Amintor, heedless of his flocks, His flocks which once employ'd his care, Now strays himself among the rocks And to's sorrow adds despair. "Oh, cruel Clarissa," cries he, "you forbid me Your sight, when you know 'twas your eyes that undid me; Pray revoke the sad fate to which I am doom'd Or esle in these flames I shall soon be consum'd." Then up he took his pipe and play'd, And gently with the passion strove, But straight the reed aside he laid, To sing of his neglected love. If ever poor man that was wrack'd in despair Prevail'd on the cruel, or soften'd the fair; Then pity, Clarissa, oh! pity the swain, Whose life's but a torment, till you cure his pain. Then down he laid him on the ground, His cares inclining him to sleep, But he much rather troubles found, That wretched lovers waking keep. Then as if from some dream in a maze he came, He started, and started, and call'd on her name, "Return, my Clarissa, or else you'll undo me, For sleeping and waking my griefs do pursue me."
- by Anonymous / Unidentified Author [author's text not yet checked against a primary source]
Musical settings (art songs, Lieder, mélodies, (etc.), choral pieces, and other vocal works set to this text), listed by composer (not necessarily exhaustive)
- by Henry Purcell (1658/9 - 1695), "Amintor, heedless of his flocks", Z. 357, published 1681. [text verified 1 time]
Researcher for this text: Emily Ezust [Administrator]
This text was added to the website between May 1995 and September 2003.
Line count: 24
Word count: 185