The Dramatic and Poetical Works of Robert Greene and George Peele

THE ARRAIGNMENT OF PARIS.

Enter ATE, Prologus.

CONDEMNED Soul, Ate, from lowest hell,
And deadly rivers of th' infernal Jove,
Where bloodless ghosts in pains of endless date
Fill ruthless ears with never-ceasing cries,
Behold, I come in place, and bring beside
The bane of Troy! behold, the fatal fruit,
Raught from the golden tree of Proserpine!
Proud Troy must fall, so bid the gods above,
And stately Ilium's lofty towers be raz'd
By conquering hands of the victorious foe;
King Priam's palace waste with flaming fire,
Whose thick and foggy smoke, piercing the sky,
Must serve for messenger of sacrifice,
Ꭲ appease the anger of the angry heavens;
And Priam's younger son, the shepherd swain,

Paris, th' unhappy organ of the Greeks.*
So loth and weary of her heavy load,
The Earth complains unto the hellish prince,
Surcharg'd with the burden that she nill + sus
tain.

Th' unpartial daughters of Necessity

Bin aiders in her suit and so the twine
That holds old Priam's house, the thread of Troy,
Dame Atropos with knife in sunder cuts.
Done be the pleasure of the powers above,
Whose hests men must obey: and I my part
Perform in Ida vales. Lordings, adieu;
Imposing silence for your task, I end,
Till just assembly of the goddesses
Make me begin the tragedy of Troy.

[Exit cum aureo pomo.

SCENA I.

ACT I.

Enter PAN, FAUNUS, and SILVANUS, with their Attend-
ants, to give welcome to the goddesses: PAN'S Shepherd
has a lamb, FAUNUS' Hunter has a fawn, SILVANUS'
Woodman with an oaken-bough laden with acorns.
Pan. Silvanus, either Flora doth us wrong,

Or Faunus made us tarry all too long,
For by this morning mirth it should appear,
The Muses or the goddesses be near.

Pan. And I have brought a twagger for the nones, §

A bunting lamb; nay, pray you feel no bones: Believe me now my cunning much I miss,

If ever Pan felt fatter lamb than this.

Sil. Sirs, you may boast your flocks and herds that bin both fresh and fair,

Yet hath Silvanus walks, i-wis, that stand in wholesome air;

Faun. My fawn was nimble, Pan, and whipt And, lo, the honour of the woods, the gallant

Pan. Peace, man, for shame! shalt have both lambs and dams and flocks and herds and all, And all my pipes to make the glee; we meet not now to brawl.

Faun. There's no such matter, Pan; we are all

friends assembled hither,

(But that I am instructed well to know
What service to the hills and dales I owe,)
Could have enforc'd me to so strange a toil,
Thus to enrich this gaudy, gallant soil.

Faun. But tell me, wench, hast done't so trick*
indeed,

To bid Queen Juno and her feres* most humbly That heaven itself may wonder at the deed?

welcome hither:

Diana, mistress of our woods, her presence will

not want;

Her courtesy to all her friends, we wot, is nothing scant.

Enter POMONA with her fruit.

Pom. Yea, Pan, no farther yet, and had the start of me?

Why, then, Pomona with her fruit comes time enough, I see.

Flo. Not Iris, in her pride and bravery,†
Adorns her arch with such variety;
Nor doth the milk-white way, in frosty night,
Appear so fair and beautiful in sight,

As done these fields, and groves, and sweetest
bowers,

Bestrew'd and deck'd with parti-colour'd flowers.
Along the bubbling brooks and silver glide,
That at the bottom do in silence slide;
The water-flowers and lilies on the banks,
Like blazing comets, burgen § all in ranks;

Come on a while; with country store, like friends, Under the hawthorn and the poplar-tree,

we venture forth:

Think'st, Faunus, that these goddesses will take our gifts in worth?

Faun. Yea, doubtless, for shall tell thee, dame, 'twere better give a thing,

A sign of love, unto a mighty person or a king, Than to a rude and barbarous swain, but bad and basely born,

Where sacred Phoebe may delight to be,
The primrose, and the purple hyacinth,
The dainty violet, and the wholesome minth,
The double daisy, and the cowslip, queen
Of summer flowers, do overpeer the green;
And round about the valley as ye pass,
Ye may ne see for peeping flowers the grass:
That well the mighty Juno, and the rest,

For gently takes the gentleman that oft the clown May boldly think to be a welcome guest

will scorn.

Pan. Say'st truly, Faunus; I myself have
given good tidy lambs

To Mercury, may say to thee, to Phoebus, and to
Jove;

When to a country mops, forsooth, chave + offer'd
all their dams,

On Ida hills, when to approve the thing,
The Queen of Flowers prepares a second spring.
Sil. Thou gentle nymph, what thanks shall we

repay

To thee that mak'st our fields and woods so gay? Flo. Silvanus, when it is thy hap to see My workmanship in portraying all the three, And pip'd and pray'd for little worth, and rang'd First stately Juno with her port and grace,

about the grove.

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Her robes, her lawns, her crownet, and her

mace,

Would make thee muse this picture to behold,
Of yellow oxlips ¶ bright as burnish'd gold.

*trick] i. e. elegantly, neatly.

+ bravery] i. e. finery.

water flowers] The 4to. "watery flowers.”

§ burgen] The same as burgeon or bourgeon, i. e. sprout, [ bud, blossom. "To Burgeon (sprout), Germino," Coles's

Dict.

Ida hills] Not a misprint for "Ida hill." Compare our author's Tale of Troy;

"He lives a shepherd's lad on Ida hills,

And breathes a man 'gainst Troy and Trojans wills," &c.

orlips] "The description of the oxlip in this line shows that the poet used it for the crow-foot or paigle; the butter-cup of the fields. It is now applied to the larger cowslip." Rev. J. Mitford,—Gent. Mag. for Febr. 1833, p. 101.

Pom. A rare device; and Flora well, perdy,** Did paint her yellow for her jealousy.

Flo. Pallas in flowers of hue and colours red; Her plumes, her helm, her lance, her Gorgon's head,

Her trailing tresses that hang flaring round,
Of July flowers so graffèd in the ground,
That, trust me, sirs, who did the cunning see,
Would at a blush suppose it to be she.

Pan. Good Flora, by my flock, 'twere very good To dight her all in red resembling blood.

Flo. Fair Venus of sweet violets in blue,
With other flowers infix'd for change of hue;
Her plumes, her pendants, bracelets, and her
rings,

Her dainty fan, and twenty other things,
Her lusty mantle waving in the wind,
And every part in colour and in kind;
And for her wreath of roses, she nill dare
With Flora's cunning counterfeit compare.
So that what living wight shall chance to see
These goddesses, each plac'd in her degree,
Portray'd by Flora's workmanship alone,
Must say that art and nature met in one.

Sil. A dainty draught to lay her down in blue, The colour commonly betokening true.

Flo. This piece of work, compact with many a flower,

And well laid in at entrance of the bower, Where Phoebe means to make this meeting royal, Have I prepar'd to welcome them withal.

Pom. And are they yet dismounted, Flora, say, That we may wend to meet them on the way? Flo. That shall not need: they are at hand by this,

And the conductor of the train hight+ Rhanis.
Juno hath left her chariot long ago,

And hath return'd her peacocks by her rainbow; +
And bravely, as becomes the wife of Jove,
Doth honour by her presence to our grove.
Fair Venus she hath let her sparrows fly,
To tend on her and make her melody;
Her turtles and her swans unyokèd be,
And flicker near her side for company.
Pallas hath set her tigers loose to feed,
Commanding them to wait when she hath need.
And hitherward with proud and stately pace,
To do us honour in the sylvan chace,
They march, like to the pomp of heaven above,
Juno the wife and sister of King Jove,
The warlike Pallas, and the Queen of Love.

* perdy] i. e. par Dieu, verily,

+ hight] i. e. called.

rainbow] Qy. "bow"?

Pan. Pipe, Pan, for joy, and let thy shepherds sing;

Shall never age forget this memorable thing.
Flo. Clio, the sagest of the Sisters Nine,
To do observance to this dame divine,
Lady of learning and of chivalry,

Is here arriv'd in fair assembly;

And wandering up and down th' unbeaten ways, Ring through the wood sweet songs of Pallas' praise.

Pom. Hark, Flora, Faunus! here is melody, A charmt of birds, and more than ordinary. [An artificial charm of birds heard within. Pan. The silly birds make mirth; then should we do them wrong,

Pomona, if we nill‡ bestow an echo to their song.

The Song. A quire within and without. Gods. O Ida, O Ida, O Ida, happy hill! This honour done to Ida may it continue still! Muses. [within.] Ye country gods that in this Bring down your gifts of welcome,¶ [Ida won,|| For honour done to Ida.

Gods. Behold, in sign of joy we sing, And signs of joyful welcome bring, For honour done to Ida.

Muses. [within.] The Muses give you melody to gratulate this chance, [all to dance. And Phoebe, chief of sylvan chace, commands you Gods. Then round in a circle our sportance

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