The Faithful Shepherdess Part 12

Amoret. Shepherdesses.

Amarillis.

Scene: Thessaly.

The following Dedicatory Verses were omitted from the Second Folio.

_To my lov'd friend M. John Fletcher, on his Pastorall_.

Can my approovement (Sir) be worth your thankes?

Whose unkn[o]wne name and muse (in swathing clowtes) Is not yet growne to strength, among these rankes To have a roome and beare off the sharpe flowtes Of this our pregnant age, that does despise All innocent verse, that lets alone her vice.

But I must Justifie what privately, I censurd to you: my ambition is (Even by my hopes and love to Poesie) To live to perfect such a worke, as this, Clad in such elegant proprietie Of words, including a mortallitie.

So sweete and profitable, though each man that heares, (And learning has enough to clap and hisse) Arives not too't, so misty it appeares; And to their fi1med reasons, so amisse: But let Art looke in truth, she like a mirror, Reflects [Reflect, C, D] her comfort [consort, D--F], ignorances terror.

Sits in her owne brow, being made afraid, Of her unnaturall complexion, As ougly women (when they are araid By gla.s.ses) loath their true reflection, Then how can such opinions injure thee, That tremble, at their owne deformitie?

Opinion, that great foole, makes fooles of all, And (once) I feard her till I met a minde Whose grave instructions philosophical), Toss'd it [is, F] like dust upon a march strong winde, He shall for ever my example be, And his embraced doctrine grow in me.

His soule (and such commend this) that commaund [commands, D, E, F]

Such art, it should me better satisfie, Then if the monster clapt his thousand hands, And drownd the sceane with his confused cry; And if doubts rise, loe their owne names to cleare 'em Whilst I am happy but to stand so neere 'em.

N. F.

These verses are in A, B, C, D, E and F. In A and B they are signed 'N.

F.,' in C-F they are signed 'Nath. Field.' The above text is that of A.

To his loving friend M. _Jo. Fletcher_ concerning his Pastorall, being both a Poeme and a play: [concerning...play _omitted in_ D, E, F]

There are no suerties (good friend) will be taken For workes that vulgar-good-name hath forsaken: A Poeme and a play too! why tis like A scholler that's a Poet: their names strike Their pestilence inward, when they take the aire; And kill out right: one cannot both fates beare.

But, as a Poet thats no scholler, makes Vulgarity his whiffler, and so takes with ease, & state through both sides prease Of Pageant seers: or as schollers please That are no Poets; more then Poets learnd; Since their art solely, is by soules discerned; The others fals [fall, D, E, F] within the common sence And sheds (like common light) her influence: So, were your play no Poeme, but a thing That every Cobler to his patch might sing: A rout of nifles (like the mult.i.tude) With no one limme [limbe, E, F] of any art indude: Like would to like, and praise you: but because, Your poeme onely hath by us applause, Renews the golden world; and holds through all The holy lawes of homely pastorall; Where flowers, and founts, and Nimphs, & semi-G.o.ds, And all the Graces finde their old abods: Where forrests flourish but in endlesse verse; And meddowes, nothing fit for purchasers: This Iron age that eates it selfe, will never Bite at your golden world; that others, ever Lov'd as it selfe: then like your Booke do you Live in ould peace: and that for praise allow.

G. Chapman

These lines are in A, C, D, E and F. The text is that of A.

_To that n.o.ble and true lover of learning_, Sir Walter Aston Knight _of the b.a.l.l.s_.

Sir I must aske your patience, and be trew.

This play was never liked, unlesse by few That brought their judgements with um, for of late First the infection, then the common prate Of common people, have such customes got Either to silence plaies, or like them not.

Under the last of which this interlude, Had falne for ever prest downe by the rude That like a torrent which the moist south feedes, Drowne's both before him the ripe corne and weedes.

Had not the saving sence of better men Redeem'd it from corruption: (deere Sir then) Among the better soules, be you the best In whome, as in a Center I take rest, And propper being: from whose equall eye And judgement, nothing growes but puritie: (Nor do I flatter) for by all those dead, Great in the muses, by _Apolloes_ head, He that ads any thing to you; tis done Like his that lights a candle to the sunne: Then be as you were ever, your selfe still Moved by your judement, not by love, or will And when I sing againe as who can tell My next devotion to that holy well, Your goodnesse to the muses shall be all, Able to make a worke Heroyicall.

_Given to your service_ John Fletcher.

These lines are in A and B.

To the inheritour of all worthines, _Sir William Scipwith.

Ode._

If from servile hope or love, I may prove But so happy to be thought for Such a one whose greatest ease Is to please (Worthy sir) I have all I sought for,

For no ich of greater name, which some clame By their verses do I show it To the world; nor to protest Tis the best These are leane faults in a poet

Nor to make it serve to feed at my neede Nor to gaine acquaintance by it Nor to ravish kinde Atturnies, in their journies.

Nor to read it after diet

Farre from me are all these Ames Fittest frames To build weakenesse on and pitty Onely to your selfe, and such whose true touch Makes all good; let me seeme witty.

_The Admirer of your vertues_, John Fletcher.

These verses are in A and B.

_To the perfect gentleman Sir_ Robert Townesend.

If the greatest faults may crave Pardon where contrition is (n.o.ble Sir) I needes must have A long one; for a long amisse If you aske me (how is this) Upon my faith Ile tell you frankely, You love above my meanes to thanke yee.

Yet according to my Talent As sowre fortune loves to use me A poore Shepheard I have sent, In home-spun gray for to excuse me.

And may all my hopes refuse me: But when better comes ash.o.r.e, You shall have better, newer, more.

Til when, like our desperate debters, Or our three pild sweete protesters I must please you in bare letters And so pay my debts; like jesters, Yet I oft have seene good feasters, Onely for to please the pallet, Leave great meat and chuse a sallet.

_All yours_ John Fletcher:

These lines are in A and B.

To the Reader.

If you be not reasonably a.s.surde of your knowledge in this kinde of Poeme, lay downe the booke or read this, which I would wish had bene the prologue. It is a pastorall Tragic-comedie, which the people seeing when it was plaid, having ever had a singuler guift in defining, concluded to be a play of contry hired Shepheards, in gray cloakes, with curtaild dogs in strings, sometimes laughing together, and sometimes killing one another: And misling whitsun ales, creame, wasiel & morris-dances, began to be angry. In their error I would not have you fall, least you incurre their censure. Understand therefore a pastorall to be a representation of shepheards and shephearddesses, with their actions and pa.s.sions, which must be such as may agree with their natures at least not exceeding former fictions, & vulgar traditions: they are not to be adorn'd with any art, but such improper ones as nature is said to bestow, as singing and Poetry, or such as experience may teach them, as the vertues of hearbs, & fountaines: the ordinary course of the Sun, moone, and starres, and such like. But you are ever to remember Shepherds to be such, as all the ancient Poets and moderne of understanding have receaved them: that is, the owners of flockes and not hyerlings. A tragie-comedie is not so called in respect of mirth and killing, but in respect it wants deaths, which is inough to make it no tragedie, yet brings some neere it, which is inough to make it no comedie: which must be a representation of familiar people, with such kinde of trouble as no life be questiond, so that a G.o.d is as lawfull in this as in a tragedie, and meane people as in a comedie. This much I hope will serve to justifie my Poeme, and make you understand it, to teach you more for nothing, I do not know that I am in conscience bound.

_John Fletcher_.

This address is in A and B.