The Faithful Shepherdess

Francis Beaumont

The Faithful Shepherdess / The Works of Francis Beaumont and John Fletcher (Volume 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 imbraceThe truest man that ever fed his flocksBy the fat plains of fruitful Thessaly,Thus I salute thy Grave, thus do I payMy early vows, and tribute of mine eyesTo thy still loved ashes; thus I freeMy self from all insuing heats and firesOf love: all sports, delights and jolly gamesThat Shepherds hold full dear, thus put I off.Now no more shall these smooth brows be begirtWith youthful Coronals, and lead the Dance;No more the company of fresh fair MaidsAnd wanton Shepherds be to me delightful,Nor the shrill pleasing sound of merry pipesUnder some shady dell, when the cool windPlays on the leaves: all be far away,Since thou art far away; by whose dear sideHow often have I sat Crown'd with fresh flowersFor summers Queen, whil'st every Shepherds BoyPuts 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 springWhilest 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 gainIn the dark, hidden vertuous use of Herbs:That will I practise, and as freely giveAll my endeavours, as I gain'd them free.Of all green wounds I know the remediesIn 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 heatGrown wild or Lunatick, their eyes or earsThickned with misty filme of dulling Rheum,These I can Cure, such secret vertue liesIn 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 fruitPull'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 plainThat flings his arms down to the main,And through these thick woods have I run,Whose bottom never kist the SunSince the lusty Spring began,All to please my master Pan,Have I trotted without restTo get him Fruit; for at a FeastHe entertains this coming nightHis 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 raceOf the gods, for in thy faceShines more awful Majesty,Than dull weak mortalitieDare with misty eyes behold,And live: therefore on this moldLowly do I bend my knee,In worship of thy Deitie;Deign it Goddess from my hand,To receive what e're this landFrom her fertil Womb doth sendOf her choice Fruits: and but lendBelief 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 bloudIs the learned Poets good,Sweeter yet did never crownThe head of Bacchus, Nuts more brownThan the Squirrels Teeth that crack them;Deign O fairest fair to take them.For these black ey'd DriopeHath oftentimes commanded me,With my clasped knee to clime;See how well the lusty timeHath 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 longWill 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 runSwifter 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 submissionFrom 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 handAnd it will bleed: a Feaver shakes me,And the self same wind that makes the young Lambs shrink,Makes me a cold: my fear says I am mortal:Yet I have heard (my Mother told it me)And now I do believe it, if I keepMy Virgin Flower uncropt, pure, chaste, and fair,No Goblin, Wood-god, Fairy, Elfe, or Fiend,Satyr or other power that haunts the Groves,Shall hurt my body, or by vain illusionDraw me to wander after idle fires;Or voyces calling me in dead of night,To make me follow, and so tole me onThrough mire and standing pools, to find my ruine:Else why should this rough thing, who never knewManners, nor smooth humanity, whose heatsAre rougher than himself, and more mishapen,Thus mildly kneel to me? sure there is a powerIn that great name of Virgin, that binds fastAll rude uncivil bloods, all appetitesThat break their confines: then strong ChastityBe thou my strongest guard, for here I'le dwellIn opposition against Fate and Hell.

Enter an old Shepherd, with him four couple of Shepherds and Shepherdesses.

Old Shep. Now we have done this holy FestivalIn honour of our great God, and his ritesPerform'd, prepare your selves for chasteAnd uncorrupted fires: that as the Priest,With powerful hand shall sprinkle on [your] BrowsHis pure and holy water, ye may beFrom all hot flames of lust, and loose thoughts free.Kneel Shepherds, kneel, here comes the Priest of Pan.

Enter Priest.

Priest. Shepherds, thus I purge away,Whatsoever this great day,Or the past hours gave not good,To corrupt your Maiden blood:From the high rebellious heatOf the Grapes, and strength of meat;From the wanton quick desires,They do kindle by their fires,I do wash you with this water,Be you pure and fair hereafter.From your Liver and your Veins,Thus I take away the stains.All your thoughts be smooth and fair,Be ye fresh and free as Air.Never more let lustful heatThrough your purged conduits beat,Or a plighted troth be broken,Or a wanton verse be spokenIn a Shepherdesses ear;Go your wayes, ye are all clear.                     [They rise and sing in praise of Pan.The SONGSing his praises that doth keep  Our Flocks from harm,Pan the Father of our Sheep,  And arm in armTread we softly in a round,Whilest the hollow neighbouring groundFills the Musick with her sound.Pan, O great God Pan, to thee  Thus do we sing:Thou that keep'st us chaste and free  As the young spring,Ever be thy honour spoke,From that place the morn is broke,To that place Day doth unyoke.               [Exeunt omnes but Perigot and Amoret.Peri. Stay gentle Amoret, thou fair brow'd Maid,Thy Shepherd prays thee stay, that holds thee dear,Equal with his souls good.Amo. Speak; I giveThee freedom Shepherd, and thy tongue be stillThe same it ever was; as free from ill,As he whose conversation never knewThe Court or City be thou ever true.Peri. When I fall off from my affection,Or mingle my clean thoughts with foul desires,First let our great God cease to keep my flocks,That being left alone without a guard,The Wolf, or Winters rage, Summers great heat,And want of Water, Rots; or what to usOf ill is yet unknown, full speedily,And in their general ruine let me feel.Amo. I pray thee gentle Shepherd wish not so,I do believe thee: 'tis as hard for meTo think thee false, and harder than for theeTo hold me foul.Peri. O you are fairer farThan the chaste blushing morn, or that fair starThat guides the wandring Sea-men through the deep,Straighter than straightest Pine upon the steepHead of an aged mountain, and more whiteThan the new Milk we strip before day-lightFrom the full fraighted bags of our fair flocks:Your hair more beauteous than those hanging locksOf young Apollo.Amo. Shepherd be not lost,Y'are sail'd too far already from the CoastOf our discourse.Peri. Did you not tell me onceI should not love alone, I should not loseThose many passions, vows, and holy Oaths,I've sent to Heaven? did you not give your hand,Even that fair hand in hostage? Do not thenGive back again those sweets to other men,You your self vow'd were mine.Amo. Shepherd, so far as Maidens modestyMay give assurance, I am once more thine,Once more I give my hand; be ever freeFrom that great foe to faith, foul jealousie.Peri. I take it as my best good, and desireFor stronger confirmation of our love,To meet this happy night in that fair Grove,Where all true Shepherds have rewarded beenFor their long service: say sweet, shall it hold?Amo. Dear friend, you must not blame me if I makeA doubt of what the silent night may do,Coupled with this dayes heat to move your bloud:Maids must be fearful; sure you have not beenWash'd white enough; for yet I see a stainStick in your Liver, go and purge again.Peri. O do not wrong my honest simple truth,My self and my affections are as pureAs those chaste flames that burn before the shrineOf the great Dian: only my intentTo draw you thither, was to plight our troths,With enterchange of mutual chaste embraces,And ceremonious tying of our selves:For to that holy wood is consecrateA vertuous well, about whose flowry banks,The nimble-footed Fairies dance their rounds,By the pale moon-shine, dipping oftentimesTheir stolen Children, so to make them freeFrom dying flesh, and dull mortalitie;By this fair Fount hath many a Shepherd sworn,And given away his freedom, many a trothBeen plight, which neither envy, nor old timeCould ever break, with many a chaste kiss given,In hope of coming happiness; by thisFresh Fountain many a blushing MaidHath crown'd the head of her long loved ShepherdWith gaudy flowers, whilest he happy sungLayes of his love and dear Captivitie;There grows all Herbs fit to cool looser flamesOur sensual parts provoke, chiding our bloods,And quenching by their power those hidden sparksThat else would break out, and provoke our senseTo open fires, so vertuous is that place:Then gentle Shepherdess, believe and grant,In troth it fits not with that face to scantYour faithful Shepherd of those chaste desiresHe ever aim'd at, and—Amo. Thou hast prevail'd, farewel, this coming nightShall crown thy chast hopes with long wish'd delight.Peri. Our great god Pan reward thee for that goodThou hast given thy poor Shepherd: fairest BudOf Maiden Vertues, when I leave to beThe true Admirer of thy Chastitie,Let me deserve the hot polluted NameOf the wild Woodman, or affect: some Dame,Whose often Prostitution hath begotMore foul Diseases, than ever yet the hotSun bred through his burnings, whilst the DogPursues the raging Lion, throwing Fog,And deadly Vapour from his angry Breath,Filling the lower World with Plague and Death. [Ex. Am.

Enter Amaryllis.

Ama. Shepherd, may I desire to be believ'd,What I shall blushing tell?Peri. Fair Maid, you may.Am. Then softly thus, I love thee, Perigot,And would be gladder to be lov'd again,Than the cold Earth is in his frozen armsTo clip the wanton Spring: nay do not start,Nor wonder that I woo thee, thou that artThe prime of our young Grooms, even the topOf all our lusty Shepherds! what dull eyeThat never was acquainted with desire,Hath seen thee wrastle, run, or cast the StoneWith nimble strength and fair delivery,And hath not sparkled fire, and speedilySent secret heat to all the neighbouring Veins?Who ever heard thee sing, that brought againThat freedom back, was lent unto thy Voice;Then do not blame me (Shepherd) if I beOne to be numbred in this Companie,Since none that ever saw thee yet, were free.Peri. Fair Shepherdess, much pity I can lendTo your Complaints: but sure I shall not love:All that is mine, my self, and my best hopesAre given already; do not love him thenThat cannot love again: on other menBestow those heats more free, that may returnYou fire for fire, and in one flame equal burn.Ama. Shall I rewarded be so slenderlyFor my affection, most unkind of men!If I were old, or had agreed with ArtTo give another Nature to my Cheeks,Or were I common Mistress to the loveOf every Swain, or could I with such easeCall back my Love, as many a Wanton doth;Thou might'st refuse me, Shepherd; but to theeI am only fixt and set, let it not beA Sport, thou gentle Shepherd to abuseThe love of silly Maid.Peri. Fair Soul, ye useThese words to little end: for know, I mayBetter call back that time was Yesterday,Or stay the coming Night, than bring my LoveHome to my self again, or recreant prove.I will no longer hold you with delays,This present night I have appointed beenTo meet that chaste Fair (that enjoys my Soul)In yonder Grove, there to make up our Loves.Be not deceiv'd no longer, chuse again,These neighbouring Plains have many a comely Swain,Fresher, and freer far than I e'r was,Bestow that love on them, and let me pass.Farewel, be happy in a better Choice. [Exit.Ama. Cruel, thou hast struck me deader with thy VoiceThan if the angry Heavens with their quick flamesHad shot me through: I must not leave to love,I cannot, no I must enjoy thee, Boy,Though the great dangers 'twixt my hopes and thatBe infinite: there is a Shepherd dwellsDown by the Moor, whose life hath ever shownMore sullen Discontent than Saturns Brow,When he sits frowning on the Births of Men:One that doth wear himself away in loneness;And never joys unless it be in breakingThe holy plighted troths of mutual Souls:One that lusts after [every] several Beauty,But never yet was known to love or like,Were the face fairer, or more full of truth,Than Phoebe in her fulness, or the youthOf smooth Lyaeus; whose nigh starved flocksAre always scabby, and infect all SheepThey feed withal; whose Lambs are ever last,And dye before their waining, and whose DogLooks like his Master, lean, and full of scurf,Not caring for the Pipe or Whistle: this man may(If he be well wrought) do a deed of wonder,Forcing me passage to my long desires:And here he comes, as fitly to my purpose,As my quick thoughts could wish for.

Enter Shepherd.

Shep. Fresh Beauty, let me not be thought uncivil,Thus to be Partner of your loneness: 'twasMy Love (that ever working passion) drewMe to this place to seek some remedyFor my sick Soul: be not unkind and fair,For such the mighty Cupid in his doomHath sworn to be aveng'd on; then give roomTo my consuming Fires, that so I mayEnjoy my long Desires, and so allayThose flames that else would burn my life away.Ama. Shepherd, were I but sure thy heart were soundAs thy words seem to be, means might be foundTo cure thee of thy long pains; for to meThat heavy youth-consuming MiserieThe love-sick Soul endures, never was pleasing;I could be well content with the quick easingOf thee, and thy hot fires, might it procureThy faith and farther service to be sure.Shep. Name but that great work, danger, or what canBe compass'd by the Wit or Art of Man,And if I fail in my performance, mayI never more kneel to the rising Day.Ama. Then thus I try thee, Shepherd, this same night,That now comes stealing on, a gentle pairHave promis'd equal Love, and do appointTo make yon Wood the place where hands and heartsAre to be ty'd for ever: break their meetingAnd their strong Faith, and I am ever thine.Shep. Tell me their Names, and if I do not move(By my great power) the Centre of their LoveFrom his fixt being, let me never moreWarm me by those fair Eyes I thus adore.Ama. Come, as we go, I'll tell thee what they are,And give thee fit directions for thy work. [Exeunt.

Enter Cloe.

Cloe. How have I wrong'd the times, or men, that thusAfter this holy Feast I pass unknownAnd unsaluted? 'twas not wont to beThus frozen with the younger companieOf jolly Shepherds; 'twas not then held good,For lusty Grooms to mix their quicker bloodWith that dull humour, most unfit to beThe friend of man, cold and dull Chastitie.Sure I am held not fair, or am too old,Or else not free enough, or from my foldDrive not a flock sufficient great, to gainThe greedy eyes of wealth-alluring Swain:Yet if I may believe what others say,My face has soil enough; nor can they layJustly too strict a Coyness to my Charge;My Flocks are many, and the Downs as largeThey feed upon: then let it ever beTheir Coldness, not my Virgin ModestieMakes me complain.

Enter Thenot.

The. Was ever Man but IThus truly taken with uncertainty?Where shall that Man be found that loves a mindMade up in Constancy, and dare not findHis Love rewarded? here let all men knowA Wretch that lives to love his Mistress so.Clo. Shepherd, I pray thee stay, where hast thou been?Or whither go'st thou? here be Woods as greenAs any, air likewise as fresh and sweet,As where smooth Zephyrus plays on the fleetFace of the curled Streams, with Flowers as manyAs the young Spring gives, and as choise as any;Here be all new Delights, cool Streams and Wells,Arbors o'rgrown with Woodbinds, Caves, and Dells,Chase where thou wilt, whilst I sit by, and sing,Or gather Rushes to make many a RingFor thy long fingers; tell thee tales of Love,How the pale Phoebe hunting in a Grove,First saw the Boy Endymion, from whose EyesShe took eternal fire that never dyes;How she convey'd him softly in a sleep,His temples bound with poppy to the steepHead of old Latmus, where she stoops each night,Gilding the Mountain with her Brothers light,To kiss her sweetest.The. Far from me are theseHot flashes, bred from wanton heat and ease;I have forgot what love and loving meant:Rhimes, Songs, and merry Rounds, that oft are sentTo the soft Ears of Maids, are strange to me;Only I live t' admire a Chastitie,That neither pleasing Age, smooth tongue, or Gold,Could ever break upon, so pure a MoldIs that her Mind was cast in; 'tis to herI only am reserv'd; she is my form I stirBy, breath and move, 'tis she and only sheCan make me happy, or give miserie.Clo. Good Shepherd, may a Stranger crave to knowTo whom this dear observance you do ow?The. You may, and by her Vertue learn to squareAnd level out your Life; for to be fairAnd nothing vertuous, only fits the EyeOf gaudy Youth, and swelling Vanitie.Then know, she's call'd the Virgin of the Grove,She that hath long since bury'd her chaste Love,And now lives by his Grave, for whose dear SoulShe hath vow'd her self into the holy RollOf strict Virginity; 'tis her I so admire,Not any looser Blood, or new desire.Clo. Farewel poor Swain, thou art not for my bend,I must have quicker Souls, whose works may tendTo some free action: give me him dare loveAt first encounter, and as soon dare prove.The SONG  Come Shepherds, come,Come away without delayWhilst the gentle time dot[h] stay.  Green Woods are dumb,And will never tell to anyThose dear Kisses, and those manySweet Embraces that are givenDainty Pleasures that would evenRaise in coldest Age a fire,And give Virgin Blood desire,    Then if ever,    Now or never,    Come and have it,    Think not I,    Dare deny,    If you crave it.

Enter Daphnis.

Here comes another: better be my speed,Thou god of Blood: but certain, if I readNot false, this is that modest Shepherd, heThat only dare salute, but ne'r could beBrought to kiss any, hold discourse, or sing,Whisper, or boldly ask that wished thingWe all are born for; one that makes loving Faces,And could be well content to covet Graces,Were they not got by boldness; in this thingMy hopes are frozen; and but Fate doth bringHim hither, I would sooner chuseA Man made out of Snow, and freer useAn Eunuch to my ends: but since he's here,Thus I attempt him. Thou of men most dear,Welcome to her, that only for thy sake,Hath been content to live: here boldly takeMy hand in pledg, this hand, that never yetWas given away to any: and but sitDown on this rushy Bank, whilst I go pullFresh Blossoms from the Boughs, or quickly cullThe choicest delicates from yonder Mead,To make thee Chains, or Chaplets, or to spreadUnder our fainting Bodies, when delightShall lock up all our senses. How the sightOf those smooth rising Cheeks renew the storyOf young Adonis, when in Pride and GloryHe lay infolded 'twixt the beating armsOf willing Venus: methinks stronger CharmsDwell in those speaking eyes, and on that browMore sweetness than the Painters can allowTo their best pieces: not Narcissus, heThat wept himself away in memorieOf his own Beauty, nor Silvanus Boy,Nor the twice ravish'd Maid, for whom old TroyFell by the hand of Pirrhus, may to theeBe otherwise compar'd, than some dead TreeTo a young fruitful Olive.Daph. I can love, But I am loth to say so, lest I proveToo soon unhappy.Clo. Happy thou would'st say,My dearest Daphnis, blush not, if the dayTo thee and thy soft heats be enemie,Then take the coming Night, fair youth 'tis freeTo all the World, Shepherd, I'll meet thee thenWhen darkness hath shut up the eyes of men,In yonder Grove: speak, shall our Meeting hold?Indeed you are too bashful, be more bold,And tell me I.Daph. I'm content to say so,And would be glad to meet, might I but pray soMuch from your Fairness, that you would be true.Clo. Shepherd, thou hast thy Wish.Daph. Fresh Maid, adieu:Yet one word more, since you have drawn me onTo come this Night, fear not to meet aloneThat man that will not offer to be ill,Though your bright self would ask it, for his fillOf this Worlds goodness: do not fear him then,But keep your 'pointed time; let other menSet up their Bloods to sale, mine shall be everFair as the Soul it carries, and unchast never. [Exit.Clo. Yet am I poorer than I was before.Is it not strange, among so many a scoreOf lusty Bloods, I should pick out these thingsWhose Veins like a dull River far from Springs,Is still the same, slow, heavy, and unfitFor stream or motion, though the strong winds hitWith their continual power upon his sides?O happy be your names that have been brides,And tasted those rare sweets for which I pine:And far more heavy be thy grief and time,Thou lazie swain, that maist relieve my needs,Than his, upon whose liver alwayes feedsA hungry vultur.

Enter Alexis.

Ale. Can such beauty beSafe in his own guard, and not draw the eyeOf him that passeth on, to greedy gaze,Or covetous desire, whilst in a mazeThe better part contemplates, giving reinAnd wished freedom to the labouring vein?Fairest and whitest, may I crave to knowThe cause of your retirement, why ye goeThus all alone? methinks the downs are sweeter,And the young company of swains far meeter,Than those forsaken and untroden places.Give not your self to loneness, and those gracesHid from the eyes of men, that were intendedTo live amongst us swains.Cloe. Thou art befriended,Shepherd, in all my life I have not seenA man in whom greater contents have beenThan thou thy self art: I could tell thee more,Were there but any hope left to restoreMy freedom lost. O lend me all thy red,Thou shamefast morning, when from Tithons bedThou risest ever maiden.Alex. If for me,Thou sweetest of all sweets, these flashes be,Speak and be satisfied. O guide her tongue,My better angel; force my name amongHer modest thoughts, that the first word may be—Cloe. Alexis, when the sun shall kiss the Sea,Taking his rest by the white Thetis side,Meet in the holy wood, where I'le abideThy coming, Shepherd.Alex. If I stay behind,An everlasting dulness, and the wind,That as he passeth by shuts up the streamOf Rhine or Volga, whilst the suns hot beamBeats back again, seise me, and let me turnTo coldness more than ice: oh how I burnAnd rise in youth and fire! I dare not stay.Cloe. My name shall be your word.Alex. Fly, fly thou day. [Exit.Cloe. My grief is great if both these boyes should fail:He that will use all winds must shift his sail. [Exit.

Actus Secundus. Scena Prima

Enter an old Shepherd, with a bell ringing, and the Priest of Pan following.

Priest. O Shepherds all, and maidens fair,Fold your flocks up, for the Air'Gins to thicken, and the sunAlready his great course hath run.See the dew-drops how they kissEvery little flower that is:Hanging on their velvet heads,Like a rope of crystal beads.See the heavy clouds low falling,And bright Hesperus down callingThe dead night from under ground,At whose rising mists unsound,Damps, and vapours fly apace,Hovering o're the wanton faceOf these pastures, where they come,Striking dead both bud and bloom;Therefore from such danger lockEvery one his loved flock,And let your Dogs lye loose without,Lest the Wolf come as a scoutFrom the mountain, and e're dayBear a Lamb or kid away,Or the crafty theevish Fox,Break upon your simple flocks:To secure your selves from these,Be not too secure in ease;Let one eye his watches keep,Whilst the t'other eye doth sleep;So you shall good Shepherds prove,And for ever hold the loveOf our great god. Sweetest slumbersAnd soft silence fall in numbersOn your eye-lids: so farewel,Thus I end my evenings knel. [Exeunt.

Enter Clorin, the Shepherdess, sorting of herbs, and telling the natures of them.