Il Pastor Fido, or The Faithful Shepherd · chunk 8 of 71
Dymoke, Tailboys / Guarini, Giovanni Battista · published 1602 · first performed or written 1601 (Annals) pastoral T4 Love-longing and the lover's complaint typicality 0.73 · 498 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of T4: love, heart, sweet, loves, fair, phillis, eyes, beauty, amyntas, lovers.
To mitigate this amorous furious rage? Whilst other women have a heap of loves, I have no other but Mirtillo only. Am I not stoutly furnished? Oh thousand times, Ill-counselled fool! that now reduced art Into the poverty of one sole love: Corisca was ne'er such a fool before. What's faith? what's constancy? but fables feigned By jealous men: and names of vanity, Simple women to deceive. Faith in a woman's heart, (If faith in any woman's heart there be:) Can neither virtue nor yet goodness be. But hard necessity of love, a wretched law Of beauty weak that pleaseth only one, Because she is not gracious in the eyes of more. A beauteous Nymph, sought too by multitudes Of worthy lovers, if she be content With only one, and all the rest despise, Either she is no woman, or if so she be, She is a fool. What's beauty worth unseen? Or seen, unsought? or sought too but of one? The more our lovers be, the greater men, The surer pledge have we in this vild world. That we are creatures glorious and rare, The goodly splendour of a beauteous Nymph, Is to have many friends. So in good Towns Wise men ever do. It is a fault, A foolish trick, all to refuse for one. What one cannot, many can well perform: Some serve, some give, some fit for other use. So in the City lovely Ladies do, Where I by wit, and by example too, Of a great Lady learned the Art of love. Corisca would she say. Let thy Lovers and thy garments be alike. Have many, use, wear but one, and change often. Too much conversing breedeth noisomeness, And noisomeness despite, which turns to hate: We cannot worser do, then fill our friends, Let them go hungry rather from thee still. So did I always, always loving store, One for my hand, an other for mine eye: The best I ever for my bosom kept, None for my heart, as near as ere I could. And now I know not how Mirtillo comes Me to torment, now must I fie, and worse Sigh for myself, deceiving no man else. Now must I rob my limbs of their repose, Mine eyes of sleep, and watch the break of day: Now do I wander through these shadowed woods, Seeking the footsteps of my hated love. What must Corisca do? shall I entreat him? No: my hate not gives me leave. I'll give him o'er, Nor will my love consent. What shall I do? Prayers and subtleties I will attempt: I will bewray my love, but not as mine, If this prevail not, then I'll make disdain Find out a memorable huge revenge. Mirtillo if thou canst not like my love, Then shalt thou try my hate. And Amarillis, Thou shalt repent thou ere my rival were't. Well, to your costs you both shall quickly prove, What rage in her can do that thus doth love.
seed 43: T2 · seed 44: T3 — topic numbers are assigned independently in each run; equal or different numbers say nothing by themselves
Original spelling (EEBO-TCP, unregularized)
To mitigate this amorous furious rage? Whilſt other women haue a heape of loues, I haue no other but Mirtillo onely. Am I not stoutly furnished? Oh thouſand times, Ill-counſell'd foole! that now reduced art Into the pouertie of one ſole loue: Coriſca was ne're ſuch a foole before. What's faith? what's conſtancy? but fables fain'd By iealous men: and names of vanitie, Simple women to deceiue. Faith in a womans hart, (If faith in any womans hart there bee:) Can neither vertue nor yet goodneſſe bee. But hard neceſſitie of loue, a wretched law Of beautie weake that pleaſeth onely one, Becauſe ſhe is not gracious in the eyes of more. A beautious Nymphe, ſought too by multitudes Of worthy louers, if ſhe be content With onely one, and all the reſt deſpiſe, Either ſhe is no woman, or if ſo ſhe be, She is a foole. What's beautie worth vnſeene? Or ſeene, vnſought? or ſought too but of one? The more our louers be, the greater men, The ſurer pledge haue we in this vild world. That we are creatures glorious and rare, The goodly ſplendor of a beautious Nymphe, Is to haue many friends. So in good Townes Wiſe men euer doo. It is a fault, A fooliſh tricke, all to refuſe for one. What one cannot, many can well performe: Some ſerue, ſome giue, ſome fit for other vſe. So in the Citie louely Ladies do, Where I by wit, and by example too, Of a great Lady learnd the Art of loue. Coriſca would ſhe ſay. Let thy Louers and thy garments be alike. Haue many, vſe, weare but one, and change often. Too much conuerſing breedeth noyſomeneſſe, And noyſomeneſſe deſpight, which turnes to hate: We cannot worſer do, then fill our friends, Let them go hungry rather from thee ſtill. So did I alwaies, alwaies louing ſtore, One for my hand, an other for mine eye: The beſt I euer for my boſome kept, None for my heart, as neare as ere I could. And now I know not how Mirtillo comes Me to torment, now muſt I figh, and worſe Sigh for my ſelfe, deceiuing no man elſe. Now muſt I robbe my limmes of their repoſe, Mine eyes of ſleepe, and watch the breake of day: Now do I wander through theſe ſhadow'd woods, Seeking the footſteps of my hated loue. What muſt Coriſca do? ſhall I entreat him? No: my hate not giues me leaue. Ile giue him o're, Nor will my loue conſent. What ſhall I do? Prayers and ſubtilties I will attempt: I will bewray my loue, but not as mine, If this preuaile not, then Ile make diſdaine Finde out a memorable huge reuenge. Mirtillo if thou canſt not like my loue, Then ſhalt thou trie my hate. And Amarillis, Thou ſhalt repent thou er'e my riuall wer't. Well, to your coſts you both ſhall quickly proue, What rage in her can do that thus doth loue.