The First Act.

WHat whisper's this Timante, that wakes our Prince out of his amorous slumber, and blows him thus abroad to seek for rest in agitation?

This noyse, Osorio, hath past-by my eares; but judge you how unfit to be let into our beleefs. When it must be a woman's vertue that's of proof against such power, youth and honour, as our matchlesse Prince attempts with; whose repulse must counsell this retreat, and that cannot be, Osorio. Constancy would too much cheapen herselfe, should she impart such a proportion of virtue unto a woman, when the rarity of it in that sex, is that which hath raised Constancy to such a Vertue.

There's a degree in vertue women may attaine to in their defence, that they retain even after they are taken: against Prince's assaults there's nought to be required but a neglect of speedy com­position; [Page 2] for taken as it were by assault, they re­maine with as much honour as women were born to. F [...]d [...]mira hath already made such a resistance, that it almost brings the possibility of Womens de­fending themselves against Princes, in question: therefore now even her surrender is a Trophie to her, and the gods owe the virtuous Princesse of Navarr that satisfaction, the dishonour of Fidami­ra; who, they say, quit her father's Court in a just disdaine, to marry one who loved another. I am sorry the Prince is guilty of an injury to so excel­lent a creature.

They say, Osorio, 'tis Agenor that inter­cepts Fidamira's love to the Prince; 'tis surely fixt on him.

If it be so, he is but justly punished, for having set him so, as all things must passe through him to Himself, if his own joyes be intercepted by the way; 'tis a strange fortune of a man, Timante, redeem'd from death by such a chance, as none can know who gave him life; one, whom but-forgetting, must have kil'd, [...] preserv'd amongst the fury of a commanded extirpation of mortality; trusted to the rage of common Soldiers, who had pay'd so much of their own blood for this commission, as it was doubted whether they had enough left to exe­cute it. In this deluge, to see one [...]ingle infant sav'd, was such a miracle to me, as I have not wondered at his succeeding fortune.

It may be, the Prince being a child then did beg his life: beleeve it, he was more to him then hi [...] father, as reviving is above begetting; and so loves him with such a supernaturall tendernesse, a­bove the fondnesse of a father.

But look, Timante, where the Prince and Fimadira come: their looks me-thinks, imply so lit­tle [Page 3] peace, that even their sorrows seem to c [...]ntend for Mastery.

Come, Osorio, let's retire; we shall know what kind of storme these clouds containe.

Gentle Fidamira, forgive these looks and words that come in a morning to demand Albricias of you for the news; the use I meane to make of this my heavinesse, is, but to sink me down unto a levell eeven with you, that from thence you may receive your Equall not your Prince. I owe your virtue my conversion, for in persute of that which fled before me up to heaven for safety, my thoughts were raised thither, and detain'd; and were thus blest for following you, and their intent forgiven. So now I may justlier resume [...]he name of Prince thus given by you; and yet preserve disparity be­tween us for my becoming thus a Prince proves you an Angell, and that prompts me to a demand which I dare aske, because it is the greatest blessing mortality can tast, and consequently you only can impart; and sure I was not destin'd to owe you lesse then all the good that you can give.

If I were sad before for one attempted in­nocence, I might be much more now, for this so generall injury to all our sex, in which Sr. you seem to exalt but a resistance of unruly wishes to that height of vertue our sex can rise to. Nothing can be call'd temptation Sr. to innocence, to make it selfe a way all's lost in the possessing; but such a vertue as should dare resist a Prince's fair and honorable love, when the yeelding is a victory, such a bravery of vertue were a subject worthy of your praise. To what a hight of contemplation would such a subject raise your soul, the which the preservation but of inno­cence hath carried even already into heaven?

Sure Fidamira's vertue is not ne [...]re such an [Page 4] extream; Virtue is allwayes gentle and pliant to the strength of reason. It weakens it selfe when it hardens in­to obstinancy. What reason can vertue bring with it, to justifie it's temper in the neglect of so fit an exercise of it selfe, as in a Prince his faire and vertuous love?

It must produce that which is above all Rea­son, faith either to the gods or men: virtue preserves her temper in the tendernesse of either of these vowes; nor can a Prince bring any reason that this virtuous tender­nesse may not or'eflow, and not resist.

Faith to the gods, Fidamira! 'Tis scarce a a good excuse for a dispaire: how can it then protect a froward contempt of all the joyes and blessings the gods ordain for t [...]ose they represent themselves by? And Faith to men cannot be so religious as not to be subject to so high a dispensation. Might it not thus remit it selfe, even constancy might seem to be a sin. No Fidamira, the gods have not left such a temptation for Princes to repine, as the permision of such a frowardnesse to defeate their just desires.

I wonder not to see a Prince so much mistaken in this virtue, Constancy, that is so free as tyranny enlar­geth it. Princes should do well to prove it to be no virtue, since it may warrant disobedience to them, nor have You that call your selves the Images of gods, reason to repine, if, in your large commision, they have reserv'd the So­verainty of o [...]r wills unto themselves. You then, young Prince, you that have inthroned your selfe among the gods, by the confinement of your wishes to be just; know there are none so, that would distresse, or much lesse break, a promised faith.

By these turning stepps I shall winde my selfe into an admiration, so as I shall not wonder at her re­fusall; 'tis time to goe directly to my wish. I am so hum­ble after my repentance, I do not bring my person, or my birth to claime a joyfull acceptation: but alledge your [Page 5] virtue and your beauty, to which you owe even some constraint to place them in such a light where they may be most conspicuous; which I can pleàd to be preferr'd by your making me happier then any other.

O how blessed am I, that have the means to make so brave a Prince happier then he can wish!

No more my Fidam [...]ra. I will not exact a word more then is necessary for a consent.

If, Sir, I must expound this happinesse unto you, you will not understand it at the first. Else know Sir, I love you so, I joy to think you may leave so new, and an unmatch't example of your virtues, as my condition doth afford you. Know Sir, I have deposited my faith, and have received a mutuall pawn upon it, and it must be your anger sooner than your love, that must release it. And, were it not a blemish to your innocence, even death would be an ease to mine: but pardon royall Prince even this little digression into a doubt of you. The gods that will not have your virtues call'd in question by a feare, assure me already you will, by a forgivenesse of me, possesse your selfe of a diviner happinesse then can be due by any acquisition.

O do not mock me thus i [...] a submisse deluge of the sentence of the justest Heavens, in which you have an Angell's part to be the bearer of it. It is not fit, I should so soon be trusted with that innocence, I am so lately reconcil'd to; and Heaven will be so just to make the guilty fire of my lust, but-the-refiner of your virtue for another use. But I find Heaven mercifull in this, that it would vouchsafe me a miracle for consolation as well as punishment, that an accession of my love to Fidamira, should bring a patience with it to consent to this perpe­tuall distance you have pronounced; all merit to Fida­mira. In this separation from my selfe to this exalted patience, I disclaime, and owne my bad humanity in my affliction for my curse; but I will promise you the rest of [Page 6] my sad life to study this hard happinesse, which is not at the first so easily understood. But I am afraid the thoughts of you which must be alwayes mixt with my study, must keep it long obscure.

O that I were, young Prince, what you have call'd me but in my excuse, an Angell, that I might fly through all the quarters of the World, and with an Angell's voyce proclaime the yet-unheard-of virtues of the matchlesse Basilino. The grossest part of the earth, (where Love's so over-grown with flesh, 'tis not to be known,) would shake it selfe a pieces at my voyce; and Love abstracted, grown it selfe, would so remaine in emu­lation of your praise, Princes should owe you more then to their nature.

But your example would be a decision for them even in this. And for your part of happinesse, you seem not yet to see't. You must know, Sir, this is none of those light-colored joyes which fade and sully in the handling; this is one which wearing sets a glosse and lustre on. Which cannot decay but by your leaving of it off. And still the more you think on me, even those sad thoughts will be true shaddows to set off your joyes.

I must no longer, Fidamira, trust my infant-virtue against the growing strength of thy beauty which improves in this thy interdiction of them. I'le leave you, Fidamira, and without asking any thing, not so much as, who is that Subject, so much richer than his Prince by the consignement of your faith; And I doubt not but the heavens think me so fully punished as they will ne'r consent▪ to the breach of this my vow, of ever being guil­ty even of the directest [...]olicitation of your love. And some auspicious deity antedeates this ease unto me, the beliefe that no other man shall ever injoy the matchlesse Fida­mira.

Goe worthy Prince, and may you leave me all your sorrows. May your triumphant youth be crowned with such successes in all your future wishes, as that the pleasing multitude may perswade you, you had never faild in any. And may you never remember me, till your glorious life, glutted with prayses of out-doing all your sex, may looke back on me for a more transcenden [...]honour by this Mark, of how much you have out-done yourselfe, and so present you with an unhop'd for joy, which is the only retribution I can hope to make you. Till then, let me, and sinn, be at a distance from your thoughts.

Farewell, fair maid, you shall soon hear of resolutions shall some way deserve those good wishes you have now advanced.

May all the blessings which I would wish you, which are unexpressible, fall down as wonders on you.

The Prince stayed long with Fidamira, and is now going hastily to the King his fathe [...]. His looks me-thinke imply some strange resolve. He purposed now to make his last attempt, and to venture even his crown to take my Fi [...]amira, whose virtue's such, as I beleeve her beauty was bestowed upon her, to prove a tryall of it worthy of her glorying in. And the earth hath not a fitter then the just offers of this worthy Prince.

O Agenor, had I now leisure equall to my sense of Fidamira's goodnesse, I should not defer a minute from the making thee admire her. She hath made me hap­pier then I did hope. I am resolv'd, Agenor, and I have allready so disposed my father▪ as I beleeve the second [Page 8] time will carry his consent: come Agenor, let's not lose a minute.

Stay I beseech you Sir a while, that I may be acquainted with your will, and so know how to argue for you.

Come away Agenor, I'le tell you as I go, The King may intend to imploy your credit with me to dis­swade me, but I'le convince you by the way. I shall but reel along, between my shaking feare and shaking trust of Fidamira.

Leave us all! How much allay have all Princes trea­sures in them? even those that they are ordained to coyn themselves for blessings, their children, even these rich Images do somtimes prove burdens, not treasures to them: I am in this distresse. The name of King which doth ex­alt the blessings of a Father is only that which doth for­bid me the indulgence of a common parent. Were he intirely mine I could let my judgment fall into a com­placency of this his wish: but as I am but as it were his guardian to account to all my Kingdome for him, I must not consent to expose this State to such a hazard as his absence, when I stand as it were propt up by him. I am resolved to offer him rather to quit the thought of the Princesse of Navar [...]e, and to give him my consent to marry Fidamira, whom they say he loves with a pa [...]sion able to controle his reason, much more his follies.

I have, my Basilino, been so affected with thy wishes, as when by the enquiring of my collected thoughts I could find no reason to approve of thy intended sepera­tion from us, I did addict them all to search for an excuse of the indulgency of my consent. And thou art so unhappy in thy birth as I have multitudes to satisfie, on whom wisdome it selfe can seldome have its operation; [Page 9] much lesse a naturall [...]dernesse can move against it. In what a strange distresse am I, whom reason doth appoint to displease him in this world I love the best, for others satisfaction, for my own interests, which are such as I can­not repeale, without reproaching Basilino of unnaturall­nesse, in preferring of his fancies so before them, I will by silence give him leave to passe by, and remit them all in­to his power as a Suiter, not a Judge, and for my part do make him King of this his wish by my consent.

Oh Sir.

Hold Basilino, I made you thus a King, that you might have somewhat to give worthy a Father's asking, and that the deposition of this your wish might be by your gift to me, not my refusall of it. And now I do conjure you, Basilino, by the power of a King, that hath deposed himself, rather to pray than to command, to change this your desire of leaving us, into any other you can think of, and stay here; and by the gods we wish may move you; with us, the agreement to it shall be esteem'd a blessing to us.

O that the angry gods would pitty me so much, that I might now obey you in a fatall silence. It is not a feather'd fancy that carrieth me to fly above my will, but a weighty misfortune that bears me down before you, to demand ease for my oppression, which I must have some time and distance to discharge my self of. Nor hath my curse been so defective in any circumstance, as to di­stract me quite, and so free me from the sense of all your interests; but it seems to admit an unsensiblenesse of all my own, to keep me wholly from the survey of you, whose contradiction of my ease is the refinedst torment. But I could provide, by engagement to you, Sir, against any important prejudice my absence may but threaten; if I might hope as well to l [...]ighten that weight, I should else think too heavy to strive under. I could acquaint your Majesty with my arrivall, and my residence in every [Page 10] severall place, and by my promise to return upon any summons, should import but even your fears, secure you from any prejudice of my distance, which I would con­dition should not be out of the limits of France or Spain. Now, Sir, have pitty of one whom you have rob'd of praise, by making him a King against his will; and this submission of my self unto your will, think a sacrifice worthy of a father and a King to value. And for your large offer, Sir, I am so reduced, I had but this one to ask of you, the which to ease you, I am content to deny my self.

O Agenor, Is not Basilino unjust to add unto my sorrowes, by his sharing with me in them? Into what a parallel of misery are we both come, by thus our meeting one another?

In this agreement, Sir, where your misfortunes meet and not your wishes, a subject may interpose himself and break off the accord. I do not see Sir, how the haz­ard of the Princes desires equall's that of yours; you en­danger Sir, the los [...]e of your own wish in the possessing it, for you shall rather keep a Prisoner then a Son; and by his Liberty▪ on those conditions he hath proposed, you shall be more secured than by his Residence: your people by the fame of Him from all neighbouring nations shall think he is a Prince of them too, and therefore feare you more. My opinion is you consent to his first choice, upon those tearmes he desires to take it.

There is, Agenor, such a darknesse spread over Basilino as ore-casts my reason, and cleares up his to me; Me-thinks I see this his obedience set too heavy on him, as it oppresseth me, for whom he offers to sink under it. No, Basilino, thou shalt not thus acquit thy selfe of all those obligations, I can challenge as a Father and a King, by this out-suffering all the benefits that ever those names can [...]'re conferre.

Throw off, my Basilino, the suppos [...]tion of those clouds which hang upon Thee, thou art deceiv'd if thou believest thy looks are dark, or over-cast. The bright obedience of thy soul, shines through them, and hath dissolv'd those clouds that shaddowed me into these drops; which fall but now like Sun-shine showres in signe of faire weather: therefore now upon this condition of thy so full obedience, I may venture, Basilino, to com­mand thee any thing, and I will keep thee in the exercise of this thy virtue; therefore I command thee now to en­joy thy first choice, thy intended travell upon what conditions thy owne discretion shall make when thou art gon, and not before; It were a sinne not to reward thy duty with full Liberty, rather then engage it, and in all that's left to me to expresse a trust of thee I shall, which is in this, not to enquire the cause of this thy resolution; but believe it is fitter for thee to act, then me to aske. I have onely this to demand of thee, that thou would'st not make me so impoverish't by this grant, that I have nothing else to give to Basilino. Accept of my first offer added to thy choice, and leave me some request even as a benefit to engage thee by my performance of it to thee like observance of my latest will, which I shall wish no other prosecution of, by Basilino, than that the world shall find me of his imparted wishes in his absence.

I must again in this remov'd extreame wish for silence to comprise an answer which no words can car­ry. You have been, Sir, so exact in this your blessing, as you have put it into a name that doth improve it▪ my obedience. You are, Sir, now so inrich't in this your libe­ [...]ality, as I can ask you now a blessing allmost equall to your first, the protection of the heavenly Fidamira. In which I dare boast some retribution of your benefits, ha­ving in her given you a subject for the exercise of all the worth & vertue that even you are King of. Then, Sir, your leave to part immediatly with Agenor only, that this [Page 12] your gratious gift may be extraordinary in every point. That the grant and the receit may be together: and I the sooner may begin to praise the divinity of this your goodesse,

Stay and take these blessings with thee. If it be fame hath prest thee by giving thee in hand already a share of publick honor, may thy succesfull daring carry thee so soon to such a height of true renown, as thou mayst quickly be so much above the praise of personal activeness, as even honor it self may soon restrain thee to command: And may that send thee home to this I keep but for thee. If it be Love's attractiveness that drives thee from us, maist thou obtain unknown, without the help of any title showen which mayst thou give her in reward, not condi­tion. What e're it be that parts us Basilino, let it be thine own successe, and not my distresse, that may bring us soon to meet. For Fidam [...]ria; you shall not be able to go so far, nor so conceal'd, but my strange care of her shall be told you as the wonder of the time.

The consciousnesse of my selfe of being your son is an advantage [...]am scrupulous of in my undertaking, and I shall not so distrust my selfe, as to seeke more by my professing it. It is a title Sir I will leave here, and you shall not heare you have a son abroad but by my obedi­ence to any of your Summons, upon which I kisse your royall hands.

I must look off this parting. With all my blood Fare well. Agenor, I look to hear from you of Basilino, what's unfit from him.

Best of Kings and fathers, remaine in peace, till the loud glories of your son, repay you these in tears of joy.

Do any of you know where Fidamira lives?

I do, Sir.

Go then presently, and take some of the guard with you, and bring her hither with all honor, and no show of violence.

I shall, Sir.

'Tis strange this sudden resolution of the Prince! Sure this is that he told me I should hear of, when he went away.

The life of man protracted to a miracle were yet too short to tell the wonder of thy faith, much more that instant is but left me now for admiration of it. The Prince is instantly resolv'd to leave his fathers Kingdome, and hath obtain'd his leave. And hath chosen me the only partner of his thoughts, and his companion in his meane disguise. So as heaven finding thy vertue such as it might easily draw into a miracle, resolved to raise it more emi­nence by this farther tryall. And I for this their end am punished with love, and trust of Basilino.

The time we had resolv'd for consummation of our wish­es we must now differr till our return. Sure Fidamira thou hast refin'd thy selfe so neere Divinity, thou art above the being enjoy'd by sense. And it were insolence in me to hope for such a temptation in this absence, as you have mett with, but even the love of Queens is not so impossible as my embracing it. The Prince's parting doth depend on nothing now but my returne. Which he is almost as impatient of, as I of staying here; which is a blessing I re­pine so much to leave, as I have need of't.

It is a strange resolve, Agenor: there is a [...]rans­cendency in that young man above the fate of Princes, and could any action endear Agenor to me, it should be Basilino's trust. For the differring of our wishes, the oc­casion is so strange, it doth import the will of heaven. [Page 14] And for the tryall of my faith it is too easie, and assured a thing for heaven to intend, if heaven meaneth a miracle in mine, it must by it's intirenesse after the breach of yours which to me would seem such a miracle, I should not wonder though my own should be preserved for my affli­ction.

But this sad Digression hath no reason for it, but the distracted sense of your departure. Go then, Agenor, and serve that glorious Prince with such succesfull faith, as he may think, at your returne, not knowing of our loves by the opinion of thy faith, that nature meant our faith's only to match one another, and for improvement of our joyes, he may have his share in the bestowing them; stay not for any thing but for a confirmation of my wish.

How opportune a blessing is this last command of Fidamira's? by which she doth appropriate my faith so solely to her selfe as she applyes my duty to the Prince as meritorious unto her, I can now serve the Prince with such a rare uninterested faith, it shall not wish for recom­pence, having allready more reward then he can give the will of Fidamira. Which the Gods keep for a re­ward of all his glorious deeds at his returne, in giving him but even as much to give to Fidamira as his consent unto her will. Which as the consummation of his glories, and our joyes, I must expect. And now by loosing of your hands, let fall this partition which they yet hold up. And in this darknesse pray our harts may not lye long under the whole weight of love they now must beare, but that our joyes may be restored to ease them.

Mine shall turn inward all their light upon my thoughts, which shall be polished as they shall still answer one another with the reflex of my Agenor's Image.

Move Fidamira now, and let's with equall steps fall thus from one another, while this earth we tread by interposing of it's selfe between thy light and me, shall sh [...]ddow out this dark Eclipse.

It is no injury to Fidamira to leave her where I have put off my selfe. I find a yeelding in my genius to the curiosity of passing by the Shepheard's Paradise, to which peacefull harbor I have heard of such a strange repair o wrack't and hop-lesse for [...]unes, as the distresse hath pro­ved a blessing.

Here comes Agenor not yet fitted for our jour­ney. Have you taken your leave of my Sister, Agenor? did she not cry? she is fond of you.

She is pleased with me Sir as the object of your goodnesse.

I'le advise with him. You eome, Agenor, op­portunly to vote in a cause concerns you too. Whe­ther we may take fitly this opportunity to see the She­pheard's Paradise as we passe forwards to Navarr. I can have admission by a blank of my fathers with a warrant for it▪ and the time of the election of the Queen, which is every yeare the first of May, is now within three dayes. What sayes Agenor?

I do beleeve it, Sir, a curiosity worthy of an en­tire purpose. Therefore not to be omitted, lying in the way of our designe, which cannot be better begun than by the information of your selfe in such a variety, as all for­raign nations do admire, as it were a heavenly Institution that extends it selfe to all strangers, whose births are such, as may be worthy fortunes prosecution, and the distresse seeme so desperate as it may bring honor to the remedy. And this may prove, Sir, your neerest way unto your jour­neyes end, the forgetting Fidamira. For, sure Sir, beauty is soonest worn out of our memories by the imposition of new weight upon it, and so the last presseth away the former. And fame tellssuch wonders of this place, as sure it is rather a religious fear than your fathers guard, secures [Page 16] their solitude from the invasion of nations on the pretence of adoration. And it may be Sir, the gods will not in­debt you for so much as the composition of your broken mind, to any nation but your own.

It must be Atheism in love, not change of my Religion; it must be that beleefe which I resolve that Beauty is but an Idea, not to be enjoyed but by imagi­nation; and by this Atheism must I be saved, Agenor.

Ther's nothing, sure Sir, so impossible to be en­joyed as your enjoying this opinion long, unlesse you could refine your selfe into an Idea abstracted from your flesh. You must not only lose yo [...]r memory, but all your senses, to retain this new opinion. Can you think, Sir, beau­ty was never enjoy'd?

Never, Agenor. There is no Lover's soveraign-fancy that will not confesse that Beauty is so set up, as 'tis even above his highest thoughts and to endeare his thoughts alleadgeth an impossibility of thinking height enough. Can our sense then, Agenor, get up such a pitch, where even our fancy flatts into an excuse?

These are but Love's raptures, that somtimes carry beauty above sense. In any kind it were injustice to require of our senses the carrying of us above ground, when they were not ordained to flie. Their motion is towards fixt-materiall-objects, which they can reach, and are not bound to comprehend Lover's descriptions, that enlarge beauty into a spaciousnesse, where it loseth it selfe, because it cannot be compassed. Take this rule Sir, Sense is not bound to follow any thing out of sight, and within those bounds it can injoy all it meets.

Well Agenor, we shall have leisure to discourse of this, as we go: let's set forward then towards the She­pheards Paradise. We must change our names. Ile call my selfe Moramante.

And I'le change my name into Ge [...]orio: we must make haste Sir, the journeys equall the days we have left for them.

Are the lodgings prepared as I commanded!

They are Sir, you are obeyed in all things.

When Fidami [...]a comes, bring her in; forbeare till then. I must do her some honor may be so suddain, so strange, as may o're take Basil [...]no before he can get out of our kingdome.

I thought I might be tempted to owne some power to oblige such a creat [...]re, on whom nature seems to glory to have bestowed all her [...]. Yet I will not be so un­just to the departed Bas [...]l [...]n [...], as to appropriate any thing I am to deliver to you. For in his Will he hath left you all that I can give you. Neither could I have beleeved, it could have been so difficult the being Executor to a Prince. For I finde more due to you than he could bequ [...]ath, or I dispose unto you. Therefore be ple [...]sed, fair M [...]ide, to ease me so much, as to name your wishes; since you have reduced a King to the beleefe of having nothing worthy of you, and therefore dares not chuse for you.

If the departed Prince Sir, have in his Will bequeathed any thing to pious uses, to purchase prayers for his successe, and faire return, your Majesty will prove an improvident disp [...]n [...]er of them in the choice of me, whose devotion is allready kindled in so pure a flame as interest would dimm it, and not nourish. And even my wishes, Sir, are all so cleare from any stain, of selfe ad­vantage, as they are such as your Majesty cannot possesse me of.

[...]ll [...] Fidamira, my impotency as a King in the disposing any thing so worthy; and yet beg the knowledg of thy will in a more powerfull name, a servant unto Fidamira. And [...] by the vertue of that name beleeve my selfe inforced to a captivity of any thing that [...]he [...]all wish.

You have allready Sir furnisht me with an unlook't for wish, the expiation of the guilt your procla­mation of your selfe hath cast upon me.

I had another Sir so innocent, as it was fit for you to joyne, though you could not grant, the Prince his soon returne, so crown'd with his desires, as he may think he brings more joy with him, then even your crown can promise him. And this is Sir, my only wish. And it is so propitious to me, as it makes your Majesty all the returne I can e're hope, for those your offered benefits, the wishing of you all increase of joyes and glories.

Do not wonder Fidamira at the title I took on me. I spake to you in Basilino's name, and it was not un­proper, in the performance of his will to use his name. And I am afraid, I shall too truely take upon me. The wish which you have chosen, hath so indebted me unto you, as I must speak something now in my own name, and retract the promise I had made to Basilino, to possesse my self of all my power, which I think yet too little to tempt thy modesty to the choice of any thing it doth containe. But do not Fidamira in duty to your King, reduce him to re­pine at his condition, in having nothing to present you with, but wishes back again.

In all humility and reverence to your power Sir, I thus fall down to beg of you, and that which only as a King you can bestow, Lib [...]rty. Which I have chosen as the greatest blessing Kings are trusted with, to satisfie your Maj [...]sty in the obligation you desire to marke me with. And I trust so much to your goodnesse, as I think I need not bring the gods to plead for my dismis­sion, whose cause hath furnished me with this [...]ute unto your Majesty; the per [...]ormance of some vowes, which will require privacy to perfect: and thus your Majesty shall set me at Liberty, that am yet in bonds unto my vowes.

You have made so st [...]ange a choice▪ [...]damira, as the unwilling giving it endeares the guift, and that [Page 19] which doth perswade me most unto this grant, is, that you shall take from me that, which is dearer to me than all you leave me, your company; and while you do avoid the merit of my actions, you cannot disappoint my suf­ferings of some desert unto you.

Therefore you shall chuse what place agree [...] best with your intent. If you will accept this Pallace, I'le leave it to you, and your privacy shall be secured to you by a guard, that shall not come so n [...]re you, as to let you know you have a house. Chuse what Temple you like best, and the entrance shall be denied to any other, that no impure breath may mixe with yours. But Fidamira, these your devotions perfected, I shall expect you do ac­cept our Court for Sanctuary to that Saint-like inno­cence shines about you. It were impiety to let you live in the crowd of common persons and your owne piety will enjoyne you to allow my daughter your companion, as a pattern for virtuo [...]s youth.

It would be to me Sir, a retreat out of my selfe, to be any where but in my father's house. Whither I beseech you Sir, I may have leave to return, and re­maine some few dayes; after which, I shall obey your Majesty, with that devotion which is due to those, whose Image you are; believing Sir, you will command nothing, but what shall be meritorious to obey you in.

You shall be Fidamira reconducted to your fa­thers house, and there remain undisturbed, till your own pleasure gives me admission to you.

Who waites without?

Carry back again Fidimira to her father's house.

How hath this face displeas'd the King, tha [...] was resolv'd, before he saw her, to lodge her in the Pal­lace with such prepared honour, as raised all the Court in to a wonder of the cause? Me-thinks, I find now more then e [...]re I [...]ould have guess't.

O what a mock was this, to aske me liberty while she was captivating me? I had not so much power left, as to keep her here, when she would go. She is so much already Mistresse of my will, as she disposeth of it even against it selfe. Whither shall I repaire for Liberty, that am besieged by my owne guard these trai [...]erous eyes? I must condemne them to perpetuall darknesse, or they'l betray me to such a light, as will darken all my other senses, even by the inflammation of them. Will Love be content with no lesse Trophy, than the inversion even of Nature, [...]ning the branches down into the ground, and [...]ake the rootes to bud and blossome in the aire? Must Love needs have a garland of such prodigious flow­ers? Now Basilino I find, thou hast left me somewhat to do f [...]r thee, worthy of a King to brag of, the wrestling with these passions for thy sake, which else I shall im­ [...]ce, and let into my heart, as an inlargement of it, and my life.

Act the Second.

ANd I into your hands resigne, The Sphere wherein our Majesty doth s [...]ine. Which mov'd and govern'd by a heavenly force, Thus every yeare doth terminate its course.

The gods, Bellese, by the voyces of your sisters have chose you Queen, and you must now tak [...] your Throne, with this Oath I am to give you, for the faire observance of all those conditions you are trusted with this Crown upon. Which are the faithfull executions of the Lawes, we live under and reigne over.

Give me leave, fair Sisters, while I am yet my selfe, before I do become your Creature, and so more obliged to wonder at your goodnesse, to renounce all merit to this honour; unlesse the being surprised by it may passe for any, which if my person do not prove enough, my forreigne birth will certifie much more. Which as it will advance me towards your particular ci­vilites, must needs remove me from the pretension of this eminence amongst you.

Therefore your former favours can onely give a r [...]a­son for this excuse, that to recover the desperate debt I owe you all, you have resolv'd to lend me more, so to [...] me to make a retribution may comprise them all, and for this end I may avow a joy in this your choice: [Page 22] which I shall study so to justifie your judgements in, by the complying both with the obligations of your debtor, and your Queen, as when I shall resigne that, I shall have purchas't one I shall esteem as much, a creditour to you all.

We too Bellesa are deputed in the name of all, to assist the ceremony of your Oath, and the publication of the Lawes.

Proceed Bellesa to the reading of the Oath.

When your Highnesse hath possessed your Throne, I must begin to read the Laws.

That the Queen is to be elected the first of May, every yeare, by the plurality of the Sisters voyces; from which election the Brothers are excluded.

That the Queen must be aged under thirty, and beau­ty to be most regarded in the election.

That both the Brothers and Sisters must vow chastity and single life, while they remaine of the Order; and the breach of this Law is to be punished with death.

That every yeare at the election of this Queen, what Brothers or Sisters shall desire to retire out of the [...]rder upon designe of Marriage; shall then upon their demand be licensed, and at no other time.

[Page 23]That the Queen shall admit of none into the Order but one every yeare by grace, the rest upon publication of their pretence; which must be, either a vow of chastity, which is not ever to be dispenced with; or the verifica­tion of some misfortune, worthy the charity of this ho­nourable Sanctuary, which all the Sisters and Brothers are to be Judges of.

That there is no propriety of any thing among the Society, but a community of all which the world calls riches and possessions.

That detraction from the honour of a Sister, without proof, is to be punished with the penalty inacted for that fault.

That no brother or sister shall ever go out of the limits of the Kingdome, but by a finall dismission.

That no such shall ever be received againe upon any pretence.

That strangers shall be admitted onely by the grace of the Queen, or by particular warrant from the King. And upon no condition stay above three dayes.

These be the lawes your Majesty is sworne to protect. And now, I in the name of all the blessed Society bow in obedience to you.

We in the name of all the Sisters, salute you Queen, and beg to leave the seal of all our duties in your Royall hands.

Now Madam, after an hour's r [...]st, the Order re­quires your Maj [...]sty to repaire to the Temple, there to perfect all the Ceremony.

I can have no such rest, Votorio, as on my knees before the Gods; for I have yet a greater blessing to im­plore of them then this they have bestowed; their propi­tiousnesse towards my discharge of what they have im­posed upon me.

What are those strangers?

They are admitted Madam, by speciall warrant from the King.

If you have leisure to allow us so welcome a civility, as to satisfie a Stranger's curiosity, you may oblige us in acquainting us, what the Queen said of us.

My profession, and your habit Sir, enjoynes me both to this: and after I have satisfied you in this demand, to offer you my service, in easing you of any curiosity, this place hath put upon you.

The Queen desired to know onely who you were, and how admitted, which I gave her an account of, as far as my knowledge led me.

Which was no farther then your admission by the Kings Letters.

The limitation Sir, which is upon the stay of strangers here, where curiosity is fed so much fuller then it can swallow, much lesse digest, might excuse an im­portunate detention of any one but you Sir whose habit renders you so necessary to the resid [...]n [...]s, as it were a sa­criledge to rob them of your time.

At it is a pious work, the distribution of hospi­table civility▪ I am the pr [...]p [...]rest you could have met Sir, to pay the ingen [...]ousnesse of your curiosity with the knowledge of any thing you can aske here.

Since this civility may be meritorious to you sir, I shall the willing p [...]t [...]ou to the exercise of it And first I would gladly [...]no [...] the an [...]iquity of the in­stituted regality, with the occasion of it, and the rest of [Page 25] the particulars of this place which my Ignorance cannot furnish me with questions for.

The ingenuousness of this institution is such, as we may joy we owe it not unto antiquity. It derives it self no higher then this King's grandfathers time, who had a daughter called Sabina, a Lady of that strange beauty and perfections, as this, was but one of the miracles she left us to admire her by. The virtue of her resolution takes off much from the wonder of her witt. Which seemes to have remain'd imperious and not flexible to her distresse. She was sought by two Princes, The Dolphin of France, and the Prince of Navarr: whose passions seem'd so equall, as the most powerfull could not beare [...] deniall, and the weaker found himselfe so arm'd by his passion as he despis­ed the anger, which the power of France had vow'd a­gainst him, if he were preferr'd. Sabina's inclination to Navarr drew down the power of mighty France, upon this Prince of Vallance. But the hope of fair Sabina which he seem'd to think himselfe a gainer by, after the losse of most of his country. Then Sabina, whom it seemes the love of virtue only had made partiall to Navarr, found the way to exalt her virtue more, then by persisting a­gainst difficulties which seem'd to take off from the glory of it, by the abatement it procur'd where it intended an advantage. And so fearing left his sufferings might raise his virtues to such an estimation, as he might be thought to have [...]d served her, and so the matching of herselfe might lessen her, resolved to take the glory wholly with the sufferings to her selfe. And so sent to the victorious Dolphin ( [...]hat had allready made himselfe Prince of Navarr, and bragg'd that with that title he would wo S [...] ­b [...]a) her promise that upon condition of his restoring Navarr unto the Prince, and swearing future, peace, she would never marry the Prince of Navarr. The Dolphin whose successe had nourished his love with hope even in Sabina's direct denialls, swallowed this as an assurance [Page 26] of his wish, without examining the words, beleeving his own flattering omen more security then even Sabina's promise. He accepted the conditions, and presently resto­red all his conquests though the Prince refused the treaty, and the future peace. Yet he instantly performed all that Sabina asked, who now resolved to publish the perform­ance of her vow. 'Twas sure the gods that did infuse these thoughts, for a reward of so supream goodnesse, and made the monument of her admiration a Sanctuary for distres­sed virtue, so to convey to future times a blessing with the memory of her. She begg'd of her father leave to make a vow of chastity and desired a propriety of this place as her dowre; which nature seemes to have made of such un­match't delightfullnesse, as if she had meant to brag, that she made a stage onearth worthy of Sabina's acting on this her divinest part.

Hither then by the consent of her indulgent father, Sabina came, attended by many Nobles of both sexes, whom love to Sabina, or admiration of the action brought with her. Of which she made this Order. And authorised by her father, erected this regall government, and enacted all the lawes you have heard read; which have been so inviolably kept, as a punishment here would seeme a won­der. She enjoyed the regality during her life, and then left the propriety of all unto the Queen. Who is eligible as you have heard. The peace and setlednesse of this place is secured by natures inclosure of it on all sides by impregnablenesse, as if it were only for chastity to make a plantation here. At one passage only, the rocks seeme to open a way of themselves, so as to let in the Kings care in a Garison. Which he maintains for safety of the place, which delivers all strangers to us as sutors, not invadors. Thus Sir I have inform'd you of the institution of the order of the Shepheard's, which is called by the Foundresse, The Shepheards Paradise As being a [...] receptacle of distressed minds, and a Sanctuary against for­tun's [Page 27] severest executions. Now Sir, I must needs tell you the generous end of the Prince of Navarr▪ that you may see, there was nothing accessary to this heavenly Institu­tion that had not such a transcendent newnesse of bra­very as they seeme made for such a divine novelty. The Prince as it seems hating the earth, whose safety had oc­casioned the losse of Sabina, In scorn of it forsook it, and came hither in a disguise.

And was admitted into the Order, where he lived con­ceal'd, and dying without making himselfe known unto Sabina; but at his death, left such a notorious memory as all ages shall study to display, and put it to the royallest ornaments can be due to Princes. The Queen ordained a particular ceremony to be performed every yeare at his Tomb, which is justly observed.

This is so heavenly a tradition, as it be­comes best our delivery. This order seemes a match be­tweene love, and honor, and chastity, which you are hap­py sir in being the Preist to. But give me leave to wonder, why the brothers are excluded out of the election, which is to be guided most by beauty, of which sure they be the best Judges.

The reason Sir, that I have heard was then given by the Foundresse, That it had been to have made them Judges in their own causes. Since there is none but hath a particular interest that doth prepossesse his choyce. Whereas all women are rather Inquisitors, then admi­rers of one another. And being voyd of passion, no freind­ship can incline them to yeeld priority in beauty. And so 'twas thought most probable, that where most of them agreed to yeeld, the advantage must be unquestionable.

The wisdom, Sir, of the Foundresse was such, as it carries away our admirations, even with this our prejudice. I have one more satisfaction to desire of you, which the omission of, I do beleeve, in your opinion might render me unworthy of these I do allready owe, [Page 28] the knowledge of your new Queenes condition, and the time of her admission, with her pretence.

'Tis not above a yeare since she was received so, that, had she not had such a transcendent beauty, as might have endured the abatement of the envy, which so sud­daine an election might have taken from her, and even after that deduction have remained incomparable, sure she had not been chosen Queen. It was thought Pantamora the precedent Queen▪ would have been relected. She is by birth a stranger, of some part of France. And brought with her marks of noble birth. Her pretention was an intention of her father to dispose of her to a person of great wealth and quality, who then loved another so passionatly, as the contestation with his father about his consent was so lowd, as the voyce of it came to the ladie's eares. Who moved, as she said then, with the true honor of her sex, resolved rather out of due to her perfections then pride of them, not to expose them to such an under­valuation, as the dispute of being enjoyed. Therefore left she her fathers house and repaired to this Sanctuary for protection of her beauty, which was in danger of pro­fanation. This was received of all as an acceptable plea for her admission, as a trium [...]h that beauty had got by flying. She hath lived here ever since with so winning a modesty, as it hath so reconciled the plurality of the sisters to the strangnesse of her birth and beauty as h [...]r chocie may be ascribed to an inspiration from above, rather then her aspiring thither.

You may well ascribe it to the gods sir, the merit seemes to be so well proportioned to the reward and the sex is happy to have such an acquittance for the debt they owe to the Lady, as a Crown. We never met a greater tentation to uncivill detention, then the pleasing­ness of your conversation. Therefore wonder [...] we cannot retire from you; we have two dayes yet to st [...] & we shall waite upon you before our retreates from hence.

There's nothing Sir, but my publique duty could call me away from my attendance on you. It is a part of my duty the entertainement of strangers, so to secure the privacy of the society.

I perceive the Institution hath so provided for the Societie's selfe possessing, it hath not left so much as an omission to employ them in the redressing of. We shall not faile to addresse ours [...]lves to you to receive as much comfort at our departure, as the sorrow will admitt of, which will be, Your blessing.

Sir, I must leave that now with you.

What say you Genorio, are you not indeb­ted to this digression of my curiosity?

Take not upon you the digression sir, It was some infusion from above. But doth your curiosity carry you farther yet? doth not this place promise you the diver­sion you seek, from thinking on Fidamira? Here you may have choice, either the remedy I prescribed; or that which you intended, the admission of new beauty to displace that, or you may harden your self by the neglect of this into such a habit of insensiblenesse, as you may be of proof against all temptation.

Had not my vow Genorio a much nobler ayme then my own, I might consent to let it fall here, and break even to humor thee, so little I esteeme my self. But I have pointed it at the expiation of a guilt, that doth so darken me, as the neglect of beauty might now seeme a curse of blindnesse on me. But when I have cleared my selfe of that, then Genorio I will returne, even thither if thou wilt, with opened eyes, to let thee see my quarrell to my selfe is greater then love can reconcile, in living so unmoved with beauty, as Fidamira's sute to me shall not unsettle me.

I can imagine no quarrell you can have to your selfe but one, which this your resolution of unsensibleness [Page 30] of beauty must compose, the misfortune of the Princesse of Navarre, whose repaire you cannot render so much void of sense of beauty.

'Tis that, Genorio, which must value this my penance, the prostitution to her onely for pardon, not reward. I will seek her to adde one glory more to her, the forgiving me, and when I have but seen her, leave there my guilt, and take in place of it, the punishment of never seeing of her more. Me-thinks, Genorio, had I but once payed my devotion to her hands, I should then rest absolved in peace.

Look Sir, how we are blest; the Queen comes this way, and the Priest leading Her. Let's stand by.

Madam, these strangers curiosity assure me, they would be displeased to leave any priviledge uninjoyed. If your Majesty shall please to give the honour of your hand to their welcome.

What Country men are they?

Castilians, Madam.

This place is civill onely in making all stran­gers, of what ever Nation that are not residents; and for that, that there are none that are not so to virtue and to honour.

While I intended to keep the Prince here, as neerer Fidam [...]ra, I find my selfe removed from her; come Sir i'le jest no more, we have seen all: shall we go on in persute of our designe.

O what inchantment's this? Me-thinks I find my selfe fix't here, and yet the virtue of this touch [Page 31] [...]uickens, and moves my senses so; as it implies divinity [...]ather then Magick. Me-thinks I find the hand that holds [...]e, as it presseth, print Characters upon me, such as my [...]aste reades, and satisfies for this detention.

In what contemplation are you Sir? will you [...]et forward Sir, towards your lodgings, to prepare you [...]or your journey?

I was thinking how ridiculous a thing Genorio, your proposition of staying here was, since if we would the Order admits it not.

It were some losse of time in your designe, but not impossible to do.

How might we conceale, or disguise our selves, if we meant it?

The meanes were not so unfit as the resolution, for the way must be noble; by a direct profession of some misfortune, and so be received into the Order, which the disguising of your selfe at any time would dispence with you; but Sir, let's go, it growes late.

We cannot go before we be dismist by the Priest, who is now assisting at the publick service; we must stay till the Queene's returne from the Temple, and so take our leaves.

That hand with one touch more, would plant me here, I do not like this backwardnesse; Sir, sure the Princesse of Navarre is not here. I am glad to find the burthen of your guilt so light, as you do choose rather to stand still under it, then move towards your discharge of it.

I am so willing to be punished for her sake, Genorio, as I take kindly this reproach; and as you are her soliciter, to be my guide towards her: tell me where you think the likeliest place to find her, for in Navarre we may believe she is not so long conceal'd from her Father.

You must now needs stay while the Queen be past.

I understand you are Castilians, gentlemen: Come you lately from the Court?

We came directly from thence Madam, and made such hast to be here at the ceremony of the Election, as it is not three dayes since we left the King.

How does the King and Prince? have any of you had such accesse to the Prince, as to be able to inform us of his Person and Humour?

The honour I have Madam of being his Dome­stick allowes me to think my selfe a fitter reporter of Him, than this Gentleman. For his person Madam, Nature hath thrown away so many perfections on it, so that his birth needs not to make him Lovely. For the composition of his mind; it seemes to have injured him by his birth, that exposeth him to so much probability of flattery; the truth of his virtues being such as Parasites deceive themselves in the exaltation of them.

In my opinion Madam, he hath all that youth can brag off, with all that age can reproach youth with the want of.

I have heard the Prince much valued by all relations, and of so strange a passion of hi [...], for a Lady of his Court; as though all other advantages being ascri­bed to him, he intended this onely, the loving her more then all the world.

'Tis true Madam, He hath long loved a Lady, called Fidamira, who is such a subject for a noble pas­sion, as it seemes no wonder; even the Prince's constancy in insensiblenesse, and the onely strangenesse is, that she is not moved toward him by his virtues, not that he moves not from Her by neglects.

You give her beauty a great power, that can dispence with ther discretion, and the obligation to her Prince. Did you ever see her, sir? I see your friend is par­tiall to her.

I have Madam, and may allow her all the beauty in the world left out of this society.

We are not subject sir, so easily to envie, as you should have needed so soone to have qualified your friends prayses of her: but pray sir, doth the Prince persist in this so meritorious constancy?

There was a rumor Madam when we came from Court, that the Prince to crown her virtue, and his wishes, had offered her marriage, which she had excused the acceptation of, by a pre-ingagement of her faith. And that the generous Prince resolving to vie with her for the braver fame, tooke this excuse with the humility of a pri­vate servant. And resolved to leave his father's Court; that at some distance from her, he might settle his re­solution of leaving her liberty, and taking his again.

This we have heard Madam, but dare not affirme as true,

Fame of it selfe charged with the weightiest things, is leight enough to be suspected; But carrying love's quarrels it growes incredible for thoughts to reconcile them, and so the truth which Fame set out with, may be changed, before it can arive. If this were true, though it were hard to decide an advantagious glory in this case to either of them, yet I should incline to recompence his sufferings with some ods of honor, since he is to enjoy her wish, and he nothing but the virtue of performing [...]ers. What say you, ladies!

As it is a strange virtue Madam must pre­serve faith so intire, when it may be set in a crown, as the losse of a corner would never be perceived: I confesse I wonder more at her, that might have had so large an [...]asion for her faith as a Kingdome; than at him, whose [Page 34] kingdome being not enough to purchase such a faith, was then content with patient admiration of her.

I beleeve Madam, the Princes virtue hath re­sisted by farr the greater temptation: for her insensiblenesse might have justified his change, but even his constancy could not authorise hers. Faith must be set without a foile, so every blemish wil be visible. Should a Prince scratch, or deface a Jewell, while he kept it in his own hands, he might set what price he would upon it, but in the common estimation that would deprise it. So Fida­mira must have lost of her true value though the Prince had rated her as high as ever. So that she seemes to have preserved her value, and the Prince to have for her sake undervalued himselfe. Wherefore I should repaire him by allowing him the greater share of glory.

Whensoever you see the Prince again, you may let him know, how his honor hath been noted here▪ And hath prevailed against the competition of our Sex.

Give us leave Madam, to receive our dismission by your royall hands, and to wish the Prince had but once seen your Majesty. The desperatenesse of the ill, and the eminency of the afflicted, both concur to make the cur [...] worthy of you.

I could wish Sir, he did enjoy the best part of me, which is the peace, and quiet of my minde.

M [...] feare was quicker-sighted then my sense that did propose to me at first the readiest safety that tha [...] passi [...] knows, of flying from danger. Which I obeyed so fast, as nothing could have overtaken it, therefore m [...] curse was forced to meet mee, so to bring me back, and now methinks, I am so fixed, I can but move against my feare, for having been so bold as to precede m [...] love. Oh how I curse my feare for having disputed [...] [Page 35] against the Prince's staying here. But since my soul is changed, I must disguise my selfe also to the Prince. Will you be pleased to go, Sir?

How out of tune are these words Genorio?

Have my eyes so soon infected my voyce with treachery, that it betrayes me to the Prince? I'st not the [...], and not the sound, is out of tune;

No Genorio, but me-thoughts thy words were drag'd along with such a sound as if they had gon to suffer for a fault.

Alas Sir, what accent can fall low enough to reach the depth of your dejection no tune, no words sad enough. The pitty that I owe you sir, that are not only going out of Paradise, but into such a Labyrinth, as 'tis uncertaine whether every step carry you backwar'd, or forward towards your journies end; since we know no more where to find her we seeke, then she knowes we seek her.

Tis true Geno [...]io. But how might we un­wind this maze of Pilgrimage; and make the way dire­ctor to my vow?

Alas Sir, it is a case of conscience, wherein I may better be a client, then a counsell [...]r. I am now in suite for mine. Sure Sir, the heavens that have infused this ten­der scruple of your guilt, affect your innocence so much, as to inspire your heart with the directest meanes of ex­piation. For did they not intend you an unblemished purity, they would never have moved you with so precise a tendernesse, as even to me seemes superstition.

'Tis so just a zeal that carries me Ge­norio as the perplexity of the way to it doth not distract my purpose. But heaven is so mercifull to my willingness as it presents me with some meanes of ease, and offers me a line to guide my straying motions, by which benefit I count received, because I do avoyd it, for Genorio's sake.

Were it a discharge for you Sir, to have me [Page 36] become as miserable, as this reservation of your selfe from me would make me, I should with silence accept the curse. But I beleeve, it must be an assumption of more guilt un­to you Sir, than yet you have, the suspition of my forwardnesse, nay of my ability in easing you, in any way you can designe me to, where your opinion oynes with my endeavour. For nothing can seem so hard to me to act, as it is now to suffer this tendernesse of yours against your selfe, therefore Sir let me beg it as a grace, your disposing of me, as your opinion shall direct you for your ease.

You may well beg this Genorio, for tis a sute will make you so much richer then I, that I can ne're discharge my selfe from an Indebtment to you. Therefore now Geno [...]io be not so ambitious to persue your sute.

What an amazing goodnesse is this of yours Sir? that knowing all the obedience the prostitution of this life could render you, is so much your due, as it could scarce chaleng prayse, would honor an easing you, which to omit were impious, with the reward of obligation from you. You have set me so neer your selfe, you have forgot what I was. You know Sir, you have made me so happy, I must trust to others to believe I was ever miserable, Then give me leave to accuse you of forgetting me, when you would seem to bribe my blood to your obedience, with so im­mense a treasure as obliging you, that would be payed with your acceptance of its effusion of your ease. Therefore Sir, unlesse you mean this a torment to me, you must impart your thoughts.

How exactly kind art thou Genorio? that wilt convince me by my love to thee, not to my selfe, in­teresting thy ease in this my opening of my thoughts; I was thinking of the difficulty of the way towards the directest end of this my journey, my devotion to the Princesse of Navarr, and how thy information of thy s [...]lfe of her retiring, and the most probable place of [...] [Page 37] concealment might take off from me the laborious part of search, affording me the ease of staying here, till thou com'st back to guide me. This was my thought Genorio and would not such a debt pawne me beyond redemption to thee?

I confesse Sir you have found a paine disputes the joy of easing you, which nothing, but the sense of leaving you, durst have attempted. And this beginning is hard, all that will follow will seeme don, this diffi­culty past

Did not the perplexnesse of the enquity leave the successe uncertaine, and assure the paines; I might perswade away thy first objection, since I must share the halfe of the first paine, of leaving me.

Could I leave you Sir, after that I could do any thing. Were she so strayed from mortalls, as destiny knew not where to find her, my Genius would direct me to bring newes of her.

Alas Genorio, the fright of this our parting hath allmost distracted thee. I will venter no far­ther on thy temper. Since we are both ingaged in this wilde labyrinth, we will keep together; that so, though we find nothing, we may not lose one another.

Stay Sir, heaven is so carefull of your ease, as it vouchsafes, methinks, even me an inspiration, that whispers to me, that your staying here, will be auspi­cious to you.

So that the Gods are pleased to recompence my losse with a provision of your happinesse. And now my leaving you, is become their direction, and the presage of it, is made a joy. Therefore now I do expect nothing but your instructions for my parting.

The gods had need joyne with me Geno­rio, to recompence thy merits. I was resolved to stay here and professe my selfe of the Society, till you had found the way to this strayed Saint, then upon your returne my [Page 38] profession of my selfe would dispense with the ingagement and I might, guided by you, the easlier performe my vow.

I will go Sir, without expecting any merit from my diligence, besides this of my obedience: for my mind gives me that your resting here, not your remove, must settle your peace.

Come Genorio, we will go together to the Priest, you for dismission, I for entertainment.

I'le leave you Sir with this presage, that I shall finde your Atheism converted into Idolatry at my re­turn.

Me-thinks I find my selfe neerer a change of torment then of ease.

O where doth innocence reside! Is she all­wayes in her journey here on earth? and [...]udgeth but in Court sometimes, and that which honor, glory, and am­bition makes their journye's end the Pallaces of Princes she takes but in her way▪ and passeth on. Is she so froward as not to love good company; Sure tis not that. But that she wants that pliable complacency that is required in the S [...]ciety of Courts. She cannot consent to give herself away in complement. Sure if she be fixt any where on earth, tis in the shade of solitude, where the cleare soul by the reflex of speculation sh [...]wes fair Innocency her self. Where she inamored of her own beauty lives, and makes Selfe-love so meritorious, as'twere a sin to be delivered from it. Thither must I carry mine, while it is yet unstaind the breath of the Court would must it over at the least should I consent to this intention of the king's, of placing me a [...] Court, though it were with a pretence of a compa­ [...]i [...] to his daughter, who they say is my companion all [...] in what she knowes not of▪ why should he come hi­ [...] to retract his promise of my privacy, before the time [Page 93] he had allotted it, was expired; And he spoke with such a degradation of himself, as if he meant to aske som what, which would not sure with the divine Image, and therefore did depose himselfe from being King to make himselfe all man for his pretention: such preposterous humility to me could imply no lesse, though yet his words have had no other guilt then his submission. And I am bound in sense of all his gracious care, to provide against the per­version of all this into his sin. And to secure his inno­cence even by my hazard. Therefore I must suddenly fly from hence, and heaven to encourage this intent, presents me with such a retreate, as may make the extremity a blessing, the Shepherd's Paradise. Thither will I fly. For­tune in all her oppressions hath enricht me with a full pre­tence for my admission. The Prince his returne cannot ask lesse then a yeare; then I shall be free again for my Ageno, whom since this face hath twice endangered in the losse of me. I'le change it till I may deliver it him. Therefore it shall put on mourning for its faults, and his absence. The order admits equally of all nations, and as a Moore I will fly thither.

Did not I so much admire Madam you trans­c [...]ndent virtues, I should wonder at the triumph the gods have raised them to. How well are the Prince his cor­rections and your glories fitted. He by his faith to you is suspended from his principality in the top of all his pro­mised joyes. And you for your discontents, are advan­ced the sooner to a Crown.

Tis true Martiro ▪ but the peace of my minde [Page 40] was never yet since I came here so busie, as to think on any reparation due to me. And what I owe the most to heaven for, is, the indifferent sense of this crown, which as it is but temporary, fits so easily on me I shall not feel it when tis taken off. I shall make up the diminution of my power of doing good, with the addition to my time.

Give me leave Madam, to whom time is a burthen, to ask how an addition to it may prove an ease. You cannot better improve this time, than in such a charity.

You must measure time Martiro. with your soul, not your sense; you must not antedate your desires so as time may seem too slow to bring you them. The com­putation of your time must be like that of clocks, which weigh & measure time at once. Andnothing leightens time so much as weighing it. If you must needs Maritiro any thing without your selfe, le it be somwhat you may hope for. Nothing takes away more from time then that.

Alas Madam, I am so free from this variety of wishes, as I have but one; and that so heavie a one, as as it cloggs times motion, and so lengthens my dayes unto me for a tedious course. And you have named a re­medy to refine my torment by, the impossibility of at­taineing it, Hope: for I am so desperate, I would not change my wishes for any thing that I could hope.

Tis then Martiro a vanity in your sufferings, not a desire of ease; and pitty were a prejudice to you, as it would lessen the merit of your patience.

It were a cheapning of your pitty Madam, to have it fall so low as my condition. P [...]inces can expect no more from you.

The descent of pitty is the exalltation of it. love indeed should have an object levell to its selfe.

You could love then Madam, if you had met with such an object, as you might not seeme so much to incline to it, but to receive it as a parallel.

I would not have the reservation of my selfe Martiro, be a defect, but an election. I could love but upon such tearmes▪ as should reproach mankind a scar­city of merit if I did not, and not tax me with a naturall repugnancy to love.

Upon these termes Madam▪ you are equally just to all our sex, in this generall exclusion, by the con­dition of deserving you. For to that great disparity, all worth may seeme but equally distant; as all Numbers are equally disproportionable to Infinity. Therefore Madam persist in this right unto your selfe, and you shall be a universall wonder, not a private joy.

Feare not Martiro, As I do [...] not think my self worthy of a miracle made for me of purpose, which such a man must be as I could love; so I do not think the gods will so decline my thoughts, as to make me love lesse, than what I have proposed them, and so chuse to afflict me with the greater miracle.

These thoughts are worthy of you Madam, love them still; so that your virtue may contend with your person, whether nature, or you, have made the greater miracle.

The occasion Madam, will crave pardon for this presumption on your Majestie's privacies. One of the gentlmen that your majesty lately dismist, demands admission into this Society. And that your Majesty would appoint the time of his allegation of his pretence; the other is departed.

I will not differr his wish a day, this afternoon give order for a convocation, and I will go and prepare my selfe for the ceremony.

I will ask pardon of my love for all my past complaints, and bring my joyes in suffering to plead for a forgivenesse. He that will have the glory of a love, that [Page 42] out of choice affects impossibilities, must needs delight in suffering. I will preserve my vow, and this darknesse may keepmy passion from becomming madnesse.

Are you behind Martiro? the Queen is past, they say, to the Convocation, and we by you shall be stronger in our excuse.

It is a faire excuse for you too Melidoro; you being together, it will not seem strange, the time past you unawares. My being with you may discredit that pre­tence, and may imply, you could not be so well pleased, as to forget how the time passed.

No Martiro, you must goe with us, the ex­ [...]rcise of charity may better excuse a fault then an idle pleasingnesse. We may be thought to have borrowed the time, to lend your sorrow some comfort in▪ better then to have forgot it in our own security.

I am not so miserable, as to be rel [...]evable by so cheape a comfort as common charity. There's but one in the world happy enough to pitty me, and I can pitty all the world, whose joyes though they be cleare, and make some noyse as they go on, yet are so shallow as the bottome's to be seen.

Come Martiro, this cloud of yours may break one day. Then we shall see what it containes.

When your Majesty is placed, the pretend [...]r by your leave may begin his plea.

With all respect to the presiding Majesty, and honour to the blest society, thus I lay downe my misfortunes at your feet, which I find I put off, even as I now take on me here. And I begin to grow doubtfull of the justnesse of my pre [...]ence by a surprise of happinesse, which enters so fast my eyes, as I must fly back unto my [Page 43] memory in haste to bring out my sorrows. For I have such a new unluckinesse made of purpose for me, as I ought to feare that this joy breaks in upon me, but to car­ry away my memory, and with it, my pretence to this divine reliefe, and so to make this instant lightning a per­petuall storme. Now I must first addresse my selfe unto my own sex for judgment, in what you Ladies cannot be de­ciders for want of experience in it. Loving against scorn, I was so humble, as I had no scruple left in all my suffer­ings, but that of disappointing her I loved so well.

I could have wished that even her scorne had been pre­ferred before my wishes. So that I must excuse my con­constancy by Fate, since it occasioned such a fault in her, as this injustice you shall heare. In this continuation of my passion, which was so unhappy, I may now call it so, as to afford me many services done to her, which I will not expect so much reward for as their repetition. At last, fortune made one day my owne life, which was so contemptible to me the deliverer of hers, and the presen­ter of what punishment she should appoint the barbar­ous attempter. Whose threats had allmost saved the act­ive spilling of her blood, by that cold exanimation fear had drawn over her. Which notwithstanding did her that service, as to send forth some faint cries that guided me to the rescue, in a wood where despaire had carried me, to envy the life of plants, and to despise mine owne. There I found her on her knees, prepared to be a Sacrifice to that blow was moving toward her.

I, when I came to intercept it, (guilt is so weak, as tis no vanity to say,) I easily became as much master of his life, as he was of hers: and offered her to purge the ground, that had borne such a monster, with his blood. She then, I may say properly coming to her selfe, seemed to beg of me more earnestly his life, than she had don her owne of him; as if her soul had been allready carried up to heaven, and owght him this fright as a bl [...]ssing. I dis­arming [Page 44] him only, obeyed her. And gave him not only his life, but more then my own. When he was gone she told me she forgave him, since he had freed her from an inju­stice. Her life was only welcom to her, to retract her neg­lect of me. Which she would recant as farr as faith and honor would warrant her. I was impatient to know how far these limitations did extend Whether my wishes were shut out by them. She told me, the execution I had stayed was upon a condemnation, where I had witnessed a­against her, which somewhat qualifi [...]d the obligation, th [...]t this p [...]rson, I saw ready to b [...] the executioner, was one she loved so well, she had begged this as a blessing of him, the dying first, so to end with a perfect innocence, since his jealousy had resolved him to the death of both. And that he had so much disputed this request a [...] had gi­ven me time to b [...] the suspend [...]r of this judgment. There­fore that I should not wond [...]r if she was tender of his life, that had so lately give [...] her more then his own. For that she could not have lived after him, and must have died with the guilt of her own hands▪ the innocency of whose heart would be sufficiently proved to me, by the knowledg that it was of me only she was accused▪ Therefore bid me weigh the merit of my action, with my unhappinesse in the occasion I wondered to see my selfe indebted, even after such a present, as two such lives unto her. Therefore acknowledging my misfortune, ascribing this releese to her chance, begg'd of her some command, whose perfor­mance might absolve me from the fault of my contribu­tion to this distresse of his, with promise to undergoe whatsoever she should promise a full forgivenesse on. Th [...]n she with as much security as rigor, condemned me to more then I had freed her from. And told me that this mistake of her intended executioner did not so much a [...]at her passion to him and could much lesse dispence with the engagement of her faith. Therefore commanded me ne're to see her more, and so rest contented all my life with this [Page 45] joy of having made her happy. After this hard command, to soften it, she steept it in such teares, as I grew rather ashamed, then resolved. Then she began to prayse, and magnify the bravery of this my action. So as I was afraid to heare her long, lest vanity should seem to share with love, in the perswasion to this obedience. I gave her instant­ly my promise of complying with her will, and to adde somwhat even to her own wish, I said I would conduct her to her servant, and never more but once againe accuse her of cruelty. And joy, that my accusation of her might now prove meritorious to her. And this settled in peace, and confidence with him, I should make him witnesse of my vow, so to secure her future joyes. This I did the same day, and so left her there, where she began to be sensible of my company. And resolved to repaire to this Sanctuary with so much devotion to forgetfullnesse, as nothing but the hope of my admission here, could have perswaded to the repetition of this story. Which if it do procure me, I may triumph over fortune. Whose depression of me hath but sunke me to the center of rest and peace.

Collect the voyces upon the hearing of the pretention.

And mine Votorio shall confirm all. Methinks both s [...]xes are interested in gratitude in his pretention. Women, for the demonstration of their power; and Men, for the exaltation of their love.

My admission here is such a blessing, as it shames all my former wishes, and removes me from the probabi­lity of e're remembring the frustration of them, but as a benefit, which frees me now from wishing any thing.

Let the oath be given him, and the habit, and this convocation dismist.

The third Act

SInce the exclusion of that light that lightned me out of my selfe, I find my selfe setling again into my owne temper, and the dispute reduc [...]d now only to my memory. Fidamira doth prevaile, having the deeper seat; my eyes had drawn a superficiall darknesse over it, which had but shaddowed not displaced my Fidamira. And I finde those shadowes vanished now removed out of those beames that made them. Therefore I will now first goe and take out the staines of these new colours which my eyes had received in such haste, and guild my thoughts over anew with Fidamira's rayes, on which no other beames shall ever shine, but to make them glitter more. Oh that the Prince his stay might settle his passion, as much as my departure h [...]th unsettl [...]d mine. So that this journey may doubly secure my F [...]dam [...]a. I will first visit her, and from thence dispatch trusty enquiries into severall parts to discover the abode of this wilde Princesse of Na­varr. Upon my discovery I will repaire unto the Prince, who I doubt not but before his returne from thence may well be at his journeys end.

The King's impatient search hath followed me so fast, as it hath been my habit not my leggs hath saved me from reprisall. Here is one, but his Easie pace doth not imply he follow [...]s any body. The gods guide you, Sir, towards your desires.

As much good fortune waite on all your wishes Lady.

It may be Sir, you may much contribute to mine in the direction of my way, which my haste would be much [Page 47] advantaged by a certaine knowledge. The way to the Sepheards Paradise.

You are in your right way, Lady, my own imme­diate comming from thence may assure you of it. And one day's journey, if your person furnish strength for your haste will render you there.

Your comming from thence Sir may inform somewhat may more advance me then the presen [...] prose­cution of my journey, if your own haste permit you.

Though I move not upon my own occasions, yet they are so addrest to the service of your sex, as I dare al­low you any time you shall demand.

Sure Sir, you are much indebted to our sex, that think you owe so much civility to me, that seem to be one of those that nature hath appointed for a punishment, thus to mourn for beautie's martyrs. My curiosity shall not presume too much, since it is seconded with such a face. I would only know, whether you were there at the last election of the Queen. And how the form is of receiv­ing those into the Society that desire admission.

I owe the sex so m [...]ch, Lady, I am confident I shall not add one to the number of those you call mourners: bu [...] m [...]thinks your bl [...]ck becomes you so well, as if beauty it selfe, weary of white and r [...]dd, had retired a while to black for a vari [...]ty. I can resolve you Lady of the election of the Queen, who's called Bel [...]esa. And having heard the lawes readd at the coronation, can instruct you in the forme of rec [...]iving pretenders into the Society, which is the manif [...]station of some cause wherein virtue, prest by f [...]rtune to an extremity, flyes thither for a sanctuary, and brings her s [...]lfe intire.

I doubt not then of my being received, unlesse my birth prove such a misfortune, as may make me un­fit for that beauteous society▪ which I heare are all such, they need not so much as a foile to set them out. Other­wise my misfort [...]n [...]s are such, as it may seeme a shame to virtue to be the subject of so many.

Virtue, Lady, is allwayes in hostility with diverse enemies, and even her scarrs do not impaire her but make her still intire. Therefore she suffers nothing by her liable­nesse to distresse, and she is so beautifull, as she gives your colour a lovelinesse, that perswads me it is the bright­nesse of your soul shines through the darknesse of your face, and brings me a pleasednesse that seemes rather in­spired then attracted from your lookes.

You have professed your selfe so happy Sir, you must needs have store of pitty to throw away upon mis­fortune; So I may please you in the exercise of your own virtue, as necessity is delightfull to an ingenuous libera­lity. Is the Queen, Sir, that is to be chosen most by her beauty, unquestionably the handsomest of all the socie­ty?

She is such a one, Lady, as will so much oblige you as to make you equall to the rest of the society compared with her; there is in my mind so much disparity, as all comparisons reach her alike. She put me that was arm'd with love; I thought, of proofe against all the world, to flight to save my selfe.

You have forgot nothing Sir, there that may serve you in recompence of this civility?

Yes Lady I have forgot that there, which I never hope to remember more, but as a danger, from which I owe the gods thanks for my delivery. You will find Lady a Shepheard called Moramente lately received, he was a friend of mine, to him you may be pleased to present the wishes of his friend that left him lately.

I think Sir, our haste may now part us upon e­quall termes, they both seeme to require the prosecution of our way.

The gentlnesse of your conversation, Lady, and the harshnesses of your condition both deserve, and seeme to need a wish, I will leave with you,

How unsure are the calmest harbors, mortality can ancor in? Fortune hath raysed a storm for me, that drives me out even of this security, and makes the ex­posure of my selfe to the wide Ocean of the world again, a wished-for safety. My sinking here now is inevitable, and this safe descent is more unsufferable to me then striking on a rock, and so to perish with preheminence▪ The sad mis­fortune which admitted me into this sanctuary is so out­weighed by this that falls on me now, as even this place that did releeve me then becomes my persecution. Here I found ease for all the paines, that spitefull death, by his cursed seisure on my love, inflicted on me: but here is none for the [...]xtinction of my power, whose seperation from a noble heart if it be consolable, becomes the greater curse. In the remission of its selfe it must consent in yeelding un­to comfort. Love is not such an irremediable passion as ambition. Love when it goes least annihilates it selfe, and so becomes its own remedy: ambition yeelds not to re­pulse, but scales up again as often as it is thrown down, and so is lesse relievable All the comfort I can admit of, is, that my vexation doth so new a thing, as to defeate the peacefull virtue of this place; though that will be much abated by the necessity of dissembling my discontents. Here comes Melidoro and Camena. They are so pleased they will easily be deceived.

We may give you, Pantamora, as much joy in the resignation of your power, as Bellesa in the possession; since she can enjoy but what you have done, and she can [Page 50] not till she resignt tha joy as you have done.

I dot no repine Camena, at my resignation, but 'tis to avoyd a sin not as I am voyd of sense of soverainity, so as to preferr a private condition before so publick an eminence: and I believe the possession of ones selfe enlar­ged much by the extent of power. Active thoughts are not to be weari [...]d out by ease. They that preferr retreates and privacies for the enjoying of themselves, cosen themselves of what they might improve in company; and so, it may be, lose more in that they might acquire than that they make use of in the easinesse of their contentednesse. Sure, for the prospect of my thoughts, I would chuse an emi­nence to set them in.

Sure Pantamora, if our thoughts take their hori­zon at a convenient distance, the emission of them so far i [...] a recreation to them. But if they look so farr as to mee [...] no termination but the aire, they lose themselves i [...] their extents. Privacy may send out thoughts so farr as a conspicuous exaltation; therefore sure they that in calm [...] solitude can keep their wishes within their reach, and their thoughts not much farther then their wishes, enjoy a much happinesse as they can think of, and none desire more.

But it seemes Pa [...]mor [...], tis not the peace bu [...] the priority that you affect amongst us. And that thi [...] place had only the virtue to ease you, as it was capable [...] soverainity, not devoted unto solitude.

Mistake me not Cam [...]n [...], I doe not think it che [...] ­pens private joyes, to raise the value thus of hers that eve [...] the gods intend advantage to. But I forgive you, that b [...] the estimation of your own happinesse, cannot cons [...] to allow soverainity prec [...]d [...]ncy. You will bette [...] unde [...] ­stand one another, therefore I'le leave you where you wil [...] not be so easily mistaken.

Tis a hard thing P [...]ntam [...]ra, not to be so in yo [...] that change so often.

How much do I owe you Camena, that have set­led me above Pantamoras wishes. I would desire soveraini­ty for nothing but to lessen the disparity which is be­tween my passion, and power of serving you. And give me leave Camena, with an humble patience, to shew some sense of your disagreement▪ to our demanding a dismission at this late Election.

If Love, Me [...]idoro, raise it selfe to such a so­veraignty as to possesse all power, and fortune in it selfe, and to neglect all other; then my differring our remove from hence continues you in this your throne; for, they say, Possession, and much more propriety, retrenches Love's prerogative.

As love, Camena, seiseth all our senses, it keepes all their faculties so busied, as they have not lei­sure to tast, much lesse to enjoy any thing, and when our senses have prefer'd it up into our thoughts, there it is inthroned higher, than any mortall joy can reach up to depose it. Love may rise to this transcendent height, that it may seem to look down on all things, and despise even enjoying: but, likely, our thoughts in this elevation stay not long, but growing dizy fall. Therefore when our imaginations settle at such a pitch, as our senses are within distance of them; then possession is a foundation to maintain Love at that height: and such love, Camena, remaines unmoved, and seeth the ruine of many aspiring passions that fall down by it. Therefore possession what it takes off from loves summer-prospect in the height, doth recompence it with strength, and security against the change of seasons.

Then Melidoro, the impropriations of our selves proves us both more habitable, and lesse delightfull, and the security of your loves cools to a tepid warmth, which is not only voyd of brightnesse, but of light. Love is dark­ened, Melidoro, wh [...]n the flame's p [...]tt out.

Hymens torches do imply, Camena, loves flame is nourished, not put out: and may not love blaze aswell in them, as Cupid's wilde fires?

They say indeed, Melidoro, they are the em­blems of the nuptiall flames, which go out with them.

All flames Camen [...], as they be lightsome, so are they wavering too: we see their light and their uncertain moti­ons both at once. Therefore suppose this flame of love put out by nuptiall rites, it settles then into a temperate heate; whose equall ardor purifies it more. For love like gold, Camena, must be brought into a fluentnesse, and by receiving of impression so becomes most usefull.

In this usefullnesse you speake of Melidoro, the gold is made lighter still, and is made currant by [...]llay [...] So woemen, like gold, lose of their valew for the good they doe. I cannot yet resolve to abate soe much from what I love so well, my selfe, as to submit to a propriety.

Nuptiall bonds Camena do not convey you over to the propriety of him they are delivered to; they rather do enlarge the owning of your selfe. For they make the same as your selfe, what you vouchsafe to joyne unto it. So you are still owned, but by your selfe inlarged. D [...] not fright me then Camena, with that word [submission, when all I wish is but this Identity, To become mo [...] subject to you, because we do dispose of nothing so freely as our selves.

That which in our freedome Melidoro, is an a [...] ­surance against these bonds, after our engagement do [...] expose us most to the penalty of them. This Identity [...] man and wife, this aggravates our faults, as it imply [...] the husbands sufferings for them. This interesteth that whose tendernesse hardens our lives unto us, a husband [...] honor, which is so delicate, as breath, nay imagination wounds it; and our afflictions are presently ministred fo [...] remedies, and all our suffering made legall by this Identi­ty. Therefore Melidoro, I will not hazard the blessing o [...] [Page 53] my love to you by making you My-selfe, who have a title dearer to me farr.

Tis an affected cruelty Camena, to punish me for possibility of sinning, and not to leave me so much as your love to joy in, by this ascription of my punishment to that. No Camena, this is a deceit full of apparition of your love, which like the Sun now it is setting seems to draw neere us, when it is remotest: therefore now I must expect a following darkenesse.

Marke Melidoro, how you that would decline mens easines to jealousy, are allready insensibly crept into it.

Melidoro and Camena, I come to warn you both to the Convocation. The Queen hath appoynted to day for the hearing of a new Pretender, the hour is neere at hand.

We will both go along.

My innocence hath strengthened even the weakest part of me so, as to defeate the kings persute. And now se­cured from those feares, lest I should once enjoy a thought­lesse ease, I find a care rise up before me, how I should dis­guise my story. Fortune hath provided such an excesse for me, as I might spare the halfe, lest my distresse may seem so irremediable, as to exclude me from this ease. The strangenesse of my curse is such, as it excludes all beleefe, otherwise then that my complaint is vaine. And tis no discretion to alledge the love of Princes, for a misfortune. I must therefore degrade them of that quality, and relate them but as father and son, this will interest both sexes in my pity, who am fled hither, choosing so to make peace for others, to come and begg my own,

The pretender is allready here, lets take our places and give her audience.

The very introduction to my story, Ladies, may be a pretence enough unto your pitties, that I am redu­ced to begg beleefe of you in that▪ which above all things derogates from your selves, That your contrariety could be beloved. And that which will avert you Gentlemen from the credit of it, is, that it may seem a scandall to have this love imputed unto men; unto whose colours this of mine may seeme a staine, and not an ornament. Thus I am so miserable as before I plead my cause, to make my judges justly parties against me; but, this wonder past, and pardoned, then the consequence may easily be beleeved because it is successively naturall, A Father and a Son being the subjects of this wonder. The passion of the son was first. The father followed it unknown to the son; of which the father meant to apply the first discovery, only to benum and dead what was left of life. This was that only pretence which the fury [...]ealousy, did allow the son▪ which had perswaded as it seemes the father, that the blacknesse of his thoughts would match the colour Na­ture had ment to sute with mine. And the gods know, I was so equally averse to both, as they had made our co­lours The fathers purpose seemed to him past defeat; and finding me one day so constantly unmoved with all those stormes lover's complaints do raise, at last this swelling sadnesse broke into a rage, and v [...]wed rev [...]nge. The which the strangn [...]sse of, might be discr [...]dit [...]d in my be­leefe, had not the wonder of his love presaged unnaturall events. He said, he would reduce himselfe to a condition should defeat even my pitty, and in revenge of my crosse-will would frustrate even my power of helping him. And there he seemed to prove, this purpose was designed above, since nature had curst him unto the making of his curs [...], his son. Whose making was not thought enough, but his [Page 55] end too was destined to him, and even for such a cause, as was a greater torment then the act. Therefore he said, his thoughts condemned his son of more then parricide, his intercepting of my love to him, and he should be sacrificed to this suspition. So little did the love of twice himselfe prevaile, set by his love to me. And this he said, he did acquaint me with, that my virtue which had been his tormentor, might have the paine of being the cause, and knowing this detestable effect without the meanes of a prevention, which his instant execution should make im­possible. And thus he seemed to fly from me, as if the plea­sure of this act already had displaced that of his being with me. Then I, counselled by virtue in this strange surprise, which seeing as her self she had not power to divert this rage, did prompt me to disguise her into a shape might please his fancy for a while, and so delude this fury by its own resemblance. Then I persuing him with haste stayd him, seeming to embrace his rage, not wrestle with it. Then I told him that I did allow this brave resolve, as a temp­tation high enough to justifie my yeelding to. And I could never have thought to have mett a humor worthy the matching mine unto. I told him, mine was none of those warme tender hearts that sighes could blow into a flame. It had an adamantine temper, which only blood can soften; and that he had done like to that Painter, that had the figure of a lyon running mad, and wanting [...]othing but the foame to represent, grew so distracted with despaire of hitting it, as in a rage he threw his pen­cil at it, and by this chance did rarely perfect his aban­doned worke: and so his fury had, throwing it selfe into so high despaire, made up that figure, which only could have taken me.

I told him, that his feares were true, and that his son was guilty of interposing between him and me. But his offence was only naturall, not active against him, whose having of a son, had resolved me, not to submit the plea­sures [Page 56] of my bed to a minority in any thing. Therefore he that could intend to kill his son to impossibilitate his joyes, will easily do it to assure them. Which if he would promise, on the beleefe of his brave minde, that had ad­vanced me to such proofes of it, I would advance his possession of me, even this night, before the ceremoniall rites. He agreed to this with so much joy, he seemed to have made and not destroyed a son. That night, I ha­ving taken up the time on such a pawne as this, made pre­sently the best of it, and layd it out so, as I thought the use of it should pay the principall. Therefore I sent in­stantly to the son; and, by tokens, that I had taken from the father as pledges of his word, assured him his death was purposed by his father, and that night. That there did remain no time for any thing but flight. This he be­lieving did fly instantly. Which I assured of, my next part was now, to unmask my virtue, whose vizard grew offen­sive. Therefore thus winged with innocence, I did resolve to fly over these seas, which part our neighbouring lands, leaving a Letter which might clear my virtue, from that black engagement I had made. And coming hither, the kinde gods presented me with the selfe equall report of so divine a body, as it offers it to the releife of all nations & sexes, and my arrivall here I cannot ascribe to lesse then a divine direction.

Thus have you heard a Story, whose strangenesse needs so much of your pitty, it must first aske your credit as a charity; which if you do vouchsafe, I cannot doubt a fair commiseration. And the newnesse of this my pretence brings somewhat with it, as a recompence for my admis­sion, an enlargement of the powerfull vertue of this place which by receiving me into this happiness [...], shall shew, it cannot only disappoint Fortune's malignity, but Nature's too.

Votorio, collect the voyees.

No vote opposeth the admission.

Nature, Madam, hath by my humility light­ned so the darke misfortune of my birth, as ambition, whose colour is my contrary, seemes so unlovely to me, as I shall wish nothing but rest and solitude, whose shades best fit with me.

Let the oath and habit be given her.

How much doth heaven approve of this com­passion? It hath allready payd me with all the blessings earth affords, and hath made the King the recompencer of my happy disobedience. He hath since Fidamira's flight heaped so much fortune and honor on me as if he meant that amazement should take up all my senses, and leave me none to lament her love with, which sorrow seemes to him his prerogative, she would admitt no partner in it.

But I have a pain deeper then any guesse can reach to allay. Such a one as the name of father forbids the cure of.

The king is gone this way, his afflictions make my curse inevitable; for even their releife, the finding Fidami­ra, must prove her losse to me.

O Fidamira, thy feares have blemished even thy innocence, in this unjust affliction of thy Prince, that had no thought but how to shew that Princes are happy in the meanes of setting vertue in its truest light. If this pur­posed remove of thee out of thy Fathers house did shake thee into needless fears, 'twas thy humility, that did not know, that thy transcendent merit was so much, that a King could not spare the smallest circumstance in all his power to honor it enough. So, what I was forced to do [Page 58] even to avoyd omission, thou didst avoyd for an excesse. Was it not paine enough for me to part with Basilino, without the addition of this strange heavy curse, That his returne should prove a torment to me? For so it must by this distresse of Fidamira, whose happinesse I only was to account for, upon his request O that he were come back, that I might free the name of King from such mis­fortunes! and resigning to his g [...]iltlesse youth break off this thred by ruder motions, and not stay till it wear out with age▪ I would my selfe undergoe a boundlesse pilgrim­age, which, though it had no end but expiation of my guilt to Basilino by the expiration of my selfe, I'de un­dergoe it so. Most of those I sent in search of her allready are returned, and with their silent sadnesse, bring mourning only for their answers. Into how wilde a di­vination have my straying sorrowes led me here alone? and they have brought me to a way whose shady melan­choly seemes to invite me to begin my Pilgrimage▪ Here comes one too whose lookes forespeak his newes. What, have you found her?

Who should I have found?

Canst thou looke so and aske, Who? Is there so much sorrow left in all the rest of the world as thou pre­tendest to, and not imployed in F [...]damira? What art thou, that seemest so boldly sad to vye with me?

This is the king I must dissemble▪ I am one that may allow you any subject you can choose about your selfe, and then dispute afflictions with you. I am a voted Pilg [...]ime, whose wandring motions seeke their ayme hopeles of so much rest as even the knowledge of the end they are directed to.

Alas, thou art so short of me, as even thy misery is my wish. Were it in my choyce to be a Pilgrim or a King, I'de chuse thy curse for ease. If you have nothing else to vye with me, you may add this unto your greifs, if you did meane they should▪ exceed all others; they [Page 59] being now outsorrowed by me, whose condition if you knew, would shame all your complaints.

My sorrowes Sir, do ly so heavy on me, I cannot rayse them up so high as a relation; yours must be leighter, needs, that you can lift them so high as your mouth.

This dumb dejection of your selfe under the pres­sure of affliction may as well imply your weaknesse as the sorrowes weight. And silence so may equall all pre­tensions unto misery. Therefore raise your complaints so high to put them in a ballance against mine, to try the which out-weighs.

I am content to leighten yours to weigh with you. I have loved, and have been so neere injoying, as the dis­appoyntment did double the paine, by the reflex of that which lightt on her I loved, by this differring of our joys which I am now more distanced from, than I was ever neere.

I did resist and overcome a passion, whose oppo­sition had but left me one pain in all the world greater than it, and that fell on me, the disappointment of hi [...] love, for whose successe I only could have yeelded, and I remain [...] guilty in the opinion of them both, a [...] the defea­ter of their joyes.

The one I shall ne're see againe, to undeceive. The o­ther I must see so guiltily deceived, as he unjustly must cond [...]mne his father.

This is the only misery (I do confesse) I could al­low a pitty to. This is a lending of your senses to others torments, whose joyes only they cannot tast. Your own wishes in my minde could not releeve you, since they tend only to others ends.

I do allow you so much advantage Sir, as I confesse your present misery is above my feares. But give me leave to aske▪ as a stranger to your country and your story, Whether this Fidamira that you named be yet a live. Me­thinks her death might ease you much.

Kind pilgrime, In the absence of my son, jealous of, so much comfort as my care, my cursed fate guided her the only way unto my guilt, her flight. I do not think her dead, no more then a disguise may be a preparation to it. As death may have a better pretence to seise her then as not her selfe, than in the lively illustration of her selfe, to whom all lives are due. And to let thee see, kind Pil­grime, how due to me this thy ingenuous yeelding was, I will direct thee to an ease of all thy miseries, while mine are unreleevable. I'le terminate thy aimelesse course, and point thee out to such an end, whose sa [...]e attainder shall center thy sorrowes up in rest. You have heard sure of the Shepherds Paradise, whose peaceable bounds have that strange virtue from the gods, as to include all those within a peacefull acquiescence, that are admitted there. Thither repaire, for though you have not griefe enough to weigh with mine; yet your misfortune's full enough for a pretence to be received even there. And when you finde the smiles of that smooth place laugh at your wrin­kled sorrowes past, then for my sake dispute your joyes with those contented soules. For you may sooner there outvie all their delights▪ than my distresses, should you run on in this sad maze till you did measure all the world and end your dayes.

I will submit my selfe to your directions Sir, but to an end differing so farr from what you do prescribe as mine shall be in a defiance unto peace. I will even there raise up new sorrowes which my dist [...]acted soul shall there erect for trophies, got from the cont [...]sting virtue of that place; which my sad life shall so defeate, as all those joyes that shall incompasse me, shall by the deadnesse of my sense, serve but to prove my miseries the more com­pleat.

Follow my counsell freind; it may be the virtue of this place may be so strong, it shall incline your own willingnesse towards your releefe. I must leave you, and I [Page 61] am sure not far out of your way towards my advice.

The gods be with you Sir, and may you live to be a wonder in the contrary extreame of what you now are. Alas, good King, how patient have I been to allow your sorrowes victory, striving with mine, which these were too that you brought forth. For Fidamira's flight belongs simply to me, and hath no comfort but the ad­miration of her virtues, which this happy meeting with the King hath so exalted as the wonder mingles with the sense of my disappointment, and so tempers it into a hopefull patience. The kings counsell is so good, it will serve for more then he intends it, and I hope for as much joy to him, as he meant ease to me. I will goe back direct­ly to the Prince, and now assure him that the Princesse of Navarr is dead, to stop his fathers course. And as I finde his thoughts are fixt or moved from Fidamira, so con­trive his returne; the which will quickly unconceal my Fidamira, who must needs be hid in some neighbour­ing privacy secure from her virtuous feares.

This penance of not seeing her, I take as due unto these faulty eyes that have been pleased with ano­ther object. Which now redeemed shall make me watch their straying motions with a stricter care.

That which you reported of the Prince, Moramente, is now fully confirmed by this Moor that we admitted last. She past that way she said, and so describes his person and his parts, it seemes a miracle that faith or honor could have virtue to r [...]sist his will.

I know the Prince, Madam, so well, I wonder more at the unfitnesse of his wishes, than at the gods re­fusall. Which was a gentle punishment of his forgetting selfe. And I beleeve wherever he is gone, heaven will di­rect him to a choyce, between which, and his owne, there shall be as much odds, as between his choosing and the gods.

You beleeve then Moramente, he will love again, & by a high successe shall know he was reserved by heaven, for more then he could wish at first, you think heaven doth allow of love's twice.

As it doth intend, Madam, all good should rise to its perfection, our minds are but love's pupills at the first. Which fit themselves but to proceed and take degrees, and so our second love is a degree wherein our soules at­taine to experience that imploys it selfe in loves refine­ment. So not by the first step, but by this gradation, Love ascends unto its highest.

I will allow you Moramente, Love is no irradiation of a light into our soules whose first instant brightness is in its perfection. But may not the first spark be kept alive and raised unto as high a light, as can the second, which is kindled still by putting out the first?

Tis not an extinction of the flame, 'tis but a change of the materiall that fomented it: so second loves have this advantage, they being the first instant in that height the first was long agrowing to, and have the first comparison to rayse themselves by, which must prove it higher by having got above it.

These degrees of elevation M [...]ramente, you require in Love, inferr this consequence that love should be a con­tinuall motion, by change aspiring to transcendency. For it comparison doth raise it so, he is to blame that takes but one. For by your inference the number must exalt no [...]last unto the greatest height. Your inconstancy doth not concerne us so, as you should strive to prove it a virtue to us.

In this degree Madam, which I have named Love comes to touch a point, after which all motion is a decli­nation. I do not allow loves leightnesse, or variety con­tributors unto its heighth. I do agree the glory of it, is in a consistency in this elevation the second love attaines to; because the first cannot know how high it is. Had I thought inconstancy a virtue, Madam, I ne're had been blest with this so great a joy as seeing you.

What Moramente sayes, Martiro seemes to justi­fy the Prince his second love, and so to make his cause a president to plead his own by, since their fortunes do re­resemble much in the miscarrying of their loves.

So he hath reason, Madam; for the Prince's case would warrant any private [...]ans dismission of such thoughts whose entertainement did so much defame loves power by his Tyranny; and they ill subjects are, whose constant sufferings do better the world from his subject­ion which can be taken only by their will.

I do confesse the Prince for many reasons might not only be allowed but wished a second, and succesfull love; that he may know our Sex have joyes that may out­prise his sufferings; be may else grow vaine in this his sorrow, and beleeve love owes his more then it can pay in all our Sex.

What Madam then is my condition? whose suf­ferings I should think injured compared with his, did I not find the Prince exalted by you to so high a pitty, as I am glad mine were now likened to them, might not I pre [...]end to have my second choyce, wisdome, not in­constancy?

I beleeve you might; and I should pitty you the more, were you not here in this deligh [...]ull [...]ce, and he abroad in search of that you have attained, Forget­fulln [...]sse.

You speake Madam, as though you wished him here; where would he were even in my place, and I any where but with your pity.

You wish Moramente much against him, and more against your selfe: for you had my pitty in your admit­tance, you had it at first sight; and, since, you have my in­terest in all yo [...]r joyes as part of the Society.

If I wish him Madam in my place t'is that I dare wish more in his brave name then in my own, in whom so insolent a wish as your esteem could finde but such a pitty as distraction doth.

I do esteeme you so much Moramente, as I dare never resolve to pitty you so much. I trust the vertuous peace of your composed, and setled thoughts.

M [...]amente is so civil, Madam, he would make the virtue of this place defective, to endear your power by the applying of his wishes unto you. And your civility to us Madam is such, you borrow now this time from your devotions.

Tis true, Ma [...]tiro, time is not so civill as to stay for any body.

I have yet devotion enough Madam to forgive M [...]rtiro his excesse. I'le stay behind a little to dispose my selfe to that.

I see there is no vizarding of love to make it passe abroad unknown; the eye or mouth are even enough to shew what tis. Nay did young Love himselfe wish a dis­guise he could not ever be fitted. For who can take a mea­sure of a growing love? where every instant adds as much as even your thought can comprehend. And now Love seemes to promise more advantage by this selfe discovery. It prompts me to Martiro's friendship, whose trust will both afford my love more room for recreation of it selfe, and helpe to carry it neerer Bellesa by an insensible ap­proach, which it may make by him. I will professe [...]y passion freely to Martiro. I am sure to be beleeved, thats a joy which I defy my own misfortune to oppose me in. But I must not provoke it with unthankfullnesse▪ I must ac­knowledg to my misfortune the debt of this experience.

I will contribute now to B [...]llesa's knowledge, and will leave these verses here, which she must find at her re­turne.

Is this strange discovery part of my curse, my finding out of the Prince, only that I might misse Agenor? The peace this place affords had been too much for me without this disquiet of Agenors parting with the Prince. I can guesse no reason, unlesse he should, finding him set­led here, have asked leave to go back again unto the King with the designe of seeing me. Which I am aptest to sus­pect. I [...] doth so well agree with my misfortunes such a dis­appointment. And yet I findsome bold devining-thoughts, that thank my fears that brought me hi [...]her. And pro­mise me I shall redeeme the Prince his favour, by so strange a service. He may thinke I ow the virtue of my faith un­to his fate, that did compell me to inconstancy. Which was ordained that his despaire might wellcome this destined blessing so much more; and I shall have a double merit by my contribution of dispaire and hope. I do confesse his passions, and already have professed his prayses, and he is himselfe our Prince. And now I must apply my selfe to the successe of his disguise. I shall so studiously persue his end, as his consent unto Agenor's choyse and mine shall be a joy of his, and no reward. Here lies a paper. This is his hand, I cannot mistake, mine eyes are not disguised. These are verses full of passion. I'le keep them so, as she he ment them to, shall see them more recommended, then this chance can do.

I thank my thoughts for this reproach they send me. Now the wish of my contribution to the successes of [Page 66] my love, which now againe hath mastred my ambition; and all the quarrell I have now unto Bellesa, is, the having envied her, that so low a passion should be in me, for which I will accept no lesse satisfaction from my selfe then the dis-lustering of her in Moramen [...]'s eyes. I am confident she is already settled there with all the advantage love can chuse. And sure, she cannot choose but see her selfe there by the reflex of his addresses, which are so clear as her conivance implyes she findes her selfe no way disfigured there. Yet all this is no more advantage then I may allow her. I would not meet with lesser difficultyes to expiate my envy, which my heart hath let it selfe descend to. And now my thoughts shall take their rise no lower then the admiration of her beauty and her virtues, and from thence carry my loves successe above them all. I will not strike on the flat of envy or destraction, but in faire conspicuous flights will make above her.

To what a rashnesse hath my Love transported me? as if I might expect my passion had given me an e­quall power over others to that it had assumed over me. I did deliver up my wishes to Martiro, with such a confi­dence, as if I had granted his contribution to them as a sute. He answered me with such cold civility as did imply surprise. He sayd, he wondred that so noble a passion could be so defective in so essentiall a point as secresie. But that he would impute this opening of my selfe to him a desire of making him a freind by this advance of such a trust, as must expresse my confidence in him by the ex­posure of my happinesse to his discretion. In returne of which, he said he would promise me so strict a secresie, as my love should be lock't up with the profoundest secret [...] of this world, his hidden thoughts; which should never have more ayre then would afford them breath only to live, but not to speak. How dull was I, not to beleeve before that all that had seen her, were in love with her? [Page 67] I'le give security now for my beleeving it, a generall di­strust of all the world. All women needs must envy her, and all men me for the out-loving them. I will punish this my looseness so, I will endure the guilt of breach of friend­ship for it, and lock it up even from Genorio at his re­turn.

We may discharge ourselves of this charge now, having met you Sir, who are of the society. He demands Votorio, to whom, you can direct him better then we.

This stranger, freinds, is addrest to me, where you may leave him, and take your discharge.

We obey Sir, and leave you.

Dost thou bring newes Genorio, that thou hadst rather thy clothes should tell than thou? What black traver [...]e hast thou brought, to draw between me and my joyes were flying to embrace thee.

I am happy Sir, to come to be imbraced by you in this infectious Colour which must fully and black you too.

Throw then Genorio those blacks over me, for nothing can appeare so ugly unto me as this party-colo­red doubt.

If the blacks be not so polished Sir, as you may see your selfe in them, then let your thoughts sink down as low as possibility can fall, and they must needs find your misfortune there. You have not many to confound your choyce.

It must be that, Genorio, that which sinkes be­yond the centre of misfortune, so as it ascends upward unto heaven in a rebellion for Saphira's elevation thither. My distraction tells me it must be that, and justifiys this seisure on me. I am so mad allready, I do not wish it should be lesse. And I am not so happy as to be naturally mad, for I have so much sense left yet Genorio, as to thank [Page 68] thee for the exempting of thy selfe from so soule a thing as telling it me.

Give me leave to tell you Sir, you have not gues­sed so much misfortune, as your distraction is going now to make. Suppose heavenly Saphira at her home. Will not the part of lamentation that you ow her, ask an en­tire soule to pay it her? why then do you teare that a­peices, which even whole will be too little to offer up un­to her memory? do you think that lesse then a man can be enough to mourn for her? Then Sir, collect your senses, and by this union strengthen them for the impo­sure of this weight, that they may be the bearers of this sacred hearse. This leight-distraction shows they would fly from it as a burthen▪ Therefore Sir, consider what shame it will be for you to mourn for the divine Saphira as you are not your selfe.

As I am my selfe Genorio, I must needs be the unfittest to mourne for her; for so I owe her most, and am unworthy even of an ability to acquitt my selfe. Should I speake to save those senses that were guilty of her death? No Genorio, no lesse then running mad, and biting even the virtue of the place, so as by my inf [...]ct­ion it may distracted dye, and turne this Paradise into a mourning wildernesse, where nothing but wild sorrow shall abide. There is nothing but the virtue of this place so inverted, can be a monument of greife fitt for the di­vine Saphira.

But stay, before I go Genor [...]o, tell me the manner of her leaving of this world, that I may be higher swollen with this black raging poyson I must spread, that I may over­come all Antidotes this place is strengthened with.

The knowledge of this circumstance will be so usefull to you Sir, as you must give me leave now to con­dition for the imparting of it; Since not your selfe, I need [...]ot owne my duty, therefore promise Sir to reassume so [Page 69] much sense as to comply with your owne duty, and your deare fathers wishes. Whose sorrowes for your absence joyning with his age, will quickly rob you of some part of those distracted griefs requiring a g [...]eat share for him. Therefore your duty to Saphira should advise you to a­voyde so sad a mixture as his death must be, which must part griefes with her. And were it but to raise your mour­ning as a private man up to the height of a great Prince, you were obliged for that to re-inthrone your selfe, that by this low dejection of yourselfe, it might so become the greater fall, and so you advanced in your designe of honoring Saphira.

Doth my father summon me Geno [...]io to the per­formance of my word, in my return? I will begin at this great height of strayning nature, in my disobedience to him, I must benight the lustre of this place. Courts of themselves are sad enough Genorio, each one hath there his own particular affliction that benum's him of the sense of others. No Genorio it must be here, among these joyes, where greife's a miracle, that I must celebrate the funeralls of the divine Saphira, and so give blacks to all this society. If you will leave to me to guesse the manner of her death, I'le shew I am so stark mad, as I'le be­leeve she dyed for love of me.

I'le contribute so much to the madnesse of the be­leef Sir, as to let you know she dyed married to the King of Albion, whom her beauty which was only undisguised in her retreat into his countrey, which she chose for so­litude, raysed her to the publick eminence of Queen, without the help of any other quality; all which untill her death she kept conceal'd, unwilling to owe any thing but to her beauty.

This may allay my griefe into a sober melan­choly which I must now impose upon my selfe, the only meanes of expiation left. This methinks hath brought me to my selfe againe, her having been another's. And [Page 70] now Genorio I will promise thee to stay but to use the virtue of this place for the recovery of this sad disease was growing on me. Therefore do you pretend to be admitted h [...]re, and I will promise within few dayes to declare my selfe, and so returne. I'le go and send Votorio to you.

I will obey you Sir, and with no lesse merit by the pain of staying now, than in the leaving you be­fore. Sure fortune is not blind, it could not lead us up and downe, thus, as it were in such intricate and many changes, at it doth. She hath brought me back hither, & perswades me now she will conveigh me to my end by staying here. Sure this pretence of staying here to mourn was but found out as the best disguise Love can put on, because the blackest sorrow. And nothing will conceale love longer then an approved pretence to sadnesse. I must apply my observation, and my curiosity as a stran­ger, to discover whether his thoughts be not more fixt on Bellesa's life then Saphira's death.

The Gods protect you, Sir; Moramente told me you demanded me.

He hath obliged me Sir, in so speedy procuring of this favour, I am come to intreat your help in an au­dience, for the delivery of my pretence to be admitted in­to the Society. Fortune, since I went from hence, hath so intended my persecution, as if my having been but here had been a declaration of my selfe against her. Therefore now I am come back hither for Sanctuary, with this to recommend my sad pretence the having suffered for my b [...]ing here.

It is you Sir, have brought this darknesse with you, that hath ore-cast Moramente thus.

I assured only his enquiry in somewhat he desired [Page 71] to know abroad, which if it hath afflicted him, it will adde somewhat to my pretence. The misfortune of having been so cursed as to bring sorrows hither, it will be in your power Madam, now to over-pay that which you were so lately pleased to call civility, my direction of you hither. Your happy admittance here must needs indebt you to any body that did but contribute so much as showing you the way.

That which helped you to retaine me in your memory may excuse me for your being fallen allmost out of mine. This black made me notorious to you and hath disguised you to me. It seems you are owner as well as bearer of part of Morament's greife [...].

Among all misfortunes Madam, I have not this of nature, the being insensible of what friendship should affect me with, and so only this particular toucheth me, my own dysasters challenging this habit.

Your own misfortunes are now to be releeved by our knowledg of them: but you may ease us by the ac­quaintance of this greife which you have brought to Moramente.

I wonder Madam, it falls so heavy on him to cause this dejection, since it falls on him but from another whom it fell on first. 'Tis the death Madam of the Princesse of Navarr, whom the Prince his Highnesse was so in love with, as he left his fathers Court even to ask nothing but her pardon. The story is too long to satisfy you by, of the Prince his reasons. But this is enough to possess you of the reason of Moraments sorrowes, his love and duty to the Prince.

The Queen Sir, is going to the audience-seat, and tis time for you to move that way.

I follow you Sir. In hope of time enough here­after, to ask your pardon, Lady.

I shall meet you presently Sir, and I hope embrace [Page 72] you, as one the gods seem to favour, and to have for­given by their direction of you into this Society.

The gods should too much enlarge me to fur­nish me with more ad [...]iration of the virtue of this place. Sure th [...]y chose to make me thus happy, as the subject whereon the virtue of this place might get the greatest honor by the despaire of my condition, that I should live to misse Genori [...], to endeare the finding him here. This is he, my joyes tell it me better then my eyes. The Prince is here, & left the sense of the Princess Saphiras death might qualify these joyes, the Prince being in love with the divine Bel [...]esa is fallen out to make her death as it were a sacrifice to all our lives. This free's the Prince from any scruple in his love, and so prepares the wished successe unto Agenor and my self. I will conceale my self still unto Agenor. It is not jealousie, but to do him right by this allowance of so much merit, as his constancy must be, in this place, imparadised in the strength of temp­tations of our Sex: and I love him so I'de have him out­merit me in what only I can alleadg it, constancy, which in a defence against this place's beauty will be done. I do not despaire of Belles [...]s taking too, my approaches have been succes [...]ull yet.

Moramente by me begs your Majestie's pardon for his absence which his indisposition hath occasioned.

I am sorry for the justnesse of his excuse. Let the [...]tender begin.

Behold deaths Herald, sent to proclaim a Victory [...] he lately had o're love, by which both sexes are de­feated [Page 73] so, as men may feare the being loved, and women may justly leave from loving, since nothing but dying can shew that they can love enough. Behold and pity me whom death keeps thus alive by my despaire. In living to proclame his Triumph, not only in my love, but in my life, I am that wretched he, that shame unto my sex, that was beloved by such a one, as had not sin enough to dy, but death was faine her virtue to imploy.

This treachery did death use me with, whilst I was as I may say even in his company, as much as darknesse and absence represent him. In this separation then, death I may say betray'd love too: for 'twas the deadly sinn of lust, armed with the power of a Prince that did assault the vir­tue of this matchlesse Shee. To save whose life she gave her own to death delivering it with her own hands. Which being not strong enough to defend her innocence, were innocent in the defeate of her own life when it stood against her innocence. After this, do not be­leeve that I pretend admission here for comfort, but bound to seeke through all the world the place which is the truest enemy to lust, and death, which all consent is this; for that virtue which defyes the first, defeates the last of his power. Therefore I must implore your ayde in this, that in revenge of this injurious life which nature is not so kind as to allow me hope of a justifiable freeing of my selfe of, I may live here where only life is such, as it despiseth death.

Votorio, collect the votes

They agree for his admission.

And I confirme it too. But methinks death hath not been so injurious as your sense would make it in this cause for it seemes to have come in upon the rescue, not the arrest; and we are interessed in your life as a record of the virtue of our sex.

Did I not justly prefer the estimation of this place before the rest of the world, I should have been a moving [Page 74] monument, and should have disperst her Epitaph as farr as life would have have served to carry me. But since in this one cent [...] meets all the extended lines of virtue that touch this worlds circumference, here I have chosen to fix my selfe; that in a firm consistency the dimension of this virtue might be trulier taken here.

Votorio, let him be sworne.

You shall be obeyed, Madam.

The fourth Act.

MY whole life Saphira should have been thy Epitaph, had not thy end dispenced with my beginning. This is an obligation which my fancy brings unto thy memory, which I will offer to it now.

The Queen, Moramente, hearing of your indispo­sition, is come to visit you.

The Queen, Gemella? Let her not be so cruell as so soon to interupt my senses in a sorrow that they are paying. But the seeing her will set me so behind by such an interposing joy, as will so lighten all I can pay after, as there will nothing passe for weight.

Madam you have set all my sorrows, that I ought my freind, upon my own account for my unworthi­nesse of so soveraigne a remedy as your presence.

What distemper is it Moramente, that detained you thus long from the Society?

If e're your sight did cure any Madam, call it that; for that's the only marke that I shall e're remember it by.

They say you have a freindship so ieneere to you, [Page 75] and so refined, as you are wounded through it. What pa­per's that you seem to be suprised with in your hand?

The tendernesse of friendship Madam, is the best constitution of it, and misfortunes that fall first on friends have not their weight broken by the way, but fall heavier as they bring them down upon us. This paper, Madam, is a part that I have acted personating the unhappy Prince, whose sorrowes I took so cruelly on me, as they do excuse the insolence of taking his person too, in this meditation on Saphira's death.

Pray let me see it, Moramente. G [...]mella shewed me verses of yours the other day, which I liked well, they were discreetly passionate.

These, Madam, I dare commend more, as they concern me not so much. I'le read them to you, Madam, in the person of the Prince upon the death of the Prin­cesse of Navarr.

The cause of your pain Moramente ought to cease, if it depend on the finding of a cause strange enough for this lamented death. Did you ever see the Princesse of Navarr?

I must confesse, I am eased of all the pain that I have ever heard of; and that which doth remaine doth not detract from your virtue Madam, since I ought to think your knowledge of it, would but improve it. In not having seen the Princesse, I attribute rightly unto the Prince, who as I conceive could not possibly arrive in Al­bion before her death.

Sure Moramente, her Marriage was her death unto the Prince; that breath which did be­queath her to another, was her expiration to him.

I believe Madam, the having made her self away must needs lessen much his devotion to her [...]rtues; nor do I believe that e're he meant to love her; but moved with a religious sense of those hazards of hers he was accoun­table for, did vow this search for expiation, not expec­tance of her love.

Sure, love is very injorious, or it is injured much by mens complaints; for, since my comming hither I have heard no pretence to a misfortune, but Love hath had the imputation of it. Sure you know what Love truely is; therefore instruct me what in it selfe it is, that ne­ver heard of it but c [...]iminated with sad effects.

I shall retract all my complaints if I be so happy as to be the first, that informs you Madam what love is, and shall doe so great a service unto Love it selfe, as it hath but one recompence great enough for my re­ward.

[Page 77]True Love, Madam, is a Spirit extracted out of the whole masse of virtue; and two hearts, so equall in it as they are measured by one another, are the vessels where it is refined, heated naturally by each others eyes, and joyn­ed by pipes as subtill as our thoughts, by which it runs so fast from one into another, as the exchange and the re­turne are but one instant. And to confirme this doctrine, you Madam by this receit may make it when you please.

The reason then that I have heard Love cal­led a poyson, is, when this Spirit is intended to too high a degree of heat.

If it be drawn from good ingredients, it cannot rise to an excesse. Pure Love is a virtue Madam that hath no extream; and wild desires take but Love's name, as rash blasphemers do repeat the gods by an habitual sinne, by which they only do prophane themselves. It is desire, Ma­dam, you have so oft heard called poyson. 'Tis true, that's a mineral which if it be not well tempered and prepared, is very dangerous; but, so disposed, it quickens the virtue of all it mixeth with.

Me thinks Moramente you conclude, There must be a conformity of two hearts for Love's composure, & so a single one that gets not another to joyn with it cannot attain to Love's perfections.

Loves perfection Madam, is such a blessing as the gods have, not left in the power of any one to consum­mate▪ but, to indear it by the difficulty, have ordained it should depend on the consent of two. This rarity in na­ture else, would prove too cheap if every single heart could be possest of it. Therefore I conclude that loves per­fection must be such a compacted union of two hearts so close, as there's not so much as even a wish left out be­tween them.

But how can this be done? For I have heard most women say, that when our hearts are softned so as they are impr [...]ssive, then men thinke themselves their sove­raigns, [Page 78] having set their Image on them; and so our hearts are rather wrought into subjection, then that equal union you describe.

I confesse, Madam, there may be men as vain as wo­mens fears: but, vanity though it take many marks upon it selfe, yet leaves but seldome any. It is so light, Love ne­ver feels it as it passeth over it; therefore Madam, Vanity doth but polish Love in its own conceit, and so sees it self in it, and pleaseth it self with the reflex without the im­pression left. But a mans heart possest with true love as soone as it perceives but the least gentlenesse, where it is applyed to move, then with humble insinuations it works it self under that heart, it means to raise in this injection of it self into it; so that the womans heart is not subjected but exalted by this union.

You conclude then Moramente, that all love is a desire refined into the parity in union; and I have heard Martiro say, Love's soul was made of the impossibility of union: How can these two be reconciled?

I have heard of men so long immured up in darknesse, they began to make a sight out of the habit of privation of it: and so despaire at last may thus suppose it self a light, and custome may delude it, and such darke visions Madam are better wondered at then intended to disprove.

I confesse Moramente, I incline more to your opi­nion, as the more clear by far. Martiroes lessons are yet too hard for so young a beginner as I, I shall acknowledge my self your pupil as the first I ever understood Love by. I hope you will come abroad now. Pray give me this paper, left it make you fall into a relapse.

You are a greater Mistrisse in love Madam then you know of: for I have not told you half of that I have heard of you, the repetition of which would ease me more then the repetition of all other griefs. I have so desperate a disease, Madam, I cannot hope for a relapse.

Can chance be trusted with more treasure then even love can glory in, kindnesse from the divine Bellesa? [I shall acknowledg you the first that ere I understood love by.] How well hath she exprest her ignorance in love by speaking thus plainely of it? Thus much understood by her that said it, were theam enough to change my story, and make it more succesfull then ever i [...] was crosse. But this was said by chance, to let me see fortune is so confident in my oppression, as she dare show me joyes in her hand to scorne me by.

I wonder Moramente, how so much sorrow did re­maine for you, since your affliction hath been parted a­mongst all of us. And none hath taken a larger share of it then I.

I need not Pantamora excuse this sense occasioned by me; since all your sex is interested more in this your losse then any one of ours, as you might glory that she was your own.

Sure Moramente the desire of that glory must have been the rack on which your soul hath been extend­ed to raise your sorrowes thus. Freindship gets not so far within us as to shake us so.

As freindship appropriates all joy, so Pantamora I have wished it as the greatest blessing I could wish the Prince, if he desired it, to appropriate his sorrowes also.

This is vanity Moramente, that lightens through those clouds incompasse it; as if you would seem to pre­sent the Prince with all you have, your love, and sorrowes too. I will help you forward Morament by my beleefe that there goes not only your passion, but her sense of it to justify your griefes: And I confesse tis not unlikely you should move wheresoever you should apply.

I was never so neere any happinesse as even this mistake of yours. For this, Princesse, I confesse; I was not [Page 80] in so much certainty of despaire, as in all other good fortunes I have been, because I never saw her, nor she me.

[...] confesse I guessed by that neernesse to the Prince your sadnesse did avow you, you might have been im­ployed by him in his passion to Fidamira, which we have heard of, either to divert, or delay the match, and from thence derive your interest to so much sorrow. But will you so farr affirme this truth as to professe you love ano­ther now? for I cannot allow any thing else but Love such a passion of a noble heart, as this your thoughtfullnesse implies.

If I did love Pantamora, would you infer from thence the justnesse of my greifes, and so conclude me un­hapy even by Fate?

No Moramente, It may be I beleeve so of your o­men as I would share something in the direction of your love towards the successe of it. For I should impute your misfortune sooner to your own fault in chusing, than to your ordaining Fate.

Suppose then Pantamora I were to love, How would you direct my choice towards an apparency of successe?

You have a person and a virtue Moramente to dis­credit counsell by mastering improbabilityes. You may succeed in what friendship might be bound to a disswasion in.

Tis true, I cannot think my selfe repaired by lesse then all that love can give, since I have suffered all it can inflict. And if I would expose my selfe againe unto the hazard of a wish it should be such, as but the possibility of it should shame the more apparency of failing in it.

The attemptingnesse of your spirit is not to be reproved, but you must know that it is not difficulty, should most indeare our undertakings if we may rise by easiy unresisted stepps unto an equall height. Tis not the scrambling up a precipice that is to be preferr'd where [Page 81] there is equality in all but easiness, there difficulty impaires and not improves the value.

I suppose Pantamora, all love's successe is equally removed from me, therefore would I make a choyce, whose eminent desperatenesse might some way flatter me in the disappointment of my wishes.

There may be such a virtue Moramente, as it may make too strict an opposition to it, a fault as an extream too distant from it; and so, difficulty de [...]priseth what it would set off.

Such a virtue as yours Pantamora might challenge a complacencie in all its wishes, that in­solency in me were more misfortune then loves power reacheth to shame me with.

If you could learn to wish as I do Mora­mente, youl'd find much ease in the avoiding of a harsh resistance.

As you do Pantamora? that's with no­thing. You are in a condition never to wish, but out of charity to others.

If so, they are all now imployed on you, that your neerest wishes may end with the same successe as mine.

And in returne of this civility, I shall wish no more successe then I beleeve is due to yours.

Can this too, be by chance? Sure 'tis, that each one here's an Oracle of Love. So that all that's said's ambiguous, but even this in the fair [...]t sense could not divert me from Bellesa's riddle.

I congratulate, Genorio, your admission here: what think you of this place? were I not better stay here a while, then venture back so soon into that dange­rous ayre where Fidamira breathes?

I believe Moramente (for so I now must call you) this place already hath furnished you with such an antidote as you might venture to seek out Fidamira, and defie the power of her love. You may much lesse then, ap­prehend the danger of the place, from which she hath now removed all virtue, your father's Court.

Why? is she gone from thence Genorio? didst thou call her Saphira mistrusting my obligation of a sorrow great enough for her? or hast thou plagues in store for me, and dost produce them thus successively, left over-charged, I should break all in pieces?

No Moramente, Fidamira is not dead. She is only frighted from your fathers Court by the feares of too conspicuous a life, to avoid the guilt of others sinns, rumor, and calumny; and guided by her virtue, that was shie even to a degree of wildnesse is fled, and whither known only to the gods: your fathers search hath proved that she is hid from all mortality, his care hath been so exquisite.

No, I am confident she is not dead by this Genorio, I could not have beene so long suspended from the sense of such a curse. She's not so much as strayed, for the gods must needs guide her in a journey they have sent her.

Me thinks, you should not name the gods without remembrance of the bonds of nature, and of pie­ty you stand ingaged to them in, to relieve your father; whose tendernesse of all your prayers sinks under the pres­sure of a fresher griefe than your unhappy absence, the flight of Fidamira. His goodnesse is such he feares more your imputation of it to the forfeit of his promise, then he fears all his present sorrows.

I will presently Genorio ease him of all those fears by writing to him as from France, to thanke him for such honours meant to Fidamira as did make good his promise. Her feares better than her assurance [Page 83] proves it. I will acq [...]aint him too, with the remove of all those sad occasions drew me from him. And I will pro­mise him a speedy and a joyfull meeting, which I will perform too; for at the next election which approacheth now, I will declare my self, and so return.

This is the least you owe your father Sir, but all I thinke you can yet spare him, ingaged as you are here.

Well Genorio, this I resolve; and beleeve, you had rather stay here too then be the messenger. I must now go waite upon the Queen for my acknowledgements for the honour of her visit.

I believe Moramente, that (Visit) may begin your Letter to your father, but hardly end it with the promise of your Resolve.

O that I could shut up those false lights that dazel thus my faith to Fidamira.

I have found A [...]enor, but with a look so heavy as it weighs down his eyes, so as he hath not seene me yet, it is my darknesse that hath so benighted him. I will stay yet unseen, and in the deadest time of his com­plaints, this cloud shall break and give him all the light, whose want obscures him so.

Have not my eyes attracted poyson strong e­nough to stop my breath before I do break out into t [...]is foule profession of my tainted faith? or may I thus re­cover, if I can breathe it out through these opening pores, before it seiseth on the nobler parts? I will take F [...]damiras name, and try if that can yet expell it before it fix, there's force enough in this Receit. For this great Cordiall, Love, unlike to others, doth improve its virtue by the habit, not remit it; and, to enforce what I have taken inward her name and memory [he pulls out a picture] I will send this after the infection the same way it did get in, to try if this can overtake it, and so bring it back. I [Page 84] will not go without this shield before me. Tis no indear­ment blessed Image unto thee, to say, Thou want [...] but speech: for I confesse, I hear thee, and thou speakest as loud as thunder to me, in so just reproaches, as they welcome the amazement that they bring. Thus armed, I will go on and challenge even Bellesa to satisfie my injured Love, and to repair his honour. In this strife between these two, I'le give the odds of life.

I did not think to have found Agenor thus o're cast, he hath out done me in a disguise, he hath blackt o're his soul. Have I lived to be obliged to a concealment of my self unto Agenor upon my discovery of him? O that I had inlightned him, before I had been thus in­lightned by him! Thoughts that flye by us like instant lightnings never so little ill are not emptied sinns. I might have found him dazelled, and might have freed him from the danger of this darknesse he is now conte­sting with, and this my blind beliefe might well move me to that: but my misfortune's so exact, as it hath o­verturned the intention of the heightning of his joy down to the lowest curse between us both. I will yet find him out before he meets Bellesa with that odds which he hath offered her. I am so far from that vanity as I would not contest with her, unlesse advantage given me more then even Agenor for the Judge.

The Queen told me she visited Moramente, and had a great discourse with him of Love, and that she is well satisfied with Moraments reasons. Thus much is more in her then a declared fondnesse in another. It is not feare, struck to such a degree of cold, as makes it poyso­nous jealousie, that makes me thus tender of Bellesa's loving; nor my despair thats sunck so low as malice; but the supreamest admiration that ever soul attained to, [Page 85] [...]hat sets her so neer the celestial bodyes, as it can allow her for low mortality but such a love as there is, which is but titular, and propitiatory, far above all propriety, which undeifies all we adore. I would not have her bow neerer the world then all the worth of it can set it self to her, which is so far from rising to equality, as it can scarce get height enough for comprehension of her. Therefore I cannot consent that any thing but souls should e're ap­proach her, and they so purified as when they rise to hea­ven. I do not doubt but her high thoughts are even as un­declineable, as my wishes are. And in the beliefe of her be­ing the impossibility she hath commanded me to justifie in Love, I will go write my obedience to her.

What gentle fear is this that murmurs so with­in my thoughts, like breath of ayre that seems to hold discourse between the leaves? I ne're knew any thing yet so neer Love as the fear of it. But I must still these noyses in my thoughts. For innocence so gentle is, we need not take the pains to blow it off, we may even think't away: therefore I must not give my thoughts the liberty to play with Love, as 'tis an infant; in beliefe that they can rule it.

Your Majesty will be pleased to pardon this breach of your privacies, 'twas to perfect the cure you began, by this acknowledgement of my health to your Majesty.

I receive gladly these acknowledgements as they declare your health, not as they bring me any beliefe of contribution to it.

To assure you Madam of the virtue of your fa­vour I must acquaint you with newes, by which I have been set up since I saw you, that might have pulled me down as low, as did Saphiras death, as I beleeve it will [Page 86] afflict the Prince as much, Fi [...]amiras flight; whi [...]er [...]n­known to all the search the King can make.

But now I am so changed into your [...]reature, that I have sense for nothing but what comes to me through yours.

Why, Do you think the Prince will be so much moved at this? Is there any Love can give neglect the help of a long absence to joyn against it, and yet master both?

I do believe Mad [...]m, they are strong enemies joyned; but against either of them single, Love will have the better.

You see Moramente, I persevere your pupill still. Therefore tell me whether you would choose a­gainst you, To be neglected in continual fight, or loved, enjoyned to a perpetual absence.

You have almost posed your tutor Ma­dam; I must confesse, that I would chuse the object not the speculation; neglect doth but exclude from that which we never had, but banishment doth interdict us that which is our own, and so becomes the greater curse.

You preferre then Moramente, the limited pleasure of one sense before the large extent of all Imagi­nations. It seemes that you have changed that worthy passion brought you to this place, for some you have found here.

You were once pleased to tell me my cause re­sembled much the Prince, in whose name I dare dispute it, not my own. Do you think Madam the Prince is bound never to Love but Fidimira?

I yeeld the Prince is free, by her neglect.

Why did you couple us Madam, and now let us lo [...]se both together?

I should not tax you neither, if you loved ne're so many.

I doe beleeve Madam, I am so unhappy as [Page 87] to be thus indifferent to you. And yet I think if you knew who I loved, youl'd punish me, though you could not blame me for't.

Pray tell me not then, I do not love to be un­just.

I am so unhappy Madam, a [...] it were insolence in me not to believe you would be so. And yet it were a freedome, that all but you must be beholding to me for.

Then I should be beholding to you, not to tell me, if it will set me a [...] difference with all the World.

The difference I make between you and all the world will make you disagree most with me, and there­fore I'le forbear to let you know it.

I would fall out with nobody for so little as to satisfie a light curiosity, therefore I enquire no farther of it.

Give me leave Madam, to beg this satisfaction from you that you would be pleased to guesse at it, for I have such a divine beliefe of you, as I conclude you can­not so much as be mistaken in any thing.

To guesse by your opinion, it should be with Ge­mella. She makes you such a full return, at least her com­mendations promise it.

'Tis a strange fate that crosseth, to be des­pised where e're I love, and to be wished well but to my prejudice. But you Madam, have guessed as neer as if you had named any other in the whole society. And now Madam, I dare say, that your knowledge is but thus wrapt up in darknesse to disguise it. I know it by my curse, your being thus insensible.

I must give o're then the being your Pu­pill, since you would teach me more then I would Learn.

If I remain but with the merit of teach­ing [Page 88] you your power Madam, though my sufferings be the demonstration of it, I shall endure all with joy.

In these high poynts Moramente, I understand you not. I'le bring Martiro to dispute with you, he may be your Master, and teach you how to rise up to the lo­ving impossibilityes, he hath promised me to prove the reason of it. I'le shew it you Moramente, that will re­concile you to despair.

You have already Madam shewed me the impossibilityes, and I already find reason enough for loving them, your wil.

You are mistaken Moramente, in the finding of my will, more then I was in the finding of your Love; e­ven my ill will is not easily found, and much lesse that which you seem to seek.

No certainty hath been a torment great enough for me; must I now suffer doubt, which hath not so much ease as a despair was curse enough to fit me with?

I could have resolved on any thing that could have fallen on me; but this suspension is a Rack, whose wave­ring flackness is the heighth of torture, which exclu­deth a patience towards the ease of the indurance. I can­not impute these words to chance. I am enlightned even thus far for a curse, to see she understands my passions. I shall declare my self, and joyne the name of Prince to that of Lover, to assist me. No, I will try once more the single strength of Moramente, which if it prove too weak, I'le call that of Prince for my Auxiliary; which must needs help me to be wondered at, if not beloved. Sure Martiro hath not broke his faith for so little as Bellesa's infor­mation; it must be for his own indearment, and my di­stance from her.

Is the Queen this way, Moramente?

She's newly parted hence, Martiro.

I am seeking her with a command of hers, and so have only time to tell you that freedom to a noble hart doth not let loose a secret, but allowes it more room as 'twere a recreation, and that impression trust makes on vertue, seals in that instant what it opens. And beleeve me M [...]ramente you shall allwayes finde the marks unbroken up.

This must be true too for the exactness of my curse, that there may not be so much reason, as an ill office for her scornes, but all Antipathy. I will dispatch to my father as I have promised Genorio, The circle now of Bellesas reigne is allmost closed, and the last point that perfects that, shall open me away unto that end I owe my fate.

If my own joyes were not sufficient to proclaim the debt I owe you Camena, the terror of those sufferings of which I am judge, and not a party, might well in­deare this, even security, that you have setled me in.

Methinks indeed we two are only fixt, the rest in perplexed motions crosse on another. What a storm of passions is amongst us now?

We Camena are arived at Love's supreamest re­gion, where there is all serenity and evennesse; there's not a breath of wind to ruffle this our smoothnesse: and from thence we look down on others, that are gon no higher then the second region yet, where's allwaies roughnesse and stormes that blow against them.

Are there not some so happy loves as to arrive at this high station of secure joyes, without ere passing through this harsh uneasy way?

There is a lower region Camena, where common unrefined lovers stay, and joy in flat security, whose plea­sure is but an acquiescence. But all aspiring love that seeks to pitch it selfe in this sublimity of joy and glory, must [Page 90] passe through this middle region, where it findes a stormy opposition.

This is the passage then, which Moramente, Genorio, and Martiro, are disputing now; I do confesse I do pitty Moramente, and I could wish mine into Bel­lesa.

Why? do you think, Camena, that Bellesa and Pantamora are not moved? do you think that women are like windes, that do not feel the storms they raise?

I do beleeve Bellesa so unmoved, she doth not un­derstand the storm you speak of by the noyse of it, Pan­tamora hath a restlesse humor, to which no motion is disquiet, nor no noyse a storme.

Do you not beleeve Camena, that Bellesa doth act the Queens part more then her own, in this distan­cing of her selfe from any sense of Moraments love?

I do not know. Methinks she hath so equall and [...]ignificant a liberty, as it speakes all things that she doth naturall, as I beleeve her the perfection of our sex. I cannot think her voyd of sense but I beleeeve it sinks no deeper then the face of that civility, where men do see it set, and make a returne [...]o Moramente.

Love Camena makes his aproaches according to the hart it sets upon. All harts well fortified have out­workes, which must be taken first, civility and freedome of discourse; and lodged once there, there he begins his batteries. Moramente hath taken these outworks▪ and therefore I beleeve he may endanger all the rest.

I beleeve so well of Moram [...]ntes discretion, I think it will not pretend to more then Bellesas honor promiseth. Which is enough to make him happy, to be so discreet to humor him.

How much do you think her humor will afford?

Leave to be adored, and to be told so discreetly of it, as you may give her leave to answer.

And is this enough for a discreet love to live [Page 91] upon; So you'le allow Love nothing but his wits to live upon.

Tis the best portion he can have Melidoro, and upon that stock Love cannot want, though he be often put to his shifts. There's nothing so sure a maintenance to leave, as witt. Tis subject to no casualty.

You have given me the reason I sought, how Martiro's love subsists: no body knowes who he serves, or what it hath to entertaine it self. Sure th [...]n it must live by its wits.

Martiro's love is a proof of what I say. We see it lives nobly, and is beholding unto no body.

That which is a disease in nature then, is a good constitution in love, The living without nourishment. And I do so little envy this singularity, as I may sa [...]ely be allowed to wonder at it, how this darke pa [...]sion could hover so long above us without ever making of a point.

I will comply with him so much, as not to guesse at it, for feare I light of it but by chance. Methinks Genorios clouds begin to break already, and send forth some light that glimmers yet between Bellesa and Pan­tamora.

Do you think, he that so lately was deaths Her­ald, will so soon change sides, and serve the adverse party Love?

'Twas in loves service that he tooke that com­mission, and tis but changing colors, and serving the same party still.

Fear not Gemella, Men are not so subject to des­pair; the least ambiguous word will hold them▪ they will stay themselves even by the finest thread they can but catch before they sink. Gentle Camena, as much joy waite on your wishes, as I dare say you wish to mine.

Your condition and person Madam, save your ser­vants the paine of wishes, and leave them only that of be­ing incapable of admiring you enough.

I was here before him, but now must venture my patience and my love.

I am now grown so strong, 'tis too much odds to be thus armed, and too great a revenge on Bellesa to shew her this my strength, she will beleeve herselfe weak­ned by it. I shall be so farr from loving her, she will not love her selfe.

What's that Genorio, your eyes so fixtly seem to call your mind upon? Hath it with-drawn your tongue too?

Twas a little manuall of devotion I was looking over. It was so long Madam since I had read it, I had all­most forgot it.

Let me see't, Genorio. I do not think but I can shew you as good a one.

I beleev that, M [...]dam. Sure never any body con­tested with you to your face. And I, Madam, yeeld with­out shewing.

No Genorio, I will shew with you: flattery is so ill in nothing as in piety.

Give me leave Madam only to yeeld now▪ and a­nother time, to shew you I had reason. I will put the book into your hands, you shall peruse it.

I will be civiller then you Genorio. I'le yeeld to your refusall, since you will not to my desire.

To shew you, Madam, that even your curiosity is allready above my devotion, and more deare to me, I'le put this into your hands, whose shewing is a [...]ark of yeelding.

Now I must aske your pardon, Genorio. This is a devotion which I yeeld to at first sight, without examin­ing how much you are addicted to it. Look here Ge­mella, here's a face that makes your colour better then mine as you cannot blush to see it.

Tis a lovely face, and you may safely commend [Page 93] it, Me-thinks I have seen somewhere a face, that upon a little thinking I should know this picture by.

As beauty is best exalted by comparison, you Madam may receive this as a devotion to you, but I be­lieve all beauty is so assuredly your trophy, as 'tis no me­rit to bring any to you.

This is such a face Gemella, there must go much virtue in a woman to the loving of it, because it is not easie to do so.

Madam, I remember now who 'tis. As I past by the Court I had curiosity, hearing Fidamira so much talked of for the Prince his Mistresse, to see her, and I remember perfectly Madam this is her Picture.

'Tis true Madam, 'tis her you have taken from me.

I have borrowed it Genorio, to restore it you better, by as much as our admiration can improve it.

It would be cruelty Madam to keep it, for surely he is in love with her.

As I am with you Gemella. And if you Madam are but pleased with looking on't as you seem to be, you may be pleased to keep it, and I shall love it then better than ever, as it pleaseth you.

Let not your civility Genorio be so bold with your Love, make much of this Picture, for they may say she is fled out of all knowledge, so, that not so much as her Picture is likely to be had againe.

It may be Madam, she is gone to search that loft which she once cast away, the Prince. Womens esteemes are governed by uncertaineties: but had I loved her neer so much, she could not take this ill, [...]o be left in your hands.

Fidamira's valuation of her faith above a Crown assures me she cannot let it fall so low, as the seeking to put it off.

Here Genorio, take your Picture; and in your pri­vate [Page 94] devotions recant this dissembling of your faith.

Here comes Martiro that is so tender of his Mi­stresse Picture, he's afraid the aire should fade the colours, and therefore shewes it us but vailed.

My Love Madam is not materiall but elemen­tary fire, whose purity and rarity makes it imperceptible. I have obeyed you Madam in making the impossibility of the knowledge of it visible.

We will all heare it then, since we can't see it, Come Camena, and Melidoro, this is your love inverted, and you may safely heare without conversion.

I will read them to you, Madam.

Sure Martiro they that could understand these verses might know your Mistress, the impossibilities to me seem equall. But we will send for Moramente. It con­cerns him to disprove them; Gemella, pray cal Moramente:

This is the reason Madam, not the passion which is to be understood.

Why? will you bring reason Martiro for impossi­bilityes?

I Melidoro, and so good as 'tis impossible for you to understand. You have a limitted Horizon termi­nates your thoughts, that reach no farther then your sen­ses carrie them. They must be shot up to the top of speculations, to be eaven with the understanding this.

And I shall not envie these your winged thoughts that help you thus above ground.

And I shall still think my selfe above any foun­dation you can stand upon.

Madam I met Moramente & Pantamora comming.

I sent for you Moramente, to make good my pro­mise, that Martiro would prove the height of love reach­ed to impossibilityes. And he hath written on that argu­ment.

I should be glad to heare that it were possible to say neere reason on this theam.

I pray Martiro read your verses o're againe they may endure repetition.

I shall obey you, confident of Moraments judg­ment, if not assent. [Martiro reads his verses again.]

I conceive your meaning Martiro, that since all love must have a soul as high as wonder, some may rise as high as impossibility: this, Madam is a point of faith, not to be disproved by reason, because it denies all principles in love. I would onely ask Martiro whether his love did not passe first through his senses up to his imagination; and so the impossibility of staying there, conveyed it where now it is pitched; and it was necessity, not choice that drew it up so high.

No Moramente: My love had ne're so low a thought as hope, it rose within my soul which did dis­daine alwayes to wish for any thing out of its owne pow­er. I never did expose it to the hazard of a wish, the na­ture of it was Angelicall, at first infinite, without need of propagation.

As miracles Martiro are not to be disproved, so are they not to be alledged for arguments, in this case Martiro you may not onely allow your wishes, but your contribution to all others love.

Sure Moramente, it is a great security in love Martiro hath attained, to have all his wishes in his pow­er.

You Madam are in such a security as you have not power to wish.

Learne Moramente of Martiro to assure your love thus by making it impossible.

I will learne that Madam of none but you.

(Whispers to Moramente) And learne of me to hope.

Vouchsafe me a word Gemella. What injury did you foresee I would do you, that you would advance me such a discourtesie?

That I may assure you Genorio, I did not suspect any injury from't. I would certainly have forgiven you if I had, and not have been in danger of revenge which this [Page 97] discourtesie I know not of, might by a carelesse innocence seem to resemble.

It seemes indeed you did not care so much whe­ther it were true, or no, when you told the Queen I was in love with Fidamira, since you could not so much, as guesse by any thing you know.

If I had said, she had been in love with you, you might have been offended at such a temptation unto va­nity, considering her story. But I thought the Queen's opinion of the Picture would have indebted you to me for such a choice.

Do you think Gemella that any face, even with a promised faith to help it▪ could defend it selfe against Bellesae? Could you think then that a Picture could have life enough, even to remember what it was?

I believe Genorio faith much more lovelier then beauty: and it must needs be so; since all beauty doth but aspire to it, and 'tis the greatest Miracle beauty can wish, creating more then it selfe, which it doth producing faith. I would not allow all the worlds beauty to contest with Bellesa; but I should preferre the least faith before all her beauty my face with such advantage might dispute with hers.

I am glad Gemella you have told me how pretious and excellent a thing faith is: sure, it is the fitter for a sa­crifice to the divine Bellesa.

'Tis of a strange nature Genorio, 'tis onely pre­tious kept, not given away: as soon as we would lose it; to transferre it annihilates and becomes nothing, to show us, that as soon as we intend its prophanation, it can pu­nish us, by leaving us onely an impotency of having any, instead of the power we would take to dispo [...] of it.

I do confesse Gemella, all passions but love break faith, as they carry it from one unto another: but that may convey it as intire as spirits may be powred from one glasse into another without losse of virtue.

'Tis true Genorio, when love begins to work up­on it to transferre it, it ceaseth then to be in us; and there­fore love would disguise the losse of it by the pretence of our disposing of it: when indeed there is no faith left, but the believing love, by which we seem to justifie our infide­lity.

Would you censure one of infidelity that should but change his invocation, to raise his devotion up to a more dignified, and glorious Saint? why, Bellesa is the supremacy itselfe of love, and all appeales are due to her from all love's lower seats.

Me-thinks Genorio, it were an injury to such a Judge to appeale upon confession of a perjury. Think G [...]norio, what a sentence you can expect, when you are so bold to bring guilt to plead for you. I perceive you did love Fidamira, and now you would bring your broken faith unto Bellesa, as a scarre you have received in her ser­vice, by which you would pretend reward. Suppose she should receive you into love's Hospitall, faine charitable pitty; this were all the preferment you could hope, to be entertained to praise her goodnesse, if she forgive the crime.

My crime to Fidamira must needs be meritorious to Bellesa ▪ and Me-thinks I cannot feare any thing so low in love with her as all that I could hope with Fidamira.

Mark Genorio, how you are already punished for your inconstancy, in your own choice of an assured tor­ment; for 'twere a derogation from her not to believe it; and consider what an affliction it will be to you to be the first that must make her a curse to any thing. And I con­fesse I cannot pitty you.

O say not so Gemella, I was resolved to beg more of you. Do you think I would have cast away such a secret without the hope of a returne? I have lessened that to you, which you call sin, the breach of faith, by ha­ving so intire a one of your virtue and honour as to trust you so.

Faith, Genorio, is all the beauty nature hath be­stowed on me; and I am interressed as much in her disfi­guring, as handsome women would believe themselves obliged, not to protect a man, that had by violence defa­ced one of that company. Therefore all you can expect from me, is not to conspire a revenge, which I will pro­mise you.

I do believe you so generous, Gemella, as even an injury done you would not discourage me, from a pre­tence to courtesie. This is one, I may believe, you take upon you, to endear the charity you may vouchsafe me. You may defeat even my ill destiny, which cannot have malignity enough to resist the vertue of your intending my felici [...]y.

I will already be so charitable, as to prevent your saying that, which must oblige me to a contributi­on to your misery. You may know by this, I understand what you would ask of me: I will forget it, and leave you, and onely tell you my fears, and not my wishes in your fortune. You shall live to see your wishes so enjoy­ed, you shall not dare to own them. And you shall so repent this your sin, your sad contrition shall be such, it shall not hope forgiveness when you see your Judge, whose sight shall, notwithstanding, make your wishing it, a well proportioned torment.

There cannot be, Gemella, such a sin in loving of Bellesa, as repentance. You have forespoke a curse is not in my misfortune's power.

I will assure you, I am not so unhappy as to wish it.

I broke my heart to pieces, Fidamira, first, before I broke my faith, to try if I could loosen this chain, Belle­sa's eyes, Love's surest Engines had fastned it: And as it was falling a pieces, it fell upon Bellesa's eyes, that have so joyned it now, I find it a chain of flame that cannot be unlinked. Those links of faith and hono [...] that should [Page 100] pull me back to Fidamira, I find are now so soft, as they melt away, set by this chain of Love. Sure, Love hath strange joy in store for me, for it already hath turned all the blessings that I had, into frights, the memory of Fi­damira, and the Prince's trust. I must no more appear to Basilino the figure that I was; I must become a perspe­ctive, looked on at distance, whose hollowness is a delight, though a deceit. I must have Arches and Vaults to hide my love, when I do show my self. Me-thinks Love prompts me this to answer all my fears.

Look where he comes▪ I must now try whether his love be above his trust to me. What melancholly is this, Moramente that is so dark, as seemes to draw a traverse between your trust and me?

Can you be in doubt Genorio of the cau­ses of my sadnesse when you brought them me? do you thinke the world can furnish any more after Saphira's death, and Fidamira's flight?

Yes Moramente I doe believe a present pas­sion may over-cast more then the darkest memory of misfortunes past; which both those are, which you have named.

It seemes Genorio, you relye so much up­on your prophesies, as you believe I have exchanged my sorrows here.

No Moramente, I beleeve that all the vir­tue of this place is vented upon your happinesse; and that you are possessed of joyes, which your modesty makes you even scrupulous to shew me, lest it might resemble vanity.

I could not have so much as ease Geno­rio, which would not be lessened by the fault of the con­cealement of it from thy trust. If I had a new affliction, [Page 101] the tendernesse of thee might justifie the keeping that un­to my self.

This needs not Moramente, I am already pre­pared with as high a sense of your joyes as this descent to the extreamity of feare can raise me to; and let your blessings be never so sacred, you ought not to keep them vailed from me.

You suppose then Genorio, I love, and with successe. I did not think I had been so neer a happi­nesse as even a friends mistake. I had thought my crosse­fate had been known to every body, to warn them even from wishing me well, lest they might share in my mis­fortune. But I perceive your love Genorio will venture so far, as to suppose me happy.

Nay sir, I am so confident of your fate, as I dare refuse your beleefe in the discredit of it. I can disprove you by instinct of nature. Bellesa and you have an Identity in your beings, you are the perfection of both sexes, and therefore cannot be a verse to one another.

I thought how probable your guesses would prove, Genorio. Why, they are grounded on a parity with Bellesa: you could not have found in all the world such an impossibility to have inferred my good fortune by. And I believe you now Genorio, I am now as neer being happy, as being equall to Bellesa, between whom there is as much distance as between possession and despair.

Had I believed there could have been a grea­ter exaltation of Bellesa's worth, then being made to make you happy, I would have raised her by it, for I dare vye admirations of Bellesa, even with you.

You must learn higher expressions then, Genorio than to match her with mortality: but 'tis a subject si­lence can better comprehend, then you or I illustrate; therefore lets fall lower to what we understand, my fa­thers condition, and his desire of my return. I have alrea­dy writ to him in promise of my return, and assured him [Page 102] Fidamira is only thought of now by me, by the feares of his affliction, not my Love.

You have done piously, and wisely Sir: this next election which is very neere will give you a fair op­portunity for your fathers wish, if not your own.

Come Genorio let's go see the Queen, and prepare our selves for the ceremony instituted for the Foundresse, and the Princes memory.

I will waite on you Sir,

I am happy thus far even in this reservation from me, which allows my prosecution of my Love without more breach of my faith to my Prince.

The contemplation of inconstancy hath ju­stified Agenor to me; 't has taken off the fault from him, and laid it upon nature. I find all things were made for a viciscitude of exchange; not only here below, but even above: they say the heavens are in restlesse motion, and I am sure that the earth which they say is fixt, is in conti­nual change. It alters so, as we should not know it were the same, did we not know that it must change. And time, that changeth all things, is it self by fortune changed in this general earth-quake. Then how can we hope for an unmoved constancy in Love?

And men that single are so variable before, and joyn­ing lightnesse so much more.

'Tis I then for being constant among all these chan­ges am unnatural, this was the miracle Agenor prophesi­ed at our parting. I was destin'd to the retaining of my faith, after the losse of his, provoked by his intent of ma­king me the procurer of my own spoyles unto another, This injury I lay on my disguise, and to discharge him of it, he shall not have so much an ill office from me to­wards his being despised by Bellesa. I begin now to find, that there is no danger of his being preferred by any but [Page 103] my selfe, before the Prince whom now I find the gods so justly love, as I am made a sacrifice to his presage of never being injoyed by man. I doubt not but his fate will soone accomplish mine upon Agenor, and were it not for his happinesse, I would not wish any thing so ne [...]r revenge.

Unlesse I should my selfe unvail my love, and so prophane it by shewing that, which I would have sought to with reverence; I cannot put a more transparent cover over it. I have shewed it through so clear a tiffany as the least breath of Morament's would have blowen away. And he me-thought did hold his breath, as if he had been afraid to see't. Sure womens loves are emblemed well by cockatrices eyes It gives, if it be first seene, a power ore it selfe, which it gets on another that it discovers first. I have not yet so little reason for selfe love, as to venture it upon so doubtfull a returne, as Moraments seemes to be. Sure he hath discovered some modest tendernesse in Bel­lesa, that begins to bow her from that straight indif­ference she seems planted in. There cannot be so much difference between us as between hope and dispaire.

Sure Gemella is the darke lanthorne that opens some light to Moramente. I will rather give my own sex the advantage of doubting there may be one preferred, than any man the vanity to think that I could [...] else be thus in­different to him.

That were too much Gemella, sure vanity is ra­ther in your country then here: 'tis true, 'tis of another [Page 104] colour, lightsome and bright, therefore it may be un­known amongst you.

Why Madam, are men in love here subject to so much leightnes, as they must alwayes keep in the dark for feare of running mad? do you use here to make love and scorne both of a colour?

No Gemella, but the first ground whereon all love's figures are wrought must be somewhat dark; it sets off all the colours that are layd upon it.

But these colours M [...]dam must be set within di­stance, else the ground and they are all one.

There is no man but hath a perspective of vanity about him, by which he lessens the distance of his wishes which he lookes upon.

I beleeve Madam there are some men so over-cast with humble diffidence they could not know love if they saw it.

What say you Martiro, Is not vanity now a dayes so quick fighted, as it perceives the least color of kindnesse women can shew at any distance?

Vanity Madam sees by the emission of its own rayes, not by the reception of the object. And therefore may not only reach most distant lights; but, as it were, strike fire in the dark. But this irradiation of themselves is not in all mens eyes. There are some fil'd up with admira­tion so, as they see nothing but an optick light.

Why even such men are vaine, Martiro, in this elevation of their thoughts above the height of wishes.

If this be vanity Madam, tis elementary and not materiall. The purity and delicacy of it, is such, it doth not burne, tis only nutritive to love, and not offensive.

You need not Martiro read such lectures in the ayre unto the Queen, she is already distant from love's vi [...]ibili [...]y above imagination.

Gemella would perswade me Martiro, I might love without a declination of my selfe.

Love, Madam, appropriates what it joynes unto it selfe, and doe you think a partner in the sove­rainty of your selfe were not halfe a deposition?

This insensiblenesse you counsell Martiro, is ra­ther an admission to equality, leaving all hearts free, and Bellesa's can be no more it selfe. Tis an enlargement of her soveraignty to take homage from such hearts as shall bow down to offer it. If you will give selfe-love Martiro the empire that women should glory in, how limited will that be when they shall have no subject but themselves? All I counsell the Queen is, that she would know her selfe too. For beauty sees it selfe best, by the re­reflexes that it makes on objects whereon it shines.

A heart that looks at first for so much from the Queen as an acknowledgment, sets too high a price upon it. Should every meanest subject pretend to have his name known to his Soveraign because he is what he should be? It must be some eminent service must allow him that pre­tence for a reward. And the soveraignty of love is distan­ced more from the approach of any subject to it. No blood, qualities, nor no fortune rayseth neerer then the common prostituted crowde. All are commons in an equall sla­very, and the pretention to advantage is rebellion.

Therefore Gemella, the Queen is not obliged to look so low as even the knowledge of any of her Sub­jects, till their services not their subjection challenge it, and then the taking notice of it, is all she should give.

This an Empire you have found for your Mi­stresse, Martiro, and 'tis a spacious one, 'tis all ayre, your thoughts are not subject to any thing sure so low as earth.

I dare say Madam, his Mistresse, who e're she be, reacheth not so neer divinity in any of his exaltations of her, as you do in this humility.

You have exalted Madam my Mistress higher then e're my thoughts could set her, the taking of her Name into your mouth. I beleeve she is so much worthier than even my Imaginations of her, as even the noblest of your thoughts cannot exceed her. I am glad Madam, to hear that miracles are not ceased, it lessens much the wonder, the being made for you.

You are in such a transcendent height above all sense Martiro, as me-thinks miracles should not a­maze you. Come Gemella, we must prepare our selves for the funeral Ceremonies of the Foundresse and the Prince.

I'le waite on you Madam. But shall I car­ry him no comfort, not so much as an ambiguous word?

You see Gemella, I have so little confidence in men, I dare not trust Marti [...]oes counsell, that ought to be the most unsuspected, as my antient friend.

If I can make something out of this nothing Ma­dam, you cannot be offended.

I must flye to silence to collect an admiration great enough for this miracle I hear.

As dying men whose spirits having run out their course are now so out of breath, they can scarce carry the soul one step farther; yet sometime as she is go­ing out of them, refreshed with some strong cordiall, the spirits rise againe, and hold her there a while: Like lamps exspiring when they shut their eyes, given but a drop of oy [...]e, dart forth an instant flash, and live a while, not by that life that they had left, but did receive anew. This was my case. My spirits had scarce so much motion left as panting, when they received this Cordiall, this so sove­raign remedy, as it hath recovered a King, whose disease it was before the being so. I find more then a reflection [Page 107] of my spirits in change of them into a youthfullnesse. I am already grown better then he that ministred this cure Basilino, by as much as I Love Fidamira more then he. [I thinke on Fidamira now onely by the sense of your afflictions for her, which if

you had forgot I should once more think of her to rejoyce at your forgetting her, and never more.] Now Fidamira I am free to think of thee which I doe fully. I will forget e­ven that which is so hard, to doe, my age. I cannot be so old. I have been all this while in wardship to my Son, he hath till now disposed of my love. I am to d [...]y but come of years, and now my passions come into my own hands, which I will all bestow on Fidamira.

This from Basilino must imply that some successe hath so possest his thoughts, as the remembrance of his sufferings cannot get so much as one, and onely my af­fliction now can make him think that he is capable of a­ny: he hath such superfluities of joyes, as I am fed out of his waste. I find my body and my soul so reconcil'd, the one offers curiosity, the other strength to satisfie it. A vi­sit to the Shepheards Paradise is a design worthy the newnesse of my thoughts, the election of their Queen is now within three or four dayes, and I have heard of such eminent beauty there, that it will be the greatest right I can doe Fidamira to carry her memory thither to dislu­strate even their faces.

The Fifth Act.

ME-thinks I find my mind on wing, loose from my senses, which like limed twigs held it till now. It is so light, and so ascensive now, it meanes to work it selfe above Martiroes. I am already so farre towards it, as the beliefe that I did never love till now. O how I was deceived, while I conceived that Love was so Materiall it could be touched, and grasp't! I find it an undepending ayrinesse that both supports, and fills it selfe, and is to be felt by what it nourisheth, no more then aire, whose virtue onely we discerne. I knew before, all I could have. I am so farre above that now, I cannot suppose what I can hope, and yet am better plea­sed with this, this inoffensive purity of my love embol­dens me to shew it to Bellesa, and in humility to her, it shall ask somewhat of her, as begging is the onely Present impotency hath to make to power, and it shall be so far from being sensuall, it shall be nothing but beliefe.

Your sadnesse seemes so welcome to you, as I may excuse the interruption of it.

You are so farre from interruption of it Madam, as you bring the cause along with you.

Have you not yet forgiven my curiousity to see the Picture? are you of Martiroes mind?

Why she's an Angell even in the knowledge of mens thoughts. I? what, Madam, do you think I am of Marti [...]oes mind?

In keeping your love invisible, and therefore are displeased that we saw so much as the shaddow of it.

I am not of his mind in that. I would shew mine, because 'tis such a wonder, 't will not else be be­lieved, and as wonders Madam hardlyobtaine that, so mine shall pretend to no more.

Do you pretend Genorio to be a friend unto the Prince, and will make the Loving Fidamira a wonder in any body?

Yes Madam, that were a greater, after having seen you, then that which I shall tell you.

I have onely leisure now to tell you Genorio, that in revenge of this flattery, I will accuse you of it to your friend Moramente, who loves the Prince so much, a [...] he will chide you for it. I am now going into a privacy, I must desire to leave you.

I am so cursed Madam, as truth seemes dis-lustred by my bringing it. I never committed sinne enough a­gainst another, to be equall to this punish­ment

of leaving you. [To what am I trans­form'd when the name Fidamira is a torture to me?]

Sure M [...]ramente hath imploy'd his friend Geno­rio to save him the shame of speaking for himselfe, Geno­rio speaks so boldly it must needs be for another. I need not be so shie of this my though [...]fullnesse, since all the virtues they should fix upon, are here objected to them in Moramants carriage; Love and honour bent by humility into a lovely Arch, on which my thoughts may safely passe on towards his person, which when I consider I find it such, as scarce needs humility to recommend it. His Fate hath so directed him to me, as he hath had a reall sence of my misfortune, and his destiny hath been so kind to him in that, as to indebt me some pitty to him, as my selfe and the reviving of Saphira, though it be by Bel­l [...]sa's death, t'will not be welcome to him. Me-thinks my tho [...]ghts would take aire a little to refresh themselves. [Page 112] That Infant love that's come to visit them, would carry them abroad with him; they shall go with him, and be so civill as to entertaine him with musick.

I finde so gentle drowsinesse flow o're my senses, as if my thoughts had wearied them in carrying them thus farr; and my thoughts are so innocent they do not oppose the rest my senses ask.

Was it the rapture my soule was allwayes in, when she contemplates the divine Bellesa, that did pre­sent her voyce unto me here in heaven? Sure it was: her soul, uselesse now unto her body, is gon to

visit heaven, and did salute the Angels with a song. Let sleep no more be called death's Image, here is an animation of it. Sure, all the life that sleep takes from [Page 113] the rest of the world he hath brought hither and lives here. Methinks I should be innocent too now. Sure had I but even an ill coloured thought, her soul that is in hea­ven would know it, and come back to awake her with the alarum. I will stay at this distance still, and only take this advantage now to wonder. Neerer her thus parted from her soule then I can do, united [he goes to step toward her] Doth the ground move to carry me neerer then my soul durst goe? Tis true, I find it is the earthlynesse about me moves me neerer, then my reverence should keep me. Methinks I am so neere her now, as I all soul, my body by whose carriage it was brought, is now re­coyl'd and my spirit is now shot out upon Bellesa. And thus all spirit I may touch her and not be felt. Therefore thus all my soul abstracted shall fall upon her hand, to do it reverence. My spirit hath found a body in

this touch, and such a one as it cannot contain from venturing to lose it selfe to touch but this againe [he kisseth her hand againe, and she begins to stirr] I was afraid the least mixture of a body would disquiet hers by that a version she hath to all, the first spi­rituall touch moved her to note then severall ayres that joyne move one another. Never was so much fear in any body without the will of flying it Tis but just my body thus refined should be stayed here, now to expect its sentence.

My soul's centinells kept not so ill watch, as not to rise up against this attempt upon them. I should be glad to find some body else here Moramente, to whom to impute this insolence which is so great, as it allmost justifies you to me for not having been the committer of it. Was it not sombody that's fled? I can hardly think any body durst do this and stay till I did wake to punish it.

No Madam, he is so farr from flying, as he is stayd here to glory in it. My spirit that was innocent [Page 114] that fled for feare of being suspected, and I remain all body here exposed to your displeasure. And if you'le give me leave to call back my soul with suspition of it, that shall begg punishment for this offender. And you shall re­ward her innocence in parting from this guilt that was about her. And you may punish this body opportunely now. For life sure was never so deare to it as now, it's so affected with its crime. And do it quickly Madam while your power will allow it, that my soul may leave you in this world what it hath so much wished to see you con­tinue in, the quality of Queen.

Tis a new insolence, this punishment you aske, that I should descend so low as but think upon your body. I shall think your minde lesse worthy then I did, and so much, I shall not think it very sensible of its declination in my thoughts.

Mistake not Madam, the only thing in this world impossible to you is the guiltinesse of my mind. Tis not in my power to be so complacent unto you, as to afford i [...] you. Your ill opinion of it may lie so heavy on its in­nocence, as to bow it out of its own frame▪ But even then It will become an arch tryumphant, whose very incurva­tion will become a beauty, as it was made so by th [...] weight you laid upon it. And the more you presse i [...] you shall make it but the stronger still to beare all you [...] will.

Why this excuse adds still unto your fault. If your mind was innocent, it seemes you did it but by chance and had no minde to it when you did it. And I can le [...] forgive this prophanation of my selfe than an intended insolence, which passion doth some way excuse, when it doth avow.

O Madame, you have found so refined a torture▪ as it reacheth to my soul, which I call'd innocent fo [...] having been so wholly and so purely fix't upon your hand [Page 115] as it is there, and therefore innocent: that which is once there and is removed, I did think worthy of such a pu­nishment as even your displeasure.

Why your insolence inlargeth it self still Mora­mente; you would have me displeased because it was no greater, that it lasted not longer, and would put your soul into my hands, but by the delivery of your bo­dy.

You can put me to no greater torment then this willing mis-understanding me, you would make me cri­minal, for being but mortall, because my soul is carried but by my flesh and bloud, nothing but this despaire could make me so insolent as to wish my body and my soul might once meet again where the one remaines, though after that they parted with mortality.

Now I understand truly your crime, you shall not have so much favour as my delivery of the sen­tence. G [...]mella shall deliver't you; till then, see me no more.

The sentence cannot be so cruell, but the having it will be a mittigation, for this suspension is the executi­on.

What sadnesse is this Genorio that diverts even mine, as to take notice of it?

The joyes I owe you Moramente, may justifie this sorrow: Is not this a strange curse?

So strange a one, I understand it not.

Had I not had already the joy of all your trust, it could not so afflict me, the not being trusted now with such a joy of yours, as all the society beleeves, and I have no other reason to doubt but your not having told it me.

My curse is so malignant, it infects thee for being my friend; and it is much now Genorio for me to [Page 116] say, that I have any sense left for thy unjust affliction. I had no ease left but the beliefe that I had made thee hap­py, and thy mistake is never come to robbe me even of that.

It would be as hard for me Moramente, to find a cause for the least of your benefits, as 'tis to repeate them all; they began so much before my memory, as I must trust report for that, and what I know may warrant my beliefe of that you saved my life, when my Infant-innocence was guilt to you, as it was cursed to be born your enemy. The education you gave was such as might make my life worthie your owning, since after having given me so much wealth, and honour, as an accession un­to that could expect no more sense of it. Then as if you did study my blessing in making you some return, you have given me the disposing of your life, and the trea­sure of your trust, such a gift as but by keeping it, I might make you a retribution, but you take it away without a dailie addition to it. I have repeated this to you, which is too much for you to remember, that you may see I am thus far towards the deserving this, as the accounting all this is a curse, if the only means of gratitude which I have left, the joying in your joyes, be but suspended from me.

Thou art too partial to me Genorio, to beleeve me in my miserie, which if I have not let thee know, 't has been for fear thy misbielefe should adde to it: but now I find even that misfortune which I only thought I could avoid, thy distrust, is fallen on me.

I shall easily MORAMENTE beleeve you as miserable as you would have me, if you were capable of any, loved by BELLESA as they say you are.

Though I had tendernesse enough Ge­norio to be sensible of thy distrust, as thy affliction; I have no sense left for this thy scorn, because 'tis mine.

Pardon my duty, Sir, that did believe there could not have been guessed a blessing for you greater then your merit. That did make it more probable to me.

Believe me Genorio I am as farr from that, as if I wished it, I could feare.

Let it not seeme insolence then in me, in this your affliction, to professe my selfe happy. For I think my selfe so only, as I hope to transferr it upon you. If Sir it be the memory of Fidamira that darkens all things else unto you, I do beleeve the miracle of my gratitude shall draw light out of that darknesse for you. For it can seem no lesse to you that Fidamira should be given away; but the wonder of my obligation will lessen much this miracle they make I am that subject Sir you would not know for feare of envying, in whose hands Fidamira hath deposited her faith. And now you shall know to be envied by him, and all the rest of the world whose merits heaven will not honor with a lesse miracle then a lover's resignation of his Mistresse. And this Sir I now beg of you the acceptation of a blessing, and that you may have her so purely her selfe without the abatement of inconstancy, I will give her reason for't, and only for that wait on you to her once to bring my selfe so criminall unto her, as her loving me shall be one, which then she can no longer do, as she can ne're do ill. I do not ow you lesse then breach of faith, but this apparency of guilt is lesse.

Therefore Sir, resolve at this next election which is within two dayes to declare your selfe and so begin with this blessing of your self, the comforting your father.

I will waite on you till I may deliver Fidamira to you, and then returne hither. And the only favour I will ask, shall be the leave to live here, with your beliefe of such a pleasednesse in my condition, you may thinke you have given more in acceptation then you have received.

It is so hard Genorio to beleeve that Fidamira can be given away, as it had need of such a faith as mine [Page 118] in thee to credit it, but to assure thee that I beleeve that thou not only canst, but wouldst do so strange a thing for me, I will not venture to accept it. Glory in this Ge­norio, that from the depth of this dejection, thou hast had the power to rayse me up to joy that thou shalt have Fidamira as fully with my wishes as thy own.

What a strange curse were this, If I beleeved this offer were your wish; But it is true Sir, it is not fit you should wish any thing that can be offered you. And I must needs owe my good fortune lesse sense then ere I did, since even the first of it affords me no meanes of retribu­tion unto you.

I have a message to deliver you Moramente, from Bellesa.

Tis wellcom Gemella, what so ere it be.

She hath commanded me to tell you she hath thought much of your crime. And the more she thinkes of it, she findes it such that there is nothing ill enough to punish it. Which being such a crime as nothing, com­mitted but once, can be punishment enough for't, she hath ordained you not only to wish it, but hope it too, and to see her as often as you will that upon the rack of hope she may dayly torture you by the intention or remis­sion of it, as she shall please. This onely she thinks an ex­piation proportioned to your fault; and hath sent me with this sentence to you, which I hope I have delivered so, you understand it.

I know not whether I do or no, methinks it is somwhat above my orb, humble despaire. Which makes it harder for me to conceive, then if 'twere there. But I will instantly go Gemella, and study it before her, in sub­mission to my sentence.

I must leave you now.

How justly am I afflicted by my owne offence, in­constancy? The Prince's change is fallen out to punish mine [Page 119] And he is so happy that even his change doth prove a service unto Fidamira, as it revenges her on me. I will not add so much unto my guilt, as a detraction from her, in the beliefe that he could preferr any thing before my offer, but a well grounded hope of Bellesa's Love.

None but I could do so new a thing, as to preferr des­paire. How well doth my curse sute with my sin? My addresse to Gemella for conveyance of my passion to Bel­lesa, that had already undertaken Moraments? My obser­vation hath assur'd it me, without the helpe of my sus­pition. And I am punish't as it were by fate with an ex­clusion from the Prince's trust, before he can know a reason for't. O how deceitfull and ensnaring joyes, are Prince's highest trusts? They doe subject us more then even our nature or their power can. They raise us so above the sense of all their other benefits, as we are only fixt on that which they may so easily take away, as even cessation doth remove it. And [...]o we do expose, not only all the joyes we have acquired, but even the imbred ease of our own soules. Which might have rested in their own levell, but cannot in a declination from that height. So subjects hazard more then Princes give! Yet methinks love is so much above reason now, as it proves the Princes trust a convenience, not a losse, as it may warrant my profession of my passion to Bellesa, which I will do in so resolved a boldnesse as it shall be significant humility, as it must imply the extreame of all despaire.

There's nothing speakes so truely of Bel­lesa as my opinion of her. I will beleeve my admiration before my senses. I am so far from crediting what I hear of her, as I do not beleeve her selfe. Her modesty will not ad­mit the knowing of her selfe so well as I do. For though my thoughts in their highest extasie pitch not at the top of all her vertues, yet they get up so high, as to assure [Page 120] how low and neere the earth her soule can fall. Though I cannot imagine all the good that she can do, yet I can satisfy my selfe how neere she can come to doing ill, to which she can never approach so neer as loving; Though that be farr from ill, yet as it is but ordinary, it may be counted too much ill for her. Shee's somwhat of her selfe; I know not what to call her, so unlike to all things sub­lunary, that we may better think the humility she beares chose rather to be a woman, then that heaven meant her one; Unlesse it set her in this way, that passing through it she might rise unto a higher glory, then if she had been first created an Angell. I do not wonder at the received opinion of her loving. I would not have the knowing of her be common as to undeceave every body; and for those that hope it, they have made themselves a curse. I cannot pitty enough, as it is a madnesse they will never beleeve it to be one. Moramente is a person worthy the knowing Bellesa, Gemella's womanish officiousnesse will be puni­shed in the frustration of it. The election is now within two dayes, we shall see who remaines here. Accordingly I will apply my pitty of Moramente to his conversion in the beliefe of the divine Bellesa.

I have left the Queen and Moramente together: I beleeve between them two, the execution will be gentler then the sentence. I am come my selfe to such a perfect knowledg of all men, as I am too farr from envying even Bellesa, as I am scrupulous of my contribution towards her loving one. The best of all the sex which I will allow the Prince to be, can secure me no farther of his faith, than that, if it be possible that there can be one in all the world prove constant, it is he.

I do now so much neglect all men, as I have no sense so low, as to be moved with any of their injuries. I do [Page 121] forgive Agenor so, as all the memory I have now left, is of my own fault, that it was ever in the power of a man so to offend me. I confesse I could wish his repentance, on­ly to expiate that fault of mine, by shewing how much I repent of it, by being now incapable of such an exposure of my self againe. I am not so vain as to believe my looks can perswade him to this repentance, therefore I have thought a way how they may fright him to it, and for that I must put on this colour's contrary, and like a ghost appear unto him. His guilt will joyne with me in the per­swasion of it. Thus I will watch him the next evening, as he goes to the Temple. His fears would now be welcomer then his love; but he may chance be so vain, as to beleeve that even dead I cannot choose but follow him: for vanity even feeds on dreams and apparitions, and loving Bellesa: he had need sustain his love with such like airey nourish­ments. I am resolved I will once more change my disguise: I am sure it cannot succeed worse with me then this hath done.

This is presumption Moramente, not humility, to be pleased with so severe a sentence: But are you not so humble as to take more of the sentence on you, than I sent you, Hope?

I take no more Madam, then serves to keep my senses warm, lest they should fall into so dead a despair, as I should disappoint your cruelty by an un­sensiblenesse.

Your hope and your wish Moramente, are then far distant yet from one another.

As far Madam as my wish and my de­sert. I am as neere deserving you, as hoping what I wish.

You may then hope a little more Moramen­te: for I would not have a man so neer deserving me, as I might give him leave to hope, that would lessen the grace I did conferre, to have merit the pretender to it.

You may safely trust my hope Madam; hope seemes so dull and slow a thing to me, I can scarce think it is a function of the soul. I must have it by infusi­on, not inherencie. If you fear Madam the approach of merit, you must lessen your rigours, for in your cruelties an humble soul may challenge more merit then it hath reward, but the least of all your favours sets all desert at such a distance, as, by the same degrees they advance, me­rit goes back, and so the distance is still enlarged. There­fore Madam, you cannot remove your selfe so much from mens deserving you, as by a sense of their humili­ty.

I do believe Moramente that the least kindnesse of a worthy woman, doth set all mans merit out of di­stance: but I have heard that as you say their desert goes so far back then, as it goes quite out of sight, and vanity comes on without it.

If this vanity were inherent in the nature of us all, you owe your self no lesse then the beliefe that the virtue of your love might even correct our nature, your love is so divine a thing, as not to be subject to the defects of it.

Sure Moramente., it were ill done to give such a meritorious humility as yours, such a temptation to be perverted as a favour.

It were vanity Madam to tell you, how much a favour of yours would make me humbler then I am, there could be no such ill in any body, that your wi­shing but well to, would not amend: much lesse any ver­tue that it would not improve. And me-thinks you now should do me a favour, as it is the strangest thing in [Page 123] all the world, the making me happy.

You have already forgot your sentence, the giving of you hope to punish you by the frustration of it, and so now I give you this.

I need not then aske you forgivenesse for it, since it punisheth it selfe, how strangely am I destin'd to your subjection, when even my forgetfulnesse proves a contri­bution to your will.

Me thinks Moramente, since you are so subject to forget your sentence of favour done, you would give me a great advantage over you, for you would quickly forget why I did it, and entertain such hopes as would enlarge my power of punishing you.

[It were more injury unto her to think this treachery, then insolence to believe it pitty]. I will instruct you Ma­dam in this designe of making my punishment notorious. Let me suffer on the same place where I committed my offence. If hope punisheth it selfe proportionably as it offends, this will be a well fitted torment for me.

A Prince's eye by a casual look suspends the execu­tion, but an admittance to their hand is an abolition of the crime.

That holds not with me Madam, for your sight was appointed for my execution; and so, the rule inverted, your hand must be the higher punish­ment.

Yours Moramente, is so new a case to me, I know not what to say to it, and I had need apply my power while I am a Queen; it may be that onely makes the de­feature of your hopes a pain to you.

Soon onely this might prove a cure to me, if I could prophane it with the thought of being a Queen: there are a thousand qualities in this hand, the [Page 124] least of them above all mortality can name. I consider so little your qualitie of Queen, as I dare say that's the least disproportion betwixt us. Had you all those titles united into one, which all the world contests but for the parting of, even this were a declination brought you to a name, which, as your self are unexpressible Could I beleeve that you could think so low, as to be pleased even with the name of Queen, it may be hope might not prove a punish­nishment.

Why Moramente? had I that desire, could you satisfie it?

Easier Madam then deserve to be belo­ved by you. Even when I had done it the conquest of a kingdome would be easie, you being but proposed to it for Queen.

I could afflict you then Moramente, by telling you I had a mind to be a Queen; but I will not, because I have forgiven you. Therefore now Moramente after this pardon, hope no more.

Did not the virtue of her hand hold me up I should fall back into a fearfull doubt. Sure this is but to show that her will masters love it self. I am confident she is moved so much with my sufferings that the pro­fession of my selfe may indear my humilitie. The election is to morrow, and it shall be in her choice, whether she will continue Queen or no.

The reason why Moramente sees not Bel­lesas love that's fixt upon him, must needs be that he looks too high for't. He thinks it must fall down a [...] from hea­ven upon him. If he had but looked in a naturall and easie level towards her, he must needs have found her very neer him. Sure his eyes were thus stretched up into the ayre, when I shewed him my love so fair before him, [Page 125] and he saw it not, I will not think he did look from it of purpose. But I can envy Bellesa in nothing, that is so neer such a declination, as the descending from a throne: the expectation of which hath raised me now above all other thoughts. Bellesa sure will leave the paradise with Moramente; the advantage is so sure among the rest, as it lessens the glory of it.

What think you Camena? how much doth Bel­lesa love?

What thinke you MELIDORO? I know how much.

Have you gotten the modell of it? I would not at all adventures build my hope by such a one, therefore pray do not proportion yours to it.

They that have taken the true dimensions of Love and Honour, may modell hers by that. She is so exactly what she should be; as they that know that, may know directly what she is.

What, doe you thinke then she answers Moro­mente's Love?

If women at first be but so civill as an Ec­cho, 'tis enough if she but shew that she did hear.

I believe that Morament's complaints have not been so unhappy, as never to end with love, and so I think by this time he hath had an answer ecchoed to him.

Women may answer Love so, and disavow it too, as repetition of an others oath is not accounted swearing. The most I thinke BELLESA hath done yet, hath but obliged Moramente and not engaged her self.

Do you think Bellesa was so carelesse, as not to provide, against her falling from her throne, the light­ing in Morament's armes.

'Tis but a year since they first knew one a­nother, and that is scarce time enough for a woman to make all her objections against loving of a man, much lesse to be so satisfied, as to resolve to give her self away. Will you be content to have my promise Melidoro to your wish, on those conditions if Bellesa yeelds to Mo­ramente?

If I must still depend upon the uncertainty of a condition, I doe not dislike this you have proposed. And sure Camena, this beliefe of mine doth not imply lesse value of Bellesa, then those scruples you allow her.

I love freedome so well, I would not venture an engagement but upon tearmes I thought even impro­bable. But when your wishes hang upon my will, you ought not to thinke them desperate. Look where Geno­rio comes! me-thinks he looks as if he would

out-act all that hath been writ of sorrow; this sight me-thinks Melidoro should make no hope seem little.

Pray Camena lets leave him, he looks as if he would taint the ayre, and make misfortune infec­tious.

How well hath fortune shewed, I am her own, in having thus imployed my self to betray that strength of happinesse which was impregnable, and must have been delivered thus by me, since her self could not take it? Sure fortune grew Jealous, least the world should thinke she was in love with me, and there's nothing so detracting from fortunes reputation, as the opinion that she can fa­sten her selfe to any one. She is the whole world's Mi­stresse, and her loose variations entertain all her servants in variety of hopes, and so drawes on those generall ad­dresses which busie and divert her so. Me-thinks she might have counted me her child, and so have justified [Page 127] unto herself her tendernesse of me. For when my Infant-bloud seemed destined to the thirst of multitudes; even there she took me in her armes, and set me at the breasts of Princes to be nursed; and not content with that, endea­red me so unto them, as if I had sucked their hearts into me, and they lived by me. This hath been confirmed unto me by such a disposition of their powers, as if they had no power but this of giving me so much: and because all this might be thought subject still to fortune, she provi­ded me a blessing above her power of resuming Fidami­ra's Love. And sure 'tis that which hath incensed my mother Fortune thus against me, that repulse that she re­ceived in her attempting Fidamira: for never was fortune more affronted, than in her refusal of the Prince. It must be so that she grew jealous of my being set above her reach, and finding her self so weake, hath got Love to joyn with her to take me by my selfe, that I might give away what could not be resumed. And now I am so com­pleately miserable, I cannot call my affliction misfortune. I have this circumstance to perfect it, the attribution of it wholly to my self. I have told Bellesa my passion so di­rectly, she seemes not to understand it. Sure it had so wild a boldnesse, it looked liker Madnesse then Love. It is but just, that I that have so much neglected truth, should be discredited by it. Whither but to my self should I repair for satisfaction, since I am my owne offender? Therefore from thence I derive a happinesse that shall de­fie even fortune, the adoration of the not epitheted Bel­lesa; it shall be so little subject to chance or change, it shall make despair a reason for it, to be sure to defie both those. Nay I will not exact lesse of my self then the doing what was never done before, the allowing Bellesa to love ano­ther, and even proportion my joy in this, to what she shall receive in that. Thus I am so resolved, as I could e­ven already tell it Fidamira.

Though fortune hath taken me at this disadvan­tage, before my resolution had time to fall from my mouth into my heart: Yet thus halfe armed I will defend my selfe, though Beauty and Death, even those great enemies, are reconciled to joyne against me; Nay I will give thee yet more odds, I will suppose thee an Angell and so conclude thou knowest my thoughts, and justify them even against any reason thou canst bring: By naming but Bellesa, thou must needs know her, if Angells know one another. She is here your delegate on earth. Tell me, blessed spirit, wert thou not sent down to visit her? To fright me thou canst not come in such a shape, and lesse to change me, that am fixt above the power of miracles. When you have seen Bellesa, you will think constancy to any but her selfe so ill a miracle, as you will not approve it. How blessed am I in this descent of yours? For if you came but to reproach me, I shall have this merit to Bel­lesa the having brought an Angell down to see her, which may describe her, where she only can be praysed enough, in heaven; Go then, faire Spirit, and when you have but looked on her, the impatience of the newes you carry will quicken your ascent againe, to entertaine the blessed Quire with a relation may endanger your being envied there. For me, I doubt not but you will approve so of my adoration here, as in pitty of my want of spirit and soul enough you will inspire some such transcendency, as may lessen the disproportion is between the admiration of all mortalls and the divine Bellesa.

I am so unhappy, I can think my selfe lesse so, for the improbability of thy ever being so, which to re­move from thee, I am content to impart to thee. All the Angelicallnesse I will own is the prevision of thy misfor­tune, to which thy beliefe may prescribe some remedy. I know Bellesa so much better then thou, as I can tell even what she shall be.

Sure, the heavens have conspired this miracle of my love. And by an Angell have been pleased thus to assure me of the conjuncture that must make it so, Bellesa lov­ing Moramente. And what a joy hath heaven sent me to be­gin with? The making me an Angell unto Moramente by the delivery of these newes which is such as even the rela­tion of it overpayes all his benefits. I will instantly seek him, with this obligation must remaine to me. For Fida­mira, I can wish nothing in her life, but her being here for an exaltation of the wonder of my love unto Bellesa.

In what distresse am I? as I was going out of the temple the King meets me thus. Sure he hath beleeved me dead, and searched out my ghost. For thus he followes me rather joyed, then frighted. And since this habit can­not deliver me from him, my tongue must needs deliver me to him.

Stay Fidamira what so ere thou art, Angell or Ghost. I do not mis-call thee by that name. O do not soul that pure reverence I bear thee with such a staine as vi­olence. Tis thou that offerest the first violence by flying. And if I shall dare to touch thee, tis in my defence, to stay thee here. Tell me if thou be [...]st a ghost, and I can quickly think my flesh away, and dy instantly by thinking thou art dead, and so waite on thee as a ghost. But in thy looks I finde no other sign that thou hast ever died, but that in Paradise thou dost reside. Thou canst not be a [Page 130] ghost and thus out-looke all Angells. Tell me faire, faire spirit, what is becom of Fidamiras spirit. Thou knowest I am to account for it. Tell me or I must follow thee till thou doest vanish. And then, as soon as I can open this Cage that holdes my spirit, let it fly after thee.

[I must reveale my self and trust him, or his willfullnesse in following me must needs discover me. Be­sides, to morrow is the day that shall unriddle all our stories. I shall not advance his knowledg of me much, and so prevent his finding of the Prince unopportunely. I will resolve it]. Heaven hath been so carefull of your comfort Sir, as it hath made me my selfe againe, I beleeve only for that, and hath employed anothers guilt to advance this ease unto your innocence

Your body Fidamira is but lent you then again, for apparition unto me, not life to you. And it was kind­ly don to call my knowledge of it an ease, since it will surely deliver my spirit from the cords and ligaments that hold it yet.

You are mistaken Sir, I am not dead, only trans­figured into this colour's contrary. Which I have put on but as a case to keepe it from fullying.

If thou livest Fidamira speak on. For I will be­leeve thee so, as well as if thou wert an Angell.

Will you forgive me Sir, if I call that, which it may be you meant an honor, your resuming of your grant of privacy, an intermission of my peace. From whence I did derive such feare, as the protection of a King did most expose me to, the apprehension of such an eminence intended me, as I could only come neere the deserving, by the avoyding: And yet so possesse my selfe of a more af­fected happinesse, your estimation of my vertue; which I tendred the preservation of the more, because yours must have suffered with it.

For, the honors you had designed for me, were raised to such a height, as being above the capacity of the greatest [Page 131] part of the lookers on were likely to be misunderstood. Therefore to avoyd the occasion of being but so much as an error in your unqu [...]stionable worth, I chose this as the lesse danger, the flying into some concealed retreate; and not trusting so much to my legs, I made my face run away to carry me securely. And in this disguise of a Moore I fled hither, where I made bold to use your name to be received. And here I found my flight and my dis­guise so much out-done by strangers, as I had no won­der left for my own condition. And these upon your promise of taking no knowledge of, till I shall advise you to it, I will impart unto you.

Ask no other caution Fidamira but thy be­liefe that I cannot disobey thee. Shouldest thou tell me that my son were here, and you two in love with one a­nother, I would ne're take notice of it, till all your bles­sings did aske me mine for consummation of them. In which guift I would aske nothing but the breathing out my soul upon it. So willingly I would give it you.

Your own guesse hath ingaged you Sir. The Prince and Agenor are both here, admitted into the order by the names of Moramente and Genorio. The ap­probation Sir, which you have promised of his choyce, if it had miscarried so as to have lightt on me, is a joy that over-pays me this comfort I have brought you, as it assures me of your consent unto his wishes, which are so justifiable, and I beleeve want nothing else for their perfection. To morrow is a new election of a Queen, and that light will cleare all that must yet remain obscure to you. And the d [...]y warnes me to be-night my selfe againe. For no light ever interposed it selfe between this darknesse since I put it on till now. And the reason of this Eclipse of my darkness [...] (I may call it so) shall no longer then to morrow be clouded to you. Therefore give me now leave to returne to Gemella, the name my dark­nesse ownes. And I doubt as little the justifying to you [Page 132] to morrow the fitnesse of all my requests, as I do of your observance of your word till then.

Goe Fidamira, and doubt not of my obedience though you leave me in a doubt, which is a pain equall to that of thy preserved life or hastened death. Which shall I trust to? Basilinos hand or Fidamiras word? My fears that find nature too steep to climb directly up against it, do thus by circular and turning motions seeke to winde themselves up above it. As violent stormes repulsed by sences that they meet, seem to flye back, and part them­selves to goe about; and so at last insinuate themselves through those fences, that they could not break: thus doe my doubts of Basilino's and Fidamira's knowing one another, and loving here, worke themselves into me by winding-circumstances, which are so weak as must goe a­bout, my reason cannot get over it. Thus doth all jealousie run on in crooked serpentations, and seems to imbrace all reason that it meets, but 'tis but to incompasse it, and leave as it were so as an Iland, as it cannot get out, mine must stay here all night, exposed to those cold blasts my feares can shake it with. To morrow Fidamira's pro­mise will deliver me.

How surely do they thinke themselves away, that let Love close with their thoughts, intending they shall wrestle with it? for love in that instant that it is let in, falls under our wills, and like an inundation, all it finds por­table it raiseth up, and carrieth forward on it self, and love finds our wills so leight and so ascensive then, as it doth but take them up with this humility, and carries them along with it, and by this subjection of it self, raiseth them higher then they could e're have got without it. So that love, entred into our thoughts, as it useth no vio­lence [Page 133] to them; So it is lyable to none from them. This have I learnt of my Tutor Moramente, and I am yet so strangely bashfull, as my having my lesson so perfect makes me ashamed to repeate it. Gemella assures me I have had a Prince for my Tutor, I am glad of that: for though birth and quality be not the only foundation to build love upon, yet it is a fair roofe to cover it. I owe some satisfaction to Moramente for all his humble suffe­rings, and ' [...]is enough my going now to Loves Cabinet to consult, whether I shall yet tell him my sense of them or no. The bringing it so neer a question is a reparation for more then man can suffer. I must resolve.

I should be so scrupulous of being so much my self, as having power to resolve any thing without Belle­sa's leave, had I not two such necessityes, as Nature and Time to justifie still my incapacity, by their impulsion of me to it. Nature's internal force would be too weak, I could forget I have a father, I am so Bellesas creature, had not time power over me, and that this light must see me a Prince, and her none. Her words by whose reflex we on­ly can see thoughts, have sometimes been cleer enough: yet they have been alwayes so unsteady, as like glasses turn­ed up and down, their reflex hath rather dizied my brain then assured my sight. Now I must resolve to begge of her to fix them, so as I may see what figure they have made for me. She is now gone towards Love's cabinet. I will follow her thither, expecting nothing from the place but privacie. She's love's influence, and onely can affect her self. And now to balance the boldnesse of this resolution with an equal humility, I will oblige my self not so much as even to wonder at the worst she shall resolve for me.

Hither where all things look so pleasingly, and so well pleased, as you must be all in love with one another; hither where the best of loves secr [...]ie doth flourish so, as you know not one anothers love, and yet live still, ad­ding still to the delights of one an [...]ther, as't were by mere instinct, by being bu [...] together. Whither but unto you should I repaire for company? To your so pure innocence as ill can ne're come so neere, as to be withstood. For in your veine runneth water instead of blood. My breath is yet so innocent it will not bl [...]st your tenderest purity. And I will trust you as to take counsell of you in the dis­covery of my thoughts of love you are the fitter because you cannot speake. For you m [...]y answer me by instinct, as you seeme to entertaine one another, and not speak.

Speake.

Alas Eccho you are too generally free to be trusted You will answer any body, and that they please. There­fore the gods when they placed you here, to secure the secrecy of solitude restrain'd your voyce to a present an­swer only to those that spake unto you, and so disinabled you to tell any thing from one unto another, otherwise I would not trust even this privacy with this word Love.

Love.

Could I answer at that distance thou dost and not be seene, I would word that love. I think sure thou couldst not be so confident hadst thou not all these curtains drawn before thee, and didst not know, that they that seek thee after thou hast spoke can never find thee But let the spi­rit of this unsuspected place tell me, if it avow thee for its Speaker, and I will yeeld unto its Genius, and will re­solve what methinks it would have me do.

Do.

Now you have answered so well for him, will you [Page 135] now answer for him to me? Dare you promise me his constancy?

Constancy.

If he prove so, our prayers shall intercede for thee unto the gods, that this thy service in our love▪ may ex­piate thy former fault. And that thou mayest be restored unto thy body, and thy voyce doubled to thee, to have speech enough to tell the wonders of our loves, which no lesse then such a miracle can do. But if he now prove vaine or e're inconstant, I will come back hither, and with my curses blast the beauty of this place. I will be so revenged, I will not leave it so much as solitude. I will be alwayes here, and with my loud complaints storme it with a trou­bled tumult. And for you, Eccho, I will with my reproa­ches force you to answer so much, as it shall hoarse that little voyce is left you. Nay I will search all the earths concavities, and fill them up, so to choake you quick, there shall be left you nothing to reside in but Moraments heart. That I will leave you, even for a greater punishment, then death, upon these tearmes if you will stand to your counsell, I am content.

Content.

Hearing Madam you were gone this way. I made haste after you, lest you might light by chance into this place. Do you know where you are Madam?

'Tis you Moramente that are you know not where; if you had known where you were, you would not have hastned to divert me from this place: this is Loves cabinet, is it not?

It was Madam before you came hither, but all that was Loves, is yours where you are.

Doe you think, Love loseth any thing in what I take from it?

Yes Madam it loseth more by what you keep from it, then it gives or receives from all the world be­sides, [Page 136] this place is beleeved to have a tacit influence, and works all hearts into a [...]endernesse that it doth receive, as if the aire contracted with the heart it should take Love, and breath together. This I tell you Madam, only that you may glory in mastering virtue, that seems to have power over nature.

My heart Moramente is harder to be known then it is when it is known. Doe not you think it can allow Love as much virtue as any other?

Yes Madam, as I beleeve all virtue improves in its [...]ssa [...]ion more then in its exercise meeting with yours, as it is a greater virtue to yeeld to that then trust unto its own: So your heart may allow love more virtue then a­ny other by a resignation of its power to your neg­lect.

This opinion Moramente, makes me apprehend so little your guessing why I came hither, as I may now in return of a request you made me once, to guesse at your love, desire you to do so at the reason of my comming hither.

It may be Madam, that Love himselfe in love with you hath giv [...]n you this curiositie of rifling his Ca­binet to try who he holds intelligence with. So, to disco­ver Love's secrets, you came hither.

Ha [...]h this Eccho run under ground, and carried him my voyce? 'Tis true Moramante, I am come to dis­cover Love's secrets but more to trust, then to suspect: and I have found here so uninterested a Counsellor, as he asks nothing but words to gratifie him; and he hath answered me so fitly, as if he had studyed my cause before. If you have any suite Moramente speak to him, he is in his closet here amongst the trees; he is old and a little deafe, you must speake aloud, and it is likely he will answer you.

This is cleare enough. I understand it. You know I have a sute Madam. And I will try if you have entertain'd [Page 137] him against me. Tell me thou faithfull speaker, doth Bel­lesa love.

Love.

It is too much a miracle to be beleeved from any voyce but yours.

Why Moramete, would you have me so strange a creature as to make an Eccho speak false?

You were but dallying with love, and he had not strength enough to get above your other words, and so the ayre sent Eccho back with it along to you. Had love any power over you, it would not lose so much of its sweet­nesse, as the being deluded by any voyce but yours.

It is my voyce Moramente, and I have let it loose from me, that it might not have so much as modesty to hold it back. Beleeve it. For if you put me to take it in againe, I have virgin cold that would not let it speak so cleare.

I will beleeve it so as I will worship it. All my soules faculties shall be converted into this one beliefe, and give me leave to begg for this kinde voyce, that for my sake is so unhappy as to goe out of you, that you would take it in againe, and let me h [...]are it, in that temple where it should be inshrined, your mouth, though it speake lower. My beliefe hath eares to save you the paines of straining it too high.

Rise Moramente, unlesse you wish an answer from a Queen, and not Bellesa. I have had long a sense well fitted to your sufferings, and I have beleeved so well of you as I did not feare the seemingnesse of my indifferency would divert you from a meritorious persistency. And I have been so just to you, as you have lost nothing by my differing your admittance to the knowledg of my thoughts For they have been studying you all this while, wi [...]h this advantage to, of your not knowing it. So they have informed themselves of your nature streghtly in [Page 138] it self, without the ply it takes, bent by designe. And I have so satisfied my selfe, as I beleeve my time well spent.

You might well tell me Madam I was I knew not where, if I have been in your blessed thoughts; and thus you only could have done so new a thing as to re-call time, and in an instant blesse all that was past, as well as whats to come. I have now no way of humility left but, valuation of my selfe ascribing so the more to the vir­tue of your thoughts, which have made me what they have been, so modest as to say they have found me. For you have such a singularity, as you cannot think on any thing unworthy of you. Therefore give me leave to ask you, what you have thought of my love to you? For this was the only thing in me worthy of your thoughts, before you thought of me, I m [...]st therefore beleeve you have thought most of that.

For the first thought, I did allow your love Mora­mente, it was so civill it brought me many in returne of it. And by this exchange stored me with thoughts which wereso cleare, as they seemed glasses for vertue to dresse her selfe by, [...]ot shadowes to draw over her. Therefore I have continued the entertainment of your love.

Judg Mad [...]m how absolutely you are Mistresse of love. It hath had intelligence with you. And given and received presents from you, without my knowledg. I will not call this trechery, for I will allow all that is mine, to be yours more. But hath not my love been so true to you Madam, as to propose to you its perfection in the admittance of my heart into yours to lie under it, that it may rest it selfe upon it?

It hath proposed that which I cannot answer yet, because it knowes not who it speakes to.

[The heavens conspire a parity in all] Oh

Bellesa give meleave to wish you any thing rather then an Angell. For so only your pro­mise [Page 139] may defeat it self. If you be mortall, you can have no scruple, but the making me happier then your selfe by the disparity between what you give and can re­ceive.

I can give nothing now Moramente but my pro­mise to be shortly my self, and so it may be I shall be able to give you more then now: and Gemella though she hath not told me who you are, hath assured me you are not what you seem, and so an agreement now would be void on both sides. Therefore now take this watch with my promise, that before it measure three hours more, you shall know my story, and then I shall have a fuller power to give: for having promised nothing, the time now admits not the telling your story, if you would advance the knowledge of you. Therefore we must now part, I for preparation of the ceremony of the new electi­on.

I will then confesse Madam only as much as the time will give you leave to know, which is, that I am more then I seem even more in love with you then I can seem to be: but there will nothing now seem strange in all my story, but your qualification of me with more honour then nature can bestow. I accept this pledge of your pro­mise, and shal thus by you try both experiences.

Sure, Nature did make up our lines in wreathes; and the first instant motion is set against the Scrue; and so we move in a continual revolution to unwind our selves, and by the same degrees that we unwreath our lives, we find a flacknesse, and an enervation in those parts that loosen first. Our leggs are first unjoynted. So by de­grees [Page 140] this loosenesse riseth up and slackens. So the frame of man, as all the parts, unfastning at last, seem but to have a contiguousnesse, and no connexion to one another: for all their functions part, while they hang yet together, till the last turn devolved falls to the dissolution of them all. So that man is only brought by ruine unto rest, I am so neer this last dissolving turne, as I will now lay my selfe down here on this soft ground, that I may fall in pieces with lesse pain▪ I have visible misery enough to assure me of pitty, this head on which the sun it self did snow, and cold can only thaw.

There's nothing fitter for the vertue of this place then age, as nothing so unrelievable: but I have such unspeaka­ble misfortunes, as makes my age a blessing, as it promi­seth a speedy delivery from what yout [...] could have no hope but death, the losse of three such Princes in my charge, as the safety of a kingdome dep [...]nd [...]h successive­ly on each of them, the ones blo [...]d powred out at his na­tions sacrifice. So innocent, as his infancy better ass [...]reth us now what he is; th [...]n it could have promised what he would have been the other a Princesse, such an emission of nature, as it were above it self, as she promised nothing so low, as could be hoped before, and yet the miracle of her obscured all that he did promise. She was so acceptable to all, as she made the losse of her brother and sister a p [...]b­lick joy, as it conveyed the Kingdome unto her, this an­gel then vanished from amongst us out of my hands: or if she were a woman, now she's above an angel, for she might dye obscurely, but could not live so. My enquiry, had she been upon the earth, must have met with the re­port of her; no nation b [...]t must have sent out proclamati­ons of their glory in having of her. Should I goe back now to the aged King that hath no soul left but an ex­pectation, and so take his soul too away, and then live to see unfortunate Navarr lye like a headlesse trunk, subject to the first power that would sease it? Nay, I will lay my [Page 141] life down here, and by the application of all these sorrows to my soul try if I can [...]right it out of this weake body which hath no strength to oppose the passage of it.

I have sought Moramente every where but in Love's Cabinet, and cannot find him. Sure Fortune is scru­pulous of letting me have so much joy, as [...]h'obliging him. Here is a stranger, the gods assist you Sir in all your wishes.

Pardon me Sir, if I do not so much as wish you well, least fortune, that hath undertaken the oppositi­on of all my wishes, might be by them brought against you.

It seems then you were chased hither by Fortune not led by Curiosity.

I have been so inconsiderable to fortune as she hath not thought my personall affliction [...] worthy her intention; but hath run through me and wounded others, whose losse hath brought no lesse then the curse of a whole nation upon me.

Have you ever been in love?

Never Sir, I have not known so light a griefe in all my life, you are happy whose youth knows no true pain; and therefore doth account the frights of love, which imagination brings, the heighth of all afflicti­on.

Comfort your self then, for you are not so unhap­py as you might have been.

You may bragge Sir, you have made me smile to think, to how little disquiet this place is subject: there­forepray Sir, be so charitable to tell me, whether this place doth certainly make all happy, that are admitted to it; if so I would avoid it. It is a curse, I have not the wishing my self happy by forgetfulnesse.

If there be any certain vertue in this place, I believe [Page 142] it is in the inversion of the conditions it receives. All the effects I have found of it yet, have been so. I thought my self when I came hither, as unlikly to become unhappy as you can now your selfe to be relieved. And I have seen another's fortune turned to the opposit extreame of what it was brought hither. And if you would not forget, stay not here. For I am such a witnesse of that effect, as if you knew my story, you would beleeve that virtue un­resistable.

How miserable am I? that even you, that preten­ded to be an oblivious Trophy, are my remembrancer, and of a misery greater then your age is capable of. Will you give me leave to look upon this jewell? Pray Sir, do you remember so much, as how long you have had this jewell?

I have had it longer then I can remember any thing; 'tis part of my story which is so strange a one as if you knew it, it would make you think your selfe happy. I am so subject to forget, as I had allmost forgot my haste, Which if you knew the occasion of, you would leave wondring at your selfe.

This fond young man's in love. And is grown vaine of his afflictions, because they are of his own make­ing. He carries a greater misfortune of mine about him, which he knowes [...]ot of, than he takes upon him. That crosse of diamonds the prince Pallantus had about him, when his infancy was smoothered in that crowd of death Pamlona did sink under, taken by assault some twenty years ago by this king of Castile. That there could be so little providence in fate! as to preserve this, and cast him away. Some souldier in whose bloody hands this spoyle remained, must have sold it to this young man. His years will not allow him the honor to have bought it with a drop of blood. I will go rest me, left my spirits faint un­der the weight of misery they must bring for their pre­tence of ease.

I have lost the King strangely at the entry of the Temple, he took another waie, but he cannot be straied farr hence.

I have watched my feares all night, lest while my reason was a sleepe, they might have got the advan­tage of a dreame to fright me from my trust of Basilino. And methinks this mornings light shoots such a chear­full clearnesse into me, as my presaging thoughts do smile on one another. Well mett Bonorio. Since I have lost you, I have found such a miracle, as the surprise of would have killed you with joy. This company must deferre your knowledg of it. Let us stand by a while.

What do women say Gemella, for discovery of their loves?

As the humors are Madam, some say all they thinke, and yet thinke all they can too little. Others say no more then what just will serve a man to guesse at what they thinke.

Sure that is best Gemella. For so women retaine a power of rewarding modesty, and punishing presump­tion. Which is so easily don, as by saying nothing. But what say you Gemella of Genorio's passion, that is so bold as to fly to me for sanctuary? I had thought friend­ship had been the highest passion. Beleeving that Mora­ments greifes running through Genorio had left this sad tincture on him. Is there no friendship so bold Gemella as to admitt a rivall to the trust of emulous desires?

Passion, Madam, is so shie of all things, as it scat­ters our thoughts abroad upon all aproaches can be made to it: And is so farr from admitting any body, as it is afrayd even of its own shaddowes doubt, and suspition which it never shines but it will make. But I wonder most [Page 144] that Genorio in so desperate a passion, should seek a reason for your will, though it be to neglect him. Perfect hu­mility bows into it self, and finds reason there to justifie its adoration, by an incapacity of a fault in her it is devoted to.

And sure, Humility is incouraged so, as by finding this reason, it leaves neglect lesse reason then it had be­fore: but what reason doth Genorio's wildnesse prey upon?

My innocence; which his suspition seiseth on, and disfigures with the imputation of malice: which I am so far from, as even his provocation can bring me no neerer it then joying in Moraments fortune.

Sure, he is in a desperate condition Bellesa, that is so farre from knowing the cause of his ill, as the as­cription of it to thy malice. I wonder that the flaming vertue of thy soul, that lightens through these clo [...]ds, doth not dispel them quite, and leave your body a fair sky, where it may shine. Here is a stranger, you shall to day here my story, which if my person could spare all this while, it may well expect improvement in your esti­mation, by that addition to your knowledge.

If I could make you Madam as full returne of all your favours, as I can do of your story, I should owe you nothing.

Are you he Sir, that demandeth audience for your pretence?

No Madam, it was my curiosity lead me hither; and I have been so well paid for following it, as I beleeve the vertue of this place must needs be miraculous for de­votion, since it is so propitious to curiosity. The first instant I arrived, I was made happier then I dare tell.

I wish it may afford you that happinesse to the telling of it.

The seeing you Madam, is a happinesse above re­lation.

This is the Queeen Sir she is now going to give audience to a new pretenderbe: you there, and bring your promise entire with you.

O Fidamira. I have already seen Moramente, and Genorio, and have looked upon them, ke [...]ping my promise unto thee, between them; and they have not discovered me.

The audience will be within this houre, and the election presently after. Then my promise shall make you a full return for this your patience.

This Queen is a strange [...], why may not I be so compleatly happy, as to have [...] Son in love with her? [...]hey are all [...]uspicious thoughts that fancy me to day I will let my beliefe anticipate pa [...]t of this joy, left all at once be too much for my senses to support, would not you b [...] content Bonorio to be [...] find your daugh­ter, that [...] were that Moore you saw speake with me?

A father that loves a chil [...] as I do Fid [...]mira had rather mourn for her death, th [...]n see her mourn in such a life.

You speake as if you were in love with her. I will keepe thy fondnesse no longer in pain. Th [...] Moore is Fidamira, thus disguised Basilino and Agenor ar [...] both here too. I am bound to secresie while that Fidamira shall release me, and so I ingage you. Let's set forward to the audience, in the mean time I will tell you my strange dis­covery of Fidamira.

This is a joy Sir, becomes your delivery as the greatest blessing I can value, the seeing you so plea­sed.

Sure, even imagination hath a verticall point, from whence it must decline: mine hath touch't that, and now it stops again nor doth it charge Bellesa with a de­clination, to say it follows her, but accuseth its self of a rapture, that carried her along with it. I have been guilty all this while of treason to her, of parting her body and her soul, which sure heaven united for no lesse a miracle, then the propagation of them on earth. My fancy had re­strained her to the being one her selfe, her disposing of her self, will make more such as her selfe, and so exceed even my fancy. And now I find it was a suppression, not an ex­altation of her, to beleeve there could be any thing im­possible to her, which I confesse I did beleeve her loving was. Moramente, who was most concern'd by my opini­on, hath already begun to correct it by his scorn of my counsell, which I gave him as boldly, as if Bellesa had been no where but in my fancie. I will allot no lesse then all my life for recantation, and pay this blessed place all that for my conversion.

What speculation are you in Martiro? Were you not thinking what starrs were in love with one ano­ther? and how by their tacite influence they entertain themselves! You never think so low as the moon, because she hath been said to have been enjoyed.

They say Martiro there is a Sagittary above, that answers to our Cupid here, and that the starrs which we see shoot, are shot by him to inflame which of them he wil [...] will aime at. Pray Martiro, do not the melancholy lo­ving starrs delight much in the musick of the Spheares?

No: I was thinking lower, how the globe of the earth might be made flat, and so the Antipodes laid levell with us. Inmy minde I have seene as strange a thing as this come to passe.

There is hope Martiro, you may fall [...]o thinke of possibilityes; this is somewhat towards it to meditate so low as earth.

I do begin already to think all things so possible on earth; as I thinke you two may be happy in enjoying one another.

This is an exposition of flatting of the Globe. Wee that were your Antipodes are now level with you.

Rest your thoughts then here, Martiro, on the Centre of the earth, and you will finde more ease in that stability then you have don in the swift motion of the orbes above, where they have been till now.

I am but yet like one that is fallen high, whose sense at first doth but assure him he feeles a foundation: so by degrees his senses begin to com againe. I do begin to heare already, I may come to taft at last.

You will finde Martiro, that fancy on the ground of sense may runne division enough, and make much bet­ter musick then in ayre. Here comes Genori [...], wee'le tell him the newes.

Happy Martiro, I must acknowledg, you shewed me first the way to this supream beatitude in love above the orbes of wishing. And give me leave to bragge, that I am risen a degree above you, to the joying in her loving another proportionably as it affects her.

My recantation must confesse my opinion. And you Genorio have now brought me a reason to confirme the change of it, your having got a point above it: You have not left me so much as a singularity to glory in, I was never higher then the allowing her I loved impos­sibility. [Page 148] For all that you are many degrees further. And my new opinion assureth your happinesse that all wo­men must love. For whom soever your Mistress [...] loves, your security keeps time with that.

Here is the expired Phoenix, and there the issue of his ashes. And there can be but one at once.

Come Camena, let's leave them both together, there's no danger of Genorio's making a sect.

We will leave you together. If the st [...]anger bring so good a pretence to misfortune to day as this your opi­nion Genorio he shall have my voyce.

We will follow to the audience. If all happinesse be but opinion, as some say it is, then mine is a High one. How, Martiro, comes this declination of your thoughts from that high beliefe can hardly reach, to this which sense can touch?

It may be Genorio, your thoughts and mine are a counter-ballance. And the fall of mine hath raysed yours.

Sure Martiro, you have reached the imp [...]ssibility you soared at. And having wrought your selfe above it, have stooped with it, and come down [...] of it.

No Genorio, but I have seen it fallen down by me, seised by another. And now I conclude there's no­thing impossible in love. And this my discovery doth advance your joyes, that are c [...]ried on with h [...]rs you love though an other be the bearer of them.

Why Martiro, Is not this an ingenious revenge on scorne, to reduce the woman to make you happy by the same degree [...] she can think her selfe so? For so is he that derives his joyes from hers.

Do you know, Genorio, do you know, that they that love after the knowledg of the delivery [...]f their wishes to another are inconstant in the act, for they I [...] another? For in that instant she is no more her self [...]. And he that will begin againe, must love two at once. For of [Page 149] lovers none knowes which is which.

I am so far destin'd to this singularity, as this your intended diversion is my direction, for my passion is fixt so, as he that shall enjoy my wishes is such a one as my reason may dispute with my passion, which I should love best. If you knew my story Ma [...]tiro, you would think heaven had blessed me with my love for a miracu­lous gratitude. I must speak with Moramente before the audience.

Go Genorio, we'le goe several wayes to Bellesa with my recantation. This is Bellesa he's in love with, & his friendship to Moramente is, that he frames the won­der to himself upon.

All that I can say Gemella neer a return, i [...] ▪ that even in this my happinesse my debt to thee finds sense e­nough to be a paine by the difficulty of an acquittance. But if ever Bellesa and I joyn, then nothing can be diffi­cult, even a compensation for thy merits will be ea­sie.

I am so far from seeking a recompence, as I dare bragge you owe me more then I doe know: the conceale­ment of which, I will onely call merit. And I will leave thus much more the helping you to ease your selfe of what you will owe me, by asking you somewhat which will seeme easie to you, though it must take up all your life the giving it.

There can be nothing so hard to me as a cessati­on in my gratitude to you: therefore the time it doth re­quire will not onely welcome, but satisfie the act. Lose no time Gemella, that I may begin.

To be constant all your life unto Belle­sa.

Thou hast ask't the only thing which I can do, but cannot doe for you: this is a pretention even above thy merit to wish to have Bellesa thought upon, one in­stant, for thy sake. I should forget Bellesa in that promise to you. This I will assure Gemella, for her sake to be so constant unto you, as you shall be her shadow in my thoughts.

Did I not trust more to Bellesa's vertue of making a miracle for her, then to your being made one of your self, I should not have asked you so impossible a thing as constancy.

Why, do you think constancy in a man a mi­racle?

Such a one, as it is in no mans power to be assured of for constancy. Moramente is to be judged of, as other miracles, after death; and so may be allowed de­ification.

I should choose Gemella, that time for the Judgment of mine: for every instant of my life shall adde more to my love, then all the rest of the world doth love in all; and my last instant's breath shal only summe it up.

Make not so unlimitted ingagements Mora ­mente, 'tis ominous, 'tis a defie to fortune and time, that both subsist by change, to resolve so bold a constan­cie.

Here comes Genorio, we will be judged by him, whether large professions be not temptations unto fortune to glory in the frustration of them.

I doe beleeve sometimes that destiny is provoked by our undertakings to be so much our selves, and useth such violence as justifies our honours, not by a surrender, but by a defeature of our faith.

Sure Genorio thus to accuse sate of such a depra­vation is to provoke it more, than to conclude it will not be offended with a virtuous confidence.

I beleeve too there may be such a subject for a miraculous passion, as inconstancy may be the greater miracle.

Pray Genorio, do you think a Salamander can be sensible of the change of flames? passions may be in some so naturall, as they cannot distinguish their own altera­tions.

If this Si [...]ile hold for a reproach, it reacheth to both sexes. Will you be pleased Gemella to let me change this discourse for some privacy with Moramente?

You, I beleeve, have not the same businesse with him as I had to recommend constancy.

The impatience I have sought you with, Mora­mente, all this morning will be proved to you by the oc­casion of my seeking you.

No impatience can be welcomer to me Genorio, then this of shewing me this cleer chearfulnesse risen in thy looks, that have morning in them now again; they have been so long be-nighted.

'Tis all reflex't from you Moramente, to whom such beames shine as must needs by repercussion cleare one so neer to you as I am. It is Bellesa's love to you that sends these sparkling joyes to me from that great flame of glorious happinesse that doth blaze on you.

Thou hast match't two impossibilityes so well Genorio, as I knew not which to beleeve least, Bellesa's loving me, or thy knowing it.

You do well to wonder at it, Moramente: for heaven thought it news worthy of an Angel's sending to the earth to be the bearer of't: and the gods knowing my gratitude to you, could aske no lesse then a miracle for an expression of it; and chose me first to impart it to you, left you might have been indebted too much to any body [Page 152] but one whose life was yours, by the delivery of such a blessing. An Angel that took [...] assure me of her speaking true, appeared to me l [...]t night in the Temple, and told it me.

The gods know, Genorio, that Bell [...]s [...] loving was a blessing too pure [...] mortality, [...]n th [...]refore did [...]l­lay it with [...]idamira's death.

Nay Mo [...]amente, I have the same authority for F [...]damira's life, as for B [...]llesa' [...] love: the angel told me both at once.

Then Genorio the blessing that thou bring [...]st is so divine, it leaves me no [...] a wish [...] [...]ouch't too with an equal reflex of those joyes [...]hin [...] on thee in Fidamira's love. The wonder of thy gratitude to me in preferring me before thy self did require no lesse then such a miracle for thy reward.

Beleeve me Moramente, my heart is so set upon your joyes, as I have scarce any sense left for Fidamira's love.

Thou dost affect out-meriting thy selfe. Here comes the Queen, Genorio.

This freedome is a double obligation as it gives me some meanes of return. Till when, it shall not be perceived that I am trusted with it. Doth it not grow late?

Look on your watch Madam I beleeve the hour of the audience draws neer.

It is within halfe an hour of the time. How goes your watch Moramente?

Will you be pleased to tell your selfe Madam.

As just with mine as if the same wheeles moved them both. Have you seen the Sun to day.

I have been in heaven this morning Madam, and [Page 135] set it there, and 'tis as great a proofe to me of the truth of it, the keeping time with yours.

Moramente is so happy, he beleeves he governs time.

Sure the pretender is impatient of his audience which I have promised him, and the hour I have prefixt draws neer.

Sure, you your self Madam should be impatient in the interim between your promise and performance, for that is the only time you can owe any thing. We will waite on you now to hasten your discharge.

We will go, Moramente. I should be glad to see Genorio's looks tuned to bear a part in this generall harmony.

Mine Madam are the discords which must be in this composition.

The Queen is gone before to the audience: her in­clination now to Moramente is so declared, as even his looks avow it. The election is to be presently after the au­dience, in which I can think on nothing to fear, unlesse confidence be ominous.

Let the pretender be called in.

Pardon this amazement Madam! All my Soul's faculties are drawn into my eyes to decide a doubt. In which if I durst so soon beleeve my eyes, they had already looked away my pretence, but they are too partial to me to beleeve so soon. Therefore give me leave Madam to bring them neerer the object they are now disputing on, that they may aske some Questions of my memory, so to de­cide this doubt. It must be she, nature could not make two such! Blessed Saphira, I conjure you by the remove of [Page 154] what only can be objected against your innocence. The affliction of your father and the hazard of a nation to an­swer to this name, and in a word to speake me happier [...]hen even the youngest here can live to. You know who asketh this pitty of you now. One whose misery is a re­proach to you. Therefore answer to this name Saphira, and with one word over-pay him to whom you owe the first you ever had.

The virtue of this place reacheth not to cure distraction. You would have Bellesa revive the dead. He may be dismist, Madam.

Stay Genorio, sure I owe him more pitty that would revive me, than one would antedate my death. Worthy Romero I will answer to that name, and in this instant make thee so happy as to indebt all the Society to thee for the knowledg of me. And to inlarge this pre­sent of my selfe unto thee, I will bring a witnesse thou wilt willingly beleeve, thy son, whose flight with me if it do need forgivenesse cannot be denied now.

I will not weaken so much the Queens desire as to add my prayers to it. She that hath blessed you so, cannot be denied yours for me.

What say you to this Genorio ▪

Since my fault is an exaltation of your happinesse, that I will ask pardon for it.

Pardon me Madam, if I refuse a thought yet so low, as the joy of finding a son. You must have all my soul a while, till I have discharged my selfe of what I owe your father. In whose name I am to beg of you, and conjure all this society, whom I esteem so justly blessed, as I doubt not of their wishes to my successe, to joyne with me in a pretence, I am to deliver to you in the name of the King, and of a Nation, which by me now begs reliefe of you. This Society understands you so well as I may better aske of them then tell them, what a bles­sing your company is. And if it be such an one to stran­gers, [Page 155] let them judge what a joy it will be to a father, to whom you have been so long a stranger. And though it seemed misfortune cannot afford you lesse then a Crown, yet you ought not to make that Crown, which nature hath made yours, unfortunate. Therefore heare the dis­tresses of the King your father, that cry so lowd in the complaints of the losse of you, as they hear not the cries of all his kingdom for their exposure to the first strong pow­er that will seize it. His age must quickly leave the first invader for his heir. You know your brother and your sister, the Prince Palant, and the Princesse Miranda, per­ished both infants at the seige of the cursed Pamlona. Since, the King your father having destin'd you to the Prince of Castile, a Prince thought a match for your ver­tue as well as your condition. In the time of this treaty you fled, attended only by my son. I upon whose trust this misfortune lay like Treason, have been ever since in the search of you, and now the gods have been pleased to blesse my dispaire with what they have so long denied my hope, the finding you, Madam. I must now addresse my selfe not only to you, but all this society for judg­ment of this pretence of a King, and a Nation, which in a new way demands reliefe, not by admittance but dismis­sion.

I must confesse Romero all you have alledg'd against me: But, in my defence, desire this faire Society, whose judgments would be injured in my unnaturallnesse, to beleeve that even these and the honor of this place did not divert me from the sense of my fathers afflictions, whose reliefe I did deferr to bring thee more intire, after the Prince his marriage should, have removed all subject of dispute between us.

Here I resolve to stay till then, confident that my fathers consent to the estimation of my selfe, in the expression of my equall unwillingnesse, [...]o that, his passion to Fidamira did avow, would justify my presumption on his pati­ence.

This was a sense Madam you ought your vertue, while the Prince's unsensiblenesse seem'd to provoke it to a valuation of its selfe. But now the same vertue that did convict him will plead for his acquittance. Now as your goodnesse ought not to avert it selfe from his repen­tance, which his leaving Fidamira, and his journey de­voted to your pardon, do assure: therefore Madam in my mind you owe the King your father this satisfaction for all his sufferings, A returne of a full obedience [...]or all the hazard he hath runn with you I have heard [...] late, that he hath pittied so the Prince as your admission of him into yours, would b [...] a joy that would ind [...]are your presence. I remitt my selfe to this Society. And b [...]g of them, that if their judgments agree with [...], th [...]ir prayers may do so too

We have our own interests me-think [...] that ask our sollicitations▪ that we that know th [...] blessing of such a Queen, may still enjoy it, both exal [...]d for hers [...]l [...] and us.

Even this our derived light of Soveraignty must grow brighter, so drawn from a more glorious body then it was ere before.

We all joyne in this [...]upp [...]ication for the P [...]ince.

I think my [...] the good f [...]rtune I owe this place, to contribute what my power aff [...]rds to all the wish [...]s of this Society. And my admiratio [...] to you Madam engageth me to what I owe my countrey and my Prince, to lett you know that I w [...]s lately a witn [...]ss [...] of the Kings wish [...]s to the h [...]ppy conju [...]ction of the Prince, and Princess [...] of Navarr. And I am so ass [...]red of his con­sent, as I dare answer for it with my life.

I wish the King and Prince so much happinesse, as it were presumption in me to think I could afford it them. Let me aske you some questions of my father Ro­mero.

M [...]thinks, Moramente, you are too cold an inter­ceder [Page 157] for the Prince, that are so much concerned in all his wishes.

Therefore Gemella I may be thought too par­tiall to h [...]m. Your uninterested prayers may challenge more success [...] Now Genorio, you that can report Princes lives away so easily, can you speake me dead too, and be be­leeved? For only so thou canst get trust of me againe, when I perceive thou canst deceive all the world. Did not some such Angell tell you of Bellesa's love, as of Sa­phira's death.

Consider Sir, how meritorious this report prove [...] to your life, and you may think that an Angell prompted i [...] for your justification to the Princesse, and the rest of the world to whom your vow was known. Doth not this your beliefe approve to her the cessation of your designe, which else might have been objected to you even by her? And must not the sense that you express [...]d then of her death, indeare you to her now? And when you know the reason of this my report, even the falshood of it will justify my trust to you.

Sure, [...]oramente knows the Prince best of any bo­dy. I will infor [...]e my selfe of him. And take his counsell b [...]fore I do res [...]lve.

You cannot resolve better.

What say you Moramente? Have I not chosen a [...] couns [...]ll [...] in [...]his cause? Now you know me fully and [...], giv [...] m [...] your advice. For I am resolved to be [...] b [...] you in the disposing of my selfe.

Co [...]fident of what you say Madam, I shall beg of [...] [...]he Prince.

I [...] your charity Moramente so much above your lov [...]?

No Madam, It is my love that is so humble as to expect nothing but by charity. And if my intercession for the Prince obtaine pardon for him, I shall esteeme it as a favour done to me.

I thought you would desire nothing but pardon for him; and for your sake Moramente it will be easy for me to yeeld to as much as you shall desire for him.

I will no longer seeme to owe you lesse Madam then I do. I do accept this pardon which is so strange an one, as it makes me a Prince, and the same that you have pardoned. And to deserve this grace, I do resigne it back to you, and so expose my [...]elfe to all your wills, without claiming any thing, that your not knowing me might seeme to engage you to. You already are acquainted with my story, which I must thus farr inlarge. That taking this place in the way of my designe of seeking your par­don, I was stayed here by you. So I have promised my selfe to plead it as your selfe you shall excuse. So that the dispute will be between Saphira and Bellesa. And now Madam to be no longer guilty of concealing any thing from you, I must let you know, that, that stranger which so boldly answered for the King, might safely do it. For it is the King my father. Of wh [...]se being here, you know the reason and the time just as I do, for I have but now discovered him. Now Madam I do so entirely prostrate my selfe unto your will, as I forge [...] any thing that might direct me to an expectation and bow my selfe to take your pleasure on me.

Thus then Moramente, I retract all I have fayd as Bellesa, but 'ti [...] to say more as Saphira. Me thinks fate it selfe is so much interested in this our union, as it seemes to have directed all which your humility can call a fault. Therefore now I confirme my promise of being counselled by you in the d [...]sposing of my selfe, as farr as my fathers consent shall go along with it, which we may safely ex­pect [Page 159] for the perfection not retardance of our joys.

Vouchsafe to call me your selfe Madam, and so beleeve you shall alwayes be counselled and obeyed toge­ther.

Moramente hath prevailed so much with me, as I have not onely forgiven the Prince, but resolve to enter­tain such thoughts of him hereafter, as his affection shall present worthy of me.

You are born for no lesse then the blessing of nations.

Give me leave Madam, to present the Prince to you, that he may lose no more time in the application of himself to the desert of your farther pitty.

He hath lost no time in that. If he were now to be­gin, I should not so soon assure you Sir, that I trust you so much, that if I had one to answer for me, as you may for him, upon your two words I should not fear to engage my self.

By this it seemes you know I am his father Ma­dam, and you would not doubt how much I should joy to have the blessing of that name enlarg'd so far as to comprize you.

You that are a father Sir, know so well what I owe unto that name, as I beleeve you will chose to aske it of him, whose giving it must justifie my joyning.

Now Sir give me leave to retire to the new Election, that I may not be charged so much as with the breach of an order here, nor be reproached by the impatience of her▪ whose beauty and vertue is destin'd to the reward of this happy day. We will leave you Sir with your Son, the time cannot seem long to you.

I forget to day Madam I am a King, and only one that joyes a fathers name. If you will have me re­member I am a King, it shall be to obey you with more merit.

Come Ladyes, let's to the election, we shall return [Page 160] presently, and returne a present worthy of a King, a fair and vertuous Queen.

I beseech you Sir conceale me still.

I am all obedience here, Bellesa.

Let me, Camena, desire your voyce to follow mine to day. Though it seeme to oppose your reason for a while; It shall not do so long.

I resigne my voyce so freely to you Madam, it shall not be mine so much as to ask a reason.

Now Sir be pleased to transferr all my joyes, with your blessing upon Basilino.

I will not own to day so old a joy as the name of Basilino. This is thy birth-day wherein all's new; and lowe more to thy name Moramente, then thou dost to me for B [...]silino.

You may Sir, for a just improvement of your joyes derive mine from the blessings Heaven ought you, that have had credit enough to crown me with your fondest wish.

I have Moramente private joyes of mine own. Thou knowest not yet, enough, not to need the asc [...]ipti­on of all thine to me. And I will own only the giving thee that happines, the knowing them. Which it may be thy goodnature will allow an equallshare with all thine own. But first shew me the highest of thy good fortune. Feare not mine will rise unto an equall parallel.

I owe somuch to my good fortune, I was not long a seeking it. You know Sir, it is now a yeare since I left you. And my curiosity was imploved. I think by heaven, to bring me hither, fi [...]st to the Election of the Queen. And coming into this peacefull harbour, my sailes were taken off, and I coming a passenger put my selfe in­to service here. The difficulties I have met with cannot be expressed, b [...]t in the same words that made them. This Princesse is a creature no body can gu [...]sse at, but by know­ing [Page 161] her to be a woman. A great while in a seeming neg­lect of all the lov [...] [...]y witt could make, her own made love, which none but its own ma [...]er could understand. But since, she hath [...] pleased to interpret it so fairely, as you Sir underst and it too. This opinion, of her being dead, Genor [...], is to answer for. And now at this Election I was resolved to bring you back (th [...]t, which you have thus advanced unto your selfe) the joyes of a contented father.

I must tell you in private how I came thus to an­ticipate my joyes.

Give me l [...]ave to consider well this Jewell Sir.

You have been so luckie in finding what you have lost to day, as I may feare you will challenge it.

If I could challenge it rightly, you should get by it. 'Tis the same. Are you now at so much leisure as to tell me how you came by it?

I can direct you how you shall know. Ask the King or Prince, I know nothing of my selfe but what they have told me. What a reviving happinesse is this sight of the divine B [...]lles [...]? Your eyes, that were this morning two expiring lamps, flame in a chearefull brightnesse. Now Nature by Be [...]l [...]sa's perfections can repaire her own de­fects.

How happie are you then, whose youth hath so long re [...]iv'd new vigor from those beames?

I am so happie Sir, I will not hazard this present with expectation of more which you might give me.

I have told you all which you must keepe con­cealed.

Is Gemella, Fidamira? and you in love with her? and do resolve to marry her?

You will beleeve me when I shall tell you I love her, as much as you can Bellesa. Methinks Moramente, [Page 162] you seem troubled. Is it that any body should love as well as you?

'Tis but the admiration of the strangenesse of this day.

Give me leave I beseech you Sir to begge some­what of you this day, wherein there is no joy left you to come but giving.

It is no longer mine whatsoever you desire.

'Tis but a true answer to a question.

That cannot be call'd a gift, I owe it.

My quarrel to thee Genorio cannot be great enough to consent unto thy misery. I must needs pitty thee.

There can be nothing, that hath thus recon­ciled me to you, that can be call'd misfortune. Tell me Sir what I am beholding to you for this your pitty?

O Genorio, Fidamira!

Is it to her I must still owe more and more?

The more thou knowest her Genorio, the more thou art to be pittied. My father is in love with her, and is resolved to marry her.

Mine shall not then be the least contribution to the wonder of this day: for your sake I can resolve never to see her more, and so make my happinesse the sacrifice of this solemnity.

Stay Genorio, let's think a little how to make you rather an offerer than an immolation.

Is this certain Sir, that he was saved at the sack of Pamlona? and this jewel found about him?

'Tis as certain as any thing on earth, and that my Son then being a child i'th camp, begg'd his life of me, which he hath since loved better then his owne, be­cause he ought that, and this was due to him.

Then I beleeve 'twill be to your brave mind some satisfaction to let you know how happily this your mer­cy was disposed. So as it may seeme a reparation for all [Page 163] other losses, having in this one blessed a whole nation. This is the Prince Palante you have saved. I that was trusted with him, and the government of Pamlona, can assure it. Now you may remember Sir, that you surprised the Town when I was absent, two Princes were then in my charge, this and a daughter of the Kings, both infants. The general execution that was committed then left us no hope of safety for these Princes. And since, the King ha­ving this Princesse Saphira hath razed out the memory of any losse, and now the finding of the Prince Palante must be a joy to the King, and her, scarce to be beleeved; They did not come from Paradise: Let me then beg of you to be a witnesse to this claime that I shall make.

Now Sir I must not only challenge this jewel, but you too.

You will lose in the value of this jewel by taking me with it. I am not so ill natur'd as it would not adde to my misfortune to be owned by any body.

I am so happy as I can change you from what you do beleeve your self, and so part you and your misfor­tunes.

Grow not too confident upon this dayes successe; undertake not such a difficulty as the making me happy.

You can have no such personall afflictions as the blessing of a nation will not out-weigh. Therefore be plea­sed to know your selfe, and it may be you will find your misfortunes depend on that mistake.

If you could teach me to forget my self, that were a more probable way.

Would you not think your self happy to make these two Princes a return of all their benefits?

I will not hazard to be more miserable by the frustration of such a hope.

You, that did remit me to the king even now for knowledge of your self, will not refuse him credit. There­fore be pleased to put off that unfortunate name Genorio [Page 164] and call your selfe Prince Palante, Son to the now blessed king of Navar.

What plot is this, Sir, between your father and this Gentleman?

'Tis to make you what heaven hath destin'd you, a happy Prince.

This j [...]well, I have so enquired after, is the wit­nesse of what the King hath bin pleased to acquaint you with. In the last warre between the King your father, and this brave Prince I had the honour to be trusted with the town Pamlona, and the persons of all the King, children; who had then only your selfe, and a yo [...]ng Princesse cal­led Miranda, your sister. The town in my absence was surprised, and the impartial execution that was commit­ted to the incensed So [...]ldiers, destroyed all our hope of either of your safeties. Now the King assures me that you were then brought to him with this jewel about you, who [...]e command saved your life by the intercession of the Prince. The time which hath changed all things else about you but this jewel, leaves my memory no other certainty. Your sister had another too, which concurring with the Kings relation, makes it unquestionable. It seems even your infancy had some such divinity in it, as did infuse a soul into that body, should have taken yours a­way, and so at once inlarge your obligation, and invest your self with the power of acquittance too, to th [...]se brave Princes.

All this I am a witnesse to, and I think my Sons memory will retain this marke of his charity, this jewell which was then about you.

If this jewel be a certain mark of your birth. I can assure you that you were brought to me with it, and then I call'd you Agenor, a name fitted to the not-know­ing who you were.

I dare say upon this security your father will willingly put his kingdome into your hands, therefore put off this amazement, and put on your self Pa [...]ante.

Why are you thus sad at the taking leave of Ge­norio, and Agenor?

I can say nothing at all in answer of what you have said, but can object one thing which you cannot an­swer. How can I be Bellesa's brother?

As shee's your sister by father and mother.

You that are so mistaken in her may easily be so in me. She is a creation of her self apart from all things, there can be nothing so neer her as brother or sister. Should I call her sister?

Call your self Palante, and give me leave to em­brace you so: then this your reverence to her will oblige you to answer to what nature shall direct her to call you.

This is the last emission of it selfe your dying pas­sion makes, as it contests with nature, whose reviving is the others death: therefore I do not wonder at the force of it, and I do not fear but you will share joyes with me in that little, I hope to owe Bellesa of your brother; and from this instant that I hope indebts me to you.

The improvement of my life must be the same still of my obligation unto you Sir, that must owe it you. Nor could it be a part of a discharge for me to begin but now to joy in Bellesa's loving you: but I did it then, when my passion unto her made a burthen unto my life.

Have you this blessing to give, that my fathers having Fidamira shall prove your wish?

I have now only that devotion left, you had for the Princesse of Navarre, for expiation of my fault.

Conceale this purpose awhile, and you may chance find her, where I found Saphira.

This change of my fortune if it prove happy to me Romero, will assure me of a recompence of thy fidelity, though it cannot of my obligations to these Princes.

I have not a wish left now but the finding of the Princesse Miranda, and the miracles of this day make no­thing desperate here.

Would not you wonder Sir now, if I should challenge you of being the occasion of the report of the Princesse Saphira's death?

Miracles are here in their own element.

Doe you remember Sir when you thought your self the universall monarch of despair, and would admit no rivall?

I can remember when I gave the odds between a Pilgrime and a King into the balance, and yet out-weighed misfortunes.

I can witnesse it Sir, for it was to me you gave it, who then in the habit of a pilgrime imployed by the Prince in the search of the Princesse of N [...]varr, met you in a lamentation, I thought belong'd singly to me, Fida­mira's losse, whom I had been then to seek. The sense of your affliction agreeing with mine own design, made me resolve to come back to the Prince, whom I had left here to try if the beliefe of the Princesse Saphira's death, who was then the pretence of his remove from you, could bring him backe. And your own direction of me hither will justifie this my charge against you Sir, by which I only pretend your intercession to the Prince for my par­don.

Noble Palante your own revivall must be a new life to her. So you will recompence her in effect for ta­king from her but by report.

Remember all this Palan [...]e. Moramente what is the meaning of this between Fidamira and him? Am I not yet fixt faster then fear can remove?

Assure your selfe Sir, your wishes with Fidamira shall not be crossed without a wish of his.

Are not these strange things that we have heard? Sure Martiro your impossibility, that is fallen to the earth, hath ingendred here this day, and is delivered of so many miracles.

I confesse this day may justifie my wondering a­gaine.

Heaven hath sent you hither Sir opportunely, to defend the rites of the Society, which must appeale to you for your preservation. The will of the Foundresse, which appoints the Queen to be chosen principally for her bea [...]ty, is now violated in the choice of the Moor Ge­mella, who is now chosen Queen.

Was she chosen Queen as Moor?

Unlesse the gods have wrought a miracle for her, she was when she was chosen.

I will assure you Pantamora, my consent shall not ratifie the election. [to himselfe] This way obligeth her to stay here.

Could forgetting justice be in you Madam? you are so much interested in gratitude to beauty to be con­senting to this choice of your Queen.

I should be unjust to beauty should I disavow this choice.

Sure she knows her I expect no lesse then mira­cles from you. And therefore will suppose you can make her handsome, if that will not approve this choice, which could not be made upon a justifiable appearance.

Suppose I knew she was but thus disguised, and I had been trusted with her beauty; such a trust had been broken in the concealment of it in this case.

That answers this Ladyes complaint, if the beauty you produce be subject to no new objection.

Then thus I justifie my choice [pulls off her vaile] expecting all admiration, no exception, now every body remains wondering.

None can wonder Madam so much as I, tha [...] you would expose your self to the blemish of an error for my sake. Nothing can seem handsomer in me now then blushing, which may passe for beauty as I am bound to blush for you, that are lesse to be credited in beauty Ma­dam, than a [...]y body, because you may be so safely charita­ble, [Page 168] Therefore I must desire these more competent judges not to look upon my face but your favour in it, and as that is the loveliest thing in this world, so your choice may be justified.

What say you now, Ladies, and [...] of the Socie­ty, have I forfeited this Ladie's trust by thus revealing it? or my faith to the Orders, in this [...]

'Tis such a one as leaves as much beauty here, as your leaving of the place admitts of.

Her beauty was d [...]st [...]n'd to no lesse glory than the neglecting all power bu [...] yours to be inthroned by.

Heaven to acquit you Madam, hath given you this reparation for her beauty.

We all admit the choice.

Nat [...]e carries me to pay this duty.

I dare owne the joy, though scarce the honor of this day.

If I dissent, it shall [...]e to raise her higher yet. This place is so fruitfull in miracles this day, as there hath been one wrought Madam out of your sigh [...], which is no way a lesse miracle then yours, but as it is a blessing sent to you.

It is so strange a thing Madam, as we may brag we have a present worthy of you, a brother, this Prince Palante.

O do not over-charge me Sir, I am not yet strong enough to beare [...], much lesse Bellesa's brother.

You must be pleased Madam to lessen the dis­tance his reverence keeps him at, and bring him in, in the name of Brother.

I shall not change Madam, in being whatsoever you will be pleased to call me.

We have been so curious in this present we have m [...]de you Madam, as we have refined the truth of it. Ro­mero, whose testimony you have approved to us, will [Page 169] answer, this jewell is no counterfeit, which he assures us the Prince Palante, your brother, had about him at the the taking of Pamlona, before you were borne▪ Which proves this must be he. Whose single life my son then as­ked, saved by the mercy of a souldier, whom the price of this jewell could not perswade to an obedience of my commands. So his safety hath many miracles in it. Ro­mero is to answer for the jewell, we two for the rest.

I will affirme no truth more confidently then that this jewell is the same the Prince Palante had about him.

And I, madam, owe you so much as I may own, the saving of your brothers life, without reproach to you or him.

Sure Madam nature saw her defects in me, and meant to cast me away; and since made you so corrected a perfe­ction, it cannot be beleeved you were of the same hand.

I will answer all your complements Palante by calling you brother, and so returne halfe back upon your selfe.

Tis a title Madam brings many joyes along with it, but none so great as the daring, in your love to this Prince, to owne a compensation of my life to you.

I owe you the more Palante, that have furnished me with what I thought impossible, some merit to this matchlesse Princesse.

I have a suit now which I deserve so little as I must joyn you two in an intercession for me to the Queen. I will not somuch undeserve her pardon as to desire her love.

Were your fault greater then my credit with her, her own goodnesse would assure you pardon. Tis but the imputation of ill offices.

Tis more I perceive then you know Madam, I pray you lend me this vaile, not to cover, but to reveale it. For it is so black a fault as passion even through this colour wil lighten it. Let this Fidamira, that pro­ved a cover to your innocence, prove one unto my guilt.

I had so long ago forgiven you as I was afraid you would have asked somewhat of me I must have refu­sed you. Since you are so civill, as to think my good wishes usefull to your happinesse, I must esteeme that a satisfaction for any thing you can remember, which I had long forgot. Therefore put off this, which is now the only marke for my memory?

Can you tell Moramente my brothers fault to Fi­damira?

I beleeve I can Madam.

Pray tell me, I long to know it.

Now Fidamira it is time for me to challenge the reward of my obedience, which I think so meritorious, as I shall aske no lesse the [...] your selfe for recompence. My joyes are yet to come. I have had no sense of all that you have had to day. I have reserved all my soule for this blessing I beg of you. I am no [...] yet happy, only in the power of dispensing with the election.

O Sir, settle your happinesse on the joyes of King and Father, and be not so cruell to me, as to make me guilty of your discontent to day, since it is not in my power to satisfy you.

I am so unhappy that you Madam that have had till now so much power over your selfe, should lose it now for its confirmation.

The having had so much power over my selfe is that, which restraines me now, the having made a vow of chastity, which is not in my power to recall.

What strange crosses do my passion meet▪ first, it was to contest with Nature, now with Heaven.

If I had known this story Palante, I should not so easily have owned you for my brother. But 'tis forgiven you now.

Had I sooner known you for my sister Madam, I should not have been in need of this forgivenesse.

Then this is certainly she. Will you be pleased to heare me Sir in the behalfe of this worthy man.

Alas Romero, it is not his fault, I impute nothing to him.

What sudden cloud is this Sir, that overcasts all our joyes?

'Tis Madam, that no body askes me any thing but pardon to day. And I would give any thing my selfe, and it will not be accepted.

Will you be pleased to heare me sum up all the wonders of this day? This is the Princesse Miranda. This gentleman, her suposed Father, hath by my knowledg of a jewell, and a mark upon her arme, confest to me that he saved her life at the same time when the Prince saved the Prince Palante's. and to avoyd the ruine you had pro­nounced ag [...]inst such a disobedience he own'd her for his child, and hath so bred her ever since.

This Sir upon my conscience, upon Romero' [...] chal­lenge bids me acrew, and joy in these meanes of retributi­on unto her, whom I owe all your benefits, the giving her the knowledge of her selfe,

This, Bonorio, is a merit to me above the being her father, as it will helpe to [...] me from a desire would have disquieted the peace of this blessed day.

I must acknowledg more to you Bonorio then to a father, whose giving life is but casuall, but mine was given me by the hazard of yours.

You have given me meanes to despise death, which is my despaire.

There was but this one point wanting to close up all the blessings the circle of this world containes.

Lovely Miranda, sure heaven did desert the know­ledge of you till the acquaintance with your Prince should make the finding you a sister such a joy as now it proves.

Matchlesse Saphira I cannot now taxe nature for any of my wants, since she may answer me, She did reserve [Page 172] all, that she could give, for you. And it is too much for me to come so neer, as being sister to such perfections.

What I will thank nature most for, is, for that in­stinct by which she did perswade me to love you so, as Ge­mella.

There is none can challenge so much joy in this discovery, as I dare Miranda. For I have not only found a sister, but my selfe worthy to be a brother to you both; then before, as nature now, makes my inconstancy, her predomination, not the defection of my faith.

Nature and heaven joyning now have mastered my passion. Now Miranda I must ask you pardon, that my cruelty should indebt you to another for your life. And heaven fo [...]bids me now so much the wishing the de­feature of your vow, as it directs me to present you with the reward of it. And since your vow hath chosen this resi­dence, I will propose to the Societie the confirming you Queen during your life.

You have spoke Sir all our wishes.

We agree to it with joy.

I accept this as an accomplishment of your pre­diction, Moramente, of my never being injoyed [...]y m [...]n. And methinks heaven gave me a prevision into this your happinesse, which I dare assure you of.

I will leave her only the power of improving it; and will but own an incapacity of ever contribu [...]ing to the lessening of it.

I will now ease your complement Sir of having no­thing asked you to daie. I will aske a blessing will add to my sense of this dayes happinesse: It is so great a suite Sir I will joyne Moramente with me to obtaine it, leave for my brother to be received a servant to the Princesse Mi­rabella your daughter; for whose beauty fame promiseth as much, as her birth assureth for her vertue.

This day is so auspicious to my wishes, as it [Page 173] affords me all my suites, I will advance somwhat to you Madam, this promise, that she is allready by your de­sire ready for Prince Palante's acceptance or refusall.

There can be no dispute or scruple Madam, but this disparity between his sister and mine. If he will be content with so unequall a choice.

This raiseth the value of my new condition by the procurement of such an honor as the Princesse Mira­bella, whose perfections seeme rather to add unto the lusture of your crown, then to need to be sett there to [...]hine. Therefore I shall beg Sir, that you will procure me to be accepted.

Bellesa was to bring in the last joy. Sure now all this day's miracles are perfected.

I have a suite more to you Sir, that you would be pleased to let me keep this happy name Moramente.

You may in gratitude qualify that name, that hath served you so.

And I will keepe Bellesa all my life.

There is no life Madam that name is so due to, a [...] yours.

What say you Melidoro and Camena? You are tuned for your parts in the consorts of this day.

I am so transported with your joyes Madam, I have forgot my selfe.

Give me leave then to remember you of your pro­mise, if Bellesa left the Society with Moramente.

All is d [...]e that was promised on that condition.

Then Melidoro you are master of your wish.

We will carry you to Court with us, where we will be witnesses of your joyes. You see Pantamora, every one that durst scarce hope their wishes, possessed of them to day, and your security only left empty.

I shall stay here Madam, and learn to assure my wish [...]s by bounding them within the peace of this blessed pl [...]ce.

Come Martiro, I have nothing to think on now [Page 174] but the making thee happy, which is so hard it will re­quire my st [...]dy.

That may be easily Madam, by leaving me here, and receiving this offering. May you alwayes carry with you my accomplished wishes, and prayers instead of me, [gives her a paper].

These be verses Ma [...]tiro, pray read them.

These I understand Martiro, and will answer them with a wish to you. May your elected solitude enlarge, and fill your soul at once with such delightfull thoughts as you may never thinke that you want any thing but time.

Your wishes are divine Madam, and must fulfill themselves.

Will you be pleased to think Madam who we shal dispatch to the King your father with these news and [Page 175] to desire his consent to the Prince Palante's wish and mine.

Let me begge this commission, that I may imploy this new life that you have given me on your service.

None can be so fit as Romero, that can informe the king of all that's past.

I will write by you to my father, who I thinke will not know my brother's and sister's hands. 'Tis no time Sister to performe the rites of your inthrone­ment.

There can be nothing welcome to me so neer the loving you Bellesa.

I will promise Miranda, if Moramente will joyn with me, to come hither once a year.

Promise me Madam never to doubt your will.

Give me leave Madam to make the last suite to be received into the Society without the publication of a pretence.

'Tis a grace Sir you may be sure of, since it is in my power.

Among all these joyes 'tis no wonder if no bo­dy think of sleeping. Let's retire Madam to that rest, may prepare us for to morrows ceremonies, where these cou­ples must be beholding to your dismission.

It becomes me Madam, to leave the last wish with you.