Ben: Jonson Page

The Sad Shepherd.

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S A D  S H E P H E R D:

O R,   A

T  A  L  E


R O B I N   H O O D.

Written by Ben. Johnson.

Nec erubuit sylvas habitare Thaleia.      Virg.

The P E R S O N S of the P L A Y.

R O B I N-H O O D,         The chief Wood-man, Master of  
    the Feast.
M A R I A N, His Lady, the Mistris,

           Their Family.

F R I A R  T U C K, The Chaplain and Steward.
L I T T L E  J O H N, Bow-bearer.
S C A R L E T,
S C A T H L O C K,
}Two Brothers, Huntsmen.
G E O R G E  a  G R E E N,  Huisher of the Bower.
M U C H, Robin-hood's Baliff, or Acater.

     The Guests invited.

M E L L I F L E U R,      
A M I E,
L A R I N E,Earine
{ The Sweet,
The Gentle,
The Beautiful.
} Shepherdesses.
The Troubl esTroubles unexpected.

M A U D L I N,         The Envious: The Witch of Pap-
D O U C E, The Proud: Her Daughter.
L O R E L L, The Rude. A Swine'ard, the
    Witches Son.
P U C K-H A I R Y, Or Robin Goodfellow, their
C L A R I O N,      
L I O N E L,
A L K E N,
A E G L A M O U R,     
K A R O L I N,
{ The Rich,
The Courteous,
The Sage,
The Sad,
The Kind.
} Shepherds. 

The Reconciler.

R E U B E N,             A Devout Hermit.                             

The S C E N E  is  S H E R-W O O D.

   Consisting of a Landt-shape of Forest, Hills, Valleys, Cottages; A Castle, a River, Pastures, Heards, Flocks, all full of Countrey Simplicity, Robin Hood's Bower, his Well; the Witches Dimble, the Swine'ards Oak, the Hermits Cell.



A R G u M E N T
Of the First  A C T.


Obin-Hood, having invited all the Shep'erds and

Shep'erdesses of the Vale of Be'voir, to a Feast in the Forest of Sher-wood, and trusting to his Mistris, Maid Marian, with her Wood-men, to kill him Venison against the day: Having left the like Charge with Friar Tuck, his Chaplain and Steward, to command the rest of his merry men, to see the Bower made ready, and all things in order for the Entertainment: meeting with his Guests at their entrance into the Wood, welcomes and conducts them to his Bower. Where, by the way, he receives the Relation of the Sad Shep'ard Eglamour, who is fall'n into a deep Melancholy, for the loss of his beloved Earine; reported to have been drowned in passing over the Trent, some few days before. They endeavour, in what they can, to comfort him: But his disease having taken so strong Root, all is in vain, and they are forced to leave him. In the mean time, Marian is come from hunting with the Huntsmen, where the Lovers interchangeably express their Loves. Robin-Hood enquires if she hunted the Deer at force, and what Sport he made? how long he stood? and what Head he bore? All which is briefly answer'd, with a relation of breaking him up, and the Raven, and her Bone. The suspect had of that Raven to be Maudlin, the Witch of Paple-wick, whom one of the Huntsmen met i' the morning, at the rowsing of the Deer, and is confirm'd by her being then in Robin-Hood's Kitchin, i' the Chimney-corner, broyling the same Bit, which was thrown to the Raven, at the Quarry, or Fall of the Deer. Marian being gone in, to shew the Deer to some of the Shepherdesses, returns instantly to the Scene, discontented; sends away the Venison she had kill'd, to her they call the Witch, quarrels with her Love Robin-Hood, abuseth him, and his Guests the Shep'erds; and so departs, leaving them all in wonder and perplexity.

P R O L O G U E.


E that hath feasted you these Forty Years,
 And fitted
Fables for your finer Ears,
 Although at first, he scarce could hit the bore;
 Yet you, with patience harkning more and more,
At length have grown up to him, and made known,
The Working of his
Pen is now your own:
He prays you would vouchsafe, for your own sake,
To hear him this once more, but sit awake.
And though he now present you with such VVooll,
As from meer
English Flocks his Muse can pull,
He hopes when it is made up into Cloath,
Not the most curious Head here will be loath
To wear a Hood of it; it being a Fleece,
To match, or those of
Sicily, or Greece.
Scene is Sherwood: And his Play a Tale
Robin-Hood's inviting from the Vale
Be'voir, all the Shep'ards to a Feast:
Where, by the casual absence of one Guest,
The Mirth is troubled much, and in one Man
As much of Sadness shown, as Passion can.
The sad Young
Shep'ard, whom we here present,
Like his Woes Figure, dark and discontent,
[The Sad Shep'ard passeth silently over the Stage.

For his lost Love, who in the
Trent is said
To have miscarried; 'lass! what knows the Head
Of a calm River, whom the Feet have drown'd?
Hear what his Sorrows are; and if they wound
Your Gentle Breasts, so that the
End crown all,
Which in the scope of one Days chance may fall:
Trent will send you more such Tales as these,
And shall grow Young again, as one doth please.
[Here the Prologue thinking to end, returns upon
                  a new Purpose, and speaks on.

   But here's an Heresie of late let fall,
That Mirth by no means fits a

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Such say so, who can make none: he presumes:
Else there's no
Scene, more properly assumes
The Sock. For whence can Sport in kind arise,
But from the Rural Routs and Families?
Safe on this ground then, we not fear to day,
To tempt your Laughter by our Rustick
Wherein if we distaste, or be cry'd down,
We think we therefore shall not leave the Town;
Nor that the Fore-Wits, that would draw the rest
Unto their liking, always like the best.
The wise, and knowing
Critick, will not say,
This worst, or better is, before he weigh;
Where every piece be perfect in the kind:
And then, though in themselves he difference find,
Yet if the place require it where they stood,
The equal fitting makes them equal good.
You shall have Love, and Hate, and Jealousie,
As well as Mirth, and Rage, and Melancholy:
Or whatsoever else may either move,
Or stir affections, and your likings prove.
But that no Stile for
Pastoral should go
Current, but what is stamp'd with
Ah, and O:
Who judgeth so, may singularly err;
As if all
Poesie had one Character:
In which, what were not written, were not right,
Or that the Man who made such one poor flight,
In his whole Life, had with his winged Skill
Advanc'd him upmost on the
Muses Hill.
When he like
Poet yet remains, as those
Are Painters who can only make a Rose.
From such, your Wits redeem you, or your Chance,
Lest to a greater height you do advance
Of Folly, to contemn those that are known
Artificers, and trust such as are none.




S A D   S H E P H E R D:

O R,   A

Tale of Robin Hood.

Act I.    Scene I.



E R E! she was wont to go! and here!
         and here!
 Just where those Daisies, Pinks, and Vio-
         lets grow:
 The World may find the Spring by fol-
         lowing her;
For other print her airy steps ne'er left:
Her treading would not bend a blade of Grass!
Or shake the downy Blow-ball from his Stalk!
But like the soft VVest Wind, she shot along,
And where she went, the Flowers took thickest Root,
As she had sow'd 'em with her odorous Foot.

Act I.    Scene II.

Marian, Tuck, John, VVood-men, &c.

Now you, or can you guess, my merry men,
 What 'tis that keeps your Master, Robin-hood,
So long, both from his Marian, and the Wood?
   Tuc. Forsooth, Madam, he will be here by Noon,
And prays it of your Bounty, as a Boon,
That you by themthen have kill'd him Venison some,
To feast his jolly Friends, who hither come
In threaves to frolick with him, and make cheer;
Here's Little John hath harbour'd you a Deer,
I see by his tackling.
   Jo. And a Hart of Ten,
I trow he be, Madam, or blame your Men:
For by his Slot, his Entries, and his Port,
His Frayings, Fewmets, he doth promise Sport,
And standing 'fore the Dogs; he bears a Head,
Large, and well beam'd: with all Rights somm'd, and spread.
   Mar. Let's rowse him quickly, and lay on the Hounds.
   Jo. Scathlock is ready with them on the Grounds:
So is his Brother Scarlet: now they 'ave found
His Layre, they have him sure within the Pound.
   Mar. Away then, when my Robin bids a Feast,
'Twere sin in Marian to defraud a Guest.

Act I.    Scene III.

Tuck, George a Green, Much, Æglamour.

Nd I, the Chaplain, here am left to be
 Steward to day, and charge you all in fee,
To d'on your Liveries, see the Bower drest.

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And fit the fine devices for the Feast:
You, George, must care to make the Baldrick trim,
And Garland that must crown, or her, or him;
Whose Flock this Year, hath brought the earliest Lamb.
   Geo. Good Father Tuck, at your Commands I am
To cut the Table out o' the green Sword,variant of 'Sward'
Or any other Service for my Lord;
To carve the Guests large Seats; and these laid in
With Turfe (as soft and smooth as the Mole's Skin:)
And hang the bulled Nosegays 'bove their Heads,
The Pipers Bank, whereon to sit and play,
And a fair Dial to meet out the day.
Our Master's Feast shall want no just delights:
His Entertainments must have all the Rites.
   Muc. I, and all choice that Plenty can send in;
Bread, Wine, Acates, Fowl, Feather, Fish, or Fin,
For which my Father's Nets have swept the Trent.
[Æglamour falls in with them.

   Æg. And ha' you found her?
   Muc. Whom?   Æg. My drowned Love,
Earine! the sweet Earine!
The bright, and beautiful Earine!
Have you not heard of my Earine?
Just by your Father's Mill (I think I am right)
Are not you Much, the Miller's Son?   Muc. I am.
   Æg. And Bailiff to brave Robin-hood?
   Muc. The same.
   Æg. Close by your Father's Mills, Earine!
Earine was drown'd! O my Earine!
(Old Maudlin tells me so, and Douce her Daughter)
Ha' you swept the River, say you? and not found her?
   Muc. For Fowl and Fish we have.
   Æg. O, not for her?
You're goodly Friends! right charitable Men!
Nay, keep your way, and leave me: make your Toys,
Your Tales, your Poesies, that you talk'd of; all
Your Entertainments: you not injure me:
Only if I may enjoy my Cypress Wreath!
And you will let me weep! (tis all I ask;)
Till I be turn'd to Water, as was she!
And troth, what less Suit can you grant a Man?
   Tuck. His Phantasie is hurt, let us now leave him:
The Wound is yet too fresh to admit searching.
   Æg. Searching? Where should I search? or on what
Can my slow drop of Tears, or this dark shade
About my Brows, enough describe her loss!
Earine, O my Earine's loss!
No, no, no, no; this Heart will break first.
   Geo. How will this sad disaster strike the Ears
Of bounteous Robin-hood, our gentle Master?


536 The sad Shepherdess.Shepherd             

   Muc. How will it mar his Mirth, abate his Feast;
And strike a Horror into every Guest!
   Æg. If I could knit whole Clouds about my Brows,
And weep like Swithen, or those watry Signs,
The Kids that rise then, and drown all the Flocks
Of those rich Shepherds, dwelling in this Vale;
Those careless Shepherds that did let her drown!
Then I did something, or could make old Trent
Drunk with my sorrow, to start out in breaches,
To drown their Herds, their Cattle, and their Corn;
Break down their Mills, their Dams, o'er-turn their
And see their Houses, and whole Livelihood
Wrought into Water, with her, all were good:
I'ld kiss the Torrent, and those Whirles of Trent,
That suck'd her in, my sweet Earine!
When they have cast theirher Body on the Shoar,
And it comes up as tainted as themselves,
All pale and bloodless, I will love it still,
For all that they can do, and make 'em mad,
To see how I will hug it in mine arms!
And hang upon theher Looks, dwell on her Eyes:
Feed round about her Lips, and eat her Kisses!
Suck of her drowned Flesh! and where's their malice?
Not all their envious sousing can change that:
But I will study some Revenge past this!
I pray you give me leave, for I will study,
Though all the Bells, Pipes, Tabors, Timburines ring,
That you can plant about me: I will study.

Act I.    Scene IV.

To him.]   Robin-hood, Clarion, Mellifleur, Lionel, Amie,
        Alkin, Tuck, Servants,
with Musick of all sorts.

Elcome, bright Clarion, and sweet Mellifleur,
 The courteous Lionel, fair Amie; all
My Friends and Neighbours to the Jolly Bower
Of Robin-hood, and to the green Wood Walks:
Now that the shearing of your Sheep is done,
And the wash'd Flocks are lighted of their Wooll,
The smoother Ewes are ready to receive
The mounting Rams again; and both do feed,
As either promis'd to increase your Breed
At eaning time; and bring you lusty Twins.
Why should, or you, or we so much forget
The Season in our selves, as not to make
Use of our Youth, and Spirits, to awake
The nimble Horn-Pipe, and the Timburine,
And mix our Songs and Dances in the Wood,
And each of us cut down a Triumph-Bough?
Such were the Rites the youthful June allow.
   Cla. They were, gay Robin, but the sowrer sort
Of Shepherds, now disclaim in all such sport:
And say, our Flocks the while, are poorly fed,
When with such Vanities the Swains are led.
   Tuc. Would they, wise Clarion, were not hurried more
With Covetise and Rage, when to their Store
They add the poor man's Eanling, and dare sell
Both Fleece and Carkass, not gi'ing him the Fell.
When to one Goat, they reach that prickly Weed,
Which maketh all the rest forbear to feed;
Or strew Tods Hairs, or with their Tails do sweep
The dewy Grass, to do'ff the simpler Sheep;
Or dig deep Pits, their Neighbours Neat to vex,
To drown the Calves, and crack the Heifers Necks.
Or with pretence of chasing thence the Brock,
Send in a Cur to worry the whole Flock.
   Lio. O Friar, those are Faults that are not seen,
Ours open, and of worst Example been.
They call ours Pagan Pastimes, that infect
Our Blood with Ease, our Youth with all neglect;
Our Tongues with Wantonness, our Thoughts with Lust,
And what they censure ill, all others must.

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   Rob. I do not know what their sharp sight may see,
Of late, but I should think it still might be
(As 'twas) a happy Age, when on the Plains
The Wood-men met the Damsels, and the Swains
The Neat'ards, Plow-men, and the Pipers loud,
And each did dance, some to the Kit, or Crowd,
Some to the Bag-pipe, some the Tabret mov'd,
And all did either love, or were belov'd.
   Lio. The dextrous Shepherd then would try his Sling,
Then dart his Hook at Daisies, then would sing.
Sometimes would wrastle.
   Cla. I, and with a Lass:
And give her a new Garment on the Grass;
After a course at Barley-break, or Base.
   Lio. And all these deeds were seen without offence,
Or the least hazard of their Innocence.
   Rob. Those charitable Times had no mistrust.
Shepherds knew how to love, and not to lust.
   Cla. Each minute that we lose thus, I confess,
Deserves a Censure on us, more or less;
But that a sadder Chance hath given allay,
Both to the Mirth and Musick of this day.
Our fairest Shepherdess we had of late,
Here upon Trent, is drown'd; for whom her Mate,
Young Æglamour, a Swain, who best could tread
Our Countrey Dances; and our Games did lead,
Lives like the melancholy Turtle, drown'd
Deeper in Woe, than she in Water: crown'd
With Yewgh and Cypress, and will scarce admit
The Physick of our Presence to his Fit.
   Lio. Sometimes he sits, and thinks all day, then walks,
Then thinks again, and sighs, weeps, laughs and talks;
And 'twixt his pleasing Frenzy, and sad Grief,
Is so distracted, as no sought relief,
By all our Studies can procure his Peace.
   Cla. The Passion finds in him that large increase,
As we doubt hourly we shall lose him too.
   Rob. You should not cross him then, whate'er you do:
For Phant'sie stopp'd, will soon take fire, and burn
Into an Anger, or to a Phrensie turn.
   Cla. Nay, so we are advis'd by AlhenAlken here,
A good sage Shepherd, who, altho' he wear
An old worn Hat and Cloak, can tell us more
Than all the forward Fry, that boast their Lore.
   Lio. See, yonder comes the Brother of the Maid,
Young Karolin! how curious, and afraid
He is at once! willing to find him out,
And loth to offend him.
   Alken. Sure he's here about.

Act I.    Scene V.

Robin-hood, Clarion, Mellifleur, Lionel, Amie, Alken, Karo-
lin, Æglamour,
sitting upon a Bank by.

Ee where he sits.
   Æg. It will be rare, rare, rare!
An exquisite revenge: But peace, no words!
Not for the fairest Fleece of all the Flock:
If it be known afore, 'tis all worth nothing!
I'll carve it on the Trees, and in the Turfe,
On every Greensworth, and in every Path,
Just to the Margin of the cruel Trent;
There will I knock the Story in the Ground,
In smooth great Pebble, and Moss fill it round,
Till the whole Countrey read how she was drown'd.
And with the plenty of salt Tears there shed,
Quite alter the Complexion of the Spring.
Or I will get some old, old Grandam thither,
Whose rigid Foot but dip'd into the Water,
Shall strike that sharp, and sudden cold throughout,
As it shall lose all Vertue; and those Nimphs,
Those treacherous Nimphs, pull'd in Earine;
Shall stand curl'd up, like Images of Ice;

           The sad Shepherd. 537

And never thaw! Mark, never! a sharp Justice:
Or stay, a better! when the year's at hottest,
And that the Dog-Star foams, and the Stream boils,
And curls, and works, and swells ready to sparkle:
To fling a fellow with a Fever in,
To set it all on fire, till it burn
Blue as Scamander, 'fore the Walls of Troy;
When Vulcan leap'd in to him, to consume him.
   Rob. A deep hurt Phant'sie.
   Æg. Do you not approve it?
   Rob. Yes, gentle Æglamour, we all approve,
And come to gratulate your just Revenge:
Which since it is so perfect, we now hope,
You'll leave all care thereof, and mix with us,
In all the profer'd solace of the Spring.
   Æg. A Spring, now she is dead: of what, of Thorns?
Briars, and Brambles? Thistles? Burs, and Docks?
Cold Hemlock? Yew? the Mandrake, or the Box?
These may grow still; but what can spring beside?
Did not the whole Earth sicken, when she died?
As if there since did fall one drop of dew,
But what was wept for her! or any stalk
Did bear a Flower! or any Branch a Bloom,
After her wreath was made: In faith, in faith,
You do not fair, to put these things upon me.
Which can in no sort be: Earine,
Who had her very Being, and her Name.period should be replaced with a comma
With the first knots, or buddings of the Spring,
Born with the Primrose, and the Violet,
Or earliest Roses blown: when Cupid smil'd,
And Venus led the Graces out to dance,
And all the Flowers, and Sweets in Natures lap,
Leap'd out, and made their solemn Conjuration,
To last, but while she liv'd: Do not I know,
How the Vale wither'd the same Day? How Dove,
Dean, Eye,
and Erwash, Idel, Snite, and Soare,
Each broke his Urn, and Twenty Waters more,
That swell'd proud Trent, shrunk themselves dry; that
No Sun, or Moon, or other chearful Star,
Look'd out of Heaven! but all the Cope was dark,
As it were hung so for her Exequies!
And not a voice or sound, to ring her knell:
But of that dismal pair, the scritching Owl,
And buzzing Hornet! hark, hark, hark the foul
Bird! how she flutters with her wicker Wings!
Peace, you shall hear her scritch.
   Cla. Good Karolin, sing,
Help to divert this Phant'sie.   Kar. All I can.

The S O N G.

          [Which while Karolin sings, Æglamour reads.
Hough I am young, and cannot tell,
   Either what Death, or Love is well,
Yet I have heard, they both bear Darts,
   And both do aim at Humane Hearts:
And then again, I have been told,
   Love wounds with heat, as Death with cold;
So that I fear they do but bring
   Extreams to touch, and mean one thing.

As in a Ruine, we it call,
   One thing to be blown up, or fall;
Or to our end, like way may have,
   By a flash of Lightning, or a Wave:
So Loves inflamed Shaft, or Brand,
   May kill as soon as Death's cold Hand;
Except Loves Fires the Vertue have
   To fright the Frost out of the Grave.

   Æg. Do you think so? are you in that good Heresie?
I mean Opinion? If you be, say nothing:
I'll study it, as a new Philosophy,

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But by my self alone: Now you shall leave me.
Some of these Nymphs, here, will reward you; this,
This pretty Maid, although but with a Kiss,
[He forces Amie to kiss him.

Liv'd my Earine, you should have Twenty:
For every Line here, one I would allow 'em
From mine own Store, the Treasure I had in her:
Now I am poor as you.   Kar. And I a Wretch!
   Cla. Yet keep an Eye upon him, Karolin.
[Æglamour goes out, and Karolin follows him.

   Mel. Alas! that ever such a generous Spirit,
As Æglamour's, should sink by such a loss!
   Cla. The truest Lovers are least fortunate,
Look all their Lives, and Legends, what they call
The Lovers Scriptures, Heliodores, or Tatii!
Longi! Eustathii! Prodomi!
you'll find it!
What think you, Father?   Alk. I have known some few,
And read of more, wh'have had their dose, and deep,
Of these sharp bitter-sweets.   Lio. But what is this
To jolly Robin, who the Story is,
Of all beatitude in Love?   Cla. And told
Here every day, with wonder on the World.
   Lio. And with Fame's Voice.
   Alk. Save that some folk delight
To blend all good of others, with some spight.
   Cla. He, and his Marian, are the Sum and Talk
Of all, that breathe here in the Green-Wood Walk.
   Mel. Or Be'voir Vale?
   Kar.'Lio.' per Gifford The Turtles of the Wood.
   Cla. The billing Pair.   Alk. And so are understood
For simple Loves, and sampled Lives beside.
   Mel. Faith, so much Vertue should not be envi'd.
   Alk. Better be so than pitied, Mellifleur!
For 'gainst all Envy, Vertue is a Cure;
But wretched Pity ever calls on Scorns.
The Deer's brought home: I hear it by their Horns.

Act I.    Scene VI.

To Robin, &c. Marian, John, Scarlet, Scathlock.

Y Marian, and my Mistris!
   Mar. My lov'd Robin!
   Mel. The Moon's at full, the happy Pair are met!
   Mar. How hath this morning paid me, for my rising!
First, with my Sports; but most with meeting you!
I did not half so well reward my Hounds,
As she hath me to day: although I gave them
All the sweet Morsels, call'd Tongue, Ears and Dowcets!
   Rob. What? and the Inch-pin?   Mar. Yes.
   Rob. Your Sports then pleas'd you?
   Mar. You are a Wanton.
   Rob. One, I do confess,
I wanted till you came; but now I have you,
I'll grow to your Embraces, till Two Souls
Distilled into Kisses, through our Lips,
Do make one Spirit of Love.
   Mar. O Robin! Robin!
   Rob. Breathe, breathe a while, what says my gentle
   Mar. Could you so long be absent?
   Rob. What, a Week?
Was that so long?
   Mar. How long are Lovers Weeks,
Do you think, Robin, when they are asunder?
Are they not Pris'ners Years?
   Rob. To some they seem so;
But being met again, they are School-boys Hours.
   Mar. That have got leave to play, and so we use
   Rob. Had you good Sport i' your Chase to day?
   Jo. O, prime!
   Mar. A lusty Stag?question mark should be replaced with an exclamation mark   Rob. And hunted ye at force?

Z z z                         Mar.                  

538 The sad Shepherd.                  

   Mar. In a full cry.   Jo. And never hunted change!
   Rob. You had stanch Hounds then?
   Mar. Old and sure; I love
No young rash Dogs, no more than changing Friends.
   Rob. What relays set you?
   Jo. None at all; we laid not
In one fresh Dog.   Rob. He stood not long then?
   Sca. Yes,
Five hours and more. A great, large Deer!
   Rob. What Head?
   Joh. Forked! A Hart of Ten.
   Mar. He is good Venison,
According to the Season i' the Blood,
I'll promise all your Friends, for whom he fell.
   Joh. But at his fall there hap't a chance.
   Mar. Worth mark?question mark should be replaced with a period
[He kisses her.
   Rob. I! what was that, sweet Marian?
   Mar. You'll not hear?
   Rob. I love these interruptions in a Story;
[He kisses her again.

They make it sweeter.   Mar. You do know, as soon
[He kisses her again.
As the Assay is taken.
   Rob. On, my Marian.
I did but take the Assay.   Mar. You stop ones Mouth,
And yet you bid 'em speak — when the Arbor's made.
   Rob. Pull'd down, and Paunch turn'd out.
   Mar. He that undoes him,
Doth cleave the Brisket-bone, upon the Spoon
Of which, a little Gristle grows, you call it ——
   Rob. The Ravens Bone.
   Mar. Now, o'er Head sate a Raven!
On a sere Bough! a grown great Bird! and Hoarse!
Who, all the while the Deer was breaking up,
So crok'd and cry'd for't, as all the Huntsmen
(Especially old Scathlock) thought it ominous!
Swore it was Mother Maudlin, whom he met
At the day-dawn, just as he rows'd the Deer
Out of his Laire: but we made shift to run him
Off his Four Legs, and sunk him e're we left.
Is the Deer come?   Scat. He lies within o' the dresser!
   Mar. Will you go see him, Mellifleur?
   Mel. I attend you.
   Mar. Come, Amie, you'll go with us?
   Am. I am not well.
   Lio. She's sick o' the young Shep'erd that bekist her.      
   Mar. Friend, chear your Friends up, we will eat him
   Alk. Saw you the Raven, Friend?
   Scat. I, qu'ha suld let me?
I suld be afraid ô you, Sir, suld I?
   Clar. Huntsman!
A Dram more of Civility would not hurt you?
   Rob. Nay, you must give them all their rudenesses;
They are not else themselves, without their Language.
   Alk. And what do you think of her?
   Scat. As of a Witch.
They call her a Wise-woman, but I think her
An arrant Witch.
   Clar. And wherefore think you so?
   Scat. Because I saw her since broiling the Bone
Was cast her at the Quarry.
   Alk. Where saw you her?
   Scat. I' the Chimney nuik, within: she's there now.
   Rob. Marian.

Act I.    Scene VII.

[To them.

'Rob.' omitted 
Our Hunt holds in his Tale still; and tells more!
   Mar. My Hunt? what Tale?
   Rob. How! cloudy, Marian!
What look is this?   Mar. A fit one, Sir, for you.
[To Scathlock.
Hand off, rude Ranger! Sirrah, get you in

[column break]

And bear the Venison hence: It is too good
For these course Rustick Mouthes, that cannot open,
Or spend a thank for't. A starv'd Muttons Carkass
Would better fit their Palates. See it carried
To Mother Maudlins, whom you call the Witch, Sir.
Tell her I sent it to make merry with,
She'll turn us thanks at least! why stand'st thou, Groom?
   Rob. I wonder he can move! that he's not fix'd!
If that his feeling be the same with mine!
I dare not trust the Faith of mine own Senses.
I fear mine Eyes and Ears: this is not Marian!
Nor am I Robin-hood! I pray you ask her!
Ask her, good Shep'erds! ask her all for me;
Or rather ask your selves, if she be she;
Or I be I.   Mar. Yes, and you are the Spy:
And the spi'd Spy, that watch upon my Walks,
To inform what Deer I kill, or give away!
Where! when! to whom! But spy your worst, good
I will dispose of this where least you like!
Fall to your Cheese-Cakes, Curds, and clawted Cream,
Your Fools, your Flaunes; and of Ale a stream
To wash it from your Livers: strain Ewes Milk
Into your Cyder Sillabubs, and be drunk
To him, whose Fleece hath brought the earliest Lamb
This year; and wears the Baudrick at your Bord!
Where you may all go whistle; and record
This i' your Dance: and foot it lustily.
[She leaves them.

   Rob. I pray you, Friends, do you hear? and see, as
           I do?
Did the same Accents strike your Ears? and Objects?
Your Eyes, as mine?
   Alk. We taste the same Reproaches!
   Lio. Have seen the Changes!
   Rob. Are we not all chang'd,
Transformed from our selves?   Lio. I do not know!
The best is silence!   Alk. And to await the issue.
   Rob. The dead, or lazy wait for't: I will find it.

The Argument of the Second Act.

HE Witch Maudlin, having taken the Shape of Ma-
 rian, to abuse Robin-hood, and perplex his Guests,
cometh forth with her Daughter
Douce, reporting in what
confusion she hath left them; defrauded them of their Veni-
son; made them suspicious each of the other; but most of
Robin-hood so jealous of his Marian, as she hopes no
Effect of Love would ever reconcile them; glorying so far in
the Extent of her Mischief, as she confesseth to have sur-
Earine, stripp'd her of her Garments, to make her
Daughter appear fine, at this Feast, in them; and to have
shut the Maiden up in a Tree, as her Son's Prize, if he
could win her; or his Prey, if he would force her. Her
Son a rude bragging Swine'ard, comes to the Tree to woo her
(his Mother and Sister stepping aside to over-hear him) and
first boasts his Wealth to her, and his Possessions; which move
not. Then he presents her Gifts, such as himself is taken
with; but she utterly shows a scorn, and loathing both of
him and them. His Mother is angry, rates him, instructs
him what to do the next time, and perswades her Daughter
to show her self about the Bower: Tells how she shall know
her Mother, when she is transformed, by her broidered Belt.
Mean while the Young Shep'ardess,
Amie, being kist by Karo-
lin, Earine's Brother, before, falls in Love; but knows not
what Love is: but describes her Disease so innocently, that
Marian pities her. VVhen Robin-hood, and the rest of his
Guests invited, enter to
Marian, upbraiding her with send-
ing away their Venison to Mother
Maudlin by Scathlock,
which she denies;
Scathlock affirms it, but seeing his Mi-
stris weep, and to forswear it, begins to doubt his own Un-
derstanding, rather than affront her farther; which makes


           The sad Shepherd. 539

Robin-hood, and the rest, to examine themselves better.
Maudlin entering like her self, the Witch comes to
thank her for her Bounty: at which
Marian is more angry,
and more denies the Deed.
Scathlock enters, tells he has
brought it again, and delivered it to the Cook. The Witch
is inwardly vext the Venison is so recover'd from her by the
rude Huntsman, and murmurs and Curses; bewitches the
Cook, mocks poor
Amie, and the rest; discovereth her ill Na-
ture, and is a mean of reconciling them all. For the Sage
Shepherd suspecteth her mischief, if she be not prevented:
and so perswadeth to seize on her. Whereupon
dispatcheth out his VVoodmen to hunt, and take her. VVhich
ends the Act.

Act II.    Scene I.

Maudlin, Douce.

Ave I not left 'em in a brave confusion?
 Amaz'd their Expectation? got their Ve-
Troubled their mirth and meeting? made them doubtful
And jealous of each other? all distracted?
And, i' the close, uncertain of themselves?
This can your Mother do, my dainty Douce!
Take any Shape upon her! and delude
The Senses best acquainted with their Owners!
The jolly Robin, who hath bid this Feast,
And made this solemn Invitation;
I ha' possess'd so, with syke dislikes
Of his own Marian, that all-be he know her,
As doth the vaunting Hart his venting Hind,
He ne'er fra' hence, sall neis her i' the wind,
To his first liking.
   Dou. Did you so distatedistaste him?
   Mau. As far as her proud scorning him could 'bate
Or blunt the Edge of any Lovers Temper.
   Dou. But were ye like her Mother?
   Mau. So like Douce,
As had she seen me her sel', her sel' had doubted
Whether had been the liker of the twâ!
This can your Mother do, I tell you, Daughter!
I ha' but dight ye yet, i' the out-dress,
And 'pparel of Earine! but this Raiment,
These very Weeds sall make ye, as but coming
In view or ken of Æglamour, your Form
Shall show too slippery to be look'd upon!
And all the Forest swear you to be she!
They shall rin after ye, and wage the odds,
Upo' their own deceived sights, ye' are her!
Whilst she (poor Lass) is stock'd up in a Tree:
Your Brother Lorel's Prize! For so my largess
Hath lotted her to be your Brother's Mistris;
Gif she can be reclaim'd: gif not, his Prey!
And here he comes, new claithed, like a Prince
Of Swine'erds! syke he seems! dight i' the Spoils
Of those he feeds! A mighty Lord of Swine!
He is command now to woo. Let's step aside,
And hear his Love-craft! See, he opes the door!
And takes her by the hand, and helps her forth!
This is true Courtship, and becomes his Ray.

Act II.    Scene II.

Lorel, Earine, Maudlin, Douce.

E kind to others, but ye coy to me
 Deft Mistris! whiter than the Cheese new
Smoother than Cream! and softer than the Curds!
Why start ye from me, ere ye hear me tell
My wooing Errand; and what Rents I have?

[column break]

Large Herds and Pastures! Swine, and Kie, mine own!
And though my Na'se be camus'd, my Lips thick,
And my Chin bristled! Pan, great Pan, was such!
Who was the Chief of Herdsmen, and our Sire!
I am na' Fay! na' Incubus! na' Changlin!
But a Good Man, that lives o' my awn Geer.
This House! these Grounds! this Stock is all mine awne!
   Ear. How better 'twere to me, this were not known!
   Mau. She likes it not: but it is boasted well!
   Lor. An Hundred Udders for the Pail I have,
That gi' me Milk and Curds, that make me Cheese
To cloy the Markets! Twenty Swarm of Bees,
Whilke (all the Summer) hum about the Hive,
And bring me Wax and Honey in by live.'belive' per Whalley (and OED), meaning 'directly'
An aged Oak, the King of all the Field,
With a broad Beech there grows afore my dur,
That mickle Mast unto the Ferm doth yield.
A Chestnut, whilke hath larded mony a Swine,
Whose Skins I wear to fend me fra' the Cold.
A Poplar Green, and with a kerved Seat,
Under whose shade I solace in the heat;
And thence can see gang out and in my Neat.
Twa trilland Brooks, each (from his Spring) doth meet,
And make a River to refresh my Feet:
In which, each morning ere the Sun doth rise,
I look my self, and clear my pleasant Eyes,
Before I pipe; For therein I have skill
'Bove other Swine'erds. Bid me, and I will
Straight play to you, and make you melody.
   Ear. By no means. Ah! to me all Minstrelsie
Is irksome, as are you.
   Lor. Why scorn you me?
Because I am a Herdsman, and feed Swine!
[He draws out other Presents.

I am a Lord of other Geer! this fine
Smooth Bawsons Cub, the young Grice of a Gray;
Twa tyny Urshins, and this Ferret gay.
   Ear. Out on 'em! what are these?
   Lor. I give 'em ye,
As Presents, Mrs.   Ear. O, the Feind, and thee!
Gar take them hence: they fewmand all the claithes,
And prick my Coats: hence with 'em, limmer lown,
Thy Vermine and thy self, thy self art one;
I lock me up. All's well when thou art gone.

Act II.    Scene III.

Lorel, Maudlin, Douce.

Id you hear this? she wish'd me at the Feind,
 With all my Presents!   Mau. A tu lucky end
She wishend thee, foul Limmer! dritty Lown!
Gud faith, it duills me that I am thy Mother!
And see, thy Sister scorns thee, for her Brother!
Thou woo thy Love, thy Mistris, with twa Hedge-hogs?
A stinkand Brock? a Polcat? out thou Houlet!
Thou should'st ha' given her a Madge-Owl! and then
Th' hadst made a present o' thy self, Owl-spiegle!
   Dou. Why, Mother, I have heard ye bid to give;
And often as the Cause calls.   Mau. I know well,
It is a witty part, sometimes, to give.
But what? to whame? no Monsters! nor to Maidens!
He suld present them with mare pleasant things,
Things Natural, and what all Women covet
To see: the common Parent of us all!
Which Maids will twire at, 'tween their fingers, thus!
With which his Sire gat him! He's get another!
And so beget Posterity upon her!
This he should do! (false Gelden) gang thy gait,
And du thy turns betimes: or, I'is gar take
Thy new breikes fra' thee, and thy dublet tu.
The Talleur, and the Sowter sall undu'
All they ha' made; except thou manlier woo!
[Lorel goes out.

Z z z 2                                    Dou.          

538540 The sad Shepherd.                  

   Dou. Gud Mother, gif yow chide him, he'll du
   Mau. Hang him: I geif him to the Devils eirs.
But, ye my Douce, I charge ye, shew your sell,
Tu all the Shep'erds, baudly: gaing amang 'em.
Be mickel i' their Eye, frequent, and fugeand.
And, gif they ask ye of Earine,
Or of these Claithes; say, that I ga' 'em ye,
And say no more. I ha' that wark in hand,
That web upo' the Luime, sall gar 'em think
By then, they feelin their own frights and fears,
I' is pu' the World, or Nature, 'bout their Ears.
But, hear ye, Douce, bycause ye may meet me
In mony shapes to day, where-e'er you spy
This browdred Belt, with Characters, tis I.
A Gypsan Lady, and a right Beldam,
Wrought it by Moon-shine for me, and Star-light,
Upo' your Granams Grave, that very Night
We earth'd her, in the Shades; when our Dame Hecate
Made it her gaing-night, over the Kirk-yard,
With all the Bark and'Barkand' per Whalley, meaning 'barking' Parish-Tykes set at her,
While I sat whyrland of my brazen Spindle:
At every twisted thrid my rock let fly
Unto the sew'ster, who did sit me nigh,
Under the Town-turn-pike; which ran each spell
She stitched in the work, and knit it well.
See, ye take tent to this, and ken' your Mother.

Act II.    Scene IV.

Marian, Mellifleur, Amie.

Ow do you, sweet Amie, yet?
   Mel. She cannot tell,
If she could sleep, she says, she should do well.
She feels a hurt, but where, she cannot show
Any least sign, that she is hurt or no.
Her pain's not doubtful to her; but the seat
Of her pain is. Her thoughts too work, and beat,
Opprest with Cares: but why, she cannot say.
All matter of her care is quite away.
   Mar. Hath any Vermine broke into your Fold?
Or any Rot seiz'd on your Flock? or cold?
Or hath your feighting Ram burst his hard Horn?
Or any Ewe her Fleece? or Bag hath torn,
My gentle Amie?
   Am. Marian, none of these.
   Mar. Ha' you been stung by Wasps, or angry Bees?
Or raz'd with some rude Bramble, or rough Briar?
   Am. No, Marian; my Disease is somewhat nigher.
I weep, and boyl away my self in tears;
And then my panting Heart would dry those fears:
I burn, though all the Forest lend a shade;
And freeze, though the whole Wood one fire were
   Mar. Alas!
   Am. I often have been torn with Thorn and Briar,
Both in the Leg, and Foot, and somewhat higher:
Yet gave not then such fearful shreiks as these. Ah!
I often have been stung too with curst Bees,
Yet not remember that I then did quit
Either my Company, or Mirth for it. Ah!
And therefore, what it is that I feel now,
And know no cause of it, nor where, nor how,
It entred in me, nor least print can see,
I feel afflicts me more than Briar or Bee. Oh!
How often, when the Sun, Heavens brightest birth,
Hath with his burning fervour cleft the Earth,
Under a spreading Elm, or Oak, hard by
A cool clear Fountain, could I sleeping lie
Safe from the Heat? but now, no shady tree,
Nor purling Brook, can my refreshing be?
Oft when the Meadows were grown rough with Frost,
The Rivers Ice bound, and their Currents lost,

[column break]

My thick warm Fleece I wore, was my defence,
Or large good Fires I made, drave Winter thence.
But now, my whole Flocks fells, nor this thick grove,
Enflam'd to ashes, can my cold remove.
It is a cold, and heat, that doth out-go
All sense of Winters, and of Summers so.

Act II.    Scene V.

Roben-hood,Robin-hood Clarion, Lionel, Alken.

, are you here, my Mistris?
   Mar. I, my Love!
[She seeing him, runs to embrace him.

Where should I be, but in my Robin's arms?
The Sphere which I delight in, so to move?
   Rob. What the rude Ranger? and spied Spy? hand off:
[He puts her back.
You are for no such Rusticks.
   Mar. What means this,
Thrice worthy Clarion? or wise Alken? know ye?
   Rob. 'Las no, not they! a poor starv'd Mutton's
Would better fit their Palat's, than your Venison.
   Mar. What Riddle is this! unfold your self, dear
   Rob. You ha' not sent your Venison hence by Scath-

To Mother Maudlin?
   Mar. I, to Mother Maudlin?
Will Scathlock say so?
   Rob. Nay, we will all swear so.
For all did hear it, when you gave the charge so.
Both Clarion, Alken, Lionel, my self.
   Mar. Good honest Shep'erds, Masters of your Flocks,
Simple, and vertuous Men, no others Hirelings;
Be not you made to speak against your Conscience,
That which may soil the truth. I send the Venison
Away? by Scathlock? and to Mother Maudlin?
I came to shew it here, to Mellifleur,
I do confess; but Amie's falling ill,
Did put us off it: Since we imploy'd our selves
[Scathlock enters.
In comforting of her. O, here he is!
Did I, Sir, bid you bear away the Venison,
To Mother Maudlin?
   Sca. I, gud faith, Madam,
Did you, and I ha' done it.
   Mar. What ha' you done?
   Sca. Obey'd your hests, Madam; done your Com-
   Mar. Done my Commands, dull Groom? Fetch it
Or Kennel with the Hounds. Are these the Arts,
Robin, you read your rude ones o' the Wood,
To countenance your quarrels, and mistakings?
Or are the Sports to entertain your Friends,
Those formed Jealousies? Ask of Mellifleur,
If I were ever from her, here, or Amie,
Since I came in with them; or saw this Scathlock,
Since I related to you his Tale o' the Raven?
[Scathlock goes out.
   Sca. I, say you so?
   Mel. She never left my side
Since I came in, here, nor I hers.   Cla. This 's strange!
Our best of Senses were deceiv'd, our Eyes, then!
   Lio. And Ears too.   Mar. What you have concluded on,
Make good, I pray you.   Am. O my heart, my heart!
   Mar. My heart it is, is wounded, pretty Amie;
Report not you your Griefs: I'll tell for all.
   Mell. Some body is to blame, there is a fault.
   Mar. Try if you can take rest. A little slumber
Will much refresh you (Amie.)   Alk. What's her grief?
   Mar. She does not know: and therein she is happy.


           The sad Shepherd. 539541

Act II.    Scene VI.

To them.]      John, Maudlin, and Scathlock after.

Ere's Mother Maudlin come to give you thanks,
 Madam, for some late gift, she hath receiv'd —
Which she's not worthy of, she says, but cracks,
And wonders of it; hops about the House;
[She danceth.
Transported with the Joy.
   Maud. Send me a Stag!
A whole Stag, Madam! and so fat a Deer!
So fairly hunted, and at such a time too!
When all your Friends were here!
   Rob. Do you mark this, Clarion?
Her own acknowledgment?
   Maud. 'Twas such a bounty
And honour done to your poor Beads-woman,
I know not how to owe it, but to thank you.
And that I come to do: I shall go round,
And giddy with the toy of the good turn.
[She turns round till she falls.

            Look out, look out, gay Folk about,
            And see me spin the ring I am in
            Of mirth, and glee, with thanks for Fee
            The heart puts on, for th' Venison
            My Lady sent, which shall be spent
            In draughts of Wine, to fume up fine
            Into the Brain, and down again
            Fall in a swoon, upo' the Grown.

   Rob. Look to her, she is mad.
   Maud. My Son hath sent you
A Pot of Strawberries, gather'd i' the Wood
(His Hogs would else have rooted up, or trod)
With a choice dish of Wildings here, to scald
And mingle with your Cream.
   Mar. Thank you good Maudlin,
And thank your Son. Go, bear 'em in to Much
Th' Acater, let him thank her. Surely, Mother,
You were mistaken, or my Woodmen more,
Or most my self, to send you all our store
Of Venison, hunted for our selves, this day!
You will not take it, Mother, I dare say,
If we'll intreat you; when you know our guests:
Red Deer is Head still of the Forest Feasts.
   Maud. But I knaw ye, a right free-hearted Lady,
Can spare it out of superfluity:
I have departit it 'mong my poor Neighbours
To speak your Largess.   Mar. I not gave it, Mother;
You have done wrong then: I know how to place
My gifts, and where; and when to find my seasons
To give, not throw away my Curtesies.
   Maud. Count you this thrown away?
   Mar. What's ravish'd from me
I count it wurse, as stoll'n: I lose my thanks.
But leave this quest: they fit not you, nor me,
Maudlin, Contentions of this quality.
[Scathlock enters.
How now?
   Sca. Your Stag's return'd upon my Shoulders,
He has found his way into the Kitchin again;
With his two Legs, if now your Cook can dress him;
'Slid, I thought the Swine'erd would ha' beat me,
He looks so big! the sturdy Karl, lewd Lorel!
   Mar. There Scathlock, for thy pains, thou hast de-
[Marian gives him Gold.
         serv'd it.
   Maud. Do you give a thing, and take a thing, Madam?
   Mar. No, Maudlin, you had imparted to your Neigh-
As much good do't them: I ha' done no wrong.
The first Charm.
   Maud.   The Spit stand still, no Broches turn
                Before the Fire, but let it burn
                Both Sides, and Hanches, till the whole
                Converted be into one Cole.

[column break]

   Cla. What Devil's Pater Noster mumbles she?
   Alk. Stay, you will hear more of her witchery.

   Maud.   The Swilland Dropsie enter in
                The lazy
Cuke, and swell his Skin;
                And the old Mort-mal on his Shin
                Now prick, and itch, withouten blin.

   Cla. Speak out Hag, we may hear your Devils Mat-

   Maud.   The Pæne, we call St. Anton's fire,
                The Gout, or what we can desire,
                To cramp a
Cuke, in every Limb,
                Before they dine, yet, seize on him.

   Alk. A foul ill Spirit hath possessed her.
   Am. O Karol, Karol, call him back again.
   Lio. Her thoughts do work upon her, in her slumber.
And may express some part of her disease.
   Rob. Observe, and mark, but trouble not her ease.
   Am. O, O.   Mar. How is't Amie?
   Mel. Wherefore start you?
   Am. O' Karol, he is fair, and sweet.
   Maud. What then?
Are there not Flowers as sweet, and fair, as Men?
The Lily is fair! and Rose is sweet!   Am. I, so!
Let all the Roses, and the Lilies go:
Karol is only fair to me!   Mar. And why?
   Am. Alas for Karol, Marian, I could die.
Karol, he singeth sweetly too!   Maud. What then?
Are there not Birds sing sweeter far than Men?
   Am. I grant the Linet, Lark, and Bull-finch sing,
But best, the dear good Angel of the Spring,
The Nightingale.   Maud. Then why? then why, alone,
Should his Notes please you?   Am. I not long agone
Took a delight, with wanton Kids to play,
And sport with little Lambs a Summers Day!
And view their frisks! methought it was a sight
Of joy, to see my two brave Rams to fight!
Now Karol, only, all delight doth move!
All that is Karol, Karol I approve!
This very Morning, but —   I did bestow
(It was a little 'gainst my will, I know)
A single kiss upon the silly Swain,
And now I wish that very kiss again.
His Lip is softer, sweeter than the Rose;
His Mouth and Tongue with dropping Honey flows.
The relish of it was a pleasing thing.
   Maud. Yet like the Bees it had a little sting.
   Am. And sunk, and sticks yet in my Marrow deep;
And what doth hurt me, I now wish to keep.
   Mar. Alas, how innocent her Story is!
   Am. I do remember, Marian, I have oft
With pleasure kist my Lambs, and Puppies, soft:
And once a dainty fine Roe-fawn I had,
Of whose out-skipping Bounds, I was as glad
As of my Health: and him I oft would kiss:
Yet had his, no such sting, or pain, as this.
They never prick't or hurt my Heart. And, for
They were so blunt, and dull, I wish no more.
But this, that hurts, and pricks doth please; This sweet,
Mingled with sowre, I wish again to meet:
And that delay, methinks, most tedious is
That keeps, or hinders me of Karol's kiss.
   Mar. We'll send for him sweet Amie, to come to you.
   Maud. But, I will keep him off if Charms will do it.
[She goes murmuring out.

   Cla. Do you mark the murmuring Hag, how she doth
   Rob. I like her not. And less her manners now.
   Alk. She is a shrewd deformed piece, I vow.
   Lio. As crooked as her Body.   Rob. I believe
She can take any Shape; as Scathlock says.
Alk. She  

542 The sad Shepherd.                  

   Alk. She may deceive the Sense, but really
She cannot change her self period omitted
   Rob. Would I could see her,
Once more in Marian's form! for I am certain
Now, it was she abus'd us; as I think
My Marian, and my Love, now, innocent:
Which faith I seal unto her, with this kiss,
And call you all to witness of my Pennance.
   Alk. It was believ'd before, but now confirm'd,
That we have seen the Monster.

Act II.    Scene VII.

To them.]                Tuck, John, Much, Scarlet.

Ear you how
 Poor Tom, the Cook, is taken! All his joynts
Do crack, as if his Limbs were tied with points:
His whole frame slackens; and a kind of rack
Runs down along the Spondils of his Back;
A Gout, or Cramp, now seizeth on his Head,
Then falls into his Feet; his Knees are Lead;
And he can stir his either Hand, no more
Than a dead Stump, to his Office, as before.
   Alk. He is bewitched.   Cla. This is an Argument
Both of her malice, and her power, we see.
   Alk. She must by some device restrained be,
Or she'll go far in mischief.   Rob. Advise how,
Sage Shep'erd, we shall put it strait in practice.
   Alk. Send forth your Woodmen, then, into the walks,
Or let 'em prick her footing hence; A Witch
Is sure a Creature of melancholy,
And will be found, or sitting in her fourm,variant of 'form'
Or else, at relief, like a Hare.   Cla. You speak,
Alken, as if you knew the sport of Witch-hunting,
Or starting of a Hag.
[Enter George to the Huntsmen; who by them-

selves continue the Scene: the rest going off.

   Rob. Go Sirs about it,
Take George here with you, he can help to find her;
Leave Tuck and Much behind to dress the Dinner,
I' the Cooks stead.   Much. We'll care to get that done.
   Rob. Come Marian, let's withdraw into the Bowre.

Act II.    Scene VIII.

John, Scarlet, Scathlock, George, Alken.

Are sport I swear! this hunting of the Witch
 Will make us.   Scar. Let's advise upon 't like
   Geo. And we can spy her once, she is our own.
   Scat. First, think which way she fourmeth, on what
Or North, or South.   Geo. For, as the Shep'erd said,
A Witch is a kind of Hare.
   Scat. And marks the weather,
As the Hare does.   Jo. Where shall we hope to find her?
[Alken returns.

   Alk. I have ask'd leave to assist you, jolly Huntsmen,
If an old Shep'erd may be heard among you;
Not jear'd or laugh'd at.   Jo. Father, you will see
Robinhood's House-hold, know more Curtesie.
   Scat. Who scorns at eld, peels of his own young Hairs.
   Alk. Ye say right well. Know ye the Witches Dell?
   Scar. No more than I do know the walks of Hell.
   Alk. Within a gloomy dimble, she doth dwell
Down in a Pit, o'er-grown with Brakes and Briars,
Close by the ruines of a shaken Abbey,
Torn with an Earthquake, down unto the Ground,
'Mongst Graves, and Grots, near an old Charnel-house,
Where you shall find her sitting in her fourm,
As fearful, and melancholique, as that
She is about; with Caterpillars Kells,
And knotty Cobwebs, rounded in with spells;

[column break]

Thence she steals forth to relief, in the Fogs,
And rotten Mists, upon the Fens, and Bogs,
Down to the drowned Lands of Lincolnshire;
To make Ewes cast their Lambs! Swine eat their Farrow!
The House-wives Tun not work! nor the Milk churn!
Writhe Childrens Wrists! and suck their Breath in sleep!
Get Vials of their Blood! And where the Sea
Casts up his slimy Owze, search for a Weed
To open Locks with, and to rivet Charms,
Planted about her, in the wicked feat,
Of all her mischiefs, which are manifold.
   Jo. I wonder such a story could be told,
Of her dire deeds.   Geo. I thought a Witches Banks
Had inclos'd nothing, but the merry pranks
Of some old Woman.   Scar. Yes, her malice more!
   Scat. As it would quickly appear, had we the store
Of his Collects.   Geo. I, this gud learned Man
Can speak her right.   Scar. He knows her shifts and
   Alk. And all her wiles, and turns. The venom'd Plants
Wherewith she kills! where the sad Mandrake grows,
Whose groans are deathful! the dead-numming Night-
The stupifying Hemlock! Adders Tongue!
And Martagan! the shreiks of luckless Owles,
We hear! and croaking Night-Crows in the Air!
Green-bellied Snakes! blue Fire-drakes in the Sky!
And giddy Flitter-mice, with Leather Wings!
The scaly Beetles, with their habergeons,
That make a humming murmur as they fly!
There in the Stocks of Trees, white Faies do dwell,
And span-long Elves, that dance about a Pool!
With each a little Changeling, in their Arms!
The airy Spirits play with falling Stars!
And mount the Sphere of Fire, to kiss the Moon!
While she sits reading by the Gloe-worms light,
Or rotten Wood (o'er which the Worm hath crept)
The baneful Sceduleobsolete form of 'Schedule' of her nocent Charms,
And binding Characters, through which she wounds
Her Puppets, the Sigilla of her Witch-craft.
All this I know, and I will find her for you;
And shew you her sitting in her Fourm; I'll lay
My Hand upon her; make her throw her Skut
Along her Back, when she doth start before us.
But you must give her Law: and you shall see her
Make twenty leaps, and doubles; cross the Paths,
And then squat down beside us.   Jo. Crafty Croan!
I long to be at the sport, and to report it.
   Scar. We'll make this hunting of the Witch as famous,
As any other blast of Venery.
   Scat. Hang her foul Hag, she'll be a stinking Chase!
I had rather ha' the hunting of her Heir.
   Geo. If we could come to see her cry, so haw, once!
   Alk. That I do promise, or I' am no good Hag-finder.

The Argument of the Third Act.

Uck-hairy discovereth himself in the Forest, and di-
 scourseth his Offices with their necessities, briefly; after
Douce entring in the habit of Earine, is pursued by
Karol; who mistaking her at first to be his Sister, questions
her how she came by those Garments. She answers, by her Mo-
thers gift. The sad Shepherd coming in the while, she runs
away affrighted, and leaves
Karol suddenly; Æglamour
thinking it to be
Earine's Ghost he saw, falls into a melan-
cholick expression of his phantsie to
Karol, and questions him
sadly about that point, which moves compassion in
Karol of his
mistake still. When
Clarion and Lionel enter to call Karol
Amie, Karol reports to them Æglamour's passion, with
much regret.
Clarion resolves to seek him. Karol to re-
turn with
Lionel: By the way Douce and her Mother (in
the shape of
Marian) meet them, and would divert them,

           The sad Shepherd. 543

affirming Amie to be recovered, which Lionel wondred at
to be so soon.
Robin-hood enters, they tell him the relation
of the Witch, thinking her to be
Marian; Robin suspecting
her to be
Maudlin, lays hold of her Girdle suddenly, but she
striving to get free, they both run out, and he returns with the
Belt broken. She following in her own shape, demanding it,
but at a distance, as fearing to be seiz'd upon again; and see-
ing she cannot recover it, falls into a rage, and cursing, resol-
ving to trust to her old Arts, which she calls her Daughter to
assist in. The Shepherd's content with this discovery, go home
triumphing, make the relation to
Marian. Amie is gladded
with the sight of
Karol, &c. In the mean time enters Lo-
rel, with purpose to ravish Earine, and calling her forth to
that lewd end, he by the hearing of
Clarion's footing, is
staid, and forced to commit her hastily to the Tree again;
Clarion coming by, and hearing a Voice singing, draws
near unto it, but
Æglamour hearing it also, and knowing it
to be
Earine's, falls into a superstitious commendation of it,
as being an Angels, and in the Air, when
Clarion espies a
Hand put forth from the Tree, and makes towards it, leaving
Æglamour to his wild phantsie, who quitteth the place; and
Clarion beginning to court the Hand, and make love to it,
there ariseth a mist suddenly, which darkning all the place,
Clarion loseth himself, and the Tree where Earine is in-
closed, lamenting his misfortune, with the unknown Nimphs
misery. The Air clearing, enters the Witch, with her Son
and Daughter, tells them how she had caused that late Dark-
ness, to free
Lorel from surprisal, and his prey from being
rescued from him: bids him look to her, and lock her up
more carefully, and follow her, to assist a work she hath in
hand, of recovering her lost Girdle; which she laments the
loss of, with cursings, execrations, wishing confusion to their
Feast, and Meeting: sends her Son and Daughter to gather
certain Simples for her purpose, and bring them to her Dell.
Puck hearing, prevents, and shews her error still. The
Huntsmen having found her footing, follow the tract, and prick
after her. She gets to her Dell, and takes her Form. Enter,
Alken has spied her sitting with her Spindle, Threads, and
Images. They are eager to seize her presently, but
Alken per-
swades them to let her begin her Charms, which they do.
Her Son and Daughter come to her: the Huntsmen are a-
frighted as they see her work go forward. And over-hasty to
apprehend her, she escapeth them all, by the help and delusions

Act III.    Scene I.


HE Fiend hath much to do, that keeps a School;
 Or is the Father of a Family;
Or governs but a Country Academy:
His labours must be great, as are his cares,
To watch all turns, and cast how to prevent 'em.
This Dame of mine here, Maud, grows high in evil,
And thinks she do's all, when 'tis I, her Devil,
That both delude her, and must yet protect her:
She's confident in mischief, and presumes
The changing of her shape will still secure her.
But that may fail, and divers hazards meet
Of other consequence, which I must look to:
Not let her be surpriz'd on the first catch.
I must go dance about the Forest, now,
And firk it like a Goblin, till I find her.
Then will my service come worth acceptation;
When not expected of her, when the help
Meets the necessity, and both do kiss,
'Tis call'd the timing of a duty, this.

[column break]

Act III.    Scene II.

Karol, Douce, to them Æglamour.

Ure, you are very like her! I conceiv'd
 You had been she, seeing you run afore me:
For such a suit she made her 'gainst this Feast;
In all resemblance, or the very same;
I saw her in it; had she liv'd t' enjoy it
She had been there an acceptable Guest
To Marian, and the gentle Robin-hood,
Who are the Crown, and Garland of the Wood.
   Dou. I cannot tell, my Mother gave it me,
And bad me wear it.
   Kar. Who, the wise good Woman?
Old Maud, of Pappelwick?   Dou. Yes, this sullen Man.
I cannot like him, I must take my leave.
[Æglamour enters, and Douce goes out.

   Æg. What said she to you?   Kar. Who?   Æg. Earine.
I saw her talking with you, or her Ghost;
For she indeed is drown'd in old Trent's bottom.
Did she not tell who would ha' pull'd her in?
And had her Maiden-head upon the place?
The Rivers brim, the margin of the Flood?
No Ground is Holy enough.period should be replaced with a comma (you know my meaning)
Lust is committed in Kings Palaces,
And yet their Majesties not violated!
No words!   Car.Kar. How sad and wild his thoughts are! gone?
[Æglamour goes out, but comes in again.

   Æg. But she, as chaste, as was her name, Earine,
Di'd undeflowr'd: and now her sweet Soul hovers,
Here, in the Air, above us; and doth haste
To get up to the Moon, and Mercury;
And whisper Venus in her Orb; then spring
Up to old Saturn, and come down by Mars,
Consulting Jupiter, and seat her self
Just in the midst with Phœbus, temp'ring all
The jarring Spheres, and giving to the World
Again, his first and tuneful planetting!
O' what an age will here be of new Concords!
Delightful harmony! to rock old Sages,
Twice infants, in the Cradle o' speculation,
And throw a silence upon all the Creatures!
[He goes out again, but returns as soon as before.

   Kar. A Cogitation of the highest rapture!
   Æg. The loudest Seas, and most enraged Winds
Shall lose their clangor; Tempest shall grow hoarse;
Loud Thunder dumb; and every speece of Storm
Laid in the lap of list'ning Nature husht,
To hear the changed chime of his eighth Sphere,
Take tent, and hearken for it, lose it not.
[Æglamour departs.

Act III.    Scene III.

Clarion, Lionel, Karol.

', here is Karol! was not that the sad
 Shep'erd, slip'd from him?
   Lio. Yes, I guess it was:
Who was that left you, Karol?   Kar. The last Man!
Whom we shall never see himself again;
Or ours, I fear! He starts away from hand so,
And all the touches, or soft stroke of reason!
Ye can apply. No Colt is so unbroken!
Or Hawk yet half so haggard, or unmann'd!
He takes all toies that his wild phantsie proffers,
And flies away with them. He now conceives
That my lost Sister, his Earine,
Is lately turn'd a Sphere amid the Seven:
And reads a Musick-Lecture to the Planets!
And with this thought he's run to call 'em hearers!

Cla. Alas,                   

544 The sad Shepherd.                  

   Cla. Alas, this is a strain'd, but innocent phant'sie!
I'll follow him, and find him if I can:
Mean time, go you with Lionel, sweet Karol;
He will acquaint you with an accident
Which much desires your presence, on the place!

Act III.    Scene IV.

Karol, Lionel.

Hat is it, Lionel, wherein I may serve you?
 Why do you so survey, and circumscribe me?
As if you stuck one Eye into my Breast,
And with the other took my whole dimensions.
   Lio. I wish you had a Window i' your Bosom,
Or i' your Back, I might look thorough you,
And see your in-parts, Karol, Liver, Heart;
For there the seat of Love is: whence the Boy
(The winged Archer) hath shot home a Shaft
Into my Sisters Breast, the innocent Amie,
Who now cries out, upon her Bed, on Karol,
Sweet singing Karol! the delicious Karol!
That kist her like a Cupid! In your Eyes,
She says, his stand is! and between your Lips
He runs forth his divisions, to her Ears,
But will not bide there, 'less your self do bring him.
Go with me Karol, and bestow a visit
In charity, upon the afflicted Maid,
Who pineth with the languor of your Love.
   Mar. Whither intend you? Amie is recover'd,
Feels no such grief as she complain'd of, lately:
[To them Maud and Douce, but Maud ap-
     pearing like

This Maiden hath been with her from her Mother
Maudlin, the cunning Woman, who hath sent her
Herbs for her Head, and Simples of that nature,
Have wrought upon her a miraculous Cure;
Settled her Brain, to all our wish, and wonder!
   Lio. So instantly? you know, I now but left her,
Possess'd with such a fit, almost to a phrensie:
Your self too fear'd her, Marian, and did urge
My haste to seek out Karol, and to bring him.
   Mar. I did so. But the skill of that wise Woman,
And her great charity of doing good,
Hath by the ready hand of this deft Lass
Her Daughter, wrought effects beyond belief,
And to astonishment; we can but thank,
And praise, and be amazed, while we tell it.
[They go out.

   Lio. 'Tis strange, that any Art should so help Nature
In her extremes.   Kar. Then it appears most real
[Enter Robinhood.
When th' other is deficient.
   Rob. Wherefore stay you
Discoursing here, and haste not with your succours
To poor afflicted Amie, that so needs them?

[column break]

   Lio. She is recover'd well, your Marian told us
But now here: See, she is return'd to affirm it!
[Enter Maud. like Marian: Maud. espying Robin-
   hood would run out, but he stays her by the Gir-
   dle, and runs in with her: He returns with the
   Girdle broken, and she in her own shape.

   Rob. My Marian?   Mar. Robin-hood? Is he here!
   Rob. Stay!
What was't you ha' told my Friend?
   Mar. Help, murder, help.
You will not rob me, Out-law? Thief, restore
My Belt that ye have broken!   Rob. Yes, come near.
   Maud. Not i' your gripe.
   Rob. Was this the charmed Circle?
The Copy that so cozen'd, and deceiv'd us?
I'll carry hence the Trophy of your spoils.
My Men shall hunt you too upon the start,
And course you soundly.   Maud. I shall make 'em sport
And send some home without their Legs, or Arms.
I'll teach 'em to climb Stiles, leap Ditches, Ponds,
And lie i' the Waters, if they follow me.
   Rob. Out murmuring Hag.
   Maud. I must use all my powers,
Lay all my wits to piecing of this loss.
Things run unluckily: Where's my Puck-hairy?

Act III.    Scene V.

Maud, Puck.

Ath he forsook me?
   Puck. At your beck, Madam.
   Maud. O Puck, my Goblin! I have lost my Belt,
The strong Thief, Robin Out-law, forc'd it from me.
   Puck. They are other Clouds and blacker threat you,
You must be wary, and pull in your Sails,
And yield unto the Weather of the Tempest.
You think your power's infinite as your malice;
And would do all your anger prompts you to:
But you must wait occasions, and obey them:
Sail in an Egg-shell, make a straw your Mast,
A Cobweb all your Cloth, and pass unseen,
Till you have scap'd the Rocks that are about you.
   Maud. What Rock's about me?
   Puc. I do love, Madam,
To shew you all your dangers, when you are past 'em.
Come, follow me, I'll once more be your Pilot,
And you shall thank me.
   Maud. Lucky, my lov'd Goblin!
[Lorel meets her.
Where are you gaang, now?
   Lor. Unto my Tree,
To see my Maistress.   Maud. Gang thy gait, and try
Thy turns, with better luck, or hang thy sel'.

T H E   E N D.

[NOTE: The Sad Shepherd was left unfinished at Jonson's death. A continuation was written by F. G. Waldron in 1783. A copy of Waldron's continuation is available online at The Robin Hood Project at the University of Rochester page.]

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© 2003 by Clark J. Holloway.