Arcadia. Sir Philip Sidney

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      Chapter 2

      Mopsa Wooed

      Musidorus, dressed like a shepherd, tells Pyrocles how he found a way to address Pamela (who otherwise scorns his low estate) while avoiding the suspicions of Dametas, Miso, and Mopsa: He so praises Mopsa that Pamela knows he cannot be serious. (1593 ed. 52.32)

      But as sick folks who, when they are alone, think company will relieve them, and yet having company find it noisome—changing willingly outward objects, when indeed the evil is inward—so poor Zelmane was no more weary of Basilius than she was of herself when Basilius was gone, and ever the more weary of herself, the more she turned her eyes to become her own judges.

      Tired therewith, she longed to meet her friend Dorus so that upon the shoulders of friendship she might lay the burden of sorrow. Therefore she went toward the other lodge, where among certain beech trees she found Dorus appareled in flannel, with a goat’s skin cast upon him and a garland of laurel mixed with cypress leaves on his head.

      He was waiting on his master Dametas, who at that time was teaching him how to catch a wanton lamb with his sheep hook and how with the same to cast a little clod at any one that strayed out of company. And while Dorus was practicing, one might see Dametas holding his hands behind him under his girdle, nodding from the waist upwards and swearing he never knew anyone go more awkwardly to work. They might talk of book-learning what they would, but for his part he never saw more unhandy fellows than great clerks were.

      But Zelmane’s coming saved Dorus from further chiding. She began to speak with him of the number of his master’s sheep and which province of Arcadia bore the finest wool, then drew him on to follow her in such country discourses till—being out of Dametas’ hearing—with such vehemence of passion, as though her heart would climb into her mouth to take her tongue’s office, she declared to him upon what briars the roses of her affections grew; how time seemed to forget her, bestowing not one hour of comfort upon her; and how she remained still in one plight of ill fortune, only so much worse, since continuance of evil does in itself increase evil.

      “Alas, my Dorus,” said she, “You see how long and languishingly the weeks have passed over since we last spoke. And yet I am the same miserable I that I was, only stronger in longing and weaker in hoping.” Then fell she to so pitiful a declaration of the insupportableness of her desires that Dorus’ ears—unable to show what wounds that discourse gave them—sent his eyes to give testimony with tears to how much they suffered for her suffering.

      At last passion, a most cumbersome guest to itself, made Zelmane the sooner shake it off and earnestly entreat Dorus that he also, with like freedom of discourse, would bestow a map of his little world upon her, so that she might see whether it was troubled with such uninhabitable climes of cold despairs and hot rages as hers was.

      Walking under a few palm trees—which being loving in their own nature, seemed to give their shadow the more willingly because Dorus and Zelmane held discourse of love—Dorus thus entered into the description of his fortune:

      “Alas,” said he, “dear cousin, it has pleased the high powers to throw us to such an estate that the only intercourse of our true friendship must be a bartering of miseries. For my part, I must confess indeed that from a huge darkness of sorrows, I am crept, I cannot say to a lightsomeness, but to a certain dawning, or rather, peeping out of some possibility of comfort. But woe is me, I am so far from the mark of desires that I rather think it such a light as comes through a small hole to a dungeon to make a miserable captive better remember the light of which he is deprived. I am like a scholar who has only come to that degree of knowledge that makes him know himself utterly ignorant.

      “But thus stands it with me. After I was exalted by your means to serve in yonder blessed lodge, for a while I had, in the furnace of my agonies, this to refresh me: that due to the service I had done in killing the bear, it pleased the princess (in whom indeed stateliness shines through courtesy) to let fall some gracious look upon me, sometimes to see my exercises, sometimes to hear my songs. For my part, my heart would not suffer me to omit any occasion whereby I might make the incomparable Pamela see how much extraordinary devotion I bore to her service. And withal, I strove to appear more worthy in her sight, so that my small desert, joined to so great affection, might somewhat prevail in the wisest lady.

      “But too well (alas) I found that she considered a shepherd’s service no more than as from a shepherd, and her acceptance limited to no further proportion than of a good servant. And when my countenance had once given notice that there lay affection under it, I saw straight majesty (sitting in the throne of beauty) draw forth such a sword of just disdain that I remained as a man thunder-stricken, not daring—no, not able—to behold that power.