Il Pastor Fido, or The Faithful Shepherd · chunk 21 of 71
Dymoke, Tailboys / Guarini, Giovanni Battista · published 1602 · first performed or written 1601 (Annals) pastoral T37 Riches, poverty and covetousness typicality 0.82 · 477 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of T37: wealth, riches, money, god, rich, poverty, men, learning, poor, ic.
Dear blessed woods, and you the silent groves Of rest and peace, the harbour-houses true: How willingly I turn to visit you. And if my stars had so been pleased t'have let Me live unto myself, I with th'Elysian fields The happy gardens of the demi gods, Would not have changed your gentle shadow spots. If I judge right, these worldly goods are nought But muschiefes, still the richest have least goods, And he possesseth most that is most poor. Riches are ever snares of liberty. What's fame of beauty worth in tender years? Or heavenly nobleness in mortal blood? So many favours, both of heaven and earth, Fields large, and happy, goodly meadow plains, Fat pastures, that do fatter flocks present, If in the same the heart be not content. Happy that shepherdess, whose scarcely knees, A poor, but yet a cleanly gown doth reach: Rich in herself, only in nature's gifts. Who in sweet poverty, no poorness knows: Nor feels no tortures which this Riches brings. Desire to have much, near doth her torment, If she be poor, yet is she well content. She nature's gifts doth nurse with nature's gifts, Making milk spring with milk, saucing her native sweet With honey of the Bee, one fountain serveth her To drink, to wash, and for her looking glass. If she be well, than all the world is well. Let the clouds rise, and thunder threat amain, Her poverty doth all the fear prevent, If she be poor, yet is she well content. Finely the flock committed to her charge Feeds on the grass, the whilst her shepherd friend Feeds on her eyes, not whom the stars, or men, Her destinies, but whom affection chooseth. Then in the shadow of a Mettell tree, Cherished, she cherisheth again; nor doth She feel that heat which she discovers not: Nor ever heat discover which she doth not feel. Always declaring troth of her intent, If she be poor, yet is she well content. True life that knows not death before they die. Ah that I might my fortune change with theirs. But see Corisca. Gods save you good Corisca. Who calleth me? Dear Amarillis dearer than Mine eyes, my life, whither go you alone? No further than you see, glad I have found you out. You have her found that will not part from you. And e'en now, thus was I thinking with myself, Were I her soul how could she stay away so long? And therewithal you came my dear, and yet You do not love your poor Corisca. Why so? Ask you why so? and you a bride to day. A bride? A bride, and yet from me you keep it. How should I utter that I do not know? Yet will you feign? You jest. 'tis you that jest. And can it then be true?
seed 43: T35 · seed 44: T34 — topic numbers are assigned independently in each run; equal or different numbers say nothing by themselves
Original spelling (EEBO-TCP, unregularized)
DEare bleſſed woods, and you the ſilent groues Of reſt and peace, the harbour-houſes true: How willingly I turne to viſit you. And if my ſtarres had ſo bene pleaſde t'haue let Me liue vnto my ſelfe, I with th'elizian fields The happie gardeins of the demy gods, Wou'd not haue chang'd your gentle ſhadow ſpots. If I iudge right, theſe worldly goods are nought But muſchiefes, ſtill the richeſt haue leaſt goods, And he poſſeſſeth moſt that is moſt poore. Riches are euer ſnares of libertie. What's fame of beautie worth in tender yeares? Or heauenly nobleneſſe in mortall blood? So many fauours, both of heauen and earth, Fields large, and happie, goodly meadow plaines, Fat paſtures, that do fatter flocks preſent, If in the ſame the hart be not content. Happie that ſhepheardeſſe, whoſe ſcarcely knees, A poore, but yet a cleanly gowne doth reach: Rich in her ſelfe, onely in natures gifts. Who in ſweet pouertie, no pooreneſſe knowes: Nor feeles no tortures which this iches brings. Deſire to haue much, nere doth her torment, If ſhe be poore, yet is ſhe well content. She natures gifts doth nurſe with natures gifts, Making milke ſpring with milke, ſaucing her natiue ſweet With hony of the Bee, one fountaine ſerueth her To drinke, to waſh, and for her looking glaſſe. If ſhe be well, then all the world is well. Let the cloudes riſe, and thunder threat amaine, Her pouertie doth all the feare preuent, If ſhe be poore, yet is ſhe well content. Finely the flocke committed to her charge Feeds on the graſſe, the whilſt her ſhepheard friend Feeds on her eyes, not whom the ſtarres, or men, Her deſtenies, but whom affection chooſeth. Then in the ſhadow of a Mtell tree, Cheriſht, ſhe cheriſheth againe; nor doth She feele that heat which ſhe diſcouers not: Nor euer heat diſcouer which ſhe doth not feele. Alwaies declaring troth of her intent, If ſhe be poore, yet is ſhe well content. True life that knowes not death before they die. Ah that I might my fortune chaunge with theirs. But ſee Coriſca. Gods ſaue you good Coriſca. Who calleth me? Deare Amarillis dearer then Mine eies, my life, whither go you alone? No further then you ſee, glad I haue found you out. You haue her found that will not part from you. And eu'n now, thus was I thinking with my ſelfe, Were I her ſoule how could ſhe ſtay away ſo long? And therewithall you came my deare, and yet You do not loue your poore Coriſca. Why ſo? Aske you why ſo? and you a bride to day. A bride? A bride, and yet from me you keep it. How ſhould I vtter that I do not know? Yet wil you faine? You ieſt. T'is you that ieſt. And can it then be true?