THE HISTORY OF THE Royal Slave.

I Do not pretend, in giving you the History of this Royal Slave, to entertain my Reader with the Adventures of a feign'd Hero, whose Life and Fortunes Fancy may ma­mage at the Poet's Pleasure; nor in rela­ting the Truth, design to adorn it with any Accidents, but such as arriv'd in earnest to him: And it shall come simply into the World, recom­mended by its own proper Merits, and natural Intrigues; there being enough of Reality to support it, and to render it diverting, without the addition of Invention.

I was my self an Eye-witness to a great part of what you will find here set down; and what I cou'd not be Witness of, I receiv'd from the Mouth of the chief Actor in this Hi­story, the Hero himself, who gave us the whole Transactions of his Youth: And though I shall omit, for brevity's sake, a thousand little Ac­cidents [Page 2] of his Life, which, however pleasant to us, where History was scarce, and Adventures very rare; yet might prove tedious and heavy to my Reader, in a World where he finds Di­versions for every Minute, new and strange: But we who were perfectly charm'd with the Character of this Great Man, were curious to gather every Circumstance of his Life.

The Scene of the last part of his Adventures lies in a Colony in America, called Surinam, in the West-Indies.

But before I give you the Story of this Gal­lant Slave, 'tis [...] I tell you the [...] of bringing them to th [...]se new, [...] for those they make use of there, are not Natives of the place; for those we live with in perfect Amity, without daring to command 'em; but, on the contrary, caress 'em with all the bro­therly and friendly Affection in the worl [...]; trading with them for their Fish, Venison, Buf­filo's Skins, and little Rarities; as Marmosets, a sort of Monkey, as big as a Rat or Weesel, but of a marvellous and delicate shape, and has Face and Hands like an Humane Creature: and Cousheries, a little Beast in the form and fashion of a Lion, as big as a Kitten; but so exactly made in all Parts like that noble Beast, that it is it in Miniature. Then for little Para­keetoes, great Parrots, Muckaws▪ and a thou­sand other Birds and Beasts of wonderful and surprising Forms, Shapes and Colours. For Skins of prodigious Snakes, of which there are some threescore Yards in length; as is the Skin of one that may be seen at His Majesty's An­tiquaries: where are also some rare Flies, of [Page 3] amazing Forms and Colours, presented to 'em by my self; some as big as my Fist, some less; and all of various Excellencies, such as Art cannot imitate. Then we trade for Feathers, which they order into all shapes, make them­selves little short Habits of 'em, and glorious Wreaths for their Heads, Necks, Arms and Legs, whose Tinctures are unconceivable. I had a Sett of these presented to me, and I gave 'em to the King's Theatre, and it was the Dress of the Indian Queen, infinitely admir'd by Per­sons of Quality; and were unimitable. Be­sides these, a thousand little Knacks, and Ra­rities in Nature; and some of Art, as their Baskets, Weapons, Aprons, &c. We dealt with 'em with Beads of all Colours, Knives, Axes, Pins and Needles; which they us'd only as Tools to drill Holes with in their Ears, Noses and Lips, where they hang a great many little things; as long Beads, bits of Tin, Brass or Silver, beat thin; and any shining Trinket. The Beads they weave into Aprons about a Quarter of an Ell long, and of the same breadth; working them very prettily in Flowers of seve­ral Colours of Beads; which Apron they wear just before 'em, as Adam and Eve did the Fig-leaves; the Men wearing a long stripe of Linen, which they deal with us for. They thread these Beads also on long Cotton threads, and make Girdles to tie their Aprons to, which come twenty times, or more, about the Waste, and then cross, like a Shoulder-belt, both ways, and round their Necks, Arms and Legs. This Adornment, with their long black Hair, and the Face painted in little Specks or Flowers [Page 4] here and there, makes 'em a wonderful Figure to behold. Some of the Beauties which indeed are finely shap'd, as almost all are, and who have pretty Features, are very charming and novel; for they have all that is called Beauty, except the Colour, which is a reddish Yellow; or after a new Oiling, which they often use to themselves, they are of the colour of a new Brick, but smooth, soft and sleek. They are extreme modest and bashful, very shy, and nice of being touch'd. And though they are all thus naked, if one lives for ever among 'em, there is not to be seen an indecent Action, or Glance; and being continually us'd to see one another so unadorn'd, so like our first Parents before the Fall, it seems as if they had no Wishes; there being nothing to heighten Curiosity; but all you can see, you see at once, and every moment see; and where there is no Novelty, there can be no Curiosity. Not but I have seen a handsom young Indian, dying for Love of a very beautiful young Indian Maid; but all his Courtship was, to fold his Arms, pursue her with his Eyes, and Sighs were all his Lan­guage: While she, as if no such Lover were present, or rather, as if she desired none such, carefully guarded her Eyes from beholding him; and never approach'd him, but she look'd down with all the blushing modesty I have seen in the most severe and cautious of our World. And these People represented to me an abso­lute Idea of the first State of Innocence, before Man knew how to sin: And 'tis most evident and plain, that simple Nature is the most harm­less, inoffensive and vertuous Mistress. 'Tis she [Page 5] alone, if she were permitted, that better in­structs the World, than all the Inventions of Man: Religion wou'd here but destroy that Tranquillity they possess by Ignorance; and Laws wou'd but teach 'em to know Offence, of which now they have no Notion. They once made Mourning and Fasting for the Death of the English Governor, who had given his Hand to come on such a day to 'em, and nei­ther came nor sent; believing, when once a Man's Word was past, nothing but Death cou'd or shou'd prevent his keeping it: And when they saw he was not dead, they ask'd him what Name they had for a Man who promis'd a thing he did not do? The Governor told them, Such a Man was a Lyar, which was a Word of Infamy to a Gentleman. Then one of 'em reply'd, Governor, you are a Lyar, and guilty of that Infamy. They have a native Justice, which knows no Fraud; and they un­derstand no Vice, or Cunning, but when they are taught by the White Men. They have Plu­rality of Wives; which, when they grow old, they serve those that succeed 'em, who are young, but with a Servitude easie and respected; and unless they take Slaves in War, they have no other Attendants.

Those on that Continent where I was, had no King; but the oldest War-Captain was obey'd with great Resignation.

A War-Captain is a Man who has led them on to Battle with Conduct and Success; of whom I shall have occasion to speak more here­after, and of some other of their Custom and Manners, as they fall in my way.

[Page 6] With these People, as I said, we live in per­fect Tranquillity, and good Understanding, as it behoves us to do; they knowing all the places where to seek the best Food of the Coun­trey, and the means of getting it; and for very small and unvaluable Trifles, supply us with what 'tis impossible for us to get; for they do not only in the Wood, and over the Sevana's, in Hunting, supply the parts of Hounds, by swiftly scouring through those almost impas­sable places, and by the meer Activity of their Feet, run down the nimblest Deer, and other eatable Beasts: But in the Water, one wou'd think they were Gods of the Rivers, or Fellow-Citizens of the Deep; so rare an Art they have in Swimming, Diving, and almost Living in Water; by which they command the less swift Inhabitants of the Floods. And then for Shooting; what they cannot take, or reach with their Hands, they do with Arrows; and have so admirable an Aim, that they will split almost an Hair; and at any distance that an Arrow can reach, they will shoot down Oran­ges, and other Fruit, and only touch the Stalk with the Dart's Point, that they may not hurt the Fruit. So that they being, on all occasions, very useful to us, we find it absolutely ne­cessary to caress 'em as Friends, and not to treat 'em as Slaves; nor dare we do other, their Numbers so far surpassing ours in that Con­tinent.

Those then whom we make use of to work in our Plantations of Sugar, are Negro's, Black-Slaves altogether; which are transported thi­ther in this manner:

[Page 7] Those who want Slaves, make a Bargain with a Master, or a Captain of a Ship, and con­tract to pay him so much a-piece, a matter of Twenty Pound a Head for as many as he agrees for, and to pay for 'em when they shall be de­liver'd on such a Plantation: So that when there arrives a Ship laden with Slaves, they who have so contracted, go a-board, and re­ceive their number by Lot; and perhaps in one Lot that may be for ten, there may happen to be three or four Men; the rest Women and Children: or be there more or less of either Sex, you are oblig'd to be contented with your Lot.

Coramantien, a Countrey of Blacks so called, was one of those places in which they found the most advantageous Trading for these Slaves, and thither most of our great Traders in that Merchandise traffick'd; for that Nation is very war-like and brave; and having a conti­nual Campaign, being always in Hostility with one neighbouring Prince or other, they had the fortune to take a great many Captives; for all they took in Battle were sold as Slaves; at least, those common Men who cou'd not ran­som themselves. Of these Slaves so taken, the General only has all the Profit; and of these Generals, our Captains and Masters of Ships buy all their Freights.

The King of Coramantien was himself a Man of an Hundred and odd Years old, and had no Son, though he had many beautiful Black-Wives; for most certainly, there are Beauties that can charm of that Colour. In his younger years he had had many gallant Men to his [Page 8] Sons, thirteen of which died in Battle, con­quering when they fell; and he had only left him for his Successor, one Grand-Child, Son to one of these dead Victors; who, as soon as he could bear a Bow in his Hand, and a Quiver at his back, was sent into the Field, to be train'd up, by one of the oldest Generals, to War; where, from his natural Inclination to Arms, and the Occasions given him, with the good Conduct of the old General, he became, at the age of Seventeen, one of the most ex­pert Captains, and bravest Soldiers, that ever saw the Field of Mars: So that he was ador'd as the Wonder of all that World, and the Dar­ling of the Soldiers. Besides, he was adorn'd with a native Beauty so transcending all those of his gloomy Race, that he struck an Awe and Reverence, even into those that knew not his Quality; as he did into me, who beheld him with Surprize and Wonder, when afterwards he arriv'd in our World.

He had scarce arriv'd at his Seventeenth Year, when, fighting by his side, the General was kill'd with an Arrow in his Eye, which the Prince Oroonoko (for so was this gallant Moor call'd) very narrowly avoided; nor had he, if the General, who saw the Arrow shot, and per­ceiving it aim'd at the Prince, had not bow'd his Head between, on purpose to receive it in his own Body, rather than it shou'd touch that of the Prince, and so saved him.

'Twas then, afflicted as Oroonoko was, that he was proclaim'd General in the Old Man's place; and then it was, at the finishing of that War, which had continued for two Years, that [Page 9] the Prince came to Court; where he had hard­ly been a Month together, from the time of his Fifth Year, to that of Seventeen; and 'twas amazing to imagine where it was he learn'd so much Humanity; or, to give his Accomplish­ments a juster Name, where 'twas he got that real Greatness of Soul, those refin'd Notions of true Honour, that absolute Generosity, and that Softness that was capable of the highest Passions of Love and Gallantry, whose Objects were almost continually fighting Men, or those mangl'd, or dead; who heard no Sounds, but those of War and Groans. Some part of it we may attribute to the care of a French-man of Wit and Learning; who finding it turn to very good account to be a sort of Royal Tutor to this young Black, and perceiving him very ready, apt, and quick of Apprehension, took a great pleasure to teach him Morals, Language and Science; and was for it extremely belov'd and valu'd by him. Another reason was; he lov'd, when he came from War, to see all the English Gentlemen that traded thither; and did not only learn their Language, but that of the Spaniards also, with whom he traded after­wards for Slaves.

I have often seen and convers'd with this Great Man, and been a Witness to many of his mighty Actions; and do assure my Reader, the most illustrious Courts cou'd not have produc'd a braver Man, both for greatness of Courage and Mind, a Judgment more solid, a Wit more quick, and a Conversation more sweet and diverting. He knew almost as much as if he had read much: He had heard of, [Page 10] and admir'd the Romans; he had heard of the late Civil Wars in England, and the deplorable Death of our great Monarch; and wou'd dis­course of it with all the Sense and Abhorrence of the Injustice imaginable. He had an extreme good and graceful Mien, and all the Civility of a well-bread Great Man. He had nothing of Barbarity in his Nature, but in all Points ad­dress'd himself as if his Education had been in some Europaean Court.

This great and just Character of Oroonoko gave me an extreme Curiosity to see him, espe­cially when I knew he spoke French and En­glish, and that I could talk with him. But though I had heard so much of him, I was as greatly surpriz'd when I saw him, as if I had heard nothing of him; so beyond all Report I found him. He came into the Room, and address'd himself to me, and some other Wo­men, with the best Grace in the World. He was pretty tall, but of a shape the most exact that can be fansy'd: The most famous Sta­tuary cou'd not form the figure of a Man more admirably turn [...]d from Head to Foot. His Face was not of that brown, rusty Black which most of that Nation are, but a perfect Ebony, or polish'd Jett. His Eyes were the most awful that cou'd be seen, and very piercing, the White of 'em being like Snow, as were his Teeth. His Nose was rising and Roman, in­stead of African and flat. His Mouth, the fi­nest shap'd that cou'd be seen; far from those great turn'd Lips, which are so natural to the rest of the Negroes. The whole Proportion and Air of his Face was so noble, and exactly [Page 11] form'd, that, bating his Colour, there cou'd be nothing in Nature more beautiful, agreea­ble and handsome. There was no one Grace wanting, that bears the Standard of true Beauty. His Hair came down to his Shoulders, by the aids of Art; which was, by pulling it out with a Quill, and keeping it comb'd; of which he took particular care. Nor did the Perfe­ctions of his Mind come short of those of his Person; for his Discourse was admirable upon almost any Subject; and who-ever had heard him speak, wou'd have been convinc'd of their Errors, that all fine Wit is confin'd to the White men, especially to those of Christendom; and wou'd have confess'd, that Oroonoko was as ca­pable even of reigning well, and of governing as wisely, had as great a Soul, as politick Maxims, and was as sensible of Power, as any Prince civiliz'd in the most refined Schools of Humanity and Learning, or the most illustrious Courts.

This Prince, such as I have describ'd him, whose Soul and Body were so admirably a­dorn'd, was (while yet he was in the Court of his Grand-father,) as I said, as capable of Love, as 'twas possible for a brave and gallant Man to be: and in saying that, I have nam'd the highest Degree of Love; for sure, great Souls are most capable of that Passion.

I have already said, the old General was kill'd by the shot of an Arrow, by the side of this Prince in Battle; and that Oroonoko was made General. This old dead Hero had one only Daughter left of his Race; a Beauty, that to describe her truly, one need say only, she [Page 12] was Female to the noble Male; the beautiful Black Venus, to our young Mars; as charming in her Person as he, and of delicate Vertues. I have seen an hundred White Men sighing after her, and making a thousand Vows at her Feet, all vain, and unsuccessful: And she was, indeed, too great for any, but a Prince of her own Na­tion to adore.

Oroonoko coming from the Wars, (which were now ended) after he had made his Court to his Grand-father, he thought in honour he ought to make a Visit to Imoinda, the Daughter of his Foster-father the dead General; and to make some Excuses to her, because his Preser­vation was the occasion of her Father's Death; and to present her with those Slaves that had been taken in this last Battle, as the Trophies of her Father's Victories. When he came, at­tended by all the young Soldiers of any Merit, he was infinitely surpriz'd at the Beauty of this fair Queen of Night, whose Face and Person was to exceeding all he had ever beheld, that lovely Modesty with which she receiv'd him, that Softness in her Look, and Sighs, upon the melancholy Occasion of this Honour that was done by so great a Man as Oroonoko, and a Prince of whom she had heard such admirable things; the Awfulness wherewith she receiv'd him, and the Sweetness of her Words and Be­haviour while he stay'd gain'd a perfect Con­quest over his fierce Heart, and made him feel, the Victor cou'd be subdu'd. So that ha­ving made his first Complements, and presen­ted her an Hundred and fifty Slaves in Fetters, he told her with his Eyes, that he was not in­sensible [Page 13] of her Charms; while Imoinda, who wish'd for nothing more than so glorious a Conquest, was pleas'd to believe, she under­stood that silent Language of new-born Love; and, from that moment, put on all her addi­tions to Beauty.

The Prince return'd to Court with quite another Humour than before; and though he did not speak much of the fair Imoinda, he had the pleasure to hear all his Followers speak of nothing but the Charms of that Maid, inso­much that, even in the presence of the old King, they were extolling her, and heightning, if pos­sible, the Beauties they had found in her: so that nothing else was talk'd of, no other sound was heard in every corner where there were Whisperers, but Imoinda! Imoinda!

'Twill be imagin'd Oroonoko stay'd not long before he made his second Visit; nor, consi­dering his Quality, not much longer before he told her, he ador'd her. I have often heard him say, that he admir'd by what strange In­spiration he came to talk things so soft, and so passionate, who never knew Love, nor was us'd to the Conversation of Women; but (to use his own words) he said; Most happily, some new, and, till then, unknown Power instructed his Heart and Tongue in the Language of Love, and at the same time, in favour of him, inspir'd Imoinda with a sense of his Passion. She was touch'd with what he said, and return'd it all in such Answers as went to his very Heart, with a Pleasure unknown before. Nor did he use those Obligations ill, that Love had done him, but turn'd all his happy moments to the [Page 14] best advantage; and as he knew no Vice, his Flame aim'd at nothing but Honour, if such a distinction may be made in Love; and espe­cially in that Country, where Men take to them­selves a many as they can maintain; and where the only Crime and Sin with Woman, is, to turn her off, to abandon her to Want, Shame and Misery: such ill Morals are only practis'd in Christian Countries, where they preferr the bare Name of Religion; and, without Vertue or Morality, think that sufficient. But Oroonoko was none of those Professors; but as he had right Notions of Honour, so he made her such Propo­sitions as were not only and barely such; but, contrary to the custom of his Countrey, he made her Vows, she shou'd be the only Woman he wou'd possess while he liv'd; that no Age or Wrinkles shou'd encline him to change; for her Soul wou'd be always fine, and always young; and he should have an eternal Idea in his Mind of the Charms she now bore; and shou'd look into his Heart for that Idea, when he cou'd find it no longer in her Face.

After a thousand Assurances of his lasting Flame, and her eternal Empire over him, she condescended to receive him for her Husband; or rather, receiv'd him, as the greatest Honour the Gods cou'd do her.

There is a certain Ceremony in these cases to be observ'd, which I forgot to ask him how per­form'd; but 'twas concluded on both sides, that in obedience to him, the Grand-father was to be first made acquainted with the Design: For they pay a most absolute Resignation to the Monarch, especially when he is a Parent also.

[Page 15] On the other side, the old King, who had many Wives, and many Concubines, wanted not Court-Flatterers to in [...]inuate into his Heart a thousand tender Thoughts for this young Beauty; and who represented her to his Fancy, as the most charming he had ever possess'd in all the long race of his numerous Years. At this Character, his old Heart, like an extin­guisht Brand, most apt to take Fire, felt new Sparks of Love, and began to kindle; and now grown to his second Childhood, long'd with impatience to behold this gay thing▪ with whom, alas! he could but innocently play. But how he shou'd be confirm'd she was this Wonder, before he us'd his Power to call her to Court, (where Maidens never came, unless for the King's private Use) he was next to con­sider; and while he was so doing, he had In­telligence brought him, that Imoinda was most certainly Mistress to the Prince Oroonoko. This gave him some Shagrien; however, it gave him also an opportunity, one day, when the Prince was a-hunting, to wait on a Man of Quality, as his Slave and Attendant, who shou'd go and make a Present to Imoinda, as from the Prince; he shou'd then, unknown, see this fair Maid, and have an opportunity to hear what Mes­sage she wou'd return the Prince for his Pre­sent; and from thence gather the state of her Heart, and degree of her Inclination. This was put in execution, and the old Monarch saw, and burnt: He found her all he had heard, and wou'd not delay his Happiness, but found he shou'd have some Obstacle to over­come her Heart; for she express'd her sense of [Page 16] the Present the Prince had sent her, in terms so sweet, so soft and pretty, with an Air of Love and Joy that cou'd not be dissembl'd, inso­much that 'twas past doubt whether she lov'd Oroonoko entirely. This gave the old King some affliction; but he salv'd it with this, that the Obedience the People pay their King, was not at all inferior to what they paid their Gods; and what Love wou'd not oblige Imoinda to do, Duty wou'd compell her to.

He was therefore no sooner got to his Apart­ment, but he sent the Royal Veil to Imoinda; that is, the Ceremony of Invitation: He sends the Lady he has a mind to honour with his Bed, a Veil, with which she is cover'd, and secur'd for the King's Use; and 'tis Death to disobey; besides, held a most impious Disobe­dience.

'Tis not to be imagin'd the Surprize and Grief that seiz'd this lovely Maid at this News and Sight. However, as Delays in these cases are dangerous, and Pleading worse than Trea­son; trembling, and almost fainting, she was oblig'd to suffer her self to be cover'd, and led away.

They brought her thus to Court; and the King, who had caus'd a very rich Bath to be prepar'd, was led into it, where he sate under a Canopy, in State, to receive this long'd-for Virgin; whom he having commanded shou'd be brought to him, they (after dis-robing her) led her to the Bath, and making fast the Doors, left her to descend. The King, without more Courtship, bad her throw off her Mantle, and come to his Arms. But Imoinda, all in Tears, [Page 17] threw her self on the Marble, on the brink of the Bath, and besought him to hear her. She told him, as she was a Maid, how proud of the Divine Glory she should have been, of having it in her power to oblige her King: but as by the Laws, he cou'd not; and from his Royal Goodness, wou'd not take from any Man his wedded Wife: so she be­liev'd she shou'd be the Occasion of making him commit a great Sin, if she did not reveal her State and Condition; and tell him, she was another's, and cou'd not be so happy to be his.

The King, enrag'd at this Delay, ha­stily demanded the Name of the bold Man, that had marry'd a Woman of her Degree, without his Consent. Imoinda, seeing his Eyes fierce, and his Hands tremble, (whether with Age or Anger, I know not, but she fansy'd the last,) almost repented she had said so much, for now she fear'd the storm wou'd fall on the Prince; she therefore said a thousand things to appease the raging of his Flame, and to pre­pare him to hear who it was with calmness; but before she spoke, he imagin'd who she meant, but wou'd not seem to do so, but com­manded her to lay aside her Mantle, and suffer her self to receive his Caresses, or, by his Gods he swore, that happy Man whom she was go­ing to name shou'd die, though it were even Oroonoko himself: Therefore (said he) deny this Marriage, and swear thy self a Maid. That (re­ply'd Imoinda) by all our Powers I do; for I am not yet known to my Husband. 'Tis enough (said the King;) 'tis enough both to satisfie my Con­science, [Page 18] and my Heart. And rising from his Seat, he went and led her into the Bath; it being in vain for her to resist.

In this time, the Prince, who was return'd from Hunting, went to visit his Imoinda, but found her gone; and not only so, but heard she had receiv'd the Royal Veil. This rais'd him to a storm; and in his madness, they had much ado to save him from laying violent Hands on himself. Force first prevail'd, and then Reason: They urg'd all to him, that might oppose his Rage; but nothing weigh'd so greatly with him as the King's Old Age un­capable of injuring him with Imoinda. He wou'd give way to that Hope, because it pleas'd him most, and flatter'd best his Heart. Yet this serv'd not altogether to make him cease his dif­ferent Passions, which sometimes rag'd within him, and sometimes softned into Showers. 'Twas not enough to appease him, to tell him, his Grand-father was old▪ and cou'd not that way injure him, while he retain'd that awful Duty which the Young Men are us'd there to pay to their grave Relations. He cou'd not be convinc'd he had no cause to sigh and mourn for the loss of a Mistress, he cou'd not with all his strength and courage retrieve. And he wou'd often cry, Oh, my Friends! were she in wall'd Cities, or confin'd from me in Fortifica­tions of the greatest strength; did Inchantments or Monsters detain her from me; I wou'd venture through any Hazard to free her: But here, in the Arms of a feeble Old Man, my Youth, my violent Love, my Trade in Arms, and all my vast Desire of Glory, avail me nothing: Imoinda is as irre­coverably [Page 19] lost to me, as if she were snatcht by the cold Arms of Death: Oh! she is never to be re­triev'd. If I wou'd wait tedious Years, till Fate shou'd bow the old King to his Grave; even that wou'd not leave me Imoinda free; but still that Custom that makes it so vile a Crime for a Son to marry his Father's Wives or Mistresses, wou'd hin­der my Happiness; unless I wou'd either ignobly set an ill President to my Successors, or abandon my Countrey, and fly with her to some unknown World who never heard our Story.

But it was objected to him, That his case was not the same; for Imoinda being his lawful Wife by solemn Contract, 'twas he was the injur'd Man, and might, if he so pleas'd, take Imoinda back, the breach of the Law being on his Grand-Father's side; and that if he cou'd circumvent him, and redeem her from the Otan, which is the Palace of the King's Women, a sort of Seraglio, it was both just and lawful for him so to do.

This Reasoning had some force upon him, and he shou'd have been entirely comforted, but for the thought that she was possess'd by his Grand-father. However, he lov'd so well, that he was resolv'd to believe what most fa­vour'd his Hope; and to endeavour to learn from Imoinda's own Mouth, what only she cou'd satisfie him in; whether she was robb'd of that Blessing which was only due to his Faith and Love. But as it was very hard to get a sight of the Women, (for no Men ever enter'd into the Otan, but when the King went to entertain himself with some one of his Wives or Mistresses; and 'twas Death, at any other [Page 20] time for any other to go in;) so he knew not how to contrive to get a sight of her.

While Oroonoko felt all the Agonies of Love, and suffer'd under a Torment the most painful in the world, the old King was not exempted from his share of Affliction. He was troubled, for having been forc'd, by an irresistible Passion, to rob his Son of a Treasure, he knew, cou'd not but be extremely dear to him, since she was the most beautiful that ever had been seen; and had besides, all the Sweetness and Inno­cence of Youth and Modesty, with a Charm of Wit surpassing all. He found that, however, she was forc'd to expose her lovely Person to his wither'd Arms, she cou'd only sigh and weep there, and think of Oroonoko; and often­times cou'd not for bear speaking of him, though her Life were, by Custom, forfeited by own­ing her Passion. But she spoke not of a Lover only, but of a Prince dear to him, to whom she spoke; and of the Praises of a Man, who, till now, fill'd the old Man's Soul with Joy at every recital of his Bravery, or even his Name. And 'twas this Dotage on our young Hero, that gave Imoinda a thousand Privileges to speak of him, without offending; and this Condescention in the old King, that made her take the Satis­faction of speaking of him so very often.

Besides, he many times enquir'd how the Prince bore himself: And those of whom he ask'd, being entirely Slaves to the Merits and Vertues of the Prince, still answer'd what they thought conduc'd best to his Service; which was, to make the old King fansie that the Prince had no more Interest in Imoinda, and had resign'd [Page 21] her willingly to the Pleasure of the King; that he diverted himself with his Mathema­ticians, his Fortifications, his Officers, and his Hunting.

This pleas'd the old Lover, who fail'd not to report these things again to Imoinda, that she might, by the Example of her young Lover, withdraw her Heart, and rest better contented in his Arms. But however, she was forc'd to receive this unwelcome News, in all appearance, with Unconcern and Content; her Heart was bursting within, and she was only happy when she cou'd get alone, to vent her Griefs and Moans with Sighs and Tears.

What Reports of the Prince's Conduct were made to the King, he thought good to justifie as far as possibly he cou'd by his Actions; and when he appear'd in the Presence of the King, he shew'd a Face not at all betraying his Heart: so that in a little time, the old Man, being en­tirely convinc'd that he was no longer a Lover of Imoindae, he carry'd him with him, in his Train, to the Otan, often to banquet with his Mistress. But as soon as he enter'd, one day, into the Apartment of Imoinda, with the King, at the first Glance from her Eyes, notwith­standing all his determined Resolution, he was ready to sink in the place where he stood; and had certainly done so, but for the support of Aboan, a young Man who was next to him; which, with his Change of Countenance, had betray'd him, had the King chanc'd to look that way. And I have observ'd, 'tis a very great error in those who laugh when one says, A Negro can change Colour: for I have [Page 22] seen 'em as frequently blush, and look pale, and that as visibly as ever I saw in the most beautiful White. And 'tis certain, that both these Changes were evident, this day, in both these Lovers. And Imoinda, who saw with some Joy the Change in the Prince's Face, and found it in her own, strove to divert the King from beholding either, by a forc'd Caress, with which she met him; which was a new Wound in the Heart of the poor dying Prince. But as soon as the King was busy'd in looking on some fine thing of Imoinda's making, she had time to tell the Prince, with her angry but Love-darting Eyes, that she resented his Coldness, and be­moan'd her own miserable Captivity. Nor were his Eyes silent, but answer'd hers again, as much as Eyes cou'd do, instructed by the most tender and most passionate Heart that ever lov'd: And they spoke so well, and so effectually, as Imoinda no longer doubted but she was the only Delight and Darling of that Soul she found pleading in 'em its Right of Love, which none was more willing to resign than she. And 'twas this powerful Language alone that in an instant convey'd all the Thoughts of their Souls to each other; that they both found there wanted but Opportu­nity to make them both entirely happy. But when he saw another Door open'd by Onah [...]l (a former old Wife of the Kings, who now had Charge of Imoinda,) and saw the Prospect of a Bed of State made ready, with Sweets and Flowers for the Dalliance of the King, who immediately led the trembling Victim from his sight, into that prepar'd Repose; what Rage! [Page 23] what wild Frenzies seiz'd his Heart! which forcing to keep within bounds, and to suffer without noise, it became the more insuppor­table, and rent his Soul with ten thousand pains. He was forc'd to retire, to vent his Groans, where he fell down on a Carpet, and lay strug­gling a long time, and only breathing now and then,—Oh, Imoinda! When Onahal had finisht her necessary Affair within, shutting the Door, she came forth, to wait till the King call'd; and hearing some one sighing in the other Room, she past on, and found the Prince in that de­plorable Condition, which she thought needed her Aid. She gave him Cordials, but all in vain; till finding the nature of his Disease, by his Sighs, and naming Imoinda; she told him, he had not so much cause as he imagin'd to afflict himself; for if he knew the King so well as she did, he wou'd not lose a moment in Jea­lousie, and that she was confident that Imoinda bore, at this minute, part in his Affliction. Aboan was of the same opinion; and both to­gether persuaded him to re-assume his Cou­rage; and all sitting down on the Carpet, the Prince said so many obliging things to Onahal, that he half-persuaded her to be of his Party. And she promis'd him, she wou'd thus far com­ply with his just Desires, that she wou'd let Imoinda know how faithful he was, what he suffer'd, and what he said.

This Discourse lasted till the King call'd; which gave Oroonoko a certain Satisfaction; and with the Hope Onahal had made him conceive, he assum'd a Look as gay as 'twas possible a Man in his circumstances cou'd do; and pre­sently [Page 24] after, he was call'd in with the rest who waited without. The King commanded Mu­sick to be brought, and several of his young Wives and Mistresses came all together by his Command, to dance before him: where Imoinda perform'd her part with an Air and Grace so passing all the rest, as her Beauty was above 'em; and receiv'd the Present ordain'd as a Prize. The Prince was every moment more charm'd with the new Beauties and Graces he beheld in this Fair One: And while he gaz'd, and she danc'd, Onahal was retir'd to a Window with Aboan.

This Onahal, as I said, was one of the Cast-Mistresses of the old King; and 'twas these (now past their Beauty) that were made Guar­dians or Governantee's to the new and the young ones; and whose Business it was, to teach them all those wanton Arts of Love, with which they prevail'd and charm'd heretofore in their Turn; and who now treated the tri­umphing happy Ones with all the Severity, as to Liberty and Freedom, that was possible, in revenge of their Honours they rob them of; envying them those Satisfactions, those Gal­lantries and Presents, that were once made to themselves, while Youth and Beauty lasted, and which they now saw pass, as it were, regard­less by, and paid only to the Bloomings. And certainly, nothing is more afflicting to a de­cay'd Beauty, than to behold in it self de­clining Charms, that were once ador'd; and to find those Caresses paid to new Beauties, to which once she laid a claim; to hear 'em whisper, as she passes by, That once was a deli­cate [Page 25] Woman. These abandon'd Ladies there­fore endeavour to revenge all the Despights, and Decays of Time, on these flourishing happy Ones. And 'twas this Severity, that gave Oroonoko a thousand fears he should never prevail with Onahal to see Imoinda. But, as I said, she was now retir'd to a Window with Aboan.

This Young Man was not only one of the best Quality, but a Man extremely well made, and beautiful; and coming often to attend the King to the Otan, he had subdu'd the Heart of the antiquated Onahal, which had not for­got how pleasant it was to be in Love: And though she had some Decays in her Face, she had none in her Sence and Wit; she was there agreeable still, even to Aboan's Youth: so that he took pleasure in entertaining her with Dis­courses of Love. He knew also, that to make his Court to these She-Favourites, was the way to be great; these being the Persons that do all Affairs and Business at Court. He had also observ'd that she had given him Glances more tender and inviting than she had done to others of his Quality. And now, when he saw that her Favour cou'd so absolutely oblige the Prince, he fail'd not to sigh in her Ear, and to look with Eyes all soft upon her, and give her Hope that she had made some Impressions on his Heart. He found her pleas'd at this, and making a thousand advances to him: but the Ceremony ending, and the King departing, broke up the Company for that Day, and his Conversation.

[Page 26] Aboan fail'd not that night to tell the Prince of his Success, and how advantageous the Ser­vice of Onahal might be to his Amour with Imoinda. The Prince was over-joy'd with this good News, and besought him, if it were pos­sible, to caress her so, as to engage her entirely; which he cou'd not fail to do, if he comply'd with her Desires: For then (said the Prince) her Life lying at your Mercy, she must grant you the Request you make in my behalf. Aboan under­stood him, and assur'd him he would make love so effectually, that he would defie the most ex­pert Mistress of the Art, to find out whether he dissembl'd it, or had it really. And 'twas with impatience they waited the next Opportunity of going to the Otan.

The Wars came on; the Time of taking the Field approach'd, and 'twas impossible for the Prince to delay his going at the Head of his Army, to encounter the Enemy: so that every Day seem'd a tedious Year, till he saw his Imoinda; for he believ'd he cou'd not live, if he were forc'd away without being so happy. 'Twas with im­patience therefore that he expected the next Visit the King wou'd make; and, according to his wish, it was not long.

The Parley of the Eyes of these two Lovers had not pass'd so secretly, but an old jealous Lover could spy it; or rather, he wanted not Flatterers, who told him, they observ'd it: so that the Prince was hasten'd to the Camp, and this was the last Visit he found he shou'd make to the Otan; he therefore urg'd Aboan to make the best of this last Effort, and to ex­plain himself so to Onahal, that she, deferring [Page 27] her Enjoyment of her young Lover no longer, might make way for the Prince to speak to Imoinda.

The whole Affair being agreed on between the Prince and Aboan, they attended the King, as the custom was, to the Otan; where, while the whole Company was taken up in beholding the Dancing, and Antick Postures the Women-Royal made, to divert the King, Onahal singl'd out Aboan whom she found most plyable to her wish. When she had him where she believ'd she cou'd not be heard, she sigh'd to him, and softly cry'd; Ah, Aboan! when will you be sensible of my Passion? I confess it with my Mouth, because I wou'd not give my Eyes the Lye; and you have too much already perceiv'd they have con­fess'd my Flame: Nor wou'd I have you believe, that because I am the abandon'd Mistress of a King, I esteem my self altogether divested of Charms: No, Aboan; I have still a Rest of Beauty enough engaging, and have learn'd to please too well, not to be desirable: I can have Lovers still, but will have none but Aboan. Madam, (reply'd the half-feigning Youth) you have already, by my Eyes, found you can still conquer; and I believe 'tis in pity of me, you condescend to this kind Con­fession: But, Madam, Words are us'd to be so small a part of our Country-Courtship, that 'tis rare one can get so happy an Opportunity as to tell one's Heart; and those few Minutes we have, are forc'd to be snatcht for more certain Proofs of Love than Speaking and Sighing; and such I lan­guish for.

He spoke this with such a Tone, that she hop'd it true, and cou'd not forbear believing [Page 28] it; and being wholly transported with Joy, for having subdu'd the finest of all the King's Subjects to her Desires, she took from her Ears two large Pearls, and commanded him to wear 'em in his. He wou'd have refus'd em, crying, Madam, these are not the Proofs of your Love that I expect; 'tis Opportunity, 'tis a Lone-hour only, that can make me happy: But forcing the Pearls into his Hand, she whisper'd softly to him; Oh! Do not fear a Woman's Invention, when Love sets her a-thinking. And pressing his Hand, she cry'd, This Night you shall be happy: Come to the Gate of the Orange-Grove, behind the Otan, and I will be ready, about Mid-night, to receive you. 'Twas thus agreed, and she left him, that no notice might be taken of their speaking together.

The Ladies were still dancing; and the King laid on a Carpet, with a great deal of pleasure was beholding them, especially Imoinda, who that day appear'd more lovely than ever, be­ing enliven'd with the good Tidings Onahal had brought her, of the constant Passion the Prince had for her. The Prince was laid on another Carpet, at the other end of the Room, with his Eyes fix'd on the Object of his Soul; and as she turn'd or mov'd, so did they; and she alone gave his Eyes and Soul their Motions. Nor did Imoinda employ her Eyes to any other use, than in beholding, with infinite Plea­sure, the Joy she produc'd in those of the Prince. But while she was more regarding Him, than the Steps she took, she chanced to fall; and so near him, as that leaping with extreme force from the Carpet, he caught her in his Arms [Page 29] as she fell: And 'twas visible to the whole Pre­sence, the Joy wherewith he receiv'd her; he clasp'd her close to his Bosom, and quite for­got that Reverence that was due to the Mi­stress of a King, and that Punishment that is the Reward of a Boldness of this nature; and had not the Presence of Mind of Imoinda (fon­der of his safety, than her own) befriended him, in making her spring from his Arms, and fall into her Dance again, he had, at that in­stant, met his Death; for the old King, jealous to the last degree, rose up in Rage, broke all the Diversion, and led Imoinda to her Apart­ment, and sent out word to the Prince, to go immediately to the Camp; and that if he were found another Night in Court, he shou'd suf­fer the Death ordain'd for disobedient Of­fenders.

You may imagine how welcome this News was to Oroonoko, whose unseasonable Transport and Caress of Imoinda was blam'd by all Men that lov'd him; and now he perceiv'd his fault, yet cry'd, That for such another Moment, he wou'd be content to die.

All the Otan was in disorder about this Ac­cident; and Onahal was particularly concern'd, because on the Prince's Stay depended her Happiness; for she cou'd no longer expect that of Aboan. So that, e're they departed, they contriv'd it so, that the Prince and he shou'd come both that Night to the Grove of the Otan, which was all of Oranges and Ci­trons, and that there they wou'd wait her Orders.

[Page 30] They parted thus, with Grief enough, till Night, leaving the King in possession of the lovely Maid. But nothing could appease the Jealousie of the old Lover; he wou'd not be impos'd on, but wou'd have it, that Imoinda made a false Step, on purpose to fall into Oroo­noko's Bosom, and that all things look'd like a Design on both sides, and 'twas in vain she pro­tested her Innocence; he was old and obstinate, and left her more than half assur'd that his Fear was true.

The King going to his Apartment, sent to know where the Prince was, and if he intended to obey his Command. The Messenger re­turn'd, and told him, he found the Prince pen­sive, and altogether unprepared for the Cam­paign; that he lay negligently on the ground, and answer'd very little. This confirm'd the Jealousie of the King, and he commanded that they shou'd very narrowly and privately watch his Motions; and that he shou'd not stir from his Apartment, but one Spy or other shou'd be employ'd to watch him. So that the hour ap­proaching, wherein he was to go to the Citron-Grove; and taking only Aboan along with him, he leaves his Apartment, and was watch'd to the very Gate of the Otan; where he was seen to enter, and where they left him, to carry back the Tidings to the King.

Oroonoko and Aboan were no sooner enter'd, but Onahal led the Prince to the Apartment of Imoinda; who, not knowing any thing of her Happiness, was laid in Bed. But Onahal only left him in her Chamber, to make the best of his Opportunity, and took her dear Aboan to [Page 31] her own; where he shew'd the height of Com­plaisance for his Prince, when, to give him an Opportunity, he suffer'd himself to be caress'd in Bed by Onahal.

The Prince softly waken'd Imoinda, who was not a little surpriz'd with Joy to find him there; and yet she trembl'd with a thousand Fears. I believe he omitted saying nothing to this young Maid, that might persuade her to suffer him to seize his own, and take the Rights of Love; and I believe she was not long resisting those Arms where she so long'd to be; and ha­ving Opportunity, Night and Silence, Youth, Love and Desire, he soon prevail'd, and ravisht in a Moment, what his old Grand-father had been endeavouring for so many Months.

'Tis not to be imagin'd the Satisfaction of these two young Lovers; nor the Vows she made him, that she remain'd a spotless Maid, till that Night; and that what she did with his Grand-father, had robb'd him of no part of her Virgin-Honour, the Gods, in Mercy and Justice, having reserv'd that for her plighted Lord, to whom of Right it belong'd. And 'tis impossible to express the Transports he suffer'd, while he listen'd to a Discourse so charming from her lov'd Lips; and clasp'd that Body in his Arms, for whom he had so long languisht; and nothing now afflicted him, but his sudden Departure from her; for he told her the Ne­cessity, and his Commands; but should depart satisfy'd in this, That since the old King had hitherto not been able to deprive him of those Enloyments which only belong'd to him, he believ'd, for the future, he would be less able to [Page 32] injure him; so that, abating the Scandal of the Veil, which was no otherwise so, than that she was Wife to another: He believ'd her safe, even in the Arms of the King, and innocent; yet wou'd he have ventur'd at the Conquest of the World, and have given it all, to have had her avoided that Honour of receiving the Royal Veil. 'Twas thus, between a thousand Caresses, that both bemoan'd the hard fate of Youth and Beauty, so liable to that cruel Promotion: 'Twas a Glory that cou'd well have been spar'd here, though desir'd and aim'd at by all the young Females of that Kingdom.

But while they were thus fondly employ'd, forgetting how Time ran on, and that the Dawn must conduct him far away from his only Happiness, they heard a great Noise in the Otan, and unusual Voices of Men; at which the Prince, starting from the Arms of the frighted Imoinda, ran to a little Battle-Axe he us'd to wear by his Side; and having not so much leisure as to put on his Habit, he op­pos'd himself against some who were already opening the Door; which they did with so much Violence, that Oroonoko was not able to defend it; but was forc'd to cry out with a commanding Voice, Whoever ye are that have the Boldness to attempt to approach this Apartment thus rudely; know▪ that I, the Prince Oroonoko, will revenge it with the certain Death of him that first enters: Therefore, stand back, and know, this Place is sacred to Love and Me this Night; to Mor­row 'tis the King's.

This he spoke with a Voice so resolv'd and assur'd, that they soon retir' [...] from the Door; [Page 33] but cry'd; 'Tis by the King's Command we are come: and being satisfy'd by thy Voice, O Prince, as much as if we had enter'd, we can report to the King the Truth of all his Fears, and leave thee to provide for thy own Safety, as thou art advis'd by thy Friends.

At these words they departed, and left the Prince to take a short and sad leave of his Imoinda; who trusting in the strength of her Charms, believ'd she shou'd appease the Fury of a jealous King, by saying, She was surpriz'd, and that it was by force of Arms he got into her Apartment. All her Concern now was for his Life, and therefore she hasten'd him to the Camp, and with much a-doe prevail'd on him to go. Nor was it she alone that prevail'd; Aboan and Onahal both pleaded, and both as­sur'd him of a Lye that shou'd be well enough contriv'd to secure Imoinda. So that at last, with a Heart sad as Death, dying Eyes, and sighing Soul, Oroonoko departed, and took his way to the Camp.

It was not long after the King, in Person, came to the Otan; where beholding Imoinda, with Rage in his Eyes, he upbraided her Wicked­ness and Perfidy; and threatning her Royal Lover, she fell on her Face at his Feet, be­dewing the Floor with her Tears, and implo­ring his Pardon for a Fault which she had not with her Will committed; as Onahal, who was also prostrate with her, cou'd testifie: That, unknown to her, he had broke into her Apartment, and ravish'd her. She spoke this much against her Conscience; but to save her own Life, 'twas absolutely necessary [Page 34] she shou'd feign this Falsity. She knew it cou'd not injure the Prince, he being fled to an Army that wou'd stand by him, against any Injuries that shou'd assault him. How­ever, this last Thought of Imoinda's being Ra­vish'd, chang'd the measures of his Revenge; and whereas before he design'd to be himself her Executioner, he now resolv'd she shou'd not die. But as it is the greatest Crime in na­ture amongst 'em, to touch a Woman after having been possess'd by a Son, a Father, or a Brother; so now he look'd on Imoinda as a polluted thing, wholly unfit for his Embrace: nor wou'd he resign her to his Grand-son, be­cause she had receiv'd the Royal Veil. He there­fore removes her from the Otan, with Onahal; whom he put into safe Hands, with order they shou'd be both sold off, as Slaves, to another Country, either Christian or Heathen, 'twas no matter where.

This cruel Sentence, worse than Death, they implor'd might be revers'd; but their Prayers were vain, and it was put in execution accor­dingly, and that with so much Secrecy, that none either without or within the Otan knew any thing of their Absence, or their Destiny.

The old King, nevertheless, executed this with a great deal of Reluctancy; but he be­liev'd he had made a very great Conquest over himself, when he had once resolv'd, and had perform'd what he resolv'd. He believ'd now, that his Love had been unjust; and that he cou'd not expect the Gods, or Captain of the Clouds (as [...]hey call the unknown Power) [Page 35] wou'd suffer a better Consequence from so ill a Cause. He now begins to hold Oroonoko ex­cus'd; and to say, he had Reason for what he did: And now every Body cou'd assure the King how passionately Imoinda was belov'd by the Prince; even those confess'd it now, who said the contrary before his Flame was abated. So that the King being old, and not able to defend himself in War, and having no Sons of all his Race remaining alive, but only this, to maintain him on his Throne; and looking on this as a Man disoblig'd, first by the Rape of his Mistress, or rather Wife, and now by depriving of him wholly of her, he fear'd, might make him desperate, and do some cruel thing, either to himself or his old Grand-father the Offender; he began to repent him extremely of the Contempt he had, in his Rage, put on Imoinda. Besides, he consider'd, he ought in Honour to have kill'd her, for this Offence, if it had been one: He ought to have had so much Value and Consideration for a Maid of her Quality, as to have nobly put her to Death; and not to have sold her like a common Slave, the greatest Revenge, and the most disgraceful of any; and to which they a thousand times preferr Death, and implore it; as Imoinda did, but cou'd not obtain that Ho­nour. Seeing therefore it was certain, that Oroonoko wou'd highly resent this Affront, he thought good to make some Excuse for his Rashness to him; and to that end, he sent a Messenger to the Camp, with Orders to treat with him about the Matter, to gain his Par­don, and to endeavour to mitigate his Grief; [Page 36] but that by no means he shou'd tell him she was sold, but secretly put to death; for he knew he shou'd never obtain his Pardon for the other.

When the Messenger came, he found the Prince upon the point of Engaging with the Enemy; but as soon as he heard of the arri­val of the Messenger, he commanded him to his Tent, where he embrac'd him, and receiv'd him with Joy; which was soon abated, by the Down-cast Looks of the Messenger, who was instantly demanded the cause by Oroonoko, who, impatient of Delay, ask'd a thousand Questions in a breath; and all concerning Imo­inda. But there needed little Return; for he cou'd almost answer himself of all he deman­ded from his Sighs and Eyes. At last, the Mes­senger casting himself at the Prince's Feet, and kissing them, with all the Submission of a Man that had something to implore which he dreaded to utter, he besought him to hear with Calm­ness what he had to deliver to him, and to call up all his Noble and Heroick Courage, to en­counter with his Words, and defend himself against the ungrateful things he must relate. Oroonoko reply'd, with a deep Sigh, and a lan­guishing Voice,—I am arm'd against their worst Efforts—; for I know they will tell me, Imo­inda is no more—; and after that, you may spare the rest. Then, commanding him to rise, he laid himself on a Carpet, under a rich Pa­villion, and remain'd a good while silent, and was hardly heard to sigh. When he was come a little to himself, the Messenger ask'd him leave to deliver that part of his Embassy which the [Page 37] Prince had not yet devin'd: And the Prince cry'd, I permit thee.—Then he told him the Affliction the old King was in, for the Rashness he had committed, in his Cruelty to Imoinda; and how he daign'd to ask Pardon for his Of­fence, and to implore the Prince wou'd not suffer that Loss to touch his Heart too sen­sibly, which now all the Gods cou'd not restore him, but might recompense him in Glory, which he begg'd he wou'd pursue; and that Death, that common Revenger of all Injuries, wou'd soon even the Account between him and a feeble old Man.

Oroonoko bad him return his Duty to his Lord and Master; and to assure him, there was no Account of Revenge to be adjusted be­tween them; if there were, 'twas he was the Aggressor, and that Death would be just, and, maugre his Age, wou'd fee him righted; and he was contented to leave his Share of Glory to Youths more fortunate, and worthy of that Favour from the Gods. That henceforth he wou'd never lift a Weapon, or draw a Bow, but abandon the small remains of his Life to Sighs and Tears, and the continual Thoughts of what his Lord and Grand-father had thought good to send out of the World, with all that Youth, that Innocence and Beauty.

After having spoken this, what-ever his greatest Officers and Men of the best Rank cou'd do, they cou'd not raise him from the Carpet, or persuade him to Action, and Re­solutions of Life; but commanding all to re­tire, he shut himself into his Pavillion all that day, while the Enemy was ready to engage▪ [Page 38] and wondring at the Delay, the whole Body of the chief of the Army then address'd them­selves to him, and to whom they had much a-doe to get Admittance. They fell on their Faces at the Foot of his Carpet; where they lay, and besought him with earnest Prayers and Tears, to lead'em forth to Battle, and not let the Enemy take Advantages of them; and implor'd him to have regard to his Glory, and to the World, that depended on his Courage and Conduct. But he made no other Reply to all their Supplications, but this; That he had now no more business for Glory; and for the World, it was a Trifle not worth his Care: Go (continu'd he, sighing) and divide it amongst you, and reap with Joy what you so vainly prize, and leave me to my more welcome Destiny.

They then demanded what they shou'd do, and whom he wou'd constitute in his room, that the Confusion of ambitious Youth and Power might not ruine their Order, and make them a Prey to the Enemy. He reply'd; He wou'd not give himself the Trouble—; but wish'd 'em to chuse the bravest Man amongst 'em, let his Quality or Birth be what it wou'd: For, O my Friends! (said he) it is not Titles make Men Brave or Good; or Birth, that bestows Courage and Generosity, or makes the Owner Happy: Believe this, when you behold Oroonoko, the most wretched, and abandon'd by Fortune, of all the Creation of the Gods. So turning himself about, he wou'd make no more Reply to all they cou'd urge or implore.

The Army beholding their Officers return unsuccessful, with sad Faces, and ominous [Page 39] Looks, that presage'd no good Luck, suffer'd a thousand Fears to take possession of their Hearts, and the Enemy to come ev'n upon 'em, before they wou'd provide for their Safety, by any Defence; and though they were assur'd by some, who had a mind to animate 'em, that they shou'd be immediately Headed by the Prince, and that in the mean time Aboan had Orders to Command as General; yet they were so dismay'd for want of that great Example of Bravery, that they cou'd make but a very feeble Resistance; and at last, down­right, fled before the Enemy, who pursu'd 'em to the very Tents, killing 'em: Nor cou'd all Aboan's Courage, which that day gain'd him immortal Glory, shame 'em into a Manly De­fence of themselves. The Guards that were left behind about the Prince's Tent, seeing the Soldiers flee before the Enemy, and seat­ter themselves all over the Plain, in great Dis­order, made such Out-cries as rouz'd the Prince from his amorous Slumber, in which he had remain'd bury'd for two Days, without per­mitting any Sustenance to approach him. But, in spite of all his Resolutions, he had not the constancy of Grief to that degree, as to make him insensible of the Danger of his Army; and in that instant he leap'd from his Couch, and cry'd,—Come, if we must die, let us meet Death the noblest way; and 'twill be more like Oroonoko to encounter him at an Army's Head, opposing the Torrent of a conquering Foe, than lazily, on a Couch, to wait his lingering Pleasure, and die every moment by a thousand racking Thoughts; or be tamely taken by an Enemy, and led a whining▪ [Page 40] Love-sick Slave, to adorn the Triumphs of Jamoan, that young Victor, who already is enter'd beyond the Limits I had prescrib'd him.

While he was speaking, he suffer'd his Peo­ple to dress him for the Field; and sallying out of his Pavillion, with more Life and Vi­gour in his Countenance than ever he shew'd, he appear'd like some Divine Power descended to save his Countrey from Destruction; and his People had purposely put him on all things that might make him shine with most Splendor, to strike a reverend Awe into the Beholders. He flew into the thickest of those that were pursuing his Men; and being animated with Despair, he fought as if he came on purpose to die, and did such things as will not be be­liev'd that Humane Strength cou'd perform; and such as soon inspir'd all the rest with new Courage, and new Order: And now it was, that they began to fight indeed; and so, as if they wou'd not be out-done ev'n by their a­dor'd Hero; who turning the Tide of the Vi­ctory, changing absolutely the Fate of the Day, gain'd an entire Conquest; and Oroonoko having the good fortune to single out Jamoan, he took him Prisoner with his own Hand, having woun­ded him almost to death.

This Jamoan afterwards became very dear to him, being a Man very gallant, and of ex­cellent Graces, and fine Parts; so that he ne­ver put him amongst the Rank of Captives, as they us'd to do, without distinction, for the common Sale, or Market; but kept him in his own Court, where he retain'd nothing of the Prisoner but the Name, and return'd no more [Page 41] into his own Countrey, so great an Affection he took for Oroonoko; and by a thousand Tales and Adventures of Love and Gallantry, flat­ter'd his Disease of Melancholy and Languish­ment; which I have often heard him say, had certainly kill'd him, but for the Conversation of this Prince and Aboan, the French Governor he had from his Childhood, of whom I have spoken before, and who was a Man of admi­rable Wit, great Ingenuity and Learning; all which he had infus'd into his young Pupil. This French-man was banisht out of his own Countrey, for some Heretical Notions he held; and though he was a Man of very little Re­ligion, he had admirable Morals, and a brave Soul.

After the total Defeat of Jamoan's Army, which all fled, or were left dead upon the Place, they spent some time in the Camp; Oroonoko chusing rather to remain a while there in his Tents, than to enter into a Palace, or live in a Court where he had so lately suffer'd so great a Loss. The Officers therefore, who saw and knew his cause of Discontent, invented all sorts of Diversions and Sports, to entertain their Prince: So that what with those Amuze­ments abroad, and others at home, that is, within their Tents, with the Persuasions, Ar­guments and Care of his Friends and Servants that he more peculiarly priz'd, he wore off, in time, a great part of that Shagrien, and Torture of Despair, which the first Efforts of Imoinda's Death had given him: insomuch as having re­ceiv'd a thousand kind Embassies from the King, and Invitations to return to Court, he obey'd, [Page 42] though with no little reluctancy; and when he did so, there was a visible change in him, and for a long time he was much more melan­choly than before. But Time lessens all Ex­tremes, and reduces 'em to Medium's, and Un­concern; but no Motives or Beauties, though all endeavour'd it, cou'd engage him in any sort of Amour, though he had all the Invitations to it, both from his own Youth, and others Ambi­tions and Designs.

Oroonoko was no sooner return'd from this last Conquest, and receiv'd at Court with all the Joy and Magnificence that cou'd be ex­press'd to a young Victor, who was not only return'd triumphant, but belov'd like a Deity, when there arriv'd in the Port an English Ship.

This Person had often before been in these Countries, and was very well known to Oroo­noko, with whom he had traffick'd for Slaves, and had us'd to do the same with his Prede­cessors.

This Commander was a Man of a finer sort of Address, and Conversation, better bred, and more engaging, than most of that sort of Men are; so that he seem'd rather never to have been bred out of a Court, than almost all his life at Sea. This Captain therefore was al­ways better receiv'd at Court, than most of the Traders to those Countries were; and espe­cially by Oroonoko, who was more civiliz'd, ac­cording to the Europaean Mode, than any other had been, and took more delight in the White Nations; and, above all, Men of Parts and Wit. To this Captain he sold abundance of [Page 43] his Slaves; and for the Favour and Esteem he had for him, made him many Presents, and oblig'd him to stay at Court as long as possibly he cou'd. Which the Captain seem'd to take as a very great Honour done him, entertain­ing the Prince every day with Globes and Maps, and Mathematical Discourses and Instru­ments; eating, drinking, hunting and living with him with so much familiarity, that it was not to be doubted but he had gain'd very greatly upon the Heart of this gallant young Man. And the Captain, in Return of all these mighty Favours, besought the Prince to ho­nour his Vessel with his Presence, some day or other, to Dinner, before he shou'd set sail: which he condescended to accept, and ap­pointed his day. The Captain, [...]on his part, fail'd not to have all things in a readiness, in the most magnificent order he cou'd possibly: And the day being come, the Captain, in his Boat, richly adorn'd with Carpets and Velvet-Cushions, row'd to the shore, to receive the Prince; with another Long-Boat, where was plac'd all his Musick and Trumpets, with which Oroonoko was extremely delighted; who met him on the shore, attended by his French Go­vernor, Jamoan, Aboan, and about an hundred of the noblest of the Youths of the Court: And after they had first carry'd the Prince on board, the Boats fetch'd the rest off: where they found a very splendid Treat, with all sorts of fine Wines; and were as well entertain'd, as 'twas possible in such a place to be.

The Prince having drank hard of Punch, and several sorts of Wine, as did all the rest, [Page 44] (for great care was taken, they shou'd want nothing of that part of the Entertainment) was very merry, and in great admiration of the Ship, for he had never been in one before; so that he was curious of beholding every place where he decently might descend. The rest, no less curious, who were not quite overcome with Drinking, rambl'd at their pleasure Fore and Aft, as their Fancies guided 'em: So that the Captain, who had well laid his Design be­fore, gave the Word, and seiz'd on all his Guests; they clapping great Irons suddenly on the Prince, when he was leap'd down into the Hold, to view that part of the Vessel; and locking him fast down, secur'd him. The same Treachery was us'd to all the rest; and all in one instant, in several places of the Ship, were lash'd fast in Irons, and betray'd to Slavery. That great Design over, they set all Hands to work to hoise Sail; and with as treacherous and fair a Wind they made from the Shore with this inno­cent and glorious Prize, who thought of nothing less than such an Entertainment.

Some have commended this Act, as brave in the Captain; but I will spare my sense of it, and leave it to my Reader to judge as he pleases. It may be easily guess'd, in what man­ner the Prince resented this Indignity, who may be best resembl'd to a Lion taken in a Toil; so he rag'd, so he struggl'd for Liberty, but all in vain; and they had so wisely manag'd his Fetters, that he cou'd not use a Hand in his defence, to quit himself of a Life that wou'd by no means endure Slavery; nor cou'd he move from the place where he was ty'd, to [Page 45] any solid part of the Ship against which he might have beat his Head, and have finish'd his Disgrace that way: So that being deprived of all other means, he resolv'd to perish for want of Food; and pleas'd at last with that Thought, and toil'd and tir'd by Rage and Indignation, he laid himself down, and sullenly resolv'd upon dying, and refused all things that were brought him.

This did not a little vex the Captain, and the more so, because he found almost all of 'em of the same Humour: so that the loss of so many brave Slaves, so tall and goodly to behold, wou'd have been very considerable: He therefore order'd one to go from him (for he wou'd not be seen himself) to Oroonoko, and to assure him, he was afflicted for having rashly done so unhospitable a Deed, and which cou'd not be now remedy'd, since they were far from shore; but since he resented it in so high a na­ture, he assur'd him he wou'd revoke his Reso­lution, and set both him and his Friends a-shore on the next Land they shou'd touch at; and of this the Messenger gave him his Oath, pro­vided he would resolve to live: And Oroonoko, whose Honour was such as he never had viola­ted a Word in his Life himself, much less a so­lemn Asseveration, believ'd in an instant what this Man said; but reply'd, He expected, for a confirmation of this, to have his shameful Fetters dismiss'd. This Demand was carried to the Captain; who return'd him answer, That the Offence had been so great which he had put upon the Prince, that he durst not trust him with Liberty while he remain'd in the Ship, [Page 46] for fear lest by a Valour natural to him, and a Revenge that wou'd animate that Valour, he might commit some Outrage fatal to himself, and the King his Master, to whom his Vessel did belong. To this Oroonoko reply'd; He would engage his Honour to behave himself in all friendly Order and Manner, and obey the Com­mand of the Captain, as he was Lord of the King's Vessel, and General of those Men under his Command.

This was deliver'd to the still doubting Cap­tain, who could not resolve to trust a Heathen, he said, upon his Parole, a Man that had no Sense or Notion of the God that he worshipp'd. Oroonoko then reply'd; He was very sorry to hear that the Captain pretended to the Know­ledge and Worship of any Gods, who had taught him no better Principles, than not to Credit as he would be Credited. But they told him, the Difference of their Faith occasion'd that Distrust: For the Captain had protested to him upon the Word of a Christian, and sworn in the Name of a Great GOD; which if he shou'd violate, he would expect eternal Tor­ment in the World to come. Is that all the Ob­ligation he has to be Just to his Oath? (replied O­roonoko.) Let him know, I swear by my Honour; which to violate, would not only render me con­temptible and despised by all brave and honest Men, and so give my self perpetual pain, but it wou'd be eternally offending and displeasing all Mankind; harming, betraying, circumventing and outraging all Men: but Punishments hereafter are suffer'd by one's self; and the World takes no cognizances whether this God have reveng'd 'em, or not, 'tis [Page 47] done so secretly, and deferr'd so long: While the Man of no Honour suffers every moment the scorn and contempt of the honester World, and dies every day ignominiously in his Fame, which is more valuable than Life: I speak not this to move Belief, but to shew you how you mistake, when you imagine, That he who will violate his Honour, will keep his Word with his Gods. So, turning from him with a disdainful smile, he refused to answer him, when he urg'd him to know what Answer he shou'd carry back to his Captain; so that he de­parted without saying any more.

The Captain pondering and consulting what to do, it was concluded that nothing but Oroo­noko's Liberty wou'd encourage any of the rest to eat, except the French-man, whom the Cap­tain cou'd not pretend to keep Prisoner, but only told him, he was secured, because he might act something in favour of the Prince, but that he shou'd be freed as soon as they came to Land. So that they concluded it wholly necessary to free the Prince from his Irons, that he might shew himself to the rest; that they might have an eye upon him, and that they cou'd not fear a single Man.

This being resolv'd; to make the Obligation the greater, the Captain himself went to Oroo­noko; where, after many Complements, and Assurances of what he had already promis'd, he receiving from the Prince his Parole, and his Hand, for his good Behaviour, dismiss'd his Irons, and brought him to his own Cabin; where, after having treated and repos'd him a while, (for he had neither eat nor slept in four days before) he besought him to visit those [Page 48] obstinate People in Chains, who refus'd all manner of Sustenance; and entreated him to oblige 'em to eat, and assure 'em of their Liberty the first Opportunity.

Oroonoko, who was too generous, not to give credit to his Words, shew'd himself to his Peo­ple, who were transported with Excess of Joy at the sight of their Darling Prince; falling at his Feet, and kissing and embracing 'em; be­lieving, as some Divine Oracle, all he assur'd 'em. But he besought 'em to bear their Chains with that Bravery that became those whom he had seen act so nobly in Arms; and that they cou'd not give him greater Proofs of their Love and Friendship, since 'twas all the Security the Captain (his Friend) cou'd have, against the Revenge, he said, they might possibly justly take, for the Injuries sustain'd by him. And they all, with one accord, assur'd him, they cou'd not suffer enough, when it was for his Repose and Safety.

After this, they no longer refus'd to eat, but took what was brought 'em, and were pleas'd with their Captivity, since by it they hop'd to redeem the Prince, who, all the rest of the Voyage, was treated with all the respect due to his Birth, tho' nothing cou'd divert his Melan­choly; and he wou'd often sigh for Imoinda, and think this a Punishment due to his Misfor­tune, in having left that Noble Maid behind him, that fatal Night, in the Otan, when he fled to the Camp.

Possess'd with a thousand Thoughts of past Joys with this fair young Person, and a thou­sand Griefs for her eternal Loss, he endur'd a [Page 49] tedious Voyage, and at last arriv'd at the Mouth of the River of Surinam, a Colony belonging to the King of England, and where they were to deliver some part of their Slaves. There the Merchants and Gentlemen of the Coun­try going on Board, to demand those Lots of Slaves they had already agreed on, and, amongst those, the Over-seers of those Planta­tions where I then chanc'd to be; the Captain, who had given the Word, order'd his Men to bring up those [...] noble Slaves in Fetters, whom I have spoken of; and having put 'em, some in one, and some in other Lots, with Women and Children (which they call Pickaninies,) they sold 'em off, as Slaves, to several Mer­chants and Gentlemen; not putting any two in one Lot, because they wou'd separate 'em far from each other; not daring to trust 'em together, lest Rage and Courage shou'd put 'em upon contriving some great Action, to the Ruine of the Colony.

Oroonoko was first seiz'd on, and sold to our Over-seer, who had the first Lot, with seven­teen more of all sorts and sizes, but not one of Quality with him. When he saw this, he found what they meant; for, as I said, he under­stood English pretty well; and being wholly unarm'd and defenceless, so as it was in vain to make any Resistance, he only beheld the Cap­tain with a Look all fierce and disdainful, up­braiding him with Eyes that forc'd Blushes on his guilty Cheeks, he only cry'd, in passing over the side of the Ship; Farewell, Sir: 'Tis worth my Suffering, to gain so true a Knowledge both of you, and of your Gods by whom you swear▪ [Page 50] And desiring those that held him to forbear their pains, and telling 'em he wou'd make no Resistance, he cry'd, Come, my Fellow-Slaves; let us descend, and see if we can meet with more Honour and Honesty in the next World we shall touch upon. So he nimbly leapt into the Boat, and shewing no more Concern, suffer'd himself to be row'd up the River, with his Seventeen Companions.

The Gentleman that bought him, was a young Conish Gentleman, whose Name was Trefry; a Man of great Wit, and fine Learn­ing, and was carry'd into those Parts by the Lord—Governor, to manage all his Af­fairs. He reflecting on the last World of Oroo­noko to the Captain, and beholding the Rich­ness of his Vest, no sooner came into the Boat, but he fix'd his Eyes on him; and finding something so extraordinary in his Face, his Shape and Mien, a Greatness of Look, and Haughtiness in his Air, and finding he spoke English, had a great Mind to be enquiring into his Quality and Fortune; which, though Oroo­noko endeavour'd to hide, by only confessing he was above the Rank of common Slaves, Trefry soon found he was yet something greater than he confess'd; and from that Moment be­gan to conceive so vast an Esteem for him, that he ever after lov'd him as his dearest Brother, and shew'd him all the Civilities due to so great a Man.

Trefry was a very good Mathematician, and a Linguist; cou [...]d speak French and Spanish; and in the three Days they remain'd in the Boat (for so long were they going from the [Page 51] Ship, to the Plantation) he entertain'd Oroo­noko so agreeably with his Art and Discourse, that he was no less pleas'd with Trefry, than he was with the Prince; and he thought him­self, at least, fortunate in this, that since he was a Slave, as long as he won'd suffer himself to remain so, he had a Man of so excellent Wit and Parts for a Master: So that before they had finish'd their Voyage up the River, he made no scruple of declaring to Trefry all his Fortunes, and most part of what I have here related, and put himself wholly into the Hands of his new Friend, whom he found resenting all the Injuries were done him, and was charm'd with all the Greatnesses of his Actions; which were recited with that Modesty, and delicate Sence, as wholly vanquish'd him, and subdu'd him to his Interest. And he promis'd him on his Word and Honour, he wou'd find the Means to re-conduct him to his own Coun­try again: assuring him, he had a perfect Ab­horrence of so dishonourable an Action; and that he wou'd sooner have dy'd, than have been the Author of such a Perfidy. He found the Prince was very much concern'd to know what became of his Friends, and how they took their Slavery; and Trefry promis'd to take care about the enquiring after their Con­dition, and that he shou'd have an Account of 'em.

Though, as Oroonoko afterwards said, he had little Reason to credit the Words of a Backea­rary, yet he knew not why; but he saw a king of Sincerity, and awful Truth in the Face of Trefry; he saw an Honesty in his Eyes, and [Page 52] he found him wise and witty enough to under­stand Honour: for it was one of his Maxims, A Man of Wit cou'd not be a Knave or Villain.

In their passage up the River, they put in at several Houses for Refreshment; and ever when they landed, numbers of People wou'd flock to behold this Man; not but their Eyes were daily entertain'd with the sight of Slaves, but the Fame of Oroonoko was gone before him, and all People were in admiration of his Beauty. Besides, he had a rich Habit on, in which he was taken, so different from the rest, and which the Captain cou'd not strip him of, be­cause he was forc'd to surprize his Person in the minute he sold him. When he found his Habit made him liable, as he thought, to be gaz'd at the more, he begg'd Trefry to give him something more befitting a Slave; which he did, and took off his Robes. Nevertheless, he shone through all, and his Osenbrigs (a sort of brown Holland Suit he had on) cou'd not con­ceal the Graces of his Looks and Mien; and he had no less Admirers, than when he had his dazling Habit on; the Royal Youth appear'd in spite of the Slave, and People cou'd not help treating him after a different manner, without designing it: As soon as they approach'd him, they venerated and esteem'd him; his Eyes in­sensibly commanded Respect, and his Behaviour insinuated it into every Soul. So that there was nothing talk'd of but this young and gallant Slave, even by those who yet knew not that he was a Prince.

I ought to tell you, that the Christians never but any Slaves but they give 'em some Name [Page 53] of their own, their native ones being likely very barbarous, and hard to pronounce; so that Mr. Trefry gave Oroonoko that of Caesar: which Name will live in that Countrey as long as that (scarce more) glorious one of the great Roman; for 'tis most evident, he wanted no part of the Personal Courage of that Caesar, and acted things as memorable, had they been done in some part of the World replenish'd with People, and Historians, that might have given him his due. But his Misfortune was, to fall in an obscure World, that afforded only a Female Pen to celebrate his Fame; though I doubt not but it had liv'd from others Endea­vours, if the Dutch, who, immediately after his time, took that Countrey, had not kill'd, banish'd and dispers'd all those that were ca­pable of giving the World this great Man's Life, much better than I have done. And Mr. Trefry, who design'd it, dy'd before he began it, and bemoan'd himself for not having undertook it in time.

For the future therefore, I must call Oroo­noko, Caesar; Since by that Name only he was known in our Western World, and by that Name he was receiv'd on Shore at Parham-House, where he was destin'd a Slave. But if the King himself (God bless him) had come a-shore, there cou'd not have been greater Expectations by all the whole Plantation, and those neighbouring ones, than was on ours at that time; and he was receiv'd more like a Governor, than a Slave. Notwithstanding, as the Custom was, they assign'd him his portion of Land, his House, and his Business, up in the [Page 54] Plantation. But as it was more for Form, than any Design, to put him to his Task, he endur'd no more of the Slave but the Name, and re­main'd some Days in the House, receiving all Visits that were made him, without stirring towards that part of the Plantation where the Negroes were.

At last, he wou'd needs go view his Land, his House, and the Business assign'd him. But he no sooner came to the Houses of the Slaves, which are like a little Town by it self, the Ne­groes all having left Work, but they all came forth to behold him, and found he was that Prince who had, at several times, sold most of 'em to these Parts; and, from a Veneration they pay to great Men, especially if they know 'em, and from the Surprize and Awe they had at the sight of him, they all cast themselves at his Feet, crying out, in their Language, Live, O King! Long live, O King! And kissing his Feet, paid him even Divine Homage.

Several English Gentlemen were with him; and what Mr. Trefry had told 'em, was here confirm'd; of which he himself before had no other Witness than Caesar himself: But he was infinitely glad to find his Grandure confirm'd by the Adoration of all the Slaves.

Caesar troubl'd with their Over-Joy, and Over-Ceremony, besought 'em to rise, and to receive him as their Fellow-Slave; assuring them, he was no better. At which they set up with one Accord a most terrible and hidi­ous Mourning and Condoling, which he and the English had much a-do to appease; but at last they prevail'd with 'em, and they prepar'd [Page 55] all their barbarous Musick, and every one kill'd and dress'd something of his own Stock (for every Family has their Land a-part, on which, at their leisure-times, they breed all eatable things; and clubbing it together, made a most magnificent Supper, inviting their Grandee Cap­tain, their Prince, to honour it with his Presence; which he did, and several English with him; where they all waited on him, some playing, others dancing before him all the time, accor­ding to the Manners of their several Nations; and with unwearied Industry, endeavouring to please and delight him.

While they sat at Meat, Mr. Trefry told Cae­sar, that most of these young Salves were un­done in Love, with a fine She-Slave, whom they had had about Six Months on their Land; the Prince, who never heard the Name of Love without a Sigh, nor any mention of it without the Curiosity of examining further into that tale, which of all Discourses was most agree­able to him, asked, how they came to be so Unhappy, as to be all Undone for one fair Slave? Trefry, who was naturally Amorous, and lov'd to talk of Love as well as any body, proceeded to tell him, they had the most charm­ing Black that ever was beheld on their Planta­tion, about fifteen or sixteen Years old, as he guess'd that, for his part, he had done nothing but Sigh for her ever since she came; and that all the White Beauties he had seen, never charm'd him so absolutely as this fine Creature had done; and that no Man, of any Nation, ever beheld her, that did not fall in Love with her; and that she had all the Slaves perpetu­ally [Page 56] at her Feet; and the whole Countrey re­sounded with the Fame of Clemene, for so (said he) we have Christen'd her: But she denies us all with such a noble Disdain, that 'tis a Mi­racle to see, that she, who can give such eter­nal Desires, shou'd her self be all Ice and all Unconcern. She is adorn'd with the most grace­ful Modesty that ever beautify'd Youth; the softest Sigher;—that, if she were capable of Love, one wou'd swear she languish'd for some absent happy Man; and so retir'd, as if she fear'd a Rape even from the God of Day, or that the Breezes wou'd steal Kisses from her delicate Mouth: Her Task of Work, some sigh­ing Lover every Day makes it his Petition to perform for her; which she accepts, blushing, and with reluctancy, for fear he will ask her a Look for a Recompence, which he dares not presume to hope; so great an Awe she strikes into the Hearts of her Admirers. I do not won­der (reply'd the Prince) that Clemene shou'd re­fuse Slaves, being, as you say, so Beautiful; but wonder how she escapes those who can entertain her as you can do: or why, being your Slave, you do not oblige her to yield. I confess (said Trefry) when I have, against her Will, entertain'd her with Love so long, as to be transported with my Passion even above Decency, I have been ready to make use of those advantages of Strength and Force Nature has given me: But, oh! she disarms me, with that Modesty and Weeping, so tender and so moving, that I retire, and thank my Stars she over­came me. The Company laugh'd at his Civi­lity to a Slave, and Caesar only applauded the Nobleness of his Passion and Nature; since that [Page 57] Slave might be Noble, or, what was better, have true Notions of Honour and Vertue in her. Thus pass'd they this Night, after having re­ceiv'd from the Slaves all imaginable Respect and Obedience.

The next day, Trefry ask'd Caesar to walk when the Heat was allay'd, and designedly carry'd him by the Cottage of the fair Slave; and told him, she whom he spoke of last night liv'd there retir'd: But (says he) I wou'd not wish you to approach; for I am sure, you will be in Love as soon as you behold her. Caesar assur'd him, he was Proof against all the Charms of that Sex; and that if he imagin'd his Heart cou'd be so perfidious to Love again, after Imoinda, he believ'd he shou'd tear it from his Bosom. They had no sooner spoke, but a lit­tle Shock-Dog, that Clemene had presented her, which she took great delight in, ran out; and she, not knowing any body was there, ran to get it in again, and bolted out on those who were just speaking of her: When, seeing them, she wou'd have run in again; but Trefry caught her by the Hand, and cry'd; Clemene, how­ever you flie a Lover, you ought to pay some Respect to this Stranger, (pointing to Caesar.) But she, as if she had resolv'd never to raise her Eyes to the Face of a Man again, bent 'em the more to the Earth, when he spoke, and gave the Prince the leisure to look the more at her. There needed no long Gazing, or Consideration, to examine who this fair Creature was; he soon saw Imoinda all over her; in a minute he saw her Face, her Shape, her Air, her Modesty, and all that call'd forth his Soul with Joy at [Page 58] his Eyes, and left his Body destitute of almost Life; it stood without Motion, and, for a Mi­nute, knew not that it had a Being: and, I be­lieve, he had never come to himself, so oppress'd he was with Over-joy, if he had not met with this Allay, that he perceiv'd Imoinda fall dead in the Hands of Trefry: This awaken'd him, and he ran to her Aid, and caught her in his Arms, where, by degrees, she came to her self; and 'tis needless to tell with what Transports, what Extasies of Joy, they both a while beheld each other, without Speaking; then Snatch'd each other to their Arms; then Gaze again, as if they still doubted whether they possess'd the Blessing: They Grasp'd; but when they recover'd their Speech, 'tis not to be imagin'd, what tender Things they express'd to each o­ther; wondering what strange Fate had brought 'em again together. They soon inform'd each other of their Fortunes, and equally bewail'd their Fate; but, at the same time, they mutually protested, that even Fetters and Slavery were Soft and Easie; and wou'd be supported with Joy and Pleasure, while they cou'd be so happy to possess each other, and to be able to make good their Vows. Caesar swore he disdain'd the Empire of the World, while he cou'd behold his Imoinda; and she despis'd Grandure and Pomp, those Vanities of her Sex, when she cou'd Gaze on Oroonoko. He ador'd the very Cottage where she resided, and said, That little Inch of the World wou'd give him more Happiness than all the Universe cou'd do; and she vow'd, It was a Palace, while adorn'd with the Presence of Oroonoko.

[Page 59] Trefry was infinitely pleas'd with this Novel, and found this Clemene was the Fair Mistress of whom Caesar had before spoke; and was not a little satisfied, that Heaven was so kind to the Prince, as to sweeten his Misfortunes by so lucky an Accident; and leaving the Lovers to them­selves, was impatient to come down to Par­ham-House, (which was on the same Plantation) to give me an Account of what had hapned. I was as impatient to make these Lovers a Visit, having already made a Friendship with Caesar; and from his own Mouth learn'd what I have related, which was confirmed by his French­man, who was set on Shoar to seek his For­tunes; and of whom they cou'd not make a Slave, because a Christian; and he came daily to Parham-Hill to see and pay his Respects to his Puple Prince: So that concerning and in­tresting my self, in all that related to Caesar, whom I had assur'd of Liberty, as soon as the Governor arriv'd, I hasted presently to the Place where the Lovers were, and was infi­nitely glad to find this Beautiful young Slave (who had already gain'd all our Esteems, for her Modesty and her extraordinary Prettiness) to be the same I had heard Caesar speak so much of. One may imagine then we paid her a treble Respect; and though from her being carv'd in fine Flowers and Birds all over her Body, we took her to be of Quality before, yet, when we knew Clemene was Imoinda, we cou'd not enough admire her.

I had forgot to tell you, that those who are Nobly born of that Country, are so delicately Cut and Rac'd all over the fore-part of the [Page 60] Trunk of their Bodies, that it looks as if it were Japan'd, the Works being raised like high Poynt round the edges of the Flowers. Some are only carv'd with a little Flower, or Bird, at the sides of the Temples, as was Caesar; and those who are so carv'd over the Body, re­semble our Ancient Picts that are figur'd in the Chronicles, but these Carvings are more delicate.

From that happy Day Caesar took Clemene for his Wife, to the general Joy of all People; and there was as much Magnificence as the Countrey wou'd afford at the Celebration of this Wedding: and in a very short time after she conceiv'd with Child; which made Caesar even adore her, knowing he was the last of his Great Race. This new Accident made him more impatient of Liberty, and he was every day treating with Trefry for his and Clemene's Liberty, and offer'd either Gold, or a vast quantity of Slaves, which shou'd be paid before they let him go, provided he cou'd have any Security that he shou'd go when his Ransom was paid. They fed him from Day to Day with Promises, and delay'd him till the Lord-Governor shou'd come; so that he began to suspect them of falshood, and that they wou'd delay him till the time of his Wife's Delivery, and make a Slave of that too; for all the Breed is theirs to whom the Parents belong: This Thought made him very uneasie, and his Sul­lenness gave them some Jealousies of him; so that I was oblig'd, by some Persons who fear'd a Mutiny (which is very fatal sometimes in those Colonies, that abound so with Slaves, [Page 61] that they exceed the Whites in vast Numbers) to discourse with Caesar, and to give him all the Satisfaction I prossibly could; they knew he and Clemene were scarce an Hour in a Day from my Lodgings; that they eat with me, and that I oblig'd 'em in all things I was capable of: I entertain'd 'em with the Lives of the Romans, and Great Men; which charm'd him to my Company; and her, with teaching her all the pretty Works that I was Mistress of, and tel­ling her Stories of Nuns, and endeavouring to bring her to the Knowledge of the True God. But of all Discourses, Caesar lik'd that the worst, and wou'd never be reconcil'd to our Notions of the Trinity, of which he ever made a Jest: it was a Riddle, he said, wou'd turn his Brain to conceive, and one cou'd not make him un­derstand what Faith was. However, these Conversations fail'd not altogether so well to divert him, that he lik'd the Company of us Women much above the Men: for he cou'd not drink; and he is but an ill Companion in that Countrey that cannot: So that obliging him to love us very well, we had all the liberty of Speech with him, especially my self, whom he calld his Great Mistress; and, indeed, my Word wou'd go a great way with him. For these Reasons, I had opportunity to take no­tice to him, that he was not well pleas'd of late, as he us'd to be; was more retir'd and thoughtful; and told him, I took it ill he shou'd Suspect we wou'd break our Words with him, and not permit both him and Clemene to return to his own Kingdom, which was not so long a way, but, when he was once on his Voy­age, [Page 62] he wou'd quickly arrive there. He made me some Answers that shew'd a doubt in him, which made me ask what advantage it wou'd be to doubt? it would but give us a Fear of him, and possibly compel us to treat him so as I shou'd be very loath to behold: that is, it might occasion his Confinement. Perhaps this was not so luckily spoke of me, for I perceiv'd he resented that Word, which I strove to soften again in vain: However, he assur'd me, that whatsoever Resolutions he shou'd take, he wou'd Act nothing upon the White-People; and as for my self, and those upon that Plantation where he was, he wou'd sooner forfeit his eternal Li­berty, and Life it self, than lift his Hand against his greatest Enemy on that Place: He besought me to suffer no Fears upon his Account, for he cou'd do nothing that Honour shou'd not di­ctate; but he accus'd himself for having suf­fer'd Slavery so long; yet he charg'd that weakness on Love alone, who was capable of making him neglect even Glory it self; and, for which, now he reproaches himself every moment of the Day. Much more to this effect he spoke, with an Air impatient enough to make me know he wou'd not be long in Bon­dage; and though he suffer'd only the Name of a Slave, and had nothing of the Toil and Labour of one, yet that was sufficient to ren­der him Uneasie; and he had been too long Idle, who us'd to be always in Action, and in Arms: He had a Spirit all Rough and Fierce, and that cou'd not be tam'd to lazy Rest; and though all endeavours were us'd to exer­cise himself in such Actions and Sports as this [Page 63] World afforded, as Running, Wrestling, Pitch­ing the Bar; Hunting and Fishing, Chasing and Killing Tigers of a monstrous Size, which this Continent affords in abundance; and wonder­ful Snakes, such as Alexander is reported to have incounter'd at the River of Amazons, and which Caesar took great Delight to overcome; yet these were not Actions great enough for his large Soul, which was still panting after more renown'd Action.

Before I parted that Day with him, I got, with much ado, a Promise from him to rest yet a lit­tle longer with Patience, and wait the coming of the Lord Governor, who was every Day expe­cted on our Shore; he assur'd me he wou'd, and this Promise he desired me to know was given perfectly in Complaisance to me, in whom he had an intire Confidence.

After this, I neither thought it convenient to trust him much out of our View, nor did the Country who fear'd him; but with one accord it was advis'd to treat him fairly, and oblige him to remain within such a compass, and that he shou'd be permitted, as seldom as cou'd be, to go up to the Plantations of the Negroes; or, if he did, to be accompany'd by some that shou'd be rather in appearance Attendants than Spys. This Care was for some time taken, and Caesar look'd upon it as a Mark of extraordinary Respect, and was glad his discontent had ob­lig'd 'em to be more observant to him; he re­ceived new assurance from the Overseer, which was confirmed to him by the Opinion of all the Gentlemen of the Country, who made their court to him: During this time that we had [Page 64] his Company more frequently than hitherto we had had, it may not be unpleasant to relate to you the Diversions we entertaind'd him with, or rather he us.

My stay was to be short in that Countrey; because my Father dy'd at Sea, and never ar­riv'd to possess the Honour was design'd him, (which was Lieutenant-General of Six and thirty Islands, besides the Continent of Suri­nam,) nor the Advantages he hop'd to reap by them: so that though we were oblig'd to con­tinue on our Voyage, we did not intend to stay upon the Place. Though, in a word, I must say thus much of it; That certainly, had his late Majesty, of sacred Memory, but seen and known what a vast and charming World he had been Master of in that Continent, he wou'd never have parted so easily with it to the Dutch. 'Tis a Continent whose vast Extent was never yet known, and may contain more Noble Earth than all the Universe beside; for, they say, it reaches from East to West one way as far as China, and another to Peru: It affords all things both for Beauty and Use; 'tis there Eternal Spring, al­ways the very Months of April, May and June; the Shades are perpetual, the Trees bearing at once all degrees of Leaves and Fruit, from blooming Buds to ripe Autumn: Groves of Oranges, Limons, Citrons, Figs, Nutmegs, and noble Aromaticks, continually bearing their Fragrancies. The Trees appearing all like Nose­gays adorn'd with Flowers of different kinds; some are all White, some Purple, some Scarlet, some Blue, some Yellow; bearing, at the same time, Ripe Fruit and Blooming Young, or pro­ducing [Page 65] every day new. The very Wood of all these Trees have an intrinsick Value above common Timber; for they are, when cut, of different Colours, glorious to behold; and bear a price considerable, to Inlay withal. Besides this, they yield rich Balm, and Gums; so that we make our Candles of such an Aromatick Sub­stance, as does not only give a sufficient Light, but, as they burn, they cast their Perfumes all about. Cedar is the common Firing, and all the Houses are built with it. The very Meat we eat, when set on the Table, if it be Native, I mean, of the Countrey, perfumes the whole Room; especially a little Beast call'd an Arma­dilly, a thing which I can liken to nothing so well as a Rhinoceros; 'tis all in white Armour, so jointed, that it moves as well in it, as if it had nothing on; this Beast is about the bigness of a Pig of six Weeks old. But it were endless to give an Account of all the divers Wonderful and Strange things that Countrey affords, and which we took a very great delight to go in search of; though those Adventures are often­times Fatal, and at least Dangerous: But while we had Caesar in our Company on these Designs, we fear'd no harm, nor suffer'd any.

As soon as I came into the Countrey, the best House in it was presented me, call'd St. John's Hill: It stood on a vast Rock of white Marble, at the foot of which the River ran a vast depth down, and not to be descended on that side; the little Waves still dashing and washing the foot of this Rock, made the softest Murmurs and Purlings in the World; and the opposite Bank was adorn'd with such vast quantities of [Page 66] different Flowers eternally Blowing, and every Day and Hour new, fenc'd behind 'em with lofty Trees of a thousand rare Forms and Co­lours, that the Prospect was the most ravishing that Sands can create. On the edge of this white Rock, towards the River, was a Walk or Grove of Orange and Limon-Trees, about half the length of the Mall here, whose Flowery and Fruit-bearing Branches met at the top, and hinder'd the Sun, whose Rays are very fierce there, from entering a Beam into the Grove; and the cool Air that came from the River, made it not only fit to entertain People in, at all the hottest hours of the day, but refresh'd the sweet Blossoms, and made it always Sweet and Charming; and sure, the whole Globe of the World cannot shew so delightful a Place as this Grove was: Not all the Gardens of boasted Italy can produce a Shade to out-vie this, which Nature had join'd with Art to render so ex­ceeding fine; and 'tis a marvel to see how such vast Trees, as big as English Oaks, cou'd take footing on so solid a Rock, and in so little Earth as cover'd that Rock: But all things by Nature there are Rare, Delightful and Wonderful. But to our Sports.

Sometimes we wou'd go surprising, and in search of young Tigers in their Dens, watching when the old ones went forth to forage for Prey; and oftentimes we have been in great danger, and have fled a-pace for our Lives, when surpriz'd by the Dams. But once, above all other times, we went on this Design, and Caesar was with us; who had no sooner stoln a young Tiger from her Nest, but going off, [Page 67] we encounter'd the Dam, bearing a Buttock of a Cow, which he had torn off with his mighty Paw, and going with it towards his Den; we had only four Women, Caesar, and an English Gentleman, Brother to Harry Mar­tin the great Oliverian; we found there was no escaping this enraged and ravenous Beast. However, we Women fled as fast as we cou'd from it; but our Heels had not saved our Lives, if Caesar had not laid down his Cub, when he found the Tiger quit her Prey to make the more speed towards him; and taking Mr. Mar­tin's Sword, desir'd him to stand aside, or fol­low the Ladies. He obey'd him; and Caesar met this monstrous Beast of might, size, and vast Limbs, who came with open Jaws upon him; and fixing his awful stern Eyes full upon those of the Beast, and putting himself into a very steddy and good aiming posture of De­fence, ran his Sword quite through his Breast down to his very Heart, home to the Hilt of the Sword: the dying Beast stretch'd forth her Paw, and going to grasp his Thigh, surpriz'd with death in that very moment, did him no other harm than fixing her long Nails in his Flesh very deep, feebly wounded him, but cou'd not grasp the Flesh to tear off any. When he had done this, he hollow'd to us to return: which, after some assurance of his Victory, we did, and found him lugging out the Sword from the Bosom of the Tiger, who was laid in her blood on the ground; he took up the Cub, and with an Unconcern that had nothing of the Joy or Gladness of a Victory, he came and laid the Whelp at my Feet. We [Page 68] all extremely wonder'd at his Daring, and at the Bigness of the Beast, which was about the heighth of an Heifer, but of mighty great and strong Limbs.

Another time, being in the Woods, he kill'd a Tiger which had long infested that Part, and borne away abundance of Sheep and Oxen, and other things that were for the support of those to whom they belong'd: abundance of People assail'd this Beast, some affirming they had shot her with several Bullets quite through the Body, at several times; and some swearing they shot her through the very Heart, and they believ'd she was a Devil, rather than a mortal thing. Caesar had often said, he had a mind to encounter this Monster, and spoke with seve­ral Gentlemen who had attempted her; one crying, I shot her with so many poyson'd Ar­rows, another with his Gun in this part of her, and another in that; so that he remark­ing all these places where she was shot, fancy'd still he shou'd overcome her, by giving her ano­ther sort of a Wound than any had yet done, and one day said (at the Table,) What Trophies and Garlands, Ladies, will you make me, if I bring you home the Heart of this Ravenous Beast, that eats up all your Lambs and Pigs? We all pro­mis'd he shou'd be rewarded at all our hands. So taking a Bow, which he chose out of a great many, he went up into the Wood, with two Gentlemen, where he imagin'd this De­vourer to be; they had not past very far in it, but they heard her Voice, growling and grumbling, as if she were pleas'd with some­thing she was doing. When they came in [Page 69] view, they found her muzzling in the Belly of a new ravish'd Sheep, which she had torn open; and seeing her self approach'd, she took fast hold of her Prey with her fore Paws, and set a very fierce raging Look on Caesar, with­out offering to approach him, for fear at the same time of losing what she had in posses­sion. So that Caesar remain'd a good while, only taking aim, and getting an opportunity to shoot her where he design'd: 'twas some time before he cou'd accomplish it; and to wound her, and not kill her, wou'd but have enrag'd her the more, and endanger'd him: He had a Quiver of Arrows at his Side, so that if one fail'd, he could be supply'd; at last, retiring a little, he gave her opportunity to eat; for he found she was ravenous, and fell too as soon as she saw him retire, being more eager of her Prey, than of doing new Mischiefs: when he going softly to one side of her, and hiding his Person behind certain Herbage that grew high and thick, he took so good aim, that, as he inten­ded, he shot her just into the Eye, and the Ar­row was sent with so good a will, and so sure a hand, that it stuck in her Brain, and made her caper, and become mad for a moment or two; but being seconded by another Arrow, she fell dead upon the Prey. Caesar cut her open with a Knife, to see where those Wounds were that had been reported to him, and why she did not die of 'em. But I shall now relate a thing that, possibly, will find no credit among Men; because 'tis a Notion commonly receiv'd with us, That nothing can receive a Wound in the Heart and live: But when the Heart of [Page 70] this courageous Animal was taken out, there were seven Bullets of Lead in it, and the Wounds seam'd up with great Scars, and she liv'd with the Bullets a great while, for it was long since they were shot: This Heart the Conqueror brought up to us, and 'twas a very great Curiosity, which all the Countrey came to see; and which gave Caesar occasion of many fine Discourses; of Accidents in War, and strange Escapes.

At other times he wou'd go a Fishing; and discoursing on that Diversion, he found we had in that Countrey a very strange Fish, call'd a Numb Eel (an Eel of which I have eaten) that while it is aliye, it has a quality so Cold, that those who are Angling, though with a Line of never so great a length, with a Rod at the end of it, it shall, in the same minute the Bait is touched by this Eel, seize him or▪ her that holds the Rod with benumb'dness, that shall deprive 'em of Sense, for a while; and some have faln into the Water, and others drop'd, as dead, on the Banks of the Rivers where they stood, as soon as this Fish touches the Bait. Caesar us'd to laugh at this, and believ'd it impossible a Man cou'd lose his Force at the touch of a Fish; and cou'd not understand that Philoso­phy, that a Cold Quality should be of that na­ture; however, he had a great Curiosity to try whether it wou'd have the same effect on him it had on others, and often try'd, but in vain: at last, the [...]ought-for Fish came to the Bait, as he stood Angling on the Bank; and instead of throwing away the Rod, or giving it a sudden twitch out of the Water, whereby [Page 71] he might have caught both the Eel, and have dismiss'd the Rod, before it cou'd have too much power over him; for Experiment-sake, he grasp'd it but the harder, and fainting fell into the River; and being still possess'd of the Rod, the Tide carry'd him, senseless as he was, a great way, till an Indian Boat took him up; and perceiv'd, when they touch'd him, a Numb­ness seize them, and by that knew the Rod was in his Hand; which, with a Paddle, (that is, a short Oar) they struck away, and snacht it into the Boat, Eel and all. If Caesar was almost dead, with the effect of this Fish, he was more so with that of the Water, where he had remain'd the space of going a League, and they found they had much a-doe to bring him back to life; but at last they did, and brought him home, where he was in a few hours well recover'd and refresh'd, and not a little asham'd to find he shou'd be overcome by an Eel, and that all the People, who heard his Defiance, wou'd laugh at him. But we chear'd him up; and he, being convinc'd, we had the Eel at Supper, which was a Quarter of an Ell about, and most delicate Meat; and was of the more value, since it cost so dear as almost the Life of so gallant a Man.

About this time we were in many mortal Fears, about some Disputes the English had with the Indians; so that we cou'd scarce trust our selves, without great Numbers, to go to any Indian Towns or Place where they a­bode, for fear they shou'd fall upon us, as they did immediately after my coming away; and that it was in the possession of the Dutch, who [Page 72] us'd 'em not so civilly as the English; so that they cut in pieces all they cou'd take, getting into Houses, and hanging up the Mother, and all her Children about her; and cut a Foot­man, I left behind me, all in Joints, and nail'd him to Trees.

This Feud began while I was there; so that I lost half the Satisfaction I propos'd, in not seeing and visiting the Indian Towns. But one day, bemoaning of our Misfortunes upon this account, Caesar told us, we need not fear; for if we had a mind to go, he wou'd undertake to be our Guard. Some wou'd, but most wou'd not venture: about Eighteen of us resolv'd, and took Barge; and after eight days, arriv'd near an Indian Town: But approaching it, the Hearts of some of our Company fail'd, and they wou'd not venture on Shore; so we Poll'd who wou'd, and who wou'd not. For my part, I said, If Caesar wou'd, I wou'd go. He resolv'd; so did my Brother, and my Woman, a Maid of good Courage. Now, none of us speaking the Language of the People, and ima­gining we shou'd have a half Diversion in Ga­zing only; and not knowing what they said, we took a Fisherman that liv'd at the mouth of the River, who had been a long Inhabitant there, and oblig'd him to go with us: But because he was known to the Indians, as trading among 'em, and being, by long living there, become a perfect in Indian Colour, we, who resolv'd to surprize 'em, by making them see something they never had seen, (that is, White People) resolv'd only my self, my Brother and Woman shou'd go; so Cae­sar, the Fisherman, and the rest, hiding behind [Page 73] some thick Reeds and Flowers that grew on the Banks, let us pass on towards the Town, which was on the Bank of the River all along. A little distant from the Houses, or Huts, we saw some Dancing, others busy'd in fetching and carrying of Water from the River: They had no sooner spy'd us, but they set up a loud Cry, that frighted us at first; we thought it had been for those that shou'd kill us, but it seems it was of Wonder and Amazement. They were all Naked; and we were Dress'd, so as is most commode for the hot Countries, very Glittering and Rich; so that we appear'd extremely fine; my own Hair was cut short, and I had a Taf­faty Cap, with Black Feathers, on my Head; my Brother was in a Stuff Sute, with Silver Loops and Buttons, and abundance of Green Ribbon: This was all infinitely surprising to them; and because we saw them stand still till we approach'd 'em, we took heart and ad­vanc'd, came up to 'em, and offer'd 'em our Hands; which they took, and look'd on us round about, calling still for more Company; who came swarming out, all wondering, and cry­ing out Tepeeme; taking their Hair up in their Hands, and spreading it wide to those they call'd out to; as if they wou'd say (as indeed it signify'd) Numberless Wonders, or not to be recounted, no more than to number the Hair of their Heads. By degrees they grew more bold, and from gazing upon us round, they touch'd us, laying their Hands upon all the Features of our Faces, feeling our Breasts and Arms, taking up one Petticoat, then wonder­ing to see another; admiring our Shooes and [Page 74] Stockings, but more our Garters, which we gave 'em, and they ty'd about their Legs, be­ing lac'd with Silver Lace at the ends; for they much esteem any shining things: In fine, we suffer'd 'em to survey us as they pleas'd, and we thought they wou'd never have done ad­miring us. When Caesar, and the rest, saw we were receiv'd with such wonder, they came up to us; and finding the Indian Trader whom they knew, (for 'tis by these Fishermen, call'd Indian Traders, we hold a Commerce with 'em; for they love not to go far from home, and we never go to them;) when they saw him there­fore, they set up a new Joy, and cry'd, in their language, Oh! here's our Tiguamy, and we shall now know whether those things can speak: So advan­cing to him, some of 'em gave 'em their Hands, and cry'd, Amora Tiguamy; which is as much as, How do you; or, Welcome, Friend: and all, with one din, began to gabble to him, and ask'd, if we had Sense and Wit? if we could talk of Affairs of Life and War, as they cou'd do? if we cou'd Hunt, Swim, and do a thousand things they use? He answer'd 'em, We cou'd. Then they invited us into their Houses, and dress'd Venison and Buffelo for us; and, going out, gather'd a Leaf of a Tree, call'd a Sarumbo Leaf, of six Yards long, and spread it on the Ground for a Table-Cloth; and cutting another in pieces, instead of Plates, setting us on little bow Indian Stools, which they cut out of one entire piece of Wood, and paint in a sort of Japan-work: They serve every one their Mess on these pieces of Leaves; and it was very good, but too high season'd with Pepper. When we had eat, my [Page 75] Brother and I took out our Flutes, and play'd to 'em, which gave 'em new Wonder; and I soon perceiv'd, by an Admiration that is na­tural to these People, and by the extreme Ig­norance and Simplicity of 'em, it were not dif­ficult to establish any unknown or extravagaut Religion among them, and to impose any No­tions or Fictions upon 'em. For seeing a Kins­man of mine set some Paper a fire with a Burn­ing-glass, a Trick they had never before seen, they were like to have ador'd him for a God, and begg'd he wou'd give 'em the Characters or Figures of his Name, that they might op­pose it against Winds and Storms: which he did, and they held it up in those Seasons, and fancy'd it had a Charm to conquer them, and kept it like a holy Relique. They are very Superstitious, and call'd him the Great Peeie, that is, Prophet. They shew'd us their Indian Peeie, a Youth of about Sixteen Years old, as handsom as Nature cou'd make a Man. They consecrate a beautiful Youth from his Infancy, and all Arts are used to compleat him in the fi­nest manner, both in Beauty and Shape: He is bred to all the little Arts and Cunning they are capable of; to all the Legerdemain Tricks, and Slight of Hand, whereby he imposes upon the Rabble; and is both a Doctor in Physick and Divinity: And by these Tricks makes the Sick believe he sometimes eases their Pains, by drawing from the afflicted part little Serpents, or odd Flies, or Worms, or any strange thing; and though they have besides undoubted good Remedies for almost all their Diseases, they cure the Patient more by Fancy than by Me­dicines; [Page 76] and make themselves Fear'd, Lov'd, and Reverenc'd. This young Peeie had a very young Wife, who seeing my Brother kiss her, came running and kiss'd me: after this they kiss'd one another, and made it a very great Jest, it being so novel; and new [...] Admi­ration and Laughing went round the Mul­titude, that they never will forget that Cere­mony, never before us'd or known. Caesar had a mind to see and talk with their War-Cap­tains, and we were conducted to one of their Houses; where we beheld several of the great Captains, who had been at Council: But so frightful a Vision it was to see 'em no Fancy can create; no sad Dreams can represent so dreadful a Spectacle. For my part, I took 'em for Hobgoblins, or Fiends, rather than Men: but however their Shapes appear'd, their Souls were very Humane and Noble; but some wan­ted their Noses, some their Lips, some both Noses and Lips, some their Ears, and others cut through each Cheek, with long Slashes, through which their Teeth appear'd: they had other several formidable Wounds and Scars, or rather Dismembrings: they had Comitia's, or little Aprons before 'em; and Girdles of Cotton, with their Knives naked stuck in it; a Bow at their Backs, and a Quiver of Arrows on their Thighs; and most had Feathers on their Heads of divers Colours. They cry'd Amora Tigame to us, at our entrance, and were pleas'd we said as much to them: They seated us, and gave us Drink of the best sort, and won­der'd, as much as the others had done before, to see us. Caesar was marvelling as much at [Page 77] their Faces, wondring how they shou'd all be so wounded in War; he was impatient to know how they all came by those frightful Marks of Rage or Malice, rather than Wounds got in noble Battle: They told us, by our In­terpreter, That when any War was waging, two Men, chosen out by some old Captain whose Fighting was past, and who cou'd only teach the Theory of War, these two Men were to stand in competition for the Generalship, or Great War-Captain; and being brought before the old Judges, now past Labour, they are ask'd, What they dare do, to shew they are worthy to lead an Army? When he who is first ask'd, making no Reply, cuts off his Nose, and throws it contemptibly on the Ground; and the other does something to himself that he thinks sur­passes him, and perhaps deprives himself of Lips and an Eye; so they Slash on till one gives out, and many have dy'd in this Debate. And it's by a passive Valour they shew and prove their Activity; a sort of Courage too Brutal to be applauded by our Black Hero; nevertheless, he express'd his Esteem of 'em.

In this Voyage Caesar begot so good an un­derstanding between the Indians and the English, that there were no more Fears or Heart-burnings during our stay, but we had a per­fect, open, and free Trade with 'em. Many things remarkable, and worthy reciting, we met with in this short Voyage; because Caesar made it his business to search out and provide for our Entertainment, especially to please his dearly ador'd Imoinda, who was a Sharer in all our Adventures; we being resolv'd to make [Page 78] her Chains as easie as we cou'd, and to Com­plement the Prince in that manner that most oblig'd him.

As we were coming up again, we met with some Indians of strange Aspects; that is, of a larger Size, and other sort of Features, than those of our Countrey: Our Indian Slaves, that row'd us, ask'd 'em some Questions; but they cou'd not understand us, but shew'd us a long Cotton String, with several Knots on it, and told us, they had been coming from the Moun­tains so many Moons as there were Knots; they were habited in Skins of a strange Beast, and brought along with 'em Bags of Gold Dust; which, as well as they cou'd give us to under­stand, came streaming in little small Chanels down the high Mountains, when the Rains fell; and offer'd to be the Convoy to any Body, or Persons, that wou'd go to the Mountains. We carry'd these Men up to Parham, where they were kept till the Lord-Governor came: And be­cause all the Country was mad to be going on this Golden Adventure, the Governor, by his Letters, commanded (for they sent some of the Gold to him) that a Guard shou'd be set at the mouth of the River of Amazons (a River so call'd, almost as broad as the River of Thames) and prohibited all People from going up that River, it conducting to those Mountains of Gold. But we going off for England before the Project was further prosecuted, and the Governor being drown'd in a Hurricane, either the Design dy'd, or the Dutch have the Advantage of it: And 'tis to be bemoan'd what His Majesty lost, by losing that part of America.

[Page 79] Though this Digression is a little from my Story; however, since it contains some Proofs of the Curiosity and Daring of this Great Man, I was content to omit nothing of his Character.

It was thus for some time we diverted him; but now Imoinda began to shew she was with Child, and did nothing but sigh and weep for the Captivity of her Lord, her self, and the In­fant yet unborn; and believ'd, if it were so hard to gain the Liberty of Two, 'twou'd be more difficult to get that for Three. Her Griefs were so many Darts in the great Heart of Caesar; and taking his Opportunity, one Sunday, when all the Whites were overtaken in Drink, as there were abundance of several Trades, and Slaves for Four Years, that inhabited among the Negro Houses; and Sunday was their Day of Debauch, (otherwise they were a sort of Spies upon Caesar,) he went, pretending out of goodness to 'em, to Feast among 'em, and sent all his Musick, and order'd a great Treat for the whole Gang, about Three hundred Negroes, and about an Hundred and fifty were able to bear Arms, such as they had, which were sufficient to do execution with Spirits accordingly: For the English had none but rusty Swords, that no strength cou'd draw from a Scabbard; except the People of particu­lar Quality, who took care to oil 'em, and keep 'em in good order: The Guns also, unless here and there one, or those newly carry'd from England, wou'd do no good or harm; for 'tis the Nature of that Countrey to rust and eat up Iron, or any Metals but Gold and Silver. And they are very unexpert at the Bow, which the Negroes and Indians are perfect Masters of.

[Page 80] Caesar, having singl'd out these Men from the Women and Children, made an Harangue to 'em, of the Miseries and Ignominies of Sla­very; counting up all their Toils and Suffer­ings, under such Loads, Burdens and Drudge­ries, as were fitter for Beasts than Men; Sense­less Brutes, than Humane Souls. He told 'em, it was not for Days, Months or Years, but for Eternity; there was no end to be of their Misfortunes: They suffer'd not like Men who might find a Glory and Fortitude in Oppres­sion; but like Dogs that lov'd the Whip and Bell, and fawn'd the more they were beaten: That they had lost the Divine Quality of Men, and were become insensible Asses, fit only to bear: nay, worse; an Ass, or Dog, or Horse, having done his Duty, cou'd lie down in re­treat, and rise to work again, and while he did his Duty, indur'd no Stripes; but Men, Villainous, Senseless Men, such as they, Toil'd on all the tedious Week till Black Friday; and then, whether they work'd or not, whether they were faulty or meriting, they, promis­cuously, the Innocent with the Guilty, suf­fer'd the infamous Whip, the sordid Stripes, from their fellow Slaves, till their Blood trickl'd from all Parts of their Body; Blood, whose every drop ought to be reveng'd with a Life of some of those Tyrants that impose it: And why (said he) my dear Friends and Fellow-sufferers, shou'd we be Slaves to an unknown People! Have they Vanquish'd us Nobly in Fight? Have they Won us in Honourable Battle? And are we, by the chance of War, become their Slaves? This wou'd not anger a Noble Heart; this wou'd [Page 81] not animate a Soldier's Soul; no, but we are Bought and Sold like Apes, or Monkeys, to be the Sport of Women, Fools and Cowards; and the Support of Rogues, Runagades, that have abandon'd their own Countries for Rapine, Murders, Theft and Villanies: Do you not hear, every day, how they upbraid each other with Infamy of Life, below the Wildest Salvages? and shall we render Obedience to such a degenerate Race, who have no one Humane Vertue left, to distin­guish 'em from the vilest Creatures? Will you, I say, suffer the Lash from such Hands? They all re­ply'd, with one accord, No, No, No; Caesar has spoke like a Great Captain; like a Great King.

After this, he wou'd have proceeded, but was interrupted by a tall Negro of some more Qua­lity than the rest, his Name was Tuscan; who bowing at the Feet of Caesar, cry'd, My Lord, we have listen'd with Joy and Attention to what you have said; and, were we only Men, wou'd follow so great a Leader through the World: But oh! consider we are Husbands, and Parents too, and have things more dear to us than Life, our Wives and Children, unfit for Travel in these unpassable Woods, Mountains and Bogs; we have not only difficult Lands to over­come, but Rivers to wade, and Mountains to en­counter; Ravenous Beasts of Prey—To this, Caesar reply'd, That Honour was the First Principle in Nature, that was to be Obey'd: but as no Man wou'd pretend to that, without all the Acts of Vertue, Compassion, Charity, Love, Justice and Reason; he found it not inconsistent with that, to take an equal care of their Wives and Children, as they wou'd of themselves; and that he did not design, when he led them to Freedom, and Glorious Li­berty, that they shou'd leave that better part of them­selves [Page 82] to perish by the Hand of the Tyrant's Whip: But if there were a Woman among them so degene­rate from Love and Vertue, to chuse Slavery before the pursuit of her Husband, and with the hazard of her Life, to share with him in his Fortunes; that such an one ought to be abandon'd, and left as a Prey to the Common Enemy.

To which they all Agreed,—and Bowed. After this, he spoke of the impassable Woods and Rivers; and convinc'd 'em, the more Dan­ger, the more Glory. He told them, that he had heard of one Hannibal a great Captain, had cut his way through Mountains of solid Rocks; and shou'd a few Shrubs oppose them, which they cou'd fire before 'em? No, 'twas a trifling Excuse to Men resolv'd to die, or overcome. As for Bogs, they are with a little Labour fill'd and harden'd; and the Rivers cou'd be no Ob­stacle, since they swam by Nature, at least, by Custom, from the first hour of their birth: That when the Children were weary, they must carry them by turns, and the Woods and their own Industry wou'd afford them Food. To this they all assented with Joy.

Tuscan then demanded, what he wou'd do? He said they wou'd Travel towards the Sea, Plant a New Colony, and Defend it by their Valour; and when they cou'd find a Ship, either driven by stress of Weather, or guided by Pro­vidence that way, they wou'd seize it, and make it a Prize, till it had transported them to their own Countries; at least, they shou'd be made Free in his Kingdom, and be esteem'd as his Fellow-sufferers, and Men that had the Cou­rage and the Bravery to attempt, at least, for [Page 83] Liberty; and if they dy'd in the attempt, it wou'd be more brave, than to live in perpetual Slavery.

They bow'd and kiss'd his Feet at this Reso­lution, and with one accord Vow'd to follow him to Death. And that Night was appointed to begin their March, they made it known to their Wives, and directed them to tie their Hamaca about their Shoulders, and under their Arm, like a Scarf; and to lead their Children that cou'd go, and carry those that cou'd not. The Wives, who pay an entire Obedience to their Husbands, obey'd, and stay'd for 'em where they were appointed: The Men stay'd but to furnish themselves with what defensive Arms they cou'd get; and All met at the Rendezvous, where Caesar made a new encouraging Speech to 'em, and led 'em out.

But as they cou'd not march far that Night, on Monday early, when the Overseers went to call 'em all together, to go to work, they were extremely surpriz'd, to find not one up­on the Place, but all fled with what Baggage they had. You may imagine this News was not only suddenly spread all over the Planta­tion, but soon reach'd the neighbouring ones; and we had by Noon about Six hundred Men they call the Militia of the Country, that came to assist us in the pursuit of the Fugitives: But never did one see so comical an Ar­my march forth to War. The Men of any Fashion wou'd not concern themselves, though it were almost the Common Cause; for such Revoltings are very ill Examples, and have very fatal Consequences, often-times, in many [Page 84] Colonies: But they had a Respect for Caesar, and all hands were against the Parhamites (as they call'd those of Parham Plantation;) because they did not, in the first place, love the Lord-Governor; and, secondly, they wou'd have it, that Caesar was ill us'd, and Baffl'd with; and 'tis not impossible but some of the best in the Countrey was of his Council in this Flight, and depriving us of all the Slaves: so that they of the better sort wou'd not meddle in the matter. The Deputy-Governor, of whom I have had no great occasion to speak, and who was the most fawning fair-Tongu'd Fel­low in the World, and one that pretended the most Friendship to Caesar, was now the only violent Man against him; and though he had nothing, and so need fear nothing, yet talk'd and look'd bigger than any Man: He was a Fellow, whose Character is not fit to be men­tion'd with the worst of the Slaves. This Fel­low wou'd lead his Army forth to meet Caesar, or rather to pursue him: most of their Arms were of those sort of cruel Whips they call Cat-with Nine-Tails; some had rusty useless Guns for shew; others old Basket-hilts, whose Blades had never seen the Light in this Age; and others had long Staffs and Clubs. Mr. Trefry went along▪ rather to be a Mediator than a Con­queror, in such a Battle; for he foresaw, and knew, if by fighting they put the Negroes into despair, they were a sort of sullen Fellows, that wou'd drown or kill themselves, before they wou'd yield; and he advis'd, that fair means was best: But Byam was one that abounded in his own Wit, and wou'd take his own Measures.

[Page 85] It was not hard to find these Fugitives; for as they fled, they were forc'd to fire and cut the Woods before 'em; so that Night or Day they pursu'd 'em by the Light they made, and by the Path they had clear'd. But as soon as Caesar found he was pursu'd, he put himself in a posture of Defence, placing all the Women and Children in the Rear; and himself, with Tuscan by his side, or next to him, all pro­mising to Die or Conquer. Encourag'd thus, they never stood to Parley, but fell on Pell­mell upon the English, and kill'd some, and wounded a good many; they having recourse to their Whips, as the best of their Weapons. And as they observ'd no Order, they perplex'd the Enemy so sorely, with lashing 'em in the Eyes; and the Women and Children seeing their Husbands so treated, being of fearful cowardly Dispositions, and hearing the English cry out, Yield, and Live! Yield, and be Pardon'd! they all run in amongst their Husbands and Fa­thers, and hung about 'em, crying out, Yield, Yield, and leave Caesar to their Revenge; that by degrees the Slaves abandon'd Caesar, and left him only Tuscan, and his Heroick Imoinda; who, grown big as she was, did neverthelefs press near her Lord, having a Bow, and a Quiver full of poison'd Arrows, which she manag'd with such dexterity, that she woun­ded several, and shot the Governor into the Shoulder; of which Wound he had like to have died, but that an Indian Woman, his Mistress, suck'd the Wound, and cleans'd it from the Venom: But however, he stirr'd not from the Place till he had Parly'd with Caesar, [Page 86] who he found was resolv'd to die fighting, and wou'd not be taken; no more wou'd Tuscan, or Imoinda. But he, more thirsting after Re­venge of another sort, than that of depriving him of Life, now made use of all his Art of Talking and Dissembling, and besought Caesar to yield himself upon Terms which he himself should propose; and should be sacredly assen­ted to, and kept by him: He told him, It was not that he any longer fear'd him, or cou'd be­lieve the force of two Men, and a young He­roine, cou'd overcome all them, with all the Slaves now on their side also; but it was the vast Esteem he had for his Person, the Desire he had to serve so Gallant a Man, and to hin­der himself from the Reproach hereafter, of having been the occasion of the Death of a Prince, whose Valour and Magnanimity de­serv'd the Empire of the World. He pro­tested to him, he look'd upon this Action as Gallant and Brave, however tending to the Prejudice of his Lord and Master, who wou'd by it have lost so considerable a number of Slaves; that this Flight of his, shou'd be look'd on as a heat of Youth, and a rashness of a too forward Courage, and an unconsider'd Impa­tience of Liberty, and no more; and that he labour'd in vain to accomplish that which they wou'd effectually perform, as soon as any Ship arriv'd that wou'd touch on his Coast: So that if you will be pleas'd (continu'd he) to surrender your self, all imaginable Respect shall be paid you; and your Self, your Wife, and Child, if it be born here, shall depart free out of our Land. But Caesar wou'd here of no Composition; [Page 87] though Byam urg'd, If he pursu'd and went on in his Design, he wou'd inevitably perish, either by great Snakes, wild Beasts, or Hun­ger; and he ought to have regard to his Wife, whose Condition required Ease, and not the Fatigues of tedious Travel, where she cou'd not be secur'd from being devour'd. But Cae­ser told him, there was no Faith in the White Men, or the Gods they ador'd; who in­structed 'em in Principles so false, that honest Men cou'd not live amongst 'em; though no People profess'd so much, none perform'd so little; that he knew what he had to do, when he dealt with Men of Honour; but with them a Man ought to be eternally on his Guard, and never to Eat and Drink with Christians, without his Weapon of Defence in his Hand; and, for his own Security, never to credit one Word they spoke. As for the Rashness and Inconside­rateness of his Action, he wou'd confess the Governor is in the right; and that he was asham'd of what he had done, in endeavouring to make those Free, who were by Nature Slaves, poor wretched Rogues, fit to be us'd as Christian [...] Tools; Dogs, Treacherous and Cowardly, fit for such Masters; and they wanted only but to be whipp'd into the Knowledge of the Christian Gods, to be the vilest of all creep­ing things; to learn to worship such Deities as had not Power to make 'em Just, Brave, or Honest. In fine, after a thousand things of this nature, not fit here to be recited, he told Byam, He had rather Die, than Live upon the same Earth with such Dogs. But Trefry and Byam pleaded and protested together so much, [Page 88] that Trefry believing the Governor to mean what he said; and speaking very cordially himself, generously put himself into Caesar's Hands, and took him aside, and persuaded him, even with Tears, to Live, by Surren­dring himself, and to name his Conditions. Caesar was overcome by his Wit and Reasons, and in consideration of Imoinda; and deman­ding what he desir'd, and that it shou'd be ra­tify'd by their Hands in Writing, because he had perceiv'd that was the common way of Contract between Man and Man, amongst the Whites. All this was perform'd, and Tus­can's Pardon was put in, and they Surrender to the Governor, who walked peaceably down into the Plantation with 'em, after giving Or­der to bury their Dead. Caesar was very much toil'd with the Bustle of the Day, for he had fought like a Fury; and what Mischief was done, He and Tuscan perform'd alone; and gave their Enemies a fatal Proof, that they durst do any thing, and fear'd no mortal Force.

But they were no sooner arriv'd at the Place where all the Slaves receive their Pu­nishments of Whipping, but they laid Hands on Caesar and Tuscan, faint with Heat and Toil; and surprizing them, bound them to two several Stakes, and whipp'd them in a most deplorable and inhumane manner, ren­ding the very Flesh from their Bones; espe­cially Caesar, who was not perceiv'd to make any Moan, or to alter his Face, only to roul his Eyes on the Faithless Governor, and those he believ'd Guilty, with Fierceness and In­dignation; [Page 89] and, to compleat his Rage, he saw every one of those Slaves, who, but a few Days before, ador'd him as something more than Mor­tal, now had a Whip to give him some Lashes, while he strove not to break his Fetters; tho' if he had, it were impossible: but he pro­nounc'd a Woe and Revenge from his Eyes, that dar [...]d Fire, that 'twas at once both Awful and Terrible to behold.

When they thought they were sufficiently Reveng'd on him, they unty'd him, almost fainting with loss of Blood, from a thousand Wounds all over his Body; from which they had rent his Cloaths, and led him Bleeding and Naked as he was, and loaded him all over with Irons, and then rubb'd his Wounds, to compleat their Cruelty, with Indian Pepper; which had like to have made him raving Mad; and, in this Condition, made him so fast to the Ground, that he cou'd not stir, if his Pains and Wounds wou'd have given him leave. They spar'd Imoinda, and did not let her see this Barbarity committed towards her Lord, but carry'd her down to Parham, and shut her up; which was not in kindness to her, but for fear she shou'd die with the Sight, or Miscarry, and then they shou'd lose a young Slave, and perhaps the Mother.

You must know, that when the News was brought, on Monday Morning, that Caesar had betaken himself to the Woods, and carry'd with him all the Negroes, we were possess'd with extreme Fear, which no Persuasions cou'd dissipate, that he wou'd secure himself till Night; and then, that he wou'd come [Page 90] down and cut all our Throats. This Appre­hension made all the Females of us fly down the River, to be secur'd; and while we were away, they acted this Cruelty: For I suppose, I had Authority and Interest enough there, had I suspected any such thing, to have pre­vented it; but we had not gone many Leagues, but the News overtook us, that Caesar was ta­ken, and whipp'd like a common Slave. We met, on the River, with Colonel Martin, a Man of great Gallantry, Wit and Goodness, and whom I have celebrated in a Character of my New Comedy, by his own Name, in Memory of so Brave a Man: He was Wise and Elo­quent, and, from the fineness of his Parts, bore a great Sway over the Hearts of all the Colony: He was a Friend to Caesar, and resen­ted this false Dealing with him very much. We carry'd him back to Parham, thinking to have made an Accommodation. When he came, the first News we heard, was, That the Governor was dead of a Wound Imoinda had gi­ven him; but it was not so well: But it seems, he wou'd have the Pleasure of beholding the Revenge he took on Caesar; and before the cruel Ceremony was finish'd, he dropt down; and then they perceiv'd the Wound he had on his Shoulder was by a venom'd Arrow; which, as I said, his Indian Mistress heal'd, by sucking the Wound.

We were no sooner arriv'd, but we went up to the Plantation to see Caesar; whom we found in a very miserable and unexpressible Condition; and I have a thousand times admir'd how he liv'd in so much tormenting [Page 91] Pain. We said all things to him, that Trouble, Pity and Good Nature cou'd suggest; Pro­testing our Innocency of the Fact, and our Abhorrence of such Cruelties; making a thou­sand Professions of Services to him, and beg­ging as many Pardons for the Offenders, till we said so much, that he believ'd we had no hand in his ill Treatment; but told us, He cou'd never pardon Byam; as for Trefry, he confess'd he saw his Grief and Sorrow for his Suffering, which he cou'd not hinder, but was like to have been beaten down by the ve­ry Slaves, for speaking in his Defence: But for Byam, who was their Leader, their Head,—and shou'd, by his Justice and Honour, have been an Example to 'em,—for him he wish'd to live, to take a dire Re­venge of him; and said, It had been well for him, if he had Sacrific'd me, instead of giving me the contemptible Whip. He refus'd to talk much; but begging us to give him our Hands, he took 'em, and protested never to lift up his, to do us any harm. He had a great Respect for Colonel Martin, and always took his Counsel like that of a Parent; and assur'd him, He wou'd obey him in any thing, but his Revenge on Byam: Therefore (said he) for his own safety, let him speedily dispatch me; for if I cou'd dispatch my self, I wou'd not, till that Ju­stice were done to my injur'd Person, and the con­tempt of a Soldier: No, I wou'd not kill my self, even after a Whipping, but will be content to live with that Infamy, and be pointed at by every grin­ning Slave, till I have compleated my Revenge; and then you shall see, that Oroonoko scorns to live [Page 92] with the Indignity that was put on Caesar. All we cou'd do, cou'd get no more Words from him; and we took care to have him put imme­diately into a healing Bath, to rid him of his Pepper, and order'd a Chirurgeon to anoint him with healing Balm; which he suffer'd, and in some time he began to be able to Walk and Eat. We fail'd not to visit him every Day, and to that end had him brought to an Apart­ment at Parham.

The Governor was no sooner recover'd, and ha [...] heard of the Menaces of Caesar, but he call'd his Council; who (not to disgrace them, or Burlesque the Government there) consisted of such notorious Villains as Newgate never Transported; and, possibly, originally were such who understood neither the Laws of God or Man; and had no sort of Principles to make 'em worthy the Name of Men; but, at the very Council-Table, wou'd Contradict and Fight with one another; and Swear so bloodily, that 'twas terrible to hear and see 'em. (Some of 'em were afterwards Hang'd, when the Dutch took possession of the Place, others sent off in Chains.) But calling these special Rulers of the Nation together, and re­quiring their Counsel in this weighty Affair, they all concluded, that (Damn 'em) it might be their own Cases; and that Caesar ought to be made an Example to all the Negroes, to fright 'em from daring to threaten their Betters, their Lords and Masters; and, at this rate, no Man was safe from his own Slaves; and con­cluded, nemine contradicente, that Caesar shou'd be Hang'd.

[Page 93] Trefry then thought it time to use his Autho­rity; and told Byam, his Command did not ex­tend to his Lord's Plantation; and that Parham was as much exempt from the Law as White­hall; and that they ought no more to touch the Servants of the Lord—(who there re­presented the King's Person) than they cou'd those about the King himself; and that Par­ham was a Sanctuary; and though his Lord were absent in Person, his Power was still in Being there; which he had entrusted with him, as far as the Dominions of his particular Plantations reach'd, and all that belong'd to it; the rest of the Country, as Byam was Lieute­nant to his Lord, he might exercise his Ty­ranny upon. Trefry had others as powerful, or more, that int'rested themselves in Caesar's Life, and absolutely said, He shou'd be Defended. So turning the Governor, and his wise Council, out of Doors, (for they sat at Parham-house) we set a Guard upon our Landing-place, and wou'd admit none but those we call'd Friends to us and Caesar.

The Governor having remain'd wounded at Parham, till his Recovery was compleated, Caesar did not know but he was still there, and indeed, for the most part, his time was spent there; for he was one that lov'd to live at other Peoples Expence, and if he were a Day ab­sent, he was Ten present there; and us'd to Play, and Walk, and Hunt and Fish with Caesar. So that Caesar did not at all doubt, if he once recover'd Strength, but he shou'd find an opportunity of being reveng'd on him: Though, after such a Revenge, he cou'd not [Page 94] hope to live; for if he escap'd the Fury of the English Mobile, who perhaps wou'd have been glad of the occasion to have kill'd him, he was resolv'd not to survive his Whipping; yet he had some tender Hours, a repenting Softness, which he call'd his Fits of Cowardice; wherein he struggl'd with Love for the Victory of his Heart, which took part with his charming Imo­inda there: but, for the most part, his time was past in melancholy Thought, and black Designs; he consider'd, if he shou'd do this Deed, and die either in the Attempt, or af­ter it, he left his lovely Imoinda a Prey, or at best a Slave, to the enrag'd Multitude: His great Heart cou'd not endure that Thought: Perhaps (said he) she may be first Ravish'd by every Brute; exposed first to their nasty Lusts, and then a shameful Death: No, he cou'd not live a moment under that Apprehension, too in­supportable to be borne. These were his Thoughts, and his silent Arguments with his Heart, as he told us afterwards: so that now resolving not only to kill Byam, but all those he thought had enrag'd him; pleasing his great Heart with the fancy'd Slaughter he shou'd make over the whole face of the Plantation; he first resolv'd on a Deed, that (however Horrid it first appear'd to us all) when we had heard his Reasons, we thought it Brave and Just. Being able to walk, and, as he believ'd, fit for the execution of his great Design, he begg'd Trefry to trust him into the Air, believing a Walk wou'd do him good. Which was granted him; and taking Imoinda with him, as he us'd to do in his more happy and calmer [Page 95] Days, he led her up into a Wood, where, after (with a thousand Sighs, and long gazing silently on her Face, while Tears gusht, in spite of him, from his Eyes) he told her his Design, first of killing her, and then his Ene­mies, and next himself, and the impossibility of escaping, and therefore he told her the Ne­cessity of Dying. He found the Heroick Wife faster pleading for Death than he was to pro­pose it, when she found his fix'd Resolution; and, on her Knees, besought him not to leave her a Prey to his Enemies. He (griev'd to Death) yet pleas'd at her noble Resolution, took her up, and embracing her with all the Passion and Languishment of a dying Lover, drew his Knife to kill this Treasure of his Soul, this Pleasure of his Eyes; while Tears trickl'd down his Cheeks, hers were smiling with Joy she shou'd die by so noble a Hand, and be sent into her own Countrey, (for that's their No­tion of the next World) by him she so ten­derly Lov'd, and so truly Ador'd in this. For Wives have a Respect for their Husbands equal to what any other People pay a Deity: And when a Man finds any occasion to quit his Wife, if he love her, she dies by his Hand; if not, he sells her, or suffers some other to kill her. It being thus, you may believe the Deed was soon resolv'd on; and 'tis not to be doub­ted, but the Parting, the eternal Leave taking of Two such Lovers, so greatly Born, so Sen­sible, so Beautiful, so Young, and so Fond, must be very Moving, as the Relation of it was to me afterwards.

[Page 96] All that Love cou'd say in such cases, being ended, and all the intermitting Irresolutions being adjusted, the Lovely, Young and A­dor'd Victim lays her self down before the Sacrificer; while he, with a Hand resolv'd, and a Heart-breaking within, gave the fatal Stroke; first cutting her Throat, and then severing her yet smiling Face from that delicate Body, preg­nant as it was with the Fruits of tend'rest Love. As soon as he had done, he laid the Body de­cently on Leaves and Flowers, of which he made a Bed, and conceal'd it under the same Cover-lid of Nature, only her Face he left yet bare to look on: But when he found she was Dead, and past all Retrieve, never more to bless him with her Eyes, and soft Language; his Grief swell'd up to Rage; he Tore, he Rav'd, he Roar'd like some Monster of the Wood, calling on the lov'd Name of Imoinda: A thousand times he turn'd the fatal Knife that did the Deed toward his own Heart, with a Resolution to go immediately after her; but dire Revenge, which was now a thousand times more fierce in his Soul than before, pre­vents him, and he wou'd cry out; No, since I have sacrific'd Imoinda to my Revenge, shall I lose that Glory which I have purchas'd so dear, as at the Price of the Fairest, Dearest, Softest Creature that ever Nature made? No, no! Then, at her Name, Grief wou'd get the ascendant of Rage, and he wou'd lie down by her Side, and water her Face with showers of Tears, which never were wont to fall from those Eyes; and however bent he was on his inten­ded Slaughter, he had not power to stir fro [...] [Page 97] the Sight of this dear Object, now more Be­lov'd, and more Ador'd than ever.

He remain'd in this deplorable Condition for two Days, and never rose from the Ground where he had made his sad Sacrifice; at last, rouzing from her side, and accusing himself with living too long, now Imoinda was dead, and that the Deaths of those barbarous Ene­mies were deferr'd too long, he resolv'd now to finish the Great Work; but offering to rise, he found his Strength so decay'd, that he reel'd to and fro, like Boughs assail'd by contrary Winds; so that he was forced to lie down again, and try to summon all his Courage to his Aid; he found his Brains turn'd round, and his Eyes were dizzy, and Objects appear'd not the same to him they were wont to do; his Breath was short, and all his Limbs surprized with a Faintness he had never felt before: He had not eat in two Days, which was one occa­sion of this Feebleness, but excess of Grief was the greatest; yet still he hop'd he shou'd recover Vigour to act his Design, and lay expe­cting it yet six days longer; still mourning over the dead Idol of his Heart, and striving every day to rise, but cou'd not.

In all this time you may believe we were in no little affliction for Caesar and his Wife; some were of opinion he was escap'd, never to return; others thought some Accident had hap'ned to him: But however, we fail'd not to send out an hundred People several ways, to search for him: A Party of about forty went that way he took, among whom was Tuscan, who was perfectly reconcil'd to Byam: They [Page 98] had not gone very far into the Wood, but they smelt an unusual Smell, as of a dead Bo­dy; for Stinks must be very noisom, that can be distinguish'd among such a quantity of na­tural Sweets, as every Inch of that Land pro­duces. So that they concluded they shou'd find him dead, or some body that was so; they pass'd on towards it, as loathsom as it was, and made such a rusling among the Leaves, that lie thick on the Ground, by continual falling, that Caesar heard he was approach'd; and though he had, during the space of these eight Days, endeavour'd to rise, but found he wanted Strength; yet looking up, and seeing his Pursuers, he rose, and reel'd to a neigh­bouring Tree, against which he fix'd his Back; and being within a dozen Yards of those that advanc'd and saw him, he call'd out to them, and bid them approach no nearer, if they wou'd be safe. So that they stood still, and hardly believing their Eyes, that wou'd per­suade them that it was Caesar that spoke to 'em, so much was he alter'd, they ask'd him, what he had done with his Wife, for they smelt a Stink that almost struck them dead? He, pointing to the dead Body, sighing, cry'd, Behold her there. They put off the Flowers that cover'd her, with their Sticks, and found she was kill'd, and cry'd out, Oh, Monster! that hast murther'd thy Wife. Then asking him, why he did so cruel a Deed? He re­plied, He had no leisure to answer imperti­nent Questions: You may go back (continu'd he) and tell the faithless Governor, he may thank Fortune that I am breathing my last; and that my [Page 99] Arm is too feeble to obey my Heart, in what it had design'd him: But his Tongue faultering, and trembling, he cou'd scarce end what he was saying. The English taking Advantage by his Weakness, cry'd, Let us take him alive by all means. He heard 'em; and, as if he had reviv'd from a Fainting; or a Dream, he cry'd out, No, Gentlemen, you are deceiv'd; you will find no more Caesars to be Whipt; no more find a Faith in me: Feeble as you think me, I have Strength yet left to secure me from a second In­dignity. They swore all a-new; and he only shook his Head, and beheld them with Scorn. Then they cry'd out, Who will venture on this single Man? Will no body? They stood all si­lent while Caesar replied, Fatal will be the At­tempt to the first Adventurer, let him assure him­self, (and, at that word, held up his Knife in a menacing posture,) Look ye, ye faithless Crew, said he, 'tis not Life I seek, nor am I afraid of Dying, (and at that word, cut a piece of Flesh from his own Throat, and threw it at 'em,) yet still I wou'd Live if I cou'd, till I had perfected my Revenge: But, oh! it cannot be; I feel Life gliding from my Eyes and Heart; and if I make not haste, I shall yet fall a Victim to the shameful Whip. At that, he rip'd up his own Belly, and took his Bowels and pull'd 'em out, with what Strength he cou'd; while some, on their Knees imploring, besought him to hold his Hand. But when they saw him tot­tering, they cry'd out, Will none venture on him? A bold English cry'd, Yes, if he were the Devil, (taking Courage when he saw him almost Dead) and swearing a horrid Oath for his [Page 100] Farewell to the World, he rush'd on him. Caesar with his Arm'd Hand met him so fairly, as stuck him to the Heart, and he fell dead at his Feet. Tuscan seeing that, cry'd out, I love thee, O Caesar! and therefore will not let thee die, if possible; and running to him, took him in his Arms: but, at the same time, warding a Blow that Caesar made at his Bosom, he receiv'd it quite through his Arm; and Caesar having not the strength to pluck the Knife forth, tho' he attempted it, Tuscan neither pull'd it out him­self, nor suffer'd it to be pull'd out, but came down with it sticking in his Arm; and the rea­son he gave for it, was, because the Air shou'd not get into the Wound. They put their Hands a-cross, and carry'd Caesar between six of 'em, fainting as he was, and they thought dead, or just dying; and they brought him to Parham, and laid him on a Couch, and had the Chirurgeon immediately to him, who drest his Wounds, and sow'd up his Belly, and us'd means to bring him to life, which they ef­fected. We ran all to see him; and, if before we thought him so beautiful a Sight, he was now so alter'd, that his Face was like a Death's Head black'd over; nothing but Teeth and Eye-holes: For some Days we suffer'd no bo­dy to speak to him, but caused Cordials to be poured down his Throat; which sustained his Life, and in six or seven days he recover'd his Senses: For, you must know, that Wounds are almost to a Miracle cur'd in the Indies; unless Wounds in the Legs, which rarely ever cure.

[Page 101] When he was well enough to speak, we talk'd to him, and ask'd him some Questions about his Wife, and the Reasons why he kill'd her; and he then told us what I have related of that Resolution and of his Parting, and he besought us we wou'd let him die, and was extremely afflicted to think it was possible he might live; he assur'd us, if we did not dis­patch him, he wou'd prove very fatal to a great many. We said all we cou'd to make him live, and gave him new Assurances; but he begg'd we wou'd not think so poorly of him, or of his Love to Imoinda, to imagine we cou'd flatter him to Life again: but the Chirurgeon assur'd him he cou'd not live, and therefore he need not fear. We were all (but Caesar) afflicted at this News, and the Sight was gast­ly: His Discourse was sad; and the earthly Smell about him so strong, that I was per­suaded to leave the place for some time, (being my self but sickly, and very apt to fall into Fits of dangerous Illness upon any extraordi­nary Melancholy.) The Servants, and Trefry, and the Chirurgeons, promis'd all to take what possible care they cou'd of the Life of Caesar; and I, taking Boat, went with other Company to Colonel Martin's, about three Days Journey down the River: but I was no sooner gone, but the Governor taking Trefry about some pretended earnest Business, a Day's Journey up the River, having communicated his De­sign to one Banister, a Wild Irish Man, and one of the Council, a Fellow of absolute Barbarity, and fit to execute any Villany, but was Rich: He came up to Parham, and for­cibly [Page 102] took Caesar, and had him carried to the same Post where he was whip'd; and causing him to be ty'd to it, and a great Fire made before him, he told him, he shou'd die like a Dog, as he was. Caesar replied, this was the first piece of Bravery that ever Banister did, and he never spoke Sence till he pronounc'd that Word; and, if he wou'd keep it, he wou'd declare, in the other World, that he was the only Man, of all the Whites, that ever he heard speak Truth. And turning to the Men that bound him, he said, My Friends, am I to Die, or to be Whipt? And they cry'd; Whipt! No, you shall not escape so well. And then he reply'd, smiling, A Blessing on thee; and assur'd them, they need not tie him, for he wou'd stand fix'd like a Rock, and endure Death so as shou'd en­courage them to Die: But if you Whip me (said he) be sure you tie me fast.

He had learn'd to take Tobacco; and when he was assur'd he shou'd Die, he desir'd they wou'd give him a Pipe in his Mouth, ready lighted; which they did: and the Execu­tioner came, and first out off his Members, and threw them into the Fire; after that, with an ill-favour'd Knife, they cut off his Ears and his Nose, and burn'd them; he still Smoak'd on, as if nothing had touch'd him; then they hack'd off one of his Arms, and still he bore up, and held his Pipe; but at the cutting off the other Arm, his Head sunk, and his Pipe dropt, and he gave up the Ghost, without a Groan, or a Reproach. My Mother and Sister were by him all the while, but not suffer'd to save him; so rude and wild were the Rabble, [Page 103] and so inhumane were the Justices who stood by to see the Execution, who after paid dear­ly enough for their Insolence. They cut Caesar in Quarters, and sent them to several of the chief Plantations: One Quarter was sent to Colonel Martin; who refus'd it, and swore, he had rather see the Quarters of Banister, and the Governor himself, than those of Caesar, on his Plantations; and that he cou'd govern his Ne­groes, without Terrifying and Grieving them with frightful Spectacles of a mangl'd King.

Thus Died this Great Man; worthy of a better Fate, and a more sublime Wit than mine to write his Praise: yet, I hope, the Reputa­tion of my Pen is considerable enough to make his Glorious Name to survive to all Ages, with that of the Brave, the Beautiful and the Con­stant Imoinda.

The Fair JILT: OR, THE AMOURS OF Prince Tarquin and Miranda.

AS Love is the most Noble and Divine Passion of the Soul, so it is that to which we may justly attribute all the real Satisfactions of Life; and with­out it, Man is unfinish'd, and unhappy.

There are a thousand things to be said of the Advantages this generous Passion brings to those, whose Hearts are capable of receiving its soft Impressions; for 'tis not every one that can be sensible of its tender Touches. How many Examples, from History and Observati­on, cou'd I give of its wondrous Power; nay, even to a degree of Transmigration? How ma­ny Ideots has it made wise? How many Fools eloquent? How many Home-bred 'Squires ac­complish'd? How many C [...]wards brave? And there is no sort or species of Mankind on whom it cannot work some Change and Miracle, if it [Page 2] be a noble well-grounded Passion, except on the Fop in Fashion, the harden'd incorrigible Fop; so often wounded, but never reclaim'd: For still, by a dire Mistake, conducted by vast O­pinionatreism, and a greater Portion of Self-love, than the rest of the Race of Man, he be­lieves that Affectation in his Mien and Dress, that Mathematical-movement, that Formality in every Action, that Face manag'd with Care, and soften'd into Ridicule, the languishing Turn, the Toss, and the Back-shake of the Perriwig, is the direct Way to the Heart of the fine Per­son he Adores; and instead of curing Love in his Soul, serves only to advance his Folly; and the more he is enamour'd, the more industri­ously he assumes (every Hour) the Coxcomb. These are Love's Play-things, a sort of Ani­mals with whom he sports; and whom he ne­ver wounds, but when he is in good humour, and always shoots laughing. 'Tis the Diversi­on of the Little God, to see what a fluttering and bustle one of these Sparks, new-wounded, makes; to what fantastick Fooleries he has re­course: The Glass is every moment call'd to counsel, the Valet consulted and plagu'd for new Invention of Dress, the Foot-man and Scrutore perpetually employ'd; Billet-doux and Madrigals take up all his Mornings, till Play­time in Dressing, till Night in Gazing; still, like a Sun-flower, turn'd towards the Beams of the fair Eyes of his Caelia, adjusting himself in the most Amarous Posture he can assume, his Hat under his Arm, while the other Hand is put carelesly into his Bosom, as if laid upon [Page 3] his panting Heart; his Head a little bent to one side, supported with a world of Crevat-string, which he takes mighty care not to put into disorder; as one may guess by a never-failing, and horrid Stiffness in his Neck; and if he have an occasion to look aside, his whole Body turns at the same time, for fear the Mo­tion of the Head alone should incommode the Crevat or Perriwig: And sometimes the Glove is well manag'd, and the white Hand display'd. Thus, with a thousand other little Motions and Formalities, all in the common Place or Road of Foppery, he takes infinite pains to shew himself to the Pit and Boxes, a most accom­plish'd Ass. This is he, of all Humane Kind, on whom Love can do no Miracle; and who can no where, and upon no occasion, quit one Grain of his refin'd Foppery, unless in a Duel, or a Battle, if ever his Stars shou'd be so severe and ill-manner'd, to reduce him to the Neces­sity of either: Fear then wou'd ruffle that fine Form he had so long preserved in nicest Or­der, with grief considering, that an unlucky Chance-wound in his Face, if such a dire Mis­fortune shou'd befal him, wou'd spoil the Sale of it for ever.

Perhaps it will be urg'd, that since no Meta­morphosis can be made in a Fop by Love, you must consider him one of those that only talks of Love, and thinks himself that happy thing, a Lover; and wanting fine Sence enough for the real Passion, believes what he feels to be it. There are in the Quiver of the God a great many different Darts; some that wound for a [Page 4] Day, and others for a Year; they are all fine, painted, glittering Darts, and shew as well as those made of the noblest Metal; but the Wounds they make, reach the Desire only, and are cur'd by possessing, while the short-liv'd Passion betrays the Cheats: But 'tis that refin'd and illustrious Passion of the Soul, whose Aim is Vertue, and whose End is Honour, that has the Power of changing Nature, and is ca­pable of performing all those Heroick Things, of which History is full.

How far distant Passions may be from one another, I shall be able to make appear in these following Rules. I'll prove to you the strong Effects of Love in some unguarded and ungo­vern'd Hearts; where it rages beyond the In­spirations of a God all soft and gentle, and reigns more like a Fury from Hell.

I do not pretend here to entertain you with a feign'd Story, or any thing piec'd together with Romantick Accidents; but every Circum­stance, to a Tittle, is Truth. To a great part of the Main, I myself was an Eye-witness; and what I did not see, I was confirm'd of by Actors in the Intrigue, holy Men, of the Or­der of St. Francis: But for the sake of some of her Relations, I shall give my Fair Jilt a feign'd Name, that of Miranda; but my Hero must retain his own, it being too Illustrious to be conceal'd.

You are to understand, that in all the Ca­tholick Countries, where Holy Orders are esta­blish'd, there are abundance of differing kinds of Religious, both of Men and Women: A­mongst [Page 5] the Women, there are those we call Nuns, that make solemn Vows of perpetual Chastity: There are others who make but a simple Vow, as, for five or ten Years, or more or less; and that time expir'd, they may con­tract anew for longer time, or marry, or dis­pose of themselves as they shall see good; and these are ordinarily call'd Gallopping Nuns: Of these there are several Orders; as, Chanonesses, Begines, Quest's, Swart-Sisters, and Jesuitisses, with several others I have forgot: Of those of the Begines was our Fair Votress.

These Orders are taken up by the best Per­sons of the Town, young Maids of Fortune, who live together, not inclos'd, but in Palaces that will hold about Fiften hundred or Two thousand of these Fille Devotes, where they have a regulated Government, under a sort of Abbess, or Prioress; or rather, a Governante. They are oblig'd to a Method of Devotion, and are under a sort of Obedience. They wear an Habit much like our Widows of Quality in England, only without a Bando; and their Veil is of a thicker Crape than what we have here, through which one cannot see the Face; for when they go abroad, they cover them­selves all over with it, but they put 'em up in the Churches, and lay 'em by in the Houses. Every one of these have a Confessor, who is to 'em a sort of Steward: For, you must know, they that go into these places, have the Ma­nagement of their own Fortunes, and what their Parents design 'em. Without the Advice of this Confessor, they act nothing, nor admit [Page 6] of a Lover that he shall not approve of; at least, this Method ought to be taken, and is by almost all of 'em; though Miranda thought her Wit above it, as her Spirit was.

But as these Women are, as I said, of the best Quality, and live with the Reputation of being retir'd from the World a little more than ordinary, and because there is a sort of diffi­culty to approach 'em, they are the People the most courted, and liable to the greatest Tem­ptations; for as difficult as it seems to be, they receive Visits from all the Men of the best Quality, especially Strangers. All the Men of Wit and Conversation meet at the Apartments of these fair Fille Devotes, where all manner of Gallantries are perform'd, while all the Study of these Maids is to accomplish themselves for these noble Conversations. They receive Pre­sents, Balls, Serenades and Billets: All the News, Wit, Verses, Songs, Novels, Musick, Gaming, and all fine Diversion, is in their A­partments, they themselves being of the best Quality and Fortune. So that to manage these Gallantries, there is no sort of Female Arts they are not practis'd in, no Intrigues they are ignorant of, and no Management of which they are not capable.

Of this happy Number was the Fair Miran­da, whose Parents being dead, and a vast E­state divided between herself, and a young Sister (who liv'd with an unmarry'd old Un­cle, whose Estate afterwards was all divided between 'em) put herself into this uninclos'd Religious House; but her Beauty, which had [Page 7] all the Charms that ever Nature gave, became the Envy of the whole Sisterhood. She was tall, and admirably shap'd; she had a bright Hair, and Hazle-Eyes, all full of Love and Sweet­ness: No Art cou'd make a Face so fair as hers by a Nature, which every Feature adorn'd with a Grace that Imagination cannot reach: Every Look, every Motion charm'd, and her black Dress shew'd the Lustre of her Face and Neck. She had an Air, though gay as so much Youth cou'd inspire, yet so modest, so nobly reserv'd, without Formality, or Stiffness, that one who look'd on her would have imagin'd her Soul the Twin-Angel of her Body; and both toge­ther, made her appear something Divine. To this she had a great deal of Wit, read much, and retain'd all that serv'd her purpose. She sung delicately, and danc'd well, and play'd on the Lute to a Miracle. She spoke several Languages naturally; for being Co-heiress to so great a Fortune, she was bred with the nicest Care, in all the finest Manners of Educati­on; and was now arriv'd to her Eighteenth Year.

'Twere needless to tell you how great a Noise the Fame of this young Beauty, with so considerable a Fortune, made in the World; I may say, the World, rather than consine her Fame to the scanty Limits of a Town; it reach'd to many others: And there was not a Man of any Quality that came to Antwerp, or pass'd through the City, but made it his Bu­siness to see the lovely Miranda, who was uni­versally ador'd: Her Youth and Beauty, her [Page 8] Shape and Majesty of Mien, and Air of Greatness, charm'd all her Beholders; and thousands of People were dying by her Eyes, while she was vain enough to glory in her Con­quest, and make it her Business to wound. She lov'd nothing so much as to behold sighing Slaves at her Feet, of the greatest Quality; and treated 'em all with an Affability that gave 'em Hope. Continual Musick as soon as it was dark, and Songs of dying Lovers, were sung under her Windows; and she might well have made herself a great Fortune (if she had not been so already) by the rich Presents that were hourly made her; and every Body daily expected when she wou'd make some one hap­py, by suffering herself to be conquer'd by Love and Honour, by the Assiduities and Vows of some one of her Adorers: But Miranda ac­cepted their Presents, heard their Vows with pleasure, and willingly admitted all their soft Addresses; but wou'd not yield her Heart, or give away that lovely Person to the Possession of one, who cou'd please itself with so many. She was naturally Amorous, but extreamly In­constant: She lov'd one for his Wit, another for his Face, a third for his Mein; but above all, she admir'd Quality: Quality alone had the Power to attack her entirely; yet not to one Man, but that Vertue was still admir'd by her in all; where-ever she found that, she lov'd, or at least acted the Lover with such Art, that (deceiving well) she fail'd not to compleat her Conquest; and yet she never durst trust her fickle Humour with Marriage; She knew the [Page 9] Strength of her own Heart, and that it cou'd not suffer itself to be confin'd to one Man, and wisely avoided those Inquietudes, and that Uneasiness of Life she was sure to find in that married Life, which wou'd, against her Nature, oblige her to the Embraces of one, whose Humour was, to love all the Young and the Gay. But Love, who had hitherto but play'd with her Heart, and given it naught but pleasing wanton Wounds, such as afforded only soft Joys, and not Pains, resolv'd, either out of Revenge to those Numbers she had a­bandon'd, and who had sigh'd so long in vain; or to try what Power he had upon so fickle a Heart, sent an Arrow dipp'd in the most tor­menting Flames that rage in Hearts most sen­sible. He struck it home and deep, with all the Malice of an angry God.

There was a Church belonging to the Cor­deliers, whither Miranda often repair'd to her Devotion; and being there one Day, accom­pany'd with a young Sister of the Order, af­ter the Mass was ended, as 'tis the Custom, some one of the Fathers goes about the Church with a Box, for Contribution, or Charity-Money; it happen'd that Day, that a young Father, newly initiated, carried the Box a­bout, which, in his turn, he brought to Mi­randa. She had no sooner cast her Eyes on this young Friar, but her Face was overspread with Blushes of Surprize: She beheld him sted­fastly, and saw in his Face all the Charms of Youth, Wit and Beauty; he wanted no one Grace that cou'd form him for Love, he ap­pear'd [Page 10] all that is adorable to the Fair Sex, nor cou'd the mishapen Habit hide from her the lovely Shape it endeavour'd to cover, nor those delicate Hands that approach'd her too near with the Box. Besides the Beauty of his Face and Shape, he had an Air altogether great; in spite of his profess'd Poverty, it betray'd the Man of Quality; and that Thought weigh'd greatly with Miranda. But Love, who did not design she shou'd now feel any sort of those easie Flames, with which she had heretofore burnt, made her soon lay all those Considera­tions aside, which us'd to invite her to Love, and now lov'd she knew not why.

She gaz'd upon him, while he bow'd before her, and waited for her Charity, 'till she per­ceiv'd the lovely Friar to blush, and cast his Eyes to the Ground. This awaken'd her Shame, and she put her Hand into her Pocket, and was a good while in searching for her Purse, as if she thought of nothing less, than what she was about; at last she drew it out, and gave him a Pistole; but that with so much Deliberation and Leisure, as easily betray'd the Satisfaction she took in looking on him; while the good Man, having receiv'd her Bounty, after a very low Obeisance, proceeded to the rest; and Miranda casting after him a Look all languish­ing, as long as he remain'd in the Church, departed with a Sigh as soon as she saw him go out, and return'd to her Apartment, without speaking one Word all the Way to the young Fille Devote, who attended her; so absolutely was her Soul employ'd with this young holy [Page 11] Man. Cornelia (so was this Maid call'd who was with her) perceiving she was so silent, who us'd to be all Wit and good Humour, and observing her little Disorder at the Sight of the young Father, tho' she was far from imagi­ning it to be Love, took an Occasion, when she was come home, to speak of him. Madam, said she, did you not observe that fine young Corde­delier, who brought the Box? At a Qustion that nam'd that Object of her Thoughts, Miranda blush'd; and the finding she did so, redoubl'd her Confusion, and she had scarce Courage enough to say,—Yes, I did observe him: And then, forcing herself to smile a little, con­tinu'd; And I wonder'd to see so jolly a young Friar of an Order so severe, and mortify'd. Madam, (reply'd Cornelia) when you know his Story, you will not wonder. Miranda, who was impatient to know all that concern'd her new Conqueror, oblig'd her to tell his Story; and Cornelia obey'd, and proceeded.

THE HISTORY OF AGNES de CASTRO.

THough LOVE, all soft and flattering, promises nothing but Pleasures; yet its Consequences are often sad and fatal: It is not enough to be in Love, to be happy, since Fortune, who is Ca­pricious, and takes delight to trouble the Re­pose of the most Elevated and Virtuous, has very little respect for passionate and tender Hearts, when she designs to produce strange Adventures.

Many Examples of past Ages render this Maxim certain, but the Reign of Dom Alphonso the Fourth, King of Portugal, furnishes us with one, the most extraordinary that History can produce.

He was the Son of that Dom Denice, who was so successful in all his Undertakings, that it was said of him, that he was capable of per­forming whatever he design'd: And of Isa­bella, a Princess of eminent Vertue, who when [Page 2] he came to inherit a flourishing and tranquil State, he endeavour'd to establish Peace and Plenty in abundance, in his Kingdom.

And to advance this his Design, he agreed on a Marriage between his Son Don Pedro, (then about eight Years of Age) and Bianca Daugh­ter of Don Pedro, King of Castile; and whom the young Prince married when he arrived to his sixteenth Year.

Bianca brought nothing to Coimbra but In­firmities, and very few Charms. Don Pedro, who was full of Sweetness and Generosity, liv'd nevertheless very well with her; but those Di­stempers of the Princess degenerating into the Palsie, she made it her Request to retire, and at her Intercession, the Pope broke the Marri­age, and the melancholy Princess concealed her Languishment in a solitary Retreat: And Don Pedro, for whom they had provided ano­ther Match, married Constantia Manuel, Daugh­ter of Dom John Manuel, a Prince of the Blood of Castile, and famous for the Enmity he had to his King.

Constantia was promised to the King of Ca­stile, but that King not keeping his Word, they made no difficulty of bestowing her on a young Prince, who was one day to Reign over a Num­ber of fine Provinces. He was but five and twenty Years of Age, and the Man of all Spain that had the best Fashion and Grace: And with the most advantagious Qualities of the Body, he possest those of the Soul, and shew'd himself worthy in all things of the Crown that was destin'd for him.

[Page 3] The Princess Constantia had Beauty, Wit, and Generosity, in as a great Measure as 'twas possible for a Woman to be possest with; her Merit alone ought to have attach'd Don Pedro eternally to her; and certainly he had for her an Esteem, mixt with so great a Respect, as might very well pass for Love with those that were not of a nice and curious Observation; but alas! his real Care was reserv'd for ano­ther Beauty.

Constantia brought into the World, the first Year after her Marriage, a Son, who was call'd Don Louis; but it scarce saw the Light, and dy'd almost as soon as born. The Loss of this little Prince sensibly touch'd her, but the Cold­ness she observ'd in the Prince her Husband, went yet more near her Heart; for she had gi­ven herself absolutely up to her Duty, and had made her Tenderness for him her only Con­cern: But puissant Glory which ty'd her so entirely to the Interest of the Prince of Portu­gal, open'd her Eyes upon his Actions, where she observ'd nothing in his Caresses and Ci­vilities that was natural, or could satisfie her delicate Heart.

At first, she fancy'd herself deceiv'd, but time having confirm'd her in what she fear­ed, she sighed in secret; yet had that Consi­deration for the Prince, as not to let him see her Disorder; and which nevertheless, she could not conceal from Agnes de Castro, who liv'd with her, rather as a Companion, than a Maid of Honour, and whom her Friendship made her infinitely distinguish from the rest.

[Page 4] This maid, so dear to the Princess, very well merited the Preference her Mistress gave her; she was beautiful to excess, wise, discreet, witty, and had more Tenderness for Constan­tia than she had for herself, having quitted her Family, which was illustrious, to give herself wholly to the Service of the Princess, and to follow her into Portugal. It was into the Bo­som of this Maid, that the Princess unladed her first Moans, and the charming Agnes for­got nothing that might give ease to her affli­cted Heart.

Nor was Constantia the only Person who complain'd on Don Pedro; before his Divorce from Bianca, he had expressed some Care and Tenderness for Elvira Gonzales, Sister to Don Alvaro Gonzales, Favourite to the King of Por­tugal; and this Amusement in the young Years of the Prince, had made a deep Impression on Elvira, who flatter'd her Ambition with the Infirmities of Bianca. She saw, with a secret Rage, Constantia take her place, who was pos­sest with such Charms, that quite divested her of all Hopes.

Her Jealousie left her not idle, she examin'd all the Actions of the Prince, and easily disco­ver'd the little Regard he had for the Princess; but this brought him not back to her. And it was upon very good Grounds that she suspected him to be in Love with some other Person, and possessed with a new Passion; and which she promis'd herself, she would destroy as soon as she could find it out. She had a Spi­rit altogether proper for bold and hazardous [Page 5] Enterprizes; and the Credit of her Brother gave her so much Vanity, as all the Indiffe­rence of the Prince was not capable of hum­bling.

The Prince languish'd, and conceal'd the Cause with so much Care, that 'twas impossi­ble for any to find it out. No publick Plea­sures were agreeable to him, and all Conver­sations were tedious; and it was Solitude alone that was able to give him any ease.

This Change surprized all the World. The King who lov'd his Son very tenderly, ear­nestly press'd him to know the Reason of his Melancholy; but the Prince made no answer, but only this, That it was the Effects of his Temper.

But Time ran on, and the Princess was brought to Bed of a second Son, who liv'd, and was call'd Fernando. Don Pedro forc'd him­self a little to take part in the publick Joy, so that they believ'd his Humour was changing; but this appearance of a Calm endured not long, and he fell back again into his black Me­lancholy.

The Artful Elvira was incessantly agitated in searching out the Knowledge of this Secret. Chance wrought for her: And, as she was walking full of Indignation and Anger, in the Garden of the Palace of Coimbra, she found the Prince of Portugal sleeping in an obscure Grotto.

Her Fury could not contain itself at the Sight of this lov'd Object, she roul'd her Eyes upon him, and perceiv'd in spight of Sleep, [Page 6] that some Tears escap'd his Eyes; the Flame which burnt yet in her Heart, soon grew soft and tender there: But oh! she heard him sigh, and after that, utter these Words; Yes, Divine Agnes, I will sooner die, than let you know it: Constantia shall have nothing to reproach me with. Elvira was enrag'd at this Discourse, which represented to her immediately, the same Moment, Agnes de Castro with all her Charms; and not at all doubting, but it was she who possest the Heart of Don Pedro, she found in her Soul more Hatred for this fair Rival, than Tenderness for him.

The Grotto was not a Place sit to make Re­flections in, or to form Designs. Perhaps her first Transports would have made her waken'd him, if she had not perceiv'd a Paper lying un­der his Hand, which she softly seiz'd on; and that she might not be surpriz'd in the reading it, she went out of the Garden with as much Haste as Confusion.

When she was retir'd to her Apartment, she open'd the Paper, trembling, and found in it these Verses, writ by the Hand of Don Pedro; and which in appearance, he had newly then composed.

Elvira did not only know the Writing of Don Pedro, but she knew also that he could write Verses. And seeing the sad Part which Constantia had in these which were now fallen into her Hands, she made no scruple of resol­ving to let the Princess see 'em: But that she might not be suspected, she took care not to appear in the Business herself; and since it was not enough for Constantia to know that the Prince did not love her, but that she must know also he was a Slave to Agnes de Castro; Elvira caused these few Verses to be written in an unknown Hand, under those writ by the Prince.

Elvira regarded neither Exactness nor Grace in these Lines, and if they had but the Effect she design'd, she wish'd no more.

Her Impatience could not wait till the next Day to expose 'em; she therefore went im­mediately to the Lodgings of the Princess, who was then walking in the Garden of the Pa­lace; and passing without resistance, even to her Cabinet, she put the Paper into a Book, in which the Princess us'd to read, and went out again unseen, and satisfied with her good Fortune.

As soon as Constantia was return'd, she en­ter'd into her Cabinet, and saw the Book open, and the Verses lying in it, which were to cost her so dear: She soon knew the Hand of the Prince which was so familiar to her, and be­sides the Information of what she had always fear'd, she understood it was Agnes de Castro, (whose Friendship alone was able to comfort her in her Misfortunes) who was the fatal Cause of it; she read over the Paper an hundred times, desiring to give her Eyes and Reason the Lye; but finding but too plainly she was not deceiv'd, she found her Soul possest with more Grief than Anger: When she consi­der'd as much in Love as the Prince was, he had kept his Torment secret. After having made her Moan, without condemning him, the Tenderness she had for him, made her shed a Torrent of Tears, and inspir'd her [Page 9] with a Resolution of concealing her Resent­ment.

She would certainly have done it by a Ver­tue extraordinary, if the Prince, who missing his Verses when he wak'd, and fearing they might fall into indiscreet Hands, had not en­ter'd the Palace, all troubl'd with his Loss, and hastily going into Constantia's Apartment, saw her fair Eyes all wet with Tears, and at the same instant cast his own on the unhappy Verses that had escap'd from his Soul, and now lay before the Princess.

He immediately turn'd pale at this sight, and appear'd so mov'd, that the generous Princess felt more Pain than he did: Madam, said he, (infinitely alarm'd) from whom had you that Pa­per? It cannot come but from the Hand of some Person, answer'd Constantia, who is an Enemy both to your Repose and mine; it is the Work, Sir, of your own Hand; and doubtless, the Sentiment of your Heart: But be not surpriz'd, and do not fear, for if my Tenderness should make it pass for a Crime in you, the same Tenderness, which no­thing is able to alter, shall hinder me from com­plaining.

The Moderation and Calmness of Constantia, serv'd only to render the Prince more asham'd and confuss'd. How Generous are you, madam, pursu'd he, and how Vnfortunate am I. Some Tears accompanied his Words, and the Prin­cess, who lov'd him with extream Ardor, was so sensibly touch'd, that it was a good while before she could utter a Word: Con­stantia then broke Silence, and shewing him [Page 10] what Elvira had caus'd to be written; You are betray'd, Sir, added she, you have been heard speak, and your Secret is known. It was at this very moment that all the Forces of the Prince abandon'd him; and his Condition was really worthy Compassion: He could not pardon himself the unvoluntary Crime he had commit­ted, in exposing of the lovely, and the inno­cent Agnes. And tho' he was convinc'd of the Vertue and Goodness of Constantia, the Ap­prehensions that he had, that this modest and prudent Maid might suffer by his Conduct, car­ried him beyond all Consideration.

The Princess, who heedfully surveyed him, saw so many Marks of Despair in his Face and Eyes, that she was afraid of the Conse­quences; and holding out her Hand, in a very obliging manner to him; she said, I promise you, Sir, I will never more complain on you; and that Agnes shall always be very dear to me; you shall never hear me make you any Reproaches: And since I cannot possess your Heart, I will content my self with endeavouring to render myself worthy of it. Don Pedro more confus'd and dejected than be­fore he had been, bent one of his Knees at the Feet of Constantia, and with respect kiss'd that fair kind Hand she had given him, and perhaps forgot Agnes for a Moment.

But Love soon put a stop to all the little Ad­vances of Hymen, the fatal Star that presided over the Destiny of Don Pedro, had not yet vented its Malignity; and one Moment's sight of Agnes gave new Forces to his Passion.

[Page 11] The Wish and Desires of this charming Maid had no part in this Victory; her Eyes were just, tho' penetrating, and they searched not in those of the Prince, what they had a desire to discover to her.

As she was never far from Constantia, Don Pedro was no sooner gone out of the Closet, but Agnes entred; and finding the Princess all pale and languishing in her Chair, she doubted not but there was some sufficient Cause for her Af­fliction; she put herself in the same Posture the Prince had been in before, and expressing an Inquietude, full of Concern; Madam, said she, by all your Goodness, conceal not from me the Cause of your Trouble. Alas, Agnes, reply'd the the Princess, what would you know? And what should I tell you? The Prince, the Prince, my dear­est Maid, is in Love; the Hand that he gave me, was not a Present of his Heart; and for the Advan­tage of this Alliance, I must become the Victim of it.—What! the Prince in Love, replied Agnes, (with an Astonishment mixt with Indignation) What Beauty can dispute the Empire over a Heart so much your due? Alas, Madam, all the Respect I owe him, cannot hinder me from murmuring a­gainst him. Accuse him of nothing, interrupted Constantia, he does what he can; and I am more obliged to him for desiring to be Faithful, than if I possest his real Tenderness. It is not enough to Fight, but to Overcome; and the Prince does more in the Condition wherein he is, than I ought reasona­bly to hope for: In fine, he is my Husband, and an agreeable one; to whom nothing is wanting, but what I cannot inspire; that is, a Passion which would [Page 12] have made me but too happy. Ah, Madam, cry'd out Agnes, transported with her Tenderness for the Princess, he is a blind and stupid Prince, who knows not the precious Advantages he possesses. He must surely know something, reply'd the Prin­cess, modestly. But, Madam, reply'd Agnes, Is there any thing, not only in Portugal, but in all Spain, that can compare with you? And, without considering the charming Qualities of your Person, can we enough admire those of your Soul? My dear Agnes, interrupted Constantia, sighing, she who robs me of my Husband's Heart, has but too many Charms to plead his Excuse; since it is Thou, Child, whom Fortune makes use of, to give me the Killing Blow. Yes, Agnes, the Prince loves thee; and the Merit I know thou art possest of, puts Bounds to my Complaints, without suffering me to have the least Resentment.

The delicate Agnes little expected to hear what the Princess told her; Thunder would have less surprized, and less oppress'd her: She remained a long time without speaking, but at last fixing her Looks all frightful on Constantia, What say you, Madam? (cry'd she) And what Thoughts have you of me? What, that I should be­tray you? And coming hither only full of Ardor to be the Repose of your Life, do I bring a fatal Poyson to afflict it? What Detestation must I have for the Beauty they find in me, without aspiring to make it appear? And how ought I to curse the unfortunate Day, in which I first saw the Prince?—But, Madam, it cannot be me, whom Heaven has cho­sen to torment you, and to destroy all your Tranquili­ty: No, it cannot be so much my Enemy, to put me [Page 13] to so great a Tryal: And if I were that odious Per­son, there is no Excuse, or Punishment, to which I would not condemn myself: It is Elvira, Madam, the Prince loves, and lov'd before his Marriage with you, and also before his Divorce from Bianca; and some Body has made an indiscreet Report to you of this Intrigue of his Youth: But, Madam, what was in the time of Bianca, is nothing to you. It is cer­tain that Don Pedro loves you, answer'd the Prin­cess; and I have Vanity enough to believe, that none besides yourself could have disputed his Heart with me: But the Secret is discover'd, and Don Pedro has not disown'd it. What, interrupted Ag [...]es, (more surprized than ever) is it then from himself you have learn'd his Weakness? The Princess then shew'd her the Verses; and there was never any Despair like to hers.

While they were both thus sadly employed, both Sighing, and both Weeping, the impa­tient Elvira, who was willing to learn the Ef­fect of her Malice, return'd to the Apartment of the Princess, where she freely entred, even to the Cabinet where these unhappy Persons were; whom all afflicted and troubled as they were, blush'd at her approach, whose Compa­ny they did not desire: She had the pleasure to see Constantia hide from her the Paper which had been the Cause of all their Trouble, and which the Princess had never seen, but for her Spight and Revenge; and to observe also, in the Eyes of the Princess, and those of Agnes, an immoderate Grief: She stay'd in the Ca­binet as long as it was necessary to be assur'd, that she had succeeded in her Design; but the [Page 14] Princess, who did not desire such a Witness of the Disorder, in which she then was, desir'd to be left alone. Elvira then went out of the Cabinet, and Agnes de Castro withdrew at the same time.

It was in her own Chamber, that Agnes exa­mining more freely this Adventure, found it as cruel as Death: She lov'd Constantia sincere­ly, and had not 'till then any thing more than an Esteem, mixt with Admiration, for the Prince of Portugal; which, indeed, none could refuse to so many fine Qualities. And look­ing on herself as the most unfortunate of her Sex, as being the Cause of all the Suffering of the Princess, to whom she was obliged for the greatest Bounties, she spent the whole Night in Tears and Complaints, sufficient to have re­venged Constantia of all the Griefs she made her suffer.

The Prince, on his side, was in no greater Tranquility; the Generosity of his Princess increas'd his Remorse, without diminishing his Love; he fear'd, and with Reason, that those who were the occasion of Constantia's seeing those Verses, should discover his Passion to the King, from whom he hop'd for no In­dulgence, and he would most willingly have given his Life to have been free from this Ex­tremity.

In the mean time the afflicted Princess lan­guish'd in a most deplorable Sadness; she found nothing in those who were the Cause of her Misfortunes, but things fitter to move her Ten­derness than her Anger; it was in vain that [Page 15] Jealousie strove to combat the Inclination she had to love her fair Rival; nor was any occa­sion of making the Prince less dear to her; and she felt neither Hatred, nor so much as Indiffe­rence for innocent Agnes.

While these three disconsolate Persons aban­don'd themselves to their Melancholy, Elvira, not to leave her Vengeance imperfect, study'd in what manner she might bring it to the Height of its Effects. Her Brother, on whom she depended, shew'd her a great deal of Friendship; and judging rightly that the Love of Don Pedro, to Agnes de Castro, would not be approv'd by the King, she acquainted Don Alvaro, her Brother, with it, who was not ignorant of the Passion the Prince had once protested to have for his Sister. He found him­self very much interested in this News, from a secret Passion he had for Agnes; whom the Business of his Fortune had hitherto hindred him from discovering: And he expected a great many Favours from the King, that might render the Effort of his Heart the more consi­derable.

He hid not from his Sister this one thing, which he found difficult to conceal; so that she was now possest with a double Grief, to find Agnes Sovereign of all the Hearts, to which she had a pretension.

Don Alvaro was one of those ambitious Men, that are Fierce without Moderation, and Proud without Generosity; of a melancholy, clou­dy Humour; of a cruel Inclination, and to effect his Ends, found nothing difficult, or un­lawful. [Page 16] Naturally he lov'd not the Prince, who, on all Accounts ought to have held the first Rank in the Heart of the King, which should have set Bounds to the Favour of Don Al­varo; who when he knew the Prince was his Rival, his Jealousie increas'd his Hate of him; and he conjured Elvira to employ all her Care, to oppose an Engagement that could not but be destructive to 'em both; she promised him, and he not very well satisfied, rely'd on her Address.

Don Alvaro, who had too lively a Represen­tation within himself, of the Beauties and Grace of the Prince of Portugal, thought of nothing but how to combate his Merits, he himself being not handsome, or well made: His Fashion was as disagreeable as his Humour, and Don Pedro had all the Advantages that one Man may possibly have over another. In fine, all that Don Alvaro wanted, adorn'd the Prince: But as he was the Husband of Con­stantia, and depended upon an absolute Father, and that Don Alvaro was free, and Master of a good Fortune, he thought himself more as­sur'd of Agnes, and fix'd his Hopes on that Thought.

He knew very well, that the Passion of Don Pedro, could not but inspire a violent Anger in the Soul of the King. Industrious in doing Ill, his first Business was to carry this unwelcome News to him. After he had given time to his Grief, and had compos'd himself to his Desire, he then besought the King to Interest himself in his amorous Affair, and to be the Protector of his Person.

[Page 17] Though Don Alvaro, had no other Merit to recommend him to the King, than a con­tinual and blind Obedience to all his Com­mands; yet he had favour'd him with several Testimonies of his vast Bounty; and consi­dering the height to which the King's Libe­rality had rais'd him, there were few Ladies that would have refus'd his Alliance. The King assur'd him of the Continuation of his Friendship and Favour, and promis'd him, if he had any Authority, he would give him the charming Agnes.

Don Alvaro, perfectly skilful in managing his Master, answer'd the King's last Bounties with a profound Submission. He had yet never told Agnes what he felt for her; but he thought now he might make a publick Declaration of it, and and sought all means to do it.

The Gallantry which Coimbra seem'd to have forgotten, began now to be awaken'd. The King, to please Don Alvaro, under pretence of diverting Constantia, order'd some Publick Sports, and commanded that every thing should be magnificent.

Since the Adventure of the Verses, Don Pe­dro endeavour'd to lay a Constraint on him­self, and to appear less troubled: But in his Heart he suffer'd always alike; and it was not but with great Uneasiness he prepar'd him­self for the Turnament. And since he could not appear with the Colours of Agnes, he took those of his Wife, without Device, or any great Magnificence.

[Page 18] Don Alvaro adorn'd himself with the Liv'ries of Agnes de Castro; and this fair Maid, who had yet found no Consolation from what the Princess had told her, had this new Cause of being displeas'd.

Don Pedro appear'd in the List with an ad­mirable Grace; and Don Alvaro, who look'd on this Day as his own, appear'd there all shi­ning with Gold, mix'd with Stones of Blew, which were the Colours of Agnes; and there was embroider'd all over his Equipage, fla­ming Hearts of Gold, on blew Velvet, and Nets for the Snares of Love, with abundance of double A's; his Device was a Love coming out of a Cloud, with these Verses written un­derneath.

The Pride of Don Alvaro was soon hum­bled at the Feet of the Prince of Portugal, who threw him against the Ground, with twenty others, and carry'd alone the Glory of the Day. There was in the Evening a Noble Assembly at Constantia's, where Agnes would not have been, unless expresly commanded by the Princess. She appear'd there all negligent and careless in her Dress, but yet she appear'd all beautiful and charming. She saw, with disdain, her Name, and her Colours, worn by Don Alvaro, at a Publick Triumph; and if [Page 19] her Heart were capable of any tender Moti­ons, it was not for such a Man as he, for whom her Delicacy destin'd them: She lookd on him with a Contempt, which did not hin­der him from pressing so near, that there was a necessity for her to hear, and what he had to declare to her.

She treated him not uncivily, but her Cold­ness would have rebated the Courage of any but Alvaro. Madam, said he, (when he could be heard of none but herself) I have hitherto concealed the Passion you have inspir'd me with, fearing it should displease you; but it has commit­ted a Violence on my Respect; and I could no longer conceal it from you. I never reflected on your A­ctions, answer'd Agnes, with all the Indifference of which she was capable, and if you think you of­fend me, you are in the wrong to make me perceive it. This Coldness is but an ill Omen for me, reply'd Don Alvaro, and if you have not found me out to be your Lover to Day, I fear you will never approve my Passion.

Oh! what a time you have chosen to make it appear to me (pursu'd Agnes) is it so great an Honour for me, that you must take such Care to shew it to the World▪ And do you think that I am so desirous of Glory, that I must aspire to it by your Actions? If I must, you have very ill maintain'd it in the Turnament; and if it be that Vanity that you depend upon, you'll make no great Progress on a Soul that is not fond of Shame. If you were possest of all the Advantages, which the Prince has this Day carried away, you yet ought to consider what you are going about; and it is not a Maid [Page 20] like me, who is touch'd with Enterprizes, without respect or permission.

The Favourite of the King, was too proud to hear Agnes, without Indignation: But as he was willing to conceal it, and not offend her, he made not his Resentment appear; and con­sidering the Observation she made on the Triumphs of Don Pedro, (which encreased his Jealousies:) If I have not overcome at the Turna­ment, reply'd he, I am not the less in Love for being vanquish'd, nor less capable of success on oc­casions.

They were interrupted here, but from that Day, Don Alvaro, who had open'd the first Difficulties, kept no more his wonted Di­stance, but perpetually persecuted Agnes; yet tho' he were protected by the King, that in­spir'd in her never the more Consideration for him. Don Pedro was always ignorant by what Means the Verses he had lost in the Garden, fell into the Hands of Constantia: As the Prin­cess appeared to him Indulgent, he was only concerned for Agnes; and the Love of Don Alvaro, which was then so well known, in­creas'd the Pain; and had he been possest of the Authority, he would not have suffer'd her to have been expos'd to the Persecutions of so unworthy a Rival. He was also afraid of the King's being advertised of his Passion, but he thought not at all of Elvira's, nor apprehended any Malice from her Resent­ment.

[Page 21] While she burnt with a Desire of destroy­ing Agnes, against whom she vented all her Venom; and she was never weary of making new Reports to her Brother, assuring him, that tho' they could not prove, that Agnes made any returns to the Tenderness of the Prince; yet that was the Cause of Constantia's Grief. And, that if this Princess should die of it, Don Pedro might marry Agnes. In fine, she so incens'd the jealous Don Alvaro's Jealou­sie, that he could not hinder himself from run­ning immediately to the King, with the Dis­covery of all he knew, and all he guest, and whom he had the Pleasure to find, was infinite­ly inrag'd at the News. My dear Alvaro, said the King, you shall instantly marry this dangerous Beauty: And let Possession; assure your Repose and mine. If I have protected you in other Occasions, judge what a Service of so great an Importance for me, would make me undertake; and without any re­serve, the Forces of this State are in your Power, and almost any thing that I can give, shall be assu­red you, so you render your self Master of the De­stiny of Agnes.

Don Alvaro pleas'd, and vain with his Ma­ster's Bounty, made use of all the Authority he gave him: He passionately lov'd Agnes, and would not, on the sudden, make use of Vio­lence; but resolv'd with himself to employ all possible Means to win her fairly; but if that fail'd, to have recourse to force, if she conti­nued always insensible.

[Page 22] While Agnes de Castro (importun'd by his Assiduities, despairing at the Grief of Constan­tia, and perhaps made tender by those she had caus'd in the Prince of Portugal) took a Reso­lution worthy of her Vertue; yet, amiable as Don Pedro was, she found nothing in him, but his being Husband to Constantia, that was dear to her: And far from encouraging the Power she had got over his Heart, she thought of no­thing but removing from Coimbra; the Passion of Don Alvaro, which she had no inclination to favour, serv'd her as a Pretext, and press'd with the fear of causing, in the End, a cruel Divorce between the Prince and his Princess, she went to find Constantia, with a Trouble, which all her Care was not able to hide from her.

The Princess easily found it out; and their common Misfortune having not chang'd their Friendship:—What ails you, Agnes? said the Princess to her, in a soft Tone, and her ordi­nary Sweetness; And what new Misfortune causes that Sadness in thy Looks? Madam, reply'd Agnes, shedding a Rivulet of Tears, the Obligations and Tyes I have to you, put me upon a cruel Tryal; I had bounded the Felicity of my Life in hope of pas­sing it near your Highness; yet I must carry, to some other part of the World, this unlucky Face of mine, which renders me nothing but ill Offices: And itis to obtain that Liberty, that I am come to throw myself at your Feet; looking upon you as my Sove­reign.

[Page 23] Constantia was so surpriz'd and touch'd with the Proposition of Agnes, that she lost her Speech for some Moments; Tears, which were sincere, express'd her first Sentiments: And after having shed abundance, to give a new Mark of her Tenderness to the Fair afflicted Agnes, she with a sad and melancholy Look, fix'd her Eyes upon her, and holding out her Hand to her, in a most obliging manner, sigh­ing; cry'd,—You will then, my dear Agnes, leave me? and expose me to the Griefs of seeing you no more? Alas, Madam, interrupted this love­ly Maid, hide from the unhappy Agnes a Bounty, which does but increase her Misfortunes. It is not I, Madam, that would leave you, it is my Duty, and my Reason that orders my Fate. And those Days which I shall pass far from you, promise me nothing to oblige me to this Design, if I did not see myself absolutely forc'd to it: I am not ignorant of what passes at Coimbra; and I shall be an Ac­complice of the Injustice there committed, if I should stay there any longer.—Ah, I I know your Vertue, cry'd Constantia, and you may remain here, in all safety, while I am your Pro­tectress; and let what will happen, I will accuse you of nothing. There's no answering for what's to come, reply'd Agnes, sadly; and I shall be suf­ficiently Guilty, if my Presence cause Sentiments, which cannot be innocent. Beside, Madam, the Importunities of Don Alvaro are insupportable to me; and though I find nothing but Aversion for him, since the King protects his Insolence, and he's in a Condition of undertaking any thing, my Flight is absolutely necessary: But, Madam, though he [Page 24] has nothing but what seems odious to me; I ca [...] Heaven to witness, that if I could cure the Prince by marrying Don Alvaro, I would not consider of it a Moment; and finding in my Punishment the Consolation of sacrificing my self to my Princess, I would support it without murmuring. But if I were the Wife of Don Alvaro, Don Pedro would al­ways look upon me with the same Eyes: So that I find nothing more reasonable for me, than to hide myself in some Corner of the World; where, though I shall most certainly live without Pleasure, yet I shall preserve the Repose of my dearest Mistress. All the Reason you find in this Design, answered the Princess, cannot oblige me to approve of your Ab­sence: Will it restore me the Heart of Don Pedro? And will he not fly away with you? his Grief is mine, and my Life is ty'd to his; do not make him despair then, if you love me. I know ye, I tell you so once more; and let your Power be never so great over the Heart of the Prince, I will not suffer you to aban­don us.

Though Agnes thought she had perfectly known Constantia, yet she did not expect to find so intire a Vertue in her, which made her think herself more happy, and the Prince more criminal. Oh, Wisdom! Oh, Bounty without Ex­ample! (cry'd she) Why is it, that the cruel De­stinies do not give you all you deserve? You are the Disposer of my Actions, continu'd she (in kissing the Hand of Constantia) I'll do nothing but what you'll have me: But consider, weigh well the Rea­sons that ought to counsel you in the Measures you oblige me to take.

[Page 25] Don Pedro, who had not seen the Princess all that Day, came in then, and finding 'em both extreamly troubled; with a fierce Impatience, demanded the Cause: Sir, answered Constan­tia, Agnes too wise, and too scrupulous, fears the Effects of her Beauty, and will live no longer at Coimbra; and it was on this Subject, (which can­not be agreeable to me) that she ask'd my Advice. The Prince grew pale at this Discourse, and snatching the Words from her Mouth (with more concern, than possest either of them) cry'd with a Voice very feeble, Agnes cannot fail, if she follow your Councel Madam; and I leave you full liberty to give it her. He then im­mediately went out, and the Princess, whose Heart he perfectly possest, not being able to hide her Displeasure, said, My dear Agnes, if my Satisfaction did not only depend on your Conver­sation, I should desire it of you, for Don Pedro's sake; it is the only Advantage that his unfortunate Love can hope: And would not the World have rea­son to call me Barbarous, if I contributed to deprive him of that? But the sight of me will prove a Poyson to him,—reply'd Agnes, And what should I do, my Princess, if after the Reserve he has hitherto kept, his Mouth should add any thing to the Tor­ments I have already felt, by speaking to me of his Flame? You would hear him sure, without causing him to despair, reply'd Constantia; and I should put this Obligation to the Account of the rest you have done. Would you then have me expect those Events which I fear, Madam? reply'd Agnes; Well—I will obey, but just Heavens, pursued she, if they prove fatal, do not punish an innocent [Page 26] Heart for it. Thus this Conversation ended▪ Agnes withdrew into her Chamber, but it was not to be more at ease.

What Don Pedro had learn'd of the Design of Agnes, caus'd a cruel Agitation in his Soul; he wish'd he had never lov'd her, and desir'd a thousand times to die: But it was not for him to make Vows against a thing which Fate had design'd him; and whatever Resolutions he made, to bear the Absence of Agnes, his Tenderness had not force enough to consent to it.

After having, for a long time, combated with himself, he determin'd to do, what was impossible for him, to let Agnes do. His Cou­rage reproach'd him with the Idleness, in which he past the most Youthful and Vigorous of his Days; and making it appear to the King, that his Allies, and even the Prince Don John Ema­nuel, his Father-in-Law, had Concerns in the World, which demanded his Presence on the Frontiers; he easily obtain'd Liberty to make this Journey, to which the Princess would put no Obstacle.

Agnes saw him part without any Concern, but it was not upon the Account of any Aver­sion she had for him. Don Alvaro began then to make his Importunity, an open Persecution; he forgot nothing that might touch the insen­sible Agnes, and made use, a long time, only of the Arms of Love: But seeing that this Sub­missions and Respect was to no purpose, he form'd strange Designs.

[Page 27] As the King had a Deference for all his Counsels, it was not difficult to inspire him with what he had a Mind to: He complain'd of the ungrateful Agnes, and forgot nothing that might make him perceive that she was not cruel to him, on his Account; but from the too much Sensibility she had for the Prince. The King, who was extream angry at this, re­iterated all the Promises he had made him.

The King had not yet spoke to Agnes, in fa­vour of Don Alvaro; and not doubting but his Approbation would surmount all Obstacles, he took an occasion to entertain her with it: And removing some distance from those who might hear him, I thought Don Alvaro had Me­rit enough, said he to her, to have obtain'd a lit­tle share in your Esteem; and I could not imagine, there would have been any necessity of my solliciting it for him: I know you are very charming, but he has nothing that renders him unworthy of you; and when you shall reflect on the Choice my Friendship has made of him, from among all the Great Men of my Court, you will do him, at the same time, Justice. His Fortune is none of the meanest, since he has me for his Protector: He is nobly born, a Man of Ho­nour and Courage; he adores you, and it seems to me, that all these Reasons are sufficient to vanquish your Pride.

The Heart of Agnes was so little disposed to give itself to Don Alvaro, that all that the King of Portugal had said, had no Effect on her, in his favour. If Don Alvaro, Sir, answered she, were without Merit, he possest Advantages enough in the Bounty your Majesty is pleased to Honour him [Page 28] with, to make him Master of all things,; it is not that I find any Defect in him, that I answer not his Desires: But, Sir, by what obstinate Power, would you that I should Love, if Heaven has not given me a Soul that is tender? And why should you pre­tend that I should submit to him, when nothing is dearer to me than my Liberty? You are not so free, nor so insensile, as you say, (answered the King, blushing, with Anger;) and if your Heart were exempt from all sorts of Affection, he might expect a more reasonable Return than what he finds. But im­prudent Maid, conducted by an ill Fate, added he, in Fury, what Pretensions have you to Don Pe­dro? Hitherto, I have hid the Chagreen, which his Weakness, and yours gave me; but it was not the less violent for being hid: And since you oblige me to break out, I must tell you, that if my Son were not already married to Constantia, he should never be your Husband; renounce then those vain Ideas, which will cure him, and justifie you.

The couragious Agnes was scarce Mistress of the first Transports, at a Discourse so full of Contempt; but calling her Vertue to the aid of her Anger, she recover'd herself by the assi­stance of Reason: And considering the Out­rage she receiv'd, not as coming from a Great King, but a Man blinded and possest by Don Alvaro, she thought him not worthy of her Resentment; her fair Eyes animated them­selves with so shining a vivacity, they answered for the purity of her Sentiments; and fixing them stedfastly on the King. If the Prince, Don Pedro have Weaknesses, (reply'd she, with an Air disdainful) he never communicated 'em to me; [Page 29] and I am certain, I never contributed wilfully to 'em: But to let you see how little I regard your Defiance, and to put my Glory in safety, I will live far from you, and all that belongs to you: Yes, Sir, I will quit Coimbra with pleasure; and for this Man, who is so dear to you, (answer'd she with a noble Pride and Fierceness, of which the King felt all the Force) for this Favourite, so worthy to possess the most tender affections of a great Prince, I assure you, that into whatever part of the World Fortune conducts me, I will not carry away the least Remembrance of him. At these words she made a profound Reverence, and made such haste from his Presence, that he could not oppose her going if he would.

The King was now more strongly convinc'd than ever, that she favoured the Passion of Don Pedro, and immediately went to Constantia, to inspire her with the same thought; but she was not capable of receiving such Impressions, and following her own natural Inclinations, she generously defended the Virtue of Actions. The King angry to see her so well intentioned to her Rival, whom he would have had her ha­ted, reproached her with the sweetness of her Temper, and went thence to mix his Anger with Don Alvaro's Rage, who was totally con­founded when he saw the Negotiation of his Master had taken no effect. The haughty Maid braves me then, Sir, said he to the King, and despises the Honour which your Bounty offered her! Why cannot I resist so fatal a Passion? But I must love her, in spight of my self; and if this Flame consume me, I can find [Page 30] no way to extinguish it; what can I farther do for you, replied the King? Alas, Sir, an­swer'd Don Alvaro, I must do by force, what I cannot otherwise hope from the Proud and Cruel Agnes. Well then, added the King, since it is not fit for me to Authorize publickly a Violence in the midst of my Kingdom, chuse those of my Subjects which you think most ca­pable of serving you, and take away by force the Beauty that charms you, and if she do not yield to your Love, put that Power you are Master of in execution, to oblige her to mar­ry you.

Don Alvaro, ravish'd with this Proposition, which at the same time flatter'd both his Love and Anger, cast himself at the feet of the King, and renew'd his Acknowledgments by fresh Protestations, and thought of nothing but em­ploying his unjust Authority against Agnes.

Don Pedro had been about three months ab­sent, when Alvaro undertook what the King counsell'd him to; tho' the Moderation was known to him, yet he feared his Presence, and would not attend the Return of a Rival, with whom he would avoid all Disputes.

One Night, when the sad Agnes, full of her ordinary Inquietudes, in vain expected the God of Sleep, she heard a noise, and after saw some Men unknown enter her Chamber, whose Measures being well consulted, they carried her out of the Palace, and putting her in a close Coach, forc'd her out of Coimbra, without be­ing hinder'd by any Obstacle. She knew not of whom to complain, nor whom to suspect; [Page 31] Don Alvaro seem'd too puissant to seek his sa­tisfaction this way; and she accus'd not the Prince of this Attempt, of whom she had so favourable an Opinion; whatever she could think or say, she could not hinder her ill For­tune: They hurried her on with diligence, and before it was Day, were a considerable way off from the Town.

As soon as Day began to break, she surveyed those that encompassed her, without so much as knowing one of them; and seeing that her Cries and Prayers were all in vain with these deaf Ravishers, she satisfied herself with im­ploring the Protection of Heaven, and aban­don'd herself to its Conduct.

While she sate thus overwhelmed with grief, uncertain of her Destiny, she saw a Body of Horse advance towards the Troop which con­ducted her; the Ravishers did not shun them, thinking it to be Don Alvaro; but when he approached more near, they found it was the Prince of Portugal, who was at the Head of 'em, and who, without foreseeing the occasion that would offer itself of serving Agnes, was returning to Coimbra full of her Idea, after ha­ving performed what he ought in this Expe­dition.

Agnes, who did not expect him, changed now her Opinion, and thought that it was the Prince that had caused her to be stolen away. Oh, Sir, said she to him, having still the same Thought, Is it you that have torn me from the Princess? and could so cruel a Blow come from a Hand that is so dear to her, what will you [Page 32] do with an Ʋnfortunate Creature, who desires nothing but Death? and why will you obscure the Glory of your Life, by an Artifice unwor­thy of you? This Language astonish'd the Prince no less than the Sight of Agnes had done; he found by what she had said, that she was taken away by force; and immediate­ly passing to the height of Rage, he made her understand by one only Look, that he was not the base Author of her Trouble. I tear you from Constantia, whose only Pleasure you are, replied he: What Opinion have you of Don Pe­dro? No, Madam, though you see me here, I am altogether innocent of the Violence that has been done you; and there is nothing I will refuse to hinder it. He then turned himself to behold the Ra­vishers, but his Presence had already scattered 'em: he ordered some of his Men to pursue 'em, and to seize some of 'em, that he might know what Authority it was that set 'em at work.

During this, Agnes was no less confus'd than before; she admir'd the Conduct of her Desti­ny, that brought the Prince at a time when he was so necessary to her: Her Inclinations to do him Justice, soon repair'd the Offence her Suspicions had caus'd; she was glad to have escap'd a Misfortune, which appear'd certain to her; but this was not a sincere Joy, when she consider'd that her Lover was her Delive­rer, and a Lover worthy of all her Acknow­ledgments, but who ow'd his Heart to the most amiable Princess in the World.

[Page 33] While the Prince's Men were pursuing the Ravishers of Agnes, he was left almost alone with her; and tho' he had always resolv'd to shun being so, yet his Constancy was not Proof against so fair an Occasion: ‘Madam, said he to her, is it possible that Men born a­mongst those that obey us, should be capa­ble of offending you? I never thought my self destin'd to revenge such an Offence; but since Heaven has permitted you to receive it, I will either perish or make them repent it. Sir, replied Agnes, more concern'd at this course than at the Enterprize of Don Alvaro, those who are wanting in their Respect to the Princess and you, are not oblig'd to have any for me. I do not in the least doubt but Don Alvaro was the Undertaker of this Enterprize, and I judg'd what I ought to fear from him, by what his Importunities have already made me suffer. He is sure of the King's Protection, and he will make him an Accomplice in his Crime; but, Sir, Heaven conducted you hither happily for me, and I owe you for the liberty I have of serving the Princess yet longer. You will do for Constantia, replied the Prince, what 'tis impossible not to do for you; your Goodness attaches you to her, and my Desti­ny engages me to you for ever.’

The modest Agnes, who fear'd this Discourse as much as the Misfortune she had newly shun­ned, answer'd nothing but by down-cast Eyes, and the Prince, who knew the trouble she was in, left her to go speak to his Men, who brought back one of those that belong'd to Don Alvaro, [Page 34] by whose Confession he found the Truth: He pardon'd him, thinking not fit to punish him, who obey'd a Man whom the weakness of his Father had render'd powerful.

Afterwards they conducted Agnes back to Coimbra, where her Adventure began to make a great noise: The Princess was ready to die with Despair, and at first thought it was only a continuation of the Design this fair Maid had of retiring; but some Women that serv'd her having told the Princess, that she was car­ried away by Violence, Constantia made her Complaint to the King, who regarded her not at all.

‘Madam, said he to her, let this fatal Plague remove itself, who takes from you the Heart of your Husband, and without afflicting your self for her Absence, bless Heaven and me for it.’

The Generous Princess took Agnes's part with a great deal of Courage, and was then disputing her defence with the King, when Don Pedro arriv'd at Coimbra.

The first Object that met the Prince's Eyes was Don Alvaro, who was passing through one of the Courts of the Palace, amidst a Croud of Courtiers, whom his favour with the King drew after him. This Sight made Don Pedro rage; but that of the Princess and Agnes caus'd in him another sort of Emotion: He easily divin'd, that it was Don Pedro, who had taken her from his Men, and, if his Fury had acted what it would, it might have produc'd very sad effects.

[Page 35] ‘Don Alvaro, said the Prince to him, is it thus you make use of the Authority which the King my Father has given you? Have you receiv'd Employments and Power from him for no other end but to do base Actions, and to commit Rapes on Ladies? Are you ignorant how the Princess interests herself in all that concerns this Maid? And do you not know the tender and affectionate Esteem she has for her? No, replied Don Alvaro,’ (with an Insolence that had like to have put the Prince past all Patience) ‘I am not igno­rant of it, nor of the Interest your Heart takes in her. Base and treacherous as thou art, replied the Prince, neither the Favour which thou hast so much abused, nor the In­solence which makes thee speak this, should hinder me from punishing thee, wert thou worthy of my Sword; but there are other ways to humble thy Pride, and 'tis not fit for such an Arm as mine to seek so base an Imployment to punish such a Slave as thou art.’

Don Pedro went away at these words, and left Alvaro in a Rage, which is not to be ex­press'd, despairing to see himself defeated in an Enterprize he thought so sure, and at the Con­tempt the Prince shew'd him, he promised him­self to sacrifice all to his Revenge.

Tho' the King loved his Son, he was so pre­possess'd against his Passion, that he could not pardon him what he had done, and condemn'd him as much for this last Act of Justice, in de­livering Agnes, as if it had been the greatest of Crimes.

[Page 36] Elvira, whom the sweetness of Hope flatter'd some moments, saw the return of Agnes with a sensible Displeasure, which suffer'd her to think of nothing but irritating her Brother.

In fine, the Prince saw the King, but instead of being receiv'd by him with a Joy due to the success of his Journey, he appear'd all sullen and out of Humour. After having paid him his first Respects, and gave him an exact account of what he had done, he spoke to him about the Violence committed against the Per­son of Agnes de Castro, and complain'd to him of it in the Name of the Princess, and of his own: ‘You ought to be silent in this Affair, replied the King, and the Motive which makes you speak is so shameful for you, that I sigh and blush at it: What is it to you, if this Maid, whose Presence is troublesome to me, be remov'd hence, since 'tis I that de­sire it? But, Sir, interrupted the Prince, what necessity is there of employing Force, Artifice, and the Night, when the least of your Orders had been sufficient; Agnes would willingly have obey'd you, and if she conti­nue at Coimbra, 'tis perhaps against her will; but be it as it will, Sir, Constantia is offended, and if it were not for fear of displeasing you, (the only thing that retains me) the Ravisher should not have gone unpunish'd. How hap­py are you, replied the King, smiling with Disdain, in making use of the Name of Con­stantia to uphold the Interest of your Heart; you think I am ignorant of it, and that this unhappy Princess looks on the Injury you [Page 37] do her with Indifference. Never speak to me more of Agnes, (with a Tone very severe) Content your self, that I pardon what's past, and think maturely of the Considerations I have for Don Alvaro, when you would de­sign any thing against him. Yes, Sir, re­ply'd the Prince, with fierceness, I will speak to you no more of Agnes, but Constantia, and I will never suffer, that she should be any more expos'd to the Insolence of your Fa­vourite.’ The King had like to have broke out into Rage at this Discourse; but he had yet a Rest of Prudence left, that hinder'd him. ‘Retire, (said he to Don Pedro) and go make Reflections on what my Power can do, and what you owe me.’

During this Conversation, Agnes was recei­ving from the Princess, and from all the Ladies of the Court, great Expressions of Joy, and Friendship, Constantia saw again her Husband, with a great deal of satisfaction, and far from being sorry at what he had lately done for Agnes, she privately return'd him Thanks for it, and still was the same towards him, not­withstanding all the Jealousie which was endea­vour'd to be inspir'd in her.

Don Alvaro, who found in his Sister a Mali­ciousness worthy of his Trust, did not conceal his Fury from her. After she had made vain Attempts to moderate it, in blotting Agnes out of his Heart, seeing that his Disease was incu­rable, she made him understand, that so long as Constantio should not be Jealous, there was [Page 38] no Hopes. That if Agnes should once be su­spected by her, she would not fail of aban­doning her, and that then it would be easie to get Satisfaction, the Prince being now so proud of Constantia's Indulgency. In giving this Advice to her Brother, she promis'd to serve him effectually; and having no need of any Body but herself to perform Ill Things, she recommended Don Alvaro to manage well the King.

Four Years were pass'd in that melancho­ly Station, and the Princess, besides her first dead Child, and Ferdinand, who was still living, had brought two Daughters into the World.

Some Days after Don Pedro's Return, Elvira, who was most dextrous in the Art of Well-governing any wicked Design, did gain one of the Servants which belong'd to Constantia's Chamber. She first spoke her fair, then over­whelm'd her with Presents and Gifts, and finding in her as ill a Disposition as in herself, she readily resolv'd to employ her.

After she was sure of her, she compos'd a Letter, which was after writ over again in an unknown Hand, which she deposited in that Maid's Hands, that she might deliver to Con­stantia with the first Opportunity, telling her, that Agnes had drop'd it. This was the Sub­stance of it.

I Employ not my own Hand to write to you, for Reasons that I shall acquaint you with. How [Page 39] happy am I to have overcome all your Scruples! And what Happiness shall I find in the Progress of our Intrigue! The whole Course of my Life, shall continually represent to you the Sincerity of my Af­fections; pray think on the Secret Conversation that I require of you; I dare not speak to you in publick, therefore let me conjure you here, by all that I have suffer'd, to come to Night to the Place appointed, and speak to me no more of Constantia; for she must be content with my Esteem, since my Heart can be only Yours.

The unfaithful Portuguese serv'd Elvira exact­ly to her Desires, and the very next Day seeing Agnes go out from the Princess, she carry'd Constantia the Letter; which she took, and found there what she was far from imagining: Tenderness never produc'd an Effect more full of Grief, than what it made her suffer: Alas, they are both culpable (said she, sighing) and in spight of the Defence my Heart wou'd make for 'em, my Reason Condemns 'em. Ʋnhappy Prin­cess, the sad Subject of the Capriciousness of For­tune! Why dost not thou die, since thou hast not a Heart of Honour to revenge itself? O Don Pedro! Why did you give me your Hand, without your Heart? And thou, Fair, and Ʋngrateful! Wert thou born to be the Misfortune of my Life, and, perhaps, the only Cause of my Death. After having given some Moments to the Violence of her Grief, she call'd the Maid, who brought her the Let­ter, commanding her to speak of it tono Bo­dy, and to suffer no one to enter into her Chamber.

[Page 40] She consider'd then of that Prince with more liberty, whose Soul she was not able to touch with the least Tenderness; and of the cruel fair One that had betray'd her: Yet, even while her Soul was upon the Rack, she was wil­ling to excuse 'em, and ready to do all she could for Don Pedro; at least, she made a firm Re­solution, not to complain of him.

Elvira was not long without being inform'd of what had pass'd, nor of the Melancholly of the Princess, from whom she hop'd all she de­sir'd.

Agnes, far from foreseeing this Tempest, re­turn'd to Constantia; and hearing of her Indis­position, pass'd the rest of the day at her Cham­ber-door, that she might from time to time learn News of her Health, for she was not suf­fer'd to come in, at which Agnes was both sur­priz'd and troubled. The Prince had the same Destiny, and was astonish'd at an Order which ought to have excepted him.

The next day Constantia appear'd, but so al­ter'd, that 'twas not difficult to imagine what she had suffer'd. Agnes was the most impatient to approach her, and the Princess could not forbear weeping. They were both silent for some time, and Constantia attributed this Silence of Agnes to some Remorse which she felt; and this unhappy Maid being able to hold no lon­ger, Is it possible Madam, (said she,) that two Days should have taken from me all the Goodness you had for me? What have I done? And for what do you punish me? The Princess regarded her with a languishing look, and return'd her [Page 41] no Answer, but Sighs. Agnes, offended at this Reserve, went out with very great Dissatisfa­ction and Anger; which contributed to her being thought criminal. The Prince came in immediately after, and found Constantia more disorder'd than usual, and conjur'd her in a most obliging manner to take care of her Health: The greatest good for me (said she) is not the Continuation of my Life; I should have more Care of it if I lov'd you less; but—She could not proceed; and the Prince, exces­sively afflicted at her trouble, sigh'd sadly, without making her any Answer, which re­doubled her Grief. Spight then began to mix itself; and all things perswading the Princess that they made a Sacrafice of her, she would enter into no Explanation with her Husband, but suffer'd him to go away without saying a­ny thing to him.

Nothing is more capable of troubling our Reason, and consuming our Health, then se­cret Notions of Jealousie in Solitude.

Constantia, who us'd to open her Heart free­ly to Agnes, now believing she had deceiv'd her, abandon'd herself so absolutely to Grief, that she was ready to sink under it; she imme­diately fell sick with the violence of it, and all the Court was concern'd at this Misfortune: Don Pedro was truly afflicted at it, but Agnes more than all the World beside. Constantia's Coldness towards her, made her continually sigh; and her Distemper, created meerly by Fancy, caus'd her to reflect on every thing that offer'd itself to her Memory; so that at last [Page 42] she began even to fear herself, and to reproach herself for what the Princess suffer'd.

But the Distemper began to be such, that they fear'd Constantia's Death, and she herself began to feel the Approaches of it. This Thought did not at all disquiet her; she look'd on Death as the only Relief from all her Tor­ments; and regarded the Despair of all that approach'd her without the least concern.

The King, who lov'd her tenderly, and who knew her Vertue, was infinitely mov'd at the Extremity she was in. And Don Alvaro, who lost not the least Occasion of making him un­derstand, that it was Jealousie which was the Cause of Constantia's Distemper, did but too much incense him against Criminals worthy of Compassion. The King was not of a Temper to conceal his Anger long: You give fine Ex­amples, (said he to the Prince) and such as will render your Memory illustrious; and the Death of Constantia (of which you are only to be accus'd of) is the unhappy Fruit of your guilty Passion. Fear Heaven after this; and behold yourself as a Monster that does not de­serve to see the Light. If the Interest you have in my Blood did not plead for you, what ought you not to fear from my just Resentment? But what must not Imprudent Agnes, to whom nothing ties me, expect from my hands? If Constantia dyes, she, who has the Bold­ness, in my Court, to cherish a foolish Flame by vain Hopes, and make us lose the most Amiable Princess, whom thou art not worthy to possess, shall feel the Effects of her Indiscretion.

[Page 43] Don Pedro knew very well, that Constantia was not ignorant of his Sentiments for Agnes; but he knew also with what Moderation she receiv'd it: He was very sensible of the King's Reproaches; but as his Fault was not volun­tary, and that a commanding Power, a fatal Star had forc'd him to love in spight of him­self, he appear'd afflicted and confus'd: You condemn me, Sir, (answered he) without having well examin'd me; and if my Intentions were known to you, perhaps you would not find me so criminal: I would take the Princess for my Judge, whom you say, I sacrifice, if she were in a condition to be consulted. If I am guil­ty of any Weakness, her Justice never reproach'd me for it; and my Tongue never inform'd Ag­nes of it. But, suppose I have committed any Fault, why wou'd you punish an Innocent La­dy, who perhaps condemns me for it as much as you? Ah, Villain! (interrupted the King,) she has but too much favour'd you: You would not have lov'd thus long, had she not made you some Returns. Sir, (reply'd the Prince, pier­ced with Grief for the Outrage that was committed against Agnes,) you offend a Ver­tue, than which nothing can be purer; and those Expressions which break from your Choler, are not worthy of you. Agnes never granted me any Favours; I never asked any of her; and I protest to Heaven, I never thought of any thing contrary to the Duty I owe Constantia.

As they thus argued, one of the Princess's Women came all in Tears, to acquaint Don Pedro, That the Princess was in the last Ex­tremities [Page 44] of Life: Go see thy fatal Work, (said the King,) and expect from a too-long-patient Fa­ther the Ʋsage thou deserv'st.

The Prince ran to Constantia, whom he found dying, and Agnes in a swoon, in the Arms of some of the Ladies. What caus'd this double Calamity, was, that Agnes, who could suffer no longer the Indifferency of the Princess, had conjur'd her to tell her what was her Crime, and either to take her Life from her, or restore her Friendship.

Constantia, who found she must die, could no longer keep her secret Affliction from Ag­nes; and after some Words, which were a Preparative to the sad Explanation, she shew'd her that fatal Billet which Elvira had caus'd to be written: Ah! Madam, (cry'd out the fair Agnes, after having read it;) Ah, Madam! How many cruel Inquietudes had you spar'd me, had you open'd your Heart to me with your wonted Boun­ty? 'Tis easy to see that this Letter is counterfeit, and that I have Enemies without compassion. Cou'd you believe the Prince so Impudent, to make use of a­ny other hand but his own, on an occasion like this? And do you believe me so Simple, to keep about me this Testimony of my Shame, with so little Precauti­on? You are neither betray'd by your Husband nor me; I attest Heaven, and those Efforts I have made, to leave Coimbra. Alas, my dear Princess! how little have you known her, whom you have so much honour'd? Do not believe, that when I have justi­fy'd myself, I will have any more Communication with the World. No, no; there will be no Retreat far enough from hence for me. I will take care to [Page 45] hide this unlucky Face, where it shall be sure to do no more Harm.

The Princess touch'd at this Discourse, and the Tears of Agnes, press'd her hand, which she held in hers; and fixing looks upon her, capable of moving pity in the most insensible Souls, If I have committed any Offence, my dear Agnes, (answer'd she) Death, which I expect in a moment, shall revenge it. I ought also to pro­test to you, That I have not ceas'd loving you, and that I believe every thing you have said, giving you back my most tender Affections.

'Twas at this time that the Grief, which e­qually oppress'd 'em, put the Princess into such an Extremity, that they sent for the Prince. He came and found himself almost without life or motion at this sight. And what secret Motive soever might call him to the Aid of Agnes, 'twas to Constantia he ran. The Princess, who finding her last Moments drawing on, by a cold Sweat that cover'd her all over; and finding she had no more busi­ness with Life, and causing those Persons she most suspected to retire, Sir, (said she to Don Pedro,) If I abandon Life without Regret, it is not without Trouble that I part with you. But, Prince, we must vanguish when we come to die; and I will forget myself wholly, to think of nothing but of you. I have no Reproaches to make against you, knowing that 'tis Inclination that disposes Hearts, and not Reason. Agnes is beautiful enough to inspire the most ardent Passion, and vertuous enough to deserve the first Fortunes in the World. I ask her, once more, Pardon for the Injustice I have done her, and [Page 46] recommend her to you, as a Person most dear to me. Promise me, my dear Prince, before I Expire, to give her my Place in your Throne; it cannot be bet­ter fill'd; you cannot chuse a Princess more perfect for your People, nor a better Mother for our little Children. And you, my Dear, and my faithful Agnes (pursu'd she) listen not to a Vertue too scrupulous, that they may make any opposition to the Prince of Portugal: Refuse him not a Heart, of which he is worthy; and give him that Friendship which you had for me, with that which is due to his Merit. Take care of my little Fernando, and the two young Princesses: let 'em find me in you, and speak to 'em sometimes of me. Adieu; live both of you happy, and receive my last Embraces.

The afflicted Agnes, who had recover'd a little her Forces, lost 'em again a second time: Her Weakness was follow'd with Convulsions so vehement, that they were afraid of her Life; but Don Pedro never remov'd from Con­stantia: What, Madam, (said he) you will leave me then; and you think 'tis for my Good. Alas, Constantia! if my Heart has committed any Out­rage against you, your Vertue has sufficiently reveng'd you on me, in spight of you. Can you think me so barbarous?—As he was going on, he saw Death shut the Eyes of the most generous Prin­cess for ever; and he was within a very little of following her.

But what loads of Grief was this for Agnes, when she found that in that Interval, when Life and Death were struggling in her Soul, that Constantia was newly expir'd! She would then have taken away her own Life, and have let her Despair fully appear.

[Page 47] At the noise of the Death of the Princess, the Town and the Palace was all in Tears. El­vira, who saw then Don Pedro free to engage himself, repented of having contributed to the Death of Agnes, who thought herself the cause of it, promis'd her Griefs never to Pardon herself.

She had need of being guarded several days together; during which time, she fail'd not incessantly to weep. And the Prince gave all those days to deepest Mourning. But when the first Emotions were past, those of his Love made him feel that he was still the same.

He was a long time without seeing Agnes, but this Absence of his serv'd only to make her appear the more charming when he did see her.

Don Alvaro, who was afraid of the Liberty of the Prince, made new Efforts to move Ag­nes de Castro; who was now become insensible to every thing but Grief. Elvira, who was willing to make the best of the Design she had begun, consulted all her Womens Arts, and the delicacy of her Wit, to revive the Flames with which the Prince once burnt for her: But his Inconstancy was bounded, and it was Agnes alone that was to reign over his Heart. She had taken a firm Resolution, since the Death of Constantia, to pass the rest of her days in a solitary Retreat. In spight of the Precau­tion she took to hide this Design, the Prince was inform'd of it, and did all he was able to dispose his Constancy and Fortitude to it. He thought himself stronger than he really was; [Page 46] [...] [Page 47] [...] [Page 48] but after he had too well consulted his Heart, he found but too well how necessary the Pre­sence of Agnes was to him: Madam, (said he to her one day, with a Heart big, and his Eyes in Tears) Which Action of my Life has made you determine my Death? Though I never told you now much I lov'd you, yet I am perswaded you are not ignorant of it. I was constrain'd to be silent during some Years for your sake, for Constantia's and my own; but 'tis not possible for me to put this Force upon my Heart for ever: I must once at least tell you how it languishes. Receive then the Assuran­ces of a Passion, full of Respect and Ardour; with an Offer of my Fortune, which I wish not better, but for your Advantage.

Agnes answer'd not immediately to these Words, but with abundance of Tears; which having wip'd away, and beholding Don Pedro with an Air which made him easily compre­hend she did not agree with his Desires: If I were capable of the Weakness with which you'd inspire me, you'd be oblig'd to punish me for it. What! (said she) Constantia is scarce bury'd, and you wou'd have me offend her! No, my Princess, (added she with more Softness;) No, no, she whom you have heap'd so many Favours on, will not call down the Anger of Heaven, and the Contempt of Men upon her, by an Action so perfidious. Be not obsti­nate then in a Design in which I will never shew you Favour. You owe to Constantia, after her Death, a Fidelity that may justifie you: And I to repair the Ills I have made her suffer, ought to shun all Converse with you. Go, Madam, reply'd the Prince, growing pale;) go, and expect the News of my [Page 49] Death, in that part of the World, whither your Cruelty shall lead you, the News shall follow close af­ter; you shall quickly hear of it; and I will go seek it in those Wars which reign among my Neighbours.

These words made the fair Agnes de Castro perceive that her Innocency was not so great as she imagin'd, and that her Heart interested itself in the Preservation of Don Pedro: You ought, Sir, to preserve your Life, (reply'd Ag­nes) for the sake of the little Prince and Princesses, which Constantia has left you. Wou'd you aban­don their Youth (continu'd she, with a tender Tone) to the Cruelty of Don Alvaro? Live, Sir, live! and let the unhappy Agnes be the only Sacri­fice. Alas, cruel Maid! (interrupted Don Pe­dro;) why do you command me to live, if I cannot live with you? Is it an effect of your Hatred? No, Sir, (replyed Agnes) I do not hate you; and I wish to God that I cou'd be indifferent, that I might be able to defend myself against the Weakness with which I find myself possess'd. Oblige me to say no more, Sir: You see my Blushes, interpret them as you please; but consider yet, that the less Aversion I find I have for you, the more culpable I am; and that I ought no more to see, or speak to you. In fine, Sir, if you oppose my Retreat, I declare to you, that Don Alvaro, as odious as he is to me, shall serve for a Defence against you; and that I will sooner consent to marry a Man I abhor, than to favour a Passion that cost Constantia her Life. Well then, Agnes, (reply'd the Prince, with looks all lan­guishing and dying) follow the Motions which barbarous Vertue inspires you with; take those Mea­sures you judge necessary, against an unfortunate Lo­ver, [Page 50] and enjoy the Glory of having cruelly refus'd me.

At these Words he went away; and as troubled as Agnes was, she would not stay him: Her Courage combated with her Grief, and she thought now, more than ever of de­parting.

'Twas difficult for her to go out of Coimbra; and not to defer what appear'd to her so ne­cessary; she went immediately to the Apart­ment of the King, notwithstanding the inter­est of Don Alvaro. the King receiv'd her with a Countenance severe, not being able to consent to what she demanded: You shall not go hence, (said he) and if you are wise, you shall enjoy here, with Don Alvaro, both my Friendship, and my Favour. I have taken another Resolution, (answer'd Agnes) and the World has no part in it. You will accept Don Pedro, (reply'd the King;) his Fortune is sufficient to satisfie an Ambitious Maid: But you will not succeed Constantia, who lov'd you so tenderly; and Spain has Princesses e­nough to fill up part of the Throne which I shall leave him. Sir, (reply'd Agnes, piqu'd at this Dis­course) If I had a disposition to Love, and a de­sign to Marry, perhaps the Prince might be the on­ly Person on whom I would fix 'em: And you know, if my Ancestors did not possess Crowns, yet they were worthy to wear 'em. But let it be how it will, I am resolv'd to depart, and to remain no longer a Slave in a place to which I came Free.

This bold Answer, which shew'd the Cha­racter of Agnes, anger'd and astonish'd the King: You shall go when we think fit, (reply'd he) [Page 51] and without being a Slave at Coimbra, you shall attend our Orders.

Agnes saw she must stay, and was so griev'd at it, that she kept her Chamber several days, without daring to inform herself of the Prince; and this Retirement spar'd her the Affliction of being visited by Don Alvaro.

During this, Don Pedro fell sick, and was in so great Danger, that there was a general Apprehension of his Death. Agnes did not in the least doubt, but it was an Effect of his Dis­content: she thought at first she had strength and resolution enough to see him die, rather than to favour him; but had she reflected a lit­tle, she had soon been convinc'd to the contra­ry: She found not in her Heart that cruel Con­stancy, she thought there so well establish'd; she felt Pains and Inquietude, shed Tears, made Wishes; and in fine, discover'd that she Lov'd.

'Twas impossible to see the Heir of the Crown, a Prince that deserv'd so well, even at the point of Death, without a general Affli­ction: The People who lov'd him, pass'd whole days at the Palace-gate to hear News of him: The Court was all overwhelm'd with Grief.

Don Alvaro knew very well how to conceal a malicious Joy, under an Appearance of Sad­ness. Elvira, full of Tenderness, and per­haps of Remorse, suffer'd also on her side. The King, altho' he condemn'd the Love of his Son, yet still had a Tenderness for him, and cou'd not resolve to lose him. Agnes de Castro, who knew the Cause of his Distemper, [Page 52] expected the end of it with strange Anxieties. In fine, after a Month had pass'd away in Fears, they began to have a little Hopes of his Reco­very. The Prince, and Don Alvaro were the only Persons that were not glad of it. But Agnes rejoyc'd enough for all the rest.

Don Pedro, seeing that he must live whether he wou'd or no, thought of nothing, but pas­sing his days in Melancholly and Discontent: As soon as he was in a condition to walk, he sought out the most solitary Places, and gain'd so much upon his own Weakness, to go every­where, where Agnes was not; but her Idea follow'd him always, and his Memory, faithful, to represent her to him, with all her Charms, render'd her always dangerous.

One day, when they had carry'd him into the Garden, he sought out a Labyrinth which was at the farthest part of it, to hide his Me­lancholly, during some hours; there he found the sad Agnes, whom Grief, little different from his, had brought thither; the sight of her, whom he expected not, made him trem­ble: She saw by his pale and meagre Face, the remains of his Distemper; his Eyes full of Lan­guishment troubled her, and tho' her desire was so great to have fled from him, an un­known Power stopt her, and 'twas impossible for her to go.

After some Moments of Silence, which ma­ny Sighs interrupted, Don Pedro rais'd himself from the place, where his Weakness had forc'd him to sit; he made Agnes see, as he approach­ed her, the sad Marks of his Sufferings, and [Page 53] not content with the Pity he saw in her Eyes, [...] have resolv'd my Death then, Cruel Agnes, (said he) my desire was the same with yours; but Heaven has thought fit to reserve me for other Mis­fortunes, and I see you again as unhappy, but more in love than ever.

There was no need of these Words to move Agnes to Compassion, the Languishment of the Prince spoke enough: And the Heart of this fair Maid, was but too much dispos'd to yield itself: She thought then that Constantia ought to be satisfied; Love, which combated for Don Pedro, triumphed over Friendship, and found that happy Moment, for which the Prince of Portugal had so long sighed.

Do not reproach me, for that which has cost me more than you, Sir; (reply'd she) and do not ac­cuse a [...], which is neither Ingrateful nor Bar­barous; and I must tell you, that I love you. But now I have made you that Confession, what is it far­ther that you require of me? Don Pedro, who ex­pected not a Change so favourable, felt a double Satisfaction, and falling at the Feet of Agnes, he express'd more by the Silence his Passion created, than he could have done by the most eloquent Words.

After having known all his good Fortune, he then consulted with the Amiable Agnes, what was to be fear'd from the King; they concluded, that the cruel Billet, which so troubled the last days of Constantia, could come from none but Elvira and Don Alvaro. The Prince, who knew that his Father had search'd already an Alliance for him, and was resolv'd [Page 54] on his Favourite's marrying Agnes, [...] her so tenderly to prevent these Persecu [...] by consenting to a secret Marriage; that, [...] having a long time considered, she at [...] consented, I will do what you will have me, (sai [...] she) though I presage nothing but fatal Events [...] it; all my Blood turns to Ice, when I think of this▪ Marriage, and the Image of Constantia [...] hinder me from doing it.

The Amorous Prince surmounted all [...] Scruples, and separated himself from [...] with a Satisfaction which soon redoubled his Forces; he saw her afterward with the plea­sure of a Mystery, and the Day of their Union arriv'd: Dom Gill, Bishop of Guarda; perform­ed the Ceremony of the Marriage, in the pre­sence of several Witnesses, faithful to Don Pe­dro, who saw him Possessor of all the Cha [...]ms of the Fair Agnes.

She liv'd not the more peaceable for belong­ing to the Prince of Portugal; her Enemies, who continually persecuted her, left her not without troubles; and the King, whom her Refusal inrag'd, laid his absolute Commands on her, to Marry Don Alvaro, with Threats to force her to it, if she continued Rebellious.

The Prince took loudly her part, and this joyn'd to the Refusal he made of marrying the Princess of Arragon, caus'd Suspicions of the Truth in the King his Father. He was second­ed by those that were too much interested, not to unriddle this Secret. Don Alvaro and his Sister acted with so much Care, gave so many Gifts, and made so many Promises, that [Page 55] they discovered the secret Engagements of Don Pedro and Agnes.

The King wanted but little of breaking out into all the Rage and Fury so great a Disap­pointment could inspire him with, against the Princess. Don Alvaro, whose Love was chang'd into the most violent Hatred, appeas'd the first Transports of the King, by making him comprehend, that if they could break the Marriage of 'em, that would not be a suffici­ent Revenge, and so poysoned the Soul of the King, to consent to the Death of Agnes.

The Barbarous Don Alvaro offered his Arm for this terrible Execution, and his Rage was Security for the Sacrifice.

The King, who thought the Glory of his Family disgraced, by this Alliance, and his own [...] particular in the Procedure of his Son, gave full Power to this Murder, to make the innocent Agnes, a Victim to his Rage.

It was not easie to execute this horrid De­sign: Though the Prince saw Agnes but in se­cret, yet all his Cares were still awake for her, and he was married to her above a Year, be­fore Don Alvaro could find out an Opportuni­ty so long sought for.

The Prince delivered himself but little, and very rarely went far from Coimbra: but on a Day, an Unfortunate Day, and mark'd out by Heaven for an unheard of and horrid Assassin, he made a Party to hunt at a fine House, which the King of Portugal had near the City.

Agnes lov'd every thing that gave the Prince satisfaction; but a secret Trouble made her [Page 56] apprehend some Misfortune in this unhappy Journey: Sir, (said she, to him alarm'd, with­out knowing the Reason why I tremble) seeing you to day, as it were design'd the last of my Life Preserve yourself, my Dear Prince, and though the Exercise you take be not very dangerous, beware of the least Hazards, and bring me back all that I trust with you. Don Pedro, who had never found her so Handsome and so Charming before, embraced her several times, and went out of the Palace with his Followers, with a design not to return till the next Day.

He was no sooner gone, but the Cruel Don Alvaro prepared himself for the Execution he had resolv'd on; he thought it of that impor­tance, that it required more Hands than his Own; and so chose for his Companions Diego Lopes Pacheo, and Pedro Cuello, two Monsters like himself, whose Cruelty he was assur'd of by the Presents he had made 'em.

They waited the coming of the Night, and the lovely Agnes was in her first sleep, which the last of her Life, when these Assassins ap­proach'd her Bed. Nothing made resistance to Don Alvaro, who could do every thing, and whom the blackest Furies introduced to Agnes, she wakened, and opening her Curtains, saw, by the Candle burning in her Chamber, the Poinard with which Don Alvaro was arm'd; he having not his Face covered she easily knew him, and forgetting herself, to think of no­thing but the Prince: Just Heaven, (said she, lifting up her fine Eyes) if you will revenge Con­stantia, satisfie yourself with my Blood only, and [Page 57] spare that of Don Pedro. The Barbarous Man that heard her, gave her not time to say more; and finding he could never (by all he could do by Love) touch the Heart of the Fair Agnes, he pierc'd it with his Poinard; his Accompli­ces gave her several Wounds, tho' there were no Necessity of so many to put an End to an Innocent Life.

What a sad Spectacle was this for those who approach'd her Bed the next Day: And what dismal News was this to the Unfortunate Prince of Portugal! He return'd to Coimbra, to the first Report of this Adventure, and saw what had certainly cost him his Life, if Men could die of Grief; after having a thousand times embraced the bloody Body of Agnes, and said all that a just Despair could inspire him with, he ran like a Mad-man into the Palace, demanding the Murderers of his Wife, of things that could not hear him: In fine, he saw the King, and without observing any Re­spect, he gave a Loose to his Resentment: af­ter having rail'd a long time, overwhelm'd with Grief, he fell into a Swoon, which con­tinued all that Day. They carried him into his Apartment; and the King, believing that this Misfortune would prove his Cure, re­pented not of what he had permitted,

Don Alvaro, and the two other Assassins, quitted Coimbra. This Absence of theirs, made 'em appear guilty of the Crime, for which the Afflicted Prince vowed a speedy Vengeance to the Ghost of his Lovely Agnes, resolving to pursue them to the uttermost part [Page 58] of the Universe: He got a considerable num­ber of Men together, sufficient to have made Resistance, even on the King of Portugal him­self, if he should yet take the Part of the Mur­derers; with these he ravag'd the whole Coun­try, as far as the Duero Waters, and carried on a War, even till the Death of the King, continually mixing Tears with Blood, which he gave to the Revenge of his Dearest Agnes.

Such was the deplorable End of the Unfor­tunate Love of Don Pedro of Portugal, and of the Fair Agnes de Castro, whose Remembrance he faithfully preserved in his Heart, even upon the Throne, to which he mounted, by the Right of his Birth, after the Death of the King.

THE Lady's Looking-Glass, TO DRESS Herself by: OR, THE ART of Charming.

HOW long, O charming Iris! shall I speak in vain of your adorable Beauty? You have been just, and believe I love you with a Passion perfectly tender and extream; and yet you will not allow your Charms to be infinite. You must either accuse my Flames to be unrea­sonable, and that my Eyes and Heart are false Judges of Wit and Beauty; or allow, that you are the most perfect of your Sex. But in­stead of that, you always accuse of me Flat­tery, when I speak of your infinite Merit; and when I refer you to your Glass, you tell me, that flatters, as well as Damon; though one [Page 2] wou'd imagine, that shou'd be a good Witness for the Truth of what I say, and undeceive you of the Opinion of my Injustice. Look—and confirm yourself, that nothing can equal your Perfections. All the World says it, and you must doubt it no longer. O Iris! Will you di­spute against the whole World?

But since you have so long distrusted your own Glass, I have here presented you with one, which I know is very true; and having been made for you only, can serve only you. All o­ther Glasses present all Objects, but this reflects only Iris; whenever you consult it, it will con­vince you; and tell you, how much Right I have done you, when I told you, you were the fairest Person that ever Nature made. When other Beauties look into it, it will speak to all the fair Ones; but let 'em do what they will, 'twill say nothing to their Advantage.

But I will be silent now, and let your Glass speak.

THE Lucky Mistake. A NEW NOVEL.

THe River Loyre has on its delightful Banks abundance of handsome, beautiful and rich Towns and Villages, to which the noble Stream adds no small Graces and Advan­tages, blessing their Fields with Plenty, and their Eyes with a thousand Diversions: In one of these hap­pily situated Towns, called Orleance, where abundance of People of the best Quality and Condition reside, there was a rich Nobleman, now retird from the bu­sie Court, where, in his Youth he had been bred, wea­ried with the Toyls of Ceremony and Noise, to en­joy that perfect Tranquility of Life, which is no where to be found, but in Retreat, a faithful Friend, and a good Library; and, as the Admirable Horace says, in a little House and large Gardens, Count Bellyaurd, for so was this Nobleman call'd, was of this Opinion: and the rather, because he had one only Son, call'd Rinaldo, now grown to the Age of Fifteen, who ha­ving all the excellent Qualities and Graces of Youth, by Nature, he would bring him up in all Vertues and noble Sciences, which he believ'd the Gaiety and Lu­stre of the Court might divert: He therefore in his Retirement spar'd no Cost, to those that could in­struct and accomplish him; and he had the best Tu­tors [Page 2] and Masters that could be purchased at Court; Bellyaurd making far less account of Riches than of fine Parts. He found his Son capable of all Impres­sions, having a Wit suitable to his delicate Person, so that he was the sole Joy of his Life, and the Darling of his Eyes.

In the very next House, which joyn'd close to that of Bellyaurd's, there liv'd another Count, who had in his Youth been banish'd the Court of France for some Misunderstandings, in some high Affairs wherein he was concern'd; his name was De Pais, a Man of great Birth, but no Fortune; or at least one not suitable to the Grandeur of his Original: And as it is most na­tural for great Souls to be most proud (if I may call a handsome Disdain by that vulgar Name,) when they are most depress'd; so De Pais was more retir'd, more [...]strang'd from his Neighbours, and kept a greater Di­stance, than if he had enjoy'd all he had lost at Court, and took more Solemnity and State upon him, because he would not be subject to the Reproaches of the World, by making himself familiar with it. So that he rarely visited, and was as rarely visited; and, con­trary to the Custom of those in France, who are easie of Excess, and free of Conversation, he kept his Fa­mily retir'd so close, that 'twas rare to see any of 'em; but when they went abroad, which was but seldom, they wanted nothing as to outward appearance, that was fit for his Quality, and was much above his Con­dition.

This old Count had two only Daughters, of ex­ceeding Beauty, who gave the generous Father Ten thousand Torments, as often as he beheld them, when he consider'd their extream Beauty, their fine W [...], their Innocence, Modesty, and above all, their Birth; and that he had not the Fortune to marry them ac­cording to their Quality▪ and below it, he had rather see them laid in their silent Graves, than consent to; for he scorn'd the World should see him forced by his Poverty, to commit an Action below his Dignity.

[Page 3] There lived in a Neighbouring Town, a certain Nobleman, Friend to De Pais, call'd Count Vernole, a Man of about Forty Years of Age, of low Stature, Complexion very black and swarthy, lean, lame, ex­tream proud and haughty; extracted of a Descent from the Blood-Royal; not extreamly brave, but ve­ry glorious: He had no very great Estate, but was in Election of a greater, and of an Addition of Honour from the King, his Father having done most worthy Services against the Hugonots, and by the high Favour of Cardinal Mazarine, was represented to his Majesty, as a Man related to the Crown, of great Name, but small Estate; so that there was now nothing but great Expectations and Preparations in the Family of Count Vernole to go to Court, to which he daily hop'd an Invitation or Command.

Vernole's Fortune being hitherto something a kin to that of De Pais, there was a greater Correspondency between these two Gentlemen, than they had with any other Persons; they accounting themselves above the rest of the World, believ'd none so proper and fit for their Conversation, as that of each other; so that there was a very particular Intimacy between them: Whenever they went abroad, they clubb'd their Train, to make one great Show, and were always together, bemoaning each other's Fortune, that from so high a Descent, as one from Monarchs by the Mother's side, and the other from Dukes of his side, they were re­duc'd by Fate, to the degree of private Gentlemen. They would often consult how to manage Affairs most to advantage, and often De Pais would ask Counsel of Vernole, how best he should dispose of his Daughters, which now were about their ninth Year the eldest, and eight the youngest. Vernole had often seen these two Buds of Beauty, and already saw opening in At­lante's Face and Mind (for that was the Name of the eldest, and Charlot the youngest) a Glory of Wit and Beauty, which could not but one day display itself, with dazling Lustre, to the wondring World.

[Page 4] Vernole was a great Virtuoso, of a Humour, Nice, Delicate, Critical and Opinionative: He had nothing of the French Mien in him, but all the Gravity of the Don. His ill-favour'd Person, and his low Estate, put him out of Humour with the World; and because that should not upbraid or reproach his Follies and Defects, he was sure to be before-hand with that, and to be always Satyrick upon it, and lov'd to live and act contrary to the Custom and Usage of all Man­kind besides.

He was infinitely delighted to find a Man of his own Humour in De Pais, or at least a Man that would be perswaded to like his so well, to live up to it; and it was no little Joy and Satisfaction to him to find, that he kept his Daughters in that severity, which was wholly agreeable to him, and so contrary to the Man­ner and Fashion of the French of Quality; who allow all Freedoms, which to Vernole's rigid Nature, seem'd as so many Steps to Vice, and in his Opinion, the Ruiner of all Vertue and Honour in Woman-kind. De Pais was extreamly glad his Conduct was so well interpreted, which was no other in him, than a proud Frugality; who, because they could not appear, inso much Gallantry, as their Quality requir'd, kept 'em retir'd, and unseen to all, but his particular Friends, of which Vernole was chief.

Vernole never appear'd before Atlante (which was seldom,) but he assum'd a Gravity and Respect, fit to have entertain'd a Maid of Twenty, or rather a Ma­tron, of much greater Years and Judgment. His Dis­courses were always of Matters of State or Philosophy; and sometimes when De Pais would Laughing, say, He might as well entertain Atlante with Greek and Hebrew, would reply gravely; You are mistaken Sir, I find the Seeds of great and profound Matter in the Soul of the young Maid, which ought to be nourish'd, now while she was young, and they will grow up to very great Perfecti­on; I find Atlante capable of all the Noble Vertues of the Mind, and am infinitely mistaken in my Observations, and Art of Phisiognomy, if Atlante be not born for greater [Page 5] Things than her Fortune does now promise: She will be ve­ry Considerable in the World, believe me, and this will arrive to her perfectly from the Force of her Charms. De Pais was extreamly overjoy'd to hear such Good pro­phesied to Atlante, and from that time, set a sort of an Esteem upon her, which he did not on Charlot his younger; who, by the Perswasions of Vernole, he re­solv'd to put in a Monastery, that what he had might descend to Atlante; not but he confess'd Charlot had Beauty, extreamly attractive, and a Wit that promi­sed much, when it should be cultivated by Years and Experience; and would shew itself with great Advan­tage, and Lustre in a Monastery: All this pleased De Pais very well, who was easily perswaded, since he had not a Fortune to marry her well in the World.

As yet Vernole had never spoke to Atlante of Love; nor did his Gravity think it Prudence to discover his Heart to so young a Maid, he waited her more sensi­ble Years, when he could hoope to have some return. And all he expected from this her tender Age, was by his daily Converse with her, and the Presents, he made her suitable to her Years, to ingratiate himself insen­sibly into her Friendship and Esteem: Since she was not yet capable of Love, but even in that he mistook his Aim, for every day he grew more and more dis­agreeable to Atlante, and would have been her abso­lute Aversion, had she known, she had every day en­tertained a Lover; but as she grew in Years and Sense, he seemed the more despicable in her Eyes as to his Person; but as she had respect to his Parts, and Qua­lities, she paid him all the Complaisance she could, and which was due to him; and so must be confess'd, tho' he had a stiff Formality in all he said and did, yet he had Wit and Learning, and was a great Phi­losopher; as much of his Learning, as Atlante was capable of attaining to, he made her Mistress of, and that was no small Portion, for all his Discourse was fine and easily comprehended, his Notions of Philoso­phy fit for Ladies; and he took greater Pains with Atlante, than any Master would have done with a [Page 6] Scholar; so that it was most certain, he added▪ very great Accomplishment to her Natural Wit, and the more because she took a very great Delight in Philo­sophy; which very often made her impatient of his coming; especially when she had many Questions to ask him concerning it, and she wou'd often receive him with a Pleasure in her Face; which he did not fail to interpret to his own Advantage, being very apt to flatter himself. Her Sister Charlot would often ask her, How she could give whole Afternoons to so disagree­able a Man: What is it, said she, that charms [...], his tawny Leather Face, his extraordinary high Nose, [...] wide Mouth and Eye-brows, that hang lowring over [...] Eyes, his lean Carcase, and his lame and haulting Hips? But Atlante wou'd discreetly reply, If I must grant al you say of Count Vernole to be true, yet he has a Wit and Learning, that will attone sufficiently for all those Faults you mention: A fine Soul is infinitely to be preferr'd to a fine Body; this decays, but that's eternal; and Age that ruins one, refines the other. Though possibly Atlante thought as ill of the Count, as her Sister; yet in Re­spect to him, she would not own it.

Atlante was now arriv'd to her thirteenth Year, when her Beauty, which every day increas'd, became the Discourse of the whole Town; which had already gain'd her as many Lovers as had beheld her, for none saw her without languishing for her, or at least, but what were in very great Admiration of her. Every body talk'd of the young Atlante, and all the Noble­men, who had Sons (knowing the Smallness of her Fortune, and the Lustre of her Beauty) would send them for fear of their being Charm'd with her, either to some other part of the World, or exhorted them, by way of Precaution, to keep out of her sight. Old Bellyuard was one of those wise Parents, and by a time­ly Prevention, as he thought of Rinaldo's falling in Love with Atlante, perhaps was the Occasion of his being so; he had before heard of Atlante, and of her Beauty, but it had made no Impressions on his Heart; but his Father no sooner forbid him Loving, then he [Page 7] felt a new Desire tormenting him, of seeing this love­ly and dangerous young Person; he wonders at his unaccountable Pain, which daily solicits him within, to go where he may behold this Beauty; of whom he frames a thousand Idea's, all such as were most agree­able to him; but then upbraids his Fancy, for not forming her half so delicate as she was; and longs yet more to see her, to know how near she approaches to the Picture he has drawn of her in his Mind; and tho' he knew she liv'd the next House to him, yet he knew also she was kept within like a Vow'd Nun, or with the Severity of a Spaniard: And tho' he had a Chamber, which had a jetting Window, that look'd just upon the Door of Monsieur De Pais, and that he would watch many Hours at a time, in hope to see them go out, yet he could never get a glimps of her; yet he heard she often frequented the Church of our Lady: Thither then young Rinaldo resolv'd to go, and did so two or three Mornings, in which time, to his unspeakable Grief, he saw no Beauty appear that charm'd him; and yet he fancy'd that Atlante was there, and that he had seen her, that some one of those young Ladies, that he saw in the Church was she, tho' he had no body to enquire of, and that she was not so fair as the World reported; for which he would of­ten sigh, as if he had lost some very great Expecta­tion; however he ceased not to frequent this Church, and one day saw a young Beauty, who at first glimps made his Heart leap to his Mouth, and fell trembling again into its wanted place, for it immedi­ately told him, that that young Maid was Atlante; she was with her Sister Charlot, who was very handsome, but not comparable to Atlante: He fix'd his Eyes up­on her, as she kneel'd at the Altar, he never remov [...]d from that charming Face as long as she remain'd there; he forgot all Devotion, but what he paid to her, he ador'd her, he burnt and languish'd already for her, and found he must possess Atlante, or die: Often as he gaz'd upon her, he saw her fair Eyes lifted up to­wards his, where they often met; which she percei­ving, [Page 8] would cast hers down into her Bosom, or on her Book, and blush as if she had done a Fault: Charlot perceiv'd all the Motions of Rinaldo, how he folded his Arms, how he sigh'd, and how he gaz'd on her Sister; she took notice of his Cloaths, his Garniture, and every particular of his Dress, as young Girls use to do, and seeing him so very handsome, and so much better dress'd than all the young Cavaliers that were in the Church, she was very much pleas'd with him; and could not forbear saying, in a low Voice, to At­lante, Look, look, my Sister, what a pretty Monsieur [...] ­der is, see how fine his Face is, how delicate his Hair, [...] gallant his Dress; and do but look how he gazes on you: This would make Atlante blush anew, who durst not raise her Eyes for fear she should encounter his. While he had the Pleasure to imagine they were talking of him, and he saw in the pretty Face of Charlot, that what he said, was not to his disadvantage, and by the Blushes of Atlante, that she was not displeas'd with what was spoken to her; he perceiv'd the young one importunate with her, and Atlante jogging her with her Elbow, as much as to say, Hold your peace; all this, he made a very kind Interpretation of, and was transported with Joy, at the good Omens. He was willing to flatter his new Flame, and to Complement his young Desire with a little Hope; but the Divine Ceremony ceasing, Atlante left the Church, and it being very fair Weather, she walk'd home, Rinaldo, who saw her going, felt all the Agonies of a Lover, who parts with all that can make him happy, and see­ing only Atlante attended with her Sister, and a Foot­man, following with their Books, he was a thousand times about to speak to 'em, but he no sooner advanc'd a step or two towards 'em, to that Purpose (for he followed them) but his Heart fail'd, and a certain Awe and Reve­rence, or rather the Fears and Tremblings of a Lover, prevented him; but when he consider'd, that possible he might never have so favourable an Opportunity a­gain, he resolv'd a-new, and call'd up so much Cou­rage to his Heart, as to speak to Atlante; but before he [Page 9] did so, Charlot looking behind her, saw Rinaldo very near to 'em, and cry'd out, with a Voice of Joy, Oh! Sister, Sister, look where the handsome Monsieur is, just behind us; sure he is Some-body of Quality, for see he has two Foot-men that follow him, in just such Liveries, and so rich as those of our Neighbour, Mon­sieur Bellyaurd. At this, Atlante could not forbear, but before she was aware of it, turn'd her Head, and look'd on Rinaldo; which encourag'd him to advance, and putting off his Hat, which he clapt under his Arm, with a low Bow, said, Ladies, you are slenderly attend­ed, and so many Accidents arrive to the Fair in the rude Streets, that I humbly implore, you will permit me, whose Duty it is, as a Neighbour, to wait on you to your Door. Sir, said Atlante, blushing, we fear no Insolence, and need no Protector; or if we did, we should not be so rude, to take you out of your Way, to serve us. Madam, said he, my Way lies yours, I live at the next Door, and am Son to Bellyaurd, your Neighbour. But, Madam, added he, if I were to go all my Life out of the Way, to do you Service, I should take it for the greatest Happiness, that could arrive to me; but, Madam, sure a Man can never be out of his Way, who has the Honour of so charming Company. Atlante made no Reply to this, but blush'd and bow'd: But Charlot said, Nay, Sir, if you are our Neighbour, we will give you leave to Conduct us home; But pray, Sir, how came you to know we are your Neigh­bours; for we never saw you before, to our knowledge. My pretty Mis, reply'd Rinaldo, I knew it from the tran­scendent Beauty appear'd in your Faces, and sine Shapes; for I have heard, there was no Beauty in the World, like that of Atlante's; and I no sooner saw her, but my Heart told me, it was she. Heart, said Charlot laughing, Way, does Hearts use to speak? The most intelligibly of any thing, Rinaldo reply'd, when 'tis tenderly touch'd, when 'tis charm'd and transported. At these Words he sigh'd, and Atlante, to his extream Satisfaction, blushed. Touch, charm'd, and transported, said Charlot, what's that? And how do you do to have it be all these Things? For I would give any thing in the World to have my Heart [Page 10] speak. Oh! said Rinaldo, your Heart is too young, it is not yet arrived to the Years of speaking; about thirteen or fourteen, it may possibly be saying a thousand soft Things to you; but it must be first inspir'd by some No­ble Object, whose Idea it must retain. What, reply'd this pretty Pratlet, I'll warrant I must be in love? Yes, said Rinaldo, most passionately, or you will have but little Conversation with your Heart. Oh! reply'd she, I am afraid the Pleasure of such a Conversation, will not make me Amends for the Pain that Love will give me. That, said Rinaldo, is according as the Object is kind; and [...] you Hope, if he Love, and you Hope, you will have a d [...] ­ble Pleasure: And in this, how great an Advantage have you, fair Ladies, above us Men? 'Tis almost impossible for you to love in vain, you have your Choice of a thousand Hearts, which you have subdu'd, and may not only chuse your Slaves, but be assur'd of 'em; without speaking you are belov'd, it needs not cost you a Sigh or a Tear: But unhappy Man, is often destsn'd to give his Heart, where it is not regarded, to sigh, to weep, and languish, with­out any hope of Pity. You speak so feelingly, Sir, said Charlot, that I am afraid this is your Case? Yes, Ma­dam, reply'd Rinaldo, sighing, I am that unhappy Man, Indeed, 'tis pity, said she, Pray how long have you been so? Ever since I heard of the charming Atlante, reply'd he, sighing again; I ador'd her Character, but now I have seen her, I die for her. For me, Sir, said Atlante, (who had not yet spoke) this is the common Complement of all the young Men, who pretend to be Lovers; and if one should pity all those Sighers, we should have but very little left for ourselves. I believe, saith Rinaldo, there are none that tell you so, who do not mean as they say; yet among all those Adorers, and those that say they will die for you, you will find none will be so good as their Words as Rinaldo. Perhaps, said Atlante, of all those who tell me of dying, there are none that tell it with so little Rea­son as Rinaldo, if that be your Name, Sir. Madam, it is, said he, and who am transported with an unspeakable Joy, to hear those last Words from your fair Mouth; and let me, O lovely Atlante, assure you, that what I have [Page 11] said, are not Words of Course, but proceed from a Heart that has vow'd itself eternally yours, even before I had the Happiness to behold this Divine Person; but now that my Eyes have made good all my Heart before imagin'd, and did but hope: I swear, I will die à thousand Deaths, rather than violate what I have said to you; That Indore you, that my Soul, and all my Faculties are charm'd with your Beauty and Innocence, and that my Life and Fortune, not inconsiderable, shall be laid at your Feet. This he spoke with a Fervency of Passion, that left her no doubt of what he had said; yet she blush'd for shame, and a little angry at herself, for suffering him to say so much to her, the very first time she saw him, and accused herself for giving him any Encourage­ment: And in this Confusion she replied, Sir, you have said too much to be believed; and I cannot imagine so short an Acquaintance can make so considerable an Im­pression; of which Confession I accuse myself much more than you, in that I did not only hearken to what you said, without forbidding you to entertain me at that rate, but for unheedily speaking something, that has encourag'd this Boldness, for so must I call it, in a Man so great a Stranger to me. Madam, said he, if I have offended by the suddenness of my presumptuous Discovery, I beseech you to consider my Reasons for it, the few Opportunities I am like to have, and the impossibility of waiting on you, both from the Severity of your Father and mine; who e'r I saw you, warn'd me of my Fate, as if he foresaw I should fall in Love, as soon as I should chance to see you; and for that Reason has kept me closer to my Studies, than hi­therto I have been: And from that time I began to feel a Flame, which was kindled by Report alone, and the De­scription my Father gave of your wondrous, and dangerous Beauty: Therefore, Madam, I have not suddenly told you of my Passion, I have been long your Lover, and have [...]ong languish'd without telling of my Pain, and you ought to pardon it now, since it is done with all the Respect and Religious Awe, that 'tis possible for a Heart to deliver and unload itself in, therefore, Madam, if you have by Chance uttered any thing, that I have taken advantage [Page 12] or hope from, I assure you, 'tis so small, that you have no Reason to repent it; but rather, if you would have me live, send me not from you, without a Confirmation of that little hope, See, Madam, said he, more earnestly and trembling, see we are almost arriv'd at our Homes, send me not to mine in a Despair, that I cannot support with Life; but tell me, I shall be bless'd with your Sight, sometimes in your Balcony, which is very near to a jetting Window in our House, from whence I have sent many a longing Look towards yours, in hope to have seen my Soul's Tormenter. I shall be very unwilling, said she, to enter into an Intreigue of Love, or Friendship, with a Man▪ whose Parents will be averse to my Happiness, and possi­bly mine as refractory, tho' he cannot but know such an Alliance would be very considerable, my Fortune being not suitable to yours: I tell you this, that you may with­draw in time from an Engagement, in which I find there will be a great many Obstacles. Oh! Madam, replied Rinaldo, sighing, if my Person be not disagreeable to you, you will have no occasion to fear the rest, 'tis that I dread, and that which is all my fear. He, sighing, beheld her with a languishing Look, that told her, he expected her Answer; when she reply'd, Sir, if that will be Sa­tisfaction enough for you at this time, I do assure you, I have no Aversion for your Person, in which I find more to be valu'd, than in any I have yet seen; and if what you say be real, and proceed from a Heart truly affected, I find, in spight of me, you will oblige me to give you hope.

They were come so near their own Houses, that he had not time to return her any Answer, but with a low Bow he acknowledg'd her Bounty, and express'd the Joy her last Words had given him, by a Look that made her understand, he was charm'd and pleas'd; and she bowing to him with an Air of Satisfaction in her Face, he was well assured, there was nothing to be seen so lovely as she then appear'd, and left her to go into her own House; but 'till she was out of sight, he had not power to stir, and then sighing, retired to his own Appartment, to think over all that had past [Page 13] between them. He found nothing but what gave him a thousand Joys, in all she had said; and he blest this happy Day, and wondred how his Stars came so kind, to make him one hour at once see Atlante, and have the Happiness to know from her own Mouth, that he was not disagreeable to her: Yet with this Satisfaction, he had a thousand Thoughts mix'd, which were torment­ing, and those were the Fear of their Parents; he fore­saw from what his Father had said to him already, that it would be difficult to draw him to a Consent of his Marriage with Atlante: These Joys and Fears were his Companions all the Night, in which he took but little rest. Nor was Atlante without her Inquietudes: She [...]ound Rinaldo more in her Thoughts, than she wish'd, and a sudden change of Humour, that made her know something was the matter with her, more than usual; she calls to mind Rinaldo's speaking of the Conversa­tion with his Heart, and [...]ound hers would be tarling to her, if she would give way to it; and yet the more she strove to avoid it, the more it importun'd her, and in spight of all her Resistance, would tell her, that Ri­naldo had a thousand Charms: It tells her, that he loves and adores her, and that she would be the most cruel of her Sex, should she not be sensible of his Pas­sion. She finds a thousand Graces in his Person and Conversation, and as many Advantages in his Fortune, which was one of the most considerable in all those Parts; for his Estate exceeded that of the most Noble Men in Orleance, and she imagines she would be the most fortunate of all Womankind, in such a Match. With these Thoughts she employ'd all the Hours of the Night; so that she lay so long in Bed the next Day, that Count Vernole, who had invited himself to Din­ner, came before she had quitted her Chamber, and she was forc'd to say, she had not been well. He had brought her a very fine Book, newly come out, of de­licate Philosophy, fit for the Study of Ladies. But he appear'd so disagreeable to that Heart, wholly taken up with a new and fine Object, that she could now hardly pay him that Civility she was wont to do; while [Page 14] on the other side, that little State and Pride Atlante assum'd, made her appear the more charming to him; so that if Atlante had no Mind to begin a new Lesson of Philosophy, while she fancied her Thoughts were much better employ'd, the Count every Moment ex­pressing his Tenderness and Passion, had as little an Inclination to instruct her, as she was to be instruct­ed; Love had taught her a new Lesson, and he would fain teach her a new Lesson of Love, but fears it will be a diminishing of his Gravity and Grandeur, to open the Secrets of his Heart to so young a Maid; he there­fore thinks it more agreeable to his Quality and Years, being about Forty, to use her Father's Authority in this Affair, and that it was sufficient for him to de­clare himself to Monsieur De Pais, who he knew would be proud of the Honour he did him some time past, before he could perswade himself, even to declare him­self, to her Father; he fancies, the little Coldness and Pride he saw in Atlante's Face, which was not usual, proceeded from some Discovery of Passion, which his Eyes had made, or now and then a Sigh, that una­wares broke forth, and accuses himself of a Levity below his Quality, and the Dignity of his Wit and Gravity; and therefore, assumes a more rigid and formal Behaviour than he was wont, which rendred him yet more disagreeable than before; and 'twas with greater Pain than ever, she gave him that Respect which was due to his Quality.

Rinaldo, after a restless Night, was up very early in the Morning; and tho' he was not certain of see­ing his adorable Atlante, he dress'd himself with all that care, as if he had been to have waited on hers and got himself into the Window, that overlook, Monsieur De Pais his Balcony, where he had not re­main'd long, before he saw the pretty Charlot come into it, not with any design of seeing Rinaldo, but to lock and gaze about her a little: Rinaldo saw her, and made her a very low Reverence, and found some disordered Joy on the sight of even Charlot, since she was Sister to Atlante. He call'd to her (for the Win­dow [Page 15] [...] was so near her, he could easily be heard by her) and told her, He was infinitely indebted to her Bounty, for giving him an opportunity yesterday of falling on that Discourse, which had made him the happiest Man in the World: He said, if she had not by her agreeable Con­versation encourag'd him, and drawn him from one Word to another, she should never have had the Confidence to have told Atlante, how much he ador'd her. I am very glad, replied Charlot, that I was the Occasion of the Be­ginning of an Amour, which was displeasing to neither [...] nor to the other; for I assure you, for your Comfort, my [...] nothing but thinks on you: We lie together, and [...] have taught her already to sigh so, that I could not [...] for her. At this, his Face was covered over with a [...], Joy, which his Heart could not contain: And after some Discourse, in which this innocent Girl dis­covered more than Atlante wish'd she should, he be­sought her to become his Advocate; and since she had an Brother, to give him leave to assume that Honour, and call her Sister. Thus, by degrees, he flatter'd her into a Consent, of carrying a Letter from him to At­ [...]te; which she, who believ'd all as innocent as her self, and being not forbid to do so, immediately con­s [...]ed to, when he took his Pen and Ink, that stood in the Window, with Paper, wrote Atlante this fol­lowing Letter:

He having writ and seal'd this, toss'd it into the Balcony, to Charlot, having first look'd about to see if none perceiv'd them: She put it in her Bosom, and ran into her Sister, whom by chance she found alone; Vernole having taken De Pais into the Garden, to dis­course him concerning the sending Charlot to the Mo­nastery; which Work he desir'd to see perform'd, be­fore he declar'd his Intentions to Atlante; for among all his other good Qualities, he was very avaritious; and as fair as Atlante was, he thought she would be much fairer with the Addition of Charlot's Portion: This Affair of his, with Monsieur De Pays, gave Char­lot an Opportunity of delivering her Letter to her Si­ster; who no sooner drew it from her Bosom, but At­lante's Face was cover'd over with Blushes: For she imagin'd from whence it came, and had a se­cret Joy in that Imagination, tho' she thought she must put on the Severity and Niceness of a Virgin, who would not be thought to have surrendred her Heart with so small an Assault, and the first too: So she de­manded from whence Charlot had that Letter? Who replied with Joy, From the fine young Gentleman, our Neighbour. At which Atlante assum'd all the Gravity she could, to chide her Sister; who replied, Well, Si­ster, had you this Day seen him, you would not have been angry to have receiv'd a Letter from him; he look'd so handsome, and was so richly dress'd, ten times finer than he was yesterday; and I promis'd him, you should read it; therefore pray let me keep my Word with him; and not only so, but carry him an Answer. Well, said Atl [...], to save your Credit with Monsi [...]ur Rinaldo, I will read it. Which she did, and finished with a Sigh. While she was reading, Charlot ran into the Garden, to see if they [Page 17] were not likely to be surprized; and finding the Count and her Father set in an Arbor, in deep Discourse, she brought Pen, Ink, and Paper, to her Sister, and told her, she might write without the fear of being disturbed; and urged her so long to what was enough her Inclina­tion, she at last obtained this Answer:

She gave this Letter to Charlot; who immediately ran into the Balcony with it, where she still found Ri­naldo in a Melancholy Posture, leaning his Head on his Hand: She shewed him the Letter, but was afraid to toss it to him, for fear it might fall to the Ground; so he ran and fetched a long Cane, which he cleft at one end, and holding it where she put the Letter into the Cleft, and staid not to hear what he said to it: But ne­ver was Man so transported with Joy, as he was, at the reading of this Letter; it gives him new Wounds; for to the Generous, nothing obliges Love so much as Love: [Page 18] Tho' it is now too much the Nature of that inconstant Sex, to cease too Love as soon as they are sure of the Conquest. But it was far different with our Cavalier; he was the more inflamed, by imagining he had made some Impressions on the Heart of Atlante, and kindled some Sparks there, that in time might increase to some thing more; so that he now resolves to die hers; and considering all the [...]bstacles that may possibly hinder his Happiness, he found none but his Father's Obsti­nacy, perhaps occasioned by the Meanness of Atlante's Fortune: To this he urged again, that he was his on­ly Son, and a Son whom he loved equal to his own Life; and that certainly, as soon as he should behold him dying for Atlante, which if forc'd to quit he must be, that then he believed the Tenderness of so fond a Parent, would break forth into Pity and Compassion, and plead within for his Consent. These were the Thoughts that flattered this young Lover all the Day, and whether he were riding the great Horse, or at his Study of Philosophy, or Mathematicks, Singing, Dancing, or whatsoever other Exercise his Tutors ordered, his Thoughts were continually on Atlante, and now he pro­fited no more; whatever he seem'd to do, every Day he fail'd not to write to her by the Hand of the kind Char­lot; who young as she was, had conceiv'd a very great Friendship for Rinaldo, and fail'd not to fetch her Let­ters, and bring him Answers, such as he wish'd to re­ceive. But all this did not satisfie our impatient Lover; Absence kill'd, and he was no longer able to support him­self, without a sight of this adorable Maid; he there­fore implores, she will give him that Satisfaction: And she at last grants it, with a better Will than he imagin'd. The next Day was the appointed time, when she would, under pretence of going to Church, give him an Assig­nation: And because all Publick Places were dangerous, and might make a great Noise, and they had no Pri­vate Place to trust to, Rinaldo, under pretence of going up the River in his Pleasure-Boat, which he often did, sent to have it made ready against the next Day, at Ten of the Clock. This was accordingly done, and he gave [Page 19] Atlante Notice of his Design, of going an Hour or two on the River, in his Boat; which lay near to such a place, not far from the Church. She, and Charlot, came thither; and because they durst not come out, without a Foo [...]man, or two; they taking one, sent him with a How de ye? to some young Ladies; and told him, he should find them at Church. So getting rid of their Spy, they hastned to the River-side, and found a Boat, and Rinaldo, waiting to carry them on Board his little Vessel; which was richly adorn'd, and a very handsome Collation ready for them, of Cold Meats, Sal­lads, and Sweetmeats. As soon as they were come in­to the Pleasure-Boat, unseen of any, he kneel'd at the Feet of Atlante; and there utter'd so many passionate and tender Things to her, with a Voice so trembling, and soft; with Eyes so languishing; and a Fervency, and Fire, so sincere; that her young Heart, wholly un­capable of Artifice, could no longer resist such Language, and such Looks of Love, she grows tender, and he per­ceives it in her fine Eyes, who could not dissemble; he reads her Heart in her Looks, and found it yielding a­pace; and therefore assaults it anew, with fresh Forces of Sighs and Tears: He implores, she would assure him of her Heart; which she could no other way do, then by yielding to marry him: He would carry her to the next Village, there consummate that Happiness, without which he was able to live no longer; for he had a thou­sand Fears, that some other Lover was, or would sud­denly be provided for her; and therefore he would make sure of her, while he had this Opportunity; and to that end, he answered all the Objections she could make to the contrary: But ever, when he nam'd Mar­riage, she trembled, with fear of doing something that she fancy'd she ought not to do, without the Consent of her Father: She was sensible of the Advantage, but had been so us'd to a strict Obedience, that she could not, without Horrour, think of violating it; and therefore besought him, as he valu'd her Repose, not to urge her to that. And told him further, That if he fear'd any Rival, she would give him what other Assurance, and [Page 20] Satisfaction he pleas'd, but that of Marriage; which she could not consent to, 'till she knew such an Alliance would not be fatal to him; for she fear'd as passionate­ly as he lov'd her, when he should find she had occasi­on'd him the loss of his Fortune, or his Father's Affection, he would grow to hate her; tho' he answer'd to this, all that a fond Lover could urge, yet she was resolv'd, and he was forc'd to content himself with obliging her by his Prayers and Protestations, his Sighs, and his Showers of Tears, to a Contract, which they solemnly made each other, vowing on either side, that they would never marry any other. This being solemnly conclu­ded, he assum'd a Look more gay, and contented than before: He presented her a very rich Ring; which she durst not put on her Finger, but hid it in her Bosom: And beholding each other now, as Man and Wife, she suffer'd him all the decent Freedoms he could wish to take; so that the Hours of this Voyage, seem'd the most soft and charming of his Life: And doubtless they were so; every Touch of Atlante transported him, every Look pierced his Soul, and he was all Raptures of Joy, when he consider'd this charming lovely Maid was his own.

Charlot all this while was gazing above Deck, admi­ring the Motion of the little Vessel, and how easily the Wind and Tide bore her up the River. She had never been in any thing of this kind before, and was very well pleased and entertain'd, when Rinaldo call'd her down to eat; where they enjoy'd themselves as well as was possible; and Charlot was wondering to see such a Con­tent in their Eyes.

But now they thought it was high time for them to return; they fancy the Foot-man missing them at Church, would go home, and alarm their Father, and the Knight of the Ill-favour'd Countenance, as Charlot call'd Count Vernole; whose Severity put their Father on a greater Restriction of them, than naturally he would do of himself. At the Name of this Count, Rinaldo chang'd Colour, fearing he might be some Rival; and ask'd Atlante, if this Vernole was a-kin to her? She an­swered, [Page 21] No: But was a very great Friend to her Fa­ther; and on who, from their Infancy, had had a par­ticular Concern for their Breeding, and was her Ma­ster for Philosophy. Ah! replied Rinaldo, sighing, This Man's Concern must proceed from something more than Friendship for her Father; and therefore conjured her to tell him, whether he was not a Lover? A Lover, re­plied Atlante; I assure you, he is a perfect Antidote a­gainst that Passion; and tho' she suffered his ugly Pre­sence now, she should loath and hate him, should he name but Love to her.

She said, she believ'd she need not fear any such Per­secution, since he was a Man, who was not at all A­morous; that he had too much of the Satyr in his Hu­mour to harbour any softness there: And Nature had form'd his Body to his Mind, wholly unfit for Love; and that he might set his Heart absolutely at rest: She assur'd him her Father had never yet propos'd any Mar­riage to her, tho' many advantagious ones are offer'd him every day.

The Sails being turn'd to carry them back from whence they came; after having discours'd of a thou­sand things, and all of Love and Contrivance, to carry on their Mutual Design, they with Sighs parted, Ri­naldo staying behind in the Pleasure-Boat, and they go­ing a Shoar in the Wherry, that attended; after which, he cast many an amorous and sad Look, and perhaps was answer'd by those of Atlante.

It was past Church time two or three Hours; when they arriv'd at home, wholly unprepared with an Ex­cuse, so absolutely was Atlante's Soul possest with soft­er Business. The first Person they met withal, was the Footman, who open'd the Door, and began to cry out, how long he had waited in the Church, and how in vain; without giving them time to reply. De Pais came towards 'em; and with a frowning Look, de­manded where they had been? Atlante, who was not accustomed to Excuses, and Untruth, was a while at a stand; when Charlot with a Voice of Joy cried out; Oh, Sir, we have been a Board of a fine little Ship: At [Page 22] this Atlante blush'd, fearing she would tell the Truth. But she proceeded on, and said, that they had not been above a Quarter of an Hour at Church, when the [...]ady—, with some other Ladies and Cavaliers, were going out of the Church, and that spying them, they wou'd needs have them go with 'em: My Sister, Sir, continued she, was very loath to go, for fear you should be angry; but my Lady—was so importu­nate with her on one side, and I on the other; because I never saw a little Ship in my Life, that at last we pre­vailed with her; therefore, good Sir, be not angry. He promised them, he was not: And when they came in, they found Count Vernole, who had been inspiring De Pais with Severity, and counsell'd him to chide the young Ladies, for being too long absent, under pretence of go­ing to their Devotion. Nor was it enough for him to set the Father on, but himself, with a Gravity, where Concern and Malice were both apparent, reproach'd Atlante with Levity; and told her, He believ'd she had some other Motive, than the Invitation of a Lady, to go on Ship-board; and that she had too many Lovers, not to make them doubt that this was a design'd thing; and that she had heard Love from some one, for whom it was design'd. To this she made him but a short Re­ply, That if it was so, she had no Reason to conceal it, since she had Sence enough to look after herself; and if any Body had made [...]ove to her, he might be assur'd, it was some one, whose Quality and Merit deserv'd to be heard: And with a Look of Scorn, she past on to another Room, and left him silently raging within with Jealousie: Which, if before she tormented him, this Declaration increas'd it to a Pitch not to be conceal'd. And this Day he said so much to the Father, that he re­solv'd forthwith to send Charlot to a Nunnery: And accordingly, the next Day, he bid her prepare to go. Charlot, who was not yet arrived to the Years of Distin­ction, did not much regret it; and having no Trouble, but leaving her Sister, she prepared to go to a Nunnery, not many Streets from that where she dwelt. The Lady Abbess was her Father's Kinswoman, and had treated [Page 23] her very well, as often as she came to visit her; so that with Satisfaction enough, she was condemned to a Mo­nastick Life, and was now going for her Probation-Year. Atlante was troubled at her Departure, because she had no Body to bring, and to carry Letters between Rinaldo and she: However she took her leave of her, and promis'd to come and see her, as often as she should be permitted to go abroad; for she fear'd now some Constraint extraordinary would be put upon her; and so it happen'd.

Atlante's Chamber was that to which the Balcony belong'd, and though she durst not appear there in the Day-time, she could in the Night, and that way give her Lover as many Hours of Conversation, as she plea­sed, without being perceived: But how to give Rinaldo notice of this, she could not tell, who not knowing Charlot was gone to a Monastery, waited many Days at his Window to see her; at last they neither of them knowing who to trust with any Message, one Day when he was, as usual, upon his watch, he saw Atlante step into the Balcony, who having a [...]etter, in which she had put a Piece of Lead, she tost it into his Window, whose Casement was open, and run in again unper­ceived by any but himself, the Paper contain'd only this:

My Chamber is that which looks into the Balcony, from whence, tho' I cannot converse with you in the Day, I can at Night, when I am retired to go to Bed; therefore be at your Window. Farewel.

There needed no more to make him a diligent Watch­er, and accordingly she was no sooner retired to her Chamber, but she would come into the Balcony, where she fail'd not to see him attending at his Window. This happy Contrivance was thus carry'd on for many Nights, where they entertain'd one another, with all the Indearment that two Hearts could dictate, who were perfectly united and assured of each other, and this pleasing Conversation would often last till Day ap­peared, and forced them to part.

[Page 24] But old Belyuard perceiving his Son frequent that Chamber more than usual, fancy'd something extraor­dinary must be the Cause of it; and one Night asking for his Son, his Vallet told him, he was gone into the great Chamber; so this was called: Belyuard asked the Val­let, what he did there; he told him, he could not tell; for often he had lighted him thither; and, that his Ma­ster would take the Candle from him, at the Chamber Door, and suffer him to go no further: Tho' the old Gentleman could not imagine, what Affairs he could have alone every Night in that Chamber, he had a Curiosity to see; and one unlucky Night, putting off his Shooes, he came to the Door of the Chamber, which was open, he entered softly, and saw the Candle set in the Chimney, and his Son at a great open Bay Window; he stopt a while to wait when he would turn, but finding him immovable, he advanced some­thing further, and at last heard the soft Dialogue of Love, between him and Atlante; whom he knew to be she, by his often calling her by her Name in their Discourse: He heard enough to confirm him how Mat­ters went; and unseen as he came, he returned, full of Indignation, and thought how to prevent so great an Evil, as this Passion of his Son might produce; at first he thought to round him severely in the Ear about it, and upbraid him for doing the only thing he had thought fit to forbid him; but then he thought that would but terrifie him for a while, and he would re­turn again, where he had so great an Inclination, if he were near her: He therefore resolves to send him to Paris, that by absence he might forget the young Beau­ty, that had charmed his Youth: Therefore, without letting Rinaldo know the Reason, and without taking notice that he knew any thing of his Amour, he came to him one Day, and told him all the Masters he had for the improving him in noble Sciences were very dull, or very remiss; and that he resolved he should go for a Year or two, to the Academy at Paris. To this, the Son made a thousand Evasions; but the Father was positive, and not to be perswaded by all his Reasons; [Page 25] and finding he should absolutely displease him, if he re­fused to go, and not daring to tell him the dear Cause of his Desire to remain at Orleance. He therefore, with a breaking Heart, consents to go, nay, resolves it, though it should be his Death: But, alas! he considers, that this parting will not only prove the greatest Tor­ment upon Earth to him, but that Atlante will share in his Misfortunes also: This Thought gives him a double Torment, and yet finds no way to evade it.

The Night that finished this fatal Day, he goes again to his wonted Station, the Window; where he had not sig'hd very long, but he saw Atlante enter the Bal­cony: He was not able a great while to speak to her, or to utter one Word. The Night was light enough to see him at the wonted place; and she admires at his Silence, and demands the Reason in such obliging Terms, as adds to his Grief; and he, with a deep Sigh, replied, Ʋrge me not, my fair Atlante, to speak lest by obeying you, I give you more cause of Grief, than my Silence is capable of doing: And then sighing again, he held his Peace, and gave her leave to ask the Cause of these last Words. But when he made no Reply, but by sighing, she imagin'd it much worse, than in­deed it was; and with a trembling and fainting Voice, she cried, Oh! Rinaldo, give me leave to divine that cruel News you are so unwilling to tell me: It is so, added she, you are destined to some more fortunate Maid than Atlante: At this, Tears stopp'd her Speech, and she could utter no more. No, my dearest Charmer, reply­ed Rinaldo (elevating his Voice) if that were all, you should see with what Fortitude I would die, rather than obey any such Commands: I am vowed yours to the last Moment of my Life; and will be yours in spight of all the Opposition in the World; that Cruelty I could evade, but cannot this that threatens me. Ah! cried Atlante, let Fate do her worst, so she still continue Rinaldo mine, and keep that Faith he hath sworn to me entire: What can she do beside that can afflict me? She can separate me, cried he, for some time from Atlante. Oh! replied she, all Misfortunes fall so below that which I first imagined, that [Page 26] methinks I do not resent this, as I should otherwise have done; but I know, when I have a little more considered it, I shall even die with the Grief of it. Absence being so great an Enemy to Love, and makes us soon forget the Object beloved: This, though I never experienced, I have heard, and fear it may be my Fate. He then convinced her Fear with a thousand new Vows, and a thousand Imprecations of Constancy. She then asked him, If their Loves were discovered, that he was with such haste to depart? He told her, Nothing of that was the Cause; and he could almost wish it were discovered, since he could re­solutely then refuse to go: But it was only to cultivate his Mind, more effectually than he could do here; 'twas the Care of his Father to accomplish him the more; and there­fore he could not contradict it. But, said he, I am not sent where Seas shall part us, nor vast distances of Earth, but to Paris; from whence he might come in two Days to see her again, and that he would expect from that Balco­ny, that had gave him so many happy Moments, many more when he should come to see her. He besought her to send him away with all the Satisfaction she could, which she could no otherwise do, than by giving him new Assurances, that she would never give away that Right he had in her, to any other Lover: She vows this with innumerable Tears; and is almost angry with him for questioning her Faith. He tells her then he has but one Night more to stay, and his Grief would be un­speakable, if he should not be able to take a better Leave of her, than at a Window; and that, if she would give him leave, he would by a Rope or two tied together, so as it may serve for Steps, ascend her Balcony; he not having time to provide a Ladder of Ropes. She tells him, she has so great a Confidence in his Vertue and Love, that she will refuse him nothing, though it would be a very bold venture for a Maid, to trust herself with a passionate young Man, in silence of Night; and though she did not exert a Vow from him to secure her, she expected he would have a Care of her Honour. He swore to her, his Love was too Re­ligious for so base an Attempt. There needed not ma­ny [Page 27] Vows to confirm her Faith; and it was agreed on between them▪ that he should come the next Night in­to her Chamber.

It happened that Night, as it often did, that Count Vernole, lay with Monsieur De Pays, which was in a Ground-Room, just under that of Atlante's: And as soon as she knew all were in Bed, she gave the Word to Rinaldo, who was attending with the Impatience of a passionate Lover below, under the Window; and, who sooner heard the Balcony open, but he ascended with some difficulty, and entered the Ch [...]mber, where he found Atlante tremble with Joy and Fear: He throws himself at her Feet, as unable to speak as she; who nothing but blushed and bent down her Eyes, hardly daring to glance them towards the dear Object of her Desires, the Lord of all her Vows: She was was ashamed to see a Man in her Chamber, where yet none had ever been alone, and by Night too. He saw her Fear, and felt her Trembling; and after a thousand Sighs of Love had made way for Speech, he besought her to fear nothing from him; for his Flame was too sacred, and his Passion too holy to offer any thing, but what Honour with Love might afford him. At last he brought her to some Courage, and the Roses of her fair Cheeks assumed their wonted Colour, not blushing too Red, nor languishing too Pale. But when the Con­versation began between them, it was the softest in the World: They said all that parting Lovers could say, all that Wit and Tenderness could express: They exchanged their Vows a-new, and to confirm his, he tied a Bracelet of Diamonds about her Arm; and she returned him one of her Hair, which he had long begged, and she had on purpose made, which clasped together with Diamonds; this she put about his Arm, and he swore to carry it to his Grave. The Night was very far spent in tender Vows, soft Sighs and Tears on both sides; and it was high time to part: But as if Death had been to have arrived to them in that Minute, they both linger'd away the time, like Lovers who had forgot themselves; and Day was near approaching, [Page 28] when he bid farewel; which he repeated very often, for still he was interrupted by some commanding Soft­ness from Atlante, and then lost all his Power of going; till she, more couragious and careful of his Interest, and her own Fame, forc'd him from her; and it was happy she did so; for he was no sooner got over the Balcony, and she had flung him down his Rope, and shut the Door, but Vernole, whom Love and Contri­vance kept waking, fancied several times he heard a Noise in Atlante's Chamber. And whether in passing over the Balcony, Rinaldo made any noise or not, or whether it were still his jealous Fancy, he came up in his Night-Gown, with a Pistol in his Hand. Atlante was not so much lost in Grief, though she were all in Tears, but she heard a Man come up, and imagined it had been her Father, she not knowing of Count Ver­nole's lying in the House that Night; if she had, she possibly had taken more care to have been silent: But whoever it was, she could not get to Bed soon enough; and therefore turn'd herself to her Dressing-table, where Candle stood, and where lay a Book open of the Story of Ariadne and Thesias. The Count turning the Latch, entred halting into her Chamber, in his Night-Gown clapped close about him, which betrayed an ill-favour­ed Shape, his Night-Cap on, without a Perriwig, which discovered all his lean withered Jaws, his pale Face, and his Eyes staring; and making altogether so dreadful a Figure, that Atlante, who no more dreamt of him than of a Devil, had possibly have rather seen the last. She gave a great Shriek, which frighted Vernole; so both stood for a while staring on each other, till both were re­collected: He told her, the Care of her Honour had brought him thither; and then rolling his small Eyes round the Chamber, to see if he could discover any Body; he proceed and cried, Madam, if I had no other Motive than your being up at this time of Night, or rather of Day, I could easily guess how you have been entertained. What Insolence is this, said she, all in a Rage, when to cover your Boldness of approaching my Chamber at this Hour, you would question how I have been entertained; [Page 29] either explain yourself, or quit my Chamber; for I do not use to see such terrible Objects here. Possibly those you do see, said the Count, are indeed more agreeable, but I am afraid have not that regard to your Honour as I have. And at that Word he stepped to the Balcony, opened it, and looked out, but seeing no Body, he shut it too a­gain. This enraged Atlante beyond all Patience; and snatching the Pistol out of his Hand, she told him, He deserved to have it aimed at his Head, for having the Im­pudence to question her Honour, or her Conduct; and com­m [...]nded him to avoid her Chamber as he loved his Life; which she believed he was fonder of than of her Ho­nour: She speaking this in a Tone wholly transported with Rage; and at the same time holding the Pistol to­wards him, made him tremble with Fear; and he now found whether she were guilty or not, it was his turn to beg pardon: For you must know, however it came to pass, that his Jealousie made him come up in that force Posture; at other times Vernole was the most tame and passive Man in the World, and one who was afraid of his own Shadow in the Night: He had a natural Aversion for Danger, and thought it below a Man of Wit, or common Sense, to be guilty of that brutal Thing, called Courage or Fighting: His Phi­losophy told him, It was safe sleeping in a whole Skin; and possibly he apprehended as much Danger from this Virago, as ever he did from his own Sex; he therefore fell on his Knees, and besought her to hold her fair Hand; and not to suffer that, which was the greatest Mark of his Respect, to be the Cause of her Hate or Indignation. The pitiful Faces he made, and the Signs of mortal Fear in him, had almost made her laugh, at least it allayed her Anger; and she bid him rise and play the Fool hereafter some-where-else, and not in her Presence: Yet for once, she would deign to give him this Satisfaction; that she was got into a Book, which had many moving Stories very well writ; and that she found herself so well entertained, she had forgot how the Night passed. He most humbly thanked her [Page 30] for this Satisfaction, and retired, perhaps not so well satisfied as he pretended.

After this, he appeared more submissive and respect­ful towards Atlante; and she carried herself more reser­ved and haughty towards him; which was one Reason, he would not yet discover his Passion.

Thus the T [...]me ran on at Orleance, while Rinald [...] found himself daily languishing at Paris. He was in­deed in the best Academy in the City amongst a [...] of brave and noble Youths; where all things [...] could accomplish them, was to be learn'd by the [...] had any Genius; but Rinaldo had other Thoughts, [...] other Business; his time was wholly past in the [...] solitary Parts of the Garden, by the melancholy [...] , and in the most gloomy Shades; wher [...] he [...] with most Liberty breath out his Passion and his [...] ▪ He was past the Tutorage of a Boy; and his [...] could not upbraid him, but found he had [...] Cause of Grief, which made him not mind these [...] , which were the Delight of the rest; so [...] thing being able to divert his Melancholy, which [...] increased upon him: He fear'd it would bring him into a Fever, if he did not give himself the [...] of seeing Atlante. He had no sooner though [...] of this, but he was impatient to put it into [...] he resolves to go (having very good Horses) without acquainting any of his Servants with it. He got a very handsome and light I adder of Ropes made, which he carried under his Coat, and away he rid for [...], stay'd at a little Village, till the Darkness of the [...] might favour his Design: And then walking about At­lante's Lodgings, till he saw a Light in her Chamber; and then making that Noise on his Sword, as [...] greed between them. He was heard by his [...] Atlante, and suffered to mount her Chamber; [...] he would stay till almost break of Day, and then [...] ­turn to the Village, and take Horse and away for Paris again. This, once in a Month, was his Exercise, with­out which he could not live; so that his whole Year [Page 31] was past in riding between Orleance and Paris, between excess of Grief and excess of Joy by turns.

It was now that Atlante arrived to her fifteenth Year, shone out with a Lustre of Beauty greater than ever; and in this Year of the Absence of Rinaldo, had carried herself with that Severity of Life, without the youthful Desire of going abroad, or desiring any Di­version, but what she found in her own retired Thoughts: That Vernole, wholly unable longer to con­ceal his Passion, resolved to make a Publication of it, first to the Father, and then to the lovely Daughter, of whom he had some hope, because she had carried herself very well towards him for this Year past; which she would never have done, if she had imagi­ned he would ever have been her Lover: She had seen no Signs of any such Misfortune towards her in these many Years he had conversed with her, and she had to cause to fear him. When one Day her Father ta­king her into the Garden, told her what Honour and Happiness was in store for her; and that now the Glo­ry of his fallen Family would rise again, since she had a Lover of an illustrious Blood, allied to Monarchs; and one whose Fortune was newly encreas'd to a very considerable Degree, answerable to his Birth. She changed Colour at this Discourse, imagining but too well, who this illustrious Lover was: When De Pais proceeded, and told her, Indeed his Person was not the most agreeable that ever was seen; but he married her to Glory and Fortune, not the Man: And a Woman, says he, ought to look no farther.

She needed not any more to inform her, who this intended Husband was; and, therefore bursting forth into Tears, she throws herself at his Feet, imploring him not to use the Authority of a Father, to force her to a thing so contrary to her Inclinations; assuring, she could not consent to any such thing; and that she would rather die than yield: She urged many Argu­ments for this her Disobedience. But none would pass for current with the old Gentleman, whose Pride had [Page 32] slattered him with hopes of so considerable a Son-in-Law: He was very much surprized at Atlante's refu­sing what he believed she would receive with Joy; and finding that no Arguments on his side could draw hers to an obedient Consent, he grew to such a Rage, as very rarely possest him; vowing, if she did not con­form her Will to his, he would abandon her to all the Cruelty of Contempt and Poverty; so that at last she was forced to return him this Answer, That she would strive all she could with her Heart; but she verily belie­ved she should never bring it to consent to a Marriage with Monsieur the Count. The Father continued threat­ning her, and gave her some Days to consider of it: So leaving her in Tears, he returned to his Chamber, to consider what Answer he should give Count Vernole, whom he knew would be impatient to learn what Suc­cess he had, and what himself was to hope: De Pais, after some Consideration, resolved to tell him, she re­ceived the Offer very well; but, that he must expect a little Maiden Nicety in the Case; and accordingly did tell him so; and he was not at all doubtful of his good Fortune.

But Atlante, who resolved to die a thousand Deaths rather than break her solemn Vows to Rinaldo, or to marry the Count, cast about how she should avoid it with the least Hazard of her Father's Rage. She found Rinaldo the better and more advantageous Match of the two, could they but get his Father's Consent: He was beautiful and young; his Title was equal to that of Vernole, when his Father should die; and his Estate exceeded his; yet she dares not make a Discovery, for fear she should injure her Lover; who at this time, though she knew it not, lay sick of a Fever, while she was wondering that he came not as he used to do: However, she resolves to send him a Letter, and ac­quaint him with the Misfortune; which she did in these Terms:

[Page 34] This Letter Rinaldo received; and there needed no more to make him sly to Orleance: This raised him soon from his Bed of Sickness, and getting immediate­ly to hers, he arrived at his Father's House; who did not so much admire to see him, because he heard he was sick of a Fever, and gave him leave to return, if he pleas'd: He went directly to his Father's House, because he knew somewhat of the Business; he was resolv'd to make his Passion known, as soon as he had seen Atlante; from whom he was to take all his Mea­sures: He therefore fail'd not, when all were in Bed, to rise and go from his Chamber, into the Street; where finding a Light in Atlante's Chamber, for she every Night expected him, he made the usual Sign, and she went into the Balcony; and he having no Conveniency of mounting up into it, they discours'd, and said all they had to say: From thence, she tells him of the Count's Passions, of her Father's Resolution, and her own, which was rather to die his than live any body's else: And at last, as their last Refuge, they resolv'd to discover the whole Matter; she to her Fa­ther, and he to his, to see what Accommodation they could make; if not, to die together. They parted at this Resolve, for she would permit him no longer to stay the Street, after such a Sickness; so he went home to Bed, but not to sleep.

The next Day, at Dinner, Monsigniore Bellyuard be­lieving his Son absolutely cur'd by Absence of his Pas­sion; and speaking of all the News of the Town; a­mong the rest, told him, he was come in good time to Dance at the Wedding of Count Vernole with Atlante, the Match being agreed on: No, Sir, reply'd Rinaldo, I shall never Dance at the Marriage of Count Vernole with Atlante; and you will see in Monsieur De Pais's House a Funeral sooner than a Wedding: And thereupon, he told his Father all his Passion, for that lovely Maid; and assur'd him, if he would not see him laid in his Grave, he must consent to this Match: Bellyuard rose in a Fury, and told him, He had rather see him in the [Page 35] Grave, than in the Arms of Atlante: Not, continued he, so much for any dislike I have to the young Lady, or the Smallness of her Fortune; but, because I have so long warn'd you from such a Passion, and have with such Care endea­vour'd by your Absence to prevent it. He traverss'd the Room very fast, still protesting against this Alliance; and was deaf to all Rinaldo could say: On the other side, the Day being come, wherein Atlante was to give her final Answer to her Father, concerning her Marriage with Count Vernole: She assum'd all the Courage and Resolution she could to withstand the Storm, that threaten'd a Denial. And her Father came to her, and demanding her Answer; she told him, She could not be the Wife of Vernole, since she was Wife to Rinaldo, only Son to Bellyuard. If her Father storm'd before, he grew like a Man distracted at her Confessi­on; and Vernole hearing them loud, ran to the Cham­ber, to learn the Cause; where, just as he entered, he found De Pais's Sword drawn, and ready to kill his Daughter, who lay all in Tears at his Feet, he with­held his Hand; and asking the Cause of this Rage, he was told all that Atlante had confess'd; which put Vernole quite beside all his Gravity, and made him discover the Infirmity of Anger; which he us'd to say, ought to be dissembled by all wise Men: So that De Pais forgot his own to appease his; but 'twas in vain, for he went out of the House, vowing Revenge on Ri­naldo: And to that end, being not very well assur'd of his own Courage, as I said before, and being of the Opinion, that no Man ought to expose his Life to him, who has injur'd him: He hir'd Swiss and Spanish Sol­diers to attend him in the Nature of Footmen; and watch'd several Nights about Bellyuard's Door: And that of De Pais, believing he should sometime or other see him under the Window of Atlante, or perhaps mounting in it; for now he no longer doubted, but this happy Lover was he, whom he fancy'd he heard go from the Balcony that Night, he came up with his Pistol; and being more a Spaniard than a French Man [Page 36] in his Nature, he resolv'd to take him any way un­guarded or unarmed, if he came in his way.

Atlante, who heard his Threatnings, when he went from her in a Rage, fear'd his Cowardize might put him on some base Action, to deprive Rinaldo of his Life; and therefore thought it not safe to suffer him to come to her by Night, as he had before done; but sent him word in a Note, that he should forbear her Window, for Vernole had sworn his Death: This Note came unseen by his Father to his Hands; but this could not hinder him from coming to her Window, which he did as soon as it was dark, he came thither, only attended with his Vallet and two Footmen; for now he cared not who knew the Secret: He had no sooner made the Sign, but he found himself incompass'd with Vernole's Bravoes; and himself standing at a distance, cry'd out, That he is: With that, they all drew on both sides, and Rinaldo receiv'd a Wound in the Arm. At­lante heard this, and ran crying out, That Rinaldo, prest by Numbers, would be kill'd. De Pais, who was reading in his Closet, took his Sword, and ran out; and contrary to all expectation, seeing Rinaldo fight­ing with his back to the Door, pull'd him▪ into the House, and fought himself with the Bravoes. Who being very much wounded by Rinaldo, gave ground and sheer'd off; and De Pais putting up old Billo into the Scabbard, went into his House, where he found Rinaldo almost fainting with loss of Blood, and Atlante with her Maids binding up his Wound; to whom De Pais said, This Charity Atlante very well becomes you, and is what I can allow you; and I could wish you had no other Motive for this Action. Rinaldo by degrees recovered of his Fainting, and as well as his Weakness would permit him, he got up and made a low Reverence to De Pais; telling him, He had now a double Obligation to pay him all the Respect in the World; first, for his be­ing the Father of Atlante; and secondly, for being the Preserver of his Life; two Tyes that should eternally oblige him to Love and Honour him, as his own Parent: De Pais [Page 37] reply'd, He had done nothing but what common Humani­ty compelled him to: But if he would make good that Re­spect he profess'd towards him, it must be in quitting all Hopes of Atlante, whom he had destin'd to another, or to an eternal Inclosure in a Monastery: He had another Daughter, whom if he would think worthy of his regard, he should take his Alliance as a very great Honour; but his Word and Reputation, nay, his Vows were past, to give Atlante to Count Vernole. Rinaldo, who before he spoke, took measure from Atlante's Eyes; which told him, her Heart was his; return'd this Answer to De Pais: That he was infinitely glad to find by the Generosity of his Offer, that he had no Aversion to his being his Son-in-Law; and that next to Atlante, the greatest Happiness he could wish would be, his receiving Charlot from his Hands, but that he could not think of quitting Atlante, how ne­cessary soever it would be for Glory, and his—(the fur­ther) Repose. De Pais would not let him at this time, argue the Matter further, seeing he was ill, and had need of looking after; he therefore begg'd he would for his Health's sake retire to his own House, whither he himself conducted him; and left him to the Care of his Men, who were escap'd the Fray; and return'd to his own Chamber, he found Atlante retir'd, and so he went to Bed full of Thoughts; this Night had increa­sed his Esteem for Rinaldo, and lessen'd it for Count Vernole; but his Word and Honour being past, he could not break it, neither with Safety nor Honour; for he knew the haughty resenting Nature of the Count, and he fear'd some Danger might arrive to the brave Rinaldo, which troubled him very much: At last he re­solv'd, that neither might take any thing ill at his Hands, to loose Atlante, and send her to the Mona­stery, where her Sister was, and compel her to be a Nun. This he thought would prevent Mischiefs on both sides; and accordingly, the next day (having in the Morning sent word to the Lady Abbess what he would have done; he carries Atlante under pretence of visiting her Sister, which they often did) to the Mo­nastery, [Page 38] where she was no sooner come, but she was led into the Inclosure: Her Father he had rather Sa­crifice her than she should be the Cause of the Murther of two such Noble Men as Vernole and Ri­naldo.

The Noise of Atlante's being inclos'd, was soon spread all over the busie Town, and Rinaldo was not the last to whom the News arriv'd: He was for a few Days confin'd to his Chamber; where, when alone, he rav'd like a Man distracted. But his Wounds had so incen­sed his Father against Atlante, that he swore he would see his Son die of them, rather than suffer him to marry Atlante; and was extreamly over-joyed, to find she was condemned for ever to the Monastery; so that the Son thought it the wisest Course, and the most for the Ad­vantage of his Love, to say nothing to contradict his Father; but being almost assured Atlante would nei­ther consent to be shut up in a Cloyster, and abandon him, he flatter'd himself with hope, that he should steal her from thence, and marry her in spight of all Oppo­sition. This he was impatient to put in Practice: He believed, if he were not permitted to see Atlante, he had still a kind Advocate in Charlot, who was now ar­riv'd to her Thirteenth Year, and infinitely advanc'd in Wit and Beauty. Rinaldo therefore often goes to the Monastery, surrounding it, to see what possibility there was of accomplishing his Design; if he could get her Consent, he finds it not impossible, and goes to visit Charlot; who had Command not to see him, or speak to him. This was a Cruelty he look'd not for, and which gave him an unspeakable Trouble, and without her Aid it was wholly impossible to give Atlante any Account of his Design. In this Perplexity he remain'd many Days, in which he languish'd almost to Death; he was distracted with Thought, and continually ho­vering about the Nunnery-Walls, in hope, at some time or other, to see or hear from the lovely Maid, who alone could make his Happiness. In these Tra­verses he often met Vernole, who had liberty to see her [Page 39] when he pleas'd: If it happen'd that they chanc'd to meet in the Day-time, tho' Vernole were attended with an Equipage of Ruffians, and Rinaldo but only with a couple of Footmen, he could perceive Vernole shun him, grow pale, and almost tremble with Fear sometimes, and get to the other side of the Street; and if he did not, Rinaldo having a mortal hate to him, would often bear up close to him, that he would jostle him against the Wall; which Vernole would patiently put up, and pass on; so that he could never be provok'd to fight by Day-light, how solitary soever the place was where they met: but if they chanc'd to meet at Night, they were certain of a Skirmish, in which he would have no part himself; so that Rinaldo was often like to be assassina­ted, but still came off with some slight Wound. This continued so long, and made so great a Noise in the Town, that the two Old Gentlemen were mightily a­larm'd by it; and Count Bellyuard came to De Pays, one Day, to discourse with him of this Affair; and Bellyuard, for the Preservation of his Son, as almost consenting, since there was no Remedy, that he should marry Atlante. De Pays confess'd the Honour he prof­fer'd him, and how troubled he was, that his Word was already past to his Friend, the Count Vernole, whom he said she should marry, or remain for ever a Nun; but if Rinaldo could displace his Love from Atlante, and place it on Charlot, she should gladly consent to the Match. Bellyuard, who would now do any thing for the Repose of his Son, tho' he believ'd this Exchange would not pass, yet resolv'd to propose it, since by Marrying him, he took him out of the Danger of Ver­nole's Assassinates, who would never leave him, 'till they had dispatch'd him, should he marry Atlante.

While Rinaldo was contriving a thousand Ways to come to speak to, or send Billets to Atlante, none of which would succeed without the Aid of Charlot, his Father came and proposed this Agreement between De Pays, and himself, to his Son. At first Rinaldo receiv'd it with chang'd Countenance, and a breaking Heart; [Page 40] but swiftly turning from Thought to Thought, he con­ceiv'd this the only way to come at Charlot, and so consequently at Atlante; he therefore, after some dis­sembled Regret, consents, with a sad put-on-Look: And Charlot had Notice given her, to see and entertain Rinaldo. As yet they had not told her the Reason; which her Father would tell her, when he came to vi­sit her, he said. Rinaldo over-joy'd at this Contrivance, and his own Dissimulation, goes to the Monastery, vi­sits Charlot; where he ought to have said something of this Proposition; but wholly bent upon other Thoughts, he solicits her to convey some Letters, and Presents to Atlante; which she readily did, to the unspeakable Joy of the poor Distrest. Sometimes he would talk to Charlot of her own Affairs; asking her, If she resolv'd to become a Nun? To which she would sigh, and say, If she must, it would be extreamly against her Inclina­tions; and, if it pleased her Father, she had rather be­gin the World with any tolerable Match.

Things past thus for some Days, in which our Lo­vers were happy, and Vernole assured he should have Atlante. But at last De Pays came to visit Charlot, who asked her, if she had seen Rinaldo? she answered, She had. And how does he entertain you? reply'd De Pays; Have you received him as a Husband? and has he behaved himself like one? At this a sudden Joy seized the Heart of Charlot; and loth to confess what she had done for him to her Sister, she hung down her blushing Face, to study for an Answer. De Pays continued, and told her the Agreement between Bellyuard and him, for the sa­ving of Bloodshed.

She, who blest the Cause, whatever it was, having always a great Friendship and Tenderness for Rinaldo, gave her Father a thousand Thanks for his Care; and assured him, since she was commanded by him, she would receive him as her Husband.

And the next Day, when Rinaldo came to visit her, as he used to do, and bringing a Letter with him, wherein he proposed the sight of Atlante: He found a [Page 41] Coldness in Charlot, as soon as he told her his Design, and desired her to carry the Letter. He asked the rea­son of this Change▪ She tells him, she was informed of the Agreement between their two Fathers, and that she look'd upon herself as his Wife, and would act no more as a Confident, that she had ever a violent Incli­nation of Friendship for him, which she would soon im­prove into something more soft.

He could not deny the Agreement, nor his Promise; but it was in vain to tell her, he did it only to get a Correspondence with Atlante: She is obstinate, and he as pressing, with all the Tenderness of Perswasion: He vows he can never be any but Atlante's; and she may see him die, but never break his Vows. She urges her Claim in vain, so that at last she was overcome, and promised she would carry the Letter; which was to have her make her escape that Night. He waits at the Grate for her Answer, and Charlot returns with one that pleased him very well; that was, that Night her Si­ster would make her escape, and that he must stand in such a place of the Nunnery-Wall, and she would come out to him.

After this she upbraids him with his false Promise to her, and of her Goodness to serve him after such a Dis­appointment. He receives her Reproaches with a thou­sand Sighs, and bemoans his Misfortune in not being capable of more than Friendship for her; and vows, that next Atlante, he esteems her of all Womenkind. She seems to be obliged by this, and assured him, she would hasten the Flight of Atlante; and taking leave, he went home to order a Coach, and some Servants to assist him.

In the mean time, Count Vernole came to visit At­lante; but she refused to be seen by him: And all he could do there that Afternoon, was entertaining Char­lot at the Grate; to whom he spoke a great many fine Things, both of her improved Beauty and Wit; and how happy Rinaldo would be in so fair a Bride. She received this with all the Civility that was due to his [Page 42] Quality; and their Discourse being at an end, he took his leave, it being towards the Evening.

Rinaldo, wholly impatient, came betimes to the Cor­ner of the dead Wall, where he was appointed to stand, having ordered his Footmen and Coach to come to him as soon as it was dark: While he was there walking up and down, Vernole came by the end of the Wall to go home, and looking about, he saw at the other end Rinaldo walking, whose Back was towards him; but he knew him well; and tho' he feared and dreaded his Bus [...]ness there, he durst not encounter him, they being both attended but by one Footman a piece. But Ver­nole's Jealousie and Indignation was so high, that he resolv'd to fetch his Bravoes to his Aid, and come and as­sault him; for he knew he waited there for some Mes­sage from Atlante.

In the mean time it grew dark, and Rinaldo's Coach came with another Footman; which were hardly arri­ved, when Vernole, with his assistance, came to the Corner of the Wall, and screening themselves a little behind it, near to the place where Rinaldo stood, who waited now close to a little Door, out of which the Gardeners used to throw the Weeds and Dirt. Ver­nole could perceive anon, the Door to open, and a Wo­man come out of it, calling Rinaldo by his Name; who stept up to her, and caught her in his Arms, with Signs of infinite Joy. Vernole being now all Rage, cried to his Assassinate, Fall on, and kill the Ravisher: And im­mediately they all fell on. Rinaldo, who had only his two Footmen on his side, was forced to let go the La­dy; who would have run into the Garden again, but the Door fell too, and lock'd; so that while Rinaldo was fighting, and beaten back by the Bravoes, one of which he laid dead at his Feet, Vernole came up to the frighted Lady, and taking her by the Hand, cried, Come, my fair Fugitive, you must along with me. She, wholly scared out of her Senses, was willing to go any where out of the Terror she heard so near her, and without Reply, gave herself into his Hand; who car­ried [Page 43] her directly to her Father's House; where she was no sooner come, but he told her Father all that had past, and how she was running away with Rinaldo, but that his good Fortune brought him just in the lucky Mi­nute. Her Father turning to reproach her, found by the Light of a Candle, that this was Charlot, and not Atlante, whom Vernole had brought home: At which Vernole was extreamly astonish'd. Her Father deman­ded of her, Why she was running away with a Man, who was designed her by Consent. Yes, said Charlot, you had his Consent, Sir, and that of his Father; but I was far from getting it: I found he resolved to die, rather than quit Atlante; And promising him my assistance in his Amour, since he could never be mine, he got me to carry a Letter to Atlante; which was, to desire her to fly away with him. Instead of carrying her this Letter, I told her, he was designed for me, and had cancelled all his Vows to her: She swooned at this News; and being recovered a little, I left her in the Hands of the Nuns, to perswade her to live; which she resolves not to do without Rinaldo. Though they press'd me, yet I resolved to pursue my Design, which was to tell Rinaldo, she would obey his kind Sum­mons. He waited for her; but I put myself into his Hands in lieu of Atlante; and had not the Count received me, we had been married by this time, by some false Light that could not have discovered me: But I am satisfied, if I had, he would never have lived with me longer than the Cheat had been undiscovered; for I find them both resol­ved to die, rather than change: And for my part, Sir, I was not so much in Love with Rinaldo, as I was out of Love with a Nunnery; and took any Opportunity to quit a Life absolutely contrary to my Humour. She spoke this with a Gaiety so brisk, and an Air so agree­able, that Vernole found it touch'd his Heart; and the rather, because he found Atlante would never be his; or if she were, he should be still in Danger from the Resentment of Rinaldo; he therefore bowing to Charlot, and taking her by the Hand, cryed, Madam, since Fortune has dispos'd you thus luckily for me, in my [Page 44] Possession, I humbly implore you would consent she should make me entirely happy, and give me the Prize for which I fought, and have conquered with my Sword. My Lord, replied Charlot, with a modest Air, I am superstitious e­nough to believe, that since Fortune, so contrary to all our Designs, has given me into your Hands, that she from the beginning dostined me to the Honour; which, with my Fa­ther's Consent, I shall receive as becomes me. De Pais tran­sported with Joy, to find all things would be so well brought about; it being all one to him, whether Char­lot or Atlante gave him Count Vernole for his Son-in-Law, readily consented; and immediately a Priest was sent for; and they were that Night married. And it being now not above Seven a Clock, many of their Friends were invited, the Musick sent for, and as good a Supper as so short a time would provide, was made ready.

All this was performed in as short a time as Rinaldo was fighting; and having killed one, and wounded the rest, they all fled before his conquering Sword; which was never drawn with so good a Will. When he came where his Coach stood, just against the Back-Garden-Door, he looked for his Mistress: But the Coachman told him, He was no sooner engaged, but a Man came, and with a thousand Reproaches on her Levity, bore her off.

This made our young Lover rave; and he is satis­fied she is in the Hands of his Rival; and that he had been fighting, and shedding his Blood, only to secure her Flight with him. He lost all Patience; and it was with much ado his Servants perswaded him to return; telling him, in their Opinion, she was more likely to get out of the Hands of his Rival, and come to him, than when she was in the Monastery.

He suffers himself to go into his Coach, and be car­ry'd home; but he was no sooner alighted, but he heard Musick, and a Noise of Festival at De Pays's House. He saw Coaches surround his Door, and Pages and Footmen, with Flambeaus. This Sight and Noise of [Page 45] Joy made him ready to sink at the Door; and sending his Footman to learn the Cause of this Triumph; the Pages that waited there, told him, That Count Ver­nole was, this Night, married to Monsieur De Pais's Daughter. He needed no more to deprive him of all Sense; and staggering against his Coach, he was caught by his Footmen, and carried into his House, and to his Chamber, where they put him to Bed, all sensless as he was, and had much ado to recover him to Life. He asked for his Father, with a faint Voice; for he desired to see him before he died. It was told him, he was gone to Count Vernole's Wedding, where there was a perfect Peace agreed on between them, and all Animosities laid aside. At this News Rinaldo faint­ed again; and his Servants called his Father home, and told him in what Condition they had brought home their Master, recounting to him all that was past. He ha­sted to Rinaldo, whom he found just recovered of his Swooning; who, putting his Hand out to his Father, all cold, and trembling, cry'd, Well, Sir, now you are satisfied, since you have seen Atlante married to Count Vernole: I hope now you will give your unfortunate Son leave to die; as you wish'd he should, rather than give him to the Arms of Atlante. Here his Speech failed, and he fell again into a Fit of Swoooning: His Father ready to die with Fear of his Son's Death, kneeled down by his Bed-side; and after having recovered him a little, he said, My dear Son, I have been indeed at the Wedding of Count Vernole; but 'tis not to Atlante, to whom he is married, but Charlot; who was the Person you were bear­ing from the Monastery, instead of Atlante; who is still reserved for you, and is dying [...]till she hear you are reserved for her: Therefore, as you regard her Life, make much of your own, and make your self fit to receive her: For her Father▪ and I have agreed the Marriage already. And without giving him leave to thank him, he called to one of his Gentlemen, and sent him to the Monastery, with this News to Atlante. Rinaldo bowed himself as low as he could in his Bed, and kiss'd the Hand of his [Page 46] Father, with Tears of Joy: But his Weakness conti­nued all next Day; and they were fain to bring At­lante to him, to confirm his Happiness.

It must only be guessed by Lovers, the perfect Joy these two received in the sight of each other. Bellyuard received her as his Daughter; and the next Day made her so with very great Solemnity; at which were Ver­nole and Charlot: Between Rinaldo, and him, was con­cluded a perfect Peace, and all thought themselves happy in this double Union.

THE COURT OF THE King of Bantam.

THIS Money, certainly, is a most Dev'lish Thing! I'm sure, the want of it had like to have ruin'd my dear Philibella in her Love to Valentine Goodland; who was, really, a pretty deserving Gentleman, Heir to about Fifteen-hundred Pound a Year; which, however did not so much recommend him, as the Sweetness of his Temper, the Comeliness of his Person, and the Excellency of his Parts: In all which Circum­stances my obliging Acquaintance equall'd him, unless in the advantage of their Fortune. Old Sir George Goodland knew of his Son's Passion for Philibella; and though he was Generous, and of an Humour sufficiently Complying, yet he cou'd by no means think it convenient, that his only Son shou'd marry with a young Lady of so slender a Fortune as my Friend, who had not above Five hundred Pound, and that the Gift of her Uncle Sir Philip Friendly; though her Vertue and Beauty might have deserv'd and [Page 4] have adorn'd the Throne of an Alexander or Caesar.

Sir Philip himself, indeed, was but a Younger Brother, though of a Good Family, and of a Generous Education; which with his Person, Bravery and Wit, recommended him to his Lady Philadelphia, Widow of Sir Bartholomew Banquier, who left her possess'd of Two thou­sand Pound per Annum, besides Twenty thousand Pound in Money and Jewels; which oblig'd him to get himself Dubb'd, that she might not descend to an inferior Quality. When he was in Town, he liv'd—Let me see! in the Strand; or, as near as I can remember, somewhere about Charing-Cross; where, first of all, Mr. Wou'd be King, a Gentleman of a large Estate in Houses, Land and Money, of a ha [...]ghty, extravagant and profuse Humour, very fond of every new Face, had the misfortune to fall pas­sionately in love with Philibella, who then liv'd with her Uncle.

This Mr. Wou'd be (it seems) had often been told, when he was yet a Stripling, either by one of his Nurses, by his own Grand-mother, or by some other Gypsie, that he shou'd infallibly be what his Sirname imply'd, a King, by Provi­dence or Chance, e're he dy'd, or never. This glorious Prophecy had so great an Influence on all his Thoughts and Actions, that he distributed and dispers'd his Wealth sometimes so largely, that one wou'd ha' thought he had undoubtedly been King of some part of the Indies; to see a Present made, to day, of a Diamond-Ring, worth Two or Three hundred Pound, to Madam Flip­pant; tomorrow, a large Chest of the finest China, [Page 5] to my Lady Fleecewell; and next day (perhaps) a rich Necklace of large Oriental Pearl, with a Locquet to it of Saphires, Emeralds, Rubies, &c. to pretty Miss. Ogleme, for an Amorous Glance, for a Smile, and (it may be, though but rarely) for the mighty Blessing of one single Kiss. But such were his Largesses, not to reckon his Treats, his Balls, and Serenades besides, that at the same time he had marry'd a Vertuous Lady, and of Good Quality: but her Relation to him (it may be fear'd) made her very dis­agreeable: For a Man of his Humour and Estate can no more be satisfy'd with one Woman, than with one Dish of Meat: And, to say truth, 'tis something unmodish. However, he might ha' dy'd a pure Celibate, and altogether unexpert of Woman, had his good or bad hopes only terminated in Sir Philip's Niece. But the Brave and Haughty Mr. Wou'd be was not to be baulk'd by Appearances of Virtue, which he thought all Womankind did only affect; besides, he pro­mis'd himself the Victory over any Lady whom he attempted, by the force of his damn'd Money, though her Virtue were never so real and strict.

With Philibella he found another pretty young Creature, very like her, who had been a quondam Mistress to Sir Philip: He, with young Goodland, was then diverting his Mistress and Niece at a Game of Cards, when Wou'd be came to visit him: he found 'em very merry, with a Flasque of Claret or two before 'em, and Oranges roasting by a large Fire, (for it was Christmas-time.) The Lady Friendly under­derstanding that this Extraordinary Man was [Page 6] with Sir Philip in the Parlour, came in to 'em, to make the number of both Sexes equal, as well as in hopes to make up a Purse of Guinea's toward the purchase of some new fine bus'ness that she had in her head, from his accustom'd Design of losing at play to her. Indeed, she had part of her Wish; for she got Twenty Guinea's of him; Philibella, Ten; and Lucy, Sir Philip's Quondam, Five: Not but that Wou'd be intended better Fortune to the young ones, than he did to Sir Philip's Lady; but her Ladyship was utterly unwilling to give him over to their Management, though at the last. When they were all tir'd with the Cards, after Wou'd be had said as many obliging things as his present Genius wou'd give him leave, to Phili­bella and Lucy, especially to the first, not for­getting his Baisemains to the Lady Friendly, he bid the Knight and Goodland adieu; but with a Promise of repeating his Visit at six a clok in the Evening o' Twelfth-day, to renew the famous and ancient Solemnity of Chusing King and Queen; to which Sir Philip before invited him, with a Design yet unknown to you, I hope.

As soon as he was gone, every one made their Remarks on him, but with very little or no dif­ference in all their figures of him. In short, all Mankind, had they ever known him, wou'd have universally agreed in this his Character, That he was an Original; since nothing in Hu­manity was ever so Vain, so Haughty, so Pro­fuse, so Fond, and so ridiculously Ambitious as Mr. Wou'd be King. They Laugh'd and Talk'd about an hour longer, and then young Goodland was oblig'd to see Lucy home in his Coach; tho' [Page 7] he had rather have sate up all Night in the same House with Philibella, I fansie, of whom he took but an unwilling leave; which was vi­sible enough to every one there, since they were all acquainted with his Passion for my Fair Friend.

About Twelve a' clock on the Day prefix'd, young Goodland came to Dine with Sir Philip, whom he found just return'd from Court, in a very good Humour. On the sight of Valentine, the Knight ran to him, and embracing him, told him, That he had prevented his Wishes, in coming thither before he sent for him, as he had just then design'd. T'other return'd, That he therefore hop'd he might be of some service to him, by so happy a prevention of his inten­ded Kindness. No doubt, (reply'd Sir Philip,) the Kindness, I hope, will be to us both; I am assur'd it will, if you will act according to my measures. I desire no better Prescriptions for my Happiness (return'd Valentine) than what you shall please to set down to me: But is it necessary or convenient that I shou'd know 'em first? It is, (answer'd Sir Philip;) Let us sit, and you shall understand 'em.—I am very sensible (continu'd he) of your sincere and ho­nourable Affection and Pretention to my Niece, who, perhaps, is as dear to me as my own Child cou'd be, had I one; nor am I ignorant how averse Sir George your Father is to your marriage with her, insomuch that I am confident he would dishinherit you immediately upon it, meerly for want of a Fortune somewhat pro­portionable to your Estate; but I have now contriv'd the means to add Two or Three thou­sand [Page 8] Pounds to the Five hundred I design'd to give with her; I mean, if you marry her, Val. not otherwise; for I will not labour so for any other Man. What inviolable Obligations you put upon me! (cry'd Goodland.) No Returns by way of Complements, good Val. (said the Knight:) Had I not engag'd to my Wife, be­fore marriage, that I wou'd not dispose of any part of what she brought me, without her consent, I wou'd certainly make Philibella's For­tune answerable to your Estate: And besides, my Wife is not yet full Eight and twenty, and we may therefore expect Children of our own, which hinders me from proposing any thing more for the advantage of my Niece:—But now to my Instructions;—King will be here this Evening, without fail, and, at some time or other to night, will shew the Haughti­ness of his Temper to you, I doubt not, since you are in a manner a Stranger to him: Be sure therefore you seem to quarrel with him before you part, but suffer as much as you can first from his tongue; for I know he will give you occasions enough to exercise your passive Va­lour: I must appear his Friend; and you must retire home, if you please, for this night, but let me see you early as your convenience will permit to morrow: My late Friend Lucy must be my Niece too:—Observe this, and leave the rest to me. I shall most punctually, and will in all things be directed by you, (re­turn'd Valentine.) I had forgot to tell you (said Friendly) that I have so order'd matters, that He must be King to Night, and Lucy Queen, by the Lo [...]s in the Cake. By [Page 9] all means, (return'd Goodland;) It must be Majesty.

Exactly at Six a' clock came Wou'd be in his Coach and Six, and found Sir Philip and his Lady, Goodland, Philibella and Lucy ready to receive him; Lucy as Fine as a Dutchess, and almost as Beautiful as she was before her Fall. All things were in ample Order for his Enter­tainment. They Play'd till Supper was serv'd in, which was between Eight and Nine. The Treat was very seasonable and splendid. Just as the Second Course was set on the Table, they were all on a sudden surpriz'd, except Wou'd be, with a Flourish of Violins, and other Instruments, which proceeded to entertain 'em with the best and newest Airs in the last new Plays, being then in the Year 1683. The Ladies were curious to know to whom they ow'd this chearful part of their Entertainment: On which he call'd out, Hey! Tom Farmer! Aleworth! Eccles! Hall! and the rest of you! Here's a Health to these Ladies, and all this Honourable Company. They Bow'd; He Drank, and commanded another Glass to be fill'd, into which he put something yet better than the Wine, I mean, Ten Guinea's: Here, Farmer, (said he then;) This for you and your Friends. We humbly thank the Honourable Mr. Wou'd be King. They all return'd, and struck up with more spritelyness than before. For Gold and Wine, doubtless, are the best Rosin for Musicians.

After Supper, they took a hearty Glass or two to the King, Queen, Duke, &c. And then the mighty Cake, Teeming with the Fate of this Extraordinary Personage was brought in, [Page 10] the Musicians playing an Overture at the En­trance of the Alimental Oracle; which was then Cut and Consulted, and the Royal Bean and Pea fell to those to whom Sir Philip had de­sign'd 'em. 'Twas then the Knight began a merry Bumper, with Three Huzza's, and, Long live King Wou'd be! to Goodland; who Echo'd, and Pledg'd him, putting the Glass about to the Harmonious Attendants: while the Ladies drank their own quantities, among themselves, To his aforesaid Majesty. Then of course, you may believe, Queen Lucy's Health went merrily round, with the same Ceremony. After which, he saluted his Royal Consort, and condescended to do the same Honour to the two other Ladies.

Then they fell a Dancing like Lightning; I mean, they mov'd as swift, and made almost as little Noise: But His Majesty was soon weary of that; for he long'd to be making Love both to Philibella and Lucy, who (believe me) that Night might well enough have pass'd for a Queen.

They fell then to Questions and Commands; to Cross Purposes; I Think a Thought, What is it like? &c. In all which, His Wou'd be Ma­jesty took the opportunity of shewing the Ex­cellency of his Parts, as, How Fit he was to Govern; How Dexterous at Mining and Coun­termining; and, How he cou'd Reconcile the most Contrary and Distant Thoughts. The Musick, at last, good as it was, grew trouble­som, and too loud; which made him dismiss 'em: And then he began to this effect, addres­sing himself to Philibella; Madam, had Fortune [Page 11] been Just, and were it possible that the World shou'd be Govern'd and Influenc'd by Two Suns, undoubtedly we had all been Subjects to you, from this Night's Chance, as well as to that Lady, who, indeed, alone can Equal you in the Empire of Beauty, which yet you share with Her Majesty here present, who only cou'd dispute it with you, and is only Superior to you in Title. My Wife is infinitely oblig'd to your Majesty, (interrupted Sir Philip,) who, in my opinion, has greater Charms, and more than both of 'em together. You ought to think so, Sir Philip, (return'd the New Dubb'd King;) However, you shou'd not so liberally have ex­press'd your self, in Opposition and Deroga­tion to Majesty:—Let me tell you, 'tis a sawcy Boldness that thus has loos'd your Tongue! —What think you, young Kinsman and Counsellor? (said he to Goodland.) With all Respect due to your Sacred Title, (return'd Valentine, rising and bowing,) Sir Philip spoke as became a truly affectionate Husband; and it had been Presumption in him, unpardonable, to have seem'd to preferr her Majesty, or that other sweet Lady, in his Thoughts, since your Majesty has been pleas'd to say so much and so particularly of their Merits: 'Twou'd appear as if he durst lift up his Eyes, with Thoughts, too near the Heaven you only wou'd enjoy. And only can deserve, you shou'd have added, (said King, no longer Wou'd be.) How! May it please your Majesty, (cry'd Friendly,) Both my Nieces! Though you deserve Ten thousand more, and better, wou'd your Majesty enjoy 'em Both? Are they then Both your Nieces? [Page 12] (ask'd Chance's King.) Yes; Both, Sir, (re­turn'd the Knight;) Her Majesty's the Eldest, and in that Fortune has shewn some Justice. So she has, (reply'd the Titular Monarch;) My Lot is fair, (pursu'd he,) though I can be blest but with One:

Come, Madam, (continu'd he, kissing Lucy:) This, as an Earnest of our future Endeavours. I fear (return'd the pretty Queen) your Ma­jesty will forget the unhappy Statira, when you return to the Embraces of your Dear and Beau­tiful Roxana. There is none Beautiful but you, (reply'd the Titular King,) unless this Lady, to whom I yet cou'd pay my Vows most zea­lously, were't not that Fortune thus has pre­engag'd me: But, Madam, (continu'd he,) to shew that still you hold our Royal Favour, and that, next to our Royal Consort, we Esteem you, we greet you thus, (kissing Philibella;) And, as a Signal of our continued Love, wear this rich Diamond: (here he put a Diamond-Ring on her Finger, worth Three hundred Pounds.) Your Majesty (pursu'd he to Lucy) may please to wear this Necklace, with this Locket of Emeralds. Your Majesty is Bounteous as a God! (said Valentine.) Art thou in want, young Spark? (ask'd the King of Bantam,) I'll give thee an Estate shall make thee merit the Mistress of thy Vows, be she who she will. That is, my other Niece, Sir, (cry'd Friendly.) How! How! Presumptuous Youth! How are [Page 13] thy Eyes and Thoughts exalted? Ha! To Bliss your Majesty must never hope for, (re­ply'd Goodland.) How now, thou Creature of the basest Mold! Not hope for what thou dost aspire to! Mock-King, thou canst not, dar'st not, shall not hope it, (return'd Valen­tine, in a Heat.) Hold, Val. (cry'd Sir Philip,) you grow warm; forget your Duty to Their Ma­jesties, and abuse your Friends, by making us suspected. Good-night, Dear Philibella, and my Queen! Madam, I am your Ladyship's Servant, (said Goodland:) Farewell, Sir Philip, Adieu, thou Pageant! thou Property-King! I shall see thy Brother on the Stage, e're long; but first I'll visit Thee; and in the mean time, by way of return to thy proffer'd Estate, I will add a real Territory to the rest of thy empty Titles; for, from thy Education, Bar­barous manner of Conversation, and Com­plexion, I think, I may justly proclaim thee, King of Bantam:—So, Hail, King that Wou'd be! Hail, thou King of Christmas! All Hail, Wou'd be King of Bantam!—And so he left 'em.—They all seem'd amaz'd, and gaz'd on one another, without speaking a syllable; till Sir Philip broke the Charm, and sigh'd out, Oh, the monstrous effects of Pas­sion! Say rather, Oh, the foolish effects of a mean Education! (interrupted his Majesty of Bantam;) For Passions were given us for Use, Reason to govern and direct us in the Use, and Education to cultivate and refine that Reason: But (pursu'd he) for all his Impudence to me, which I shall take a time to correct, I am oblig'd to him, that at last he has found me out a King­dom [Page 14] to my Title; and if I were Monarch of that Place, (Believe me, Ladies,) I wou'd make you all Princesses and Dutchesses; and Thou, my old Companion, Friendly! should'st Rule the Roast with me: But these Ladies shou'd be with us there; where we would erect Temples and Altars to 'em: Build Golden Palaces of Love, and Castles—In the Air (interrup­ted her Majesty Lucy the First, smiling.) 'Gad take me, (cry'd King Woud be,) thou dear Part'ner of my Greatness, and shalt be, of all my Pleasures! thy pretty satyrical Observation has oblig'd me beyond Imitation. I think your Majesty is got into a vein of Rhiming to night, (said Philadelphia.) Ay! Pox o' that young insipid Fop, we cou'd else have been as Great as an Emperor of China, and as Witty as Horace in his Wine; but let him go, like a pragmati­cal, captious, giddy Fool as he is! I shall take a time to see him. Nay, Sir, (said Philibella,) he has promis'd your Majesty a Visit, in our hearing: Come, Sir, I beg your Majesty to pledge me this Glass to your Long and Happy Reign; laying aside all thoughts of ungovern'd Youth: Besides, this Discourse must needs be ungreatful to her Majesty, to whom, I fear, he will be marry'd within this Month. How! (cry'd King and no King,) Marry'd to my Queen! I must not, cannot suffer it! Pray restrain your self a little, Sir, (said Sir Philip,) and when once these Ladies have left us, I will discourse your Majesty further about this Business. Well, Pray, Sir Philip, (said his Lady,) let not your Worship be pleas'd to sit up too long for his Majesty: About Five o'clock [Page 15] I shall expect you: 'Tis your old Hour. And yours, Madam, to wake, to receive me coming to Bed:—Your Ladyship understands me, (return'd Friendly.) You're merry, my Love, you're merry, (cry'd Philadelphia:) Come, Niece, to Bed! to Bed! Ay, (said the Knight,) Go both of you and sleep together, if you can, without the thoughts of a Lover, or a Husband. His Majesty was pleas'd to wish 'em a good Repose; and so, with a Kiss, they parted for that time.

Now we're alone, (said Sir Philip,) let me assure you, Sir, I resent this Affront done to you by Mr. Goodland, almost as highly as you can; and though I can't wish that you shou'd take such Satisfaction as, perhaps, some other hotter Sparks wou'd; yet let me say, his Miscarriage ought not to go unpunish'd in him. Fear not, (reply'd t'other,) I shall give him a sharp Lesson. No, Sir, (return'd Friendly,) I wou'd not have you think of a Bloody Re­venge; for 'tis that which, possibly, he designs on you: I know him Brave as any Man: How­ever, were it convenient that the Sword shou'd determine betwixt you, you shou'd not want mine: The Affront is partly to me, since done in my House: But I've already laid down safer measures for us, though of more fatal conse­quence to him; that is, I've form'd 'em in my Thoughts: Dismiss your Coach and Equi­page, all but one Servant, and I will discourse it to you at large: 'Tis now past Twelve; and, if you please, I wou'd invite you to take up as easie a Lodging here, as my House will afford. (Accordingly they were dismiss'd, and [Page 16] he proceeded:)—As I hinted to you before, he is in love with my youngest Niece, Philibella; but her Fortune not exceeding Five hundred Pound, his Father will assuredly disinherit him, if he marries her; though he has given his Consent that he shou'd marry her Eldest Sister, whose Father dying e're he knew his Wife was with Child of the Youngest, left Lucy Three thou­sand Pounds, being as much as he thought con­venient to match her handsomly; and accor­dingly, the Nuptials of Young Goodland and Lucy are to be celebrated next Easter. They shall not, if I can hinder 'em, (interrupted his offended Majesty.) Never endeavour the ob­struction, (said the Knight,) for I'll shew you the way to a dearer Vengeance: Women are Women, your Majesty knows; she may be won to your Embraces before that time, and then you antedate him, your Creature. A Cuckold, you mean, (cry'd King in Fansie;) O Exquisite Revenge! But can you consent that I shou'd at­tempt it? What is't to me? we live not in Spain, where all the Male Relations of the Fa­mily are oblig'd to vindicate a Whore; No, I wou'd wound him in his most Tender Part. But how shall we compass it? (ask'd t'other.) Why thus; Throw away Three thousand Pounds on the Youngest Sister, as a Portion, to make her as happy as she can be in her new Lover Sir Frederick Flygold, an Extravagant young Fop, and wholly given over to Gaming; so, ten to one, but you may retrieve your Mo­ney of him, and have the two Sisters at your devotion. Oh, Thou my better Genius than that which was given to me by Heav'n at my [Page 17] birth! What Thanks, what Praises shall I re­turn and sing to Thee, for this! (cry'd King Conundrum.) No Thanks, no Praises, I be­seech your Majesty; since in this I gratifie my selfe—You think I am your Friend? And, you will agree to this? (said Friendly, by way of Question.) Most readily, (return'd the Fop-King;) Wou'd it were broad-Day, that I might send for the Money to my Bankers; for in all my Life, in all my Frolicks, Encounters and Extravagancies, I never had one so grate­ful and pleasant as this will be, if you are in earnest, to gratifie both my Love and Re­venge! That I am in earnest, you will not doubt, when you see with what Application I shall pursue my Design: In the mean time, My Duty to your Majesty; To our good Success in this Affair. While he drank, t'other re­turn'd, With all my Heart; and pledg'd him. Then Friendly began afresh;—Leave the whole Management of this to me; only one thing more I think necessary, that you make a Present of Five hundred Guinea's to Her Majesty, the Bride that must be. By all means, (return'd the wealthy King of Bantam;) I had so design'd before. Well, Sir, (said Sir Philip,) what think you of a Sett Party or two at Piquet, to pass away some few hours, till we can sleep? A seasonable and welcome Proposition, (re­turn'd that King;) but I won't play above Twenty Guinea's the Game, and Forty the Lurch. Agreed, (said Friendly;) First call in your Servant; mine is here already. The Slave came in, and they began, with unequal fortune at first; for the Knight had lost an Hun­dred [Page 18] Guinea's to Majesty; which he paid in Specie; and then propos'd Fifty Guinea's the Game, and an Hundred the Lurch. To which t'other consented; and without winning more than three Games, and those not together, made shift to get Three thousand two hundred Guinea's in debt to Sir Philip: For which Ma­jesty was pleas'd to give him Bond, whether Friendly wou'd or no, Seal'd and Deliver'd in the Presence of

A Couple of delicate Beagles, their mighty At­tendants.

It was then about the hour that Sir Philip's (and, it may be, other Ladies) began to Yawn and Stretch; when the Spirits Refresh'd, Troul'd about and Tickl'd the Blood with Desires of Action; which made Majesty and Worship think of a Retreat to Bed; where, in less than Half an hour, or, before ever he could say his Prayers, I'm sure, the first [...]ell fast asleep: but the last, perhaps, paid his accustom'd De­votion, e're he began his Progress to the Shadow of Death: However, he wak'd earlier than his Cully-Majesty, and got up to receive young Goodland, who came to his Word, with the first Opportunity. Sir Philip receiv'd him with more than usual Joy, though not with greater Kindness, and let him know every Syl­lable and Accident that had pass'd between 'em till they went to bed: which you may believe was not a little pleasantly surprising to Valen­tine, [Page 19] who began then to have some Assurance of his Happiness with Philibella. His Friend told him, that he must now be reconcil'd to his Mock-Majesty, though with some difficulty; and so taking one hearty Glass a piece▪ he left Valentine in the Parlour, to carry the ungrate­ful News of his Visit to him that Morning. King—was in an odd sort of Taking, when he heard that Valentine was Below; and had been, as Sir Philip inform'd Majesty, at Majesty's Pa­lace, to enquire for him there: but when he told him, that he had already school'd him, on his own behalf, for the Affront done in his House, and that he believ'd he cou'd bring his Majesty off without any loss of present Ho­nour, his Countenance visibly discover'd his past Fear, and present Satisfaction; which was much encreas'd too, when Friendly, shewing him his Bond for the Money he won of him at Play, let him know, that if he paid Three thousand Guinea's to Philibella, he wou'd im­mediately deliver him up his Bond, and not expect the Two hundred Guinea's Over-plus. His Majesty of Bantam was then in so good an humour, that he cou'd have made love to Sir Philip; nay, I believe he cou'd a kiss'd Va­lentine, instead of seeming angry. Down they came, and saluted like Gentlemen: But after the Greeting was over, Goodland began to talk something of Affront, Satisfaction, Honour, &c. when immediately Friendly interpos'd, and after a little seeming Uneasiness and Reluctancy, re­concil'd the Hot and Cholerick Youth to the Cold Phlegmatick King.

[Page 20] Peace was no sooner proclaim'd, than the King of Bantan took his Rival and late Ant [...] ­gonist with him in his own Coach, not ex­cluding Sir Philip by any means, to Locket's; where they Din'd: Thence he wou'd have 'em to Court with him, where he met the Lady Flippant, the Lady Harpy, the Lady Crocodile, Madam Tattlemore, Miss Medler, Mrs. Gingerly a rich Grocer's Wife, and some others, besides Knights and Gentlemen of as good humours as the Ladies; all whom he invited to a Ball at his own House, the Night following; his own Lady being then in the Countrey. Madam Tat­tlemore, I think, was the first he spoke to in Court, and whom first he surpriz'd with the happy News of his Advancement to the Title of King of Bantam. How wondrous hasty was she to be gone, as soon as she heard it! 'Twas not in her Power, because not in her Nature, to stay long enough to take a civil Leave of the Company, but away she flew, big with the Empty Title of a Fantastick King, proclaiming it to every one of her Acquaintance, as she pass'd through every Room, till she came to the Presence-Chamber, where she only whisper'd it; but her Whispers made above half the Ho­nourable Company quit the Presence of the King of Great Britain, to go make their Court to His Majesty of Bantam; some cry'd, God Bless Your Majesty! some, Long live the King of Bantam! others, All Hail to Your Sacred Ma­jesty! In short, he was Congratulated on all sides. Indeed, I don't hear that His Majesty, King Charles the Second ever sent any Embas­sador to Complement him; though, possibly, [Page 21] He saluted him by his Title, the first time he saw him afterwards: For, you know, He is a wonderful Good-natur'd and a Well-bred Gen­tleman.

After he thought the Court of England was universally acquainted with his mighty Honour, he was pleas'd to think fit to retire to his own more private Palace, with Sir Philip and Good­land, whom he Entertain'd that night very hand­somly, till about Seven a clock; when they went together to the Play, which was, that Night, A King and No King. His Attendant-Friends cou'd not forbear smiling, to think how aptly the Title of the Play suited his Circumstances. Nor cou'd he chuse but take notice of it be­hind the Scenes, between Jest and Earnest; tel­ling the Players how kind Fortune had been the Night past, in disposing the Bean to him; and justifying what one of her Prophetesses had foretold, some Years since: I shall now no more regard (said he) that old Doating Fellow Pythagoras's Saying, Abstineto à Fabis; That is, (added he, by way of Construction,) Abstain from Beans: For, I find the Excellency of 'em in Cakes and Dishes: From the first, they in­spire the Soul with mighty Thoughts; and from the last, our Bodies receive a strong and whol­som Nourishment. That is, (said a Wag among those sharp Youths, I think 'twas my Friend the Count;) These Puff you up in Mind, Sir; Those, in Body. They had some further Discourse among the Nymphs of the Stage, e're they went into the Pit; where Sir Philip spread the News of his Friend's Ac­cession to the Title, tho' not yet to the Throne [Page 22] of Bantam; upon which he was there again Complemented on that Occasion. Several of the Ladies and Gentlemen who saluted him, he invited to the next Night's Ball at his Palace.

The Play done, they took each of 'em a Bottle at the Rose, and parted till Seven the Night following: which came not sooner than desired; for he had taken such care, that all things were in readiness before Eight, only he was to expect the Musick, till the end of the Play. About Nine, Sir Philip, his Lady, Good­land, Philibella and Lucy came. Sir Philip re­turn'd him Rabelais, which he had borrow'd of him, wherein the Knight had written, in an old odd sort of Character, this Prophecy of his own making; with which he surpriz'd the Ma­jesty of Bantam, who vow'd he had never taken notice of 'em before; but he said, he perceiv'd they had been long written, by the Character; and here it follows, as near as I can remember:

They had hardly made an end of reading 'em, e're the whole Company, and more than he had invited, came in, and were receiv'd with a great deal of Formality and Magnificence Lucy was there attended as his Queen; and Philibella, as the Princess her Sister. They Danc'd then till they were weary; and after­wards [Page 23] retir'd to another large Room, where they found the Tables spread and furnish'd with all the most seasonable Cold Meats; which was succeeded by the choicest Fruits and the richest Disert of Sweet-meats that Luxury cou'd think on, or, at least, that this Town cou'd afford. The Wines were all most excellent in their kind; and their Spirits flew about through every corner of the House: There was scarce a Spark sober in the whole Company, with drinking repeated Glasses to the Health of the King of Bantam and his Royal Consort, with the Princess Philibella's, who sate together under a Royal Canopy of State, his Majesty between the two Beautiful Sisters: only Friendly and Goodland wisely manag'd that Part of the Engagement where they were concern'd, and preserv'd them­selves from the Heat of the Debauch.

Between Three and Four most of 'em began to draw off, laden with Fruit and Sweet-meats, and rich Favours compos'd of Yellow, Green, Red and White, the Colours of his New Majesty of Bantam. Before Five they were left to them­selves; when the Lady Friendly was discompos'd, for want of Sleep, and her usual Cordial; which oblig'd Sir Philip to wait on her home, with his two Nieces: But his Majesty wou'd by no means part with Goodland; whom, before Nine that Morning, he made as Drunk as a Lord, and by consequence one of his Peers; for Ma­jesty was then, indeed, as Great as an Empe­ror: He fancy'd himself Alexander, and young Valentine his Hephaestion; and did so Be-buss him, that the young Gentleman fear'd he was faln into the hands of an Italian. However, by the [Page 24] kind Persuasions of his Condescending and Dis­sembling Majesty, he ventur'd to go into Bed with him; where King Wou'd be fell asleep, hand-over-head; and not long after, Goodland, his new made Peer, follow'd him to the cool Retreats of Morpheus.

About Three the next afternoon they both Wak'd, as by consent, and call'd to Dress. And after that bus'ness was over, I think, they swallow'd each of 'em a Pint of Old-Hook, with a little Sugar, by the way of Healing. Their Coaches were got ready in the mean time; but the Peer was forc'd to accept of the Honour of being carry'd in his Majesty's to Sir Philip's; whom they found just risen from Dinner, with Philadelphia and his two Nieces. They sate down, and ask'd for something to relish a Glass of Wine; and Sir Philip order'd a cold Chine to be set before 'em; of which they eat about an Ounce a-piece: but they drank more by the half, I dare say.

After their little Repast, Friendly call'd the Wou'd be-Monarch aside, and told him, that he wou'd have him go the Play that Night, which was, The London Cuckolds; promising to meet him there in less than Half an Hour after his departure; telling him withal, that he wou'd surprize him with a much better Entertainment than the Stage afforded. Majesty took the Hint, imagining, and that rightly, that the Knight had some Intrigue in his head, for the Promo­tion of the Commonwealth of Cuckoldom: in order therefore to his Advice, he took his leave, about a Quarter of an Hour after.

[Page 25] When he was gone, Sir Philip thus bespoke his pretended Niece; Madam, I hope your Majesty will not refuse me the Honour of wait­ing on you to a Place where you will meet with better Entertainment than your Majesty can ex­pect from the best Comedy in Christendom. Val. (continu'd he,) you must go with us, to secure me against the Jealousie of my Wife. That, indeed, (return'd his Lady) is very ma­terial; and you are mightily concern'd not to give me occasion, I must own. You see I am now, (reply'd he:) But—Come! on with Hoods and Scarf! (pursu'd he, to Lucy.) Then addressing himself again to his Lady; Madam, (said he,) we'll wait on you in less time than I cou'd have drank a Bottle to my share. (The Coach was got ready, and on they drove to the Play-house.) By the way, said Friendly to Val.—Your Honour, Noble Peer, must be set down at Long's; for only Lucy and I must be seen to his Majesty of Bantam: And now, I doubt not, you understand what you must trust to.—To be robb'd of her Ma­jesty's Company, I warrant, (return'd t'other) for these long three Hours. Why, (cry'd Lucy,) you don't mean, I hope, to leave me with his Majesty of Bantam? 'Tis for thy Good, Child! 'Tis for thy Good! (return'd Friendly.) To the Rose they got then; where Goodland lighted, and expected Sir Philip; who led Lucy into the King's Box, to his New Ma­jesty; where, after the first Scene, he left 'em together. The over-joy'd Fantastick Monarch wou'd fain have said some fine obliging things to the Knight, as he was going out; but Friendly's [Page 26] haste prevented 'em, who went directly to Valentine, took one Glass, call'd a Reck'ning, mounted Chariot, and away home they came: where, I believe, he was welcome to his Lady; for I never heard any thing to the contrary.

In the mean time, his Majesty had not the pa­tience to stay out half the Play, at which he was saluted by above twenty Gentlemen and Ladies by his New and Mighty Title: but out he led Miss Majesty, e're the Third Act was half done; pretetending, that it was so Damn'd Bawdy a Play, that he knew her Modesty had been already but too much offended at it; so into his Coach he got her. When they were seated, she told him she wou'd go to no place with him, but to the Lodgings her Mother had taken for her, when she first came to Town, and which still she kept. Your Mother! Madam, (cry'd he;) Why, is Sir Philip's Sister living then? His Brother's Widow is, Sir, (she reply'd.) Is she there? (he ask'd.) No, Sir, (she re­turn'd;) she's in the Countrey. Oh, then we'll go thither to chuse. The Coach-man was then order'd to drive to Germin's-street; where, when he came into the Lodgings, he found 'em very rich and modishly furnish'd. He presently call'd one of his Slaves, and whis­per'd him to get three or four pretty Dishes for Supper; and then getting a Pen, Ink and Paper, writ a Note to C—d the Goldsmith, within Temple-Barr, for Five hundred Guinea's; which Watchwell brought him in little more than an Hour's time, when they were just in the height of Supper; Lucy having invited her Landlady, for the better colour of the matter. [Page 27] His Bantamite Majesty took the Gold from his Slave, and threw it by him in the Window, that Lucy might take notice of it; (which, you may assure your self she did, and after Supper, wink'd on the goodly Matron of the House to retire; which she immediately obey'd.) Then his Majesty began his Court very earnestly and hotly, throwing the naked Guinea's into her Lap: which she seem'd to refuse, with much Disdain; but, upon his repeated Promises, confirm'd by unheard of Oaths and Impreca­tions, that he wou'd give her Sister Three thou­sand Guinea's to her Portion, she began by de­grees to mollifie, and let the Gold lie quietly in her Lap: And the next night, after he had drawn Notes on two or three of his Bankers, for the Payment of Three thousand Guinea's to Sir Philip, or Order, and receiv'd his own Bond, made for what he had lost at Play, from Friendly, she made no great difficulty to admit his Majesty to her Bed. Where I think fit to leave 'em for the present; for (perhaps) they had some private Bus'ness.

The next Morning, before the Titular King was (I won't say, up, or stirring, but) our o' bed, young Goodland and Philibella were pri­vately marry'd; the Bills being all Accepted and Paid in Two Days time. As soon as ever the Phantastick Monarch cou'd find in his heart to divorce himself from the dear and charming Embraces of his Beautiful Bedfellow, he came flying to Sir Philip, with all the haste that Ima­gination Big with Pleasure cou'd inspire him with, to discharge it self to a suppos'd Friend. The Knight told him, that he was really much [Page 28] troubl'd, to find that his Niece had yielded so soon and easily to him; however, he wish'd him Joy. To which t'other return'd, That he cou'd never want it, whilst he had the Com­mand of so much Beauty, and that without the ungrateful Obligations of Matrimony, which certainly are the most Nauseous, Hateful, Per­nicious and Destructive of Love imaginable. Think you so, Sir? (ask'd the Knight;) We shall hear what a Friend of mine will say on such an occasion, to morrow about this time: but I beseech your Majesty to conceal your Sen­timents of it to him, lest you make him as uneasie as you seem to be in that circumstance. Be assur'd I will, (return'd t'other;) But when shall I see the Sweet, the Dear, the Blooming, the Charming Philibella? She will be with us at Dinner. Where's her Majesty? (ask'd Sir Philip.) Had you enquir'd before, she had been here; for, Look, she comes. Friendly seem'd to regard her with a kind of Displeasure, and whisper'd Majesty, that he shou'd express no particular Symptoms of Familiarity with Lucy in his House, at any time, especially when Goodland was there, as then he was above with his Lady and Philibella, who came down pre­sently after to Dinner.

About Four a clock, as his Majesty had in­trigu'd with her, Lucy took a Hackney-Coach and went to her Lodgings; whither, about an hour after, he follow'd her. Next Morning, at Nine, he came to Friendly's, who carry'd him up to see his new marry'd Friends—But (O Damnation to Thought!) what Torments did he feel, when he saw young Goodland and [Page 29] Philibella in bed together; the last of which return'd him humble and hearty Thanks for her Portion and Husband, as the first did for his Wife. He shook his Head at Sir Philip, and without speaking one word, left 'em and hurry'd to Lucy, to lament the ill treatment he had met with from Friendly. They Coo'd and Bill'd as long as He was able; she (Sweet Hypocrite) seeming to 'moan his Misfortunes: which he took so kindly, that when he left her, which was about Three in the Afternoon, he caus'd a Scrivener to draw up an Instrument, wherein he settl'd a Hundred Pounds a Year on Lucy, for her Life, and gave her an Hundred Guinea's more against her Lying-in: (For she told him (and indeed 'twas true) that she was with Child, and knew her self to be so, from a very good Reason—) And indeed she was so—by the Friendly Knight. When he return'd to her, he threw the Obliging Instru­ment into her Lap; (it seems, he had a par­ticular Kindness for that Place—) then call'd for Wine, and something to eat; for he had not drank a Pint to his share all the day, (tho' he had ply'd it at the Chocolate-house—) The Landlady, who was invited to Sup with 'em, bid 'em Good-night, about Eleven; when they went to bed, and, partly, slept till about Six; when they were entertain'd by some Gentlemen of their Acquaintance, who Play'd and Sung very finely, by way of Epithalamium, these words and more:

[Page 30] The rest I have forgot. He took some offence at the Words; but more at the Visit that Sir Philip and Goodland made him, about an hour after, who found him in Bed with his Royal Consort, and after having wish'd 'em Joy, and thrown their Majesties own Shooes and Stockings at their Heads, retreated. This gave Monarch in Fansie so great a Caution, that he took his Royal Consort into the Countrey, (but above Forty Miles off the Place where his own Lady was,) where, in less than Eight Months, she was Deliver'd of a Princely Babe, who was Christen'd by the Heathenish Name of Hayoumorecake Bantam; while her Majesty Lay-in like a petty Queen.

THE NUN: OR, THE Perjur'd Beauty.

DOn Henrique was a Person of Great Birth, of a Great Estate, of Bra­very equal to either, of a most Ge­nerous Education; but of more Passion than Reason: He was be­sides of an Opener and Freer Temper than ge­nerally his Countrey-men are; I mean, the Spaniards; always engag'd in some Love-Intrigue or other.

One Night, as he was retreating from one of those Engagements, Don Sebastian, whose Sister he had abus'd with a Promise of Marriage, set upon him at the Corner of a Street, in Madrid, and by the help of three of his Friends, design'd to have dispatcht him on a doubtful Embassy to the Almighty Monarch: But he re­ceiv'd their first Instructions with better Ad­dress than they expected, and dismiss'd his Envoy first, killing one of Don Sebastian's Friends. [Page 4] Which so enrag'd the Injur'd Brother, that his Strength and Resolution seem'd to be re­doubl'd, and so animated his two surviving Companions, that (doubtless) they had gain'd a dishonourable Victory, had not Don Antonio accidentally come in to his Rescue; who, after a very short Dispute, kill'd one of the two who attack'd him only; whilst Don Henrique with the greatest difficulty defended his Life, for some moments, against Sebastian, whose Rage depriv'd him of Strength, and gave his Adver­sary the unwish'd Advantage of his seeming Death, though not without bequeathing some Bloody Legacies to Don Henrique. Antonio had receiv'd but one slight Wound in the Left Arm, and his surviving Antagonist none; who, how­ever thought it not adviseable to begin a fre [...]h Dispute against two, of whose Courage he [...]d but too fatal a Proof, though one of 'em [...] sufficiently disabl'd. The Conquerors, on [...]e other side, politickly Retreated, and quitting the Field to the Conquer'd, left the Living to bury the Dead, if he cou'd, or thought con­venient.

As they were marching off, Don Antonio, who all this while knew not whose Life he had so happily preserv'd, told his Companion in Arms, that he thought it indispensably necessary that he should quarter with him that Night, for his further Preservation. To which he prudently consented, and went, with no little uneasiness, to his Lodgings; where he surpriz'd Antonio with the sight of his Dearest Friend. For they had certainly the nearest Sympathy in all their Thoughts, that ever made two [Page 5] Brave Men unhappy! And, undoubtedly, no­thing but Death, or more Fatal Love, cou'd have divided 'em. However, at present, they were united and secure:

In the mean time, Don Sebastian's Friend was just going to call help to carry off the Bodies, as the—came by; who seeing three Men lie dead, seiz'd the fourth; who, as he was about to justifie himself, by discovering one of the Authors of so much Bloodshed, was in­terrupted by a Groan from his suppos'd dead Friend Don Sebastian; whom, after a brief ac­count of some part of the matter, and the knowledge of his Quality, they took up, and carry'd to his House; where, within a few days, he was recover'd past the fear of Death. All this while, Henrique and Antonio durst not appear, so much as by Night; nor cou'd be found, though diligent and daily search was made after the first: but upon Don Sebastian's Recovery, the Search ceasing, they took the advantage of the Night, and, in Disguize, re­treated to Sevil. 'Twas there they thought themselves most secure, where indeed they were in the greatest danger; for tho' (hap'ly) they might there have escap'd the murtherous Attempt of Don Sebastian and his Friends, yet they cou'd not there avoid the malicious In­fluence of their Stars.

This City gave Birth to Antonio, and to the cause of his greatest Misfortunes, as well as of his Death. Donna Ardelia was born there, a Miracle of Beauty and Falshood. 'Twas more than a Year since Don Antonio had first seen and lov'd her. (For 'twas impossible any Man [Page 6] shou'd do one without t'other.) He had had the unkind opportunity of speaking and con­veying a Billette to her at Church; and to his greater misfortune, the next time he found her there, he met with too kind a return both from her Eyes, and from her Hand, which privately slipt a Paper into his; in which he found abundantly more than he expected, di­recting him in that, how he shou'd proceed, in order to carry her off from her Father with the least danger he cou'd look for in such an Attempt; since it wou'd have been vain and fruitless to have ask'd her of her Father, because their Families had been at enmity for several Years; though Antonio was as well descended as she, and had as ample a Fortune; nor was his Person, according to his Sex, any way in­ferior to her's; and certainly, the Beauties of his Mind were more excellent, especially if it be an Excellence to be Constant.

He had made several Attempts to take posses­sion of her, but all prov'd ineffectual; however, he had the good fortune not to be known, tho' once or twice he narrowly 'scap'd with Life, bearing off his Wounds with difficulty.—(Alas, that the Wounds of Love shou'd cause those of Hate!) Upon which she was strictly confin'd to one Room, whose only Window was towards the Garden, and that too was Grated with Iron; and, once a Month, when she went to Church, she was constantly and carefully attended by her Father, and a Mother-in-Law, worse than a Duegna. Under this miserable Confinement Antonio understood she still continu'd, at his return to Sevil with Don [Page 7] Henrique, whom he acquainted with his invin­cible Passion for her; lamenting the severity of her present circumstances, that admitted of no prospect of relief: which caus'd a generous Concern in Don Henrique, both for the Suffer­ings of his Friend, and of the Lady: He pro­pos'd several ways to Don Antonio, for the Re­lease of the Fair Prisoner; but none of 'em was thought practicable, or, at least, likely to suc­ceed. But Antonio, who (you may believe) was then more nearly engag'd, bethought him­self of an Expedient that wou'd undoubtedly reward their Endeavours. 'Twas, That Don Henrique, who was very well acquainted with Ardelia's Father, shou'd make him a Visit, with pretence of begging his Consent and Admission to make his Addresses to his Daughter; which, in all probability, he cou'd not refuse to Don Henrique's Quality and Estate: And then this freedom of access to her wou'd give him the opportunity of delivering the Lady to his Friend. This was thought so reasonable, that the very next day it was put in practice; and with so good success, that Don Henrique was receiv'd by the Father of Ardelia with the greatest and most respectful Ceremony imagi­nable: And when he made the Proposal to him of Marrying his Daughter, it was embrac'd with a visible Satisfaction and Joy in the Air of his Face. This their first Conversation ended with all imaginable Content on both Sides; Don Henrique being invited by the Father to Dinner, the next day, when Donna Ardelia was to be present; who, at that time, was said to be indispos'd, (as 'tis very probable she [Page 8] was, with so close an Imprisonment.) Henrique return'd to Antonio, and made him happy with the Account of his Reception; which cou'd not but have terminated in the perfect Felicity of Antonio, had his Fate been just to the Merits of his Love. The Day and Hour came which brought Henrique with a private Commission from his Friend to Ardelia. He saw her;—(Ah! wou'd he had only seen her Veil'd!) and, with the first opportunity, gave her the Letter, which held so much Love and so much Truth, as ought to have preserv'd him in the Empire of her Heart. It contain'd, besides, a Discovery of his whole Design upon her Fa­ther, for the compleating of their Happiness; which nothing then cou'd obstruct but her self. But Henrique had seen her; he had gaz'd and swallow'd all her Beauties at his Eyes. How greedily his Soul drank the strong Poyson in! But yet his Honour and his Friendship were strong as ever, and bravely fought against the Usurper Love, and got a noble Victory, at least he thought and wish'd so. With this, and a short Answer to his Letter, Henrique return'd to the Longing Antonio; who receiving the Paper with the greatest Devotion, and kissing it with the greatest Zeal, open'd and read these words to himself:

Having respectfully and tenderly kiss'd the Name, he cou'd not chuse but shew the Billette to his Friend; who reading that part of it which concern'd himself, started and blush'd: Which Antonio observing, was curious to know the cause of it. Henrique told him, That he was surpriz'd to find her express so little Love, after so long an Absence. To which his Friend reply'd, for her, That, doubtless, she had not Time enough to attempt so great a Matter as a perfect Account of her Love; and added, That it was Confirmation enough to him of its continuance, since she Subscrib'd her self His entirely, and only His.—How Blind is Love! Don Henrique knew how to make it bear another meaning; which, how­ever, he had the Discretion to conceal. An­tonio, who was as Real in his Friendship, as Con­stant in his Love, ask'd him what he thought of her Beauty? To which t'other answer'd, That he thought it irresistible to any, but to a Soul prepossess'd and nobly fortify'd with a perfect Friendship:—Such as is Thine, my [Page 10] Henrique, (added Antonio;) yet as sincere and perfect as that is, I know you must, nay, I know you do Love her. As I ought, I do, (reply'd Henrique.) Yes, Yes, (return'd his Friend,) it must be so; otherwise the Sym­pathy which unites our Souls wou'd be want­ing, and consequently our Friendship were not in a state of Perfection. How industriously you wou'd argue me into a Crime that wou'd tear and destroy the very Foundation of the strongest Ties of Truth and Honour! (said Henrique.) But (he continu'd) I hope, within a few Days, to put it out of my power to be guilty of so great a Sacrilege. I can't de­termine, (said Antonio,) if I knew that you Lov'd one another, whether I cou'd easier part with my Friend, or my Mistress. Tho' what you say, is highly Generous, (reply'd Henrique,) yet give me leave to urge, that it looks like a Trial of your Friend, and argues you inclinable to Jealousie: But, Par­don me, I know it to be sincerely meant by you; and must therefore own, that 'tis the Best, because 'tis the Noblest way of securing both your Friend and Mistress. I need make use of no Arts to secure me of either, (re­ply'd Antonio;) but expect to enjoy 'em both in a little time.

Henrique, who was a little uneasie with a Discourse of this nature, diverted it, by re­flecting on what had pass'd at Madrid, between them two and Don Sebastian and his Friends; which caus'd Antonio to bethink himself of the Danger to which he expos'd his Friend, by appearing daily, tho' in Disguise: For, doubt­less, [Page 11] Don Sebastian wou'd pursue his Revenge to the utmost Extremity. These Thoughts put him upon desiring his Friend, for his own sake, to hasten the performance of his Attempt; and accordingly, each day Don Henrique brought Antonio the nearer hopes of Happiness, while he himself was hourly sinking into the lowest state of Misery. The last Night before the Day in which Antonio expected to be bless'd in her Love, Don Henrique had a long and fatal Conference with her, about his Liberty. Being then with her alone in an Arbour of the Garden, which Privilege he had had for some days: After a long silence, and observing Don Henrique in much disorder, by the Motion of his Eyes, which were sometimes stedfastly fix'd on the Ground, then lifted up to her or Heaven, (for he cou'd see nothing more Beautiful on Earth,) she made use of the Privilege of her Sex, and began the Discourse first, to this effect;—Has any thing happen'd, Sir, since our retreat hi­ther, to occasion that Disorder which is but too visible in your Face, and too dreadful in your hitherto continu'd silence? Speak, I beseech you, Sir, and let me know if I have any way unhappily contributed to it! No, Madam, (reply'd he;) my Friendship is now likely to be the only cause of my greatest Mi­sery; for to morrow I must be guilty of an unpardonable Crime, in betraying the gene­rous Confidence which your noble Father has plac'd in me: To morrow (added he, with a pitious Sigh) I must deliver you into the Hands of one whom your Father hates even to death, instead of doing my self the Honour of be­coming [Page 12] his Son-in-Law within a few Days more:—But—I will consider and re­mind my self, that I give you into the hands of my Friend; of my Friend, that Loves you bet­ter than his Life which he has often expos'd for your sake; and what is more than All, to my Friend, whom you Love more than any Consideration on Earth.—And must this be done? (she ask'd.) Is it inevitable as Fate?—Fix'd as the Laws of Nature, Madam, (reply'd he;) Don't you find the Necessity of it, Ar­delia? (continu'd he, by way of Question:) Does not your Love require it? Think! you are going to your Dear Antonio, who alone can merit you, and whom only you can love. Were your last words true, (return'd she,) I shou'd yet be unhappy in the Displeasure of a Dear and Tender Father, and infinitely more, in being the cause of your Infidelity to him: No, Don Henrique, (continu'd she;) I cou'd with greater Satisfaction return to my miserable Confinement, than by any means disturb the Peace of your Mind, or occasion one moment's interruption of your Quiet.—Wou'd to Heaven you did not, (sigh'd he to himself.) Then addressing his words more distinctly to her, cry'd he, Ah, Cruel! Ah, Unjust Ar­delia! These Words belong to none but An­tonio; why then wou'd you endeavour to per­suade me, that I do, or ever can merit the Ten­derness of such an Expression:—Have a care! (pursu'd he,) Have a care, Ardelia! your outward Beauties are too powerful to be resisted; even your Frowns have such a sweet­ness, that it attracts the very Soul that is not [Page 13] strongly prepossess'd with the noblest Friend­ship, and the highest Principles of Honour: Why then, alas! did you add such Sweet and Charming Accents? Why—Ah, Don Henrique! (she interrupted,) why did you ap­pear to me so Charming in your Person, so great in your Friendship, and so Illustrious in your Reputation? Why did my Father, e'er since your first Visit, continually fill my Ears and Thoughts with Noble Characters and Glorious Idea's, which yet but imperfectly and faintly represent the Inimitable Original!—But—(what is most severe and cruel) why, Don Henrique, why will you defeat my Father in his Ambition of your Alliance! and me of those glorious Hopes with which you had bless'd my Soul, by casting me away from you to Antonio!—Ha! (cry'd he, starting,) What said you, Madam! What did Ardelia say! That I had bless'd your Soul with Hopes! That I wou'd cast you away to Antonio!—Can they who safely arrive in their wish'd for Port, be said to be Shipwrack'd! Or, Can an Abject, Indigent Wretch make a King?—These are more than Riddles, Madam; and I must not think to Expound 'em. No, (said she;) Let it alone, Don Henrique; I'll ease you of that trouble, and tell you plainly that I Love you. Ah! (cry'd he,) now all my Fears are come upon me!—How! (ask'd she,) Were you afraid I shou'd Love you? Is my Love so dreadful then? Yes, when mis­plac'd, (reply'd he;) but 'twas your Falshood that I fear'd: Your Love were what I wou'd have sought, with utmost hazard of my Life; [Page 14] nay, even of my Future Happiness, I fear, had you not been Engag'd; strongly oblig'd to Love else where, both by your own Choice and Vows, as well as by his dangerous Services, and match­less Constancy. For which (said she) I do not Hate him; though his Father kill'd my Uncle: Nay, perhaps (continu'd she) I have a Friendship for him, but no more. No more! said you, Madam? (cry'd he;)—But tell me, Did you never Love him? Indeed, I did, (reply'd she;) but the Sight of You, has better instructed me, both in my Duty to my Father, and in causing my Passion for you, without whom I shall be eternally miserable: Ah, then! pursue your honourable Proposal, and make my Father happy in my Marriage! It must not be, (return'd Don Henrique;) my Honour, my Friendship forbids it. No, (she return'd,) your Honour requires it; and if your Friend­ship opposes your Honour, it can have no sure nor solid Foundation. Female Sophistry! (cry'd Henrique;) But you need no Art nor Artifice, Ardelia, to make me Love you: Love you! (pursu'd he;) By that bright Sun, the Light and Heat of all the World, You are my only Light and Heat.—Oh, Friendship! Sacred Friendship, now assist me!—[Here for a time he paus'd, and then afresh proceeded,] thus,—You told me, or my Ears deceiv'd me, that you Lov'd me, Ardelia. I did, (she reply'd;) and that I do Love you, is as true as that I told you so. 'Tis well;—But wou'd it were not so! Did ever Man receive a Bles­sing thus!—Why, I cou'd wish I did not Love you, Ardelia! But that were impossible— [Page 15] At least, unjust, (interrupted she.) Well then, (he went on) to shew you that I do sincerely consult your particular Happiness, without any regard to my own, to morrow I will give you to Don Antonio; and as a Proof of your Love to me, I expect your ready Consent to it. To let you see, Don Henrique, how perfectly and tenderly I Love you, I will be sacrific'd to morrow to Don Antonio, and to your Quiet. Oh, Strangest, Dearest Obligation! (cry'd Henrique;) To morrow then, as I have told your Father, I am to bring you to see the Dearest Friend I have on Earth, who dare not appear within this City for some unhappy Rea­sons, and therefore cannot be present at our Nuptials; for which cause, I cou'd not but think it my Duty to one so nearly related to my Soul, to make him happy in the Sight of my Beautiful Choice, e're yet she be my Bride. I hope (said she) my Loving Obedience may merit your Compassion; and that at last, e're the Fire is lighted that must consume the Of­fering, I mean, the Marriage-Tapers, (alluding to the old Roman Ceremony) that you, or some other pitying Angel, will snatch me from the Altar. Ah, No more, Ardelia! Say no more! (cry'd he;) we must be Cruel, to be Just to our selves. [Here their Discourse ended, and they walk'd into the House, where they sound the Good Old Gentleman and his Lady, with whom he stay'd till about an Hour after Supper, when he return'd to his Friend with joyful News, but a sorrowful Heart.]

Antonio was all Rapture with the Thoughts of the approaching Day; which though it [Page 16] brought Don Henrique and his Dear Ardelia to him, about Five a clock in the Evening, yet at the same time brought his last and greatest Mis­fortune. He saw her then at a She-Relations of his, about three Miles from Sevil, which was the Place assign'd for their fatal Interview. He saw her, I say; but, Ah! how strange, how alter'd from the Dear, Kind Ardelia she was when last he left her! 'Tis true, he flew to her with Arms expanded, and with so swift and eager a motion, that she cou'd not avoid nor get loose from his Embrace, till he had kiss'd, and sigh'd, and dropt some Tears, which all the strength of his Mind cou'd not restrain; whether they were the effects of Joy, or whe­ther (which rather may be fear'd) they were the Heat-drops which preceded and threaten'd the Thunder and Tempest that shou'd fall on his Head, I cannot positively say; yet all this she was then forc'd to endure, e're she had li­berty to speak, or, indeed, to breathe. But as soon as she had freed her self from the Lo­ving Circle that shou'd have been the dear and lov'd Confinement or Centre of a Faithful Heart, she began to dart whole showers of Tortures on him from her Eyes; which that Mouth that he had but just before so tenderly and sacredly kiss'd, seconded with whole volleys of Deaths cramm'd in every Sentence, pointed with the keenest Affliction that ever pierc'd a Soul! Antonio, (she began) you have treated me now, as if you were never like to see me more; and wou'd to Heav'n you were not!—Ha! (cry'd he, starting, and staring wildly on her;) What said you, Madam? What said you, my [Page 17] Ardelia? If you like the Repetition, Take it! (reply'd she, unmov'd,) Wou'd to Heav'n you were ne'er like to see me more! Good! Very Good! (cry'd he, with a Sigh that threw him trembling into a Chair behind him, and gave her the opportunity of proceeding thus,)—Yet, Antonio, I must not have my Wish; I must continue with you, not out of Choice, but by Command, by the strictest and severest Obli­gation that ever bound Humanity; Don Hen­rique, your Friend, Commands it; Don Hen­rique, the Dearest Object of my Soul, Enjoins it; Don Henrique, whose only Aversion I am, will have it so. Oh, Do not wrong me, Madam! (cry'd Don Henrique.) Lead me, Lead me a little more by the Light of your Discourse, I beseech you, (said Don Antonio,) that I may see your Meaning! for hitherto 'tis Darkness all to me. Attend therefore with your best Faculties, (pursu'd Ardelia) and know, That I do most sincerely and most passionately Love Don Henrique; and as a Proof of my Love to him, I have this Day consented to be deliver'd up to you by Him; not for your sake in the least, Antonio, but purely to sacrifice all the Quiet of my Life to his Satisfaction. And now, Sir, (continu'd she, addressing her self to Don Henrique,) Now, Sir, if you can be so cruel; execute your own most dreaded Decree, and join our Hands, though our Hearts ne'er can meet. All this to Try me! It's too much, Ardelia,—(said Antonio:) And then turning to Don Henrique, he went on, Speak Thou! if yet thou'rt not Apostate to our Friendship! Yet Speak, however! Speak, though the Devil [Page 18] has been Tampering with Thee too! Thou art a Man, a Man of Honour once. And when I forfeit my just Title to that, (inter­rupted Don Henrique, may I be made most mi­serable! —May I lose the Blessings of thy Friendship!—May I lose Thee!—Say on then, Henrique! (cry'd Antonio;) And I charge thee, by all the Sacred Tyes of Friend­ship, say, Is this a Trial of me? Is't Elusion, Sport? or shameful, murtherous Truth?—O! my Soul burns within me, and I can bear no longer!—Tell! Speak! Say on!—[Here, with folded Arms, and Eyes fix'd sted­fastly on Henrique, he stood like a Statue, without motion; unless sometimes, when his swelling Heart rais'd his o'er-charg'd Breast.] After a little Pause, and a hearty Sigh or two, Henrique began;—Oh, Antonio! O my Friend! prepare thy self to hear yet more dreadful Accents!—I am (pursu'd he) unhappily the Greatest and most Innocent Cri­minal that e'er, till now, offended:—I Love her, Antonio,—I Love Ardelia, with a Passion strong and violent as Thine!—Oh, summon all that us'd to be more than Man about thee, to suffer to the end of my Dis­course, which nothing but a Resolution like Thine can bear! I know it by my self.—Though there be Wounds, Horror and Death in each Syllable, (interrupted Antonio,) yet prithee, now, go on, but with all haste. I will, (return'd Don Henrique,) though I feel, my own Words have the same cruel effects on me. I say again, my Soul Loves Ardelia. And how can it be otherwise? Have we not Both the self-same [Page 19] Appetites? the same Disgusts? How then cou'd I avoid my Destiny, that has decreed that I shou'd Love and Hate just as you do? Oh, hard Necessity! that oblig'd you to use Me, in the Recovery of this Lady! Alas, Can you think that any Man of Sense or Passion cou'd have seen, and not have Lov'd her! Then how shou'd I, whose Thoughts are Unisons to Yours, evade those Charms that had prevail'd on you?—And now, to let you know 'tis no Elusion, no Sport, but serious and amazing woful Truth, Ardelia best can tell you whom she Loves. What I've already said, is true, by Heav'n, (cry'd she;) 'Tis you, Don Hen­rique, whom I only Love, and who alone can give me Happiness: Ah, wou'd you wou'd! —With you, Antonio, I must remain Un­happy, Wretched, Curs'd: Thou art my Hell; Don Henrique is my Heaven. And Thou art mine, (return'd he,) which here I part with to my Dearest Friend. Then taking her Hand; Pardon me, Antonio, (pursu'd he) that I thus take my last Farewell of all the Tasts of Bliss from your Ardelia, at this moment. [At which words he kiss'd her Hand, and gave it to Don An­tonio; who receiv'd it, and gently press'd it close to his Heart, as if he wou'd have her feel the Disorders she had caus'd there.] Be Happy, Antonio, (cry'd Henrique;) Be very Tender of her; To morrow early I shall hope to see thee.—Ardelia, (pursu'd he,) all Hap­piness and Joy surround Thee! May'st thou ne'er want those Blessings thou canst give An­tonio! —Farewell to Both! (added he, going out.) Ay, (cry'd she,) Farewell to all [Page 20] Joys, Blessings, Happiness, if you forsake me —Yet do not go!—Ah, Cruel! (con­tinu'd she, seeing him quit the Room;) But you shall take my Soul with you. Here she swooned away in Don Antonio's Arms; who, though he was happy that he had her fast there, yet was oblig'd to call in his Cousin, and Ar­delia's Attendants, e're she cou'd be perfectly recover'd. In the mean while, Don Henrique had not the power to go out of sight of the House, but wander'd to and fro about it, di­stracted in his Soul, and not being able longer to refrain her sight, her last Words still re­sounding in her Ears, he came again into the Room where he left her with Don Antonio, just as she reviv'd and call'd upon him, exclaiming on his Cruelty, in leaving her so soon. But when, turning her Eyes towards the Door, she saw him; Oh! with what eager haste she flew to him! then clasp'd him round the Wast, obliging him, with all the tender Expressions that the Soul of a Lover, and a Woman's too, is capable of uttering, not to leave her in the possession of Don Antonio. This so amaz'd her slighted Lover, that he knew not, at first, how to proceed in this Tormenting Scene; but at last, summoning all his wonted Resolution, and Strength of Mind, he told her, He wou'd put her out of his power, if she wou'd consent to retreat for some few hours to a Nunnery that was not above half a Mile distant thence, till he had discours'd his Friend, Don Henrique, something more particularly than hitherto, about this Matter. To which she readily agreed, upon the Promise that Don Henrique [Page 21] made her, of seeing her with the first oppor­tunity. They waited on her then to the Con­vent, where she was kindly and respectfully receiv'd by the Lady Abbess; but it was not long before that her Grief renewing with greater violence, and more afflicting circumstances, had oblig'd 'em to stay with her till it was al­most dark, when they once more begg'd the liberty of an hour's absence; and the better to palliate their Design, Henrique told her, that he wou'd make use of her Father Don Richardo's Coach, in which they came to Don Antonio's, for so small a time: Which they did, leaving only Eleanora her Attendant with her, without whom she had been at a loss, among so many Fair Strangers; Strangers, I mean, to her un­happy Circumstances: whilst they were carry'd near a Mile farther, where, just as 'twas dark, they 'lighted from the Coach, Don Henrique ordering the Servants not to stir thence till their return from their private Walk, which was about a Furlong, in a Field that belong'd to the Convent. Here Don Antonio told Don Henrique, That he had not acted Honourably; That he had Betray'd him and Robb'd him at once both of a Friend and Mistress. To which t'other return'd, That he understood his mean­ing, when he propos'd a particular Discourse about this Affair, which he now perceiv'd must end in Blood: But you may remind your self (continu'd he) that I have kept my Promise, in delivering her to you. Yes, (cry'd An­tonio) after you had practis'd foully and basely with her. By Heavens! not at all, (return'd Henrique;) It was her Choice, or Fate, that [Page 22] brought this mischief on her; for I urg'd the Shame and Scandal of Inconstancy, but all in vain, to her. But don't you Love her, Hen­rique? (t'other ask'd.) Too well; and can­not live without her, though I fear I may feel the cursed Effects of the same Inconstancy: However, I had quitted her All to you, but you see how she resents it. And you shall see, Sir, (cry'd Antonio, drawing his Sword in a Rage) how I resent it. Here, without more Words, they fell to Action, to Bloody Action. (Ah! how wretched is our Sex, in being the un­happy Occasion of so many fatal Mischiefs ev'n between the Dearest Friends!) They fought on each side with the greatest Animosity of Rivals, forgetting all the Sacred Bonds of their former Friendship; till Don Antonio fell, and said, dying, Forgive me, Henrique! I was to blame; I cou'd not live without her:—I fear she will betray thy Life, which haste and preserve, for my sake!—Let me not die all at once!—Heav'n pardon both of us!—Farewell! Oh, Haste! Farewell! (return'd Don Henrique,) Farewell, thou Bravest, Truest Friend! Farewell, thou Noblest Part of me!—And, Farewell all the Quiet of my Soul. Then stooping, he kiss'd his Cheek; but, rising, found he must retire in time, or else must perish through loss of Blood, for he had receiv'd two or three dangerous Wounds, besides others of less consequence: wherefore he made all the convenient haste he cou'd to the Coach, into which, by the help of the Foot-men, he got, and order'd 'em to drive directly to Don Richardo's with all imaginable speed; where he arriv'd in little more than [Page 23] half an hour's time, and was receiv'd by Ar­delia's Father with the greatest Confusion and Amazement that is expressible, seeing him re­turn'd without his Daughter, and so desperately wounded. Before he thought it convenient to ask him any Questions more than to enquire of his Daughter's safety, to which he receiv'd a short but satisfactory Answer, Don Richardo sent for an Eminent and Able Surgeon, who prob'd and dress'd Don Henrique's Wounds, who was immediately put to Bed, not without some despondency of his Recovery; but (Thanks to his kind Stars, and kinder Constitution!) he rested pretty well for some hours that Night; and early in the Morning, Ardelia's Father, who had scarce taken any Rest all that Night, came to visit him, as soon as he understood from the Servants who watch'd with him that he was in a condition to suffer a short Discourse; which, you may be sure, was to learn the Cir­cumstances of the past Night's Adventure; of which Don Henrique gave him a perfect and pleasant Account, since he heard that Don An­tonio, his mortal Enemy, was kill'd; the assu­rance of whose Death was the more delightful to him, since, by this Relation, he found that Antonio was the Man whom his care of his Daughter had so often frustrated. Don Hen­rique had hardly made an end of his Narration, e're a Servant came hastily to give Richardo no­tice, that the Officers were come to search for his Son-in-Law that shou'd have been; whom the Old Gentleman's wise Precaution had se­cur'd in a Room so unsuspected, that they might as reasonably have imagin'd the entire Walls [Page 24] of his House had a Door made of Stones, as that there shou'd have been one to that close Apart­ment: He went therefore boldly to the Officers, and gave 'em all the Keys of his House, with free liberty to examine every Room and Cham­ber: Which they did, but to no purpose; and Don Henrique lay there undiscover'd till his Cure was perfected.

In the mean time, Ardelia, who, that fatal Night, but too rightly guess'd that the Death of one or both her Lovers was the cause that they did not return to their Promise, the next Day fell into a high Fever, in which her Father found her, soon after he had clear'd himself of those who came to search for her Lover. The assurance which her Father gave her of Henrique's Life seem'd a little to revive her; but the severity of Antonio's Fate was no way obliging to her, since she cou'd not but retain the memory of his Love and Constancy; which added to her Afflictions, and heightned her Di­stemper, insomuch that Richardo was constrain'd to leave her under the care of the good Lady Abbess, and to the diligent Attendance of Eleanora, not daring to hazard her Life in a removal to his own House. All their Care and Diligence was however ineffectual; for she languish'd even to the least hope of Recovery, till immediately after the first Visit of Don Hen­rique, which was the first he made in a Month's time, and that by Night, incognito, with her Father, her Distemper visibly retreated each day: yet when at last she enjoy'd a perfect Health of Body, her Mind grew sick, and she plung'd into a deep Melancholy; which made [Page 25] her entertain a positive Resolution of taking the Veil at the end of her Novitiate: which accordingly she did, notwithstanding all the Entreaties, Prayers and Tears both of her Fa­ther and Lover. But she soon repented her Vow, and often wish'd that she might by any means see and speak to Don Henrique, by whose help she promis'd to her self a Deli­verance out of her voluntary Imprisonment: Nor were his Wishes wanting to the same effect, though he was forc'd to flie into Italy, to avoid the Prosecution of Antonio's Friends. Thither she pursu'd him; nor cou'd he any way shun her, unless he cou'd have left his Heart at a di­stance from his Body: Which made him take a fatal Resolution of returning to Sevil in Dis­guise; where he wander'd about the Convent every Night like a Ghost, (for indeed his Soul was within, while his Inanimate Trunk was without,) till at last he found means to convey a Letter to her, which both surpriz'd and de­lighted her. The Messenger that brought it her, was one of her Mother-in-Laws Maids, whom he had known before, and met acciden­tally one night as he was going his Rounds, and she coming out from Ardelia; with her he prevail'd, and with Gold oblig'd her to Secrecy and Assistance: which prov'd so successful, that he understood from Ardelia her strong desire of Liberty, and the continuance of her Passion for him, together with the Means and Time most convenient and likely to succeed for her Enlargement. The Time was the Fourteenth Night following, at Twelve a clock, which just compleated a Month since his return thi­ther; [Page 26] at which time they Both promis'd them­selves the greatest Happiness on Earth. But you may observe the justice of Heaven, in their Disappointment.

Don Sebastian, who still pursu'd him with a most implacable Hatred, had trac'd him even to Italy, and there narrowly missing him, posted after him to Toledo; so sure and secret was his Intelligence! As soon as he arriv'd, he went directly to the Convent where his Sister Elvira had been one of the Profess'd, ever since Don Henrique had forsaken her, and where Ardelia had taken her Repented Vow. Elvira had all along conceal'd the Occasion of her coming thither from Ardelia; and though she was her only Confident, and knew the whole Story of her Misfortunes, and heard the Name of Don Henrique repeated an hundred times a day, whom still she Lov'd most perfectly, yet never gave her Beautiful Rival any cause of suspicion that she Lov'd him, either by Words or Looks: nay, more, when she understood that Don Hen­rique came to the Convent with Ardelia and Antonio, and at other times with her Father, yet she had so great a command of her self, as to refrain seeing him, or to be seen by him; nor ever intended to have spoken or writ to him, had not her Brother, Don Sebastian, put her upon the cruel necessity of doing the last; who coming to visit his Sister (as I have said before) found her with Donna Ardelia, whom he never remembred to have seen, nor who ever had seen him but twice, and that was about Six Years before, when she was but Ten Years of Age, when she fell passionately in Love [Page 27] with him, and continu'd her Passion till about the Fourteenth Year of her Empire, when the unhappy Antonio first began his Court to her Don Sebastian was really a very desirable Person, being at that time very Beautiful, his Age not exceeding Six and twenty, of a sweet Conver­sation, very Brave, but Revengeful and Irre­concileable (like most of his Countrey-men,) and of an Honourable Family. At the sight of him, Ardelia felt her former Passion renew; which proceeded and continu'd with such Vio­lence, that it utterly defac'd the Idea's of An­tonio and Henrique. (No wonder that she who cou'd resolve to forsake her God for Man, shou'd quit one Lover for another.) In short, she then only wish'd that he might Love her equally, and then she doubted not of con­triving the means of their Happiness betwixt 'em. She had her Wish, and more, if possible; for he Lov'd her beyond the thought of any other present or future Blessing, and fail'd not to let her know it, at the second Interview; when he receiv'd the greatest Pleasure he cou'd have wish'd, next to the Joys of a Bridal Bed: For she confess'd her Love to him, and presently put him upon thinking on the means of her Escape; but not finding his Designs so likely to succeed, as those Measures she had sent to Don Henrique, she communicates the very same to Don Sebastian, and agreed with him to make use of 'em on that very Night wherein she had oblig'd Don Henrique to attempt her Delive­rance; the Hour indeed was different, being determin'd to be at Eleven. Elvira, who was present at the Conference, took the Hint; and [Page 28] not being willing to disoblige a Brother who had so hazarded his Life in Vindication of her, either durst not or wou'd not seem to oppose his Inclinations, at that time: However, when he retir'd with her to talk more particularly of his intended Revenge on Don Henrique, who, he told her, he knew lay somewhere absconded in Toledo, and whom he had resolv'd, as he as­sur'd her, to sacrifice to her injur'd Honour, and his Resentments; she oppos'd that his vin­dictive Resolution with all the forcible Argu­ments in a Virtuous and Pious Lady's Capacity, but in vain; so that immediately, upon his retreat from the Convent, she took the oppor­tunity of writing to Don Henrique as follows, the fatal Hour not being then Seven Nights distant.

[Page 29] This she deliver'd to Richardo's Servant, whom Henrique had gain'd that Night, as soon as she came to visit Ardelia, at her usual Hour, just as she went out of the Cloister.

Don Henrique was not a little surpriz'd with this Billette; however, he cou'd hardly resolve to forbear his accustom'd Visits to Ardelia, at first; but upon more mature Consideration, he only chose to converse with her by Let­ters, which still press'd her to be mindful of her Promise, and of the Hour, not taking no­tice of any Caution that he had receiv'd of her Treachery. To which she still return'd, in Words that might assure him of her Con­stancy.

The Dreadful Hour wanted not a Quarter of being perfect when Don Henrique came; and having fix'd his Rope-Ladder to that part of the Garden-Wall where he was expected, Ardelia, who had not stir'd from that very Place for a quarter of an hour before, pre­par'd to ascend by it; which she did, as soon as his Servant had turn'd and fix'd it on the inner side of the Wall; on the top of which, at a little distance, she found another fasten'd, for her to descend on the out-side; whilst Don Henrique eagerly waited to receive her. She came at last and flew into his Arms; which made Henrique cry out in a Rapture, Am I atlast once more happy, in having my Ardelia in my possession! She, who knew his Voice, and now found she was betray'd, but knew not by whom, shriek'd out, I am Ruin'd! Help! Help!—Loose me, I charge you, Henrique! [Page 30] Loose me! At that very moment, and at those very words came Sebastian, attended only by one Servant, and hearing Henrique reply, Not all the Powers of Hell shall snatch you from me; drawing his Sword, without one word, made a furious Pass at him; but his Rage and Haste misguided his Arm, for his Sword went quite through Ardelia's Body, who only said, Ah, wretched Maid! and dropt from Henrique's Arms, who then was oblig'd to quit her, to preserve his own Life, if possible; however, he had not had so much time as to Draw, had not Sebastian been amaz'd at this dreadful mi­stake of his Sword: but presently recollecting himself, he flew with redoubl'd Rage to attack Henrique; and his Servant had seconded him, had not Henrique's, who was now descended, otherwise diverted him. They fought with the greatest Animosity on both sides, and with equal Advantage; for they both fell together. Ah, my Ardelia, I come to thee now, (Sebastian groan'd out;) 'Twas this unlucky Arm, which now embraces thee, that kill'd thee. Just Hea­ven! (she sigh'd out;)—Oh, yet have mercy! [Here they both dy'd.] Amen, (cry'd Hen­rique, dying, I want it most:—Oh, Antonio! Oh, Elvira! Elvira! Ay, there's the Weight that sinks me down:—And yet I wish Forgive­ness: —Once more, Sweet Heaven have-mercy! He cou'd not out-live that last word; which was Echo'd by Elvira, who all this while stood weeping, and calling out for Help, as she stood close to the Wall in the Garden.

[Page 31] This alarm'd the rest of the Sisters, who rising, caus'd the Bell to be Rung-out, as upon dangerous Occasions it us'd to be; which rais'd the Neighbourhood, who came time enough to remove the dead Bodies of the two Rivals, and of the late Fallen Angel, Ar­delia. The Injur'd and Neglected Elvira, whose Piety design'd quite contrary Effects, was im­mediately seiz'd with a violent Fever; which, as it was violent, did not last long; for she dy'd within Four and twenty Hours, with all the happy Symptoms of a Departing Saint.

THE ADVENTURE OF THE Black Lady.

ABout the beginning of last June (as near as I can remember) Bellamora came to Town from Hampshire; and was oblig'd to lodge the first Night at the same Inn where the Stage-Coach set up. The next Day she took Coach for Covent-Garden, where she thought to find Madam Brightly, a Relation of her's; with whom she design'd to continue for about half a Year undiscover'd, if possible, by her Friends in the Country: And order'd therefore her Trunk, with her Cloaths, and most of her Money and Jewels, to be brought after her to Madam Brightly's, by a strange Por­ter whom she spoke to in the Street as she was taking Coach; being utterly unacquainted with the neat Practices of this fine City. When she came to Bridges-street, where indeed her Cou­sin had lodged near three or four Years since; [Page 4] she was strangely surpriz'd that she cou'd not learn any thing of her; no, nor so much as meet with any one that had ever heard of her Cousin's Name. Till, at last, describing Ma­dam Brightly to one of the House-keepers in that place, he told her, that there was such a kind of Lady, whom he had sometimes seen there about a Year and a half ago; but that he be­liev'd, she was married and remov'd towards So-ho. In this Perplexity she quite forgot her Trunk and Money, &c. and wander'd in her Hackney-Coach all over St. Ann's Parish; in­quiring for Madam Brightly, still describing her Person, but in vain; for no Soul cou'd give her any Tale or Tidings of such a Lady. After she had thus fruitlesly rambled, till she, the Coachman, and the very Horses were e'en tir'd, by good Fortune for her, she happen'd on a private-House, were lived a good, discreet, ancient Gentlewoman, who was fallen a little to decay, and was forc'd to let Lodgings for the best part of her Livelihood: From whom she understood, that there was such a kind of a Lady who had lain there somewhat more than a Twelve-month, being near three Months after she was married: But that she was now gone abroad with the Gentleman her Husband; either to the Play, or to take the fresh Air; and she believ'd, wou'd not return till Night. This Discourse of the good Gentlewoman's so elevated Bellamora's drooping Spirits, that after she had begg'd the Liberty of staying there till they came home, she discharg'd the Coachman in all haste, still forgetting [Page 5] her Trunk, and the more valuable Furniture of it.

When they were alone, Bellamora desired she might be permitted the Freedom to send for a Pint of Sack; which, with some little Diffi­culty, was at last allow'd her. They began then to chat for a matter of half an hour of things indifferent: And, at length the ancient Gentlewoman ask'd the Fair Innocent (I must not say Foolish) one, of what Country, and what her Name was: To both which she an­swer'd very directly and truly; tho' it might have prov'd, not discreetly. She then inquir'd of Bellamora if her Parents were living, and the Occasion of her coming to Town. The Fair Unthinking Creature replied, That her Father and Mother were both dead: And that she had escap'd from her Uncle, under pretence of ma­king a Visit to a young Lady, her Cousin who was lately married, and liv'd above Twenty Miles from her Uncle's in the Road to London; and, that the Cause of her quitting the Coun­try, was to avoid the hated Importunities of a Gentleman, whose pretended Love to her she fear'd had been her eternal Ruine. At which she wept and sigh'd most extravagantly. The dis­creet Gentlewoman endeavour'd to comfort her by all the softest and most powerful Argu­ment in her Capacity; promising her all the friendly Assistance that she cou'd expect from her, during Bellamora's stay in Town; which she did with so much Earnestness and visible Integrity, that the pretty innocent Creature was going to make her a full and real Discovery [Page 6] of her imaginary, insupportable Misfortunes; and (doubtless) had done it; had she not been prevented by the Return of the Lady, whom she hop'd to have found her Cousin Brightly. The Gentleman her Husband just saw her with­in Doors, and order'd the Coach to drive to some of his Bottle-Companions; which gave the Women the better Opportunity of enter­taining one another, which happen'd to be with some Surprize on all sides. As the Lady was going up to her Apartment, the Gentle­woman of the House told her there was a young Lady in the Parlour, who came out o' the Country that very Day on purpose to visit her: The Lady stept immediately to see who it was, and Bellamora approaching to receive her hop'd for Cousin, stopp'd on the the suddain just as she came to her; and sigh'd out aloud, Ah, Madam I am lost.—It is not your Ladyship I seek. No, Madam (return'd t'other) I am apt to think you did not intend me this Honour. But you are as welcome to me, as you could be to the dearest of your Acquaintance: Have you forgot me, Madam Bellamora? (continued she) that Name startled both the other: However, It was with a kind of Joy. Alas! Madam, (re­plied the young one) I now remember that I have been so happy to have seen you: But where, and when, my Memory can't shew me. 'Tis indeed some Years since: (return'd the Lady) But of that another time.—Mean while, if you are unprovided of a Lodging, I dare undertake, you shall be welcome to this Gentle­woman. The Fair Unfortunate return'd her [Page 7] Thanks; and whilst a Chamber was preparing for her, the Lady entertain'd her in her own. About Ten a Clock they parted, Bellamora be­ing conducted to her new Lodging by the Mi­stress of the House, who then left her to take what Rest she cou'd amidst her so many seem­ing Misfortunes; returning to the other Lady, who desir'd her to search into the Cause of Bellamora's Retreat to Town.