The History of Alcippe.

YOu command me (Madame) to tell you the fortune most crosse and diuerse of any man in the world, and in which one may learne, that he that will worke trouble to another, prepares a great part to himselfe. But since you will haue it so, and that I may not disobey you, I will tell you briefly, that which I haue learned by ordinary discourse from himselfe, to whom al these things haue befalne: For, that we might vnderstand how [Page 36] happy we were to liue in quietnesse of spirit, my father hath often re­counted vnto vs his strange fortunes. Know then (Madame) that Alcip­pe, hauing beene bred by his father, in the simplicitie of a shepheard, had a spirit so differing from his education, that euery thing pleased him bet­ter then that that sauoured of the village. So that this young Infant, for a presage of what he would come to, and to which when he was in yeeres, he addicted himselfe, had no greater delight, then to make assemblies of other children like himselfe, whom he tooke vpon to set in order, and to arme some with staues, some with bowes and arrows, whom he taught to draw right, the menaces of the olde and wise shepheards not being able to diuert him.

The ancients of our Hamlets seeing his actions, fore-told of great troubles in these countries; and aboue all, that Alcippe would be of a tur­bulent spirit, that would neuer rest with in the limits of a shepherd. When he came to the balfe part of his age, by chance he fel amorous of the shep­herdesse Amarillis, who at that time was secretly wooed of another shep­heard his neighbour, called Alce. And because Alcippe had so good an o­pinion of himselfe, that he thought that there was not any shepheardesse, who would not as freely entertaine his affection as he offered it, he resol­ued to vse no great Art to tell her it: so that meeting her at the sacrifice of Pan, as she returned home, he said vnto her, I neuer thought I was of so small force, that I could not resist the blowes of an enemy, that wounds me vnawares. She answered; He that wounds by mistaking, should not be called an enemy. No, answered he, which rest not on deedes, but on words onely; but (for my part) I finde that he that offends, howsoeuer it be, is an enemy, and therefore I may well giue you that name. To me (replied she?) I would neyther haue the deed nor the thought, for I make too great account of your merit. See (adioyned the shepheard) one of the blowes wherein you offend mee more, in telling mee one thing for another, then if truly you would acknowledge in me that which you say, for that I hold my selfe wronged by you, in asmuch as you say you fauour me. But I see well, you thinke it enough, to beare Loue in your eyes, and in your mouth, without giuing him place in your heart. The shep­heardesse then finding her selfe surprised, as not hauing vnderstood his speech of loue, answered him: I make account, Alcippe, of your vertue, as I ought, and not beyond my duty; and touching that you talke of loue, beleeue it, I will haue it neyther in mine eyes, nor in my heart for any man, and much lesse for those base spirits, which liue like Sauages a­mong the woods. I know well (replyed the shepheard) that it is not the [Page 37] election of Loue, but my destiny, which compels me to be yours, since that if Loue ought to arise from the resemblance of humour, it would be very hard, that Alcippe should not be for you, who from his Cradle hath hated this countrey life, and protesteth vnto you, if I must change my condition, to haue a part in your loue, from hencefoorth I forsake the Sheephooke and my Flockes, and will liue among men, and not a­mong Sauages.

You may well (answered Amarillis) change your condition, but not make me change, being resolued to be neuer lesse mine owne, then I am now, to giue place to any stronger affection: if you will, wee should continue, the life which we haue led, for the time past; change this dis­course of affection, & of Loue, into that you were wont to vse to me here­tofore, or else thinke not strange, that I banish my selfe from your com­pany, it being impossible that Loue, and the honest Amarillis should re­maine together. Alcippe, that lookt for no such answere, seeing himselfe so far from his hopes, was so confounded, that he staid somewhile before he could answere. In the end, being come to himselfe, he began to per­swade himselfe, that the bashfulnesse of her age, and sexe, and not want of good will towards him, had made her hold this course: Therefore it was that he answered her; Whatsoeuer you thinke of me, I shall neuer be other then your seruant; and if the commandement you giue me, were not disagreeing with my affection, you were to thinke, that there is no­thing in the world that might make me contradict it: you must then ex­cuse me, and suffer me to hold on my purpose, which is but a testimoniall of your merit, and wherein, will you, nill you, I am resolued. The shep­heardesse turning her eyes sweetly towards him, I know not, Alcippe, said she, whether for a wager, or out of obstinacy you talke thus. It is (answe­red he) for both, for I haue laid a wager with my desires, to conquer you, or to dye; and this resolution is changed into obstinacy, there being no­thing that can diuert me from the othe which I haue made. I would be well pleased, replied Amarillis, that you had taken any other for the But of such importunities. You may name my affections (sayd the shepherd) as it pleaseth you: yet shall not this make me change my mind. Nor you must not thinke much, replied Amarillis, if I be as firme in my obstinacy, as you in your importunity. The shepheard would haue answered, but that hee was interrupted by many shepheardesses that came to them. So that Amarillis for conclusion sayd very softly to him, You may do me a displeasure, if your purpose be knowne: for I am contented to know your follies, and it will be small pleasure that any others should vnderstand it. [Page 38] So ended the first discourse betweene my father and Amarillis, which did but encrease the desire in him to serue her; for nothing addeth so much to Loue, as honesty: And by fortune in the way, this company met with Ce­lion and Bellinde, who were stayed to behold two turtles, who were chee­ring & making loue each to other, no whit afraid to see many about them. Then Alcippe remembring the commandement which Amarillis had gi­uen him, could not hold from sighing out these verses:

After this time he so suffered himselfe to be transported with his af­fection, that there was no bound which he ouer-passed not, and she, on the contrary, shewed her selfe alwaies more cold and icy to him, and one day when he was requested to sing, he sayd such verses:

[Page 39] At this time, as I told you, Alce made suite to Amarillis, and because he was a right honest shepheard, and esteemed wise, the father of Ama­rillis inclined rather to giue her to him, and not to Alcippe, because of his turbulent courage; and on the contrary, the shepheardesse better loued my father, because his humour came neerer to hers; which the wise father well perceiuing, and not willing to vse any violence, nor absolute autho­rity ouer her, he thought, that farre distance might diuert her from this will, and so resolued to send her for some time to Artemis, the sister of Al­ce, who dwelt about the bankes of the riuer of Allier. When Amarillis knew the deliberation of her father, as alwaies they endeuour to things forbidden; she tooke a resolution not to goe away, before she had giuen Alcippe assurance of her good will: in this dessigne she wrote these words:

It would be ouer-long, Madame, to tell you all that passed particular­ly betweene them, besides, that the case wherein I am, makes me vnable to doe it. It shall be sufficient in abridging it, to tell you that they met in that place: and this was the first time when my father had assurance that he was loued of Amarillis, and that she counselled him to leaue the Countrey life, wherein he was bred, because she disdained it, as vnworthy a noble courage, promising that there should be nothing so strong, that might diuert her from her resolution. After they were parted, Alcippe engraues these verses on a tree in the wood:

After she was gone, and that he began to feele the displeasures of her absence, going often to the same place where he had taken leaue of his shepheardesse, he sigheth forth these verses:

But not being able to liue without sight of her there, where he had beene vsed to the good of her view, he resolued, howsoeuer, to de­part from thence; and while he searched for some occasion, he met with one as good as he could wish. Some little while before the mother of A­masis died, and they made preparation in the great towne of Marsellis, to receiue her as their new Lady with much triumph. And because the prepa­rations which they made, drew for curiosity, almost all the Countrey, my [Page 41] father so wrought, that he had leaue to goe thither. And there it was whence the beginning of all his trauailes proceeded. He was about his halfe age, some Moones more, his face faire among those of that Coun­trey, his haire yellowish, curled, and crisped by nature, which hee wore long: and briefly, Madam, such, as to whom Loue (it may be) owed some secret vengeance. And see how he was seene of some Lady, and so se­cretly beloued of her, that we could neuer yet know her name. At the first that he arriued at Marsellis, hee was clothed like a shepheard, but handsomly enough, for his father made much of him: and that he might not commit some foolish trick, as his manner was, in the Hamlet, he set two or three shepheards about him, to haue a care of him; principally one, called Cleante, a man whose humour pleased his father well, so that he loued him, as if he had beene his sonne. This Cleante had one called Clindor, of my fathers age, who, by nature, seemed to haue the same incli­nation to loue Alcippe; Alcippe, who on the other side, knew his affection, loued him aboue any other; which was so pleasing to Cleante, that he had nothing that he could deny to my father. This was the cause, that after they had some daies seen how the young Knights, who were at the Feast, went attired, how they armed themselues, and fought at the Barriers, and hauing shewed his minde to his friend Clindor, they both together be­sought Cleante, to giue them meanes, that they might shew themselues among the other Knights. And how, said Cleante to them, haue you the courage to equall your selues to them? And why not, said Alcippe? haue I not as much arme and legge as they? But you haue not learned the ci­uilities of the Towne. We haue not learned them, said he, but they are not so hard, that they should put vs out of hope to apprehend them soone enough; and me thinks there is not such difference betweene theirs and ours, but we may readily change them. You haue not, said he, beene vsed to Armes. We haue, replied he, courage enough to supply that want. And how, adioyned Cleante, would you leaue the Countrey life? And what, said Alcippe, haue the woods to doe with men? and what can men learne in conuersing with beasts? But, answered Cleante, this will be no great pleasure to you, to see your selues disdained by the glorious Courtiers, which wil alwaies reproach you that you are shepheards. If it be a shame, said Alcippe, to be a shepheard, we must be such no more: if it be no shame, the reproach cannot be hurtfull: or if they dis-esteeme me for my name, I will striue by my actions, to make my selfe esteemed. In the end, Cleante seeing they were resolued to leade other liues then their fa­thers: But well, said he, my children, since you haue taken this resolution, [Page 42] I will tell you, that though you be taken for shepheards, your birth al­wayes came frō the most ancient stock of this Countrey, & from whence desc [...]ded as many braue Knights, as of any other in Gaule; but a con­sideration contrary to that you haue, made them choose this retired life. Therefore feare not that you shall be welcome among those knights; the principall of which are of the same blood that you are. These words serued for no other vse, but to enflame them the more; for this knowledge bred in them a desire to put their purpose to effect, without considering what might come of it; whether for the discommodities which that life brings, or for the displeasure that the father of Alcippe and his kindred might conceiue. Afterword Cleante was at charge to prouide for all things necessary. They were both so well borne, that quickly they wo [...]ne the acquaintance and friendship of the principall: and Alcippe gaue himselfe in that sort to Armes, that he became to be one of the good Knights of his time.

During these Feasts, which lasted two moneths, my father was beheld, as I told you, of a Lady, whose name I could neuer know: and because he seldome was wanting in any thing that might make him beloued, she was in such sort ouertaken, that she inuented a sleight good enough to bring about her intent. One day, as my father stood in the Temple at the Sacri­fices which they made for Amasis, an old woman came neere him, and fayning to be at her prayers, she said twice or thrice, Alcippe, Alcippe, not looking on him. He hearing himselfe named, was about to aske her, what she would with him; but seeing her eyes turned another way, he thought she spake to some other. She that perceiued he harkned, went on, Alcip­pe, it is to you I speake, though I looke not vpon you: if you desire to haue the best fortune that euer knight had in this Court, be betweene day and night at the great crosse way, which leads to the place of the Palace, and there you shall know the rest of me. Alcippe seeing her speake in this manner, without looking on her, likewise sayd, he would be there; where­in he failed not: for the euening approching, he went to the place as­signed, where he staied not long, but the aged woman came to him, al­most hidden vnder a Tastata that she had on her head, and drawing him aside, said to him, Young man, thou art the most happy that liues, being beloued of the most faire, and most louely Lady in this Court, and with whom (if thou wilt promise that, that I shal demand of thee) at this houre I binde my selfe, to make thee inioy all contentment. The young Alcippe hearing this proposition, asked who the Lady was. See, said shee, the first thing that I would haue you promise me, is, not to inquire after her name, [Page 43] and to keepe this fortune secret: the other, that you suffer me to couer your eyes, when I bring you where she is. Alcippe sayd to her, Not to en­quire after her name, and to keepe this affaire secret, I will willingly per­forme: but to blindfold mine eyes, I will neuer suffer. And what is it you feare (said she?) I feare nothing, answered Alcippe: but I will haue mine eyes at liberty. O young man, said the old woman, that art yet to learne, why wilt thou procure the displeasure of a person that so loues thee? and will not this displease her, to desire to know more of her, then she would haue thee?

Beleeue me, make no difficulty, doubt nothing, what danger can it be to thee? Where is that courage that thy presence promiseth at the first sight? Is it possible that a perill imagined, can make thee forsake an assu­red good? And seeing that he moued not, Cursed be the mother, said she, that made thee so faire, & so little hardy; without doubt, both thy visage and thy courage are more of the woman, then of that thou art. The young Alcippe could not heare, without laughing, these words of the old woman vttered in such choler. In the end, after he had sometime thought in himselfe, what an enemy he might haue, & finding that he now had none, he resolued to go, prouided, she would suffer him to carry his sword, and so let her blind his eyes; and taking her by her garment, followed her whither she would lead him.

I should be too long, Madam, if I should tell you all the particularities of this night. So it was, that after many turnings, and hauing (it may be) ma­ny times passed one way, he found himselfe in a chamber, where, his eyes yet bound, hee was vncloathed by the same woman, and laid in bed; a­while after, came the Lady, that had sent for him, & comming neere him, vncased his eyes, because there was no light in the chamber: But for all that he could do, he was not able to get one word from her: So that he rose from her in the morning, without knowing who she was; onely he iudged her faire, and yong: and an houre before day, she that brought him, came to carry him backe, and lead him with the same ceremonies. From that day, they resolued betweene them, that whensoeuer hee was to re­turne, he should finde a stone at a certaine crosse-way before day.

While these things thus passed, the father of Alcippe dies, so that he is now more Master of himselfe, then he was wont to be; & had not the com­mandement of Amarillis bene, and his priuate intent, which he held, the loue which he bare to his shepheardesse, might haply haue called him backe into the woods: for the fauours of this vnknowne Lady could not put her out of his remembrance, that if the great gifts which he had or­dinarily [Page 44] of her, had not retained him in this practice, after the two or three first voyages he had retired, though it seemed, since that time, he was come into the fauour of Pimander and Amasis. But for that a young heart can hardly keepe any thing hidden long, it fell out, that Clindor, his deare friend, seeing him spend more then of custome, demanded of him, how he came by his meanes. Whereto, at the first, answering diuer­sly, in the end he discouered all his fortune: and after, told him, that for all the Art he could vse, he could neuer know who she was. Clindor be­ing very curious, counselled him to cut out some halfe a foot of the frindge of the bed; and in the day he should resort to the greatest houses which he might best suspect, and there hee might know her, eyther by the co­lour, or by the piece. This he did, and by this craft, my father had know­ledge of her that thus fauoured him. Yet he hath closely concealed her name, that neyther Clindor, nor any of his children could euer know it. But, the first time that he went thither after that, when he was about to rise in the morning, he coniured her, that she would no longer hide her selfe from him, that it was labour lost, for he knew assuredly that she was such an one.

She hearing her selfe named, was about to speake, yet held her peace, and stayed till the olde woman came: to whom, when Alcippe was risen from the bed, she vsed such threatnings, thinking it was she that disco­uered it, that this poore woman came trembling to my father, and sware he deceiued himselfe. He then laughing, told the craft he had vsed, and that it was the inuention of Clindor. She well eased with that which he had discouered, after a thousand oaths to the contrary, returned to tell this to the Lady, who was risen of her selfe, to heare their discourse: and when she knew, that Clindor was the inuenter, she turned all her choller against him, easily pardoning Alcippe, whom she could not hate; not­withstanding, after that day, she neuer sent more for him. And because a spirit offended hath nothing so sweete as reuenge, this woman turned so of euery side, that she wrought a quarrell against Clindor; for which he was enforced to combate with a cousin of Pimander, whom he slew; and though he were pursued, yet he saued himselfe in Auverne, by the helpe of Alcippe. But Amasis so wrought, that Alaricke, King of the Visigots, be­ing then at Tholouse, sent him prisoner to Vsson, with commandement to his Officers, to deliuer him ouer into the hands of Pimander, who looked for nothing more, then to finde commodity to send for him, that he might put him to death. Alcippe left nothing vnattempted to procure his pardon; but all was in vaine: for he had too strong a party against [Page 45] him. Therefore, seeing the assured losse of his friend, he resolued vpon any danger whatsoeuer, to saue him. There was at Vsson (as I told you) a place so strong, that it might seeme a folly to any other to vndertake to get him out; yet his friendship, that found nothing so difficult, as to liue without Clindor, was such, as he made an assault to defeat them which were of Pimanders part. So, making shew to retire himselfe as discontent, he went with twelue other, and one day of March, presenting themselues at the Port of the Castle, in the habite of clownes, and carrying vnder their garments, short swords, and baskets on their armes, as men that went to sell; I haue heard him say, there were three fortresses, one within another.

These resolute Pesants came to the vtmost, where few of the Visi­gots remayned; for the most part were gone downe to the base towne, to see the market, and to prouide themselues of what was necessary for the garrison. Being there, they offred their wares at so good a price, that (almost) all that were within, drew downe to buy. Then my father see­ing the occasion good and fit, laying hold of the necke of him that kept the gate, thrust his sword into his body. And euery of his companions (at the same instant) did like him, and entring in, put the rest to the edge of the sword; and suddenly shutting the gate, they ranne to the prisons, where they found Clindor in a corner, and so many others, that they iud­ged (being armed) sufficient to defeat the rest of the garrison. To make short, I tell you Madame, that though by the allarme, the gates of the towne were shut, yet they got out, without the losse of a man, though the Gouernour (that in the end was slayne) made all the resistance he could.

Thus you see Clindor saued, and Alaricke aduertised, that it was my father that had done this enterprise; whereof he was so much displeased, that he demanded iustice of Amasis: and she which would not lose his amitie, was willing enough to content him, and sent presently to appre­hend my father; but his friend gaue him such aduertisements, that ha­uing set his battell in order, he went out of this Countrey: and being in­censed against Alaricke more then is credible, went to put himselfe to a Nation that but lately was entred into Gaule; and who being warrelike, seized on both the sides of Rosue and Arar, and a good part of the Allo­broges, and being desirous to enlarge their bounds, they made continu­all warre on the Visigots, Ostrogots and Romanes. He was welcome with all those whom he would conduct: and being knowne for a man of va­lour, he was presently honoured with diuers charges. But some yeeres [Page 46] being passed, Gondioch king of this Nation comming to die, Gondebaut his sonne succeeded to the Crowne of Bourgonny: and desirous to assure his affayres, at the beginning made a peace with his neighbours, marry­ing his sonne Sigismund with one of the daughters of Theodoricke king of the Ostrogots: and to please Alaricke, who was infinitely offended with Alcippe, promised him to keepe him no longer with him. So that (with his leaue) he withdrew to another people, which on the side of Rhenes was seised of another part of Gaule, in despite of the Gaules, and of the Romanes. But this discourse would be cumbersome to you, if particu­larly I should recount all his voyages. For from them he was constrained to go to London, to the great King Arthur, who at the same time (as I haue heard him often tell) instituted the Order of the Knights of the Round Table.

From thence he was enforced to go to that Realme, which beares the name of Port du Gaulois: and in the end, being sought for by Alaricke, he resolued to passe the Sea, and to goe to Bisantium, where the Emperour gaue him charge of his Gallies. But because the desire of returning into our Countrey, is aboue all others, my father (though very great with these great Emperours) yet had nothing neerer his heart, then once more to see his owne chimnies smoke, where so often he had beene made a wanton; and it seemed Fortune gaue him a fit meane, when he least loo­ked for it. But I haue heard say sometimes by our Druides, that For­tune is delighted to turne on the other side, when the change is least ex­pected. Alaricke came to die, & Thierry his sonne succeeded him, who for that he had many brethren, had much to do to maintaine his estate, with­out heeding the hatred of his father. And so desirous to giue content to euery man (for Bounty and Liberality are the two louers that draw all loues to them) at the entrance to his reigne, he proclaimed a generall abolition of all offences done in his kingdome. See a good beginning to compasse the returne of Alcippe; yet might he not returne, because Pi­mander had not forgotten the iniury receiued: notwithstanding, as the Visigots were the cause of his banishment, so Fortune would haue them serue as the instrument of his calling backe. Some little time before (as I told you) Arthur king of great Brittaine had instituted the Knights of the Round Table, which was a certaine number of vertuous young men, obliged to go seeke aduentures, to punish euill doers, to do iustice to the oppressed, and maintaine the honour of Ladies.

Now the Visigots of Spaine, which then abode in Pampal [...]ne, in imitati­on of that, chose out Knights, who were to go diuers wayes, to shew their [Page 47] force and helpe. It fell out, that at this time one of the Visigots, after he had run thorow many coūtries, came to Marsellis, where hauing made his defiance accustomed, he ouercame many of Pimanders Knights, whose heads he cut off, and out of extreeme cruelty, for proofe of his valour, sent them to a Lady, whom he serued in Spaine. Among others, Amarillis lost an vncle, who like my father, vnwilling to abide the quiet of the country life, had followed the mystery of armes: and because that while hee was abroad, she had beene curious to haue of ordinary some newes of him, by meanes of some yong boyes, which hee and shee had appointed for it, as soon as this mis-hap was come to her knowledge, she wrote to him, not in mind that he should returne, but as acquainting him with her displea­sure. Loue, which is neuer in a good soule, without replenishing it with a thousand generous dessignes, would not suffer my father to know, that Amarillis was offended with any man; but presently he takes a resolution to chastise this wrong: and so, with the leaue of the Emperour, came disguised into the house of Cleante, who knowing his deliberation, at­tempted many wayes to diuert him, but Loue had stronger perswasions then he. And in a morning, as Pimander was going to the Temple, Aloippe presents himselfe before him, armed throughout, & though he had his vizard vp, yet was he not knowne for his beard, which grew since his de­parture. When Pimander knew his resolution, he made much of him, for the hatred he bare to this stranger, by reason of his arrogancy, and cru­elty, and presently caused the Visigot to be aduertised by an Herauld of armes.

To make short, my father ouer came him, and presented the sword to Pimander; and without the knowledge of any body, but Amarillis that saw him out of Cleantes house, he returned to Bisantum, where he was re­ceiued as before. In this space, Cleante, that desired nothing more then to see him at liberty in Forests, discouered him to Pimander, who was very desirous to know the name of him that fought with the stranger. He at the first astonyed, in the end moued with the vertue of this man, de­maunded if it were possible he should be aliue? Whereto Cleante answe­red, recounting to him all his fortunes, and all his long voiages, & in the end, what accompt he was of, with all the Kings whom he serued. With­out doubt (then sayd Pimander) the vertue of this man merits to be estee­med, and not to be banished, besides the great pleasure he hath done me; Therefore let him returne, and assure himselfe, that I will esteeme of it, and loue him as he deserues: And hence forth I pardon him all that he hath done against me. Thus my father, after he had stayed 17. yeres in Greece, [Page 48] came into his country, honored of Pimander and Amasis, who gaue him the chiefe charge, that was about their persons: But see what we are of our selues! One may delight him, with all things in aboundance, and the desire satiated remaines without force. As soone as my father enioyed the fauours of fortune, as he could desire, behold, he lost the taste, and dis­dained them. And then some good Angell, that was willing to draw him out of this gulph, where so often he was like to make shipracke, represen­ted to him (as I haue heard him say) these considerations: Come hither, Alcippe, what is thy desire? Is it not to liue happily, so long as Clotho spins out thy life? If this be it, or thinkest thou to finde this good, but in quiet rest, or it may be, out of affaires, how can they beare the ambition of the Court, since the happinesse of ambition, is the multiplicity of affaires? Hast not thou sufficiently proued the inconstancy whereof they are so full? at least haue but this consideration in thee: Thy ambition is to command many, euery of them hath the same desire that thou hast; these their de­sires propound the same wayes; going the same wayes, cannot they come to the same that thou art, and attaine it, since ambition is a place so strait that it can hold but one alone, so that either you must oppose a­gainst a thousand that will set on you, or else giue way to them? If thou oppose, what can bee thy quiet, since you are to haue an eye to your friends, and to your enemies, and that day and night their weapons are whetting against thee? If thou giue way to them, there is nothing so miserable, as a country decayed. Then, Alcippe, come againe into thy selfe, and remember that thy fathers and grandfathers haue bene much wiser then thou: be not more selfe willed, but fixe the diamond nayle at the wheele of this fortune, which thou hast so often proued changeable: come backe to the place of thy birth, leaue this purple, and change it into thy former habits; let thy launce be turned into a sheephook, thy sword into a culter, to open the earth, and not the bellies of men; there shalt thou finde that repose, which for so many yeeres thou couldst neuer haue elsewhere.

See, Madam, the considerations which led my father to his formēr profession. And thus, to the great astonishment of all, but with the great prayses of the wiser sort, he came to his former estate, where hee caused our ancient statutes to be renewed, with so good liking of all men, that he might say he was at the height of ambition, though he were impo­uerished, since he was so well beloued, and honored of his neighbours, that they tooke him for an Oracle. And yet this was not the end of his paines: for being after the death of Pimander retired to himselfe, hee had [Page 49] not beene long in our grounds, but Lo [...]e renewes his old blowes, there being of al Loues arrowes, none sharper then that of conuersation. Then behold Amarillis so high in his thoughts, that she gaue him more paine then all his former trauailes. It was at that time that he tooke againe the deuice which he had borne, during all his voyages of the Pen of a Iay, meaning to signifie Peinjay. Of this loue came great hatred; for Alce the father of Astrea, was infinitely amorous of this Amarillis, and Amarillis, during my fathers exile, had permitted this suite by the commandement of her parents, and at this time she cannot withdraw it, without so great trouble, that he is ready to despaire. On the other side, Alcippe, that ca­sting off the habite of a knight, but had not left the courage, could not suffer a Riuall, came to handy strokes manytimes with Alce, who wanted not courage: and a man may thinke, but for the parents of Amarillis, who resolue to bestow her on Alcippe, there had beene much mischiefe betweene them. But though by this marriage they cut off the boughs of this quarrell; yet their hatred liued so, and grew so high, that there was neuer familiarity betweene Alce and Alcippe. And this is (said Celadon, addressing himselfe to Siluie) faire Nymph, which you heard them talke when you were in our hamlet; for I am the sonne of Alcippe, and of Ama­rillis, and Astrea is the daughter of Alce, and Hipolite. It may be, you may thinke it strange, that not parting from our woods and pastures, I know so many particulars of the neighbour Countries. But, Madame, all that I haue learned, was but from my father, who recounting vnto me his life, hath beene driuen withall, to tell me the things you haue heard.

So ended Celadon his discourse, and indeed, not without paine, for speaking hurt him much, hauing his stomake as yet distempered: and this was the cause that he recounted the History much shorter then other­wise he could. But Galathes rested more satisfied then he imagi­ned, for that she knew of what Ancestors this shepheard was descended, whom she loued.

The History of Siluie.

THey that say, that to be beloued, there needes nothing but to loue, haue not tryed it neither in the eyes, nor courage of this Nymph, otherwise they were to know, that as the water of the Fountaine runs in­cessantly from the spring, so the Loue which rises from this faire, wan­ders from her as farre as it can. If when you haue heard the discourse which I am to make to you, you will not auerre that that I say, I am wil­ling you should accuse me of small iudgement.

Amasis, the mother of Galathee, hath a sonne, named Clidamon, accom­panied with all the amiable vertues, that a person of his age and quality may haue; for he seemeth to be borne to all that pertaine to Armes or Ladyes. It is about three yeeres since, that to giue some proofe of his gentle nature, with the permission of Amasis, he became seruant to al the Nymphs, and that not by election, but by lot: For, hauing put all the names of the Nymphs into a vessell, and all the young Knights into ano­ther, before all the assembly he tooke the youngest among vs, and the youngest among them; to the man he gaue the vessell of the Nymphs, and [Page 60] to the mayd, that of the men. And then after the sound of the trumpets, the Youth drew, and the first name that came out, was Siluie: and the same instant the lot was drawne by the youngest Nymph, who drew that of Clidamon. Great was the applause of euery one, but greater the gentlenesse of Clidamon, who after he had receiued the scroule, came with one knee on the ground, to kisse the hands of this faire Nymph, who out of shamefastnesse would not suffer him, without the commandement of Amasis; who said, it was the least part of seruice that was due vnto her, in the honour of so great a god as Loue. After her all the rest were called: to some it fell out as they desired, to others not: so it was, that Galathee had a most accomplished person, named Lindamor, who as then was but lately come from the Army of Meroue. As for mine, he was called Agis, the most inconstant and deceitfull that euer was.

Now of those that were thus bestowed, some serued onely in shew, others of good will, ratified to these faire the deuotion which fortune had made of them: and they that maintained themselues best, were such as before had conceiued some affection. Among others, the yong Ligda­mon was one; this man fell to Siluie, a Nymph indeed amiable enough, but not for him, who had formerly set his mind otherwhere. And cer­tainely, it was his good fortune to bee absent then, for hee would neuer haue done the fained homage to Siluie that Amasis commanded, and that might haply haue wrought him some disgrace: for you must know, (gentle shepheard) that he was brought vp very young among vs, being not aboue ten yeeres of age, when he was placed heere; for the rest, so faire & direct in all his actions, that there was not a woman that thought not well of him: and aboue all, Siluie being very neere his age. At the beginning, their ordinary conuersation ingendred the amity of a brother to a sister, such as their knowledge was capable to receiue. By degrees, as Ligdamon grew in age, so likewise he encreased in affection, so that his childhood changing into a state more settled, about the age of foure­teene or fifteene yeeres, he beganne to change his will into desires, and by little and little, his desires into passions: and yet he liued with that discretion, that Siluie had neuer knowledge that her selfe caused this de­sire. When he attained to some good vnderstanding, and that he knew his euill, he iudged within a while, what small hope there was of healing, not one of Siluies humours being likely to be hid from him: So that the ioy and liuelinesse which was in his countenance, and all his actions, were turned into sadnesse, and his sadnesse into so heauy a melancholy, that there was no body but might perceiue the alteration. Siluie was not one [Page 61] of the last that asked him the cause, but she could draw out nothing but broken answers. In the end, seeing him continue still in this manner of life, one day when she beganne to complayne of his small amity, and re­proching him that she had obliged her to conceale nothing from her, she heard that he was no more able to restraine himselfe, but that a deepe sigh escaped from him in stead of answer. This brought her to be of opi­nion, that loue might be the cause of his euill. And, see, if the poore Ligda­mon did not discreetly carry his actions, since she was neuer able to ima­gine her selfe to be the cause.

I beleeue well, that the humour of this Nymph (which shrunke not a iot from this purpose) might be, in part, the occasion. For hardly do we thinke of a thing estranged from our owne intents. But, it must be con­fessed, that heerein his wisedome was great, and his coldnesse also, that it could so wholy couer the heate of his affection. She then pressed him more then before, that if it be loue, she promised him all the assistance, and all the good offices that might be hoped for from their amitie. The more he did to auoyde it, the more she desired to know it: in the end, not being able to defend it any longer, he protested to her, it was loue: but he had made an oath neuer to name the party. For (sayd he) to loue, is a great presumption in me; but constrayned by so many beauties, it may be excused: and to dare name her, what excuse can couer the discouery of my rashnesse? Is this the friendship (presently answered Siluie) which you beare me? Truly (replyed Ligdamon) I haue done it, and your com­mandement also, which I beseech you set before your eyes, and this glasse, which will make you see what you desire to know. At that word he tooke vp that which hung at her girdle, and held it before her eyes. Think you how she was surprised, incontinently knowing what he would say; and she hath since sworne to me, that she thought at first it had beene Galathee, of whom he would haue spoken. In the meane time that he had stood to behold her, she stood as rauished to consider his simplici­ty in choller against him, but much more against her selfe, seeing well she had drawne this declaration by force from his mouth. Notwithstan­ding, her high courage would not suffer her to make any long defence for the lustice of Ligdamon. For at an instant she lifts her selfe vp, and with­out speaking to him, departs full of despite, that any durst presume to loue her arrogant beauty, that iudgeth none worthy of it. The faithfull Ligdamon stayed, but without a soule, and as an insensible Statue. In the end, comming agayne to himselfe, he went as well as he could, to his lodging out of which he went not some good time, because the know­ledge [Page 62] which he had of the small loue of Siluie touched him so to the quick, that he fell sicke, so that there was small hope of life, when he resolued to write her such a letter.

The losse of my life was not of force sufficient to discouer vnto you the rashnesse of your seruant, without your expresse commandement; yet, if you iudge that I must die and hold my peace, say also, that your eyes must haue had lesse absolute power ouer me. For if at the first summons which their beauty made me, I could not defend my selfe from giuing them my soule, how hauing beene so often vrged, could I haue refused the acknowledgement of that gift? yet, if I haue offended in offering my heart to your beauty, I am willing, for the fault I haue committed, in presenting to such merits, a thing of so small valew, to sacrifice vnto you my life, without sorrowing for the losse, eyther of the one, or of the o­ther, sith they be no more pleasing vnto you.

This letter was brought to Siluie, when she was alone in her Cham­ber. It is true, that I came in at the same time, and indeed well for Lig­damon; for behold the humour of this fayre Nymph: She had conceiued so great a despite toward him, after he had discouered his affection, that not only she blotted out the remembrāce of the amity passed, but so lost her will, that Ligdamon was like a thing indifferent to her. So that, when she heard that euery one despaired of his recouery, she was no more mo­ued at it, then if she had neuer seene him. I, that particularly obserued it, could not tell what to iudge of it, but that her youth made her easily lose the loue of men absent. But when now I saw her refuse that which one deliuered her in his behalfe, I knew well that they needed no bad messenger between them. This was the cause that I took the letter that she had refused, and which the young boy that brought it (by his masters commaundement) had left on the table. She then lesse heedfull then she would haue beene, ranne after me, and intreated me not to reade it. I will see it (sayd I) and it be but for the deniall you make. Then beganne she to blush, and said, Reade it not, good sister, binde me to you for it, I con­iure you by our friendship. And what shall that be then (answered I) if it may suffer you to conceale any thing from me? Thinke you, that if it allow you dissimulation enough to hide from me, it shall not giue me cu­riosity enough to discouer you. And how then (said she) is there no more hope of your discretion? No more (said I) then of sincerity in your amity. She staid some while silent, looking on me, and drawing neere me, said, At least promise me, that you will not looke on it, till I haue discoursed to you all that is past. I am content (sayd I) prouided that you proue not [Page 63] a lyer. After she had sworne to me, she would tell me all truely, and I sworne, not to make shew of it, she recounted vnto me all that I haue sayd of Ligdamon: and at this present (going forward) he comes to send me this letter, and I haue enough of his complaints, or rather, of his fay­nings. But (answered I) what if they be true? And if they be (sayd she) what haue I to doe with his follies? For that reason (sayd I) that they are bound to helpe the miserable, that haue throwne him downe head-long. And what can I do to his euill (replyed she?) Can I doe lesse then liue, since I am in the world? Wherefore hath he his eyes? Why comes he where I am? All these excuses (sayd I) are nothing worth: for you are (without doubt) accessary to his euill. If you were of lesse perfection, if you could make your selfe lesse louely, thinke you he would be brought to this extremity? And truly (said she, smiling to me) You are very pleasant, to charge me with this fault. What would you haue me to be, if I should not be the same that I am? And why, Siluie (answered I?) Know you not that he that puts a weapon in the hands of a mad man, is in part culpable of the harme he doth? And why should not you be so, since this beauty, which the heauens, at your birth, haue giuen you, hath beene by you so curiously sharpned with so many vertues and amiable perfections, which no eye (without being strucken) can looke on? And shall not you be bla­med for the murders which your cruelty commits? Behold your selfe (Sil­uie) there is no necessity that you should be lesse faire, nor lesse replenished with perfections, but you are to study the more to make your selfe good, as you are faire, and to put as much sweetnesse into your soule, as the heauens haue in your face. But the mischiefe is, your eyes, to do the more hurt, haue taken all away, and haue left nothing at all but rigour and cruelty.

Now gentle shepheard, that which makes me so affectionate to the defence of Ligdamon, was, that besides that we are some what allied, hee was also well esteemed of all that knew him, and I knew he was brought to very hard tearmes. Then after such like talke, I opened the letter, and read it aloud that she might vnderstand it: but she cast not so much as her eye to it, which I found very strange, and well foresaw, that if I vsed not wondrous great force, I should hardly draw from her any good remedy for my sicke patient: which vrged me to tell her, at the first blow, that in any case I would not suffer Ligdamon to vndoe himselfe. Good sister, said she, since you are so pittifull, heale him your selfe. It is not of me, said I, that his healing depends; but I assure you, that if you hold in this sort to­wards him, as you haue done for the time passed, I will cause you to haue [Page 64] some displeasure: for I will make Amasis vnderstand of it, and there shall be no one of our companions, to whom I will not tell it. So you shall play the foole well enough, replyed she. Doubt not, answered I: for to make short, I loue Ligdamon, and I will not see him lost, so farre as I can helpe it. You speake very wisely, Leonide, (said she in choler:) these are the offi­ces that I alwaies expected from your amity. My amity, answered I, should be the same for you against him, if he had done the wrong. At this we staied some good while without speaking. In the end, I asked her what her resolution was. Such as you will, said she, prouided, you do me not the displeasure, to publish the follies of Ligdamon; for, though I cannot bee blamed, yet it would trouble me to haue it published. See (cried I out thē) what humour is this of yours, Siluie? You feare it should be knowne that a man loues you, & you fear not to haue it known that you haue caused his death. Because (said she) they may suspect the former to be produced by some consent on my part, but not the latter. Let vs leaue this, replied I, and resolue your selfe, I will that Ligdamon for the time to come, be en­tertained in another sort. And then I went on, that shee should assure her selfe that I would not suffer him to die, and that I would haue her write to him in such a fashion, that he might no more despaire, that when hee were recouered, I was contented she should vse him as she list, prouided, that she let him liue. I had paine enough to obtaine this grace from her, though I threatned to make it knowne: so, after long debate, and hauing made her beginne againe, once, twice or thrice, in the end shee wrote in this sort:

I wrote these words at the end of the letter, to the end he might hope for better, hauing so good a second.

These letters were brought him so luckily, that yet hauing strength [Page 65] enough to reade them, he saw the commandement that Silue had giuen him to liue: and because till then, he would neuer vse any remedy, that he might not disobey the Nymph, he gouerned himselfe so, that in short time he was better, were it for that his disease hauing spent its force, was declining, or that the contentment of the soule was a good remedy for the paines of the body: so it was, that after that, his disease dayly les­sened. But this so little mooued this cruell beauty, that she changed not one whit towards him, and when he was well, the most fauourable an­swere he could haue, was; I loue you not, neither doe I hate you, rest con­tented, that of all those which seeke me, you are he that displeases mee least. If he or I requested some better declaration, she vses such cruell words to vs, that no other but her courage could imagine, nor other af­fection beare them, then that of Ligdamon.

But not to draw this discourse in length, Ligdamon loues, and serued alwaies after, without any likelihood of hope, but that which I haue told you, vntill the time that Clidaman was chosen by fortune to serue her, then he had almost lost resolution; and had it not beene, that he knew by me, that he should be no better vsed, I know not what would haue become of him. Yet though this gaue him some comfort, the greatnesse of his Riuall gaue him more of iealousie. I remember once he gaue me this an­swer, vpon that which I told him, that he should not grieue so much for Clidaman: Faire Nymph (answered he) I will freely tell you whence my care proceeds, and then iudge if I haue wrong. It is long time since I haue prooued, that Siluie cannot be mooued, neither by fidelity of affection, nor by extremity of Loue, that it is without doubt that she will neuer bee wounded on that side. Notwithstanding, as I haue learned of the wise Adamas, your vnckle, euery person is subiect to one certaine force, the stroke whereof they cannot auoyd, when ought it is touched. And what may I think, may be that of this faire, if it be not the greatnesse and pow­er, and, as I feare, the fortune & not the merits of Clidaman; his greatnes, and not his affection? But indeed, herein he hath wrong: for neither the loue of Ligdamon, nor the greatnesse of Clidaman, can euer mooue one glance of good will in Siluie. And beleeue not but loue reserues her for an example to others, purposing to punish her by some vnusuall meanes, Now at that time there fel out a great testimony of her beauty, or at least of the force she hath to make her beloued.

It was the day so celebrated, which euery yeere we make holy, the sixt of the Moone of Iuly, and on which Amasis vsed to make that solemne sa­crifice, as well for the honour of the Feast, as for being the day of Gala­thees [Page 66] brith. When they were at Sacrifice, there came into the Temple, a number of men, clad in mourning, in the middest of whom was a Knighr, so full of Maiesty aboue the rest, that he was easily iudged to be their ma­ster. He was so sad and melancholy, that it appeared that he had some­what in his soule that troubled him. His habite blacke, infashion of a mantle, trayning on the ground, which kept the beauty of his proportion from sight, but his face vncouered, and his head bare, the haire where of yellow and crisped, shamed the Sun, & drew the eyes of all men to him. He came with a stately pace to the place where Amasis was, and after he had kissed her robe, he withdrew, waiting till the sacrifices were done, and by fortune, whether good or bad for him, I know not, he stood right ouer-a­gainst Siluie. A strange effect of loue! He had no sooner set his eyes vp­on her, but he knew her, though he neuer saw her before; and to be bet­ter assured, he demanded of one of his followers, who knew vs all: his an­swer was accompanted with a deepe sigh from the stranger: and all the while the sacrifice lasted, his eye neuer went off her. At last, the sacrifice being ended, Amasis returnes to her Palace, where audience being giuen him, he spake before them all in this sort:

Madam, though the mourning you see in my garments, be much more blacke in my soule, yet can it not equall the cause I haue. And though my losse be excreme, yet thinke I not I am the onely man that haue lost; for you are particularly weakned in your faithfull seruants, of one, which (it may be) was not the least affectioned, nor the most vnprofitable in your seruice. This consideration hath made me hope to obtaine of you some reuenge of his death against his murderer. But since I entred into this Temple, I haue lost all hope; iudging, that if the desire of reuenge die in me, that am the brother of the wronged, by much stronger reasou should it shrinke in you, Madame, in whom the compassion of the dead, and the seruice which he vowed you, may without more adoe, cause some good will to arise. Notwithstanding, since I see the armes of my brothers mur­derer, prepared already against me; not to auoyd such a death, but to in­struct others, I will tell you as briefly as I can, the fortune of him whom I lament. Though, Madame, I haue not the honor to be knowne to you, yet, I assure my self, that at the naming of my brother, who neuer loued but your seruice, you will acknowledge me for your most humble seruant. His name was Aristander, and we were both the sonnes of that great Cle­ [...]mire, which for your seruice visited so often the Tyber, the Rhine, the Da­nu [...]y: and for that I was the younger, it may be, about nine yeers, as soone as he saw me able to beare Armes, he sent me into the Army of the great [Page 67] Meroue, the delight of men, and the most pleasing Prince that euer came into Gaule. To tell you why my father sent me rather to Meroue, then to Thierry, King of the Visigots, or to that of the Burgonyans, it will be hard for me. Yet I am of opinion, it was, that I might not serue a Prince so neere your estates, that fortune might make your enemy.

So it was, that my successe was such, that Childerick his sonne, a Prince warlike, and of great hope, seeing me neere about his age, was pleased more especially to fauour me with his loue, then any other. When I came first to him, it was about the time, that great and wise Aetius treated of a peace with Meroue and the Franks (for so he called all that follow­ed him) to resist that scourge of God; Attilla, king of the Huns, who ha­uing gathered together, from the Desarts of Asia, an incredible num­ber of people, euen to 500000. fighting men, discended like a deluge, sacking furiously all the countrys, where he passed; and though this Aeti­us Lieutenant generall in Gaule of Valentinian, was come with a purpose to make war on Meroue, who during the gouernmēt of Castinus was pos­sest of a part of Gaule, yet thought he it better to make him his friend, and the Visigots & Burgonians like wise, rather then to be ouerthrowne by At­tilla, who lately hauing trauersed in Germany, was about the bāks of Rine, where he stayd not long without aduancing himselfe so into Gaule, that he besieged the towne of Orleance, where the cōming of Thierry, king of the Visigots, made him raise his siege, & take another way: but beset by Meroue & Aetius, with their cōfederates in the field of Cathalona, he was defeated more by the valiance of the Franks, & the wisedom of Meroue, then all the other force. Since Aetius hauing bene killed, it may be, by the commandement of his master, for some discontentment, Meroue was re­ceiued at Paris, Orleance, Sens, & other neighbour townes, for Lord, and King, and all that people haue since borne him such affection, that they wil not only be his, but cause thēselues to be called by the name of Franks, & to please him the better, & their country, in stead of Gaul take the name of Frannce. While I was entred into armes among the Franks, the Gauls, the Romans, the Burgonians, the Visigots, and the Huns, my brother was a­mong them of loue: armes so much the more offensiue, for that they turne all their blowes vpon the heart: his disaster was such, (if now I may bee suffered to cal itso) that being bred vp by Clidaman, he saw the faire Siluie; but seeing her, hee saw his death also, not hauing liued since that, but as drawing towards his tombe; t [...] tell you the cause I cannot: for being with Childerick, I knew nothing but that my brother was in extremity, though I found al the cōtentments that might be, as being regarded of my [Page 68] Master, beloued of my companions, cherished and honored generally of all, for a certaine good opinion they conceiue of me, for affaires that fell out, which (it may be) got me with them, more authority & credit, then my age and capacity might merit. I could not, knowing the sicknesse of my brother, stay longer time with Childerick, but taking leaue of him, & promising him to returne very shortly, I came backe with the haste that my loue required. As soone as I was come, many ranne to tell him that Guymantes was come: for so they call me. His loue gaue him strength e­nough to lift vp himselfe in his bed, & he imbraced me with the most in­tire affection, that one brother could do to another.

It would serue but to trouble you, and wound my selfe afresh, to re­count vnto you the things, which our amity wrought betweene vs. So it was, that either 2. or 3. daies, after my brother was brought to that ex­tremity, that he could hardly draw his breath, and yet that cruell loue inclined him more to sighing, then to the necessity hee had of breath­ing, and in all his raging fits, we could heare nothing, but the name of Sil­uie: I, to whom the displeasure of his death was so violent, that I could hardly dissemble, wished so much euill to this vnknowne Siluie, that I could not hold from cnrsing her; which when my brother heard, and his affection as yet greater then his disease, hee enforced himselfe to speake this: Brother, if you will not bee my greatest enemy, for beare, I beseech you, these imprecations, which cannot but displease mee much more then my disease. I had much rather not bee at all, then that they should take effect, and being vnprofitable, what will it auaile you, vnlesse it be to wit­nesse to me, how much you hate that which I loue? I know well, my losse will trouble you, and therein I haue more feeling of our separation, then of my end. But since euery man is borne to dye, why with me do you not thanke the heauens, which haue chosen me the fairest death, and the most faire murderer that euer man had? The extremity of my affection, and the extremity of the vertue of Siluie, are the armes by which her beauty is serued, to put me into my griefe; and why do you bewaile me, & wish euill to her, to whom I wish more good then to my soule? I thinke hee would haue said more, but his strength failed, and I more wet with teares of pitty, then when against Attila I was all on a sweat vnder my armor, and my armes sprinkled with bloud, all ouer me. Brother, she that takes you from yours, is the most vniust that euer was: and if she be faire, the gods haue done the iniustice in her; for either they should haue changed her face or her heart. Then Aristander, hauing gotten a little more strength, replied to me, For Gods sake, Guymantes, blaspheme no more in [Page 79] this sort, & beleeue that Siluie hath an heart answerable to her face, that as the one is full of beauty, so the other is of vertue; that if for louing her I die, doe not you wonder, because that if the eye cannot, without daze­ling, abide the beames of one Sun without cloudy, how may not my soule remaine dazeled at the beames of so many Suns, which glister in this faire? that if I haue scarce tasted such diuinities, without death, I may haue the contentment of him, that dies to see Iupiter in his diuinity? I would tell you, that as her death giues witnesse, that no other had euer seene so much of diuinity as shee; so, that no man euer loued so much of beauty, nor so much of vertue, as I. Now I that came from an exercise, that made mee beleeue there was no loue forced, but voluntary, with which men go on flattering themselues in idlenesse, said to him, Is it pos­sible, that one sole beauty should be the cause of your death? My bro­ther (answered he) I am in such extremity, that I thinke I cannot answere your demands: but (said he on, taking me by the hand) for brotherly loue, and for our particular, which binds vs yet faster, I adiure you to promise me one gift. I did so. Then he said on, Beare as from me, this kisse to Siluy: and then he kissed my hand: and obserue that which you finde of my last will; and when you see this Nympho, you shall know that which you de­mand of me. At this word, with a blast his soule flew vp, & his body lay cold in my armes.

The affliction that I felt in this losse, as it cannot be imagined but by him that hath beene in it, so it cannot be conceiued, but by the heart that suffered it, and hardly can the word reach that, which the thought may not attaine: so that without longer abode in bewailing this disaster, I wil say, Madam, that as soone as my dolours would suffer me, I haue set my selfe on the way, as well to render you the homage which I owe you, and to demand iustice of you for the death of Aristander, as to fulfill my pro­mise which I made him against his homicide, and to present that which by his last will he left in writing, to the end that I may call my selfe as iust an obseruer of my word, as his affection hath beene inuiolable. But at the instant when I was presented before you, and that I meant to open my mouth against this murderer, I haue found my brothers words so true, that not only I excuse his death, but desire and require the like. This shall bee then, Madam, with your permission, which I will performe: and then making a great reuerence to Amasis, he chose from among vs Siluie, and resting one knee on the ground, he said, Faire murtherer, though on this faire brest there fall but one teare of pitty, at the newes of the death of the person which was so much yours, you cease not to haue entire & ho­nourable [Page 70] victory; yet, if you iudge that to so many flames which you haue lighted in him, so small a drop shall not bee a great asswagement, receiue at least the burning kisse which hee bequeaths you, when presently his soule turned into this kisse, which he set in this faire hand, rich indeed with the spoiles of many other mens liberties, but in none more fully then that of his. At this word, hee kissed her hand, and then held on thus af­ter he was risen:

Among the papers where Aristander put his last Will, we haue found this heere; and because it is enclosed in the fashion you see, and that he directed it to you, I bring it you, with the protestation which by his testa­ment he commaunded me to make before you open it; that if your will be not to grant the request he hath made you, he beseecheth you not to reade it at all, to the end, that as well in death, as in life, he may not feele the strokes of your cruelty. Then he presented her a letter, which Siluie, troubled with this accident, would haue refused, but for Amasis com­mandement: And after, Guymantes beganne his speech againe thus: I haue hitherto performed the last Will of Aristander: there remaines, that I should pursue vpon his homicide his cruell death; but if at another time the offence haue giuen mee the commaund, at this time Loue or­daines, that my most faire vengeance be the sacrifice of my liberty, on the same Altar that yet smokes with that of my brother, who being raui­shed from me, when I breathed nothing against you, but bloud and death, giues witnesse, that euery eye that sees you, owes you his heart for tribute, & that vniustly euery man liues, that liues not in your seruice. Siluie som­what confounded with this accident, stayed some long while from an­swer; so that Amasis tooke the paper which she had in her hand, and ha­uing sayd to Guymantes, that Siluie should make answer, she withdrew a­side with some of vs, and breaking the boxe, read these words:

If my affection haue not made my seruice pleasing, nor my seruice mine affection, at the least, eyther this affection shall make my death in you more pittifull, or my death assure you of the fidelitie of my affection; and that as no man euer loued more of perfections, so did neuer any loue with more passion. The last testimony which I will giue you, shal be the gift by him whom I hold most deare next you, who is my brother; for I know well, what I giue you, when I ordaine, that he should see you, kno­wing well by experience, that it is impossible he should be, and not loue you. Desire not (my sayre murderer) that he should be inheritor of my fortune, but heare of this, that I haue lesse iustly merited of all others then of you. He that writ it, is a seruant, who for hauing lesse of loue then one [Page 71] heart was capable to conceiue, would rather die then diminish.

Amasis then calling Siluie, demaunded what so great cruelty she had vsed against Aristander, which brought him vnto that extremity. The Nymph blushing, answered, that she knew not whereof he might com­plaine. I would (sayd she) that you receiue Guymantes into his place: then calling him before them all, she asked if he would obserue his brothers will? He answered, Yes, so it be not a thing contrary to his affection. He requireth this Nymph (sayd Amasis) to receiue you into his place, and that you haue better fortune then he. To receiue you, I command her; for the fortune whereof he speakes, it is neyther the prayer, nor the com­maundement of another that can frame that, but the proper merit, or the fortune it selfe. Guymantes, after he had kissed the robe of Amasis, came to doe as much to the hands of Siluie, in signe of seruitude: but she was so displeased with him for the reproches which he had giuen her, and with the declaration of his affection, that without the commandement of Amasis, she would not haue permited him.

As they were ready to depart, Cl [...]daman comming from hunting, was aduertised of this new seruant of his mistris, for which he made so loude a complaint, that Amasis and Guymantes h [...]ard him; and because he knew not whence it proceeded, she told it him: and she had scarcely ended, when Clidaman snatching at her word, complained that she had permit­ted a thing so much to his disaduantage, that this was to call backe those ordinances, which the Destinies had chosen for him, which none, nor she knew how to infringe, without life. Words which he spake with affecti­on and vehemency, because that out of good iudgement he had loued Siluie. But Guymantes, who, besides his new loue, had so good an opi­nion of himselfe, that he would giue no place to any person in the world, answered, addressing his speech to Amasis: Madam, there be that would not I should be seruant to the faire Siluie: they that speake it, know little of loue, otherwise they would not thinke, that your ordinances, nor of all the gods together, were of sorce sufficient to diuert the course of our affection: therefore it is that I declare couertly, that if they deny me that which heeretofore hath beene allowed me, I shall disobey and turne rebel, & that no consideration ought to change me. And then turning to­ward Clidaman, I know the respect I owe you (said he) but I feel withal, the power that Loue hath ouer me. If the Destinies haue giuen you to Siluie, her beauty is it that hath gott [...]n me iudge, whether of these two gifts ought to be most allowable. Clidaman would haue answered, when Amasis sayd to him, Sonne, you haue reason to grieue, if they altered our [Page 72] ordinances, but they haue not infringed them. You were commaunded serue Siluie, but they denyed to others. Sweet oyntments giue the bet­ter smell when they are chased. A louer likewise hauing a Riuall, giueth more proofe of his merits. So Amasis ordayned, and now behold Siluie well serued. For Guymantes forgot not any thing that his Loue com­maunded: and Clidaman, out of enuy, studied to appeare more carefull.

But aboue all, Ligdamon serued her with such discretion and respect, that oftentimes he durst not come neere her, left he should giue notice of his affection to others. And in my minde, his seruice was as pleasing as a­ny of the rest. But indeed one time he almost lost his patience. It happe­ned, that Amasis hand lighted on a bodkin made in the shape of a sword, wherewith Siluie was wont to raise and dresse her haire, and seeing Cli­daman neere her, she gaue it him to beare to his mistris, but he kept it all the day, to put Guymantes to some payne. He doubted not Ligdamou: and see how often one may hurt one man for another; for the poyson which was prepared for Guymantes, went to the heart of Ligdamon, who not be­ing able to dissemble it, that knowledge might not be taken of it, he with­drew himselfe to his lodging, where, after he had some-while in [...]enomed his euill by his thoughts, he tooke his pen and writ this verse:

And at the end of these verses he addeth these words:

Himselfe brought me this paper, I could not with all my study vn­derstand, [Page 73] nor draw other thing from him, but that Siluie had giuen him a blow with a Sword: and leauing me, he went away the most lost man on the earth. See how artificiall a sencer is Loue, that with so small weapons can make so great gashes! It grieued me to see him in this case. And to know if any new accidēt had befallen him, I went to Siluie; but she swore she knew not what it might be. In the end, hauing stayed some time to reade the verses; on a suddaine she lifted vp her hand to her haire, and not finding her bodkin, she began to laugh, and sayd, That her bodkin had beene lost, and some body had found it, and without doubt (it [...] might be) Ligdamon knew it. She had scarcely sayd this, when Clidaman came into the roome with this murdering sword in his hand. I desired her to let him keepe it no longer. I see (sayd she) his discretion, hereafter I will vse the power I haue ouer him. She fayled not of her purpose: for being neere him, she sayd; See a Sword that is mine. He answered, So is he that beares it. I would haue it, sayd she. I would, answered he, you would all of me that is yours. Will you not giue it me (said the Nymph?) How (replyed he?) can I will any thing, since I haue no will at all? And (sayd she) what haue you done with that which you had? You haue snat­ched it from me (sayd he) and now it is changed into yours. Since then (continued she) that your will is but mine, giue me that bodkin, because my will is so. Since (sayd he) that I will that thing that you would, and that you will haue this bodkin, it must of necessity be, that I will haue it also. Siluie smiled a little, but in the end she sayd: I will that you giue it me. And I also (said he) will, that you giue it me. Then the Nymph thrust forth her hand, and took it. I wil neuer refuse it (sayd he) though you will take it from me, and it were this heart for once. Siluie had her Sword, and I writ this scroule to Ligdamon:

So Ligdamon was healed, not by the same hand, but by the same wea­pon that hurt him. In the meane time, the affection of Guymantes came to such an extremity, that (it may be) it came nothing short of that of Ari­stander; on the other side Clidaman, vnder the cloke of courtesie had let grow, in his soule, a most ardent and true loue. After they had many times assayed, out of enuy, who should be the most welcome to Siluie, and knew that she fauoured and dis-fauoured them both alike, they resolued [Page 74] one day, because that otherwise there was mutuall loue betweene them, to know which of the two was most beloued, and came for that cause to Siluie, from whom they had such 'cold answers, that they could not as­soile the iudgement. Then, by the counsell of a Druyde, who (it may be) was displeased to see two such persons lose their time so vnprofitably, which they might much better employ for the defence of the Gaules, whom so many Barbarians attempted to ouer-run, they came to the foun­taine of the verity of Loue. You know what the property of this water is, and how it declareth, against their will, the most secret thoughts of Lo­uers; for he that lookes in it, sees his Mistris; and if he be loued, he sees himselfe hard by; and if she loue any other, that is his figure that hee sees. Now Clidaman was the first that presented himselfe, he layd his knee to the ground, kissed the side of the fountaine: And hauing besought the Demon of that place, to be more fauourable to him then to Damon, he bent himselfe somewhat into it. Presently Siluie presented her selfe so faire and admirable, that the louer transported stooped to kisse her hand: bat this contentment was well changed when he sawe no body neere her. He wichdrew himselfe, much troubled, after he had stayed some while; And vnwilling to speake any thing, he made signe to Guymantes, that he should prooue his fortune. He with all the ceremonies requisite, hauing made his request, cast his eye on the fountayne, but was serued like Cli­daman, because that Siluie alone presented her selfe, burning (almost) with her fayre eyes, the water which seemed to play about her. They were both astonished at this accident, and demaunded the cause of this Druyde, which was a great Magician. He answered, that it was, for that Siluie as yet loued no person, as being not capable to be burnt, but onely to burne. They that thought they could not be so much neglected, ha­uing gone before seuerally, now returned both together, and sodaine­ly both the one and the other shifted on diuers sides; yet the Nymph appeared alone. The Druyde smiling came to withdraw them from thence, and tolde them, that they should beleeue they were not beloued at all, and that the shifting from side to side, could not repre­sent their figure in the water. For you must know (sayd he) that as other waters represent the bodies, which are before them, this represents the spirits.

Now the spirit, which is but the will, the memory and the iudgement, when it is beloued, transformeth it selfe into the thing beloued; and there­fore it is, that when you presented your selues heere, it receiued the figure of your spirits, and not of your body; and your spirit being changed into [Page 75] Siluie, it represented Siluie, and not you. Whereas, if Siluie had loued you, she should as well haue beene changed into you, as you into her: and so representing your spirit, you sawe Siluie; and seeing Siluie changed, as I told you by this loue, you should haue seene your selues also. Clidaman stood very attentiue to this discourse; and considering the conclusion was an assurance of that he feared, being full of choller, drawing out his Sword, he strucke two or three blowes with all his might on the marble of the fountaine: but his Sword being at the first resisted, in the end, it brake in the middle, not leauing any marke of his blowes; imitating heerein the angry dogge, that biteth the stone one flings at him. The Druyde gaue him to vnderstand, that he trauailed in vaine, because that his enchantment could not be ended by force, but by extremity of loue: yet if he listed to make it vnprofitable, he knew the meane. Clidaman nou­rished for rarity within great Cages of yron, two Lions, and two Vni­cornes, which he oftentimes caused to fight with other beasts.

Now this Druyde demaunded them to keepe this fountaine, and en­chanted them in such sort, that although they were set at liberty, yet could they not leaue the entry of that Caue, but onely when they were to seeke their foode. For in that while there stayed but two, and euer since they haue done no hurt to any, but those which attempted to go to the fountayne; but they assayled them with such fury, that there is no likelihoode that any will hazard himselfe. For the Lions are so large and terrible; they haue their clawes so long and so piercing; so nimble and swift, and so animated to this defence, that they doe deedes incre­dible. On the other side, the Vnicornes haue their hornes so poynted, and so strong, that they will pier [...]e a very rocke: they strike with such force and swiftnesse, that no man can auoide them. As soone as this guard was thus ordered, Clidaman and Guymantes departed away so secretly, that A­masis nor Siluie knew nothing, vntill they were farre off. They went to seeke out Meroue and Childericke. For they haue told vs since, that since they were so equally handled by their loue, they would try if Armes would fauour them as equally.

Thus (gentle shepheard) haue we lost the commodity of this Foun­taine, which so well discouered the secrets of deceiuing thoughts, that if all were as Ligdamon, they would not haue made vs lose it: For, when I knew that Clidaman and Guymantes were gone, I counselled him to bee the third, assuring my selfe he should be the more fauoured; but he made me this answer: Faire Leonide, I alwaies counsell them that are in doubt of their good or euill, that they hazard themselues sometimes, to know [Page 76] the truth. But would not this be folly for him, that hauing neuer concei­ued any hope of that he desires, to seeke for a more sure knowledge of his disaster? As for me, I am not in doubt, whether the faire Siluie loue me, or not; I am but too assured of it, and when I would know more, I neede not aske but of her eyes and her actions. Since that time his affection hath still increased, like the fire, when they lay on more wood: For this is the property of that faculty, to make that which pleases, more delight­full, and that which offends, most offensiue: and God knowes how this cruell hath handled him. The time is yet to come, that she would looke on him without disdaine or cruelty: and for my part, I know not how a generous man can haue such patience, because indeed, the offences which she hath done him, touch more of outrage then of rigor. One day, when he met her going out to walke alone with me, because he had a sweete voyce, I prayed him to sing: he said these verses:

He had no sooner ended, but Siluie takes him vp thus: Ha! tell me, Lig­damon, since I am not the cause of your euill, why doe you lay it on mee? It is your owne desire which you should accuse; for it is it that makes you trauaile in vaine. The passionate Ligdamon answered, Desire, indeed, is chat which tormēts me: but it is not that which shuld be blamed, but that which giues it birth, and that is the vertues and perfections of Siluie. If the desires, replied she, be not irregular, they torment not: and if they be irre­gular, and goe beyond reason, they ought to be borne of another obiect then of vertue, and are not the true children of such a father, since they re­semble him nothing. Till this time, answered Ligdamon, I neuer heard say, that any disauowed a child, for not resembling his father; and yet the extreme desires are not against reason: for, is it not reasonable to desire all good things, according to the degree of their goodnesse? and so an extreme beauty should bee reasonably loued in extremity: so that if they must be blamed in any thing, a man should not say, they are against reason, but beyond reason. Let this suffice, replyed this cruell, I am not more reasonable then reason: therefore it is, that I will not auow for mine, that which exceedes. At this word, not to leaue him the meane to answer, shee turned to meete some of her companions that followed her.

One time, when Amasis returned from that little place of Mont-brison, where the pleasure of the garden, and solitarinesse, had stayed her longer then she meant, the night came on her before she came to Marsellis. And because the euening was cold, as we went, I asked him on the way, of pur­pose to make him speake before his mistrisse, if he felt not the cold and humidity of the euening? Whereto he answered, that of long time the cold nor heate outward had done him hurt. And asking him, why, and what his receit was? To the one, he answered me, I oppose my burning desires; and to the other, my frozen hopes. If it be so (sayd I suddainly) whence came it, that I haue so often heard you say you burne, and some­time, that you freeze. Ah! (answered he) with a great sigh: Courteous Nymph, the euill whereof I complaine, torments me not outwardly, but inwardly; and yet so deepely, that there is no secret part of my soule so retired, where I feele not the griefe. For you must know, that aboue all [Page 78] other, that the fire and colde are incompatibles alike. But I haue had within my heart continually the fire on a flame, and the colde frozen, and onely feele the discommodity without any mitigation. Siluie could hold no longer from making him feele her accustomed cruelties, but till that word was ended. Yet me thoght, she wold scarce giue him the leisure to bring forth, that so full of enuy she was, to make him feele her stings, when turning toward me with a smile, she sayd disdainefully, casting her head on his side. Oh! how happy is Ligdamon, to haue both cold and heat when he will? at least, he hath no cause to complaine, nor to feele many discommodities: for, if the cold of his hope freeze, he may chafe him­selfe with the heate of his desires; if his ouer-ardent desires doe burne him, he may coole himselfe with the ice of his hopes. It is very necessary (fayre Siluie, answered Ligdamon) that I should vse this remedy to main­tayne me, otherwise I had not beene long since; but this is but a small asswaging of so great a fire: so that the knowledge of these things is a fresh wound which offends me the more, for that in the greatnesse of my desires I know their weakenesse, and in their weakenesse their greatnesse. You figure your euill (replyed the Nymph) such as you please: but I be­leeue not, that the cold being so neere the heate, and the heate so neere the cold, neyther the one, nor the other will suffer his neighbour to be much offended.

Indeede (answered Ligdamon) to make me burne and freeze at one time, is not one of the least maruels that proceed from you; but this is the greatest, that it is of your cold, that my heate commeth, and of my heate, your ice. But yet it is more maruellous, to see a man haue such ima­ginations, added the Nymph: for they conceiue such impossible things, that he that beleeues them, may aswell be taxed for want of iudgement, as you that tell them, for want of truth. I confesse, answered he, that my imaginations conceiue things impossible; but that proceeds from my o­uer-great affection, and from your ouer-great cruelty: and as this is one of your least effects, that you reproch me with, so it is not one of my least tonments. I beleeue, sayd she, that your torments, and mine effects, are of greatest force in your discourse. Hardly, sayd Ligdamon, can a man say that which he doth not well vnderstand. Hardly (replied the Nymph) may the conceits and vaine Ideaes of a distempered imagination come to be knowne. If the truth, adioyned Ligdamon, accompany not this imagina­tion, I should hardly stand in so great need of your compassion. Men (an­swered the Nymph) make their trophees of our bounty. Do you any whit better, said he, out of our losse? I neuer sawe (replied Siluie) any so vn­done, [Page 79] but they shifted wellenough, as you do all.

The more I tel you of the cruelties of this Nymph, and of the patiences of Ligdamon, the more comes into my memory. Whē Clidaman was gone, as I told you, Amasis would send after him the greatest part of the young Knights of this Countrey, vnder the charge of Lindamor, to the end hee might be taken by Meroue for the man he was. Among other, Ligdamon, as a right gentle Knight, was not forgot. But this cruell would not bid him adieu, faining to be sicke: yet he that would not go, without she knew of it in some sort, writ me these verses:

Hee had beene an happy man with this answer, but this cruell hauing found what I writ, and vnwilling to do him good her selfe, and not suffe­ring any other shold doe it, snatcht the pen with great strength out of my hand, telling mee, that the flatteries which I vse to Ligdamon, were the cause of the continuance of his follies, and he had cause more to complaine of me, then of her: At last she writ this:

You may thinke with what contentment he parted: It was to some purpose, for him to be accustomed of long time to such blowes, and that he remembred the disgraces which came from them whom they serue, ought often to take the place of fauour. And I remember, that on this dis­course, [Page 80] he called himselfe the most happy man in the world, since the or­dinary disgraces which hee receiued from Siluie, could not make him doubt that she had him in any great good memory, that she would not acknowledge him for her seruant, and that since she vsed not to deale so with others that were not particularly affectioned to her; hee made him­selfe beleeue, that money was that wherewith she paid those that were to­wards her, and such as it was, he was to make reckoning of it, because it had her marke: and on this subiect hee sent these verses before hee parted.

Leonide had held on discourse, if a far off shee had not seēne Galathee come, who after she had long stayd alone, and not able longer to depriue her selfe of the sight of this shepheard, she was dressed the best to her ad­uantage that her glasse could giue counsell, and came forth without any other cōpany then the little Merill; she was faire, & worthy to be beloued of an heart, that had not already had another affection. At that time, by the confusion which the water had wrought in Celadons stomake, hee felt himselfe ill at ease, that by that time they came at the Nymph, they were constrained to carry him backe, & the shepheard soone after went to bed, where he remained some daies downe lying, and vp-rising of his infirmity, without being either grieuously sicke, or very throughly recouered.

The History of Astrea and Phillis.

THey that know what it is, when friendship or hatted passe from fa­ther to son, may well conceiue Celadons fortune and mine, and with­out doubt, may affirme, that they be not deceiued: For (faire Diane) I beleeue you haue often heard speech of the old hatred betweene Alce & Hippolite, my father and mother, and of Alcippe and Amarillis, the father & mother of Celadon, their displeasures accompanying them euen to their graue, which hath beene cause of so great trouble among the shepheards of this Country, that I assure my selfe, there is no man ignorant of it a­long the shore of the cruell and dishonoured Lignon. And yet it seemeth that Loue, to shew his power of persons so opposite, would vnite two so straitly, that nothing could breake the lines, but death. For, hardly had Celadon reached to the age of foureteene or fifteene yeeres, and I of twelue or thirteene, but that at an assembly which was had at the Tem­ple of Venus, which is on the top of this mountaine, seated in the Plaine, right ouer against Montsur, about a mile from the Castle of Monbusor, this young shepheard sawe me: and as he hath told me since, he had long before conceiued a good liking, vpon the report which was made of me. But the let which I told you, our fathers tooke from him all meanes, and I must tell you, that I do not thinke he bare a greater liking, then did I; for I know not how, when I heard speech of him, my heart danced in my belly; and this was but a presage of the troubles, which since befell mee [Page 99] on that occasion, Now at the instant, when he saw me, I know not how he found matter of loue in mee, so that within a while after, hee resolued to loue me, and to serue me.

And it seemeth that at this first view, both the one and the other of vs was at this passe, that wee must loue, so that as often as it was told mee, that hee was the sonne of Alcippe, I found a certaine change in my selfe, which was not ordinary, and thenceforth all his actions began to please me, and much more agreeing to my liking, then of all the other yong shep­heards of his age: and for that as yet he durst not come neere me, & that speech was denied him, his lookes at his commings and goings spake to me so often, that at last I knew he had a longing to tell me more; and to ef­fect it, at a game that was kept at the foot of the mountaine, vnder the old elmes, that yeelded a pleasant shade, he vsed such arte, that before I was aware, and seeming to bee through want of heed, hee got vnder my hand; for my part I seemed not to note it, & vsed him as I did al the others; but he on the contrary, tooke mee by the hand, so that making shewe to cast downe his, I perceiued his mouth on mine. This act made me blush, and making shew not to heed it, I turned my head away as hearkening to the brawle: we danced. This was the cause that he stayd somewhile be­fore he spake to me, not knowing as I thinke where to begin. At last vn­willing to lose this opportunity, which he had so long sought, he aduan­ced himselfe before me, and rounded in the care of Corilas, that led me in that dāce, so loud, yet faining to whisper, that I heard these words: I wold to God, Corilas, the contention betweene the father of this shepheardesse, & mine, might be ended in vs two: and then went to his place. And Cori­las answered him loud enough: Make not you this attempt, Celadon; for it may bee, you neuer attempted any thing more dangerous. What ha­zard so euer it hath (answered Celadon aloud) I will not deny that I haue spoken, & giue my hart in pawne. In such promises (replied Corilas) they vse not to offer lesse assurance then that: & yet within a while after, it is gainesaid. Whosoeuer (reioyneth the shepheard) makes difficulties to run such a fortune as you threaten, I shal hold him for a man of small courage. It is a vertue (answered Corilas) to be couragious, but it is also a folly to be rash. By proofe (replied Celadon) you shall know what I will do, and in the meane time, I promise you at a word, that I will neuer gainesay it. And because I made shew, not to heed their discourse, directing his words to me, he sayd, And you, faire shepheardesse, what is your opinion? I know not, answerd I, of what you speake. He hath told me, sayd Corilas, that to draw a great good out of a great euill, hee wishes your fathers ha­tred [Page 100] were changed into loue betweene their children. How (answerd I, see­ming not to know him) are you the sonne of Alcippe? And hauing answe­red me, Yea, and moreouer, my seruant? Me thinks sayd I, it were fitter for you to ioyne to some other, that may haue more occasion to agree with you, then I. I haue heard it sayd (replied Celadon) that the gods do punish the offences of the fathers on their children; but among men, it hath not bene the custome: which is not, for that it is not allowed to your beauty, which is diuine, to vse the same preuiledges that the gods do: but if it bee so, you are like then to grant pardon, when it is demanded of you. Is it so, shepheard (interrupted Corilas) that you begin your combat with crying mercy? In this combat (answered he) to be ouercome, is a kind of victory: & for my part, I am willing enough, prouided that she wil take the spoyle. I thinke they had continued their discourse longer, if the dance had held out longer, but the end of it separated vs, and euery one went to his place.

Somewhile after they began to propound prizes, for diuers exercises which they were accustomed vnto, as the Lute, to Runne, and cast the Barre; whereto Celadon, for being too yong, was not admitted but only to the course whereat he won the prize, which was a garland of diuers flow­ers, which was set on his head by the whole assembly, with great com­mendation, that being so yong had ouercome so many shepheards: Hee, without any long dreaming, tooke it off, came to me to set it on my head, saying very low, See the confirmation of what I sayd! I was so surprized, that I could not answere: & had it not bene for Artemis your mother, Phil­lis, I had giuen it him againe; not for that comming from his hand, it plea­sed me not, but because I feared Alce & Hippolite would not think wel of it. But Artemis, that rather desired to quench, then kindle these ancient hatreds, commanded me to take it and to thanke him: which I did so cold­ly, that euery one might well thinke it should not haue bene done, but by the command of my Aunt. All this day passed thus, & the next day also, the yong shepheard losing no occasion to make his affection appeare to me. And because that on the third day they had a custome to represent, in honor of Venus, the iudgement which Paris gaue of the three goddesses, Celadon resolued to thrust himselfe among the maids, vnder the habit of a shepheardesse. You know well, that on that third day, about the end of the feast of the great Druide, they haue vsed to cast among the maids an apple of gold, whereon are written the names of the three shepheardesses whom they thinke to be the most faire in the company, with this word,

[Page 101] And that, after they haue dressed her, which is to represent the person of Paris, who with the three shepheardesses enter into the Temple of Beauty, dedicated to Venus, where, the doores being shut, shee giueth iudgement of all three, when she sees them naked, but onely a thinne Lawne, which couers them, from the girdle-stead, almost to the knees. And for that once it was abused, and that some shepheards had thrust themselues among the shepheardesses, it was ordayned by a publique Edict, That he that did commit the like fault, should (without remission) be stoned by the Maides at the gate of the Temple:

Now it hapned, that this Youth (without consideration of the great danger) that day attired himselfe like a shepheardesse, and forcing him­selfe into our company, was taken for a maide; and as Fortune would fauour him, my name was written on the Apple, and Malthe and Stella; and when they came to set downe the name of her that bare the perso­nage of Paris, I heard him name Orithee, which was the name that Celadon had taken. God knowes if his soule receiued not all the delight it was capable of, when he sawe his dessigne succeed so well. In the end, we were brought into the Temple, where the Iudge being set in his seat, the doores being shut, and we three onely remayning with him, we be­ganne, according to the order, to vnclothe ourselues; and because euery one must go apart, and speake to him, and make the offers that the three goddesses had sometimes made to Paris; Stelle, who was most forward to put off her clothes, went first to present her selfe to him, whom he beheld some while: And after he had heard what she would say, he caused her to returne, to giue place to Malthe, who was got before me, for that asha­med to shew my selfe naked, I delayed (as much as I could) the putting off of my clothes. Celadon, thinking the time long, and after he had some short while entertayned Malthe, seeing that I came not, called for mee. In the end, not able to delay it no longer, I was constrained; but, O God, when I thinke on it, I am yet ready to die for shame: yet my haire was dis­persed, and almost couered mee, on it I had no other ornament, then the garland, which the day before hee had giuen me. When the others were gone backe, and when he saw me in this sort; by him I obserued that twice or thrice he changed colour, but I neuer suspected the cause: for my part, shamefastnesse had tainted my cheek with so fresh a colour, that hee hath since sworne vnto me, he neuer saw me so louely: and he would haue beene contented, hee might haue beene suffered to stay all the day long in that contemplation: but fearing to be discouerd, he was cōpelled to shor­ten his contentment: and when he saw I said nothing, (for shame had tied [Page 102] vp my tongue) And how, Astrea, sayd het, hinke you your cause so good, that you need not as well as others, seek the Iudges good will? I doubt not, Orithee, answered I, that I shall haue more need to seduce my Iudge by my words, then Stella or Malthe: but I know wel also, that I must as well giue place to them in perswading, as in beauty: so that but for the constraint whereto the custome tyes mee, I had neuer come before you, in hope to win the prize. And if you beare it away (answered the shepheard) what will you do for me? I shall haue, sayd I, the greater obligation to you, by how much I thinke it merits lesse. How then, replied he, will you make me no other offer? The demand (sayd I) must come from you, for I cannot teach you who deserues to be receiued. Sweare to me, said the shepheard, you will giue me that which I shall demand, and my iudgement shall be to your aduantage. After I had promised him, hee asketh of my haire, to make him a bracelet: which I did; and after he had folded it in a paper, hee sayd to me: Now, Astrea, I will keepe these haires for a pledge of the oth which you haue made, that if euer you gainesay it, I may offer it to the goddesse Venus, and demand vengeance of her. That, sayd I, is superfluous, since I am resolued neuer to faile. Then with a smlling countenance, hee sayd to me, God be thanked, faire Astrea, that my designe hath falne out so prosperously: for know, that which you haue promised me, is to loue me aboue any in the world, and to receiue me as your faithfull seruant, who am Celadon, and not Orithee, as you suppose; I say, that Celadon, by whom loue hath giuen proofe, that hatred is not of power sufficient to disappoint his effects, since euen among the displeasures of our fathers, he hath made me so yours, that I had no feare to dye at the gate of this temple, to giue you testimony of my affection. Iudge, wise Diane, what became of mee: for loue forbade me to seeke reuenge of my shamefastnes; and yet shame encouraged mee against loue: at last, after a confused disputation, it was impossible for me to consent to cause him dye, since the offence which he made, proceeded not but of too great loue to me: yet knowing him to be a shepheard, I could no longer stay before his eies; and without making o­ther answere, I ranne to my companions, whom I found almost dressed; and taking vp my garments, scarce knowing what I did, I made my selfe ready as soone as was possible. But to be short, when we were all ready, the dissembled Orithee placed her selfe at the entry of the gate; and hauing vs all three before her: I ordaine (saith she) that the prize of beauty be gi­uen to Astrea: in witnesse whereof I present her the golden apple: & there is no cause any body should doubt of my iudgement, since I haue seene her; and though a maide, yet, I haue felt the force. In saying those [Page 103] words, he presented mee the apple, which I receiued, being much trou­bled; and the father, when with a loude voyce he sayd, Receiue this Apple as a pawne of my affection, which is as infinite, as this is round. I an­swered him, Be content, rash man, that I receiue it to saue thy life: and that otherwise I would refuse it, as cōming from thy hand. He durst not reply, for feare he might be heard and knowne: and because the custome was, that she that receiued the Apple, was to kisse the Iudge, by way of thankefulnesse, I was constrayned to kisse him: but I assure you, had I not knowne him vntill then, I should then haue discouered him to be a shepheard: for it was not the kisse of a maide.

Presently, the noyse, and the applause of the company separated vs, because the Druyde hauing crowned me, caused mee to be borne in a chaire to the place of the Assembly, with so much honour, that euery one wondered I was no more cheerefull. But I was so troubled, and so sore beaten, betweene Loue and Despite, that I scarce knew what I did. As for Celadon, as soone as he had finished the ceremonies, he lost himselfe amongst the other shepheardesses, and by little and little, without the heeding of any body, got out of the company, and put off his borrowed garments, to put on his owne naturall clothes, with which hee came a­gayne to vs; with a face so confident, that no man would euer haue suspe­cted him. As for me, when I sawe him, I might scarce turne mine eyes to him, being full of shame and choler. But he that noted it, and made no shew of it, found the meanes to come to me, and to say loude enough; The Iudge which hath giuen you the prize of beauty, hath shewed good iudgement; and me thinkes, that albeit the Iustice of your cause do well deserue so fauourable a sentence, yet must not you be fayling to beare him some kinde of obligation. I beleeue, shepheard, answered I softly e­nough, that he is more obliged to me, then I to him: for that if he gaue me an apple, which (in some sort) was due to me, I haue giuen him life, which his rashnesse merited to lose. So he told me (answered presently Celadon) that hee would preserue it onely for your seruice. If I had not more respect (replyed I) to my selfe, then to him, I had not let him goe without chasticement for so great a presumption. But enough, Celadon, let vs cut off this discourse, and content your selfe, that if I haue not pu­nished you as you deserue, it was onely for feare of giuing occasion to o­thers to talke their pleasure of me, and not for want of will to see you pu­nished. If there be nothing but that (sayd he) to hinder my death, tell me in what fashion you will haue me die, and you shall see I haue no lesse courage to satisfie you, then I haue had of loue to offend you. This dis­course [Page 104] would be too long, if I should tell you all our talke in particular.

So it was, that after many replies now on the one side and the other, whereby it was impossible for me to doubt of his affection, if at least the diuers changes of countenance might bewray any thing I sayde to him seeming to be in choler: Bethinke you, shepheard, of the hatred of our fathers, and beleeue, that that which I beare, shall not turne to nothing, if you euer more importune me with your follies, which your young age, and my honour, pardon for this time. I vsed these last words, to giue him the lesse courage. For it is true, that his beauty, courage, and affection pleased me; and that he might make no further answer, I turned to talke with Stella, who was not farre off. He all astonied with this answer, with­drew from the company, so sad, that in few dayes he was scarce to be knowne, & so solitary, that his haunt was in the places most desolate and sauage of all our woods. Whereof being aduertised by some of my com­panions, who told me, without conceit, that I was the cause; I began to thinke of his paine, and resolued in my minde, to search some meanes to giue him satisfaction. And because (as I told you) he forsooke all com­pany, I was constrayned (that I might meet him) to driue my flocke that way where I knew he resorted most. And when it fell out twice or thrice to be in vaine, at last, one day, as I was seeking for him, me thought, I heard his voyce among some trees: and I was not deceiued; for comming softly towards him, I sawe him lye along on the ground, and his eies wet teares, so bent vpward to heauen, that they seemed vnmooueable.

The sight of him mooued me so to pittie, beeing somewhat inclined thereto before, that I resolued no longer to leaue him in this paine. There­fore, after I had considered of it awhile, and not willing it might appeare to him that I sought him out, I withdrew some good way from the place, whereseeming not to heede him, I sung so high, that my voyce came to his eares. As soone as he heard me, I might see hee raised vp himselfe in a dumpe, and turning his eyes to the place where I was, hee stood like one rauished to heare me, which when I marked, that I might giue him com­modity to come neere me, I made as though I would sleepe, and yet I held mine eyes halfe open, to see what it would come to; and, indeed, it failed not of that I purposed: for comming softly towards me, he came & knee­led as close to me as hee could, and after hee had long time stayed in this sort, when I made shew to be fast asleepe, to giue him the more hardines, I perceiued, that after some sighes, hee stoopes downe softly against my mouth, and kisses me. Then thinking he had taken courage enough, I o­pened mine eyes, as if I had beene waked when he touched me; and rising [Page 107] vp, I sayd to him, seeming to bee angry, Vnciuill shepheard, what hath made thee so vnmannerly, to come to disquiet my sleepe in this sort? He then, al trembling, and not raising his knees, It is you, faire shepheardesse, said he, that haue constrained me, and if I haue offended, you must punish your own perfectiōs, which are the cause. These are alwaies, said I, the ex­cuses of your malipertnesse: but if you holde on to displease mee thus, be­leeue it, shepheard, I will not beare it. If you call it a displeasure, answe­red he, to be loued, and adored, in good time beginne to study, what pu­nishment you will inflict on mee; for, now I sweare vnto you, that I shall displease you in this sort all my life, and no rigor of your cruelty, nor en­mity of our fathers, nor any let in the world can diuert mee from this de­signe.

But, faire Diane, I must shorten these pleasing discourses, being so con­trary to the vnfortunate season wherein I am, and must onely tell you, that in the end, being ouercome, I said to him, But, shepheard, what end is your designe like to haue, since that they which may frame you to their pleasure, disallow it? How, replyed he presently, Frame to their pleasure? So farre is it that Alcippe hath power ouer my will, that I haue it not my selfe. You may dispose of your selfe, said I, at your owne pleasure, but not of the obedience you owe to your father, without cōmitting a great fault. The obedience, answered he, which I owe him, may not passe that which I can ouer my selfe: for this is no faulting, not to doe that which one cannot. But be it so, that I owe him it, since of two euils wee are to shun the greatest, I choose rather to be failing toward him, that is but a man, then against your beauty which is diuine. Our discourse, in the end, held on so farre, that I must suffer him to be my seruant; and because wee were young, both the one and the other, so that we had not Arte enough to couer our designe, Alcippe, within a while, took notice of it, & not be­ing willing that this loue should passe further on, he resolued with his old friend Cleante, to cause him to vndertake a iourney so long, that absence might blot out this young impression of Loue. But this distance auay­led as little, as all the other crafty tricks with which hee serued himselfe since. For Celadon, though hee were young, yet had a resolution to ouer­come all difficulties: that, whereas others others meete their contraries with paine, hee tooke them for trials of himselfe, and called them the touch­stones of his faithfulnesse: and for as much as he knew, his voyage would be long, he desired me to giue him the commodity to bid me adieu. I did it, faire Diane, but if you had seene the affection, wherewith hee besought me to loue him; the oathes, by which he assured me neuer to change; and [Page 501] the coniurations, by which hee bound mee neuer to loue other; without doubt, you would iudge, that things most impossible, might fall out soo­ner, then the losse of this amity. In the end, not daring to stay longer, he said, My Astrea, for so hee did in priuate call mee, I leaue you my brother Licidas, from whō I haue not concealed any one of my designes; he knows what seruice I haue vowed vnto you: promise me, if it please you, that I may depart with contentment, to receiue, as comming from mee, all these seruices that he shall doe you, and that, by his presence, you renew the memory of Celadon. And, indeed, he had reason to make this request: for Licidas, during his absence, shewed himselfe so curious to obserue what his brother had giuen him in charge, that many thought he succee­ded in the affection which his brother bare me. That was the cause that Alcippe, after he had kept him three yeeres out of this Countrey, cal­led him back, being of opinion, that so long a time had defaced the light impression, which Loue had made in a soule so young; and that growing more wise, hee might easily draw Licidas from affecting me. But his re­turne was a strong assurance to me of his faithfulnesse: For the chilnesse of the Alpes, which he had twice passed thorow, could nothing diminish the fire of his loue; nor the admirable beauties of those Romanes, diuert him from the least part of what he had promised me. O God, with what contentment came he to meete me! he besought me by his brother, that I would giue him opportunity to speake with me. I thinke I haue yet his letter. Alas! I haue more charily preserued that which came from him, then himselfe. And then she drew out letters which she had receiued from him, and pulling out the first (for they were all layd in order) after she had wiped her eyes, she read these words:

Faire Diane, it is impossible I should remember the discourse which we had, without wounding my selfe, so that the least stroke is as greeuous to me as death. During the absence of Celadon, Artemis my Aunt, and the mother of Phillis, came to see her kinsfolke, and brought with her this shepheardesse, poynting to Phillis. And because our fashion of li­uing [Page 107] better pleased them then that of the shepheards of Alleer, she resol­ued to dwell with vs, which was no small contentment to vs: for by this meanes we grew familiar, and though the friendship was not so strait, as it fell out afterward, yet her humour so pleased me, that I passed ouer many vnquiet houres reasonably well with her. And when Celadon was returned, and that he had some while conuersed with her, he gaue so good a iudgement, that I may truely say, he is the ground of the strait amity which hath since beene betweene her and me. It was about this time, that he being of the age of seuenteene or eighteeneyeeres, & I of fifteene or sixteene, we beganne to carry our selues with more wisedome, so that (to hide our loue) I intreated him, or rather, I constrayned him, to make loue to all the shepheardesses that had any shew of beauty, that the suite he made to mee, might be iudged to be rather common then particular. I say, I constrayned him, because I thinke, but for his brother Licidas, he would neuer haue giuen his consent. For, after he had many times falne on his knees before me, to call backe the charge I gaue him, in the end, his brother told him, that it was necessary for my contentment it should be so: and that if he knew no other remedy, he might therein helpe him­selfe by his imagination: and when he spake to others, he should con­ceit to himselfe, it was to me. Alas, the poore shepheard had good rea­son to make such difficulty; for he ouer-well foresaw, that from it would arise the cause of his death. Excuse me (wise Diane) if my teares interrupt my discourse, seeing I haue so iust cause, that it were impiety to forbid them me. And after she had dryed her eyes, shee renewed her discourse in this manner:

And because Phillis was vsually with me, it was she to whom, at the first, he addressed himselfe, but with such inforcement, that I could hard­ly refraine from laughter: and because Phillis thought he was in earnest, and that she vsed him, as they ordinarily doe him that beginneth to be a suiter, I remember, that seeing himselfe rudely handled, he often sung this song which he made on that subiect.

[Page 109] Sister (interrupted Phillis) I remember it well you speake of, and I shall make you laugh at the manner of his speech to me. For, for the most part, it was with such broken language, that we had need of an Interpre­ter to make vs vnderstand them; and vsually when he was to name mee, he would call me Astrea. But see what our inclination is! I knew well that Nature had (in some sort) preferred Celadon before Licidas, yet not being able to tell you the reason Licidas was more welcome to me. Alas sister, (sayd Astrea) you bring to my remembrance the speech, which he vsed about that time of you, and of this faire shepheardesse (sayd she) turning to Diane. Faire shepheardesse (said he to me) the wise Bellinde, and your Aunt Artemis, are infinitely happy, in hauing such daughters: and our Lignon is much bound to them, since (by their meanes) it hath the hap­pinesse to see vpon her shores these two faire & wise shepheardesses. And beleeue me, if I know any thing, they only deserue the amity of Astrea: and therefore I aduise you to loue them: for I perceiue by that little know­ledge I haue of them, that you shall finde great contentment in their fa­miliarity. Would to God, one of them would vouchsafe to respect my brother Licidas, with the like affection that I beare. And for that at that time I had no great knowledge of you (fayre Diane) I answered, that I desired he should rather serue Phillis; and it fell out as I wished: for the ordinary conuersation he had with her, at the first brought forth famili­arity betweene them, and at last he loued in earnest. One day, when he found her at leisure, he resolued to declare his affection with much loue, and with the fewest words he could. Faire shepheardesse (said he) you haue knowledge enough of your selues to beleeue, that those which loue you, can not but loue you infinitely. It can not be, that my actions, haue giuen you any knowledge of my affection, for the little you know of it, since none can loue you but in extremity, you may sweare, that my loue is wonderfull great: and yet being such, I demaund of you, as yet, but a beginning of good will. Celadon and I were so neere, that we could well heare this declaration, and the answere also that Phillis gaue him, which indeede was more rude then I expected from her. For long time before, she and I well enough knew, by the eyes and actions of Licidas, that he was in loue with her; and we haue often talked of it, and I haue found in her, rather goodwill to him, then otherwise: yet at this brunt she answered him so bitterly, that Licidas went away in despayre. And Cela­don, who loued his brother more then ordinary, not able to endure to see him vsed in this sort, and not knowing how to take it, grew almost angry with me; whereat, I could not hold from smiling, and at last I told him:

[Page 110] Be not grieued at this answer, Celadon: for we are straitly tyed to it, since the shepheards of these times (for the most part) delight to make e­uery one beleeue, that they haue better fortunes then indeede they haue, thinking that the glory of a shepheard shall be increased by the diminuti­on of our honour. And, that you may know, that I know well the humour of Phillis, I tooke the charge vpon me, to bring Licidas into her good grace: prouided that he continue, and that he haue a little patience. But I must tell you, that when I first talked with her, she put me off so farre, that I could but onely hope, so that I resolued to winne her in time. But Licidas, who had no patience, had a purpose to loue her no more; and at that time he would ordinarily goe singing these verses:

I thinke Licidas had not so readily put end to the cruelty of Phillis, in refusing his affection, if by fortune one day shee and I, according to our manner, going forth to walke by Lignon, had not met this shepheard in an [Page 111] Ile of the riuer, in a place very darke, and where there was no appearance of dissembling. We saw him from one side of the riuer, which was large and deepe, to hinder vs from going to the place where hee was, but not from hearing the verses which he went with complaining; and drawing (as it seemed) some ciphers on the sand with the end of his sheephooke, which wee could not know, for the distance betweene vs: but the verses were these:

Within a while we heard, after he had beene silent some time, he tooke againe his speech in this manner, with a great alas, and lifting vp his eyes to heauen: O God, if thou beest angry with mee, for that I haue adored with more deuotion, the worke of thy hands, then thine owne selfe; why hast thou not compassion of the errour, which thou causest me to com­mit? Or if thou beest not pleased, that Phillis should be adored, either thou shouldest haue put lesse perfection in her, or in me lesse knowledge of her perfections: for is it not a kinde of profaning a thing of that merit, to offer it lesse affection? I thinke, the shepheard held on in such like dis­courses, but I could not heare them, because Phillis, taking me by force by the arme, carryed me away with her. And when we were some pretty distance remoued, I sayd, Naughty Phillis, why hast thou no pitty on this shepheard, whom thou seest ready to die for thy sake? Sister, answe­red [Page 112] she, the shepheards of this countrey are such dissemblers, that often their heart denies that which their mouth promiseth, that if without passi­ons we looke into the actions of such as hee, wee shall finde nothing but cunning. And for the words we heare, (for my part) I iudge, that hauing spyed vs afarre off, he purposely set himselfe in our way, that we should heare his dissembled complaints; otherwise, would they not as well be spoken to vs, as to these woods and wilde riuers? But sister (answered I) you haue forbid him. See (replyed she) a great proofe of his small loue! Is there any commandement strong enough, to stay a violent affection? Beleeue me, sister, the loue that may bend, is not strong. Thinke you not, that if he disobey my commaundement, I should thinke he loued me the better? But sister, in the end (sayd I) he obeyed you. And well (replied she) hath he obeyed me; and herein I held him very obedient: but in that he hath quite giuen ouer his suite to me, I hold him for a man very pas­sionate. And why? was he of opinion, that at the first discouery of his good will to me, I should haue taken some witnes, that he might not hereafter gaine-say it?

If I had not interrupted her, I thinke shee had held on her discourse very long; but because I desired that Licidas might be vsed in another fashion, for the payne that Celadon suffered, I told her that these kind of speeches were of some purpose to be vsed to Licidas, but not to me, who knew well, that we are bound to shew more discontentment, when they talke to vs of loue, then we feele, that thereby wee may trie what minde they haue that speake to vs: that I would commend her, if she vsed those terms; but it is great wāt of trust toward me, who haue not cōcealed from her that which was most secret in my soule: & that (for conclusion) since it was impossible she could auoyde the being beloued of some, it was much better it might be by Licidas then by any other, since she could not chuse but be assured of his affection. Where to she answered, that she neuer had the thought to dissemble with me; and she would be very angry I should haue that opinion of her: and to giue me more proofe, since I desired she should intertaine Licidas, she would obey me, when she should know that he loued her as he said. That was the cause that Celadon often finding her after with me, gaue her a Letter that his brother had written by my ad­uice.

In the end (wise Diane) after many replies on both sides, we so wrought, that Licidas was entertained; and from that time we began, all foure, one life, which was not vnpleasing, either of vs fauouring the other, with the most discretion we could possibly. And that we might the better couer our dessigne, we inuented many meanes, were it to talke, were it to write in secresie.

It may be, you haue noted that little rocke, that standeth vpon the great way, to the Rocke: you must needs know that it is painefull to get vp: but being there, the place is so fenced, that a man may be there vnseene of any; and because it stands on the hie way, wee made choice of it to meete in, that none might spy vs; and if any mette vs going by, wee made shew to be on our way, and that neither the one nor the other might go in vaine, we put in the morning some bough at the foote of it for a marke, that we had somewhat to say.

It is true that we were so neere vnto the high way; that our raysed voyce might easily be heard of them that passed by: this was the one­ly cause that, vsually we left either Phillis or Licidas to watch, that at what time soeuer they sawe any come afarre off, they should cough to giue vs warning. And because wee were vsed to write alwayes when we were letted or hindered, and could not come to that place, wee chose out along that little riuer that runnes by the great way, an olde Willow tree halfe eaten for age; in the hollow whereof, we alwayes layd our let­ters; and that we might more easily make answer, wee vsually left some paper and an inkehorne.

To be short (wise Diane) we turned on euery side that wee possi­bly could, to keepe vs from discouery: And namely, wee forthwith tooke this course, not to talke together, Celadon and I, nor Licidas and Phillis: so that there were many that thought that Celadon had changed his minde, because that as soone as he saw Phillis, he would haste to in­tertaine her, and she shewed him all the good countenance she could; and I likewise alwayes, when Licidas came in place, brake company from any other, to go talke with him. It fell out in successe of time, that Celadon [Page 114] himselfe was of opinion, that I loued Licidas; and I beleeued he loued Phillis: and Phillis thought Licidas loued me; and Licidas suspected that Phillis loued Celadon, in such sort, that vnawares we found our selues so cumbred with these opinions, that iealousie made vs know, that a little shewe will cause him breed in an heart that loueth well. Indeed (inter­rupted Phillis) we were Louers and Schollers at that time: for, to what purpose serued it, to conceale that we truly loued, by making men be­leeue a loue that was not, since you may as well feare, that men should thinke you beare good will to Licidas, as to Celadon? Sister, sister, replyed Astrea, clapping her hand on her shoulder; we feare not when men doe thinke of vs that which is not; and on the contrary, the least suspition of that which is true, giues vs no rest. Truly iealousie (continued she, turn­ing toward Diane) so attached vs all foure, that I thinke that life had long lasted among vs, if some good spirit had not wrought in vs a cleer­ing in the presence each of other. Some seuen or eight dayes passed, that we sawe not each other in the rocke, and that the letters which Celadon and I layd, were so differing from those we formerly vsed, that it see­med they were differing persons. At last, as I told you, some good spi­rit hauing care of vs, caused vs (by chance) to meete all foure in that place, without other company. And the loue of Celadon (therein more strong then the rest, in that it compelled him to speake first) put these words into his mouth:

Faire Astrea, if I thought time could giue remedy to the paine I feele, I would referre my selfe to that which it might bring; but since the older it growes, the more it increaseth, I am enforced to seeke out a better, by the complaint that I am to make to you of the wrong I receiue, and I am more readily brought to it, for that I am to make my complaint both be­fore my Iudges, and my aduersaries. And as he was going forward, Li­cidas interrupted him, saying that he was in payne, that in greatnesse dif­fered not from his. In greatnesse (sayd Celadon) it is impossible: for mine is extreme. And mine (replyed Licidas) is without comparison. While the shepheards talked together, I turned to Phillis, and sayd, You see (sister) these shepheards will complaine of vs. Whereto shee answered me, But we haue more cause to complaine of them. But yet (sayd I) al­though I haue great cause to complayne of Celadon, yet I haue more of you, who vnder the colour of the friendship you seeme to beare me, haue drawne him from that hee made shew of to me; so that I may say, you haue robbed me. And for that Phillis stood so confused at my words, that she knew not what to answer, Celadon turning to me, said: Ah faire shep­heardesse! [Page 115] but fleeting as fayre: Is it so, that you haue lost the memory of the seruices of Celadon, and of your owne othes? I complayne not so much of Licidas, though he haue fayled in his duty of proximity and amity be­tweene vs, as of you to your selfe: knowing well, that the desire which your perfections may bring into an heart, may make it forget all respect of duty. But is it possible, that so long a seruice as mine, so absolute a power as you haue euer had ouer me, and so entire an affection as mine cannot somewhat stay the inconstancy of your soule? or in good time, if yet all that commeth from me, be of so small force, how comes it, that your fayth so often sworne, and the gods so often called to witnesse, can­not with-hold you from making a new election before my face? At the same time Licidas taking the fayre hand of Phillis, after a great sigh, hee sayd: Faire hand, wherein I had entirely placed my will, can I liue, and know that thou delightest to be borne to another heart, then mine? then mine, I say, that haue merited so much of fortune, if a man may be wor­thy by the most great, most sincere, and by the most faithfull loue that e­uer was.

I could not heare the other words that Licidas went on with; for I was constrained to answer Celadon. Shepheard, shepheard, said I, all these words of faithfulnesse, and of amity, are more in your mouth, then in your heart: and I haue more cause to complaine of you, then to heare you. But because I make no more reckning of any thing that comes from you, I will not vouchsafe to complaine; so should you doe, if your dis­simulations would suffer you. But since our affayres be at these tearmes, go on, Celadon, loue Phillis well, serue her well, her vertues deserue it: and if in speaking vnto you, I blush, it is for spite that I haue loued that which was so vnworthy, and hath so grossely deceiued me. The astonish­ment of Celadon was so great, hearing the reproches I vsed to him, that he stayed a long time, not able to speake a word: which gaue me oppor­tunity to heare what Phillis answered Licidas. Licidas, Licidas, let him that ownes me, demaund me. You call me fleeting, and you know well, that that terme agrees best with your actions. But, thinke you in complai­ning first, you can purge the wrong you doe me? I falter not, but your selfe: for it is more shame to you to change, then it is losse to me in your change. But that which offends me, is, that you will accuse me for your owne fault, and faine a good reason of your owne vnfaithfulnesse. Yet it is true, that he that deceiueth a brother, may fayle her that is not so neere him. And then turning her selfe to mee, she sayd: And you, Astrea, thinke that the gayne you haue made by diuerting him from my amitie, [Page 116] can no longer last, then vntill some other obiect present it selfe; though I know well, your perfections haue that power, that if it be not an heart all of feathers, they are able to slay it. Phillis (replyed I) the proofe shall witnesse, that you are a flatterer, when you speake so of the perfections which are in me; since hauing depriued me of Celadon, they must needes be feeble, not being able to hold him, after they had gotten him. Celadon falling on his knee before me: It is not (said he) that I misprize the merits of Phillis: but I protest before all the gods, that she hath not kindled the least sparke of loue in my soule; and that I beare with lesse griefe, the of­fence you doe me in changing, then that you commit against my affecti­on, in blaming it of inconstancy. It is to no purpose (wise Diane) to particularize all our discourse; for they would be too long, and might offend you; so that before we parted, we were so well reduced to our good sences, that I must tell you, we acknowledged the small reason we had to suspect one another. And we haue good cause to thanke heauen, that we made this declaration all foure together; for I thinke, other­wise it had beene impossible to roote out this errour from our soule: and (for my owne part) I assure you, that nothing could haue made mee vnderstand reason, if Celadon had not spoken after this manner before Phillis.

Now since that time, we went with lesse heede then we were wont. But to leaue this trauaile, I enter into another no lesse troublesome: for we could not so well dissemble, but Alcippe, that lay in watch, knew, that his sonnes affection to mee was not altogether extinct; and for his more assurance, hee looked so heedfully to his actions, that noting with what curiosity he went alwaies to the old Willow, where we layd our letters; one morning he came first, and after he had long sought, noting the path which wee had made on the grasse, by often going, hee tooke it for his guide; and the tract brought him right to the foote of the tree, where he found a letter which I had layd there ouer-night: It was thus:

[Page 117] When Alcippe had read this letter, he layd it in the same place againe and hiding himselfe to see the answer: his sonne was not slacke in com­ming; and not finding any paper, he writ on the backe of my Letter, and hath told me since, it was thus:

Alcippe knew not who the shepheardesse might be, to whom this let­ter was directed, for there was no name to it: but see how it came from a spirit that would be crosse! he thought not much of his paine, to stay in that place aboue 5. or 6 houres, to see who she should be that would come to seeke it: assuring himselfe, the day would not be fully past, but some one would come fetch it. It was late before I went: but presently, when he sawe me, for feare lest I should take him, he turned himselfe, and made shew as if he were asleepe. And I, that I might giue no cause of suspition, turning my pace, fayned to take another way. He contrarily well satis­fied for his payne, as soone as I was gone, tooke the Letter, and carried it with him. Whereupon incontinently hee made his dessigne to send a­way his sonne, for that he would not in any case, there should be alli­ance betweene vs, for the extreme hatred betweene Aloe and him, but rather to the contrary, hee had a purpose to marry him vnto Malthe the daughter of Forelle, for commodity (as he pretended) of their neighbour­hood. The words which were vsed betweene vs at our departing, haue beene but too much published by one of the Nymphes of Belinde. For I know not how that day Licidas, who was at the foot of the rocke, fell a­sleepe; and that Nymph, as she went by, heard vs, and wrote downe in her Tables all our discourse. And what? (interrupted Diane) are those the verses which I haue heard sung to one of my mothers Nymphes at the de­parture of a shepheard? These be they, answered Astrea: and because I would not discouer, that it any thing touched me, I durst not demaund them. Trouble not your selfe (replyed Diane) for I will giue you a copie to morrow. And after Astrea had thanked her, she went forward.

[Page 118] Now, during this absence, Olympe, the daughter of shepheard Lupe­ander, dwelling on the confines of Forest, on the side the riuer Furant, came with her mother into our Hamlet: and, because this good olde woman much loued Amarillis, as hauing in their youth beene bred together, shee came to visite her. This young shepheardesse was not so faire as she was conceited, and had so good an opinion of her selfe, that shee thought all the shepheards that looked on her, were in loue with her; which is a rule infallible, for all those that loue themselues. That was the cause, that as soone as she came into the house of Alcippe, that shee began to busie her selfe with Licidas, thinking the ciuility hee vsed toward her, proceeded of Loue. As soone as the shepheard perceiued it, hee came to tell vs, and know how he should behaue himselfe: wee gaue aduise (that hee might the better couer the affection he bore to Phillis) to maintaine Olympe in this opinion. And shortly after, it fell out by mischance, that Artemis had some affaires on the coast of Allier, whither shee carried Phillis with her, notwithstanding all the cunning we could inuent to keepe her back. Du­ring this absence, which might bee about fiue or sixe moneths, the mo­ther of Olympe returned, leauing her daughter in the hands of Amarillis, with a purpose that Licidas should marry her, iudging, according to that they saw, that he loued her very dearely. And because it was an aduance­ment to her, she was counselled by her mother, to carry her selfe as loue­ly as she could. And assure you, faire Diane, she dissembled not, for thence­forth she rather sued vnto him, then was sued vnto by him: So that one day, when shee found him at leasure, as shee thought, within the inward parts of the wood of Bonlieu, where by fortune hee went to seeke a wan­dring sheep: after some common, speeches she laid her arme on his neck, and after she had kissed him, sayd, Gentle shepheard, I know not what I haue in mee so vnpleasing, that I cannot by any demonstrations of good will, finde place in your good graces. It may be, answered the shepheard smiling, because I haue none. He that should say as you doe, replied the shepheardesse, may be thought to be as much blinded as your selfe, if you see not the offer which I make of my amity; till when, shepheard, ordaine you that I loue without being beloued, and that I shal still seek you, with­out finding acceptance. I cannot thinke, that the other shepheardesses whom you make so much of, are more louely then my selfe, or haue any thing aboue me, but the possession of your good graces. Olympe vttered these words with that affection, that Licidas was moued at it. Faire Di­ane, at all other times, when I remember this accident that befell the shepheard, I could not refraine from laughter, but now my misfortune [Page 119] forbids me, & yet me thought I could be angry with none but Phillis, who had so charged him to loue her: for this fayning at last turned to earnest.

Hereupon this miserable Olympe, thinking by her fauours to make her selfe beloued the more, made her selfe to be so much dis-esteemed, that Licidas hauing had of her all that he might, disdained her so, that he could not abide she should be neere him. Presently after this fortune befell, hee came to tell me with such apparance of displeasure, that (I thinke) hee was sorry for his fault; and yet it fell not out so: for this shepheardesse commit­ted such folly, that shee grew to bee with childe; and about the time shee first perceiued it, Phillis returned from her iourney: and if I expected her with great paine, I likewise welcōmed her with much cōtentment. But as commonly they first demād of that which neerest toucheth the hart, Phil­lis, after two or three former words, failed not to aske how Licidas did, & how he behaued himselfe with Olympe. Very well (answered I) and I as­sure my selfe, hee will not bee long before hee come to tell you newes. I cut my speech the shorter, for feare I might tell her somewhat that might anger Licidas, who for his part was not without paine, not knowing how to aboord the shepherdesse: at last he resolued to suffer al things rather thē to bee banished from her sight, and came to finde her in her lodging, where he knew I was. As soone as shee saw him, shee ran to him with o­pen armes to salute him: but giuing a little backe, he sayd, Faire Phillis, I haue not hardines enough to come neere you, except you pardon me the fault I haue done you. The shepherdesse thinking he had excused himselfe for comming no sooner, as hee was accustomed, (answered him) There is nothing can hold me backe from saluting Licidas; and when he hath offen­ded mee, I must pardon him alwaies. At this word shee came forward, & welcommed him with great affection, but it was his pleasure when hee brought her backe to me, to pray me tell his errour to his Mistris, that hee might speedily know to what she would condemne him. Not for that the griefe (saith he) shall not accompany me to my graue, but for the desire I haue to know what you ordaine of me. This word brought colour into the face of Phillis, doubting that her pardon was greater then her mea­ning: whereof Licidas taking heed, I haue not courage enough said he to me, to heare the declaration you shall make of me. Pardon me then, faire Mistris (turning to Phillis) if I break company so soon, & if my life be vn­pleasing to you, and that my death may giue you satisfaction, be not coue­tous of my bloud. At this word though Phillis called him back, yet would he not come, but contrarily pulling the doore after him, left vs alone. You may not thinke that Phillis made dainty, to aske if there were any [Page 120] newes, & whence so great feare came. Without stay in lōg discourse, I told her as it was, and withall, laid al the fault on our selues, who did not fore­see, that his youth could no longer resist the assaults of this folly, and that his displeasure was so great, that his error was pardonable. At the first I could not obtaine that I desired of her; but some few dayes after, Licidas, by my counsell, came to cast himselfe on his knees, and she ranne into an­other chamber that she might not see him, and from thence into another, flying from Licidas, who still followed her, and was resolued, as hee said, not to let her rest, till he had either pardon or death. In the end, not know­ing whither to fly further, she stayed in a closet; where Licidas entring, and shutting the dores, he set himselfe on his knees before her, and with­out speaking any other thing, attended the sentence of her will. This af­fectionate obstinacy had more force in her, then any perswasions; and so staying some while without speaking to him,

Goe, sayd she to him importunate, it is thy importunity, and not thēe that I pardon. At this word hee kissed her hand, and came to open mee the doore, to giue me to vnderstand, that he had got the victory; and then seeing his affaires in so good case, I would not let them part asunder, vntil all actions were intirely forgiuen: and Phillis so pardoned the shepheard, that seeing him distressed extremely, to hide Olympes belly, which now grew great to the view, she offered to assist him in all that possibly shee could. Certainely (interrupted Diane) see a strange proofe of good amity, to pardon such an offence which is intirely against amity: and more, to prouide that she which caused it, take no displeasure. Without fayning, Phillis, this is too much; and for mee, I protest, my courage knowes not how to brooke it: yet my amity did so then, answered Phillis, and by that you may iudge of what quality it was in me. Let vs leaue this con­sideration apart (replyed Diane) for it would be too hard for you, since the not feeling the offences which be done against amity, is rather a signe of defect, then the ouer-abundance of Loue: and for my part, if I had beene one of the friends of Licidas, I should haue interpreted rather to the dis­aduantage of your good will. Ah! Diane, said Phillis, if you as well knew what it is to loue, as you doe to cause your selfe to bee beloued, you will iudge it needfull the friend should know himselfe, but heauen is pleased to haue you be beloued, and not to loue. If it be so, sayd Diane, I am more bound to it for such a benefit, then for my life; but I may be capable with­out louing, to iudge of Loue. It cannot be, interrupted Phillis. I had ra­ther hold my peace, answered Diane, then speak with so deare a permissi­on: but if you will allow me the fauour that you giue to the Physician, who [Page 121] talkes and iudges indifferently of all sorts of diseases, though he neuer had them: I would tell you, that if there be any thing in amity whereof wee may make reckoning, it ought to be the amity it selfe without more; for all other things that please vs, are but to be ioyned with it: and there­fore there is nothing that more offends him that loues, then to spie any defect in loue: and not to feele such offences, is (indeed) to haue a spirit feeble for that passion. And will you haue mee tell you what I thinke of Loue? It is a musike of many voyces, that well concording, giues a right sweet harmony; but if there be but one discord, it not onely displeases, but makes you forget all the pleasure which they yeelded before. So said Phillis, Naughty Diane, you would say, that if a man haue serued you long, the first offence must blot out all the memory of that is passed. The very same said Diane, or little lesse. O gods, cryed Phillis! shall not hee that loues you, haue worke enough? He that loues me (replyed Diane) if he wil that I loue him, must beware he offend not my loue. And beleeue me (Phillis) that at this bout, you haue done more iniury to Licidas then, when he offended you before. Then sayd Phillis smiling, At another time I will say, that it is Loue that made me do it; but at this time I will say, it is Reuenge: and to the most curious, I will deliuer the reason which you haue taught me. They will iudge (replyed Diane) that at another time you know to loue; but at this time you know what it is to loue. Whatso­euer it be (answered Phillis) if it be of defect, it proceedes of ignorance, and not of want of loue. For I thinke I am bound: but if euer he returne, I will look to my selfe for falling backe againe. And you, Astrea, are ouer­long silent: then tell vs what assistance I gaue for the birth of this childe. Then Astrea tooke it vp againe in this sort.

As soone as this shepheardesse had made this offer of her selfe, Licidas accepted of it very boldly; and after that sent a yong shepheard to Maine to bring with him, the wise woman of that place; her eyes being closed, that she should not discerne which way she went. Then Diane as astoni­shed, laid her finger on her mouth, and saies, Faire shepheardesse, this is not so secret as you thinke: I remember I haue heard them speake of it. I pray you, said Phillis, tell vs what you haue heard, that we may know whether it hath bene told you true; I know not, added Diane, if I well remember the poore Philander was he that told it me, and I assure my selfe he had it from Lucina the wise woman, to whose eare it came; and that shee would neuer haue spoken of it, if any trust had bene reposed in her. One day as she walked into the Parke which is betweene Mont-brison and Maine, with many other her companions, shee saw come towards her a man [Page 122] whom she did not know: who at his comming, did commendations from diuers of her kins-folks that were at Feurs, and then he told her some par­ticular, that hee might separate her a little from the other women which were with her: & when he saw her alone, he gaue her to vnderstand, that a better occasion had brought him to her; for it is (said he) to coniure you by all the pitty you euer had, to giue your helping hand to an honest woman, that is in danger if you deny your aide. The good womā was a little surpri­zed to heare him change his discourse at once: but the yong man besought her to hide her astonishment as well as she could; & that he had rather dye, then any should suspect this businesse: Lucina being assured, and hauing promised to be secret, and that he should only tell her at what time shee should be ready: You must make no iourney for these two months, sayd the yong man; and that you may not lose by it, behold here the money which you might gaine elsewhere in that space. At that word hee gaue her some pieces of gold in a paper, and returned without passing thorow the towne: but after he had knowne of her, whether she could trauaile by night, and she answered, seeing the gaine so great, No time could stay her: within fifteene or sixteene dayes after, as shee went out of Maine, about fiue or six of the clock at night, she saw him come with a visage alchāged: and comming neere her, he sayd, Mother, the time hath deceiued vs, wee must be gone, the horses tarry for vs, and necessity presses vs. She would haue gone back to her house, to giue some order to her businesses: but hee would not suffer her, fearing shee should speake to some-body. So being come into a valley farre from the high way, she found two horses with a man of some sort, and clothed in blacke, that held them. As soone as he saw Lucina, he came to her with open face; and after many thankes, hee caused her to sit vp behind him that went to fetch her; after, mounting on the other horse, they rode a roūd trot ouerthwart the field; and when they were some distance from the towne, and that the night began to draw darke, this yong man taking an handkercher out of his pocket, bound it about the eyes of Lucina, for all the resistance shee could make; and after they had twice or thrice turned about the horse whereon she rode, that she might haue no knowledge of the Way, which they meant to take; and then falling againe to their trot, rode a great part of the night, shee not knowing which way shee went, but that they made her passe a riuer (as she thought) t [...] or thrice, and then setting her on the ground, made her walke a while on her feet; and as shee could iudge, it was thorow a wood, where at last she sp [...]d a little light a-crosse the hādkercher, which within a while after they tooke cleane away. And then she found her selfe vnder [Page 123] a tent of tapistry, fitted in such sort, that the wind might not enter: on the one side she saw a yong woman in a field bed, that cōplained much, & was masked, at the beds feete shee perceiued a woman who had likewise her face couered, and who by her habit seemed to bee aged, shee held there hands ioyned together, and had teares in her eyes: on the other side there was a yong maide of the chamber masked, with a light in her hand at the beds head stood leaning that honest man whom she found with the hor­ses, who seemed infinitly to feele the griefe of this womā, which was lea­ning vpon her stomake; and the yong man which brought her behind him, went about to giue that which was necessary, there being on the table in the midst of the tent two great candles lighted. It may easily be belee­ued, that Lucina was astonished to see her selfe in this place; but she had not leisure to be long so: for one may iudge, that this little creature wai­ted but for the comming of this woman to come into the world. The mo­ther felt the throwes of her down lying, which lasted but halfe an houre, before the deliuery of a daughter: but this was a diligence yet greater then ordinary, to deliuer her, and lay her in bed, and put the childe into a cradle, and send away Lucina, after they had well contented her, yet her eyes againe closed as she came. Now if they had trusted her, she swore she would neuer haue spoken of it, but shee thought their mistrust gaue her leaue; and now you see all that I could know of Philander. Astrea and Phillis, who had bene attentiue to her discourse, looked one on the other much astonished, & Phillis could not chuse but laugh; and Diane deman­ding the reason: It is, sayd shee, because you haue told vs a story which we neuer knew, and for my part I cannot imagine how it may be: for, for Olympe, she was neuer in that danger; & of necessity it must be some other then a shepheardesse that had so good furniture. Indeed (answered Dia­ne) I take this honest man for Licidas, the old woman for the mother of Celadon, and the chamber-maid for you; and iudge you whether you dis­guised not your selues, that you might not be knowne. I assure you, sayd Astrea, that this was not Olympe: for Phillis vsed no other arte, but to cause her come to her house, and by chance her mother Artemis was then gone to the riuer of Alli [...]r; and because Olympe was vnder the hands of Amarillis, of necessity she must faine to bee sicke, which was easy for her to do, by reason of the disease she went with; and after she had spent some time, she told the mother of Celadō, that the change of the aire might hap­ly bring some asswagement, and that she was certaine that Phillis would be well pleased to haue her neere her. Amarillis, that thought she should bee charged with her sickenesse, was well contented with this resolution; [Page 124] and so Phillis came to fetch her. And when the terme approched, Licidas went to bring the wise woman, and blinde her eyes that shee might not know the way: but when shee was come, he vnbound her, knowing well that shee knew not Olympe, as hauing neuer seene her before. Thus you see all the art that was vsed: and as soone as shee was well deliuered, she went home, and they haue told vs since, that she vsed a pretty tricke to bring vp the childe; for, as soone as shee came thither, she suborned a simple woman, that fained to haue borne it, to come to father it vpon a shepheard, who vsed to waite on her mother, saying that shee had it by him. And for that this poore shepheard knew himselfe innocent, her refus­ed it, and reuiled her; so that she that was prepared for the purpose, fol­lowed him to the chamber of Lupander; and there, though the shepheard refused it, yet she left the infant in the middest of the chamber, and went her way. They told vs, Lupander was very angry: but the conclusion was, that Olympe turning to her mother: Must it be so (sayd she) that this little creature should stay without nourishment? It cannot help anothers fault, and it shall be a worke pleasing the gods, to bring it vp. The mo­ther, who was good and charitable, agreed; and so Olympe brought vp her childe at home. In this meane time Celadon was with Forelle, where they gaue him all the good entertainment they might; and especially Malthe had commaundement from her father, to doe him all the honest kindnesses she could: but Celadon was so discontented with our separa­tion, that all their honest respects were in place of punishment to him, and he went about with such a sadnesse, that Forelle not beeing able to brooke the contempt he had of his daughter, aduertised Alcippe of it, to the end he might no longer expect this alliance, who knowing the disposi­tion of his sonne, moued (as I thinke) out of pitty, purposed once more to vse some piece of cunning, and thenceforth neuer to torment him a­ny more. During the abode that Celadon made with Malthe, my vnkle Phocion so wrought, that Corebe a very rich and honest shepheard, became a suiter to me; and because hee had all the good parts that one might wish, many men talked of it, as if the marriage had beene resolued on. Whereupon Alcippe meaning to make vse of it, deuised this crafty tricke I tell you:

There was a shepheard named Squilinder, dwelling on the bounds of the Forrest, in an Hamlet called Argental, a cunning fellow, and vntru­sty, and who among his other industries, knew so well to counterfet all kinde of Letters, that the man whom he initated, can hardly discerne the­falshood. To him Alcippe shewes what he found at the foote of the tree, [Page 125] as I haue told you before, and causes him to write another to Celadon (in my name) which was thus:

This Lētter was brought so sinely to Celadon, by a young shepheard vnknowne. O God! what was he at the encounter, and how great was the displeasure that cut his heart? Then sayd hee by Astrea, It is true that there is nothing of durāce in the world, since that firme resolution which you haue so often sworne, is so readily changed. Now you will make me be a witnesse, that what perfection soeuer a woman may haue, she can not bereaue her selfe of her inconstancie by nature. Haue then the heauens agreed, that for my greater punishment, my life should remaine after the losse of your amity, to the end that I should onely liue more ex­tremely to feele my disastor? And then falling into a swowne, he came no sooner to himselfe, but the complaints were in his mouth. And that which most easily perswaded him of this change, was this, that the Letter did but confirme the common report of the marriage betweene Corebe, and me. He lay all that day on a bed, vnwilling to speake to any person; and the night being come, he depriued himselfe of his companions: he tooke to the largest and desolatest wood, shunning the meeting of men, more like a sauge beast, desiring to die farre from the society and companie of men, since they were the cause of his sorrow. In this resolution hee ranne thorow all the mountaines of Foreste, on the side of Ceruieres, where at the last he chose a place which he thought least frequented, of purpose to finish the rest of his sad and mournefull dayes there. The place is called Lapau, where riseth one of the springs of the disastrous riuer Lignon; for the other spring proceedeth from the mountaynes of Cholmesel.

[Page 126] Now on the sides of this fountaine he built a prety Lodge, where he li­ued retired more then sixe moneths, during which time, his ordinary nou­rishment were teares and plaints. It was at that time that hee made this song.

The solitarinesse of Celadon had beene much longer, but for the com­mandement that Alcippe gaue to Licidas, to seeke out his brother, hauing a purpose in himselfe (since he so well saw how vnprofitable his trauaile was) no more to crosse this amity. Now Licidas had long sought him, but for a chance that befell vs the same day.

I was vpon the banks of Lignon, and held mine eies ouer his streame, thinking at that time of the losse of Celadon; and Phillis and Licidas tal­ked together some good while, when we saw some little balles, that lay swimming on the water. The first that tooke heed to it, was Phillis, who shewed it to vs, but we could not ghesse what it might bee. And because Licidas knew the curiosity of his mistrisse, to giue her satisfaction, he went as far as he could into the water, and so reached with a long branch, that he tooke one; but seeing that it was but waxe, because hee was wet, and angry that he tooke such paine for a thing of so small worth, hee cast it in a rage against the ground, and breaking it vpon a great flint stone, it fell [Page 128] all in pieces, and there remained nothing but a paper, which had beene put therein, which Phillis ranne presently to take vp; and hauing opened it, we read these words:

We no sooner cast our eyes on this writing, but we knew it all three to be from Celadon, which was the cause that Licidas ran to draw out the others which floated on the water, but the streame had carried them so farre, that hee could not come by them; yet we ghessed thereby, that hee abode about the head of the Lignon; which caused Licidas in the morning to goe seeke him luckily, and vsed such diligence, that three dayes after he found him in solitarinesse, so changed from that that he was wont, that he might scarce know him: but when hee told him that he must come to me, and that I so commanded him, he could hardly be perswaded, but that his brother came to deceiue him. At last, the letter which hee brought from me, gaue him such contentment, that within few dayes hee came to his former countenance, and came to finde vs out: yet not so soone, but that Alcippe dyed before his returne; and some few dayes after Amarillis followed him. And then wee were of opinion, that fortune had done her worst against vs, since these two were dead that contraried vs most. But it fell not out so, by the mischiefe that the suite of Corebe went on so, that Alce, Hippolite, and Phocion would giue mee no rest; and yet it was not from them that our mischiefe came, though Corebe were in part a cause: for when hee came to make suite to mee, because hee was very rich, hee brought with him many shepheards, among whom was Semire, a shep­heard indeede repleate with good qualities, if he had not beene the most [Page 129] pērfidious and subtill fellow that euer was. As soone as hee cast his eye on me, he had a purpose to serue me, forgetting the friendship that Corebe bare him. And because Celadon and I, to cloke our amity, had layd a plot, as I told you, to dissemble; he, to make loue to al the shepheardesses, and I, to suffer indifferently the wooing of all sorts of shepheards: hee thought at first, that the good acceptance that I gaue him, was the bree­der of some greater affection; and he had not so soone knowne what was betweene Celadon and me, if (by mischance) he had not found my letters: For though, to his last losse, it was well knowne hee loued mee, yet there were few that thought I loued him, I carried my selfe so coldly since Ce­ladons last returne. And because the letters which Alcippe had found at the foote of the tree, cost vs deare, wee would no more rely on those we wrote our selues, but inuented a new trick which wee thought more assu­red. Celadon had fastened to a corner of his hat, on the inside, a little piece of felt, so cunningly, that he could hardly see it, and this was locked with a button on the out-side, where he fayned to bind vp the brimme of his hat: in that he put his letter, and making shew to play, either he cast me his hat, or I tooke it from him, or he let it lye; or fayning to runne or leap better, cast it on the ground, and so I tooke and returned the letter. I know not by what misfortune, one day, when I had one in my hand to giue him, running after a Wolfe which came neere my flocks, I let it fall, vnhappily for me, which Semire, that came after, took vp, and saw it was thus▪

After he had found this letter, he purposed to speake to me no more of Loue, vntill he had done some euill to Celadon, and began in this sort. In the first place, hee besought me to pardon him for being so rash, that hee durst raise his eyes on me, which my beauty compelled him to doe, but he [Page 130] well knew his smal merit, and therefore he protested to me, neuer to mis­take more, onely he desired me to forget his boldnesse. And after that, he made himselfe so great a friend & familiar to Celadon, that it seemed there was nothing which hee loued more; and to abuse mee the more, hee neuer met me, without finding some occasion to speake to the aduantage of my shepheard, couering his intent so cunningly, that no man would thinke, that he had any such designe.

These praises of the person whom I loued, as I told you, deceiued me so, that I took extreme pleasure to entertaine him, and so two or three mo­neths passed right happily for Celadon and me: but this was (as I beleeue) the more to make me feel that, which since I cease not, nor euer shall cease to bewaile. At this word, in place of speech, her tears represented her dis­pleasures to her cōpanions with such abundance, that neither the one nor the other durst open their mouth, fearing to increase her sorrow: for the more you labor by Reason, to dry the teares, the more they increase their springs. At last she began again thus: Alas, wise Diane, how can I remem­ber this accident & not die? From that time Semire was so familiar, both with Celadon and me, that for the most part, we were together. And when hee thought hee had gotten sufficient credit with mee, to perswade that which he meant to vndertake: One day, when he found me alone, after we had long talked of diuers treasons that the shepherds did to the shep­heardesses, whom they made shew to loue: But I wonder much, said he, that there bee so fewe shepheardesses that take heede to their deceits, though otherwise they be very circumspect. That is, answered I, for that Loue hath shut vp their eyes. Without fayning, replyed he, I beleeue so; for otherwise it were not possible, but you should know what they would doe to you: and then holding his peace, he seemed to prepare himselfe to say more, but as if he repented that he had told me so much, he beganne againe in this sort: Semire, Semire, what thinkest thou to doe? Seest thou not that shee delights in thy deceit? Why wilt thou trouble thy selfe?

And then addressing himselfe to me, he went on: I see well (faire A­strea) that my discourse hath brought you some displeasure. But par­don me, for that I haue bin compelled to it by the affection which I haue to your seruice. Semire (sayd I) I am bound to you for this good will; but I shall be much more, if you finish that which you haue begunne. Ah shepheardesse (said he) I haue told you too much; but, it may be, you shall (in time) know more of it, and then you shall judge, that (indeed) Semire is your seruant. Ah most malicious! how true hee seemed in his wicked promises! for I haue since knowne but too much; to leaue in mee onely [Page 131] the desire to liue. So it was, that at that time he would tell me no more, to make me the more desirous; and he thought it was time, one day when (according to custome) I pressed him to let me know the end of my con­tentment: and I coniured him by the power which I had sometimes ouer him, to tell me all that which he had begunne. He answered, Faire shep­heardesse, you so coniure me, that I hold it a great fault to disobey you: I would I had neuer begunne that discourse, which I foresee the end will bring you. And after I had assured him of the contrary, he had the skill so well to perswade me, that Celadon loued Aminthe the daughter of the sonne of Cleante; that Iealousie the ordinary companion of soules which loue dearely, beganne to perswade me, that it might be true: and this was a mischiefe extreme, that then I remembred not the commandement which I gaue him, to make shew of louing other shepheardesses. Not­withstanding, desirous to make an end, to dissemble my displeasure, I answered Semire, that I did neuer beleeue, nor would, that Celadon made particular choice of me before others; that if it seemed we vsed any fami­liarity, it was but by reason of the long acquaintance which we haue had together; but as for his loue-suites, they were indifferent. Now answe­red the crafty companion, I thanke God your humour is such: but since it is so, you cannot choose but take pleasure to heare the passionate dis­course which he had to his Aminthe. I protest to you (wise Diane) when I heard him name his Aminthe, I changed colour; and because he offred me to heare their words, me thought I was not to shunne the knowledge of the perfidiousnesse of Celadon, alas, more faithfull then I well aduised: and so I tooke his offer, and indeede hee fayled not in his promise. For, within a while after, he came running to me; and assuring mee, that hee left them close together, and that Celadon layd his head in Aminthes lap, who sate and rubbed his head, telling me the particulars, the more to torment me: I followed him so besides my selfe, that I remember neither the way I went, nor how neere he brought me to them; yet they percei­ued me not, because, as I haue iudged since, they cared not who heard, and therfore regarded not who hearkened. So it was, I found my selfe so neere, that I could heare Celadon say, Beleeue me (fayre shepheardesse) there is no beauty can be more liuely printed in a soule, then that which is in mine.

But Celadon (answerd Aminthe) how is it possible that an heart stirring as yours, can haue the hardinesse, to hold long that which loue can graue? Naughty shepheardesse (replyed my Celadon) let these reasons goe by, measure not me by your wand, nor weights of any other; honor me with your good graces, and you shall see if I will not preserue them as well in [Page 132] my soule, and as long as my life. Celadon, Celadon, (replyed Aminthe) you shall be wel punished, if your iest turne to earnest, and if the heauens (in my reuenge) make you loue this Aminthe, whom you now sport your selfe with. Hitherto there was nothing, but in some sort it might be bom. But O God! to faine what was the answer he gaue. I pray Loue, sayd he, (faire shepheard) if I mocke, that he cause the mockery to light on mee; if I haue deserued any grace from him, that he inflict on mee the punish­ment you threaten. Aminthe not able to iudge his intent by this discourse, answered him not but with a smile, and with a casting of her hand ouer her eyes, which I interpreted in my language, that she refused not, but that she beleeued his words for true: But that which touched me most to the quicke, was, that Celadon, after he had beene some-while without speech, fetcht a deepe sigh, which she accompanyed presently with ano­ther. And when the shepheard rose vp to speake to her, she layd her hand ouer her eies, & waxed red, as halfe ashamed, that this sigh had so escaped her: which was the cause that Celadon lying downe in his former place, a little after sung these verses:

After he had held his peace awhile, Aminthe sayd, And why, Celadon, doe you trouble your selfe so much? I feare, said he, rather to trouble her, whom in any sort I would not but please. And who is that, said she, since we are alone? Ah! that she had deceiued her selfe so: and it had been well [Page 133] for my part, as any other in the company. It is but you, answered Celadon, that I feare to importune, but if you command mee, I will goe forward. I dare not, replyed the shepheardesse, vse any commandement, where euen the payer is vndiscreete. You may vse, replied the shepheard, what termes please you, but in the end I am but your seruant. And then he began again in this sort:

Faire Diane, it was beyond my power to stay longer there, and so stea­ling softly from them, I returned to my flocke, so sad, that from that day I opened not my mouth. And because it was very late, I draue my sheepe into their folds, and passed a night, such as you may imagine: Alas! all this had beene nothing, if I had not ioyned thereto the folly, which I shall bewaile as long as I haue teares, neither know I who inueigled me: for if I had had any iudgement remaining in me, for this new iealousie, at the least, I might haue inquired of Celadon, what his purpose was, & thogh he would haue dissembled it, I shuld easily enough haue found out his fictiō. But without other consideration, the next morning, when hee came to looke me at my flock, I talked to him with such disdaine, that desperately he cast himselfe into that gulph, where drowning himselfe, he hath at one blow drowned all my contentment. At this word she grew pale like death; and had it not beene for Phillis, who raysed her vp, pulling her by the arme, shee had beene in danger of swouning.

The history of the deceit of Climanthe.

AFter wee were parted, and that you made me know, Galathee, Siluie, Leonide and the other Nymphes of Amasis, as well by sight as I vn­derstood [Page 137] before frō the discourse which you had made, I thought that one of the principall things which might serue our purpose, was to know how Lindamor would be apparelled at the day of his departure; for you know that Clidaman & G [...]yemantes were gone to seek out Meroue: Amasis com­manded Lindamor to follow with all the yong knights of that country, to the end that Clidaman might be made knowne to Meroue to be what hee was. And by mis-hap (it seemeth) that Lindamor had a purpose to keepe his cloathes more secret then he did before. So it was, that as I went spy­ing out some occasion, one euening as he was in the midst of the streete, I heard him command one of his followers to go to the taylor that made his cloaths, to bring him the garment which he had caused to be made a­gainst the day of shew, for that he would assay it: and because hee had ex­presly forbidden him, to let any one see it, he gaue him a ring for a token. I followed this man a far off, to know the lodging, and the morrow after in good time, knowing the name of the taylor, I entred boldly into his house, and told him I came from Lindamor, because Amasis pressed him to be gone, & that he feared those garments would not be made in time, & that I should not giue credit to that hee should say, but I should see them my selfe to tell him the truth. And then going on, I sayd, he would haue giuen me the ring you wote: but he sayd to me, it would be sufficient that I should tell you, that yester-night hee had sent for the garments, and markt the garments the best I could: and when I made shew of haste, he answered it was time enough, for that, that very day he had seene a letter of Amasis in the assembly of the towne, whereby she ordained they should put themselues in armes within fiue weekes, because that on the day which she had appointed, shee would haue the assembly in their towne to make the generall muster, which Lindamor and his troops were to make, to go to find Clidaman; and her wil was, that the next morning you should be receiued for Generall of this countrey in his absence. By this meanes I knew the day of Lindamors departure; and moreouer, that you were to stay in this country, which was an accident that fell out very luckily for our designe, thogh you were wel enough informed before. Following this, I drew aside into the great wood of Sarignieu, where, on the shore of the little riuer that rūs a-crosse, I made me a cabbinet of boughs, but so close, that many passed by without seeing it; and I concealed it, to the end that men might thinke that I had kept it long: for, as you know, no man knew mee in this country: and the better to shew that I had long stayed there, the leaues with which I couered this Lodge, had beene long dry, and [Page 138] then I tooke the great glasse which I had caused to be made, which I set on an Altar, which I raised of Hawes and Thornes, mingling them with some herbes, as Veruaine, Suckary, and such other. On the one side, I pla­ced the Guy, which I sayd to bee of Oke: on the other, the serpent of gold, which I fained to haue taken the sixt of the first moone, and in the midst, the sheet in which I gathered it: and beside al these, I hung the glasse in the darkest place, to the end my craft might be the lesse perceiued: and iust ouer-against it, but somewhat higher, I fitted the painted paper, where I had drawne so liuely the place which I meant to shew Galathee, that there was no body but might know it, and that those which were beneath, if they lifted vp their eyes, might not see it: on the side where I came in, I enterlaced boughs and leaues in such fort together, that it was impassable; and because, if they came on the other side, and turned to the contrary, without doubt they had espied my craft, I made round about a reasonable great hedge, where I placed the Censers on a row, and for­bade euery body to goe beyond them. Iust before the myrrour there was a table, whereon Hecathe was painted; and this table had the lower part of it wrought with steele, and, as you know, it hung by some horse haires, so slender, that by reason of the darkenesse of the place, there was none could perceiue thē: as soon as they were drawn away, the table falls, and with the weight strucke with the steele on a flint, so purposely placed, that it neuer fayled of striking fire. I had set in the same place a mixture of brimstone and Salt-Peter, which should take hold on the fire, in such sort, that it would raise a flame with such suddennesse, that there was not the man that was not much astonished. This I inuented, to make them be­leeue that it was either a diuinity, or an enchantment. So it was, that I found all this so well placed, that there was nothing to reforme. After all these things, I beganne to let my selfe be seene, but very rarely and sud­denly: When I perceiued any man sawe me, I drew to my Lodge, where I made shew to sustayne my life onely with rootes, but in the night I went three or foure miles off, in other habites, to buy me all things necessary.

Within some few dayes after, they tooke notice of me, and the bruite of my life was so great, that it came to the eares of Amasis, who came often to walke in those great gardens of Montbrison. And among others, one time when she was there, Sylore, Siluie, & Leonide, and diuers other of their companions, came walking along my little riuer, where, at that time, I made shew to gather herbs: as soone as I knew they perceiued me, I went a great pace to my cabbin: they that were curious to see mee, and talke with me, followed me to the great trees. I had by this time set me on my [Page 139] knees: But when I heard they approched, I came to the doore, where the first that I met with, was Leonide: and for that she was ready to enter, thru­sting her backe a little, I sayd to her very rudely, Leonide, the Diuinity which I serue, commands you not to profane his Altars. At these words she stept backe halfe amazed: for my habit of a Druyde made them giue me honour, and the name of the Diuinity gaue me feare, and after shee was assured, she said to me: The Altars of your God, whosoeuer he be, cannot be profaned by receiuing my vowes, since I come but to render the honor which heauen demands of vs. Heauen (answered I) demaunds, in­deed, vowes and honour, but not differing from that they ordaine: so that if the zeale of the Diuinity which I serue, hath brought you hither, then must you obserue that which it commaunds. And what is his commaun­dement, sayd Siluie? Siluie (sayd I) if you haue the same intent that your companion hath, doe you both that which I tell you, and then your vowes shall be pleasing to him. Before the Moone begin to wane, wash your right leg to the knee before day, and the arme to the elbow, within this riuer that runnes before this holy Caue: And then, the leg and arme being naked, come hither with a garland of Veruine, and a girdle of Suc­corie; after that I will tell you what you are to doe to be partakers of the sacred mysteries of this place, which I will open and declare to you. And then taking her by the hand, I sayd, Will you, for testimony of the graces wherewith the diuinity whom I serue, fauours me, that I tell you part of your life, and what shall befall you? Not I (sayd she) for I haue no such curiosity. But you, my companion (sayd she) (addressing her selfe to Le­onide) I haue seene you heretofore desirous to know it. Now satisfie your desire, I beseech you (sayd Leonide) presenting her hand to me. Then re­membring that that you told me of these Nymphes in particular, I tooke her hand, and asked her, if she were borne in the day or night; and know­ing that it was in the night, I tooke her left hand, and after I had some­time cōsiderd of it, I said, This line of life, clean, wel mark'd, & long, shews that you shall liue, from the diseases of your body, in good health: but this little crosse which is in the same line, almost at height of the angles, which hath two little lines aboue, and three beneath, and these three also which are at the end of the line of life towards the turning, shew in you the dis­eases which Loue shall giue you, which will hinder you from that health of spirit, which you haue of body. And those fiue or sixe points, which (like little graines) are sowed heere and there on the same line, make me iudge, that you neuer will hate them that loue you, but rather, that you delight to be beloued and serued.

[Page 140] Now marke this other line, which takes his root from that we haue al­ready spoken of; and passing through the middle of the hand, lifts it selfe against the mount of the Moone, they call it the naturall Meane: those cuttings that you see, which skant appeare, signifie that you are easily an­gry with them, ouer whom Loue giues you authority. And this little starre which turnes against the ground of the pulse, shewes that you are full of bounty and sweetenesse, and that quickly you will lose your choler.

But behold, this line which we call Mensale, that ioyneth with the meanes naturall (so that they two make one angle) this sheweth you shall haue diuers troubles in plotting for loue, which will make your life some-whiles vnpleasing; which I iudge the rather, considering that soone after the meane failes; and that meets with that of life, so that they seeme to be the angle of the Mensale and of the other; but this tells mee, that late or neuer you shall haue the conclusion of your desires. I would haue gone on, when she tooke away her hand, and sayd, this was not the thing she demaunded: for I speake too much in generall, but she would cleere­ly know what would become of a dossigne which she had. Then I answe­red her: The heauenly powers themselues onely know that which is to come: but onely that that by their bounty they giue knowledge of to their seruants, and that sometimes for the publike good, sometimes to satisfie the ardent supplication of them that often importune their Altars; and ma­ny times to shew, that nothing is hidden from them: and yet it is the part of a wise Interpreter, to tell nothing but what he thinketh necessary, because the secrets of the gods are not to be divulged without cause. I tell you this, that your curiosity might content it selfe, that I haue discour­sed with lesse cleerenesse then you desire; for, it is not necessary I should say otherwise vnto you. And that you may know that God is not so spa­ring of his graces, but that he talketh familiarly with me: I will tell you the things which haue befalne you, by which you may iudge how much I know.

In the first place (fayre Nymphs) you know, I neuer sawe you before, and yet at the first meeting, I called you all by your names; which I did, for that I am willing you should thinke mee to know more then the com­mon sort, not to the end that any glory should befall me (that were too great a presumption) but to the Deity which I serue in this place. Now you must beleeue, that all that I shall say to you, I haue learned from the same Master: and in this I lyed not, for it was you, Polemas, that told mee it: but because (continued I) it may be, the particularities will make me o [...]ex-long, it will not be amisse to place our selues vnder these n [...]ror [Page 141] trees. At this word we went, and then I began againe in this sort. Truly (interrupted Polema [...]) you could not carry this beginning with more a [...]te. You will iudge (answered Climanthe) that the proceeding was with no lesse wisedome. I began my speech then in this sort:

Faire Nymph, It may be about three yeeres, that the gentle Agis in a full assembly, was giuen you for seruant, at the beginning you were indif­ferent, for till then, the young yeeres of you both, was the cause that your hearts were not capable of the passions which Loue conce [...]ued: but since that, your beauty in him, and his suite in you, began to kindle, by little & little, these fires, whereof Nature gaue the first sparkes in vs at the houre of our birth, so that that which was indifferent, became particular to you both, and Loue in the end formed it selfe, and was borne in his soule, with all the passions which vsually accompany it, and in you a good wil, which made you like better of his affection and seruices, then of any other. The first time that in earnest he made his ouerture, was, when Amasis going to walke in the faire gardens of Montbrison, hee tooke you vnder the arme, & after he had stayed some while without speech, he told you at last, Faire Nymph, it is not for nothing that I dispute in myselfe, whether I should, or whether I should not declare that which I haue in my soule; for to dis­semble, may bee allowed in that which may sometimes bee changed: but that which constraines mee to speake at this time, shall accompany me euen to my Tombe. Here I stayed, and sayd to her, Will you haue me repeat (Leonide) the same words which you answered? Without lie, then (said Polemas) you put your selfe into great hazard of being discouered. Not a whit (answered Climanthe) and to giue you proofe of perfection of my memory, I will tell you the very words. But (replyed Polemas) what if I had forgot to tel them you? Oh (adioyned Climanthe) I doubt not of that: but so it is, that the subiect of the words was that that you told me, & she her selfe doth not remēber the words thēselues: so that out of the opinion that it was a god that had told me, she beleeued they were the very same. If you had not [...] so famil [...]ar with her, as your secre [...] affectiō made you, I had not so easily vnder taken it: but remembring that you had told mee that you had serued her long, and that seruice was well accepted of, till the time that you changed affection, and that you are become the ser­uant of Galathee: and namely, that that was the cause, that to do you a dis­pleasure, she held on Lind [...]ors part against you. I boldly told her all that had passed at that time, knowing, Loue would not suffer that one should conceale any thing, from the person whom they loue. But to come againe to our purpose, she answered, I am willing you shuld say what you please, [Page 142] but we will beleeue what we list. This she said, as beeing a little pricked with that which shee would should haue beene concealed from her com­panions. I went on: Well, Leonide, you may beleeue what you please, for I assure my selfe, that I haue said nothing, which in your soule you haue not found for true. You answered him as seeming not to vnderstand what he would say. You haue reason, Agis, not to hide by dissimulation, that which must accompany you so long as you liue; otherwise it beeing impossible but it must be discouered, you shall be taken for a double per­son, a name which is honourable to no sort of people, but much lesse to them who make the profession that you doe. This counsell then (answe­red hee) and my passion, constraine mee to tell you (faire Nymph) that neither the inequality of your merits to me, nor the small good will which I haue found in you, could not hinder my affection nor my boldnesse, that they haue not raysed me vp to you, so that if not the quality of the gift, but the will is to be receiued, I may say with assurance, that none can of­fer you a greater sacrifice: for that heart which I giue you, I giue with all the affections, and with all the powers of my soule: and so all that, which after this deuotion is not found to be yours, I disauow and renounce it as not appertaining to me.

The conclusion was that you answered, Agis, I will beleeue these words, when the time and your seruices shall haue told me them, as well as your mouth. See the first declaration of amity which you had of him, whereof afterwards he gaue you such proofe, as well by sute hee made to marry you, as by the quarrells which he had against many, whom hee was iealous of. It was at that time, that when you would haue frizeled your haire, you burnt your cheeke, whereupon he made this verse.

And to make it appeare to you, that I truely know these things by a diuinity which canot lie, whose eie & eare perceth euen to the depth of the heart, I will tell you a thing on this subiect, that no man could know but you and Agis. She was afraid I would discouer some secret which would anger he [...]; and it was my purpose to giue her that apprehension: and that was the cause that she sayd to me (much disquieted) Man of God, though I beleeue not but that you and others may say that on this subiect which imports me, yet this discourse is so sensible, that it will bee hard to handle it with so gentle an hand, but the wound will bleed: therefore I beseech you to make an end. She vttered these words with such a change of coun­tenance, and a voyce so broken, that for her better assurance, I was con­strained to say, You are not to thinke me of so small a consideration, that I know not how to conceale that which may offend you; nor that I am ig­norant, that the least wounds are sensible enough in that part which I touch; for it is to the heart that all these strokes are directed: but be­cause you will know no more, I will hold my peace. And it is time that I goe to the Diuinity that calls me. And at that instant I arose, and gaue them the good day. Then after I had made some shewes of ceremonies o­uer the riuer, I sayd very loud; O soueraigne Deity! which abidest in [Page 144] this place, behold, how with this water I cleanse my selfe, and vncloath me of all the prophanenesse which the conuersing among men might leaue in me, since I came out of thy holy Temple. At these words I dipped my hands thrice into the water: and then taking vp in the hollow of the one, I receiued it thrice into my mouth, my eyes and hands lifted vp to hea­uen, and so went to my Cabbin without speaking to them, and because I doubted they had the curiosity to come see what I did, I went before the Altar, where making a shew to cast my selfe on the ground, I drew out the horse haires, which taking their effect, let the little steele table that stood before the glasse, fall, which fell so to purpose on the flint, that it strucke fire, and instantly tooke hold on the composition which was vn­der it, so that the flame burst forth so suddainely, that the Nymphs which were at the doore, seeing at the first the Mirrour glister, and presently the fire so suddaine and violent, tooke such a feare, that they returned with great opinion both of my holinesse, & of the respect to the diuinity which I serue. Could this beginning bee better carried then it was? No cer­tainly (answered Polemas) and I thinke well, for my part, that euery body which had not knowne of it before, might be easily deceiued.

While Climanthe talked thus, Leonide harkened to it, so rauished from her selfe, that she knew not whether she slept or waked: for she saw well, that all that he told her, was very true, yet could she not well beleeue that it was so; and while she disputed in her selfe, she heard Climanthe beginne againe. Now these Nymphs went away, and I could not know what re­port they would giue of me, yet by coniecture, there was no likeli-hood, but they: would tell to euery one the admirable things which they had seene, and as renowne increases alwaies, the Court was full of nothing but of me. And at that time I had much adoe to continue my enterprise, for an infinite company came to see mee; some of curiosity, others to be in­structed, and many to know, if that which they talked of me was so: And I was driuen to vse great cunning. Sometimes to auoyd them, I gaue out that that day was a mute day for the Deity that I serued; another time, that some body had displeased it, and that it would not answer vntill I had appeased it by fasting: another time, I set downe conditions for the ceremonies which I caused to vse, which they could not performe with­out some good time: and sometimes when all was finished, I found mat­ter to say, that either they had not well obserued all, or that they had done too much or too little; and so I made them begin againe, and went winning time. As for them whom I knew any thing by, I dispatched them quickly, and that was the cause, that others desirous to know as [Page 145] much as the former, submitted themselues to what I would. Now du­ring that time, Amasis came to see mee▪ and with her Galathee. After I had satisfied Amasis about that which shee de maunded, which was in summe, to know what the voyage should be that Clidaman had vn­dertaken, and I had told her, that he should runne an happy fortune, that hee should be wounded, and be in three battels with the Prince of France, but that in the end, he should returne with all sort of honour and glorie: she went from me wonderfully contented, and desired mee to commend her sonne to the Deity which I serued. But Galathee much more curious then her mother, drawing me aside, said; Father, bind me, intelling me, what you know of my fortune. Then I said, she should shew me her hand: I stood looking on it some-while, and made her scratch thrice vpon the ground: and hauing set the left foote forward, I turned her towards the East, and there made her looke vpward. I took the measure of her foote, and of her hand; after that, the compasse of her necke: and with that mea­sure I measured the girdle, in height: and in the end, looking at once on both her hands, I said, Galathee, you are happy, if you knew your houre, & thrice-happy, if you let it not passe, either out of coldnes, or for loue, or wāt of courage. But if you make not your self incapable of that good whereto heauen hath destinated you, you can not wish to attaine to more happi­nesse, and all that good, or all that euill is prepared you by loue. Be ad­uised then to take firme resolution, not to suffer your selfe to be intangled with the perswasions of Loue, nor the counsell of friends, nor commande­ment of parents; which vnlesse you do, I thinke there is not any thing vn­der heauen so miserable as you shalbe. O God! said Galathee, you amaze me.

Be not amazed, said I: for that which I tell you, is but to your good, and that you may carry your selfe with all wisedome, I will discouer vn­to you all that the Diuinity that instructed me shal permit; but remember to keepe it so secret, that you trust no liuing creature with it. After shee had promised mee, I continued in this sort: Daughter, for the office whereunto the gods haue called mee (suffer me so to name you) you are, and shall be serued of many great and worthy Knights, whose ver­tues and merits may diuersly excite and mooue you; but if you shall measure your affection, either by your merites, or by the iudgement you shall haue of their loue and fauour, and not according to that that I shall declare vnto you, you fill your selfe as full of misfortune, as any creature out of the graces and fauours of the gods may in any wise bee. For I which am the Interpreter of their will and pleasure, in telling you [Page 146] this, I take from you all excuse of igaorance, so that now you are disobe­dient to them, if you doe contrary; and you know, that the heauens rather demaund obedience and submission, rather then any other sacrifice: and therefore bethinke your selfe well of what I am to tell you. That day that the Bacchanals runne thorow the streets raging and storming, full of the Euthusiasme of their god, you must be in the towne of Marseilles, where many gallant Knights shall see you. But take good heede to him that is clothed with cloth of gold, and greene, and whose whole suite shall be of that colour: if you loue him, I henceforth bewayle your misfortune, and you cannot say other, but that you shall be the marke of all disasters, and of all misfortune, for you shall then feele that which I may not tell you. Father, answered she (somewhat astonished) I know a good remedy for this, not to loue at all. My childe (replied I) this remedy is very dange­rous, for that, not onely you may displease the gods, in doing that which they will not, but also, in not doing that which they will. Therefore take heede to your selfe. And how (replied she) must I behaue my selfe? I haue told you heeretofore (answered I) what you ought not to doe: at this time I will tell you what you ought to do.

It is necessary in the first place, that you know that all things corporall or spiritual, haue euery one their contraries, and their sympathisants, from the least we may come to the proofe of the greatest: but for the know­ledge which you ought to haue, this discourse may be vnprofitable; and, this that I say to you, is to no other end, but to cause you giue the better heed, that as you haue this misfortune contrary to your happinesse, so haue you a destiny so capable of making you happy, that your felicity can not be expressed; and in this the gods will recompence that, to which they haue subiected you. Since it is so (answered she) I coniure you, fa­ther, by the Diuinity which you serue, to tell me what it is. It is (sayd I) another man, whom if you espouse, you shall liue with all the happinesse that a mortall may haue. And who is he? Presently answered Galathee: Fayre Nymph, that which I speake, commeth not from my selfe, but from Hecate, whom I serue. So that if I say no more, thinke not it commeth from want of will, but it is because she hath not, as yet, discouered it vnto me.

But if you haue a longing, obserue the things that I shall tell you, and you shall know what shall be necessary. For though the gods do good to men that please them liberally; yet will they be knowne to be gods, and the sacrifices of mortals delight them as acknowledgements which they giue, not to be vnthanke [...]ull for the benefits receiued. After some other [Page 147] talke, this Nymph, being much prouoked, sayd vnto me, that she desired no more, and that shee would obserue all that which I should ordayne. Now is time, at this instant (sayd I) for the Moone is at the full, or little wanting; and if you suffer it to wane, you can doe no more. And then I gaue her the same commaundement, which I had done before to Siluie and Leonide, to wash before day in the next riuer, the legge and the arme, and to come in that sort, with a garland of Veruine, and a girdle of Suc­cory, before this caue, and that I would prepare things necessary for the sacrifice: but there must be care that those which be present, be in other state then she. Well, said she, I will come with two of my Nymphs, and that so secretly, that no man shall know of it; but take heed you speake not before them, so that they take knowledge of this affaire, for they will labour to diuert me. I was much eased at this aduertisement, hauing had the same feare; so that seeing her to haue such prouidence, I iudged she had a purpose to follow my aduice, otherwise she would neuer haue bene so carefull. Then went she away, with assurance to returne the third day after. Now that which made me say, that it must be before the Moone wane, was, that if any others came to importune me in the like things, I might finde excuse by the wane of the Moone, and so I said, it must be be­fore day, that there might be the fewer persons: and for the day of Bac­chanals, I made account, that it would be the day when Lindamor was to take his leaue of Amasis at Marsellis, and consequently, of her, and that he should be clad in greene. Now all these things thus resolued and prepared, I gaue order to prouide that which should be needfull for the sacrifice which we were to make the third day. For though I knew not that my­stery very well, yet must I make my selfe seeme expert therein, that they that were better acquainted with it, might find nothing to gaine-say. You know, that from the beginning we had made our preparation, and we had giuen order to prouide all that was necessary.

The morning being come, the day beganne scarce to peepe, before I found her in state I ordayned her with Siluie and Leonide, and without fiction, I wished then, that you had bene there, to haue enioyed content­ment, to behold that faire, whose haire (at the pleasure of the winde) hung wauing about vncouered; but with a Garland of Veruine you should haue seene that arme naked, and that legge white like Alabaster, all full & polished, so that there was no apparance of bone; the thigh, long and streight, the foote small and fine, which shamē those of Thetis. I must tell you true, I delayed the time the more, that I might the better behold those beauties; so that I told them that they were to perfume all [Page 148] their body with Incense, mixed with brimstone, that the visions and dei­ties of Stix might not offend them, and shewed them a fit place for that purpose, some what remoued aside, where they could hardly be seene.

Vpon the winding of the next hill, whose feete this little riuer waters, there groweth a Boxe tree, spreading branch vpon branch, with diuers leaues, whose twigges hauing neuer beene rounded with any toole, be­cause that wood is dedicated to Diane, the one reaching and shaddowing the one the other; so that hardly can the Sunne pierce thorow, either at his rising or setting, and at noone, a kinde of twi-light compasseth it or­dinarily.

This place thus fit, encouraged them, but much more the curiosity of knowing what they desired. Then after they had taken the perfumes ne­cessary, they went to vncloath themselues all three. And I, which well knew the place, stepping ouer the riuer, came on the other side where they were, and had the commodity to see them naked. Without faining, I ne­uer in my life saw any thing so beautifull: but among all, I found Leonide admirable, what for the proportion of her body, what for the whitenesse of her skinne, or soundnesse of complexion, she surpassed them much, so as I condemned you as a man vnexpert in beauties, for leauing her for Ga­lathee, who in truth hath some good fauour in her face; but for the rest, so poorly sorting with that she would seeme, that in reason she may call her selfe an abuser. O God, Climanthe, then (said Polemas) who can heare one speake thus of her he loues▪ If you will please me, leaue these [...]es, and hold on your discou [...]se, for there is great difference, if you compare Leoni­des face with Galathees. In that (said Climanthe) you may haue some reasō, but beleeue me that know it by sight, the face of Leonide is that which is least beautifull in all her body. Then would I counsell her (said Polemas, all in choler) to hide her face, and to shew what she hath more beautifull. But see you, you had your eyes so troubled with the darken [...]sse of the place, and your minde so wholly on your enterprise, that hardly can you shew any good iudgement. But let this goe by, and on with your dis­course, I pray you. Leonide, that heard all this talke, seeing with what dis­dame Polemas spake of her, grew so much displeased with him, that neuer since she could pardon him: and on the contrary, though shee wished euill to the impostures of Climanthe, yet loued she him in some sort, when shee heard him praise her: for there is nothing that more wins a maid, then the commendation of her beauty, and especially, when she is out of suspi­cion of slattery▪ While she was in these thoughts, shee heard him goe on thus: Now these three faire Nymphs carne backe to mee, and found mee [Page 149] before my Caue, where I made a ditch for the Sacrifice: for that presently when they beganne to cloath themselues, I returned and had the leasure to make a good party. I digged a trench some foure foote about, and then I made three fires about it, with Incense of Smallage and Poppey, and with a Censer I perfumed the place three times about, and as often my Cabbin; and then I couered the body with Veruine, and made euery one of them a Crowne of Poppeys, and put in their mouth some salt, which I made them chew. Afterwards, I tooke three black Heyfers, and the fairest that I could choose, which had neuer beene knowne of the Ram, whose haire black and long was like silke, it was so soft and pleasant: I draue these beasts, without felling, to the ditch, where turning me to the East side, I took hold on them on the head with my left hand, and with my right, I tooke the haire which grew betweene the hornes, and put it into the Cruze, mingling it together with milke, flowre, wine, and honey; and after I had foure times called Hecate, I thrust the knife into the heart of the Beasts, one after another, and saued the blood in a basm; and then cal­ling againe on Hecate, I powred it by little and little. Then thinking there remained nothing to doe more, I raysed my selfe on tip-toe, and doing like one transported, I said to the Nymphs, It is time, and taking Gala­thee by the hand, we entered all foure in. I was made gastly, I looked sta­ring, mine eyes rowling in my head, my mouth gaping, and my body sha­king with the holy Eutheusiasme. Being neere the Altar, I said, O holy Deity, which abidest in this place, grant mee, that I may answere this Nymph truely, about that which she demands. The place was darke, and there was no light, but that which two little candles gaue, which were [...] on the Altar; and the morning, which by this time was cleere, gaue a little light to the painted paper, that it might be the better repre­sented in the Looking-glasse. After I had said some words, I fell on the ground, and hol [...]ing downe my head some while, I raysed it, and turning to Galathee, I said, Nymph, beloued of heauen, d [...]y [...] and thy sacrifi­ces are receiued; the Deity which we haue called on, w [...]ls, that by sight, and not onely by the eare, thou shouldest know where thou art to finde thy good. Come neere this Altar, and say after me, O great Hecate, which art resiant at the Lake of Stix, let the dog with three heads not barke at thee, when thou descendest; so let these Altars alwaies s [...]oake with pleasing Sacrifices, as I promise euery yeere to charge them with the like, prouided, great Goddesse, that by thee I may see that which I desire.

At this last word I touched the horse haire, wherewith the little table [...]ung, which falling, and nothing hindering it from striking on the flint, [Page 150] made the fire accustomed, with a flame so quicke, that Galathee was sur­prised with feare. But I held her, and sayd; Nymph, be not afraid, this is Hecate, who shewes you that which you demaund. Then the smoke, by little and little, vanishing, the Looking-glasse might be seene, but somewhat troubled with the darknes of the smoke, which was the cause, that taking a wet spunge which hung by for that purpose vpon a Cane, I wiped twice or thrice on the Glasse, which made it cleere; and by for­tune, the Sunne rose at that time, shining so fitly on the painted paper, that it shewed so liuely in the Glasse, as I could wish. After they had be­held it some-while, I sayd to Galathee: Remember (Nymph) that Hecate makes thee know by me, that in that place which thou feest represented in this myrrour, thou shalt finde a Diamond halfe lost, which a faire and ouer-scornefull hath dis-esteemed, thinking it to be false, and yet it is of inestimable valew: take it, and keepe it curiously.

Now this riuer is Lignon, this is Sanlag which is there, this is the coast of Mont-verdun, vnder that hill, where it seemed the riuer had his course heretofore. Marke well the place, and remember it. Afterwards, leading the Nymph aside, I sayd: My childe, you haue (as I haue told you) an influence infinitely malicious, and another most fortunate as one would wish; the malicious I haue told, keepe you from it, if you loue your con­tentment. The good is that which you see in this Glasse: marke then well the place which I haue caused you to see: and that you may the better remember it, after I haue done speaking to you, returne to see it, and note it well: for the day that the Moone shall be in the same state that it is in now, about this very houre, or a little sooner or later, you shall find him whom you ought to loue. If he see you before you see him, he shall loue you, but hardly shall you loue him: on the contrary, if you see him first▪ he shall haue somewhat to doe to loue you, and you shall presently loue him. Now must you, by your wisedome, ouercome this contrariety; re­solue then, both to vanquish your selfe, and him (if need be,) for without doubt, in time, you shall hit on him: if you find him not the first time, re­turne the next Moone after at the same day, about the same houre; and do so the third time, if you meete him not at the second. Hecate will not make the day certaine to me.

It pleaseth the gods to mixe paine in that they giue vs, that obedience which herein we render them, may witnesse how we esteeme them. Then taking a little sticke, I came to the looking glasse, and pointed with it to euery place. Behold (sayd I) the mountaine of Isoure, see the Mont-uer­dun, see the riuer of Lignon. Here see you a lake on the shore of it there, [Page 151] and a little lower la Pra: you may well remember it, hauing passed often that way as you hunted. Now, Nymph, Hecate sends you word by me, that if you obserue not that which she sets down to you, as you haue pro­mised her, she wil augment the mis-fortune which the Destinies threaten. And then a little changing my voyce, I sayd, And I am right glad, that before my departure I haue bin so happy too, as to giue you this aduice: for though I be not of this country, yet so it is, that your vertue, and your piety to the gods, haue bound mee to loue you, and to beseech Hecate that she would preserue and make you happy; and by this you may see I am wholy belonging to that goddesse, since she, hauing commanded mee to departhence, to morrow without gaine-saying I am resolued, and bid you adeiu. At this word I led them out of my cabbin, & taking from them the herbes I had set about them, I burnt them in the fire, which as yet was flaming, and then withdrew my selfe.

I will now tell you, why I said, It was at the full moone, for you were angry that I gaue her so long terme: I did it, to the end that Lindamor might bee gone before shee went, there being no likelihood that Amasis would suffer her before: and then, you that were to take the charge of all the Prouince, must haue some time to stay about Amasis, after the going away of all the knights, to beginne to set things in order; whereas if so presently you should haue gone to hunt, euery one might haue murmured: for you know how much a man that deales in matters of state, is subiect to enuie and slander. I gaue three moones after, to the end that if you falle one day, you might be there another. I told her, that if shee saw you first, that shee should easily fall in loue with you; that if it were you, it should be otherwise: and that only, because I knew well that you should see her first: so that she should find this difficulty of Loue true in her selfe; for as you know, she loued Lindamor. I told her I must bee gone the next day, that she should not thinke it strange, if she came to seeke me out for some curiosity: for hauing performed that which wee resolue on, I had reason to make haste, that I might not bee knowne of any Druide, who would haue caused me to bee punished, and you know well, that hath al­wayes bene my feare. Thinke you, I haue forgot any thing? No certaine­ly, sayd Polemas: but what might that be, that hath kept her backe so long time? For my part (sayd Climanthe) I know not, except it bee, for that shee hath mis-taken the daies of the moone: but since no businesse presses you, and you may yet stay here the time that I haue set her, I would aduise you to do it, and euery morning two dayes before, and after, you faile not to goe in good time; for it is true, that the first day wee were too late. And [Page 152] what will you (sayd Polemas) that I should do? The losse of the shepheard that drowned himselfe, was the cause: and you know, the shore of the riuer was so full of folke, that I could not stay there alone without suspicion: but wee haue not foreslowed much, and there is no likelihood that shee was there that day: for I assure my selfe, that the same occasion which hin­dred me, hath likewise stayd her, lest she shuld be seen. You shal neuer per­swade mee so, (replied Climanthe) shee was too desirous to obserue that which I appointed. But it seemes to be time to rise that you may be gone: and then opening the windowes, he saw the day breake. Without doubt (sayd he) before you be at the place where you shuld be, the houre will be past: make haste; for it is better to haue many houres to spare, thē a momēt too short. And will you (sayd Polemas) that wee go now, being more then 15. dayes since the time is past? It may be, she hath reckoned wrong: let vs not faile to finde her. Leonide, who feared to be seene either of Polemas or Climanthe, durst not rise before they were gone: and that shee might know the face of Climanthe, when it was day, she beheld him so, that shee thought it impossible hee could disguise himselfe to her: and as soone as she saw they were out of the house, she dressed her selfe, and hauing taken leaue of her hoast, held on her voiage so confused in her selfe, at the mali­cious impostures of these two persons, that she thoght any other might as well bee deceiued as shee: so it was, that the small esteeme which Polemas made of her beauty, strucke her so to the quicke, that she resolued to pre­uent his malice with her wisedome, and to worke so, that Lindamor, in his absence, might not feele the effects of this treason, which she thought she could not better do, then by the meane of her vncle Adamas, to whom she had a purpose to declare all that she knew. In this resolution she ha­sted to go to Feurs, where she thought to find him, but she came too late: for that morning hee was gone home-wards, hauing the day before dis­patched that which belonged to the sacrifice. And the Sun began to wax hot, by that time he came into the plaine of Mont-Verdun: and because on the left hand he perceiued a tuft of trees, which as he thoght, gaue a loue­ly shaddow, hee turned his step thither to rest himselfe a little. As soone as hee was there, hee spied afar off a shepheard comming, that seemed to seeke out that place for the same cause that brought him: and because hee seemed to bee very sad when hee came, lest hee might draw him from his thought, hee would not salute him, but without shewing himselfe to him, he would harken what he went talking to himselfe: and shortly after he was set down on the other side of the bush, he heard him vse these words, And why should I loue this fleeter? In the first place her beauty cannot [Page 153] constraine me: for it is not enough to giue her the name of faire, and then her merits are not such, as if they be not ayded with other considerations, may hold an honest man in her seruice: and lastly, her loue, which was all that bound me to her, is so changeable, that if she haue any impression of loue in her hart, I think, it be not only of wax, but of wax newly wrought, she so easily takes the figures of al nouelties; and it is like her eyes, that re­ceiue the figures of all that is represented to them, but lose them, as soone as the obiect is no more before them, that is, I loue her, I must avow, it is because I thinke shee loues mee: but if it be not so, I excuse her, for I know well, she thinks she loues me. This shepheard had gone on, but a shep­heardesse by fortune came to him, who seemed to haue followed him a­far off; and though shee heard some words of her selfe, yet made she no shew, but now contrary sitting downe by him, shee sayd, Well, Corilas, what new care is this that makes you so sad? The shepheard answered her as disdainefully as hee could, without turning his head on that side: It is that which makes me search, with what new deceit you will beare them, whom from this time you shall beginne to loue. And why, sayd the shepheardesse, can you beleeue that I affect any other then you? And you, sayd the shepheard, can you beleeue that I thinke you affect me? What thinke you then of me, sayd the shepheardesse? All the worst (answered Corilas) that you can beleeue from a man whom you hate. You haue (ad­ded she) strange opinions of me. And you (said Corilas) strange effects in you. O God (sayd the shepheardesse) what a man haue I found in you? It is I (answered the shepheard) that with more reason may retort it on you, Stelle, what a woman haue I found: for there is nothing more capable of loue thē you, you, I say, who take no delite but to deceiue those that trust in you, and who imitate the huntsman, who pursueth the beast with such care, whose heart afterwards he giues to his dogs. You haue, said shee, so small reason in that you say, as he should haue lesse that will stay to an­swere you. I would to God (said the shepheard) I might alwayes haue as much in my soule, as I haue now in my words; I should not haue that sor­row that afflicts me. And after they had both held their peace awhile, she raised her voyce, and spake, singing to him in this sort, & he likewise, that she might not want answer, replied.

A Dialogue betweene Stelle and Corilas.

The shepheardesse seeing hee stood not without reply to her demands, leauing to sing, said: And why, Corilas, is there no more hope in you? No more (said he) then faithfulnesse in you; and thinke not that your fained nor fayre words can change my resolution. I am too much grounded in [Page 156] this opinion, so that it is in vaine for you to try your armes against mee, they are too feeble, I feare their blowes no more: I counsell you to proue them on others, whose knowledge may make them misprize them as I haue done. It cannot be but you shall finde some, whom the heauens (to punish some secret fault) haue ordained to loue you, and they shall be the more pleasing to you, for that nouelty delights you aboue all things. At this bout, the shepheardesse was stung in earnest: but fayning to turne the offence into laughter, she said as she was going away, I make good sport, Corilas, both at your selfe and your choler, we shall see you shortly in your good humour. In the meane time, be content that I patiently suffer your fault, which you cast on me. I know (replyed the shepheard) it is your custome to make sport with them that loue you. But if the humor which I haue, last, I assure you, you may longer play vpon me, then on a man that shall loue you. So parted these two enemies; and Adamas, who had heard them, hauing knowledge by their names, of the families of which they were, was desirous to know more of their affaires: and calling Co­rilas by his name, made him turne to him: and because the shepheard see­med to be astonished at this surprize, for the respect which is had to the habite and quality of a Druyde, that he might be more assured, he cau­sed him to sit downe by him, and then talked thus vnto him: My childe, (for so I may call you) for the loue I haue alwayes borne to them of your family, there is no cause you should be sorry for your speaking so freely to Stelle before me. I am glad that I haue seene your wisedome: but I de­sire to know more, that I may the better counsell you in this affaire, that thereby you may commit no errour. And for me, I know not that there should be any difficulty, since the lawes of coiuility and curtesie do more binde me (it may be) then you may imagine. As soone as Corilas had the sight of the Druyde, he knew him well, hauing often seene him at diuers sacrifices; but hauing neuer spoken to him, he had not the boldnesse to tell thorowout what had passed between Stelle and him, though he much desired, that euery one might know the iustice of his cause, and the vn­faithfulnes of this shepheardesse: which Adamas perceiuing, that he might encourage him, gaue him to vnderstand, that he knew a good part already, and that many had reported it to his wrong, which hee heard with no great pleasure, for the loue he had alwaies borne to his. It will (said Co­rilas) be losse of time for you to heare the particularities of our villages. So far is it (replied he:) it shalbe a great satisfaction, to know that you haue not beene wronged; and besides, I meane to passe away some part of the heate here, and so the time may be employed.

The History of Stelle and Corilas.

SInce you command it so (said the shepheard) I must beginne my dis­course somewhat higher. It is a good while since Stelle remained the widdow of an husband whom the heauens had giuen her, rather for name sake, thē effect; for besides that he was sickly, his age, which drew neer to 75. yeeres, so weakened his forces, that it constrained him to leaue this young widdow, almost before she was truely married: the loue she bare him, wrought in her no great feeling of his losse, no more did her humor, which was neuer wonted to take neere to heart, the accidents that befell her. Remaining then well satisfied in her selfe, so see her selfe freed at one blow, of two so heauy burthens; to wit, the importunity of an angry hus­band, & the autority which her parēts accustomed to haue ouer her, pre­sently she thrust her selfe in good earnest, into the world: and though her beauty such as you see, bee not of that sort that may tempt men to loue her, yet her behauiour, for the most part, displeased not them that saw her. She might be about 17. or 18. yeeres: an age fit enough to commit many follies when they be at liberty. This was the cause, that Saliam her brother, an honest and wise shepheard, and one of the best friends I had, not able to indure her licentious and vsuall behauiour, that he might de­priue her of such occasions, resolued to send her farre from her Hamlet, and place her in such company, where shee might passe her more dange­rous age without reproach. For effecting this, he prayed Cleanthe to like well, that she might be a companion to his little daughter, Aminthe, be­cause they were about an age, though Stelle were some deale older. And because Cleantho liked well of it, they began a life so priuate and so fami­liar, that these two shepheardesses were neuer the one without the other, many wondring, that being so differing in humor; they could be so strait­ly ioyned; but the sweete behauiour of Aminthe, and the supple nature of Stelle, caused it, and so Aminthe neuer withstood the deliberations of her companion, and Stelle neuer found euill in what▪ Aminthe willed. In this sort they liued with such priuacy, that there was nothing hidden be­tweene them. But at last, Lisis, the sonne of shepheard Genetian, leauing the frosty places of Mount-Lune, descended into our plaines, where ha­uing seen her in a general assembly, which was had at the Tēple of Venus, iust ouer-against Mount-Su [...], then when Astrea got the prize for beauty: he grew so amorous of her, that I cannot tell whether he be in his graue; and she found him so to her liking, that after many voyages, and many [Page 158] messages, their affections were so forward, that Lisis beganne to talke of marriage, where to shee made as good an answer as he could desire. In this space Saliam was constrained to make a long iourney, so that hee knew nothing of this treaty: besides that, shee had now taken so great authority ouer herselfe, that she would impart none of her affairs to him. On the other side, Aminthe seeing her so soon resolued on this marriage, many times asked her, if it were in good earnest, and it seemed fit, in a mat­ter of so great importance, to be well aduised. Trouble not your selfe, said she, I will easily dispatch this businesse. Hereupon Lisis, who serued with great eagernesse, set downe a day assigned, to make the assembly, and put himselfe to the expences vsuall in such occasions, holding his marriage most assured: but the accustomed humour of many women, to make no man master of their liberty, letted her from going on with her former purpose, which shee endeuoured to breake, by demands most vnreasona­ble, that shee thought the parents and friends of Lisis would neuer giue their consent. But the loue which he bare her, being stronger then all difficulties, she was (in the end) constrained to breake it, without other cloke, then the smalnesse of her good will. If Lisis were offended, you may iudge, receiuing so great a wrong: yet could he not driue away this loue, but he would be the conquerour. And, I remember, that vpon this discourse he made these verses, which since (when we were friends) hee gaue me.

That which caused this change in Stelle, was a new affection, which the wrong of a shepheard called Semire, bred in her soule, whereof Lisis was the last that knew it, because she kept it rather from him then any other. This shepheard, amongst all the men that euer I sawe, is the greatest dis­sembler, and most crafty, otherwise an honest man, and a person that had many louely parts in him, which gaue occasion to this shepheardesse to refuse (contrary to promise) the alliance of Lisis, setting that in place of a fauour to her new louer, who yet triumphed not long in this victorie. For it fell out, that L [...]pander making an affembly for the marriage of his daughter Olymp [...], Lisis and Stelle were called thither: and because wee were neere of kinne, Olympe and I, I would not fayle to be there. I know not if it were the reuenge of loue, or the inconstant nature of the shep­heardesse, by her vncertaine carriage, brought it about where she was party: so it was, that as soone as she sawe Lisis againe, she tooke a fancie to recall him: and to effect it, forgot none of those allurements, wherein Nature had beene vnwisely prodigall vnto her. The displeased courage of the shepheard gaue him armour enough, not to loue her, but onely to hide his affection.

In the end, towards euening, that euery one is busied, either in dan­cing, or in entertaining the person he likes best of, she followed him in such sort, that thrusting him against a window, from which he could not honestly escape, he was constrayned to sustaine the forces of his enemie. On the other side, Semire, who had alwayes his eye on her, hauing marked the pursuites that she made all that euening to this shepheard, following the nature of euery louer, beganne to let some iealousie breed in his soule, knowing well, that the Candle lately put out, will easily be lighted againe; and seeing that she had shoued him vp against the window, that he might heare what she sayd to him; making shew of talking with some other, he came so neere her, that he heard her aske him, why he did fly from her so mainely. Truely (sayd Lisis) this is a strange kinde of pursuing me, and with too brazen a brow. But though I know (sayd Stelle) whence these iniuries grow, it may be, that hearing me, and iudging without passion, all the wrong will not lie on that side you thinke. For Gods sake (answe­red Lisis) shepheardesse, [...]eaue me in peace, and let it suffice, that these in­iuries proceed from the hatred I beare you, and the occasion of my hatred [Page 160] from your ficklenesse, which makes it iustifiable, that may it please hea­uen, that he that hath done all the wrong, may likewise feele all the dis­pleasure. But let vs treade all these things vnder foote, and lose you as well the memory, as I haue lost the will to loue you. I vnderstand (an­swered Stelle) whence your anger growes; and indeede you haue reason to carry your selfe in this maner. Behold, I beseech you, the great wrong which is done, not to take one for an husband, as soone as he is tendered. Is it not the custome, alwayes to make a demand twice? Indeed, if I had not taken you at a word, I had done you great wrong. But how apparent is it to refuse a man so constant, that had loued me but three moneths? Lisis seeing before his ey [...]s, that which her outrage would not suffer him to loue, and which his loue would not permit him to hate, knew not with what words to answer her: yet to interrupt this torrent of words, he said, Stelle, it is sufficient we haue long since proued, that you do know better what to say, then to do, and that words flow highest in your mouth, when reason in you is at the lowest ebbe. But, hold that which I tell you for in­uiolable; as much as I haue heeretofore loued you, so much at this houre do I hate you: and there shall neuer be day of my life, that I will not pro­claime you for the most vngratefull and deceitfull woman that is vnder heauen.

At this word, offering violence to his affection, and the arme of Stelle, wherewith she leaned on the wall, to keepe him in against the window, he left her alone, and went amongst the other shepheards, that (for that time) warranted him against his enemy. Semire (as I told you) heard all this discourse, and remayned so astonied, and so ill satisfied with her, that from that time, he resolued neuer to make account of a spirit so flitting. And that which yet gaue him more will, was, that by chance, hauing long sought occasion to speake to her; and seeing Lisis had left her alone, I went to her: for I must confesse, that her allurements and trickes had more force in my soule, then the wrong she had done to Lisis: had giuen me knowledge of the imperfection of her spirit; and as euery man goes flattering his desires, I went fancying, so that that which the merits of Lisis could not obtaine of her, my good fortune might procure me. So that, so long as his wooing lasted, I would neuer let my affection appeare; for besides the kindred that was betweene him and me, there was a very strait amity: but when I sawe that he went off, thinking the place to be voyd (I neuer tooke heed to the suite of Semire). I thought it to some pur­pose to discouer somwhat to her, rather then to attend till she had another dessigne. So then, addressing my selfe to her, and seeing her very pensiue, I [Page 161] sayd, It must needes be some great occasion which made her so changed, for this sadnesse was not vsuall to her quicke humour. It is the rage of Lisis (answered she) that will alwayes remember the time passed, and walkes reproching me, for the refusall I made of him. And that, said I, shall it grieue you? It cannot be otherwise, answered she, for we cannot put off our affection, as we may our smocke. And he takes in so euill part my delay, that he alwayes calleth it a farewell. Truly (sayd I) Lisis deserues not the honour of your good graces, since that, not being able to winne them by his merits, he ought at least to endeuour it by his long seruices, accompanyed with a strong patience; but his boyling humour, and it may be, his little loue will not suffer him. If this good lucke might befall me, with what affection would I receiue it, and with what patience would I attend it? Father, it may be, you will thinke it strange, to heare mee tell you the sudden change of this shepheardesse; and yet I sweare vnto you, that she receiued the ouerture of my loue, so soone as I made it; and so, that before wee parted, shee liked well of my offer of the seruice which I made her, and gaue me leaue to call my selfe her seruant. You may well thinke, that Semire, who was listening, remayned no more satisfied with me, then he had beene with Lisis, and indeede from that time hee with­drew his suite; yet so discreetly, that many thought Stelle had beene the cause by her refusall: For she made no shew of grieuing much at it, be­cause the place of his loue was filled with a new dessigne which she had in me, which was the cause that I receiued more fauours from her then other­wise I should. Which Lisis soone perceiued. But loue, which will alwayes triumphs ouer friendship, with-held me from speaking to him, fearing to displease the shepheardesse; and though hee were very angry that I con­cealed it from him, yet should I neuer haue spoken to him of it, without the permission of Stelle, who made shew to desire that this businesse might passe by his hands. And since (as I haue noted) she did it with a purpose to reimbarke him once againe with her. But I, who then tooke no heede to all her trickes, and who sought after nothing but the meanes to con­tent her; one night when Lisis and I lay together, I vsed this language to him, I must confesse (Lisis,) that at last Loue sports himselfe with me: and more, there is nothing can deferre my death, but that which shall come from you. From me (answered Lisis?) You may be assured that I will neuer be wanting to our friendship, though your mistrust hath made you commit as great an offence; and thinke not but I haue knowne your loue: but your silence, which displeased me, made me hold my peace. Since you (replied I) haue knowne it, and haue not spoken to me of it, I [Page 162] haue the more cause of offence. For I confesse, I haue failed in some things against our friendship in my silence, but you must consider, that a louer is not himselfe, and in all his errours you are to accuse the violence of his disease: but you that haue no passion, can haue no excuse, but the want of friendship.

Lisis beganne to laugh, when he heard my reasons, and answered me: You are pleasant, Corilas, to pay me with a demaund; yet will I neuer gaine-say you: and since you haue this opinion, see wherein I may amend this fault. In doing for me (answered I) which you could not for your selfe: that is, (I must tell you at last) that if I attayne not the loue of Stelle, there is no hope in me. O God, then cryed Lisis, to what passage hath your misfortune led you? Flie (Corilas) this dangerous sea, where indeede there are nothing but rockes and bankes, marked with the ship­wracke of those which haue taken the same course. I speake out of expe­rience, as you know. I hope your merits may else-where gaine you a bet­ter fortune then me, but neither vertue nor reason can do it heere. I an­swered, It is no small contentment to me, to heare you vse this language: for till now I was in doubt you had yet some feeling, and that made me the more reserued; but since (God be thanked) it is not so, I desire in this loue to draw out an extreme proofe of your friendship. I know that the hatred which succeeds loue, measures it selfe after the greatnesse of the fall, and hauing so dearely loued this fayre shepheardesse, comming to hate her, the hatred should thereby be the greater: yet hauing knowne by Stelle her selfe, that I cannot come to that I desire, but by your meanes, I adiure you by our friendship, to assist me, be it by perswading her, be it by in­treating her, or in any sort that may be; and I call it an extreme proofe. For, I doubt not, but that hating her, it will grieue you to speake to her: but it is my amity, which desires it might be manifested, that it is greater then your hatred. Lisis was surprized, expecting from mee another prayer then this, whereby, besides the displeasure which he had to speake to Stelle, hee now sawe himselfe bereaued for euer of the person he loued most. Yet he answered, I shall do all that you will: you cannot promise more to your selfe of me, then I haue of good will: but bethinke you of what is passed betweene vs, and that I haue alwayes heard them say, that for messages of Loue, you must not serue your selfe of persons that are hated. It is true, there is no necessity to looke on Stelle so neere, since I can assure you, you may as well dispatch your businesse of this kinde, as well as any other. Behold then, the poore Lisis, instead of a Louer, becomes messenger of loue, a mystery which his friendship commaunded him to [Page 163] do for mee, not of his owne seeking, but with an intent to serue mee as a friend, though since (it may be) Loue caused him to change (in some sort) his purpose, as I will tell you. But in this we must accuse the violence of Loue, and the ouer-absolute power he hath ouer man, and admire the friendship he bare mee, which suffered him to agree to the bereauing of himselfe for euer of that which he loued, that I might possesse it.

Some dayes after, seeking occasion to speake with her, he found it so fitly to his purpose with her, that there was no body by, to interrupt their discourse, so long as he pleased to make it; and then renewing the remem­brance of the iniury he receiued, hee so armed himselfe against her allure­ments, that Loue had small hope hee could vanquish him at that bout: which was not, for that the shepheardesse studyed not as much to sur­mount him, as he did to find sureties for his liberty: but because he oppo­sed against loue, despite and friendship; the first armed with offence, the o­ther with duty, he remained vnconquered at that combat. Before he be­gan to speake, shee seeing him to approach, went to meete him, with words of the same fashion. What good lucke (sayd she) is that which brings me the much desired Lisis? what vnhoped for fauor is this? I begin to haue good hope of my selfe, now you are come backe: for I may truely sweare, that since you left me, I neuer found intire contentment. Where­to the shepheard answered, More affected, then faithfull shepherdesse, I am more satisfied with the confession you make, then I haue bene offended at your infidelity. But let vs leaue this discourse, and forget it for euer, & an­swere me to that I demaund. Are you yet resolued to deceiue all them that loue you? For my part, I know well what to beleeue, none of your humors to my cost being vnknowne to me: but that which I must demand of you, is to know at your shoppe, if a man may part at a better rate: for if you speake with affection oth, or other sort of assurance, that no man shall bee deceiued by you, for certaine they are of my ranke. The shepheardesse looked not for these reproches, notwithstanding shee forbore not to an­swere him, If you come but to iniure me, I thanke you for this visitation▪ but you haue good occasion to complaine of me. I complaine, (answered the shepheard?) I beseech you set that aside. I complaine no more then I do iniure you, and so far am I from vsing complaint, that I commend your humor: for if you should longer make shew to loue mee, I should liue the longer time in deceit: and did it please God, that the losse of your loue brought me no more griefe then dammage, you should haue no cause to say, I complained, no more then I will iniure you, since iniury and truth can be no more together, then you and faithfulnesse. But it is true; that you are [Page 164] the most deceitfull and vngratefull shepheardesse of Forests. Me thinkes (answered Stelle) little courteous shepheard, this discourse might better fit another mans mouth then yours. Then Lisis changing a little his fashi­on, Hitherto (sayd he) I haue vsed my toūg for the most despite of Lisis: now I wil vse it for one that hath more busines with you, that is a litle wise shepherd that loues you, and holds nothing at so high price as your good graces. She thinking that he mocked her, Let vs leaue this discourse, said she; & let it suffice, Lisis, that you haue loued me, being at this houre vnwil­ling to renew the remembrance of your errour. Indeed (replied sudden­ly the shepheard) they were indeed errours that compelled mee to loue you but you erre no lesse, if you thinke I speake of my selfe: it is for poore Corilas, who is so subiected to that that is not in you, that for any thing that I can say of your humor, it is impossible to withdraw him. I haue told him that I haue prooued in you, the small loue the little assurance that is in your soule, and in your words. I haue sworne vnto him, that you will deceiue him, and I know you will not keepe me from being periured: but the poore miserable is so intangled, that hee is of opinion, that what I could not attaine, his merits may reach to; and yet, to free him of deceit, I cold him, that the greatest impediment to obtain any thing of you, is me­rit; and that you may credit that I tell you, see a letter which he hath writ­ten to you. I make no question but if hee haue failed, you will make him do penance. And because Stelle would not read my letter, Lisis opening it, read it aloud.

As soone as Lisis had done reading, he held on, Well, Stelle, what death shall he die? of how many shall he be quit? for me, I begin to complaine, and you to thinke by what meanes you may hold him in the opinion he is [Page 165] in; and after, how you may make him find your deniall more bitter. This speech touched the shepheardesse in good earnest, seeing how far hee was gone off from louing her; so that to interrupt him, she was constrained to say, Me thinks, Lisis, that if Corilas be of the minde this paper makes shew of, he was ill aduised to employ you, since your words are more able to winne hatred then loue, and you seeme rather a messenger of war then peace. Stelle (replyed the shepheard) he was so farre from being ill adui­sed in this election, that if hee had shewed as much iudgement in the rest of his actions, he should not stand in so great neede of your succours: he hath had tryall of your fancies; hee knowes what your allurements are; and of whom might hee better serue himselfe, without suspition of ma­king himselfe a competitor, then of a louing friend, such as I am, whom you hate more then death? And yet the Arte wherewith I serue my selfe, is not bad: for representing you so louely as you are, you may the better acknowledge the honor he doth you to loue you. But let vs leaue this talke, and tell me, in good earnest, whether he be in your good grace, and how long hee shall continue; since, in truth, I dare not returne to him, without bringing him some good answer: I coniure you by his loue and ours passed. To this reason the shepheard added some others, with so ma­ny prayers, that the shepheardesse beleeued hee spake in good earnest; whereto she easily perswaded her selfe, according to her good nature: for it is the custome of them that easily affect themselues, to thinke that they are more easily affected. It was so, that for this time Lisis could obtaine of her nothing, but that the loue of his cousin for default of his owne, should not be vnpleasing to her; but Time should be her counceller. And after, at diuers times hee sollicited her, so that hee had what assurance he would: and because he remembred her flitting humour, he laboured to bind her with a promise written with her owne hand, and knew so well to turne her on euery side, that he had what he would. He came backe in that sort to me, and discoursed vnto me all that hee had done, except this promise; for knowing the humour of Stelle, he doubted alwaies that shee would deceiue him, and if he spake to me of that paper, I might be further engaged, and so more painefull to with-draw mee. All this was without the knowledge of Aminthe, from whom Stelle concealed it, rather then from any other. When I had receiued such assurance of that which I most desired, after I had thanked the shepheardesse, I beganne, with her permission, to giue order for the marriage, and made no difficulty to speake openly of it, though Lisis alwaies fore-told me, that in the end, I should be deceiued: but the apparence of the good we desire, so flatters [Page 166] vs, that hardly giue we care to them that tell vs the contrary.

While this marriage was divulged, Semire, who, as I told you, had left his suite, by reason of Lisis and mee, beeing prouoked with a speech which shee had vsed of him, resolued (to make the contrary ap­peare, at what price soeuer) to returne into her good graces, with a pur­pose to leaue her in the end, with that boldnesse, that she might neuer say more, that this separation proceeded from her. There was no neede to vse any great Arte, for her changing humour easily suffered her to returne to her nature: and so at a blow, behold her resolue to forsake me for Se­mire, as a little before she had left Semire for me, yet was shee not altoge­ther without paine, because of the promise which shee had written, not knowing how to gaine-say it. In the end, the day of marriage beeing come, when I had assembled the most part of my kindred and friends, I held my selfe so assured, that I receiued the reioycings of al the world: but she, that had another thought, while I was busied in welcōming those that were come, brake all this meeting, with excuses more poorely grounded then the former; wherewith I was so enraged, that getting from her without bidding adieu, I conceiued so great disdaine of her lightnesse, that neuer since shee could cope with me.

Now iudge, father, if I haue cause to complaine of her, and, if they that tell it to my disaduantage, were well informed. Indeed (answered Ada­mas) you may see a woman vnworthy of that name, and I wonder how it is possible that hauing deceiued so many, there should be any that would trust her. I haue not yet told you all (replied Corilas:) for after euery one was gone but Lisis, shee so wrought, that Semire stayed with her vntill euening. In the meane time, as I thinke, she laboured to vse some arte to haue her promise backe, because shee saw well hee was throughly angry with her. In the end, very boldly she spake to him thus: Is it possible, Lisis, that you haue so forgotten the affection which so often you haue sworne to me, that you haue no minde to please me? I, sayd Lisis, the heauens sooner kill me.

At this word, what impediment soeuer she vsed, hee got out of the house to be gone: but she took such hold on him, and taking his hand be­tweene hers, she went with him, clasping in such a fashion, that euery one might iudge, that there was loue, and though he right well knew her hu­mour and her deceits, yet could he not containe himselfe from being plea­sed with her slatteries, though he gaue no credit to them, which hee well witnessed, when considering her actions, he said, O God, Stelle, how doe you abuse the graces, wherein the Heauens (without reason) haue beene [Page 167] so prodigall to you? If this body did inclose a spirit which had any re­semblance with the beauty, who is hee that could resist you? She, who knew what force her allurements had, placed all her arte in her eyes; all her fictions in her mouth; and all her malice in her inuention, wherewith she so turned him on all sides, that she almost set him besides himselfe, & then she vsed these words: Gentle shepheard, if it bee true, that you bee that Lisis, which sometimes haue so dearely affected me, I coniure you by the remembrance of the time so happy for me, that you will heare mee in priuate, and beleeue, that if you haue had any occasion to complaine, I will make it plaine vnto you, that this second fault, or at least, as you e­steeme it so, was not committed but to remedy the former. At these words Lisis was ouercome; yet, that hee might not shew his weakenesse, he answered, See, Stelle, how farre you are gone from your opinion; so far am I from desire to doe any thing that might please you, that there is no­thing displeasing, which I will not endeuour to do. Since there is no other remedy (answered the shepheardesse) come backe into the house to dis­please me. With this intent, answered he, I will. So then they went in: and as they stood by the fire, she began to speake thus: In the end (shepherd) it is impossible I should longer liue with you and dissemble: I must put off the maske to al my actions, and so you shal know, that poore Stelle, whom you haue accounted so slitting, is more constant then you imagine, and desires onely that you should know it, that for the satisfaction of the wrongs you haue done mee, you would freely confesse you haue wronged me. But (said shee) (suddainely breaking off that speech) what haue you done with the promise which you haue had of mee in the behalfe of Cori­las? for if you haue deliuered it him, that onely may breake off our affaires; who being in the place of Lisis, would not beleeue shee loued him, and would not be deceiued like him. This shepheard being of opinion, that shee would doe that for him for which she refused me, without difficulty gaue her this promise, which hee had alwaies kept most charily and most secretly: as soone as she had it, she tore it, and going neere the fire, made it a sacrifice: and then turning toward the shepheard, smiling, shee sayd. There is no more for you to doe, gentle shepheard, but you may hold on your way, for it is ouer-late. O God, cried Lisis (finding her practices) Is it possible that the third time I should be receiued by one person? And what cause haue you (said Stelle) to say you are deceiued? Ah! perfidi­ous and disloyall (said he) did you not come out to tel me, that you would make it plaine, that this last fault was to repaire the former, and to make proofe that you are constant, you layd open your naked heart and inten­tions? [Page 168] Lisis (said shee) you come alwaies with your iniuries; if I neuer loued you, am I not constant, not to loue you now? And haue I not made you see what my heart is? and whereto tend my actions, but hauing that I would of you, I leaue you in peace? Beleeue, that all the words which you haue made me lose for an houre together, was, but to recouer this paper; and now (since I haue it) I pray God to giue you the good night. What an amazement, thinke you, was the shepheard in? It was so great, that without speech, or spending further time, halfe besides himselfe, hee went homeward: But certainely, he hath had since good occasion to bee reuenged: For Semire, as I haue told you, which was the cause of my euill, or rather of my good, so I may cal that separation of amity, feeling in him­selfe yet the displeasure of the first disgrace which she had done him, see­ing this extreme leuity, and considering that (it might be) she might serue him so, he resolued to preuent it: and so hauing abused her, as we were (Lisis and I) he broke the treaty of marriage, in the middest of an assem­bly, which he had purposely caused to be made, which procured many to say, that by the same weapon whereby a wound is giuen, oftentimes the punishment is receiued.

Corilas ended in this sort; and Adamas smiling, said, My child, the best counsell that I can giue you herein, is, to shun the familiarity of this de­ceiuer, and to keep your selfe from her practices, and to giue contentment to your parents, that with great impaciency desire to see you married, and when any good proffer is offered, receiue it, and stay not on these youthful tricks of Loue: for there is nothing that can better warrant you from the plots and surprizes of this deceiuer, nor which will make you more estee­med among your neighbours, then to marry, not so much by Loue, as by reason; it beeing one of the most important actions that you can euer doe, and wherein all the happinesse or misfortune of a man may depend. At this word they parted, for it be­ganne to waxe late, and euery one tooke the way to his lodging.

The History of Diane.

IT would be very strange, if the discourse which you desire to know of me, might not be offensiue to you, since (faire & wise shepheardesses:) it hath made me endure so much displeasure, that I thinke not I shall at this time vse more words in telling it, then it hath cost me teares in suffer­ing it. And since it pleaseth you, that at last I shall renew that grieuous remembrance, suffer me to abridge it, that I may (in some sort) lessen the happinesse, wherein I am by the memory of passed troubles. I assure my selfe, that though you neuer sawe Celion and Belinde, yet you haue heard they were my father and mother; and (it may be) haue knowne the cros­ses which they had for the loue of the one to the other, which lets mee from telling them, though they were presages of those I met with. But you must know, that after the cares of loue were ended in marriage, that they might not remayne ydle, suites of law and sundry troubles beganne to grow, and so plentifully, that wearied with charge of processe, to make an accord, many, among the rest, a neighbour of theirs named Phormion, trauayled so, that their friends were of aduice at last, that to end all suits, they should giue some promises of future alliance betweene them: and because neither the one nor the other, as yet, had any children, as hauing [Page 171] not beene long married, they swore by Theurales on the Altar of Belenus, that if they both had but one sonne, and one daughter, they should marry together; and ratified this alliance with so many oathes, that hee which brake them, should be the most periured creature in the world. Some time after, my father had a sonne, which was lost, when the Gothes and Ostrogots ransacked this prouince. Somewhat after that was I borne: but so vnluckily for my selfe, that my father neuer sawe me, being borne after his death.

This was the cause that Phormion seeing my father dead, and my bro­ther lost (for these Barbarians had carryed him away, and it may be, kill'd him, or left him to die for want;) and that my vnkle Dinamis was gone out with displeasure of this losse, resolued (if he might haue a sonne) to pursue the effect of those promises. It fell out, that some while after, his wife lay downe, but it was of a daughter; and because his wife was old, and he feared he should haue no more by her, hee made it be giuen out, that it was a sonne, and vsed so great warinesse, that neuer any body heeded it; a tricke easie enough, because there was no person that would suppose that he would vse such a deceit; and vntill a certayne age, it is hard (by the face) to know any thing: and the better to deceiue the most crafty, he called her Filidas: And when she came to age, he caused her to vse the exercise fit for young shepheards, whereto she was not very vn [...]t.

The dessigne of Phormion was, seeing me without father and without vnkle, to make himselfe master of my good by this fayned marriage: and when Filida [...] and I should be greater, to marry me to one of his nephews, which he loued best. And indeed he was not deceiued in his former des­signe. For Belinde was too religious towards the gods, to fayle in that whereto she knew her husband was bound. It is true, that seeing me ta­ken out of her owne hands (for presently after this dissembled marriage) I was deliuered into them of Pharmion: she tooke so great griefe, that not being able to stay longer in this countrey, she went to the lake Leman, to be mistris of the Vestals and Druydes of Euiens, as the old Cleo [...]tin infor­med her from the Oracle.

Now behold me in the hands of Phormion, who shortly after brought me home to him his nephew, to whom he meant to giue me, who was named Amidor. This was the beginning of my paines, because his vnkle let him know, that by reason of our young age, the marriage of Filidas and me was not so assured, but if the one could not like of the other, hee could not well breake it: yet if it should happen, hee wished rather hee should marry me then another, that he should make vse of this aduertise­ment [Page 172] with so much discretion, that no man might take notice of it, en­deuouring, in the meane time, to winne me to his loue (in such sort) that I gaue my selfe to him, if euer I came to be free. This yong shepheard had so good a conceit of this dessigne, that as long as this fancie lasted, he could not tel how good occasion I had to reioyce my selfe for him. A­bout this time Daphnis, an honest and wise shepheardesse, came from the coast of Furan, where she had abode many yeeres; and because we were neighbours, the conuersation which we had together (by chance) made vs so good friends, that I beganne to be more vexed then of wont: for I must confesse, that the humor of Filidas was so vnsupportable to me, that I could not almost indure it; so that the feare which she had, that I might come to more knowledge, made her so iealous of me, that I might not scarce speake to any body. Things standing on these termes, Phormion on a sudden fa [...]leth sicke, and the same day was choked with a Catar, that he could not speake, nor giue any order to his affayres nor mine. Filidas, at the first was astonished; at last, seeing her selfe absolute mistris of her selfe and of me, resolued to keepe this authority, considering that the liberty which the name of a man brings, is much more pleasing then the seruitude to which our Sexe is more subiected. Besides that, shee was not ignorant, that when she should discouer her selfe to be a maide, she should giue no small cause of talke to all the country. These reasons made her continue the name which she had during her fathers life: and fearing now more then euer, that some one might discouer what she was, she held me so strait, that I was seldome without her. But (faire shepheardesses) since it pleaseth you to know my young passages, you must, when you heare them, excuse them; and withall, haue this beliefe of me, that I haue had so many and so great troubles for louing, that I am no more sensible on that side, hauing beene so hardened, that loue hath, neyther so strong, nor so sharpe armes, that he can pier [...] [...]e. Alas! it is the shepheard Fi­lander of whom I will speake: Filander, that first could giue me some fee­ling of loue, and who being no more, hath carried away all that that might be capable in me.

Truely (interrupted Astrea) eyther the loue of Filander hath beene ve­ry little, or you haue vsed great discretion; for that indeed I neuer heard speech of it. Which is a rare thing, for that the euill [...]ongue will pardon nothing, no, not that which is not. That men haue not spoken of it (an­swered Diane), I am more bound to our good intent, then to our discre­tion: and for the affection of the shepheard, you may iudge what it is by the discourse which I shall make. But the heauens, which knew our pure [Page 173] and cleane intents, would fauour vs from that good houte. The first time that I sawe him, was on the day we celebrate to Apollo and Diane, when he came to the game with a sister whom he resembled so much, that they held on them the eyes of the greatest part of the assembly. And because she was neere of kinne to my deare Daphnis, as soone as I sawe her, I em­braced her, and I welcomed her with a face so open, that from that time she thought her selfe bound to loue me: her name was Callyre, and was married on the coast of Furan, to a shepheard called Gerestan, whom she had neuer seene vntill the day whereon she was married, which was the cause of the little loue she bare him. The entertainement which I vsed to the sister, gaue occasion to the brother to tarry by me so long as the sa­crifice lasted; and by fortune, I know not whether I should call it good or euill for him: I set out my selfe that day as well as I could, thinking (by reason of my name) that this feast concerned me more particularly then others.

He that comming from far, had no other knowledge of the shepheards nor shepheardesses, then that which his sister gaue him, for sooke vs not all that day, so that in some sort, thinking my selfe bound to entertaine him, I did what I could to please him, and my labour was not vnprofitable: for from that time this poore shepheard gaue birth to an affection, which neuer ended but with his death. And euen yet I am assured, that if in the graue they haue any remembrance of the liuing, hee loues me; and in the very ashes conserues the pure affection hee swore to me. Daphnis tooke note both of the day and the deed, being that night in bed (because that Filidas not being well, could not come to the games) she told me it; but I reiected this conceit so long, that she said, I see wall (Diane) that this day wil cost me many prayers, and Filander much paine: but howsoeuer it happen, you shall not be quite exempted. She vsed to warre on me with such assaults, because she perceiued I feard them; this was the cause that I stayed not to giue her answer. So it was, that this aduertisement was cause, that the next day, me thought, I found some appar [...]e of [...]hat which she had told mee. After dinner wee vsed to gather together vnder some trees, and to daunce to the voyce, where we sate downe in a round, and spent the time with the discourse which we liked best of, that wee might disquiet our selues in that assembly, as little as possibly we could. It fell out, that Filander being vnknowne but to Daphnis and me, came and sate betweene her and mee: and attending to knowe whereto all the troope would resolue, not to be dumbe, I beganne to enquire of that which I I thought he could best answer, which Amidor taking heede of, entered [Page 174] into so great iealousie, that forsaking the company, without shewing the cause, hee went singing this Towne-song, hauing before cast his eyes on me, to make it knowne that it was of [...]e he meant to speake.

I had had sufficient command ouer my selfe, to stay me from giuing knowledge of the displeasure which this song brought me, had it not bene that euery one looked on me, and without Daphnis, I could not tell what would haue become of me. But she full of discretion, not staying for the end of this song, interrupted it in this sort, addressing her selfe to mee.

And that I might better hide my blushing, and make them thinke I tooke no heed to the words of Amidor, as soone as Daphnis had made an end, I answered her thus:

[Page 176] After we had euery one, as we sate on a rowe, sung some verses, and Fi­lander, who had a good voyce, when it came to his turne, sayd this with a good grace:

[Page 177] He sayd some others, but I haue forgotten them, so that mee thought it was I, to whom these words were directed: and I know not if that which Daphnis had told me, made me think so, or his eyes, which yet spake more plainely then his mouth. But if this verse gaue me knowledge, his discre­tion witnessed it much more afterwards: for it is one of the effects of true affection, to serue with discretion, and not to giue knowledge of his disease, but by effects, ouer which they can haue no power. This young shepheard finding the humour of Amidor, and for that Loue had made him curious, and inquiring if it were but of Filidas, hee thought that the best point of Arte, to shut vp the eyes of them both, was to compasse a strait league with them, not giuing any shew of that he bare me. Loue made him so cunning and wise, that holding on his designe, hee deceiued not onely Amidor, but my eyes also; because that vsually hee would leaue vs to goe to him, and he would neuer come but in his company. It is true, that the crafty Daphnis found it presently; because (said shee) that Ami­dor is not so louely, that he can draw so honest a shepheard as Filander, to vse so carefull a search; so that it must needes be for a more worthy sub­iect.

She was the cause that I began to haue a care of my selfe: and I must confesse, that then his discretion pleased me; and if I could haue suffred my selfe to be beloued, it should be of him: but the houre was not then come, that I should bee strucke on that side; yet did I not forbeare to please my selfe with his actions, and to approue his designe in some sort. When hee was to take his leaue of vs, hee accompanied vs a good way; and at our parting, I neuer heard such assurance of amity as he gaue to Amidor, nor so many offers of seruices, as to Filidas: and the foole Daphnis, vnhappy, whispered in mine care, Conceaue you that it is to you that he speakes; and if you doe not answer him, you doe great wrong. And when Amidor beganne to thanke him, she said, Oh what a foole he is to beleeue, that these offerings are ordained for his Altar! but he could so well dissemble, that hee made Amidor wholly his, and got such ground on his good will, that when he returned, and was to deliuer that which Filander had on his part desired him to say to Filidas, that this maid had a desire to see him; and some dayes after, hee added so many ouer-lashing commendations, not saying any thing to me of it (because, that when I spake of him, it was with such a coldnesse, that it seemed to bee out of neglect) they sent for him, desiring him to come and see them: God knowes whether he neede bee sollicited more then once, for it was the thing he desired, thinking it was impossible that his designe should haue a better beginning. And by [Page 178] fortune, the day that he was to come, Daphnis and I went out to walke vnder some trees, which are on the other side of that pasture that is next to this; & scarce knowing to whom to go, while our flocks were feeding, we went, vncertaine whither our feete without election guided vs, when wee heard a voyce farre enough off, and wee thought it some strangers. The desire to know it, made vs turne directly to the place where the voice conducted vs, and by reason Daphnis went first, she spied Filander before me, and made a signe to me to tread softly: and when I came neer her, she whispered in mine eare, naming Filander, who sate leaning against a tree, entertaining his thoughts, wearied, as it seemed, with the length of his way, and by chance, iust as we came, he beganne in this sort:

When I heard my selfe named (fayre shepheardesses) I trembled, as if I vnawares had set my foot on a serpent, and without longer stay, I went a­way as softly as I could, that I might not be seen; albeit Daphnis (to cause my returne) suffered me to goe a great way alone. At last, seeing I kept on my way, she stole away from him by little and little, that shee might [Page 179] not be heard, and at last ouertooke me; and being scarce able to take her breath, she went crying out a thousand broken reproches. And when she could speake, Vnfainedly, sayes she, if the heauens do not punish you, I shall beleeue they are as vniust as you: and, what cruelty is this of yours, not to heare him that complaynes? To what end (sayd I) should I haue stayed longer? To heare (sayd she) the euill you haue done him. I? (an­swered I) You iest, in saying, that I doe hurt the man that I thinke not of. That is (replyed she) whereof you labour most: for if you thought often of him, it were impossible but you should haue pitty. I blushed at that word, and the change of colour gaue Daphnis to vnderstand, that these words offended me. This was the cause that smiling she sayd: I am plea­sant (Diane:) that I said, was but to passe the time away: and beleeue not that I thinke it: and concerning that he sung when he named your name, it is for certaine, that it was for another that bare your name, or to re­fresh himselfe, he sung these verses, which he had receiued of some other. We went discoursing in this sort; and so long, that being weary of walk­ing, we came backe another way, to the same place where Filander was: For my part it was by errour: it may well be, that Daphnis did it of pur­pose; and finding him so neere vs, I could not choose but looke on him: at the first he was sitting, and leaned against a tree: but now wee found him layd all along on the ground, one arme vnder his head, and it see­med he was awake, for he had a Letter all be-wet with teares, which ran downe his face; but indeed he slept, being likely, that while he read the paper, the trauell of the way, and his deepe thoughts, by little and little, made him slumber. But wee were more certayne, when Daphnis more bold then I, stowped downe, reached mee the Letter (wet with teares) which found passage thorow the paper badly folded: This sight touched me with pitty, but much more the Letter, which was thus:

I had scarcely read ouer this Letter, but that I found my selfe all on a trembling, and Daphnis so softly layd it in the place where she found it, that he awaked not: and comming towards me, and I being hard by, Will you suffer me to speake (sayd she?) Our loue (answered I) giues you all power. In truth (sayd she) I bewaile Filander, for it is very true hee loues you: and I perswade my selfe, in your soule you doubt not of it. Daphnis (said I) he that committed the fault, must do the penance. If it be so (re­plied she) Filander must not: for I will neuer confesse it to be a fault, to loue you, but thinke rather it is an offence, not to do it, since the fairest things had not bene made but to be beloued and cherished. I referre my selfe to your iudgement (sayd I) if my face may be numbred amongst the things that are fayre. But I coniure you onely by our loue, neuer to let him know, that I take any notice of his intent. And if you loue him, ad­uise him, not to speake to me: for esteeming of you and Callire, as I doe, I am sorry that I must banish him from our company: And you know wel I shall be constrained so to doe, if he haue the hardinesse to speake to me of it. Then, how will you haue him liue (sayd she?) As he liued (said I) before he sawe me. But (said she) that he cannot do heereafter, for that then he was not attached with this fire which now burnes him. Let him seeke out the meanes himselfe, without offending me, by remoouing this fire. The fire (sayd she) that can be quenched, is not great, and yours is extreme. The fire (said I) how great soeuer it be, will not burne him that comes not neere it. Though (sayd she) he that is burnt, flie from the fire, yet will not the burning leaue him, and by flying, he brings more smart, For conclusion (sayd I) if it be so, I choose rather to be the fire then the burning.

With such discourses we returned to our flockes, and towards night we droue them into our Hamlet, where we found Filander, to whom Fi­lidas made so good cheere, and Amidor also, that Daphnis beleeued hee had bewitched them, it not being their humour to deale so with others. He stayed some dayes with vs, during which time hee made no offer of speech, liuing with so great discretion, that, but for that which Daphnis and I had seene, we should neuer haue suspected his meaning. At last, hee was coustrayned to depart, and not knowing to whom to breake it, hee went to his sister, because he loued her, and trusted her as himselfe. This [Page 181] shepheardesse (as I told you) had beene constrained by authority to mar­ry, and found no other contentment, but that which the loue which shee bare her brother might giue her. As soone as she sawe him, she was cu­rious after the first salutations, to know what the cause of his iourney was: and he hauing answered her, that he came from Filidas: shee demaunded what newes of Daphnis and me. Whereto hauing giuen satisfaction, and hearing him speake with so great commendations of me; she told him in his eare: I feare (brother) you loue him more then me. I loue her (answe­red he) as her merit binds me. If it be so (replied she) I haue diuined well: for there is not a shepheardesse in the world that deserues better; & I must confesse vnto you, that were I a man, would shee, or would shee not, I would be her seruant. I beleeue, sister (answered he) you speake in good earnest.

I sweare vnto you, (sayd she) by that which I hold most deare. I thinke (replyed he) if it were so, you should not be without businesse; for by that that I can iudge, shee is of an humour that is not easie to bend: besides that, Filidas is ready to die of iealousie, and Amidor so watches her, that she is neuer without one of them two. O brother, cryed she, you are taken: since you haue noted these particularities, hide it no longer from me: and without fiction, if it be a fault to loue, it is very pardonable. And without leauing him, she so pressed, that after a thousand protesta­tions and so many supplications, neuer to be knowne of it, he confessed it to her, and with words so affectionate, that she had beene very incredu­lous, if she had doubted it. And when she asked of him, how I receiued the declaration: O God (sayd he!) if you knew what her humour is, you would say, that neuer man enterprised a more difficult attempt. All that I could do till now, was to deceiue Filidas and Amidor, that made me be­leeue there is nothing in the world so deare to them as I; & I am come to this, that they sent for me, purposely to see me, and then told her all the discourse, which had passed betweene them. But, said he, holding on his speech, though I went with a purpose to discouer to Diane, how much I was hers, yet durst I not, (respect had such force ouerme,) which made me despaire euer to performe it, vnlesse some long practice gaue me the boldnesse; but this cannot be, but that Filidas and Amidor will take no­tice of it: So that (sister) to tell you the estate wherein I am, it is very neere to despaire.

Callire that loued her brother more then any other thing, took his griefe so to heart, that, after she had thought of it a while, she said, Will you, brother, that in this occasion I giue you some proofe of my good will? [Page 182] Sister (answered hee) though I be in no doubt, yet heyther in this, nor any other accident will I refuse you euer. For the apparances of that we desire, will not suffer vs to please our selfe, though from else-where we haue sufficient assurance. Well, brother, since your will is so, I will do that for you, which shall not be small, what hazard soeuer I thrust my selfe into. And then she went on: You know the likenesse of our faces, of our stature and speech; and but for our habit, they that are ordinarily with vs, would take vs the one for the other. If you thinke the onely meane to come to your purpose, is to conuerse with Diane without suspition, how can wee finde one more easie, or more secret, then to change habits, you and I? For, being taken for a mayde, Filidas will neuer conceiue euil opinion, how neere soeuer you come to Diane: and I returning to Gere­stan in your habit, will tell him, that Daphnis and Diane keep you there [...]erforce: and we must inuent some good excuse for me to get leaue of my husband, to goe see them: but I know not what were best, since hee is (as you know) so hard to be intreated. Indeed, sister (answered Filan­der) I neuer doubted of your good nature; but at this time I must con­sesse, there was neuer a better sister: and since it pleaseth you to take this paine, I beseech you, if I enioy her, to accuse my loue which constrained it, and to beleeue that it is the only meane to conserue the life of that bro­ther whom you loue. And then he embraced her with so great an acknow­ledgement of the obligation which hee hath had, that shee became more desirous to pleasure him then before.

At last she sayd, let vs leaue these words to those that loue lesse, and let vs onely looke to set our hand to the worke. For leaue (sayd he) wee shall easily get it, dissembling that all the good cheere which was made mee by Filidas, was to no other purpose, then that Amidor had to woo the niece of your husband. And because this charge will trouble him, I assure my selfe, it will be easie for you to goe, if we giue him to know, that you and Daphnis together may well treate of this marriage. But what order shall wee take for our haire, yours being long, and mine ouer-short, which will be a great inconuenience? Trouble not your selfe for that (said she:) if you suffer yours to grow a little, it will be enough to serue vnder a coife, as I vse; and for mine, I will cut them like yours. But, said hee, Sister, will you not be loth to clip your head? Brother (said she) think not, I hold any thing dearer then your contentment; besides that, I shall auoyd many importunities while you weare my clothes, and not lying neere Gerestan; so that if I must haue my head shorne, I will not make difficulty to doe it. With this word he embraced her, saying, that God would one [Page 183] day deliuer him of that torment. And not to lose time, Filander on the first occasion that he thought fit, spake with Gerestan, representing to him that alliance so easily to be compassed, and so profitable, that hee will suffer himselfe easily to be led. But, because Filander would giue time to let his haire grow, he made shew to goe to giue order to his affayres, and that hee would returne very shortly. And Filidas no sooner knew of Filanders returne, but she went to see him, accompanied onely with Amidor, and would not leaue him, without bringing him to vs, where he stayed seuen or eight dayes, not hauing the hardinesse to shew himselfe to mee more then at the first.

During this time, to shew how hard a thing it is to force nature long, though Filidas counterfeited the man as well as s [...]e could, yet was shee constrained to feele the passions of a woman; for the courage and merits of Filander wrought the same effect in her, that he desired they should in me. But Loue, which takes delight to turne the actions of the most ad­uised, contrary to their purpose, made him giue the blow on the side he least looked for: So behold the poore Filidas, so farre besides her selfe, that she could not liue without Filander, and wooed him with such appa­rent shewes, that he was astonished at it; and, but for the desire he had to be neere me, he would neuer haue endured that fashion of life. In the end, when he thought his hayre was long enough to put vnder a coife, hee re­turned to Gerestan, and told him he had made a good entrance to their bu­sinesse: but that Daphnis thought fit, before she spake, that Amidor might see his neece in some place, that they might know if she pleased him: and that the better way was, that Callire should bring her, that so there might be a beginning of amity, that could not choose but be auaylable. Gere­stan, which desired nothing with more passion, then to be discharged of his Niece, thought this proposition very good, & gaue absolute cōman­dement to his wife; who to egge him on the better, made shew of not liking it well at the first, propounding some difficulty in the iourney, and seeming to be sorry to depart from him, saying, that shee knew well, that such affairs wold not fal out as we would, nor so readily as was expected; and that in the mean time, their affaires would speed the worse at home. But Gerestan, that would not haue her haue any other will then his, was so earnest, that three dayes after, he caused her to goe with her brother and his Niece. The first day she went to lodge at Filanders house, where in the morning they changed habit, which fell out so well for the one and the other, that they which conuersed with them, knew it not: and I must tell you, I was deceiued as well as others, there being no difference betweene [Page 184] them, that I could obserue. But I may easily be deceiued, since Filidas was so, though shee looked but with the eyes of Loue, which are said to bee more piercing then those of Linxe's: For, presently after their comming, they left vs the fained Callire, I would say Filander, and led the true into a chamber to rest in. As they were in the way, her brother instructed her what to answer; and especially, informed her of the Loue-tricks shee should vse, resembling (said hee) those that are in loue; whereby, both the one and the other were offended: and, though Callire were fully re­solued to beare all his importunities, for the contentment of her brother; yet so it was, that shee, thinking Filidas to bee a man, that it was no small horror to her, that she was constrained to speake to him. As for vs, when we were withdrawn alone, Daphnis & I did all the kindnesses that are v­suall among women, I meane, among those where there is Loue and pri­uacy, which this shepheard tooke and gaue with that transport, that, as hee since swore, hee was quite beside himselfe. If I had not beene a very child, it may be, his actions might haue made me know him, & yet Daph­nis made no question, he knew so well to counterfeit. And because it was late, after supper wee withdrew apart, whilst Callire and Filidas walked vp and downe the chamber: for my part, I knew not their discourse, but ours grew onely from assurances of Loue, which Filander vsed to me, out of so intire affection, that it was easie to iudge, that if so often, and in an­other habit, he sayd nothing to me, wee must not blame his want of will, but of boldnesse onely. And I likewise made the same shew to him: for taking him for a woman, I thought my selfe bound for his good will, for his merit, and for the kindred betweene her and Daphnis. From that time Amidor, that formerly had borne mee good will, beganne to change his loue, and to loue the fained Callire, for that Filander, who feared lest his abode might displease that young man, did what hee could to giue him contentment. The flitting humour of Amidor, could not permit him to receiue these fauours, without becomming amorous: which I thought not strange, for that the beauty, the iudgement, and the curiosity of the shepheard, which in nothing belied the perfections of a mayd, had giuen him ouer-great cause.

See what a foole Loue is, and how he passeth his time, Filidas! that is a mayd, he caused to fall in loue with a mayd, and Amidor a man; and that in such passion, that for one particular, that onely subiect was sufficient to entertaine vs. God knowes if Filander knew how to play the mayd, and if Callire counterfeited well her brother, and whether they wanted wise­dome to draw on either his new Louer. The coldnesse that Callire vsed [Page 193] to mee, was cause that Filidas had no iot of suspition; besides, that his loue was a sufficient hinderance. And I must confesse, that seeing her so strongly to draw towards Filidas, Daphnis & I were of opinion, that Fi [...]n­der had changed his mind; whereupon I receiued extreme contentment, for the loue I bare his sister. Seuen or eight dayes passed in this sort, no one thinking the time too long, because euery one had a particular de­figne. But Callire, who feared, her husband might be grieued at this stay, sollicited her brother, to make his purpose knowne to mee, saying, there was no likelihood, but that the familiarity betweene him and mee, might haue permitted mee to haue refused his seruice: but hee assaying on all sides, had neuer the hardinesse to discouer himselfe, and to abuse Gerestan. He desired her to goe to her husband in the habit which she had, assuring her, hee would finde out nothing; and to let him know, that by the ad­uice of Daphnis, shee had left Callire at Filidas house, that at more leasure, she might treate of the marriage of Amidor and his Niece. At the first his sister was astonished, for her husband was very froward. At last, desi­rous to giue all contentment to her brother, shee resolued; and to make this excuse seeme more probable, they spake with Daphnis about the marriage of Amidor, which she long time misliked, for many considerati­ons which she layd before them: but knowing they tooke this course to get leaue from Gerestan, which otherwise they could neuer haue had, she, that delighted in their company, acquainted me with it; and we were of opinion, that it was needfull to make shew, that this alliance might bee easily compassed: and on this resolution, she wrote to Gerestan, counsel­ling him to let his wife stay somewhile with vs, that our friendship might be a meane, that this allyance might finde the lesse difficulty, and that she beleeued all things should be well ended.

With this resolution, Callire so attyred, goes to finde out her husband, who being beguiled by the habit, tooke her for her brother, and receiued the excuses for the stay of his wife, beeing well pleased shee should stay there for that cause. Iudge, faire shepheardesses, if I might not be decei­ued, when her husband could not know her. So it was, that by this, the good will he bare me, so increased, that there was no other meane to con­ceale it, whatsoeuer he could do, the conuersation hauing that vertue with it, that it makes that which was loued, to be more beloued, and more ha­ted what is found euill. And acknowledging his owne weakenesse, hee aduised himselfe to perswade me, that though he were a woman, yet hee failed not to be in loue with me, with such a passion, and more then if hee had beene a man; and spoke it so feelingly, that Daphnis that loued mee [Page 186] dearely, sayd, Vntill that time, shee neuer knew him: But that it was true, that she likewise was in loue, which one might not thinke strange, since Filidas, who was a mā, in such sort loued Filander: & the dissembled Callire swore, that one of the most forcible occasions which constrained her bro­ther to goe away, was the suite hee made to him, whereof they could al­ledge mee so many reasons, that iealousie suffered my selfe to be perswa­ded that it was so, determining with my selfe, that there was nothing in it that imported me. Hauing then receiued this fiction, she made no diffi­culty to speak freely to me of her passiō, but yet like a woman: & because she swore vnto me, that the same feeling, and the same passions that men haue for loue, were in her, and that it was a great solace to her, to expresse them often being alone, represent vnto mee her true affections; and euen Daphnis, who liked well of it, would sometimes auow it.

Twelue or fifteene dayes passed thus, with such pleasure to Filander, that as he since swore to me, he neuerspent more happy dayes, though his desires gaue him extreme impaciencies, and that was the cause of the dai­ly increase of his affection; and pleasing himselfe in his thoughts, hee would oftentimes withdraw himselfe alone, to entertaine them: and be­cause he would not remoue from vs in the day, many times in the night, when he thought euery body was asleepe, he went out of his chamber, and entred into a garden, where vnder some trees he passed a great part of time in these his considerations; and for that many times he went out in this sort, Daphnis obserued it, who lay in the same chamber: and as commōly we sooner suspect euill then good, she had some conceit of her, & Amidor, for the kindnesse which the yong shepheard did her; and for more certainty she watched so, that seeming to sleepe, she perceiued the fayned Callyre to steale out of her bed, and followed her so close, that she was almost as soone in the vtter yard, as the young shepheard, casting o­uer her but one garment for haste; and following her, step by step, by the light of the Moone, she sawe her goe out of the house thorow a doore not well locked, and enter into a garden, which was vnder my chamber window; and passing into the midst of it, saw her sit downe vnder some trees, and lifting his eyes vp to heauen, heard him say aloude:

[Page 187] Though Filander spake these words high enough, yet Daphnis heard but some of them, by reason she was farre off; but taking it somewhat remote, she drew toward him without being seene, as softly as she could, though he were so intentiue to his imagination, that had she beene be­fore him, he would not haue perceiued it, as he since swore to me. Hard­ly had she got neere him, but she might heare him fetch a deepe sigh, loud enough, and after with a lowe voyce say: And why will not my fortune haue me as fit to serue her, as she is worthy to be serued? and why may not she as well receiue the affections of them that loue her, as shee giue them extreme passions? Ah Callyre! how pernitious to my repose hath your disguising beene, and my boldnesse punished with a right iust infli­ction?

Daphnis heard Filander very attentiuely, and though he spake plaine, yet could she not comprehend what he meant, abused by the opinion that he was Callyre: this was the cause, that bending an care more curiously, she heard him lifting his voyce somewhat higher, say, But ouer-bold Fi­lander, who shall euer excuse thy fault? or, what great chastisement shall equall thine error? Thou louest this shepheardesse, and seest not, that how much her beauty commands, so much her vertue forbids thee: how often haue I warned thee, and yet thou wouldest not beleeue me? Accuse none other of thine euill, but thine owne folly. At this word his tongue stayed, but his eyes and sighes, in stead of it, beganne to giue testimony what her passion was, whereof he had discouered but a little. And to di­uert him from his thoughts, or rather, to continue them more sweetly, he rose vp to walke (as he vsed) and so suddenly, that he perceiued Daphnis, though to hide her selfe, she fled away. But he that had seene her, to know who it was, pursued her to the entry of a very thicke wood, where he o­uertooke her; and thinking she had discouered that which he had so con­cealed, halfe in choler, sayd: What curiosity (Daphnis) is this, to come and spie me out in the night heere? It is, answered Daphnis smiling, to learne of you (by craft) that which I should not know otherwise (and here­in she thought she spake to Callyre, not hauing yet discouered that it was Filander.) Well (held on Filander) thinking to be discouered) what great newes haue you learned? All (sayd Daphnis) that I desired to know. Will you then (sayd Filander) satisfie your selfe with your curiosity? As well (answered she) as you; and you are like to finde hurt of your deceit. For this keeping about Diane, and this great affection which you make shew of to her, will bring you (in the end) but trouble and displeasure. O God! (cryed Filander) Is it possible I should be discouered? Ah dis­creet [Page 196] Daphnis) since you know so well the cause of my abode heere, you haue in your hands my life and my death; but if you will bethinke you of what I am, and what offices of amity you haue receiued from me, when occasion is presented, I will rather beleeue, that you wish my good and contentment, more then my despayre and ruine.

Daphnis as yet thought she spake to Callyre, and had opinion, that this feare was because of Gerestan, who would take it euill, if hee vnder­stood, that she did this office to her brother; and to assure him, sayd: You ought to be so farre from doubting that I know of your affayres, that if you had informed me, I should haue yeelded all the counsell, and all the assistance which you could desire of mee. But tell mee this dessigne from poynt to poynt, that your freenesse may binde me more to your seruice, than the mistrust you haue had of me, gaue me offence. I will, O Daphnis (sayd he) prouided, that you promise me, not to tell it to Diane, vntill I giue consent. This is a discourse (answered the shepheardesse,) which we shall make to no good purpose to her, her humor heerein being more strange then you are aware of. That is my griefe (sayd Philander) hauing from the beginning knowne, that I enterprise a dessigne almost impossi­ble. For, when my sister and I resolued to change habit, shee taking mine, and I hers, I well fore-sawe, that all that would be to mine aduan­tage, was, that I might conuerse more freely with her, for some few dayes, (so disguised) that she might not know me for Filander. How! (interrup­ted Daphnis all surprized) how, for Filander? and are not you Callyre? The shepheard, that thought she had knowne it before, was halfe mad to be discouered so foolishly; but seeing the fault was past, and that he could not call backe the words he had spoken, thought it to some pur­pose to preuent her, and sayd: You may see (Daphnis) if you haue cause to be sorry for me; and to say that I trust you not, since so freely I discouer vnto you the secret of my life. For, that which I will tell you, is of that moment, that as soone as any other knowes it, there is no more hope of health in me: but I will rely, and so referre my selfe to your hands, that I cannot liue but by you. Know then (shepheardesse) that you see before you Filander in the habit of his sister; and that loue in me, and compas­sion in her, haue beene the cause of our disguising: and after went discour­sing vnto her his extreme affection, the fauours he had of Amidor and Fi­lidas, the inuention of Callyre to change habit, & the resolution to go to her husband, attired like a man: Briefly, all that had passed in this af­fayre, with such demonstration of loue, that though, at the beginning, Daphnis wondred at his hardinesse, and at his sisters; yet so it was, that she [Page 197] lost that wonder, when she knew the greatnesse of his affection, iudging that they might draw him into more great follies. And albeit that if they had called her to thier counsell, when they vndertooke the enterprize, she would neuer haue aduised them to it: yet seeing the effect had sorted to some good, she resolued to assist him in all that was possible, sparing neyther labour, nor care, nor art, which she iudged fit to imploy; and ha­uing made promise, with all assurances of friendship, she gaue the best ad­uice she could, which was (by little and little) to engage me into his loue. For (sayd she) Loue among women, is one of those wrongs, the words whereof offend more then the blowe. It is a worke that none is ashamed to doe, prouided the name be hidden: So that I hold them the best ad­uised, which cause themselues to be beloued of their shepheards, before they speake a word to them of loue. So that I oue is a creature that hath nothing rude in it, but the name, being otherwise so pleasing, that there is none offended at it. And therefore, that Diane may entertayne it, it must be without naming it, especially without seeing it, and such wise­dome must be vsed, that she must loue you, as soone as she may know that you loue her out of loue. For being once embarked, she cannot retire her selfe into the hauen, though she see likelyhood of torment round about her.

It seemes hither to you haue beene guyded by great wisedome: but you must proceed. The shew which you haue vsed, to be in loue with her, al­though you be a woman, is to good purpose; it being certayne, that all loue which is suffered, in the end, will prooue answerable. But you must goe forward. We doe easily many things, which we thought very hard, if Custome had not made them easie. Therefore it is, that they which are not acquainted with a meate, find it at the first, to be of an harsh raste, which by little and little (afterward) becomes pleasing to the vsage. You must frame your selfe to vse amorous discourses to Diane, to make it more easie, that by custome, that which she hath not bin vsed vnto, may be or­dinary: and the better to attayne it, you must deuise some inuention to make her more to delight in your wooing; and that you may do, though you be a woman, in the same termes that the shepheards vse. For as the eare which is accustomed to musike, is capable to fit his voyce both by raysing and abasing it to tunes that be harmonious, though otherwise they know nothing in that arte: In like manner, the shepheardesse, which often hea [...]es the discourse of her louer, yeelds the powers of her soule, al­beit she know not how to loue, letting her selfe to be carried in an insen­sible manner to the feelings of loue. I meane, shee loueth the company of [Page 190] that person, in feeling a farre off some pitty of his euill; and in conclusion, loues (in effect) without thinking so much. Looke to it (Filander) you make profit of these instructions else-where, and think, that if I loued you not, and did not pitty you, I would not discouer this secret out of the schoole: but take that which I say, as an earnest of that I desire to doe for you.

With such words, seeing the day approched, they returned into their lodging, not without iesting at the loue of Amidor, who tooke him for a mayd, reporting some part of his speech to laugh at it. And about morning falling asleepe in this resolution, they lay longer in bed, to re­compence the losse of the night; which gaue commodity to the young Amidor to surprize them. And had it not beene, that at that time I came into their chamber, I beleeue, he had found out their deceit; for, addres­sing himselfe to the bed of the fayned Callire, though she played her part well, speaking with as great modesty as was possible, setting on it a se­uere countenance, to put him by the hardinesse to hazzard himselfe; yet it may be, his affection would haue found licence, and his vnwise hands might haue discouered her bosome. But immediately vpon my comming in, Daphnis desired me to stay him, which I did, to the great content­ment of Filander, who sayning to thanke me for it, kissed my hand with so great affection, that if I had beene any thing suspitious, I should haue perceiued, that indeed it had come of loue. After I had giuen them the good day, I tooke Amidor away with mee, that they might haue leisure to clothe themselues.

And because they had a purpose to performe that which they had pro­pounded, presently after dinner, when wee were withdrawne (as of cu­stome) vnder some trees, to enioy the fresh ayre, though Amidor were there, Daphnis thought the occasion fit, being well pleased that it was in his presence, to put him from all suspition: and that if at any time, by mischance, hee heard them speake like a man, hee should not thinke it strange; when, making a signe to Filander, that hee would further this dessigne, she sayd to him: And what is it, Callyre, can make you dumbe in the presence of Diane? Because (answered he) I go making many wishes to my selfe for the desire I haue to the seruice of my mistris; and among o­thers, one which I neuer thought to desire. What is that, interrupted A­midor? That is, continued Filander, that I wish to be a man, to doe more seruice to Diane. How, added Daphnis, are you amorous of her? More, an­swered Filander, then all the rest of the world is aware of. I rather desire, said Amidor, you should be a woman, as well for my good, as for that of [Page 191] Filidas. The consideration neither of the one nor the other, replyed Filan­der, shall not make mee change my desire. And what, reioyned Daphnis, are you of opinion that Diane loues you againe? I am to hope, said Fi­lander, by the lawes of Nature, if it be not, that as in her beauty shee out­goes her forces, in her humour she will not disdaine her ordinances. You may thinke of me, as it pleaseth you, said I: I truely sweare vnto you, that there is no man in the world, that I loue more then you. So (replyed hee to me) there is no person that hath vowed so much seruice to you: but this happinesse, will last with me, but vntill you finde my small merit, or some other better subiect present it selfe.

Doe you thinke me, replyed I, so flitting as you make mee to bee? It is not, answered hee, for that I suppose in you the imperfections of incon­stancy, but I know well, I am the cause of the defaults that be in me. The defaults, said I, be rather on my side: and at that word I embraced him, & kissed him, with as sincere an affection, as if he had bene my sister. Where­at Daphnis smiled in her selfe, seeing me so much abused. But Amidor in­terrupting vs, iealous (as I beleeue) of them both: I thinke (saith he) it is in good earnest, and that Callire mocks not. How (said he) I mook? Let the heauens punish mee more rigorously, then they euer chastised periu­red wretch, if there were euer any loue more violent, nor more passio­nate, then that which I beare to Diane. And you were a man, added Daph­nis, you would learne well to vse mens wordes, to declare your passion. Though, said she, I haue lesse spirit; yet so it is, that my extreme affection will neuer suffer me to be dumbe in such an occasion. Let vs see (fayre) said Amidor, if it be no trouble to you, how you will behaue your selfe in such an enterprize. If my mistrisse, said Filander, permit mee, I will doe it, with promise notwithstanding, that she condiscend to three supplica­tions which I shall make to her. The first, that shee answere that I de­mand: the other, that she thinke it not dissembled, which vnder another person then Callire, I shall represent vnto her, but take them for true, though feeble passions. And lastly, that shee neuer suffer any other then mee to serue her in this quality. I, that saw they all tooke pleasure, and likewise in truth loued Filander vnder his sisters habit, answered, that for the second and last demand, they were granted as shee desired: that for the first, I was so vnaccustomed to make such answers, that I assured my selfe shee would take small pleasure in them: yet, that I might deny him nothing, I assayed to acquit my selfe the best I could. At this word, set­ting himselfe on one of his knees, because we were set round, taking one of my hands, he beganne in this sort: I should neuer haue thought▪ faire [Page 200] mistrisse, considering so great perfections in you, that it should be permit­ted to a mortall to loue you, if I had not proued in my selfe, that it is im­possible to see you, and not to loue you: but knowing well, that heauen is too iust, to command you a thing impossible, I haue held for certaine, that it pleased you should bee beloued, since it suffered you to bee seene. On this beleefe I haue fortified with reason, the hardinesse I had to be­hold you, and in my heart blesse that weakenesse, which as soone subiec­ted me to you, as my eye was turned on you. Now if the lawes ordaine, that to euery one is to be giuen that which is his, thinke it not euill, faire shepheardesse, that I giue you my heart, since it is so acquired by you, that if you refuse it, I will disauow it for mine. At this word he held his peace, to heare what I would answer, but in such a fashion, that had hee not beene in the habit he wore, hardly might one doubt he spake in ear­nest. And not to contradict that I promised him, I made him this answer: Shepheardesse, were the prayses which you giue me true, I might haply beleeue that which you tell mee of your affection: but knowing well, that they be but flatteries, I cannot beleeue, but that the rest are dissimu­lation. This too much wounds your iudgement (sayd he to me) to doubt of the greatnesse of your merit, but with such excuses you are accustomed to refuse the things which you like not of. I may truely sweare by Teuta­tes, and you know well, I will not beperiured, that you neuer refused any thing that was giuen you from a better, nor more intire good will. I know well (answered I) that the shepheards of this countrey are accustomed to vse more words, where there is lesse truth; and that they keepe among them as a thing approued, that the gods doe not harken to, nor punish the forswearing of the amorous: if it be the peculiar fault of your shepheards, I referre my selfe to your knowledge: but I, that am a stranger, should haue no part of their blemish, no more then I commit their fault, and yet from your owne more cruel words, must I draw some satisfaction for my selfe: for though the gods doe not punish the oathes of Louers (if I be not, as it seemeth you make doubt of) the gods will not forbeare to send mee the chastisement of periury; and if they doe forbeare, you shalbe constrained to confesse, that not being punished, I am then no dissembler; and if I be a lyer and am not punished, you must confesse that I am a Louer. And therefore, on which side soeuer your fayre spirit turneth it selfe, it knowes not how to deny, that there is no beauty on earth where Diane is fayre; and that neuer beauty was beloued, as yours is, of that shepheard that lies at your knees, and in this case implores the succours of all the Graces, to draw one from you, which hee thinkes he merits, if a perfect Louer euer [Page 201] found merit. If I be faire, replyed I, I referre it to the eyes which be­hold me with sound iudgement: but you cannot deny that you are per­iured, and a dissembler; and I must tell you, Callire, that the confidence with which you spake to mee like a man, makes mee resolue neuer to be­leeue words, since being a woman, you know so well to disguise. And why, Diane (said he then smiling) interrupt you so often your seruants discourse? Do you wonder, that being Callire, I speake to you with such affection? Thinke that there is no weakenesse of condition, that shall e­uer make me diminish, but it must rather be an occasion of preseruing it, both more violent, & more eternall, since there is nothing which so much diminisheth the heat of desire, as the inioying of that which is desired: and this not being to be had betweene vs, you shal alwaies, euen to my coffin, be beloued, and I alwaies a Louer. And yet if Tiresias, after he had beene a woman, became a man, why may not I hope, that the gods may do me as great a fauour, if it pleased you? Beleeue me, faire Diane, since the gods doe nothing in vaine, there is no likelihood, that hauing placed in mee so perfect affection, they will suffer me to labour in vaine: and if nature haue made me a woman, my extreme loue will make me such, as shall not bee vnprofitable. Daphnis, who saw that this discourse went sharpely on, and that it might be dangerous, that this Louer should suffer himselfe to be carried so farre, as to speake the thing that might discouer him to A­midor, interrupted him, saying, Without doubt, Callire, your loue shall not vnprofitably be bestowed, so long as you serue this fayre shepheardesse, no more then the candle which spends not it selfe in vaine, so long as it giues light to them that are in the house: for all the rest of the world, be­ing but to serue this fayre, you shall haue well bestowed your time, when you haue spent them in her seruice. But let vs change our discourse, said Amidor: for see, here comes Filidas, who will take no pleasure to heare it, though you be a woman. And presently Filidas came, who made vs all rise to salute him. But Amidor, that passionately loued the fained Callire, when his cousin arriued, made that vse of the time, that stealing away with Filander from the company, and taking her vnder the arme, began to speake thus: Is it possible, faire shepheardesse, that the words you vse to Diane, be true? or haue you onely spoken them, to shew the beauty of your spirit? Beleeue me, Amidor (answered he) I am no dissembler, and I neuer said any thing more truely, then the assurance which I haue giuen her of my affection; and if in any thing I haue failed in the truth, it was be­cause I spake lesse then I feele: but heerein am I to bee excused, since there bee not wordes good enough to conceaue. Whereto hee answered with a great sigh, Since it is so, faire Callyre, I can hardly beleeue, but you [Page 202] will much better conceiue the affection is borne you, since you feele the same blowes wherewith you wound others, more then them that are al­together ignorant; and that shall be the cause, that I will not goe to seek out other words, to shew you what I suffer for you, nor other reasons to excuse my boldnesse, then those you haue vsed in your speech to Diane; onely I will adde this consideration, to the end you may know the great­nesse of my affection; that if the blow, which cannot bee auoyded, must be iudged according to the arme that gaue it, the beauty of Diane, whose wound you feele, being much lesse then yours, must haue wrought lesse hurt in you then yours in me. And yet if you loue with so great violence, consider how Amidor ought to be vsed of Callire, and what his affection may be; for he knowes not how to declare it better, then by the compa­rison with yours. Shepheard (answered hee) if the knowledge which you haue of the loue I beare to Diane, haue giuen you the boldnesse to speake to mee in this fashion, I must beare the punishment, which my want of consideration deserues, in speaking so openly before you: but so likewise are you to regard, that being a woman, I cannot by that dis­course preiudice her honesty; but you doe mine, in talking so to mee, who haue an husband, that will not beare with patience this wrong, if hee vn­derstood it. But besides, since you speake of Diane, to whom (in truth) I am intirely giuen, I must tell you, that if you will that I should measure your affection by mine, according to the causes which wee haue to loue, I do not thinke you loue much, since that which you name beauty in me, may not in any sort retaine that name, being by hers. Faire shepheardesse (said Amidor) I neuer thought one could offend you in louing you: but since it is so, I confesse that I deserue chastisement, & am ready to receiue what you shall award. It is true, you ought also to adde to the same pu­nishment al that I shal deserue in louing you the rest of my life, for it is im­possible I shuld liue without louing you. And do not think, the displeasure of Gerestan shal euer diuert me: he that feares neyther hazzard nor death, will neuer dread a man. But for that which touches you, I confesse I haue failed in comparing you with Diane, being (without doubt) ill proporti­oned on her side. It is true, that it is not as of a thing equall, but as of the lesse with the greater: and being of opinion, that that which you feele, may giue you more knowledge of my payne, I haue committed this er­ror, wherein, if you pardon me, I protest neuer to fall into it againe. Filan­der, which loued me in good earnest, and was of opinion, that Amidor did so likewise, could hardly brooke to heare him speake of mee with such misprize, if he had not had a purpose to discouer what it was, but desi­ring [Page 203] to clearē himselfe, and thinking he found a good occasion, hee had so much power ouer himselfe, that without making shew of it, hee sayd, What, is it possible, Amidor, that your mouth should vtter those words, which your heart giues the lye so strongly to? Thinke you that I know not well, that you are a dissembler, and that long since, your affecti­on hath beene for Diane? My affection (replyed he as surprized?) let ne­uer any loue me, if I loue other shepheardesse then you.

I say not, but sometimes I haue beene one of her friends: but her vne­quall humour, sometimes all on fire, sometimes cold like yce, hath so re­mooued me, that at this time she is indifferent vnto me. How (sayd Fi­lander) dare you say so, since I know, that indeed she hath loued you, and doth yet loue you? I deny not (sayd Amidor) but she hath loued me: and going on somewhat smiling, I will not sweare she loues me not yet: but I can suffer it well, so she be not beloued of me; and I leaue all the care to her. This which Amidor spake, was much after his humour; for it was his vsuall vanity, to desire that men might thinke he had great good fortunes: and for this cause it was his manner, to make himselfe (of purpose) so fa­miliar with them he conuersed with, that when he would draw backe, he could (with his smile and cold laughter) make men beleeue what he listed of them. At this bout Filander found out his craft, and had it not beene that he feared to discouer himselfe, he found himselfe so touched with my wrong, that I thinke he had reprooued him for his lie, yet could hee not forbeare to answer him sowrely enough. Truly, Amidor, you are the most vnworthy shepheard that liues in so good company, you haue the cou­rage, to talke in this sort of Diane, to whom you haue professed so much goodwill, and to whom you are so much obliged: What may we hope, we that come short of her in merit, since neyther her perfections, nor her friendship, nor your alliance can curbe your tongue? For my part, I sup­pose you to be the most dangerous person liuing: and who desires quiet­nesse, must be carefull to shunne you as a disease most contagious. At this word he left him, and came to seeke vs. His visage so inflamed with choler, that Daphnis knew wel he was displeased with Amidor, who stood so amazed at this parting, that he knew not what to doe. Afterward, in the euening Daphnis enquired of Filander, of their discourse; and because shee loued mee, and iudged that shee could not choose but encrease the loue which I bare the fayned Callire; in the morning she told it me, with that sharpenes against Amidor, & so cōmodiously for Filāder, that I must confesse, that since I could not easily hold my selfe from louing him, when I acknowledged (to my thinking) that his good wil had bound me to him.

[Page 204] But Daphnis, who knew well, that if I loued him then, it was because I thought him to be Callire, and daily counselled him to discouer himselfe to me, saying, that at the first I would reiect him, and be angry, but in the end, things should be so orderd, and for her part, she would labor in that sort, that shee hoped it might be brought about. But shee had not so strong perswasions, that they could giue him courage, which made Daphne resolue to do it her selfe, without his knowledge, fore-seeing well that Gerestan would haue his wife home, and then all this craft would be to no purpose.

In this resolution, one day, when she found me alone, after some or­dinary discourse, But what shall become in the end (sayd she) of this fol­ly of Callyre? I beleeue verily you will make her lose her right minde: for she loues you so passionately, that I thinke she cannot liue. If Filidas goe one day forth to lye abroad, and you will one night come out of your chamber, you shall see her in that case that I haue often found her in: for almost euery night that is fayre, she spends them in the garden; and plea­seth her selfe so with her owne imaginations, that I can scarce draw her (but with force) to her rest. I would gladly (sayd I) giue her some com­fort: but what would she haue of me? Do not I render her loue for loue? Do I not expresse it sufficiently in all mine actions? Want I any kinde of courtesie or duty towards her? It is true: but (replyed she) if you heard her discourses, I thinke not but you would haue compassion, and I be­seech you, that, without her knowledge, you would come to heare her one night. I promised her very freely, and told her, it should be shortly: for Filidas told me the night before, she would goe see Gerestan, and fall in league with him.

Some dayes after, Filidas, according to his purpose, carrying Ami­dor with him, departed to see Gerestan, resoluing not to returne of seuen or eight dayes, that he might giue greater token of his loue; and this re­moue fell out fitly for vs; for if he had beene at home, hardly should we haue concealed the trouble wherein we were. Now the day of his de­parting, Filander following his custome, fayled not to go downe into the garden, halfe vndrest, when he thought euery body asleepe. On the con­trary, Daphnis that went first to bed, as soone as shee sawe her goe out, made haste to tell me; and hastily casting a cloake about me, I followed her speedily enough, vntill we were in the garden. But when she percei­ued where he was, she made signe to me to come softly after. And when wee were come neere, so that wee might heare, we sate downe vpon the ground, and presently after I heard him say, But wherefore is all this pa­tience? [Page 205] to what end are all these delayes? Must thou not die without succour? or where mayst thou lay thy wound open to the Surgeon that can heale it? And then resting a little while, hee beganne agayne with a great sigh, Say not thou, O troublesome feare, that she will banish vs from her presence, and that shee will ordayne vs to a desperate death. Well, if we die, shall it not be a great solace to vs to abridge so miserable a life as ours is, and by death satisfie the offence we haue done? And as for banishment, if it come not from her, how may we auoyde it by Ge­restan, whose impaciencie will not suffer vs to stay longer heere? If yet we obtayne a longer stay of this importunate man, and that death do not befall vs from the anger of the fayre Diane, alas! can we auoyd the vio­lence of our affections? What must I then doe? that I tell her of it? Ah! I shall offend her for euer, if it were possible for me. Shall I conceale it? and why conceale it, when my death shall giue her a speedy knowledge? Why should I then offend her? Ah! Wrong and Loue will neuer go to­gether. Let vs rather die. But if I consent to my death, doe I not make [...]er lose the most faithfull seruant that euer she had? I will tell it her then, and at that time I will open my bosome, that the yron may more easily punish my errour, if she will. Behold (will I say) where the heart of the vnfortunate Filander is, who vnder the habit of Callire, in stead of gayning your fauour; hath met with your displeasure; reuenge your self [...] and pu­nish it, and be assured; that if the reuenge satisfie you, the punishment shall be welcome to him.

Faire shepheardesses, when I heard Filander speake in this sort, I knew not what became of mee, I was taken with such an astonishment. I know wel I would haue gone away, that I might see no more of this de­ceit, so full of despight that I trembled agayne. But Daphnis, for the full accomplishment of her treason, held me by force: and because (as I told you) we were very neere the shepheard, at the first noyse wee made, hee turned his head, and thinking it was but Daphnis; he came to her: but when hee perceiued mee, and that he thought I had heard him, O God (said he) what punishment shall wipe out my fault? Ah Daphnis! I neuer looked for this treason from you. And, at this word hee ranne vp and downe the garden like a madde man, although shee called him twice or thrice by the name of Callyre; but fearing to be heard of others, and the rather, that despayre might not make Filander doe some euill to his owne person, she left me alone, and ranne to follow him, saying to mee in choler at her going: You shall see (Diane) that if you deale hardly with Filander, it may be you will ruine your selfe so, that you may feele the [Page 206] greatest displeasure. If I were amazed at this accident (fayre shephear­desses) you may well iudge when I knew not which way to returne. At last, after I had some deale recouered my spirits, I searched so on euerie side, that I got into my chamber, where hauing layd mee in my bed all trembling, I could not close mine eyes all that night.

As for Daphnis, shee made such search for Filander, that at last sheē found him rather dead then aliue: and after she had chidden him, for not knowing how to make vse of so fauourable an occasion, and yet assured him that I was not so amazed at this accident as he, shee brought him a little to himselfe, and in some sort assured him, but not so, that the next morning he had the boldnesse to goe out of his chamber. I on the other side, infinitely offended with them both, was constrayned to keepe my bed, that I might not giue notice of my displeasure to them that were about vs; and particularly, to the neece of Gerestan: but by good for­tune, she was not more spritefull then reason would; so that we easily hid from her this euill carriage, which was (almost) impossible for vs, especi­ally for Filander, about whom she ordinarily kept. Daphnis found her selfe not a little impeached by this occasion; for at the first I could not re­ceiue her excuses. At last, she so turned me on all sides, and knew so well to disguise this affection, that I promised her to forget the displea­sure which she had done me, swearing notwithstanding, as for Filander, that I would neuer see him more. And I beleeue he had gone away with­out seeing me, as not able to endure my anger, had it not beene for the danger whereinto he feared Callyre might fall; for she had to doe with an husband that was froward enough.

This was the consideration that held him backe: but not rising from his bed, fayning to be sicke, fiue or sixe dayes passed before I would see him, what reason soeuer Daphnis could alledge in his behalfe: and had it not beene that I was aduertised, that Filidas would returne, and Callire also, I had not seene him of a long time. But the feare I had Filidas might not marke it, and that which was so secret might not bē published tho­rowout the countrey, made me to resolue to see him, on condition that he should make no shew of that which was passed, hauing not sufficient power ouer my selfe, to stay me from giuing some knowledge of my dis­pleasure. He promised it, and performed it: for hee durst hardly turne his eyes towards me; and when hee did, it was a certayne submission, which gaue me no small assurance of his extreme loue. And by fortune, presently after I was entred, Filidas, Amidor, and the dissembled Filander came into the chamber, the windowes whereof being shut, gaue vs good [Page 207] commodity to hide our faces. Filander aduertised his sister of all that had happened: and that was the cause that the stay of Filidas was not so long as he purposed; for seeing that her sister was sicke, she constrayned them to returne.

But this discourse would be too tedious, if I should not abridge all our small quarrels. So it was, that Callire knowing how things had pas­sed, sometimes turning them into sport, sometimes seeking out some likelihoods of reason, knew so well to serue her turne by fayre speech, e­specially being assisted by Daphnis, that at last I consented, that Filander should stay vntill his sisters hayres were growne, knowing well that it might ruine her, and my selfe also, if I should be ouer-hasty of their re­turne. And it fell out as she well foresawe, that during the time that her head grew, the ordinary conuersing with the shepheard, which at the last was not vnpleasing to me, and the tryall of the greatnesse of his loue, be­ganne to flatter mee (in such sort) that of my selfe I excused his deceit; considering withall, the respect and wisedome wherewith it was carried: So that before he was to goe away, he obtayned this fauour which he so much desired, to wit, that I would forget his crafty deceit; and so long as hee went not beyond the termes of his duty, I loued his good will, and would cherish it for his merit as I ought. The acknowledgement which he gaue me of his contentmēt, hauing this assurance from me, made me al­s as assured of his affection, as I was before certayne of his displeasure: for he was such an one, that he could hardly dissemble. While we were in these termes, Filidas, whose loue went on still increasing, could no longer hide the greatnesse of it, so that she resolued to set at once on the dissem­bled Filander.

With this purpose, finding her at leisure, one day as they walked to­gether vnder a tuft of trees, which tooke vp one of the quarters of the garden, he spake vnto her in this sort, after he had beene long denyed: Well, Filander, shall it be true, that what loue soeuer I can make shew of, I cannot haue the happinesse to be beloued of you? Callire answered him, I know not what more loue you can demaund of me, nor how I can re­turne you more, vnlesse your selfe giue me the meane. Ah (sayd she) if your will be such as mine, I may well doe it. For that triall which you haue had of me till now, why will you doubt me? Know you not (sayd Filidas) that extreme desire is alwayes attended by doubt? Sweare vnto me, you wil not be wanting in poynt of Loue, and I will shew you a thing (it may be) you will be astonished at. Callire was somewhat surprized, not knowing what she would say; yet, to know the conclusion, she an­swered: [Page 208] I sweare to you I doe. At this word, for thanks, and almost be­sides himselfe for ioy; Filidas taking her by the head, kissed her with that vehemency, that Callire waxed red, and in choler, thrusting her off, as­ked, what fashion this was? I know (answered Filidas) this kisse amazed you, and my actions, till now (it may be) haue made you suspect some strange thing in me: but if you will haue the patience to hearken to mee, I assure my self, you wil rather pity than haue an euil opinion: and repeating from the beginning, till that bout, she gaue him to vnderstand the lawe suite betweene Phormion and Celion, the accord which was made to ap­pease them, and lastly, the policy his father vsed to bring him vp as a man (though she were a woman,) shortly, our marriage, and all that which I haue told you, and then held on in this sort: Now that which I desire of you in satisfaction of your promise, is, that finding the extreme affection which I beare you, you will take me for your wife, and I will marry Diane to my cousin Amidor, whom my father hath purposely brought vp in his house for that cause. And then moreouer, added such words to perswade her, that Callire astonished more then I can tell you, and hauing some lei­sure to come to her selfe, answered, that vnfainedly she had told him ve­ry strange things, and such as she could hardly beleeue, if she did not as­sure them in another fashion then by words. She then vnbuttoning her selfe, opened her bosome; Honesty (sayd shee) forbiddeth mee to shew more: but me thinkes this might satisfie you.

Then Callire, that she might winne the leisure to take counsell of vs, made shew to be well pleased, but that she had parents from whom she hoped to haue all her aduancemēt, and without whose aduice she was not to make a resolution of that importance; and aboue all, besought her to keepe this affaire secret: for, divulging it, would giue men occasion of speech, and she should assure her selfe, that when there remayned nothing but her consent, she would giue proofe of her good will. With such talke they ended their walke, and returned to their lodging, where all that day Callire durst not come neere vs, for feare lest Filidas might thinke she had told it vs. But at night, she recounted to her brother all the discourse, and then they both went to finde out Daphnis, whom they made ac­quainted with it. Iudge, if the astonishment were great: but whatsoeuer it were, the contentment of Philander surpassed it farre, he thinking the heauens had offered him a fayre way to the conclusion of his desires. In the morning Daphnis desired me to go see the fayned Callire, and the true one abode neere Filidas, to the end he might not doubt it. God knowes what became of me, when I knew all this discourse. I sweare vnto you, I [Page 209] was so astonished, that I knew not whether it were a dreame. But this was the sport, that Daphnis complayned infinitely of mee, for hauing so long concealed it from her, and what oathes I made her, that I knew no­thing till that time. She would not beleeue me to be such a childe; and when I told her, I thought all men like Filidas, she fell a laughing at my ignorance. In the end we resolued, for feare lest Belinde would dispose of me at her pleasure, or that Filidas might make some attempt for Amidor, that we must doe nothing at randon, and without fore-thinking. For as then, by the sollicitation of Daphnis and Callire, I promised Philander to marry him. This was the cause, that taking agayne their owne habits, af­ter he had assured Filidas that he went to talke with his parents, he retur­ned with his sister to Gerestan, who neuer tooke notice of this disguising. From that time it was permitted to Philander to write to me: for sending ordinarily newes to Filidas, I had alwayes his letters, and that so cunning­ly, that neyther she, nor Amidor euer perceiued them.

Now fayre shepheardesses, till this time, this passage neuer brought me sorrow; but alas! it is that which followed, that cast me into such a bottomlesse pit, that euen to my coffin I must neuer hope to taste any sweet thing. It fell out to my misfortune, that a stranger passing thorow that Countrey, spyed me sleeping at the fountayne of Sicamores, where the coolenesse of the shadow, and sweet murmuring of the water about the middest of the day had made me sleepe. He whom the beauty of the place had brought thither, to spend the heat of the day, no sooner cast his eyes on me, but he noted some thing that pleased him. O gods! what man, or rather, what monster was this? he had a visage shining again for black­nesse, his hayre curled, and like the wooll of our sheepe, after they haue beene a moneth or two shorne, his beard in little tufts about his chinne, his nose flat betweene his eyes, but high and large at the end, his mouth great, his browes frowning and hanging ouer his nose; but nothing was so strange as his eyes, for in all his face there appeared nothing white, but that which he shewed when he rowled them in his head. This fayre louer was destined me by the heauens, to put me quite out of loue with louing: For, being rauished to behold me, he could not contayne (transported, as I thinke, with this new desire) but approaches to kisse me. But because he was in armor, and on horse-backe, the noyse that he made, awoke me, and in so good time, that as he was about to stoope to satisfie his will, I opened mine eyes, and seeing this monster so neere me, at the first I cry­ed out, and then laying my hand on his face, I strucke him with all my might: he that was halfe leaning, not looking for this defence, was so [Page 208] [...] [Page 209] [...] [Page 210] surprized, that the blow made him stagger, and for feare (as I thinke) he should tumble on me, he chose rather to fall on the other side, so that I had leisure to rise: I thinke if he had touched me, I should haue dyed of very feare. For imagine, that whatsoeuer is most horrible, yet it comes short of the terriblenesse of his fearefull visage. I was gone a pretty way off by that time he could rise vp: and seeing that he could not ouer-take me, by reason he was heauily armed, and that Feare tyed wings to my feet, he mounted presently on his horse, and with a full gallop followed me, when (almost out of breath) the poore Filidas, which hard by enter­tayned Philander, who was come to see vs, and was falne asleepe, as they talked, hearing my voyce, ranne to me, seeing this cruell fellow pur­sue me with his naked sword in his hand, for the choler of his fall wiped away all loue, she generously opposed against his fury, manifesting to me, by that last act, that she had loued me as much as her sexe would per­mit, and layd hold on the bridle of the horse; whereat this barbarous fel­low was so offended, that without regard of humanity, hee strucke him with his sword on his arme, with such a force, that he cut it from the bo­dy; and shee then almost dead with smart, fell downe vnder the horses feet, who beganne to bound so roughly, that his master had much to do to stay him. And because Filidas (in dying) gaue a great cry, naming Philander aloude, he being neere, heard her, and seeing her in so pitti­full a case, was extremely offended: but much more, when hee sawe this barbarous companion, being alighted from his horse, ranne after me with his sword in his hand; and I, as I tell you, what with feare, and what with the course I had made, so much out of breath, that I could scarce set one legge before another: what became of this poore shepheard? I doe not thinke, that euer Lion robbed of her whelpes, when shee sawe them carried away, ranne more mainely after them, then the couragious Philander after this cruell wretch. And because hee was laden with ar­mour that hindered his running, he ouer-tooke him quickely, and cryed: Forbeare, knight, forbeare any more to wrong her that deserueth rather to be adored: and because he would not stay, were it for that being in a fury, hee heard not his voyce, or being a stranger, vnderstood not his language, Philander putting a stone into his Sling, cast it with such a force, that hitting him on the head, but for the armour which he wore, without doubt, hee had killed him at that blowe, which was such, that the stranger stooped agayne: but presently raysing him selfe, and forget­ting the anger which he had against me, hee addressed himselfe in a rage towards Philander, who was so neere, that hee could not auoyde the vn­happy [Page 211] blowe he gaue him in his body, hauing nothing in his hand, but his sheep-hooke for his defence. Notwithstanding, seeing the sword of his enemy so high, his naturall generosity gaue him that strength and courage, that instead of going backe, hee aduanced himselfe forward, and setting his sheep-hooke against his brest, ranne the yron end of it betweene his eyes, so farre, that he could not draw it our, which was the cause, that thus leauing it fastened, he tooke hold on his throat, and with his hands and teeth finished the slaughter.

But alas, this was a victory dearely bought; for as this barbarous wretch fell downe dead on the one side, Philander (for want of strength) was faine to let himselfe fall on the other; but so lighting ouer-thwart, the sword which lay crosse the body, hit in the poynt against a stone, and the weight of his body made it come out of the wound. I that from time to time turned my head, to see if this cruell monster had yet ouer­taken me, sawe well where Philander ranne, and then an extreme feare tooke me. But alas, when I sawe him wounded so dangerously, forget­ting all feare, I stayed my selfe; but when he fell downe, the feare of death could not hold me from running to him, and almost as dead as he, I cast my selfe on the ground, and called him all be-blubbered by his name. He had lost much bloud, and still lost more from both ends of the wound. And see what force Loue hath: I that could not looke vpon bloud without swowning, had then the courage to thrust my handker­cher into the wound, to stoppe the course of bloud; and tearing a piece of my veile, I put it into the other part. This little helpe stood him in some stead; for, hauing layd his head in my lappe, he opened his eyes, and came agayne to his speech: And perceiuing me all couered with teares, he enforced himselfe to say: If euer I hoped for an end more fauourable then this, I pray the heauens (fayre shepheardesse) that it take no pitty on me.

I sawe well, that my small merit could not bring me to the happinesse desired, and I feared, that at the last, despayre would constrayne me to some furious manner of resolution against mine owne person. The gods that know better what is fit for vs then we can desire, haue well proui­ded, that hauing of long time liued but for you [...], I should likewise die for you. And iudge what my contentment is, since I not onely die for you, but withall, in preseruing to you the thing which of all the world you hold most deare, which is your chastity. Now mistrisse, since there remayneth nothing more to my contentment, but onely one poynt, by the affection which you haue found in Philander, I heartily pray you to [Page 212] grant it mee, to the end that this happy soule may goe to expect you in the Elisian fieldes, with this satisfaction from you. He spake this in broken words, and with much payne. And I that sawe him in this case, to giue him all the contentment he could desire, answered him: Friend, the gods haue not raysed in you so good and honest affection to extin­guish it so presently, and to leaue vs nothing but sorrow: I hope they will giue you yet so much life, that I shall make you know, that I giue not place to you in loue, no more then you doe to any other in merit. And for proofe of that which I doe say, demaund you that onely thing which you would gladly haue of me, for there is nothing that I can or will deny you.

At these last words, he tooke me by the hand, and laying it to his mouth; I kisse (sayth he) this hand by way of thankes, for the grace and fauour you haue done me; and then lifting vp his eyes to heauen: O God (sayd he) I desire of you but so much life, as may serue for the accomplish­ment of the promise which Diane comes to make me: and then addressing his speech to me, with such paine, that he could hardly vtter a word, he sayd thus vnto me, Now (fayre Mistrisse) heare then what it is I require of you: Since I feele not the anguish of death, but for you, I coniure you, by my affection, and by your promise, that I may carry this content­ment out of the world, that I may say, I am your husband; and beleeue me, if I doe obtayne it, my soule shall most contentedly goe into what place soeuer it must passe, hauing so great a testimony of your goodwill. I sweare to you (fayre shepheardesses) that these words strucke me so to the quicke, that I knew not how I was able to sustayne my selfe: and, I thinke (for my part) it was onely the desire I had to please him, that gaue me the courage. This was the cause that he had no sooner ended his de­maund; but I griping his hand, sayd, Philander, I graunt you that you demaund of me: and I sweare to you, before all the gods, and particu­larly before the deities which are in this place, that Diane giues herselfe to you, and that she taketh you both in heart and soule for her husband: and in speaking these words, I kissed him. And I (sayd he) take you, my fayre mistris, and giue my selfe to you for euer, right happy and content to beare the most glorious name of Diane. Alas, this word of Diane was the last word he vttered; for hauing his arme about my necke, and draw­ing me to him, to kisse me, he dyed, breathing his last vpon my lippes. How I looked, when I beheld him dead, you may easily iudge (fayre shepheardesses) since I so truly loued him. I fell groueling vpon him, with­out pulse, and without sence, and fell into a swowning, so that I came [Page 213] to my selfe without my owne knowledge. O God! how liueth my heart since I felt this losse, and found that to be too true, which so oftentimes he had foretold me, that I should loue him more after his death, then du­ring life; for I haue so liuely preserued his remembrance in my soule, that (me thinketh) I haue him alwayes before mine eyes, and without ceasing he sayth to me, vnlesse I will be vngratefull, I must loue him. So I doe (O good soule) and with the most entire affection that I can: and if where thou art, there be any knowledge of that which is done heere below, receiue (O deare friend) this good will, and these teares which I doe offer, in testimony that Diane loueth euen to her coffin, her dearest Philander.

The History of Fyrcis and Laonice.

OF all friendship, there is none (so farre as I can heare of) which is more affectionate, then that which is bred in youth, because cu­stome, which this young age takes hold of, by little and little, groweth to be changed into Nature, which if it be hard to put off, they know, that endeuour to contrary it. I say this, to serue my selfe of some kind of ex­cuse then (gentle shepheard) when you see mee constrayned to tell you, that I loue Tyrcis; for this affection was almost sucked in with the milke; and so my soule raysing it selfe with this nourishment, receiues in her selfe (as her owne) the accidents of that passion; and it seemed, euerything from my birth gaue agreement to it: for wee continued neighbours, the friendship betweene our fathers, our ages, which were very euen, and the gentlenesse of the young yeeres of Tyrcis, gaue me but ouer-great com­modity; yet misfortune would, that much about that time Cleon was borne in our Hamlet, which (it may be) had more graces then I, but out of question, with much more better fortune. For euen when this Maide beganne to open her eyes, it seemed that Tyrcis receiued the flame into his heart, seeing that in the very Cradle he tooke pleasure to behold her.

At that time I might be about sixe yeeres, and he ten yeeres old, and see how the heauens disposed of vs without our consent! From the houre I first sawe him, I loued him; and from the time he sawe Cleon, he loued her: and though our liues were such as our yeeres might beare, yet were they not so small, but there might very well be found the difference be­tweene vs. Afterward, as we grew, so did our loue likewise, and that to such an extraordinary height, as (it may be) there was not any that might surpasse it.

In this youth (you may we [...]lthinke) I went without any great heed ta­king to his actiōs; but growing to more age, I noted in him such a want of good will, that I resolued to turne another way; a resolution which ma­ny delights made me conceaue, but which no true Louer could execute, as I prooued long time after. Yet my courage being of [...]ded, had suffi­cient [Page 225] power to make me dissemble: and if I could not indeed withdraw my selfe intirely; yet, at least, make shew to take some kinde of leaue. That which tooke from me all meanes to doe it, was, that I could not see that Tircis affected any other shepheardesse; for all that he did to Cleon, could not mooue suspition that it was any thing but childishnesse, for that as then she could not be aboue nine yeeres old: & when she began to grow, and that she could feele the tracts of Loue, she so remooued from him, that it seemed, that this withdrawing would haue warranted her against all such blowes. But Loue, more crafty then shee, knew so well to come neere, and set before her soule, the merits, the affection, and the seruices of Tircis, that at last, shee found her selfe in the very middest, and so turned on all parts, that if she auoyded wounding on the one side, the stroke that she receiued on the other, was the greater and more deepe: So that shee could not flie to a better remedy then dissimulation; not to auoyde the blowes, but onely to keepe it from the knowledge of her enemy, or any other. She might well vse this dissembling, while it beganne to be but a little scratch; but when the sore became great, then must shee yeelde and confesse her selfe to be vanquished. Thus you see Tircis beloued of Cleon, and behold him playing with the honest sweetnesse of an amity, though at the beginning he scarce knew what his disease was, as these verses wit­nesse, which he made at that time:

After Tircis had knowledge of the good will of happy Cleon, he recei­ued it with so great contentment, that his heart beeing vnable to hide it, he was forced to impart it to his eyes; which God knowes, how suddain­ly changed from that they were, gaue but too manifest knowledge of their ioy. The discretion of Cleon was such, that shee gaue no aduantage to Tircis for his duty: so that iealousie of her honor perswaded her to make shew of louing me, that they which noted her actions, might stop at those which were more euident; and goe no further to seeke out those which she would conceale. She made choyce of mee rather then any o­ther, for that she had long before perceiued that I loued him: and know­ing well, it is hard to be beloued, and not to loue againe, she thought that euery body would beleeue, that this friendship, not hauing bene long be­tweene vs, might be thought to grow from the good will which I bare him.

He that had no designe, but that which Cleon allowed, presently ende­uoured to effect that which shee had commanded him. O God, when I remember the sweete words which he vsed to me, I cannot (though they were lyes) containe my selfe from entertaining them; and thanke Loue for those happy moments, wherewith he delighted me at those times; and wish, since I cannot be more happy, that I might at least, bee alwaies so deceiued. And indeed, Tircis found it no great paine to perswade mee, that he loued me: for besides, that euery one easly beleeues the thing they desire, me thought it might haue bin so, because I did not iudge my selfe to be so vnlouely, but that so long a conuersing as ours was, might haue gayned somewhat of him; especially with the care I had to please him. Whereby this glorious Cleon oftentimes passed the time with him: but if Loue had bin iust, he shuld haue made the deceit fal on her self, by suffring Tircis to come & loue me vnfainedly: yet it fell not out so, but contrarily, this dissimulation was so vnsupportable, that he could not continue it: and did not Loue shut vp the eyes of them that loue, I could not chuse but haue perceiued it, as wel as the greater part of them that saw vs together; to whom, as to my professed enemies, I would giue no credit: and be­cause Cleon & I were very familiar, this cunning shepheardesse feared, that time, & the sight I had, might put me out of the errour wherein I was. But gētle shepherd, it had bin necessary that I had bin as forecasting as she: yet the better to hide herselfe, she inuented a sleight, which was not euill. Her [Page 227] purpose, as I haue told you, was to shadow the loue which Tircis bare her, by that which hee made shew of to me: and it succeeded as shee set downe, for they beganne to talke somewhat loude, and to my disaduan­tage, and though it were but they that looked no further then to appa­rence, yet this nūber being greater then the other, the bruit ran presently, and the suspitiō that they had before of Cleon, died at that instant; so that I may say, that she loued at my cost. But she that feared, as I told you, lest I should come to discouer the practice, would cloke it vnder another; and counselled Tircis to let me know, that euery body beganne to finde out our loue, and to censure it shrowdly enough, and that it was necessa­ry to cause it to cease by wisedome, and that it was fit he should seeme to loue Cleon, that by this diuerting, they which talked the worst, might re­forme themselues. And you may tell her, said she, that you haue chosen me rather then any other, for the commodity you haue to be neere her, and to speake to her. I, that was all honest, and without craft, found this counsell good, so that (with my permission) from that day, when we three were together, he made not dainty to entertaine Cleon as he was accusto­med. And indeed, it was very pleasing to them, and to any other that knew this dissimulation: for, seeing the suite that hee made to Cleon, I thought he [...]ested, and could hardly hold my selfe from laughter. On the other side, Cleon noting my fashions, and knowing the deceit wherein I thought her to be, was extremely pained to dissemble it; especially, when this crafty companion made certaine winks with her eye, which often­times were so farre from the purpose, that I might accuse the loue shee bare to the shepherd, and the contentment that this deceit brought him. And see if I were in my right minde, that of pitty I felt the displeasure which she should haue, when she knew the truth! But since I found, that I complaine in her person, yet may I excuse my selfe; for who hath not beene beguiled, since that Loue, as soone as he gets intire possession of a soule, spoyles it presently of all distrust in the person beloued? And this dissembling shepheard played his part so well, that if I had beene in Cle­ons place (it may bee) I should haue doubted his shewes had beene true.

Being sometimes in the middle betweene vs two, if hee laboured to make ouer-great demonstration of his loue to Cleon, hee would instantly turne to me, and aske me in mine care, if he had not done well. But his master-fraud stucke not at so small a thing: heare you, I beseech you, whereto it passed. In priuate he spake more often to Cleon, then to mee; he would kisse her hand; he would bee an houre or two on his knees be­fore [Page 228] her, and would not conceale it from me, for the cause I haue told you: but generally he would neuer budge from me; sued to me with such dissi­mulation, that the greatest part held on the opinion they formerly had of our loues; which he did of purpose, desirous, that I onely should see his courting of her, because hee knew well I would not beleeue it: but hee would not in any case, that they, who might iudge rightly, should come to the least knowledge. And when I told him, we could not put out of mens heads the opinion of our loue, and that none would beleeue it, when it was told me that he loued Cleon: How (answered he) will you haue them beleeue a thing that is not? So it is, that our plots, in despite of the worst conceits, shall be beleeued in generall. But he, that was well aduised, see­ing an occasion presented to passe yet further, sayd to mee, That aboue all, we must deceiue Cleon; and if she were once deceiued, we had then al­most accomplished our purpose; that for this cause, of necessity, I must speake to her for him, and I should doe it confidently.

She (saith he) that already hath this opinion, will with all her heart, receiue those messages which you bring her, and so we shall liue in assu­rance. Oh! what a miserable fortune doe we oftentimes runne into? for my part, I thought that if at any time Cleon beleeued that I loued this shepheard, I should make her lose that opinion, when I prayed her to loue him, and confidently spake for him. But Cleon knowing what speech I had with the shepheard: and seeing in what restraint she liued, iudged she might by my meanes haue messages, and especially letters. This was the cause that she tooke in good part the proposition which I made her; and from that time she treated with him as with the man she loued and I serued to no other vse, than to carry letters from the one to the other. O Loue! to what an occupation didst thou then put me? Yet may I not complayne, for that I haue heard say, that I am not tho first that haue done such offices to others, thinking to worke for themselues.

About that time, because the Frankes, Romans, Gothes and Burgo­nians raysed a cruell warre, we were constrayned to go into the Towne, which beares the name of that shepheard that was Iudge to the three god­desses; for our place of abode was not farre from thence, vpon the banks of the great riuer of Seyne. And for that by reason of the great accesse of people, which from all parts came to withdraw them there, and the want of those commodities which they were vsed vnto in the Champaine, the contagious sickenesse beganne to take so violent a course throughout the Towne, that euen the great men could nor defend themselues. It fell out that the mother of Cleon was attaynted with it. And although that this [Page 229] disease were so fearefull, that there was neither parentage, nor obligation of loue, that could retayne the sound about them that were infected; yet the good nature of Cleon had such power ouer her, that she would not de­part from her mother, whatsoeuer she sayd vnto her: but on the con­t [...]ary, when some of her familiars would haue withdrawne her, repre­senting the danger whereinto she thrust her selfe; and that it was offen­siue to the gods, to tempt them in this sort: If you loue me, would she say, vse not this speech to me, for, doe I not owe my life to her that gaue me it? and can the gods be offended that I serue him, that taught me to wor­ship them? On this resolution she would neuer abandon her mother: and staying with her, serued her as freely, as if it had beene no infectious dis­ease. Tyrcis was all the day long at their doore, burning with desire to enter into their lodging; but the for bidding of Cleon stayed him, who would not suffer him, for feare lest they that were ready to thinke the worst, might iudge his presence preiudiciall to her chastity. He that would not displease her, not daring to enter, caused to be carried to them all things necessary, with so great care, that they were neuer in want of any thing. Yet (as the heauens would) this happy Cleon would not escape the infectiō of her mothers disease, whatsoeuer preseruatiues Tyrcis could bring. When this shepheard knew it, it was no more possible to keepe him backe from entring into their lodging, thinking it was now no time to dissemble, nor to feare the biting of the bad-speaker. He then set in order all his affayres, disposed of his goods, and declared his last will: then hauing left a charge to some of his friends, to send him succour, he shuts himselfe in with the mother and the daughter, resoluing to runne the same fortune that Cleon did. It would serue to no purpose, but to lengthen the discourse, to tell you, what were the good offices, what the seruices that he did to the mother, for the consideration of the daugh­ter; for he could not imagine more then those which his affection made him performe.

But when he sawe her dead, and that there remayned no more then his Mistris, whose disease growing worse and worse, I do not thinke that this shepheard rested one moment. He [...] her continually in his armes, or else dressed her sores. Shee on the other side, who had al­wayes loued him so dearely, acknowledged so great loue in this last acti­on, that her owne was much increased, so that one of her griefes was, the danger wherein she saw him for her cause. He on the contrary side, tooke such satisfaction, that Fortune (though his enemy) yet had offe­red him this meane, to giue testimony of his goodwill, that he could not [Page 230] giue her thankes enow. If fell out, that the disease of this shepheardesse (being in case needfull to be launced) there was no Surgeon that would (for feare of danger) hazzard himselfe to touch her. Tyrcis, whose affe­ction found nothing hard, being instructed what he was to doe, tooke the launcer, and lifting vp her arme, launced it, and dressed it without feare. Shortly (gentle shepheard) all the most dangerous things and most noysome, were sweet vnto him, and very casie. So it was, that the disease hourely encreasing, brought this Nymph (beloued Cleon) to that estate, that there remayned no more strength, but to speake these words: I am sorry that the gods will no longer draw out the threed of my life, not that I haue a desire to liue longer time; for this desire can neuer make me wish it, hauing had triall of the discommodities which follow mortals: but onely, that (in some sort) I would not die so much obliged to you, but that I might haue time to giue you testimony, that I am not attainted with Ingratitude, nor misprising. It is true, that when I consider what are the obligations which I owe you, I thinke the heauens are right iust, to take me out of the world, since that if I should liue as many ages as I haue done dayes, I know not how to satisfie the least of that infinite number which your affection hath brought forth. Receiue then for all that which I owe you, not an equall good, but indeed, all that I can, which is an oath which I make you, that euen death shall neuer wipe out the memory of your loue, nor the desire I haue to make all the acknowledgements that a true louing person may yeeld to him, to whom she is bound. These words were vttered with much payne, but the loue she bare the shep­heard gaue her the strength to deliuer them. Whereto Tyrcis answered (Faire Mistris) I can hardly thinke I haue bound you, nor that euer I shall, because that which I haue hitherto done, hath not satisfied my selfe: and whereas you say, you are obliged to me, I see well, you know not the greatnes of the loue of Tyrcis, otherwise you would not thinke, that so small a thing was able to pay the tribute of so great duty. Beleeue mee (fayre Cleon) the fauour you haue done me, so kindely to receiue the ser­uices which you say I haue done you, charge me with so great a burden, that a thousand liues, and a thousand such occasions know not how to discharge me.

The heauens which haue caused me to be borne but for you, will ac­cuse me of misprisall, if I liue not for you: and if I haue any dessigne to employ one single moment of this life, other then to your seruice. He would haue held on longer, but the shepheardesse (ouerladen with her sickenesse) interrupted him, Cease, friend, and let me speake, to the end, [Page 231] that the small remainder of my life may be employed, in assuring you, that you may not be better beloued, than you are of me, who finding my selfe ready to depart, giue you an eternall farewell, and intreate you for three things, alwayes to loue Cleon; to cause mee to be buryed neere my mo­thers bones; and to take order, that when you are to pay the duety of mortality, your body be layed neere mine, that I may rest with this con­tentment, that not hauing the power to be vnited to you in life, yet I may be so at least in death. He answered, The gods should be vniust, if hauing giuen beginning to so good an amity as ours, they should sunder it so soone. I hope they will yet preserue you, or at least, they will take me away before you, if they haue any compassion of the afflicted: but if they will not, I onely desire of them so much life, as may satisfie the com­mandements which you make me, and then permit me to follow you, that if they cut not off my threed, and my hand be free, assure your selfe (fayre Mistris) you shall not be long without me. Friend (answered she) I en­ioyne you beyond this, to liue as long as the gods please; for in the length of your life, they shall shew themselues pittifull vnto vs, since that by this meanes I shall make relation in the Elisian fields of our perfect amity, you may publish it to the liuing: and so the dead and liuing men shall honour our memory. But friend, I perceiue, my disease enforces me to leaue you; farewell, the most louely, and the best beloued among men. At these last words she dyed, leaning her head on the bosome of her shepheard.

To tell you the displeasure hee tooke, and the complaynts hee made, were but to strike the sword deeper into the wound; besides that, his gashes are yet so open, that euery man seeing them, may well iudge what the blowes were. O death, cryed Tyrcis, that hast robbed me of the better part of my selfe! either restore me that thou hast taken, or take a­way the rest. And then, to giue roome to teares and sighes, which this re­membrance pluckt from his heart, he held his peace for a while: when Siluander told him, he was to resolue himselfe, since there was no remedy: and that for things happened, and may no more be, complaints were but witnesses of weakenesse. So much the rather (sayd Tyrcis) find I occasion of complaynt: for if there were any remedy, it were not the part of a man aduised, or one of courage, to complayne; but he may be well allowed to bewaile that, which can find no other asswagement. Then Laonice taking agayne her speech, continued in this sort: At last this happy shepheardesse being dead, and Tyrcis hauing rendred the last offices of loue, hee tooke order she should be buryed by her mother, but the ignorance of them to whom he gaue the charge, was such, that they placed her else-where: for [Page 232] as for him, he was so afflicted, as he stirred not from off his bed, there be­ingnothing to preserue his life, but the cōmandements she had giuen him. Somes dayes after, enquiring of those who came to visit him, in what place the body so beloued was layed, hee knew it was not by her mother; whereat he conceiued such a displeasure, that contracting for a great summe with those that vsed to bury, they promised to take her vp, and to lay her with her mother. And indeed they went about it, and hauing opened the ground, they tooke her vp betweene three or foure of them; but hauing carryed her a little way, the infection was so great, that they were compelled to leaue her in mid-way, resolued rather to die, then to carry her furder.

Where of Tyrcis being aduertised, after he had made them yet grea­ter offers, and seeing they would not respect it: And why (sayd he aloud) canst thou hope, that the loue of gayne may do more in them, than thine in thee? Ah Tyrcis! this is too great an offence to thy Loue. Hee spake thus, and as one transported, he runnes to the place where the body was, and though it had beene three dayes buryed, and that the stinke was ex­treme, yet tooke he it betweene his armes, and carryed it to her mo­thers graue, which was by that time couered. And after so good a deed, and so great a testimony of his affection, withdrawing himselfe out of the Towne, he stayed forty nights separated from all men. Now all these things were vnknowne to me, for one of my Aunts being sicke of the like disease (almost) at that time, we conuersed not with any: and the same day that he came backe, I returned like wise. Hauing vnderstood onely of the death of Cleon, I went to him to know the particularities; but comming to his chamber doore, I layd mine eye to the key-hole, because I came neere, I heard him sigh: and I was not deceiued, for I saw him on his bed, his eyes lifted to heauen-ward, his hands ioyned together, and his face couered with teares. If I were astonished (gentle shepheard) iudge you; for I did not thinke he had loued her, and came (in part) to delight my selfe with him. At last, after I had beheld him some while, with a sigh which seemed to part his stomake in pieces, I heard him bring foorth these words:

O gods! what became of me when I heard him speake thus? my a­mazement was such, that vnawares leaning against the doore, I entred but halfe in, whereat he turned his head; and seeing me, he made none other signe, but holding out his hand to me, prayed me to sit on the bed by him: and then wiping his eyes, for so he should alwayes need an hand­kercher, hee spake to mee in this sort: Well, Laonice, the poore Cleon is dead, and we are left to bewayle her rauishment. And because the paine I was in, gaue me no power to answer, he went onward: I know well (shepheardesse) that seeing me in this plight for Cleon, you are amazed, that the fayned loue I bare her should giue me so true feelings. But alas! leaue that errour, I beseech you, so me thinkes I should commit a grea­ter fault against Loue, if without cause I should hold on that dissembling, whereto my affection (till now) commaunded me: Know then Laonice, that I haue loued Cleon, and that all other suites were but to cloake that; [Page 234] and if you did euer beare me friendship, for Gods sake, Laonice, condole with me this disaster, that at once haue layd all my hopes in her coffin. And if you be in any sort offended, pardon Tyrcis the errour which hee hath committed against you, that he might not be wanting in that which was due to Cleon. At these words, transported with choler, I went away (so farre besides my selfe) that I could hardly finde out my lodging, from whence I stirred not of a long time. But after wee haue crossed Loue a thousand times, yet must we submit our selues: and therfore, behold me as much to Tyrcis as euer I was. I excuse in my selfe, the treasons which he had done me, and pardon him the wrongs and faynings where with hee offended me, naming them, in pardoning them, not dissemblings nor treasons, but violences of loue. And I was the easlyer drawne vnto this pardon, for the Loue, who professeth himselfe a party in this fault, went flattring me with a certaine hope to succeed in Cleons place. While I was in this thought, behold, one of my sisters came to tell me, that Tyrcis was lost, so that he was no more to be seene, and no body knew where he was.

This recharge of griefe surprized me so forcibly, that all that I could do, was to tel her, that this sadnes being ouer-passed, he would returne as he went. But from that time I resolued to follow him, and that I might not be hindered by any, I got out so secretly, about the beginning of the night, that before day I found my selfe farre off. If I were astonished at the first, seeing my selfe alone in the darke, the heauens know it, to whom my complaints were directed; but Loue, which secretly accom­panyed me, gaue me courage enough to accomplish my purpose. So I pursued my voyage, following (without more adoe) the way which my seet met with, for I knew not whither Tyrcis went, nor my selfe neither. So that I was a wandere more than foure moneths, hearing no newes of him. At last, p [...]ss [...] the mount Dor, I met with this shepheardesse (said she poynting to Malonthe,) and with her, that shepheard called Ther­sander, sitting vnder the shadow of a Rocke, wayting vntill the mid-dayes heate were abated. And for that my custome was to demaund newes of Tyrcis of all I met, I addressed my selfe to the place where I sawe them, and knew that my shepheard (by the marks they had giuen me) was in those deserts: and that he went alwayes bewayling Cleon. Then I told them what I tell you, and coniured them to tell me the most certayne newes they could. Whereto M [...]donthe (moued with pity) answered me with that sweetnes, that I iudged her strucken with the same disease that [...] was; and my opinion was not false: for I knew since the long history [Page 523] of her griefes, by which I found that Loue strikes as well in the Court as in our woods: and for that our fortunes had some sympathy betwixt them, she desired me to tarry and end our iourny together, since we both made one kind of search. I that was alone receiued (with open armes) this com­modity; and from that time we parted not asunder. But what serues this discourse to my purpose, since I will onely relate to you what concernes Tyrcis and me? Gentle shepheard, this shall be enough, to say to you, that after we had stayed more then three moneths in that country, at last, we knew he was come hither: where we no sooner arriued, but that I met him, and so vnseasonably for him, that he stood as amazed. At the first he receiued me with a countenance good enough: but at last, knowing the occasion of my voyage, he declared to me all at length, the extreme af­fection he bare vnto Cleon: and that it was not in his power to loue me. Loue (if there be any iustice in thee) I demaund of thee, and not of this ingratefull, some acknowledgement of so much trauell passed.

So ended Laonice, and seeming she had no more to say, wiping her eyes, she turned them pittifully to Siluander, as asking fauour, in the iu­stice of her cause. Then Tyrcis spake in this sort: Wise shepheard, though the history of my misfortunes be such as this shepheardesse hath told you, yet is the story of my griefes much more pittifull, wherewith yet I will entertayne you no longer, for feare of troubling you and the com­pany, onely I will adde to that which she hath sayd, that not being a­ble to endure her ordinary complaints (by common consent) we went to the Oracle, to know what he would ordayne of vs, and we had such an answer by the mouth of Arontyne:

And though we haue beene long heere, yet are you the first that as­ked of the state of our fortunes; therefore it is that we cast our selues in­to your armes; and we desire you to set downe what you will haue vs do. And for that nothing may be done, but according to the will of God, the old woman, who gaue vs the Oracle, told vs, that hauing met with you, wee were to cast Lots, who should maintayne the cause both of the one [Page 236] and other: and for this effect, all they whom we met, should put a gage betweene your hands in a hat. The first that drawes, shall bee hee that speakes for Laonice; and the last of all, for me. At these words he desired them all to be willing to it; whereto euery one consented. By fortune, that of Hylas was the first; and that of Phillis the last: Whereat Hylas smiling, Heretofore (said hee) when I was seruant to Laonice, I should hardly haue had the minde to perswade Tircis to loue her; but now, that I am for M [...]donthe, I willingly obey to that the god commands. Shep­heard (answered Leonide) you are to vnderstand by the way, what the prouidence of this diuinity is, since to mooue each one to change of affe­ction, it hath giuen the charge to inconstant Hylas, as to him, that by vse well knowes the meanes: and to continue a faithful loue, it hath giuen the perswasion to a shepheardesse constant in all her actions: and to iudge of them both, it hath chosen a person that cannot be partiall; for Siluan­der is neither constant, nor inconstant, since he neuer loued any. Then Sil­uander taking the word, Since therefore you will, O Tircis, and you Lao­nice, that I be Iudge of your difference, sweare both of you betweene my hands, that you will inuiolably obserue it; otherwise, it will bee but more to displease the gods, and for vs to take paine to no purpose. Which they did, and then Hylas began thus:

The History of Siluander.

VVHen Aetius was made Lieutenant genērall in Gaule, by the Emperour Valentinian, he found it very dangerous for the Ro­manes, that Gondioch the first king of the Burgonians, should possesse the greatest part, and resolued to chase him out, and to send him backe ouer the Rheyne, from whence he was lately come; when Stilico for the good seruice which he had done to the Romanes, gaue him the ancient prouin­ces of the Authunes, of the Sequans, and Allobroges, whom from that time they called Burgonians, from their name, and without the commaunde­ment of Valentinian: it is easie to beleeue what hee would haue done, to get all the forces of the Empire into his hands: but the Emperour seeing a great number of enemies at his elbow, as Gothes, Hunnes, Vandals and Frankes, which were all busie in diuers places, commaunded Aeti [...] to leaue them in peace. Which was not so soone, but that the Burgoni­ans were gathered together into routes, and that so, that their Prouinces, and those that neighboured them, felt the smart of it, the enemies ma­king [Page 249] waste, with so grēat cruelty, that whatsoeuer they found, they car­ried away.

Now I at that time being about fiue or sixe yeeres olde, was, with many others, brought by the Burgonians into the vttermost towne of the Allobroges, who to reuenge themselues, being entred into the Countrey, confederate with their enemies, committed the same disorders they had receiued. To tell you what was the meaning of them that tooke mee, I know not, vnlesse it were to haue some summe of money. So it was, that Fortune was so good to me, after she had beene my secret enemy, that I fel into the hands of an Heluetian, who had a father that was an old man, and a right honest, who conceiuing some good opinion of me, as well for my countenance, as for some pleasant answeres, which in that age I had giuen him, tooke me to himselfe, with a purpose to make me a student; and indeede, though his sonne contraried him what he could possibly, yet for bare he not from following his former dessigne, and so spared no cost to cause me to be instructed in all kinde of learning, sending mee to the Vniuersity of Marseilles, in the prouince of the Romanes. So that I may say with good reason, that I had beene lost, if I had not beene lost. And though (according to my Genius) there was nothing more pleasant to me than letters, yet was it a continuall punishment to mee, to thinke, that I knew not from whence, nor who I was, imagining, that this misfortune neuer befell any other. And being in this care, one of my friends aduised me, to enquire of some Oracle, to know the trueth. For for my part, I was so young, that I had no more remembrance than I haue now, either of the place whence I was taken, or where I was borne; and hee that gaue me this counsell, sayd, that there was no likelihoode, but that the heauens, hauing had such a care of mee, as I haue found since I was lost, they would yet shew mee more fauour. This friend knew so well how to perswade me, that wee went both together, and the answer we had was this:

Iudge (faire Diane) what satisfaction we had in this answer: for my part, without longer stay I resolued neuer to enquire furder, since it was impossible I should know it without dying, and to liu [...] [...]fterward with [Page 250] much quiet of spirit, referring my selfe to the guiding of heauen; and employing my selfe onely to my studies, wherein I made so good pro­gresse, that the old Abariel (for that was the name of him who brought me vp) had a minde to see me before he dyed, presaging his end almost at hand. Being then come to him, and hauing receiued the most sweet v­sage that I could desire: one day, when I was alone with him in his cham­ber, he spake to me in this sort, My sonne, (for as such I haue alwayes loued you, since the rigour of warre cast you into my hands) I doe not thinke you so mis-vnderstanding what I haue done for you, that you may make question of my good will; yet, if the care I haue had to instruct your youth, haue not giuen you sufficient knowledge of it, I would you should take notice of it, because I desire to do for you. You know that my sonne Azahyde, who tooke you, and brought you to mee, hath a daughter, whom I loue as my selfe: and because I determine to passe the few dayes behinde, in quietnesse and tranquillity, I haue a purpose tomarry you to her, and to giue you so good a part of my wealth, that I may liue with you, so long as it pleaseth God. And thinke not, that I haue had this pur­pose on a sudden, for it is long since I prepared for euery thing. In the first place, I was desirous to know what your humor was, euen when you were a childe, to iudge if you could frame your selfe to be with me, for that in such an age there could be but little art, and so might we see (as naked) all the affections of a soule; and finding you such as I wished A­zahyde to be, I thought good to settle the repose of my last dayes vpon you, and for that cause I put you to study, knowing well, that there is nothing makes a soule more capable of reason, than the knowledge of things. And during your long absence from me, I haue determined to marry my young daughter to you, who (to please me) desires it almost as much as my selfe. It is true, she would gladly know, who, and of what place you are.

And to satisfie her, I haue enquired of Azahyde many times, in what place he tooke you; but he hath alwayes told me, that he knew nothing but that it was at the riuer of Rosne, of the prouince of Viennois, and that you were giuen by one that brought you two dayes iourney, for ex­change of some armors. But it may be, you can remember better, for you might be about fiue or sixe yeeres of age; and when I asked him whether the cloaths which you then wore, might not giue some coniecture of what parents you were descended, he answered no, for that you were then so young, that hardly could one iudge by your habit, of what condition you were. So that, my sonne, if your memory doe not helpe you herein, [Page 251] there is no body can free vs of this paine. So the good old Abariel held his peace, and taking me by the hand, besought me to tell him all that I knew. Whereto, after all the thankes I could giue him, as well for the good opinion he had of me, as for the nourture hee had giuen me, and for the marriage which hee propounded, I made him answere, that in truth I was so yong when I was taken, that I had no remembrance neither of my parents, nor of my condition. This is (replyed the good old man) some­what combersome, yet we will not let to proceed further, prouided you like of it, not greatly caring to speake with Azahyde, but to know your good will. And when I had answered him, that I were very ingratefull, if I did not wholy obey his commandement, at that instant causing mee to go aside, he sent to seeke out his sonne, and to tell him his purpose, which before my returne hee knew of by his daughter; and the feare of losing the goods which Abariel would giue vs, made him so much to dislike it, that when his father spake to him of it, hee so long reiected it, and with such reasons, that in the end the good old man not being able to get his consent, told him frankely, Azahide, if you will not giue your daughter to whom I will, I wil giue my goods to whom you would not; and therefore resolue to agree to Siluander, or I will chuse him to be mine heire. Aza­hyde, who was very couetous, and fearing to lose that good, seeing his father in these termes, came better to himselfe, and besought him to giue him some few dayes space to think of it; whereas his father being a good old man, easily condescended, desiring to do all things with gentlenesse, and after told me of it: yet he needed not haue done it, for I perceiued so much by the eyes and speech of his sonne, who began to deale so roughly with me, that I could hardly endure it. Now during the time that he had taken, he commanded his daughter, who had a better minde then hee, on paine of death (for he was a man of blood and murther) to make shew to the old man, that she was sorry her father would not satisfie his will, and that she could not helpe it, but with her disobedience, that she was ready to marry me secretly, and when it was done, time might worke her fa­thers content; and this he had in purpose to procure my death. The poore wench was much entāgled: for on the one side the ordinary threatnings of her father, whose mischieuous nature she knew too well, egged her on to play this part; on the other side, the loue which from her childhood shee bare me, with held her. So it was, that her tender yeeres (for shee had not passed aboue halfe an age) would not let her haue resolution enough to de­nie; and so, al trembling, she came to vse that speech to the good man, who receiued it with that confidence, that after hee had kissed her fore-head [Page 252] twice or thrice, at last he resolued to put it in practice as she had sayd, and enioyned me so peremptorily, that notwithstanding all the doubts I had in it, I durst not contradict it.

Now the resolution was taken in such sort, that I was to climbe tho­row a window into the chamber, where I must marry her secretly. This Towne is seated on the vtmost bounds of the Allobroges, on the side of the Heluecians, and it is on the banks of the great lake Leman, in such sort, that the waues beat vpon the houses, and then disgorge themselues into Rosne, which passeth thorow the middest of it. The meaning of Azaby­de was, because their lodgings were that way, to draw mee vp with a cord, halfe the height of the wall, and then to let me fall into the lake, where being drowned, they might neuer heare more newes of mee; be­cause that Rosne with his swiftnesse, would haue carried me farre off, or touching on the hard rocks, I might haue beene so bruised, that no man could haue knowne me. And, without doubt, his designe had taken ef­fect, for I was resolued to obey the good Abariel, had it not beene, that the day before this was to be done, the poore wench, that was comman­ded to shew me good countenance, that I might be the more abused, mo­ued with compassion, and out of horrour to bee the cause of my death, could not hold from discouering it to mee, all trembling, saying to mee a little after, You see, Siluander, in sauing your life, I procure mine owne death, for I know well, Azahyde will neuer pardon me; but I had rather dye an innocent, then liue guilty of your death. After I had thanked her, I told her she should not feare the fu [...]y of Azahyde; and that I would so prouide, that she should haue no displeasure; that for her part, shee must onely doe that which her father had giuen in charge, and that I would finde a remedy both for her safety and mine owne: but aboue all things, she must be secret. And then toward night I prouided my selfe of all the money I could get, without the knowledge of Abariel, and set so good an order to that I was to doe, that the houre being come when I must goe to the place appoynted, after I had taken leaue of the olde man who came with me to the shore, I mounted into a little barke which hee had proui­ded, and then going softly vnder the window, I made shew to tye vp my selfe, but it was onely my clothes filled vp with grauell: and suddainely withdrawing myselfe aside, to see what would happen, I heard them fall at once into the lake, where, with the ore, I gently beat the water, that they might thinke, when they heard the noyse, that it was I that beat so: but I was quickly compelled to be gone from thence, because they cast downe so many stones, that I could hardly saue my selfe, and soone after I [Page 253] saw a light set in the window, whereby fearing to be discouered, I hid my selfe in the boat, lying all along groueling.

This was the cause, the night being very darke, and my selfe gotten a prety was off, that they could not see me, but thought the boat did float so of it selfe. Now when euery one was gone from the window, I heard a great noyse about the place where I left Abariel, and as I might iudge, me thought I heard his exclamations, which I tooke to be occasioned by the noyse that hee had heard in the water, fearing I was drowned: so it was, that I resolu'd neuer to go to him more, not that i [...] grieu'd me to serue him in his old dayes, for the great obligation that I was tied to him in, but for the ouer-great assurance of the euill will of Azahyde. I knew well, that if it were not at this brunt, it would be at another, that he would ac­complish his wicked designe. So then being come to the chaines which lock the port, I was forced to leaue my boat, to goe swimming ouer to the other side, whither being come with some danger, by reason of the darkenesse of the night, I went to that place where I had hid my other clothes, and whatsoeuer I had of worth; and taking the way of Agaune, I came by the poynt of day to Euians; and I assure you, I was weary: for hauing gone fast, I was constrained to rest all that day there, where, by fortune not beeing knowne, I was willing to take counsell, as others did in their most vrgent affaires, of the wise Bellinde, who is mistrisse of the Vestals which are along the lake; and as I learned since, is the mother of my faire mistrisse: so it was, that letting her know all my disasters, shee consulted the Oracle, and the next day she told me that the god comman­ded me not to be distempered for so great aduersities, and that it was ne­cessary, if I would be gone, to seek our the fountaine of the verity of Loue, because in that water was my onely remedy, and as soone as I should be there, I might know both my father and my country. And asking her in what place this fountaine was: she gaue me knowledge, that it was in this countrey of Forrests; and then told me the property and the enchantment, with that courtesie, that I am infinitely yet bound vnto her. From that time I resolued to come hither; and taking my way by the towne of Plan­cus, it is some moneth since I came, where the first that I met with, was Celadon, who at that time was returned frō a long voiage, by whom I vn­derstood where this admirable fountaine was: but when I should go, I fell sicke, so that I came not out of my chamber for sixe moneths togeather: & somewhile [...]fte [...], finding my selfe strong enough, so that I set my selfe on the way, I vnderstood by them there-abouts, that a Magician, by Clida­mans procurement, had put it vnder the custody of two Lyons, and two [Page 254] Vnicornes, which he had enchanted, and that the sorcery might not bee vndone, but with the blood and death of two the most faithfull Louers that euer were in this countrey. God knowes whether this news brought not me sorrow, seeing my selfe almost out of hope of that I desired: yet considering this was the Countrey, which the heauens had destined for me to know my parents, I thought fit stay here, and (it may be) these faithfull in loue may at last be found out; but yet it is a merchandize so rare, that I dare not haue too great an hope. With this purpose I resolued to clothe my selfe in shepheards weeds, that I might more freely liue with such good companies which are along the riuer of Lignon; and that I might not be idle, I imployed all the remnant of my money which I had, vpon cattell, and a little cabbin, to which I haue since retired.

See, faire Leonide, that which you desired to know of mee, and behold my payment to Phillis for the place which she sold me, which hereafter she shall not haue the boldnesse to take, since she hath giuen it for so good a price. I am much delighted (answered Leonide) in hearing you tell your fortune; and I must tell you, that you ought to hope well of your selfe, since the gods, by their Oracles, shew themselues to haue such care of you: for my part, I pray them for it with all my heart. And so do not I (comes in Phillis writhing her selfe:) for if he were knowne (it may bee) the worth of his father might make him carry away our mistrisse; it being very certaine, that good and alliance may do more in marriages, then their worth or loue. Take heede what you say (said Siluander) you are so farre from wishing me so much hurt, that I hope by your means, to come to the knowledge I desire. By my meanes (answered she?) how can that be? By your meanes (continued the shepheard:) for since it must be, that the Lyons shall die by the bloud of a Louer, and of a faithfull be­loued, why may not I thinke, that I am this Louer, and you the Beloued? Faithfull I am, it is true (answered Phillis) but valiant I am not; so that in well louing my mistris, I will giue place to none; but for my bloud & life, talke no more of it: for what seruice can I doe her when I am dead? I as­sure you (answered Diane) that I wish your life of the two, and not your death, and I desire rather to be in danger my selfe, then to see you so by my occasion.

While they discoursed in this sort, and as they drew neer to the bridge of the buttresse, they might see sarre off, a man comming apace towards them, and drawing neerer, was quickly knowne of Leonide; for it was Pa­ris, the sonne of the great Druide Adamas, who being returned from Feurs, and hauing knowne that his Niece was come to seeke him, and sec­ing [Page 255] she came not back, he sent his sonne to let her know he was returned, and to vnderstand what occasion had brought her so alone, for that it was not the custome to goe without company. As soone as the Nymph spy­ed him a farre off, she told his name to the faire shepheard [...]sses: and they, that they might not be wanting in their ciuility, whē he came neere them, saluted him with so great courtesie, that the beauty and pleasing fashion of Diane gaue him that delight, that he stood as almost rauished, and had it not bin that the welcomming of Leonide diuerted him a little, the could hardly haue hidden this surprize: yet after the first salutation, and that he had told her what brought him to her, But sister (said he) (for Ada­mas would haue them call brother and sister) where found you this faire company? Brother (said she) we haue beene together two dayes, and yet I assure you, we are not weary.

This here (shewing him Astrea) is the fayre shepheardesse, whom you haue so often heard speech of, for it is Astrea; and that there, is Diane, the daughter of Belinde and Celeon, and the other is Phillis; and that shepheard is the vnknowne Siluander, whose vertue is so well knowne heere, that there is none in this Court but loues him. Vndoubtedly (sayd Paris) my father did not well, to feare you were ill accompanyed; and if hee had knowne, that you had beene so well, hee would not haue beene so dis­quieted. Gentle Paris said Slunder) a person that hath so much of ver­tue as this Nymph, can neuer be ill accompanyed. And yet much lesse (answered he) when she is among so wise and faire shepheardesses. And as he spake this word, he turned him to Diane, who perceiuing her selfe to be summoned, answered; It is impossible (courteous Paris) that one can adde to a thing that is accomplished. Yet so it is (replyed he) that (in my iudgement) I loue better to be with her, when you are neere, than when she shall be alone. This is your courtesie (answered shee) that you vse these termes, in the behalfe of strangers. You cannot (answered Paris) call your selues strangers to me, but withall, you must terme me a stran­ger to you, which is a reproch to me, whereof I am much ashamed, be­cause I cannot be freed from blame, to be neighbor to such beauties, and so great merits, and yet be almost vnknowne to them: but, to amend this error, I resolue to do better for the time to come, & to conuerse with you, as much as without reason, I haue beene remoued from you heere [...]ofore: and in speaking these last words, hee turned towards the Nymph, And you sister, though I be come to seeke you (said he) yet shall you go alone, since it is not farre from hence to the house of Adamas. For, for my part, I will tarry till night with this good company. I would I might do so too [Page 256] (said she;) but for this time I am constrayned to make an end of my iuor­ney. Yet am I purposed, so to order my affayres, that I may liue as well with them, as you: for I doe not thinke there is a more happy life than theirs. With such other like discourse she took her leaue of the faire shep­heardesses; and after straite embracements, promised to come againe to them very soone: and so parted, much contented and satisfied with them, so that shee resolued to change the vanities of the Court, to the simplicity of that life: but that which moued her most, was, that she had a desire to free Celadon out of the hands of Galathee, and thought that he would presently returne into the Hamlet, where she determined to con­uerse vnder the shaddow of these shepheardesses.

Thus you see what was the voyage of Leonide, who sawe the birth of two great loues, that of Siluander, vnder a fayned wager, as wee haue sayd, and that of Paris, as wee will speake of, to Diane. For since that day he grew so amorous, that to be more familiar with them, he forsooke the life he vsed, and attired himselfe as a shepheard, and would so be cal­led among them, that so hee might make himselfe more pleasing to his Mistris; who, for her part, honoured him according to his merit, and as his good will obliged her. But for that, in the course of our discourse, wee are to speake after of it, we will say no more at this time. Then, return­ing to their Hamlets, as they drew neere the great meddow, where the most part of the flockes fed ordinarily, they might see come from farre, Tircis, Hylas and Licidas, whereof the two first seemed to disport in good earnest; for the gesture of his armes, and the rest of the bodie of Hylas shewed as much: as for Licidas, he was by himselfe, his hat pull'd downe, and his hands behind him; he went looking on his feet, shewing well hee had something in his soule that much troubled him: and when they were so neere that they might know them, and that Hylas perceiued Phillis a­mong the shepheardesses; and for that since the former day hee beganne to loue her, leauing Tircis, he came to her, and without saluting the rest of the company, tooke her vnder the arme, and in his accustomed humor (without other shew of words) told her the desire hee had to serue her. Phillis, who beganne to know him, and was contented to passe the time, said; I know not (Hylas) whence this wil springs, for there is nothing in me that may moue it. If you thinke that you say (sayd he) you owe mee the greater obligation; and if you doe not thinke it, you may iudge me a man of spirit, that can know what is worthy to be serued, and so you may esteeme of me the better. Doubt not (sayd she) howsoeuert it be, that I esteeme you, and that I receiue your loue as it merits; and were it not [Page 257] for any other consideration; yet at least, for that you are the first that lo­ued me. By fortune, while they were talking, Licidas comes in, whose iea­lousie was so high growne, that it ouer-topped his affection; and for his greater hurt, he came in euill time, so that he might heare the answer that Hylas made to Phillis, which was thus: I know not (faire shepheardesse) if you will continue as you beginne with me: but if you doe, you shall be the truer; for I know well, that Siluander, at least, will help to giue you the lie: and if hee will not doe it for feare of displeasing you, I assure my selfe, that all that were here yesterday, wil witnesse Siluander was your seruant. I know not whether he hath left his loue vnder his pillow. Siluander, that thought not of the loue of Licidas, thinking it would be a shame for him to disprooue Hylas: and besides that, that hee should offend Phillis, to say otherwise before her, answered; Shepheard, you must seeke no o­ther witnesse than me in this matter [...] and you are not to thinke that the shepheards of Lignon can cloath and vncloath themselues so readily of their affections; for they are grosse, and therefore heauy and slowe in that they doe. But as a nayle, the grosser it is, and the more weight it holdes, the harder it is to be wrested out: so, the tougher and grosser our affections are in vs, the longer they last in our soules: so that if you haue seene mee seruitour to this fayre shepheardesse, you may see mee so still, for we change not euery time we sleepe. But if this befall you, I say, you that haue an hote brayne, as well as a balde head, and a red hayre, bewrayes much, you are not to giue the same censure of vs. Hylas hea­ring as his shepheard speake so frankly and so truly to his humor, thought that either Tyrcis had told him somewhat, or that he must know it else­where: and therefore all astonied; Shepheard (sayd he) haue you seene me at any time? or where learned you this you speake of me? I neuer saw you (sayd Siluander) but your phisiognomy and your discourse made me iudge that I say. For hardly may a man suspect in another that fault, whereof he is wholly exempted. Of necessity then (answered Hylas) you cannot be exempted from that inconstancy which you suspect in me. The suspition (replyed Siluander) growes, either out of some small likelihood, or of the appearance of that which is not, but onely in imagination, and that a man cannot haue of another, without himselfe be spotted. But that which I sayd of you, is not of suspition, but of a certainty.

Call you that suspition, when we heare you say, that you haue loued Laonice, and leauing her for this second, who was heere yesterday with her, now you haue left them both for Phillis, whom without doubt you will leaue for the first commer, whose eies will vouchsafe to look on you? [Page 258] Tircis, who heard them thus discourse, seeing Hylas stand as ouercome, beganne to speake in this sort r Hylas, you must no longer hide your selfe, you are discouered. This shepheard hath cleere eyes to see the spots of your inconstancy, you must confesse the truth. For if you fight against it: besides that, at the last, you shal be counted a liar, you being not able to resist, for that nothing is so strong as Truth, you shall be faine to shew your weakenesse.

Confesse it then freely to be as it is, and to encourage you, I will be­ginne. Know (gentle shepheard) that it is true, that Hylas is the most in­constant, the most disloyall, and the greatest traitour to shepheardesses, (to whom he promises goodwill) that euer was. And so (added Phillis) that he will oblige them whom he loues not at all. And Me? mistris, (an­swered Hylas) are you also against me? will you beleeue the impostures of these malicious? Doe you not see that Tircis, finding himselfe bound to Siluander for the iudgement he gaue in fauour of him, thinks fit to pay him in some sort, by giuing you an euill opinion of me? What doth this import, sayd Phillis to Siluander? What doth this import, said the incon­stant? know you not it is harder to take a place possessed, then that which no man holds? He would say (added Siluander) The more you loue him, the harder it will be for me to acquire your good graces. But, my friend Hylas, how much are you deceiued? so farre, that when I see she daines to cast her eye on you, I shall be assured of her loue. For I know her to be of so good iudgement, that shee hath alwayes knowledge to choose the better. Then answered Hylas, It may be (glorious shepheard) you thinke to haue some aduantage ouer me. Mistris, beleeue him not, for he is of no worth, and indeed, what man can he be that neuer had the har­dinesse to loue, nor to serue, but one onely shepheardesse, and that so coldly, that you would thinke he iested? Whereas I loue as many as I see fayre, and of them all I haue beene as well entertayned as I would wish. What seruice can you hope for of him that is such a nouice, that he kno­weth not how to beginne? But I that haue serued of all sorts, of all ages, and of all humours, know of what fashion, and what ought, and what ought not to please her: and for proofe of what I say, suffer me to que­stion him, if you would know his ignorance. And then turning toward him, he went on, What is it (Siluander) that ought most to binde a fayre shepheardesse to loue vs? That is (said Siluander) to loue none but her. And what is that (continued Hylas) that may please her most? That is (answered Siluander) to loue her extremely. Now see then (sayes the in­constant) how ignorantly amorous is this man: so farre is that which he [Page 259] sayes from truth, that it ingenders contempt and hatred. For, to loue but her alone, giues her cause to thinke, that it is want of courage, that hee dares not vndertake: and so thinking herselfe to be beloued for want of another, she will despise such a louer: Whereas if you loue in common, for the small worth of the thing, shee will not thinke when you come to her, that it is not for that you know not whither else to goe; and this will binde her more to loue you, especially, if you come to particulars, and make it appeare to her, that you rely more vpon her: and to perswade her the better, you tell her all that you know of others, and once in the week, you bring to her all that you haue sayd, and what they haue answered, fit­ting the encounter as occasion requireth, to the end you may make her the more pleasing: & draw her to cherish your company. This way (yong louer) this way shall you binde her to any loue. But to please her you must on the contrary, flie, as from poyson, the extremity of loue, because there is nothing more grieuous betweene two louers, than this so great affection: for you that loue in this sort, to please your selfe, labour to be alwayes neere her, to be alwayes talking with her: she cannot cough, but you must aske her, what she ayles; she cannot turne her foot, but you must doe the like. To be short, she is almost constrayned to carry you, you presse her, and importune her so. But the mischiefe is, if she be sicke sometimes, and that she smile not on you, if she speake not to you, and intertaine you not as she was wont, then you fall to whining, & to teares; but such plaints (I say) as wherewith you so fill her eares, that to free her selfe of these importunities, she is forced to restraine her selfe; and some­times when she would be alone, and locke vp her selfe for a time to her owne thoughts, she must be compelled to come see you, to entertayne you, and tell you a thousand tales to content you.

Thinke you this to be a good meane, to haue her loue you? You must doe in loue, as in other things, the mediocrity is onely commendable, so that you loue after an indifferent fashion, to auoyde all those troublesome importunities: neither yet is this sufficient for to please her: it is not e­nough not to displease, but you must haue some allurements which may be louely; and that is, to be pleasant, cheerefull, to be alwaies ready to tell a merry tale; and aboue all, to be neuer silent before her. Thus, Siluander, must be binde a shepheardesse to loue vs, and so gaine her good Graces. Now see, mistrisse, if I may not go for a master, and what reckoning you are to make of my affection. She would haue answered, but Siluander in­terrupted her, beseeching her to suffer him to speake. And then he questi­oned Hylas in this sort: What is it (shepheard) that you most desire, [Page 260] when you loue? To be beloued (answered Hylas.) But (replyed Siluan­der) when you are beloued, what do you wish for most in this loue? That the person whom I loue (said Hylas) make more of me then of any other; that she trust me, and endeuor to please me. Is it possible then (inferrs Sil­uander) that to preserue life, you take poyson? how will you haue her trust you, when you will not be faithfull? But (said the shepheard) shee shall not know that. And see you not (answered Siluander) that you will do that with treason, which you should doe with sincerity? If she know not that you loue another, she will thinke you faithfull, and so this dissem­bling may profit you; but iudge if dissembling may doe you as much good as truth.

You talke of contempt and despite; and there is nothing that soonēr brings them both in a generous spirit, than to think that he, whom now I see before mee on his knees, is weary with doing so before a score that may not compare with me: that mouth, with which he kisses my hand, is dried vp with the kisses it giues to the first hand it meets; and those eyes, with which he seemes to commit idolatry to my face, are yet sparkling with the loue of all those that haue the name of woman: and what haue I to doe with a thing so common? And why should I make much of him, when he will doe nothing more for mee, then for the first that vouchsafes to looke on him? When he talkes to me, he thinks it is to such or such an one; and the words that he vses, hee learned at the schoole of such an one, or, he comes to studie heere, that he may goe vtter it there. God knows how soone contempt and despite may make her conceiue this thought: and so for the second poynt, that to make himselfe beloued, hee must loue but a little; he must be merry and pleasant. For, to be iocund and alwayes laughing, is fit for a Iester, and one of such a mould. But for a louer, that is, for another our selfe, O Hylas, hee must haue other condi­tions. You say, that in all things mediocrity onely is good. That is it (shep­heard) that hath no part of the extreme of the meane or defect, as fayth­fulnesse. For, he that is but a little faithfull, is not faithfull at all; and he that is, is in the extreme, that is to say, there can be none greater than o­ther in faythfulnesse; so it is of valiancy, and so it is of loue: for hee that can measure it, or that can imagine any other greater than his owne, loues not: So you see, Hylas, that when you commaund to loue in a meane, you set downe a thing impossible; and when you doe so, you doe like vnto the melancholique fooles, that thinke they know all Sciences, and yet know nothing, when you haue an opinion you loue, but indeed you loue not.

[Page 261] But be it so, that one may loue a little: and know you not, that Loue hath no other haruest but loue, and all that it soweth, is but only to reape that fruit? And how would you haue her whom you loue but a little, loue you a great deale, since it must fall out, that what shee gayneth, she shall lose a part of that which shee soweth in so ingratefull ground? Shee shall neuer know (sayes Hylas) that I loue so. See (sayd Siluander) the same treason which I reproached you with before. And imagine you, whereas you say, the effects of an extreme loue, are the importunities which you haue reckoned, that if you render them not, shee will not easily coniecture the feeblenesse of your loue. O Hylas, how little you know in loue!

These effects which the extremity of Loue brings forth, and which you call importunities, are such (it may be) to those that, like you, know not to loue, and neuer approached neere vnto that god. Who hath lost his sight, but they that are thorowly touched, they which do loue in earnest, and know what are the dueties, and what the sacrifices which they offer at the Altars of Loue? So farre are they from giuing to such effects the name of importunities, that they call them felicities and perfect contentments. Know you well, that to loue, is to die in him­selfe, to reuiue in another, that it is not to loue himselfe, but so much as he is pleasing to the beloued; and shortly, it is to transforme himselfe en­tirely (if it may be) into her. And can you imagine, that one that loues in this sort, can be combred with the presence of him whom she loues, and that the knowledge which she hath to be truely loued, is not a thing so delightfull, that all others in respect of it, cannot so much as be tasted?

And if you had at any time prooued, that it is thus to loue, as I say, you would neuer thinke that hee which thus loues, could do nothing but displease, when that should not be but onely for this, that whatsoeuer is marked with this character of Loue, cannot be displeasing; and your selfe will confesse, that it is so desirous to please, that if it commit a fault, euen that error pleases, seeing with what intent it is done; whereas the de­sire to be pleasing, giues such force to a true loue, that though he render himselfe not so to all the world, yet is he neuer fayling to her whom hee loueth.

Thence it comes, that many which are not iudged in generall more louely then others, yet are beloued and esteemed by some one. Now you see, Hylas, if you be not very ignorant, that till now you beleeued you loued, and yet you did but abuse the name of Loue, & abuse them whom you thought you loued. How (said Hylas) did I neuer yet loue? What [Page 262] haue I then done with Carlis, Amarauthe, Laonice, and so many others? Know you not (said Silander) that in all sorts of Artes, there bee some that doe right, and others wrong? Loue is of that kinde: for one may loue rightly, as my selfe, and wrongfully, as you; and so one may call me a ma­ster, and you a marrer of Loue. At these last words there were none could hold from laughter, but Licidas, who hearing this discourse, could not but more strengthen himselfe thereby in his iealousie, which Phillis greatly regarded not, thinking she had giuen proofs great enough of her loue; so that in reason, he was not to doubt it; but ignorance knowes not that iealousie in Loue is Iuie, that drawes to it selfe the nourishment which should goe to the good branches, and good fruit; and the greater it is, the more it shewes the fertility of the place, and the strength of the plant. Paris, that admired the great spirit of Siluander, knew not what to iudge of him, and thought, that if he had beene bred among ciuill folke, he had beene without paralell, since liuing among shepheards, hee was such, that he knew none more gentle. That was the cause that he resolued to make friendship with him, more freely to enioy his company. And to procure thē to hold on their disputation, he turned to Hylas, & said, that he must confesse he had taken the worse part, since he stood so long mute. He neede not be astonied for that (said Diane) since there is not so vio­lent a iudge as the conscience; Hylas knowes well, hee argues against the truth, and it is onely to flatter his fault. And though Diane held on this discourse some while, yet Hylas answered not a word, being busie in be­holding Phillis, who when she was neere Licidas, entertained him course­ly enough: and because Astrea would not haue him ouer-heare what she said to him, she diuers times interrupted him, vntil at last she constrained him to say, If Phillis be so importuned, I will not loue at all. Truely shep­heard, said she, (expressely to hinder him from harkening) if you bee as vngracious to her, as vnciuill to vs, shee will make no great account of you. And for that Phillis, without taking heede to this dispute, held on her discourse, Diane said to her, What, Phillis, doe you thus shew the duty you owe me? Will you leaue mee then to entertaine a shepheard? Whereat Phillis surprized, answered, I would not, mistrisse, this errour should displease you, for I was of opinion, that this goodly discourse of gentle Hylas, would haue kept you from heeding mee, who in the meane time was giuing order to an affaire that this shepheard spoke of to mee; and indeede she lyed not, for she was much busied for the coldnesse shee [...]ound in him. It were good then Phillis (said Diane with the words of a true mistrisse) you thinke to pay all your faults with excuses: but remem­ber [Page 263] that all these defects are but small proofes of your little loue, and that in time and place I shall remember in what fashion you serue me. Hylas had taken Phillis by the waste, and not knowing the wager of Siluander and her, was amazed to heare Diane speake so: therefore seeing her ready to beginne her excuse, he preuented her, saying, Who would say, faire mistrisse, that this glorious shepheardesse would handle you thus course­ly? will you yeeld to her in any thing? Commit not this fault, I beseech you: for though she be faire, yet haue you beauty enough, to make you a part, and which (it may be) giues no place to hers. Ah! Hylas (said Phillis) if you knew against whom you speake, you would rather choose to be mute the rest of your life, then to be prouided of a word that might displease this faire shepheardesse, who in the twinkling of an eye, may (if you loue) make you the most vnhappy m [...]n that euer loued. On me, said the shepheard, she may rayse or cast downe, open or shut her eyes: but my misfortune, no more then my happinesse shall neuer depend [...], neither of her eyes nor of her whole face, and yet I loue you and will loue you. If you loue mee (added Phillis) and I haue any power ouer you, shee hath much more, for I may be moued either by your loue, or by your seruices, not to vse you hardly: but this shepheardesse being neither loued nor serued of you, will neuer haue pitty.

And what neede haue I (sayd Hilas) of her pitty? Yes certainely (replyed Phillis) you want her mercy: for I will nothing but what she wills, and can do nothing but what shee commands: for behold, the Mistris I loue, whom I serue, and whom I adore, so that she is all my loue, all my seruice, and all my deuotion. Now fee, Hylas, whom you haue offended, and what pardon you are to sue for. Then the shepheard casting himselfe at the feete of Diane, all astonied, after he had a little be held her, sayd; Mine owne faire Mistris, if he that loues, may behold any other thing then the subiect beloued, I might well haue seene in some sort, that euery one was to honor and do reuerence to your merit; but since I haue mine eyes clo­sed against al other things, but my Phillis, you shuld shew too great cruel­ry, if you pardō not the fault which I confesse, & for which [...]ry you mer­cy. Phillis that was sorry to be thus p [...]stred with this man, that she might talke with Lieidas, as he had desired, made haste to answer him before Diane, and to tell him that Diane would not pardon him, but with con­dition, that he should tell them the suites and aduentures which hee had had since hee beganne to loue; for it was impossible but the discourse would be very pleasing; since he had serued in so many sorts, the acci­dents must needes be accordingly.

[Page 264] Truely Phillis (sayd Diane) you are a great diuiner: for I had a purpose neuer to pardon him, but with that condition: and therefore, Hylas, re­solue to do it. How (sayd the shepheard?) will you constraine me to tell my life before my Mistris? and what opinion will shee haue of me, when shee shall heare say that I haue loued aboue an hundred? that to some I haue bid farewell before I left them, and left others, before I sayd any thing to them? when shee shall know that at one and the same time I was diuided among many, what will she thinke of me? Nothing worse then shee now thinkes (sayd Siluander:) for she will then but iudge you incon­stant, as she doth already. It is true (sayd Phillis) but that you may not enter into this doubt, I haue businesse elsewhere, whither Astrea shall go with me, if she please, and in the meane time you shall obey Diane's com­mandement. At this word she tooke Astrea by the arme, and with-drew to the side of the wood where Licidas was euen now gone: and because Siluander had ouerheard her answere to Licidas, he followed afarre off, to see what his meaning was: whereto the euening somewhat serued his turne that he might not be seene, for it waxed late; besides that, he went behind the bushes hiding himselfe so, that hee followed them at pleasure vn­seene, and came so fitly, that he heard what Astrea sayd to her: what hu­mor is this of Licidas, to desire to speake with you at this howre, and in this place, hauing so many other commodities that I know not what he meanes to choose out so vnfit a time? I know not, sayd Phillis: I haue found him very sad this euening, and I cannot tell what hath befalne him; but he hath so coniured me to come hithor, that I cannot delay it. I be­seech you to walke [...]here-about while we are together, for aboue al, he de­sires I should be alone. I will do (answered Astrea) what pleaseth you: but take heed it bee not euill thought of, to see you talke with him at so vnfit houres, especially being alone in this darke place. It is for that cause (answerd Phillis) that I haue put you to the paine to come hither; & there­fore, I pray you to walke so neere vs, that if any one come on vs, hee may thinke that we three are together. While they talked thus, Diane and Paris prēssed Hylas to tell them his life, to satisfie the commandement of his Mistris; and though he made much difficulty, yet at last hee began in this sort.

The History of Hylas.

YOu will then, mine owne faire Mistris, and gēntle Paris, that I tell you the aduentures befalne me, since I began to loue. Thinke not that my [Page 265] refusal was, for that I knew not what to say: for I haue loued too much to want matter, but rather for that I haue too little day to haue the leysure not to tell you all (that would be too long) but not to begin alone. Yet since for obedience I must satisfie your wil, I pray you harken to me: while I put you in mind, that all things are subiect to some superior power, which almost enforceth vs to actions, which it pleaseth vs, and that whereto mine enclines so violētly, is loue, for otherwise, it may be you wold wōder to see me so carried, that there is no chaine either of duty or obligation, that may withhold me. And I freely confesse, that if euery one must haue some inclination of nature, mine is of inconstancy, for which I am not to bee blamed, since the heauens ordaine mee so. Haue this considera­tion before your eyes, while you heare the discourse which I am to make.

Among the principal Countries, that the Rosne in his swift course visits, after it hath receiued Arar, Isere, Durance, & other riuers, he comes dash­ing vpon the ancient walls of the towne of Arles, chiefe of that country, and the most peopled and richest of the Romane prouince. Neere this faire towne, there incamped a great while since, as I heard our Druides tell, a great Captaine, named Cains Marins, before the notable victory which he got against the Cimbres, Cimmerieux, and Celtoseites, at the foote of the Alpes, who being deuided by the deepe Scitique Ocean, with their wiues and children, purposing to sacke Rome, were so ouerthrowne by this great captaine, that there remained not one aliue: and if the Romane armes had spared any one, the barbarous fury that was in their cou­rage, made them turne their owne hands against themselues, and in rage kill themselues, that they might not liue being vanquished. Now the Romane army, to assure their allies and friends of their common wealth, comming to encampe, as I told you, neere that towne, and accor­ding to the custome of that wary nation, compassing their campe with trenches, it fel out that being nere to Rosne this riuer which is most violēt, and which threatens and beates incessantly his bankes, by little and little in time met with these large & deepe ditches, and with maine strength en­tring into the chanell which he found already made; runs with such fury, that makes the ditches stretch out to the sea, where hee goes discharging himselfe by this meanes, two wayes: for the ancient course hath alwayes followed his ordinary way, and this new one is growne so great, that it equalls the greatest riuers, making betweene both a most delectable and forcible Iland, and because they were the trenches of Cains Marins, the people by corruption of the word, call it Carmage, of his name: and since, [Page 266] for that the place is inuironed with these two armes of Rosne, and the midland sea they call it the Isle of Camarge. I would not haue sayd so much about the originall of this place, had it not bene that it was the countrey of my natiuity, and where they, of whom I am descended, haue long time dwelt: for by reason of the fertility of the place, and that it is as it were cut out from the rest of the land, there is a number of shepheards that are withdrawne thither, which for the abundance of pasturage, they call Pasture, and my fathers haue alwayes bene held in some considerati­on among the principall, were it for that they were thought good and vertuous men, were it for that they had honestly, and after their condi­tion acquired the goods of fortune; so they left me sufficiently prouided: for, when they died, which was (without doubt) too soone for me, for my father died the day that I was borne, and my mother bred me vp with all manner of delicatenesse, an only child, or rather a marred child, endured but till I was twelue yeeres of age. Iudge what master of an house I was like to proue: among other imperfectious of youth, I could not a­uoyd that of presumption, supposing there was not a shepheard in all Ca­marge which ought not respect me. But when I was a little aduanced, and that Loue began to mingle with this presumption, mee thought all the shepheardesses were in loue with me, and that there was not one which receiued not my loue with obligation. And that which fortified me in this opinion, was that a faire and wise shepheardesse my neighbour, called Carlis, made me all the honest showes, which neighbour-hood might challenge. I was so yong as yet, that none of the incommodities which loue vses to bring to the louer, by his violent transports, could reach me, that I felt nothing but sweetenesse, and on that subiect, I remember, that some time I went singing these verses.

Though the age wherein I was, suffered me not to know that it was Loue, yet forbare I not to delight my selfe in the company of that shep­heardesse, and to vse those deuices wherewith I vnderstood, that they whom they call Louers, serued their turne; so that the long continuance made many thinke, that I knew more then my age would allow of. And that was the cause, that when I was come to 18. or 19. yeeres, I found my selfe engaged to serue her. But for that my humor was not to care much for this vaine-glory, which the most part of them which trade in Loue, will arrogate to themselues, that is to be esteemed constant: the good countenance of Carlis tyed mee more then this imaginary duty. From thence it came, that one of my greatest friends tooke occasion to diuert me from her: his name was Hermante; and without any heede of mine, was become so amorous of Carlis, that hee tooke no contentment but to be neere her. I, who was young, neuer perceiued this new affecti­on, as I had but two little craft to finde it, since the subtillest in that my­stery are scarce able to do it. Hee was older then I, and by consequence wiser; so that he knew so well to dissemble, that I doe not thinke that any at that time suspected him. But that which brought him most discom­modity, was, that the parents of this shepheardesse desired there might be a marriage betweene her and me, for that they were of opinion, that it would be for her aduantage. Whereof Hermante being aduertised, es­pecially knowing by the speech of the shepheardesse, that indeede shee loued me, he thought she would withdraw from me, if I began to with­draw from her. Hee well found out (as I told you) that I would change as soone as occasion was offered. And after he had considered with him­selfe, how he might beginne this designe, he thought, that working in mee an opinion of my greater worth, he might ma [...]me neglect, for vncer­tainty, that which was most assured to me. Hee brought it about very easily: for besides that I beleeued him as my friend, this good could not be very deare vnto me, which befel me without paine, & made me beleeue I might compasse any thing of the best, if I would bestow the study. Hee [Page 268] on the other side knew so well to perswade me, that I held for certaine, that there was not a shepheardesse in all Carmage, that would not more willingly entertaine me, then I would make choyce of her. Assured by this beleefe, I thrust Carlis wholly out of my soule, after I had made electi­on of another, whom I iudged the worthier: and, without doubt, I decei­ued not my selfe, for she had beauty enough to winne loue, and wisedome to carry it: her name was Stilliane, esteemed among the fairest and wi­sest of all the Iland, otherwise lofty, and such an one, as I must haue to put me out of the error wherein I was.

And see what my presumption was! Because she was serued by many, and they all lost their time, I beganne to woo her the more willingly, that the world might take better knowledge of my merit. Carlis, which truely loued me, was astonied at this change, not knowing what cause I might haue, but she must needes suffer it. She did much to recall me, and at the first vsed all forts of allurements which she could think of: which I tooke no heede of to returne, I was in the deepe seas, there was no meane to come backe to land so readily. But if she tooke displeasure at this sepa­ration, she was fully reuenged on him that was the cause of the euill: for conceiting to my selfe, that as soone as I assured Stilliane of my loue, shee would more willingly giue her selfe to me; at the first time I met her, to talke within an assembly which was purposely made; dauncing with her, I said, Faire shepheardesse, I know not what your force is, nor with what charmes your eyes furnish themselues; so it is, that Hylas sees himselfe now so much become your seruant, that no man can bee more. Shee thought I mocked her, knowing well the loue that I had borne to Carlis, which made her answer smilingly, These discourses, are they of those that you learne in the schoole of faire Carlis? I would haue answered, when acording to the order of the dance, there were that separated vs, and I could not come neere her afterward, howsoeuer I laboured it: so that I was constrained to stay vntill the assembly brake vp. And seeing her goe with the formost, to withdraw themselues, I aduanced my selfe, and tooke her by the arme. Shee at the first beganne to smile, and after said, Is it vpon resolution, Hylas, or commandement, that this night you haue enterprized thus on me? Why (answered I) make you this demand? Be­cause (said she) I see so small likelihood of reason, in that you do that I can not suspect, but from those two occasions. It is, said I, for them both; for I am resolued neuer to loue but the faire Stilliane, and your beauty com­maunds me to loue none other. I beleeue (answered she) that you thinke not that you speake to me, or that you know me not; and, that you may [Page 269] no longer deceiue your selfe; know that I am not Carlis, and that I call my selfe Stilliane. I must be much deceiued (answered I) to take you in­stead of Carlis; for she is too imperfect, to be taken for you, or you for her. And I know too well, for my liberty, that you are Stilliane, and it were more for my rest that I knew lesse. Wee were come as farre as her lodging, and yet could I not find, whether she liked of it or no. The next morning, it was no sooner day, but I went to seek out Hermante, to tell him what befell me. In the euening I found him yet in his bed. And seeing me somewhat moued: How now, fayd he! what newes? Is the victory ob­tained without combat? Ah my friend (answered I) I haue found out one I may talke to; she disdaines mee, she mockes me, she sends me at euery word to Carlis: to be short, she vses me like a Mistris. He could not hold from laughter, when he had heard all the discourse at length, for he ex­pected no lesse. But knowing well my changing humour, hee feared I would goe backe to Carlis, and that she would entertaine me, which was the cause that he answered me: Did you hope for lesse from he [...]? Would you thinke her worthy your loue, if not yet knowing in truth, that you loue her, she should giue her selfe to you? How may she giue credite to a few words which you haue vsed, hauing heretofore heard so much, or that you sweare the contrary to Carlis?

Vndoubtedly, it were a very easie conquest, that she should shew her­selfe vanquished for so small a fight. But (said I) before I am beloued of her, if it be needfull that I tel her, what I haue done to Carlis, when should this be by your aduice? Truely (answered Hermante) you little know what belongs to Loue: you must learne, Hylas, that when one sayes to a shepheardesse, I loue you, especially when they make some demonstrati­on, she doth not so easily beleeue it; for that it is the custome of shepherds well bred, to haue it of courtesie, and it seemeth their Sexe, for the weake­nesse of it, binds men to serue and honour them. And on the contrary, vpon the least shew of mislike which one giues them, they quickly thinke they are hated; because loues are naturall, but enmities are not so: and they that goe against nature, it must be on a resolute designe: whereas they that follow that way, seeme to do by custome. Therefore, Hylas, I tel you, that you shall more easily make Carlis beleeue you hate her, vpon the least euill will you shew her, then you can perswade Stilliane you loue her. And because you may see she hath on her heart that you loue Carlis, beleeue me, that that which you haue to doe of most necessity, is to giue her knowledge that you no more loue this Carlis: which you must do by some action, known not onely to Carlis, but to Stilliane, and many others. [Page 270] To be short (faire shepheardesse) he knew so wel to turne me on euery side, that at last I writ to the poore Carlis this letter:

By fortune, when shee receiued this Letter, she was in very good company; and Stilliane her selfe was there, which so much misliked this action, that there was none in all that troope that blamed mee more. Which Carlis vnderstanding, I pray you, sayd she to her, binde me for e­uer, and make him an answer. For my part (sayd Stilliane) I shalbe a good Secretary; and then taking paper and inke in the presence of all the rest, wrote thus to me in the name of Carlis.

[Page 271] I must not lie: the reading of this letter touched me a little, for I knew well in my conscience, I had done wrong to this shepheardesse; but the new affection which Stilliane had bred in me, suffered me not to stay long; and at last, howsoeuer it was, I cast the fault on her. For, sayd I, in my selfe, If she be not so fayre nor so louely as Stilliane, is it I that am guil­tie? Let her complayne to them which haue made her of lesse perfection: And for my part, what can I contribute, but to be sorry, and bewayle with her her pouerty? But this ought not to hinder me from adoring and desiring the riches of another. With such reasons I endeuoured to chase frō me the compassion which Loue had made in me. And thinking I had no more to do than to receiue Stilliane, who by this time, mee thought, was wholly mine; I desired Hermante to carry to her a letter in my be­halfe: and withall, I let him see the Letter I writ to Carlis, that she should no more doubt her. He that truely was my friend in euery point that con­cerned Carlis, made not dainty; and taking a fit time, when shee was a­lone in her lodging, as he pre [...]ented to her my Letters, hee sayd smiling to her: Faire Stilliano, if the fire burne the foole that comes too neere it; if the Sunne dazle the blinde that dares looke full on it; and if the sword giue death to him that receiues it into his heart: you must not thinke it strange, if the miserable Hylas comming too neere you, is burned; if da­ring to behold you, he be dazled; and, if receiuing the faral stroke of your eyes, he feele the mortall wound in his heart. He would haue gone on, but she all impacient interrupted him: Cease, Hermante, you labour in vaine, neither Hylas hath worth enough, nor you perswasiō sufficient, to giue me the will to change my contentment for his: Nor wish I my selfe so much euill, nor so much good to Hylas, that I will consent to mine owne vn­happinesse, by beleeuing your words. It suffices me, Hermante, that the humour of Hylas is knowne to mee at anothers cost, without mine owne triall: And it should be enough to you, that Carlis is weakely deceiued, though you serue not as an instrument for the ruine of some other. If you loue Hylas, I loue Stillaine much more; and if you will giue him the coun­sell of a friend, counsell him as I counsell her, that is, that shee neuer loue Hylas: say to him likewise, that he neuer loue Stilliane. And if hee will not beleeue you, assure your selfe, to his confusion, hee shall employ his time in vayne: and for the letter which you present me, I will make no difficulty to take it, hauing so good defences against his weapons, that I feare not a whit the blowes. At this word vnfolding my letter, she read it aloude, it was at last but an assurance of my affection by the Conge which I had giuen to Carlis for her sake, and a right humble supplication, that [Page 272] she would be pleased to loue me. She laughed, after she had read it; and turning to Hermante, asked him if he were willing she should make an answer. And he answering that he desired it passionatly, she willed him to haue a little patience, and she would go write. It was thus:

Hermante had not seene this Letter, when he deliuered it me, and yet he had an opinion there was much coldnesse in it, yet did not hee thinke shee should haue made it so strange, neyther was he so much astonied as my selfe: for I stoode like a man bereaued of his wits, letting the Letter fall on the ground; and after, being come to my selfe, I pulled downe my hat ouer mine eares, cast mine eyes downe on the earth, crossed mine armes ouer my brest, and a great pace, without speaking, began to walke about the chamber. Hermante stood immoueable in the middest, not so much as casting his eyes towards me. We stayed some time in this manner, not speaking; at last, in an instant striking one hand against the other, and making a leape in the middest of the chamber: At her peril, said I aloude: let her seeke who will loue her, that she may know if there want in Carmaine shepheardesses more faire than she; and who wil be wel pleased that Hylas would serue them? And then turning to him; O what a foole is Stilliane, said I, if she thinke I will loue by force? and I shall haue but little courage, if I euer trouble my selfe for her: and why thinkes shee her selfe better than another? It is true; she deserues one should suffer some paine for her. I assure my selfe, Hermante, she resolued it while you talked with her; and that could not be, without making at least her eyes narrow, [Page 273] without biting her lip, and without rubbing one hand on another, to make them white. I scoffe at her fancies, and her selfe too, if she thinke I take more care for her, than I doe for the greatest stranger in Gaule. She knowes not how to reproch me but with my Carlis. True it is I loue her, and in despite of her, I will loue her still; and I make no question, but she shall soone enough finde her want of wisedome, but she must neuer hope that Hylas can loue her. I spake such like words: at which I saw Hermante change colour; but I was then ignorant of the cause: since, I haue iudged it was for the feare he had, that I might come againe into the good graces of his Mistris. Yet made he no other shew, but that he strained himselfe to laugh, and told mee it would make them much amazed, when they should see that change, if I tooke that resolution, as readily would I ex­ecute it: and in that disseine I went to finde out Carlis, of whom I asked a thousand pardons for the Letter which I had written to her, assuring her, that it was not want, but transport of affection. She that was angry with me, as one may well thinke, after she had heard me quietly, at last, answered me thus: Hylas, if the assurances you make to me of your good will be true, I am satisfied; if they be false, thinke not that euer you can remoue the amity which for euer you haue broken, for your humour is very dangerous. She would haue sayd on, when Stilliane, to shew her the Letter I had written to her, comming to visit her, interrupted vs, when she saw me by Carlis. Wake I, or dreame I, (sayd she) all astonied? Is this Hylas that I see, or is it some fancy? Carlis wel pleased with this mee­ting, It is Hylas indeede (companion) sayd she, deceiue not your selfe: and if it please you to come neere, you shall heare the sweete words, with which he cries me mercy; and how he vnsayes all that which he had writ­ten to me, submitting himselfe to such punishment as shall please mee. His chasticement (answered Stilliane) ought to be no other than to make him continue the affection he beares me. To you (said Carlis?) so farre is it, that hee sware when you entred in, that hee loued none but mee. And since when (added Stilliane?) I know well, at the least, that I haue a good writing that Hermante an howre since brought me in his behalfe: and, that you may not doubt of that I say; reade this paper, and you shall see if I lie. O God, what became of me at these words? I sweare vnto you (faire shepheardesse) that I was not able to open my mouth for my de­fence. And that which ruined me for euer, was, that by mis-hap many other shepheardesses came in at the same time, to whom they told this tale, so much to my disaduantage, that I could not possibly tarry there any longer, but without speaking a word vnto them, I came to tell Her­mante [Page 274] my misaduenture, who had like to haue dyed with laughter, as indeed the matter deserued. This bruite so spred ouer all Carmague, that I durst not talke to any one shepheardesse, that cast it not in my teeth, whereat I conceiued such shame, that I resolued to goe out of the Ile for some time. You may see, if when I was young, I tooke such thought to be called inconstant, I ought not at this houre to giue backe a step. See what it is (sayd Paris) one must be an apprentice before he be a master. It is true (answered Hylas) and the worst is, wee must often pay for our apprentiship. But to come to our discourse, being no longer able to endure the ordinary warre which euery one made on me, the most se­cretly I could possibly, I gaue order for my businesse, and referred the whole care to Hermante; and after I put my selfe into a great vessell that lanched out with many others. I had then no other purpose, but to tra­uell and passe away the time, grieuing no more for Carlis nor Stilliane, than if I had neuer seene them: for, I had so lost their remembrance, when I lost their sight, that I had not the least sorrow. But see how hard it is to crosse the naturall disposition! I had no sooner set my foote into the Barke, but I sawe a new subiect of Loue.

There was among many other passengers, an old woman which went to Lyons, to render her vowes in the Temple of Venus, which shee had made for her sonne, and carried with her her daughter in law for the same cause; and who with good cause might beare the name of faire, for she was no lesse then Stilliane, and much more then Carlis: her name was Ay­mee, and could not reach aboue 18. or 20. yeeres, and though shee was of Carmague, yet shee knew me not, because her husband being ielous (as ordinarily old men are, that haue yong and faire wiues) and her mother in law suspitious, held her so short, that she neuer came into any assembly. At the instant that I saw her, she pleased me, and what purpose soeuer I had to the contrary, I must loue her; but I then foresaw well, I should find some paine, being to deceiue the stepmother, and the daughter in law. Yet not to yeeld to the difficulty, I resolu'd to employ all my wits; and iudge­ing that I was to beginne my enterprise by the mother (for shee kept me from comming neere my enemy) I thought nothing fitter then to make my selfe known to her: and that could not be, for that being of one place, no ancient amity of our family, or some former alliance, would make easie the meane to grow familiar with her; but the occasion afterwardes taught mee what I had to do; I was not deceiued in this opinion: for as soone as I told her who I was, and that I had fained some bad reason to cloake that I went about, which she tooke for good, and that I had assu­red [Page 275] her, that that which made mee discouer my selfe to her, was but to desire her freely to make vse of me. My sonne (answered shee) I do not wonder that you should shew such good will towards me, for your father loued me so well, that you should much degenerate, if you had not some sparkes of that affection. Ah my child, thou art the sonne of an honest, and the most louing man that was in all Carmague: and speaking these words, she tooke me by the head, and holding me to her brest, and some­times kissing my forehead; and her kisses made me remember the harths that yet retaine a gentle heate after the fire is out: for my father should haue married her, and it may bee, he had done her too much seruice for her reputation, as I vnderstood afterward: but I, that little cared for such kindnesses, but as they might be profitable for my purpose, fayning to re­ceiue them with much obligation, thanked her for the loue she had borne my father, beseeching her to turne that good will towards the sonne; and that since the heauens had made mee heire to the rest of his goods, shee would not dis-inherrit me of that which I esteemed most of, which was, the honor of her good graces; and that for my part, I would succeed in the seruice which my father had vowed to her, as to the best of all his for­tunes. To bee short (faire shepheardesse) I knew how to flatter my old woman; so that shee loued nothing more then mee: and contrary to her custome, to gratifie me, she commanded her daughter in law to loue me. Oh how well had she bene aduised, if she had followed her counsell! but I neuer found any thing so cold in all her actions: so that though I were with her all the day, yet had I not the hardinesse to make my purpose ap­peare by my words, till we came neere to Auignion; for Stilliane had made me lose much of that opinion which I had of my selfe. But besides this, she was alwayes at the feete of the old woman, who intertained me with the times passed. It fell out, that this company with which we went, as I haue told you, and many marchants assembled together, made a faire, to traffique in the Iland neere Auignion; and for as much as we that were not vsed to such voyages, found our selues benummed with sitting so long, while the boatemen were about their businesse, wee set foote on land to walke about; and among others, the mother of Aymee was of the compa­ny. As soone as my shepheardesse was in the Ile, she began to runne a­long the riuer, and to play with the other wenches which were come forth of the boate of that company, and I thrust my selfe among them, to haue the meane to take time for my purpose, while the old woman was walking with other women of her age. And by hap Aymee being somewhat se­parated from her companions, gathering floures that grew by the waters [Page 276] side, I aduanced my selfe, and tooke her by the arme: and after wee had gone some while without speech, at last, as comming from a sound sleep, I sayd vnto her, I should be ashamed (faire shepherdesse) to be so long mute so neere you, hauing so good cause to speake to you, if I had not more to hold my peace, and if my silence did not proceed from thence, whence my words should arise. I know not, Hylas, said she, what cause you haue to hold your peace, nor what you may haue to speake; and lesse, what words or silences you meane. Ah, faire shepheardesse (sayd I) the affe­ction which consumes me with a secret fire, giues mee such occasion to shew my hurt, that hardly can I hold my peace; and on the other side, that affection makes me feare so to offend her whom I loue, in declaring it to her, that I dare not speake: so that the affection which ought to put words into my mouth, is that which denies mee them when I am neere you. Me, sayd she, presently? Think you well, Hylas, of what you say? Yes: of you (replied I) and beleeue you not, but I haue well thought of what I say, before I durst vtter it. If I thought these words were true, I will speake to you in another sort. If you doubt (sayd I) that these words be true, cast your eyes on your perfection, and you shall be fully assured. And then with a thousand oathes, I told her all that I had in my heart. Shee without being moued, answered me very coldly, Hylas, accuse not that which is in me, for your owne follies: for I know well to remedy it, so that you shall haue no cause: as for the rest, since the loue which my mother beares you, nor the condition wherein I am, cannot turne you from your bad intent, beleeue that, that which duty cannot worke in you, it shall in me; and that I will auoide all manner occasions for you, to continue that you shall know I am such as I ought to be, you see how coldly I speake to you: it is not for that I feele not sencibly enough your indiscretion, but to let you know, that passion transports me not, but that reason only makes me speake thus, that if I see that this meane will nothing preuaile to alter your dessine, I will after run to some more extreme. These words deliuered with such coldnesse, touched me more to the quicke, then I can tell you: yet could not this withdraw mee: for I knew well, that the first skirmishes are ordinarily maintained in this fashion. But by chance, when Aymee seeing me without words, and so astonied, turned away without saying more, there was one of her companions, that seeing me so mated, came towards me; and blowing her nose, passed by twice or thrice with her hand before her eyes, and afterwards began to run, as if shee had allu­red mee to run after her. At the first, I was so amazed with the blow, I made as though I heeded it not: but when she came back the second time, [Page 277] I fell on running after her: and she, after she had somewhat run about her cōpanions, started from them; and when she was a litle from them, faining to bee out of breath, lay downe behind a thicke bush. I that at first ran without any dessine, seeing her on the ground, and in a place where shee might not bee seene, seeming desirous to bee reuenged for the paine shee had put mee to, began to clap her: whereto shee made a small resistance, but so, that she shewed this priuacy displeased her not, especially for that seeming to defend her, she discouered purposely, as I thinke, to make her white skin seeme whiter by much, then one would iudge by her face. At last being risen vp, she sayd to mee, I did not thinke, Hylas, you had bene so rude a gamester, otherwise I would not haue meddled with you. If this displease you (said I) I craue pardon: but if it be not so, I was neuer in my life better payd for my indiscretion then now. How meane you that, sayd shee? I meane, said I, faire Floriante, that I neuer saw fairer then that I spied eene now. See, said shee, what a lier you are! and at this word strooke me gently on the cheeke, and ran backe to her companions. This Floriante was the daughter of an honest knight, that then was sicke, and kept neere the shore of Arar: and shee hearing of her fathers sickenesse, went to seeke him out, hauing stayed somewhile with one of her sisters, who was married in Arles: her face was not very faire, for she was some­what browne: but she had such conceits, and was of so liuely an humor, that I must tell you, this meeting made me lose the will I had to Aymee, and that so quickly, that I felt little displeasure in leauing her; so that the contentment in finding this, cleered me of all griefe. I then forsooke Ay­mee, me thought, and addicted my selfe wholy vnto Floriante: I may say me thought; for it was not true altogether, seeing that often when I saw her, I tooke pleasure to talke with her, though the affection which I bare the other, drew me with a little more violence: but indeed when I consi­dered sometime what I sayd, I found, that whereas I was wont to loue but one, I did now serue two. It is true, that this was with no great paine: for when I was neere Floriante, I neuer remembred Aymee; and when I was neer Aymee, Floriante had no place in my memory. And ther was nothing so much tormented me, as when I was far from them both: for I was sorry for them both together. Now, gentle Paris, this entertainement lasted with me to Vienna; but being by chance at our lodging (for almost euery night we went ashore, and specially when we passed by any good townes) lo, there comes a shepherdesse to intreat the master of the boate where I was, to let her haue a place, as farre as Lyons, because her husband being wounded by some enemies, had sent vnto her to seeke him out. The ma­ster, [Page 278] who was curteous, receiued her willingly, & so the next morning she placed her selfe in the boate with vs. Shee was faire, but somodest and discreet, that she was to be no lesse commended for her vertue: otherwise so sad and full of melancholy, that she moued pitty from all the company. And because I haue alwayes had much compassion on the afflicted, I had it infinitely ouer this, & endeuored to comfort her the best I could: wher­at Floriante was not contented, what countenance soeuer she set on it, nor Aimee neither: for conceiue (gentle Paris) that though a woman dis­semble, yet shee cannot choose but feele the losse of a louer; for that it seemeth to be a wrong to her beauty; and beauty being the thing that this Sexe most esteemes, is the most sensible part in her. Yet I that with my compassion beganne to mingle a little loue, not seeming to looke on those two wenches, I held on talke with her; and among other things, to the end our discourse might not fayle, and to haue the greater know­ledge of her, I intreated her to tell me the cause of her sorrow. She then full of courtesie, began to speake thus:

The compassion which you haue of my paine, bindes me (courteous stranger) to giue you more satisfaction than that you demaund; and you would thinke it a great fault, if I refused so small a thing. But I beseech you to consider withall, the state wherein I am, and to excuse my dis­course, if I abridge it as much as I can. Know then (shepheard) that I was borne about the bankes of Loyre, where I was as charily brought vp to the age of fifteene yeeres, as one of my sort might be. My name is Cloris, and my father is called Leonce, the brother of Gerestan, into whose hands I was deliuered, after the death of my father and my mother, being of the age I told you, and from that time I beganne to feele the blowes of Fortune; for my vncle hauing more care of his owne children than of me, thought himselfe ouer-layd with my charge. All the comfort I had, was from his wife called Collire, for she loued me, and prouided for what she could possibly, without her husbands knowledge. But the heauens would afflict mee in all: for when Filander the brother of Collire was slaine, she tooke such a griefe, that none could perswade her to suruiue him; so that within few dayes after, she dyed, and I abode with her two daughters, who were so young, that I had little contentment to be with them. It fell out, that a shepheard of the prouince of Vienna, named Rosi­dor, came to visit the Temple of Hercules, that stands on the shore of Fu­ran, on the top of a rocke that rises in the midst of the mountaines, much aboue them all that are there-about. On that day there were together a great company of vs young shepheardesses: For it was a solemne day for [Page 279] for that place. I should vse but needlesse words, to tell you the speech we had together, and the fashion wherewith he shewed me his loue. So it was, that from that day he gaue himselfe to me so, that hee neuer made shew of contradicting it. He was young and goodly: for his wealth, he had much more than I might hope for; for the rest, his spirit so like that which appeared outwardly in his body, and there was a perfect agree­ment. His suite lasted foure yeeres, and I cannot say, that in all that time, he either did, or thought any thing wherewith he acquainted me not, and asked my aduice.

This extreme submission so long continued, made mee most certaine of his loue; and his merits, which then had not a little bound mee to loue him, haue since that time wonne me in such a fashion, that I may say with truth, there was nothing in the world better beloued, then Rosidor was of Cloris, with which he thought himselfe so strongly tyed to me, that he en­creased his affection, if it could haue beene increased. We liued so, more then a yeere, with all the delight that so perfect a loue might bring to two Louers.

At last, the heauens seemed willing to make vs intirely contented, & suf­fered, that al the difficulties which impeached our mariage, were remoued. Behold vs now as happy as mortals might be! for wee were led into the Temple, the voyce of Hymen, Hymene, sounding on all sides. To be shor [...], being returned to our lodging, nothing might bee heard, but instruments of reioycing; nothing seene but dances and songs; euen then as mischiefe would, we were separated by one of the most vnlucky occasiōs that might befall me. We were then at Vienna, where are the most part of the Rosi­dors possessions. It fell out, that some forlorne young men of the villages without Lyoas, on that side where our Druides went to lay the Guy, where they had vsed it in the forrests of Mars, called Ayrieu, meant to commit some disorder: my husband not able to brooke it, after hee had gently admonished them, empeached them for executing it: where at they were so enraged, that thinking the greatest offence they could doe to Rosi­dor, was to hurt me; there was one of them about to throw a vyole of inke at my face: but seeing it comming, I turned my head aside, so that I was not touched but on my necke, as (said she stooping downe) you may yet see the markes plaine. My husband, that saw my brest full of ynke and blood, thinking I had beene grieuously wounded; and besides, conceiuing this outrage to be so great, that taking his sword into his hand, he strucke it thorow the body of him that gaue the blow, and then thrusting among the others, with the helpe of his friends, hee draue them out of his house.

[Page 280] Iudge, shepheard, if I were troubled: for I thought I was worse hurt then indeede I was, and saw my husband besmeared with the blood of him whom he slew, as also of a wound which he had on his shoulder. But when this first fray was in part passed, and by that the wound was dressed, and he apparelled, the Iustice came to seize on him, and carried him away with such violence, that they would not suffer mee to bid him farewell: but my affection more strong then their defence, made me way at last to him; and casting my selfe on his necke, clasped so fast about, that it was as much as they could doe to put me off. He on the other side, when hee saw me in this case, desiring rather to dye then to be separated from me, vsed all the violence which a great courage and an extreme loue was a­ble to worke, which was such, that all wounded as hee was, he got him­selfe out of their hands, and went out of the Towne.

This defence kept him from being a prisoner, but it made his cause the worse with the Iudge, who in the mean time sent out threatnings and Proclamations: during all which, his greatest displeasure was, that hee could not be with me; and because that desire pressed him fore, he disgui­sed himselfe, and came to me one euening, and passed all the night with me. God knowes what my contentment was, but yet my feare was as great: for Iknew that they which pursued him, vnderstanding the loue which was betweene vs, did all they could to surprize him; and it fell out as I alwaies feared: for at last he was found, and brought into Lyons, where presently I followed him, and to good purpose for him, for that the Iudges whom at all houres I sollicited, tooke such pitty on me, that they shewed him fauour: and so, notwithstanding all the pursuit of the aduersaries, hee was set at liberty. If I found much sorrow in this acci­dent, and paine when I saw him, beleeue, courteous shepheard, that I had no lesse satisfaction, to see him out of danger, and acquitted from all that had passed. But because the displeasure which he had receiued in the pri­son, had made him sicke, he was enforced to stay some dayes at Lyons: and I being alwaies about him, to giue him the best comfort I could; at last, being past the danger, he prayed me to set things in order at home, that we might entertaine our friends with that mirth that hee desired, for the good successe of his affaires: and behold, these dissolute fellowes, who had beene the cause of all our paine, seeing they could haue no other re­medy, resolued to kill him in his bed: and being entered into his lodging, gaue him 2. or 3. stabs with a ponyard, & leuing him for dead, fled away. Alas! courteous shepheard, iudge what I ought to bee, and in what re­pose was my soule like to be, that in truth is touched with the most sen­sible [Page 281] accident that could befall me.

So ended Cloris, hauing her face couered with teares, which seemed so many pearles that rowled downe her faire bosome. Now, gentle shepheard, that that I will tell you, is a new head-spring of Loue. The affection which I saw in this shepheardesse, touched mee with so much compassion, that though her face had not beene able to haue wonne my loue, yet the pitty struck me so to the quick, that I must confesse, that Car­lis, Stilliane, Aymee, nor Floriante, neuer tied me with a stronger chain then this desolate Cloris: Which was not, for that I loued not the others, but I had yet besides their place this voyde in my soule. Behold mee then re­solued into Cloris as well as into the others, but I knew well it was to no purpose to speake to her, while Rosidor were either not dead, or not hea­led; for the paine wherein she was, possessed her altogether. Wee came in this sort to Lyons, where presently euery one parted. It is true, that the new affection which I bare to Cloris, made me accompany her to her lod­ging, where especially I visited Rosidor, to haue some acquaintance with him, iudging it best so to beginne, thereby to come to the good graces of his wife. She that thought him worse hurt then she found it (for they al­waies make the euil greater then it is, and the apprehension much encrea­seth the accident which they doubt) changed her countenance and beha­uiour, when she found him vp, and walking about his chamber. But, see what befell me! the sadnesse which Cloris had in the boat, was (as I tolde you) the cause of my affection: and when being neere Rosidor, I saw her ioyfull and content, look how the compassion had made this loue to grow, so also her ioyfulnesse and contentment caused it to dye: proouing well as then, that euery euill ought to be cured by the contrary. I entred then a slaue and captiue into that lodging, and I came out a freeman, and master of my selfe. But considering this accident, I endeuoured to remember Ay­mee and Floriante, and presently wished to finde them at their lodging; and turning on all hands, at last I met them by fortune together.

A good meeting: the next day was the great Feast of Venus, and be­cause, according to custome, the day before the solemnity, the young wo­men sing in the Temple, the Hymnes which are made in the honour of the Goddesse; and they watch there vntill midnight: I heard them resolue with the mother of Aymee, to passe the night as the others, that shee might the better performe her vow. Floriante at the secret request of Ay­mee, promised to doe so too. And because they stayed there a great liber­ty, I had a designe, without any speech of it to goe in likewise, fayning to be a wench, when it should be darke: but knowing that the Druides [Page 282] were themselues at the gate, when it waxed darke, I purposed to hide my s [...]lfe some good while before. And indeede, beeing got into a corner little frequented, and most dark, I tarried there till nine or ten of the clock in the night. Thē the Tēple was shut vp, and there were no more men but my selfe, vnlesse there were some that were as curious as I: and by that time the Hymnes had long continued, I came out of my lurking place. And because the Temple was great, and there was no light but that which the tapers lighted on the Altar, might giue all about, I easily fet my selfe among the weaches, without their knowledge: and as I was sear­ching with mine eyes for that part where Aymee might bee, I saw a little candle brought to a young wench, who rising vp, went with it to the Al­tar, and after di [...] some ceremonies: she beganne to sing certaine couplets, to which at the end all the company answered. I know not whether it were for that the light was dimme (for sometimes they will helpe them­selues by hiding the imperfection of the painting) or that indeed she were faire: yet so it was, that assoon as I saw her, I loued her. Let them now tell me that say that loue comes frō the eyes of the partie beloued, that canont be: for shee could not see me; besides that, shee turned not her eyes to­wards me; and hardly could I behold her so well, that I might know her another time: and that was the cause that I thrust forward: by curiosity I crept gently among those shepheardesses that were next her. But by mis-hap, beeing (with greater danger) come hard by her, shee ended her Hymne, and sent backe the taper where it was wont to bee: so that the place was so darke, that hardly (though I might touch her) could I see her.

Notwithstanding, the hope that she or some other neere her, might beginne againe to sing, I stayed there a while. But I saw to the contrary, that the taper was carried into the other Quire, and presently after, one of those that were there, beganne to sing, as my new and vnknowne mistrisse had done. The difference that I noted, whether in voyce, or face, was great; for she had nothing that came neere her whom I beganne to loue: which was the cause, that beeing no longer able to command my curiosi­ty, I went to a Dame that was some what farre off, and counterfeiting the best I could, I asked what she was that sung before the last. You must be a stranger (said she) if you know her not. It may be, I know her (an­swered I) if heard her name. Who knowes her not (said shee) by her face, demands her name in vaine; yet to free you of your paine, know, she is called Cyr [...], one of the fairest maids that dwell on the banks of A­rar, and so held in all this countrey; so that if you know her not, you must [Page 283] be of another world. Till then I had so well counterseited my voyce, that as the night deceiued their eyes, so my voyce beguiled their eare [...]: but at that time, not remembring where I was, after many other thanks, I said to her, that if in exchange of the paine that she had taken, I could yeeld her any seruice, I did not thinke any man happier then I was.

How now (said she) who are you that talke in this fashion? And looking more hee defully on mee, shee knew by my habit what I was. Whereat, all astonied (said shee) How come you to haue the hardinesse to breake our lawes in this sort? Know you not, that you cannot pay this fault but with the losse of your life? I must tell you true, that though I knew there was chastisement ordained, yet I did not thinke it was such, whereat I was not a little astonied, yet alledging vnto her that I was a stranger, and knew not their Statutes, she tooke pitty on me, and said, that from the be­ginning she well perceiued it; and that I must know that it was impos­sible to obtaine pardon for this fault, for that the law was so rigorous, to free those watches from all the abuses which were wont to bee commit­ted.

Notwithstanding, seeing that I came not of any wicked intent, shee would doe what she could to saue me. And therefore I was not to tarry till the mid-night bell rang, for then the Druides came to the gate with their torches, and looked them all in the face. That now the gate of the Temple was shut, but she would attempt to open it: and then casting a vaile ouer my head, which couered me to the hanches, she fitted my cloak so vnderneath it, that it could not be discerned in the night from a gown: and hauing thus dressed mee, shee told some of her neighbours, who came with her, that shee was not well: and they all went to require the key of the most ancient of the company; and wee going together towards the gate with a little waxe-candle onely, which her selfe bare, and which she almost couered with her hand, fayning, as if she would preserue it from the winde, we went out of the prease: and thus happily I escaped out of this danger through her courtesie: and the better to disguise me, & with­all, for the desire I had to know to whom I was so much bound, I went with the other to her lodging.

But faire shepheardesse (sayd he) turning to Diane, this discourse is yet but halfe done, and me thinkes the Sunne is downe long since; will it not be fit to referre the rest to another time, when we haue more leisure? You haue reason sayd she (gentle shepheard) one must not spend all his goods at once: that which remaines, may cause vs make another pleasing iourney; besides that Paris, who is to passe the riuer, cannot stay longer [Page 284] without committing himselfe to the night. There is nothing (said he, faire shepheardesse) that can trouble mee, when I am neere you. I wish (an­swered she) there were any thing in me that might please you; for your worth and courtesie binde euery one to yeeld you all sorts of seruice. Pa­ris would haue replied, but Hylas interrupted him, when he said: I would to God, gentle Paris, that I were you, and that Diane were Phillis, and that she would vse this language to me. When that shall be (said Paris) you shall haue but the more obligation to her. It is true (said Hylas) but I shall not be afraid to binde my selfe in part to her, to whom I am alrea­dy so entirely. Your obligations (said Diane) are not of those that conti­nue for euer, you can reuoke them when you will. If the one (answered he) bring losse, the others haue aduantage; and aske Phillis if she be not well eased, that I am of that humour: for if I were otherwise, she might make some account of my seruice. With the like discourse Diane, Paris & many other shepheardesse; came to the great medow, where they vsed to meet before they went home; and Paris giuing the good night to Di­ane, and the rest of the company, tooke his way by the side of Laigneu.

But in the meane time Licidas was talking with Phillis; for the ielousie of Siluander had tormented him so, that he could not stay vntill the next morning, to tell her what was in his heart. He was so farre besides him­selfe, that he tooke no heed who heard him; but thinking he had beene alone with her, after two or three great sighs he sayd; Is it possible, Phil­lis, that the heauens haue preserued my life so long, to feele thy vnfaith­fullnesse? The shepheardesse that looked for some other discourse, was so surprized, that she could not answer him. And the shepheard seeing her mute, and thinking it was to inuent some excuse, went on. You haue rea­son (faire shepheardesse) not to answer, for your eies say as much indeed, too plainely for my quie: And this silence tells and assures mee but too well of what I demand, and which I would not know. The shepheardesse that felt her selfe offended at these words, answered him in anger: Since mine eies speake so much for me, why will you haue mee answer in ano­ther fashion? And if my silence giue you more knowledge of my small loue, than my actions passed, could of my good will, thinke you I can hope to giue you better proofe by my words? But I wel see what it is, Li­cidas; you would make an honest retreit; you haue a designe elsewhere: and because you dare not, without giuing your sicklenesse some reaso­nable couerture; you faine to your selfe Chimres, and build vp occasi­ons of displeasure, whe [...]e you know well there is no cause, purposely to make me blamed for your fault. But, Licidas, bring foorth your reasons, [Page 285] let vs see what they are: or if you will not do it, giue backe, shepheard, without accusing me of the errour which you haue committed, and for which I shall doe long penance: but let it content you, to leaue the mor­tall displeasure, but not the blame which you goe about to raise by your ordinary complaynts, where with you importune both heauen and earth.

The doubt which I haue had (replyed the shepheard) makes me com­plaine, but the assurance which you giue mee by your egre words, makes me die. And what is your feare (answered the shepheardesse?) Iudge, re­plyed he, if it may be small, since the complaints that proceed of it, impor­tune both heauen and earth, as you cast in my teeth. If you will know it, I will tell you in few words. I feare that Phillis loueth not Lieidas. Yet, shepheard (sayd Phillis) you may thinke I loue you not, and beare in your memory what I haue done for you, and for Olympe. Is it possible that the actions of my life passed, should returne before your eyes, when you conceiue these doubts? I know well (answered the shepheard) that you haue loued me; and if I had beene in doubt, my payne should not be such as I now seele: but I feare that a wound, as great as it is, if it bring not death, may heale in time: so that which Loue hath made you do for me, is by this time so fully healed, that hardly the skarre onely may be seene. Phillis at these vvords turning her head aside, and her eyes with a playne gesture of discontentment: Since, shepheard, (said she) that vntill novv by the offices and those testimonies of affection vvhich I haue done you, I perceiue, I haue got nothing, assure your selfe, that which I com­plaine most of, is the paine, and time which I haue employed about it.

Licidas knevv vvell the shepheardesse was much mooued, but himselfe vvas so ouercome of ielousie, that he could not hold from ansvvering her. This anger (shepheardesse) giues me, but more knovvledge of that vvchich I feared; for to trouble ones selfe for the speech vvhich an ouer-great af­fection hat sometime brought out, is it not a signe he vvas neuer tou­ched? Phillis hearing this reproach, came a little to her selfe, and turning her face to him; You see, Licidas, all dissembling displeases me in any, but I cannot beare it in them with whom I would liue. How now? hath Li­cidas the hardnesse to tell me, that he doubts the loue of his Phillis, and I not thinke hee dissembles? and vvhat testimony may be giuen, that I haue not giuen you? Shepheard, shepheard, beleeue me, these words make me thinke hardly of the assurance which sometimes you haue giuen me of your affectiō. For it may be, you deceiue me in that which concerns you, as it seemes you deceiue your selfe in that that touches me; or as you think you are not beloued, being, indeed, more then the rest of the world: [Page 286] so you imagine you loue, when indeed, you doe not. Shepheardesse (an­swered Licidas) if my affection were of that common sort, that haue more of apparence then of effect, I would condemne my selfe, when the vio­lence of it did transport mee beyond reason, or when I demand of you great proofes of a great amity: but since it is not of that kinde, and that you know well it imbraces whatsoeuer is greater, know you not that ex­treme loue neuer goes without this feare, though it haue no cause? and for the little it hath, this feare changes it selfe into iealousie, and iealousie into paine, or rather into madnesse, wherein I finde my selfe.

While Licidas and Phillis talked thus, thinking their words were heard but of them two, and that they had no other witnesses, but the trees, Sil­uander (as I told you) lay like a skout, and lost not a word. Laonice on the other side, which had beene asleepe in that place, awaked at the be­ginning of their speech; and knowing them both, was infinitely glad to be found to so good purpose, assuring her selfe, that they would not part vntill they had acquainted her with much of their secrets, where with she hapned to serue her owne turne to their ruine. And it fell out as she ho­ped; for Phillis hearing Licidas say that he was iealous, demaunded very loude, both of whom and wherefore? Shepheardesse (answered the foo­lish Licidas) aske you me that question? Tell me, I pray you, whence pro­ceeded that great coldnesse towards me of late, and from whence that familarity which you haue in so strait a sort with Siluander, if the loue which you were wont to beare me, be not changed to his benefit? Ah shepheardesse! you may well thinke, that my heart is without feeling of your blowes, since it hath so liuely felt those of your eyes. How long is it since to talke you haue withdrawne your selfe from me, since you took no plea­sure to talke with me; and that it seemed you send about for other com­pany, that you may auoyde mine? Or, where is the care you were wont to haue of my businesse, or the griefe which my stay from your presence brought you? You may remember how svveete the name of Licidas hath beene to you, and hovv often it slipped out of your mouth, for the abun­dance of your heart, when you meant to name some other. You may re­member your selfe, I say, and haue at this time nothing in the same heart, and in the same mouth, but the name and affection of Siluander, with whom you liue in such asort, that there is not so great a stranger in our Country but knovves that you him. And thinke you it strange, that I which am the same Licidas, which I haue alvvayes yet beene, and was not borne but onely for you Phillis, haue entred into some doubt of you?

The extreme displeasure of Licidas raysed so great aboundance of [Page 287] words in his mouth, that Phillis, to interrupt him, could not gēt a time to answer him; for if she opened her mouth to beginne, he went on with the more vehemency, not considering that his complayning made it worse: and if there were any thing that might helpe him, it was onely her answer, which he would not heare; and on the contrary, not heeding, that this torrent of words tooke avvay all leisure for the shepheardesse to ansvver him, he iudged that her silence proceeded of the sense of her be­ing guilty; so that hee went on amplifying his iealousie at all motions, and all actions that he savve her vse. Whereat she found her selfe so su [...] ­prized, and so much discontented, that she thus letted, knevv not with what words to beginne either to complayne of him, or to remooue him out of the opinion vvhere in hee was, but the passion of the shepheard, vvhich vvas so extreme, that it gaue him not leisure to dreame of i [...]; for though it vvere almost night, yet he saw her blush, or at least he thought he savve her, vvhich vvas the conclusion of his impatience, holding that for certaine, vvhere of as yet he had no cause to doubt. And so vvithout furder stay, after he had called twice or thrice on the gods, as iust p [...]ni­shers of the vnfaithfull, he ranne into the woods, vnvvilling to heare or tarry for Phillis, vvho vvent after him to discouer to him his errour, but it vvas in vaine. For he ranne so svviftly, that soone left him in the thic­ket of the trees. And in the meane time, Leonice well pleased that she had discouered this affection, and savv so good a beginning of her desseigne, vvithdrevv, as vvas the custome, vvith the shepheardesses her compani­ons; and Siluander, on the otherside, resolued vvith himselfe, since Licidas tooke such ielousie at so cheape a rate, to sell him it for the time to come at a dearer, making shew to loue Phillis in sadnesse, when he should see him neere her.

The History of Galathee and Lindamor.

MY father (for so she called him) bee not moued, I beseech you, to heare that which I haue to say to you, and when you haue occasi­on, remember that the same loue caused this, which at some other time hath driuen you to the like or more strange accidents. I durst not speake to you of it, if I had not a commission, namely, if I had not bene comman­ded: but Galathee, whom this businesse concernes, is willing, since shee hath chosen you as the Phisicion for this sicknesse, that you should know both the breeding, and the proceeding; yet hath she enioyned me to draw some words from you, that you will neuer speake of it. The Druide, which well knew what respect hee was to beare to his Lady (for so hee e­steemed her) answered that hee had wisedome enough to conceale that, which he knew might concerne Galathee; & that therein the promise was more then needed. Vpon this assurance (continued Leonide) I will attempt to tel you, what you are to know. It is now a long time, since Polemas be­came [Page 289] to be in loue with Galathee: to tell you how it grew, were vnprofi­table: so it was, that he loued her, so that in earnest one might call him a­morous. This affection passed on so far, that Galathee her selfe could not be ignorant of it, so much it wanted, that in particular, shee made it diuers times appeare, that his seruice was not displeasing to her, which tied him so fast, that nothing since could euer withhold him; and without doubt, Galathee had some good occasion to fauour Polemas, for he was a man that merited much: for his race, you know hee is of the ancient stocke of Suri­en, that in nobility giues not place to that of Galathee: as for his person, he is very louely, hauing both a face and fashion able to win loue: aboue all hee hath great knowledge, yet ashamed of it before the wisest. But why go I about to tell you these things? Your father knows them better then I. So it was, that these good conditions made him so commendable, that Galathee vouchsafed to fauour him more then any other in the court of Amasis: yet it was with that discretion, that no man noted it. Now Polemas hauing the wind so fauorable, liued with that contentment to himselfe, as a man founded vpon hopes might. But this inconstant Loue, or rather this inconstant Fortune, which delights in change, as in her nourishment, was willing that Polemas, as well as the rest of the world, should feele what the stripes are, that come from her hand: you may re­member that it is somewhile since Amasis permitted Clidaman to bestow vs on his seruants: from this occasion, as from a swarme, haue issued so many loues, that besides that the court was pestered with them, all the country feeles them.

Now among others, by chance Lindamor was giuen to Galathee, hee hath much worth, yet she receiued him so coldly, as the ceremony of that feast would suffer. But he that before, it may bee, had some such intenti­on, which he durst not make shew of, beyond the bounds of his discreti­on, was well pleased, that this subiect presented it selfe so luckily, to vn­lock those dessines, which loue had made him conceale, and to giue birth, vnder the vaile of that fiction, to most true passions. If Polemas felt the beginning of this new loue, the progresse of it was troblesome to him, for that the beginning was couered with the shaddow of courtesie, and the example of all the other Nymphs; so that though Galathee entertained him with that apparancy of delight, yet in reason that might not offend him, because shee was tied to it by the law, which was common; but when this suite continued, and more then that, when passing the limits of courtesie, he saw that it was in good earnest, then hee felt the effects which ielousie workes in the soule that truly loues. Galathee, for her part [Page 290] little thought, or at least beleeued not, it was so far gone, but the occasi­ons, as threeds sowed together, draw the one to the other, carried him so far, that Polemas may be in some sort excused, if he would suffer himselfe to be wounded with so sharpe a blade; and if ielousie could do more then the assurance which his seruices might giue him. Lindamor was gentle, & there was nothing which you could wish in a person welborn, where­with he was not furnished; courteous among the Ladies, braue among the warriours, full of valour, and courage, as any that hath beene in our court these many yeeres. He was about 25. yeeres of age, without fee­ling the effects which loue is vsed to worke in harts of that age, not for that out of nature he could not serue Ladies, or that hee wanted courage to hazard any one; but because he was alwayes busied in exercises, which driue out idlenesse, he had not giuen leasure to his affections to fixe their roots in his soule, for from the time he was able to beare armes, thrust for­ward with that generous instinct, that carries noble courages to the most dangerous enterprise, he let passe no occasion of warre wherein he gaue not witnesse of what he was. Afterward being returned to see Cli­daman to perform duty to him to whō he was obliged, at the same time he gaue himselfe to two, to Clidaman, as to his Lord, and to Galathee, as to his Lady, and to them both without receiuing disgrace.

But the courtesie of young Clidaman, and the merits of Galathee had too great power ouer those Louers, to be drawn frō their seruice. Behold then (as I tell you) Lindamor become amorous, but so, that his affection could no longer be hidden with the vaile of courtesie. Polemas, as he that had interest, found it out soone enough: yet though they were friends, would he make no shew of it, but to the contrary, kept it close to him­selfe: hee laboured nothing more, then to get more assurance of this Loue, to the end he might ruine him by all the tricks he could, as he tried afterward. And because since the returne of Lindamor, he had (as I told you) made profession of friendship to him, hee thought fit to continue it. About this time, Clidaman beganne to delight in Tourneys and Tiltings, wherein he profited well (as they sayd) for a beginner. But aboue all, Lindamor bare away the glory of the goodliest and gentlest; wherat Pole­mas was so vexed, that he could not dissemble his ill will, and he thought that if he made a match with him, he might carry away the greater glory, for that being older, and of longer abode in Court, he was alwais in al the designes of his Riuall: but Lindamor, that suspected not the occasions that made him do so, went on freely, and that made his actions more pleasing, which Polemas did not, who had a secret purpose where he must vse some [Page 291] cunning, so that he serued but for a shew. And especially, the last day of the Bacchanals, when the young Clidaman made a Tourney, to maintai [...]e the beauty of Siluie, Guymantes and Lindamor did as much as men might, but among all, Lindamor got that grace and happinesse, that if Galathee had not iudged it, yet loue had giuen sentence against Polemas.

The Nymph, that then beganne to haue eyes as well for other men, as till then shee had for none but Polemas, could not containe from spea­king much to the good of Lindamor. And see how Loue mocks and sports with the wisedome of Louers! That which with such care and craft Po­lemas went about, seeking to aduance himselfe aboue Lindamor, hurts himselfe the more, and makes him almost his inferiour: for euery one comparing their actions together, found such difference, that it had bin better for him either not to haue assisted him, or to haue bin declared his enemy at once. It was that very euening that Lindamor thrust forward by his good Angell, (I thinke, for my part, there be good dayes, and vnhappy dayes) auowed himselfe, in earnest, seruant to the faire Galathee; but the occasion was also as good as he could wish: for, dancing a dance which the Frankes haue lately brought out of Germany, where one goes to take away her whom he likes, led on by loue, but rather spurred to it (as I thinke) by destiny, he tooke away Galathee from Polemas, who more at­tentiue to his discourse then to the dance, tooke little heede, and was at that time reproaching the Nymph for the new breeding loue which hee fore-saw of Lindamor. Shee, who till then neuer thought him to bee in earnest, offended at his discourse, tooke his words in so ill part, that shee told him what words Lindamor had vsed, which were so much the more pleasing, for that she thought shee was thereby reuenged of him for his suspition.

That which makes me speake thus, is, for that there is none that may know more then I, who may seeme to bee destined to heare of all these Loues: for as soon as we were withdrawne, and that Galathee was in bed, she willed me to stand at the beds head, and hold the light, while she read the dispatches that came to her, and specially those of importance. That night she caused the Nymphs to leaue her alone: and when they were all gone, she commanded me to locke the doore, then made me sit at the beds feete, and after she had smiled a while, shee said, You cannot choose but laugh, Leonide, at the gracious accident that befell me at the daunce. You know it is somewhile since Polemas had a minde to serue me, for I concea­led it not from you; and for as much as me thought he carried himselfe to­wards me with that honour and respect (I neede not lye) his seruice was [Page 292] not vnpleasing to me, and rēceiued it with a better liking, then from any others in the Court, not that hee had yet any loue of my part: I will not say but that it may bee (as Loue alwaies flatters his patients with hope) he imagined that which he desired: but the truth is, that I neuer yet iud­ged, that he had neuer any thing able to make mee loue him. I know not what may fall out her ea [...]ter, and I referre my selfe to that that shall bee, but for that which is yet, there is no likelihood.

Now Polemas seeing that I heard what he would say, and that I har­kened to it with patience, being there by made the more hardy, not mar­king that I liued with others in the same sort, is gone so far, that he knows not what he does, he is so much beside himselfe. And indeede, this night he daunced with me some while, at the first so chiding, that I was con­strained (without thinking of it) to aske him what the matter was. Shall it not displease you (said he) if I discouer it? No, answered I, for I neuer aske for the thing I would not know. Vpon this assurance he went for­ward.

I must tell you, Madame, that it is not in my power, not to be offen­ded at the actions which I see ordinarily before mine eyes, and which touch me so to the quicke, that if I had as great assurance, as I haue suspi­tion, I know not if there were any thing able to keep me aliue. In sadnes I was yet so simple, that I knew not what he would say; yet thinking his loue had tied mee to some sort of curiosity, I asked what actions those were that touched him so to the quicke. Then pawsing a little, and loo­king stedfastly on me, he sayd: Is it possible, Madame, that without ficti­on you aske me this? And why (answered I) would you not haue me do so? Because (added he) it is you whom all these things concerne, and it is from you that they proceed; and then seeing that I spake not a word, (for I knew not what he would say) he beganne togoe on, and told mee, I would not haue you dissemble in this businesse, without blushing. For resolutely I will enforce my selfe to tell you, though the discourse cost me my life. You know (Madame) with what affection, since the heauens made me yours, I haue indeuoured to giue proofe that I was truely the seruant of the faire Galathee: you can tell, if euen vntill-now you haue knowne any action of mine tended to other end than your seruice. If all my dessignes haue not taken that poynt for their marke; and if all my de­sires arising from thence, haue not shevved themselues satisfied and con­tented, I assure my selfe, that if my fortune deny me to deserue any thing more in seruing you, yet at the least she will not refuse me this satisfacti­on from you, that you will confesse, that truly I am yours, and no others [Page 293] but yours. Now if this be so, iudge what griefe I ought to haue, after so much time spent (not to say, lost) when (if there be any reason in Loue, I ought with greater reason to haue expected some reward of my affecti­on: I see another fauoured in my place, and an inheritour (as I may say) of my goods before my death. Excuse mee for speaking in this manner: the extreme passion drawes these iust complaints out of my soule, which though it would, yet can it not longer be silent, seeing he that triumphs ouer me, hath got the victory, rather by destiny than merit. It is Linda­mor, of whom I speake; Lindamor, whose seruice is the more happily re­ceiued of you, by that that he is to giue me place, both in affection and faithfulnesse. My griefe is not to see him more happy than he durst wish for: but indeed to see him so at my cost. Excuse me, Madame, I beseech you, or rather accuse the greatnesse of my affection, if I complayne, since it is but a more manifest proofe of the power which you haue ouer your most humble seruant.

And that which makes me speake so, is, that I note you vse towards him the same words, and the same fashion of treaty that you did towards me, at the first breeding of your goodwill, and when you permitted me to speake to you, and that I might say to my selfe, you knew mine af­fection.

This putteth mee so farre besides my selfe, with such violence, that hardly can I commaund ouer these furious extremities which you put me to, and which the offence bringeth to my soule, and can produce no ef­fects of discretion. He would haue sayd more, but the passion wherein he was, so suddenly tooke from him his voyce, that it was impossible for him to hold on longer. If I were offended at his words, you may iudge, for they were both rash and full of vanity, and not to be borne with: yet that I might not giue knowledge of this brabble to them that haue eyes, but to spie the actions of others, I was compelled to make him an answer a little lesse eager than I had done, had I beene else-where: and I sayd, Polemas, that which I am, and that which you are, will not suffer me to doubt that you are my seruant, so long as you stay in the house of my mother, and performe the seruice of my brother; but I cannot won­der enough at the follies which you mixe in your discourse, in talking of heritage, and of your goods. In that which is from my loue, I know not by what right you pretend yours.

My intention, Polemas, hath bene to loue you, and esteeme you as your vertue deserues, and you are not to imagine beyond that. And for that you talke of Lindamor, get out of that error, for if I vse him as I haue done [Page 294] you, you are to thinke I will doe so to all those that heereafter shall merit it, without other designe greater then to loue and esteeme him that de­serues it, in what subiect soeuer it be found. And how, madame, said I then interrupting her, thinke you this a gentle answer? I know not how you could haue honestly sayd more: for indeed, it must be confessed hee is arrogant: but yet it may not be denied, but this arrogancy is bred in him, vpon some shew of reason. Of reason (answered the Nymph prese ntly?) What reason can he alledge? Many, Madame, replied I, but to conceale them all but one, I may say to you, that truely you haue allowed him to serue in a more peculiar manner then any other. That is (said Galathee) for that he pleased me more then the rest of my brothers seruants. I con­fesse it, madame, said I, and seeing himselfe so farre in your good graces, how could he hope for lesse then to bee beloued of you? Hee had heard talke of so many examples of loue betweene vnequall persons, that hee could not flatter himselfe lesse, then to hope the same for himselfe, which he heard spoke of others, & I remember, that vpon that subiect he made verses which he sung before you: it is some while since you commanded him to conceale his affection: they were these:

Then Adamas asked her: And how, Leonide? it seemes by the words of Galathee, that she despised Polemas, and by these verses there is no man but will iudge she loued him, and that only he could not brooke with pa­tience, that she should dissemble! Father (replied Leonide) it is true that she loued him, and she had giuen him that proof, that if he gaue credit to it, hee was not so arrogant, but that one might very well haue thought him to be of small vnderstanding, if he did not beleeue it; and though she would dissemble with me, yet I know she had drawne him by shewes and hopes of good will, whereof the earnest was not so small as the first, but that many others haue bene deceiued, and I know not, considering what assurances were giuen, that any would thinke shee would lose them, and gainesay her going forward, but he deserued this chastisement for his vn­faithfulnes which he vsed to a Nymph, whose deceiued affectiō cryes ven­geance, so that loue at last gaue an care: for without faining he is the most deceitfull, the most vnthankfull, and most vnworthy to be beloued for this misprifall, of any vnder heauen, and deserues not to be pittied, if hee now feele the griefe which other haue suffered for him.

Adamas seeing her so much moued against Polemas, demaunded who the Nymph was that hee deceiued, and said, that shee was some of her friends, since she tooke the offence so to the quicke. Then shee perceiued that she had yeelded too much to her passion, and that vnawares shee had made knowne that which shee had kept so long secret; yet as shee had a quicke spirit, and that would not lie long in her fault, she couered by her [Page 296] dissimulation, this errour so well, that Adamas then tooke no great heed to it. And how, my daughter (sayd Adamas) know you not, that men liue with a purpose to ouercome and finish all that they vndertake, and that the loue which they make shew of to other women, is but to make the way easie? You may see, Leonide, that all loue is for the desire of the thing that is wanting; and the desire being satisfied, there is no more de­sire; if there be no more desire, there is no more loue: therefore you may behold, that they which will be long loued, are they that giue least sa­tisfaction to the desires of their louers. But (added Leonide) she where­of I spake, is one of my particular friends, and I know, she neuer treated with Polemas, but with as great coldnesse as she could. That likewise, re­plyed Adamas, makes the desire to be lost; for desire is nourished with hope and fauours.

Now look how the match of the Lampe goes out when the oyle failes, so desire dies, when the nourishment of it is put out: therefore it is, that we see so many loues are changed, some for too many, othersome for too few fauours. But let vs returne to that you sayd to Galathee; what was that that she answered? If Polemas (answered Leonide) had had (said she to me) as much iudgement to measure himselfe, as he had rashnesse to dare to loue me, he would haue taken these fauours as from my courtesie, and not from my loue. But (continued Galathee) this is nothing to the worth of the accident which befell at that time; for I had scarcely answered Po­lemas, what you haue heard, but Lindamor following the course of the daunce, was come to snatch or robbe, and vvith that dexterity, that Polemas cou'd not auoyd it, and by that meanes not answer me, but with his eyes; but certainly, with a looke so frowning, that I know not how I held from laughter. As for Lindamor, whether he took heed to it, or per­ceiuing it, would not let it appeare, so it was, that presently after he spake to me in that sort, it had beene enough to haue made the poore Polemas madde, if he had heard it. Madame, sayd he to me, is it possible that all things should goe so quite contrary, and that iesting should turne to so true earnest, and the presages likewise which your eyes speake of to me, when I behold them? Lindamor, said I to him, so you may be punished as you deserued, if iesting you meet with earnest. This punishment, an­swered he, is so welcome to me, that I should beshrew my selfe, if I did not loue and cherish it, as the greatest happinesse that might befall mee. What meane you by that (sayd I) for it may bee wee speake of diuers things? I meane (sayd hee) that in this course of the dance, I haue stolne away you, and in the truth of loue, you haue stolne from mee both soule [Page 297] and heart. Then blushing a little, I answered him in choler, How now, Lindamor, what discourse is this? remember you what I am, and what you are? I do so, Madam (sayd he) and that is it that makes me speake so vnto you, for are you not my Lady, and am not I your seruant? Yes (an­swered I) but not as you take it, for you ought to serue mee with respect, and not with loue: or if there be any affection, it should grow out of your duty. He presently replied, Madam, if I serue you not with respect, neuer was diuinity honored by a mortall man: but whether this respect bee the father, or childe of my affection, it concernes you but little, for I am resol­ued, whatsoeuer you are to mee, to serue you, to loue you, and to adore you, and thinke not herein, that the duty whereto Clidaman by the law of the game hath subiected vs, is the cause, well it may be the couerture: but to conclude, your merits, your perfections, or to say true, my destiny giues me to you, and thereto I assent: for I must acknowledge, that what man soeuer sees you, and loues you not, deserues not the name of a man. These words were deliuered with such a vehemency, that he made it appeare to me, that he truly told me what was in his soule; & behold, I pray you, this pleasant encounter. I neuer heeded this affection, thinking that al he did, was in sport, & should haue neuer perceiued it, but for the ielousie of Pole­mas: but since I haue alwayes had an eye to Lindamor, and I should not lie, I haue found him as well capable of loue as ielousie: so that it seames, that the other hath whetted the knife, wherewith hee would cut the threed of the small loue I beare him: for I know not how Polemas hath euer since so displeased mee in all his actions, that I could hardly endure him to bee neere me the rest of that night. On the contrary, all that Lindamar did, came so kindly to mee, that I wonder I marked it no sooner. I know not whether Polemas, by reason of his being crossed, haue changed his behauiour, or whether the euill opinion which I haue conceiued of him, haue altered my eyes when I behold him: yet so it is, that either mine eyes see not as they were wont, or Polemas is no more the man hee was wont to be.

I must not lie to you, when Galathee spake in this sort against him, I was no whit sorry because of his ingratitude: on the contrary, the more to hurt him, I sayd, I do not wonder, Madam, that Lindamor is more welcome to you, then Polemas: for the qualitites and perfections of them both are not equall; euery one that sees them, will giue the same iudge­ment that you do of them. It is true, that heere in I fore-see a great hurly burly, first, betweene them, and after betweene you and Polemas. And why (sayd Galathee?) Are you of opinion he hath any power ouer my [Page 298] actions or of Lindamors. Not for that (said I) Madam, but I knew the hu­mour of Polemas so well, that he will leaue nothing vnattempted, and wil remooue heauen and earth, to recouer the happinesse that he thinkes hee hath lost; and for it he will commit these follies which cannot be hidden, but to those that will not see them, and so shall you haue displeasure, and Lindamor be offended: and God graunt it fall not out worse. No such thing, Leonide, answered she, if Lindamor loue me, he will do as I com­maund him; if he do not loue me, he will not care what Polemas doth: and as for him, if he passe the bounds of reason, I knovv hovv to reforme him: leaue that labour to me, for I can prouide well enough for that. At this word she commaunded mee to draw the curtaine, and let her rest, if at least these new desseignes would suffer her. But at the breaking vp of the daunce, Lindamor, who had noted what countenance Polemas had made when he tooke Galathee from him, had a conceit that he loued her. Notwithstanding, hauing neuer perceiued any thing by his actions pas­sed, he would aske him the question, resolued, that if he found him in loue, he would indeuour to diuert himselfe, for that he thought himselfe some what bound to it, for the loue he made shew of, which hee thought to be vnfained; and so going to him, desired he might haue a word with him in priuate.

Polemas, who vsed al maner of cunning that a Courtier was capable of, paynted his face with a fained shew of good will, and said, What is it that Lindamor is pleased to commaund of me? I neuer vse commoundement (said Lindamor) where my prayer onely may take place; and at this time I neede neither of them, but onely as a friend, demaund a thing of you which our friendship bindes you to tell me. What may it be (replyed Po­lemas?) since our friendship so bindes me, you are to thinke that I will answer you with the same freedome that you desire to know. This it is (replyed Lindamor) that I haue some while serued Galathee, as I was tied by the ordinance of Clidaman, at last, I am constrayned so to do by that of Loue. For it is true, that after I had long time serued her, by the dispo­sing of that fortune that gaue mee to her, her merits haue since so wonne me, that my will hath ratified that gift with so great affection, that to draw backe, would be as much want of courage, as it is now arrogan­cie to say, that I dare loue her. Yet the friendship which is betvveene you and me, hauing beene of longer date, than this of Loue, giues mee re­solution enough to tell you, that if you loue her, and haue any pretenti­on to her, I hope as yet to haue that povver of my selfe, that I can with­dravv, and giue proofe, that Loue is lesse in me than Friendship, or at [Page 299] least, the follies of the one shall giue place vnto the Wisedome of the o­ther.

Tell mee then frankely that which you haue in your soule, to the end that neither your friendship, nor mine, may complayne of our actions. That which I say, is not to discouer the secrets of your intentions: since I lay open to you mine, you are not to be afraid that I should know yours: besides that, the lawes of friendship commaund you, not to hide them from me; prouided, that not curiosity, but the desire of preseruing our goodwill, makes me demaund it of you. Lindamor spake to Polemas with the same freedome that a friend should, poore and ignorant Louer, that thought he could since it in loue! On the contrary, the dissembling Po­lemas answered him; Lindamor, this faire Nymph, of whom you speake, is worthy to be serued of all the world; but as for my selfe, I haue no pre­tention; yet this I will tell you, that as concerning loue, I am of opini­on, that euery one, for his part, should do what he can. Then Lindamor repented that he had vsed a language so full of courtesie and respect, since he required it so ill. Here solued to doe his best to aduance himselfe into the good graces of the Nymph; and yet hee answered him, Since you haue no such dessigne, I am right glad, as of the thing most welcome to mee, for that to haue withdravvne my selfe, it would haue beene a paine to me, little lesse than death.

So farre off a [...] I (added Poleman) from hauing any pretention of loue, that I neuer looked on her, but with an eie of respect, such as we are all bound to giue her. For my part (replyed Lindamor) I honour Galathee as my Lady; but I likevvise loue her as a faire Lady: and me thinks, my fortune mayayme as high as it is permitted mine eyes to looke; and that I shall offend no diuinity by louing her. With such like discourses they parted, neyther of them well satisfied, yet some what differing, Polemas out of iclousie, and Lindamor, for hauing found the vnfaithfulnesse of his friend. From that day they liued in a pleasant fashion, for they were or­dinarily together, and yet they concealed their dessignes. Yet not Lin­damor in apparance, but in effect, hid himselfe in all hee propounded and purposed to do: and knowing well, that occasions passed, may not be re­called, he would not lose a moment of leisure, which he employed not to make his affection apparent to the Nimph. In which hee neyther lost his time, nor his payne; for she liked so well of this good will, which hee made shew of, that if shee had not so much loue as he in her eyes, she had it at the least in her heart. And because it is an hard matter to hide a great fire so well, but something will discouer it: their affections which [Page 300] beganne to burne in good earnest, were hardly to be concealed for all the wisedome they could vse.

This was the cause that Galathee resolued to speake with Lindamor, as seldome as she could, and to find some inuention for him to send his Let­ters, and to receiue their secrets; and for this purpose shee made a des­seigne on Fleurial, nephevv to the Nurse of Amasis, and brother of hers, whose good will shee had long knowne, for that being Gardiner of those faire gardens of Monbrison, as his father during his life had beene, when they carried Galathee abroad, he tooke her often in his armes, and went vp and downe, gathering what floures shee would; and you know that these loues of infancy, being as it were sucked in with the milke, turne almost into nature: besides that, she knew well, that all countrey swaines are couetous; dealing bountifully with him, shee wonne him entirely to her. And it fell out as she purposed, for one day being some distance re­moued from vs, she called him to her, fayning to aske him the name of some flowres which she held in her hand; and after she had asked him a­loude of them, somewhat abasing her voyce, she sayd to him, Come hi­ther, Fleurial, dost thou loue me well? Madame (answered he) I should be the veriest wretch liuing, if I loued you not aboue all the world beside. May I be assured (said the Nymph) of what thou sayest? May I (replyed he) neuer liue a moment, if I choose not rather to be wanting to heauen than to you. What, (answered Galathee) without any exception, were it in a thing that might displease Amasis or Clidamon? I care not then, sayd Fleurial, whom I displease in seruing you: for I am to none but to you: and whosoeuer payes mee, yet it is of you that this benefit befalles mee, and when this shall cease to be: I alwayes had such an affection to you, that euer since your childhood, I gaue my selfe entirely to you. But, Ma­dame, whereto serue these words? I shall neuer be so happy to be able to giue proofe of it. Then Galathee said, Hearken, Fleurial, if thou liue in this resolution, and thou wilt be secret, thou shalt be the happiest man (of thy condition) in all the world: and that which I haue done for thee heeretofore, is nothing to the valew of that which heereaster I will doe. But looke that you be secret, and remember, that if you be not, be­sides that of a friend (as I am) I will hencefoorth become your mortall enemy; yet must you assure your selfe, that it will cost you no lesse then your life. Go [...] finde out Lindamor, and doe what he shall bid you, and beleeue thou, that I will consider better than thou canst hope for, for the seruices which thou shalt doe for mee in this; and beware you haue not a tongue.

[Page 301] At this word Galathee came to seeke vs out, and laughing, said, That Fleurial and she had talked a good while of Loue, but, said she, it was loue of the garden, for that is the loue of the simple. Fleurial, for his part, af­ter hee had turned some turnes about the garden, went forth some what troubled with this affaire; for he was not so ignorant, but hee knew well the danger into which he put himselfe: whether with Amasis, if he should discouer it, or with Galathee, if he should not do as she commanded him, thinking it was about loue: and hee had heard them say, that all the of­sences of Loue strike to the heart. At last, the amity he bare to Galathee, and the desire of gaine, made him resolue, since hee had promised to per­forme his promise: and then he went to seeke out Lindamor, who expe­cted him; for the Nymph had assured him that shee would send him, and that onely he should direct him what he was to doe.

As soon as Lindamor saw him, he made shew before others, not to know the cause, & asked him if he had any businesse with him. To whō he made answer aloud, that he came to beseech him to present to Amasis his long seruices, and the smal means he had to be paid that which was due to him: and at last, speaking some what lower, he told him the occasion of his cō ­ming, & offered him his seruice at his pleasure. Lindamor thanked him, & hauing shortly instructed him what he was to doe, he iudged the thing so easie, that he made no difficulty: from that time (as I told you) when Lin­damor would write, Fleurial made shew to present some suire to the Nymph, and when she made answer, shee returned it backe with such an order as shee could obtaine from Amasis. And because ordinarily, these olde seruants haue alwayes some thing or other to aske, this man neuer wanted matter to exhibit at all times of some new request, which often­times receiued an answer beyond his hopes.

Now during this time, the loue which the Nymph had borne to Po­lemas, lessened in such sort, that hardly could shee speake to him without disgrace, which he could not beare: and knowing well, that all this cold­nesse procceded of the loue of Lindamor, he suffered himselfe to be trans­ported so farre, that not daring to speake against Galathee, hee could not abstaine from speaking many things to the disaduantage of Lindamor: and among other, that though he were an honest man, and accomplished with many remarkable parts, yet the good opinion which he had of him­selfe, was not like theirs that know how to measure themselues; and for proofe of it, he had beene so proud as to raise his eyes to the loue of Ga­lathee, and not onely to conceiue it in his soule, but to vaunt of it in speech to him. A discourse, which at last came to the eares of Galathee, namely, [Page 302] so farre passed, that almost all the Court knew it. The Nymph was so offended herewith, that she resolued to vse Lindamor so, that hereafter he should not haue occasion to publish his vanities: and that was the cause, that shortly after this bruit was extinct, for that she (who was in choler) pake no more to him, and that they that obserued his actions, finding no apparence of Loue, were constrained to beleeue the contrary: and at that time was the sending away of Knights, which fell out fitly, and ay­ded her much, for that Amasis had sent him about a businesse of impor­tance to the banks of Rhine. But his departure could not bee so sudden, bu [...] hee found occasion to speake to Galathee, to know the cause of her change; and after he had spied out a time, the morning as she went to the Temple with her mother, he was so neere her, and so in the middest of vs, that hardly could Amasis perceiue him. As soone as shee saw him, shee would haue changed the place, but holding her by the garment, hee sayd, What is my offence? or what is your change? She answered as she went, Neither offence nor change, for I am alwayes Galathee, and you ar [...] al­wayes Lindamor, who are too base a subiect to offend me. If these words touched him, his actions gaue witnesse; for though he were vpon his de­parture, yet could he giue order to no other businesse, but to search in himselfe wherein he had failed. At last, not finding himselfe guilty, hee wrote her a letter.

This letter was brought her as of custome by Fleurial, and so fitly, that though she would, yet durst shee not refuse it; and without lying, it was impossible that any other could haue playd this part better then he: for his request was so suited with words of pitty, and reuerence, so well sor­ting [Page 303] to that which hee seemed to demand, that there was [...] but might haue bene deceiued; and for my part, if Galathee had not told me, I should neuer haue regarded it: but for that it was hard, or rather impossible, but the tender heart of the Nymph must discharge her sel [...] of it, to some trusty person, to whom she might freely impart that which pressed her so sore; among the rest, she chose out me as the most assured, as she thought, and most affectionate. Now suddenly, as shee had receiued this paper, faining to haue forgot something in her cabinet, she called me, and told the other Nymphs, that shee would come backe presently, and that they should attend her there. Shee went vp into her chamber, and then into her cabinet, without saying any thing to mee: I iudged shee had some­what that troubled her, but I durst not aske her, for feare of troubling her: she sate downe, and casting the request of Fleurial on the table, shee sayd, This beast Fleurial alwayes comes to mollest me with the letters of Lindamor: I pray thee, Leonide, bid him bring me no more. I was some­what astonied at this change: yet I knew well, that loue could not long last without brawles; and that these disputes are as bellowes, that do more kindle the coles: yet I forbare not to say to her, Since when, Madam, hath he done thus? Some good while (sayd she) and know you nothing of it? No truely, Madam (sayd I.) Then she with a little frowning brow, It is true (sayd she) that heretofore I haue liked it, but now hee hath abused my fauoues, & offended me by his rashnes. And what is this fault, replyed I? The fault (added she) is not great, yet it displeaseth mee more, then if it were of importance. Thinke you what his vanity is, to make it knowne that he loues me, and that he hath told me so?

O Madam (sayd I) this cannot be true: his enemies haue inuented it to vndo him, both with you & with Amasis. It is wel (replied she) but in the meane time, Polemas talkes of it euery where; and is it possible any should know it, and that he only should be deafe at this bruite? or if he heare it, should not remedy it? And what remedy (answered I) would you hee should haue? What (sayd the Nymph) sword and blood. It may bee (sayd I) [...]e doth it with great reason: for I remember I haue heard it said, that that which touches vs in loue, is so subiect to slander, that the lesse light is giuen it, the better it is. See (sayd she) these good excuses, at least he should haue demanded of me what my will was hee should do; herein he had done as he ought, and I should haue beene satisfied. Haue you seene the letter (answered I) which he wrote you? No (said shee) and I will tell you more, I will neuer see them more, if it be possible, and will auoyde as much as I can, to speake to him. Then tooke I the paper that [Page 304] Fleurial brought, and opening the letter, I read aloud that which I tolde you euen now, and added at last, Well, Madame, ought not you to loue the thing is wholly yours? and not to bee so soone offended with him that hath not committed any fault? Then it is well (said she.) Is there any likelihood that he alone should not heare these bruits? But dissem­ble he as long as he will, at least I wil cōfort my selfe, that if he loue me, he shall truely pay the interest of the pleasure which he hath had in vanting of our loue; and if he loue me not, let him assure himselfe, that if I haue gi­uen him any subiect for the time passed, to conceīue such an opinion, I wil put him out of it hereafter, and giue him occasion to smother it, how great soeuer it hath beene. And to beginne, I pray you command Fleurial that he be not so hardy, to bring any thing from this arrogant. Ma­dame (said I) I will doe what pleases you to command me, yet it shall be very necessary, to consider ripely of this affaire, for you may doe your selfe much hurt, thinking to offend another. You know well, what manner of man Fleurial is, he hath no more spirit then will serue to keepe his garden: if you let him know this euill carriage betweene Lindamor and you, I am afraid, that out of pure feare he will discouer it to Amasis, or else runne a­way, & that which shall make him discouer it, shal be to excuse himselfe of mischiefe: For Gods sake, Madame, consider what displeasure this will bring: wil it not be better, without breaking forth, to deuise some meanes to complaine to Lindamor? And if you will not doe it, I will, and I assure my selfe, he will satisfie you: or if he doe not, then shall you haue occasion to breake off all loue with him, telling him so much your selfe, without giuing Fleurial knowledge of it. How to speake to him I know not, said shee, and to heare him speake, my courage will not snffer mee, for I wish him much euill.

Seeing her to haue a heart so swolne with this offence, At the last, said I, you must write to him. Talke no more of that (said she) hee is too proud, he hath too many of my letters already. At the last, not being able to get other thing at her hands, shee suffered mee to fold vp a piece of paper in fashion of a letter, and to put it in to the request of Fleurial, and to carry it to him: And this that he might not perceiue this dissention. What the astonishment was of poore Lindamor, when he receiued this paper, it is hard to say to one that neuer prooued it. And that which afflicted him more, was, that hee must of necessity depart the next morning to goe his voyage, where the affaires of Amasis and Clidaman tied him to stay some long time. To deferre his departure, he could not; and to goe, was death.

[Page 305] At last hēe resolued presently to write to her, yet a course rather to hazzard, then to hope for any good fortune. Fleurial did what hee could to present it speedily to Galathee, but he could not doe it, for that she fee­ling this displeasure at her heart, was not able to beare this dis-vnion, but with such griefe, that she was constrained to keepe her [...]ed, out of which she rose not many dayes. Fleurial, at last seeing Lindamor gone, tooke the hardinesse to seeke her chamber: and I must tell you true, be­cause I wished ill to Polemas, I did what I could to piece vp this affection of L [...]ndamor; and for this cause I gaue meanes for Fleurial to enter. If Galathee were surprized, iudge you, for shee looked rather for any thing then that, yet she was constrained to dissemble, and to take that which he presented, which were but flowers in appearāce: I would be in the cham­ber, that I might be of the counsell, and to bring somewhat that might be to the contentment of poore Lindamor. And indeed I was not alto­gether vnprofitable: for after Fleurial was gone, and that Galathee found her selfe alone, she called me, and told me, shee thought to haue bene ex­empted from the importunity of the letters of Lindamor, when hee had bene gone, but for ought she saw, he had nothing to be his warrant. I that would serue Lindamor, though hee knew nothing of it, knowing the Nymph to bee in an humor to talke of him, made it very cold, knowing well that if I contraried her at first, it was the way to lose all, and to af­firme that which shee sayd, would serue the more to punish her: for though she were not well satisfied toward him, yet loue as yet was the more strong, and in herselfe, she was willing that I should take Lindamor [...] part, not to giue me way, but to haue more occasion to speake of him, and put her choler out of her soule: so that hauing all these considerations before mine eyes, I held my peace, the first time she spake to mee. She that would not haue this silence, added, But what thinke you, Leonide, of the arrogancy of this man? Madame (sayd I) I know not what to say, but if he haue fayled, he must do penance. But (sayd she) what may I thinke of his rashnesse? why goes he disgracing me with his tales? had hee no other fitter discourse then of me? and then, after she had looked on the let­ter he writ, I haue some what else to do that he continues to write to me: to this I answered nothing.

After she had held her peace a while (she sayd) And why, Leonide, an­swere you me not? haue I not reason to complaine? Madame (sayd I) is it your pleasure I should speake freely? You shall please mee, sayd shee. I must tell you then (continued I) that you haue reason in all, except it bee when you seeke for reason in loue: for you must know that he that referrs [Page 304] [...] [Page 305] [...] [Page 306] himselfe to the lawes of iustice, puts the principall authority out of him­selfe, which is to be subiect but to himselfe: so that I conclude, that if Lin­damor haue failed in that he loues you, he is culpable, but if by the lawes of reasou and prouidence, it is you that deserue chastisment, that will put loue that is free and commands others, vnder the seruitude of a superior. And why (sayd she) haue I not heard it sayd, that loue, to make it praise worthy, must be vertuous? If this be so, he must bee tied to the lawes of vertue. Loue, answered I, is a thing some what greater then this vertue, of which you speake, and therefore it giues it selfe lawes without the pub­lishing of any other person: but since you command me to speake frank­ly, tell me, Madam, are not you more culpable then hee, both in that for which you accuse him, and in that which concernes loue? for if hee haue had the hardnesse to say he loued you, you are the cause, in that you haue sufferd him. Though it bee so, answered shee, yet by discretion he was bound to conceale it. Complaine you then (sayd I) of his discretion, and not of his loue? But hee hath more occasion to complaine of your loue, since vpon the first report at the first conceit that hath beene giuen you, you haue chased from you the loue you bare him, without taxing him that he hath bene wanting in affection.

Excuse me, Madam, if I speake so frankly: you do the greatest wrong in the world to vse him in this sort: at least if you would condemne him to so great a punishmēt, it ought not to be without cōuincing him, or at least­wise to make him blufh at his errour. She stood somewhile, before shee answered me: at last she sayd, Well, Leonide; the remedy shall be timely e­nough when hee returnes, not that I am resolued to loue him, nor to per­mit him to loue me, but to tell him where in hee hath failed, and so I shall content you, and bind him from importuning mee more, if hee bee not a [...] impudent as rash. It may be, Madam, you will deceiue your selfe, to think it will be time enough at his returne: if you knew what the violencies of loue are, you would not beleeue that these delayes were like other affairs: at least looke on the letter. That is to no purpose (replied she) for by this time he is well gone: and with that word she gaue it mee, and saw it was thus:

It was an effect of Loue which brought a change in the carriage of Galathee, for I sawe her much mollified; but this was no small proofe of her lofty humour, not to giue knowledge of it, and not beeing able to commaund her countenance, which was become pale, shee so tyed her tongue, that she spake no word which might accuse her of relenting; but going out of her chamber, to walke in the garden, not speaking a word of the Letter: for the Sunne beganne to grow lowe, and her disease, which was but trauaile of spirit, might finde more refreshing out of the house, than in the bed: so, after she was quickely made ready, shee went downe into the garden, and would haue none but me with her. By the way I asked if it pleased her to make an answer: and telling me no: Will you (Madam) that I do it? See (said she next) what would you write? That which you command in, sayd I. What you will (said she) so you speake not of me. You shall see (answered I) what I write. I haue nothing to doe with it (said she) I referre my selfe to you. With this leaue, while she walked, I writ in the same alley, in a paire of Tablets, an answer, such as I thought fittelt, but shee that would not see it, would not haue the pati­ence to let me make an end, without reading it while I writ it.

She would not the Letter should be thus: but at last I preuailed aboue her courage, and gaue my Tables to Fleuriall, with the key, commaund­ing him to deliuer them to the hands of Lindamor onely. And drawing aside, I opened my Tables, and added these words, without the know­ledge of Galathee:

I sent this Billet, as I told you, to deceiue Galathee, and indeed I repen­ted me of it shortly after, as I will tell you. It was about a moneth after Fleurial was gone, when behold, there comes a knight, armed at all pie­ces, an vnknowne Herald with him; and, to keepe all men from knovv­ledge of him he had his visor downe. By his port, euery one iudged of him as hee was indeede. And because at the towne-gate the Herald had de­maunded to be conducted to Amasis, euery one, desirous to heare some newes, accompanyed him. Being come vp to the Castle, the Guarde of the towne left him to them of the Gate-house. And after they had giuen notice to Amasis, they were brought before her, who had sent for Clida­man, to giue audience to these strangers. The Herald, after the Knight had kissed the robe of Amasis, and the hand of her sonne, sayd thus with words halfe outlandish: Madam, this knight whom you see, being borne of the greatest of his countrey, hauing knowne, that in your Court euery man of honour may demand reason of them that offend him, is come vp­on this assurance, to cast himselfe at your feete, and to beseech you, that Iustice which you neuer denyed to any, may be allowed him in your pre­sence, and before all these fayre Nymphs, to draw reason from him, who hath done him the iniury, by the meanes vsuall to persons so wronged. Amasis, after she had some while thought with herselfe, at last answe­red, that it is true, that this sort of desence of honour had alwayes beene vsed in this Court: but she, being a woman, did neuer suffer them to come in armes, yet her sonne was of age to manage greater affaires than these, and she would referre her selfe to that he should do. Clidaman, without staying for the Heralds replie, turning to Amasis, said: Madame, it is not onely to be serued and honored of all those that inhabit this Prouince, wherein the gods haue established you the Soueraigne Lady, and your Ancestours also: but much rather to punish them that are faulty, and to [Page 309] honour those that deserue well, the best meanes of all is, by Armes, at the least, in those things that cannot otherwise be searched out; so that if you abolish out of your estate this most iust fashion of discouering the secret practices of the wicked, you giue way vnto licencious lewdnesse, that will neuer feare to doe euill, so that it may be performed in secret. Beside that, these strangers being the first, that in your time haue had re­course to you, haue some reason to complayne, to be the first refused. So that since you haue referred them to me, I will tell you (sayd he) turning him about towards the Herald, that this Knight may frankely and free­ly accuse whomsoeuer he will, for I promise him to assure himselfe of the field.

The Knight then set his knee to the ground, kissed his hand, by way of thankes, and made a signe to the Herald to hold on. Sir (sayd he) since you doe him this grace, I must tell you, he is heere in search for a Knight called Polemas, whom I desire may be shewed me, that I may finish what I haue vndertaken. Polemas hearing himselfe named, came forward, say­ing in a fashion lofty enough, that he was the man whom he sought for. Then the vnknowne Knight presented to him a piece of armour; and the Herald sayd: This Knight would say, that he presents you this gage, promising that he will be tomorrow, by the Sunne rising, at the place that shall be appointed, to fight with you, to the vttermost, to prooue on you, that you haue wickedly inuented that which you haue sayd against him. Herald, I receiue (said he) this gage; for though I know not thy Knight, yet wil I not leaue to be most aslured to haue iustice on my side, as know­ing well, that I neuer sayd any thing against the truth: and let the morrow be the day of triall. At this word the Knight, after he had saluted Amasis and all the Ladies, returned into a Tent, which hee caused to be spred neere the towne-gate. You may thinke that this put all the Court in­to diuers discourses: especially Amasis and Clidaman, who loued Pole­mas well, had much griefe to see him in this danger, yet their promise bound them to graunt the field. As for Polemas, he prepared himselfe as full of courage to the combate, without hauing knowledge of his enemy. And for Galathee, that by this time had almost forgotten the offence that Lindamor had receiued from Polemas, (besides that, shee beleeued not that he knew his euill came from thence) she neuer thought of Lindamor, nor I neither, who tooke him to be an hundred leagues from vs, and yet it was he, who hauing receiued my Letter, resolued to be reuenged in this sort, and so vnknowne, came to present himselfe, as I told you. But to make short, for I am no great good warriour, and so I should (if I [Page 310] would particularize this combate) talke somevvhat improperly.

After long combate, they had both of them equall aduantage, and they were both so loaden with blovves, that the soundest of the two was as much certaine of his death, as of his life, their horses beganne to sinke vnder them; but they on the contrary, so fresh, as if they had not fought all that day, beganne to powre out their bloud, and to open wide gashes, with such cruel [...]y, that euery body tooke pitty to see tvvo persons of that valour to be so lost.

Amasis among others said to Clidaman, that it were fit to separate them: and there was none that might better doe it than Galathee. Shee that for her part was already touched within, and wayted but for this commandement, to effect it with a good heart, with three or foure of vs came into the field. When she entred, the victory lay on Lindamors side, and Polemas was brought to euill termes, although the other were not much wounded, on whom, by chance, she lighted, and taking him by the skarfe, which tied his helmet, and which hung somewhat lowe behinde him, she pulled him with some stresse. He that felt himselfe touched, tur­ned rudely on that side, thinking he had bin betrayed, and with that furie, that the Nymph thinking to giue backe, lest she should be hurt, trode on her robe, and fell dovvne in the midst of the field. Lindamor, who knevv her, ranne presently to helpe her vp; but Polemas, without any regard to the Nymph, seeing this aduantage, when he was in despaire of the com­bate, tooke his svvord in both his hands, and gaue him, behind on the head, tvvo or three blowes, with such force, that he constrayned him with one great wound to set one knee on the ground, from whence he rose so ince [...]sed, for the discourtesie of his enemy, that afterwards, though Ga­lathee requested him, he would not leaue off vntill he had layd him at his feete; where leaping on him, he dis-armed his head, and being ready to giue him the last stroke, he heard the voice of his Lady, that said to him: Knight, I ad [...]u [...]e you by her whom you loue best, to giue me this Knight. I wil (said he) Madame, if hae will confesse he hath spoken falsly of mee, and of he [...] by whom you adiure mee. Polemas being, to his owne thin­king, at the last poynt of his life, with a loude voyce confessed what they would.

So Lindamor departed, after he had kissed the hand of his mistrisse, who neuer knew him though he spake to her, for the Helmet, and the feare wherein she was, kept her from marking his voyce. It is true, that passing by me, he said very softly, Faire Leonide, I am much bound vnto you, to conceale me to your selfe: thus you see the effect of your letters: & with­out [Page 311] longer stay, mounted on horse backe, and though he were sore woun­ded, yet galloped he away, vntill they lost the sight of him, vnwilling to be knowne.

This trauell of his did him much hurt, and brought him to that extremi­ty, that being arriued at the house of one of Fleurials Aunts, where he re­solued before to withdraw, if he were wounded, hee found himselfe so feeble, that hee stayed more then three weekes before hee could recouer himselfe. In the meane time, behold, Galathee returning in great choler against the vnknowne Knight, for that hee did not leaue the combate at the second time, seeming to be more offended in this refusall, then obli­ged, in that he gaue him to her. And because Polemas held one of the first rankes, as you know, Amasis and Clidaman, with much sorrow, caused him to be carried out of the field, and looked vnto with such care, that in the end they began to haue hope of life in him.

Euery one was very desirous to know who this vnknowne Knight was, the courage and valor of whom, had won him the fauor of many. Ga­lathee onely was she that conceiued an euill opinion; for this proud beau­ty remēbred the offence, but forgot the courtesie. And because I was the party whom she trusted with her most secret thoughts, as soon as she saw me in priuate, Know you (said she) this discourteous Knight, to whom Fortune, not valour, gaue the aduantage in this fight? I know (said I, Ma­dam) this valiant Knight, & I know him to be as courtcous as valiant. He hath not shewed it (said she) in this action, otherwise he would not haue refused to leaue the combate when I requested him. Madame, answered I, you blame him for that, for which you are to esteeme him, since that, to giue you the honor which euery one owes to you, he was in danger of his life, and saw his blood powre downe on the earth. If (said Galathee) there­in Polemas did wrong he had the aduantage shortly after, when notwith­standing any prayer I could make, hee would not giue ouer. And had he not reason (said I) to bee desirous to chastise this pride, for the small re­spect hee bare to you? And for my part, I finde, that in this, Lin­damor hath done very well. How, (interrupted shee) was it Lindamor that fought? Indeede I was ouertaken, for I named him before I thought it: but seeing it was done, I resolued to [...]ell her, Yes, Madame, it is Lindamor, who felt himselfe offended at that which Polemas had spoke of him, and would make it apparent by Armes. Shee stood as if she were besides her selfe: and after she had some while thought of this accident, she said, Then is it Lindamor that hath done me this dis­pleasure? Is it he that yeelded me so small respect? Had he than so [...] [Page 312] consideration, that he durst put my honour into the hazzard of Fortune, or of Armes? At this word shee pawsed out of extreme choler: And I, that in any case desired she should know he had done no wrong, answe­red, Is it possible, Madame, that you can complaine of Lindamor, with­out acknowledging the wrong you haue done to your selfe? What dis­pleasure hath he done you, since in vanquishing Polemas, hee hath vanqui­your enemy? How, my enemy (said she?) Ah! Lindamor is much more: for if Polemas talked, Lindamor gaue him the subiect. O God (sayd I then) what is that I heare? Lindamor your enemy? that hath no soule but to adore you, and hath not a drop of blood which hee would not spend for your seruice: and he your friend, that by his forged discourses, hath en­deuoured by practices to wound your honour? But who knowes (said she) if it bee not true that Lindamor, thrust forward by his vsuall arrogancy, hath vsed such language? Well then, replyed I, how much are you bound to Lindamor, that hee hath made your enemy confesse that he inuented it? Oh! Madame, pardon mee, if you please: but I cannot but herein accuse you of a great mistaking, that I may not say ingratitude. If hee hazzard his life to make it appeare that Polemas lyed, do you accuse him of incon­sideration? And if he haue made the lyer confesse it, will you taxe him of discourtesie? And if hee had not committed his right to Armes, how should the truth of this businesse haue beene found? And if, when you commanded him the second [...]i [...]e, hee had left the battaile, Polemas had neuer confessed that you or any other should haue heard. O poore Lin­damor, how must I bewaile thy fortune? And what is it thou canst doe, when thy most notable seruices are offences and iniuries? But well, Ma­dame, it may be, you shall not haue long time to vse these cruelties: for a most pittifull death may bring end to your mistakings and his punish­ment; and (it may be) euen now, when I speake, he is no more; and if it be so, the Nymph, Galathee, is the onely cause. Why doe you accuse me, said she? Because (replyed I) that when you would haue separated them, and in recoyling, your knee touched the ground, hee would haue helped you vp: in the meane time that courteous Polemas, whom you commend so much, wounded him in two or three seuerall places, out of that aduan­tage, where I saw the blood make the ground red: but if hee dye for this, it is lesse euill then that he receiues from you: for seeing himselfe mista­ken, hauing done his endeuour, this (me thinks) is a displeasure to which no other can be equalled. But, Madame, may it please you to remember, that heretofore you haue sayd to me, in complayning of him, that to blot out these speeches of Polamas, he knew no other remedy; hee was to serue [Page 313] himselfe of sword and blood. And now hee hath done that which you iudged he should doe, and yet you finde it not well done.

If Siluie, and some other Nymphs had not interrupted vs, before I had left off my discourse, I had well aswaged this great minde of the Nymph; but seeing so many persons, we changed our talke. And yet my words were not without effect, though shee would make no shew of it to me, but by a thousand passages I found the truth: for, from that day I resolued neuer to speake to her more of him, vnlesse she asked me some newes. She on the other side, looked that I should speake first, and so more then eight dayes passed without speech. But in the meane time, Lin­damor was not without care to know both what was said of him in Court, and what Galathee thought of him. He sent Fleurial to me for this cause, and to giue me word in a letter. He did his message so well, that Galathe [...] tooke no notice of it: his Billet was thus:

I enquired particularly of Fleurial, how he fared, & if there were any that knew him: and I vnderstood that hee had lost much blood, and that much hindred his healing: but there was no danger: that to bee knowne, it could not bee, because the Herald was a Franke of the army of Meroue, who kept about the banks of Rhine at that time; and they that attended him, were not suffered to go out of doores, and that his Aunt and Sister tooke him but for the knight that fought with Polemas, whose valour and liberality wonne them to serue him with that care, that they were not to doubt but he would be better; that hee had commanded him to come know of me, what the bruite was in the Court, and what he was to do. I answered him, that hee should carry to Lindamor, that all the Court was full of his valour, though he were vnknowne, that for the rest hee should looke to his healing, and that I, for my part, would bring what I could [Page 314] to his contentment. Thus, I gaue him mine answere, and told him the day before your departure, When Galathee comes into the garden, inuent some occasion to go to see your Aunt, and take leaue of her, for it is ne­cessary for our busines, that I speake with you againe. He failed not, and by fortune the next day, the Nymph being come toward euening into the garden, Fleurial came to make his reuerence, and would speake with her: but Galathee, that thought it was to giuer her letters from Lindamor, stood so confused, that I saw her change colour, and looked pale like death. And because I feared, Fleurial would perceiue it, I came forward, & said to her, Madam, here is Fleurial, that would go to see his Aunt because she is sicke, and desires you to giue him leaue for some few dayes. Gala­thee turning her eies and words to mee, asked what her disease was. I thinke (answered I) it is so many yeeres passed, that it takes from her all hope of recouery. Then she turned to Fleurial, and sayd, Go and returne quickly, but not before she be well if it be possible: for I loue her well, for the speciall good will, which shee hath alwayes borne mee. At this word she held on her walking, and I set my selfe to speake to him, and shewed in my gesture more then indeed of displeasure, and admiration, that the Nimph might note it: at last I told him, See, Fleurial, you [...] sa­crer and wise, thereon depends all our good, or all your euill, and aboue all, do what Lindamor shall command you. After he had promised me, he went his way, and I disposed my countenance the best I could to sad­nesse and displeasure; and sometimes when I was in place where the Nymph only might he are, I fained to sigh, and lift vp mine eies to heauen, and strike my hands together, and to be short, I did al I could imagine to giue her some suspition of what I would. She, as I told you, that looked alwayes when I should speake of Lindamor, seeing I sayd nothing, but on the contrary auoided all occasions, and in stead of that pleasant humor, which made mee bee esteemed of among my companions, I had but a troubled melancholy, by little and little began to bee of opinion, that I would giue it her, but not all: for my purpose was to make her beleeue, that Lindamor going from the combat, was so sore wounded, that he was dead, that pity might obtaine that of that glorious soule, which neither affection nor seruices could. Now, as I told you, my plot was so well fit­ted, that it fell out as I did fore cast, for though she would dissemble, yet could she not choose but be as liuely touched for Lindamor, as any might be. And so seeing me sad, and mure, she imagined either he was in very hard case, or some thing worse, and felt her selfe so pressed with this vn­quietnesse, that she could not possibly longer hold out her resolution.

[Page 315] Two daies after, that Fleurial was gone, she made me come into her ca­binet, and seeming to talk of another matter, sayd to me, Know you how Fleurials Aunt doth? I answered, that since he went I knew nothing. Truely (sayd she) I would be very sorry, if the old woman should not do well: you haue reason (sayd I) Madam, for she loues you, and you haue had ma­ny seruices of her, which are not yet fully acknowledged. If she liue (said she) I will do it, and after her, I will remember Fleurial for her sake. Then I answered, Both the seruices of the aunt, & those of the Nephew, deserue some good recompence, and especially Fleurial; for his faithfulnesse, and affection cannot be bought. It is true (sayd she) but because you speake of Fleurial, what great matter had you to say to him? or hee to you, when he went away? I answered coldly, I recommended mee to his aunt. Re­commendations (sayd she) were not so long: then she came neerer me and layd her hand on my shoulder: Tell truth, continued shee; you spake of some other thing. And what might it bee (replied I) if it were not that? I had no other businesse with him. Now I know (sayd she) that at this present you dissemble: why did you say you had no other businesse with him, and haue had so much for Lindamor? O! Madam, I little thought you would haue remembred a man so vnfortunate; and then holding my peace, I fetched a deepe sigh. What is the matter (sayd she) that you sigh? tell me true; where is Lindamor? Lindamor (answered I) is no more then earth. How, (cried shee out) Lindamor is no more? No indeed (answered I) the cruelty which you haue vsed towards him, hath rather slaine him then the strokes of his enemy: for going from the com­bat, and knowing by the report of many, the euill satisfaction which you had of him, he would neuer suffer himselfe to be dressed; and because you haue such a desire to know, that was it that Fleurial told mee, whom I commanded to assay, if he could wisely withdraw the letters which wee haue writ him, to the end that as you haue lost the remembrance of his seruices by your cruelty, so might I consume in the fire the memories which might remaine. O God (sayd she) what is that you tell me? Is it possible he should be so lost? It is you (sayd I) that may say you haue lost him: for his part, hee hath gained by dying, since by death hee hath found rest, which your cruelty will neuer permit him, while hee liued.

Ah! Leonide (sayd she) you tell me these things, to put mee to paine: confesse the truth, hee is not dead. Would to God it were so (sayd I) but for what cause should I tell you? I answere, his death or life are indiffe­rent to you; and specially since you loued him so little, you may be glad to [Page 316] be exempted for the importunity he would haue giuen you: for you are to beleeue that if he had liued, hee would neuer haue ceased from giuing such proofes of his affection, as that of Polemas. Indeed then, sayd the Nymph, I am sorry for the poore Lindamor, and sweare vnto you, that his death touches me more to the quicke, then I though it would: but tell me, had he neuer no remembrance of vs at his end? and did hee not shew to be grieued to leaue vs? See, Madam (sayd I) a question which is not vsuall! He died for your sake, and you aske if hee remembred you? Ah! that his memory and his sorrow had not bin too great for his helth! I be­seech you talke no more of him. I assure my selfe, he is in the place where he receiues the reward of his fidelity, and where it may bee, hee shall see himselfe reuenged at you cost. You are in choler (sayd she.) You must pardon me (sayd I) Madam: but this is the reason that constraines me to speake thus, for there is none that can giue more testimony of his affecti­on and fidelity then I, and of the wrong you haue done him, to giue him so vnworthy a recompence for so many seruices. But (sayd the Nymph) let vs set this aside; for I know that in some thing you haue reason: but I haue not done so much wrong as you impute. And tell mee, I pray you, by the loue you beare me, if in his last words hee remembred mee, and what they were? Must you (sayd I) triumph in your soule at the end of his life, as you haue done ouer al his actions, since he begā to loue you? If this must be to your contentment, I will satisfie you. As soone as he knew that you went about to blemish the honor of his victory, and that in stead of plea­sing you, he hath by this fight got your hatred, it shal neuer be (sayd he) O iniustice, that thou shalt, for my cause, lodge longer in so faire a soule. I must by my death wash away my offence. Then hee tooke all the clouts which hee had on his wounds, and would no more suffer the hand of the Chirurgion: his wounds were not mortall, but the ranckling brought it to those termes, that he perceiued small strength in him to liue: he called Fleurial, and being alone, hee sayd, My friend Fleurial, thou now lofest him that had great care to do thee good: but you must arme your selfe with patience, since it is the will of heauen: I would yet haue one piece of seruice from thee, which shall better please me, then that thou euer didst, And hauing drawne from him a promise that hee would do it: hee conti­nued, You must not faile in what I bid you. As soone as I shall be dead, rip vp my belly, and take out the heart, and carry it to the faire Galathee, and tell her that I send it her, that at my death I may keepe nothing that belongs to any other. At these last words, hee lost both speech and life.

[Page 317] Now this foole Fleurial, that hee may not bee wanting in that which was commanded him, by a person whom he held so deare, hath brought hither the heart, and without me would present it to you. Ah! Leonide, (sayd she) is it certaine he is dead? Oh God, that I knew not his sicknes! and you would neuer tell me of it! I would haue found some remedy. O what a loss haue I sustained! & how great is your fault! Madam, (answerd I) I knew nothing: for Fleurial stayed with him to attend him, because he had none of his owne: but if I had knowne, I thinke I should not haue spoken to you of it, I knew your mind was so far remoued from that sub­iect. At these words, resting her head on her arme, she commanded me to leaue her alone, to the end, as I thought, that I might not see her teares which already encreased their drops: but hardly was I gone, before shee called me backe, and without lifting vp her head, shee bid mee command Fleurial to bring her that which Lindamor had sent her, in what fashion he listed. And presently I went out, fully assured that the knights affaires for whom I pleaded, would fall out as I had propounded. In the meane time, when Fleurial returned to Lindamor, he found him in paine, for the long tarrying hee made at Mont-brison: but my letter reioyced him so, that at an instant a man might see him amended. It was thus:

I writ to him in this sort, that sadnesse might not hurt his wounds, and that he might heale the sooner. He writ backe to me thus:

[Page 318] Now, that which I answered (that I may not trouble you with so ma­ny letters) was in sum, that as soone as he might endure trauell, he should finde meanes to speake with mee, that then hee should know how true I was; and as shortly as I could, I let him know all the talke that Galat hee and I had, and the displeasure she had of his death, and the will she had to haue his heart. See what the force is of a strong affection! Lindamor had beene wounded in many places, and lost so much bloud, that he was in danger of his life; yet beyond the hope of the Surgeous, as soone as he receiued the last letter, you might see him walke, you might see him ap­parrel himselfe, and within two or three dayes after, he assayed to mount on horse-backe; at last, he hazarded himselfe to come to me: and be­cause he durst not come by day, that hee might not be seene, hee clad himselfe like a Gardner, and calling himselfe the cousin of Fleurial, resol­ued to come into the garden, and to behaue himselfe as occasion should be offered.

As he set downe, so he put it to effect; and causing his clothes priuily to be made ready, he told the Aunt of Fleurial, that before the combate, he had made a vow, and that hee would render it before hee went out of those parts: but that fearing the friends of Polemas, he would go in that disguise, and desired her to say nothing. The good old woman would haue disswaded him from the danger wherein he was, counselling him, to put off his iourney, till some other time. But he that was carried with too ar­dent a deuotion to break off, told her, that if he did it not before he went out of the country, hee beleeued, all the misfortunes of the world would befall him. So about euening he departed, that he might meete no bo­dy, and arriued so happily, that vnseene, he entred into the garden, and was led by Fleurial into the house, where (at that time) hee had but one seruant to helpe him to worke, whom he made beleeue, that Lindamor was his cousin, whom he would teach the mystery of a Gardner. If the knight wayted for the morning with great desire, and if the night seemed not to him longer than vsuall, hee that hath beene in attempt of that hee desires, may iudge.

So it was, that the morning was no sooner come, but Lindamor, with a spade in his hand, enters the Garden. I would you had seene him with this toole: you might well know he was not vsed to it, and that he knew better to carry a launce. He hath sworne to me an hundred times since, that he was neuer more ashamed in his life, than to present himselfe thus attired before the eyes of his mistris; and he was twice or thrice in mind to returne. But in the end, Loue surmounted the shame, and made him [Page 319] resolue to stay our com [...]ing. By fortune, that day the Nymph, to refresh her selfe, came downe into the Garden, with many of my companions. As soone as she sawe Fleurial, she was glad, and presently made a signe with her eye: but though I assayed to speake to him, yet could I not do it, because the new Gardner was by, who was so changed in his habit, that none could know him. For my part I excuse my selfe for not knowing him. For I would neuer haue thought that he would haue done this define, without acquainting me with it. But he hath since told mee, that he con­cealed it from me, knowing well, that I would neuer haue suffered him to come thither, in that sort. Thinking then of any other rather than of him, I was very curious to aske of Fleurial, who this stranger was? He answe­red me coldly, that he was [...] sonne, whom he would teach what himselfe knew in gardening. At this word Galathee, as curious, but lesse couragious than I, seeing me talke with him, came to him, and hea­ring that he was Fleurial [...] cousin, asked him how his mother did. Then it was that Lindamor was much troubled, for he feared that that which was couered by his habit, might be discouered by his speech; yet coun­terfeiting as well as he could, he answered in a countrey language, that she was past all danger, and then followed a reuerence after the same fa­shion, with such a grace, that all the Nymphs fell on laughing: but he, without shew of [...]eeding them, put his hat vpon his head with both his hands, and fell to his worke.

Galathee smiling, said to Fleurial, If your cou [...] be as good a Gard­ner, as he is a speaker, you haue gotten a good help. Madam (sayd Fleu­rial) he can speake no better than those that taught him: in his village they speake allso. Yes, said the Nymph, it may be hee is taken for some great man among them. At this word she walked away. This gaue mee some commodity to speake to Fleurial. But my companions, to passe the time, placed themselues about Lindamor; and euery one to make him speake, said somewhat: and he answered them all, but with things so farre from the purpose, that they could not choose but laugh; for he sp [...]e so, that he seemed to be in earnest: and though he answered, yet did her neuer lift vp his head, faining to be busie at his worke. In the meane time, going to Fleurial, I asked him how Lindamor did? He answered, he was yet ill enough: Lindamor had willed him to say so. And whence comes his euill (said I) for you told me his wounds were almost healed? You may know, answered he, by the Letter hee hath written to my Lady. My Lady (said I) thinkes hee is dead; but giue it me, and I will let her see it, fayning that it was long since written. I dare not (answered he) be­cause [Page 320] he hath expresly forbidden mee, and hath tied mee by oath. How (said I) is Lindamor entred into mistrust of me? Not so, said he, but con­trarily hee prayes you make the Nymph beleeue hee is dead. But for his good, and my aduantage, the Nymph must receiue the letter at my hands. I was put into choller, and had said more, if I had not feared to be percei­ued. But hee did so well that hee was commaunded, that I could draw no other thing from him; but for conclusion, that if the Nymph would haue that which Lindamor gaue her, she must receiue it at his hands. And when I told him, that it might be long before hee could speake with her, and that may doe hurt: he answered me not, but with nodding his head: by which he let me know he would not do it.

Galathee perceiuing that we talked, desirous to know the subiect, re­turned from her walke sooner than of custome; and hauing called mee, would know what it was. I sayd to her freely, I would tell her that which was the resolution of Fleurial, but in stead of the Letter, I said it was the heart of Lindamor, and that hauing beene in any case commaunded by him at his death, hee thought hee should commit treason, if hee did not performe his promise. Then Galathee answered me, that shee meant to speake with him particularly, and that she thought hee could not haue a sitter meane than to fayne the bringing of some fruite in a basket, and in the bottome they might lay the heart. I answered, This might well be so done: but I knew him to be such a beast, that he would doe nothing, be­cause Auarice gaue him hope to haue much from her, if himselfe pre­sented (in deliuering the heart into her hands) the seruices which in these occasions he had done. O (said she) if he keepe it but for this, let him tell you what he will haue onely: for I will giue it him. That shall be (re­plyed I) a kinde of ransome which you must pay for that heart. That is not (sayd she) of money that I must pay, but of my teares, and those drawne from my bloud. It may be, she was sorry she said so much. So it was, that she commanded mee in the morning to speake to Fleurial: which I did, and set before him all that which I thought might moue him to giue me this Letter, euen to threatning. But all vvas in vaine: for, for resolu­tion he said, Looke, Leonide, till the heauen and earth meet together, I will doe no otherwise. If my Lady will know what I haue to say to her, the euenings are so bright, that she may come with you to the foot of the staires, which descend from her chamber: the Moone shines, I haue seene her come often, the way is not long, no body shall know of it: I assure my selfe, that when she hath heard me, she will not complaine of the labour she hath taken.

[Page 321] When he had said thus, I was in extreme choler with him, representing to him that he was to obey Galathee, and not Lindamor: that she was his mistris, that she could do him good or ill. Shortly, that there was no like­lihood that shee would take the paine. But he, without being mooued, told me, Nymph, it is not to Lindamor that I obey, but the oath which I haue made to the gods; if she cannot in this sort [...], I can soone returne thither from whence [...]came. I left him with his obstinancy so vexed, that I was halfe besides my selfe; for if I had knowne the dessigne of Lindamor, since the matter was so forvvard, vvithout doubt I had helped him. But not knovving it, I found Fleurial with so small reason, that I knevv not vvhat to say. At last, I returned to giue ansvvere to Galathee, vvho vvas in such choler, that she vvould make him be beaten, and thrust out of her mothers seruice, if I had not set before her the danger whereinto she put her selfe, that she discouered not vvhat had passed. Three or foure daies p [...]ssed vvhile the Nymph remayned obstinate, not to doe as Fleurial re­quired: at last, Loue being ouer-strong to conquer all things, forced her so, that in the morning she told mee, that all the night shee had taken no rest; the ghost of Lindamor was all night about her, so that she thought it was the least thing shee owed to his memory, to goe downe the stayres to receiue his heart from another; and that I should signifie to Fleurial, that he should not faile to be there. O God! what was the contentment of the new Gardner? He hath told me since, that in his life he neuer had such a surfet of ioy: because he perceiued his deuice beganne to take ef­fect. And seeing the Nymph came no more into the Garden, he was a­fraid that she knew him.

But when Fleurial aduertised him of the resolution she had taken, this was a new resurrection of Loue, at least, if one may die for sorrow, and reuiue by contentment. Hee prepared himselfe to goe about what hee had to doe, with more curiosity than euer against Polemas. The night being come, and euery man retired, the Nymph fayled not to attire her selfe but onely with a robe for the night; and making me to open the for­ [...]er doore, she made me goe out first; and I sweare, she trembled so, that she could hardly goe. Shee sayd she had a certaine paine in her stomake, which she was not vsed to, and tooke from her all strength. Shee knew not whether it were for being abroad in the night without light, or for going so late at an vnfit houre, or because she was to receiue the present of Lindamor; but whatsoeuer it was, she was not well. At the last, being somewhat assured, we went downe, where we had no sooner opened the doore, but we found Fleurial, who had long wayted for vs. The Nymph [Page 322] went out before, and going vnder a shelte [...] of W [...]in [...]e, which for the largenesse might [...] v [...] both from the [...] of the Moone, and from being [...], from the windowes of those [...]dgings that answer the garden, she beganne all, in choller to say to Fla [...]ial; Well, Fl [...]i [...]l, how long haue you beene, so firme in your opinion, that though I command, yet you will do nothing? Madam (answered he) without being moued, I haue obeyed you in sayling you, if there be a fault: for, haue not you commaunded me expresly, that I should doe what Lindamer appoynted me? Now, Madame, it is he that hath thus commanded me, and who deli­uering me his heart, besides his commandement, bound me by oath, that I should not deliuer it into any other hands b [...] yours. Well, well, inter­rupted she, fetching a sigh, where is the heart? Behold, Madame, said he, stepping backe three or foure paces to a little Arbot, If it please you to come, you shall see it better then where you are. She rose vp, and came thither: bu [...] when she would enter, behold, a man that cast [...] her feete, and without saying any thing, kissed her robe. O God, sayd the Nymph, who is this, Fleurial? see, a man! Madame (said [...] [...]) it is an heart that is yours. How, said she, an [...] And then she would haue fled away for feare: but hee that [...]ist her to be, [...] her backe. Hea­ring these words, I drew neere and presently I knew it was [...]e, that Flouri­al said was his cousin. I knew not suddenly what to thinke: I saw Gala­thee and my selfe in the hands of these women, the one of [...] was vn­knowne to vs. What could wee resolue to doe? [...] wee [...] to flye, Galathee could not; to trust to ou [...] owne [...] there was no apparence. At last, all that I could doe, was to cast [...] selfe into the hands of him that held the Nymphs [...] not being able to doe more, I be­ganne to scratch and to bite him. That which I did, was with such speeds that the first thing that he felt, was the biting. Ah, courmous [...] said he, how do you handle your enemies, when you deale so ridely with your seruants? Though I were almost besides my selfe, yee I almost knew the voyce, and asking him who liee was? I am (sayd her) the man that beares the heart of Lindamon to this [...]aire Nymph: and then not raising him selfe from the earth, turning to her, he went on:

I must confesse, Madam, that this rashnesse is great, yet is it no way e­quall to my affection, which hath caused it. See the heart of [...], which I bring you: I hope, this present shall be as well accepted from the hand of the giuer, as from a stranger: yet it my misfortune deny me what Loue hath promised me, hauing offended the diuinity who [...] I only adore, condemne this heart, which I bring you to all the cruell [...] you [Page] please: for so the paine may satisfie you, it shal beare it patiently; and with as much contentment as pardon it. I easily knew him then to be Lin­damor, and so did Galathee: she seeing him at her [...] whom she bewal­led for dead; and in the place of a Gardiner, the Knight that giues place to none in all the Countrey. And knowing that Galathee was so surprized, I sayd, Is it so, Lindamer, that you surprize Ladyes? This is not the act of a Knight, especially such as you are. I cōfesse, said he, gracious Nymph, that it is not the act of a Knight, but withall, you cannot deny, but it is of a Louer; and what am I more then a Louer? Loue, that hath taught o­thers to spnine, teaches me to be a Gardiner. Is it possible (sayd he, tur­ning to the Nymph) that this extreme affection which you haue caused, is so displeasing to you, that you wold haue it end in my death? I haue had the hardines to bring you that which you would haue of mine, this heart, is it not more welcome to you in life then in death? Now, if it be your pleasure that it die, behold here a dagger, which may abbridge that, which your rigour in time may bring.

The Nymph to all these words made no answer, but Ah, Leonide, haue you betrayed me? and with these words went out into the Alley, where she found a seat sit for the purpose; for she was so besides her self, that she knew not where she was. There the Knight cast himselfe on his knees, and I came on the other side, and sayd. How, Madame, say you you are betrayed? Why doe you accuse [...] so? I sweare by the seruice I haue vowed you, that I knew nothing of this act, & Fleurial hath deceiued me as well as you. But God be praised that the, deceit is so commodious to c­uery one: behold one heart of [...], which Flourial promised you; but see him in a state to do you seruice: may you not be glad of this treason?

It would be too long, to tell you all the discourse wee had. So it was, that at last we made a peace, and so, that this loue was more strongly tied then euer before: yet with condition, that, for that present he should de­part, to go whither Amasis and Clidaman had sent him. This departure was vnpleasing; yet hee must obey: and so, after hee had kissed Galath [...] hands, without any greater fauour, he departed. Well, hee went in great assurance, that at his returne hee might see her at that houre, and in that place. But to what purpose should I particularize euery thing? Lindamor returned to them that being his followers expected him, & from thence, with great [...]gence went where Clidaman thought hee was, and by the way hee framed a thousand wise excuses of his stay, sometimes accusing the incommodities of the mountaines, and sometimes the sicknes which yet appeared in his face, by reason of his wounds, and thinking that all [Page 324] the while he was absent from from his Lady, his businesse was not worth the stay, he came backe with the permission of Amasis and Clidaman, in­to Forrests, where being arriued, and hauing giuen a good account of his charge, he was honored and made much of, as his vertue deserued. But all this went not to his heart, in respect of that aspect, which he had from the Nymph, who since his last departure encreased so her good will, that I know not if Lindamor had cause to call himselfe more louing, then belo­ued.

This suite passed so farre, that one night being in the garden, he pressed her oftentimes to permit him to demand her of Amasis, that he was cer­taine he had done such seruices to her and her sonne, that they would not deny him this grace. She answered, You may more doubt of their good will then of your deserts; & you may be lesse assured of your merits, then of my good will: but I would not that you should speake of it, vntill Cli­daman be married. I am yonger then he, I may stay so long. You may well (answered he) but so wil not the violence of my passion at least, if you will not agree to this remedy, giue mee one that cannot hurt you, if your will be as you tell me. If I may (sayd she) without offending my selfe, I will promise you. After he had kissed her hand, Madam (sayd hee) you haue promised me to sweare before Leonide, and the gods, that heare our discourse, that you will be my wife, as I take an oth before them; neuer to haue any other. Galathee, was ouertaken: yet fayning, that it was partly for the oth she had taken, and partly by my perswasion, though indeed it were her owne affection, she was contented, and swearing betweene my hands, with condition, that Lindamor should neuer come into that garden, vntil the marriage were declared; and that to preuent the occasi­on that may make them passe further; behold, Lindamor, the most con­tent that euer was, full of al sorces of hope, at least, of all those that a louer might haue, that was beloued, and wayting but for the promised conclu­sion of his desires, when Loue, or rather Fortune would mocke him, and giue him the most cruell displeasure that any might haue. O Lindamor, how vayne are these thy propositions?

At this time Clidaman being departed with Guymantes, to seeke the aduentures of armes, and then hee went to the army of Merone, and though hee went priuately, yet his actions made him well enough knowne; and because Amasis would not haue him stay there in that sort, she leuied all the forces she could make, to send to him, and as you know, gaue the charge to Lindamor, and kept Polemas for gouerner vnder her of all her prouinces, vntill the comming of her sonne: which she did, as well [Page 325] to giue satissaction to these two great personagēs, as to separate them a little: for euer since the returne of Lindamer, they haue had some brabble together, were it, for that there is nothing so secret, which in some sort is not discouered; and for that Polemas had some coniecture, that it was hee against whom he fought, or that loue only was the cause: so it was, that all men knew how little good will, they bare each to other. Now Polemas was wel content, and Lindamor went away with no ill wil; the one, that he might be neere his Mistrisse, the other, that hauing occasion to do seruice to Amasis, he might thereby binde her, hoping by this way to make easie the passage to that good which hee aspired. But Polemas, that knew by the eye, how much hee was out of fauour, and contrarily, how many fa­uours his riuall had receiued, hauing now no hope, neither in his seruices not in his merits, ran to subtilty. And behold how he sets vp a man! but the most crafty and deceitful that euer was in his mistery, whom, without acquainting any in the Court, he caused secretly to see Amasis, Galathee, Siluie, Silere, me and all the other Nymphs, and not only shewed him their face, but told him what he knew of thē all, namely the things most secret, whereof being an old Courtier, hee was well informed, and after desired him to faine himselfe to be a Druid or great diuine. Hee came into that great wood of Sauigneu neere the faire gardens of Mont-brison, where by asmall riuer, where he might passe ouer, he made his lodging, and tarried there some while, seeming to be a great diuiner; so that the bruite of him came to vs, and specially Galathee went to him to know her fortune. This crafty companion could so well play his part, with such circumstances and ceremonies, that I must confesse the truth, I was deceiued as well as others.

So it was, that the conclusion of his cunning, was, to tell her that the heauens had giuen her by influence, the choice of a great good, or a great euill, and it was wisedome to choose: That both the one and the other, was to proceed from that which shee should loue; and if she neg­lected his aduice, she should be the vnhappiest woman in the world: and contrarily, most happy, if she made a good election; that if she would be­leeue him, he would giue her so certaine knowledge both of the one and the other, that she had no more to do, but to discerne them. And looking in her hand, and after on her face, hee sayd, Such a day being within Marsellis, you shall see a man clad in such a colour: if you marry him, you are the most miserable in the world. Then hee let her see in a mirrour, a place which is by the riuer of Lignon, & said, You see this place, go at such an houre, you shall finde the man that shall make you most happy, if you [Page 326] marry him. Now Climanthe (so is this deceiuer called) had eunningly knowne both the day that Lindamor was to depart, and the colour of his cloaths: and his dessine was, that Polemas seeming to go hunt, should be at the place which he shewed in the glasse. Now heare, I pray you, how all fell out: Lindamor failed not to come forth apparelled as Climanthe had foretold, and that day Galathee, who had good remembrance of Linda­mor, stood so astonied, that she could not answere to what hee sayd. The poore knight thought it was for the griefe of his departure so farre off: so that after he had kissed her hand, hee went away to the Army more con­tented than his fortune required. If I had knowne she had beene of that opinion, I would haue endeuoured to haue diuerred her from it, but shee kept it so secret from me, that as then I had no knowledge of it. After­ward, the day drew on that Climanthe had told her, that she should finde about the Lignon, him that should make her happy. Shee would not tell mee all her dessigne, onely shee let me vnderstand, if the Druyde were true in that which he said: that the Court was so empty, that there was no pleasure in it: that for a while Solitarinesse would be more pleasing: that she was resolued to goe to her Palace of Isour, as priuately as shee could possibly: and that of her Nymphs she would haue but Siluie and me, her Nurce and the little Merill. As for me that was cloyed with the Court, I sayd, that it would be fit to withdraw a while: and so letting A­masis know, that she would take physicke, shee might be gone the next morning.

But it was her Nurce that confirmed her in that opinion: for this good old woman that loued her Nurce-child very tenderly, easily being drawne to credite these predictions, as (for the most part) all of her age are, coun­selled her to it, and pressed her so that finding her already so inclined, It was an easie thing to thrust her into this Labyrinth. For my part, I was neuer more astonied: for suppose there be but three persons in this great building. But the Nymph, which well marked the day that Climanthe had set, prepared the euening before to goe thither, and in the morning dressed her selfe, the most to her aduantage she could, and commaunded vs to doe the like. In that sort we went in a Coach to the place assigned: where being arriued, by chance, at the houre which Climanthe had sayd, we found a shepheard almost drowned, and halfe couered with mud and grauell, whom the fury of the water had cast on our shore. This shep­heard was Celadon: I know not if you know him, who, by chance, being faine into Lignon, wanted of drowning himselfe: but wee came so fitly, that wee saued him: for Galathee be leeuing it was hee that was to make [Page 327] her happy, [...] time beganne to loue him so, as shee thought [...] paine to her vs lay him in the Coach, and then to the Palace: he all this whi [...] not coming to himselfe. As then the sa [...], the fright of death, & the scratch [...] he had in his face kept him, that his beauty could not be per­ceiued, And, for my part, I ourse the Inchanter and Diuine, vvhich was the cause we tooke so much paine: for I sweare, I neuer had the like in my life.

But after hee came to himselfe, and that his face was without soile, he seemed the goodlieft man that I can tell of; besides that, he had a spi­rit sauoring of any thing, rather than of a shepheard. I haue seene none in our Court mo [...] ciuill, nor more worthy to be beloued: in somuch as I do not wonder that Galathe should be strongly inamoured, that she can hardly goe from him in the night. But indeed she deceiues her selfe, be­cause this shepheard is lost for the loue of a sheph ardesse called Astrea.

Thus, all these things gaue no small blowe to Lindamor, because the Nymph, hauing found that true which this lyer told her, is resolued to die, rather than to marry Lindamor, and studies by all her skill to make her selfe amiable to this shepheard, who doth nothing, especially in her pre­sence, but sigh his absence from Astrea. I know not whether the con­straint he is in, (for she will not let him goe from the Palace) or whether the water which he swallowed, when he fell into the riuer, be the cause: so it is, that euer since he goes puling, sometimes in bed, sometimes out, but at last, he hath gotten a feuer so burning, that knowing no remedy for his health, the Nymph hath commaunded mee to seeke you out dili­gently, that you may see what is necessary to saue him aliue.

The Druyde was very attentiue during this discourse, and gaue di­uers iudgements, according to the subiect of his Nieces words, and (it may be) neere the truth: for he knew well, that shee was not altogether exempted, neither from Loue nor fault; yet as well aduised as he was, hee dissembled it, and sayd to his Niece, that it was no hard matter to serue Galathee, especially in the person of Celadon, whose parents he had alwaies loued, and though he were a shepheard, yet descended he from the anci­ent lyne of Knights; and that his Ancestors had chosen that kinde of life, for the more quiet and happier then that at Court, and therefore he was to be honoured and well serued. But this fashion of life which Galathee vsed, was neither good for the Nymph, nor honorable for her, that com­ming to the Palace, and hauing seene the manner of things, he would tell her how she should gouerne her selfe. The Nymph, some what ashamed, answered, It was some long time since she had a purpose to tell him, but [Page 328] she neither durst, not met with opportunity: for indeede, Climanthe was the cause of all the euill. O (answered Adamas) if I can catch him, I will make him pay, with vsury, the false title which he hath vsurped of a Dru­ide. That will be easie (said the Nymph) by a meane that I will tell you. He told Galathee that she should returne twice or thrice, to the place where she was to finde this man, if she found him not the first time: I know that Polemas and he hauing bin so tardy the first day, will not faile to come the others following: he that will take this deceiuer, he need but hide him in the place which I will shew you, whither, without doubt, he will come: and for the day, you may know it of Galathee; for, for my part, I haue forgotten it.

The History of Leonide.

KNow, that the better to instruct you of all that you demaund, I am constrayned to touch the particulars of some other besides Galathee. And I shall doe it the more willingly, for that it may be behoouefull for the time to come, that they should not be hidden from you. It is Leonide of whom I speake, whom (it seemes) destinies would intangle more than ordinary in the dessignes of Galathee. This that I tell you, is not to blame her, or to make it knowne. For telling it to you, I beleeue it is no lesse se­cret than if you had not knowne it. You must then vnderstand, that it is long time since the beauty and merits of Leonide wanne her, after long suite, the affection of Polemas: and because the deserts of that knight were not so slender, but they could procure themselues to be beloued: Your Neece was not contented to be beloued, but she would also loue; but she carried it with such discretion, that euen Polemas was long with­out the knowledge of it. I doubt not but you haue loued, and that you know better than I, how hardly Loue will be hidden: so it was, that at last it burst out, and both knew they were louers, and beloued: yet was this amity so honest, that it would not suffer them to dare to shew it. Af­ter the sacrifice that Amasis made euery yeere, on the day that she marri­ed Pimander, it fell out, that after dinner wee were all in the Gardens of M [...]nt-brison: the more cheerefully to passe this happy iourney, she and I to defend vs from the Sunne (being set vnder some trees) which gaue a pleasing shaddow. We were scarcely there, but Polemas came to sit by vs, seeming that it was by chance he met vs; but I obserued, that he had some good while followed vs with his eye. And because we sate without any words, and that he had a good voyce, I sayd to him, that hee should binde vs much to him, if he would sing. I will (said he) if that fayre will commaund me, poynting to Leonide. Such a commaundement (said she) would be a great indiscretion; but I will make vse of my prayer, espe­cially if you haue any new thing. I will willingly (answered Polemas;) and moreouer I assure you, that this which you shall heare, was made but in the time of the Sacrifice, while you were in your prayers. And how (said I?) is my companion then the subiect of this song? Yes in deed (answered he) and I am witnesse. And then he began to sing.

We sate very attenti [...]e, and (it may be) I had knowne more, had it not beene for Leonide, who fearing that Polemas would shevv that which she would hide from me, suddenly as he had ended, took hold. I dare lay [Page 332] a wager (said she) that I can diuine for whom this Song was made: and then drawing neere his eare, made as if she named some; but indeed she bade him take heede what he sayd before me. He being discreete, drew backe, and answered; You haue not diuined right: I sweare vnto you, it is not for her whom you named. Then I perceiued she would hide her selfe from me, which was the cause, that fayning to gather some floures, I went from them on the other side, yet not without hauing an eye to their actions. Now Polemas himselfe since hath told me all, but it was after his affection was passed ouer; for so long as that lasted, it was not in my power to make him confesse any thing. Being then alone, they took vp againe the discourse which they had left, and she was the first that be­ganne.

And why Polemas (sayd shee) doe you iest thus with your friends? Confesse the truth, for whom are these verses? Faire Nymph (sayd he) in your soule you know for whom they are as well as I. How! (sayd shee) doe you beleeue me to be a diuiner? Yes certainely (answered Polemas) and of those that obey not the gods, who speak by their mouth, but make themselues obeyed of him. What meane you by that enigmaticall speech (sayd the Nymph?) I meane, sayd he, that Loue speakes by your mouth, otherwise your words would not be so full of fire and loue, that they can kindle in all that behold them, so burning coles, and yet you obey him not, though he commaund, that he who loueth, should be beloued: for disobedient, you worke that they who die of loue for you, may well feele you faire, but neuer louing, nor so much as onely pitifull. I speake for mine owne particular, that may sweare with truth, that in the world there was neuer beauty better beloued than yours of me. In saying these last words, he blushed, and she smiled, answering him, Polemas, Pole­mas, the old souldiers shew their skarres for witnesse of their valour, and complaine not at all; you that complaine of yours, would hardly shew them, if Loue, as your Generall, to giue you a worthy reward, should de­maund to see them. Cruell Nymph, sayd the knight, you deceiue your selfe, for I may onely say to him, Loue, put away thy skarfe, and behold the eyes of mine enemy, for he can no sooner open his eies, but he shall see the wounds that I beare in my heart, not as you say, in my complaint, but in making it my glory, to haue so worthy an Author of my wounds. So that you may iudge, that if Loue will enter into reason with me, I can sooner satisfie him than you, for hee can perceiue the blowes which you cannot, because that the fire cannot burne it selfe; no more are you: be­ing insensible of your owne beauties, to be so of our teares, nor offended [Page 333] where the armes of merit cannot resist; if those of pitty at the least abate the sharpenesse of your rigours, to the end, that they that adore you for faire, may commend you for courteous. Leonide loued this knight, but would not he should know it as yet. But she likewise feared, that putting him quite beside all hope, shee might also make him lose his courage: which was the cause that she answered him, If your loue be such, the time will giue mee more knowledge than these words, too well deliuered to proceed from affection. For, I haue heard say, affection cannot be with­out passion, and passion wil not suffer the spirit to haue so free a discourse. But when the time shall haue told me as much as you, you are to beleeue, that I am not of stone, nor so voyd of vnderstanding, but your merits are knovvne to me, and your loue may moue me. Till then, hope not of me, no more than of the rest of my company in generall. The Knight would haue kissed her hand for this assurance; but because Galathee loo­ked on, Knight, said she, be discreete, euery one hath eye on vs, if you do thus, you vndoe me.

And at this word she rose and came among vs that were gathering of flowres. Behold the first discouery that they had of their good wils, which gaue Galathee occasion to meddle in it. For, perceiuing what had passed in the Garden; and hauing of long time a purpose to winne Polemas, she would know that night, what was done betweene Leonide and him; and because she alvvaies made her selfe very familiar with you Neece, and had acquainted her with the particulars of her secrets, the Nymph durst not altogether deny the truth of this loue-suite. It is true, that she con­cealed what concerned her ovvne will: and vpon this discourse Galathee would knovv the very words that they had vsed; wherein your Neece sa­tisfied her in part, and in part dissembled. So it was, that she said enough to encrease the purpose of Galathee, so that from that day she resolued to be beloued of him, and vndertooke this worke with that cunning, that it was impossible it should fall out othervvise. At that meeting shee for­bade Leonide to go on in that affection, and after told her, that she should cut off all the rootes, because she knevv well, that Polemas had another dessigne, and that this would serue but to delude her. Besides that, if Amasis came to knovvledge of it, she would be offended.

Leonide, who at that time had no more malice than a childe, tooke the words of the Nymph, as from her Mistrisse, without searching into the cause, which made her say so, and so remained some dayes estranged from Polemas, who knevv not from whence it might grovve. At the first this made him more earnest in his suite. For it is the ordinary custome of yong [Page 334] spirits, to desire with more eagernesse, that which is hard to come by; and indeed he went on in that sort, that Leonide had much enough to doe to dissemble the good will she bore him; and at last, knew so little how to doe it, that Polemas perceiued he was beloued. But see what Loue had appointed!

This young louer, after he had three or foure moneths continued this suite with the more violence, as he had the lesse assurance of the good will he desired: as soone, almost, as hee was certaine, lost his violence, by little and little loued so coldly, that as Fortune and Loue, when they be­ginne to decline, fall at once, the Nymph perceiued not that shee alone went on in this affection. It is true, that Galathee, who came on, was, in part, the cause. For hauing a dessigne on Polemas, she vsed such craft, and sped so well, what by her authority, and what with time, that one might say, shee robbed her insensibly; for that, when Leonide handled him roughly, Galathee fauoured him: and when the other fled from his company, she drew him to hers. And this continued so long, and so o­penly, that Polemas beganne to turne his eyes towards Galathee, and shortly after, the heart followed: For seeing himselfe fauoured by a grea­ter than her that neglected him, hee blamed himselfe for suffering it with­out sence, and minded to embrace the fortune which came smiling on him. But O wise Adamas! you may see what a gracious encounter this was, and how it pleased Loue to play with their hearts. It is some while since, by the ordinance of Clidaman, Agis was allotted seruant vnto your Neece, and (as you know) by the election of Fortune.

Now though this young Knight was not giuen to Leonide out of his owne choyce, yet he agreed to the gift, and approoued it by the seruices which he afterward did performe, and that she misliked not, was shewed by her actions. But when Polemas beganne to serue her, Agis, as a coue­tous man, that hath his eyes alwayes on his treasure, tooke notice of the growing loue of this new Louer, and sometimes complayned to her of it: but the coldnesse of her answers (instead of extinguishing his iealousies onely) by little and little deaded his loue; for considering what small as­surance he had in his soule, he laboured to get a better resolution then for­merly he had had; and so, that he might not see another triumph ouer him, he chose rather to withdraw farre off. A receit, that I haue heard say, is the best that a soule infected with this euill, can haue to free it selfe: for as loue, at the beginning, is brought forth by the eyes; so it seemeth that the contrary should be for want of sight, which can be in nothing more then absence, where the forgetfull, couered as with ashes, the ouer-liue­ly [Page 335] representations of the thing beloued. And indeed, Agis happily attai­ned his purpose: for he was hardly gone, but loue likewise parted from his soule, lodging in the place of it the neglect of this flitter: So that Leoni­de purposing by this new plot to winne Polemas, lost him that already was intirely hers. But the confusions of Loue ended not heere: for he would, that Polemas likewise for his part, should haue sence of that which hee made the Nymph to feele. Almost about the same time, the affection of Lindamor tooke birth; and it fell out, that as Leonide had disdained Agis for Polemas, and Polemas Leonide for Galathee, so Galathee disdained Pole­mas for Lindamor.

To tell the follies of them all, would be an hard piece of worke. So it was, that Polemas seeing himselfe payed in the same money in which hee payd your Neece, yet could not lose not hope nor loue, but contrariwise searched al sorts of plotting, to enter again into her fauor, but all in vaine. It is true, that as he could get nothing more to his owne benefit, yet hee hath so wrought, that he, who was the cause of his euill, is not come to bee possessor of his good: for whether it were by his cunning practices, or by the will of the gods, that a certaine deuout Druyde hath imparted to him, since that time Lindamor is no more beloued: and it seemeth, Loue hath a purpose not to suffer the heart of Galathee to be at rest, the memo­rie of the one being no sooner defaced in her soule, but another takes place. And now behold vs at this houre reduced to the loue of a shepherd, who for a shepheard, in his quality may deserue well, but not to be the seruant of Galathee; and yet is she so passionate, that if her euill hold on, I know not what will become of her: So as I may well say, I ueuer sawe such a curiosity, nor so strange a dreame as she hath had, since she endu­red this euill. But this is not all: your wisedome (sage Adamas) in this which I am to tell you, must worke one of his ordinary effects. Your Neece is so ouertaken with Celadon, as I know not if Galathee be more. Aboue all, [...]elousie is so mingled among them, and I haue endeuoured to excuse and abate the blowes of it, the best I could; yet I am out of hope for the time to come. Therefore it is, that I thanke God for your comming: for without fiction, I know not how things can be carried without you: you must excuse me, if I speake to you so freely of that which touches you: the [...] which I beare them both, enforces me to it.

Thus ended Sil [...] [...]er discourse, with such a demonstration of mistake, to see this euill life, that Adamas thought well of her for it: and to giue beginning, not to the healing of the shepheard, but of the Nymphs; for that euill was the greater. Adamas asked what her aduice was? For my [Page 336] part (said she) will you beginne to remoue from them the cause of this e­uill, which is the shepheard? but this must be done with some cunning: for that Galathee will not let him goe. You haue reason, answered the Druyde; but while we labour to doe that, we must take heede that he fall not in loue with them, for that youth and beauty haue no small sympa­thy, and so we trauaile in vaine, if he happen to loue them. O Adamas, said Siluie, if you knew Celadon, as I doe, you would neuer haue this feare: he is so farre in loue with Astrea, that all the beauty of the world cannot please him, and after, we shall haue enough to looke to other things than to his healing. Faire Siluie, said the Druide, you speake well, like one that neuer knew what Loue meant, and as one that neuer felt his forces: This little god, the more power he hath ouer euery thing, the more sport he makes with euery thing; so that when there is least likelihood that he should doe any thing, it is then especially, that he is pleased to make his power to be knowne. Liue not you with that confidence, for that, as yet, there was neuer any sort of vertue, that could be exempted from Loue. Chastity it selfe could not, witnesse Endymion. Why, presently said Silui [...], O wise Adamas, doe you presage so great a disaster? To the end, said he, that you might arme your selfe against the forces of that god, for feare, that being ouer-assured in the opinion that it is impossible, you bee not ouertaken before you are prepared. I haue heard say, that Celadon is so goodly, so discreete, and accomplished, that there is no perfection wan­ting in him which may winne loue. If it be so, there is danger; for that the treasons of loue are so hard to discouer, that as yet, there was neuer the man that could doe it. Leaue the paine to me, said she, and onely see what you will haue me doe in this businesse we talke of. Me thinks, said the Druyde, this warre must be made by the eye; and when I haue seene how the world goes, wee will dispose of our affaires to the least hurt that wee can; and in the meane time let vs keepe our dessigne secret.

Then Silui [...] left him to his rest, and went to seeke Galathee, who, with Leonide, was about the bed of Celadon, for hauing knowne he was awake, neither of them had the power to stay longer from the sight of him. The welcomes that he gaue to Leonide, were not small: for, for the courtesie with which she bound him, he loued and esteemed well of her, though Siluies humour pleased him better. Within a while after, they fell in talke of Adamas, commending his Wisedome, his Wit, and Bounty: whereupon Celadon asked if hee were not the Sonne of the great Pelion, of whom he had heard spoken so many maruailes. It is the same, answe­red Galathee, who is come expressely for your disease. O, Madame, an­swered [Page 337] the shepheard, it must be a good Physician that can heale that, but, I thinke, when he shall know it, he will sooner despaire of my health, than dare to vndertake the cure. Galathee thought he spake of the sicknesse of his body. But, sayd she, is it possible you should thinke you are still sicke? I assure my selfe, if you will, within two dayes you may leaue your bed. It may be, Madame, answered Leonide, hee is neuer the better for that; for sometimes we carry our sicknesse so hidden, that our selues know nothing till we be in extremity.

Their discourse had held longer, had not the Druyde come to finde them, that he might see what was necessary for his purpose. He found him well disposed for his body, for the disease had spent his fury and came to decline: but when hee spake to him, hee iudged his spirit distempered, though he was not of beleefe that it was for these Nymphs: and know­ing, that the wise Physician ought alwaies to apply his remedy to the euill that is ready to offer violence, hee resolued to begin his cure on Galathee. And on this designe, desirous, at once, to be certified of the will of Cela­don, at night, when al the Nymphs were gone, & he tooke heed that Meril might not bee by, hauing shut the doore, hee spake in this sort: I thinke, Celadon, your astonishment is not small, to see your selfe suddenly raysed to so good a fortune as that you now possesse; for I assure my selfe, it is be­yond your hope, that being borne as you are, a shepheard, and bred in the villages, you now see your selfe cherished of the Nymphs, made much of, and serued, I will not say of Ladyes, that haue beene vsed to be comman­ded, but by her, that absolutely commands ouer this Countrey: A for­tune, indeede, which the greatest haue desired, but whereto none could attaine but your selfe; for which you are to praise the gods, and giue them thanks, that they may continue it to you.

Adamas talked thus to him, that he might draw him to tell the truth of his affection; thinking, that by this meanes, making shew to approue it, he should make him best discouer it. Whom the shepheard answered with a great sigh, Father, if this be a good fortune, then must my taste bee distempered, for I neuer felt more bitter Wormewood, than that which this fortune, that you call good, hath made me taste, since I came to bee in the state wherein you see me. And how, (added the Druyde, the better to couer his craft) is it possible you should haue so small knowledge of your good, that you see not to what greatnesse this aduenture hath raysed you? Alas, answered Celadon, it is that which threatens a greater fall. Why? doe you feare (said Adamas) that this good lucke will not last? I feare, an­swered the shepheard, it will last longer then I desire. But wherefore is it, [Page 338] that our sheepe are astonied and dye, when they be long in a great water, and yet fishes delight and are nourished in it? Because, answered the Druyde, it is against their nature.

And think you, father (sayd he) that it is lesse against the nature of a shep­heard to liue among so many Ladies? I am a shephard borne, and nothing can please me, that is not of mine owne condition. But is it possible (ad­ded the Druid) that ambition which seemes to be borne with man, cannot make you part from your woods, or that beauty, whose allurements are so strong for a yong hart, cannot diuert you from your former purpose? The ambitiō that euery one ought to haue (said the shepherd) tis to do wel that which we are to do, and in that to bee the foremost among them of his condition, and the beauty which wee are to regard, and which ought to draw vs, is that which we may loue, not that which wee should reue­rence, and may not looke on but with the eie of respect. Why (sayd the Druide) do you conceit to your selfe, that there is a greatnesse among men, to which merit and vertue cannot attaine? Because (answered the the shepheard) I know that all things are to bee contained within the termes that nature hath set them; and that as there is no likelihood that a Ruby faire & perfit, though it be may becōe a Diamōd, so he that hopes to raise himselfe higher, or to speake truer, to change nature, and make himselfe other then that he is, loses in vaine both his time and hispaines.

Then the Druide, astonished at the considerations of the shepheard, and well pleased to see him so far remoued from the dessines of Galathee, began againe in this sort: Now my child, I praise the gods for that wise­dome which I find in you, and assure you that if you carry your selfe thus, you shall giue the heauens cause to continue to you, all sort of felicity. Many borne vp by their vanity, haue gone out of themselues, vpon hope more vaine then these that I haue propounded. But what is befalne them? Nothin, g but after a long and incredible paine, repentance for be­ing so long time abused. You may thanke heauen, that hath giuen you this knowledge, before you haue occasion to haue their repentance, and you are to entreat it to preserue you, that you may continue in the tran­quility, and sweete life wherein you haue liued hitherto. But since you aspire not to these greatnes nor these beauties, what is it then O Celadon that may stay you here among them? Alas (answered the shepheard) it is only the will of Galathee, who holds me almost like a prisoner. It is ve­ry true, that if my sicknesse had permitted me, I had attempted to haue es­caped by one meanes or other, though I knew the enterprise was full of difficulty; and if I could not haue the helpe of any other, setting all re­spects [Page 339] apart, I would haue gone away by force: for Galathee held mee so short, and the Nymphs, when she is not here, and little Merill, when the Nymphs cannot stay, that I know not which way to turne my foote, but they are at mine elbow. And when I would speake to Galathee, shee sets on me with reproches in such a choler, that I must confesse I dare speake no more to her; and this aboad hath bene so troublesome to mee, that I may accuse it as the principall cause of my disease. Now, if you euer had pitty on a person afflicted, deare father, I adiure you by the great gods, whom you so worthily serue, by your naturall bounty, and by the hono­rable memory of that great P [...]lion your father, to take pitty on my life, and ioyne your wisedome to my desire, to setmee free from this offensiue pri­son: for so I may terme the stay I make in this place. Adamas, very glad to heare with what an affection he besought him, embraced him, kissed his forehead, and after sayd, Yes my sonne, be assured I will do what you demand of me; and as soone as your weakenesse will suffer, I will fit you with means to go hence without violence, only hold on your purpose, and looke to your health. And after many other discourses, he left him: but with such contentment, that if Adamas would haue permitted him, hee would haue risen at that inastnt.

In the meane time, Leonide, that would not leaue Galathee long in the error wherein Climante had put her, that euening when she saw Siluie, and the little Meril withdrawne, kneeled downe by the bed-side, and after some ordinary speech she went on, O Madam, what newes haue I met with in this iourney? and newes which concernes you? and I would not for any thing but I had knowne it, to cleere your errour. And what is it, answered the Nymph? It is (added Leonide) there hath beene put on you the cunningst practice that euer loue inuented; and me thinks you should not grieue at my iourney, though I had done no other thing. That Drui­de, who is the cause of your stay here, is the wickedst man, and the most crafty that euer set himselfe to beguile any. And then she told her from point to point what she had heard from Clemanthe's mouth, and of Pole­mas; and that all this practice was inuented, but to dispossesse Lindamor, and set Polemas in his place.

At the first, the Nymph stood a little astonished, in the end, the loue of the shepheard that flattered her, perswaded, that Leonide spake this out of despight, and to turne her from the loue of the shepheard, that she might possesse him alone. So that shee beleeued nothing of that shee had told her: but contrarily turning into laughter, she sayd, Leonide, goe to bed, it may be, to morrow you will rise vp more wife, and then you shall know [Page 340] better to hide your craft; and with this word, turned to the other side, somewhat smiling: which offended Leonide so sore, that shee resolued to set Celadon at liberty, whatsoeuer it might cost her. And in this pur­pose, the same euening she went to seeke her vncle, to whom she vsed this language: Father, since you see that Celadon is so well, what would you haue him do here longer? I haue not concealed from you, what Galathees will is.

Iudge what mischiefe may befall. I would haue freed the Nymph from the abuse whereto this Impostor Climanthe had perswaded her, but she is so wonne to Celadon, that all that labour to withdraw her, are de­clared enemies, so that the surest way is to remoue this shepheard from thence, which cannot be done without you: for the Nymph hath such an eye to me, that I can turne no way but shee heeds me, and suspects mee. Adamas was some what astonied to heare his neece talke thus, and was of opinion, that she feared, the good will which shee bare the shepheard, was perceiued, and she would preuent it: yet iudging that to cut off the roots of these louers, the best meanes was to remoue Celadon, and sayd to his neece, the sooner to discouer her plot, that he desired that she spake of a­boue all things: but he knew not the meane. The meane (sayd she) is the most easie in the world, only get the cloathes of a Nymph, and dresse him in them, he is yong, and as yet hath no beard: by this deuice he may geta­way vnknowne, and no body the wiser by whose helpe it was, and Gala­thee shall neu [...]r know whom to blame. Adamas found this inuention to bee good: and the sooner to execute it, resolued at that time, after the night were passed, to go seeke for such an habit, vnder pretence of seeking for remedies to heale the shepheard, giuing Galathee to vnderstand, that though the shepheard were freed from his feuers, yet hee was not cleere from danger of a relapse, and they must preuent it with wisedome. And communicated this dessine to Siluie, who approued it, prouided that hee slacked not his returne. Celadon was not thorowly awaked, when Gala­thee, and Leonide came into the chamber, in shew to know how hee did, and then Adamas, who knew well, seeing the great watchfulnesse of the Nymphs, that delay was dangerous, after he had asked Celadon some ordi­nary questions about his sicknesse, hee drew neere; and turning to the Nymph, wished her to permit him to enquire of some particulars which he durst not demand before her. Galathee, who beleeued it was concer­ning his sicknesse, drew aside and gaue way to Adamas, to acquaint the shepheard with his dessine, promising him to come within two or three dayes at the furdest. Celadon coniured him by the strongest prayers [Page 333] he could, knowing well that without him this imprisonment would con­tinue longer.

After he had giuen him assurance, hee went where Galathee was, and told her that the shepheard for the present was well: but as hee had be­fore told her, it was to be feared lest he might relapse, and to preuent the euill, it was necessary he should go seeke that which was fit for him, and he would returne as soone as he had found them. The Nymph was well pleased with this, for on the one side she desired the intire recouery of the shepheard: and on the other, the presence of the Druide began to trouble her, fore-seeing that she could not conuerse so freely with her beloued Ce­ladon, as before shee had done, hee knew well what her purpose was: but he seemed not to heed it; and presently after dinner, hee set himselfe on the way, leauing the three Nymphs in some paine: for euery one had a dif­fering dessine, and all three being desirous to effect it, it was necessary they should be finely deluded. That was the cause, that all three were more vsually about his bed, but Siluie, aboue the rest, that she might keep them from speaking in priuate to him: Yet could she not keep so good watch: but Leonide found a time to tell him the resolution, which shee had taken with her vncle, and then she went on:

But tell true, Celadon, are you yet so without vnderstanding, that when you haue receiued this good office from me, you will remember no more that you see at this present, the loue I beare you? At least, call to your minde the wrongs that Galathee doth me, for your sake; and if the loue which in all others meriteth loue, growing in me, cannot bring it forth in you, let me haue this contentment, to heare once from your owne mouth, that the affection of such a Nymph as I am, is not altogether distastefull to you. Celadon, who had already knowne this growing loue, desired it might die in the cradle: but fearing lest the despite which she conceiued, might cause in her contrary effects to the resolution which she had taken with her vncle, he purposed to giue her some words, that hee might not lose her altogether, and thus answered her, Faire Leonide, what opinion may you haue of me, if forgetting Astrea, whom I haue so long serued, I should begin a new amity? I speake freely to you, for I know well, you are not ignorant of what I am.

O Celadon, answered Leonide, hide not your selfe from me, I know as much of your affaires as your selfe. Then, faire Nymph, replied the shep­heard, if you know it, how can you wish that I should force this loue which hath such force in my foule, that my life and my will depend of it? But since you know what I am, reade in my actions passed, and see what [Page 342] remaineth in me to satisfie you, and tell me what you would haue me do? Leonide, at this speech was not able to hide her teares, as wise as she was: after she had considered how contrary to her duty it was to liue in this fa­shion, and that she traueld in vaine, she resolued to be mistris of her owne will; but for that it was so difficult a worke that she could not attaine to it at once, there must be some time to prepare her humours, that they might be capable to receiue the aduice of wisedome. And in this resolu­tion she spake to him thus: Shepheard, I cannot (at this time) take the counsell that is necessary for me, to get sufficient force; I must haue leisure to gather together the powers of my soule: but remember you the offer you haue made me: for I meane to benefit my selfe by it. Their discourse had held on longer, if Siluie had not interrupted them, who comming vp­on them, and addressing her selfe to Leonide, Sister, said she, you know not that Fleurial is come, and hath so ouertaken the Guard of the gate, that he was with Galathee before we were aware. He hath giuen her let­ters, and I know not whence they come: But it must be from some good place, for shee hath changed colour twice or thrice. Leonide presently doubted it was Lindamor, which caused her to leaue the shepheard with Siluie, and went to Galathee to know the certaintie.

Then Siluie, seeing her selfe alone with him, beganne to entertaine him with that courtesie, that if there had beene any place for Loue, without doubt she had had it. And see how Loue sports himselfe with contrary­ing our dessignes! The other two Nymphs, with all their Art, sought it, and could not effect it; and she that regarded it nor, came neerer the mark than the others. By that, a man may know how free Loue is, since he will by tyed to nothing, but what pleases him. Whilest Celadon was in this thought, Siluie, that sought for nothing more than occasion to set him in­to discourse, because she delighted much in his conuersation, and to heare him speake, said, You will not thinke, shepheard, what pleasure this hap to haue knowne you, brings to mee; and I sweare to you, if Galathee would beleeue me, since her brother went out of this Countrey, we haue had your company more than heretofore. For, for aught that I see in you, I thinke there is pleasure in your villages, and your honest liberties, since you are exempted from Ambition, and consequently from troubles, li­uing without craft, and without backe-biting, which are the foure plagues that our life brings. Wise Nymph (answered the shepheard) this that you say, is more than true, if we were out of the power of Loue; but you must know, that the same effects, which Ambition bringeth foorth in Courts, Loue causeth to growe in our villages. For the enuy of a Riuall, [Page 343] is no lesse than of a Courtier: and the artificiall practices of Louers and Shepheards giue no place to others. And that is the cause that slaunde­rers retaine the same authority among vs, to make good their owne a­ctions, as well as among you. It is true, that we haue one aduantage, that instead of two enemies that you haue, which is Loue and Ambition, we haue but one; and from thence it comes, that there be some things parti­cularly among vs, which we may call happy, but none (as I suppose) a­mong Courtiers; for they that loue not at all, neede not auoyde the al­lurements of Ambition: and whoso is not ambitious, shall not for it haue his soule frozen, to resist the flames of many faire eies: so that ha­uing but one enemy, we may the more easily resist him, as Siluander hath done hitherto, a shepheard indeede repleate with many perfecti­ons, yet more happy (a man may say, without offence,) than wise: for, though this may (in some sort) proceed out of his wisedome, yet this is it that I hold, That it is a great happinesse, neuer to haue met with a beauty that pleased him: and hauing neuer found the beauty that drew him, he neuer had familiarity with any shepheardesse, which is the cause that he so preserues his liberty, because I thinke (for my part) that if one loue not else-where, it is impossible for him to conuerse long with an a­miable beauty, but he must loue it. Sil [...]ie answered him, I haue so small knowledge in this learning, that I must referre my selfe to what you say: yet doe I thinke, that it must be some other thing than beauty that causes loue; otherwise, the Lady that is loued of one, should be so of all. There be many answers (said the shepheard) to this obiection. For all beauties are not seene of one eie, so that as among colours, there be that please some, and displease others, so wee may say of beauties; for all eyes doe not iudge alike: besides that, these faire looke not on all with the same eie, and one shall please such whom she indeuoureth to please, and an­other quite contrary, whom she seekes not to be pleasing vnto. But, a­boue all these reasons, mee thinkes, that of Siluander was very good, when one demaunded of him, why he was not in loue? He answered, he neuer yet found his Loue-stone, and when he found such an one, he knew well, he must infallibly loue as others did. And (answered Siluie) whom meant he by the Loue-stone? I know not (replied the shepheard) whether I can better instruct you: For he is well studied, and among vs we hold him for a man of great vnderstanding. Hee sayes hee learned it from the Druydes, that when the great God formed all our soules, hee touched e­uery of them with a piece of a Loue-stone, and that after, he put all those pieces into a place apart; and likewise those of the women, after hee had [Page 344] touched them, he locked them into another store-house by it selfe. Afte, when hee sent the soules into the body, hee brought foorth those of wo­men, where are the loue-stones, which touched those of the men, and those of men to those of women, and caused them to fasten each to o­ther. If there be wicked soules, they take more pieces, which they hide. It happens, that as soone as the soule is in the body, and that it meeteth with it that is his loue-stone, it is impossible but hee should loue: and from hence proceed all the effects of loue. For, as for them that are belo­ued of many, it is for that they were theeuish, and had taken more pie­ces; as for that which loues euery one, and is not beloued, it is for that he had his loue-stone, and she had not hers.

Many oppositions were made, when he spake these things: but hee an­swered them all very well. Among others, I said, But what would he say, that diuers times one shepheard loues diuers shepheardesses? That is, said he, for that the piece of loue which touched it, being among others when the god mixed them, brake, and being in diuers pieces, they all, as many as there were, drew to them that soule.

But withall, marke, that those persons which are taken with diuers loues, loue not much: that is, for that these little pieces, beeing separated, haue not that force as if they were vnited. Moreouer, he said, that hence it comes, that we see often some in loue with others, which in our eyes, haue nothing amiable in them: whence proceede likewise, those strange loues that fall out sometimes, that a Gaule bred vp among the most beau­tifull Ladyes, came to loue a barbarous stranger. It was Dia [...]e that as­ked him what he sayd of Tymon of Athens, that neuer loued any, nor any loued him? His piece of loue, said he, either was in the great gods Store­house when he came into the world; or she which had it, dyed in the cra­dle; or before that Tymon was borne, or of yeeres to know her. So that euer since, when we see any that is not beloued, wee say, his piece of Loue was forgotten. And what sayd he (said Siluie) of that, that no man loued Tymon? That sometimes (answered Celadon) the great god reckoned the stones that remained, and finding the number disagreeing, because some of the theeuish soules had taken more (as I haue told you) that hee might set the pieces in their euen number, the soules which were then ready to enter into the body, carried none with them. And thence it comes, that sometimes we see shepheardesses compleate enough, which are so neglected, that none loue them. But the gracious Corilas asked him a question concerning himselfe at that time, what hee would say of one, that hauing long time loued, came to leaue her and to loue another. Sil­uander [Page 345] answered to this, that the piece of Loue that changed, was broken, and that that which he first loued, should haue had a greater piece than the other for whom he left her. And as when we see yron betweene two loadstones, suffers it selfe to be drawne by that which hath most strength, so the soule leaues it selfe to bee carried by the stronger part of his loue. Truely, said Siluie, this shepheard must be gentle, hauing so good conceits, but tell me, I pray you, what he is. It will be hard for me (answered Ce­ladon) to tell, for himselfe knowes not; yet wee hold him to be of a good house, according to the iudgement that may be made of his good quali­ties: for you must know, that it is some yeeres since he came to dwell in our village, with smal meanes, & without knowledge of himselfe, but that he sayd hee came from the Lake Leman, where he was bred a childe.

So it was, that after hee was knowne, euery one helped him: besides that, hauing knowledge of herbes, and of the nature of beasts, the beasts profited so well vnder his hands, that there is none that desires not to put them to him, whereof hee makes so good an account, that be­sides the profit that he makes thereof, there are few that gratifie him not with something, so that at this houre he is in good case, and may call him­selfe rich: for, O faire Nymph, we want not much to make vs so: for that nature being contented with a few things, we seeke after nothing but to liue according to it; we are as soone rich as content, and our content­ment being easily compassed, our riches are quickly gotten. You are (sayd Siluie) more happy then we.

But you told me of Diane: I know her not, but by sight: tell me, I pray you, who was her mother? That is Bellinde, answered he, wife of the wise Celion, who dyed young. And Diane, sayd Siluie, what is shee? and what is her humour? She is, said Celadon, one of the fairest shephear­desses of Lignon; and, if I were not partiall for Astrea, I would say shee were the fairest: for, in truth, besides that shee is to the eye, shee hath so many beauties in her spirit, that there is nothing superfluous nor defe­ctiue. Many times, three or foure of vs shepheards, haue beene together, to consider of her, not knowing what perfection might be wished for, that she had not: for though she loue nothing of loue, yet loues shee all vertue with so sincere a will, that she binds more to her by that sort, then others most violent affections. And how, said Sil [...]ie, is she not serued of many? The deceit, answered Celadon, which the father of Filidas did her, is the hinderance that there are none now, and indeede, it was one of the most not able that euer I heard of. If it were not painefull to you, added Siluie, I would bee glad to learne it of you, and also to know who this Celion [Page 346] was, and who this Bellinde. I feare, answered the shepheard, the discourse will be so long, that it will trouble you. On the contrary, said the Nymph, We know not better how to imploy the time, while Galathee reades the letters that she went to receiue. Then, to satisfie your commandement, answered he, I will doe it as briefly as I can: and then hee held on in this sort:

The History of Celion and Bellinde.

IT is true, faire Nymph, that vertue spoyled of all other ornament, cea­ses not to be of it selfe louely, hauing so many allurements, with which as soone as the soule is touched, it must bee beloued, and followed: but when this vertue meetes with a body that is faire, it is not onely plea­sing, but admirable, for that the eyes and spirit are rauished in the con­templation and vision of this beauty: which shall bee manifested by the discour [...] which I meane to make you of [...].

Know then, that neere the riuer of Lignon, there was a very honest shepheard, named Philemon, who after hee had beene long married, had a daughter, whom he called Bellinde, who comming to growth, made as great a shew of beauty in her spirit, as might be seene in her body. Hard by her house lodged another shepheard, called Leon, with whom neigh­bourhood had tyed a strong bond of amity: and fortune vnwilling to doe more for the one then for the other, gaue him likewise at the same time a daughter, whose youth gaue great promise of [...]ture beauty; she was cal­led Amaranthe. The friendship of the fathers caused that of the daugh­ters to encrease, by frequenting together: for they were bred vp toge­ther from the cradle, and when their age permitted them, they led their stlocks alike, & at night brought them in companies to their lodgings. But because, as they grew in body, their beauty likewise encreased to the view of the eye, there were many shepheards that sought their loue, whose feruices and affections could not obtaine more of them, then that they were receiued with courtesie.

It fell out, that Celion, a young shepheard of those quarters, hauing lost a sheep, came to seek it among Bellindes flock, whither it was strayed. She restor it with such courtesie, that the recouery of his sheep was the begin­ning of the losse of himselfe; and frō that time he began to feele with what force two faire eies were able to offend: for before he was so ignorāt, that the very thoght of it neuer came into his soule. But what ignorāce soeuer was in him, it brought him to that passe, that it made him by his woo­ing [Page 347] know what his disease was, and the onely Physician from whom hee was to haue his health. So that Bellinde by his actiōs perceiued it almost as soon as himselfe: for, at the first he knew not what to say his designe was: but his affect on growing with his age, came to that greatnesse, that hee found the discommodity in good earnest, and then acknowledged it, be­ing constrained to change the pastimes of his youth into a very curi­ous pursuite. And Bellinde on the other side, though she were serued of many, receiued his affection aboue any other, yet no otherwise, then if he had bene her brother, which she made appeare one day, when he thought to haue found the cōmodity to declare his good will. She kept her flocke along the riuer of Lignon, and beheld her beauty in the water. Where­upon the shepheard taking occasion, sayd to her, holding after an amo­rous fashion his hand before his eyes, Take heede, faire shephear­desse, withdraw your eyes from this water, feare you not the dangers that others haue runne into by such actions? Why say you so, answered Bel­linde, that as yet vnderstood him not? Ah then, said the shepheard, faire and dissembling shepheardesse, you represent within this happy riuer, more beauty then Narcissus in the fountaine.

At these words Bellinde blushed, and that encreased her beauty the more, yet shee answered, Since whence, Celion, haue you wished mee so well? without doubt, it is well done of you. To wish you well said the shepheard, it is long time since I did it, and you are to beleeue, that this will shall be limited by no other termes then that of my life.

Then the shepheardesse casting down her head on this side, said, I make no doubt of your amity, receiuing it with the same good will, that I offer you mine. Where to Celion presently answered, Let me kisse that faire hand by way of thankes, for so great a good, and for an earnest of the faith­full seruice, which Celion is to render you the rest of his life. Bellinde, knew as well by the feruour wherewith he vttered these words, as by the kisses which he imprinted on her hand, that he figured to himselfe his ami­ty, of another quality then she meant; and because shee would not haue him liue in this error, Celion (sayd she) you are far from that you thinke: you cannot sooner banish me from your company, then by this meanes, if you desire that I should continue the amity I haue promised you, con­tinue likewise yours, with the same honesty that your vertue promises me: otherwise, hence forth I breake all familiarity with you, and protest neuer to loue you. I may as the custome of them that are beloued, is, a­buse you: but I vse it not, because I freely wish you should know, that if you liue otherwise then you ought, you are neuer to haue hope in my a­mity. [Page 348] She added yet other words, which so astonied Celion, that he knew not what to answere: Only he cast himselfe on his knees, and without o­ther discourse, with this submission demanded pardon, and then protested to her, that his amity proceeded from her, and that she might rule it as that which she had bred. If you vse your selfe thus (replied then Bel­linde) you shall bind me to loue you, otherwise you shall constraine me to the contrary. Faire shepheardesse (replied he) my affection is borne, and such as it is, it must liue, for it cannot die but with mee, so that I cannot well remedy it but by time: yet to promise you, that I will study to make such as you command, I sweare it vnto you, and in the meane time, I desire neuer to be honored with your good fauour, if in all my life you knew any action, that for the quality of my affection may displease you.

At last the shepheard consented to bee beloued, on condition shee might know nothing in him, which might offend her honesty. So these lo­uers began an amity, which lasted very long, with such satisfaction to them both, that they had cause to reioyce therein for their fortune. Some­times, if the yong shepheard were letted, hee sent his brother Diamis to her, who vnder the colour of some fruite, brought her letters from his brother. She often returned answere with such good will, that hee had cause to be contented, and this affection was carried with that prudence, that few perceiued it. Amaranthe, though she were ordinarily with them, was ignorant of it, had it not bene that by hap she found a letter which her companions had lost; and see, I beseech you, what the effect was, and how dangerous a thing it is for a yong soule to come neere these fires! Vntill this time, the shepheardesse had not, not only the lesst feeling of loue; but not a thought to be beloued; and as soone as shee saw this let­ter, were it for that she bare some enuy to her companion, whom shee e­stee [...]d not to be the fairer, & yet she saw her often wooed by this honest shepheard, were it for that she was of an age which is proper to such bur­ning, that they can no sooner come neere the fire, but they feele it, were it for that this letter had so liuely heates, that she had noyce to resist them. So it was, that she tooke a certaine desire not to loue, for loue it may be, would not attache her at the first in extremity, but to be loued, & serued of some shepheard of worth; and in this point, shee read the letter often­times, which was thus:

Amaranthe read this letter ouer diuers times, and without heed ta­king dranke vp the sweete poyson of loue, no otherwise then one weary suffers himselfe by little to fall asleepe. If her thought set before her eies the face of the shepheard, oh! how full of beauty found she it to be? if his behauiour, how pleasing did it seeme? if his spirit, how admirable did she iudge it? briefely, she saw him so perfect, that she thought her companion happy to be beloued of him. Then taking againe the letter, she read it o­uer: but not without much pawsing on the subiects that touched her most at the heart. And when she came to the end, and that shee sawe the reproach of cruell, she flattered her desires, which lately borne, call for foeble hopes as their Nurces, with opinion that Bellinde, as yet loued him not, and so she might more easily winne him. But the poore soule hee­ded not, that this was the first letter that he had written to her, and that since many things might be changed. The amity which shee bare to Bel­linde, sometimes drew her backe; but presently Loue ouertopped that a­mity. At last, the conclusion was, that she writ such a Letter to Celion.

[Page 350] Shee gaue this letter her selfe to Celion, who not able to imagine what she would, as soone as hee was in a priuate place, he read it, but with no lesse astonishment than disdaine, and had he not knowne her to be infi­nitely beloued of his mistris, hee would not haue vouchsafed her an an­swer, yet fearing it might offend her, he sent this answere by his brother.

This answer had beene sufficient to haue diuerted her, if Loue had not been of the nature of powder, which is then most violent, when it is most restrained. For against those former difficulties she opposed some sort of reason, that Celion ought not so soone to leaue Bellinde, it would be too great lightnesse, if at the first summons hee should be gone. But Time taught her to her cost to deceiue her selfe. For after that day the shep­heard disdained her so that he shunued her, and often chose rather to be absent from Bellinde, than to be forced to see her. It was then that so ea­sily she shipped her selfe on so dangerous a sea, and so notable for the or­dinary shipwracks of them that ventured on them, and not long able to beare out this displeasure, she grew so sad, that shee fled from her compa­nions, and the places where in before she delighted, and at last, fell sicke in good earnest. Her deare Bellinde went presently to see her, and vna­wares desired the shepheard to beare her company. But as the sight of the good we cannot get, doth but increase the desire; so this visitation did but make Amaranthes euill worse.

The night being come, all the shepheardesses withdrew, and there stayed but Bellinde with her, so sorry for the euill of her companion (for [Page 351] she knew not what it was) that she tooke no rest; and when shee asked her of it, for answer she had nothing but sighes. Whereat Bellinde at the first being astonied, in the end, offended with her, said, I neuer thought, Amaranthe had so little loued Bellinde, that she could haue concealed any thing from her; but by that I see I was deceiued. And where as I might haue said heretofore, I had a friend, I may now say, I loue a dissembler. Amaranthe, who for shame had shut vp her mouth vntill then, seeing they were alone; and being pressed with such an affection, resolued to trie the last remedy, which she thought fittest for her defence. Casting from her all shame, as farre off as she could, twice or thrice, she opened her mouth to tell her all, but her words died so betweene her lippes, that this was all she could do, to bring foorth these broken words, laying her hand ouer her eyes, as not daring to looke on her to whom she spake: My deare com­panion (sayd she) for so they called themselues: Our amity will not suf­fer me to hide any thing from you, knowing well, that though it be told you, what concernes me, shal be as carefully kept secret by you, as by my selfe. Excuse then, I beseech you, the extreme error, which to satisfie our amity, I am constrained to discouer to you. You aske me what my griefe is, and whence it comes; know, that it is Loue borne from the perfecti­ons of a shepheard. But alas! at this word ouercome with shame and dis­pleasure, turning her head another way, she held her peace with a torrent of teares.

The astonishment of Bellinde could not make her coniecture; yet to giue her courage to make an end, she said; I did not thinke that a passion so common to all, would haue brought you this trouble. To loue, is a thing ordinary; but, that it is from the perfections of a shepheard, this happens but to persons of iudgement. Tell me then who this happy man is. Then Amaranthe taking her speech againe, with a sigh drawne from the depth of her heart, said; But alas! this shepheard loues else-where. And who is he, said Bellinde? It is (answered she) since you will know, your Celion. I say yours (my companion) because I know he loues you, and that this sole amity makes him disdaine mine. Excuse my folly, and with­out seeming to know it, leaue me alone to complaine, and endure mine euill. The wise Bellinde was so ashamed when she heard this discourse of the error of her companion, that though she loued Celion, as well as any might be loued, yet she resolued on this occasion to giue proofe of that she was not. And therefore turning towards her, she said: Indeed, Ama­ranthe, I suffer in paine more than I can speake of, to see you so transpor­ted in this affection: for it seemeth, our sex will not permit vs so intire an [Page 352] authority of loue; but since you are in these termes, I thanke God it lights in such a place, that I may giue proofe of what I am to you. I loue Celion, I will not deny it, as if hee were my brother. But I loue you also as my sister, and I wish (for I know hee will obey me) that he loue you more than mee; rest your selfe on mee, and reioyce you alone, prouided, you acknowledge when you are recouered, what Bellinde hath beene vnto you.

After some other like discourse, the night constrained Bellinde to with­draw, leauing Amaranthe with such contentment, that forgetting her sadnesse, in few dayes shee recouered her former beauty. In the meane time Bellinde was not without paine, who studying for some meane to make her purpose knowne to Celion, found at last as fit a commodity as she wished. By fortune she met him, as he was playing with his Ram in the great pasture, where the greatest part of the shepheards fed their flockes. This beast was the leader of the troopes, and so well taught, that he see­med to vnderstand his master when he spake to him. Whereat the shep­heardesse took such pleasure, that she stayed long at it. At last she would trie if it knew her as well as him; but it was much more ready to euerie thing shee willed; whereupon drawing aside from the company, shee said to Celion: What thinke you, brother, of the acquaintance betweene your Ramme, and me? It is the pleasantest that euer I sawe.

Such as it is, faire shepheardesse (sayd he) if you will do me the honor to receiue it, it is yours. But you are not to wonder that he giues you all o­be [...]sance: for he knowes well, I would else disclame him for mine, hauing learned by so many songs which hee hath heard of mee, as I passe vp and downe, that I was more yours then mine owne. This well expresses (saith the shepheardesse) the obedience of your Ram, which I wil not receiue to to bee emploied, more for you then mee: but since you giue mee so intire power ouer you, I will try it, by ioyning to a commandement a most af­fectionat prayer. There is nothing (answered the shepheard) which you may not command me. Then Bellinde, thinking she had found the com­modity she sought for, pursued her discourse thus: from the day that that you assured me of your amity, I iudged the same good will to be in you, so also it bindeth mee, to loue and honor you, more then any per­son liuing. Now, though I say thus to you, I would not haue you thinke that I haue diminished this good will: for it shall accompany mee to my graue: and yet it may be you would do it, if I had not forewarned you: but bind me by beleeuing that my life, and not my amity may diminish. These words put Celion into much paine, not knowing whereto they tended, at [Page 361] last hee answered, that hee attended her will, with great ioy and great feare; with ioy, for that he could imagine nothing more beneficial to him, then the honor of her commandements; and with feare, for that he knew not for what cause she threatned him: yet death it selfe could not be vn­welcome to him, if it befell him by her commandement. Then Bellinde held on:

Since, besides your sayings at this time, you haue alwayes giuen mee that witnesse of this assurance which you make mee, that with reason I cannot doubt; I will make no more difficulty, not to intreate, but to con­iure Celion by all the amity with which he fauours his Bellinde, to obey her at this time. I will not command him a thing impossible, much lesse draw him from the affection which he beares me: rather on the contrary I will, if it may be, that he encrease it more and more. But before I passe further, let me know, I beseech you, if euer your amity hath bene of other quallity then it is now, Celion, then shewing a countenance lesse troub­led, then that which before the doubt had constrained him to haue, an­swered, that he began t [...] [...]ope well, hauing receiued such assurance, that to satisfie her demand, hee would againe auow that hee hath loued her with the same affections and passions, and with the same desires that youth did vsually produce in hearts transported furthest by loue; and that therein he would not except any one, that since her commandement had such power ouer him, it had got the like ouer his passion, that his sin­cere amity had so far surpassed his loue, that he did not thinke hee should offend a sister, to loue her with that mind. On my faith, brother (replyed the shepheardesse) for so I will hold you the remainder of my life, you so bind me by liuing thus with mee, that neuer any of your actions euer got more ouer my soule then this. But I cannot see you longer in paine. Know then, that that which I would haue of you, is onely, that preseruing inuio­lably this good amity which you now beare me, you place your loue on one of the fairest shepheardesses of Lignon. You may say this is a strange office for Bellinde: yet if you consider that she, of whom I speake, would haue you for her husband, and that she is, after you, the person whom I most loue, for it is Amaranthe, I assure my selfe you will not wonder at it. She hath intreated, and I command you by all the power I haue ouer you.

She made haste to giue him this cōmandement, fearing that if she stai­ed long, she should not haue the power to resist the supplications which she foresaw. What thinke you, faire Nymph, became of this poore Celi­on? he grew pale like a dead man, and so besides himselfe, that hee could [Page 362] not for a good while bring forth a word. At last, when he could speake, with such a voyce as they haue that are in the midst of punishment, he cry­ed out, Ah, cruell Bellinde, haue you preserued my life till now, to take it from me with such inhumanity? This commandement is too cruell, to let me liue, and my affection too great, to let mee die without despaire. Alas, suffer me to dye: but let me die faithfull: that if there be no meane to re­couer Amaranthe, but by my death, I may sacrifice my self most willingly for her health: the change of this commandement shall be no lesse witnesse that I am beloued of you, then whatsoeuer you shall be able to do to me. Bellinde was moued, but not changed. Celion (sayd shee) let vs leaue all these idle words, you shall giue me lesse occasion to beleeue what you say to me, if you will not satisfie the first request, which I make you. Cru­ell, presently sayd the afflicted Celion, if you will that I change this amity, what power haue you more to comand me? but if you wil not that I chāge it, how is it possible to loue vertue and vice? and if it be not possible, why for proofe of my affection, will you haue a thing which cannot be? Pitty thought to ouercome her; and though she had [...]uch paine for the griefe of the shepheard, yet was it some contentment which could not be para­lelled, to know her selfe so perfectly beloued of him, that shee loued so deare; and is may bee, might haue got something ouer her resolution, had it not [...] that she would put from Amaranthe all opinion that shee was attainted with her euil: though she loued the shepheard, and was well beloued, yet she enforced her pitty, which already had brought forth some teares into her eyes, to returne into her heart, without giuing know­ledge that it was come: and in the end, that she might not fall againe into the same paine, she went away, and at her departing, she sayd; Account of me, as pleases you, I am resolued neuer to see you, vntill you haue effected my praier and your promise; and thinke, that this resolution shall ouer-liue your obstinacy, If Celion were besides himselfe, seeing himselfe so farre from all consolation and resolution, he may iudge that hath loued. So it was, that hee stood two or three days like a man lost, running into the woods, and flying from all those whom formerly he had conuersed with. At last an old shepheard, a great friend of his fathers, one indeed that was very wise, and who had alwayes loued Celion passing well, seeing him in this case, and doub [...]ing there was no passion strong enough to worke such effects, but loue, so sifted him on all sides, that he made him discourse his paine, where to he gaue some asswagement by his good counsell: for in his youth he had often passed thorow the same straights. And at last, seeing him a little tractable, he mocked at him, for that he had such paine [Page 363] for so small a matter, telling him that the remedy was so easie, that hee might be ashamed, that it should bee knowne, that Celion esteemed wise by euery man, and a person of courage, should haue so little vnderstand­ing, that hee knew not how to resolue in an accident that was not very difficult, or at the worst, could not dissemble; and then hee went on: But it had bene fit, that at the beginning you had made these difficulties, for so she shall thinke your affection extremee, and this shall tie her to loue you the more: but since you haue made that demonstration, it wil suffice that to content her, you make shew of that which shee commands. This counsell at last was receiued of Celion, and executed as it was propoun­ded. It is true that he wrote this letter to Bellinde before.

It was impossible, but Bellinde must haue feeling of these words, which shee knew came from an entire affection, but it was not possible for these words to diuert her from her dessigne. She aduertised Amaranthe, that the shepheard should loue her, & that her health only kept back the knowledge of it. This aduertisement hastened her recouery so, that she gaue proofe, that for the health of the body, the health of the minde is most profitable. How extreme was this constraint to Celion, and what paine did he endure? It was such, that he waxed leane, and so changed, that he might not be knowne. But behold what the seuerity was of this Shepheardesse! It was not sufficient to handle Celion thus▪ for iudging that Amaranthe had yet some suspition of their amity, shee resolued to push those affaires so forward, that neither of them both might gaine-say it. Euery man saw the apparant suit that the shepherd made to Amaranthe: for it was openly declared, and the father of the shepheard knowing the commendable vertues of Leon, and how much honoured his familie had alwaies beene, did not mislike this suite.

[Page 364] One day Bellinde desirous to sound him, propounded it as a friend, and he that iudged it fit, agreed willingly to it: and this marriage was farre forward without the knowledge of Celion. But when he perceiued it, he could not be letted from finding a meane to talke with Bellinde, to giue her such reproches, that she was almost ashamed: and the shepheard see­ing he must vse other remedy than words, ranne presently to the best, that was, to his father, to whom he made this speech: I shall be very sorry to disobey you at any time, and lesse in this than any other. I see, you like well of the alliance of Amaranthe: you may well know, that there is not a shepheardesse that I affect more: yet I loue her for a mistris, but not for a wife; and I beseech you commaund me not to tell the cause. The fa­ther at this speech, suspected that he had found some bad condition in the shepheardesse, and in his soule commended his sonnes wisedome that had that command ouer his affections: so that blowe was broken: and for that the thing was so farre passed, that many knew it; many also asked why it proceeded so coldly? the father could not choose but say somewhat to his most familiars, and they to others, that at last it came to Amaranthe, who at the first tormented her selfe much, but afterward setting before her selfe what her folly was, to seeke to make him loue her by force, by little and little she fell off, and the first occasion that shee sawe fit and conuenient to marry her selfe, shee tooke hold on. So these louers were eased of a burden so hard to be borne. But this was not, but that they might be o­uer-charged with another much more heauy.

Bellinde was now of age to be married, and Philemon infinitely desi­rous to bestow her, to haue in his old dayes the contentment to behold himselfe renewed in that which might come of her. Hee would haue receiued Celion; but Bellinde that shunned marriage euen as death, had forbidden the shepheard to speake, onely shee had promised him, that if shee were constrayned to marry, shee would giue him notice of it, that hee might demaund her: which was the cause, that Philemon beholding the coldnesse of Celion, would not offer her vnto him. And in the meane time Ergaste, a principall shepheard of that Countrey, and who was well esteemed of euery one for his commendable vertues, procured that shee was demaunded; and because hee would not haue it vented before hee were assured; he which managed the businesse, dealt so secretly and wa­rily, as the promise of marriage was as soone knowne as it was demaun­ded. For Phil [...]m [...] assuring himselfe of the obedience of his daughter, bound himselfe by word, and after told her of it.

[Page 365] At the first shee found the resolution hard which she was to take, be­cause he was a man whom she had neuer seene: yet that good spirit that neuer stoopes vnder the burden of misfortune, raysed vp it selfe present­ly, ouercomming that displeasure, and would not suffer onely her eye to giue figne of sorrow for that consideration. But she could neuer obtaine this ouer her selfe for Celion: and of necessity, her teares must pay the er­rour of her ouer-obstinate hatred of marriage. So it was, that to satisfie (in some sort) her promise, she aduertised the poore shepheard, that Phi­lemon would marry her. On the sudden, hauing the permission so much desired, hee so sollicited his father, that the same day he spake with Phi­lemon.

But now was no time, for which the father of Bellinde was much grieued, for hee loued him better than Ergaste. O God! what was the sorrow when he knew the award of his misfortune? hee went out of the house, and ceased not, vntill he found out the shepheardesse. At the mee­ting he could not speake, but his face manifested well enough what Phi­lemons answer was. And though she stood in as great need of good coun­sell as he, and strength to support this blowe; yet would she declare her selfe as wel vn-vanquished by this displeasure, as she had alwayes gloried to be in all others. But likewise would she not appeare to be so insensible, but the shepheard might haue some knowledge that she felt her euill, and that it displeased her. Whereupon she demaunded, to what the demand which hee made to her father amounted? The shepheard answered her with the same words that Philemon had said to him, adding so many com­plaints and desperate laments, that she had beene a Rocke, if she had not beene moued. Yet shee interrupted him, fighting against her selfe with more vertue than is credible, and told him, that complaints are proper to weake spirits, and not to persons of courage: That he did himselfe great wrong, and her also, to vse that language. And (sayd she) at last, what is become of that good resolution which you said you would haue a­gainst all accidents, but the change of my amity? and can you haue an o­pinion, that any thing can shake it? Do you not see that these words can not boot vs anything, but to make them that heare vs conceiue an euill opinion of vs? For Gods sake do not set a stayne in my fore-head, which with such paine I haue hitherto auoyded: and since there is none o­ther remedy, pacifie your selfe, as I doe; and (it may be) the Heauens will turne all things more to our contentment, than at this time wee are permitted to wish for. For my part I wil breake this misfortune as much as I can possibly.

[Page 366] But if there be no remedy, yet must not we be without resolution, ra­ther let vs part asunder.

These last words brought the despaire of all, making him thinke, that this great courage proceeded from small amity. If it were as easie for me, answered the shepheard, to resolue against this accident, as you, I would iudge my selfe vnworthy to be beloued; for so feeble an amity cannot merit so great happinesse. Well, for end and reward of my seruices, you giue me a resolution in the assured losse which I see of you, and secretly to say to me, that I must not despaire, though I see you become anothers. Ah Bellinde, with what eye will you see this new friend? With what heart can you loue him? And with what fauors will you entertaine him, since your eye hath a thousand times promised, that it would looke on none other with loue but me; and since this heart hath sworne to me, that it could neuer loue any but me; and since loue hath destined your fauours to no lesse affection then mine? Well, you command mee to leaue you: to obey you, I will doe so; for I will not at the end of my life, beginne to disobey. But that which makes me vndertake it, is, to know assuredly, that the end of my life shall not happen, before the end of your amity; & though I call my selfe the most vnhappy that liues, yet I cherish my for­tune the more, for that it hath presented vnto me such an occasiō, to make my loue knowne to you, that you may not doubt of it: and yet I shall not be satisfied in my selfe, if the last moment that remaines, be not employed in assuring you. I pray the heauen (see what my amity is!) that in this new election, it fill you with as much happinesse, as you cause in me de­spaire. Liue happy with Ergaste, and receiue him with as great content­ment, as I haue had will to doe you seruice, if my dayes would haue per­mitted me, that this new affection, full of pleasures, which you promise to your selfe, may accompany you to your graue, as I assure you, that my faithfull amity shall close mine eyes for your sake, with extreme griefe.

That Bellinde let Celion talke so long, it was for feare, that speaking, her teares would doe the office of words, and that, that would encrease the griefe of the shepheard, or that it would giue proofe of the small po­wer she had ouer her selfe. Proud beauty, that louest rather to be iudged to haue too little loue, then too little resolution! But at last, finding her strengthned enough to giue answer, she sayd, Celion, you thinke you giue me proofe of your amity, and you doe the contrary: for, how haue you loued me, hauing so euil an opiniō of me? If since this last accidēt you haue conceiued it, beleeue the affection was not great, which could so readily suffer a change: But if you had no euill opinion of me, how is it possible [Page 367] you should beleeue that I haue loued you, and that now I loue you no more? For Gods sake haue pitty on my fortune, and conspire not with her to encrease my sorrow: consider what small likelihood there is, that Celion, whom I loue aboue the rest of the world, and whose life pleases me as much as mine owne, may bee changed for an Ergaste, who is vn­knowne to me, and in whose place I choose rather to espouse my tombe; that if I be forced, it is the commandement of my Father, whom my ho­nour will not suffer me to contradict. But is it possible you should not re­member the protestations I haue so often made to you, that I would not marry my selfe? And you ceased not to loue mee: whence hath it this change? For, if without marrying me, you haue loued me, why can you not now loue me, without marrying mee, hauing an husband who can for­bid mee to haue a brother whom I may alwayes loue with that amity I ought? Good will holds mee neerer to you then is permitted me. Fare­well, my Celion: liue and loue me, who will loue you euen to my end, what­soeuer becomes of Bellinde.

At this word she kissed him, which was the greatest fauour that hi­therto she had done him, leauing him so besides himselfe, that he was not able to frame a word to giue her answer. Whē he was come to himself, & that he considered that Loue stooped vnder du [...]y, and that there was not a sparke of hope remaining, which might shine among his displeasures, as a person voyde of resolution, he went into the Wood, and into the places most couert, where hee did nothing but complaine of his cruell disaster, what aduice soeuer his friends could giue him. He liued in this sort many dayes, during which, he made the ro [...]ks to pitty him. And that she, who was the cause of his euil might haue some, feeling, hee sent her these verses:

Though he made it not appeare in any one of his actions, that there remained any hope in him, yet he alwaies had some little, because the contract of marriage was not yet passed; and for that he knew well, that oftentimes those meetings were often broke off, sometimes they that [Page 371] were thought most certaine. But when he knew the articles were signed on both sides, faire Nymph, how can I tell you the least of his despaires? He wrung his hands, he tore his haire, hebeat his brest with thumpes: to be short he was a man transported, and so without reason, that he oftentimes went out with a purpose to kill Ergaste. But when he was ready for it, some sparke of consideration, which in the middest of so great fury with-held him, made him feare to offend Bellinde, to whom, notwithstanding, trans­ported with passion, he wrote oftentimes letters so full of loue and repro­ches, that she could hardly reade them without teares. Among others he, sent her such an one:

At the end of the letter were these verses.

When Bellinde receiued these letters and verses, shee was in paine to send him any of hers, because that hearing talke of the strange life he led, and the words which he vttered against her, she could not suffer it with­out [Page 362] great displeasure, considering what great cause of speech this gaue to them, who haue their eares but to listen afternewes of others, and tongues to be telling them. Her letter was thus:

Though Celion were so transported, that his spirit was almost incapa­ble of reasons, which his friends could present him, yet so it was, that affection opened his eyes at that blowe, and made him see that Bellinde had counselled him to some purpose, so that resoluing to be gone, he se­cretly gaue order for his voyage, and the day before he would depart, he writ to his shepheardesse, hauing a purpose to obey her, and he besought her to giue him the commodity that hee might take leaue of her, to the end he might depart with some sort of consolation. The shepheardesse that truly loued him, though shee foresawe that this farewell would but increase his displeasure, would not deny him this request, and appoynted the next day in the morning at the fountaine of Sicomores.

The day had scant begunne to dawne, when the desolate shepheard leauing his cabbin with his flocke, droue the right way to the Foun­taine, [Page 363] where casting himselfe at length, and his eyes on the waters course, he beganne, while he attended his shepheardesse, to entertaine himselfe about his approching misfortune; and after he had beene somewhile si­lent, he breathed out these verses:

While this shepheard talked thus with himselfe, and that he vttered loude enough many words at randon, he was so troubled with this dis­after; [Page 374] Bellinde, that had not lost the remembrance of the appoyntment which she had giuen him, as soone as she could free her selfe from them about her, went to seeke him, so much trauelled with sorrow to lose him, that she could not hide it, but that it appeared in her countenance. Ergaste, who that morning was risen in good time to see her, by chance perceiued her afar off, and seeing her go alone, and (as he thought) sought out the thickest bushes, had a minde to know whither she went. That was the cause, that following her farre off, he sawe shee tooke the way to the fountaine of Sicomors; and casting his eye a little furder off, though it were very earely, he obserued, that already there was a flocke feeding. Hee that was very aduised, and was not ignorant of the affaires of this shepheardesse, but that he had heard speech of the loue which Colion bare her, suddenly entred into conceit, that this flocke was his, and that Bellinde went to seeke him.

Now though he made no doubt of the chastity of his mistris, yet did he easily beleeue, that shee hated him not, thinking that so long a suite could not haue beene continued if shee had misliked it. And, to satisfie his curiosity, as soone as he sawe her vnder the trees, and that she could not spie him, fetching a compasse somevvhat about, hee hid himselfe among some bushes; where hee perceiued the shepheardesse set on the turffes, which were raised about the Fountaine in the fashion of seates, and Celion on his knees by her. What an assault receiued he at this sight? Yet, for that hee could not heate what they sayd, hee went softly, and he came so neere them, that there was nothing but an hedge (which com­passing about the fountaine like a pale) shaddowed him. From that place then casting his eyes betvveene the opening of the leaues, and being ve­ry attentiue withall to their discourse, he heard the shepheardesse answer him, And how, Celion, is it power or will to please me, that makes you wanting in this occasion? Shall this accident haue more force ouer you, than the power you haue giuen me? Where is your courage, Celion, or rather, where is your amity? Haue you not heeretofore ouercome for the loue you beare me, greater misfortunes than these? If it be so, where is the affection, or where is the resolution that made you doe it? Would you haue me beleeue that you haue lesse now, than you had then? Ah shepheard! consent thou rather to the shortening of my life, than to the lessening of that goodwill which you haue promised me: and as hitherto I haue had that power ouer you that I listed, so for the time to come, let nothing be able to diminish the same.

Ergaste heard that Celion answered her: Is it possible, Bellinde, that you [Page 375] can enter into doubt of mine affection, and of the power you haue of me Can you haue so great a want of vnderstanding? and can the heauens be so vniust, that you can forget those testimonies which I haue giuen you? and that they haue suffered that I should suruiue the good opinion which you are to haue of mee? You, Bellinde, you may call into question that which neuer any one of my actions, nor of your commaundements left doubtfull: At least, before you take so disaduantagious opinion against me, demaund of Amaranthe, what she beleeues; demaund the respect which makes me silent; demaund of Bellinde her selfe, if euer shee ima­gined any thing difficult, that my affection did not surmount.

But now that I see you entirely anothers, and after the end of my dis­appoynted loue, leauing you in the armes of a more happy man than my selfe, I must be gone, and banish my selfe for euer from you. Alas, can you say it is want of affection, or of will to obey you, if I feele a paine more cruell than that of death? How shepheardesse! can you thinke I do loue you, if without dying I know you another mans? Will you say, it should be loue and courage that make me insensible of this disaster? ra­ther, in truth, shall it not be neither loue nor courage to suffer this with­out dispaire? O shepheardesse! oh that you and I shall be a Fable a long while! for if this weaknes, which makes me vnable to liue, and support this misfortune, makes you doubt of my affection; on the contrary, that great constancy, and that extreme resolution, which I see in you, is to me an o­uer-certaine assurance of your small amity. But withall, why must I hope more of you, when another (O the cruelty of my destiny!) is to enioy you? At this word the poore shepheard fell on the knees of Bellinde with­out strength, or sence.

If the shepheardesse were touched to the quicke, as well at the words, as at the swowning of Celion, you may iudge (faire Nymph) since she lo­ued him as much as was possible; and she must dissemble, that she had no feeling of this dolorous separation. When she saw him in a swownd, and that she thought she was not heard, but of the Sicomors, and the water of the fountaine, vnwilling to hide from them the displeasure which she had kept so secret from her companions, and those whom she ordinarily sawe; Alas (said she) wringing her hands! Alas, O soueraigne goodnesse! take me out of this misery, or out of this life; for pitty, either breake off my cruell disaster, or let my cruell disaster breake me! And there cast­ing downe her eyes on Celion, And thou (sayd she) ouer-faithfull shep­heard, which art not miserable, but in that thou louest miserable me, let the heauens be pleased, either to giue thee the contentments thou deser­uedst, [Page 366] or to take me from the world, since I am the only cause that thou sufferest the displeasures which thou meritest not. And then holding her peace a while, she beganne againe, O how hard a thing it is to loue well, and to be wise withall? For I see well, my father hath reason to giue mee to the wise Ergaste, whether for his merits, or for his substance. But a­las! what doth this knowledge auaile me, if Loue forbid mine affection to delight in him?

I know that Ergaste merits more, and I can hope for nothing more to my benefit than to be his. But how can I giue my selfe to him, if Loue haue already giuen mee to another? Reason is on my fathers side, but Loue is for me; and not a loue lately borne, or that hath no power, but a Loue which I haue conceiued, or rather, which the heauens haue cau­sed to be borne with me, which grew vp with me from my cradle, and which by so long tract of time is so insinuated into my soule, that it is more my soule than my soule. O God! can I hope to put it off without losse of life? And if I cannot vndoe it, tell me, Bellinde, what will become of thee? In bringing out these words, the great teares fel from her eyes, and running downe along her face, wet both the hand and cheeke of the shepheard, who by little and little comming to himselfe, caused the shepheardesse to breake off her complaints, and wiping her eyes for feare lest hee should marke it, changing both her countenance, and voyce, she spake to him in this sort, Shepheard, I will confesse that I haue a feeling of your paine, (it may be) as much as your selfe, and that I cannot doubt of your goodwill, vnlesse I were the most mis-vnderstanding person in the world.

But, to what end serue this acknowledgement, and those feelings? since the heauens haue subiected me to him, that hath giuen mee being, would you haue me so to be, that I disobey him? But be it, that affection more strong preuaile aboue duty, shall we therefore, Celion, be at rest? Is it possible, if you loue me, that you can haue any contentment to see me all the rest of my life long full of displeasures and griefes? And can you thinke that the blame which I shall incurre, whether for disobeying my father, or for the opinion that euery one shall haue of our life passed, to my disaduantage, can leaue me one moment of quie [...]nesse? It may be, this will be more credible of another than of me, that haue alwayes so bla­med them that haue carried themselues thus, that the shame to see my selfe falne into their fault, will be more insupportable to me, than the most cruell death which the heauens may ordaine. Arme your selfe there­fore with this resolution, O shepheard, that as for the time passed, our af­fection [Page 367] neuer made vs cōmit any thing that was against our duty, though our loue were extreme; so for the time to come, we must not suffer that it compell vs to doe it. Besides that, to things which haue no remedy, complaints seeme vnprofitable.

Now it is certaine, that my father hath giuen me to Ergaste, and that gift can neuer be reuoked, but by Ergaste himselfe. Iudge you what hope wee can haue euer that will be. It is true, that hauing disposed of my affection before my father did of me, I promised and swore to you, before all the gods, and particularly, before the deities which dwell in this place, that for affection I would be yours, vntil I were in my tombe: & that there was neither father nor husband, nor tyranny of duty should euer make me doe against the oath which I haue made you. The heauens haue giuen me to a father, that father hath giuen my body to an husband. As I may not contradict heau [...], so my duty forbids me to refuse the ap­poyntment of my father. But, neither the heauens, nor my father, nor my husband shall euer keep me from hauing a brother, whom I will loue, as I haue promised him, whatsoeuer may come of it. At these last words, foreseeing that Celion would fal againe to plaints and teares; to put it off, she rose, and taking him by the head, kissed his brow, and bidding him farewell, and going away: Shepheard, God grant thee as much content­ment (said she) in thy iourney, as thou leauest me little in the case I am in.

Celion had neither the strength to answer her, nor the courage to fol­low her; but being risen, and holding his armes acrosse, he went, accom­panying her with his eyes, as farre as he could see her; and when the trees tooke away his view, lifting vp his eyes to heauen, all laden with teares, after many great sighs, he ranne away on the other side, without care, ei­ther of his flocke, or of any thing he left in his cabbin. Ergaste, who lay hid behinde the bush, and had heard their discourse, was more satisfied with the vertue of Bellinde, than hee could expresse, admiring both the force of her courage, and the greatnes of her honesty. And after he had long stayed, rauished with this thought, considering the extreme affecti­on that was betweene these two louers, hee beleeued that it would be an act vnworthy himselfe, to be cause of their separation, and that the hea­uens had ordained him to meet with that farewell so fitly, but to let him see the great errour which he went about to commit vnawares. Being then resolued to worke for their contentment, all he could possibly, hee set himselfe to follow Celion, but he was by this time so farre gone, that he knew not how to ouertake him and thinking to find him in his cabbin, [Page 378] he tooke a narrow path that led directly to it. But Celion was gone a con­trary way: for without speaking to any of his kinred or friends, he went wandring many dayes, without any other purpose than to flie from men, and fed on the wilde fruits which extreme hunger enforced him to gather in the woods. Ergaste, that sawe his purpose was broken on that side, after a day or two's search, went to finde out Bellinde, hoping to know of her, what way he had taken: and by chance, he found her at the same place, where she had bid Celion adieu, all alone on the side of the Foun­taine, at that time meditating on the last accident that befell her in that place; the remembrance whereof brought teares from the depth of her heart. Ergaste, that sawe her long before, came purposely to take her in the most priuate sort hee could possibly: and seeing her teares like two Springs, runne downe into the Fountaine, he had so much pitty, that he swore, not to take a good nights slee [...], vntill hee had remedied her displeasure. And to lose no time, aduauncing himselfe at once towards her, he saluted her.

Shee that sawe her selfe ouertaken with teares in her eyes, that shee might hide them, making shew to wash her selfe, and nimbly casting her hands into the water, wet her face all ouer, so that if Ergaste had not seene her teares before, he could hardly haue knowne she wept: which yet made him more to wonder at her vertue. At that time she painted in her face a smiling countenance, and turning to the shepheard, said to him, with a fashion of courtesie, I thought to haue beene a lone (gentle shep­heard) but for that I see you are come for the same cause (as I thinke) that brought me hither, I would say, to refresh you, and without fayning, see the best Spring, and the most fresh that is in this Plaine. Wise and faire shepheardesse (answered Ergaste smiling) you haue reason to say, that the same cause; which made you come hither, hath likewise brought me. For it is true; but where you say, that you and I come to refresh our selues, I must contradict it, for that neither of vs had it for our pur­pose. For my part, said the shepheardesse, I confesse I may be deceiued for you: but for mine owne particular, you must permit me to say, that there is none that knowes more than my selfe. I grant (sayd Ergaste) that you know more than all others. But you shall not therefore make mee con­fesse, that the cause that brought you hither, is the very same you haue spoken of.

And what thinke you then (sayd she) it was? At this word she laid her hand on her face, seeming to rubbe her eye-browes, but, indeede, to hide (in some sort) the rednesse which was risen. Which Ergaste mar­king, [Page 369] and willing to free her of the paine wherein hee sawe her, answered thus: Faire and discreet shepheardesse, you must vse no more dissimu­lation with mee, that know as well as you, that which you do thinke you haue most secret in your soule: and to manifest vnto you that I lie not, I tell you, that at this present, you are heere at this waters side, thinking with great displeasure on the last adieu, which you gaue vnto Celion in this place where you are. I (sayd shee) presently all ouertaken? Yes, you (said Ergaste:) but be not greeued that I know it. For I doe so esteeme of your vertue and worth, that it shall be so farre from hurting you, that I desire it should be the cause of your contentment. I know the long seruice which this shepheard hath done you: I know with how much honour hee hath wooed you. I know with what affection he hath continued these many yeeres: and moreouer, with what sincere and ver­tuous amity you haue affected him.

The knowledge of all these things makes me desire death, rather than to be the cause of your separation. Thinke not that it is Ielousie that causeth mee to speake in this manner: I shall neuer enter into any doubt of your vertue, since I haue heard with mine eares the wise dis­course which you haue had with him. No more thinke you, but that I beleeue, that losing you, I shall likewise lose the best fortune that I could wish for: but the onely cause that driueth mee to giue you to him, whose you ought to be, is this (O wise Bellinde) that I will not buy my contentment with your euerlasting displeasure: and truely, I should thinke my selfe to be culpable both before God and men, if by my oc­casion, so good and vertuous an amity should be broken off betvveene you.

I therefore come to tell you, that I choose rather to depriue my selfe of the best alliance that euer I shall haue, to set you in your former liber­tie, and to giue you backe againe the contentment which mine would haue taken from you. And besides that, I thinke to do and performe that which I beleeue my duetie commaundeth me; it shall be no small satis­faction to me, to thinke, that if Bellinde be contented, Ergaste was an instrument of her contentment. Onely I doe require, that if heerein I binde you being the cause of the re-vnion of your amity, you will be pleased to receiue mee as a third to you two, and that you will yeeld mee the same part of goodwill, which you promised to Celion, when you did thinke to marry Ergaste: I meane, that I may be a friend to you two, and be receiued as a brother.

[Page 370] Can I (faire Nymph) shew you the contentment vnhoped for of this shepheardesse? I thinke it is impossible: for she was so surprized, that she knew not with what words to thanke him: but taking him by the hand, she went to sit downe on the turfes of the fountaine; where, after she had paused a while, and seeing the good will wherewith Ergaste bound her, she declared all along, what had passed betweene Celion and her, and after a thousand kinds of thankes, which I omit, for seare of troubling you, she besought him to goe seeke him, for that the transport of Celion was such, that hee would not come backe with any man in the world that should seeke him, for that he would neuer beleeue that good will of his, whom he had neuer giuen such cause to, if it were assured him by any other: But on the contrary, he would imagine it were a trick to bring him backe. Er­gaste, that desired in any case to end the good worke he had begunne, re­solued to be gone the nextday, with Diamis the brother of Celion, promi­sing her not to come backe without bringing him with him.

Beeing then departed with this purpose, after hee had sacrificed to Thautates, to desire him to direct them to the place where they might find Celion, they tooke the way that first offered it selfe to them. But they had sought long in vaine, before they had any newes, if himselfe, transpor­ted with fury, had not resolued to returne into Forrests, to kill Ergaste, and then with the same weapon to pierce his owne heart, before Bellinde, not being able to liue and know that another enioyed his good. In this rage hee set himselfe on his way: and because hee nourished himselfe but with hearbes and fruits, which hee found along the way, hee was so feeble, that he could scarce goe: and had not his rage carried him, hee could not haue done that; yet must he diuers times of the day rest him, especially when sleepe pressed him.

It fell out, that wearied in this sort, hee lay downe vnder some trees which gaue a pleasing shadow to a Fountaine, & there, after he had some while thought of his displeasures, he fell asleep. Here Fortune, who deligh­ted her selfe with the griefes shee had wrought him, disposes to make him intirely happy. Ergaste and Diamis passed by this way, and by chance Dia­mis went first: on the sudden when he saw him, he knew him, and turning softly, came, to aduertise Ergaste, who very ioyfull, would haue gone to embrace him, but Diamis held him backe, saying, I beseech you, Ergaste, doe nothing herein that may turne to euill: my brother, if at once wee should tell him this good newes, would dye with ioy; and if you knewe the extreme affliction that this accident hath brought him, you would be of the same minde. Therefore, me thinkes, it will bee better that I tell it [Page 371] him by little and little, and because hee will not beleeue me, you may come after to confirme it.

Ergaste finding this aduice good, got behind some trees where he might see them, and Dianis went to him. And it must needes be, that he was in­spired by some good Angell: for if at the first Celion had spyed Ergaste, it may be, that following his resolution, he had done him some displeasure. Now, at the time that Dianis came towards him, his brother awaked, and beginning againe his ordinary entertainements, hee set himselfe to com­plaine in this manner:

D [...]amis would not come suddenly on him: but after hee had harkened somewhile, he made a noyse purposely, that hee might turne his head to­wards him; and seeing that he beheld him astonished, hee went softly to him, and after he had saluted him; he sayd, I thanke God, brother, that I haue found you so fitly, to doe you the message that Bellinde sendes you.

Bellinde, sayd he presently? It is possible she should haue any remem­brance of me, betweene the armes of Ergaste? Ergaste, said Diamis, hath not Bellinde betweene his armes: and I hope, if you haue any resolution, she shall neuer be his. And doubt you, answered Celion, that resolution shall be wanting to me in such an affaire? I would say, replyed Diamis, wisedome. I thinke, answered Celion, there as no wisedome that can crosse the order that Destiny hath resolued. Destiny, sayd Diamis, is not so con­trary to you, as you thinke: and your affaires are not in so euill termes as you beleeue: Ergasts refuses Bellinde. Ergaste, sayd Celion, refuse her? It is certaine, continued Diamis, and that you may be better assured, Ergaste himselfe seekes you out to tell you so much. Celion hearing these newes, stood without answer, almost besides himselfe; and then speaking againe, You deceiue your selfe, brother, sayd he, or say you this to abuse me? I sweare, answered Diamis, by the great Thautates, Hesus, and Tharamus, and all that which wee account most sa­cred, that I tell you true, and you may soone know it of the shepheard Er­gaste. Then Celion lifting vp his hands and eyes to heauen: O God, said ne, to what more happy end doe you reserue me? His brother, to inter­rupt him, said; You must talke no more of misfortune and death, but onely of ioy and contentment: and aboue all, prepare to thanke Ergaste for the good which hee hath done you, for I see him come towards vs. At this word Celion rises vp, and seeing him so neere, ranne to embrace him with as much good will, as a little before hee had borne him malice. But when he knew the truth of this affaire, hee cast himselfe on his knees before Ergaste, and would haue kissed his feet. I cut off all their discourse (faire Nymph) and will onely tell you, that being returned, Ergaste [...] him Bellinde; and with the consent of his father, hee caused her to [Page 373] be espoused to him, and onely desired, as he had before requested Bel­linde, that Celion would accept him for a third, in their honest and sin­cere affection; and giuing himselfe entirely to them, would neuer marry.

See, (faire and wise Nymph) that that it pleased you to know of their fortune, which was pleasing to all three, so long as it pleased God they should liue together: for some while after, there was borne them a sonne, whom they called Ergaste, for the amity they bare to the gentle Ergaste, and long to preserue his memory. But it fell out, that in the cruell pillage which some strangers made in the prouinces of the Sequans, Viennois and Segusians, this little Insant was lost, and dyed, without doubt, for want: for they neuer heard newes of him. And some yeeres after, they had a daughter, named Diane: but Celion nor Ergaste had not long the pleasure of this childe, because they dyed shortly after, and both on one day: and this is Diane, of whom you asked me newes, and who is accounted in our Hamlet, for one of the fayrest and wisest shepheardesses in all Forestes.

The Historie of Ligdamon.

AFter Ligdamon had taken leaue of you, hee went with Lindamor, accompanied with so many goodly designes, that hee promised himselfe no lesse then to winne by this voyage that which his seruices could not by his presence, resoluing to doe so many famous acts, that whether the name of valiant, which his victories gaue him, might be pleasing vnto you, or well dying, he might leaue you to sorrow. With this designe he came into the Army of Meroue, a Prince filled with all perfections which are necessary to a Conqueror, and arriued so luckily, that the battaile was assigned the seuenth day after; so that all the young Knights had no other greater care, then to visite their Armes, and to put their Horses into good plight. But it is not of them that I am to speake: Therefore letting passe all vnder silence which touches not Ligdamon, I will tell you, that the day assigned for this great fight being come, the two Armies came out of their Campe, and had sight the one of the other, setting themselues in battaile array; here a squadron of Horsemen, there a battalion of Footmen; here the Drums, there the Trumpets: on the one side, the neighing of Hor­ses, on the other, the voice of Souldiers raysed such a noyse, that one might well say, that Bellona the dreadfull was towling in this Playne, and that she had brought forth whatsoeuer was most horrible in her Gorgon. For my part, I (who was neuer in the like occasion) was so deaffed with that I heard, and so dazled with the brightnesse of the armour, that indeede I knew not where I was; yet my resolution was not to leaue my Master: for the bringing me vp from my child­hood, me thought bound me to it, and not to goe farre from him in this occasion, where nothing was presented to our eyes, but with the ensignes of death. But this was nothing to the strange confusion, when all these squadrons and all these battailons met together, when the signe of battaile was giuen: for the Horsemen set on the enemy, and the Infanterie likewise, with so great a noyse which the Men, Ar­mour, and Horses made, that one could not heare it thunder.

After there had passed many clouds of arrowes, I cannot tell you true how I found my selfe with my Master in the middest of the ene­mies, that I could not but admire the great gashes of Ligdamons Sword: and without fayning, faire Nymph, I saw him doe such mer­uailes, that one made me forget the other. So it was, that his valour [Page 7] was such, that Meroue would know his name, as hauing noted him that day among all the other Knights.

By this time the former Squadron grew victorious, and our men began to order themselues to set on the second; when the enemie, to make vp one entire push, caused all his forces that remayned, to march forward, that he might with that speed infest them, before Meroue should be able to succour them in time. And indeed, if he had had to doe with a Captaine lesse experienced then him, I thinke his purpose had taken effect. But this great Souldier iudging the despayre of the Aduersary, at the same time diuided three new Squadrons, two to the two Wings, and the third in the tayle of the former, so fitly, that they sustayned a great part of the first shocke; yet wee who were ad­uanced forwardest, found our selues much ouer▪ layd with great num­bers. But I will not now trouble you with a particular description of this dayes worke, and I know not how to bring it about. So it was, that then the two bodies of the footmen being encountred, that of Meroue had the better, and as much as we gayned of ground of them on horseback, so much lost the Infanterie of the enemie. At the shock which we receiued, there were many of ours borne to the ground, be­sides those whom the arrowes of the Infanterie, from the beginning of the battaile, had vnhorsed: for at the meeting, the enemy causing some Archers to shoot off, made vs draw through the Wings so many Ar­rowes, that our horsemen not daring to leaue their rankes, had much adoe to beare them, before Meroue had sent some of his to skirmish with them. And among those that at the second brunt were put to the worse, Clidaman was one, for his horse fell downe dead, by three wounds of three arrowes. Ligdamon, that had alwayes his eyes on him, suddenly, seeing him on the earth, spurred his horse in extreme furie, and did such deedes of armes, that he made a Round of dead bodies about Clidaman, who in the meane time had leysure to free himselfe from his horse. The furie of the enemie, which by this fall of Clida­man was renewed in that place, had at last trode him vnder the horses feet, but for the helpe and valour of my Master, who allighting, set him on his owne horse, staying on foot so wounded and so charged with the enemie, that he could not mount on the horse that I brought him. At this instant, our men were forced to giue backe, as feeling their weaknesse, as I thinke by the inuincible arme of my Master; and the mischiefe was so great for vs, that we found our selues in the midst of so many enemies, that there was no more hope of safety: Yet would [Page 8] neuer Ligdamon yeeld himselfe, though hee were so wounded and so wearied as may be imagined; yet was there none so hardy, seeing what gashes hee gaue with his arme, that durst lay hold on him. At last, with all the furie of their horse fiue or six came to strike him, and so suddenly, that hauing bestowed his Sword in the belly of the first horse, it brake neere the hilt, and the horse strucken to the heart, fell downe vpon him. I ranne to helpe him vp; but tenne or twelue that cast themselues on him, hindered me: and so both of vs halfe dead, were raysed vp.

And this accident was yet more vnfortunate, in that, that almost at the same time our men recouered the ground they had lost, by the succours which Childerick brought from the rereward, and after went on gayning the field, vntill it was wholly gotten at euening, and the lodgings of the enemie burnt, and themselues for the most part ta­ken or slaine. As for vs, we were carried to their principall Towne, called Roan: whither my Master was no sooner come, but many came to visit him; some of them calling themselues his kinsmen, and o­thers, his friends, though hee knew them not. For my part, I knew not what to say, not he to thinke, when he saw those strangers make so much of him: but we were more astonied, when an honourable Lady, well followed, came to visit him, saying, that he was her sonne, with such demonstration of amitie, that Ligdamon was like one besides himselfe; and much more, when she said to him: O Lidias, my child, with what contentment and feare doe I see thee here? for I thanke God, that at the end of my dayes I see thee so much esteemed of by the report of them that haue taken thee: but alas, what is my feare, to see thee in this cruell Towne, since thy enemy Aronte is dead of the wounds which he had of thee, and that thou hast beene condemned to death by the Lords, of Iustice? for my part, I know no other re­medie, but to ransome thee presently, and lye close till thou beest hea­led, that being able to mount on horsebacke, thou mayest bee gone with the Franks. If Ligdamon were astonied at this discourse, you may iudge, and then knew well she tooke him for another. But hee could not answer her, because at the same instant he which had taken him, entred into the Chamber with two Officers of the Towne, to take the names and qualitie of the prisoners, for there were many of their men taken, and they would exchange them. The poore Lady was surprized, fearing they came to carry him to prison, and hearing they asked him his Name, shee was about to tell it her selfe, but my [Page 9] Master thrust her back, and called himselfe Ligdoman the Segusian. She then had an opinion, he meant to dissemble; and to put out all sus­pition, she withdrew her selfe, with a resolution to ransome him with all speed, that he might not be knowne. And it was true, that my Master resembled Lidias so much, that all that saw him, tooke him for him. Now this Lidias was a young man of that Countrey, that being in loue with a faire Lady, had fought with Aronte his Riuall, whose iealousie was such, that it let him goe beyond his dutie, speaking euill both of her and him. Whereat Lidias offended, after hee had spoken twice or thrice to make him change his discourse, and thinking, that he tooke it as out of feare, which indeed proceeded from the wisdome of the young man, he was at last enforced both out of duty and loue to come to Armes, and with that happinesse, that hauing left his ene­mie as dead on the earth, he had the leysure to saue himselfe from the hands of Iustice; which, after that Aronte was dead pursued him so, that though he were absent, yet they condemned him to death. Ligda­mon was so wounded, that he dreamt not of these things: I, that fore­saw the euill that might befall him, alwayes pressed his mother to re­deeme him; which she did, but not so secretly, but that the enemies of Lidias were aduertised of it: so that at their request, the same day the good Lady hauing payed the ransome, and carrying him to her house, those Officers of Iustice came vpon them, and made him take the way to prison, whatsoeuer Ligdamon could say; deceiued like o­thers, by the resemblance of Lidias. So behold him in as great danger as a man might be, that had not offended. But this was nothing to the next dayes worke; when hee was questioned of points whereof he was so ignorant, that he knew not what to say: Notwithstanding, they forbore not to ratifie the former Iudgement, and gaue him no further terme, then to the healing of his wounds.

The bruit presently ran throughout all the Towne, that Lidias was prisoner, and that he was condemned to dye, not as a Murderer only, but as a Rebell, hauing beene taken with Armes in his hand for the Franks, that for this cause he was to be put into the Cage of the Ly­ons; and it was true, that their custome was such: but they would not pronounce this award to him, that he might not make himselfe a­way. Yet they talked of no other thing within the Towne: and the voyce was so spred, that it came to my eares. Wherewith being fea­red, I disguised my selfe so, with the helpe of this good Lady which had redeemed him, that I came to Paris, to find out Meroue and Cli­daman, [Page 10] whom I gaue to vnderstand of this accident: whereat they were much astonied, thinking it almost impossible, that two men should be so alike, that there might be no difference. And to remedy it, they sent speedily two Heralds of Armes, to let the enemies know the er­ror wherein they were: but this serued but to perswade them the more, and to make them hasten the execution of their Iudgement.

The wounds of Ligdamon were almost healed; so that to giue him no longer time, they pronounced the Sentence, That attainted of Murder and Rebellion, Iustice had ordayned that hee should dye by the Lyons, appointed to such an execution: yet because hee was nobly borne, and their countreyman, they did him the grace, to suffer him to carry his Sword and Dagger, as being the Armes of a Knight, wherewith if he had the courage, he might defend himselfe, or at least assay generously to reuenge his death. And at this time in their Councell they made an answer to M [...]roue, That so they would cha­stife all their countreymen that were traytors to their Countrey. Be­hold the poore Ligdamon in extreme danger: yet that courage which yet neuer bended but vnder loue, seeing there was no other remedy, resolued to looke to his owne safetie the best he could. And because Lidias was one of the better Families among the Normans, almost all the people assembled to see this Spectacle. And when hee saw they were ready to put him into this horrible close field, all that hee re­quested, was, that hee might fight with the Lyons one by one. The people hearing so iust a demaund, agreed to it by their acclamations and clapping of hands, what difficulties soeuer the contrary part propounded. So that behold him thrust alone into the Cage: and the Lyons on the other side the barres seeing this new prey, roared so fearefully, that there was none of the standers by that trembled not. Without more, Ligdamon seemed confident among so many dan­gers, and hauing an eye on the first Gate that was to open, lest hee might be surprized, hee saw a furious Lyon come forth with staring looke, and hauing three or foure times strucken the earth with his tayle, began to thrust forth his great fore-feet, and to open his pawes, as if hee would shew him what death hee was to die. But Ligdamon seeing well there was no safetie but in his valour, as soone as hee saw him rise vp, he cast his ponyard so fitly at him, that he planted it in his stomacke euen to the haft, wherewith the Beast being touched at the heart, fell downe dead presently. The cry of the people was great; for euery one being mooued with his confidence, with his [Page 11] valour, and with his courage, fauoured him in his soule: but hee that knew well that the rigour of his Iudges would not stay there, ran rea­dily to take againe his ponyard; and almost at the same time, see ano­ther Lyon, no lesse fearefull then the former, that as soone as the Gate was opened, came with open throat in such furie, that Ligdamon was almost surprized: yet as he passed, he turned himselfe a little aside, and with his Sword gaue him such a blow vpon one of his pawes, that he cut it off, whereat the Beast in furie so suddenly came on him, that he cast him to the ground, but his fortune was such, that in falling, and the Lyon ramping ouer him, he could but hold out his Sword, which fell out so luckily to be vnder his belly, that he fell downe dead almost as soone as the former.

In the meane while that Ligdamon was disputing for his life, behold a Lady faire among the Normans, that cast her selfe on her knees before the Iudges, beseeching them to cause the execution to cease vn­till she had spoken. They that knew her to be of the principall of the Countrey, willingly yeelded her that fauour; and indeed it was shee for whom Lidias had slaine Aronte: her name was Ameryne, and then she spake to them in this sort, with a modest voyce.

My Lords, Ingratitude is to be punished as Treason, because it is a kind of it: Therefore seeing Lidias condemned for being on the contrary side, I feare I should be counted so, if not of you, yet of the Gods, if I thought not my selfe bound to saue his life that hazarded his to saue my honour. This is it for which I present my selfe before you, relying on our priuiledges, which ordaine, That a man condem­ned to death, shall be deliuered, when a maid demaunds him for her husband. As soone as I knew of your Iudgement, I came with all di­ligence to require it, and I could not be here so soone, but he hath run the fortune that all men haue seene; yet since God hath preserued him so happily for me, you are not iustly to deny me.

All the people that heard this demaund, cryed with a ioyfull voyce, Grace, Grace. And though the enemies of Lidias labored the contrary, yet was it concluded, that the priuiledges of the Countrey should take place. But alas, Ligdamon came out of this danger, but to enter into a greater: for being brought before the Iudges, they let him know the cu­stomes of the Country were such, That any man attainted & conuicted of any Crime whatsoeuer, might be deliuered from the rigours of Iu­stice, if a maid demaunded him for husband; so that if he would marry Ameryne, he should be restored to his liberty, and might liue with her.

[Page 12] He that knew her not, found it hard to answer: notwithstanding, seeing no other remedy to escape the danger wherein he was, he pro­mised it, hoping that time would bring out some commoditie to free him out of the Labyrinth.

Ameryne, that had alwayes found Lidias so amorous of her, was not a little astonied at this coldnesse, yet iudging, that the affrightment of the danger wherein hee was, had made him thus besides himselfe, shee had the more pitty on him, and carried him to Lidias mothers house, who was she that procured the marriage, knowing, there was no other remedy to saue her sonnes life: besides that, shee was not ignorant of the loue betweene them, which made her presse the conclusion of the marriage the most that possibly shee could, thinking to please her sonne. But on the contrary, this was to hasten the death of him that could doe no more then he had done. Ah my deare Master, when I call to mind the last words you spake to me, I know not how it is pos­sible for me to liue?

All things were ready for the marriage, and it must be dispatched the next day, when the night before he tooke me aside, and said Egide my friend, didst thou euer see such a fortune as this, that they will make me beleeue that I am not my selfe? Sir, said I, me thinkes it is not euill: Ameryne is faire and rich, all that call themselues her kins­men, are the principall of this Country; what would you desire more? Ah Egide, said he, thou speakest for thine owne ease. If thou knewest the case wherein I am, thou wouldst haue pitty on me. But haue care of what I say, and aboue all the Obligation that thou owest me, and the loue which I haue alwayes found in thee, fayle not as soone as to morrow I shall haue done that I am resolued of, to beare this Letter to the faire Siluy, and relate to her all that thou hast seene; and more­ouer assure her, that I neuer loued any but her, and neuer shall. At this word he gaue me this Letter, which I kept very carefully vntill the next morning; when at the houre that he was to goe to the Tem­ple, he called me, and commanded me to be about him, and made me sweare againe to seeke you out with diligence. At the same time one came to him, to place him in the wedding Chariot, where already the faire Ameryne was set with one of her vnckles, whom she loued and honoured as her father. She was in the midst between Ligdamon and Caristes, so her vnckle was named, all couered with a yellow vayle, and hauing on her head as well as Ligdamon the Garland. It is true, my Masters was of Sifymber, and Amerynes of picked and sweete [Page 13] Aspharagon. Before the Chariot went all the family; and after, only the kinsmen and neerest allies and friends. In this Triumph they came to the Temple, and were brought to Hymens Altar, before which, fiue Torches were lighted: On the right side of Hymen they had placed Iupiter and Iu [...]o; on the left, Ʋenus and Diana. As for Hymen, he was crowned with flowers and sweet Marioram, holding in his right hand a Torch, and in his left a Vayle, of that colour that Amerynes was, as also the buskins which hee had on his feet. When they entred into the Temple, the mother of Lidias and Ameryne ligh­ted their Torches; and then the great Druide comming neere, direc­ted his speech to my Master, and demaunded: Lidias, will you haue Ameryne for the mother of your Family? he stayed somewhile with­out answer, at last he was constrayned to say yes. Then the Druide turning to her: And you Ameryne, will you haue Lidias for father of your Family? and shee answering yes, then taking their hands, and ioyning them together, hee said: And I, in tho behalfe of the great Gods, giue you each to other, and for earnest, you must eat the Con­dition together: and then taking the Wheaten Cake, Lidias cut it in­to pieces, and shee laying them together, of which, according to the custome, they both eate. There remayned no more of all the Cere­monies, but to take the Wine, when turning to me, hee said: Now friend. for the most pleasing seruice that euer thou didst me, reach me the Cup. I did so alas, with a mischiefe ouer diligent. As soone as he had it in his hand, with a voyce lowd ynough he said: O pow­erfull Gods, said he, that know who I am, venge not my death vpon this faire Lady, who taking me for another man, more happy then I, hath brought me to my death: and at this word, drunke all that was in the Cup, which was contrary to the custome, because the husband was to drinke but halfe, and the Wife the rest. She smiling, said vnto him: And how friend Lidias? it seemes you haue forgotten the cu­stome, you should haue left me my part. God forbid, said hee, wife Ameryne, for it is of poyson, which I haue chosen to end my life, rather then to be wanting in my promise to you, and in the affection which I owe to the faire Siluy. O God, said she, is it possible? as yet thin­king it was her true Lidias, but that hee had changed his good will, during his absence, and vnwilling to liue without him, ran with the Cup in her hand, where he was that had giuen the Wine mixed; for the day before he had caused it to be made at the Apothecaries, and before it was knowne what my Master said, notwithstanding any [Page 14] forbidding of his, because it was the custome they gaue her the full cup, which she presently drunke of. And then returning to him, she said, O cruell and ingratefull, thou hast loued death more then me, and I also loue it rather then thy refusall. But if that God which hath hitherto conducted our affections, doe not venge me on a soule so periured in another life, I shall thinke he hath neither care to heare false oathes, nor power to punish them.

Then euery one drew neere her to heare her reproches, and it was then that Ligdamon answered her. Discreete Amerine, I con­fesse I haue offended you if I were he whom you thinke I am, but beleeue me that am now at the ende of my dayes, I am not Lidias, I am Ligdamon, and whatsoeuer errour may bee of mee at this houre, I assure my selfe that time will discouer my iustice. And in the meane time, I rather choose death, then to be wanting to the affection which I haue promised to the faire Siluy, to whom I haue consecrated my life, not being otherwise able to satisfie both.

And then hee continued, O faire Siluy, receiue this will which I offer you, and let this last of all my actions be best receiued, because it is imprinted with the best character of my faithfulnesse. By little and little the poyson gained on the spirits of these two newly married, so that they could hardly draw their breath, when turning his eyes on me, he sayd: Goe my friend, finish that thou hast to doe, and a­boue all, truly recount what thou hast seene, and that death is wel­come to me, that keepes me from offending the fidelitie which I haue vowed to the faire Siluy. Siluy was the last word hee spake, for with that word the faire soule parted from the body: and for my part, I beleeue that if euer louer were happy in the Elisian fields, my maister is, attending vntill he may see you againe there.

And how sayd Siluy, is it true that Ligdamon is dead? without doubt answered he. O God cryed out Siluy. At this word all that she could doe was but to cast her selfe on a bed, for her heart fayled her, and after shee had lyen somewhile with her face towards the beds head, she prayed Leonide who was with her, to take Ligdamons letter, and to tell Egide that he should goe to her lodging, because she would haue him serue her. So Egide withdrew, but so affected that he was couered with teares. Then would loue shew one of his puis­sances, for that Nymph that neuer loued Ligdamon while hee liued, at this time when she heard of his death, shewed so great a feeling, that the most passionate in loue could not do more.

[Page 15] It was vpon this speech that Galathee talking to Celadon, fayde, that hereafter shee would beleeue it is impossible, but a woman once in her life must loue some thing: for this young Nymph hath vsed such cruelties towards all them that loued her, that some are dead for griefe, others euen of despaire haue banished themselues from her sight; and especially this whom she be wailes dead, she hath heretofore brought to that extremitie, that without Leonide the same had be­fallen him then, so that I would rather haue sworne, loue might ra­ther haue found place in the Ice of the coldest of the Alpes, then in her heart; and yet you see now whereto she is reduced.

Madame, answered the shepheard, beleeue not that it is loue, it is rather pitie. In truth she must be harder then euer was stone, if the re­port which this yong man hath made, haue not touched her to the quicke, for I know not who would not in hearing him relate it, though one had no other knowledge of him but this onely action: and for my part, I must say true, I hold Ligdamon happyer then if he were aliue, since he loued this Nymph with such affection, and shee vsed him with as great rigour as I haue knowne, for what greater happinesse can befall him, then to ende his miseries, and to enter into those felicities which doe accompany them. What thinke you was his contentment to see that Siluy laments him, sorrowes for him, and esteemes of his affection: but I meane that Siluy that hath dealt so roughly with him. And then what is that which the louer desires more then to bee able to giue assurance to the party beloued of his faithfulnesse and affection; and to come to this point, what punish­ments, what deaths will he refuse? At this time, when hee sees from the place where he is, the teares of his Siluy, when he heares her sight, what is his happinesse, and what his glory? not onely for that he hath assured her of his loue, but for him to be certen that she loues him.

O no Madame, beleeue me Ligdamon hath no cause to complaine, but Siluy, for (and in time you shall see it) all that shee will represent to her selfe shall bee the ordinary actions of Ligdamon, the discourse of Ligdamon, his fashion, his amitie, his valour: briefly, this I dole will bee ordinarily houering about her, almost like an auenger of the cruelties with which shee hath tormented that poore louer, and repentance which galling her thoughts, will be the executioner of the Iustice of Loue.

[Page 16] THese speeches were so lowde, and so neare Siluy that shee heard them all, and that made her burst for anger, for she thought them probable. At last, after she had endured them some while, and finding her selfe too feeble to resist so strange enemies, shee went out of that chamber into her owne, where there were none to let her from teares. For hauing shut the dore after her, and prayde Leonide to leaue her a­lone, she cast her selfe on her bed, her armes acrosse her stomacke, and her eyes toward heauen, in her memory shee passed through all their life, what affection he had alwayes shewed to her, how patiently hee bore her rigours, with what discretion he had serued her, how long time this affection had lasted, and in the end, said she, all this is now enclosed in a little earth. And in this sorrow remembring her owne discourses, her adues, her impatiencies, and a thousand small particu­larities, she was constrained to say: Hold thy peace memory, let the ashes of my Ligdamon be at rest, since if thou thus torment me, I know he will disauow thee for his, and if thou be not his, I care not for thee. At last, hauing stayed some while silent, she said, well the die is cast, let it shorten or lengthen my life as please the gods, and my destinie, but I will not cease to loue the memory of Ligdamon, to cherish his loue, and to honour his vertues. Galathee in the meane time opened the letter, which yet remained in Leonides hands, shee found it was thus.

These are without faining sayde Celadon, the great reuenges of loue. It is very true answered Galathee, that loue leaues not an offence a­gainst himselfe vnpunished, and thereof it comes that we see herein more strange accidents then in all other of mens actions. But if this be so Celadon, how, quak [...] not you for feare? and how from moment to moment expect not you the reuenging arrowes of this god? And why sayd the shepheard, should I feare, since I am the party offended? Ah [Page 17] Celadon, said the Nymph, if all things were iustly ballanced, how much heauier should you finde your selfe in the offences you doe, then in those you receiue? This is (said the shepheard) this is the heape of misfortune, when the afflicted man is thought happy, and they can see him languish, without taking pitty on him.

But answered the Nymph, tell me shepheard, among all the greatest offences, doe not those of Ingratitude take the chiefe place? It doth without doubt, answered the shepheard. Now since it is so, conti­nued Galathee, how can you wash your selfe, since for the great loue I shew to you, I receiue from you but coldnesse and disdaine? I must at last tell you thus: You see shepheard, being the woman I am, and seeing who you are, I cannot thinke but in some thing or other I haue offended Loue, since he punisheth me with so many rigors. Ce­ladon was extremely sorry that he had begun this discourse, for he la­boured to auoid it as much as possibly hee could; notwithstanding, since it was done, he resolued to cleare it intirely, and said thus to her: Madame, I know not what to answer to your words, except by blush­ing, and yet Loue which makes you speake, constraynes me to answer you. That which you call Ingratitude in me, my affection calls duty, and when it pleases you to know the reason, I will tell you it. And what reason (interrupted Galathee) can you alledge, but that you loue elsewhere, and that your loue tyes you to it? But the Law of Nature proceeds quite otherwise: th [...] commands vs to seeke after our owne good; and can you desire a greater then my amitie? Who is there in all this Countrey that is as I, that can doe that for you that I can? These be mockeries Celadon, to relye on these follies of fidelitie and constancie, words which old folke and they that are become defor­med haue inuented, to hold in their lynes the soules which their faces set at liberty. They say, that all vertues are chayned together, then Constancie cannot be without Prudence: but should this be Pru­dence, to disdaine a certaine good to auoid the title of inconstant? Madame, answered Celadon, Prudence neuer teaches vs to make our profit by vniust meanes, and Nature by her Lawes neuer command [...] vs to build, before we haue layed a good foundation. But is there any thing more shamefull, then not to keepe promise? Is there any thing more nimble then the Spirit, that flyes about like a Bee from flower to flower, drawne with euery new sweet sauour? Madame, if faithfulnesse be lost, what foundation can I lay in your amitie? since if you follow the Law you speake of, how long shall I remaine in this [Page 18] happinesse, [...]o long as you remaine in that place where there is no o­ther man then my selfe.

The Nymph and the shepheard discoursed thus, while Leonide withdrew to her chamber [...], to make a dispatch to Lindamor, who in the end was to come backe with all diligence, that nothing should stay him, otherwise he was to despaire of all things. And the mor­ning that Flurial came backe, after shee had giuen him the Letter, shee said to him: See Flurial, it is now that I shall by your diligence know the loue which you beare to Lindamor, for delay can bring him no lesse then death. Be gone then, or rather flye, and bid him come with all speed, and as he returnes, let him goe the direct way to Adamas his house, for that I haue wonne him intirely for him; and when hee is here, hee shall know the most notorious Treason of Loue which was euer yet inuented: but he must come vnknowne to any, if it be pos­sible.

Thus parted Flurial, so desirous to serue Lindamor, that hee would not returne to his Aunts house, that he might not lose the least time, and would haue no occasion to send him whom Lindamor had dis­patched, defirous to doe the seruice himselfe.

So passed ouer three or foure dayes; during which time, Celadon found himselfe so amended, that hee almost felt no more of his dis­ [...]ase, and alreadie began to thinke the returne of the Druide to bee long, for the hope he had to be go [...]rom that place. And to shor­ten the ouer-long dayes, hee went oftentimes to walke in the Gar­den, and sometimes into the great Wood of the high growne Trees, but neuer without being accompanied by one of the Nymphs, and often by all three.

The humour of Siluy was it that pleased him best, as more sym­pathizing with his owne: therefore hee sought her out as often as hee could.

It fell out one day, all foure being abroad to walke, they passed by the great Denne of Damon and of Fortune: and because the en­trance seemed faire, and made with great Art, the shepheard de­maunded what it was; to whom Galathee answered: Would you see (shepheard) one of the greatest proofes that Loue hath made of his power of long time? And what is it, answered the shep­heard? That is, said the Nymph, the lo [...]es of Mandrake and of Damon; for, for the shepheardesse Fortune, it is a thing ordi­narie.

[Page 19] And who is, replyed the shepheard, this Mandrake? If by the Worke, said Galathee, one may know the Workeman, to make good that I say, you will iudge shee is one of the greatest Magicians of Gaule, for it is she that by her enchantment hath made this Den, and diuers other rarities which are hereabout.

And entring in, the shepheard stood rauished with consideration of the workemanship. The entry was very high and spatious. On the two sides, in stead of pillars, were two Termes, which on their heads sustained the boughts of the vault of the portall. The one fi­gured Pan, the other Syrinx, which were very curiously adorned with stones of diuerse colours: the haire, the eye-browes, the mouthchatos, the beard, and the two hornes of Pan were of Cockles from the sea, and so workemanly set in, that the ciment appeared not.

Syrinx, that was on the other side, had her haire of Roses, and somewhat vnder the nauill one might see them swell by little and little: the tower of the gate on the outside was of rusticke fashion, and ropes of coquils fastened in foure corners hung downe, finished neere the heads of the Termes. Within the Vault there was a rocke which seemed in many places to drop with Salt▪ peter, and ouer the midst it opened with an ouall forme, through which the light came in. This, place, both without and within, was enriched with a great number of Statues, which falling into their cesternes made diuerse fountaines, and all represented some effect of the power of loue.

In the middle of the caue one might see the tombe raysed the height of ten or twelue foote, which at the top ended like a crowne, and all about garnished with tables, whereof the painting was so well done, that the sight deceiued the iudgement, the distance of euery table was filled by halfe pillars of blacke wrought marble, the coynes of the tombe, the bases and the capitall of halfe colours, and the cor­nishes, which round about in fashion of a girdle, held vp the tables, and though of diuerse peeces, yet made but one well composed frame which was of the same marble.

The curiositie of Celadon was great: after he had considered alto­gether, to desire to know the particularities, and that he might giue the Nymph occasion to tell him something, hee commended the in­uention and cunning of the workman.

These are, said the Nymph, the Spirits of Mandrake, which after [Page 20] some time haue beene left here for witnesse, that Loue will no more pardon the gray head then the yellow haire, and alwayes to relate to them that come hither the vnfortunate and faithfull loues of Damon, of her selfe, and of the shepheardesse Fortune.

And how, replyed Celadon, is this the fountaine of the truth of Loue? No, answered the Nymph, but that is not farre hence, and I would I had spirit ynough to make you vnderstand these Tables, for the History is worthy to be knowne.

As shee drew neere to expound them to him, she saw Adamas enter in: who being returned, and not finding the Nymphs at their Lod­gings, iudged they were gone forth to walke; where after he had [...]id the Habits which he brought, he came to seeke them so fitly, that it seemed Fortune conducted him thither, to make him handle the loues of this Fortune. Galathee no sooner spyed him, but she cryed out: O my Father, you come in good time to free me from the paine wherein I am; and then turning to Celadon: See him (shepheard) that will satisfie the desire which you haue to know this History. And after hee had asked him how hee did, and that the salutations were made on both sides; Adamas, to obey the Nymphs commandement, and to content the curiositie of the shepheard, going with them to the Tombe, began in this fort.

The History of Damon and Fortune.

As the Workeman playes with his worke, and doth as pleases him, so the great Gods, by whose hand we were formed, take pleasure to make vs play vpon the Theater of the World the part that they haue chosen for vs. But among all, there is none that hath imaginations so various as Loue, for he makes the old young, and the young old in as short a time as the light lasts of a good eye. And this History, which is truer then I would it were, will giue proofe, that hardly it can be withstood, as by the processe of my discourse you will confesse.

The history of Lidias and Melander.

COnsidering the strange accidents which happen by Loue, mee [...]hinks we are almost constrained to confesse, that if Fortune haue many wheeles to aduance and cast downe, to turne and change hu­mane things, the wheele of loue is that with which she often serues her turne, for there is nothing that yeelds so many changes as this passion of Loue. The examples are alwayes so common before our eyes, that it should be superfluous to tell them. Yet must you confesse when you haue heard what I will I say, that this accident is one of the most re­markable that yet you haue euer heard told. You know how Clidaman by lot became seruant to Siluy, and how Guima [...]es by the letter which he brought from his brother became likewise amorous.

[Page 36] I assure my selfe, since that time, you cannot be ignorant of the designe that made them both depart so secretly, to seeke out Meroue, nor that I might not leaue Clidaman alone in a place so farre off, I sent after him vnder the charge of Lindamor, a company of yong knights of this country, but you can hardly know what befell them since their departure, and that is it which I will now tell you, for there is nothing more worthy to be knowne.

As soone as Clidaman came to thearmy, Guimantes who was well knowne there, brought him to kisse the hands of Meroue and Childe­ricke, and without shewing who he was only gaue them to vnderstand that he was a yong knight, of a good house, that desired to serue them. They were receiued with open armes, and especially for comming in a time when their enemies had renued their forces, and taking good courage had threatned to giue battell. But when Lindamor was come, and that they knew what Clidaman was, the honour and welcome which they did him cannot be told, for within two or three fights he was so famous, that both his friends and enemies knew him and esteemed of him.

Among other prisoners which he and Guimantes tooke, for com­monly they went together in all enterprises, they found a youth of great Brittaine, so faire, but so sad, that it wrought pittie in Clidaman, and because the longer he remained in captiuitie, the more appeared his sorrow: one day he caused him to be called before him, and after he had enquired of his estate and condition, he asked the occasion of his sadnesse, saving, that if it proceeded of his imprisonment, he must like a man of courage beare such accidents, and he was to thanke the heauens that had prouided hee should fall into their hands, since hee was in a place where he should receiue nothing but curtesie, and the delay of his libertie proceeded but from the command of Merou [...], who had forbidden that the prisoners should as yet be ransomed, and when he would giue them leaue, he should see what their curtesie was.

This yong man thanked him, yet was not able to forbeare fighing, whereat Clidaman somewhat more moued, demanded the cause, to whom he answered: Sir knight, this sadnesse which you see painted in my face, and these sighes which steale so often from my brest proceed not of this prison you speak of, but of another which binds me more st [...]aightly: for time and ransome may free mee from this, but from the other, there is nothing but death that can [...]deeme mee. [Page 37] And I am resolued to beare it with patience, if I did not foresee an ouer-speedie end, not by my death onely, but the losse of that parti [...] that keepes me in so strait hold.

Clidaman knew well by his words, that it was Loue whereof he la­boured, and by the experience which he had found in himselfe, con­sidering the disease of his prisoner, he tooke such pittie on him, that he assured him his liberty the soonest hee could possibly, knowing well by proofe, that they be the passions and disquietnesses that ac­company the person that truly loues. Since, faid he, you know that it is Loue, and that your courtesie binds me to beleeue, that the know­ledge you may haue of me, shall not make you change your good will, to the end you may iudge of the cause which I haue to com­playne of, or rather to despayre of, seeing the euill so neere, and the remedy so farre, so you will promise me not to discouer it, I will tell you things which without doubt will astonish you: and when he had promised him, he began in this sort.

Sir Knight, this habit wherein you see me, is not mine owne, but Loue, who sometimes hath cloathed men like women playes with me in this fort, and making me forget in part what I am, hath put me in­to an habit contrary to mine owne, for I am not a man, but a daugh­ter of one of the best Houses of Brutayne, and called Mellandra, fallen into your hands by the greatest fortune that euer was conducted by Loue. It is some while since a young man named Lidias, came to London, flying out of his owne Countrey (as I haue heard since) for hauing killed his enemy in field. They were both of that part of Gaule, which they call Normandy: but because the dead man was of kindred to the greatest among them, he was enforced to flye hi [...] Countrey, to auoid the rigour of Iustice.

Thus being then come to London, is the custome of our Nation, hee found such courtesie that there was no good House wherein he was not right soone familiar: among others, hee liued with that pri­uacie at my fathers, as if hee had beene of his household. And be­cause hee had a purpose to stay there as long as his returne into his Countrey should be forbidden him, he determined to make shew of louing some, that he might the better frame himselfe to the humour of them of great Brittany, that haue euery one some particular Lady. On this resolution he turned (I know not whether I may say for good or euill [...]ortune) his eyes on me, were it that he found me more for his delight or more for his commoditie, he began to professe himselfe to [Page 38] be my seruant. What dissimulations, what wooings, what oathes were those which he vsed to me? I will not trouble you with an o­uerlong discourse. So it was, that after sufficient long wooing (for hee continued two yeeres) I loued him without dissimulation, for that his beautie, his courtesie, his discretion, and valour, were ouer-great allurements to ouercome with long suit any soule, how barba­rous soeuer. I blush not then to confesse it to one that hath had tri­all of Loue, nor to say, that this beginning then was the end of my quiet.

Now these things resting in this state, and liuing with all the con­tentment that the party that loues and is assured of the person belo­ued, may haue; it fell out, that the Franks, after they had wonne so many battailes against the Roman Emperours against the Gothes and Gaules, turned their Armes against the Normans, and reduced them to those termes, that because they are their ancient Allies, they were constrayned to send to London, to demaund succours; which, ac­cording to the allyance made betweene them and those of great Brittaine, was graunted them both by the King and by the Estates. This newes was suddenly divulged throughout the Realme; and we that were of the principall Towne, vnderstood it with the first: And from that time, Lidias began to thinke of his returne; assuring himselfe, that they of his side hauing neede of his like, would easily absolue him of the death of Aronte. Notwithstanding, because hee had alwayes promised mee, not to goe, but hee would carry mee with him, which the malicious man did to deceiue me, and for feare lest I might impeach his departure, hee concealed his purpose from mee. But as there is no fire so closely couered, from which there comes not some smoke, so there is nothing so secret, but some thing or other will discouer it; and so many, before I was aware, told mee of it.

As soone as I knew it, the first time I saw him, I drew him aside: Well (said I) Lidias, haue you resolued that I shall not know that you will leaue me? Thinke you my amitie so weake, that it cannot beare out the strokes of your fortune? If your affaires will haue you returne into your Countrey, why will not your loue permit mee to goe with you? Demaund me of my father, I am assured hee will bee pleased with our allyance, for I know hee loues you: but to leaue mee here alone with your faith forsworne, no Lidias, beleeue mee, doe not commit so great a fault, for the Gods will punish you. [Page 39] He answered me coldly, that he had no thought of returne, and that all his affaires were nothing worth to the good of my presence, that I committed an offence in doubting, and that his actions should constrayne me to confesse as much. And yet this periured person within two dayes after went away with the first Troupes that came from great Brittaine, and tooke his time so fitly, that hee came to the Sea shore the same day that they were to goe, and so tooke ship with them. We were presently aduertised of his departure: Yet had I so strong a fancie that he loued me, that I was the last that beleeued it; so that there were more then eight dayes after his departure, before I could perswade my selfe, that one so well borne could be so deceit­full and vnthankfull. At last, one day following after another with­out any newes, I found I was deceiued, and Lidias was gone.

If then my sorrow were great, iudge you Sir Knight, since falling sicke, I was brought to those termes, that my Physitians not know­ing my disease, despayred of me, and forsaking me, held me for dead. But Loue, who would shew his power, and is a better Physitian then Esculapius, healed me with a strange Antidote. And see how hee de­lights in effects which are contrary to our resolution. When I first knew of the flight of Lidias, for in truth it may be so called, I found my selfe in such sort displeased, that after I had a thousand times cal­led Heauen to witnesse of his perfidiousnesse, I sware I would neuer loue him, as often as hee had sworne to mee, that hee would euer loue mee, and I may tell you wee were both forsworne. For while my hatred was in his greatest fury, behold a Vessell that came from Cal­lays, to report, that the Succours were happily arriued, that told vs, that Lidias went ouer with an intent to warre among them of great Brittaine: but as soone as the Gouernour of the place, who was a kinsman to Aronte, vnderstood of it, hee caused him to bee put in prison, as hauing beene alreadie condemned; that they accounted him for lost, because the Gouernour was of great credit among the Normans, that indeede there was one meane to saue him, but so hard, that there was no man that would hazard it, beeing such an one.

As soone as Lidias saw himselfe arrested, hee demaunded, how a Knight of such reputation as hee was, would reuenge his quarrels by Iustice, and not by Armes? for it is a custome among the Gaules, ne­uer to runne to Iustice in what offends their Honor, but to the Com­bate, and they that doe otherwise, are held dishonourable.

[Page 40] Lipandas, which was the name of the Gouernour, answered, That he slew not Aronte like a man, and if he were not condemned by lu­stice, he would maintaine it by Armes: but being ashamed to fight with one attainted, if he had any of his friends that would offer him­selfe for him, he proffered to fight in that quarrell, that if he were o­uercome, he would set him at liberty, that otherwise lustice should be done. And to giue time to his kinsfolkes and friends, he would keepe him a moneth in his custody, that if none come within that time, hee would giue him ouer into the rigorous hands of the Anci­ents of Roa [...], to be handled as he deserues: and that there might be no aduantage to any, he would this Combat should be fought with Sword and Dagger, in their shirts. But Lipandas being accounted one of the valintest men in all Normandy, there was not one that had the hardinesse to vndertake this combate, besides that the friends of Lidias not vnderstanding of it could not performe that good office. Sir knight, when I remember the contraries, which shake me when I heard this newes, I must confesse I was neuer more confounded in my life, no not when this perfidious man forlooke me. Then would Loue haue me know, that the propositions made against him are more weake when he will, then the waues that beat in vaine against the rock to make it shake: for to pay the tribute of Loue, you must run to the ordinary moneys with which his imposts are payd, which are teares. But after long and vaine bewailing the persidious Lidias, I must in the end resolue of his safetie, thogh it cost me both my restan [...]d honor. And transported with this new furie, or rather with this renewing of Loue I resolued to go to Callais, with an intent to finde the meanes there to aduertise the kinsmen and friends of Lidias, and giuing order with as great secresie as I could for my voyage. one night I stole away in the habit you see me; but my fortune was so hard, that I stayd aboue fifteene dayes before I could find a ship that went that way. I know not what became of my parents when they saw I was gone, for I heard no newes of them since, onely I know the old age of my poore father can hardly beare out this griefe, for he loued me more tenderly then I did my selfe, and hath euer so carefully bred me, that I am often­times astonied how I could endure the discommodities which since my departure I haue borne, and I must say, it is Loue, and not my selfe.

But to hold on our course, after I had stayd fifteene or sixteene daies at the Sea side, at last there came a ship in which I went to Callais, when [Page 41] I had no more then fiue or sixe dayes of the Terme that Lipandas had giuen. The tossing of the ship had so distempered me, that I was constrained to keepe my bed two dayes, so that I had no time to ad­uertise kinsmen of Lidias, especially not knowing who they were, nor where they dwelt. If this troubled me you may iudge, especially because me thought I was come at the time to see him die, and to be present at his funerals. O Gods how do you dispose vs! I was so ouerlayd with this disaster, that day and night the teares were in mine eyes. At last, the day before the Terme, transported with a desire to dye before Lidias, I resolued to enter into the combat against Lipandas: What resolution, or rather what despaire was this? for all my life long I neuer tooke sword in my hand, & knew not well with which hand to hold the dagger or the sword, and yet behold me resolued to enter in­to combat with a knight, who all his life had bene vsed to that myste­rie, and who had alwaies wonne the title of braue and valiant. But all these considerations were nothing against me, that chose to die be­fore he whom I loued, lost his life. And though I knew well I could not saue him, yet was it no little satisfaction to me, that he should haue that proofe of my loue.

One thing tormented me infinitely, which I endeauoured to reme­die, which was the feare lest Lidias might know me, and left that might hinder my designe, because we were to fight vnarmed. To re­medy which, I sent a scroule to Lipandas, whereby after I had desyed him, I desired, that being both knights, wee might serue our selues of the armor which knights vse, and not like desperate persons. Hee answered, that the next morning he would be in the field, and that I might come armed, and so would he, though he would haue it at his owne choyce: after he had begunne the combat in that sort, for my satisfaction, to finish it for his owne, as he had propounded at the be­ginning. I that doubted not, but in what sortsoeuer I was to die, ac­cepted what he would. And with this purpose in the morning, I pre­sented my selfe in the field armed at all poynts; but I must confesse the truth, I was so combred with my armor, that I knew not how to stirre. They that saw me go staggering, thought it was for feare of the combat, and it was out of weakenesse. Soone after, behold Lipandas came armed, and mounted to his aduantage, who at his first setting out made them afraide, whom the danger no way touched: and beleeue you not that I was amazed. But when the poore Lidias was brought on a scaffold, to be present at the combat; for the pitie which I had to [Page 42] see him in such case, touched me so that I stayd long without being able to stirre. At last the Iudges led me to him, to know if he accep­ted me for his champion. Hee asked me who I was, then counterfei­ting my voyce: content your selfe Lidias, sayd I, I that am the onely man that will vndertake this fight for you. Since it is so, replyed hee, you must be a person of valour, and therefore sayd he, turning to the Iudges, I accept him, and as I was going, he sayd, Valiant knight feare not but our quarrell is iust. Lidias, answered I, I would you had no o­ther iniustice, and then I withdrew my selfe so resolued to dye, that I hardly tarryed for the trumpets giuing signall of battaile. Indeede at the first sound I set forward, but my horse shooke me so sore, that in stead of bearing my lance as I should, I let it go as Fortune would, so that in place of striking him, I thrust it into the necke of the horse, leauing the speare in his body, whereupon the horse ranne at the first about the field in despite of his maister, at last fell downe dead. Lipan­das was comming against me with such an eagernesse to do well, that his ouer great desire made him misse his blow: for my part, my horse went whither he would, for all that I could doe was to keepe my selfe from falling, and stopping of himselfe, and hearing Lipandas crying to me to turne him, with many reuilings, for that I had killed his horse, I came backe, when I had layd my hand on my sword the best I could, and not without paine; but my horse which happily I had spurred more then his courage would beare, as soone as I had turned him, of himselfe tooke his course, and to so good purpose, that hee smote Lipandas with such fury, that hee cast him downe with his heeles vpward, but as he passed by, he gaue him with his sword such a thrust into the body, that within a while after I perceiued him to sinke vnder me, and it was no smali thing that I could remember to take my feete out of the stirrops, for to get out of the saddle, and a­light from my horse.

Then came I toward him, who was at hand with his sword a­lost to strike me, and I must tell you, that if Loue had not sustai­ned the burthen of armes, I had not had the force to do it.

At last, behold Lipandas, who with all his force came to charge mee with a blow on the head: nature taught mee to thrust forward my left arme, for otherwise I had forgotten the shield that hung on that arme, the blow lighted so full on it, that wanting strength to beare it, my shield gaue mee backe such a blow vpon my helmet, [Page 43] that the sparkes flew out of mine eyes. Hee that saw how I staggered, meant to charge mee afresh, with another more weighty, but my fortune was such, that lifting vp my sword, I met his to so good a purpose that it brake into two peeces; and mine halfe broken, did like his at the first blow which I would haue giuenhim: For he shrunke backe, and I not hauing strength to stay it, let it fall to the ground, where towards to point it lighted on a stone that broke it.

Lipandas then seeing vs both haue the like aduantage, sayde to me▪ Knight, thesearmes haue beene alike fauourable to vs: I meane to try whether the other will bee so to, and therefore disarme your selfe, for it is with that that I will end the fight. Knight, answered I, by that which is passed you may well know that you haue done wrong, and deliuering Lidias you ought to leaue this combat.

No no, sayde Lipandas in choller, Lidias and you shall die. I shall assay, replyed I, to turne that sentence vpon your owne head, and then remouing in the field the farthest I could from Lidias, for feare of being knowne: By the helpe of those that attended, I disarmed my selfe; and for that we had made proui­sion before of a Sword and Dagger, after wee had put off our doublets, wee came each against other. I must tell you, it was not without payne that I couered my brest, because the shirt, for all that I could doe, shewed the swelling of my pappes; but e­ry one rather thought of any thing else then of that, and as for Lidias hee could not know it, as well for that hee saw mee in an habite disguised, as for that I was enflamed with the heate of the armour, and this high colour much changed my visage. At last, behold vs, Lipandas and mee, about ten or twelue paces a sun­der they parted the sunne betwixt vs, and the Iudges were gone backe. It was then that I thought verily to die, assuring my selfe, that at the first blow hee would runne his Sword into my body.

But fortune was so good for Lidias, (for it was onely of his life that I stood in feare) that this, arrogant Lipandas comming with all his furie to mee, stumbled so, to purpose for me, that hee layde his head almost at my feete so violently, that hee gaue himselfe two wounds, the one with his Dagger, with which hee pierced his left shoulder, and the other with his Sword, cutting his brow.

[Page 44] For my part, I was so afraide of his fall, that I thought him already dead, and without doing him more hurt, I gaue backe two or three paces. It is true, that imagining I might better ouercome him with courtesie then valour, I sayd vnto him: Rise vp Lipandas, it is not on the earth that I will offend you. He that had stood some time amazed with the blow, all in rage riseth to cast himselfe on me, but the two wounds which he had made himselfe, the one blinded him, and the other tooke all strength from his arme, so that he saw nothing, and was scarce able to hold vp his sword; which I perceiuing, tooke cou­rage, and came towards him with my sword aloft: Yeeld thy selfe Li­pandas, other wise thou art dead. Why, sayd he, should I yeeld my selfe, since the conditions of our combat was not so? Content thy selfe that I set Lidias at I bertie.

And then the ludges being come, and Lipandas hauing ratified his promise, they accompanyed me out of the campe like a conquerour. But fearing they might doe me some wrong in that place, where Li­pandas had such power, after I had armed my selfe, I went with my visard downe to Lidias, and sayd: Sir Lidias thanke God for my victo­ry, and if you desire to conferre longer with me, I go to the towne of Regiaque, where I will expect some newes from you in fifteene dayes, for after that time, I am constrained to go about some other occasions, which carry me farre from hence; and you may aske for the fadde knight, for that is the name I beare, for the reason which you shall know hereafter.

Shall I not otherwise know him (said he) to whom I am so much obliged? Neither for your good (fayde I) nor for mine may it be; and at that word I left him: and after I had prouided another horse, I came to Regiaque, where I stayd.

Now this traytor Lipandas, as soone as I was gone, made Lidias bee put againe into prison more straitly then before, and when hee com­plained and reproched him for breach of promise which he had made me; he answered, he promised to set him at libertie, but he told him not when, and that it should be within 20. yeares, vnlesse it were with a condition which he propounded; which was to work so, that I would commit my self prisoner in his place, and so I should pay the ransome of his libertie with losse of mineowne. Lidias answered him, so hee should be as ingratefull to me, as Lipandas perfidious to him. Whereat he was so offended, that he swore that within 15. daies if I were not in his hands, he would giue him vp into the hands of Iustice.

[Page 45] And when Lidias set before his eyes his faith forsworne: I haue done penance, said hee, by the Wounds which I brought from the Combat, but hauing long time promised the Lords of Normandy to maintaine Iustice, am I not more bound to the former, then to the latter promise?

The former dayes passed ouer without any heed taking: but seeing I heard no newes of him, I sent a man to enquire for him. By him I knew the malice of Lipandas, and the terme that hee had giuen: and though I well fore-saw all the cruelties and all the indignities which one might receiue, yet did I resolue to free Lidias out of such hands, hauing nothing so deare to me as his conseruation; and by fortune, the day that you tooke me, I was going thither. And at this time, the heauinesse which you see in me, and the sighes which giue me no rest, proceed not from the prison wherein I am (for this is pleasant, in respect of that which was propounded) but to thinke, how this perfidious and cruell Lipandas will without doubt commit him into the hands of his enemies, who expect no other thing, but to see a de­plorable and shamefull end: for of the fifteene dayes which he gaue, tenne are passed; so that I almost despayre to be able to doe this last office to Lidias.

At this word the teares hindered her voyce, that she was constray­ned to hold her peace, but with such demonstration of displeasure, that Clidaman was mooued, and to comfort her, said: You are not (said he) couragious: Melandre so to lose your courage, that you may not maintaine that generousnesse in this accident, which you haue shewed in all the rest; that God which hath preserued you in so great perills, will not forsake you in the lesser: You are to beleeue, that what may depend on me, shall be alwayes disposed of to your con­tentment. But for that I am vnder a Prince whom I may not dis­please, your libertie must come from him, yet doe I promise you for my part whatsoeuer you may hope from a good friend.

And so leauing her with these good words, hee went to seeke out Childericke, and besought him to procure of King Meroue the liberty of this young prisoner. The young Prince who loued my sonne, and who knew well how willing the King his father would be to oblige Clidaman, without longer stay went to demaund it of Meroue, who graunted what his sonne asked. And because the time was so short, that the least part of it lost, would hurt Melandre, hee went to seeke her at her Lodging; where hauing led her aside, he said:

[Page 46] Sad Knight (quoth he) you must change that name, for if your mis­fortunes haue heretofore giuen you cause to beare it, it seemes you shall shortly loose it. The Heauens begin to looke on you with a more pleasing eye then of wont. And as one euill comes not alone, so good fortunes march alwayes in companies: and for proofe of that I say, know Knight (for so your will is I should call you, since your generousnesse hath of good right wonne you that Title) that henceforth you are at liberty, and may dispose of your actions as you please. The Prince of the Franks hath giuen mee leaue to dispose of you, and the dutie of a Knight binds me not onely to set you at liberty, but to offer you all the assistance that you thinke I may af­foord you.

Melandre hearing a word so vnhoped for, leaped with ioy, and casting her selfe at his feet, kissed his hand by way of thankes for so great a grace: for the good which shee imagined to receiue from him, was to be put to a ransome; and the inconueniences of paying it, made her despayre of being able to doe it so soone as the terme of fif­teene dayes were run out. But when shee heard so great courtesie: Truly said she to him, Sir Knight, you make it appeare, that you know what it is to loue, since you haue pittie on them that are taynted with it. I pray God, vntill my selfe be able to requite it, that hee would make you as happy as hee hath made you courteous and worthie of all good fortune: and at that very houre shee would haue beene gone; which Clidaman would not suffer, because it was night.

The next morning then very early she set on her way, and stayed not till she came to Callais, where by chance she arriued the day be­fore the terme. That euening she would haue made her comming knowne to Lipandas, had shee not beene of the minde, considering the perfidiousnesse of him with whom shee had to doe, to attend for the day, that the more persons might see the wrong hee did her, if haply hee should be fayling of his word.

The day being come, and the houre of Mid-day hauing strucke, that the chiefe men of the place, to honour the Gouernour, were then in his house; behold the sad Knight presenting himselfe, at the first hee was not knowne, for they had not seene him but in Combate, where it may be feare had altered his countenance: and then euery man drew neere to heare what hee would say.

Lipandas, said he, I come hither in the behalfe of the kinsmen and [Page 47] friends of Lidias, to heare some newes of him, and to charge you with your word, or to referre him to some other new condition: other­wise they send you word by me, that they will proclay me you for an vnhonest man.

Stranger, answered Lipandas, you may tell them that Lidias fares better then he shall doe within few dayes, because that this day being past, I will deliuer him into the hands of them that will auenge me: that for my word I thinke I am quit, in giuing him ouer into the hands of lustice; for this Iustice, what other thing is it, but true Li­bertie? As for the new conditions, I will haue no other but that which I haue already propounded, which is, that they put into my hands him that fought against me, that I may doe my will of him, and I will deliuer Lidias. And what is that, said he, that you will doe? When I am to giue account of my actions to you, answered hee, you shall know. And how, said he, are you yet of the same mind? Altoge­ther of the same mind, replyed Lipandas. If it be so, added the sad Knight, send for Lidias, and I will deliuer you him whom you de­maund. Lipandas, that aboue all things desired to be reuenged of his enemie, for he had turned all his hatred on Melandre, sent for him immediately. Lidias, that knew well, that that day was the last of the terme which he had set, beleeued it was to lead him to the Lords of Iustice: notwithstanding hee fore-saw his assured death, yet did hee chuse it, rather then to see him that had fought for him, in that danger for his sake. When hee was come before Lipandas, hee said; Lidias, see the last day that I haue giuen thee to present thy Champi­on into my hands; this young Knight is come hither for that cause, if he doe it, thou art at liberty. Melandre, while those few words were speaking, found the meanes to turne her face aside, that shee might not be knowne; and when shee would answer, shee turned wholly towards Lipandas, and said: Yes Lipandas, I haue promised, and I will doe it. Doe you keepe your word as well, for I am hee whom you demaund; behold me that feare neither rigour nor cruelty whatsoeuer, prouided that my friend be freed from paine. Then euery one cast his eyes on her, and calling to memory the fashion of him that combated, knew she sayd true. Her beauty, her youth, and her affection mooued all them that were present, except Lipandas, who thought himself infinitely offended with h [...]r, commanded she should presently bee put in prison, and suffered Lidias to goe at li­bertie.

[Page 48] Hee that desired rather his owne destruction, then to see himselfe so much obliged, made some difficultie. But Melandre came toward him, and told him in his care: Lidias be gone, trouble not your selfe for me, I haue a meane to get out of prison very easily when I will: and if you will doe any thing for me, I pray you goe serue Meroue, and particularly Clidaman, who is the cause that you are at liberty, and tell him, that it is for my sake that you came to him.

And is it possible, said Lidias, that I should goe, before I know who you are? I am, answered she, the sad Knight: and this shall suffice, till you haue better opportunitie to know more. So went Lidias a­way, with a resolution to serue the King of the Franks, since hee to whom hee twice ought his life, would haue it so.

But in the meane time Lipandas expressely commaunded, that Me­landre should be well guarded, and put her into a Denne, with yrons on her hands and feet, resoluing to let her lye there, till shee dyed through miserie. Iudge in what case this young maid was, and what complaints she might make against Loue: Her food was vile, and her lodging fearefull, and all other discommodities great, that if her af­fection had not supported these things, it is impossible but shee must haue dyed.

But in the meane time the rumor spred throughout all Normandy, that Lidias by the meanes of his friend was deliuered from the prison at Callais, and that he was gone to serue the King Meroue, this was the cause that his banishment was renewed, and he declared Traytor to his Countrey. Yet hee forbare not to come to the Campe of the Franks: where searching for the Tent of Clidaman, it was shewed him. As soone as he saw it, and that Lindamor and Guymantes spyed him, they ran to embrace him, but with such affection and such cour­tesie, that he was astonied; for they all tooke him for Ligdamon, that a little before was lost in the battaile which they had against the Nor­mans, whom he so much resembled, that all they that knew Ligdamon, were deceiued.

In the end being knowne to be Lidias, the friend of Melandre, he led him to Meroue: where, in the presence of them all, Lidias dis­coursed to the King the story of his prison as you haue heard, and the courtesie which he had twice receiued of that vnknowne Knight, and at last, the commaundement which hee gaue him to come and serue him, and particularly Clidaman. Then Clidaman, after the King had entertained him, and thanked him for his loue, said: Is it possible [Page 49] Lidias, you know not him that fought, and is in prison for you? No truely sayd he. Behold sayde hee, the strangest mistaking that I euer heard spoken of, haue you euer seene one resemble him? Not as I remember▪ sayd Lidias, all astonished. Then will I tell the king (sayd Clidaman) an history the most worthy of compassion that euer loue wrought: And thereupon hee began the discourse which Lidias had told, that he went into great Brittaine, of the contents he found there, whereto he adioyned very discreetly the loue of Melandre, of the pro­mises he made, of the carrying her into Normandie with him if he were constrained to goe; of his flight: and lastly, of his imprisonment at Callais.