If we approach the play with Sir Philip’s romance in our mind, the characters cannot but appear one and all offensive.  In every case Day has indulged in brutal caricature.  The courtly characters are represented from the point of view of a prurient-minded bourgeoisie; the rustic figures are equally gross in their vulgarity; while the traitor Dametas, who serves as a link between the two classes, is an upstart parasite, described with a satiric touch not unworthy of Webster as ’a little hillock made great with others’ ruines.’  But if we are content to forget the source of the play, we may take a rather more charitable view.  Not all the characters are consistently revolting, several, including the princesses, having at times a fine flavour of piquant roguishness, at others a touch of easy sentiment.  For a contemporary audience, of course, there were other points of attraction in the play, for the satirical intent is sufficiently obvious, though it is needless for us here to inquire into the personages adumbrated, that investigation belonging neither to pastoral nor to literary history properly speaking.  By far the cleverest as well as the most pleasing scene in the play is that introducing a game of bowls,[296] during which Lisander courts Violetta in long-drawn metaphor.  Part at least of this brilliant double-edged word-play must be quoted, even though the verse-capping may at times pass the bounds of strict decorum: 

    Duke. Doth our match hold?

    Duchess. Yes, whose part will you take?

    Duke. Zelmanes.

    Duchess. Soft, that match is still to make.

    Violetta. Lets cast a choice, the nearest two take one.

    Lisander. My choice is cast; help sweet occasion.

    Viol. Come, heere’s agood.

    Lis. Well, betterd.

    Duch. Best of all: 

    Lis. The Duke and I.

    Duke. The weakest goe to the wall.

    Viol. Ile lead.

    Lis. Ile follow.

    Viol. We have both one mind.

    Lis. In what?

    Viol. In leaving the old folke behinde.

    Duke. Well jested, daughter; and you lead not faire,
    The hindmost hound though old may catch the hare.

    Duch. Your last Boule come?

    Viol. By the faith a me well led.

    Lis. Would I might lead you.

    Viol. Whither?

    Lis. To my bed.

    Viol. I am sure you would not.

    Lis. By this aire I would.

    Viol. I hope you would not hurt me and you should.

    Lis. Ide love you, sweet ...

    Duke. Daughter, your bowle winnes one.