L'Aminta, di Torquato Tasso, favola boscherecchia. Tasso's Aminta, a pastoral comedy, in Italian and English.

THE PROLOGUE.

LOVE in a Shepherd's Dress.

WHO wou'd believe, that under an human Form, and under these pastoral Spoils, should be con∣ceal'd a God? and that not one of the Sylvan Deities, or of the vulgar Rank of Gods; but amongst the Superior, and the Hea∣venly Ones the most Powerful: who often causes the bloody Sword to fall from the Hand of Mars and from Neptune, the Sha∣ker of the Earth, the great Trident, and the eternal Thunders from Supreme Jove. In this Disguise, certainly, and in these Cloaths, Venus, my Mother, wont so easily know me to be her Son Cupid. From her I am compell'd to run away, and to conceal my self from her, because she has a mind that I should dispose of my Self, and my Arrows, according to her Inclinations, and as a Woman vain and ambitious, confines me only amongst Courts, Crowns, and Scep∣ters;

there she would have me employ all my Power, and gives leave only to the vulgar Ministring-Loves, my younger Brothers, to reside in the Woods, and to exercise their Arms on ruder Breasts: I, who am no Child, (though I have a Face and Actions that are Childish) am resolv'd to dispose of my self, as it pleases me; for to me, not to her, were allotted by the Fates, the omnipotent Torch, and the golden Bow. Therefore often by concealing my self, and shunning, not her Command, for she has none over me, but her Intreaties, which have some Force, as they come from an im∣portunate Mother, I retire into the Woods, and Cottages of the lower Rank of People: she pursues me, promising to give to him that discovers me to her, either sweet Kisses, or something else more dear; as if I was not capable of giving, in Reward to the Person that is silent, and conceals me from her, either sweet Kisses, or something else more dear. This I certainly know, at least, that my Kisses will always be more dear to the Young Maids, (if I, who am Love, know any Thing of Love:) hence 'tis that she often seeks me in vain; and all are unwil∣ling to discover me, and are silent: But that I may be yet more private, so that she may not be able to find me out by my Marks, I have laid aside my Wings, my Quiver, and my Bow: not that I come here unarm'd;

For this, which appears to be a Sheep-Hook, is my Torch: (thus I have transform'd it,) and all breathes invisible Flames: and this Dart, (tho' it has not the Head of Gold) is of divine Temper, and makes an impres∣sion of Love wheresoever it Strikes. I de∣sign to Day with this to make a deep, and incurable Wound in the obdurate Breast of the most cruel Nymph, that ever follow'd the Train of Diana; nor shall the Wound of Sylvia be less, (for that is the Name of the Stony-hearted Nymph) than was that, which I made my self, some Years ago, in the soft Breast of Aminta, when the tender Boy, follow'd the tender Maid in the Chace, and the rural Diversions: and that my Stroke may make the deeper Impression on her, I'll wait, until Pity softens that hard Ice, which the Rigour of Honour, and Virgin Pride, have congeal'd within, around her Heart; and in that Instant, when she becomes most Soft, I'll lance the Dart; and in order to accomplish so noble an Exploit with more Ease, I am going to mingle my Self with a Company of feasting Shepherds, crown'd with Garlands, who are now on their way to the Place where the Games are Celebrated on solemn Days, pretending my self one of their Company: and in this Manner and in that Place I'll give a Wound, which mortal Eye shall not be able to discern. These Woods shall be heard this Day to discourse of Love — after

after an unusual Manner: and it shall well appear, that it is my Deity that is here present in his own Person, and not in his Ministers. I'll inspire rude Breasts with noble Sentiments, I'll sweeten the Lan∣guage of their Tongues, because where ever I am, I am Love, amongst Shepherds no less than among Heroes; and the Inequality of my Subjects, as it pleases me, I'll equal: and this is my supreme Glory, and my miracu∣lous Power, to make the rural Reed equal the most Masterly Lyre; and if my Mother, who disdains to see me roving in the Woods, does not know this she's Blind, and not I, whom the Vulgar, Blind themselves, erro∣neously call Blind.