LOOKING GLASS FOR ENGLAND AND LONDON. 225 Alv. To talk, sweet friend! who would not talk with thee? Oh be not coy; art thou not only fair? Come twine thine arms about this snow-white neck, Cil. Madam, I hope you mean not for to mock me. Cil. Sing, madam, if you please; but love in jest. (She sings.) Beauty, alas! where wast thou born, Thus to hold thyself in scorn, When as Beauty kiss'd to wooe thee; Thou by Beauty dost undo me. I and thou in sooth are one, Wanton thou; and, wilt thou, wanton, Heigho, I love; heigho, I love; Cil. Madam your Song is passing passionate. VOL. II. ૨ Alv. Tut, women's love—it is a fickle thing. I love my Rasni for my dignity: I love Cilician King for his sweet eye. I love my Rasni, since he rules the world: TETHYS' FESTIVAL. BY SAMUEL DANIEL, 1610. Are they shadows that we see Cast by bodies we conceive; When your eyes have done their part, THE SILVER AGE: AN HISTORICAL PLAY. BY Proserpine seeking Flowers. Pros. O may these meadows ever barren be, Here neither is the White nor Sanguine Rose, Ceres, after the Rape of her Daughter. Cer. Where is my fair and lovely Proserpine? Speak, Jove's fair Daughter, whither art thou stray'd? I've sought the meadows, glebes, and new-reap'd fields Yet cannot find my Child. Her scatter'd flowers, And garland half made up, I have lit upon; But her I cannot spy. Behold the trace Of some strange wagon*, that hath scorcht the trees, And singed the grass: these ruts the sun ne'er sear'd Where art thou, Love, where art thou, Proserpine? Cer. She questions Triton for her Daughter. thou that on thy shelly trumpet Summons the sea-god, answer from the depth. Trit. On Neptune's sea-horse with my concave trump Thro' all the abyss I've shrill'd thy daughter's loss. The channels clothed in waters, the low cities In which the water-gods and sea-nymphs dwell, The car of Dis. I have perused; sought thro' whole woods and forests Toss'd up the beds of pearl; rouzed up huge whales, Thro' all our ebbs and tides my trump hath blazed her, She questions the Earth. Cer. Fair sister Earth, for all these beauteous fields, Spread o'er thy breast; for all these fertile crops, With which my plenty hath enrich'd thy bosom ; For all those rich and pleasant wreaths of grain, With which so oft thy temples I have crowned; For all the yearly liveries, and fresh robes, Upon thy summer beauty I bestow Shew me my Child! Earth. Not in revenge, fair Ceres, That your remorseless ploughs have rak't my breast, For marle and soil, and make me bleed my springs I have no place on which the Moon* doth tread. Cer. Then, Earth, thou'st lost her; and for Proserpine, Proserpine; who was also Luna in Heaven, Diana on Earth. I'll strike thee with a lasting barrenness. No more shall plenty crown thy fertile brows; Sow tares and cockles in thy lands of wheat, Whose spikes the weed and cooch-grass shall outgrow, Shall drown thy seed, which the hot sun shall parch, Arethusa riseth. Are. That can the river Arethusa do. My head's in Hell where Stygian Pluto reigns, Whom Pluto hath rapt hence: behold her girdle, |