Il Pastor Fido, or The Faithful Shepherd · chunk 35 of 71
Dymoke, Tailboys / Guarini, Giovanni Battista · published 1602 · first performed or written 1601 (Annals) pastoral T21 Cupid, Venus and the nymphs typicality 0.69 · 514 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of T21: cupid, venus, love, ceres, diana, fair, nymphs, goddess, bow, damon.
What matter's that? Think you Montanus dare His private to a public good compare? Then closing up mine eyes, I let myself Be led by thee my dear, my faithful guide. But do not stay now, enter me betime. I'll to the Temple first, and to the Gods My prayers make, without whose aid no happy end Can ever sort to mortal enterprise. All places (Amarillis) temples are, To hearts devout, you'll slack your time too much. Time's never lost in praying unto them That do command the time. Go then dispatch. Now if I err not, am I at good pass, Only this staying troubles me, yet may it help, I must go make new snares to train in Coridon. I'll make him think that I will meet him there, And after Amarillis send him soon, Then by a secret way I'll bring Diana's Priests: Her shall they find, and guilty doom to death. My rival gone (Mirtillo) sure is mine, See where he comes. Whilst Amarillis stays I'll somewhat try him. Love now once inspire My tongue with words, my face with heavenly fire. HEre weeping sprights of hell new torments hear, New sorts of pain, a cruel mind behold Included in a look most merciful, My love more fierce than the infernal pit, Because my death cannot suffice to glut Her greedy will, and that my life is but A multitude of deaths command me live, That to them all my life might living give. I'll make as though I heard him not, I hear A lamentable voice plain hereabouts, I wonder who it is, oh my Mirtillo. So would I were a naked shade or dust. How feel you now yourself after your long Discourse with your so dearly loved Nymph? Like a weak sick man that hath long desired Forbidden drink, at last gets it unto his mouth And drinks his death, ending at once both life & thirst. So I long sick, burnt and consumed in This amorous drought, from two fair fountains that Ice do distill from out a rocky brain Of an indurate heart, Have drunk the poison that my life will kill, Sooner than half of my desire fulfil. So much more mighty waxeth love as from Our hearts the force is he receives (dear Mirtillo) For as the Bear is wont with licking to give shape To her misshapen brood, that else were helpless borne. e'en so a Lover to his bare desire, That in the birth was shapeless, weak and frail. Giving but form and strength begetteth love: Which whilst 'tis young and tender, then 'tis sweet, But waxing to more years, more cruel grows, That in the end (Mirtillo) an mueterate affect Is ever full of anguish and defect. For whilst the mind on one thought only beats; It waxeth thick by being too much fixed. So love that should be pleasure and delight, Is turned to melancholy, and what worser is, It proves at last, or death, or madness at the least: Wherefore wise is that heart that often changeth love.
nodes 2204–2267 (positions in the processed text, not lines of the printed book) · chunk 35 of 71 in this edition
Length
514 words · 659 tokens
Topic (seed 42)
T21 — Cupid, Venus and the nymphscross-work theme (confirmed, in the genre comparison) · typicality 0.693 (cosine to the topic centroid)
Other seeds
seed 43: T21 · seed 44: T24 — topic numbers are assigned independently in each run; equal or different numbers say nothing by themselves
Original spelling (EEBO-TCP, unregularized)
What matter's that? Think you Montanus dare His priuate to a publike good compare? Then cloſing vp mine eyes, I let my ſelfe Be ledde by thee my deare, my faithfull guide. But do not ſtay now, enter me betime. I'le to the Tmple firſt, and to the Gods My prayers make, without whoſe aide no happy end Can euer ſort to mortall enterpriſe. All places (Amarillis) temples are, To hearts deuout, you'le ſlacke your time too much. Time's neuer loſt in praying vnto them That do commaund the time. Go then diſpatch. Now if I erre not, am I at good paſſe, Onely this ſtaying troubles me, yet may it helpe, I muſt goe make new ſnares to traine in Coridon. Ile make him thinke that I will meet him there, And after Amarillis ſend him ſoone, Then by a ſecret way Ile bring Dianaes Prieſts: Her ſhall they finde, and guiltie doome to death. My riuall gone (Mirtillo) ſure is mine, See where he comes. Whilſt Amarillis ſtayes Ile ſomewhat trie him. Loue now once inſpire My tongue with words, my face with heau'nly fire. HEre weeping ſprights of hell new torments heare, New ſorts of paine, a cruell mind behold Included in a looke moſt mercifull, My loue more fierce then the infernall pit, Becauſe my death cannot ſuffice to glut Her greedie will, and that my life is but A multitude of deathes commaund me liue, That to them all my life might liuing giue. Ile make as though I heard him not, I heare A lamentable voyce plaine hereabouts, I wonder who it is, oh my Mirtillo. So would I were a naked ſhade or duſt. How feele you now your ſelfe after your long Diſcourſe with your ſo dearely loued Nymph? Like a weake ſick man that hath long deſir'd Forbidden drinke, at laſt gets it vnto his mouth And drinks his death, ending at once both life & thirſt. So I long ſicke, burn't and conſumed in This amorous drought, frō two faire fountains that Ice do diſtill from out a rockie braine Of an indurate heart, Haue drunke the poyſon that my life will kill, Sooner then halfe of my deſire fulfill. So much more mightie waxeth loue as from Our hearts the force is he receiues (deare Mirtillo) For as the Beare is wont with licking to giue ſhape To her miſhapen brood, that elſe were helpleſſe borne. Eu'n ſo a Louer to his bare deſire, That in the birth was ſhapeleſſe, weake and fraile. Giuing but forme and ſtrength begetteth loue: Which whilſt t'is young and tender, then t'is ſweet, But waxing to more yeares, more cruell growes, That in the end (Mirtillo) an mueterate affect Is euer full of anguiſh and defect. For whilſt the mind on one thought onely beates; It waxeth thicke by being too much fixt. So loue that ſhould be pleaſure and delight, Is turn'd to malancholy, and what worſer is, It proues at laſt, or death, or madneſſe at the leaſt: Wherefore wiſe is that heart that often changeth loue.