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 Prima.

ERGATSO, MIRTILLO.

Erg.

O What a walk have I had! At the Race, The Mead, Hill, River, Fountain, wrastling Place I've been to seek thee: Heav'n be prais'd, at last I've found thee here.

Mir.

What news requires such haste? Bringst thou me life or death?

Erg.

The last's a thing, Which if I had for thee, I would not bring: The former, though I have not for thee yet, I hope to bring. But why art thou ore-set With thy own sighs? If thou wouldst overcome Another, overcome thy self at home: Breathe, and revy't again—. But to proceed To that which made me seek thee with such speed; The matter's this: Knowst thou (who doth not know?) Ormino's Sister? rather tall then low She is of stature, cherry-cheekt, her hair Inclin'd to red, and of a sprightly ayr.

Mirt.

What is her name?

Erg.

Corisca.

Mir.

Yes, I do Know her, and have conversed with her too.

Erg.

Know then that she (see the good luck on't! What hath been the means to work it I know not, Or on whose score it comes) is grown of late With Amarillis very intimate. Which I perceiving, a relation made Of thy affection unto her, and praid Both her assistance and her secrecie Therein, which she accorded readily.

Mirt.

O blest a thousand thousand times and more Then all (Mirtillo) that ere lov'd before, If this be true: But prethee, did she say Nothing at all unto thee of the way?

Erg.

Nothing as yet, and I will tell thee why: Corisca said, shee could not certainly Determine of the way till she might know Some circumstances of thy love, that so She might be better able to discern The inclination of the Nymph, and learn How to addresse her selfe, with subtilty, Or with intreaties; what t'were best to try, Or what to leave: This was the cause made mee To come so hastily in search of thee. Therefore from first to last thou shalt doe well Thy Love's whole story unto me to tell.

Mirt.

I'le do it. But know Friend, to stir again The bitter memory of Love in vain,

Is like the tossing of a torch about One's head i'th air, thinking to shake it out, When agitation kindles it, and makes The flame cling faster to the melting wax. Or like the tugging of a deep-fixt dart, By which the wound's made greater, and the smart. Most true it is, I shall a tale relate Which will demonstrate the unsure estate Of Lovers hopes, and that how-ere the root Of Love be sweet, it bears a bitter fruit. In that fair season when Day's wheels out-run The Night's ('twas just a twelvemonth since) this Sun Of Beauty, this fair Pilgrim came to bring With her approach as 'twere a second Spring To my then only rich and happy nest, Elis and Pisa with her presence blest; Brought by her Mother in those solemn dayes When Sacrifices and Olympick Playes Through all the world so famous are kept there In honour of the mighty Thunderer. Shows worthy sure of those fair eyes; But those Fair eyes themselves were farre the worthier shows. Whence I, who till that instant never knew What flames of Love did mean, at the first view Of those bright lamps, yeelded, and never fought One stroke against her; for I felt (me thought) Two fiery balls fly whizzing through my liver And Beauty (a bold thief) cry'd Stand, Deliver

Thy heart, Mirtillo.

Erg.

O Love's piercing steel, Which they alone can understand that feel!

Mir.

But now to see what cunning Love suggests Ev'n to the youngest and the simplest brests! I made a deer young Sister of mine own (Who was my cruell Nymph's companion Whilst she in Elis and in Pisa staid) Acquainted with my pain. This silly maid Was all the councell Love allotted me For managing my amorous bus'nesse: she With her own garments decks me in great order, And imps my short hair with a borrow'd border, Then braids it all with flowrs, hanging a bow And Quiver by my side, and last doth show How I should frame my words and count'nance, where No footsteps of a beard did then appear. The hour approached, she conducted me Where my Nymph us'd to play; and there found we Some Noble Megarensian Maids, whom Blood And Love linkt to her, as I understood. 'Mongst them was she like Royall Rose 'mongst low- Born Violets: And when as they had so For a good space without more pastime staid, A Megarensian Virgin rose, and said; What, at a time for Pastime so renown'd Shall we without our sports be idle found! And have not (Sisters) we our weapons then To make mock-fights withall as well as men?

By my advice wee'll practice our arms now Against our selves in jest, as we must do In earnest one day against men: Let's kisse, And wage a kissing warre; and she that gi's The best and sav'rest one, shall have for meed This curious wreath. All laught, and cry'd Agreed. Forthwith, not staying for the word or signe, These eager Amazons in battell joyn: No ranks they kept, no colours knew, nor side, But all confused, and each each defy'd. The Megarensian this perceiving, straight To the disordered Troops sounds a retrait; And after saith; Let her deservedly The Judge of all our kisses be Whose mouth is fairest. With one voice Of peerlesse Amarillis they made choice. She sweetly bending her fair eyes, Her cheeks in modest blushes dyes, To shew through her transparent skin That she is no lesse fair within Then shee's without; or else her countenance Envying the honour done her mouth perchance, Puts on her scarlet robes, as who Should say, And am not I fair too?

Erg.

Blest man to be transform'd at such a time, As if this accident thou couldst divine!

Mirt.

The fair Judge takes her seat, and now renews The amorous fight, according to the use

Of war; by lots they march up one by one, To try their mouthes by hers (the Paragon Of sweetnesse) or (as I may term it well) Of orient pearls a perfum'd Indian shell, And the two lips a two-leav'd Coral door With honyed lock, to ope and shut with more Facility upon the pearly treasure. O my Ergast' that I could tell the pleasure Of those sweet kisses! But do thou hence ghesse it, That mouth which tasted it, cannot expresse it. Extract then all the sweetnesse which remains In Hybla-combs, in Cyprian Sugar-canes, It will be nothing to that world of blisses I suckt from thence.

Erg.

O happy theft! sweet kisses!

Mirt.

Sweet, but yet lame; the better half was missing, The soul which gives perfection to kissing: For though Love gave them, Love restor'd them not.

Erg.

But hadst thou not some fear when 'twas thy lot To kisse?

Mirt.

My heart (Ergasto) to say true, Was at my mouth, and my soul shrunk into A narrow volume; 'twas one kisse, whence all My limbs stood tott'ring like an ill propt wall. And when I came under the battery, And within aim of her sure killing eye, I fear'd the Majesty of that bright look, Lest in the very act I should be took Of theft and guile which I was then about. But straight her count'nance clearing me that doubt

By a serene and unsuspecting smile, I ventur'd boldly on. Love stood the while (Ergasto) like a Bee hid in the leaves Of her lips Roses; and whilst she receives The kisses of my mouth with hers unmov'd And passive, I the honey onely prov'd. But when she active likewise growes, And thrusts out this and t'other rose, (Whether her gayety of heart it was, Or my good luck, for 'twas not love alas) When our two mouthes snapt like a bone well set, And like two tallies that are brothers met, (O my deer sweet and num'rous treasure! Do I out live so great a pleasure?) Then, then I felt the sharp sweet dart, The amorous sting piercing my heart. Which was (it seems) restor'd me then, That I might have it hurt agen. I then, as soon as I had found Her lips had giv'n me my deaths wound, Was ready, like some desperate gasping wight, The weapon which had wounded me to bite: When suddenly her sweet breath, like the blast Of an inspiring Deity, did cast An holy damp upon my sawcy blood, Which all immodest and wild heat withstood.

Erg.

O Modesty, the block and Remora Which ever lies in the true Lovers way!

Mirt.

Now all of them had had their turns, and come With thoughts suspended to attend the doom, When Amarillis judging mine t'exceed All th'others kisses, plac'd the Victors meed (That curious wreath) with her own snowy hand Upon my head. But O! no Lybian sand Beneath the Syrian dog ere broyl'd so much, When he both barks and bites; his rage is such, As my whole heart was then on fire Betwixt fruition and desire. And (being never conquerd half so much As when I was a Conqu'ror) such My boldnesse was, that from my head I reacht the wreath to her, and sed, This is thy due, for thee 'tis meet, Who with thy mouth hast made my kisses sweet. And she most courteously accepting it, For her fair hair made it a Coronet, And crown'd mine with another, which before Upon her own divine temples she wore: Which is the same I now do bear, and shall (Heav'n willing) to my Funerall, Wither'd as 'tis, to keep in memory That happy day; but most to signifie My wither'd hopes.

Erg.

Thy case doth pity, and not envie claim, Mirtillo: or hereafter let thy name " Be Tantalus, for he that jests with Love,

" Or playes with fire, shall pain in earnest prove. Poor youth! thou took'st up transitory treasure At too much use, and of thy theft the pleasure And punishment together didst receive. But did she never the deceit perceive?

Mirt.

I know not that, Ergasto; this I do, Whilst shee thought Elis worthy of her view, She was still bounteous to me of her eye, And gracious smiles. But my hard destinie Snatching her thence, unwares to me almost, I straight came flying hither, where thou knowst My Father, though he sojourn'd long abroad, Yet still retains his wonted poor aboad. I came and saw (O sight!) my day begun In such a fair and smiling morn, now run To its long West. When I appear'd in place The lightning of disdain flash'd in her face; Then did she bend her eyes, and turn'd away, These Meteors boad my death, then did I lay. Mean while, that I should so by stealth depart, My tender Father took deeply to heart; And with the grief on't an infirmity So terrible, that he was like to die. This forc'd me back, which prov'd (alas) in one Health to the Father, sicknesse to the Son. For half a yeer of a Love-caused feaver I languisht, and I think had languisht ever, If my indulgent Father had not sought

In time the Tripods Counsell; whence he brought This Answer, That th' Arcadian air alone Could make mee well again. I thereupon Return'd (Ergasto) to revisite her (O fallacy of that grand Sophister, The Oracle!) who made my body whole To cause eternall sicknesse in my soule.

Erg.

Thou hast related a strange tale in truth, Mirtillo, a case worthy of much ruth Without all doubt. " But oft a desperate state " Hath prov'd the cause that cures as desperate " Have sav'd the sick. And now 'tis time I goe To tell Corisca what from thee I know; Expect me at the Fountain, there will I Ere long be with thee.

Mirt.

Go on prosperously: And Heav'n at need that pity shew to thee (Courteous Ergasto) which thou shewst to me.