The fountaine of selfe-loue. Or Cynthias reuels As it hath beene sundry times priuately acted in the Black-Friers by the Children of her Maiesties Chappell. Written by Ben: Iohnson.

SCENA. 2.

Echo, Mercury.

Echo.

Here.

Mer.

So nigh.

Echo.

I.

Mer.

Know (gentle soule) then, I am sent from Iou••, Who (pittying the sad burthen of thy woes, Still growing on thee, in thy want of wordes▪ To vent thy passion for Narcissus death) Commaunds that now (after three thousand yeares, Which haue bin excercisde in Iunoes spight,) Thou take a corporall figure and ascend, Enricht with vocall, and articulate power, Make haste sad Nymph: thrise doth my winged rod, Strike th 'obsequious earth to giue thee way, Arise, and speake thy sorrowes, Eccho rise, Heere, by this Fountaine where thy loue did pine, Whose memory liues fresh to vulgar fame, Sh••in'd in this yellow flower, that beares his name

Ech.

His name reuiues and lifts me vp from earth.

Ascendit

O which way shall I first conuert my selfe? Or in what moode shall I assay to speake, That (in a moment) I may be deliuered, Of the prodigions griefe I go with all? Se••, see, the morning fount whose spring weepes yet,

Th'vntimely fate of that too-beauteous boy, That Trophaee of selfe loue, and spoile of nature, Who (now transformd into this drooping flower) Hangs the repentant head, back, from the streame; As if it wish'd: Would I had neuer lookt, In such a flattering mirror. O Narcissus, Thou that wast once (and yet art) my Narcissus, Had Eccho but beene priuate with thy thoughtes, She would haue dropt away her selfe in teares, Till she had all turn'd water; that in her, (As in a truer glasse) thou mighst haue gaz'd, And seene thy beauties by more kinde reflection: But Selfe loue neuer yet could looke on trueth, but with blear'd beames; Slieke flatterie and she: Are twin-borne sisters, and so mixe their eyes, As if you seuer one, the other dies. Why did the Gods giue thee a heauenly forme, And earthy thoughtes to make thee proude of it? Why do I aske? tis now the knowne disease That beautie hath, to beare to deepe a sence, Of her owne selfe-conceiued excellence. O hadst thou knowne the worth of heauens rich guift, Thou would'st haue turn'd it to a truer vse, And not (with leane and couetous ignorance) Pin'd in continuall eying that bright Gem, The glance whereof to others had bine more, Then to thy famisht minde the wide worldes store; " So wretched is it to be meerely ritch: Witnes thy youths deare sweetes, here spent vntasted; Like a faire Taper, with his owne flame wasted.

Mer.

Eccho be briefe, Saturnia is abroad; And if she heare, sheele storme at Ioues high will:

Eccho.

I will (kinde Mercury) be briefe as time, Vouchsafe me I may do him these last Rites, But kis••e his flower, and sing some mourning straine: Ouer his watry hearse.

Mer.

Thou dost obtaine, I were no sonne to loue shoulde I denie thee; Beginne, and (more to grace thy cunning voyce) The humourous ayre shall mixe her solemne tunes, With thy sad wordes: strike Musique from the spheares, And with your golden raptures swell our eares.

Cant.

SLow, Slow Fresh fount, keepe time with my salt teares; yet flower, yet, o faintly gentle springs; List to the heauy part the Musique beares, " Woe weepes out her diuision when she sings▪ Droope hearbes, and flowers, fall griefe in showers; " Our beauties are not ours: O I could still (Like melting snow vpon some craggy hill,) drop, drop, drop, drop, Since Natures pride, is now awither'd Daffadill.

Mer.

Now ha' you done?

Eccho.

Done presently (good Hermes) bide a little; Suffer my thirsty eye to gaze a while, But eene to tast the place, and I am vanisht:

Mer.

Forgoe thy vse and libertie of tongue, And thou maist dwell on earth, and sport thee there;

Eccho.

Here young Action ••ell, pursu'd, and torne By Cynthi••s wrath (more egar then his houndes;) And here, (ay me the place is fatall) see, The weeping Niobe, translated hether From P••rygian mountaines: and by Phaebe rear'd As the proude Trophaee of her sharpe reuenge.

Mer.

Nay but here▪

Ech.

But here, oh here, the Fountaine of selfe loue: In which Latona, and her carelesse Nimphes, (Regardles of my sorrowes) bath themselues, In hourely pleasures.

Mer.

Stint thy babling tongue; Fond Echo, thou prophanst the grace is done thee: So idle worldlings (meerely made of voyce:) Censure the powers aboue them. Come away, Ioue calls thee hence, and his will brookes no stay.

Ech.

O stay: I haue but one poore thought to clothe, In ayery garments and then (faith) I go: Henceforth, thou treacherous, and murthering spring, Be euer cald the Fountaine of selfe loue: And with thy water let this curse remaine, (As an inseperate plague) that who but tastes, A droppe thereof, may (with the instant touch) Grow dotingly enamour'd on themselues. Now Hermes I haue finish'd.

Mer.

Then thy speach, Must here forsake thee Echo, and thy voyce: (As it was wount) rebound but the last wordes, Fare well.

Echo.

Well.

Exit.

Now Cupid I am for you, and your mirth, To make me light before I leaue the earth.