Loves maistresse: or, The Queens masque As it was three times presented before their two Excellent Maiesties, within the space of eight dayes; in the presence of sundry forraigne ambassadors. Publikely acted by the Queens Comœdians, at the Phœnix in Drury-Lane. Written by Thomas Heywood.

ACT. III.

SCENE. I.

Enter Psiche in night-attire, with a Lampe and a Raysor.

Psi.

TImes eldest daughter Night, mother of 〈◊〉〈◊〉, Thou gentle nurse, that with sweete lulabies, Care-waking hearts to gentle sl••mber charm'st; Thou smooth-cheek t negro night, the black-ey'd Queene, That rid'st about the world on the soft backs Of downy Ravens sleeke and sable plumes, And from thy Charriot, silent darknesse ••lings; In which man, beast, and bird, inueloped, Takes their repose and rest; Psiche intreats thee, Noe Iarre nor sound betray her bold attempt:

Cup. discovered sleeping on a Bed.

Soft silken vaile that curtaines in my doubt, Give way to these white hands, these jealous eyes, Sharpe knife prepar'd for a red sacrifice; Bright lampe conduct me to my love or hate, Make mee this night blest, or infortunate: Wonderous amazement! what doe I behold? A Bow and quiver, these shafts tip'd with gold, With siluer this; this sluggish arrowes head, Is like my heavie heart, compos'd of lead;

Such weapons 〈◊〉〈◊〉 〈◊〉〈◊〉doth 〈◊〉〈◊〉▪ Psiche were happy if this Cupid were; Malitious sisters, I your enuy sec, This is no serpent, but a Deitie: What prety loves, like silken slumbers lie, Closing the covers of each Christall eye; Hence thou prepared instrument of death, Whilst Psiche sucks new life from his sweete breath: Churle beauty, beautions nigard, thus 〈◊〉〈◊〉, Why did'st thou from mine eyes this glory hide? Ah mee, thou envious light, what hast thou done?

Cup.

Immortall powers, oh succour Venus Sonne; What hellish hagg hath drop't this scalding oyle On Loves Caelestiall shape?

Psi.

'Twas Psiches hand.

Cup.

How durst thou violate my dread command? Venus my Mother, bid mee make thee doate On some base groome; and I left her and heaven, And with mine owne darts wounded mine owne brest; For a'l these favours, wouldst thou murder mee?

Psi.

Let my weake sex pleade for my great offence.

Cup.

No, for thy sake, this plague persue thy sex; You shall have appetites, and hot desires, Which though suppli'd, shall nere be satisfied; You shall be still rebellious, like the Sea, And like the windes inconstant; things forbid You most shall covet, loath what you should like; You shall be wise in wishes, but enjoying, Shall venture heavens losse for a little toying: Ho Ze••hirus.

Enter Zephirus.

Psi.

What will my deare love doe?

Cup.

Hence, touch me not, Ile be no more thy love: Discharge my seruants from this fairy vaile, Resigne thy office to the boystrous North, Bid famine ride upon his frozen wings, Till they be blasted with his poysonous breath; Musicke, be turn'd to horror, smiles to teares, Pleasures to shreikes, felicitie to feares.

Psi.

Why doe you plague the place for my offence?

Cu.

Why for thy sisters sake sought'st thou my hate? But I will bee reveng'd on them and thee, On them, for thy sake, on thy selfe, for mee.

Psi.

For pitty heare poore Psiche.

Cup.

Noe, away?

Psi.

I have no way but yours; which way you flie, Ile hang upon your wings, or fall, and die. Cup. Soone shalt thou leave thy hold; run Zephirus,

A st••me. Enter Bereus.

Fetch Boreus—Art thou come my Aquilon: Boreus, I charge thee by Orithias lo••e, Lay waste and barren this faire flowrie grove, And make this Paradice a den of snakes; For I will have it uglier then hell, And none but gastly scrietch-owles heere shall dwell; Breath winters stormes upon the blushing cheekes Of beautious Psiche; with thy boysterous breath, Rend off her silkes, and cloathe her in torne raggs;

H••ng on her loath'd locks base deformity, And beare her to her father, leave her there, Barren of comfort, great with child of feare; Psiche farewell, whil'st thou with woes art crown'd, I must goe gather helpes to cure my wound.

Exit.

Psi.

With woes indeede; those wretches live in woe, Whom love forsakes, and Psiche must doe so.

Ex••nt. With a great Storme.

Enter Clowne, Amarillis, and Swaines.

Clo.

Doe you heare the news, you annimalls?

1. Swa.

Is it worth the hearing?

Clo.

A qvestion well ask'd, for it is musicall news, and there∣fore worth your eares: Apollo being call'd by Venus from hea∣ven, hath ever since kept Admetus his sheepe, with whom Pan meeting, they fell in contention, whether his Pipe or A∣pollos Harpe could yeeld the better Musicke, and which withall could sing the best; come then my sweete Amarillis, and take thy place amongst the rest, for this is the day of the tryall, and amongst others, I heard my father Midas say, that all other businesse set a part, he would be at it; but there is one mischiefe late happened.

2. Swa.

What's that I prithee?

Clo.

Pan hath got a could, is hoarse, and hath lost his voice, and therefore hath chose mee to sing in his place; and Phoe••s, because hee will take no aduantage, hath pick'd o••t one of his Pages to doe the like for him; therefore come, make a lane, for by this time they are upon their enterance.

1. Swaine.

But is it possible, that Pans Pipe dare con∣tend with Apolloes Harpe?

Clo.

Yes that it is possible, blind harper, and that my winde∣pipe shall proove; make roome, and get you all out of the lists save I, that am to be one of the combatants

A Flourish. Enter Apollo, Pan, Admetus, Petrea, Astioche, their two husbands, and Midas.

Pan.

Who shall be Iudge?

Apo.

Admetus.

Ad.

Sacred Apollo, great Pan pardon mee; It is a cunning much beyond my skill, The••fore I humbly crave to be excus••d.

Apol.

Admetus, for thy hospitallity, Phoe••us will be thy f••iend, and gives thee leave In this to use thy pleasure.

Pan.

What thinks Phoebus Of Midas, once of men, now King of beasts.

Apol.

No better man, so please him undertake it.

Mid.

Yes Phoebus, Midas will, and though poo•• Marsias, For striving with thee had his skin pull'd off, Yet have wee Swaines, and some too not ••arre off, I could have said, some neere to mee in blood, Can tickle you for a tone.

Clo.

Meaning mee, and I will set out a throate.

Apol.

Is this thy champion?

Pan.

Yes, and who's for thee?

Apol.

One of my minuts, houres, dayes, weekes, or moneths, Or yeeres, or seasons, that still waite on us,

And have done ever 〈◊〉〈◊〉the first of time; Not one can come amisse.

M••.

Who shall begin?

Ad.

Most voices.

All.

Apollo, Apollo.

Clo.

No matter tho' his Champiaon begin, lot mee alone to come up with the Catastrophie.

All.

Silence, Silence.

SONG.

Phoebus unto thee 〈◊〉〈◊〉sing, Oh thou great 〈◊〉〈◊〉 king: Thou the God of Phisick art, Of Poetry, and Archery; Wee sing unto thee with a heart, Devoted to thy deity: All bright glory cro•• thy 〈◊〉〈◊〉, 〈◊◊◊〉〈◊◊◊〉••ll Piety, Whose golden be••es and rayes are shed As well upon the poore as rich▪ For thou alike regardest each; Phoebus unto thee wee sing, Oh thou great Idalian king.

M••.

I 〈◊〉〈◊〉, this was some-what to th purpose; I needs must say 'twas prety, but god Pa••,

Now let us heare your Champion?

Pan.

Come stand forth?

Clow.

SONG.

Thou that art call'd the bright Hiperion, Wer't thou more strong then Spanish Gerion, That had three heads upon one man, Compare not with our great god Pan:

They call thee Sonne of bright Latona, But girt thee in thy torrid 〈◊〉〈◊〉, Sweate, baste, and broyle, as best thou can, Thou art not like our Dripping Pan.

What cares hee for the great god Neptune, With all the br••ath that hee is kept in; Vulcan or Iove hee scornes to bow to, To Hermes, or the infernall Pluto.

Then thou that art the heavens bright eye, Or burne, or scorch, or boyle, or fry, Bee thou god, or bee thou man, Thou art not like our ••rying Pan.

They call thee Phoebus, god of day, Yeeres moneths, weekes houres, of March and May; Bring up thy 〈◊〉〈◊〉in the 〈◊〉〈◊〉▪ Wee'le meete thee with our ••ding Pan.

Thy selfe in thy bright Charriot settle, With Skillet arm'd, Brasse-pot, or Kettle, With Iugg, Black-pot, with ••lasse, or Can, No talking to our Warming Pan.

Thou hast thy beames, thy browes to deck, Thou hast thy Daphne at thy beck; Pan hath his hornes, Sirnjx, and Phillis, And I Pans Swaine, my Amarillis.

Ad.

You Midas have heard both; these onely waite Your just and upright 〈◊〉〈◊〉.

Mi.

Is Phoe•• pleased.

Ap.

Pleased.

Mi.

And is Pan content.

Pan.

Content.

Clow.

Now if my father can but c••sure as well as I sing, the towne's ours.

Mi.

Yes Sonne, I can, and that most learnedly: Thy 〈◊〉〈◊〉to Pans Pipe, yeeld god Phoebns, For't is not now as in Diebus Illis, Pan all the yeere wee follow, But semel in anno ridet Apollo, Thy quirester cannot come 〈◊〉〈◊〉 The voice of this our Chanticleere▪ Then leave off these thy burning rayes, And give to Pan the Prick and prayse, Thy colour change, looke pale and wan, In honour of the great god Pan.

All.

A sentence, a sentence, a Pan, a Pan.

Apol.

Henceforth be all your ••urall musicke such, Made out of Tinkers, Pans, and Kettle-drummes; And never hence-foorth may your fields bee grac'd With the sweete musick of Apollos lyre: Midas for thee, may thy ••ares longer grow, As shorter still thy judgement, dulnesse, and dotage, Bee onely govern'd with those reverend haires; Let all like thee, that as they grow in time, Decay in knowledge, have that old manscurse, To be twice Children: for thy squeaking sonne, May all thy state thou leav'st him at thy death, Bee to sing Ballets through Areadia, And them to the like tunes; fare-well Admetus, My musicke lives unquestion'd, what's amisse Is not in us, but in their ignorance; Thus undisparadg'd, Phoebus leaves the place, And with them to succession, my disgrace.

Exit.

Ad.

Phoebus is gone displeas'd.

Pan.

Still may he be so.

Mi.

Midas I'me sure has judg'd with equitie.

A Storme. Enter Psich•• and Boreas.

Clo.

But see father, see god Pan, 〈◊〉〈◊〉revenge, he hath not sent a blustering wind to blow us all hence; 'tis Boreas, 'tis Boreas.

Pan.

Come Midas, come Swaines, till this storme be past, Let us away to shelter.

Exeu••.

Psi.

Where art thou Psich••, how art thou deform'd? What ayre affords thee breath? what men be these? Where shall I hid mee; let no humane eye

Which now attends thee?

Psi.

Cupid, my deare lord, Pardon my gilt, have pitty on my sorrow?

Cup.

I cannot, no I dare not, heaven, and earth, The destinies, and all th' Immortall powers, Have with the yron pen of Fate, writ downe Thy certaine paine; did I not give thee charge, To taste the pleasures of Immortall love, But not to wade too deepe in mistery? Could not my heavenly company suffice To cheere the soule? but thou with earthly eyes Must see my face; and view my reall beauty, Again•• my charge, thy love, and humane duty.

Psi.

I d•• intreate.

Cup.

Arise, kneele not to mee; But thanke thy sisters, they apparrell'd thee In that distractfull shape; Psiche farewell, Ile mourne in heaven, to see thy paines in hell.

Cupid ascends.

Ad.

Poore miserable child; in stead of teares, My heart weepes blood; I am confounded quite: I have three daughters, thou of all the rest, Had'st in my true conceptions greatest share, For which, I call'd thee Psiche, that's the soule, For as my soule I lov'd thee; now I abjure All interest in thy birth; 〈◊〉〈◊〉from my Court? My hand shall nere lay blessing on thy head, Nor my tongue grace thee with a daughters name, Thou art not mine, but the base birth of shame.

Psi.

Oh whether shall a wretch conuert her eyes,

When her owne father shall her teares despise?

Enter Mercury.

Mer.

Atend Arcadians, The Paoclamation of the Paphian Queene.

Ad.

When Hermes speakes, wee are bound to all attendance.

Mer.

Oh yes, If any can bring Psiche unto Venus—

Asti.

Psiche whom you are sent to seeke, stands there.

Mer.

Then heere ends Mercuries Commission: Psiche, in Venus name, I do•• arrest thee, For wrongs to her and Cupid.

Psi.

I obey Your high arrest, and with an humble suite, Prostrate my selfe to ••rias wrath; Where's angry Venus?

Mer.

Franticke in this grove, Mourning Adonis death,—and heere shee coms.

Enter Venus.

Ven.

Accursed bow, why did'st thou not defend him? Hee shall not die, Adonis still shall live; Apollo, gentle Phoebus mount thy Charriot, And in his co••d brest breath Caelestiall fire, For all earths simples cannot cure his wound; Or if hee must expire, command the Muses To give my love Immortall memory: Hast thou found Psiche? oh that in this rage, I could but now forget her.

Mer.

See where shee stands,

With downe-cast eyes, and weake up-heaved h••nds.

Ven.

Iust of my height, my state, and proportion; And were her pristine beauty lent her backe, Might in the rabbles judgement rivall mee: Strumpet, prophaner of our sacred rights, How hast thou wrong'd mee, and abus'd my sonne? By ayming at my honour, and his life.

Psi.

Dread Paphian Queene, for lovely Cupids sake, And this rich burthen in my wretched wombo, Pitty poore Psiche.

Ven.

Hast thou plaid the strumpet, And for thy sinnes sake must I pardon thee? No, that alone hath made me mercilesse.

Psi.

Helpe mee deare Father, sisters, Mercury.

Ad.

I dare not speake for thee.

Asti.

Nor I.

Petr.

Nor I.

Psi.

Poore Psiche, borne unto aduersity.

Mer.

Bee not so bitter Madam, for his sake, By whom you are made a grandam.

Ven.

I prove •• grandame to a strumpets brat; Goe Mercury, and from some Garner 〈◊〉〈◊〉 Five measures of five severall sorts of graine; Dispatch it Hermes.

Mer.

What will Venus doe?

Ven.

Thou shalt know better when thou back return'st:

Exit. Mercury.

You are young Venus, and the Queene of Lo••, That had th'ambition to be Cupids wife, And marry with a god; Ho Boreus,

Since Mercury is slack in his returne, Winde her inticing locks about thy arme, And tossing her loose carcasse in the ayre, Fling it into the bosome of some storme, And grind her bones to powder in the fall.

Psi.

Pitty me Venus, Father pleade for mee.

Enter Mercury with graine.

Ven.

'Tis well done Hermes, hast thou brought the graine?

Mer.

Madam I have.

Ven.

Then minion, heere's your taske, Looke on all these; see, thus I mingle them.

Psi.

And what must miserable Psiche doe?

Ven.

To severall hea••es, with thine owne hands divide Each severall seede ere the Sun kisse the West, Or looke for death; goe, and when that is done, Ile ride to Paphos and enlarge my sonne, Whom yet I keepe close P••soner in my closet.

Exit.

Ad.

Psiche adieu, none can reverse thy doome.

Asti.

Not I.

Mene.

Nor wee.

Exit. all but Mer. and Psi.

Psi.

I wish the earth my tombe.

Mer.

Take patience Psiche, and be comforted.

Psi.

Comfort, alas what comfort can shee find, Whose father and deare friends prove so unkind.

Mer.

For Cupids sake, who for thy love, now 〈◊〉〈◊〉 A paire of golden shackles on his heeles: This Mercury will doe, flie hence to Phaphos,

And fetch him from his late imprisonment, Then tell him of his mothers tyranie, That done, wee two will teach thee without paine, In severall heapes how to devide this graine.

Exeunt.

Enter Midas and Apulejus.

Mi.

And where have I beene think'st thou Apulejus? Did'st thou not misse mee?

Ap.

Yes, I did not sleepe, as thou did'st in thy judgement.

Mi.

Then I perc••ive, Thou know'st how I maintain'd our rurall musicke, Preferring it before Apollos harpe.

Mi.

Yes, and by that inferre, thou art all earthie, Nothing Caelestiall in thee.

Mi.

All's one for that; now for your morrall.

Ap.

Wil't thou stay it out?

Mi.

No, 'tis too dull, Vnlesse thou'lt quicken me with some conceit, Thy Psiches sadnesse hath made me so heauy, That Morpheus steales upon mee.

Ap.

What wouldst thou seee?

Mi.

Thy little Cupid I like prety well, And would see some-thing else what hee can doe, More then belongs to Psiche.

Ap.

Well, to kepe the awake, Ile shew thee now Loves Contrarieties, Which was more then my promise.

A DANCE.

Enter a King and a Begger, a Young-man and an Old woman, a Leane man, a Fat woman. Dance, & Exit.

Mi.

I marry, this was somewhat like indeede; Heere's youg and old; heere's fat and leane; the begger and the King; Love hath power over all.

But to your morrall now; why comes your Psiche With a sharpe Raysor, and a burning Lampe, To murder Cupid; then hee wakes and chafes, And flings hou•• ont at windowes, was't not so?

Ap.

Ile tell thee; shee charm'd by her sisters tongues, Thinks her faire love a serpent, and growne mad, Would murder Cupid, teare even Iove from heaven; Yet note the greatnesse of Caelestiall mercy; One glimpse, one lampe, one sparke, one devine thought Plucks backe her ar••e, and more inflames her brest With amorous raptures; but because poore soule, Shee aym'd to search forbidden mysteries, Her eyes are blasted, Cupid loathes her sight, Hee leaves her ugly, and his blessed bower Is rent in pieces; For heaven seemes to fall When our poore soules turne diabollicall.

Mi.

For that 'twixt Pan and Phoebus, I know best, For I was there an umpire; but resolue mee; Why left he Psiche when shee lost his love, Yet mourn'd when shee was left of all her friends.

Ap.

All bid the wretched soule run to despaire, When leprous sinne deformes her, but even then,

When the gods hate her? when shee's scorn'd of m••n? Cupid hangs in the ayre; his divine eyes Shed teares for her, comforts her miseries.

Mi.

Yet hee forsooke her too.

Ap.

Till Psiche bee made faire and angel-white, Shee's not to stand in Cupids glorious fight.

Mi.

Well, I am answer'd.

Ap.

And for thy part Midas, Laugh, sleepe, or flowte, nay snarle, and cavell too; Which none of these heere met I hope will doe.

Exeunt.