Epi. Sir. Top. I will encounter that black and cruel enemy, that beareth rough and untewed locks upon his body, whose sire throweth down the strongest wall, whose legs are as many as both ours, on whose head are placed most horrible horns by nature, as a defence from all harms. Epi. What mean you, master, to be so desperate? Top. Honour inciteth me, and very hunger compelleth me. Epi. What is that monster? Top. The monster ovis. I have said, let thy wits work. Epi. I cannot imagine it; yet let me see a black enemy with rough locks-it may be a sheep, and ovis is a sheep;-his sire so strong—a ram is a sheep's sire; that being also an engine of war*;— horns he hath, and four legs-so hath a sheep: without doubt this monster is a black sheep; is it not a sheep that you mean? Top. Thou hast hit it: that monster will I kill and sup with. Sam. Come, let us take him off. Sir Tophas, all hail. Top. Welcome, children, I seldom cast mine eyes so low as to the crowns of your heads; and therefore pardon me that I spake not all this while. Dares. No harm done; here be fair ladies come to wonder at your person, your valour, your wit; * The ram was a war engine long in use for the battering down of walls. the report whereof had made them careless of their own honours, to glut their eyes and hearts upon yours. Top. Report cannot but injure me; for that, not knowing fully what I am, I fear she hath been a niggard in her praises. Scint. No, gentle knight, report hath been prodigal, for she hath left you no equal, nor herself credit; so much hath she told, yet no more than we now see. Dares. A good wench. Fav. If there remain as múch pity toward woman as there is in you courage against your enemies, then shall we be happy; who, hearing of your person, came to see it, and seeing it, are now in love with it. Top. Love me, ladies? I easily believe it, but my tough heart receiveth no impression with sweet words. Mars may pierce it, Venus shall not paint on it. Fav. A cruel saying. Sam. There's a girl. Dares. Will you cast these ladies away, and all for a little love? do but speak kindly. Top. There cometh no soft syllables within my lips; custom hath made my words bloody, and my heart barbarous: that pelting word, love, how waterish it is in my mouth, it carrieth no sound; hate, horror, death, are speeches that nourish my spirits. I like honey, but I care not for the bees: I delight in music, but I love not to play on the bagpipes: I can vouchsafe to hear the voice of women, but to touch their bodies I disdain it, as a thing childish, and fit for such men as can digest nothing but milk. Scint. A hard heart; shall we die for your love, and find no remedy? Top. I have already taken a surfeit. Epi. Good master, pity them. Top. Pity them, Epi? no, do not think that this breast shall be pestered with such a foolish passion. What is that the gentlewoman carrieth in a chain? Epi. Why it is a squirrel. Top. A squirrel! O gods, what things are made for money. Dares. Is not this gentleman over wise? Fav. I could stay all day with him if I feared not to be shent *. Scint. Is it not possible to meet again? Dares. Yes, at any time. Fav. Then let us hasten home. Scint. Sir Tophas, the god of war deal better with you, than you do with the god of love. Fav. Our love we may dissemble, digest we cannot; but I doubt not but time will hamper you, and help us. Top. I defy time, who hath no interest in my heart. Come, Epi, let me to the battle with that hideous beast; love is pap, and hath no relish in my taste, because it is not terrible. Shent," reproved harshly, punished. So in "Troilus and Cressida :" "He shent our messengers." And in "Merry Wives of Windsor:" Rug. "Out, alas! here comes my master. Quin. We shall be shent: run in here, good young man." Dares. Indeed a black sheep is a perilous beast; but let us in till another time. Fav. I shall long for that time. [Exeunt. SCENE III. ENDYMION, DIPSAS, and BAGOA. End. No rest, Endymion? still uncertain how to settle thy steps by day, or thy thoughts by night? Thy truth is measured by thy fortune, and thou art judged unfaithful, because thou art unhappy. I will see if I can beguile myself with sleep, and if no slumber will take hold in my eyes, yet will I embrace the golden thoughts in my head, and wish to melt by musing; that as ebony, which no fire can scorch*, is yet consumed with sweet savours; so my heart, which cannot be bent by the hardness of fortune, may be bruised by amorous desires. On yonder bank never grew any thing but lunary †, and hereafter I will never have any bed but that bank. Oh, Endymion, Tellus was fair; but what availeth beauty without wisdom? Nay, Endymion, she was wise; but what availeth wisdom without honour? She was honourable Endymion, believe her not; but * This idea of ebony may, I presume, be ranked among the vulgar errors of our poet's age. + Lunary," moonwort, says Johnson. Endymion makes choice of this bed from its name; and it is probable the moon was supposed to have influence on the growth of the plant. The "Humorous Lieutenant" of Beaumont and Fletcher, when, by magical delusions, he falls in love with the old king, determines to lodge in King-street. how obscure is honour without fortune? Was she not fortunate whom so many followed? Yes, yes; but base is fortune without majesty. Thy majesty, Cynthia, all the world knoweth and wondereth at, but not one in the world can imitate it or comprehend it. No more, Endymion, sleep or die; nay die, for to sleep it is impossible; and yet I know not how it cometh to pass, I feel such a heaviness both in mine eyes and heart, that I am suddenly benumbed, yea in every joint. It may be weariness, for when did I rest? It may be deep melancholy, for when did I not sigh? Cynthia! ay so;-I say, Cynthia [He falls asleep. Dip. Little dost thou know, Endymion, when thou shalt wake; for hadst thou placed thy heart as low in love as thy head lieth now in sleep, thou mightest have commanded Tellus, whom now, instead of a mistress, thou shalt find a tomb. These eyes must I seal up by art, not nature, which are to be opened neither by art nor nature. Thou that layest down with golden locks, shalt not awake until they be turned to silver hairs and that chin, on which scarcely appeareth soft down, shall be filled with bristles as hard as broom: thou shalt sleep out thy youth and flowering time, and become dry hay, before thou knowest thyself green grass; and ready by age to step into the grave when thou wakest, that wert youthful in the court when thou laidest thee down to sleep. The malice of Tellus hath brought this to pass, which, if she could not have entreated of me by fair means, she would have commanded by menacing, for from her gather we all |