Trecherous and most periurde Endimion, is Cynthia the sweetnes of thy life, and the bitternes of my death? What reuenge may be deuised so full of shame, as my thoughts are replenished with mallice? Tell me Floscula if falsenes in loue can possibly be punished with extremitie of hate. As long as sworde, fire, or poison may be hyred, no traytor to my loue shall liue vnreuenged. Were thy oathes without number, thy kisses without measure, thy sighes without end, forged to deceiue a poore credulous virgin, whose simplicity had beene worth thy fauour and better fortune? If the Gods sitte vnequall beholders of iniuries, or laughers at Louers deceipts, then let mischiefe be as well forgiuen in women, as periurie winked at in men.

Madame, if you woulde compare the state of Cynthia with your owne, and the height of Endimion his thoughts, with the meanenesse of your fortune, you would rather yeeld then contende, being betweene you and her no comparison, and rather wonder then rage at the greatnes of his minde, beeing affected with a thing more then mortall.

No comparison Floscula? and why so? is not my beauty diuine, whose body is decked with faire flowers, and vaines are Vines, yeelding sweet liquor to the dullest sprits, whose eares are Corne, to bring strength, and whose heares are grasse, to bring abundance? Doth not Frankinsence, & Myrthe breath out of my nostrils, and all the sacrifice of the Gods, breede in my bowels? Infinite are my creatures, without which, neyther thou nor Endimion, nor any could loue, or liue.

But knowe you not fayre Ladie, that Cynthia gouerneth all things? Your grapes woulde be but drie huskes, your Corne but chaffe, and all your vertues vaine, were it not Cynthia that preserueth the one in the bud, and nourisheth the other in the blade, and by her influence both comforteth all things, and by her authoritie commaundeth all creatures; Suffer then Endimion to followe his affections, though to obtaine her be impossible, and let him flatter himselfe in his owne imaginations, because they are immortall.

Loth I am Endimion thou shouldest die, because I loue thee well, and that thou shouldest liue it greeueth mee, because thou louest Cynthia too well. In these extremities what shall I doe? Floscula no more words, I am resolued. He shall neyther liue, nor die.

A strange practise, if it be possible.

Yes, I will entangle him in such a sweet nette, that he shall neither find the meanes to come out, nor desire it. All allurements of pleasure will I cast before his eyes, insomuch that he shall slake that loue which he now voweth to Cynthia, and burne in mine, of which he seemeth carelesse. In thys languishing, betweene my amorous deuises, and his owne loose desires, there shall such dissolute thoughts take roote in his head, and ouer his hart grow so thicke a skinne, that neither hope of preferment, nor feare of punishment, nor counsel of the wisest, nor company of the worthiest, shall alter his humor, nor make him once to thinke of his honor.

A reuenge incredible, and if it may be, vnnaturall.

Hee shall knowe the mallice of a woman, to haue neither meane, nor ende, and of a woman deluded in loue, to haue neither rule, nor reason. I can doe it, I must, I will. All his vertues will I shadow with vices, his person (ah sweet person) shall he decke with such rich Roabes, as he shall forget it is his owne person, his sharp wit (ah wit too sharpe, that hath cut off all my ioyes) shall hee vse, inflattering of my face, and deuising Sonnets in my fauour. The prime of his youth and pride of his time, shall be spent in melancholy passions, carelesse behauiour, vntamed thoughts, and vnbridled affections.

Ah Floscula, thou rendest my hart in sunder, in putting me in remembrance of the end.

Why if this be not the end, all the rest is to no ende.

Yet suffer mee to imitate Iuno, who woulde turne Iupiters louers to beastes on the earth, though she knew afterwards they should be starres in heauen.

Affection that is bred by enchauntment, is like a flower that is wrought in silke, in colour and forme most like, but nothing at all in substance or sauour.

It shall suffice me if the world talke that I am fauoured of Endimion.

Well, vse your owne wyll, but you shal finde that loue gotten with witch-craft, is as vnpleasant, as fish, taken with medicines vnwholsome.

they that be so poore that they haue neyther nette nor hooke, will rather poyson dowe then pyne with hunger: and she that is so opprest with loue, that shee is neyther able with beauty, nor wit to obtaine her freende, wyll rather vse vnlawfull meanes, then try vntollerable paines. I will doe it.

Then about it. Poore Endimion, what traps are layde for thee, because thou honourest one that all the world wondreth at. And what plots are cast to make thee vnfortunate, that studiest of all men to be the faithfullest.

Now our Maisters are in loue vp to the eares, vvhat haue wee to doe, but to be in knauery, vp to the crownes.

Epi.

Heere syr.

I brooke not thys idle humor of loue, it tickleth not my lyuer, from whence the Loue-mongers in former age seemed to inferre they should proceede.

Loue sir may lye in your lunges, and I thinke it doth, and that is the cause you blow, and are so pursie.

Tush boy, I thinke it but some deuise of the Poet to get money.

A Poet? whats that?

Doost thou not know what a Poet is?

No.

Why foole, a Poet is as much as one shoulde say, a Poet. But soft, yonder be two Wrennes, shall I shoote at them?

They are two lads.

Larkes or wrennes, I will kill them.

Larkes? are you blinde? they are two lyttle Boyes.

Byrdes, or boyes, they are both but a pittance for my breakefast, therefore haue at them, for theyr braines must as it were imbroder my bolts.

Stay your courage valiant Knight, for your wisdome is so wearie that it stayeth it selfe.

Why Syr Tophas haue you forgotten your olde freendes?

Freendes? Nego argumentum.

And why not freends?

Because Amicitia (as in old Annuals we find) is inter pares, now my pretty companions, you shall see how vnequall you be to mee, but I will not cut you quite off, you shall be my halfe friendes, for reaching to my middle, so farre as from the ground to the wast I wil be your freend.

Learnedly. But what shall become of the rest of your bodie, from the wast to the crowne?

My children quod supra vos nihil ad vos, you must thinke the rest immortall, because you cannot reach it.

Nay I tell ye my Maister is more then a man.

And thou lesse then a mouse.

But what be you two?

I am Samias, page to Endimion.

And I Dares, page to Eumenides.

Of what occupation are your Masters.

Occupation, you clowne, why they are honourable, and warriers.

Then are they my prentises.

Thine, and why so?

I was the first that euer deuised warre, and therefore by Mars himselfe giuen me for my Armes a whole Armorie, and thus I goe as you see, clothed with Artillary, it is not Silkes (milksops) nor Tyssues, nor the fine wooll of Cares, but yron, steele, swords, flame, shot, terror, clamor, blood, and ruine, that rocks a sleepe my thoughts, which neuer had any other cradle, but crueltie. Let me see, doe you not bleede?

Why so?

Commonly my words wound.

What then doe your blowes?

Not onely confound, but also confound.

Howe darst thou come so neere thy Maister Epi? Syr Tophas spare vs.

You shall liue. You Samias because you are little. You Dares, because you are no bigger, and both of you, because you are but two; for commonly I kil by the dosen, and haue for euerie particular aduersarie, a peculiar weapon.

May we know the vse for our better skyll in warre?

You shall. Heere is a burbolt for the vglie beast the Black-bird.

A cruell sight.

Heere is the Muskit, for the vntamed, (or as the vulgar sort terme it) the wilde Mallard.

O desperate attempt.

Nay my Maister will match them.

I if he catch them.

Heere is a speare and shielde, and both necessarie, the one to conquer, the other to subdue, or ouercome the terrible Trowte, which although he be vnder the water, yet tying a string to the top of my speare, and an engine of yron to the ende of my lyne, I ouerthrowe him, and then heerein I put him.

O wonderfull warre. Dares, didst thou euer heare such a dolt?

All the better, we shall haue good sport hereafter, if we can get leysure.

Leysure, I will rather loose my Maisters seruice then his companie, looke howe hee stroutes; But what is this, call you it your sword?

No, it is my Simiter, which I by construction often studying to be compendious, call my Smyter.

What, are you also learned sir?

Learned? I am all Mars and Ars.

Nay you are all Masse and Asse.

Mock you mee? You shall both suffer, yet with such weapons, as you shall make choise of the weapon wherewith you shall perrish. Am I all a masse or lumpe, is there no proportion in me? Am I all Asse? is there no wit in mee. Epi, prepare thē to the slaughter.

I pray sir heare vs speake, we call you Masse, which your learning doth well vnderstande, is all Man, for Mas maris is a man. Then As (as you knowe) is a weight, and we for your vertues account you a weight.

The Latine hath saued your lyues, the which a world of siluer could not haue ransomde. I vnderstand you, and pardon you.

Well Sir Tophas we bid you farewell, & at our next meeting, we will be readie to doe you seruice.

I thanke you. Dares I thanke you, but especiallie I thanke you both.

Wiselie. Come, next time weele haue some prettie Gentle-women with vs to walke, for without doubt with them he will be verie daintie.

Come let vs see what our Maisters doe, it is high time.

Now will I march into the fielde, where if I cannot encounter with my foule enemies, I will withdraw my selfe to the Riuer, & there fortifie for fish: for there resteth no minute free from fight.

Behold Floscula, we haue met with the Woman by chaunce that wee sought for by trauell; I will breake my minde to her without ceremonie or circumstance, least we loose that time in aduise, that should be spent in execution.

Vse your discretion, I will in this case, neither giue counsell nor consent, for there cannot bee a thing more monstrous, then to force affection by sorcery, neither doe I imagin anie thing more impossible.

Tush Floscula, in obtaining of loue, what impossibilities will I not try? and for the winning of Endimion, what impieties will I not practise? Dipsas, whom as many honour for age, as wonder at for cunning, listen in fewe words to my tale, & answere in one word to the purpose, for that neither my burning desire can afforde long speech, nor the short time I haue to stay manie delayes. Is it possible by hearbes, stones, spels, incantantation, enchauntment, exorcismes, fire, mettals, plannets, or any practise to plant affection where it is not, and to supplant it where it is?

Faire Ladie, you may imagin that these horie heares are not void of experience, nor the great name that goeth of my c • nning to bee without cause. I can darken the Sunne by my skil, and remooue the Moone out of her course; I can restore youth to the aged, and make hils without bottoms; there is nothing that I can not doe, but that onely which you would haue me doe, and therin I differ from the Gods, that I am not able to rule harts, for were it in my power to place affection by appointment, I would make such euill appetites, such inordinate lusts, such cursed desires, as all the worlde should be filled both with supersticious heates, and extreame loue.

Vnhappie Tellus, whose desires are so desperate, that they are neither to be conceiued of any creature, nor to be cured by any arte.

This I can, breede slacknes in loue, though neuer roote it out. What is he whom you loue, & what she that he honoureth?

Endimion, sweet Endimion is he that hath my hart, and Cynthia, too too faire Cynthia, the myracle of Nature, of tyme, of Fortune, is the Ladie that hee delights in, and dotes on euery day, and dies for ten thousand times a day.

Would you haue his loue, eyther by absence of sicknes aslaked. Would you that Cynthia should mistrust him, or be iealous of him without colour?

I will vndertake it, and ouertake him, that all his loue shal be doubted of, and therefore become desperate: but this will weare out with time, that treadeth all things downe but trueth.

Let vs goe.

I follow.

O Fayre Cynthia, ô vnfortunate Endimion. Why was not thy byrth as high as thy thoughts, or her beautie lesse then heauenlie? or why are not thyne honors as rare as her beautie? or thy fortunes as great as thy deserts? Sweet Cynthia, how wouldst thou be pleased, how possessed? wil labours (patient of all extremities) obtaine thy loue? There is no Mountain so steepe that I will not climbe, no monster so cruell that I will not tame, no action so desperate that I will not attempt. Desirest thou the passions of loue, the sad and melancholie moodes of perplexed mindes, the not to be expressed torments of racked thoughts? Beholde my sad teares, my deepe sighes, my hollowe eyes, my broken sleepes, my heauie countenaunce. Wouldst thou haue mee vowde onelie to thy beautie and consume euerie minute of time in thy seruice, remember my solitarie life, almost these seauen yeeres, whom haue I entertained but mine owne thoughts, and thy vertues? What companie haue I vsed but contemplation? Whom haue I wondred at but thee? Nay whom haue I not contemned, for thee? Haue I not crept to those on whom I might haue troden, onelie because thou didst shine vpon them? Haue not iniuries beene sweet to mee, if thou vouchsafest I should beare them? Haue I not spent my golden yeeres in hopes, waxing old with wishing, yet wishing nothing but thy loue. With Tellus, faire Tellus, haue I dissembled, vsing her but as a cloake for mine affections, that others seeing my mangled and disordered minde, might thinke it were for one that loueth me, not for Cynthia, whose perfection alloweth no companion, nor comparison.

In the midst of these distempred thoughts of myne, thou art not onelie iealous of my truth, but careles, suspicious, and secure: which strange humor maketh my minde as desperate as thy conceits are doubtfull. I am none of those Wolues that barke most, when thou shynest brightest. But that fish, (thy fish Cynthia in the floode Aranis) which at thy waxing is as white as the driuen snowe, and at thy wayning, as blacke as deepest darknes. I am that Endimion (sweet Cynthia) that haue carryed my thoughts in equall ballance with my actions, being alwaies as free from imagining ill, as enterprysing; That Endimion, whose eyes neuer esteemed anie thing faire, but thy face, whose tongue termed nothing rare but thy vertues, and whose hart imagined nothing miraculous, but thy gouernment. Yea that Endimion, who diuorsing himselfe from the amiablenes of all Ladies, the brauerie of all Courts, the companie of al men, hath chosen in a solitarie Cell to liue, onely by feeding on thy fauour, accounting in the worlde (but thy selfe) nothing excellent, nothing immortall; thus maist thou see euerie vaine sinew, muscle, and artery of my loue, in which there is no flatterie, nor deceipt; error, nor arte. But soft, here commeth Tellus, I must turne my other face to her like Ianus, least she be as suspicious as Juno.

Yonder I espie Endimion, I will seeme to suspect nothing but sooth him, that seeing I cannot obtaine the depth of his loue, I may learne the height of his dissembling; Floscula and Dipsas, with-drawe your selues out of our sight, yet be within the hearing of our saluting; How now Endimion, alwaies solitary? no companie but your owne thoughts? no freende but melancholie fancies?

You know (fayre Tellus) that the sweet remembrance of your loue, is the onely companion of my life, and thy presence, my paradise, so that I am not alone when no bodie is with mee, and in heauen it selfe when thou art with me.

Then you loue me Endimion.

Or els I liue not Tellus.

Is it not possible for you Endimion, to dissemble?

Not Tellus, vnlesse I could make me a woman.

Why, is dissembling ioyned to theyr sex inseparable? as heate to fire, heauines to earth, moysture to water, thinnesse to ayre?

No, but founde in their sex, as common, as spots vpon Doues, moles vpon faces, Caterpillers vpon sweet apples, cobwebs vpon faire windowes.

Doe they all dissemble?

All but one.

Who is that?

I dare not tell. For if I shoulde say you, then would you imagin my flattery to be extreame, if another, then woulde you thinke my loue to be but indifferent.

You will be sure I shall take no vantage of your words. But in sooth Endimion, without more ceremonies, is it not Cynthia?

Why, she is but a woman.

No more was Venus.

Shee is but a virgin.

No more was Vesta.

She shall haue an ende.

So shall the world.

Is not her beautie subiect to time?

No more then time is to standing still.

Wilt thou make her immortall?

No, but incomparable.

Take heede Endimion, lest like the Wrastler in Olimpia, that striuing to lifte an impossible weight, catcht an incurable straine, thou by fixing thy thoughts aboue thy reach, fal into a disease without al recure? But I see thou art now in loue with Cynthia.

No Tellus, thou knowest that the statelie Cedar, whose toppe reacheth vnto the clowdes, neuer boweth his head to the shrubs that growe in the valley, nor Iuie that climeth vp by the Elme, can euer get hold of the beames of the Sunne; Cynthia I honour in all humilitie, whom none ought, or dare aduenture to loue, whose affections are immortall, & vertues infinite. Suffer me therefore to gaze on the Moone, at whom, were it not for thy selfe, I would die with wondering.

Come Samias, diddest thou euer heare such a sighing, the one for Cynthia, the other for Semele, & both for moone shine in the water?

Let them sigh, and let vs sing, how say you gentlewomen, are not our Masters too farre in loue?

Their tongues happily are dipt to the roote in amorous words and sweete discourses, but I thinke their hearts are scarce tipt on the side, with constant desires.

How say you Fauilla, is not loue a lurcher, that taketh mens stomacks away that they cannot eate, their spleene that they cannot laugh, their harts that they cannot fight, theyr eyes that they cannot sleepe, and leaueth nothing but lyuers to make nothing but Louers?

Away peeuish boy, a rodde were better vnder thy girdle, than loue in thy mouth: it will be a forward Cocke that croweth in the shell.

Alas good olde gentlewoman, how it becommeth you to be graue,

Fauilla though she be but a sparke, yet is shee fyre.

And you Scintilla bee not much more then a sparke, though you would be esteemed a flame.

It were good sport to see the fight betweene two sparkes.

Let them to it, and wee will warme vs by theyr wordes.

You are not angry Fauilla?

That is Scintilla, as you list to take it.

That, that.

This it is to be matched with girles, who comming but yesterday from making of babies, would before to morrowe be accounted Matrons.

I crye your Matronship mercy; because your Pantables bee higher with corke, therefore your feete must needs be higher in the insteppes: you will be mine elder, because you stande vppon a stoole, and I on the flowre.

Let them alone, and see with what countenance they will become friendes.

Nay, you thinke to bee the wyser, because you meane to haue the last worde.

Step betweene them least they scratch. In faith gentlewomen, seeing wee came out to bee merry, let not your iarring marre our iestes: be friendes, how say you?

I am not angry, but it spited mee to see howe short she was.

I ment nothing, till she would needs crosse me.

Then so let it rest.

I am agreede.

And I, yet I neuer tooke any thing so vnkindly in my life.

Tys I haue the cause, that neuer offered the occasion.

Excellent and right like a woman.

A strange sight to see water come out of fire.

It is their propertie, to carrie in their eyes, fire, and water, teares and torches, and in their mouthes, honie and gall.

You will be a good one if you liue, but what is yonder formall fellowe?

Sir Tophas, syr Tophas, of whom we tolde you: if you bee good wenches make as though you loue him, and wonder at him.

Wee will doo our parts.

But first let vs stand aside, and let him vse his garbe, for all consisteth in his gracing.

Epi.

At hand syr.

How likest thou this Martiall life, where nothing but bloud besprinkleth our bosomes? Let me see be our enemies fatte?

Passing fat: and I would not chaunge this life to be a Lord, and your selfe passeth all comparison, for other Captaines kill and beate, and there is nothing you kill, but you also eate.

I will drawe out their guttes out of their bellies, and teare the flesh with my teeth, so mortall is my hate, and so eger my vnstaunched stomacke.

My master thinkes himselfe the valiantest man in the world if hee kill a wren: so warlike a thing he accompteth to take away life, though it be from a Larke.

Epi, I finde my thoughtes to swell, and my spirite to take winges, in so much that I cannot continue within the compas of so slender combates.

This passeth.

Why is he not madde?

No, but a little vaine glorious.

Epi.

Syr.

I will encounter that blacke and cruell enemie, that beareth rough and vntewed lockes vpon his bodie, whose Syre throweth downe the strongest walles, whose legs are as many as both ours, on whose head are placed most horrible hornes, by nature, as a defence from all harmes.

What meane you Master to be so desperate?

Honour inciteth mee, and very hunger compelleth mee.

What is that monster?

The Monster Ouis. I haue saide, let thy wits worke.

I cannot imagin it; yet let me see, a black enemie with rough lockes it may be a sheep, and Ouis is a sheep: his Syre so strong, a Ram is a sheepes Sire: that beeing also an engine of war, hornes he hath, and foure legs, so hath a sheepe: without doubt this monster is a blacke sheepe; Is it not a sheepe that you meane?

Thou hast hit it, that Monster will I kill and sup with.

Come let vs take him off Syr Tophas all haile.

Welcome children, I seldome cast mine eyes so low as to the crownes of your heads, and therfore pardon me that I spake not all this while.

No harme done, here be faire Ladies come to wonder at your person, your valour, your witte, the report whereof, hath made them careles of their owne honours, to glut their eyes and harts vpon yours.

Report cannot but iniure mee, for that not knowing fully what I am, I feare shee hath beene a niggard in her praises.

No gentle knight, Report hath beene prodigal, for shee hath left you no equall, nor her selfe credite, so much hath she tolde, yet no more than we now see.

A good wench.

If there remaine as much pittie toward women, as there is in you courage against your enemies, thē shall we be happie, who hearing of your person, came to see it, and seeing it, are now in loue with it.

Loue me Ladies? I easily beleeue it, but my tough heart receiueth no impression with sweet words. Mars may pearce it, Venus shall not paint on it.

A cruell saying.

Ther's a girle.

Will you cast these Ladyes away, and all for a little loue? doo but speake kindly.

There cōmeth no soft syllable within my lips, custome hath made my wordes bloudy, and my hart barbarous: that pelting word loue, how watrish it is in my mouth, it carrieth no sound, hate, horror, death, are speaches that nourish my spirits. I like hony but I care not for the bees, I delight in musicke but I loue not to play on the bagpipes, I can vouchsafe to heare the voice of women, but to touch their bodies I disdaine it, as a thing childish, and fit for such men as can digest nothing but milke.

A hard heart, shall wee dye for your loue, and finde no remedy.

I haue already taken a surfet.

Good master pittie them.

Pittie them Epi? no I do not thinke that this breast shalbe pestred with such a foolish passion. What is that the gentlewoman carrieth in a chaine?

Why it is a Squirrill.

A Squirril? O Gods what things are made for money.

Is not this gentleman ouerwise?

I could stay all day with him, if I feared not to be shent.

Is it not possible to meete againe.

Yes at any time.

Then let vs hasten home.

Sir Tophas, the God of warre deale better with you, than you doo with the God of loue.

Our loue we may dissemble, disgest we cannot, but I doubt not but time will hamper you, and helpe vs.

I defie time, who hath no interest in my heart: come Epi. let me to the battaile with that hideous beast, loue is pappe and hath no relish in my taste, because it is not terrible.

Indeede a blacke sheepe is a perrilous beast, but let vs in till another time.

I shall long for that time.

No rest Endimion? still vncertaine how to settle thy steps by day, or thy thoughts by night? thy trueth is measured by thy fortune, and thou art iudged vnfaithfull because thou art vnhappy. I will see if I can beguile my selfe with sleep, & if no slumber will take hold in my eyes, yet will I imbrace the golden thoughts in my head, and wish to melt by musing: that as Ebone, which no fire can scorch, is yet cōsumed with sweet sauours, so my heart which cannot bee bent by the hardnes of fortune, may be brused by amorous desires, On yonder banke neuer grewe any thing but Lunary, and hereafter I will neuer haue any bed but that banke. O Endimion, Tellus was faire, but what auaileth Beautie without wisedome? Nay Endimion she was wise, but what auaileth wisdome without honour? Shee was honourable Endimion, belie her not, I but howe obscure is honor without fortune? Was she not fortunate whome so many followed? Yes, yes, but base is fortune without Maiestie: thy Maiestie Cynthia al the world knoweth and wondereth at, but not one in the world that can immitate it or comprehend it. No more Endimion, sleepe or dye; Nay die for to sleepe it is impossible, and yet I knowe not how it commeth to passe, I feele such a heauines both in mine eyes and hart, yt I am sodainly benummed, yea in euery iont: it may be wearinesse, for when did I rest? it may bee deepe melancholy, for when did I not sigh? Cynthia, I so, I say Cynthia.

Little doost thon knowe Endimion when thou shalt wake, for hadst thou placed thy heart as lowe in loue, as thy head lieth now in sleepe, thou mightest haue commanded Tellus, whome nowe in stead of a Mistris, thou shalt finde a tombe. These eyes must I seale vp by Art, not Nature, which are to be opened neither by Art nor Nature. Thou that laist downe with golden lockes, shalt not awake vntill they bee turned to siluer haires: and that chin, on which scarcely appeareth soft downe, shalbe filled with brissles as hard as broome: thou shalt sleep out thy youth and flowring time, and become dry hay before thou knewest thy selfe greene grasse, & ready by age to step into the graue whē thou wakest, that was youthfull in the Courte when thou laidst thee downe to sleepe. The malice of Tellus hath brought this to passe, which if shee could not haue intreated of mee by fayre meanes, she would haue commaunded by menacing, for from her gather wee all our simples to maintaine our sorceries. Fanne with this hemlocke ouer his face, and sing the inchantment for sleepe, whilst I goe in and finish those cerimonies that are required in our Art: take heede yee touch not his face, for the Fanne is so seasoned that who so it toucheth with a leafe shall presently dye, and ouer whom the vvind of it breatheth, he shall sleepe for euer.

Let me alone, I will bee carefull. What happe hadst thou Endimion to come vnder the hands of Dipsas. O faire Endimion, how it grieueth me that that faire face must be turned to a withered skinne, & taste the paines of death before it feele the reward of loue. I feare Tellus will repent that which the heauens themselues seemed to rewe, but I heare Dipsas comming, I dare not repine, least she make me pine, and rocke me into such a deepe sleepe, that I shall not awakd to my marriage.

How now, haue you finished?

Yea.

Well then let vs in, and see that you doo not so much as whisper that I did this, for if you do, I will turne thy haires to Adders, and all thy teeth in thy heade to tongues, come away, come away.

Epi.

Heere sir.

Vnrigge mee. Hey ho.

Whats that?

An interiection, whereof some are of mourning: as eho, vah.

I vnderstand you not.

Thou seest me.

I.

Thou hearst me.

I.

Thou feelest me.

I.

And not vnderstand'st me?

No.

Then am I but three quarters of a Nowne substantiue. But alas Epi, to tell thee the troth I am a Nowne Adiectiue.

Why?

Because I cannot stand without another.

Who is that?

Dipsas.

Are you in loue?

No: but loue hath as it were milkt my thoughts, and drained from my hart the very substance of my accustomed courage; it worketh in my heade like newe Wine, so as I must hoope my skonce with yron, least my head breake, and so I bewray my braines: but I pray thee first discouer me in all parts, that I may be like a Louer, and then will I sigh and die. Take my gunne, and giue me a gowne: Caedant arma togae.

Heere.

Take my sworde and shielde, and giue mee beard, brush, and Cyssers: bella gerant alii tu pari semper ama.

Will you be trimd sir?

Not yet: for I feele a contention within me, whether I shall frame the bodkin beard or the bush. But take my pike and giue mee pen: dicere que puduit, scribere iussit amor.

I wyll furnish you sir.

Nowe for my bowe and bolts, giue me ynke and paper, for my Smiter a pen-knife: for Scalpellum calami, atramentum, charta libelli, sint semper studiis arma parata meis.

Sir will you giue ouer warres, & play with that bable called loue?

Giue ouer warres? no Epi, Militat omnis amans, et habet sua castea Cupido.

Loue hath made you very eloquent, but your face is nothing fayre.

Non formosus erat, sed erat facundus Vlisses.

Nay I must seeke a newe Maister if you can speake nothing but verses.

Quicquid conabar dicere versus erat. Epi, I feele all Ouid de arte amandi lie as heauie at my heart as a loade of logges. O what a fine thin hayre hath Dipsas, what a prettie low forehead? VVhat a tale & statelie nose? What little hollowe eyes? What great and goodly lyppes? Howe harmelesse shee is beeing toothlesse, her fingers fatte and short, adorned with long nayles like a Bytter. In howe sweete a proportion her cheekes hang downe to her brests like dugges, and her pappes to her waste like bagges. VVhat a lowe stature shee is, and yet what a great foote shee carryeth? Howe thrifty must she be in whom there is no waste? Hovve vertuous is shee like to be, ouer whom no man can be ielous?

Stay Maister, you forget your selfe.

O Epi. euen as a dish melteth by the fire, so doth my wit increase by loue.

Pithily, and to the purpose, but what? beginne you to nodde.

Good Epi let me take a nappe: for as some man may better steale a horse, then another looke ouer the hedge: so diuers shall be sleepie when they woulde fainest take rest.

Who euer saw such a woodcock, loue Dipsas? without doubt all the world will novve account him valiant, that ventureth on her, whom none durst vndertake. But heere commeth two wagges.

Thy Maister hath slept his share.

I thinke he doth it because he would not paie me my boord wages.

It is a thing most strange, and I thinke mine will neuer returne, so that wee must both seeke nevve Maisters, for we shall neuer liue by our manners.

If you want Maisters, ioyne with me and serue Sir Tophas, who must needes keepe more men, because he is toward marriage.

What Epi, wher's thy Maister?

Yonder sleeping in loue.

Is it possible?

how is he attyred?

Louelie.

Whom loueth this amorous knight?

Dipsas.

That vglie creature? Why shee is a foole, a scold, fat, without fashion, and quite without fauour.

Tush you be simple, my Ma. hath a good marriage.

Good? as how?

Why in marrying Dipsas, hee shall haue euerie day twelue dishes of meate to his dinner, though there be none but Dipsas with him. Foure of flesh, four of fish, foure of fruite.

As how Epi?

For flesh these, woodcock, goose, bitter, & rayle.

Indeed he shal not misse, if Dipsas be there.

For fish these, crab, carpe, lumpe, and powting.

Excellent, for of my word, she is both crabbish, lumpish, and carping.

For fruite these, fretters, medlers, hartichockes, and Lady longings. Thus you see hee shall fare like a King, though he be but a begger.

Well Epi, dine thou with him, for I had rather fast then see her face. But see thy Ma. is a sleepe, let vs haue a song to wake this Amorous knight.

Agreed.

Content.

Sleepe is a bynding of the sences, loue a loosing.

Let vs heare him awhile.

There appeared in my sleepe a goodly Owle, who sitting vpon my shoulder, cryed twyt, twyt, & before myne eyes presented her selfe the expresse image of Dipsas. I meruailed what the Owle said, til at the last, I perceiued twyt twyt, to it, to it: onely by contraction admonished by thys vision, to make account of my sweet Venus.

Sir Tophas, you haue ouer-slept your selfe.

No youth, I haue but slept ouer my loue.

Loue? Why it is impossible, that into so noble and vnconquered a courage, loue should creepe, hauing first a head as hard to pearce as steele, then to passe to a hart arm'd with a shirt of male.

I but my Maister yawning one day in the Sun, loue crept into his mouth before he could close it, and there kept such a tumbling in his bodie, that he was glad to vntrusse the poynts of his hart, and entertaine Loue as a stranger.

If there remaine any pittie in you, pleade for me to Dipsas.

Pleade? Nay wee will presse her to it. Let vs goe with him to Dipsas, and there shall wee haue good sport. But sir Tophas when shall we goe? for I finde my tongue voluble, and my hart venturous, and all my selfe like my selfe.

Come Dares, let vs not loose him till we find our Maisters, for as long as he liueth, we shall lack neither mirth nor meate.

We will trauice. Will you goe sir?

I praesequar.

Father, your sad musique beeing tuned on the same key that my harde fortune is, hath so melted my minde, that I wish to hang at your mouthes ende, tell my life end.

A strange humour, might I enquire the cause?

You must pardon me if I denie to tell it, for knowing that the reuealing of griefes, is as it were a renewing of sorrow, I haue vowed therefore to conceale them, that I might not onely feele the depth of euerlasting discontentment, but dispaire of remedie? But whence are you? What fortune hath thrust you to thys distresse?

I am going to Thessalie, to seeke remedie for Endimion my deerest freende, who hath beene cast into a dead sleepe, almost these twentie yeeres, waxing olde, and readie for the graue, beeing almost but newlie come forth of the cradle.

You neede not for recure trauell farre, for who so can cleerely see the bottome of thys Fountaine, shall haue remedie for any thing.

That mee thinketh is vnpossible, why vvhat vertue can there be in water?

Yes, who soeuer can shedde the teares of a faythfull Louer, shall obtaine any thing he would, reade these words engrauen about the brimme.

Haue you knowne this by experience, or is it placed heere of purpose to delude men?

I onely would haue experience of it, and then shoulde there bee an ende of my miserie. And then woulde I tell the strangest discourse that euer yet was heard.

What lacke you Gentleman, are you not wel?

Yes Father, but a qualme that often commeth ouer my hart doth nowe take hold of me, but did neuer any Louers come hether?

Lusters, but not Louers; for often haue I seene them weepe, but neuer could I heare they saw the bottome.

Came there women also?

Some.

What did they see?

They all wept that the Fountaine ouerflowed with teares, but so thicke became the water with theyr teares, that I could scarce discerne the brimme, much lesse beholde the bottome.

Be faithfull Louers so skant?

It seemeth so, for yet heard I neuer of any.

Ah Eumenides, howe art thou perplexed? call to minde the beautie of thy sweet Mistris, and the depth of thy neuer dying affections, howe oft hast thou honoured her, not onelie without spotte, but suspition of falsehoode? And howe hardly hath shee rewarded thee, without cause or colour of despight?

Howe secrete hast thou beene these seauen yeeres, that hast not, nor once darest not, to name her for discontenting her? Hovve faythfull? that hast offered to dye for her, to please her. Vnhappie Eumenides.

Why Gentleman did you once loue?

Once? I Father and euer shall.

Was she vnkind, and you faithfull?

Shee of all women the most froward, and I of all creatures the most fond.

You doted then, not loued: for affection is grounded on vertue, and vertue is neuer peeuish: or on Beautie, and Beautie loueth to be praised.

I but if all vertuous Ladies should yeelde to all that be louing, or all amiable gentlewomen entertaine all that be amorous, theyr vertues would bee accounted vices, and their beauties deformities, for that loue can bee but betweene two, and that not proceeding of him that is most faithfull, but most fortunate.

I would you were so faithfull, that your teares might make you fortunate.

Yea father, if that my teares cleare not this fountaine, then may you sweare it is but a meere mockerie.

So saith euery one yet, that wept.

Ah, I fainte, I dye. Ah sweete Semele let me alone, and dissolue by weeping into water.

This affection seemeth straunge, if hee see nothing without doubt this dissembling passeth, for nothing shall drawe mee from the beleefe.

Father, I plainelie see the bottome, and there in white marble engrauen these wordes, Aske one for all, and but one thing at all.

O fortunate Eumenides, (for so haue I hearde thee call thy selfe) let me see, I cannot discerne any such thing. I thinke thou dreamest.

Ah Father thou art not a faithfull louer, and therefore canst not beholde it.

Then aske that I may be satisfied by the euent, and thy selfe blessed.

Aske? so I will: and what shall I doo but aske, and whome should I aske but Semele, the possessing of whose person, is a pleasure that cannot come within the compasse of comparison, whose golden lockes seeme most curious, when they seeme most carelesse, whose sweete lookes seeme most alluring, when they are most chaste: and whose wordes the more vertuous they are, the more amorous they bee accounted. I pray thee fortune when I shall first meete with fayre Semele, dash my delight with some light disgrace, least imbracing sweetnesse beyond measure, I take a surfit without recure: let her practise her accustomed coynesse, that I may dyet my seife vpon my desires: otherwise the fulnesse of my ioyes will diminish the sweetnesse, and I shall perrish by them before I possesse them.

Why doe I trifle the time in words? The least minute beeing spent in the getting of Semele, is more worth then the whole worlde: therefore let mee aske. What nowe Eumenides? Whether art thou drawn? Hast thou forgotten both friendship and duetie? Care of Endimion, and the commaundement of Cynthia? Shall hee dye in a leaden sleepe, because thou sleepest in a golden dreame? I, let him sleepe euer, so I slumber but one minute with Semele. Loue knoweth neither friendshippe nor kindred.

Shall I not hazard the losse of a friend, for the obtayning of her for whome I woulde often loose my selfe? Fonde Eumenides, shall the intycing beautie of a most disdainfull Ladie, bee of more force then the rare fidelitie of a tryed friend? The loue of men to women is a thing common, and of course: the friendshippe of man to man infinite, and immortall. Tush, Semele dooth possesse my loue. I but Endimion hath deserued it. I will helpe Endimion. I founde Endimion vnspotted in his trueth. I but I shall finde Semele constant in her loue. I will haue Semele. What shall I doe? Father thy gray haires are Embassadours of experience. Which shall I aske?

Eumenides, release Endimion, for all thinges (friendship excepted) are subiect to fortune: Loue is but an eye worme, which onely tickleth the heade with hopes, and wishes: friendshippe the image of eternitie, in which there is nothing moueable, nothing mischeeuous. As much difference as there is betweene Beautie and Vertue, bodies and shadowes, colours and life: so great oddes is there betweene loue and friendshippe.

Loue is a Camelion, which draweth nothing into the mouth but ayre, and nourisheth nothing in the bodie but lunges: beleeue mee Eumenides, Desire dyes in the same moment that Beautie sickens, and Beautie fadeth in the same instant that it flourisheth. When aduersities flowe, then loue ebbes: but friendship standeth stifflie in stormes. Time draweth wrinckles in a fayre face, but addeth fresh colours to a fast friende, which neither heate, nor cold, nor miserie, nor place, nor destiny, can alter or diminish. O friendship of all things the most rare, and therefore most rare because most excellent, whose comforts in misery is alwaies sweet, and whose counsels in prosperitie are euer fortunate. Vaine loue, that onely comming neere to friendship in name, woulde seeme to be the same, or better, in nature.

Father I allowe your reasons, and will therefore conquer mine own. Vertue shall subdue affections, wisdome lust, friendship beautie. Mistresses are in euery place, and as common as Hares in Atho, Bees in Hybla, foules in the ayre: but friends to be founde, are like the Phaenix in Arabia, but one, or the Philadelphi in Arays, neuer aboue two. I will haue Endimion, sacred Fountaine, in whose bowels are hidden diuine secrets, I haue encreased your waters with the teares of vnspotted thoughts and therefore let mee receiue the reward you promise: Endimion, the truest friende to mee, and faithfullest louer to Cynthia, is in such a dead sleepe, that nothing can wake or mooue him.

Doost thou see any thing?

I see in the same Piller, these wordes: When shee whose figure of all is the perfectest, and neuer to bee measured: alwaies one, yet neuer the same: still inconstant, yet neuer wauering, shall come and kisse Endimion in his sleepe, hee shall then rise, els neuer. This is straunge.

What see you els?

There commeth ouer mine eyes either a darke mist, or vppon the fountaine a deepe thicknesse: for I can perceiue nothing. But howe am I deluded? or what difficult (nay impossible) thing is this?

Me thinketh it easie.

Good father and howe?

Is not a circle of all Figures the perfectest?

Yes.

And is not Cynthia of all cyrcles the most absolute?

Yes.

Is it not impossible to measure her, who still worketh by her influence, neuer standing at one stay?

Yes.

Is shee not alwaies Cynthia, yet seldome in the same bignesse, alwaies wauering in her waxing or wayning, that our bodies might the better bee gouerned, our seasons the daylier giue their increase, yet neuer to bee remooued from her course, as long as the heauens continue theirs?

Yes.

Then who can it bee but Cynthia, whose vertues beeing all diuine, must needes bring things to passe that bee myraculous. Goe, humble thy selfe to Cynthia, tell her the successe, of which my selfe shall bee a witnesse. And this assure thy selfe, that shee that sent to finde meanes for his safetie, will now worke her cunning.

How fortunate am I, if Cynthia be she that may doo it.

Howe fonde art thou, if thou doo not beleeue it?

I will hasten thither, that I may intreat on my knees for succour, and imbrace in mine armes my friend.

I will goe with thee, for vnto Cynthia must I discouer all my sorrowes, who also must worke in mee a contentment.

May I nowe knowe the cause?

That shall bee as wee walke, and I doubt not but the straungnesse of my tale will take away the tediousnesse of our iourney.

Let vs goe.

I followe.

I Maruell Corsites giueth me so much libertie: all the worlde knowing his charge to bee so high, and his nature to bee most straunge, who hath so ill intreated Ladies of great honour, that he hath not suffered them to looke out of windowes, much lesse to walke abroade: it may bee hee is in loue with mee, for (Endimion, hard harted Endimion, excepted) what is he that is not enamourd of my beautie? But what respectest thou the loue of all the world, Endimion hates thee. Alas poore Endimion, my maylce hath exceeded my loue: and thy faith to Cynthia, quenched my affections. Quenched Tellus? nay kindled them a fresh; in so much that I finde scorching flames, for dead embers, and cruell encounters of warre in my thoughtes, in steede of sweete parlees. Ah that I might once againe see Endimion, accursed girle, what hope hast thou to see Endimion? on whose head already are growne gray haires, and whose life must yeelde to Nature, before Cynthia ende her displeasure. Wicked Dipsas, and most deuilish Tellus, the one for cunning too exquisit, the other for hate too intollerable. Thou wast commanded to weaue the stories & Poetries, wherin were shewed both examples & punishments of tatling tongues, and thou hast only imbrodered the sweet face of Endimion, deuises of loue, melancholy imaginations, and what not, out of thy worke, that thou shouldst studie to picke out of thy mind. But here cometh Corsites, I must seeme yeelding and stoute, ful of mildnesse, yet tempered with a Maiestie: for if I be too flexible, I shall giue him more hope then I meane, if too froward, enioy lesse liberty then I would, loue him I cannot, & therfore will practise that which is most contrarie to our sex, to dissemble.

Faire Tellus, I perceiue you rise with the Larke, and to your selfe sing with the Nightingale.

My Lord I haue no play-fellow but fancy, being barred of all companie I must question with my selfe, and make my thoughts my frindes.

I would you would account my thoughtes also your friends, for they be such as are only busied in wondering at your beautie, & wisdome: & some such as haue esteemed your fortune too hard, and diuers of that kind that offer to set you free, if you will set them free

There are no colours so contrarie as white and blacke, nor Elements so disagreeing as fire and water, nor any thing so opposite as mens thoughts & their words.

He that gaue Cassandra the gift of prophecying with the curse, that spake shee neuer so true, shee should neuer be beleeued, hath I think poysoned the fortune of men, that vttering the extremities of their inward passions, are alwayes suspected of outward periuries.

Well Corsites I will flatter my selfe, and beleeue you. What would you doe to enioy my loue?

Sette all the Ladies of the Castle free, and make you the pleasure of my life: more I cannot doe, lesse I will not.

These be great wordes, and fit your calling: for Captaines must promise things impossible. But wil you doe one thing for all.

Any thing sweet Tellus, that am ready for all.

You knowe that on the Lunary bancke sleepeth Endimion.

I knowe it.

If you will remoue him from that place by force, and conuey him into some obscure caue by pollicie, I giue you here the faith of an vnspotted virgine, that you onelie shall possesse me as a louer, and in spight of malice, haue mee for a wife.

Remooue him Tellus? Yes Tellus, hee shall bee remooued, and that so soone, as thou shalt as much commend my dilligence as my force. I goe.

Stay, will your selfe attempt it?

I Tellus: as I would haue none partaker of my sweete loue, so shall none be partners of my labours: but I pray thee goe at your best leysure, for Cynthia beginneth to rise, and if she discouer our loue we both perish, for nothing pleaseth her but the fairenesse of virginitie. All thinges must bee not onely without lust, but without suspicion of lightnes.

I will depart, and goe you to Endimion.

I flye Tellus, beeing of all men the most fortunate.

Simple Corsites, I haue set thee about a taske being but a man, yt the gods thēselues cannot performe: for little doost thou knowe howe heauie his head lies, howe hard his fortune: but such shiftes must women haue to deceiue men, and vnder colour of things easie, intreat that which is imposible: otherwise we should be cūbred with importunities, oathes, sighes, letters, and all implements of loue, which to one resolued to the contrary, are most lothsome. I will in and laugh with the other Ladies at Corsites sweating.

Will thy master neuer awake?

No, I thinke hee sleepes for a wager: but how shall wee spende the time? Sir Tophas is so farre in loue that he pineth in his bedde, and commeth not abroade?

But here commeth Epi, in a pelting chafe.

A poxe of all false Prouerbes, and were a Prouerbe a Page, I would haue him by the eares.

Why art thou angry?

Why? you knowe it is sayd, the tyde tarieth no man.

True.

A monstrous lye; for I was tide two houres, and tarried for one to vnlose mee.

Alas poore Epi.

Poore? No, no, you base conceited slaues, I am a most complyt Gentleman, although I bee in disgrace with sir Tophas.

Art thou out with him.

I, because I cannot gette him a lodging with Endimion, hee would faine take a nappe for fortie or fifty yeeres.

A short sleepe, considering our long life.

Is he still in loue?

Canst thou remember any one of his Poems?

I, this is one. The beggar Loue that knows not where to lodge: At last within my hart when I slept, he crept, I wakt, and so my fancies began to fodge.

That's a verie long verse.

Why the other was shorte, the first is called from the thombe to the little finger, the second from the little finger to the elbowe, and some hee hath made to reach to the crowne of his head, and downe again to the soule of his foote: it is sette to the tune of the blacke Saunce, ratio est, because Dipsas is a black Saint.

Very wisely, but pray thee Epi how art thou complet, and beeing from thy Maister what occupation wilt thou take?

No my harts, I am an absolute Microcosmus, a pettie worlde of my selfe, my library is my heade, for I haue no other bookes but my braines: my wardrope on my backe, for I haue no more apparrell then is on my body; my armorie at my fingers ends, for I vse no other Artillarie then my nailes; my treasure in my purse. Sie omnia mea mecum porto.

Good.

Now syrs, my Pallace is pau'd with grasse, and tyled with starres: for celo tegitur qui non habet vrnam, he that hath no house, must he in the yard.

A braue resolution, But how wilt thou spend thy time?

Not in any Melancholie sort, for mine exercise I will walke horses.

Too bad.

Why is it not saide: It is good walking when one hath his horse in his hand?

Worse, and worse, but how wilt thou liue?

By angling; O tis a stately occupation to stande foure houres in a colde Morning, and to haue his nose bytten with frost, before hys baite be mumbled with a Fish.

A rare attempt, but wilt thou neuer trauell?

Yes in a Westerne barge, when with a good winde and lustie pugges, one may goe ten miles in two daies.

Thou art excellent at thy choyse, but what pastime wilt thou vse, none?

Yes the quickest of all.

What dyce?

No, when I am in hast, xxj. games at Chesse, to passe a fewe minutes.

A life for a little Lord, and full of quicknesse.

Tush let mee alone, but I must needes see if I can finde where Endimion lieth, and then goe to a certaine fountaine hard by, where they say faithfull Louers shall haue althings they will aske. If I can finde out any of these, ego et Magister meus erimus in tuto, I and my Maister shall be freendes. He is resolued to weep some three or foure payle-fuls, to auoyde the rume of loue that wambleth in his stomacke.

Shall we neuer see thy Maister Dares?

Yes, let vs goe nowe, for to morrowe Cynthia will be there.

I will goe with you. But hovve shall wee see for the Watch?

Tush let me alone, Ile begin to them. Maisters God speede you.

Sir boy, we are all sped alreadie.

So me thinks, for they smell all of drinke, like a beggers beard.

But I pray sirs, may we see Endimion?

No, we are commanded in Cynthias name that no man shall see him.

No man? Why we are but boyes.

Masse neighbours hee sayes true, for if I sweare I will neuer drinke my liquor by the quart, and yet call for two pints, I thinke with a safe conscience I may carouse both.

Pithily, and to the purpose.

Tush tush neighbors, take me with you.

This will grow hote.

Let them alone.

If I saie to my wife, wife I will haue no Reysons in my pudding, she puts in Corance, smal Reysons are Reysons, and boyes are men. Euen as my wife shoulde haue put no Reysons in my pudding, so shall there no boyes see Endimion.

Learnedly.

Let Maister Constable speake: I thinke hee is the wisest among you.

You know neighbors tis an an old said saw, children and fooles speake true.

True.

Well, there you see the men bee the fooles, because it is prouided from the children.

Good.

Then say I neighbors, that children must not see Endimion, because children & fooles speak true.

O wicked application.

Scuruily brought about.

Nay he sais true, & therefore till Cynthia haue beene heere he shall not be vncouered. Therefore away.

A watch quoth you? a man may watch 7. yeres for a wise worde, & yet goe without it. Their wits are all as rustie as their bils. But come on Ma. Const. shall we haue a song before we goe? Const. With all my hart.

EVmenides hath tolde such strange tales, as I may well wonder at them, but neuer beleeue them.

The other old man, what a sad speech vsed he, that caused vs almost all to weepe. Cynthia is so desirous to knowe the experiment of her owne vertue, and so willing to ease Endimions harde fortune, that she no sooner heard the discourse, but shee made her selfe in a readines to trye the euent.

Wee willl also see the euent, but whist heere commeth Cynthia, with all her traine: Let vs sneake in amongst them.

Eumenides, it cannot sinke into my heade, that I should bee signified by that sacred Fountaine, for many thinges are there in the worlde, to which those words may bee applyed.

Good Madame vouchsafe but to trye, els shall I thinke my selfe most vnhappie, that I asked not my sweete Mistris.

Will you not yet tell me her name?

Pardon mee good Madame, for if Endimion awake hee shall: my selfe haue sworne, neuer to reueale it.

Well, let vs to Endimion. I will not be so statelie (good Endimion) not to stoope to doe thee good: and if thy libertie consist in a kisse from mee, thou shalt haue it. And although my mouth hath beene heere tofore as vntouched as my thoughts, yet now to recouer thy life, (though to restore thy youth it be impossible) I will do that to Endimion, which yet neuer mortall man coulde bost of heretofore, nor shall euer hope for heereafter.

Madame hee beginneth to stirre.

Soft Eumenides, stand still.

Ah, I see his eyes almost open.

I commaund thee once againe stirre not: I wil stand behinde him.

What doe I see, Endimion almost awake?

Endimion, Endimion, art thou deafe or dumbe? or hath this long sleepe taken away thy memorie? Ah my sweet Eudimion, seest thou not Eumenides? thy faithful friende, thy faythfull Eumenides, who for thy saftie hath beene carelesse of his owne content. Speake Endimion, Endimion, Endimion.

Hast thou forgotten thy selfe Endimion? then do I not maruell thou remembrest not thy friend. I tell thee thou art Endimion, and I Eumenides: beholde also Cynthia, by whose fauour thou art awaked, and by whose vertue thou shalt continue thy naturall course.

Endimion, speake sweete Endimion, knowest thou not Cynthia?

O heauens, whom doe I beholde, faire Cynthia, diuine Cynthia?

I am Cynthia, and thou Endimion.

Endimion, What do I heere? What, a gray beard? hollow eyes? withered bodie: decayed lymbes? and all in one night?

One night? thou hast heere slept fortie yeeres, by what Enchauntresse as yet it is not knowne: and behold the twig to which thou laiedst thy head, is now become a tree, callest thou not Eumenides to remembrance?

Thy name I doo remember by the sounde, but thy fauour I doe not yet call to minde, onely diuine Cynthia, to whom time, fortune, destinie, & death, are subiect, I see and remember, and in all humilitie, I regard and reuerence.

You haue good cause to remember Eumenides, who hath for thy safetie forsaken his owne solace.

Am I that Endimion, who was wont in Court to leade my life, and in Iustes, turneys, and armes to exercise my youth? am I that Endimion?

Thou art that Endimion and I Eumenides, wilt thou not yet call me to remembrance?

Ah sweete Eumenides, I now perceiue thou art hee, and that my selfe haue the name of Endimion, but that this should bee my bodie I doubt: for howe coulde my curled lockes bee turned to gray haires, and my stronge bodie to a dying weaknesse, hauing waxed olde, and not kowing it.

Well Endimion arise, a while sit downe, for that thy limmes are stiffe, and not able to stay thee, and tell what hast thou seene in thy sleepe all this while? What dreames, visions, thoughts, and fortunes? For it is impossible, but in so long time, thou shouldest see things straunge.

Fayre Cynthia I will rehearse what I haue seene, humblie desiring, that when I exceede in length, you giue me warning, that I may ende: for to vtter all I haue to speake would bee troublesome, although happilie the straungenesse may somewhat abate the tediousnesse.

Well Endimion begin.

Me thought I sawe a Ladie passing faire, but verie mischeeuous, who in the one hande carryed a knife, with which shee offered to cut my throte: and in the other a looking-glasse, wherein seeing how ill anger became Ladies, shee refrained from intended violence. She was accompanied with other Damsels, one of which with a sterne countenance, & as it were with a setled malice engrauen in her eyes, prouoked her to execute mischeefe: an other with visage sad and constant onelie in sorrow, with her armes crossed, and watery eyes, seemed to lament my fortune, but durst not offer to preuent the force. I started in my sleepe, feeling my verie veines to swell, and my sinewes to stretch with feare, and such a colde sweate bedewed all my bodie, that death it selfe could not be so terrible, as the vision.

A straunge sight. Giptes at our better leysure shall expound it.

After long debating with her selfe, mercie ouercame anger, and there appeared in her heauenly face such a diuine Maiestie, mingled with a sweete mildenes, that I was rauished with the sight aboue measure, and wished that I might haue enioied the sight without end, and so she departed with the other Ladyes, of which the one retained still an vnmoueable crueltie, the other a constant pittie.

Poore Endimion, how wast thou affrighted? What els?

After her immediatly appeared an aged man, with a beard as white as snow, crying in his hand a book with three leaues, & speaking as I remēber these words. Endimion, receiue this booke with three leaues, in which are contained counsels, policies, and pictures, and with that he offered mee the booke, which I reiected: wherwith moued with a disdainefull pittie, hee rent the first leafe in a thousand shiuers, the second time hee offered it, which I refused also: at which bending his browes, and pitching his eyes fast to the ground, as though they were fixed to the earth, and not againe to be remoued: then sodainlie casting them vp to the heauens, he tore in a rage the second leafe, and offered the booke only with one leafe. I know not whether feare to offende, or desire to knowe some strange thing, moued mee: I tooke the booke, and so the olde man vanished.

What diddest thou imagine was in the last leafe?

There I portraid to life, with a colde quaking in euery ioynt. I behelde many wolues barking at thee Cynthia, who hauing ground their teeth to bite, did with striuing bleede themselues to death. There might I see ingratitude with an hundred eyes, gazing for benefites, and with a thousand teeth, gnawing on the bowelles wherein shee was bred. Trecherie stoode all cloathed in white, with a smyling countenance, but both her handes bathed in blood. Enuye with a pale and megar face, (whose bodie was so leane, that one might tell all her bones, and whose garment was so totterd, that it was easie to number euery thred) stood shooting at starres, whose dartes fell downe againe on her owne face. There might I beholde Drones, or Beetles, I knowe not howe to terme them creeping vnder the winges of a princely Eagle, who being carried into her neast, sought there to sucke that veine, that woulde haue killed the Eagle. I mused that thinges so base, shoulde attempt a facte so barbarous, or durst imagine a thing so bloody. And manie other thinges Madame, the repeticion whereof, may at your better leysure seeme more pleasing: for. Bees surfette sometimes with honnie, and the Gods are glutted with harmony, and your highnesse may be dulled with delight.

I am content to bee dieted, therefore lette vs in. Eumenides, see that Endimion bee well tended, least eyther eating immoderatlie, or sleeping againe too long, hee fall into a deadly surfette, or into his former sleepe.

See this also bee proclaimed, that whosoeuer will discouer this practise, shall haue of Cynthia infinite thankes, and no small rewardes.

Ah Endimion, none so ioyfull as Floscula, of thy restoring.

Yes Floscula, let Eumenides be somewhat gladder, and doe not that wrong to the setled friendship of a man, as to compare it with the light affection of a woman. Ah my deere friend Endimion suffer mee to dye, with gazing at thee.

Eumenides, thy friendshippe is immortall, and not to be conceiued, and thy good will Floscula, better then I haue deserued. But let vs all wayte on Cynthia: I maruell Semele speaketh not a word.

Because if shee doe, shee loseth her tongue.

But how prospereth your loue?

I doubt not but your affection is olde, and your appetite colde.

No Endimion, thine hath made it stronger, and nowe are my sparkes growne to flames, and my fancies almost to frenzies: but let vs followe, and within wee will debate all this matter at large.

Epi, loue hath iustled my libertie from the wall, and taken the vpper hand of my reason.

Let me then trippe vp the heeles of your affection, and thrust your goodwill into the gutter.

No Epi, Loue is a Lorde of misrule, and keepeth Christmas in my corps.

No doubt there is good cheere: what dishes of delight doth his Lordshippe feast you withal?

First, with a great platter of plum-porrige of pleasure, wherein is stued the mutton of mistrust.

Excellent loue lappe.

Then commeth a Pye of patience, a Henne of honnie, a Goose of gall, a Capon of care, and many other Viandes, some sweete, and some sowre, which proueth loue to bee as it was saide of, in olde yeeres. Dulce venenum.

A braue banquet.

But Epi. I praye theee feele on my chinne, some thinge prycketh mee. VVhat doost thou feele or see.

There are three or foure little haires.

I pray thee call it my bearde, howe shall I bee troubled, when this younge springe shall growe to a great wood?

O sir your chinne is but a quyller yet, you will be most maiesticall when it is full fledge. But I maruell that you loue Dipsas that olde Crone.

Agnosco veteris vestigia flammae, I loue the smoke of an olde fyre.

Why shee is so colde, that no fyre can thawe her thoughts.

It is an olde goose Epi, that will eate no oates, olde Kine will kicke, olde Rats gnawe cheese, and olde sackes will haue much patching. I preferre an old Cony before a Rabbet sucker, and an ancient henne before a younge chicken peeper.

Argumentum ab antiquitate, My master loueth anticke worke.

Giue mee a pippin that is withered like an olde wife.

Good sir.

Then, a contrario sequitur argumentum. Giue me a wife that lookes like an olde pippin.

Nothing hath made my master a foole, but flat Schollership.

Knowest thou not that olde wine is best?

Yes.

And thou knowest that like will to like?

I.

And thou knowest that Venus loued the best Wine.

So.

Then I conclude, that Venus was an olde woman in an olde cuppe of wine. For, est Venus in vinis, ignis in igne fuit.

O lepidum caput, O mad cap master. You were worthy to winne Dipsas, were shee as olde againe, for in your loue, you haue worne the nappe of your witte quite off, and made it thredbare. But soft who comes heere?

My solicitors.

All haile sir Tophas, how feele you your selfe?

Statelie in euery ioynt, which the common people terme stifnes. Doth Dipsas stoope? vvyll shee yeeld? will she bende?

O sir as much as you would wish, for her chin almost toucheth her knees.

Maister, she is bent I warrant you.

VVhat conditions doth she aske?

Shee hath vowed shee will neuer loue anie that hath not a tooth in his head lesse then she.

How manie hath shee?

One.

That goeth harde Maister, for then you must haue none.

A small request, and agreeable to the grauitie of her yeeres. What shoulde a wise man doe with his mouth full of bones like a channel house. The Turtle true hath nere a tooth.

Thy Maister is in a notable vaine, that will loose his teeth to be like a Turtle.

Let him loose his tongue to, I care not.

Nay you must also haue no nayles, for shee long since hath cast hers.

That I yeelde to, what a quiet life shal Dipsas and I leade, when wee can neither byte nor scratch? You may see youthes, how age prouides for peace.

How shal we doe to make him leaue his loue, for we neuer spake to her?

Let me alone. Shee is a notable Witch, and hath turnde her maide Bagoa to an Aspen tree, for bewraying her secretes.

I honor her for her cunning, for now when I am wearie of walking on two legges, what a pleasure may she doe mee to turne me to some goodly Asse, and help mee to foure.

Nay then I must tell you the troth, her husband Geron is come home, who this fifty yeeres hath had her to wife.

What doe I heare? Hath she an husbande? Goe to the Sexteene, and tell him desire is deade, and will him to digge his graue. O heauens, an husbande? What death is agreeable to my fortune?

Be not desperate, and we will helpe you to find a young Ladie,

I loue no grissels they are so brittle, they will cracke like glasse, or so dainty, that if they bee touched, they are straight of the fashion of waxe: Animus maioribus instat. I desire olde Matrons. What a sight would it be to embrace one whose hayre were as orient as the pearle? whose teeth shal be so pure a watchet, that they shall staine the truest Turkis? whose nose shall throwe more beames from it then the fierie Carbuncle? whose eyes shall be enuirond about with rednesse, exceeding the deepest Corall? And whose lippes might compare with siluer for the palenesse? Such a one if you can help me to, I will by peece-meale curtoll my affections towardes Dipsas, and vvalke my swelling thoughts till they be cold.

VVisely prouided. How say you my freendes, will you angle for my Maisters cause?

Most willingly.

If wee speede him not shortly, I will burne my cappe, we will serue him of the spades, and digge an old wife out of the graue, that shall be answerable to his grauitie.

Youthes adiew; hee that bringeth mee first newes, shall possesse mine inheritance.

Know you not that my Maister is Liber tenens? Samias What's that?

A Free-holder. But I will after him.

And wee to heare what newes of Endimion for the conclusion.

Who would haue thought that Tellus beeing so fayre by nature, so honourable by byrth, so wise by education, woulde haue entred into a mischiefe to the Gods so odious, to men so detestable, and to her freend so malicious.

If Bagoa had not bewraied it, howe then shoulde it haue come to light? But wee see that Golde and fayre words, are of force to corrupt the strongest men; And therefore able to worke sillie women like waxe.

I maruell what Cynthia will determine in this cause.

I feare as in all causes, heare of it in iustice, and then iudge of it in mercy; for howe can it be that shee that is vnwilling to punish her deadliest foes with dysgrace, will reuenge iniuries of her trayne vvith death.

That olde witch Dipsas in a rage, hauing vnderstoode her practise to bee discouered, turned poore Bagoa to an Aspen tree, but let vs make hast and bring Tellus before Cynthia, for she was comming out after vs.

Let vs goe.

Dipsas, thy yeeres are not so manie as thy vices, yet more in number then commonly nature dooth affoorde, or iustice shoulde permit. Hast thou almost these fiftie yeeres practised that detested wickednes of witchcraft? Wast thou so simple, as for to know the nature of Simples, of all creatures to be most sinfull?

Thou hast threatned to turne my course awry, and alter by thy damnable Arte, the gouernment that I now possesse by the eternall Gods. But knowe thou Dipsas, and let all the Enchaunters knowe, that Cynthia beeing placed for light on earth, is also protected by the powers of heauen. Breath out thou mayst wordes, gather thou mayst hearbes, finde out thou maist stones agreeable to thine Arte, yet of no force to appall my heart, in which courage is so rooted, and constant perswasion of the mercie of the Gods so grounded, that all thy witch-craft I esteeme as weake, as the world dooth thy case wretched.

Thys noble Gentleman Geron, once thy husband, but nowe thy mortall hate, didst thou procure to lyue in a Deserte, almost desperate. Endimion the flovvre of my Courte, and the hope of succeeding time, hast thou bewitched by Arte, before thou wouldest suffer him to florish by nature.

Madam, thinges past may be repented, not recalled: there is nothing so wicked that I haue not doone, nor any thing so wished for as death. Yet among al the things that I committed, there is nothing so much tormenteth my rented and ransackt thoughts, as that in the prime of my husbands youth, I diuorced him by my deuillish Arte, for which, if to die might be amendes, I would not liue till to morrowe. If to liue and still be more miserable would better content him, I would wish of all creatures to be oldest and vgliest.

Dipsas, Thou hast made this difference betweene me and Endimion, that being both young, thou hast caused mee to wake in melancholie, loosing the ioyes of my youth, and hym to sleepe, not remembring youth.

Stay, heere commeth Tellus, we shall nowe knowe all.

I woulde to Cynthia thou couldest make as good an excuse in truth, as to me thou hast done by wit.

Truth shall be mine answere, and therefore I will not studie for an excuse.

Is it possible Tellus, that so few yeres should harbor so many mischiefes? Thy swelling pride haue I borne, because it is a thing that beautie maketh blamelesse, which the more it exceedeth fairenes in measure, the more it stretcheth it selfe in disdaine. Thy deuises against Corsites I smyle at, for that wits the sharper they are, the shrewder they are. But this vnacquainted and most vnnaturall practise with a vile Enchauntresse, against so noble a Gentleman as Endimion, I abhorre, as a thing most malicious, and will reuenge, as a deede most monstrous.

And as for you Dipsas, I will send you into the Deserte amongst wilde beastes, and try whether you can cast Lyons, Tygars, Bores, and Beares, into as deade a sleepe as you did Endimion, or turne them to trees, as you haue doone Bagoa. But tell me Tellus, what was the cause of this cruel part, farre vnfitting thy sexe, in which nothing should be but simplenes: and much disagreeing from thy face, in which nothing seemed to bee but softnes.

Diuine Cynthia, by whom I receiue my life, and am content to ende it. I can neyther excuse my faulte without lying, nor confesse it without shame; Yet were it possible that in so heauenlie thoughts as yours, there coulde fall such earthly motions as mine, I would then hope, if not to bee pardoned without extreame punishment, yet to be heard without great maruell.

Say on Tellus, I cannot imagine anie thing that can colour such a crueltie.

Endimion, that Endimion in the prime of his youth, so rauisht my hart with loue, that to obtaine my desires, I coulde not finde meanes, nor to resite them reason.

What was shee that fauoured not Endimion, being young, wise, honorable, and vertuous; besides, vvhat mettall was shee made of (be shee mortall) that is not affected with the spice, nay infected with the poyson of that (not to be expressed, yet alwaies to be felt) Loue? which breaketh the braines, and neuer brooseth the browe: consumeth the hart, and neuer toucheth the skinne: and maketh a deepe skarre to be seene, before any wounde at all be felt. My hart too tender to vvithstande such a diuine furie, yeelded to Loue. Madame I not without blushing confesse, yeelded to Loue.

A strange effect of loue, to worke such an extreame hate. How say you Endimion, all this was for loue?

I say Madam then the Gods sende mee a womans hate.

That were as bad, for then by contrarie you shoulde neuer sleepe. But on Tellus, let vs heare the ende.

Feeling a continuall burning in all my bowels, and a bursting almost in euerie vaine, I could not smoother the inwarde fyre, but it must needes bee perceiued by the outwarde smoke, and by the flying abroade of diuers sparkes, diuers iudged of my scalding flames.

Endimion as full of arte as witte, marking mine eyes, (in which hee might see almost his owne,) my sighes, by which he might euer heare his name sounded, aymed at my hart, in which he was assured his person was imprinted, and by questions wrunge out that, which was readie to burst out. VVhen he sawe the depth of my affections, he sware, that mine in respect of his, were as fumes to Aetna, vallies to Alpes, Ants to Eagles, and nothing could be compared to my beautie but his loue, and eternitie. Thus drawing a smooth shoe vppon a crooked foote, hee made me beleeue, that (which all of our sexe willinglie acknowledge) I was beautifull. And to wonder, (which indeede is a thing miraculous) that any of his sexe should be faithfull.

Endimion, how will you cleere your selfe?

Madam, by mine owne accuser.

Well Tellus proceede, but breefelie, least taking delight in vttering thy loue, thou offende vs with the length of it.

I will Madame quickly make an ende of my loue & my tale. Finding continuall increase of my tormenting thoughts, and that the enioying of my loue, made deeper woundes then the entering into it. I could finde no meanes to ease my griefe, but to followe Endimion, and continually to haue him in the obiect of mine eyes, who had me slaue and subiect to his loue.

But in the moment that I feared his falsehoode, and fryed my selfe most in myne affections, I founde, (ah griefe, euen then I lost my selfe.) I founde him in most melancholie and desperate termes, cursing hys starres, his state, the earth, the heauens, the world, and all for the loue of

Madame, I dare not vtter for feare to offende.

Speake I say; who dare take offence, if thou be commaunded by Cynthia?

For the loue of Cynthia.

For my loue Tellus, that were strange. Endimion is it true?

In all things Madame. Tellus doth not speak false.

What will this breede to in the ende? Well Endimion, wee shall heare all.

I seeing my hopes turnde to mishaps, and a setled dissembling towards me, and an vnmooueable desire to Cynthia, forgetting both my selfe and my sexe; fell vnto this vnnaturall hate; for knowing your vertues Cynthia to be immortall, I coulde not haue an imagination to withdraw him. And finding mine owne affections vnquenchable, I coulde not carrie the minde that any els should possesse what I had pursued. For though in maiestie, beautie, vertue, and dignitie, I alwaies humbled and yeelded my selfe to Cynthia, yet in affections, I esteemed my selfe equall with the Goddesses, & all other creatures according to theyr states with my selfe. For stars to theyr bignes haue theyr lights, and the sunne hath no more. And little pytchers when they can holde no more, are as full as great vessels that runne ouer. Thus Madam in all trueth, haue I vttered the vnhappinesse of my loue, and the cause of my hate, yeelding wholy to that diuine iudgement which neuer erred for want of wisedom, or enuied for too much partiality.

How say you my Lords to this matter? But what say you Endimion, hath Tellus tolde troth?

Madame in all things, but in that shee saide I loued her, and swore to honour her.

The time was Madam and is, and euer shall be that I honoured your highnesse aboue all the world, but to stretch it so far as to call it loue, I neuer durst. There hath none pleased mine eye but Cynthia, none delighted mine eares but Cynthia, none possessed my hart but Cynthia. I haue forsaken all other fortunes to followe Cynthia, and heere I stande ready to die if it please Cynthia. Such a difference hath the Gods sette between our states, that all must be dutie, loyaltie, and reuerence, nothing (without it vouchsafe your highnes) be termed loue. My vnspotted thoughts, my languishing bodie, my discontented life, let them obtaine by princelie fauour that, which to challenge they must not presume, onelie wishing of impossibilities: with imagination of which, I will spende my spirits, and to my selfe that no creature may heare, softlie call it loue. And if any vrge to vtter what I whisper, then will I name it honor. From this sweet contēplation if I be not drinen, I shall liue of al men the most content, taking more pleasure in mine aged thoughts, then euer I did in my youthful actions.

Endimion, this honorable respect of thine, shalbe christned loue in thee, & my reward for it fauor. Perseuer Endimion in louing me, & I account more strength in a true hart, then in a walled Cittie. I haue laboured to win all, and studie to keepe such as I haue wonne, but those that neither my fauour can mooue to continue constant, nor my offered benefits gette to bee faithfull, the Gods shal eyther reduce to trueth, or reuenge their trecheries with iustice. Endimion continue as thou hast begun, and thou shalt finde that Cynthia shyneth not on thee in vaine.

What younge againe? then it is pittie to punish Tellus.

Ah Endimion, now I know thee and aske pardon of thee: suffer mee still to wish thee well.

Tellus, Cynthia must commaund what she will.

Endimion, I reioyce to see thee in thy former estate.

Good Floscula, to thee also am I in my former affections.

Endimion, the comfort of my life, howe am I rauished with a ioy matchlesse, sauing onelie the enioying of my mistrisse.

Endimion, you must nowe tell who Eumenides shrineth for his Saint.

Semele Madame.

Semele Eumenides? is it Semele? the very waspe of all women, whose tongue stingeth as much as an Adders tooth?

It is Semele, Cynthia: the possessing of whose loue, must onelie prolong my life.

Nay sith Endimion is restored, wee will haue all parties pleased. Semele, are you content after so long triall of his faith, such rare secresie, such vnspotted loue, to take Eumenides? Why speake you not? Not a word?

Silence Madame consents: that is most true.

It is true Endimion. Eumenides, take Semele. Take her I say.

Humble thanks Madame, now onely doe I begin to liue.

A harde choyce Madame, either to be married if I say nothing, or to lose my tongue if I speake a word. Yet doe I rather choose to haue my tongue cut out, then my heart distempered: I will not haue him.

Speakes the Parrat? shee shall nod heereafter with signes: cut off her tongue, nay her heade, that hauing a seruant of honourable birth, honest manners, 〈◊〉 true loue, will not be perswaded.

He is no faithfull I 〈…〉 or then would he haue asked his Mistris.

Had he not beene faithfull, he had neuer seene into the fountaine, and so lost his friend and Mistrisse.

Thine own thoughts sweet Semele, witnesse against thy wordes, for what hast thou founde in my life but loue? and as yet, what haue I founde in my loue but bitternesse? Madame pardon Semele, and let my tongue ransome hers.

Thy tongue Eumenides? what shouldst thou liue wanting a tongue to blaze the beautie of Semele. Well Semele, I will not commaund loue, for it cannot bee enforced: let me entreat it.

I am content your Highnesse shall command, for now only do I thinke Eumenides faithfull, that is willing to lose his tongue for my sake: yet loth, because it should doe me better seruice. Madame, I accept of Eumenides.

I thanke you Semele.

Ah happie Eumenides, that hast a friend so faithfull, and a mistris so faire: with what sodaine mischiefe will the Gods daunt this excesse of ioye? Sweet Semele, I liue or dye as thou wilt.

What shall become of Tellus? Tellus you know Endimion is vowed to a seruice, from which death cannot remooue him. Corsites casteth still a louely lookes towards you, how say you will haue your Corsites, and so receiue pardon for all that is past?

Madame most willingly.

I Madame more happie to enioy Tellus then the Monarchie of the world.

Why she caused you to be pincht with Fairies.

I but her fairenesse hath pinched my hart more deepelie.

Well enioy thy loue. But what haue you wrought in the Castle Tellus?

Onely the picture of Endimion.

Then so much of Endimion as his picture commeth to, possesse and play withall.

Ah my sweete Tellus, my loue shal be as thy beautie is, matchlesse.

Now it resteth Dipsas, that if thou wilt forsweare that vile Arte of Enchaunting, Geron hath promised againe to receiue thee, otherwise if thou be wedded to that wickednes, I must and will see it punished to the vttermost.

Madam, I renounce both substance and shadow of that most horrible and hatefull trade, vowing to the Gods continuall penaunce, and to your highnes obedience.

Howe say you Geron, will you admit her to your Wife?

I with more ioy then I did the first day: for nothing could happen to make me happy, but onely her forsaking that leude and detestable course. Dipsas I imbrace thee.

And I thee Geron, to whom I will heereafter recite the cause of these my first follies.

Well Endimion, nothing resteth nowe but that we depart. Thou hast my fauour, Tellus her friend, Eumenides in Paradice with his Semele, Geron contented with Dipsas.

Nay soft, I cannot handsomly goe to bed without Bagoa.

Well Syr. Tophas, it may bee there are more vertues in mee then my selfe knoweth of, for Endimion I awaked, and at my words he waxed young, I will trie whether I can turne this tree againe to thy true loue.

Turne her to a true loue or false, so shee be a wench I care not.

Bagoa, Cynthia putteth an end to thy harde fortunes, for being turnd to a tree for reuealing a truth, I will recouer thee againe, if in my power be the effect of truth.

Bagoa? a bots vpon thee.

Come my Lordes let vs in, you Gyptes and Pythagoras, if you cannot content your selues in our Court, to fall from vaine follies of Phylosophers, to such vertues as are here practised, you shall be entertained according to your deserts, for Cynthia is no stepmother to strangers.

I had rather in Cynthias Court spende tenne yeeres, then in Greece one houre.

And I chuse rather to liue by the sight of Cynthia, then by the possessing of all Egipt.

Then follow.

We all attend.