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.

MIRTILLO, ERGASTO.

Mirt.

O Amarillis, Authresse of my flame, (Within my mouth how sweet now is thy name! But in my heart how bitter!) Amarillis, Fairer and whiter then the whitest Lillies, But crueller then cruell Adders far, Which having stung (least they should pitie) bar Their ears, and flie: If then by speaking I Offend thee, I will hold my peace and die. I'll hold my peace, but what will that do good, If hils and dales roar for me, and this wood Which thy deer name can nere forget, from me So often heard, and carv'd on every tree? The windes shall sigh for me, the fountains shed: Abundant tears, grief mourn, and pitie plead. Or couldst thou bribe whole Nature with a fee To silence, lastly Death shall speak for me: Hee'll thunder 't out, and to the world proclaim, I dy'd a Martyr in my true Loves flame.

Erg.

Mirtillo, " Love is a great pain at best, " But more, by how much more it is supprest. " For as hot Steeds run faster at the check, " Then if you laid the reins upon their neck:

" So love restrain'd augments, and fiercer growes " In a close prison, then when loose he goes. Why hidst thou thy flames cause so long from me, When the effect could not concealed be? Mirtillo burns: how often have I said? But inward burns, and will not call for aid.

Mirt.

Courteous Ergasto, out of my respect To her (alas) I did my self neglect: Nor would my festring passion yet unfold, But that necessity hath made me bold. I hear a buzzing rumour every-where (Which to my heart findes passage through my ear) That Amarillis shortly weds; nor dare Ask more, lest so I should my love declare, Or prove my fear too true. Full well I know (Nor hath Love strook me blind) that in my low And slender fortunes, it were simple pride To hope a Nymph so shap't, so qualifi'd, So rais'd in wealth, in spirit, and in blood, Above all these, so gentle, and so good, Can ere be mine: no, I have tane the height Of my unhappy Star, my sullen fate Made me for fuell onely, born to smother In fires I cannot kindle in another. Yet since Fate's pleas'd I should affect death more Then life, at least I'ld have her know before, That shee's beholding to me for my death, And deigne when I sigh out my latest breath

To cast her fair eyes on me, and say, Dye. This reasonable boon obtain would I, That ere she go to make another blest In having her, shee'ld hear me speak at least, But once, my deer Ergasto. Now if love Or pitie of me thy soft entrails move, Procure me this, this physick onely lend, To make the passage easie to my end.

Erg.

From one that loves, a just, from one that dies, A small request: yet a hard enterprize. Woe be to her, should her stern father hear That to stoln prayr's she ere had lent an ear! Or if some baser pick-thank should disclose It to the Priest her father-in-law! Who knows But out of these respects she may eschew Thy company, and yet affect thee too? " For women are more prone to love then men; " But to conceal't have more discretion then. And if 'twere true that she did love thee, what Could shee do lesse then shun thee for all that? " She that wants power to help listens in vain, " And flies with pity, when her stay breeds pain; " And I have heard 'tis still the wisest course " To quit that soon which one must quit perforce.

Mir.

O were this true, and could I think it so, Sweet were my pain, and fortunate my woe! But deer Ergasto (hide it not from me So help thee Pan) who may this Bridegroom be

So lov'd of all the Starres?

Erg.

Dost thou not know (I'm sure thou dost) that famous Silvio, Silvio the rich, the gallant and the fair, The Priest Montano's onely Son and Heir? 'Tis he.

Mir.

O happy youth, whose joy appears So ripe for harvest in his spring of yeers! Pardon me gentle swain, I envie not Thy happinesse, but mourn my own hard lot.

Erg.

Indeed there is no reason to envy, Rather to pity him.

Mirt.

To pity? Why?

Erg.

Because he loves her not.

Mirt.

And hath he wit? Hath he a heart? Is he not blind? —And yet When I consider with what full aspect Her starry eyes their influence direct Into my brest, she cannot have a dart Left in her quiver for another heart. But why do they a gemme so precious throw To one that knows it not, and scorns it so?

Erg.

Because the Heav'ns did through this Marriage Unto Arcadia long ago presage Deliverance. Hast not thou heard that here Is paid to the great Goddesse ev'ry yeer Of a Nymph's guiltlesse bloud a cruell and Unconscionable tribute by this Land?

Mirt.

'Tis news to me; nor let that strange appear, Since I my self am but a stranger here, And since I came (by Fate's decree and Love's) Almost a constant Burgesse of the Groves.

But what strange crime deserv'd so sharp a doom? How could such monstrous cruelty finde room In a Celestiall minde?

Erg.

Of me then know From the first head the torrent of our wo: A Story that would tears of pitie wrest From heart of oak, much more from humane brest. Whilest yet the Priesthood was not ty'd to age, A youthfull swain of noble Parentage, Then Dian's Priest (Aminta was his name) The Nymph Lucrina did with love enflame. All creatures of her sex exceeded shee As much in beauty as unconstancie. She long requited, or at least to sight (If looks and eyes have tongues) she did requite The pure affection of the Love-sick lad, And fed his hopes whilst he no Rivall had. But when a rustick swain her favour sought, (See now a perfect woman!) in a thought, She left the former, with one sigh was shook, With the faint batt'ry of one amorous look: Her hearts new guest now takes up all the room, Dislodg'd Aminta ere he knew for whom. Haplesse Aminta! who from that day forth Was so abhorr'd, held of so little worth, By that ungrate whom he did still adore, That she would neither hear nor see him more. If this unkindnesse cut the wretch to th'heart, If he sigh'd, wept, and rav'd, to thee who art

Acquainted with Love's pangs, I leave to ghesse.

Mir.

O, 'Twas a torment no man can expresse!

Erg.

When then his tears and prayers he had cast After his heart, to Dian turn'd at last; If ever with pure heart, Goddesse (quoth he) And guiltlesse hand I kindled flame to thee, Revenge my faith, which a perfidious Maid Under safe conduct of her smiles betraid. The Goddesse (gentler then the Nymph was) hears The faithfull Lover's and her servant's tears And prayr's: and pity kindling her just ire, By opposition did augment the fire Her pow'rfull bow into her hand she took, And in ARCADIA'S wretched bosome stuck Arrows of death and catching Pestilence Invisible, and therefore without fence. Without remorse they execute her rage Without respect on every sex and age. Nor Antidotes nor Med'cines here avail'd, Nor flying now; weak Art her Master fail'd: And oft, whilst he the remedy apply'd, Before the Patient the Physitian dy'd. The onely hope that's left is from the skie, So to the neerest Oracle they flie, Which soon return'd an answer cleer enough, But above measure terrible and rough; That Cinthia was incenst, but that the Land Might be reliev'd, if by Aminta's hand

That faithlesse Nymph Lucrina, or some one For her, of the Arcadian Nation Were as an offring to Diana slain. So she, when long sh' had prayd, long wept in vain, And long expected her new Lovers ayd, To th' holy Altars like a Bride array'd, And with what pomp Religion could devise, Was led a miserable Sacrifice. Where at those feet from which hers fled so fast, (The feet of her Idolater) at last Bending her trembling knees, she did attend From the offended youth a cruell end. The sacred knife he boldly did unsheathe, Rage and revenge his nostrils seem'd to breathe, His eyes to sparkle; turning then to her, Said with a sigh (death's hollow messenger,) Whom thou hast left Lucrina, and whom took, Learn by this blow: And with that word he strook Himself, and plung'd the knife in his own brest To th' haft: In one both Sacrifice and Priest Fell bleeding at her feet, whilst she (amaz'd To see that dire unlookt for object) gaz'd As one 'twixt life and death, nor yet did know If grief had stab'd her, or the threatned blow. But when she found her tongue again, and knew Distinctly what was acted there, O true, O brave Aminta, (bathing in a flood Of tears) she said! O Lover, understood▪

Too late! who by thy death dost give to me Both life and death. If in forsaking thee I sinn'd; lo, I redeem that sin of mine, Wedding my soul eternally to thine. This said, that knife fresh reeking with the gore Of the now lov'd in death, and purpled ore, She drew from his pale brest, and in her own Sheath'd it again; then willingly sunk down Into Aminta's arms, who yet had breath, And felt perchance that lightning before death. Such was this pair of Lovers tragick fall, 'Cause he kept too much faith, she none at all.

Mir.

O haplesse swain, yet happy in his Love, Having so rich occasion to approve His spotlesse faith, and dying to revive That spark in her he could not being alive! But what became then of the poor diseas'd? Did the plague cease? was Cinthia's wrath appeas'd?

Erg.

It did relent, but was not quite put out: For the same month (the yeer being wheel'd about) It burst out with more fury, and did make A dire relapse: This forc'd us to betake Our selves unto the Oracle agen; Which utterd now a sadder doom; That then And yeerly, we to Nights offended Queen A Maid or Wife should offer, past fifteen And short of twenty; by which means the rage Which swallow'd thousands, one death should asswage.

Moreover a hard law, and weighing well The nature of that sex, impossible To keep; a law in bloudy letters writ On wretched women was impos'd by it; That whatsoever Maid or Wife should prove In any sort a changeling in her love, Vnlesse some friend would pay the penalty In stead of her, should without mercy die. This dire, this nationall Calamitie The good old man hath hope to remedie By means of this desired Match; because The Oracle after some little pawse Being ask'd again, what end our woe should have, To our demand this punctuall answer gave; Your woe shall end when two of Race Divine Love shall combine: And for a faithlesse Nymphs apostate state A faithfull Shepherd supererogate. Now there are left in all Arcadia Of heavenly Stock no other slips this day But Silvio and Amarillis; She From Pan descended, from Alcides He. Nor had there ever (to our much regret) Of those two Lines a Male and Female met, As now there do: whence the believing Father Great hopes of good not without cause doth gather. For though the things foretold by th' Oracle Be not fulfill'd yet in each particle,

This is the fundamentall point; the rest Is still reserv'd in Fates own secret brest, And of the Marriage one day shall ensue.

Mir.

And all this do Mirtillo to undoe? What a long swing is fetcht! what armies band Against one heart half murtherd to their hand! Is't not enough that cruell Love's my foe, Unlesse Fate too conspire my overthrow?

Erg.

Alas, Mirtillo! grieving does no good, "Tears quench not Love, but are his milk and food. 'T shall scape me hard, but ere the Sun descend This cruell one shall hear thee, Courage friend: " These sighs refresh not (as thou dost suppose) " Thy burning heart; but rather are like those " Impetuous winds, which in a Town on fire " The bellows are to blow and fan it higher: " Love's whirlwinds, bringing to poor Lovers ever " Black clouds of grief, which showrs of tears deliver.