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 sexta.

CORISCA, SATYR.

Cor.

O I'm dead.

Sat.

But I was quick. There's a trick now for your trick.

Cor.

My Amaerillis, I am caught. O come back.

Sat.

She hears thee not. 'Twill now behove thee to be strong.

Cor.

O me, my hair!

Sat.

I have so long Stood angling for thee in my boat, At last th' art strook. 'Tis not thy coat, 'Tis thy hair (Sister) this.

Cor.

To mee This usage (Satyr?)

Sat.

Yes, to thee Corisca, or I am mistaken: That Mistresse in the art of making The fine-spun lyes, that sels so deer False words, false hopes, and a false leer? Shee that so often hath betraid me; Shee that so many fools hath made me At every turn: the sorceresse, The cheat Corisca?

Cor.

I confesse, I am Corisca; but not shee Now, that was once so lov'd by thee, My gentile Satyr.

Sat.

Pray since when Am I gentile? I was not then

When me for Coridon thou didst change.

Cor.

Thee for another?

Sat.

See how strange She makes it now! I warrant then This is great news to thee; and when Thou mad'st me Silvia's Buskins steal, The Bow of Lilla, Cloris Veile, And Daphne's Gown, that were to be The price of love, which promis'd me, Thou gav'st another: and when that Fair wreathe I on thy head did plat, Thou upon Niso didst bestow; And when thou mad'st me (cold as snow) Watch many a night out at the Fountain, The Cave, Wood-side, and foot o'th' Mountain, And for my pains didst laugh at me, Did I then seem gentile to thee? Ah thief! But now as I am here, I'le make thee pay thy whole arrear.

Cor.

O me! Thou dragg'st me like a beast.

Sat.

I drag thee like thy self then. Wrest Thy neck out of the collar now; Give me the slip if thou knowst how. Fox, though thy craft the time before Did save thee, it shall do't no more. For this I'm sure thou canst not scape, Unlesse thou leave thy head i'th trap.

Cor.

Yet give me so much time I pray, As for my self to answer.

Sat.

Say.

Cor.

How can I if thou hold me so?

Sat.

'Tis likely I should let thee go.

Cor.

I'le gage my faith not to go hence.

Sat.

What faith? Hast thou the impudence (Perfidious woman) to name faith To me? I'le bear thee where there hath No Sun, much lesse the feet of men Approacht, unto the horrid'st den Of all this Mountain: there— (but I Will act the rest) to mine own joy And thy dishonour, I will kerve Such vengeance as thy faults deserve.

Cor.

Canst thou then (cruell) to this hair (which has Ty'd fast thy heart), unto this face (which was Once thy delight), to this Corisca (then More dear to thee then thine own life was when Thou swar'st by that, that thou couldst finde it sweet On her behalf, ev'n death it self to meet), Canst thou once think to offer injury, I say, to her? O Heav'ns! O Destinie! Whom have I hop't in? whom can I believe Again?

Sat.

Ah Syren! thinkst thou to deceive Me still? still rock me with thy flatt'ring charms?

Cor.

My sweet deer Satyr, do no harm To her that loves thee. Thou art not a beast, Nor hast a marble or a flinty brest: Behold me at thy feet! O pardon me If ever I (by chance) offended thee,

My Idol. By those sinewy and more Then humane knees, which clasping I adore; By that rough manly visage; by that dear Affection which thou once to me didst bear; By the sweet influence of those eyes which thou Wert wont to call two stars (two fountains now;) By these salt tears which trickle down so fast, Pitie me now, and let me go.

Sat.

Thou hast Mov'd me (I must confesse) and I were gone, If I should hearken to affection. But to be short, I doe not credit thee; Thou art too full of wiles and tricks for me, And he that takes thy word, believes his snares: Beneath this humble shew, beneath these prayr's There's hid Corisca: Thou canst never be Another. Sruggling still?

Cor.

My head, O me! Ah cruell! stay a little longer yet, And grant me but one favour.

Sat.

What is it?

Cor.

Hear me a little more.

Sat.

Thou hopest now With flatt'ries and squeez'd tears to make me bow.

Cor.

Ah courteous Satyr! wilt thou kerve in me Such cruell vengeance?

Sat.

Come, and thou shalt see.

Cor.

And take no Pity of me?

Sat.

None at all.

Cor.

But art thou firm in this?

Sat.

As a brasse-wall. Is this charm ended?

Cor.

O thou base, and not To be exampled Rogue; half man, half goat, And all a beast; thou carrion that doth stink, By-blow and blush of nature; If thou think

Corisca loves thee not, thou thinkst the truth. What should she love in such a comely youth? That fair Stags head? that chimney-sweepers broom? Goats ears? that grave of rottennesse and rheume Which once had bones in't?

Sat.

This to me, Thou wicked varlet?

Cor.

Ev'n to thee.

Sat.

To me, thou scold?

Cor.

To thee, thou Goat.

Sat.

And with these pincers pull I not Thy barking tongue out?

Cor.

Would thou durst Come neer't, there's that will scour their rust.

Sat.

A paltry woman, and in such Condition (being in my clutch) To injure me! and dare mee too! I will —

Cor.

Base slave, what wilt thou do?

Sat.

Eat thee alive I will.

Cor.

Where be The teeth to do't?

Sat.

Heav'n, dost thou see And suffer this! But if I doe not Chastise thee — Come along.

Cor.

I wo' not.

Sat.

Wo' not, my Mistresse Malapert?

Cor.

Wo' not in spight of thy foul heart.

Sat.

That shall be seen; Come, or I swear, This arm I'le from thy shoulder tear.

Cor.

Tear my head off, I wo' not go One foot.

Sat.

Art thou resolved so? Let's ne're dispute then any longer, But put to tryall whether's stronger And faster on, thy neck-piece, or My arm. — Thy hands to help too? Nor

Are these (perverse one) enough guard.

Cor.

That shall be try'd.

Sat.

It shall.

Cor.

Pull hard. Satyr adieu, Get thy neck set.

Sat.

O me! How I am shatter'd! O my head! my knee! O my back-bone! my thigh! what a vile fall Was here! to get upon my legs is all I have the pow'r to do. But can it be That she should fly, and leave her head with me? O marvellous! ye Nymphs and Shepherds run, Flock hither to behold a wonder; one That runs away without her head, by skill In Magick. Hah! how light it is! how ill Peopled with brains! How comes it that I see None of the blood spirt forth? But stay; let me Peruse it better. O thou stock! thou stone! Thou hast no head, if thou think she hath none. Was ever any man so fool'd? See now If she had not a trick to scape, when thou Thoughtst her most sure! Thou all made up of wiles, Was't not enough thy heart, thy face, thy smiles, Thy looks and speeches falsified were, But thou must likewise falsifie thy hair? The glowing Amber, and the flowing Gold, Which you (mad Poets) so extoll, behold! Blush, blush now at your errour, and recant Your thred-bare theam; in stead whereof, go paint The arts of a deform'd and impious Witch Breaking up Sepulchres by night, from which

She steals the hair that upon Death's head growes, To imp her own, which she so neatly does, That she hath made you praise what ye should more Then dire Megara's snakie locks abhor. These (Lovers) are your gyves (I take it) too! Look on 'em Idiots: and if (as you Protest) your hearts are fastned to these hairs, Now every one may without sighs or tears Come by his owne. But why do I forbear To publish her disgrace? Surely that hair, Which stuck with starres adorns the azure skye,— Never so famous was as this; and shee Much more that wore it by my tongue shall be Made infamous to all posterity. —

CHORUS.

AH! 'Twas a grievous fault in her (the Cause Of all our sorrows) who, the sacred Lawes Of Love offending, by her breach of troth, Kindled against this Land the mortall wrath Of the immortall Gods, which not a Flood Of generall tears, nor so much guiltlesse blood " Can quench yet or abate; so high a price " Vnspotted Faith (Expeller of all vice, " And most undoubted Argument to prove " A mind descended nobly) bears above.

" And such a care to plant love in his creature " (By which we deifie our humane Nature) " Hath the eternall Lover. O those blind Mistaken mortals, who addict their mind To wealth, (for which affection's basely sold) Watching the carcasse of their coffin'd gold, Like a pale ghost that walks about his grave! Or why should beauty our free hearts enslave? " These are dead loves; the living and divine " Is where two souls by vertue do combine. " No outward object can with reason move " The heart to love it, 'cause it cannot love: " Onely the soul, 'cause that can love again, " Deserves a Love, deserves a Lovers pain. Well may that kisse be sweet that's giv'n t'a sleek And fragrant rose of a vermilion cheek; And understanding tasters (as are true And happy Lovers) will commend that too. 'Tis a dead kisse, say I, and must be poor, Which the place kist hath no means to restore. But the sweet ecchoing, and the Dove-like billing Of two encountring Mouthes, when both are willing; And when at once both Loves advance their bows, Their shafts drawn home, at once sound at the loose, (How sweet is such Revenge!) This is true kissing, Where there is one for t'other without missing A minute of the time, or taking more Then that which in the taking they restore.

Where by an interchange of amorous blisses At the same time they sow and gather kisses. Kisse a red swelling lip, then kisse a wrist, A brest, a forehead, or what else thou list, No part of a fair Nymph so just will be, Except the lip, to pay this kisse to thee. Thither your souls come sallying forth, and they Kisse too, and by the wandring pow'rs convey Life into smacking Rubies, and transfuse Into the live and sprightly kisse their use Of reason; so that yee discourse together In kisses, which with little noyse deliver Much matter; and sweet secrets, which hee spels, Who is a Lover; Gibbrish to all else. Like life, like mutuall joy they feel, where Love With equall flames as with two wings doth move. " And as where lips kisse lips is the best Kisse: " So where one's lov'd, to love, best loving is.