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_Cli._ Noe, I thanke G.o.d.
_Tyr._ Yet you shall both dye quicklye.
Goe, thou hast done, Tyresias; bidd adiew; [_Exit._ Thy part is well plaid & thy wordes are true.
_Dor._ Shall wee dye quickly, both? I pray what coulour?
Ile bee a diar, thou shalt be a fuller; Weele cozin the prophett, I my life will p.a.w.ne yee, Thou shalt dye whyte, & Ile dye oreng tawnye.
_Enter_ NARCISSUS _walkinge_.
_Cli._ O eyes, what see you? Eyes, bee ever bloud shedd That turne your Master thus into a codshead. [300]
O eyes, noe eyes, O instruments, O engines, That were ordain'd to worke your Master's vengeance!
His huge orentall beawty melts my eyeb.a.l.l.s Into rayne dropps, even as sunne doth s...o...b..lles.
_Dor._ Cracke eye strings, cracke, [F. 76r rev.]
Runne eyes, runne backe, My lovely brace of beagles; Looke no more on Yon s.h.i.+ninge sunne, For your eyes are not eagles. [310]
Leave off the chace My pretty brace, And hide you in your kennell, And hunt no more, Your sight is sore; Oh that I had some fennell!
_Nar._ Leave off to bragg, thou boy of Venus bredd, I am as faire as thou, for white & redd; If then twixt mee & thee theres no more oddes, Why I on earth & thou amongst the G.o.ddes? [320]
_Cli._ Thy voice, Narcisse, so softly & so loude, Makes in mine eares more musicke then a crowde Of most melodious minstrells, & thy tonge Is edged with silver, & with iewells strunge; Thy throate, which speaketh ever & anan, Is farre more shriller then the pipe of Pan, Thy weasand pipe is clearer then an organ, Thy face more faire then was the head of Gorgon, Thy haire, which bout thy necke so faire dishevells, Excells the haire of the faire queene of devills, [330]
And thy perfumed breath farr better savours Then does the sweat hot breath of blowing Mavors; Thy azur'd veynes blewer then Saturne s.h.i.+ne, And what are Cupids eyes to those of thine? [F. 75v rev.]
Thy currall cheeks hath a farre better l.u.s.tre Then Ceres when the sunne in harvest bust her; Silenus for streight backe, & I can tell yee, You putt downe Bacchus for a slender bellye.
To pa.s.se from braunch to barke, from rine to roote, Venus her husband hath not such a foote. [340]
_Dor._ O thou whose cheeks are like the skye so blewe, Whose nose is rubye, of the sunnlike hue, Whose forhead is most plaine without all rinkle, Whose eyes like starrs in frosty night doe twinkle, Most hollowe are thy eyelidds, & thy ball Whiter then ivory, brighter yea withall, Whose ledge of teeth is farre more bright then jett is, Whose lipps are too, too good for any lettice, O doe thou condiscend vnto my boone, Graunt mee thy love, graunt it, O silver spoone, [350]
Silver moone, silver moone.
_Cli._ Graunt mee thy love, to speake I first begunne, Graunt mee thy love, graunt it, O golden sunne.
_Nar._ Nor sunne, nor moone, nor twinkling starre in skye, Nor G.o.d, nor G.o.ddesse, nor yet nimphe am I, And though my sweete face bee sett out with rubye, You misse your marke, I am a man as you bee.
_Dor._ A man, Narcisse, thou hast a manlike figure; Then bee not like vnto the savage tiger, [F. 75r rev.]
So cruell as the huge camelion, [360]
Nor yet so changing as small elephant.
A man, Narcisse, then bee not thou a wolfe, To devoure my hart in thy mawes griping gulfe, Bee none of these, & lett not nature vaunt her That shee hath made a man like to a panther; A man thou art, Narcisse, & soe are wee, Then love thou vs againe as wee love thee.
_Nar._ A man I am, & sweare by G.o.ds above I cannot yett find in my heart to love.
_Dor._ Cannott find love in hart! O search more narrowe, [370]
Thou well shalt knowe him by his ivory arrowe; That arrowe, when in breast, my bloud was tunninge, Broacht my harts barrell, sett it all a runninge, Which with loves liquor vnles thou doe staunch, All my lifes liquor will runne out my paunche.
_Nar._ Why would you have mee love? You talke most oddlye, Love is a naughty thinge & an unG.o.dlye.
_Cli._ Is love unG.o.dlye? Love is still a G.o.d.
_Nar._ But in his nonage allwaies vnder rodde.
_Amb._ O love, Narcissus, wee beseech thee, O love. [380]
_Nar._ Noe love, good gentiles, Ile a.s.sure you, noe love.
[_Exeunt_ DORASTUS _et_ CLINIAS, _ambulat_ NARCISSUS.
_Enter_ FLORIDA, CLOIS.
Clois, what ist I wis that I doe see, [F. 74v rev.]
What forme doth charme this storme within my breast, What face, what grace, what race may that same bee, So faire, so rare, debonaire, breeds this vnrest?
How white, how bright, how light, like starre of Venus His beames & gleames so streames so faire between vs!
_Clo._ 'Tis Venus sure, why doe wee stand and palter?
Lett vs goe shake our thighes vpon the altar.
_Flo._ Most brightest Hasparus, for thou seemst to mee soe, [390]
I, and in very deed thou well maist bee soe, For as bigg as a man is every plannett, Although it seemes a farre that wee may spanne it, s.h.i.+ne thou on mee, sweet plannet, bee soe good As with thy fiery beames to warme my bloud; Ile beare thee light, and thinke light of the burthen, And say, light plannett neare was heavy lurden.
_Nar._ To speake the truth, faire maid, if you will have vs, O Oedipus I am not, I am Davus.
_Clo._ Good Master Davis, bee not so discourteous [400]
As not to heare a maidens plaint for vertuous.
_Nar._ Speake on a G.o.ds name, so love bee not the theame.
_Flo._ O, whiter then a dish of clowted creame, Speake not of love? How can I overskippe To speake of love to such a cherrye lippe?
_Nar._ It would beseeme a maidens slender vast.i.tye Never to speake of any thinge but chast.i.tye.
_Flo._ As true as Helen was to Menela So true to thee will bee thy Florida. [F. 74r rev.]
_Clo._ As was to trusty Pyramus truest Thisbee [410]
So true to you will ever thy sweete Clois bee.
_Flo._ O doe not stay a moment nor a minute, Loves is a puddle, I am ore shooes in it.
_Clo._ Doe not delay vs halfe a minutes mountenance That ar in love, in love with thy sweet countenance.
_Nar._ Then take my dole although I deale my alms ill, Narcissus cannot love with any damzell; Although, for most part, men to love encline all, I will not, I, this is your answere finall.
And so farwell; march on doggs, love's a griper, [420]
If I love any, 'tis Tickler & Piper.
Ah, the poore rascall, never ioyd it since His fellow iugler first was iugled hence, Iugler the hope; but now to hunte abraode, Where, if I meete loves little minitive G.o.d, Ile pay his breech vntill I make his b.u.mme ake, For why, the talke of him hath turnd my stomacke. [_Exit._
_Flo._ And is hee gone? Letts goe & dye, sweet Cloris, For poets of our loves shall write the stories.
_Enter_ CLINIAS, DORASTUS, _meeting them_.
_Cli._ Well mett, faire Florida sweete, which way goe you? [430]
