The Mad Lover Part 17

_Enter_ Stremon, _like_ Orpheus.

There must be love, there is love: what art thou?

SONG.

Stre. _Orpheus I am, come from the deeps below,_ _To thee fond man the plagues of love to show:_ _To the fair fields where loves eternal dwell_ _There's none that come, but first they pa.s.s through h.e.l.l:_ _Hark and beware unless thou hast lov'd ever,_ _Belov'd again, thou shalt see those joyes never._

_Hark how they groan that dy'd despairing,_ _O take heed then:_ _Hark how they howl for over-daring,_ _All these were men._

_They that be fools, and dye for fame_ _They lose their name;_ _And they that bleed_ _Hark how they speed._

_Now in cold frosts, now scorching fires_ _They sit, and curse their lost desires:_ _Nor shall these souls be free from pains and fears,_ _Till Women waft them over in their tears._

_Mem._ How should I know my pa.s.sage is deni'd me?

Or which of all the Devils dare?

_Eumen._ This Song Was rarely form'd to fit him.

SONG.

Orph. _Charon O Charon,_ _Thou wafter of the souls to bliss or bane._

Cha. _Who calls the Ferry-man of h.e.l.l?_

Orph. _Come near,_ _And say who lives in joy, and who in fear._

Cha. _Those that dye well, Eternal joy shall follow;_ _Those that dye ill, their own foul fate shall swallow._

Orph. _Shall thy black Bark those guilty spirits stow_ _That kill themselves for love?_

Cha. _O no, no,_ _My cordage cracks when such great sins are near,_ _No wind blows fair, nor I myself can stear._

Orph. _What lovers pa.s.s and in Elyzium raign?_

Cha. _Those Gentle loves that are belov'd again._

Orph. _This Souldier loves, and fain wou'd dye to win,_ _Shall he goe on?_

Cha. _No 'tis too foul a sin._ _He must not come aboard: I dare not row,_ _Storms of despair, and guilty blood will blow._

Orph. _Shall time release him, say?_

Cha. _No, no, no, no._ _Nor time nor death can alter us, nor prayer;_ _My boat is destinie, and who then dare_ _But those appointed come aboard? Live still,_ _And love by reason, Mortal, not by will._

Orph. _And when thy Mistris shall close up thine eyes,_

Cha. _Then come aboard and pa.s.s,_

Orph. _Till when be wise._

Cha. _Till when be wise._

_Eumen._ How still he sits: I hope this Song has setled him.

_1 Capt._ He bites his lip, and rowles his fiery eyes, yet I fear for all this--

_2 Capt._ _Stremon_ still apply to him.

_Strem._ Give me more room, sweetly strike, divinely Such strains as old earth moves at.

_Orph._ The power I have over both beast and plant, Thou man alone feelst miserable want. [_Musick._ Strike you rare Spirits that attend my will, And lose your savage wildness by my skill.

_Enter a_ Mask _of_ Beasts.

This Lion was a man of War that died, As thou wouldst do, to gild his Ladies pride: This Dog a fool that hung himself for love: This Ape with daily hugging of a glove, Forgot to eat and died. This goodly tree, An usher that still grew before his Ladie, Wither'd at root. This, for he could not wooe, A grumbling Lawyer: this pyed Bird a page, That melted out because he wanted age.

Still these lye howling on the Stygian sh.o.r.e, O love no more, O love no more. [_Exit_ Memnon.

_Eumen._ He steals off silently, as though he would sleep, No more, but all be near him, feed his fancie Good _Stremon_ still; this may lock up his follie.

Yet Heaven knows I much fear him; away softly. [_Exeunt Captains._

_Fool._ Did I not doe most doggedly?

_Strem._ Most rarelie.

_Fool._ He's a brave man, when shall we dog again?

_Boy._ Unty me first for G.o.ds sake,

_Fool._ Help the Boy; he's in a wood poor child: good hony _Stremon_ Let's have a bear-baiting; ye shall see me play The rarest for a single Dog: at head all; And if I do not win immortal glorie, Play Dog play Devil.

_Strem._ Peace for this time.

_Fool._ Prethee Let's sing him a black Santis, then let's all howl In our own beastly voices; tree keep your time, Untye there; bow, wow, wow.

_Strem._ Away ye a.s.se, away.

_Fool._ Why let us doe something To satisfie the Gentleman, he's mad; A Gentleman-like humour, and in fashion, And must have men as mad about him.

_Strem._ Peace, And come in quicklie, 'tis ten to one else He'l find a staff to beat a dog; no more words, I'le get ye all imployment; soft, soft in all. [_Exeunt._

_Enter_ Chilax _and_ Cloe.

_Chi._ When camest thou over wench?

_Clo._ But now this evening, And have been ever since looking out _Siphax_, I'th' wars he would have lookt me: sure h'as gotten Some other Mistris?

_Chi._ A thousand, wench, a thousand, They are as common here as Caterpillers Among the corn, they eat up all the Souldiers.

_Clo._ Are they so hungry? yet by their leave _[C]hilax_, I'le have a s.n.a.t.c.h too.