Hereat the people could no longer hold Their bursting joys; but through the air was roll'd The lengthen'd shout, as when th' artillery Of heaven is discharg'd along the sky. And this confession flew from every voice, Never had land more reason to rejoice,

Nor to her bliss could aught now added bo
Save, that she might the same perpetual se.
Which when time, nature, and the fates denied
With a twice louder shout again they cried,
"Yet let blest Britain ask, without your wrong,
Still to have such a king, and this king long."

A Satyr, lodged in a little spinet, by which her Majesty and the Prince were to come, at the report of certain cornets that were divided in several places of the park, to signify her approach, advanced his head above the top of the wood, wondering, and, with his pipe in his hand, began as followeth :

HERE! there! and every where !
Some solemnities are near,
That these changes strike mine ear.
My pipe and I a part shall bear.

[After a short strain with his pipe;
Look, see! beshrew this tree!
What may all this wonder be?
Pipe it who that list for me:
I'll fly out abroad, and sec.

Here he leaped down, and gazed the Queen and the
Prince in the face.

That is Cyparissus' face!

And the dame hath Syrinx' grace!
O that Pan were now in place-
Sure they are of heavenly race.

Here he ran into the wood again, and hid himself, whilst to the sound of excellent soft music, that was concealed in the thicket, there came tripping up the lawn a bevy of Fairies, attending on Mab their queen, who falling into an artificial ring, began to dance a round, while their mistress spake as followeth.

Mab. Hail and welcome, worthiest queen!
Joy had never perfect been,

To the nymphs that haunt this green,
Had they not this evening seen.
Now they print it on the ground
With their fect in figures round;
Marks that will be ever found,
To remember this glad stound.

Sat. Peeping out of the bush.]

Trust her not, you bonnibell,
She will forty leasings tell;
I do know her pranks right well.

Mab. Satyr, we must have a spell

For your tongue, it runs too ficet.
Sat. Not so nimbly as your feet,

When about the cream-bowls sweet, You and all your elves do meet. Here he came hopping forth, and mixing himself with the Fairies, shipped in, out, and about their circle while they made many offers to catch at him.

This is Mab, the mistress Fairy,
That doth nightly rob the dairy,

And can hurt or help the cherning,
As she please, without discerning.

1 Fai. Pug, you will anon take warning?
Sat. She that pinches country wenches,

If they rub not clean their benches,
And with sharper nails remembers
When they rake not up their embers.
But if so they chance to feast her,
In a shoe she drops a tester.

2 Fai. Shall we strip the skipping jester?
Sat. This is she that empties cradles,

Takes out children, puts in ladles :
Trains forth midwives in their slumber,
With a sieve the holes to number;
And then leads them from her burrows,
Home through ponds and water-furrows.

1 Fai. Shall not all this mocking stir us?
Sat. She can start our Franklin's daughters,
In their sleep, with shrieks and laughters,
And on sweet St. Anna's night,
Feed them with a promised sight,
Some of husbands, some of lovers,
Which an empty dream discovers.

1 Fai. Satyr, vengeance near you hovers.

Sat. And in hope that you would come here Yester-eve, the lady Summer1

She invited to a banquet

But (in sooth) I con you thank yet,
That you could so well deceive her
Of the pride which gan up-heave her!
And, by this, would so have blown her
As no wood-god should have known her
[Skips into the wood.

1 Fai. Mistress, this is only spite:
For you would not yesternight
Kiss him in the cock-shut light.

But a sorry entertainer,

'Cause he is no common strainer,
After painted nymphs for favors,
Or that in his garb he savors
Little of the nicety,

In the sprucer courtiery;
As the rosary of kisses,

With the oath that never misses,
This, "believe me on the breast,"
And then telling some man's jest,
Thinking to prefer his wit,
Equal with his suit by it,

I mean his clothes? No, no, no;
Here doth no such humor flow.
He can neither bribe a grace,
Nor encounter my lord's face
With a pliant smile, and flatter,
Though this lately were some matter

To the making of a courtier.

Now he hopes he shall resort there,
Safer, and with more allowance;
Since a hand hath governance,
That hath given these customs chace,
And hath brought his own in place
O that now a wish could bring,
The god-like person of a king!
Then should even envy find,
Cause of wonder at the mind
Of our woodman: but lo, where
His kingly image doth appear,
And is all this while neglected.
Pardon, lord, you are respected,
Deep as is the keeper's heart,
And as dear in every part.
See, for instance, where he sends

His son, his heir; who humbly bends

Fetches out of the wood the lord Spencer's eldest son, attired and appointed like a huntsman.

Low as is his father's earth,

To the womb that gave you birth:

So he was directed first,

Next to you, of whom the thirst
Of seeing takes away the use
Of that part, should plead excuse
For his boldness, which is less
By his comely shamefacedness.
Rise up, sir, I will betray
All I think you have to say;
That your father gives you here
(Freely as to him you were)
To the service of this prince:
And with you these instruments
Of his wild and sylvan trade.
Better not Acteon had;

The bow was Phoebe's, and the born,
By Orion often worn.

The dog of Sparta breed, and good,
As can RING within a woOD;
Thence his name is: you shall try
How he hunteth instantly.

But perhaps the queen, your mother,
Rather doth affect some other
Sport, as coursing: we will prove
Which her highness most doth love.

Satyrs, let the woods resound;

They shall have their welcome crown'd

With a brace of bucks to ground.

At that the whole wood and place resounded with the noise of cornets, horns, and other hunting music, and a brace of choice deer put out, and as fortunately killed, as they were meant to be, even in the sight of her majesty.

This was the First Night's Show.

The next day being Sunday, the Queen rested, and on Monday till after dinner; where there was a speech suddenly thought on, to induce a morris of the clowns thereabout, who most officiously presented themselves; but by reason of the throng of the country that came in, their speaker could not be heard, who was in the person of NOBODY, to deliver this following speech, and attired in a pair of treeches which were made to come up to his neck, with his arms out at his pockets, and a cap drowning his face.

If my outside move your laughter,
Pray Jove, my inside be thereafter.

QUEEN, PRINCE, DUKE, EARLS,
COUNTESSES, you courtly pearls!
(And I hope no mortal sin,
If I put less ladies in)

Fair saluted be you all!

At this time it doth befall,

We are the huisher to a morris,

A kind of masque, whereof good store is
In the country hereabout,

But this, the choice of all the rout,
Who, because that no man sent them,
Have got NOBODY to present them.
These are things have no suspicion
Of their ill-doing; nor ambition
Of their well: but as the pipe
Shell inspire them, mean to skip:
They come to see, and to be seen,
And though they dance afore the queen,
There's none of these doth hope to come
Wealth to build another Holmby: [by
All those dancing days are done,
Men must now have more than one
Grace, to build their fortunes on,
Else our soles would sure have gone,
All by this time to our feet.
I not deny where graces meet
In a man, that quality

Is a graceful property:

But when dancing is his best, Beshrow me, I suspect the rest.

But I am Nobody, and my breath,
Soon as it is born, hath death.
Come on, clowns, forsake your dumps,
And bestir your hob-nail'd stumps,
Do your worst, I'll undertake,
Not a jerk you have shall make
Any lady here in love.

Perhaps your fool, or so, may move
Some lady's woman with a trick,
And upon it she may pick

A pair of revelling legs, or two,
Out of you, with much ado.
But see, the hobby-horse is forgot.
Fool, it must be your lot,

To supply his want with faces,
And some other buffoon graces,
You know how; piper, play,
And let Nobody hence away.

[Here the morris-dancers entered.

There was also another parting speech, which was to have been presented in the person of a youth, and accompanied with divers gentlemen's younger sons of the country: but by reason of the multitudinous press, was also hindered. And which we have here adjoined.

And will you then, mirror of queens, depart?
Shall nothing stay you? not my master's heart,
That pants to lose the comfort of your light,
And see his day, ere it be old, grow night?
You are a goddess, and your will be done :
Yet this our last hope is, that as the sun
Cheers objects far removed, as well as near;
So, wheresoe'er you shine, you'll sparkle here.
And you, dear lord, on whom my covetous eye
Doth feed itself, but cannot satisfy,

O shoot up fast in spirit, as in years;
That when upon her head proud Europe wears
Her stateliest tire, you may appear thereon
The richest gem, without a paragon.
Shine bright and fixed as the arctic star:
And when slow time hath made you fit for war,
Look over the strict ocean, and think where
You may but lead us forth, that grow up here
Against a day, when our officious swords
Shall speak our actions, better than our words.
Till then, all good event conspire to crown
Your parents hopes, our zeal, and your renown.
Peace usher now your steps, and where you

come,

Be Envy still struck blind, and Flattery dumb

and by you made so To tell you who I am, and wear all these notable and speaking ensigns about me, were to challenge you of most impossible ignorance, and accuse myself of as palpable glory: it is enough that you know me here, and come with the license of my father Jove, who is the bounty of heaven, to give you early welcome to the bower of my mother Maia, no less the goodness of earth. And may it please you to walk, I will tell you no wonderful story. This place, whereon you are now advanced (by the mighty power of poetry, and the help of a faith that can remove mountains) is the Arcadian hill Cyllene, the place where myself was both begot and born and of which I am frequently called Cyllenius: Under yond' purslane tree stood sometime my cradle. Where now behold my mother Maia, sitting in the pride of their plenty, gladding the air with her breath, and cheering the spring with her smiles. At her feet, the blushing Aurora, who, with her rosy hand, casteth her honey-dews on those sweeter herbs, accompanied with that gentle wind Favonius, whose subtile spirit, in the breathing forth, Flora makes into flowers, and sticks them in the grass, as if she contended to have the embroidery of the earth richer than the cope of the sky. Here, for her month, the yearly delicate May keeps state; and from this mount takes pleasure to display these valleys, yond' lesser hills, those statelier edifices and towers, that seem enamoured so far off, and are rear'd on end to behold her, as if their utmost object were her beauties. Hither the Dryads of the valley, and nymphs of the great river come every morning to taste of her favors; and depart away with laps filled with her bounties. But, see! upon your approach, their pleasures are instantly remitted. The birds are hush'd, Zephyr is still, the morn forbears her office, Flora is dumb, and herself amazed, to behold two such marvels, that do more adorn place than she can time: pardon, your majesty, the fault, for it is that hath caused it; and till they can collect their spirits, think silence and wonder the best adoration.

Of every flower in every field,
And all that Hybla's hives do yield,
Were into one broad mazer fill'd;
If, thereto, added all the gums,
And spice that from Panchaia comes,
The odor that Hydaspes lends,
Or Phoenix proves before she ends;
If all the air my Flora drew,
Or spirit that Zephyre ever blew;
Were put therein; and all the dew
That ever rosy morning knew;
Yet all diffused upon this bower,
To make one sweet detaining hour,
Were much too little for the grace,
And honor, you vouchsafe the place.
But if you please to come again,
We vow, we will not then, with vain
And empty pastimes entertain
Your so desired, tho' grieved pain.
For we will have the wanton fawns,
That frisking skip about the lawns,
The Panisks, and the Sylvans rude,
Satyrs, and all that multitude,

To dance their wilder rounds about,
And cleave the air, with many a shout,
As they would hunt poor Echo out
Of yonder valley, who doth flout
Their rustic noise. To visit whom
You shall behold whole bevies come
Of gaudy nymphs, whose tender calls
Well-tuned unto the many falls
Of sweet, and several sliding rills,
That stream from tops of those less hills,
Sound like so many silver quills,
When Zephyre them with music fills.
For these, Favonius here shall blow
New flowers, which you shall see to grow,
Of which each hand a part shall take,
And, for your heads, fresh garlands make.
Wherewith, whilst they your temples round,
An air of several birds shall sound
An Io Pæan, that shall drown
The acclamations, at your crown. —

All this, and more than I have gift of saying,
May vows, so you will oft come here a
maying.

Mer. And Mercury, her son, shall venture the displeasure of his father, with the whole bench of heaven, that day, but he will do his mother's intents all serviceable assistance. Till then, and ever, live high and happy, you, and your other you; both envied for your fortunes, loved for your graces, and admired for your virtues.

[This was the morning's entertainment. After dinner, the king and queen coming again into the garden, Mercury the second time accosted

them.

Mer. Again, great pair, I salute you; and with leave of all the gods, whose high pleasure

it is, that Mercury make this your holiday. May all the blessings, both of earth and heaven, concur to thank you: for till this day's sun, I have faintly enjoyed a minute's rest to my creation. Now I do, and acknowledge it your sole, and no less than divine benefit. If my desire to delight you might not divert to your trouble, I would intreat your eyes to a new and strangc spectacle; a certain son of mine, whom the Arcadians call a god, howsoever the rest of the world receive him: it is the horned Pan, whom in the translated figure of a goat I begot on the fair Spartan Penelope; May, let both your ears and looks forgive it; these are but the lightest escapes of us deities. And it is better in me to prevent his rustic impudence, by my blushing acknowledgment, than anon by his rude, and not insolent claim, be inforced to confess him. Yonder he keeps, and with him the wood nymphs, whose leader he is in rounds and dances, to this sylvan music. The place, about which they skip, is the fount of laughter, or Bacchus' spring; whose statue is advanced on the top; and from whose pipes, at an observed hour of the day, there flows a lusty liquor, that hath a present virtue to expel sadness; and within certain minutes after it is tasted, force all the mirth of the spleen into the face. this is Pan the guardian. Lo! the fountain begins to run, but the nymphs at your sight are fled, Pan and his satyrs wildly stand at gaze. I will approach, and question him: vouchsafe your ear, and forgive his behavior, which even to me, that am his parent, will no doubt be rude enough, though otherwise full of salt, which except my presence did temper, might turn to be gall and bitterness; but that shall charm him.

Pan. O, it is Mercury! hollow them, agen. What be all these, father, gods, or men?

Of

shall pass.

Were he a king, and his mistress a queen,
This draught shall make him a petulant spleen
But trow, is he loose, or costive of laughter?
I'd know, to fill him his glass, thereafter,
Sure either my skill, or my sight doth mock,
Or this lordling's look should not care for the
smock;

And yet he should love both a horse and a hound,

And not rest till he saw his game on the ground. Well, look to him, dame; beshrew me, were I 'Mongst these bonnibells, you should need » good eye.

Here, mistress; all out. Since a god is your skinker;