, the seas or Indias Where fame to me reported,
have, The choice nymphs of the world to be
Were well dissolv'd, and thereof made a lake, From meaner beauties sorted ;
Thou there in bathing, and I by to take
Pleasure to see thee clearer than the wave.
MERTILLA. O that the horns of all the herds we That to this hour affright me.
Were of fine gold, or else that every horn (see
And of all these, not one but were thy fee.
CLORIS. O that their hoofs were ivory, or some Their bodies, although straight by kind,
thing Yet they so monstrous make them,
Than the pur'st ivory far more crystalline, That for huge bags, blown up with wind,
Fill'd with the food wherewith the gods do dine, You yery well may take them.
To keep thy youth in a continual spring,
MERTILLA. O that the sweets of all the flowers
The labouring air would gather into one, For their behaviour and their grace,
In gardens, fields, nor meadows leaving none, Which likewise should have priz'd them,
And all their sweetness upon thee would throw. Their manners were as beastly base As th’rags that so disguis'd them;
FLORIS. Nay that those sweet harmonious strains All antics, all so impudent,
we hear, So fashion'd out of fashion,
Amongst the lively birds' melodious lays,
As they recording sit upon the sprays,
Were hovering still for music at thine ears.
MERTILLA. O that thy name were carv'd on every Of reason and depriyeg me,
tree, That, for their sakes, I loath my sex,
That as these plants still great, and greater grow, Which to this sadneas drives me.
Thy name, dear nymph, might be enlarged so, MERTILLA. O, my dear Cloris, be not sad, That every groye and coppice might speak thee. Nor with these furies daunted, But let these female fools be mad
CLORIS. Nay would thy name upon their rinds With hellish pride enchanted;
were set, Let not thy noble thoughts descend
And by the nymphs so oft and loudly spoken, So low as their affections,
As that the echoes to that language broken
Thy happy name migbt hourly counterfeit.
MERTILLA. O let the Spring still put stern Winter But rather scorn their folly,
And in rich damask let her revel still, [by And since we two are here alone,
As it should do if I might have my will, To banish melancholy,
That thou might'st still walk on her tapestry ; Leave we this lowly creeping vein,
And thus since fate no longer time allows Not worthy admiration,
Under this broad and shady sycamore, And in a brave and lofty strain
Where now we sit, as we have oft before, Let's exercise our passion,
Those yet unborn shall offer up their rows.