The Tempest

Page 30

Fer. I warrant you, Sir, The white cold virgin Snow, vpon my heart Abates the ardour of my Liuer

Pro. Well. Now come my Ariell, bring a Corolary, Rather then want a Spirit; appear, & pertly.

Soft musick.

No tongue: all eyes: be silent.

Enter Iris.

Ir. Ceres, most bounteous Lady, thy rich Leas Of Wheate, Rye, Barley, Fetches, Oates and Pease; Thy Turphie-Mountaines, where liue nibling Sheepe, And flat Medes thetchd with Stouer, them to keepe: Thy bankes with pioned, and twilled brims Which spungie Aprill, at thy hest betrims; To make cold Nymphes chast crownes; & thy broomegroues; Whose shadow the dismissed Batchelor loues, Being lasse-lorne: thy pole-clipt vineyard, And thy Sea-marge stirrile, and rockey-hard, Where thou thy selfe do'st ayre, the Queene o'th Skie, Whose watry Arch, and messenger, am I. Bids thee leaue these, & with her soueraigne grace,

Iuno descends.

Here on this grasse-plot, in this very place To come, and sport: here Peacocks flye amaine: Approach, rich Ceres, her to entertaine.

Enter Ceres.

Cer. Haile, many-coloured Messenger, that nere Do'st disobey the wife of Iupiter: Who, with thy saffron wings, vpon my flowres Diffusest hony drops, refreshing showres, And with each end of thy blew bowe do'st crowne My boskie acres, and my vnshrubd downe, Rich scarph to my proud earth: why hath thy Queene Summond me hither, to this short gras'd Greene?

Ir. A contract of true Loue, to celebrate, And some donation freely to estate On the bles'd Louers

Cer. Tell me heauenly Bowe, If Venus or her Sonne, as thou do'st know, Doe now attend the Queene? since they did plot The meanes, that duskie Dis, my daughter got, Her, and her blind-Boyes scandald company, I haue forsworne

Ir. Of her societie Be not afraid: I met her deitie Cutting the clouds towards Paphos: and her Son Doue-drawn with her: here thought they to haue done Some wanton charme, vpon this Man and Maide, Whose vowes are, that no bed-right shall be paid Till Hymens Torch be lighted: but in vaine, Marses hot Minion is returnd againe, Her waspish headed sonne, has broke his arrowes, Swears he will shoote no more, but play with Sparrows, And be a Boy right out

Cer. Highest Queene of State, Great Iuno comes, I know her by her gate

Iu. How do's my bounteous sister? goe with me To blesse this twaine, that they may prosperous be, And honourd in their Issue.

They sing.

William Shakespeare
Classic Literature Library

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