The Maids Tragedy. Beaumont Francis

      Cal. He shall not have my hand.

      King. This is no time

                       To force you to't, I do love you both:

                        Calianax, you look well to your Office;

                       And you Melantius are welcome home; begin the Mask.

      Mel. Sister, I joy to see you, and your choice,

                       You lookt with my eyes when you took that man;

                       Be happy in him.

      Evad. O my dearest brother! Your presence is more joyful than this day can be unto me.

      The Mask.

      Night rises in mists.

      Nigh. Our raign is come; for in the raging Sea

                       The Sun is drown'd, and with him fell the day:

                       Bright Cinthia hear my voice, I am the Night

                       For whom thou bear'st about thy borrowed light;

                       Appear, no longer thy pale visage shrowd,

                       But strike thy silver horn through a cloud,

                       And send a beam upon my swarthy face,

                       By which I may discover all the place

                       And persons, and how many longing eyes

                       Are come to wait on our solemnities.

                       How dull and black am I! I could not find

                       This beauty without thee, I am so blind;

                       Methinks they shew like to those Eastern streaks

                       That warn us hence before the morning breaks;

                       Back my pale servant, for these eyes know how

                       To shoot far more and quicker rayes than thou.

      Cinth. Great Queen, they be a Troop for whom alone

                       One of my clearest moons I have put on;

                       A Troop that looks as if thy self and I

                       Had pluckt our rains in, and our whips laid by

                       To gaze upon these Mortals, that appear

                       Brighter than we.

        Night. Then let us keep 'em here,

                       And never more our Chariots drive away,

                       But hold our places, and out-shine the day.

        Cinth. Great Queen of shadows, you are

                       pleas'd to speak

                       Of more than may be done; we may not break

                       The gods decrees, but when our time is come,

                       Must drive away and give the day our room.

                       Yet whil'st our raign lasts, let us stretch our power

                       To give our servants one contented hour,

                       With such unwonted solemn grace and state,

                       As may for ever after force them hate

                       Our brothers glorious beams, and wish the night

                       Crown'd with a thousand stars, and our cold light:

                       For almost all the world their service bend

                       To Phoebus and in vain my light I lend,

                       Gaz'd on unto my setting from my rise

                       Almost of none, but of unquiet eyes.

      Nigh. Then shine at full, fair Queen, and by thy power

                       Produce a birth to crown this happy hour;

                       Of Nymphs and Shepherds let their songs discover,

                       Easie and sweet, who is a happy Lover;

                       Or if thou woot, then call thine own Endymion

                       From the sweet flowry bed he lies upon,

                       On Latmus top, thy pale beams drawn away,

                       And of this long night let him make a day.

      Cinth. Thou dream'st dark Queen, that fair boy was not mine,

                       Nor went I down to kiss him; ease and wine

                       Have bred these bold tales; Poets when they rage,

                       Turn gods to men, and make an hour an age;

                       But I will give a greater state and glory,

                       And raise to time a noble memory

                       Of what these Lovers are; rise, rise, I say,

                       Thou power of deeps, thy surges laid away,

                       Neptune great King of waters, and by me

                       Be proud to be commanded.

      Nep. Cinthia, see, Thy word hath fetcht me hither, let me know why I ascend.

      Cinth. Doth