ACT FIRST.

SCENE FIRST.

And thus mixed with the whiteness was the rose
On my full and delicate cheeks.
It was my greatest pleasure—now I realize it—
A fool's pleasure, only to stretch the nets,
And smear the bird-lime, and sharpen
The dart on a whetstone, and spy the tracks,
And the lair of the wild beasts: and, if at any time
I saw myself watched by a smitten lover,
I would lower my eyes, rustic and wild,
Full of disdain and shame, and my own grace was
Unpleasant to me, and displeasing,
As much as it pleased others: yet, as if
It were my fault, and my shame, and my disgrace
To be looked at, loved, and desired.
But, what cannot time do? And what cannot
By serving, by deserving, by supplicating,
Do a faithful and persistent lover?
I was conquered. I confess it to you, and the weapons
Of the victor were humility, suffering,
Tears, sighs, and asking for mercy.
The shadow of a brief night showed me
Then what the long course and the light
Of a thousand days had not shown me.
I reclaimed myself then, and my blind
Simplicity, and I said, sighing:
"Here is to you, Cinthia a name for Diana, goddess of the hunt, the horn, here is the bow,
For I renounce your arrows, and your life."
Thus I hope to see that your Aminta the name of the shepherd who loves Silvia