Iris, Panace, Violetta.
Ir. Curst was the wight that did in murther first
Embrue his guilty hands: curst was that hand
Which first was taught by damned hellish art
To forge the killing blade in Vulcans flames:
What raging fury raignes in mortall brests,
That man should man pursue with deadly hate;
Oh what malignant power hath defac’d,
That spacious image of the gods above?
Who hath inspir’d man with that bestiall quality
Of murderous revenge?
The Lybian Lyons seldome are at oddes,
The Tygers of Hyrcania doe agree,
But man to man’s become a very divell:
That Thracian god which is delighted most
With humane sacrifices, is now ador’d;
Blood-thirsty Mars now beares the onely sway,
Who direfull devastations doth affect,
Peace hath forsooke the earth, and fell debate
Shaking his batter’d armes, now stalketh every where.
I hop’d for nuptials sweet, of late, but now
I may have cause to feare a funerall.
Hymen affrighted with the confus’d noyse
Of brutish warre, is fled I know not whither.
My dearest Rhodon must depart from me,
And in the field ingage his tender Corps
To all extremities of death, of wounds, of danger,
Of sicknesse and unrest:
Vi. Strike not the ayre with this vaine language, Iris,
Wound not thy soule with these unseemely plaints,
But be content to wait the will of Jove,
Who will crowne our designes with blest successe.
For in a cause that’s honest, just, and right,
The gods themselves will take up armes and fight.
Ir. Then oh ye powers, that are the grand protectors
Of Hyblas happinesse and welfare;
Whether ye doe delight in our flower-crown’d mountaines,
Our od’rous vales, or in our Christall fountains,
Your gracious favour I implore, beseeching you
To gard the person of my dearest Rhodon;
Fond woman, how forgetfull have I bin?
Here is a gemme whose price doth farre transcend
All estimation: my faithfull Panace
Deliver’t thou unto my gentle Shepheard,
And pray him weare it for my sake.
Pa. Madam, I will.
Ir. It from the bowels of a Cocke was tane,
And whoso weares the same (as wise men say)
Shall ever be victorious in warre.
Vio. Commend me to my brother, gentle nymph,
And beare this token of my love to him:
It is the precious herbe call’d Latice,
Which whosoever weares shall never want
Sufficient sustenance both for himselfe and his;
Besides, it frustrates quite the divellish force
Of strongest poysons or enchantments. Exit Pan.
Now Iris, let us haste to Floras fane,
With our devotions let’s importune her.
These horrid sturs and troublous broiles to cease,
That we againe may live in happy peace.
Martagon, Cynosbatus, Poneria.
Ma. Divinest Matron; god-inspired Sybill
Doe this, and be what thou canst desire.
Po. Doubt not great Martagon but I will effect it.
Ma. Now deere Cynosbatus let us prepare
To resist th’ impression of our foes:
Since that our powerfull forces ready stand,
To be obedient to our great command.
Cy. With thee I am resolv’d to spend my breath,
Indifferent in the choice of life or death.
Exeunt Ma. Cy.
Po. Agnostus come forth: blacke cloud of ignorance,
Advance thy leaden pate, dull Camell.
Ag. I cannot brooke this thin and piercing ayre.
Po. Thou sonne of sleepe; that hat’st the lightsome day,
Clap on thy spectacles of judgement, and behold
How I have plaid my part.
Thou flow’st with gall (Agnostus) I confesse,
But thou hast a braine intolerably dry,
As empty of wit, as the world is of conscience.
Ag. What hast pluck’d up the flowers by the roots,
Or is all Thessaly in a combustion?
Po. Surcharg’d with deepe despite and viprous hate,
Their forces they against each other bend.
Ag. Then I hope their painted pride shal quickly be abated.
Po. But I have a plot, old plumbeous dotard,
To crop the proudest flower that growes
In Hybla or Hymettus.
Ag. Poneria, I adore thy art and wisedome.
Po. This glasse containes a rare confection:
Tis vipers bloud mix’d with the juyce of Aconite:
This is the Philter, the sweet love-potion
Which Eglantine poore love-sick foole,
Must commend to the Shepheard Rhodon,
Who this night by my appointment,
Is to meet her in the mirtle grove, under the
Name of Iris: now Ile to Eglantine,
And blesse her longing eares with these glad tidings.
Ag. Oh great profound Poneria: never yet
Was any that could parallell thy wit.
Rho. What houre of night is’t friend Acanthus?
Ac. Th’ eleventh at least: for see Orion hath
Advanced very high his starry locks in our horizon.
Rho. Me thinks the stars looke very ruddy,
As if they did portend tempestuous weather.
Ac. They doe but blush to see what crimes are acted
By mortall under covert of the night.
Rho. Saw’st thou yon star that Northward fell.
Ac. I saw the blazing meteor stoupe,
And bend his course toward the humble Center.
Rho. This seem’d a glorious, and resplendent star,
Yet was it but a grosse ill temperd meteor.
This meteor seem’d as if it had bin fix’d
In an orbe for a perpetuity,
Yet in a moment it is fallen, thou seest,
And who regards this foolish and ignoble fire,
Or lookes upon the place from whence it fell.
Ac. He that by honourable meanes is rais’d,
And hath his seat establish’d on the square
Of never sliding vertue, cannot fall.
Rho. But if young Phaeton shall undertake
To guide the Charret of the great Apollo,
And in that action shall miscarry, so
That the whole universe shall be ingag’d
To utter ruine and destruction,
Then ought great Jove to have a speciall care
For to preserve and keepe the common good.
And if he shall dismount the Chariotter,
And with a deadly blow lay him along,
The world then for his justice shall thanke Jove,
And Phaetons foole-hardiness reprove.
Ac. Who dares contest with Jove, or question what
His Soveraigne highnesse shall doe or determine.
Enter Egl. Poneria.
Rho. Tis altogether wicked & unjust: (Acanthus) retire.
For now me thinkes I see a glimpse of Iris,
Who promised to meet me here this night. Exit Ac.
Loe how the lustre of her beauty penetrates
The envyous clouds of these nocturnall shades.
Po. See yonder the beguiled lover walkes
In vaine, expecting the comming of his deare Iris,
Now, Eglantine remember my instructions,
Have a care that your tongue betray you not.
Be not too talkative in any case.
Forget not the posture I so oft told you of,
Under pretence that these cold nightly dewes are
Offensive, you may knit your veile more close,
And conceale your feature.
Eg. Poneria, retire: I will addresse my selfe unto him.
Po. But be sure you perswade him to take the
Potion before he sleepes;
You’ll remember those vertues which I told you it containes.
Forget not to declare them amply.
Eg. Make no doubt on’t: thou hast arm’d me
For all assaies.
Rho. Thou brightest star that shin’st this night,
Auspitious be thy influence to thy Rhodon.
My dearest Iris, I am surcharg’d with joy
To meet thee here.
Eg. (Deare Rhodon) who, like the vernall Sunne,
Dost lend refreshing heats to my affections.
Tak’t not amisse, that I have chose this houre
And unfrequented place t’enjoy thy company.
Rho. Sweet Iris know that I esteeme this houre of night,
Since I enjoy thy sweet society,
‘Bove all the dayes that I e’re hitherto beheld.
Eg. But from a maidens modesty (faire Sir)
It may seeme much to derogate,
To be abroad so late at night.
Rho. Since no immodest act is here intended,
The time cannot be prejudiciall
To thy unstained modesty.
Eg. Great pitty tis indeed, Sir, that true love
Should be disparag’d, because ’tis so true.
Rho. I tell thee, I till now was never happy:
All those delights which I ere saw before,
Were but meere transitory dreames,
Compar’d with that felicity which now I finde.
Eg. The sodaine newes of this late kindled warre,
Wherein I heare (to my great griefe) you are ingag’d,
Made me transgresse the bounds of modesty so farre,
That I desir’d once more to see your face,
Ere your departure to the field of danger.
Rho. Since my good fortune and thy constant love
Have joy’d me once againe with thy sweet presence,
I blesse my lot, and to the field will hasten,
As ready to out-face danger, as scorne death;
And if I there finde fortunate successe,
Of all my good Ile count thee patronesse.
Eg. And here on you I doe bestow this viall,
Which such a precious dosis doth containe,
That it doth farre exceed the height of value.
It is a potion made by wondrous art,
Nectar is no more comparable to it,
Than Bonniclabar is to Husquobath;
And Aurum potabile is as far short of it,
As poore Metheglin is of rich Canary:
All the confections even from the lowest degree
Of Sage-ale, to the height of Aqua-Celestis,
Are no more like it then the beere of the Low-countries
Is to the High-country wine:
A dram of it taken before you goe to bed
Cheeres the heart, prevents the Incubus
And all frightfull dreames; cheeres the blood,
Comforts the stomacke, dispels all collickes,
Cures all aches, repayres the liver, helpes
The lungs, rectifies the braine, quencheth
All the senses, strengthens the memory, refresheth
Taken fasting it breaks the stone in bladder
Or kidnyes, cures the gout, expels a quartane ague:
Outwardly apply’d it kils the gangrene,
And destroyes the wolfe, heales all sorts of wounds,
Bruses, boyles, and sores.
And not to use more multiplicity of words,
I tell you gentle Rhodon you shall finde,
It cures all griefes of body and of minde.
Rho. (Faire one) verball expression cannot shew
What I to thee for this great gift doe owe:
But till for all I full requitall make,
My constant love thou for a pledge shalt take.
Eg. But (gentle Sir) although your constitution
So well attemper’d seemes, that no disease
Can either hurt or over-throw your health,
Yet if my counsell might prevaile with you,
I should perswade you to make tryall of this
Rare water this night before you sleepe.
Rho. Since thou vouchsaf’st to be my kinde Physician,
For this time I will act a patients part,
And ere that sleepe shall with his leaden keyes
Locke up the portals of my drowsie eyes,
Ile taste of this most precious liquor:
But lest the gealed moisture of the night
Should prejudice thy health, (sweet Iris)
Let me conduct thee homeward.
Eg. Since these nocturnall distillations
May be offensive to your health (sweet Rhodon)
I will be well contented to be gone,
Though wondrous loth from you to part so soone.
Rho. But in my absence be assur’d of this,
That Rhodons heart in thy possession is.
Upon this shady banke with laurels crown’d,
The gentle Shepheard Rhodon dwels:
His Cottage seated is upon a Cristall River,
The sweetest streame that e’re in valley crept.
Two pretious presents I to him must beare:
The one from his true love, the beaut’ous Iris,
And that’s a gemme of admirable vertue;
The bounty of the Easterne mines could ne’re bestow
A Jewell of such worth as this,
Which from the entrailes of a Cocke was ripp’d;
For whosoever shall possesse the same,
Shall be invincible in fight.
But his deare Sister, lovely Violetta,
Commends to him this admirable plant,
The noblest herbe that e’re in garden grew.
For, setting many pretious properties aside,
It is the best and strongest antidote
That Art or Nature ever made.
No deadly poyson can withstand its power,
But is expulst by it with great facility.
These noble gifts beseeming well,
Both the receivers and the givers qualities,
I will deliver to the honour’d Swaine.
Martagon, Cynosbatus, Poneria.
Ma. Sage Dame, how fares thy grand designe?
Dost thinke thy plot will take?
Po. Nay, if you doubt it, I wish it nere might take.
Have I made hell a partie in the action,
And laid such snares, that more then humane force
Cannot withstand my well knit stratagem;
Yet will you still torment me with these doubts?
Ma. Nay gentle mother, be not so impatient.
Po. You tempt my patience, while you thus mistrust
My skill and my ability.
Cy. We doe adore thy matchlesse skill and wisdome,
Thou grace and wonder of thy sexe.
Po. Me thinkes I see the merry Post at hand,
That brings us joyfull newes of Rhodons death:
And not behinde him much me thinkes I see
Another Post, who comes with better newes,
That Rhodons army is discourag’d and discarded,
Yea quite disbanded and disperst.
Ma. Oh happy newes (divine Poneria)
Po. Yet ye account me a meere silly Dame,
Yea as silly as some simple simpering Citizen.
That hath but manners enough to take
The upper end of a Table at a feast,
And to carve a Capons legge to a Coxcombe.
Ma. The ten Sybils were no more comparable to thee,
Than an old Gentlewoman is to a yong Chambermaid.
Sweet Poneria, I am even in love with thee:
Yea, I durst almost sweare I should kisse thee,
If thou had’st but three rotten teeth in thy head.
Po. Well, my Masters, I hope you’ll thanke me
When you heare that I have made proud Rhodon
A Legier Embassadour in Don Pluto’s Court.
Ma. Thy thankes, Poneria, shall be duly paid
In eyebewitching talents;
Wee’ll rip the matrice of our grandam earth
To see the place where riches are conceiv’d;
And from her pregnant wombe we’ll draw
A golden age for thee to live in (Deare Poneria)
Po. Who would leave any villany undone,
To be thy slave, most noble Martagon.
Cy. Now Martagon let us goe put on armes,
And toward Hybla march in strong aray.
Let us deface the glory of their flowers,
If Rhodon be but dead, the day is ours.
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Based on Keywords: herbe, thinkes, combustion, chambermaid, wisdome, bladder, joyfull, incubus, properties, aray, thankes