A monologue from the play by John Fletcher

  • NOTE: This monologue is reprinted from The Faithful Shepherdess. John Fletcher. London: J.M.Dent, 1897.
  • SATYR: Through yon same bending plain,
    That flings his arms down to the main,
    And through these thick woods have I run,
    Whose bottom never kissed the sun
    Since the lusty spring began;
    All to please my master Pan,
    Have I trotted without rest
    To get him fruit, for at a feast
    He entertains this coming night
    His paramour, the Syrinx bright.--
    But behold, a fairer sight!
    By that heavenly form of thine,
    Brightest fair, thou art divine,
    Sprung from great immortal race
    Of the gods; for in they face
    Shines more awful majesty
    Than dull weak mortality
    Dare with misty eyes behold,
    And live. Therefore on this mold
    Lowly to I bend my knee
    In worship of thy deity.
    Deign it, goddess, from my hand
    To receive whate'er this land
    From her fertile womb doth send
    Of her choice fruits, and but lend belief
    to that the satyr tells:
    Fairer by the famous wells
    To this present day ne'er grew,
    Never better nor more true.
    Here be grapes, whose lusty blood
    Is the learned poets' good,
    Sweeter yet did never crown
    The head of Bacchus; nuts more brown
    Than the squirrel's teeth that crack them.
    Deign, O fairest fair, to take them!
    For these black-eyed Dryope
    Hath oftentimes commanded me
    With my clasp├ęd knee to climb--
    See how well the lusty time
    Hath decked their rising cheeks in red,
    Such as on your lips is spread!
    Here be berries for a queen--
    Some be red, some be green;
    These are of that luscious meat
    The great god Pan himself doth eat;
    All these, and what the woods can yield,
    The hanging mountain, or the field,
    I freely offer, and ere long
    Will bring you more, more sweet and strong,
    Till when, humbly leave I take,
    Lest the great Pan do awake,
    That sleeping lies in a deep glade
    Under a broad beech's shade.
    I must go, I must run
    Swifter than the fiery sun.