Il Pastor Fido, or The Faithful Shepherd · chunk 48 of 71
Dymoke, Tailboys / Guarini, Giovanni Battista · published 1602 · first performed or written 1601 (Annals) pastoral unassigned nearest T1 Death, grief and revenge · 484 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of the nearest topic T1: death, life, dead, die, blood, revenge, soul, father, heart, heaven.
O cruel sentence, whether writ in heaven Or earth? In heaven it is not writ, For there mine innocency is known: but what Avails it since I needs must die? Ah too too hard, And too too bitter cup. Ah good Nicander, For pity sake make not such haste with me Unto the Temple! stay, Oh stay a little while! O Nymph, to whom death is so grievous now, Each moment seems a death, it is thine ill to stay: Death hath not so much harm, as fear thereof; Thou sooner dead, thy pain is sooner passed. Some help may come, dear father: father now Dost thou leave me, now leave thine only child. Wilt thou not help me yet before I die? Do not deny me yet thy latest kiss: One blade shall wound both breasts, and out of mine Thy blood must stream. Oh father! Oh sweet name! Sometime so dear which I ne'er called in vain, Make you your only daughter's marriage thus, A mornings Bride, an evening Src●●fize? Nimph. Do not thus torment thyself and me, 'tis time I lead you to the Temple now, My duty 'tis, I may not slack it so. Dear Woods farewell, my dearest Woods farewell, Receive my latest sighs until my soul By cruel wound from this my body free, Return to seek your loved shadows out: For Innocentes can not be doomed to hell, Nor 'mongst the blessed can despayrers dwell. O Mirtillo, wretched was that day That first I saw thee, and thy sight did please, Since I my 〈◊〉 must leave, more near to thee Then thine, which proves the occasion 〈◊〉 my death. Wilt thou believe that she is doomed to death For thee, that cruel ever was to thee, To keep me innocent? For me too bold, For thee too little dating 〈◊〉 my will: how ever 'twas, I faultless die, fruitless, and without thee My dear I die, my dear Mirt. Ni. Surely she Is dead, and in Mirtilloes loved 〈◊〉 her life Hath finished: her love and grief the blade Prevented hath: come help to hold her up, She liveth yet, I feel her heart doth throb: Carry her to the Fountain here hard by, Fresh water may restore her stonied sprights, But were it not a deed of pity now, To let her die of grief, and shun the blade: No let us rather succour now her life, We do not know what heavens will do with her. O Glorious child of great Alcides race, That Monsters kill'st, and Wild-bestes dost deface. O glorious child, who 〈◊〉 Boor Hast overthrown, unconquerable thought: Behold his head, that seems to breath out death, This is the 〈◊〉 of our Demi-God, Help shepherds help to celebrate his name, And with solemnity his deeds to grace. O glorious child of great Alcides' race, That Monsters kill'st, and Wild-bestes dost deface.
seed 43: unassigned · seed 44: unassigned — topic numbers are assigned independently in each run; equal or different numbers say nothing by themselves
Original spelling (EEBO-TCP, unregularized)
O cruell ſentence, whether writ in heau'n Or earth? In heau'n it is not writ, For there mine innocencie is knowne: but what Auailes it ſince I needes muſt die? Ah too too hard, And too too bitter cupp. Ah good Nicander, For pittie ſake make not ſuch haſte with mee Vnto the Temple! ſtay, Oh ſtay a little while! O Nimph, to whom death is ſo greeuous now, Each moment ſeemes a death, it is thine ill to ſtay: Death hath not ſo much harme, as feare thereof; Thou ſooner dead, thy paine is ſooner paſt. Some helpe may come, deare father: father now Doſt thou leaue me, now leaue thine onely child. VVilt thou not helpe me yet before I die? Do not deny me yet thy lateſt kiſſe: One blade ſhall wound both breſtes, and out of mine Thy blood muſt ſtreame. Oh father! Oh ſweete name! Sometime ſo deare which I ne're calld in vaine, Make you your onely daughters marriage thus, A morninges Brie, an euening Srcfize? Nimph. Do not thus torment thy ſelfe and me, T'is time I lead you to the Temple now, My duetie t'is, I may not ſlacke it ſo. Deare Woods farewell, my deareſt Woods farewell, Receiue my lateſt ſighes vntill my ſoule By cruell wound from this my body free, Returne to ſeeke your loued ſhadowes out: For Innocentes can not be doom'd to hell, Nor mongſt the bleſſed can deſpayrers dwell. O Mirtillo, wretched was that day That firſt I ſaw thee, and thy ſight did pleaſe, Since I my muſt leaue, more neare to thee Then thine, which prooues the occaſion my death. VVilt thou beleeue that ſhe is doom'd to death For thee, that cruell euer was to thee, To keepe me innocent? For mee too bold, For thee too little dating my will: ow euer t'was, I faultles die, fruitles, and without thee My deare I die, my deare Mirt. Ni. Surely ſhee Is dead, and in Mirtilloes loued her life Hath finiſhed: her loue and griefe the blade Preuented hath: come helpe to hold her vp, Shee lyueth yet, I feele her hart doth throb: Carry her to the Fountaine here hard by, Freſh water may reſtore her ſtonied ſprights, But were it not a deed of pittie now, To let her die of griefe, and ſhun the blade: No let vs rather ſuccour now her life, Wee do not know what heau'ns will do with her. O Glorious child of great Alcies race, That Monſters kilſt, and Wild-beſtes doſt deface. O glorious child, who Boore Haſt ouerthrowne, vnconquerable thought: Behold his head, that ſeemes to breath out death, This is the of our Demi-God, Helpe Shepheardes helpe to celebrate his name, And with ſolemnitie his deedes to grace. O glorious child of great Alcides race, That Monſters kilſt, and Wild-beſtes doſt deface.