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    The Sad Shepherd or, A Tale of Robin Hood: "Ambition makes more trusty slaves than need."
    The Sad Shepherd or, A Tale of Robin Hood: "Ambition makes more trusty slaves than need."
    The Sad Shepherd or, A Tale of Robin Hood: "Ambition makes more trusty slaves than need."
    Ebook227 pages2 hours

    The Sad Shepherd or, A Tale of Robin Hood: "Ambition makes more trusty slaves than need."

    By Ben Jonson

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    About this ebook

    Benjamin "Ben" Jonson was born in June, 1572. A contemporary of William Shakespeare, he is best known for his satirical plays; Volpone, The Alchemist, and Bartholomew Fair, and his equally accomplished lyric poems. A man of vast reading and a seemingly insatiable appetite for controversy, including time in jail and a penchant for switching faiths, Jonson had an unparalleled breadth of influence on Jacobean and Caroline playwrights and poets. In 1616 Jonson was appointed by King James I to receive a yearly pension of £60 to become what is recognised as the first official Poet Laureate. He died on the 6th of August, 1637 at Westminster and is buried in the north aisle of the nave at Westminster Abbey. A master of both playwriting and poetry his reputation continues to endure and reach a new audience with each succeeding generation.

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherCopyright Group
    Release dateAug 17, 2015
    ISBN9781785433870
    The Sad Shepherd or, A Tale of Robin Hood: "Ambition makes more trusty slaves than need."

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      Book preview

      The Sad Shepherd or, A Tale of Robin Hood - Ben Jonson

      The Sad Shepherd by Ben Jonson

      or, A TALE OF ROBIN HOOD

      From the 1640 folio

      Benjamin Ben Jonson was born in June, 1572. A contemporary of William Shakespeare, he is best known for his satirical plays; Volpone, The Alchemist, and Bartholomew Fair, and his equally accomplished lyric poems.

      A man of vast reading and a seemingly insatiable appetite for controversy, including time in jail and a penchant for switching faiths, Jonson had an unparalleled breadth of influence on Jacobean and Caroline playwrights and poets.

      In 1616 Jonson was appointed by King James I to receive a yearly pension of £60 to become what is recognised as the first official Poet Laureate.  

      He died on the 6th of August, 1637 at Westminster and is buried in the north aisle of the nave at Westminster Abbey.

      A master of both playwriting and poetry his reputation continues to endure and reach a new audience with each succeeding generation.

      Sadly Jonson died before finishing this play. However the writing was finished by Francis Godolphin Waldron (1744-1818) and we continue the play to its conclusion using that work.

      Index of Contents

      The PERSONS of the PLAY

      The SCENE is SHER-WOOD

      THE ARGUMENT OF THE FIRST ACT

      THE PROLOGUE

      ACT I

      SCENE I

      SCENE II

      SCENE III

      SCENE IV

      SCENE V

      SCENE VI

      The Argument of the Second Act

      ACT II

      SCENE I

      SCENE II

      SCENE III

      SCENE IV

      SCENE V

      SCENE VI

      SCENE VII

      SCENE VIII

      The Argument of the Third Act

      ACT III

      SCENE I

      SCENE II

      SCENE III

      SCENE IV

      SCENE V

      The Sad Shepherd was unfinished at Jonson's death. A continuation written by F. G. Waldron continues the play

      SCENE Changes to Robin Hood's Bower.

      SCENE Changes to a Wild Part of the Forest.

      ACT IV

      SCENE Robin's Bower.

      SCENE Lorel's Oak.

      SCENE Robin Hood's Well.

      SCENE the Entrance to a Hermit's Cell.

      ACT V.

      SCENE A Grove, with an Altar.

      SCENE Changes to Another Part of the Grove.

      SCENE Changes to the Entrance to Reuben's Cell.

      Ben Jonson – A Short Biography

      Ben Jonson – A Concise Bibliography

      Ben Jonson – An Historical View by Felix E Schellin

      A Glossary of Words & Meanings

      The PERSONS of the PLAY

      ROBIN-HOOD     The chief Wood-man, Master of the Feast.

      MARIAN  His Lady, the Mistris,

      Their Family.

      FRIAR TUCK  The Chaplain and Steward.

      LITTLE JOHN  Bow-bearer.

      SCARLET          }

      SCATHLOCK    } Two Brothers, Huntsmen.

      GEORGE a GREEN Huisher of the Bower.

      MUCH   Robin-hood's Baliff, or Acater.

      The Guests invited.

      MELLIFLEUR  } The Sweet

      AMIE   } The Gentle    Shepherdnesses

      LARINE, Earine  } The Beautiful

      The Troubles unexpected.

      MAUDLIN   The Envious: The Witch of Papplewick.

      DOUCE   The Proud: Her Daughter.

      LORELL   The Rude. A Swine'ard, the Witches Son.

      PUCK-HAIRY,  Or Robin Goodfellow, their Hine.

      CLARION  } The Rich  }

      LIONEL   } The Courteous  }

      ALKEN   } The Sage  ]The Shepherds

      AEGLAMOUR  } The Sad  }

      KAROLIN  } The Kind  }

      The Reconciler.

      REUBEN     A Devout Hermit.

      The SCENE is SHER-WOOD

      Consisting of a Landt-shape of Forest, Hills, Valleys, Cottages; A Castle, a River, Pastures, Heards, Flocks, all full of Countrey Simplicity, Robin Hood's Bower, his Well; the Witches Dimble, the Swine'ards Oak, the Hermits Cell.

      THE ARGUMENT OF THE FIRST ACT

      Robin Hood, having invited all the Shep'erds and Shep'erdesses of the Vale of Be'voir, to a Feast in the Forest of Sher-wood, and trusting to his Mistris, Maid Marian, with her Wood-men, to kill him Venison against the day: Having left the like Charge with Friar Tuck, his Chaplain and Steward, to command the rest of his merry men, to see the Bower made ready, and all things in order for the Entertainment: meeting with his Guests at their entrance into the Wood, welcomes and conducts them to his Bower. Where, by the way, he receives the Relation of the Sad Shep'ard Eglamour, who is fall'n into a deep Melancholy, for the loss of his beloved Earine; reported to have been drowned in passing over the Trent, some few days before. They endeavour, in what they can, to comfort him: But his disease having taken so strong Root, all is in vain, and they are forced to leave him. In the mean time, Marian is come from hunting with the Huntsmen, where the Lovers interchangeably express their Loves. Robin-Hood enquires if she hunted the Deer at force, and what Sport he made? how long he stood? and what Head he bore? All which is briefly answer'd, with a relation of breaking him up, and the Raven, and her Bone. The suspect had of that Raven to be Maudlin, the Witch of Paple-wick, whom one of the Huntsmen met i' the morning, at the rowsing of the Deer, and is confirm'd by her being then in Robin-Hood's Kitchin, i' the Chimney-corner, broyling the same Bit, which was thrown to the Raven, at the Quarry, or Fall of the Deer. Marian being gone in, to shew the Deer to some of the Shepherdesses, returns instantly to the Scene, discontented; sends away the Venison she had kill'd, to her they call the Witch, quarrels with her Love Robin-Hood, abuseth him, and his Guests the Shep'erds; and so departs, leaving them all in wonder and perplexity.

      THE PROLOGUE

      He that hath feasted you these Forty Years,

      And fitted Fables for your finer Ears,

      Although at first, he scarce could hit the bore;

      Yet you, with patience harkning more and more,

      At length have grown up to him, and made known,

      The Working of his Pen is now your own:

      He prays you would vouchsafe, for your own sake,

      To hear him this once more, but sit awake.

      And though he now present you with such Wooll,

      As from meer English Flocks his Muse can pull,

      He hopes when it is made up into Cloath,

      Not the most curious Head here will be loath

      To wear a Hood of it; it being a Fleece,

      To match, or those of Sicily, or Greece.

      His Scene is Sherwood: And his Play a Tale

      Of Robin-Hood's inviting from the Vale

      Of Be'voir, all the Shep'ards to a Feast:

      Where, by the casual absence of one Guest,

      The Mirth is troubled much, and in one Man

      As much of Sadness shown, as Passion can.

      The sad Young Shep'ard, whom we here present,

      Like his Woes Figure, dark and discontent,

      [The Sad Shep'ard passeth silently over the Stage.

      For his lost Love, who in the Trent is said

      To have miscarried; 'lass! what knows the Head

      Of a calm River, whom the Feet have drown'd?

      Hear what his Sorrows are; and if they wound

      Your Gentle Breasts, so that the End crown all,

      Which in the scope of one Days chance may fall:

      Old Trent will send you more such Tales as these,

      And shall grow Young again, as one doth please.

      [Here the PROLOGUE thinking to end, returns upon a new Purpose, and speaks on.

      But here's an Heresie of late let fall,

      That Mirth by no means fits a Pastoral:

      Such say so, who can make none: he presumes:

      Else there's no Scene, more properly assumes

      The Sock. For whence can Sport in kind arise,

      But from the Rural Routs and Families?

      Safe on this ground then, we not fear to day,

      To tempt your Laughter by our Rustick Play.

      Wherein if we distaste, or be cry'd down,

      We think we therefore shall not leave the Town;

      Nor that the Fore-Wits, that would draw the rest

      Unto their liking, always like the best.

      The wise, and knowing Critick, will not say,

      This worst, or better is, before he weigh;

      Where every piece be perfect in the kind:

      And then, though in themselves he difference find,

      Yet if the place require it where they stood,

      The equal fitting makes them equal good.

      You shall have Love, and Hate, and Jealousie,

      As well as Mirth, and Rage, and Melancholy:

      Or whatsoever else may either move,

      Or stir affections, and your likings prove.

      But that no Stile for Pastoral should go

      Current, but what is stamp'd with Ah, and O:

      Who judgeth so, may singularly err;

      As if all Poesie had one Character:

      In which, what were not written, were not right,

      Or that the Man who made such one poor flight,

      In his whole Life, had with his winged Skill

      Advanc'd him upmost on the Muses Hill.

      When he like Poet yet remains, as those

      Are Painters who can only make a Rose.

      From such, your Wits redeem you, or your Chance,

      Lest to a greater height you do advance

      Of Folly, to contemn those that are known

      Artificers, and trust such as are none.

      ACT I.  SCENE I

      ÆGLAMOUR - Here! she was wont to go! and here! and here!

      Just where those Daisies, Pinks, and Violets grow:

      The World may find the Spring by following her;

      For other print her airy steps ne'er left:

      Her treading would not bend a blade of Grass!

      Or shake the downy Blow-ball from his Stalk!

      But like the soft West Wind, she shot along,

      And where she went, the Flowers took thickest Root,

      As she had sow'd 'em with her odorous Foot.

      ACT I.  SCENE II

      MARIAN, TUCKJ, JOHN, Wood-men, &c.

      MARIAN - Know you, or can you guess, my merry men,

      What 'tis that keeps your Master, Robin-hood,

      So long, both from his Marian, and the Wood?

      TUCK - Forsooth, Madam, he will be here by Noon,

      And prays it of your Bounty, as a Boon,

      That you by themthen have kill'd him Venison some,

      To feast his jolly Friends, who hither come

      In threaves to frolick with him, and make cheer;

      Here's Little John hath harbour'd you a Deer,

      I see by his tackling.

      JOHN -  And a Hart of Ten,

      I trow he be, Madam, or blame your Men:

      For by his Slot, his Entries, and his Port,

      His Frayings, Fewmets, he doth promise Sport,

      And standing 'fore the Dogs; he bears a Head,

      Large, and well beam'd: with all Rights somm'd, and spread.

      MARIAN - Let's rowse him quickly, and lay on the Hounds.

      JOHN -  Scathlock is ready with them on the Grounds:

      So is his Brother Scarlet: now they 'ave found

      His Layre, they have him sure within the Pound.

      MARIAN - Away then, when my Robin bids a Feast,

      'Twere sin in Marian to defraud a Guest.

      ACT I.  SCENE III

      TUCK, GEORGE a GREEN, MUCH, ÆGLAMOUR.

      TUCK - And I, the Chaplain, here am left to be

      Steward to day, and charge you all in fee,

      To d'on your Liveries, see the Bower drest.

      And fit the fine devices for the Feast:

      You, George, must care to make the Baldrick trim,

      And Garland that must crown, or her, or him;

      Whose Flock this Year, hath brought the earliest Lamb.

      GEORGE - Good Father Tuck, at your Commands I am

      To cut the Table out o' the green Sword,variant of 'Sward'

      Or any other Service for my Lord;

      To carve the Guests large Seats; and these laid in

      With Turfe (as soft and smooth as the Mole's Skin:)

      And hang the bulled Nosegays 'bove their Heads,

      The Pipers Bank, whereon to sit and play,

      And a fair Dial to meet out the day.

      Our Master's Feast shall want no just delights:

      His Entertainments must have all the Rites.

      MUCH - I, and all choice that Plenty can send in;

      Bread, Wine, Acates, Fowl, Feather, Fish, or Fin,

      For which my Father's Nets have swept the Trent.

      [ÆGLAMOUR falls in with them.

      ÆGLAMOUR - And ha' you found her?

      MUCH - Whom?  

      ÆGLAMOUR - My drowned Love,

      Earine! the sweet Earine!

      The bright, and beautiful Earine!

      Have you not heard of my Earine?

      Just by your Father's Mill (I think I am right)

      Are not you Much, the Miller's Son?  

      MUCH - I am.

      ÆGLAMOUR - And Bailiff to brave Robin-hood?

      MUCH - The same.

      ÆGLAMOUR - Close by your Father's Mills, Earine!

      Earine was drown'd! O my Earine!

      (Old Maudlin tells me so, and Douce her Daughter)

      Ha' you swept the River, say you? and not found her?

      MUCH - For Fowl and Fish we have.

      ÆGLAMOUR - O, not for her?

      You're goodly Friends! right charitable Men!

      Nay, keep your way, and leave me: make your Toys,

      Your Tales, your Poesies, that you talk'd of; all

      Your Entertainments: you not injure me:

      Only if I may enjoy my Cypress Wreath!

      And you will let me weep! (tis all I ask;)

      Till I be turn'd to Water, as was she!

      And troth, what less Suit can you grant a Man?

      TUCK - His Phantasie is hurt, let us now leave him:

      The Wound is yet too fresh to admit searching.

      ÆGLAMOUR - Searching? Where should I search? or on what Track?

      Can my slow drop of Tears, or this dark shade

      About my Brows, enough describe her loss!

      Earine, O my Earine's loss!

      No, no, no, no; this Heart will break first.

      GEORGE - How will this sad disaster strike the Ears

      Of bounteous Robin-hood, our gentle Master?

      MUCH - How will it mar his Mirth, abate his Feast;

      And strike a Horror into every Guest!

      ÆGLAMOUR - If I could knit whole Clouds about my Brows,

      And weep like Swithen, or those watry Signs,

      The Kids that rise then, and drown all the Flocks

      Of those rich Shepherds, dwelling in this Vale;

      Those careless Shepherds that did let her drown!

      Then I did something, or could make old Trent

      Drunk with my sorrow, to start out in breaches,

      To drown their Herds, their Cattle, and their Corn;

      Break down their Mills, their Dams, o'er-turn their Wares,

      And see their Houses, and whole Livelihood

      Wrought into Water, with her, all were good:

      I'ld kiss the Torrent, and those Whirles of Trent,

      That suck'd her in, my sweet Earine!

      When they have cast theirher Body on the Shoar,

      And it comes up as tainted as themselves,

      All pale and bloodless, I will love it still,

      For all that they can do, and make 'em mad,

      To see how I will hug it in mine arms!

      And hang upon theher Looks, dwell on her Eyes:

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