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Full speech
These tunes Gentleman have I been accu stomed with these fifty Winter's, having no other house to shroud my self, but the broad heavens, and so fa miliar with me hath use made misery, that I esteem sorrow my chiefest solace. And welcomest is that guest to me, that can rehearse the saddest tale, or the bloodiest tragedy. You must pardon me if I deny to tell it, for knowing that the revealing of griefs, is as it were a re newing of sorrow, I have vowed therefore to conceal them, that I might not only feel the depth of euerla sting discontentment, but despair of remedy? But whence are you? What fortune hath thrust you to this distress? You need not for recure travel far, for who so can clearly see the bottom of this Fountain, shall have remedy for any thing. Yes, who soever can shed the tears of a faithful Lover, shall obtain any thing he would, read these words engraved about the brim. I only would have experience of it, and then should there be and end of my misery. And then would I tell the strangest discourse that ever yet was herd. What lack you Gentleman, are you not well? Lusters, but not Lovers; for often have I seen them weep, but never could I hear they saw the bot tome. Some. They all wept that the Fountain overflowed with tears, but so thick became the water with their tears, that I could scarce discern the brim, much less behold the bottom. It seems so, for yet herd I never of any. Why Gentleman did you once love? Was she unkind, and you faithful? You doted then, not loved: for affection is grounded on virtue, and virtue is never peevish: or on Beauty, and Beauty loves to be praised. I would you were so faithful, that your tears might make you fortunate. So says every one yet, that wept. This affection seems strange, if he see no thing without doubt this dissembling passes, for no thing shall draw me from the belief. Oh fortunate Eumenides, (for so have I heard thee call thy self) let me see, I cannot discern any such thing. I think thou dreamest. Then ask that I may be satisfied by the event, and thy self blessed. Eumenides, release Endymion, for all things (friendship excepted) are subject to fortune: Love is but and eye worm, which only tickleth the head with Hope's, and wishes: friendship the image of eterni tie, in which there is nothing moveable, nothing miss cheeuous. As much difference as there is between Beauty and Virtue, bodies and shadows, colours and life: so great odds is there between love and friend ship. Love is a Chameleon, which draws nothing into the mouth but air, and nourishes nothing in the body but lunges: believe me Eumenides, Desire die in the same moment that Beauty sickens, and Beauty fades in the same instant that it flourishes. When adversities flow, then love ebbs: but friendship stands stiffly in storms. Time draws wrinkles in a fair face, but adds fresh colours to a fast friend, which neither heat, nor cold, nor misery, nor place, nor destiny, can all ter or diminish. Oh friendship of all things the most rare, and therefore most rare because most excellent, whose comforts in misery is always sweet, and whose counsels in prosperity are ever fortunate. Vain love, that only coming near to friendship in name, would seem to be the same, or better, in nature. Dost thou see any thing? What see you else? Me thinketh it easy. Is not a circle of all Figures the perfectest? And is not Cynthia of all circles the most abso lute? Is it not impossible to measure her, who still works by her influence, never standing at one stay? Is she not always Cynthia, yet seldom in the same bigness, always wavering in her waxing or way ning, that our bodies might the better be governed, our seasons the daylier give their increase, yet never to be removed from her course, as long as the heavens continue theirs? Then who can it be but Cynthia, whose virtues being all divine, must needs bring things to pass that be miraculous. Go, humble thy self to Cynthia, tell her the success, of which my self shall be a witness. And this assure thy self, that she that sent to find means for his safety, will now work her cun ning. How fond art thou, if thou do not believe it? I will go with thee, for unto Cynthia must I discover all my sorrows, who also must work in me a contentment. That shall be as we walk, and I doubt not but the straungnesse of my tale will take away the tedi ousnesse of our journey. I follow. Dipsas, Thou hast made this difference be tween me and Endymion, that being both young, thou hast caused me to wake in melancholy, losing the joys of my youth, and him to sleep, not remembering youth. Had he not been faithful, he had never seen into the fountain, and so lost his friend and Mistress. I with more joy then I did the first day: for nothing could happen to make me happy, but only her forsaking that leude and detestable course. Dipsas I im brace thee.
Plot summary
Plot — Endymion, the Man in the Moon
Endymion is obsessed with his love for GyHEHI, the moon, and neglects Méllisj who is infatuated with him. She plots to force him to love her, but the enchantress Dipsas is unable to induce love magically. She can, however, make Endymion sleep away his youth, and, with Bag@a’s assistance, casts a spell to that effect. Meanwhile the comic braggart Sir GpHaS falls in love with Dipsas and sleeps too. When Tellus is rude about Endymion, Cynthia banishes her to weave in a desert castle. There she uses her feminine attractiveness to induce her keeper, GGESITES, to move Endymion from where he sleeps, but he is unable to lift the sleeping body. He is pinched asleep by fairies, who magically spot his face and hands. S@mielé is sentenced to a year’s silence as punishment for her spiteful speaking. Cynthia sends courtiers around the world in search of a remedy for Endymion, but the wise men who come are unable to help. However, Eiimenideés finds a magic fountain which will supply any wished-for remedy ifa true lover weeps into it and sees the bottom. Eumenides passes the fidelity test and has to choose whether to satisfy his unrequited love for Semele or wake up Endymion. He chooses Endymion, and is shown in a cryptic prophecy that the sleeper will wake when Cynthia kisses him. It works: Endymion awakes, now an old man, and tells his dreams. Sir Tophas also awakes, seemingly more youthful. Neither gets the girl: Cynthia is chaste and unattainable, while Dipsas turns out to be married to G@fon, the keeper of the magic fountain, who has returned to court with Eumenides. The truth about Endymion’s long sleep emerges after Bagoa reveals the spell; in reprisal, Dipsas turns her into a tree. Tellus is questioned and admits her part in the affair. Cynthia restores Endymion’s youth and learns of his love for her, and of Eumenides’ for Semele. Semele’s initial silence is taken to indicate consent, but when she speaks, Cynthia sentences her to lose her tongue. Eumenides’ offer of his own tongue instead convinces Semele of his sincerity, and she accepts him. Corsites and Tellus are also paired off, and Dipsas, initially sentenced to banishment among the wild beasts, is remitted to the custody of her husband. At the request of Sir Tophas, Cynthia also releases Bagoa from the tree.