Men. Yes, I know it,

To him I owe more service

Amet. Pray give leave

He shall attend your entertainments soon,
Next day, and next day;—for an hour or two
I would engross him only.

Soph. Noble lord!

Amet. You are both dismiss'd.

Pel. Your creature and your servant.

[Exeunt all but AMETHUS and MEnaphon.

Amet. Give me thy hand.

Thou'rt welcome;

I will not say,

That is the common road of common friends.
I'm glad I have thee here-Oh! I want words
To let thee know my heart.

Men. 'Tis pieced to mine.

Amet. Yes, 'tis; as firmly as that holy thing Call'd friendship can unite it. Menaphon,

My Menaphon! now all the goodly blessings,
That can create a heaven on earth, dwell with thee!
Twelve months we have been sundered; but
henceforth

We never more will part, till that sad hour,
In which death leaves the one of us behind,
To see the other's funerals performed.

Let's now a while be free.-How have thy travels
Disburthen'd thee abroad of discontents?

Men. Such cure as sick men find in changing

beds,

I found in change of airs; the fancy flatter'd

My hopes with ease, as their's do; but the grief
Is still the same.

Amet. Such is n.y case at home.
Cleophila, thy kinswoman, that maid
Of sweetness and humility, more pities
Her father's poor afflictions, than the tide
Of my complaints.

Men. Thamasta, my great mistress,
Your princely sister, hath, I hope, ere this
Confirm'd affection on some worthy choice.

Amet. Not any, Menaphon. Her bosom yet
Is intermured with ice; though by the truth
Of love, no day hath ever pass'd, wherein
I have not mentioned thy deserts, thy constancy,
Thy-Come! in troth, I dare not tell thee what,
Lest thou might'st think I fawn'd on [thee]—a sin3
Friendship was never guilty of; for flattery
Is monstrous in a true friend.

Men. Does the court

Wear the old looks too?

Amet. If thou mean'st the prince,

It does. He's the same melancholy man,
He was at's father's death; sometimes speaks sense,

2 Confirm'd affection on, &c.] So the quarto reads, but, I suspect, erroneously. Perhaps the author's word was conferr'd.

Lest thou might'st think I fawn'd on [thee]—a sin.] This is the best conjecture which I can form of the speaker's meaning. The old copy reads

Lest thou might'st think I fawn'd upon a sin
Friendship was never guilty of.

I once conjectured

Lest thou might'st think I'd fallen upon a sin—

but I prefer the first.

But seldom mirth; will smile, but seldom laugh;
Will lend an ear to business, deal in none:
Gaze upon revels, antick fopperies,

But is not mov'd; will sparingly discourse,
Hear music; but what most he takes delight in,
Are handsome pictures.

goodly,

One so young, and

So sweet in his own nature, any story

Hath seldom mention'd.

Men. Why should such as I am,

Groan under the light burthens of small sorrows,
Whenas a prince, so potent, cannot shun
Motions of passion? To be man, my lord,
Is to be but the exercise of cares

In several shapes; as miseries do grow,
They alter as men's forms; but how none know.
Amet. This little isle of Cyprus sure abounds
In greater wonders, both for change and fortune,
Than any you have seen abroad.

Men. Than any

I have observed abroad! all countries else

To a free eye and mind yield something rare;
And I, for my part, have brought home one jewel
Of admirable virtue.

Amet. Jewel, Menaphon?

Men. A jewel, my Amethus, a fair youth;
A youth, whom, if I were but superstitious,
I should repute an excellence more high,
Than mere creations are: to add delight,
I'll tell you how I found him.

Amet. Prithee do.

Men. Passing from Italy to Greece, the tales Which poets of an elder time have feign'd

To glorify their Tempe, bred in me
Desire of visiting that paradise.

To Thessaly I came; and living private,

Without acquaintance of more sweet companions,
Than the old inmates to my love, my thoughts,
I day by day frequented silent groves,
And solitary walks. One morning early
This accident encounter'd me: I heard
The sweetest and most ravishing contention,
That art [and] nature ever were at strife in.*
Amet. I cannot yet conceive, what you infer
By art and nature.

Men. I shall soon resolve you.

A sound of music touch'd mine ears, or rather
Indeed, entranced my soul: As I stole nearer,
Invited by the melody, I saw

This youth, this fair-faced youth, upon his lute,
With strains of strange variety and harmony,
Proclaiming, as it seem'd, so bold a challenge
To the clear choristers of the woods, the birds,
That, as they flock'd about him, all stood silent,
Wond'ring at what they heard. I wonder'd too.
Amet. And so do I; good! on--
Men. A nightingale,

4 Vide (Ford says) Fami. Stradam, lib. ii. Prolus. 6. Acad. 2. Imitat. Claudian. This story, as Mr. Lambe observes, has been paraphrased by Crashaw, Ambrose Philips, and others: none of those versions, however, can at all compare for harmony and grace with this before us.

Nature's best skill'd musician, undertakes
The challenge, and for every several strain
The well-shaped youth could touch, she sung her

own;

He could not run division with more art
Upon his quaking instrument, than she,
The nightingale, did with her various notes
Reply to: for a voice, and for a sound,
Amethus, 'tis much easier to believe

That such they were, than hope to hear again.
Amet. How did the rivals part?

Men. You term them rightly;

For they were rivals, and their mistress, harmony.

Some time thus spent, the young man grew at last
Into a pretty anger, that a bird

Whom art had never taught cliffs, moods, or notes,
Should vie with him for mastery, whose study
Had busied many hours to perfect practice:
To end the controversy, in a rapture
Upon his instrument he plays so swiftly,

So many voluntaries, and so quick,
That there was curiosity and cunning,

Concord in discord, lines of differing method

Meeting in one full centre of delight.

Amet. Now for the bird.

Men. The bird, ordain'd to be

Music's first martyr, strove to imitate

These several sounds: which, when her warbling

throat

Fail'd in, for grief, down dropp'd she on his lute,