I see the smoake steame from the Cottage tops,
The fearfull huswife rakes the embers up,
All hush to bed. Sure, no man will disturbe mee.
O blessed vally! I the wretched Claius
Salute thy happy soyle, I that have liv'd
Pelted with angry curses in a place
As horrid as my griefes, the Lylibaean mountaines,
These sixteene frozen winters; there have I
Beene with rude out-lawes, living by such sinnes
As runne o' th' score with justice 'gainst my prayers and wishes:
And when I would have tumbled down a rock,
Some secret powre restrain'd me. (III. ii.)
By far the greater part of the play is in blank verse, but in a few passages, particularly in certain dialogues tending to stichomythia, the verse is pointed, so to speak, with rime. The following is a graceful example in a somewhat conceited vein; the transition, moreover, from blank to rimed measure has an appearance of natural ease. The rivals are awaiting the arbitrement of their love:
Alexis. How early, Damon,
Doe lovers rise!...Damon. No Larkes so soon, Alexis.
Al. He that of us shall have Laurinda, Damon,
Will not be up so soone: ha! would you Damon?Da. Alexis, no; but if I misse Laurinda,
My sleepe shall be eternall.Al. I much wonder the Sunne so soone can rise!
Da. Did he lay his head in faire Laurinda's lap,
We should have but short daies.Al. No summer, Damon.
Da. Thetis[[281]] to her is browne.
Al. And he doth rise
From her to gaze on faire Laurinda's eyes....Da. I heare no noise of any yet that move.
Al. Devotion's not so early up as love.
Da. See how Aurora blushes! we suppose
Where Tithon lay to night.Al. That modest rose
He grafted there.Da. O heaven, 'tis all I seeke,
To make that colour in Laurinda's cheeke. (IV. iv.)
A more tragic note is struck in the speech in which Claius retorts on Pilumnus after his discovery:
I, glut your hate, Pilumnus; let your soule
That has so long thirsted to drinke my blood,
Swill till my veines are empty;... I have stood
Long like a fatall oake, at which great Jove
Levels his thunder; all my boughes long since
Blasted and wither'd; now the trunke falls too.
Heaven end thy wrath in mee! (IV. viii.)
In some of these 'high tragical endeavours,' and notably in Damon's confession, we do indeed find a certain stiltedness, but even here there rings a true note of pathos in the farewell:
Amarillis,
I goe to write my story of repentance
With the same inke, wherewith thou wrotes before
The legend of thy love. (IV. ix.)
These passages will serve to give a fair and not unfavourable impression of the style, but I have reserved for separate consideration what I consider to be the most striking portions of the play. The first of these is the string of Latin songs in which the would-be elves comment on their nefarious proceedings in Jocastus' orchard. I quote certain stanzas only:
Nos beata Fauni Proles,
Quibus non est magna moles,
Quamvis Lunam incolamus,
Hortos saepe frequentamus.Furto cuncta magis bella,
Furto dulcior Puella,
Furto omnia decora,
Furto poma dulciora.Cum mortales lecto jacent,
Nobis poma noctu placent;
Illa tamen sunt ingrata,
Nisi furto sint parata.
Oberon, descende citus,
Ne cogaris hinc invitus;
Canes audio latrantes,
Et mortales vigilantes.
I domum, Oberon, ad illas
Quae nos manent nunc ancillas,
Quarum osculemur sinum,
Inter poma, lac et vinum. (III. iv.)
To discuss verses such as these seriously is impossible. The dog-Latin of the fellow of Trinity is inimitable, while there is a peculiarly roguish delicacy about his humour. In the admirable ease with which the words are adapted to the sense, the songs are unsurpassed except by the very best of the carmina vagorum. Lastly, as undoubtedly the finest passage of the play, and as one that must give us pause when we would deny to 'prince Randolph' the gifts requisite for the higher imaginative drama, I must quote the scene in which the distracted Amyntas fancies that in his endless search for the 'impossible dowry' he has arrived on the shores of Styx and boarded Charon's bark.