When Atyches with better sight I eye,
Some powre me thinks beyond humanity,
Some heavenly power within his bosome lyes
And plainely looks through th' windowes of his eyes.
Thalander , if that soules departed rest
In other men, thou livest in his brest,
He is more then he seemes, or else — but see!
My love, my hate, my joy, my miserie.
Glau. Perindus , whither turnst thou? if thy wandring love
My love eschew, yet nothing canst thou see
Why thou shouldst flye me, I am no monster, friend,
That seekes thy spoyle: looke on me, I am shee
To whom th' hast vowd all fayth and loyalty,
Whom thou with vowes and prayers and oathes hast ply'd
And praying wept, and weeping beene deny'd,
And dy'd in the denyall, I am she
Whom by my brothers importunity,
Thalanders meanes, thou want'st, who still persever:
Though thou art chang'd, I loving love for ever.
Tell me am I altered in minde or bodies frame?
What then I was am I not still the same?
Per . Yes, yes, thou art the same both then and now
As faire, more faire then heavens clearest brow.
Glau . What have I now deserved?
Per . In heaven to dwell:
The purest starre deserves not heaven so well.
Glau. Perindus , I am the same, ah I am she
I was at first, but thou, thou art not hee
Which once thou wast.
Per . True, ah too true:
Then was I happy being so distressed,
And now most miserable by being blessed.
Glau . Tell me what thus hath chang'd thy former love,
Which once thou sworst nor heaven nor hell could move:
How hath this scorne and hate stolne in thy heart
And on a Commick stage, hast learnt the art
To play a tyrant, and a foule deceiver?
To promise mercy, and performe it never?
To looke more sweete, maskt in thy lookes disguise,
Then mercies selfe, or pitties gracious eyes.
Per . Fa, la, la, fa, la, la, lah.
Glau . Ah me most miserable.
Per . Ah me mo[re] miserable.
Glau . Wretched Glaucilla , where hast thou set thy love!
Thy plaints his joy, thy teares his laughter move,
Sencelesse of these he sings at thy lamenting,
And laughs [and dances] at thy hearts tormenting.
Wretched Glaucilla .
Per . More wretched Perindus ,
Where by refusing life, thou diest for whom
Thou livest, in whom thou drawst thy joy and breath,
And to accept thy life is more then death.
Glau. Perindus.
Per. Fa, la, la, fa, la, la, lah.

Haplesse and fond, too fond and haplesse maide,
Whose hate with love, whose love with hate is payd,
Or learne to hate where thou hast hatred prov'd,
Or learne to love againe, where thou art lov'd;
Thy love gets scorne: doe not so dearely earne it,
At least learne by forgetting to unlearne it.
Ah fond and haplesse maide, but much more fond
Canst thou unlearne the lesson thou has cond?
Since then thy fixed love will leave thee never,
He hates thy love, leave thou his hate forever,
And though his yce might quench thy loves desiring
Live in his love and die in his admiring.
Olinda so late abroad?
The sunne is now at rest, heavens winking eyes
All drowsie seeme, love onely rest denies:
But thou art free as aire, what is the reason?
What glasse is this?
Olin . Prethee Glaucilla
Doe not thus search my soules deepe ranckling wound
Which thou canst never helpe when thou hast found.
Glau . Thy soule was wont to lodge within mine eare,
And ever was it safely harboured there:
My eare is not accquainted with my tongue
That eyther tongue or eare should doe thee wrong.
Yet doe not tell me, I'le [tell] thee, I spie
Thy burning feaver i[n] thy teltale eye.
Thou lovst, deny it not, thou lovst Olinda .
In vaine a chest to locke up flames we seeke
Which now with purple fires thy blushing cheek[e].
Olin . Th'art such a mistris in th[is] loving art
That all in vaine I hide my love sicke heart
And yet as vaine to open't now tis hid.
Glau . Why so loves hee another?
Olin . I would he did.
Glau . Strange wish in love, much rather had I die.
Is he then perisht?
Olin . Yes and with him I.
Glau . I prethee tell me all, doe not conceale it,
Ile mourne with thee if that I cannot heale it.
Olin . Heare then and who so ere maiyst be a bride
Learne this of me to hate thy maiden pride.
Atyches thou knowest?
Glau . Thy champion?
Olin . The same.
Almost a yeare since he came to this towne
When finding mee fishing along the shore
Silent he angles by mee, till at length
Seeing mee take a star fish, and fling't away
He straight demands why I refus'd that pray:
The cause I said was hate, he thus replied:
Alas poore fish how wretch'ed is your fate
When you are kild for love sav'd but for hate;
Yet then that fish much worse the fisher swaine
Who for his love by hate is causeles slaine.
Glau . Yet happier he that's slaine by loves defying
Then she in [h]ate that lives yet ever dying.
Olin . But soone as love he nam'd, I straight was parting.
He holding mee thus speaks; stay Nymph and heare
I bring thee newes which well deserves thine eare.
He which most loves thee and thou hatest most
Thalander (at his name my guiltie heart
Ashamed of itselfe did in me start);
He thus went on: Thalander's dead, and dying
By oath and all his love swore me to see thee
With these few words: Thalander quite forsaken
Would send to thee what thou from him hast taken
All life and health, and ne're his love remooving
Wishes thee a friend more happie and as loving.
And with this prayer these legacies he sends thee,
This pipe his mother Circes gift, to bind
With this soft whistle the loud whistling wind;
And with this pipe he left this precious ring
Whose vertues cuers a venemous tooth or sting.
Glau . Thalander were wee nothing like the other
Only thy love would prove thou art my brother.
Did not this move thee?
Olin. Glaucilla why should I lie?
I tooke them as spoiles from a slaine enemie,
And for these gifts (sayes he) his last demand
Was this, [by me] that [hee] might kisse thy hand:
The last, the only gift thou canst impart
To such, so loving, and now dying heart!
I grant; [h]e gone, upon the Ring I spie
A Rubie cut most artificially,
Wherein was fram'd a youth in fire consuming,
And round within it as the Ring I turne,
I found these words, Alive or dead, I burne.
Glau . These words well fitt his heart, so you, so I,
Thalander living loves, and loving dies.
Olin . But oh those fained flames, such strange desires,
Such true, such lasting, never-quenched fires
Have kindled in my brest, that all the Art
Of Triphons selfe cannot allay my smart:
Ah Glaucilla , the scornefull proud Olinda ;
Which at so sweete a love a mockery made,
Who scornd the true Thalander , loves his shade;
Whose thousand graces living could not turne mee,
His ashes now hee's dead to ashes burne mee.
Glau . If thus you love him, how canst thou allow
Thy love to Atyches ! late didst thou vowe
In Neptunes temple to be his for ever.
Olin . My hand he married there, my heart ah never.
Glaucilla , I love him for his love to mee,
For such his venture, for such his victorie,
But most, because in love he is my rivall,
Because hee's like and love[s] my Love Thalander .
Ah, if my life will please him, let him take it,
He gave it mee and I would faine forsake it.
Had it beene mine to give, my wretched heart,
Not worth his dangerous fight, I would impart:
But that is thine, Thalander thine for ever,
With [th]ee tis buried and arise shall never.
[ Glau .] And wherefore serves this glasse?
Olin . This is a dessamour Cosma lately gave mee.
Glau. Olinda , knowst not yet the treachery
Of Cosma , she thy greatest enemy?
Prethee let me see't: shouldst thou this liquor prove,
I tell thee, friend, 'twill quench thy life and love.
But so Ile temper't, it shall better please thee,
And after few spent houres shall ever ease thee.
Olin . Tis beyond art, who there can give reliefe.
Where patients hate the cure, more then the griefe?
Glau . Yes, by my art, before th'art 12 houres older,
Ile ease thy heart, though never make it colder.
Con. Glaucilla and Olinda ? I mar['l]e what mettle,
What leaden earth and water nature put
Into these Nymphes, as cold, as dull, as frozen
As the hard rockes they dwell on! But my Mistris
Shee's all quicksilver, never still, still moving,
Now is she with some shepheard or some fisher,
And here she sets me to entertaine all commers:
This is the houre her Lovers use to muster.
But who should this be? ist you, old boy?
Old ten i'th hundred, are you the captaine? boh!
Fred . Beshrew your heart, you are a very naughty boy,
I shake every joynt of me.
Con . No shaking palsey, nor crampe has tane possession
Of your nimble limbes: ha, ha, he.
Fred . Boy, where's thy Mistris?
Con . Where she would bee.
Fred . Where's that?
Con . Where you would bee.
Fred . What, in her bed?
Con . Ah old goate, doe I smell you? ye[s] in her bed.
Fred . May not I speake a word or two with her?
Con . What a fool tis? thou hast spoken twice 2 allreadie.
Fred . I but I would speake them in her eare.
Con . I know your errand but I preethee tell mee
Fredocaldoe how [is it] possible
That all the bellowes in loves fathers shoppe
Should kindle any fire in such a frost?
Fred . Thou knowst not what is love, I tell thee boy
I love faire Cosma more then all her lovers.
Con . Now in my conscience he says true, this old wood
Makes a brighter fire then the greenest ever.
Fred . Conchylio th'art deceiv'd, hast [thou] not seene
That [often] May the lust of all the yeare
Nipt with the hoarie frost grows cold and chare?
And oft October though the yeares declining
With many daintie flowers is fairely shining;
For as the flaming sunne puts out the fire
So may the heate of love quench loves desir[e].
Con . Could this dotard doe as well as speake, he might —
Fred . I tell thee boy, when I was young —
Con . That was at the siedge of Troy : now shall wee have more tales then ever poets made. But what will you give mee Fredocaldoe if I helpe thee in the rockie cave, neere to the mirtle grove, to speake with Cosma all alone?
Fred . If thou'l doe it, Ile give thee as faire an otter tamd for fishing as ever was in Sicely .
Con . Your hand on that: Ah old Saturne cold and dry! well Ile doe't.
Fred . But when Conchylio when?
Con . Within this houre expect her.
Fred . Wilt thou be sure?
Con . Why did I ever deceive you?
Fred . Never never.
Con . Beleeve mee Fredocaldoe I say beleeve mee then.
Fred . Farewell; I'le keepe my promise.
Con . Faile not within this houre:
I know not what this old man's like, unlesse
Our hill of Sicely the flaming Ætna :
Whose parche[d] bowells still in fire consuming
Fils all the val[e] with flame and pitchy fuming.
Yet on his top congealed snow doth lye
As if there were not fire nor Phaebus nie.
Why should we count this strange? when even so
This old mans heart's all fire, his head all snow?
But what fresh souldier's this?
Ar . My pretty wagge?
Con . Sure you doe mistake me, sir, I am anothers.
Ar . Thou dost mistake mee, boy, I know well whose thou art.
Con . I doubt you doe not.
Ar . Th'art faire Cosmaes boy.
Con . My mother told me [noe].
Ar . Th'art a very wagge, take this, my boy.
Con . True sir, now I am yours indeede; what! yellow? yours to command: what would you with me?
Ar . Seest thou?
Con . Yes I see very well.
Ar . Thou art too quicke: I prethee let me see thy Mistris.
Con . Troth, sir, you cannot, shee's taken up with other business, or rather taken downe, yet i'le trie sir.
Ar . Oft have I marvaild how the erring eye,
Which of his proper object cannot lye,
In other subject[s], failes so in his duty
When hee's to judge of's chiefest object beauty.
None takes the night for day, the day for night.
The Lillies seeme alike to every sight:
Yet when we partiall judge of beauties graces,
Which are but colours plac't in womens faces,
The eye seemes never sure; the selfesame show
And face, this thinkes a swanne, and that a crow.
But sure our minds with strong affections tainted,
Looke through our eyes as through a glasse that's painted.
So when we view our loves, we never see
What th'are, but what we faine would have them be.
Thus Atyches, Perindus thus affecting
These Nymphs , make them seem worthiest their respecting,
And thus to lov[e] their beauties never move them:
But therefore beautious seeme because they love them.
Methinks this Cosma farre them both excels,
In whose high forehead love commanding dwels.
I like not this same too much modestie;
Commend the Senate for their gravity.
The wanton Nymph doth more delight me farre,
The[se] modest Nymphs doe more seeme chaste then are,
Women are all alike, the difference this,
That seemes and is not, that both seemes and is.
Or if some are not, as they call it, ill,
They want the power and meanes, but not the will.
Con . My Mistris as yet is so overlayd with sport or busines, she cannot speake with you: may not I know your errand?
Ar . My errand boy is love.
Con . Love (um) tis light enough, I shall carry it away: 'tis so short I shall remember it; but troth sir, another golden star this starlesse night dropt in my hand, may chance to give light to make my Mistris shine in your armes.
Ar . Hold thee boy, hold thee: will that content thee?
Con . Sir doe you know the myrtle grove?
Ar . Yes well.
Con . Your star will conduct [her] thither straight, within this houre shee'l meete you there.
Ar . How canst thou assure it?
Con . Trust mee I'le procure it;
Else never more let me see golden stars.
Ar . I'le try thee boy, 'tis but one mis-spent houre,
If thou performe thy promise good Conchylio ,
Many such glittering nights shall shine on thee.
Con . If? make no question sir.
Ar . Farewell.
Con . Adiew.
This strange new bird, this goose with golden eggs
Must with some graine of hope bee cherished,
And yet not fedde too fat; now for my Crab,
Here's his twin, if heavens signes are right.
Next to the crab, the twin must come in sight,
I'le out and seeke him.

Scrocca, Cancrone.

Scr. Saile home by land quotha? well, I'le have that saddle boate hung up for a monument in the temple of Odoxcom[bria], hard by the everlasting shooes; and now to see the ill lucke on't, never more neede of fish, a bounsing feast toward[s], [a n]umber of guests, not a whiting, not a haddock, not a cod-mop in the house: and in stead of catching fish, wee must goe fish for our nets, Cancrone , come along, along, along: the Orke's dead and buried, the Orke's dead and buried.
Can. I but does not his ghost walke thereabout? On afore, I'le follow hintly fintly, by the hobnailes of Neptune [ s ] horse-shooes —
Scr. Nay if you sweare, we shall catch no fish, what Cancrone , sneake you still? whoop, we shall fish fairely if your [sea a]rmore be off:
How now, what all in white?
Can. Seest not I am busified? doest thou thinke a man can button his coate and talke all at once?
Scr. My prettie sea-cob, why I preethee why in thy white?
Can. Ino triumph! Ino triumph! [I] tell thee this is my triumphing sute, did not wee vanquish the Orke?
Scr. I hope so too: but all our fellow fishers say t'was Atyches .
Can. [True,] Atyches kild him alive, and wee kild him dead.
Scr. I preethee on with thy gaberdine againe.
Can. My old scaly slimie gaberdine? why, if I should fish in that, every finne would smell mee.
Scr. Well, our nets are not above ground, what shall wee doe?
Can. Why then Sir, you must goe seeke them under ground.
Scr. Well Sir, you'l follow.
Can. Muddie Scrocca , canst thou not perceive Cancrones inside by his new out-side? my old Orke apparell, my pitch patch poledavies had no good perfume for a sweete lover, as I now must bee: but why a lover? because I meane to kill the next Orke hand to hand; for my masters sisters sweetheart Ataches , because a lover, therefore an Orkekiller .

Con. What? old crab tortoise? has the Orke made you cast your shell?
Can. Fish mee no fishing: I'me all for flesh.
Con. Th[is] lob hath learnt that [lov]ers keepe no lent.
Can. Therfore thou blue-beard Neptune , and thou triumphing Triton , and thou watchet jacket Glaucus, Daucus, Maucus , and all the rest of the salt fish gods, I denounce you all, and for your formable farewell, I doe here reach forth to your dropping driveling deities my love warme hand to kisse.
So, have you done? Fie flapmouth
Triton , thou beslaverest mee.
Con. O doutie love[r]! heres more game for my mistresses net, or rather for mine.
Can. Nothing but Venus smocke or Cupids wing shall wipe it dry; surmount thy wagging wanton wing to mee, god Cupid .
Con. Are you there? I Orkt you once, and now Ile fit you [w th ] a Cupid .
Can. Mee thinks I am growne very eloquent alreadie; thanks sweete love; O now for my master Perindus , he has a fine crosse cut with's armes, and yet that Orke-catcher Ataches has a pesslence carriage on's pate: the Nymphs beleare him par[louslie]: so, so, so.

Now Cupid doe I come to thee ,
To thee, upon my bare-head knee:
Knee never bare-head yet before,
Before it begged at thy doore.

Scr. What? devout Cancrone knocking at Cupids doore?
Can. Ah Scrocca , thou hast corrupted the goodest verse! I was making my supplantation to Trustie Triton for good lucke, and see if he have not heard mee: our nets are returnd.
Scr. He might well heare thee for this once: for thou doest not trouble him often. But if I had not lookt to them better then he had, wee might have gone whistle for them: come Cancrone , will you goe?
Can. Yes I warrant you, I'le peradventure my person in a Cocke-boate.
Scr. Why then wee'l take the gallie foist.
Can. Goe foist if you will, the burnt child dreads the water, and good men are scantie, make much of one, Cancrone .
Scr. Well, if you come, you shall have us at the red roc[k]e.
Can. Yes, I'le fish on land for mermaids.
This dog-fish had almost put mee out of my love-lesson.
Now to thee againe, courteous Cupid .

All sunke and soust in soppy love ,
Cupid for thy mothers dove
Helpe.

Con. All haile, Cancrone ,
According to thy wish I here am present
Great King of hearts, Duke of desires, Lord of love,
Whom mortals gentle Cupid doe ycleape.
Can. Beest thou Cupid ? thou art vile like our Conchylio .
Con. True, Cancrone ,
And lest the beames of my bright deitie
Should with their lustre wound those infant eyes,
I have vouchsaf't in this forme to appeare,
Lo, thy Conchylio and thy Cupid here:
What wouldst thou with mee?
Can. I have a suite to your godship.
Con. So it be not your Orke-suite I embrace it:
Say on, my darling.
Can. I am in love as they say, but I cannot tell whom to be in love withall.
Con. Here are Nymphs enow, Urina, Olinda, Lilla, Glaucilla, Bobadilla .
Can. Mee thinks that Boberdil sounds like a fine play-fellow for mee.
Con. No, I'le tell thee one, her [verie] name shall make thy mouth water.
Can. Make water in my mouth? thats Urina , I'le none of her, shee's too high colourd.
Con. No, tis Cosma , the fishers flame, the shepheards hope, whose beautie Pas admires.
Can. I, but will you throw forth a good word for mee?
Con. I tell thee I'le make her all to belove thee, shee shall not rest till shee meete thee here; but first I must arme thee with some magicke charmes.
Can. What be they? my chops would faine be champing them.
Con. First you must anagramatize her name, then sympathize your owne.
Can. Tize, zize, thize. I shall ne're hit that.
Con. For an anagram I'le fit you: Cosma a smocke.
Can. Prettie.
Con. For the sympathie of your owne name [no more] but thus, your name Cancrone bids you counterfeite the counter-creeping crab; and goe backward to her.
Can. Doe I looke like a crab? I had rather goe forward to a Nymph .
Con. Thirdly, because every fisher is borne under Pisces, therefore the signe is in the foote with you: you must come therefore with one foote bare.
Can. I but shall I not catch cold and cough and spoile my part?
Con. It must be the right foote: and then seest thou this mirtle tree? all my arrowes are made of the wood of it, thou must in her sight get up and gather the highest bough of it.
Can. I but what shall I doe with the bough?
Con. O the bough? why, setting thus a prettie while, you must wrappe a cockle garland about it, and then when the poore lasse melts and consumes with thy love —
Can. Then I'le throw it at her, & come downe to her, shall I not?
Con. Excellent well, I see thou art inspir'd.
Can. Nay I can take it, if you put it to mee.
Con. But the just nicke when thou must throw it is, when she says I die, I cry, I lie.
Can. I die, I cry, I lye, I would have her lie, but not die, but will you make her come indeede?
Con. I and in her best clothes too.
Can. Nay 'tis no such matter for clothes, but what must I say? I had almost forgot it.
Con. Nothing but a short charme, which I'le teach you as we goe; on afore, I'le follow you.
Can. Let me see: backward?
Con. Blockhead.
Can. Barelegge?
Con. Beetlepate.
Can. Cockleshell?
Con. Coxecombe.
Can. Boughs?
Con. Bussard.
Can. The towne's ours. Ino triumph, Ino triumph.
Con. I'le coole my hot lover, he shall sit on a perch for a stale, now must I be uncupidate, & shortly appeare here Cosmafied, it shall be hard but with the same limetwig I'le catch a bigger bird then this.

First I will serve my selfe, my mistris after ;
My baite is seeming love, my prey true laughter.

What art, strength, wit, can tame a fish or flye?
The least of creatures us'd to liberty,
With losse of life shake off base captive chaines,
And with restraint [of food] all life disdaines.
But I, ah foole, yeld up my selfe a slave,
And what they shunne by death, doe basely crave:
My griefe more then my folly, who deplore
That which all others use to wish before:
My love loves too too much too many,
For while she liketh all, she loves not any.
Love, let my prayers yet thus farre onely move thee,
Let me her falsly, or she truely love me.
See where she comes; [o] that so bright a sunne
Should have no spheare, no certaine race to runne:
I'le stand and over-heare her.
Cos. I can but smile to thinke how foolish wise
Those women are, that chuse their loves for wisedome.
Wisedome in men's a golden chaine to tie
Poore women in a glorious slavery.
Pas. Hark Heavens! O monstrous! harke: O women, women.
Cos. Fond men, that blame the love that ever ranges.
To foule and sluttish love, that never changes!
The Muses love by course to change their meeter,
Love is like linnen often chang'd, the sweeter.
Pas. Thus these neate creatures, dead with love and all,
By shunning beastlines, make it beastiall.
Cos. Our beauty is our good, the cause of love:
Fond that their good to th' best will not improve;
What Husbandman neglects his time of sowing?
What fisher loseth winds, now fairely blowing?
Beauty our good: ah good, [too] short and brittle,
A little little good, for time as little,
How easie doest thou slide, and passe away?
Unborne, full growne, and buried in a day.
Thy spring is short, and if thou now refuse it,
Tis gone, when faine thou wouldst, thou shalt not use it.
The time and every minute daily spends thee.
Spend thou the time, while time fit leisure lends thee.
Pas. Does she not blush? hark, women, heres your preacher,
Maids, [if] you want a Mistris; heres a teacher.
Cos. Now since Conchylio spake of this Armillus ,
My new found lover, I halfe long to try him:
[If he bee as hee seems, I'le not denye him.]
Too cruell she that makes her hearts contenting,
To see a heart languish in loves tormenting.
What though i'th' night we live most wantonly?
I' th' morne with clothes we put on modestie.
Thus though [I] sport, and wanton all the night
Next sunne ile act a part of feare and fright.
Pas. Modestie? marry guipp: these are your modest creatures.
Cos. Long have I hated Olinda , and Glaucilla ,
And one of them by this hath drunke her last,
The next shall follow ere the next day's past.
The ginne is layd, and if it hit aright,
This is her last, this her eternall night.
Perindus long I [have lov'd,] who ever scorn'd mee,
Because he loves Glaucilla ; I know hee'l grieve:
But when the tempest once is overblowne,
Hoyst up all sailes; the prize is sure mine owne.
Ill for a woman is that woman plac't,
Who like old Janus , is not double fac't.
Now to Armillus who sure expects me.
How darke the night? more fit for Lovers play.
The darkest night is lovers brightest day.
Pas. Well Mistris Jana with your double face,
I thinke I shall outface you by and by.
Ile fit you for a face i'fayth, I could be mad now.
Well, since you are sportive, i'le make one i'th play;
You have a foole already, i'le act a Devill;
And since you needes must to a new consort,
Ile beare a part, and make or marre the sport.

Perindus. Pas.

Per. Atyches?
Pas. No: Pas.
Per. If thou seest Atyches , send him hither friend;
Of all the plagues that torture soules in hell,
Tantale , thy punishment doth most excell.
For present goods, thy evill most expresse,
Making thee unhappy in thy happinesse.
Such are my paines: my blessednes torments mee,
I see, and [not] enjoy what mo[st cont]ents me.
My life then love, I rather would forsake,
Yet for my life, my love I dare not take.
Glaucilla , couldst thou see this wretched brest,
What torments in it never resting rest,
Whom now thou thinkst the cause of all thy greeving,
Then thou wouldst judge the wretchedst creature living.
She's here.

Glau. Perindus , whither goest thou? the day's enough
To shew thy scorne, the night was made for rest.
For shame if not for love, let night relieve me:
Take not that from mee, which thou wilt not give me.
Knowst thou this place? even here thou first didst vow,
Which I beleev['d], and still me thinkes even now
Cannot unbeleev't, that when thy constant heart,
From his first onely vowed love should start,
These waving seas should stand, [t]hose rocks remove.
Per. Fa, la, la, fa, la, la, lab.
Glau. O dancing levity, you steady rocks,
Still stand you still? his fayth he lightly mocks.
Yee fleeting waves, why doe you never stand?
His [love, his words], his oathes, are writ in sand.
In rocks and seas I finde more sense and loving,
The rock[s] lesse hard then he, the sea[s] lesse moving.
Per. Didst never see the rockes in sayling move?
Glau. Not move, but seeme to move.
Per. My picture right.
Glau. What says Perindus ?
Per. Ha, ha, he, how scurvily griefe laughs!
Glau. Perindus , by all the vowes I here conjure thee,
The vow[s] that on thy soule thou didst assure me,
Tell me why thus my love thou false refusest?
Why me thy fayth thy selfe thou thus [abusest]?
Per. Ay me.
Glau. How fares my love?
Per. Ah Glaucilla .
Glau. I know thou canst not hate me.
Per. I cannot hate, but laugh, and dance and sport,
This is not hate, Glaucilla , 'tis not hate.
Glau. Canst thou Perindus thus delude me?
I've liv'd enough, farewell: thou last hast viewd mee.
Per. Glaucilla?
Glau. How canst thou speake that hated name?
Per. Stay.
Glau. To be mockt?
Per. Stay, i'le tell thee all.
Glau. Me thinks this forced mirth does not beseeme thee:
Sure 'tis not thine, it comes not from thy heart.
Per. Glaucilla , call backe thy wish, seeke not to know
Thine or my death, thou winst thine overthrow.
Glau. Thy griefe is common, I have my part in thine:
Take not that from me which is justly mine.
Per. If I had any joy, it were thine owne,
But grant me to be wretched all alone.
Glau. Now all thy griefe is mine, but it unhiding,
Halfe thou wilt take away, by halfe dividing.
Per. Thou seekst my love, it is my love to hide it,
And I shall shew more hate, when I divide it.
Glau. Thy love thus hid, to me [all] hatred proves,
Unhide thy hate, this hate will shew it loves.
Per. Glaucilla , while my griefes untouched rest,
My better part s[l]ee[p]es quiet in [m]y brest.
Glau. So thou art well, but still my better part,
Perindus , sinkes all loaden with his smart:
So thou my finger cu[r]'st, and woundst my heart.
Per. Since then thou wilt not give me leave to hide it,
Briefely 'tis thus: when thou thy love hadst vowd me
Most sure, but yet no certaine time allowd me;
My marriage day as all my good desiring,
To Proteus Cell I went, the time enquiring,
There heard these words, the cause of all my sadnes,
The cause of all my seeming hate and gladnesse.
Thus went th' Oracle.

The day, that thou with griefe so long forbearest,
Shall bring thee what thou wishest most and fearest.
Thy sisters grave shall bee her marriage bed,
In one selfe day twice dying, and once dead.
Thy friend, whom thou didst ever dearest choose,
In loosing thou shalt finde, in finding loose.
And briefly to conclude the worst at last,
Thou, or thy Love shall from a rocke be cast.

Glaucilla , had thy love but with my life beene priz'd,
My life t'enjoy thy love I had despis'd.
But since it may be thine, thy life[s] destroying,
Shall nere bee given for my loves enjoying:
Much rather, let me live in fires tormenting,
Then with such purchase buy my hearts contenting.
Glau. Then love's the cause of all thy seeming hate,
What hast thou seene in me, that I should seeme,
My life more then thy love, or mine esteeme?
Perindus thy hate hath cost me often dying,
So hast thou given mee death, by death denying:
For th' Oracle, with death I am contented,
And will not feare, what cannot be prevented.
Per. Yet though such mischiefe Proteus did divine,
Much better sped I at [th]y fathers shrine:
Comming to Delphos, where the Pythian maid
Told me my wishes should be fully paid
And that within few dayes I should arrive
Through many bitter stormes, into the hive.
Glau. Why doubtst thou then? adiew love till to morrow,
Next rising sunne shall to thee ease thy sorrow.
Per. Maist thou prove true, or if heaven bad decree
The good be thine, light all the bad on me.
Glau. Farewell.
[ Per. ] Thou givest Glaucilla what thou wishest good rest.
This victory my minde hath whole possest,
And from my eyes shuts out all sleepe and rest:
If I but slumber, streight my fancie dreames,
This Atyches is much more then he seemes:
Comming to his couch, I found his emptie bed
As yet untoucht, himselfe from sleepe is fled.
But soft, whom have wee here?
Atych. The Oxe now feeles no yoke, all labour sleepes,
The soule unbent, this as her play-time keepes,
And sports it selfe in fancies winding streames,
Bathing his thoughts in thousand winged dreames.
The fisher tyr'd with labour, snorteth fast,
And never thinks of paines to come or past,
Only love waking rest and sleepe despises,
Sets later then the sunne, and sooner rises.
With him the day as night, the night as day,
All care, no rest, all worke, no holy-day.
How different from love is lovers guise!
He never opes, they never shut their eyes.
Per. Ha: this is he, I'le stand and overheare him.
Atych. So: I am alone, ther's none but I,
My griefe, my love, my wonted company,
And which best fits a grieved lovers sprite,
The silent stars and solitarie night.
Tell mee heavens sentinels that compasse round
This ball of earth, on earth was [e]ver found
A love like mine, so long, so truly serv'd,
Whose wage is hate, have all my paines deserv'd
Contempt? mine and her fo[es] shee deare affected:
The more I lov'd, the more I was neglected.
Since thou canst love where thou hast hatred prov'd,
Olinda , how canst thou hate where thou art lov'd?
Thy body is mine by conquest, but I find,
Thy bodie is not alwayes with thy mind.
Give both or none, or if but one, o'th'two
Give mee thy mind, and let thy bodie goe.
If this without thy minde I only have,
What giv'st thou more to me then to thy grave?
Proove mee, my deare, what canst thou hate in mee?
Unlesse my love, my love still bent on thee?
My name's Thalander , perhaps it doth displease thee,
I will refuse my name, if that may ease thee.
Thalander to exile wee'l still confine,
And i'le be Atyches , so I bee thine.
Per. Thalander ? i[s']t possible? I oft suspected.
How he is altered! not himselfe! i[s']t possible?
Aty. Yet what thou hat'st, thy brother loves as well.
Tell me, my dearest love, what have I done?
What has Thalander done? ah tell mee.
Per. More
Then thousand such as she can nere restore,
Thalander ; start not; how have my eyes deceiv'd me?
Ah, let me blesse my armes with thy embraces.
My deare, Thalander , my only life, my heart,
My soule, O of my soule the better part.
I[s']t thee I hold; I scarce dare trust mine eyes,
Which thus deceiv'd mee by their former lies.
Aty. Thou welcomst miserie while thine armes infold mee.
Per. I am the blessedst man that lives to hold thee.
My heart doth dance to finde thee.
Aty. Ah Perindus ,
When least thou thinkst, thou art deceived most,
My selfe, my love, my labour I have lost;
[That thou hast found mee then how canst thou prove]
When I have lost my selfe, to finde my love?
Per. In losing of thy [selfe, thy love] th'ast found;
She loves thee friend most dearely, [all the ground
Of all her frownes to thee, of all thy smart
Is 'cause shee thinks thou art not who thou art.
Aty. If this be true? if this be possible?
Per. Thalander , heere I sweare
By all thy love, shee holds thy love most deare.]
And though she thought thy love would be her death,
Yet for and in thy love, shee'd lose her breath,
And nothing else should grieve her in the end
She had [but] one life for such a love to spend.
Aty. Doe not deceive me.
Per. Why shouldst thou mistrust me?
Aty. Perindus , my joy, by too much joy enjoying,
I feele not halfe my joy, by over-joying.
Per. Her selfe shall speake it. Come, let's goe.
Aty. 'Tis night!
Per. Shee'l thinke it day, when thou art in her sight.
Aty. Lead me, for yet my mind, too much affected
To have it so, makes truth it selfe suspected.

CHORUS.

Love is the fire, damme, nurse, and seede
Of all that aire, earth, waters breede.
All these earth, water, aire, fire,
Though contraries, in love conspire.
Fond painters: love is not a lad,
With bow, and shafts, and feathers clad;
As he is fancied in the braine
Of some loose loving idle swaine,
Much sooner is he felt then seene,
His substance subtile, slight and thinne,
Oft leaps bee from the glancing eyes,
Oft in some smooth mount he lyes,
Soonest he winnes, the fastest flyes:
Oft lurkes he twixt the ruddy lips,
Thence while the heart his Nectar sips,
Downe to the soule the poyson slips,
Oft in a voyce creeps downe the eare,
Oft hides his darts in golden haire,
Oft blushing cheeks do light his fire[s],
Oft in a smooth soft [s]kinne retires,
Often in smiles, often in teares;
His flaming heate in water beares,
When nothing else kindles desire,
Even vertues selfe shall blow the fire:
Love with thousand darts abounds,
Surest and deepest vertue wounds,
Oft himselfe becomes a dart,
And love with love, doth love impart.
Thou painfull pleasure, pleasing paine,
Thou gainefull l[oss]e, thou losing gaine:
Thou bitter sweete, easing disease,
How doest thou by displeasing please?
How doest thou thus bewitch the heart?
To love in hate, to joy in smart.
To thinke it selfe most bound, when free,
And freest in his slavery.
Every creature is thy debter,
None but loves, some worse, some better:
Onely in love, they happy proove,
Who love what most deserves their love.