BOOK I

I N Cupid's school whoe'er would take degree,
Must learn his rudiments, by reading me.
Seamen with sailing arts their vessels move;
Art guides the chariot; art instructs to love.
Of ships and chariots others know the rule;
But I am master in Love's mighty school.
Cupid indeed is obstinate and wild,
A stubborn god; but yet the god 's a child,
Easy to govern in his tender age,
Like fierce Achilles in his pupilage:
That hero, born for conquest, trembling stood

VENUS , P ARIS , and a company of Shepherds.

VEN . Shepherds, I am content, for this sweet shepherd's sake,
A strange revenge upon the maid and her disdain to take.
Let Colin's corpse be brought in place, and buried in the plain,
And let this be the verse, The love whom Thestylis hath slain .
And, trust me, I will chide my son for partiality,
That gave the swain so deep a wound, and let her scape him by.
First Shep . Alas that ever Love was blind, to shoot so far amiss!

SCANA II

Enter P ARIS and oe NONE .

Par. oenone, while we bin disposed to walk,
Tell me what shall be subject of our talk?
Thou hast a sort of pretty tales in store,
Dare say no nymph in Ida woods hath more:
Again, beside thy sweet alluring face,
In telling them thou hast a special grace.
Then, prithee, sweet, afford some pretty thing,
Some toy that from thy pleasant wit doth spring.
oen. Paris, my heart's contentment and my choice,

THE strange effects of my tormented heart,
Whom cruel love hath woeful prisoner caught,
Whom cruel hate hath unto bondage brought,
Whom wit no way of safe escape hath taught,
Enforce me say in witness of my smart:
There is no pain to foul disdain in hardy suits of love. Shep.:
There is no pain &c. Thest.:
Cruel farewell. Shep.: Cruel farewell. Thest.:
Most cruel thou, of all that nature framed. Shep.:
Most cruel &c. Thest.:
To kill thy love with thy disdain. Shep.:
To kill thy love with thy disdain. Thest.:

O gentle Love, ungentle for thy deed,
Thou makest my heart
A bloody mark
With piercing shot to bleed.
Shoot soft, sweet Love, for fear thou shoot amiss,
For fear too keen
Thy arrows been,
And hit the heart where my belovid is.
Too fair that fortune were, nor never I
Shall be so blessed,
Among the rest,
That Love shall seize on her by sympathy.
Then since with Love my prayirs bear no boot,
This doth remain
To cease my pain,
I take the wound, and die at Venus' foot.

ACT III.

SCENA I.

Enter Colin , who sings his passion of love .

O gentle L OVE , ungentle for thy deed,
Thou mak'st my heart
A bloody mark
With piercing shot to bleed!
Shoot soft, sweet Love, for fear thou shoot amiss,
For fear too keen
Thy arrows been,
And hit the heart where my beloved is.
Too fair that fortune were, nor never I

Fair Iris I love, and hourly I dye,
But not for a Lip, nor a languishing Eye:
She's fickle and false, and there we agree;
For I am as false and as fickle as she:
We neither believe what either can say;
And, neither believing, we neither betray.
'Tis civil to swear, and say things of course;
We mean not the taking for better for worse.
When present, we love; when absent, agree:
I think not of Iris, nor Iris of me:

The Legend of Love no Couple can find
So easie to part, or so equally join'd.

Oh would to God he would but pitty mee,
That love him more than any mortall wight!
Then he and I with love would soone agree,
That now cannot abide his sutors sight.
O would to God, so I might have my fee,
My lips were honey, and thy mouth a bee.

Then shouldst thou sucke my sweete and my faire flower,
That now is ripe and full of honey-berries;
Then would I leade thee to my pleasant bower,
Fild full of grapes, of mulberries, and cherries:
Then shouldst thou be my waspe or else my bee,
I would thy hive, and thou my honey, bee.

Scarce had the morning star hid from the light
Heaven's crimson canopy with stars bespangled,
But I began to rue th'unhappy sight
Of that fair boy that had my heart entangled;
Cursing the time, the place, the sense, the sin;
I came, I saw, I viewed, I slipped in.

If it be sin to love a sweet-faced boy
(Whose amber locks trussed up in golden trammels
Dangle adown his lovely cheeks with joy,
When pearl and flowers his fair hair enamels)
If it be sin to love a lovely lad,
Oh then sin I, for whom my soul is sad.

If thou wilt love me, thou shalt be my boy,
My sweet delight, the comfort of my mind,
My love, my dove, my solace, and my joy;
But if I can no grace nor mercy find,
I'll go to Caucasus to ease my smart,
And let a vulture gnaw upon my heart.

Yet if thou wilt but show me one kind look,
A small reward for my so great affection,
I'll grave thy name in Beauty's golden book,
And shroud thee under Helicon's protection,
Making the muses chant thy lovely praise,
For they delight in shepherds' lowly lays.