Il Pastor Fido, or The Faithful Shepherd · chunk 32 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 0.78 · 522 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of T4: love, heart, sweet, loves, fair, phillis, eyes, beauty, amyntas, lovers.
I after love hath quite consumed my life. Why then your wounds will not be cured at all? Never till death. Till death▪ well hear me now, And look my words be laws unto your deeds. Howbeeed I know to die is the more usual voice Of an enamoured tongue, than a desire Or firm conceit his soul hath entertained, Yet if by chance such a strange folly hath Possessed thy mind, know then thy death will be Death to mine honour as unto thy life. Now if thou lov'st me, live and let it be A token of thy wit henceforth thou shun To see me, or to seek my company. O cruel sentence! can I without life Live think you then? Or can I without death Find end unto my torment and my grief? Well now 'tis time you go (Mirtillo) hence! you'll stay too long. Go comfort yourself, That infinite the troop of wretched Lovers is. All wounds do bring with them their several pain, Nor can you only of this love complain. Among these wretches I am not alone: but yet A miserable spectacle am only I, Of dead and living, nor can live nor die. Well go your ways. Ah sad departure, End of my life, go I from you, and do not die? And yet I feel the very pangs of death, That do give life unto mine exttasie, To make my heart immortally to die. OH Mirtillo! oh my dearest soul Couldst thou but see into her heart whom thou Call'st cruel Amarillis, then wouldst thou say Thou hadst that pity which thy heart desires. Oh minds too much infortunate in love! What boots it thee my heart to be beloved? What boots it me to have so dear a Love? Why should the cruel sates so disunite Whom love conjoines? and why should traitorous love Conjoin them whom the destinies do part? Oh happy savage beasts whom nature gives No laws in love, save very love itself. Inhuman human law, that punish'st This love with death, if't be so sweet to sin, And not to sin so necessary be, Imperfect nature that repugneth law, Or law too hard that nature doth offend. But rush, she loves too little that fears death, Would gods death were the worst that's due to sin. Dear chastity, th'inviolable power Of souls well-born that hast my amorous will Retained in chains of holy rigour still: To thee I consecreate my harmless sacrifice. And thou my soul (Mirtillo) pardon me, That cruel 〈◊〉 where I should piteous be. Pardon her that in looks and only words Doth seem thy foe, but in my heart thy friend. If thou wouldst be revenged, what greater pain Wouldst thou 〈◊〉, thou this my cruel grief? Thou art my heart, and shalt be spite of heaven And earth, when thou dost plain & sigh, and weep, Thy tears become my blood, thy sighs my breath: And all thy pains they are not only thine, For I them feel, and they are turned mine. Hid you no more my Amarillis now. Wretch I discovered am.
seed 43: T2 · seed 44: unassigned — topic numbers are assigned independently in each run; equal or different numbers say nothing by themselves
Original spelling (EEBO-TCP, unregularized)
I after loue hath quite conſum'd my life. Why then your wounds will not be cur'd at all? Neuer till death. Till death▪ well heare mee now, And looke my words be lawes vnto your deeds. Howbee't I know to die is the more vſuall voice Of an inamour'd tongue, then a deſire Or firme conceit his ſoule hath entertain'd, Yet if by chaunce ſuch a ſtraunge folly hath Poſſeſt thy minde, know then thy death will be Death to mine honour as vnto thy life. Now if thou lou'ſt me, liue and let it be A token of thy wit henceforth thou ſhun To ſee me, or to ſeeke my company. O cruell ſentence! can I without life Liue thinke you then? Or can I without death Find end vnto my torment and my griefe? Well now t'is time you go (Mirtillo) hence! Yow'le ſtay too long. Go comfort your ſelfe, That infinit the troupe of wretched Louers is. All wounds do bring with them their ſeuerall paine, Nor can you onely of this loue complaine. Among theſe wretches I am not alone: but yet A miſerable ſpectacle am onely I, Of dead and liuing, nor can liue nor die. Well go your waies. Ah ſad departure, End of my life, go I from you, and do not die? And yet I feele the verie pangs of death, That do giue life vnto mine exttaſie, To make my hart immortally to die. OH Mirtillo! oh my deareſt ſoule Could'ſt thou but ſee into her hart whom thou Call'ſt cruell Amarillis, then wouldſt thou ſay Thou hadſt that pittie which thy hart deſires. Oh mindes too much infortunate in loue! What bootes it thee my hart to be belou'd? What bootes it me to haue ſo deare a Loue? Why ſhould the cruell ſates ſo diſvnite Whō loue conioines? and why ſhould traiterous loue Conioyne them whom the deſtenies do part? Oh happie ſauadge beaſts whom nature giues No lawes in loue, ſaue verie loue it ſelfe. Inhumane humane lawe, that puniſh'ſt This loue with death, if't be ſo ſweet to ſin, And not to ſin ſo neceſſary bee, Imperfect nature that repugneth law, Or law too hard that nature doth offend. But ruſh, ſhe loues too litle that feares death, Would gods death were the worſt that's due to ſin. Deare chaſtitie, th'inviolable powre Of ſoules well-borne that haſt my amorous will Retein'd in chaines of holy rigour ſtill: To thee I conſecrate my harmleſſe ſacrifize. And thou my ſoule (Mirtillo) pardon me, That cruell where I ſhould piteous bee. Pardon her that in lookes and onely words Doth ſeeme thy foe, but in my heart thy friend. If thou wouldſt be reueng'd, what greater paine Wouldſt thou , thou this my cruel griefe? Thou art my heart, and ſhat be ſpite of heauen And earth, when thou doſt plaine & ſigh, and weep, Thy teares become my bloud, thy ſighes my breath: And all thy paines they are not onely thine, For I them feele, and they are turned mine. HIde you no more my Amarillis now. Wretch I diſcouered am.