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IL 



PASTOR FIDO, 

OB^ THE 

FAITHFUL SHEPHERD, 

A PASTORAL TRAGICOMEDY, 

ATTEMPTED IM ENGLISH BLANK TEBSE, 
FBOM THE ITALIAN OF 

SI&NOR CAVALIER 
GIOVANNI BATTISTA GUARINI. 



Love rules the court, the camp, the grove,. 
And men below, and saints above ; 
For love b heaven, and heaven is love. 

SCOTT.^ 



EDINBURGH : 

FtUlTTSD BT C. STaWJULT, FOR THE TRAN9LAKmj^ 

$OLD BT A. black; MANNERS & MILLER; CONSTABLE Sc CO* 
BROWN & CROMBIB; J. & J. ROBERTSON; W. ARNOT &C CO* 

AND 
LONGMAN^ HURST, REES, & ORME, LONDON. 



1809. 






TO 



GEORGE THOMSON, Esq. F.A.S.E. 

THE FIRST PATBON AND ENCOUBAGEB OF THE 

PRESENT ATTEMPT, 

This TRANSLATION or thx PASTOR FIDO 

IS INSCRIBED, 

As a small testimony of respect, 
By hb sincere 

and obliged Friend, 

The translator. 



PREFACE 



Thb fiAowiog Twriateii of OK of the incMit de- 
cant and intereBting Pocois wUch Itily has ftodnr 
cedy is submitted with the utmost diflUeoce to die 
PtaUic. Fran m strong onpresaioa tfia^ notwilh* 
stttidiDg the old Trandatiaii iu ihpiie by Sir Ridiaid 
Fanahawy die English reader has still to be intro- 
^doced to the beauty, the sublimity^ and the ezqui* 
nte toidemess of Guarini, the Trandator has peiv 
haps been too adventurous when he decided on an 
attempt to su{^ly what has so long been a deside- 
latum in English literature. 

While he subnnts his undertaking to die candid 
judgment of the Public, he has to avow and to ra- 
gret the failure of his utmost efforts to transfuse the 
full spirit of many of the passages into the English 
language, which, copious, forcible, and pliant as it 
is, perhaps above every other modem tongue, must 
yield to the Italian in the expression of tenderness 



VI 



and feeling. The grand difficulty of Translation is 
to unite fidelity with spirit and an easy flow of Ian- 
guage. This the Translator can only pretend to 
have endeavoured; and he has carefully studied the 
manner of h];s Author. In the irregular verse of 
the soliloquies and some other parts> (a style of 
writing which seems well adapted to the language 
of passion) while he imitates Guarini, he is autho- 
rised by Milton in his Sampson Agpnistes. Blank 
verse, for the most obvious, reasons, he has not he-^ 
sitated to adopt, and ^when diyming couplets oc- 
cur in the dialogue, they are sanctioned by the 
original. 

As the Prologue is*of an occasional nature, and 
now become tedious and uninteresting, he has ta- 
ken the liberty to leave it out in the Translation. 
Hie Argument he considers unnecessary, and even 
prejudicial to the interest of the fable. 



p. 12. 1 5. /•r «* till now,** rutd •• ev'ii now.** 



SKETCH 



OP THS 



LIFE OF GUARINL 



0<ovANNX Battista Guakint, the grettAiii- 
tibor of Ae Pastor Fido, wts bom m Fenaca m 
the year 1538» There is but Ihde known of bb 
parents. He was great grandson to Guarino of Vch 
rona, one of the first who revived polite literature 
in ibe 15th centuiy. We have no account how tibe 
author spent hie youth, but it appears that be leo- 
tured for some time on moral philosophy in die 
University (^Ferrara. He married Thaddca, daugh- 
ter of Nicplas Bendecci, and of Akssandra Ros- 
w^, descended frcwn a noble family in Ferrara. 
Gu^Uini became Secretary to Alphonso U^ Didce 
of that principality, who sent him on several em- 
bassies into Germany, Polmd, and Rome, which 
he discharged with great wisdom and integrity. 
He had, however, many enemies in die Duke's 
court, who, jealous of his great talents and abilities, 
oontkiually laid schemes by wUch he m^t lose 
die Didce's favour. On thk accoimt^ and others^ 



( vm ; 

it is believed, of a domestic nature, or having had 
some misunderstanding with the Duke, he left his 
court, and went in 1588 to the court of SaVoy^ 
where he was immediately employed. He did not 
remain long there, but went to Padua^ where he 
had the affliction to lose his wife in 1590. Upon 
this event he grew melancholy, and it is supposed 
from some of his letters, that he designed to go to 
Rome, and turn Ecclesiastic. He was diverted^ 
however, from this resolution, by an invitation he 
received from Vincent de Gonzaga, Duke of Man- 
.tua, which he accepted, but was afterwards dis- 
missed by the powerfrd solicitations of Duke Al- 
phonso. Upon this he went to Rome, but return- 
ed in 1595 to his native place, where he was s^ain 
reconciled to the Duke of Ferrara. Upon his 
death, however, in 1597> great changes having en- 
sued in Ferrara, and Guarini ^ot thinking himself 
rewarded in a suitable manner, left that place in 
1599, and entered into the service of Ferdinand de 
Medicis, Grand Duke of Tuscany, who showed a 
great esteem for him. Some time after he went to 
the Prince of Urbino, but continued only a year 
with him, and returned to Ferrara in l604, where 
.he remained tiU 1609> going at intervals to Venice, 
to carry on some. lawsuits. In l6lO he went to 
, Rome on account of two lawsuits he had gained. 
Returning at last once more to his native place, 
and passii^ by Venice^ be was seized with die dis- 



( « ) 

temper of ^liich he died in I6l2, in the seventy- 
fifth year of his age, leaving three sons^ of whom 
the second vras a man of wt and genius, but of 
very irregular habits. 

Though Guarini gained the highest reputatioilf 
it is somewhat singular he never* could endure the 
name or title of poet. He wrote other poems 
which seem to be almost neglected and forgotten 
amidst the blaze of the beauties of his Pastor Fido. 



DBAMATIS PERSOKa;. 



SiiTio^ Son ^Moniviw. 
LtKCO, on old Man, Servmt to MGn$mm* 
MtBTtLl^o, in hfoe ts^ AnmnUi^. 
Er^asto, Mifiiihi's CowfiAant. 

CoBiscA^ a Coquette^ in love with MirHllo. 

DoRiNDA, in love with Silvio, 

MoNTANO, Priest of Diana, and Father of Silvio^ 

TiTiRO, Father of AmarilUs. 

Dametas^ an old Man, Servant of Montano. 

Satiro, an old lover of Corisca. 

LupiNO^ Servant to Dorinda. 

NicANDRO, Chief Minister of the High Priest. 

CoRiDOK, in love with Corisca. 

Carino^ an old Man, reputed Father ofMirtiUo. 

Uranio, an old Man, Cannons Companion. 

A Messenger. 

TiRENio, a blind Prophet. 

Chorus of Priests. 

Chorus of Shepherds. 

Chorus of 'Nymphs. 

Chorus of Huntsmen. 

The Scene is in Arcadia. 



THE 



FAITHFUL SHEPHERD^ 



ACT I. SCENE L 



Silvio, Lincc— rci^A Huntsmen. 

StL. Go/ye that have the frightful monster lodg'd*. 

And give the wonted signal for the chase ; 

Go, with your cheerful caies, and echoing horns, 

Dispel dull sleep, and rouse the listless heart. 

If in Arcadia there was ever found 

A shepherd swain, a friend to Cynthia's f sports, 

Whose gen'rous breast the pleasures of the chase 

And glory gain'd in woods could stimulate, 

If such a swain there be, now let him show 

His love of toils like these, by following me. 

Where in a narrow space, (but ample field 

For each to show our valour) is confin'd 

That dreadful boar, that fearful prodigy 

Of nature and the woods, that roams so fierce 

* Alludi^ to a custom of forcing the beast into a particular 
spot, called lodging it, that they might hunt it out again, 
f Cynthia, called also Diana, goddess of huntings 

A 



S tKb faithful shepherd. 

'Midst Erymanthus' cliffs^, and knoMru so well 
By wounds which he hath giv'n, fell ravi^er 
Of the surrounding country, and the swain's 
Continual terror. Go ye, -dien, my friends. 
And with your shrill horns' mmCf not alone 
Anticipate, but wake the drowsy mom. 

[Exeunt huntsmen. 
lincOy be't first our care to' adore the gods, 
So shall we afterwards begin the qhase 
With guidance more secure;— ^who well begins. 
Hath finish'd half his work, but none can well 
Begin, who seek not first the aid of heav'n. 

Lin. I well approve thy worshipping the gods. 
But not thy troubling the repose of such 
.As minister before tbem; all who guard 
The sacred temple still He hush'd in sleep. 
For scarcely hath the dawn's first feeble ray 
Begun to tip our mountain-top with light f. 

Sii>. To thee who art thysdf yet scarce awake, 
All things appear to sleep :— 

Lin. O Silvio! Silvio! 
Why hath kind nature upon thee bestow'd ^ 

The faurest bloom of beauty in thy prime ^ 

So delicate and graceful, since it still | 

Is most thy care to ti*ainple on the gift?-— I 

Had I thy ruddy youthful cheeks. Adieu 

* A mountain in Arcadia. 

f The mountain adjoining to the temple, as afterwards meiu 
taoned. 



THB FAITHFUL SHEPHERD. d 

Ye woods, rd say, and follow tiobler game. 

I in festivity would spend my days, 

In summer in the shade, in winter by the fire"^. 

SiL. Counsels like these thou never gav'st before, 
How find I now so chang'd thy former thoughts i 

Lin . Occasions often change, and so does eounsd^ 
But thus I'd act, if I were Silvio. 

SiL. And I, if I were linco, would do thus. 
But since I'm Silvio, I shall act like Silvio. 

Lin. O foolish boy, to hunt a dang'rous prey 
Thro' many dang'rous paths, when diou at h<Hti0^ 
Hast one so mild and gentle. 

SiL. Speak you now 
Sincerely, or in jest ? 
Lin. You jest, not I. 
SiL. Is it indeed so near? 
Lin. Indeed as near 
As thou art to thyself. 

SiL. In what wood lurks it f 
LiN. Thou Silvio art the wood, 
And the fierce beast that lies conceal'd withiki, 
Is thy own cruel heart. 

SiL. How well I knew 
You did but jest! i 

Lin. To have a nymph so fair : 
Why said I nymph i a goddess better nam'd, 
Fresher Ad lovelier than the morning rose, 

• Taken from Virg. Eclog, 5. 

A3 



4 THE FAITHFUL SHEPHEED. 

Softer and fairer than the cygnet's down^ 
For whom there lives not now a single Bwaia 
So proud amongst us^ but who warmly sighs 
To call her his ; yet she's reserv'd by gods ' 
And men for thee alone. O fortunate, 
But too ungrateful boy ! without a sigh. 
Without a single tear to have her thrown 
Into thy arms, and yet to shun her, Silvio, 
Nay, slight her ! sure thou hast an iron hearty 
No savage beast is half so cruel as thou. 

SiL. If not to be in love be cruelty. 
Then cruelty's a virtue, nor do I 
Repent, but rather boast of the possession. 
Since ^tis by it alone I've conquer'd Love, 
By far more savage. 

Lin. How could'st thou subdue 
A foe thou never hadst? 

SiL. By never trying 
The fight, I've conquer'd. 

Lin. O if thou would'st try | 

But once, but only once if thou would'st know i 

The charms, the dear delights of mutual love, , ^^ 

Most sure am I that thou would'st say, " O Love! • ^ J 
" Angel of life ! why have I liv'd so long ] 

'^ A stranger to thy joys !" licave then the woods^ 
O foolish boy; leave, leave the savage chase. 
And follow love! — ^ 

SiL. Say, linco, mhat thou may'st, 
A thousand nymphs I'd give to gain one beast 



THE FAITHFUL SHEPHERD. 

Pursu'd by my Melampo : joys like these 
Thou talk'st ofy let them piize who so inclme ; 
I care not for them. 

Lin. What a heart hast thou. 
If love thou feeFst not^ the grand nourUier 
Of all the world? But believe me^ boy, 
Thou'lt feel it when thy lot shines not so fair. 
Love one day in our hearts must prove his powV. 
There is no greater torment than for age 
To fed the dart of love, all hopes of cure 
(Tho' thou nvay'st strive to remedy the ill) 
Are vain, but if love seize thy youthful hem-t, 
Then loVe. anoints the wound, for if with grief 
He pain the heart, with hope he heals again ; 
If for a time he kills, he cures at last. 
But if he seize thee in that frozen age. 
When the sad heart bewails the flight of youth, 
More than a faithless woman's broken vows. 
Then, then love's wounds are insupportable 
And mortal, and the anguish most severe. 
Then if diou pity seek'st, and find'st it not, 
'TIS pain enough, but greater if obtain'd. 
Ah! h^ten not before th' appointed time. 
The ravages which time shall one day bring. 
For if in hoary age the fire of love 
Assail thee, double torment thou must feel, 
The thoughts of this thy sti-ange indifference noW; 
And loss of youthful prime f«r ever fled. 

A3 



O THE FAITHFUL SHEPHERD^ 

Leave, leave the woods, forsake the savage chase, 
O foolish boy! and follow love! 

SiL. As if there were no joy in life, but that 
Of feeding the insatiate flames of love!— 

Lin. Tell me, O Silvio ! if in this so fair 
And smiling season, which renews the world, 
And decks it round with beauty, thou should'st see^ 
Instead of these green hills, these verdant fields, 
These flow'ry meads, and lofty nodding groves. 
The pine, the fir, the beech, the ash, depriv'd 
Of all their leafy honours, ev'ry hill 
Bared of its verdure, and the plains around 
Without one flow'ret, desolate and wild ; — 
Silvio, would*8t thou not say, " Creation faints, 
Tlie world is languishing ?" Those horrors, dien. 
That dread surprise which such a scene would bring, 
Conceive against thyself; all-bounteous heav'n 
Hath suited well our habits to our years, 
And as the fire of love but ill becomes 
The breast of age, so youth averse to love. 
Opposes heaven, and offends his nature*. 
Look Silvio, all around, all that is good> 
And beautiful in nature, is the work 
Of mighty Love ; the heavens, the earth, the sea. 
Are lovers all, and yonder early star 

* The pint Bndjir are both in the original ; a different species 
ef the same tree. 

a 



THE FAITHFUL SHEPHERB. 7 

That shines so bright, the harbinger of day. 
Yields to the general law, and feels the flames 
Of her all-powerful son; she causes love^ 
And feels herself the passion she inspires. 
Perchance ev'n now she leaves the stol'n embrace 
And bosom of her lover * ; for behold 
How bright she sparkles, and how fair she smiles ; 
The savage race that roam amidst the woods, 
The nimble dolphins and the monstrous whales t 
Amidst the ocean's depths, all yield to love. 
That little bird which sings so cheerfully. 
And flies in wanton sport, now from the fir. 
To the wide-spreading beech, then leaves the beech, 
And seeks the myrtle, had it human voice, 
Would say, " I burn with love ; I burn with love/* 
Dumb tho' it be, love revels in its heart, 
And speaks in its own language, that its mate 
Receives a mutual flame. — And, Silvio, hear 
How from the wood its tender mate replies, 
" I abo bum with love." Hear in tlie meads 
The cattle low in token of their love ; 
The lion roars amidst the wood, but love. 
Not rage, is in his voice. In fine, the world 
Is all in love but Silvio, and has Silvio, 
Alone of all in heav'n, in earth, and sea, 

• Mars. 

f Literally oris; but independent of the strange sound of the 
word, I am not sure whether the ori is not a fabulous fish. 



8 THE FAITHFUL SHEPHBKD. 

A soul devoid of love? Ah! leave, at last. 
The woods, O foolish boy, and follow love. 

SiL. And wast thou left 
The guardian of my tender years, that dius 
Thou should'st effeminate my heart with love, 
And tender thoughts f nor think'st thou who thou art. 
And who I am f 

Lin. I am a man,. and glory in die name. 
And thee who also art, or ought'st to be 
A man, I teach humanity; but if 
Thouscom'st the name, take heed, too daring youth. 
Lest, in aspiring to become a god. 
Thou should'st unman thyself, and turn a beast. 
SiL. Never so famous, nor so brave had been 
The monster-taming chiefs from whose great fount 
My blood proceeds, if first he had not tam'd 
That mighty monster Love. 

Li n . See foolish youth, how idly now thou talk'st ! 
Tell me, had great Alcides f never lov'd, 
Where had'st thou been ? rather if he subdu'd 
Monsters and men, from Love his conquests came. 
Know'st thou not yet, how he that he might please 
Fair Omphale, not only us'd to change 
The lion's shaggy hide for female robes, 
But for the knotty club, "he also held 

* i,e, Hercules. 

t A name of Hercules. 



THE FAITHFUL. SHEPHERD. 9 

The spindle, and unwarlike distaff; * these. 
After the troubles and the toils of war. 
Were his relief, and in his fair one's charms^ 
As in Love's harbour, he enjoy 'd repose. 
His sighs sweet breathings were from former toils^ 
And strong incitements to his future deeds. 
For as the iron rough and unpliable, 
Temper'd with softer metal, is refin'd, 
Imbibing strength from weakness, and becomes: 
Fit for the noblest uses, so a heart 
Untam'd and fierce (which often by its own 
Original hardness breaks) if temper'd once 
With love's soft charms, both strong and fit becomei^ 
For mighty feats. If thy ambition be 
To imitate the matchless Hercules 
In undegen'rate valour, since thy choice 
Is not to leave these woody haunts, at least 
Follow thy woodland sports, but fly not love. 
I mean a love so proper and so meet 
As that of Amarillis ; that thou shunn'st 
Dorinda, I excuse, nay, praise thee too. 
For thee, ambitious as thou art of honour, 
'Twere doubly base to feed a lawless flame„ 
And injure thy dear spouse. 

SiL. How say 'st thou, Linco? 
She is not yet my spouse. 



* Omphale Queen of Lydia caused Hercules, who was enamoinv 
cd of her, to clothe himself in a feinale dres9, and spin. 



I 



10 THE FAITHFUL SHEPHERD. 

Lin. Ha! hast thou not 
Already solemnly receiv'd her faith? 
Beware thou haughty, rash, imprudent boy, 
Lest thou incense the gods.— 

SiL, The liberty of man's a gift from heav'n> 
Which ne'er requires a rash extorted vow 
Should be perform'd. 

Lin. But if thou pond'rest well 
Within thy mind, 'tis heav'n itself hath made 
This match and calls thee to it ; heav'n that seenuF 
To promise countless blessk^s shall succeed. 

SiL. The gods forsooth 
Have nothing else in mind, cares such as Aese 
Disturb their sacred peace * ! but to be plauv 
Lanco, I like not either of the loves 
Which thou hast spoken of; me nature made 
A hunter, not a lover ; but return 
Thou whom love pleases, to the lazy down. 

Lin. Thou spnuig from heav'n, cruel boy! nor 
of divine. 
Nor human birth can I believe thou art. 
But if, indeed, of human, I could swem: 
Alecto or Tisiphone + have shed 
Their chilling baleful poison thro' thy frame ; 
So cold a heart from Venus' joys ne'er came. 

* Imitated from a speech of Dido. See Virg. JEn. B. 4. 
t Two of the FurieiL 



THE FAITHFUL SHEPHERD. 11 



SCENE II. 

MiRTILLO, ErGASTO. 

Mir. Crael Aniarillis, whosedear name; alas ! 
Awakes both love and grief! O Amarillis^ 
^Than the white lily's * bloom more fair, 
But deafer to my vows, and more in haste 
Tjo fly, than is the adder when he stings. 
Since then in speakii^ I offend, 
I'll die ill silence ; but the hills and dales 
For me shall loud complain, and this wild wood 
Which I alas ! so oft have taught 
To echo thy lov'd name ; die fountains too 
For me &hall weep, the winds shall mourn 
In hollow murmurs my dire sufferings. 
Grief in my countenance shall plead 
For pity, but should nature plead in vain. 
My death at last, dear nymph, shall tell 
I died a martyr in the cause of love. 

Erg. Mirtillo, love was ever a dire pain. 
But greater still, the more it is suppress'd; 
An am'rous flame restrain'd by prudence grows 
More fierce, and stronger in its prison bums, 
^Than when releas'd ;— but why so long from me 
Hast thou conceal'd the cause of this thy flame, 

* Llgustn signifies the shrub ^rfv«# or frimtfrsHt, which Vfovld 
not soDiid well in English. 



12 TH1£ FAITHFUL SHfiPBERB^ 

When the effect thou had*st not powV to hide r 

How often have I smd, ^^ Miftillo burns, 

^* But melts in secret fires, nor speaks his love.'' 

Mir. Myself I pain'd, lest I should pain her hearty 
Courteous Ergasto, and till now I had 
Continued mute, but strong necessity 
Hath made me bold, for I have heard around 
A murm'ring rumour which hath pierc'd my heart. 
Of Amarillis' nuptials near at hand. 
But more I dare not ask, lest I reveal 
My hidden love, or prove my fears too true. 
Full well I know, Ergasto, (for my fiame 
Deceives me hot so much) that my so low 
And slender fortune should forbid the hope 
A nymph so wealthy, still more rich in charms. 
Of prudence, high descent, and form divine. 
Should ever stoop to a poor rural swain. 
Well do I know the influence of my star; 
My destiny ordain'd that I should burn. 
But never know the joys of mutual love. 
Yet since the fates are pleas'd that I should chuse 
Death, rather than to live, my wish is death. 
If that would please my fair, would she but deign 
At my last breath to turn her beauteous eyes 
And bid me die ! O I could wish this boon, 
That ere she go to bless another's arms. 
She'd hear me only once. — Now if you love me, 
And pity me, Ergasto, kindest friend. 
Oh ! intercede, and lend me aid in this. 



J 



THE FAITHFUL SHBPHBBD* IS 

£rg. a just request is Ais from one tbsit lovesf 
And a small favour 'tis indeed to grant 
To one ifaat dies ; but a most difficult 
And hard attempt.— -Most miserable fair! 
O should it chance to reach her father's ear^ 
That she e'er listen'd to another's vows ; 
Or should the priest; her sire-in-Iaw, be told !-»» 
Perchance she shuns thee thro' the fear of this; 
Perchance she loves tbee^ but conceals her love, 
And pines within ; for woman more than man 
Is prone to love^ but in concealing love 
More skill'd ; yet even grant 'twere true she lov'd thee. 
What could Ae do but fly ? 'tis kind in her 
To fly, when pain alone her stay could bring, 
Conscious she wanted power to cure thy pain. 
And 'tis the wiser counsel to forsake 
That soon, which we must quit by violence. 

Mir. O were this true! could I believe it so. 
Sweet were my pains, and fortunate my woes ! 
But, so may heaven bless thee, kind Ergasto, 
From me conceal not wl^o this shepherd is. 
So happy and so favour'd of the skies. 

Erg. Know'st thou not Silvio, the only sofi 
Of Dian's priest Montano ? the most fam'd 
And wealthy shepherd swain of all around. 
Blest too with manly beauty ; that is he. 

MiR. O happy youth, whose destiny has grown 
So ripe for harvest in his spring of age ! 




14 THE FAITHFUL SHBPHEBI). 

Z envy not his fortune, but bewail 
My own hard fate! 

Erg. Indeed no cause there is 
For envy, but for pity. 

Mir. Why for pity ? 

Erg. Because he loves her not. 

Mir. Is he alive ! has he a heart and eyes ! 
Yet when I think how bright the flames of love 
Shot into my breast from her beauteous eyes, 
Her heart no room can have for other fires. 
But why bestow a gem so bright and rich 
On one who knows it not, and scorns the gift? 

Erg. Because auspicious heaven hath presag'd 
]>eliv'rance to Arcadia from this match. 
Hast diou not heard that annually we pay 
At great Diana's shrine the mournful tribute 
Of a nymph's guiltless blood ? 

Mir. I know it not, 
For I am but a recent dweller here, 
And, as both love and destiny command, 
Almost a constant dweller in the woods. 
But what great crime deserv 'd so hard a doom? 
How could such monst'rous cruelty be found 
In a celestial breast ? * 

Erg. I'll tell thee now 
The doleful history of all our woes, 
A story wrhich might draw from these hard oaks 

• Yvr%. JBo. B. 1. 



THE FAITHFUL SHEPHERD. 1^ 

Soft tears of pity, and much more from men.— 
While yet the .priesthood and the temple's charge 
Were not refus'd to youth, and giv'n to age, 
A noble shepherd, then this temple's priest, 
(Aminta was his name) did love Lucrina, 
A nymph most fair, but wond'rous false and vam. 
Long time with most perfidious semblances. 
The pure affection of the love-sick youth 
She did requite, and kindly cherish'd him 
With flattering hopes, as long as there appear'd 
No rival lover to oppose his suit ; 
But when a rustic swain beheld her charms. 
And sought her favour (see the fickle sex !) 
A single glance, the youth's first am'rous sigh, 
She tried not to resist, but gave her heart 
At once to this new love, and ev'n before 
Aminta could suspect or fear a rival. 
Hapless Aminta ! whom from that sad time 
She so despis'd and shunn'd, diat never more 
Or interview or word would she vouchsafe—*- 
If then the wretched swain rav'd, s^h'd, and wept, 
Think thou who know'st the pangs of love so well-— 

MiR. O this was torment inexpressible! 

Erg. But when the youth perceiv'dhis sighs an^ 
tears. 
And wild complaints were fruitless, he resolv'd 
To invoke the mighty goddess, and b^an 
, In words like these : " O Cynthia ! if I e'er 

b2 



16 YHC PAITHFUl SUBIPH&RO. 



'' With gnildesft heart and hand have kindled ilame 

** Upon thy altar, listen to hiy prayV, 

** Avenge my fiiith by a felse nymph betiay'd." 

Diana heard her faithful servant's pray'rs 

And just complakits^ and pity fir'd her rage« 

Her powerful bow fehe took, and arrows sent 

Invisible) and fraught with certain death, 

Into Arcadia's breast ; nnpitied died 

Numbers of ev'ry sex and ev'ry age. 

All remedies were vain ; no time for flight ; 

All art was useless, and when caH'd to cure^ 

Before the patient the pl^icion Ml, 

One hope alone in this distress was leffc, 

Of succour from above ; in haste they sent 

For counsel to t^ nearest oracle. 

From which a clear enough response was brought^ 

But beyond measore horrible and dire : 

That Cynthia was ia«ens'd, but that her rage 

Might be s^peas'd, if by Aminta's hand, 

The faidiless nymph Lucrina, or for her 

Some other of our nation should be made 

A sacrifice. at great Diana's shrme. 

The nymph, when she had pray'd and wept in vain. 

And loi^ expected her new lover's aid, 

With solemn pomp trembling and pale was led 

A raotHnful victim to the sacred altar. 

There at those feet which oft had follow'd hers ? 

In vain, before her injur'd lover's feet, 



\ 



THE t'AITHFUL SHEPHERD. 17 

Bending at last her feeble tremblii^ knees, 

A cruel death she M'aited from his hand. 

Aminta boldly seiz'd the sacred steel, 

His kindling face and eyes appeared the while 

To threat revenge and rage ; to her he tiim'd, 

. Saying with a sigh, the messenger of death : 

*^ From thy sad fate behold, Lucrina, now 

*' The love thou foUowest, and from this blow, 

'^ Learn whom thou hast forsaken."*— Thus bespoke^ 

And deep in his own bosom instant plung'd 

The fatal steel, and lifeless in her arms. 

Thus fell at once the victim and die priest. 

At this dire spectacle the wretched maid 

Grew dumb and senseless with excess of grief. 

But half alive, as yet not well assur'd 

If sorrow or the steel had pierc'd her breast. 

But when her faculties of speech and sense 

Retum'd, with tears she cried, ^* O faithful soul ! 

" O brave Aminta ! O most faithful lover, 

" Too late I know thy worth, thou by thy death, 

'^ Giv'st me both life and death ! If 'twas a fault 

" To leave thee, lo! I now nepair that fault, 

" And wed my soul eternally to thine/* 

She spoke, and from his stieaming bosom drew 

The fatal steel, yet warm and deeply dy'd 

In the dear blood of him too late she lov'd ; 

With frantic violence, then, her beauteous breast 

Piercing, she fell into Aminta's anns. 

Who yet did breathe, and felt, perchance, the blow. 

B 3 



18 TUB FAITHFUL SHEPHERD. 

Such att tmtHnely fiite from too much love. 
And breach, of vows, overtook die hapless pakr* 

Mir. O miserable swain, yet fortunate, 
Who had so fair occasion, such a field 
To prove his faith, and by his death revive 
Pity widiin a heart so cold before ! 
But what of the unhappy dying crowd i . 
Ceas'd then the plague? was Cynthia's wrath 
appeaatA P 

Erg. It did relent; but bum'd in secret still. 
For the same season next revolving year, 
With fierce and dire relapse it rag'd afresh. 
For counsel to the oracle again 
We sent m hsiste, but a response was brought. 
More grievous than the first, and thus it ran : 
That di^i, and afterwards each year the same, 
We must in sacrifice present before 
Th' ofifended goddess, or a maid, or wife, 
Who fifteen summers should have seen, nor reach'd 
The twen^th ; — thus the blood of one should stem 
The flood of vengeance that awaited all — 
Besides, a dreadfol sentence was impos'd 
On the unhappy sex, a law so hard 
And so m^ust, impossible to keep^ 
Written with blood ;««that whatsoever wife 
Or virgin should be found to violate 
Or break her faith in love, (unless some firiend 
Would bear her fate,) should be condenm'd to die, 
Without the hope of m^cy or r ^neve. 



THE FAITHFUL SHEPHERD. IQ 

This dire, this national calamity 
The good old father * hopes may have an end 
By this much wish'd-for match ; because again^ 
After some space had pass'd, the oracle 
When ask'd what period beav'n assigned onr woe8> 
In these plain words thus answer'd our demand : 
'^ Your woes shall have no end till love shall join 
^' In wedlock's bands, a pair of birth divine ; 
'^ And for th' offence a perjnr'd maid hath done, 
" A Faithful Shepherd's ardent love atone.'''— 
Now in Arcadia no shoots remain 
Of hiav'nly stock, save only Silvio 
And ^marillis; the from Pan is sprung, 

^ And he from great Alcides ; nor before 
Have ever met (so cruel fate ordain'd) 

^ A pair from these two lines ; and hence great cause 

. M ontano hast for hopes of future joy. 
And tho' the oracle's prediction all 

I ^ Be not feifill'd, this is the chief est pait; 

\ Fate in its dark abyss hath hid the rest, 

Which from these nuptials shall one day ensue. 
Mir. O wretched and unfdrtunate Mirtillo ! 

I So many bitter foes, 

So many arms, so many wars 
. Against a dying heart employ'di — 

! • Was't not enough for love to be my foe, 

» But fate must idso arm to work my rnin ! 



} 



I 



* Montana 



^p«aw«^PH 



20 THE FAITHFUL SHEPHERD. 

Erg. Mirdllo; crael Love 
Is fed; but never^ never satisfied 
With tears and sorrow ! Come, proceed we now ; 
I promise to employ my utmost skill 
To make this fair nymjA hear thee, ere the sun 
Has finished this day's cowse ; meanwhile be calm. 
These frequent ardent sighs 
Do not, as thou supposest, prove 
Refreshments to die heart, soft cooling gales. 
Rather impetuous winds that blow 
The kindled flame, and make it mount on high ; 
They breed a storm, which to poor lovers hears 
Black clouds of grief, and heavy show'rs of tears. 



SCENE m. 

CoRiscA sola. 
Who ever saw, or beard of such a strange,. 
Fond, foolish, and importunate affection i 
Love and disdain so mingled in one heart, 
That each (strange prodigy !) increases each. 
Grows strong, then fades, is bom, then dies again ! 
When I behold Mirtillo's manly charm3, 
Survey his person, and bewitching face. 
His mien, words, actions, manners, aspect sweety 
Love then assails me with so stroi^ a fire, 
I bum all over, and each passion else 
Loses its pow'r, and is subdu'd by love. 



THE FAITHFUL SHEPHERD* 21 

But when I think how fondly he adores 
Another's beauties^ and despises mine, 
Tho' they might well inflame a thousand hearts. 
Then do I hate, detest^ and scorn him so, 
That it appears a thing impossible 
I e'er could love him ; yet I reason thus 
In secret with my soul : " O would to heav'n 
" The dear, the sweet MirtBlo could be mine, 
i " Nor e'er in others power ! supremely blest ' 
^ " Then should Corisca be, O blest indeed!"— 
( Then do I feel such kindly Barnes arise, 
That I couM follow the lov'd peerless youth, 
And half resolve to go and beg bis tove^ 
And open all my heart! Nay, more dien that ; 
So ardently I love him in my heart, 
\ I could adore him as a deity. 

Then I'm myself again, reewit, and say, 
A proud dtsdaittfiil boy ! that can forsdce 
Mine for another's love, and boldly darea 
To look on me witli coldness, and so well 
Protects hhnself i^inst my pow'rfiil charms, 
As not to die amidst the flames of love, 
f When he beholds this face ! Can I, M^ho ought 
To see him suppliant at my feet in tears, 
(As many more have been,) endnrc the thought 
Of falling suppliant at kis feet in tears i 
Ah 1 no ; it cannot be ! and pond'ring thus, 
] Such rage against Mirtillo and myself 
I feel, that I should ever thmk, or turn 



1 



1 



1 



1 



22 THE FAITHFUL SHEPHERll. 

My eyes to gaze on him ; his very name 
I hate, and my own passion worse than death. 
I could endure to see him the most loath'd. 
Most abject miserable swain that lives ; 
Nay more, these very hands could work his death. 
Desire, and scom^ and hate wage dreadful ware 
Within my breast ; and I who have till now 
Inflam'd a thousand hearts, and prov'd the rack 
Of thousand souls, lai^uish and bum, and feel 
The pain I caus'd to others. I so long 
In cities courted by a numerous band 
Of gallant lovers, youths of noble birth, 
>And noble air, and yet widistood their loves, 
And with fedse hopes deluded their desires. 
Now by a rustic youth, a low-bom swain, 
Am caught and conquered ! O most wretched maid ! 
Most miserable now of all thy sex. 
What would become of thee, if thou hacFst now 
No other lover ; how would'st thou contrive. 
To mitigate this frenzy of the mind? — 
From my sad fete, let ev'ry woman learn 
To lay in store of lovers, lest they fail. 
Had I no good, no pleasure save this love 
Of sweet Mirtillo, should I not have store 
Sufficient? O a thousand times a fool 
Is she, and to what poverty reduc'd 
Who has no love but one ! Corsica ne'er 
Shall be so foolish. What are boasted faith 
And constancy, but fables, empty names. 



THE FAITHFUL SHEPHEBD. 23 

Framed by the sly and jealous to deceive 
And awe fond simple girls who believe tfaem ! 
Faith in a woman's heart, (if ever feith 
Be found in woman, which in truth I doubt) 
Is not a virtue, nor a heavenly grace. 
But the severe necessity of love. 
Hard law of vanished beauty, which is pleas'd 
With one, because it cannot now please more ! 
A fair and graceful maid solicited 
By crowds of lovers worthy of her love. 
If she's content with one, and scorns the rest. 
Wants female spirit; what are beauty's charms 
If they're not seen, or seen, if not admir'd, 
And if admir'd, admir'd by one alone? 
Where lovers num'rous are, and merit well, 
She that's belov'd has then a surer pledge 
Of most excelling beauty. Many lovers 
Are pleasii^ to our sex ; in this consists 
Their glory and their splendour ; courtly dames 
Who live in towns act thus, and the most rich 
And fair are those who chiefly practise it. 
With them 'tis glaring folly, and a sin 
To scorn a lover, for what many do 
One caimot ; one a useful servant proves, 
Another brings her gifts ; another talks, 
Or does some other ofGce ; many times 
It also chances, that unknowingly. 
One lover puts an end to jealousy 
Another caus'd, or wakes it in a third 

2 



t4 TfHE FAITHFUL SHEPHERD. 

Who never felt it. Thus in cities live 

Amorous and beauteous nymphs ; and thus I leam'd, 

Ev^n from my childhood^ from a city dame^ 

Taught by her good exsanfUe, and her rules, 

The proper arts of love — Oft would she say : 

^' Corisca, if you wish to make your lovers 

^* Sui%like your clothes, have many, use but one, 

*^ And often shift him ; long acquaintance breeds 

^' Dii^st, disgust contempt ; and hate at last. 

*^ No worse can wonnan do than to allow 

'^ Her lover to grow tir'd, and scorn her love, 

'^ For then you leave not liim, but he leaves you." 

Thus have I always actedr-and I keep 

A numerous band of lovers, but vouchsafe 

My confidence to that one youth alone 

Who pleases most, and has the greatest charms ; 

And all I can I'll do to keep my heart. 

But now (alas ! I know not how it is !) 

Mirtillo's come ^ near it, that the flames 

I feel burst forth against my will in sighs, 

And what is worse, for my own pains I sigh, 

Not to deceive another widi false fires. 

Depriving, too, my limbs of rest, my eyes 

Of needful sleep, I watch till morning dawn, 

The happiest truce of lovers ill at ease ! 

And (strange infatuation !) oft I roam 

Amidst die gloomy horrors of these woods, 

To trace the steps of my dear hated love ; 

What wilt thou do, Corisca? sue to him? 



THE FAITHFUL SHEPHEBD. 25 

No ; for I wish not hatred, but hb love. 
Wilt thou then Ay him i Juove refuses that, 
Altho' I ought to fly. What then remains f 
Flatt'ry and soft entreaties first I'll try ; 
Thus will I show the love, but hide the lover* 
If this «u«ceed not, I'll adopt deceit ; 
Should this, too, fail, then rage shall execute 
A memorable vengeance. If thou spum^ 
^y love, Mirtillo, hate thou next shalt prove. 
Thy Amarillb I shall cause repent 
Of being my rival, and to thee so dear. 
And, lastly, I shall teach you both to know 
How dang'rous 'tis to scorn a woman's love. 



SCENE IV. 

TiTIRO, MONTANO, DaMETAS. 

Tit. I speak, Montano, what I know is truth, 
And speak to one of more capacity 
Than I can boast ; but sure these oracles 
Are far more dark than some believe they are. 
Their words are like a knife ; which^ if 'tis held 
By the safe part that for the hand was wrought, 
Works usefully ; but seize it by the edge. 
Then wounds or death are oft the consequence— 
That Amarillis, as thou argu'st, should 
By the h^h destiny of heav'n be chos'n 
For the entire salvation of Arcadia, 

c 



^ 



46 THE FAITHFUL SHEPHERD. 

Who ought to wish, or more rejoice at it, 
Than I who am her father i But again 
When I consider what the oracle 
Foretold, the signs but ill agree with hope. 
If love must join them, how can that be done, 
If one still flies ? how can the cords that form 
The knot of love be hatred and disdain P 
Tliat cannot be oppos'd which heav'n decrees. 
And w^here there's opposition, then 'tis clear 
That heav'n decrees it not ; for had it pleas'd 
That Amarillis should become the spouse 
Of Silvio, it had created him 
A lover, not a huntsman. 

Mont. See'st tliou not 
He's but a child? his eighteenth, year as yet 
Is not quite run. In good time even he 
Will feel the fire of love. 
Tit. But can he feel 
Love to pursue a beast, and not a nymph? 

Mo N . The chase suits better with a childish heart. 
Tit. And is not love a natural desire ? 
MoN. Too early love is an unnat'ral fire. 
Tit. It flourishes more sweet in tenderyears. 
MoN. Perchance it blossoms fair, but yields no 

fruit. 
Tjt. Love's fruit ne'er fails, if once the bloom is 
ripe. 
But here I came not, either with design 
To blame or to contend with thee, Montano, 



THE FAITHFUL SHEPHERD. 27 

HI it befits me ; but a father too. 
Am I of a most dear and only child. 
And, if I so may speak, a worthy maid. 
With leave of you, and lov'd by many a youth. 

MoN. Were not this marriage, Titiro, decreed 
By heav'n's high destiny, still it is made 
On earth by faith in heavenly ofacles. 
To violate that faith were to profane 
Great Cynthia's divinity, to whom 
The vow was paid. Thou know'st how prone t# 

wrath 
She is, and even now how she's incens'd. 
But far as I discern, far as the mind 
Of priest rapt to the sky, can dare to trace 
Th' eternal counsels, by the hand of fate 
This knot is tied, and each presage and sign 
That should accompany it (have thou but faith) 
l^all be disdos'd to light in season dqe — 
m tell thee farther : in a dream last night 
A certain sight I saw which hath renew'd 
My ancient hopes, and cheer'd my drooping heart. 

Tit, Dreams are but dreams; but what was 
this glad sight P 

Mo N .Thou well rememb'restt, I presume, (for who 
Amongst us is so dull as to forget ?) 
Tliat lamentable night when swelling L^on "* 
Buiet from his channel, and o'erflow'd his .banks, 

* A river of Arcadia. 
c 2 



S8 THE FAITHFUL SHEPHEBD. 

So that where birds before their nests had built^ 

Fish swam, and in confosion men and beasts 

And flocks die boistVous deluge swept away. 

Tliat very night (O bitter memory !) 

I lost my heart, or rather that I lost 

Which still far deiffer than my heart I prized, 

A tender infant in its swathing bands, 

And then my only son, whom I did love 

Alive, and who, tho' now the prey of death^ 

Still lives within my heart, and ever shall. 

The cruel torrent raviah'd him away 

JSetore we had the power (with terror chili'd 

Or simk in sleep and darkness as we were) 

To give die needful aid«-*Nor could we find 

The empty cradle, so I've always thought 

Cradle and infant were together swallow'd I 

By the remorseless flood ! I 

Tit. What elsQ cwist thou believe ? aaa now 

niethinks 
I've heard before, and from thyself perchance^ 
This loss of thine, a truly miserable 
And bitter loss indeed ! and I may say 
Of thy two sons, one for the woods was bom, 
The other for the waters. 

MoN. Kind heav'n perchance in him who still 

survives 
Will make me rich amends—liope comes from 

heav'n. 
Now hear me. 'Twas about the very time 



THE FAITHFUL SHEPHER0. 49 

Twixt night and day, when %ht and darkness strive, 
And glimm'ring rays but scarce begin the dawn, 
When in my mind revolving various thoughts, 
And fancies of these nuptials, I had watch'd 
The livelong night. Fatigue at length did bring 
Csdm pleasii^ slumber to my weary eyes. 
And with it such a lively vision came. 
That " ne'er did sleep so like a waking" seem. 
On fiam'd Alpheus' bank methought I sat. 
Beneath a plane-tree's leafy shade, 
Angling for fish that sported in the flood. 
Straight to my wond ring eyes arose, 
Amic^t the waves, a venerable man 
With aspect grave ; the water from his beard 
And hoary hair distill'd. With outstretch'd arms 
He held a naked weeping babe, and said, 
(Gently to me presenting him) ** Behold 
*^ Thy son, take cautious heed thou kill him not." 
He said, and plung'd amidst the whirling waves. 
Then suddenly the sky 

Veil'd with black clouds look'd dismal all around. 
And gave presages of a coming storm, 
So that with trembling fear 
I clasp'd the infant to my breast, 
And cried, " Does then, alas ! one hour 
'^ Both give and snatch my joy away again !" 
Then straight methought the welkin all grew clear^ 
And thunderbolts to ashes burnt. 
Fell hissing in the river, broken bows 

C3 



S6 THE ^AlTtlFUt Stlfi]^H£tl0. 

And riiaftd by thousands fell ; the tree did then 

Above me tremble^ and a ^ill fsisA voice 

Canie from the trunk, and these the words it spoke : 

*^ Montanoy thy Arcadia yet shall flooridi/' 

Still in my heart impress'd 

And in my eyes and in my soul I bear 

The pleasing image of this gracious dream. 

But chiefly still Ae coun^nance mild 

Of the benign old man is still before me« 

For this I to the temple bent my way 

When thou didst meet me, that I might confirm 

With holy sacrifice the augury 

Of this auspicious vision which I saw. 

Tit*. Truly, Montano, dreams are semblances 
Of our fond hopes more than of future good, 
Pictures of thoughts which we've iudulg'd by day, 
Confus'd and broken by the shades of night. 

Mo N . Not always with the senses sleeps the soul^ 

* 

Rather when freed from the fallacious forms 
That blind the sense, it is the ntore awake. 

Tit. In fine, how heaven has destin'd to dispose 
Of our two children, is uncertain yet. 
But this is sure, thine flies, opposing thus 
The law of nature by despising love ; 
And mine, tho' bound by vows of plighted faitb; 
Hath thence no ben^t, nor know I yet 
If love she feel, but this full well I know, 
Maiiy are by her charms inspir'd with love. 
Nor can I think that site herself escapes^ 



< 



fBB FAITHFUL SHISFHERD. 31 

Wh3e to 80 many she's the cause of love. 

Methinks there's somethhig serious in her face 

Forever heretofore arra/d in smiles. 

But to inflame a maid with love^ and yet 

Refuse to wed her is a mighty wrong. 

As in a garden fair a rose^ 

Which late amidst its tender green attire^ 

Under the sable canopy of night 

Lay hid, as yet unblown, 

Upon its parent stem ; at the first ray 

That shoots athwart the eastern skies^^ 

Awal^^ to life, and to the orient sun. 

That gazes and admires its charms, 

Its red and scented bosom wide displays, 

To which the early wand'ring bee 

Flies humming, and extracts the liquid sweets. 

But if it be not gather'd then, 

And feel the bright and fervent noon, 

It falls before the sun has set, 

And hangs its head upon its drooping stalk, 

So pale, and shrunk, and lifeless grown. 

That scarcely could you say 'twas once a rose» 

So a young virgin (.while her mother's care 

Conceals aud guards her rip'ning charms) 

Shuts her own bosom too against desire ; 

But soon as she perceives the gaze 

Of an enaraour'd swain, and hears his sighs, 

To him she quickly opes her heart. 

And in her tender breast receives bis love. 



82 THE FAITHFUL SHEPHERD. 

Then if by shame or virgin fear 
Restrained, she hide die glowing flaine, 
Excess of love conceal'd at kst destroys 
Her youthful prime, and if that season pass. 
And still the fire bum cm within her hearty 
Her beauty and her lovers both depart. 

MoN. Take courage, Titiro, let Hot 'thy soul 
Debas'd by mortal fears despond, 
But boldly place thy hopes in heav'n. 
Which favours ardent lively faith, 
Noir can a feeble pray'r ascend the skies. 
'And if it be but meet that mankind all 
Should supplicate the favour of the gods 
In times of need, and pray with hope sincere. 
It surely more becomes the seed of heav n. 
You know our children's pedigree's divine, a 

And heav'n that blesses all will not despise ^ 

Its own descendents.— -Come, my faithful friend^ 
Together to the temple let us go. 
And sacrifice, a he-goat thou to Pan, 
And I to Hercules a chosen steer. 
The gods who bless the herds, will also bless 
Those who their altars load with victin^ due^ 
Go thou Daiiietas, quickly chuse for tne 
The fairest steer amidst the numVous herd> < 

And bi;ing him by the nearest way across 
The mountain to the temple, where I'll wait thee. i 

Tit. And good Dametas, bring me from my flock 
A chosen goat.-— 



TOE FAITHFUL SBTEfnERl)^ 3d 

ft 

Dam. Both shall wkh speed be done. 
This dieiain thou hadst of thy lost son^ Montane, 
May the all-pow'rful gods in mercy bless 
Ev n to thy utmost wish ; I hoDW, I know 
How good an> augury lies hid below ''^. 



SCENE V. 

Satiro. 
Sat. As frost to plants^ to flowers the noonday 
sua. 
Hail to the growing eom^ to seed the worm^ 
To stags the toils, the lime-twig to the birds> 
So love to n^ti is a continual foe. 
And he who called it fire, welt understood 
Its treacherous nature ; for if fire you vievr, 
How bright and beautiful ! but to the touch, 
How cruelly it bums ; a plague more dire, 
A deadlier monster nature ne'er produc'd. 
It cuts like steel, like savs^e beasts devours, 
Flies like the wind, or nimble lightning's flash. 
And where it fixes its imperious sway. 
All vigour, ev'ry power is forc'd to yield. 
Not otherwise is love; which when beheld 

* Here DametM is dissembliag, for he knew it was rather a bad 
augury, as appears in Act V. It may be observed, that in many 
editions Titiro 19 made to speak the foyr last lines ; but it it 
tnrely an] error* 



1 



34 THE FAITHFUL SHEPHERD. 

In two bright eyes, or tress of golden hair, 

O what delight it gives ! O how it breathes 

Peace to the heart, and pleasure all around 1 

But if you come too near,* and try its power^ 

If in the breast it spread, and gather force. 

No tygress in Hircanian mountains bred, 

No Lybian lion, or pestiferous snake 

Is half so fierce ; more cruel than hell or death, 

Wrath's minister, and pity's enemy, 

And finally, 'tis love devoid of love. 

But why accuse I Love ? Is he the cause 

Of all th' offences which the world commits. 

Not when they love, but when they prove untrue ? 

Perfidious woman ! 'tis to you alone. 

That I impute love's rancour; all that's cruel 

And wicked, springs from your detested arts, 

And not from love, M'hose nature's ever meek, 

And gentle, but with you he loses all 

His mildness, ev'ry entrance to your* breast 

You shut so close, he cannot reach your heart. 

And all your care, pride, pleasure still are found 

In the mere outside of a painted face. 

Nor is your study how you shall reward 

Your lover's constancy with yours, and strive 

Who most shall love, and in two bosoms bind 

A single heart, and make two wills one soul— - 

But how to twine with wreaths of gold your hair, 

Ah ! wretched shift to hide a brainless head ! . 

One part you twist mto a thousand knots 



THB FAITHFUL SHEPHERD. 35 

To overhang your haughty brow ; the rest 
Woven into a net you spread to catch 
The hearts of thousand unsuspecting swains. 
O what a hateful unbecoming sight. 
To see you with a pencil paint your cheeks. 
To hide the faults of nature and of time ! 
To see you make the livid pale appear 
Vermilion, fill the wrinkles, dye black white, 
Hemove an old fault, and put on a new ; 
Nay, make the first still worse. Oft too you tie 
A thread across, of which one end you hold 
Whhin your teeth, and in your left you seize 
The other ; with your right you form, the while. 
The running knot into a lioose, to act 
like shaving shears ; this instrument you fit 
To your rough downy foreheads, cutting off 
The down, and plucking out each hair that grows 
Wild and overshooting, with such dismal pain. 
That 'tis at once a sin and punishment. 
Nor is thb all ; your customs and delights 
Are like your works ; for what have you at all 
That is not counterfeit and falsely worn ? 
Do your lips op^, you He, and if ye sigh. 
Your sighs are feign'd ; or if your eyes ye move. 
Deceit is in your looks ; in fine each act 
Each semblance, all you show or hide is false. 
For if you only think, or speak one word, 
Or walk, or look, or weep, or laugh, or sing. 
All is a lie ; and this is but a part 



36 * THE PAITTHFUL SHEPHERD. 

Of your deceit. Those ^hoxoofide in you^ 

You most deceiwe ; 'you^enrer Jove those least, 

Who merit most; and comtancy you hate 

Ev'n worse than death ilself«*»theBe are the arts 

That render love so perverse and so cruel. 

But all his faults are yours, or rather theirs 

That trust you. Therefore is the fault my own^ 

Wicked Corisca, most perfidious maid. 

Come hither only for my bane, I think, 

From Argos' cursed realms, the vile abode 

Of luxury and vice. So sly thou art, 

TThou play'st the scout so well, to hide ihf deeds 

And thoughts from others, 'moi^ the chastest dames 

Thou goest, proud of the unworthy name 

Of virtue stamp'd upon thy haughty brow. 

What scorns, what painful sufF'rii^s have -I borne 

By this ungrateful woman's treach'rous wiles ! 

Now I repent, and blu^h I was so fond. 

O ye unskilful lovers, from my pains. 

Beware how ye adore a beauteous face. 

For soon a woman, worshipped thus, becomes 

A deity of hell ; o'er all she reigns. 

And o'er your slavish souls she domineers 

Like some great goddess, and despises you 

As a thing mortal, only fit for scorn. 

And takes your praise as tribute justly due. 

Which is the flattery of your abject mind. 

Why so nmch slav'ry ? why so many pray'rs. 

Such sighs and tears P these arms were only made 



THE FAITHFUL SHEPHEBB. ' 3? 

For women^ and for infants ; let us show 
£v'n in our loves^ valour and manliness. 
Time was^ when 1 believ'd that tears and sighs 
Could wake the fire of love in woman's hearty 
But now I find I err'd, for if she bear 
A stony heart, in vain by soften'd shower, 
Or gentle breath of sighs^ we try to wake 
A flame, or ev'n a spark, unless we strike 
The rigid steel, and force the lingVing 6re, 
Leave, leave thy tears and sighs, if thou wouldst make 
A conquest of thy dame ; but shouldst thou bum 
Indeed with fire that cannot be subdu'd^ 
In thy heart's centre shut thy ardent love, 
The best thou canst, and watch the time to do 
What love and natiu'e teach thee should be done ; 
For modesty is woman's privilege. 
And 'tis with her a fault, a grievous vmmg, 
When men usurp it, for, altho' with them 
She use it, yet she hates it us'd with her. 
Wishing they should admire, not copy it. 
This is the plain and natural way which I 
Approve in loving, nor shall coy Corisca 
Find me a bashfijJ lover as before. 
But a fierce foe : and I shall make her feel 
Assaults and womids no more with female arms. 
But those of men. Already twice I've caught 
This fickle prize, and yet I know not how. 
She has escap'd my grasp, but if she come 
Again within my reach, I'll hold her so^ 

D 



58 THE FAITHFUL SHEPHERD. 

She shall not fly me. She is wont to roam 
Among these woods^ so, like a faithful hoimcl, 
I'll search to find her (rack. O what rev&age, 
What torture I'll inflict <m her when caught ! 
I'll make her see (hat he who ouce was blind. 
Has got his fiight, and that no fiaithless dame 
Can triumph loog in perfidy and guile. 



CHORUS. 

O great and powerfid law of love, 

Inscrib'd at birth upon the heart by Jove I 

Whose soft and amiable coutroul 

In pleamng fetters binds, the willing soul 

Of ev'ry creature to its good, 

Felt tho' its workings be not understood ! 

And not alone the outward fence 

Which is obedient to the sense, 

Bom feeble, soon i^am to die. 

And 'midst its kindred dust to lie. 

But both the latent seeds and inward cause 

Whose essence is eternal, own thy laws ! 

And if the teeming world below 

So many forms of beauty show, 

And if where'er the sun bears sway, 

And in whate'er the moon and stars survey. 

There reigns a sweet enliv'ning soul. 

Whose active vigour animates the whole, 



THE FAITHFUL SHEPHEBI>. 99 

If thence mankind^ and all that Hm, 

Beasts^ trees, and plants thwriife derive, 

Ififlow'rs array 'd in beatify rise, 

To deck the earth ^vith variouft dye«> 

If on earth's wrinkled brow descend the snows, 

From that immortal living fount all flows. 

Nor this alone ; each sphere that wheels on high 
Its rapid course amid the sky, 
Whence slai» reveal to memiimt-kitey , 
Now happy, now unfortunate, 
Wlience we receive our noortal bfeatbjL- 
And whence we yield again to death ; 
That good which causes waver or be still 
The froward tide of human will, 
(Which seeming to be fortune's play 
To give and take our gifts away. 
The world ascribes to her) have alL. 
£rom thy strong virtue their original.' 

O fate infallible and true ! 
If then indeed 'tis will'd by you. 
That after such dire sufF'rings past, 
Arcadia should have life and peace at last ^ 
If what the far-fam'd oracle of late 
Eovetold of two ordain'd to save the staler 
Did thy true will declare, if iix'd it be 
In the eternal depth of thy decree. 
And if the tripods do not lies reveal. 
Ah! who retards completion of Iby vtill i 
Behold a pitiless and scornful boy, 

P 9. 



1 



40 THE FAITHFCL SHEPHERD. 

Rebellious foe to amorous joy^ 

Of heav'nly race, and yet with heav'n contends ! 

Another with his flame thy will offends^ 

In vain a faithful lover he, 

Vanquish^ by false modesty— 

The less he hopes for the reward 

Of all his tears and service hard. 

The more alive is his desire, ' 

The brighter glow his constancy and fire, 

And for that beauty now he dies, 

From which the youth that ought to prize it, flies.— 

Does the Eternal Power then hesitate ? 
Or is it fate that strives with fate ? 
Or does the unconquer'd pride of man arise 
Still in rebellion 'gainst the skies, 
And arm new giants to make war on Jove, 
Lovers, and those that laiigh at love i 
Have we such strength, and o'er the heav'nly reigot 
Shall two blind powers prevail, Love and Disdain i 

But Thou who art above the stars and fete. 
And rul'st the world with wisdom high. 
Thou powerful Shaker of the sky. 
Look down, we pray thee, on our tott'ring state! 
Disdain and Love, O may they be . 
Made to accord with destiny ; 
By thy paternal power allay 
This flame, and melt that ice away ; 
Let him not fly that ^ould remain, 
And may he cease to love who loves in vmn. 



THE FAITHFUL SHEPHEBD. 41 

I^t not the stubborn will of others prove 
The cause diat thou thy promised grace remove. 
Tet who can tell? from what seems greatest woe^ 
Perchance the greatest happmess may flow. 
How short a length all human thoughts can run ! 
No mortal eye has power to gaze upon the sun. 



END OF THE FIRST ACT. 



11.3 



THE 



FAITHFUL SHEPHERD^ 



ACT n. SCENE I. 



Ergasto, Mirtillo* 

Erg. O "what a search I've had! for at the field> 
The race-ground^ meadow^ river, fountain, hill, 
And wrestling place, my friend, Fve sought thee long ; 
Thanks be to heav'n, at last I £ind thee here. 

Mir. What news, Ergasto, that require such haste f 
Bring'st thou me life or death i 

Erg. The last's a thing, 
Which if I brought for thee, I would not give, 
The other, though I have not for thee yet, 
I hope to ^ve : But why abandon'd thus 
To wasting sorrow? Overcome thyself 
If thou wouldst others. live and rest awhile. 
But hear the cause that brought me in such haste. 
Know'st diou (who does not know?) Qrmino's 
aster, 



THE FAITHFUL SHUPHEBD. ^ 

In person rather tall, of sprightly mein^ 
Fair hair, and ruddy face ? 
Mir. Her name? 
Erg. Corisca. 
Mir. I know her well, and oft have talked with 

her. 
Erg. Know, then, that she for some time past 
has been, 
By happy chance (I know not from what cause) 
Fair Amarillis' close companion, 
Which I perceiving, privately to her 
Disclosed thy love, entreated secresy 
And sud, when readily she promised both. 

Mir. O blest a thousand, thousand times, if thk 
Prove true, Mirtillo ! then shalt thou become 
The happiest lover that the world contains ! 
But said she nothing of the means f 

Erg. Not yet: 
And I shall tell thee why : Corisca said 
She could not well determine of the means. 
Till some things with more certainty she knew 
Of this thy love, that being so inform'd, 
She might with more security discern 
The inclination of the nymph, and know 
How to conduct herself, with pray'rs or wiles ; 
What it were best to try, or what to leave. 
This was the cause I came so hastily 
To find thee, and it will be well that now 



44 THE FAITHFUL SRKFHSftll. 

Hiou tell me from the first die libloiy 
Of this tbylove. 

Mir. Ill tell thee all^ my friend. 
But know that this remembrance of my love 
(Ah! bitter memory when one loves in vain !) 
Is like the tossii^ of a torch in air, 
Whidi faster bums and wasted away, 
The more the wind fims up the flame; 
Or Uke die tuggii^ of a painful dart 
Fix'd deeply in a rankling wound, 
Whidi still the more you strive to draw, 
Increases bodi the wound and pain at once. 
I shall a tale relate will clearly show 
How lovers' hopes deceitful are, and vain ; 
And that, however sweet die root of love, 
Tlie fruit it bears is fraught widi bitterness. 

In that fair season when day's wheels outrun 
The night's, (a year has just revolv'd its course) 
Ergasto, when diis lovely strai^r, this 
New sun of beauty with her splendor came 
To make a second sprii^, and shed around 
Elis and Pisa"*^, (render'd then so dear 
By her lov'd presence) her unrivall'd chaims. 
Brought by her mother in those solemn days 
When sacrifices and th' Olympic games 
Are held in honour of Almighty Jove, 
Sights wordiy her fair eyes, but those fair eyes 
Where love resides were far die noblest sight 

* Two cities of Greece, 



THE FAITHFUL SHEPHER9. 45 

Whence I, till then a stranger to love's power, 
Ah ! had no sooner view'd her face so fair, 
Than all at once I caught love's fervent fire. 
By her first look that like the light'ning's flash. 
Darted upon my sights I was subdu'd^ 
And fdt a sovereign charm pierce thro' my breast, 
And say with an imperious tone within : 
" Mirtillo, now surrender up thy heart !"— 

Erg. O what a power has love in mortal breasts, 
Which they alone that understand can feel ! 

Mir. But now, behold how cunning Love can 
work / 

Ev'n in the youngest and the simplest hearts : 
I told a dear young sister of my own, 
(My cruel nymph's companion while she staid 
In Elb- and in Pisa) of my pain ; 
Of her alone, as love suggests, I make 
A faithful counsellor and useful aid 
In my necessity. With female robes 
She decks me, and my youthful brow adorns 
With borrow'd ringlets, which she braids with 

flowers. 
Then hangs a bow and quiver by my side. 
And teaches me to use feign'd words and looks ; 
Scarce then the early down was on my chin. 
She led me thus array'd to where 
My beauteous nymph was wont to sport, 
And there we found upon the green 
Some noble Megarensian maids, allied 



46 THE FAITHFUL 8HEPHER0. 

(As I was told) to her my heart ador'd. 
'Midst them she bloom'd, as does the queenlike rose 
When compass'd round by humble violets. 
When here they had a while^remain'd^ 
And ceas'd from sporty a Megarensian maid- 
Arose and said : ^' At such a time as this 
Of games, when honours and rewards abound^ 
Shall we alone of all stand slothful here i 
And have we not our weapons for mock-figlits - 
As well as men, my sisters ? if you please 
To follow my advice, we now shall try 
Our arms among ourselves, as we must it^-* 
Against the men when time of need requires. 
Come let us wage a kis8i,n^ war. 
And she whose kisses are most sweet, 
Shall have as the reward of victory, 
This beauteous garland/'-— At her welcome speectT- 
The virgins laugh'd, and all exclaim'd, " Agreed.*'— 
Each challeng'd each ; nor waited word or sign, 
But rush'd in wild confusion to the Mrar*— 
The Megarensian, this perceiving, straight 
Pesir'd a pause, and regulating first 
The terms of contest, said : Let her who owns. 
The fairest mouth, be justly nam'd the judge : 
Of these our kisses. All with one consent 
Chose beauteous Amarillis, who bent down 
Her lovely eyes, whilst modesty's deep blush 
Redden'd her cheeks, and show'd her no less fair 
In mind than outward charms ; or else her face 



THE FAITHFUL SHEPHERD. 47 

Snvying, perchance^ the honour doaoie her mouthy 
Put on its splendid rosy robe, 
As it should say, " Behold I'm also fair."— 
Erg. Blest youth! to be transform'd at such a 
time. 
As if thou hadst foreseen thy happiness ! 

Mir. The fair judge took her seat, and all began 
<Accordii^ to the sev'ral ranks they held. 
And custom at Megara) each by lot 
To try their mouths by hers, the paragon 
«Of sweetness, that most beauteous tempting mouth, 
like a perfumed fair Indisui shell adom'd 
With onent pearls, and her coral lips 
Which shut upon the precious treasiu-e, seem'd 
like roses with the sweetest honey mix'd. 
O my Ergasto ! could I but describe 
The ineffable delight my soul imbib'd 
Prom her sweet kisses ! But thou may'st conceive 
The bliss from hence, that even diis same mouth 
Which tasted, cannot speak the joy it prov'd. 
Extract thou all the sweets of Hybla combs 
Or Cyprian sugar canes, they're nought compar'd 
To what I suck'd from thence« 

Erg. O hftppy theft! sweet kisses! 

Mir. Sweet, yet defective, for the better part 
Was wanting to complete the joy. 
The soul which gives entire delight. 
For tho' Iavc gave them, Love retum'd them not. 



48 THE FAITHFUL SHEPHERP. 

!Ero. But say^ what feelii^s seiz'd thee at thy 
turn 
To kiss? 

Mir. Up to my glowing lips, Ergasto^ 
My very soul did fly, so that my life 
Unclos'd in such a narrow space ais these^ 

Was nothing but a kiss ; whence all my Ihnbs, 

Feeble and trembling, void of strength remained. 

When I approached her eyes like blazing stars, 

As one who felt the consciousness of guile, 

And daring theft, I fear'd the majesty 

Of her so fair and beaming countenance...^ 

But soon embolden'd by a smile serene, 

I ventur'd bravely on ; Love lay the while, 

Ergasto, like a bee conceal'd 

Within the sweet fresh roses of her lijps, 

And while my kisses she received 

Unmov'd and passive, I alone 

Enjoy 'd the sweetness of her honey'd mouth— >- 

But when, with less reserve, she ofFer'd me 

The rosy beauties of her ruby lips, 

(Whether 'twas gaiety or my good fortune ' 

Alas ! I know it was not love !) 

And when our lips in glowing kisses met, 

(O my sweet and precious treasure 

Have I lost thee and survive ?), 

Then did I feel a sharper sting 

Than those of bees, the sweet,but painful shaft 

Of liove that pierc'd my burning heart. 



■me FAiTHWL snBriiEiiB. 

if 

Which was restor'd me only diMi, ''^ 

lliat she lui^ stnk« the fstal w(«nd. 

And whett I fch #ie deully rtroke, 

like one in dying pangs, I'd almmt bin. ■■_ 

The murderous lips that gave the crue) btou 

But ah ! the scented breeze of her swecA iuou_ 

Came o'er nf like the brea& dmne 

Of an inspiring de^, and shed 

A sacred awe, awak'd my modesty, 

And quench'd the amorous fury of my sOul.— 

£s«. O raodesfy! * diou saddest stay of all 
To timorons lovers ovcraw'd by thee !— 

MtB. Now all had had tb^ tio-ns, and cone 
With thoughts snspended to await 
The sentence which <he iovdy judge shouM |^w. 
When tile Most beaMeous AmariHis tbinkiog 
My kisses ^vere Uie best, upcMi my bead 
Plac'd with her iniew-white baud the gnrhind fiur. 
The victor's prize. But O ! no sunbeat bill 
E'er broii'd so much beneath the dog-stur's HeKt, 
Ev'n when he rages most, as then my heart 
Did bum betwist fruition and desire, 
And ne'er was conqa«-'d half so much 
As then when I had prov'd a conqueror. 
Yet so much courage I regained, 
That boldly from my bead I look 
Tlie garland, whidi I reach'd to her, and nid ; 

* Orig. O tcodcitia Molceti>i A pbj open irordt} 



AITHPUL SHEFKBRB. 

, 'li§ juatly thine, 
^nes8 of my kiases lies 
di ;" and she most coutteoualy 
fonn a coronet 
and with another wreadi, 
luteous head she wore, 
Encircled mine, which is the same I b^. 
And which, though wither'd as thou seest, 
III carry to my grave, to keep in mind 
That day, o; rather as a monument 
To once fond hopes, now wither'd dl and dead. 

Erg. Mirtillo, thou deserveat pity more 
Than envy; thou sboidd'st henceforth bear the nami 
Of Tantalus, for he (hat jests with love 
Endures most cruel pain : thy joys have coat 
Too dear, and of thy theft the pleasure bodi. 
And punishment thou didst at once receive. 
But has she ne'er discov^'d the deceit i 

MiB. I know not that Ergasto ; this I know, 
Whilst she thought Elis worthy of her stay. 
She still to me was bounteous of her sweet 
And graiuous smiles. But cruel fate 
IKd snatch her thence all unperceiv'd by me. 
Whence I, forsakmg all I priz'd before, 
Drawn by tfie power of her feir eyes, 
Came hither, where my father as thou know'st. 
Still keeps his ancient poor abode. 
I came, and saw, (Oh ! miserable sight !) 
My d^ of love, whose mom with smiles arose^ 



THE FAITHFUL SHEPHEHD. 51 

Its short course run already to the west, 

And clos'd for ever ! Soon as I appear'd, 

Disdain flash'd forth like lightning from her face^ 

Then did siie bend her eyes and turn away ; 

'* Wretch that I am !" in agony I cried : 

'^ These are the fatal omens of my death T' 

Meanwhile my father fell so bitterly 

My unforeseen and sudden flight, 

Oppress'd with grief, he fell a prey 

To pining sickness, which did threaten death 

This forc'd me back to him, but my return 

Brought health to him, and sickness to his son. 

Love's wasting fever prey'd upon my strength^ 

That from the season when the sun 

Leaves Taurus till he enters Capricorn, 

I languish'd, and had langUish'd still. 

Had not my pious father gone to ask 

Meet counsel from the oracle, which gave 

This answer : That the Arcadian air alone 

Could cure me. Therefore I retum'd again, 

Ergasto, to revisit her, who heal'd 

My body (O deceitful oracle ! ) 

To cause eternal sickness in my soul ! 

Erg. 'Tis strange in truth, a tale of all most 
strange, 
Mirtillo, thou hast told, and which I own 
Deserves much pity. But the only safety 
Those in despair have, is to hope for none.* 

• Vifg. JBa. n. 

b2 ^^j 



1 



60, THE FAITHFUL SHBPHBBP. 

And now 'tk time I gp to teU CorWca 
Each ciramistaace of thb tby hopeless love^ 
Proceed tfioa to the fountain^ where ere long 
I shall be with thee. 

Mir. Heav'a attend my friend/ 
And grant thee that reward for pkying Hie, 
Which wTetched I have npt the power to give. 



SCENE II. 



PORINDA, LUPINO. 

Dor. (speaking to Silvia^s dog) 
O happy aninvdi the dear delight 
Of fair but barb'rous Silvio ; ala» ! 
Were 1 but half so* dear to him as thou, 
Melan>po! with that same white h^iid with which 
He tears my heart, he give9 thee gniteful food 
And soft caresses, and both day and pi^t 
With thy kind master thou art ever found, 
Whilst I that love him so* ^treat.aad s^h 
In vain, and that which grieves nie more th^n all, 
He lavishes upon thee such a load 
Of sweet and lu$ciou« l^isses, that but one 
Would v^e me ble^t ; ^nd si^ce I can no moc^ 
I'll kiss thee for my cbaruiing Silvio's sake. 



THE FAITHFUL SHEPHEBD. 5S 

Happy Melampo ! The propidous star 
Of love has sure conducted thee to me. 
That I may trace his steps ; lead on, sure guide^ 
Where love draws me, but instinct only thee. 
But hear I not a horn sound near at hand 
Among these woods ? 

SiL. {From the wood) Here, Melampo, here. 

Dor. That is the voice (if love delude me not) 
Of charming Silvio, who calls hb dog 
Amidst this grove ! 

SiL. Here, Melampo, here, here. 

Dor. It is indeed the very voice of Silvio ! 
Happy Darinda, heav'n hath sent thee now 
The good thou wast in search of; 'twill be best 
I hide the dog ; with what he values so 
Perchance 111 buy his love. Lupino ! 

Ltjp. Here. 

Dob. Go take this dog, and quickly hide thyself 
Amidst that thicket. Dost thou understand ! 

Lup. I do. 

Dob. And come not out until I call thee. 

Lup. I shall attend. 

Dor. Go quickly. 

Lup, But I pray thee 
Give orders, that in case this beast grow hungiy. 
He may not at one mouthful eat me up. 

Dor. H^nce, silly coward, have in mind my 
words. iLupino retires. 



%3 



H Vll« PAif 9?^i^ S«SP«¥B9. 

SiL. (a&oancmg) Abl whithisr «bfiU I tui» 
My wretched «teps Iq seek diee, Q oiy d^af 
Faithliil MelanfM^i OY«r Inll a»4 dnle 
IVe search'd for tbee in yw^ tjjl wkk fetigu* 
I can proceed no fttftbar. Guwed W 
That doe thou didst pursue ! hut We'« % i^rnqdi . 
Perdwiiice aeoiy give me some iplelligeiice. 
(Ande), O wbfil % yile eocouuter ! Tbi» is ahe 
Who with her iviportunities nioksta ni0«w 
Yet I must hear them now. Fw ny]|iph> O sagr 
If thou hast lu^ly seen about dieae wQ(QMh 
My failhliil dog Melawpo^ which I alipt 
After a doe ? 

]>oR. I^ Sib^ioy feir ? I im i 
Why dost thou caft me so, * 
O cruel ! sii^ce m thy ey«* I aiianat fair ^ 

SiL. (with a determined tone) 
Ym^ or not fair, say bask Acm see» my dog i 
Answer me this.: If noV I must he ^ne. 

Dor. So harsh to one that dotk adore tibee^ 
Silvio! 
Who would believe that in so sweet a foim 
So cru^l a soul could lodge !-^ 
Thou foUowest through tbe wooda 
And o'er tb^ craggy monntaiii heights^ 
A beast that fibs thee^ and consum'st thy pfwa^ 
Tia<?ipg the footsteps of a dog ; while I 
Ai^ ! who k>v^ thee so^ am shunn'd and seorn'd ? 



r 



Ah ! jqUqw Qot « 9>»9g d9e» b^t one 
Already caught, that's tame and full of love ! 

be conimt^ witb hsf ! 

Sih, Nyaapk, I c^tm h«re w seaich of my 
Melampo^ 
Not to lose tiiue^ AdMU*. 

Dor. Ah! cruel SiWio, S^vmm^ao ePQa^ 
ril tell thee news iodeed of tiiy M^lAwpo,, 

^L Thou &M)Jbsl m^ Doriqd^* 

BoR. O my Silvio 
By that same love that makes i»e ihyj fbni 49^% 

1 know this instant vber« MelampQ is. 
Tbou said'st burt now that he pursued a doe,f-p» 

SiL. He didy but so(po 1 lost the sight o£ both% 

Dor. Now both the. dog aud dpe axj^ in my 
power. 

SiL. In d^y power? 

I>o]ii. Yes, ia miiae ; and art thou pii^v'd^ 
Ungrateful youth^ to be oblig'd to ou# 
Who loves thee? 

Sii*. My dear Doxiada^ give thevi me I prqgr. 

Dor. Ah! fickfeyoud^ alas! tQwhsvtsadpUgllt 
Am I reduced^ when beasts endear me to thee ! 
Yes, my dear scuil, I shall restore thy dog. 
But not without reward. 

SuL. 'Tis reasonable.-^* 
I'U give thee*^now 111 banter her a yAdk^^adde) 

Dor. What wilt thou give me f 



S6 THE FAITHFUL SHEPHBRB* 

SiL. Two fair ripe apples Chat might vie vntk 
gold, 
Which my fair mother gave me yesterday.* 

Dor. Icarenotforlhem. I could give thee some 
Sweeter and fairer, but thou scom'st my gifts. 

SiL. What would'st thou th^i i 
A goat or lambkin i but my father yet 
Will not permit diat I should touch the flock. 

Dor. Nor for a goat nor lambkin do I care ; 
Thee only, Silvio, and thy love I crave. 

SiL. Will nothii^ please thee but my love f 

Dor. Tis all my heart desires. 

SiL. Yes, yes, I'll give it thee ; restore me theu 
Dear nymph, my dog and doe. 

Dor. O if thou kuew'st 
How precious is the treasure which thou giv'st 
So freely ! O were but thy words sincere ! 

SiL. Hear, beauteous nymph ! I find thoutalk'st 
to me 
Still of a thing call'd love. I do not know 
What this may be. Thou wishest I diould love thee ; 
I do (as far as I can understand) 
liove thee with all my heart ; thou call'st me cruel; 
I know not what this cruelty may be. 
Nor how to please thee. 

Dor. Wretched Dorinda ! where alas ! are plac'd 
Thy hopes ! from whence dost thou expect thy cure*! 

• 

* Literally, as we would say, t*a^er day* 



r 



THE ¥AlTVifVh 9BBJHlSmD. 4^7 

From befwtf wMeh fts yot hw Mt no tpwk' 
Of Love's bright flraie wUch burw iu ev'ry laver! 
O beauteous love-inspjf iog youth, 
Thou art a 6ire to me, and yet thyself 
Art cold ; thou br^adiest k>v«, yet feeFat no kwe* 
That beauteous goddess whom the Cypiiaiiflr honour^ 
Took a most lovely human form 
To bring thee forth ; arrowa thou hast, and fire^ 
«. As well my bleeding, burning bosom knows. 
Hadst thou upon thy shoidders wings, 
AAOther Cupid thou wouldst then appear. 
And if thy heart were not of ice, 
Thou wouldst want nothing to be Loire, saw lave.. 

SiL. What is this thing call'd love i 

Dor. When to thy face I turn my eyes. 
Love is the bliss of Paradise ; 
But when I view my inward ^me> 
It is a hot infernal flame. 

SiL. Nymph, there's enough of words ; 
Give me, I pray thee now, my dog and doe. 

Doe. First give thou me the love I bargain'd for. 

SiL. Have I not giv'n it thee i O what a work 
To please this woman ! (cmde.) Take it, make of k 
Whate'er thou wiH, M^ho hinders thee P or who 
Withholds it from thee ? What desir'st thou more ? 
Why trifle thus so long ? 

Dor. Wretched Dorinda, all thy labour's vain. 

SiL. What dream'st thou of F or why detain me so f 

Dor. No sooner shaU I grant thee thy desire, 



' 



58 . THE VAITHPUL SHEPHERD. 

Than dioa wilt fly £rom me, perfidious SSvio. 

SiL. N09 indeed, fair nymph. 

Dor. Give me a pledge. 

SiL. What pledge dost thou desire? 

Doe. Alas ! I dare not name it. 

SiL. Wherefore not ? 

Dor. Because I am asham'd. 

SiL. Yet diou art bold enough to ask. 

Dor. Fd fain 
Be understood without my naming it. 

SiL. Art thou asham'd to name it, and yet not 
Asham'd to take it ? 

Dor. Promise it to me, 
And I will name it. 

SiL. Well, I promise it ; 
But name it first. 

Dor. Ah ! understand'st thou not. 
My charming Silvio ? I'd have understood 
If thou had'st said but half as much to me. 

SiL. Then truly thou hast greater wit than I. 

Dor. I've more love, Silvio, and less cruelty. 

SiL. To speak the truth, 
I am no conjuror. If thou desir'st 
That I should understand thee, speak more plainly. 

Dor. O misery ! 'tis one of those things, then. 
Thy mother gives thee ? 

SiL. A box o' th' ear f 

Dor. a blow to one that loves thee, SUvio ! 

SiJL. My mother often gives me such like tiuoga* 



THE FAITHFUL SHEFHEBB. 59 

Dor. j^i! welll know she does not give thee these 
But oft she gives thee kisses. 

SiL. She neither gives me kisses. 
Nor would have others kiss me. Is't a kiss 
Hiou wishest I should give thee for a pledge ? 
It is. Thou answer'st not, thy blush betrays thee. 
Indeed I thought so. Well, I'll give it thee, 
But thou must first restore my dog and doe. 

Dob. But dost thou promise ? 

SiL. Yes, indeed I do. 

Dor. But wilt thou keep thy word f 

SiL. In truth I will, but trouble me no more. 

Dor. Come forth Lupino. 
Lupino, dost thou sleep ? 

Lup. O vile disturbance! 
Who calls ? I come, I come ; it was not I 
Tliat slept. O no, indeed, it was the dog. 

Dob. Look, Silvio, there's thy dog. He sure 
might teach 
His master more humanity. 

SiL. How overjoy 'd am I! 

Dob. He came to rest 
Within these arms where thou disdain'st to come. 

SiL. O dear Melampo, my most faithful dog! 

Dob. Who didst not scorn my sighs and kisses! 

SiL. Oh! 
I'll kiss thee o'er and o'er a thousand times. 
I hope thou got'st no hurt in the pursuit. 

Dob. O happy dog ! why cannot I exchange 



GO THK VAfTitYuL snrci^iifeftD. 

My ittt uMi tlofie! tfhn^ kow low Vm ootfie> 
To envy a dog's life ! Ltt(MK> go 
Towards the chase ; Til Aertly fbttyw tiMMw 
Lup. I go> my mnifess. 



SCENE m. 

Silvio, Dorini^a. 

SiL. {Still speaking ta his dog,) 
My dear Mehompo, O what joy I feel 
Thou got'st no harm !-*-Now «s Ibr Aee, tKHinda, 
Where is this doe which thou hast promised me f 

Dor. Dost thou desire her whether aliv^or dead ? 

SiL. I coiu|^reiieiid. thee not ; How can she Vt^t 
After the dog has kdl'd her P 

Dor. But if he- has niX kiU'd her ? 

SiL. Is she then alive f 

Dor. Alive. 

SiL. Then is the prey the more acceptable. 
And had my dear Melampo so mudi ait 
As not to hurt her i 

Dor. Only in the heart 
She got a little wound. 

SiL. Thou'rt either mad 
Dorinda, or thou mock'st and foolest me. 
How can £te live if wounded in the beait? 



THE FAITHlfUL SHEPHERD. 6\ 

Dor. That hapless wounded doe^ 
Am ly most cruel Silvio, , 
Caught atid conquered by thy charms. 
Without the aid of other arms ; 
Alive and well, if thou should'st take me, 
But dead, alas ! should'st thou forsake me. 

SiL. Is this that doe, that prey 
Which thou didst tell me of? 

Dor. This, and no other; but alas! 
What thus disturbs thee, gentle Silvio f 
Is not a nymph more precious than a beast? 

SiL. I love thee not, but rather hate thy sight, 
Thou most unlovely, false, importunate. 

Dor. And am I thus revirarded, cruel Silvio ? 
Ungrateful youth ! take thy Melampo free, 
Myself and sA, if thou desert me not, 
I shall remit the rest, let me but feel 
The jdeasing sunshine of thy beauteous eyes. 
Thee shall: I follow everywhere; 
More faithAil than Melampo I shall trace 
Thy steps, and when Aou shalt return 
Tir'd from the chase, Fll wipe thy brow,. 
And on this breast that for the love of thee 
Ne'er finds the sweets of rest, thou shalt repose. 
I'll bear thy arms, I'll bear the prey thou tak'st 
Amidst the woods, and should'st thou want for prey, 
Shoot at Dorinda : 'gainst this tender breast 
Thou may'st employ thy bow ; for I shall be 
Both prey and slave to bear it, both the mark 



62 THE FAITHFUL SHEPHERD. 

And qiiiver for thy arrows. But alas ! 

Why do I talk ? deaf to my words thou art. 

And dost thou also fly lest shou should'st hear 

them f — 
But fly ; Dorinda shall pursue thee still, 
Ev'n to the cruellest hell ; if any hell 
Can prove to me a greater pain 
Than my own sorrow, and thy fierce disdain. 



SCENE IV. 

CORISCA. 

CoR. O how kind fortune favours my designs 
Beyond my warmest hopes ! and meet it is 
They should be favoured, who, dismissing sloth. 
Play well their own part, and improve her smiles* 
Her power is doubtless great, nor is't for nought 
That mankind all pay worship at her shrine. 
But we should go to meet and fondle her, 
Smoothing her path ; the slothful seldom prove 
The favourites of Fortune ; had not I 
Contriv'd by industry to be the friend 
Of her who now can aid my bold designs. 
And so i^curely brii^ them to an end, 
The aid of Fortune had been small indeed*. 
Some silly fool now would have fled her rival, 

* ^The Translator hfts Tentured to add this line, a» he thinks 
the sentence ia theltalian is incomplete. 



THE FAITHFUL SHEPHERD. 63 

And look'd upon her with an evil eye. 
Bearing the open riiarks of jealousy 
Imprinted on her brow ; — ^that had been wrong. 
For open foes are'easier to evade 
Than such as are concealed. A hidden rock 
Deceives th' experienc'd mariner, and one 
Who cannot seem a friend is no fierce foe, 
Corisca's skill shall now be tried and prov'd ; 
But I'm not yet so dull as to believe 
She does not love. Others she may delude, 
Not me, who am a mistress in the art. 
A young and simple girl, an infant maid 
Just from the cradle, upon whose.fair bloom 
Love lavishes his freshest,- kindest sweets, 
Loi^ courted and belov'd by one so fair, 
And more than that, kiss'd o'er and o'er again. 
Shall she remain inflexible ! O fool 
That e'er could credit it, so do not I. 
But see how destiny assists my ends ! 
Here Amarillis opportunely comes.-— 
I shall retire as if I saw her not. 

{She retires.) 



SCENE V, A thick Wood. 

« 

AMABILms. 

Am, Dear happy groves, and you, 
Ye solitaryi awe-inspiring glooms, 

f£ 



64 THE FAITHFUL SHEPHEBD. 

Where peace and rest for ever dwell ! 

O with what heartfelt joy 

Do I revisit you ! and had my stars 

Unfetter'd left my choice to live 

Conform to my desires, I should not then 

Ev'n for the blest Elysian fields, 

Those smiling gardens fiU'd widi demigods. 

Your peaceful bowers and happy shades exdiange. 

For that which foolish mortals give the name 

Of good, is to discerning minds 

But evil hid beneath a fair disguise ; 

He who has most of fortime's vain 

And empty gifts, has least of solid joy, 

Nor is so much possessor as possessed. 

Riches are they ? No ? but snares 

That catch the liberty of such as own than. 

What boots it in our blooming years 

To have renown of beauty's charms, 

Or title fairer still of spotless fume. 

Celestial virtues lock'd in mortal veins, 

Blessings of heav'n and earth, here fertile fields. 

And there rich meadows, fruitful pasture grounds, 

And flocks more fruitful, if possess'd of these. 

The heart still lacks content, the greatest good i 

How blest the shepherdess, whose simple robe 

Just clothes her, coarse but clean, from gaudy pomp 

Of dress exempt, rich in herself alone, 

With nature's humble ornaments adom'd ! 

lo tranquil poverty she feels no want, 



THE FAITHFUL SHEPHERD. 65 

Nor the distractions that on wealth attend. 

But pleas'd with what she has^ is still 

A stranger to the stings of avarice. 

Poor but content ; with nature's gifts restores 

The gifts of nature, milk with milk revives ; 

And with the sweets the bees produce^ 

Seasons the honey of her native sweetness. 

The crystal fountain that supplies her drink^ 

Is bath at once and mirror to her charms ; 

And since she's pleas'd, she cares not for the world. 

Should clouds and storms obscure the face of heav'n^ 

Or should the rattling hail descend, 

She fears not, for her poverty's her shield. 

Poor, but content ! one care alone 

(A pleasing care, from pining sorrow free,) 

Rests in her heart ; with verdant grass she feeds 

Her fleecy chaige ; and with her lovely eyes 

Some shepherd swain who lives but in her smiles, 

No lover destin'd or by men or heav n. 

But one whom Love alone bestows; 

And in some favourite shady myrtle grove 

She loves and is belov'd ; nor feels for him 

A flame in secret, but declares that flame 

To him who feels and owns its influence. 

Poor but content ! O this is, truly life 

Which knows no death, till death arrives ! 

O that I had enjoy 'd a lot like this ! — 

But see Corisca comes — may heaven guard thee 

Dearest Corisca! — 

f3 



66 THE FAITHFUL SH£PH£BB« 

CoRiscA advances, 
CoH. Who is this that calls me i 

Amarillis dearer than my life. 

Or gracious light of heaven to my eyes. 
Whither so lonely dost thou go i 

Am. Nowhere 
But where thou seest me, nor more at ease 
Could I be any where, since thou art here. 

Cor. Thou findest her who never parts fromdiee^ 
Sweet Amarillis, and but now of thee 

1 tliought within my heart, and thus was saying : 
^' If I'm her soul, how can she live so long 

^^ Apart from me?'' when opportunely here. 
My soul, I met thee ; but, alas ! no more 
Thou lov'st thine own Corisca! 

Am. Wherefore not ? 

Cor. Why ask me wherefore? thou dost wed 
to*day 

Am. I wed ! 

Cor. Yes, and thou keep'st it hid from me. 

Am. How could I tell thee th^it which I myself 
Knew nothing of i 

CoR. And still dost thou d^ay. 
And wear a mask to me i 

Am. Still dost thou mock me i 

CoR. Rather thou mockest me. 

Am. But speak'st thou this for truth i 

CoR. I swear 'tis true. 
But know'st thou nothing of it i 



THE FAITHFUL SHEPHERD. 67 

Am. I know I am betroth'd, but did not know 
My nuptials were so near ; and whence had«t tbou 
Intelligence of this? 

Cor. To-day my brother 
Ormino told it me, and he again 
Says many told it him, and diat the news 
Is now in every mouth ; thou seem'st perple^^'d. 
Should news like this disturb thee i 

Am« O Corisca, 
Tis no slij^t matter ; for my mother oft 
Told me a woman on her wedding-day, 
Is bom again.— 

CoR« Tis true we're bom agaia 
To better life, therefore rejoice. Thoti i^gh'stl 
Ah ! wherefore ? leave that wreteh to sigh* 

Am. What wretch? 

Cor. MirtiUo, who was present 
At what my brother told me, and was nigh 
Struck dead with grief; and doubtless he had <tied> 
Had I not giv'n him aid by |Nromising 
To break this match, which tho' I only said 
To comfort him, I know, if need requir'd, 
How to effect it ? 

Am. Canst thou tell in troth 
How to dissolve this match ? 

CoR. I know the means. 

Am. How wouldst thou do it th^? 

CoR. With ease enough 
Shouldst thou be so inclin'd^ and give thy aid. 



$9 THE FAITHFUL SHEPHER0. 

Am. Could I believe diis possible^ and diou 
Wouldst pledge thy Audi not to reveal my ^ords, 
I would disclose to thee a secret thought 
Which I have long kept hid within my breast. 

Cor. I e'er reveal it! let the earth first ope 
Miraculously and swallow me alive. 

Am. Know then Corisca : when I thiidc how I 
Must all my life be subject to a youth 
Who hates and flies me, and who has no joy 
Save in the woods, and loves a savage prey 
And dog of chase more than a thousand nymphs, 
I'm very ill content, and little less 
Than desperate at the thought, yet dare not say it ^ 
Honour and decency forbid I should ; 
Nay more; my faith is to my father pledg'd. 
And what is worse, I've pledg'd it at the shrine 
Of the great goddess, and to violate 
A vow so solemn, is a frightful thoi^ht ; 
But if thy hidustry can find a way, 
(On the condition that my faith, my life^ 
And my religion, and my honest fame 
Be all preserv'd) to cut this galling knot, 
To thee my life and safety 1 shall owe. 

Cor. Since this forced out thy sighs, good dnis^ 
thou had'st 
To sigh, indeed ! ah ! often have I said : 
** What pity to bestow a gift so fair, 
" A gem of such inestimable worth, 
'^ On one who cannot prize it !'' But thou art 



THE FAITHFUL 6HEPHERP. 09 

By far too scrupulous to speak the truth ; 
Simplicity prevents thy words — But why 
Keep silaace ? What restrains thy just complaints i 

Am. Shame ties my toi^ue. 

Cor. Thou hast a sore disease^ 
My sister, I would rather bear a fever, 
Or have a demon struggling in my breast^ 
Or lose the use of reason, as have that; 
But trust me, Amarillis, 'twill be cur'd. 
Abjure and conquer it but only once, 
^Twill ne'er return. 

Am. Shame stamp'd upon the heart 
By nature, we can never overcome ; 
For if we try to drive it from the hearty 
Up to the face it flies. 

CoR. Alas! my Amarillis, often she 
That thro' excess of wisdom will not tell 
Her malady, at length proclaims it thro' despair. 
Hadst thou before vdisclos'd thy mind to me, 
Thou hadst been free from pain, and now thou hast, 
Corisca's power shall be display'd to-day. 
Into more faithful or more skilful hands. 
Thou could'st not fall . But when thou shalt he freed 
From a bad husband by my proffer'd aid. 
Wilt thou refuse my counsel in the choice . 
Of an agreeable lover ? 

Am. We shall think 
Of this at greater leisure. 

Cor. But in truth 



* / 



-' 



70 THE FAITHFUL SHBPHERd* 



Faithfiil Mirtillo must not be forgot. 

Thou knowest that for worth and spotless faith 

And youthful charms, there's not a shepherd swans 

More worthy of tliy love, and yet (ah cruel !) 

Thou leavest him to perish, nor wilt grant 

So much as hear him tell thee that he dies. 

Am. O how much wiser 'twere 
For him to rest in peace, and from his heart 
Root out a love that's hopeless. 

Cor. Ere he die 
Grant him diis one poor comfort. 

Am. Sure I am 
HTwould only serve to double his affliction* 

CoR. Leave him to think of that. 

Am. What would become 
Of me, if this were ever brought to light i 

Cor. Faint-hearted maid ? 

Am. Faint-hearted may I be 
In what concerns my honour ! 

Cor. Amarillis 
If thou mayst fail to grant this little boon. 
Then may I also fail thee in the rest. 
Adieu. 

Am. Nay: Stay, Corisca, hear a word. 

CoR. Not one, unless thou promise. '^ 

Am. Well ; I promise 
To hear him once, if bound I shall not b9 
To hear him oftener. 

CoR. Once is all he asks. 



THE FAITHFUL SHEPHERD. 71 

Am. And let him not suspect I know of it. 

Cor. Ill cause it seem as tho' ye met by chance. 

Am. And that I may depart whene'er I will^ 
Without more trouble. 

CoR. That whene'er thou wilt. 
If thou but hear him. 

Am. And that what he says 
Be finish'd quickly. 

CoR. This is also granted. 

Am,. And that he come no nearer than the length 
Of this my dart? 

Cor. O what a mighty stir 
To satisfy thy strange simplicity ! 
Ill tie up every member but his tongue. 
What would'st thou more? 

Am. Enough. I'm satisfied. 

CoR. And when wilt thou do this ? 

Am. Whene'er thou pleasest ; 
Only allow me to go home to hear 
More certain news about these nuptials. 

CoR. Go : and with caution ; but a moment hear 
What I have just contriv'd : that towards noon, 
I'd have thee come into this shady walk 
Without thy nymphs, where I shall be prepar'd 
For this occasiou, and shall with me have 
In readiness Nerina, Aglaura, Eliza, 
And Phillis and Licoris, prudent all, 
No less than faithful, secret and discreet 



7£ THU FAITHFUL SHEPHERB. 

With tbem tfiou tbere siwlt play a» thott art wont, 
At Uindfold sport, 80 ^11 Mirtillo tfauar 
With ease enough believe that thou hadst come 
For thy own sport, and not to meet wiA him. 

Am, I like thiji wondrous well, but would not 
wish 
Tliese nymphs were pfedoit at Mirfillo's words. 
Dost diou observe ? 

CoR. O yes, I understand. 
Well thought; and I'll take care no fear of this 
May trouble thee ; I'll make them disappear 
In proper time ; go then and keep in mind 
To love thy faithful friend Corisca ever. 

Am. Smce I have plac'd my heart withSn herhandsr. 
She may command at pleasure all my love. 

Exit Amar. 

CoR. (sola.) Is she not hard to move ? I must 
assault 
This rock with greater force ; should she rewst 
Ml/ words, Mirtillo's surely will prevail. 
Well do I know the power of gentle pray'rs 
From him die loves, in a young vwgin's heart. 
And if she once do yield, 111 make her pay 
So dear for this short game, she'll soon perceive 
It is no sport ; and I'll not only watfch 
Her doubtful wotds, but pawstrate tliro' all 
The dark recesses of her heart, «nd see 
Her deepest thoughts, as if she spoke them out ; 



THE FAItHFUL StIEFHBltD. 73 

Hiat done^ and I made mistress of her secret 
I'll wind her as I please without controul 
To what I wish, so skilfully^ that she 
Shall ne'er believe, much less shall others dream> 
The power alone of my consummate art 
Accomplish'd all; but her unbridled love. 



a 



SCENE VI. 

Manet Cobisca — Satiro enters slyly. 

Cob. Ah me! I'm dead! 

Sat. And I alive. 

Cor. Return, 
Return my Amarillis, I am caught-^ 

Sat. She hears thee not ; now it Will suit thee well 
To stand unmov'd! — (He pulls her hair.) 

Cob. Oh me! my hair! 

Sat. So long 
I've angled for thee, till at last thou'rt fall'n 
Into my net ; thou canst not fly me now. 
It is thy hair I hold, and not thy robe. 

Cob. This usage, wretch, to me! 

Sat. Yes, ev'n to thee, 
Corisca, famous mistress in the art 
Of making flne-spun lies, that sell'st so dear. 
False words, feign'd looks, and disappointed hopes^ 
She that has oft betray'd and bapter'd me^ 

o 



74 TH« FAITHFUIt SBEPHEftI>. 

The fiun'd deceiydiv nad i die wickqdf cheat 
Corisca! 

Cor. I confess! am Goriaea; 
Bui am no kmgcgr sfae< that nvaa so dear» 
Gentle Satiro> to thine eyes before* 

Sat. Wfetch^ ami gentle now? I.was not so^ 
When thou didst leave my love for Condon's. 

CoR. Thee for another ! 

Sat. Now thou hear^st a wdnder ; 
Strange news to one that's so sincere as thou ! 
Whea beauteous Lilla's bow thou mad'st me steals 
And Chloris' veil, and Daphne's broider'd robe. 
And Silvia's buskins^ all the price o£love, 
Promis'd to me, yet to another giv'n ; 
And when the lovely garland which I wreath'd; 
Tasuit thy. head^ thoui g^v'st away to Niso^ 
And when thoii mad'stnu^ 'midst the daricooldnigfats!, 
Watch at the cave, the fountain, and die wood. 
And all I got was scorn : pray did I then: 
Seem gentle to thee? Wr^ch, I'll make.thee pay 
Dear, dea^, for dv^ dtceit-^ Pulling her.) 

CoR. Oh me! thou.dcagg^st me 
As if I were a beasU 

Sat. Thou nam'st thyadf 
Most properly. Escape now, if thou can'st ; 
I'm not afraid theu'lt fly.; this hold I have 
Makes vidn diy. artifices; once before 
Leaving tbyi robe behind, thou.fled'st, but now 



THE FAITHFUIi 8HSPHERD. 75 

Unless tiioii mean'st to leave thy boid; iii vaia - 
Are all thy hopes of fiight. 

CoE. Ah! yet allow me 
A little time to answer for myseift 

Sat. Speak. 

Cor. Howtsan I speak whiiel son held so fysti 
Let me go free* 

Sat^ I'm no such simpleton. 

Cob. I pledge my faith I shall not istir from 
hence. 

Sat. Whatfdih? p^£ous woman! d^'st thou 
still 
To mention faidi f-^I sIaII conduct thee straight 
To the most frightful cavcO'n in this moutilain^ 
Where ne'er a sunbeam enters, nor tite track 
Of human foot — ^I will not s^ak the rest*^ 
Thoult feel my vengeance. 

Cor. CanSst diou then be so cruel to (hb hair 
Which t^ thy heart f which once was diy delight ! 
To that Ccnisca dearer than Ihy life, 
For whom before thou wast in use to swear 
Thou cpukbt with pleasure welcome dealh itself? 
Canst ihou then think to offer injury 
To her, 1 say ? O heav'ns! O destiny! 
Whom have I hop'd in ? whohi can 1 belieii« 
Henceforth ? 

Sat. Ah wretch ! slill think'st thou to deceive f 
Still dost thou try diy irauds and flatteries i 

G & 



76 THS FAITHFUL SHEPHERD. 

Cor. Ah ! dear Satlro, do no longer harm 
To her who loves thee. Sure thou'il not a beast,. 
Nor hast a heart of marble^ or of flint ; 
Behold me at thy feet ! if I have e'er 
Offended thee, thou idol of my heart, 

pardon me, I pray thee! By those strong, 
And more than human knees which I embrace^ 
To which I bow ; by that dear love which once 
lliou hadst for me ; by that sweet influence 
Which us'd to issue from these weeping eyes 
Thou OQce didst call two stars, two fountains now. 
And by these bitter tears which flow from tbem, 

1 pmy thee, pity me, and let me go. 

Sat. Ah wretch ! thou mov'st me ; should I 
hearken now 
To pity alone, I should be overcome. 
But to be short, I do not credit thee; 
Thou art too wicked, and too full of wiles-; 
The more diou'rt trusted, thou deceiv'st the more« 
Beneath this humble show, beneath these pray'ra 
Corisca lurks concealed; thou canst not be 
So different from thyself; contend'st thou still! 

(HepuUs Iter again,). 

CoR. Oh me! my head! ah cruel ! O forbear 
A moment, and deny me not, I pray, 
One little fstvour. 

Sat. Speak ; what favour's this ? 

CoB.That thou wQuldstbearmeyet a little while*. 



THE FAITHFUL SHEPHERD. 77 

Sat. Thouhop'it; pcrdwnoe^bj flattering wofdl 
and tears 
To soften me. 

Cob. Ah! courteous Satiro, 
And must I be destroyed i 

Sat. Come; and thou'It see. 

Cor. Is thereno nhercy? < 

Sat. None. 

Cor. Art thou resolv'df 

Sat. I am resolv'd': But is this charm of thme 
Not finish'd ycilt ? 

CoR. O imeinampied viUany! base wretch! 
Hiyif man, hdf goat! all orer tboo'rt a beast; 
Foul carrion^ monster of a loathsome kind I 
If thou believ'st Corisca lov^ thee tiot. 
Then thou believ'st the truth. What should she krve 
In thee ? that dog's face P or that filthy beard ? 
Or these goat's ears ? that putrid cave thy mouth,. 
That once bad teeth i 

Sat. O wicked wretch ! 
This talk to me ! 

CoR. Yes ; cr'n to thecr 

Sat. To me^ thou shameless scold t 

CoR. To thee, huge goat! 

Sat. Afld yet I pull »9t otA 
Thy barkkig tongue i 

CoR» If thou* dar'st but approach me. 
And couMm have courage ! 

Sat. a little, paltry^ despicable woman 
In such condition; even in my hands, 

g3 



78 THE FAITHFUL SHEPHBROb 

Thus to abiue, and scoro, and dare me toot. 
IwiU— 

Cob. What wilt thou do^ base vQlainf 

Sat. Eat thee aim. 

Cob. And with what teeth; I pray. 
Since thou hast none ? 

Sat. O heaven! canst thou see 
And suffer this ! but if I shall not have. 
Ample revenge ! Come on-*. 

Cob. I'll not come on. 

Sat. Thou wilt hot, Mrs Wickedness ?' 

Cob. No> I won't, in spite of thee I won't. 

Sat. That shall be seen; come, else I'll drs^ 
thee so>. 
I'll pull away thy armsi 

Cob. I will not go, 
Tho' I should leave my head% 

Sat. Come on ; let's see 
Which b the strongest of us, and we'll try 
Which is the firmest set, this neck of thine . 
Or these my arms. Thy hands thou usest tool 
These are too weak, young vixen— 

Cob. We shall see. 

Sat. Yes indeed. 

Cob. Pull hard, Satiro. Now adiei*— 

\^She pushes him over^ 
Get thy neck set, 'tis out of joint — 

Sat. Oh me! O miserable wretch! alas! 
Alas ! my head !-— alas ! my side !< 



THE FAITHFUL &HEPHERD* Y9 

my back-bone ! — O ivhat a cruel fall ! 

1 cannot rise ; scarce have I power to move ! 
And has she fled and left her head with me ! 

O marvellous ! ye nymjrfis and shepherds^ haste. 

Flock hither, and behold a wonder, one 

Who by her skill in magic runs about. 

And lives without her head! How light it is ! 

How little biains it has! but how is this. 

No blooid flows from it ! Let me see : O fool ! 

O madman! she without her head ! 'ds thou 

Thyself hast lost thy hcsad ! Who ever saw 

A man so fool'd ! see now how she contrived 

To fly when thou didst think she was secure. 

Perfidious sorceress ! was it not enough 

Thy heart, thy face, thy words, thy smiles, thy looks 

Were false, but thou must also falsify 

Thy hair ? behold, ye foolish poets, this, 

This is the flowing gold, the amber pure 

Which ye extol so much. Blurfi, therefore, now, 

Ye foob, and now recant your wonted theme. 

Instead of it, go sing the impious arts 

Of an impure and wicked sorceress,. 

Who plunders graves by night, and from dead skulls 

Stealing the hair, entwines it with her own 

So skilfully, that she hath made you praise 

What you should hate more than the horrid locks 

Of dire Megsera's"*^ head that swarms with snakes. 

* One of the Furies. 



80 THE FAITHFUL SHBPHEBD. 

Sucb^ lovers, are your duduB ; behold them now^ 
And bludt; and if, as ye protest, your hearts 
Are fasten'd to them, now may each of you 
Without a si^ or tear take back his own. 
But why delay to publish her disgrace ? 
Surely that briUiant hair whidi, sown with stan^ 
Adonu. tbe sky,* was never so renown'd 
As this, and Ae that wore it diall by me 
Be render'd infamous to future times* 

CHORUS. 

Ah! 'twas a grievous iault, indeed, 
(The cause from whence our woes proceed) 
In her f who broke the sacred laws 
Of Love, by breaking of her faith ! 
And this, alas ! the fatal cause 
That kindled heaven's flamii^ wrath. 
Yet unabated by a flood 
Of tears, and streams of guiltless blood. 
Thus virtue's root, unspotted ^th. 
Best ornament of noble minds. 
In heav'nsuch mighty value finda; 
And such a care to make us lovers. 
By which we truest bliss nfiay prove. 
He who is love itself, discovers 
High m the realms of light above. 

* Alluding to the ^air of Berenice, which was feigned to f>e 
transferred to heaven, and changed into a constellation, 
t i. e. Lucrinai formerly mentioned. 



THE FAITHFUL SHEPHERD. 81 

» 

Mistaken mortals^ ever blind, 

Who still to wealth addict your mind ! 

Who with a watchful eye behold 

The urn that keeps the*buried gold ! 

Or wander like a restless shade. 

That goes by night around his grave : 

Those hearts for living beauties made, 

Can love of beauty dead enslave i 

Treasures and wealth are but insensate loves, 

Tis soul with soul to join that only proves 

Love's proper object; souls can love again, 

Such love is truly worth a lover's pain. 

The kiss is sweet that's giv'n the blooming rose 

Of a vermilion cheek, as the true lover knows. 

^is a dead kiss, say I, and must be poor. 

Whene'er the iiair does not the kiss restore ; 

But when two loving lips witli lips unite. 

That glow with mutual warmth, O whafr delight T 

How sweet the vengeance, when with double darts 

Love at one instant pierces both their hearts. 

This is true rapture, this, when both receive 

Back from each other just the bliss they give. 

The lips of a fair nymph will well repay 

The kiss again which you have snatch'd away.. 

The lips alone ; to them both souls repair, 

And each fond soul imprints its kisses there* 

The wandering spirits leave the heart, 

And to the glavidng. rubies life impart.. 



82 THE FAITHFUL 8HSFHEE0. 

These lively kisses have a voice 

That speaks great things with litde noise. 

And secrets sweety which they alone 

That love, can know, to others aU unknown. 

Such life, such mutual delights 

Are found where soul with soul nniln : 

As kisses when retum'd, most pleasii^ firovep 

So joy two hearts dbat render love for love. 



END OF THE SECOND ACT. 



( es ) 



THE 



FAITHFUL SHEPHERDb 



ACT III- SCENEI. 



MlBTILLO. 

MiR. O gentle spring, youtb of tke neM^boni 
year, 
Mother of flowers, new verdure, and new loves'! 
Fair season, thou relum'st again. 
But not with thee.retum 
Those happy days thou hast been wont to bring, 
Whose every hour was joy ; thou art retum'd. 
But with thee nought, alas ! returns. 
Save the sad recollection of my dear 
Lost treasure, ah! remembrance fiill of woe !— 
Thou art die same, the very same 
Fair smiling season as thou wert before. 
But I am now no more what once I was. 
So dear to those fair 6yes, my only joy ! 
O bitter sweets of love! far heavier grief 



\ 



84 THE FAlTHFVli SHEPHERD. 

It is to lose, than never to have known 

Or tasted love's delights i how blest a thing 

Were love, when gain'd, if it could ne'er be lost, 

Or being lost, all memory then 

Of the lost happiness should vanish too ! 

But if my hopes to-day, as they are wont. 

Be not of glass, or if my ardent love 

Make not my hope too great, 111 here behold 

That nymph, the sun of my desiring eyed ; 

And if I'm not decelv'd by others' wiles. 

With joy I'll see the charming fugitive 

Stop at my mournful sighs, and here 

My greedy eyes shall hav^ a feaust 

Upon the sweet food of her lovely face, 

After their painful fast endur'd so long. 

Here I'll behold that proud one turn 

Her haughty eyes upon me, if not full 

Of tenderness, at least of fierce disdain ; 

And if not fraught with amorous joy, 

At least so kindly cruel that I may die. 

O sigh'd for long in vain. 

Most happy day ! if after such a length 

Of gloomy days and bitter tears, 

At last thou grant me. Love, to see to-day 

The sun that dwells in her fair eyes, 

Shine forth anew amidst iserener skies. 

But here £rgasto urg'd me to repair ; 
Here, as he said, Cori^ca, and my love 



THE FAITIWUL SHEPHERD. 85 

Fair Amarillift were to meet to play 
At blindfold sport ; but here^ O cruel fate! 
I can see nothii^ save my love that^s blind. 
Seeking by the direction of another. 
Its light and cannot find it — Heaven grant 
My envious destiny has not contriv'd 
Some bitter bind*rance to my happiness ! 
This long delay with grief and fear afRicto 
My trembling heart. For every single hour 
Nay every moment that delays their bliss, 
To lovers seems an age. But who can tell ? 
Perchance I'm come too late, Corisca here 
Perchance has waited for me long in vain. 
And yet I strove to lose no time. Ah me ! 
If this prove true, then, death, I welcome thee« 

«CENE II. 
Amabillis bKndfoldedy Mirtillo, Corisca, 
• Chorus of Nymphs 

Am. Behold the buff! 
Mir. (aside.) Too sure 'tis she! O sight! 
Am. Come on; why this delay? 
Mir. OvoicethatwoundsandcuresmeallatoBce! 
Am. Where are they all ? Lisetta, where art thou 
Who wast of all most eager for the game ? 
And thou Corisca, whither art thou gone ? 

Mir. W^eil may they say indeed that Love is blind ! 
Am. Hear, you diat are appointed for my guides, 
7o lead me up and down, take iiow my hand, 

H 



^ I 



86 THE FAITHFUL SHEPHERB. 

Before the rest of our compaqio^^ come. 
And lead me to a distance frpoi these trees. 
To where there's greater rocMii, and there alone . 
First leave me in the midsti then with the rest, ' 
Around me all together form a ring. 
And let the game begin. 

MiR. (aside.) But what shall I do ? 
Since here I do not see of what avail 
TJiis game can prove to me to aid mj love. 
Nor can I anywhere behold Corisca 
Who is my northern star. Assist me heaven ! 

Enter Nymphs. 

Am. O are ye come at last^ and did you mean 

Only to blind my eyes ? Come^ let's begin. 

Chor. O Love, I can believe thou art not blind, 

But that thou darkenest the credulous mind, 

And if small sight thou dost possess, 

Ah ! cunning Love^ thy faith is Iess« 

Blind or not, thou try'st in vain 

Me into thy snares to gain, • 

And to 'scape thy treach'ry, lo ! 

Far from thy eager readi I go. ' 

Blind art thou ! yet couldst behold 

More than Argus' eyes of old. 

Blind art thou! yet well couldst see 

Both to cheat and fetter me ! 

But now, when loosen'd from thy chain, 

Ne'er shall I play the fool 9gain 



THE FAITHFUL SHEPHERB. 87 

To trust thee ; let him sport with thee that may, 

I will act a wiser way, 

For in thy sport thou'rt sure to slay. 

Am. You play at far too great a distance still ; 
You run too soon ; you ought to strike me first, 
Then fly ; — approach me, touch me, then I'm sure 
You run not free from risk. 

Mir. O mighty pow'rs! what do I see, or wh«:e 
Is this I am ? in heaven or on eg,^th ? 
O heavens have your eternal rolling sphere* 
Such harmony of motion I have your stars 
Beauty that shines so fair P or can the voice 
Of ai^Is warble melody m<M'e sweet ? 

Chor. Blind archer, still thou urgest me 

To vulture on and sport with thee ; 

Well, tlieref(»re, I at last grow bold. 

And strike, then fly to ^scape thy hold. 

Hien I strike and run agkin, 

And thou wheelest round in vain. 

Now I pinch diee, now I fly, 

O^er and o'er the sport I try. 

Yet thou canst not light on me. 

Why ? because my heart is free. 

Am. Indeed I thought Licoris, 
That I had caught thee, but I find instead 
Fve only caught a tree, [they laugh,'] But why that 
laugh ? 

Mir. Would I had been that tree ! 



88 THE FAITHFUL SHEPHEBD. 

But do I not perceive Corisca hid 

Amidst those bushes ? it is she indeed ! 

She beckons and makes signs, but what tfiese naean 

I know not.-— 

Chor. a free heart makes a nimble heel ; 

O sly flatterer, dost diou still 

Tempt me with thy false delight ? 

Thus, then, I renew the fight. 

And wheel, and turn, and strike, and fly, 

Yet, blind Love, still free am I ; 

Still thou can'st not light on me. 

Why ? because my heart is free. 

Am. Base tree, would thou wert rooted from the 
ground. 
For still I'm catching thee, tho' now I thought 
That motion some one struggling in my arms ; 
I did believe I had Eliza at last. 

MiH. Corisca still is beck'ning, and she seems 
To be displeas'd ; perhaps she'd have me mix 
Among these nymphs. 

Am. And must I then play all day long with trees ! 

Cor. [coming from her concealment^ 
I must go forth from hence against my will, 
And speak to him. Ah timorous lover ! haste> 
Lay hold on her, why wait ? that she may run 
Into thy arms ? O at the least permit 
That she should seize thee. Come, give me thy spear,. 
And go to meet her. 



THE FAITHFUL SHEPHEBD. €9 

MiR. O how ill my mini} 
Suits with my hope ! how powerless is my heart, 
T1m>^ it desires so much 1 

Cnoit. That triuuiphaot god survey, 

To wIkmd amorotts mortals pay 

IikifMOtts tribute, now he's hooted. 

Now he's laUgh'd at, now he's routed. 

As the olirl amidst the blaze 

Of the sun's meridiyi rays, 

When all the various feather'd tribes 

Flock to give her war, or gibes ; 

With her beak she pecks in vain. 

And shrinks, and flies, and fights again^ 

* So we hMe and deride 

lliee, blind Love, on ev'ry side ; 

One beats thy back, another seeks 

Unobserved to smite thy cheeks. 

And but little 'vantage springs 

Tho' thou extend thy claws, or clap thy wings. 

Pleasure oft is dearly bought. 

As the hapless bird is taught, ^ 

And his future su£f 'rings prove. 

He has not leam'd to shun, who sports with Love. 

* This paaaage alludes to a practice of talcing birds by means ol 
a tame owL The birds come sporting about the owl, and are 
caught by means of sticks spread oyer with bird-lime, which are 
previously plated for that purpose. 



h5 



90 THE FAITHFUL SHBFUERIK 

SCENE im 

AmARILLIS, C0BI8CA9 MlBTItLO. 

Am. Indeed, Aglaura, I have caught thee now; 
Thou faiQ would'st fly/ but I will hold thee foit. 

Cor. (aside.) Surely unless I had by violttice 
Thrust hini upon her^ I bad toil'd in vaia . 
To rdtise his courage. — « 

Am. Thou wilt not speak, ah ! art thou she or nof 

CoR. Here 111 lay down his spear^ and to the bush 
To' observe what will ensue. {She retires.y 

Am. I know thee now^ 
I know thee by thy tallness and short hairi 
Thou art Corisca ; and the veiy one 
I wish'd to catch, that I might cuff thee well 
Just as I please ; here then, take this 
And this ; this also ; this again ; not yet ? 
Not yet a word f But since 'twas thou that bound'st me^ 
Unbind me quickly now, my dearest heart. 
And thou shalt have the sweetest kiss that e'er 
Thou had'st before. But wherefore this delay I 
Thy hand is trembling ; art thou then so weary j 
Join to thy hands th' assistance of thy teeth; 
O silly thing, I shall unbind myself; 
What knots on knots are here! 
Why didst thou tie't so hard i 
Now 'tis thy turu; thou next must be the buff*-^ 



THE FAITHFUL SHBPHBBD. 91 

So: now 'tis loos'd. {smngMirtiUo.) Ah me! whom 

see I here! 
Leave me thou traitor ! Oh ! I shall expire ! 

MiB. My life, compose thyself. 

Am. Leave me^ I say, 
Unhaiid liie'; what ! make use of force to liymphs ! 
Agl»ua ! here Eliza ! Ah ! perfidious ! 
Where are ye fled f Unhand me, traitor ! 

Mir. I obey. 

Am. Corikra laid diis plot, now go to her. 
And tell what thou hast gain'd. (G&ing.) 

Mir. Where fly'st thou cruel ? 
Behold at least my death ; for lo ! I pierce 
My bosom with this steel ! 

Am. Alas ! what wouldst thou do ! 

Mir. That which perchance it grieves thee^ cruel 
nymph, 
Any should do save thou. 

Am. Ah me ! I m well nigh dead. 

Mir. And if this action to thy hand be due. 
Behold the weapon and die breast. 

Am. In truth 
Thou hast deserv'd it. What could move thy heart 
To such presumption I 

Mir. Love. " 

Am. Love should not cause 
An act of rudeness. 

Mir. Then believe my love, 
Because I was not rude \ if in thy anna 



pi fHB FAlTHFirS. 9nBF|tBIl0. 

TboQ first did calcfa lae^ then I cntttoi ni^n 
Be chai^d with rudeness, since widi soek a fair 
Occasi<Mi to he bold, and use with thM 
The laws of lovey I yet preserv'd respect^ 
And almost had forgot I was a lover. 

Am. Upbraid me not with what I did when blbd% 

Mir. And I in Iov« was blitfder far than diou ! 

Am. Praj'rs said £air w^nrds respectM Imen me. 
Not cheats and thefts. 

MiJEt. As a wild beast when press'd 
By hunger^ rushes furious frcM» tiie wood 
Upon die traveller, so if I, who li^e 
Upon the food of thy fair eyes aloHe, 
Since by thy cruelty or my hard fate^ 
That pleasant food I've been so long deny'd, 
if I, a ravenous lover, rushing forth 
At last to-day upon thee from my wood. 
Where I had loi^ been famirii'd, did attempt 
In hopes to save my life, one staratagem 
Which the necessity of love did prompt, 
Then, cruel, blame not me, but blame thyself. 
For if, as thou hast said, pray'rs and fur words 
Respectful lovers use, which never thou 
Wouldst deign to hear from me ; thou by thy flight 
And cruelty hast robb'd me of the power 
To be discreet. 

Am. If thou hadst quitted her 
That fled from thee^ then hadst thou been discreet. 



I 



TH£ FAITHFUL SHEPHERB. 9^ 

But know thou persecntest me in vain^ 
What wouldst thott have of me t 

Mir. That only once 
Thou wouldst vouchsafe to hear me ere I die. 

Am. See thy good fortune ; for as soon as ask'd 
Thou hast receiv'd the gift. Now then begone. 

MiR. Ah nymph ! all I have utter'd yet, 
Is scarce a single drop 
Out of the boundless ocean of my woes. 
If not for pity's sake^ ah cruel maid I 
Yet for the pleasure it will give thee, hear 
The last sad accents of a dying swain. 

Am. To shun more trouble, and to show how false 
The hopes thou cherishest, I now consent 
To hear thee, but with this condition first : 
Say little, quickly part, and come no more. — 

Mir. Within too narrow bounds, most cruel nymph. 
Thy harsh command Would limit such desires. 
So boundless an extent of fervent love, 
As scarce the thoughts of man can comprehend ! 
That I have lov'd, and love thee more than life, 
If thou shouldst doubt, oh ! cruel, ask these woods 
And all their savage race, for they can tell. 
Each field, each lonely bush, and ^ed tree. 
The rugged rocks of these steep mountains, too^, 
Which have been wont to soften at the sound 
Of my complaints, can all declare my love. 
But wherefore need I seek such numerous proofs 



94 THE FAITHFUL SHBPHEBD« 

To show my love, when beauty such as thine 
Affords, itself, the. surest proof of all ? 
Assemble every beauty of the sky 
Clad ID its purest azure, let the earth 
Show all its excellence, and bring the whole 
Within one space ;— they centre all in thee. 
Such is the cause of this my ardent flame. 
Necessity and nature ^ve it birth, 
For as by nature water downward flows, 
As fire ascends, air wanders, earth is fix^d; 
As roll the qpheres ; so naturally my thoughts 
Still tend to thee as to their chiefest bliss; 
And ever to thy charms by night, by day. 
With all its fond affections flies my soul. 
And he who should imagine he had power 
My constant heart to sever from thy love, 
Might hope with as much ease to work a change 
In nature's laws, turn from their ancient course 
The heav'ns, or eaith, or water, air or fire. 
And from its firm foundations shake the world. 
Yet since 'tis thy command my words be few, 
I shall obey, and only say--<»I d ie ■ 
And shall do less in dying, since I see 
How much thou wishest for my death ; but stSl 
I'll do, alas ! all that can now remain 
For me to do, of every hope bereft. 
But, cruel maid, whai I am in the dust, 
O wilt thou then feel pity for my woes ! 



TB£ FAITHFUL SHBPHEHD. 95 

^! fair and dear, and once the sweet support 
Of life to me ^^lilst heaven vouchsafed to snnile ! 
Turn puce upon me^ turn these starry eyes 
Hiat beam with love ; serene as (mce they were. 
And full of pity, sujBTer them to shine 
Once more upon me, ere I quit the world. 
That they may cheer me at the hour of deatii ; 
And as they once did show the path of life. 
Now let them be the fetal messengers 
To bid me die i those stars that ushered in 
My mom of life, now let them see its eve. 
But thou more cruel dian diou wert before, 
Feel'st yet no spark of pity, and the tale 
Of my sad sufferings only fires thy rs^e ! . 
Wilt thou not then vouchsafe a word to me P 
Wretch that I am ! discourse I to a stone ! 
If thou'It say nothing else, at least say, ^^ Die," 
And thou dialt see me die at thy command. 
O wicked Love ! what misery extreme 
Is this! a cruel nymiph, because my dealii 
W ould be a favor done me, will not yield 
To give me death, that so she may not grant 
A fevor I implore, nor will she speak 
A single cruel word to let me die ! 

Am. If I had promis'd I would answer thee 
As well as hear diee, then thou wouldst have cause 
Thus to lament my silence as thou dost. 
Thou calFst me cruel, hoj>ing that to shun 



96 THE TAITHFUL SHEPHEKB. 

Such chai^, I might perchance reclaim my thoughts^ 

And show thee kindness ; nor dost thou perceive. 

Those flattering praises lavish'd by thy tot^e. 

So little merited, are less approv'd. ^ 

They please nie not ; the charge of cruelty 

Delights me more. To be to others cruel 

I grant is well term'd vice, but to a lover 

nris virtue ; and what thou hast giv'n the name 

Of harshness, is in woman honesty, 

Candour and truth ; but say that cruelty 

To lovers is a fault, declare the time 

When Amarillis fi^ow'd diee cruelty; 

Or did'st thou then, penchance, esteem me crud, 

When truth and justice equally requir'd - 

1 should deny thee pity i yet I show'd* 

So much that I from death deliver'd thee ! 

I mean when ^midst a noble company i 

Of modest virgins mingled, thou didst hide 

With a maid's habit a lascivious lover, 

And boldly dare, poUutii^ our4:haste sports, 

'Midst kisses feign'd and innocent, to mix 

Thy lewd and wanton kisses ; such an act 

As yet I blush to think on ! But heav'n knows 

That then I knew thee not, and when I did. 

My indignation kindled at the frau^. 

Untainted from lewd thot]^hts I kept my soul; 

And suffer'd not the amorous plague to creep 

To my ch^te heart; my lips, and these alone 



THE FAITHFUL SHBFHBBD. 9t 

Were violated; for a kiss that's snatch'd 

By fraud or force, draws after it no shame. 

But what wouldst thou fay that b(dd th^have gain'd. 

If to the nymphs I had discovered thee ? 

Not ev'n on Hebrus' shore so cruelly torn 

And slain was Orf^os by the Thracian dames^ * 

As thou hadst been, unless her clemency 

Whom 4tibu call'st cruel, had protected thee. 

But she is not so cruel, as she ought 

To be ; for smce thy boldness is so great> 

When I am cruel, how should it be iucreas'd^ 

If I were full of pity towards thee ? 

That prudent Jionest pily I could give, 

Thou hast already got ; to ask or ho()e 

For more is v&in; and she can ill bestow 

That amorous pity who has none to give, 

Fpr 'tis already given. If thou be 

Indeed my lover. Oh respect my fame. 

My soul's best jewel, and dearer {sac than life. 

Thou seek'st impossibilities ; thou seek'st 

What heav'n forbids to grant, what men oppose^ 

And what, if done, must be aton'd by death. 

But most of all, and with the strongest shield 

Virtue defends it ; for a noble soul 

Scorns a ^more faithful guardian than itself. 

Cease then, Mirtillo, longer to complain 

• He wasilain by the wwneti of Thrace) snd hit h«d throura 
into theiiebrus.— Vid. Ovid. B. 11. 

I 



98 THE FAITHFUL SHBPHEBB. 

Or importune me more, but fly and live 

If thou be ivise ; for to abandon life 

Thro' mad excess of grief, is not the mark 

Of an heroic, but a timorous soul. 

And 'tis the truest virtue to abstain 

From what we love, if what we love be wrong. 

And virtue's sacred laws forbid the flame. 

M I R . He that has lost his heart, has not the power 
To save himself from death. 

Am. But he that takes 
The shield of virtue conquers every passion. 

MiR. Where love already triumphs, virtue yields. 

Am. But he that cannot what he will, at least 
Should do what's in his power. 

MiB* Necessity of loving has no law. 

Am. Distance and time will cure love's deepest 
wounds. 

Mir. We fly in vam what in the heart is lodg'd* 

Am. a new affection will expel the old. 

Mir. Yes; if my heart and soul could be but 
chang'd ! 

Am. The great destroyer Tune 
Will kill love too at last. 

MiR. But cruel Love 
Will kill the life or ere that day arrive^ 

Am. Is there no cure then for thy malady ? 

Mir. No cure at aU save death ! 

Am. Death !— hear me therefore now, and be my 
words 



THE EAITHFUL SHEPHERD. 99 

A law to thee : Altho' I'm well aware 

When lovers speak of dying, it indicates 

A custom rather of an amorous tongue. 

Than a deliberate and fix'd resolve ; 

Yet if so strange a frenzy e'er should seize thee. 

Know that thou thus wouldst not alone destroy 

Thy life ; but my good name would also die. 

Live then, if thou dost love me, and farewel.— 

Henceforth I'll reckon it a token sure 

Of wisdom in thee, if thou tak'st good heed 

That we may ne'er hereafter meet again. — 

Mir. O cnielsentence! how can I survive 
Without my life, or end my bitter woes, 
Unless by death! 

Am. Mirtillo, now 'tis time 
Thou should'st depart ; I've heard thee much too 

long; 
Go, and console thyself with this at least, 
Of hopeless lovers there's a numerous croud ; 
There is no wound but. carries with it paiDy 
Many, as well as thou, of love complain. 

Mir. Tis true I'm not the only wretched lover. 
But I alone am miserably toss'd 
'Twixt life and death ; I neither wish to live. 
Nor wilt thou let me die. 
Am. Begone, begone ! 

Mir. Ah woeful parting! ah! life charms no 
more ! 
How can I go from thee, and yet survive ! 

12 



L_ 



lOQ THE FAITHFUL SHEPHERD. 

Yet sure I am I £eel the pangs of deat^ 
O Amarillisy 'tis a living death 
That feeds ipy grief^ and will nat let it die. 
So have my sorrows immortality i 



{Exk MirtillcK. 



■* •■ 



SCENE IV. • •• :- 

Amarillis sola. 
Am. Mirtillo^ O my life, my souU -^ 
If here within thou couldst perceive 
The secret feelings of the heart 
Of Amarillis whom thou call'st so cruel, 
Well do I know that die would find 
Fffom thee that pity thou implor'st from her ! 
O hapless souls, bound by the ties of love. . 
Mirtillo has my heart, yet what avails 
My lo\^ to him, or his dear love to me ! 
Ah ! wherefore, cruel destiny, 
Dost thou divide whom Love has bound? 
And wherefore bind'st thou those, 
Perfidious Love ! whom destiny divides ? 
Happy ye savage race that roam the woods, 
To whom all-bounteous nature 
Hath giv'n no laws in love save those of Love i 
IiAuman laws of men. 
That give for love the punishment of death ! 
Since the transgression i^ so sweet. 



r 



THE FAITHFUL SHEPHERD. lOt 

And yet so needful 'tis to shun the sin, 

O too imperfect nature 

That thus opposest what the law prescribes ! 

too severe a law, 

Foe to the fondest sympathies of nature! — 
But, ah ! — their love is weak who fear to die ! ' 
Mirtillo, would to heav'n that death alone 
Were all the punishment of this offence ! 
Most sacred virtue ! awful name ! . 
Thou most inviolable deity h 

« 

Of truly noble souls ! — ^this fond desire 
Which by thy holy rigour I've subdued, 

1 now present a spotless sacrifice 

Before thy shrine. And thou, my love Miitillo^- 
O pardon her that's only cruel 
Where she is forc'd from thee to hide 
All show of mercy \ O forgive 
Her thy fierce foe in looks and words alone>- 
But thy most tender lover in her heart ! 
Or if revenge be thy desire. 
What greater vengeance caa'st thou take on me 
Than thy own grief; for if thou be my heart. 
As sure thou art in spite of heav'n and earthy 
Whene'er thou sigh'st or sheddest tears. 
Thy sighs my vital spirits are. 
Thy tears my blood, and all those pangs,- 
And all those mournful sighs of thine. 
Are not thy pangs, are not thy sighs, but mine^ 

13 



lOS THE VAITHFUL $Hl^HBXil. 

SCENE V. 

Enter Cobisca. 

Cor. Siiilesi no mora dissemblii^ of tky lov#«^ 

Am.« Ah ! woe is me ! I am discovered now ! 

Cor. I heard thee every word. Now am I wroq^^ 
Did I not often say thou wert in love i 
And yet thon wouldst ^saay and hide it bwn me^ 
From me thy greatest friend! nay, do noibltt^b^ 
It is a comracm evil. 

Am. I am conqner'd^ 
Corisca^ I confess it. 

Cor. Yes, when now 
Thou can'st no longer hide it.. 

Am. I perceive 
Alas ! the vessel of a feeble heart 
Is far too narrow for overflowing love. 

Cor. O thou art cruel to thy dear Mivtillo> 
And to thyself more ciiiel ! 

Am, That which springs 
From pity is not cruelty. 

CoR. Yet ne'er 
Was poison known to grow from wholesome roal ;: 
What difference canst thou show 'twut oniel^ 
That gives offence, and pity such as thine 
Which gives no aid ? 

Am. Ah DP*, Cofisqa l^(sighing.) 



; • 

I 



THE FAtTHFVl* $HEPȣK9. 105 

Cor. Tfa a rwoky, . 
Sister^ to sigh ; an iml^ecillity 
Of iniqd^ winch only foolish wpm^i OMm. 

Am. Were it not crijielkr far in me to fceit 
A hopeless love withia his heart ? To Ay, 
Shows that I feel compassion for his gri^^ 
And moun) myself for our unhappy love 
Forbid by fate. 

Cor. Why hopeless and forbid I 

Am. Dost thou not know 
Silvio already has my plighted faith ? 
Know'st thou not also that the law^declarea 
That female dies who violates her faith F 

CoR. O simpleton! is there no obstacle 
Save this? and which is the more ancient law. 
That of Diana, or the law of Love ^ 
This last s{Mings up by nature in our breasts. 
My Amarillis, and it grows with age ; 
'Tis neither leam'd nor taught, but nature's self 
Imprinted it upon the human heart. 
And heav'n and earth obey its high ccwmand. 

Am. Yet should thk law deprive me of my life, 
That law of Love ccmld not afford me aid, 

CoR. Thou art too cautious. If all women hud 
So many seruples, happy days adieu !-^ 
I hold them simple souls, indeed, who live 
Li dread of such a punishment; the law 
Was not established f(»r the wise ; if all 
Who break it should be slain, the country soon 



J I 



104 THE FAITHFUL SHEPHERB. 

Would be without a woman; but if foola 
Fall in the snare, 'tis fit they be forbid 
To steal who have not sense to hide the theft. 
For virtuous seeming's but an honest gloss 
To cover vice ; think others as they may, 
^is thus that I believe, and ever shall. 

Am. These are vain grounds, Corisca, trust my 
word ; 
What must be left 'tis vdsdom soon to leave. 

CoR. O simpleton ! and who forbids thy bliss^? 
life b too short to let it pass away^ 
With but a single lover ; men besides 
(Whether from cruelty or nature's fault) 
Are far too sparii^ of their favors to us ; 
And we're no longer precious in theif eyes 
Than while the bloom of youth adorns our face*. 
Take youth and beauty from us, we remain 
like the forlorn abodes bees once possess'd^ 
Of all their honey rifled, barren trunks* 
That stand unheeded, all their sweetness gone. 
Leave therefore men to prattle as they please, 
Because they neither know nor ever feel 
The troubles wretched women bear. Our case 
Alas ! is much unlike to that of men. 
They in perfection as in age increase; 
Wisdom the loss of every grace supplies ; 
But when our youth and beauty (which so oft 
Conquer the wit and strength of men) are fled^ 
All's gone with us ; nor is it in thy power 



THE FAITHFUL SHEFHERI>. lOi 

9 

To think or speak of aught so poor or vile 

As an old woman. Therefore ere thou come 

To this our universal misery^ 

Know thine own worthy nor play so poor a part 

To Jive in sorrow, when diou may'st in joy. 

What would superior strength avail the lion. 

Or judgment men^ unless 'twere tum-d to us^ 

As then our beauty is our only strength^ 

Let us use it while we may,. 

And snatch those joys that haste away ; 

The changeful year its toea regains. 

Spring clothes, anew the desert plains; 

But when the spring of beauty's o'er, 

Nought c^ our faded charms restore ; 

When age's snow our heads shall cover, 

Love may return, but not a tover. 

Am. Thou speakest dius, oidy I ouusl believe, 
To try my sentiments, not that thy owtt 
Are really such^; yet be a^sur'd of this. 
Unless thou showest me an easy way. 
And, above all, an honest one to shun 
This hated match, I m fix'd irrevocably 
Sooner to suffer death than stain my honour. 

Cor. (aside.) Woman more obstinate I have not 
seen. 
Well ; be it so ; but teU me, Amarillis, . 
Dost thou believe that Silvio holds his fakh 
As dear as thou thy virtue ? 



106 THE FAITHFUL SHEFHEIti). 

Am. Now indeed, 
Thou mak'st me sraile» How is it possible- 
Silvioy a foe to love, should value faith ? 

Cor. Silvio a foe to love ! O simple girl ! 
Thou know'st him not^ he speaks not as he feek; 
Those that appear so coy^ believe thou not. 
No theft in love is so secure^ so sly. 
As what is done beneath the cunning veil 
Of seeming bashfulness.. Thy Silvio loves, 
But loves not thee. 

Am. What goddess then is this 
(For sure she cannot be a mortal dame) 
Who fires his heart ? 

Cor. Nor goddess^ nor a nymph of rank, like 
his. 

Am. O what say'st thou ? 

CoR. Know'st thou lisetta P 

Am. Who? 
The maid that tends thy flocks i 

CoR. The same. 

Am. Speak'st thou the truth; Corisca ? 

CoR. Yes, 'tis she ; 
She is the only object of his love. 

Am. a proper choice for one that was so coy I 

CoR. Then how he languishes and pines ! each day 
He feigns to go a-hunting. 

Am. Just at dawn 
I hear his odious horn. 



THlE PAITHPUL SHEPHERD. 107 

Cor. And then at noon^ 
XThe rest intent and eager in the chase^) 
He steals from his companions^ and alone 
Comes to my garden by a secret path ; 
There^ underneath a thick-grown hedge's shade 
Whit;h bounds the garden, she his fervent sighs 
And amorous pray*rs receives, and afterwards 
Tells all to me and laughs. Now hear what I 
Resolve to do, or rather what I've done 
To serve thee. I believe thou knowest well 
That the same law which so severely binds 
Us woipen to preserve inviolate 
Our plighted faith, established also this : 
That if the woman find her promis'd spouse 
In amorous dalliance with another fair, 
She may, in spite of friends, refuse his loveip 
And, with unblemished reputation, chuse 
Another lover. 

Am. This I know full Well, 
And some examples too have seen of it : 
Leucippe thus left L^urino's love, 
!Egle licotas, and Armilla left 
Turingo ; for, their lovers proving false, 
TThe maids were from their plighted vows released. 

Cor. Now hear the artful plan I've fram'd :— — 
lisetta 
By my persuasion prompted, has to-day 
Desir'd her credulous lover to repair 
To yonder cave to meet her , hence the youth 



106 THE FAITHFUL SHBPHERD; 

Has not his match in happiue^ ; the hour J 

He only waits ; tiiore Ihou'lt siarpme them both ; '| 

I also shsdl accompany thee there. 

To be a Witness of his ikithlesnieiSB. i 

(Our woriL without a witness would lie void.) 

So, free from hazard, free from any stain 

Or of thy fcthcar's honour or thy owi^ \ 

Thou from ihb hateful vow riialt be released. 
Am. O nobly thought, Corisca! but the mesmsi 
Cor. This instant thou shalt hear tbem; weH 
observe 

My words. Just in the middle of the cave, 

Which narrow is and long, upon the right, 

Within the hollow rock (whether the woA 

Of nature or of art I never leani'd,) 

There is a lesser cavern hung around 

With creephig ivy, and receiving li^t 

From a small aperture above ; a' place 

Fit and commodious for the thefts, of love. 

Ere the arrival of the lovers, there 

Thou shalt conceal thyself and wait their comii^. 

First I shall send Lisetta, then her lover ; 

Myself shall at a distance watch his steps, 

And soon as he descends into die cave, 

I'll suddenly rush in and seize him there. 

And lest he 'scape (so is our plan contrived) 

Lisetta shall, with me, raise instantly 

Piercing and hideous cries, the s^n ior thee> 

To issue also from thy lurking-place 



TJf£ FAITHPUL SHEPHERO« 109 

An3 joki'us;* so' \ve Ifaea may easily 

Convict, and make him subject to the law. - ^ 

We both shall /with lisettato the priest, 

And so nhalt thou redeem thy plighted £udi. 

Am. Before his faflier? 

Cor. Yes. .What matters thatf 
TThink'st thou Montano ever could prefer 
His private interest to the public good, 
Or things profane to sacred ? 

Am. Fardier, then, 
I shall not scruple, but commit myself 
Blindly to take the counseb which thou giv'st, * 
And follow Jdxy most feithful guidance. 

Cor. Go, 
Delay no longer, enter now the cave. 

Am. But first I'll 'to the temple to adore 
The heav'nly powers ; if they refuse their aid. 
No mortal enterprise can prosper well. ^ 

CoR. All places, Amarillis, are £t temples 
For hearlfi of^true devotion; too much time 
Will thus be lost. 

Am. We cannot lose our time 
In offerii^ pray'rs to those who give us time. 
And give us all things. • • .* 

Cor. Go then^ and soon return. — 

{Exit Amarillis.) 
'Matters, I think, are in a prosperous train ; a 
This stay alone disturbs me, yet ev'n this 
May be of use. Now must I set myself 



f 10 TRB f AITHVUL SHSYHCK& 

To' inirent a new dooest. Now I sinlliaake 
M J lover Coridon believe I fidn 
Would meet with him ; so «ftep Atnirillig 
m send.him to t^ cave, and flien m bring 
By the most secret way Diana^s prieists 
To seize upon her ; guilty she'll be found. 
And so without a doubt condenm'd to die. 
Rid of my rival ihusy I shall no more 
Have contests widi MirtiUo, who for her 
Despises me. He opportunely com^ ; 
I'll sound him now till she returns. O Love, 
Come Iq^ myeountemnce, andi&^ire mytooguei 

[She reiire$^ 



SCENE VI. 

HlRTILLO. 

Miiu Ye tortur'd qpirits, hear. 
That in Avemus' doleful r^ons dwell, 
Hear a new torment I endure ; 
See under pity's mask conceal'd 
A horrid kind of love. She I adore 
Xoads me with greater sufferings still than yourfl^ 
Becausea rii^le deadi alone 
Is far too scant to glut h^ fell revenge* 
My life is <»ily a perpetual deaths 
She bids me live, more fierceness to display, 
And make me ^ a thousand times a day! 



/ 



TKS FAITHrVL SHSYHVEB. Ill 



fj a«tdle.>^Now shall I fdgn I 
saw him not. I hear 

Comphining sounds^ yet kliow.not who fliay be 
The sufferer.--*0 Mirtilloy is it thou ? 

Mir. O that my bones were dust, and my free'd 
. soul 
A fleetai^ ahadsi 

Cor. Welly tell me now^ Mirtillo, 
Since toothy dearest nymph thou bast refedi'd 
Thy mind^ how feelsst dmn i 

Mir. A4 a flick man^ 
Who die forbiddeo Isqnal longs to taste. 
But wfieftii^idfiQkB ity^miserabl^wretefat 
He qu^xdlies life, but caimot quench his thirst* 
So I long time with amorous thirst coBsmu'c^ 
From the two darling fountains of her eyes, 
Which flow with^icy sfreams from that fiwce haart 
Hardas a vock|Sweet poisonoosdraug^ts have drunk 
That quench my life, but not my burnmg lo¥e<«- 

CoR. Love has, my dear MirtiUo, no more 
power 
^Than what our heartstuod inelinalions ^e him| 
And as the bear is wont to hnog to form 
Her rude unshapen issue witji her toogue. 
Which never otherwiie distinct would grow. 
So does a lover, by bestowii^ form 
Upon a young deisire that's destitute 
As yet of strength, or shape, make love grow up 



f. 



1112 THE FAITHFUL SHBPKKBB. 

VigorouiB aocT 6erce^ which when it first was bom 
Was but an infant weak and delicate ; 
And Love is pleasing in his infancy. 
But fiercer grows with his increasing age> 
Till at the last, Mirtillo, rooted love 
Becomes a sore disease, and galling pa&r. 
For when the soul is fetter'd to one thou^t. 
And cannot quit its object, love, which shoolcE 
Be purest joy and: sweetness, then becomes. 
Deep melancholy, yea, and what is worse, 
It tuiiis to death or madness at the last. 
A wise heart therefore oft will change, 
And learn from love to love to lange*. 

Mir. Sooner than change my wfll> or quit n^ 
love,! 
Far rather FU exchange my life for death. 
Tho' beauteous Amarillis be so cruel 
And pitUess, she is my life and soul, 
.Nor has the inward frame the strength to bear 
A double heart and soul to harbour there. 
^ Cor. O miserable swain! a: wretched use 
Thou mak'st of love ! to love a nymph who hates^ 
And follow her who flies^ thee : I indeed. 
Would sooner die.-— 

Mir. As gold ia by the fire 
Refin'dj so constant love by cruelty 
Is purified ; and how could faith in love 
Show its unconquerable constancy,. 
Unless it stood the trial of cruelty ? 



THE VAI'^FUL ftnSVHBBD. 113 

And dus alone 'midst all my suffsriiigs 

Still pro^res n^ eomfvrt. Let my heart then bura. 

Or die, or languidh ; for a maid so hkr, 

Destruction, sorrows, torments, s^hs, and tears, 

Exile or death I would with joy endure. 

Far rather will I (fie than break my fm^f 

For to.be false to her is worse than deadi. 

Cor. O noble resolution! valiant lover! 
Yet stubborn as the tenants of die woods. 
Or as a stedfast rock immoveable ! 
There is no worse a {4ague, no greater ill, 
No poison of more'fieree and deacUy kind 
To amorous souls, than constancy is love. 
O hapless is that simpb heart ^t yielda 
To the d^usion of so felse and vain 
A fantasy as this ! which quite destroys 
The sweet variety of love. Now say 
Poor simple lover, with this foolish virtue 
Of constancy, what lov'st thou so m her 
Wbo scorns thee l 'is't her beauty whidi must ne'er 
Be thine, a pleasure thou can'st ne'er enjoy i 
Or is't her j^ty i that's a recompense 
Thou ne'er can'st hope for ; so in short ihou lov'st 
Nought save thy plague, thy sorrow, and thy death* 
Can'st thou for ever be so mad as love 
A maid who scorns thee ! Ah Mirtitlo, rouse, * 
Know diy own worth ; for sure thou can'st not wajit 
•A diouiand heai*ts j and can'st thou fail to find 
One which may please thee, and desire thy lore? 

K 3 



114 THB FAITHFUL SHEPHBRD* 

Mir. The pains Ihat I endure for Amarillifl^ 
To me are sweeter than a thousand loves ;. 
And if my cruel destiny forbid 
That I possess her, to all other joy 
My drooping heart is dead ; but as fot nie 
To live in happiness with others' love, 
I neither could, tho' thus my choice inclin'd, 
Nor would I, tho' I could ; but if there be 
Such inclination possible to me, 
I pray that Heay'n and Love before that hour 
May take away such will, and such a power. 

Cor. O strange enchs^ed heact ! and can'st tfaoit 
then 
For one so cruel despise thyself somuchf 

Mir. He who is destitute of every hope 
Of pity, can the better bear affliction. 

CoR. Do not deceive thyself, thou think'st, 
perchance. 
She loves thee in her heart, tho' outwardly 
She shows thee scorn ; if thou but knew'st howofi 
She talks to me about thee ! . . 

Mir. All these are trophies of my constant love$ 
By constancy I'll triumph o'er the powers 
Of heav'n and earth, and o'er her cruelty, 
My heavy sufferings and untoward fate, 
O'er fortune, and the world, and death itself. 

GoR.-^fasiVfe.^-p^Most wondrous constancy! 
O if he kn^w how fervently she loves him !-«- 
Mirtillo^ O how much I pity this 



J 



THE FAITHFVL SHEPHEBB* lliS 

Thy hapless frenzy ! Hast, thou ever had 
Another love but this i 

MiK. My heart's first lore- 
Fair Aniarillis was— >fair Amarillisi 
Who was my eariiest love^ shsil be my last. 

Cor. Then it appears thou never yet hast prov-d 
A tender love^ but one that's full of scorn ; 
Ah ! could'st thou know the rapturous delights 
Which courteous and complyii^ love bestows I 
Try but alittle, try them, and thou'lt find 
How charming 'tis to meet a maid that loves tfaee^ 
As much as diou dost cruel Amarillis. 
How sweet a thing it is to have a joy 
Great as thy love^ and happiness complete 
As thy own widies^ in thy fair one's charms ! 
To, have thy mistress twine about thy lieck. 
And when thou sigh'st, to answer back thy sighs^. 
And say to thee : " My love, all that I am, 
'* All that I have is thine ; if I am fair, 
*' It is for thee alone ; for thee I deck 
" This face, this bosom> and these golden locks. 
^ Thy heart is so uuited;^with my own, 
*' That I forget I've any heart save thine." 
Yet this is but a streamlet when compar'd 
To tliat vast sea o£ bliss love makes us taste. 
Which they who prove its sweets, aloUe can know^ 

MiB. O blest a thousand times is be that's bom 
Undor so kind a star ! 



i 



^ i 



116 THE PAlTKFUt SHBVBSR»» . 

Cor. Hear me, Mirtfflo : 
(I'd almost said my love !) — f asf<fe.>-A nymfik m 

§air 
As an J one whose g^den tresses float 
Upon tie windy (ht in a knot are boiuHt, 
As wMtkfr of tkj Urre as- tfcon of hers, 
Pride of Ais gseve, md We of every heai^ 
By every worthy ewaiB ia vain ador'd, 
In vain scdicited, loves ^€ alone 
Better than life, mOie dearly tfii|n bersdif ;. 
}f wise diou be, Mirtiiloy eeoni her not. 
For as the shadow on the person waits, 
So shall she, wh^esoever Aon mayst gO) 
Attend upon thy footsteps, at ihy word 
Or slightest nod a readfy servant stfll;. 
With thee sliell pass the tedious lingering hourff^ 
By night, by day. Ah then, Mirtillo, fly not 
So rare a bliss as now k in thy pow^; 
No pleasures in Ae woijd so eweet as those 
Which cost nor s^hs, nor teai«, nor toils, nor tkne*. 
Here, then, is a convenient delist, 
A feast at thy command, and to thy taste 
Fitly prepar'd> and far beyond the power 
Of golden stores to purdiase ! O Mirtillo^ 
Forsake the hopdess dmse of one who flies 
And scorns thy love, and her receive who long»^ 
To gain thy love, and take thee to her utns. 
Nor do I feed thee with vain hopes ; 'tis thine 



\ 



1. i 



J 



But to coiiteiiiidy ^ui&ahe tfiatloVes isneir : 
This instant if it please tbee. 

Mir. The delights 
Of k)ve myfaeart was destin'd ne'er to know! 

Cor. Try them but once, «ul afterwards return 
To thy accustom'd gri^f/that thou Ht l^uit 
Mayst s^y tb<Hi: oilbe' hast prof 'd aamiagled joy* 

M\it. Corrupted tastes loathe eyery thing tibalfs 
good. 

CoR. Make trial at least that life thou may'st 
bestow ' ^ J 

On her who only in the sunshine liveSi ' 
I Of thy fair e^jes; iAh <7uel t well thou» know'sl 
How dismal 'tis to-be in poverty. 
And beg for alms, in love ; ah! if thou would'^t 
Have pity for thyself, give some to me. 

Mm.' How can I give thee/ since I am mysdf 
So needy ? To be shoit, I've sworn to keep 
Allegiance while I live, to that fair nymph^ 
Whether she ^tyrant prov'd' or inercifal. 

Cor. O truly blind and most uidiappy youth t 
O weak Mirtillo ! who is this for whom 
Thou art so careful to preserve thy faith ! 
I'm most unwillii^ to destroy that fsuth, 
And plunge thy Wretched soul in greater woe;. 
But I who love thee cannot tamely stand 
And see thee so betra/d ; if tJbou believ'st 
That Amarillis' cnielty proceeds - 
From zeal for virtue's or religion'swlaws. 



1 18 VmM VAmWVh flHUFBSftB. 



Alas ! :Mirtilk>, dioii^ait nmch decca^ 

Her heart already (miMtable youth !) 

Is fix'd another way, and thou must yff^^p, 

While the bleM lover smiles. Thou answer^st iiot ! 

What, art (hott dumb f 

Mir. Aks! I am m doubt 
^T^nxX life and <ieetfa s^spewted^ and % hiatt 
KndfMni wA if it diolild talst ifa^ w0rdi o^ 
My thoughts confus'd have therefore chlun'd m^ 
lodgue. 

Cob. Dost thou not yet believe me ? 

Mir. If Z did 
I should not^mrii to live/ and if 'tis fraft. 
Then ril seek comfort in the arms of death; 

Cor. live, wretched youth! ah live mxi be 
revenged. 

Mir. But 1 believe thee not; I know 'tis ftlse. 

Cor. Hiou dost not yet believe, and yet thou 

VeiSK B( 

To know what it will grieve lliy soul to hear. 

See'st thou yon cave? the faithful guardian thai 

Bodi of the faitfa and honorar of thy fair! 

There does she laugh at thee, there with diy woe9 

Seasons the bweetness of thy rivri^s joys; 

Tis there, in short, that ftdthfnl AmarilUs 

Is often wont within her arms to take 

A low-bom shq)hefd swain; now sigh and weep^ 

Now see that thou preserve diy oonslancy ; 

Thou hast a faif reward 1 - 



T9B VAXTntVh J8^nUIB»« 1 19 

MiB. Alas ! Coruca, dost tliou tell me true t 
And must I then beli^Tje di^ 1 

Cos. Still die more 
Thou searcfaest 'twill be still the worse. 

Mir* Alas! 
And didst thou see't. Corisqa ! 

Cor. No^in truth 
t have not seen it> but thou may'st.thjnselfy 
And shortly ; for she has commanded him 
To meet her there this very.du^: and hour. 
So if thou hide bdiind that bushy fence. 
Thou shalt behold'herpnesently descend 
Into the cav^ and sb<m t^e. youth will come. 

MiR« So quickly most I die i 

CoR. See^ while we afieak> 
Down by the ttemple!s -side due bends her steps. 
MirtiUoy dost diou see her, and jobserve ' 
How soft and warily she moves along. 
Her stealing pace betraying her false heart? 
Remain tfiou here, and mark the consequence 
I shall return anon. 

Mir. Since I'm so near 
Discoverii^ the truth, I shall suspend 
(yBtil Iknow with certainty to cbuse) 
My resolutioti to survive or die. 



»r 



/ 



SCENE VII. 

♦ » 

Amarillis. 
Am. No mortal work can meet with sure success, 
If not begun under the friei^dly aid - ' - 

And auspices of- heav'n. With heavy heart. 
And mind -dbtracted I pursued my way 
Towards the temple, and I tfaence return, 
(Thank heav'n) witfathoughts now tranquil and serene. 
For at my pray'rs pure and devout, methbught 
I felt a heav'nly spirit breathe within - 
Its grateful influence, which shed the balm ' 
Of comfort o'er my soul, and whkper'd thus : 
*^ Why dost thou fear ? securdy, Amarillis, 
" Go forward on thy way/'— And so I shall 
Securely go, since heav'n voudisafes to guide me. 
O mother fair of Love, thy favour «kow 
To her who now upon thine aid relies. 
Thou that as queoi iathe tkird orb dost jdiine. 
If thou hast ever felt thy son's bright jBames, 
Have pity then on me, and here conduct 
With swift and cunning foot, .the shej^rd swam 
To whom I've ple^d my feith ; and thou, dear cave^ 
Vouchsafe this slave of love thy deepest gloom 
Until my work's complete. But why delay 
Now Amarillis P there is none to see 
Or hear thee ; let me enter then secure^ 



TUB FAITHFUL SHBFHKED. 121 

MirtiHoi O MiitiUo, couldst thou knoWi 
Couldst thott but dream for what I'm hither come !<« 

IShe enters the cave. 

SCENE vm. 

MiSTILLO. 

Mir. Ah! I'm too much awake> too well I see ! 
I do not dream. O that 1 had been bom 
Deprived of eyea, or not been bom at all ! 
Why, cruel fate ! ah, why preserve my life^ 
To bring me to diis kiUii^ spectacle ! 
O cruel, dismal sight ! O tortur'd more 
Than any spirit in the nether gulf, 
Tortur'd Mirtillo ! now no longer doubt, 
Suspend no longer thy belief, for now 
Thou hast both heard and seen the mournful truth, 
Thy ihiftress is another's property ! 
Ah ! destiny severe ! she is not his v 

Whose by the laws of men she should have been. 
But by the laws of Love she's torn from thee ! 
Relentless Amarillis ! was it then 
Not cmelty enough to give me death,^ 
But thou must scorn me also with that mouth 
Full of inconstancy and fell deceit, 
Which own'd Mirtillo's kisses once were sweet! 
But now his hated name, which had perchance 
Brought with its memory a just remorse, 
Is raz'd forever from thy cmel heart, 

L 



122 THE FAITHFUL SH£PHEK1>. 

Lest it should mar the sweetness of thy joys'! 
Why then deky, Mirtillo ! die from thee 
Has taken life, and giv'n it to another, 
O wretched swain ! and yet thou art alive ! 
Now die to grief and pain, as thou art dead 
To every joy in life. Die, die, Mirtillo ! 
Since life is gone, let sufferings also end ; 
Haste, wretched lover, haste thee from this cruel. 
Tormenting anguish, which to kill thee more^ 
Keeps in thy hated life. But must I die 
Depriv'd of all revenge ? I'll kill him first 
Who hath dealt death to me. I shall suspend 
My strong desire of death, till I have «(lain 
Him who unjustly robb'd me of my life. 
Yield, grief, to vengeance, pity, yield to rage. 
And death to life, till I avenge my death. 
Jjdt not this fatal weapon drink "the blood 
Of its sad master, till he be reveng'd. * 
Let not this hand be pity's minister. 
Till it "has served the juster claims of rage. 
Thou, whosoe'er thou art, that now enjoy'^t 
My dear lost bliss, since I am overthrown, 
Destruction also is approaching thee. 
rU hide myself again widiin that bush. 
And soon as I behold his steps approach 
The cavern, unawares I'll rush on him. 
And plunge this weapon to his treachereus'heart. 
But will it not be cowardice to strike 
Thus in concealment ? Yes : Defy him, then, 



THE FAITHFUL SHEPHERD* 123 

To single combat^ so shall valour prove 
The justice of my cause. Ah no ! this place 
Is so frequented, and so known to all, 
That swains may interpose, and, what is worse. 
They may enquire from whence our quarrel springs: 
If I deny, they'll call my conduct base. 
And if I feign a cause, I shall be held 
As destitute of truth. If I reveal it. 
Then will the name of her who caus'd my love, 
Be branded with eternal infamy; 
For tho • in her I never can approve 
That wUch I see, yet I must ever love 
That which I sigh'd for ; and shall wish as long 
As life remauis, both what I hop'd and ought 
In justice to have seen. Then let the base 
Adulterer die, who robb'd me of my life. 
And has dishonour'd her in whom I liv'd. 
But should I kill him here, will not the blood 
Point out the fact, and that discover me ? 
Yet wherefore dread the punishment of death, 
Since death is what my joyless soul desires i 
But then, the niurder having come to light. 
The cause will straight be known ; the danger thus 
Of bringing infamy upon the name 
Of this unfaithful, will be still as great. 
Then in the cave I'll slay him. This is good. 
This pleases me. I'll enter quietly. 
That she perceive me not, for I believe 
She'll be concealed in the most secret part, 

l2 



124 THE FAITHFUL SHEPHERD. 

As to herself I overheard her say ; 

I'll therefore not go far. There Is an op'noag 

Cut ill the rock, all overspread around 

With leafy boughs, and at the left hand side 

The most profound and secret cavern lies ; 

There having enter'd v^fith a stealing pace, 

I'll wait the most conveniait time to take 

ITie vengeance I desire. My lifeless foe 

I shall expose to the false fair one's eyes^ 

So shall I be reveng'd at once on both. 

In my own bosom next I'll plunge the steel ; 

Thus three shall die, two victims to the sword, 

<^rhe third to grief. So shall this false one see 

The end most truly sad and tragical 

Of her two lovers, both of him she loves. 

And him she hath so cruelly betrayed. 

And this same cave, design'd for die abode 

Of bliss and joy, diall now become a grave 

For both her lovers, and (what most I wish) 

A tomb to hide her shame and infamy. 

Sut you, dear footsteps, which so long in vain 

I've trac'd, do you conduct me by a path 

So faithful ! Do you lead me to so dear 

A dwelling! you I follow, you I trust. 

Corisca, O Corisca, now alas ! 

I must believe! thy wor<k have prov'd too true! 

{He enters. 



THE FAITHFUL SHEPHERD. 125 



SCENE IX. 

Satiro. 
Sat. Does he believe Corisca ? and pursue 
Her steps to Erycina's cave i he's dull 
That has not sense to apprehend the rest; 
But if thou dost believe her^ then in truth 
Great need thou hast of good security. 
And thou must keep her by a stronger hold 
Tlian I had of her hair ; but stronger ties 
There cannot be, than gifts, to keep her fast. 
She, mischievous and bold, fair virtue's foe^ 
Has sold herself, as usual, to this swain. 
And in the cave the bargain is fulfiU'd, 
Which infamy hath made. But heav'n, perchance. 
Hath sent her hither, that she may receive 
Due vengeance from my hands; his words did seem 
To' imply that she some promises had giv'n 
Which he believ'd, and by her traces here 
^is plain she's in the cave. Now then perform 
A bold exploit, shut up the entrance to it 
With this huge ponderous stone, that thus no means 
Be left them for escape ; then to the priest. 
And by the mountain path that's known to few, , 
Conduct his ministers to seize on her. 
And. make her suffer death, conform to law^ 
For. her misdeeds. Nor am I ignorant 
She has to Coridon already giv'n 

l3 



1^ THE FAITHFUL SHEPHERD. 

Her plighted faith, but he forbears his claim 
Thro' fear of me who ofl h^we threatened him. 
But now I'll give him leave to be reveng'd 
At once bodi for his injury and mine. 
I'll lose no loiter time, but from this elm 
I'll tear a massy bough to move the stone. 
This one will suit :— But O how firmly fix'd ! 
How heavy is the rock ! I'll try to thrust 
The trunk below, and heave it from its place. 
The thought is good ; now to the other side 
Where 'tis most stubborn ; — this is harder work 
Than I at first suppos'd ; it still resists, 
Nor can my utmost efforts even move it ! 
'Tis stedfast as the centre of the world. 
Or sure my wonted vigour fiuls me now ! 
My perverse stars, why plot against me thus ? 
But I shall move it yet m spite of you. 
O curs'd Corisca ! I had almost curs'd 
The very name of woman ; O thou god, 
Lycean Pan, vouchsafe to hear my prayers ! 
Pan, thou diat all things canst and all thmgs art, 
Thou once thyself <fidst woo a stubborn heart % 
Revenge on false Coriisca then thy love 
Scom*d by the cruel sex. So now I move 
By virtud of thy power, thiy mighty mass ; 

* Pan was enamoured of Syrinie, a nymph of Arcadia, daughter 
of the river Ladoa. HaTing offered ^olence to her, she escaped^ 
and was changed Into reedi.<-»Ovid Metara. & I. v. $S(K 



THE FAITHFUI. SHEPHERD. 1^ 

Thus by the virtue of diy power it rolls. 
The treacherous fox is tnipp'd witfani her den* 
Now shall I fire the train, aEid I could wish 
All faithless women were in this same cave, 
That at a sii^e blow the whole migbt die^-^ 



CHORUS. 

How great thou art, O Love ! what heart can know ? 
Thou mighty wonder of the world bdow ! 
What heart so savage, or what race so fierce, 
That thy all-powerful influence csmnot pierce i 
What mind can tell thy might i what darii^ wit 
So deep and subtle as to fathom it! 
Who knows thy hot lascivious fires, will own 
Tliat thou in human hearts hast placed diy throne^ 
Destructive spirit! but 'tis also tfaine 
True lovers' hearts to virtue to incline; 
The faint and dying flame of loose desire 
Is soon extii^uish'd by thy chaster fire. 
He that knows this, will say thou art a god, 
W ho in the human soul hast thy abode. 
Strange monster, of divine and human kind 
Mingled in one! with seeing thou art blind. 
And wild with knowing ; a compounded fire 
Of mind and sense, of reason md desire; 
Both heav'n and earth are mibject to thy sway; 
Thou art their sovere^n, they thy laws obey. 



128 THE FAITHFUL SH£PHERI>. 

But (with thy leave) a greater miracle 
Than thee the world centains/ and stranger still ; 
For all the wondrous conquests of thy arms, 
Are gain'd, O Love, by power of woman's charms. 
O woman, gift of heaven, or of that Power 
Who made thee fairer still than heav'n ! 
For to thy share is kindly giv'n 
Of charms a better, larger store. 
Scarce can die azure vault compare 
With the more splendid beauties of the fair^ 
For, like the huge Cyclopean race. 
One eye alone in heaven's brow has place. 
Nor is that eye a fount of light 
To him that gazes, but of darkest night,. 
And greatest blindness; and if heaven sigh^. 
Or speak, 'tis ]ike the frightful cry 
Of angry lion, roaring, for his prey ; 
And no more heaven, but a plain 
Where loud and howlmg storms bear sway, 
Where fiery lightnings, and dread thunders reign.«— 
But woman, with mild lightnii^ ui her air, 
And with the love-inspiring glance 
Of eyes where two bright suns advance^ 
Calms the! afBicted countenance of despair.. 
Motion and sound> and light, and grace divine- 
Such harmony in thy fair face combine. 
Creation's glory ! 'tis in vain that we 
Compare the beauty of the skies with diee. 
And man^ the world's proud lord, his homage too» 



THE PAITHFUL SHtlPHEHD. 1S9 

Pays to thy charms where 'tis so justly due ; 

And if he reigns, 'tis not because thy hand 

Is deem'd less worthy of a high command ; 

But for thy glory, for the more will rise 

The fame of conquest by a precious prize. 

But that thy powerful beauty can subdue 

Not only man, but ev'n his reason too, 

That this is truth, beyond a doubt we see 

In young Mirtillo's wondrous constancy. 

This still the more thy mighty power may prove t 

E v'n when devoid of hope; we cherish love ! 



END 07 THE THIBD ACT. 



( 130 ) 



THE 



FAITHFUL SHEPHERD; 



ACT IV. SCENE I. 



COBISCA. 

Cob. IVe had till now my heart and thoughts so 
fix'd 
To draw that foolish nymph into my net, 
That I have ne'er reflected on the means 
How to recover my dear hair again. 
From that most brutal wretch. O how I griev'd 
To pay that ransom for my liberty! 
But sure 'twas best to 'scape from such a rude 
Unmanner'd beast, who, tho' he be at heart 
More timorous than a hare, yet might have done 
A thousand outrages, and put on me 
A thousand cruel affronts ; for I, in truth. 
Have always fool'd, and drain'd him like a leech^ 
While any blood was left in him, and now 
He's griev'd I love him not, as well he might. 
Provided I had ever shown him love. 



THE FAITHFUL SHEPHEBD, 151 

One caimot love a creature so unlovely. 

And as a plant that's cropp'd for healing use. 

When the physician wrii^ its virtue out, 

Is useless then, and on the dunghill tfarovm ; 

So havh^ wrung him> and extracted all 

The good that's in him, what have I to do 

But throw away the rest as nothing worth i * 

Now will I see if Coridon be yet 

Into the cave descended. Ha ! what's this-! 

What do I see ? now do I wake or dream? 

Or am I in my senses ? Sure I am ;-— 

A little while ago this cavern's mouth 

Was open, how then comes it to be shut. 

And with a massy stone tcH-nirora the place 

It occupied so long, thus suddenly 

Rolled down to block it up ! An earthquake sure 

It could not be, at least I felt it not. 

Would I knew certainly that Coridon 

And Amarillis were within, so then, 1 

I'd care not* how it came. He should be here ^ 

Since he set out, for 'tis so great a while, 

If I have understood lisetta right. 

Who knows but both are here? perchance Mirtillo 

Has shut them both within; Jiov'e by disdain 

Spurr'd on, has power enough to move the world, 

jMuch more a stone. Should it be true they're here, 

IVIirtillo could not have contriv'd a thing 

• The original adds, «* Al Ciacco," " to tke aow." 



198 tBB FAITHFUL 8BBFHBB0. 

More gratefiil to way hetttf, ev's ttm' ia has 
I should be plac'd instewl of Anmiliin. 
'Twere best^ medunks, ta take iIk moimtam palib 
Towards the cave, tbat I may know the tralk. 



SCENE 11. 

DoBiNDA, dressed in a: wild Bea$^i SIdn, 

Lii^co. 

Dor. But Liaco, didst thou kaow me not indeed ? 

Lin . Who could have ever kncvwa thee in a rude 
And savage dress like ttus^ for meek IXorinda P 
Were I aravenous dog, as I am linco, 
I to thy cost had known thee but too well. 
Wbal means tihis strange disguise i what's this I see? 

Dor. linco, thou seest as effect of love 
A sad and singular effect. 

Lin. 'Tis singular indeed! 
Thou a young maid, so soft, so delicate^ 
Who wast, as I osay say, but very lately 
A little child, nay it appears,, methinks^ 
But yesterday I had thee in my anus 
A tender helj^ess infant, and did guide 
Thy feeble steps, and teach thy lispii^ tongue 
To call thy parents by the first fond names, "^ 
W' hile in thy father's service I remain'd ; 

* Liurallj, *< to form fa/a and mamma.** 



I 



TBI? i^AITHFTTL SH^^HER0. 135 

Hiou who wast fearful as a timorous doe. 
Before thou wert in love, and wast afraid 
At every thing that on a sudden niov'd. 
At every breeze; at every little bird 
That shook a bough, each Uzard that but ran 
Out froni a bush, aud every leaf that wav'd^ 
Made thee turn pale and tremble; but alc»ie 
Thou goest wandering now o'er all the hills, 
And thro' the wildest woods, fearless of hounds 
Or savage beasts. 

Dor. She whom the shafts of Love 
Have pierc'd, giows bold, and fears no other wound. 

LiN. In truths Dorinda^ Love has shown his 
power, 
From woman to a man transforming thee. 
Or rather to a wolf. 

Dor. If thou could'st look 
Within my breast, O linco, thou wouldst see 
A living wolf that preys upon my soul^ 
As on a harmless lamb !— 

Li N . Who is that wolf ? 
Pray is it Silvio ? 

Dor. Ah! most rightly gitess'd ! 

LiiN. And thou^ as he's -a wolf, has^ chang'd 
thyself 
To a she-wolf, because thy hunian face 
Could not attract his love, in hopes this change 
1^ ight move his heart. But say^^vheve did'st thou find 
Xliis shaggy dress ? 



134 THE yAlTHFI7L SHBPHSRDi. 

Dor. rU tell thee. I had heard 
That S3vio was to-day to hunt the boar 
At Erymanthus' foot^ and there I went 
At the first peep of dawn. Hard by die wood 
Not far from hence, just where the crystal stream 
Huns murmuring from the hill, I found Mdampo, 
Most beauteous Silvio's dog, which as I guess. 
Had quench'd his thirst, and in the neighb'ring mead 
Lay resting. I who evwy thing hold dear 
Of Silvio's, even to the very shade 
Of his fair form, much more the dog on which 
His love is plac'd, stoop'd down, and suddenly 
Laid hold on him, when gentle as a lamb 
He came along with me ; and whilst I thought 
Of carrying him to his dear lord and mine, 
In hopes of favour by a gift so precious, 
Lo ! he himself approach'd in search of him, 
And here he stopp'd. Dear Linco, I'll not waste 
Both time and words minutely to repeat 
"What pass'd betwixt us ; therefore to be short, 
I'll tell thee only this. After a long 
And tedious round of words, and promises 
He never meant to keep, he cruelly fled, 
Full of disdain and anger from my sight. 
With his belov'd Melampo, which I meant 
Should be the price of favour from his lord. 

LiN. O barbarous Silvio ! O rutliless swaiul 
What didst thou then, Dorinda ? didst thou not 
Despise and hate him for such cruelty i 



THE FAITHFUL SHEPHERD^ 



135 



Dob. Rather as if the fire of his disdain 
Had been the fire of love^ his rage increased 
My former flame; and fcJIowinghis steps 
Towards the chase^ I overtook Lupino 
Hard by, whom I had lately sent before 
To wait for me ; when I bethought myself 
Of this disguise, and that his homely robes 
So well might hide me, that amidst the train 
Of shepherds I might also pass for one, 
And thus unknown^ might follow and admire 
My lovely Silvio. 

Lin. And hast thoa thus in likeness of a wolf 
Gone to the chase, and 'scap'd from all the hounds! 
This is a wondrous and bold feat, Dorinda. 

Dor. Cease, linco, thy surprise; how could 
the dogs 
Touch her who was their master's destin'd prey ? — 
There was I mingled in the numerous croud 
Of neighb'ring shepherds, who were met to view 
The noble chase, and stood without the tents 
A fond spectatress of the hunter swain, 
Rather than curious to behold the sport. 
At every motion of the frightful beast^ 
My heart did tremble, and at every act 
Of my dear Silvio, my anxious soul • 
Flew to his aid with all the haste of love. 
But my delight in viewing him was check'd 
By the appearance of the furious boar 
Of hideous size and strength immeasurable* 

M 2 



)d6 THB FAITHTUL SHEPHBKB. 

As in a sudden storm the whiriwmd's blast 

Loud and impetuous, levels widi the ground 

All in an instant, houses, trees, and rocks. 

And whatsoe'er its ai^ry circle meets ; 

So, as the dreadful monster turned his tusks 

Besmear'd with fosaai and blood, all in a heap 

Slain dogs, and broken spears, and wounded men. 

Together lay. How often did I wish 

For Silvio's life to give die monster mine ! 

How often did I wish to rush at once 

And place my bosom as a shield to his ! 

How oft iu secret to my soul I sigh'd, 

** Spare, cruel boar, ah! spare the beauteous breast 

" Of my fair Silvio!" — Such my secret words 

Mingled with sighs and pray 'rs , when forth he slipp'd 

His fierce Melampo, (with his body cloth'd 

In a hard scaly coat) against the boar. 

Which now had grown more fierce and full of pride> 

Seeing the shepherds wounded, and the heap 

Of slaughter'd dogs that perish'd in the fray, 

linco, the valour of that faidiful hound 

Surpasses all belief, and Silvio sure 

Has ample cause to love and doat upon him. 

As a chaf 'd lion, which now meets, now turnsr 

From the fierce pushes of die angry bull, 

If once his fangs he fixes in his back, 

He holds him there so fast, that every power 

Of turning for defence is thus destroy 'd. 

So did Mdampo with the nicest skill 



THE FAITHFUL SHEPHER0-. 137 

Avoid the pushes and the sudden turns 

Of the dread monster, till at length he seiz'd 

Upon his ear, and having first awhile 

With fury shaken himf so fast he held, 

That at his body which had been before 

But slightly wounded, fierce and mortal strokes 

Might be directed now with surer aim. 

Then suddenly my lovely Silvio 

Invoked Diana : " O direct this shaft, 

" Most venerable goddess, (he exclaimed) 

" And here I vow to offer at thy shrine 

" The horrid iiead." So spoke the beauteous youth. 

And instant from his golden quiver snatch'd 

An arrow fleet, which to the point he drew 

On the strong bow ; swift sped the deadly shaft 

To where the neck with the left shoulder joins ; 

Down fell the wounded boar upon the plain. 

Then was my fear releas'd when I beheld 

My Silvio out of danger. Happy boar! 

Honoured with death from his most powerful hand 

Who steals so sweetly human hearts away ! 

LiiN. What will become then of the lifeless beast? 

Dor. I know not ; for I cdme away thro' fear 
Of being known at length amidst the throng ; 
But I suppose they'll to the temple bear 
The head, with solemn pomp, as Silvio vow'd ' 

LiN. But wilt thou not put off this savage dress I 

Dor. Yes.; But Lupino has my other clotheS;^ 
And promised at the fountain to remain 

m3 



ISd THB FAITHFUL SHEPHEB]>. 

mil I should Gome to liim> but he has fail'd 

To keep his word. Dear linco^ if tibou lov'st me^ 

Go now in search of him amidst &is wood ; 

Far off he surely caitti0t be; meanwhile 

I'll rest in yonder thicket* Dost Aoq see it ? 

Thet« I'll expect thee ;-«^for Fm overcome 

With wearines9 and sleep, and do not wish 

To' appear at home in such a rugged dress. 

XtiN. I shall obey; but, prithee, do not quit 
The appointed spot till I return to thee. 



SCENE III. 

Chorus, Ergasto. 
Chor« Have ye heard, shej^erds, that our den»« 
god, 
The great Montano'sr worthy son^ 
And worthy offspring of the noble line 
Of gi'eat Alcides so renown'd in song. 
This day has freed us from tne dreadful boar^ 
The plague and terror of Arcadia ; 
And that he now prepares 
To great Diana's temple to poceed, 
To pay his promb'd vows for hia success ? 
If gratitude ia therefore due 
Also from us> together let us go, 
To meet him, and unite our tongues and hearts 
To honour him as our deliverer. 



THE FAITHFUL SHEFHEllD. 139 

Tho' hoQOuf be a poor reward 

For sudi a noble valiaitt souly 

^is aSl diait Virtue Clin obtain on earth. 

Erg. OMd diitoter ! O most bitter fate! 
O most reme^filess and ttMiil wound ! 

day to be for ever,' eter mourned ! 

Chor. What doleiul Mtering voice assails our 
ears? 

Erg. Stars, enemies to mortal weal, 
Why do ye mock our futfa! 
Why do ye raise our flatter'd hopes aloft. 
That when they fell s^n, 
The proud height they hav^ lost brings greater woe! 

Chor. Sure 'tis Ergasto's voice ! 'tis he indeed. 

Erg. But why acctise I heav'h ? ttyself accuse,. 
Ei^asto, since it was thyself titat placed 
The dangerous tinder near the steel of love, ^ 
And thou didst strike it till the sparkles flew ; 
Thence an niiquenclMi>le and mortal flame 
Is kindled ; but he&v'n kn6ws my true intent^ 

1 acted bom, good inotives, and 'twas pity 
Alone incited me.-*-0 hapless^lovers ! 

O wretched Amaiillis, wretched Titiro ! 
O childless father! sorrowfid Montano! 
O desolate Arcadia! wretched vfe! 
In short, most sad all I have seen or see. 
Or speak, or hear, or think ! 

* Because he procured the interview between Mirtilio aoi 
AnariUis. 



140 THE FAITHFUL SHEPHEEB. 

Chor. O what most fotal accident is this,.. 
Which thus involves us all in misery ? 
Shepherds let's go and question him; lo ! here 
He comes most opportunely towards us. 
Eternal gods ! sure it is now full time 
To' abate your dreadful wrath ! Courteous £rgasto> 
Unfold to us what cruel accident 
Afflicts thee thus; what mean these tearsi 

Erg. Dear friends, 
I weep for your sad fate, and for my ownl 
I mourn the ruin of Arcadia ! 

Chor. O Heav'n! what's this we hearl 

Erg. Our best support, . 
The stay of all our hope, alas ! is broken! 

Chor. Oh! speak more clearly. 

Erg. Titiro's dau^ter, then. 
The only prop of her declinii^ race, 
And of her aged father, the sole hope 
Of our deliverance, and by heaven decreed 
To wed Montano's son, and save Arcadia 
By that au3picious match ; that heav'nly nympb^ 
That prudent Amarillis, that so fair 
Pattern of honour, and that flower of chastity — 
Alas! 'twill break my heart to speak it out! 

Chor. Is dead! 

Erg. No : But her death is near at hand! 

Chor. Alas! what's this we hear ? 

Erg. Nothing as yet; death's but a trivial ill i 



THE 7AITHFUL S'REPHEItD* 141 

One f»r more dreacUiil 38 ftwaitiiig her! 
She cties ^th.itlfiBiiny I ^ 

Chor. How^ AinarUKs die'witli iikftmy! 

Erg. Caught but this moment with -a baae adul* 

terer; 
And if ye stay a litde longer here, 
Ye'U see her led a captive to the temple. 

Chor. O female virtue ! glorious to the sight. 
But weak in structure ! O fair chastity ! 
Alas! how rare thou'rt grown! and shdt it then 
Be said for truth, no women e'er were chaste 
Save such as ne'er were tried ! O hapless age ! 

Erg. Indeed with cause enough we might suspect 
The virtue of all women, when ev'n she 
Who was accounted virtue's self hath fall'n. 

Chor. Ah! gentle shepherd, if we trespass not 
Upon thy courtesy, relate to us 
Tlie whole s^d stoiy. 

Erg. Ye shall be obey'd. 
Hiis very morning, early, as you know. 
The priest i^eht to the temple with the sire 
Of the unhappy nym^h, incited both 
By one desire to offer up their prayers, 
That gracious heaven might accelerate 
Tlieir children's wish'd-for union ; and for thia 
Each laid a victim on the sacred altar. 
At once they bled, and from each sacrifice 
The mingled incense mounted up at once, 
With auspices so good^ that entrails ne'er 



142 THE FAITHFUL SHEPHERI^. 

Were ikirer, nor could flame more clearly bum. 
Mo/d by these omens, the blind prophet* cries r 
'^ Thy Silvio, Montano, shall to-day 
*' Become a lover ; Titiro, thy daughter 
'^ Shall prove a spouse ; go quickly> and prepare 
'^ The joyful nuptials.'' O insensate minds 
Of foolish augurs! and thou, blind. in soul 
As in thine eyes ! for if thy words had been 
'' Prepare her obsequies/' — ^then hadst thou prov'd 
A truer prophet. Yet the standers by 
And the old fathers wept apace for joy. , 
Now Titiro was gone, when all at once: 
Amidst the hallow'd temple omens dire i 
Were heard, and dismal auguries were seen, 
Boding the wrath of heav'n ; and at these signs 
Alas ! so sudden and so dread, when all 
Promised so fair before, if every one 
Astonish'd stood and dumb, no wonder, friends. — , 
Meanwhile the priests had by themselves withdrawn 
Into an inner room ; whilst there they stood. 
And we, without, mingling .our pray'cs with teais^ 
The infamous Satiro comes in haste, 
And with most vehement earnestness demands 
Of the chief priest an audience ; I admit him, 
* As is my charge to dp, and he (alas ! 
Good news in that stern face he never bore !) 
Cries out : " O Fathers, if your offer'd pray'ra 

♦ Tir9Dio« 



THE FAITHFUL SHEPHERD. 143 

'^ And incense please not heav'n ; if flames impure 

*' Rise from the altars, * think not this is strange : 

*' That likewise is impure which is committing 

" In Erycina's cave. A false nymph there 

'' Is breaking with a base adulterer 

*' Vour laws so sacred^ and her plighted faith f. 

*' Send with me now your ministers^ and I 

" Will show the place and means to seize them both,** 

O minds of men how blind are ye to fate ! 

The good afflicted fathers were relieved, 

Imagining they now had found the cause 

That stopp'd their pious prayVs, J and drew from 

heav'n 
Such inauspicious signs ; the priest in haste 
Commands Nicandro, the chief minister^ 
To take Satiro with him for a guide, 
And to the temple bring the guilty pair. 

* It may be thought strange how Satiro could know of the bad 
omens whilst he was coming from the cave. The poet, perhaps, 
presumes him to have known at a single glance from the counte- 
nances of the people when he entered the temple. 

f It will be observed, that Satiro is the accuser of Amarillia in* 
voluntarily and by accident ; for he speaks here of Corisca, who 
as he mentions in Sc. 9. of Act 3., had pledged her faith to Con- 
don, and he believes that she lias met in the cave with Mirtillo. 

\ In most editions the words here are, *' nel sacrificio infausto.** 
But it is evidently an error, and should be, *^ nel sacro ufficio in. 
*« £iiueto,*' — alluding to the prayers^ for we have already seen that 
the flames of the sacrifice burned clear. When Satiro says « if 
** flames impure rise from the altars," he is speaking only from 
his own suppositioii. 



144 THB fAlT.HFVL.SHfipH^RlV. 

By the whole b$nd;of unier i?»ipfa|er8 - ' " 
Accompanied, he goes/amidst that ^K 
And winding way their wicked.g^^id^ had.^4iWU9 
Into the cave, And th^re the.j^jessjpaaid ' 
Struck at the blaabg t(>r§^^' §iMm:S^^y 
Essay'd, with trembling h»stfe;,te:fiiMi lij&r w»y. / -^ 
Out from the darkest corner pf the r^ave, 
By that same entrance which; h^d be^p b^ore 
Block'd up by sly Satire's dexterpus art. 
As he informed us* < . . ... 

Chor. What did he the \yhile? 
Erg. He took his leave as soon as he had led 
Nicandro to the place. Words cannot tell, 
.My friends, what dire amazement seiz'd on aU^ 
And strange confusion, soon as diey percdiv'd 
That this was Titiro's daughter ; and still more. 
When bold Mirtillo sprung (from whence we saw 

not,) 
And at Nicandro threw, witfi all his might, 
A hunting-spear he carried in his hand, 
Which, had it struck the blow that was design'd. 
Had slain him instantly. But (whether 'twi^a 
Good foitune or dexterity I know not) 
At the same moment that the stroke was aim'd, 
He stepp'd aside ; and so the deadly steel 
Pass'd harmless by his breast, and pierc'd his robe ; 
But there it stuck so fast, Mirtillo strove 
In vain to pull it out, and so he too . 
Remain'd a prisoner. 



XIJhor. What ensued with him? 

Erg. Him they conducted by another vfky 
^Towards the temple. 

Chor. And with what intent? 

Erg. Thatso&eymightdiebetterdrawfroinhiiii 
The truth of this affiur. And who can tell? 
. Perhaps die affiront he in ^k* mimster^ 
Did to the priestly majesty, deserves 
Some punii^ment. But, O that I had gone 
To comfort my poor friend ! 

Ckor. Why couldst thou not? 

Erg. Because the law foriMdi 
Inferior ministers riiouid converse hold 
With criminals. An4 therefore I, removed 
From all the rest, will, by another path, 
Go to the temple, where, with solemn pray'rs 
And tears devout, I shall entreat c^f heav'n 
To chase this dismal storm that threatens us. 
Adieu, dear shepherds, rest in peace, and join 
Your pray'rs with ours, to' appease the wrath divine. 

Chor. We will, as soon as we have paid to Silvio 
Our debt of gratitude so justly due * 
For our deliverance. O Eternal Pow'rs, 
That in the heav'n of heav'ns make your abode, 
O now we pray that ye would kindly show 
Your love eternal, and your anger slow. 

* Doma0 ujptio. In tome editions it it enrooeoiulf dhr««« iiffici<K 

N 



146 THB'TAITHFUL SHEPHERD* 



SCENE IV. 

CORISCA. 

Cor. Circle my brows around^ 
O ye triumphant laurels^ and adorn 
My fam'd victorious head with honours due* 
To-day with vast success^ 
I've fought and conquer'd in the field of Love ; 
Tb-day have heav'n and^earth^ 
Nature and art^ fortune and destiny^ 
And friends and foes combin'd to aid my cause. 
Ev'n base Satiro, who abhors me so^ 
Has aided me^ as if he took a pait 
In favouring my designs ; and how much better 
Did fortune bring Mirtillo to the cave, 
Than I could Coridon ! to make the guilt 
Of Amarillis seem beyond a doubt 
Most clearly prov'd, and worthy to be punish'd; 
And tho' Mirtillo be a prisoner too. 
That matters not/he will be soon releas'd, 
The adultress only suffers punishment. 
O victory renown'd ! O famous triumph ! 
Ye amordus lies, erect a trophy for me, 
For in thb tongue and in this breast your power 
Is great beyond compaie. But why delay ? 
There is iio time to lose ; withdraw thyself, 
Corisca, till the law shall be fulfiU'd 
Against thy rival, lest she should on thee 



THE FAITHFUL SHEPHERD. 147 

Charge home her crime, to vindicate herself; 

Or lest, perchance, the priest should wish to hear 

From thee the truth, before he give the blow. 

ily then, Corisca, for a lying tongue 

Is dangerous with a foot that tarries long. 

rU hide myself amidst these woods, and there 

Will stay until the proper time arrives 

To go and take possession of my joys. 

Q fortunate Corisca ! was there e'er 

A. dangerous enterprize that went so- well ! (^Ex^it, 



SCENE V. 

NiCANDEO, AmAEILLIS. 

Nic. He sure must have a heart of stone, or rather 
No heart, nor common feelings of a man, 
That would not pity thy afflicted state, 
Unhappy nymph, and mourn thy wretched doom^ 
The more by how much less 'twas credible 
By those that knew thee best, this should befal thee. 
For were it but to see a maid so fair, 
Of mein divine, one who appeared to all 
Of stich excelling virtue, and who seem'd 
Worthy of temples and of sacrifice 
From an adoring world ; to see herself 
Jjed to the temple for a sacrifice. 
Might surely soften the most savage heart. 
And draw forth tears of pity. But again, ,. 

N 2 



14S »HE FAITHFUL SHCFHBltXr.. 

He ivho reflecte upon th^r noUe birdie 

And for vhat weighty purpose thou wert born^ 

That thou art Titiro'fi daughter, and shoiddst be 

The great Montano^s also by alliance^ 

(Two the most lov'd and honour'd> shsdl I say,. 

Shepherdls or fathers of Arcadia ?) 

And that, being such, so great, so good, so fisur. 

And who by nature's course wert so remote 

From death, thou now shouldst stand upon its brink I 

He that considers this, and does not weep. 

And sorely grieve for thee, is not a man^ 

Sut a wild monster in a human fornix 

Am. O if this miserable fete had come 
Thro' my own fault, Nicandro, and were caus'd 
By vicious inclhiations, i^ from such 
It Hoems to theq to spring ; deatli's racking paint 
I could mote easily endure diaa ^loughts. 
Of such a monstrous crime ; and just it were 
To shed my blood to wash my sou} from guilty 
To calm the wrath of heav'n, and give its doe 
To human justice ; sp I thus might heal 
The wounds of my afflicted suffering soul ; 
And mortified with a due inward sense 
Of death deserv'd, might be the more prepar'ct 
To leave the world, and with a tranquil breeze 
Begin my passage to a better life. 
But, oh Nicandro, I am griev'd to think 
Of dying thus in youth and fortune's pridiSi 
And abovQ all, in innocence! 



THE FAITHFUL SHEPHEBO. 149 

Nic. O nymph I 

would to heaven that men had iujur'd thee; 
Rather than thou hadst so offended heav'n! 
For we could far more easily have found 
Full satisfoction for thy tainted fame^ 

Than for the violated Iaiw» divine ; 
Nor see I yet who wronged thee save thyself^. 
Unhappy nymj^! — now tell me, wert thou not 
Found with a base adulterer in a cave f 
Didst thou not give thy plighted. iaith before 
To wed Montano's son i and hast thou .not. 
Broken by this vile act thy nuptial*vow ?^ 
-How canst thou then plead innocence i 
Am. And yet 

1 am not guilty of a crime like this^ 

And have |K>t so transgress'd against the law. 
Tm innocent indeed^ 

Nic, 'Gainst nature's law 
Perchance thou hast not sinn'd, '* Love where thou 

wUt;'— 
But that of mea and heaven thou hast broken^ 
**- Love lawfully^ — 

AiMU Both men and heaven^ then, 
(If. all our fortune be derived from heav'n) 
Have against me transgress'd ; for what, I pray. 
Save evil destiny could eW require 
That I should suffer death for others' crimes ? 

Nic. What's this thou say'st so rashly; wretched 

nymph f 

n3 



%50 THE FAIfHFUL 8REPRlB1l0v 

O bridle^ bridle thy presumptuons tongue 

Transported by iky passion to a height 

Of such irreveFence as Bonds devout 

Ne'er venture to! accuse not heav'n; ourselvet^ 

Alone brkig down our miseries go. our heads. 

Am. Still I accuse not aught in righteous heav^n^ 
Save my severe and cruel destiny ; 
But one mho has deoeiv'd me^ 1 accuse 
More than my destiny. 

Nic. Blame then thyself ; thou didst thyself deceive^ 

Am. I did> by Ust'mng to another's fraud. 

Nic. They cannot be deceiv'd who love deceit. 

Am. Canst thou believe me so devoid of shame t 

Nic. I cannot tell ; thine actions will declare. ' 

Am. Actions are oft fiilse mirrors of l^e heart. 

Nic. By actions only is the heart diseeni'd. 

Am. By the mind's eyes the heart may be discem'cl. 

Nic. Without the senses' help, these eyes are blind. 

Am. The senses err if reason bear not sway. 

Nic. And reason errs whene'er it doubts the truth. 

Am. Howe'er that be, my heart is innocent. 

Nic. Who save thyself^ then^ led thee tO' the cave i 

Am. My simple and my unsi^pecting heart. 

Nic. And didst i&ou trust thy virtue wkh a lover? 

Am. With an un&ithful friend; but not a lov«r. 

Nic. What friend was this? thy own impure 
desire? 
^M. Ormino's sister who betray M me tfaith^. 

flic*. The cheat is pleasing which a ktver guides. 



THB FAITHFUL SHEPHERD. 1^1 

Am/ Unknown to me MirtiUo tUtfaer came.' 
Nic. How didst thou enter^and with what intent i 
Am. It is enough I came not for Mirtilio. 
Nic. Thou art convicted; if thou eaost adfkrce 

No odier cause. 
Am. Examme then MirtiUo^ 

And he'll bear witness to my innocence. 

Nic. He who has been the cause of dby offence f 
Am. She that betray 'd me^ will acqiut me too. 
Nic. What feithis due to one devoid of faith f 
Am. By chaste Diana's sacred name I swear. 
Nic. Thotf art already perjur'd by thy works. 

Nymph, to be plttn^ I cannot flatter thee 

'Widi empty h<^s and fair deluding words^ 

To make thy misery greater than it is. 

'Tis vain to think of ev'n a glimpse of hope. 

A troubled fountain cannot yield pure streams^ 

Nor a bad heart true words ; and where^ as now> 

The fact itself accuses the^, defence 

Only offends the more; thy chastity 

Thou should'st have strug^ed to preserve unstain'd^ 

And valued more than life ; why talk'st thou then 

Thus fruitlessly^ and still dec^v'st thyself i 
Am. And must I die, Nicandro! must I diet 

Alas! with none to hear^ or to defend me ! 

By all abandonMy reft of every hope ! 

Become the object only of sueh pity. 

Such wretched pity as affords no 



Vui 



152 THE FAITHFUL SHEPHBRD. 

Nic. Nymph, let thy heart be humbTe an4 
resign'd : 
And if so little prudence diou hast showor 
In sinning, now Aow iuore in suffering weH 
The punishment of sin. O raise thine eyes 
To heaven with thy heart, since all our lot 
Comes from above, as from a fountain springs 
A river, from a seed a spreading tree. 
Tho' good and evil may to mortal eyes- 
Seem mii^led and confris'd, yet what to uff 
Seems ill, falls out by die decrees of heav'n^. 
Which thence by wisdom inconceivable, 
Educes good, itself the fount of goodness* 
Great Jove to whom the human heart is knowny^ 
The venerable goddess whom I serve. 
Know how my heait^ bleeds for thy hapless state.. 
And if my words have pierc'd thee to the soul,, 
I've us'd them as the good physician's hand 
In mercy cruel, with the pointed steel 
Probes the profound recesses of a wound, 

Where he suspects the greatest danger, lies. 

Now, then, be calm, and with humility^ 

Resign thyself to what's ordain'd by heav'a. . 
Am. O 'tis a cruel sentence, whether written.: 

In heaven or on earth, yet writ in heaven 

It cannot be ; there I rejoice to think 

My innocence is known. But what, alas! 

Will that avail, since, spite of innocence, 



THE FAITHFUL SHEPHEHO. 153 

For human malice I'm condemn'd to die ! 
Ah ! that's the worst, the keenest pang of aQ! 
NicaiidrO; that's the bitter cup !-^But ch! 
By that compassion thou hast ibown for me, 
I now conjure thee, do not yet so soon 
Conduct me to the temple ! Stay, ah stay ! 
Nic. O nymph ! they whom tbe fear of death 

appals 
Die every moment io their childish feara. 
Why seek thus needlessly to stay thy fete i 
In death there's nothuig fearful but tiie dread 
Of dying, and who sooiiest meet their doom 
When life is justly forfeited, escape 
From death the soonest. 

Am. But pen^ance some sud 
Meanwhile may come. O father, dearest father^ 
And hast tboa left me tool the ftuber tfaou 
Of one sole daughter, lima to let iBe die, 
Nor strive to save me! but before my death 
At least refuse me uot one parting kiss! 
A single stroke shall pierce two breasts at once, 
And from thy daughter's wound thy blood must 

flow! 
O father! once so sweet, so dear a name. 
Never invok'd in vain! dius dost tfaou make 
Thy dearest daughter's nuptial rites ! at mom 
A smiling bride, at eve a sacrifice! 

Nic. Nymph, grieve no more ; why dost thov 

needlessly 



154 THE FAITHFUL SHEPHERD^ 

A£9ict thyself and others ? now 'tb time 
I lead thee to the temple ; longer here 
I cannot stay ; my duty bids me go. 

Am. Dear K^oods! adieu thei^ my dear woods> 
adiea! 
Receive ye now my latest sighs. 
Till my cold shade loos'dfrom her mortal^ prison. 
By cruel steel, to your lov'd shades return. 
For to the doleful realms of pain 
It cannot go, being pure and innocent. 
Nor can it soar to heav'ii and-dwelL 
Among the blest, so laden as it is^. 
With sorrow and despair 
Mirtillo, O Mirtillo! falal day. 
Was that when first I'saw, when^first I pleas'd tbiee F 
Since I whom thou did'st love 
Far dearer, than thyself, became thy life, 
Only to die myself! and thus is she 
(Ah ! who could credit it!) condemned to die! 
Her only fault in being, cruel to thee. 
That she might thus preserve her innocence !. - 
Too passionate a lover thou hast been 
Not to affect my heart, but in thy love 
Too modest to expect a just return. 
Yet what avails my rigid constancy \ 
I might have yielded, since my innocence 
Cannot ward off my death ; for destiny 
Decreed in all events that I should die. 
Faultless I die without a cause at all,. 



THE FAITHFUL SH£?HERD. 155 

Divorc'd from thee my hearty my only joy! 

Ah me! I die, Mirti l ■ [She f amis. 

Nic. She dies indeed ! 
O wretched maid I Come hither, shepherds, haste, 
Help me to bear her up. O mournful case ! 
Her woes are ended while her quivering lips 
Essay'd to name Mirtillp ! love and grief 
Have done the cruel office of the steel! 
O most unhappy nymph! — Ha ! still she lives! 
Her throbbing heart gives yet some signs of life. 
Let's bear her quickly to the neighb'ring fount, 
Perchance the cooling stream may still restore 
Her fleeting spirits— Yet who knows but this - 
Deserves the name of cruelty to aid. 
One who of grief is dying, to escape 
Death from the fatal steel ! However it be, 
O let us not refuse to lend our aid. 
To present woe. Heav'n only knows our doom, 
4Sees all our life that's past, and what's to come. 

{They bear o^ Amarillis. 



SCENE VI. 

Chorus of Huntsmen and Shepherds with 

Silvio. 
Ch. Hu. O glorious youth, true child of Hercules, 
Srave conqueror of monsters fell as this ! 



^' 



1^ THB 7A1THFVL »H£l>HBRl>. 

Ch. Sh. O glorioulft youth ! by whom aAii(bt Us 
gore 
lies slaiB the frightful Eiytnaiitinaii'bcMr^ 
Held while idive imincible before-*- 
Behold the horrid sarage head. 
Which still a^^ars to threaten death tbo' dead. 
This is die trophy that confers renown 
Upon our demigod, so jusdy won 
By noble toil. Come dbepberds celebrate 
Hit name with praises equal to his state. 
O let OB keep this hap|)y day 
For eter solemn, and for ever gay. 

Ch. Hu. O glorious youth; tntedkHA of Hercnled^ 
Brave conqueror of monsters fell as this ! 

Ch. Sh. O youth for ever worthy of renown! 
Who dost for others* lives despise diy own i 
This is the surest road 
TTo climb to virtue's bright abode ; 
For at her palace gate 
Oreat toils and mighty labours wait. 
He that would reach the port of ease. 
Must pass thro' trouble's stormy seas ^ 
Nor from unfruitful base repose, 
Abhorring labour's craggy road 
Sy the true sons of virtue trod, 
Does honour spring. But truest glory flows 
Where heroes meet with toil, and bravely toS 
oppose. 



tHE FAITHFUL SHEPHERD. 157 

^ ^H.. Hu. O glorious youth ! true child of Her- 
cules! 
Brave conqueror of monsters fell as this ! 

Ch. Sh. O glorious youth, by whom these fer- 
tile plains 
Till now deserted by the laboring swains, 
, TTheir former culture now receive, 
Their fruitful honours now retrieve : 
Go, swains, resume the sluggish plough, 
And now the fmitful seed securely sow. 
When yellow autumn comes again, 
Cxpect, with confidence, the golden grain. 
No more shall tusks or furious feet be found. 
To waste the grain, or crush it to the ground ; 
Now shall the fertile fields no more sustain 
A monster's life to be the country's bane^ 

Ch. Hu. O glorious youth ! true child of Her- 
cules ! 
Srave conqueror of monsters fell as this ! 

Ch. Sh. O glorious youth ! as if presaging thine, 
The heav'ns to-day with brighter splendour shine, 
like this, perchance, might be the famous boar 
Alcides slew, yet thy renown is more. 
Thy earliest labom*, Silvio, was this ; 
i(Such is thy fame) bjit 'twas die third of his. 
With such fierce beasts thy infant valour plays, 
To kill wx)rse monsters in thy ipper days ! 






o 



f:*. 



158 THE FAITHFUL SH'BPHEflD. 

Ch. Hu. O glorious jontli ! trae child of Her- 
cules! 
Brave conqueror of monsters fell as this ! 

Ch. Sh. O glorious youth ! how well we see 
Valour and piety combin'd in thee! 
O Cynthia, mighty goddess, deign 
To look upon thy Silvio's vow 
Accomplished with due reverence now, 
Within thy holy fane ! 
Behold, as if in thy despite, 
The horrid head on either side 
Arm'd with its crooked tusks of purest white, . 
Hung aloft in dreadful state, 
Which seem thy silver horns to emulate. 
If then, O powerful goddess, thou didst guide 
The youth'^s keen arrow to the wound, 
In gratitude he's justly bound 
These spoils to dedicate to thee, 
As trophies of his victory. 

Ch. Hu. O glorious youth ! true child of Her- 
odes ! 
Brave conqueror of mcmsters fell as this ! 



SCENE vn. 

CORIDON. 

Con. I have, till now, forborne to give belief 
To thfit which from Satiro late I heard 



THE FAITHFUL £kHEPHERl>« 159 

Touching Coriaca, fearing it might prove 
Au artful lie invented by himself 
Thro' malice^ with design to injure me» 
For it appeared to be removed too far 
From likelihood^ that in the very place 
Where she expected me (unless the word 
Were false which by lisetta I received) 
She now should be on such a sudden caught 
With an adulterer ; but yet in truths 
Methinks I here behold an evidence ; 
It much disturbs me that this cavern's mouthy 
Just as Satjro said, is thus block'd up^ 
And with a stone so hi^e and ponderous* 
Corisca, O Corisca^^by experience 
Too welM know thee ; 'midst such numevoui slips^ 
Thou needs must fall at last without relief. 
So many lies^ deceits^ and perjuries 
Sure might have been presages clear enough 
Of sueh a dreadful fall, to any one 
Whom folly or affection did not blind. 
^Twas well for me I lingered by the way^ 
By lucky chance my father hinder'd me, 
Tho' at the time I foolishly believ'd 
That stay a sad obstruction to my joy. 
For had it happen'd I had here arriv'd 
Just at the hour Lisetta told me of, 
A dreadful meeting surely there had been ! 
How shall I now proceed ? with fury arm'd 
Shall I pursue revenge and violence ? 

o 2 



160 THE FAITHFUL SHEPHERD. 

No ; tliat were too much honour ; and^ in truth, 

To reason justly, 'tis a case deserves 

My pity, not my vengeance. But again. 

Shall I take pity on a cheat like her P 

She has deceiv'd hersdf by leaving one 

Who ever lov'd her with a heart so true. 

To give herself a prey into the arms 

Of an ignoble swain, a worthless wretch^ 

A wandering fickle stranger, that to-morrow 

Still more perfidious than herself will prove. 

What ? shall I then be anxious to avenge 

A wrong that carries with itself revenge. 

And quenches all my indignation so. 

It turns to pity ? — Still I must reflect 

That she has scom'd me ; — But be that my boas^ 

For I am rather honour'd by the scorn 

Of a weak woman, one who ever flies 

To her own harm, and one who never knew 

The laws of love, how she should love receive^ 

Or how bestow it, but at random lov'd. 

The lover that's least worthy pleases her. 

And those that merit love she ever hates. 

But tell me, Condon, if love despis'd 

Move not thy rage, shall sorrow for thy loss 

Not arm thy vengeance ? No ; I have not lost 

Her whom I never ^in'd ; but I've regained 

Myself so lost by an unworthy love ; 

Nor does it well deserve the name of loss, 

To lose a woman full of vanity, * 



THE FAITHFUL SHEPHE&D. l6l 

Inconstant as the v/ioAf and void of shame. 
In fine^ what have I lost P A beauty void 
Of virtue, a fair head devoid of sense, 
A breast without a heart, a heart without 
A soul to' enliven it, a faithless mind, 
A shade, a ghost, a carcase of affection. 
Now fair, but which t<>-morrow to the sense 
'^ Smdls horrible." — Can this be call'd a loss? 
Nay, I will rather count it mighty gain. 
Are there no women in the world save her ? 
Can Coridon want nymphs as fair as she. 
And far more faithful P But she well may want 
One who may prove so true as Coridon, 
Whom she deserv'd not. Now if I should take 
Satiro's counsel in accusing her 
Of breach <rf faith, I know^most certainly 
She'd pay the penalty of death for this. 
But I've a steadier heart than to be nKw'd 
By the poor breath of woman's levity. 
By far too great an honour it would prove^ 
To female perfidy, to let it wound 
The quiet of manly breasts and break the peace 
Of noble spirits foi* revenge on such 
As merit scorn alone. Corisca then 
For me shall live : or, I should rather say> 
I'll for my rival suffer her to live ; 
That shall be vengeance quite enough for me» 
Let her enjoy her choice, and feel the sting 
Of infamy ; my rival's far beneath 

o 3 



162 THE FAITHFUL SHEPHERB. 

My hate. Mucb more^ in truth, I (Hty her^ 
Than envy him the love of such a nymj^ 



SCENE VIII. A Wood. 

Silvio. 
SiL. O goddess^ "^ goddess only of the blind. 
Slothful^ and vain! who, still with hearts impure^. 
And with their most profane, and foolish rites, 
Altars and temples consecrate to thee! 
Temples said I f rather sanctuaries 
Of lewdness and impiety, to hide 
Under the name of thy divinity 
Their shameless deeds! too shameless goddess thouf 
That thine, amidst the glaring wickedness 
Of others' actions, may the less appear. 
Thou giv'st the reins to all lasciviousness ! 
Thou foe to reason I plotter of sweet frauds, 
Corrupter of the soul, distress of men 
And nature ! fitly hast thou been reputed 
The ocean's daughter, that perfidious monster^ 
Thou, as perfidious, with a flattering gale 
Of hope, first gently sootfaest human breasts^^ 
But afterwards thou raisest storms so dire, 
Such blasts of sighs, such cataracts of tears. 
That 'twere a fitter name, shouldst thou be call'd 

• Venus. 



TH« FAITHFUL SHEPHERD. l6S 

Mother of rage and tempests^ than of love. 

See now into ivhat misery thou hast plung'd 

Two wretched lovers ! thou who boastest so 

Of thy omnipotence, go now and save. 

Perfidious goddess, if thou hast the power. 

The life of that too fond unhappy nymph, 

Whom thou hast poison'd with thy pleasing sweets, 

And brought to death's dread brink. O what a day 

Of happiness was that blest day to me. 

When fiist to thee, O holy Cynthia, 

I did devote my chaste and spotless soul ! 

My great, my only deity ! to thee 

Alone I pay. my vows, at whose pure shrine 

The noblest souls their willing homage pay. 

As thou in heav'n outshinest all the stars. 

How much more laudable and safe the sports 

Thy faithful servants follow, than the lewd 

And wicked sports of Cytherea's train. 

Thy servants slay wild boars, but hers become 

The wretched prey of boars. * O my lov'd bow ! 

My strength, my conqueror, my dear delight ! 

My arrows ! fleetest messengers of fate ! 

My dreadful anns ! now let that phantom Love 

Come to the strife, and try to match your strength ; 

With his effeminate and feeble darts 

He cannot give such deadly wounds as yours. 

But stay ; I honour thee beyond thy due, 

. ^. AUading to the'death of Adonis. Vid. Ovid Metam, fi. la 



I 

'i 

;! 



164 THE FAITHFUL SHEPH£1tD. 

Vile and imwarlike boy^ whom to chastise 

(I'll speak aloud that you may hea^ my words,) 

A rod iaqutteenough« Enough, 

Who art thou that repl/st i 

Echo ? or Love that imitates the same ? The same* 

Tia Love I wanted, but pn^ tell me true 

If thou art he ? He. 

I mean her son who for Adonb once 

So sorely pin'd. Art thou the son of her ? Of her. 

Well, now proceed : Of her the concubine 

Of mighty Mars, who heav n and earth infects 

With her lascivious follies ? O lies! 

How foolish 'tis to prattle to the wind ! 

Come, if thou dar'st, to the wide air* I dare.. 

And I defy thee. Bat her lawful son 

Art thou ! or of her love when common. Come on.. 

Or art thou Vulcan's son, that mighty smitii 

That's call'd a god ? A god^ 

Who are thy subjects ? sure thou rul'st alone 

The follies of the world ? The world. 

Indeed ! are all thy subjects ! welU-^ay ! 

Art thou that dreadful boy who ever tak'st 

Such mighty vengeance upon those who slight- 

Thy power, and givest them such cruel wounds 

As pain the soul indeed ? Indeed^ 

What racking pains are those which thou inflict st 

Upon thy rebels who refuse to love? Love., 

What wilt thou make of me who have a heart 

Of adamant all over I A Icyoer^ 



r^ 



THE FAITHFUL SHEPHERD. l65 

When shall I love, thou silly babbling fool! 
Since my chaste heart is opposite to love^ 
As night's to day i To-dcy* 

Must I then love so soon i So soon* 

Who may she be I must so soon adore ? Dor^^^ 
Dorinda now, thou foolish gibbering child. 
Thou fain vrould'st name— Say is it she ? She. 

She whom I hate more than the wolf the Iamb i 
And who to this shall force my will i I will. 

And prithee with what arms, and with what bow i 
Perchance with thine? With thine* 

Thou mean'st, perchance, when by thy wantonness 
It is unbent, and the string broken i Broken. 

Shall my own bow, ev'n after it is broken. 
Make war on me i and who shall break it ? thou ? 

Thou. 
O this has let- me plainly see thou'rt drunk. 
Go, go and sleep ; but first another word : 
Where shall these miracles be wrought? here ? 

Here. 
O fool ! I'll listen to thy words no more. 
A lying prophet thou hast prov'd to-day ; 
By Bacchus only thou'rt inspir'd. Inspir'd^ 

But lo! methinks I see, or seem to see 
A greyish thing at couch in yonder brake ; 
T^is very like a wolf; sure 'tis a wolf. 
O what a monstrous one ! — O day designed 
By fate to give me prey ! O gracious goddess. 
Thou loadest me with favours ; in one day 



166 , THB FAITHFUL SHEPHERD. 

To triumph over two such fretful beasts ! 
But wherefore this deUy ? lo ! in thy name 
I chu/se this arrow as the keenest shaft 
la all my quiver ; solemnly to thee 
L consecrate it^ O Eternal huntress! 
Snatch it^ I pray thee,^ from the ernDQg hand 
Of fortune^ and by thy resistless power 
Direct it to this beast, whose spoils I vow 
Shall deck thine altar. In thy name I shoot! 

Most happy hit ! falFn in the very spot 
Wbcflre eye and hand design'd it. Would I had 
My spear to make at odce an end of him^ 
Before he fly for shelter to the wood ! 
For want of other arms I'll gather stones-^^^-^ 
But lo I there's scarcely one in all the field ! 
Yet why seek arms rinee I've my quiver here ? 
This other arrow sure will end — 
(Looking more attentively) Alas ! what's this I see! 

What's this I've done I— 
Unhappy Silvio I thy murderous hand 
Has^ for a ^olf, a harmless shepherd slain 
In a wolfs skin ! — O fatal accident ! 
O cruel fate ! to live in infamy 
And gnawing sorrow all my future days!— 
Methinks I know the vnretched sufferer; 
Tis Linco that supports and guides his stepau 
O fatal arrow 1 inauspicious vow I 
And thou that did'st direct that shaft, and hear 



THB PAITRF0L »H1EMB»1>. Igj 

T*at tow! O thou art crudUest of aB »— 

guilty of another's Mood ! I kill 
Another! I that was so free to died 
My blood, and cheerfully expos'd my life 
For others safety! Go, throw down thy arms. 
Hunter profane ! miworthy archer, fly. 
Lead henceftnth an in^orious hateful life*— 
But see the wretched sufferer this way eomes^ 
Yet«re his sufferings wnall eompar'd to mine! 

SCENE IX. 

LiNCO, Silvio, Dorinba. 
Lin. O lean, my daughter, lean 
With all thy weight upon my arm. 
Hapless Dorinda. 

SiL. Ah me! Dorinda! 
Oh ! I am dead with grief I 

Dor. O linco, Unco, O my second father! 
SiL. Dorinda s voice indeed! O woeful voice » 
O killing sight! 

Dor. Sure, Linco, destiny 
Ordain'd thee for a stay to poor Dorinda ! 
Thou didst receive my feeble infant cries 
When I was bom, thou also shalt receive 
My latest sighs, and these same faithful arms. 
My cradle then, shall now teconie my bier. ' 



Ids THE FAITHFUL SHBPHBBP^ 

Lin. O daughter, dearer to this'he^rt of mine, 
Than if thou wert my daughter ! power of s{>eech 
To answer thee forsakes me, for my grief 
Dissolves my eveiy word into a tear. [ JBTe zeieq^s. 

SiL. O earth, why op'st thou not a horrid gulf 
To swallow me alive ! 

DoR^ Ah! go not quite so fast, and dry thj tean^ 
Dear linco, if thou lov'st me, for the one 
Gives me more pain, the olhers a fresh wound. 

SiL. Poor nymph ! how ill have I retum'd thy 
love! 

Lin. Daughter, I pray thee, yet be comforted; 
This wound will not be mortal. 

Dor. Alas! good Linco, 
Dorinda feels she'll shortly be no more ! 
Would I could know who wounded me. 

Lin. Let's think 
Of seeking aid, and not of the o£Cence, 
For vengeance ne'er was known to cure a wound. 

SiL. Why need I tarry here, couldst thou endure 
A look from her, and canst thou have the heart ? 
Art thou so bold ? Ah ! cruel Silvio, fly 
From such a dreadful and avenging sight-^ 
Fly the just steel that cuts at every word 
Of poor Dorinda ! Oh ! I cannot fly— 
Z know not how, nor what necessity 
Keeps me by force, and makes me fly to her 
Whom I of all the world ought most to shun. 



THE FAITirnJX SHBPHEftS. l6D 

DeFR. Must I then die, 
Nor know who gave me death ? 

LiK. Twas Silvio. 

Dor. I^hio! alas! how know^st thou fliat'twwhe? 

Lin. I know his arrow. 

Dor. O most welcome death 
Which my dear Silvio gives ! 

Lin. See where he stands ! 
His posture and his every look proclaim 
His accasalionl-^Silvio, heav'n beprais'd. 
That roaming ^midst these woods, thou at the last 
UastiproVd thy bow and dreadful fihafits so well. 
To hit a master-stroke ! ah ! tell me now, 
Thou that dost act like Silvio, not like Linco, 
Who gave this gallant blow, Linco, or thou i 
Thou over^wise young man, O hadst thou taken 
Hus aged. fool's advice! Answer, ihou wretch. 
What lingering horrors, what a life of woe 
Must be thy portion if this maid should die! 
I know diou'lt say that thou didst err, believing 
It was a wolf at which thy shaft was aim'd. 
As if it were no fault, thus school-boy like, 
To shoot at random, careless if thy mark 
Be man or beast ! and hast thou liv'd so long. 
And know'st not every goat-herd, every hind 
Goes clad in skins like these i Ah Silvio, Silvio! 
Who gathers wisdom's fruits while yet they're green, 
Has early ripe the fruits of ignorance. 

p 



170 THE FAITHFUL SHEPHERD. 

Presumptuous youth! shouldst thou believe this 

chance 
By chance befel thee^ how art thou deceiv'd ! 
These monstrous things without the leave of heav'n 
Hap not to men. Dost thou not plainly see 
How this thy insupportable disdain 
Of love, the world, and every fond affection 
That dignifies a man, displeases heav'n ? 
The heav'nly powers, whose awful majesty 
Surpasses human thoughts, can never brook 
A rival on the earth, and hate such pride 
Ev'n where it dwells with virtue. Art thou dumb, 
Whose arrogance and pride were formerly 
So ready to reply ? 

Dor. Let linco talk, 
O Silvio, for be cannot know the power 
Love gave thee over me of life and death. 
By having struck me tliou hast only struck 
The mark that was presented to thy aim. 
Thy hands in wounding me have only foUow'd 
The dagger of thine eyes : See, Silvio, her 
Thou hat'st so much; behold her now at last 
In those extremes thou hast desir'd ! thou sounht'st 
To wound her, see she's wounded to thy wish ! 
Thou sought'st to pi ey upon her, she's thy prey ; — 
Tliou sought'st, in fine, her death — behold her 

dying ! 
Would'st thou aught else of her ? What more than this 



THE FAITHFUL SHEPHERD. 171 

Can poor Dorinda give? — Ah cruel youth ! 

Ah ! ruthless heart ! yet thou wouldst ne'er believe 

The wound thy love had given to my soul ! 

This which thy hands have giv'n can'st thou deny ? 

Those crystal showers my eyes were wont to shed, 

Thou couldst not be persuaded were my blood ; 

Wilt thou, relentless youth, now credit this 

Which issues from my side ?— — 

But if thy native goodness, valiant youth, 

Be not expell'd by scorn, O then I pray. 

Deny lAe not, too cruel heretofore. 

Deny me not to mix with my last sigh 

One sigh of thine ! — O happy, happy death, 

Should'st thou vouchsafe to sweeten it with these ^ 

Last gentle words : " Dear soul, depart in peace!" — 

SiL. Dorinda! my Dorinda shall I say! 
Alas ! no sooner mine than torn from me | 
And only mine now when I give thee- death, 
Not mine alas! when I could give thee life! 
Yet shall I call thee mine; mine thou shalt be 
In spite of cruel fate ; for if thy death 
Divide our souls, my death shall re-unite us. 
The arms I bear shall haste to thy revenge. 
W^ith them I slew thee, and for that offence. 
With them slay me ; since cruel I have been. 
Nought in return I ask but cruelty. 
I proudly scorn'd thee, see, upon, the earth 
With bended knee I do thee reverence. 
Pardon I Cfiive from thee, but not my life ; 

P 2 



17^ THE FAITHFUL SHEPBEBD. 

Behold my guilty arrows and my bow ! 
Wound not my hands or eye8> the guilty ministers 
Of an ui^uilty will, but strflie my breast ; 
Slay here this monstrous enemy o£ pitj>. 
'^fhis bitter foe to love, strike thro' this heart 
To thee so cruel : See my mdced breast ! — 

Dor. I strike that breast, my Sib^io ! sure if dam 
Hadst wish'd that I ^ould strike, 'twas needless thus 
To show it naked to my eyes* — Fair rock, 
Already by the winds and waves 
Of my sad sighs und teaca ofit struck ia vaiiif 
But dost thou breathe indeed 
Soft pity BOW ? or am I stiUl decesv'df 
Be thou ai tender hf ea^t, or maaible hard^ 
I do not wifih t» be deceived 
By this fair semblance here of alabaster, 
As late thy lord and mine mistook 
A harmless woman fet a savi^e beast 
I wound thee, Silvio! rather m^'st thou feel 
The wound of love; for vengeance more 
I wish not, than to see thee turn a lover.— 
Blest be the day when first I caught love's fire, 
Blest be my tears, and all my sufferings. 
I only wish that thou wouldst praise my zeal 
And constancy, that's the revenge I wish. 
But, courteous Silvio, why kneel to me 
Whose lord thou art i act not the servant thus. 
Or if Dorinda must tby mistress be, 
Obeyher,then; my first command is. Rise; 



THE FAITHFUL SHEPHERD. 173 

My second, live. Obey and prove thyself 
A faithfid servant. With regard to me 
Heav'n's will be done with me, In thee my heart 
Shall still survive, nor can I yield to death, 
While Silvio lives ; and should it seem unjust 
My wound should go unpunish'd, punish that 
Which gave it, let the fatal bow be broken, 
Let it but perish, and I'm well reveng'd. 

Lin. O sentence, just indeed, but merciful ! 

SiL. Then be it so: {taking his bow) thou for 
thy cruel deed. 
Most cruel bow, shalt bear the punishment ; 
That thou may'st ne'er break thread of life .i^ain, 
Thus do I break thee, and thy fatal string, (he breaks it) 
And once more send thee as a useless trunk 
Back to thy native wood. And you, ye shafts. 
That pierc'd so rudely my dear mistress' side. 
Brothers in ill, ye shall be broken too: {he breaks tliem) 
No longer arrows, but vile useless rods, 
Spoil'd of your' glittering points and well-fledg'd 

wings, 
Stripp'd of your honours, hurtful arms no more. 
O Love, how truly didst thou prophesy 
With sounding echo from amidst yon grove !- 
O conqueror of men and gods ! once foe. 
Now lord of all my thoughts ! if 'tis thy pride 
To have subdued a proud and stubborn heart, 
Save me, I pray thee, from death's wicked shafts 
For if it slay Dorinda, Silvio too 

p 3 



174 THE VAITHFUL SHEPHERD. 

With her most die ; so cruel death mil prove^ 
If she shall die, triumphant over love. 

tiiK. So both are wounded! Omostlucky^woauds! 
But one vill be in nun, unless the other 
Be quickly heal'd again. Let's therefore go 
To set about die cure. 

Dor. Good linco, prithee 
.Lead me not to my father's house thus dress'd. 

SiL. O why, Dorinda, seek another home 
Save Silvio's now i for in my house to-day. 
Dead or alive, thou shalt become my spouse. 
Silvio in life or death with thee shall dwell. 

LiN . Now she may lawfully become thy spouse, 
Since Amarillis is to marriage, life. 
And virtue lost. Blest pair ! — ^ye mi^ty gods, 
O now by healing one, give life to two ! 

Dor. O Silvio, I am faint, with pain I stand, 
So weakened is my side. 

SiL. Take heart, my love. 
We'll find a remedy: a plea^g charge 
Thou art to us, and we will prove to thee 
A wiUii^ aid. Linco, thy hand. 

Lin. Most cheerfiaUy. 

SiL. Hold fast : let's fomva chair 
Of our two arms. Dorinda, rest tlioa here. 
Now thou art set, let thy right arm embrace 
The neck of Linco, put thy left on mme. 
Sit easily, so that the wounded part 
May not be stniin'd^-i- 



THE FAITHFUL SHEPREBO. 175 

Dob. Ab me! how sore k smarts ! 

SiL. Sit more at ease, m; tove. 

Dob. Now E sk wdl. 

SiL. Go, lineoy widi finn paee. 

Lin. Move not diy aim, but steady walk andsiow; 
It near coocems thee. Ah ! we bear not now 
A huge boar's head in triumph ! 

SiL. Say now, my love, how feek the womid? 

Dob. Still sore. 
Dear soul ! but pain is sweet when thou art by, 
Lock'd in thy arms with pleasure could I die.«««» 



CHORUS. 

O charming golden age, when milk the food 

Of guileless man, his cradle the wild wood. 

The fearless flocks then roam'd 'midst pastures fiiir. 

Rejoicing in their youthfid brood. 

The infant world fear'd then no snare. 

Nor sword, nor baneful poison's force ; 

No black and guilty thoughts had then b^un 

To veil the light of the eternal sun, 

Nor stop with wicked deeds the happy course 

Which reason steer'd, free from the paissions' powei^. 

But ah ! these happy days are o'er ! 

The wand'ring pine now seeks a foreign shore. 

That pompous name, that idle, vain conceit, 

Made up of titles, flattery, and deceit, 



176 THE FAITHFUL SHEPHERD. 

Which they call honour, whom ambition blincb, 

In those blest days o'er human minds 

Had no controul ; but real happiness 

Which high-bom souls can ne'er possess. 

These happy souls by honest toil 

Procur'dy nor did tfieir hearts know guile. 

Amidst their woods and flocks they knew 

No happiness save what from virtue grew. 

Then sports and carols 'midst the brooks and plains 

Kindled a lawful flame in nymphs and swains ; 

True love from real merit sprung! 

The heart's true thoughts were utter'd by the tongue. 

Then Hymen gave the truest joys, 

The truest bliss which never cloys. 

To one dear constant spouse alone. 

The roses of delight were blown ; 

The thievish lover who to pull them tried, 

Felt the sharp stings of virtuous pride. 

Whether to cave, or wood, or stream they came. 

Husband and lover signified the same. 

Vile present age, when mean delights 

The beauty of the soul efface ! 

Degenerate age, which guilt invites 

With counterfeited grace. 

To feed the soul's impure desires. 

And in the breast to light unlawful fires. 

Thus like a net that covered lies 

With leaves and beauteous flowers, thou dost disguise 



THE FAITHFUL SHEPHERD. 177 

With fair external show a wanton heart ; 
Mak'st life a stage-play^ virtue a false part. 
Nor deem'st it any crime to ^eal 
Love's sweets, if thou cans't but the theft conceit. 
But thou, true honour^ greatest pride 
Of noble spirits, O reside 
Within our breasts, and there display 
Thy ever-during beams, we pray. 
Fair Virtue is superior to the shiue 
Of golden crowns, and> brighter fap than they. 
O deign, thou Power divine, 
Once more to these lone cloisters to return^ 
Which bitterly thy absence mouml 
O from their mortal slumber wake 
By thy dread stinmlating power^ 
Those who thy holy laws forsake, 
And true renown that grac'd the world before ! 
Inspire blest hope that evil yet may fly^ 
O let not hope fonsakd our heaarts, 
Tho' for a time the sua di^pacts,. 
Again his splendours deck the sky^ 
1^ And heav'ii when clouda and tempests seen to riM^ 
Oft with most glorious light saluted our kogiiig 
eyes. 



END OF THE FOURTH ACTt 



( 178 ) 



THE 



FAITHFUL SHEPHERD. 



ACTV. SCENE I. 



Uranio, Carino. 

Ur. All countries please alike when virtue dwells 
Within the heart ; the good man finds a home 
In every place. 

Car. It is most true, Uranio, 
And by experience I have known it so. 
Who leaving, while a youth, my father's house, 
And being ambitious of some higher aim 
Than feeding flocks, or driving of the plough. 
Went wand'ring up and doMH, and now return 
With hair grown grey, to where I first set out. 
Yet to the man whose heart is apt to feel, 
O how delightful is his native land ! 
Nature gave all men at the hour of birth, 
A certain fondness not to be describ'd. 
For that dear country where their lives began. 
And that regard is never known to die, 



THE FAITHFUL 8HBPHER0. 179 

Or to grow old^ or lose its influence. 
And as the magnet which the mariner 
Bears still ^midst all his wanderii^s as his guide, 
Nor at the rising, nor the setting sun, 
.Does ever that dear hidden virtue lose 
By which it turns to its accustom'd north ; 
So he that from his native soil hath gone, 
Tho' he may wander far, and often dwell 
In foreign lands, that natural love retains, ^ 
Which still inclines him to his native shore. 

fair Arcadia ! dearest spot on earth 

1 ever trod ! thee shall I ever love ; 
Blest mother! tho' I had upon thy soil 
Been landed blindfold, thee I still had known. 
Such a magnetic, powerful sympathy 
Thrills thro' my veins, and such a secret glow 
Of tenderness and joy warms all my blood. 
And thou, Uraiiio, since thou still hast been 
My dear companion in my wanderings 

And in my woes, most justly should'st thou now 
Be partner also of my happy lot. 

Uran. I've shar'd thy woes, but my sad fate 
forbids 
I should enjoy tlieir fruits ; for thou hast now 
Reached thy dear home where thou shalt find reposa» 
Both for thy wearied limbs and wearied mind. 
But I still wandering, and a stranger here. 
Far from my poor abode, and family 
Still poorer and distressed, thro' lengthen'd ways 



180 TKBiFAinFiXI. airEFiifiuo. 

Dn^ on my vreniediliittbs along Wilh 4iee. 
I may, indeed, mpaee Aeie ^weanedlindMSy 
But my afficted nmd no rest eojcsyB, 
Thinking what plec^ i faure kft nt iaynm, 
And what a tedious ^ragged "Wtty 1 «t3l 
Must pass before 1 neit. Nor do I Jmow 
Who else Irat thou could have pvevail'd with Hie 
To leave uty EUs ia n^ihoary age, 
And go, not^oiowing why, so In* remote. 

Car. Thou know'^, luy 4e»r Mirtillo M^hom 
kind heav'n 
Did give me for a son, -eame biflier tsick 
For better health, and now two months are past, 
Or move since he hath followed my advice. 
Rather the oracle's advice, which was. 
That the Arcadian air alone could ci]ffe*him. 
Now I, who cannot Kve v^ile one so dear 
Is absent 6om my sight, had tben recourse 
To that same onicle, to foe'resolv'd 
When he'4] return whom 1 so much desir'd; 
And this the answer I from thence receiv'd : 
*^ Go to thine ancient country where thou'lt &id 
** Thy dear Mirtillo, and be happy there ; 
'' He^s there, for great intents by heav'n designed, 
t^ But, till diou reach Arcadia, silence be thy care.** 
Thou, then, most feith&l partner of my fate, 
My lov'd Uranio, who hast ever borne 
A share in all my fortunes, here repose 
Thy weary limbs, and thou shalt also have 



THE PAITHFITL SHEPHER0. 181 

Rest for tby mmd; il graciouis beateq diould gnttit 
The happkiess it promis'cl^ dieo, my friend^ 
With thee Til share it ^1 ; sucdiess could tiling 
Ko joy to me, were my Uranio sad. 

Uran. AU the fdittga.^ for theei I undergo. 
My dear Carinp, is its own reward. 
If it but please thee ; but what weighty cause 
Could make thee leave thy dear-lov'd native landF 

Car. The tempting voice of fame, which in my 
youth 
Sounded like music in my ears, did raise 
Ambition in my soul to court its strains 
Amidst the ctoud ; so I desirous too 
Of foreign praise, disdain'd the poor applause 
Arcadia could yield> and thought the land 
Where first I breath'd was but a narrow bound 
To my aspiring lays ; I therefore wcsit 
To Elis and to Pisa, famous both 
Themselves, and then resorted tocby those 
Who sought to gain renown. Twas there I saw 
The famous Egon, * first with burel deck'dy '. ^ ' 
Then rob'd in scarlet, and widi virti]te'« bayft^ ' - 
Everadom'd; Apollo's self he seem'd, • v 

So that my harp and heart I did to him 
Still consecrate, devoted to his name. 

* By Egon Guarini is suppo^ to allude to Scipio dx Gwaaig^ 
an tzcellent poet« who was made a Cardinal by. Gregory JSLOI* 
and with whom he was in habits of intimacy while he was study- 
iqg in Padua. It is thought that this whole relation refers to the 
Poet himself 

s 



IS2 THB 7A1THFUL 8HBPHEKB. 

And there, where glory holds her high abode^ 

I should have be^i content, arriv'd at last 

Witfiin the harbour which my soul desir'd ; 

I should have thank'd all-bounteous p^dvideaee^ 

And priz'd and kept the happiness it gave. 

Howy afterwards, I was so mad as quit 

Elis and Pisa, and betake myself 

To Argos and Mycene^and become 

A servant to an earthly Deity,* 

With all I suffer'd in that slavery, 

Would be too tedious fan for thee to hear. 

And to myself t<K> grievous to repeat. 

Ill only tell thee, all my toil was lost; 

I wrote, sighed, sung, was ardent now, now cold, 

I ran, stood istill, now joyous, now in grief, 

Now high, now low, now lov'd, and now despis'd. 

And as the Delphic iron, which is tum'd 

Now to heroic, now to baser use, 

I fear'd no danger, and refus'd no toil ; 

Did all things, yet was nothing, chang'd my hair. 

Condition, life, thoughts, customs, but alas! 

Could never change my fortune. At the last, 

I came to prize and sigh'd to find again 

My deur lost liberty. Argos I left. 

And the dire storms that hover round the great, 

And tum'd once more to Pisa's calm abode. 

Where, blessed be th' eternal providence, 

t 
* Someaay tbat Alfonso ILDnke of Ferrara, is meant hem 



THE FAITHFUL SHEPHERD. 183 

I found my dear Mirtillo, who consol'd 
My heavy heart for all its sorrows past. 

Uban. a thousand thousand times that man is 
blest; 
Who clips the wings of his asphing thoughts. 
Nor for the inmioderate hope of future good, 
Wastes foolishly the moderate good he has. 

Cab. Who could have dream'd 'midst greatness 
to grow poor ! 
Or want 'midst heaps of gold ! I thought till thetv 
That in die splendid domes of princely state. 
Where best it can, all that adorns the heart, 
Virtue that gives the brightest pomp to courts, 
Love and humanity from man to man 
Would most abound; but ah! Urania, 
Far different is the truth ; courtiers in name. 
And courteous in their looks and speech they are. 
Polite and mild, but slow to virtuous deeds. 
More fierce and deeper are their treacherous heai*ts^ 
And less with pity fraught than ocean's waves 
When the loud storm is raging; men alone 
In semblance; charity is in their eyes 
But malice in their souls ; with a straight look 
They wear a squinting heart,, and have least truth 
Where they profess the most; what has the name 
Of virtue elsewhere, is by them call'd vice. 
Plain truth, fiedr dealing, love that knows no guile,' 
Sincere compassion, fedth inviolate, 



]84 THE FAITHFUL SHEPHERD. 

A life of iimoceoce in thoughts and deed^ 

They teim the foUy of a low-bora soul, 

And vanity that but deserves a smile. 

Cheats, lies, and frauds, and thefts, and ctttelty 

Beneath the cloak 6f pity; jgrowing great 

By rising on the ruins of the fall'n ; 

And seekii^ vilest praise from others' blame. 

Are all the virtues of that treacherous race. 

No worth, no valour, no respect for s^e, 

Degree, or law, hor teins of modesty. 

No tie of love nor blood, no gratitude 

For favours done ; nor any thing at all 

That's ^sacred, or that's just, or merits praise. 

But their keen thirst of honours and of wealth 

Doth scorn and violate. I still had liv'd 

All unsuspecting, and uppn my brbw 

Bore what I thought, and in my looks my heart, 

Judge then how open and how fair a mark 

To their envenom'd secret shafte I prov'd. 

Uhan. Who now shall boast of eiartfaly happiness, 
When envy thus obscures the light of virtue i 

Car. Uranio, if from the day my muse 
From Elis pass'd to Argos, I had found 
Such cause to sing, as I have had to weep> 
I had. perchance in such a lofty strain 
My master's honour^ sung, and glorious arms. 
He ne'er might need to envy, after that. 
The praises of Achilles' blown so loud 



THE FAITHFUL SHBPHEBD. 185 

By the Maeonian trumpet; * and my own 

Unhappy couutryy mother of such bards 

As like the swans th^ir own sad dii^es sing^ 

Mi^t diro' my means have had her brow adoni'd 

With second laurel ; but thb savage age 

Esteems the art of poesy too vile. 

Swans must have pleasant nests, and wholesome 

food, 
And gentle gales to sing^ no man with cares 
BowM down, can climb Parnassus^ lofty hill. 
He who is ever \n^nglmg with his fate. 
And his maligiiaiit fortune, soon grows hoarse. 
And loses both his speech and power of song.^- 
But now ^tis time to seek Mirtillo out, 
Altho' so strange and alter'd is this place, 
That scarcely can I recognise Arcadia. 
Yet come, Uranio, gladly let us go : 
A traveller wants not guidance who can speak« 
But since thouVt weary, it were best to stop 
At yonder inn, and rest thyself awhile. 

• Alluding to the Iliad. 



o3 



186 TBB f AITHFUL SHBPHB]|t]K 



SCENE n. 



TiTIRO. 

Tit. Which first, my daughter, shall I moam m 
thee> 
Thy loss of life or viitue i first I'U mourn 
Thy virtue lost : for thou, my child, wert borri 
Of mortal par^its, but not wicked ones. 
Instead of mourning for thy sudden death, 
I'll rather mourn that my own life's preserved, 
To see thy virtue lost, thy better life ! 
Montano, O Montano, thou alone 
With those fallacious oracles of thine, 
111 understood, and with thy haughty son^ 
Despiser of my daughter, and of love. 
Hast brought her to this miserable end ! 
Alas! how much more certain at the last 
My oracles have prov'd to be, than thine ! 
For virtue 'gainst the artful frauds of love, 
To a young heart is far too weak a shield. 
And woman's feebly guarded when alone.—* 



f * 



TH£ FAITHFUL SHEPHERD* ' 18Y 

Enter Messenger. 

Mess. l|n]ess he's eitber dead^ or that ihe windi* 
Have borne him thro' the sdr^ sure long ago 
I should have found him; butib^old he's here^ 
If I mistake not. O too late by tne 
Thou'rt met^ old hapless father, but for thee 
Too- soon. For oh ! what news have I to tell I 

Tit. What may it be 
Thou bringest in thy tongue? the &tal steel 
That slew my daughter i 

Mess. No : but little less. 
Got'st thou the news so soon anodier way ^ 

Tit. Is she alive ! 

Mess. She livesj, and in her choice 
It is to live or die. 

Tit. O blessings on thee ! 
For thou hast drawn me back from death to life Y 
Why is she then not safe, if she may make 
Her choice to live? 

Mess. Because she will not live. 

Tit. Will not! what madness makes her lifef de» 
spise ? 

Mess. Another's death. 
And if thou dost not turn her, she has set 
Her heart upon that resolution so. 
That every one in vain with pray'rs and tears 
Strives to dissuade her. 



188 THB FAITHFUL 8HEPHEB1^« 

Tit. Wkflfaen stand we here? 
Let us proceed. 

Mbss. Slay; f(Mr die temple gates 
As yet are shot ; and hast thou still to learn 
That no one save the priests may dare to tread 
On h«ly ground, till from the^estry first 
The destined sacrifice in all iti pomp 
Is brott^t before the altar? 

Trr. But meanwhile 
What if she execute her fiital purpose ? 

Mess. She cmuiot, £<»- die's watch'd. 

Tit. Do thou die while 9 

Relate the whole that pass'd, and let me know 
The truth widiout a veil. 

Mess. Thy wretched daughter (O dire spectacle 
Of horror !) being brought before the priest, 
Did not from the bdiolders only, draw 
Sad tears, but from the pillars of the temple ! 
Ev'n the hard stones seem'd to bewail her fate, 
As sensible of pity ! for at once 
She was accus'd, convicted/and condemn'd! 

Tit. Oh ! my poor child ! but why such fatal haste f 

Mess. Because her every plea of innocence 
Was hx too weak against the seeming proofs 
Of guilt alleg'd against her ; and besides, 
A certain nymph whom she designed to bring 
To prove her spotless purity, appeared not, | 

Nor could on search be found. MeanM'hile the fierce I 
And direful omens of some threaten'd ill, 



THE FAITHFUL 8HBPHBBD. 18{^ 

And horrid sights .^thinth^ temple se^ 
(More dreadful lid the mOre. uQUsad) 
Brook ik> delay ; no visions such as these 
Appear'4 since they foretold the wrath (^ heavli 
Bum'd to jB^euge liiicrina> broken vows 
Made, to the priest Aminta, the sole cause 
Of all our. woes. The goddess' stAtue sweats 
|C!old drop&i of blood ; trddibUs the awe-struck earthy 
The hollow cavern bellows from .bdow 
With dire unwonted sounds arid honid yelb ; 
Then rise such fumes that scarce do I believe 
Avemus' filthy jaws could bfeathe out worse*. 
Now was the sacred priest in readiness 
Amidst the sad procession to conduct 
Thy wretched daughter to a cruel death. 
When forth Mirtillo sprung, (O wondrous talet)i 
And cried aloud; '^ Untie, untie her hailds 
** Unwordiy of such fetters, and in place 
^< Of offering her .to bleed at Cynthia's shriuO)^ 
'' Here take and offer me a sacrifice 
« To Amarillis,''— 

Tit. Q noble effort of a generous heart 1 
O truest proof of love ! 

Mess^ Now hear another wonder : 
She who before was pale and all alarm'd 
At thoughts of death, then siiddenly became 
Bold at Mirtillo's words, and with fixm soul 
Beplied : *^ And canst thou think, Mirtillo, the%. 
<' To give, by yielding up thyself to death^ 



igO THE FA1TRTUL SHEPHEVV. 

** life to a maid who lives in thee alone ! 

** O miracle with dire injustice fraught! 

*' It cannot, must not be ;— proceed, ye priests, 

*' Proceed, no more delay. Perform your office,*" 

'* Ah ! stay," (cried then Mirtillo) '' love so grea^ 

'^ 1 look'd not for; — ^tum, Amarillis, turn; — 

" This love so fetal wrings my very soul !' 

'* Tis I should die/'—" Nay,^ she replied, " 'tis T, 

'^ I am the only victim whom the law 

^' Condemns to death."— And here between them 

grew 
So warm a contest, as if death itself 
Were life, and life were death. O noble soub^ 
O pair most worthy of eternal fame, 
Ye shall outlive your death ! O glorious lovers! 
Tho' I had tongues and words as numberless 
As stars in heav'n, or sands upon the shore. 
Yet would th^ fail in the stupendous task 
Of speaking your ineffable renown! 
O daughter of the skies, Eternal Fame! 
O glorious maid, who mortal deeds canst give 
Immortal honour, take the wondrous tale> 
And write it on the solid adamant 
With golden characters that long may tell 
To future times of two that lov'd so well ! 

Tit. Who gain'd the conquest in thb strife of 
death f 

Mess. Mirtillo overcame. O wondrous war! 
Where gain was loss, and where the victor won 



THE FAITHFUL SHBPHEBO. lOf 

^y conquest, only privilq^e to die ! 

Thus, therefore, to thy daughter spoke the priest: 

'' O nymph, be calm ; he who consents to die 

** To save another, cannot be exchanged, 

** For so our law prescribes/' — ^Then gave h« 

charge 
That she should carefully be watch'd, lest grief 
Might drive her in despair to desperate death. 
Such was the state of matters, when Montano 
Sent me to seek thee. 

Tit. Then in fine *tis true 
We shall behold the meads lie desolate. 
The flowers that scent the rivulet's bank decay. 
The hills and woods without their green attire 
At the return of spring, before we see 
A beauteous maid from love's dear fetters free.— 
But how, thus lingering here, shall we observe 
The proper hour of going to the temple ? 

Mess. Here best of any place, for here it is 
That this good shepherd must be sacrific'd. 

Tit. And wherefore not within the temple then ? 

Mess. Because upon the spot the crime was 
done, 
The punishment is giv'n. 

Tit. Then wherefore not 
Within the cave, since in the cave 'twas done? 

Mess. The sacrifice must be in open air. 

Tit. Whence comes it that thou know'st these 
mysteries i 



199 THB VAITHFUL SHBPHKRD. 

Mess. From die' chief minkler I leani!d ttem 

• -» 

•H, 
And he from old Tirenio, wbo saw 

Faithful Aminta and Lacrma fidse 

So sacrificed ; but now we tnitot procfeed,' 

For see, the sacred pomp comes down the hill. 

Twere best ifaat for thy daughter we should go 

Towards the temple by the shortest wajp. 



^. 



SCENE in. 



Chorus of Shepherds, Chorus of Priests, Mon* 

TANOy MiRTILLO. 

Ch. Sh. O Phoebus' sister, danghter of great 
Jove, 
"^ou second sun in the first Sphere! 
Who from the azure fields above. 
Dost light benighted mortals here! 

Ch. Pr. Thou, whose mild and vital raj 
Thy brother's burning fiiry doth allay, 
From whence the bounteous parent earth 
Produces many a various birth, 
Plants, trees, and animals of every form. 
In earthy and air, and sea that swarm. 



THE TAlTltFUL aHEPHERB. VSS 

Ah ! pity thy Arcadia^ and ihat rag6 
Thou dost in others, in thyself assuage ! 

*Ch. Sh. O Phoebus' sister^ daughter of greA 

Jove, 
Thou second sun in the first sphere ! 
Who from the azure fields above. 
Dost light benighted ^nortsds here ! 

MoN. Now sacred ministers, the alliir dresi^. 
And you, ye shepherd swains, devoutly raise 
Again your tuneful voices to the sky. 
To' invoke the powerful Queen who rules the 

night. 
Ch. Sh* O Phoebus* sister, dau^ter of great 

Jove, 
Thou second sun in the first sphere ! 
Who from the azure fields above. 
Dost light benighted mortals here ! 

MoN. Withdraw, my servants, and ye 'shefdierd 

swains. 
Nor here return till I shall call upon you. 

[They tmthdraw. 
{To Mirt.) O truly valiant youth, who to bestow 
life on toother, rend'rest up thy own, 
Die with this comfort : For a little sigh^ 
Which by the abject soul is reckoned deaths 
Thou buy'st Eternity : and when envious time 
Hath, after thousands of revolving years. 
Swept every trace of less^ names away, 
Thine still shall flourbh 'midst the dreadful wreck^ 

R 



194 TflK FAITHFUL SHEPHERD. 

A br^ht example of tine conataoicy 
To every future age; but since the law 
Demands that Aou should'st yield thyself to deadi 
Without a murmur^ ere thou bend thy knee 
To earthy now speak thy last, if diou hast aij^t 
To say before thou diest^ then meet thy fate 
Jn silence. 

MiBT. Father! (for Til call &ee father 
Tho' thou must sky me) hear my only words : 
I render up my body to the dust^ 
My soul to her in whom alone I live ; 
But should she die, as she hath said she will. 
What part of me, alius! can dien survive I 
O sweet were death, if my poor mortal part 
Alone should (fie, not she who is my soul I 
And if he merit pity at his death, 
Who dies for pity's sake, O courteous father, 
Be her dear life thy care, that I may pass, 
Wing'd with that cheeriug hope, to better life. 
Let cruel fiite be with my death appeas'd, 
And stop with my destruction ; but I pray. 
When I am gone, let my deliver'd soul 
In her still live, tho' while it dwelt on eardi, 
It was divcMTc'd so cruelly from hers ! 

MoN . (aside.) Muchdo I strive to stem my burst- 
ing tears! 
Poor human nature diou art frail indeed! 
{To Mirt.) My son be comforted, thine every vriA 



THE FAITHFUL SHEPHERD. 195 

Shall be fulfilFd, yes^ by this mitred head 

I sw^r they shall, and take my hand in ple%e. 

MiRT. Now shall I die in peace, io peace I go 
To thee, my Amarillis ; O receive 
Thy own Mirtilla, catdi the parting soul 
Of thy most faithful shepherd, for behold, 
In the lov'd name of Amarillis^ here 
I end at once my words and wretched life^ 
And now in silence do I kneel to die. 

Mont, (calling.) Now, holy miiusters, no more 
delay, 
Kindle the flame, and strew die frankincense. 
And odoriferous myrrh, that so may rise 
Whole clouds of incense to ascaaid the skies. 

Ch. Sh. O Phoebus' sister, daughter of grei^ 
Jove! 
Thou second sun in the first sphere ! 
Who from die azure fields above. 
Dost light bemghted mortals here ! 






SCENE IV. 

Caring, Montano, Nicandro, Mirtillo, 

Chorus of Shepherds. 

Car. Who ever saw so few inhabitants 
Amidst so mai^ dwellings ? but I see 
The cause, if I mistake not, for they all 

R 2 



190 THE rAITHFUL SITEIPIfBAiy. 

Are here assembledy Mrhat a wondrous croud f 
What rich^ what solemn pomp ! some sacrifice^ 
li sure perfoTBUi^ here! 

Mont. Give me the golden ewer, 
Nicandro, with the consecrated wine* 

Nic. 'Diere 'tis in readiness. 

MoN. O may iiie guiltless blood 
Now to be shed, so mollify thy rage. 
Dread goddess, as by sprinkling of this wine) 
These raging flames are quench'd. 

(To the Minister.) Put back, ag^ the goldeoi 
ewer, and reach 
^e silver cup.— 

Nic. Behold, 'tis here. 

MoN. So may 
Thy burning wrath be quench'd within thy breasl^ 
Rous'd by a &lse raaid'-s perfidy, as now 
I with this water quench this ragmg flame. 

Car. It is a sacrifice, but I can see 
No victim here. 

MoN. Now all's in readiness. 
The stroke alone remains. Give me the axe. 

Car. Mediinks I see, unless 1 be deceiv'(^ 
The figure of a man who kneels taearlh. 
His back is this way turn'd? Is he the victim i 
O miserable wretch ! too sure he is, 
And o'er his head the priest suspends the blow !' 
O my poor country ! after numerous years 
JjX 9uS&nDg spent, does heaven's wrath stiU cagei^ 



Ch. Sh. O Plmbus' sistery dau^ter of gtea^ 

Thou secofid sim in the first Sfhetel 
Who from the azure fields above^ 
Dost light benighted mortidfl here! 

MoN. Avei^g goddess^ mho a ^yafte eriitoe 
With public cmse dost punish upon ua, 
(For so it pleaseth thee, and in the' ab|a» 
Of providence eternal it is fix'd,) 
Since false LucriM's taiojted blood wtks. jlihoiJ^bt 
Far too impure to satisfy Ihy justice 
Which loves pure sacrifices, O accept 
This gufltless Uood which I'm to offer now^ 
Of one who falls a willii^ sacrifice. 
And lov'd as truly iis Anuata did. 

Ch. Sh» O Phoebus' sister, cteugbl^r of gicut 
Jove. 
Thou second son in the fiarst sphere! 
Who feom the aasare ields above, 
Dost light benighted mortals here ! 

MoN. Oh! how my bosom now wijth pity mi^ks ! 
What sudden numbness fetters every nerve! 
I ne'er was thus before ; my baud wants strenglk, 
My heitft so fatb, I canhot raiae llie axe. 

Car. My only wisbis to behold die face 
Of the unhappy youth, tb&n I'll be gone ; 
I cannot bear sttch disn^ si^gjbtls as this. 

Mo N . (aside.) Who knows, but that light oppoaite 
Ae sun^ 

bS 



t9B THE FAITHFUL SHEPHXBOv 



Although he's settings human 

May be a crime ! therefore my heart mis^ves me^ 

And my strength fails. (To Mirtillo.)Tufn^ ahefb^ 

herd, to the hill 
Thy dying face.-^^-So, now 'tis welL 

Car. Ah Mnretehed mef what fatal. s%hl is this h 
Is not this youth my son, my dear Mirtillo?— 

MoN. Now I can do itw 

Cab. Tis he indeed"! 

MoN. Now I can aim my blow. 

Cah. Hold sacred Minister, what's this thou, 
dost? 

MoN. O rash presumptuous man! how can's! 
thou dare 
Profanely thus to stay the sacred steeY, 
And. touch us with thy sacril^ious hand ? 

Car. Mirtillo! O my son! myonlyjoyi 
Aks! I little dreame d 

MoN. Begone^ and> ill attendnbee, O thou rash 
Doting old man ! 

Car*. My child, that e'er I shoidd embrace dice 
thus! 

MoN. Begone I say, for know, 'tis not allow'd 
With hands impure to^ touch die sacted things 
That tadie gods belong. 

Car. Me have the gods 
Blest also, who have hither led my stepc 
Under thw guidance,. 



THB FAITHFUL SHEPHERD. 199 

MoN. Stay, Nicandro^ first 
Let's hear this maii^ then let him go his way. 

Car. Ah! courteous Minister^ ere the cruel steel 
Upon this hapless shepherd's, head descend^ 
Tell me but why he dies.. This I entreat 
By that same goddess whom thou dost adore. 

MoN. By such a goddess thou coigusiestme^ 
^were impious to refuse; but what does this 
Conceiaithee-f 

Car. More^ perchance, than thou'rt aware*. 

MoN. Well then — he willingly resigns his^lifb 
To save another. 

Car. Dies he. for another ^ 
rU rather die for him< Ah ! now in pity 
Pirect the blow thou aim'st at this dear youth. 
To my already drooping head. 

MoN. Old man, thou rav'st. 

Car. Why am I now denied 
That which to him was granted? 

MoN. Because thou art a stranger; 

Car. And if I were not i 

MoN. Still it were the same ; 
For he who once hath giv'n consent to die 
To save another, cannot be eicchang'd. 
But tell me who art thou, if so it be 
Thou art no stranger ? by thy habit sure 
Thou art not o£ Arcadia.. 

Car. Still I am an Arcadian* 



too TUB VAITHFUL SHBPHEftJ^r 

MoN. Yet I remember not of seeiog tbee 
In this place until now. 

Car. But here in truth 
It was I had my birth* My name's Canno,. 
The fiUher of that most unhappy youth. 

MoN. Art thou Mirtillo's fatbcsf O thon 
com'st 
In evil hour both for thyself md us ! 
Hence instantly, lest thy paternal love 
Should cause our present sacrifice prove vaim. 

Car. Ak ! wert thou but a fadier! 

MoN* I am a father. 
Yes, and the father of an only son, 
A tender father too, yet wer« this head 
My Silvio's, still should I as forward be. 
To do to him what I must do to thine. 
No man is worthy of this sacred robe, 
Wiio cannot, when the public good requires,^^^ 
Give up his private interest. 

Car. Oat least 
Permit me once to kiss him ere he £es^ 

MoN. Neither pan this be granted. 

Car. O my bioodr! 
Art thou so cruel also as denjr 
A single word to thy afflicted fadier l 

MiR. Ah! my dear father, peace!: 

Mon. O wretched we! 
O heav'ns ! the sacrifice is a}l defil'd t: 



THE FAITHFUL SHEPHERD. 201 

Mir. I could not iii a better cause have shed 
The blood thou gavest me 1 

MoN. Too well alas! 
I did foresee that his. paternal tears 
Would break his vow of silence ! 

Mir. Wretched me! 
What have I tlioughtless done ! alas ! my vow 
Of silence fled my wilder'd memory ! 

MoN. Why now delay ? Ye ministers proceed;-— 
This instant to the temple bear him back : 
There in the holy cloister once more take 
His voluntary vow, tb^n here return^ 
And widi bim bring for a new sacrifice, 
New fire, new wine, new water : no delay ; 
The sun. declines, and shortly will b^ set«. 



SCENE v.. 



MONTANO, CaBINOj DaMETAS. 

MoN.. But as for thee, importunate old man,. 
Thank faeav'a thou art his father ; wert thou not, 
Then by thi;^ sacred head thou shouldst have felt 
What my just anger could inflict on one 
By whom my patience is so much abus'd* 



202 THE FAITHFUL SHEPHERD. 

KiioVst diou who talks with thee F know'st thoa 

that I 
Govern by virtue of this powerful rod. 
Things human and divined 

Car. Let not heav'n's priest 
Offended be, because I beg for mercy* 

MoN. IVe suffered thee too long, therefore hast 
thou 
Grown insolent, nor seem^st to call to nuud 
That if just vrrath in an offended breast 
Be long restndtt'dy when fordi at last it bursts^ 
Its gathered violence rages then the more* 

Car. Anger was never in a noble breast 
A furious tempest, but a gentle gale 
' Of generous passion, that but stmt the souF 
Which reason governs, and awakes its powers 
To virtuous action. — If I cannot find 
The mercy which I crave, O then at least 
Afford me justice ; this is but my due, 
And cannot be denied me — For the man 
Who gives the law to others, cannot live 
Himself exempt from law, but still the hi^er 
In power he rises, still more prompt should be 
To give those justice who demand its rights. 
And lo ! I justice crave, and nothing more. 
If not to me, do justice to thyself, 
Por if thou slay Mirtillo, thou'rt unjust. 

MoN. And how am I mijustF be plainer, firiencL 



THE FAITHFUL SHEPHEBB. SOS 

Car. Did'st thou not tell me 'twas agamst the 

law 
To ofifer here a stnmger's blood i 

MoN. I did ; 
And said what heav'n commanded. 

Car. Yet this youth 
Whom thou'rt about to offer, is a stra^r. 

MoN. And how a stranger ? Is he not diy son ? 
Car. I've said enough ; 'tis useless to say more. 
MoN. Perchance it was not here thy son was 

born? 
Car. He diat pries farthest often knows the 

least. 
MoN. Hie kindred's now in question^ not the 

place. 
Car. He's not my blood, I therefore call him 

stranger. 
MoN. How can he be thy son, yet not thy 

blood P 
Car. 1{ he be not my blood, he's not my son. 
MoN. Yet thou didst say but now he was thy 

son. — ' 

Car. True, but I never said I was his father. 
MoN. Sore grief hath surely render'd thee 

insane. 
Car. Were I insane, then should I feel no grief. 
MoNl^Thou can'st not 'scape the charge of 

wickedness. 
Or of insanity. 



fi04 THE FAITHFUL SHEPHB1ll>. 

Car. How can there be 
Aught wicked or insane in speaking truth ? 

MoN. How can there be a son^ and yet no son } 

Car. There can — ^a son of love^ tho' not of 
blood. • 

MoN. Then he can be no stranger, if thy son, 
And if he^s not thy son, no right thou hast 
Thus to demand his life; 4K> thou'rt confuted, 
Father or not his father. 

Cab. Sure a man 
Overcome by words^ is not to bear the charge 
Of leaking aught that's fsiae. 

MoN. But he is sure 
Convicted of a lie, who by his words 
So contradicts himself. 

Car. 1 still msdntain 
Thou dost injustice. 

MoN. Then upon my head, 
And on my son's let that injustice fall. 

Car. One day thou shalt repent. 

MoN. Nay — thou'It repent. 
If longer thou retard the sacrifice. 

Car. To witness I invoke both gods and men. 

MoN. Dar'st thou invoke the gods thou hast 
despis'd ? 

Car. And since thou wilt not hear, O heajr me 
then, 
Both heav'n and earth! and hear me, mighty 
goddess, 



THE FAITHFUL SHEPHERD. 205 

Whom all Arcadia adores ! Mirtillo 

In truth's a stranger^ and no son of mine : 

And thus the priest profanes the sacrifice. 

MoN. Good heaven aid me 'gainst so strange a 
man! 
Who's then his father if thou art not he ? 

-Car. I know not; sure I am he's not my son. 

MoN. See how he trembles! Is he then thy 
kinsman ? 

Car. Not even that. 

MoN. Then wherefore call him son! 

Car. Ere since the day when I receiv'd him 
first. 
Till now, I've nourish'd him within my house, 
And lov'd him as a father loves his son. 

MoN. Did'st thou then buy, or steal him, or 
how else 
Fell he into thy hands ? 

Car. A man in Elis 
TTo me unknown, bestow'd the precious gift. 

MoN. From whence had he procur'd him ? 

Car. That strangle man 
Had him of me before. 

MoN. Thou mov'st in me 
Both scorn and laughter by thy stupid tale. 
What thou gav'st him did he return to thee ? 

Car. I gave what was his own, and he return'd 
The courteous gift to me. 



s 



206 THE FAITHFUL SHEPHERD. 

MoN. And whence (fflnce Aou 
Dost make me talk so idly) whence hadst Aoa 

The gift at first ? 

Car. At first I found him laid 
Within a thicket of sweet myrtle, near 
Alpheus' source, and call'd him thence Mirtillo. 

MoN. O what a specious and fisur-seemii^ tale ! 
Are no wild beasts, then, found within your woods? 

Cab. Why ask'st thou that ? 

MoN. How did they not devour him ? 

Cab. By heavVs kuid j)rovidence a rapid flood 
Convey'd him to that thicket, where by chance 
It l^ft him in the lap of a small isle 
Defended round by water. 

MoN. CertMnly 
Thou dost most skilfully contrive thy lies 
To suit with one another ; and was then 
The flood so merciful as no^ to drown himf 
Are rivers in thy country, then, so kind 
As foster infants with a nurse's care ? 

Cab. He lay within a cradle as within 
A little boat, and this encompass'd round 
By mud and matter which the flood collects. 
Had borne him floating to that bush by chance. 

MoN. Within a cradle was he ? 

Cab. Even so. 

MoN. A child in swaddling bands ? 

Cab. Ay, and a fair one too. 



THE FAITHFUL SHEPHERD. 20? 

MoK. How long might this be nnce i 

Car. Tis easily told; 
Since the great flood, just nineteen years have run^ 
And then it was. 

MoN. (aside.) O what chill horror creeps thro* 
all my bones ! 

Car. He cannot make reply ; O stubborn pride 
Of souls in power, who, ev'n tho' conquered, yet 
Refuse to yield to truth, and vainly think 
That they excel in s^ose as mightily 
As in authority ! he's now convinced. 
And grieves too at it, if I understand 
His secret murmuring, and fain would tiy 
Some plausible device by which to hide 
His stubborn unbelief. 

MoN. But was that man of whom thou just hast 
spoken, 
The father of that child ? 

Car. I cannot tell. 

MoN. Nor did'st thou ever hear 
More word of him than thb i 

Car. No. I have told 
Already all I know, then wherefore ask 
New questions ? 

MoN. Wouldst thou know the man again ? 

Car. If I should see him. He was thenattir'd 
In a plain shepherd's dress, and for his looks, 
He's of mid stature, deepest black his hair. 
Shaggy his eye-brows, and his beard unshorn* 

s2 



208 THE FAITHFUL SHEPHERD. 

MoN. Shepherds and servants^ hither. 

Dam. Here we are. 

MoN. (to Car.) Which of these shepherds here 
resembles most 
The mau thou talk'st of. 

Car. He that spoke but now. 
Not only does resemble him, but is 
The very man, and looks the same to me 
As twenty years ago, tho' not a hair 
Of his is changed, and mine is tum'd to grey. 

MoN. Withdraw, and leave Dametas only here. 
(They zmthdraw except Dametas and Carino.) 
Now say Dametas, dost thou know this man i 

Dam. Methinks I do, but where or how I know 
not. 

Car. Now will I make him soon remember 
all. 

MoN. Allow me first to talk with him, Carino; 
Nor be offended when I say. Withdraw 
A little while. 

Car. Most willingly I'll do 
All thou desir'st of me. (He retires^) 

MoN. Now answer me, Dametas, 
And see thou speak the truth. 

Dam. Heav'ns ! what may this be now ! (aside.) 

MoN. When thou cam'st back near twenty years 
ago. 
From seeking of my child that dreadful flood 
Together with the cradle swept away, 



THE FAITHFUL SHEPHEBD. 1^ 

Didst lliou n<>t tell m^ thou badsf searched in vaioi 
Thro' all the places which the river laves i 

Dam. I did. And why this question? 

MoN. Answer me 
This also ; didst thou not declare to me 
Thou had'st not found him f 

DAm, True. 

MoN. What infant then 
Was that thou didst in Elis give to him 
Who recognises thee ? 

Dam. Now twenty years 
Are past since then^ and how canst thou expect 
An old man's memory should retain so much? 

MoN. Carino's also old, and yet remembers. 

Dam. Nay, rather he begins to dote. 

MoN. Of that 
We'll soon be satisfied. Ho ! stranger, hither. 

Car. (coming forward.) Here I am. 

Dam. (aside.) Would thou wert under ground ! 

MoN. Is this the shepherd 
From whom thou hadst the gift i 

Car. 'Tis he most surely. 

Dam. What gift is this i 

Car. Dost thou not now remember 
When in th' Olynipic temple of great Jov^ 
Thou hadst receiv'd the oracle's reply, 
And just on thy departure, I by chance 
Did meet thee, and entreated an account 
Of thy sad loss^ and then thou told'st me alL 

s3 



£10 THB FAITHFUL SHEPHEHd/ 

With that I led thee to my house; and there 
Thou fouud'st thy child within a cradle hud. 
And gav'st him there to me i 

Dam. But, tell me^ what 
Can'st thou infer from this ? 

Car. The veiy child 
Whom then thou gav*st me, and whom ever once 
I have brought up> and nouridi'd as my son, 
Is this same hapless youth that's doom'd to die 
A victim at these altars! 

Dam. O powerful des^ny! 

MoN. Still dost thoii seek pretences ? say at 
once 
Hath this man utter'd truth ? « 

Dam. O would to heav'n 
I were as dead^ as all his words are true ! 

MoN. That thou shalt quickly be, if thou shak 
lie 
Otie jot as to the rest. Now say, what cause 
Could move thee thus to give away in gift 
What was not thine i 

Dam. Ah! master^. ask no more 
For heaven's sake ! let what I've said suffice. 

MoN. Thou mak'st me more desirous of tlift 
truth. 
Still dost thou keep aloof , nor tell me all i 
Thou'rt dead if I demand another time. 

Dam. Because the oracle predicted thi»--« 
That if the infant ever should return 



THE FAITHFUL SHEPHERD. 211 

To his own kindred^ and his father's house, 
He'd be in mighty danger of his deatii 
From his own father's hand. 

Car. This is the truth. 
For I was by. 

MoN. Ah me ! now every thing 
Is but too manifest, the fact is clear^ 
And with my dream and fate too well accords. 

Car. What now remains? Could'st thou desire 
a proof 
More clear than this ? 

MoN. All is, alas ! too clear! 
Too much thou hast declar'd; too much I've heard; 
.Would I had search'd, and thou hadst told me less^! 
Carino, O Carino ! now I change 
Fortune and grief with thee. — How are thy griefs 
Kow mine become ! This is indeed my son! 
Too hapless son of an unhappy sire ! 

son, more cruel thy deliverance is 
From the fierce waters, than thy loss at first. 
Since by thy father's hand thou now must die, 
And stain the altars of thy native land I 

Car. Art thou Mirtillo-'s father! O most strange! 
How didst thou lose him i 

MoN. By that dreadful flood 
Which thou hast mention'd, he was swept away. 
Dear child ! thy precious life was then preserv'd. 
When I believ'd thee lost, and, O sad fate! 

1 only lose thee now when thou art found I 



C12 .THB FAITHFUL SHEPBSRB. 

Cab« Eternal protidence! sKHne great jde&ogb 
lies hid beneath thetewoodrous' accidents 
That all at once have come to. light ; for me 
The times are pregnant widi soniie mighty birth 
Of good or evil soon to b^ disclos'd. 

MoN. This was the thing my dream foretold mt 
too., 
iDec^tfiil dream, too true in what is ill. 
But in the good too false ! This was that strange 
Unwonted pity, this that sudden horror 
That chill'd my blood, and crept thro', all my bon^ 
At lifting of the ake ; for nature shrunk 
With inward dread at ihe detested si^t^ 
A father's hand upmis'd in act to striki^ 
A blow so merciless ! 

Cab. And wilt thou then 
Proceed to offer up. a sacrifice 
So hateful to the heavens i 

MoN. No hand save mine 
Can slay a humaa victim at these altars.. 

Car. And mu3t the fether therefore slay the 9<mf 

MoN. So hath our law decreed, and who dare 
strain 
His charity so far, to save another, 
When true Aminta woidd not spare himself? 

Car. O cruel fate ! what am I brought to see! 

MoN. To see two fathers' piety and love^ 
(Thine to Mirtillo, mine to the' awful gods,^ 
Make murderers of us both; thou by denying 



THE FAITHFUL SHEPHERD. 21ft^ 

Thou wast his father, fondly thoij^ht'st to save him, 
And yet hast lost him, 1 by too much search, 
Whilst I believ'd I was to sacrifice 
Thy son, have found, and now must slay my own. 

Car. Behold the horrid monster fate has bom! 
O dire calamity ! O my Mirtillo 
Far dearer than my life ! is this, is this 
What of thy fate the oracle foretold f 
Thus dost thou make me iri my country blest f 
My son, my son ! thou who wast formerly 
The hope and stay of my declining years, 
Bring'st to the grave with grief this hoary head ! • 

\_He weeps. 

MoN. Alas ! Carino, leave those tear* to me ! 
For my own blood I weep. Ah ! why my blood. 
If I must shed it now ! Most wretched son. 
Wherefore did fate ordain thee to be bom ! 
Why did the piteous deluge save thy life. 
That thy more cruel father might destroy thee ?— 
Holy immortal Powers enthroned above ! 
Without whose mandate not the smallest wave 
Stirs on the sea, nor breath in all the air, . 
Nor leaf upon the earth, what monsti'ous sin 
Have I committed 'gainst your sacred laws, . 
That such a horrid judgment hath brought down 
On me and mine ! But if myself have sinn'd, 
Wherein has my poor son transgress'd so far. 
Ye will not pardon him ? And why, O Jove, 
Reserv'st thou not in mercy for my head, 



.814 THE FAITHFUL SHEPHEBD. 

One bolt of flaming vengeance, to set free 
My agonizing soul i But tbo' in peace 
Thy thunders sleep, my sword shall do their work.— - 
Aminta's dire example I'll repeat ; 
The son shall sooner see the father dead, 
Before the father's hand shall slay the son. 
Die then, Montano i death befits thee now. 
Nay, it delights thee. Ye tremendous Powers 
That rule in heaven shall I say, or hell ? 
Who drive the soul with sorrow to despair, 
Behold your fury here ! What you desire 
I have resolv'd to do ; no other wish 
I have but death, and no desire at all 
Save that of being no more ; an ardent wish 
To 'scape from life has seiz'd on every sense ; 
There's comfort iu'the thought. To death ! to death ! 

[Exii. 
Car. Hapless old man ! O how I pity thee ! 
For as a greater light obscures the less, 
So has the grief which for thy fate I feel 
Now overpow'r'd an)) quite extii^uish'd mine„ 
Sure all my pity if too small for thine! 



TOE FAITHFUL SHEPHERD. £15 



SCENE VI^ 



TiEENIO, MONTANO, CaRINO. 

TiR. Make haste my son^ but see thou tread se« 
cure, 
That I may safe from stumbling follow diee 
Along this crooked path, craggy and rough, 
With tottering feet that know not where they go. 
Thou art their eyes as I am to thy mind, — 
Ahd when in presence of the Priest we come 
There stop. 

MoN.. Ha ! who is this I see advancing here ? 
Sure 'tis Tirenio, venerable sage, 
Slind to the world, but whose keen mental eyes 
See heaven's secrets ? Sure some mighty cause 
Hath drawn him from his cell, for many years 
Are gone since we have seen him. 

Car. May it please 
The mighty gods he bring thee joyful news ! 

MoN. Father Tirenio, say what miracle 
Is this ? why com'st thou from thy holy cell ? 
Whom seek'st thou here ? or what so mighty news 
Hang on thy lips ? * 

TiR. To thee alone I come, 
And news I bring, and news I seek from thee. 



Sl6 THE FAITHFUL SHEPHERB. 

MoN. Why comes not back the holy order with 
thee f 
What hinders them, diat they have not retum'd 
W^ith the purg'd offering and the needful things. 
To finish the' interrupted sacrifice ? 

TiR. O how much outward blindness often adds 
To the' inward sight! for then it is the soul 
Not gadding forth, but wrapt within itself^ 
Is with die mind's eyes wont to recompense 
The loss of eyes without. It is not good, 
Montano, that we pass so slightly o'er 
Such great events unlook'd for, which discover 
A hand divine amidst the works of men, 
'^ That shapes their ends," because the mighty gods 
Will not vouchsafe to dwell upon the earth, 
Nor face to face talk with mortality. 
But all those great, stupendous, strange events 
Which blinded meu ascribe to chance as blind. 
Are but the voice of heaven that talks with man : 
Such are the words of the Eternal Powers, 
Mute to the ears, but sounding thro' the heart 
Of him who understands them? O the man 
Is truly blest who understands aright ! 
The good Nicandro, as thou gav'st command^ 
Was now prepar'd to lead the sacred pomp. 
But I, by reason of an omen strange 
That happened in the temple, bade him stay ; 
And this comparing with what happen'd thee 
To day at that same hour, I know not how, 

J 



A struige tinwoiited fedkig seaes me, 
'Twixt hope and fear, nor do I understand 
Tke cause, so from the deep obscurity, 
i hope some happiness, or fear some woe, 

MoN. That whidi lliou understandest not, I d^ 
Too well, and to my sorrow feel its smart. 
But is there aught in secret destiny, 
^y allnfivinii^ qpwit csimot pieree ^ 

TiR. My son, my son, if of prophetie Hght 
The use divine were arbitrary, dran 
Twould be a gift of nature^ not of heaVn. 
By the coofnsion of my tboiights, I feel 
Fate veils the truth at preaei^ 6om my mincl^ 
And keeps some mighty secret in its bi^east. 
Hiis the sole cause that broo^t me now to thee, 
To be informed more dearly who he is 
That's found to be the father of the youth 
Condemned to die, if rigjbt I understood 
Nicandro's words. 

MoN. Thott knoVsthim but tDo well, 
Tlrenio ; ah ! 'twSl wring thy very soul 
To think how well thou know'st, and lov^st him 
too! 

Tilt. I paise thy pity, 'tis humane 'm diee 
To take so much compassion, O my son. 
On the afflicted. But Fll speak with him. 

MoN« Now I perceive heav'n hath suspc£nde<t 
all 
The skiU in pvophecy vMdi once tfiou hadst. 



218 TfiE FAITHFUL SH£PHER1». 

That father whom thou seekest, and with whom 
Thou now desirtet.to convefse, am I* 

TiR. Art. thou the fatb^ of the youth thalfs 
doom'd 
To fell a victim now at Cynlhia's shrine ? 

MoN. The wretched father of that wretched 
son ! 

TiR. Of that 8am« ^iaith&I sh^^erd vdko to 
•give 
Life to another^^ireely chose to die ! 

MoN. 'Of him who dies to save the life of her 
Who gave him death; and tak^ my li^ away 
Who gave him life ! ^ 

TiR. But is this true? 

MoN. Behold the witaeas. 

Car. What he hath told thee is indeed Ihe 
truth. 

TiR. And who art thou that speakest ? 

Car. FmCarino, 
Beputed fallier of that youth till now. 

TiR. And>canat then indeed be fK>ssiMe 
That he's thy child the deluge swept away i 

MoN. Ah! 'tis as thou hast said, Tirenio. 

TiR> And dost, diou call thyself, a wretcbed 
father 
For this^ Montano ?; • O dark ^raorance ; 
Of mortal minds ! in how profound a night, 
In what thick mists of error are our souls 
Immets'd, till thou dispel them, brightest Son, 

2 



THE FAITHFUL SH1EPHERD. 219 

And lighten all within! Vain mortal men^ 
Why boast of knowledge ? for the faculties 
By which we all things see and understand, 
Are not our virtues^ but the gifts of heaVn, 
Tliat gives ai pleasure, and recalls its gifts. 

in thy miud^ Montimo, blinder far 
Than I am ia my ^es ! what dire illusion^ 
What demon by hisspells so clouds thy sight. 
And blunts thy faculties, thou CBSosk not see 
That if this noble youth's indeed thy son, 
Thou art the happiest father, and most dear 
To the immortal gods, of all the fathers 

The world contains f Behold the mighty secret 
Which fate conceal'd before! Behold the day, 
Tlie happy day when we expected showers^ 
Of tears and blood! behold the blessed' end^ 
Of all our woes I Montano, where art &ou ? 
Come to thyself agahi v couldst thou alone 
Forget the blest, the happy oracle 
Impress'd upon the hearts of all Arcadia i 
How did the happy finding of thy sou 
Not flash like lightning on thy wilder'd soul. 
And naake thee hear the thunder of the words 
Tlie heavenly oracle pronounc'd before : 
^ Your woes shall have no end, till love shall joia 
** In wedlock's bands a pair of birth divine"— 
Tears of delight • • . . ^ • 
Burst forth • • • in such abundance • . . from my heart, 

1 canuot speak r . • ^^ Your woes shall have • • r • 

t2 



• • 



HO THE wArrnfVh aKBPSsBiiu 

^ Your woes sball Inve no end, till love shall joift 

** In wedlock's bauds a pair of birth divine ; 

^' And for di' offence a perjor'd maid hath done, 

*^ A Fajthpul Shepherd's ardent love ^tone^'^ 

Now say^ Montano, ibis sam^ shepherd yout^ 

Of whom we speak, and who is doom'd to die. 

Is not his birth divine, if bom of dieei! 

And AmariUifl too of birth Avine i 

And who, I pray, has J0tn'd these two iHit LoMa^i 

Silvio was by bis parents, and by force. 

With AoiariUis joinld b mairiag^ vonrs, 

Yet is the knot^of J^ve.as distiait far 

From -Afiir twp beasts, adihatredJb hma Ipve. 

Examine now the rest, Ihoii It x:k»riy see 

The fatal voice none 4>iii MirttUo meant ; 

For who has ever,, since Aminta'sttime, 

Shown .Qonstancy of lo^e do. jnatch. Mirtilb^S i 

Who, 8a:v:e MirtiUo,. since Amintft.c&ed, 

Would die to save his mistress ^ therefore now 

That Faithful .Shepherd*s ardent love appears. 

Which thus most fully ^for the. crime atones 

Of false Xiucrina. By this wondrous act, 

This mofitstupendous love, Jthe wmth of 'hea(v'%. 

More than with human blood, is now appeas'd. 

Tbm is Flemal justice satisfied 

For .the offence that .perjur'd maid had done. 

Hence 'twas that he no sooner came to. pay 

His ¥OW8 within the l^oaple, than at once 

All .dreadfiil om^is ceas'd. The .bloody sweat 



TH£ VAITHFUL SHEPHBKB. S2l 

No loi^^er from the'eteiual image broke ; 
The earth no longer shook ; the holy cavern 
No longer fum'd, or aent forth dismal shrieks^ 
But blest harmonious sounds and odours sweet. 
As even might have fiU'd the courts of heav'n. 
If sounds and ddours there a£fect the senses 
O Providence Eternal! Powers supreme! 
If all my words were souls, and every soul 
Were now devoted to resound your praise, 
All were too little for a gift like this» 
But, as I may, I render thanks unfeign'd. 

holy Deities enthron'd on high ! 

Here humbly with my knees bent do^vn to earth. 
How shall I thank you that I live till now ! 
Of my life's course an hundred years are flown, • 
Yet till this hour IVe never truly livfd^ 
life ne'er wafr half so sweet.as 'tis to-day 9: 
Now I begin to live^ I'm bom again^— 
But why in^ words do I consume, the time 
Ttiat should be. spent in works ? Help me, my son. 
Without thy. aid I cannot raise from earth 
My feeble limbs* 

MoN. Tirenio, in my heart 

1 have such joy with mighty wonder mixM, 
1 know, and yet I scarcely feel my bliss ; 
Nor can my soul, in deep confusion pkmg'd. 
Proclaim her joy, but keeps it all within, 
So great amazement chains my every sense. 
O miracle of heav'n I far, far beyond 

T 3 



iUl we bsvesem, <Mr oouU taoesave bdone! 
O unemmpled joodaess! O the gfoai; 
And woadrouB aiercy ^tbe mighty gads! 

bkrt Arcadia ! more than eiseiy land 
Which the «UB MM or, wanoB, ;belovU4>f heay'o ^ 
So dear Ay iveal is «w ^ niy hearty 

1 cannotfed my own; and in diat thoo(^ 
I ev'nfoqjet my aen whom twice Z'vie loit. 
And twice I've found; myself too I fcoget^ 
Who from a d»e tbyas'of pief* have past 

To one of joy, while wvapt in Ihoughts o£thte^ 
And all my private j^^ like •asmall dwof^ 
Amidst the mighty oceanof tl^ bliss 
Is swallowed up, and 'lost. O^Uessed^dreanaur 
No -dream ibnt gracions vision from the skies4 
Now my Ar^^dia^ .as ^tfaou didst £oaetally 
Shall floiunh yet i^ain* 

TiR. Butwhy4elagr; 
Montano; heav-n no longer now expeots> 
A hiunansaeriSce ; the season now 
Of wrath «nd vengeance is^tto •more, but timea^ 
Of grace and love ; to^^iay our goddess wanta. 
No horrid sacrifice^ but jc^tfiil bands^ 
And blessed nuptal sit^ But say how long. 
The day has yet jto vun ? 

Mo9f. 'Tis bat an hour 
Or little more till night* 

TiR. bitsplatef 
Back to the temple letus then proeeed 



Without ikh^f and let'.the loving pokv 
Old Titiro's doiigliter wd iky 4bqo excbw^ 
Their nuptial vowa, land ^pmses ^tf«i^t become. 
Then let him Jbrifig her to his folher's howae. 
Where heavln ordsins thtiifc*ei;^ the 8W halhcet^ 
These fair desceadant^ of two <god(s should ;h^ - 
in we(&ock's ImuokIs united. Thon^ my aon^ 
Conduct me whence Ixaaie, and thou Mpntmuii 
Follow my steps. 

MoN. But mark, Hr^o^ thbsh: 
She cauaotiiow, without the breaiJi of kmr^. 
Transfer tliat fisuth txx Solido .pledg'd before^ 
And give it to MirtiUo. 

Car. True, to Silvio 
Her faith was giv'n, and this is Silvio, stills 
Such was MirtiUo's name when he was borui 
(If so I may believe thy servant's words, 
From whom I had him) afterwards I changed it 
From Silvio to Mirtillo, and to. this 
Himself consented^ 

MoN. True : I now remember, ' 
By the same name I call'd my second son. 
As some small comfort for the eldeatfslossu 

Tib. ^wasau important .doubt: Slow let's pi^p* 
ceed. 

MoN. Carino, to the temple .too*«ome tbou« 
Mirtillo henceforth diall two intbera own ; 
I\e found a son to day, and^tiiou abrother* 



♦f' 



CM THB FAITHFUI. SHEPHR&O. 

Car. By love a hKher to' thy soo, to diar 
A brother too by love. In reY«r«ice 
And high respect Carino shall to bolb 
A servant ever prove ; aod since to me 
Thou shov^'st such courtesy, I will be bold 
To recommend my friend Uranio too 
To share thy love, for he's my 8ec<md self. 

MoN. Thy friend be also mine* 

Car. Eternal Powers ! 
Those lofty paths and inaccessible 
By which your bounties on our heads descend^. 
How different are they from those crooked paths,, 
By which our foolish pray 'rs. ascend to.heav'ui 



SCENE Tir. 



CoRiscA, Lingo.. 

Cor. So linco, now it seems die cruel Silvio^. 
When least he thought on% has become a lover. 
But what became of her i 

Lin- We carried her 
To Silvio's dwelling, where, with many a tearj... 
(Whether of joy or grief I cannot tell,) 



tHE IF AITHFUL SHEPHERD. 2S,3 

His mother welcomed lier. Much pkas'dy indeed^ 
Her son should love, and now become a spouse, 
Sut grieving for the nymj^'s unlucky wound. 
Unhappy dame ! the mother to beccnne 
Of two so h^leas dai^ters! one she moura'd 
As dead 1^ guilt, the other's 1^ uasuve. 

Cob . b Amarillis dead then i 

Ljn. So 'tis said. 
And that's the causa I to the temple go, 
To comfort old Moutano, that to*day 
If he has.loat one daughter, he has found 
Another tin her plase. 

Cob. Isiuot Dorindadeadf 

Xjn. She dead! O would 
Thou wert hujt half as mucii alive and gkd 
As she is now ! 

CuiR. Aad was her wound not mcM^ f 

^iN. Tho' riie liad died, yet Silvio's tender pii;^ 
Had made her Uve again. 

Cob. What wondrous art 
Sp soon eould cure her f , 

LiN. I shall tell thee all ;: 
Hear now a miracle : With tren^ii^ ^hearto, 
And hands prepar'd to aid, aU stood around 
The wounded nymph ; *but she would suffer none 
To touch her, save her own diear Silvio, 
Saying, the hand that gave, should cure the wound; 
So all withdrew, save Silvio, his mother. 



t26 TUB^FAITKFCL SHEPHEUIT. 

And I ; two to advise^ and one to work. 
Then first die youtk widi goitle hand remov'd 
Hie bloodrstaiii'd garments from her streamin|^ 

side 
Fair jus Ike polish'd ivorj; next essay'd 
To pull the deep-lodg'd arrow from the wound ; 
But the false wood gave. way, and left the steel ' 
Quite hid within; then the dire pain began, 
Nor was it possible by any hand 
However expefit, or iron iastrument. 
Or aught beside, to \^rench the weapon out.. 
Perchance, by opening still a lai^r wound> 
And seaiching out the steel's profound recess 
By force of steel, that would have done the work ;; 
But love made Silvio far too full c^pify. 
To try so har^ a cure. Love does not heid 
With instruments; safierce, the wounds be gives.^^ 
As for the' enamour'd maic^ 'midsl Silvio^js hands 
Her wound soon lost its smart, and thus' dki 

spoke. 
Quite undismay'd : — '^ Hence thou shalt also come^ 
*^ Thou wicked iron, and with greater ease 
'^ Than thou belicyirest. He who shot thee in, 
** Has also power to pull thee out again. 
'' By practice in the chase I've leani'd to cure 
'^ This mischief which by hunting I have done. 
'' Now I remember there's a certain plant * 

* Dittany is the pUmt alluded to. Vid. Virg. JExb B. tZ t. 418. 



THE FAITHFUL SHEPHERD. t^f 

^^ Cit>pt by the wild goat Mfhen a shaft has chaacM 
'** To lo^e within her side ; she show'd it us, 
""^ Anddiature h«- ; nor is it fai- ivGm lieRce/' — 
Then went he to the neighbourii^ hill, and puU'd : 
A stalk of it in haste — ^he straight returned. 
And haviqg squeezed the juice, and mingled it 
lEVith vervain seed, and added centaury root, 
Made a soft salve, and laid it on the .wound, 
O wondrous virtue of these healing herbs ! 
The pain ceas'd instantly, the blood was stemm'd^ 
And soon die ir<Hi too obey'd die hand) 
And came away widiout more toil or poiii : 
Her wonted vigour to die maid retnm'd^ 
As if die never had sustain^ a wound ; 
It was, in truth, not dangerous, for the shaft 
Had pass'd between die muscles and the bone^ 
And fixing there, had done no farther harm.— 

Cor. Great virtue hast thou told me in a plant^ 
But greater in a maid. 

LiN. What afterwards 
Took place between them, is more. easily 
Imagin'd than express'd. But this is sure, 
Dorinda's well again ; her side is whole, * 
Free from all pain, and strong as formerly. 
Tho' Qiou believ'st, Corisca, I suppose, 
As I do, that she has a deeper wound 
Made in her heart ; but as the arms of Love 
Axt different^ so his wounds are differait too. 



9tB THE FAITfiFCL SHEFftBBlK 

WooKb made by sted are paioiiii ; ^ose of Lcyvis 
Are pieumg, dio' lliey pcaetnte die heart. — 
And 8iidi nioe skUl duB crod boy bis diown 
Snoe be becanie a buntamaiiy diat dbe muk 
He never mw'd^ at ^wbkfa he b^t his bow ; 
He at die hut has wounded nobl^ game. 

Cor. O lioco, still die seif-same sool dio«i 
bast, 
Tib still t^ joy to talk and (beam of love. 

Lnfw O my belov'd Corisca, stfll my mind 
Is young and^vigonos 'midst die spoils <^ 9ge, 

CoR. : My mal AmariUtB dms dispat«di'd| 
Another caife remains ; IH go and see' 
If I can gel mgr dear Mif^o free» 



SCENE Tin. 



ESGASTO, CORISCA* 

^ Erg. O day of wonders full ! O hi^py d«^ ! 
All love^. all blbssii^Sy all del^t and joy ! 
O happy earth, O bounteous heaven ! 



Tilfe FAITHFUL SHEPHERD. 2^9 

t 

CoRiscA returns. 

Cor. But see 
Ergasto's here, how luckily he comes! 

Erg. To day let every thii^ rejoice, earth, 
heav'n, 
Air, fire, and all creation smile around. 
Let our rejoicii^ reach the nether realms 
Of woe, and there make jubilee to-day-^ 

CoR. How overjoy'd he seems! 

Erg. Blest woods, as once responsive to our 
sighs, 
In lamentable mummrs ye bemoan'd 
Our woes, rejoice now also at our joy. 
And move as many tongues as ye have leaves 
Now dancing to the jocund breeze's breath ; 
Let all the tuneful warblers in your shades 
Pour forth their melody, and sing the bliss 
Of a true loving pair. 

Cor. (aside.) He sure must speak 
Of Silvio and Dorinda. But, in fine, 
A cheerful life is best, the spring of tears 
Is soon dried up, but joy's full swelling tide 
Rolls always on. Of Amarillis dead 
There is no longer talk. TTie only care 
Is to be glad with those that banish grief. 
And 'tis well done;, for the frail life of man 

u 



tSO THE FAITHFUL SH^PHBRft. 

Has quite enough of woe. Whither, Ergast^i 
Gp'st thou so joyful ? To a wedding feast ? 

Erg. Most rightly said. Know'st thou the happjr 
fate 
Of the blest lovers i Hast thou ever heard 
Of an event so strai^e ? 

Cor. From Linco now 
I heard it with much joy, which has in part 
Assuag'd my grief for Amarillis' death. 

Erg. She dead ? and when i what circumstance 
is this 
Thou speakest of, or whom believ'st thou now 
I'm speaking of? 

Cor. Of Silvio and Dorinda. 

Erg. What Silvio, what Dorinda ? nothing then 
Thou know'st of what has pass'd ; my joy row 

springs 
From a more noble and delightful source — 
I speak of i\marillis and Mirtillo, 
The happiest pair whom Love to-day inflames 
Throughout the world. 

Cor. Is Amarillis then 
Not dead, Ergasto ? 

Erg* Dead!' She is alive. 
Joyful and fair, jea, and a spouse besides. 

Cor. Ah! sure thou mockest me i 
. Erg. I mock thee! thou shalt presently believe 
When thou shalt see. 



THE FAITHFUL SHEPHERD. 2di 

Cor. And was she not condemn'd 
To suffer death i 

Erg. She was mdeed condemn'd, 
But soon acquitted too. 

CoR. Dost thou relate 
Vain -dreams, or do I dream while hearing diee ^ 

Erg. Stay but a little space,, and thou shalt see 
her 
Come with her faithful and most fortunate 
Mirtillo from the temple where they are. 
Their nuptial vows they have already giv'n, 
And to Montano's house they'll soon proceed ; 
There from the bitter root of their long loves, 
To reap delicious fruit. O hadst thou seen 
The' amazing joy ! O hadst thou heard the sound 
Of the glad shouts, and songs of gratitude 
That burst from every heart ! the temple yet 
Is fill'd with an innumerable croud 
Of men and women, youth and age, with priests 
Coufus'd and mingled, little less than mad 
With theii' excessive joy ; all with amaze 
Run to behold the happy pair, who stand 
By the glad throng caress'd and half ador'd. 
Their virtue one extols, their constancy 
Another ; this, the favours heap'd on them 
By heav'n, and that the charms bestow'd by nature. 
The neighb'ring mountain and the plain, the hills ' 
And dales around, as conscious of their joy. 
Echo die Faithful Shepherd's glorious name. 

u2 



^32 THE FAITHFUL SHEPHERP. 

O happy lover^ to become so soon 
From a poor shepherd swain^ a demigod ! 
To pass in one short moment from thy death 
To life, and obsequies so near to change 
For nupt al rites diat seem'd so far remote^ 
And ev'u despair'd of; but the' this be mucfa^ 
Tis not the utmost bliss — ^to be belov'd 
By her for whom he thought it joy to die ; 
By her who would have shsu-'d his fate in death ; 
To run into her arms, to save whose life, 
So willingly he ran to death before ! 
This is such joy^ such rapturous deligbtj^ 
As quite exceeds all fancy ; and art thou 
Not joyful at it too f and feeFst thou not 
For Amarillis as much joy as I 
Now for Mirtillo feel ? 

Cor. I d0| Ergasto^ 
See how my face a^d eyes declare my joy ! 

Erg. O if thou hadst but seen 
The charming Amarillis, when her hand 
Forth to Mirtillo, as a pledge of faith, 
She stretched; and as a pledge of love, Mirtillo 
Return'd a kiss so sweety as left a doubt 
Whether he gave or took it ; hadst thou seen^ 
Thou hadst for certain almost died for joy. 
O what is purple ? what are roses ? what 
The gayest colours in the power of art 
Or nature to present ? her lovely cheeks 
Outvied them all, ting'd deeply ^s they were 



TBE FAITHFUL SHEPHERD. iSSS 

With viigin modesty, and overspread 

Widi ruddy bloom as willi a beauteous shield^ 

But which invited the fond youth the more 

To kiss again, while die with bashful mein 

Seem'd half unwilling, and so leat the joy 

A double relish, leaving it in doubt 

Whether the kiss was ravish'd or bestow'd ; 

For with such admirable art 'twas given 

And snatch'd, and she so coy, so sweetly coy. 

That which Ae most desir'd she seem'd to shun ;; 

An act 'twixt will and force, and a d&aial 

So gentle, as reveal'd her secret wish 

Not to deny ; so sweetly Ae refiis'd, 

He was invited to assail again 

What seem'd to fly, and flew in haste to snatdr 

What hasted to be gone ; O honey 'd kiss !— 

I can no more Corisca — Instantly 

I'll also go and wed, for such delights 

True lovers only know. [Exit £rgastOk 

CoR. If he hath now 
Told thee the truth, this is the day, Corisca, 
Tliou losest all thy hopes so fond and vain. 
But sense and sounder judgment gain'st instead^ 



V S 



t34 THE 7A1THFUL 8H£PHERJ». 



SCENE IX. 



Chorus of Shefherdity Coribca, AmariLlIsa 

MlRTILLO. 

CaoR. Holy Hymens from the sky 
Hear our hymns before thy shrine : 
Behold the happy pair of birth divine! 
Hear us, hear us from on high; 
The destined kuot, O Hymen, tie. 

CoR. All is alas! too true, and dins tboa reap'st^ 
O wretch, the worthy fruits of vanity! 
O thoughts, O wishes as unjust as vain, 
And full of guile ! Have I the death desir'd 
Of one so innocent, to please aloile, 
My own unbridled wishes ? Could I be 
So base ? so blind P How are my eyes unbound f 
What see I now ? the horror of my sin, 
That mock'd me with the hope of happinesi, 

Chor. Holy Hymen, from the sky 
Hear our hymns before thy shrine: 
B^old the happy pair of birth divine! 
Hear us, hear us from on high ; 
The destin'd knot, O Hymen, tie!> 



r' 



THE FAITHFUL SHEPHEKD^ fiSS 

Shep.* Ah ! Faithfii] Shepherd, now beholdat last 
Where thou art landed, after such dire storms 
Of tears and sufferings ! Is ik>t this the maid 
Denied thee by die laws of heaven and earth ? 
By cruel fate, and by her own disdain; 
By thy poor station, by her plighted faith; 
By death itself ? Behold her thine, M irtillo, 
That face belo¥*d, and these fair beaming eyes. 
Those hands, that bosom, and that world of charm» 
Thou seest, and hear'st and touchest, and for which 
Thou hast so often s^h'd, now all are tliine. 
The just reward of matchless constancy ; 
And yet thou speakest not ! 
MiE. How can I speak, 
Uncertain yet whether 1 live or no; 
And whether all I see, and hear, and feel, 

Be yet a dream, or a reality f 

Let my most charming Amarillis speak; 

For my affections and my soul live all 

In her alone. 

. Chor. Holy Hymen, from the sky 

Hear our hymns before thy shrine : 

Behold the happy pair of birth divine I 

Hea^r us, hear us from on high ; 

The destin'd knot, O Hymen, tifc ! 
CoR. But what have ye to do 

Longer with me, deceitful ornaments ? 

Ye treacherous things that on the body shine, 

* Here one of the Chorus speaki. 



ftdO TH£ FAITHFUL SHEFHEAfir. 

But stain the soul ! Begone, for long enoii^ 
Have ye deceiv'd me, and since earth ye are. 
Go strew your kindred earth : I made you once 
Arms of lascivious love, and treacherous wiles^ 
Be now true virtue's trophies and her spoib* 

Chor. Holy Hymen, from the sky 
Hear our hymns before thy shrine : 
Behold the happy pair of birth divine ! 
Hear us, hear us firom on high ; 
The desUn'd knot, O Hymen, tief 

CoR. But why dday Corisca ? 
Tis a propitious time of pardon now* 
Art thou in fear of punishment f behold. 
Thou hast within the greatest punishment. 

blest and beauteous pair, belov'd alike 

By heaven and earth, since every earthly power 
Yields to your conquering fates to^ay, ^tis right 
She also yield, who has employ'd all power 
On eardi to thwart your happy destiny^ 
Yes, Amarillis, I confess, the youth 
Who has thy heart, had also mine, but thou 
Most worthy art of his. .Thou now enjoy'st 
The truest swain that lives, and thou, Mirtillo^ 
The chastest nymph the world has e'er beheld ;. 

1 am her witness, I the touchstone was* 
That tried her virtue, and thy constancy. 

But do thou, courteous nymph, before thy rage 
On me descends, look in thy bridegroom's face^ 
There wilt thou see the cause of .my offence^ 



r~ 



THE FAITHFUL SHEPHERD. 23? 

Thou therefore must forgive me ; and, in virtue 
Of those bright charms that tempted me to err^ 
Pardon, thyself in love, the fault of love. 

Am. Not only do I pardon thee, Corisca, 
But as a friend esteem thee, the effect 
Regarding only, not Mrhat w^it before — 
For steel and fire, tho' at the first they pain. 
Provided that they heal, are still belov'd 
By those who feel their salutary aid. 
So whether friend or foe thou wert before, 
^is now enough to me that destiny . 
Employ'd thee as the happy instrument 
Of all my joys ; — thy treasons and deceits 
To me have blessings prov'd, and if thou'rt pleas'd 
To grace our feast and share our happiness, 
Thou art most welcome. 

Cor. Thy forgiveness proves 
A better banquet, for my heart's at peace. — 

MiR. And. I m truth forgive thee all offence, 
Corisca, save this tedious delay. 

Cor. Heav'n bless you both. Adieu. 

lExiL 

Chor. Holy Hymen, from the sky * 
Hear our hymns before thy shnne : 
Behold the happy pair of birth divine ! 
Hear us, hear us from on high, 
The destin'd knot, O Hymen, tie ! 



2S9 TH£ FAITHFUL SHEPHERD. 



SCENE X. 



MiRTiLLo, Amabillis^ Chorus of Shepherds. 

MiRT* And have I then so long been us*d to 
grief, 
That I must languish in the midst of joy ? 
Was not this tedious pomp enough before, 
But I must meet my ancient obstack 
CoriscaP 

Am. See, she's gone. 

MiR. O my dear treasure, 
I am not yet secure, I tremble stiU, 
Nor shall indeed be certain thou art mine, 
Till in my father's house thou hast become 
My wedded spouse. This all appears a dream 
That by degrees will vanish, as my sleep 
Flies from me; and methinks thou'lt vanish too^ 
Soul of my soul ! — I wish some greater proof. 
That this sweet waking is no dream of joy * 

Chor. Holy Hymen, from the sky 
Hear our hymns before thy shriqe : 
Behold the happy pair of birth divine I 
Hear us, hear us from on high. 
The destin'd knot, O Hymeu, tie ! 



TttE FAITHFUL SHEPHERl). £39 



CHORUS. 

O Pair most happy, who in tears have sown, 
And reap in smiles, when sorrow's clouds have 

flown ; 
How sweet the relish of your bliss at last, 
'When all your sighs and bitter woes are past ! 
O blind and too faint-hearted mortals, learn 
From hence true good from evil to discern. 
AH delight is not true joy. 
Nor all sorrow real annoy ; 
Tliat is truest joy which springs 
From conscious virtue after sufferings^—* 



FINIS. 



mmm 



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Old Bank Close.