Il Pastor Fido, or The Faithful Shepherd · chunk 51 of 71
Dymoke, Tailboys / Guarini, Giovanni Battista · published 1602 · first performed or written 1601 (Annals) pastoral T1 Death, grief and revenge typicality 0.84 · 537 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of T1: death, life, dead, die, blood, revenge, soul, father, heart, heaven.
These marvels must be done: but where?— hear. O fool, and I am gone, how thou art loaden with Wit-robbing Grapes that grew upon the Vine.— Divine But soft, I see, or else me thinks I see Something that's like a Wolf in yonder Grove. 'tis sure a Wolf: How monstrous great it is. This day for me is destinied to praise: Good Goddess, with great favours dost thou show To triumph in one day over two Beasts: In thy great name, I lose this shaft, the swiftest and The sharpest which my quiver holds. Great Archeresse, direct thou my right hand, And here I vow to sacrifice the spoils Unto thy name. O dainty blow, blow fallen e'en where my hand and eye it destinied. Ah that I had my Dart, it to dispatch, Before it get into the Woods away. But here be Stones, what need I any else? here's scarcely one, I need none now: here is Another Shaft will pierce it to the quick. What's this I see? unhappy Silvio? I'have shot a Shepherd in a Wolvish shape. O bitter chance! O ever miserable! thinks I know the wretch, t's Linco that Doth hold him up. Oh deadly shaft! Oh most Unhappy Vow! I guilty of another's blood? I thus the causer of another's death? I that have been so liberal of my life, So large a spender of my blood for other's health? So, cast away thy weapons, and go live All gloryless. But see where he doth come, A great deal less unhappy than thyself. Lean thou thyself (my Daughter) on this arm. Unfortunate Dorinda. Sil. O me! Dorinda? I am dead. O Linco Linco, Oh my second father! It is Dorinda sure: Ah voice; ah sight. Dorinda to sustain, Linco hath been A fatal office unto thee: thou heardst The first cries that I ever gave on earth, And thou shalt hear the latest of my death: And these thine Arms, that were my Cradle once, Shall be my Coffin now. O child more dear Than if thou were't mine own. I cannot speak, Grief hath my words dissolved into tears. On earth hold ope thy jaws and swallow me. Oh stay both pace and plaint (good Linco) for The one my grief, my wound the other doth increase. Oh what a hard reward most wretched Nymph, Had thou received for thy wondrous love? Be of good cheer, thy wound not mortal is, I but Dorinda mortal, willbe quickly dead: But dost thou know who 'tis hath wounded me? Let us care for the sore, not for the essence, For never did Revenge yet heal a wound. Why stay I still? Shall I stay whilst they see me? Have I so bold a face? Fly Silvio fly The punishment of that revengeful sight, Fly the just edge of her sharp cutting voice: I cannot fly, fatal necessity doth hold Me here, an I makes me seek whom most I ought to shun. Why Linco, must I die Not knowing who hath given me my death? It Silvio is. P●●●so. I know his shaft. On happy issue of my lives last end, If I be shun by such a lovely friend.
nodes 3225–3293 (positions in the processed text, not lines of the printed book) · chunk 51 of 71 in this edition
Length
537 words · 719 tokens
Topic (seed 42)
T1 — Death, grief and revengecross-work theme (confirmed, in the genre comparison) · typicality 0.837 (cosine to the topic centroid)
Other seeds
seed 43: T10 · seed 44: T1 — topic numbers are assigned independently in each run; equal or different numbers say nothing by themselves
Original spelling (EEBO-TCP, unregularized)
Theſe maruailes muſt be done: but wheare?—heare. O foole, and I am gone, how thou art loden with Wit-robbing Grapes that grew vpon the Vine.—Diuine But ſoft, I ſee, or els mee thinkes I ſee Something that's like a Woolfe in yonder Groue. T'is ſure a Woolfe: How monſtrous great it is. This day for me is deſtenied to prayſe: Good Goddeſſe, with great fauours doſt thou ſhew To triumph in one day ouer two Beaſtes: In thy great name, I looſe this ſhaft, the ſwifteſt and The ſharpeſt which my Qiue holdes. Great Archereſſe, direct thou my right hand, And here I vow to ſacrifize the ſpoyles Vnto thy name. O daintie blow, blow falne Eu'n where my hand and eye it deſtenyed. Ah that I had my Dart, it to diſpatch, Before it get into the Woodes away. But heere be Stones, what need I any elſe? Heere's ſcarcely one, I need none now: heere is Another Shaft will pierce it to the quicke. What's this I ſee? vnhappie Siluio? I'haue ſhot a Shepheard in a Woluiſh ſhape. O bitter chaunce! O euer miſerable! thinkes I know the wretch, ti's Linco that Doth hold him vp. Oh deadly ſhaft! Oh moſt Vnhappie Vow! I guiltie of anothers blood? I thus the cauſer of anothers death? I that haue been ſo liberall of my life, So large a ſpender of my blood for others health? So, caſt away thy weapons, and go liue All glorileſſe. But ſee where he doth come, A great deale leſſe vnhappy then thy ſelfe. LEane thou thy ſelfe (my Daughter) on this arme. Vnfortunate Dorinda. Sil. O mee! Dorinda? I am dead. O Linco Lnco, Oh my ſecond father! It is Dorinda ſure: Ah voyce; ah ſight. Dorinda to ſuſtaine, Linco hath been A fatall office vnto thee: thou hardſt The firſt cryes that I euer gaue on earth, And thou ſhalt heare the lateſt of my death: And theſe thine Armes, that were my Cradle once, Shall be my Coffin now. O child more deare Then if thou wer't mine owne. I cannot ſpeake, Griefe hath my wordes diſſolued into teares. On earth hold ope thy iawes and ſwallow mee. Oh ſtay both pace and plaint (good Linco) for The one my griefe, my wound the other doth increaſe. Oh what a hard reward moſt wretched Nimph, Had thou receiued for thy wondrous loue? Be of good cheere, thy wound not mortall is, I but Dorinda mortall, wilbe quickly dead: But doſt thou know who t'is hath wounded me? Let vs care for the ſore, not for the eſſence, For neuer did Reuenge yet heale a wound. Why ſtay I ſtill? Shall I ſtay whilſt they ſee me? Haue I ſo bold a face? Fly Siluio fly The puniſhment of that reuengefull ſight, Fly the juſt edge of her ſharpe cutting voice: I cannot fly, fatall neceſſitie doth hold Me heere, an I makes me ſeeke whom moſt I ought to ſhunne. Why Linco, muſt I die Not knowing who hath giuen me my death? It Siluio is. Pſo. I know his ſhaft. On happie iſſue of my liues laſt end, If I be ſhune by ſuch a louely friend.