Chapter XIII: Book III (2)

The shepherds did not think ill of Mireno's verses, but of the occasion for which they had been made, considering with what rapidity Silveria's fickleness had brought him to the pass of abandoning his beloved country and dear friends, each one fearful lest, as the result of his suit, the same thing might happen to him. Then, after they had entered the village and come to where Daranio and Silveria were, the festivities began with as much joy and merriment as had been seen for a long time on the banks of the Tagus; for, as Daranio was one of the richest shepherds of all that district, and Silveria one of the fairest shepherdesses of all the river-side, all or most of the shepherds of those parts assisted at their wedding. And so there was a fine gathering of discreet shepherds and fair shepherdesses, and amongst those who excelled the rest in many different qualities were the sad Orompo, the jealous Orfenio, the absent Crisio, and the love-lorn Marsilio, all youths and all in love, though oppressed by different passions, for sad Orompo was tormented by the untimely death of his beloved Listea, jealous Orfenio by the unbearable rage of jealousy, being in love with the fair shepherdess Eandra, absent Crisio by seeing himself parted from Claraura, a fair and discreet shepherdess, whom he counted his only joy, and despairing Marsilio by the hatred against him existing in Belisa's breast. They were all friends and from the same village; each was not ignorant of the other's love, but, on the contrary, in mournful rivalry they had ofttimes come together, each to extol the cause of his torment, seeking each one to show, as best he could, that his grief exceeded every other, counting it the highest glory to be superior in pain; and all had such wit, or, to express it better, suffered such grief, that, however they might indicate it, they showed it was the greatest that could be imagined. Through these disputes and rivalries they were famous and renowned on all the banks of the Tagus, and had caused in Thyrsis and Damon desire to know them; and, seeing them there together, they offered one another courteous and pleasing greetings, all especially regarding with admiration the two shepherds Thyrsis and Damon, up till then only known to them by repute. At this moment came the rich shepherd Daranio, dressed in mountain garb; he wore a high-necked smock with pleated collar, a frieze vest, a green coat cut low at the neck, breeches of fine linen, blue gaiters, round shoes, a studded belt, and a quartered bonnet the colour of the coat. No less finely adorned came forth his bride Silveria, for she came with skirt and bodice of fawn, bordered with white satin, a tucker worked with blue and green, a neckerchief of yellow thread sprinkled with silver embroidery, the contrivance of Galatea and Florisa, who dressed her, a turquoise-coloured coif with fringes of red silk, gilded pattens of cork, dainty close-fitting shoes, rich corals, a ring of gold, and above all her beauty, which adorned her more than all. After her came the peerless Galatea, like the sun after the dawn, and her friend Florisa, with many other fair shepherdesses, who had come to the wedding to honour it; and amongst them, too, came Teolinda, taking care to conceal her face from the eyes of Damon and Thyrsis, so as not to be recognised by them. And straightway the shepherdesses, following the shepherds their guides, to the sound of many rustic instruments, made their way to the temple, during which time Elicio and Erastro found time to feast their eyes on Galatea's fair countenance, desiring that that way might last longer than the long wandering of Ulysses. And, at the joy of seeing her, Erastro was so beside himself, that addressing Elicio he said to him:

'What are you looking at, shepherd, if you are not looking at Galatea? But how will you be able to look at the sun of her locks, the heaven of her brow, the stars of her eyes, the snow of her countenance, the crimson of her cheeks, the colour of her lips, the ivory of her teeth, the crystal of her neck, and the marble of her breast?'

'All this have I been able to see, oh Erastro,' replied Elicio, 'and naught of all you have said is the cause of my torment, but it is the hardness of her disposition, for if it were not such as you know, all the graces and beauties you recognise in Galatea would be the occasion of our greater glory.'

'You say well,' said Erastro; 'but yet you will not be able to deny to me, that if Galatea were not so fair, she would not be so desired, and if she were not so desired, our pain would not be so great, since it all springs from desire.'

'I cannot deny to you, Erastro,' replied Elicio, 'that all grief and sorrow whatsoever springs from the want and lack of that which we desire; but at the same time I wish to tell you that the quality of the love with which I thought you loved Galatea has fallen greatly in my estimation, for if you merely love her because she is fair, she has very little to thank you for, since there will be no man, however rustic he be, who sees her but desires her, for beauty, wherever it be, carries with it the power of creating desire. Thus no reward is due to this simple desire, because it is so natural, for if it were due, by merely desiring Heaven, we would have deserved it. But you see already, Erastro, that the opposite is so much the case, as our true law has shown to us; and granted that beauty and loveliness are a principal factor in attracting us to desire them and to seek to enjoy them, he who would be a true lover must not count such enjoyment his highest good; but rather, though beauty causes this desire in him, he must love the one only because the desire is honourable, without any other interest moving him, and this can be called, even in things of this life, perfect and true love, and is worthy of gratitude and reward. Just as we see that the Maker of all things openly and fittingly rewards those who, not being moved by any other interest, whether of fear, pain, or hope of glory, love Him, worship Him, and serve Him only because he is good and worthy of being worshipped; and this is the last and greatest perfection contained in divine love, and in human love, too, when one does not love except because what one loves is good, without there being an error of judgment, for ofttimes the bad seems to us good, and the good bad, and so we love the one and abhor the other, and such love as this does not deserve reward but punishment. I wish to imply from all I have said, oh Erastro, that if you love and worship Galatea's beauty with intent to enjoy it, and the goal of your desire stops at this point without passing on to love her virtue, her increase of fame, her welfare, her life and prosperity, know that you do not love as you ought, nor ought you to be rewarded as you wish.'

Erastro would fain have replied to Elicio, and given him to understand that he did not understand rightly concerning the love with which he loved Galatea; but this was prevented by the sound of the pipe of loveless Lenio, who also wished to be present at Daranio's wedding, and to gladden the festivities with his song; and so setting himself in front of the betrothed pair, whilst they were going to the temple, to the sound of Eugenio's rebeck he went singing these verses:

LENIO.
Unknown, ungrateful Love, that dost appal
At times the gallant hearts of all our race,
And with vain shapes and shades fantastical
In the free soul dost countless fetters place,
If, proud of godhead, thou thyself dost call
By such a lofty name, spurn in disgrace
Him, who, surrendered to the marriage tie,
To a new noose would yield his fantasy.

Strive thou that pure and spotless evermore
The law of holy wedlock may remain,
Turn thou thy mind thereto with all thy power,
Unfurl thy banner on this fair champaign,
See what sweet fruit he hopes, what lovely flower,
For little toil, who doth himself constrain
To bear this yoke, as duty bids and right;
For, though a burden, 'tis a burden light.

Thou canst, if thou no more rememberest
Thy misdeeds and thy peevish character,
Make glad the marriage bed, the happy nest,
Wherein the nuptial yoke unites the pair;
Set thyself in their soul, and in their breast
Until their life have ended its career,
Then may they go (and to this hope we cling)
To enjoy the pleasures of the eternal spring.

Do thou the shepherd's tiny cot pass by,
To do his duty leave the shepherd free,
Fly higher yet, since thou so high dost fly,
Seek for a better pastime, nobler be:
To make of souls a sacrifice on high
Thou toilest and dost watch;--'tis vanity,
If thou dost bring them not with better mind
To the sweet union Hymen hath designed.

The mighty hand of thy amazing might
Thou canst herein to all the world display,
Making the tender bride in love delight,
And by her bridegroom be beloved alway;
The infernal jealous madness that doth blight
Their peace and comfort, thou canst drive away;
Suffer not scornful harsh disdain to keep
Far from their eyelids sweet refreshing sleep.

But if the prayers of him who was thy friend
Have never, traitorous Love, been heard by thee,
To these of mine thou wilt no hearing lend,
For I thy foe am, and shall ever be;
Thy character, thy works of evil end,
Whereof is witness all humanity,
Lead me to expect not from thy hand a wealth
Of peace or fortune, happiness or health.

Already those who listened to the loveless Lenio as they went along were wondering at seeing with what meekness he was treating the things of Love, calling him a god, and of a mighty hand--a thing they had never heard him say. But having heard the verses with which he ended his song, they could not refrain from laughter, for it already seemed to them that he was getting angry as he went on, and that if he proceeded further in his song, he would deal with love as he was wont at other times; but time failed him, for the way was at an end. And so, when they had come to the temple, and the usual ceremonies had been performed therein by the priests, Daranio and Silveria remained bound in a tight and perpetual knot, not without the envy of many who saw them, nor without the grief of some who coveted Silveria's beauty. But every grief would have been surpassed by that which the hapless Mireno would have felt, had he been present at this spectacle. The wedded pair having returned from the temple with the same company that had escorted them, came to the village square, where they found the tables set, and where Daranio wished publicly to make a demonstration of his wealth, offering to all the people a liberal and sumptuous feast. The square was so covered with branches, that it seemed a lovely green forest, the branches interwoven above in such wise that the sun's keen rays in all that compass found no entry to warm the cool ground, which was covered with many sword-lilies and a great diversity of flowers. There, then, to the general content of all was celebrated the liberal banquet, to the sound of many pastoral instruments, which gave no less pleasure than is wont to be given by the bands playing in harmony usual in royal palaces; but that which most exalted the feast was to see, that, on removing the tables, they made with much speed in the same place a stage, because the four discreet and hapless shepherds, Orompo, Marsilio, Crisio, and Orfenio, so as to honour their friend Daranio's wedding, and to satisfy the desire Thyrsis and Damon had to hear them, wished there in public to recite an eclogue, which they themselves had composed on the occasion of their own griefs. All the shepherds and shepherdesses who were there being then arranged in their seats, after that Erastro's pipe, and Lenio's lyre and the other instruments made those present keep peaceful and marvellous silence, the first who showed himself in the humble theatre was the sad Orompo, clad in black skin-coat, and a crook of yellow box-wood in his hand, the end of which was an ugly figure of Death. He came crowned with leaves of mournful cypress, all emblems of grief which reigned in him by reason of the untimely death of his beloved Listea; and after he had, with sad look, turned his weeping eyes in all directions, with tokens of infinite grief and bitterness he broke the silence with words like these:

OROMPO.
Come from the depths of my grief-stricken breast,
Oh words of blood, with death commingled come,
Break open the left side that keeps you dumb,
If 'tis my sighs perchance that hold you fast.
The air impedes you, for 'tis fired at last
By the fierce poison of your utterance;
Come forth and let the breezes bear you hence,
As they have borne my bliss adown the blast.

For ye will lose but little when ye see
Yourselves lost, since your lofty theme has gone,
For whom in weighty style and perfect tone
Utterance ye gave to things of high degree.
Famed were ye once, of high renown were ye,
For sweetness, and for wittiness and gladness;
But now for bitterness, for tears and sadness,
Will ye by Heaven and earth appraisèd be.

Although ye issue trembling at my cry
With what words can ye utter what I feel,
If my fierce torment is incapable
Of being as 'tis painted vividly?
Alas, for neither means nor time have I
To express the pain and sinking at my heart;
But what my tongue doth lack to tell its smart,
My eyes by constant weeping may supply.

Oh death, who cuttest short by cruel guile
A thousand pleasant purposes of man,
And in a moment turnest hill to plain,
Making Henares equal unto Nile,
Why didst thou temper not thy cruel style,
Traitor, and why didst thou, in my despite,
Make trial on a bosom fair and white
Of thy fierce hanger's edge with fury vile?

How came it that the green and tender years
Of that fair lamb did, false one, thee displease?
Wherefore didst thou my woes by hers increase?
Why didst thou show thyself to her so fierce?
Enemy mine, friend of deceitful cares,
Goest thou from me who seek thee, and concealest
Thyself from me, while thou thyself revealest
To him who more than I thy evils fears?

On riper years thy law tyrannical
Might well its giant vigour have displayed,
Nor dealt its cruel blow against a maid,
Who hath of living had enjoyment small;
But yet thy sickle which arrangeth all--
By no prayer turned aside nor word of power--
Moweth with ruthless blade the tender flower
E'en as the knotty reed, stalwart and tall.

When thou Listea from the world away
Didst take, thy nature and thy strength, thy worth,
Thy spirit, wrath and lordship to the earth
Thou didst by that proud deed alone display.
All that the earth possesseth fair and gay,
Graceful and witty, thou didst likewise doom,
When thou didst doom Listea; in her tomb
Thou didst with her this wealth of blisses lay.

My painful life grows longer, and its weight
I can no more upon my shoulders bear,
For without her I am in darkness drear;
His life is death who is not fortunate.
I have no hope in fortune nor in fate,
I have no hope in time, no hope in Heaven;
I may not hope for solace to be given,
Nor yet for good where evil is so great.

Oh ye who feel what sorrow is, come, find
In mine your consolation, when ye see
Its strength, its vigour and alacrity;
Then ye will see how far yours falls behind.
Where are ye now, shepherds graceful and kind,
Crisio, Marsilio, and Orfenio? What
Do ye? Why come ye not? Why count ye not
Mine greater far than troubles of your mind?

But who is this who cometh into sight,
Emerging at the crossing of yon path?
Marsilio 'tis, whom Love as prisoner hath,
The cause Belisa, her praise his delight.
The fierce snake of disdain with cruel bite
His soul doth ever gnaw and eke his breast,
He spends his life in torment without rest,
And yet not his but mine the blacker plight.

He thinks the ill that makes his soul complain
Is greater than the sorrow of my woe.
Within this thicket 'twill be well to go,
That I may see if he perchance complain.
Alas! to think to match it with the pain
That never leaves me is but vanity.
The road mine opens that to ill draws nigh,
Closing the pathway that doth bliss attain.

MARSILIO.
Oh steps that by steps bring
Me to death's agonies
I am constrained to blame your tardiness!
Unto the sweet lot cling,
For in your swiftness lies
My bliss, and in such hour of bitterness.
Behold, me to distress,
The hardness of my foe
Within her angry breast,
Hostile unto my rest,
Doth ever do what it was wont to do,
And therefore let us flee,
If but we can, from her dread cruelty.

To what clime shall I go,
Or to what land unknown
To make my dwelling there, that I may be
Safe from tormenting woe,
From sad and certain moan,
Which shall not end till it hath ended me?
Whether I stay or flee
To Libya's sandy plains
Or to the dwelling-place
Of Scythia's savage race,
One thing alone doth mitigate my pain;
That a contented mind
I do not in a change of dwelling find.

It wins me everywhere,
The rigorous disdain
Of her that hath no peer, my cruel foe,
And yet an issue fair
'Tis not for me to gain
From Love or hope amidst such cruel woe.
Belisa, daylight's glow,
Thou glory of our age,
If prayers of a friend
Have power thy will to bend,
Temper of thy right hand the ruthless rage!
The fire my breast doth hold,
May it have power in thine to melt the cold.

Yet deaf unto my cry,
Ruthless and merciless,
As to the wearied mariner's appeal
The tempest raging by
That stirs the angry sea,
Threatening to life the doom unspeakable,
Adamant, marble, steel,
And rugged Alpine brow,
The sturdy holm-oak old,
The oak that to the cold
North wind its lofty crest doth never bow,
All gentle are and kind
Compared unto the wrath in thee we find.

My hard and bitter fate,
My unrelenting star,
My will that bears it all and suffereth,
This doom did promulgate,
Thankless Belisa fair,
That I should serve and love thee e'en in death
Though thy brow threateneth
With ruthless, angry frown,
And though thine eyes so clear
A thousand woes declare,
Yet mistress of this soul I shall thee crown,

Until a mortal veil
Of flesh no more on earth my soul conceal.

Can there be good that vies
With my tormenting ill,
Can any earthly ill such anguish give?
For each of them doth rise
Far beyond human skill,
And without her in living death I live,
In disdain I revive
My faith, and there 'tis found
Burnt with the chilly cold.
What vanity behold,
The unwonted sorrow that my soul doth wound!
Can it be equal, see,
Unto the ill that fain would greater be?

But who is he who stirs
The interwoven boughs
Of this round-crested myrtle, thick and green?

OROMPO.
A shepherd who avers,
Reasoning from his woes,
Founding his words upon the truth therein,
That it must needs be seen
His sorrow doth surpass
The sorrow thou dost feel,
The higher thou mayst raise it,
Exalt it, and appraise it.

MARS.
Conquered wilt thou remain in such a deal,
Orompo, friend so true.
And thou thyself shalt witness be thereto.
If of my agonies,
If of my maddening ill,
The very smallest part thou didst but know,
Thy vanities would cease,
For thou wouldst see that still
My sufferings all are true, and thine but show.

OROMPO.
Deem thy mysterious woe
A phantom of the mind,
Than mine, that doth distress
My life, reckon thine less,
For I will save thee from thine error blind,
And the dear truth reveal,
That thy ill is a shadow, mine is real.
But, lo! the voice I hear
Of Crisio, sounding plain.
A shepherd he, whose views with thine agree,
To him let us give ear,
For his distressful pain
Maketh him swell with pride, as thine doth thee.

MARS.
To-day time offers me
Place and occasion where
I can display to both
And prove to you the truth
That only I misfortune know and care.

OROMPO.
Marsilio, now attend
Unto the voice and sad theme of thy friend.

CRISIO.
Ah! hard oppressive absence, sad and drear,
How far must he have been from knowing thee,
Who did thy force and violence compare
To death's invincible supremacy!
For when death doth pronounce his doom severe,
What then can he do more, so weak is he,
That to undo the knot and stoutest tether
That holdeth soul and body firm together?

Thy cruel sword to greater ill extends,
Since into two one spirit it doth part.
Love's miracles, which no man understands,
Nor are attained by learning or by art.
Oh let my soul with one who understands,
There leave its half, and bring the weaker part
Hither, whereby more ill I on me lay,
Than if from life I were far, far away!

Away am I from yonder eyes so fair,
Which calmed my torment in my hour of need,
Eyes, life of him who could behold them clear,
If they the fancy did not further lead;
For to behold and think of merit there
Is but a foolish, daring, reckless deed,
I see them not, I saw them to my wrong,
And now I perish, for to see I long.

Longing have I, and rightly, to behold--
The term of my distress to abbreviate--
This friendship rent in twain which hath of old
United soul to flesh with love so great,
That from the frame set free which doth it hold,
With ready speed and wondrous flight elate,
It will be able to behold again
Those eyes, relief and glory to its pain.

Pain is the payment and the recompense
That Love doth to the absent lover give;
Herein is summed all suffering and offence,
That in Love's sufferings we do perceive;
Neither to use discretion for defence,
Nor in the fire of loyal love to live
With thoughts exalted, doth avail to assuage
This torment's cruel pain and violent rage.

Raging and violent is this cruel distress,
And yet withal so long doth it endure,
That, ere it endeth, endeth steadfastness,
And even life's career, wretched and poor;
Death, jealousy, disdain, and fickleness,
An unkind, angry heart, do not assure
Such torment, nor inflict wounds so severe,
As doth this ill, whose very name is fear.

Fearful it were, did not a grief, so fierce
As this, produce in me such mortal grief;
And yet it is not mortal, since my years
End not, though I am absent from my life;
But I'll no more my woeful song rehearse,
For to such swains, in charm and wisdom chief,
As those I see before me, 'twill be right
That I should show to see them more delight.

OROMPO.
Delight thy presence gives us, Crisio friend,
And more, because thou comest at an hour,
When we our ancient difference may end.

CRISIO.
If it delights thee, come, let us once more
Begin, for in Marsilio of our strife
A righteous judge we have to plead before.

MARS.
Clearly ye show and prove your error rife,
Wherewith ye twain are so besotted, drawn
By the vain fancy that rules o'er your life,

Since ye wish that the sorrows ye bemoan,
Although so small, should be to mine preferred,
Bewailed enough, and yet so little known.

But that it may by earth and Heaven be heard,
How far your sorrows fall below the pain
That hath my soul beset and hope deferred,

I will the least my bosom doth contain,
Put forth, with all the feeble wit I have--
Methinks the victory in your strife I'll gain--

And unto you I shall the verdict leave,
To judge my ill whether it harroweth
More than the absence which doth Crisio grieve,

Or than the dread and bitter ill of death;
For each of you doth heedless make his plaint,
Bitter and brief he calls the lot he hath.

OROMPO.
Thereat I feel, Marsilio, much content,
Because the reason I have on my side,
Hath to my anguish hope of triumph sent.

CRISIO.
Although the skill is unto me denied
To exaggerate, when I my grief proclaim,
Ye will behold how yours are set aside.

MARS.
Unto the deathless hardness of my dame
What absence reaches? Though so hard is she,
Mistress of beauty her the world acclaim.

OROMPO.
At what a happy hour and juncture see,
Orfenio comes in sight! Be ye intent,
And ye will hear him weigh his misery.

'Tis jealousy that doth his soul torment,
A very knife is jealousy, the sure
Disturber of Love's peace and Love's content.

CRISIO.
Hearken, he sings the griefs he doth endure.

ORFENIO.
Oh gloomy shadow, thou that followest
My sorrowing and confused fancy still,
Thou darkness irksome, thou that, cold and chill,
Hast ever my content and light oppressed.

When will it be that thou thy bitterest
Wrath wilt assuage, cruel monster, harpy fell?
What dost thou gain to make my joy a hell?
What bliss, that thou my bliss dost from me wrest?

But if the mood thou dost upon thee take,
Leadeth thee on to seek his life to steal,
Who life and being unto thee did give,

Methinks I should not wonder thou dost wreak
Thy will upon me, and upon my weal,
But that despite my woes, I yet do live.

OROMPO.
If the delightful mead
Is pleasant to thee as 'twas wont to be
In times that now are dead,
Come hither; thou art free
To spend the day in our sad company.

He that is sad agrees
Easily with the sad, as thou must know;
Come hither, here one flees,
Beside this clear spring's flow,
The sun's bright rays that high in heaven glow.

Come and thyself defend,
As is thy custom, raise thy wonted strain,
Against each sorrowing friend.
For each doth strive amain
To show that his alone is truly pain.

I only in the strife
Must needs opponent be to each and all,
The sorrow of my life
I can indeed extol,
But cannot give expression to the whole.

ORFENIO.
The luscious grassy sward
Is not unto the hungry lamb so sweet,
Nor health once more restored
Doth he so gladly greet
Who had already held its loss complete,

As pleasant 'tis for me
In the contest that is at hand to show
That the cruel misery
My suffering heart doth know
Is far above the greatest here below.

Orompo, speak no word
Of thy great ill, Crisio, thy grief contain,
Let naught from thee be heard,
Marsilio; death, disdain,
Absence, seek not to rival jealous pain.

But if Heaven so desires
That we to-day should seek the battle-field,
Begin, whoso aspires,
And of his sorrow yield
Token with all the skill his tongue can wield.

A truthful history
In the pure truth doth find its resting-place.
For it can never be,
That elegance and grace
Of speech can form its substance and its base.

CRISIO.
Shepherd, in this great arrogance I feel
Thou wilt reveal the folly of thy life
When in this strife of passions we engage.

ORFENIO.
Thy pride assuage or show it in its hour,
Thine anguish sore is but a pastime, friend,
The souls that bend in grief, because they go
Away, their woe must needs exaggerate.

CRISIO.
So strange and great the torment is I moan,
That thou full soon thyself, I trust, wilt say
That nothing may with my fatigues compare.

MARS.
An evil star shone on me from my birth.

OROMPO.
Ere yet on earth I came, methinks e'en then
Misfortune, pain, and misery, were mine.

ORFENIO.
In me divine the greatest of ill-fortune.

CRISIO.
Thy ill is fortune, when to mine compared.

MARS.
When it is paired with my mysterious ill,
The wound that kills you is but glory plain.

OROMPO.
This tangled skein will soon be very clear,
When bright and clear my grief it doth reveal.
Let none conceal the pain his breast within,
For I the tale of mine do now begin.

In good ground my hopes were sown,
Goodly fruit they promised then,
But when their desire was known,
And their willingness was shown,
Heaven changed their fruit to pain.
I beheld their wondrous flower,
Eager happiness to shower
On me--thousand proofs it gave--
Death that envious did it crave
Plucked it in that very hour.

Like the labourer was I,
Who doth toil without relief
And with lingering energy,
Winning from his destiny
But the bitter fruit of grief:
Destiny doth take away
All hope of a better day,
For the Heaven that to him brings
Confidence of better things
It beneath the earth did lay.

If to this pass I attain,
That e'en now I live, despairing
Whether I shall glory gain.
Since I suffer beyond bearing,
'Tis a certain truth and plain:
That amidst the darkest gloom
Hope assures that there shall come
Yet a happier, brighter dawn.
Woe for him, whose hope is gone,
Buried in the hopeless tomb.

MARS.
From mine eyes the tear-drops fall
On a spot where many a thorn,
Many a bramble, hath been born
To my hurt, for, once and all,
They my loving heart have torn:
I am luckless, yes, 'tis I,
Though my cheeks were never dry
For a moment in my grief,
Yet nor fruit, nor flower, nor leaf,
Have I won, howe'er I try.

For my bosom would be stilled,
If I might a token see
Of some gain, small though it be;
Though it never were fulfilled,
I should win felicity:
For the worth I should behold
Of my fond persistence bold
Over her who doth so scorn,
That she at my chill doth burn,
At my fire is chilly cold.

But if all the toil is vain
Of my mourning and my sigh,
And I still cease not my cry,
With my more than human pain
What on earth can hope to vie?
Dead the cause is of thy grief,
This, Orompo, brings relief,
And thy sorrow doth suppress;
But when my grief most doth press
On me, 'tis beyond belief.

CRISIO.
Once the fruit that was the dower
Of my ceaseless adoration
I held in its ripest hour;
Ere I tasted it, occasion
Came and snatched it from my power:
I above the rest the name
Of unfortunate can claim,
Since to suffering I shall come,
For no longer lies my doom
Where I left my soul aflame.

When death robs us of our bliss,
We for ever from it part,
And we find relief in this.
Time can soften e'en the heart
Hard and firm against Love's cries.
But in absence we the pain
Of death, jealousy, disdain,
Feel with ne'er a glimpse of gladness,--
Strange it is--hence fear and sadness
With the absent one remain.

When the hope at hand is near,
And the accomplishment delays,
Harder is the pain we bear,
And affliction reacheth where
Hope doth never lift its gaze;
In the lesser pangs ye feel
'Tis the remedy of your ill
Not to hope for remedy,
But this solace faileth me,
For the pangs of absence kill.

ORFENIO.
Lo, the fruit that had been sown
By my toil that had no end,
When to sweetness it had grown,
Was by destiny my friend
Given to me for my own.
Scarce to this unheard of pass
Could I come, when I, alas!
Came the bitter truth to know,
That I should but grief and woe
From that happiness amass.

In my hand the fruit I hold,
And to hold it wearies me,
For amidst my woes untold
In the largest ear I see
A worm gnawing, fierce and bold;
I abhor what I adore,
And that which doth life restore
Brings death; for myself I shape
Winding mazes, whence escape
Is denied for evermore.

In my loss for death I sigh,
For 'tis life unto my woe.
In the truth I find a lie,
Greater doth the evil grow
Whether I be far or nigh;
No hope is there that is sure
Such an ill as this to cure;
Whether I remain or go,
Of this living death the woe
I must evermore endure.

OROMPO.
'Tis sure an error clear
To argue that the loss which death hath sent
Since it extends so far,
Doth bring in part content,
Because it takes away
The hope that fosters grief and makes it stay.

If of the glory dead
The memory that doth disturb our peace
Forever shall have fled,
The sorrow doth decrease,
Which at its loss we feel,
Since we can hope no more to keep it still.

But if the memory stays,
The memory of the bliss already fled
Doth live the more and blaze
Than when possessed indeed;
Who doubteth that this pain
Doth more than others untold miseries gain?

MARS.
If it should be the chance
Of a poor traveller by some unknown way
To find at his advance
Fleeing at close of day
The inn of his desire,
The inn for which he doth in vain aspire,

Doubtless he will remain
Dazed by the fear the dark and silent night
Inspires, and yet again
Hapless will be his plight,
If dawn comes not, for Heaven
To him hath not its gladdening radiance given.

The traveller am I,
I journey on to reach a happy inn;
Whene'er I think that nigh
I come to enter in,
Then, like a fleeting shadow,
Bliss flees away, and grief doth overshadow.

CRISIO.
E'en as the torrent deep
Is wont the traveller's weary steps to hold,
And doth the traveller keep
'Midst wind and snow and cold,
And, just a little space
Beyond, the inn appears before his face,

E'en so my happiness
Is by this painful tedious absence stayed;
To comfort my distress
'Tis ever sore afraid,
And yet before mine eyes
I see the healer of my miseries.

And thus to see so near
The cure of my distress afflicts me sore,
And makes it greater far,
Because my bliss before
My hand doth further flee
For some strange cause, the nearer 'tis to me.

ORFENIO.
I saw before mine eyes
A noble inn, that did in bliss abound,
I triumphed in my prize,
Too soon, alas, I found
That vile it had become,
Changed by my fate to darkness and to gloom.

There, where we ever see
The bliss of those who love each other well,
There is my misery;
There where is wont to dwell
All bliss, is evil plain,
United in alliance with disdain.

In this abode I lie--
And never do I strive to issue hence--
Built by my agony,
And with so strange a fence,
Methinks they to the ground
Bring it, who love, see, and resist its wound.

OROMPO.
Sooner the path that is his own, the sun
Shall end, whereon he wanders through the sky
After he hath through all the Zodiac run,

Than we the least part of our agony
According to our pain can well declare,
However much we raise our speech on high.

He who lives absent dies, says Crisio there,
But I, that I am dead, since to the reign
Of death fate handed o'er my life's career.

And boldly thou, Marsilio, dost maintain
That thou of joy and bliss hast lost all chance,
Since that which slayeth thee is fierce disdain.

Unto this thought thou givest utterance,
Orfenio, that 'tis through thy soul doth pass,
Not through thy breast alone, the jealous lance.

As each the woes through which his fellows pass
Feels not, he praiseth but the grief he knows,
Thinking it doth his fellows' pangs surpass.

Wherefore his bank rich Tagus overflows,
Swollen by our strife of tears and mournfulness,
Wherein with piteous words we moan our woes.

Our pain doth not thereby become the less,
Rather because we handle so the wound,
It doth condemn us to the more distress.

We must our plaints renew with all the sound
Our tongues can utter, and with all the thought
That can within our intellects be found.

Then let us cease our disputation, taught
That every ill doth anguish bring and pain,
Nor is there good with sure contentment fraught.

Sufficient ill he hath that doth constrain
His life within the confines of a tomb,
And doth in bitter loneliness remain,

Unhappy he--and mournful is his doom--
Who suffereth the pangs of jealousy,
In whom nor strength nor judgment findeth room,

And he, who spends his days in misery,
By the cruel power of absence long oppressed,
Patience his only staff, weak though it be;

Nor doth the eager lover suffer least
Who feels, when most he burns, his lady's power,
By her hard heart and coldness sore distressed.

CRISIO.
His bidding let us do, for lo, the hour
E'en now with rapid flight comes on apace,
When we our herds must needs collect once more.

And while unto the wonted sheltering-place
We go, and whilst the radiant sun to rest
Sinketh and from the meadow hides his face,

With bitter voice and mourning manifest,
Making the while harmonious melody,
Sing we the grief that hath our souls oppressed.

MARS.
Begin then, Crisio, may thine accents fly
With speed unto Claraura's ears once more,
Borne gently by the winds that hasten by,
As unto one who doth their grief restore.

CRISIO.
Whoso from the grievous cup
Of dread absence comes to drink,
Hath no ill from which to shrink,
Nor yet good for which to hope.

In this bitter misery
Every evil is contained:
Fear lest we should be disdained,
Of our rivals' jealousy.

Whoso shall with absence cope,
Straightway will he come to think
That from no ill can he shrink,
Nor for any good can hope.

OROMPO.
True 'tis ill that makes me sigh
More than any death I know,
Since life findeth cause of woe
In that death doth pass it by.

For when death did take away
All my glory and content,
That it might the more torment,
It allowed my life to stay.

Evil comes, and hastily
With such swiftness good doth go,
That life findeth cause of woe
In that death doth pass it by.

MARS.
In my dread and grievous woe
Now are wanting to my eyes
Tears, and breath unto my sighs,
Should my troubles greater grow,

For ingratitude, disdain,
Hold me in their toils so fast
That from death I hope at last
Longer life and greater gain.

Little can it linger now,
Since are wanting to my eyes
Tears, and breath unto my sighs,
Should my troubles greater grow.

ORFENIO.
If it could, my joy should be
Truly all things else above:
If but jealousy were love,
And if love were jealousy.

From this transformation I
So much bliss and pride should gain
That of love I would attain
To the palm and victory.

If 'twere so, then jealousy
Would so much my champion prove,
That, if jealousy were love,
Nothing I save love should be.

With this last song of the jealous Orfenio, the discreet shepherds made an end of their eclogue, leaving all who had heard them satisfied with their discretion: especially Damon and Thyrsis, who felt great pleasure at hearing them, for it seemed to them that the reasonings and arguments which the four shepherds had propounded to carry through their proposition, seemed of more than shepherd wit. But a contest having arisen between many of the bystanders as to which of the four had pleaded his cause best, at last the opinion of all came to agree with that which discreet Damon gave, saying to them that he for his part held that, among all the distasteful and unpleasing things that love brings with it, nothing so much distresses the loving breast as the incurable plague of jealousy, and neither Orompo's loss, nor Crisio's absence, nor Marsilio's despair could be equalled to it.

'The cause is,' he said, 'that it is not in reason that things which have become impossible of attainment should be able for long to compel the will to love them, or weary the desire to attain them; for when a man has the will and desire to attain the impossible, it is clear that the more desire is excessive in him, the more he would lack understanding. And for this same reason I say that the pain Orompo suffers is but grief and pity for a lost happiness; and because he has lost it in such a way that it is not possible to recover it again, this impossibility must be the cause of his sorrow ending. For although human understanding cannot be always so united with reason as to cease feeling the loss of the happiness which cannot be recovered, and must in fact give tokens of its feeling by tender tears, ardent sighs, and piteous words, under pain, should one not do this, of being counted rather brute than rational man--in a word, the course of time cures this sorrowing, reason softens it, and new events have a great share in blotting it from memory. All this is the contrary in absence, as Crisio well pointed out in his verses, for, as in the absent one, hope is so united to desire, the postponement of return gives him terrible distress; seeing that, as nothing hinders him from enjoying his happiness except some arm of the sea, or some stretch of land, it seems to him, having the chief thing, which is the good-will of the beloved person, that flagrant wrong is done to his bliss, in that things so trivial as a little water or land should hinder his happiness and glory. To this pain are also joined the fear of being forgotten, and the changes of human hearts; and so long as absence endures, strange without a doubt is the harshness and rigour with which it treats the soul of the hapless absent one. But as it has the remedy so near, which consists in return, its torment can be borne with some ease; and if it should happen that the absence should be such that it is impossible to return to the desired presence, that impossibility comes to be the remedy, as in the case of death. As for the sorrow of which Marsilio complains, though it is, as it were, the same that I suffer, and on this account must needs have seemed to me greater than any other, I will not therefore fail to say what reason shows me, rather than that to which passion urges me. I confess that it is a terrible sorrow to love and not be loved; but 'twould be a greater to love and be loathed. And if we new lovers guided ourselves by what reason and experience teach us, we would see that every beginning in anything is difficult, and that this rule suffers no exception in the affairs of love, but rather in them is confirmed and strengthened the more; so that for the new lover to complain of the hardness of his lady's rebellious breast, goes beyond all bounds of reason. For as love is, and has to be, voluntary, and not constrained, I ought not to complain of not being loved by anyone I love, nor ought I to attach importance to the burden I impose on her, telling her that she is obliged to love me since I love her; seeing that, though the beloved person ought, in accordance with the law of nature and with fair courtesy, not to show herself ungrateful toward him who loves her well, it must not for this reason be a matter of constraint and obligation that she should respond, all in all, to her lover's desires. For if this were so, there would be a thousand importunate lovers who would gain by their solicitude what would perhaps not be due to them of right; and as love has the understanding for father, it may be that she who is well loved by me does not find in me qualities so good as to move her and incline her to love me. And so she is not obliged, as I have already said, to love me, in the same way that I shall be obliged to adore her, for I found in her what is lacking in me; and for this reason he who is disdained ought not to complain of his beloved, but of his fortune, which denied him the graces that might move his lady's understanding to love him well. And so he ought to seek, with constant services, with loving words, with not unseasonable presence, and with practised virtues, to improve and amend in himself the fault that nature caused; for this is so essential a remedy that I am ready to affirm that it will be impossible for him to fail to be loved, who, by means so fitting, shall seek to win his lady's good-will. And since this evil of disdain has with it the good of this cure, let Marsilio console himself, and pity the hapless and jealous Orfenio, in whose misfortune is enclosed the greatest that can be imagined in those of love. Oh jealousy, disturber of the tranquil peace of love! jealousy, knife of the firmest hopes! I know not what he could know of lineage who made thee child of love, since thou art so much the contrary, that, for that very reason, love would have ceased to be love, had it begotten such children. Oh jealousy, hypocrite and false thief! seeing that, in order that account may be taken of thee in the world, as soon as thou seest any spark of love born in any breast, thou seekest to mingle with it, changing thyself to its colour, and even seekest to usurp from it the lordship and dominion it has. Hence it comes that as men see thee so united with love, though by thy results thou showest that thou art not love itself, yet thou seekest to give the ignorant man to understand that thou art love's son, though in truth thou art born from a low suspicion, begotten by a vile and ill-starred fear, nurtured at the breast of false imaginings, growing up amidst vilest envies, sustained by slanders and falsehoods. And that we may see the ruin caused in loving hearts by this cursed affliction of raging jealousy, when the lover is jealous, it behoves him, with the leave of jealous lovers be it said, it behoves him, I say, to be, as he is, traitorous, cunning, truculent, slanderous, capricious, and even ill-bred; and so far extends the jealous rage that masters him, that the person he loves most is the one to whom he wishes the most ill. The jealous lover would wish that his lady were fair for him alone, and ugly for all the world; he desires that she may not have eyes to see more than he might wish, nor ears to hear, nor tongue to speak; that she may be retiring, insipid, proud and ill-mannered; and at times he even desires, oppressed by this devilish passion, that his lady should die, and that all should end. All these passions jealousy begets in the minds of jealous lovers; the opposite to the virtues which pure and simple love multiplies in true and courteous lovers, for in the breast of a good lover are enclosed discretion, valour, generosity, courtesy, and all that can make him praiseworthy in the eyes of men. At the same time the force of this cruel poison contains yet more, for there is no antidote to preserve it, counsel to avail it, friend to aid it, nor excuse to fit it; all this is contained in the jealous lover, and more--every shadow terrifies him, every trifle disturbs him, and every suspicion, false or true, undoes him. And to all this misfortune another is added, namely, the excuses that deceive him. And since there is no other medicine than excuses for the disease of jealousy, and since the jealous man suffering from it does not wish to admit them, it follows that this disease is without remedy, and should be placed before all others. And thus it is my opinion that Orfenio is the most afflicted, but not the most in love; for jealousy is not the token of much love, but of much ill-advised curiosity. And if it is a token of love, it is like fever in a sick man, for to have it is a sign of having life, but a life sick and diseased; and so the jealous lover has love, but it is love sick and ill-conditioned; and moreover to be jealous is a token of little confidence in one's own worth. And that this is true the discreet and firm lover teaches us, who, without reaching the darkness of jealousy, touches on the shadows of fear, but does not enter so far into them that they obscure the sun of his bliss; nor goes so far away from them that they relieve him from walking in solicitude and fear; for if this discreet fear should be wanting in the lover, I would count him proud and over-confident. For as a common proverb of ours says: "Who loves well, fears"; and indeed it is right that the lover should fear, lest, as the thing he loves is extremely good, or seemed to him to be so, it should seem the same to the eyes of anyone who beholds it; and for the same reason love is begotten in another who is able to disturb his love and succeeds in so doing. The good lover fears, and let him fear, the changes of time, of the new events which might offer themselves to his hurt, and lest the happy state he is enjoying may quickly end; and this fear must be so secret, that it does not come to his tongue to utter it, nor yet to his eyes to express it. And this fear produces effects so contrary to those which jealousy produces in loving breasts, that it fosters in them new desires to increase love more if they could, to strive with all solicitude that the eyes of their beloved should not see in them aught that is not worthy of praise, showing themselves generous, courteous, gallant, pure and well-bred; and as much as it is right that this virtuous fear should be praised, so much, and even more, is it fitting that jealousy should be blamed.'

The renowned Damon said this and was silent, and drew in the wake of his own opinion the opposite ones of some who had been listening to him, leaving all satisfied with the truth he had shown them with such plainness. But he would not have remained without reply, had the shepherds Orompo, Crisio, Marsilio, and Orfenio been present at his discourse; who, wearied by the eclogue they had recited, had gone to the house of their friend Daranio. All being thus occupied, at the moment the various dances were about to be renewed, they saw three comely shepherds entering on one side of the square, who were straightway recognised by all. They were the graceful Francenio, the frank Lauso, and the old Arsindo, who came between the two shepherds with a lovely garland of green laurel in his hands; and crossing through the square, they came to a stop where Thyrsis, Damon, Elicio, and Erastro, and all the chief shepherds were, whom they greeted with courteous words, and were received by them with no less courtesy, especially Lauso by Damon, whose old and true friend he was. Compliments having ceased, Arsindo, setting eyes on Damon and Thyrsis, began to speak in this wise: