EUMENIDES

I hope you be not sotted upon the man in the Moon. Is Endymion mad, or do I mistake? do you love the Moon Endymion? There was never any so peevish to imagine the Moon either capable of affection, or shape of a Mi stris: for as impossible it is to make love fit to her humour which no man knoweth, as a coat to her form, which continueth not in one bigness while she is measuring. Cease of Endymion to feed so much upon fancies. That melancholy blood must be purged, which draws you to a dotage no less miserable then monstrous. But they have vanities, which being refor med, you may be restored. Stay there Endymion, thou that committest I dolatry, wilt straight blaspheme, if thou be suffered. Sleep would do thee more good then speech: the Moon hears thee not, or if she do, regardeth thee not. Without doubt Endymion is bewitched, other wise in a man of such rare virtues, there could not har bor a mind of such extreme madness. I will follow him, least in this fancy of the Moon, he deprive himself of the sighed of the Sun. Too true Madame, and as much to be pitied as wondered at. It is and old saying Madame, that a waking dog does a far off bark at a sleeping Lion. Contrary to your nature Semele, which hath been always accounted light. Pardon I humbly ask; but such is my unspot ted faith to Endymion, that whatsoever seems a needle to prick his finger, is a dagger to wound my heart. I have seen him to my grief, and sought re cure with despair, for that I cannot imagine who should restore, him that is the wonder to all men: your high nes, on whose hands the compass of the earth is at continued ̄ maund, (though not in possession) may show your self both worthy your sex, your nature, and your favour, if you redeem that honourable Endymion, whose ripe years foretell rare virtues, and whose unmellowed conceits promise ripe counsel. On bowed knee I give thanks, and with wings on my legs, I fly for remedy. Your Majesties words have been always deeds, and your deeds virtues. That me thinketh is unpossible, why what virtue can there be in water? Have you known this by experience, or is it placed here of purpose to delude men? Came there women also? She of all women the most froward, and I of all creatures the most found. I but if all virtuous Ladies should yield to all that be loving, or all amiable gentlewomen entertain all that be amorous, their virtues would be accounted vi ces, and their beauty's deformities, for that love can be but between two, and that not proceeding of him that is most faithful, but most fortunate. Ah, I faint, I die. Ah sweet Semele let me a lone, and dissolve by weeping into water. Father, I plainly see the bottom, and there in white marble engraved these words, Ask one for all, and but one thing at all. Ah Father thou art not a faithful lover, and therefore canst not behold it. Ask? so I will: and what shall I do but ask, and whom should I ask but Semele, the possessing of whose person, is a pleasure that cannot come within the compass of comparison, whose golden locks seem most curious, when they seem most careless, whose sweet looks seem most alluring, when they are most chaste: and whose words the more virtuous they are, the more amorous they be accounted. I pray thee for tune when I shall first meet with fair Semele, dash my delight with some light disgrace, least embracing sweet ness beyond measure, I take a surfeit without recure: let her practice her accustomed coyness, that I may diet my seife upon my desires: otherwise the fullness of my joys will diminish the sweetness, and I shall perish by them before I possess them. Why do I trifle the time in words? The least minute being spent in the getting of Semele, is more worth then the whole world: therefore let me ask. What now Eumenides? Whither art thou drawn? Hast thou forgotten both friendship and duty? Care of Endimi on, and the commandment of Cynthia? Shall he die in a leaden sleep, because thou sleepest in a golden dream? I, let him sleep ever, so I slumber but one mi nute with Semele. Love knoweth neither friendship nor kindred. Shall I not hazard the lose of a friend, for the obtay ning of her for whom I would often lose my self? Fond Eumenides, shall the enticing beauty of a most disdainful Lady, be of more force then the rare fidem litie of a tried friend? The love of men to women is a thing common, and of course: the friendship of man to man infinite, and immortal. Tush, Semele doth possess my love. I but Endymion hath desert ved it. I will help Endymion. I found Endymion un spotted in his truth. I but I shall find Semele constant in her love. I will have Semele. What shall I do? Father thy grey hairs are Ambassadors of experience. Which shall I ask? Father I allow your reasons, and will therefore conquer mine own. Virtue shall subdue affections, wis dome lust, friendship beauty. Mistress's are in every place, and as common as Hares in Atho, Bees in Hybla, fool's in the air: but friends to be found, are Like the Phoenix in Arabia, but one, or the Philadelphi in Arays, never above two. I will have Endymion, sacred Fountain, in whose bowels are hidden divine secrets, I have increased your waters with the tears of unspotted thoughts and therefore let me receive the reward you promise: Endymion, the truest friend to me, and faith fullest lover to Cynthia, is in such a dead sleep, that no thing can wake or move him. There comes over mine eyes either a dark missed, or upon the fountain a deep thickness: for I can perceive nothing. But how am I deluded? or what difficult (nay impossible) thing is this? Good father and how? Yes. Yes. Yes. Yes. How fortunate am I, if Cynthia be she that may do it. I will hasten thither, that I may entreat on my knees for succour, and embrace in mine arms my friend. May I now know the cause? Let us go. Good Madame vouchsafe but to try, else shall I think my self most unhappy, that I asked not my sweet Mistress. Pardon me good Madame, for if Endymion awake he shall: my self have sworn, never to re veal it. Madame he begins to stir. Ah, I see his eyes almost open. Endymion, Endymion, art thou deaf or dumb? or hath this long sleep taken away thy memory? Ah my sweet Eudimion, seest thou not Eumenides? thy faith full friend, thy faithful Eumenides, who for thy safety hath been careless of his own content. Speak Endi mion, Endymion, Endymion. Hast thou forgotten thy self Endymion? then do I not marvel thou remembrest not thy friend. I tell thee thou art Endymion, and I Eumenides: behold also Cyn thia, by whose favour thou art awaked, and by whose virtue thou shalt continue thy natural course. One night? thou hast here slept forty years, by what Enchantress as yet it is not known: and be hold the twig to which thou laiedst thy head, is now be come a tree, callest thou not Eumenides to remembrance? Thou art that Endymion and I Eumenides, wilt thou not yet call me to remembrance? After long debating with her self, mercy oh uercame anger, and there appeared in her heavenly face such a divine Majesty, mingled with a sweet mildness, that I was ravished with the sighed above measure, and wished that I might have enjoyed the sighed without end, and so she departed with the other Ladies, of which the one retained still and unmoveable cruelty, the other a constant pity. Yes Floscula, let Eumenides be somewhat glad der, and do not that wrong to the settled friendship of a man, as to compare it with the light affection of a woe man. Ah my deer friend Endymion suffer me to die, with gazing at thee. Because if she do, she loses her tongue. I never yet spoke word since your sleep. No Endymion, thine hath made it stronger, and now are my sparks grown to flames, and my fancies almost to frenzies: but let us follow, and within we will debate all this matter at large. Endymion, the comfort of my life, how am I ravished with a joy matchless, saving only the enjoy king of my mistress. It is Semele, Cynthia: the possessing of whose love, must only prolong my life. Humble thanks Madame, now only do I be gin to live. Thine own thoughts sweet Semele, witness a gainst thy words, for what hast thou found in my life but love? and as yet, what have I found in my love but bitterness? Madame pardon Semele, and let my tongue ransom hers. Why she caused you to be pinched with Fairies. Father, your sad music being tuned on the same key that my harden fortune is, hath so mell ted my mind, that I wish to hang at your mouths end, tell my life end. A strange humour, might I inquire the cause? I am going to Thessaly, to seek reme die for Endymion my dearest Friend, who hath been cast into a dead sleep, almost these twenty years, wax king old, and ready for the graven, being almost but newly come forth of the cradle. Yes Father, but a qualm that often come meth over my heart does now take hold of me, but did never any Lovers come hither? Ah Eumenides, how art thou perplex ed? call to mind the beauty of thy sweet Mistress, and the depth of thy never dying affections, how oft hast thou honoured her, not only without spot, but sum spition of falsehood? And how hardly hath she re warded thee, without cause or colour of despite? How secret hast thou been these seven years, that hast not, nor once darest not, to name her for dis contenting her? How faithful? that hast offered to die for her, to please her. Unhappy Eumeni des. Once? I Father and ever shall. I see in the same Pillar, these words: When she whose figure of all is the perfectest, and never to be measured: always one, yet never the same: still incon stant, yet never wavering, shall come and kiss Endymion in his sleep, he shall then rise, else never. This is strange. We all attend. Yea father, if that my tears clear not this foum taine, then may you swear it is but a mere mockery. Ah happy Eumenides, that hast a friend so faith full, and a mistress so fair: with what sudden mischief will the Gods daunt this excess of joy? Sweet Semele, I live or die as thou wilt. If you be enamored of any thing above the Moon, your thoughts are ridiculous, for that things immortal are not subject to affections, if allured or en chanted with these transitory things under the Moon, you show your self senseless, to attribute such lofty ty tles, to such love trifles. Ah Eumenides. What did they see? Be faithful Lovers so skant?