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Now, Wernock, shalt thou see (so mote I thee)
That I nill usen any skill so mytch,

(Faire fall my swinck) as this so nice, and free,
In case I may my name to Heaven stitch.
For why I am by kind so inly pul'd
To these delices, that when I betake
Myself to other lore I more am dul'd;
And therefro, keeuely set, I fall to make.
But, well-away, thyn is the way to thriven;
And, my neer kith, for that wol sore me shend:
Who little reck how I by kind am given;
But her wold force to swinck for thriftier end.
Hence forward then I must assay, and con
My leere in leefull lore, to pleasen them
That, sib to me, would my promotion,
And carke for that to prancke our common stem:
For, now (as wends the world) no skill to that
(Or rather but that) thrives; sith swaines are now
So full of contecke, that they wot ne what
They would; so, if they could, they all would

owe.

So fares it in calme seasons with curst men ;
If frennes forbeare at home, hem to invade,'
They wry their peace to noy each other then
By plees, till they decease, or fall, or fade.
So times been keener now with common swaynes,
Than when as forraigne foe-men with hem fought:
For, now they swyncke, but for sly law-men's

gaines

Or seld they should possessen what they ought.
But, what for this? To me it little longs
To gab of sikliche notes of misery;

Ynough is me to chaunten swoote my songs,
And blend hem with my rural mynstrelsy.
But, O (my Wernock) how am I to thee
Obligen, for thy keene reencouragements
To skill so mickle lov'd and sought of me
As this of making with arts elements?
I not how I shall thrive therein; ne how
I shall be dempt of in these nicer times:
But howsoere so thou my workes alow,
I nill be ill-apaiden with my rimes.

WERNOCK.

Thou needst not, Willie; wretch were I to laude
Thee in thy misses; for, I so should be
To th' adultries of thy wits-scapes, but a baude,
Ne, as a friend, in sentence, should be free.
Than, wend thou fairly on, with thyne emprise ;
Sing cleerely, Will, on mine encouragement,
And other swaines, more able to devise;
And, fixe thee for it, in the firmament.
Ynough is me so I may beare a part
Aye in the Muses quire with those and thee;
Il'e sing (at ease) aloud, with cheerefull bart,
No base, ne meane, but tenour of best glee.

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THE INNER TEMPLE MASQUE.

WRITTEN BY W. BROWNE.

Non semper Gnosius arcus Destinat, exemplo sed laxat cornua nervo. Ovid. ad Pisonem.

TO THE HONOURABLE

SOCIETY OF THE INNER TEMPLE.
GENTLEMEN,

I GIVE YOU but your owne: if you refuse to foster it, I knowe not who will: by your meanes it may live. If it degenerate in kinde from those other the society hath produced, blame yourselves for I knowe it is not not seeking a happier Muse. without faultes, yet such as your loves, or at least poetica licentia (the common salve) will make tolerable: what is good in it, that is yours; what bad, myne; what indifferent, both; and that will suffice, since it was done to please ourselves in private, by him that is

all yours,

W. BROWNE.

THE DESCRIPTION OF THE FIRST SCENE.

On one side the hall, towardes the lower end, was discovered a cliffe of the sea, done over in part white, according to that of Virgil, lib. 5. Jamque adeo scopulos Syrenum advecta subibat Difficiles quondam multorumque ossibus albos. Upon it were seated two Syrens, as they are described by Hyginus and Servius, with their upper parts like women to the navell, and the rest like a hen. One of these, at the first discovery of the scene, (a sea being done in perspective on one side the cliffe) began to sing this songe, beinge as lascivious and proper to them, and beginninge as that of theirs in Hom. lib. μ. Οδ. Δενρ ̓ ἄγ ἴων πὰλυαιν Οδυσευ μέγα κύδος Αχαιων.

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Your sweetest tunes but grones of mandrakes be;

At the end of this songe Circe was seene upon the He his owne traytor is that heareth thee.

rocke, quaintly attyred, her haire loose about Tethys commands, nor is it fit that you

ber shoulders, an anadem of Mowers on her Should ever glory you did him subdue

head, with a wand in her hand, and then makBy wyles, whose pollicyes were never spread

ing towardes the Syrens, called them thence 'Till flaming Troy gave light to have them read.

with this speech : Ulysses now furrowes the liquid plaine, Doubtfull of seeing Ithaca againe,

Syrens, ynongh! cease; Circe hath prevail'd, For in his way more stops are thrust by time,

The Greeks, which on the dauncinge billowrs sayld, Than in the path where vertue comes to climbe:

About whose shippes a hundred dolphins clunge, She that with silver springs for ever fills

Wrapt with the musicke of Ulysses' tongne, The shady groves, sweet meddowes, and the hills,

Have with their guide, by powerfull Circe's hand,

Cast their hook'd auchors on Æva's strand.
From whose continuall store suc! pooles are fed,
As in the land for seas are famosed.

Yonde stands a hille crown'd with high wavinge
trees,

(sees, "Tis she whose favour to this Grecian tends, And to remove bis ruine Triton sends.

Whose gallant toppes each neighb'ringe countrye

Under whose shade an hundred Sylvans playe, SYRON

With gaudy nymphes farre fairer than the daye ; But'tis not Tethys, nor a greater powre, [hour) where everlastinge springe with silver showres Cynthia, that rules the waves; scarce he (each Sweet roses doih increase to grace our bowres ; That wields the thunderboites, can thinges begun Where lavish Flora, prodigall in pride, By mighty Circe (daughter to the Sun)

Spends what might well enrich all earth beside, Checke or controule ; she that by charmes can And to adorue this place she loves so deare, The scaled fish to leave the brinye lake; (make Stays in some climates scarcely halfe the yeare. And on the seas walke as on land she were ; When, would she to the world indifferent bee, She that can pull the pale Moone from her spheare, They should continuall Aprill have as we. And at mid-day the world's all glorious eye Muffle with cloudes in longe obscuritie;

Midway the wood, and from the level'd lands, She that can cold December set on fire,

A spatious, yet a curious arbour standes,

Wherein should Phæbus once to pry beginne, And from the grave bodyes with life inspire;

I would bepight him 'ere he grite his inne,
She that can cleave the center, and with ease
A prospect make to our Antipodes; (made,

Or turne his steedes awry, so drawe him on
Whose mystique spelles have fearfull thunders

To burne all landes but this, like Phaëton. And forc'd brave rivers to run retrograde;

Ulysses neare his mates, by my strange charmes, She, without stories, that sturdy oakes can tare, Lyes there till my returne in sleepe's soft armes : And turne their rootes where late their curl'd

Then, Syrens, quickly wend me to the bow re, toppes were,

To fitte their welcome, aud show Circe's powre. She that can with the winter solstice bringe All Flora's daintyes, Circe bids me singe ; Add till some greater band her pow're can staye,

What all the elements doe ove to thee, Who'ere coinmand, I none but her obeye.

In their obedience is performi'd in me.

SYREN.

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TRITON.
Thinke on her wrath.

SYREN.
I shall. Triton! farewelle.

SYREN,

Vaine was thy message, vaine her haste, for I
Must tune againe my wanton melodye.

Here she went on with her song thus :
For swellinge waves, our panting brestes,

Where never stormes arise,
Exchange, and be awhile our guestes ;

For starres gaze on our eyes.
The compasse, love shall hourely singe,
And as he goes about the ringe,

We will not misse
To telle each pointe he nameth with a kisse.

While Circe was speakinge her first speech, and

at these words, “ Yond stands a hill," &c. a
travers was drawne at the lower end of the ball,
and gave way for the discovery of an artificiali
wood, so neere imitating nature, that, I thinke,
had there been a grove like that in the open
plaine, birds would have been faster drawne to
that than to Zeuxis' grapes. The trees stood at the
climing of an bill, and lefte at their feete a
little plaine, which they circled like a crescente.
In this space, upon hillockes, were seen eight
musitians in crimsen taffity rubes, with chaplets
of lawrell on their heades, their lutes by them,
which being by them toucht as a warninge to
the nymphes of the wood, from among the trees
was heard this songe.

THE SONGE IN THE WOOD.
Waat singe the sweete birds in each grove?

Nought but love.
What sound our eccho, day and night?

All delighte.

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CHORUS.

CIRCE.

THE CHARME.

What doth each wynd breathe us that feetes? I tyn'd the firebrande that (beside thy flight)
Endlesse sweets.

Left Polyphemus in eternall nighte;
And lastly to Ææa brought thee on,

Safe from the man-devouring Læstrygon.
Is there a place on earth this isle excels,

This for Ulysses' love hath Circe done,
Or any nymphes more bappy live than we, And if to live with me thou shalt be wonne,
When all our sorges, our soundes, and breath- Aurora's hand shall never drawe awaye
inges be,

The sable vale that bides the gladsome daye.
That here all love, delighte, and sweetness dwells. But we new pleasures will beginne to taste,

And better stille, those we enjoyed laste. By this time Circe and the Syrens being come into

To instance what I canne: Musicke, thy voyce, the wood, Ulysses was seene lying as asleep, under And of all those have felt our wrath, the choyce the couverte of a faire tree, towardes whom

Appeare; and in a dance 'gin that delight Circe coming, bespake thus.

Which with the minutes shall growe infinite.

Here one attir'd like a woodman, in all poyntes, Yet holdes soft sleepe his course. Now Ithacus,

came forth of the wood, and, going towards Ajax would offer hecatombes to us,

the stage, sunge this songe to call away the And Ilium's ravish'd wifes, and childlesse sires,

Antimasque.
With incense dym the bright æthereal fires,

SONGE?
To have thee bounde in chaynes of sleepe as here;
But that thou may'st behold, and knowe how deare Come yee whose liornes the cuckold weares,
Thou art to Circe, with my magicke deepe,

The whittoll too, with asse's eares;

Let the wolfe leave howlinge, And powerfull verses, thus I banish sleepe.

The baboone his scowlinge,

And grillus bye
Sonne of Erebus and Nighte,

Out of his stye.
Hye away; and aime thy flighte

Though gruntinge, though barkinge, though bray-
Where consorte none other fowle,

inge yee come.

[home. Than the batte, and sullen owle.

We'ele make yee daunce quiet, and so send yee Where upon the lymber grasse,

Nor ginne shall snare you,

Nor inastive scare you
Poppy and mandragoras,
With like simples not a few,

Nor learne the baboone's trickes,
Hange for ever droppes of dewe.

Nor grillus' seoffe,
Where flowes Lethe, without coyle,

From the hogge troughe,
Softly like a streame of oyle.

But turne againe unto the thickes.
Hye thee thither, gentle Sleepe,

Here's none ('tis hop'd) so foolish, scornes
With this Greeke no longer keepe:

That any els should weare the hornes.
Thrice I charge thee by my wand,

Here's no curre with howlinge,
Thrice with mocy from my hand,

Nor an ape with scowlinge,
Doe I to touch Ulysses' eyes,

Shall mocke or moe
And with the jaspis: Then arise

At what you showe.
Sagest Greeke.

In jumpinge, in skippinge, in turninge, or oughte

You shall doe to please us how well or bow noughte. Ulysses (as by the powre of Circe) awakinge, thus

If there be any began :

Amonge this many,

Whom such an humour steares,
Thou more than mortalle mayde,

May he still lye,

In Grillus' stye,
Who, when thou listes, canst make (as if afraide)
The mountaines treinble, and with terrour shake

Or weare for ever the asse's eares. The seate of Dis; and from Averons' lake

While the first staffe of this songe was singinge, Grim Hecate with all the Furyes bringe,

out of the thickets on eyther side of the passage To worke revenge ; or to thy questioninge

came rushing the Antimasque, being such as by Disclose the secretes of th' infernall shades,

Circe, were supposed to have beene transformed Or raise the ghostes that walke the under-glades.

(havinge the mindes of men still) into these To thee, whom all obey, Ulysses bendes,

shapes followinge: Bat may I aske (greate Circe) whereto tendes Thy never-failinge handes? Shall we be free? Two with heartes, heades, and bodyes, as Actaon Or must thyne anger crush my mates and me? is pictur’d.

Two like Midas, with asses' eares.

Two like wolves, as Lycaon is drawne. Neyther, Laertes' sonne, with winges of love, Two like baboons. To thee, and none but thee, my actions move. Grillus (of whom Plutarche writes in his morralles) My arte went with thee, and thou me may'st in the shape of a hogge.

thanke, In winnioge Rhesus' horses, e're they dranke These together dancinge an antique measure, to. Of Xanthus' streame; and when with human gore, wardes the latter end of it missed Grillus, who Cleare Hebrus' channell was all stained 'ore ; When some brave Greeks, companions then with 2 The musicke was composed of treble violins, thee,

with all the inward parts, a base violle, base lute, Forgot their country through the lotos tree; sagbut, cornamute, and a tabour and pipe.

ULYSSES.

CIRCE.

was newly slipte away, and whilst they were | Let wise Ulysses judge. Some I confesse,

at a stand, wond'ringe what was become of him, the woodman stepte forth and sunge this

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Much like to one

Who in a shipwracke being cast upon
The froathy shores, and safe beholdes his mates
Equally cross'd by Neptune and the Fates.
You might as well have ask'd how I would like
A straine whose equall Orpheus could not strike,
Upon a barpe whose stringes none other be,
Than of the heart of chaste Penelope.
O let it be enough that thou in these,
Hast made most wretched Laertiades:
Let yet the sad chance of distressed Greckes,
With other teares than sorrowe's dewe your checkes!
Most abject basenesse hath enthral'd that breste
Which laughs at men by misery oppreste.

CIRCE.

In this, as lyllies, or the new-falne snowe,
Is Circe spotlesse yet: what though the bowe
Which Iris bendes, appeareth to each sight
In various hewes and colours infinite:
The learned knowe that in itselfe is free,
And light and shade make that varietye.

Things farre off seen seem not the same they are,
Fame is not ever truth's discoverer;

For still where envy meeteth a reporte,

Ill she makes worse, and what is good come shorte.
In whatso'ere this land hath passine beene,
Or she that here 'ore other raigneth queene,

Ovid. Metam. lib. 14.

That tow'rds this isle not long since did addresse
Their stretched oares, no sooner landed were,
But (carelesse of themselves) they here and there
Fed on strange fruits, invenominge their bloods,
And now like monsters range about the woods.
If those thy mates were, yet is Circe free,
For their misfortunes have not birth from me.
Who in the apothecarie's shop hath ta'ne
(Whilst he is wantinge) that which breeds his bane,
Should never blame the man who there had plac'd it,
But his owne folly urging him to taste it.

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CIRCE.

Swifter the lightninge comes not from above,
Than do our grants born on the wings of love;
And since what's past doth not Ulysses please,
Call to a dance the fair Nereides,
With other nymphes, which doe in every creeke,
In woods, on plaines, on mountaincs symples seeke
For powerfull Circe, and let in a songe
Ecchos be aydinge, that they may prolonge
My now command to each place where they be,
To bringe them hither all more speedilye.
Presently in the wood was heard a full musicke of
lutes, which descending to the stage, had to
them sung this followinge songe, the Ecchos be-
ing plac'd in several parts of the passage.

SONGE.

CIRCE bids you come awaye.

ЕССНО.

Come awaye, come awaye. From the rivers, from the sea.

ECCHO. From the sea, from the sea.

From the greene woods every one.
ECCHO. Every one, every one.
Of her maides be missinge none.

ECCHO.

Missinge none, missingė none. No longer stay, except it be to bringe A med'cine for love's stinge. That would excuse you, and be held more deare, Than wit or magicke, for both they are here.

EсCHO. They are here, they are here. The Eccho had no sooner answered to the last line of the songe, They are here, but the second Antimasque came in, being seven uymphs, and were thus attir'd:

Foure in white taffita robes, long trèsses, and chaplets of flowers, herbs, and weeds on their heads, with little wicker baskets in their handes, neatly painted. These were supposed to be maides attending upon Circe, and used in gatheringe simples for their mistress's inchantments.(Pausanias in prioribus Eliacis.)

Three in sea greene robes, greenish haire hanging loose, with leaves of corall and shells intermixt upon it. These are by Ovid affirmed to helpe the nymphs of Circe in their collections".

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SONGL.

ULYSSES.

These havinge danced a most curious measure to a

softer tune than the first Antimasque, as most Shake off sleepe, ye worthy knights, fitting, returned as they came; the Nereides

Though ye dreame of all delights ; towardes the cliffes, and the other maides of Show that Venus doth resorte Circe to the woods and plaines. After which To the campe as well as courte. Ulysses, thus :

By some well timed measure,

And on your gestures and your paces, Fame addes not to thy joyes, I see in this,

Let the well-composed graces, Rut like a high and stately Pyramis

Lookinge like, and parte with pleasure. Growes least at farthest: now faire Circe grante, Although the faire-hair'd Greeks do never vaunte,

By this the knights being all risen from their That they in measur'd paces aught have done,

seates, were, by Ulysses (the loud musicke soundBut where the god of batteles led them on;

inge) brought to the stage; and then to the violins Give leave that (freed from sleepe) the small

danced their first measure; after which this remaine

songe brought them to the second. Of my companions, on the under plaine, May in a dance strive how to pleasure thee,

On and imitate the Sun, Eyther with skill or with varietye.

Stay not to breathe till you have done:

Earth doth thinke as other where

Do some woemen she doth beare. Circe is pleas'd: Ulysses take my wand,

Those wifes whose husbands only threaten, And from their eyes each child of sleepe command, are not lov'd like those are beaten: Whilst my choice maides with their harmonious

Then with your feete to suffringe move her, voyces

For whilst you beate earth thus, you love her. (Whereat each byrd and dancinge springe rejoyces) Here they danc'd their second measure, and thert Harminge the windes when they contrary mecte, this songe was sunge, during which time they Shall inake their spirits as nimble as their feete. take out the ladyes.

SONGE

CIRCE.

SONGE

CHORUS.

CHOOSE now amonge this fairest number,

Upon whose brestes love would for ever slumber : THE THIRD SCENE'S DESCRIPTION.

Choose not ainisse, since you may where you wille, Circe, with this speech, deliveringe her wande

Or blame yourselves for choosinge ille. to Ulysses, rests on the lower parte of the hill, Then do not leave, though oft the musicke closes, u bile he going up the hill, and striking the Till lillyes in their cheekes be turned to roses. trees with his wande, suddenly two greate gates flew open, makinge, as it were, a large glade

And if it lay in Circe's power, through the wood, and along the glade a faire

Your blisse might so persever, walke; two seeming bricke walles on either That those you choose but for an hower, side, over which the trees wantonly hunge; a

You should enjoy for ever. great light (as the Sun's sudden unmaskinge) | The knights, with their ladyes, dance here the old being seene upon this discovery. At the furthe rend was described an arbour, very curiously

measures, galliards, corantoes, the branles, &c.

and then (havinge led them againe to their done, havinge one entrance under an archi

places) danced their last measure; after whicla treave, borne up by two pillers, with their

this songe called them awaye. chapters and bases guilte; the top of the entrance beautifide with postures of Satyres, Wood.

Who but Time so hasty were, nymphs, and other anticke worke; as also the sides and corners : the coveringe archaise inter

To fly away and leave you here.

Here where delight wove with boughes, the backe of it girt round with a vine, and artificially done up in knottes

Might well ailure towardes thc toppe: beyond it was a wood

A very stoicke, from this night scene in perspective, the fore part of it opening

"To turne an epicure. at Ulysses's approach, the maskers were dis- But since he calles away; and Time will soone re. covered in severall seates, leaninge as asleepe.

pent,

[spente. He staid not longer here, but ran to be more idly

SONOE.

THEIR ATTIRE.

ON THE BEWAILED DEATH OF

THE TRULY BELOVED AND MOST VERTUOUS

Doublets of greene taffita, cut like oaken leaves,

as upon cloth of silver; their skirtes and winges cut into leaves, deepe round hose of the same,

AN ELEGIE, both lin’d with sprigge lace spangled; long white sylke stockings; greene pumps, and roses done over with sylver leaves; hattes of the same stuffe, and cut narrowe-brimmed, and

HENRY, PRINCE OF Wales'. risinge smaller compasse at the crowne ; white What time the world, clat in a mourning robe, reathe hatbandes; white plumes; egrettes with

A stage made, for a woefull tragedie, a greene fall; ruffe bands and cuffes.

When showres of teares from the celestial globe, Ulysses severally came and toucht every one of Bewail'd the fate of sea-lov'd Brittanie; them with the wand, while this was sunge.

This copy is transcribed from a manuseript ia

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