L'Aminta, di Torquato Tasso, favola boscherecchia. Tasso's Aminta, a pastoral comedy, in Italian and English.
About this Item
- 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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- Link to this Item
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http://name.umdl.umich.edu/A62822.0001.001
- Cite this Item
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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 June 5, 2024.
Pages
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ACT the THIRD. SCENE the FIRST.
O Extreme Cruelty! O un∣grateful Heart! O un∣grateful Maid! O Thrice and more ungrateful Sex; and you, Nature, negli∣gent Mistress! wherefore have you plac'd in the Face, and the Out-side of Wo∣men, all that is gentle, kind, and courteous in them, and have quite for∣got the other Part? Alas! the miserable Wretch has perhaps kill'd himself: he is not to be found; I have been seeking him a∣gain and again, for these three Hours, in the Place where I left him, and all there∣abouts, I can neither find him, nor the Trace of his Footsteps; alas! he has cer∣tainly killed himself. I'll go and ask Tidings of him of those Shepherds that I see yonder.
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Friends! Have ye seen Aminta, or heard by chance any Tidings of him?
You appear to me somewhat disturb'd: what is the Oc∣casion of your Uneasiness? whence proceed that Sweat and Haste of yours? has any Misfortune befallen you? let us know it.
I fear some Misfortune has befallen Aminta, have you seen him?
We have not seen him, since he went away with you a good while ago; but what is your Fear for him?
That he has kill'd himself with his own Hand.
Kill'd himself, for what? what do you guess to be the Reason of it?
Hatred and Love.
What can't Two such powerful Enemies do, when join'd together? But speak more clearly.
Loving a Nymph too well, and being too much Hated by her.
Pray tell us the whole: this Place is a common Path, per∣haps in the mean while you'll see somebody, who may tell you some News of him, or perhaps he may come hither himself.
I will tell you willingly, for 'tis not Just that so great and so strange Ingratitude should go without its deserv'd Infamy. Aminta was inform'd (and I, alas! was the Person that told him and conducted him, which now I repent of) that Sylvia was to go with Daphne to Bath herself at a Fountain: Thither he went doubtful and uncertain, not from the Motion of his own Mind, but only through my importunate Encouragment, and was
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often in suspence, whether he should turn back, and I still urged his going forward: Now when we approach'd the Fountain, we heard the Lamentation of a Woman; and as it were at the same Time we saw Daphne, striking her Hands one against another, who seeing us, rais'd her Voice, and cried, Ah! Run, Sylvia is Ravish'd. The inamour'd Aminta hearing this, flew like a Leopard, and I follow'd him: behold, we saw the Maid fasten'd to a Tree, Naked as she was born, her own Hair serv'd for a Cord to bind her, her own Hair in a Thousand Knots was wreath'd about the Tree; and her beautiful Girdle, which was before the Guardian of her Virgin Breast, became an Instrument in her Ravishment, and bound both her Hands to the hard Trunk: The Tree itself afforded Fetters to bind her, for the Twigs of a pliant Bough were twisted round both her tender Legs. Before her stood a villanous Satyr, we saw him, who had just then bound her. She made as great Resistance as she could, but in length of Time what could she have done? Aminta, with a Dart, which he held in his Right-Hand, rush'd upon the Satyr like a Lion, and I, in the mean while, fill'd my Lap with Stones; whereat he fled: As the other's Flight gave him Time to look, he turn'd his greedy Eyes on those beautiful Limbs,
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which trembl'd like the unpress'd Curds, and appear'd as delicate and white: and I saw him all inflam'd at the Sight: after that he softly accosted her with modest Looks, and said: O, lovely Sylvia! pardon these Hands for daring to approach thy beautiful Limbs, since hard Necessity obliges them; Necessity to unloose those Bands of yours; neither let this Favour, which Fortune is willing to grant them, cause your Displea∣sure.
Words that might soften a Heart of Stone, but what did she answer then?
She answer'd nothing, but disdainful and blushing, she inclin'd her Face towards the Earth, and conceal'd her delicate Bo∣som, as much as she could, by bending. He standing before her began to disintangle her beautiful Hair, and said the while: This rugged Trunk was not worthy of such lovely Knots; now what Advantage have the Votaries of Love; if those precious Chains are common to them and the Plants? Cruel Tree, could'st thou injure that lovely Hair, which did thee so much Honour? Then with his Hands he untied her Hands in such a Manner, that he seem'd afraid to touch them, and yet at the same Time de∣sir'd it; after that he stoop'd down to un∣tie her Feet. But, as Sylvia saw that her own Hands were at Liberty, she said, with a disdainful Air, Shepherd, touch me not: I am Diana's: I can unbind my Feet my
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self.
Could such Pride be harbour'd in the Breast of a Maid? alas! ungrateful Return to a gracious Action.
He withdrew with Reverence; not so much as daring to raise his Eyes to look on her; de∣nying himself his own Pleasure, that he might rid her of the Trouble of denying it. I, who was hid hard by, and saw and heard the whole, was ready to upbraid her, but that I curb'd my self. Hear now a strange Thing. When, with much trouble, she had loos'd herself, she was scarce free, before, without saying so much as Adieu, she be∣gan to fly like a Deer; tho' she had no Reason to be afraid, after such a Trial of Aminta's Respect.
Why then did she fly?
Because she would be oblig'd to her own Flight; and not to the modest Love of another.
And in this she is still more Ungrateful. But what did the wretched Aminta do then, or what did he say?
I can't tell, for full of Anger I ran to overtake her, and detain her, but in vain, for I soon lost her: then returning to the Fountain, where I left Aminta, I found him not: But my Heart presages some Evil. I know that he was disposed to Die before this happen'd.
It is the Custom and the Art of every one that is in Love, to threaten his own Death, but the Effect very seldom follows.
Heavens grant that he mayn't be one of those rare Ones.
He won't
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be, no.
I'll go to the Cave of Sage Elpin, there, if he is alive, perhaps he is re∣treated; where he is often wont to solace his most bitter Pains with the sweet sound of his melodious Pipe, which draws the listning Rocks from the steep Mountains, causeth Rivers to flow with pure Milk; and distills Honey from our hard Trees.
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SCENA SECONDA.
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SCENE the SECOND.
TRULY uncompassionate was your Compassion, Daphne, when you held back the Dart; because my Death will be the more bitter, the more it is delay'd. And now, why do you perplex me in vain with such different Designs, and va∣rious Discourses? What are you afraid of? lest I should Kill myself? You are afraid of my Happiness.
Don't despair, A∣minta, for if I know her well, 'twas only Modesty, and not Cruelty, that mov'd Syl∣via to fly from thee.
Alas! that De∣spair should be my only Refuge, since Hope alone has proved my Ruin: and yet, alas! Hope still struggles to revive within my Breast, only to bid me live; and what can be a greater Evil than Life to such a Wretch, as I am?
Live, unhappy Aminta!
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live in your Misery; and support this Con∣dition to be made one Day happy; and when that Time comes, may those Charms which you saw in the fair Naked one, if you maintain yourself in Life and Hope, be the Reward of your Hope.
Love and my hard Fate thought not my Misery com∣pleat enough; but that they must shew me, to encrease it still, that, which was denied me.
Must I be then the Raven, sini∣ster Messenger of most bitter Tidings? O! for ever unfortunate Montanus! How great will your Grief be, when you shall hear of the hard Mischance of your only Sylvia? Poor, old, unhappy, childless Father; a Father now no more.
I hear a sad lamenting Voice.
I hear the Name of Sylvia, which strikes through my Ears and Heart: but who is that, that names Her?
'Tis Nerina, that gentle Nymph, who is so Dear to Diana; who has such lovely Eyes and fair Hands, and so becoming and graceful a Behaviour.
And yet he must know it, that he may endeavour to find the unhappy Relicks, if any remain: Alas! poor Sylvia, alas! your hard unhappy Fate.
Ah me! what is the Matter, what does She say?
Oh! Daphne.
Why do you speak to yourself, and name Sylvia thus Sighing?
Alas! It is with Reason that I sigh for her hard Misfortune.
Ah! what Misfortune
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can she be speaking of? I seel, I feel, that my Heart is all frozen, and my Breath stopp'd. Does she Live?
Speak, what is this unhappy Accident you talk of?
O Heavens! must I be then the Mes∣senger? and yet I must relate it. Sylvia came to my Cottage Naked; and what was the occasion of it, you perhaps may best know; When she was dress'd again, she desir'd me to go to the Chace with her, which was appointed in the Grove, that's called the Grove of Oaks. I comply'd with her: we went, and there we found a great many Nymphs assembled together; and within a little while, behold, I know not from whence, there rush'd out a Wolf, of a pro∣digious size; from his Jaws distill'd a bloody Foam. Sylvia fitted an Arrow to the string of her Bow, which I gave her; let fly at him, and hit him on the Top of the Head: He made into the Wood again, and Sylvia brandish∣ing her Dart, pursu'd him thither.
Oh! sorrowful Beginning; what Conclusion does it promise?
I, with another Dart, follow'd the same Track, but far behind; because I set out later. When they came into the Wood, I lost Sight of them; but I follow'd their Foot-steps so far, till I came into the thickest, and most soli∣tary Part of the Wood: There I saw the Dart of Sylvia on the Ground, and not far from thence a white Veil, which I myself
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had bound about her Hair: the mean while, looking about me, I saw Seven Wolves, which were licking some Blood from the Earth, which was sprinkl'd about some naked Bones; 'twas my good Fortune, that I was not perceiv'd by them, they were so intent upon their Feeding: so that I return'd back, full of Fear and Compassion; and this is all I can tell you of Sylvia: See, here is the Veil.
Think you, you have said but little? O Veil! O Blood! O Sylvia! thou art Dead.
Poor Youth, he Dies with Grief; alas! He's Dead.
No, he breathes a little still; it may only be a short Trance: See, he recovers.
Oh Grief! why dost thou thus Torment me? and wilt not end me; slow thou art, likely because thou leavest the Work to my own Hand: I am, I am content that my own Hand shall take that Office; since either thou refusest, or can'st not perform it: Alas! if nothing is now wanting to the Certainty, and nothing wanting to the Extremity of my Misery, why do I linger? what can I more expect! O Daphne! Daphne! to what End, to what bitter End have you reserv'd me? Pleasant and Sweet had been my Death then, when I would have kill'd myself; but you denied me that, and Heaven too, which knew that I should by my Death have pre∣vented that Misery, it had prepared for me.
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But now it has inflicted upon me, the Ex∣tremity of its Cruelty, it will suffer me to Die, and you ought also to give me leave.
Wait, before your Death, till the Truth be better known.
Alas! what would you have me wait? Alas! I have waited too long, and heard too much.
Ah! would I had been Dumb.
I be∣seech you Nymph give me that Veil, the sad and only Remainder of her; that it may accompany me in this short Space of Way and Life which is yet remaining to me; and by its Presence encrease that Martyrdom, which indeed would be no Mar∣tyrdom, if I wanted any thing more to help me to Die.
Ought I to give it, or deny it; the Reason why he asks makes it my Duty to deny it.
Cruel Nymph! do you deny me so small a Gift in my last Extremity? and in this my Fate shews it self still more Malicious. I yield, I yield, may it remain with you, and stay ye also, I go never to return again.
Stay, A∣minta, hear me; Alas! with what Fury he parts from us.
He runs so swiftly, that 'twould be in vain to follow him; my best way is to go on my Journey; and per∣haps it would be better for me to hold my Peace, and say nothing to the unhappy Montanus.
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CHORO.
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CHORUS.
THERE's no Need of Death to move a generous Heart, Fidelity and Love are sufficient; neither is the Fame of being a faithful Lover, which is so often sought after, so difficult to be acquir'd: Love is a Trading-Ware, and is bought with Love; and often he that seeks only Love, gains immortal Glory into the Bargain.