Il pastor fido: or The faithfull shepheard. Translated out of Italian into English

SCE. 9.

Linco, Siluio, Dorinda.

LEane thou thy selfe (my Daughter) on this arme. Vnfortunate Dorinda. Sil. O mee! Dorinda? I am dead.

Dor.

O Linco L••nco, Oh my second father!

Sil.

It is Dorinda sure: Ah voyce; ah sight.

Dor.

Dorinda to sustaine, Linco hath been A fatall office vnto thee: thou hardst The first cryes that I euer gaue on earth, And thou shalt heare the latest of my death: And these thine Armes, that were my Cradle once, Shall be my Coffin now.

Lin.

O child more deare Then if thou wer't mine owne. I cannot speake, Griefe hath my wordes dissolued into teares.

Sil.

On earth hold ope thy iawes and swallow mee.

Do.

Oh stay both pace and plaint (good Linco) for The one my griefe, my wound the other doth increase.

Sil.

Oh what a hard reward most wretched Nimph, Had thou receiued for thy wondrous loue?

Lin.

Be of good cheere, thy wound not mortall is,

Dor.

I but Dorinda mortall, wilbe quickly dead: But dost thou know who t'is hath wounded me?

Lin.

Let vs care for the sore, not for the essence, For neuer did Reuenge yet heale a wound.

Sil.

Why stay I still? Shall I stay whilst they see me? Haue I so bold a face? Fly Siluio fly The punishment of that reuengefull sight, Fly the just edge of her sharpe cutting voice: I cannot fly, fatall necessitie doth hold Me heere, an I makes me seeke whom most I ought to shunne.

Dor.

Why Linco, must I die Not knowing who hath giuen me my death?

Lin.

It Siluio is.

Dor.

P••••••so.

Lin.

I know his shaft.

Dor.

On happie issue of my liues last end, If I be shune by such a louely friend.

Lin.

See where he is, with countenance him accusing. Now heauens be praysd, y'are at good passe, VVith this your bowe and shaftes omnipotent, Hast thou not like a cunning Wood-man shot? Tell mee, thou that of Sil•••••• liust; was it not I That shot this daintie shoote? Oh Boy too wise, Hadst thou beleeu'd this foolish aged man, Had it not better been Answere me wretch. What can thy life be worth, if thee do die? I know thou'st say thou thoughtst t'haue shot a Woolfe, As though it were no fault to shoote Not knowing (carelesse wandring chi'd) if t'were A man or beast thou shotst at: what Heardsman, or What Plougsman dost thou see attyr'd in other cloathes? Ah Siluio, Siluio, who euer soweth wi••t so greene, Doth euer reape ripe fruite of ignorance. Thinke you (vaine Boy) this chaunce by chaunce did come? Neuer without the powers deuine did such like happen: Heauen is enrag'd at your supportlesse spight, To loue and deepe despising so humane affectes.

Gods will not haue companions on the earth, They are not pleasd with this austeritie: Now thou art dumbe, thou wert not wont t'indure.

Do.

Siluio, let Linco speake, he doth not know What sou'raign••tie thou o're Dorinda hast, In life and death by the great power of Loue. If thou hast shot me, thou hast shot thine owne: Thou hitst the marke that's proper to thy shaft, These handes that wounded me, haue follow'd right The ayme of thy faire eyes. Siluio, behold her whom Thou hatest so, behold her as thou wouldst: Thou wouldst me wounded haue, wounded I am: Thou wish't me dead, I ready am for death, What wouldst thou more? What can I giue thee more? Ah cruell Boy, thou neuer wouldst beleeue The wound by thee Loue made, canst thou deny That which thy hand hath done? thou neuer sawst The blood mine eyes did shed; seest thou this then, That gusheth from my side: but if with pittie now All gentlenesse and valoure be not spent, Do not denie me cruell soule, I pray, At my last gaspe, one poore and onely sigh: Death should be blest, if thou but thus wouldst say, Goe rest in peace poore soule, I humbly pray.

Sil.

Ah my Dorinda, shall I call thee mine, That art not mine, but when I thee must loose: And when thou ••ast thy death receiued by mee, Not when I might haue giu'n thee thy life: Yet will I call thee mine, that mine shalt bee Spight of my fortune: and since with thy life I cannot haue thee, I'le haue thee in death: All that thou seest in me, is ready for reuenge: I kilde thee with these weapons, with the same I'le kill my selfe: I cruell was to thee, I now desire nothing but crueltie. I proudly thee despi'd, vpon my knees I humbly thee adore, and pardon craue; But not my lyfe. Behold my Bowe, my Shaftes.

Wound not mine eyes or handes, th'are innocent: But wound my brest, monster to pittie, foe To loue: wound me this hart, that cruell was To thee: behold, my brest is bare.

Do.

Siluio, I wound that brest? thou hadst not need Let it be naked to mine eyes, if thou desirdst I should it wound. O daintie beauteous rocke, So often beaten by the waues and windes Of my poore teares and sighes in vaine: and is it true, Thou pittie feelst? or am I wretch but mockt: I would not this same Alablaster skin Should me deceiue, as this poore Beastes hath thee. I wound thy brest? t'is well, Loue durst do so. I aske no wore reuenge, then thou shouldst loue. Blest be the day wherein I first did burne, Blest be my teares and all my martirdomes: I wish thy prayse, and no reuenge of thee. But curteous Siluio, that dost kneele to her, Whose Lord thou art; since mee thou needes wilt serue, Let thy first seruice be, to rise when I thee bid: The second, that thou liu'st: for mee, let heauens Worke their will; in thee my hart will liue: As long as thou dost liue, I cannot die. But if it seeme vniust my wound should be Vnpunished, then breake this cruell Bowe, Let that be all the mallice thou dost show.

Si.

Oh curtuous doome: and so't shalbe, Thou deadly Wood shalt pay the price of others life, Behold, I breake thee, and I render thee Ʋnto the Woodes, a trunke vnprofitable: And you my Shaftes that pierced haue the side O•• my faire Loue, because you brothers bee I put you both togither, and deliuer you, Roddes armd in vaine, and vainely feathered. T'was true Loue tolde me late in Ecchoes voyce. O powerfull tamer both of Gods and men: Late enemie, now Lord of all my thoughtes, I•• thou esteemest it glory to haue mollified

A proude obdurate hart, Defende me from The fatall stroke of death? one onely blow Killing Dorinda, will me with her kill: So cruell death, if cruell death she proue, Will triumph ouer thee triumphant loue.

Lin.

So wounded both, yet woundes most fortunate, Were but Dorindaes sownd. Let's soone go seeke Some remedie.

Dor.

Do not good Linco lead Me to my fathers house in this attire.

Sil.

Shall my Dorinda go to other house Then vnto mine? no sure: aliue or dead This day I'le marrie thee.

Lin.

And in good time, Since Amarillis hath lost life and marriage too. O blessed couple! O eternall Gods! Giue two their liues, giuing but one her health.

Dor.

Siluio I weary am, I cannot hold me on My wounded side.

Sil.

Be of good cheere, Thou shalt a burthen be to vs most deare. Linco giue me thy hand.

Lin.

Hold there it is.

Sil.

Hold fast, and with our armes wee'le make a seate For her. Sit there Dorinda, and with thy right hand Hold Lincoes necke, and with thy left close mine: Softly my hart, for rushing of thy wound.

Dor.

O now mee thinkes I am well. Sil. Linco hold fast.

Lin.

Do not you stagger, but go forward right, This is a better triumph then a head.

Sil.

Tell me Dorinda, doth thy wound still pricke?

Dor.

It doth; but in thine armes my louelie treasure, I hold eu'n pricking deare, and death a pleasure.

Chorus.

O Sweete and golden age, when Milke Vnto the tender World was meate: Whose Cradle was the harmelesse Wood, Their dearer partes whose grasse like silke, The Flockes vntoucht, did ioy to eate: Nor feard the World the spoyle of blood,

The troublous thoughts that do no good Did not then make a cloudy vaile To dimme our sunnes eternall light: Now Reason being shut vp quight, Cloudes do our Wits skies ouer-haile: From whence it is straunge landes we seeke for ease, Ploughing with huge Oake trees the Ocean seaes, This bootlesse superstutious voyce, This subiect profit lesse then vaine, Of toyes, of titles, and of sleight, Whom the mad World through worthlesse choyce, Honor to name doth not disdaine, Did not with tyranny delight, To rule our mindes, but to sustaine Trouble for troth, and for the right To maintaine sayth a firme decree Amonst vs men of each degree, Desire to do well was of right: Care of true Honor, happy to be named, Who what was lawfull pleasure to vs framed. Then in the pastures grony shade, Sweete Carroles and sharpe Madrigal••. Were flames vnto deare lawfull Loue: There gentle Nimphes and Shepheards made Thoughts of their wordes, and in the dales Did Himen ioyes and kisses moue, Farre sweeter and of more behoue, True louers onely did enioy Loues liuely Roses and sweete Flowers, Whilst Wily-craft sound alwayes showers, Showers of sharpe will, and wills annoy: Were it in Woodes or Caues for quiet rest, The name of Husband still was lik••d best. False wicked World, that courrest still With thy base mercenary name The soules chiefe good, and dost entice To nourish thought of newfound Will, With likelihoodes 〈◊〉〈◊〉 againe:

Ʋnbridling eu•••• secret vice, Like to a Net layde by deuice Among 〈◊〉〈◊〉 Flowers and sweet•• spread 〈◊〉〈◊〉, Thou cloathst vilde thoughtes in 〈…〉〈…〉, Esteeming seeming goodnesse, deedes, By which the life with Art deceiue: Nor dost thou care (this Honor is thy act) What theft it be, so Loue may hide the fact. But thou great Honour, great by right, Frame famous spirits in our hartes, Thou true Lord of each Noble brest: O thou that rulest Kinges of might, Once turne thee into th••se our partes, Which wanting thee, cannot be blest: Make the••r from out their mortall rest, With mightie and with powerfull stanges, Who by a base vnwarthy will Haue left to work thy pleasure still, And left the worth of antiqur thinges: Let's hope our ills a truce will one day take. And let our hopes not wauer no nor shake: Let's hope the setting sunne will rise againe, And that the skyes when they most aarke appeare, Do dravv (though couer'd) after vvished cleare.

Finis Cho. Act. 4.