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About thee, which, it seems, thy tongue hath lost.

Thy hands are bloody, and thou hast a knife. Evad. In this consists thy happiness and mine.

Joy to Amintor! for the King is dead.

Amin. Those have most power to hurt us, that we love;

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We lay our sleeping lives within their arms.
Why, thou hast rais'd up mischief to his height,
And found one to out-name thy other faults;
Thou hast no intermission of thy sins
But all thy life is a continued ill.
Black is thy colour now, disease thy nature.
Joy to Amintor! Thou hast toucht a life,
The very name of which had power to chain
Up all my rage, and calm my wildest wrongs.
Evad. 'Tis done; and, since I could not find

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I shall not fear to meet it. Take me home.
Amin. Thou monster of cruelty, forbear!
Evad. For Heaven's sake look more calm!
Thine eyes are sharper

Than thou canst make thy sword.
Amin.

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Away, away!

Thy knees are more to me than violence.
I am worse than sick to see knees follow me
For that I must not grant. For God's sake,
stand.

Evad. Receive me, then.

Amin.

I dare not stay thy language. 165 In midst of all my anger and my grief, Thou dost awake something that troubles me, And says, I lov'd thee once. I dare not stay; There is no end of woman's reasoning.

Leaves her. Evad. [rising.] Amintor, thou shalt love me

now again.

170

Go; I am calm. Farewell, and peace for ever! Evadne, whom thou hat'st, will die for thee. Stabs herself.

Amin. (returning.) I have a little human na

ture yet,

That's left for thee, that bids me stay thy hand.

Evad. Thy hand was welcome, but it came

too late.

Oh, I am lost! the heavy sleep makes haste.

Asp. Oh, oh, oh!

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She dies.

Amin. This earth of mine doth tremble, and

I feel

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That calls my flesh unto 'em; I am cold.
Be resolute and bear 'em company.

There's something yet, which I am loth to

leave:

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There's man enough in me to meet the fears That death can bring; and yet would it were done!

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I can find nothing in the whole discourse
Of death, I durst not meet the boldest way;
Yet still, betwixt the reason and the act,
The wrong I to Aspatia did stands up;
I have not such another fault to answer.
Though she may justly arm herself with scorn
And hate of me, my soul will part less troubled,
When I have paid to her in tears my sorrow, 199
I will not leave this act unsatisfied,
If all that's left in me can answer it.

Asp. Was it a dream? There stands Amintor still;

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Cal. I know not what the matter is, but I am grown very kind, and am friends with you all now. You have given me that among you will kill me quickly; but I'll go home, and live as long as I can. [Exit.] 288

Mel. His spirit is but poor that can be kept From death for want of weapons.

Is not my hands a weapon sharp enough
To stop my breath? or, if you tie down those,
I vow, Amintor, I will never eat,

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Or drink, or sleep, or have to do with that
That may preserve life! This I swear to keep.
Lys. Look to him, though, and bear those
bodies in.

May this a fair example be to me

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To rule with temper; for on lustful kings Unlookt-for sudden deaths from God are

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IF you be not reasonably assur'd of your knowledge in this kind of poem, lay down the book, or read this, which I would wish had been the prologue. It is a pastoral tragi-comedy, which the people seeing when it was play'd, having ever had a singular gift in defining, concluded to be a play of country hired shepherds in gray cloaks, with curtail'd dogs in strings, sometimes laughing together, and sometimes killing one another; and, missing Whitsun-ales, cream, wassail, and morris-dances, began to be angry. In their error I would not have you fall, lest you incur their censure. Understand, therefore, a pastoral to be a representation of shepherds and shepherdesses with their actions and passions, which must be such as may agree with their natures, at least not exceeding former fictions and vulgar traditions; they are not to be adorn'd with any art, but such improper ones as nature is said to bestow, as singing and poetry; or such as experience may teach them, as the virtues of herbs and fountains, the ordinary course of the sun, moon, and stars, and such like. But you are ever to remember shepherds to be such as all the ancient poets, and modern, of understanding, have received them; that is, the owners of flocks, and not hirelings. A tragi-comedy is not so called in respect of mirth and killing, but in respect it wants deaths, which is enough to make it no tragedy, yet brings some near it, which is enough to make it no comedy, which must be a representation of familiar people, with such kind of trouble as no life be question'd; 2 so that a god is as lawful in this as in a tragedy, and mean people as in a comedy. Thus much I hope will serve to justify my poem, and make you understand it; to teach you more for nothing, I do not know that I am in conscience bound.

ACT I
SCENE I.

Enter CLORIN, a shepherdess, having buried her love in an arbour.

Clorin. Hail, holy earth, whose cold arms do
embrace

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
Myself from all ensuing heats and fires
Of love; all sports, delights, and [jolly] 3 games,
That shepherds hold full dear, thus put I off.
1 I. e. the judgment which must be passed on them.
2 Called in question; endangered.

Q. Q, omits Some copies of Q, read merry.

B

JOHN FLETCHER.

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That shall outlive thee, and shall ever spring,
Whilst there are pipes or jolly shepherds sing. 25
And here will I, in honour of thy love,
Dwell by thy grave, forgetting all those joys
That former times made precious to mine
eyes;

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Only rememb'ring what my youth did gain
In the dark, hidden virtuous 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 cattle, 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 lunatic, their eyes or ears
Thick'ned with misty film of dulling rheum;
These I can cure, such secret virtue lies
In herbs applied by a virgin's hand.

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My meat shall be what these wild woods afford, Berries and chestnuts, plantains, on whose cheeks

The sun sits smiling, and the lofty fruit Pull'd from the fair head of the straight-grown pine;

On these I'll feed with free content, and

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The daughter of a shepherd; he was mortal,
And she that bore me mortal prick my hand,
And it will bleed ; a fever shakes me, and
The self-same wind that makes the young

lambs shrink

Makes me a-cold: my fear says I am mortal. 110
Yet I have heard (my mother told it me,
And now I do believe it), if I keep
My virgin-flower uncropt, pure, chaste, and fair,
No goblin, wood-god, fairy, elf, or fiend,
Satyr, or other power that haunts these groves,
Shall hurt my body,or by vain illusion
Draw me to wander after idle fires;

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Or voices calling me in dead of night,
To make me follow, and so toll me on,
Through mires and standing pools [to find my

ruin:]

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Else why should this rough thing, who never knew

Manners nor smooth humanity,2 whose heats 3 Are rougher than himself and more mis-shapen, Thus mildly kneel to me? Sure there is a power

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In that great name of virgin, that binds fast
All rude uncivil bloods, all appetites
That break their confines. Then, strong chas-
tity,

Be thou my strongest guard, for here I'll dwell

In opposition against fate and hell!

[Retires into her bower.)

[SCENE II.] 4

Enter an Old Shepherd, with four couples of Shepherds and Shepherdesses, [among whom are PERIGOT and AMORET.]

Belief to that the Satyr tells:

To this present day ne'er grew,

Never better nor more true.

Here be grapes, whose lusty blood

Is the learned poets' good,

Sweeter yet did never crown

The head of Bacchus ; nuts more brown

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Old Shep. Now we have done this holy festival

2 Culture.

In the neighbourhood of a village.

3 Passions.

ཡ་་་

4

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Whatsoever this great day,

Or the past hours, gave not good,
To corrupt your maiden blood.
From the high rebellious heat

Of 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 livers 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 heat

Through your purged conduits 1 beat,
Or a plighted troth be broken,

Or a wanton verse be spoken

In a shepherdess's ear:

Go your ways, ye are all clear.

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15

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They rise and sing in praise of PAN.

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Or mingle my clean thoughts with foul desira
First, let our great god cease to keep my flocks
That, being left alone without a guard,

The wolf, or winter's rage, summer's great heat
And want of water, rots, or what to us
Of ill is yet unknown, fall speedily,
And in their general ruin let me go!

Amo. I pray thee, gentle shepherd, wish not

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I do believe thee; 't is as hard for me
To think thee false, and harder, than for thee
To hold me foul.

Peri.
Oh, you are fairer far
Than the chaste blushing morn, or that fair star
That guides the wand'ring seaman through the
deep;

Straighter than the straightest pine upon the steep

Head of an aged mountain; and more white Than the new milk we strip before day-light From the full-freighted bags of our fair flocks; Your hair more beauteous than those hanging locks

Of young Apollo ! Amo.

Shepherd, be not lost; Y' are sail'd too far already from the coast = Of your discourse.

Peri.

Did you not tell me once I should not love alone, I should not lose Those 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, then, Give back again those sweets to other men, You yourself vow'd were mine.

Amo. Shepherd, so far as maiden's modesty May give assurance, I am once more thine, Once more I give my hand. Be ever free From that great foe to faith, foul jealousy! Peri. I take it as my best good; and desire, For stronger confirmation of our love,

To meet this happy night in that fair grove, * Where all true shepherds have rewarded been For their long service: say,.sweet, shall it hold? Amo. Dear friend, you must not blame me,

if I make

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