_Clio._ Melpomene, make you a why of that? I know full oft you have [in] authors read, The higher tree, the sooner is his fall, And they which first do flourish and bear sway, Upon the sudden vanish clean away. _Cal._ Mock on apace; my back is broad enough To bear your flouts as many as they be. That year is rare that ne'er feels winter's storms; That tree is fertile which ne'er wanteth fruit; And that same Muse hath heapèd well in store Which never wanteth clients at her door. But yet, my sisters, when the surgent seas Have ebb'd their fill, their waves do rise again, And fill their banks up to the very brims; And when my pipe hath eas'd herself a while, Such store of suitors shall my seat frequent, That you shall see my scholars be not spent. _Erato._ Spent, quoth you, sister? then we were to blame, If we should say your scholars all were spent: But pray now tell me when your painful pen Will rest enough? _Mel._ When husbandmen shear hogs. _Ven._ [_coming forward_]. Melpomene, Erato,[31] and the rest, From thickest shrubs Dame Venus did espy The mortal hatred which you jointly bear Unto your sister high Calliope. What, do you think if that the tree do bend, It follows therefore that it needs must break? And since her pipe a little while doth rest, It never shall be able for to sound? Yes, Muses, yes, if that she will vouchsafe To entertain Dame Venus in her school, And further me with her instructions, She shall have scholars which will dain to be In any other Muse's company. _Cal._ Most sacred Venus, do you doubt of that? Calliope would think her three times blest For to receive a goddess in her school, Especially so high an one as you, Which rules the earth, and guides the heavens too. _Ven._ Then sound your pipes, and let us bend our steps Unto the top of high Parnassus Hill, And there together do our best devoir For to describe Alphonsus' warlike fame, And, in the manner of a comedy, Set down his noble valour presently. _Cal._ As Venus wills, so bids Calliope. _Mel._ And as you bid, your sisters do agree. [_Exeunt._ SCENE I.--_Near Naples._ _Enter_ CARINUS _and_ ALPHONSUS. _Cari._ My noble son, since first I did recount The noble acts your predecessors did In Arragon against their warlike foes, I never yet could see thee joy at all, But hanging down thy head as malcontent, Thy youthful days in mourning have been spent. Tell me, Alphonsus, what might be the cause That makes thee thus to pine away with care? Hath old Carinus done thee any offence In reckoning up these stories unto thee? What ne'er a word but mum? Alphonsus, speak, Unless your father's fatal day you seek.