ELICIO.
For the impossible I fight,And, should I wish to retreat,Step nor pathway is in sight,For, till victory or defeat,Desire draweth me with might;Though I know that I must die,Ere the victory I achieve,When I most in peril lie,Then it is that I receiveMore faith in adversity.Never may I hope to gainFortune; this is Heaven's decree.Heaven the works of hope hath ta'enAnd doth lavish aye on meCountless certainties of pain;But my breast of constancy,Which amidst Love's living flameGlows and melteth ceaselessly,In exchange this boon doth claim:More faith in adversity.Certain doubt and ficklenessTraitorous faith and surest fear,Love's unbridled wilfulness,Trouble ne'er the loving careWhich is crowned with steadfastness,Time on hasty wing may fly,Absence come, or disdain cold,Evil grow, tranquillityFail, yet I as bliss will holdMore faith in adversity.Certain folly is it not,And a madness sure and great,That I set my heart on whatFortune doth deny, and Fate,Nor is promised by my lot?Dread of everything have I,There is naught can give me pleasure,Yet amidst such agonyLove bestows its chiefest treasure:More faith in adversity.Victory o'er my grief I gain,Which to such a pass is broughtThat it doth Love's height attain,And I find that from this thoughtComes some solace to my pain;Although poor and lowly I,Yet relief so rich in woeTo the fancy I apply,That the heart may ever knowMore faith in adversity.All the more that every illComes with every ill to-day,And that they my life may fillWith more pain, though deadly they,They do keep me living still;But our life in dignityWith a noble end is crowned,And in mine my fame shall lie,For in life, in death I foundMore faith in adversity.
For the impossible I fight,And, should I wish to retreat,Step nor pathway is in sight,For, till victory or defeat,Desire draweth me with might;Though I know that I must die,Ere the victory I achieve,When I most in peril lie,Then it is that I receiveMore faith in adversity.Never may I hope to gainFortune; this is Heaven's decree.Heaven the works of hope hath ta'enAnd doth lavish aye on meCountless certainties of pain;But my breast of constancy,Which amidst Love's living flameGlows and melteth ceaselessly,In exchange this boon doth claim:More faith in adversity.Certain doubt and ficklenessTraitorous faith and surest fear,Love's unbridled wilfulness,Trouble ne'er the loving careWhich is crowned with steadfastness,Time on hasty wing may fly,Absence come, or disdain cold,Evil grow, tranquillityFail, yet I as bliss will holdMore faith in adversity.Certain folly is it not,And a madness sure and great,That I set my heart on whatFortune doth deny, and Fate,Nor is promised by my lot?Dread of everything have I,There is naught can give me pleasure,Yet amidst such agonyLove bestows its chiefest treasure:More faith in adversity.Victory o'er my grief I gain,Which to such a pass is broughtThat it doth Love's height attain,And I find that from this thoughtComes some solace to my pain;Although poor and lowly I,Yet relief so rich in woeTo the fancy I apply,That the heart may ever knowMore faith in adversity.All the more that every illComes with every ill to-day,And that they my life may fillWith more pain, though deadly they,They do keep me living still;But our life in dignityWith a noble end is crowned,And in mine my fame shall lie,For in life, in death I foundMore faith in adversity.
For the impossible I fight,And, should I wish to retreat,Step nor pathway is in sight,For, till victory or defeat,Desire draweth me with might;Though I know that I must die,Ere the victory I achieve,When I most in peril lie,Then it is that I receiveMore faith in adversity.
Never may I hope to gainFortune; this is Heaven's decree.Heaven the works of hope hath ta'enAnd doth lavish aye on meCountless certainties of pain;But my breast of constancy,Which amidst Love's living flameGlows and melteth ceaselessly,In exchange this boon doth claim:More faith in adversity.
Certain doubt and ficklenessTraitorous faith and surest fear,Love's unbridled wilfulness,Trouble ne'er the loving careWhich is crowned with steadfastness,Time on hasty wing may fly,Absence come, or disdain cold,Evil grow, tranquillityFail, yet I as bliss will holdMore faith in adversity.
Certain folly is it not,And a madness sure and great,That I set my heart on whatFortune doth deny, and Fate,Nor is promised by my lot?Dread of everything have I,There is naught can give me pleasure,Yet amidst such agonyLove bestows its chiefest treasure:More faith in adversity.
Victory o'er my grief I gain,Which to such a pass is broughtThat it doth Love's height attain,And I find that from this thoughtComes some solace to my pain;Although poor and lowly I,Yet relief so rich in woeTo the fancy I apply,That the heart may ever knowMore faith in adversity.
All the more that every illComes with every ill to-day,And that they my life may fillWith more pain, though deadly they,They do keep me living still;But our life in dignityWith a noble end is crowned,And in mine my fame shall lie,For in life, in death I foundMore faith in adversity.
It seemed to Marsilio that what Elicio had been singing accorded with his mood so well that he wished to follow him in the same idea, and so, without waiting for anyone else to take the lead in it, to the sound of the same instruments, he began to sing thus:
MARSILIO.
Ah! 'tis easy for the windAll the hopes to bear awayThat could ever be designedAnd could their foundations layOn vain fancies of the mind;For all hopes of loving gain,All the ways Time doth uncover,Wholly are destroyed and slain;But the while in the true loverFaith, faith only, doth remain.It achieves such potencyThat, despite disdain which neverOffereth security,Bliss it promiseth me ever,Bliss that keeps the hope in me;And, though Love doth quickly waneIn the angry breast and whiteThat increaseth so my pain,Yet in mine, in its despite,Faith, faith only, doth remain.Love, 'tis true thou dost receiveTribute for my loyalty,And so much dost thou achieveThat my faith did never die,It doth with my works revive;My content—'tis to thee plain—And my glory all decays,As thy fury grows amain;In my soul as dwelling-placeFaith, faith only, doth remain.But if it be truth declaredAnd beyond all doubt have passed,That to faith glory is barred,I, who shall to faith hold fast,What hope I for my reward?Sense doth vanish with the painThat is pictured, all the blissFlies and is not seen again,And amidst such miseriesFaith, faith only, doth remain.
Ah! 'tis easy for the windAll the hopes to bear awayThat could ever be designedAnd could their foundations layOn vain fancies of the mind;For all hopes of loving gain,All the ways Time doth uncover,Wholly are destroyed and slain;But the while in the true loverFaith, faith only, doth remain.It achieves such potencyThat, despite disdain which neverOffereth security,Bliss it promiseth me ever,Bliss that keeps the hope in me;And, though Love doth quickly waneIn the angry breast and whiteThat increaseth so my pain,Yet in mine, in its despite,Faith, faith only, doth remain.Love, 'tis true thou dost receiveTribute for my loyalty,And so much dost thou achieveThat my faith did never die,It doth with my works revive;My content—'tis to thee plain—And my glory all decays,As thy fury grows amain;In my soul as dwelling-placeFaith, faith only, doth remain.But if it be truth declaredAnd beyond all doubt have passed,That to faith glory is barred,I, who shall to faith hold fast,What hope I for my reward?Sense doth vanish with the painThat is pictured, all the blissFlies and is not seen again,And amidst such miseriesFaith, faith only, doth remain.
Ah! 'tis easy for the windAll the hopes to bear awayThat could ever be designedAnd could their foundations layOn vain fancies of the mind;For all hopes of loving gain,All the ways Time doth uncover,Wholly are destroyed and slain;But the while in the true loverFaith, faith only, doth remain.
It achieves such potencyThat, despite disdain which neverOffereth security,Bliss it promiseth me ever,Bliss that keeps the hope in me;And, though Love doth quickly waneIn the angry breast and whiteThat increaseth so my pain,Yet in mine, in its despite,Faith, faith only, doth remain.
Love, 'tis true thou dost receiveTribute for my loyalty,And so much dost thou achieveThat my faith did never die,It doth with my works revive;My content—'tis to thee plain—And my glory all decays,As thy fury grows amain;In my soul as dwelling-placeFaith, faith only, doth remain.
But if it be truth declaredAnd beyond all doubt have passed,That to faith glory is barred,I, who shall to faith hold fast,What hope I for my reward?Sense doth vanish with the painThat is pictured, all the blissFlies and is not seen again,And amidst such miseriesFaith, faith only, doth remain.
With a profound sigh the hapless Marsilio ended his song, and straightway Erastro, handing over his pipe, without further delaying began to sing thus:
ERASTRO.
In my woe and suffering'Midst the pleasures of my care,My faith is so choice a thing,That it flieth not from fearNeither unto hope doth cling;'Tis not moved to agony,In its task of climbing high,To behold that joy hath fled,Nor to see that life is spedWhere faith lives and hope is dead.This is wondrous 'midst my woe,Yet 'tis so that thus my bliss,If it comes, may come to showThat amidst a thousand 'tisThat to which the palm should go;Let not fame this truth denyBut unto the nations cryWith loud tongue that Love doth restFirm and loyal in my breastWhere faith lives and hope is dead.Ah! thy rigorous disdainAnd my merit, poor and low,So affright me that 'tis plain,Though I love thee, this I know,Yet I dare not tell my pain;Ever open I espyThe gate to my agony,And that life doth slow depart,For thou heedest not the heartWhere faith lives and hope is dead.Never doth my fancy frameSuch a frenzied, foolish, thoughtAs to think that I could claimAny bliss that I have soughtBy my faith and heart aflame;Thou canst know with certaintyMy surrendered soul doth try,Shepherdess, to love thee true,For 'tis there that thou wilt viewWhere faith lives and hope is dead.
In my woe and suffering'Midst the pleasures of my care,My faith is so choice a thing,That it flieth not from fearNeither unto hope doth cling;'Tis not moved to agony,In its task of climbing high,To behold that joy hath fled,Nor to see that life is spedWhere faith lives and hope is dead.This is wondrous 'midst my woe,Yet 'tis so that thus my bliss,If it comes, may come to showThat amidst a thousand 'tisThat to which the palm should go;Let not fame this truth denyBut unto the nations cryWith loud tongue that Love doth restFirm and loyal in my breastWhere faith lives and hope is dead.Ah! thy rigorous disdainAnd my merit, poor and low,So affright me that 'tis plain,Though I love thee, this I know,Yet I dare not tell my pain;Ever open I espyThe gate to my agony,And that life doth slow depart,For thou heedest not the heartWhere faith lives and hope is dead.Never doth my fancy frameSuch a frenzied, foolish, thoughtAs to think that I could claimAny bliss that I have soughtBy my faith and heart aflame;Thou canst know with certaintyMy surrendered soul doth try,Shepherdess, to love thee true,For 'tis there that thou wilt viewWhere faith lives and hope is dead.
In my woe and suffering'Midst the pleasures of my care,My faith is so choice a thing,That it flieth not from fearNeither unto hope doth cling;'Tis not moved to agony,In its task of climbing high,To behold that joy hath fled,Nor to see that life is spedWhere faith lives and hope is dead.
This is wondrous 'midst my woe,Yet 'tis so that thus my bliss,If it comes, may come to showThat amidst a thousand 'tisThat to which the palm should go;Let not fame this truth denyBut unto the nations cryWith loud tongue that Love doth restFirm and loyal in my breastWhere faith lives and hope is dead.
Ah! thy rigorous disdainAnd my merit, poor and low,So affright me that 'tis plain,Though I love thee, this I know,Yet I dare not tell my pain;Ever open I espyThe gate to my agony,And that life doth slow depart,For thou heedest not the heartWhere faith lives and hope is dead.
Never doth my fancy frameSuch a frenzied, foolish, thoughtAs to think that I could claimAny bliss that I have soughtBy my faith and heart aflame;Thou canst know with certaintyMy surrendered soul doth try,Shepherdess, to love thee true,For 'tis there that thou wilt viewWhere faith lives and hope is dead.
Erastro became silent, and straightway the absent Crisio, to the sound of the same instruments, began to sing in this fashion:
CRISIO.
If the loyal heart despairOf achieving happiness,Whoso faints in the careerOf the loving passion's stress,What shall he as guerdon bear?I know not that any mayWin delight and pleasure gayIn the sudden rush of Love,If the greatest joys but prove'Tis no faith that doth not stay.This undoubted truth we knowThat in battle and in loveHe that proud and bold is, thoughConqueror he at first may prove,Sinks at last beneath the blow;And the wise man knows to-dayThat the victory ever lay'Midst the strife in constancy,And he knows, whate'er it be'Tis no faith that doth not stay.Whoso seeks in love to gainNothing save his happiness,In his fickle thought and vain,Faith that shall withstand all stressCannot for one hour remain;I myself these words would say,If my faith should not displayConstancy amidst the stormOf ill, as when hope is warm:'Tis no faith that doth not stay.Madness of a lover new,His impetuous hastening,Sighs and sadness, these, 'tis true,Are but fleeting clouds of spring,In a moment lost to view:'Tis not love he doth display,Greed and folly lead astray,For he loves, yet loveth not,No man loves who dieth not,'Tis no faith that doth not stay.
If the loyal heart despairOf achieving happiness,Whoso faints in the careerOf the loving passion's stress,What shall he as guerdon bear?I know not that any mayWin delight and pleasure gayIn the sudden rush of Love,If the greatest joys but prove'Tis no faith that doth not stay.This undoubted truth we knowThat in battle and in loveHe that proud and bold is, thoughConqueror he at first may prove,Sinks at last beneath the blow;And the wise man knows to-dayThat the victory ever lay'Midst the strife in constancy,And he knows, whate'er it be'Tis no faith that doth not stay.Whoso seeks in love to gainNothing save his happiness,In his fickle thought and vain,Faith that shall withstand all stressCannot for one hour remain;I myself these words would say,If my faith should not displayConstancy amidst the stormOf ill, as when hope is warm:'Tis no faith that doth not stay.Madness of a lover new,His impetuous hastening,Sighs and sadness, these, 'tis true,Are but fleeting clouds of spring,In a moment lost to view:'Tis not love he doth display,Greed and folly lead astray,For he loves, yet loveth not,No man loves who dieth not,'Tis no faith that doth not stay.
If the loyal heart despairOf achieving happiness,Whoso faints in the careerOf the loving passion's stress,What shall he as guerdon bear?I know not that any mayWin delight and pleasure gayIn the sudden rush of Love,If the greatest joys but prove'Tis no faith that doth not stay.
This undoubted truth we knowThat in battle and in loveHe that proud and bold is, thoughConqueror he at first may prove,Sinks at last beneath the blow;And the wise man knows to-dayThat the victory ever lay'Midst the strife in constancy,And he knows, whate'er it be'Tis no faith that doth not stay.
Whoso seeks in love to gainNothing save his happiness,In his fickle thought and vain,Faith that shall withstand all stressCannot for one hour remain;I myself these words would say,If my faith should not displayConstancy amidst the stormOf ill, as when hope is warm:'Tis no faith that doth not stay.
Madness of a lover new,His impetuous hastening,Sighs and sadness, these, 'tis true,Are but fleeting clouds of spring,In a moment lost to view:'Tis not love he doth display,Greed and folly lead astray,For he loves, yet loveth not,No man loves who dieth not,'Tis no faith that doth not stay.
All approved of the order the shepherds were keeping in their songs, and with desire they were waiting for Thyrsis or Damon to begin; but at once Damon satisfied them, for, as Crisio finished, to the sound of his own rebeck, he sang thus:
DAMON.
Thankless Amaryllis fair,Who shall make thee tender prove,If the faith of my true loveAnd the anguish of my careDo thee but to hardness move?Maiden, 'tis to thee well knownThat the love which is in meLeads to this extremity:Save my faith in God aloneNaught is faith but faith in thee.But although I go so highIn love for a mortal thing,Such bliss to my woe doth clingThat the soul I raise therebyTo the land whence it doth spring;Thus this truth I know full wellThat my love remains in meIn life, in death, ceaselessly,And, if faith in love doth dwell,Naught is faith but faith in thee.All the years that I have passedIn my services of love,My soul's sacrifices proveAll the cares that hold me fastAnd the faith that doth me move;Wherefore for the ill I bearI will ask no remedy,Should I ask it willingly,'Tis because, my lady fair,Naught is faith but faith in thee.In my soul's tempestuous oceanPeace and calm I ne'er have found,And my faith is never crownedWith that hope and glad emotionWhereon faith itself doth ground;Love and fortune I deploreYet revenge is not for me,For they bring felicityIn that, though I hope no more,Naught is faith but faith in thee.
Thankless Amaryllis fair,Who shall make thee tender prove,If the faith of my true loveAnd the anguish of my careDo thee but to hardness move?Maiden, 'tis to thee well knownThat the love which is in meLeads to this extremity:Save my faith in God aloneNaught is faith but faith in thee.But although I go so highIn love for a mortal thing,Such bliss to my woe doth clingThat the soul I raise therebyTo the land whence it doth spring;Thus this truth I know full wellThat my love remains in meIn life, in death, ceaselessly,And, if faith in love doth dwell,Naught is faith but faith in thee.All the years that I have passedIn my services of love,My soul's sacrifices proveAll the cares that hold me fastAnd the faith that doth me move;Wherefore for the ill I bearI will ask no remedy,Should I ask it willingly,'Tis because, my lady fair,Naught is faith but faith in thee.In my soul's tempestuous oceanPeace and calm I ne'er have found,And my faith is never crownedWith that hope and glad emotionWhereon faith itself doth ground;Love and fortune I deploreYet revenge is not for me,For they bring felicityIn that, though I hope no more,Naught is faith but faith in thee.
Thankless Amaryllis fair,Who shall make thee tender prove,If the faith of my true loveAnd the anguish of my careDo thee but to hardness move?Maiden, 'tis to thee well knownThat the love which is in meLeads to this extremity:Save my faith in God aloneNaught is faith but faith in thee.
But although I go so highIn love for a mortal thing,Such bliss to my woe doth clingThat the soul I raise therebyTo the land whence it doth spring;Thus this truth I know full wellThat my love remains in meIn life, in death, ceaselessly,And, if faith in love doth dwell,Naught is faith but faith in thee.
All the years that I have passedIn my services of love,My soul's sacrifices proveAll the cares that hold me fastAnd the faith that doth me move;Wherefore for the ill I bearI will ask no remedy,Should I ask it willingly,'Tis because, my lady fair,Naught is faith but faith in thee.
In my soul's tempestuous oceanPeace and calm I ne'er have found,And my faith is never crownedWith that hope and glad emotionWhereon faith itself doth ground;Love and fortune I deploreYet revenge is not for me,For they bring felicityIn that, though I hope no more,Naught is faith but faith in thee.
Damon's song fully confirmed in Timbrio and in Silerio the good opinion they had formed of the rare wit of the shepherds who were there; and the more when, at the persuasion of Thyrsis and of Elicio, the now free and disdainful Lauso, to the sound of Arsindo's flute, released his voice in verses such as these:
LAUSO.
Fickle Love, disdain thy chainsBroke, and to my memoryHath restored the libertyBorn from absence of thy pains;Let him, whoso would, accuseMy faith as capricious, weak,And as best he thinketh, seekTo convert me to his views.I my love did soon forsake,He may say, my faith was hungBy a hair so finely strungThat it e'en a breath could break;All the plaints Love did provoke,All my sighs, did feignèd prove,Nay the very shafts of LoveDid not pierce beneath my cloke.For no torture 'tis for meTo be callèd fickle, vain,If I may behold againMy neck from the mad yoke free;Who Silena is, I know,And how strange her mood hath been,How her peaceful face serenePromise and deceit doth show.To her wondrous dignity,To her fair and downcast eyes,'Tis not much to yield the prizeOf the will, whose'er it be,For at first sight we adore;Now we know her, fain would weLife and more, if more could be,Give to see her nevermore.Ofttimes to her have I givenHeaven's Silena and my dearFor her name—she was so fairThat she seemed the child of Heaven;Better now her name shall be—Now that I need fear no more—Not Silena, Heaven's flower,But false Siren of the sea.Earnest words, frivolities,Gazing eyes and ardent penOf the lover, blind and vain,—Take a countless sum of these,And the last is ever first;Whoso hath in love surpassed,As the first loved, e'en at lastIs by her disdain accursed.How much fairer would we deemOur Silena's beauteous grace,If her wisdom and her waysDid her fairness but beseem!She discretion hath at will,But a halter 'tis to slayThe presumption of her way,For she useth it so ill.I speak not with shameless tongue,For it were but passion wild,But I speak as one beguiled,Who hath suffered grievous wrong;Passion doth no more me blind,Nor desire that she should wrongSuffer, for always my tongueWas in reason's bonds confined.Her caprices manifold,And her moods that ever change,From her every hour estrangeThose who were her friends of old;Since Silena foes hath madeIn the many ways we see,Wholly good she cannot be,Or they must be wholly bad.
Fickle Love, disdain thy chainsBroke, and to my memoryHath restored the libertyBorn from absence of thy pains;Let him, whoso would, accuseMy faith as capricious, weak,And as best he thinketh, seekTo convert me to his views.I my love did soon forsake,He may say, my faith was hungBy a hair so finely strungThat it e'en a breath could break;All the plaints Love did provoke,All my sighs, did feignèd prove,Nay the very shafts of LoveDid not pierce beneath my cloke.For no torture 'tis for meTo be callèd fickle, vain,If I may behold againMy neck from the mad yoke free;Who Silena is, I know,And how strange her mood hath been,How her peaceful face serenePromise and deceit doth show.To her wondrous dignity,To her fair and downcast eyes,'Tis not much to yield the prizeOf the will, whose'er it be,For at first sight we adore;Now we know her, fain would weLife and more, if more could be,Give to see her nevermore.Ofttimes to her have I givenHeaven's Silena and my dearFor her name—she was so fairThat she seemed the child of Heaven;Better now her name shall be—Now that I need fear no more—Not Silena, Heaven's flower,But false Siren of the sea.Earnest words, frivolities,Gazing eyes and ardent penOf the lover, blind and vain,—Take a countless sum of these,And the last is ever first;Whoso hath in love surpassed,As the first loved, e'en at lastIs by her disdain accursed.How much fairer would we deemOur Silena's beauteous grace,If her wisdom and her waysDid her fairness but beseem!She discretion hath at will,But a halter 'tis to slayThe presumption of her way,For she useth it so ill.I speak not with shameless tongue,For it were but passion wild,But I speak as one beguiled,Who hath suffered grievous wrong;Passion doth no more me blind,Nor desire that she should wrongSuffer, for always my tongueWas in reason's bonds confined.Her caprices manifold,And her moods that ever change,From her every hour estrangeThose who were her friends of old;Since Silena foes hath madeIn the many ways we see,Wholly good she cannot be,Or they must be wholly bad.
Fickle Love, disdain thy chainsBroke, and to my memoryHath restored the libertyBorn from absence of thy pains;Let him, whoso would, accuseMy faith as capricious, weak,And as best he thinketh, seekTo convert me to his views.
I my love did soon forsake,He may say, my faith was hungBy a hair so finely strungThat it e'en a breath could break;All the plaints Love did provoke,All my sighs, did feignèd prove,Nay the very shafts of LoveDid not pierce beneath my cloke.
For no torture 'tis for meTo be callèd fickle, vain,If I may behold againMy neck from the mad yoke free;Who Silena is, I know,And how strange her mood hath been,How her peaceful face serenePromise and deceit doth show.
To her wondrous dignity,To her fair and downcast eyes,'Tis not much to yield the prizeOf the will, whose'er it be,For at first sight we adore;Now we know her, fain would weLife and more, if more could be,Give to see her nevermore.
Ofttimes to her have I givenHeaven's Silena and my dearFor her name—she was so fairThat she seemed the child of Heaven;Better now her name shall be—Now that I need fear no more—Not Silena, Heaven's flower,But false Siren of the sea.
Earnest words, frivolities,Gazing eyes and ardent penOf the lover, blind and vain,—Take a countless sum of these,And the last is ever first;Whoso hath in love surpassed,As the first loved, e'en at lastIs by her disdain accursed.
How much fairer would we deemOur Silena's beauteous grace,If her wisdom and her waysDid her fairness but beseem!She discretion hath at will,But a halter 'tis to slayThe presumption of her way,For she useth it so ill.
I speak not with shameless tongue,For it were but passion wild,But I speak as one beguiled,Who hath suffered grievous wrong;Passion doth no more me blind,Nor desire that she should wrongSuffer, for always my tongueWas in reason's bonds confined.
Her caprices manifold,And her moods that ever change,From her every hour estrangeThose who were her friends of old;Since Silena foes hath madeIn the many ways we see,Wholly good she cannot be,Or they must be wholly bad.
Lauso ended his song, and though he thought that no one understood him, through ignorance of Silena's disguised name, more than three of those who were there knew her, and even marvelled that Lauso's modest behaviour should have gone so far as to attack anyone, especially the disguised shepherdess with whom they had seen him so much in love. But in the opinion of his friend Damon he was fully excused, for he was acquainted with Silena's conduct, and knew how she had conducted herself towards Lauso, and wondered at what he left unsaid. Lauso finished, as has been said; and as Galatea had heard of the charm of Nisida's voice, she wished to sing first, so as to constrain her to do the same. And for this reason, before any other shepherd could begin, beckoning to Arsindo to continue sounding his flute, to its sound with her exquisite voice she sang in this wise:
GALATEA.
E'en as Love ever seeks the soul to entame,Tempting it by the semblance of delight,E'en so she from Love's deadly pangs in flightTurneth, who knows its name bestowed by fame.The breast that doth oppose his amorous flame,The breast with honourable resistance armed,By Love's unkindness is but little harmed,Little his fire and rigour doth inflame.Secure is she who never was beloved,Nor could love, from that tongue which in dispraiseOf her honour, with subtle glow doth gleam.But if to love and not to love have provedFruitful in harm, how shall she spend her daysWho honour dearer e'en than life doth deem?
E'en as Love ever seeks the soul to entame,Tempting it by the semblance of delight,E'en so she from Love's deadly pangs in flightTurneth, who knows its name bestowed by fame.The breast that doth oppose his amorous flame,The breast with honourable resistance armed,By Love's unkindness is but little harmed,Little his fire and rigour doth inflame.Secure is she who never was beloved,Nor could love, from that tongue which in dispraiseOf her honour, with subtle glow doth gleam.But if to love and not to love have provedFruitful in harm, how shall she spend her daysWho honour dearer e'en than life doth deem?
E'en as Love ever seeks the soul to entame,Tempting it by the semblance of delight,E'en so she from Love's deadly pangs in flightTurneth, who knows its name bestowed by fame.
The breast that doth oppose his amorous flame,The breast with honourable resistance armed,By Love's unkindness is but little harmed,Little his fire and rigour doth inflame.
Secure is she who never was beloved,Nor could love, from that tongue which in dispraiseOf her honour, with subtle glow doth gleam.
But if to love and not to love have provedFruitful in harm, how shall she spend her daysWho honour dearer e'en than life doth deem?
It could easily be seen in Galatea's song that she was replying to Lauso's malicious one, and that she was not against unfettered wills, but against the malicious tongues and wronged souls which, in not gaining what they desire, change the love they once showed to a malicious and detestable hatred, as she fancied in Lauso's case; but perhaps she would have escaped from this error, if she had known Lauso's good disposition, and had not been ignorant of Silena's evil one. As soon as Galatea ceased to sing, she begged Nisida with courteous words to do the same. She, as she was as courteous as beautiful, without letting herself be pressed, to the sound of Florisa's pipe sang in this fashion:
NISIDA.
Bravely I took my courage as defenceIn the dread conflict and onslaught of Love,My boldness bravely raised to Heaven aboveAgainst the rigour of the clear offence.But yet so overwhelming and intenseThe battery, and withal so weak my powerThat, though Love seized me not, in one short hourLove brought me to confess his power immense.O'er worth, o'er honour, o'er a mind discreet,Shy modesty, a bosom of disdain,Love doth with ease achieve the victory;Wherefore, in order to escape defeat,Strength from no words of wisdom can we gain,Unto this truth an eye-witness am I.
Bravely I took my courage as defenceIn the dread conflict and onslaught of Love,My boldness bravely raised to Heaven aboveAgainst the rigour of the clear offence.But yet so overwhelming and intenseThe battery, and withal so weak my powerThat, though Love seized me not, in one short hourLove brought me to confess his power immense.O'er worth, o'er honour, o'er a mind discreet,Shy modesty, a bosom of disdain,Love doth with ease achieve the victory;Wherefore, in order to escape defeat,Strength from no words of wisdom can we gain,Unto this truth an eye-witness am I.
Bravely I took my courage as defenceIn the dread conflict and onslaught of Love,My boldness bravely raised to Heaven aboveAgainst the rigour of the clear offence.
But yet so overwhelming and intenseThe battery, and withal so weak my powerThat, though Love seized me not, in one short hourLove brought me to confess his power immense.
O'er worth, o'er honour, o'er a mind discreet,Shy modesty, a bosom of disdain,Love doth with ease achieve the victory;
Wherefore, in order to escape defeat,Strength from no words of wisdom can we gain,Unto this truth an eye-witness am I.
When Nisida ceased to sing and to fill with admiration Galatea and those who had been listening to her, they were already quite near the spot where they had determined to pass the noon-tide hour. But in that short time Belisa had time to fulfil Silveria's request, which was that she should sing something; and she, accompanied by the sound of Arsindo's flute, sang what follows:
BELISA.
Fancy, that is fancy-free,Listen to the reason whyOur fame groweth steadily,Pass the vain affection by,Mother of all injury;For whene'er the soul doth loadItself with some loving load,Bane that takes the life away,Mixed with juice of bitter bay,Is to it but pleasing food.But our precious libertyShould not bartered be nor soldFor the greatest quantityOf the best refinèd gold,Best in worth and quality;Shall we bring ourselves to bearSuch a loss and heed the prayerOf a lover whom we scorn,If all blessings ever bornDo not with such bliss compare?If the grief we cannot bearWhen the body, free from love,Is confined in prison drear,Shall the pain not greater prove,When the very soul is there?Pain 'twill be of such a kindThat no remedy we findFor such ill in patience, time,Worth, or learning in its prime,Naught save death alone is kind.Wherefore let my healthy moodFrom this madness flee away,Leave behind so false a good,Let my free will ever swayEvery fancy as it would;Let my tender neck and freeNever yield itself to bePlaced beneath the loving yoke,Whereby peace is, at a stroke,Slain, and banished liberty.
Fancy, that is fancy-free,Listen to the reason whyOur fame groweth steadily,Pass the vain affection by,Mother of all injury;For whene'er the soul doth loadItself with some loving load,Bane that takes the life away,Mixed with juice of bitter bay,Is to it but pleasing food.But our precious libertyShould not bartered be nor soldFor the greatest quantityOf the best refinèd gold,Best in worth and quality;Shall we bring ourselves to bearSuch a loss and heed the prayerOf a lover whom we scorn,If all blessings ever bornDo not with such bliss compare?If the grief we cannot bearWhen the body, free from love,Is confined in prison drear,Shall the pain not greater prove,When the very soul is there?Pain 'twill be of such a kindThat no remedy we findFor such ill in patience, time,Worth, or learning in its prime,Naught save death alone is kind.Wherefore let my healthy moodFrom this madness flee away,Leave behind so false a good,Let my free will ever swayEvery fancy as it would;Let my tender neck and freeNever yield itself to bePlaced beneath the loving yoke,Whereby peace is, at a stroke,Slain, and banished liberty.
Fancy, that is fancy-free,Listen to the reason whyOur fame groweth steadily,Pass the vain affection by,Mother of all injury;For whene'er the soul doth loadItself with some loving load,Bane that takes the life away,Mixed with juice of bitter bay,Is to it but pleasing food.
But our precious libertyShould not bartered be nor soldFor the greatest quantityOf the best refinèd gold,Best in worth and quality;Shall we bring ourselves to bearSuch a loss and heed the prayerOf a lover whom we scorn,If all blessings ever bornDo not with such bliss compare?
If the grief we cannot bearWhen the body, free from love,Is confined in prison drear,Shall the pain not greater prove,When the very soul is there?Pain 'twill be of such a kindThat no remedy we findFor such ill in patience, time,Worth, or learning in its prime,Naught save death alone is kind.
Wherefore let my healthy moodFrom this madness flee away,Leave behind so false a good,Let my free will ever swayEvery fancy as it would;Let my tender neck and freeNever yield itself to bePlaced beneath the loving yoke,Whereby peace is, at a stroke,Slain, and banished liberty.
The shepherdess's verses of freedom reached the soul of the hapless Marsilio, by reason of the little hope her words held out that her deeds would grow better; but as the faith with which he loved her was so firm, the noteworthy proofs of freedom he had heard uttered, could not but keep him as much without it as he had been before. At this point the road leading to the stream of palms ended, and though they had not had the intention of spending the noon-tide heat there, when they reached it and saw the comfort of the beautiful spot, it would have of itself compelled them not to go further. When they had come to it then, straightway the venerable Aurelio commanded all to seat themselves beside the clear and glassy stream, which was flowing in amongst the short grass, and had its birth at the foot of a very tall and ancient palm (for there being on all the banks of the Tagus only that one, and another which was beside it, that place and stream was called "of thepalms"), and after sitting down, they were served by Aurelio's shepherds with more good-will and simplicity than costly victuals, satisfying their thirst with the clear cool waters that the pure stream offered them. And on ending the short and pleasant repast, some of the shepherds separated and departed to seek some shady place apart, where they might make up for the unslept hours of the past night; and there remained alone only those of Aurelio's company and village with Timbrio, Silerio, Nisida and Blanca, Thyrsis and Damon, to whom it appeared to be better to enjoy the fair converse that was expected there, than any other enjoyment that sleep could offer them. Aurelio then, guessing and almost knowing this their purpose, said to them:
'It will be well, sirs, that we, who are here, since we have not wished to yield ourselves to sweet sleep, should not fail to make use of this time we steal from it in something that may be more to our pleasure, and what, it seems to me, will not fail to give it us, is that each, as best he can, should here show the sharpness of his wits, propounding some question, or riddle, to whom the companion who may be at his side may be forced to reply; since with this pastime two things will be gained—one to spend with less tedium the hours we shall be here, the other, not to weary our ears so much with always hearing lamentations of love, and love-sick dirges.'
All straightway fell in with Aurelio's wish, and without any of them leaving the place where they were, the first who began to question was Aurelio himself, speaking in this wise:
AURELIO.
Who is he, that mighty one,That from East to farthest WestWinneth fame and high renown?Sometimes strong and self-possessed,Sometimes weak with courage gone;Health he gives and takes away,Strength on many every dayHe bestows or doth withhold,Stronger he when he is oldThan when youth is bright and gay.Changing where he changeth notBy a strange preëminence,Strong men tremble, by him caught,He hath rarest eloquenceUnto sullen dumbness brought;He his being and his nameMeasureth in different ways,From a thousand lands of praiseHe is wont to take his fame.He unarmed hath conquerèdArmèd men, as needs he must,Who hath dealt with him is sped,Who would bring him to the dust,To the dust is brought instead;'Tis a thing that doth astoundThat a champion should be found,In the field and in the town,'Gainst a chief of such renown,Though he soon shall bite the ground.
Who is he, that mighty one,That from East to farthest WestWinneth fame and high renown?Sometimes strong and self-possessed,Sometimes weak with courage gone;Health he gives and takes away,Strength on many every dayHe bestows or doth withhold,Stronger he when he is oldThan when youth is bright and gay.Changing where he changeth notBy a strange preëminence,Strong men tremble, by him caught,He hath rarest eloquenceUnto sullen dumbness brought;He his being and his nameMeasureth in different ways,From a thousand lands of praiseHe is wont to take his fame.He unarmed hath conquerèdArmèd men, as needs he must,Who hath dealt with him is sped,Who would bring him to the dust,To the dust is brought instead;'Tis a thing that doth astoundThat a champion should be found,In the field and in the town,'Gainst a chief of such renown,Though he soon shall bite the ground.
Who is he, that mighty one,That from East to farthest WestWinneth fame and high renown?Sometimes strong and self-possessed,Sometimes weak with courage gone;Health he gives and takes away,Strength on many every dayHe bestows or doth withhold,Stronger he when he is oldThan when youth is bright and gay.
Changing where he changeth notBy a strange preëminence,Strong men tremble, by him caught,He hath rarest eloquenceUnto sullen dumbness brought;He his being and his nameMeasureth in different ways,From a thousand lands of praiseHe is wont to take his fame.
He unarmed hath conquerèdArmèd men, as needs he must,Who hath dealt with him is sped,Who would bring him to the dust,To the dust is brought instead;'Tis a thing that doth astoundThat a champion should be found,In the field and in the town,'Gainst a chief of such renown,Though he soon shall bite the ground.
The answering of this question fell to the old shepherd Arsindo, who was beside Aurelio; and having for a little while considered what it could denote, at last he said to him:
'It seems to me, Aurelio, that our age compels us to be more enamoured of that which your question denotes than of the most graceful shepherdess that might present herself to us, for, if I am not mistaken, the mighty and renowned one you mention is wine, and all the attributes you have given him tally with it.'
'You speak truth, Arsindo,' replied Aurelio, 'and I am inclined to say that I am sorry to have propounded a question which has been solved with much ease; but do you tell yours, for at your side you have one who will be able to unravel it for you, however knotty it may be.'
'I agree,' said Arsindo; and straightway he propounded the following:
ARSINDO.
Who is he that loseth hueWhere he most is wont to thrive,In a moment doth reviveAnd his colour takes anew?In the birth hour he is grey,Afterwards black as a crow,Last, so ruddy is his glowThat it maketh all men gay.Laws nor charters doth he keep,To the flames a faithful friend,Oftentimes he doth attendE'en where lords and princes sleep;Dead he manhood doth assume,Living takes a woman's name,He at heart is lurid flameBut in semblance deepest gloom.
Who is he that loseth hueWhere he most is wont to thrive,In a moment doth reviveAnd his colour takes anew?In the birth hour he is grey,Afterwards black as a crow,Last, so ruddy is his glowThat it maketh all men gay.Laws nor charters doth he keep,To the flames a faithful friend,Oftentimes he doth attendE'en where lords and princes sleep;Dead he manhood doth assume,Living takes a woman's name,He at heart is lurid flameBut in semblance deepest gloom.
Who is he that loseth hueWhere he most is wont to thrive,In a moment doth reviveAnd his colour takes anew?In the birth hour he is grey,Afterwards black as a crow,Last, so ruddy is his glowThat it maketh all men gay.
Laws nor charters doth he keep,To the flames a faithful friend,Oftentimes he doth attendE'en where lords and princes sleep;Dead he manhood doth assume,Living takes a woman's name,He at heart is lurid flameBut in semblance deepest gloom.
It was Damon who was at Arsindo's side, and scarcely had the latter finished his question, when he said to him:
'It seems to me, Arsindo, that your query is not so dark as the thing it denotes, for if I am not wrong in it, it is charcoal ofwhich you say that when dead it is called masculine, and when glowing and alivebrasa,[219]which is a feminine noun, and all the other parts suit it in every respect, as this does; and if you are in the same plight as Aurelio, by reason of the ease with which your question has been understood, I am going to keep you company in it, since Thyrsis, to whom it falls to answer me, will make us equal.'
And straightway he spoke his:
DAMON.
Who is she of courtly grace,Well-adorned, a dainty dame,Timorous, yet bold of face,Modest she, yet lacking shame,Pleasant, yet she doth displease?When in numbers, to astound,Masculine their name doth sound,And it is a certain thingThat amongst them is the king,And with all men they are found.
Who is she of courtly grace,Well-adorned, a dainty dame,Timorous, yet bold of face,Modest she, yet lacking shame,Pleasant, yet she doth displease?When in numbers, to astound,Masculine their name doth sound,And it is a certain thingThat amongst them is the king,And with all men they are found.
Who is she of courtly grace,Well-adorned, a dainty dame,Timorous, yet bold of face,Modest she, yet lacking shame,Pleasant, yet she doth displease?When in numbers, to astound,Masculine their name doth sound,And it is a certain thingThat amongst them is the king,And with all men they are found.
'Verily, friend Damon,' said Thyrsis forthwith, 'your challenge comes true, and you pay the forfeit that Aurelio and Arsindo pay, if any there be; for I tell you I know that what your riddle conceals is a letter,[220]and a pack of cards.'
Damon admitted that Thyrsis was right. And straightway Thyrsis propounded his riddle thus:
THYRSIS.
Who is she that is all eyes,All eyes she from head to foot,And, although she seeks it not,Sometimes causeth lovers' sighs?Quarrels too she doth appease,Though indeed she knows not why,And although she is all eye,Very few the things she sees.She doth call herself a griefCounted mortal, good and direEvil worketh, and doth fireLove, and to love brings relief.
Who is she that is all eyes,All eyes she from head to foot,And, although she seeks it not,Sometimes causeth lovers' sighs?Quarrels too she doth appease,Though indeed she knows not why,And although she is all eye,Very few the things she sees.She doth call herself a griefCounted mortal, good and direEvil worketh, and doth fireLove, and to love brings relief.
Who is she that is all eyes,All eyes she from head to foot,And, although she seeks it not,Sometimes causeth lovers' sighs?Quarrels too she doth appease,Though indeed she knows not why,And although she is all eye,Very few the things she sees.She doth call herself a griefCounted mortal, good and direEvil worketh, and doth fireLove, and to love brings relief.
Thyrsis's riddle puzzled Elicio, for it was his turn to answer it, and he was on the point of 'giving up,' as the saying is; but in a little while he managed to say that it was jealousy, and, Thyrsis admitting it, Elicio straightway propounded the following:
ELICIO.
'Tis obscure, and yet 'tis clear,Thousand opposites containing,Truth to us at last explaining,Which it hides from far and near;Born at times from beauty rareOr from lofty fantasies,Unto strife it giveth rise,Though it deals with things of air.Unto all its name is known,From the children to the old,'Tis in numbers manifold,Divers are the lords they own;Every beldame doth possessOne of them to make her gay,Things of pleasure for a day,Full of joy or weariness.And to rob them of their senseMen of wisdom keep awake,Whatsoe'er the pains they take,Some are doomed to impotence;Sometimes foolish, sometimes witty;Easy, or with tangles fraught,Whether naught it be or not,Say, what is this thing so pretty?
'Tis obscure, and yet 'tis clear,Thousand opposites containing,Truth to us at last explaining,Which it hides from far and near;Born at times from beauty rareOr from lofty fantasies,Unto strife it giveth rise,Though it deals with things of air.Unto all its name is known,From the children to the old,'Tis in numbers manifold,Divers are the lords they own;Every beldame doth possessOne of them to make her gay,Things of pleasure for a day,Full of joy or weariness.And to rob them of their senseMen of wisdom keep awake,Whatsoe'er the pains they take,Some are doomed to impotence;Sometimes foolish, sometimes witty;Easy, or with tangles fraught,Whether naught it be or not,Say, what is this thing so pretty?
'Tis obscure, and yet 'tis clear,Thousand opposites containing,Truth to us at last explaining,Which it hides from far and near;Born at times from beauty rareOr from lofty fantasies,Unto strife it giveth rise,Though it deals with things of air.
Unto all its name is known,From the children to the old,'Tis in numbers manifold,Divers are the lords they own;Every beldame doth possessOne of them to make her gay,Things of pleasure for a day,Full of joy or weariness.
And to rob them of their senseMen of wisdom keep awake,Whatsoe'er the pains they take,Some are doomed to impotence;Sometimes foolish, sometimes witty;Easy, or with tangles fraught,Whether naught it be or not,Say, what is this thing so pretty?
Timbrio could not hit upon the thing which Elicio's question denoted, and he almost began to be ashamed at seeing that he delayed longer in answering than any one else, but not even this consideration made him come to a better perception of it; and he delayed so long that Galatea, who was after Nisida, said:
'If it is allowed to break the order which is given, and the one who should first know may reply, I say for my part that I know what the riddle propounded denotes, and I am ready to solve it, if señor Timbrio gives me leave.'
'Certainly, fair Galatea,' replied Timbrio, 'for I know that just as I lack, so you have a superabundance of, wit, to solve greater difficulties; but nevertheless I wish you to be patient until Elicio repeats it, and if this time I do not hit it, the opinion I have of my wit and yours, will be confirmed with more truth.'
Elicio repeated his question, and straightway Timbrio solved its meaning, saying:
'With the very thing by which I thought your query was obscured, Elicio, it appears to me to be solved, for the last line says, that they are to say what is this thing so pretty. And so I answer you in what you ask me, and say that your questionmeans that which we mean by a pretty thing;[221]and do not be surprised that I have been long in answering, for, if I had answered sooner, I would have been more surprised at my wit; which will show what it is in the small skill of my question, which is this:
TIMBRIO.
Who is he who to his painPlaceth his feet in the eyes,And although no hurt arise,Makes them sing with might and main?And to pull them out is pleasure,Though at times, who doeth so,Doth by no means ease his woe,But achieveth more displeasure.'
Who is he who to his painPlaceth his feet in the eyes,And although no hurt arise,Makes them sing with might and main?And to pull them out is pleasure,Though at times, who doeth so,Doth by no means ease his woe,But achieveth more displeasure.'
Who is he who to his painPlaceth his feet in the eyes,And although no hurt arise,Makes them sing with might and main?And to pull them out is pleasure,Though at times, who doeth so,Doth by no means ease his woe,But achieveth more displeasure.'
It fell to Nisida to reply to Timbrio's question, but neither she nor Galatea who followed her were able to guess it. And Orompo, seeing that the shepherdesses were wearying themselves in thinking what it denoted, said to them:
'Do not tire yourselves, ladies, nor weary your minds in solving this riddle, for it might well be that neither of you in all her life has seen the figure that the question conceals, and so it is no wonder that you should not hit upon it; for if it had been of a different kind, we were quite sure, as regards your minds, that in a shorter time you would have solved others more difficult. And therefore, with your leave, I am going to reply to Timbrio, and tell him that his query denotes a man in fetters, since when he draws his feet from those eyes he speaks of, it is either to set him free or to take him to execution; so that you may see, shepherdesses, if I was right in thinking that perhaps neither of you had seen in all her life jails or prisons.'
'I for my part can say,' said Galatea, 'that never have I seen any one imprisoned.'
Nisida and Blanca said the same. And straightway Nisida propounded her question in this form:
NISIDA.
Fire it biteth, and its biteTo its victim harm and goodBringeth; but it doth no bloodLose, although the blade doth smite;But if deep should be the wound,From a hand that is not sure,Death comes to the victim poor,In such death its life is found.
Fire it biteth, and its biteTo its victim harm and goodBringeth; but it doth no bloodLose, although the blade doth smite;But if deep should be the wound,From a hand that is not sure,Death comes to the victim poor,In such death its life is found.
Fire it biteth, and its biteTo its victim harm and goodBringeth; but it doth no bloodLose, although the blade doth smite;But if deep should be the wound,From a hand that is not sure,Death comes to the victim poor,In such death its life is found.
Galatea delayed little in answering Nisida, for straightway she said to her:
'I am quite sure that I am not mistaken, fair Nisida, if I say that your riddle can in no way be better applied than to candle-snuffers and to the taper or candle they snuff; and if this is true, as it is, and you are satisfied with my reply, listen now to mine, which I hope will be solved by your sister with no less ease than I have done yours.'
And straightway she spoke it, and it ran thus:
GALATEA.
Children three, who love inspire,And the children of one mother,One was grandson of his brother,And another was his sire;These three children did distressAnd o'erwhelm her with such woes,That they gave her countless blows,Showing thus their skilfulness.
Children three, who love inspire,And the children of one mother,One was grandson of his brother,And another was his sire;These three children did distressAnd o'erwhelm her with such woes,That they gave her countless blows,Showing thus their skilfulness.
Children three, who love inspire,And the children of one mother,One was grandson of his brother,And another was his sire;These three children did distressAnd o'erwhelm her with such woes,That they gave her countless blows,Showing thus their skilfulness.
Blanca was considering what Galatea's riddle could denote, when they saw two gallant shepherds crossing at a run near the place where they were, showing by the fury with which they were running that something important constrained them to move their steps with such speed, and straightway at the same moment they heard some mournful cries, as of persons seeking help; and on this alarm all arose and followed the direction whence the cries sounded; and in a few steps they issued from that delightful spot and came out on the bank of the cool Tagus, which, close at hand, was flowing gently by. And scarcely did they see the river, when the strangest thing they could imagine was presented to their gaze; for they saw two shepherdesses seemingly of noble grace, who were holding a shepherd fast by the lappets of his coat with all the strength in their power, in order that the poor fellow might not drown himself, for he already had half his body in the river, and his head below the water, struggling with his feet to release himself from the shepherdesses, who were hindering his desperate purpose. They were already almost on the point of letting him go, being unable to overcome his obstinate determination with their feeble strength. But at this point the two shepherds approached, who had been coming at a run, and seizing the desperate man, drew him out of the water just as all the others were already approaching, astounded at the strange sight, and they were more so, when they learned that the shepherd who wished to drown himself was Artidoro's brother, Galercio, while the shepherdesses were his sister Maurisa and the fair Teolinda; and when these saw Galatea and Florisa, Teolinda ran with tears in her eyes to embrace Galatea, saying:
'Ah, Galatea, sweet friend and lady mine, how has this luckless wretch fulfilled the word she gave you to return to see you and tell you the news of her happiness!'
'I shall be as glad for you to have it, Teolinda,' replied Galatea, 'as you are assured by the good-will you know I have to serve you; but it seems to me that your eyes do not bear out your words, nor indeed do these satisfy me so as to make me imagine a successful issue to your desires.'
Whilst Galatea was thus occupied with Teolinda, Elicio and Artidoro with the other shepherds had stripped Galercio, and as they loosened his coat, which with all his clothes had been wetted, a paper fell from his bosom, which Thyrsis picked up, and, opening it, saw that it was verse; and not being able to read it because it was wet, he placed it on a lofty branch in the sun's ray so that it might dry. On Galercio they placed a cloak of Arsindo's, and the luckless youth was as it were astounded and amazed, without saying a word, though Elicio asked him what was the cause that had brought him to so strange a pass. But his sister Maurisa answered for him, saying:
'Raise your eyes, shepherds, and you will see who is the cause that has set my unfortunate wretch of a brother in so strange and desperate a plight.'
The shepherds raised their eyes at what Maurisa said, and saw a graceful and comely shepherdess on a beetling rock that overhung the river, seated on the same crag, and watching with smiling countenance all that the shepherds were doing. She was straightway recognised by all as the cruel Gelasia.
'That loveless, that thankless girl, sirs,' went on Maurisa, 'is the mortal enemy of this my unhappy brother, who, as all these banks already know and you are not unaware, loves her, worships her and adores her; and in return for the ceaseless services he has always done her, and for the tears that he has shed for her, she this morning, with the most scornful and loveless disdain that could ever be found in cruelty, bade him go from her presence, and never return to her now or henceforth. And my brother wished to obey her so earnestly, that he sought to take away his life, to avoid the occasion of ever transgressing her bidding; and if these shepherds had not by chance come so quickly, the end of my happiness, and the end of my hapless brother's days would by now have come.'
What Maurisa said set all those who listened to her in amazement, and they were more amazed when they saw that the cruel Gelasia, without moving from the spot where she was, and without taking account of all that company who had their eyes set on her, with a strange grace and spirited disdain, drew a small rebeck from her wallet, and stopping to tune it very leisurely, after a little while with a voice of great beauty began to sing in this wise:
GELASIA.
The pleasing herbs of the green shady mead,The cooling fountains, who will e'er forsake,And strive no more the fleet hare to o'ertakeOr bristling wild-boar, following on with speed?Who will no more the friendly warblings heedOf the dear, simple birds within the brake?Who in the glowing noon-tide hour will makeNo more his couch within the woods at need,That he the fires may follow, and the fears,Jealousies, angers, rages, deaths, and pains,Of traitorous Love, that doth the world torment?Upon the fields are set my loving caresAnd have been, rose and jessamine my chains,Free was I born, on freedom am I bent.
The pleasing herbs of the green shady mead,The cooling fountains, who will e'er forsake,And strive no more the fleet hare to o'ertakeOr bristling wild-boar, following on with speed?Who will no more the friendly warblings heedOf the dear, simple birds within the brake?Who in the glowing noon-tide hour will makeNo more his couch within the woods at need,That he the fires may follow, and the fears,Jealousies, angers, rages, deaths, and pains,Of traitorous Love, that doth the world torment?Upon the fields are set my loving caresAnd have been, rose and jessamine my chains,Free was I born, on freedom am I bent.
The pleasing herbs of the green shady mead,The cooling fountains, who will e'er forsake,And strive no more the fleet hare to o'ertakeOr bristling wild-boar, following on with speed?
Who will no more the friendly warblings heedOf the dear, simple birds within the brake?Who in the glowing noon-tide hour will makeNo more his couch within the woods at need,
That he the fires may follow, and the fears,Jealousies, angers, rages, deaths, and pains,Of traitorous Love, that doth the world torment?
Upon the fields are set my loving caresAnd have been, rose and jessamine my chains,Free was I born, on freedom am I bent.
Gelasia was singing, and showing in the motion and expression of her face her loveless disposition; but scarcely had she come to the last verse of her song, when she rose with a strange swiftness, and, as if she were fleeing from some terrible thing, she began to hurry down by the crag, leaving the shepherds amazed at her disposition and astounded at her swift course. But straightway they saw what was the cause of it, on seeing the enamoured Lenio, who with dragging step was ascending the same crag, with the intention of coming to where Gelasia was; but she was not willing to wait for him, so as not to fail in a single instance to act in accordance with the cruelty of her purpose. The wearied Lenio came to the summit of the crag, when Gelasia was already at its foot, and seeing that she did not check her steps, but directed them with more haste through the spacious plain, with spent breath and tired spirit he sat down in the same spot where Gelasia had been, and there began with desperate words to curse his fortune, and the hour in which he raised his eyes to gaze on the cruel shepherdess Gelasia, and in that same moment, repenting as it were of what he was saying, he turned to bless his eyes, and to extol the cause that placed him in such a pass. And straightway goaded and urged by a fit of frenzy, he flung his crook far from him, and, stripping off his coat, cast it into the waters of the clear Tagus, which followed close by the foot of the crag. And when the shepherds who were watching him saw this, they believed without a doubt that the violence of his love-passion was depriving him of reason; and so Elicio and Erastro began to ascend the crag to prevent him from doing any other mad act, that might cost him more dear. And though Lenio saw them ascending, he made no other movement save to draw his rebeck from a wallet, and with a new and strange calm sat down again; and turning his face to where his shepherdess heard, he began with a voice mellow and accompanied with tears to sing in this fashion:
LENIO.
Who drives thee on, who leadeth thee aside,Who makes thee leave all loving thought behind,Who on thy feet hath rapid pinions tied,Wherewith thou runnest swifter than the wind?Wherefore dost thou my lofty thought derideAnd think but little of my loyal mind?Why fleest thou from me, why leavest me?Harder than marble to my agony!Am I perchance so lowly in estateThat I may not behold thy eyes so fair,Or poor or niggard? Have I proved ingrateOr false since I beheld their beauty rare?I am in naught changed from my former state,Does not my soul hang ever from thy hair?Then wherefore dost thou go so far from me?Harder than marble to my agony!Let thy o'erweening pride a warning take,When it beholds my will, once free, subdued,My ancient daring, see, I now forsake,To loving purpose changed my former mood;Behold, the forest life, that doth not makeA care of aught, 'gainst Love is nowise good,Now stay thy steps, why wearied should they be?Harder than marble to my agony!Once I was as thou art, now I beholdThat I can ne'er be what I was before,The force of my desire doth wax so bold,So great my love, I love myself no more;Love can me now within his prison hold;This is thy palm, thy trophy in the war,Victorious o'er me, dost complain of me?Harder than marble to my agony!
Who drives thee on, who leadeth thee aside,Who makes thee leave all loving thought behind,Who on thy feet hath rapid pinions tied,Wherewith thou runnest swifter than the wind?Wherefore dost thou my lofty thought derideAnd think but little of my loyal mind?Why fleest thou from me, why leavest me?Harder than marble to my agony!Am I perchance so lowly in estateThat I may not behold thy eyes so fair,Or poor or niggard? Have I proved ingrateOr false since I beheld their beauty rare?I am in naught changed from my former state,Does not my soul hang ever from thy hair?Then wherefore dost thou go so far from me?Harder than marble to my agony!Let thy o'erweening pride a warning take,When it beholds my will, once free, subdued,My ancient daring, see, I now forsake,To loving purpose changed my former mood;Behold, the forest life, that doth not makeA care of aught, 'gainst Love is nowise good,Now stay thy steps, why wearied should they be?Harder than marble to my agony!Once I was as thou art, now I beholdThat I can ne'er be what I was before,The force of my desire doth wax so bold,So great my love, I love myself no more;Love can me now within his prison hold;This is thy palm, thy trophy in the war,Victorious o'er me, dost complain of me?Harder than marble to my agony!
Who drives thee on, who leadeth thee aside,Who makes thee leave all loving thought behind,Who on thy feet hath rapid pinions tied,Wherewith thou runnest swifter than the wind?Wherefore dost thou my lofty thought derideAnd think but little of my loyal mind?Why fleest thou from me, why leavest me?Harder than marble to my agony!
Am I perchance so lowly in estateThat I may not behold thy eyes so fair,Or poor or niggard? Have I proved ingrateOr false since I beheld their beauty rare?I am in naught changed from my former state,Does not my soul hang ever from thy hair?Then wherefore dost thou go so far from me?Harder than marble to my agony!
Let thy o'erweening pride a warning take,When it beholds my will, once free, subdued,My ancient daring, see, I now forsake,To loving purpose changed my former mood;Behold, the forest life, that doth not makeA care of aught, 'gainst Love is nowise good,Now stay thy steps, why wearied should they be?Harder than marble to my agony!
Once I was as thou art, now I beholdThat I can ne'er be what I was before,The force of my desire doth wax so bold,So great my love, I love myself no more;Love can me now within his prison hold;This is thy palm, thy trophy in the war,Victorious o'er me, dost complain of me?Harder than marble to my agony!
While the hapless shepherd was intoning his piteous plaints, the other shepherds were reproving Galercio for his evil design, condemning the wicked purpose he had displayed. But the despairing youth replied to nothing, whereat Maurisa was not a little distressed, believing that, if left alone, he must carry out his evil thought. In the meantime Galatea and Florisa, going aside with Teolinda, asked her what was the cause of her return, and if by chance she had already heard of her Artidoro. To which she replied weeping:
'I know not what to say to you, friends and ladies mine, save that Heaven wished that I should find Artidoro, to lose him utterly; for you must know that that same unconsiderate and traitorous sister of mine, who was the beginning of my misfortune,has been the cause of the end and termination of my happiness. For learning, as we came with Galercio and Maurisa to their village, that Artidoro was on a mountain not far from there with his flock, she went away to look for him without telling me anything. She found him, and, pretending that she was I (since for this wrong alone Heaven ordained that we should be alike), with little difficulty gave him to understand that the shepherdess who had disdained him in our village was a sister of hers, who was exceedingly like her; in a word, she recounted to him, as though they were hers, all the actions I have done for his sake, and the extremes of grief I have suffered. And as the heart of the shepherd was so tender and loving, with far less than the traitress told him would she have been believed by him, as indeed he did believe her, so much to my hurt, that without waiting for fortune to mingle any new obstacle with his pleasure, straightway at the very moment he gave his hand to Leonarda, to be her lawful husband, believing he was giving it to Teolinda. Here you see, shepherdesses, where the fruit of my tears and sighs has ended; here you see all my hope already torn up by the root; and what I feel most is that it has been by the hand that was most bound to sustain it. Leonarda enjoys Artidoro by means of the false deception I have told you, and although he already knows it, though he must have perceived the trick, he has kept it to himself like a wise man. The tidings of his marriage came straightway to the village, and with them those of the end of my happiness; the stratagem of my sister was also known, who gave as excuse that she saw Galercio, whom she loved so much, going to ruin through the shepherdess Gelasia, and that therefore it seemed to her easier to bring to her will the loving will of Artidoro than Galercio's despairing one, and that since the two were but one as regards outward appearance and nobility, she counted herself happy and fortunate, indeed, with Artidoro's companionship. With this the enemy of my bliss excuses herself, as I have said; and so I, not to see her enjoy that which was rightly due to me, left the village and Artidoro's presence, and accompanied by the saddest fancies that can be fancied, came to give you the news of my misery in the company of Maurisa, who likewise comes with the intention of telling you what Grisaldo has done since he learnt Rosaura's abduction. And this morning at sunrise we fell in with Galercio, who with tender and loving words was urging Gelasia to love him well; but she with the strongest disdain and scorn that can be told, bade him leave her presence, nor dare ever to speak to her. And the hapless shepherd, crushed by so harsh a bidding, and by cruelty so strange, wished to fulfil it, doing what you have seen. All this is what has happened to me, my friends, since I went from your presence. Think now whether I have more to weep for than before, and whether the cause has grownfor you to busy yourselves in consoling me, if perchance my woe might admit of consolation.'
Teolinda said no more, for the countless tears that came to her eyes, and the sighs she wrung from her soul, hindered her tongue in its office; and though the tongues of Galatea and Florisa wished to show themselves skilful and eloquent in consoling her, their toil was of little avail. And while this converse was passing between the shepherdesses, the paper which Thyrsis had taken from Galercio's bosom became dry, and being anxious to read it he took it and saw that it ran thus: