Enter Bremo and Amadine.
BREMO.
Amadine, how like you Bremo and his woods?
AMADINE.
As like the woods of Bremo’s cruelty.
Though I were dumb, and could not answer him,
The beasts themselves would with relenting tears
Bewail thy savage and unhumane deeds.
BREMO.
My love, why dost thou murmur to thyself?
Speak louder, for thy Bremo hears thee not.
AMADINE.
My Bremo? No, the shepherd is my love.
BREMO.
Have I not saved thee from sudden death,
Giving thee leave to live, that thou mightst love,
And dost thou whet me on to cruelty?
Come, kiss me, sweet, for all my favours past.
AMADINE.
I may not, Bremo, and therefore pardon me.
BREMO.
See, how she flies away from me! I’ll follow
And give attent to her. Deny my love!
[Aside.] Ah, worm of beauty, I will chastice thee!
Come, come, prepare thy head upon the block.
AMADINE.
Oh, spare me, Bremo, love should limit life,
Not to be made a murderer of himself.
If thou wilt glut thy loving heart with blood,
Encounter with the lion or the bear,
And like a wolf, prey not upon a lamb.
BREMO.
Why, then, dost thou repine at me?
If thou wilt love me, thou shalt be my queen,
I will crown thee with a chaplet made of ivy,
And make the rose and lily wait on thee.
I’ll rend the burly branches from the oak,
To shadow thee from burning sun.
The trees shall spread themselves where thou dost go,
And as they spread, I’ll trace along with thee.
AMADINE.
[Aside.] You may, for who but you?
BREMO.
Thou shalt be fed with quails and partridges,
With blackbirds, thrushes, larks and nightingales.
Thy drink shall be goats’ milk and crystal water,
Distill’d from th’ fountains and the clearest springs,
And all the dainties that the woods afford.
I’ll freely give thee to obtain thy love.
AMADINE.
[Aside.] You may, for who but you?
BREMO.
The day I’ll spend to recreate my love
With all the pleasures that I can devise,
And in the night I’ll be thy bed-fellow,
And lovingly embrace thee in mine arms.
AMADINE.
[Aside.] One may, so may not you.
BREMO.
The satyrs and the wood-nymphs shall attend
On thee and lull thee ’sleep with music’s sound,
And in the morning, when thou dost awake,
The lark shall sing good morrow to my queen,
And whilst he sings, I’ll kiss my Amadine.
AMADINE.
[Aside.] You may, for who but you?
BREMO.
When thou art up, the wood-lanes shall be strew’d
With violets, cowslips, and sweet marigolds,
For thee to trample and to tread upon;
And I will teach thee how to kill the deer,
To chase the hart, and how to rouse the roe,
If thou wilt live to love and honour me.
AMADINE.
[Aside.] You may, for who but you?
Enter Mucedorus.
BREMO.
Welcome, sir!
An hour ago I look’d for such a guest.
Be merry, wench, we’ll have a frolic feast,
Here’s flesh enough for to suffice us both,
Stay, sirrah, wilt thou fight, or dost thou yield to die?
MUCEDORUS.
I want a weapon, how can I fight?
BREMO.
Thou want’st a weapon, then thou yield’st to die.
MUCEDORUS.
I say not so, I do not yield to die.
BREMO.
Thou shalt not choose. I long to see thee dead.
AMADINE.
Yet spare him, Bremo, spare him.
BREMO.
Away, I say, I will not spare him.
MUCEDORUS.
Yet give me leave to speak.
BREMO.
Thou shalt not speak.
AMADINE.
Yet give him leave to speak for my sake.
BREMO.
Speak on, but be not over-long.
MUCEDORUS.
In time of yore, when men like brutish beasts
Did lead their lives in loathsome cells and woods,
And wholly gave themselves to witless will,
A rude unruly rout, then man to man
Became a present prey, then might prevailed,
The weakest went to wall.
Right was unknown, for wrong was all in all.
As men thus lived in this great outrage,
Behold, one Orpheus came, as poets tell,
And them from rudeness unto reason brought,
Who led by reason, soon forsook the woods;
Instead of caves, they built them castles strong;
Cities and towns were founded by them then.
Glad were they, that they found such ease,
And in the end they grew to perfect amity.
Weighing their former wickedness,
They term’d the time wherein they lived then
A golden age, a goodly golden age.
Now, Bremo, for so I hear thee called,
If men which lived tofore, as thou dost now,
Wild in the woods, addicted all to spoil,
Returned were by worthy Orpheus’ means,
Let me, like Orpheus, cause thee to return
From murder, bloodshed, and like cruelty.
What, should we fight before we have a cause?
No, let us live and love together faithfully.
I’ll fight for thee—
BREMO.
Or fight for me, or die: or fight or else thou diest!
AMADINE.
Hold, Bremo, hold!
BREMO.
Away, I say, thou troublest me.
AMADINE.
You promised me to make me your queen.
BREMO.
I did, I mean no less.
AMADINE.
You promised that I should have my will.
BREMO.
I did, I mean no less.
AMADINE.
Then save this hermit’s life, for he may save us both.
BREMO.
At thy request I’ll spare him,
But never any after him. Say, hermit,
What canst thou do?
MUCEDORUS.
I’ll wait on thee, sometime upon the queen.
[Aside.] Such service shalt thou shortly have; as Bremo never had.
[Exeunt.]
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