Love-letters between a noble-man and his sister

Love-Letters Between a NOBLE-MAN And his SISTER.

LONDON, Printed, and are to be sold by Randal Taylor, near Stationer's Hall. MDCLXXXIV.

TO THO. CONDON; Esq SIR,

HAving when I was at Paris last Spring, met with a little Book of Letters, call'd L' Intregue de Philander & Silvia, I had a particular fancy, besides my inclinations to translate 'em into English, which I have done as faithfully as I cou'd, only where he speaks of the ingratitude of Caesario to the King, I have added a word or two to his Character that might render it a little more parallel to that of a modern Prince in our Age; for the rest I have kept close to the French.

The Letters art soft and amorous, and besides my esteem and obligation to you, I think it no where so proper to address so much • ender passion, as to a man whom Heaven and Nature has so well form'd both for dispencing and receiving of Love as your self, you having all in your person that is acceptable to women and desir'd by men, and when you please can make your self as absolutely the joy of the one as the envy of the other; to this is join'd a Vertue, such as I believe the World has rarely produc'd in a Man of your Youth, Fortune and Advantages; you have all the power of the • ebauchery of the Age, without the will, you early saw the Follies of the Town, and the greatness of your mind disdaining that common Road of living, shun'd the foppish practice; your well-judging pride chose rather to be singular, and sullenly retire, than heard with that noisie Crowd, that eternally fit out business enough to stock the Town with Wit and Lampoons, and the Stage with Fops, Fools and Cowards: if I might give my real judgment, you are above flattery, and one can almost say no good or generous thing that one cannot justifie in you, no Vertue you cannot lay a claim to; many your modesty hides from the World, and many more you have which envy will not confess; for that just value you set upon your self by shunning the publick haunts, Cabals and Conversations of the Town, in spight of all your Wit and Goodness gives occasion for malice to revenge it self on you a thousand little ways; witness a late mistaken story of an Amour of yours, so often urg'd with heat, and told so much to your disadvantage, by those who have not the hap • piness of knowing your true principles of honour, your real good nature, your common justice, or sense of Humanity, to be such, as not to be capable of so base, silly and unmanly a practice, and so needless and poor a design: For my part, Sir, I am vain and proud of the belief that I have the capacity and honour to know and understand your Soul, (did I not too well the story also) and am well assur'd it has not a grain, not a thought of so foolish a principle, so unnecessary and dishonest: and I dare affirm that since the imposition of the late Popish▪ Plot upon the Town, there has not so ridiculous and nonsensical a History past for authentick with unthinking man; but you shou'd give 'em leave to rail, since you have so vast advantages above 'em.

Sir, I wou'd fain think that in the Character of Philander there is a great resemblance of your self as to his Person, and that part of his Soul that was possest with Love: he was a French Whigg, 'tis true, and a most apparent Traytor, and there, 〈◊〉 confess, the comparison fails extremely; for sure no man was ever so incorrigible so hardned in Torism as your self, so fearless, so bold, so resolute, and confirm'd in Loyalty; in the height of all dangers and threatnings, in the blessed Age of swearing, and the hopeful Reign of evidences, you undaun • ed held forth for the royal cause, with such force of reason and undeniable sense as those that were not converted, at least were startled; and I shall never forget the happy things I have heard you say on that glorious subject, with a zeal so fervent, yet so modest and gentle your argument, so solid, just, so generous and so very hearty, as has begot you applauses and blessing round the board: a thousand instances, a History I cou'd wri • e of your discourses and acts of Loyalty; but that even your Enemies allow, and I will spare it here, and only say you are an honour and a credit to the Cause that's proud to own you.

In this you are far distan •• to my amorous Hero; but at least for my own satisfaction, and that I may believe Silvia truly happy, give me leave to fansie him such a person as your self, and then I cannot fail of fansying him too, speaking at the fee: of Silvia, pleading his right of love with the same softness in his eyes and voice, as you can do when you design to conquer; whene'er you spread your nets for Game, you need but look abroad, fix and resolve, though you, unlike the forward youth of this Age, so nicely pursue the quarry; it is not all, or any Game you fly at, not every Bird that comes to net can please your delicate appetite; though you are young as new desire, as beautiful as light, as amorous as a God, and wanton as a Cupid, that smiles, and shoots, and plays, and mischiefs all his fond hours away: Pray Heaven you be not reserv'd like our Hero for some Sister, 'tis an ill sign when so much beauty passes daily unregarded, that your love is reserved to an end as malicious as that of our Philander's.

Perhaps you'll be out of h • mour, and cry, why the Devil did'st thou dedicate the Letters of a Whigg to me 〈◊〉 but to make you amends▪ Sir, pray take notice Silvia is true Tory in every part, if but to love a Whigg be not crime enough in your opinion to pall your appetite, and for which even her youth and beauty cannot make an attonement; commodity, which rarely fails in the Trade of love, though never was so low a Market for beauty of both Sexes, yet he that's fortified and stor'd like happy you, need never fear to find his price; for wit and good humour bear still a rate, and have an intrinsick value, while the other is rated by opinion and is at best but a curious picture, where one and the same dull silent Charms make up the day, while the other is always new, and (to use your own expression) is a Book where one turns over a new leaf every minute, and finds something diverting, in eternal new discoveries; it elevates ones Spirits, charms the Soul, and improves ones stock; for every one has a longer date of hearing than seeing, and the eyes are sooner satiated than the ear; therefore do not depend too much on beau • ty, 'tis but a half conquest you will make when you shew the Man only, you must prove him too; give the soft Sex a sight of your fine Mind as well as your fine Person; but you are a lazy Lover, and ly fallow for want of industry, you rust your stock of hoa • ded love, while you gaze only and return a single sigher; believe me, Friend, if you continue to fight at that single weapon, there will be no great store of wounds given or taken on either side; you must speak and write if you wou'd be happy, since you can do it so infinitely to purpose; who can be happy without Love? for me, I never numbred those dull days amongst those of my life, in which I had not my Soul fill'd with that soft passion; to Love! why 'tis the only secret in nature that restores Life, to all the felicities and charms of living; and to me there seems no thing so strange, as to see people walk about, laugh, do the acts of Life, and impertinently trouble the world without knowing any thing of that soft, that noble passion, or without so much as having an in •• treague, or an amusement, (as the French call it) with any dear she, no real Love or Cocettre; perhaps these Letters may have the good fortune to rouse and make you look into your heart, turn o're your store and lavish out a little to divert the toils of life; you us'd to say that even the fatigues of love had a vast pleasure in 'em; Philander was of your mind, and I (who advise you like that friend you have honour'd me with the title of) have even preserv'd all the torments of love, before dully living without it; live then and love, thou gay, thou glorious young-man, whom Heav'n has blest with all the sweets of life besides; live then and love; and what's an equal blessing, • ive and be belov'd, by some dear Maid, as nobly born as Silvia, as witty and as gay and soft as she, (to you, who know no other want, no other blessing) this is the most advantageous one he can wish you who is,

Sir, Your obliged and most humble Servant, &c.

The ARGUMENT.

IN the time of the Rebellion of the true Protestant Hugonots in Paris, under the conduct of the Prince of Condy, whom we will call Caesario) m • ny illustrious persons were drawn into the Association, amongst which there was one, whose Quality and Fortune (join'd with his Youth and Beauty) rendred him more elevated in the esteem of the gay part of the World th • n most of that Age. In his tender ye • rs (unhappily enough) he chanc • d to fall in Love with a Lady, whom 〈◊〉 will call Mertilla, who • ad ch • rms enough to engage any heart, she h • d 〈◊〉 the advantages of Youth and Nature, a Shape excell • nt, a most agreeable stature, not too tall and far from low, delicately proportion'd, her f • ce a little inclined to round, soft, smooth and white, her Eyes were blew, a little languishing, and full of Love and Wit, a Mouth curiously made, dimpled and full of sweetness; Lips round, soft, plump and red; white teeth, firm and even; her Nose a little Roman; and which gave a noble grace to her lovely Face, her Hair light brown; a Neck and Bosome delicately turn'd, white and rising, her Arms and Hands exactly shap'd; to this a vivacity of Youth ingaging, a Wit quick and flowing, a Humour gay, and an Air unresistably charming, and nothing was wanting to compleat the joys of the young Philander (so we call our amarous Hero) but Mertilla's heart, which the illustrious Caesario had before possess'd; however, consulting her Honour and her Interest, and knowing all the arts as Women do to f • ign a tenderness, she yields to 〈◊〉 him: while Philander, who scorn'd to owe his happiness to the commands of Parents▪ or to chaffer for a Beauty, with her consen • steals her away, and marries her; but see how transitory is a violent passion, after being satiated, he slights the prize he had so dearly conquer'd; some say the change was occasion'd by her too visibly continued Love to Caesario; but whatever 'twas, this was most certain, Philander cast his Eyes upon a young Maid, Sister to Mertilla, a Beauty whose early bloom promis'd wonders when come to perfection; but I will spare her Picture here, Philander in the following Epistles will often enough present it to your view: He lov'd and languish'd long before he durst discover his pain; her being Sister to his Wife, nobly b • rn, and of undoubted fame, rendred his passion too criminal to hope for a return, While the young lovely Silvia (so we shall call the noble Maid) sight out her hours in the same pain and languishment for Philander, and knew not that 'twas Love, till she betraying it innocently to the o'erjoy'd Lover and Brother, who soon taught her to understand 'twas Love—he persues it, she permits it, and at last yields; when being discover'd in the criminal intrigue, she flies with him; he absolutely quits Mertilla, lives some time in a Village near Paris, call'd St. Denice, with this betray'd un • fortunate; till being found out and like to be apprehended, (one for the Rape, the other for the flight) she is forc'd to Marry a Cadet, a creature of Philander's, to bear the name of Husband only to her, while Philander had the intire possession of her, Soul and Body: S •• ll the League went forward, 〈◊〉 all things were ready for a War in Paris; but 'tis not my business here to mix the rough relation of a War with the soft affairs of Love; let it suffice, the Hugonots were defeated and the King got the day, and every Rebel lay at the mercy of his Sovereign; • hilander was taken Prisoner, made his escape to a little Cottage near his own Palace, not far from Paris, writes to Silvia to come to him, which she do • s, and 〈◊〉 spight of all the industry to res • ize him he got away with Silvia.

After this flight, these Letters were found in their Cabinets, at their house at St. Denice, where they both liv'd together for the space of a year, and they are as exactly as possible pl • c'd in the order they were sent, and were those supposed to be written towards the latter end of their Amours.

LETTERS To Silvia.

THough I parted from you resolv'd to obey your impossible commands, yet know, oh charming Silvia! that after a Thousand conflicts between Love and Honour, I found the God (too mighty for the Idol) reign absolute Monarch in my Soul, and soon banish't that Tyrant thence. That cruel Councellor that would suggest to you a Thousand fond Arguments to hinder my noble pursute; Silvia came in view! her unresistable Idea! with all the charmes of blooming youth, with all the Attractions of Heavenly Beauty! loose, wanton, gay, all flowing her bright hair, and languishing her lovely eyes, her dress all negligent as when I saw her last, discovering a Thousand ravishing Graces, round white small Breast's, delicate Neck, and rising Bosome, heav'd with sighs she wou'd in vain conceal; and all besides, that nicest fancy can imagine surprising—Oh I dare not think on, lest my desires grow mad and raving; let it suffice, oh adorable Silvia! I think and know enough to justifie that flame in me, which our weak alliance of Brother and Sister has render'd so criminal; but he that adores Silvia, shou'd do it at an uncommon rate; 'tis not enough to sacrifice a single heart, to give you a simple Passion, your Beauty shou'd like it self produce wondrous effects; it shou'd force all obligations, all laws, all tyes even of Natures self: You my lovely Maid, were not born to be obtain'd by the dull methods of ordinary loving; and 'tis in vain to pres • ribe me measures; and oh much more in vain to urge the nearness of our Relation. What Kin my charming Silvia are you to me? No tyes of blood forbid my Passion; and what's a Ceremony impos'd on man by custome? what is it to my Divine Silvia, that the Priest took my hand and gave it to your Sister? what Alliance can that create? why shou'd a trick devis'd by the wary old▪ only to make provision for posterity, tye me to an eternal slavery. No, no my charming Maid, tis nonsense all; let us (born for mightier joys) scorn the dull beaten road, but let us love like the first race of men, nearest allied to God, promiscuously they lov'd, and possess'st, Father and Daughter, Brother and Sister met, and reap'd the joys of Love without controul, and counted it Religious coupling, and 'twas encourag'd too by Heav'n it self: Therefore start not (too nice and lovely Maid) at shadows of things that can but frighten fools. Put me not off with these delays! rather say you but dissembl'd Love all this while, than now 'tis born, to let it dy again with a poor fright of nonsense. A fit of Honour! a fantome imaginary and no more; no, no represent me to your soul more favourably, think you see me languishing at your feet, breathing out my last in sighs and kind reproaches, on the pityless Silvia; reflect when I am dead, which will be the more afflicting object, the Ghost (as you are pleas'd to call it) of your Murder'd Honour, or the pale and bleeding one of

The lost Philander. I have liv'd a whole day and yet no Letter from my Silvia. To Philander.

OH why will you make me own (oh too importunate Philander!) with what regret I made you promise to preferr my Honour before your Love.

I confess with blushes, which you might then see kindling in my face, that I was not at all pleas'd with the Vows you made me, to endeavour to obey me, and I then even wisht you wou'd obstinately have deny'd obedience to my just commands; have pursu'd your criminal flame, and have left me raving on my undoing: For when you were gone, and I had leasure to look into my heart, alas! I • ound whether you oblig'd or not, whether Love, or Honour were prefer'd, I, unhappy I, was either way inevitably lost. Oh what pityless God, fond of his wondrous power, made us the objects of his Almighty vanity? oh why were we two made the first presidents of his new • ound revenge? for sure no Brother ever lov'd a Sister with so criminal a flame before: At least my unexperienc'd innocence ne're met with so fatal a story: And 'tis in vain (my too charming Brother) to make me insensible of our Alliance; to perswade me I am a stranger to all but your eyes and Soul.

Alas your fatally kind Industry is all in vain. You grew up a Brother with me; the title was fixt in my heart, when I was too young to understand your subtle distinctions, and there it th • iv'd and spread; and 'tis now too late to transplant it, or alter its Native Property: Who can gra • t a flower on a contrary stalk? The Rose will bear no Tulips, nor the Hyacinth the Poppy; no more will the Brother the name of Lover. O spoil not the natural sweetness and innocence we now retain, by an endeavour fruitless and destructive; no, no Philander, dress your self in what Charms you will, be powerfull as Love can make you in your soft argument,—yet, oh yet you are my Brother still,—But why, oh cruel and eternal Powers, was not Philander my Lover before you destin'd him a Brother? or why being a Brother did you malicious and spightful powers destin • him a Lover! oh take, either title from him, or from me a life which can 〈…〉 since your cruel laws permit it not for Philander, nor his to bless the now

Unfortunate Silvia. Wednesday Morning. To Philander.

AFter I had dismist my Page this morning with my Letter, I walk'd (fill'd with sad soft thoughts of my Brother Philander) into the Grove, and commanding M • linda to retire, who only attended me, I threw my self down on that bank of grass where we last disputed the dear but fatal business of our souls: Where our prints (that invited me) still remain on the prest greens: There with Ten Thousand sighs, with remembrance of the tender minutes we past then, I drew your last Letter from my Bosome; and often kist and often read it over, but oh, who can conceive my Torment, when I came to that fatal part of it, where you say you gave your hand to my sister, I found my soul agitated with a Thousand different passions, but all insupportable, all mad, and raving; sometimes I threw my self with fury on the ground, and prest my panting heart to the cold earth, then rise in rage and tear my hair, and hardly spare that face that taught you first to love: then fold my wretched Arms to keep down rising Sighs that almost rend my breast, I traverse swiftly the conscious Grove; with my distracte • show'ring eyes directed in vain to pityless Heaven, the lovely • ilent shade favouring my complaints, I cry alowd, oh God! Philander's Married, the lovely charming thing for whom I languish is Married! —That fatal word's enough, I need not add to whom. Married's enough to make me curse my Birth, my Youth, my Beauty, and my eyes that first betray'd me to the undoing object: Curse on the Charms you've flatter'd, for every fancy'd Grace has help'd my ruine on; now like flowers that wither unseen and unpossest in shades, they must dy and be no more, they were to no end created since Philander's Married: Married! oh fate, oh Hell, oh torture and confusion! tell me not 'tis to my Sister, that addition's needless, and vain: To make me eternally wretched there needs no more than that Philander's Married! than that the Priest gave your hand away from me; to another and not to me; tir'd out with life I need no other pasport than this Repetition, Philander's Married! 'tis that alone is sufficient to lay in her cold Tomb

The wretched and despairing▪ SILVIA. Wednesday night, Bellfon • . To Silvia.

TWice last night, oh unfaithful and unloving Silvia! I sent my Page to the old place for Letters, but he return'd the object of my rage, because without the least remembrance from my fickle Maid: In this Torment, unable to hide my disorder, I suffer'd my self to be laid in bed; where the restless torments of the night exceeded those of the day, and are not even by the languisher himself to be exprest; but the returning light brought a short slumber on its Wings; which was interrupted by my attoneing Boy, who brought Two Letters from my adorable Silvia: He wak'd me from Dreams more agreeable than all my watchful hours cou'd bring, for they are all tortur'd —And even the softest mixt with a Thousand despairs, difficulties, and disappointments, but these were all love, which gave a loose to joys undeny'd by Honour! and this way my charming Silvia you shall be mine, in spight of all the Tyrannies of that cruel hinderer; Honour appears not my Silvia within the close drawn Cur • ains, in shades and gloomy light the fantôm, frights not, but when one beholds its blushes, when its attended and adorn'd, and the Sun sees its false Beauties; in silent Groves and grotto's, dark Alcoves, and lonely recesses, all its formalities are laid aside; 'twas then, and there, methought my Silvia yielded! with a faint struggle and a soft resistance; I heard her broken sighs, her tender whispering Voice that trembling cry'd—Oh can you be so cruel.—Have you the heart—Will you undo a Maid because she loves you? Oh will you ruine me because you may?—My faithless—My unkind, then sigh't and yielded, and made me happier than a Triumphing God! but this was still a Dream, I wak'd and sigh't and found it vanish all! But oh my Silvia, your Letters were substantial pleasure, and pardon your Adorer if he tell you, even the disorder you express, is infinitly dear to him, since he knows it all the effects of Love, Love my soul! which you in vain oppose; pursue it, Dear, and call it not undoing, or else explain your fear, tell me what your soft, your trembling heart gives that cruel title to? is it undoing to Love? and love the Man you say has Youth and Beauty to justifie that Love? a man that adores you with so submissive and perfect a resignation; a man that did not only Love first; but is resolv'd to dy in that agreeable flame; in my Creation I was form'd for Love, and destin'd for my Silvia, and she for her Philander: And shall we▪ can we disappoint our Fate, no my soft Charmer, our souls were toucht with the same shafts of Love before they laid a being in our Bodies, and can we contradict Divine Decrees?

Or is 't undoing, Dear, to bless Philander with what you must some time or other sacrifice to some hated loath'd object, (for Silvia can never love again) and are those Treasures for the dull conjugal Lover to rifle? was the beauty of Divine shape created for the cold Matrimonial imbrace? and shall the eternal joys that Silvia can dispence, be return'd by the clumsey Husband's careless forc'd insipid duty's; oh my Silvia shall a Husband (whose insensibility will call those Raptures of joy! those Heavenly Blisses! the drudgery of life) shall he I say receive 'em? While your Philander with the very thought of the excess of pleasure, the least possession wou'd afford, saints o're the Paper that brings you here his eternal Vows.

Oh where my Silvia ly's the undoing then? my Quality and Fortune are of the highest rank amongst men▪ My Youth gay and fond, my Soul all soft, all Love; and all Silvia's! I adore her, I languish for her, I am sick of Love and sick of Life, till she yields she is all mine!

You say my Silvia I am Married, and there my happyness is Shipwreck'd; but Silvia I deny it, and will not have you think it; no, my Soul was Married to yours in its first Creation; and only Silvia is the Wife of my sacred, my everlasting Vows; of my solemn considerate thought, of my ripen'd Judgment, my mature considerations. The rest are all repented and forgot, like the hasty folly's of unsteady Youth, like Vows breath'd in Anger, and dy Perjur'd as soon as vented, and unregarded either of Heav'n or Man. Oh why shou'd my Soul suffer for ever, why eternal pain for the unheedy short-liv'd sin of my unwilling Lips; besides, this fatal thing call'd Wife▪ this unlucky Sister, this Mertilla, this stop to all my Heav'n, that breeds such breeds such fatal differences▪ in our 〈◊〉 Affairs, this Mertilla I say, first broke her Marriage Vows to me; I blame her not, nor • is it reasonable I shou'd, she saw the young Cesario, and Lov'd him▪ Cesario, whom the envying World in spight of prejudice must own, has unresistable Charms; that Godlike form, that sweetness in his face, that softness in his Eyes and delicate Mouth; and every Beauty besides that Women 〈…〉 and Men envy▪ That lovely composition of Man and Angel! with the addition of his eternal Youth and Illustrious Birth, was form'd By Heav'n and Nature for universal Conquest! and who can love the charming Hero at a cheaper rate than being undone: And she that wou'd not venture Fame, Honour, and a Marriage Vow for the Glory of the young Cesario's heart, merits not the noble Victim; oh▪ wou'd I cou'd say so much for the young Philander, who wou'd run a Thousand times more hazards of life and Fortune for the Adorable Silvia, than that amorous Hero ever did for Mertilla, though from that Prince I learn't some of my disguises for my thefts of Love, for he like Iove courted in several shapes, I saw 'em all, and suffer'd the delusion to pass upon me; for I had seen the lovely Silvia? yes I had seen her, and I lov'd her too▪ But Honour kept me yet Master of my Vows; but when I knew her false, when I was once confirm'd,—When by my own Soul I found the dissembl'd Passion of • er's, when she cou'd no longer hide the blushes or the paleness that seiz'd at the approaches of my disorder'd • ival, when I saw Love dancing in her eyes and her false heart beat with nimble motions▪ and soft trembling seize every 〈◊〉 , at the approach or touch of the Royal Lover, then I thought my self no longer oblig'd to conceal my flame for Silvia; nay e're I broke silence, e're I discover'd the hidden Treasure of my heart, I made her falshood plaine • yet: Even the time and place of the dea • assignations I discover'd; certainty! happy certainty! broke the dull heavy chain, and I with joy submitted to my shameful freedome, and caress'd my generous Rival, nay and by Heav'n I lov'd him for't, pleas'd at the resemblance of our Souls, for we were secret Lovers both, but more pleas'd that he Lov'd Mertilla, for that made way to my passion for the adorable Silvia!

Let the dull hot-brain'd jealous fool upbraid me with cold Patience: Let the fond Coxcomb whose Honour depends on the frail Marriage Vow, reproach me, or tell me that my Reputation depends on the feeble constan • y of • Wife, perswade me 'tis Honour to fight for 〈◊〉 and unval •• 'd Prize, and that because my Rival has taken leave to Cuc • old me, I shall give him leave to kill me too: Unreasonable nonsense grown to custome. No▪ by Heav'n! I had rather 〈◊〉 shou'd be false, (as she is) than wish and languish for the happy occasion, the Sin's the same, only the Act's more generous: Believe me my Silvia, we have all false notions of V • rtue and Honour, and surely this was • aken up by some desp • ring Husband in Love with a 〈◊〉〈◊〉 Wi •• , and then I • ardon him: • shou • d have done as much: for only 〈◊〉 that has my Soul, can only ingage my Sword, she that I love, and my self only commands and keeps my stock of Honour: For Silvi • ! the Charming the distracting Silvia! I cou'd sight for a glance or smile, expose my heart for her dearer fame, and wish no recompence, but breathing out my last gasp into her soft white delicate bosome. But for a Wife! that stranger to my Soul, and whom we Wed for • nterest and necessity,—A Wife, a light loose unregarding Property, who for a momentary Apetite will expose her fame, without the noble end of loving on, she that will • buse my Bed, and yet return again to the loath'd conjugal imbrace, back to the Armes so hated, that even strong fancy of the absent Youth belov'd, cannot so much as render supportable▪ Curse on her, and yet she kisses, fawnes and dissembles on, hangs on his Neck, and makes the Sot believe:— Damn her, Brute; i'll whistler off, and let her down the Wind, as Othella says. No, I adore the Wife, that when • he heart is gone, boldly and nobles persues the Con • queror, and generously owns the Whore,—Not poorly adds the nau • ious sin of Jilting to't: That I cou'd have born, at least commended; but this can never Pardon; at worst then the world had said her Passion had undone her, she lov'd, and Love at worst is pity. No, no Me • tilla, I forgive your Love, but never can your poor dissimulation. One drives you but from the heart you value not, but t'other to my eternal contempt. One deprives me but of thee Mer • illa, but t'other intitles me to a Beauty more s •• pr • sing, renders▪ thee no part of me, and so leaves▪ the Lover free to Silvia, without the Brother.

Thus my excellent Maid I have sent you the sense and truth of my Soul in an affair you have often hinted to me, and I take no pleasure to remember, I hope you will at least think my • version reasonable, and that being thus undisputably freed from all obligations to Mertilla as a Husband, I may be permitted to lay claim to Silvia as a Lover, and marry my self more effectually by my everlasting Vows, than the Priest by his common method cou'd do to any other Woman less belov'd, there being no other way at present left by Heav'n, to render me Silvia's

Eternal happy Lover and PHILANDER. 〈…〉 To Silvia.

WHen I had seal'd the inclos'd, Brilljard told me you were this Morning come from Belfont, and with infinite impatience have expected seeing you here; which defer'd my sending this to the old place; and I am so vain (on Adorable Silvia!) as to believe my fancy'd silence has given you disquiets; but sure my Silvia cou'd not charge me with neglect, no she knows my Soul, and lays it all 〈…〉 , or some strange accident, she knows no business cou'd divert me. No were the Nation sinking, the great Senate of the world confounded, our Glorious Designs betray'd and ruin'd, and the vast City all in flame; like Nero unconcern'd I'd sing my everlasting Song of Love to Silvia; which no time or Fortune shall untune. I know my Soul and all its strength and how it's fortify'd, the charming Idea of my young Silvia will for ever remain there, the original may fade, time may render it less fair, less blooming in my Arms, but never in my Soul, I shall find thee there the same gay glorious creature that first surpris'd and inslav'd me, believe me Ravishing Maid I shall▪ Why then▪ oh why my cruel Silvia! are my joys delay'd? why am I by your rigorous commands kept from the sight of my Heav'n▪ my eternal bliss? an Age my fair Tormentor's past, Four tedious live long days are num • er'd o're since I beheld the • bject of my lasting Vows, my eternal wishes, how can • ou think, oh unreasonable▪ Silvia! 〈◊〉 I cou'd live so • ong without you, and yet I am live I 〈◊〉 it by my pain, by •• rments of fears and jealou •• es insupportable, I languish 〈◊〉 go downward to the •• arth, where you will shortly see me lay'd without your recalling mercy; 'tis true I move about this unregarded▪ world, appear every day in the great Senate-House at Clubs, Caballs, and private consultations (for Silvia knows all the business of my Soul, even its politicks of State as well as Love) I say I appear indeed, and give my Voice in publick, business, but o • my Heart▪ more kindly is imploy'd▪ that and my thoughts are, Silvia's! Ten Thousand times a day▪ I breath that name, my busie fingers are eternally tracing ou • those Six mystick Letters, a Thousand ways on every thing I touch, form words, and make 'em speak a Thousand things, and all are Silvia still; my melancholy change is evident to all that see me, which they interpret many mistaken ways, our Party fancy I repent, my League with 'em, and doubting▪ I'le betray the Cause, grow jealous of me, till by new Oaths, new Arguments I confirm 'em▪ then they smile all▪ and cry I am in Love! and this they would believe, but that they see all Women that I meet or converse with 〈◊〉 indifferent to me, and 〈◊〉 can fix it no where▪ 〈…〉 thus while I dare not tell my Soul, no not even to Cesario, the stifled flame burns inward and torments me so, that (unlike the thing I was) I fear Silvia will lose her Love, and Lover too; for those few Charmes she said I had, will • ade, and this fatal distance will destroy both Soul and Body too, my very reason will abandon me, and I shall • ave to see thee; restore 〈…〉 restore me then to Bellfont, happy Bellfont still best with Silvia's presence! permit me oh permit me into those • acred Shades, where I have been so often (too innocently) blest! let me survey again the dear characters of Silvia on the smooth Birch; oh when shall I sit beneath those Boughs, gazing on the young Goddess of the Grove, • earing her sigh for Love; touching her glowing small white hands, beholding her killing eyes languish, and her Charming bosome rise and fall with short-breath'd uncertain breath; breath as soft and sweet as the restoring breeze that glides or the newblown flowers. But oh what is it! what Heav'n of Perfumes, when it inclines to the ravi • h • Philander, and whispers Love, it dares not name aloud!

What power withholds me then from rushing on thee, from pressing thee with Kisses, folding thee in my transported Armes, and following all the dictates of Love without respect or Awe. What is it oh my Silvia can d • tain 〈◊〉 Love so violent and raving, and so wild; admit me sacred Maid, admit me again to those soft delights; that I may find if possible, what Devinity (envious of my bliss) checks my eager joys; my raging flame; while you too make an experiment (worth the Tryal) what 〈◊〉 makes Silvia deny her

Impatient Adorer PHILANDER

My Page is Ill, and I am oblig'd to trust B • ill jard with these to the dear Cottage of their Rendevouz, send me your opinion of his fidelity: and 〈◊〉 I dy to see you.

To Philander.

NOt yet?—Not yet? oh ye dull tedious Hours when will you glide awa • ? and bring that happy moment on, in which I shall at least hear from my Philander▪ Eight and Forty teadious ones are past, and I am here forgotten still; forlorn, impatient, restless every where; not one of all your little moments (ye undiverting hours) can afford me repose; I drag ye on, a heavy Load; I count ye all; and bless ye when you'r gone; but tremble at the approaching ones, and with a dread expect you; and nothing will divert me now, my Couch is tiresome, and my • lass is vain; my Books are dull, and conversation insupportable, the Grove affords me no relief; nor even those Birds to whom I have so often breath'd Philander's name, they sing it on their perching Boughts; no nor the reviewing; of his dear Letters, can bring me any ease. Oh what face's reserv'd for me; for thus I cannot live; no • surely thus I shall not by. Perhaps Philander's making a tryal of Vertue by this Silence. Pursue it, call up all your reason my lovely Brother to your aid, let us be wise and silent, let us try what that will do towards the cure of this too infectious flame; let us, oh let us my Brother sit down here, and pursee the crime of Loving on no further. Call me Sister—Swear I am so, and nothing but your Sister: and forbear, oh forbear my Charming Brother to pursue me farther with your soft bewitching Passion, let me alone, let me be ruin'd with Honour if I must be ruin'd—For oh! were much happyer I were no more than that I shou'd be more then Philander's Sister; or he than Silvia's Brother: Oh let me ever call you by that cold name, till that of Lover be forgotten: —Ha!—Methinks on the suddai • a fit of Vertue informs my Soul, and bids me ask you for what sin of mine my Charming Brother you 〈◊〉 persue a Maid that cannot fly Ungenerous and unkind! why did you take advantage of those Freedoms I gave you as a Brother, I smil'd on you, and sometimes kist you too;—But for my Sisters sake. I play'd with you, suffer'd your Hands and Lips to wander were I dare not now; all which I thought a Sister might allow a Brother and knew not all the while the Treachery of Love: Oh none, but under that intimate title of a Brother, cou'd have had the opportunity to have ruin'd me; that, that betray'd me: I play'd away my Heart at: a Game I did not understand; no knew I when ' • was lost, by degrees so subtil, and an authority so lawful, yo • won me out of all. Nay then too, even when all was lost, I wou'd not think it Love. I wonder'd what my sleepless Nights, my walking eternal thoughts, and slumbring Visions of my lovely Brother meant, I wonder'd why my Soul was continually fill'd with wishes and new desires; and still concluded 'twas for my Sister all: till I discover'd the cheat by jealousie, for when my Sister hung upon your neck; kist and • a • rest that face that I ador'd, oh how I found my colour change, my Limbs all trembled, and my blood inrag'd, and I cou'd scarce forbear reproaching you: Orcrying out, Oh why this fondness Brother. Sometimes you perceiv'd my concern, at which you'd smile, for you who had been before in Love, (a curse upon the fatal time) cou'd guess at my disorder; then wou'd you turn the wanton play on me: When sullen with my jealousie and the cause, I fly your soft imbrace, yet wish you wou'd pursue and overtake me, which you ne're fail'd to do, where after a kind quarrel all was pardon'd, and all was well again: While the poor injur'd innocent my Sister, made her self sport at our delusive Wars: Still I was ignorant, till you in a most fatal hour inform'd me I was a Lover. Thu • was it with my heart in those blest days of innocence; thus it was won and lost; nor can all my Stars in Heaven prevent, I doubt prevent my ruine. Now you are sure of the fatal conquest you scorn the trifling Glory you are silent now; oh I am inevitably lost, or with you or without you: And I find by this little silence and absence of yours, that 'tis most certain I must either dy or be Philander's.

SILVIA.

If Dorillus come not with a Letter, or that my Page whom I have sent to his Cottage for one bring it not, I cannot, support, my Life, for oh Philander I have a Thousand wild distracting fears, knowing how you are involv'd in the Interest you have espous'd with the young Caesario: how danger surrounds you, how your life and Glory depends on the frail secresie of Villains and Rebels: Oh give me leave to fear eternally your fame and life, if not your Love, if S • lvia cou'd command, Philander shou'd be Loyal as he's Noble; and what generous Maid wou'd not suspect his Vows to a Mistress who breaks 'em with his Prince and Masters, Heav'n preserve you and your Glory.

To Philander

ANother Night oh Heav'ns and yet no Letter come! Where are you my Philander? What happy place contains you! if in Heav'n, why do's not some posting Angel bid me hast after you? if on Earth, why do's not some little God of Love bring the grateful tidings on his painted Wings! if sick, why does not my own fond heart by sympathy inform me, but that's all active, vigorous, wishing, impatient of delaying silence, and busie in imagination; if you are false, if you have forgotten your poor believing and distracted Silvia, why do's not that kind Tyrant Death, that meager welcome Vision of the desparing, old, and wretched, approach in dead of Night, approach▪ my restless Bed, and tole the dismal tidings in my frighted listning ears, a • d strike me for ever file • t, lay me for ever qui • t, lost to the world, lost to my faithless Charmer: But if a sense of Honour in you, has made you resolve to prefer mine before your Love, made you take up a noble fatal resolution never to tell me more of your Passion, this were a Trial I fear my fond heart wants courage to bear; or is't a trick, a cold fit only assum'd to try how much I Love you? I have no Arts Heav'n knows, no guile or double meaning in my soul, 'tis all plain native simplicity, fearful and timerous as Children in the Night, trembling as Doves pursu'd; born soft by Nature, and made tender by Love; what, oh! what will become of me then! Yet wou'd I were confirm'd in all my fears: For as I am my condition is yet more deplorable, for I'm in doubt, and doubt is the worst torment of the mind: Oh Philander be mercyful, and let me know the worst, do not be cruel while you kill, do it with pity to the wretched Silvia, oh let me quickly know whether you are at all, or are the most impatient and unfortunate▪

SILVIA'S.

I rave, I dy for some Relief.

To Philander

AS I was going to send away this enclos'd 〈◊〉 came with Two Letters; oh you cannot think Philander with how much reason you call me fickle Maid, for cou'd you but imagine how I am tormentingly divided, how unresolv'd between violent▪ Love, and cruel▪ Honour: You would say 'twere impossible to fix me any where▪ or be the same thing for a moment together, There is not▪ ashore hour past through the swift hand of time, since I was all despairing raging Love, jealous, fearful, and impatient; and now, now that your fond Letters have dispers'd those Damons, those tormenting Councellors, and given a little respit, a little tranquility to my Soul; like States luxurious grown with ease, it ungratefully rebells against the Soveraign power that made it great and happy; and now that Traytor Honour heads the mutiners within; Honour whom my late mighty fears had almost famisht and brought to nothing, warm'd and reviv'd by the new protested flame, makes War against Almighty Love! and I, who but now nobly resolved for Love! by an inconstancy natural to my Sex, or rather my fears, am turn'd over to Honour's side: So the despairing man stands on the Rivers Bank, design'd to plunge into the rapid stream, till coward fear seizing his timerous soul, he views around once more the flow'ry Plains, and looks with wishing eyes back to the Groves, then sighing stops, and cry's I was too rash, forsakes the dangerous shore, and hasts away. Thus indiscreet was I; was all for Love, fond and undoing Love! but when I saw it with full Tide flow in upon me, one glance of Glorious Honour▪ makes me again retreat. I will—I am resolv'd —And must be brave! I can't forget I'm Daughter to the great Beralti, and Sister to Mertilla, a yet unspotted Maid, fit to produce a race of Glorious Hero's! and can Philander's Love set no higher value on me than base poor prostitution! is that the price of his heart?—Oh how I hate thee now! or wou'd to Heav'n I cou'd.—Tell me not thou charming Beguiler, that Mertilla was to blame, was it a fault in her, and will it be vertue in me; and can I believe the crime that made her lose your heart, will make me Mistress of it: No, if by any action of her's, the noble House of the Beralti be dishonour'd, by all the Actions of my Life it shall receive Additions of Luster and Glory! nor will I think Mertilla's vertue lessen'd for your mistaken opinion of it, and she may be as much in vain pursu'd perhaps, by the Prince Caesario▪ as Silvia shall be by the young Philander; the envying world talks loud 'tis true, but 〈◊〉 if all were true that busie, babler says, • what Lady has her fame? What Husband is not Cuckold? Nay and a friend to him that made him so; and 'tis in vain my too subtil Brother, you think to build the trophies of your Conquests on the ruine of both Mertilla's fame and mine; oh how dear wou'd your inglorious passion cost the great unfortunate house of the Beralti, while you poorly ruine the fame of Mertilla to make way to the heart of Silvia; Remember, oh remember once your Passion was as violent for Mertilla, and all the Vows, Oaths, Protestations, tears and Prayers you make and pay at my feet, are but the faint repetitions, the feeble eccho's of what you sigh't out at hers. Nay like young Paris, fled with the fair Prize; your fond, your eager Passion made it a Rape: Oh Perfidious!—Let me not call it back to my remembrance. —Oh let me dy rather than call to mind a time so fatal; when the lovely false Philander vow'd his heart, his faithless heart away to any Maid but Silvia:—Oh let it not be possible for me to imagine his dear Arms ever grasp'd any body with joy but—Silvia's!—And yet they did, with transports of Love! yes, yes you lov'd! by Heav'n you lov'd this false, this perfidious Mertilla; for false she is; you lov'd her, and I'll have it so; nor shall the Sister in me plead her Cause. She's false beyond all Pardon; for you are beautiful as Heav'n it self can render you, a shape exactly form'd, not too low nor too tall, but made to beget soft desire and everlasting wishes in all that look on you; but your face! your lovely face! inclining to round, large piercing languishing black eyes, delicate proportion'd Nose, charming dimpl'd Mouth, plump red Lips, inviting and swelling white Teeth, small and even, fine complexion, and a beautiful turn! all which you had an Art to order in so ingaging a manner that it charm'd all the beholders, both Sexes were undone with looking on you; and I have heard a witty man of your Party swear your face gain'd more to the League and Association than the Cause, and has curst a Thousand times the false Mertilla for preferring Caesario (less beautiful) to the adorable Philander; to add to this, Heav'n! how you spoke▪ when e're you spoke, of Love! in that you far surpast the young Caesario! as young as he, almost as great and Glorious; Oh Perfidious Mertilla. Oh false, oh foolish and ingrate!—that you abandon'd her was just, she was not worth retaining in your heart, nor cou'd be worth defending with your Sword;—But grant her false; Oh Philander! how does her perfidy intitle you to me? false as she is, you still are Married to her; inconstant as she is, she's still your Wife; and no breach of the Nuptial Vow can unty the fatal knot; and that's a Mystery to common sense; sure she was Born for mischief, and Fortune when she gave her you, design'd the ruine of us all; but most particularly

The Unfortunate SILVIA. To Silvia.

My Souls eternal joy, my Silvia! what have you done, and oh how durst you knowing my fond Heart try it with so fatal a stroke; what means this severe Letter? and why so eagerly at this time o'th' day, is Mertilla's Vertue so defended; is it a question now whether she is false or not? oh poor, oh frivolous excuse! you love me not, by all that's good you love me not! to try your power you have flatter'd and feign'd, oh Woman! false Charming Woman! you have undone me! I rave, and shall commit such extravagance that will ruine both: I must upbraid you, fickle and inconstant, I must, and this distance will not serve, 'tis too great, my reproaches lose their force, I burst with resentment with injur'd Love, and you are either the most faithless of your Sex, or the most malicious and tormenting: Oh I am past tricks my Silvia, your little arts might do well in a beginning slame; but to a lettled Fire that is arriv'd to the highest degree, it does but damp its fierceness, and instead of drawing me on, wou'd lessen my esteem, if any such deceit were capable to harbour in the Heart of Silvia, but she is all Divine, and I am mistaken in the meaning of what she say's: Oh my adorable think no more on that dull false thing a Wife, let her be banisht thy thoughts, as she is my Soul; let her never appear though but in a Dream to • right our solid joys, our true happiness; no, let us look forward to Pleasures vast and unconfin'd, to coming transports: and leave all behind us that contributes not to that Heav'n of Bliss: Remember, oh Silvia, that five tedious days are past since I • igh't at your dear feet; and five days to a Man so madly in Love as your Philander, is a tedious Age; 'tis now • ix a Clock in the Morning, Brilljard will be with you by Eight, and by Ten I may have your permission to see you, and then I need not say how soon I will present my self before you, at Bellfont; for Heaven's sake my eternal Blessing, if you design me this happiness, contrive it so, that I may see no body that belongs to Bellfont, but the fair, the lovely Silvia; for I must be more moments with you, than will be convenient to be taken notice of, le • t they suspect our business to be Love, and that discovery, yet, may ruine us. Oh I will delay no longer, my Soul's impatient to see you, I cannot live another Night without it, I dy, by Heav'n! I languish for the appointed hour; you will believe when▪ you see my languid Face and dying Eyes, how much and great a sufferer in Love I am.

My Soul's Delight, You may perhaps deny me from your fear, but oh! do not, though I ask a mighty blessing; Silvia's Company, alone, silent, and perhaps by Dark,—Oh though I faint with the thought only of so blest an opportunity, yet you shall secure me, by what Vows, what imprecations or ty's you please; bind my busie hands; blind my ravish't eyes; command my Tongue, do what you will; but let me hear your Angels Voice, and have the transported joy of throwing my self at your feet; and if you please give me leave (a man condemn'd eternally to Love) to plead a little for my Life and passion; let me remove your fears, and though that mighty Task never make me intirely happy, at least 'twill be a great satisfaction to me to know, that 'tis not through my own fault that I am the

Most Wretched PHILANDER.

I have order'd Brilljar • to 〈◊〉 your Commands at Dorillus his Cottage, that he may not be seen at Bellfont: resolve to see me to Night, or I shall 〈◊〉 , without order and injure both: My dear Damn'd Wife is dispos'd of at a Ball Caesario 〈◊〉 to Night; the opportunity will be l • ckey, not that I fear her jealousie, but the effects of it.

To Philander.

I Tremble with the apprehension of what you ask, how shall I comply with your fond desires? My Soul bodes some dire effect of this bold enterprise, for I must own (and blush while I do own it) that my Soul yields obedience to your soft request, and even whilst I read your Letter, was diverted with the contrivance of seeing you: For though as my Brother you have all the freedoms imaginable at Bellfont to entertain and walk with me, yet 'twould be difficult and prejudical to my Honour, to receive you alone any where without my Sister: and cause a suspicion, which all about me now are very far from conceiving, except Melinda my faithful confident, and too fatal Councellor: and but for this fear, I know my charming Brother, three little Leagues shou'd not five long days separa • e Philander from his Silvia. But my lovely Brother, since you beg it so earnesty, and my heart consents so easily, I must▪ pronounce my own Doom and say, Come my Philander, whither Love and soft desire invites you, and take this direction in the management of this mighty affair; I wou'd have you as soon as this comes to your hands, to hast to Dorillus's Cottage, without your Equipage, only Brilljard, whom I believe you may trust both from his own discretion and your vast bounty's to him; wait there till you receive my commands: and I will retire betimes to my Apartment pretending not to be well, and as soon as the Evenings obscurity will permit, Melinda shall let you in at the Garden Gate that is next the • rove, unseen and unsuspected, but oh thou powerful Charmer have a care, I trust you with my all: my dear, dear, my precious Honour, guard it well, for oh I fear my forces are too weak to stand your shock of Beauties; you have Charms enough to justify my yielding, but yet by Heav'n I wou'd not for an Empire: but what's dull Empire to Almighty Love! the God subdues the Monarch! 'tis to your strength I trust, for I am a feeble Woman, a Virgin quite disarm'd by two fair eyes, an Angels Voice and form, but yet I'll dy before I'll yield my Honour; no though our unhappy Family have met reproach from the imagin'd levity of my Sister; 'tis I'll redeem the bleeding Honour of our Family, and my great Parents Vertues shall shine in me; I know it, for if it passes this Test, if I can stand this Temptation, I'm proof against all the World; but I conjure you aid me if I need it: If I incline but in a Languishing look, if but a wish appear in my eyes, or I betray consent but in a Sigh; take not, oh take not the opportunity▪ lest when you've done I grow raging mad, and discover all in the wild fit; oh who wou'd venture on an enemy with such unequal force; what hardy fool wou'd hazard all at Sea that sees the rising Storm come rouling on; who but fond Woman, giddy heedless Woman? wou'd thus expose her Vertue to Temptation, I see, I know my danger, yet I must permit it; Love soft bewitching Love will have it so, that cannot deny what my • eebler Honour forbids; and though I tremble with fear, yet Love suggests, 'twill be an Age to Night; I long for my undoing; for oh I cannot stand the batteries of your eyes and tongue, these fears, these conflicts I have a Thousand times a day, 'tis pitiful sometimes to see me, on one hand a Thousand Cupids all gay and smiling present Philander with all the Beauties of his sex, with all the softness in his looks and Language those Gods of Love can inspire with all the Charms of youth adorn'd, bewitching all, and all transporting; on the other hand, a poor lost Virgin languishing and undone; sighing her willing rape to the deaf shades and • ••• tains; filling the Woods with cry's, swelling the Murmering Rivolets with tears, her noble Parents with a generous Rage reviling her, and her befray'd Sister loading her bow'd head with curses and reproaches; and all about her looking forlorn and sad: Judg, oh Judg my adorable Brother, of the vastness of my courage and passion, when even this deplorable prospect cannot defend me from the resolution of giving you admittance into my Apartment this Night, nor shall ever drive you from the Soul of your

SILVIA. To Silvia.

I Have obey'd my Silvia's dear commands, and the dictates of my own impatient Soul, as soon as I receiv'd 'em, I immediately took Horse for Bellfont, though I knew I shou'd not see my Adorable Silvia till Eight or Nine at Night; but oh 'tis wondrous pleasure to be so much more near my eternal joy; I wait at Dorillus his Cottage the tedious approaching Night that must shelter me in its kind shades, and conduct me to a pleasure I faint but with imagining; 'tis now my Lovely Charmer Three a Clock, and oh how many tedious hours I am to languish here before the blessed one arrive▪ I know you Love, my Silvia▪ and therefore must guess at some part of my to • ment, which yet is mixt with a certain trembling joy not to be imagin'd by any but Silvia, who surely loves Philander, it there be truth in Beauty, • aith in Youth, she surely loves him much, and much more above her Sex she's capable of Love; by how much more her Soul's form'd of a softer and more delicate composition, by how much more her Wits refin'd and elevated above her duller Sex, and by how much more she is oblig'd if Passion can claim Passion in return, sure no Beauty was ever so much indebted to a slave, as Silvia to Philander, none ever Lov'd like me! Judg then my pains of Love, my Joys, my • ears, my impatience, and desires, and call me to your sacred presence with all the speed of Love; and as soon as ' • is duskish, imagine me 〈◊〉 the Meadow behind the Grove, 'till when think me imploy'd in eternal thoughts of Silvia▪ restless, and talking to the Trees of Silvia, sighing her charming Name, circling with folded • Arms my panting heart, (that beats and trembles the more, the nearer it approaches the happy Bellfont) and fortifying the • eeble trembler against a • ight • oo Ravishing and surprising, I fear to be sustain'd with Life; but if I faint in Silvia's Arms, it will be happyer far than all the Glories of Life without her.

Send my Angel something from you to make the Hours less tedious, consider me, Love me, and be as impatient as I; that you may the sooner find at your feet your everlasting Lover

PHILANDER. From▪ Do • illus's Cottage. To Philander.

I Have at last recover'd sense enough to tell you, I have receiv'd your Letter by Dorillus, and which had like to have been discover'd, for he prudently enough put it under the Strawbery's he brought me in a Basket, fearing he shou'd get no other opportunity to have given it me; and my Mother seeing 'em look so fair and fresh, snatcht the Basket with a greediness I have not seen in her before; while she was calling to her Page for a Porcellane Dish to put 'em out, Dorillus had opportunity to hint to me what lay at the bottom; • eaven's had you seen my disorder and confusion! what shou'd I do; Love had not one invention in store, and here it was that all the subtilty of Women abandon'd me. Oh Heaven's how cold and pale I grew▪ lest the most impor • ant 〈◊〉 of my Life shou'd be betray'd and ruin'd; but not to terr • fy you longer with fe • rs of my danger▪ the Dish came, and ou • the Strawberries were powr'd, and the Basket thrown aside on the Bank where my Mo • her sat, (for we were in the Garden when we met accidentally Dorillus first with the Basket) there were some leaves of Fern put at the bottom between the Basket and the Letter, which by good fortune came not out with the strawberries, and after a Minute or two I took up the Basket and walkig carelesly up and down the Garden, Gather'd here and there a flower, Pinks and Jessamine, and filling my Basket sat down again till my Mother had eat her fill of the Fruit, and gave me an opportunity to retire to my apartment, where opening the Letter, and finding you so near and waiting to see me, I had certainly sunk down on the floor had not Melinda supported me, who was only by, something so new, and till now so strange, seiz'd me at the thought of so secret an interview, that I lost all my senses, and Life wholly departing, I rested on Melinda without breath or motion, the violent effects of Love and Honour, the impetuous meeting tides of the extreams of joy and fear, rushing on too suddainly, over-whelm'd my senses; and 'twas a pretty while before I recover'd strength▪ to get to my Cabinet, where a second time I open'd your Letter, and read it again with a Thousand changes of Countenance, my whole mass of Blood was in that moment so discompos'd, that I chang'd from Ague to Feaver, several times in a Minute; oh what will all this bring me to? and where will the raging fit end? I dy with that thought, my guilty pen slackens in my trembling hand, and I Languish and fall over the unimploy'd Paper;—Oh help me some Divinity—Or if you did, —I fear I shou'd be angry! Oh Philander! a Thousand Passions and distracted thoughts crowd to get out, and make their soft complaints to thee, but oh they lose themselves with Mixing; they are blended in a confusion together, and Love nor Art can divide 'em, to deal 'em out in order; sometimes I wou'd tell you of my Joy at your Arrival, and my unspeakable transports at the thought of seeing you so soon, that I shall hear your charming▪ Voice, and find you at my feet making soft Vows a now, With all the Passion of an impatient Lover, with all the eloquence that sighs and Cryes and tears from those lovely eyes can express; and sure that's enough to conquer any where; and to which, course vulgar words are dull: The Rhetorick of Love is half-breath'd, interrupted words, languishing Eyes, flattering Speeches, broken Sighs, pressing the • and, and falling Tears: Ah how do they not perswade; how do they not charm and conquer; 'twas thus with these soft easie Arts, that Silvia first was won • ! for sure no Arts of speaking cou'd have talk'd my heart away, though you can speak like any God! oh whether am I driven, what do • say; 'twas not my purpose nor my business here, to give a character of Philander▪ no not to speak of Love! but oh like Cowley's Lute, my Soul will found to nothing but to Love! talk what you will, begin what discourse you please, I end it all in Love! because my Soul is ever fixt on Philander; and insensibly its byas peads to that subject; no, I did not when I began to Write, think of speaking one word of my own weakness; but to have told you with what resolv'd Courage, Honour, and Vertue, I expect your coming; and sure so sacred a thing as Love was not made to ruine these, and therefore in vain my lovely Brother you will attempt it; and yet (oh Heaven's! I give a private Assignation, in my Apartment, alone and at Night; where silence, Love, and shades are all your friends, where opportunity obliges your Passion, while Heav'n knows, not one of all these, nor any kind power is friend to me, I shall be left to you, and all these Tyrants, expos'd without other Guards than this boasted Vertue, which had need be wonderous to resist all these powerful enemies of its purity and repose: Alas I know not its strength, I never try'd it yet; and this will be the first time it has ever been expos'd to your Power, the first time I ever had courage to meet you as a Lover, and let you in by stealth, and put my self unguarded into your hands; Oh I dy with the apprehension of approaching danger; and yet I have not power to retreat, I must on, Love compells me, Love holds me fast, the smiling flatterer promises a Thousand joys, a Thousand Ravishing Minutes of delight; all innocent and harmless as his Mothers Doves: But oh they Bill and kiss, and do a Thousand things I must forbid Philander: for I have often heard him say with sighs, that his complection render'd him less capable of the soft play of Love, than any other Lover: I've seen him fly my very touches, yet swear they were the greatest joy on Earth: I tempt him even with my looks from Vertue; and when I ask the cause, or cry he's cold, he vows 'tis because he dares not indure my Temptations; says his Blood runs hotter and fircer in 〈◊〉 Veins than any others do's; nor has the 〈◊〉 repeated joys reap'd in the Marriage Bed, any thing abated that which he w • sht, but he fea • 'd wou'd ruine me: Thus, thus whole days we have • at and gaz'd and 〈1 page duplicate〉〈1 page duplicate〉 sigh'd, but durst not trust our Vertues with fond Dalliance.

My Page is come to tell me that Madam the Dutchess of—is come to Bellont, and I am oblig'd to quit my Cabinet, but with infinite regret, being at present much more to my Soul's content imploy'd; but Love must sometimes give place to Devoir and respect; Dorillus too waits, and tells Melinda, he will not depart without something for his Lord, to entertain him till the happy hour: The Rustick pleas'd me with the concern he had for my Philander; oh my Charming Brother, you have an Art to tame even salvages, a Tongue that wou'd charm and ingage wildness it self, to softness and gentleness, and give the rough unthinking Love; 'tis a tedious time to night, how shall I pass the hours?

To Silvia.

SAy fond Love whither wilt thou lead me? thou hast brought me from the noysey hurry's of the Town, to charming solitude; from Crowded Cabals, where mighty things are resolving to loanly Groves, to thy own abodes, where thou dwell'st, gay and pleas'd, amongst the Rural Swains in shady homely Cottages; thou hast brought me to a Grove of flowers, to the brink of Purling Streams, where thou hast laid me down to contemplate on Silvia! to think my tedious hours away, in the softest imagination a Soul inspir'd by Love can conceive; to increase my Passion by every thing I behold; for every Sound that meets the sense, is thy proper Musick, oh Love! and every thing inspires thy dictates; the Winds a round me blow soft, and mixing with the wanton Boughs, continually play and Kiss; while those like a coy Maid in Love resist and comply by turns; they like a ravisht vigorous Lover, rush on with a transported violence; rudely imbracing its Spring-drest Mistress, ruffling her Native order; while the pretty Birds on the dancing Branches incessantly make Love: upbraiding duller man with his defective want of fire: man the Lord of all! he to be stinted in the most valuable joy of Life! is it not Pity? here's no troublesome Honour, amongst the pretty inhabitants of the Woods and Streams, fondly to give Laws to Nature, but uncontroul'd they play, and sing, and Love; no Parents checking their dear delights, no slavish Matrimonial tyes to restrain their Nobler flame. No spyes to interrupt their blest appointments, but every little Nest is free and open to receive the young fles • ch't Lover; every bough is conscious of their Passion, nor do the generous pair languish in tedious Ceremony , but meeting look, and like, and Love, imbrace with their Wingy arms, and salute with their little opening Bills; this is their Courtship; this the amorous complement, and this only the introduction to all their following happiness; and thus it is with the Flocks and Heards, while scanted man, born alone for the fatigues of Love, with industrious 〈1 page duplicate〉〈1 page duplicate〉 toyl, and all his boasting Arts of Eloquence, his Godlike Image, and his noble form, may labour on a tedious term of years, with pain, expence, and hazard, before he can arrive at happiness, and then too perhaps his Vows are unregarded, and all his Sighs and Tears are vain. Tell me oh you fellow Lovers, yea amorous dear Bruits tell me, when ever you lay Languishing beneath your Coverts thus for your fair she; and durst not approach for fear of Honour? tell me by a gentle bleat ye little butting Rams; do you Sigh thus for your soft white Ewes? do you ly thus conceal'd, to wait the coming shades of Night, till all the curled spyes are folded? no, no, even you are much more blest than Man, who is bound up to rules fetter'd by the nice decencies of Honour.

My divine Maid, thus were my thoughts imploy'd, when from the farthest end of the Grove where I now remain, I saw Dorillus approach with thy welcome Letter, he tells you had like to have been surpris'd in making it up; and he receiv'd it with much difficulty, ah Silvia shou'd any accident happen to prevent my seeing you to Night, I were undone for ever, and you must expect to find me stretch'd out, dead and cold under this Oak where now I ly Writing on its knotty root; thy Letter I confess is dear, it contains thy Soul and my happiness, but this after story of the surprize I long to be inform'd of, for from thence I may gather part of my Fortune. I rave and dy with fear of a disappointment, not but I wou'd u • dergo a Thousand Torments and deaths for Silvia; but oh consider me, and let me not suffer if possible; for know my charming Angel, my impatient heart is almost broke, and will not contain it self without being nearer my adorable Maid; without taking in at my Eyes a little comfort, no, I am resolv'd! put me not off with tricks, which foolish Honour invents to jilt mankind with; for if, you do, by Heav'n I will forget all considerations and respect, and force my self with all the violence of raging Love, into the presence of my cruel Silvia, own her mine, and Ravish my delight, nor shall the happy Walls of Bellfont be of strength sufficient to secure her, nay, perswade me not, for if you make me mad and raving, this will be the effects on't: —Oh pardon me my sacred Maid, pardon the wildness of my frantick Love.—I paws'd; took a turn or two in the lone path, consider'd what I had • aid, and found it was too much; too bold, too • ude to approach, my soft, my tender Maid: I am calm my Soul, as thy bewitching smiles; hush as thy secret Sighs, and will resolve to dy rather than offend my adorable Virgin; only send me word what you think of my Fate, while I expect it here on this kind Mossy bed where I nowly; which I wou'd not quit for a Throne, since here I may hope the News may soonest arrive to make me happier than a God! which that nothing on my part may prevent, I here Vow in the face of Heav'n, I will not abuse the freedome my Silvia blesses me with; nor shall my Love go beyond▪ the limits of Honour. Silvia: shall command with a frown, and fetter me with a Smile; prescribe rules to my longing Ravish't Eyes, and pinion my busie fond Roving hands: and lay at her feet like a tame slave, her adoring.

PHILANDER. To Philander.

APproach, approach you • acred Queen of Night, and bring Philander Veil'd from all eyes but mine! approach at a fond Lovers call, behold how I ly panting with expectation, tir'd out with your tedious Cerimony to the God of day; be kind oh lovely Night, and let the Deity descend to his belov'd Th • tis's Arms, and I to my Philanders; the Sun and I must snatch our joys in the same happy hours! favour'd by thee▪ oh sacred silent Night! see, see the inamour'd Sun is hasting on a pace to his expecting Mistress, while thou dull Night art, slowly ling • ing yet. Advance my Friend▪ my Goddess! and my confident! hide all my blushes, all my soft confusions, my tremblings, transports, and Eyes all Languishing.

Oh Philander! a Thousand things I've done to divert the tedious hours, but nothing can: all things are dull without thee. I'm tir'd with every thing, impatient to end, as soon as I begin 'em, even the Shades and solitary Walks afford me now no ease, no satisfaction and thought▪ but afflicts me more, that us'd to relieve. And I at last have recourse to my kind Pen: For while I Write methinks I'm talking to thee, I tell thee thus my Soul, while thour methinks art all the while smiling and listening by; this is much easier than silent thought, and my Soul • s never weary of this converse, and thus I wou'd speak a Thousand things, but that still, methinks words do not enough express my Soul, to understand that right there requires looks; there is a Rethorick in looks, in Sighs and silent touches that surpasses all! there is an Accent in the sound of words too, that gives a sense and soft meaning to little things, which of themselves are of trivial value, and insignificant; and by the cadence of the utterance may express a tenderness which their own meaning does not bear; by this I wou'd insinuate that the story of the heart cannot be so well told by this way as by presence and conversation; sure Philander understands what I mean by this? which possibly is nonsense to all but a Lover, who apprehends all the little fond prattle of the thing belov'd, and finds an Eloquence in it, that to a • ense unconcern'd wou'd appear even approaching to Folly: But Philander, who has the true Notions of Love in him, apprehends all that can • e said on that dear Subject; to him I venture to say any thing, whose kind and soft imaginations can supply all my wants in the description of the Soul: Will it not Philander, answer me?—But 〈◊〉 where art thou? I • ee thee not, I touch thee not; but when I hast with transport to imbrace thee, 'tis shadow 〈◊〉 , and my poor Arms return empty to my Bosome why, oh why 〈◊〉 it thou • ot why art thou cautious▪ and Prudently wa • test the slow-pac'd Night: Oh cold, oh unreasonable Lover why? —But, I grow wild and know not what I say: Impatient Love betrays me to a Thousand folly's a Thousand rashnesses: I dy with shame, but I must be undone and 'tis not matter how, whether by my own weakness, Philander's Charms, or both; I know not, but so 'tis destin'd,—Oh Philander, 'tis two tedious hours Love has counted, since you Writ to me, yet are but a quarter of a Mile distant; what have you been doing all that livelong while? are you not unkind, does not Silvia ly, neglected and unregarded in your thoughts? hudled up confu • edly with your graver business of State, and almost lost in the ambitious crowd? Say, say my lovely Charmer, is she not, does not this fatal Interest you espouse, Rival your Silvia, is she not too often remov'd thence to let in that haughty Tyrant Mistress? Alas Philander I more than fear she is; and oh my Adorable Lover, when I look forward on our coming happiness, when ever I lay by the thoughts of Honour, and give a loose to Love, I run not far in the pleasing carier, before that dreadful thought stop me on my way: I have a fatal prophetick fear, that gives a check to my soft pursuit, and tells me that thy unhappy ingagement in this League, this accursed Association, will one day undo us both, and part for ever thee and thy unlucky Silvia; yes, yes my dear Lord; my Soul does presage an unfortunate event from this dire ingagement; nor can your false Reasoning, your fancy'd advantages reconcile it to my honest, good-natur'd heart; and surely the design is inconsistent with Love, for two such mighty contradictions and enemies as Love and ambition, or revenge 〈◊〉 can never sure abide in one • oul together, at least Love can but share Philander Heart when blood and • evenge (which he 〈◊〉 Glory) R • vals it, and has 〈◊〉 the greatest part in it, methin •• this notion inlarges in me, and every word • I speak, and every Minutes thoug • o • it, strengthens its reasons to me, and give me leave (while I am full of the jealousie of it) to express my sentiments, and lay before you those reasons that Love and I think most substantial ones what you have hitherto de ••• d of me, oh unreasonable Philan •••• and what (I out of Modesty and Honour deny'd) I have reason to fear (from the absolute conquest you have made of my Heart) that some time or other the charming thief may break in and rob me of, for fame and Vertue love begins to laugh at My dear unfortunate condition being thus, 'tis not impossible, oh Philander, but I may one day in some unlucky hour in some 〈◊〉 be witching moment in some spightful critical ravishing minute, yield all to the Charming Philander and if so where oh, where is my security that I shall not be abandoned by the Lovely Victor, for 'tis not your Vows which you call sacred (and I alas believe so) that can secure me, though I Heav'n knows believe 'em all, and am undone; you may keep 'em all too, and I believe you will, but oh Philander in these fatal circumstances you have ingag'd your self in, can you secure me my Lover? your protestations you may, but not the dear Protestor. Is it not enough, oh Philander, for my eternal unquiet and undoing to know you are Married, and cannot therefore be intirely mine? is not this enough, oh cruel Philander? but you must espouse a fatal cause too, more pernicious than that Matrimony, and more destructive to my repose: oh give me leave to reason with you, and since you have been pleas'd to trust and afflict me with the secret; which honest as I am I will never betray yet, yet give me leave to urge the danger of it to you, and consequently to me, if you pursue it, when you are with me, we can think and talk, and argue nothing but the mightier business of Love! and 'tis • it I that so fondly and fatally love you, shou'd warn you of the danger. Consider my Lord you are born Noble, from Parents of untainted Loyalty, blest with a Fortune few Princes beneath Sovereignty are Masters of; blest with all gaining Youth, commanding Beauty, Wit, Courage, Bravery of mind, and all that renders men esteem'd and ador'd what wou'd you more? what is it oh my Charming Brother then that you set up for, is it Glory? oh mistaken lovely Youth, that Glory is but a glittering light that flashes for a moment, and then it disappears, 'tis a false •• avery that will bring an eternal blem •• upon your honest • ame and house; render your honourable name, hated, detested, and abominable in story to after Ages, a Traytor? the worst of Titles, the most inglorious and shameful; what has the King, our good, our Gracious Monarch done to Philander? how disoblig'd him? or indeed what injury to Mankind? who has he opprest? where play'd the Tyrant; or the Ravisher? what one cruel or angry thing has he committed in all the time of his fortunate and peaceable Reign over us? Whose Ox or whose Ass has he unjustly taken? What Orphan wrong'd or Widows Tears neglected? but all his Life has been one continu'd Miracle, all Good, all Gracious, Calm and Merciful: and this good, this Godlike King is mark'd out for slaughter, design'd a Sacrifice to the private revenge of a few ambitious Knaves and Rebels, whose pretence is the publick good, and doom'd to be basely Murder'd; A Murder even on the worst of Criminals carries with it a Cowardise so black and infamous, as the most abject Wretches, the meanest pirited Creature has an abhorrence for; what to Murder a Man unthinking, unwarn'd, unprepar'd and undefended •• oh barbarous! oh poor and most unbrave! what Villain •• is there so lost to all humanity, to be found upon the face of the Earth, that wher •• done, dares own so hellish a deed, as the Murder of the meanest of his Fellow-Subjects, much less the sacre •• Person of the King! Th •• Lords Anointed; one whose awful face 'tis impossible to look without that reverence wherewith one wou'd be hold a God! for 'tis mos •• certain, that every Glanc •• from his piercing wondr •• eyes, begets a trembling A do ration; for my part I Sw ••• to you, Philander, I never approach His Sacred Person, but my Heart beats, my Blood runs cold about me, and my Eyes o'reflow with Tears of joy, while an awful confusion seizes me all over, and I am certain shou'd the most harden'd of your Bloody Rebels look him in •• he face, the devilish instrument of Death wou'd drop from his sacrilegious hand, and leave him confounded at the feet of the Royal forgiving Sufferer, his eyes have in 'em somthing so fierce, so Majestick commanding, and yet so good and merciful as wou'd soften Rebellion it self into repenting Loyalty; and like Cajus Marius seem to say—who is't dares hurt the King!—They alone like his Guardian Angels defend his Sacred Person, oh! what pity 'tis, unhappy young man, thy Education was not near the King.

'Tis plain, 'tis reasonable, 'tis honest, Great and Glorious to believe, what thy own sense (if thou wilt but think and consider) wilt instruct thee in, that Treason, Rebellion and Murder are far from the Paths that lead to Glory, which are as distant as Hell from Heav'n. What is it then to advance (since I say 'tis plain, Glory is never this way to be atchiev'd) is it to add more▪ Thousands to those, E •• rtune has already so lavishly bestow'd on you? oh my Philander that's to double the 〈◊〉 crime, which reaches already to Damnation▪ wou'd your Honour, your Con •• cience, your Christianity or • ommon humanity suffer you to inl •• ge your Fortunes at the price of anothers ruine? and make the spoyls of some honest Noble Unfortunate Family▪ the rewards of your Treachery? wou'd you build your fame on such a Foundation? Perhaps on the destruction of some friend or Kinsman. Oh Barbarous and mistaken Greatness, Thieves and Robbers wou'd scorn such outrages, that had but souls and sense.

I • i • for addition of Titles? what elevation can you have much greater than where you now stand fixt, if you do not grow giddy with your fancy'd false hopes▪ and fall from that glorious height you are already arriv'd to, and which with the honest addition of Loyalty, is of far more value and luster than to arrive at Crowns▪ by Blood and Treason. This will last; to Ages last; in story last. While t'other will be ridicul'd to •• all posterity, short liv'd and reproachful here, infamous and accurs'd to all eternity.

Is it to make Caesario King? oh what is Caesario to my Philander? If a Monarchy you design; then why not this King, this great, this good, this Royal Forgiver?—This who was born a King; and born your King; and holds his Crown by right of Nature, by right of Law, by right of Heav'n it self; Heav'n who has preserv'd him, and confirm'd him ours, by a Thousand miraculous escapes and sufferings, and indulg'd him ours by Ten Thousand acts of mercy and indear'd him to us by his wondrous care and conduct, by securing of Peace, plenty, ease and luxurious happiness, o're all the fortunate limits of His Blessed Kingdoms; and will you, wou'd you destroy this wonderous gift of Heaven: this Godlike King, this real good we now possess, for a most uncertain one: and with it the repose of all the happy Nation, to establish a King without Law, without right, without consent, without Title, and indeed without even competent parts for so vast a trust or so Glorious a rule: One who never oblig'd the Nation by one single Act of Goodness, or Valour in all the course of his Life; and who never signaliz'd either to the advantage of one man of all the Kingdom: A Prince unfortunate in his Principles and Morals: And whose sole single Ingratitude to his Majesty, for so many Royal Bounty's, Honours, and Glories heap'd upon him, is of its self enough to set, any honest generous heart against him; what is it bewitches you so? is it his Beauty? then Philander has a greater Title than Caesario; and not one other merit has he; since in Piety, Chastity, Sobriety, Charity, and Honour, he as little excels, as in Gratitude, Obedience, and Loyalty. What then my dear Philander! is it his weakness? Ah there's the Argument: You all propose and think to govern so soft a King: But believe me, oh unhappy Philander! nothing is more ungovernable than a Fool; nothing more obstinate, willful, conceited and cunning; and for his gratitude, let the world judge what he must prove to his Servants who has dealt so ill with his Lord and Master; how he must reward those that present him with a Crown, who deals so ungraciously with him who gave him Life, and who set him up an happyer object than a Monarch; No, no Philander, he that can cabal, and contrive to dethrone a father, will find it easie to discard the wicked and hated Instruments that assisted him to mount it; decline him then oh fond and deluded Philander, decline him early, for you of all the •• est ought to do so; and not to set a helping hand to load him with Honours, that chose you out from all the World to load with infamy: remember that; remember Mertilla, and then renounce him; do not you contribute to the adoring of his unfit head with a Diadem, the most glorious of Ornaments, who unadorn'd yours, with the most inglorious of all reproaches. Think of this, oh thou unconsidering Noble Youth, lay thy hand upon thy generous heart, and tell it all the fears, all the reasonings of her that loves thee more than life, a Thousand Arguments I cou'd bring, but these few unstudyed (falling in amongst my softer thoughts) I beg thou wilt accept of, till I can more at large deliver the Glorious Argument to your Soul; let this suffice to tell thee, that the like Cassandria I rave and prophesie in vain, this Association will be the eternal ruine of Philander, for let it succeed or not, either way thou art undone; if thou pursu'st it, and I must infallibly fall with thee, if I resolve to follow thy good or ill Fortune, for you cannot intend Love and Ambition, Silvia and Caesario at once: No, perswade me not, • he Title to one or t'other must be laid down▪ Silvia or Caesario must be abandon'd; this is my fixt resolve, if thy too powerful Arguments convince not in spight of reason; for they can do't, thou hast the tongue of an Angel, and the Eloquence of a God, and while I listen to thy Voice, I take all thou say'st for wondrous sense—Farewell; about▪ Two hours hence I shall expect you at the Gate that leads into the Garden Grove—Adieu! remember▪

SILVIA. To Silvia.

HOw comes my charming Silvia so skill'd in the Mysteries of State? where learnt her tender heart the Notions of rigid business? where her soft Tongue, form'd only for the dear Language of Love, to talk • f the concerns of Nations and Kingdoms? 'tis true, when I gave my Soul away to my dear Councellor, I reserv'd nothing to my self, not even that secret that so concern'd my Life, but laid all at her Mercy; my generous Heart cou'd not Love at a less rate, than to lavish all, and be undone for Silvia; 'tis Glorious ruine, and it pleases me, if it advance once single joy, or add one demonstration of my Love to Silvia; 'tis not enough that we tell those we Love all they love to hear, but one ought to tell 'em too, every secret that we know; and conceal no part of that Heart one has made at present to the person one Loves, 'tis a Treason in Love not to be Pardon'd, am sensible that when my story's told (and this happy one of my Love shall make up the greatest part of my History) that those that Love not like me; will be apt to blame me, and charge me with weakness for revealing so great a trust to a Woman; and amongst all that I shall do to arrive at Glory, that will brand me with sea • less▪ but Silvia when Lovers shall read it, the men will excuse me, and the Maids bless me! I shall be a fond admir'd president, for them to point but to their remiss reserving Lovers, who will be reproached for not persuing my example. I know not what opinion Men generally have of the weakness of Women; but 'tis sure a vulgar error, for were they like my adorable Silvia! had they her wit, her vivacity of spirit, her Courage, her generous fortitude, her command in every graceful look and Action, they were most certainly fit to rule and Reign, and Man was only born robust and strong to secure 'em on those Thrones they are form'd (by Beauty, Softness, and a Thousand Charms which men want) to possess. Glorious Woman! was born for command and Dominion; and though custom has usurpt us the name of Rule over all; we from the beginning found our selves, (in spight of all our boasted prerogative) slaves and Vassals to the Almighty Sex. Take then my share of Empire ye Gods! and give me Love! let me toyl to gain, but let Silvia Triumph and Reign, I ask no more! no more than the led slave at her Chariot Wheels, to gaze on my Charming Conqueress, and wear with joy her Fetters! oh how proud I shou'd be to see the dear Victor of my Soul so elevated, so adorn'd with Crowns and Scepters at her feet, which I had won; to see her smiling on the adoring Crown, distributing her Glories to young waiting Princes; there dealing Provinces, and there a Coronet. Heavens! methinks I see the lovely Virgin in this State, her Chariot slowly driving through the multitude that press to gaze upon her, she drest like Venus richly gay and loose, her Hair and Robe blown by the flying Winds, discovering a Thousand Charms to view, thus the young Goddess look't, then when she drove her Chariot down, descending Clouds to meet the Love-sick God in cooling Shades; and so wou'd look my Silvia! ah my soft lovely Maid, such thoughts as these fir'd me with Ambition: For me, I swear by every power that made me Love, and made thee wondrous fair, I design no more by this great enterprize, than to make thee some glorious thing, elevated above what we have seen yet on Earth: to raise thee above Fate or Fortune, beyond that pity of they duller Sex, who understand not thy Soul, nor can never each the flights of thy generous Love! no my Soul's joy I must not leave thee lyable to their little natural Malice and scorn, to the impertinence of their reproaches. No my Silvia I must on, the great design must move forward; though I abandon it, 'twill advance, and 'tis already too far to put a stop to it; and now I'm enter'd 'tis in vain to retreat, if we are prosperous, 'twill to all Ages be call'd a Glorious enterprize, but if we fail • 'twill be base▪ horrid, and infamous, for the world judges of nothing but by the success; that cause is always good that's prosperous, that is ill that's unsuccessful. Shou'd I now retreat I run many hazards, but to go on I run but one, by the first I shall alarm the whole Cabal with a jealousie of my discovering, and those are persons of too great sense and courage, not to take some private way of revenge, to secure their own stakes; and to make my self uncertainly safe by a discovery indeed, were to gain a refuge so ignoble, as a Man of Honour wou'd scorn to purchase Life at; nor wou'd that baseness secure me. But in going on, oh Silvia! when Three Kingdoms shall ly unpossest, and be expos'd, as it were, amongst the raffling Crowd, who knows but the chance may be mine, as well as any others, who has but the same hazard, and throw for' • ; if the strongest Sword must do't, (as that must do't) why not mine still? why may not mine still? Why may not mine be that fortunate one? Cesario has no more right to it than Philander; 'tis true, a few of the Rabble will pretend he has a better title to it, but they are a sort of easy Fools, lavish in nothing but noise and nonsense, true to change and inconstancy, and will abandon him to their own fury for the next that crys Haloo: Neither is there one part of fifty (of the Fools that cry him up) for his Interest, though they use him for a Tool to work with, he being the only great Man that wants sense enough to find out the cheat, which they dare impose upon. Can any body of reason believe if they had 〈◊〉 him good, they would let him bare fac'd have own'd a party so opposite to all Laws of Nature, religion, Humanity and Common gratitude? when his Interest if design'd might have been carry'd on better, if he had still dissembled and stay'd in Court: no believe me, Silvia, the Politicians show him to renders • him odious to all men of tolerable sence of the Party, for what reason soever they have who are disoblig'd (or at least think themselves so) to set up for Liberty, the world knows Cesario render: himself the worst of Criminals by it, and has abandon'd an interest more Glorious and Easy than Empire to side with and aid People that never did or ever can oblige him: and he is so dull as to imagine that for his sake (who never did us service or good, unless Cuckolding us be good) we should venture life and fame to pull down a true Monarch, to set up his Bastard over us 〈◊〉 must 〈◊〉 me, if I think his Politicks are shallow as his Parts, and that his own Interest has undone him; for of what advantage soever the design may be to us, it really shocks ones nature to find a son engag'd against a Father, and to him such a Father: Nor when time comes, shall I forget the ruine of Mertilla. But let him hope on—and so will I, as do a thousand more for ought I know; I set out as fair as they, and will start as eager • y; if I miss it now, I have Youth and Vigor sufficient for another Race, and while I stand on Fortunes Wheel as she rouls it round, it may be my turn to be o'th top; for when 'tis set in motion, believe me Silvia, 'tis not easily fixt; however let it suffice I'm now in past a retreat, and to urge it now to me, is but to put me into inevitable danger; at best it can but set me where I was, that's worse than death when every fool is aiming at a Kingdom; what man of tollerable Pride and Ambition can be unconcern'd, and not put himself into a posture of catching, when a Diadem shall be thrown among the Croud? 'twere Insensibility▪ stupid Dulness, not to lift a hand, or make an effort to snatch it as it flys: though the glorious falling weight should crush me, 'tis great to attempt, and if fortune do not favour Fools, I have as fair a Grasp for't as any other adventurer.

This my Silvia is my sense of a business you so mu • h dread, I may rise, but I cannot fall; therefore my Silvia urge it no more, Love gave me Ambition, and do not divert the Glorious effects of your wonderous Charms▪ but let 'em grow and spread and see what they will produce, for my Lovely Silvia the advantages will most certainly be hers:—But no more, how came my Love so Dull to entertain thee so many minutes thus with reasons for an affair which one soft hour with Silvi • will convince to what she wou'd have it; beli • ve me it will, I will sacrifice all to her repose, nay to her least Command, even the Life of

(My Eternal Pleasure) Your PHILANDER.

I 〈◊〉 no longer pati •• ce, I must • e coming towards the Grove, though 'twill do me no good, more than knowing I am so much nearer my Adorable Creature.

I conjure you burn this, for writing in haste, I have not counterfeited my hand.

To Silvia, Writ in a pair of Tablets.

MY Charmer, I wait your Commands in the Meadow behind the Grove, where I saw Dorinda, Dorilus his Daughter, entring with a Basket of Cowslips for Silvia, unnecessarily offering sweets to the Goddess of the Groves from whence they (with all the rest of their gaudy • ellows of the Spring) assume their Ravishing Odours. I take every opportunity of telling my Silvia what I have so often repeated, and shall be ever repeating with the same joy while I live, that I Love my Silvia to Death a • d Madness, that my soul is on the Wrack, till she send me the happy advancing word! And yet believe me Lovely Maid, I could grow old with waiting here the blessed moment, though set at any distance (within the compass of Life, and impossible to be till than arriv'd to) but when I am so near approach't it; Love from all parts rallies and hastens to my heart for the mighty incounter, till the poor panting overloaded Victim dies with the pressing weight. No more,— You know it, for 'tis and will be eternally Silvia's.

POSTSCRIPT:

Remember my Adorable, 'tis now seven a Clock, I have my Watch in my hand, waiting and looking on the slow pa • 'd Minutes, Eight will quickly arrive I hope, and then 'tis dark enough to hide me: hinkwhere I am, and who I am, twaiting near Silvia, and her Phila • der.

I think my dear Angel you have the other Key of thes • Tablets, if not they are easily broke open: you have an hour good to write in S • lvia, and • shall wait unimployed by any thing but thought. Send me word how you were like to have been surpriz'd▪ it may possibly be of advantage to me in this nights dear adventure. I wonder'd at the Superscription of my Letter indeed • • f wh • ch Dori • us could give me no other account, than that you were surpriz'd, and he receiv'd it with difficulty; give me the story now, do i • in charity my Angel. Besides • would imploy all thy moments, for I am jealous of every one that is not dedicated to Sil • ia's Philander.

To Philander.

I Have receiv'd your Tablets, of which I have the key, and heaven only knows, (for Lovers cannot unless they lov'd like Silvia and her Philander) what pains and Pantings my heart sustain'd at every thought that brought me of thy near approach; every moment I • tart, and am ready to faint with joy, • ear, and something not to be expre • t th • t s • izes me. To add to this, I have busied my self with dressing my Apartment up with Flowers, 〈◊〉 that I • ancy the C • rmonious business of the night looks like the preparations fo • the dear joy of the Nuptial Bed, that too is so adorn'd and deck'd with all that's sweet and gay, all which possesses me with so ravishing and solemn 〈1 page duplicate〉〈1 page duplicate〉 a Confusion that 'tis even approaching to the most profound sadness it self. Oh Philander, I find I am fond of being undone, and unless you take a more than mortal care of me, I know this night some f • tal mischief will befall me; what 'tis I know not, either the loss of Philander, my Life, or my Honour, or all together, which a discovery only of your being alone in my Apartment and at such an Hour, will most certainly draw upon us: Death is the least we must expect, by some surprise or other, my Father being rash, and extreamly jealous, and the more so of me, by how much more he is fond of me, and nothing would inrage him like the discovery of an enterview like this; though you • ave Liberty to range the house of B • llfont as a son, and are indeed at home there, but when you come by stealth; when he shall find his Son and Virgin Daughter, the Brother and the Sister so retir'd, so entertain'd. —What but death can insue, or what's worse, eternal shame? eternal confusion on my honour? What Excuse, what Evasions, Vows and Protestations will convince him, or appease Mertila's Jealousy, Mertilla my Sister, and Philander's Wife?—Oh God! that cruel thought will put me into ravings; I have a thousand streams of killing reflection that flow from that original Fountain! Curse on the Alliance that gave you a welcome to Bellfont. Ah Philander, could you not have stay'd ten short years longer? Alas you thought that was an Age in Youth, but 'tis but a day in Love: Ah could not your eager youth have led you to a thousand diversions, a thousand times have baited in the long journey of life without hurrying on to the last Stage, to the last retreat, but the Grave; and to me seem as Irrecoverable as impossible to retrieve thee?—Could no kind Beauty stop thee on thy way, in charity or pity? Philander saw me then! and though Mertila was more • it for his Care •• es, and I but capable to please with Childish prattle. Oh could he not have seen a promising • loom in my Face, that might have •• retold the future Conquests I was born to make? Oh was there no Prophetick Charm that could bespeak your heart, ingage it, and prevent that fatal Marriage? You say my Adorable Brother, we were destin'd from our Creation for one another; that the Decrees of Heaven, or Fate, or both, design'd us for this mutual passion: Why then, oh why did not Heaven • ate, or Destiny, do the mighty work, when first you saw my infant Charms. But oh Philander, why do I vainly rave, why call in vain on time that's fled and gone; why idly wish for Ten years retribution? That will not yield a Day, an Hour, a Minute: No no, 'tis past, 'tis past and flown for ever, as distant as a thousand years to me, as irrecoverable. Oh Philander, what hast thou thrown away? Ten glorious years of Ra • ishing Youth, of unmatch'd Heavenly Beauty, on one that knew not half the value of it Silvia was only born to 〈◊〉 a Rate up • n't, was alone capable of Love, such love as might deserve it: Oh why was that charming face ever laid on any bosom that knew not how to sigh an • pant, and heave at every • ouch o • so much distracting B •• uty. O • why were those dear Arms whos • soft pressings that ravish where they circle, destin'd for a Body Cold and Dull, that could sleep insensibly there, and not so much as dream the while what the transporting pleasure signified, but unconcern'd receiv'd the wondrous blessings, and never knew its Price, or thank'd her stars. She has thee all the day, to gaze upon, and yet she lets thee pass her careless sight, as if there were • o Miracles in view: she does not see the little Gods of Love that play eternally in thy Eyes; and since she never receiv'd a Dart from thence, believes there's no Artillery there. She plays not with thy Hair, nor Weaves her snowy fingers in thy Curles of Jett, sets it in order, or adores its Beauty: The Fool with flaxen Wigg had done as well for her; a dull white▪ Coxcomb had made as good a Property; a Husband is no more, at best no more. Oh thou Charming object of my eternal wishes, why wert thou thus dispos'd? Oh save my life, and tell me what indifferent impulse oblig'd thee to these Nuptials: had Mertila been recommended or forc'd by the Tyranny of a Father into thy Arms, or for base Lucre thou hast chosen her, this had excus'd thy Youth and Crime; obedience or vanity I could have Pardon'd,—But oh —'Twas Love! Love my Phiander! thy raving Love, and that which has undone thee was a Rape rather than a Marriage; you fled with her. Oh Heavens, mad to possess you stole the unloving Prise!—Yes you lov'd her, false as you are you did, perjur'd and faithless. Lov'd her;—Hell and confusion on the VVorld, 'twas so.—Oh Philander I am lost—

This Letter was found in pieces torn.

To Monsieur the Count of My Lord,

THese Pieces of Paper which I have put together as well as I could, were writ by my Lady to have been sent by Dorinda, when on a sudden she ro • e in rage from her seat, tore first the Paper, and then her Robes and Hair, and indeed nothing has escap'd the violence of her Passion; nor could my Prayers or Tears retrieve them or calm her: 'tis however chang'd at last to mighty passions of weeping, in which imployment I have left her on her repose, being commanded away. I thought it my duty to give your Lordship this account, and to send the pieces of Paper, that your Lordship may guess at the occasion of the sudden storm which ever rises in that fatal quarter; but in putting 'em in order, I had like to have been surpriz'd by my Lady's Father, for my Lord the Count having long soll • cited me for favours, and taking all opportunities of entertaining me, found me alone in my Chamber, imployed in serving your Lordship; I had only time to hide the Papers, and to get rid of him) have given him an Assignation to night in the Garden Grove to give him the hearing to what he says he has to propose to me: Pray Heaven all things go right to your Lorships wish this Evening, for many ominous things happen'd to day. Madam, the Countess had like to have taken a • etter writ for your Lordship to day; for the Dutchess of— coming to • make her a visit, came on a sudden with her into my Lady' • Apartment, and surpriz'd her writing in her Dressing Room, giving her only time to slip the Paper into her Comb-box. The first Ceremonies being past, as Madam the Dutchess uses not much, she fell to Commend my Lady's dressing Plate, and taking up the Box and opening it, found the Letter, and Laughing cry'd, Oh have I found you making Love? At which my Lady with an infinite confusion would have retriev'd it,—But the Dutchess not quitting her hold, Cry'd— Nay I am resolv'd to see in what manner you write to a Lover, and whether you have a Heart tender or cruel; at which she began to read aloud, My Lady to blush and change Colour a Hundred times in a minute; I ready to dye with fear; Madam the Countess in infinite amazement, my Lady interrupting every word the Dutchess read by Prayers and Intreaties, which heighten'd her Curiosity, and being young and airy, regarded not the Indecency, to which she prefer'd her Curiosity, who still Laughing, cry'd she was resolv'd to read it out, and know the constitution of her heart; when my Lady, whose wit never fail'd her, Cry'd, I beseech you Madam, let us have so much complisance for Melinda to ask her consent in this affair, and then I am pleas'd you should see what Love I can make upon occasion: I took the hint, and with a real confusion, Cry'd—I implore you Madam not to discover my weakness to Madam the Dutchess; I would not for the World—Be thought to love so passionately as your Ladyship in favour of Alexis has made me profess under the name of Silvia to Philander. This incourag' •• my Lady, who began to say a thousand pleasant things of Alexis Dor • llus his Son, and my Lover as your Lordship knows, and who is no inconsiderable fortune for a Maid inrich'd only by your Lordships Bounty. My Lady after this took the Letter, and all being resolv'd it should be read, she her self did it, and turn'd it so prettily into Burlesque Love by her manner of reading it, that made Madam the Dutchess laugh extreamly; who at the end of it cry'd to my Lady—VVell Madam I am satisfied you have not a heart wholly insensible of Love, that could so well express it for another. Thus they rallied on, •• ill careful of my Lovers repose, the Dutchess urg'd the Letter might be immediately sent away, at which my Lady readily folding up the Letter, writ, For the constant Alexis on the out-side: I took it, and beg'd I might 〈◊〉 leave to retire to write it over in my own hand, they permitted me, and I carried it after sealing it to Dorillus, who waited for it, and wondering to find his Sons name on it, Cry'd —Mistress M • linda, I doubt you have mistook my present business, I wait for a Letter from my Lady to my Lord, and you give m • 〈◊〉 from your self to my Son Alexis▪ 'twill be very welcome to Alexis I confess, but at this time I had rather oblige my Lord than • my Son; I Laughing, reply'd he was mistaken, that Alexis at this time meant no other than my Lord, which pleas'd the good man extreamly, who thought it a goo • omen for his Son, and so went his way 〈◊〉 as every body was except the Countess, who fancy'd something more in it than my Lady's inditing for me; and after Madam the 〈…〉〈…〉 I am confident she will not depart to night, and will possible set Spies in every corner; at least 'tis good to fear the worst, that we may prevent all things that would hinder this nights assignation: As soon as the Coast is clear, I'll wait on your Lordship, and be your Conductor, and in all things else am ready to show my self,

My Lord, Your Lordships most humble and most obedient Servant, MELINDA.

Silvia has order to wait on your Lordship as soon as all is clear.

To Melinda.

OH Melinda, what have you told me? Stay me with an immediate account of the recovery and calmness of my Adorable weeping Silvia, or I shall enter Belfont with my Sword drawn, bearing down all before me 'till I make my way to my Charming Mourner: Oh God! Silvia in a rage! Silvia in any Passion but that of Love? I cannot; bear it, no by Heaven I cannot; I shall do some outrage either on my self or at Bellfont. Oh thou dear Advocate of my tenderest Wishes, thou Confident of my never dying flame, thou kind administring Maid, send some relief to my breaking heart—Hast and tell me, Silvia is calm, that her bright Eyes spa • kle with smiles, or if they languish, say 'tis with Love, with expecting joys; that her dear hands are no more imployed in exercises too rough and unbecoming their native softness. Oh e •• ternal God! taring perhaps her Divine Hair, brighter than the Suns re • lecting Beams, injuring the heavenly Beauty of her Charming Face and Bosom, the joy and wish of all Mankind that look upon her: Oh charm her with Prayers and Tears, stop her dear Fingers from the rude assaults, bind her fair hands: Repeat Philander to her, tell her he's fainting with the news of her unkindness and outrage on her lovely self, but tell her too, I dye adoring her; tell her I rave, I tear, I curse my self,—For so I do; tell her I would break out into a violence that should set all Bellfont in a • lame, but for my care of her. Heaven and Earth should not restrain me,—No, they should not,— But her least frown should still me, tame me, and make me a calm Coward: say this, say all, say any thing to charm her rage and tears. Oh I am mad, stark mad, and ready to run on that frantick business I dye to think her guilty of: tell her how 'twould grieve her to see mee torn and mangled; to see that hair she loves ruffl'd and diminisht by rage, violated by my insupportable grief, my self quite bereft of all sense but that of Love, but that of Adoration for my charming, cruel, Insensible, who is possest with every thought with every imagination that can render me unhapy, born away with every fancy that is in disfavour of the wretched Philander. Oh Melinda, write immediately, or you will behold me enter a most deplorable object of Pity.

When I receiv'd yours, I fell into such a passion that I forc'd my self back to Dorillus his House, lest my transports had hurry'd me to Bellfont, where I should have undone all: but as I can rest no where, I am now returning to the Meadow again, where I will expect your aid or dye.

From Dorillus his Cottage, almost nine a Clock. To Philander.

I Must own my Charming Philander, that my Love is now arriv'd to that excess, that every thought which before but discompos'd me, now puts me into a violence of rage unbecoming my Sex; or any thing but the mighty occasion of it, Love, and which only had power to calm what it had before ruffled into a destructive storm; but like the anger'd Sea, which pants and heaves and retains still an uneasie motion long after the rude winds are appeas'd and hush'd to silence. My heart beats still, and heaves with the sensible remains of the late dangerous tempest of my mind, and nothing can absolutely calm me but the approach of the all-powerful Philander; though that thought possesses me with ten thousand fears, which I know will vanish all at thy appearance, and assume no more their dreadful shapes till thou art gone again: bring me then that kind cessation, bring me my Lysander and set me above the thoughts of Cares, Frights or any other thoughts but those of tender Love: hast then thou charming object of my eternal wishes, of my new desires, hast to my Arms, my Eyes, my Soul,—But oh be wondrous careful there, do not betray the easie Maid that trusts thee amidst all her sacred store.

'Tis almost dark, and my Mother is retir'd to her Chamber, my Father to his Cabinet, and has left all that Apartment next the Garden wholly without Spies. I have by trusty Silvia sent you a Key M • linda got made to the Door, which leads from the Garden to the back-Stairs to my Apartment, so carefully lock'd, and the original Key so closely guarded by my jealous Father: that way I beg you to come, a way but too well known to Lysander, and by which he has made many an escape to and from Mertilla. Oh Damn that thought, what makes it torturing me,—Let me • hange it for those of Lysander, the advantage will be as great as • artering Hell for Heaven; haste then Lysander: But what need I bid thee, Love will lend thee his Wings, thou who commandest all his Artillery, put 'em on, and fly to thy Languishing

SILVIA.

O I faint with the dear thought of thy Approach.

To the Charming Silvia.

WIth much ado, with many a Sigh a panting heart, and many a Languishing look back towards happy Bellfont, I have recover'd Dorillus his Farm, where I threw me on a Bed, and lay without motion, and almost without life for two hours; 'till at last through all my Sighs, my great Concern, my Torment, my Love and Rage broke silence, and burst into all the different compla • nts both soft and mad by turns, that ever possest a soul extravagantly seiz'd with frantick Love, Ah Silvia, what did I not say? How did I not Curse, and who, except my Charming Maid? For yet my Silvia is a Maid; Yes, yes, ye Envying Power she is, and yet the sacred and inestimable treasure was offer'd a trembling victim to the o'rejoy'd and fancy'd Deity, for then and there, I thought my self happier than a triumphing God, but having overcome all difficulties, all the fatigues and toyles of Loves long Sieges, Vanquisht the mighty Fantôm of the • air, the Giant Honour, and routed all the numerous Host of Womens little Reasonings, past all the bounds of peevish Modesty: Nay even all the loose and silken Counterscarps that fenc'd the sacred Fort, and nothing stop'd my glorious pursuit: Then, then ye Gods, just then by an over transport, to fall just fainting before the surrendering Gates, unable to receive the yielding treasure! Oh Silvia! what Demon, malicious at my Glory, seiz'd my vigor? What God, envious of my mighty joy, render'd me ashameful object of his Raillery? Snatcht my (till then) never failing power, and left me dying on thy Charming Bosom. Heavens, how I lay! Silent with wonder, rage and extasy of Love, unable to complain, or rail or storm, or seek for ease but with my sighs alone, which made up all my breath; my mad desires remain'd, but all unactive as Age or Death it self, as cold and feeble, as unfit for joy, as if my Youthful fire had long been past, or Silvia had never been blest with Charms. Tell me thou wondrous perfect Creature, tell me, where lay the hidden Witchcraft? Was Silvia's Beauty too Divine to mix with Mortal Joys? Ah no, 'twas Ravishing but Humane all. Yet sure 'twas so approaching to Divinity, as chang'd my Fire to Awfull Adoration, and all my wanton heat to reverend Contemplation. —But this is nonsense all, 'twas something more that gave me rage, despair and torments insupportable: No, 'twas no dull Devotion, tame Divinity, but mortal killing Agony, unlucky disappointment, unnatural impotence. Oh I am lost, enchanted by some Magick Spell: Oh what can Silvia say? What can she think of my sond passion? She'll swear 'tis all a cheat, I had it not. No, it could not be, such Tales I've often heard, as often laught at too; of disappointed Lovers; wou'd Silvia wou'd believe (as sure she may) mine was excess of Passion: What! my Silvia! being arriv'd to all the joy of Love, just come to reap the glorious recompence, the full reward, the Heaven for all my sufferings, do I lye gazing only and no more? A dull, a feeble unconcern'd Admirer: Oh my eternal shame!— Curse on my Youth, give me ye Powers Old Age, for that has some excuse, but Youth has none: 'tis Dullness, Stupid Insensibility: Where shall I hide my head, when this lewd Story's told? When it shall be confirm'd, Philander the Young the Brisk and Gay Philander, who never fail'd the Woman he scarce wisht for; never ba • k'd the Amorous conceated Old, nor the ill-favour'd Young; yet when he had extended in his Arms the Young, the Charming Fair and Longing Silvia, the untouch'd, unspotted, and till then unwishing Lovely Maid, yielded, defenceless and unguarded all, he wanted power to seize the trembling Prey: Defend me Heaven from Madness. Oh Silvia, I have reflected on all the little circumstances that might occasion this distaster, and damn me to this degree of coldness, but I can fix on none: I had 'tis true for Silvia's sake some apprehensions of fear of being surpriz'd, for coming through the Garden, I saw at the farther end a man, at least I fancy'd by that light it was a man, who perceiving the glimps of something approach from the Grove made softly towards me, but with such caution as if he fear'd to be mistaken in the person, as much as I was to approach him: and reminding what Melinda told me of an assignation she had made to Monsi • ur the Count— Imagin'd it him; nor was I mistaken when I heard his voice calling in low tone—Melinda.—At which I mended my pace, and e're he got half way the Garden recover'd the Door, and softly unlocking it, got in unperceiv'd and fasten'd it after me, well enough assur'd that he saw not which way I vanisht: however it fail'd not to alarm me with some fears on your dear account, that disturb'd my repose, and which I thought then not necessary to impart to you, and which indeed all vanisht at the sight of my Adorable Maid: When entering thy Apartment, I beheld thee extended on a Bed of Roses, in Garments which, if possible, by their wanton loose negligence and gaiety augmented thy natural Charms: I trembling sell on my Knees by your Bed-side, and gaz'd a while, unable to speak for transports of joy and love: You too were silent, and remain'd so, so long that I ventur'd to press your Lips with mine, which all their eager kisses could not put in motion, so that I fear'd you fainted; a sudden fright that in a moment chang'd my Feaver of Love into a cold Ague fit; but you reviv'd me with a Sigh again, and fired me anew, by pressing my hand, and from that silent soft incouragement, I by degrees ravisht a thousand Blisses; yet still between your tempting charming kisses, you would cry—Oh my Philander do not injure me,—Be sure you press me not to the last joys of Love;—Oh have a care or I am undone for ever; restrain your roving hands,—Oh whether would they wander,—My Soul, my joy, my everlasting Charmer, Oh whether would you go.—Thus with a Thousand Cautions more, which did but raise what you design'd to calm, you made me but the madder to possess: not all the Vows you bad me call to mind, could now restrain my wild and head-strong passion; my raving raging (but my soft) desire: No Silvia, No, it was not in the power of feeble flesh and blood to find resistance against so many Charms; yet still you made me swear, still I protested, but still burnt on with the same torturing flame, till the vast pleasure ev •• became a pain: To add to this, I saw (Yes Silvia not all your Art and Modesty could hide it) I saw the Ravishing Maid as much inflam'd as I; she burnt with equal fire, with equal Languishment: Not all her care could keep the Sparks concealed, but it broke out in every word and look; her trembling tongue, her feeble fainting voice betray'd it all, sighs in terrupting every syllable; a Languishment I never saw till then dwelt in her Charming Eyes, that contradicted all her little Vows; her short and double breathings heav'd her Breast, her swelling snowy breast, her hands that grasp'd me trembling as they clos'd, while she permitted mine unknown, unheeded to traverse all her Beauties, till quite forgetting all I'd faintly promised, and wholly abandoning my soul to joy, I rusht upon her, who all fainting lay beneath my useless weight, for on a sudden all my power was fled swifter than Lightning hurryed through my infeebled veins, and vanisht all: Not the dear lovely Beauty which I prest, the Dying Charms of that fair face and eyes, the Clasps of those soft Arms, nor the bewitching accent of her voice that murmur'd Love half smo • her'd in her Sighs, nor all my Love, my vast, my mighty passion, could call my fugitive vigor back again: Oh no, the more I look— The more I touch'd and saw, the more I was undone. Oh pity me my too too lovely Maid, do not revile the faults which you alone create. Consider all your Charms at once expos'd, consider every sense about me ravisht, o'recome with joys too mighty to be supported: No wonder if I fell a shameful sacrifice to the fond Deity, consider how I waited, how I strove, and still burnt on and every tender touch still added fuel to the vigorous Fire; which by your delay consum'd it self in burning. I want Philosophy to make this out, or faith to fix my unhappiness on any chance or natural accident, but this my Charming Silvia I am sure, that had I lov'd you less, I'd been less wretched: Nor had we parted Silvia on so ill terms, nor had I left you with an opinion so disadvantagious for Lysander, but for that unhappy noise at your Chamber door, which alarming your fear, occasion'd your recovery from that dear trance, to which Love and soft desire had reduc'd you and me from the most tormenting silent Agony that disappointed joy ever possest a fond expecting heart with. Oh Heavens to have my Silvia in my power, Favour'd by silence, night, and safe retreat! then, then, to lye a tame cold sigher only, as if my Silvia gave that Assignation alone by stealth, undrest, all loose and languishing, fit for the mighty business of the Night, only to hear me prattle, see me gaze, or tell her what a pretty sight it was to see the Moon shine through the dancing Boughs. O Damn my harden'd dullness,—But no more,—I am all fire and madness at the thought,—But I was saying, Silvia, we both recover'd then when the noise alarm'd us. I long to know whether you think we were betray'd, for on that knowledge rests a mighty part of my destiny, I hope we are not, by an accident that befell me at my going away, which (but for my untimely force of leaving my lovely Silvia, which gave me pains insupportable) would have given me great diversion. You know our fear of being discover'd, occasioned my disguise, for you found it necessary I should depart, your fear had so prevail'd and that in Melinda's Night Gown and Head dress; thus attir'd with much ado, I went and left my soul behind me, and finding no body all along the Gallery, nor in my passage from your apartment into the Garden, I was a thousand times about to return to all my joys; when in the midst of this almost ended dispute, I saw by the light of the Moon (which was by good fortune under a Cloud and could not distinctly direct the sight) a man taking towards me with cautious speed, which made me advance with the more haste to recover the Grove, believing to have escap'd him under the Covert of the Trees; for retreat I could not without betraying which way I went; but just at the entrance of the Thicket, he turning short made up to me, and I perceiv'd it Monsieur the Count, who taking me for Melinda who it seems he expected, caught hold of my Gown as I would have pass'd him, and Cry'd, Now Melinda I see you are a Maid of Honour, —Come retire with me into the Grove where I have a present of a heart and something else to make you, that will be of more advantage to you than that of Alexis though something younger.—I all confounded knew not what to reply, nor how, lest he should find his mistake, at least if he he discover'd not who I was: Which silence gave him occasion to go on, which he did in this manner; What not a word Melinda, or do you design I shall take your silence for consent? If so, come my pretty Creature, let us not lose the hour Love has given us; at this he would have advanc'd, leading me by the hand which he prest and kist very amorously: Judg my Adorable Silvia in what a fine condition your Lysander was then in. What should I do? to go had disappointed him worse than I was with thee before; not to go, betray'd me: I had much adoe to hold my Countenance, and unwilling to speak, while I was thus imployed in thought, Monsieur—Pulling me (eager of joys to come,) and I holding back, he stop'd and cry'd, sure Melinda you came not hither to bring me a Denial. I then reply'd, whispering,—Softly, Sir for Heavens sake (sweetning my voice as much as possible) consider I'm a Maid, and would not be discover'd for the world. Who can discover us? reply'd my Lover, what I take from thee shall never be mist, not by Alexis himself upon the Wedding Night;—Come —Sweet Child come:—With that I pull'd back and whisper'd— Heavens, would you make a Mistress of me?—Says he—A Mistress what wouldst thou be a Cherubin? Then I reply'd as before— I am no Whore, Sir,—No crys he, but I can quickly make thee one, I have my Tools about me Sweet-heart, therefore let's lose no time but fall to work: this last raillery from the brisk old Gentleman, had in spight of resolution almost made me burst out into loud Laughten, when he took more gravity upon him, and cry'd —Come, come Melinda, why all this foolish argument at this hour in this place, and after so much serious Courtship, believe me I'l be kind to thee for ever; with that he clapt fifty Guinnies in a Purse into one hand, and something else that shall be nameless into the other, presents that had both been worth Melinda's acceptance: All this while was I studying an evasion, at last to shorten my pleasant adventure, looking round, I cry'd softly, are you sure, Sir, we are safe—For Heavens sake step towards the Garden door and see, for I would not be discover'd for the world,— Nor I cry'd he—But do not fear all's safe:—However see (whisper'd I) that my fear may not disturb your joys. With that he went toward the House, and I slipping into the Grove got immediately into the Meadow, where Alexis waited my coming with Brilljard, so I left the expecting Lover I suppose ranging the Grove for his fled Nimph, and I doubt will fall heavy on poor Melinda, who shall have the Guinneys either to restore or keep as she and the angry Count can agree: I leave the management of it to her wit and conduct.

This account I thought necessary to give my Charmer, that she might prepare Melinda for the assault, who understanding all that passed between us, may so dispose of matters, that no discovery may happen by mistake, and I know my Silvia and she can find a thousand excuses for the suppos'd Melinda's flight. But my Adorable Maid, my business here was not to give an account of my Adventure only, nor of my ravings, but to tell my Silvia on what my life depends; which is, in a permission to wait on her again this insuing night; make no excuse, for if you do, by all I adore in Heaven and Earth, I'll end my life here where I receiv'd it. I'll say no more, nor give your Love instructions, but wait impatiently here the Life or Death of your

LYSANDER.

'Tis Six a Clock, and yet my eys have not clos'd themselves to sleep: Alexis and Brilljard give me hopes of a kind return to this, and have brought their Pl • te and Violin to charm me into a slumber: If Silvia love, as I am sure she docs; she'll wake me with a dear consent to see me, if not, I only wake to sleep for ever.

To my fair Charmer.

WHen I had seal'd the inclos'd, my Page whom I had order'd to come to me with an account of any business extraordinary, is this Morning arriv'd with a Letter from Cesario, which I have sent here inclos'd, that my Silvia may see how little I regard the world, or the mighty revolution in hand; when set in competition with the least hope of beholding her adorable face, or hearing her Charming Tongue when it whispers the soft dictates of her tender heart into my ravish'd soul; one moments joy like that surmounts an age of dull Empire. No, let the busy unregarded Rout perish, the Cause fall or stand alone for me: Give me but Love, Love and my Silvia; I ask no more of Heaven; to which vast joy could you but imagine (Oh wondrous Miracle of Beauty!) how poor and little I esteem the valued trifles of the world, you would in return contemn your part of it, and live with me in silent Shades for ever. Oh! Silvia, what hast thou this night to add to the Soul of thy

PHILANDER! To the Count of—

I'Le allow you, my Dear, to be very fond of so much Beauty as the world must own adorns the Lovely Silvia I'll, permit Love too to Rival me in your heart, but not out-rival Glory; hast then my Dear to the advance of that, make no delay, but with the Mornings dawne, let me find you in my Arms, where I have something that will surprize you to relate to you: You were last night expected at—It behoves you to give no Umbrage to Persons who's Interest renders 'em enough jealous. We have two new Advancers come in of Youth and Money, teach 'em not negligence; be careful and let nothing hinder you from taking Horse immediately, as you value the repose and fortune of

My Dear, Your CESARIO.

I call'd last night on you, and your Page following me to my Coach, whisper'd me—if I had any earnest business with you, he knew where to find you; I soon imagin'd where, and bid him call within an hour for this, and post with it immediately, though dark.

To Philander.

AH! what have I done Philander, and where shall I hide my guilty blushing face? Thou hast undone my eternal quiet, Oh thou hast ruin'd my everlasting repose, and I must never, never look abroad again: Curse on my face that first debauch'd my Vertue, and taught thee how to Love! Curse on my tempting youth, my shape, my Air, my Eyes, my Voice, my Hands, and every charm that did contribute to my fatal love, a lasting Curse on all— But those of the adorable Philander, and those—even in this raging Minute, my furious passion dares not approach with an indecent thought: No, they are sacred all, Madness it self would spare 'em, and shouldst thou now behold me as I sit, my Hair dishevel'd, Ruffl'd and disorder'd, my Eyes bedewing every word I write, when for each Letter I let fall a tear; then (prest with thought) starting, I dropt my Pen, and fall to rave a new, and tear those Garments, whose loose negligence help'd to betray me to my shameful ruine, wounding my breast, but want the resolution to wound it as I ought; which when I but propose, Love stays the thought, raging and wild as 'tis, the Conqueror checks it, with whispering only Philander to my soul; the dear Name calmes me to an easiness, gives me the Pen into my trembling hand, and I pursue my silent soft complaint: Oh! shouldst thou see me thus, in all these sudden different change of Passions, thou wouldst say Philander I were mad indeed; Madness it self can find no stranger motions: And I would calmly ask thee, for I am calm again, how comes it my adorable Philander, that thou canst possess a Maid with so much Madness? who art thy self a miracle of softness, all sweet and all serene, the most of Angel in thy composition that ever mingled with humanity; the very words fall so gently from thy tongue,—are utter'd with a Voice so ravishingly soft, a tone so tender and so full of Love, 'twould charm even frenzy, calm rude distraction, and wildness wou'd become a silent Listener; there's such a sweet serenity in thy face, such innocence and softness in thy eyes, should desart Savages, but gaze on thee, sure they would forget their native forest wildness, and be inspir'd with easy-Gentleness: Most certainly this God-like power thou hast. Why then? Oh tell me in the Agony of my soul, why must those charms that bring Tranquility and peace to all, make me alone a wild, unseemly raver? Why has it contrary effects on me? Oh! all I act and say is perfect madness: Yet this is the least unaccountable part of my most wretched Story; —Oh! I must ner'e behold thy Lovely face again, for if I should, sure I should blush my soul away, no, no, I must not, nor ever more believe thy dear deluding Vows: Never thy charming perjur'd Oaths, after a violation like to this. Oh Heauen, what have I done? Yet by that Heaven I swear I d • re not ask my soul, lest it inform me how I was to blame, unless that fatal Minute would instruct me how to revenge my wrongs upon my heart, my fond betraying heart,—Despair and Madness seize me; darkness and horror hide me from humane sight, after an easiness like this;—What to yield,—To yield my Honour! Betray the secrets of my Virgin wishes—My new desires; my unknown shameful flame;—Hell and Death! Where got I so much confidence? Where learnt the harden'd and unblushing folly? To wish was such a fault, as is a crime unpardonable to own; to shew desire is such a sin in vertue as must deserve reproach from all the world; but I, unlucky I, have not only betray'd all these, but with a transport void of sense and shame, I yield to thy Armes,—I'll not indure the thought,—By Heaven! I cannot; there's something more than rage that animates that thought: some Magick Spell that in the midst of all my sense of Shame keeps me from true repentance; this angers me, and makes me know my Honour but a fantom: Now I could curse again my Youth and Love; but Oh! when I have done, alas Philander, I find my self as guilty as before; I cannot make one firm resolve against the, or if I do, when I consider thee, they weigh not all one lovely Hair of thine. 'Tis all in vain the Charming Cause remains Philander's still as lovely as before, 'tis him I must remove from my fond Eyes and heart, him I must banish from my touch, my smell, and every other sense, by Heaven! I cannot bear the mighty pressure, I cannot see his Eyes, and touch his Hands, smell the perfume every Pore of his breaths forth, tast thy soft kisses, hear thy Charming Voice, but I am all on flame: NO, 'tis these I must exclaim on, not my Youth, 'tis they debauch my soul, no natural propensity in me to yield, or to admit of such destructive fires, Fain I would put it off, but 'twill not do, I am the Aggressor still; else, why is not every living Maid undone, that does but touch or see thee? Tell me why? No, the fault's in me, and thou art innocent. —Were but my Soul less delicate, were it less sensible of, what it loves and likes in thee, I yet were dully happy; but Oh there is a nicety there so charm'd, so apprehensive of thy Beauties, as has betray'd me to unrest for ever:—Yet something I will do to tame this lewd Betrayer of my right, and it shall plead no more in thy behalf, no more no more disperse the joys which it conceives through, every 〈◊〉 (cold and insensible by nature) to kindle new desires there.—No more shall fill me with unknown curosity; no, I will in spight of all the Perfumes that dwell about thee, in spight of all the Arts thou hast of Looking, of Speaking and of Touching; I will I say assume my native temper, I will be calm, be cold, and unconcern'd, as I have been to all the world,—But to Philander, —The Almighty Power he has is unaccountable;—By yonder breaking day that opens in the East, opens to see my shame,—I swear—By that great ruler of the day, the Sun, by that Almighty power that rules them both, I swear—I swear Philander, Charming Lovely Youth! Thou art the first e're kindl'd soft desires about my soul, thou art the first that ever did inform me that there was such a sort of wish about me. I thought the vanity of being belov'd, made up the greatest par • of the satisfaction; 'twas joy 〈◊〉 see my Lovers sigh about me, adore and praise me, and increase my Pride by every look, by every word and action; and him I fancy'd best I favour'd most, and he past for the happy fortune; him I have suffer'd too, to kiss and press me, to tell me all his Tale of Love, and sigh, which I would listen to with Pride and Pleasure, permitted it and smil'd him kind returns; nay, by my life, then thought I lov'd him too, thought I could have been content to have past my life at this gay rate, with this fond hoping Lover, and thought no farther than of being great, having rich Coaches, showing Equipage, to pass my hours in dressing, in going to the Opera's and the Tower, make Visits where hist, be seen at Balls: and having still the vanity to think the men would Gaze and Languish where I came, and all the Women envy me, I thought no farther on —But thou Philander hast made me take new measures, I now can think of nothing but of thee, I loath the sound of Love from any other voice, and Conversation makes my soul impatient, and does not only dull me into Melancholly, but perplexes me out of all humour, out of all patient sufferance, and I am never so well pleas'd when from Philander, as when I am retir'd; and curse my Character and Figure in the world, because it permits me not to prevent being visited, one thought of thee, is worth the worlds injoyment, I hate to dress, I hate to be agreable to any Eyes but thine; I hate the noise of Equipage and Crowds, and would be more content to live with thee in some lone shaded Cottage, than be a Queen, and hinder'd by that Grandure one moments conversation with Philander: Maist thou despise and loath me, a Curse the greatest that I can invent, if this be any thing but real honest truth. No, no Philander, I find I never lov'd till now, I understood it not, nor knew not what those Sighs and Pressings meant which others gave me; yet every speaking glance thy Eyes put on inform my soul what 'tis they plead and languish for: If you but touch my hand, my breath grows faint and short, my blood glows in my face, and runs with an unusual warmth through every vein, and tells my heart what 'tis Philander ailes, when he falls sighing on my Bosom; oh then I fear. I answer every look, and every sigh and touch, in the same silent but intelligible Language, and understood I fear to well by thee: 'Till now I never fear'd Love as a Criminal. Oh tell me not mistaken Foolish Maids, true Love is innocent, ye cold, ye dull, ye unconsidering Lovers; though I have often heard it from the Grave and Wise, and preacht my self that Doctrine: I now renounce it all, 'tis false, by Heaven! 'tis false, for now I Love, and know it all a fiction; yes, and love so, as never any Woman can equal me in Love, my soul being all compos'd (as I have often said) of softer Materials. Nor is it fancy sets my Rates on Beauty, there's an intrinsick value in thy Charms, which surely none but I am able to understand, and to those that view thee not with my judging Eyes, ugliness facy'd wou'd appear the same, and please as well. If all could love or judge like me, why does Philander pass so unregarded by a thousand Women, who never sigh'd for him? What makes Mertilla who possesses all, looks on thee, feels thy Kisses, hears thee speak, and yet wants sense to know how blest she is; 'tis want of judgment all, and how, and how can she that judges ill, Love well?

Granting my passion equal to its object; you must allow it infinite, and more in me than any other Woman, by how much more my Soul is compos'd of tenderness; and yet I say I own, for I may own it, now Heaven and you are Witness of my shame, I own with all this love, with all this passion, so vast, so true and so unchangeable, that I have Wishes, new unwonted Wishes; at every thought of thee, I find a strange disorder in my blood, that pants and burns in every Vein, and makes me blush, and sigh, and grow impatient, asham'd and angry; but when I know it the effects of Love, I'm reconcil'd, and wish and sigh anew, but when I sit and Gaze upon thy Eyes, thy Languishing thy Lovely dying Eyes; play with thy soft white hand, and lay my glowing Cheek to thine. —Oh God! What Language can express my transport, all that is tender, all that is soft desire seizes every trembling Limb, and 'tis with pain conceal'd.— Yes, yes Philander, 'tis the fatal truth, since thou hast found it, I confess it too, and yet I love thee dearly; long, long it was that I essay'd to hide the guilty flame, if Love be guilt; for I confess I did dissemble a coldness which I was not Mistress of: there lyes a Womans Art, there all her boasted Vertue, it is but well dissembling, and no more. —But mine alas is gone, for over fled; this, this feable guard that should secure my Honour, thou hast betray'd and left it quite defenceless. Ah what's a Womans Honour when 'tis so poorly guarded: No wonder that you conquer with such ease, when we are only safe by the mean arts of base dissimulation, an ill as shameful as that to which we fall. Oh silly refuge! What foolish nonsence, fond custom can perswade; yet so it is, and she that breaks her Laws, los •• her fame, her honour and esteem. Oh Heavens! how quickly lost it is! Give me ye Powers, my fame, and let me be a fool; let me retain my vertue and my Honour, and be a dull insensible—But Oh where is it? I have lost it all; 'tis irrecoverably lost: yes, yes, ye charming perjur'd man, 'tis gone, and thou hast quite undone me.—

What though I lay extended on my Bed, undrest, unapprehensive of my fate, my Bosom loose and easie of excess, my Garments ready, thin, and wantonly put on, as if they would with little force submit to the fond straying hand: What then Philander, must you take the advantage? Must you be perjur'd because I was tempting? 'Tis true, I let you in by stealth by night, whose silent darkness favour'd your Treachery; but Oh Philander were not your Vows as binding by a glimmering Taper, as if the Sun with all his Awful light had been a looker on, I urg'd your Vows as you prest on,—But Oh I fear it was in such a way so faintly and so feebly I upbraided you, as did but more advance your perjuries. Your strenght encreas'd, but mine alas declin'd; till I quite fainted in your Arms, left you triumphant Lord of all: No more my faint denials do perswade, no more my trembling hands resist your force, unguarded lay the treasure which you toil'd for, betray'd and yielded to the Lovely Conqueror.— But Oh tormenting,—When you saw the store, and found the Prise no richer, with what contempt, (yes, false dear man.) with what contempt you view'd the • nvalu'd Trophy: What! despis'd, was all you call a Heaven of Joy and Beauty expos'd to view, and then neglected? Were all your Prayers heard, your wishes granted, and your toiles rewarded, the trembling Victim ready for the sacrifice, and did you want Devotion to perform it, and did you thus receive the expected blessing—Oh—By Heaven I'll never see the more, and 'twill be charity to thee, for thou hast no excuse in store that can convince my opinion that I am hated, loath'd,— I cannot bear that thought,— Or if I do, it shall only serve to fortify my fixt resolve never to see thee more,—And yet I long to hear thy false excuse, let it be quickly then; 'tis my disdain invites thee—To strengthen which, there needs no more than that you let me hear thy poor defence.—But 'tis a tedious time to that flow hour wherein I dare permit thee, but hope not to incline my soul to love: No I'm yet safe if I can stop but here, but here be wise resolve and be my self.

SILVIA. To Philander.

AS my Page was coming with the inclos'd he met Alexis at the gate with yours, and who would not depart without an answer to it;—to go or stay is the Question. Ah, Philander! why do you press a heart too ready to yield to Love and you! alas, I fear you guess too well my answer, and your own Soul might save me the blushing trouble of a reply. I am plung'd in past hope of a retreat, and since my fate has pointed me out for ruine, I cannot fall more gloriously. Take then, Philander, to your dear Arms a Maid that can no longer resist, who is disarm'd of all defensive power: She yields, she yields, and does confess it too; and sure she must be more than mortal that can hold out against thy charms and vows. Since I must be undone and give all away, I'll do it generously, and scorn all mean reserves: I will be brave in Love, and lavish all; nor shall Philander think I Love him well unless I do. Take, charming Victor, then, what your own merits, and what Love has give you; take, take at last the dear reward of all your sighs and tears, your vows and sufferings. But since, Philander, 'tis an Age to night, and till the approach of those dear silent hours, thou knowst I dare not give thee admittance: I do conjure thee go to Cesario▪ whom I find too pressing, not to believe the concerns great; and so jealous I am of thy dear safety, that every thing alarms my fears; oh! satisfie 'em then and go, 'tis early yet, and if you take horse immediately, you will be there by eight this morning; go, I conjure you; for though 'tis an unspeakable satisfaction to know you are so near me, yet I prefer your safety and honour to all considerations else. You may soon dispatch your affairs, and render your self time enough on the place appointed, which is where you last night waited, and 'twill be at least eight at night before 'tis possible to bring you to my arms. Come in your Chariot, and do not heat your self with riding; have a care of me and my life in the preservation of all I love. Be sure you go, and do not, my Philander, out of a punctilio of Love, neglect your dear safety—Go then, Philander, and all the Gods of Love preserve and attend thee on thy way, and bring thee safely back to

Silvia. To Silvia •

OH, thou most charming of the Sex! thou lovely dear delight of my transported Soul! thou everlasting treasure of my heart! what hast thou done? given me an over joy, that fails but very little of performing what griefs excess had almost finish'd before: Eternal blessings on thee, for a goodness so divine, Oh, thou most excellent and dearest of thy sex! I know not what to do or what to say. I am not what I was, I do not speak, nor walk, nor think as I was wont to do; sure the excess of joy is far above dull sense, or formal thinking, it cannot stay for ceremonious method. I rave with pleasure, rage with the dear thought of coming ex • asie. Oh Silvia, Silvia, Silvia! my soul, my vital bloud, and without which I could as well subsist—Oh, my adorable, my Silvia! methinks I press thee, kiss thee, hear thee sigh, behold thy eyes, and all the wondrous beauty of thy face; a solemn joy has spread it self through every vein, through every sensible artery of my heart, and I can think of nothing but of Silvia, the lovely Silvia, the blooming flowing Silvia; and shall I see thee? shall I touch thy hands, and press thy dear, thy charming body in my arms, and taste a Thousand joys, a thousand ravishments? oh God! shall I? oh Silvia, say; but thou hast said enough to make me mad, and I forgetting of thy safety and my own, shall bring thy wild adoring slave to Bellfont, and throw him at thy feet, to pay his humble gratitude for this great condescention, this vast bounty.

Ah, Silvia! how shall I live till night? and you impose too cruelly upon me in conjuring me to go to Cesario; alas! does Silvia know to what she exposes her Philander? whose joy is so transporting great, that when he comes into the grave Cabal he must betray the story of his heart, and in lieu of the mighty business there in hand be raving still on Silvia, telling his joy to all the amazed listeners, and answering questions that concern our great affair, with something of my love; all which will pass for madness and undoe me: no, give me leave to rave in silence, and unseen among the trees, they'll humour my disease, answer my murmuring joy, and Echo's flatter it, repeat thy name, repeat that Silvia's mine! and never hurt her fame; while the Cabals, business and noisie Town will add confusion to my present transport, and make me mad indeed: no, let me alone, thou sacred lovely creature▪ let me be calm and quiet here, and tell all the insensibles I meet in the woods what Silvia has this happy minute destin'd me: Oh, let me record it on every bark, on every Oak and Beech, that all the world may wonder at my fortune, and bless the generous maid; let it grow up to Ages that shall come▪ that they may know the story of our loves, and how a happy youth, they call'd Philander, was once so blest by Heaven as to possess the charming, the ador'd and lov'd by all, the glorious Silvia! a Maid, the most divine that ever grac'd a story; and when the Nymphs would look for an example of love and constancy, let them point out Philander to their doubted Swains, and cry, ah! love but as the young Philander did, and then be fortunate, and then reap all your wishes: and when the Shepherd would upbraid his Nymph, let him but cry,—see here what Silvia did to save the young Philander; but oh! there never will be such another Nymph as Silvia; Heaven form'd but one to shew the world what Angels are, and she was form'd for me, yes she was—in whom I wou'd not quit my glorious interest to reign a monarch here, or any bosted gilded thing above! take all, take all, ye Gods, and give me but this happy coming night! Oh, Silvia, Silvia! by all thy promis'd joys I am undone if any accident should ravish this night form me: this night! no not for a lea • e of years to all eternity would I throw thee away: Oh! I am all flame, all joyfull fire and softness; methinks 'tis Heaven wheree'er I look around me, air where I tread, and ravishing Musick when I speak, because 'tis all of Silvia—let me alone, oh let me cool a little, or I shall by a too excess of joyfull thought lose all my hop'd for bliss. Remove a little from me, go, my Silvia, you're so excessive sweet, so wondrous dazling, you press my senses even to pain— away—let me take air—let me recover breath: oh let me lay me down beneath some cooling shade, near some refreshing crystal murmuring spring, and fan the gentle air about me. I suffocate, I faint, with this close loving, I must allay my joy or be undone—I'll read thy cruel Letters, or I'll think of some sad melancholy hour wherein thou hast dismiss'd me desparing from thy presence: or while you press me now to be gone with so much earnestness, you have some Lover to receive and entertain; perhaps 'tis only for the vanity to hear him tell his nauseous passion to you, breath on your lovely face, and daub your Garments with his fulsome imbrace: but oh, by Heaven, I cannot think that though! and thou hast sworn thou canst not suffer it—if I shou'd find thee false—but 'tis impossible— oh! shou'd I find Foscario visit thee, him whom thy Parents favour, I shou'd undo you all, by Heaven I shou'd—but thou hast sworn, what need Philander more; yes, Silvia thou hast sworn and call'd Heaven's vengeance down: whene'er thou gavest a look, or a dear smile in love to that pretending Fop; yet from his mighty fortune there is danger in him.—what makes that thought torment me now?—begon▪ for Silvia loves me and will preserve my life—

I am not able, my adorable Charmer, to obey your commands of going from the sight of happy Bellfont; no, let the great wheel of the vast design roul on—or for ever stand still, for I'll not aid its motion to leave the mightier business of my love unfinish'd: no, let fortune and the duller Fools toil on—for I'll not bate a minute of my joys with thee to save the world, much less so poor a parcell of it; and sure there is more solid pleasure ev'n in these expecting hours▪ I wait to snatch my bliss, than to be Lord of all the universe without it: then let me wait my Silvia, in those melancholy shades that part Bellfont from Dorillus his farm; perhaps my Silvia may walk that way so unattended that we might meet and and lose our selves for a few moments in those intricate retreats: Ah, Silvia! I am dying with that thought—Oh Heavens! what cruel destiny is mine? whose fatal circumstances do not permit me to own my passion, and lay claim to Silvia, to take her without controul to shades or Palaces to live for ever with her, to gaze for ever on her, to eat, to loll, to rise, to play, to sleep, to act o'er all the pleasures and the joys of life with her—But 'tis in vain I rave, in vain employ my self in the fools barren business, Wishing, —this thought has made me sad as death: Oh, Silvia! I can ne'r be truly happy—adieu, employ thy self in writing to me, and remember my life bears date but only with thy faith and Love.

Philander.

Try, my Adorable▪ what you can do to meet me in the Wood 〈◊〉 afternoon for there I'll live 〈◊〉 day.

To Philander.

OBstinate Philander, I conjure you by all your vows, by all your sacred love, by those dear hours this happy night design'd in favour of you, to go without delay to Cesario; 'twill be unsafe to disobey a Prince in his jealous circumstances. The fatigue of the journey cannot be great, and you well know the torment of my fears; oh! I shall never be happy or think you safe till you have quitted this fatal interest: Go, my Philander—and remember whatever toiles you take will be rewarded at night in the Arms of

Silvia. To Silvia.

WHatever toiles you take shall be rewarded in the arms of Silvia!—By Heaven, I am inspired to act wonders: Yes, Silvia, yes, my adorable Maid, I am gone, I fly as swi • t as lightning, or the soft darts of love shot from thy charming eyes, and I can hardly stay to say—adieu.—

To the Lady— Dear Child▪

LONG foreseeing the misery whereto you must arrive by this fatal correspondence with my unhappy Lord, I have often, with tears and prayers, implor'd you to decline so dangerous a passion; I have never yet acquainted our parents with your misfortunes, but I fear I must at last make use of their Authority for the prevention of your ruine. 'Tis not, my dearest Child, that part of this unhappy story that relates to me, that grieves me, but purely that of thine.

Consider, oh young noble Maid, the infamy of being a Prostitute! and yet the act it self in this fatal Amou • is not the greatest sin, but the manner which carries an unusual horrour with it; for 'tis a Brother too, my Child, as well a • a lover, one that has lain by thy unhappy Sister's side so many tender years, by whom he has a dear and lovely off-spring, by which he has more fixt himself to thee by relation and blood: Consider this, oh fond heedless girl! and suffer not a momentary joy to rob thee of the eternal fame, me of my eternal repose, and fix a brand upon our noble house, and so undoe us all.—Alas, consider after an action so shamefull, thou must obscure thy self in some remote corner of the world, where honesty and honour never are heard of: No thou canst not shew thy face, but 'twill be pointed at for something monstrous: for a hundred ages may not produce a story so leudly infamous and loose as thine. Perhaps (fond as you are) you imagin the sole joy of being belov'd by him, will attone for those affronts and reproaches you will meet with in the censuring world: But Child, remember and believe me, there is no lasting faith in sin; he that has broke his Vows with Heaven and me, will be again perjur'd to Heaven and thee, and all the world!—he once thought me as lovely, lay at my feet, and sigh'd away his soul, and told such pityous stories of his sufferings, such sad, such mournfull tales of his departed rest, his broken heart and everlasting Love, that sure I thought it had been a sin not to have credited his charming perjuries; in such a way he swore, with such a grace he sigh'd, so artfully he mov'd so tenderly he look'd Alas, dear Child, then all he said was new, unusual with him, never told before, now 'tis a beaten road, 'tis learn'd by heart, and easily addrest to any fond believing woman, the tatter'd, worn-out fragments of my Trophies, the dregs of what I long since drain'd from off his fickle heart; then it was fine, then it was brisk and new, now pall'd and dull'd by being repeated often. Think, my Child, what your victorious beauty me ••• s, the victim of a heart unconquer'd by any but your eyes: Alas, he had been my captive, my humble whining slave, disdain to put him on your fetters now; alas, he can say no new thing of his heart to thee, 'tis love at second hand, worn out, and all its gaudy luster tarnish't; besides, my Child, if thou hadst no religion binding enough, no honour that could stay thy fatal course, yet nature should oblige thee, and give a check to the unreasonable enterprise. The griefs and dishonour of our noble Parents, who have been eminent for vertue and piety, oh suffer 'em not to be regarded in this censuring world as the most unhappy of all the race of old nobility; thou art the darling child, the joy of all, the last hope left, the refuge of their sorrow; for they, alas, have had but unkind stars to influence their unadvis'd off-spring: no want of vertue in their education, but this last blow of fate must strike 'em dead: Think, think of this, my Child, and yet retire from ruine; haste, fly from destruction which pursues thee fast; haste, haste, and save thy parents and a sister, or what's more dear, thy fame; mine has already receiv'd but too many desperate wounds, and all through my unkind Lord's growing passion for thee, which was most fatally founded on my ruine, and nothing but my ruine could advance it; and when my Sister, thou hast run thy race, made thy self loath'd, undone and infamous as hell, despis'd, scorn'd and abandoned by all, lampoon'd, perhaps diseas'd; this faithless man, this cause of all will leave thee too, grow weary of thee, nauseated by use, he may perhaps consider what sins, what evils, and what inconveniences and shames thou'st brought him to, and will not be the last shall loath and hate thee: For though youth fansie it have a mighty race to run of pleasing vice and vanity, the course will end, the goal will be arriv'd to at the last, where they will sighing stand, look back and view the length of pretious time they've fool'd away; when travers'd o'er with honour and discretion, how glorious were the journey, and with what joy the we • ried traveller lies down and basks beneath the shades that ends the happy course.

Forgive, dear Child, this advice and persue it, 'tis the effect of my pity, not anger, nor could the name of rival ever yet have power to banish that of sister from my soul—farewell, remember me; pray Heaven thou hast not this night made a forfeit of thy honour and that this which comes from a tender bleeding heart may have the fortune to inspire thee with grace to avoid all temptations for the future, since they must end in sorrow, which is the eternal prayer of,

Dearest Child, Your affectionate Sister. To Philander.

ASk me not, my dearest Brother, the reason of this sudden change, ask me no more from whence proceeds this strange coldness, or why this alteration; it is enough my destiny has not decreed me for Philander: Alas, I see my errour, and looking round about me, find nothing but approaching horrour and confusion in my pursuit of love: Oh whither was I going? to what dark paths, what everlasting shades had smiling love betray'd me had I pursu'd him farther; but I at last have subdu'd his force, and the fond Charmer shall no more renew his arts and flatteries; for I'm resolv'd as Heaven, as fixt as fate and death, and I conjure you, trouble my repose no more, for if you do (regardless of my honour, which if you lov'd you wou'd preserve) I'll do a deed shall free me from your importunities, that shall amaze and cool your vitious flame: no more—remember you have a noble wife, companion of your vows, and I have honour, both which are worth preserving, and for which, though you want generous love, you'll find neither that nor courage wanting in

Silvia. To Silvia.

YES, my adorable Silvia, I will pursue you no farther, only for all my pains, for all my sufferings, for my tormenting sleepless nights, and thoughtfull anxious days▪ for all my faithless hopes, my fears, my sighs, my prayers and my tears, for my unequall'd and unbound passion, and my unwearied pursuits in love, my never dying flame, and lastly, for my death; I only beg in recompense for all, this last favour from your pity; That you will deign to view the bleeding wound that pierc'd the truest heart that ever fell a sacrifice to love: you'll find my body lying beneath that spreading Oak, so sacred to Philander, since 'twas there he first took into his greedy ravish'd soul the dear, the soft confession of thy passion, though now forgotten and neglected all—make what haste you can, you'll find there stretch'd out the mangled carcass of the lost

Philander.

Ah! Silvia, was it for this that I was sent in such haste away this morning to Cesario? did I for this neglect the world, our great affair, and all that Prince's interest, and fly back to Bellfont, on the wings of Love, were in lieu of receiving a dear blessing from thy hand, do I find—never see me more—good Heaven —but, with my life, all my complaints are ended; only 'twould be some ease even in death to know what happy Rival 'tis has arm'd thy cruel hand against Philander's heart.

To Philander.

STay, I conjure thee stay thy sacrilegious hand; for the least wound it gives the Lord of all my wishes, I'll double on my breast a thousand fold; stay then, by all thy vows, thy love, and all the hopes I swear thou hast this night of a full recompence of all thy pain • from yielding Silvia; I do conjure thee stay—for when the news arrives thou art no more, this poor, this lost, abandon'd heart of mine shall fall a victim to thy cruelty: no, live, my Philander I conjure thee, and receive all thou canst ask, and all that be given by

Silvia. To Philander.

OH, my charming Philander! how very ill have you recompenc'd my last soft commands? which were that you should live: and yet at the same moment, while you were reading of the dear obligation, and while my Page was waiting your kind return▪ you desperately expos'd your life to the mercy of this innocent Rival, betraying unadvisedly at the same time, my honour and the secret of your love, and where to kill or to be kill'd, had been almost equally unhappy: 'twas well my • age told me you disarm'd him in this rancounter—yet you he says are wounded, some sacred drops of blood are fallen to earth and lost, the least of which are pretious enough to ransom captive Queens: oh! haste Philander, to my arms for cure, I dy with fear there may be danger—haste, and let me bath the dear, the wounded part in floods of tears, lay it to my warm lips, and bind it with my torn hair: oh! Philander, I rave with my concern for thee, and am ready to break all laws of decency and duty, and fly, without considering, to thy succour, but that I fear to injure thee much more by the discovery, which such an unadvis'd absence would make; pray Heaven the unlucky adventure reach not Bellfont; • oscario has no reason to proclaim it, and thou art too generous to boast the conquest, and Silvio was the only witness, and he's as silent and as secret as the grave; but why, Philander, was he sent me back without reply? what meant that cruel silence— say, my Philander, will you not obey me?—will you abandon me? can that dear tongue be perj ••• 'd? and can you this night disappoint your Silvia? what have I done, oh obstinately cruel, irreconcilable —what, for my first offence? alittle poor resentment • nd no more? a little faint care of my g • sping honour • • ou'd that displease so much? besides I had • cause which you shall see; a Letter that wou'd cool love • ho ••• st fires, and turn it to devotion; by Heaven 'twas such a check—such a surprise—but you your self shall judge if after that, I cou'd say l • ss than bid eternally farewell to love—at least to thee—but I recanted soon; one sad dear word, one soft resenting lin • from thee, gain'd love the day again, and I despis'd the censures of the duller world: yes, yes, and I confess'd you had o'recome, and did this merit no reply? I asked the Boy a thousand times what you said, how and in what manner you received it, chid him, and laid your silent fault on him, till he with tears convinc'd me, and said he found you hastning to the Grove, —and when he gave you my commands—you look'd upon him with such a stedfast, wild and fixt regard, surveying him all o're while you were opening it—as argu'd someunusual motion in you; then cried begon—I cannot answer flattery—good Heaven, what can you mean? but e're he got to the farther end of the Grove, where still you walk'd a solemn death-like pace, he saw Foscario pa • s him unattended, and looking back, saw your rancounter, saw all that hapned between you, then • an to your assistance, just as you parr • ed; still you were roughly sullen, and neither took notice of his proffer'd service, nor that you needed it, although you bled apace; he offer'd you his aid to tie your wounds up—but you reply'd —begon, and do not trouble me—Oh, cou'd you imagin I cou'd live with this neglect? cou'd you, my Philander? Oh, what wou'd you have me do? if nothing but my death or ruin can suffice for my attonement, I'll sacrifice either with joy; yes, I'll proclaim my passion aloud, proclaim it at Bellfont, own the dear criminal flame, fly to my Philander's aid and be undone; for thus I cannot, no I will not live, I rave, I languish, • aint and dy with pain, say that you live, oh, say but that you love, say you are coming to the M • adow behind the Garden-grove in order to your approach to my Arms: Oh, swear that all your Vows are true; oh, swear that you are Silvia's; and in return, I'll swear that I am yours without reserve, whatever fate is destin'd for your

Silvia.

I die with impatience, either to see or hear from you; I fear 'tis yet too soon for the first—oh therefore save me with the last, or I shall rave, and wildly betray all by coming to Dorilus his Farm, or seeking you where e're you cruelly have hid your self from

Silvia. To Silvia.

AH, Silvia, how have you in one day destroy'd that repose I have been designing so many years, oh, thou false—but wondrous fair creature! why did Heaven ordain so much beauty and so much perfidy, so much excellent wit and so much cunning, (things inconsistent in any but in Silvia) in one divine frame, but to undo Mankind: yes, Silvia thou wert born to Murther more believing men than the unhappy and undone Philander. Tell me, thou charming Hypocrite, why hast thou thus deluded me? why, oh, why was I made the miserable object of thy fatal Vow breach? What have I done, thou lovely fickle Maid, that thou shoud'st be my murtherer? and why dost thou call me from the grave with such dear soft commands, as wou'd awake the very quiet dead, to torture me anew, after my eyes (curse on their fatal • ense) were too sure witnesses of thy infidelity? Oh, fickle Maid, how much more kind 't had been to have sent me down to earth, with plain heart breaking truth • than a mean subtile falshood, that has undone thy credit in my soul: truth, Though 'twere cruel, had been generous in thee, though thou wert perjur'd, false, for sworn—thou shou 'dst not have added to it that yet baser sin of treachery; you might have been provok'd to have kill'd your friend, but it were base to stab him unawares defenceless and unwarn'd; smile in my face and strike me to the heart; sooth me with all the tenderest marks of passion— • ay with an invitation too, that wou'd have gain'd a credit in one that had been jilted o're the world, flatter'd and ruin'd by all thy cozening sex, and all to send me vain and pleas'd away, only to gain a day to entertain another Lover in. Oh, fantastick woman! destructive glorious thing, what needed this deceit? had'st thou not with unwo • ted industry perswaded me to have hasted to Cesario, by Heaven, I'd dully liv'd the tedious day in traversing the flowry Meads and silent Groves, laid by some murmurring spring had sigh'd away the often counted hours, and thought on Silvia till the blest minute of my ravishing approach to her, had been a fond believing and impos'd on Coxcomb, and ne're had dream • t the treachery, ne're seen the snake that bask'd beneath the gay, the smiling flowers; securely thou 〈◊〉 coz • n'd me, reap'd thy new joys, and made my Rival sport at the expence of all my happiness: Yes, yes, your hasty importunity first gave me jealousie, made me impatient with Cesario, and excuse my self to him by a hundred inventions; neglected all to hasten back, where all my joys, where all my killing fears and torments resided—but when came— how was I welcom'd? with your confirming Billet; yes, Silvia, how! let Dorillus inform you, between whose Arms I fell dead, shame on me, dead—and the first thought my Soul conceiv'd when it return'd, was, not to dy in jest. I answer'd your commands, and hastned to the Grove, where— by all that's sacred, by thy self I swear (a dearer oath than heaven and earth can furnish me with) I did resolve to die; but oh, how soon my soft my silent passion turn'd to loud rage, rage easier to be born, to dire despair, to fury and revenge; for there I saw Foscario, my young my fair, my rich and powerfull Rival, he hasted through the Grove all warm and glowing from the fair false ones arms; the blushes which thy eyes had kindled were fresh upon his cheeks, his looks were sparkling with the new blown fire his heart so briskly burnt with, a glad, a peacefull smile drest all his face, trick'd like a Bridegroom; while he perfum'd the air as he past through it—none but the man that loves and dotes like me is able to express my sense of rage: I quickly turn'd the Sword from my own heart to send it to his elevated one, giving him only time to —draw—that was the word, and I confess your spark was wondrous ready, brisk with success, vain with your new-given favours, he only cry'd—if Silvia 〈◊〉 the quarrel—I am prepar'd—and he maintain'd your cause with admirable courage, I confess, though chance or fortune luckily gave me his Sword, which I wou'd fain have rendred back, and that way wou'd have died, but he refused to arm his hand a new against the man that had not took advantage of him, and thus we parted: Then 'twas that malice supported me with life, and told me I shou'd scorn to dy for so perfidious and so ruinous a creature; but charming and bewitching still, 'twas then I borrow'd so much calmness of my lessening anger to read the Billet o're your Page had brought me, which melted all the rough remaining part of rage away into • ame languishment: Ah, Silvia! this heart of mine was never form'd by Nature to hold out long in stubborn fullenness; I am already on the excusing part, and fain wou'd think thee innocent and just; deceive me prettily, I know thou canst, sooth my fond heart, and ask how it cou'd harbour a faithless thought of Silvia—do—flatter me, protest a little, swear my Rival saw thee not, say he was there by chance—say any thing; or if thou sawst him, say with how cold a look he was receiv'd—oh, Silvia, calm my soul, deceive it, flatter it, and I shall still believe and love thee on—yet shoud'st thou tell me truth, that thou art false, by Heaven, I do adore thee so, I still shou'd love thee on; shou'd I have seen thee clasp him in thy arms, print kisses on his cheeks and lips, and more—so fondly and so doatingly I love, I think I shou'd forgive thee; for I swear by all the powers that pity frail mortality, there is no joy, no life, no Heaven without thee! Be false, be cruel, perjur'd, infamous, yet still I must adore thee; my soul was form'd of nothing but of love, and all that love, and all that soul is Silvia's, but yet since thou hast fram'd me an excuse, be kind and carry it on—to be deluded well, as thou canst do't, will be the same to innocence as loving; I shall not find the cheat: I'll come then—and lay my self at thy feet, and seek there that repose that dear content which is not to be found in this vast world besides; though much of my heart's joy thou hast abated, and fixt a sadness in my soul that will not easily vanish—Oh Silvia, take care of me, for I am in thy power, my life, my fame, my soul are in thy hands, be tender of the victims, and remember if any action 〈1 page duplicate〉〈1 page duplicate〉 of thy life shou'd shew a fading love, that very moment I perceive the change, you shall find dead at your feet the abandoned

Philander.

Sad as death, I am going towards the Me • dow in order to my approach to Silvia, the World affording no •• po • e to • e, but when I am where the dear Charm • r is.

To Philander in the Meadow.

AND can you be jealous of me, Philander? I mean so poorly jealous as to believe me capable of falshood, of vow-breach, and what's worse, of loving any thing but the adorable Philander? Oh, I cou'd not once believe so cruel a thought cou'd have entred into the imaginations of a soul so intirely possest with Silvia, and so great a judge of Love! Abandon me, reproach me, hate me, scorn me, whenever I harbour any thing in mine so destructive to my repose and thine. Can I Philander, give you a greater proof of my passion, of my faithful neverdying passion, than being • nd one for you? have I any other prospect in all this so • t adventure, but Thame, dishonour, reproach, eternal infamy, and everlasting destruction, even of soul and body: I tremble with fear of future punishment; but oh, Love will have no devotion (mixt with his ceremonies) to any other Deity; and yet alas, I might have lov'd another and have been sav'd or any Maid but Silvia might have possess'd without damnation. But 'tis a Brother I pursue, it is a Sister gives her honour up, and none but Cannace that ever I read in story, was ever found so wretched as to love a Brother with so criminal a flame, and possibly I may meet her fate. I have a Father too as great as Aeolus, as angry and revengefull where his honour is concern'd; and you found, my dearest Brother, how near you were last night to a discovery in the Garden: I have some reason too to fear this night's adventure, for as ill fate would have it (loaded with other thoughts) I told not Melinda of your adventure last night with Monsieur the Count, who meeting her early this morning had like to have made a discovery, if he have not really so already; she strove to shun him, but he cried out—Melinda, you cannot fly me by light, as you did last night in the dark—she turn'd, and beg'd his pardon for neither coming nor designing to come, since she had resolv'd never to violate her vows to Alexis; not coming, cried he, not returning again, you meant Melinda, secure of my heart and my purse, you fled with both: Melinda, whose honour was now concern'd, and not reminding your escape in her likeness, blushing she sharply denied the fact, and with a disdain that had laid aside all respect, left him; nor can i • be doubted but he fansied (if she spoke truth) there was some other intrigue of love carried on at Bellfont. Judge, my charming Philander, if I have not reason to be fearfull of thy safety and my fame, and to be jealous that so wise a Man as Monsieur, did not take that parly to be held with a spirit last night, or that 'twas an apparition he courted: But if there be no boldness like that of love, nor courage like that of a lover; sure there never was so great a Heroine as Silvia. Undaunted, I resolve to stand the shock of all, since 'tis impossible for me to leave Philander any doubt or jealousie that I can dissipate, and Heaven knows how far I was from any thought of seeing Foscatio when I •• rg'd Philander to depart. I have, to clear my innocence, sent thee the Letter I received two hours after thy absence, which falling into my Mothers hands, whose favourite he is, he had permission to make his visit; which within an hour he did, but how received by me, be thou the judge, whene're it is thy fate to be oblig'd to entertain some Woman to whom thy soul has an intire aversion: I forc'd a complaisance against my nature, endur'd his wrecking courtship with a fortitude that became the great heart that bears thy sacred image, • s Martyrs do, I suffer'd without murmuring or the least sign of the pain I endur'd— 'tis below the dignity of my mighty passion to justifie it farther, let it plead its own cause, it has a thousand ways to do't, and those all such as cannot be resisted, cannot be doubted, especially this last proof of sacrifieing to your repose the never more to be doubted,

Silvia.

About an hour hence I shall expect you to advance.

To the Lady— Madam,

'TIS not always the divine graces wherewith Heaven has adorn'd your resplendent beauties, that can maintain the innumerable conquests they gain, without a noble goodness, which may make you sensibly compassionate the poor and forlorn captives you have undone • : But, most fair of your Sex, 'tis I alone that have a destiny more cruel and severe, and find my self wounded from your very frowns, and secur'd a slave as well as made one; the very scorn from those triumphant stars, your eyes, have the same effects as if they shin'd with the continual splendour of ravishing smiles, and I can no more shun their killing influence, than their all-saving aspects, and I shall expire contented, since I fall by so glorious a Fate; if you will vouchsafe to pronounce my doom from that storehouse of perfection, your mouth, from lips that open like the blushing rose, strow'd o're with morning dew, and from a breath sweeter than holy incense; in order to which, I approach you; most excellent beauty with this most humble petition, that you will deign to permit me to throw my unworthy self before the Throne of your mercy, there to receive the sentence of my life or death, a happiness though incomparably too great for so mean a Vassal, yet with that reverence and awe I shall receive it, as I wou'd the sentence of the Gods, and which I will no more resist than I wou'd the Thunderbolts of Iove, or the revenge of angry Iuno: For, Madam, my immense passion knows no medium between life and death, and as I never had the presumption to aspire to the glory of the first, I am not so abject as to fear I am wholly depriv'd of the glory of the last; I have too long lain convicted, extend your mercy, and put me now out of pain: You have often wreck'd me to confess my Promethian si • ; spa • e the cruel V • lture of despair, take him from my heart in pity, and either by killing word • , or blasting Lightning from those refulgent eyes, Pronounce the death of

Madam, Your admirng slave Foscari • . To Silvia. My everlasting Charmer,

I Am convinc'd and pleas'd, my fears are vanish't and a Heaven of solid joy is open'd to my view, and I have nothing now in prospect but Angel-brightness, glittering Youth, dazling Beauty, charming Sounds, and ravishing Touches, and all around me ecstasies of pleasure, unconceivable transports without conclusion; Mahomet never fansied such a Heaven, not all his Paradise promis'd such lasting felicity, or ever provided there the recompense of such a Maid as Silvia, such a bewitching Form, such soft, such glorious Eyes, where the Soul speaks and dances, and betrays Loves-secrets in every killing glance, a Face, where every motion, every feature sweetly languishes, a Neck all-tempting—-and her lovely Breast inviting presses from the eager Lips; such Hands, such clasping Arms, so white, so soft and slender! no, nor one of all his Heavenly enjoyments, though promis'd years of fainting in one continued cestasie, can make one moments joy with Charming Silvia. Oh, I am wrap't (with bare imagination) with much a vaster pleasure than any other dull appointment can dispence—Oh, thou blessing sent from Heaven to ease my to • ls of life! thou sacred dear delight of my fond doating heart, oh, whither wilt thou lead me, to what vast heights of Love? into extremes as • atal and as dangerous as those excesses were that rendred me so cold in your opinion. Oh, Silvia, Silvia, have a care of me, manage my o'rejoy'd Soul and all its eager passions, chide my fond heart, be angry if I faint upon thy Bosom, and do not with thy tender voice recall me, a voice that kills outright, and calls my fleeting Soul out of its habitation: lay not such charming Lips to my cold Cheeks but let me lie extended at thy feet untouch'd, unsigh't upon, unpress'd with kisses: Oh, change those tender trembling words of Love into rough sounds and noises unconcern'd, and when you see me dying, do not call my Soul to mingle with thy sighs; yet shoud'st thou bate one word, one look or tear, by Heaven, I shou'd be mad; oh, never let me live to see declension in thy love! no, no, my Charmer, I cannot bear the least suppos'd decay in those dear fondnesses of thine; and sure none e're became a Maid so well, nor ever were receiv'd with adorations like to mine!

Pardon, my adorable Silvia, the rashness of my passion in this rancounter with Foscario; I am satisfied he is too unhappy in your disfavour to merit the being so in mine; but 'twas • ufficient I then saw a joy in his face, a pleas'd gayety in his looks to make me think my rage reasonable and my quarrel just; by the style he writes, I dread his Sense less than his Person; but you, my lovely Maid have said enough to quit me of my sears for both—the night comes on—I cannot call it envious though it rob me of the light that shou'd assist me to finish this, since it will more gloriously repay me in a happier place—come on then, thou blest retreat of Lovers, I forgive thy interruptions here, since thou wilt conduct to the Arms of Silvia—the adoring

Philander.

If you have any commands for me, this Weeder of the Gardens, whom I met going in thither, will bring it back; I wait in the Meadow, and date this from the dear Primrose bank, where 〈◊〉 have sat with Silvia.

To Philander. After the happy Night.

'TIS done; yes, Philander, 'tis done, and after that what will not Love and grief oblige me to own to you? Oh, by what insensible degrees a Maid in love may arrive to say any thing to her Lover without blushing? I have known the time, the blest innocent time when but to think I lov'd Philander wou'd have cover'd my face with shame, and to have spoke it wou'd have fill'd me with confusion—have made me Tremble, Blush, and bend my guilty Eyes to Earth, not daring to behold my Charming Conquerour while I made that bashfull confession—though now I am grown bold in Love, and I have known the time when being at Court, and coming from the Presence, being offer'd some officious hand to lead me to my Coach, I have shrunk back with my aversion to your Sex, and have conceal'd my hands in my Pockets to prevent their being touch'd—a kiss wou'd turn my stomack, and amorous looks (though they wou'd make me vain) gave me a hate to him that sent 'em, and never any Mid resolv'd so much as I to tread the paths of honour, and I had many precedents before me to make me carefull: Thus I was armed with resolution, pride and scorn, against all Mankind, but alas, I made no defence against a Brother, but innocently lay expos'd to all his attacks of Love, and never thought it criminal till it kindled a new desire about me. Oh, that I shou'd not dy with shame to own it—ye • see (I say) how from one soft degree to another, I do not only confess the shamefull truth, but act it too; what, with a Brother —Oh Heavens! a crime so monstrous and so new—but by all thy Love, by those surprising joys so lately experience'd—I never will—no, no, I never can—repent it: Oh, incorrigible passion, oh hardned love! at least I might have some remorse, some sighing after my poor departed honour; but why shou'd I dissemble with the Powers divine, that know the secrets of a Soul doom'd to eternal Love? Yet I am mad, I rave and tear my self, traverse my guilty chamber in a disorder'd, but a soft confusion; and often opening the conscious curtains, survey the print where thou and I were last night laid, surveying it with a thousand tender sighs, and kiss and press thy dear forsaken side, imagin over all our solemn joys, every dear transport, all our ravishing repeated blisses, then almost fainting, languishing, cry—Philander! oh, my charming little God! then lay me down in the dear place you press'd, still warm and fragrant with the sweet remains that thou hast left behind thee on the Pillow, oh, my Soul's joy! my dear, eternal pleasure! what softness hast thou added to my heart within a few short hours? but oh, Philander —if (as l've oft been told) possession, which makes Women fond and doting, shou'd make thee cold and grow indifferent— if nauseated with repeated joy, and having made a full discovery of all that was but once imaginary, when fancy rendred every thing much finer than experience, oh, how were I undone! for me, by all the inhabitants of Heaven I swear, by thy dear charming self, and by thy vows—thou so transcend'st all fancy, all dull imagination, all wondring idea's of what Man was to me, that I believe thee more than humane! some charm divine dwells in thy touches; besides all these, thy charming look thy love, the beauties that adorn thee, and thy wit, I swear there is a secret in Nature that renders thee more dear and fits thee to my Soul; do not ask it me, let it suffice 'tis so, and is not to be told; yes, by it I know thou art the man created for my Soul, and he alone that has the power to touch it; my eyes and fancy might have been diverted, I might have favour'd this above the other, prefer'd that face, that wit, or shape, or air— but to concern my Soul to make that capable of something more than love, 'twas only necessary that Philander shou'd be form'd, and form'd just as he is, that shape, that face, that height, that dear proportion; I wou'd not have a feature, not a look, not a hair alter'd, just as thou art, thou art an Angel to me, and I, without considering what I am, what I might be, or ought, without considering the fatal circumstances of thy being married (a thought that shock • my Soul when e're it enters) or whate're other thought that does concern my happiness or quiet, have fixt my Soul to Love and my Philander, to love thee with all thy disadvantages, and glory in my ruine; these are my firm resolves —these are my thoughts. But thou art gone, with all the Trophees of my love and honour, gay with the spoils, which now perhaps are unregarded: The mys • ery's now reveal'd, the mighty • ecret's known, and now will be no wonder or surprize: But here my vows, by all on which my life depends • swear—if ever I perceive the least decay of love in thee if e • re thou break'st an Oath a vow, a word, if e're I see repentance in thy face, or coldness in thy eyes (which Heaven divert) by that bright Heav'n I'll dy: you may believe me, since I had the courage and durst love thee, and after that durst sacrifice my fame, lose all to justifie that love, will when a change so fatal shall arrive, find courage too to die; yes, dy Philander, assure thy self I will, and therefore have a care of

Silvia. To Philander.

OH, where shall I find repose, where seek a silent quiet, but in my last retreat the Grave! I say▪ not this, my dearest Philander, that I do, or ever can repent my love, though the fatal source of all: For already we are betray'd, our race of joys, our course of stoln delight is ended e're begun. I chid, alas, at morning's dawn, I chid you to begon, and yet, Heaven knows, I grasp'd you fast, and rather would have died than parted with you; I saw the day came on, and curst its busie light, and still you cried one blessed minute more, before I part with all the joys of life! and hours were minutes then, and day grew old upon us unawares, 'twas all abroad, and had call'd up all the houshould spies to pry into the secrets of our loves, and thou, by some tale-bearing flatterer, wert seen in passing through the Garden; the news was carried to my Father, and a mighty consult has been held in my Mother's apartment, who now refuses to see me, while I possest with Love, and full of wonder at my new change, lull'd with dear contemplation, (for I am alter'd much since yesterday, however thou hast charm'd me) imagining none knew our theft of love, but only Heaven and M • linda: But oh, alas, I had no sooner finish'd this inclos'd, but my Father enter'd my Cabinet, but 'twas with such a look—as soon inform'd me, all was betray'd to him; a while he gaz'd on me with fierceness in his eyes, which so surpriz'd and frighted me, that I, • ll pale and trembling, threw my. •• lf at his feet; he seeing my disorder, took me up, and fixt so stedfast and so sad a look on me, as wou'd have broken any heart but mine, supported with Philander's image; I sigh'd and wept— and silently attended when the storm shou'd fall▪ which turn'd into a shower so soft and piercing, I almost died to see it; at last delivering me a paper—here, (cried he, with a sigh and trembling interrupted voice) read what I cannot tell thee. Oh, Silvia, cried he—thou joy and hope of all my aged years, thou object of my Dotage, how hast thou brought me to the Grave with sorrow? so left me with the Paper in my hand: Speechless unmov'd a while I stood, till he awak'd me by new sighs and cries; for passing through my Chamber by chance, or by design, he cast h • s melancholy eyes towards my Bed, and saw the dear disorder there, unusual—then cried— Oh, wretched Silvia, thou art lost! and left me almost fainting; the Letter, I soon found, was one you'd sent from Dori •••• his 〈◊〉 this morning, after you had parted from me, which has betray'd us all, but how it came into their hands I since have understood, for as I said, you were seen passing through the Garden, from thence (to be confirm'd) they dog'd you to the Farm, and waiting there your motions, saw Dorillus come forth with a Letter in his hand; which though he soon conceal'd, yet not so soon but it was taken notice of, when hasting to Bellfont the nearest way, they gave an account to Monsieur, my Father, who going out to Dorillus, commanded him to deliver him the Letter; his Vassal durst not disobey, but yielded it, with such dispute and reluctancy as he durst maintain with a man so great and powerfull; before Dorillus return'd you had taken horse, so that you are a stranger to our misfortune —What shall I do? where shall I seek a refuge from the danger that threatens us, a sad and silent grief appears throughout • e •• font, and the face of all things are chang'd, yet none knows the unhappy cause but Mo • sieur my Father, and Madam my Mother, Melinda, and my self; Melinda and my Page are both dismist from waiting on me, as supposed confidents of this dear secret, and strangers, creatures of Madam the Countess, put about me. Oh, Philander, what can I do? thy advice, or I am lost; but how, alas, shall I either convey these to thee or receive any thing from thee, unless some God of Love in pity of our miseries, shou'd offer us his aid: I'll try to corrupt my new Boy, I see good nature, pity and generosity in his looks, he's well-born too, and may be honest.

Thus far Philander, I had writ when Supper was brought me, for yet my Parents have not deign'd to let me come into their presence, those that serve me tell me Mertilla is this Afternoon arriv'd at Bellfo • t; all's mighty closely carried in the Countesses apartment, I tremble with the thought of what will be the result of the great consultation: I have been tempting of the Boy, but I perceive they are strictly charg'd not to obey me he says, against his will, he shall betray me, for they will have • im search'd, but he has promis'd me to see one of the weeders, who working in the Garden, into which my Window opens, may from thence receive what I shall let down; if it be true I shall get this fatal knowledge to you, that you may not only prepare for the worst, but contrive to set at liberty.

the unfortunate Silvia.

〈1 paragraph〉

This was Writ in the Cover to both the foregoing Letters to Philander.

PHilander, all that I dreaded, all that I fear'd is fallen upon me, I have been arraign'd and convicted three Judges, severe as the three infernal ones, • ate in condemnation on me, a Father, a Mother, and a Sister, the fact, alas, was too clearly prov'd, and too many circumstantial truths appear'd against me for me to plead, Not guilty. But, Oh Heavens! had you seen the tears, and heard the Prayers, threats, reproaches and upbra • dings —these from an injur'd Sister, those, my • heart-broken Parents; a tender Mother▪ here, a railing and reviling Sister there— an angry, Father and a guilty conscience —thou woud'st have wondred at my fortitude, my courage and my resolution, and all from Love! For surely I had died, had not thy love, thy powerfull love supported me; through all the accidents of life and fate, that can and will support me; in the midst of all their clamours and their railings I had from that a secret and a soft repose within, that whisper'd me, Philander loves me still; discarded and renoune'd by my fond Parents, Love still replies, Philander still will own thee; thrown from thy Mother's and thy Sister's arms, Philander's still are open to receive thee: And though I rave, and almost dy to see them grieve, to think that I am the fatal cause, who makes so sad confusion in our Family: for, oh 'tis pitious to behold my Sister's sighs and tears, my Mother's sad despair, my Father's raging and his weeping, by melancholy turns: Yet even these deplorable objects, that wou'd move the most obdurate stubborn heart to pity and repentance, render not mine relenting; and yet I'm wondrous pitifull by nature, and I can weep and faint to see the sad effects of my loose wanton love, yet cannot find repentance for the dear charming sin; and yet, shoud'st thou behold my Mother's languishment, no bitter words proceeding from her lips, no tears fall from her down-caft eyes, but silent and sad as death she sits, and will not view the light; shoud'st thou, I say, behold it, thou woud'st if not repent, yet grieve that thou hadst lov'd me: Sure love has quite confounded nature in me, I cou'd not else behold this fatal ruine without revenging it upon my stubborn heart, a thousand times a-day I make new vows against the God of Love, but 'tis too late, and I'm as often perjur'd—Oh, shou'd the Gods revenge the broken vows of Lovers, what Love-sick man, what maid betray'd like me, but wou'd be damn'd a thousand times for every little love-quarrel, every kind resentment makes us swear to love no more, and every smile, and every flattering softness from the dear injurer, make us perjur'd: Let all the force of vertue, honour, interest joyn with my suffering Parents to perswade me to cease to love Philander, yet let him but appear, let him but look on me with those dear charming eyes, let him but sigh, or press me to his fragrant cheek, fold me—and cry —ah, Silvia, can you quit me— no, you must not, you shall not, nay, I know you cannot, remember you are mine—there is such eloquence in those dear words when utter'd with a voice so tender and so passionate, that I believe 'em irresistable—alas, I find'em so—and easily break all the feebler vows I make against thee; yes, I must be undone, perjur'd, forsworn, incorrigible, unnatural, disobedient, and any thing, rather than not Philander's—turn then, my Soul, from these domestick, melancholy objects, and look abroad, look for forward for a while on charming prospects; look on Philander, the dear, the young, the amorous Philander, whose very looks infuse a tender joy throughout the Soul, and chase all cares, all sorrows and anxious thoughts from thence, whose wanton play is softer than that of young fledg'd Angels, and when he looks and sighs, and speaks, and touches, he is a very God: Where art thou, oh thou miracle of youth, thou charming dear undoer! now thou hast gain'd the glory of the conquest, thou slightest the rifled captive: What, not a line? two tedious days are past and no kind power relieves me with a word, or any tidings of Philander— and yet thou mayst have sent— but I shall never see it, till they raise up fresh witnesses against me —I cannot think thee wavering, or forgetfull; for if I did, surely thou knowst my heart so well, thou canst not think 'twou'd live to think another thought: Confirm my kind belief, and send to me—

There is a Gate well known to thee through which thou passest to Bellfont, 'tis in the road about half a league from hence, an old Man opens it, his Daughter weeds in the Garden, and will convey this to thee as I have order'd her, by the same messenger thou may'st return thine, and early as she comes I'll let her down a string, by which way unperceiv'd, I shall receive 'em from her: I'll say no more, nor instruct you how you shall preserve your

Silvia. To Silvia. That which was left in her hands by Monsieur, her Father, in her Cabinet. My adorable Silvia,

I Can no more describe to thee the torment with which I part from Bellfont, than I can that Heaven of joy I was rais'd to last night by the transporting effects of thy wondrous love; both are to excess, and both killing, but in different kinds. Oh, Silvia, by all my unspeakable raptures in thy arms, by all thy charms of beauty, too numerous and too ravishing for fancy to imagin—I swear—by this last night, by this dear new discovery, thou hast increas'd my love to that vast height, it has undone my peace—all my repose is gone—this dear, dear night has ruin'd me, it has confirm'd me now I must have Silvia, and cannot live without her, no, not a day, an hour—to save the world, unles • I had the intire possession of my lovely Maid: Ah, Silvia, I am not that indifferent dull Lover, that can be rais'd by one beauty to an appetite, and satisfie it with another, I cannot carry the dear flame you kindle, to quench it in the imbraces of Mertilla; no, by the eternal powers, he that pre • ends to love, and loves at that course rate, needs fear no danger from that passion, he ne're was born to live or by for love; Silvia, Mertilla, and a thousand more were all the same to such a dull insensible; no, Silvia, when you find I can return back to the once l • ft matrimonial 〈◊〉 despise me, scorn me, swear (as then thou justly may'st) I love not Silvia: Let the hot brute drudge on (he who is •• r'd by Nature, not by Love, whom any bodies kisses can inspire) and • ase the necessary heats of youth; Love's is a nobler fire, which nothing can allay but the dear she that rais'd it; no, no, my purer stream shall ne're run back to the fountain whence 'tis par • ed, nay, it cannot, it were as possible to love again where one has ceas'd to love, as carry the desire and wishes back, by Heaven, to me there's nothing so unnatural; no, Silvia▪ it is 〈◊〉 I must possess, you have completed my undoing now, and I must dy unless you give me all—but oh, I am going from thee—when are we like to meet—oh, how shall I support my absent hours! thought will destroy me, for 'twill be all on thee, and those at such a distance will be insupportable— what shall I do without thee? if after all the toils of dull insipid life I cou'd return and lay me down by thee, Herculean labours wou'd be soft and easie—the harsh fatigues of war, the dangerous hurries of affairs of state, the business and the noise of life, I cou'd support with pleasure, with wondrous satisfaction, cou'd treat Mertilla too with that respect, that generous care as wou'd become a Husband, I cou'd be easie every where, and every one shou'd be at ease with me▪ now I shall go and find no Silvia there, but sigh and wander like an unknown thing, on some strange foreign shore; I shall grow peevish as a new • wean'd child, no toys▪ no bauble of the gaudy world will please my wayward fancy: I shall be out of humour, rail at every thing, in anger shall demand, and sullenly reply to every question ask'd and answer'd, and when I think to • ase my Soul by a retreat, a Thousand soft desires, a Thousand wishes wreck me, pain me to raving, till beating the senseless floor with my feet—I cry aloud—my Silvia! —thus, thus, my charming dear, the poor Philander is employ'd when banish'd from his Heaven! if thus it us'd to be when only that bright outside was ador'd, judge now my pain, now thou hast made known a thousand graces more—oh, pity me—for 'tis not in thy power to guess what I shall now endure in absence of thee, for thou hast charm'd my Soul to an excess too mighty for a patient suffering: Alas, I dy already—

I am yet at Dorillus his Farm, lingring on from one swift minute to the other, and have not power to go; a thousand looks all languishing I've cast from eyes all drown'd in tears towards Bellfont, have sight a thousand wishes to my Angel, from a sad breaking heart—Love will not let me go—and Honour calls me—alas, I must away; when shall we meet again? ah when, my Silvia?—oh charming Maid— thou'lt see me shortly dead, for thus I cannot live, thou must be mine, or I must be no more— I must away—farewell—may all the softest joys of Heaven attend thee—adieu—fail not to send a hundred times a day, if possible; I've order'd Alexis to do nothing but wait for all that comes, and post away with what thou send'st to me—again adieu, think on me—and till thou call'st me to thee, imagin nothing upon earth so wretched as Silvia's own

Know, my Angel, that passing through the Garden this M • rning, I met Eras • o—I 〈◊〉 , he saw me 〈◊〉 enough to know me, and wi • l give an ac • ount of i • , let me know what happens —adieu▪ half dead, ju • t ta king • orse to go from Silvia.

Philander. To Philander. Written in a Leaf of a Table-book.

I Have only time to say, on Thursday I am destin'd a Sacrifice to Foscario, which day finishes the life of

Silvia. To Silvia. From Dorillus his Farm.

RAving and mad at the News your Billet brought me, I (without considering the effects that wou'd follow) am arriv'd at Bellfont; I have yet so much patience about me, to suffer my self to be conceal'd at Dorillus his Cottage, but if I see thee not to night, or find no hopes of it—by Heaven I'll set Bellfont all in a flame but I will have my Silvia; be sure I'll do't—What? to be married— Silvia to be married—and given from Philander—Oh, never think it, thou forsworn fair Creature —What? give Foscario that dear charming Body? shall he be grasp'd in those dear naked Arms? taste all thy kisses, press thy snowy Breasts, command thy joys and rifle all thy Heaven? Furies and Hell environ me if he do —Oh, Silvia, faithless, perjur'd▪ charming Silvia—and can'st thou suffer it—hear me, thou fickle Angel—hear my vows, oh faithless Ravisher! that fatal moment that the daring Priest offers to join your hands, and give thee from me, I'll sacrifice your Lover, by Heaven I will, before the Altar stab him at your feet; the holy place, nor the numbers that attend ye, nor all your prayers nor tears shall save his heart; look to't, and be not false—yet I'll not trust thy Faith; no, she that can think but falsely, and she that can so easily be perjur'd—for, but to suffer it is such a sin—such an undoing sin—that thou art surely damn'd! and yet, by Heaven, that is not all the ruin shall attend thee: no, lovely Mischief, no—you shall not scape till the damnation-day; for I will rack thee, torture thee and plague thee, those few hours I have to live (if spightfull Fate prevent my just revenge upon Foscario) and when I'm dead—as I shall quickly be kill'd by thy cruelty —know, thou fair Murtherer, I will haunt thy sight, be ever with thee, and surround thy bed, and fright thee from the Ravisher; fright all thy loose delights, and check thy joys—Oh, I am mad! —I cannot think that thought, no, thou shalt never advance so far in wickedness, I'll save thee if I can—Oh, my adorable, why dost thou torture me? how hast thou sworn so often and so loud that Heaven I am sure has heard thee, and will punish thee? how did'st thou swear that happy blessed night, in which I saw thee last, clasp'd in my arms, weeping with eager love, with melting softness on my bosome—remember how thou swor'st—oh, that dear night—let me recover strength—and then I'll tell thee more—I must repeat the story of that night, which thou perhaps (oh faithless!) hast forgot— that glorious night when all the Heavens were gay, and every favouring power look'd down and smil'd upon our thef • s of love, that gloomy night the first of all my joys, the blessed'st of my life— trembling and • ainting I approach • your chamb • r, and while you met and grasp'd me at the door, taking my trembling body in your arms —remember • ow I fainted at your feet and what dear arts you us'd life—remember how you kiss'd and press'd my face —remember what dear charming words you spoke—and when I did recover, how I ask'd you with a feeble doubtfull voice —Ah, Silvia, will you still continue thus, thus wondrous soft and fond? will you be ever mine and ever true—what did you then reply, when kneeling on the carpet where I lay, what, Silvia, did you vow? how invoke Heaven? how call its vengeance down if e're you lov'd another man again, if e're you touch'd or smil'd on any other, if e're you suffer'd words or acts of love but from Philander? both Heaven and Hell thou did'st awaken with thy oaths, one was an angry listener to what it knew thou'dst break, the other laugh'd to know thou woud'st • be perjur'd, while only I, poor I, was all the while a silent fond believer; your vows stopt all my language as your kisses did my lips, you swore and kiss'd and vow'd, and clasp'd my neck—oh charming flatterer! oh artfull dear beguiler! thus into life and peace, and fond security you charm'd my willing Soul! 'Twas then, my Silvia, (certain of your heart and that it never cou'd be gi • en away to any other) I press'd my eager joys, but with such tender caution—such fear and fondness, such an awfull passion, as overcame your faint resistance, my reasons and my arguments were strong, for you were mine by love, by sacred vows, and who cou'd lay a better claim to Silvia? how oft I cried—Why this resistance, Silvia? my charming dear, whose are you? not Philander's? and shall Philander not command his own—you must—ah cruel—then a soft struggle follow'd with half breath'd words, with sighs and trembling hearts, and now and th • n—ah cruel and unreasonable was softly said on both sides: thus strove, thus argued —till both lay panting in each others arms, not with the toil but rapture; I need not say what after follow'd this— what tender showers of strange indearing mixtures 'twixt joy and shame, 'twixt love and new surprise, and ever when dried your eyes with kisses, unable to repeat any other language than—oh my Silvia! oh my charming Angel! while sighs of joy, and closely grasping thee—spoke all the rest —while every tender word and every sigh, was Echo'd back by thee; you press'd me—and you vow'd you lov'd me more than ever yet you did; then swore anew and in my bosome hid your charming blushing face, then with excess of love wou'd call on Heaven - be witness oh ye powers (a thousand times ye cried) if ever Maid e're lov'd like Silvia—punish me strangely, oh eternal powers, if e're I leave Philander, if e're I cease to love him; no force, no art, not interest, honour, wealth, convenience, duty, or what other necessary cause—shall never be of force to make me leave thee—thus hast thou sworn, oh charming, faithless flatterer, thus 'twixt • ach ravishing minute thou wou'dst swear —and I as fast believ'd—and lov'd thee more—hast thou forgot it all, oh fickle charmer, hast thou? hast thou forgot between each awfull ceremony of love how you cried out, farewell the world and mortal cares, give me Philander, Heaven, I ask no more—hast thou forgot all this? did all the live-long night hear any other sound but those my mutual vows, of invocations, broken sighs, and soft and trembling whispers, say had we any other business for the tender hours? oh, all ye host of Heaven, ye Stars that shone, and all ye powers the faithless lovely Maid has sworn by, be witness how she's perjur'd; revenge it all ye injur'd powers, revenge it, since by it she has undone the faithfullest Youth, and broke the tenderest heart—that ever fell a sacrifice to love, and all ye little weeping Gods of love, revenge your murther'd victim—your

Philander. To Philander. In the Leaves of a Table-Book.

OH, my Philander, how dearly welcome, and how needless were thy kind reproaches? which • 'll not endeavour to convince by argument, but such a deed as shall at once secure thy fears now and for the future; I have not a minute to write in, place my dear Philander, your Chariot in St. Vincent's Wood, and since I am not able to six the •• our of my flight, let it wait there my coming, 'tis but a little mile from B • llfont, Dorillus is suspected there, remove thy self to the high-way-gate Cottage —there I'll call on thee—'twas lucky that thy fears, or love, or jealousie brought thee so near me, since I'd resolv'd before upon my flight. Parents and honour, interest and fame, farewell—I leave you all to follow my Phil • nder —haste the Chariot to the thickest part of the Wood, for I'm impatient to be gone, and shall take the first opportunity to fly to my Philander—Oh, love me, love me, love me!

Vnder pretence of reaching the Iesamin which shades my Window, I unperceiv'd let down and receive what Letters you send by the honest Weeder; by her send your sense of my flight, or rather your direction, for 'tis resolv'd already.

To Silvia. My lovely Angel,

So carefull I will be of this dear mighty secret, that I will only say Silvia shall be obey'd, no more—nay, I'll not dare to think of it, lest in my rapture I shou'd name my joy aloud, and busie winds shou'd bear it to some o • ficious listener and undo me; no more, no more, my Silvia, extremes of joy (as grief) are ever dumb: Let it suffice, this blessing which you proffer, I had design'd to ask, as soon as you'd convinc'd me of your faith; yes, Silvia, I had ask'd it, though 'twas a bounty too great for any Mortal to conceive Heaven shou'd bestow upon him; but if it do, that very moment I'll resign the world, and barter all for love and charming Silvia. Haste, haste, my life; my arms, my bosome and my Soul are open to receive the lovely fugitive; haste, for this moment I am going to plant my self where you directed.

〈◊〉 . To Philander. After her Flight.

AH, Philander, how have you undone a harmless, poor unfortunate? alas, where are you? why wou'd you thus abandon me? is this the soul, the bosome, these the arms that shou'd receive me? I'll not upbraid thee with my love, or charge thee with my undoing; 'twas all my own, and were it yet to do, I shou'd again be ruin'd for Philander, and never find repentance, no not for a thought, a word or deed of love, to the dear false for sworn; but I can dy, yes, hopeless, friendless—le • t by all, even by Philander—all but resolution has abandon'd me, and that can lay me down whene're I please in safe repose and peace: But oh, thou art not false, or if thou be'st, oh, let me • ear it from thy mouth, see thy repented love, that I may know there's no such thing on earth, as faith, as honesty, as love or truth; however be thou true, or be thou false, be bold and let me know it, for thus to doubt is torture worse than death. What accident, thou dear, dear man, has hapned to prevent thee from pursuing my directions, and staying for me at the gate? where have I miss'd thee, thou joy of my soul? by what dire mistake have I lost thee? and where, oh where art thou▪ my • harming Lover? I sought thee every where, but like the languishing abandon'd Mistress in the Canticles, I sought thee, but I found thee not, no bed of Roses wou'd discover thee; I saw no print of thy dear shape, nor heard no amorous sigh that cou'd direct me—I ask'd the wood and springs, complain'd and call'd on thee through all the Groves, but they confess'd thee not; nothing but Echo's answer'd me, and when I cried Philander—cried—Philander, thus search'd I till the coming night and my increasing fears made me resolve for flight, which soon we did, and soon arriv'd at Paris, but whither then to go, Heaven knows, I cou'd not tell, for I was almost naked, friendless and • orlorn; at last, consulting Brilljard what to do, after a thousand revolutions he concluded to trust me with a sister he had who was Married to a 〈◊〉 of the Guard de Core, he chang'd my name, and made mepass for a • ortune he had stol • , but oh, no welcomes, nor my sa • e retreat were sufficient to repo • e me all the insuing night, for I had no news of Philander; no, not a dream inform'd me, a thousand fears and jealousies have kept me waking, and Brilljard who has been all night in pursuit of thee, is now return • d succesless and distracted as thy Silvia, for duty and generosity has almost the same effects in him, with love and tenderness and je • lousie in me; and since 〈◊〉 affords no news of thee, (which sure it wou'd if thou wert in it, for oh, the Sun might hide himself with as 〈◊〉 ease as great Philander) he is r • solv'd to search St. 〈◊〉 Wood and all the adjacent Cottages and Groves; he thinks that you, not knowing of my escape, may y • t be waiting thereabouts; since quitting the Cha •• ot for fear of being seen, you might be so far advanc'd into the Wood, as not to •• nd the way back to the Thicke • where th • Chario • waited: 'tis thus 〈…〉 and flatters my poor 〈◊〉 , that fain wou'd think 〈…〉 —or if thou be'st not—but curst be all such thoughts, and far from Silvia's Soul; no, no, thou art not false, it cannot be, thou art a God, and art unch • ngeable; I know by some mistake thou art attending me, as wild and impatient as I, perhaps thou think'st me false, and think'st I have not courage to pursue my love and fly; and thou perhaps art waiting for the hour wherein thou think'st I'll give my self away to Fosc • rio: Oh cruel and unkind! to think I lov'd so lightly, to think I wou'd attend that fatal hour; no, Philander, no, faithless, dear inchanter: Last night, the Eve to my intended Wedding-day, having repos'd my Soul by my resolves for flight, and only waiting the lucky minute for escape, I set a willing hand to every thing that was preparing for the ceremony of the ensuing morning; with that pretence I got me early to my Chamber, tried on a thousand dresses, and ask'd a thousand questions, all impertinent, which wou'd do best, which look'd most gay and rich? then drest my Gown with Jewels, deck'd my apartment up, and left nothing undone that might secure 'em both of my being pleas'd and of my stay; nay, and to give the less suspi • ion, I undress'd my self, even to my under Peticoat and Night-gown; I wou'd not take a Jewel, not a Pistol; but left my Women finishing my work, and carelesly, and thus undrest, walk • d towards the Garden, and while every one was busie in their office, getting my self out of sight, I posted o're the Meadow to the Wood as swift as Dap • ne from the God of day, till I arriv'd most luckily where I found the Chariot waiting, attended by Brilljard; of whom, when I (all fainting and breathless with my swift flight) demanded his Lord, he lifted me into the Chariot, and cried, a little farther, Madam, you will find him; for he, for fear of making a discovery took yonder shaded path—towards which we went, but no dear vision of my Love appear'd—and thus, my charming Lover, you have my kind adventure; send me some tidings back that you are found, that you are well, and lastly, that you are mine, or this that shou'd have been my wedding day, will see it self that of the death of

Silvia. Paris, Thursday, from my Bed, for want of Cloaths, or rather, news from Philander. To Silvia.

MY life, my Silvia, my eternal joy, art thou then safe? and art thou reserv'd for Philander? am I so blest by Heaven, by love, and my dear charming Maid? then le • me dy in peace, since I have liv'd to see all that my Soul desires • n Silvia's being mine; perplex not thy soft heart with fears or jealousies, nor think so basely, so poorly of my love to need more oaths or vows, yet to confirm thee I wou'd swear my breath away; but oh, it needs not here; —take then no car • , my lovely dear, turn not thy charming eyes or thoughts back on afflicting objects, oh think not on what thou hast abandoned, but what thou art arriv'd to; look forward on the joys of love and Youth, for I will dedicate all my remaining life to render thine serene and glad; and yet, my Silvia, thou art so dear to me, so wondrous pretious to my Soul, that I in my extravagance of love, I fear, shall grow a troublesome and wearying Coxcomb, shall dread every look thou givest away from me—a smile will make me rave, a sigh 〈◊〉 touch make me commit a murthe • on the happy slave, or my own jealous heart, but all the world besides is Silvia's, all but another Lover; but I rave and run too fast away, ages must pass a tedious term of years before I can be jealous, or • onceive thou canst be weary of Philander—I'll be so fond, so doating, and so playing, thou shalt not have an idle minute to throw away a look in, or a thought on any other; no, no, I have thee now, and will maintain my right by dint and force of love—oh, I am wild to see thee—but, Silvia, I am wounded—do not be frighted though, for 'tis not much or dangerous, bu • very troublesome since it permits me not to fly to Silvia, but she must come to me, in order to it, Brilljard has a Bill on my Goldsmith in Paris for a thousand Pistols to buy thee something to put on; any thing that's ready, and he will conduct thee to me, for I shall rave my self into a • eaver if I see thee not to day—I cannot live without thee now—for thou'rt my life my everlasting charmer: I have order'd Brilljard to get a Chariot and some unknown Livery for thee, and I think the continuance of passing for what he has already rendred thee will do very well, till I have taken farther care of thy dear safety, which will be as soon as I am able to rise; for most fortunately, my dear Silvia▪ quitting the Chariot in the thicket for fear of being seen with it, and walking down a shaded path that s •• ted with the melancholy, and 〈◊〉 of unsuccess in thy adventure; I went so far, as e're I cou'd return to the place where I left the Chariot, 'twas gone—i • seems with thee; I know not how you mist me—but possess'd my self with a Thousand false fears, sometimes that in thy flight thou mightest be pu • sued and overtak •• , seiz'd in the Chariot and return'd back to Bellfont, or that the Chariot was found and seiz'd on upon suspicion, though the Coach-man and Brilljard were disguis'd p • st knowledge —or if thou wert gone, alas, I knew not whither, but that was a thought my doubts and fears would not su •• er me to ease my Soul with; no▪ I (as jealous lovers do) imagin'd the most tormenting things for my own repose, I imagin'd the Chariot taken, or at least so discover'd as to be forc'd away without thee: I imagin'd that thou wert false— Heaven forgive me, false, my Silvia, and hadst chang'd thy mind; mad with this thought (which I fansied most reasonable and fixt it in my soul) I rav'd about the Wood, making a thousand vows to be reveng'd on all; in order to it I left the Thicket, and betook my self to the high road of the Wood, where I laid me down amongst the fern, close hid, with my Sword ready, waiting for the happy Bridegroom, whom I knew (it being the wedding eve) wou'd that way pass that Evening; pleas'd with revenge which now had got • ven the place of love; I waited there not above a little hour, but heard the trampling of a horse, and looking up, with mighty joy, I found it Foscario's, alone he was, and un • ttended, for he'd ou • strip'd his equipage, and with a lover's haste, and full of joy, was making towards Bellfont; but I (now fir'd with rage) leap'd from my covert, cried, stay, Foscario, e're you arrive to Silvia, we must adjust an odd account between us—at which he stopping, as nimbly alighted —in fine, we • ought, and many wounds were given and received on both sides▪ till his people coming up parted us just as we were fainting with loss of blood in each others arms; his Coach and Chariot were amongst his equipage, into the first his Servants li •• ed him, when he cried out with a feeble voice—to have me, who now lay bleeding on the ground put into the Chariot, and to be safely convey'd where ever I commanded, and so in haste they drove him towards Bellfont, and me, who was resolv'd not to stir far from it, to the Village within a mile of it; from whence I sent to Paris for a Surgeon and dismist the Chariot, ordering in the hearing of the Coachman a Litter to be brought me immediately to convey me that night to Paris; but the Surg • on coming, found it not safe for me to be removed, and I am now willing to live, since Silvia is mine, haste to me then, my lovely Maid, and fear not being discover'd, for I have given order here in the Cabaret where I am, if any enquiry is made after me, to say I went last night for Paris: Haste, my love, haste to my arms, as feeble as they are they'll grasp thee a dear wellcome: I'll say no more, nor prescribe rules to thy love, that can inform thee best what thou must do to save th • life of thy most passionate adorer,

Philander. To Philander.

I Have sent Brilljard to see if the Coast be clear that we may come with safety, he brings you instead of Silvia, a young Cavalier that will be altogether as wellcome to Philander, and who impatiently waits his return at a little Cottage at the end of the Village.

To Silvia. From the Bastill.

I Know my Silvia expected me at home with her at dinner to day, and wonders how I cou'd live so long as since morning without the eternal joy of my Soul; but know, my Silvia, that a trivial misfortune is now fallen upon me, which in the midst of all our Heaven of joys, our softest hours of life, has so often chang'd thy smiles into fears and sighings, and ruffled thy calm Soul with cares: Nor let it now seem strange or afflicting, since every day for this three months we have been alarm'd with new fears that have made thee uneasie even in Philander's arms, we knew some time or other the storm wou'd fall on us, though we had for three happy months sheltred our selves from its threatning rage; but Love I hope has arm'd us both; for me—let me be depriv'd of all joys, (but those my charmer can dispence) all the false worlds respect, the dull esteem of Fools and formal Coxcombs, the grave advice of the censorious wise, the kind opinion of ill judging Women, no matter, so my Silvia remain but mine.

I am, my Silvia, arrested at the suit of Monsi • ur the Count, your Father, for a Rape on my lovely Maid: I desire my Soul, you 〈◊〉 immediately take Coach and go to the Prince Ce • ario, and he will bail me out; I fear not a fair trial, and Silvia, thefts of mutual love were never counted Felony; I may dy for Love, my Silvia, but not for loving—go, haste, my Silvia that I may be no longer detain'd from the solid pleasure and business of my Soul—haste, my lov'd dea • —haste and relieve

Come not to me, lest there should be an order to detain my dear.

Philander. To Philander.

I Am not at all surpriz'd, my Philander, at the accident that has befallen thee, because so long expected, and love and that has so well fortified my heart that I support our misfortune with a courage worthy of her that loves and is belov'd by the glorious Philander; I am arm'd for the worst that can befall me, and that is my being rend • ed a publick shame, who hav • been so in the private whispers of all the Court for near these happy three months, in which I have had the wondrous satisfaction of being retir'd from the World with the charming Philander; my Father too knew it long since, at least he cou'd not hinder himself from guessing it, though his fond indulgence suffer'd his Justice and his anger to sleep, and possibly had still slept had not Mertilla's spight and rage (I shou'd say just resentment, but I cannot) rouz'd up his drowsie vengeance: I know she has ply'd him with her softning eloquence, her prayers and tears to win him to consent to make a publick business of it; but I am entred, love has arm'd my Soul, and I'll pursue my fortune with that height of fortitude as shall surprise the world; yes Philander, since I have lost my honour, fame and friends, my interest and my Parents, and all for mightier love; I'll stop at nothing now, if there be any hazards more to run, I'le thank the spigh • full fates that bring 'em on, and will even tire them out with my unwearied passion— Love on, Philander, if thou darst, like me; let 'em pursue me with their hate and vengeance, let Prisons, poverty and tortures sei • e me, it shall no • tak • one grain of love away from my resolv'd heart, nor make me shed a tear of penitence, for loving thee; no, Philander, since I know what a ravishing pleasure 'tis to live thine I will never quit the glory of dying also thy

• esario, my dear, is coming to be you Bail; with Mons • eur the Count of—I dy to 〈…〉 your suffering so Silvia.

Silvia. To Silvia.

BElieve me, charming Silvia, I live not those hours I am absent from thee, thou art my life, my Soul and my eternal felicity; while you believe this truth, my Silvia, you will not entertain a thousand fears, if I but stay a moment beyond my appointed hour, especially when Philander, who is not able to support the thought that any thing should afflict his lovely Baby, takes care from hour to hour to satisfie her tender doubting heart. My dearest, I am gone into the City to my Advocates, my Tryal with Monsieur the Count, your Father, coming on to morrow, and 'twill be at least two tedious hours e're I can bring my adorable her

Philander. To Silvia.

I Was call'd on, my dearest Ch • ld, at my Advocates, by Cesario, there is some great business this evening debated in the Cabal whic • is at 〈◊〉 —in the City; 〈…〉 Count, your Father, for my Silvia, I dy if yo • are taken lest, the fright shou'd 〈…〉 , I would have 〈…〉 this evening from those Lodgings, lest the people who are of the Royal party shou'd be induc'd, through malice or gain, to discover thee; I dare not come my self to wait on thee, lest my being seen shou'd betray thee, but I hav • sent Brilljard (whose zeal for thee shall be rewarded) to conduct thee to a little house in the Fauxburgh S. Germans, where lives a pretty Woman and Mistress to Chevalier Tomaso, call'd Belinda, a Woman of wit, and discreet enough to understand what ought to be paid to a Maid of the quality and character of Silvia; she already knows the stories of our loves; thither I'll come to thee and bring Cesario to supper, as soon as the Cabal breaks up; oh, my Silvia, I shall one day recompenso all thy goodness, all thy bravery, thy love and thy suffering sor thy eternal Lover and Slave,

Philander. To Philander.

SO hasty I was to obey Philander's commands, that by the unwearied care and industry of the faithfull Brilljard, I went before three a clock disguis'd away to the place whither you order'd us, and was well receiv'd by the very pretty young Woman of the house, who has sense and breeding as well as beauty: But oh, Philander, this flight pleases me not; alas, what have I done? my fault is only love, and that sure I shou • d boast, as the most divine passion of the Soul; no, no, Philander, 'tis not my love's the criminal, no nor the placing it on Philander the crime; but 'tis thy most unhappy circumstances—thy being married, and that was no crime to Heaven till man made laws, and can laws reach to damnation? if so, curse on the fatal hour that thou wert married, curse on the Priest that joyn'd ye, and curst be all that did contribute to the undoing ceremony —except Philander's Tongue, that answer'd yes—oh, Heavens! was there but one dear man of all your whole Creation that could Charm the Soul of Silvia, and cou'd ye—oh, ye wise all • seeing Powers that knew my Soul, cou'd ye give him away? how had my innoce • c offended ye? our hearts you did create for mutual love, how came the dire mistake? another wou'd have pleas'd the indifferent Mertilla's Soul as well, but mine was fitted for no other man; only Philander, the ador'd Philander, with that dear form, that shape, that charming face, that hair, thos • lovely speaking eyes, that wounding softness in his tender voice, had power to conquer Silvia; and can this be a sin? Oh, Heavens can it? must laws which man contriv'd for mere conveniency have power to alter the divine decrees at our Creation—perhaps they argue to morrow at the bar that Mertilla was ordain'd by Heaven for Philander; no, no, he mistook the Sister, 'twas pretty near he came, but by a fatal errour was mistaken, his hasty Youth made him too negligently stop before his time at the wrong Woman, he shou'd have gaz'd a little farther on—and then it had been Silvia's lot—'tis fine divinity they teach that cry—Marriages are made in Heaven—folly and madness grown into grave custome; shou'd an unheedy youth in heat of blood take up with the first convenient she that offers, though he an heir to some grave Politician, great and rich, and she the outcast of the common stews, coupled in height of wine, and sudden lust, which once allay'd, and that the sober morning wakes him to see his errour, he quits with shame the Jilt, and owns no more the folly; shall this be call'd a Heavenly conjunction? were I in height of youth, as now I am, forc'd by my Parents, oblig'd by interest and honour to marry the old deform'd, diseas'd, decrepid Count Antonio, whose person, qualities and principles I loath, and rather than suffer him to consummate his Nuptials, suppose I shou'd (as sure I shou'd) kill myself, 'twere blasphemy to lay this fatal marriage to Heavens charge—curse on your non • ense, ye imposing Gownmen, curse on your holy cant; you may as well call Rapes and Murthers, Treason and Robbery, the acts of Heaven; because Heaven suffers 'em to be committed, is it Heavens pleasure therefore, Heaven's decree? a trick, a wise device of Priests, no more—to make the nauseated, tir'd out pair drag on the carefull business of life, drudg for the dull got family with greater satisfaction, because they'r taught to think marriage was made in Heaven; a mighty comfort that, when all the joys of life are lost by it: were it not nobler far that honour kept him just, and that good nature made him reasonable provision? daily experience proves to us, no couple live with less content, less ease than those they cry Heaven joins; who is't loves less than those that marry? and where love is not there is hate and loathing, at best, disgust, disquiet, • oise a • d repentance: No, Philander, that's a heavenly match when two Souls toucht with equal passion meet (which is but rarely seen)—when willing vows, with serious consideration, are weigh'd and made; when a true view is taken of the Soul, when no base interest makes the hasty bargain, when no conveniency or design of drudge, or slave, shall find it necessary, when equal judgments meet that can esteem the blessings they possess, and distinguish the good of eithers love, and set a value on each others merits, and where both understand to take and pay; who find the beauty of each others minds, and rate 'em as they ought, whom not a formal ceremony binds (with which I've nought to do, but dully give a cold consenting affirmative) but well considered vows from soft inclining hearts, utter'd with love, with joy, with dear delight when Heaven is call'd to witness; She is thy Wife, Philander, He is my Husband, this is the match, this Heaven designs and means, how then, oh, how came I to miss Philander? or he his

Silvia.

Since I writ this, which I design'd not an invective against Marr • age when I began, but to inform thee of my being where you directed; but since I writ this, I say the House where I am is broken open with Warrants and Officers for me, but being all undrest and ill, the Officer has taken my Word for my appearance tomorrow; it seems they saw me when I went from my Lodgings and pursued me; haste to me, for I shall need your Counsel.

To Silvia.

MY eternal joy, my affliction is inexpressible at the news you send me of your being surpriz'd; I am not able to wait on thee yet—not being suffer'd to leave the Cabal, I only borrow this minute to tell thee the sense of my Advocate in this case; which was, if thou shod'st be taken, there was no way, no Law to save thee from being ravisht from my arms but that of marrying thee to some body whom I can trust; this we have often discours'd, and thou hast often vow'd thou 'lt do any thing rather than kill me with a separation; resolve then, oh thou charmer of my Soul, to do a deed, that though the name wou'd fright thee, only can preserve both thee and me; it is— and though it have no other terrour in it than the name, I saint to speak it—to marry, Silvia; yes, thou must marry; though thou art mine as fast as Heaven can make us, yet thou must marry; I've pitch'd upon the property, 'tis Brilljard, him I can only trust in this affair; it is but joining hands—no more, my Silvia—Brilljard's a Gentleman, though a Cadet, and may be supposed to pretend to so great a happiness, and whose only crime is want of fortune; he's handsome too, well made, well bred, and so much real esteem he has for me, and I've so oblig'd him that I'm confident he'll pretend no farther than to the honour of owning thee in Court; I'll tie him from it, nay, he dares not do't, I'll trust him with my life— but oh, Silvia is more- think of it, and this night we will perform it, there being no other way to keep Silvia eternally

Philander's. To Silvia.

NOw, my adorable Silvia, you have truly need of all that heroick bravery of mind I ever thought thee Mistriss of; for Silvia, coming from thee this morning, and riding • ull speed for Paris, • was met, stopt and seiz'd for high Treason, by the King's messengers, and possibly may fall a sacrifice to the anger of an incens'd Monarch; my Silvia, bear this last shock of • ate with a courage worthy thy great and glorious Soul; 'tis but a little separation, Silvia, and we shall one day meet again; by Heaven, I find no other sting in death but parting with my Silvia, and every parting wou'd have been th • same; I might have died by thy 〈◊〉 , thou might'st have grown weary of thy Philander, have lov'd another, and have broke thy vows, and tortur'd me to death these crueller ways; but fate is kinder to me, and I go blest with my Silvia's love, for which Heaven may do much, for her dear sake, to recompence her faith, a Maid so innocent and true to sacred love; expect th • best, my lovely dear, the worst has this comfort in't, that I shall die my charming Silvia's.

Philander. To Philander.

I'LL only say, thou dear supporter of • y Soul, that if Philander dies, he shall not go to Heaven without his Silvia▪ —by Heaven and earth I swear 〈…〉 cannot live without thee, nor 〈◊〉 thou die without thy

Silvia. To Silvia.

SEE, see, my adorable Angel, what cares the powers above take of divine innocence, true love and beauty, oh, see what they have done for their darling Silvia; cou'd they do less?

Know, my dear Maid, that after being examined before the King, I was found guilty enough to be committed to the Bastile, (from whence, if I had gone, I never had return'd, but to my death) but the Messenger into whose hands I was committed refusing other Guards, being alone with me, in my own Coach, I resolv'd to kill if I cou'd no other way oblige him to favour my escape; I tried with Gold before I shew'd my dagger, and that prevail'd, a way less criminal, and I have taken sanctuary in a small Cottage near the Sea shore, where I wait for Silvia; and though my life depend upon my flight, nay, more, the life of Silvia, I cannot go without her; dress your self then, my dearest, in your Boys cloaths, and haste with Brilljard, whither this Seaman will conduct thee, whom I have hir'd to set us on some shore of safety; bring what news you can learn of Cesario; I wou'd not have him die poorly after all his mighty hopes nor be conducted to a scaffold with shouts of joy, by that uncertain beast the Rabble, who us'd to stop his Chariot wheels with fickle adorations whene're he look'd abroad —by Heaven, I pity him, but Silvia's presence will chase away all thoughts, but those of love, from

Philander.

I need not bid thee haste.

La Fin.

Love Letters FROM A NOBLE MAN TO HIS SISTER: Mixt With the HISTORY OF THEIR ADVENTURES.

The Second Part by the same Hand.

LONDON, Printed for the Author, and are to be sold by the Booksellers of London, 1685.

TO Lemuel Kingdon, Esq SIR,

I Beg you will give me leave to express my gratitude in some measure, for the favours I have receiv'd of you, and to make an acknowledgment where I cannot pay a debt. 'Tis only what was long since design'd you, when possibly it might have found something a better wellcome, by its having made (as then it must 〈◊〉 done) a voyage to have kist your hands, and might perhaps then have contributed in some small degree to 〈◊〉 diversion, in a place where there is found so little—In order to it I sent you the first part by one of your Officers, of which this is a continuation. But being oblig'd to lay it by for other more material business, it has had the misfortune not to approach you till now, and to which honour it has nothing to intitle it, but that of bearing your Name before it, which will put a value upon it to the World. And since I never was of a nature to hord any good to my peculiar use, 'tis with great satisfaction I am, by this short character of you, distributing a blessing to that part of Mankind who have not that of knowing you. For there is an unspeakable pow'r and pleasure in obliging, and 'tis a pain to the good n • tur'd to conceal any thing, whose communication may gratify the world, and I am uneasie w • en a good man is not as well understood by every body as by myself, and I boast that honour here, with more vanity than of any other happyness. Tho I know, I shall be censur'd by your lovers for saying so littl • where so much is due: But since I write to the number that do not know you▪ rather than those that do, this will at least suffice to shew how fine a thing man can be, so qualify'd and set out by nature for eternal esteem. For, Sir, there is in you something, besides the common vertues of your Sex, so ingaging, some Art in Nature so peculiar to your self, so insinuating into the soul, that there is not found any thing so dull in Humankind as not to love Honour and value you: Nor is that man born that is your Enemy, no not even amongst those Phanatical dispositions, whose principles and opinions are so distant from those Honest and Generous ones of yours; at least they love the Man tho they raile at his notions, esteem the person tho they abominate the lo • allist; nor can I reflect on the excellency of your temper, but I think you born to put the ill natur'd world in to good Humour. You are all ways easie without affectation, merry without extravigance, generous, liberal, and good without vanity, sedate and even without constraint, cheerful and calme as innocence, tho the World storm and reel with mad confusion, still from the serenity of your looks we read the fair weather in your mind, which times or seasons can never discompose, while all goes well with your King and Country. You have a greatness of Soul which it seemes as if fate durst not oppress, and he who is so truly magnificent within, needs not trouble the World for elbow room, and who is a • bitions of more than you possess, does but purchase an empty name at the expence of his repose and sense, and lessens his Glory by equalling it to a Title The Sun at noon is no wonder, but to see as great an Illumination in a Star tho of the first magnitude, we gaze at with admiration. Title (that trifle which you can command when you please, and which 'tis far greater to merit than to w • ar,) serves rather to render vice more apparent than to elivate the vertues. • eav • n has made you more truly happy, and has set no blessing at too vast a distance for your reach; but has subdued even all your wishes to your pow'r, and left you almost nothing to ask: having suted your fame and fortune to the greatness of your mind

How soon at the choice of the most glorious Senate, that ever blest the Land, was your vallu'd name snatch'd by every glad and giving voice, and made the Musick of the happy day, when black exclusioners were justly damn'd from the field, and only such untainted Supporters of the Royal cause, thought worthy to bear apart in so glorious a Concerne, as Giving Caesar his due! Here, Sir, you appear'd in your proper sphere dispersing that darling vertue of your Soul, lavishly giving, generously disposing and dealing out according to your mighty mind, and had the glory even of obliging a Monarch, than which nothing could be a greater satisfaction to you. But, Sir, you do all things with a perfect good grace, and even business, that toyle of Life, you render soft and easie, and as if you alone were created to manage the concernes of the World▪ you make business your pleasure and diversion, and laugh at those that fat • gue them selves with mighty affairs, and who assume like Trincilo, a dull Gravity, to be esteem'd gre • t, wise, and busie, while you discover only the best and noblest part of business, the effects of it, the rest, the Gentleman so handsomly conceals, we perceive it no more than Fairy Huswifry, which is still acted in the shades and silence of the night, when Mortals are a sleep, and who find all fair and clean in the morning, but cannot guess at the invisible hand that did it. I am so good a subject that I wish all his Majesties work done by such hands, heads and heart, so effectual and so faithful, and than we shall fear no more Rebellions, but every man shall bask securely under • his own Vine, that has one▪—For my part I have only escap'd fleaing by the Rebels to starve more securely in my own native Province of P • etry, tho I am as well pleas'd at our late Victory, and the Growing Glories of my King, as he that has got a Commission by it, if I may have this happyness added to it, of still retaining the Honour of your friendship, and • e still number'd in the Crowd of

SIR, Your most Oblig'd humble Se • vant, A. B.

LETTERS FROM A NOBLE MAN TO HIS SISTER: The Second Part by the same Hand. The ARGVMENT.

AT the end of the first Part of these Letters, we le • t Philander impatiently wa •• ng on the Sea shore for the approach of the lovely Silvia; who accordingly came to him drest like a youth, to secure her self from a discovery. They staid not long to caress each other, but he taking the welcome Maid in his Arms, with a transported joy bore her to a small Vessel, that lay ready near the Beach, where with only Brilljard and two Men Servants, they put to Sea, and past into Holland, landing at the nearest Port; where after having refresht themselves for two or three days, they past forward towards the Brill. Silvia still remaining under that amiable disguise; but in their passage from Town to Town, which is sometimes by Coach, and other times by Boat, they chanc'd one day to incounter a young Hollander of a more than Ordinary Gallantry, (for that Country so degenerate from good manners and almost common Civility, and so far short of all the good qualities that made themselves appear in this young Noble Man. He was very handsom, well made, well drest, and very well attended; and whom we will call Octavio, and who, young as he was, was one of the States of Holland; he spoke admirable good French, and had a vivacity and quickness of Wit unusual with the Natives of that part of the World, and almost above all the rest of his Sex: Philander and Silvia having already agreed for the Cabin of the Vessel that was to carry them to the next Stage, Octavio came too late to have any place there but amongst the common crow'd; which the Master of the Vessel, who knew him was much troubl'd at, and addrest himself as civilly as he cou'd to Philander to beg permission for one Stranger of quality to dispose of himself in the Cabin for that day: Phillander being well enough pleas'd, so to make an acquaintance with some of power of that Country, readily consented, and Octavia enter'd with an address so graceful and obliging, that at first sight he inclin'd Phillanders heart to a friendship with him, and on the other side the lovely person of Phillander, the quality that appear'd in his face and mein oblig'd Octavio to become no less his admirer. But when he saluted Silvia, who appear'd to him a youth of quality, he was extreamly charm'd with her pretty gayety, and an unusual Air and life in her address and motion, he felt a secret joy and pleasure play about his Soul he knew not why; And was almost angry that he felt such an emotion for a youth, tho the most lovely that he ever saw: After the first complyments, they fell into discourse of a thousand indifferent things; and if he were pleas'd at first sight with the two Lovers, he was wholly charm'd by their conversation; especially that of the amiable youth; who well enough pleas'd with the young Stranger, or else hitherto having met nothing so accomplisht in her short Travels, and indeed despairing to meet any such; she put on all her gayety and charms of Wit, and made as absolute a Conquest as 'twas possible for her suppos'd Sex to do over a man, who was a great admirer of the other; and surely the lovely Maid never appear'd so charming and desirable as that day; they din'd together in the Cabin, and after dinner repos'd on little Matresses by each others side, where every motion, every Limb as carelessly she lay, discover'd a thousand Graces and more and more inslam'd the now beginning Lover; she cou'd not move▪ nor smile, nor speak, nor order any charm about her, but had some peculiar Grace that begun to make him uneasie; and from a thousand little Modesties both in her blushes and motions he had a secret hope she was not what she seem'd, but of that Sex whereof she discover'd so many softnesses and beauties; tho to what advantage that hope wou'd amount to his repose, was yet a disquiet he had not consider'd nor • elt: Nor cou'd he by any fondness between them or indiscretion of love, conceive how the lovely Strangers were alied; he only hop'd, and had no thoughts of fear, or any thing that cou'd check his new beginning flame. While thus they past the after-noon, they ask'd a thousand questions. Our Lovers of the Country and manners, and their security and civility to Strangers; to all which Octavio answer'd as a man, who wou'd recommend the place and persons purely to oblige their stay; for now self interest makes him say all things in favour of it; and of his own friendship, offers them all the service of a Man of power, and who cou'd make an interest in those that had more than himself; much he protested, much he offer'd, and yet no more than he design'd to make good on all occasions, which they receiv • d with an acknowledgment, that plainly discover'd a generosity and quality above the common rate of Men; so that finding in each other occasions for Love and friendship, they mutually profest it, and nobly entertain'd it. Octavio told his Name and quality, left nothing unsaid that might confirm the Lovers of his sincerity. This begot a confidence in Phillander, who in return told him so much of his Circumstances as su •• ic'd to let him know he was a person so unfortunate to have occasion'd the displeasure of his King against him, and that he cou'd not continue with any repose in that Kingdom, whose Monarch thought him no longer • it for those honours he had before receiv'd; Octavio renew'd his protestations of serving him, with his interest and fortune, which the other receiving with all the Gallant modesty of an unfortunate Man, they came a shore where Octavio's Co • ches and Equipage waiting his coming to conduct him to his house, he offer'd his new friends the best of 'em to carry them to their lodging, which he had often prest might be his own Pallace, but that being refus'd as too great an honour, he wou'd himself see them plac'd in some one, which he thought might be most sutable to their quality; they excus'd the trouble, but he prest too eagerly to be deny'd, and he conducted them to a Merchants house not far from his own, so Love had contriv'd for the better management of this new affair of his heart, which he resolv'd to persue, be the fair object of what sex soever; but after having well enough recomended em to the care of the Merchant he thought it justice to leave em to their rest, tho with abundance of reluctancy. So took his leave of both the Lovely Strangers and went to his own home: and after • hasty supper got himself put to bed: not to sleep; for now he had other business: Love took him now to task, and ask'd his heart a thousand questions. Then 'twas he found the Idea of that fair unknown had absolute possession there: Nor was he at all displeas'd to find he was a captive; his youth and quality promise his hopes, a thousand advantages above all other men: but when he re • lected on the Beauty of Phillander, on his Charming youth and Conversation, and every Grace that adorns a Conqueror, he grew inflam'd, disorderd, restless, angry, and out of Love with his own attractions; consider'd every Beauty of his own person and found 'em, or at least thought 'em infinitly short of those of his now Fancy'd Rival, yet 'twas a Rival that he cou'd not hate nor did his passion abate one thought of his Friendship for Phillander, but rather more increas'd it, insomuch that he once resolv'd it shou'd surmount his Love if possible, at least he left it on the upper hand▪ till time shou'd make a better dicovery. When tir'd with thought we'l suppose him a • leep, and see how our Lovers far'd. Who being lodg'd all on one Stair Case (that is Phillander, Silvia, and Brilljard) it was not hard for the Lover to steal into the longing Arms of the expecting Silvia; no fatigues of tedious journeys and little voyages had a bated her fondness or his vigour, the night was like the first, all joy! all transport! Briljard lay so near as to be a witness to all their sighs of Love, and little soft murmurs, who now began from a servant to be permitted as an humble companion; since he had had the Honour of being marry'd to Silvia, tho yet he durst not lift his eyes or thoughts that way: yet it might be perceiv'd he was melancholy and sullen, when e're he saw their daliances, nor cou'd he know the joys his Lord nightly stole, without an impatience, which if but minded or known perhaps had cost him his life: he began from the thoughts she was his wife, to fancy • ine injoyment, to fancy Authority which he durst not asume. And often wisht his Lord woud grow cold as possessing Lovers do; that then he might advance his hope, when he shou'd ever abandon or slight her: he cou'd not see her kist without blushing with resentment, but if he has assis • ed to undress him for her bed, he was ready to dy with anger, and wou'd grow sick and leave the office to himself, he cou'd not see her naked charmes, her armes streatcht out to receive a Lover with impatient joy without madness. To see her clasp him fast when he threw himself into her soft white bosom, and smother him with kisses: No, he cou'd not bear it now, and almost lost his respect when he beheld it, and grew sawcy unperceiv'd. And ' • was in vain that he look'd back upon the reward he had to stand for that necessary Cypher a Husband, in vain he consider'd the reasons why, and the occasion wherefore; he now seeks for presidents of usurp'd dominion, and thinks she is his Wife, and has forgot that he's her creature, and Phillanders V • ssal. These thoughts disturb'd him all the night, and a certain jealousie, or rather curiosity to listen to every motion of the Lovers, While • they were imploy'd after a different manner.

Next day it was debated what was best to be done as to their conduct in that place: or whether Silvia shou'd yet own her Sex or not, but she pleas'd with the Cavalier in her self: beg'd she might live under that disguise. Which indeed gave her a thousand charmes to those which nature had already bestow'd on her Sex, and Philander was well enough pleas'd she shou'd conti • ue in that agreable dress, which did not only add to her beauty, but gave her a thousand little Priviledges, which otherwise woud have been deny'd to Women. Tho in a Country of much Freedom. Every day she apear'd in the Toure, she fail'd not to make a conquest on some unguarded heart of the fair Sex, nor was it long ere she receiv'd Billet Deux from most of the most accomplish'd who could speak and write French. This gave them a pleasure in midst of their unlucky exile; and she fail'd not to boast her conquests to Octavio, who every day gave all his hours to Love, under the disguise of Friendship, and every day receiv'd new wounds, both from her conversation and beauty, and every day confirm'd him more in his first belief, that she was a Woman: and that confirm'd his Love. But still he took care to hid his passion with a gallantry that was natural to him, and to very few besides; and he manag'd his eyes, which were always full of Love so equally to both, that when he was soft and fond it appear'd more his natural humour than from any particuler cause, and that you may believe that all the arts of gallantry, and graces of good managment were more peculiarly his, than anothers, his Race was illustrious, being descended, from that of the Princes of Orange, and great birth will shine through, and shew it self in spight of education and obscurity, but Octavio had all those additions that render a man truly great and brave, and this is the character of him that was next undone by our unfortunate and fatal Beauty. At this rate for sometime they liv'd thus disguis'd under feign'd names. Octavio omitting nothing that might oblige 'em in the highest degree, and hardly any thing was talk'd of but the new and beautiful Strangers; whose conquest in all places over the Ladys are well worthy, both for their rarity and comody to be related intirely by themselves in a Novel. Octavio every day saw with abundance of pleasure the little revenges of Love on those Womens hearts who had made before little conquests over him, and strove by all the gay presents he made young Fillmond (for so they call'd Silvia,) to make him appear unresistable to the Ladies, and while Silvia gave them new wounds, Octavio fail'd not to receive 'em too among the crow'd, till at last he became a confirm'd slave to the lovely unknown; and that which was yet more flrange she captivated the Men no less than the Women, who often gave her Serinades under her Window with Songs fitted to the Courtship of a Boy, all which added to their diversion; but fortune had smil'd long enough and now grew weary of obliging, she was resolved to undeceive both Sexes and let 'em see the Errors of their love; for Silvia fell into a Feaver so violent that Phillander no longer hop'd for her recovery, in so much that she was oblig'd to own her Sex and take Women Servants out of decency, this made the first discovery of who and what they were, and for which every body languisht under a secret grief. But Octavio who now was not only confirm'd she was a Woman, but that she was neither wife to Phillander, nor cou'd in almost all possibility ever be so: That she was his Mistress, gave him hope that she might one day as well be conquer'd by him; and he found her youth, her Beauty, and her quality, merited all his pains of lavish Courtship: And now there remains no more than the fear of her dying to oblige him immediately to a discovery of his passion, too violent now by his new hope to be longer conceal'd, but decency forbids he shou'd now persue the dear design; he waited and made Vows for her recovery; visited her and found Phillander the most deplorable object that despair and love cou'd render him, who lay eternally weeping on her bed, and no Counsel or perswasion cou'd remove him thence; but if by chance they made him sensible 'twas for her repose, he wou'd depart to ease his mind by new torments, he wou'd rave and tear his delicate hair, sigh and weep upon Octavio's bosome, and a thousand times begin to unfold the story already known to tha generous Rival; despair, and hopes of pitty from him, made him utter all; and one day, when by the advice of the Physitian he was forc'd to quit the Chamber to give her rest, he carried Octavio to his own, and told him from the beginning all the story of his Love with the charming Silvia; and with it all the story of his Fate: Octavio sighing (tho glad of the opportunity) told him his affairs were already but too well known, and that he fear'd his safety from that discovery, since the States had oblig'd themselves to harbour no declar'd Enemy to the French King: At this news our young unfortunate shew'd a rsentment that was so moving, that even Octavio, who felt a secret joy at the thoughts if his departure, cou'd no longer refrain from pity and tenderness, even to a wish that he were less unhappy and never to part from Silvia; but soon love grew again triumphant in his heart, and all he cou'd say was that he wou'd afford him the aids of all his power in this incounter, which with the acknowledgments of a Lover, whose life depended on it, he receiv'd and parted with him, who went to learn what was decreed in Councel concerning him. While Phillander return'd to Silvia the most dejected Lover that ever Fate produc'd; where he had not sigh'd away above an hour but he receiv'd a Billet by Octavio's Page from his Lord; he went to his own apartment to read it, fearing it might contain something too sad for him to be able to hold his temper at the reading of, and which wou'd infallibly have dissturb'd the repose of Silvia, who shar'd in every cruel thought of Phillanders; when he was alone he open'd it, and read this.

Octavio to Phillander. My Lord,

I Had rather dy then be the ungrateful messenger of news, which I am sensible will prove so fatal to you, and which will be best exprest in fewest words, 'tis decreed, that you must retire from the United Provinces in Four and Twenty hours, if you will save a life that is dear to me and Silvia, there being no other security against your being render'd up to the King of France. Support it well, and hope all things from the assistance of,

From the Council Wednesday. Your Octavio. Phillander

Phillander having finisht the reading of this, remain'd a while wholly without life or motion, when coming to himself he sigh'd and cryd,—Why— farewel trifling life—If of the two extreames one must be chosen, rather then I'le abandon Silvia, I'le stay and be deliver'd up a Victim to incensed France— 'Tis but a life—At best I never Vallu'd thee—And now I scorn to preserve thee at the Price of Silvias teares! Then taking a hasty turn or two about his chamber, he pawsing cryd—But by my stay I ruine both Silvia and my self, her life depends on mine, and 'tis impossible hers can be preserv'd when mine is in danger, by retiring I shall shortly again be blest with her sight in a more safe security; by staying I resign my self poorly to be made a publick scorn to France, and the cruell Murderer of Silvia; now 'twas, after an hundred turns and pawses intermixt which sighs and raveings, that he resolv'd for both their safeties to retire, and having a while longer debated within himself how and where; and a little time ruminated on his hard persuing fate, grown to a calm of grief (less easy to be born than rage) he hastes to Silvia, whom he sound something more cheerful than before, but dares not aquaint her with the commands he had to depart—But silently he views her, while teares of Love and grief glide unperceivably fram his fine eyes, his soul grows tenderer at every look, and pity and compassion joyning to his Love, and his despairs, set him on the wrack of Li • e, and now believing it less pain to dy than to leave Silvia; resolves to disobey and dare the worst that shall befall him, he yet had some glimmering hope, as Lovers have, that some kind chance will prevent his going or being deliver'd up, he trusts much to the Friendship of Octavio, whose power joyn'd with that of his Unkle. (Who was one of the States also, and whom he had an ascendant over, as his Nephew and his heir,) might serve him; he therefore ventures to move him to compassion, by this following Letter.

Phillander to Octavio.

I Know, my Lord, that the Exercise of Vertue and Justice is so innate to your soul, and so fixt to the very Principle of a generous Commonwealths man, that where those are in competition 'tis neither birth, wealth, or Glorious merit, that can render the unfortunate condemn'd by you, worthy of your pity or pardon: your very Sons and fathers fall before your justice, and 'tis crime enough to offend, (tho innocently,) the least of your wholsom laws, to fall under the extremity of their rigor. I am not ignorant neither how flourishing this necessary Tyranny, this lawful oppression, renders your State; howsafe and glorious; how secure from Enemies at home, (those worst of foes) and how fear'd by those abroad; pursue then, Sir, your justifiable method, and still be high and mighty, retain your ancient Roman vertue, and still be great as Rome her self in her height of glorious Commonwealths; rule your stubborn Natives by her excellent examples, and let the height of your ambition be only to be as severely just, as rigidly good as you please, but like her too, be pitiful to Strangers, and dispence a Noble Charity to the distress'd, compassionate a poor wandring young Man, who flies to you for refuge, lost to his Native home, lost to his fame, his fortune, and his Friends; and has only left him the knowledge of his innocence to support him from falling on his own Sword, to end an unfortunate life, persu'd every where, and safe no where, a Life whose only refuge is Octavio's goodness, nor is it barely to preserve this life, that I have recourse to that only as my Sanctuary; and like an humble Slave implore your pity: Oh, Octavio pity my Youth; and interceed for my stay yet a little longer, Your self makes one of the illustrious Number of the Grave, the Wise, and mighty Councel, your Unkle and Relations make up another considerable part of it, and you are too dear to all, to find a refusal of your just and compassionate application. Oh! what fault have I committed against you, that I shou'd not find a safety here, as well as those charg'd with the same Crime with me, tho of less quality? Many I have incounter'd here of our unlucky party, who find a safety among you; is my birth a Crime? Or does the greatness of that augment my guilt? Have I broken any of your Laws, committed any outrage? Do they suspect me for a spie to France? Or do I hold any Corrispondence with that ungrateful Nation? Does my Religion, Principle, or Opinion differ from yours? Can I design the subversion of your Glorious State? Can I plot, cabal, or mutiny alone? Oh charge me with some offence, or your selves of injustice. Say, why I am deny'd my length of • arth amongst you, if I dy? Or why to breath the open Air, if I live, since I shall neither oppress the one, nor infect the other; but on the contrary am ready with my sword, my youth, and Blood to serve you, and bring my little aids on all occasions to yours: and shou'd be proud of the Glory to dy for you in Battle, who wou'd deliver me up a Sacrifice to France. Oh! where Octavio is the glory or vertue of this Punctilio, for 'tis no other? There are no Laws that bind you to it, no obligatory Article of Nations, but an unnecessary complyment made a nemini contradicente of your Senate, that argues nothing but ill nature, and cannot redound to any one advantage. An Ill nature that's levell'd at me alone; for many I found here, and many shall leave under the same circumstances with me; 'tis only me whom you have mark'd out the victime to atone for all: Well then, my Lord, if nothing can move you to a safety for this unfortunate, at least be so mercyful to suspend your cruelty a little, yet a little, and possible I shall render you the body of Phillander, tho dead, to send into France, as the trophy of your fidellity to that Grown: Oh yet a little stay your cruel sentence, till my lovely Sister, who persu'd my hard fortunes, declare my Fate by her life or death; Oh my Lord, if ever the soft passion of Love have touch'd your soul, if you have felt the unresistable force of young charms about your heart, if ever you have known a pain and pleasure from fair eyes, or the transporting Joyes of Beauty, Pity a youth undone by Love and ambition, those powerful conquerours of the young.—Pity, oh Pity a youth that dies, and will ere long no more complain upon your Rigours. Yes, my Lord, he dies without the force of a terrifying Sentence, without the grim reproaches of an angry Judg, without the soon consulted Arbitrary —Guilty! of a severe and hasty Jury, without the ceremony of the Scaffol'd, Ax, and Hang man, and the clamours of inconsidering Crowds. All which melancholy ceremonies render death so terrible, which else wou'd fall like gentle slumbers upon the eye-lids. And which in field I wou'd incounter with that joy I wou'd the sacred thing I Love! But oh▪ I fear my fate is in the lovely Silvia, and in her dying eyes you may read it, in her languishing face you'le see how near it is aproacht. Ah! will you not suffer me to attend it there? by her dear side I shall fall as calmly as flowers from their stalks, without regret or pain: Will you by forcing me to dy from her, run me to a madness? To wild distraction? Oh think it sufficient that I dy here before half my race of youth be run, before the light be half • burnt out, that might have conducted me to a world of Glory! Alas, she dies—The Lovely Silvia clies, she is sighing out a soul to which mine is so intirely fixt, that they must go upward together. Yes, yes, she breaths it sick into my bosom, and kindly gives mine its disease of death; let us at least then dy in silent, quitted; and if it please Heaven to restore the languish'd Charmer, I will resign my self up to all your Rigorous honour, only let me bear my treasure with me, while we wander o're the world to seek us out a safety in some part of it, where pity and compassion is no crime. Where men have tender hearts, and have heard of the God of Love; where Politicks are not all the business of the powerful, but where civillity and good nature reign.

Perhaps, my Lord, you'l wonder I plead no weightier Argument for my stay than Love, or the griefs and tears of a languishing Maid: But oh! they are such tears as every drop wou'd ransom lives, and nothing that proceeds from her charming eyes can be valu'd at a less rate! In Pity to her, to me, and your Amorous youths, let me bear her hence. For shou'd she look abroad as her own Sex, shou'd she appear in her natural and proper beauty, alas they were undone. Reproach not (my Lord) the weakness of this confession, and which I make with more Glory than cou'd I boast my self Lord of all the Universe: if it appear a fault to the more grave and wise, I hope my youth will plead something for my excuse. Oh say, at least, 'twas Pity that Love had the ascendant over Phillanders soul, say 'twas his Destiny, but say withal, that it put no stop to his advance to Glory; rather it set an edg upon his Sword, and gave wings to his ambition!—Yes, try me in your Councells, prove me in your Camps, place me in any hazard —But give me Love! and leave to wait the life or death of Silvia, and then dispose as you please,

My Lord Of Your unfortunate, Philander. Octavio to Philander. My Lord,

I Am much concern'd that a Request so reasonable as you have made, will be of so little force with these arbitrary Tyrants of State, and tho you have addrest and appeal'd to me▪ as one of that grave and rigid number, (tho without one grain of their formalities, and I hope age, which renders us less Gallant, and more envious of the joys and liberties of youth, will never reduce me to so dull and thoughtless a member of State) yet I have so small and single a portion of their power, that I am asham'd of my incapacity of serving you in this great affair. I bear the Honour and the name 'tis true, of Glorious sway; but I can boast but of the worst and most impotent part of it, the Title only; but the busie, absolute, mischievious Politician, finds no room in my Soul, my humour, or constitution: And Ploding restless power I have made so little the business of my gayer, and more careless youth, that I have even lost my right of rule, my share of Empire amongst them. That little power (whose unregarded losse I never bemoan'd till it render'd me uncapable of serving Phillander,) I have stretch'd to the utmost bound for your stay; insomuch that I have receiv'd many reproaches from the wiser Coxcombs; have had my youths little debauches hinted on, and Judgments made of you (disadvantagious) from my Friendship to you; a Friendship, which, my Lord, at first sight of you, found a being in my soul, and which your wit, your goodness, your greatness, and your misfortunes has improv'd to all the degrees of it: Tho I am infinitey unhappy that it proves of no use to you here, and that the greatest testimony I can now render of it, is to warn you of your aproaching danger. And hasten your departure, for there is no safety in your stay. I just now heard what was decreed against you in councel, which no pleading nor Eloquence of Friendship had force enough to evade. Alass, I had but one single voyce in the number, which I sullenly and singly gave, and which unregarded past. Go then, my Lord, haste to some place where good breeding and humanity reigns. Go and preserve Silvia, in providing for your own safety; and believe me, till she be in a Condition to persue your Fortunes, I will take such care that nothing shall be wanting, either to recovery here, in order to her following after you. I am, alas but too sensible of all the pains you must indure by such a separation, for I am neither insensible, nor uncapable of love, or any of its violent effects: Go then, my Lord, and preserve the lovely Maid in your flight, since your stay and danger will serve but to hasten on her death: Go, and be satisfied she shall find a protection sutable to her Sex, her innocence, her Beauty, and her quality, and that where-ever you fix your stay, she shall be resign'd to your Arms by my Lord,

Your Eternal Friend and humble Servant, Octavio.

Least in this sudden remove you shou'd want Mony, I have sent you several Bills of Exchange to what place soever you arrive, and what you want more (make no scruple to use me as a friend) and command.

After this Letter, finding no hopes; but on the contrary a dire necessity of departing, he told Briljard his misfortune, and ask'd his Counsel in this extremity of affairs. Brilljard (who of a Servant was become a Rival) you may believe, gave him such advice as might remove him from the object he ador'd. But after a great deal of dissembl'd trouble, the better to hide his joy, he gave his advice for his going with all the arguments that appear'd reasonable enough to Phil • ander. And at every period urg'd that his life being dear to Silvia, and on which hers so immediately depended, he ought no longer to debate but haste his flight, to all which councell our Amorous Hero, with a soul ready to make its way thro' his trembling body, gave a sighing unwilling assent. 'Twas now no longer a dispute, but was concluded he must go, but how was only the question. How shou'd he take his farewel, how shou'd he bid adieu, and leave the dear object of his soul in an estate to hazardous, he form • d a thousand sad Ideas to torment himself with; fancying he shou'd never see her more, that he shou'd hear that she was dead, tho now she appear'd on this side of the Grave, and had all the signs of a declining disease. He fancy'd absence might make her cold and abate her passion to him, that her powerful beauty might atract adorers, and she being but a Woman, and no p • rt Angel, but her form, 'twas not expected she shou'd want her Sexes frailties. Now he cou'd consider how he had won her, how by importunity and opportunity she had at last yielded to him, and therefore might to some new Gamster, when he was not by to keep her heart in continual play: Then 'twas that all the despair of jealous love, the throbs and piercing of a violent passion seiz'd his timorous and tender hea • t, he fancy'd her already in some new Lovers Arms, and ran o're all the soft enjoyments he had had with her; and fancy'd with tormenting thought, that so another wou'd posses her: till rackt with tortures he almost fainted on the Repose on which he was set: But Brilljard rous'd and indeavour'd to convince him: Told him he hop'd his fear was needless, and that he wou'd take all the watchful care imaginable of her conduct, be a spy upon her vertue, and from time to time give him notice of all that shou'd pass: Bid him consider her quality, and that she was no common Mistriss whom hire cou'd lead astray, and that if from the violence of her passion, or her more severe fate she had yeilded to the most Charming of men, he ought as little to imagine she cou'd be again a Lover, as that she cou'd find an object of equal beauty with that of Phillander. In fine, he sooth'd and Flatter'd him into so much ease, that he resolves to take his leave for a day or two under pretence of meeting and consulting with some of the rebell party; and that he wou'd return again to her by that time it might be imagin'd her feaver might be abated, and Silvia in a condition to receive the news of his being gone for a longer time, and to know all his affairs. While Brilljard prepar'd all things necessary for his departure, Phillander went to Silvia. From whom, having been absent two tedious hours; she caught him in her Arms with a transport of joy; reproach'd him with want of Love, for being absent so long. But still the more she spoke soft • ighing words of Love, the more his Soul was seiz'd with melancholy. His sighs redoubl'd and he cou'd not refrain from leting fall some tears upon her bosom—Which Silvia perceiving with a look and a trembling in her voyce, that spoke her fear, she cry'd, oh Phillander! these are unusual marks of your tenderness. Oh tell me, tell me quickly, what they mean. He answer'd with a sigh, and she went on—'Tis so, I am undone, 'tis your lost vows, your broken faith you weep, Yes, Phillander, you find the flower of my beauty faded, and what you lov'd before you pity now, and these be the effects of it. Then sighing, as if his Soul had been departing on her neck, he cry'd by heaven, by all the powers of Love, thou art the same dear charmer that thou wert, then pressing her body to his bosom, he sigh'd a new as if his heart were breaking —I know (says she) Phillander there's some hidden cause that gives these sighs their way, and that dear face a paleness. Oh tell me all; for she that cou'd abandon all for thee, can dare the worst of Fate, if thou must quit me—Oh Phillander, if it must be so, I need not stay the lingering death of a feable Feaver: I know a way more noble and more sudden. Pleas'd at her resolution, which all most destroy'd his jealousie and fears, a thousand times he kist her, mixing his grateful words and thanks with sighs, and finding her fair hands (which he put often to his mouth) to increase their fires, and her pulse to be more high and quick, fearing to relapse her into her (abating) feaver he forc'd a smile, and told her, he had no griefs, but what she made him feel, no torments but her sickness, nor sighs but for her pain, and left nothing unsaid, that might confirm her he was still more and more her Slave; and concealing his design in favour of her health, he ceas'd not vowing and protesting till he had settled her in all the tranquillity of a recovering beauty. And, as since her first Illness he had never departed from her Bed, so now this night he strove to appear in her Arms with all that usual Gayety of Love that her condition wou'd permit, or his circumstances cou'd feign, and leavign her a sleep at day-break (with a force upon his Soul that cannot be conceiv'd) but by parting Lovers, he stole from her Arms and retiring to his chamber he soon got himself ready for his flight and departed. We will leave Silvia's ravings to be exprest by none but her self, and tell you that after about Fourteen days absence Octavio receiv'd this Letter from Phillander:

Phillander to Octavio.

BEing sa • ely arriv'd at Collen, and by a very pretty and lucky adventure lodg'd in the house of the best quallity in the Town, I find my self much more at ease then I thought it possible to be without Silvia, from whom I am nevertheless impatient to hear, I hope absence appears not so great a Bugbear to her as 'twas imagin'd. For I know not what effects it wou'd have on me to hear her griefs exceeded a few sighs and tears. Those my kind absence has taught me to allow and bear without much pain, but shou'd her Love transport her to extreams of rage and despair, I fear I shou'd quit my safety here, and give her the last proof of my Love and my compassion: throw my self at her Feet, and expose my life to preserve hers, Honour wou'd oblige me to't. I conjure you, my dear Octavio, by all the Friendship you have vow'd me, (and which I no longer doubt,) let me speedily know how, she bears my absence, for on that knowledg depends a great deal of the satisfaction of my life, carry her this inclos'd which I have writ her, and soften my silent departure, which possibly may apear rude and unkind, plead my pardon, and give her the story of my necessity of offending, which none can so well relate as your self. And from a mouth so eloquent, to a Maid so full of Love, will soon reconcile me to her heart. With her Letter I send you a Bill to pay her 2000 Patacons, which I have paid Vander Hanskin here, as his Letter will inform you, as also those Bills I receiv'd of you at my departure, having been supply'd by an English Merchant here, who gave me credit. 'Twill be an Age till I hear from you, and receive the news of the health of Silvia. Than which two blessings nothing will be more wellcom to,

Collen. Generous Octavio, Your PHILANDER.

Direct your Letters for me to your Merchant Vander Hanskin.

Philander to Silvia.

THere is no way left to gain my Silvia's pardon, for leaving her, and leaving her in such circumstances, but to tell her 'twas to preserve a life, which I believ'd intirely dear to her, but that unhappy crime is too severely punisht by the cruelties of my absence. Believe me, Lovely Silvia, I have felt all your pains, I have burnt with your feaver, and sigh'd with your oppressions; Say, has my pain abated yours? Tell me! and hasten my health by the assurance of your recovery, or I have fled in vain from those dear Arms to save a life, of which I know not what account to give you, till I reecive from you the knowledg of your perfect health, the true state of mine. I can only say I sigh, and have a sort of a being in Collen, where I have some more assurance of protection than I cou'd hope from those int'rested Bruits, who sent me from you, yet Bruitish as they are, I know thou art safe from their Clownish outrages. For were they sensless as their Fellow Monsters of the sea, they durst not prophane so pure an excellence as thine, the sullen Boors wou'd jouder out a wellcom to thee, and gape, and wonder at thy awful beauty, tho they want the tender sense to know, to what use 'twas made. Or if I doubted their Humanity, I cannot the Friendship of Octavio, since he has given me too good a proof of it to leave me any fear, that he has not in my absence persu'd those generous sentiments for Silvia which he vow'd to Philander, and of which the first proof must be his relating the necessity of my absence, to set me well with my adorable Maid. Who, better than I, can inform her: and that I rather chose to quit you only for a short space, than reduce my self to the necessity of losing you eternally. Let the satisfaction this ought to give you, retrieve your health and beauty, and put you into a condition of restoring to me all my joys. That by persuing the dictates of your Love, you may again bring the greatest happyness on earth to the Arms of

Your PHILANDER.

My affairs here are yet so unsettl'd, that I can take no order for your coming to me but, as soon as I know where I can fix with safety, I shall make it my business and my happyness: Adieu. Trust Octavio with your Letters only.

This Letter Octavio wou'd not carry himself to her, who had omitted no day, scarce any hour, wherein he saw not or sent not to the charming Silvia, but he sound, in that which Philander had writ to him, an Aire of coldness altogether unusual with that passionate Lover, and infinitely short in point of tenderness to those he had formerly seen of his, and from what he had heard him speak; so that he no longer doubted (and the rather because he hop'd it) but that Philander found an abatement of that heat, which was wont to inspire at a more Amorous rate; this appearing declension he cou'd not conceal from Silvia, at least to let her know he took notice of it; for he knew her Love was too quick sighted and sensible to pass it unregarded, but he with reason thought, that when she shou'd find others observe the little slight she had put on her, her pride (which is natural to women in such cases) wou'd decline and lessen her Love, for his Rival. He therefore sent his Page with the Letters inclos'd in this from himself.

Octavio to Silvia. Madam,

FRom a little necessary debauch I made last night with the Prince, I am forc'd to imploy my Page in those duties I ought to have perform'd my self: He brings you, Madam, a Letter from Philander, as mine which I have also sent you informes me; I shou'd else have doubted it; 'tis, I think, his character, and all he says of Octavio confesses the Friend, but where he speaks of Silvia sure he disguises the Lover: I wonder the mask shou'd be put on now to me, to whom before he so frankly discover'd the the secrets of his Amorous heart. 'Tis a mistery I wou'd sain perswade my self he finds absolutely necessary to his interest, and I hope you will make the same favorable constructions of it, and not impute the lessen'd zeal wherewith he treats the charming Silvia to any possible change or coldness, since I am but too fatally sensible, that no man can arrive at the Glory of being belov'd by you, that had ever power to shorten one link of that dear chain, that holds him, and you need but survey that adorable face, to confirm your tranquillitie, set a just value on your charmes, and you need no arguments to secure your everlasting Empire, or to establish it in what heart you please, this fatal truth I learnt from your fair eyes, e're they discover'd to me your Sex; and you may as soon change to what I then believ'd you, as I from adoring what I now find you; if all then, Madam, that do but look on you become your Slaves, and languish for you, love on, even without hope, and die, what must Phillander pay you, who has the mighty blessing of your Love, your Vows, and all that renders the hours of amorous Youth sacred, glad, and Triumphant? But you know the conquering power of your charmes too well to need either this daring confession, or a defence of Phillanders vertue from,

Madam, Your obedient Slave, Octavio.

Silvia had no sooner read this with blushes, and a thousand fears, and trembling of what was to follow in Phillander's Letters both to Octavio and to her self, but with an Indignation agreeable to her haughty Soul she cry'd—How,—slighted! and must Octavio see it too: By Heaven if I shou'd find it true he shall not dare to think it; then with a generous rage she broke open Phillanders Letter; and which she soon perceiv'd did but too well prove the truth of Octavio's suspition, and her own fears. She repeated it again and again, and still she found more cause of greif and anger; Love occasion'd the first, and Pride the last: And, to a Soul perfectly haughty, as was that of Silvia, 'twas hard to guess which had the assendant: She consider'd Octavio to all the advantages that thought cou'd conceive in one who was not a Lover of him; she knew he merited a heart tho she had none to give him, she found him charming without having a tenderness for him, she found him young and amorous without desire towards him, she found him great, rich, powerful, and generous, without designing on him, and tho she knew her Soul free from all Passion, but that for Philander; nevertheless she blusht and was angry, that he had thoughts no more advantagious to the power of those charmes, which she wisht might appear to him above her Sex: It being natural to Women to desire Conquests, tho they hate the conquer'd; to glory in the tryumph, tho they despise the Slave. And believ'd, while Octavio had so poor a sense of her beauty as to believe it cou'd be forsaken, he would adore it less; And first to satisfie her pride she left the softer business of her heart to the next tormenting hour, and sent him this careless answer by his Page, believing if she appear'd too angry it might look as if she valu'd his opinion, and therefore dissembled her thoughts, as women in those cases ever do, who when most angry seem the most Galliard, especially when they have need of the friendship of those they flatter.

Silvia to Octavio.

IS it indeed Octavio, that you believe Philander cold, or wou'd you make that a pretext to the declaration of your own passion, we French Ladies are not so nicely ty'd up to the formalities of vertue, but we can hear Love at both ears, and if we receive not the addresses of both, at least we are perhaps vain enough, not to be displeas'd, to find we make new conquests. But you have made your attacque with so ill conduct, that I shall find force enough without more aids to repulse you. Alas, my Lord! did you believe my heart was left unguarded when Philander departed? No, the careful charming Lover left a thousand litgods to defend it, of no less power than himself. Young Deities, who laugh at all your little arts and treacheries, and scorn to resign their Empire to any feable Cupids you can draw up against 'em. Your thick foggy air breeds Loves too dull and heavy for noble slights, nor can I stoop to them. The Flemish Boy wants arrows keen enough for hearts like mine, and is a Bungler in his Art, too lasie and remiss, rather a heavy Bacchus than a Cupid, a Bottle sends him to his Bed of Moss, where he sleeps hard, and never dreams of Venus.

How poorly have you paid your self, my Lord, (by this pursuit of your discover'd Love) for all the little friendship you have rendred me? How well you have explain'd, you can be no more a Lover than a Friend, if one may judg the first by the last: Had you been thus obstinate in your passion before Philander went, or you had believ'd me abandon'd, I should perhaps have thought, that you had lov'd indeed, because I should have seen you durst, and should have believ'd it true, because it ran some hazards for me, the resolution of it would have reconcil'd me then to the temerity of it, and the greatest demonstration you cou'd have given of it, woud have been the danger you wou'd have ran and contemned; and the preferance of your passion above any other consideration. This, my Lord, had been generous, and like a Lover, but poorly thus to set upon a single Woman in the disguise of a Friend, in the dark silent melancholy hour of absence from Philander, then to surprise me, then to bid me deliver! to pad for hearts! it was not like Octavio. That Octavio, Philander made his Friend, and for whose dear sake, my Lord, I will no further reproach you, but from a goodness, which, I hope, you will merit, I will forgive an offence, which your ill timing has render'd almost inexcusable; and expect you will for the future consider better how you ought to treat

SYLVIA.

As soon as she had dismist the Page, she hasted to her business of Love, and again read over Philanders Letter, and finds still new occasion for fear; she had recourse to pen and paper for a relief of that heart which no other way cou'd find it; and after, having wip'd the tears from her eyes, she writ this following Letter.

Silvia to Philander.

YEs, Philander, I have received your Letter, and but I found my name there, shou'd have hop'd it was not meant for Silvia: Oh! 'tis all cold—Short—Short and cold as a dead Winters day. It chill'd my blood, it shiver'd every vein. Where, oh where hast thou lavish'd out all those soft words so natural to thy Soul, with which thou us'd to charm; so tun'd to the dear musick of thy voice? What is become of all the tender things, which, as I us'd to read, made little nimble pantings in my heart, my blushes rise, and tremblings in my bloud, adding new fire to the poor burning Victim! Oh where are all thy pretty flatteries of Love, that made me fond, and vain, and set a value on this trifling Beauty? Hast thou forgot thy wondrous Art of loving? Thy pretty cunings, and thy soft deceivings? Hast thou forgot 'em all? Or hast forgot indeed to love at all? Has thy industrious passion gather'd all the sweets, and left the rifled flower to hang its wither'd head, and die in shades neglected, for who will prize it now, now, when all its perfumes fled. Oh my Philander, oh my charming Fugitive! wast not enough, you left me like false Theseus on the shore, on the forsaken shore, departed from my fond my clasping Arms; where I believ'd you safe, secure, and pleas'd; when sleep and night, that favour'd you and fuin'd me, had render'd 'em incapable of their dear loss? Oh was it not enough, that when I found 'em empty and abandon'd, and the place cold where you had lain, and my poor trembling bosom unpossest of that I dear load it bore, that almost expired with my first fears; Oh if Philander lov'd he wou'd have thought that cruelty enough, without the sad addition of a growing coldness: I wak'd, I mist thee, and I call'd aloud, Philander! my Philander! But no Philander heard; then drew the close drawn Curtains, and with a hasty and busie veiw, survey'd the Chamber over, but Oh! in vain I veiw'd, and call'd yet louder, but none appear'd to my assistance, but Antonet and Briljard to torture me with dull excuses, urging a thousand feign'd and frivolous reasons to satisfie my fears: But I, who lov'd, who doated even to madness, by nature soft, and timerous as a Dove, and fearful as a Criminal escap'd, that dreads each little noise, fancy'd their eyes and guilty looks confest the treasons of their hearts and tongues, while they, more kind than true, strove to convince my killing doubts: Protested, that you would return by night, and feign'd a likely story to deceive, Thus between hope and fear I languisht out a day, Oh Heavens! a tedious day without Philander, who wou'd have thought, that such a dismal day shou'd not with the end of its reign have finish'd that of my life, but then Octavio came to visit me, and who till then I never wisht to see, but now I was impatient for his coming, who by degrees told me that you were gone—I never ask'd him where, or how, or why, that you where gone was enough to possess me of all I fear'd your being apprehended, and sent into France, your delivering your self up, your abandoning me; all, all, I had an easie faith for, without consulting more than That, Thou wert gone,—that very word yet strikes a terrour to my Soul, disables my trembling hand, and I must wait for reinforcements from some kinder thoughts. But, Oh! from whence shou'd they arrive? from what dear present felicity, or prospect of a future, tho never so distant, and all those past ones, serve but to increase my pain; they favour me no more, they charm and please no more, and only present themselves to my memory to compleat the number of my sighs and tears, and make me wish that they had never been, tho even with Philander! Oh, say, thou Monarch of my panting Soul, How hast thou treated Silvia, to make her wish, that she had never known a tender joy with thee: Is't possible she shou'd repent her loving thee, and thou shou'dst give her cause! Say, dear false Charmer, is it? But O, there is no lasting Faith in sin!—Ah—What have I done? How dreadful is the Scene of my first debauch, and how glorious that never to be regain'd prospect of my Virgin innocence, where I fate inthron'd in awful vertue, crown'd with shining honour, and adorn'd with unsullied reputation, till thou, O Tyrant Love! with a charming usurpation, invaded all my glories; and which I resign'd with greater pride and joy than a young Monarch puts 'em on. Oh, why then do I repent? as if the vast, the dear expence of pleasures past were not enough to recompence for all the pains of Love to come? But why, O why do I treat thee as a Lover lost already. Thou art not, canst not, no, Ile not believe it, till thou thy self confess it. Nor shall the omission of a tender word or two make me believe thou hast forgot thy vows. Alas it may be I mistake thy cares, thy hard fatigues of Life, thy presant ill circumstances (and all the melancholy effects of thine and my misfortunes) for coldness and declining Love. Alas, I had forgot my poor, my dear Philander is now oblig'd to contrive for Life, as well as Love; thou perhaps (fearing the worst) art preparing Eloquence for a Council Table, and in thy busie and guilty imaginations, haranguing it to the grave Judges, defending thy innocence, or evading thy guilt: Feeing Advocates, excepting Juries, and confronting. Witnesses, when thou shou'dst be giving satisfaction to my fainting love-sick heart: Sometimes in thy labouring fancy the horrour of a dreadful Sentence for an ignominious death strikes upon thy tender Soul with a force that frights the little God from thence, and I am perswaded there are some moments of this melancholy nature, wherein your Silvia is even quite forgotten, and this too she can think just and reasonable, without reproaching thy heart with a declining passion, especially when I am not by to call thy fondness up, and divert thy more tormenting hours: But Oh, for those soft minutes thou hast design'd for Love, and hast dedicated to Silvia, Philander shou'd dismiss the dull formalities of rigid business, the pressing cares of dangers, and have given a loose to softness. Cou'd my Philander imagine this short and unloving Letter sufficient to atone for such an absence? And has Philander then forgotten the pain with which I languish'd, when but absent from him an hour; how then can he imagine I can live, when distant from him so many Leagues, and so many days? while all the scanty comfort I have for life is, that one day we might meet again; but where, or when, or how—thou hast not love enough so much as to divine; but poorly leavest me to be satisfied by Octavio, committing the business of thy heart, the once great importance of thy Soul, the most necessary devoires of thy life, to be supply'd by another. Oh Philander, I have known a blessed time in our reign of Love, when thou wou'dst have thought even all thy own power of too little force to satisfie the doubting Soul of Silvia: Tell me, Philadner, hast thou forgot that time? I dare not think thou hast, and yet (O God) I find an alteration, but Heaven divert the Omen: Yet something whispers to my Soul, I am undone! Oh where art thou my Philander? Where's thy heart? And what has it been doing since it begun my Fate? How can it justifie thy coldness, and thou this cruel absence, without accounting with me for every parting hour? My Charming Dear was wont to find me business for all my lonely absent ones? and writ the softest Letters— Loading the Paper with fond Vows and Wishes, which e're I had read o're, another wou'd arrive, to keep Eternal warmth about my Soul; nor • wert thou ever wearied more with writing, than I with reading or with sighing after thee; but now—Oh! there's some Mystery in't I dare not understand. Be kind at least and satisfie my fears, for 'tis a wonderous pain to live in doubt, if thou still lov'st me, swear it o're a new! and curse me if I do not credit thee. But—if thou art declining,—or shou'dst be sent a shameful Victim into France— Oh thou deceiving Charmer, yet be just and let me know my Doom; By Heaven this last will find a welcome to me, for it will end the torment of my doubts, and fears of losing thee another way, and I shall have the Joy to dye with thee; dye belov'd, and dye

Thy SILVIA.

Having read over this Letter she fear'd she had said too much of her doubts, and apprehensions of a change in him; for now she flies to all the little Stratagems and artifices of Lovers, she begins to consider the worst, and to make her best of that, but quite abandon'd she cou'd not believe her self without flying into all the rage that disappointed Women cou'd be possest with, she calls Briljard shews him his Lords Letters, and told him (while he read) her doubts and fears; he being thus instructed by her self in the way how to deceive her on, like Fortunetellers who gather peoples Fortune from themselves and then return it back for their own Divinity; tells her he saw indeed a change! glad to improve her fear, and feigns a sorrow almost equal to hers: 'Tis evident, says he, 'Tis evident, that he's the most ungrateful of his Sex! Pardon Madam (continued he, bowing) If my Zeal for the most Charming Creature on Earth make me forget my duty to the best of Masters and Friends, Ah Brilljard, cry'd she, with an Air of languishment that more inflam'd him, have a care least that mistaken Zeal for me shou'd make you prophane a Vertue, which has not, but on this occasion shew'd that it wanted Angels for its guard. Oh, Brilljard, if he be false—If the dear Man be perjur'd, take, take kind Heaven! the life you have preserv'd, but for a greater proof of your revenge—And at that word she sunk into his Arms, which he hastily extended as she was falling, both to save her from harm and to give himself the pleasure of grasping the lovely'st body in the World to his Bosome, on which her fair face declin'd cold, dead and pale, but so transporting was the pleasure of that dear burden, that he forgot to call for, or to use any aid to bring her back to life, but trembling with his love and eager passion he took a thousand joys, he kist a thousand times her Lukewarm lips, suckt her short sighs, and ravisht all the sweets her Bosome (which but guarded with a loose Night Gown) yielded his impatient touches. Oh, Heaven who can express the pleasures he receiv'd, because no other way he ever cou'd arrive to so much dareing, 'twas all beyond his hope, loose were her Robes, insensible the Maid, and love had made him insolent, he rov'd, he kist, he gaz'd, without controul, forgetting all respect of persons or of place, and quite despairing by fair means to win her, resolves to take this luckey opportunity; the door he knew was fast, for the Counsel she had to ask him admitted of no lookers on, so that at his enterance she had secur'd that pass for him her self, and being near her Bed, when she fell into his Arms, at this last daring thought, he lifts her thither and lays her gently down, and while he did so, in one Minute, ran o're all the killing joys he had been witness to, which she had given Philander; on which he never paws'd but urg'd by a Cupid altogether malicious and wicked, he resolves his cowardly Conquest, when some kinder God awaken'd Silvia, and brought Octavio to the Chamber door, who having been us'd to a freedom which was permitted to none but himself with Antonett her woman, waiting for admittance, after having knockt twice softly, Brilljard heard it, and redoubl'd his disorder, which from that of Love grew to that of surprise; he knew not what to do, whether to resuse answering or to re-establish the reviveing sense of Silvia; in this moment of perplexing thought, he fail'd not however to set his hair in order, and ajust him, tho there were no need of it, and steping to the door (after having rais'd Silvia, leaning her head on her hand on her bed side,) he gave admittance to Octavio; but oh Heaven, how was he surpriz'd when he saw it was Octavio? his heart with more force than before redoubl'd its beats, that one might easily perceive every stroke by the motion of his Cravate, he blusht, which to a complexion perfectly fair, as that of Briljard (who wants no Beauty either in face or person) was the more discoverable, add to this his trembling, and you may easily imagine what a suger he represented himself to Octavio: Who almost as much surpriz'd as himself to find the Goddess of his Vows and Devotions with a young Endimion a lone, a door shut too, her Gown loose (which from the late fit she was in and Briljards rape upon her Bosom) was still open and discover'd a World of unguarded Beauty, which she knew not was in view, with some other disorders of her head Cloaths, gave him in a moment a thousand false apprehensions, Antonett was no less surpriz'd, so that all had their part of amazement, but the innocent Silvia, whose Eyes were beautifi'd with a melancholly calm, which almost fet the generous Lover at ease, and took away his new fears, however he cou'd not chuse but ask Briljard what the matter was with him, he look so out of countenance, and trembled so, he told him, how Silvia had been, and what extream frights she had possest him with, and told him the occasion, which the lovely Silvia with her eyes and sighs assented to, and Brilljard departed; how well pleas'd you may imagine, or with what gusto he left her with the lovely Octavio, whom he perceiv'd too well was a Lover in the disguise of a Friend: But there are in lovethose wonderful Lovers who can quench the Fire one Beauty kindles, with some other Object, and as much in Love as Brilljard was he found Antonett an Antidote that dispell'd the grosser part of it, for she was in Love with our Amorous friend, and courted him with that passion those of that Country do almost all handsom Strangers, and one convenient principle of the Religion of that Country is to think it no sin: to be kind while they are single Women, tho otherwise (when Wives) they are just enough, nor does a Woman that manages her affairs thus discreetly meet with any reproach, of this humour was our Attonett who persu'd her Lover out half jealous there might be some amarous intrigue between her Lady and him, which she sought in vain by all the feable Arts of her Countries Sex to get from him, while on the other side, he believing she might be of use in the farther discovery he desir'd to make between Octavio and Silvia; not only told her she her self was the Object of his wishes, but gave her a substantial proof on't, and told her his design, after having her Honour for security that she wou'd be secret, the best Pledge a man can take of a Woman: After she had promis'd to betray all things to him she departed to her affairs, and he to giving his Lord an account of Silvia, as he desir'd, in a Letter which came to him with that of Silvia, and which was thus,

Philander to Briljard.

I Doubt not but you will wonder that all this time you have not heard of me, nor indeed can I well excuse it, since I have been in a place, whence with ease I cou'd have sent every Post, but a new affair of Gallantry has engag'd my thoughtful hours, not that I find any passion there that has abated one sigh for Silvia, but a mans hours are very dull, when undiverted by an intrigue of some kind or other, especially to a heart young and gay as mine is, and which would not if possible bend under the fatigues of more serious thought and business; I shou'd not tell you this, but that I wou'd have you feign all the dilatory excuses that possible you can to hinder Silvia's coming to me, while I remain in this Town, where I design to make my abode but a short time, and had not staid at all, but for this stop to my journey, and I scorn to be vanquish'd without taking my revenge, 'tis a sally of Youth, no more—a flash that blazes for a while, and will go out with enjoyment. I need not bid you keep this knowledge to your self, for I have had too good a confirmation of your faith and friendship to doubt you now, and believe you have too much respect for Silvia to occasion her any disquiet. I long to know how she takes my absence, send me at large of all that pasles, and give your Letters to Octavio, for none else shall know where I am, or how to send to me: Be careful of Silvia, and observe her with diligence, for possibly I should not be extravagantly afflicted to find she were inclin'd to love me less for her own ease and mine, since Love is troublesome when the height of it carries it to jealousies, little quarrels, and eternal discontents, all which beginning Lovers prize, and pride themselves on every distrust of the fond Mistress, since 'tis not only a demonstration of love in them, but of power and charmes in us, that occasion it, but when we no longer find the Mistress so desirable, as our first wishes form her, we value less their opinion of our persons, and only endeavour to render it agreeable to new Beauties, and adorn it for new Conquests, but you Briljard, have been a Lover, and understand already this Philosophy. I need say no more then, to a man who knows so well my Soul but to tell him I am

His constant Friend Philander.

This came as Briljards Soul cou'd wish, and had he sent him word he had been chosen King of Poland he cou'd not have receiv'd the news with so great joy, and so perfect a welcom. How to manage this to his best advantage was the business he was next to consult, after returning an answer; now he fancied himself sure of the lovely prize, in spight of all other oppositions: For (says he, in reasoning the case) if she can by degrees arrive to a coldness to Philander, and consider him no longer as a Lover, she may perhaps consider me as a Husband, or shou'd she receive Octavio's addresses, when once I have found her feable I will make her pay me for keeping of every secret. So either way he entertain'd a hope, tho never so distant from Reason and probability; but all things seem possible to longing Lovers, who can on the least hope resolve to out wait even Eternity (if possible) in expectation of a promis'd blessing, and now with more than usual care he resolv'd to dress and fet out all his Youth and Beauty to the best advantage, and being a Gentleman well born, he wanted no Arts of dressing, nor any advantage of shape or Mein, to make it appear well: Pleas'd with this hope, his art was now how to make his advances without appearing to have design'd doing to. And first to act the Hypocrite with his Lord was his business; for he consider'd rightly, if he should not represent Silva's sorrows to the life, and appear to make him sensible of 'em, he shou'd not after be credited if he related any thing to her disadvantage; for to be the greater Enemy you ought to seem to be the greatest Friend. This was the policy of his heart, who in all things was inspir'd with phanatical notions. In order to this, being alone in his Chamber, after the defeat he had in that of Silvia's, he writ this Letter.

Briljard to Philander. My Lord,

YOu have done me the honour to make me your Confident in an affair, that does not a little surprize me: Since I believ'd, after Silvia, no mortal Beauty cou'd have touch'd your heart, and nothing but your own excuses cou'd have suffic'd to have made it reasonable: and I only wish, that when the fatal news shall arrive to Silvia's ear (as for me it never shall) that she may think it as pardonable as I do; but I doubt 'twill add abundance of grief, to what she is already possest of, if but such a fear shou'd enter in her tender thoughts. But since 'tis not my business, my Lord, to advise or counsel, but to obey, I leave you to all the success of happy Love, and will only give you an account how affairs stand here, since your departure.

That Morning you left the Brill, and Silvia in Bed, I must disturb your more serene thoughts with telling you, that her first surprise and griefs at the news of your departure, were most deplorable, where raging madness and the softer passion of Love, complaints of grief and anger, sighs, tears, and cries were so mixt together, and by turns so violently seiz'd her, that all about her wept and pitty'd her; 'twas sad, 'twas wonderous sad my Lord to see it: Nor cou'd we hope her Life, or that she wou'd preserve it if she cou'd, for by many ways she attempted to have releas'd her self from pain by a violent Death, and those that strove to preserve that, cou'd not hope she wou'd ever have return'd to sense again, sometimes a wild extravagant Raving wou'd require all our aid, and then again she would talk and rail so tenderly—and express her resentment in the kindest softest words that ever madness utter'd, and all of her Philander, till she has set us all a weeping round her, sometimes she'd sit as calm and still as death, and we have perceiv'd she liv'd only by sighs and silent Tears that fell into her bosom, then on a suddain wildly gaze upon us with Eyes that even then had wonderous Charms, and frantickly survey us all, then cry aloud, where is my Lord Phillander? —Oh, bring me my Phillander, Brilljard, Oh Antonett, where have you hid the Treasure of my Soul, then weeping floods of Tears, wou'd sink all fainting in our Arms. Anon with trembling words and sighs she'd cry,— but Oh my dear Phillander is no more, you have surrendered him to France—Yes, yes, you've given him up, and be must dye, Publickly dye, be led a sad Victim thro the joyful crowd—reproacht and fall ingloriously—Then rave again and tear her 'lovely hair, and Act such wildness,—so moving and so sad, as even infected the pittying beholders, and all we cou'd do was gently to perswade her grief, and sooth her raveing Fits, but so we swore, so heartily we vow'd that you were safe, that with the aid of Octavio, who came that day to visit her, we made her capable of hearing a little reason from us: Octavio kneel'd and beg'd she wou'd but calmly hear him speak, he pawn'd his Soul, his honour, and his life Philander was as safe from any injury either from France or any other Enemy as he, as she, or Heaven it self; in sine, my Lord, he Vow'd, he swore, and pleaded till the with patience heard him tell your Story, and the necessity of your absence, this brought her temper back and dry'd her Eyes, then sighing answer'd him —that if for your safety you were fled, she wou'd forgive your cruelty and your absence, and indeavour to be her self again: But then she wou'd a thousand times conjure him not to deceive her faith, by all the friendship that he bore Philander, not to possess her with false hopes, then wou'd he swear a new, and as he swore, she wou'd behold him with such charming sadness in her Eyes, that he almost forgot what he wou'd say, to gaze upon her and to pay his Pitty? But if with all his power of Beauty and of Rhetorick he left her Calm, he was no sooner gone, but she return'd to all the Tempests of despairing Love, to all the unbelief of faithless passion, wou'd neither sleep, nor eat nor suffer, day to enter; but all was sad and gloomy as the vault that held the Ephesian Matron, nor suffer'd she any to approach her but her Page, and Count Octavio, and he in midst of all was well receiv'd, not that I think my Lord she seign'd any part of that close retirement to entertain him with any freedom, that did not become a Woman of perfect Love and Honour, tho' I must own, my Lord, I believe it impossible for him to behold the Lovely Silvia without having a passion for her, what restraint his Friendship to you may put upon his heart or Tongue, I know not, but I conclude him a Lover, tho without success, what effects that may have upon the heart of Silvia only time can render an account of: And whose conduct I shall the more particularly observe from a curiosity natural to me, to see, if it may be possible for Silvia to love again after the adorable Phillander, which levity in one so perfect wou'd cure me of the Disease of Love, while I liv'd amongst the fickle Sex: But since no such thought can yet get possession of my belief I humbly beg your Lordship wou'd entertain no jealousie that may be so fatal to your repose and to that of Silvia, doubt not but my fears proceed perfectly from the zeal I have for your Lordship, for whose Honour and tranquillity none shall venture so far as,

My Lord, Your Lordships most humble and obedient Servant. Brilljard. POSTCRIPT.

My Lord the Groom shall set forward with your Coach Horses to morrow Morning according to your Order.

Having writ this, he read it over; not to see whether it were wity or Eloquent, or writ up to the sence of so good a Judge as Philander, but to see whether he had cast it for his purpose; for there his Master-piece was to be shewn; and having read it, he doubted whether the relation of Silvia's griefs were not too moving, and whether they might not serve to revive his fading love which were intended only as a demonstration of his own pitty, and compassion, that from thence the deceiv'd Lover might with the more ease entertain a belief in what he hinted of her Levity when he was to make that out, as he now had but toucht upon it, for he wou'd not have it thought the business of malice to Silvia, but duty and respect to Philander: That thought reconcil'd him, to the first part without alteration, and he fancy'd he had said enough in the latter, to give any man of Love and Sence a Jealousie which might inspire a young Lover in persute of a new Mistress, with a revenge that might wholly turn to his advantage, for now every ray gave him light enough to conduct him to hope, and he believ'd nothing too difficult for his Love, nor what his invention cou'd not conquer, he fancy'd himself a very Machiavel already, and almost promis'd himself the Charming Silvia, with these thoughts he feals up his Letters and hastes to Silvia's Chamber for her Further commands, having in his politick transports forgotten he had left Octavio with her. Octavio, who no sooner had seen Brilljard quit the Chamber all trembling and diforde'rd 〈1 page duplicate〉〈1 page duplicate〉 after having given him enterance, but the next step was to the Feet of the newly recover'd languishing Beauty, who not knowing any thing of the freedom the daring Husband-Lover had taken, was not at all surpriz'd to hear Octavio cry (kneeling before her) Ah Madam, I no longer wonder you use Octavio with such rigour, then sighing declin'd his Melancholly Eyes, where love and jealousie made themselves too apparent, while she believing he had only reproach'd her want of Ceremony at his entrance, checking her self, she started from the Bed and taking him by the hands to raise him, she cry'd, Rise, my Lord, and pardon the omission of that respect which was not wanting but with even life it self Octavio answer'd, Yes Madam, but you took care not to make the World absolutely unhappy in your Eternal loss, and therefore made chioce of such a time to d • e in when you were sure of a skilful person at hand to bring you back to life - My Lord —said she (with an innocent wonder in her Eyes, and an ignorance that did not apprehend him) I mean Briljard, said he, whom I found sufficiently disorder'd to make me believe he took no little pains to restore you to the World again. This he spoke with such an Air as easily made her imagine he was a Lover to the degree of jealousie, and therefore beholding him with a look that told him her disdain before she spoke) she reply'd hastily, My Lord, if Brilljard have exprest by any disorder or concern of his kind sense of my sufferings I am more oblig'd to him for it then I am to you for your opinion of my vertue, and I shall hereafter know how to set a value both on the one and on the other, since what he wants in quality and ability to serve me, he sufficiently makes good with his respect and Duty. At that she wou'd have quitted him, but he (still kneeling) held her Train of her Gown, and besought her with all the Eloquence of moving and petitioning Love, That she wou'd Pardon the effect of a Passion that cou'd not run into less extravagancy at a sight so new and strange, as that she shou'd in a morning with only her Night Gown thrown loosely about her lovely body, and which left a thousand Charms to view, alone receive a man into her Chamber, and make fast the door upon 'em, which when (from his importunity) was open'd he found her all ruffled, and almost fainting on her Bed, and a young blushing youth start from her Arms with trembling Limbs, and a heart that beat time to the Tune of active love, faultering in his speech, as if scarce yet he had recruited the sense he had so happily lost in the Amorous incounter: With that surveying of her self, as she stood, in a great Glass, which she cou'd not hinder her self from doing, she found indeed her Night Linnen, her Gown, and the bosome of her Shift in such disorder, as if at least she had yet any doubt remaining that Briljard had not treated her well; she however found cause enough to excuse Octavio's opinion, weighing all the circumstances together, and adjusting her Linnen and Gown with blushes that almost appear'd criminal, she turn'd to Octavio, who still held her, and still beg'd her Pardon, assuring him upon her Honour, her love to Philander, and her friendship • or him, that she was perfectly innocent, and that Brilljard, tho he shou'd have quality and all other advantages which he wanted to render him acceptable, yet that there was in Nature something which compell'd • er to a sort of coldness and disgust to his person for she had so much the more abhorrance to him as he was a Husband, but that was a secret to Octavio, but she continu'd speaking— And cry'd no, cou'd I be brought to yield to any but Philander, I own I find Charms enough in Octavio to make a conquest, but since the possession of that dear man is all I a • k of Heaven, I charge my Soul with a Crime, when I but hear love from any other, therefore I conjure you, if you have any satisfaction in my conversation, never to speak of Love more to me, for if you do, Honour will oblige me to make vows against seeing you: All the freedoms of friendship I'le allow: Give you the Liberties of a Brother, admit you alone by Night, or any way but that of Love; but that's a re • erve of my Soul which is only for Philander, and the only one that ever shall be kept from Octavio She ended speaking and rais'd him with a smile; and he with a sigh, told her she must command; then she fell to telling him how she had sent for Briljard: and all the Discourse that past; with the reason of her falling into a swound, in which she continu'd a moment or two, and while she told it she blusht with a secret fear, that in that Trance some freedoms might be taken which she durst not confess, but while she spoke our still more passionate Lover devour'd her with his eyes, fixt his very Soul upon her Charms of speaking and looking, and was a thousand times (urg'd by transporting passion) ready to break all her dictates, and vow himself her Eternal Slave, but he fear'd the result, and therefore kept himself within the bounds of seeming friendship, so that after a thousand things she said of Philander, he took his leave to go to Din • er, but as he was going out he saw Brilljard enter; who, as I said, had forgot he left Octavio with her; but in a moment recollecting himself, he blusht at the apprehension, that they might make his disorder, the subject of their Discourse, so what with that, and the sight of the dear object of his late disappointed pleasures, he had much ado to assume an assurance to approach; But Octavio past out and gave him a little release. Silvia's confusion was almost equal to his, for she lookt on him as a Ravisher, but how to find that Truth, which she was very curious to know, she call'd up all the Arts of Women to instruct her in, by threats she knew 'twas vain, therefore she assum'd an Artifice, which indeed was almost a stranger to her heart, that of gilting him out of a secret which she knew he wanted generosity to give handsomely, and meeting him with a smile, which she forc'd, she cry'd, How now Briljard, are yon so • aint hearted a Souldier, you cannot see a Lady dye without being terrified. Rather Madam, (replyed he blushing a new) so soft hearted I cannot see the loveliest person in the World • ainting in my Arms, without being disorder'd with grief and fear, beyond the power of many days to resettle again. At which she approacht him, who stood near the door, and shutting it, she took him by the hand and smiling cry'd, And had you no other business for your heart but grief and fear, when a fair Lady throws her self into your Arms, it ought to have had some kinder effect on a person of Brilljards youth and complexion. And while she spoke this she held him by the wrist, and found on the suddain his pulse to beat more high, and his heart to heave his bosom with sighs, which now he no longer took care to hide; but with a transported joy he cry'd Oh Madam do not urge me to a confession that must undo me, without making it criminal by my discovery of it, you know I am your slave —when she with a pretty won • dering smile cry'd—what a Lover too and yet so dull! Oh Charming Silvia, says he (and falling on his knees) give my profound respect a kinder Name, to which she answer'd —You that know your sentiments may best instruct • e by what Name to call em, and you Brilljard may do it without fear,—You saw I did not struggle in your Arms, nor strove I to defend the kisses which you gave—Oh Heavens cry'd he transported with what she said, is it possible that you cou'd know of my presumption and favour it too? I will no longer then curse those unlucky Stars that sent Octavio just in the blessed Minute to snatch me from my Heav'n, the lovely Victim lay ready for the Sacrifice, all prepared to offer, my hands, my eyes, my Lips, were tir'd with pleasure, but yet they were not fatis • i • d, oh there was joys beyond those ravishments of which one kind Minute more had made me absolute Lord: Yes and the next said she, had sent this to your heart—Snatching a Penknife that lay on her • oylite, where she had been writing, which she offer • d so near to his bosome that he believ'd himself already pierc'd, so sensibly killing were her words, her motion, and her look, he started from her and she threw away the Knife, and walking a turn or two about the Chamber, while he stood immovable with his eyes • ixt to earth, and his thoughts on nothing but a wild confusion, of which he vow'd afterwards he cou'd give no account of: But as she turn'd she beheld him with some compassion, and remembering how he had it in his power to expose her in a strange Country, and own her for a wife, she believ'd it necessary to hide her resentments; and cry'd, Brilljard for t • e friendship your Lord has for you, I forgive you, but have a care yon never raise your thoughts to a presumption of that Nature more: Do not hope I will ever fall below Philanders Love; go and repent your Crime—and expect all things else from my favour— At this he le • t her with a bow that had some mallice in it, and she return'd into her dressing Room —After dinner Octavio writes her this Letter, which his Page brought.

Octavio to Silvia. Madam,

TIs true, that in obedience to your commands, I begg'd your pardon for the confession I made you of my passion. But since you cou'd not but see the contradiction of my tongue in my eyes, and hear it but too well confim'd by my sighs, why will you confine me to the formalities of a silent languishment, unless to increase my flame with my pain.

You conjure me to see you often, and at the same time forbid me speaking of my passion, and this bold intruder comes to tell you now, that 'tis impossible to obey the first, without disobliging the last, and since the crime of adoring you exceeds my disobedience in not waiting on you, be pleas'd at least to pardon that fault, which my profound respect to the lovely Sylvia compells me to commit; for 'tis impossible to see you, and not give you an occasion of reproaching me: If I cou'd make a truce with my eyes, and like amortifi'd Capuchion, look alwayes downwards, not daring to behold the glorious temptations of your Beauty, yet you wound a thousand wayes besides; your touches inflame me, and your voice has musick in't, that strikes upon my Soul with ravishing tenderness; your Wit is unresistable and peircing; your very sorrows and complaints have charms, that make me soft without the aid of Love: But Pity joyn'd with Passion raises a • lame too mighty for my conduct! And I in transports every way confess it! Yes, yes, Upbraid me! Call me Traytor and ungrateful! Tell me my friendships fals! But Sylvia, yet be just, and say my love was true. Say only he had seen the charming Sylvia; and who is he, that after that wou'd not not excuse the rest in one so absolutely born to be undone by Love! as is

Her destin'd Slave Octavio. Postscript.

Madam: Among some Rarities, I this Morning saw, I found these Trifles Florio brings you, which be cause uncommon I presume to send you.

Sylvia, notwithstanding the seeming severity of her Commands, was well enough pleas'd to be disobey'd, and Women never pardon any fault more willingly, than one of this nature, where the Crime gives so infallable a demonstration of their power and Beauty; nor can any of their Sex be angry in their hearts for being thought desirable; and 'twas not with pain, that she saw him obstinate in his passion, as you may believe by her answering his Letters, nor ought any Lover to despair, when he rec • ives denial under his Mistresses own hand, which she sent in this to Octavio.

Silvia to Octavio.

YOu but ill judge of my Wit, or Humour, Octavio, when you send me such a Present, and • uch a Billet, if you believe I either receive the one, or the other as you design'd. In obedience to me you will no more tell me of your Love, and yet at the same time you are breaking your word from one end of the Paper to the other. Out of respect to me you will see me no more, and yet are bribing me with presents; believing you have found out the surest way to a Womans heart. I must needs confess, Octavio, there is great eloquence in a pair of Bracelets of five thousand Crowns: 'Tis an Argument to prove your Passion, that has more prevailing reason in't, than either Seneca or Tully cou'd have urg'd nor can a Lover write or speak in any Language so significant, and very well to be understood, as in that 〈◊〉 one of presen • ing. The ma • icious World has along time agreed to reproach poor Women with cruel, unkind, insensible, and dull▪ when indeed 'tis those men that are in sault, who want the right way of addressing, the true and secret Arts of moving; sovereign Remedy against disdain. 'Tis you alone, my Lord, like a young Columbus, that have found the direct, unpractic'd way to that little and somuch desir'd World the favour of the Fair, nor cou'd Love himself have pointed his Arrows with any thing more successful, for his conquest of hearts: But mine, my Lord, like Scaeva's Sheild, is already so full of Arrows shot from Philanders eyes, it has no room for any other darts! Take back your presents then, my Lord, and when you make 'em next, be sure you first consider the Receiver; for know, Octavio, Maids of my Quality, ought to find themselves secure from addresses of this nature, unless they first invite; You ought to have seen advances in my freedoms, consenting in my eyes, or (that usual vanity of my Sex) a thousand little tri • ling Arts of affectatio • n to furnish out a conquest, a forward complysance, to every Gawdy Coxcombe, to fill my train with amorous Cringing Captives, this might have justified your pretensions, but on the contrary my Eyes and thoughts which never stray'd from the dear man I love, were always bent to earth, when gaz'd upon by you, and when I did but fear you lookt with love, I entertain'd you with Phillanders praise, his wondrous Beauty and his wondrous Love! and left nothing untold that might confirm you how much impossible it was I e're shou'd love again, that I might leave you no room for hope, and since my story has been so unfortunate to alarm the whole world with a conduct so fatal, I made no scruple of telling you with what joy and pride I was undone; if this incourage you; if Octavio have sentiments so meanly poor of me, to think because I yielded to Philander, his hopes shou'd be advanc'd? I banish him for ever from my sight, and after that disdain the little service, he can render the

Never to be alter'd Silvia

This Letter, she sent him back by his Page▪ but not the Bracelets which were indeed very fine, and very considerable, at the same time she threatned him with banishment, she so absolutely expected to be disobey'd in all things of that kind, that she drest her self that day to advantage, which since her arrival she never had done in her own habits; what with her illness and Philanders absence a careless negligence had seiz'd her, till rous'd and waken'd to the thoughts of Beauty by Octavio's Love, she began to try its force, and that day drest: While she was so imploy • d the Page hastes with the Letter to his Lord, who chang'd Colour at the sight of it e're he receiv'd it, no • that he hop'd it brought love, 'twas enough she wou'd but answer, tho she rail'd; let her (said he in opening it) vow she hates me: Let her call me Traytor aud unjust, so she take the pains to tell it this way, for he knew well those that argue will yield, and only she that sends him back his own Letters without reading • m can give dispair. He read therefore without a sigh, nor complained he on her rigours, and because it was too early yet to make his Visit, to shew the impatience of his Love, as much as the reality and resolution of it, he bid his Page wait a • d sent her back this answer.

Octavio to Silvia.

FAir angry Silvia, how has my Love o •• ended? Has its excess betray'd the least part of that respect due to your Birth and Beauty? Tho I am young as the Gay rudy Morning, and vigorous as the guilded Sun at Noon, and Amorous as that God when with such has • e he chas'd young Daphne o're the slowrr'y Plain! it never made me guilty of a thought that Silvia might not • itty, and allow. Nor came that tri • ling present to plead for any wish, or mend my Eloquence, which you with such disdain upbraid me with, the Bracelets came not to be rafl'd for your Love, nor Pimp to my desires, Youth scorns those common aids; No, let dull Age pursue those ways of merchandize, who only buy up hearts at that vain price, and never make a Barter, but a Purchase. Youth has a better way of trading in Loves Markets, and you have taught me too well to judge of, and to value Beauty, to dare to bid so cheaply for it; I found the toy was gay, the work was nea • , and fancy new; and know not any thing they wou'd so well adorn as Silvia's lovely hands: I say, if after this, I should have been the mercenary fool to have dunn'd you for return, you might have us'd me thus;— Condemn me e're you find me sin in thought; that part of it was yet so far behind 'twas scarce arriv'd in wish. You shou'd have staid till it approacht more • ear, before you damn'd it to e • ernal silence. To love, to sigh, —to weep, to pray, and to complain; why one may be allow'd it in Devotion; but you, nicer than Heaven it self, makes that a Crime, which all the powers Divine have ne're decreed one I will not plead, nor ask you leave to love; Love is my right, my business, and my Province; the Empire of the young, the vigorous, and the bold; and I will claim my share; the Air, the Groves, the Shades, are mine to sigh in, as well as your Philanders, the Eccho's answer me as willingly, when I complain or Name the cruel Silvia; Fountains receive my Tears, and the kind Springs reflection agreeably • latters me to hope; and makes me vain enough to think it just and reasonable I shou'd pursue the Dictates of my Soul—Love on in spight of opposition, because I 〈1 page duplicate〉〈1 page duplicate〉〈1 page duplicate〉〈1 page duplicate〉 will not lose my Priviledge, you may forbid me naming it to you, in that I can obey, because I can; but not to love! not to adore the fair! and not to languish for you, were as impossible as for you not to be lovely, not to be the most charming of your Sex. But I am so far from a pretending fool, because you've been possest, that often that thought comes cross my Soul, and checks my advancing Love! and I wou'd buy that thought off with all most all my share of future bliss! Were I a God, the first great Miracle shou'd be to form you a Maid again! For oh, what ever reasons flattering Love can bring to make it look like just, the World! the World fair Silvia, still will censure, and say—you were too blame, but 'twas that fault alone that made you mortal, we else shou'd have ador'd you as a Deity, and so have lost a generous race of young succeeding Hero's, that may be born of you! yet had Philander lov'd but half so well' as I, he wou'd have kept your glorious Fame intire, but since alone for Silvia, I love Silvia! let her be false to honour, false to Love! wanton and proud, ill natur'd, vain, fantastique; or what is worse—let her pursue her Love, be constant and still do • e upon Philander—Yet still she'l be the Silvia I adore, that Silvia born eternally to inslave.

Octavio.

This he sent by Florio his Page at th • same time that she expected th • e Visit of • his Lord, and blusht with a little anger and concern at the disappointment; however she hasted to read the Letter, and was pleas'd with the haughty resolution he made, in spight of her, to love on as his right by birth; and she was glad to find from these positive resolves, that she might the more safely disdain, or at least assume a Tyranny which might render her vertue Glorious, and yet at the same time keep him her slave on all occasions when she might have need of his service, which in the circumstances she was in, she did not know of what great use it might be to her, she having no other design on him, bating the little Vanity of her Sex, which is an ingredient so intermixt with the greatest vertues of Women kind, that those who indeavour to cure 'em of that disease, robs 'em of a very considerable pleasure, and in most, 'tis incurable: Give Silvia then leave to share it with her Sex▪ since she was so much the more excusable by how much a greater portion of Beauty she had than any other, and had sense enough to know it too; as indeed whatever other Knowledge they want, they have still enough to set a price on beauty, tho they do not always rate it, for had Silvia done that, she had been th • hapiest of her Sex! but as she was, she waited the coming of Octavio, but not so as to make her quit one sad thought for Philander. Love and vanity, tho they both reign'd in her Soul, yet the first surmounted the last, and she grew to impatient ravings when ever she cast a thought upon her fear that Philander grew cold; and possibly pride and vanity had as great a share in that concern of hers as Love it self, for she wou'd oft survey her self in her Glass, and cry! Gods! can this Beauty be despis'd! this Shape, this Face, this Youth, this Air, and what's more obliging yet, a heart that adores the sugitive, that languish and sighs after the dear Run, away: Is it possible he can find a Beauty, added she, of greater perfection—Bnt oh 'tis fancy sets the rate on Beauty; and he may as well love a third time as he has a Second: For in Love those that once break the rules and Laws of that Deity set no bounds to their Treasons, and disobedience. Yes yes • wou'd she cry, he that cou'd l • ave Mertilla the fair, the young, the Noble, Chast and fond Mertilla, what after that may he not do to Silvia, on whom he has less tyes▪ less obligations: Oh wretched Maid —what has thy fondness done! he's satiated now with thee, as before with Mertilla, and carries all those dear, those charming joys, to some new Beauty, whom his looks have Conquer'd, and whom his soft bewitching Vows will ruin! with that she rav • d and stampt, and cry'd aloud! Hell—Fiers—Tortures —Dagers—Racks and Poyson-come all to my relief! Revenge me on the perjur'd lovely Divel—But I'le be brave—I will be brave and hate him—This she spoke in a tone less fierce, and with great Pride, and had not paws'd and walk'd above a hasty turn or two, but Octavio as impatient as love cou'd make him, enter'd the Chamber, so drest; so set out for Conquest, that I wonder at nothing more than that Silvia did not find him altogether Charming, and fit for her revenge who was form'd by Nature for Love: And had all that cou'd render him the Dotage of Women; but where a heart is prepossest, all that is Beautiful in any other Man serves but as an ill comparison to what it loves, and even Philanders likeness, that was not indeed Philander, wanted the secret to charm. At Octavio's enterance she was so sixt on her Revenge of Love, that she did not see him who presented himself as so proper an Instrument, till he first sighing, spoke, Ah Silvia, shall I never see that Beauty easie more? Shall I never see it reconcil • d to content, and a soft calmness fixt upon those Eyes▪ which were form'd for looks all tender and serene, or are they resolv'd (continued he sighing) never to appear but in storms when I approach? Yes, replyed she, when there's a Calm of Love in yours that raises it. Will you con • ine my Eyes (said he) that are by Nature soft? May not their silent Language tell you my hearts sad Story? But she reply'd with a sigh, it is not generously done Octavio, thus to pursue a poor unguarded Maid, left to your Care, your promises of Friendship. Ah will you use Philander with such treachery? Silvia, said he, my Flame's so just and reasonable, that I dare even to him pronounce I love you, and after that dare love you on—And wou • d you (said she) to satisfie a little short liv'd passion, forfeit those vows you've made of Friendship to Philander? That heart that loves you Silvia (he replyed) cannot be guilty of so base a thought, Philander is my Friend, and as he is so, shall know the dearest secrets of my Soul▪ I shou'd believe my self indeed ungrateful (continued he) where e • re I lov'd, shou'd I not tell Philander, he told me frankly all his Soul, his loves, his griefs, his Treasons, and escapes, and in return I'le pay him back with mine, and do you Imagine (said she) that he wou'd permit your love, how shou'd he hinder me (reply'd he.) I do believe (said she) he'd forfeit all his safety and his friendship, and fight ye, then I'd defend my self, said he, if he were so ungrateful. While they thus argued Silvia had her thoughts a part, on the little stratagems that Women in love sometimes make use of, and Octavio no sooner told her he would send Philander word of his Love, but she imagin'd that such a knowledge might retrieve the heart of her Lover, if indeed it were on the wing, and revive the dying Embers in his Soul, as usually it does from such occasions, and on the otherside she thought that she might more allowably receive Octavio's addresses, when they were with be per • mission of Philander, if he • ou'd love so ill as to permit it, and if he cou'd not, she shou'd have the joy to undeceive her fears of his inconstancy tho she banisht for ever the agreeable Octavio, so that on Octavio's farther urging the necessity of his giving Philander that sure mark of his friendship, she permitted him to write, which he immediately did on her Table where there stood a little Silver Scrutore which contain'd all things for his purpose.

Octavio to Philander. My Lord

SInce I have vow'd you my Eternal friendship, and that I absolutely believe my self honour'd with that of yours, I think my self oblig'd by those powerful tyes to let you know my heart, not only now as that friend from whom I ought to conceal nothing, but as a Rival too, whom in honour I ought to treat as a generous one; perhaps you will be so unkind as to say I cannot be a friend and a Rival at the same time, and that almighty love that sets the world at odds, chases all things from the heart, where that reigns, to establish it self the more absolutely there, but, my Lord, Iavow mine a Love of that good Nature, that can indure the equalsway of friendship, where like two perfect Friends they support each others Empire there, nor can the glory of one Eclipse that of the other, but both like the notion we have of the Deity, tho two distinct passions make but one in my Soul, and tho friendship first enter'd 'twas in vain I call'd it to my aid, at the first soft invasion of Silvia's power; and you my charming friend, are the most oblig'd to, pitty me, who already knows so well the force of her beauty I wou'd fain have you think, I strove at first with all my reason against the irrisistible lustre of her eyes. And at the first assaults of Love, I gave him not a welcome to my bosome, but like slaves unus'd to fetters, I grew sullen with my chains, and wore 'em for your sake uneasily. I thought it base to look upon the Mistress of my friend with wishing eyes; but softer Love soon furnisht me with arguments to justifie my claim, since Love is not the choice but the face of the Soul, who seldom regards the object lov'd as 'tis, but as it wishes to have it be, and then kindfancy makes it soon the same. Love that Almighty Creator of something from nothing, forms a Wit, a Hero, or a Beauty, Vertue, good Humour, Honour, any excellence, when oftenimes there's neither in the Object, but where the agreeing world has fixt all these, and 'tis by all resolv'd, (whether they love or not) that this is she, you ought no more Philander to upbraid my Flame; than to wonder at it; it is enough I tell you that 'tis Silvia, to justifie my passion! nor is't a Crime that I confess, I love! since it can never rob Philander of the least part of what I 've vow'd him, or if his nicer Honour will believe me guilty of a fault, let this attone for all; that if I wrong my friend in loving Silvia, I right him in despairing, for oh I am repuls'd with all the Rigour of the coy, and fair, with all the little Malice of the wity Sex! and all the Love of Silvia to Philander, —There, there's the stop to all my hopes, and happiness, and yet by Heaven, I love thee, oh thou favour'd Rival!

After this frank Confession, my Philander, I shou'd be glad to hear your sentiment, since yet in spight of Love, in spight of Beauty I am resolv'd

To dy Philanders Constant Friend, Octavio.

After he had writ this, he gave it 〈◊〉 Silvia See Charming Creature (said he in delivering it) if after this you either doubt my Love or what I dare for Silvia. I neither receive it (said she) as a proof of the one or the other; but rather that you believe by this frank Confession, to render it as a piece of Gallantry and diversion to Philander; for no Man of sense will imagine that, love, true, or arriv'd to any height, that makes a publique confession of it to his Rival. Ah Silvia answer'd he, how malicious is your Wit, and how active to turn its pointed mischief on me, had I not writ, you wou'd have said I durst not, and when I make a declaration of it, you call it only a slight piece of Gallantry! but Silvia you have wit enough to try it a thousand ways, and power enough to make me obey; use the extremity of both; so you recompence me at last with a confession that I was at least found worthy to be numbred in the crow'd of your adorers. Silvia reply'd, he were a dull Lover indeed, that wou'd need instructions from the Wit of his Mistress to give her proofs of his passion, what ever opinion you have of my sense, I have too good a one of Octavio's to believe that when he's a Lover he'le want aids to make it appear, till then we'le let that argument alone and consider his address to Philander▪ She then read over the Letter he had writ, which she lik'd very well for her purpose, for at this time our young Dutch Hero was made a property of, in order to her revenge on Philander▪ She told him he had said too much both for himself and her. He told her, he had declar'd nothing with his Pen; that he wou'd not make good with his Sword. Hold Sir, said she, and do not imagine from the freedom you have taken in owning your passion to Philander. that I shall allow it here; what you declare to the world is your own Crime, but when I hear it, 'tis no longer yours but mine, I therefore conjure you, my Lord, not to charge my Soul with so great a sin against Philander, and I confess to you I shall be infinitely troubl'd to be oblig'd to banish you my sight for ever. He heard her and answer'd with a sigh, for she went from him to the Table and seal'd her Letter and gave it him to be inclos'd to Philander, and left him to consider on her last words which he did not lay to heart, because he fancy'd she spoke this as women do that will be won with industry, he in standing up as she went from him, saw himself in the great glass, and bid his person answer his heart, which from every view he took, was reinforc'd with new hope, for he was too good a judge of Beauty not to find it in every part of his own Amiable person, nor cou'd he imagine from Silvia's eyes, (which were naturally soft and languishing, and now the more so from her fears and jealousies) that she meant from her heart the rigours she exprest: Much he allow'd for his short time of Courtship, much to her Sexes modesty, much from her quality, and very much from her Love, and imagin'd it must be only time and assiduity, opportunity, and obstinate passion, that was only capable of reducing her to break her faith with Philander, he therefore indeavour'd by all the good dressing, the advantage of lavish gayety, to render his person agreeable and by all the Arts of Gallantry to charm her with his conversation, and when he cou'd handsomly bring in love, he fail'd not to touch upon it as far as it wou'd be permitted, and every day had the vanity to fancy he made some advances, for indeed every day more and more she found she might have use for so considerable a Person, so that one may very well say, never any past their time better than Silvia and Octavio, tho with different ends, all he had now to fear was from the answer Philanders Letter shou'd bring for whom he had in spight of Love, so intire a friendship that he even doubted whether, (if Philander cou'd urge reasons potent enough) he shou'd not chuse to dye and quit Silvia rather then be false to friendship; one Post past, and another, and so eight successive ones, before they receiv'd one word of answer to what they sent, so that Silvia, who was the most impatient of her Sex, and the most in Love was raving and acting all the extravagance of despair, and even Octavio now became less pleasing, yet he fail'd not to Visit her every day to send her rich presents and to say all that a fond Lover or a faithful friend might urge for her relief: at last Octavio receiv'd this following Leter.

Philander to Octavio.

YOu have shew'd Octavio a freedom so generous, and so beyond the usual Measures of a Rival, that 'twere almost injustice in me not to permit you to love on, if Silvia can be false, to me and all her vows, she is not worth preserving, if she prefer Octavio to Philander, then he has greater merit and deserves her best; but if on the contrary she be just, if she be true and constant, I cannot fear his Love will injure me, so either way Octavio has my leave to Love the Charming Silvia: alas I know her power, and do not wonder at thy fate! for 'tis as natural for her to Conquer, as 'tis for youth to yield, oh she has fascination in her Eyes! a spel upon her tongue, her Wit's a Philter, and her air and motion all snares for heedless hearts; her very faults have Charmes, her pride, her peevishness, and her disdain, have unresisted power. Alass you find it every day—and every Night she sweeps the Toore along, and shews the Beauty, she inslaves the Men, and Rivals all the Women! how oft with Pride and Anger I have seen it, and was the inconsidering Cox • ombe then, to rave and rail at her; to curse her Charms, her fair inviting and perplexing Charmes, and bullyed every Gazer; by Heaven I cou'd not spare a smile, a look! and she has such a lavish freedom in her humour, that if thou chance to love as I have done— 'twil surely make thee mad, if she but talkt aloud, or put her little affectation on, to shew the wondering crowd what she cou'd do, if she design'd to shew the force of Beauty; oh God! how lost in rage, how mad with jealousie, was my fond breaking heart, my eyes grew fierce, and Clamorous my Tongue! and I have scarce contain'd my self from hurting, what I so much ador'd! but then the subtil Charmer, had such Arts to slatter me to peace again—to clasp her lovely arms about my neck—to sigh a thousand dear confirming vows into my Bosom, and kiss, and smile, and swear—and talk away my rage,—and then—Oh my Octavio! no humane, fancy, can present the joy of the dear reconciling moment, where little quarrels rais'd the rapture higher, and she was always new. These are the wondrous pains, and wondrous pleasures, that Love by turns inspires; till it grows wise by time and repetition, and then the God assumes a serious gravity, injoyment takes off the uneasie keeness of the passion, the little jealous quarrels raise no more, quarrels the very Feathers of Loves darts, that send 'em with more swiftness to the heart; and when they cease, your transports lessen too, then we grow reasonable, and consider; we love with prudence then; as Fencers fight with foyls; a sullen brush perhaps sometimes or so; but nothing that can touch the heart, and when we are arriv'd to love at that dull easie rate, we never die of that Disease, then we've recourse to all the little Arts, the aids of flatterers, and dear dissimulation (that help meet to the luke warme Lover) to keep up a good Character of constancy and a right understanding.

Thus, Octavio, I have ran thro' both the degrees of Love; which I have taken so often, that I am grown most learn'd and able in the Art: My easie heart is of the Constitution of those whom frequent sickness renders apt to take relapses from every little cause, or wind, that blows too fiercely on 'em, it renders it self to the first effects of new surprizing Beauty, and finds such pleasure, in beginning passion, such dear delight of fancying new injoyment, that all past loves, past Vow, and obligations, have power to bind no more; no pitty, no remorce, no threatning danger, invades my amorous course; I scowre along the slow'ry plains of Love, view all the charming prospect at a distance, which represents it self all gay and glorious! and long to lay me down, to stretch and bask in those dear joys that fancy makes so ravishing; nor am I one of those dull whining slaves, whom quallity or my respect can awe into! a silent Cringer, and no more! no, Love, Youth, and ost success has taught me boldness and Art, desire and cunning to attaque, to search the feeble side of femal weakness, and there to play Loves Engines, for Women will be won, they will Octavio! if Love and wit find any opportunity,

Perhaps, my friend, you're wondring now, what this discourse, this odd discovery of my own inconstancy tends to? Then since I cannot better pay you back the secret you have told me of your Love, than by another of my own▪ take this confession from thy Friend—I love!—I languish, and am dying,—for a new Beauty. To you, Octavio, you that have liv'd twenty dull tedious years, and never understood the Mystery of Love, till Silvia taught you to adore; this change may seem a wonder, you that have lasily run more than half your youths gay course of life away; without the pleasure of one nobler hour of mine! who like a Miser hoord your sacred store, or scantily have dealt it but to one, think me a lavish prodigal in love, and gravely will reproach me with inconstancy,—but use me like a friend and hear my story.

It happen'd in my last days journey, on the road I overtook a man of quality, for so his Equipage confest, we joyn'd and fell into discourse of many things indifferent, till from a Chain of of one thing to another, we chanc'd to talk of France, and of the Factions there, and I soon found him a Caesarian; for he Grew hot with his concern for that Prince, and fiercely own'd his int'rest, this pleas'd me, and I grew familier with him; and I pleas'd him so well, in my Devotion for Coesario, that being arriv'd at Collen, he invites me home to his Pallace, which he beg'd I would make use of as my own, during my stay at Collen. Glad of the opportunity I obey'd; and soon inform'd my self by a Spanish Page (that waited on him) to whom I was oblig'd, he told me it was the Count of Clarinau, a Spaniard born and of quality, who for some disgust at Court retir'd hither; that lie was a person of much gravity a great polititian, and very rich; and tho well in years was lately married to a very Beautiful young Lady, and that very much against her consent: A Lady whom he had taken out of a Monastery, where she had been pentioned from a Child, and of whom he was so fond and jealous, he never wou'd permit her to see or be seen by any Man, and if she took the Air in her Coach, or went to Church, he oblig'd her to wear a Veil. Having learnt thus much of the Boy, I dismiss'd him with a present; for he had already inspir'd me with curiosity, that prologue to love, and I knew not of what use he might be hereafter; a curiosity that I was resolv'd to satisfie, tho I broke all the laws of hospitality, and even that first Night I felt an impatience that gave me some wonder; in fine, three days I languisht out in a disorder that was very near alied to that of Love. I found my self magnificently lodg'd, attended with a formal Ceremony, and indeed all things were as well as I cou'd imagine, bating a kind opportunity to get a sight of this young Beauty: now half a Lover grown, I sight and grew opprest with thought, and had recourse to Groves, to shady walks and Fountains, of which the delicate Gardens aforded variety, the most resembling nature, that ever Art produc'd, and of the most Melancholly recesses, fancying there in some lucky hour, I might incounter what I already so much ador'd in Idea: Which still I form'd just as my fancy wisht, there, for the first two days, I walkt, and sight, and told my new born passion to every gent • e Wind that play'd among the boughs, for yet no Lady bright appear'd beneath 'em, no Visionary Nymph the Groves afforded, but on the third day, all full of Love and Stratagem in the cool of the Evening, I past into a Thicket near a little Rivulet, that purl'd and murmur'd thro the gald, and past into the Meads, this pleas'd and fed my present Amorous humour, and down I laid my self on the shady brink, and listen'd to its melancholly glidings, when from behind me, I heard a sound more ravishing, a Voice that sung these Words.

Alas, in vain, you Powers above, You gave me youth, you gave me Charms, And every tender sense of Love; To destin me to old Phileno's Arms, Ah how can youths gay spring allow, The chilling kisses of the Winter's Snow. All Night I languish by his side, And fancy of joys I never taste, As men in Dreams a Feast provide, And waking find with grief they fast. Either ye Gods my Youthful fires alay. Or make the old Phileno, young and Gay. Like a fair flower in shades obscurity, Tho every sweet adorns my head, Ungather'd, unadmir'd I lie, And wither on my silent gloomy Bed, While no kind aids to my relief appear, And no kind Bosom makes me Triumph there.

By this you may easily guess, as I soon did, that the Song was sung by Madam the Countess of Clarinau, as indeed it was; at the very beginning of her Song my joyful Soul divin'd it so! I rose and advanc'd by such flow degrees as neither alarm'd the fair Singer, nor hinder'd me the pleasure of hearing any part of the Song, till I approacht so near as (behind the shelter of some jesimin that divided us) I unseen, compleated those wounds at my Eyes, which I had receiv'd before at my Ears. Yes, Octavio, I saw the lovely Clarinau! leaning on a Pillow made of some of those Jesimins, which favour'd me, and serv'd her for a Canopy. But, Oh my Friend! how shall I present her to thee in that Angel form, she then appear'd to me? all young! all ravishing as new born light to lost benighted Travellers her Face, the fairest in the World was adorn'd with Curls of shining jett ty'd up—I know not how, all carelessly with Scarlet Ribbon mixt with pearls; her Robe was gay and rich, such as young Royal Brides put on when they undress for joys! her Eyes were black, the softest Heaven e're made, her mouth was sweet, and form'd for all delight, so red her Lips, so round, so grac'd with dimples, that without one other Charm, that was enough to kindle warm desires about a frozen heart! a sprightly air of Wit compleated all, increas'd my Flame, and made me mad with love! endless it were to tell thee all her Beauties, Nature all o're, was lavish and 〈◊〉 , let it suffice her face, her shape, her mien, had more of Angel in 'em than humanity! I saw her thus all Charming! thus she lay! a smiling melancholly drest her Eyes, which she had sixt upon the Rivulet, near which I found her lying: just such I fancy'd fam'd Lucretia was, when Tarquin first beheld her, nor was that Royal Ravisher more inflam'd than I! or readier for th'incounter. Alone she was which heighten'd my desires! Oh Gods! alone lay the young lovely Charmer, with wishing Eyes, and all prepar'd for Love! the shade was gloomy, and the tell tale leaves combin'd so close, they must have given us warning, if any had approacht from either side! all favour'd my design and I advanc'd! but with such caution as not to inspire her with a fear, instead of that of Love! a • low, uneasie pace, with folded Arms, Love in my Eyes, and burning in my heart.—At my approach she scarce contain'd her cries, and rose surpriz'd and blushing, discovering to me such a proportion'd height—so lovely and Majestick—that I stood gazing on her, all lost in Wonder, and gave her time to dart her Eyes at me, and every look pierc'd deeper to my Soul, and I had no sense but love, silent admiring Love! Immoveable I stood, and had no other motion but that of a heart all painting, which lent a feeble trembling to my Tongue, and even when I wou'd have spoke to her, it sent a sigh up; to prevent my boldness: and, Oh Octavio, tho I have been bread in all the sawcy daring of a forward Lover, yet now I wanted a convenient impudence, aw'd with a haughty sweetness in her look, like a Fave • brave after a vigorous on set, finding the danger fly so thick around him, sheers off and dares not face the pressing Foe, struck with too fierce a lightening from her eyes, whence the God sent a • thousand winged Darts, I veil'd my own and durst not play with Fire; while thus she hotly did pusue her Conquest, and I stood fixt on the defensive part, I heard a rusling amongst the thick Grown Leaves, and thro' their Mystick windings soon perceiv'd the good old Count of Clarinau, approaching, Muttering and mumbling to old Dormina, the Dragon appointed to guard this lovely Treasure, and which, she having left alone in the Thicket, and had retir'd but at an awful distance had most extreamly disoblig'd her Lord. I only had time enough in this little moment, to look with eyes that ask'd a thousand pitties, and told her in their silent Language how loath they were to leave the Charming Object, and with a sigh—I vanisht from the wondering fair One, nimble as lightening, silent as a shade: To my first post behind the Jesimins, that was the utmost that I cou'd perswade my heart to do; you may believe my dear Octavio, I did not bless the Minute that brought old Clarinau to that dear recess, nor him, nor my own fate, and to compleat my torment I saw him (after having gravely reproach'd her for being alone without her Woman) yes I saw him, fall on her neck, her lovely Snowy neck, and loll, and kiss, and hang his tawny wither'd Arms on her fair Shoulders, and press his nauscious load upon Calista's Body, (for so I heard him name her) while she was gazing still upon the empty place, whence she had seen me vanish, which he perceiving cry'd.—My little Fool, what is't thou gazest on, turn to thy none old man and buss him soundly— when putting him by with a disdain, that half made amends for the injury he had done me by coming. Ah my Lord, cry'd she, even now, just there I saw a lovely vision, I ne're beheld so excellent a thing; How, cry'd he, a vision, a thing—what Vision what thing, where, how, and when—Why there, said she, with my eyes, and just now, it vanisht behind yon' Iesimins: With that I drew my Sword —for I dispair'd to get off unknown, and being well enough acquainted with the jealous nature of the Spaniards, which is no more then 〈◊〉 and stab, I prepar'd to stand on my defence; till I cou'd reconcile him if possible to reason; yet even in that moment I was more afraid of the injury he might do the innocent fair One then of what he cou'd to me, but he not so much as dreaming she meant a Man by her lovely Vision, fell a kissing her a new, and beckning Dormina off to pimp at distance, told her, The Grove was too sweet, the Rivers Murmurs too delicate, and she was so curiously drest, that altogether had inspir'd him with a love fit, and then assaulting her a new with a Sneere which you have seen a Satyr make in Pictures, he fell to act the little tricks of youth, that lookt so goatish in him—instead of kindling 'twou'd have dampt a flame, which she resisted with a scorn so charming gave me new hope and fire, when to oblige me more, with Pride, disdain, and loathing in her Eyes, she fled like Daphne from the Ravisher, he being bent on love persu'd her, with a feeble pace, like an old Wood God chacing some coy Nimph, who wing'd with fear out strips the flying VVind, and tho a God he cannot overtake her; and left me fainting with new love, new hope, new jealousie, impatience, sighs, and wishes, in the abandon'd Grove▪ Nor cou'd I go without another view of that dear place in which I saw her lie, I went—and laid me down just on the print which her fair body made, and prest, and kist it o're a thousand times, with eager transports, and even fancy'd fair Calista there; there 'twas I found the paper with the Song which I have sent you; there I ran o're a thousand Stratagems to gain another view, no little States men had more Plots and Arts, than I to gain this. Object I ador'd the 〈◊〉 Idea of my bur • ning heart, now raging wild; abandon'd all to Love and loose desire, 〈◊〉 hitherto my industry is vain, • ach day I haunt the the thick ••• Groves and Springs, the slow' • y VValks, close Arbors, all the day my busie Eyes and heart are searching her, but no intelligence they bring me in; in fine Octavio, all that I can since learn is, that the bright Calista had seen a Vision in the Garden, and ever since was so possest with melancholy, that she had not since quited her Chamber, she is daily pressing the Count to permit her to go into the Garden▪ to see if she can again incounter the lovely Phantom, but whether from any Description she have made of it, (or from any other cau • e)▪ he imagines who it was, I know not, but he indeavours all he can to hinder her, and tells her 'tis not lawful to tempt heaven by invoking an apparition, so that till a second view eases the torments of my mind there is nothing in nature to be conceiv'd so raving mad as I: as if my despairs of finding her again increas'd my impatient flame instead of les • ening it.

After this declaration judge Octavio, who has given the greatest proofs of his friendship, you or I: You being my Rival trust me with the Secret of loveing my Mistress, which can no way redound to your disadvantage, but I by telling you the secrets of my Soul, put it into your power to ruin me with Silvia, and to establish your • elf in her heart? a thought I yet am not willing to bear, for I have an ambition in my love, that wou'd not while I am toyling for Empire here, lose my dominion in another place; but since I can no more rule a Womans heart, than a Lovers Fate, both you and Silvia, may deceive my opinion in that, but shall never have power to make me believe you less my friend, than I am

Your Philander. POSTCRIPT.

The inclos'd I need not oblige you to deliver: You see I give you opportunity.

Octavio no sooner arriv'd to that part of the Letter which nam'd the Count of Clerinau, but he stop'd and was scarce able to proceed, for the Charming Calista was his Sister, the only one he had who having been bred in a Nunnery was taken thence to be married to this old rich Count, who had a great Fortune: Before he proceeded, his Soul divin'd this was the new Amour that had ingag'd the heart of his Friend, he was afraid to be farther convinc'd, and yet a curiosity to know how far he had proceeded made him read it out with all the disorder of a man jealous of his Honour, and nicely careful of his Fame; he consider'd her young about eighteen, married to an Old ill favour'd jealous Husband, no Parents but himself to right her wrongs, or revenge her levety, he knew tho she wanted no Wit she did Art, for being bred without the Conversation of Men she had not learnt the little cunnings of her Sex, he guest by his own Soul that hers was so • t and apt for impression, he judg'd from her Con • ession to her Husband of the Vision, that she had a simple Innocence, that might betray a a young Beauty under such Circumstances; to all this he consider'd the Charms of Philander unresistable, his unwearied industry in love, and concludes his Sister lost. At first he upbraids Philander, and calls him ungrateful, but soon thought it unreasonable to accuse himself of an injustice, and excus'd the frailty of Philander, since he knew not that she whom he ador'd was Sister to his friend; however it fail'd not to possess him of with inquietude that exercis'd all his Wit, to consider how he might prevent an inseparable injury to his Hono • r, and an intrigue that possibly might cost his Sister her Life, as well as Fame: In midst of all those torments he forgot not the more i • portant business of his Love. For to a Lover, who has his Soul per • ectly • ixt on the fair object of its adoration, what ever other thought, fa • igue, and cloud, his mind, that like a soft Gleam of new sprung light, darts in and spreads a glory all around, and like the God of day chearse • very drooping vital, yet even these dearer thoughts wanted not their torments. At first he strove to attone for the • ears of Calista, with those of imagining Philander • alse to Silvia, Well, cry'd he▪ —If thou be • st lost 〈◊〉 at least thy ruin has laid a foundation for my happiness, and every Triumph Philander makes of thy Vertue, it the more secures my Empire over Silvia, and since thy Brother cannot be happy; but by the Sisters being undone, yield thou, oh faithless fair one, yield to Philander and make me blest in Silvia! And thou (continued he) Oh perjur'd Lover and inconstant Friend, glut thy insatiate flame—rifle Calista of every Vertue Heaven and Nature gave her, so I may but revenge it on thy Silvia! Pleas'd with this joyful hope he traverses his Chamber glowing and blushing with new kindling fire, his heart that was all gay, defus'd a gladness, that exprest it self in every Feature of his lovely face, his eyes that were by nature languishing, shone now with an unusual Air of briskness, Smiles grac'd his mouth, and dimples drest his face, insensibly his busie fingers trick and dress, and set his hair, and without designing it, his feet are bearing him to Silvia, till he •• ept short and wonder'd whither he was going, for yet it was not time to make his Visit— Whither fond Heart, (said he) O whither wou'dst thou hurry this Slave to thy soft fires! And now returning back he paws'd and fell to thought—He remember'd how impatiently Sylvia waited the return of the answer he writ to him, wherein he own'd his passion for that Beauty. He knew she permitted him to write it, more to raise the little brisk fires of Jealousie in Philander, and to set an edge on his blunted love, than from any favours she design'd Octavio: And that on this answer depended all her happiness, or the confirmation of her doubts, and that she wou'd measure Philanders love by the effects she found there of it. So that never Lover had so hard a game to play as our new one. He knew he had it now in his power to ruin his Rival, and to make almost his own terms with his fair Conqueress, but he consider'd the secret was not render'd him for so • ase an end, nor cou'd his love advance it self by wayes so false, dull, and criminal,— between each thought he paws'd, and now resolves she must know he sent an answer to his Letter, for shou'd she know he had, and that he shou'd refuse her the sight of it, he believ'd with reason she • ught to banish him for ever her presence, as the most disobedient of her Slaves. He walks and pawses on—but no kind thought presentsit self to save him; • ither way he finds himself undone, and from the most gay, and most triumphing Lover on the Earth, he now, with one serious thought of right reasoning, finds he is the most miserable of all the Creation! He reads the Superscription of that Philander writ to Silvia, which was inclos'd in his, and finds it was directed only—For Silvia, which wou'd plainly demonstrate it came not so into Holland, but that some other cover secur'd it; so that never any, but Octavio the most nice in Honour, had ever so great a contest with Love and Friendship: for his Noble temper was not one of those that cou'd Sacrifice his friend to his little Lusts, or his more solid passion, but truly brave, resolves now rather to die than to confess Philanders Secret, to evade which he sent her Letter by his Page, with one from himself, and commanded him to tell her that he was going to receive some Commands from the Prince of Orange, and that he wou'd wait on her himself in the Evening. The Page obeys, and Octavio sent him with a sigh and Eyes, that languishingly told him, he did it with regreet.

The Page hasting to Silvia, finds her in all the disquiet of an expecting Lover, and snatching the Papers from his hand, the first she saw was that from Philander, at which she trembl'd with fear and joy, for Hope, Love and Despair at once seiz'd her, and hardly able to make a sign with her hand for the Boy to withdraw, she sunk down into her Chair all pale, and almost fainting, but reassuming her Courage, she open'd it, and read this.

Philander to Silvia.

AH Silvia! Why all these Doubts and Fears? Why at this distance, do you accuse your Lover, when he's uncapable to fall before you, and undeceive your little jealousies. Oh Silvia, I fear this first reproaching me, is rather the effects of your own guilt, than any that love can make you think of mine. Yes, yes, my Silvia, 'tis the Waves that roul, and glide away, and not the steady shore. 'Tis you begin to unfasten from the Vows that hold you, and sloat along the flattering Tide of Vanity. 'Tis you, whose Pride and Beauty scorning to be confin'd, gives way to the admiring Croud, that sigh for you. Yes, yes, you, like the rest of your fair glorious Sex, love the admirer tho you hate the Coxcomb. 'Tis vain! 'tis great! and shews your Beauties Power!—Is't possible, that for the safety of my Life, I cannot retire but you must think I'm fled from Love and Silvia! or is it possible that pi • ying tenderness that made me uncapable of taking leave of her shou'd be interpreted as false—And base,— and that an absence of thirty days, so forc'd, and so compell'd must render me inconstant,—lost— ungrateful—as if that after Silvia heaven e're made a Beauty that cou'd Charm me?

You charge my Letter with a thousand faults, 'tis short, 'tis cold, and wants those usual softnesses that gave 'em all their welcom, and their Graces. I fear my Silvia loves the flatterer, and not the Man, the Lover only, not Philander: And she considers him not for himself, but the gay glorious thing he makes of her! Ah! too self int'res • ed! Is that your Jus • ice? You ne'r allow for my unhappy circums • ances, you never think how care oppresses me: Nor what my Love contributes to that care. How business, danger, and a thousand ills, takes up my harass'd mind; by every power I love thee still, my Silvia, but time has made us more familiar now, and we begin to leave off Ceremony, and come to closer joys, to joyn our int'rest now, as people fixt, resolv'd to live and die together; to weave our thoughts, and be united stronger. At first we shew the gayest side of Love, dress and be nice in every word and look, set out for conquest all; spread every Art, use every Stratagem—but when the toyl is past, and the dear Victory gain'd, we then propose a little idle rest, a little easie slumber; We then embrace, lay by the Gawdy shew, the Plumes and guilded Equipage of Love, the trappings of the Conqueror, and bring the naked Lover to your Arms; we shew him then u • cas'd with all his little disadvantages; perhaps the flowing hair, (those Ebon Curles you have so often comb'd, and drest, and kist) are then put up and shew a fiercer Air, more like an Antique Roman than Philander, and shall I then, because I want a Grace be thought to love you less; because the embroider'd Coat, the Point, and Garniture's laid by, must I put off my Passion with my Dress? No, Silvia, love allows a thousand little freedoms: Allows me to unbosom all my Secrets; tell thee my wants, my Fears, complaints and dangers, and think it great relief, if thou but sigh and pitty me: And oft thy Charming wit has aided me, but now I find thee adding to my pain. Oh where shall I unload my weight of cares, when Silvia, who was wont to sigh, and weep, and suffer me to ease the heavy Burden, now grows displeas'd and peevish with my moans, and calls 'em the effects of dying love! instead of those dear smiles, that fond bewitching prattle, that us'd to calm my roughest storm of Grief, she now reproaches me with coldness, want of concern and Lovers Rethorick: And when I seem to beg relief, and shew my Souls resent • ment, 'tis then I'm false; 'tis my aversion! or the effects of some new kindling Flame! Is this fair dealing Silvia? can I not spare a little sigh from love, but you must think I rob you of your due? If I omit a tender Name by which I us'd to call you, must I be thought to lose that passion that taught me such indearments? And must I ne're reflect upon the ruin both of my fame and Fortune, but I must run the risk of losing Silvia too? Oh cruelty of Love! Oh too, too fond and jealous Maid, what Crimes thy innocent passion can create, when it extends beyond the bounds of reason: Ah too, too nicely tender Silvia, that will not give me leave to cast a thought back on my former glory; yet even that loss I cou'd support with tameness and content, if I believ'd my su •• ering reach'd only to my heart, but Silvia, if she love, must feel my torments too, must share my loss, and want a thousand Ornaments, my sinking Fortune cannot purchase her; believe me Charming Creature, if I shou'd love you less, I have a sense so just of what you've suffer'd for Philander, I'd be content to be a Galley Slave, to give thy Beauty, Birth and Love their due, but as I am thy Faithful Lover still, depend upon that Fortune Heaven has left me; which if thou canst (as thou hast often sworn) then thou wou'dst submit to be cheerful still, be gay and confident, and do not judge my heart by little words, my heart—too great and fond for such poor demonstrations.

You ask me Silvia where I am, and what I do; all I can say is that at present I am safe from any fears of being deliver'd up to France, and what I do, is sighing, dying, grieving; I want my Silvia: But my Circumstances, yet have nothing to incourage that hope, when I resolve where to settle, you shall see what haste I will make to have you brought to me: I am impatient to hear from you, and to know how that dear pledge of our soft hours advances. I mean what I believe I left thee possest of, a young Philander: Cherish it Silvia, for that's a certain Obligation, to keep a dying fire alive, be sure you do it no hurt by your unnecessary grief, tho there needs no other tie but that of Love to make me more intirely

Your Philander.

It Silvia's Fears were great before she open'd the Letter, what were her pains when all those fears were confirmed from that never failing mark of a declining Love, the coldness and alteration of the Stile of Letters, that first Symptom of a dying flame? Oh where, said she, where, Oh perjur'd Charmer, is all that ardency that us'd to warm the Reader, where is all that Natural Innocence of Love that cou'd not, even to discover and express a Grace in Eloquence, force one soft word, or one Passion. Oh, continued she, he is lost and gone from Silvia and his Vows; some other has him all, Clasps that dear body, hangs upon that face, gazes upon his Eyes, and listens to his Voyce, when he is looking, sighing, swearing, dying, lying and damning of himself for some new Beauty—He is, I'le not indure it, aid me Antonett, Oh where's the perjur'd Traytor! Antonett who was waiting on her seeing her rise on the suddain in so great a fury wou'd have staid her hasty turns and ravings, beseeching her to tell her what was the occasion, and by a discovery to case her heart, but she with all the fury imaginable, flung from her Arms, and ran to the Table, and snatching up a Penknife, had certainly sent it to her heart had not Antonett stept to her and caught her hand, which she resisted not, but blushing resign'd with telling her she was asham'd of her own Cowardize, for, said she, if I had design • d to have been brave, I had sent you off▪ and by a Noble resolution have freed this Slave within (striking her Breast) from a Tyranny which it shou'd disdain to suffer under: With that she rag'd about the Chamber with broken words and imperfect threatnings, unconsider'd imprecations, and unheeded Vows and Oaths: at which Antonett redoubl'd her Petition to know the cause; and she reply'd—Philander! the dear, the soft, the fond and Charming Philander is now no more the same. Oh Antonett said she, didst thou but see this Letter compar'd to those of heretofore, when Love was gay and young, when new desire drest his soft Eyes in tears, and taught his tongue the Harmony of Angels; when every tender word had more of passion then Volumes of this forc'd▪ this triffling business. Oh thou woud'st say I were the wretch'dst thing that Nature ever made— Oh thou wou'dst curse as I do— Not the dear Murderer, but thy Frantick self, thy mad, deceiv'd, believing, easie self; if thou wert so undone— Then while she wept she gave Antone • t liberty to speak, which was to perswade her, her fear were vain; she urg'd every argument of Love she had been Witness too, and cou'd not think it possible he cou'd be false: To all which the still weeping Silvia lent a willing ear: For Lovers are much inclin'd to believe every thing they wish. Antonett having a little calm'd her, continu'd telling her that to be better convinc'd of his Love or his persidy, she ought to have Patience till Octavio shou'd come to visit her, For have you forgotten, Madam, said she, that that generous Rival has sent him word he is your Lover: For Antonett was waiting at the reading of that Letter, nor was there any thing the open hearted Silvia conceal'd from that Servant; and Women, who have made a breach in their Honour, are seldom so careful of their rest of Fame, as those who have a Stock intire; and Silvia believ'd after she had trusted the Secret of one Amour to her discretion, she might conceal none. See Madam, says Antonett, here is a Letter yet unread: Silvia who had been a great while impatient for the return of Octavio's answer from Philander, expecting from thence the confirmation of all her doubts: Hastily snatch'd the Letter out of Antonetts hand, and read it, hoping to have found something there to have eas'd her Soul one way or other: a Soul the most raging and haughty by Nature, that ever possest a Body, the Words were these.

Octavio to Silvia.

AT least you'l pity me, Oh Charming Silvia, when you shall call to mind the cruel services, I am oblig'd to render you; to be the Messenger of love from him, whom Beauty and that God plead so strongly for already in your heart.

If after this, you can propose a torture; that yet may speak my passion and obedience in any higher measure, command and try my fortitude, for I too well divine, Oh rigorous Beauty, the business of your love sick Slave will be, only to give you proofs how much he does adore you, and ne're to taste a joy, even in a distant hope, like Lamps in Urns my lasting Fire must burn; without one kind material to supply it. Ah Silvia, if e're it be your wretched fate to see the Lord of all your Vows given to anothers Arms—When you shall see in those soft eyes that you adore a languishment and joy, if you but name another Beauty to him:—When you behold his blushes fade and rise at the approaches of another Mistress.— Hear broken sighs and unassur'd replys, when e're he answers some new conqueress: tremblings, and pantings seizing every part at the warm touch as of a second Charmer. Ah Silvia do but do me justice then, and sighing say—I pitty poor Octavio.

Take here a Letter from the blest Philander, which I had brought my self, bu • cannot bear the torment of that joy, that I shall see advancing in your eyes when you shall read it o're—no —'tis too much that I imagine all! yet bless that patient fondness of my Passion that makes me still

Your Slave, and Your Adorer. Octavio.

At finishing this, the jealous fair One redoubl'd her tears with such violence that 'twas in vain her Woman strove to abate the flowing Tide by all the reasonable arguments she cou'd bring to her aid, and Silvia to increa • e it, read again the latter part of the ominous Letter, which she wet with the tears that stream'd from her bright eyes. Yes, yes, (cry'd she laying the Letter down) I know Octavio this is no Prophesie of yours, but a known truth; alas, you know too well the fatal time's already come when I shall find these changes in Philander! Ah Madam reply'd Antonett, how curious are you to search out torments for your own heart, and as much a Lover as you are, how little do you understand the Arts and Politicks of Love: Alas, Madam, continu'd she, you your self have arm'd my Lord Octavio with those Weapons that wound you: The last time he writ to my Lord Philander, he found you possest with a thousand fears and jealousies; of these he took advantage to attaque his Rival, for what man is there so dull that wou'd not assault his Enemy in that part where the most considerable mischief may be done him; 'tis now Octavio's Int'rest and his business to render Philander false, to give you all the umbrage that is possible of so powerful a Rival, and to say any thing that may render him hateful to you, or at least to make you love him less. Away▪ reply'd Silvia (with an uneasi-smile) how foolish are thy reasonings, for were it possible I cou'd Love Philander less, is it to be imagin'd, that shou • d make way for Octavio in my heart, or any, after that dear deceiver? No doubt of it, reply'd Antonett, but that very effect it wou'd have on your heart, for Love in the Soul of a witty person is like a scain of Silk; to unwin'd it from the Bottom, you must wind it on another or it runs into confusion and becomes of no use, and then of course, as one lessens the other increases, and what Philander loses in Love, Octavio or some one industrious Lover will most certainly gain: Oh reply'd Silvia you are a great Phylosopher in Love. I shou • d be Madam, cry'd Antonett, had I but had a good Memory, for I • ad a young Church man once in love with me, who has read many a Philosophical Lecture to me upon Love; among the rest he us'd to say the soul was all compos'd of Love. I us'd to ask him him then, if it were form'd of so soft Materials, how it came to pass that we were no oftner in love, or why so many were so long before they lov'd, and others who never lov'd at all? No queston but he answer'd you wisely, said Silvia carelessly and sighing, with her thoughts but half attentive. Marry and so he did, cry'd Antonett, at least I thought so then, because I loved a little. He said, Love of it self was unactive, but 'twas inform'd by Object, and then too that Object must depend on fancy (for Souls, tho all love, are not to love all) now fancy, he said, was sometimes nice, humourous, and fantastick, which is the reason we so often love those of no merit, and despise those that are most excellent; and sometimes fancy guides us to like neither, he us'd to say Women were like Misers, tho they had always love in store, they seldom car'd to part with it, but on very good int'rest and security, Cent per Cent, most commonly heart for heart at least, and for security he said we were most times too unconscionable, we ask'd Vows at least, at worst Matrimony—Half angry, Silvia cry'd—and what's all this to my loving against? Oh Madam, reply'd Antonett, he said a Woman was like a Gamester, if on the winning hand, hope, int'rest, and vanity made him play on, besides the pleasure of the play it self; if on the losing, then he continu'd throwing at all to save a stake at last, if not to recover all; so either way they find occasion to continue the game. But oh, said Silvia sighing, what shall that Gamester set, who has already play'd for all she had, and lost it at a cast? Oh Madam, reply'd Antonett, The young and fair find Credit every where, there's still a prospect of a return, and that Gamester that plays thus upon the tick is sure to lose but little, and if they win, 'tis all clear gains. I find, said Silvia, you are a good manager in love; you are for the frugal part of it. Faith Madam, said Antonett, I am indeed of that opinion, that love and int'rest always do best together, as two most excellent ingredients in that rare Art of preserving of Beauty. Love makes us put on all our Charms, and int'rest gives us all the advantage of dress, without which Beauty is lost, and of little use. Love wou'd have us appear always new, always gay, and magnificent, and money alone can render us so, and we find no Women want Lovers so much as those who want Petticoats, Iewels, and all the necessary trifles of Gallantry. Of this last opinion I find you your self to be; for even when Octavio comes, on whose heart you have no design, I see you dress to the best advantage, and put on many, to like one: Why is this but that, even unknown to your self, you have a secret joy and pleasure in gaining Conquests▪ and of being ador'd and thought the most Charming of your Sex. That is not from the inconstancy of my heart, cry'd Silvia, but from the little vanity of our Nat • res▪ Oh Madam, reply'd Antonett, there is no friend to Love, like Vanity; it is the falsest betrayer of a Womans heart, of any Passion or humour she can be guilty of, not Love it self betrays her sooner to Love than Vanity or Pride, and, Madam, I wou'd I might have the pleasure of my next wish, when I find you not only list'ning to the love of Octavio, but even approving it too. Away, reply'd Silvia in frowning, your mirth grows rude and troublesome,—Go bid the Page wait, while I return an answer to what his Lord has sent me. So sitting at the Table she dismist Antonett, and writ this following Letter.

Silvia to Octavio.

I Find Octavio this little Gallantry of yours, of shewing me the Lover, stands you in very great stead, and serves you upon all occasions for abundance of uses, amongst the rest, 'tis no small obligation you have to't, for furnishing you with handsom pretences to keep from those who importune you, and from giving 'em that satisfaction by your Council and Conversation which possibly the unfortunate may have need of sometimes; and when you are prest and oblig'd to render me the friendship of your Visits, this necessary ready love of yours, is the only evasion you have for the answering a thous • nd little questions I ask you of Philander; whose heart I am afraid you know much better than Silvia does, I cou'd almost wish Octavio, that all you tell me of your passion were true, that my commands might be of force sufficient to compel you, to resolve my heart in some doubts that oppress it, and indeed if you wou'd have me believe the one, you must obey me in the other, to which end I conjure you to hasten to me, for something of an unusual coldness in Philanders Letter, and some ominous divinations in yours, have put me on a rack of thought, from which nothing but Confirmation can relieve me, this you dare not deny if you value the repose

Of Silvia.

She read it over, and was often about to tear it, fancying it was tooo kind: But when she consider'd 'twas from no other inclination of her heart than that of getting the secrets out of his, she pardon'd her self the little levity she found it guilty off, all which considering as the effects of the violent Passion she had for Philander, she found it easie to do, and sealing it she gave it to Antonett to deliver to the Page, and set herself down to ease her soul of its heavy weight of grief, by her complaints to the dear Author of her pain; for when a Lover is insupportably afflicted there is no ease like that of writing to the person lov'd: And that all that comes uppermost in the Soul, for true love is all unthinking artless speaking, incorrect disorder, and without Method, as 'tis without bounds or rules, such were Silvia's unstudy'd thoughts, and such her following Letter.

Silvia to Philander.

OH my Philander, how hard it is to bring my Soul to doubt, when I consider all thy past tender vows, when I reflect how thou hast lov'd and sworn. Methinks I hear the Musick of thy voice still whispering in my bosom; methinks the Charming softness of thy words remain like lessening Eccho's on my Soul, whose distant Voyces by degrees decay, till they be heard no more! Alas I've read thy Letter o're and o're, and turn'd the sense a thousand several ways, and all to make it speak and look like Love— Oh I have flatter'd it with all my Art. Sometimes I fancy'd my ill reading spoil'd it, and then I tun'd my Voice to softer Notes, and read it o're again; but still the words appear • d too rough and harsh for any moving Air, which way so e're I chang'd, which way so e're I question'd it of love, it answer'd in such Language— as others wou'd perhaps interpret love, or something like it; but I who've heard the very God himself speak from thy wondrous Lips, and known him guide thy Pen when all the eloquence of moving Angels flow'd from thy Charming Tongue! when I have seen thee fainting at my feet, (whil'st all Heaven open'd in thy glorious face) and now and then sigh out a trembling word; in which there was contain'd more love, more Soul, than all the Arts of speaking ever found. What sense! Oh what reflections must I make on this decay, this • trange—this suddain alteration in thee? But that the cause is fled, and the effect is ceas'd, the God retir'd, and all the Oracles • ilenc'd! Confess—oh thou eternal Conqueror of my Soul, whom every hour, and every tender joy, renders more dear and lovely—Tell me why (if thou still lov'st me, and lov'st as well) does love not dictate to thee as before! Dost thou want words? Oh then begin again, repeat the old ones o're ten thousand times, such repetitions are loves Rethorick! how often have I ask'd thee in an hour, when my fond Soul was • oating on thy Eyes, when with my Arms, clasding thy yielding Neck, my lips imprinting kisses on thy cheeks, and taking in the breath, that sight from thine, how often have I ask'd this little but important question of thee? Does my Philander Love me? then kiss thee for thy Yes and sighs, and ask again, and still my Soul was ravisht with new joy, when thou woud'st answer, Yes; I love thee dearly! and if I thought you spoke it with a tone that seem'd less soft and servent than I wisht, I ask'd so often till I made thee answer in such a voice as I wou'd wish to hear it; all this had been impertinent and foolish in any thing but love, to any but a Lover: But oh—give me the impertinence of love! talk little nonsense to me all the day, and be as wanton as a playing Cupid, and that will please and Charm my love sick heart better than all fine sense and reasoning.

Tell me, Philander, what new accident, what powerful misfortune has befallen thee, greater than what we have experienc'd yet? cou'd drive the little God out of thy heart, and make thee so unlike my soft Philander? What place contains thee, or what pleasures ease thee, that thou art now contented to live a tedious day without thy Silvia. How then the long long Age of forty more, and yet thou liv'st, art patient, tame, and well; thou talk'st not now of ravings, or of dying, but lookst about thee like a well pleas'd Conqueror after the toyls of Battel—Oh I have known a time—but let me never think upon it more! it cannot be remembred without madness! What think thee • allen from love! to think that I must never hear thee more pouring thy Soul out in soft sighs of love? A thousand dear expressions by which I knew the Story of thy▪ heart, and while you tell it, bid me • eel it panting— Never to see thy Eyes fixt on my face—till the soft showres of joy wou'd gently fall and hang their shining dew upon thy looks, then in a Transport snatch me to thy bosom, and sigh a thousand times e're thou cou'dst utter—Ah Silvia how I love thee—Oh the dear Eloquence, those few short words contain; when they are sent with Lovers accents, to a Soul all languishing! but now—alass, thy love is more familiar grown—Oh take the other part o'th' Proverb too and say 't has bred contempt, for nothing less than that your Letter shews, but more it does, and that's indifference, less to be born than hate or any thing—

At least be just and let me know my doom; do not deceive the heart that trusted all thy Vows, if thou be'st generous—if thou let'st me know—thy date of Love—is out (for love perhaps as life has dates) and equally uncertain, and thou no more canst stay the one than t'other, yet if thou art so kind for all my honour lost; my youth undone, my Beauty tarnisht, and my lasting vows to let me fairly know thou art departing, my worthless Life will be the only loss; But if thou still continuest to impose, upon my easie Faith, and I shou'd any other way learn my approaching Fate—Look to't Philander —She that had the courage t'abandon all for Love, and faithless thee, can when she finds her self betray'd and lost, Nobly revenge the ruin of her fame, and send thee to the other World with,

Silvia

She having writ this, read it over, and fancy'd she had not spoke half the sense of her Soul—Fancy'd if she were again to begin she cou'd express her selfmuch more to the purpose she design'd, than she had done. She began again and▪ writ two or three new ones, but they were either too kind or too rough, the first she fear'd wou'd shew a weakness of Spirit, since he had given her occasion of jealousie, the last she fear'd wou'd disoblige if all those jealousies were false, she therefore tore those last she had writ, and before she seal'd up the first she read Philanders Letter again, but still ended it with fears that did not l • ssen those she had first conceiv'd; still she thought she had more to say as Lovers do, who never are weary of speaking or writing to the dear object of their Vows, and having already forgotten what she had said just before—and her heart being by this time as full as e're she began she took up her complaining Pen, and made it say this in the Covert of the Letter.

Oh Philander! Oh thou eternal Charmer of my Soul, how fain I wou'd repent me of the cruel thoughts I have of thee; when I had finisht this inclos'd I read again thy chilling Letter, and strove with all the force of Love and soft imagination to find a dear occasion of asking Pardon for those fears, which press my breaking heart: but Oh the more I read, the more they strike upon▪ my tenderest part,—something so very cold, so careless, and indifferent you end your Letter with—I will not think of it—by Heaven it makes me rave —and hate my little power, that cou'd no longer keep thee soft and kind. Oh if those killing fears (bred by excess of Love) are vainly taken up in pity my adorable—in pity to my tortur'd Soul convince 'em, Redress the torment of my jealous doubts, and either way confirm me; be kind to her that dyes and languishes for thee, •• turn me all the so •• ness •• at first Charm'd me, or frankly tell me my approaching Fate. Be generous, or be kind, to the unfortunate and undone.

Silvia.

She thought she had ended here, but here again she read Philanders Leter, as if on purpose to find new torments out for a heart too much prest already; a sowre that is always mixt with the sweets of Love, a pain that ever accompanies the pleasure. Love else were not to be number'd among the passions of men, and was at first ordain'd in Heaven for some divine of the Soul, till Adam with his loss of Paradise debaucht it, with jealousies fears, and curiosities, and mixt it with all that was afflicting; but you'l say he had reason to be jealous, whose Woman for want of other Seducers listen'd to the Serpent, and for the Love of change wou'd give way even to a Devil, this little Love of Novelty and knowledge has been intail'd upon her daughters ever since, and I have known more Women rendered unhappy and miserable from this torment of curiosity, which they bring upon themselves, than have ever been undone by less villainous▪ Men. One of this humour was our haughty and Charming Silvia, whose Pride and Beauty possessing her with a beliefe that all Men were born to dye her Slaves made her uneasie at every action of the LoLover (whether belov'd or not) that did but seem to slight her Empire; but where indeed she lov'd and doated, as now on Philander this humour put her on the rack at every thought or fancy that he might break his Chains and having laid the last Obligation upon him, she expected him to be her Slave for ever, and treated him with all the haughty Tyranny of her Sex, in all those moments when softness was not predominate in her Soul. She was shagrien at every thing if but displeas'd with one thing, and while she gave torments to others she fail'd not to feel 'em the most sensibly her self; so that still searching for new occasion of quarrel with Philander she drew on her self most intollerable pains, such as doubting Lovers feel after long hopes and confirm'd joys, she reads and weeps, and when she came to that part of it that inquir'd of the health and being of the pledge of Love—she grew so tender that she was almost fainting in her Chair, but recovering from the soft reflection, and finding she had said nothing of it already she took her Pen again and writ.

You ask me, Oh Charming Philander how the Pledge of our soft hours thrives? Alas, as if it meant to brave the worst of fate! it does advance, my sorrows and all your cruelties have not destroy'd that: But I still bear about me the destiny of many a sighing Maid, that this (who will I am sure be like Philander) will ruin with his looks.

Thou Sacred Treasure of my Soul forgive me, if I have wrong'd thy love; adieu.

She made an end of writing this, just when Antonett arriv'd, and told her Octavio was a lighted at the Gate, and coming to visit her, which gave her occasion to say this of him to Philander,

I think I had not ended here but that Octavio the bravest and the best of friends is come to visit me. The only Satisfaction I have to support my life in Philanders absence, pay him those thanks that are due to him from me, pay him for all the generous cares he has taken of me; beyond a friend! almost Philander in his blooming Passion when 'twas all new and young, and full of duty, cou'd not have render'd me his service with a more awful industry: sure he was made for love and glorious friendship. Cherish him them, preserve him next your Soul, for he's a Jewel, fit for such a Cabinet: His form, his parts, and every Noble action, shews us the Royal Race from whence he sprung, and the Victorious Orange confesses him his own in every Vertue, and in every Grace, nor can the illigitimacy eclips him; sure he was got in the first heat of Love, which form'd him so a Hero— But no more. Philander is as kind a Judge as

Silvia.

She had no sooner finisht this and seal'd it, but Octavio came in to the Chamber, and with such an Air, with such a Grace, and mien he approach'd her—with all the languishment of soft trembling Love in his face, which with the addition of the dress he was that day in, (which was extreamly rich and advantagious, and altogether such as pleases the Vanity of Women.) I have since heard the Charming Silvia say, in spight of all her tenderness for Philander; she found a a soft emotion in her Soul, a kind of pleasure at his approach, which made her blush with some kind of anger at her own easiness. Nor cou'd she have blusht in a more happy season; for Octavio saw it, and it serv'd at once to add a Luster to her paler Beauty, and to betray some little kind sentiment, which possest him with a joy that had the same effects on him: Silvia saw it; and the care she took to hide her own, serv'd but to increase her blushes, which put her into a confusion she had much ado to reclaim; she cast her Eyes to Earth, and leaning her Cheek on her hand, she continu'd on her seat without paying him that usual Ceremony she was wont to do. While he stood speechless for a moment gazing on her with infinite satisfaction, when she to assume a formality as well as she cou'd, rose up and cry'd (fearing he had seen too much) Octavio I have been considering after what manner I ought to receive you, and while I was so, I left those Civillities unpaid which your quality, and my good manners ought to have render'd you. Ah Madam, reply'd he sighing, if you wou'd receive me as I merited and you ought, at least you wou'd receive me as the most passionate Lover that ever Ador'd you. I was rather believing, said Silvia, that I ought to have receiv'd you as my Foe: Since you conceal from me so long what you cannot but believe I am erxteamly impatient of hearing, and what so neerly concerns my repose. At this he only answering with a sigh, she pursu'd, Sure, Octavio, you understand me: Philanders answer to the Letter of your confessing Passion has not so long been the subject of our discourse and expectation, but you guess at what I mean? Octavio, who on all Occasions wanted not wit, or reply, was here at a loss, what to answer: Notwithstanding he had consider'd before what he wou'd say: but let those in love fancy, and make what fine speeches they please, and believe themselves furnisht with abundance of eloquent Harangues at the sight of the dear Object they lose 'em all, and love teach 'em a dialect much more prevailing without the expence of duller thought: And they leave unsaid all they had so sloridly form'd before, and sigh a thousand things with more success: Love like Poetry cannot be taught, but uninstructed flows without painful study, if it be true; 'tis born in the Soul, a Noble inspiration not a Science! such was Octavio's, he thought it dishonourable to be guilty of the meaness of a Lye, and say he had no answer: He thought it rude to say he had one and wou'd not shew it Silvia: And he believ'd it the height of ungenerous baseness to shew it. while he remain'd this moment silent; Silvia, who's love, jealousie, and impatience indur'd no delay, with a malicious half smile, and a tone all angry, scorn in her Eyes, and passion on her Tongue, she cry'd—'Tis, well Octavio, that you so early let me know you can be false, unjust, and faithless, you knew your power, and in pitty to that Youth and easiness you found in me, have given a Civil warning to my heart. In this I must confess, continu'd she, you have given a much greater testimony of your friendship for Philander, than your Passion for Silvia, And, I suppose, you came not here to resolve your self of which you should prefer, that was decided e're you arriv'd, and this visit I imagine was only to put me out of doubt: A piece of Charity you might have spar'd. She ended this with a scorn, that had a thousand Charmes, because it gave him a little hope; and he answer'd with a sigh, Ah Madam, how very easie you find it to entertain thoughts disadvantagious of me: And how small a fault your Wit and cruelty can improve to a Crime. You are not offended at my friendship for Philander. I know you do not Vallue my Life, and my repose so much, as to be concern'd who, or what, shares this heart, that adores you; No, it has not merited that Glory; Nor dare I presume to hope, you shou'd so much as wish my Passion for Silvia, shou'd surmount my Friendship to Philander. If I did, reply'd she with a scorn, I perceive I might wish in vain: Madam, answer'd he, I have too Divine an opinion of the justice of the Charming Silvia to believe I ought, or cou'd make my approaches to her heart by ways so base and ungenerous, the result of even tollerated Treason is to hate the Traytor. Oh, you are very nice, Octavio, re plyed Silvia, in your Functilio to Philander, but I perceive you are not so tender in those you ought to have for Silvia? I find Honour in you men, is only what you please to make it, for at the same time you think it ungenerous to betray Philander, you believe it no breach of Honour to betray the eternal repose of Silvia? You have promis'd Philander your friendship, you have avow'd your self my Lover, my Slave, my Friend, my every thing, and yet not one of these has any tye, to oblige you to my interest, pray tell me, continued She, when you last writ to him, was it not in order to receive an answer from him? And was not I to see that answer? And here you think it no dishonour to break your word or promise; by which I find your false Notions, of Vertue and Honour, with which you serve your selves, when int'rest, design, or self Love makes you think it necessary. Madam, replyed Octavio, you are pleas'd to persue your anger, as if indeed I had disobeyed your command, or refus'd to shew you what you Imagine I have from Philander: Yes, I do replyed she hastily; and wonder why you shou'd have a greater friendship for Philander, than for Silvia, especially if it be true that you say, you have joyned Love to friendship; or are you of the opinion of those that cry they cannot be a Lover and a friend of the same Object. Ah Madam, cry'd our perplext Lover, I beg you to believe, I think it so much more my Duty and inclination to serve and obey Silvia than I do Philander, that I swear to you, Oh, Charming Conqueress of my Soul, if Philander have betrayed Siliva, • e has at the same time betray'd Octavio, and that I wou'd revenge it with the loss of my Life: In injuring the adorable Silvia, believe me, lovely Maid, he injures so much more than a Friend, as Honour is above the inclination; if he wrong you, by Heaven he cancels all! he wrongs, my Soul, my Honour, Mistress and my Sister: Fearing he had said too much, he stopp'd and sight at the word Sister, and casting down his Eyes, blushing with shame and anger, he continu'd, Oh, give me leave to say a Sister, Madam, least Mistress had been too daring and presumptious, and a Title that wou'd to justifie my quarrel half so well, since 'twou'd take the Honour from my just resentment and blast it with the scandal of self intrest or jealous revenge. What you say replyed she, deserves abundance of acknowledgement; but if you wou'd have me believe you, you ought to hide nothing from me, and he methinks that was so daring to confefs his Passion to Philander, may, after that, venture on any discovery: In short Octavio, I demand to see the return you have from Philander, for possibly— said she, sweet'ning her Charming face into a Smile de • ign'd, I shou'd not be displeas'd to find I might with more freedom receive your Addresses, and on the coldness of Philanders reasoning may depend a great part of your Fate, or Fortune: Come, come, produce your credentials, they may recommend your heart more effectually than all the fine things you can say, you know not how the least appearance of a slight from a Lover, may advance the Pride of a Mistress, and Pride in this affair will be your best Advocate. Thus she insinuated with all her female Arts, and put on all her Charms of Looks and smiles, sweetned her mouth, soften'd her Voyce and Eyes, assuming all the tenderness and little affectations her subtil Sex was capable of, while he lay all ravisht and almost expiring at her Feet; sometimes transported with imagin'd Joys in the possession of the dear slatterting Charmer, he was ready to unravel all the Secrets of Philanders letter; but Honour yet was even above his Passion and made him blush at his first hasty thought; and now he strove to put her off, with all the Art he cou'd, who had so very little in his Nature, and whose real Love and perfect Honour had set him above the little evasions of Truth, who scorn'd in all other cases the baseness and cowardize of a Lye: and so unsuccessful now was the little honest cheat, which he knew not how to manage well, that 'twas soon discover'd to the Wity, jealous, and angry Silvia: So that after all the rage a passionate Woman cou'd express, who belive'd her self injur'd by the only two persons in the World from whom she expected most Adoration? she had recourse to that Natural and softning aid of her Sex, her Tears, and haviug already reproach'd Octavio with all the malice of a defeated Woman, she now continued it in so moving a manner, that our Hero cou'd no longer remain unconquer'd by that powerful way of Charming, but unfixt to all he had resolv'd gave up, at least, apart of the secret, and own'd he had a Letter from Philander; and after this confession knowing very well he cou'd not keep her from the sight of it; no tho an Empire were render'd her to buy it off; his Wit was next imploy'd how he shou'd defend the sense of it, that she might not think Philander false. In Order to this, he, forcing a Smile, told her, that Philander was the most malicious of his Sex, and had contriv'd the best Stratagem in the world to find whether Silvia still lov'd, or Octavio retain'd his friendship for him; And but that, continued he, I know the Nature of your curious Sex to be such, that if I shou'd perswade you not to see it, it wou'd but the more inflame your desire of seeing it, I wou'd ask no more of the Charming Silvia, than that she wou'd not oblige me to shew, what wou'd turn so greatly to my own advantage: if I were not too sensible, 'tis but to intrap me, that Philander has taken this method in his answer. Believe me Adorable Silvia, I plead against my own Life, while I beg you not to put my honour to the test, by commanding me to shew this Letter, and that I joyn against the int'rest of my own Eternal repose while I plead thus: she hears him with a hundred changes of countenance. Love, rage, and Jealousie swell in siercer Eyes, her breath beats short, and she was ready to burst into speaking before he had finisht what he had to say; she calls up all the little discretion and Reason Love had left her to manage her self as she ought in this great occasion? she bit her Lips and swallow'd her rising sighs; but he soon saw the storm he had rais'd and knew not how to stand the shock of its fury, he sighs, he pleads in vain, and the more he indeavours to excuse the Levity of Philander the more he rends her heart, and sets her on the Rack; and concluding him false, she cou'd no longer contain her rage but broke out into all the fury that madness can inspire, and from one degree to another wrought her Passion to the height of Lunacy: She tore her Hair and bit his hands, that indeavour'd to restrain hers from violence, she rent the Ornaments from her fair Body, and discover'd a thousand Charms and Beauties, and finding now that both his strength and reason was too weak to prevent the mischiefs he found he had brought on her, he calls for help: When Briljard was but too ready at hand; with Antonelt and some others, who came to his assistance; Briljard, who knew nothing of the occasion of all this, believ'd it the second part of his own late adventure, and fancy'd that Octavio had us'd some violence to her, upon this he assumes the Authority of his Lord, and secretly that of a Husband or Lover, and upbraiding the innocent Octavio with his brutallity they fell to such words as ended in a challenge the next morning for Briljard appear'd a Gentleman, Companion to his Lord; and one whom Octavio cou'd not well refuse, this was not carried so silently but Antonett busie as she was about her raving Lady heard the appointment, and Octavio quitted the Chamber almost as much disturb'd as Silvia, whom, with much ado, they perswaded him to leave, but before he did so he on his knees offer'd her the Letter and implor'd her to receive it. So absolutely his Love had vanquisht his Nobler part, that of honour; but she at tending nomotions but those of her own Rage, had no ragard either to Octavio's proffer or his Arguments of Excuse, so that he went away with the Letter, in all the extremity of disorder; this last part of his submission was not seen by Briljard; who immediately le • t the Chamber, upon rcceiving Octavia's answer to his Challenge; so that Silvia was now left with her Woman only, who by degrees brought her to more calmness; and Briljard impatient to hear the reproaches, he hop'd she wou'd give Octavio when she was return'd to reason, being curious of any thing that might redound to his disadvantage, whom he took to be a powerful Rival, return'd again into her Chamber: But in heu of hearing what he wisht; Silvia being recover'd from her Passion of madness, and her Soul in a state of thinking a little with reason; she misses Octavio in the crow'd, and with a Voyce, her rage had infeebl'd to a Languishment, she cry'd—surveying carefully those about her, Oh where's Octavio? Where is that Angel man? he who of all his kind can give me comfort. Madam, replyed Antonett, he is gone, while he was here, he kneel'd and pray'd in vain, but for a word, or look, his Tears are yet remaining wet up • n your Feet, and all for one sensible reply, but rage had deafen'd you; what has he done to merit this? Oh Antonett cry'd Silvia—'Twas what he wou'd not do that makes me rave, run, hast and fetch him back— But let him leave his Honour all behind; Tell him he has too much consideration for Philander, and none for my repose. Oh, fly Briljard—Have I no friend in view, dares carry a Message from me to Octavio? Bid him return, oh instantly returrn—I dye I languish for a sight of him—Descending Angels wou'd not be so welcome— Why stand ye still, have I no power with you—Will none obey— Then running hastily to the Chamber Door, she call'd her Page to whom she cry'd—Hast, hast, dear youth, and find Octavio out, and bring him to me instantly: Tell him I dye to see him. The Boy glad of so kind a Message, to so liberal a Lover, runs on his Errant while she returns to her Chamber, and indeavours to recollect her senses against Octavio's coming as much as possible she cou'd: She dismisses her Attendant with different apprehensions; sometimes Briljard believ'd this was the second part of her first raving, and having never seen her thus, but for Philander concludes it the height of tenderness and Passion for Octavio, but because she made so publique a Declaration of it he believ'd he had given her a Philter, which had rais'd her flame so much above the bounds of modesty and discretion; concluding it so, he knew the usual essects of things of that Nature, and that nothing cou'd alay the heat of such a love but possession, and easily deluded with every fancy that slatter'd his love; mad, starke mad by any way to obtain the last blessing with Silvia, he consults with Antonelt how to get one of Octavio's Letters out of her Ladies Cabinet, and feigning many frivolous reasons, which deluded the Amorous Maid; he perswaded her to get him one, which she did in half an hour after; for by this time Silvia being in as much tranquillity as 'twas possible a Lover cou'd be in, who had the hopes of knowing all the Secrets of the false betrayer, she had call'd Antonett to dress her; which she resolved shou'd be in all the careless magnificence that Art or Nature cou'd put on; to Charm Octavio wholly to Obedience; whom she had sent for, and whom she expected; but she was no sooner set to her Toylight, but Octavio's Page arriv'd with a Letter from his Master, which she greedily snacht; and read this.

Octavio to Silvia.

BY this time, oh Charming Silvia give me leave to hope your Rage is abated, and your reason return'd, and that you will hear a little from the most unfornate of men, whom you have reduc'd to this miserable Extremity of losing either the Adorable Object of his Soul, or his Honour: If you can preser a little curiosity that will serve but, to afflict you before either that or my repose. What esteem ought I to believe you have for the unfortunate Octavio; and if you hate me, as 'tis evident if you compel me to the extremity of losing my repose or honour, what reason or argument have I to perfer so careless a Fair One above the last, 'Tis certain you neither do nor can love me now; and how much below that hope shall the expos'd and abandon'd Octavio be, when he shall pretend to that Glory without his Honour: Believe me, Charming Maid, I wou'd Sacrifice my life, and my intire Fortune at your least command to serve you; but to render you a devoyr that must point me out the basest of my Sex, is what my temper must resist in spight of all the violence of my Love, and I thank my happyer Stars that they have given me resolution enough rather to fall a Sacrifice to the last, then be guilty of the breach of the first: This is the last and present thought and pleasure of my Soul, and least it shou'd by the force of those Divine Ideas which Eternally surround it, be sooth'd and slatter'd from its Noble Principles, I will to morrow put my self out of the hazard of Temptation, and divert if possible by absence to the Compagne, those soft importunate betrayers of my Liberty; that perpetually solicit in favour of you: I dare not so much as bid you adieu, one sight of that bright Angels face, wou'd undo me, unfix my Nobler resolutions, and leave me a despicable Slave, sighing my unrewarded Treason at your insensible Feet: My Fortune I leave to be dispos'd by you; but the more useless necessary I will for ever take from those lovely Eyes, who can look on nothing with joy, but the happy Philander: If I have denied you one satisfaction, at least I have given you this other of securing you Eternally from the trouble and importunity of.

Madam your Faithful Octavio.

This Letter to any other less secure of her own power than was our fair Subject, wou'd have made them impatient and angry: But she found that there was something yet in her power, the dispensation of which cou'd soon recal him from any resolution he was able to make of absenting himself: Her Glass stood before her, and every glance that way was an assurance and security to her heart; she cou'd not see that Beauty and doubt its power of perswasion; She therefore took her Pen, and writ him this answer, being in a moment furnisht with all the Art and subtilty that was necessary on this occasion.

Silvia to Octavio. My Lord,

THo I have not Beauty enough to command your heart; at least allow me sense enough to oblige your belief, that I fancy and resent all that the letter contains which you have deny'd me, and that I am not of that sort of Women, whose want of youth or Beauty renders so constant to pursue the Ghost of a departed Love: It is enough to justifie my Honour, that I was not the first Agressor. I find my self persu'd by too many Charmes of Wit, Youth, and Gallantry, to bury my self beneath the willows, or to whine away my youth by murmuring Rivers, or betake me to the last refuge of a declining Beauty, a Monastary: no my Lord, when I have reveng'd and recompenc'd my Self for the injuries of one inconstant, with the joys a thousand imploring Lovers offer, it will be time to be weary of a world which yet every day presents me new joys; and I swear to you, Octavio, that it was more to recompence what I ow'd your passion that I desir'd a convincing proof of Philanders false-hood, than for any other reason, and you have too much Wit not to know it; for what other use cou'd I make of the Secret; if he be false he's gone, unworthy of me, and impossible to be retriev'd, and I wou'd as soon dye my sullied Garments and wear them over again, as take to my imbraces a reform'd Lover, the Native first Luster of whose passion is quite extinct, and is no more the same; no, my Lord, she must be poor in Beauty that has recourse to shifts so mean; if I wou'd know the Secret by all that's good it were to hate him heartily, and to dispose of my Person to the best advantage; which in honour I cannot do, while I am unconvinc'd of the falseness of him with whom I have exchang'd a thousand Vows of fidellity, but if he unlink the Chain I am at perfect liberty, and why by this delay you shou'd make me lose my time, I am not able to conceive, unless you fear I shou'd then take you at your word, and expect the performance of all the Vows of Love you have made me.—If that be it—My Pride shall be your security, or if other recompence you expect, set the Price upon your Secret, and see at what rate I will purchase the liberty it will procure me, possibly it may be such as may at once infranchize me, and revenge me on the perjur'd ingrate, than which nothing can be a greater Satisfaction to

Silvia,

She Seals this Letter with a wafer, and giving it to Antonett to give the Page, believing she had writ what wou'd not be in vain to the quick sighted Octavio: Antonett takes both that and the other which Octavio had sent and left her Lady busie in dressing her head, and went to Briljard's Chamber, who thought every moment an Age till she came; so vigorous he was on his new design: That which was sent to Octavio being seal'd with a wet Wafer he neatly opens, as 'twas easie to do, and read and Seal'd again, and Antonett deliver'd it to the Page. After receiving what pay Briljard cou'd force himself to bestow upon her; some flatteries of dissembl'd love; and some cold Kisses, which even imagination cou'd not render better, She return'd to her Lady, and he to his Stratagem, which was to counterfeit a Letter from Octavio: She having in hers given him a hint, by bidding him set a price upon the Secret, which he had heard was that of a Letter from Philander, with all the Circumstances of it, from the faithless Antonett whom Love had betray'd▪ and after blotting much paper to try every Letter through the Alphabet, and to produce them like those of Octavio, which was not hard for a Lover of ingenuity; he fell to the business of what he wou'd write, and having finisht it to his liking, his next trouble was how to convey it to Her; for Octavio always sent his by his Page, whom he cou'd trust. He now was certain of love between 'em? For tho he often had perswaded Antonett to bring him Letters, yet she cou'd not be wrought on till now to betray her trust: And what he long apprehended, he found too true on both sides, and now he waited but for an opportunity to send it seasonably, and in a lucky minute. In the mean time Silvia adorns her self for absolute conquest and disposing her self in the most charming, careless, and tempting manner she cou'd devise, she lay expecting her coming Lover, on a repose of rich Embroidery of Gold on blew Sattin, hung within side with little Amorous Pictures of Venus descending in her Chariot naked to Adonis, she imbracing, while the youth more eager of his rural sports turns half from her, in a posture of pursuing his Dogs, who are no their Chace: Another of Armida who is dressing the sleeping warrior up in wreaths of Flowers, while a hundred little Loves are playing with his guilded Armour; this puts on his Helmet too big for his little head that hides his whole face; another makes a Hobby horse of his Sword and Lance, another fits on his breast piece, while three or four little Cupi • s are seeming to heave and help him to hold it an end, and all turn'd the Emblimes of the Hero into redicule. These and some other of the like nature adorn'd the Pavillion of the languishing Fair One, who lay carelesly on her side; her Arm leaning on little Pillows, of Point of Venice, and a Book of Amours in her other hand. Every noise alarm'd her with trembling hope that her Lover was come, and I have heard she said she verily believ'd that acting and feigning the Lover possest her with a tenderness against her knowledge and Will; and she found something more in her Soul than a bear curiosity of seeing Octavio for the Letters sake: But in Lieu of her Lover, she found her self once more approacht with a Billet from him; which brought this.

Octavio to Silvia.

AH Silvia, he must be more than humane, that can withstand your Charms, I confess my frailty, and fall before you, the weakest of my Sex, and own I am ready to believe all your dear Letter contains, and have vanity enough to wrest every hopeful word to my own int'rest, and in favour of my own Heart: What will become of me, if my easie faith shou'd only flatter me, and I with shame shou'd find it was not meant to me, or if it were, 'twas only to draw me from a Virtue which has been hitherto the Pride and Beauty of my youth, the Glory of my name, my Comfort and refuge in all extreams of Fortune: The eternal Companion, Guide and Counsellor of all my actions: Yet this good you only have power to rob me of, and leave me expos'd to the scorn of all the laughing World: Yet give me Love! give me but hope in lieu of it, and I am content to devest my self of all besides.

Perhaps you will say I ask too mighty a rate for so poor a secret? But even in that, there lies one of my own, that will more expose the feebleness of my Blood and Name, than the discovery will me in particular, so that I know not what I do, when I give you up the knowledge you desire. Still you will say all this is to inhaunce its value, and raise the Price: And oh, I fear you have taught my soul every quality, it fears and dreads in yours, and learnt it to chasser for every thought, if I cou'd fix upon the rate to sell it at: And I with shame confess I wou'd be Mercenary, cou'd we but agree upon the Price: But my respect forbids me all things, but silent hope, and that in spight of me, and all my reason, will predominate? for the rest I will wholly resign my self and all the faculties of my Soul to the Charming Arbitrator of my peace, the powerful Judge of Love, the adorable Silvia: And at her Feet render all she demands; yes, she shall find me there to justifie all the weakness this proclaims, for I confess, oh too too powerful Maid, that you have absolutely subdu'd.

Your Octavio.

She had no sooner read this Letter, but Antonett instead of laying it by, carried it to Briljard, and departed the Chamber to make way, for Octavio, who she imagin'd was coming to make his visit, and left Silvia considering how she shou'd manage him to the best advantage, and with most honour acquit her self, of what she had made him hope, but instead of his coming to wait on her; an unexpected accident arriv'd to prevent him, for a messenger from the Prince came with commands that he shou'd forthwith come to his Highness, the messenger having command to bring him along with him; So that not able to disobey he only beg'd time to write a note of business, which was a Billet to Silvia, to excuse himself till the next day, for it being five Leagues, to the Village where the Prince waited his coming, he cou'd not return that night: which was the business of the Note, with which his Page hasted to Silvia: Briljard who was now a vigilent Lover, and waiting for every opportunity that might favour his design: Saw the Page arrive with the Note; and as 'twas usual he took it to carry to his Conqueress, but meeting Antonett on the Stayers, he gave her what he had before counterfeited with such Art, after he had open'd what Octavio had sent, and found Fortune was wholly on his side, he having learn'd from the Page, besides that his Lord had taken Coach with Monsieur—to go to his Highness, and wou'd not return that night: Antonett not knowing the deceit carried her Lady the forg'd Letter, who open'd it with eager hast, and read this.

TO THE CHARMING SILVIA. Madam,

SInce I have a secret which none but I, can unfold; and that you have offer'd at any rate to but it of me: Give me leave to say that you fair Creature have another secret, a joy to dispence, which none but you can give the languishing Octavio: If you dare purchase this of mine, with that infinitely more valuable one of yours: I will be as secret as death, and think my self happier than a sancy'd God! Take what Methods you please for the payment, and what time, order me, command me, conjure me, I will wait, watch, and pay my Duty at all hours, to snatch the most convenient one • o reap so ravishing a blessing. I know you will accuse me with all the confidence and rudeness in the world; but, oh! to consider lovely Silvia, that that passion, which cou'd change my Soul from all the Course of Honour, has power to make me forget that nice respect your Beauty aws me with, and my passion is now arriv'd at such a height, it obeys no Laws but its own; and I am obstinately bent on the pursuit of that vast pleasure, I fancy to find in the dear, the ravishing Arms of the Adorable Silvia: Impatient of your answer, I am as love compels me.

Madam your Slave, Octavio.

The Page, who waited no answer was departed; but Silvia who believ'd he attended it, was in a thousand minds what to say or do: She blush'd as she read, and then lookt pale, with anger and disdain, and but that she had already given her Honour up, it wou'd have been something more surprising: But she was us'd to questions of that Nature, and therefore receiv'd this with so much the less concern? nevertheless 'twas sufficient to fill her Soul with a thousand agitations, but when she wou'd be angry the consideration of what she had writ to him, to incourag • him to this boldness stop'd her rage: When she wou'd take it ill, she consider'd his knowledge of her lost fame, and that took off a great part of her resentment on that side; and in midst of all she was raving for the knowledge of Philanders secret. She rose from the Bed, and walk'd about the room in much disorder, full of thought and no conclusion; she is asham'd to consult of this affair with Antonett, and knows not what to fix on: The only thing she was certain of, and which was fully and undisputably resolv'd in her Soul, was never to consent to so false an Action, never to buy the secret at so dear a rate; she abhors Octavio, whom she regards no more as that fine thing which before she thought him, and a thousand times she was about to write her despight and contempt, but still the dear secret staid her hand, and she was fond of the torment: At last Antonett, who was afflictted to know the cause of this disorder, ask'd her Lady if Octavio wou'd not come: No replyed Silvia blushing at the Name, nor never shall the ungrateful man dare to behold my face any more. Iesu, replyed Antonett, what has he done Madam, to deserve this severity? For he was a great benefactor to Antonett, and had already by his gifts and presents made her a Fortune for a Burgomaster: He has. said Silvia, c • mmitted such an impudence, as deserves death from my Hand: This she spoke in rage, and walk'd away cross the Chamber. Why Madam, cry'd Antonett, does he denie to give you the Letter: No replyed Silvia, but askes me such a price for it, as makes me hate my self, that am reduc'd by my ill conduct, to Addresses of that Nature: Heavens, Madam, what can he ask you, to afflict you so; the presumptuous man, said she (in rage) has the impudence to ask what never man, but Philander was ever possest of—At this Antonett laught— Good Lord, Madam, said she, and are you angry at such desires in men toward you? I believe you are the first Lady in the World, that was ever offended for being desirable: Can any thing proclaim your Beauty more, or your youth or Wit? marry Madam, I wish I were worthy to be ask'd the question by all the fine dancing, dressing, Song-making Fops in Town. And you wou'd yield, replyed Silvia, not so neither replyed Antonett, but I wou'd spark my self, and value my self the more upon't. Oh, said Silvia, she that is so fond of hearing of Love, no doubt but will find some one to practice it with. That's as I shou'd find my self inclin'd, replyed Antonett: Silvia was not so intent on •• tonett's rail'ery, but she imploy'd all her thought the while, on what she had to do; and those last words of Antonett's jogg'd a thought that ran on to one very advantagious, at least her present and first apprehension of it was such: And she turn'd to Antonett with a face more gay than it was the last minute, and cry'd. Prithee good Wench tell me, what sort of man wou'd soonest incline you to a yielding? if you command me Madam, to be free with your Lordship, reply'd Antonett, I must confess there are too sorts of men that wou'd most villainou • ly incline me; the first is he that wou'd make my fortune best: The next he that wou'd make my pleasure; the young, the handsome, or rather the well bread, and good humour'd: But above all the Man of Wit: But what wou'd you say Antonett, replyed Silvia, if all these made up in one man shou'd make his Addresses to you? Why then most certainly Madam, replyed Antonett; I shou'd yield him my Honour, aft • r a reasonable siege. This tho' the wanton young maid spoke possibly at first more to put her Lady in good humour than from any inclination she had to what she said, yet after many arguments upon that subject, Silvia cunning enough to pursue her design, brought the business more home, and told her in plain terms that Octavio was the man who had been so presumptious as to ask so great a reward as the possession of her self for the secret she desir'd; and after a thousand little subtilties, having made the forward Girle confess with blushes, she was not a Maid; she insinuated into her an opinion that what she had done already (without any other motive than that of Love, as she confest in which int'rest had no part,) wou'd make the trick the easier to do again, especially if she brought to her Arms a person of Youth, Wit, Gallantry, Beauty, and all the Charming qualities that adorn a man, and that besides she shou'd find it turn to good account, and for her secresies, she might depend upon it, since the person to whose im • races she shou'd submit her self, shou'd not know but that she her self was the Woman, so that says Sil • ia, I will have all infamy, and you the reward every way with unblemisht Honour, while she spoke the willing M • id gave an inward pleasing attention, tho at first she made a few faint modest scruples; Nor was she less joy'd to hear it shou'd be Octavio, whom she knew to be rich, and very handsome, and she immediately found the humour of inconstancy cease her, and Briljard appear'd a very Husband Lover in comparison of this new Brisker man of quality; so that after some pro's and Con's the whole matter was thus concluded on between these two young persons; who neither wanted Wit, nor Beauty; and both cro'd over the contrivance, as a most diverting piece of little Malice, that shou'd serve their present turn, and make 'em sport for the future The next thing that was consider'd, was a Letter which was to be sent in answer, and that Silvia being to write with her own hand, begot a new doubt, in so much as the whole business was at a stand: For when it came to that point that she her self was to consent, she found the project look with a face so foul, that she a hundred times resolv'd and unresolv'd. But Philander fill'd her Soul, revenge was in her view, and that one thought put her on new resolves to pursue the design, let it be never so base and dishonourable: Yes, cry'd she at last, I can commit no action, that is not more just, excusable, and honourable, than that which Octavio has done to me, who uses me like a common Mistris of the Town, and dares ask, me that which he knows, he durst not do if he had not mean, and abject thoughts of me▪ his buseness deserves death from from my hand if I had courage to give it him, and the least I can do is to deceive the deceiver. Well then give me my Scrutore, says she, so sitting down she writ this, not without abundance of of guilt and confusion, for yet a certain Honour, which she had by birth check'd the cheat of her Pen.

Silvia to Octavio.

THe price Octavio, which you have set upon your secret, I (more generous than you) will give your merit; to which alone 'tis due. if I shou'd pay so high a price for the first, you wou'd believe I had the less esteem for the last, and I wou'd not have you think me so poor in spirit to yield on any other terms: If I valued Philander yet— after his confirm'd inconstancy, I wou'd have you think I scorn to yield a Body where I do not give a Soul, and am yet to be perswaded there are any such Brutes amongst my Sex, but as I never had a wish but where I lov'd, so I never extended one till now, to any but Philander, yet so much my sense of shame is above my growing tenderness that I cou'd wish you wou'd be so generous to think no more of what you seem to pursue with such earnestnest and haste: But least I shou'd retain any sort of former love for Philander, whom I am impatient to race wholly from my Soul. I grant you all you ask provided you will be discreet in the management: Antonett therefore shall only be trusted with the secret, the outward gate you shall find at twelve only shut too, and Antonett wait you at the Stairs foot to conduct you to me; come alone. I blush and guild the Paper with their reflections, at the thought of an incounter like this before I am half enough secur'd of your heart? And that you may be made more absolutely the master of mine, send me immediately Philanders Letter inclos'd, that if any remains of shagrien possess me, they may be totally vanquisht by twelve a Clock.

Silvia

She having with much difficulty writ this, read it to her trusty confident; for this was the only secret of her Ladys she was resolv'd never to discover to Briljard, and to the end he might know nothing of it, she seal'd the Letter with Wax; But before she seal'd it, she told her Lady, she thought she might have spar'd abundance of her blushes, and have writ a less kind Letter, for a word of invitation or consent, wou'd have serv'd as well: To which Silvia replyed, her anger against him was too high, not to give him all the defeat imaginable, and the greater the Love appear'd, the greater wou'd be the revenge, when he shou'd come to know (as in time he shou'd) how like a false friend she had treated him: This reason or any at that time wou'd have serv'd Antonett, whose heart was set upon the new adventure, and in such haste she was (the night coming on a pace) to know how she shou'd dress, and what more was to be done, that she only went out to call the Page, and meeting Briljard, (who watcht every bodies motion) on the Stair-Case, he ask'd her what that was, and she said to send by Octavio's Page: You need not look in it said she (when he snatcht it hastily out of her hand): For I can tell you the contents, and 'tis seal'd so it must be known if you unrip it: Well, well, said he, if you tell it me it will satisfie my curiosity as well; therefore I'le give it the Page. She returns in again to her Lady, and he to his own Chamber to read what answer the dear Object of his desire had sent to his forg'd one▪ So opening it, he found it such as his Soul wisht: and was all joy and extasie, he views himself a hundred times in the glass, and set himself in Order with all the Opinion and pride, as i • his own good parts had gain'd him the blessing; he inlarg'd himself as he walkt, and knew not what to do, so extreamly was he ravisht with his coming Joy, he blest himself, his Wit, his Stars his Fortune, then read the dear obliging Letter, and kist it all over, as if it had been meant to him, and after he had forc'd himself to a little more serious consideration, he bethought himself of what he had to do in Order to this dear appointment: He finds in her Letter, that in the first place he was to send her the Letter from Philander: I told you before he took Octavio's Letter from the Page; when he understood his Lord was going five Leagues out of Town to the Prince. Octavio cou'd not avoid his going and write to Silvia; in which he sent her the Letter Philander writ, wherein was the first part of the confession of his love to Madam the Countess of Clarinau: Generously Octavio sent it without terms; but 〈◊〉 slid his own forg'd one into Antonetts hand, in Lieu of it, and now he read that from Philander, and wonder'd at his Lords inconstan •• , yet glad of the opportunity to take Silvia's heart a little more off from him, he soon resolv'd she shou'd have the Letter, but being wholly mercenary, and fearing, that either when once she had it, it might make her go back from her promis'd assignation, or at least put her out of humour, so as to spoil a great part of the entertainment he design'd: He took the pains to counterfeit another Billet to her, which was this,

To Silvia. Madam,

SInce we have began to chaffer, you must give me leave to make the best of the advantage I find I have upon you; and having violated my Honour to Philander, allow the breach of it in some degree on other occasions; not but I have all the obedience and Adoration for you that ever possest the Soul of a most passionate and languishing Lover: But fair Silvia, I know not whether, when you have seen the secret of the false Philander, you may not think it less valuable than you before did, and so defraud me of my due. Give me leave, oh wonderous Creature! to suspect even the most perfect of your Sex; and to tell you that I will no sooner approach your presence, but I will resign the paper you so much wish; if you send me no answer, I will come according to your Directions; if you do, I must obey and wait, tho with that impatience that never attended a suffering Lover, or any, but,

D • vine Creature, your Octavio.

This he seal'd and after a convenient distance of time, carried as from the Page to Antonett, who was yet contriving with her Lady, to whom she gives it, who read it with abundance of impatience, being extreamly angry at the rudeness of the stile, which she fancy'd much alter' from what it was, and had not her rage blinded her, she might easily have perceiv'd the difference too of the Character, tho it come as near to the like as possible so short a practice cou'd produce: She took it with the other, and tore it in pieces; with rage, and swore she woud be reveng'd; but after calmer thoughts she took up the pieces to keep, to upbraid him with, and fell to weeping, for anger, defeat, and shame; but the April show'r being past, she return'd to her former resentment, and • ad some pleasure amidst all her torment of fears, jealousies, and sense of Octavio's disrespect, in the thoughts of revenge; in Order to which she contrives how Antonett shall manage her self, and commanding her to bring out some fine point Linnen, she drest up Antonett's head with them, and put her on a Shi • t lac'd with the same; for tho she intended no Light shou'd be in the Chamber, when Octavio shou'd enter; she knew he understood by his touch the difference of fine things from other, in fine having drest her exactly, as she her self us'd to be, when she receiv'd Octavio's Visits in Bed, she imbrac'd her, and fancy'd she was much of her own shape and bigness, and that 'twas impossible to find the deceit; and now she made Antonett dress her up in her Cloaths, and mobbing her Sarcenet hood about her head; she appear'd so like Antonett (all but the face) that 'twas not easie to distinguish 'em; And Night coming on they both long for the hour of twelve, tho with different designs; and having before given notice that Silvia was gone to Bed, and wou'd receive no Visit that Night, they were alone to finish all their business, this while Briljard was not idle, but having a fine Bath made he washt and p • rfum'd his Body and after drest himself in the finest Linnen perfum'd, that he had, and made himself as fit as possible for his design, nor was his shape which was very good, or his stasture unlike to that of Octavio: And ready for the approach, he conveys himself out of the house telling his • ootman, he wou'd put himself to Bed after his Bathing, and locking his Chamber door, stole out, and it being dark many a longing turn he walk'd impatient till all the Candles were out in every Room of the House; in the mean time he imploy'd his thoughts on a thousand things, but all relating to Silvia; some times the Treachery he shew'd in this Action to his Lord, caused short liv'd blushes in his Face, which vanisht as soon, when he consider'd his Lord false to the most beautiful of her Sex: Sometimes he accus'd and curst the Levity of Silvia, that cou'd yield to Octavio, and was as jealous as if she had indeed been to have receiv'd that Charming Lover, but when his thought directed him to his own happiness, his Pulse beat high, his blood flasht apace in his Cheeks, his eyes languisht with Love; and his Body with a soverish fit? in these extreams by turns he past at least three teadious hours, with a strikeing watch in his hand; and when it told 'twas twelve, he advanc'd nearer the door, but finding it shut walk'd yet with greater impatience every half minute going to the door; at last he found it yield to his hand that pusht it: But oh, what mortal can express his Joy, his heart beats double, his knees tremble, and a feebleness seizes every Limb, he breaths nothing but short sighs, and is ready in the dark hall to fall on the Floor; and was forc'd to lean on the rail that begins the Stairs to take a little Courage: While he was there recruting himself, intent on nothing but his vast joy; Octavio who going to meet the Prince, being met half way by that young Hero was dispatch back again without advancing to the end of his five Leagues, and impatient to see Silvia, after Philanders Letter that he had sent her, or at least impatient to hear how she took it, and in what condition she was, he, as soon as he alighted, went towards her house in hope to have met Antonett, or her Page, or some that cou'd inform him of her welfare; tho 'twas usual for Silvia to set up very late, and he had often made her. Visits at that hour: And Briljard wholly intent on his adventure, had le • t the door open, so that Octavio perceiving it, believ'd they were all up in the back rooms where Silvia's, apartment was towards a Garden, for he saw no light forward; but he was no sooner enter'd (which he did without noise) but he heard a soft breathing, which made him make a stand in the Hall: And by and by he heard the soft tread of some body descending the Stairs: At this he approaches near, and the Hall being a Marble floor, his tread was not heard: When he heard one cry with a sigh— Whose there? And another reply, 'tis I, who are you? The first reply'd, a faithful and an impatient Lover. Give me your hand then, reply'd the female voice, I will conduct you to your happiness; you may imagine in what surprize Octavio was, at so unexpected an adventure, and like a jealous Lover did not at all doubt but the happiness expected was Silvia, and the impatient Lover some one whom he cou'd not imagine, but rav'd within to know, and in a mom • nt ran over in his thoughts all the men of quallity or celibrated Beauty, or Fortune in the Town, but was at as great a loss, as at first thinking: But be thou, who thon wilt, cry'd he to himself, Traytor as thou art, I will by thy death revenge my self on th • faithless Fair One; and taking out his Sword, he advanc • d toward the Stairs foot, when he heard them both softly ascend; but being a man of perfect good Nature, as all the brave and witty are, he reflected on the severe usage he had had from • Silvia, notwithstanding all his industry, his vast expence, and all the advantages of Nature. This thought made him in the midst of all his jealousie and haste, pawse a little moment, and fain he wou'd have perswaded himself, that what 〈◊〉 was the Errors of his sen • e; 〈◊〉 that he dream'd, or that it was • t least not to Silvia, to whom this yet ascending Lover was advancing; but to undeceive him of that favourable imagination, they were no sooner on the top of the Stairs, but he not being many steps behind cou'd both hear and see by the ill light of a great Sash window on the Stair Case: The happy Lover enter the Chamber door of Silvia, which he knew too well to be mistaken, not that he cou'd perceive who or what they were, but two persons not to be distinguisht. Oh what human fancy ( • ut that of a Lover to that degree that was our young Hero,) can imagine the amazement and torture of his Soul, wherein a thousand other passions reign'd at once, and maugre all his Courage and resolution forc'd him to sink beneath their weight, he stood holding himself up by the rails of the Stair Case, without having the power to ascend farther, or to shew any other signs of life, but that of sighing, had he been • favour'd Lover, had he been a known declar'd Lover, to all the World, had he • ut hop'd he had had so much int'rest with the false Beauty, as but to have been design'd upon for a future love or use, he wou'd have rusht in, and have made the guilty Night a Covert to a Scene of Blood; but even yet he had an awe upon his So • l for the perjur'd Fair One, tho at the same time he resolv'd she shou'd be the the object of his hate; for the Nature of his honest Soul abhor'd an Action so treacherous and base: He begins in a moment from all his good thoughts of her, to think her the most Jilting of her Sex, he knew if int'rest cou'd oblige her, no man in Holland had a better pretence to her than himself, who had already without any return even so much as hope, presented her the vallue of eight or ten thousand pound, in fine Plate and Jewels: If it were looser desire he fancy'd himself to have appear'd as capable to have serv'd her as any man, but oh he considers there is a fate in things, a destiny in Love that elevates and advances the most mean, deform'd, or abject, and debases and contemns the most worthy and magnificent: Then he wonders at her excellent art of dissembling for Philander, he runs in a minute over all her Passions of rage, jealousie, tears and softness, and now he hates the whole Sex, and thinks 'em all like Silvia, than which nothing cou'd appear more despicable to his present thought, and with a smile (while yet his heart was insensibly breaking, he fancies himself a very Coxcomb, a Cully, an impos'd on Fool, and a conceited Fop: Val • e's Silvia as a common fair Jil • , whose whole design was to deceive the World, and make her self a Fortune, at the price of her Honour, one that receives all kind bidders, and that he being too lavish, and too modest was reserv'd the Cully on purpose to be undone and Jilted out of all his fortune; This thought was so perfectly fixt in him that he recover'd out of his excess of pain, and fancy'd himself perfectly cur'd of his blind passion, resolves to leave her to her beastly entertainment, and to depart? but before he did so, Silvia (who had conducted the Amorous Spark to the Bed where the expecting Lady lay drest rich and sweet to receive him) return'd out of the Chamber, and the light being a little more favourable to his • yes, by his being so long in the dark • he perceiv'd it Antonett, at least such a sort of figure, as he fancy'd her, and to confirm him saw her go into that Chamber where he knew she lay; he saw her perfect dress, and all confirm'd him; this brought him back almost to his former confusion, but yet he commands his passion, and descended the Stairs, and got himself out of the Hall into the Street; and Silvia having forgot the street door was open, went and shut it, and return'd to Antonett's Chamber with the Letter, which Briljard had given to Antonett, as she lay in the Bed, believing it Silvia, for that trembling Lover was no sooner enter'd the Chamber and approacht the Bed side, but he kneel'd before it and o •• er'd the price of his happiness, this Letter; which she immediately gave to Silvia unperceiv'd, who quitted the Room; and now with all the eager hast of impatient love, she strikes a Light and falls to reading the sad contents; but as she read she many times fainted over the Paper, and as she has since said 'twas a wonder she ever recover'd, having no • ody with her, by that time she had •• nisht it, she was so ill she was not able to get her self into Bed, but threw her self down on the place where she sate which was the side of it, in such agonies of grief and despair, as never any Soul was possest of; but Silvia's wholly abandon'd to the violence of Loves and despair: it is i • possible to paint a torment to express hers by, and tho' she had vow'd to Antonett it shou'd not at all effect her, being s • prepossest before; yet when she had the confirmation of her fears, and heard his own dear soft words addrest to another object, saw his transports, his impatience, his languishing, industry; and indeavour to obtain the new desire of his soul; she found her resentment above • age, and given over to a more silent and less supportable torment, brought her self into a high Fever; where she lay without so much as calling for Aid in this extremity, not that she was afraid the cheat she had put on Octavio would be discover'd, for she had lost the remembrance that any such prank was plaid; and in this multitude of thoughts of more concern, had forgot all the rest of that Nights action.

Octavio this while was traver • ing the street wrapt in his Cloke just as if he had come from Horse, for he was no sooner gone from the door, but his resenting passion return'd, and he resolv'd to go up again, and disturb the Lovers, tho it cost him his life and fame: But returning hastily to the door he found it shut; at which being inrag'd he was often about to break it open, but still some unperceivable respect for Silvia prevented him, but he resolv'd not to stir from the door, till he saw the fortunate rogue come out, who had given him all this torment? at first he c • rst himself for being so much concern'd for Silvia or her actions, to waste a minute, but flattering himself that it was not love to her, but pure curiosity to know the man, who was made the next fool to himself, tho the mor • happy one, he waited all Night, and when he began to see the day break, which he thought a thousand years; his Eye was never off from the door, and wonder'd at their confidence, who wou'd let the day break upon them, but the Close drawn Curtains there, cry'd he, favours the happy Villainy: Still he walk'd on, and still he might for any Rival that was to appear for a most unlucky accident prevented Briljard's coming out, as he doubly intended to do, first for the better carrying on of his cheat of being Octavio; and next that he had challeng'd Octavio to fight, and when he knew his Error, design'd to have gone this morning and ask'd him pardon if he had been return'd; but the Amorous Lover over Night, ordering himself, for the incounter to the best advantage had sent a Note to a Doctor, for something that wou'd incourage his spirits, the Doctor came, and opening a little Box, wherein was a powerful. Medicine: He told him that a Dose of those little flies wou'd make him come off with wonderous Honour in the Battail of Love, and the Doctor being gone to call for a glass of Sack, the Doctor having laid out of the Box what he thought requisite on a piece of Paper, and leaving the Box open; our Spark thought if such a Dose wou'd incourage him so, a greater wou'd yet make him do greater Wonders, and taking twice the quantity out of the Box, puts 'em into his pocket, and having drunk the first with full directions, the Doctor leaves him, who was no sooner gone, but he takes those out of his pocket, and in a glass of Sack drinks 'em down; after this he bathes and dresses, and believes himself a very 〈◊〉 that cou'd have got at least twelve Son • that happy Night • But he was no sooner laid in Bed with the Charming Silvia as he thought, • ut he was taken with intollerable gripes and pains, such as he h • d never felt before, insomuch as he was not able to lie in the bed, this enrages him, he grows mad and asham'd, sometimes he had little intermissions for a moment of case, and then he wou'd plead softly by her Bed side, and ask ten thousand pardons, which being easily granted • e wou'd come into bed again, but then the pain wou'd seiz • him anew, so that after two or three hours of distraction he was forc'd to dress and retire; but instead of going down he went softly up to his own Chamber, where he sate him down and 〈◊〉 the World himself and his hard • ate; and in this extremity o • pain, shame and grief, he reremain'd till break of day: By which time Antonett who was most violently afflicted, got her Coats on, and went to her own Chamber, where she found her Lady more dead than alive: She immediately shi • ted her bed Linnen, and made her B • d, and conducted her to it; without indeavouring to divert her with the History of her own misfortune; and only ask'd her many questions concerning her being thus ill, to which the wretched Silvia only answer'd with sighs, so that Antonett perceiv'd 'twas the Letter that had disorder'd her, and begg'd she might be permitted to see it; she gave her leave and Antonett read it, but no sooner was she come to that part of it which nam'd the Countess of Clarinau, but she ask'd her Lady if she understood who that person was, with great amazement? At this Silvia was content to speak, pleas'd a little that she shou'd have an account of her Rival. No, said she, Dost thou know her, Yes Madam, replyed Antonett particularly well, for I have serv'd her ever since I was a Girle of five years old; she being of the same Age with me, and sent at six years old both to a Monastery; for she being fond of my play, her Father sent me at that Age with her, both to serve and to divert her with Babies and Baubles, there we liv'd seven years • together, when an old rich Spaniard, the Count of Clarinau, fell in love with my Lady, and married her from the Monastery, before she had seen any part of the World beyond those sanctified Walls. She cry'd bitterly to have had me to Collen with her, but he said I was too • ouug now for her service, and so sent me away back to my own Town, which is this, and here my Lady was born too, and is Sister to—Here she stopt, fearing to tell; which Silvia perceiving, with a briskness (which her indisposition one wou'd have thought cou'd not have allow'd) sate up in her B • d and cry'd. Ha • Sister to whom? Oh, how thou wou'dst please me to say, to Octavio, why Madam wou'd it please you said the blushing Maid. Because said Silvia, 'twou'd in part revenge me on his bold Addresses to me, and he wou'd also be oblig'd in honour to his Family, to revenge himself on Philander. A • Madam said she, as to his presumption towards you, fortune has sufficiently reveng'd it; at this she hung down her head and look'd very foolishly: How, said Silvia smiling and rearing her self yet more in her Bed, is any misfortuue arriv'd to Octavio. Oh how I will triumph and upbraid the daring man— tell me quickly what it is? for nothing wou'd rejoyce me more tha • to hear he were punisht a little; Upon this Antonett told her what an unlucky Night she had, how Octavio was seiz'd, and how he departed, by which Silvia believ'd he had made some discovery of the cheat that was 〈◊〉 upon him, and that he only feign'd illness to get himself loose from her imbraces; and now she falls to considering how she shall be reveng'd on both her Lovers: And the best 〈◊〉 can pitch upon is that of s • tting them both at odds, and making • em fight and revenge themselves on one another; but she like a right Woman, cou'd not dissemble her resentment of jealousie, what ever art she had to do so in any other point; but mad to ease her Soul that was full; and to upbraid Philander, she writes him a Letter, but not till she had once more, to make her stark mad, read his over again; which he sent Octavio.

Silvia to Philander.

YEs p • rjur'd Villain, at last all thy perfidy is arriv'd to my knowledge; and thou hadst better have been damn'd, of have fall • n, like an ungrateful Traytor as thou art, under the publique shame of dying by the common Executioner, than have 〈◊〉 under the grasp of my revenge, insatiate as thy Lust, false as thy Treasons to thy Prince▪ fatal as thy destiny, lowd as thy infamy, and bloody as thy party. Villain, Villain, where got you the courage to use me thus, knowing my injuries, and my Spirit; thou seest base Traytor, I do not fall on thee with treachery, as thou hast on thy King and Mistress, to which thou has broke thy Holy vows of allegiance and Eternal Love! but thou that hast broke the Laws of God and Nature! What cou'd I expect, when neither Religion, Honour, common Justice, nor Law cou'd bind thee to humanity; thou that b • tray'd thy Prince, abandon'd thy Wife, renounc'd thy Child, kill'd thy Mother, ravisht thy Sister, and art in open Rebellion against thy Native Country, and very Kindred, and Brothers. Oh after this what must the Wretch expect, who has believ'd thee, and follow'd thy abject fortunes, the miserable outcast Slave, and contempt of the World; what cou'd she expect, but that the Villain is still potent in thee unrepented, and all the Lover dead and gone, the Vice remains and all the Virtue vanisht. Oh, what cou'd I expect from such a Divel, so lost in sin and wickedness, that even those, for whom he ventur'd all his Fame, and lost his Fortune, lent like a State Cully upon the publique Faith, on the security of Rogues, Knaves and Traytors; even those I say turn'd him out of their Councels, for a reprobate too lewd for the villainous society: Oh, curst that I was by Heaven and Fate, to be blind and deaf to all thy infamy, and suffer thy adorable bewitching Face and Tongue to charm me to madness and undoing, when that was all thou hadst left thee thy false person, to cheat the silly, easie, fond, believing World, into any sort of opinion of thee, for not one good principle was left; not one poor vertue to guard thee from Damnation, thou hadst but one friend left thee, one true, one real Friend, and that was wretched Silvia, she, when all abandon'd thee but the Executioner, fled with thee, suffer'd with thee, starv'd with thee, lost her Fame and Honour with thee, lost her friend, her Parents, and all her Beauties hopes for thee, and in lieu of all, found only the accusation of all the good, the hate of all the Virtuous, the reproaches of her kindred, the scorn of all chast Maids, and curses of all honest Wives; and in requital had only▪ thy false Vows, thy empty love, thy faithless imbraces, and cold dissembl'd kis • es. My only comfort was, (ah miserable comfort) to fancy they were true; now that's departed too, and I have nothing but a brave revenge lest in the room of all! in vvhich I'le be as merciless and irreligious as even thou hast been in all thy Actions; and there remains about me only this sense of Honour yet; that I dare tell thee of my bold design; a bravery thou hast never shew'd to me, who takest me unawares, stab'st me without a warning of the blow; so wou'd thou serve thy King hadst thou but power; and so thou serv'st thy Mistress; vvhen I look back even to thy infancy, thy li • e has been but one continu'd race of treachery, and I (destin'd thy evil genius) was born for thy tormenter, for thou hast made a very Fiend of me, and I have Hell within; all rage, all torment, fire, distraction, madness▪ I rave, I burn, I tear my self and faint, am still a dying, but can never fall, till I have graspt thee with me: Oh, I shou'd laugh in flames to see thee howling by: I scorn thee, hate thee, loath thee more than ever I have lov'd thee, and hate my self so much for ever loving thee, (to be reveng'd upon the filthy, Criminal) I will expose my self to all the World, Cheat, Jilt, and slatter all as thou hast done, and having not one sense or grain of Honour left, will yield the abandon'd body, thou hast rifl'd to every asking Fop: Nor is that all, for they that purchase this, shall buy it at the price of being my Bravos: And all shall aid in my revenge on thee; all merciless and as resolv'd as I; as I! The injur'd

Silvia

Having shot this flash of the lightning of her Soul, and finisht her rant, she found her self much easier in the resolves on revenge, she had fix'd there? she scorn'd by any vain indeavour to recal him from his passion, she had wit enough to have made those eternal observations, that love once gone is never to be retriev'd, and that it was impossible to cease loving, and then again to love the same person, one may believe for sometime ones love is abated, but when it comes to a tryal, it shews it self as vigorous as in its first shine; and finds its own Error, but when once one comes to love a new Object, it can never return with more than pity, compassion, or civility for the first: This is a most certain truth which all Lovers will find, as most Wives may experience, and which our Silvia now took for granted, and gave him over for dead to all but her revenge. Tho Fits of softness, weeping, raving, and tearing, wou'd by turns seize the distracted abandon'd Beauty; in which extremities she has recourse to scorn and Pride, too feeble to aid her too often: The first thing she resolv'd on by the advice of her reasonable Councellor, was to hear Love at both her ears, no matter whether she regard it or not, but to hear all as a remedy against loving one in particular, for 'tis most certain that the use of hearing Love, or of making Love (tho' at first without design) either in Women or men, shall at last unfix the most confirm'd and constant resolution. And since you are assur'd continued Antonett, that sighs nor tears brings back the wander'd Lover, and that dying for him will be no revenge on him, but rather a king assurance that you will no more trouble the man, who is already weary of you, you ought with all your power, industry, and Reason rather to seek the preservation of that Beauty, and fine humour to serve you on all occasions, either for revenge or love, than by a foolish and insignificant Concern and Sorrow reduce your self to the condition of being scorn'd by all, or at best but pitty'd: How pity'd cry'd the haughty Silvia, is there any thing so insupportable to our Sex as pity! No surely reply'd the Servant, when 'tis accompany'd by Love; Oh what blessed comfort 'tis to hear people cry— She was once Charming, once a Beauty; is any thing more grating Madam? At this rate she ran on, and le • t nothing unsaid that might animate the Angry Silvia to love a new, or at least to receive and admit of love, for in that Climate, the Air Naturally breeds Spirits avaritious, and much inclines 'em to the Love of Mony, which they will gain at any price or hazard, and all this discourse to Silvia was but to incline the revengeful listening Beauty to admit of the Addresses of Octavio, because she knew he wou'd make her fortune. Thus was the unhappy Maid, left by her own unfortunate conduct, incompass'd in on every side with distraction; and she was pointed out by fate to be made the most wretch'd of all her Sex, nor had she left one faithful friend to advise or stay her youth in its hasty advance to ruin; she hears the perswading Eloquence of the flattering Maid, and finds now nothing so prevailent on her Soul as revenge, and nothing soo hsit more? and amongst all her Lovers, or those at least that she knew ador'd her, none was • ound so proper an instrument as the Noble Octavio, his youth, his Wit, his Gallantry, but above all his fortune pleads most powerful with her; so that she resolves upon the Revenge and fixes him the man; whom she now knew by so many Obligations was oblig'd to serve her turn on Philander: Thus Silvia found a little tranquillity, such as it was, in hope of revenge, while the passionate Octavio was wreck'd with a thousand pains and torments, such as none but Jilted Lovers can imagine, and having a thousand times resolv'd to hate her, and as o • ten to love on, in spight of all—after a thousand arguments against her, and as many in favour of her, he arriv'd only to this knowledge, that his love was extream, and that he had no power over his heart, that Honour, Fame, Int'rest, and whatever else might oppose his Violent flame, were all too weak to extinguish the least spark of it, and all the Conquest he cou'd get of himself was, that he suffer'd all his torment, all the Hell of raging Jealousie grown to Confirmation, and all the pangs of absence for that whole day, and had the Courage to live on the Rack without easing one moment of his Agony by a Letter or Billet; which in such cases discharges the burthen and pressures of the love sick heart; and Silvia who drest, and suffer'd her self wholly to be carry'd away by her Vengeance, expected him with as much impatience as ever she did the coming of the once adorable Philander, tho with a different passion; but all the live long day past in expectation of him, and no Lover appear'd; no not so much as a Billet, nor page at her uprising to ask her health, so that believing he had been very ill indeed, from what Antonett told her of his being so all Night, and fearing now that it was no discovery of the cheat put upon him by the exchange of the Maid for the Mistress, but real sickness, she resolv'd to send to him, and the rather because Antonett assur'd her he was really sick, and in a cold damp sweat all over his face and hands which she toucht, and that from his infinite concern at the defeat, the extreme respect he shew'd her in midst of all, the rage at his own disappointment, and every Circumstance, she knew it was no • eign'd thing for any discovery he had made: On this confirmation, from a Maid cunning enough to distinguish truth from flattery, she write Octavio this letter at Night.

Silvia to Octavio.

AFter such a parting from a Maid so intirely kind to you; she might at least have hop'd the favour of a Billet from you, to have inform'd her of your health; unless you think that after we have surrender'd all we are of the Humour of most of your Sex, who despise the obliger, but I believ'd you a man above the little Crimes and Levities of your race, and I am yet so hard to be drawn from that opinion; I am willing to • latter my self, that 'tis yet some other reason that has hinder'd you from visiting me since, or sending me an account of your recovery, which I am too sensible of to believe was feign'd, and which indeed has made me so tender, that I easily forgive all the disappointment I receiv'd from it; and beg you will not afflict your self at any loss, you sustain'd by it, since I am still, so much the same I was, to be as sensible as before of all the obligations I have to you, send me word immediately how you do, for on that depends a great part of the happiness of

Silvia

You may easily see by this Letter she was not in a humour of either writing love or much flattery, for yet she knew not how she ought to resent this absence in all kinds from Octavio, and therefore with what force she cou'd put upon a Soul too wholly taken up with the thoughts of another, more dear and more afflicting, she only writ this to fetch one from him, that by it she might learn part of his sentiment of her last Action, and sent her Page with it to him; who, as was usual, was carried directly up to Octavio, whom he found in a Gallery walking in a most dejected posture without a Hat, unbrac'd, his Arms a cross his open breast; and his eyes bent to the Floor; and not taking any notice when the Pages enter'd, his own was forc • d to pull him by the Sleeve, before he wou'd look up, and starting from a thousand thoughts that opprest him almost to death, he gaz'd wildly about him and ask'd their business: When the Page deliver'd him the Letter; he took it, but with such confusion as he had much a do to support himself, but resolving not to shew his feebleness to her Page he made a shift to get to a Wax Light, that was on the Table and read it; and was not much amaz'd at the contents, believing she was persuing the business of her Sex and Life, and Jilting him on; (for such was his opinion of all Women now) he forc'd a smile of scorn, tho' his Soul were bursting, and turning to the Page gave him a liberal reward, as was his daily use when he came, and Muster'd up so much Courage as to force himself to say—Child tell your Lady it requires no answer, you may tell her too, that I am in perfect good Health—He was opprest to speak more, but sighs stopp'd him, and his former resolution, wholly to abandon all corrispondence with her, check'd his forward Tongue; and he walk'd away to prevent himself from saying more: While the Page, who wonder'd at this turn of Love, after a little waiting, departed, and when Octavio had ended his walk, and turn'd, and saw him gone, his heart felt a thousand pangs not to be born or supported; he was often ready to recal him, and was angry the Boy did not urge him for an answer, he read the Letter again, and wonders at nothing now after her last nights Action, tho all was riddle to him; he found 'twas writ to some happier man than himself, however he chanc'd to have it by mistake, and turning to the outside, view'd the superscription; where there happen'd to be none at all, for Silvia writ in haste and when she did it 'twas the least of her thoughts: And now he believ'd he had found out the real Mystery, that it was not meant to him; he therefore calls his Page, whom he sent immediately after that of Silvia, who being yet below (for the Lads were laughing together for a moment) he brought him to his distracted Lord; who nevertheless assum'd a mildness to the innocent Boy, and cry'd My Child thou hast mistaken the person to whom thou shou'dst have carried the Letter, and I am sorry I open'd it; pray return it to the happy Man 'twas meant to, giving him the Letter; My Lord reply • d the Boy, I do not use to carry Letters to any but your Lordship: 'Tis the footmens business to do that to other persons: 'Tis a mistake, where ever it lies, cry'd Octavio sighing, whether in thee or thy Lady—So turning from the wondering Boy he left him to return with his Letter to his Lady, who grew mad at the relation of what she heard from the Page, and notwithstanding the torment she had on her Soul occasioned by Philander, she now found she had more to indure, and that in spight of all her love V • ws and resentments, she had something for Octavio to which she cou'd not give a Name, she fancies it all pride, and concern for the indignity put on her Beauty? but what ever it was this slight of his so wholly took up her Soul, that she had for sometime quite forgot Philander, or when she did think on him 'twas with less resentment than of this affront; she considers Philander with some excuse now; as haveing long been 〈◊〉 of a happiness he might grow weary off; but a new Lover, who had for six months incessantly lain at her feet, imploring, dying, vowing, weeping, sighing, giving, and acting all things the most passionate of men was capable of, or that love cou'd inspire, for him to be at last admitted to the possession of the ravishing Object of his Vows and Soul, to be laid in her Bed; nay in her very Arms (as She imagin'd he thought) and then, even before gathering the Roses he came to pluck, before he had begun to compose, or finisht his Nosegay: To depart the happy Paradise with a disgust, and such a disgust, as first to oblige him to dissemble sickness, and next fall even from all his Civillities: Was a contempt she was not able to bear: especially from him who of all men living she design'd to make the greatest property of, as most fit for her revenge, of all degrees and sorts: But when she reflected with reason, (which she seldom did, for either Love or rage blinded that) she cou'd not conceive it possible that Octavio cou'd be fall'n so suddenly from all his Vows and professions, but on some very great provocation: Sometimes she thinks he tempted her to try her Vertue to Philander, and being a perfect Honourable friend, hates her for her Levity, but she considers his presents, and his unwearied industry, and believes he wou'd not at that expence have bought a knowledg which cou'd profit neither himself or Philander; then she believes some disgustful Scent or something about Antonett might disoblige him; but having call'd the Maid • onjuring her to tell her whether any thing past between her and Octavio; she again told her Lady the whole truth, in which there cou'd be no discovery of infirmity there; she imbrac'd her, she kiss'd her bosom, and found her touches soft, her breath and Bosom sweet as any thing in Nature cou'd be; and now lost almost in a Confusion of thought, she cou'd not tell what to imagine; at last she being wholly possest that all the fault was not in Octavio, (for too often we believe as we hope) she concludes that Antonett has told him all the cheat she put upon him: This last thought pleas'd her, because it seem'd the most probable, and was the most favourable to her self; and a thought, that if true cou'd not do her any injury with him▪ This set her heart a little to rights, and she grew calm with a belief, that if so it was, as now she doubted not, a sight of her, or a future hope from her, wou'd calm all his discontent, and beget a right understanding: She therefore resolves to write to him and own her little fallacy: But before she did so; Octavio whose passion was as violent as ever in his Soul, tho 'twas opprest with a thousand torments, and languisht under as many feeble resolutions, burst at last into all its former softness, and he resolves to write to the false Fair One, a • d upbraid her with he • last Nights in • idelity: Nor cou'd he sleep till he had that way Charm'd his senses, and 〈…〉 It being 〈…〉 and he 〈◊〉〈…〉 Chamber, he set himself down, and writ this.

Octavio to Silvia. Madam,

YOu have at last taught me a perfect knowledge of my self; and in one unhappy Night, made me see all the follies and Vanities of my Soul, which self Love and fond imagination had too long render'd that way guilty; long, long! I've play'd the Fop as others do, and shew'd the gaudy Monsieur, and set a Value on my worthless person for being well drest, as I believ'd, and furnisht out for Conquest, by being the gayest Coxcombe in the Town, where even as I past per •• ps I fancy'd, I made • dvances on • ome wishing hearts, • nd vain, with but imaginary Victory, I still fool'd on—And was at last undone; for I saw Silvia, the Charming faithless Silvia; a Beauty that one wou'd have thought had had the power to have cur'd the fond disease of self conceit and foppery, since love they say's a remedy against those faults of youth, but still my vanity was powerful in me, and even this Beauty too: I thought it not impossible to vanquish, and still drest on, and took a mighty care to shew my self—a Blockhead, curse upon me, while you were laughing at my industry, and turn'd the fancying fool to ridicule: Oh, he deserv'd it well; most wondrous well; for but believing any thing about him, cou'd merit but a serious thought from Silvia. Silvia! whose business is to laugh at all; yet Love, that is my sin, and punishment, reigns still as absolutely in my Soul, as when I wisht, and hop'd, and long'd for mighty blessings you cou'd give; yes I still love! only this wretchedness is fix'd to it, to see those Errors which I cannot shun; my love's as high, but all my wishes gone; my Passion still remains entire and raving, but no desire, I burn, I dye, but do not wish to hope, I wou'd be all despair, and like a Martyr, am vain and proud even in suffering. Yes, Silvia—When you made me wise, you made me wretch'd too? before, like a false Worshipper, I only saw the Gay, the gilded side of the deceiving Idol, but now 'tis fall'n—discovers all the cheat and shews a God no more: and 'tis in Love as in Religion too, there's nothing makes their voteries truly happy but being well deceiv'd: For even in love it self, harmless, and innocent, as 'tis by Nature, there needs a little Art to hide the daily discontents and torments, that fears distrusts, and Jealousies creats; a little soft dissimulation's needful, for where the Lover's easie, he's most constant. But oh, when love it self's defective too, and manag'd by design and little int'rest, what cunning, oh what cautions ought the fair designer then to call to her defence; yet I confess your Plot— Still Charming Silvia! Was subtilly enough contriv'd, discre • tly carry'd on—The shades of Night, the happy Lovers Refuge, favour'd you too: 'twas only • ate, was cruel, fate that conducted me, in an unlucky hour, dark as it was, and silent too the Night, I saw,—Yes, faithless Fair, I saw, I was betray'd; by too much faith, by too much love undone, I saw my fatal ruin and your per • idy: And like a tame ignoble sufferer left you without revenge!

I must confess, oh thou deceiving Fair One, I never cou'd pretend to what I wisht; and yet methinks, because I • know my heart, and the entire Devotion that it paid you; I merited at least not to have been impos'd upon; but after so dishonourable an Action, as the betraying the Secret of my friend, it was but just that I shou'd be betray'd, and you have paid me well; deserv'dly well, and that shall make me silent; and what so e're I suffer, how e're I dye, how e're I languish out my wretch'd life, I'le bear my sighs where you shall never hear 'em, nor the reproaches my complaints express: Live thou a punishment to vain fantastick hoping youth, live and advance in cunning and deceit, to make the fond believing men more wise, and teach the Women newer arts of falshood, till they deceive so long, that man may hate and set as vast a distance between Sex and Sex, as I've resolv'd (oh Silvia) thou shalt be, for ever from

Octavio.

This letter came just as Silvia was going to write to him; of which she was extreamly glad▪ for all along there was nothing exprest that cou'd make her think he meant any other than the cheat she put upon him in Antonett instead of her self: And it was some ease to her mind to be assur'd of the cause of his anger and absence, and to find her own thought confirm'd, 〈◊〉 he had indeed discover'd the truth of the matter: she knew since that was all she cou'd easily reconcile him by a plain confession, and giving him new hopes; she therefore writes this answer to him, which she sent by his Page, who waited for it.

Silvia to Octavio.

I Own too angry, and too nice Octavio, the Crime you charge me with; and did believe a person of your Gallantry, Wit, and Gayety wou'd have past over so little a fault, with only reproaching me pleasantly, I did not expect so grave a reproof, or rather so serious an accusation, youth has a thousand follies to answer for, and cannot Octavio pardon one sally of it, in Silvia; I rather expected to have seen you early here this morning pleasantly rallying my little perfidy, than to find you railing at a distance at it; calling it by a thousand names that does not merit half this malice: And sure you did not think me so poor in good, Nature but I cou'd some other coming hour have made you amends for those you lost last Night, possibly I cou'd have wisht my self with you at the same time; and had I perhaps follow'd my inclination I had made you happy as you wisht, but there were powerful reasons, that prevented me; I conjure you to let me see you, where I will make a confession of my last nights sin, and give you such arguments to convince you of the necessity of it, as shall absolutely reconcile you to love, hope, and—

SILVIA▪

It being late, she only sent this short Billet: And not hoping that Night to see him, she went to bed, after having inquir'd the health of Briljard whom she heard was very ill; and that young defeated Lover finding it impossible to meet Octavio as he had promis'd, not to fight him but to ask his pardon for his mistake, he made a shift with much ado to write him a Note▪ which was this:

My Lord,

I Confess my yesterdays rudeness, and beg you will give me a Pardon before I leave the World, for I was last Night taken violently ill, and am unable to wait on your Lordship, to beg what this most earnestly does for

Your Lordships most Devoted Servant, Briljard

This Billet, tho it signifi'd nothing to Octavio, it serv'd Silvia afterwards to very good use and purpose, as a little time shall make appear: And Octavio receiv'd these two Notes from Briljard and Silvia, at the same time; the one he flung by regardless, the other he read with infinite pain, scorn, hate, indignation, all at once storm'd in his heart, he fe • t every passion there but that of Love, which caus'd 'em all; if he thought her false and ungrateful before, he now thinks her fall'n to the lowest degree of lewdness, to own her Crime with such impudence; he fancies now he's cur'd of Love, and hates her absolutely, thinks her below even his scorn, and puts himself to bed, believing he shall sleep as well as before he saw the Light, the foolish Silvia: But oh he boasts in vain, the Light, the foolish Silvia was Charming still; still all the Beauty appear'd, even in his slumbers the Angell dawn'd about him, and all the Fend was laid: He sees her lovely Face, but the false heart is hid; he hears her Charming Wit, but all the cunnings husht; he views the motions▪ of her delicate Body, without regard to those of her mind, he thinks of all the tender words she has given him, in which the Jilting part is lost, and all forgotten, or if by chance it crost his happier thought, he rowls and tumble in his Bed, he raves and calls upon her charming Name, till he have quite forgot it, and takes all the pains he can to deceive his own heart: Oh 'tis a tender part; and can indure no hurt; he sooths it therefore, and at the worst resolves, since the vast blessing may be purchas'd, to revel in delight; and cure himself that way: These flattering thoughts kept him all night waking, and in the Morning he resolves his Visit; but taking up her Letter which lay on the Table, he read it o're again, and by degrees, wrought himself up to madness, at the thought that Silvia was possest; Philander he cou'd bear with little patience, but that because before he lov'd or knew her, he cou'd allow; but this—This wrecks his very Soul; and in his height of fury writes this Letter without consideration.

Octavio to Silvia.

SInce you profess your self a common Mistress, and set up for the Glorious trade of sin; send me your price, and I perhaps may p • rchase Damnation at your rate; may be you have a Method in your dealing, and I've mistook you all this while, and dealt not your way: Instruct my youth, great Mistress of the Art, and I shall be obedient; tell me which way I may be happy too▪ and put in for an adventurer; I have a stock of ready youth and mony, pray name your time and sum for hours, or Nights, or months; I will be in at all, or any, as you shall find leasure to receive the

Impatient Octavio.

This in a Mad moment he wr • t, and sent it e're he had consider'd farther, and Silvia who expected not so course and rough a return, grew as mad as he in reading it; and she had much a • do to hold her hands off from beating the innocent Page that brought it: To whom she turn'd with fire in her Eyes, • lames in her Cheeks, and Thunder on her Tongue, and cry'd, Go tell your Master, that he is a Villain? and if you dare approach me any more from him? I'le have my Footmen whip you? and with a scorn that discover'd all the indignation in the World she turn'd from him and tearing his Note, threw it from her and walk'd her way: And the Page thunderstruck return'd to his Lord, who by this time was repenting he had manag'd his passion no better; and • t what the Boy told him, was wholly convinc'd of his Error, he now consider'd her Character and quallity; and accus'd himself of great indiscretion; and as he was sitting the most dejected melancholly man on Earth, reflecting on his misfortune, the Post arriv'd with Letters from Philander, which he open'd and laying by that which was inclos'd for Silvia he read that from Philander to himself:

Philander to Octavio.

THere is no pain, my dear Octavio, either in Love or friendship like that of doubt; and I confess my self guilty of giving it you in a great measure by my silence the last Post, but having business of so much greater concern to my heart than even writing to Octavio, I found my self unable to pursue any other, and I believe you cou'd too with the less impatience bear with my neglect having affairs of the same nature there; our circumstances and the business of our hearts then being so resembling, methinks, I have as great an impatience to be recounting to you the story of my Love and Fortune, as I am to receive that of yours, and to know what advances you have made in the heart of the still charming Silvia! tho there will be this difference in the relations; mine, when ever I recount it, will give you a double satisfaction, first from the share your friendship makes you have in all the pleasures of Philander, and next that it excuses Silvia if she can be false to me, for Octavio; and still advances his design on her heart: but yours, when ever I receive it, will give me a thousand pains which 'tis however, but just I should feel, since I was the first breaker of the solemn League and Covenant made between us: which yet I do by all that's sacred with a regret, that makes me reflect with some repentance in all those moments wherein I do not wholly give my soul up to Love, and the more beautiful Calista; yes more, because new.

In my last, my dear Octavio, you left me pursuing, like a Knight Errant, a Beauty inchanted, within some invisible Tree, or Castle, or Lake, or any thing inaccessable, or rather wandering in a Dream after some glorious disappearing fantom: and for some time indeed, I knew not whether I slept or wak'd, I saw daily the good old Count of Clarinau; to whom I durst not so much as ask a civil question towards the satisfaction of my soul; the Page was sent into Holland (with some Express to a Brother in Law of the Counts) of whom before I had the intelligence of a fair young wife to the old Lord his Master, and for the rest of the Servants they spoke all Spanish, and the devil a word we understood each other so that 'twas impossible to learn, any thing farther from them: and I found I was to owe all my good Fortune to my own industry, but how to set it a working, I cou'd not devise; at last it happen'd, that being walking in the Garden which had very high Walls on three sides, and a large fine apartment on the other, I concluded, that 'twas in that part of the house, my fair new Conqueress resided, but how to be resolv'd I cou'd not tell, nor which way the Windows lookt that were to give the light, forwards that part o'th' Garden there was none, at last I saw the good old Gentleman come trudging through the Garden fumbling out of his Pocket a Key, I stept into an Arbor to observe him, and saw him open a little door that led him into another Garden, and locking the door after him vanisht; and observing how that side of the Apartment lay, I went into the street and after a large compass, found that which fac'd that Garden, which made the fore part of the Apartment. I made a story of some occasion I had for some upper rooms and went into many houses, to find which fronted best the Apartment, and still dislik'd something till I met with one so directly to it, that I cou'd, when I got a story higher, look into the very Rooms, which only a delicate Garden par • ed from this by street: there 'was I fixt, and learnt from a young Dutch woman that spoke good France, that, that was the very place I lookt for; the Apartment of Madam, the Countess of Clarinau: She told me too, that every day after Dinner the old Gentleman came thither, and sometimes a nights: and bewail'd the young Beauty, who had no better entertainment than what an old wither'd Spaniard of threescore and ten, cou'd give her: I found this young woman apt for my purpose, and having very well pleas'd her with my conversation, and some little presents I made her, I left her in good humour, and resolv'd to serve me on any design, and returning to my lodging I found old Clarinau return'd, as brisk and gay as if he had been carest by so fair and young a Lady, which very thought made me rave, and I had abundance of pain to withold my rage from breaking out upon him, so jealous and envious I was of what now I lov'd and desir'd, a thousand times more than ever; since the relation my new young female friend had given me: who had wit and beauty sufficient to make her judgment impartial: however I contain'd my jealousie with the hopes of a suddain revenge, for I fancy'd the business half accomplisht in my knowledg of her residence. I feign'd some business to the old Gentleman, that wou'd call me out of town for a week to consult with some of our party, and taking my leave of him he offer'd me the Complement of Money, or what else I should need in my affair, which at that time was not unwelcome to me, and being well furnisht for my enterprise. I took Horse without a Page or Footman to attend me, because I pretended my business was a secret, and taking a turn about the Town in the Evening, I left my horse without the gates and went to my secret new quarters, where my young Friend receceiv'd me with the joy of a Mistress, and with whom indeed I cou'd not forbear entertaining my self very well, which ingag'd her more to my service, with the aid of my liberallity; but all this did not allay one spark of the fire kindled in my Soul for the lovely Calista; and I was impatient for Night, against which time I was preparing an Ingine to mount the Battlement, for so it was that divided the Garden from the Street, rather than a Wall: All things fitted to my purpose, I fixt my self at the Window • that lookt directly towards her Sashes; and had the satisfaction to see her leaning there, and looking on a Fountain that stood in the midst of the Garden, and cast a thousand little streams into the Air, that made a melancholly noise in falling into a large Alablaster Cistern beneath: Oh how my heart danc'd at the dear sight' to all the tunes of Love; I had not power to stir or sp • ak, or to remove my eyes, but languisht on the window where I leant half dead with Joy and transport; for she appear'd more Charming to my view: undrest and fit for Love! Oh, my Octavio, such are the pangs which I believe thou felt at the approach of Silvia, so beats thy heart, so rise thy sighs, and Wishes; so trembling, and so pale at every view, as I was in this lucky Amorous moment! and thus I fed my Soul till Night came on, and left my Eyes no Object, but my heart,—a thousand dear Idea's: And now I sally'd out, and with good success, for with a long engine which reacht the top of the Wall I fixt the end of my Ladder there, and mounted it, and sitting on the top brought my Lader easily up to me, and turn'd it • over to the other side; and with abundance of ease descended into the Garden which was the finest I had ever seen; for now as good luck wou'd have it, who was design'd to savour me: The Moon begun to shine so bright as even to make me distinguish the Colours of the Flowers that drest all the Banks in ravishing order, but these were not the Beauty I came to possess, and my new thoughts of disposing my self and managing my matters, now took off all that admiration that was justly due to so delightful a place, which art and Nature had a greed to render Charming to every sense, thus much I consider'd it, that there was nothing that did not invite to love; a thousand pretty recesses of Arbours, Grot • s and little Artificial Groves; Fountains inviron'd with Beds of flowers and little Rivulets, to whose dear fragrant Banks, a wishing Amorous God wou'd make his so • t retreat, after having ranged about rather to • seek a Covert on occasion, and to know the passes of the Garden, which might serve me in any Extreamity of surprize that might happen. I return'd to the fountain that fac'd Calista's Window, and leaning on its brink view'd the whole apartment, which appear'd very magnificent: Just against me I perceiv'd a Door that went into it; which while I was considering how to get open, I heard it unlock, and skulking behind the large Bason of the Fountain, (yet so as to mark who came out) I saw to my unspeakable transport the Fair, the Charming Calista, dress just as she was • at the Window, a loose gown of Silver stuff lap • about her delicate Body, her Head in fine night Cloaths, and all careless as my Soul cou'd wish • ; she came and with her the old Dragon; and I heard her say in coming out,—This is too fine a Night to sleep in: Prethee Dormina do not grudge me the pleasure of it, since there are so very few, that entertain Calista▪ This last she spoke with a sigh, and a languishment in her Voice, that shot new slames of Love into my panting heart, and trill'd through all my vains; while she persu'd her walk with the old Gentlewoman; and still I kept my self at such a distance, to have 'em in my sight, but slid along the shady side of the walk where I cou'd not be easily seen, while they kept still on the shiny part: She led me thus through all the Walks, through all the Maze of Love; and all the way I fed my greedy Eyes upon the melancholly Object of my raving desire; her shape, her gate, her motion, every step, and every movement of her hand and head, had a peculiar grace; a thousand times I was tempted to approach her, and discover my self, but I dreaded the fatal consequence, the old Woman being by, nor knew I whether they did not expect the Husband there; I therefore with impatience waited when she wou'd speak, that by that I might make some discovery of my destiny that Night; and after having tir'd her self a little with walking, she sate down on a fine seat of White Marble, that was plac'd at the end of a grassie walk: And only shadow'd with some tall Trees that rank'd themselves behind it, 'gainst one of which I lean'd: There for a quarter of an hour they sate as silent as the Night, where only soft breath'd Winds were heard amongst the bows, and softer sighs from fair Calista; at last the old thing broke silence, who was almost a Sleep while she spoke. Madam if you are weary, let us retire to Bed, and not sit gazing here at the Moon; to bed, reply'd Calista, what shou'd I do there? marry sleep, quoth the old Gentlewoman, what shou'd you do? Ah Dormina (sight Calista) wou'd Age wou'd seize • me too, for then perhaps I shou'd find at least the Pleasure of the Old: be dull and Lazy; Love to Eat and Sleep not, have my slumbers undisturb'd with Dreams more insupportable than my waking wishes; for reason, then suppresses rising thoughts, and the impossibility of obtaini • g keeps the fond soul in order, but Sleep—Gives an • nguarded loose to soft desire, it brings the lovely fantom to my view, and tempts me with a thousand Charms to Love; I see a Face, a Myne, a Shape, a look! such as Heaven never made or any thing, but fond imagination! Oh 'twas a wondrons Vision! for my part, reply'd the old One, I am such a Heathen Christian, Madam, as I do not believe there are any such things as Visions, or Ghosts, or fantoms: But your head runs of a young man, because you are married to an old • one; such an Idea as you fram'd in your wishes, possest your fancy, which was so strong (as indeed fancy will be sometimes,) that it perswaded you, 'twas a very fantom or Vision. Let it be fancy or Vision, or what ever else you can give a Name to, reply'd Calista▪ still 'tis that, that never ceas'd since to torture me with a thousand pains, and prithee why Dormina is not fancy since, as powerful in me as it was before (fancy has not been since so kind; yet I have given it room for thought, which before I never did, I set whole hours and days, and fix my soul upon the lovely Figure▪ I know its stature to an Inch; tall and Divinely made, I saw his hair▪ long, Black, and Curling to his wast all loose and flowing▪ I saw▪ his eyes where all the Cupids play'd, black, large, and sparkling, piercing loveing, languishing. I saw his Lips sweet, dimpl'd, red, and soft, a youth compleating all, like early May; that looks and smels, and cheers above the rest: In fine, I saw him such as nothing but the nicest fancy can imagine, and nothing can describe, I saw him such as robs me of my rest, as gives me all the raging pains of love (Love I believe it is) without the joy of any single hope: Oh Madam said Dormina, that Love will quickly die, which is not nurst with hope, why, that's its only Food. Pray • Heaven I find it so, reply'd Calista • At that she sight as if her heart had brok • n, and lean'd her Arm upon a rail of the end of the Seat, and laid her lovely Cheek upon her hand, and so continu'd sighing without speaking▪ While I, who was not a little transported with what I heard with infinite pain, with • held my self from kneeling at her Feet, and prostrating before her that happy fantom of which she had spoke so favourably; but still I fear'd my Fate: And to give any offence; while I was amidst a thousand thoughts considering which to pursue, I cou'd hear Dormina snoring as fast as cou'd be, leaning at her ease on the other end of the Seat, supported by a white Marble rail, which Calista hearing also turn'd, and look't on her, then softly ro • e, and walk'd away to see how long she wou'd sleep there, if not wak'd! Judge now, my dear Octavio, whether Love and Fortune were not absolutely subdu'd to my int'rest, and if all things did not favour my design: The very thought of being alone with Calista; of making my self known to her, of th •• opp • rtunity she gave me by going from Dormina▪ into a by Walk, the very joy of ten thousand hopes, that fill'd my Soul in that happy moment, which I fancy'd the most blest of my life, made me tremble all over, and with unassur'd steps, I softly persu'd the Object of my new desire: Sometimes I even overtook her, and fearing to fright her, and cause her to make some noise that might alarm the sleeping Dormina, I slackt my pace, till in a Walk, at the end of which she was oblig'd to turn back, I remain'd; and suffer'd her to go on▪ 'twas a Walk of Grass, broad and at the end of it a little Arbour of Greens; into which she went and sate down, looking towards me, and methought she look't full at me; so that finding she made no noise, I softly approach'd the door of the Arbour, at a convenient distance, she then stood up, in great amaze as she after said, and I kneeling down in an humble posture; cry'd,— Wonder not, oh Sacred Charmer of my Soul, to see me at your Feet; at this late hour, and in a place so inaccessible, for what attempt is there so hazardous, despairing Lovers dare not undertake, and what impossibility almost, can they not overcome; remove your fears, oh Conqueress of my Soul, for I am an humble Mortal that Adores you; I have a thousand Wounds, a thousand pains that proves me flesh and Blood, if you wou'd hear my story: Oh give me leave to approach you with that Awe, you do the sacred Altars; for my Devotion is as pure as that which from your Charming Lips ascends the Heavens:—With such Can • and stuff, as this, which Lovers serve themselves with, on occasion, I lessen'd the terrors of the frighted Beauty, and she soon • saw with Joy in her Eyes, that I was both a mortal, and the same • he had before seen in the outward Garden: I rose from my knees then, and with a Joy that wander'd all over my body, trembling and panting I approach'd her, and took her hand and k •• t it with a transport that was almost ready to lay me fainting at her Feet; nor did she answer any thing to what I had said, but with sighs suffer'd her hand to remain in mine; her Eyes she cast to Earth, her Breast heav'd with nimble motions, and we both unable to support our selves, sate down together on a Green Bank in the Arbour, where by that Light we had, we gaz'd at each other unable to utter a syllable on either side. I confess, my dear Octavio, I have felt Love before, but do not know, that ever I was possest with such pleasing pain, such agreeable languishment in all my life, as in those happy moments, with the fair Calista: And on the other, I dare answer tor the soft Fair One; she felt a passion as tender as mine; which, when she • ou'd recover her first transp • rt, the expr • st in such a manner as has wholly Charm'd me: For with all the Eloquence of young Angels, and all their innocence to •• she said, she whisper'd, she • ight, the so • test things that ever Lover heard: I told you before she had from her infancy been bred in a Monastery, kept from the fight of men, and knew no one art or subtilty of her Sex: But in the very purity of her innocence, she appear'd like the first born Maid in Paradice, generously giving her Soul away to the great Lord of all, the new form'd man, and nothing of her hearts dear thoughts did she reserve, (but such as modest Nature shou'd conceal) yet, if I touch't but on that tender part where Honour dwelt; she had a sense to nice, as 'twas a Wonder, to find so vast a store of that mixt with so soft a passion. Oh what an excellent thing a perfect Women is, e're man has taught her Arts to keep her Empire, by being himself inconstant? all I cou'd ask of Love she freely gave, and told me every sentiment of her heart, but 'twas in such a way; so innocently she con • est her passion that every word added new flames to mine, and made me raging mad; at last she sufferr'd me to kiss, with caution; but one bega • another, —that, a Number—And every one was an advance to happiness and I, who knew my advantage, lost no time, but put each Ninute to the properest use, now I imbrace, Clasp her Fair Lovely Body close to mine, which nothing parted but her shi • t and Gown, my busie hands find passage to her Breasts, and give, and take a thousand nameless Joys; all but the last, I reapt; that heaven was still deny'd; tho she were fainting in my trembling Arms, still she had watching sense to guard that Treasure: Yet in spight of all, a thousand times I brought her to the very point of yielding, but oh she begs and pleads with all the Eloquence of love! tells me that what she had to give she gave, but wou'd not violate her Marriage Vow: No, not to save that life she found in danger with too much Love, and too extream desire; she told me that I had undone her quite, she sight and wisht, that she had seen me sooner, e're Fate had render'd her a Sacrifice to the imbraces of old Clarinau; she weept with Love, and answer'd with sob, to every Vow I made: thus by degrees she wrought me to undoing, and made me mad in Love: 'Twas thus we past the Night; we told the hasty hours and curst their coming: we told from ten to three? and all that time seem'd but a little Minute: Nor wou'd I let her go, who was as loath to part, till she had given me leave to see her often there; I told her all my story of her Conquest, and how I came into the Garden: She ask'd me pleasantly if I were not afraid of old Clarinau, I told her no, of nothing but of his being happy with her, which thought I cou'd not bear; she assur'd me I had so little reason to envy him, that he rather deserv'd my compassion, for that her aversion was so extream to him; his person, years, his temper, and his diseases were so disagreeable to her, that she cou'd not dissemble her disgust, but gave him most evident proofs of it too frequently; ever since she had the misfortune of being his Wife; but that since she had seen the Charming Philander, (for so we must let her call him too) his Company and Conversation was wholly insupportable to her; and but that he had ever us'd to let her have four Nights in the Week her own, wherein he never disturb'd her repose, she shou'd have been dead with his nasty entertainment; She vow'd she never knew a soft desire, but for Philander she never had the least concern for any of his Sex besides, and till she felt his touches— took in his kisses, and suffer'd his dear imbraces; she never knew that Woman was ordain'd for any Joy with man, but fancy'd it design'd in its Creation for a poor Slave to be opprest at pleasure by the Husband, dully to yield obedience and no more: But I had taught her now she said to her Eternal ruin, that there was more in Nature than she knew, or ever shou'd, had she not seen Philander; she knew not what dear name to call it by, but something in her Blood; something that panted in her heart, glow'd in her Cheeks and languisht in her looks, told her she was not born for Clarinau; or love wou'd do her wrong: I sooth'd the thought, and urg'd the Laws of Nature, the power of Love, necessity of Youth,— And the Wonder that was yet behind, that ravishing somthing, which not love or kisses cou'd make her guess at; so beyond all soft imagination that nothing but a tryal cou'd convince her; but she resisted still, and still I pleaded with all the subtillest Arguments of Love, words mixt with kisses▪ sighing mixt with Vows but all in vain, Religion was my Foe, and Tyrant Honour guarded all her Charms; thus did we pass the Night till the young Morn advancing in the East forc'd us to bid adieu: Which oft we did, and oft we sigh'd and kist, oft parted and return'd, and sigh'd again, and as she went away, she weeping cry'—wringing my hand in hers, pray Heav'n Philander, this dear interview, do not prove fatal to me, for, oh, I find frail Nature weak about me, and one dear minute more wou'd forfeit all my Honour. At this she started from my trembling hand, and swipt the Walk like Wind so swift and suddain, and left me panting, sighing, wishing, dying, with mighty Love and hope, and after a little time I scal'd my Wall, and return'd unseen to my new Lodging. It was four days after, before I cou'd get any other happiness but that of seeing her at her window vvhich vvas just against mine from which I never stirr'd, hardly to eat or sleep, and that she saw with joy, for every Morning I had a Billet from her; which we contriv'd that Happy Night shou'd be convey'd me thus—It was a By • Street where I lodg'd, and the other side was only the dead wall of her Garden, where early in the morning she us'd to walk, and having the Billet ready, she put it with a Stone into a little Leathern purse, and tost it over the wall, where either my self from the Window or any young friend below waited for it, and that way every Morning and every Eveving she receiv'd one from me; but 'tis impossible to tell you the innocent Passion she exprest in them, innocent in that there was no Art, no fai • 'd, nicefolly to express a Virtue that was not in the Soul; but all she spoke con • est her hearts soft wishes. At last, (for I am teadious in a relation of what gave me so much pleasure in the injoyment) at last, I say, I receiv'd the happy invitation to come into the Garden as before, and Night advancing for my purpose I need not say that I deliver'd my self upon the place appointed, which was by the Fountain side beneath her Chamber Window, towards which I cast, you may believe, many a longing look: The Clock struck ten, eleven, and then twelve, but no dear Star appear'd to conduct me to my happiness, at last I heard the little Garden door (against the Fountain) open; and saw Calista there wrapt in her Night Gown only; I ran like Lightning to her Armes, with all the transports of an eager Lover, and almost smother'd my self in her warm rising Breast, for she taking me in her Arms. Let go her Gown, which falling open left nothing but her Shift, between me and all her Charming Body: But she bid me hear what she had to say before, I proceeded farther, she told me she was forc'd to wait till Dormina was a sleep, who lay in her Chamber, and then stealing the Key she came softly down to let me in. But, said she, since I amall undrest, and cannot walk in the Garden with you, will you promise me on Love and Honour, to be obedient to all my Commands, if I carry you to my Chamber, for Dormina's sleep are like death it self; however least she chance to awake, and shou'd take an occasion to speak to me, 'twere absolutely necessary, that I were there? for since I serv'd her such a trick the other Night, and let her sleep so long she will not let me walk late. A very little argument perswaded me to yield to any thing to be with Calista any where; so that both returning softly to her Chamber, she put her self into Bed, and left me kneeling on the Carpet: But 'twas not long that I remain'd so; from the dear touches of her hands and breast, we came to kisses, and so equally to a forgetfullness of all we had promis'd and agreed on before, and broke all Rules, and Articles, that were not in the Favour of Love; so that stripping my self by degrees, while she with an unwilling force made some feeble resistance, I got into the Arms of the most Charming Woman that ever Nature made; she was all over perfection: I dare not tell you more; let it suffice she was all that luxurious man cou'd wish, and all that renders woman fine and ravishing. About two hours thus was my Soul in rapture, while sometimes she reproacht me, but so gently, that 'twas to bid me still be false and perjur'd if these were the effects of it; if disobedience have such wonderous Charms; may I, said sh • , be still Commanding thee, and thou still disobeying: While thus we lay with equal ravishment, we heard a murmuring noise at distance, which we knew not what to make of, but it grew still louder and louder, but still at distance too; this first Alarm'd us, and I, was no sooner perswaded to rise; but I heard a door unlock at the side of the Bed; which was not that by which I enter'd, for that was at the other end of the Chamber towards the Window. Oh Heavens, said the fair frighted trembler, here is the Count of Clerinau: For he always came up that way, and those Stairs by which I ascended was the back stairs, so that I had just time to grope my way towards the door without so much as taking my Cloaths with me; never was any Amorous adventurer in so lamentable a Condition, I wou'd fain have turn'd upon him, and at once have hinder'd him from entring, with my Sword in my hand, and secur'd him from ever disturbing my pleasure any more, but she implor'd I wou'd not, and in this minutes dispute he came so near me, that he toucht me • as I gl • ded from him; but not being acquainted very well with the Chamber, having never seen my way, I lighted in my passage on Dormina's pallate Bed, and threw my self quite over her, to the Chamber door, which made a damnable clattering, and a waking Dormina with my Catastrophe, she set up such a bawl as frighted, and Alarm'd the Old Count, who was just taking in a Candle from his Footman, who had lighted it at his Flamboy: So that hearing the noise, and knowing it must be some Body in the Chamber, he lets fall his Candle in the fright, and call'd his Footman in with the Flamboy, draws his Tolledo, which he had in his hand, and wrapt in his Night Gown; with three or four woollen Caps one upon the top of another, ty'd under his tawny Leathern Chops, he made a very pleasant figure, and such an one as had like to have betray'd me by laughing at it; he closely persu'd me, tho' not so close as to see me before him, yet so as not to give me time to ascend the Wall, or to make my escape up or down any Walk, which were straight and long, and not able to conceal any body from pursuers, 〈1 page duplicate〉〈1 page duplicate〉 approacht so near as the Count was to me: What shou'd I do? I was naked, unarm'd, and no defence against his jealous rage; and now in danger of my life, I knew not what to resolve on; yet I swear to you Octavio, even in that minute (which I thought my last) I had no repentance of the dear sin, or any other fear, but that which possest me for the fair Calista; and calling upon Venus and her Son for my sa • ety (for I had scarce a thought yet of any other Deity) the Sea born Q • een lent me immediate aid, and e're I was aware of it, I toucht the Fountain, and in the same minute threw my self into the Water, which a mighty large Bason or Cistern of white Marble contain'd, of a Compass▪ that forty men might have hid themselves in it, they had pursu'd me so hard, they fancy'd they heard me press the gravel near the Fountain, and with the Torch they search'd round about it, and beat the fringing Flowers that grew pretty high about the bottom of it, while I sometimes div'd, and sometimes peept up to take a view of my busie Coxcomb: Who had like to have made me burst into laughture many times, to see his figure, the dashing of the stream which continually fell from the little Pipes above, into the Bason hinder'd him from hearing the noise I might possibly have made by my swiming in it, after he had surveyed it round without side, he took the Torch in his own hand, and survey'd the Water it self while I div'd, and so long forc'd to remain so, that I believ'd I had escapt his Sword to dye that foolisher way, but just as I was like to expire, he departed muttering, that he was sure some body did go out before him, and now he search every Walk and Arbour of the Garden, while like a Fish I lay basking in Element still, not daring to adventure out least his hasty return shou'd find me on the Wall, or in my passage over: I thank • d my Stars he had not found the Ladder, so that at last returning to Calista's Chamber, after finding no Body, he desir'd (as I heard the next morning) to know what the matter was in her Chamber; but Calista, who till now never knew an Art, had before he came laid her Bed in order, and taken up my Cloaths, and put them between her Bed, and Q • ilt; not forgetting any one thing that belong'd to me, she was laid as fast a sleep as innocence it self, so that Clarinau a waking her, she seem'd as surpriz'd and ignorant of all, as if • she had indeed been innocent, so that Dormina now remain'd the only suspected person, who being ask'd what she cou'd say concerning that uproar she made, she only said, as she thought, that she dream'd his Honour fell out of the! Bed upon her, and a waking in a fright, she found 'twas but a Dream, and so she fell a sleep again till he wak'd her, whom she wonder'd to see there at that hour; he told 'em that while they were securely sleeping he was like to have been burn'd in his Bed, a piece of his apartment being burn'd down, which caus'd him to come thither; but he made them both Svvear that there vvas no body in the Chamber of Calista, before he vvou'd be undeceiv'd, for he vow'd he saw something in the Garden, which to his thinking was all in White, and it vanisht on the sudden behind the Fountain, and we cou'd see no more of it. Calista dissembl'd abundance of fear, and said she wou'd never walk out after candle light for fear of that Ghost, and so they p • st the rest of the Night, while I all wet and cold got me to my Lodging unperceiv'd, for my young friend had left the door open for me.

Thus, dear Octav • o, I have sent you a Novel▪ instead of a Letter of my first most happy adventure, of which I must repeat thus much again, that of all the injoyments I ever had, I never was so perfectly well entertain'd for two hours, and I am waiting with infinite impatience a second Encounter. I shall be extream • y glad to hear what progress you have made in your Amour, for I have lost all for Silvia, but the affection of a Brother with that Natural pity we have for those we have undone; for my heart, my Soul, and Body are all Calista's, the bright the young, the wity, the Gay, the fondly loveing Calista: Only some reserve I have in all for Octavio, pardon this long History for 'tis a sort of acting all ones joys again to be telling 'em to a friend so dear as is the Gallant Octavio to

Philander. POSTSCRIPT.

I shou'd for some reasons that concern my safety have quitted this town before, but I am chain'd to't, and have no sense of danger while Calista compels my stay.

If Octavio's Trouble were great before from but his fear of Calista's yielding, what must it be now, when he found all his fears confirm'd, the pressures of his Soul were too extream be • fore, and the concern he had for Silvia had brought it to the highest tide of Grief; so that this addition, o're whelm'd it quite, and left him no room for rage; no, it cou'd not discharge it self so happily, but bow'd and yield • ed to all the extreams of Love, grief, and sense of Honour? he threw himself upon his Bed, and lay without sense or motion for a whole hour, confus'd with thought, and divided in his concern, half for a Mistress false, and half for a Sister loose and undone; by turns the Sister and the Mistress torture; by turns they break his heart, he had this comfort left before, that if Calista were undone, her ruin made way for his Love and happiness with Silvia, but now—he had no prospect left, that cou'd afford any ease, he changes from one • ad Object to another, from Silvia to Calista, then back to Silvia, but like to feverish men, that toss about here and there, remove for some relief, he shifts but to new pain, where e're he turns he finds the mad man still, in this distraction of thought he remain'd till a Page from Silvia, brought him this Letter: Which in midst of all, he started from his Bed with excess of joy and read.

Silvia to O ••• vio • My Lord,

AFter your last a •• ront by your Page, I believe it will surprise you to receive any thing from Silvia but scorn and disdain: But, my Lord, the int'rest you have by a thousand ways been so long making in my heart, cannot so soon be cancell'd by a minutes offence, and every Action of your life has been too generous to make me think you writ what I have rec • iv'd, at least you are not well in your senses; I have committed a fault against your Love, I must confess, and am not asham'd of the little cheat I put upon you in bringing you to bed to Antonet • instead of Silvia: I was asham'd to be so easily won, and took it ill, your passion was so mercenary, to ask so coursely for the possession of me; too great a pay I thought for so poor service, as rendering up a Letter, which in Honour you ought before to have shew'd me: I own I gave you hop • , in that too I was Criminal, but these are faults that sure deserv'd a kinder punishment than what I last r • ceiv'd—A Whore—A Common Mistress! Death you are a Coward—And even to a Woman dare not say it; when she confronts the Scandaller, —Yet pardon me, I meant not to revile, but gently to reproach, it was unkind—At least allow me that, and much unlike Octavio

I think I had not troubl'd you, my Lord, with the least confession of my resentment, but I cou'd not leave the Town, where • for the Honour of your Conversation and friendship alone I have remain'd so long without acquitting my self of those Obligations I had to you▪ I send you therefore the key of my Closet and Cabinet, where you shall find, not only your Letters, but all those presents you have been pleas'd once to think me worthy of: But having taken back your friendship, I render you the less valluable trifles, and will retain no more of Octavio than the dear memory of that part of his Life that was so agreeable to the

Vnfortun • te Silvia.

He finisht this Letter reading with Tears of tender Love; but considering it all over he fancy • d she had put great Constraint upon her natural high Spirit, to write in this Calm manner to him, and through all he found dissembl'd rage, which yet was visible in that one breaking out in the middle of the Letter: He found she was not able to contain at the Word common Mistress, in fine how ever Calm it was, and however design'd, he found at least, he thought he found, the Charming Jilt all over; he fancies from the hint she gave him of the change of Antonett for her self in Bed, that it was some new cheat that was to be put upon him, and to bring her self off with Credit: Yet in Spight of all this appearing reason, he wishes, and has a secret hop • that either she is not in fault, or that she will so cozen him into a belief she is not, that it may serve as well to sooth his willing heart; and now all he fears is, that she will not put so neat a Cheat upon him, but that he shall be able to see through it, and still be oblig'd to retain his ill Opinion of her: But love return'd, she had rous'd the flame a new; and soften'd all his rougher thoughts with this dear Letter, and now in haste he calls for his Cloaths, and suffering himself to be drest with all the advantage of his Sex, he throws himself into his Coach, and goes to Silvia, whom he finds just drest en Chavalier, (and setting her Hat and Feather in good order, before the Glass) with a design to depart the town, at least so far as shou'd have rais'd a concern in Octavio, if yet he had any for her, to have follow'd her; he ran up without asking leave into her Chamber▪ and e're she was aware of him▪ threw himself at her Feet, and clasping her knees, to which he fixt his mouth, he remain'd there for a little space without life or motion, and prest her in his Arms as fast as a dying man. She was not offended to see him there, and he appear'd more lovely than ever he yet had been. His grief had added a languishment and paleness to his Face; which suffi • iently told her he had not been at ease while absent from her; and on the other side Silvia appear'd ten thousand times more Charming than ever; that dress of a Boy adding extreamly to her Beauty, Oh you are a pretty Lover, said she, raising him from her knees to her Arms, to treat a Mistress so for a little innocent raillery.—Come sit and tell me how you came to discover the harmless • cheat; setting him down on the side of her Bed: Oh name it no more cry'd he, let that damn'd Night be blotted from the year, deceive me, flatter me, say you are innocent, tell me my se • ses rave, my E • es were false, deceitful, and my Ears were deaf: Say any thing that may convince m • madness, and bring me back to tame adoring Love. What means Octavio, reply'd Silvia, sure he is not so nice and squemish a Lover, but a fair young Maid might have been welcome to him coming so prepar'd for Love; tho it was not she whom he expected▪ it might bave serv'd as well i'th' dark at least. Well said, reply'd Octavio forcing a smile—adv • nce, pursue the dear design, and cheat me still, and to convince my Soul, oh swear it too, for Women want no weapons of defence, Oaths, Vows, and Tears, sighs, imprecations, ravings, are all the tools to fashion mankind Coxcombs, I am an easie fellow fit for use, and long to be initiated Fool, come swear I was not here the other Night. 'Tis granted Sir you were, Why all this passion? This Silvia spoke and took him by the hand, which burnt with raging Fire; and tho he spoke with all the heat of Love, his looks were soft the while as infant Cupids, still he proceeded, Oh Charming Silvia, since yon are so unkind to tell me truth, cease, cease to speak at all, and let me only gaze upon those Eyes that can so well deceive: Their looks are innocent, at least they'le flatter me, and tell mine that the lost their faculties that other Night: No, reply'd Silvia, I am convinc'd they did not, you saw Antonett—Conduct a happ • man (interpreted he) to Silvia's Bed, oh why by your confession must my Soul be tortur'd o're a new! at this he hung his heap upon his Bosom, and sight, as if each breath wou'd be his last. Heavens! cry'd Silvia, what is't Octavio says, Conduct a happy Lover to my Bed; by all that's Sacred I'm abus'd, design • d upon to be betray'd and lost; what said you Sir, a Lover to my Bed! When he reply'd in a fainting tone, clasping her to his Arms, now Silvia, you are kind, be perfect Woman, and keep to couzeniug still—N • w back it with a very little Oath, and I am as well as e're I saw your falshood, and ne're will lose one thought upon it more. Forbear, said she, you'le make me angry: In short what is it you wou'd say, or swear you rave, and then I'le pity what I now despise, if you can think me false. He only answer'd with a sigh, and she pursu'd, am I not worth an answer; tell me your Soul and thoughts, as e're you hope for favour from my Love, or to preserve my quiet. If you will promise me to say 'tis false, reply'd he softly, I will confess the Errors of my senses. I came the other Night at twelve, the door was open—'Tis true, said Silvia—At the Stairs Foot I found a man, and saw him led to you, into your Chamber; sighing as he went, and panting with impatience: Now Silvia if you value my Repose, my life, my Reputation, or my services▪ turn it off handsomly and I • m happy: At that being wholly amaz'd, she told him the whole story, as you heard, of her dressing Antonett, and bringing him to her, at which he smil'd, and beg'd her to go on—She fetch the pieces of Briljards counterfeit Letters, and shew'd him; this brought him a little to his his Wits; and at first sight he was ready to fancy the Letters came indeed from him, he found the Character his, but not the business: And in great amaze reply'd, Ah Madam, did you know Octavio's Soul so well, and cou'd you imagin e it capable os a thought like this? A presumption so dareing to the most awful of her Sex: This was unkind indeed: And did you answer 'em? Yes, reply'd she, with all kindness I cou'd force my Pen to express: So that after canvasing the matter, and relating the whole story again with his being taken ill, they concluded from every Circumstance Briljard was the man; for Antonett was cal •• d to Councel, who now recollecting all things in her mind, and knowing Briljard but too well; she confest she verily believ'd it was he, especially when she told how she stole a Letter of Octavio's for him that day, and how he was ill of the same disease still. Octavio then call'd his Page, and sent him home for the Note Briljard had sent him, and all appear'd as clear as day: But Antonett met with a great many reproaches for shewing her Ladies Letters, which she excus'd as well as she cou'd: But never man was so ravisht with joy as Octavio was at the knowledge of Silvia's innocence; a thousand times he kneel'd and beg'd her Pardon, and her figure incouraging his Caresses; a thousand times he imbrac'd her, he smil'd, and blusht, and sight with Love and Joy, and knew not how to express it most effectually: And Silvia, who had other business than Love in her heart and head, suffer'd all the marks of his eager passion and transport, out of design, for she had a farther use to make of Octavia▪ tho when she survey'd his person handsom, young, and adorn'd with all the Graces and Beauties of his Sex; not at all inf • rior to Philander, if not exceeding in every Judgement but that of Silvia; when she consider'd his Soul, where Wit, Love and Honour equally reign'd, when she consults the excellence of his Nature, his Generosity, Courage, Friendship, and softness, she sight and cry'd, 'twas pity to impose upon him; and make his Love, for which she shou'd esteem him, a property to draw him to his ruin, for so she fancy'd it must be if ever he incounter'd Philander; and tho good Nature was the least ingredient that form'd the Soul of this fair Charmer, yet now she • ound she had a mixture of it, from her concern for Octavio; and that generous Lover made her so many soft Vows, and tender pr • testations of the respect, and awfulness of his passion, that she was wholly convinc'd he was her Slave, nor cou'd she see the constant Languisher pouring out his Soul and fortune at her feet, without suffering some warmth about her heart, which she had never felt, but for Philander; and this day she exprest her self more obligeingly than ever she had done: And allows him littl • freedoms of approaching her with more softeness than hitherto she had; and absolutely Charm'd, he promises lavishly and without reserve, all she wou'd ask of him; and in requital she assur'd him all he cou'd wish or hope, if he wou'd serve her in her revenge against Philander: She recounts to him at large the story of her undoing, her quality, her Fortune, her nice education, the care and tenderness of her Noble Parents, and charges all her Fate to the evil Conduct of her heed • less youth: Sometimes the reflection on her ruin, she looking back upon her former innocence and tranquillity, forces the Tears to flow from her fair Eyes, and makes Octavio sigh and weep by simpathy: Sometimes (arriv'd at the Amorous part of her relation, • he wou'd sigh and languish with the remembrance of past Joys, in their beginning love;) and sometimes smile at the little unlucky adventures they met with, and their escapes; so that different passions seiz • d her Soul while she spoke, while that of all love fill'd Octavio's: He doats, he burns, and every word she utters inflames him still the more; he fixes his very Soul upon her Tongue, and darts his very Eyes into her face, and every thing she says raises his vast esteem and passion higher: In fine, having with the Eloquence of sacred Wit, and all the Charms of every differing Passion finisht her moving tale, they both declin'd their Eyes, whose falling showers kept equal time and pace, and for a little time were still as thought: When Octavio, opprest with mighty Love! broke the soft silence, and burst into extravagance of passion, says all that men (grown mad with love and wishing) cou'd utter to the Idol of the heart; and to oblige her more recounts his Life in short; where in, in spight of all his modesty, • the found all that was great and brave; all that was Noble, Fortunate, and Honest: And having now confirm'd her, he deserv'd her, kneeling implor'd she wou'd accept of him▪ not as a Lover for a Term of passion, for dates of Months or years, but for a long Eternity; not as a rifler of her Sacred Honour, but to defend it from the sensuring World; he vow'd he wou'd forget that ever • ny part of it was lost, nor by a look or Action e're upbraid her with a misfortune past, but still look forward, on Nobler joys to come: And now implores that he may bring a Priest to tie the Solemn knot: In spight of all her Love for Philander, she cou'd not chuse but take this offer kindly, and indeed it made a very great impression on her heart, she knew nothing but the height of Love cou'd oblige a man of his quality, and vast fortune, with all the advantages of youth and Beauty, to marry her in so ill Circumstances; and paying him first those acknowledgments that were due on so great an occasion, with all the tenderness in her Voice and Eyes that she cou'd put on; she excus'd her self from receiving the Favour, by telling him she was so unfortunate as to be with Child by the ungrateful man: And falling at that thought into new Tears, she mov'd him to infinite Love; and infinite compassion; in so much that wholly abandoning himself to softness, he assur'd her, if she wou'd secure him all his happiness by marrying him now, that he wou'd wait till she were brought to Bed, before he wou'd demand the glorious recompence he aspir'd to; so that Silvia being opprest with Obligation, finding yet in her Soul a violent passion fo • 〈◊〉 • hilander, she knew not how to take, or how to refuse the Blessing offer'd, since Octavio was a man, whom in her height of innocence and youth she might have been vain and proud of ingaging to this degree: He saw her pain and irresolution, and being absolutely undone with love, delivers her Philanders last Letter to him, with what he had sent her inclos'd; the sight of the very outside of it made her grow pale as Death; and a feebleness seiz'd her all over that made her unable for a moment to open it; all which, confusion Octavio saw with pain; which she perceiving recollected her thoughts as well as she cou'd, and open'd it and read it; that Octavio first, as being fondest of the continuation of the History of his falshood, she re •• ▪ and often paus'd to recover her Spirits that were fainting at every period; and having finisht it, she fell down on the Bed, where they sate; Octavio caught her in her fall in his Arms, where she remain'd • ead some moments; While he, just on the point of being so himself, ravingly call'd for help, and Antonett being in the dressing Room ranto 'em, and by degrees Silvia recover'd and ask'd Octavio a thousand p • rdons for exposing a weakness to him, which was but the effects of the last blaze of Love: And taking a Cordial which A • tonett brought her▪ she rous'd▪ resolv'd,—and took Octavio by the hand; Now, said she, shew you • self that generous Lo • er you have profest and give me your Vows of revenge on Philander, and after that, by all that's Holy, kneeling as she spoke, and holding him fast, by all my injur'd innocence, by all my Noble Fathers wrong, and my dear Mothers grief; by all my Sisters sufferings; I swear! I le marry you, love you, and give you all! this she spoke without considering Antonett was by, and spoke it with all the rage and blushes in her Face, that inj • r'd Love and revenge cou'd inspire: And on the other side, the sense of his Sisters Honour so • t, and that of the tender pa • sion he had for Silvia, made him swe • r by all that was sacred, and by all the Vows of Eternal Love and Honour he had made to Silvia, to go and revenge himself and her on the fal • e Friend and Lover; and confest the second motive; which was his Sisters Fame, For, cry'd he, that foul Adultress, that false Calista, is so all • ed to me: But still he urg'd that wou'd add to the ju •• ness of his cause, if he might depart her Husband as well as Lover; and revenge an Injur'd wife as well as Sister; and now h • cou'd ask nothing, she did not easily grant; and because 'twas late in the day they conclude that the Morning shall consumate all his desires: And now she gives him her Letter to read, For • said she, I shall esteem my self henceforth so absolutely Octavio's, that I will not so much as read a Line from that perjur'd ruiner of my Honour, he took the Letter with smiles and bows of gratitude, and read it:

Philander to Silvia:

THere are a thousand reasons, dearest Silvia, at this time that prevents my writing to you, reasons that will be convincing enough to oblige my pardon; and plead my Cause with her, that Loves me, all which I will lay before you, when I have the happiness to see you; I have met with some affairs since my arival to this place, that wholly takes up my time, affairs of state whose fatigues have put my heart extreamly out of Tune, and if not carefully manag'd may turn tomy perpetual ruin, so that I have not an hour in a day to spare for Sil • ia; which believe me is the greatest affliction of my Life; and I have no prospect of Ease in the endless toyls of Life, but that of reposing in the Arms of Silvia: Some short inter • als: Pardon my hast, for you cannot guess the weighty business that at present, robs you of

Your Philander.

You lie, false Vi •• ain—reply'd Silvia in mighty rage; I can guess your business, and can revenge it too, curse on thee Slave; to think me grown as poor in sense, as Honour: To be caj • l'd with this— Stuff that wou'd ne • er sham a Chamber Maid: Death am I so forlorn, so despicable, I am not worth the pains of being well dissembl'd with. Confusion overtake him; misery seize him, may I become his plague, while life remains, or publique tortures end him: This with all the madness that ever inspir'd a Lunatick, she utter'd with Tears and Violent Actions: When Octa • io besought her not to afflict her self, and almost wisht he did not love a temper so contrary to his own: He told her he was sorry, extreamly sorry, to find she still retain'd so violent a passion for a m • n unworthy of her least concern, when she reply'd—Do not mistake my soul, by Heav'n 'tis Pride, disdain, despight and ha • e—to think he shou'd believe this dull excuse cou • d pass upon my judgment, had the false Traytor told me that he hated me, or that his faithle • s date of Love was out, I had been tame with all my injuries, but poorly thus to impose upon my Wit— By Heav'n he shall not bear the affront to Hell in Triumph! no more—I've vow'd he shall not,— My Soul has fixt, and now will be at ease.—Forgive me, oh Octavio, and letting her self fall into his Arms, she soon obtain'd what she ask'd for, one touch of the fair Charmer cou'd calm him into Love, and softness.

Thus after a thousand transports of passion on his side, and all the seeming tenderness on hers the Night being far advanc'd, and new Confirmations given and taken on either side of pursuing the happy Agreement in the Morning, which they had again resolv'd, they appointed that Silvia and Antonett shou'd go three Miles out of Town to a little Village, where there was a Church, and that Octavio shou'd meet 'em there to be Confirm'd and secur'd of all the happiness he propos'd to himself in this World—Silvia, being so wholly bent upon revenge (for the accomplishment of which alone, she accepted of Octavio,) that she had lost all remembrance of her former Marriage, with Briljard: Or if it ever enter'd into her thought 'twas only consider'd as a sham, nothing design'd but to secure her from being taken from Philander by her Parents: And, without any respect to the Sacred tie, to be regarded no more; nor did she design this with Octavio from any respect she had to the Holy State of Matrimony, but from a Lust of Vengeance which she wou'd buy at any price; and which she found no Man so well able to satisfie as Octavio.

But what wretched changes of Fortune she met with after this, and a miserable Portion of Fate was destin'd to this unhappy Wanderer; the last Part▪ of Philanders Life, and the Third and Last Part of this History, shall most Faithfully relate.

The End of the Second Part.

THE AMOURS OF PHILANDER AND SILVIA: Being the Third and Last Part OF THE Love-Letters Between a NOBLE-MAN AND HIS SISTER.

LONDON, Printed, and are to be Sold by most Book-Sellers, 1687.

TO THE LORD SPENCER. My Lord,

WHEN a New Book conies into the World, the first thing we consider, is the Dedication; and according to the Quality and Humour of the Patron, we are apt to make a Iudgment of the following Subject: If to a States-man we belive it Grav • and Politick; if a Gown-man, Law or Divinity; if to the Young and Gay, Love and Gallantry. By this Ride, I believe the gentle Reader, who finds your Lordship's Name prefix'd before this, will make as many various Opinions of it, as they do Characters of your Lordship, whose youthful Sallies, have been the business of so much Discourse, and which according to the Relator's Sence or good Nature, is either aggravated or excused; though the Womans Quarrel to your Lordship has some more reasonable Foundation, than that of your own Sex; for your Lords • ip being Form'd with all the Beauties and Graces of Man-kind, all the Charms of Wit, Youth and Sweetness of Disposition (derived to you from an Illustrious Race of Hero's) adapting you to noblest Love and Softness; they cannot but complain on that mistaken Conduct of • ours, that so lavishly deals out those agreeable Attractions, Squandering away that Youth and Time on many, which might be more advantageously dedicated to some one of the Fair; and by a Liberty (which they call) not being Discreet enough, robb 'em of all the Hopes of Conquest over that Heart which they believe can fix no where; they cannot carress you into Tameness, or if you sometimes appear so, they are still upon their Guard with you; for like a Young Lyon, you are ever apt to leap into your Natural Wildness; the Greatness of your Soul disdaining to be con • ined to lazy Repose; tho the Delicacy of your Person and Constitution so absolutely require it; your Lordship not being made for Diversions so rough and fatigueing, as those your active Mind would impose upon it. Your Lordship is placed in so Glorious a Station (the Son of so Great a Father) as renders all you do more perspicuous to the World, than the Actions of common Men already; the advantages of your Birth have drawn all Eyes upon you, and yet more on those coming Greatnesses, to which you were born; if Heaven preserves your Lordship amidst the too vigorous Efforts, and too dangerous Adventures, which a too brisk Fire in your Noble Blood, a too forward desire of gaining Fame daily exposes you to; and will, unless some force confine your too impatient Bravery, shorten those Days which Heaven has surely designed for more Glorious Actions; for according to all the Maxims of the Iudging Wise, the little Extravagancies of Youth accomplish, and perfect the Riper Years. 'Tis this that makes indulgent Parents permit those Sparks of Fire, that are Gleaming in Young Hearts, to kindle into a Flame, knowing well that the Consideration and Temperament of a few more Years will regulate it to that just degree, where the noble and generous Spirit should • ix it self: And for this we have had the Examples of some of the greatest Men that ever adorned History.

My Lord, I presume to lay • t your Lordship's Feet, an Illustrious Youth; the unhappy Circumstances of whose Life ought to be Written in lasting Characters of all Languages, for a President to succeeding Ages, of the Misfortune of • eedless Love, and • too Early Thirst of Glory; for in him, your Lordship will find the fatal Effects of great Courage without Conduct, Wit without Discretion, and a Greatness of Mind without the steady Vertues of it; so that from a Prince even ador'd by all, by an imprudence, that too often attendss the Great and Young, and from the most exhalted Height of Glory, mis-led by false notions of Honour, and falser Friends, fell the most pityed Object, that ever was abandoned by Fortune. I hope no One will imagine I intend this as a Parallel between your Lordship and our mistaken brave Vnfortunate, since your Lordship hath an unquestioned and hereditary Loyalty, which nothing can deface, born from a Father, who has given the World so evident Proofs, that no fear of threatned danger can separate his useful Service, and Duties from the Interest of his Royal and God-like Master, which he pursues with an undaunted Fortitude, in disdain of Phanatical Censures, and those that want the Bravery to do a just Action, for fear of future Turns of State. And such indeed is your true Man of Honour; and as such I doubt not but your Lordship will acquit your self in all times, and on all occasions.

Pardon the Liberty, my Zeal for your Lordship has here presumed to take, since among all those that make Vows and Prayers for your Lordship's Health and Preservation, none offers them more devoutly, than,

My LORD, Your Lordships, Most Humble and Obedient Servant, A. B.

THE AMOURS OF PHILANDER and SILVIA.

OCTAVIO the Brave, the Generous, and the Amorous, having left Silvia absolutely resolv'd to give her self to that doting fond Lover, or rather to sacrifice her self to her Revenge, that unconsidering Unfortunate, whose Passion had expos'd him to all the unreasonable Effects of it, return'd to his own House, wholly transported with his happy Success. He thinks on nothing but vast coming Joys: Nor did one kind Thought direct him back to the evil Consequences of what he so hastily pursu'd; he reflects not on her Circumstances, but her Charms; not on the Infamy he should espouse with Silvia, but of those ravishing Pleasures she was capable of giving him: he regards not the Reproaches of his Friends; but wholly abandon'd to Love and youthful Imaginations, gives a Loose to young Desire and Fancy, that deludes him with a thousand soft Ideas: He reflects not that his gentle and easy Temper, was most unfit to joyn with that of Silvia, which was the most haughty and humorous in Nature; for tho' she had all the Charms of Youth and Beauty, that are conquering in her Sex, all the Wit and Insinuation that even surpasses Youth and Beauty, yet to render her Character impartially, she had also abundance of disagreeing Qualities mixt with her Perfections. She was Imperious and Proud, even to Insolence; Vain and Conceited even to Folly; she knew her Vertues and her Graces too well, and her Vices too little; she was very Opinionated and Obstinate, hard to be convinced of the falsest Argument, but very positive in her fancied Judgment: Abounding in her own Sense, and very critical on that of others: Censorious, and too apt to charge others with those Crimes to which she was her self addicted, or had been guilty of: Amorously inclin'd, and indiscreet in the Management of her Amours, and constant rather from Pride and Shame than Inclination; fond of catching at every trifling Conquest, and lov'd the Triumph tho' she hated the Slave. Yet she had Vertues too, that balanc'd her Vices, among which we must allow her to have lov'd Philander with a Passion, that nothing but his Ingratitude could have decay'd in her Heart, nor was it lessen'd but by a Force that gave her a thousand Tortures, Racks, and Pangs, which had almost cost her her less valu'd Life; for being of a Temper nice in Love, and very fiery, apt to fly into Rages at every Accident that did but touch that tenderest Part, her Heart; she suffered a world of Violence and Extremity of Rage and Grief by turns: at this Affront and Inconstancy of Philander. Nevertheless she was now so discreet, or rather Cunning, to dissemble her Resentment the best she could to her generous Lover, for whom she had more Inclination than she yet had leisure to perceive, and which she now attributes wholly to her Revenge; and considering Octavio as the most proper Instrument for that, she fancies, what was indeed a growing Tenderness from the sense of his Merit, to be the Effects of that Revenge she so much desired and thirsted after; and tho' without she dissembled a Calm; within she was all Fury and Disorder, all Storm and Distraction: She went to Bed rack'd with a thousand thoughts of dispairing Love; sometimes all the Softness of Philander in their happy Enjoyments came in view, and made her sometimes weep, and sometimes faint with the dear lov'd Remembrance; sometimes his late Enjoyments with Calista, and then she rav'd and burnt with frantick Rage: But oh! at last she found her Hope was gon, and wisely fell to argue with her Soul. She knew Love would not long subsist on the thin Diet of Dispair, and resolving he was never to be retriev'd who once had ceas'd to Love, she strove to bend her Soul to useful Reason, and thinks on all Octavio's Obligations, his Vows, his Assiduity, his Beauty, his Youth, his Fortune, and his generous Offer, and with the Aid of Pride resolves to unfix her Heart, and give it better Treatment in his Bosom: To cease at least to love the false Philander, if she could never force her Soul to hate him: And tho' this was not so soon done as thought on, in a Heart so prepossest as that of Silvia's, yet there is some Hope of a Recovery, when a Woman in that Extremity will but think of listening to Love from any new Adorer; and having once resolv'd to pursue the Fugitive no more with the natural Artillery of their Sighs and Tears, Reproaches and Complaints, they have Recourse to every thing that may soonest chase from the Heart those Thoughts that oppress it: For Nature is not inclin'd to hurt it self, and there are but very few who find it necessary to die of the Disease of Love. Of this sort was our Silvia, tho' to give her her due, never any Person who did not indeed die, ever languished under the Torments of Love, as did that charming and afflicted Maid.

While Silvia remain'd in these eternal Inquietudes, Antonett having quitted her Chamber, takes this Opportunity to go to that of Brilljard, whom she had not visited in two days before, being extreamly troubled at his Design which she now found he had on her Lady; she had a mind to vent her Spleen, and as the Proverb says, call W—re first. Brilljard long'd as much to see her, to rail at her for being privy to Octavio's Approach to Silvia's Bed, as he thought (she imagin'd) and not giving him an account of it, as she us'd to do, of all the Secrets of her Lady. She finds him alone in his Chamber, recover'd from all but the Torments of his unhappy Disappointment. She approach'd him with all the Anger her sort of Passion could inspire (for Love in a mean unthinking Soul, is not that glorious thing it is in the Brave) however she had enough to serve her Pleasure, for Brilljard was young and handsome, and both being bent on Railing, without knowing each others Intentions, they both equally flew into high Words; he upbraiding her with her Infidelity, and she him with his. Are not you, said he (growing more calm) the falsest of your Tribe, to keep a Secret from me that so much concern'd me? is it for this I have refus'd the Addresses of Burgomasters Wives and Daughters, where I could have made my Fortune and my Satisfaction, to keep myself intirely for a thing that betrays me, and keeps every Secret of her Heart from me? false and forsworn, I will be Fool no more. 'Tis well Sir (reply'd Antonett) that you having been the most perfidious Man alive, should accuse me who am Innocent; Come, come Sir, you have not carried Matters so swimingly but I could easily dive into the other Nights In • rig •• and Secret. What Secret, tho • false one? Thou art all over secret; a very hopeful Bawd at eighteen—go I hate ye—At this she wept, and he pursu'd his Railing to out-noyse her, You thought because your Deeds were done in Darkness, they were conceal'd from a Lovers Eyes; no thou young Viper, I saw, I heard, and felt, and satisfi'd every Sense of this thy Falshood, when Octavio was conducted to Silvia's Bed by thee. But what, said she, if instead of Octavio I conducted the perfidious Traytor to love Brilljard? Who then was false and perjur'd? At this he blush'd extreamly, which was too visible on his fair Face. She being now confirm'd she had the better of him, continued—Let thy Confusion, said she with Scorn, witness the Truth of what I say, and I have been but too well acquainted with that Body of yours, weeping as she spoke, to mistake it for that of Octavio. Softly dear Antonett, reply'd he, —nay now your Tears have calm'd me; and taking her in his Arms, sought to appease her by all the Arguments of seeming Love and Tenderness; while she yet wholly unsatisfied in that Cheat of his of going to Silvia's Bed, remain'd still pouting and very frumpish. But he that had but one Argument left, that on all Occasions serv'd to convince her, had at last Recourse to that, which put her in good Humour, and hanging on his Neck she kindly chid him for puting such a Trick upon her Lady. He told her, and confirm'd it with an Oath, That he did it but to try how far she was Just to his Friend and Lord, and not any Desire he had for a Beauty that was too much of his own Complexion to charm him, 'twas only the Brunet and the Black, such as her self, that could move him to Desire; thus he shams her into perfect Peace. And why, said she, were you not satisfied that she was False, as well from the Assignation as the Tryal. Oh no, said he, you Women have a thousand Arts of Gibing, and no Man ought to believe you, but put you to the Tryal. Well, said she, when I had brought you to the Bed, when you found her Arms stretch'd out to receive you, why did you not retire like an honest Man, and leave her to her self? Oh fy, said he, that had not been to have acted Octavio to the Life, but would have made a Discovery. Ay, said she, that was your Aim to have acted Octavio to the Life, I believe, and not to discover my Lady's Constancy to your Lord, but I suppose you have been sworn at the But of Hedleburgh, never to kiss the Maid when you can kiss the Mistress: But he renewing his Caresses and Asseverations of Love to her, she suffered herself to be convinc'd of all he had a mind to have her believe. After this she could not contain any Secret from him, but told him she had something to say to him, which if he knew, would convince him she had all the Passion in the World for him: He presses eagerly to know, and she pursues to tell him, 'tis as much as her Life is worth to discover it, and that she lies under the Obligation of an Oath not to tell it; but Kisses and Rhetorick prevails, and she crys—What will you say now if my Lady may Marry one of the greatest and most considerable Persons in all this Country? I should not wonder at her Conquests (reply'd Brilljard) but I should wonder if she should Marry. Then cease your Wonder, reply'd she, for she is to morrow to be married to Count Octavio, whom she is to meet at nine in the Morning to that end, at a little Village a League from this place. She spoke, and he believes; and finds it true by the raging of his Blood, which he could not conceal from Antonett, and for which he feigns a thousand Excuses to the Amorous Maid, and charges his Concern on that for his Lord: At last (after some more Discourse on that Subject) he pretends to grow sleepy, and hastens her to her Chamber, and locking the Door after her, he began to reflect on what she had said, and grew to all the Torment of Rage, Jealousie, and all the Dispairs of a passionate Lover: And tho' his Hope was not Exstreme before, yet as Lovers do, he found, or fancy'd a Probability (from his Lords Inconstancy, and his own right of Marriage) that the Necessity she might chance to be in of his Friendship and Assistance in a strange Country, might some happy Moment or other render him the Blessing he so long had waited for from Silvia; for he ever design'd, when either his Lord left her, grew cold, or should happen to die, to put in his Claim of Husband. And the soft familiar way, with which she eternally liv'd with him, incourag'd this Hope and Design; nay she had often made him Advances to that happy Expectation. But this fatal Blow had driven him from all his fancy'd Joys, to the most wretched Estate of a desperate Lover. He traverses his Chamber wounded with a thousand different Thoughts, mixt with those of preventing this Union the next Morning. Sometimes he resolves to fight Octavio, for his Birth might pretend to it, and he wanted no Courage; but he is afraid of being overcome by that gallant Man, and either loosing his Hopes with his Life, or if he kill Octavio, to be forc'd to fly from his Happiness, or die an ignominious Death. Sometimes he resolves to own Silvia for his Wife, but then he fears the Rage of that dear Object of his Soul, which he dreads more than Death it self: So that tost from one Extream to another, from one Resolution to a hundred, he was not able to fix upon any thing. In this Perplexity he remain'd till Day appear'd; that Day that must advance with his undoing, while Silvia and Antonett were preparing for the Design concluded on the last Night. This he heard, and every Minute that approach'd gave him new Torments, so that now he would have given himself to the Prince of Darkness for a kind Disappointment: He was often ready to go and throw himself at her Feet, and plead against her Enterprize in hand, and to urge the unlawfulness of a double Marriage, ready to make Vows for the Fidelity of Philander, tho' before so much against his own Interest, and to tell her all those Letters from him were forg'd: He thought on all things, but nothing remain'd with him, but Dispair of every thing. At last the Devil and his own Subtilty, put him upon a Prevention, tho' base, yet the most likely to succeed in his Opinion.

He knew there were many Factions in Holland, and that the States themselves were divided in their Interests, and a thousand Jealousies and Fears were eternally spread amongst the Rable; there were Cabals for every Interest, that of the French so prevailing, that of the English, and that of the Illustrious Orange, and others for the States; so that it was not a Difficulty to move any Mischief, and pass it off among the Crowd for dangerous Consequences. Brilljard knew each Division, and which way they were inclin'd, he knew Octavio was not so well with the States as not to be easily rendred worse; for he was so intirely a Creature and Favourite of the Prince that they conceiv'd abundance of Jealousies of him which they durst not own. Brilljard besides knew a great Man, who having a Pique to Octavio, might the sooner be brought to receive any ill Character of him: To this sullen Magistrate he applies himself, and deluding the Credulous busie old Man with a thousand circumstantial Lies, he discovers to him that Octavio held a Correspondence with the French King to betray the State; and that he Caball'd to that end with some who were look'd upon as French Rebels, but indeed were no other than Spies to France. This coming from a Man of that Party, and whose Lord was a French Rebel, gain'd a perfect Credit with the old Sr. Politi • ; so that immediately hasting to the State-House he lays this weighty Affair before them, who soon found it reasonable, and if not true, at least they fear'd, and sent out a Warrant for the speedy apprehending him; but coming to his House, tho' early, they found him gone, and being inform'd which way he took, th • Messenger pursu'd him, and found his Coach at the Door of a Caberett, too Obscure for his Quality; which made them apprehend this was some place of Rendezvouz, where he possibly met with his Trayterous Associators: They send in, and cunningly inquire who he waited for, or who was with him, and they understood he stay'd for some Gentlemen of the French Nation, for he had ordered Silvia to come in mans Cloaths, that she might not be known; and had given Order below, that if two French Gentlemen came they should be brought to him. This Information made the Scandal as clear as Day, and the Messenger no longer doubted of the Reasonableness of his Warrant, tho' he was loath to serve it on a Person whose Father he had serv'd many Years. He waits at some distance from the House unseen, tho' he could take a View of all; he saw Octavio come often out into the Balcony and look with longing Eyes towards the Road that leads to the Town; he saw him all rich and gay as a young Bridegroom, lovely and young as the Morning that flattered him with so fair and happy a Day; at last he saw two Gentlemen alight at the Door, and giving their Horses to a Page to walk a while, they ran up into the Chamber where Octavio was waiting, who had already sent his Page to prepare the Priest in the Village Church to marry them. You may imagine with what Love and Joy the • avished Youth approach'd the Idol of his Soul, and she who beholds him in more Beauty than ever yet she thought he had appear'd, pleas'd with all things he had on, with the gay Morning, the flowry Field, the Air, the little Journey, and a thousand diverting things, made no Resistance to those fond Imbraces that prest her a thousand times with silent Transport, and falling Tears of eager Love and Pleasure, but even in that moment of Content she forgot Philander, and receiv'd all the Satisfaction so soft a Lover could dispence: While they were mutually thus exchanging Looks, and almost Hearts, the Messenger came into the Room, and as civilly as possible told Octavio he had a Warrant for him to secure him as a Traytor to the State, and a Spy for France. You need not be told the Surprize and Astonishment he was in; however he obey'd: The Messenger turning to Silvia, cry'd Sr. Tho' I can hardly credit this Crime that is charged to my Lord, yet the finding him here with two French Gentlemen gives me some more Fears that there may be something in it; and it would do well, if you would deliver your selves into my Hands for the farther clearing this Gentleman. The foolish grave Speech of the Messenger had like to have put Octavio into a loud Laughter, he addressing himself to two Women, for two Men: But Silvia reply'd, Sir, I hope you do not take us for so little Friends to the gallant Octavio, to abandon him in his Misfortune; no, we will share it with him, be it what it will. To this the generous Lover, blushing with kind Surprize, bow'd, and kissing her Hand with Transport, calling her his charming Friend; and so all three being guarded back in Octavio's Coach, they return to the Town, and to the House of the Messenger, which made a great Noise all over, that Octavio was taken with two French Jesuits plotting to fire Amsterdam, and a thousand things equally Ridiculous. They were all three lodg'd together in one House, that of the Messenger, which was very fine, and fit to entertain any Persons of Quality; while Brilljard, who did not like that part of the Project, bethought him of a thousand ways how to free her from thence; for he design'd as soon as Octavio should be taken to have got her to have quitted the Town under pretence of being taken upon Suspicion of holding Correspondence with him, because they were French; but her delivering herself up, had not only undone all his Design, but had made it unsafe for him to stay. While he was thus bethinking himself what he should do, Octavio's Uncle, who was one of the States, extreamly affronted at the Indignity put upon his Nephew and his sole Heir, the Darling of his Heart and Eyes, commands that this Informer may be secur'd; and accordingly-Brilljard was taken into Custody, who giving himself over for a lost Man, resolves to put himself upon Octavio's Mercy, by telling him the Motives that induc'd him to this violent and ungenerous Course. It was some days before the Council thought fit to call for Octavio, to hear what he had to say for himself in the mean time, he having not had Permission yet to see Silvia; and being extreamly desirous of that Happiness, he bethought himself that the Messenger having been in his Fathers Service, might have so much Re ••• t for the Son as to allow him to speak to that fair Charmer, provided he might be a Witness to what he should say: He sends for him, and demanded of him where those two fair Prisoners were lodg'd who came with him in the Morning; he told him, in a very good Apartment on the same Floor, and that they were very well Accommodated, and seem'd to have no other Trouble but what they suffered for him. I hope my Lord, added he —your Confinement will not be long, for I hear there is a Person taken up, who has confest he did it for a Revenge on you. At this Octavio was very well pleased, and asked him who it was; and he told him a French Gentleman belonging to the Count Philander, who about six Months ago was obliged to quit the Town as an Enemy to France. He soon knew it to be Brilljard, and comparing this Action with some others of his lately Committed, he no longer doubts it the Effects of his Jealousie. He ask'd the Messenger if it were impossible to gain so much Favour of him, as to let him visit those two French Gentlemen, he being by while he was with them: The Keeper soon granted his Request, and reply'd—There was no Hazzard, he would not run to serve him; and immediately, putting back the Hangings, with one of those Keys he had in his Hand, he opened a Door in his Chamber that led into a Gallery of fine Pictures, and from thence they past into the Apartment of Silvia: As soon as he came in he threw himself at her Feet, and she received him, and took him up into her Arms with all the Transports of Joy a Soul (more than ever possest with Love for him) could conceive; and tho' they all appear'd of the Masculine Sex, the Messenger soon perceiv'd his Error, and beg'd a thousand Pardons. Octavio makes hast to tell her his Opinion of the cause of all this Trouble to both; and she easily believ'd, when she heard Brilljard was taken, that it was as he imagin'd, for he had been found too often faulty not to be suspected now: This Thought brought a great Calm to both their Spirits, and almost reduc'd them to their first soft Tranquillity, with which they began the day: For he protested his Innocence a thousand times, which was wholly needless, for the generous Maid believed before he spoke, he could not be guilty of the Sin of Treachery. He renews his Vows to her of eternal Love, and that he would perform what they were so unluckily prevented of doing this Morning, and that tho' possibly by this unhappy Adventure his Design might have taken Air, and have arrived to the Knowledge of his Uncle, yet in spite of all Opposition of Friends, or the Malice of Brilljard, he would pursue his Glorious Design of marrying her, tho' he were forc'd for it to wander to the farthest parts of the Earth with his lovely Prize. He begs she will not disesteem him for this Scandal on his Fame, for he was all Love, all soft Desire, and had no other Design than that of making himself Master of that greatest Treasure in the World; that of the possessing the most charming, the all ravishing Silvia: In return, she paid him all the Vows that could secure an In • idel in Love, she made him all the indearing Advances a Heart could wish, wholly given up to tender Passion, insomuch that he believes, and is the gayest Man that ever was blest by Love. And the Messenger who was present all this while, found that this Caballing with the French Spies, was only an innocent Design to give himself away to a fine young Lady: And therefore fully convinc'd he, was guilty of no other Crime, he gave them all the Freedom they desired; and which they made use of to the most Advantage Love could direct or Youth inspire. This Suffering with Octavio begot a Pity and Compassion in the Heart of Silvia, and that grew up to Love, for he had all the Charms that could inspire it; and every Hour was adding new Fire to her Heart, which at last burnt into a Flame, such Power has mighty Obligation on a Heart that has any grateful Sentiments: And yet when she was absent anights from Octavio, and thought on Philander's Passion for Calista, she would Rage and Rave, and find the Effects of wondrous Love, and wondrous Pride, and be even ready to make Vows against Octavio: But those were Fits that seldomer seiz'd her now, and every Fit was like a departing Ague, still weaker than the former, and at the sight of Octavio all would vanish, her Blushes would rise and discover the soft Thoughts her Heart conceived for the approaching Lover; and she soon found that vulgar Error of the Impossibility of Loving more than once. It was four days they thus remained without being call'd to the Councel, and every day brought its new Joys along with it: They were never asunder, never interrupted with any Visit, but once for a few Moments in a day by Octavio's Uncle, and then he would go into his own Apartment to receive him: He offered to baile him out; but Octavio, who had found more real Joy there than in any part of the Earth besides, eva •• d the Obligation, by telling his Uncle he would be oblig'd to nothing but his Innocence for his Liberty: So would get rid of the fond old Gentleman, who never knew a Passion but for his darling Nephew, and return with as much Joy to the Lodgings of Silvia as if he had been absent a Week, which is an Age to a Lover; there they sometimes would play at Cards, where he would lose considerable Summs to her, or at Hazard, or be studying what they should do next to pass the Hours most to her Content; not but he had rather have lain eternally at her Feet, gazing, doating, and saying a thousand fond things, which at every View he took were conceived in his Soul: And tho' but this last Minute he had finish'd saying all that Love could Dictate, he found his Heart oppress'd with a vast store of new Softness, which he languish'd to unload in her ravishing Bosom: But she, who was not arrived to his pitch of Loving, diverts his softer Hours with Play sometimes, and otherwhile with making him follow her into the Gallery, which was adorn'd with pleasant Pictures, all of Hempskerk's hand, which afforded great Variety of Objects very Drole and Antique, Octavio finding something to say of every one that might be of Advantage to his own Heart; for whatever Argument was in dispute, he would be sure to bring it home to the Passion he had for Silvia; it should end in Love however remotely begun: So strange an Art has Love to turn all things to the Advantage of a Lover.

'Twas thus they pass'd their time, and nothing was wanting that lavish Expence could procure, and every Minute he advances to new Freedoms, and unspeakable Delights, but still such as might hitherto be allow'd with Honour; he sighs, and wishes, he languishes and dies for more, but dares not utter the Meaning of one Motion of Breath, for he lov'd so very much that every Look from those fair Eyes that charm'd him, aw'd him to a Respect that rob'd him of many happy Moments a bolder Lover would have turn'd to his Advantage, and he treated her as if she had been an unspotted Maid; with Caution of Offending, he had forgot that general Rule, That where the sacred Laws of Honour are once invaded, Love makes the easier Conquest.

All this while you may imagine Brilljard indured no little Torment, he could not on the one side determine what the States would do with him, when once they should find him a false. Accuser of so great a Man, and on the other side he suffered a thousand Pains and Jealousies from Love; he knew too well the Charms and Power of Octavio, and what Effects Importunity and Opportunity have on the Temper of feeble Woman: He found the States did not make so considerable a matter of his being Impeach'd as to confine him strictly, and he dies with the Fears of those happy Moments he might possibly enjoy with Silvia, where there might be no Spies about her to give him any kind Intelligence; and all that could afford him any glimps of Consolation, was, That while they were thus confin'd he was out of Fear of their being married. Octavio's Uncle this while was not Idle, but taking it for a high Indignity his Nephew should remain so long without being heard, he mov'd it to the Councel, and accordingly they sent for him to the State-House the next Morning, where Brilljard was brought to confront him; whom, as soon as Octavio saw, with a scornful Smile, he cry'd— 'Tis well, Brilljard, that you who durst not fight me fairly, should find out this nobler way of ridding your self of a Rival; I am glad at least, that I have no more honourable a Witness against me. Brilljard, who never before wanted Assurance, at this Reproach was wholly Confounded; for it was not from any Villainy in his Nature, but the absolute Effects of mad and desperate Passion, which put him on the only Remedy that could relieve him; and looking on Octavio with modest Blushes, that half pleaded for him, he cry'd— Yes my Lord, I am your Accuser, and come to charge your Innocence with the greatest of Crimes, and you ought to thank me for my Accusation; when you shall know 'tis regard to my own Honour, violent Love for Silvia, and extream Respect to your Lordship, has made me thus sawcy with your unspotted Fame. How, reply'd Octavio, shall I thank you for accusing me with a Plot upon the State? Yes my Lord, reply'd Brilljard; and yet you had a Plot to betray the State, and by so new a way, as could be found out by none but so great and brave a Man.—Heavens, reply'd Octavio inrag'd, this is an Impudence, that nothing but a Traytor to his own King, and one bred up in Plots and Mischiefs, could have invented; I betray my own Country?—Yes my Lord, cry'd he (more briskly than before, seeing Octavio colour so at him) to all the Loosness of unthinking Youth, to all the Breach of Laws both Human and Divine, if all the Youth should follow your Example, you would betray Posterity it self; and only mad Confusion would abound: In short, my Lord, that Lady who was taken with you by the Messenger, was my Wife: And going to wards Silvia, who was struck as with a Thunderbolt, he seiz'd her Hand, and Cry'd,— while all stood gazing on—This Lady Sir I mean—she is my Wife, my lawful married Wife. At this Silvia could no longer hold her Patience within its Bounds, but with that other Hand he had left her, she struck him a Box on the Ear, that almost stagger'd him, coming unawares, and as she struck she cry'd aloud, Thou liest base Villain— and I'll be reveng'd; and flinging herself out of his Hand, she got on the other side of Octavio, while the whole Company remained confounded at what they saw and heard. How, cry'd out old Sebastian, Uncle to Octavio, a Woman, this? By my Troth, sweet Lady, if you be one, methought you were a very pretty Fellow: And turning to Brilljard, he cry'd—Why, what Sir, then it seems all this Noise of betraying the State was but a Cuckold's Dream. Hah! and this wonderful and dangerous Plot, was but one upon your Wife Sir; hah —was it so? Marry Sir, at this rate, I rather think 'tis you have a Design of betraying the State—you cuckoldly Knaves that bring your handsome Wives to seduce our young Senators from their Sobriety and Wits. Are these the Recompences, reply'd Brilljard, you give the Injured, and in lieu of restoring me my Right, am I reproach'd with the most scandalous Infamy that can befal a Man. Well Sir, reply'd Sebastian, this is all you have to charge this Gentleman with? At which he bow'd and was silent—and Sebastian continu'd— If your Wife, Sir, have a mind to my Nephew, or he to her, it should have been your Care to have forbid it, or prevented it, by keeping her under Lock and Key, if no other way to be secured; and Sir, we do not sit here to relieve Fools and Cuckolds; if your Lady will be Civil to my Nephew, what's that to us: Let her speak for herself; What say you Madam?— I say, reply'd Silvia, that this Fellow is mad and raves; that he is my Vassal, my Servant, my Slave; but, after this, unworthy of the meanest of these Titles. This she spoke with a Disdain that sufficiently show'd the Pride and Anger of her Soul—La you Sir, reply'd Sebastian, you are discharg'd your Ladys Service; 'tis a plain case she has more mind to the young Count than the Husband, and we cannot compel People to be honest against their Inclinations. And coming down from the Seat where he sate, he imbraced Octavio a hundred times, and told the Board, he was extreamly glad they found the mighty Plot but a Vagary of Youth, and the Spleen of a Jealous Husband or Lover, or whatsoever other malicious thing; and desired the angry Man might be discharged since he had so just a Provocation as the loss of a Mistriss. So all laughing at the Jest, that had made so great a Noise among the Grave and Wise, they freed 'em all: And Sebastian advised his Nephew, that the next Cuckold he made, he would make a Friend of him first, that he might hear of no more Complaints against him. But Octavio very gravely reply'd: Sir, you have infinitely mistaken the Character of this Lady, she is a Person of too great Quality for this Raillery; at more Leisure you shall have her Story. While he was speaking this, and their Discharges were making, Silvia confounded with Shame, Indignation, and Anger, goes out, and taking Octavio's Coach that stood at the Gate, went directly to his House, for she resolved to go no more where Brilljard was. After this Sebastian fell seriously to good Advice, and earnestly besought his Darling to leave off those wild Extravagancies that had so long made so great a Discourse all the Province over, where nothing but his splendid Amours, Treats, Balls, and Magnificences of Love, was the Business of the Town, and that he had forborn to tell him of it, and had hitherto justified his Actions, tho they had not deserved it; and he doubted this was the Lady to whom for this six or eight Months he heard he had so intirely dedicated himself: He desires him to quit this Lady, or if he will pursue his Love, to do it discreetly, to love some unmarried Woman, and not injure his Neighbours; to all which he blushed and bowed, and silently seem'd to thank him for his grave Councel. And Brilljard having received his Discharge, and Advice how he provoked the Displeasure of the States any more, by accusing of great Persons, he was ordered to ask Octavio's Pardon, but in lieu of that, he came up to him and challenged him to fight him for the Injustice he had done him, in taking from him his Wife; for he was sure he was undone in her Favour, and that Thought made him mad enough to put himself on this second Extravagancy: However this was not so silently managed but Sebastian perceived it, and was so inraged at the young Fellow for this second Insolence, that he was again confined, and sent back to Prison, where he swore he should suffer the utmost of the Law: And the Council breaking up, every one departed to his own Home. But never was Man Ravished with excess of Joy as Octavio was, to find Silvia meet him with extended Arms on the Stare-Case, whom he did not imagine to have found there, nor knew he how he stood in the Heart of that Charmer of his own, since the Affront she had received in the Court from those that however did not know her, for they did not imagine this was that Lady, Sister to Philander, of whose Beauty they had heard so much, and her Face being turn'd from the Light, the old Gentlemen did not so much consider or see it. Silvia came into his House the back way, through the Stables and Garden, and had the good Fortune to be seen of none of his Family, but the Coach-man who brought her home, whom she conjur'd not to speak of it to the rest of his Servants; and unseen of any body she got into his Apartment, for often she had been there at Treats and Balls with Philander. She was all alone, for Antonett stay'd to see what became of her false Lover, who, after he was seized again, retired to her Lodging the most disconsolate Woman in the World, for having lost her Hopes of Brilljard, to whom she had ingaged all that Honour she had. But when she missed her Lady there, she accused herself with all the Falshood in the World, and fell to repent her Treachery. She sends the Page to inquire at Octavio's House, but no body there could give him any Intelligence; so that the poor amorous Youth returning without Hope, indur'd all the Pain of a hopless Lover, for Octavio had anew charm'd his Coach-man: And calling up an ancient Woman who was his Housekeeper, who had been his Nurse, he acquainted her with the short History of his Passion for Silvia, and order'd her to give her attendance on the treasure of his Life; he bid her prepare all things as magnificent as she could in that Apartment he design'd her, which was very rich and gay, and towards a fine Garden: The Hangings and Beds all glorious, and fitter for a Monarch than a Subject; the finest Pictures the World afforded, Flowers in-laid with Silver, and Ivory, guilded Roofs, carved Wainscot, Tables of Plate, with all the rest of the moveables in the Chambers of the same, all of great value, and all was perfumed like an Altar, or the Marriage-Bed of some young King. Here Silvia was design'd to lodge, and hither Octavio conducted her; and setting her on a Couch while the Supper was getting ready, he sits himself down by her, and his heart being ready to burst with Grief, at the thought of the Claim which was laid to her by Brilljard; he silently views her, while Tears were ready to break from his fix'd Eyes, and Sighs stopt what he would fain have spoke: While she (wholly confounded with Shame, Guilt, and Disappointment (for she could not imagine that Brilljard could have had the Impudence to have claim'd her for a Wife) fix'd her fair. Eyes to Earth, and durst not behold the languishing Octavio. They remain'd thus a long time silent, she not daring to defend herself from a Crime, of which she knew too well she was guilty, nor he daring to ask her a Question to which the Answer might prove so fatal; he fears to know what he dies to be satisfied in, and she fears to discover too late a Secret which was the only one she had conceal'd from him. Octavio runs over in his Mind a thousand Thoughts that perplex'd him, of the Probability of her being married; he considers how often he had found her with that happy young Man, who more freely entertain'd her than Servants use to do: He now considers how he has seen 'em once on a Bed together, when Silvia was in the Disorder of a yielding Mistress, and Brilljard of a ravish'd Lover; he considers how he has found 'em alone at Cards and Dice, and often entertaining her with Freedoms of a Husband, and how he wholly managed her Affairs, commanded her Servants like their proper Master, and was in full Authority of all. These and a thousand more Circumstances confirms Octavio in all his Fears: A thousand times she is about to speak, but either fears to lose Octavio by a clear Confession, or to run herself into farther Error by denying the matter of Fact, stops her Words, and she only blushes and sighs at what she dares not tell, and if by chance their speaking Eyes meet, they would both decline 'em hastily again, as afraid to find there what their Language could not confess. Sometimes he would press her Hand and sigh—Ah Silvia, you have undone my Quiet; to which she would return no Answer but Sigh; and now rising from the Couch she walk'd about the Chamber as sad and silent as Death, attending when he should have advanced in speaking to her, tho' she dreads the Voice she wishes to hear, and he waits for her Reply, tho' the Mouth that he adores should deliver Poyson and Daggers to his Heart. While thus they remained in the most silent and sad Entertainment (that ever was between Lovers that had so much to say) the Page, which Octavio only trusts to wait, brought him this Letter.

Brilljard to Octavio. My Lord,

I am too sensible of my many high Offences to your Lordship, and have as much Penitence for my Sin committed towards you as 'tis possible to conceive; but when I implore a Pardon from a Lover, who by his own Passion may guess at the violent Effects of my dispairing Flame, I am yet so vain to hope it. Antonett gave me the Intelligence of your Design, and raised me up to a Madness that hurried me to that Barbarity against your unspotted Honour. I own the baseness of the Fact, but Lovers are not, my Lord, always guided by Rules of Iustice and Reason; or if I had, I should have kill'd the fair Adultress that drew you to your Vndoing, and who merits more your Hate than your Regard; and who having first violated her marriage Vow to me, with Philander, would sacrifice us both to you, and at the same time betray you to a Marriage that cannot but prove fatal to you, as it is most unlawful in her; so that, my Lord, if I have injured you, I have at the same time saved you from a Sin and Ruin, and humbly implore that you will suffer the Good I have rendered you in the last, to atone for the Ill I did you in the first. If I have accused you of a Design against the State, it was to save you from that of the too subtil and too charming Silvia, which none but myself could have snatcht you from: 'Tis true I might have acted something more worthy of my Birth and Education; but, my Lord, I knew the Power of Silvia, and if I should have sent you the Knowledge of this, when I sent the Warrant for the Security of your Person, the haughty Creature would have prevail'd above all my Truths, with the Eloquence of Love, and you had yielded and been betray'd worse by her, than by the most ungenerous Measures I took to prevent it: Suffer this Reason, my Lord, to plead for me in that Heart where Silvia Reigns, and shews how powerful she is every where. Pardon all the Faults of a most unfortunate Man undone by Love, and by your own guess what his Passion would put him on who aims or wishes at least for the intire Possession of Silvia, tho' it was never absolutely hop'd by

the most unfortunate Brilljard.

At the beginning of this Letter Octavio hoped it contained the Confession of his Fault in claiming Silvia; he hop'd he would have own'd it done in order to his Service to his Lord, or his Love to Silvia, or any thing but what it really was; but when he read on—and found that he yet confirm'd his Claim, he yeilded to all the Grief that could sink a Heart over-burthen'd with violent Love; he fell down on the Couch were he was sate, and only calling Silvia with a dying Groan, he held out his Hand in which the Letter remain'd, and look'd on her with Eyes that languished with Death, Love, and Dispair; while she who already feared from whom it came, received it with Disdain, Shame, and Confusion: And Octavio recovering a little—Cry'd in a faint Voice—See Charming, Cruel, Fair—see how much my Soul adores you, when even this—cannot extinguish one spark of that Flame you have kindled in my Soul: At this she blush'd and bow'd with a graceful modesty that was like to have given the lie to all the Accusations against her: She reads the Letter, while he greedily fixes his Eyes upon her Face as she read, observing with curious Search every Motion there, all killing and adorable. He saw her Blushes sometimes rise, then sink again to their proper Fountain, her Heart; there swell and rise, and beat against her Breast that had no other Covering than a thin Shirt, for all her Bosom was open, and betray'd the nimble Motions of her Heart. Her Eyes sometimes would sparkle with Disdain, and glow upon the fatal tell-tale Lines; and sometimes languish with excess of Grief: But having concluded the Letter, she laid it on the Table and began again to traverse the Room, her Head declined, and her Arms across her Bosom. Octavio made too true an Interpretation of this Silence, and Calm in Silvia, and no longer doubted his Fate. He fixes his Eyes eternally upon her, while she considers what she shall say to that afflicted Lover; she find's Philander lost, or if he ever return, 'tis not to Love, so that he was for ever gone▪ for too well she knew no Arts, Obligations, or Industry, could retrieve a flying a Cupid: She found if even that, could return, his whole Fortune was so exausted he could not support her; and that she was of a Nature so haughty and impatient of Injuries, that she could never forgive him those Affronts he had done her Honour first, and now her Love; she resolves no Law or Force shall submit her to Brilljard; she finds this Fallacy she has put on Octavio, has ruined her Credit in his Esteem, at least she justly fears it; so that believing herself abandoned by all in a strange Country, she fell to weeping her Fate, and the Tears wet the Floor as she walk'd: At which Sight so melting, Octavio starts from the Couch, and catching her in his trembling Arms, he cry'd, be false, be cruel, and deceitful; yet still I must, I am compell'd to Adore you—This being spoken in so hearty and resolved a Tone, from a Man, of whose Heart she was so sure, and knew to be so generous, gave her a little Courage —and like sinking Men she catches at all that presents her any Hope of escaping. She resolves by discovering the whole Truth to save that • ast Stake, his Heart, tho' she could pretend to no more; and taking the • ainting Lover by the Hand, she leads him to the Couch: Well, said she, Octavio, you are too generous to be impos'd on in any thing; and therefore I will tell you my Heart without Reserve as absolutely as to Heaven it self, if I were interceeding my last Peace there. She begg'd a thousand Pardons of him for having conceal'd any part of her Story from him, but she could no longer be guilty of that Crime, to a Man for whom she had so perfect a Passion; and as she spoke she imbraced him with an unresistable Softness that wholly charm'd him: She reconciles him with every Touch, and sighs on his Bosom a thousand grateful Vows and Excuses for her Fault, while he weeps with Love, and almost Expires in her Arms; she is not able to see his Passion and his Grief, and tells him she will do all things for his Repose. Ah Silvia, sigh'd he, talk not of my Repose, when you confess your self Wife to one, and Mistress to another, in either of which I have alass no part: Ah, what is reserv'd for the Vnfortunate Octavio, when two happy Lovers divide the Treasure of his Soul! Yet tell me Truth, because it will look like Love; shew me that excellent Vertue, so rarely found in all your fickle Sex. Oh! tell me Truth, and let me know how much my Heart can bear before it break with Love; and yet perhaps to hear thee speak to me, with that insinuating dear Voice of thine, may save me from the Terror of thy Words; and tho' each make a Wound, their very Accents have a Balm to heal! Oh, quickly pour it then into my listening Soul, and I'll be silent, as o'er ravished Lovers, whom Ioys have charm'd to tender Sighs and Pantings. At this, imbracing her anew, he let fall a Shower of Tears upon her Bosom, and sighing Cry'd— Now I attend thy Story: She then began anew the Repetition of the Loves between herself and Philander; which she slightly ran over, because he had already heard every Circumstance of it, both from herself and Philander; till she arriv'd to that part of it where she left Belsont, her Fathers House: Thus far, said she, you have had a faithful Relation And I was no sooner miss'd by▪ my Parent, but you may imagine the diligent Search that would be made, both by Foscario, whom I was to have married the next day, and my tender Parents; but all Search, all Hu-an-Crys were vain; at last they put me into the weekly Gazette, describing me to the very Features of my Face, my Hair, my Breast, my Stature, Youth and Beauty, omitting nothing that might render me apparent to all that should see me, offering vast Sums to any that should give Intelligence of such a lost Maid of Quality. Philander, who understood too well the Nature of the common People, and that they would betray their very Fathers for such a proferr'd Sum, durst trust me no longer to their Mercy: His Affairs were so involved with those of Caesario, he could not leave Paris; for they every Moment expected the People should rise against their King, and these Glorious Chiefs of the Faction were obliged to wait and watch the Motions of the dirty Croud. Nor durst he trust me in any place from him, for he could not live a Day without me. At that Thought she sigh'd, and then went on: so that I was oblig'd to remain obscurely lodged in Paris, where now I durst no longer trust myself, tho' disguis'd in as many Shapes as I was obliged to have Lodgings. At last we were betray'd, and had only the short Notice given us to yield or secure our selves from the hand of Iustice by the next Morning, when they design'd to surprize us: To escape we found almost impossible, and very hazardous to attempt it; so that Philander, who was raving with his Fear, call'd myself and this young Gentleman, Brilljard, (then Master of his Horse) and one that had serv'd us faithfully through the whole Course of our Loves) to Councel: Many things were in vain debated, but at last this hard Shift was found out, of marrying me to Brilljard, for to Philander it was impossible; so that no Authority of a Father could take me from the Husband. I was at first extreamly unwilling, but when Philander told me it was to be only a mock-Marriage, to secure me to himself, I was reconcil'd to it, and more, when I found the in • inite Submission of the young Man, who vow'd he would never look up to me with the Eyes of a Lover or Husband, but in Obedience to his Lord did it to preserve me intirely for him: Nay further, to secure my future Fear, he confest to me he was already privately married to a Gentlewoman, by whom he had two Children. Oh—tell me true my Silvia, Was he married to another? Cry'd out the over-joy'd Lover. Yes, on my Life, reply'd Silvia; for when it was proved in Court that I was married to Brilljard, (as at last I was, and innocently Beded) this Lady came and brought her Children to me, and falling at my Feet, wept and implor'd I would not own her Husband, for only she had right to him; we all were fo • ced to discover to her the truth of the Matter, and that he had only married me to secure me from the Rage of my Parents; that if he were her Husband, she was still as intirely possest of him as ever, and that he had advanc'd her Fortune in what he had done, for she should have him restored with those Advantages that should make her Life, and that of her Children more Comfortable; and Philander making both her and the children considerable Presents, sent her away very well satisfied. After this, before People, we used him to a thousand Freedoms, but when alone, he retain'd his Respect intire; however this us'd him to something more Familiarity than formerly, and he gr • w to be more a Companion than a Servant, as indeed we desired he should; and of late have found him more presumptious than usual: And thus much more I must confess, I have reason to believe him a most passionate Lover, and have lately found he had Designs upon me, as you well know.

Iudge now, oh dear Octavio, how unfortunate I am; yet judge too, whether I ought to esteem this a Marriage, or him a Husband: No, reply'd Octavio, more briskly than before, nor can he by the Laws of God or Man, pretend to such a Blessing, and you may be divorc'd. Pleas'd with this Thought, he soon assum'd his native Temper of Joy and Softness, and making a thousand new Vows that he would perform all he had sworn on his part; and imploring and pressing her to renew those she had made to him, she obeys him; she makes a thousand grateful Returns, and they pass the Evening the most happily that ever Lovers did. By this time Supper was served up, noble and handsome; and after Supper he led her to his Closet, where he presented her with Jewels and other Rareties of great Value, and omitted nothing that might oblige an Avaritious designing Woman, if Silvia had been such; nor any thing that might beget Love and Gratitude in the most insensible Heart: And all he did and all he gave was with a peculiar Grace, in which there lies as great an Obligation, as in the Gift it self: The handsom way of giving being an Art so rarely known, even to the most Generous. In these happy and glorious Moments of Love, wherein the Lover omitted nothing that could please, Philander was almost forgotten, for 'tis natural for Love to beget Love, and Inconstancy its Likeness, or Disdain: And we must conclude Silvia a Maid wholly insensible, if she had not been touch'd with Tenderness, and even Love it self, at all these extravagant marks of Passion in Octavio; and it must be confess'd, she was of a Nature soft and apt for Impression; she was, in a word, a Woman. She had her Vanities, and her little Fevibleses, and lov'd to see Adorers at her Feet, especially those in whom all things, all Graces, Charms of Youth, Wit and Fortune agreed to form for Love and Conquest: She naturally lov'd Power and Dominion; and it was her Maxim, That never any Woman was displeased to find she could beget Desire.

'Twas thus they liv'd with uninterrupted Joys, no Spies to pry upon their Actions, no false Friends to censure their real Pleasures, no Rivals to poyson their true Content, no Parents to give Bounds or grave Rules to the distruction of nobler lavish Love; but all the Day was past in new Delights, and every Day produc'd a thousand Pleasures; and even the Thoughts of Revenge were no more remembred on either side; it lessen'd in Silvia's Heart, as Love advanced there, and her Resentment against Philander was lost in her growing Passion for Octavio: And sure if any Woman had Excuses for Loving and Inconstancy, the most Wise and Prudent must allow 'em now to Silvia; and if she had Reason for Loving, 'twas now, for what she paid the most deserving of his Sex, and whom she managed with that Art of Loving (if there be Art in Love) that she gain'd every Minute upon his Heart, and he became more and more her Slave, the more he found he was belov'd: In spight of all Brilljard's Pretention he would have married her, but durst not do it while he remain'd in Holland, because of the Noise Brilljard's Claim had made; and he fear'd the Displeasure of his Uncle, but waited for a more happy time, when he could settle his Affairs so as to remove her into Flanders, tho' he could not tell how to accomplish that without ruining his Interest: These Thoughts alone took up his time whenever he was absent from Silvia, and would often give him abundance of Trouble, for he was given over to his Wish of possessing Silvia, and could not live without her; he lov'd too much, and thought and consider'd too little. These were his eternal Entertainments, when from the lovely Object of his Desire, which was as seldom as possible, for they were both unwilling to part; tho' Decency and Rest required it, a thousand soft things would hinder him, and make her willing to retain him; and tho' they were to meet again next Morning, they grudge themselves the parting Hours, and the Repose of Nature. He longs and languishes for the blessed Moment that shall give him to the Arms of the ravishing Silvia, and she finds but too much yielding on her part, in some of those silent lone Hours, when Love was most prevailing, and feeble Mortals most apt to be overcome by that insinuating God; so that tho' Octavio could not ask what he sigh'd and dy'd for; tho' he resolv'd he would not press her, tho' for the Safety of his Life, for any Favours; and tho', on the other side, Silvia resolv'd she would not grant, no, tho' mutual Vows had passed, tho' Love within pleaded, and almost unresistible Beauties and Inducements without, tho' all the Powers of Love, of Silence, Night, and Opportunity, tho' on the very Point a thousand times of yielding, she had resisted all: But oh! one Night; let it not rise up in Judgment against her, you bashful modest Maids, who never yet try'd any powerful Minute; nor you chast Wives, who give no Opportunities: One night—they lost themselves in Dalliance, forgot how very near they were to yielding, and with imperfect Transports found themselves half dead with Love, clasp'd in each others Arms, betray'd by soft Degrees of Joy, to all they wished. ' • would be too Amorous to tell you more; to tell you all that Night, that happy Night produc'd; let it suffice that Silvia yielded all, and made Octavio happier than a God. At first he found her weeping in his Arms, raving on what she had unconsideringly done; and with her soft Reproaches chiding her ravished Lover, who lay sighing by, unable to reply any other way, he held her fast in those Arms that trembled, yet with Love and new-past Joy; he found a Pleasure even in her Railing, with a Tenderness that spoke more Love than any other Language Love could speak. Betwixt his Sighs he pleads his Right of Love, and the Authority of his solemn Vows; he tells her that the Marriage Ceremony was but contrived to satisfy the Ignorant, and to proclaim his Title to the Crowd, but Vows and Contracts were the same to Heaven: He speaks—and she believes; and well she might, for all he spoke was honourable Truth. He knew no Guile, but uttered all his Soul, and all that Soul was Honest, Just, and Brave; thus by degrees he brought her to a Calm.

In this soft Rancounter he had discovered a thousand new Charms in Silvia; and contrary to those Men, whose end of Love is Lust (which extinguish together) Octavio found increase of Tenderness from every Bliss she gave; and grew at last so fond—so doating on the still more charming Maid, that he neglected all his Interest, his Business in the State, and what he ow'd his Uncle, and his Friends, and became the common Theam over all the United Provinces, for his Wantonness and Luxury, as they were pleased to call it; and living so contrary to the Humour of those more sordid and slovenly Men of Quality, which make up the Nobility of that parcel of the World. For while thus he lived retired, scarce visiting any one, or permitting any to visit him, they charge him with a thousand Crimes of having given himself over to Effeminacy; as indeed he grew too Lazy in her Arms; neglecting Glory, Arms, and Power, for the more real Joys of Life; while she even Rifles him with Extravagancy; and grows so bold and hardy, that regarding not the Humours of the stingy censorious Nation, his Interest, or her own Fame, she is seen every day in his Coaches going to take the Air out of Town; puts him upon Balls, and vast expensive Treats; devises new Projects and ways of Diversion, till some of the more busie Impertinents of the Town made a publick Complaint to his Uncle, and the rest of the States, urging he was a Scandal to the Reverend and Honourable Society. On which it was decreed that he should either lose that Honour, or take up, and live more according to the Gravity and Authority of a Senator: This Incenses Sebastian, both against the States and his Nephew; for tho' he had often reproved and counselled him, yet he scorn'd his Darling should be school'd by his Equals in Power. So that resolving either to discard him, or draw him from the Love of this Woman; he one Morning goes to his Nephews House, and sending him up word by his Page he would speak to him, he was conducted to his Chamber, where he found him in his Night-Gown: He began to upbraid him, first with his want of Respect and Duty to him, and next, of his Affairs, neglecting to give his Attendance on the Publick: He tells him he is become a Scandal to the Common-Wealth, and that he liv'd a lude Life with another Man's Wife: He tells him he has all her Story, and she was not only a Wife, but a scandalous Mistress too to Philander. She boasts, says he, of Honourable Birth, but what's that, when her Conduct is Infamous? In short, Sir, continued he, your Life is obnoxious to the whole Province: Why, what Sir—cannot honest Men's Daughters (cry'd he, more angerly) serve your turn, but you must crack a Commandment? Why, this is flat Adultery: A little Fornication in a civil way, might have been allow'd, but this is stark naught. In fine Sir, quit me this Woman, and quit her me presently; or, in the first place, I renounce thee, cast thee from me as a Stranger, and will leave thee to Ruine, and the incensed States. A little Pleasure—a little Recreation, I can allow: A Layer of Love, and a Layer of Business—But to neglect the Nation for a Wench, is flat Treason against the State; and I wish there were a Law against all such unreasonable Whore-Masters—that are States-Men—for the rest 'tis no great matter. Therefore in a Word, Sir, leave me off this Mistress of yours, or we will secure her yet for a French Spy, that comes to debauch our Common-Wealths-Men—The States can do it Sir, they can— Hitherto Octavio received all with Blush and Bow, in sign of Obedience; but when his Uncle told him the States would send away his Mistriss; no longer able to contain his Rage, he broke out into all the Violence imaginable against them, and swore he would not now forego Silvia to be Monarch over all the nasty Provinces, and 'twas a greater Glory to be a Slave at her Feet. Go, tell your States, cry'd he—They are a company of Cynical Fops, born to moyl on in sordid Business, who never were worthy to understand so great a Happiness of Life, as that of nobler Love. Tell 'em, I scorn the dull Gravity of those Asses of the Common-Wealth, fit only to bear the dirty Load of State-Affairs, and die old busie Fools. The Uncle, who little expected such a Return from him who used to be all Obedience, began more gently to perswade him with more solid Reason, but could get no other Answer from him, than that what he commanded he should find it Difficult to disobey; and so for that time they parted. Some days after (he never coming so much as near their Councils) they sent for him, to answer the Contempt: He came and received abundance of hard Reproaches, and finding they were resolved to Degrade him, he presently rallied them in Answer to all they said; nor could all the Cautions of his Friends perswade him to any Submission, after receiving so rough and ill-bred a Treatment as they gave him: And impatient to return to Silvia, where all his Joys were Centered, he was with much a-do perswaded to stay and hear the Resolution of the Council, which was to take from him those Honours he held amongst them; at which he cock'd and smil'd, and told 'em he receiv'd what he was much more proud of than of those useless Trifles they call'd Honours; and wishes they might treat all that served them at that ungrateful Rate: For he that had received a hundred Wounds, and lost a Stream of Blood for their Security, shall, if he kiss their Wives against their Wills, be banish'd like a Coward. So hasting from the Council, he got into his Coach, and went to Silvia. This incensed the old Gentlemen to a high Degree, and they carried it against the younger Party. (because more in Number) That this French Lady, who was for high-Treason, as they call'd it, forc'd to fly France, should be no longer protected in Holland: And in order to her Removal, or rather their Revenge on Octavio, they sent out their Warrant to Apprehend her; and either to send her as an Enemy to France, or force her to some other part of the World. For a day or two Sebastian's Interest prevailed for the stoping the Warrant; believing he should be able to bring his Nephew to some Submission, which when he found in vain, he betook himself to his Chamber, and refused any Visits or Diversions: By this time Octavio's rallying the States was become the Jest of the Town, and all the Sparks laugh'd at them as they past, and Lampoon'd 'em to damnable Dutch Tunes, which so highly incens'd 'em that they sent immediately and serv'd the Warrant on Silvia, whom they surpriz'd in Octavio's Coach, as she was coming from taking the Air. You may imagine what an Agony of Trouble and Grief our generous and surpriz'd Lover was in: It was in vain to make Resistance, and he who before would not have submitted to have sav'd his Life, to the States, now for the Preservation of one moments Content to Silvia, he was ready to go and fall at their Feet, kiss their Shooes, and implore their Pity. He first accompanies her to the House of the Messenger, where he only is permitted to behold her with Eyes of dying Love, and unable to say any thing to her, left her with such Gifts, and Charge, to the Messengers Care, as might oblige him to treat her well; While Silvia, less surprized, bid him, at going from her, not to afflict himself for any thing she suffered; she found it was the Malice of the pevish old Magistrates, and that the most they could do to her, was to send her from him: This last she spoke with a Sigh, that pierced his Heart more sensibly than ever any thing yet had done; and he only reply'd (with a Sigh) No Silvia, no rigid Power on Earth shall ever be able to deprive you of my eternal Adoration, or to separate me one Moment from Silvia, after she is compell'd to leave this ungrateful place, and whose Departure I will hasten all that I can, since the Land is not worthy of so great a Blessing. So leaving her for a little Space, he hasted to his Uncle, whom he found very much discontented: He throws himself at his Feet, and assails him with all the moving Eloquence of Sighs and Tears; in vain was all, in vain alas he pleads. From this he flies to Rage—and says all a distracted Lover could power forth to ease a tortured Heart; what Divinity did he not provoke? Wholly regardless even of Heaven and Man, he made a publick Confession of his Passion, deny'd her being married to Brilljard, and weeps as he protests her Innocence: He kneels again, implores and begs anew, and made the movingest Moan that ever touched a Heart, but could receive no other Return but Threats and Frowns: The old Gentleman had never been in Love since he was born, no not enough to marry, but bore and unaccountable Hate to the whole Sex, and therefore was pityless to all he could say on the Score of Love; tho' he endeavours to soften him by a thousand things more dear to him. For my Sake, Sir, said he, if ever my soft Pleawere grateful to you, when all your Ioy was in the young Octavio; release, release, the charming Silvia; regard her tender Youth, her blooming Beauty, her timorous helpless Sex, her noble Quality, and save her from the rude Assaults of Power—Oh save the Lovely Maid! This he uttered with interrupting Sighs and Tears, which fell upon the Floor as he pursu'd the Obdurate on his Knees: At last Pity touch'd his Heart, and he said—Spare, Sir, the Character of your inchanting Circe; for I have heard too much of her, and what Mischiefs she has bred in France; abandoning her Honour, betraying a vertuous Sister, defaming her Noble Parents, and ruining an Illustrious young Noble Man, who was both her Brother and her Lover. This Sir, in short, is the Character of your Beauteous Innocent. Alas Sir, reply'd Octavio, you never saw this Maid! or if you had, you would not be so cruel. Go to, Sir, reply'd the old Gentleman, I am not so soon softened at the sight of Beauty. But do but see her, Sir, reply'd Octavio, and then perhaps you will be charm'd like me—You are a Fop, Sir, reply'd Sebastian, and if you would have me allow any Favour to your inchanting Lady, you must promise me first to abandon her, and marry the Widow of Monsieur—who is vastly Rich, and whom I have so often recommended to you, she loves you too; and tho' she be not fair, she has the best Fortune of any Lady in the Netherlands. On these Terms, Sir, I am for a Reconciliation with you, and will immediately go and deliver the fair Prisoner, and she shall have her Liberty to go or stay, or do what she please—and now, Sir, you know my Will and Pleasure—Octavio found it vain to pursue him any further with his Petitions; only reply'd it was wonderous hard and cruel. To which the old one reply'd; 'Tis what must be done, I have resolved it, or my Estate, in value, above two hundred thousand Pounds, shall be disposed of to your Sister, the Countess of Clarinau: And this he ended with an Execration on himself if he did not do; and he was a Man that always was just to his Word.

Much more to this ungrateful effect he spoke, and Octavio had Recourse to all the Dissimulation his generous Soul was capable of; and 'twas the first base thing, and sure the last, that ever he was guilty of. He promises his Uncle to obey all his Commands and Injunctions, since he would have it so; and only beg'd he might be permitted but one Visit, to take his last Leave of her: This was at first refused, but at last; provided he might hear what he said to her, he would suffer him to go: For, said the crafty old Man (who knew too well the Cunning of Youth) I will have no Tricks put upon me; I will not be outwitted by a young Knave: This was the worst part of all; he knew, if he alone could speak with her, they might have contriv'd, by handsome agreeing Flattery, to have accomplish'd their Design, which was; first, by the Authority of the old Gentleman to have freed her from Confinement; and next, to have setled his Affairs in the best Posture he could; and without valuing his Uncle's Fortune, his own being greater, he resolv'd to go with her into Flanders or Italy; but his going with him to visit her would prevent whatever they might resolve: But since the Liberty of Silvia was first to be considered, he resolves—since it must be so, and leaves the rest to Time and his good Fortune. Well then, Sir, said Octavio, since you have resolv'd your self, to be a Witness of those melancholy things, I shall possibly say to her, let us haste to end the great Affair—Hang it, Cry'd Sebastian, if I go I shall abuse the young Hussie, or commit some Indecency that will not be suitable to good Manners— I hope you will, not Sir—reply'd Octavio—Whip 'em, whip 'em, reply'd the Uncle, I hate the young cozening Baggages, that wander about the World undoing young extravagant Coxcombes; gots so, they are naught, stark-naught—Be sure you dispatch as soon as you can, and—do you hear—let's have no Whineing. Octavio overjoy'd he should have her released to Night, promised lavishly all he was urged to; and his own Coach being at the Gate, they both went immediately to the House of the Messenger; and all the way the old Gentleman did nothing but rail against the Vices of the Age, and the Sins of Villainous Youth; the Snares of Beauty, and the Danger of witty Women; and of how ill Consequences these were to a Common-Wealth. He said, if he were to make Laws, he would confine all young Women to Monasteries, where they should never see Man till Forty, and then come out and marry for Generation sake, no more: For his part he had never seen that Beauty yet that could inspire him with that silly thing call'd Love; and wonder'd what the Devil ail'd all the young Fellows of this Age, that they talk'd of nothing else: At this rate they discoursed till they arrived at the Prison, and calling for the Messenger, he conducted them both to the Chamber of the fair Prisoner, who was laid on a Couch, near which stood a Table with two Candles, which gave a great Light to that part of the Room, and made Silvia appear more fair than ever, if possible. She had not that day been dress'd but in a rich Night-Gown, and Cornets of the most advantageous Fashion: At his Approach she blush'd (with a secret Joy, which never had possessed her Soul for him before) and spread a thousand Beauties round her fair Face: She was leaping with a transported Pleasure to his Arms, when she perceived an old Grave Person follow him into the Room: At which she reassum'd a Strangeness, a melancholy Languishment, which charm'd no less than her Gayety. She approaches 'em with a modest Grace in her beautiful Eyes; and by the Reception Octavio gave her, she found that reverend Person was his Uncle, or at least some body of Authority; and therefore assuming a Gravity unusual, she received 'em with all the Ceremony due to their Quality: And first she address'd herself to the old Gentleman, who stood gazing at her, without Motion; at which she was a little out of Countenance. When Octavio perceiving it, approach'd his Uncle, and cry'd, Sir, This is the Lady—Sebastian starting as from a Dream, cry'd—Pardon me, Madam, I am a Fellow whom Age hath rendered less Ceremonious than Youth: I have never yet been so happy as to have been used to a fair Lady; Women never took up one Minute of my more percious time, but I have been a Satyr upon the whole Sex: And if my Treatment of you be rougher than your Birth and Beauty Merits, I beseech you—fair Creature, pardon it, since I am come in order to do you Service. Sir, reply'd Silvia. (blushing with Anger at the Presence of a Man who had contributed to the having brought her to that place) I cannot but wonder at this sudden Change of Goodness, in a Person to whom I am indebted for part of my Misfortune, and which I shall no longer esteem as such, since it has occasioned me a Happiness, and an Honour, to which I could no other way have arrived. This last she spoke with usual insinuating Charms; the little Affectation of the Voice sweeten'd to all the Tenderness it was possible to put on, and so easy and natural to Silvia: And if before the old Gentleman were seized with some unusual Pleasure, which before he never felt about his icy and insensible Heart, and which now began to thaw at the Fire of her Eyes—I say, if before he were surprized with looking, what was he when she spoke—with a Voice so soft, and an Air so bewitching? He was all Eyes and Ears, and had use of no other Sense but what inform'd tho • e: He gazes upon her, as if he waited and listen'd what she would farther say; and she stood waiting for his Reply, till asham'd, she turn'd her Eyes into her Bosom, and knew not how to proceed. Octavio views both by turns, and knows not how to begin the Discourse again, it being his Uncle's Cue to speak: But finding him altogether mute—he steps to him, and gently pull'd him by the Sleeve —but finds no Motion in him; he speaks to him, but in vain, for he could hear nothing but Silvia's charming Voice; nor saw nothing but her lovely Face, nor attended any thing but when she would speak again, and look that way. At this Octavio smil'd, and taking his Adorable by the Hand, he led her nearer her admiring Adversary; whom she approach'd with Modesty and Sweetness in her Eyes, that the old Fellow having never before beheld the like Vision was wholly vanquish'd, and his old Heart burnt in the Socket, which being his last Blaze made the greater Fire. Fine Lady, cry'd he—or rather fine Angel, how is it I shall expiate for a Barbarity that nothing could be guilty of but the Brute, who had not learn'd Humanity from your Eyes: What Atonement can I make for my Sin; and how shall I be punished? Sir, reply'd Silvia, if I can merit your Esteem and Assistance, to deliver me from this cruel Con • inement, I shall think of what's past as a Ioy, since it renders me worthy of your Pity and Compassion. To answer you, Madam, were to hold you under this unworthy Roof too long; therefore let me convince you of my Service, by leading you to a Place more fit for so fair a Person. And calling for the Messenger, he ask'd him if he would take his Bail for his fair Prisoner; who reply'd, Your Lordship may Command all things: So throwing him a little Purse, about thirty Pounds in Gold, he bid him drink the Ladies Health; and without more Ceremony or talk, led her to the Coach; and never so much as asking her whether she would go, insensibly carries her, where he had amind to have her, to his own House: This was a little Affliction to Octavio, who nevertheless durst not say any thing to his Uncle, nor so much as to ask him the Reason why: But being arrived all thither, he conducts her into a very fair Apartment, and bade her there command that World he could command for her: He gave her there a very magnificent Supper, and all three supp'd together, Octavio and Silvia still wondering what would be the Issue of this Business; for Octavio could not imagine that his Uncle, who was a single Man, and a grave Senator, one fam'd for a Woman-Hater, a great Railer at the Vices of young Men, should keep a fair young single Woman in his House: But it growing late, and no Preparation for her Departing, she took the Courage to say—Sir, I am so extreamly Obliged to you, and have received so great a Favour from you, that I cannot flatter myself 'tis for any Vertue in me, or meerly out of Compassion to my Sex, that you have done this; but for somebody's Sake to whom I am more enjaged than I am aware of; and when you pass'd your Parole for my Liberty, I am not so vain to think it was for my Sake; therefore pray inform me, Sir, how I can pay this Debt, and to whom, and who it is you require should be bound for me, to save you harmless. Madam, cry'd Sebastian, tho' there need no greater Security than your own Innocence, yet least that Innocence should not be sufficient to guard you from the Outrage of a People approaching to Savages, I • b • gg • , for your own Security, not mine, that you will make this House your Sanctuary; my Power can save you from impending Harms, and all that I call mine, you shall command. At this she blushing bow'd, but durst not make Reply to contradict him: She knew at least that there she was safe, and well, free from Fear of the Tyranny of the rest, or any other Apprehension: 'Tis true she found by the Shyness of Octavio towards her before his Uncle, that she was to manage her Amour with him by stealth, till they could contrive matters more to their Advantage: She therefore finding she should want nothing, but as much of Octavio's Conversation as she desired; she begg'd he would give her Leave to write a Note to her Page, who was a faithful sober Youth, to bring her Jewels, and what things she had of Value, to her, which she did, and received those and her Servants together, who • ound a perfect Welcome to the old Lover; but Antonett had like to have lost her Place, but that Octavio pleaded for her, and she herself confessing 'twas Love to the false Brilljard, that made her do that foolish thing (in which she vow'd she thought no harm, tho' it was like to have cost so dear) she was again received into Favour: So that for some Days Silvia found herself very much at her Ease with the old Gentleman, and had no want of any thing but Octavio's Company: But she had the Pleasure to find by his Eyes and Sighs he wanted hers more: He dy'd every day, and his fair Face faded like falling Roses: Still she was gay; for if she had it not about her, she assumed it to keep him in Heart: she was not displeased to see the old Man on Fire too, and fancied some Diversion from the Intrigue: But he concealed his Passion all he could, both to hide it from his Nephew, and because he knew not what he ail'd: A strange change he found, a wonderous Disorder in Nature, but could not give a Name to it, nor Sigh aloud for fear he should be heard, and lose his Reputation; especially for this Woman, on whom he had rail'd so lavishly. One day therefore, after a Night of Torment very incommode to his Age, he takes Octavio into the Garden alone, telling him he had a great Secret to impart to him. Octavio guessing what it might be, put his Heart in as good order as he could to receive it: He at least knew the worst was but for him at last to steal Silvia from him, if he should be weak enough to doat on the young Charmer, and therefore resolv'd to hear with patience. But if he were prepared to attend, the other was not prepared to begin, and so both walked many silent Turns about the Garden. Sebastian had a-mind to ask a thousand Questions of his Nephew, who he found, ma • gre all his Vows of deserting Silvia, had no power of doing it: He had a-mind to urge him to marry the Widow, but durst not now press it, tho' he used to do so, least he should take it for Jealousy in him; nor durst he now forbid him seeing her, least he should betray the Secrets of his Soul: He began every Moment to love him le • s, as he loved Silvia more, and beholds him as an Enimy to his Repose, nay his very Life. At last the old Man (who thought if he brought his Nephew forth under pretence of a Secret, and said nothing to him, it would have look'd ill) began to speak. Octavio, said he, I have hitherto found you so just in all you have said, that • were a Sin to doubt you, in what relates to Silvia. You have told me she is nobly Born; and you have with infinite Imprecations convinced me she is Vertuous; and lastly, you have sworn she was not Married—At this he sigh'd and paus'd, and left Octavio trembling with Fear of the Result: A thousand times he was like to have denyed all, but durst not defame the most sacred Idol of his Soul: Sometimes he thought his Uncle would be generous, and think it fit to give him Silvia; but that Thought was too Seraphick to remain a Moment in his Heart. Sir, reply'd Octavio, I own I said so of Silvia, and hope no Action she has committed since she had a Protection under your Roof has contradicted any thing I said. No, said Sebastian, sighing—and pausing, as loath to speak more: Sir, said Octavio, I suppose this is not the Secret you had to impart to me, for which you separate me to this lonely Walk; fear not to trust me with it, whatever it be, for I am so intirely your own, that I will grant, submit, prostrate myself, and give up all my Will, Power, and Faculties to your Interest or Designs. This incouraged the old Lover, who reply'd— Tell me on Truth, Octavio, which I require of you, and I will desire no more—Have not you had the Possession of this fair Maid? You apprehend me: Now it it was that he fear'd what Design the Amorous old Gentleman had in his Head and Heart; and was at a loss what to say, whether to give him some Jealousy that he had known and possess'd her, and so prevent his Designs on her; or by saying he had not, to leave her Defenceless to his Love. But on second Thoughts, he could not resolve to say any thing to the Disadvantage of Silvia, tho' to save his own Life; and therefore assured his Uncle he never durst assume the Boldness to ask so rude a Question of a Woman of her Quality: And much more he spoke to that purpose to convince him. That 'tis true he wou'd have Marry'd her, if he cou'd have gain'd his consent; maugre all the Scandal that the malicious World had thrown upon her. But since he was positive in his command for the Widow, he wou'd bend his Mind to Obedience. In that, replied Sabastian, you are Wise, and I am glad all your Youthful Fires are blown over; and having once fixt you in the World as I design, I have resolved on an Affair—At this again he paused—I am, says he, in Love,—I think it is Love, or that which you call so: I cannot eat nor sleep, nor even pray, but this fair Stranger interposes; or if by chance I slumber, all my Dreams are of her; I see her, I touch her, I imbrace her, and find a Pleasure even then that all my waking Thoughts cou'd never procure me. If I go to the State House I mind nothing there, my Heart's at home with the Young Gentlewoman, on the Change or wheresoever I go, my restless Thoughts present her still before me: And prethee tell me, is not this Love, Octavio? It may arrive to Love, replied the blushing Youth, if you shou'd fondly give way to it: But you are Wise and Grave, and hate all Women, Sir, till about Forty, and then for Generation only: You are above the Follies of vain Youth. And let me tell you, Sir, without Offending, Already you are charged with a Thousand little Vanities unsuitable to your Years, and the Character you have had, and the Figure you have made in the World. I heard a Lampoon on you the other day,—Pardon my Freedom, Sir, for keeping a Beauty in your House, who they are pleased to say was my Mistress before. And pulling out a Lampoon, which his Page had before given him, he gave it his Uncle. But instead of making him resolve to quit Silvia, it only serv'd to incense him against Octavio; he rail'd at all Wits, and swore there was not a more dangerous Enemy to a civil, sober Commonwealth: That a Poet was to be banish'd as a Spy, or hang'd as a Traytor: That it ought to be as much against the Law to let 'em live, as to Shoot with white Powder, and that to write Lampoons should be put into the Statute against Stabbing. And cou'd he find the Rogue that had the Wit to write that, he wou'd make him a warning to all the Race of that Damnable Vermin; what to abuse a Magistrate, one of the States, a very Monarch of the Commonwealth!— 'twas Abominable and not to be born,—and looking on his Nephew, —and considering his Face a while, he cry'd,—I Fancy, Sir, by your Physiognomy, that you your self have a hand in this Libel: At which Octavio blush'd, which he taking for guilt, flew out into terrible Anger against him, not suffering him to speak for himself, or clear his Innocence. And as he was going in this Rage from him, having forbidden him ever to set his Foot within his Doors, he told him,—If, said he, the scandalous Town, from your Instructions, have such Thoughts of me, I will convince it by Marrying this fair Stranger the first thing I do: I cannot doubt but to find a welcom since she is a Banish'd Woman, without Friend or Protection; and especially when she shall see how civilly you have handled her here, in your Dogerel Ballad: I'll teach you to be a Wit, Sir; and so your Humble Servant.—And leaving him almost wild with his Fears, he went directly to Silvia, where he told her, his Nephew was going to make up the Match between himself and Madam the Widow of—and that he had made a scandalous Lampoon on her Fair self. He forgot nothing that might make her hate the Amiable young Nobleman, whom she knew too well to believe that any thing of this was other than the effects of his own growing Passion for her. For tho' she saw Octavio every day, in this time she had remain'd at his Uncles, yet the Old Lover so watch'd their very Looks, that 'twas impossible almost to tell one anothers Heart by any Glance there. But Octavio had once in this time convey'd a Letter to her, which having Opportunity to do he put it into her Comb-box, when he was with his Uncle one day in her Dressing-room; for he durst not trust her Pag • , and less Antonett, who had before betray'd 'em: And having for Silvia's release so solemnly Sworn to his Uncle, (to which Vows he took Religious care to keep him.) He had so perfect an awe upon his Spirits from every Look and Command of his Uncles, he took infinitely heed how he gave him any Umbrage by any Action of his; and the rather because he hoped when time shou'd serve to bring about his Business of stealing Silvia from him, for she was kept and guarded like a mighty Heiress; so that by this prudent Management on both sides, they heighten'd the growing Love in every Heart. In that Billet which he dropt in her Comb-box, he did not only make Ten thousand Vows of Eternal Passion and Faith, and beg the same assurance of her again; but told her he was secur'd (so well he thought of her) from fears of his Uncles Addresses to her, and beg'd she wou'd not let 'em perplex her, but rather serve her for her diversion, that she should from time to time write him all he said to her, and how he treated her when alone; and that since the Old Lover was so watchful, she should not trust her Letters with any body; but as she walk'd out into the Garden, she shou'd in passing throw the Hall, put her Letter in at the broken Glass of an Old Sedan that stood there, and had stood for several Years; and that his own Page, whom he could trust, shou'd, when he came with him to his Uncles, take it from thence.—Thus every Day they writ, and received the dearest returns in the World; where all the Satisfaction, that Vows oft repeated cou'd give, was rendred each other; with an account from Silvia that was very pleasant, of all the Passion of the Doating Old Sebastian, the Presents he made her, the Fantastick Youth he would assume, and the unusual manner of his Love, which was a great diversion to both; and this Difficulty of speaking to Silvia, and entertaining her with Love, tho' it had its Pains, had its infinite Pleasures too; it increas'd their Love on both sides, and all their Wishes. But now by this last Banishment from the House where she was, to lose that only Pleasure of beholding the Adorable Maid, gave him all the Pains without the hope of one Pleasure; and he began to fear he should have a World of Difficulty to secure the dear Object of his continual Thoughts: He found no way to send to her, and dreads all his Malicious Uncle and Rival may say to his disadvantage: He dreads even that infinite Tenderness and Esteem he had for the good Old Man, who had been so fond a Parent to him; least even that should make him unwilling to use that Extremity against him in the regaining Silvia, which he would use to any other Man. Oh, how he Curses the fatal hour that ever he implored his Aid for her Release; and having overcome all Difficulties, even that of his Fears of Philander, (from whom they had received no Letter in Two Months) and that of Silvia's Disdain, and had Establish'd himself in her Soul and her Arms; he should, by employing his Uncle's Authority for Silvia's Service, be so Unfortunate to involve 'em into new Dangers and Difficulties, of which he could foresee no other end, than that which must be fatal to some of 'em. But he believed half his Torture would be eased, could he but write to Silvia, for see her he could not hope: He bethought himself of a way atlast.

His Uncle had belonging to his House the most fine Garden of any in that Province, where those things are not much esteem'd, in which the Old Gentleman took wonderful Delight, and kept a Gardener and his Family in a little House at the farther end of the Garden, on purpose to look to it and dress it. This Man had a very great Veneration for Octavio, whom he call'd his Young Lord. Sure of the Fidelity of this Gardener, when it was dark enough to conceal him, he wrapt himself in his Cloak and got him thither by a back-way, where with Presents he soon won those to his Interest, who would before have been Commanded by him in any Service. He had a little clean Room, and some little French Novels which he brought; and there he was as well conceal'd as if he had been at the Indies; he left word at home that he was gone out of Town. He knew well enough that Silvia's Lodgings look'd that way. And when it was dark enough he walk'd under her Window, till he saw a Candle lighted in Silvia's Bed-Chamber, which was as great a Joy to him as the Star that Guides the Traveller, or wandring Seaman, or the Lamp at Sestos, that Guided the Ravish'd Lover o'er the Hellespont. And by that time he could imagine all in Bed, he made a little noise with a Key on the Pummel of his Sword; but whether Silvia heard it or not I cannot tell, but she anon came to the Window, and putting up the Shash, leaned on her Arms and look'd into the Garden. Oh! who but he himself that Lov'd so well as Octavio, can express the Transports he was in at the Sight? which more from the Sight within than that without, he saw was the lovely Silvia; whom calling softly by her Name, answered him as if she knew the welcome Voice, and cry'd,— Whose there, Octavio? She was soon Answer'd you may imagine. And they began the most indearing Conversation that ever Love could dictate. He complains on his Fate that sets 'em at that distance, and she pities him. He makes a Thousand Doubts, and she undeceives 'em all. He Fears, and she convinces his Error, and is impatient at his Suspicions. She will not indure him to question a Heart that has given him so many proofs of its Tenderness and Gratitude: She tells him her own Wishes, how soft and servent they are; and assures him, he is extreamly oblig'd to her—Since for you—my Charming Friend, said she to Octavio, I have refus'd this Night to Marry your Vncle; have a care, said she, Smiling, how you treat me, least I revenge my self on you; become your Aunt, and bring Heirs to the Estate you have a Right to: The Writings of all which I have now in my Chamber, and which were but just now laid at my Feet, and which I cannot yet get him to receive back. And to oblige me to a compliance, has told me, how you have deceived me, by giving your self to another, and exposing me in Lampoons. —To this Octavio would have replied, but she assured him she needed no Argument to convince her of the Falshhood of all. He Sighs, and told her all she said, tho' Dear and Charming was not sufficient to ease his Heart, for he foresaw a World of hazzard to get her from thence, and mischiefs if she remained; insomuch that he caus'd the Tears to flow from the fair Eyes of Silvia, with the Reflections on her rigid Fortune. And she cry'd, Oh, my Octavio! what strange Fate or Stars rul'd my Birth, that I shou'd be born the ruine of what I Love, or of those that Love me? At this rate they past the Night, sometimes more soft, sometimes incouraging one another; but the last result was to contrive the means of escaping. He fancy'd she might easily do it by the Garden from that Window: But that he was not sure he could trust the Gardener so far, who in all things would serve him, in which his Lord and Master was not Injured; and he amongst the rest of the Servants, had Order not to suffer Silvia out of the Garden, for which reason he kept a strict Guard on that back-Door. Some way must be found out which yet was not, and was left to time. He told her where he was, and that he wou'd not stir from thence, till he were secur'd of her flight: And Day coming on, tho' loath, yet for fear of Eyes and Ears that might Spy upon 'em, he retired to his little Lodging and Silvia to Bed; after giving and receiving a Thousand Vows and Farewels. The next Night he came to the same place, but instead of entertaining her—he only saw her softly put up the Shash a little, and throw something white out of the Window and retire. He was wondring at the meaning, but taking up what was thrown down, he found and smelt it was Silvia's Handkerchief, in which was ty'd up a Billet: He went to his little Lodging and read it.

Silvia to Octavio.

GO from my Window my adorable Friend, and be not afflicted that I do not entertain you, as I had the Ioy to do last Night, for bath our Voices were heard by some one tha • Lodges below, and tho' your Vncle could not tell me any part of our Conversation, yet he heard I talk'd to somebody; I have perswaded him the Fellow dream'd, who gave him this Intelligence, and he is almost satisfied he did so; however hazard not thy dear self any more so, but let me lose for a while the greatest Happiness this Earth can afford me (in the Circumstances of our Fortunes) rather than expose what is dearer to me than Life or Honour: Pity the Fate I was born to, and expect all things from

Your Silvia.

I will wait at the Window for your Answer, and let you down a Ribband, by which I will draw it up: But as you love me do not speak.

He had no sooner read this, but he went to write an Answer, which was this.

Octavio to Silvia.

COmplain not, thou Goddess of my Vows, on the Fate thou wert born to procure to all Mankind; but thank Heaven for having received ten thousand Charms that can recompence all the Injuries you so unwillingly do us: And who would not implore his Ruine from all the angry Powers, if in return they would give him so glorious a Reward? Who would not be undone to all the trifling Honours of the mistaken World, to find himself in lieu of all, possess'd of the Ravishing Silvia? But oh! where is that presumptious Man, that can at the price of all, lay claim to so vast a Blessing? Alass my Silvia, even while I dare call you mine, I am not that hoping Slave, no not after all the valued dear things you have said and vow'd to me last Night in the Garden, welcome to my Soul as Life after a Sentence of Death, or Heaven after Life is ended. But, oh Silvia! all this, even all you uttered from your dear Mouth is not sufficient to support me: Alas, I die for Silvia: I am not able to bear the cruel Absence longer, therefore without Delay assist me to contrive your Escape, or I shall die and leave you to the Ravage of his Love who holds thee from me; the very Thoughts of that is worse than Death. I die, alas I die, for an intire Possession of thee: Oh let me grasp my Treasure, let me ingross it all, here in my longing Arms. I can no longer languish at this Distance from my eternal Ioy, my Life, my Soul! But oh I Rave! and while I should be speaking a thousand useful things, I am telling you my Pain, a Pain that you may guess; and confounding myself between those and their Remedies, am able to fix on nothing: Help me to think, oh my dear charming Creature, help me to think how I shall bear thee off! Take your own Measures, flatter him with Love; sooth him to Faith and Confidence, and then—oh pardon me if there be Baseness in the Action—then —Cozen him—Deceive him— any thing—for he deserves it all, that thinks that lovely Body was form'd for his Imbraces, whom Age has rendered fitter for a Grave. Form any Plots, use every Stratagem to save the Life of.

Your Octavio.

He writ this in Hast and Disorder, as you may plainly see by the Stile, and went to the Window with it, where he found Silvia leaning expecting him: The Shashes were up, and he toss'd it in the Ha •• kerchief into her Window: She read it, and writ an Answer back as soft as Love could form, to send him pleased to Bed: wherein she commanded him to hope all things form her Wit and industrious Love.

This had partly the Effects she wished, and after kissing his Hand, and throwing it up towards Silvia, they parted as silent as the Night from Day, which was now just dividing—so long they stay'd, tho' but to look at each other; so that all the Morning was pass'd in Bed to make the Day seem shorter, which was too tedious to both: This Pleasure he had after Noon, towards the Evening, that when Silvia walked, as she alwaies did in the Garden, he could see her thorow the Glass of his Window, but durst not open it; for the old Gentleman was ever with her. In this time Octavio fail'd not however to essay the good Nature of the Gardener in order to Silvia's Flight, but • ound there was no dealing with him in this Affair; and therefore durst not come right down to the Point: The next Night he came under the beloved Window again, and found the sacred Object of his Wishes leaning in the Window expecting him: To whom, as soon as she heard his Tread on the Gravel, she threw down a Handkerchief again, which he took up, and toss'd his own with a soft complaining Letter to entertain her till his Return; for he hasted to read hers, and swep'd the Garden as he pass'd as swift as Wind; so impatient he was to see the Inside—which he found thus.

Silvia to Octavio.

I Beg, my charming Friend, you will be assur'd of all I have promised you; and to believe that, but for the Pleasure of those dear Billets I receive from you, I could as little support this cruel Confinement as you my Absence. I have but one Game to play, and I beseech you not to be surpriz'd at it; 'tis to promise to marry Sebastian: He is eternally at my Feet, and either I must give him my Vow to become his Wife, or give him hope of other Favours. I am so intirely yours, that I will be guided by you which I shall Flatter him in, to gain my Liberty, for if I grant either he has proposed to carry me to his Country-House, two Leagues from the Town, and there Consummate whatever I design to bless him with; and this is it that has wrought my Consent, that we being to go alone, only my own Servants, you may easily take me thence by Force upon the Road, or after our Arrival, where he will not guard me perhaps so strictly as he does here: For that, I leave it to your Conduct, and expect your Answer to

Your Impatient Silvia.

He immediately sate down and writ this.

Octavio to Silvia.

HAVE a Care, my Charming Fair, how you play with Vows; and however you are forc'd for that Religious End of saving your Honour, to deceive the poor old Lover, whom, by Heaven, I pity; yet rather let me die than know you can be guilty of Vow-Br • ach, tho' made in jest. I am well pleased at the Glimpse of Hope you give me, that I shall see you at his Villa; and doubt not but to find a way to secure you to myself: Say any thing, promise to sacrifice all to his Desire; but oh, do not give away thy dear, thy precious self by Vow, to any but the Languishing.

Octavio.

After he had writ this he hast'd and throws it into her Window, and return'd to Bed without seeing her, which was no small Affliction to his Soul: He had an ill Night of it, and fancied a thousand tormenting things; That the old Gentleman might th •• be with her; and if alone, what might he not perswade by force of rich Presents, of which his Uncle was well stored: And so he guess'd, and as he guess'd it proved, as by his next Nights Letter he was inform'd, that the old Lover no sooner saw Silvia retire, but having a mind to try his Fortune in some Critical Minute— for such a Minute he had heard there was that favoured Lovers; but he goes to his Closet, and taking out some Jewels of great Value, to make himself the more welcome, he goes directly to Silvia's Chamber, and entered just as she had taken up Octavio's Letter, and clap'd it in her Bosom as she heard some body at the Door; but was not in a little Confusion when she saw who it was; which she excused, by telling him she was surpriz'd to find herself with a Man in her Chamber: That there he fell to pleading his cause of Love; and offered her again to settle his Estate upon her, and implor'd she would be his Wife. After a thousand faint Denials, she told him she could not possibly receive that Honour, but if she could, she would have look'd upon it as a great Favour from Heaven; at that he was Thunder-struck, and look'd as gastly as if his Mothers Ghost had frighten'd him; and after much Debate, Love and Grief on his side, Design and Dissimulation on hers, she gave him Hopes that Aton'd for all she had before said; insomuch that before they parted an absolute Bargain was struck up, and he was to settle part of his Estate upon her, as also that Villa, to which he had resolved in two days to carry her; in earnest to this he presents her a Necklace of Pearl of good Value, and other Jewels, which was the best Rhetorick he had yet spoke to her; and now she appear'd the most Complaisant Lady in the World, she suffers him to talk wantonly to her, nay even to kiss her, and rub his grizly Beard on her divine Face, grasp her Hands, and touch her Breast; a Blessing he had never before arriv'd to with any body above the Quality of his own Servant-Maid. To all which she makes the best Resistance she can, under the Circumstances of one who was to deceive well; and while she loaths she seems well pleas'd, while the gay Jewels sparkled in her Eyes and Octavio in her Heart; so fond is Youth of Vanities, and to purchase an addition of Beauty at any Price. Thus with her pretty Flatteries she wrought upon his Soul, and smil'd and look'd him into Faith; loth to depart she sends him pleas'd away, and having her Heart the more inclin'd to Octavio by being Persecuted with his Uncles Love (for by Comparison she finds the mighty Difference) she sets herself to write him the Account of what I have related; this Nights Adventure and Agreement between his Uncle and herself. She tells him that to Morrow, for now 'twas almost Day, she had promised him to go to his Villa: She tells him at what rate she has purchased the Blessing expected; and lastly, leaves the management of the rest to him, who needs not be instructed. This Letter he receiv'd the next Night, at the old place, and Silvia with it lets down a Velvet Night Bag, which contain'd all the Jewels and things of Value she had receiv'd of himself, his Uncle, or any other: After which he retired, and was pretty well at ease, with the imagination he should ere long be made Happy in the Possession of Silvia: In order to it the next Morning he was early up, and dressing himself in a great course Campagne-Coat of the Gardeners, puting up his Hair, as well as he could, under a Country-Hat, he got on a Horse that suited his Habit, and rides to the Villa, whither they were to come, and which he knew perfectly well every Room of; for there our Hero was born. He went to a little Caberet in the Village, from whence he could survey all the great House, and see every Body that pass'd in and out: He remain'd fix'd at the Window, fill'd with a thousand Agitations; this he had resolv'd, not to set upon the good old Man as a Thief or Robber; nor could he find in this Heart or Nature to injure him, tho' but in a little afrighting him, who had given him so many anxious Hours, and who had been so unjust to desire that Blessing himself, he would not allow him; and to believe that a Vertue in himself, which he exclaim'd against as so great a Vice in his Nephew; nevertheless he resolv'd to deceive him, to save his own Life. And he wanted that nice part of Generosity, as to satisfy a little unnecessary Lust in an old Man, to ruin the eternal Content of a young one, so nearly allied to his Soul, as was his own dear proper Person. While he was thus considering he saw his Uncle's Coach coming, and Silvia with that doting Lover in it, who was that day dressed in all the Fopperies of Youth, and every thing was young and gay about him but his Person, that was Winter it self, disguised in artificial Spring; and he was altogether a meer Contradiction: But who can guess the Disorders and Pantings of Octavio's Heart at the Sight; and tho' he had resolved before he would not to save his Life lay violent Hands on his old Parent; yet at their Approach, at their presenting themselves together before his Eyes, as two Lovers going to betray him to all the Miseries, Pangs, and Confusions of Love, going to possess —her, the dear Object and certain Life of his Soul, and she the Parent of him, to whom she had disposed of herself so intirely already, he was provok'd to break from all his Resolutions, and with one of those two Pistols he had in his Pockets, to have sent unerring Death to his old amorous Heart: But that Thought was no sooner born than stifled in his Soul, where it met with all the Sence of Gratitude that ever could present the tender Love and dear Care of a Parent there; and the Coach passing into the Gate put him upon new Designs, and before they were finished he saw Silvia's Page coming from the House, after seeing his Lady to her Apartment, and being show'd his own, where he laid his Vallice and Riding-things, and was now come out to look about a Country where he had never been before. Octavio goes down and meets him, and ventures to make himself known to him: And so infinitely glad was the Youth to have an Opportunity to serve him, that he vow'd he would not only do it with his Life, on Occasion, but believ'd he could do it effectually, since the old Gentleman had no sort of Jealousie now; especially since they had so prudently manag'd Matters in this time of his Ladies remaining at Sebastian's House. So that, Sir, it will not be difficult, says the generous Boy, for me to convey you to my Lodging when it is dark. He told him his Lady cast many a longing Look out towards the Road as she pass'd, for you, I am sure my Lord—for she had told both myself and Antonett of her Design before, least our Surprize or Resistance should prevent any Force you might use on the Road, to take her from my Lord Sebastian: She sigh'd and look'd on me as she alighted, with Eyes, my Lord, that told me her Grief for your Disappointment. You may easily imagine how transported the poor Octavio was; he kiss'd and imbrac'd the Amiable Boy a thousand times; and taking a Ring from his Finger of considerable Value, gave it the dear Reviver of his Hopes. Octavio already knew the Strength of the House, which consisted but of a Gardener, whose Wife was House-keeper, and their Son, who was his Fathers Servant in the Garden, and their Daughter, who was a sort of Maid-servant: And they had brought only the Coach-man, and one Foot-man, who were likely to be mirrily imploy'd in the Kitchin at Night when all got to Supper together. I say, Octavio already knew this, and there was now nothing that opposed his Wishes: So that dismissing the dear Boy he remained the rest of the tedious Day at the Caberet, the most impatient of Night of any Man on Earth: And when the Boy appear'd it was like the Approach of an Angel. He told him his Lady was the most Melancholy Creature that ever Eyes beheld, and that to conceal the Cause, she had feigned herself Ill, and had not stir'd from her Chamber all the day: That the old Lover was perpetually with her, and the most concern'd Doatard that ever Cupid inslav'd: That he had so wholly taken up his Lady with his disagreeable Entertainment, that it was impossible either by a Look or Note to inform her of his being so near her, whom she considered as her present Defender, and her future Happiness. But this Evening, continued the Youth, as I was waiting on her at Supper, she spy'd the Ring on my Finger, which, my Lord, your Bounty made me Master of this Morning. She blush'd a Thousand times and fix'd her Eyes upon it, for she knew it, and was Impatient to have ask'd me some Questions, but contain'd her Words. And after that I saw a Ioy dance in her lovely Eyes, that told me, She devin'd you were not far from thence. Therefore I beseech your Lordship let us haste. So both went out together, and the Page Conducted him into a Chamber he better knew than the Boy, while every Moment he receives Intelligence how Affairs went in that of Silvia's, by the Page, who leaving Octavio there went out as a Spy for him. In fine, with much ado, Silvia perswaded her Old Lover to urge her for no Favours that Night, for she was indispos'd and unfit for Love; yet she perswades with such an Air, so Smiling and Insinuating, that she increases the Fire she indeavour'd to allay: but he, who was all Obedience as well as New Desire, resolves to humour her, and shew the perfect Gallantry of his Love; he promises her she shall command: And after that never was the Old Gentleman seen in so excellent a Humour before, in the whole Course of his Life; a certain Lightening against a Storm, that must be fatal to him. He was no sooner gone from her, with a promise to go to Bed and Sleep, that he might be the earlier up, to show her the fine Gardens which she lov'd, but she sends Antonett to call the Page, from whom she long'd to know something of Octavio, and was sure he cou'd inform her. But she was undressing while she spoke, and got into her Bed before she left her: But Antonett, instead of bringing the Sighing Youth, brought the Transported and Ravish'd Octavio, who had by this time pull'd off his Course Campaign and put down his Hair. He fell breathless with Joy on her Bed side; when Antonett, who knew that Love desired no lookers on, retired and left Octavio almost dead with Joy, in the Clasping Arms of the Trembling Maid, the lovely Silvia. Oh, who can guess their satisfaction? Who can guess their Sighs and Love? their tender Words half stifled in Kisses; Lovers! fond Lovers! only can imagine; to all besides this Tale will be Insipid. He now forgets where he is, that not far off lay his Amorous Uncle, that to be found there was Death and something worse; but wholly Ravish'd with the Languishing Beauty, taking his Pistols out of either Pocket, he lays them on a Dressing Table near the Bed side, and in a Moment throws off his Cloths, and gives himself up to all the Heaven of Love that lay ready to receive him there, without thinking of any thing but the vast Power of eithers Charms. They lay and forgot the hasty Hours, but Old Sebastian did not. They were all counted by him, with the Impatience of a Lover: He Burnt, he Rag'd with fierce Desire, and tost from side to side and found no ease; Silvia was present in Imagination, and he like Tantalus reaches at the Food, which, tho' in view, is not within his reach: He wou'd have Pray'd, but he had no Devotion for any Deity but Silvia; he rose and walk'd, and went to Bed again, and found himself uneasie every way. A Thousand times he was about to go, and try what Opportunity would do in the dark silent Night—but fears her Rage—he fears she'll chide at least; then he resolves and unresolves as fast: Unhappy Lover—thus to blow the Fire when there were no Materials to supply it; at last overcome with fierce Desire, too Violent to be withstood, or rather Fate wou'd have it so ordained, he ventures all, and steals to Silvia's Chamber, believing when she found him in her Arms she could not be displeased; or if she were, that was the surest place of Reconciliation: So that only putting his Night Gown about him, he went softly to her Chamber for fear of waking her: The unthinking Lovers had left open the Door, so that it was hardly put to. And the first Alarm was Octavio's Hand being seiz'd, which was Clasping his Treasure. He starts from the frighted Arms of Silvia, and leaping from the Bed wou'd have escaped, for he knew too well the touch of that Old Hand; but Sebastian wholly surpriz'd at so robust a repulse, took most unfortunately a stronger hold, and laying both his Hands roughly upon him, with a Resolution to know who he was, for he felt his Hair; and Octavio struggling at the same Minute to get from him, they both fell against the Dressing Table, threw down the Pistols; in their fall one of which going off, shot the unfortunate Old Lover into the Head, so that he never spoke word more: At the going off of the Pistol, Silvia, who had not minded those Octavio laid on the Table, cry'd▪ out—Oh my Octavio! —My dearest Charmer, reply'd he, I'm well—And feeling on the Dead Body, which he wonder'd had no longer Motion, he felt Blood flowing round it, and Sighing cry'd —Ah, Silvia! I'm undone— My Vncle—Oh my Parent— Speak, Dear Sir! Oh! what unlucky Accident has done this fatal Deed? Silvia, who was very soft by Nature, was extreamly surpriz'd, and frightned at the News of a Dead Man in her Chamber, so that she was ready to run Mad with the Apprehension of it: She rav'd and tore her self, and exprest her Fright in Cries and Distraction; so that Octavio was compelled from one charitable Grie • to another. He goes to her and Comforts her, and tells, since 'tis by no design of either of them, their Innocence will be their Guardian Angel. He tells her all their fault was Love, which made him so heedlesly fond of Joys with her, he staid to reap those when he should have secur'd 'em by Flight. He tells her this is now no place to stay in, and that he would put on her Clothes and fly with her to some secure part of the World; For who, said he, that finds this poor Vnfortunate here, will not charge his Death on me or thee. —Haste then, my dearest Maid, haste, haste, and let us fly—So dressing her he led her into Antonett's Chamber, and conjured her to say nothing of the Accident, while he went to see which way they could get out. So locking the Chamber door where the dead Body lay, which by this time was stiff and cold; he lock'd that also of his Uncle's Chamber, and calling the Page they all got themselves ready; and puting Two Horses in the Coach, they unseen and unperceived got themselves all out: The Servants having drunk hard at their meeting in the Country last Night, were all too sound a sleep to understand any thing of what past. It being now about the Break of Day, Octavio was the Coachman, and the Page Riding by the Coachside, while Silvia and Antonett were in it, they in an hours time reach'd the Town, where Octavio pack'd up all that was carriageable; took his own Coach and Six Horses; left his Affairs to the Managent of a Kinsman that dwelt with him; took Bills to the value of Two thousand Pounds, and immediately left the Town, after receiving some Letters that came last Night by the Post, one of which was from Philander; and indeed this new Grief upon Octavio's Soul, made him the most Dejected and Melancholy Man in the World, insomuch that he, who never wept for any thing but for Love, was often found with Tears rowling down his Cheeks, at the remembrance of an Accident so deplorable, and of which he and his unhappy Passion was the Cause, tho' Innocently: Yet could not the dire Reflection oft hat, nor the loss of so tender a Parent, as was Sebastian, lessen one Spark of that Fire for Silvia, whose unfortunate Flame had been so Fatal. While They were safe out of danger, the Servants of Sebastian admired when Ten, Eleven and Twelve a Clock was come, they saw neither the Old Lord nor any of the New Guests. But when the Coachman mist his Coach and Horses he was in a greater maze, and thought some Body had stollen 'em, and accusing himself of Sluggishness and Debauchery, that made him not able to hear when the Coach went out, he forswore all Drinking. But when the Housekeeper and he met and discoursed about the Lady and the rest, they concluded that the Old Gentleman and she were agreed upon the matter, and being got to Bed together had quite forgot themselves; and made a Thousand Roguish remarks upon 'em. They believed the Maid and the Page too were as well imploy'd, since they saw neither. But when Dinner was ready she went up to the Maids Chamber and found it empty, as also that of the Page; her Heart then presaging something, she ventures to knock at her Lord's Chamber door, but finding it Lock'd and none Answer, they broke it open; and after doing the same by that of Silvia, they found the Poor Sebastian stretch'd on the Floor, and Shot in the Head, the Toylet pull'd almost down, and the Lock of the Pistol hanging in the point of the Toylet intangled, and the Muzzle of it just against the Wound. At first when they saw him they fancy'd Silvia might kill him, for either o • fering to come to Bed to her in the Night, or for some other Malicious end. But when they saw how the Pistol lay they fancy'd it Accident in the Dark; For, said the Woman—I and my Daughter have been up ever since Day-break, and, I'm sure no such thing happen'd then, nor co • ld th • y since escape: And it being natural in Holland to cry, Lope Schellum, that is, Run Rogue, to him that is alive, and who has kill'd another; and for every Man to set a helping Hand to bear him out of Danger, thinking it too much that one's already dead: I say, this being the Nature of the People, they never pursu'd the Murderers or fled Persons, but suffered Sebastian to lie till the Coroner sat upon him, who found it, or at least thought it, Accident; and there was all for that time. But this, with all the reasonable Circumstances, did not satisfie the States. Here is one of their High and Mighties killed, a fair Lady fled, and upon inquiry a fine Young Fellow too, the Nephew: All knew they were Rivals in this fair Lady; all knew there were Animosities between 'em; all knew Octavio was absconded some Days before; so that, upon Consideration, they concluded he was Murder'd by Compact; and the rather, because they wish'd it so in spight to Octavio; and because both he and Silvia were fled like Guilty Persons. Upon this they make a Seizure of both his and his Uncle's Estate, to the use of the States. Thus the best and most glorious Man that ever grac'd that part of the World was undone by Love. While Silvia with Sighs and Tears would often say, That sure she was born the Fate of all that Ador'd her, and no Man ever thriv'd that had a Design upon her, or a Pretension to her.

Thus between excess of Grief and excess of Love, which indeed lay veil'd in the first, they arriv'd at Bruxells; where Octavio, having News of the proceedings of the States against him, resolving rather to lose his Life, than tamely to surrender his Right, he went forth in order to take some Care about it: And in these extreams of a troubled Mind he had forgot to read Philander's Letters, but gave 'em to Silvia to peruse, till he return'd, beseeching and conjuring her, by all the Charms of Love, not to suffer herself to be afflicted, but now to consider she was wholly his; and she could not, and ought not to rob him of a Sigh or Tear for any other Man. For they had concluded to marry as soon as Silvia should be delivered from that part of Philander of which she was possess'd. Therefore beholding her intirely his own, of whom he was so fondly tender, he could not indure the Wind should blow on her, and kiss her lovely Face: Jealous of even the Air she breath'd, he was ever putting her in mind of whose and what she was; and she ever giving him new Assurances that she was only Octavio's. The last part of his ill News he conceal'd from her; that of the Usage of the States. He was so intirely careful of her Fame, that he had two Lodgings, one, most magnificent, for her, another for himself; and only visited her all the live-long Day. And being now re • red from her, she, whose Love and Curiosity grew less every day for the false Philander, open'd his Letter with a Sigh of departed Love, and read this.

Philander to Octavio.

SVRE of your Friendship, my dear Octavio, I venture to lay before you the History of my Misfortunes, as well as those of my Ioys; equally Extream.

In my last I gave you an Account how triumphing a Lover I was in the Possession of the adorable Calista; and how very near I was being surpriz'd in the Fountain, where I had hid myself from the Rage of old Clarinau; and escaped wet and cold to my Lodging: And tho' indeed I escaped, it was not without giving the old Husband a Iealousy, which put him upon an Inquiry after a stricter mann • r, as I heard the next day from Calista; but with as ill Success as the Night before; notwithstanding it appears by what after happened that he still retain'd his Iealousy, and that of me, from a thousand little Inquiries I had from time to time made, form my being now absent, and most of all from my being (as now he fancied) that Vision which Calista saw in the Garden. All these Circumstances wrought a thousand Canundrums in his Spanish politick Noddle: And he resolves that Calista's Actions should be more narrowly watch'd. This I can only guess from what insu'd. I am not able to say by what good Fortune I escap'd several happy Nights after the first, but 'tis certain I did so; for the old Man carrying all things fair to the lovely Countess, she thought herself secure in her Ioys hitherto, as to any Discovery: However I never went on this dear Adventure but I was well arm'd against any Mishaps of Poniard, Sword, and Pistol, that Grab of a right Spaniard. Calista had been marri • d above two years before I beheld her, and had never been with Child: But it so chanced, that she conceived the very first Night of our Happiness; since which time not all her Flatteries and Charms could prevail for one Night with the old Count: For, whether from her seeming Fondness he imagined the Cause, or what other Reason he had to withstand her Desire and Caresses, I know not: But still he found or feigned some Excuses to put her off; so that Calista's Fears and Love increased with her growing Belly. And tho' almost every Night I had the fair young Charmer in Bed with me (without the least Suspicion on Dormina's side) or else in the Arbours, or on flowery Banks in the Garden: Till I am confident there was not a Walk, a Grove, an Arbour, or Bed of Sweets, that was not conscious of our stollen Delights. Nay we grew so very bold in Love, that we often suffered the Day to break upon us; and still escaped his Spyes, who by either watching at the wrong Door, or part of the vast Garden; or by Sleepiness and Carelessness still let us pass their View. Four happy Months, thus bless'd and thus secur'd, we liv'd, when Calista could no longer conceal her growing Shame from the Iealous Clarinau or Dormina. She fear'd with too much Reason that 'twas Iealousy which made him refrain her Bed, tho' he dissembled well all Day: And one Night, weeping in my Bosom, with all the tenderness of Love, she said, That if I loved her, as she hoped I did, I should be shortly very miserable: For oh, cry'd she, I can no longer hide this—dear Effect of my stollen Happiness— and Clarinau will no sooner perceive my Condition, but he will use his utmost Rigour against me. I know his jealous Nature, and find I am undone—With that she told me how he had killed his first Wife; for which he was obliged to fly from the Court and Country of Spain: And that she found from all his Severity he was not chang'd from his Nature. In sine, she said and lov'd so much, that I was wholly charm'd, and vow'd myself her Slave, or Sacrifice, either to follow what she could propose, or fall a Victim with her to my Love. After which 'twas concluded (neither having a mind to leave the World, when we both knew so well how to make our selves happy in it) that the next Night I should bring her a Suit of Mans Cloths; and she would in that Disguise fly with me to any part of the World. For she vow'd if this unlucky Force of Flying had not happened to her, she had not been longer able to have indured his Tyranny and Slavery: But had resolved to break her Chain, and put herself upon any Fortune. So that after the usual Indearments on both sides, I left her resolved to follow my Fortune, and she me, to sacrifice all to her Repose. That Night, and all next Day, she was not idle; but put up all her Iew • ls, of which she had the richest of any Lady in all those Parts, for in that the old Count was over lavish: And the next Night I brought her a Suit, which I had made that day on purpose; as gay as could be made in so short a time; and scaleing my Wall well arm'd, I found her ready at the Door to receive me; and going into an Arbour, by the aid of a Dark-Lanthorn I carried, she dress'd her in a lac'd Shirt of mine, and this Suit I had brought her, of blew Velvet, trim'd with rich Loops and Buttons of Gold; a white Hat and white Feather; a fair Peruke, and scarlet Breeches, the rest suitable. And I must confess to you, my dear Octavio, that never any thing appear'd so Ravishing, and yet I have seen Silvia! But even she a Baby to this more noble Figure. Calista is tall, and fashioned the most divinely—the most proper for that Dress of any of her Sex: And I own I never saw any thing so Beautiful all over, from Head to Foot: and viewing her thus (carrying my Lanthorn all about her, but more especially her Face, her wondrous Charming Face—(Pardon me if I say, what does but look like Flattery)—I never saw any thing more resembling my dear Octavio, than the lovely Calista. Your every Feature, your very Smile and Air; so that, if possible, that increas'd my Adoration and Esteem for her: Thus compleated, I Armed her and buckl'd on her Sword, and she would needs have one of my Pistols too, that stuck in my Belt; and now she appeared all lovely Man. 'Twas so late by that time we had done, that the Moon which began to shine very Bright, gave us a Thousand little Fears, and disposing her Iewels all about us safe, we began our Adventure, with a Thousand dreadful Apprehensions on Calista's side. And going up the Walk towards the place where we were to mount the Wall; just at the end of it, turning a Corner we encounter'd Two Men, who were too near us to be prevented. Oh, cry'd Calista to me, who saw 'em first,—My dear Philander we are undone! I look'd and saw 'em and replied, My Charmer do not fear, they are but two to two whoe're they be; for Love, and I, shall be of force enough to Encounter 'em. No, my Philander, replied she briskly, 'tis I will be your Second in this Rancounter. At this approaching 'em more near (for they hasted to us, nor could we fly from them,) we soon found by his hobling, that Old Clarinau was one, and the other a Tall Spaniard, his Nephew. I clapt my Hair under my Hat, and both of us making a stand, we resolv'd if they durst not venture on us to let 'em pass—but Clarinau, who was on that side which faced Calista, cry'd, Ah Villain, have I caught thee! and at the same instant with a Poniard stabbed her into the Arm; for with a sudden turn she evaded it from her Heart, to which it was designed. At which repaying his Complement, she shot of her Pistol, and down he fell, crying out for a Priest; while I at the same time laid my Tall Boy at his Feet. I caught my dear Virago in my Arms, and hasted through the Garden with her, and was very hasty in mounting my Ladder, putting my fair Second before me, without so much as daring yet to ask her if she were wounded, least it should have hinder'd our flight if I had found her hurt: Nor knew I she was so, till I felt her warm precious Blood streaming on my Face, as I lifted her over the Wall; but I soon conveyed her into my new Lodgings; yet not soon enough to secure her from those that pursu'd us: For with their bauling they alarm'd some of the Servants, who looking narrowly for the Murderers, track'd us by Calista's Blood, which they saw with their Flambeaus from the Place where Clarinau and his Nephew lay, to the very Wall; and thinking from our Wounds we could no • escape far, they searching the Houses, found me dressing Calista's Wound, which I kist a Thousand times. But the matchless Courage of the fair Virago! the Magnanimity of Calista's Soul! nothing of foolish Woman har • our'd there, nothing but softest Love; for while I was raving mad, tearing my Hair and cursing my Fate in vain, she had no concern but for me; no pain but that of her fear of being taken from me and being delivered to Old Clarinau, whom I fear'd was not dead; nor could the very seizing her daunt her Spirits, but with an unmatch'd Fortitude she bore it all; she only wish'd she could have escaped without Bloodshed. We were both led to Prison, but none knew who we were, for those that seized us had by chance never seen me, and Calista's Habit secur'd the discovery. While we both remained there, we had this Comfort of being well Lodg'd together; for they did not go about to part us, being in for one Crime. And all the satisfaction she had, was, that she should, she hop'd, die concealed, if she must die for the Crime; and that was much a greater Ioy than to think she should be render'd back to Clarinau, who in a few days we heard was upon his Recovery; this gave her new fears; but I confess to you I was not afflicted at it; nor did I think it hard for me to bribe Calista off; for the Master of the Prison was very Civil and Poor, so that with the help of some few of Calista's Iewels, he was wrought upon to let her escape, I offering to remain and bear all the brunt of the Business, and • o pay whatever he could be Fined for it. These Reasons with the ready Iewels mollified the needy Rascal; and tho' loath she were to leave me; yet she being assured that all they could do was but to sine me; and her stay she knew was her inevitable Ruine, she at last submitted, leaving me sufficient in Iewels to satisfie for all that could happen, which were the value of a Hundred thousand Crowns. She is fled to Bruxells, to a N • nnery of Augustin's, where the Lady Abbess is her Aunt, and where for a little time she is secure, till I can follow her.

I beg of you, my dear Octavio, write to me, and write me a Letter of Recommendation to the Magistrates here, who all being concern'd when any one of 'em is a Cuckold, are very severe upon Criminals in those Cases. I tire you with my Melancholy Adventure—but 'tis some ease in the Extreams of Grief to receive the tender Pity of a Friend, and that I'm sure Octavio will afford his unhappy

Philander.

As cold and as unconcern'd as Silvia imagin'd she had found her Heart to Philander's Memory, at the reading of this Letter, in spight of all the Tenderness she had for Octavio, she was possest with all those pains of Love and Jealousie, which heretofore tormented her when Love was Young, and Philander appeared with all those Charms with which he first Conquer'd; she found the Fire was but hid under those Embers, which every little blast blows off and makes it Flame a new. 'Twas now that she forgetting all the past Obligations of Octavio, all his vast Presents, his Vows, his Sufferings, his Passion and his Youth, abandon'd herself wholly to her Tenderness for Philander, and drowns her fair Cheeks in a Shower of Tears: And having eas'd her Heart a little by this natural Relief of her Sex, she opened the Letter that was design'd for her self, and read this.

To Silvia.

I Know, my lovely Silvia, I am accused of a Thousand Barbarities, for unkindly detaining your Lover, who long ere this ought to have thrown himself at your Feet, imploring a Thousand Pardons for his tedious Six Months absence, tho' the affliction of it is all my own, and I am affraid all the Punishment; but when, my dearest Silvia, I reflect again, it is in order to our future Tranquillity, I depend on your Love and Reason for my Excuse. I know my absence has procur'd me a Thousand Rivals, and you as many Adorers, and fear Philander appears grown Old in Love, and worn out with Sorrow and Care, unfit for the soft Play of the Young and Delicate Silvia; new Lovers have new Vows and new Presents, and your fickle Sex stoop to the lavish Prostrate. Ill luck—unkind Fate has ri •• 'd me, and of a shining Fortune left me even to the Charity of the stingy World; and I have no new Complement to maintain the esteem in so great a Soul as that of Silvia, but that old repeated one of telling her my dull, my trifling Heart is still her own: But, oh! I want the presenting Eloquence that so perswades and charms the Fair, and am reduced to that fatal Torment of a generous Mind, rather to ask and take than to bestow. Yet out of my contemptible stock, I have sent my Silvia something towards that dangerous unavoidable hour, which will declare me, however, a happy Father of what my Silvia bears about her; 'tis a Bill for a Thousand Patacoons. I am at present under an easie restraint, about a little Dispute between a Man of Quality here and my self, I had else been at Bruxells to have provided all things for your coming Ilness, but every day expect my Liberty, and then without delay I will take Post and bring Philander to your Arms.

I have News that Caesario is arrived at Bruxells. I am at present a Stranger to all that passes, and having a double Obligation to haste, you need not fear but I shall do so.

This Letter raised in her a different Sentiment from that of the Story of his Misfortune; and that taught her to know that this he had writ to her was all false and dissembl'd: Which made her in concluding the Letter, cry out with a vehement Scorn and Indignation —Oh how I hate thee Traytor! who hast the Impudence to continue thus to impose upon me, as if I wanted common Sense to see thy Baseness: For what can be more Base and Cowardly than Lyes, that poor Plebeian Shift; contemn'd by Men of Honour or of Wit. This she spoke without reminding that this most contemptible Quality she herself was equally guilty of, tho' infinitely more excusable in her Sex, there being a thousand little Actions of their Lives liable to Censure and Reproach, which they would willingly excuse and colour over with little Falsities; but in a Man, whose most inconstant Actions pass oftentimes for innocent Gallantries, and to whom 'tis no Infamy to own a thousand Amours, but rather a Glory to his Fame and Merit: I say, in him (whom Custom has favoured with an Allowance to commit any Vice and boast it) 'tis not so brave. And this Fault of Philander's cur'd Silvia of her Disease of Love; and chaced from her Heart all that Softness which once had so much favoured him. Nevertheless she was fill'd with Thoughts that fail'd not to make her extreamly Melancholy: And 'twas in this Humour Octavio found her; who forgetting all his own Griefs, to lessen hers (for his Love was arrived to a degree of Madness) he caresses her with all the Eloquence his Passion could pour out; he falls at her Feet, and pleads with such a Look and Voice as could not be resisted; nor ceas'd he till he had talk'd her into Ease, till he had look'd and lov'd her into a perfect Calm: 'Twas then he urg'd her to a new Confirmation of her Heart to him, and took hold of every yielding Softness in her to improve his Advantage. He press'd her to all 〈◊〉 wish'd, but by such tender Degrees, by Arts so fond and indearing 〈◊〉 the could deny nothing. In this Humour she makes a thousand Vows against Philander; to hate him as a Man that has first ruined her Honour, and then abandon'd her to all the Ills that attend ungoverned Youth, and unguarded Beauty: She makes Octavio swear as often to be reveng'd on him, for the Dishonour of his Sister: Which being performed, they re-assum'd all the Satisfactions, which had seem'd almost destroy'd by adverse Fate, and for a little space liv'd in great Tranquillity; or if Octavio had Sentiments that represented past Unhappinesses and a future Prospect of ill Consequences, he strove with all the Power of Love to hide 'em from Silvia. In this time they often sent to the Nunnery of the Augustins, to inquire of the Countess of Clarinau; and at last hearing she was arrived, no force of Perswasion or Reason could hinder Silvia from going to make her a Visit: Octavio pleads in vain the overthrow of all his Revenge, by his Sisters, knowledge that her Intrigue was found out: But in an Undress—for her Condition permitted no other, she is carried to the Monastery, and asks for the Mother Prioress, who came to the Grate: Where after the first Complement's over, she tells her she is a Relation to that Lady who such a day came to the House. Silvia by her Habit and Equipage appearing of Quality; was answered, that tho • the Lady were very much indispos'd, and unfit to appear at the Grate, she would nevertheless indeavour to serve her, since she was so earnest; and commanding one of the Nuns, to call down Madam the Countess, she immediately came; but tho' in a Dress all negligent, and Face where Languishment appeared, she at first sight surprized our Fair One; with a certain Majesty in her Mein and Motion, and an Air of Greatness in her Face, which resembled that of Octavio: So that not being able to sustain herself on her trembling Supporters, she was ready to faint at a Sight so charming, and a Form Angelick. She saw her all that Philander had describ'd; nor could the Partiality of his Passion render her more lovely than she appear'd this Instant to Silvia. She came to reproach her—but she found a Majesty in her Looks above all Censure, that aw'd the jealous Upbraider, and almost put her out of Coun • enance; and with a rising Blush she seem'd asham'd of her Errand. At this Silence the lovely Calista, a little surpriz'd, demanded of an attending Nun if that Lady would speak with her? This awaked Silvia into an Address, and she reply'd; Yes, Madam, I am the Vnfortunate, who am compell'd by my hard Fate to complain of the most charming Woman that ever Nature made: I thought in coming hither I should have had no other Business but to have told you how false, how perjured a Lover I had had; but at a Sight so wonderous I blame him no more (whom I find now compell'd to love) but you, who have taken from me, by your Charms, the only Blessing Heaven had lent me. This she ended with a Sigh, and Madam the Countess, who from the beginning of her speaking guess'd, from a certain trembling at her Heart, who it was she spoke of, resolv'd to show no Signs of a womanish Fear or Je • lousy, but with an unalterable Air and Courage, reply'd, Madam, if my Charms were so powerful, as you are pleased to tell me they are, they sure have attracted too many Lovers for me to understand which of 'em it is I have been so unhappy to rob you of. If he be a gallant Man, I shall neither deny him, nor repent my Loving him the more, for his having been a Lover before. To which, Silvia, who expected not so brisk an Answer, reply'd. She that makes such a Confession with so much Generosity, I know cannot be insensible of the Injuries she does, but will have a Consideration and Pity for those Wretches at least, who are undone to establish her Satisfaction. Madam, reply'd the Countess (a little touch'd with the Tenderness and Sadness with which she spoke) you have so just a Character of my Soul, that I assure you, I would not, for any Pleasure in the World, do an Action should render it less worthy of your good Thoughts. Name me the Man— and if I find him such as I may return you with Honour, he shall find my Friendship no more. Ah Madam, 'tis impossible, cry'd Silvia, that he can ever be mine, that has once had the Glory of being conquered by you; and what's yet more, of having con • uered you. Nay, Madam, reply'd Calista, if your Loss be irrecoverable, I have no more to do, but to sigh with you, and joyn our hard Fates; but I am not so vain of my own Beauty, nor have so little Admiration for that of yours, to imagine I can retain any thing you have a Claim to • for me, I am not fond of Admirers, if Heaven be pleased to give me one, I ask no more. I'll leave the World to you, so it allow me my Philander. This she spoke with a little Malice, which call'd up all the Blushes in the fair Face of Silvia; who a little netled at the word Philander, reply'd. Go, take the perjured Man, and see how long you can maintain your Empire over his fickle Heart, who has already betray'd you to all the Reproach an incensed Rival and an injured Brother can load you with: See where he has exposed you to Octavio; and after that tell me what you can hope from such a perjured Villain— At these Words she gave her the Letter Philander had writ to Octavio, with that he had writ to herself— and without taking Leave or speaking any more, she left her thoughtful Rival: Who after pausing a Moment on what should be writ there, and what the angry Lady ment, she silently passed on to her Chamber. But if she were surprized with her Visiter, she was much more when opening the Letters, she found one to her Brother, filled with the History of her Infamy, and what pressed her Soul more sensibly, the other fill'd with Passion and Softness to a Mistriss. She had scarcely read them out but a young Nun, her Kinswoman, came into her Chamber; whom I have since heard protest she scarce saw in that Moment any Alteration in her, but that she rose and received her with her wonted Grace and Sweetness; and but for some Answers that she made mal a propo, and Sighs that against her Will broke from her Heart, she should not have found an Alteration; but this being unusual made her Inquisitive; and the faint Denial she met with made her importune, and that so earnestly and with so many Vows of Fidelity and Secrecy, that Calistas's Heart, even breaking within, poured it self for Ease into the faithful Bosom of this young Devotee; and having told her all the Story of her Misfortune, she began with so much Courage and bravery of Mind, to make Vows against the charming Betrayer of her Fame, and with him all Mankind; and this with such Consideration and Repentance as left no room for Reproach or Perswasion; and from this Moment resolved never to quit the Solitude of the Cloysters. She had all her Life before her Marriage lived in one, and wished now she never had seen the World, or departed from a Life so pure and Innocent. She looked upon this fatal Accident now a Blessing, to bring her back to a Life of Devotion and Tranquillity; and indeed is a Miracle of Piety. Sometime after this she was brought to Bed, but commanded the Child should be removed where she might never see it, which accordingly was done; after which, in due time, she took the Habit; and remains a rare Example of Repentance, and Holyliving. This new Penitent became the News of the whole Town; and it was not without some Pleasure that Octavio heard it, as the only Action she could do that could reconcile him to her; the knowledg of which, and a few soft Days with Silvia, made him chase away all those Shiverings that had seized him upon several Occasions: But Silvia was all Sweetness, all Love and good Humour, and made his Days easy, and his Nights intirely Happy. While on the other side there was no Satisfaction, no Pleasure, that the fond lavish Lover did not at any Price purchase for her Repose; for it was the whole Business of his Life to study what would charm and please her: And being assured by so many Vows of her Heart, there was nothing rested to make him perfectly Happy, but her being delivered of what belong'd to his Rival, and in which he had no part, he was at perfect Ease. This she wishes with an Impatience equal to his; whose Love and Fondness for Octavio appeared to be arrived to the highest Degree, and she every Minute expected to be freed from the only thing that hinder'd her from giving herself intirely to her impatient Lover.

In the midst of this Serenity of Affairs, Silvia's Page one day brings 'em News his Lord was arriv'd, and that he saw him in the Park walking with some French Gentlemen, and undiscovered to him came to give her Notice, that she might take her measures accordingly, in spight of all her Love to Octavio: Her Blushes flew to her Cheeks at the News, and her Heart panted with unusual Motion; she wonders at her self and Fears, and doubts her own Resolution; she till now believ'd him wholly indifferent to her, but she knows not what Construction this new Disorder will bear; and what confounded and perplext her more, was, That Octavio beheld all these Emotions, with unconceivable resentment, he swells with Pride and Anger, and even bursts with Grief, and not able longer to contain his complaint, he reproaches her in the softest Language that ever Love and Grief invented; while she weeps with Shame and divided Love, and demands of him a Thousand Pardons; she deals thus kindly at least with him to confess this Truth; that 'twas impossible, but at the approach of a Man who taught her first to love, and for which Knowledge she had paid so infinitely dear, she could not but feel unusual Motions, that that Tenderness and Infant Flame he once inspired could not but have left some warmth about her Heart, and that Philander, the once charming dear Philander, could never be absolutely to her as a common Man, and beg'd that he would give some grains of allowance to a Maid, so soft by Nature, and who had once lov'd so well to be undone for the dear Object; and tho' every kind word she gave his Rival was a Dagger at his Heart, nevertheless, he found, or would think he found some reason in what she said; at least he seem'd more appeased, while she on the other side dissembled all the ease and repose of Mind, that could flatter him to Calmness.

You must know that for Silvia's Honour, she had Lodgings by her self, and Octavio had his in another House, at an Aunts of his, a Widow, and a Woman of great Quality; and Silvia being near her Lying-in, had provided all things with the greatest Magnificence imaginable, and past for a Young Widow whose Husband died at the Siege of—Octavio only visited her daily, and all the Nights she had to her self. For he treated her as one whom he design'd to make his Wife, and one whose Honour was his own; but that Night the News of Philander's Arrival was told her, she was more than ordinary impatient to have him gone pretending Illness, and yet seem'd loth to let him go, and Lovers (the greatest Cullies in Nature, and the aptest to be deceived, tho' the most quick-sighted)—do the soonest believe; and finding it the more necessary he should depart, the more ill she feign'd to be, he took his Leave, and left her to her Repose, after taking all care necessary for one in her Circumstances. But she, to make his Absence more sure, and fearing least he should suspect something of her Design, being herself Guilty, she orders him to be call'd back, and Caresses him anew, tells him she was never more unwilling to part with him, and all the while is complaining and wishing to be in Bed: And says he must not stir till he sees her laid. This obliges and cajoles him anew, and he will not suffer her Women to undress her, but does the grateful Business himself, and reaps some dear Recompence by every Service, and pleases his Eyes and Lips with the ravishing Beauties of the loose unguarded suffering Fair one. She permits him any thing to have him gone, which was not till he saw her laid as if to her Rest: But he was no sooner got into his Coach, but she rose and slip'd on her Night-Gown and some other loose things, and got into a Chair, commanding her Page to conduct the Chair-men to all the great Cabarets: Where she believed it most likely to find Philander; which was accordingly done; and the Page entering, enquires for such a Cavalier, describing his Person and fine remarkable black Hair of his own: But the first he entered into he saw Brilljard bespeaking Supper: For you must know that that Husband-Lover being left, as I have said, in Prison in Holland, for the Accusation of Octavio; the unhappy young Noble Man was no sooner fled upon the unlucky Death of his Uncle, but the States set Brilljard at Liberty; who took his Journey immediately to Philander, whom he found just released from his troublesome Affair, and design'd for Bruxells, where they arriv'd that very Morning. Where the first thing he did was to go to the Nunnery of St. Austin, to inquire for the fair, Calista; but instead of encountering the kind, the impatient, the brave Calista, he was addressed to by the old Lady Abbess in so rough a manner, that he no longer doubted upon what Terms he stood there, tho' he wondered how they should know his Story with Calista: When to put him out of Doubt, she assured him he should never more behold the Face of her injured Neece; for whose Revenge she left him to Heaven. It was in vain he kneel'd and implored; he was confirm'd again and again she should never come from out the Confines of those Walls; and that her whole remaining Life spent in Penitence was too little to wash away her Sins with him: And giving him the Letter he sent to Octavio (which Silvia had given Calista, and she the Lady Abbess, with a full Confession of her Fault) she cry'd; See there, Sir, the Treachery you have committed against a Woman of Quality— whom your Criminal Love has rendred, the most Miserable of her Sex. At the ending of which, she drew the Curtain over the Grate and left him, wholly amazed and confounded, finding it to be the same he had writ to Octavio, and in it that he had writ to Silvia: By the sight of which he no longer doubted but that Confident had betrayed him every way. He rails on his false Friendship, curses the Lady Abbess, himself, his Fortune and his Birth; but finds it all in vain: Nor was he so infinitely afflicted with the thought of the eternal Loss of Calista (because he had possessed her) as he was to find himself betray'd to her, and doubtless to Silvia by Octavio; and nothing but Calista's being confin'd from him (tho' she were very dear and charming to his Thoughts) could have made him rave so extreamly for a Sight of her: He loves her the more by how much more it was impossible for him to see her; and that Difficulty and his Dispair increased his Flame. In this Humour he went to his Lodging, the most undone Extravagant that ever rag'd with Love. He considers her in a place where no Art or force of Love, or humane Wit can retrieve her; no nor so much as send her a Letter. This added to his Fury, and in his first wild Imaginations he resolves nothing less than firing the Monastery, that in that Confusion he might Seize his right of Love; and do a Deed that would render his Name as famous as the Athenian Youth, who to get a Fame, tho' an Inglorious one, fired the Temple of their Gods. But his Rage abating by Consideration, that Impiety dwelt not long with him: And he ran over a number more, till from one to another he reduced himself to a degree of Moderation, which presented him with some flattering Hope, that gave him a little Ease: 'Twas then that Chivalier Tomaso, and another French Gentleman of Cesario's Faction (who were newly arrived in Bruxells) came to pay him their Respects: And after a while carried him into the Park to walk, where Silvia's Page had seen him; and from whence they sent Brilljard to bespeak Supper at this Cabaret, where Silvia's Chair and herself waited, and where the Page found Brilljard, of whom he asked for his Lord; but understanding he would not possibly come in some Hours, being design'd for Court that Evening, whither he was obliged to go and kiss the Governours Hands, he went to the Lady, who was almost dead with Impatience, and told her what he had learn'd: Upon which she ordered her Chairmen to carry her back to her Lodgings, for she would not be perswaded to ask any Questions of Brilljard, for whom she had a mortal Hate: However she resolved to send the Page back with a Billet to wait Philander's coming; which was not long; for having sooner dispatched their Complement at Court than they believed they should, they went all to Supper together, where Brilljard had bespoke it: Where being impatient to learn all the Adventures of Cesario since his Departure from him, and of which no Person could give so good an Account as Chivalier Tomaso, Philander gave order that no body whomsoever should disturb them, and sate himself down to listen to the Fortune of the Prince.

You know, my Lord, said Tomaso, the state of Things at your Departure; and that all our glorious Designs for the Liberty of all France were discovered and betray'd by some of those little Rascals, that great Men are obliged to make use of in the greatest Designs: Upon whose Confession you were proscrib'd, myself, this Gentleman, and several others: It was our good Fortunes to escape untaken, and yours to fall first into the Messenger's Hands, and carried to the Bastile, even from whence you had the Luck to escape: But it was not so with Cesario. Heavens, cry'd Philander, the Prince I hope is not taken? Not so neither, reply'd Tomaso, nor should you wonder you have receiv'd no News of him in a long time, since forty thousand Crowns being offered for his Head, or to any that could discover him, it would have exposed him to have written to any body, he being beset on all sides with Spies from the King; so that it 'twas impossible to venture a Letter without very great Hazzard of his Life. Besides all these Hindrances, Cesario, who, you know, was ever a great admirer of the fair Sex, happen'd in this his Retreat to fall most desperately in Love: Nor could the fears of Death, which alarm'd him on all sides, deterr him from this new Amour: Which because it has Relation to some part of his Adventures, I cannot omit, especially to your Lordship, his Friend, to whom every Circumstance of that Princes Fate and Fortune will be of Concern.

You must imagin, my Lord, that your Seizure and Escape was enough to alarm the whole Party; and there was not a Man of the League who did not think it high time to look about him, when one, so considerable as your Lordship, was surpriz'd. Nor did the Prince himself any longer believe himself safe; but retired himself under the darkness of the following Night: He went only accompanied with his Page, to a Ladies House, a Widow of Quality in Paris, that populous City; being as he conceived, the securest Place to conceal himself in. This Lady was Madam the Countess of—who had, as you know, my Lord, one only Daughter, Madam Osell Hermione, the Heiress of her Family. The Prince knew this young Lady had a Tenderness for him ever since they were both very young, which first took beginning in a Mask at Court, where she then acted Mercury, and danced so exceeding finely, that she gave our young Hero new Desire, if not absolute Love; and charm'd him at least into Wishes. She was then old enough to perceive she conquered, as well as to make a Conquest: And she was capable of receiving Impressions, as well as to give 'em: And it was believed by some who were very near the Prince, and knew all his Secrets then, that this young Lady pitied the Sighs of the Royal Lover, and even then rewarded 'em: And tho' this were most credibly whispered, yet methinks it seems impossible he should then have been happy, and after so many Years, after the Possession of so many other Beauties, should return to her again, and find all the Passions and Pains of a beginning Flame. But there is nothing to be wondered at in the Contradictions and Humours of Man's human Nature. But however inconstant and wavering he had been, Hermione retain'd her first Passion for him; and that I less wonder at, since you know the Prince has the most charming Person in the World, and is the most perfectly Beautiful of all his Sex: To this his Youth and Quality adds no little Lustre; and I should not wonder if all the softer Sex should languish for him, nor that any one should love on—who hath once been touch'd with Love for him. 'Twas this last Assurance the Prince so absolutely depended on, that (notwithstanding she was far from the Opinion of his Party) made him resolve to take Sanctuary in those Arms he was sure would receive him in any Condition and Circumstances. But now he makes her new Vows, which possibly at first his Safety obliged him to, while she return'd 'em with all the Passion of Love. He made a thousand Submissions to Madam the Countess, who he knew was fond of her Daughter to that degree, that for her Repose she was even willing to behold the Sacrifice of her. Honour to this Prince, whom she knew Hermione loved even to Death; so fond, so blindly fond is Nature▪ And indeed after a little time that he lay there conceal'd, he reap'd all the Satisfaction that Love could give him, or his Youth could wish, with all the Freedom imaginable. He only made Vows of renouncing all other Women, what Ties or Obligations soever he had upon him; and to resign himself intirely up to Hermione. I know not what new Charms he had found by frequent Conversation with her, and being uninterrupted by the sight of any other Ladies; but 'tis most certain, my Lord, he grew to that excess of Love, or rather Doatage (if Love in one so young, can be call'd so) that he languishes for her, even while he possessed her all: He dy'd, if oblig'd by Company to retire from her an Hour, at the end of which, being again brought to her, he would fall at her Feet, and sigh, and weep, and make the most pitious Moan that ever Love inspir'd. He would complain upon the Cruelty of a Moments Absence, and vow he could not live where she was not. All that disturbed his Happiness, he reproach'd as Enemies to his Repose, and at last made her feign an Illness, that no Visits might be made her, and that he might possess all her Hours. Nor did Hermione perceive all this without making her Advantages of so glorious an Opportunity; but with the usual Cunning of her Sex, improved every Minute she gave him: She now found herself sure of the Heart of the finest Man in the World; and of one she believed would prove the greatest, being the Head of a most powerful Faction, who were resolved the first Opportunity to order Affairs so as to come to an open Rebellion, and to make him a King. All these things, how unlikely soever in Reason, her Love and Ambition suggested to her; so that she believed she had but one Game more to play to establish herself the greatest and most happy Woman in the World. She consults in this weighty Affair with her Mother, who had a share of Cunning that could carry on a Design as well as any of her Sex. They found but one Obstacle to all Hermione's rising Greatness; and that was the Prince's being married; and that to a Lady of so considerable Birth and Fortune, so eminent for her Vertue, and all Perfections of Woman-kind; and withal so excellent for Wit and Beauty, that 'twas impossible to find any Cause of a Separation between 'em. So that finding it improbable to remove that Lett to her Glories, she grew very Melancholy; which was soon perceived by the too Amorous Prince, who pleads, and sighs, and weeps on her Bosom Day and Night to find the Cause: But she, who found she had a difficult Game to play, and that she had need of all her little Aids, pretends a thousand little frivillous Reasons before she discovers the true one; which serv'd but to oblige him to ask anew, as she design'd he should —At last, one Morning, finding him in the softest fit in the World, and ready to give her whatever she could ask in return for the Secret of her Disquiet, she told him with a Sigh, how Unhappy she was in loving so violently a Man who could never be any thing to her more than the Robber of her Honour: And at last with abundance of Sighs and Tears bewail'd his Marriage— He taking her with all the Joy imaginable in his Arms, thank'd her for speaking of the only thing he had a thousand times been going to offer to her, but durst not for fear she should Reproach him. He told her he look'd upon himself as married to no Woman but herself, to whom, by a thousand solemn Vows he had contracted himself, and that he would never own any other while he liv'd, let Fortune do what she pleas'd with him. Hermione thriving hitherto so well, urged his easy Heart yet farther, and told him, Tho' she had left no Doubt remaining in her of his Love and Vertue, no suspicion of his Vows, yet the World would still esteem the Princess his Wife, and herself only as a Prostitute to his Youthful Pleasure; and as she conceiv'd her Birth and Fortune not to be much inferior to that of the Princess, she should die with Indignation and Shame, to bear all the Reproach of his Wantonness, while his now Wife would live esteem'd and pitied as an injured Innocent. To all which he reply'd, as mad in Love, That the Princess, he confess'd, was a Lady to whom he had Obligations, but that he esteem'd her no more his Wife, since he was married to her at the Age of twelve Years; an Age wherein he was not capacitated to chuse Good or Evil, or to answer for himself, or his Inclinations: And tho' she were a Lady of absolute Vertue, of Youth, Wit and Beauty; yet Fate had so ordain'd it, that he had reserv'd his Heart to this Moment intirely for herself; and that he renounc'd all Pretenders to him except herself; that he had now possess'd the Princess for the space of twenty Years; that Youth had a long Race to run, and could not take up at those Years with one single Beauty: That hitherto Ravage and Destruction of Hearts had been his Province and Glory, and that he thought he had never lost time but when he was a little while Constant: But now he was fix'd to all he would ever possess whilst he had Breath; and that she was both his Mistress and his Wife; his eternal Happiness, and the end of all his Loving. 'Tis there he said he would remain as in his first state of Innocence: That hitherto his Ambition had been above his Passion, but that now his Heart was so intirely subdu'd to this fair Charmer (for so he call'd and thought her) that he could be content to live and die in the Glory of being hers alone, without wishing for Liberty or Empire, but to render her more Glorious. A thousand things tender and fond he said to this purpose, and the result of all ended in most solemn Vows, That if ever Fortune favoured him with a Crown, he would fix it on her Head, and make her in spight of all former Ties and Obligations Queen of France. This was sufficient to appease her Sighs and Tears, and she remain'd intirely satisfied of his Vows, which were exchanged before Madam the Countess, and confirm'd by all the binding Obligations Love on his side could invent, and Ambition and Subtilty on hers. When I came at any time to visit him, which by stealth a-nights I sometimes did, to take Orders from him how I should act in all things (tho' I lay conceal'd like himself) he would tell me all that had passed between him and Hermione. I suppose, not so much for the reposing the Secret in my Breast, as out of a fond Pleasure to be relating Passages of his Doa • age, and repeating her Name, which was ever in his Mouth: I saw she had reduc'd him to a great degree of Slavery, and could not look tamely on while a Hero so young, so gay, so great, and so hopeful, lay idling away his precious Time, without doing any thing, either in order for his own Safety or Ambition. 'Twas, my Lord, a great pity to see how his noble Resolution was changed, and how he was perfectly effeminated into soft Woman. I indeavoured at last to rouse him from this Lethargy of Love; and argued with him the little Reason, that in my Opinion he had to be so charm'd. I told him Hermione, of all the Beauties of France, was esteemed one of the meanest, and that if ever she had gain'd a Conquest (as many she was infamously fam'd for) it was purely the force of her Youth and Quality; but that now that Bloom • was past, and she was one of those, which in less quality, we call'd Old. At these Reproaches of his Judgment, I often perceiv'd him to blush, but more with Anger than Shame. Yet because, according to the Vogue of the Town, he found there was Reason in what I said, and which he could only contradict by saying however she was, she appeared all otherwise to him: He blam'd me a little kindly for my hard Words against her, and began to swear to me he thought her all over Charm. He vow'd there was absolute Fascination in her Eyes and Tongue. 'Tis confess'd, said he, she has not much of Youth, nor of that which we agree to call Beauty; but she has a Grace so Masculine, an Air so Ravishing, a Wit and Humour so absolutely made to charm, that they all together sufficiently recompense for her want of Delicacy in Complexion and Feature: And in a word, my Tomaso, cry's he▪ imbracing me; she is, tho' I know not what, or how, a Maid that compels me to adore her; she has a natural Power to please above the rest of her dull Sex; and I can abate her a Face and Shape, and yet vie her for Beauty with any of the celebrated ones of France.

I found by the manner of his saying this, that he was really charm'd, and past all Retrieve; bewitch'd to this Lady. I found it vain therefore to press him to a Separation, or to lessen his Passion; but on the contrary told him there was a time for all things; if Fate had so ordain'd it that he must love. But I besought him with all the Eloquence of perfect Duty and Friendship not to suffer his Passion to surmount his Ambition and his Reason, so far as to neglect his Interest and Safety; and for a little Pleasure with a Woman, suffer all his Friends to perish that had woven their Fortunes with his, and must stand or fall as he thriv'd: I implor'd him not to cast away the Good Cause which was so far advanc'd, and that yet, notwithstanding this Discourse, might all be retrieved by his Conduct and good Management. That I knew, however the King appeared in outward shew to be offended, that it was yet in his Power to calm the greatest Tempest this Discovery had raised▪ That 'twas but casting himself at his Majesty's Feet, and begging his Mercy, by a Confession of the Truth of some part of the Matter; and that it was impossible he could fail of a Pardon from so indulgent a Monarch as he had offended: That there was no Action could wholly raze out of the Kings Heart that Tenderness and Passion he had ever expressed towards him; and his Peace might be made with all the Facility imaginable. To this he urged a very great Reluctancy, and cry'd he would sooner die, than by a Confession expose the Lives of his Friends, and let the World see their whole Design before they had power to eff • ct it: And not only so, but put it past all their Industry ever to bring so hopeful a Plot about again. At this I smil'd, and asking his Highness Pardon, told him I was of another Opinion, as most of the Heads of the Hugonots were, That what he said to his Majesty in Private could never possibly be made Publick: That his Majesty would content himself with the Knowledge of the Truth, without caring to satisfy the World, so greatly to the Prejudice of a Prince of the Blood, and a Man so very dear to him as himself: He urg'd the Fears this would give those of the Reformed Religion, and alarm 'em with a thousand Apprehensions, that it would discover every Man of 'em, by unraveling the Intrigue. To this I reply'd, That their Fears would be very short liv'd; for as soon as he had by his Submission and Confession gained his Pardon, he had no more to do but to renounce all he had said, leave the Court, and put himself into the Protection of his Friends, who were ready to receive him. That he need but appear abroad a little time, and he would see himself address'd to again by all of the Hugonot Party, who would quickly put him into a Condition of fearing nothing.

My Councel, with the same Perswasion from all of Quality of the Party, who came to see him, was at last approved of by him, and he began to say a thousand things to assure me of his Fidelity to his Friends and the Faction, which he vow'd never to forsake for any other Interest, but to stand or fall in its Defence; and that he was resolved to be a King or Nothing; and that he would put in Practice all the Arts and Stratagems of Cunning, as well as Force, to attain to this Glorious End, however crooked and indirect they might appear to Fools. However he conceived the first necessary Step to this, was the getting his Pardon, to gain a little time to manage things anew, to the best Advantage: That at present all things were at a stand without Life or Motion, wanting the sight of himself who was the very Life and Soul of Motion; the Axel-tree that could turn the Wheel of Fortune round again.

And now he had talk'd himself into Sense again; he cry'd— Oh my Tomaso! I long to be in Action, my Soul is on the Wing, and ready to take its Flight through any Hazzard. —But sighing, on a suddain again he cry'd: But oh my Friend, my Wings are impt by Love, I cannot mount the Regions of the Air and thence survey the World; but still as I would rise to mightier Glory, they •• ag to humble Love, and fix me there. Here I am charm'd to lazy soft Repose, here 'tis I smile and play, and love away▪ my Hours: But I will rouse, I will, my dear Tomaso; nor shall the winged Boy hold me inslav'd: Belive me Friend he shall not— He sent me away pleased with this, and I left him to his Repose.

Supper being ready to come upon the Table, tho' Philander were impatient to hear the Story out, yet he would not press Tomaso, till after Supper; in which time they discoursed of nothing but the Miracle of Cesario's Love to Hermion • . He could not but wonder a Prince so young, so amorous, and so gay, should return again, after almost fifteen Years, to an old Mistress; and who had never been in her Youth a celebrated Beauty: One, whom it was imagined, the King, and several after him at Court, had made a Gallantry with—On this he paused for some time, and reflected on his Passion for Silvia; and this fantastick Intrigue of the Prince's inspired him with a kind of Curiosity to try, whether fleeting Love would carry him back again to this abandoned Maid. In these Thoughts, and such Discourse, they passed away the time during Supper; which ended, and a fresh Bottle brought to the Table, with a new Command that none should interrupt 'em: The impatient Philander obliged Tomaso to give him a farther Account of the Princes Proceedings; which he did in this manner:

My Lord, having left my Prince, as I imagined, very well resolved, I spoke of it to as many of our Party as I could conveniently meet with, to prepare 'em for the Discovery I believed the Prince would pretend to make, that they should not by being alarm'd at the first News of it, put themselves into Fears that might indeed discover 'em: Nor would I suffer Cesario to rest, but daily saw him, or rather nightly stole to him, to keep up his Resolution: And indeed, in spight of Love, to which he had made himself so intire a Slave, I brought him to his own House, to visit Madam his Wife, who was very well at Court, maugre her Husbands ill Conduct, as they call'd it. The King being, as you know, my Lord, extreamly kind to that deserving Lady, often made her Visits, and would without very great Impatiency hear her plead for her Husband, the Prince; and possibly it was not ungrateful to him: All this we daily learn'd from a Page, who secretly brought Intelligence from Madam the Princess: So that we conceived it wholly necessary for the Interest of the Prince, that he should live in a good Understanding with this prudent Lady. To this end he feigned more Respect than usual to her, and as soon as it was dark, every Evening made her his Visits. One Evening among the rest, he happened to be there, just as the Proclamation came forth of four thousand Crowns to any that could discover him; and within half an Hour after came the King to visit the Princess, as every Night he did; her Lodging being in the Court: The King came without giving any Notice, and with a very slender Train that Night; so that he was almost in the Princess's Bedchamber before any body inform'd • her he was there; so that the Prince had no time to retire but into Madam the Princess's Cabaret, the Door of which, she immediately locking, made such a Noise and Bustle that it was heard by his Majesty, who nevertheless had passed it by, if her Confusion and Blushes had not farther betray'd her, with the unusual Address she made to the King: Who therefore asked her who she had conceal'd in her Closet. She endeavoured to put him off with some feign'd Replies, but 'twould not do; the more her Confusion, the more the King was inquisitive, and urged her to give him the Key of her Cabaret: But she, who knew the Life of the Prince would be in very great Danger, should he be taken so, and knew on the other side. • hat to deny it would betray the Truth as much as his Discovery would, and cause him either to force the Key or the Door, fell down at his Feet, and wetting his Shooes with her Tears, and grasping his Knees in her trembling Arms, implor'd that Mercy and Pity for the Prince her Husband, whom her Vertue had rendered dear to her, however Criminal he appear'd to his Majesty: She told him his Majesty had more peculiarly the Attributes of a God than any other Monarch upon Earth, and never heard the Wretched or the Innocent plead in vain. She told him that herself and her Children, who were dearer to her than Life, should all be as Hostages for the good Conduct and Duty of the Prince's future Life and Actions: And they would all be obliged to suffer any Death, tho' never so ignominious, upon the least breaking out of her Lord: That he should utterly abandon those of the reformed Religion, and yield to what Articles his Majesty would graciously be pleased to impose, quitting all his false and unreasonable Pretensions to the Crown, which was only the Effects of the Flattery of the Hugonot Party, and the Male-Contents. Thus with the Vertue and Goodness of an Angel, she pleaded with such moving Eloquence, mix'd with Tears, from beautiful Eyes, that she fail'd not to soften the royal Heart, who knew not how to be deaf when Beauty pleaded: Yet he would not seem to yield so suddenly, least it should be imagined he had too light a Sense of his Treasons, which, in any other great Man, would have been punished with no less than Death: Yet, as she pleaded, he grew calmer, and suffered it without Interruption, till she waited for his Reply; and obliged him by her Silence to speak. He numbers up the Obligations he had heaped on her Husband; how he had, by putting all Places of great Command and Interest into his Hands, made him the greatest Prince and Favourite, of a Subject, in the World; and infinitely happier than a Monarch: That he had all the Glory and Power of one, and wanted but the Care: All the Sweets of Empire, while all that was disagreeable and toilsom, remain'd with the Title alone. He therefore upbraided him with infinite Ingratitude, and want of Honour; with all the Folly of ambitious Youth: And left nothing unsaid that might make the Princess sensible it was too late to hide any of his Treasons from him, since they were all but too apparent to his Majesty. 'Twas therefore that she urged nothing but his Royal Mercy and Forgiveness, without indeavouring to lessen his Guilt, or inlarge on his Innocency. In fine, my Lord, so well she spoke, that at last she had the Joy to perceive the happy Effects of her Wit and Goodness, which had mov'd Tears of Pity and Compassion from his Majesty's Eyes; which was Cesario's Cue to come forth, as immediately he did (having heard all that had pass'd) and threw himself at his Majesty's Feet: And this was the critical Minute he was to snatch for the gaining his Point, and of which he made a most admirable use. He call'd up all the Force of necessary Dissimulation, Tenderness to his Voice, Tears to his Eyes, and Trembling to his Hands, that stay'd the too willing and melting Monarch by his Robe, till he had heard him implore, and granted him his Pity: Nor did he quit his Hold, till the King cry'd with a soft Voice—Rise—at which he was assured of what he asked. He refused however to rise, till the Pardon was pronounced. He own'd himself the greatest Criminal in Nature; that he was drawn from his Allegiance by the most subtile Artifices of his Enemies, who under false Friendships had allur'd his Hopes with gilded Promises; and which he now too plainly saw were Designs to propagate their own private Interests, and not his Glory. He humbly besought his Majesty to make some gracious Allowances for his Vanities of Youth, and to believe now he had so dearly bought Discretion, at almost the price of his Majesty's eternal Displeasure, that he would reform, and lead so good a Life, so absolutely from any appearance of Ambition, that his Majesty should see he had not a more faithful Subject than himself. In fine, he found himself, by this Acknowledgment he had begun with, to advance yet farther: Nor would his Majesty be satisfied without the whole Scene of the Matter; and how they were to have surprized and seized him; where, and by what Numbers. All which he was forc'd to give an Account of; since now to have fallen back, when he was in their Hands, had been his infallible Ruine. All which he perform'd with as much Tenderness and Respect to his Friends concern'd, as if his own Life had been depending: And tho' he were extreamly prest to discover some of the great ones of the Party, he would never give his consent to an Action so mean, as to be an Evidence. All that could be got from him farther, was, to promise his Majesty to give under his Hand, what he had in private confess'd to him; with which the King remained very well satisfy'd, and order'd him to come to Court the next day. Thus for that Night they parted, with infinite Caresses on the King's part, and no little Joy on his. His Majesty was no sooner gone, but he gave immediate order to the Secretaries of State, to draw up his Pardon, which was done, with good Speed, that he had it in his own Hands the next day. When he came to Court 'tis not to be imagined the Surprize it was to all to behold the Man, in the greatest State imaginable, who but Yesterday was to have been Crucified at any Price: And those, who most exclaim'd against him, were the first who paid him Homage, and caress'd him at the highest rate; only the most Wise and Judicious, prophesied his Glories were not of a long Continuation. The King made no Visits where the Prince did not publickly appear: He told all People, with infinite Joy, that the Prince had confessed the whole Plot, and that he would give it under his Hand and Seal, in order to having it published thro'out all France, for the Satisfaction of all those who had been deluded and deceived by our specious Pretences; and for the Terror of those, who had any ways adhered to so pernicious a Villainy: So that he met with nothing but Reproaches from those of our own Party at Court: For there were many, who, hitherto were unsuspected, and who now, out of fear of being betray'd by the Prince, were ready to fall at the Kings Feet and confess all: Others there were, that left the Court and Town upon it. In fine, the face of things seem'd extreamly altered, while the Prince bore himself like a Person who had the Misfortune justly to lie beneath the Exclamations of a disobliged Multitude, as they at least imagined, and bore all, as if their Fears had been true, without so much as offering at his Justification, to confirm his Majesty's good Opinion of him: He added to his Pardon a Present of twenty thousand Crowns; half of it being paid the next day after his coming to Court. And in short, my Lord, his Majesty grew so fond of the Prince, he could not indure to suffer him out of his Presence; and was never satisfied with seeing him: He carried him the next day to the publick Theatre with him, to show the World he was reconcil'd. But by this time he had all confirm'd, and grew impatient to declare himself to his Friends, whom he would not have remain long in their ill Opinion of him. It happened, the third day of his coming to Court (in returning some of those Visits he had received from all the great Persons.) he went to wait upon the Dutchess of—a Lady who had ever had a tender Respect for the Prince: In the time of this Visit, a young Lady of Quality happen'd to come in; one whom your Lordship knows a great Wit, and much esteemed at Court, Madamoisell Mariana: By this Lady he found himself welcom'd to Court with all the Demonstrations of Joy; as also by the old Dutchess, who had divers times heretofore perswaded the Prince to leave the Hugonots, and return to the King and Court: She used to tell him he was a handsome Youth, and she loved his Mother well; that he danc'd finely, and she had rather see him in a Ball at Court, than in Rebellion in the Field; and often to this purpose her Love would rally him; and now shew'd no less concern of Joy for his Reconciliation; and looking on him, as a true Convert, fell a-railing, with all the Malice and Wit she could invent, at those publick spirited Knaves who had seduced him. She rail'd me, and cursed those Politicks which had betray'd him, to almost Ruine it self. The Prince heard her, with all the Patience he could, for some time, but when he found her touch him so tenderly, and name his Friends, as if he had own'd any such ill Councellors, his Colour came into his Face, and he could not forbear defending us with all the Force of Friendship. He told her he knew of no such Seducers, no Villains of the Party, nor of any trayterous Design, that either himself, or any Man in France, had ever harboured: At which, she growing to upbraid him, in a manner too passionate, he thought it decent to end his Visit, and left her very abruptly. At his going out he met with the Duke of— Brother to the Dutchess, going to visit her: En passant a very indifferent Ceremony pass'd on both sides, for this Duke never had entertain'd a Friendship, or scarce Respect for Cesario; but going into his Sister's, the Dutchess her Chamber, he found her all in a Rage at the Princes so publick Defence of the Hugonots, and their Allies; and the Duke entering, they told him what had pass'd. This was a very great Pleasure to him, who had a mortal Hate at this time to the Prince. He made his Visit very short, hastens to Court, and went directly to the King, and told him how infinitely he found his Majesty mistaken in the imagined Penitence of the Prince; and then told him what he had said at the Dutchess of—Lodgings, and had disown'd he ever confess'd any treasonable Design against his Majesty, and gave 'em the Lye, who durst charge him with any such Villainy. The King, who was unwilling to credit what he wished not true, plainly told the Duke, he could not believe it, but that it was the Malice of his Enemies who had forg'd this; the Duke reply'd, he would bring those to his Majesty, that heard the Words: Immediately thereupon dispatched away his Page, to begg the Dutchess would come to Court, with Madamoisell Mariana. The Dutchess suspecting the truth of the Business, and unwilling to do the Prince an ill Office, excused herself, by sending word she was ill of the Colick. But Mariana, who lov'd the King's Interest, and found the Ingratitude, as she call'd it, of the prime, hasted in her Chair to Court, and justified all the Duke had said; who being a Woman of great Wit and Honour, found that Credit which the Duke fail'd of, as an open Enemy to the Prince. About an hour after the Prince appeared at Court, and found the face of Things changed extreamly; and those, who before had kiss'd his Hand, and were proud of every smile from him: Now beheld him with coldness, and scarce made way as he past. However, he went on to the Presence and found the King, whose looks were also very much changed; who taking him into the Bed-Chamber, show'd him his whole Confession, drawn up ready for him to sign, as he had promis'd, tho' he never intended any such thing; and now resolv'd to die rather than do it: He took it in his Hand, while the King cry'd,— Here keep your Word, and Sign your Narrative.—Stay, Sir, replied the Prince, I have the Council of my Friends to ask first, in so weighty an Affair. The King confirm'd in all he had heard, no longer doubted but he had been too cunning for him; and going out in a very great discontent, he only cry'd,—Sir, if you have any better Friends than my self, I leave you to 'em;—and with this left him. The Prince was very glad he had got the Confession-Paper, hoping it would never come to light again; the King was the only person to whom he had made the Confession, and he was but one Accuser; and him he thought the Party could at any time be too powerful to oppose, all being easily believed on their side, and nothing on that of the Court. After this, in the Evening, the King going to visit Madam the Dutchess of—for whom he had a very great Esteem, and whither every Day the whole Court followed him: The Prince, with all the assurance imaginable, made his Court there also; but he was no sooner come into the Presence, but he perceived Anger in the Eyes of that Monarch, who had indeed a peculiar Greatness and Firceness there when Angry: A Minute after he sent Monsieur—to the Prince, with a command to leave the Court; and without much Ceremony he accordingly departed, and went directly to Hermione, who with all the impatience of Love expected him; nor was much surprized to find him Banisht the Court: For he made her acquainted with his most Secret Designs; who having made all his Interests her own, Espoused whatever related to him, and was capable of retaining all with great Fidelity: Nor had he quitted her one Night, since his coming to Court; and he hath often, with rapture, told me, Hermione was a Friend as well as a Mistress, and one with whom, when the first Play was ended, he could Discourse with of useful things of State, as well as Love; and improve in both the Noble Mysteries, by her Charming Conversation. The Night of this second Disgrace, I went to Hermione's to visit him, where we Discours'd what was next to be done. He did not think his Pardon was sufficient to secure him, and he was not willing to trust a King who might be convinced, that that Tenderness he had for him, was absolutely against the Peace and Quiet of all France. I was of this Opinion, so that upon farther debate, we thought it absolutely necessary to quit France, till the Courts heat should be a little abated, and that the King might imagine himself, by his absence, in more Tranquillity than he really is. In order to this, he made me take my Flight into Flanders, here to provide all things necessary against his coming, and I received his command to seek you out, and beg you would attend his coming hither. I expect him every Day. He told me at parting he long'd to consult with you how next to play this mighty Game, on which so many Kingdoms are staked, and which he is resolv'd to win or be nothing. An imperfect Relation, replied Philander, we had of this Affair, but I never could learn by what Artifice the Prince brought about his good Fortune at Court; but of your own Escape, I have heard nothing, pray oblige me with the Relation of it: Sir, said Thomaso, there is so little worthy the trouble you will take in hearing it, that you may spare your self the Curiosity. Sir, reply'd Philander, I alway had too great a share in what concern'd you not to be Curious of the Story. In which, reply'd Thomaso, tho' there be nothing Novel, I will satisfie you.

Be pleas'd to know, my Lord, that about a Week before our design was fully discovered by some of our own under-Rogues, I had taken a great House in Fabour St. Iermins, for my Mistress, whom you know, my Lord, I had liv'd with for the space of a Year. She was gone to drink the Waters of Bourbon, for some indisposition, and I had promised her all things should be fitted against her return, agreeable to her Humour and Desire; and indeed I spared no cost to make her Apartment Magnificent: And I believe few Women of Quality could purchace one so rich; for I lov'd the Young Woman, who had Beauty and Discretion enough to charm, tho' the Parisians of the Royal Party call'd her Nicky Nacky, which was given her in derision to me, not to her, for whom every body, for her own sake, had a considerable Esteem. Besides, my Lord, I had taken up Money out of the Orphans and Widows Bank from the Chamber of Paris, and could very well afford to be Lavish when I spent upon the publick Stock. While I was thus ordering all things, my Vallet came running out of Breath to tell me, that being at the Loovre, he saw several persons carried to the Secretaries Office, with Messengers; and that inquiring who they might be, he found they were two Parisians, who had offered themselves to the Messengers, to be carryed to be Examined about a Plot, the Prince Cesario and those of the Reformed Religion had to surprize his Majesty, kill Monsieur his Brother, and set all Paris in a Flame: And as to what particularly related to my self; he said, That I was named as the person design'd to seize upon the King's Guards, and dispatch Monsieur. This my own Conscience told me was too true for me to make any doubt, but I was discovered; I therefore left a Servant in the House, and in an Hackney-Coach took my Flight. I drove a little out of Paris till Night and then returned again, as the surest part of the World where I could conceal my self: I was not long in studying who I should trust with my Life and safety, but went directly to the Palace of Madam the Countess of —who you know, my Lord, was a Widow, and a Woman who had for a year past, a most violent Passion for me; but she being a Lady who had made many such Gallantries, and past her Youth, I had had only a very great Respect and Acknowledgment for her and her Quality, and being obliged to her for the Effects of her Tenderness, shown upon several Occasions, I could not but acquit my self like a Cavalier to her, whenever I could possible; and which, tho' I have a thousand times feigned great Business to prevent, yet I could not always be ungrateful; and when I paid her my Services, 'twas ever extreamly well received; and because of her Quality, and seting up for a second Marriage, she always took care to make my Approaches to her in as conceal'd a manner as possible; and only her Porter, one Page, and one Woman, knew this secret Amour; and for the better carrying it on, I ever went in a Hackney-Coach, least my Livery should be seen at her Gate: And as it was my Custom at other times, so I now sent the Porter (whom, by my Bounty and his Ladies, was intirely my own Creature) for the Page, to come to me, who immediately did, and I desired him to let his Lady know, I waited her Commands; That was the Word: He immediately brought me Answer, that by good Fortune his Lady was all alone, and infinitely wishing she knew where to send him for me: and I immediately, at that good News, ran up to her Chamber; where I was no sooner come, but desiring me to sit, she ordered her Porter to be call'd, and gave him Orders, upon pain of Life, not to tell of my being in the House, whatever Enquiry should be made after me; and having given the same Command to her Page, she dismiss'd 'em, and came to me, with all the Fear and Trembling imaginable. Ah Monsieur, cry'd she, falling on my Neck, we are undone—I not imagining she had heard the News already; cry'd, Why, is my Passion discovered? Ah, reply'd she in Tears, I would to Heaven it were no worse! would all the Earth had discovered that, which I should esteem my Glory—But 'tis, my charming Monsieur, continued she, Your Treasons and not Amour, whose discovery will be so fatal to me. At this I seemed amaz'd, and beg'd her to let me understand her: She told me what I have said before; and moreover, That the Council had that very Evening issued out Warrants for me, and she admired how I escaped. After a little Discourse of this kind, I asked her what she would advise me to do? for I was very well assured the violent hate the King had particularly for me, would make him never consent I should live on any terms: And therefore 'twas determined I should not surrender my self; and she resolved to run the risk of concealing me; which in fine she did Three Days, furnishing me with Money and Necessaries for my Flight. In this time a Proclamation came forth and offered five hundred Crowns for my Head, or to Seize me alive or dead. This Sum so wrought with the slavish Minds of Men, that no Art was left unessay'd to take me: They searcht all Houses, all HackneyCoaches that pass'd by Night; and did all that Avarice could inspire to take me, but all in vain: At last this glorious Sum so dazled the Mind of Madam the Countess's Porter, that he went to a Captain of the Musquetiers, and assured him, if the King would give him the aforesaid Sum, he would betray me, and bring him the following Night to surprize me without any Resistance: The Captain, who thought, if the Porter should have all the Sum, he should get none; and every one hoping to be the happy Man that should take me and win the Prize, could not indure another should have the Glory of both, and so never told the King of the Offer the Porter had made. But however Secret one may imagine an Amour to be kept, yet in so busie a place as Paris, and the Apartments of the Court Coquets, this of ours had been discoursed, and the Intrigue more than suspected: Whether this, or the Captain before nam'd, imagined to find me at the House of the Countess, because her Porter had made such an Offer; I say, however it was, the next Morning, upon a Sunday, the Guards broke into several Chambers, and missing me, had the Insolence to come to the Door of that of the Countess; and she had only time to slip on her NightGown, and running to the Door, besought them to have Respect to her Sex and Quality, while I started from my Bed, which was the same from whence the Countess rose; and not knowing where to hide, or what to do, concealing my Clothes between the Sheets, I mounted from the Table to a great silver Sconce that was fa • tened to the Wall by the Bed-side, and form thence made but one Spring up to the Tester of the Bed; which being one of those, raised with strong wood-work, and Japan, I could easily do; or rather it was by Miracle I did it; and laid myself along on the top, while my Back touched the Cieling of the Chamber; by this time, when no Intreaties could prevail, they had burst open the Chamber Door, and running directly to the Bed, they could not believe their Eyes: They saw no Person there, but the plain print of two, with the Pillows for two Persons. This gave them the Curiosity to search farther, which they did, with their Swords, under the Bed, in every Corner, behind every Curtain, up the Chimney, felt all about the Wains • ot and Hangings for false Doors, or Closets; survey'd the Floor for a Trap-door: At last, they found my fringed Gloves in the Window, and the Shash a little up, and then they concluded I had made my Escape out at that Window: This Thought they seem'd confirm'd in, and therefore ran to the Garden, where they thought I had descended, and with my Gloves, which they bore away, as the Trophies of their almost gained Victory, they searched every Hedge and Bush, Arbour, Grotto, and Tree; but not being able to find what they • ought, they concluded me gone, and told all the Town how very near they were to seizing me. After this, the very Porter and Page believed me escaped out at that Window, and there was no farther Search made after me: But the Countess was amazed, as much as any of the Souldiers, to find which way I had convey'd myself, when I came down and undeceiv'd her; but when she saw from whence I came, she wondered more than before, how I could get up so high; when trying the trick again, I could not do it, if I might have won never so considerable a Wager upon it, without pulling down the Sconce and the Teaster also.

After this, I remain'd there undiscovered the whole time the Prince was at Hermione's, till his coming to Court, when I verily believed he would have gained me my Pardon, with his own; but the King had sworn my final Destruction, if he ever got me in his Power; and proclaiming me a Traytor, seiz'd all they could find of mine. 'Twas then that I believed it high time to take my Flight; which, as soon as I heard the Prince again in Disgrace, I did, and got safely into Holland, where I have remained about six Weeks. But, oh! what is Woman? The first News I heard, and that was while I remain'd at the Countess's, that my Mistriss, for whom I had taken such Care, and who had professed to love me above all things, no sooner heard I was • led and proscrib'd, but retiring to a Friends House (for her own was seized for mine) and the Officers imagining me there too, they came to search; and a young Cavalier, of a noble Aspect, great Wit and Courage, and indeed a very fine Gentleman, was the Officer that entered her Chamber to search for me; who, being at first sight, surprized with her Beauty, and melted with her Tears, fell most desperately in Love with her, and after hearing how she had lost all her Money, Plate, and Jewels, and rich Furniture, offered her his Service to retrieve 'em, and did do it; and from one Favour to another, continued so to oblige the fair fickle Creature, that he won, with that and his handsom Mien, a Possession of her Heart, and she yielded in a weeks time to my most mortal Enemy. And the Countess, who, at my going from her, swounded, and bathed me all in Tears, making a thousand Vows of Fidelity, and never to favour Mankind more: This very Woman, Sir, as soon as my Back was turn'd, made new Advances to a young Lord, who, believing her to be none of the most Faithful, would not trust her under Matrimony: He being a Man of no great Fortune, and she a Mistriss of a very considerable one, his standing off on these Terms, inflames her the more; and I have Advice that she is very much in Love with him, and 'tis believed will do what he desires of her: So that I was no sooner abandoned by Fortune, but fickle Woman followed her Example, and • led me too. Thus, my Lord, you have the History of my double Unhappiness: And I am waiting here a Fate which no Human Wit can guess at: The Arrival of the Prince will give a little Life to our Affair; and I yet have Hope to see him in Paris, at the Head of forty thousand Hugonots, to revenge all the Insolences we have suffered.

After discoursing of several things, and of the Fate of several Perso • s, it was Bed-time, and they taking Leave, each Man departed to his Chamber.

Philander, while he was undressing, being alone with Brilljard, began to discourse of Silvia, and to take some care of letting her know he was arrived at Bruxells; who even yet retained some unaccountable Hope, as Lovers do, of one day being happy with that fair one; and believing he could not be so, with so much Facility, while she was in the Hands of Octavio, as those of Philander, whould never tell his Lord his Sentiments of her Conduct, nor of her Love to Octavio, and those other Passages that had occur'd in Holland: He only cry'd, he believ'd she might be overcome, being left to herself, and by the Merits and good Fashion of Octavio; but would not give his Master an absolute Fear, or any account of Truth; that he might live with her again if possible, as before; and that she might hold herself so obliged to him for his Silence in these Affairs, as might one day render him happy. These were the unweighed Reasons he gave for deluding his Lord into a Kind Opinion of the fickle Maid: But ever when he named Silvia, Philander could perceive his Blushes rise, and from 'em, believ'd there was something behind in his Thought, which he had a mind to know: He therefore pressed him to the last degree, —and cry'd—Come—confess to me, Brilljard, the reason of your Blushes: I know you are a Lover, and I was content to suffer you my Rival, knowing your Respect to me. This, tho' he spoke smiling, raised a greater Confusion in Brilljard's Heart. I own, my Lord, said he, that I have, in spight of that Respect, and all the force of my Soul, had the daring to love her whom you lov'd; but still the consideration of my Obligations to your Lordship surmounted that sawcy Flame, notwithstanding all the Incouragement of your Inconstancy, and the Advantage of the Rage it put Silvia in against you. How, cry'd Philander, does Silvia know then of my Falsness, and is it certain that Octavio has betray'd me to her? With that Brilljard was forc'd to advance, and with a design of some Revenge upon Octavio (whom, he hoped, would be challenged by his Lord, where one or both might fall in the Rancounter, and leave him Master of his Hopes) he told him all that had passed between 'em, all but real Possession, which he only imagined, but laid the whole Weight on Octavio, making Silvia act but as an incensed Woman, purely out of high Revenge and Resentment of so great an Injury as was done her Love. He f • rther told • im, how in the Extravagancy of her Rage she had resolv'd to marry Octavio, and how he prevented it by making a publick Declaration she was his Wife already; and for which Octavio procured the States to put him in Prison; but by an Accident that happened to the Uncle of Octavio, for which he was forced to fly, the States released him, when he came to his Lord: How, • ry'd Philander, and is the Traytor, Octavio, fled from Holland, and from the reach of my Chastisement? Yes, reply'd Brilljard; and not to hold you longer from the Truth, has forced Silvia away with him. At this Philander grew into a violent Rage, sometimes against Octavio, for his Treasons against Friendship; sometimes he felt the old Flame revive, rais'd and blown by Jealousy, and was raving to imagine any other should posses the lovely Silvia. He now beholds her with all those Charms that first fired him, and thinks, if she be Criminal, 'twas only the Effects of the: greatest Love, which always hurries Women on to the highest Revenges. In vain he seeks to extinguish this returning Flame by the Thought of • alista; yet at that Thought he starts like one awakened from a Dream of Honour, to fall asleep again, and dream of Love. Before 'twas Rage and Pride, but now it was Tenderness and Grief, softer Passions, and more insupportable. New Wounds smart most, but old ones are most dangerous. While he was thus rageing, walking, pausing, and loving, one knock'd at his Chamber-Door. It was Silvia's Page, who had waited all the Evening to speak to him, and could not till now be admitted. Brilljard was just going to tell him he was there before, when he arrived now again: Philander was all unbutton'd, his Stockings down, and his Hair under his Cap, when the • age, being let in by Brilljard, ran to his Lord, who knew him and imbraced him: And 'twas a pretty while they thus caressed each other, without the Power of speaking; he of asking a Question, and the Boy of delivering his Message; at last he gave him Silvia's Billet; which was thus—

To Philander.

FAlse and perjured as you are, I languish for a Sight of you, and conjure you to give it me as soon as this comes to your Hands. Imagine not that I have prepared those Instruments of Revenge that are so justly due to your Perfidy; but rather, that I have yet too tender Sentiments for you, in spight of the Outrages you have done my Heart; and that for all the Ruine you have made, I still adore you: And tho' I know you now anothers Slave, yet I beg you would vouchsafe to behold the Spoils you have made, and allow me this Recompence for all, to say—Here was the Beauty I once esteem'd, tho' now she is no more Philander's

Silvia.

How! cry'd he out, No more Philander's Silvia? By Heaven, I had rather be no more Philander! And at that word, without considering whether he were in order for a Visit or not, he advancing his joyful Voice, cry'd out to the Page; Lead on, my faithful Boy, lead on to Silvia. In vain Brilljard beseeches him to put himself into a better Equipage; in vain he urges to him the indecency of making a Visit in that Posture; he thought of nothing but Silvia; however he ran after him with his Hat, Cloak, and Comb, and as he was in the Chair dress'd his Hair, and suffered the Page to conduct him where he pleas'd: Which being to Silvia's Lodgings, he ran up Stairs, and into her Chamber, as by Instinct of Love, and found her laid on her Bed, to which he made but one step from the Door; and catching her in his Arms, as he kneeled upon the Carpet, they both remain'd unable to utter any thing but Sighs: And surely Silvia never appear'd more charming; she had for a Month or two liv'd at her Ease, and had besides all the Advantage of fine Dressing, which she had purposly put on, in the most tempting Fashion, on purpose to ingage him, or rather, to make him see how fine a Creature his Perfidy had lost him: She first broke Silence, and with a thousand violent Reproaches, seem'd as if she would fain break from those Arms, which she wish'd might be too strong for her Force; while he endeavours to appease her by swearing and lying, as Lovers do, protesting a thousand times that there was nothing in that History of his Amour with Calista, but Revenge on Octavio, who he knew was making an Interest in her Heart, contrary to all the Laws of Honour and Friendship (for he had learn'd by the Reproaches of the Lady Abbess, that Calista was Sister to Octavio) he has had the daring to confess to me his Passion, said he, for you, and could I do less in Revenge than tell him I had one for his Sister? I knew by the violent Reproaches I ever met with in your Letters, tho' they were not plainly confess'd, that he had play'd me foul, and discover'd my • eign'd Intrigue to you; and even this I suffered, to see how far you could be prevail'd with against me. I knew Octavio had Charms of Youth and Wit, and that you had too much the Ascendant over him, to be deny'd any Secret you had a mind to draw from him; I knew your Nature too curious, and your Love too inquisitive, not to press him to a sight of my Letters, which seen, must incense you; and this Tryal I designedly made o • your Faith, and as a Return to Octavio. Thus he flatters, and she believes, because she has a mind to believe; and thus by degrees he softens the listening Silvia: Swears his Faith with Sighs, and confirms 〈◊〉 with his Tears, which bedew'd her fair Bosom, as they fell from his bright dissembling Eyes; and yet so well he dissembled, that he scarce knew himself that he did so: And such Effects it wrought on Silvia, that in spight of all her Honour and Vows engaged to Octavio, and horrid Protestations, never to receive again the Fugitive to her Arms, she suffers all he ask's, gives herself up again to Love, and is a second time undone. She regards him as one to whom she had a peculiar Right as the first Lover: She was married to his Love, to his Heart, and Octavio appeared the intruding Gallant, that would, and ought to be content with the Gleanings of the Harvest, Philander should give him the opportunity to take up: And tho', if she had at this very time been put to her sober Choice, which she would have abandoned, it would have been Philander, as not in so good Circumstances at that time to gratify all her Extravagancies of Expence; but she could not indure to think of loosing either: She was for two Reasons covetous of both, and swore Fidelity to both, protesting each the only Man; and she was now contriving in her Thoughts how to play the Jilt most Artificially; a Help meet, tho' natural enough to her Sex, she had not yet much essay'd, and never to this purpose: She knew well she should have need of all her Cunning in this Affair, for she had to do with Men of Quality and Honour, and too much Wit to be grosly imposed upon. She knew Octavio lov'd so well, it would either make her lo • e him by Death or resenting Pride, if she should ever be discovered to him to be untrue; and she knew she should lose Philander to some new Mistriss, if he once perceived her false. He asked her a thousand Questions concerning Octavio, and she seem'd to lavish every Secret of her Soul to her Lover; but like a right Woman, so ordered her Discourse, as all that made for her Advantage, she declared, and all the rest she conceal'd. She told him that those Hopes which her Revenge had made her give Octavio, had obliged him to present her with such and such fine Jewels, such Plate, such Summs; and in fine, made him understand that all her Trophies from the believing Lover, should be laid at his Feet, who had conquered her Heart: And that now, having inriched herself, she would abandon him wholly to Dispair. This did not so well satisfy Philander, but that he needed some greater Proofs of her Fidelity, fearing all these rich Presents were not for a little Hope alone; and she fail'd not giving what Protestations he desired.

Thus the Night pass'd away, and in the Morning, she knowing he was not very well furnished with Money, gave him the Key of her Cabinet, where she bid him furnish himself with all he wanted; which he did, and left her, to go take Orders about his Horses and other Affairs, not so absolutely satisfied of her Vertue, but he fear'd himself put upon, which the Advantage he was likely to reap by the Deceit, made him less consider than he would perhaps otherwise have done. He had all the Night a full Possession of Silvia, and found in the Morning he was not so violently concern'd as he was overnight: It was but a Repetition of what he had been feasted with before; 'twas no new Treat, but like Matrimony, went dully down: And now he found his Heart warm a little more for Calista, with which little Impatience he left Silvia.

That Morning a Lady having sent to Octavio, to give her an Assignation in the Park; tho' he were not curious after Beauty; yet believing there might be something more in it than meerly a Lady, he dress'd himself and went, which was the reason he made not his Visit that Morning, as he used to do, to Silvia, and so was yet ignorant of her Ingratitude: while she, on the other side, finding herself more possess'd with Vanity than Love; for having gain'd her end as imagined, and got a second Victory over his Heart, in spight of all Calista's Charms, she did not so much consider him as before; nor was he so dear to her as before she believed it possible to get him any more to her Arms; and she found it was Pride and Revenge to Calista, that made her so fond of indearing him, and that she should • hereby triumph over that haughty Rival, who pretended to be so sure of the Heart of her Hero: And having satisfied her Ambition in that Point, she was more pleased than she imagined she should be, and could now return her Thoughts again to Octavio, whose Charms, whose Indearments, and lavish Obligations, came anew to her Memory, and made him appear the most agreeable to her Genius and Humour, which now lean'd to Interest more than Love; and now she fancies she found Philander duller in her Arms than Octavio, that he tasted of Calista, while Octavio was all her own intirely, adoring and ever presenting; two Excellencies, of which Philander now had but part of one. She found Philander now in a Condition to be ever taking from her, while Octavio's was still to be giving; which was a great Weight in the Scale of Love, when a fair vain Woman guides the Balance: And now she begins to distrust all that Philander had said of his Innocence, from what she now remembers she heard from Calista herself, and reproaches her own Weakness for believing: While her penitent Thoughts were thus wandering in favour of Octavio, that Lover arriv'd, and approach'd her with all the Joy in his Soul and Eyes that either could express. 'Tis now, my fair Charmer, said he, that I am come to offer you, what alone can make me more worthy of you— And pulling from his Pocket the Writings and Inventories of all his own and his Uncles Estate—See here, said he, what those mighty Powers that favour Love, have done for Silvia? It is not, continued he, the Trifle of a Million of Money (which these amount to) that has pleased me, but because I am now able to lay it without Controul at your Feet. If she were before inclined to receive him well, what was she now, when a million of Money rendered him so charming: She imbrac'd his Neck with her snowy Arms, lays her Cheek to his ravish'd Face, and kiss'd him a thousand Welcomes; so well she knew how to make herself Mistriss of all this vast Fortune: And I suppose he never appear'd so fine as at this Moment. While she thus caressed him, he could not forbear sighing, as if there were yet something behind to compleat his Happiness: For tho' Octavio were extreamly blinded with Love, he had abundance of Wit, and a great many Doubts (which were augmented by the Arrival of Philander) and he was too wise and too haughty to be imposed upon, at least as he believed: And yet he had so very good an Opinion of Silvia's Honour and Vows, which she had engaged to him, that he durst hardly name his Fears, when by his Sighs she found them: And willing to leave no Obstacle unremov'd that might hinder her possessing this Fortune, she told him; My dear Octavio—I am sensible these Sighs proceed from some Fears you have of Philander's being in Bruxells, and consequently that I will see him, as heretofore; but be assured that that false Man shall no more dare to pretend to me; but on the contrary, I will behold him as my mortal Enemy, the Murderer of my Fame and Innocence, and as the most ungrateful and perfidious Man that ever liv'd. This she confirm'd with Oaths and Tears, and a thousand indearing Expressions. So that establishing his Heart in a perfect Tranquillity, and he leaving his Writings and Accounts with her, he told her he was obliged to dine with the Advocates, who had acted for him in Holland, and could not stay to dine with her.

You must know, that as soon as the Noise of old Sebastian, Octavio's Uncle's Death was noised about, and that he was thereupon fled, they seized all the Estates, both that of the Uncle, and that of Octavio, as belonging to him by right of Law; but looking upon him as his Uncle's Murderer, they were forfeited to the States. This part of ill News Octavio kept from Silvia, but took order that there should be such a Process began in his Name with the States, that might retrieve it; and sent word, if it could not be carried on by Attornies (for he was not, he said, in Health) that nevertheless he would come into Holland himself. But they being not able to prove by the Witness of any of Octavio's or Sebastian's Servants, that Octavio had any hand in his Death; but, on the contrary, all Circumstances, and the Coroner's Verdict, brought it in as a thing done by Accident, and through his own Fault, they were obliged to release to Octavio all his Fortune, with that of his Uncle, which was this day brought to him, by those he was obliged to dine and make up some Accompts withal: He therefore told her he fear'd he should be absent all that Afternoon; which she was the more pleased at; because, if Philander should return before she had ordered the Method of their Visit, so as not to meet with each other, (which was her only Contrivance now) she should be sure he would not see or be seen by Octavio; who had no sooner taken his Leave, but Philander returns; who being now fully bent upon some Adventure to see Calista if possible, and which Intrigue would take up his whole Time, to excuse his Absence to the jealous Silvia, he feign'd that he was sent to by Cesario, to meet him upon the Frontiers of France, and conduct him into Flanders, and that he should be absent some Days. This was as Silvia could have wished; and after forcing herself to take as kind a Leave of him as she could, whose Head was wholly possess'd with a Million of Gold, she sent him away, both Parties being very well pleased with the Artifices with which they gilted each other. At Philander's going into his Chair, he was seen by the old Count of Clarinau, who cur'd perfectly of his Wound, was come thither to seek Philander, in order to take the Revenge of a Man of Honour, as he call'd it; which in Spanish, is the private Stab, for private Injuries; and indeed, more reasonable than base French Duelling, where the Injured is as likely to suffer as the Injurer: But Clarinau durst not attack him by Day-light in the open Street, nor durst he indeed appear in his own Figure in the King of Spain's Dominions, standing already there convicted of the Murder of his first Wife; but in a Disguise came to Bruxells. The Chair with Philander was no sooner gone from the Lodgings, but he inquired of some of the House who lodged there, that that Gentleman came to visit? and they told him, A great Bellied Lady, who was a Woman of Quality, and a Stranger: This was sufficient, you may believe, for him to think it Madam the Countess of Clarinau. With this Assurance he repairs to his Lodging, which was but hard by, and sets a Footman that attended him, to watch the Return of Philander to those Lodgings, which he believed would not be long: The Footman, who had not seen Philander, only asked a Discription of him; he told him he was a pretty tall Man, in black Clothes (for the Court was then in Mourning) with a long black Hair, fine black Eyes, very handsome, and well made: This was enough for the Lad; he thought he should know him from a thousand by these Marks and Tokens. A way goes the Footman, and waited till the shuting in of the Evening, and then, runing to his Lord, told him Philander was come to those Lodgings; that he saw him alight out of the Chair, and took perfect Notice of him; that he was sure it was that Philander he look'd for: Clarinau, overjoy'd that his Revenge was at hand, took his Dagger, Sword, and Pistol, and hasted to Silvia's Lodgings, where he found the Chair still waiting, and the Doors all open; he made no more ado, but goes in and ascends the Stairs, and passes on, without any Opposition, to the very Chamber where they sate, Silvia in the Arms of her Lover, not Philander, but Octavio, who being also in black, tall, long brown Hair, and handsome, and by a Sight that might very well deceive; he made no more to do, not doubting but it was Philander and Calista, but steps to him, and offering to stab him, was prevented by his starting at the suddeness of his Approach; however the Dagger did not absolutely miss him, but wounded him in the left Arm; but Octavio's Youth, too nimble for Clarinau's Age, snatching at the Dagger as it wounded him, at once prevented the Hurt being much, and return'd a home Blow at Clarinau, so that he fell at Silvia's Feet, whose Shreeks alarm'd the House to their Aid, where they found, by the light of a Candle that was brought, that the Man was not dead, but lay gazing on Octavio, who said to him; Tell me, thou unfortunate Wretch, what miserable Fate brought thee to this place, to disturb the Repose of those who neither know thee, nor had done thee Injury? Ah, Sir, reply'd Clarinau, you have Reason for what you say, and I ask Heaven, that unknown Lady, and your self, a thousand Pardons for my Mistake and Crime: Too late I see my Error, pity and forgive me; and let me have a Priest, for I believe I am a dead Man. Octavio was extreamly mov'd with Compassion at these Words, and immediately sent his Page, who was alarm'd up in the Crowd, for a Father and a Surgeon; and he declar'd before the rest that he forgave that Stranger, meaning Octavio, since he had, by a Mistake of his Footman, pull'd on his own Death, and had deserved it: And thereupon, as well as he could, he told them for whom he had mistaken Octavio, who having injured his Honour, he had vow'd Revenge upon; and that he took the fair Lady, meaning Silvia, for a faithless Wife of his, who had been the Authoress of all this. Octavio soon divin'd this to be his Brother-in-Law Clarinau, whom yet he had never seen; and stooping down to him, he cry'd; 'Tis I, Sir, that ought to demand a thousand Pardons of you, for letting the Revenge of Calista's Honour alone so long. Clarinau wondered who he should be that named Calista, and asking him his Name, he told him he was the unhappy Brother to that fair Wa • ton, whose Story was but too well known to him. This while Clarinau viewing his Face, found him the very Picture of that false Charmer; while Octavio went on and assured him, if it were his Unhappiness to die, that he would revenge the Honour of him and his Sister on the Betrayer of both. By this time the Surgeon came, who found not his Wound to be mortal, as was feared, and ventured to remove him to his own Lodgings, whither Octavio would accompany him; and leaving Silvia inclin'd, after her Fright, to be repos'd, he took his Leave of her for that Evening, not daring, out of Respect to her, to visit her any more that Night: He was no sooner gone, but Philander, who never us'd to go without two very good pocket Pistols about him, having left 'em under his Pillow last Night at Silvia's Lodgings; and being upon Love Adventures, he knew not what Occasion he might have for 'em, return'd back to her Lodgings: When he came she was a little surprized at first to see him, but after reflecting on what Revenge was threatened him, she exposed Octavio's Secret to him, and told him the whole Adventure, and how she had got his Writings, which would be all her own, if she might be suffered to manage the fond Believer. But he, whose thought 〈◊〉 on the Revenge was threaten'd him cry'd out—He has kindly awaken'd me to my Duty by what he threatens; 'tis I that ought to be reveng'd on his Persidy of shewing you my Letter's; and to that end, by Heaven, I will defer all the Business in the World to meet him, and pay his Courtesy—If I had injoy'd his Sister, he might suppose I knew her not to be so; and what Man of Wit or Youth would refuse a lovely Woman, that presents a Heart laden with Love, and a Person all over Charms, to his Bosom▪ I were to be esteem'd unworthy the Friendship of a Man of Honour, if I should: But he • has basely betray'd me every way, makes Love to my celebrated Mistriss, whom he knows I love, and getting Secrets, unravels 'em to make his Court and his Access the easier. She foresaw the dangerous Consequence of a Quarrel of this nature, and had no sooner blown the Fire (which she did, to the end that Philander should avoid her Lodgings, and all places where he might meet Octavio) but she hinders all her Designs; and fixing him there, he was resolv'd to expect him at the first place he thought most likely to find him in: She indeavoured, by a thousand Intreaties, to get him gone, urging it all for his Safety; but that made him but the more resolv'd; and all she could do could not hinder him from staying Supper, and after that, from going to Bed: So that she was forced to hide a thousand Terrors and Fears by feigned Caresses, the sooner to get him to meet Cesario in the Morning, as he said he was to do: And tho' she could not help flattering both while by, yet she ever lov'd the absent best; and now repented a thousand times that she had told him any thing.

Early the next Morning, as was his Custom, Octavio came to inquire of Silvia's Health; and tho' he had oftentimes only inquired and no more (taking Excuse of ill Nights, or Commands that none should come to her till she call'd) and had departed satisfied, and came again: Yet now, when he went into Antonett's Chamber, he found she was in a great Consternation, and her Looks, and flattering Excuses made him know, there was more than usual in his being to day deny'd; he therefore pressed it the more, and she grew to greater Confusion by his pressing her: At last he demanded the Key of her Lady's Chamber, he having, he said, Business of great Importance to communicate to her; she told him she had as great a Reason not to deliver it,—That is, said she (fearing she had said too much) my Lady's Commands; and finding no Perswasion would prevail, and rather venturing Silvia's eternal Displeasure, than not to be satisfied in the Jealousies she had raised; especially reflecting on Philander's being in Town, he took Antonett in his Arms and forced the Key from her, who was willing to be forced; for she admired Octavio's Bounty, and car'd not for Philander. Octavio being Master of the Key, flies to Silvia's Door like Lightening, or a jealous Lover, mad to discover, what seen, would kill him: He opens the Chamber-door, and goes softly to the Bed-side, as if he now fear'd to find what he sought, and wished to Heaven he might be mistaken; he opened the Curtains, and found Silvia sleeping with Philander in her Arms. I need make no Discription of his Confusion and Surprize; the Character I have given of that gallant, honest and generous Lover, is sufficient to make you imagine his Heart, when indeed he could believe his Eyes: Before he thought —he was about to draw his Sword, and run 'em both through, and revenge at once his injured Honour, his Love, and that of his Sister; but that little Reason he had left check'd that Barbarity, and he was readier, from his own natural sweetness of Disposition to run himself upon his own Sword: And there the Christian pleaded—and yet he found his Heart breaking, his whole Body trembling, his Mind all Agony, his Cheeks cold and pale, his Eyes languishing, his Tongue refusing to give Utterance to his Pressure, and his Leggs to support his Body; and much ado he had to reel into Antonett's Chamber, where he found the Maid dying with Grief for her Concern for him. He was no sooner got to her Bed-side, but he fell dead upon it; while she, who was afraid to alarm her Lady and Philander, least Octavio being found there, had accused her with betraying 'em; but shuting the Door close (for yet no body had seen him but herself) she indeavoured all she could to bring him to Life again, and it was a great while before she could do so: As soon as he was recovered he lay a good while without speaking, reflecting on his Fate; but after appearing as if he had assum'd all his manly Spirits together, he rose up, and conjured Antonett to say nothing of what had happen'd, and that she should not repent the Service she would do him by it. Antonett, who was his absolute devoted Slave, promised him all he desired; and he had the Courage to go once again, to confirm himself in the Lewdness of this undone fair one, whose Perjuries had rendered her even odious now to him, and he beheld her with Scorn and Disdain: And that she might know how indifferently he did so (when she should come to know it) he took Philander's Sword, that lay on her Toylet, and left his own in the place, and went out pleased; at least in this, that he had commanded his Passion in the midst of the most powerful Occasion for Madness and Revenge that ever was.

They lay, thus secur'd in each others Arms, till nine a-Clock in the Morning, when Philander received a Note from Brilljard, who was managing his Lords Design of getting a Billet delivered to Calista by the way of a Nun, whom Brilljard had made some Address to to that end, and sent to beg, his Lord would come to the Grate and speak to the young Nun, who had undertaken for any innocent Message. This Note made him rise and hast to go out, when he received another from an unknown Hand; which was thus:

To Philander.

MY Lord, I have important Business with you, and beg I may speak with you at three of the Clock; I will wait you by the Fountain in the Park:

Yours

Silvia, who was impatient to have him gone, never asked to see either of these Notes, least it should have deterr'd him; and she knew Octavio would visit her early, tho' she knew withal she could refuse him Enterance with any slight Excuse, so good an Opinion he had of her Vertue, and so absolute an Ascendant she had over him.—She had given Orders, if he came, to be refused her Chamber; and she was glad to know he had not yet been at her Lodgings. A hundred times she was about to make use of the lessen'd Love Philander had for her, and to have proposed to him the suffering Octavio to share her Embraces for so good an Interest, since no Returns could be had from France, nor any Signs of an Amendment of their Fortunes any other way: But still she fear'd he had too much Honour to permit such a Cheat in Love, to be put even upon an Enemy. This Fear deferred her speaking of it, or offering to sacrifice Octavio as a Cully to their Interest, tho' she wished it; nor knew she long how to deceive both; the Business was to put Philander off handsomly, if possible, since she fail'd of all other Hopes. These were her Thoughts while Philander was dressing, and rais'd by his asking for some more Pistols from her Cabinet, which she found would quickly be at an end, if one Lover deminished daily, and the other was hindered from increasing: But Philander was no sooner dress'd but he left her to her Repose; and Octavio (who had a Grison attending the Motions of Philander all that Morning, 〈◊〉 had brought him word he was gone from Silvia) went to visit her, and entered her Chamber, all changed from what he was before, and Death sate in his Face and Eyes, maugre all his Resolves and art of Dissembling. She not at first perceiving it as she lay, she stretch'd out her Arms to receive him with her wonted Caresses, but he gently put her off, and sighing cry'd—No Silvia, I leave those Ioys for happier Lovers. She was a little surpriz'd at that—but not imagining he had known her Guilt, reply'd; Then those Caresses were only meant for him; for if Silvia could make him happy, he was sure of being the Man; and by force compell'd him to suffer her Kisses and Imbraces, while his Heart was bursting, without any sense of the Pleasure of her Touches. Ah Silvia, says he,—I can never think myself Secure or Happy while Philander is so near you; every absent Moment alarms me with ten thousand Fears; in Sleep I dream thou • art false, and gives thy Honour up all my absent Nights, and all day thy Vows: And that he was sure, should she again suffer herself to see Philander, he should be abandoned; and perhaps she again undone. For since I parted with you, continued he, I heard from Clarinau, that he saw Philander yesterday come out of your Lodgings. How can I bear this, when you have vow'd, not to see him, with Imprecations that must damn thee, Silvia, without severe Repentance?— At this she offered to swear again, —but he stop'd her, and begg'd her not to swear till she had well considered; then she confess'd he made her a Visit, but that she us'd him with that Pride and Scorn that if he were a Man of Honour, he could never bear; and she was sure he would trouble her no more: In fine, she flattered, fawn'd, and gilted so, as no Woman common in the Trade of sinful Love, could be so great a Mistriss of the Art. He suffered her to go on in all that could confirm him she thought him an errant Coxcomb; and all that could render her the most contemptible of her Sex. He was pleas'd, because it made him dispise her; and that was easier than adoring her; yet tho' he heard her with Scorn, he heard her with too much Love. When she was even Breathless with eager Protestation—he cry'd, Ah Indiscreet and Vnadvised Silvia, how I pity thee. Ah, said she—observing him speak this with a scornful Smile—is it possible you should indeed be offended for a simple Visit! which neither was by my Invitation or Wish: Can you be angry if I treat Philander with the Civility of a Brother? Or rather, that I suffer him to see me to receive my Reproaches?—Stop here, said he, thou fair deluding Flatterer, or thou art for ever ruin'd. Do not charge thy Soul yet farther;—do not delude me on—all yet I can forgive, as I am dying, but should I live, I could not promise thee. Add not new Crimes by cozening me anew, for I shall find out Truth, tho' it lie hid even in the bottom of Philander's Heart. This he spoke with an Air of Fierceness—which seeing her grow pale upon, he sunk again to Compassion, and in a soft Voice cry'd—Whatever Injuries thou hast done thy Honour, thy Word, and Faith to me, and my poor Heart, I can perhaps forgive when you dare utter Truth: There is some Honesty in that— She once more embracing him, fell a-new to protesting her ill Treatment of Philander, how she gave him back his Vows, and assur'd him she would never be reconcil'd to him. And did you part • o Silvia? reply'd the dying Octavio. Vpon my Honour, said she, just so. —Did you not kiss at parting? said he faintly,—Iust kiss'd, as Friends, no more, by all thy Love. At this he bursts into Tears, and cry'd—Oh! why, when I repos'd my Heart with thee, and lavished out my very Soul in Love, could I not merit this poor Recompence, of being fairly dealt with? Behold this Sword— I took it from your Toylet; view it, it is Philander's; myself this Morning took it from your Table: No more—since you may guess the fatal rest: I am undone, and I am satisfied. —I had a thousand Warnings of my Fate, but still the Beauty charmed, and too good Nature yielded: Oft you have cozen'd me, and oft I saw it, and still Love made me willing to forgive; the foolish Passion hung upon my Soul, and sooth'd me into Peace. Silvia, quite confounded, (not so much with the Knowledge he had of the unlucky Adventure, as at her so earnest denying and forswearing any Love had pass'd between 'em) lay still to consider how to retrieve this lost Game, and gave him leisure to go on.—Now, said he, thou art silent—would thou had'st still been so: Ah hapless Maid, who hast this Fate attending thee, To ruin all that love thee! Be dumb, be dumb for ever; let the false Charm that dwells upon thy Tongue be ended with my Life: Let it no more undo believing Man; least amongst the Number some one may conquer thee, and deaf to all thy Wit, and blind to Beauty, in some mad Passion think of all thy Cozenings, should fall upon thee and forget thy Sex, and by thy Death revenge the lost Octavio. At these Words he would have rose from her Arms, but she detain'd him, and with a pitious Voice implor'd his Pardon; but he calmly reply'd; Yes, Silvia, I will pardon thee, and wish that Heaven may do so; to whom apply thy early Rhetorick and Penitence, for it can never, never, charm me more: My Fortune, if thou ever want'st Support, to keep thee Chast and Vertuous, shall still be commanded by thee, with that usual Frankness it has hitherto served thee; but for Octavio, he is resolved to go where he will never more be seen by Woman—or hear the name of Love to ought but Heaven.—Farewel— one parting Kiss, and then a long Farewel. —As he bow'd to kiss her she caught him fast in her Arms, while a Flood of Tears bathe his Face, nor could he prevent his from mixing with hers: While thus they lay, Philander came into the Room, and finding them so closely intwin'd, he was as much surpriz'd almost as Octavio was before; and drawing his Sword, was about to have kill'd him; but his Honour overcame his Passion; and he would not take him at such Disadvantage, but with the Flat of his Sword striking him on the Back as he lay, he cry'd, Rise Traytor, and turn to thy mortal Enemy. Octavio, not at all surpriz'd, turn'd his Head, and his Eyes bedew'd in Tears, towards his Rival. If thou beest an Enemy, said he, thou never could'st have taken me in a better Humour of dying. Finish, Philander, that Life then, which if you spare, it will possibly never leave thine in Repose; the Injuries you have done me, being too great to be forgiven. And is it thus, reply'd Philander, —thus with my Mistriss, that you would revenge 'em? Is it in the Arms of Silvia that you would repay me the Favours I did your Sister Calista? You have by that Word, said Octavio handsomly reproach'd my Sloath. And leaping briskly from the Bed he took out his Sword, and cry'd: Come then,—let us go where we may repair both our Losses, since Ladies Chambers are not fit places to adjust Debts of this nature in. At these Words they both went down Stairs; and 'twas in vain Silvia call'd and cry'd out to conjure them to come back; her Power of Commanding she had in one unlucky Day lost over both those gallant Lovers: And both left her with Pity; to say no worse of the Effect of her ill Conduct.

Octavio went directly to the Park, to the Place whither he before had challenged Philander, who lost no time but followed him: As soon as he was come to the Fountain he drew, and told Philander that was the place whither he invited him in his Billet that Morning; however, if he liked not the Ground, he was ready to remove to any other: Philander was a little surpriz'd to find that Invitation was a Challenge, and that Octavio should be beforehand with him upon the Score of Revenge; and reply'd; Sir, if the Billet came from you, it was a Favour I thank you for, since it kindly put me in mind of that Revenge I ought so justly to take of you for betraying the Secrets of Friendship I reposed in you, and making base Advantages of 'em, to recommend your self to a Woman, you knew I lov'd, and who hates you, in spight of all the ungenerous ways you have taken to gain her. Sir, reply'd Octavio, I confess with a Blush and infinite Shame the Error with which you accuse me, and have nothing to defend so great a Perfidy. To tell you I was wrought out of it by the greatest Cunning imaginable, and that I must have seen Silvia dy at my Feet if I had refused 'em, is not Excuse enough for the Breach of that Friendship. No, tho' I were exasperated with the Relation there of my Sister's Dishonour; I must therefore adjust that Debt with you as well as I can; and if I dy in the juster Quarrel of my Sister's Honour, I shall believe it the Vengeance of Heaven upon me for that one Breach of Friendship. Sir, reply'd Philander, you have given me so great a Satisfaction in this Confession; and have made so good and gallant an Atonement by this Acknowledgment, that 'tis with Reluctancy I go to punish you for other Injuries, of which I am assured you cannot so well acquit your self. Tho' I would not justify a Baseness, reply'd Octavio, for which there ought to be no Excuse; yet I will not accuse myself, or acknowledge other Injuries, but leave you something to maintain the Quarrel on—and render it a little just on your side; nor go to wipe off the Outrage you pretend I have done your Love, by adoring the fair Person who at least has been dear to you, by the Wrongs you have done my Sister. Come, Sir, we shall not by disputing quit Scores, cry'd Philander a little impatiently, what I have so lately seen, has made my Rage too brisk for long Parly. At that they both advanced, and made above twenty Passes before either received any Wound; the first that bled was Octavio, who received a Wound in his Breast, which he returned on Philander; and after that many were given and taken; so that the Track their Feet made in following and advancing as they fought, was marked out by their Blood: In this Condition (still fighting) Silvia (who had call'd 'em back in vain, and only in her Night-Gown in a Chair pursued 'em that Minute they quitted her Chamber) found 'em thus imployed, and without any fear the threw herself between them: Octavio, out of Respect to her, ceased; but Philander, as if he had not regarded her, would still have been striving for Victory, when she stay'd his Hand, and beg'd him to hear her; he then set the Point of his Sword to the Ground, and breathless and fainting almost, attended what she had to say: She conjur'd him to cease the Quarrel, and told him if Octavio had injured him in her Heart, he ought to remember he had injured Octavio as much in that of his Sister: She conjured him by all the Friendship both she and himself had received at Octavio's Hands; and concluded with saying so many fine things of that Cavalier, that in lieu of appeasing, it but the more exasperated the jealous Philander, who took new Courage with new Breath, and passed at Octavio. She then addressed to Octavio, and cry'd: Hold, oh hold, or make your way through me, for here I will defend Vertue and Honour! and put herself before Octavio: She spoke with so pitious a Voice, and pleaded with so much Tenderness, that Octavio laying his Sword at her Feet, bid her dispose—false as she was, of his Honour. For oh, said he, my Life is already fallen a Victim to your Perjuries! He could say no more, but falling where he had laid his Sword, left Philander master of the Field. By this time some Gentlemen that had been walking came up to 'em, and found a Man ly dead, and a Lady imploring another to fly: They look'd on Octavio, and found he had yet Life; and immediately sent for Surgeons, who carried him to his Lodgings, with very little Hope: Philander, as well as his Wounds would give him leave, got into a Chair, telling the Gentlemen that looked on him, he would be responsible for Octavio's Life, if he had the ill Fortune to take it; that his Quarrel was too just to suffer him to fly.—So being carried to the Cabarett, with an absolute Command to Silvia not to follow him, or visit him: For fear of hurting him by disobeying, she suffered herself to be carried to her Lodgings, where she threw herself on her Bed, and drowned her fair Eyes in a Showre of Tears: She advises with Antonett and her Page what to do in this Extremity; she fears she has by her ill Management lost both her Lovers, and she was in a Condition of needing every Aid. They who knew the excellent Temper of Octavio, and knew him to be the most considerable Lover of the two, besought her, as the best Expedient she could have Recourse to, to visit Octavio, who could not but take it kindly; and they did not doubt but she had so absolute a Power over him, that with a very little Complaisance towards him, she would retrieve that Heart her ill Luck had this Morning forfeited; and which, they protested, they knew nothing of, nor how he got into her Chamber. This Advice she took; but because Octavio was carried away dead, she feared (and swounded with the Fear) that he was no longer in the World, or at least, that he would not long be so: However she assum'd her Courage again at the Thought, that, if he did dy, she had an absolute Possession of all his Fortune, which was to her the most considerable part of the Man, or at least, what rendered him so very agreeable to her: However she thought fit to send her Page, which she did in an hour after he was carried home, to see how he did, who brought her word that he was reviv'd to Life, and had commanded his Gentleman to receive no Messages from her. This was all she could learn, and what put her into the greatest Extremity of Grief. She after sent to Philander, and found him much the better of the two, but most infinitely incensed against Silvia: This also added to her Dispair; yet since she found she had not a Heart that any Love or loss of Honour, or Fortune could break; but on the contrary, a Rest of Youth and Beauty, that might oblige her, with some Reason, to look forward on new Lovers, if the old must depart: The next thing she resolv'd, was, to do her utmost Indeavour to retrieve Octavio, which if unattainable, she would make the best of her Youth. She sent therefore (notwithstanding his Commands to suffer none of her People to come and see him) to inquire of his Health; and in four Days (finding he received other Visits) she dress'd herself, with all the Advantages of her Sex, and in a Chair was carried to his Aunt's, where he lay. The good Lady not knowing but she might be that Person of Quality whom she knew to be extreamly in Love with her Nephew, and who liv'd at the Court of Bruxells, and was Neece to the Governour, carried her to his Chamber, where she left her, as not willing to be a Witness of a Visit, she knew must be supposed Incognito: It was Evening, and Octavio was in Bed, and at the first sight of her his Blood grew disordered in his Veins, flush'd in his pale Face, and burnt all over his Body, and he was near to swounding as he lay: She approach'd his Bed with a Face all set for Languishment, Love and Shame in her Eyes, and Sighs, that without speaking seem'd to tell her Grief at his Disaster; she sate, or rather, fell on his Bed, as unable to support the sight of him in that Condition; she in a soft manner seiz'd his burning Hand, grasp'd it and sigh'd, then put it to her Mouth, and suffered a Tear or two to fall upon it; and when she would have spoke she made her Sobs resist her Words; and left nothing unacted that might move the tender Hearted Octavio to that degree of Passion she wished. A hundred times fain he would have spoke, but still his rising Passion choak'd his Words; and still he feared they would prove either too soft and kind for the Injuries he had received, or too rough and cold for so delicate and charming a Creature, and one who, in spight of all those Injuries, he still adored: She appear'd before him with those Attractions that never fail'd to conquer him; with that Submission and Pleading in her modest bashful Eyes, that even gave his the Lye, who had seen her Perfidy. Oh! what should he do to keep that Fire from breaking forth with Violence, which she had so throughly kindled in his Heart; how should that excellent good Nature assume an unwonted Sullenness, only to appear what it could not by Nature be? He was all Soft and Sweet, and if he had had Pride, he knew also how to make his Pleasure; and his Youth lov'd Love above all the other little Vanities that attend it, and was the most proper to it. Fain he would palliate her Crime, and considers in the Condition she was, she could not but have some Tenderness for Philander; that it was no more than what before past; 'twas no new Lover that came to kindle new Passions, or to approach her with a new Flame; but a Decliner, who came and was received with the Dregs of Love, with all the cold Indifference imaginable: This he would have perswaded himself, but dares not till he hear her speak; and yet fears she should not speak his Sense; and this Fear makes him sighing break Silence, and he cry'd in a soft Tone; Ah! why, too lovely Fair, why do you come to trouble the Repose of my dying Hours? Will you, cruel Maid, pursue me to my Grave, shall I not have one lone Hour to ask Forgiveness of Heaven, for my Sin of loving thee? The greatest that ever loaded my Youth—and yet alas, —the least repented yet. Be kind, and trouble not my Solitude; depart with all the Trophies of my Ruine, and if they can add any Glory to thy future Life, boast 'em all over the Vniverse, and tell, what a deluded Youth thou hast undone. Take, take fair Deceiver, all my Industry, my right of Birth, my thriving Parents have been so long a geting to make me happy with; take the useless Trifle, and lavish it on Pleasure to make thee gay and fit for luckier Lovers: Take that best part of me, and let this worst alone; 'twas that first won the dear Confession from thee, that drew my Ruin on—for which I hate it —and wish myself born a poor Cottage Boor, where I might never have seen thy tempting Beauty, but liv'd for ever bless'd in Ignorance. At this the Tears ran from his Eyes, with which the soften'd Silvia mixed her welcome Stream, and as soon as she could speak, she reply'd (with half Cunning and half Love, for still there was too much of the first mingled with the last) Oh my Octavio, to what Extremities are you resolved to drive a poor Vnfortunate, who, even in the height of Youth, and some small stock of Beauty, am reduced to all the Miseries of the Wretched? Far from my noble Parents, lost to Honour, and abandoned by my Friends; a helpless Wanderer in a strange Land, exposed to Want, and perishing, and had no Sanctuary but thyself, thy dear, thy precious self, whom Heaven had sent, in Mercy, to my Aid; and thou at last, by a mistaken turn of miserable Fate, hast taken that dear Aid away. At this she fell weeping on his panting Bosom; nevertheless he got the Courage to reply once again, before he yielded himself a shameful Victim to her Flattery, and said; Ah cruel Silvia, is it possible that you can charge the Levity on me! Is it I have taken this poor Aid, as you are pleased to call it, from you? Oh! rather blame your own unhappy Easiness, that after having sworn me Faith and Love, could violate 'em both; both, where there was no need. 'Twould better have become thy Pride and Quality, to have resented Injuries receiv'd, than brought again that scorn'd abandon'd Person (fine as it was, and shining still with Youth) to his forgetful Arms. Alas, said she, I will not justify my hateful Crime; a Crime I loath to think of, it was a Fault beyond a Prostitution; there might have po • ibly been new Ioy in such a Sin, but here 'twas pall'd and gone—sted to Eternity away:—And but for the dear Cause I did commit it, there were no Expiation for my Fault; no penitent Tears could wash away my Crime. Alas, said he,—if there were any Cause, if there be any possible Excuse for such a breach of Love, give it my Heart; make me believe it, and I yet may live; and tho' I cannot think thee Innocent, to be compell'd by any frivolous Reason, 'twould greatly satisfy my longing Soul. But have a care, do not delude me on—for if thou dost perswade me into Pardon, and to return to all my native Fondness, and then again shoula'st play me fast and loose; by Heaven—by all my sacred Passion to thee, by all that Men call Holy, I will pursue thee with my utmost Hate; forsake thee with my Fortune and my Heart, and leave thee wretched to the scorning Crowd. Pardon these rude Expressions of a Love that can hardly forgive the Words it utters: I blush with Shame while I pronounce 'em true. When she reply'd; May all you have pronounced, and all your injured Love can yet invent, fall on me, when I ever more deceive you: believe me now, and but forgive what is past, and trust my Love and Honour for the future. At this she told him, that in the first Visit Philander made her, she using him so reproachfully, and upbraiding him with his Inconstancy, made him understand that he was betray'd by Octavio, and that the whole Intrigue with Calista, confessed by him, was discovered to Silvia: Which, he said, put him into so violent a Rage against Octavia, that he vow'd that Minute to find him out and kill him. Nor could all the Perswasions of Reason serve to hinder him; so that she (who as she said) lov'd Octavio to Death, finding so powerful an Enemy, as her Fears made her fancy Philander was, ready to have snatch'd from her, in one furious Moment, all she ador'd; she had recourse to all the Flattery of Love to withold him from an Attempt so dangerous: And 'twas with much ado, with all those Aids, that he was obliged to stay; which she had forced him to do, to get time to give him Notice in the Morning for his approaching Danger: Not that she feared Octavio's Life, had Philander attacked it fairly; but he look'd on himself as a Person injured by close private ways, and would take a like Revenge, and have hurt him when he as little dream'd of it, as Philander did of the Discovery he made of his Letter to her. To this she swore, she weep'd, she imbraced, and still protested it true; adding withal a thousand Protestations of her future Detestation of him; and that since the worst was past, and that they had fought, and he was come off, tho' with so many Wounds, yet with Life, she was resolv'd utterly to defy Philander, as the most perfidious of his Sex; and assured him that nothing in the World was so indifferent as she in his Arms. In fine, after having omitted nothing that might gain a Credit, and assure him of her Love and Heart, and possess him with a Belief, for the future, of her lasting Vows: He wholly convinc'd and overcome, snatches her in his Arms, and bursting into a Shower of Tears, cry'd—Take,—take all my Soul, thou lovely Charmer of it, and dispose of the Destiny of Octavio. And smothering her with kisses and Imbraces, made a perfect Reconciliation. When the Surgeons, who came to visit him, finding him in the disorder of a Fever, tho' more Joy was triumphing in his Face than before, they imagined this Lady, the fair Person, for whom this Quarrel was; for it had made a great Noise, you may believe; and finding it hurtful for his Wounds, either to be transported with too much Rage, Grief or Love, besought him he would not talk too much, or suffer any Visits that might prejudice his Health: And indeed, with what had been past, he found himself after his Transport very ill and feverish, so that Silvia promised the Doctors she would visit him no more in a day or two, tho' she knew not well how to be from him so long; but would content herself with sending her Page to inquire of his Health. To this Octavio made very great Opposition, but his Aunt, and the rest of the Learned, were of Opinion it ought for his Health to be so, and he was obliged to be satisfied with her Absence: At parting she came to him, and again besought him to believe her Vows to be well, and that she would depart somewhere with him far from Philander, who she knew was obliged to attend the Motions of Cesario at Bruxels, whom again she imprecated never to see more. This satisfied our impatient Lover, and he suffered her to go and leave him to what Rest he could get. She was no sooner got home, and retired to her Chamber, but finding herself alone, which now she did not care to be, and being assured she should not see Octavio; instead of triump • ing for her new gain'd Victory, she sent her Page to inquire again of Philander's Health, and to intreat that she might visit him: At first, before she sent, she check'd this Thought as base, as against all Honour, and all her Vows and Promises to the brave Octavio; but finding an Inclination to it, and proposing a Pleasure and Satisfaction in it; she was of a Nature not to lose a Pleasure for a little Punctilio of Honour; and without considering what would be the event of such a Folly, she sent her Page, tho' he had been repulsed before, and forbid coming with any Messages from his Lady. The Page found no better Success than hitherto he had done; but being with much Intreaty brought to Philander's Chamber he found him sitting in his Night-Gown, to whom addressing himself—he had no sooner named his Lady—but Philander did him bee gone, for he would hear nothing from that false Woman: The Boy would have reply'd, but he grew more inraged; and reviling her with all the Railings of incensed Lovers, he put himself into his Closet without speaking any more, or suffering any Answer. This Message being delivered to the expecting Lady, put her into a very great Rage— which ended in as deep a Concern: Her great Pride fortified by her Looking-glass, made her highly resent the Affront; and she believed it more to the Glory of her Beauty to have quitted a hundred Lovers than to be abandoned by one. 'Twas this that made her rave and tear, and talk high; and after all, to use her Cunning to retrieve, what it had been most happy for her, should have been for ever lost; and she ought to have blessed the Occasion. But her malicious Star had defign'd other Fortune for her: She writ to him several Letters, that were sent back sealed: She railed, she upbraided, and then fell to Submission. At last he was perswaded to open one, but returned such Answers as gave her no Satisfaction, but incouraged her with a little Hope that she should draw him on to a Reconciliation: Between whiles she fail'd not to send Octavio the kindest impatient Letters in the World, and received the softest Replies that the Tongue of Man could utter, for he could not write yet. At last, Philander having reduced Silvia to the very brink of Dispair, and finding by her passionate Importunity, that he could make his Peace with her on any term of Advantage to himself; resolved to draw such Articles of •• greement, as should wholly subdue her to him, or to stand it out to the la • t: The Conditions were, That he being a Person, by no means, of a Humour to be imposed upon; if he were dear to her, she should give herself intirely to his Possession, and quit the very Conversation of all those he had but an Apperhension would disturb his Repose▪ That she should remove out of the way of his troublesome Rivals, and suffer herself to be conducted whither he thought good to carry her. These Conditions she liked, all but the going away; she could not tell to what sort of Confinement that might amount. He flies off wholly, and denies all Treaty upon her least Scruple, and will not be ask'd the Explanation of what he has proposed, so that she bends like a Slave for a little Empire over him; and 〈◊〉 purchase the Vanity of retaining him, suffers herself to be absolutely undone, She submits; and that very Day she had leave from the Doctors to visit Octavio, and that all ravish'd Lover lay panting in expectation of the blessed Sight, believing every Minute an Age; his Apartment dressed and perfum'd, and all things ready to receive the Darling of his Soul, Philander came in a Coach and six Horses (and making her pack up all her Jewels and fine Things, and what they could not carry in the Coach put up to come after them) and hurries her to a little Town in Luke-Land, a place between Flanders and Germany, without giving her time to write, or letting her know whither she was going. While she was putting up her things (I know she has since confessed) her Heart trembled, and foreboaded the Ill that was to come; that is, that she was hasting to Ruin; But she had chanced to say so much to him of her Passion, to retrieve him, that she was ashamed to own the Contrary so soon; but suffered that Force upon her Inclinations to do the most dishonorable and disinteressed thing in the World. She had not been there a Week, and her Trunks of Plate and fine Things were arrived, but she fell in Labour, and was brought to Bed, tho' she show'd very little of her Condition all the time she went. This great Affair being well over, she considers herself a new Woman, and began, or rather continued, to consider the Advantage she had lost in Octavio: She regrets extreamly her Conduct, and from one Degree to another she looks on herself as lost to him; she every day saw what she had decay'd, her Jewels sold one by one, and at last her Necessaries. Philander, whose Head was running on Calista, grudg'd every Moment he was not about that Affair, grew as peevish as shee; she recovers to new Beauty, but he grows colder and colder by Possession; Love decay'd and ill Humour increased▪ They grew uneasy on both sides, and not a Day passed wherein they did not break into open and violent Quarrels, upbraiding each other with those Faults, which both wished that either would again commit, that they might be fairly rid of one another: It grew at last to that height, that they were never well but when they were absent from one another; he making a hundred little Intrigues and Gallantries with all the pretty Women, and those of any Quality in the Town or neighbouring Villa's. She saw this with Grief, Shame, and Disdain, and could not tell which way to relieve herself: She was not permitted the Privilege of Visits, unless to some grave Ladies, or to Monasteries; a Man was a Rarety she had hardly seen in two Months, which was the time she had been there; so that she had leasure to think of her Folly bemoan the Effects of her Injustice, and contrive, if she could, to remedy her disagreeable Life, which now was reduced, not only to scurrilous Quarrels, and hard Words; but often in her Fury, she flying upon him, and with the Courage, or Indiscretion of her Sex, would provoke him to Indecencies, that render Life insupportable on both sides. While they liv'd at this rate, both contriving how handsomly to get quit of each other, Brilljard, who was left in Bruxells, to take care of his Lord's Affairs there, and that as soon as he had heard of Cesario's Arrival, he should come with all speed, and give him notice, thought every Minute an Hour till he could see again the Charmer of his Soul, for whom he suffered comtinual Fevers of Love. He studies nothing but how first to get her Pardon, and then to compass his Designs of possessing her: He had not seen her, nor durst pretend to it, since she left Holland. He believed she would have the Discretion to conceal some of his Faults, least he should discover, in Revenge, some of her's; and fancied she would imagine so of his Conduct: He had met with no Reproaches yet from his Lord, and believed himself Safe. With this Imagination he omitted nothing that might render him acceptable to her, nor to gain any Secret he believed might be of use to him: Knowing therefore that she had not dealt very generously with Octavio, by this Flight with Philander, and believing that that exasperated Lover, would in Revenge declare any thing to the Prejudice of the fair Fugitive, he (under pretence of throwing himself at his Feet, and asking his Pardon for his ill treating him in Holland) design'd before he went into Luke-Land to pay Octavio a Visit, and accordingly went; he met first with his Page, who being very well acquainted with Brilljard, discoursed with him befor he carried him to his Lord: He told him, That his Lord that day that Silvia departed, being in impatient Expectation of her, and that she came not according to Appointment, sent him to her Lodgings, to know if any Accident had prevented her coming; but that when he came, tho' he had been with her but an Hour before, she was gone away with Philander, never more to return. The Youth, not being able to carry this sad news to his Lord, when he came home, offered at a hundred things to conceal the right; but the impatient Lover would not be so answered, but all inraged, commanded him to tell that Truth which he found already but too apparently in his Eyes. The Lad, so commanded, could no longer defer telling him Silvia was gone, and being asked again and again, what he meant, with a Face and Voice, that every Moment altered to dying; the Page assured him she was gone out of Bruxells with Philander, never more to return; which was no sooner told him, but he sunk on the Couch where he lay, and fainted: He farther told him how long it was, and with what Difficulty he was recovered to Life; and that after he was so, he refused to speak or see any Visitors; could for a long time be neither perswaded to eat nor sleep, but that he had spoke to no body ever since, and did now believe he could not procure him the Favour he beg'd: That nevertheless he would go and see what the very Name of any that had but a relation to the Family of Silvia would produce in him, whether a storm of Passion, or a calm of Grief: Either would be better than a Dulness, all silent and sad, in which there was no understanding what he meant by it: Whoever spoke, he only made a short sign, and turn'd away, as much as to say, Speak no more to me: But now, resolv'd to try his Temper, hasted to his Lord, and told him that Brilljard, full of Penitence for his past Fault, and Grief, for the ill Condition he heard he was in, was come to pay his humble Respects to him and gain his Pardon, before he went to his Lord and Silvia; without which he had, nor could have any peace of Mind, he being too sensible of the baseness of the Injury he had done him. At the Name of Philander and Silvia, Octavio show'd some signs of listening, but to the rest no regard; and starting from the Bed where he was laid: Ah! what hast thou said, cry'd he? The Page then repeated the Message, and was commanded to bring him up; who, accordingly, with all the signs of Submission, cast himself at his Feet and Mercy; and tho' he were an Enemy, the very thought that he belonged to Silvia made Octavio caress him, as the dearest of Friends: He kept him with him two or three days, and would not suffer him to stir from him; but all their Discourse was of the faithless Silvia; of whom, the deceived Lover spoke the softest unheard tender things, that ever Passion utter'd: He made the amorous Brilljard weep a hundred times a-day; and ever when he would have sooth'd his Heart with Hopes of seeing her, and one day injoying her intirely to himself, he would with so much peace of Mind renounce her, as Brilljard no longer doubted but he would indeed not more trust her fickle Sex. At last the News arrived that Cesario was in Bruxells, and Brillijard was obliged the next Morning to take Horse, and to go to his Lord: And to make himself the more acceptable to Silvia, he humbly besought Octavio to write some part of his Resentment to her, that he might oblige her to a Reason for what she had so inhumanly done: This flattered him a little, and he was not long before he was overcome by Brilljard's Intreaties; who, having his Ends in every thing, believed this Letter might contain at least something to asist in his Design, by giving him Authority over her by so great a Secret: The next Morning, before he took Horse, he waited on Octavio for his Letter, and promised him an Answer at his Return, which would be in a few days. The Letter was open, and Octavio suffered Brilljard to read it, making him an absolute Confident in his Amour; which having done, he besought him to add one thing more to it; and that was, to beg her to forgive Brilljard, which for his sake he knew she would do: He told him, he was obliged as a good Christian, and a dying Man, one resolved for Heaven, to do that good Office, and accordingly did. Brilljard, taking Post immediately, arrived to Philander, where he found every thing as he wished, all out of Humour, still on the Fret, and ever peevish. He had not seen Silvia, as I said, since she went from Holland, and now knew not which way to approach her: Philander was abroad on some of his usual Gallantries, when Brilljard arrived; and having discoursed a while of the Affairs of his Lord and Silvia, he told Antonett he had a great desire to speak with that dissatisfied fair one, assuring her he believed his Visit would be welcome, from what he had to say to her concerning Octavio: She told him (with infinite Joy) that she did not doubt of his Pardon from her Lady if he brought any News from that gallant injured Man; and in all hast, tho' her Lady saw no body, but refused to rise from her Couch, she ran to her, and besought her to see Brilljard, for he came with a Message from Octavio, the Person who was the Subject of their Discourse Night and Day, when alone. She immediately sent for Brilljard, who approach'd his Goddess with a trembling Devotion; he kneel'd before her, and humbly besought her Pardon for all that was past: But she, who with the very Thought that he had something to say from Octavio, forgot all but that, and hastily bid him rise, and take all he ask'd and hope for what he wished: In this Transport she imbraced his Head, and kiss'd his Cheek, and took him up. That, Madam, said Brilljard, which your divine Bounty alone has given me, without any Merit in me, I durst not have had the Confidence to have hop'd without my Credential from a nobler Hand.—This, Madam, said he,—And gives her a Letter from Octavio: The dear hand she knew and kiss'd a hundred times as she opened it; and having increated Brilljard to withdraw for a Moment, that he might not see her Concern at the reading it, she sate her down and found it this.

Octavio to Silvia.

I Confess, oh faithless Silvia, that I shall appear in writing to you, to show a Weakness ever below that of your Infidelity; nor durst I have trusted myself to have spoken so many sad soft things as I shall do in this Letter, had I not try'd the Strength of my Heart, and found I could upbraid you without talking myself out of that Resolution I have taken— but because I would dy in perfect Charity with thee as with all the World, I should be glad to know I could forgive thee, for yet thy Sins appear too black for Mercy. Ah! why charming Ingrate, have you left me no one Excuse for all your Ills to me? Why have you injured me to that degree, that I, with all the mighty stock of Love I had hoarded up together in my Heart, must dy reproaching thee to my last Gasp of Life; which had'st thou been so merciful to have ended, by all the Love that's breaking off my Heart, that yet, even yet is soft and charming to me, I swear with my last Breath, I had bless'd thee, Silvia: But thus to use me; thus to leave my Love, distracted raving Love, and no one Hope or Prospect of Relief, either from Reason, Time, or faithless Silvia, was but to stretch the Wretch upon the Rack, and screw him up to all degrees of Pain; yet such, as do not end in kinder Death. Oh thou unhappy Ruiner of my Repose! Oh fair Vnfortunate! if yet my Agony would give me leave to argue, I am so miserably lost, to ask thee yet this woful Satisfaction; to tell me why thou hast undone me thus? Why thou shouldest chuse out me from all the Crowd of fond admiring Fools, to make the World's Reproach, and turn to redicule? How could'st thou use that soft good Nature so, that had not one ungrateful sullen Humour in it, for thy Revenge and Pride to work upon? No Baseness in my Love, no dull Severity for Malice to be busie with; but all was gay and kind, all lavish Fondness, and all that Woman vain, with Youth and Beauty, could wish in her Adorer: What could'st thou ask but Empire, which I gave not? My Love, my Soul, my Life, my very H • nour, all was resign'd to thee; that Youth that might have gain'd me Fame abroad was dedicated to thy eternal Service, laid at thy Feet, and idly past in Love. Oh charming Maid, whom Heaven has form'd for the Punishment of all, whose Flames are Criminal! why could'st not thou have made some kind distinction between those common Passions and my Flame? I gave thee all my Vows, my honest Vows, before I asked a Recompence for Love. I made thee mine before the sacred Powers, that witness every secret solemn Vow, and fix 'em in the eternal Book of Fate; if thou had'st given thy Faith to any other, as, oh, too sure thou hast, what Fault was this in me, who knew it not, why should I bear that sin? I took thee to me as a Virgin Treasure, sent from the Gods to charm the Ills of Life, to make the tedious Iourney short and joyful; I came to make atonement for thy Sin, and to redeem thy Fame; not add to the detested Number. I came to guild thy Stains of Honour over; and set so high a Price upon thy Name, that all Reproaches for thy past Offences, should have been lost in future Crowds of Glory: I came to lead thee from a world of Shame, approaching Ills, and future Miseries; from noisy Flatterers that would sacrifice thee, first to dull Lust, and more unthinking Wit; possess thee, then traduce thee. By Heaven, I swear, it was not for myself alone, I took such pains to gain thee, and set thee free from all those Circumstances that might perhaps debauch thy worthier Nature, and I believed it was with pain you yielded to every buying Lover: No, 'twas for thy Sake, in pity to thy Youth, Heaven had inspired me with Religious Flame; and when I aim'd at Silvia 'twas alone I might attain to Heaven the surest way, by such a pious Conquest: Why hast thou ruin'd a Design so glorious, as saving both our Souls? Perhaps thou vainly thinkest that while I am pleading thus—I am arguing still for Love; or think this way to move • hee into Pity; No, by my hopes of Death to ease my Pain, Love is a Passion not to be compell'd by any force of Reason's Arguments: 'Tis an unthinking Motion of the Soul, that comes and goes as unaccountably as changing Moons, or Ebbs and Flo • s of Rivers, only with far less certainty. It is not that my Soul is all over Love, that 〈◊〉 beget its Likeness in your Heart: Had Heaven and Nature added to that Love all the Perfections that adorn our Sex, it had avail'd me nothing in your Soul: There is a Chanc • in Love as well as Life, and oft the most unworthy are preferred; and from a Lottery I might win the Prize from all the venturing Throng with as much Reason, as think my Chance should favour me with Silvia; it might perhaps have been, but 'twas a wonderous Odds against me. Beauty is more uncertain than the Dice; and tho' I ventured like a forward Gamester, I was not yet so vain to hope to win, nor had I once complain'd upon my Fate, if I had never hop'd; but when I had fairly won, to have it basely snatch'd from my Possession, and like a bafled Cully, see it seiz'd by a false Gamester, and look tamely on, has show'd me such a Picture of myself; has given me such Idea's of the Fool, I scorn to look into my easy Heart, and loath the Figure you have made me there. Oh Silvia! what an Angel thou had'st been, had'st thou not sooth'd me thus to my Vndoing. Alass, it had been no Crime in thee to hate me, it was not thy Fault I was not Aimable; if thy soft Eyes could meet no Charms to please 'em, those soft, those charming Eyes were not in Fault; nor that thy Sense, too delicate and nice, could meet no proper Subject for thy Wit, thy Heart, thy tender Heart, was not in fault, because it took not in my tale of Love, and sent soft Wishes back: Oh! no, my Silvia, this, tho' I had dy'd, had caused you no Reproach; but first, to fan my Fire by all the Arts that ever Subtle Beauty could •• vent; to give me Hope; nay, to • issemble Love; yes, and so very well • issemble too, that not one tender Sigh was breath'd in vain: All that my love-sick Soul was panting for, the subtle Charmer gave; so well, so very well, she could dissemble: Oh! what more Proofs could I expect from Love, what greater Earnest of eternal Victory? Oh! thou had'st raised me to the height of Heaven, to make my Fall to Hell the more precipitate. Like a fallen Angel now I howl and roar, and curse that Pride that taught me first Ambition; 'tis a poor Satisfaction now, to know (if thou could'st yet tell Truth) what Motive first seduced thee to my Ruin? Had it been Interest— by Heaven, I would have bought my wanton Pleasures at as high Rates as I would gratify my real Passions; at least when Silvia set a price on Pleasure; nay, higher yet, for Love when 'tis repaid with equal Love, it saves the Chafferer a great Expence: Or were it wantonness of Youth in thee, alass you might have made me understood it, and I had met you with an equal Ardor, and never thought of loving, but quench'd the short liv'd Blaze as soon as kindled; and hoping for no more, had never let my hasty Flame arrive any higher than that powerful Minutes Cure. But oh! in vain I seek for Reasons from thee; perhaps thy own fantastick fickle Humour cannot inform thee why thou hast betray'd me; but thou hast done it Silvia, and may it never rise in Iudgment on thee, nor fix a Brand upon thy Name for ever, greater than all thy other Guilts can load thee with: Live fair Deceiver, live, and charm Philander, to all the Heights of his beginning Flame; maist thou be gaining Power upon his Heart, and bring it to Rep • ntance for Inconstancy; may all thy Beauty still maintain its Lustre, and all thy Charms of Wit be new and gay; maist thou be chast and true; and since it was thy Fate to 〈◊〉 undone, let this at least excuse the h • pless Maid; 'twas Love alone bet • ay'd her to that Ruin and it was Philander only had that Power▪ If thou had'st sinn'd with one, as Heaven's my Witness, after I had plighted thee my sacred Vo • s, I do not think thou did 'st; may all the Powers above forgive thee, Silvia; and those thou hast committed since those Vows, will need a world of Tears to wash away: 'Tis I will weep for both, 'tis I will go and be a Sacrifice to atone for all our Sins; 'tis▪ I will be the pressing Penitent, and watch, and pray, and weep, till Heaven have Mercy; and may my Penance be accepted for thee;—Farewel • — I have but one Request to make thee, which is, that thou wilt for Octavio's Sake forgive the faithful Slave that brings thee this from thy

Octavio.

Silvia, whose Absence and ill Treatment of Octavio, had but served to raise her Flame to a • much greater degree, had no sooner read this Letter, but she suffered herself to be distracted, with all the different Passions that possess dispairing Lovers; sometimes raveing, and sometimes sighing and weeping: 'Twas a good while she continued in these Disorders, still thinking on what she had to do next, that might redeem all: Being a little come to herself, she thought good to consult with Brilljard in this Affair, between whom and Octavio she found there was a very good Understanding: And resolving absolutely to quit Philander, she no longer had any Scruples or Doubt what Course to take, nor car'd she what Price she paid for a Reconciliation with Octavio, if any Price would purchase it: In order to this Resolve, fix'd in her Heart, she sends for Brilljard, whom she careses anew, with all the Fondness and Familiarity of a Woman, who was resolv'd to make him her Confident, or rather indeed her next Gallant. I have already said he was very handsome, and very well made, and you may believe he took all the care he could in dressing, which he understood very well: He had a good deal of Wit, and was very well fashion'd and bred:—With all these Accomplishments, and the addition of Love and Youth, he could not be imagined to appear wholly indifferent in the Eyes of any body, tho' hitherto he had in those of Silvia, whose Heart was doating on Philander; but now, that that Passion was wholly extinguished, and that their eternal Quarrels had made almost a perpetual Separation, she being alone, without the Conversation of Men, which she lov'd, and was used to, and in her Inclination naturally addicted to love, she found Brilljard more agreeable than he used to be; which together with he Designs she had upon him, made her take such a Freedom with him, as wholly transported this almost hopeless Lover: She discourses with him concerning Octavio and his Condition, and he failed not to answer, so as to please her, right or wrong; she tells him how uneasy she was with Philander, who every day grew more and more insupportable to her; she tells him she had a very great Inclination for Octavio, and more for his Fortune, that was able to support her, than his Person; she knew she had a great Power over him, and however it might seem now to be diminished by her unlucky Flight with Philander, she doubted not but to reduce him to all that Love he once profess'd to her, by telling him she was forc'd away, and without her Knowledge, being carried only to take the Air, was compell'd to the fatal Place where she now was. Brilljard sooths and flatters her in all her Hope, and offers her his Service in her Flight, which he might easily assist, unknown to Philander. It was now about fix a Clock at Night, and she commanded a Supper to be provided and brought to her Chamber, where Brilljard and she supp'd together, and talk'd of nothing but the new Design; the hope of effecting which put her into so good Humour, that she frankly drank her Bottle, and show'd more signs of Mirth than she had done in many Months before: In this good Humour Brilljard look'd more amiable than ever, she smiles upon him, she caresses him with all the assurance of Friendship imaginable; she tells him she shall behold him as her dearest Friend, and spoke so many kind things, that he was imbolden'd, and approach'd her by degrees more near; he makes Advances; and the greatest Incouragement was, the Secret he had of her intended Flight: He tells her, He hop'd she would be pleased to consider (that while he was serving her in a new Amour, and assisting to render her into the Arms of another, he was wounding his own Heart which languished for her; that he should not have taken the Presumption to have told her this as such a time as he offered his Life to serve her, but that it was already no Secret to her, and that a Man who lov'd at his rate, and yet would contrive to make his Mistriss happy with another, ought in Justice to receive some Recompence of a Flame so constant and so submissive. While he spake he found he was not regarded with the Looks of Scorn or Disdain; he knew her haughty Temper, and finding it calm, he pressed on to new Submissions; he fell at her Feet, and pleaded so well, where no Opposers were, that Silvia no longer resisted, or if she did, it was very feebly, and with a sort of Wish, that he would pursue his Boldness yet farther; which at last he did, from one degree of Softness and gentle Force to another, and made himself the happiest Man in the World; tho' she was very much disordered at the Apprehension of what she had suffered from a Man of his Character, as she imagined so infinitely below her; but he redoubled his Submissions in so cunning a manner, that he soon brought her to her good Humour; and after that he used the kind Authority of a Husband whenever he had an Opportunity, and found her not displeased at his Services▪ She considered he had a Secret from her, which if reveal'd, would not only prevent her Design, but ruin her for ever; she found too late she had discovered too much to him, to keep him at the Distance of a Servant, and that she had no other way to attach him eternally to her Interest, but by this means. He now every day appear'd more fine, and well dressed, and omitted nothing that might make him, if possible, and absolute Master of her Heart, which he vow'd he would defend with his Life, from even Philander himself; and that he would pretend no other Empire over her, nor presume or pretend to ingross that fair and charming Person which ought to be universally adored. In fine, he fail'd not to please both her Desire and her Vanity, and every day she loved Philander less, who sometimes in two or three together came not home to visit her. At this time it so happened, he being in Love with the young Daughter of an Advocate, about a League from his own Lodgings, and he is always eager on the first Address, till he has compleated the Conquest; so that she had not only time to please and revenge herself with Brilljard, but fully to resolve their Affair, and to provide all things against their Flight, which they had absolutely done before Philander's Return; who, coming home, received Brilljard very kindly, and the News which he brought, and which made him understand, he should not have any long time to finish his new Amour in; but as he was very Conquering both in Wit and Beauty, he left not the Village without leaving some Ruins behind of Beauty, which ever after bewail'd his Charms; and since his departure was so necessary, and that in four or five days he was oblig'd to go, they deferr'd their flight till he was gone; which time they had wholly to themselves, and made as good use of it as they could; at least she thought so, and you may be sure, he also, whose Love increas'd with his possession. But Silvia longs for Liberty, and those necessary Gallantries, which every day diminish'd; she lov'd rich Cloths, gay Coaches, and to be lavish; and now she was stinted to good Housewifery, a Penury she hated.

The time of Philander's departure being come, he took a very careless leave of Silvia, telling her he would see what Commands the Prince had for him, and return in Ten or Twelve days. Brilljard pretended some little Indisposition, and beg'd he might be permitted to follow him, which was granted, and the next day, tho Brilljard pleaded infinitely for a continuation of his happiness two or three days more, she would not grant it, but oblig'd him, by a thousand kind promises of it for the future, to get Horses ready for her Page, and Woman, and her Coach for her self; which accordingly was done, and they left the Village, whose Name I cannot now call to mind, taking with her what of value she had left. They were three days on their journey; Brilljard under pretence of care of her Health, the weather being Hot, and for fear of overtaking Philander by some accident on the Road, delay'd the time as much as was possible, to be as happy as he could all the while; and indeed Silvia was never seen in a Humour more Gay. She found this short time of hope and pleasure, had brought all her banish'd Beauties back, that Care, Sickness and Grief, had extreamly tarnisht, only her Shape was a little more inclining to be Fat, which did not at all however yet impare her fineness; and she was indeed too Charming without, for the deformity of her indiscretion within; but she had broke the bounds of Honour, and now stuck at nothing that might carry on an Interest, which she resolved should be the business of her future life.

She at last arriv'd at Bruxells, and caus'd a Lodging to be taken for her in the remotest part of the Town; as soon as she came she oblig'd Brilljard to visit Octavio; but going to his Aunt's, to enquire for him, he was told that he was no longer in the World; he stood amaz'd a while, believing he had been dead, when Madam, the Aunt, told him he was retir'd to the Monastery of the Order of St. Bernard, and would in a day or two without the Probationary Year, take Holy Orders. This did not so much surprize him as the other, knowing that he discours'd to him, when he saw him last, as if some such retirement he meant to resolve upon; with this News, which he was not altogether displeas'd at, Brilljard return'd to Silvia, which soon chang'd all her good Humour to Tears and Melancholy: She inquir'd at what place he was, and believ'd she shou'd have power to withdraw him from a resolution so fatal to her, and so contradictive to his Youth and Fortune; and having consulted the matter with Brilljard, he had promised her to go to him, and use all means possible to withdraw him. This resolv'd, she writ a most insinuating Letter to him, wherein she excus'd her flight by a surprize of Philander's, and urg'd her condition, as it then was, for the excuse of her long silence; and that as soon as her Health would give her leave, she came to put her self eternally into his Arms; never to depart more from thence. These Arguments and Reasons, accompanied with all the i • dearing tenderness her artful Fancy was capable of framing, she sent, with a full assurance it would prevail to perswade him to the World, and her fair Arms again. While she was preparing this to go, Philander, who had heard at his arrival, what made so much noise, that he had been the occasion of the Worlds loss of two of the finest Persons in it, the Sister Calista by Debauching her, and the Brother by Ravishing his Mistriss from him, both which were entring without all possibility of prevention, into Holy Orders. He took so great a Melancholy at it, as made him keep his Chamber for two Days, maugre all the urgent affairs that ought to have invited him from thence; he was consulting by what power to prevent the Misfortune; he now ran back to all the Obligations he had to Octavio, and pardons him all the injuries he did him; he loves him more by loving Silvia less, and remembred how that generous Friend, after he knew he had dishonoured his Sister, had notwithstanding sent him Letters of Credit, to the Majestrates of Cologne, and Bills of Exchange to save him from the Murder of his Brother-in-Law, as was likely to have been. He now charges all his little faults to those of Love, and hearing that old Clarinau was dead of the wound Octavio had given him by mistake, which increased in him new hope of Calista, cou'd she be retriev'd from the Monastery, he resolv'd in order to this to make Octavio a Visit, to beg his Pardon, and beg his Friendship, and his Continuation in the World. He came accordingly to the Monastery, and was extream civilly received by Octavio, who yet had not the Habit on. Philander told him, he heard he was leaving the World, and could not suffer him to do so, without indeavouring to gain his Pardon of him, for all the injuries he had done him; that as to what related to his Sister the Countess, he protested upon his Honour, if he had but imagined she had been so, he wou'd have suffer'd death sooner than his Passion to have approach'd her indiscreetly; and that for Silvia, if he were assur'd her possession could make him happy, and call him to the World again, he assur'd him he wou'd quit her to him, were she Ten times dearer to him than she was. This he confirm'd with so many protestations of Friendship, that Octavio oblig'd to the last degree, believ'd and return'd him this Answer, Sir, I must confess you have found out the only way to disarm me of my resentment against you, if I were not oblig'd by those Vows I am going to take, to pardon and be at peace with all the World. However these Vows cannot hinder me from conserving intirely that Friendship in my Heart, which your good qualities and beauties at first sight ingag'd there, and from esteeming you more than perhaps I ought to do: the Man whom I must yet own my Rival, and the undoer of my Sisters Honour. But Oh—no more of that, a Friend's above a Sister, or a Mistriss. At this he hung down his Eyes and sigh'd—Philander told him he was too much concern'd in him, not to be extreamly afflicted at the resolution he had taken, and besought him to quit a design so injurious to his Youth, and the glorious things that Heaven had destin'd him to; he urg'd all that could be said to diswade him, and after all, could not believe he would quit the World at this Age, when it would be sufficient Forty Years hence so to do. Octavio only answer'd with a Smile; but when he saw Philander still persist, he endeavour'd to convince him by speaking, and lifting up his Eyes to Heaven; he Vow'd by all the Holy Powers there, he never would look down to Earth again; nor more consider fickle, faithless Beauty; All the Gay Vanities of Youth, said he, for ever I renounce, and leave 'em all to those that find a Pleasure or a Constancy in 'em: for the fair faithless Maid, that has undone me, I leave to you the Empire of her Heart; but have a care, said he, (and Sighing laid his Arms about his Neck) for even you with all that stock of Charms, she will at last betray: I wish her well—so well as to repent of all her Wrongs to me— 'Tis all I have to say. What Philander could urge, being impossible to prevail with him: And beging his Pardon and Friendship (which was granted by Octavio, and implor'd on his side from Philander) he took a ring of a great value from his Finger, and presented it to Philander, and beg'd him to keep it for his Sake; and to remember him while he did so: They Kist, and Sighing parted.

Philander was no sooner gone, but Brilljard came to wait on Octavio, whom he found at his Devotion, and beg'd his Pardon for disturbing him: He receiv'd him with a very good Grace, and a chearful Countenance, imbracing him, and after some Discourse of the Condition he was going to reduce himself to, and his Admiration, that one so young should think of Devoting himself so early to Heaven, and things of that nature as the time and occasion requir'd, he told him the extream Affliction Silvia was seiz'd with, at the News of the Resolution he had taken, and deliver'd him her Letter, which he read without any Emotions in his Heart or Face, as at other times us'd to be visible at the very mention of her Name, or approach of her Letters. At the finishing of which he only smiling Cry'd; Alass, I pity her, and gave him back the Letter. Brilljard ask'd if he would not please to write her some Answer, or condescend to see her; No, replyed Octavio, I have done with all the gilded Vanities of Life, now I shall think of Silvia but as Some Heavenly thing, fit for Diviner Contemplations, but neverwith the Youthful thoughts of Love. What he should send her now, he said, would have a different Stile to those she us'd to receive from him; it would be Pious Counsel, Grave Advice, unfit for Ladies so Young and Gay as Silvia, and would scarce find a welcome: He wish'd he could convert her from the World— and save her from the dangers that pursu'd her. To this purpose was all he said of her, and all that could be got from him by the earnest Solliciter of Love, who perhaps was glad his Negotiation succeeded no better, and took his leave of him, with a promise to visit him often; which Octavio besought him to do, and told him he would take some care, that for the good of Silvia's better part, she should not be reduced by want of Necessaries for her Life, and little Equipage, to prostitute her self to vile inconstant Man; he yet had so much respect for her—and be sought Brilljard to come and take care of it with him, and to intreat Silvia to accept of it from him; and if it contributed to her future happiness he should be more pleas'd than to have possest her intirely.

You may imagine how this News pleas'd Silvia; who trembling with fear every Moment, had expected Brilljard's coming, and found no other Benefit by his Negotiation, but she must bear what she cannot avoid; but 'twas rather with the Fury of a Bacchanal, than a Woman of common Sense, and Prudence; all about her pleaded some days in vain, and she hated Brilljard for not doing impossibilities; and it was sometime before he could bring her to permit him to speak to her or visit her.

Philander having left Octavio, went immediately to wait on Cesario, who was extreamly pleas'd to meet him there; and they exchang'd their Souls to each other, and all the Secrets of 'em. After they had discours'd of all that they had a mind to hear and know on both sides, Cesario inquir'd of him of Silvia's Health; and Philander gave him an account of the uneasiness of her Temper, and the occasions of their Quarrels, in which Octavio had his part, as being the subject of some of 'em: From this he falls to give a Character of that Rival, and came to this part of it, where he had put himself into the Orders of the Bernardines, resolving to leave the World, and all its Charms and Temptations. As they were speaking, some Gentlemen, who came to make their Court to the Prince, finding 'em speaking of Octavio, told them that to morrow he was to be initiated, without the Years Tryal; the Prince would needs go and see the Ceremony, having heard so much of the Man; and accordingly next day, accompanied with the Governour, Philander, Thomaso, and abundance of Persons of Quality and Officers, he went to the great Church; where were present all the Ladies of the Court, and all that were in the Town. The Noise of it was so great, that Silvia, all languishing, and ill as she was, would not be perswaded from going, but so muffl'd in her Hoods, as she was not to be known by any.

Never was any thing so magnificent as this Ceremony, the Church was on no occasion so richly adorn'd; Silvia chanc'd to be seated near the Prince of Michlenburgh, who was then in Bruxells and at the Ceremony; sad as she was, while the soft Musick was playing, she discours'd to him, tho' she knew him not, of the business of the day: He told her she was to see a Sight, that ought to make her Sex less cruel; a Man extreamly Beautiful and Young, whose Fortune could command almost all the pleasures of the World; yet for the Love of the most Amiable Creature in the World, who has treated him with Rigor, he abandons this Youth and Beauty to all the Severities of rigid Devotion: This relation, with a great deal he said of Octavio's Vertues and Bravery, had like to have discovered her by putting her into a Swoon: and she had much ado to support her self in her Seat. I my self went among the rest to this Ceremony, having in all the time I lived in Flanders, never been so curious to see any such thing: The Order of St. Bernard is one of the neatest of any of 'em, and there is a Monastery of that Order, which are oblig'd to be all Noble Mens Sons; of which I have seen fifteen hundred at a time in one House; all handsome, and most of 'em Young; their Habit adds a Grace to their Person, for of all the Religious, that is the most becoming: Long white Vests of fine Cloth, ty'd about with White Silk Sashes, or Cord of White Silk; over this a long Cloak without a Cape, of the same fine white Broad-Cloth; their Hair of a pretty Length, as that of our Parsons in England, and a White Beaver; they have very fine Apartments, fit for their quality, and above all, every one his Library; They have Attendance and Equipage according to their Rank, and have nothing of the Inconveniences and Slovenliness of some of the Religious, but served in as good order as can be, and they have nothing of the Monastick —but the Name, the Vow of Chastity, and the Opportunity of gaining Heaven, by the sweetest Retreat in the World, fine House, excellent Air, and delicate Gardens, Grotto's and Groves. 'Twas this Oader that Octavio had chosen, as too delicate to undertake the Austerity of any other; and in my opinion 'tis here a Man may hope to become a Saint, sooner than in any other, more perplext with Want, Cold, and all the necessaries of Life, which takes the thought too much from Heaven, and afflicts it with the Cares of this World, with Pain and too much Abstinence: and I rather think 'tis Necessity than Choice that makes a Man a Cordelier, that may be a Iesuit or a Bernardine, two the best of the Holy Orders. But to return, 'twas upon a Thursday this Ceremony began; and as I said there was never any thing beheld so fine as the Church that day was, and all the Fathers that officiated at the High-Altar; behind which a most magnificent Scene of Glory was opened, with Clouds most rarely and Artificially set off, behind which appear'd new onesmore bright and dazling, till from one degree to another, their lustre was hardly able to be look'd on; and in which sat an hundred little Angels so rarely dress'd, such shining Robes, such Charming Faces, such flowing bright Hair, Crown'd with Roses of White and Red, with such Artificial Wings, as one would have said they had born the Body up in the Splendid Sky: and these, to soft Musick, Tun 〈◊〉 soft Voices with such sweetness of Harmony, that for my part, I confess, I thought my self no longer on Earth; and sure there is nothing gives us an Idea of real Heaven, like a Church all adorn'd with rare Pictures, and the other Ornaments of it, with what ever can Charm the Eyes; and Musick, and Voices to Ravish the Ear; both which inspire the Soul with unresistable Devotion; and I can Swear for my own part, in those Moments a thousand times I have wish'd to Die; so absolutely I have forgot the World, and all its Vanities, and fixt my thoughts on Heaven. While this Musick continued, and the Anthems were Singing, Fifty Boys all in White, bearing Silver Censers, Cast Incense all round, and perfum'd the Place with the richest and most agreeable Smells, while two hundred Silver Lamps were burning about the Altar, to give a greater Glory to the open'd Scene, while other Boys strow'd Flowers upon the inlaid Pavement, where the gay Victim was to tread; for no Crowd of Gazers fill'd the empty Space, but those that were Spectators, were so placed as rather served to adorn than disorder the awful Ceremony, where all were silent, and as still as Death; as awful as Mourners, that attend the Hearse of some lov'd Monarch. While we were thus listening, the soft Musick playing, and the Angels singing, the whole Fraternity of the Order of St. Bernard, came in, two by two, in very graceful Order; and going up to the shining Altar, whose Furniture, that day, was Embroidered with Diamonds, Pearls, and Stones of great Value; they bow'd and retired to their Places, into little gilded Stalls, like our Knights of the Garter at Windsor: After them fifty Boys that sang, approach in order to the Altar, bow'd, and divided on each side; they were dressed in white Cloth of Silver, with golden Wings and rosy Chaplets: After these, the Bishop in his pontifick Robes, set with Diamonds of great Price, and his Mitre richly adorn'd, ascended the Altar; where, after a short Anthem, he turn'd to receive the young Devotee, who was just entered the Church, while all Eyes were fixed on him: He was led, or rather, on each side attended, with two young Noble-men, his Relations; and I never saw any thing more rich in Dress, but that of Octavio exceeded all Imagination, for the gayety and fineness of the Work: It was white Cloth of Silver embroidered with Gold, and Buttons of Diamonds; lin'd with rich Cloth of Gold and Silver Flowers, his Breeches of the same, trim'd with a pale Pinck Garniture; rich Linen, and a white Plume in his white Hat: His Hair, which was long and black, was that day in the finest order that could be imagined; but for his Face and Eyes, I am not able to describe the Charms that adorn'd 'em; no Fancy, no Imagination can paint the Beauties there: He look'd indeed as if he were maid for Heaven; no Mortal ever had such Grace: He look'd, methought, as if the Gods of Love had met in Council to dress him up that day for everlasting Conquest; for to his usual Beauties he seem'd to have the Addition of a thousand more; he bore new Lustre in his Face and Eyes, Smiles on his Cheeks, and Dimples on his Lips: He moved, he trode with nobler Motions, as if some supernatural Influence had took a peculiar Care of him: Ten thousand Sighs, from all sides, were sent him, as he passed along, which, mix'd with the soft Musick, made such a murmuring as gentle Breezes moving yielding Boughs: I am assured he won that day more Hearts, without Design, than ever he had gain'd with all his Toils of Love and Youth before, when Industry assisted him to conquer. In his Approach to the Altar, he made three Bows; where, at the Foot o • it on the lower Step, kneel'd, and then High-Mass began; in which were all sorts of different Musick, and that so excellent, that wholly ravished with what I saw and heard, I fansied myself no longer on Earth, but absolutely ascended up to the Regions of the Sky. All I could see around me, all I heard, was ravishing and heavenly; the Scene of Glory, and the dazling Altar; the noble Paintings, and the numerous Lamps; the Awfulness, the Musick, and the Order, made me conceive myself above the Stars, and I had no part of mortal Thought about me. After the Holy Ceremony was performed, the Bishop turn'd and bless'd him; and while an Anthem was singing, Octavio, who was still kneeling, submitted his Head to the Hands of a Father, who with a pair of Sissors cut off his delicate Hair; at which a soft Murmur of Pity and Grief, fill'd the Place: Those fine Locks, with which Silvia had a thousand time play'd, and wound the Curles about her snowy Finger, she now had the dying Grief, for her Sake, for her Infidelity, to behold sacrificed to her Cruelty, and distributed amongst the Ladies, who at any Price would purchase a Curl: After this they took off his Linen, and his Coat, under which he had a white Sattin Wastcoat, and under his Breeches Drawers of the same. Then the Bishop took his Robes, which lay consecrated on the Altar, and put them on, and invested him with the Holy Robe: The Singing continuing to the end of the Ceremony; where, after an Anthem was sung (while he prostrated himself before the Altar) he arose, and instead of the two noble Men that attended him to the Altar, two Bernardines approach'd and conducted him from it, to the Seats of every one of the Order, whom he kissed, and imbraced, as they came forth to welcome him to the Society. It was with abundance of Tears that every one beheld this Transformation; but Silvia swouned several times during the Ceremony, yet would not suffer herself to be carried out; but Antonett and another young Lady of the House where she lodged, that accompanied her, did what they could to conceal her from the publick View. For my part, I swear I was never so affected in my Life, with any thing, as I was at this Ceremony, nor ever found my Heart so oppressed with Tenderness; and was myself ready to sink where I sate, when he came near me, to be welcom'd by a Father that sate next me: After this he was led by two of the eldest Fathers, to his Apartment, and left a thousand sighing Hearts behind him. Had he dy'd, there had not been half that Lamentation: so foolish is the mistaken World, to grieve at our happiest Fortune, either when we go to Heaven, or retreat from this World, which has nothing in it that can really charm, without a thousand Fatigues to attend it: And in this Retreat, I am sure, he himself was the only Person that was not infinitely concerned; who quitted the World with so modest a Bravery, so intire a Joy, as no young Conqueror ever perform'd his Triumphs with more.

The Ceremony being ended, Antonett got Silvia to her Chair, concern'd even to Death; and she vow'd afterwards, she had much ado to withhold herself from running and seizing him at the Altar, and preventing his Fortune and Design, but that she believed Philander would have resented it to the last degree, and possibly have made it fatal to both herself and Octavio. It was a great while before she could recover from the Indisposition to which this fatal and unexpected Accident had reduced her: But as I have said, she was not of a Nature to dy for Love; and charming and brave as Octavio was, it was perhaps her Interest, and the loss of his considerable Fortune, that gave her the greatest Cause of Grief. Sometimes she vainly fancied that yet her Power was such, that with the Expence of one Visit, and some of her usual Arts, which rarely fail, she had power to withdraw his Thoughts from Heaven, and fix 'em all on herself again, and to make him fly those Inclosures to her more agreeable Arms: But again she wisely considered, tho' he might be retriev'd, his Fortune was disposed of to Holy Uses, and could never be so. This last Thought more prevailed upon her, and had more convincing Reason in it, than all that could besides oppose her Flame; for she had this wretched Prudence, even in the highest Flights and Passions of her Love, to have a wise Regard to Interest; insomuch that it is most certain, she refused to give herself up intirely even to Philander; him, whom one would have thought nothing but perfect Love, soft irresistable Love could have compell'd her to have transgress'd withal, when so many Reasons contradicted her Passion: How much more then ought we to believe that Interest was the greatest Motive of all her after Passions? However, this powerful Motive fail'd not to beget in her all the Pains and Melancholies that the most violent of Passions could do: But Brilljard, who lov'd to a greater Degree than ever, strove all he could to divert the Thoughts of a Grief, for which there was no Remedy; and believed if he could get her out of Bruxells, retir'd to the little Town, or rather Village, where he was first made happy, and where Philander still believed her to be, he should again reassume that Power over her Heart he had before: In this melancholy Fit of hers he Proposed it, urging the Danger he should be in for obeying her, should Philander once come to know that she was in Bruxells; and that possibly she would not find so civil a Treatment as he ought to pay her, if he should come to the knowledge of it: Besides these Reasons, he said, he had some of greater Importance, which he must not discover till she were withdrawn from Bruxells: But there needed not much to perswade her to retire, in the Humour she then was; and with no Opposition on her side, she told him she was ready to go where he thought fit; and accordingly the next day they departed the Town, and in three more arrived to the Village. In all this Journey Brilljard never approach'd her but with all the Respect imaginable, but withal with abundance of silent Passion; which manner of Carriage, obliged Silvia very often to take Notice of it, with great Satisfaction and Signs of Favour; and as he saw her Melancholy abate, he increased in sighing and Lovers Boldnesses: Yet with all this he could not oblige her to those Returns he wished: When, after ten days stay, Philander writ to him, to inquire of his Health, and of Silvia, to whom he sent a very kind good natured Letter, but no more of the Lover than if there had never been such a Joy between 'em: He beg'd her to take care of herself, and told her he would be with her in ten or fifteen days; and desired her to send him Brilljard, if he were not wholly necessary to her Service, for he had urgent Affairs to imploy him in: So that Brilljard, not being able longer, with any colour to defend his Stay, writ him word he would wait on him in two days: which short time he wholly imploy'd in utmost Indeavour to gain Silvia's Favour; but she, whose Thoughts were roving on new Designs, which she thought fit to conceal from a Lover, still put him off with pretended Illness, and thoughtfulness on the late melancholy Object and loss of Octavio: But assur'd him as soon as she was recovered of that Pressure, she would receive him with the same Joy she had before, and which his Person and his Services merited from her; 'twas thus she sooth'd the hoping Lover, who went away with all the Satisfaction imaginable; bearing a Letter from Silvia to Philander, written with all the Art of Flattery. Brilljard was no sooner gone, but Silvia, whose Head ran on new Adventures, resolv'd to try her Chance; and being, whenever she pleased, of a Humour very Gay, she resolv'd upon a Design, in which she could trust no body but her Page, who lov'd his Lady to the last Degree of Passion, tho he never durst show it, even in his Looks or Sighs; and yet the cunning Silvia had by chance found his Flame, and would often take Delight to torture the poor Youth, to laugh at him: She knew he would dy to serve her, and she durst trust him with the most important Business of her Life: She therefore the next Morning sends for him to her Chamber, which she often did, and told him her Design; which was, in Man's Cloths to go back to Bruxells, and see if they could find any Adventures by the way that might be worth the Journey, and divert 'em: She told him she would trust him with all her Secrets; and he vow'd Fidelity. She bid him bring her a Suit of those Cloths she used to wear at her first Arrival at Holland; and he look'd out one very fine, and which she had worn that day she went to have been married to Octavio, when the States Messengers took her for a French Spy, a Suit Philander had never seen: She equips herself, and leaving in charge with Antonett what to say in her Absence; and telling her she was going upon a Frolick to divert herself a day or two, she, accompanied by her Page only, took Horse, and made away towards Bruxells: You must know that the half-way Stage is a very small Village, in which there is most lamentable Accommodation, and may vie with any part of Spain for bad Inns. Silvia, not used much to riding, as a Man, was pretty well tired by that time she got to one of those Hotels; and as soon as she alighted she went to her Chamber, to refresh and cool herself; and while the Page was gone to the Kitchen, to see what there was to eat, she was leaning out of the Window, and looking on the Passengers that rode along, many of which took up in the same House. Among them that alighted, there was a very handsom young Gentleman, appearing of Quality, attended only by his Page: She considered this Person a little more than the rest, and finding him so unaccompanied, had a Curiosity, natural to her, to know who he was: She ran to another Window, that look'd into the Yard, a kind of Balcony, and saw him alight, and look at her; and Saluted her in passing into the Kitchin, seeing her look like a Youth of Quality: Coming in he saw her Page, and ask'd if he belong'd to that Young Cavalier in the Gallery; the Page told him he did: And being ask'd Who he was, he told him he was a young Noble Man of France; a Stranger to all those parts, and had made an escape from his Tutors, to ramble for his Fancy and his Pleasure; and said he was of a Humour, never to be out of his way; all places being alike to him in those little Adventures. So leaving him (with yet a greater Curiosity) he ran to Silvia, and told her what had past between the young Stranger and him: While she, who was possest with the same Inquisitive Humour, bid him inquire who he was, when the Master of the Hotel coming in the interim up to usher in her Supper, she inquir'd of him who that Young Stranger was; he told her, one of the greatest Persons in Flanders; that he was Nephew to the Governour, and who had a very great Equipage at other times; but that now he was Incognito, being on an Intrigue: This Intrigue gave Silvia new Curiosity; and hoping the Master would tell him again, she fell into great praises of his Beauty and his Mein; which for several reasons pleas'd the Man of the Inn, who departed with the good News, and told every Word of it to the Young Cavalier: The good Man having, besides the pleasing him with the grateful Complements, a farther design in the Relation; for his House being very full of Persons of all sorts, he had no Lodging for the Governour's Nephew, unless he could recommend him to our Young Cavalier. The Gay unknown, extreamly pleas'd with the Character he had given him, by so beautiful a Gentleman, and one who appear'd of so much quality, being alone, and knowing he was so also, sent a Spanish Page, that spoke very good French, and had a handsome Address, and quick Wit, to make his Complement to the Young Mounsieur; which was to beg to be admitted to Sup with him; who readily accepted the Honour, as she call'd it; and the Young Governour, whom we must call Alonzo, for a reason or two, immediately after enter'd her Chamber, with an admirable Address, appearing much handsomer near, than at distance; tho' even then he drew Silvia's Eyes with admiration on him; there were a thousand Young Graces in his Person, Sweetnesses in his Face, Love and Fire in his Eyes, and Wit on his Tongue: His Stature was neither Tall nor Low, very well made, and fashion'd; a Light brown Hair, Hazle Eyes, and a very soft and amorous Air; about twenty Years of Age: He spoke very good French; and after the first Complements on either side were over, as on such occasions are necessary; in which on both sides were nothing but great Expressions of Esteem, Silvia began so very well to be pleas'd with the fair Stranger, that she had like to have forgot the part she was to act, and have made Discoveries of her Sex, by Addressing herself with the Modesty and Blushes of a Woman: But Alonzo who had no such apprehension; tho' she appear'd with much more Beauty, than he • ansied ever to have seen in a Man, nevertheless admir'd without suspecting, and took all those Signs of Effeminacy to unassur'd Youth, and first Address; and he was absolutely deceiv'd in her. Alonzo's Supper being brought up, which was the best the bad Inn afforded, they sat down, and all Supper time talk'd of a thousand pleasant things, and most of Love and Women, where both exprest, abundance of Gallantry for the fair Sex. Alonzo related many short and pleasant accidents, and amours he had had with women. Tho' the Stranger were by Birth a Spaniard; yet while they discours'd, the Glass was not Idle, but went as briskly about, as if Silvia had been an absolute good Fellow. Alonzo Drinks his, and his Mistresses Health, and Silvia return'd the Civility, and so on till three Bottles were Sacrific'd to Love and good Humour, while she at the expence of a little Modesty, declared herself so much of the opinion of Don Alanzo, for Gay Inconstancy, and the Blessing of Variety, that he was wholly Charm'd with a Conversation so agreeable to his own. I have heard her Page say, from whom I have had a great part of the Truths of her Life, that he never saw Silvia in so pleasant a Humour all his life before, nor seem'd so well pleas'd, which gave him, her Lover, a Jealousie, that perplext him above any thing he had ever felt from Love; tho' he durst not own it. But Alonzo finding his Young Companion altogether so Charming (and in his own way too) could not forbear very often from falling upon his Neck, and Kissing the fair disguis'd, with as hearty an Ardour, as ever he did one of an other Sex: He told her he Ador'd her; she was directly of his Principle, all gay, inconstant, galiard and roving, and with such a Gusto he commended the Joys of fickle Youth, that Silvia would often after say, she was then Jealous of him, and Envious of those who possest him, tho' she knew not whom. The more she lookt on him, and heard him speak, the more she fansied him: and Wine that warm'd her Head, made her give him a thousand Demonstrations of Love, that warm'd her Heart; which he mistoke for Friendship, having mistaken her Sex. In this fit of beginning Love (which is always the best) and Jealousie, she bethought her to ask him on what Adventure he had now been; for he being without his Equipage, she believ'd, she said, he was upon some affair of Love: He told her there was a Lady, within an Hours riding of that place, of quality, and handsome, very much Courted: Amongst those that were of the number of her Adorers, he said, was a Young Man of Quality of France, who call'd himself Philander: This Philander had been about eight Days very happy in her Favour, and had hap'ned to boast his good Fortune the next Night at the Governours Table, where he Din'd with the Prince Cesario. I told him, continued Alonzo, That the Person he so boasted of, had so soon granted him the Favour, that I believ'd she was of a Humour to suffer none to die at her Feet: but this, said he, Philander thought an Indignity to his good parts, and told me, he believ'd he was the only Man happy in her Favour, and that could be so: On this I ventur'd a Wager, at which he colour'd extreamly, and the Company laugh'd, which Incens'd him more; the Prince urg'd the Wager, which was a pair of Spanish Horses, the best in the Court, on my side, against a Discretion on his: This odds offer'd by me Incens'd him yet more; but urg'd to lay, we ended the Dispute with the Wager, the best Conclusion of all Controversies. He would have known what measures I would take; I refus'd to satisfie him in that; I only swore him upon Honour, that he should not discover the Wager or the dispute to the Lady. The next day I went to pay her a visit, from my Aunt, the Governours Lady, and she receiv'd me with all the civility in the World, I seem'd surpriz'd at her Beauty, and could talk of nothing but the Adoration I had for her, and found her extreamly pleas'd, and vai • , of which Feeble Resistance I made so good advantage, that before we parted, being all alone, I receiv'd from her all the Freedoms that I could with any good Manners be allow'd, the first time; she fir • ing me with Kisses, and suffering my closest Embraces. Having prosper'd so well, I left her for that time, and two days after I made my visit again; she was a Married Lady, and her Husband was a Dutch Count, and gone to a little Government he held under my Uncle, so that again I found a free Admittance; I told her 'twas my Aunt's Complement I brought before, but that now 'twas my own I brought, which was that of an impatient Heart, that Burnt with a World of Fire and Flame, and Non-sense. In • ine, so eager I was, and so pressing for something more than Dull Kissing, that she began to retire as fast as she advanc'd before, and told me, after abundance of pressing her to it, that she had set a price upon her Beauty, and unless I understood how to purchase her, it was not her fault, if I were not happy: At first I so little expected it had been Money, that I reiterated my Vows, and fansied it was the assurance of my Heart she meant; but she very frankly replyed, Sir, you may spare your Pains, and five hundred Pistols will ease you of a great deal of trouble, and be the best Argument of your Love. This Generous Consciencious Humour of hers, of suffering none to Die that had five hundred Pistols to present for a Cure, was very good News to me, and I found I was not at all oblig'd to my Youth or Beauty, but that a Man with half a Nose, or a single Eye, or that stunk like an old Spaniard, that had Din'd on Rotten Cheese and Garlick, should have been equally as welcome for the aforesaid Sum, to this Charming Insensible. I must confess, I do not love to chaffer for my pleasure, it takes off the best part of it, and were I left to my own Judgment of its worth, I should hardly have offer'd so sneaking a Sum; but that sort of bargaining was her Humour, and to enjoy her mine, tho' she had strangely pall'd me by this management of the Matter: all I had now to do, was to appoint my Night, and bring my Money; now was a very proper time for it, her Husband being absent: I took my leave of her, infinitely well pleas'd to have gain'd my point on any Terms, with a promise to deliver my self there the next Night: but she told me she had a Brother to come to morrow, whom she would not have see me, and for that reason, (being however not willing to delay the receiving her Pistoles) she desired I would wait at this very House, till a Foot-man should give me notice when to come; accordingly I came, and sent her a Billet, that I waited prepar'd at all points; and she return'd me a Billet to this purpose: That her Brother with some Relations being arriv'd, as she expected, she beg'd for her Honour's sake, that I would wait till she sent, which should be as soon as they were gone to their Chambers; and they having rid a long Iourney, would early retire; that she was impatient of the Blessing, and should be as well prepar'd as himself, and that she would leave her Woman Leticia to give me Admittance.—This satisfy'd me very well; and as I attended here, some of my acquaintance chanced to arrive; with whom I Supp'd, and took so many Glasses, to her Health, as it past down, that I was arriv'd at a very handsome pitch, and to say Truth was as full of Bacchus as Venus. However as soon as her Foot-man arriv'd, I stole away, and took Horse, and by that time it was quite dark arriv'd at her House, where I was let in by a Young • Maid, whose Habit was very neat and clean, and she herself appear'd to my Eyes, then dazling with Wine, the most beautiful Young Creature I had ever seen, as in truth she was; she seemed all Modesty, and blushing Innocence; so that conducting me into a low Parlour, while she went to tell her Lady I was come, who lay ready drest in all the Magnificence of Night-dress to receive me, I sate contemplating on this fair Young Maid, and no more thought of her Lady, than of Bethlehem Gabor. The Maid soon return'd, and Curtsying, told me with Blushes on her Face, that her Lady expected me; the House was still as Sleep, and no Noise heard, but the little Winds that rush'd among the Iesamin that grew at the Window; now whether at that moment, the false Light in the Room, or the true Wine deceived me, I know not; but I beheld this Maid as an Angel for Beauty; and indeed I think she had all the temptations of Nature. I began to kiss her, and she to tremble and blush; yet not so much out of Fear, as Surprize and Shame at my Addresses. I found her pleased with my Vows, and melting at my Kisses; I sigh'd in her Bosom, which panted me a welcome there; that Bosom whiter than Snow, sweeter than the Nosegay she had Planted there. She urg'd me faintly to go to her Lady, who expected me, and I swore it was for her Sake I came (whom I never saw) and that I scorn'd all other Beauties: She kindl'd at this, and her Cheeks glow'd with Love. I press'd her to all I wish'd, but she replyed, she was a Maid, and should be undone. I told her I would Marry her, and swore it with a thousand Oaths; she believed, and grew prettily Fond—In fine, at last she, yielded to all I ask'd of her, which we had scarce recover'd when her Lady rung. I could not stir, but she who fear'd a Surprize, ran to her, and told her I was gone into the Garden, and would come immediately; she, hastens down again to me, Fires me anew, and pleas'd me anew; 'twas thus I taught a longing Maid the first Lesson of Sin, at the price of Fifty Pistoles, which I presented her; nor could I yet part from this young Charmer, but stayed so long that her Lady rung a Silver Bell again; but my new Prize was so wholly taken up with the pleasure of this new Amour, and the good Fortune arriv'd to her, she heard not the Bell, so that the fair deceiv'd, put on her Night-gown and Slippers, and came softly down Stairs, and found my new Love, and I closely imbracing with all the passion and fondness imaginable. I know not what she saw in me in that kind moment to her Woman, or whether the disappointment gave her a greater desire, but 'tis most certain she fell most desperately in Love with me, and scorning to take notice of the Indignity I put upon her, she unseen stole to her Chamber: Where after a most afflicting Night, she next Morning called her Woman to her (whom I left towards Morning,) better pleased with my Fifty Pistoles worth of Beauty, than I should have been with that of five hundred: the Maid whose Guilt made her very much unassur'd, approach'd her Lady with such tremblings, as she no longer doubted, but she was guilty, but durst not examine her about it, least she, who had her Honour in keeping, should by the discovery she found she had made of her Levity, expose that of her Lady. She therefore, dissembled as well as she could, and examined her about my stay; to which the Maid answer'd, I had fallen asleep, and 'twas impossible to wake me till day appear'd; when for fear of discovery, I posted away. This, tho' the Lady knew was false, she was forc'd to take for currant Excuse, and more raging with Love, than ever, she immediately dispatch'd away her Foot-man, with a Letter to me, upbraiding me extreamly; but at the same time, inviting me with all the passion imaginable; and because I should not again see my young Mistriss, who was dying in Love with me, she appointed me to meet her at a little House she had, a Bow-shot from her own, where was a fine De • oy, and a great number of Wild-fowl kept, which her Husband took great delight in; there I was to wait her coming, where liv'd only a Man, and his old Wife, her Servants: I was very glad of this Invitation, and went; she came adorn'd with all her Charms. I consider'd her a new Woman, and one whom I had a Wager to win upon, the conquest of one I had inclination to, till by the discovery of the Jilt in her I began to dispise the Beauty; however, as I said, she was new, and now perhaps easie to be brought to my Terms, as indeed it hap'ned; she caress'd me with all imaginable fondness; was ready to Eat my Lips, instead of Kissing them, and much more forward than I wish'd, who do not love an over easie Conquest; however she pleas'd me for three days together, all which time she detained me there, coming to me early, and staying the latest Hour; and I have no reason to repent my time; for besides that I have past it very well, she at my coming away presented me this Jewel in my Hat, and this Ring on my Finger, and I have sav'd my five hundred Pistoles, my heart, and my credit in the Encounter, and am going to Bruxells to triumph over the haughty conceited Philander, who set so great a value on his own Beauty, and yet for all his fine Person has paid the Pistoles before he could purchase the Blessing, as she swore to me, who have made a Convert of her, and reduced her to the thing she never yet was, a Lover; insomuch that she has promised me to renounce Philander. I have promised to visit her again; but if I do, 'twill be more for the Vanity to please than be pleas'd, for I never repeat any thing with pleasure: All the while he spoke, Silvia fix'd her Eyes, and all her soft desires upon him; she envies the happy Countess, but much more the happy Maid, with whom his perfect liking made him happy; she fansies him in her Arms, and wishes him there; she is ready a thousand times to tell him she is a Woman; but when she reflects on his inconstancy, she fears. When he had ended his Story, she Cry'd, sighing: And you are just come from this fair Lady? He answered her, he was, Sound and Heart-hole: She reply'd, 'Tis very well you are so, but all the young do not thus escape from Beauty, and you may some time or other be Intrapt. Oh, cry'd he! I defy the power of one, while Heaven has distributed Variety to all. Were you never in Love, replyed Silvia? Never, said he, that they call Love: I have burnt and rav'd an Hour or two, or so; pursu'd, and gaz'd, and laid Sieges, till I had overcome; but what's this to Love? Did I ever make a second visit, unless upon Necessity or Gratitude? And yet —and there he sigh'd; and yet, said he, I saw a Beauty once upon the Tower, that has ever since given me Torment. At Bruxells, said Silvia? There, replyed he; she was the fairest Creature Heaven e're made, such White and Read by Nature, such a Hair, such Eyes, and such a Mouth!—all Youth and ravishing sweetness,—I pursu'd her to her Lodgings, and all I could get, was, that she belonged to a young Noble Man, who since has taken Orders. From the Night I saw her, I never left her Window, but had Spies of all sorts, who brought me in intelligence, and a little after I found she had quitted the place with a new Lover, which made me love and rave for her ten times more, when I knew assuredly she was a Whore— and how fine a one I had mist: This call'd all the Blood to Silvia's Face, and so confounded her, she could not answer; she knew it was her self, of whom he spoke; and that course word tho' innocently spoken, or rather gayly express'd, put her quite out of Countenance; however she recover'd again, when she considered they were not meant as rudenesses to her. She lov'd him, and was easie to pardon: With such discourse they past the Evening, till towards Bed-time, and the young Spaniara, who had took but little rest in three Nights before, was for some repose; and calling for his Chamber, the Host besought him, since they had the happiness (the young French Gentleman and himself) to be so good Friends, that they would share a Bed together; for intruth, said he, Sir, you must sit up all Night else: he replyed, with all his Soul, it was the most grateful proposal, had been ever made him; and Addressing himself to Silvia, asked him if he would alow him that Blessing: She blush'd extreamly at the question, and hung down her Eyes, and he laugh'd to see it: Sir, said Silvia, I will give you my Bed, for 'tis all one to me, to lye on a Bed, or on the Chairs. Why, Sir, said Alonzo, I am too passionate an adorer of the Female Sex, to incommode any of my own with Addresses; nor am I so Nice, but I can suffer a Man to lye by me, especially so dear a Youth as your self • e. at which he Embraced him in his Arms, which did but the more raise Silva's Blushes, who wish'd for what she dreaded: With you, Sir, said she, I could methinks be content to do what I do not use to do; and fearing to betray her Sex, forced a consent; for either one or the other she was compell'd to do; and with the assurance that he thought her what she seemed, she chose to give her consent, and they both went to Bed together: to add to her deceit (she being forced in her Sickness to cut off her Hair) when she put off her Perriwig, she discovered nothing of the Woman; nor feared she any thing but her Breasts, which were the roundest and the whitest in the World; but she was long in undressing, which to colour the Matter, she suffered her Page to do, who, poor Lad, was never in so trembling a condition, as in that manner to be obliged to serve her, where she discovered so many Charms he never before had seen, but all such as might be seen with Modesty: By that time she came to Bed, Alonzo was fast asleep, being so long kept waking, and never so much as dreamt he had a Woman with him; but she whose fears kept her waking, had a thousand Agitations and Wishes, so natural it is when Virtue has broke the bounds of Modesty, to plunge in past all retreat; and I believe there are very few who retire after the first Sin. She considers her condition in a strange Country, her Splendor declining, her Love for Philander quite reduced to Friendship, or hardly that; she was young, and eat and drank well; had a World of Vanity, that Food of desire, that Fuel to Vice: She saw this the Beautifullest Youth she imagin'd ever to have seen, of Quality and Fortune able to serve her; all these made her rave with a desire to gain him for a Lover, and she imagined as all the vain and young do, that tho no Charms had yet been able to hold him, she alone had those that would; her Glass had a thousand times told her so; she compares him to Octavio, and finds him in her opinion handsomer; she was possest with some Love for Philander, when he first Address'd to her, and Octavio shar'd at best but half a Heart; but now, that she had lost all for Philander and Octavio, and had a Heart to cast away, or give to a new Lover; it was like her Money, she hated to keep to it, and lavish'd it on any Trifle, rather than hoard it, or let it lie by: 'Twas a loss of time her Youth could not spare: she after reflection resolved, and when she had resolved, she believ'd it done. By a Candle she had by her to read a little Novel, she had brought, she Surveyed him often, as curiously as Psyche did her Cupid, and tho he slept like a meer Mortal, he appeared as Charming to her Eyes as the wing'd God himself; and 'tis believed she wish'd he would awake and find by her Curiosity, her Sex: For this I know, she durst no longer trust her self a Bed with him, but got up, and all the last part of the Night walk'd about the Room: her Page lay in the Room with her, by her order, on the Table, with a little Vallice under his Head, which he carryed Silvia's Linen in; she waked him and told him all her fears in a pleasant manner. In the Morning Alonzo awakes, and wonders to find her up so soon, and reproach'd her for the unkindness; new Protestations on both sides passing of eternal Friendship, they both resolved for Bruxells; but lest she should incounter Philander on the way, who possible might be on visiting his Dutch Countess, she desired him to ride on before, and to su • fer him to lose the happiness of his Company, till they met in Bruxells: With much ado he consents, and taking the Ring the Countess gave him from of his Finger; Sir, said he, be pleas'd to wear this, and if ever you need my Fortune or my Sword, send it, and in what part of the World soever I am, I will fly to your Service. Silvia returned him a little Ring set round with Diamonds, that Philander in his woing time had given her amongst a thousand of finer value: His Name and hers was Ingraven, instead of a Poesie in it; which was only Philander and Silvia, and which he took no notice of, and parted from each other in the tenderest manner, that two young Gentlemen could possible be imagin'd to do, tho it were more than so on her side; for she was madly in Love with him.

As soon as Silvia came to Bruxells, she sent in the Evening to search out Brilljard, for she had considered, if he should come to the knowledge of her being in Town, and she should not send to him, he would take it so very ill, that he might prevent all her designs and rambles, the now Joy of her Heart; she knew she could make him her Slave, her Pimp, her any thing, for Love, and the hope of her Favour; and his interest might defend her; and she should know all Philander's motions, whom now, tho she lov'd no more, she fear'd. She found him, and he took her Lodgings, infinitely pleas'd at the trust she reposed in him; the only means by which he could arrive to happiness. She continues her Mans Habit, and he supplyed the place of Vallet, dress'd her and undress'd her, shifted her Linen every day; nor did he take all these Freedoms, without advancing a little farther upon occasion and opportunity, which was the hire she gave him to serve her in more Lucky Amours; the Fine she paid to live free, and at ease. She tells him her adventure, which tho it were Daggers to his Heart, was however the only way to keep her his own; for he knew her Spirit was too violent to be restrained by any means. At last she told him her design upon a certain young Man of quality, which she told him was the same she Incountered. She assures him 'twas not Love or Liking, but perfectly Interest that made her design upon him, and that if he would assist her, she would be very kind to him, as a Man that had gain'd very greatly upon her Heart. This Flattery she urg'd with infinite fondness and art, and he over-joy'd believed every word as Gospel; so that he promised her the next day to carry a Billet to the young Don: In the mean time she caus'd him to Sup with her, purposly to give her an account of Philander, Cesario and Hermione, whom she heard was come to Bruxells, and liv'd publickly with the Prince. He told her it was very true, and that he saw them every day, nay, every moment together; for he verily believed they could not live asunder. That Philander was every Evening Caballing there, where all the male contents of the Reformed Religion had taken Sanctuary, and where the Grand Council was every Night held; for some great things were in Agitation, and debating how to trouble the repose of all France again with new Broils; he told her, that all the World made their Court to Hermione, that if any Body had any Petitions, or Addresses to make to the Prince, 'twas by her sole Interest; she sate in their closest Councils, and heard their gravest debates; and she was the Oracle of the Board: The Prince paying her a perfect Adoration, while she, whose Charms of Youth were ended, being turned of thirty, fortifyed her decays with all the Arts her Wit and Sex were capable of, and kept her Illustrious Lover, as perfectly her Slave as if she had ingag'd him by all those tyes that Fetter the most circumspect, and totally subdued him to her Will, who was without Exception the most lovely Person upon Earth: and tho, Madam, you know him so perfectly well; yet I must tell you my opinion of him; He is all the softer Sex can wish, and ours admire; he is form'd for Love and War; and as he is the most amorous and wanton in Courts, he is also the most fierce and brave in Field: His Birth the most elevated, his Age arriv'd to full blown Man, adorn'd with all the spreading Glories that Charm the Fair, and ingage the World; and I have often heard some of our Party say, his Person gain'd him more numbers to his side, than his Cause or Quality; for he understood all the useful Arts of Popularity, the gracious smile and bow, and all those cheap Favours that so gain upon Hearts; and without the expence of any thing but Ceremony, has made the Nation mad for his Interest, who never otherwise oblig'd 'em; and sure nothing is more necessary in the great, than Affability; nor shows greater marks of Grandure, or shall more etternize them, than bowing to the Crowd. As the Maiden Queen I have read of in England, who made herself idoliz'd by that sole Piece of politick Cunning, understanding well the stubborn yet good Nature of the People; and gained more upon 'em by those little Arts, than if she had parted with all the Prerogatives of her Crown. Ah! Madam, you cannot imagine what little Slights govern'd the whole Universe, and how easie 'tis for Monarchs to oblige. This Cesario was made to know, and there is none so poor an Object, who may not have Access to him, and whom he does not send away well pleased, tho' he do not grant what they ask. He dispatches quickly, which is a grateful Vertue in great Men; and none ever espoused his Interest, that did not find a Reward and a Protection: 'Tis true, these are all the Tools he is to work with, and he stops at nothing that leads to his Ambition • nor has he done all that lies in the Power of Man only, to set al • France yet in a Flame, but he calls up the very Devils from Hell, to his Aid, and there is no Man fam'd for Negromancy, to whom he does not apply himself; which, indeed • is done by the Advice of Hermione▪ who is very much affected with those sort of People, and puts a very great Trust and Confidence in 'em. She sent, at great Expence, for a German Conjurer, who arrived the other Day, and who is perpetually consulting with another of the same sort, a Scot by Birth, called Fergusano. He was once in Holy Orders, and still is so, but all his Practice is the black Art; and excellent in it he is reported to be. Hermione undertakes nothing without his Advice; and as he is absolutely her Creature, so his Art governs her, and she the Prince: She holds her Mid-night Conferences with him; and as she is very superstitious, so she is very learned, and studies this Art, taught by this great Master Fergusano: And so far is this glorious Hero bewitched with these Sorcerers, that he puts his whole Trust in these Conjurations and Charms; and so far they have imposed on him, that with an inchanted Oyntment which they have prepared for him, he shall be invulnerable, tho' he face the very Mouth of a Cannon: They have, at the earnest Request of Hermione, calculated his Nativity, and find him born to be a King; and that before twenty Moons exspire he shall be crown'd in France: And flattering his easie Youth with all the Vanities of Ambition, they have made themselves absolutely useful to him. This Scot, being a most inveterate Enemy to France, lets the Prince rest neither Night nor Day, but is still inspiring him with new Hopes of a Crown, and laying him down all the false Arguments imaginable, to spur the active Spirit: My Lord is not of the Opinion, yet seems to comply with them in Council; he laughs at all the Fopperies of Charms and Incantations; insomuch, that he many times angers the Prince, and is in eternal little Feuds with Hermione. The German, would often in these Disputes say, he found by his Art, That the Stop to the Princes Glory would be his Love. This so incensed Hermione, and consequently the Prince, that they had like to have broke with him, but durst not for fear; he knowing too much to be disobliged: On the other side, Fergusano is most wonderfully charmed with the Wit and masculine Spirit of Hermione, her Courage, and the manliness of her Mind; and understanding what way she would be served, resolved to obey her, finding she had an absolute Ascendant over the Prince, whom, by this means, he knew he should get into his sole Management. Hermione, tho' she seemed to be possess'd so intirely of Cesarrio's Heart, found she had great and powerful Opposers, who believ'd the Prince lay idling in her Arms, and that possibly she might eclipse his Fame by living at that rate with a Woman he had no other Pretensions to but Love; and many other Motives were urged daily to him by the Admirers of his great Actions: And she feared, with reason, that some time or other Ambition might get the Ascendant of Love: She therefore, in her Mid-night Conferences with Fergusano, often urg'd him to show her that piece of his Art, to make a Philtre to retain fleeting Love; and not only keep a Passion alive, but even revive it from the dead. She tells him of her Contract with him, she urges his forced Marriage, as she was pleased to call it, in his Youth; and that he being so young, she believed he might find it lawful to marry himself a second time; that possibly his Princess was for the Interest of the King; and Men of his elivated Fortune, ought not to be ty'd to those Strictnesses of common Men, but for the good of the Publick, sometimes act beyond the musty Rules of Law and Equity, those politick Bands to confine the Mobile. At this unreasonable rate she pl • ads her Right to Cesario, and he har • ens with all Attention, and approves so well all she says, that he resolves, not only to attach the Prince to her by all the force of the black Art, but that of necessary Marriage also: This pleased her to the last degree; and she left him, after he had promised her to bring her the Philtre by the Morning, for it was that she most urged, the other requiring time to argue with him, and work him by degrees to it. Accordingly the next Morning he brings her a Tooth-pick-case of Gold of rare infernal Workmanship, wrought with a thousand Charms, of that Force, that every time the Prince should touch it, and while he but wore it about him, his Fondness should not only continue, but increase, and he should hate all Womankind besides, at least in the way of Love; and have no power to possess another Woman, tho' she had all the Attractions of Nature. He tells her the Prince could never suspect so familiar a Present, and for the fineness of the Work, it was a Present for a Prince, For, said he, no human Art could frame so rare a piece of Workmanship, that Nine Nights the most delicate of the Infernals were mixing the Metal with the most powerful of Charms, and watch'd the critical Minutes of the Stars, in which to form the mystick Figures, every one being a Spell upon the Heart of that unerring Magick, no mortal Power could ever dissolve, undo, or conquer. The only Art now was in giving it, so as to oblige him n • ver to part with it; and she, who had all the Cunning of her Sex, undertook for that part: She dismissed her infernal Confident, and went to her Toilet to dress her, knowing well that the Prince would not be long before he came to her: She laid the Tooth-pick-Case down so as he could not avoid seeing it: The Prince came immediately after in, as he ever used to do Night and Morning, to see her dress her; he saw this gay Thing on her Table, and took it in his Hand, admiring the Work of it, as he was the most curious Person in the World: She told him there was not a finer wrought thing in the World, and that she had a very great Esteem for it, it being made by the Sybils; and bade him mind the Antiqueness of the Work: The more she commended it, the more he liked it, and told her she must let him call it his: She told him he would give it away to the next Commender: He vow'd he would not: She told him, then he should not only call it his, but it should in reality be so; and he vow'd it should be the last thing he would part with in the World.

From that time forward she found, or thought she found, a more impatient Fondness in him than she had seen before; however it was, she rul'd and govern'd him as she pleased; and indeed, never was so great a Slave to Beauty as, in my Opinion, he was to none at all; for she is far from having any natural Charms; yet it was not long, since it was absolutely believed by all, that he had been resolved to give himself wholly up to her Arms; to have sought no other Glory than to have retired to a Corner of the World with her, and changed all his Crowns of Laurel for those of Roses: But some stirring Spirits have roused him anew, and awakened Ambition in him, and they are on great Designs, which possibly ere long, may make all France to tremble; yet still Hermione is oppressed with Love, and the Effects of dayly increasing Passion. He has perpetual Correspondence with the Party in Paris, and Advice of all things that pass; they let him know they are ready to receive him whenever he can bring a Force into France; nor needs he any considerable Number, he having already there in every place, through which he shall pass, all, or the most part of the Hearts and Hands at his Devotion; and they want but Arms, and they shall gather as they go: They desire he will land himself in some part of the Kingdom, and it would be Incouragement enough to all the joyful People, who will from all parts flock together. In fine, he is offered all Assistance and Money; and least all the Forces of France should be bent against him, he has Friends of great Quality and Interest, that are resolved to rise in several places of the Kingdom, in Languedoc and Guinny, whether the King must be obliged to send his Forces, or a great part of 'em; so that all this side of France will be left defenceless. I myself, Madam, have some Share in this great Design, and possibly you will one day see me a Person of a Quality sufficient to merit those Favours I am now blessed with. Pray, reply'd Silvia, smiling with a little Scorn, what part are you to play, to arrive at this good Fortune? I am, said he, trusted to provide all the Ammunition and Arms, and to hire a Vessel to transport them to some Sea-port Town in France, which the Council shall think most proper to receive us. Silvia laughed, and said she prophesied another End of this high Design than they imagined; but desperate Fortunes must take their Chance. What, continued she, does not Hermione speak of me, and inquire of me? Yes, reply'd Brill • ard, but in such a way, as if she look'd on you as a lost Creature, and one of such a Reputation, she would not receive a Visit from for all the World. At this Silvia laughed e • treamly, and cry'd, Hermione would be very well content to be so mean a Sinner as myself, to be so young and so handsome an one. However, said she, to be serious, I would be glad to know what real Probability there is in advancing and succeeding in this Design, for I would take my Measures accordingly, and keep Philander, whose wavering, or rather lost Fortune, is the greatest Motive of my Resolves to part with him, and that have made me so uneasy to him. Brilljard told her he was very confident of the Design, and that it was almost impossible to miscarry in the Discontent all France was in at this Juncture; and they feared nothing but the Prince's Relapsing, who, now, most certainly preferred Love to Glory. He farther told her, that as they were in Council, one deputed from the Parisians, arrived with new Offers, and to know the last Result of the Prince, whether he would espouse their Interest or not, as they were with Life and Fortune ready to espouse his Glory: They sent him word, it was from him they expected Liberty, and him whom they look'd upon as their titular Deity. Old Fergusano was then in Council, that High-land Wizard, that manages all, and who is ever at hand to awaken Mischief, alarm'd the Prince to new Glories, reproaching his scandalous Life, withal telling him there were Measures to be taken to reconcile Love and Fame; and which he was to discourse to him about in his Closet only; but as things were, he bade him look into the Story of Armida and Renaldo, and compare his own with it, and he doubted not but he would return blushing at his Remissness and Sloath: Not that he would exempt his Youth from the Pleasures of Love, but he would not have Love hinder his Glory: This bold Speech before Hermione, had like to have begot an ill understanding; but she was as much for the Prince's Glory as Fergusano, and therefore could not be angry, when she considered the Elevation of the Prince, would be her own also. At this necessary reproach, the Prince blush'd; the Board seconding the wizard, had this good effect to draw this assurance from him, That they should see he was not so attach'd to Love, but he could for sometime give a Cessation to his Heart, and that the Envoy from the Parisians, might return assur'd, that he would as soon as he could put his affairs in good order, come to their relief, and bring Arms for those that had none, with such Friends as he could get together; he could not promise Numbers, least by leading so many here, their design should take Air, but would wholly trust to Fortune, and their good resolutions: He demanded a Sum of money of 'em, for the buying these Arms, and they have promised him all Aids. This is the last result of Council, which broke immediately up; and the Prince retired to his Closet; where he was no sooner come, but reflecting on the necessity of leaving Hermione, he fell into the most profound Melancholy and Muzing, that could seize a Man; while he sat thus, Hermione (who had school'd Fergusano for his rough Speech in Council, and desired he would now take the opportunity to repair that want of respect, while the Prince was to be spoken to alone) sent him into the Closet to him; where he found him walking with his Arms across, not minding the Bard who stood gazing on him, and at last called to him; and finding no reply, he advanced, and pulling him gently by the Arm, cry'd— Awake, Royal young Man, awake! and look up to coming Greatness—I was reflecting, replyed Cesario, on all the various Fortunes I have pass'd from the time of my Birth, to this present hapless day, and would be glad to know if any supernatural means can tell me, what future Event will befal me? If I beleived I should not gain a Crown by this great Enterprize I am undertaking, here I would lay me down in silent Ease, give up my Toils and restless Soul to Love, and never think on vain Ambition more: Ease thou my troubled Mind, if thou hast any Friend among the Infernals, and they dare utter Truth: My gracious Prince, replyed the fawning Wizard, this Night, if you dare loose your self from Love, and come unattended to my Apartment, I'll undertake to show you all the future Fortune you are to run, the Hazards, Dangers, and Escapes, that attend your mighty Race of Life: I'll lay the Adamantin Book before you, where all the Destinies of Princes are Hieroglisick'd. I'll show you more, if Hell can furnish Objects, and you dare stand untrembling at the Terrour of 'em. Enough, replyed Cesario; Name me the Hour. 'Twixt Twelve and One, said he; for that's the sacred dismal time of Night for Fiends to come, for Tombs to open, and let loose their Dead,—we shall have use of both.—No more, reply'd Cesario, I'll attend 'em: The Prince was going out, when Fergusano recalled him, and cry'd, one thing, Sir, I must caution you, That from this minute to that, wherein I shall show you your Destiny, you commit nothing unlawful with Women-kind: Away, replyed the Prince, smiling, and leave your Canting. The Wizard putting on a more grave Countenance, replyed—By all the Infernals, Sir, if you commit unlawful Things, I cannot serve you. If your devils, replyed the Prince, Laughing, be so nice, I doubt I shall find 'em too honest for my Purpose. Sir, said the subtle old Fiend, such Conscientious Devils your Highness is to converse with to Night; and if you discover the Secret, it will not prove so Lucky. Since they are so Humourous, cry'd Cesario, I will give 'em way for once: And going out of the Room, he went directly to Hermione's apartment; where it being late, she is preparing for Bed, and with a thousand Kisses, and hanging on his Neck, she ask'd him, why he is so slow, and why he suffers not himself to be undress'd? He feigns a thousand excuses, at which she seems extreamly amaz'd; she complains, reproaches and commands —He tells her he was to wait on the Governour, about his most urgent affairs, and was (late as it was) to consult with him: She ask'd him what affairs he was to negotiate, of which she was not to bear her part? he refuses to tell her; and she replyed she had sense and courage for any Enterprize, and should resent it very ill, if she were not made acquainted with it: But he swore to her, she should know all the whole truth, as soon as he returned: This pacifyed her in some measure, and at the hour appointed, she suffered him to go; and in a Chair was carryed to a little House Fergusano had taken without the Town, to which belong'd a large Garden, at the farther end of which was a Thicket of unordered Trees, that surrounded a Grotto; which pass'd a good way under the ground. It had had some rareties of Water-work formerly belonging to it, but now they were decay'd; only here and there a broken Rock let out a little Stream, that murmur'd and dash'd upon the Earth below, and ran away in a little Rivolet; which served to add a Melancholy to the dismal place: Into this the Prince was conducted by the old German, who assisted in the Charm; they had only one Torch to light the way, which at the entrance of the Cave, they put out, and within was only one Glimmering Lamp, that rather served to add to the horror of the Vault, discovering its hollowness and ruins. At his entrance he was saluted with a noise like the rushing of Wind, which whiz'd and whistled in the mighty Concave. Anon a more silent whispering surrounded him, without being able to behold any Creature, save the old German. Anon came in Fergusano, who rowling a great Stone that lay at one corner of the Cave, he desired the Prince to place himself on it, and not be surpriz'd at any thing he should behold, nor to stir from that inchanted Ground: he nodding, assented to obey, while Fergusano and the German, with each a Wand in their Hands, struck against the unformed Rocks, that finish'd the end of the Cave, Muttering a thousand Incantations; with Voices dreadful, and motions Antick; and after a mighty stroke of Thunder that shook the Earth, the rude Rock divided, and opened a space that discovered a most magnificent Apartment; in which was presented a young Hero, attended with Military Officers; his Pages dressing him for the Field, all in gilded Armour. The Prince began to doubt himself, and to swear in his thought, that the Apparition was himself, so very like he was to himself, as if he had seen his proper Figure in a Glass. After this, several Persons seemed to address to this great Man, of all sorts and conditions, from the Prince to the Peasant, with whom he seemed to discourse with great confidence and affability; they offered him the League, which he took and Signed, and gave them back; they attend him to the Door with great Joy and respect; but as soon as he was gone, they laugh'd and pointed after him; at which the Prince infinitely incens'd rose, and cryed out, What means all this, s' Death, am I become the Scorn and Mockery of the Crowd? Fergusano besought him to sit and have patience, and he obey'd, and check'd himself. The Scene of the Apartment being changed to an Arbour of Flowers, and the prospect of a noble and ravishing Garden; the Hero is presented Arm'd as he was, only without his Plume-Head-peece, kneeling at the Feet of a fair Woman, in loose Robes and Hair, and attended with abundance of little Loves, who disarm him by degrees, of those Ornaments of War. While she Caresses him with all the signs of Love, the Cupid's make Garlands of Flowers, and wreath around his Arms and Neck, Crowning his Head, and fettering him all over in these sweet soft Chains. They Curle his Hair, and adorn him with all Effeminacy; while he lies smiling and pleas'd—the wanton Boys disposing of his Instruments of War, as they think fit, putting them to ridiculous uses, and Laughing at 'em. While thus he lay, there enters to him a great many States-men and Politicians; grave-Men in Furs and Chains, attended by the common Crowd: and opening a Scene farther off in prospect, show him Crowns, Scepters, Globes, Ensigns, Arms, and Trophies; promiscuously shuffel'd together, with heaps of Gold, Jewels, Parchments, Records, Charters and Seals; at which sight he starts from the Arms of the fair Medea, and strove to have approach'd those who waited for him, but she held him fast, and with abundance of Tears and signs of moving Flattery, brought him back to her Arms again, and all dissatisfy'd the promiscuous Crowd depart, some looking back with Scorn, others with signs of Rage, and all the Scene of Glory, of Arms and Crowns, disappear'd with the Crowd. Cesario wholly forgeting, cryed out again, Ha lost! all for a Trifling Woman lost; all those Trophies of thy Conquest for a Mistress! By Heaven I'll shake the Charmer from my Soul, if both I cannot have. When Fergusano advancing to him, cryed—See, Sir, how Supinely the young Hero's laid upon her downy Breast, and smil'd as he spoke, which angered the Prince, who replyed with Scorn, Now by my Life, a Plot upon my Love; but they protested it was not so, and beg'd he would be silent; while thus the Hero lay regardless of his Glory, all deck'd with Flowers and Braclets, the Drums beat, and the Trumpets were heard, or seemed to be heard to sound, and a vast opening space was fill'd with armed Wariers, who offer him their Swords, and seem to point at Crowns, that were born behind them; a while they plead in vain, and point to Crowns in vain, at which he only casts a scornful smile, and lays him down in the soft Arms of Love. They urge again, but with one amorous look the Circe more prevails, than all their reasonings. At last by force, they divested him of his Rosy-Garlands, in which there lay a Charm, and he assumes new life, while others bore the Inchantress out of his sight; and then he suffering himself to be conducted where they pleas'd, who lead him forth, showing him all the way a prospect of Crowns. At this Cesario sigh'd, and the Ceremony continued.

The Scene chang'd, discovering a Sea-shore, where the Hero is represented Landed, but with a very Melancholy Air; attended with several Officers and Gentlemen; the Earth seems to ring with Joy, and loud Acclamations at his approach; vast Multitudes thronging to behold him, and striving who first should kiss his Hand; and bearing him aloft in the Air, carry him out of sight with Peals of Welcome and Joy.

He is represented next in Council, and deep debate; and so disappears: Then soft Musick is heard, and he enters in the royal Robe, with a Crown presented him on the Knee; which he receives, and bows to all the Rabble and the Numbers, to give them thanks: He having in his Hand blew Garters, with the order of St. Espéret, which he distributes to several persons on either Hand; throwing Ducal Crowns and Coronets, among the Rabble, who scuffle and strive to catch at them: after a great shout of Joy, Thunder and Lightning again shook the Earth, at which they seemed all amaz'd, when a thick black Cloud descended and, covered the whole Scene, and the Rock clos'd again, and Fergusano let fall his Wand.

The Prince seeing the Ceremony end here, rises in a rage, and crys out, I charge ye to go on—remove the Veil, and let the Sun appear; advance your mystick Wand, and show what follows next. I cannot, Sir, replyed the trembling Wizard; the Fates have clos'd the everlasting Book forbiding farther search. Then damn your scanted Art, replyed the Prince, a petty Iuggler could have done as much. Is't not enough, replyed the German Rabbi, that we have show'd you Crown'd, and Crown'd in France it self? I find the Infernals themselves are bounded here, and can declare no more. Oh, they are pretty Powers that can be Bounded, replyed the Prince with scorn. They strove with all their Art to reconcile him, laying the fault on some mistake of theirs, in the ingredients of the Charm, which at another time they'd strive to prevent: they sooth him with all the hope in the World, that what was left unreveal'd, must needs be as glorious • and fortunate to him, as what he had seen already, which was absolutely to be depended on: thus they brought him to the open Garden again, where they continued their Instructions to him, telling him that now was the time to arrive to all the Glories he had seen; they presented to him the State of Affairs in France, and how much a greater interest he had in the Hearts of the People, than their proper Monarch, arguing a thousand Fallacies to the deluded Hero, who blind and mad with his Dreams of Glory; his Visions, and Prospects, listen'd with reverence and attention, to all their false perswasions. I call 'em false, Madam, for I never had Faith in these sort of People, and am sorry so many great Men and Ladies of our times, are so bewitch'd to their Prophecies. They there presented him with a List of all the considerable of the Reformed Religion in Paris, who had assured him Aids of Men and Money in this Epedition, Merchants, rich Trades-men, Magistrates and Gown-men of the reformed Church, and the Law. Next to this, another of the Contribution of pious Ladies; all which Sums being named, amounted to a considerable supply; so that they assur'd him Hell it self could not with these Aids obstruct his Glory; but on the contrary, should be compell'd to render him assistance, by the help of Charms, to make him invincible: so that wholly o'er-come by them, he has given order, that all Preparations be forthwith made for the most secret and speedy conveyance of himself and Friends to some Sea-port in France; he has order'd abundance of Letters to be writ to those of the Hugonot Party into all parts of France: all which will be ready to assist him at his Landing. Fergusano undertakes for the management of the whole affair, to write, to speak, and to perswade; and you know, Madam, he is the most subtle and insinuating of all his Non-conforming Race, and the most malignant of all our Party, and sainted by 'em for the most pious, and industrious Labourer in the Cause; all that he says is Oracle to the Crowd, and all he say's Authentick; and 'tis he alone is the great Engin, that sets the great Work a turning. Yes, replyed Silvia, and makes the giddy World Mad with his damnable Notions. Pernicious as he is, replyed Brilljard, he has the sole management of affairs under Hermione; he has power to treat, to advise, to raise Money, to make and name Officers, and lastly, to draw out a Scen • of fair Pretences for Cesario to the Crown of France, and the lawfulness of his Claim: for let the Conquest be never so sure, the People require it, and the Conquerer is oblig'd to give some better reason, than that of the strength of his Sword, for his Dominion over them. This Pretension is a Declaration, or rather a most scandalous, pernicious, and treasonable Libel, if I may say so, who have so great an Interest in it, pen'd with all the Malice Envy can invent; the most unbred, rude piece of Stuff, as makes it apparent, the Author had neither Wit or common good Manners; besides the hellish Principles he has made evident there. My Lord would have no hand in the Approbation of this gross piece of Villainous Scandal, which has more unfasten'd him from their interest, than any of their other d • signs, and from which he daily more and more declines, or seems disgusted with, tho he does not wholly intend to quit the Interest. Having no other probable means to make good that fortune, which has been so evidently and wholly destroy'd by it. I am extream glad, said Silvia, that Philander's Sentiments are so Generous, and am at nothing so much amaz'd, as to hear the Prince could suffer so gross a thing to pass in his Name. I must, said Brilljard, do the Prince right in this point, to assure you, when the thing was first in the rough draught show'd him, he told Fergusano, that those accusations of a Crown'd Head, were too Villainous for the thoughts of a Gentleman; and giving it him again, cry'd,— No—let it never be said, that the Royal Blood, that runs in my Veins, could dictate to me no more noble ways for its defence and pretensions, than the mean Cowardice of Lyes; and that to attain to Empire, I should have recourse to the most detestable of all shifts. No, no, my too zealous Friend, continued he, I will, with only my Sword in my Hand at the head of my Army, proclaim my right, and demand a Crown; which if I win, is mine; if not, 'tis his, whose Sword is better or Lucklier; and tho the future World may call this unjust, at least they'll say it was brave. At this the Wizard smil'd, and reply'd; Alas, Sir, had we hitherto acted by rules of Generosity only, we had not brought so great advantages to our Interest. You tell me, Sir, of a Speech you'll make, with your Sword in your Hand; that will do very well at the head of an Army, and a handsome Declaration would be proper for men of Sense; but this is not to the Wise, but to the Fools; on whom nothing will • pass, but what is pen'd to their Capacity, and who will not be able to hear the Speeches you shall make to an Army: this is to rouse 'em, and find 'em wherever they are; how far remote soever from you, that at once they may be incited to assist you, and espouse your Interest: This is the sort of Gospel they believe; all other is too fine: believe me, Sir, 'tis by these gross devices, you are to perswade those Sons of Earth, whose Spirits never mounted above the Dunghill, whence they grew like o're-ripe Pumpkins. Lyes are the Spirit that inspires 'em, they are the very Brandy that make 'em Valiant; and you may as soon beat Sense into their Brains, as the very appearance of Truth; 'tis the very Language of the scarlet Beast to 'em. They understand no other than their own, and he that does, knows to what ends we aim. No matter, Sir, what Tools you work withal, so the finisht piece be fine at last. Look forward to the Goal, a Crown attend it! and never mind the dirty Road that leads to't.

With such false Arguments as these, he wrought upon the easie Nature of the Prince, who ordered some thousands of 'em to be Printed ready for their being disperst all over France, as soon as they should be Landed: Especially among the Parisians, too apt to take any impressions that bore the stamp and pretence of Religion and Liberty.

While these and all other things necessary were preparing, Cesario wholly given over to Love, being urg'd by Hermione, to know the occasion of his last Nights absence, unravels all the secret, and told my Lord, and she one Night at Supper, the whole Scene of the Grotto; so that Hermione, more than ever being puft up with Ambitious thoughts, hast'ned to have the Prince press'd to marry her; and consulting with the Councillour of her closest secrets, sets him anew to work; swearing violently, that if he did not bring that design about, she should be able by her Ascendant o're Cesario, to ruin all those they had undertaken, and yet turn the Prince from the Enterprize; and that it was more to satisfy her Ambition (to which they were oblig'd for all the Prince had promised) that he had undertaken to Head an Army, and put himself again into the Hands of the Hugonots, and forsake all the soft repose of Love and Li • e, than for any Inclination or Ambition of his own; and that she who had power to animate him one way, he might be assur'd had the same power another. This she ended in very high Language, with a look too fierce and fiery to leave him any doubt of; and he promised all things should be done as she desired, and that he would overcome the Prince, and bring him absolutely under her power: Not, said she, with a scornful look, that I need your aid in this affair, or want power of my own to command it; but I will not have him look upon it as my Act alone, or a thing of my seeking, but by your advice shall be made to understand it is for the good of the Publick; that having to do with a sort of People of the Reformed Religion, whose pretences were more Nice, than Wise; more seemingly zealous than reasonable or just; they might look upon the Life she lead with the Prince, as scandalous, that was not justifyed by form, tho never so unlawful. A thousand things she urg'd to him, who needed no instruction how to make that appear authentick and just, however contrary to religion and Sense: But so inform'd, he parted from her, and told her the Event should declare his zeal for her Service; and so it did, for he no sooner spoke of it to the Prince, but he took the Hint as a divine Voice; his very Soul flush'd in his lovely Cheeks, and all the Fire of Love was dancing in his Eyes: Yet as if he had fear'd what he wish'd could not handsomely and lawfully be brought to pass; he ask'd a thousand questions concerning it, all which the subtle Wizard so well resolv'd, at least in his judgment, who easily was convinced of what he wish'd, that he no longer deferr'd his happiness; but that very Night in the visit he made Hermione, fell at her Feet, and implores her consent of what he had told her Fergusano had fully convinced him was necessary for his Interest and Glory, neither of which he could injoy or regard, if she was not the partner of 'em; and that when he should go to France, and put himself in the Field to demand a Crown, he should do it with absolute Vigor and Resolution, if she were to be seated as Queen on the same Throne with him, without whom a Cottage would be more pleasant; and he could relish no Joys that were not as intirely and immediately hers as his own: He pleaded impatiently for what she long'd, and would have made her Petition for, and all the while she makes a thousand doubts and scruples only to be convinced and confirmed by him; and after seeming fully satisfyed, he leads her into a Chamber (where Fergusano waited, and only her Woman, and his faithful confident Tomaso,) and Married her: since which, she has wholly managed him with greater power than before; takes abundance of State; is extreamly elevated, I will not say Insolent; and tho they do not make a publick Declaration of this; yet she owns it to all her Intimates; and is ever reproaching my Lord with his lewd course of Life, wholly forgetting her own; crying out upon infamous Women, as if she had been all the course of her Life an innocent.

By this time Dinner was ended, and Silvia urg'd Brilljard to depart with her Letter; but he was extreamly surpriz'd to find it to be to the Governours Nephew, Don Alonzo, who was his Lords Friend; and who would doubtless give him an account of all, if he did not show him the Billet, all these reasons could not disswade this fickle wanderer, whose Heart was at that time set on this young inconstant, at least her inclinations. He tells her that her Life would be really in danger, if Philander comes to the knowledge of such an Intrigue, which could not possibly be carry'd on in that Town without noise: She tells him she is resolved to quit that false injurer of her Fame and Beauty; who had basely abandoned her for other Women of less merit, even since she had pardoned him the Crimes of Love he committed at Cologne; that while he was in the Country with her, during the time of her Lying in, he had given himself to all that would receive him there; that since he came away, he had left no Beauty unattempted; and could he possibly imagine her of a Spirit to bow beneath such injuries? No, she would on to all the revenges her Youth and Beauty were capable of taking, and stick at nothing that led to that interest; and that if he did not joyn with her in her noble design, she would abandon him, and put herself wholly out of his Protection: Thus she spoke with a fierceness, that made the Lover tremble with fear of losing her; he therefore told her she had reason; and that since she was resolved, he would confess to her that Philander was the most perfidious Creature in the World; and that Hermione, the haughty Hermione, who hated naughty Women, invited and treated all the handsome Ladies of the Court to Balls, and to the Basset Table, and made very great entertainment, only to draw to her Interest all the brave and the young men; and that she daily gain'd abundance, by these Arts, to Cesario, and above all strove by these amusements to engage Philander; whom she perceiv'd to grow cold in the great concern; daily treating him with Variety of Beauty; so that there was no Gaity, no Ga • lantry, or Play, but at Hermione's; whither all the Youth of both Qualities repaired; and 'twas there the Governours Nephew was every Evening to be found. Possibly, Madam, I had not told you this, if the Princes Bounty had not taken me totally off from Philander; so that I have no other dependance on him, but that of my Respect and Duty, out of perfect Gratitude. After this to gain Brilljard intirely, she assur'd him if his Fortune were suitable to her Quality, and her way of Life, she believed she should devote herself to him; and tho what she said were the least of her thoughts, if fail'd not to flatter him agreeably, and he sigh'd with Grief, that he could not ingage her; all he could get was little enough to support him fine, which he was always as any Person of quality at Court, and appear'd as Graceful, and might have had some happy Minutes with very fine Ladies, who thought well of him. To salve this defect of want of Fortune, he told her he had received a command from Octavio, to come to him about settling of a very considerable Pension upon her, and that he had at his investing put Money into his Aunt's Hands, who was a Woman of considerable quality; to be dispos'd of to that Charitable Use, and that if she pleas'd to maintain her rest of Fame, and live without receiving Love Visits from Men, she might now command that, which would be a much better and nobler support than that from a Lover, which would be Transitory, and last but as long as her Beauty, or a less time, his Love. To this she knew not what to answer, but ready money being the joy of her Heart, and the support of her Vanity, she seems to yield to this, having said so much before; and she considering she wanted a thousand things to adorn her Beauty, being very expensive; she was impatient till this were performed, and deferr'd the sending to Don Alonzo, tho her thoughts were perpetually on him. She by the advice of Brilljard, writes a Letter to Octavio; which was not like those she had before written, but as an humble Penitent would write to a Ghostly Father, treating him with all the respect that was possible: and if ever she mention'd love, it was as if her Heart had, violently and against her will, burst out into softness, as still she retain'd there; and then she would take up again, and ask pardon for that Transgression; she told him it was a passion, which tho she could never Extinguish for him, yet that it should never warm her for another, but she would leave Philander to the World, and retire where she was not known, and try to make up her broken Fortunes; with abundance of things to this purpose; which he carried to Octavio: he said he could have wish'd she would have retir'd to a Monastery, as all the first part of her Letter had given him hope; and resolved, and retir'd as he was, he could not read this without extream confusion and change of Countenance. He ask'd Brilljard a thousand times whether he believ'd he might trust her, or if she would abandon those ways of shame, that at last lose all: He answered, he verily believ'd she would. However said Octavio, 'tis not my business to Capitulate, but to believe and act all things for the interest and satisfaction of her, whom I yet adore; and without farther delay writ to his Aunt, to present Silvia with those Sums he had left for her; and which had been sufficient to have made her happy all the rest of her Life, if her Sins of Love had not obstructed it. However she no sooner found herself Mistriss of so considerable a Sum, but in lieu of retiring, and ordering her affairs so as to render it for ever serviceable to her, the first thing she does, is to furnish herself with new Coach and Equipage, and to lavish out in Cloth, and Jewels, a great part of it immediately; and was impatient to be seen on the Toure, and in all publick Places; nor could Brilljard perswade the contrary, but against all good Manners and Reason, she • lew into most violent passions with him, till he had resolved to give her way; it hap'ned that the first day she show'd on the Toure, neither Philander, Cesario, nor Hermione chanc'd to be there; so that at Supper it was all the news, how glorious a young Creature was seen only with one Lady, which was Antonet very well drest in the Coach with her: every Body that made their Court that Night to Hermione, spoke of this new Vision, as the most extraordinary Charmer that had ever been seen; all were that day undone with Love, and none could learn who this fair destroyer was; for all the time of Silvia's being at Bruxells before, her being big with Child had kept her from appearing in all publick places; so that she was wholly a new Face to all that saw her; and it is easie to be imagined what Charms that delicate Person appear'd with to all, when dress'd to such advantage, who naturally was the most beautiful Creature in the World; with all the Bloom of Youth that could add to Beauty. Among the rest that day that lost their Hearts, was the Governour's Nephew; who came into the presence that Night wholly Transported, and told Hermione he dy'd for the lovely Charmer, he had that day seen; so that she, who was the most curious to gain all the Beauties to her side, that the men might be so too, indeavour'd all she could to find out where this Beauty dwelt. Philander, now grown the most Amorous and Gallant in the World, grew passionately in love with the very description of her, not imagining it had been Silvia, because of her Equipage: He knew she lov'd him, at least he thought she lov'd him too well to conceal herself from him, or be in Bruxells, and not let him know it; so that wholly ravish'd with the Description of the imagined new fair One, he burnt with desire of seeing her; and all this Night was pass'd in discourse of this Stranger alone; the next day her Livery being discrib'd to Hermione, she sent two Pages all about the Town, to see if they could discover a Livery so remarkable; and that if they did, they should enquire of them who they belonged to, and where that Persons Lodging was. This was not a very difficult matter to perform: Bruxells is not a large place, and it was soon survey'd from one end to the other: At last they met with two of her Foot-men, whom they saluted, and taking notice of their Livery, ask'd them who they belong'd to? these Lads were strangers to the Lady they serv'd, and newly taken; and Silvia at her first coming resolv'd to change her Name, and was called Madam De —a Name very considerable in France; which they told the Pages, and that she liv'd at such a place: This news Hermione no sooner heard, but she sends a Gentlemen in the Name of the Prince and herself to complement her, and tell her she had the Honour to know some great Persons of that name in France, and did not doubt but she was related to them: She therefore sent to offer her her Friendship; which possibly in a strange place might not be unserviceable to her, and that she should be extream glad to see her at Court, that is, at Cesario's Palace. The Gentleman who deliver'd this message, being surpriz'd at the dazling Beauty of the fair Stranger, was almost unassur'd in his Address, and the manner of it surpriz'd Silvia no less, to be invited as a strange Lady, by one that hated her; she could not tell whether it were real, or a Plot upon her; however she made answer, and bad him tell Madam, the Princess, which Title she gave her, that she receiv'd her Complement as the greatest Honour that could arrive to her, and that she would wait upon her Highness, and let her know from her own Mouth the Sense she had of the Obligation. The Gentleman returned and delivered his message to Hermione; but so altered in his Look, so sad and unusual, that she took notice of it, and ask'd him how he liked the new Beauty: He blushed and bow'd and told her, she was a Wonder—This made Hermione's Colour rise, it being spoke before Cesario; for tho' she were assured of the Hero's Heart, she hated he should believe there was a greater Beauty in the World, and one universally Adored. She knew not how so great a Miracle might work upon him, and began to repent she had invited her to Court.

In the mean time, Silvia, after debating what to do in this Affair, whether to visit Hermione and discover her self, or to remove from Bruxells, resolved rather upon the last; but she had fixed her Design as to Don Alonzo, and would not depart the Town. To her former beginning Flame, for him was added more Fuel; she had seen him the Day before on the Toure; she had seen him gaze at her with all the impatience of Love, with madness of Passion in his Eyes, ready to fling himself out of the Coach every time she past by; and if he appeared Beautiful before, when in his Riding dress, and harass'd for Four Nights together with Love and want of Sleep. What did he now appear to her Amorous Eyes and Heart? She had wholly forgot Octavio, Philander, and all, and made a Sacrifice of both to this new young Lover: She saw him with all the advantages of Dress, magnificent as Youth and Fortune could invent; and above all, his Beauty and his Quality warmed her Heart a new; and what advanced her Flame yet farther, was a Vanity she had of fixing the dear Wanderer, and making him find there was a Beauty yet in the World, that could put an end to his Inconstancy, and make him languish at her Feet as long as she pleased. Resolv'd on this design, she defers it no longer, but as soon as the Persons of Quality, who used to walk every Evening in the Park, were got together, she accompanied with Antonett, and Three or Four strange Pages and Foot-men, went into the Park, Mask'd, drest in perfect Glory. She had not walked long there before she saw Don Alonzo, richer than ever in his Habit, and more Beautiful to her Eyes than any thing she had ever seen; he was gotten among the Young and Fair, caressing, laughing, playing, and acting all the little Wantonnesses of Youth. Silvia's Blood grew disordered at this, and she found she loved by her Jealousie, and longs more than ever to have the glory of vanquishing tha • Heart, that so boasted of never having yet been conquer'd. She therefore uses all her Art to get him to look at her; she passed by him often, and as often as she did so he view'd her with Pleasure; her Shape, her Air, her Mien, had something so Charming, as without the Assistance of her Face, she gained that Evening a Thousand Conquests; but those were not the Trophies she aimed at, it was Alonzo was the mark'd out Victim, that she destin'd for the Sacrifice of Love. She found him so ingag'd with Women of great Quality, she almost dispair'd to get to speak to him; her Equipage, who stood at the Entrance of the Park, not being by her, he did not imagine this fine Lady to be her he saw on the Toure last Night; yet he look'd at her so much as gave occasion to those he was with to rally him extreamly, and tell him he was in Love with what he had not seen, and who might, notwithstanding all that delicate appearance, be ugly when her Mask was off. Silvia, however, still past on with abundance of sighing Lovers after her, some daring to speak, others only languishing; to all she would vouchsafe no word but made signs, as if she were a stranger and understood 'em not; at last, Alonzo wholly impatient, breaks from these Ralliers, and gets into the Crowd that pursued this lovely unknown: her Heart leapt • when he approach'd her, and the first thing she did was to pull off her Glove, and not only show the fairest Hand that ever Nature made, but that Ring on her Finger Alonzo gave her when they parted at the Village. The Hand alone was enough to invite all Eyes with Pleasure to look that way; but Alonzo had a double Motive, he saw the Hand with Love, and the Ring with Jealousie and Surprize; and as 'tis natural in such Cases, the very first Thought that possest him, was, that the young Bellumere (for so Silvia had call'd herself at the Village) was a Lover of this Lady, and had presented her this Ring. And after his Sighings and little Pantings, that seized him at this thought, would give him leave, he bowing and blushing cry'd,—Madam, the whole piece must sure be Excellent, when the Pattern is so very fine. And humbly beging the Favour of a nearer view, he took her Hand and kiss'd it with a passionate Eagerness, which possibly did not so well please Silvia, because she did not think he took her for the same person, to whom he show'd such signs of Love last Night. In taking her Hand he survey'd the Ring, and cry'd,—Madam, would to Heaven I could lay so good a claim to this fair Hand, as I think I once could to this Ring, which this Hand Adorns and Honours. How, Sir, replied Silvia, I hope you will not charge me with Fellony? I am afraid I shall, reply'd he, sighing, for you have attack'd me on the King's High-way and have robbed me of a Heart: I could never have robbed a Person, said Silvia, who could more easily have parted with that Trifle; the next fair Object will redeem it, and it will be very little the worse for my using. Ah, Madam, reply'd he, sighing, that will be according as you will treat it; for I find already, you have done it more damage than it ever sustained in all the Rancounters it has had with Love and Beauty. You complain too soon, reply'd Silvia, smiling, and you ought to make a tryal of my good Nature before you reproach me with harming you. I know not, reply'd Alonzo, sighing, what I may venture to hope from that; but I am afraid, from your Inclinations, I ought to hope for nothing, since a Thousand reasonable Iealousies already possess me, from the sight of that Ring; and I more than doubt I have a powerful Rival, a Youth of the most divine Form I ever met with of his Sex; if from him you received it, I guess my Fate. I perceive, Stranger, said Silvia, you begin to be incons • ant already, and find excuses to complain on your Fate before you have tried your Fortune. I perswade myself that fine Person you speak of, and to whom you gave this Ring, has so great a value for you, that to leave you no Excuse, I assure you, he will not be displeas'd to find you a Rival, provided you prove a very constant Lover. I confess, said Alonzo, Constancy is an imposition I never yet had the Confidence and ill Nature to impose on the Fair; and indeed I never found that Woman yet, of Youth and Beauty, that ever set so small a value on her own Charms, to be much in Love with that dull Vertue, or require it of my Heart; but upon occasion, Madam, if such an unreasonable fair one be found—I am extreamly sorry (interrupted Silvia) to find you have no better way of recommending yourself; this will be no great incouragement to a person of my Humour to receive your Addresses. Madam, I do not tell you that I am not in my nature wondrous constant, reply'd he; I tell you only what has hitherto happen'd to me, not what will; that I have yet never been so, is no fault of mine, but power, or truth in those Beauties to whom I have given my Heart, rather believe they wanted Charms to hold me, than that I (where Wit and Beauty ingag'd me) should prove so false to my own Pleasure. I am very much afraid, Madam, if I find my Eyes as agreeably entertained when I shall have the Honour to see your Face, as my Ears are with your excellent Wit, I shall be reduced to that very whining, sighing Coxcomb, you like so well in a Lover, and be ever dying at your F • et. I have but one • hope left to preserve myself from this wretched thing, you Women love; that is, that I shall not find you so all over Charming, as what I have hitherto found presents it self to be. You have already created Love enough in me for any reasonable Woman, but I find you are not to be approached with the common Devotions we pay your Sex; but like your Beauty, the Passion too must be great; and you are not content unless you see your Lovers die; this is that fatal proof alone that can satisfie you of their Passion. And tho' you laugh to see a Sir Courtly Nice, a Fop in Fashion acted on the Stage, in your Hearts that foolish thing, that fine neat Pasquel is your Darling, your fine Gentleman, your Well-bred Person.

Thus sometimes in Jest and sometimes in Earnest, they recommended themselves to each other, and to so great a degree, that it was impossible for them to be more Charm'd on either side, which lasted till it was time to depart; but he besought her not to do so till she had informed him where he might wait on her, and most passionately folicits what she as passionately desired: To tell you Truth, said she, I cannot permit you that freedom without you ask it of Bellumere. He reply'd, Next to waiting on her, he should be the most over-joy'd in the World, to pay his Respects to that young Gentleman. However, to name him, gave him a Thousand Fears; which when he would have urg'd, she bid him trust to the generosity of that Man, who was of Quality, and loved him; she then told him his Lodgings (which were her own:) Alonzo infinitely over-joyed, resolv'd to lose no time, but promis'd that Evening to visit him: And at their parting he treated her with so much passionate Respect, that she was vext to see it paid to one he yet knew not. However she verily believed her Conquest was certain: He having seen her three times, and all those times for a several Person, and yet was still in Love with her: And she doubted not when all three were joyn'd in one, he would be much more in Love than yet he had been; with this assurance they parted.

Silvia was no sooner got home but she resolved to receive Alonzo, who she was assured would come: She hasted to dress herself in a very rich Suit of Man's Cloths, to receive him as the young French Gentleman. She believed Brilljard would not come till late as was his use, now being at Play at Hermione's. She look'd extream pretty when she was drest, and had all the Charms that Heaven could adorn a Face and Shape withal: Her Apartment was very magnificent, and all look'd very great. She was no sooner drest but the young Lover came. Silvia received him on the Stair-case with open Arms, and all the signs of Joy that could be exprest, and leads him to a rich drawing Room, where she began to entertain him with that happy Nights adventure, when they both lay together at the Village, while Alonzo makes imperfect replies; wholly charmed with the look of the young Cavalier, which so resembled what he had seen the day before in another Garb on the Toure. He is wholly ravish'd with his Voice, it being absolutely the same that had charmed him that Day in the Park; the more he gaz'd and listen'd, the more he was confirm'd in his Opinion, that he was the same, and he had the Musick of that dear accent still in his Ears, and could not be deceived. A Thousand times he is about to kneel before her and ask her Pardon, but still is check'd by Doubt: He sees, he hears, this is the same lovely Youth who lay in Bed with him at the Village Caberett; and then no longer thinks her Woman: He hears and sees it is the same Face, and Voice, and Hands he saw on the Toure, and in the Park, and then believes her Woman: While he is in these perplexities, Silvia, who with Vanity and Pride perceiv'd his disorder, taking him in her Arms, cry'd, Come my Alonzo, that you shall no longer doubt but I am perfectly your Friend, I will shew you a Sister of mine, whom you will say is a Beauty, or I am too partial, and I will have your judgment of her. With that he call'd to Antonett to beg her Lady would permit him to bring a young Stranger to kiss her Hand. The Maid, instructed, re • res, and Alonzo stood gazing on Silvia as one confounded and amaz'd, not knowing yet how to determine; he now begins to think himself mistaken in the fair Youth, and is ready to ask his Pardon for a Fault but imagin'd, suffering by his silence, the little Pratler to discourse and laugh at him at his pleasure. Come, said Silvia, smiling, I find the naming a Beauty to you has made you Melancholy; possibly when you see her she will not appear so to you; we do not always agree in one Object. Your Iudgment, reply'd Alonzo, is too good to leave me any hope of Liberty at the sight of a fine Woman; if she be like your self I read my destiny in your charming Face. Silvia answered only with a Smile—and calling again for Antonett, he ask'd if his Sister were in a condition of being seen; she told him she was not, but all undrest and in her Night-clothes; Nay, then, said Silvia, I must use my Authority with her: And leaving Alonzo trembling with Expectation, she ran to her dressing Room where all things were ready, and slipping off her Coat put on a rich Night-Gown, and instead of her Peruke fine Night-Clothes, and came forth to the Charm'd Alonzo, who was not able to approach her, she look'd with such a Majesty and so much dazling Beauty; he knew her to be the same he had seen in the Toure. She (seeing he only gazed without Life or Motion) approaching him gave him her Hand, and cryed—Sir, possibly this is a more old acquaintance of yours than my Face. At which he blush'd and bow'd, but could not speak: At last Silvia laughing out-right, cryed—Here Antonett bring me again my Peruke, for I find I shall never be acquainted with Don Alonzo in Peticoats. At this he blush'd a Thousand times more than before, and no longer doubting but this Charmer, and the lovely Youth were one; he fell at her Feet, and told her he was undone, for she had made him give her so undisputable Proofs of his Dulness, he could never hope she should allow him capable of eternally adoring her. Rise, cry'd Silvia, smiling, and believe you have not commited so great an Errour, as you imagine; the mistake has been often made, and Persons of a great deal of Wit have been deceiv'd. You may say what you please, replyed Alonzo, to put me in Countenance; but I shall never forgive my self the Stupidity of that happy Night, that laid me by the most glorious Beauty of the World, and yet afforded me no kind Instinct to inform my Soul how much I was blest: Oh pity a wretchedness, Divine Maid, that has no other excuse but that of Infatuation; a thousand times, my greedy ravish'd Eyes wander'd o're the dazling brightness of yours; a thousand times. I wish'd that Heaven had made you Woman! and when I look'd, I burnt; but when I Kiss'd those soft, those lovely Lips, I durst not trust my Heart; for every touch begot wild Thoughts about it; which yet the Course of all my Fiery Youth, through all the wild Debauches I had wandered, had never yet betray'd me to: and going to Bed with all this love and fear about me, I made a solemn Oath not to approach you, least so much Beauty had o'er-come my Vertue. But by this new discovery, you have given me a Flame I have no power nor virtue to oppose: 'tis just, 'tis natural to adore you; and not to do it, were yet a crime greater than my Sin of Dulness: and since you have made me lose a Charming Friend; it is but just I find a Mistriss; give me but your permission to Love, and I will give you all my life in Services, and wait the rest: I'll watch and pray for coming happiness; which I will buy at any price of Life or Fortune. Well, Sir, replyed our easie fair One; If you believe me worth a Conquest o're you, convince me you can love; for I'm no common Beauty to be won with petty suddain Services; and could you lay an Empire at my Feet, I should dispise it where the Heart were wanting. You may believe the Amorous; Youth left no Argument to convince her in that point unsaid; and 'tis most certain they came to so good an understanding, that he was not seen in Bruxells for eight days and nights after, nor this rare Beauty, for so long a time, seen on the Toure or any publick Place. Brilljard came every day to visit her, and receive her commands, as he us'd to do, but was answer'd still that Silvia was Ill, and kept her Chamber, not suffering even her Domesticks to approach her: This did not so well satisfy the Jealous Lover, but he soon imagined the cause, and was very much displeas'd at the ill Treatment; if such a design had been carried on, he desired to have the management of it, and was angry that Silvia had not only deceived him in the promise he had made for her to Octavio; but had done her own business without him; he spoke some hard words; so that to undeceive him, she was forced to oblige Alonzo to appear at Court again; which she had much ado to incline him to, so absolutely she had Charm'd him; however he went, and she suffered Brilljard to visit her, perswading that easie Lover (as all Lovers are easie) that it was only indisposition that hindered her of the happiness of seeing him, and after having perfectly reconcil'd herself to him, she ask'd him the news at Hermone's, to whom, I had forgot to tell you, she sent every day a Page with a Complement, and to let her know she was Ill, or she would have waited on her: She every day received the Complement from her again, as an unknown Lady. Brilljard told her that all things were now prepar'd, and in a very short time, they should go for France; but that whatever the matter was, Philander almost publickly disown'd the Prince's Interest, and to some very considerable of the Party, has given out, he does not like the Proceedings, and that he verily believed they would find themselves all mistaken; and that instead of a Throne the Prince would meet a Scaffold; so bold and open he has been. Something of it has arriv'd to the Prince's Ear, who was so far from believing it, that he could hardly be perswaded to speak of it to him; and when he did, it was with an assurance before hand, that he did not credit such reports. So that he gives him not the pain to deny them: For my part, I am infinitely afraid he will disoblige the Prince one day, for last night, when the Prince desired him to get his Equipage ready, and to make such Provision for you as was necessary; he coldly told him, he had a mind to go to Hungary, which at that time was besieg'd by Solyman the Magnificent, and that he had no inclination of returning to France. this surpriz'd and angered the Prince; but they parted good Friends at last, and he has promised him all things: So that I am very well assur'd he will send me where he supposes you still are, and how shall we manage that affair?

Silvia who had more cunning and subtlety, than all the rest of her Sex; thought it best to see Philander, and part with him on as good terms as she could, and that it was better he should think he yet had the absolute possession of her, than that he should return to France with an ill opinion of her Vertue, as yet he had known no guilt of that kind, nor did he ever more than fear it, with Octavio; so that it would be easie for her to cajole him yet a little longer, and when he was gone, she should have the World to range in, and possess this new Lover, to whom she had promised all things, and received from him all assurances imaginable of inviolable Love: In order to this then she consulted with Brilljard; and they resolved she should for a few days leave Antonett with her Equipage, at that House where she was, and retire herself to the Village, where Philander had left her, and where he still imagined she was: She desired Brilljard to give her a days time for this preparation, and it should be so. He left her, and going to Hermione's, meets Philander, who immediately gave him order to go to Silvia the next Morning, and let her know how all things went, and to tell her he would be with her in two days. In the mean time Silvia sent for Alonzo, who was but that Evening gone from her. He flies on the Wings of Love, and she tells him, she is oblig'd to go to a place six or seven days Journey off, whither he could not conduct her for reasons she would tell him at her return: whatever he could plead with all the force of love to the contrary, she gets his consent, with a promise wholly to devote herself to him at her return, and pleas'd she sent him from her, when Brilljard returning, told her the commands he had; and 'twas concluded they should both depart next Morning, accompanied only by her Page. I am well assur'd she was very kind to Brilljard all that Journey, and which was but too visible to the amorous Youth, who attended them, so absolutely had she deprav'd her reason from one degree of Sin and Shame to another; and he was happy above any imagination, while even her Heart was given to another, and when she could propose no other interest in this looseness, but security, that Philander should not know how ill she had treated him. In four days Philander came, and finding Silvia more • air than ever was anew pleas'd; for she pretended to receive him with all the joy imaginable, and the deceived Lover believed, and express'd abundance of Grief, at the being obliged to part from her; a great many Vows and Tears were lost on both sides, and both believed true: But the Grief of Brilljard was not to be conceived; he could not perswade himself he could live, when absent from her: Some Bills Philander left her, and was so plain with her, and open-hearted, he told her that he went indeed with Cesario, but it was in order to serve the King; that he was weary of their Actions, and foresaw nothing but ruin would attend 'em; that he never repented him of any thing so much, as his being drawn into that Faction; in which he found himself so greatly involved, he could not retire with any credit, but since Self-Preservation was the first principle to Nature, he had resolved to make that his aim, and rather prove false to a party who had no Justice and Honour on their Side, than to a King whom all the Laws of Heaven and Earth obliged him to serve; however he was so far in the power of these People, that he could not disingage himself, without utter ruin to himself; but that as soon as he was got into France, he would abandon their Interest: Let the censuring World say what it would, who never had right notions of things, or ever made true Judgments of mens Actions.

He lived five or six days with Silvia there; in which time she fail'd not to assure him of her constant Fidelity a thousand ways, especially by Vows that left no doubt upon his Heart, and it was now that they both indeed found there was a very great Friendship still remaining at the bottom of their Hearts for each other, nor did they part without manifest proofs of it. Brilljard took a sad and melancholy leave of her, and had not the freedom to tell it aloud; but obliged to depart with his Lord, they left Silvia and posted to Bruxells, where they found the Prince ready to depart, having left Hermione to her Women more than half dead. I have heard there never was so sad a parting between Two Lovers; a Hundred times they swounded with the apprehension of the separation in each other's Arms, and at last the Prince was forced from her while he left her dead, and was little better himself: He would have returned, but the Officers and People about him, who had espous'd his Quarrel, would by no means suffer him: And he has a Thousand times told a person very near him, That he had rather have forfeited all his hop'd for Glory, than have left that Charmer of his Soul. After he had taken all care imaginable for Hermione, for that name so dear to him, was scarce ever out of his Mouth, he suffer'd himself with a heavy Heart and Pace, to be conducted to the Vessel: And I have heard, he was hardly seen to smile all that little Voyage, or his whole Life after, or do any thing but sigh and sometimes weep, which was a very great discouragement to all that followed him; they were a great while at Sea, tost to and fro by stress of Weather, and often driven back to the Shore where they first took Shiping; and not being able to Land where they first designed, they got a-shore in a little Harbour, where no Ship of any bigness could Anchor; so that with much ado, getting all their Arms and Men on shore they sunk the Ship, both to secure any from flying, and that it might not fall into the Hands of the French. Cesario was no sooner on the French shore, but numbers came to him of the Hugonot Party, for whom he had Arms, and who wanted them he furnish'd as far as he could, and immediately Proclaimed himself King of France and Navarr, while the dirty Croud, rang him Peals of Joy. But tho' the under World came in great Crowds to his Aid, he wanted still the main supporters of his Cause, the men of more substantial Quality: If the Ladies could have compos'd an Army, he would not have wanted one, for his Beauty had got them all on his side; and he Charm'd the fair wheresoever he rode.—

He march'd from Town to Town without any opposition, Proclaiming himself a King in all the places he came to; still gathering as he march'd, till he had compos'd a very formidable Army. He made Officers of the Kingdom—Fergusano was to have been a Cardinal, and several Lords and Dukes were nominated; and he found no opposition in all his prosperous Course —in the mean time the Royal Army was not Idle, which was composed of Men very well Disciplined, and conducted by several Princes, and Men of great Quality and Conduct. But as it is not the Business of this little History to treat of War, but altogether Love; leaving those rougher Relations to the Chronicles and Historiographers of those Times, I will only hint on such things in this Enterprize as are most proper for my purpose, and tell you that Cesario omitted nothing for the carrying on his great Design; he dispersed his Scandals all over France, tho' they met with an obstruction at Paris, and were immediately suppress'd, it being proclaim'd Death for any person to keep one in their Houses; and if any should by chance come to their Hands, they were on this Penalty, to carry them to the Secretary of State; and after the Punishment had past on Two or Three Offenders, it deterred the rest from medling with those edge Tools: I must tell you also, that the title of King, which Cesario had taken so early upon him, was much against his Inclinations; and he desired to see himself at the Head of a more satisfiable Army, before he would take on him a Title he found (in the condition he was in) he should not defend; but those about him insinuated into him, that it was the Title that would not only make him more Venerable, but would make his Cause appear more just and awful; and beget him a perfect Adoration with those People who liv'd remote from Courts, and had never seen that glorious thing called a King. So that believing it would give Nerves to the Cause, he unhappily took upon him that which ruined him; for he had often sworn to the greatest part of those of any Quality of his interest, That his design was Liberty only, and that his end was the publick good, so infinitely above his own private interest, that he desired only the Honour of being the Champion for the opprest Parisians and People of France; that if they would allow him to lead their Armies, to fight and spend his dearest Blood for them, 'twas all the Glory he aim'd at: 'T was this pretended Humility in a person of his high rank that first cajol'd the Mobile, who look on him as their God, their Deliverer, and all that was sacred and dear to them; but the wiser sort regarded him only as one that had most power and pretension to turn the whole Affairs of France, which they disliking were willing at any Price, to reduce to their own conditions and to what they desired; not imagining he would have laid a claim to the Crown, which many of them fancy'd themselves as capable of as himself, rather that he would perhaps have set up the King of Navarr. This Cesario knew; and understanding their Sentiments, was unwilling to hinder their joyning with him, by such a Declaration which he knew would be a means to turn abundance of Hearts against him, as indeed it fell out; and he found himself Master of some few Towns, only with an Army of Fifteen or Sixteen thousand Peasants, ill Armed, unus'd to War, Watchings, and very ill Logding in the Field, very badly Victuall'd, and worse Paid. For, from Paris no Aids of any Kind could be brought him; the Roads all along being so well guarded and secured by the Royal Forces, and wanting some great Persons to espouse his Quarrel, made him not only dispair of Success, but highly resent it of those who had given him so large promises of Aid. Many, as I said, and most were disgusted with his Title of King; but some waited the success of his first Battle, which was every day expected, tho' Cesario kept himself as clear of the Royal Army as he could a long time, marching away as soon as they drew near, hoping by these means, not only to tire them out, but watch an advantage when to engage, but gather still more Numbers. So that the greatest mischief he did was teazing the Royal Army, who could never tell were to have him, so dexterous he was in marching off. They often came so near, as to have Skirmishes with one another by small Parties, where some few Men would fall on both sides: And to say truth, Cesario in this Expedition show'd much more of a Souldier than the Politician: His Skill was great, his Conduct good, expert in Advantages, and indfatigable in Toils. And I have heard it from the Mouth of a Gentleman, who in all that undertaking never was from him; that in Seven or Eight Weeks that he was in Arms he never absolutely undrest himself, and hardly slept an Hour in the Four and twenty; and that sometimes was on his Horse's- back, in a Chariot, or on the ground, suffering even with the meanest of his Souldiers all the fatigues of the Enterprize: This Gentleman told me he would in those Hours, he should sleep, and wherein he was not taking Measures and Councils (which were always held in the Night) that he would be eternally speaking to him of Hermione; and that with the softest concern 'twas possible for Love and tenderest Passion to express. That he being the only Friend he could repose so great a weakness in, and who sooth'd him to the degree he wish'd, the Prince was so well pleas'd with him, as to establish him a Collonel of Horse, for no other merit than that of having once served Hermione, and now would flatter his disease agreeably: And tho' he did so, he protested he was ashamed to hear how Poor this fond concern render'd this great Man, and he has often pity'd what should have been else admir'd; but who can tell the force of Love, back'd by Charms supernatural? and who is it that will not sigh at the Fate of so Illustrious a Young-man, whom Love had render'd the most miserable of all those numbers he led?

But now the Royal Army, as if they had purposly suffered him to take his Toore about the Country, to Ensnare him with the more Facility; had at last, by new Forces that came to their assistance daily, so incompas'd him, that it was impossible for him to avoid any longer giving them Battle; however he had the benefit of Posting himself the most advantageously, that he could wish; he had the rising Grounds to place his Cannon, and all things concur'd to give him success. His Numbers exceeding those of the Royal Army; not but he would have avoided a set Battle, if it had been possible, till he had made himself Master of some places of stronger hold; for yet as I said, he had only subdued some inconsiderable places, which were not able to make defence; and which as soon as he was march'd out, surrender'd again to their lawful Prince; and pulling down his Proclamation, put up those of the King: but he was on all sides so embaras'd, he could not come even to parly with any Town of Note; so that as I said, at last, being as it were block'd up, tho' the Royal Army did not offer him Battle: Three Nights they lay thus in view of each other; the first night, the Prince sent out his Scouts, who brought in intelligence, that the Enemy was not so well prepar'd for Battle, as they fear'd they might be if they imagined the Prince would engage 'em, but he had so often given them the slip, that they believed he had no mind to put the Fortune of the Day to the push: And they were glad of these delays, that new forces might advance; when the Scouts returned with this news, the Prince was impatient to fall upon the Enemy; but Fergusano, who was continually taking Council of his Charms, and looking into his black Book of Fate, for every sally and step they made, perswaded his Highness to have yet a little patience; positively assuring him his Fortune depended on a Critical Minute, which was not yet come; and that if he offered to give Battle before the Change of the Moon, he was inevitably lost, and that the attendance of that fortunate moment would be the beginning of those of his whole Life: with such like positive perswasions, he gain'd upon the Prince, and overcame his impatience of engageing for that Night, all which he past in Council without being perswaded to take any rest, often blaming the Nicety of their Art and his Stars; and often asking if they lost that opportunity that Fortune had now given 'em, whether all their Art, or Stars, or Devils, could retrieve it? and nothing would that Night appease him, or dispossess'd the Sorcerers of this opinion.

The next day they received certain intelligence, that a considerable supply would re-inforce the Royal Army, under the Conduct of a Prince of the Blood; which were every moment expected: This news made the Prince rave, and he broke out into all the rage imaginable against the Wizards, who defended themselves with all the reasons of their Art; but it was all in vain, and he vow'd he would that Night engage the Enemy; if he could find but one faithful Friend to second him; tho he dyed in the attempt; that he was worn out with the Toils he had undergone; haras'd almost to death, and would wait no longer the approach of his lazy Fate, but boldly advancing, meet it what Face so 'ere it bore. They besought him on their Knees, he would not overthrow the Glorious Design so long in bringing to perfection, just in the very Minute of happy projection; but to wait those certain Fates, that would bring him Glory and Honour on their Wings, and who if slighted, would abandon him to distruction; it was but some few Hours more, and then they were his own, to be commanded by him: 'twas thus they drill'd and delay'd him on till Night; when again he sent out his Scouts to discover the Posture of the Enemy; and himself in the mean time went to Council. Philander fail'd not to be sent for thither, who sometimes feign'd Excuses to keep away, and when he did come, he fate unconcern'd, neither giving or receiving any advice. This was taken notice of by all, but Cesario, who look'd upon it as his being overwatch'd, and fatigu'd with the Toils of the day: his Sullenness did not pass so in the opinion of the rest; they saw, or at least thought they saw some other marks of discontent in his fine Eyes, which Love so much better became. One of the Princes Offices and Captain of his Guard, who was an old Hereditary Rogue, and whose Father had suffer'd in a Rebellion before; a Fellow rough and daring, comes boldly to the Prince when the Council rose, and ask'd him if he were resolved to Engage? He told him he was. Then, said he, give me leave to shoot Philander in the Head: This blunt proposition given without any manner of reason or Circumstance, made the Prince start back a step or two, and ask him his meaning of what he said. Sir, replyed the Captain, if you will be safe, Philander must Die; for however it appear to your Highness, to all the Camp he shows the Traytor, and 'tis more than doubted he, and the King of France understand one another but too well: Therefore if you would be Victor, let him be dispatch'd, and I my self will undertake it: Hold, said the Prince, if I could believe what you say to be true, I should not take so base a revenge; I would Fight like a Souldier, and he should be treated like a man of Honour: Sir, said Vaneur, for that was the Captains name; do not in the Circumstances we now are in talk of treating (with those that would' betray us) like men of Honour; we cannot stand upon decency in killing, who have so many to dispatch; we came not into France to fight Duels, and stand on nice Punctillios: I say, we must make quick work, and I have a good Pistol charged with two handsome Bullets, that shall as soon as he appears amongst us on Horse-back, do his business as gentilely as can be, and rid you of one of the most powerful of your Enemies. To this, the Prince would by no means agree; not believing one syllable of the Accusation. Vaneur swore then, that he would not draw a Sword for his Service, while Philander was suffered to live; and he was as good as his word: He said in going out, that he would obey the Prince, but he beg'd his pardon, if he did not lift a Hand on his side; and in an Hour after sent him his Commission, and waited on him, and was with him almost till the last, in all the danger, but would not Fight, having made a solemn Vow. Several others were of Vaneur's opinion, but the Prince believ'd nothing of it, Philander being indeed, as he said, weary of the design and party, and regarded them as his Ruiners, who with fair pretences, drew him into a bad Cause; which his Youth had not then considered, and from which he could not untangle himself.

By this time the Scout was come back, who inform'd the Prince that now was the best time in the World to Attack the Enemy, who all lay supinely in their Tents and did not expect a Surprize; that the very outguards were slender, and that it would not be hard to put 'em to a great deal of Confusion. The Prince who was enough impatient before, now was all Fire and Spirit, and 'twas not in the Power of Magick to withhold him; but hasting immediately to Horse, with as much speed as possible, he got at the Head of his Men; and marching on directy to the Enemy put them into so great a surprize, that it may be admired how they got themselves into a condition of defence; and to make short of a business that was not long in acting, I may avow nothing but the immediate hand of the Almighty (who favours the juster side, and is always ready for the support of those who approach so near their own Divinity, sacred and anointed Heads) could have turned the Fortune of the Battle to the Royal side; it was prodigious to consider the unequal numbers, and the advantage all on the Princes part; it was miraculous to behold the order on his side, and surprize on the other, which of it self had been sufficient to have confounded them; yet notwithstanding all this unpreparedness on this side, and the watchfuluess and care on the other; so well the General and Officers of the Royal Army managed their scanted Time; so bravely disciplin'd, and experienced the Souldiers were, so resolute and brave, and all so well mounted and armed, that as I said to a Miracle they fought; and 'twas a Miracle they won the Field: tho that fatal Night, Cesario did in his own Person wonders, and when his Horse was kill'd under him, he took a Partizan and as a common Souldier, at the head of his Foot acted the Hero, with as much courage and bravery, as ever Caesar himself could Boast. Yet all this avail'd him nothing, he saw himself abandoned on all sides, and then under the Covert of the Night, he retired from the Battle, with his Sword in his hand, with only one Page, who fought by his side: A thousand times he was about to fall on his own Sword, and like Brutus have finish'd a life he could no longer sustain with Glory: But Love, that coward of the Mind, and the Image of Divine Hermione, as he esteemed her, still gave him Love to life; and while he could remember she yet lived to charm him, he could even look with contempt on the loss of all his Glory; at which if the repin'd, it was for her sake, who expected to behold him return cover'd o'er with Laurels; in these sad thoughts he wandered as long as his wearied Legs would bear him into a low Forest, far from the Camp; where over-prest with Toil, all over pain, and a Royal Heart even breaking with Anxiety, he laid him down under the shelter of a Tree, and found but his length of Earth left to support him now, who not many hours before beheld himself the greatest Monarch as he imagined in the World. Oh who, that had seen him thus; which of his most mortal Enemies, that had view'd the Royal Youth, adorn'd with all the Charms of Beauty, Heaven ever distributed to Man; Born great, and but now ador'd by all the crowding World with Hat and Knee; now abandon by all, but one kind trembling Boy weeping by his side, while the Illustrious Hero lay Gazing with melancholy weeping Eyes, at those Stars that had lately been so cruel to him: Sighing out his great Soul to the Winds that whistled round his uncovered head; breathing his Griefs as silently as the sad fatal Night past away. Where nothing in nature seemed to pity him, but the poor wretched Youth that kneeled by him, and the sighing Air: I say, who that beheld this, would not have scorn'd the World, and all its fickle Worshipers? have curst the Flatteries of vain Ambition, and priz'd a Cottage far above a Throne? a Garland wreath'd by some fair innocent hand, before the restless Glories of a Crown?

Some Authors in the Relation of this Battle affirm, That Philander quitted his Post as soon as the Charge was given, and sheer'd off from that Wing he commanded; but all Historians agree in this Point, that if he did, it was not for want of Courage; for in a Thousand Incounters he has given sufficient proofs of as much Bravery as a Man can be capable of: But he disliked the Cause, disapproved of all their Preten • ions, and look'd upon the whole Affair and Proceeding to be most unjust and ungenerous: And all the fault his greatest Enemies could charge him with, was, That he did not deal so gratefully with a Prince that loved him and trusted him; and that he ought frankly to have told him, he would not serve him in this Design; and that it had been more Gallant to have quited him that way, than this; but there are so many Reasons to be given for this more Politick and safe Deceit, than are needful in this place, and 'tis most certain as it is the most justifiable to Heaven and Man, to one born a Subject of France, and having Sworn Allegiance to his proper King, to abandon any other Interest; so let the Enemies of this great Man say what they please, if a Man be oblig'd to be false to this or that Interest, I think no body of common Honesty, Sense and Honour, will dispute which he ought to abandon; and this is most certain, that he did not forsake him because Fortune did so, as this one Instance may make appear. When Cesario was first Proclaimed King, and had all the Reason in the World to believe that Fortune would have been wholly partial to him, he offer'd Philander his choice of any Principality and Government in France, and to have made him of the Order of Sanct, Espréet; all which he refused, tho' he knew his great Fortune was lost and already distributed to Favourites at Court, and himself Proscribed and Convicted as a Traytor to France. Yet all these refusals did not open the Eyes of this credulous great young Man, who still believed it the sullenness and Generosity of his Temper. No sooner did the day discover to the World the horrid Business of the preceding Night, but a diligent search was made among the infinite number of dead, that covered the Face of the Earth, for the Body of the Prince, or New King, as they called him: But when they could not find him among the dead, they sent out Parties all ways to search the Woods, the Forests, and the Plains; nor was it long they sought in vain, for he who had laid himself, as I said, under the shelter of a Tree, had not for any consideration removed him; but finding himself seiz'd by a common Hand, suffered himself, without Resistance, to be detained by one single Man till more advanced, when he could as easily have kill'd the Rustick as speak or move; an Action so below the Character of this truly brave Man, that there is no reason to be given to excuse this easie submission but this, That he was Stupified with long Watching, Grief, and the Fatigues of his daily Toyl for so many Weeks before: For 'tis not to be imagin'd it was carelessness, or little regard for Life; for if it had been so he would doubtless have lost it Nobly with the Victory, and never have retreated while there had been one Sword left advanced against him; or if he had disdained the Enemy should have had the Advantage and Glory of so great a Conquest, at least when his Sword had been yet left him, he should have died like a Roman, and have scorn'd to have added to the Triumph of the Enemy. But Love had unman'd his great Soul, and Hermione pleaded within for Life at any Price, even that of all his Glory; the thought of her alone blacken'd this last Scene of his Life, and for which all his past Triumphs could never atone nor excuse.

Thus taken, he suffered himself to be led away tamely by common Hands without resistance: A Victim now even fallen to the pity of the Mobile as he past, and so little imagined by the better Sort who saw him not, they would not give a credit to it, every one affirming and laying Wagers he would die like a Hero, and never surrender with Life to the Conqueror. But his submission was but two true for the repose of all his Abettors; nor was his mean surrender all, but he shew'd a dejection all the way they were bringing him to Paris, so extreamly unworthy of his Character, that 'tis hardly to be credited so great a a change could have been possible. And to show that he had lost all his Spirit and Courage with the Victory, and that the great strings of his Heart were broke, the Captain who had the charge of him, and commanded that little Squadron that conducted him to Paris, related to me this remarkable Passage in their Journey; he said, That they Lodged in an Inn, where he believed both the Master, and a great many Strangers who that Night Lodg'd there, were Hugonots, and great lovers of the Prince; which the Captain did not know, till after the Lodgings were taken: However he ordered a File of Musqueteers to guard the Door; and himself only remained in the Chamber with the Prince, while Supper was getting ready: The Captain being extreamly weary with Watching and Toyling, for a long time together, laid himself down on a Bench behind a great long Table, that was fast'ned to the Floor, and had unadvisedly laid his Pistols on the Table, and tho he du • st not Sleep, he thought there to stretch himself into a little ease; who had not quited his Horse-back in a great while: The Prince who was walking with his Arms across about the Room, musing in a very dejected posture; often casting his Eyes to the door; at last advances to the Table, and takes up the Captains Pistols; the while He —who saw him advance, fear'd in that moment, what the Prince was going to do; he thought, if he should rise and snatch at the Pistols, and miss of 'em, it would express so great a distrust of the Prince, it might provoke him to do, what by his generous submitting of 'em, might make him escape; and therefore since it was too late, he suffered the Prince to arm himself with two Pistols; who before was disarmed of even his little Pen-knife. He was, he said, a thousand times about to call out to the Guards; but then he thought before they could enter to his relief, he was sure to be shot Dead, and it was possible the Prince might make his party good with four or five common Souldiers, who perhaps lov'd the Prince as well as any, and might rather assist than hinder his flight; all this he thought in an instant, and at the same time seeing the Prince stand still, in a kind of consideration what to do, looking, turning, and viewing of the Pistols, he doubted not but his thought would determine with his Life; and tho he had been in the heat of all the Battle, and had look'd Death in the Face, when he appeared most horrid, he protested he knew not how to fear till this moment, and that now he trembled with the apprehension of unavoidable Ruin, he curst a thousand times his unadvisedness, now it was too late; he saw the Prince after he had viewed, and reviewed the Pistols walk in a great thoughtfulness again about the Chamber, and at last, as if he had determined what to do, came back and laid them again on the Table; at which the Captain snatch'd 'em up, resolving never to commit so great an over-sight more. He did not doubt, he said, but the Prince in taking them up, had some design of making his escape; and most cer • ainly if he had but had Courage to have attempted it, it had not been hard to have been accomplish'd: At worst he could but have dy'd; but there is a Fate that over-rules the most lucky minutes of the greatest men in the World, and turns even all advantages offered to misfortunes, when it designs their ruin.

While they were on their way to Paris, he gave some more signs, that the misfortune he had suffered, had lessened his Heart and Courage: He writ several the most submissive Letters in the World, to the King, and to the Queen Mother of France; wherein he strove to mitigate his Treason, with the poorest Arguments imaginable; and, as if his good Sense had declined with his Fortune, his Stile was alter'd and debased to that of a common Man, or rather a School-Boy, filled with Tautologies and Stuff of no Coherence; in which he neither showed the Majesty of a Prince, nor Sense of a Gentleman; as I could make appear by exposing those Copies, which I leave to History; all which must be imputed to the disorder his Head and Heart were in, for want of that natural rest he never after found. When he came to Paris, he fell at the Feet of his Majesty, to whom they brought him; and with a Showre of Tears bedewing his Shooes, as he lay prostrate, besought his Pardon, and ask'd his Life; perhaps one of his greatest weaknesses to imagine, he could hope for mercy after so many Pardons for the same fault; and which if he had had but one grain of that Bravery left him, he was wont to be Master of, he could not have expected; nor have had the confidence to have implor'd; and he was a poor Spectacle of pity to all that once adored him; to see how he petitioned in vain for Life; which if it had been granted, had been of no other use to him, but to have past in some corner of the Earth with Hermione, dispis'd by all the rest: and tho he fetch'd Tears of Pity from the Eyes of the best and, most merciful of Kings, he could not gain on his first resolution; which was never to forgive him that Scurillous Declaration he had dispersed at his first Landing in France; that he took upon him the Title of King, he could forgive; that he had been the cause of so much Blood-shed, he could forgive, but never that unworthy Scandal on his unspoted Fame; of which he was much more nice, than of his Crown or Life; and left him (as he told him this) prostrate on the Earth, when the Guards took him up and conveyed him to the Bastile: As he came out of the Loure, 'tis said he look'd with his wonted Grace, only a Languishment sat there in greater Beauty, than possible all his gayer looks ever put on, at least in his Circumstances; all that beheld him imagined so; all the Parisians were crowded in vast numbers to see him: And • oh, see what Fortune is, those that had vow'd him Allegiance in their Hearts, and were upon all occasions ready to rise in Mutiny for his least Interest, now saw him, and suffered him to be carried to the Bastile with a small Company of Guards, and never offer'd to rescue the Royal Unfortunate from the Hands of Justice, while he view'd 'em all around with scorning dying Eyes.

While he remained in the Bastile, he was visited by several of the Ministers of State, and Cardinals, and Men of the Church, who urged him to some Discoveries, but could not prevail with him: He spoke, he thought, he dreamt of nothing but Hermione; and when they talk'd of Heaven, he ran on some Discourse of that Beauty, something of her Praise; and so continued to his last Moment, even on the Scaffold, where he was urged to excuse, as a good Christian ought, his Invasion, his Bloodshed and his unnatural War; he set himself to justifie his Passion to Hermione, endeavouring to render the Life he had lead with her, Innocent and Blameless in the sight of Heaven; and all the Churchmen could perswade, could make him speak of very little else. Just before he laid himself down on the Block he called to one of the Gentlemen of his Chamber, and taking out the Inchanted Tooth-pick-case, he whisper'd him in the Ear, and commanded him to bear it from him to Hermione; and laying himself down suffer'd the Justice of the Law, and died more pitied than lamented; so that it became a Proverb, If I have an Enemy I wish he may live like—and die like Cesario: So ended the Race of this glorious Youth, who was in his time the greatest Man of a Subject in the World, and the greatest Favourite of his Prince, happy indeed above a Monarch, if Ambition and the Inspiration of Knaves and Fools had not led him to Destruction, and from a Glorious Life brought him to a Shameful Death.

This deplorable News was not long in coming to Hermione, who must receive this due, That when she heard her Hero was dead, (and with him all her dearer greatness gone,) she betook her self to her Bed, and made a Vow she would never rise nor eat more; and she was as good as her word, she lay in that melancholy Estate about Ten Days, making the most pitious Moan for her dead Lover that e'er was heard, drowning her Pillow in Tears, and sighing out her Soul. She called on him in vain as long as she could speak, at last she fell into a Lethargy and dreamed of him, till she could dream no more; an everlasting sleep closed her fair Eyes, and the last word she sigh'd was Cesario.

Brillijard had the good Fortune the Night of the Battle to get away under the covert of the Night, and posted into Flanders, where he found Silvia in the Arms of the young Spaniard, and of whom they made so considerable Advantages, that in a short time they ruin'd the Fortune of that young Nobleman, and became the Talk of the Town, insomuch that the Governour not permitting her stay there, she was forced to remove for new Prey, and daily makes considerable Conquests where e'er she shows the Charmer. Fergusano escap'd, which was to the last Moment of the Princes Life the greatest Affliction of his Mind; and he would often say in great Rage, That if that Villain had been brought to Paris, and that he could have had the satisfaction of seeing him broken on a Wheel before he had died, he should have resign'd his Life with Joy. But his time was not yet come.

Philander lay sometime in the Bastile, visited by all the Persons of great Quality about the Court; he behaved himself very Gallantly all the way he came, after his being taken, and to the last Minute of his Imprisonment; and was at last pardoned, kiss'd the King's Hand, and came to Court in as much Splendor as ever, being very well understood by all good Men.

FINIS.