Il pastor fido The faithfull shepherd : a pastorall / written in Italian by Baptista Guarini, a Knight of Italie ; and now newly translated out of the originall.

Scena secunda.

TITIRO, Messenger.

Tit.

WHich first, my Daughter, shall I mourn in thee, Thy losse of Life, or of thy Chastitie? I'le mourn thy Chastitie: for thou wert born Of mortall parents, but not bad. I'le mourn Not thy life lost, but mine preserv'd, to see Thy losse of Life, and of thy Chastitie. Thou with thy Oracles mysterious cloud (Wrongly conceiv'd Montano,) and thy proud

Despiser both of love, and of my Daughter, Unto this miserable end hast brought her. Ay me! how much more certain at this time My Oracles have shew'd themselves then thine! " For honesty in a young heart doth prove " But a weak sconce against assaulting love. " And 'tis most true, a woman that's alone, " Hath a most dangerous companion.

Mess.

Were he not under ground, or flown through th'air, I should have found him sure. But soft, he's there (I think) where least I thought. Th'art met by me Too late, old Father, but too soon for thee: I've news.

Tit.

What bringst thou in thy mouth? the knife That hath bereft my Daughter of her life?

Mess.

Not that; yet little lesse. But how I pray Got'st thou this news so soon another way?

Tit.

Doth she then live?

Mess.

She lives, and in her choice It is to Live or Die.

Tit.

Blest be that voice! Why is she then not safe, if she may give Her no to death?

Mess.

Because she will not live.

Tit.

Will not? what madnesse makes her life despise?

Mess.

Another's death. And (if that thy advice Remove her not) she is thereon so bent▪ That all the world cannot her death prevent.

Tit.

Why stand we talking here then? Let us go.

Mess.

Stay: yet the Temple's shut. Dost thou not know That none but holy feet on holy earth May tread, till from the vestry they bring forth

The destin'd Sacrifice in all it's trim?

Tit.

But before that—

Mess.

She's watch't.

Tit.

I'th' interim Relate then all that's past, and to me show The truth unveil'd.

Mess.

Thy wretched Daughter (Oh Sad spectacle!) being brought before the Priest, Did not alone from the beholders wrest Salt tears; but (trust me) made the marble melt, And the hard flint the dint of pity felt. Shee was accus'd, convict, and sentence past All in a trice.

Tit.

(Poor girl!) and why such haste?

Mess.

Because the evidence was cleer as day: Besides, a certain Nymph (who she did say Could witnesse she was guiltlesse) was not there, Nor could by any search be brought t' appear. Then the dire Omens of some threatned ill And horrid visions which the Temple fill Brook no delay, to us more frightfull farre, By how much more unusuall they are, Nor ever seen, since the vext Pow'rs above Reveng'd the wrong of scorn'd Aminta's Love. (Who was their Priest whence all our woes had birth) The Goddesse sweats cold drops of blood, the Earth Is Palsey-shook; the sacred Cavern howls With such unwonted sounds as tortur'd souls Send out of graves, and belches up a smell From its fowl jawes, scarce to be match'd in hell. His sad Procession now the Priest began To lead t' a bloody death thy Daughter, whan

Mirtillo seeing her, (behold a strange Proof of Affection!) profferd to exchange His life for hers; crying aloud, Her hands Untie (Ah how unworthy of such bands!) And in her stead (who is design'd to be A Sacrifice to Dian) offer me A sacrifice to Amarillis.

Tit.

There Spake a true Lover, and above base fear!

Mess.

The wonder follows: she that was afraid Before of dying, on the sudden made Now valiant by Mirtillo's words, reply'd, Thus, with a heart at death unterrifi'd, But dost thou think (Mirtillo) then to give Life by thy death to her, who in thee doth live? It cannot, must not be: Come Priests, away With me to th' Altar now without delay. Ah! (cry'd the Swain) such love I did not lack: Back cruell Amarillis, O come back: Now thou art more unkind then e're thou wert: 'Tis I should die. Quoth she, thou act'st my part. And here between them grew so fierce a strife, As if that life were death, and death were life. O noble souls! O Pair eternally To be renown'd, whether ye live or die! O glorious Lovers! if I had tongues more Then Heaven hath eyes, or sands are on the shore, Their voices would be drowned in the main- Sea of your endlesse Praises, Glorious Dame,

Daughter of Iove (eternall as thy Father) That Mortals deeds immortallizest, gather Thou the fair story, and in diamond pages With golden letters write to after ages The bravery of both Lovers.

Tit.

But who wan The conquest in that strife of death?

Mess.

The Man. Strange warre! which to the victor death did give, And where the vanquish't was condemn'd to live. For thus unto thy daughter spake the Priest; Nymph, let's alone, and set thy heart at rest; Chang'd for another none can be again, Who for another in exchange was ta'ne. This is our Law. Then a strict charge he gave, Upon the Maid such carefull watch to have, As that she might not lay a violent hand Upon her self through sorrow. Thus did stand The state of matters, when in search of thee Montano sent me.

Tit.

'Tis most true I see, " Well-water'd Meads may be without sweet flowers " In Spring; without their verdant honour Bowers; " And without chirping birds a pleasant Grove; " 'Ere a fair maid and young without her Love. But if we loiter here, how shall we know The hour when to the Temple we should go?

Mess.

Here better then elsewhere: For here it is The honest Swain must be a sacrifice.

Tit.

And why not in the Temple?

Mess.

Because in The place 'twas done our law doth punish sin.

Tit.

Then why not in the cave? The sin was there.

Mess.

Because it must be in the open air.

Tit.

By whom hast thou these mysteries been told?

Mess.

By the chief Minister, and hee by old Tirenio; who the false Lucrina knew So sacrificed, and Aminta true. But now 'tis time to go indeed; for see, The sacred pomp descends the hill! yet wee May for thy daughter to the Temple go Before they come: "Devotion marches slow.