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 quarta.

CARINO, MONTANO, NICANDRO, MIRTILLO, Chorus of Shepherds.

Car.

DId ever man so many houses view, And the inhabitants thereof so few? But see the cause! If I mistake me not, They're gotten all together here: O what A troop! how rich! how solemn! It is sure Some Sacrifice.

Mont.

Give me the golden Ewre With the red wine, Nicandro.

Nic.

There.

Mont.

So may Soft pity in thy brest revive to day By this unguilty blood (Goddesse divine) As by the sprinkling of these drops of wine This pale and dying flame revives. Set up The golden Ewre. Reach mee the silver cup. So may the burning wrath he quencht, which in Thy brest was kindled by a false Maid's sinne, As with this water (powr'd out like our tears) I quench this flame.

Car.

'T's a Sacrifice: but where's The offering?

Mont.

Now all's prepar'd, there lacks Onely the fatall stroak. Lend me the Axe.

Car.

I see a thing (unlesse my eyes mistake) Like a man kneeling this way with his back. Is he the offering? 'Tis so: Ah wretch!

And o're his head the Priest his hand doth stretch. O my poor Country! after all these years Is not Heav'ns wrath yet quencht with blood and tears?

Ch. Sh.

Sol's Sister, Daughter of great Iupiter, That shin'st a second Sun in the first Sphere To the blind world!

Mont.

Revengefull Goddesse, who a private fault With publick rod dost punish: (Thou hast thought Fit so to doe, and so in the Abysse Of Providence eternall fixt it is) Since faithlesse Lucrin's tainted blood was thought For thy nice Iustice too impure a draught: Carouse the guiltlesse blood then of this Swain, By me now at thy Altar to be slain A willing Sacrifice, and to his Lasse As true a Lover as Aminta was.

Ch. Sh.

Sol's Sister, Daughter of great Iupiter, That shin'st a second Sun in the first Sphere To the blind world!

Mont.

Ah, how my brest with pity now relents! What sudden numnesse fetters every sense! I ne're was so before; To lift this Axe My hands lack strength, and my heart courage lacks.

Car.

I'le see the wretches face, and so be gone: For such dire sights I cannot look upon.

Mont.

Perhaps the Sun, though setting will not look On humane Sacrifice, and I am strook Therefore with horrour. Shepherd, change thy place,

And to the Mountain turn thy dying face. So, now 'tis well.

(Car.

Alas, what gaze I at? Is 't not my Son? Is 't not Mirtillo, that?)

Mon.

Now I can do't.

(Car.

'Tis he.)

Mon.

And aim my blow—

Car.

Hold sacred Minister, what dost thou do?

Mont.

Nay thou, profane rash man, how dar'st thou thus Impose a sacrilegious hand on us?

Car.

O all my joy Mirtillo! I ne're thought —

Mon.

(Avant old man, that dot'st, or art distraught,)

Car.

T'imbrace thee in this sort.

Mont.

Avant, I say It is not lawfull impure hands to lay Upon things sacred to the gods.

Car.

'Twas they That sent me to this place.

Mont.

Nicandro, stay, We'l hear him, and then let him go his way.

Car.

Ah, courteous Minister! before thy hand Upon the life of this young man descend, Tell me but why he dyes. This I implore By that Divinitie thou dost adore.

Mon.

By such a Goddesse thou conjur'st me, that I should be impious to deny. But what Concerns it thee?

Car.

More then thou dost suppose.

Mon.

Because to die he for another chose.

Car.

Then I will die for him: O, take in stead Of his, this old already tott'ring head.

Mon.

Thou rav'st friend.

Car.

Why am I deni'd that now Which unto him was granted?

Mon.

Because thou A stranger art.

Car.

And if I should prove none, What then?

Mon.

Although thou shouldst, it were all one;

Because he cannot be exchang'd again Who for another in exchange was ta'ne. But who art thou, if thou no stranger be? Thy habit speaks thee not of Arcadie.

Car.

Yet am I an Arcadian.

Mont.

I did ne're See thee before (to my remembrance) here.

Car.

My name's Carino; I was born hard by: (This wretche's Father who is now to die)

Mont.

Hence, hence, lest through thy fond paternal love Our Sacrifice should vain and fruitlesse prove.

Car.

O if thou wert a Father!

Mont.

I am one: I, and the Father of an onely Son. A tender Father too; yet if this were My Silvio's head (by Silvio's head I swear) I would as forward be to do to his What I must do to this. " For no man is " Worthy this sacred Robe, but he that can " For publick good put off the private man.

Car.

Yet let me kisse him 'ere he die.

Mon.

Nor touch.

Car.

O mine own flesh and blood! art thou so much A tyrant to me too, as to afford To thy afflicted Parent not one word?

Mir.

Dear Father, Peace.

(Mon.

Alas! we are all spoild: The sacrifice (O Heavens!) is defil'd.)

Mir.

That blood, that life which thou didst give to me, Spent for a better cause can never be.

Mont.

Did I not say his vow of silence hee Would break, when he his Fathers tears should see?

Mirt.

That such a grosse mistake I should commit! My vow of silence I did quite forgit.

Mon.

But Ministers, why do yee gazing stay? Him to the Temple quickly reconvay. There in the holy Cloister again take The voluntary Oath of him: then back Returning him with pomp along with you For a new Sacrifice bring all things new, New fire, and new water, and new wine. Quickly: for Phoebus doth apace decline.