[Tasso, Aminta:] AMINTOR, being ask'd by THIRSIS Who is the Object of his Love? speaks as follows.

Amint.

THIRSIS! to Thee I mean that Name to show,
 Which, only yet our Groves, and Fountains know:
 That, when my Death shall through the Plains be told,
 Thou with the wretched Cause may'st that unfold
 To every-one, who shall my Story find
 Carv'd by thy Hand, in some fair Beeches rind;
 Beneath whose Shade the bleeding Body lay:
 That, when by chance she shall be led that way,
 O'er my sad Grave the haughty Nymph may go. 
And the proud Triumph of her Beauty shew
 To all the Swains, to Strangers as they pass;
 And yet at length she may (but Oh! alas! 
I fear, too high my flatt'ring Hopes do soar)
 Yet she at length may my sad Fate deplore;
 May weep me Dead, may o'er my Tomb recline
 And sighing, wish were he alive and Mine! 
But mark me to the End —

Thir.

Go on; for well I do thy Speech attend,
 Perhaps to better Ends, than yet thou know'st. 

Amint.

Being now a Child, or but a Youth at most,
 When scarce to reach the blushing Fruit I knew
 Which on the lowest bending Branches grew;
 Still with the dearest, sweetest, kindest Maid
 Young as myself, at childish Sports I play'd. 
The Fairest, sure, of all that Lovely Kind,
 Who spread their golden Tresses to the Wind;
 Cydippe's Daughter, and Montano's Heir,
 Whose Flocks and Herds so num'rous do appear;
 The beauteous Sylvia; She, 'tis She I love,
 Warmth of all Hearts, and Pride of ev'ry Grove. 
With Her I liv'd, no Turtles e'er so fond. 
Our Houses met, but more our Souls were join'd. 
Together Nets for Fish, and Fowl we laid;
 Together through the spacious Forest stray'd;
 Pursu'd with equal Speed the flying Deer,
 And of the Spoils there no Divisions were. 
But whilst I from the Beasts their Freedom won,
 Alas! I know not how, my Own was gone. 
By unperceiv'd Degrees the Fire encreas'd,
 Which fill'd, at last, each corner of my Breast;
 As from a Root, tho' scarce discern'd so small,
 A Plant may rise, that grows amazing tall. 
From Sylvia's Presence now I could not move,
 And from her Eyes took in full Draughts of Love,
 Which sweetly thro' my ravish'd Mind distill'd;
 Yet in the end such Bitterness wou'd yield,
 That oft I sigh'd, ere yet I knew the cause,
 And was a Lover, ere I dream'd I was. 
But Oh! at last, too well my State I knew;
 And now, will shew thee how this Passion grew. 
Then listen, while the pleasing Tale I tell.