To keep the night awake and honour you At the end of this speech there is suddenly heard a great noise of drums and fifes, and way being made, eight pages first enter, with green torches in their hands lighted; their suits were of green satin, with cloaks and caps of the same, richly and strangely set forth. Presently after them the eight Masquers came, in rich embroidered suits of green satin, with high hats of the same, and all their accoutrements answerable to such noble and princely personages as they concealed under their vizards, and so they instantly fell into a new dance: at the end whereof they took forth the Ladies, and danced with them; and so well was the Queen pleased with her entertainment that she vouchsafed to make herself the head of their revels, and graciously to adorn the place with her personal dancing: much of the night being thus spent with variety of dances, the Masquers made a conclusion with a second new dance. At the Queen's parting on Wednesday in the afternoon, the Gardener with his man and boy and three handsome country maids, the one bearing a rich bag with linen in it, the second a rich apron, and a third a rich mantle, appear all out of an arbour in the lower garden, and meeting the Queen, the Gardener presents this speech. Gardener. Stay, goddess! stay a little space, Or can utter now for woe Of your parting hast'ned so. Gifts these are, such as were wrought At your parting. Come, feat lasses, To the mistress of our joys; With a mournful parting song. A song of three voices continuing while the presents are delivered and received. I Can you, the author of our joy, So soon depart? Will you revive, and straight destroy? New mirth to tears convert? O that ever cause of gladness 2 Now as we droop, so will these flowers, Barred of your sight : Nothing avail them heav'nly showers Without your heav'nly light. When the glorious sun forsakes us, Winter quickly overtakes us. 3 Yet shall our prayers your ways attend, When you are gone; And we the tedious time will spend, Welcome here shall you hear ever, Thus ends this ample entertainment, which as it was most nobly performed by the right honourable the lord and lady of the house, and fortunately executed by all that any way were actors in it, so was it as graciously received of her Majesty, and celebrated with her most royal applause. THE DESCRIPTION, Speeches, and Songs, of The LORDS' MASQUE, PRESENTED IN THE BANQUETING-HOUSE ON THE MARRIAGE NIGHT OF THE HIGH AND MIGHTY COUNT PALATINE, AND THE ROYALLY DESCENDED THE LADY ELIZABETH.1 I have now taken occasion to satisfy many, who long since were desirous that the Lords' masque should be published, which, but for some private lets, had in due time come forth. The Scene was divided into two parts. From the roof to the floor, the lower part being first discovered (upon the sound of a double consort, exprest by several instruments, placed on either side of the room) there appeared a wood in prospective, the innermost part being of relief, or whole round, the rest painted. On the left hand from the seat was a cave, and on the right a thicket, out of which came Orpheus, who was attired after the old Greek manner, his hair, 1 The marriage was celebrated on Shrove-Sunday, 14 February, 1612-13. "Of the Lords' Masque," writes Chamberlain, "I hear no great commendation save only for riches, their devices being long and tedious, and more like a play than a masque (Winwood's "Memorials," iii. 435). But, as Nichols remarks, Chamberlain was not present. Those who were dissatisfied with Campion's masque must have been hard to please. It cost £400 (Nichols' "Progresses of King James," ii. 622),—a small sum compared with the lavish expenses frequently incurred on such occasions. curied and long, a laurel wreath on his head, and in his hand he bare a silver bird; about him tamely placed several wild beasts: and upon the ceasing of the consort Orpheus spake. Orpheus. Again, again, fresh kindle Phoebus' sounds, Allay the fury that her sense confounds, And call her gently forth; sound, sound again. Her The consorts both sound again, and Mania, the goddess of madness, appears wildly out of her cave. habit was confused and strange, but yet graceful; she as one amazed speaks. Mania. What powerful noise is this importunes me, T'abandon darkness which my humour fits? Jove's hand in it I feel, and ever he Must be obeyed ev'n of the frantic'st wits. Orpheus. Mania! Mania. Orpheus. Hah! Brain-sick, why start'st thou so? Approach yet nearer, and thou then shall know The will of Jove, which he will breathe from me. Mania. Who art thou? if my dazzled eyes can see, Thou art the sweet enchanter heav'nly Orpheus. Orpheus. The same, Mania, and Jove greets thee thus: |