Chapter XVII: Book IV (3)

'Tis Love that is beginning of our bliss;
The means whereby one winneth and attaineth
The happiest end that anyone doth seek;
Unequalled master of all sciences:
A fire, that, though a breast ice cold remaineth,
Into bright flames of virtue makes it break;
A power that wounds the strong and helps the weak;
A root from which is born
The lucky plant whereby
We rise to Heaven on high,
With fruitage, that doth unto pleasure turn
The soul, of goodness, worth, and noble zeal,
Of bliss without alloy,
That earth with joy, and Heaven with love doth fill;

Courteous and gallant, wise, discreet is he;
Gay, liberal-handed, gentle, rich in might;
Of piercing glance, although blind be his eyes;
True guardian of respect and modesty;
A captain who doth triumph in the fight,
But honour only claimeth as his prize;
A flower that doth 'midst thorns and brambles rise,
Which life and soul adorns;
An enemy of fear;
Of hope a friend so near;
A guest that gladdens most when he returns;
An instrument of honoured wealth, I trow,
Whereby one seeth thrive
The honoured ivy on the honoured brow;

A natural instinct that doth move us all
To raise the thoughts within our minds so high
That scarce thereto doth human sight attain:
A ladder which he that is bold doth scale
To the sweet region of the hallowed sky;
Ridge at its summit fair, smooth as a plain;
An easiness that makes the intricate plain;
Pole-star that in this sea
Of madness guides the thought
That from sense strayeth not;
A solace of the sorrowing fantasy;
Godfather who doth never seek our harm;
A beacon not concealed
That hath revealed the haven 'midst the storm;

A painter that doth in our souls portray,
With shadows and with tints full of repose,
Now mortal, now immortal, loveliness;
A sun that driveth all the clouds away;
A pleasure that brings sweetness in our woes;
A glass wherein one sees the kindliness
Of nature, that doth crown with high success
True generosity;
A fiery spirit bright,
That even to the blindest bringeth light;
Of hatred and of fear sole remedy;
Argus that ne'er can tempted be to nod,
Although within his ear
The words he hear of some deceiving god;

An army of well-armèd infantry
That countless difficulties puts to flight,
And ever wins the victory and the palm;
A dwelling where abideth jollity;
A face that never hides the truth from sight,
But shows what is within the soul; a balm
Whose power the tempest changeth to sweet calm.
Merely because some day
We hope to have it sure;
A comfort that doth cure
Him who is scorned, when life doth pass away;
Finally Love is life, 'tis glory, gladness,
'Tis joyful peace and sweet;
Follow his feet; to follow him is gladness.'

The end of the reasoning and song of Thyrsis was the beginning to confirm anew in all the reputation he had for discretion, save in the loveless Lenio, to whom his reply did not seem so good as to satisfy his understanding, and change him from his first purpose. This was clearly seen, for he was already giving signs of wishing to answer and reply to Thyrsis, had not the praises Darinto and his companion, and all the shepherds and shepherdesses present were giving the two, prevented it; for Darinto's friend, taking his hand, said:

'I have just at this moment learnt how the power and wisdom of love extends over every part of the earth; and that the place where it is most refined and purified is in shepherds' breasts, as has been shown to us by what we have heard from the loveless Lenio and the discreet Thyrsis, whose reasonings and arguments savour more of intellects nurtured amidst books and lecture-rooms, than of those that have grown up amidst thatched huts. But I would not be so astonished thereat, if I were of the opinion of him who said that the knowledge of our souls was to remember what they already knew, presupposing that they are all born instructed. But when I see that I ought to follow the other and better view of him who affirmed that our soul was as it were a blank canvas, which had nothing painted on it, I cannot fail to wonder at seeing how it has been possible, in the company of sheep, in the solitude of the fields, for one to be able to acquire sciences, concerning which it is scarcely possible to hold disputes in renowned universities; if, indeed, I do not wish to be persuaded of what I said at first, that love extends through all, and communicates itself to all, raising the fallen, giving wisdom to the simple, and making perfect the wise.'

'If you knew, sir,' replied Elicio at this moment, 'how the upbringing of the renowned Thyrsis has not been amidst trees and forests, as you fancy, but in royal courts and well-known schools, you would not wonder at what he has said, but at what he has left unsaid; and although the loveless Lenio in his humility has confessed that the rusticity of his life can promise but slight pledges of intellect, nevertheless I assure you that he spent the choicest years of his life, not in the pursuit of tending goats on the hills, but on the banks of the clear Tormes in laudable studies and discreet converse. So that if the colloquy the two have held seems to you of more worth than one of shepherds, consider them as they were, and not as they now are; all the more so that you will find shepherds on these banks of ours, who will not cause you less wonder if you hear them, than those you have heard now. For on them are grazing their flocks the famous and well-known Franio, Siralvo, Filardo, Silvano, Lisardo and the two Matuntos, father and son, excelling beyond all excellence, one on the lyre, the other in poetry; and, to crown all, turn your eyes and know the well-known Damon, whom you have before you, where your desire can rest if it wishes to know the extreme of discretion and wisdom.'

The gentleman was about to reply to Elicio, when one of those ladies who came with him said to the other:

'It seems to me, señora Nisida, that since the sun is now setting it would be well for us to go, if we are to reach to-morrow the spot where they say our father is.'

The lady had scarcely said this, when Darinto and his companion looked at her, showing that it had grieved them that she had called the other by her name. But when Elicio heard the name of Nisida, the thought struck him whether it was that Nisida of whom the hermit Silerio had related so many things, and the same idea came to Thyrsis, Damon and Erastro. And Elicio, to assure himself of what he suspected, said:

'A few days ago, señor Darinto, I and some of us who are here heard the name of Nisida mentioned, as has been done by that lady now, but accompanied by more tears and referred to with more alarm.'

'Is there perchance,' replied Darinto, 'any shepherdess on these banks of yours called Nisida?'

'No,' replied Elicio; 'but she whom I speak of was born on them, and was nurtured on the remote banks of the famous Sebeto.'

'What is it you say, shepherd?' rejoined the other gentleman.

'What you hear,' replied Elicio, 'and what you will hear at greater length, if you assure me of a suspicion I have.'

'Tell it me,' said the gentleman, 'for it might be that I shall satisfy you therein.'

To this Elicio replied: 'Is your own name, sir, perchance Timbrio?'

'I cannot deny that truth to you,' replied the other, 'for I am called Timbrio, which name I had fain concealed till another more fitting season; but the wish I have to know why you suspected that I was so called, constrains me to conceal naught from you of what you might wish to know of me.'

'Accordingly you will not deny to me either,' said Elicio, 'that this lady you have with you is called Nisida, and further, so far as I can guess, the other is called Blanca, and is her sister.'

'In all you have hit the mark,' replied Timbrio; 'but since I have denied to you nothing of what you have asked me, do not you deny me the reason that has moved you to ask it me.'

'It is as good, and will be as much to your taste,' replied Elicio, 'as you will see before many hours.'

All those who did not know what the hermit Silerio had said to Elicio, Thyrsis, Damon and Erastro, were confounded, hearing what was passing between Timbrio and Elicio. But at this moment Damon said, turning to Elicio:

'Do not keep back, oh Elicio, the good tidings you can give to Timbrio.'

'And I, too,' said Erastro, 'shall not delay a moment in going to give to the hapless Silerio those of the finding of Timbrio.'

'Holy Heavens! O, what is it I hear!' said Timbrio; 'and what is it you say, shepherd? Is that Silerio you have named perchance he who is my true friend, he who is the half of my life, he whom I desire to see more than aught else that desire could ask of me? Free me from this doubt at once, so may your flocks increase and multiply, in such a manner that all the neighbouring herdsmen may bear you envy.'

'Do not distress yourself so much, Timbrio,' said Damon, 'for the Silerio that Erastro speaks of is the same that you speak of, and the one who desires more to know of your life than to sustain and lengthen his own; for after you departed from Naples, as he has told us, he has felt your absence so much, that the pain of it, with that which other losses he related to us caused him, has brought him to the pass that, in a small hermitage, a little less than a league distant from here, he leads the straitest life imaginable, with the determination of awaiting death there, since he could not be satisfied by learning how your life had prospered. This we know for sure, Thyrsis, Elicio, Erastro, and I; for he himself has told us of the friendship he had with you, with all the story of the events that happened to both, until fortune by such strange accidents parted you, to set him apart to live in a solitude so strange, that it will cause you wonder when you see him.'

'May I see him, and may straightway come the last end of my days,' said Timbrio; 'and so I pray you, famous shepherds, by that courtesy which dwells in your breasts, to satisfy this breast of mine, by telling me where is that hermitage where Silerio is living.'

'Where he is dying, you had better say,' said Erastro, 'but henceforward he will live with the news of your coming; and since you so much desire his pleasure and yours, arise and let us go, for before the sun sets I will set you with Silerio; but it must be on condition that on the way you tell us all that has happened to you since you departed from Naples, for with all the rest up to that point some of those present are acquainted.'

'Small payment you ask of me,' replied Timbrio, 'for so great a thing as you offer me; for I do not say that I will tell you this, but all that you might wish to learn of me and more.' And, turning to the ladies who came with him, he said to them: 'Since with so good a cause, dear lady Nisida, the motive we had not to utter our own names has been destroyed, with the joy that the good news they have given us demands, I ask you that we should not delay, but that we should go forthwith to see Silerio, to whom you and I owe our lives and the happiness we possess.'

'It is needless, señor Timbrio,' replied Nisida, 'for you to ask me to do a thing I desire so much, and the doing of which suits me so well; let us go, and may good luck attend us, for now every moment that I delay in seeing him, will be to me an age.'

The same said the other lady, who was her sister Blanca, the same that Silerio had spoken of, and the one who gave the greatest signs of happiness. Darinto alone, at the news of Silerio, assumed such an attitude that he did not move his lips, but with a strange silence arose, and bade a servant of his bring him the horse on which he had come there; without taking leave of any one, he mounted it, and turning the reins went away from all at a gallop. When Timbrio saw this, he mounted another horse and with much haste followed Darinto until he overtook him; and seizing hold of the horse's reins, he made him stand still, and remained there talking with him a good while, at the end of which Timbrio returned to where the shepherds were, and Darinto pursued his journey, sending to excuse himself by Timbrio for having departed without taking leave of them. In the meantime Galatea, Rosaura, Teolinda, Leonarda, and Florisa went up to the fair Nisida and Blanca; and the discreet Nisida told them in a few words of the great friendship there was between Timbrio and Silerio, with a great part of the events they had passed through. But with Timbrio's return all wished to set themselves on the road for Silerio's hermitage, had not at the same moment a fair young shepherdess, some fifteen years of age, come to the spring, with her wallet on her shoulder and her crook in her hand. And when she saw so pleasing a company, she said to them with tears in her eyes:

'If perchance there is among you, gentlemen, one who has any knowledge of the strange effects and accidents of love, and whose breast tears and loving sights are wont to make tender, let him who feels this hasten to see if it is possible to heal and check the most loving tears and deep sighs that ever issued from love-sick eyes and breasts; hasten then, shepherds, to do what I ask you and you will see how when you observe what I show you I prove my words true.'

And in saying this she turned her back, and all who were there followed her. The shepherdess, seeing then that they followed her, with hasty step entered in among some trees which were on one side of the spring; and she had not gone far, when turning to those who were coming after her, she said to them:

'You see there, sirs, the cause of my tears, for that shepherd who appears there is a brother of mine, who for the sake of that shepherdess before whom he is bent on his knees, without any doubt will leave his life in the hands of her cruelty.'

All turned their eyes to the spot the shepherdess indicated, and saw that at the foot of a green willow a shepherdess was leaning, dressed like a huntress nymph, with a rich quiver hanging at her side, and a curved bow in her hands, her beauteous ruddy locks bound together with a green garland. The shepherd was before her on his knees, with a rope cast round his throat and an unsheathed knife in his right hand, and with his left he had seized the shepherdess by a white scarf, which she wore over her dress. The shepherdess showed a frown on her face, and that she was displeased that the shepherd should detain her there by force; but when she saw that they were looking at her, with great earnestness she sought to free herself from the hand of the hapless shepherd, who with abundance of tender tears and loving words was begging her at least to give him opportunity that he might be able to indicate to her the pain he suffered for her; but the scornful and angry shepherdess went away from him at the very moment all the shepherds came so near that they heard the love-sick youth addressing the shepherdess in such wise:

'Oh ungrateful and heedless Gelasia, with how just a title you have won the name you have of cruel! Turn your eyes, hard-hearted one, to behold him who, from beholding you, is in the extremest grief imaginable. Why do you flee from him who follows you? Why do you not welcome him who serves you? And why do you loathe him who adores you? You, who are without reason my foe, hard as a lofty cliff, angry as a wounded snake, deaf as a dumb forest, scornful as boorish, boorish as fierce, fierce as a tiger, a tiger that feeds on my entrails! Will it be possible for my tears not to soften you, for my sighs not to rouse your pity, for my services not to move you? Yes, it will be possible; since my brief and ill-starred lot wishes it, and yet it will also be possible for you not to wish to tighten this noose I have at my throat, nor to plunge this knife through this heart that adores you. Turn, shepherdess, turn, and end the tragedy of my wretched life, since with such ease you can make fast this rope at my throat, or make bloody this knife in my breast.'

These and other like words the hapless shepherd uttered, accompanied by sobs and tears so many that they moved to compassion as many as heard him. But the cruel and loveless shepherdess did not therefore cease to pursue her way, without wishing even to turn her eyes to behold the shepherd, who, for her sake, was in such a state; whereat all those who perceived her angry disdain were not a little astonished, and it was so great that even the loveless Lenio thought ill of the shepherdess's cruelty. And so he with the old Arsindo went up to ask her to be so good as to turn and hear the plaints of the love-sick youth, even though she should have no intention of healing them. But it was not possible to change her from her purpose, rather she asked them not to count her discourteous in not doing what they bade her; for her intention was to be the mortal enemy of love and of all lovers, for many reasons which moved her to it, and one of them was that from her childhood she had dedicated herself to follow the pursuit of the chaste Diana, adding to these so many reasons for not doing the bidding of the shepherds that Arsindo held it for good to leave her and return. The loveless Lenio did not do this, and when he saw that the shepherdess was such an enemy of love as she seemed, and that she agreed so completely with his loveless disposition, he determined to know who she was, and to follow her company for some days; and so he told her how he was the greatest enemy love and lovers had, begging her that since they agreed so much in their opinions, she would be so kind as not to be wearied with his company which would not be hers longer than she pleased. The shepherdess rejoiced to learn Lenio's intention, and permitted him to come with her to her village, which was two leagues from Lenio's. Therewith Lenio took leave of Arsindo, begging him to excuse him to all his friends and to tell them the reason that had moved him to go with the shepherdess, and without waiting further, he and Gelasia went away quickly and in a short while disappeared. When Arsindo returned to tell what had passed with the shepherdess, he found that all the shepherds had gone up to console the love-sick shepherd, and that, as for the two of the three veiled shepherdesses, one had fainted in the fair Galatea's lap, and the other was in the embrace of the beauteous Rosaura, who likewise had her face covered. She who was with Galatea was Teolinda, and the other her sister Leonarda, whose hearts, as soon as they saw the despairing shepherd whom they found with Gelasia, were overwhelmed with a jealous and love-sick faintness, for Leonarda believed the shepherd was her beloved Galercio, and Teolinda counted it truth that he was her enamoured Artidoro; and when the two saw him so subdued and undone by the cruel Gelasia, they felt such grief in soul that all senseless they fell fainting, one into Galatea's lap, the other into Rosaura's arms. But a little while after Leonarda, coming to herself, said to Rosaura:

'Alas, my lady, I verily believe that fortune has occupied all the passes of my cure, since Galercio's will is so far from being mine, as can be seen by the words that shepherd has spoken to the loveless Gelasia; for I would have you know, lady, that that is he who has stolen my freedom, nay he who is to end my days.'

Rosaura was astonished at what Leonarda was saying; and was more so when, Teolinda also having come to herself, she and Galatea called her, and, all joining Florisa and Leonarda, Teolinda said that that shepherd was her longed-for Artidoro; but scarcely had she named him, when her sister replied to her that she was deceived, for it was none but his brother Galercio:

'Ah, traitorous Leonarda,' replied Teolinda, 'does it not suffice you that you have once parted me from my bliss, without wishing, now that I find it, to say that it is yours? Then undeceive yourself, for in this I do not deem you a sister, but an open foe.'

'Without doubt you deceive yourself, sister,' replied Leonarda, 'and I do not wonder, for into this same error all the people of our village fell, believing that this shepherd was Artidoro, until they clearly came to understand that it was none but his brother Galercio, for they resemble each other as much as we do; and indeed, if there can be greater likeness, they have a greater likeness.'

'I will not believe it,' replied Teolinda, 'for, though we are so much alike, these miracles are not so easily found in nature; and so I would have you know that so long as experience does not make me more certain of the truth than your words make me, I do not think of ceasing to believe that that shepherd I see there, is Artidoro; and if anything could make me doubt it, it is that I do not think that from the disposition and constancy I have known in Artidoro, it can be hoped or feared that he has made a change so soon and forgets me.'

'Calm yourselves, shepherdesses,' then said Rosaura, 'for I will free you soon from that doubt in which you are.'

And leaving them she went to where the shepherd was giving to the shepherds account of Gelasia's strange disposition and of the wrongs she did him. At his side the shepherd had the fair little shepherdess who said he was her brother, whom Rosaura called, and, withdrawing with her to one side, she begged and prayed her to tell her what her brother was called, and if she had any other like him. To this the shepherdess replied that he was called Galercio, and that she had another called Artidoro, who was so like him that they could scarcely be distinguished save by some mark in their dress, or by the organ of the voice, which differed somewhat. She asked her also what Artidoro had been doing. The shepherdess answered her that he was on some mountains some distance from there, grazing part of Grisaldo's flock with another herd of goats of his own, and that he had never been willing to enter the village, or to hold converse with any one, since he had come from the banks of Henares; and together with these she gave her such other details that Rosaura was satisfied that the shepherd was not Artidoro, but Galercio, as Leonarda had said and that shepherdess said, whose name she learned was Maurisa. And taking her with her to where Galatea and the other shepherdesses were, she related again in the presence of Teolinda and Leonarda all she knew of Artidoro and Galercio, whereat Teolinda was soothed and Leonarda ill content, seeing how indisposed Galercio's mind was to think of her affairs. In the discourses the shepherdesses were holding, it chanced that Leonarda called the veiled Rosaura by her name, and Maurisa, hearing it, said:

'If I do not deceive myself, lady, my coming here and my brother's has been on your account.'

'In what way?' said Rosaura.

'I will tell it you, if you give me leave to tell it you alone,' replied the shepherdess.

'Willingly,' answered Rosaura, and the shepherdess going aside with her, said to her:

'Without any doubt, fair lady, it is to you and to the shepherdess Galatea that my brother and I come with a message from our master Grisaldo.'

'That is the case,' replied Rosaura, and calling Galatea, both listened to what Maurisa said from Grisaldo, which was to inform them that he would come in two days with two friends of his, to take her to his aunt's house, where they would in secret celebrate their nuptials, and together with this she gave to Galatea on behalf of Grisaldo some rich golden trinkets, by way of thanks for the willingness she had shown to entertain Rosaura. Rosaura and Galatea thanked Maurisa for the good news, and in reward for it the discreet Galatea wished to share with her the present Grisaldo had sent her, but Maurisa would in no way accept it. Then Galatea began again to ask information about the strange likeness there was between Galercio and Artidoro. All the time Galatea and Rosaura spent in talking to Maurisa, Teolinda and Leonarda occupied in looking at Galercio, for, Teolinda's eyes feasting on Galercio's face which resembled Artidoro's so much, she could not withdraw them from looking; and as those of the love-sick Leonarda knew on what they were looking, it was also impossible for her to turn them elsewhere. By this time the shepherds had consoled Galercio, though, for the ill he suffered, he counted every counsel and consolation vain and needless, all of which redounded to Leonarda's hurt. Rosaura and Galatea, seeing that the shepherds were coming towards them, bade Maurisa farewell, telling her to tell Grisaldo that Rosaura would be in Galatea's house. Maurisa took leave of them, and calling her brother, told him in secret what had passed with Rosaura and Galatea; and so with fair courtesy he took leave of them and of the shepherds and with his sister returned to his village. But the love-sick sisters Teolinda and Leonarda, who saw that when Galercio went, the light of their eyes and the life of their life went from them, both together approached Galatea and Rosaura and asked them to give them leave to follow Galercio, Teolinda giving as excuse that Galercio would tell her where Artidoro was, and Leonarda that it might be that Galercio's will would change, seeing the obligation in which he was to her. The shepherdesses granted them leave on the condition that Galatea had before begged of Teolinda that she should inform her of all her good or ill fortune. Teolinda repeated her promise again, and again taking her leave, followed the way Galercio and Maurisa were pursuing. The same was done forthwith, though in a different direction, by Timbrio, Thyrsis, Damon, Orompo, Crisio, Marsilio, and Orfenio, who went their way to the hermitage of Silerio with the fair sisters Nisida and Blanca, having first all taken leave of the venerable Aurelio and of Galatea, Rosaura and Florisa, and also of Elicio and Erastro, who did not wish to fail to go back with Galatea, Aurelio offering that on coming to his village, he would go straightway with Elicio and Erastro to seek them at Silerio's hermitage, and would bring something with which to make good the lack of means Silerio would have to entertain such guests. With this understanding they went away, some in one direction and some in another, and missing the old Arsindo at the leave-taking, they saw that, without taking leave of any one, he was going in the distance by the same way Galercio and Maurisa and the veiled shepherdesses were pursuing, whereat they wondered; and seeing that now the sun was hastening his course to enter by the gates of the west, they did not wish to delay there further, in order to come to the village before the shades of night. Elicio and Erastro then, seeing themselves before the lady of their thoughts, in order to show somewhat that which they could not conceal, and to lighten the fatigue of the way, and also to fulfil the bidding of Florisa, who bade them sing something whilst they were going to the village, to the sound of Florisa's pipe began, Elicio to sing and Erastro to reply in this wise:

ELICIO.
Whoso would fain the greatest beauty find
That was, or is, or shall be on the earth,
The fire and crucible, where are refined
White chastity and purest zeal, all worth,
Being, and understanding of the mind,
A Heaven that in the world had its new birth,
Loftiness joined in one with courtesy,
Let him approach my shepherdess to see.

ERASTRO.
Let him approach my shepherdess to see,
Whoso would tell the peoples of the sight
That he hath seen, a sun whose radiancy
The day illumined, than the sun more bright;
How with her fire she chilleth, this can be
Made known, and how the soul she sets alight
Which touched by her fair flashing eyes has been,
That naught is left to see when they are seen.

ELICIO.
That naught is left to see when they are seen,
This truth full well my wearied eyes do know,
Eyes that unto my hurt so fair have been,
The chief occasion of my bitter woe:
I saw them, and I saw my soul therein
Burning, the spoils of all its powers aglow,
Yielding in sweet surrender to their flame,
Which doth me summon, banish, freeze, inflame.

ERASTRO.
She doth me summon, banish, freeze, inflame,
She, the sweet enemy unto my glory,
From whose illustrious life and being fame
Can weave a strange, and yet a truthful story:
Her eyes alone, wherein Love sets his claim
To power, and all his winsomeness before ye,
Present a theme to raise to Heaven's height
A quill from any wing of lowly flight.

ELICIO.
A quill from any wing of lowly flight,
If it would wish unto the sky to rise,
The courtesy must sing, the zeal for right,
Of this rare phœnix, peerless 'neath the skies,
Our age's glory, and the world's delight,
Of the clear Tagus and its bank the prize,
Unequalled wisdom hers, and beauty rare,
Nature achieved her highest work in her.

ERASTRO.
Nature achieved her highest work in her,
In her the thought hath equal been to the art,
In her both worth and grace united were,
Which in all other maids are found apart,
In her humility and greatness share
Together side by side the self-same part,
In her Love hath his nest and dwelling made,
And yet my foe hath been the thankless maid.

ELICIO.
And yet my foe hath been the thankless maid,
Who would, and could, and should at once my thought
That wanders free, hold fast, if but the aid
Of one of her gossamer locks she sought;
Though I within the narrow noose am laid,
My capture is with so much pleasure fraught,
That foot and neck I stretch out to the chain,
Sweet is the name I call my bitter pain.

ERASTRO.
Sweet is the name I call my bitter pain,
Short is the life and full of misery
Of the sad soul my frame doth scarce sustain,
And sustenance doth scarce to it supply,
To my brief hope that it the crown should gain
Of faith, fortune once promised bounteously;
What pleasure, good or glory doth he know,
Where hope diminisheth and faith doth grow?

ELICIO.
Where hope diminisheth and faith doth grow,
There one can see and know the lofty aims
That loyal love proclaims; for he whose thought
Hath confidence but sought in love so pure,
Of a reward secure and certain is,
Which shall with truest bliss his soul delight.

ERASTRO.
The wretched suffering wight, whom illness swayeth
And with cruel anguish slayeth, is contented,
When he is most tormented by his grief,
With any small relief, though soon 'tis gone:
But when more dull hath grown at last the pain,
He calls on health, and fain would have it sound.
Not otherwise is found the tender breast
Of the lover oppressed with grievous sadness,
Who says his pain doth gladness find herein,
In that the light serene of the fair eyes
To which as spoil and prize he gave his days,
Should on him truly gaze or feignedly;
Soon as love sets him free and makes him strong,
He seeks with clamorous tongue more than before.

ELICIO.
Now the fair sun sinks o'er the hill to rest,
The growing gloom doth, best of friends, invite
Us to repose, the night is drawing nigh.

ERASTRO.
The village draweth nigh, for rest I long.

ELICIO.
Let us put silence to our wonted song.

Those who were listening to Elicio and Erastro would have held it a good thing that the way should be prolonged in order to enjoy more the agreeable song of the love-sick shepherds; but the closing-in of night and their coming to the village caused them to cease from it, and Aurelio, Galatea, Rosaura, and Florisa to betake themselves to their house. Elicio and Erastro likewise went to theirs, with the intention of going forthwith to where Thyrsis and Damon and the other shepherds were, for so it was agreed between them and Galatea's father. They were only waiting until the white moon should banish the darkness of the night; and as soon as she showed her fair face, they went to seek Aurelio, and all together made their way towards the hermitage, where there happened to them what will be seen in the following book.