L'Aminta, di Torquato Tasso, favola boscherecchia. Tasso's Aminta, a pastoral comedy, in Italian and English.
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- Title
- L'Aminta, di Torquato Tasso, favola boscherecchia. Tasso's Aminta, a pastoral comedy, in Italian and English.
- Author
- Tasso, Torquato, 1544-1595.
- Publication
- Oxford :: printed by L. Lichfield, for James Fletcher; and sold by J. Nourse bookseller, near Temple-Bar. London,
- [1650?]
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"L'Aminta, di Torquato Tasso, favola boscherecchia. Tasso's Aminta, a pastoral comedy, in Italian and English." In the digital collection Early English Books Online 2. https://name.umdl.umich.edu/A62822.0001.001. University of Michigan Library Digital Collections. Accessed May 16, 2024.
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ACT the SECOND. SCENE the FIRST.
SMALL is the Bee, and makes with his small Sting the most grievous and painful Wounds. But what Thing is smaller than Love? in every little Space he enters, and hides himself in every little Space. Sometimes under the Shade of an Eye-lid, sometimes amongst the little Curls of beautiful Hair, sometimes within the Dimples, which a sweet Smile forms in a lovely Cheek, and yet he makes so deep, so mortal and incu∣rable Wounds. Alas! my Breast is all one bleeding Wound, and cruel Love hath a thousand Darts in the Eyes of Sylvia. Cruel Love, Sylvia Cruel, and more Savage than the Woods. Oh! how does that Name a∣gree with thee, how well did He foresee, that gave it thee.
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The Woods conceal Serpents, Lions, and Bears within their verdant Shades, and Thou within thy Lovely Breast con∣cealest Hatred, Disdain, and Cruelty; worse Savages than Serpents, Lions, and Bears: These may be tam'd, but Those never can, either by Intreaties or Gifts. Alas! when I bring new-blown Flowers, thou refusest them perverse, per∣haps, because thou hast Flowers more fair in thy lovely Face; Alas! when I present thee with beautiful Apples, thou refusest them disdainful, perhaps, because thou hast Apples more beautiful in thy lovely Bosom. Alas! when I offer thee delicious Honey, thou rejectest it scornful, perhaps, because thou hast Honey more delicious in thy Lips: But if my Poverty cannot give thee any thing, which is not lovelier and sweeter in thy self; myself I give thee, why do'st thou unjustly despise and abhor the Gift? I am not to be despis'd, if I saw myself a∣right in the liquid Mirror of the Sea, when the other Day the Winds were silent, and the Sea lay still without Waves. This Face of mine of a sanguine Colour, These my large Shoulders, These my brawny nervous Arms, This hairy Breast, and These my shaggy Thighs, are Marks of Strength and Manhood; and if thou art incredulous, make Trial of it. What wilt thou do with those tender Boys, who have the soft Down scarce springing on their Cheeks, and who with Art
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dispose their Hair in Order? these are Women in Shew and in their Strength; tell me, would any of these follow thee through the Woods and the Mountains, and fight by your side against Bears and Wild Boars. I am not Ugly, no, thou can'st never despise me, because I am thus made, but only, be∣cause I am Poor; Alas! that Country-Villages should follow the Example of great Cities: and truly this is the Age of Gold, since Gold alone prevails, Gold only reigns. Oh! whoever thou wert, that taught us first to make a Sale of Love, accurs'd be thy buried Ashes, and cold Bones, and may never be found a Shepherd or Nymph, who passing by, may say, Rest ye in Peace: But may the Rain wash them, and may the Wind toss them, and may the Flocks and the Traveller trample them with un∣clean Feet. Thou first didst shame the the Nobility of Love; Thou didst imbit∣ter all its pleasant Sweets: Venal Love, Love, the Servant of Gold, is the greatest, the most abominable and hideous Monster, that e'er the Earth produc'd, or the Sea beneath its Waters. But why do I tor∣ment myself in vain? all Creatures make Use of those Arms which Nature has given them for their Safety; the Stagg exercises his Speed, the Lion his Claws, and the foam∣ing Boar his Tusks; and Beauty and Grace are the Power, and the Arms of a Woman. Why don't I, for my own Assistance, make Use of Violence, since Nature
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has made me fit to commit Violence, and to Ra∣vish; I'll force and ravish that, which she un∣gratefully denies me, as the Reward of my Love. For as a Goat-herd has inform'd me, who has been Eye-Witness, and ob∣ferv'd her Steps, she's accustom'd to go often to refresh herself at a Fountain, and he has shewn me the Place; There I de∣sign to hide myself amongst the Bushes and the Shrubs, and wait, till she comes, and as I see an opportunity, rush out upon her; what Opposition, either by her Flight, or with her Arms, can a tender Maid make against me, so Swift and so Strong? let her then Weep and Sigh, and use all the Power of Intreaty and Beauty: if I can once wreath my Hand in her Hair, She shall not part from thence till I have bath'd, for my Revenge, my Arms in her Blood.
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SCENA SECONDA.
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SCENE the SECOND.
THYRSIS, as I have told you before, I have discover'd that Aminta loves Sylvia; and Heaven knows how many good Offices I have done for him, and will still continue so to do, so much the more willingly, since You join in your In∣treaties: But I would sooner undertake to tame a Bull, a Bear, or a Tyger,
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than to tame a simple Girl, a Girl as silly, as she is fair, who is not yet sensible, how burn∣ing and how sharp are the Arms of her Beauty; but kills whether she smiles, or weeps, and kills without knowing that she has wounded.
But where is there e'er so simple a Girl, who being out of her swadling Cloaths, understands not the Art to appear handsome, and to please? To kill by pleasing, and to know what Arms wound and give Death, and what cure and restore to Life.
Who is the Master of this Mighty Art?
You dissemble only to try me. The same, that teaches Birds their Songs and Flight, that teaches Fishes to Swim, and Rams to Butt, the Bull to use his Horns, and the Peacock to spread abroad the Pomp of his many-Eyed Plumes.
What is the Name of that great Master?
His name is Daphne.
trifling Pratler!
And why? are not you fit to keep a Thousand Girls at School, tho' to say the Truth, they have no Need of a Master; Nature is their Teacher, tho' the Mother and Nurse have a Part in it.
Truly I think you are Merry in the midst of your Sadness. Now to tell you the Truth, I am not certain that Sylvia is that simple Girl, that she appears to be by her Words and her Actions. Yesterday I saw an Instance, which put me in doubt of it: I found her
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near the Town in those large Meadows, where amidst the standing Waters lies a little Island, upon which there is a calm and clear Lake, hanging over in such a Posture, that she seem'd to admire herself, and at the same Time to advise with the Water, in what Manner she ought to dispose her Hair upon her Fore-Head, and over her Hair her Veil, and over her Veil the Flowers, which she held in her Lap; and often she took, now a Blossom, then a Rose, applied them to her beautiful white Neck, and Vermilion Cheeks, and made Compa∣rison of their Colours; and then, as if re∣joycing at the Victory, she burst out into a Laughter, as if she seem'd to say, I sur∣pass you, neither do I wear you for my Ornament, but I wear you only for your own Shame, since it appears how much you yield to me. But while she was adorning and admiring herself, by chance she turn'd her Eyes, and perceiv'd, that she was per∣ceiv'd by me; she soon blush'd for Shame, and drop'd her Flowers, the more I laugh'd at her Blushes, the more she blush'd at my Laughing; but because one Part of her Hair was bound up, and the other hanging loose, she once or twice turn'd her Eyes to consult the Fountain and gaz'd, as it were by stealth, fearing lest I should look on her, whilst she look'd on herself; she saw herself in her undress, and was pleas'd because she saw herself handsome e'en in her Undress: I perceiv'd it, and held my Tongue.
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You tell me exactly what I thought, now did not I guess right?
You guess'd right, but I dare say, that Shepherdesses and Nymphs were not so cunning heretofore, neither was I such in my Youth; the World grows old, and as it grows old it grows worse.
Perhaps then the Citizens did not so much frequent the Woods and Fields, nor so often were our Country People ac∣custom'd to go to the City. Now our Fami∣lies and our Customs are mingled. But let us leave these Discourses: Could not you bring it about, that one Day Sylvia should permit Aminta to speak to her, either alone, or at least in your Presence?
I can't tell, Sylvia is Coy out of Measure.
And he out of Measure respectful.
A respectful Lover is undone; since he is such, advise him to some other Employment. Whoe'er would learn to Love, let him un∣learn Respect, let him Dare, Demand, Solli∣cite, Importune; in short let him Steal, and if that is not sufficient, let him Ravish. Do not you know what is the Nature of a Wo∣man? She flies, and flying wishes to be overtaken; she denies and wishes, that what she denies may be snatch'd from her; she fights, and fighting wishes to be conquer'd. Thyrsis, I speak this to you in Confidence, don't tell again what I have told you. But above all don't put it in Rhime, you know that I can recompence you for your Verse with something else beside Verse.
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You have no Reason to suspect me of ever saying any Thing contrary to your Plea∣sure. But I conjure you, dear Daphne, by the sweet Memory of your blooming Youth, that you would assist me in helping Aminta, Poor Wretch, that is a dying!
Ah! what a gallant way of conjuring has the Fool de∣vised, in reminding me of my Youth, my past Happiness, and my present Trouble: But what would you have me do?
You want neither Parts nor Contrivance, 'tis sufficient, if you are but disposed to be willing.
Well then I'll tell you, Sylvia and I shall shortly go to the Fountain of Diana, where the pleasant Waters are over∣shaded by that Plane-Tree, which invites the Nymphs, return'd from Hunting, to its sweet Retreat, there I know certainly, she will bath her naked lovely Limbs.
But what of that?
What of that? Senseless, dull Fellow, if thou hast any Wit, that's enough.
I understand you, but I can't tell, if he will be so bold.
If he will not, let him stay, and wait, till she comes to court him.
E'en that is no more, than what he deserves.
Mayn't we now dis∣course a little concerning your self? What, Thyrsis, will you never become a Lover? You are yet young, and have not yet past your Nine and Twentieth Year, if I re∣member well your Infancy; will you thus continue to live in Indolence, and without Pleasure?
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For 'tis only by Loving, that Man knows what Pleasure is.
That Man that avoids Love, does not leave the Delights of Venus, but culls, and tastes the Sweets of Love, without the Bitter.
Insipid is that Sweet, and soon Cloys, which is not season'd with some Bitter.
'Tis better to be Cloy'd, than to be Famish'd, both in Feeding, and after too.
Not if the Food be pleasing and possest; and once tasted always invites to taste.
But who possesses that, which pleases him, so as to have it always ready, when Hunger craves?
But who can find that Good he never seeks?
'Tis dangerous to seek that, which once found, pleases a little; but not found, torments much more. Thyrsis shall be no more a Lover, till Love shall have no more Tears and Sighs in his Empire; I have wept and sigh'd sufficiently already, let others take their Turn.
But you have not been pleas'd sufficiently.
Neither do I desire to be pleas'd, if Pleasure costs so dear.
Love will be forc'd upon you, whether you will or no.
He never can be forc'd, that keeps far off.
Who keeps far off from Love?
He that fears and flies.
To what pur∣pose is it to fly from him, that has Wings?
Love, when new born, has but short Wings, 'tis as much as he can do to bear them, and he can't spread them to fly.
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A Man does not perceive when he is born, and when a Man perceives him, he is grown big and able to fly.
True, if he never felt him grow before.
We shall see, Thyrsis, if your Eyes can avoid him, as you say. But I protest, since you pretend to be so swift a flyer, that when I shall see you asking for Help, I won't move one Step to assist you, one Finger, one Word, no not so much as one Eye-brow.
Cruel! would your Heart give you to see me die? if you would have me love, do you love me, let us make love by Consent.
You jeer me, perhaps you don't deserve such a Mistress, as I am; Alas! how many has a painted artificial Face deceiv'd.
I don't jest, no, but by such Protestations as you have made, you don't accept of my Love, as the Manner is of all you Women, but if you won't have me, I'll live without Love.
Live more content, than ever you have done, Thyrsis, Live in Ease, for Ease always engenders Love.
O Daphne, a God has given me this Ease, he, who may be esteem'd a God here, whose ample Herds and numerous Flocks feed from the one to the other Sea, upon the fair Pa∣stures of the most fruitful Fields, and the craggy Backs of the Apennines. He said to me then, when he made me his: Thyrsis, let others chace the Wolf and Thieves, and watch
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my walled Sheep-Folds, let others dis∣pense Punishments or Rewards to my Ser∣vants, and let others feed, and tend my Flocks, let others keep the Wool and Milk, and others dispose of them: do you sing in the Enjoyment of your Fase; hence 'tis but just, that my Muse should sing, not the loose Strain of Earthly Love, but the Ancestors of my living and true God, whom I know not whether to call Apollo or Jove, for in his Actions and his Looks he resembles them both, Ancestors more worthy than Saturn or Coelus, too mean a Muse to sing a Prince's Worth, yet whether clear or hoarse she sounds, he does not despise her. I do not sing him, because I am not able to do him worthy Honours, but by Silence and Ado∣ration: But may his Altars never be with∣out my Flowers, and without the sweet Smoke of Odoriferous Incense, and then only shall this simple and devout Religion leave my Heart, when in the Air the Stags shall feed on the Wind, when Rivers shall change their Bed and Course, the Persian shall drink the Sone, and the Gaul the Tigris.
Oh! you are upon the high Strain; prithee descend a little to our Purpose.
Here lies the Point, that as you are going to the Fountain with her, you endeavour to soften her; I, in the mean while, will take Care, that Aminta shall repair thither, and perhaps my Task will be no less difficult,
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than yours; go then:
I am going, but I meant our other Purpose.
If I well discern that Face at a Distance, that's Aminta, that's coming yonder, 'tis the same.
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SCENA TERZA.
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SCENE the THIRD.
NOW I shall see what Thyrsis has done for me, and if he has done nothing, before I pine away into nothing, I'll kill myself before the Eyes of the Cruel Maid. She, who is so well pleas'd at the Wound of my Heart, struck by her beauti∣ful Eyes, will certainly be pleas'd no less at the Wound of my Breast, struck by my own Hand.
Aminta, I bring you News of Com∣fort, cease henceforth your heavy Complaints.
Ah! what do you say? do you bring me Life or Death?
I bring you Health and Life, if you dare meet them: But you must be a Man, Aminta, a Man of Courage.
What Courage have I need of, and whom must I encounter?
Sup∣pose your Mistress was in the midst of a Wood, which, begirt around with lofty Rocks, was the Receptacle of Tygers and Lions: would you go thither?
I would go more secure and cheerful, than a Country Lass to a Dancing on a Holy-day.
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Were she among a Troop of arm'd Thieves, would you go thither?
I would go more willing, and ready, than the thirsty Stag to the Fountain.
A harder Task requires a greater Courage.
I would go through the Midst of rapid Torrents, when the Snow dissolves, and sends them swelling to the Sea, I would go through the Midst of Fire, and into Hell itself, were she but there, if that can be an Hell, which contains so beautiful a Creature. But pri∣thee tell me all.
Hear then.
Tell me quickly.
Sylvia waits your coming at a Fountain naked and alone, dare you go thither?
Ah! what do you tell me? Sylvia waits for me naked and alone?
Yes alone, only perhaps Daphne is with her, who is in our Interest.
She waits for me naked!
Naked: But,
Alas! but what? you kill me with your silence.
But she does not know, that you are to come There.
Ah bitter Conclusion! which poisons all the sweets, that went be∣fore. With how much Art do you torment me, cruel Man? is it not enough for you that I am unhappy, that you come thus to increase my Misery?
If you will be ruled by me, you shall be happy.
What do you advise me?
To embrace the Opportunity, which kind Fortune pre∣sents.
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Heaven forbid, that ever I should do any thing to displease her: I have never done any thing yet to displease her, besides loving her, and that was not my Fault, but was forc'd from me by her Beauty; it shall never be said, but that I seek to please her to the utmost of my Power.
Answer me now, if it were in your Power not to love her, would you cease to love her, in order to please her?
My Love will never allow me to say or ever Imagine, that I should cease to love her, though it were in my Power.
You then would love her in spight of her, when it was in your Power to help loving her?
In spight of her! no, but I would love her.
Whether she would or no?
Yes, cer∣tainly.
Why then dare you not take, against her Will, that, which though it grieves her at first, will delight and please her in the End, because 'twas taken?
Alas! Thyrsis, let Love answer for me, for I cannot repeat, what he speaks in my Breast, you are too subtle for me by your long Use in reasoning of Love; he who bound my Heart, also ties my Tongue.
Must not we go then?
I'll go, but not where you think.
Where then?
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To Death, if you have done no more for me than what you tell me now.
Do you reckon this so little then? do you imagine, you Simpleton, that Daphne would ever have advis'd you to go, if she had not partly dis∣cover'd Sylvia's Heart, and perhaps she knows of your coming, and yet is unwilling that any one else should know, that she knows it: now if you desire an express Con∣sent from her, don't you perceive, that you desire a Thing that would displease her most? What then is become of your Endea∣vour to please her? and if she has a mind that your Delight should be your own Theft or Robbery, and not her Gift or Reward, what signifies it to you, Fool, more one way than the other.
But how shall I be sure that this is her Desire.
Look ye now, you Fool, you are requiring that Certainty, which directly displeases her, and ought to displease her; but what Certainty can you have, that this is not her Desire? now if it was, and you did not go, the Doubt and the Danger are equal. Yet it is better to die like a Brave Man, than a Coward. You are mute, you are overcome, confess now your Defeat, which may prove the Occasion of a greater Victory: come let us go.
Stay.
Stay for what? don't you consider, that Time runs away?
Pray let us think first, what and how to do.
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We'll think of the Rest by the Way: He does no Business that thinks too much.
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CHORO.
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CHORUS.
LOVE! In what School, of what Ma∣ster, is to be learnt, thy so long and doubtful Art of Loving? which teaches to express what ever the Mind intends, while on thy Wings it soars above Heaven. Not learned Athens; nor can the Licoeum teach it. Phoebus in Helicon, who speaks so much of Love, can't shew us how it is to be learnt there. He speaks too coldly, and too little, he has not that Voice of Fire which befits you. He does not exalt his Thoughts to the Height of thy Mysteries. Love! Thou only art a Master worthy of thy self, and by thy self only can'st be express'd. You instruct the most rustick Wits to read those admirable Things, which in amorous Letters you write with your own Hand in the Eyes of others. You let loose the Tongue of your Vo∣taries in beautiful and eloquent Discourses,
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and oftentimes (O strange and new Elo∣quence of Love!) often by a confus'd Speech, and interrupted Words, the Heart better expresses it self, and seems more to be moved, than by a polish'd and learn'd Ha∣rangue. And sometimes even Silence itself intreats and speaks. Love! Let others read the Socratick Writings; for my part, in a Pair of fair Eyes I'll learn this Art; and the Verses of the most learned Pens shall yield to those Sylvan Lays, which my rude, artless Hand engraves on the Bark of a Tree.