As was to be expected, the attention of translators was early directed to the Pastor fido.  The original was printed in England, together with the Aminta, the year after its first appearance in Italy, that is in 1591, and bore the imprint of John Wolfe, ‘a spese di Giacopo Castelvetri’; the first translation saw the light in 1602.  This version was published anonymously, and in spite of the confident assertions and ingenious conjectures of certain bibliographers, anonymous it must for the present remain; all that can with certainty be affirmed is that it claims to be the work of a kinsman of Sir Edward Dymocke[235].  Most modern writers who have had occasion to mention it have shown a praiseworthy deference to the authority of one of the most venerable figures of English criticism by each in turn repeating that the translation, ’in spite of Daniel’s commendatory sonnet, is a very bad one.’  And indeed, when we have stated the very simple facts concerning the authorship as distinct from the very elaborate conjectures, there remains little to add to Dyce’s words.  With the exception of the omission of the prologue the version keeps pretty faithfully to its original, but it does no more than emphasize the tedious artificiality of the Italian, while whatever charm and perhaps over-elaborated grace of language Guarini infused into his verse has entirely evaporated in the process of translation.  No less a poet and critic than Daniel, regarding the work doubtless with the undiscriminating eye of friendship, asserted that it might even to Guarini himself have vindicated the poetic laurels of England, and yet from the whole long poem it is hardly possible to extract any passage which would do credit to the pen of an average schoolboy.  We turn in vain to the contest of kisses among the Megarean maidens, to the game of blind man’s buff, to Amarillis’ secret confession of love, and to her trembling appeal when confronted by a death of shame, for any evidence of poetie feeling.  The girl’s speech in the last-mentioned scene, ‘Se la miseria mia fosse mia colpa,’ is thus rendered: 

    If that my fault did cause my wretchednesse,
    Or that my thoughts were wicked, as thou thinkst
    My deed, lesse grievous would my death be then: 
    For it were just my blood should wash the spots
    Of my defiled soule, heavens rage appease,
    And humane justice justly satisfie,
    Then could I quiet my afflicted sprights,
    And with a just remorse of well-deserved death,
    My senses mortifie, and come to death: 
    And with a quiet blow pass forth perhaps
    Unto a life of more tranquilitie: 
    But too too much, Nicander, too much griev’d
    I am, in so young years, Fortune so hie,
    An Innocent, I should be doom’d to die. (IV. v.)