APHRON

Nay stay Sir, have you found her? For I will have her out of you, or else I'll cut thee into atomes, till the wind Play with the shreeds of thy torn body. Look her Or I will do't. I'll tell thee honest fellow; thou shalt go From me as and Ambassador to the Sun, For men call him the eye of heaven, (from which Nothing lies hid) and tell him—do you mark me—tell him From me—that if he send not word where she is gone, — I will — nay by the Gods I will. No, I'm a mad man. Better? why? Can there be any better then a madman? I tell thee, I came here to be a madman, Nay, do not dissuade me from't, I would be A very Madman. Why a Mistress, And such a beauteous one—dost thou see no body? She sits upon a throne amongst the stars And outshines them, look up and be amazed Such was her beauty here,—sure there do lie A thousand vapours in thy sleepy eyes, Dost thou not see her yet? not yet, nor yet? Thou'rt dull and ignorant, Not skilled at all in deep Astrology. Let me instruct thee? Do you say so fair Virgin? You I have injured most: with love, With saucy love, which I henceforth recall, And will look on you with and adoration, Not with desire hereafter; tell me, pray, Does any man yet call you his? Hercules, Hercules, ho Hercules, where are you? Lend me thy club and skin, and when I ha'done, I'll fling them to thee again, why Hercules? Pox on you, are you drunk? can you not answer? I'll travel then without them, and do wonders. So I have found the plot out, First I'll climb up, on Porter Atlas shoulders, And then craule into Heaven, and I'm sure I cannot choose but find her there What have I caught thee fairest of all women? Where hast thou hid thy self so long from Aphron? Aphron who hath been dead till this blessed minute? Thy skin is whiter then the snowy feathers Of Leda's Swans. Thy hairs are brighter then the Moons, Then when she spreads her beams and fills her orb Thou art as fresh as May is, and thy look Is picture of the Spring. Thy lips are cheryes, let me taft them sweet? Would! ye good Gods defend me! it's a Witch, a Hag. A witch, one that did take the shape Of my best Mistress, but thou couldst not long Belie her pureness. Thou lookest as if thou Wertenberg some wicked woman Frighted out of the grave; defend me, how Her eyes do sink into their ugly holes, As if they were afraid to see the light. Her breath infects the air, and sows a pestilence Where ever it comes; what hath she there? J! these are apples made up with the stings Of Scorpions, and the blood of Basilisks; Which being swallowed up, a thousand pains Eat on the heart, and gnaw the entrails out From the Stygian tree; Give them me quickly, or I will— Get thee gone quickly, from me, for I know thee; Thou art Tisiphone. The fiend is vanished from me, And hath left these behind for me to taste of, But I will be too cunning; Thus I'll scatter them, Now I have spoiled her plot; Unhappy he Who finds them. Exit. I'll show thee first all the celestial signs, And to begin, look on that horned head. No, it's the Ram! Next that, the spacious Bull fills up the place. And then, Yonder's the sign of Gemini, dost see it? And there sits Capricorn. There Cancer creeps along with gouty pace, As if his feet were sleepy, there, Do you mark it? But now, now, now, now, gaze eternally Hadst thou as many eyes as the black night They would be all too little; seest thou Virgo? That was my Mistress once, but is of late Translated to the height of deserved glory, And adds new ornaments to the wondering heavens. Why do I stay behind then, a mere nothing Without her presence to give life and being? If there be any hill whose lofty top Nature hath made contiguous with heaven, Though it be steep, rugged as Neptune's brow, Though armed with cold, with hunger, and diseases, And all the other soldiers of misery, Yet I would climb it up, that I might come Next place to thee, and there be made a star. But stay — Hunger and faintness have already seized me, It's a long journey thither, I shall want Provision; canst thou help me, gentle shepherd? And when I am come thither I will snatch The Crown of Ariadne, and fling't down To thee for a reward. Thou'rt in the right, if they deny me that I'll pluck the Bear down from the Arctic Pole, And drown it in those waters it avoids, And dares not touch; I'll tug the Hyades And make them to sink down in spite of Nature; I'll meet with Charles his Wain, and overturn it And break the wheels of it, till Böotes start For fear, and grow more slow then ever he was. I'll cuff with Pollux, and outride thee, Castor, When the fierce Lion roars I'll pluck his heart out And be called Cordelion ; I'll grapple with the Scorpion, Take his sting out and fling him to the earth. Alcides freed the earth from savage monsters, And I will free the heavens and be called Done Hercules Alcido de secundo. It's a hard task, But if that fellow did so much by strength, I may well do't armed both with love and fury. Where am I now? under the Northern Pole Where a perpetual winter binds the ground And glazeth up the floods? or where the Sun With neighbouring rays bakes the divided earth, And drinks the rivers up? or do I sleep? Is't not some foolish dream deludes my fancy? Who am J? I begin to question that. Was not my country Sicily? my name Called Aphron, wretched Aphron? Cheat me not good eyes, What woman, or what Angel do I see? O stay, and let me worship ever thou goest, Whither thou be'st a Goddess which thy beauty Commands me to believe, or else some mortal Which I the rather am induced to think, Because I know the Gods all hate me so, They would not look upon me. My good Angel! I do remember now that I was mad For want of meat and sleep, thrice did the Sun Cheer all the world but me, thrice did the night With silent and bewitching darkness give A resting time to every thing but Aphron. The fish, the beasts, the birds, the smallest creatures And the most despicable snored securely. The aguish head of every tree by Aeolus Was rocked asleep, and shook as if it nodded. The crooked mountains seemed to bow and slumber, The very rivers ceased their daily murmur, Nothing did watch, but the pale Moon, and I Paler then she; Grief wedded to this toil What else could it beget but franticknesse? But now me thinks, I am my own, my brain Swims not as it was wont; Oh brightest Virgin Show me some way by which I may be grateful, And if I do't not, let and eternal Frenzy Jmmediatly seize on me. You speak in mists. If you intend that I should love and honour you, I do by all the Gods. Would! you amaze me. O! you have spoken something worse then lightning, That blasts the inward parts, leaves, the outward whole, My gratitude commands me to obey you, But I am born a man, and have those passion Fighting within me, which I must obey. While Callidora lives, although she be As cruel, as thy breast is soft and gentle; It's sin for me to think of any other. I do I swear, Above my self I do: my self? what said I? Alas! that's nothing; above any thing But heaven and Callidora. When J do not, may I forget my self, Would I were mad again; then I might rave With privilege, I should not know the griefs That hurried me about, 'twere better far To loose the senses, then be tortured by them. Where is she gone? I did not ask her name, Fool that I was, alas poor Gentlewoman! Can any one love me? ye cruel Gods, Is't not enough that I my self am miserable, Must I make others so too? I'll go in And comfort her; alas! how can I though? I'll grieve with her, that is in ills a comfort. Would! whither have you led me Clariana ? Some steepy mountain bury me alive, Or rock entomb me in its stony intrayles, Whom do I see? I know not what to say; do you all pardon me? I have done wrong to ye all, yea, to all those That have a share in virtue. Can ye pardon me? I congratulate it Sir. The Gods make ye both happy: fool, as I am, You are at the height already of felicity, To which there's nothing can be added now, But perpetuity; you shall not find me Your rival any more, though I confess I honour her, and will for ever do so. Clariana, I am so much unworthy Of thy love. That— In our hearts Sir, We are already joined, it may be though You will be loath to have unhappy Aphron, Style you his Brother? I understand not. I had Sir; but where now she is none knows, Beside the Gods. It is Sir. It's impossible. I shall be made too happy on the sudden. My Sister found, and Clariana mine! Come not too thick good joys, you will oppress me. Thy teeth are Like two Arches made of Ivory, Of purest Ivory. Farewell thou rat. The Cedar bids the shrub adieu.