THE ADVENTURES OF TELEMACHUS The Son of ULYSSES.

CALYPSO continued Dis­consolate for the departure of Ulysses: Her Grief was so violent, that she thought her self unhappy in being Immortal: Her Grotto was no more heard ec­choing to her tuneful Voice: The Nymphs that serv'd her, durst not venture to speak to her: She often [Page 2] walk'd alone on the Beach, which was cover'd with a charming mixture of Green and Flowers quite round the Island: But these beautiful Walks were so far from asswaging her Grief, that they serv'd only to awaken the killing Thoughts of Ulysses, whose Company she had so often enjoy'd in those Places: Sometimes she stood still and wept, watering the Banks of the Sea with her Tears, and always turn­ing her Eyes to that side where she had last seen Ulysses his Ship plowing through the Waves; when on a sud­dain she perceived the broken pieces of a Vessel that was just then split up­on the Rocks, the Oars and Seats of the Rowers scatter'd here and there upon the Sands, the Mast, Rudder and Cables floating near the Shoar.

Immediately after this, she disco­vered two Men at a distance, one of them appearing to be Aged, and the other, tho Young, resembling Ulysses; the same sweetness and dignity in his Looks; the same noble Meen and ma­jestick Port. The Goddess presently [Page 3] knew him to be Telemachus, the Son of that Hero. But tho' the Deities of this Order far surpass all Men in Knowledge, yet she could not dis­cover who was the yenerable Person that accompanied Telemachus. For the superior Gods conceal from the infe­rior whatever they please; and Mi­nerva, who in the shape of Mentor, ac­companied Telemachus, would not be known to Calypso.

In the mean time Calypso overjoy'd at this Shipwrack, that had brought the Son of Ulysses, and so like his Fa­ther, into her Island, advanc'd to­wards him; and without seeming to know who he was; whence had you, said she, the Confidence to enter my Island? Know, young Stranger, that there are Punishments for all those that come within my Empire. Under such menacing Language she endeavour'd to cover the joy of her Heart, which for all this, appeared in her Face.

Telemachus answer'd, O whoever you are, whether a Mortal or a God­dess ( [...] by your Looks you should [Page 4] be something Divine) can you be in­sensible of a Son's Misfortune, who seeking his Father, and committing his Life to the mercy of the Winds and Seas, has seen his Ship dash'd in pieces against your Rocks? Who, I pray, replied the Goddess, is that Father you seek? He is called Ulysses, said Telemachus; and is one of those Kings, who after a Siege of ten Years, destroyed the famous City of Troy. His Name is celebrated in all Parts of Greece and Asia for his Valour in Fight, and much more for the Wis­dom of his Counsels: But now he wanders in unknown Seas, and has past most astonishing Dangers. His Country seems to fly from him: His Wife Penelope, and I, who am his Son, have lost all hopes of seeing him again. I run the same Hazards he has done, to learn where he is; but what do I say! It may be he is now buried in the profound Abyss of the Sea. O Goddess! Pity our Misfor­tunes; and if you know what the Fates have done, either to save or de­stroy [Page 5] Ulysses, disdain not to instruct his Son Telemachus.

Calypso fill'd with Amazement and Compassion to find so much Wisdom and Eloquence in so much Youth, could not satiate her Eyes with look­ing on him, and stood for some time silent. At last she said to him; we will inform you O Telemachus, what has happened to your Father; but the Relation is long, and 'tis more than time to repose after all the Fatigues you have endur'd. Come into my Habitation, and I will receive you as my Son: Come, you shall be my Consolation in this Solitude, and I will make you happy, if you know how to be so.

Telemachus followed the Goddess, who was surrounded by a Crowd of young Nymphs, and surpassed them all in Stature, as a well grown Oak of theForest raises his losty Head above the rest of the Trees. He admir'd the lustre of her Beauty, the rich Purple of her long and floating Robes, her Hair carelessly but gracefully tied be­hind [Page 6] her Neck, the Fire that darted from her Eyes, and the sweetness that temper'd this Vivacity. Mentor, with a modest Silence, and looking towards the Ground, follow'd Telemachus. Ar­riving at the entrance of Calypso's Grotto, Telemachus was surprised to see whatever might charm the Eye, cover'd under the appearance of rural Simplicity. There was neither Gold nor Silver to be seen, no Marble nor Pillars of Stone, no Painting nor Sta­tues. The Grotto was cut into divers Vaults within the Rock, which were incrusted with Shells and Rockwork. The Tapistry was a young Vine, ex­tending its tender Branches equally on every side. The gentle Zephyrs pre­serv'd a refreshing coolness in this Place, secure from the scorching Heat of the Sun. Springs of pure Water pass'd sweetly whispering through the Meadows that were painted with Vi­olets and Amaranthus, and form'd di­vers natural Baths as clear and as bright as Christal. A thousand Flow­ers enamell'd the green Turf that sur­rounded [Page 7] the Grotto. There was an intire Wood of those Trees, that bear golden Apples, and put forth Flowers in every Season, yielding the sweetest of all Perfumes. This Wood seem'd to Crown the beautiful Mea­dows, and made an artificial Night, which the Beams of the Sun could not penetrate. Here nothing was ever heard, but the singing of Birds, or the noise of Waters impetuously pre­cipitating from the Rocks, and gliding away through the Fields.

The Grotto of the Goddess was on the descent of a Hill, from whence she had a view of the Sea, one while clear and smooth as Glass, at another time vainly angry with the Rocks, swelling into Waves, and breaking to pieces against them: From ano­ther side she might see a River, con­taining many little Islands border'd with flowering Lime-Trees, and lof­ty Poplars, that rear'd their stately Heads to the Clouds. The several Channels that form'd these Islands, seem'd to play and sport between the [Page 8] Banks, some rowling their Waters with rapidity, others more gently and quietly; and others after many wind­ings, returning as it were to the Spring from whence they came, seem'd unwilling to leave the charming Place. One might see afar off many Hills and Mountains hiding their Heads in the Clouds, and forming such odd and unusual Figures as were very agrea­ble to the Eye. The Hills that stood at less distance were covered with Vines, the Grapes of which surpass'd the richest Purple in Colour, and could not conceal themselves under the Leaves of the Trees that bow'd under the weight of their Fruit. The Fig-tree, the Olive and the Pomgra­nat, with all Kinds of other Trees cover'd the rest of the Country, and made it one intire Garden.

Calypso having shew'd Telemachus all these Beauties of Nature, said to him, 'tis time for you to repose, and to change your wet Garments; after which we will see one another again, and I will tell you some Things that [Page 9] shall affect your Heart. Having said this, she caused them both to enter into the most private and retired part of a Grotto, which stood near to that in which she dwelt. Her Nymphs had taken care to light a Fire of Cedar, which fill'd the Apartment with an agreeable scent, and had left all ne­cessary Apparel for the two Strangers. Telemachus finding that the Goddess had design'd him a Tunick of the finest Wooll, and white as Snow, with a Vest of Purple, richly embroider'd with Gold, was, like a young Man, infinitely pleas'd with this Magnifi­cence; which Mentor perceiving, he said with a grave and severe Voice,

Telemachus with a deep Sigh an­swer'd, May the Gods destroy me ra­ther than suffer me to fall under the power of effeminate Pleasures. No! the Son of Ulysses shall never be sub­dued by the Charms of a soft and un­worthy Life: But what Favour of Heaven has brought us to this God­dess, or to this Mortal, who has re­ceived us with so much Goodness?

After this they return'd to Calypso, who waited for them; and presently her Nymphs, dress'd in white, with their Hair tied up, brought in a plain but exquisite Repast, consisting of Birds that they had taken with Nets, and of Venison that they had kill'd with their Bows. The Wine was sweeter than Nectar, and flow'd from Jarrs of Silver into Golden Bowels, that were crown'd with Flowers. All sorts of Fruit that the Spring promises, and Autumn ripens in profusion, were brought in Baskets, and four young Nymphs began to Sing. First, they sung the War of the Gods against the Gyants, then the Loves of Jupiter and Semele; the Birth of Bacchus, and his Education under the care of old Sile­nus; the Race of Atalanta and Hypo­menes, [Page 12] who was overcome by means of the Golden Apples that came from the Garden of the Hesperides. Last of all they Sung the War of Troy, and exalted the Valour and Wisdom of Ulysses to the Heavens. The chief of the Nymphs, whose Name was Leu­cothoe, accompanied their sweet voices with her Lute. When Telemachus heard the Name of his Father, the Tears that flow'd down his Cheeks, gave a new lustre to his Beauty. But Calypso perceiving that he could not Eat, and that he was siez'd with Grief, made a sign to the Nymphs; and presently they began to Sing the Fight between the Centaurs and the Lapithae, and the descent of Orpheus in­to Hell, to recover his dear Eurydice.

When they had eaten, the Goddess took Telemachus aside, and said to him; You see, O Son of the Great Ulysses, with what savour I receive you into my Habitation. Yet know, that I am Immortal, and that no Mor­tal can enter into this Island without being punished for his rash attempt; [Page 13] nay, even your Shipwrack should not secure you from the effects of my In­dignation, if I did not love you. Your Father had the same Happiness you now enjoy; but, alass! he knew not how to use it. I detain'd him a long time in this Island, and, had he been contented, he might have liv'd with me in an immortal Condition: But a fond Passion to return to his wretch­ed Country, made him reject all these Advantages. You see what he has lost for the sake of the [...] of Ithaca, which he shall never see again. He resolv'd to leave me; he went away, and I was reveng'd by a Storm. Af­ter his Vessel had serv'd for Sport to the Winds, it was buried under the Waves. Make a right use of so sad an Example; for after his Shipwrack, you can neither hope to see him again, nor ever to reign in the Island of Ithaca. Forget this Loss, and remem­ber you have found a Goddess, that offers to make you happy, and to pre­sent you with a Kingdom. To these Words Calypso added many more, to [Page 14] shew him, how happy Ulysses had been with her. She related his Ad­ventures in the Cave of the Cyclops Polyphemus, and the Disaster that be­fel him in the Country of Antiphates King of the Lestrigons; not forgetting what happened to him in the Island of Circe, Daughter to the Sun; or the Dangers he pass'd between Scylla and Charybdis. She represented the last Storm that Neptune had rais'd against him when he left her, and desired to perswade him, that he had perished in that Shipwrack; but sup­press'd his arrival in the Island of the Pheacians.

Telemachus, who at first had too easily abandon'd himself to Joy when he found he was so well received by Calypso, now began to perceive her Artifices, and the Wisdom of those Counsels that Mentor had given him. He answer'd in few Words, O God­dess, pardon my Grief, which at pre­sent I cannot overcome; it may be, hereafter I may have more force to re­lish the Fortune you offer me: Give [Page 15] me leave at this time to Weep for my Father; for you know better than I, how much he deserves to be regretted.

Calypso not daring to press him any farther on that Subject, feigned to sympathize with him in his Affliction, and to shew her self passionately con­cerned for the loss of Ulysses; but that she might the better find the way to his Heart, she ask'd him in what man­ner he had suffer'd Shipwrack, and by what Adventures he was brought to her Island. The Relation of my Mis­fortunes, said he, would be too long. No, no, replied she, I am in pain to know them, and therefore give me that Satisfaction. After much solli­citation she prevailed with him, and he began thus.

I parted from Ithaca with intention to inquire of those Kings that were return'd from the Siege of Troy, what they knew concerning my Father. The Lovers of my Mother Penelope were surpris'd at my departure, which I had taken care to conceal from them, because I was well acquainted [Page 16] with their Perfidiousness. But nei­ther Menelaus, who received me with Affection at Lacedemon, nor Nestor, whom I saw at Pilos, could inform me whether my Father were still alive. Weary with living always in suspense and uncertainty, I resolv'd to pass into Sicily, where I had heard my Father had been driven by the Winds. But the Sage Mentor who is here pre­sent, opposed this rash Design, re­presenting to me on the one hand the Cyclops, who are monstrous Gyants that devour Men; on the other, the Fleet of Eneas and the Trojans, who were upon that Coast. The Trojans, said he, are highly incensed against all the Greeks; but they would take a singular Pleasure to shed the Blood of the Son of Ulysses: Return there­fore to Ithaca, it may be your Father, who is a Favorite of Heaven, may arrive there as soon as you: But if the Gods have resolv'd his Destructi­no, and he is never more to see his Country, at least it becomes you to revenge him against his Rivals, to [Page 17] deliver your Mother, and to give such proof of your Wisdom to all the Peo­ple of Greece, that they may know you are as worthy to reign, as ever Ulysses was. This Counsel was useful and honourable, but I had not Prudence enough to follow it, and heark'ned only to my own Passion; yet the wise Mentor lov'd me to such a de­gree, that he condescended to accom­pany me in that Voyage, which I rashly undertook against his Advice.

Whilst he spoke, Calypso look'd ear­nestly, and not without Astonishment upon Mentor. She thought she per­ceived something Divine in him, but could not disintangle the confusion of her Thoughts; which caused her to continue apprehensive and diffident in the presence of this unknown Person. But fearing above all Things to dis­cover the disorder of her Mind, she desired Telemachus to proceed, which he did in this manner.

We had the Wind favorable for some time after our departure for Si­cily; but then, a violent Storm ari­sing, [Page 18] depriv'd us of the view of Hea­ven, and involv'd us in the obscurity of Night: Yet by some flashes of Lightning, we perceived other Ships exposed to the same Danger, which when we understood to be the Fleet of AEneas, we thought them no less formidable to us than the Rocks them­selves. In that Moment I compre­hended, tho' too late, what the Heat of imprudent Youth had hindred me from considering before. Mentor, in the midst of this Danger, appear'd not only Resolute and Intrepid, but more cheerful than he used to be. 'Twas he that inspir'd me with Resolution, and I felt the extraordinary force of his Encouragements. He gave out all necessary Orders, when the Pilot knew not what to do. I said to him, my dear Mentor, why did I refufe to follow your Counsels? Am I not un­happy, to act by my own Advice, at such an Age, as has no foresight of Futurity, no experience of things past, nor moderation to govern the pre­sent? O! If ever we escape this Storm, [Page 19] I resolve to distrust my self, as I would my most dangerous Enemy, and to believe you alone for ever. To this Mentor answer'd smiling; I shall not blame you for the Fault you have committed: 'Tis enough that you are sensible of it, and make it serve you hereafter to moderate your Desires. But perhaps when the Danger is past, Presumption will return. We may now be apprehensive, and endeavour to prevent the worst; but if all we can do, prove ineffectual, we have nothing left but a generous Contempt. Shew your self worthy of such a Fa­ther, and let your Courage be greater than the Dangers that threaten. I was charm'd with the sweetness and magnanimity of the wise Mentor; but I was much more surpris'd, when I saw with what dexterity he brought about our Deliverance.

The Trojans were so near, that they could not fail to discover who we were, as soon as the Light should ap­pear; which Mentor knowing, and in that Instant perceiving one of their [Page 20] Ships which was separated from the rest of the Fleet, to be something like ours, except certain Garlands of Flowers that she carried at her Stern, he hung up the same sorts of Flowers on the same part of our Ship, and fasten'd them himself with Ribbons of the same Colour with those of the Trojans. He order'd the Rowers to bow themselves as low as the Oar would permit, that they might not be discovered by the Enemy. In this manner we pass'd through the midst of their Fleet, whilst they shouted for Joy to see us, supposing we were their Companions, which they thought to be lost. We were forced along with them by the violence of the Weather for a considerable time; but at last we found means to keep a little behind, and whilst they were driven by the Winds towards the Shoar of Africa, we exerted our utmost Efforts to make the nearest Coast of Sicily.

We arrived, as we design'd; but that which we sought, proved almost as fatal to us, as the Fleet we avoided; [Page 21] we found more Trojans, and conse­quently Enemies to all Greeks; for old Acestes reigned in these Parts. As soon as we got Ashoar, the Inhabi­tants, thinking us to be either some other People of the Island come to surprize them, or else Strangers that design'd to sieze their Country, burnt our Ship, kill'd our Companions, and reserv'd only Mentor and me to be presented to Acestes, that we might inform him of our Designs, and whence we came. We were brought into the Town with our Hands tied behind our Backs, and our Death was deferr'd, only to make us a Spectacle to a cruel People, as soon as they should know we were Greeks.

We were without delay presented to Acestes, who sate with a golden Scepter in his Hand, distributing Ju­stice, and preparing himself for a great Sacrifice. He ask'd us with a severe Voice, of what Country we were, and the occasion of our Voyage. Mentor answer'd, We come from the Coasts of the great Hesperia, and our [Page 22] Country is not far from thence: By this means he avoided to say that we were Greeks. But Acestes would hear no more, and taking us for Per­sons that conceal'd some bad Design, he commanded us to be sent into a Neighbouring Forest, there to serve as Slaves to those who look'd after the Cattle. This Condition seem'd more terrible to me than Death. I cried out, O King, order us rather to suffer Death, than to be treated so unwor­thily: Know, that I am Telemachus the Son of the wise Ulysses, King of the Ithacians. I seek my Father in all parts of the World; and if I can nei­ther find him, nor return to my Coun­try, nor avoid Servitude, take that Life from me, which I cannot bear. Scarce had I pronounced these Words, when all the People in a Rage cried out, That the Son of the cruel Ulysses must die, whose Artifices had destroy'd the City of Troy.

O Son of Ulysses, said Acestes, I cannot refuse your Blood to the Ghosts of so many Trojans, that your Father [Page 23] precipitated into the Waters of the black Cocytus. You and your Con­ductor shall die. At the same time an Old Man of the Company proposed to the King, that we should be Sacri­ficed upon the Tomb of Anchises. Their Blood, said he, will be grateful to the Soul of that Hero. AEneas him­self, when he hears of this Sacrifice, will be overjoy'd to see how much you love what was dearer to him than all other Things in the World. Eve­ry One applauded this Proposition, and nothing remain'd but to put it in Exe­cution. We were led to the Tomb of Anchises, where two Altars were erected, and the Sacred Fire kindled. The Knife was brought, we were Crown'd with Garlands, and no Com­position would be accepted to save our Lives. Our Fate was determined, when Mentor calmly desir'd to speak to the King; and having receiv'd Per­mission, said, O Acestes, if the Mis­fortunes of Young Telemachus, who never carried Arms against the Tro­jans, may not plead for him, at least [Page 24] let your own Interest move you. The Knowledge I have acquir'd to predict the Will of the Gods, informs me, That before the end of three Days, you shall be attack'd by a barbarous People, who will come down like a Torrent from the Mountains, to de­stroy your City, and ravage your whole Country. Hasten to prevent them, Arm your People, and from this moment begin to secure within these Walls all the Riches you have in the Fields. If my Prediction be false, you may Sacrifice us when the three Days are expir'd; but if on the contrary it prove true, remember, That no One ought to take away the Lives of those, by whom his own was preserv'd. Acestes was astonish'd at these Words, which Mentor spoke with more assurance than he had ever found in any Man. I see, said he, O Stranger, That the Gods who have granted you so small a share in the Favours of Fortune, have in Recom­pence given you such Wisdom, as is more valuable than the highest Pros­perity. [Page 25] At the same time he put off the Sacrifice, and issued out all necessary Orders with the utmost Di­ligence, to prevent the Attack that Mentor had foretold. On all sides were to be seen Old Men and Wo­men trembling for fear, and ac­companied with great numbers of Young Children, bath'd in Tears, and retiring into the City. The lowing Oxen and bleating Sheep, left the rich Pastures and came along in confusion; but their number was too great, to find places to contain them all. The Noise and Tumult of People pressing to get in, was such, that no One could understand another. In this Dis­order, some took an unknown Per­son for their Friend, and others ran, tho' they knew not whether. But the Principal Men of the City, think­ing themselves wiser than the rest, suspected Mentor to be an Impostor, who had predicted a Falshood to save his Life. Yet before the third Day was expired, whilst they [Page 26] were full of these Imaginations, a Cloud of Dust was seen rising upon the descent of the Neighbouring Hills; an innumerable Multitude of Barbarians appear'd in Arms, and all those who had despis'd the wise Prediction of Mentor, lost all their Slaves and their Cattle. Upon this, the King said to Mentor; I forget that you are Greeks; our Enemies are become our faithful Friends; the Gods have sent you to save us; I expect no less from your Valour, than from the Wisdom of your Words: Hasten therefore to assist us.

Mentor shew'd in his Eyes a bold­ness, that was sufficient to astonish the fiercest Warrior. He takes up a Shield, a Helmet, a Sword and a Lance: He draws up the Soldiers of Acestes, puts himself at their Head, and advances in good Order towards the Enemy. Acestes, tho' full of Courage, could not fol­low him, but at a distance, by rea­son of his Age. I follow'd him [Page 27] more close. But nothing can equal his Valour. In the Fight, his Helmet resembled the immortal One of Minerva. Death flew from Rank to Rank, where-ever his Blows fell: As a Lyon of Numi­dia, provok'd by cruel Hunger, falling upon a Flock of unresist­ing Sheep, kills, tears, and swims in Blood: Whilst the Shep­herds far from assisting their Flock, fly trembling away from his Fu­ry.

These Barbarians, who hoped to surprise the City, were themselves surpris'd and defeated. The Sub­jects of Acestes were animated by the Example and Words of Mentor; and felt a Vigour which they thought not to be in them. With my Lance I kill'd the Son of the Barbarian King. He was of my Age, but much higher than I am; for this People is descended from Gyants, and of the same Race with the Cyclops. He despis'd so weak an Enemy; but I, not at all daunted with his prodi­gious [Page 28] Strength, or his fierce and sa­vage Looks, push'd my Lance against his Breast, and made his Soul gush out at the Wound in a Torrent of black and reeking Blood. As he fell he was like to crush me in pieces by his Fall. The sound of his Arms eccho'd in the Hills. I took the Spoil, and return'd to Acestes with the Arms I had gain'd from this formidable Enemy. Mentor having intirely broken the Barbarians, pur­sued them to the Woods, and cut them in pieces. This unexpected Success made Mentor to be regarded, as one cherish'd and inspir'd by the Gods: And Acestes from a sense of Gratitude, shew'd his Concernment for us if the Fleet of Eneas should return to Sicily. He gave us a Ship to carry us to our own Country; made us many and rich Presents, and press'd us to hasten our Departure, that we might prevent any Mischief. But he would not give us either a Pilot, or Mariners of his own Na­tion, sor fear they might be expos'd [Page 29] to too much Hazard upon the Coast of Greece. He committed us to the care of certain Phenician Merchants, who Trading with all the People of the World, had no occasion to fear, and order'd them to bring back the Ship, when they had left us safe in Ithaca. But the Gods, who sport with the Designs of Men, had re­serv'd us for farther Calamities.

The Tyrians by their Insolence had highly provoked the King of Egypt, whose name was Sesostris, and who had conquered many Kingdoms. The Riches they had acquir'd by Trade, and the impregnable Strength of Tyre, which stands situated in the Sea, had render'd this People so Proud, that they not only refused to pay the Tribute which Sesostris imposed upon them in his ruturn from the Conquests he had made, but assisted his Brother with Forces, who had conspir'd to murder him on the Festival that was appointed to be celebrated on account of his great Victories. For these Reasons [Page 30] Sesostris resolved to humble them, by ruining their Commerce at Sea, and commanded all his Ships to seek out and assault the Phenicians. One of his Fleets met with us, as soon as we lost sight of the Sicilian Moun­tains, when the Harbour and Land seem'd to fly from behind us, and lose themselves in the Clouds. At the same time we saw the Egyptian Ships advancing towards us like a sloating City. The Phenicians per­ceived, and endeavour'd to avoid them, but 'twas too late. Their Ships were better Sailors, their Ma­riners more numerous, the Wind favour'd them, they Boarded us, Took us, and carried us Prisoners to Egypt. I told them, but in vain, that I was no Phenician, they hard­ly vouchsafed to hear me; they look'd upon us as Slaves, in which Merchandise they knew the Phenici­ans traded, and thought only of making the best of their Prize. We arrived in the Island of Pharos, and rom thence were carried up the [Page 31] Nile to Memphis. If the Grief we felt by reason of our Captivity, had not render'd us insensible to all Plea­sure, our Eyes would have been charm'd with the fruitful Country of Egypt, like a delicious Garden every where Water'd with the purest Streams. We could not turn our Eyes on either side of the River, without discovering many opulent Islands; great numbers of well situ­ated Villa's; Lands richly cover'd with a golden Harvest; Meadows full stock'd with Cattle; Labourers bowing under the weight of the Fruits they had gather'd, and Shep­herds that made the Eccho's on every side repeat the sweet sound of their Pipes and Flutes.

I answer'd, alas, Mentor, 'Tis not now the Question, by what Maxims a King ought to Reign. We shall never see Ithaca again. We shall never see our Country or Penelope more; and tho' Ulysses should return full of Glory to his Kingdom, he [Page 33] would never have the satisfaction of seeing me there; nor I that of obey­ing him, and learning the Rules of Government from him. No, Let us dye, dear Mentor; for we must have no other Thoughts: Let us dye, since the Gods have no Com­passion for us. As I spoke, my Words were interrupted with sighs. But Mentor, tho' he could be appre­hensive of approaching Evils, knew not what it was to fear them when they had happen'd. Unworthy Son of the wise Ulysses, cried he, Dost thou suffer thy self to be over­come by thy Misfortunes? Know that you shall one Day see both Ithaca and Penelope. You shall see what your Eyes have never seen, The invincible Ulysses in his former Glory: He, whom Fortune cannot Conquer, and who in greater Mis­fortune admonishes us never to De­spair. O! if he should hear in the Regions, where he is driven by the Winds and Sea, that his Son knows not how to imitate him, either in [Page 34] Patience or Courage, such News would overwhelm him with Shame, and prove more heavy than all the Misfortunes he has yet suffered.

After this Mentor caused me to observe the Fertility and Happiness that was seen over all the Country of Egypt, which contain'd Two and twenty thousand Cities. He ad­mir'd the regular Government of these Places; the distribution of Ju­stice, which was every where exer­cised with great regard to the Poor; the good Education of Children, who were inur'd early to Obedience, Labour, Sobriety, Arts or Learn­ing; the due observation of all the Ceremonies of Religion, a generous and disinterested Spirit, a great de­sire of Reputation, an universal Sin­cerity in their Dealings with Men, and a just Reverence of the Gods; which every Father took care to in­fuse into his Children. He thought he could never enough admire this beautiful Order. He would often cry out in a Rapture of Joy, O! how [Page 35] happy is that People, which is thus govern'd by a wise King! But yet more happy is that King, who when he has provided for the Hap­piness of so great a People, can find himself happy in his own Virtue. Such a one is more than fear'd; he is belov'd. Men not only Obey him; but they Obey him with Plea­sure. He Reigns universally in their Hearts; and every Man is so far from desiring his Death, that he fears it above all Misfortunes, and would readily sacrifice his Life for him.

I heark'ned with Attention to what Mentor said; and as he spoke, I found my Courage to revive in the bottom of my Heart. As soon as we were arriv'd at the rich and magnificent City of Memphis, the Governor commanded us to be sent to Thebes, in order to be presented to King Sesostris, who being highly incens'd against the Tyrians, had re­solved to examin us himself. So we proceeded in our Voyage up the Ri­ver [Page 36] Nile, till we came to the famous Thebes, which has a Hundred Gates, and serves for a Habitation to that great King. This City appear'd to us of a vast Extent, and more Po­pulous than the most flourishing Cities of Greece. The Orders are Excellent, in all that regards the neatness and conveniency of the Streets, the course of the publick Waters; the Baths; the advance­ment of Arts and Sciences, and the common Safety. The Piazza's are adorn'd with Fountains and Obe­lisks. The Temples are Marble; of plain, but majestick Architecture. The Palace of the Prince is like a great City; 'tis full of Marble Pil­lars, Pyramids, Obelisks and vast Statues, with Moveables of solid Gold and Silver. They who took us, inform'd the King, that they found us on board a Phenician Ship. For he had certain Hours of every Day, in which he regularly heard all his Subjects, that had any thing to say to him, either by way of [Page 37] Complaint or Advice. He neither despised nor rejected any Man, and knew he was King for no other end, than to do Good to his Sub­jects, whom he lov'd as his Chil­dren. Strangers also he received with Kindness, and was always de­sirous to see them; because he thought it a useful and advantage­ous Thing to be inform'd of the Customs and Maxims of remote Na­tions; and this Curiosity of the King was the principal Cause that we were brought before him. When he saw me, he was upon a Throne of Ivory, with a golden Scepter in his Hand. He was Aged, but Come­ly, full of Sweetness and Majesty. He daily distributed Justice to the People, with such Patience and Wis­dom, as made him admir'd without Flattery. After he had spent the whole Day in doing Justice, and taking care of the publick Affairs, he usually pass'd the Evening in hearing the Discourses of learned Men, or conversing with the best [Page 38] of his People, whom he knew how to chuse, and admit into his Fami­liarity. During his whole Life he could not be blam'd for any thing, except for triumphing with too much Pomp over the Kings he had Con­quer'd, and trusting a Man whose Picture I shall draw by and by. He was mov'd with my Youth and my Affiction, and ask'd me my Country and my Name, whilst we wonder'd at the Wisdom that spoke by his Mouth. I answer'd You have undoubtedly heard, O Great King, of the Siege of Troy, which lasted ten Years, and the destruction of that City, which cost so much Grecian Blood. Ulysses, my Father, was one of the principal Kings who ruin'd that Place. He now wanders through all the Seas, without being able to return to the Island of Ithaca, which is his Kingdom. I seek my Father, and by a Misfortune equal to his own, have been surprised and taken Prisoner. Restore me to my Father and Country, and may the [Page 39] Gods preserve You to your Children, and make them sensible of the Plea­sure of living under so good a Fa­ther.

Sesostris continued to look upon me with an Eye of Compassion; but being desirous to know if what I said was true, he referr'd us to be examin'd by one of his Officers, commanding him to inquire of those that took our Ship, whether we were Greeks or Phenicians. If they are Phenicians, said the King, they must be doubly punished, first be­cause they are our Enemies, and then, because they have endeavour'd to deceive us by a base Falshood. But if on the contrary they are Greeks, I will have them to be treat­ed favourably, and sent back into their own Country in one of my Ships; For I love the Greeks, who have received many Laws from the Egyptians. I am not ignorant of the Virtues of Hercules, the Glory of Achilles has reach'd our Ears, and I admire what I have heard of the [Page 40] Wisdom of the unhappy Ulysses. I have no greater Pleasure than to assist unfortunate Virtue.

The Officer to whom the King had referr'd the Examination of our Business, had a Heart as Corrupt­ed and Malicious, as Sesostris was Sincere and Generous. The Name of this Man was Metophis. He en­deavour'd to ensnare us by artificial Questions; and when he saw that Mentor answer'd with more Wis­dom than I, he look'd upon him with Aversion and Diffidence; for ill Men are always Enemies to the Good. He caused ut to be separa­ted, and from that time I knew not what became of Mentor. This Se­paration was to me, as if I had been struck with Thunder. Metophis was not without hopes, that by a sepa­rate Examination, we might be drawn to say contrary Things. At least he thought to dazle my Eyes with his flattering Promises, and make me acknowledg what Men­tor had conceal'd from him. In a [Page 41] Word, he sought not to find out the Truth; but by any means to get a pretence to tell the King we were Phenicians, that he might keep us for his Slaves.

In effect, notwithstanding our In­nocence, and all the Wisdom of the King, he found out a way to de­ceive him.

These were the Re­flections I made in my Misfortunes, when I call'd to mind the things that I had heard from Mentor.

In the mean time Metophis sent me towards the Mountains of the Desert with his Slaves, that I might serve with them to look after his numerous Flocks. Here Calypso in­terrupted Telemachus, and said, Well! and what did you then? You, that in Sicily had preferr'd Death before Servitude. Telemachus answer'd, My Misfortunes increased Daily; I had no longer the wretched liberty of chusing between Slavery and Death; I was compell'd to be a Slave, and to exhaust all the rigours of Fortune. I had lost all hope, and could not say one word in order to my Delive­rance. Mentor has since told me, that he was sold to certain Ethiopi­ans, and that he follow'd them to Ethiopia.

As for me, I arriv'd in a horrid Desert, where nothing but burning Sands was to be seen upon the Plains, and Snow that never melted made an eternal Winter on the tops of the Hills. Only some scatter'd Pa­sture for the Cattle was here and there found among the Rocks. In the midst of these Precipices, the Vallies are so profound, that the Sun can scarce let fall a Beam up­on them. I found no other Men in these Places than Shepherds, as savage as the Country it self. There I passed the Nights in bewailing my Misfortune, and the Days in following my Flock, to avoid the brutal Rage of Buffus, who was chief among the Slaves, and who hoping to obtain his Liberty, never ceas'd from Calumniating the rest, that he might perswade Metophis of his Zeal and Industry in his Service. On this occasion, Impatience was pardonable. In the anguish of my Heart I one Day forgot my Flock, and lay down upon the Grass by a [Page 44] Cave, where I expected Death to relieve me from the Evils I was not able to bear. In that Instant I per­ceived the Mountain to tremble, the Oaks and Pines seeming to descend from the summet of the Hill: The Winds suppress'd their Breathing, and a hollow Voice issuing out of the Cave pronounc'd these Words.

These divine Words penetrated to the bottom of my Heart; renew'd my Joy, and reviv'd my Courage: I felt-none of that Horrour which makes Mens Hair stand upright, and chills the Blood in their Veins, when the Gods communicate themselves to Mortals. I rose from the Ground with Cheerfulness; I fell upon my Knees; and lifting up my Hands to Heaven, I ador'd Minerva, who, I doubted not, had sent me this Oracle. In that Moment, I found my self a new Man; Wisdom enlighten'd my Mind; I found a gentle Force re­straining all my Passions, and check­ing the impetuosity of my Youth. I acquir'd the Love of all the Shep­herds in the Desert. My Patience, Sweetness and Diligence mov'd even the cruel Buffus to relent, who com­manded the rest of the Slaves, and [Page 46] had made it his Business at first to torment me. I endeavour'd to pro­cure some Books to enable me to support the tediousness of my Cap­tivity and Solitude; for I was ex­ceedingly uneasy for want of some Instructions to nourish and sustain the Faculties of my Soul.

These Men are truly happy, whilst I am depriv'd of this Felicity. Re­volving these Thoughts in my Mind, [Page 47] I penetrated into the thickest of the Forest, and on a sudden perceived an aged Man holding a Book in his Hand. His Forehead was large and high, unfurnish'd with Hair, and somewhat wrinkled: His white Beard descended to his Girdle: He was tall, and of a majestick Port: His Complexion was fresh and well Colour'd. His Eyes lively and piercing. His Voice sweet, and his Discourse plain, but agreable. I ne­ver saw so venerable an old Man. His name was Termosiris. He was a Priest of Apollo, and the Temple where he serv'd was of Marble, de­dicated to that God, and founded by the Kings of Egypt in this Fo­rest.

He accosted me in a friendly man­ner: We talk'd together: He rela­ted Things past with such clearness, that they seemed present; but his Relations were always attended with brevity, and never tedious. He could predict Things future, by his profound Wisdom, which gave him [Page 48] a thorough Knowledge of Men, and the Designs the are capable of forming. With all this Prudence, he was Cheerful and Complaisant; and the gayest Youth does nothing with so much Grace as this aged Man. He lov'd those that were Young, if he found them Teachable, and if they had any taste of Virtue. He soon conceiv'd a tender Affection for me, and gave me Books for my Consolation: He call'd me his Son; and I often said to him, Father, The Gods that took Mentor from me, have pitied my Solitude, and sent me in You another support. This Man like Orpheus or Linus was doubt­less inspir'd by the Gods.

He would sometimes read to me the Verses he had made, and give me the most excellent Compositions of those Poets, who had been the principal Favourites of the Muses.

When he put on his long Robes of the purest White, and took his golden Harp in his Hand, the Ty­gers, [Page 49] the Bears and the Lyons came to lye down by him, and lick'd his Feet. The Satyrs abandon'd the Woods to come and Dance about him. The Trees themselves seem'd to move; and you would have thought that the Rocks had been touch'd with the Charms of his sweet Accents, and were going to descend from the tops of the Mountains. He sung the Grandeur of the Gods, the Virtue of Hero's, and the Wis­dom of those who prefer Glory be­fore Pleasure.

He often told me that I ought to take Courage, and that the Gods would not abandon either Ulysses or his Son. He exhorted me to imi­tate Apollo, and perswade the Shep­herds to apply themselves to the Muses. Apollo, said he, consider­ing with Indignation, that the brightest Days were frequently di­sturb'd by Jupiter's Thunder, re­solv'd to be reveng'd upon the Cy­clops, who made the Bolts, took up his Bow, and pierc'd them with [Page 50] his Arrows. Upon this, Mount Et­na ceas'd to vomit Cylinders of Fire; and Men no longer heard the ter­rible Hammers striking upon the Anvil, and ecchoing in Groans from the Abysses of Earth and Sea. The Iron and the Brass abandon'd by the Cyclopes began to rust. Vulcan in Fury quits his dreadful Forge, and notwithstanding his Lameness, mounts Olympus with Expedition; comes cover'd with black Dust and Sweat into the Assembly of the Gods, and makes a most bitter Com­plaint. Jupiter, incens'd against Apollo, drove him from Heaven, and precipitated him down to the Earth. His empty Chariot perform'd the usual course of it self, and gave Men Night and Day, with a regular change of Seasons. Apollo depriv'd of his glorious Beams, was forced to turn Shepherd, and keep the Sheep of King Admetus. He plaid upon the Flute, and all the other Shepherds came down to the shady Elms and silver Streams to hear his [Page 51] Songs. To that time they had liv'd a savage and brutal Life: They knew only how to guide their Flocks, to sheer them, to draw their Milk, and to make Cheeses: The whole Country was one frightful Desert.

Apollo in a short time made all the Shepherds acquainted with the Pleasures of a rural Life. He sung the Flowers that compose the Gar­land of the Spring; the beautiful Greens, and the sweet Perfumes of that agreeable Season. He sung the delicious Nights of Summer, when the Zephyrs refresh Mankind, and the Dews ally the Thirst of the Earth. He forgot not in his Songs the golden Harvest and autumnal Fruits, which recompence the Toil of the Husbandman; nor the Re­creations of Winter, when the wan­ton Youth dance before the glowing Fire. He represented the Groves and shady Forests that cover the Hills; the hollow Vallies, and the Rivers that wind themselves about the lovely Meadows. He taught [Page 52] the Shepherds what are the Charms of a Country Life, when Men know how to relish the Presents of pure and uncorrupted Nature. The Shep­herds with their Flutes soon saw themselves more happy than Kings, and their Cottages were fill'd with variety of innocent Pleasures, no where to be found in guilded Pa­laces. Harmless Sports, unaffected Graces, and innocent Joys, accom­panied the Shepherdesses whereso­ever they went.

Every Day was a Festival: No­thing was heard but the Singing of Birds, or the soft whispering of the Zephyrs, as they were playing about the Branches of the Trees, or the murmur of Waters falling from the Rocks, or Songs that were inspir'd by the Muses, and sung by the Shepherds that follow'd Apollo. This God taught them also to be victo­rious in Races, and to pierce the Hinds and Stags with their Arrows. The Gods themselves became jealous of the Shepherds. This sort of Life [Page 53] apear'd to them more ravishing than all their Glory. They call'd Apollo back again to Heaven.

My Son, This Story may serve for your Instruction, since you are in the same Condition Apollo was. Manure this uncultivated Ground; make a Desert flourish, as he did; like him, teach the Shepherds what are the Charms of Harmony; polish the roughness of their Minds; shew them the beauty of Virtue, and make them feel how sweet it is to enjoy in this Solitude those innoeent Pleasures that nothing can take a­way from Shepherds. A Time will come, my Son, a Time will come, when the Toils and Cares that en­compass Kings, will make you re­gret a pastoral Life.

Termosiris having said this, pre­sented me with a Flute, so sweet, that the Eccho's of the Hills, which carried the sound on every side, drew all the neighbouring Shep­herds presently about me. My Voice was divinely Harmonious, I [Page 54] felt my self mov'd, as by a superior Power, to sing the Beauties that Nature has bestow'd upon the Coun­try. We pass'd the Days, and part of the Nights in Singing to­gether. All the Shepherds forgot their Cottages and their Flocks, to stay with me whilst I gave them Lessons. The savage Rudeness of our Deserts disappear'd all Things seem'd to look Gay and Pleasant; and the politeness of the Inhabitants communicated it self to the Coun­try. We frequently met to Sacri­fice in the Temple of Apollo, where Termosir is officiated as Priest. The Shepherds went thither Crown'd with Lawrel, in Honour of the God. We made a Country Feast; and the most delicious of our Fare, was the Milk of our Goats and Sheep, with various Fruits, fresh gathered with our own Hands, such as Dates, Figs and Grapes: Our Seats were the green Turf, and our spreading Trees afforded us a Shade, more Pleasant than the guilded [Page 55] Roofs in the Palaces of Kings. But that which above all other Things made me famous among our Shep­herds, was, That one Day a hungry Lion fell upon my Flock; already he had begun a dreadful Slaughter; I had nothing in my Hand but my Crook, yet I advanc'd boldly. The Lion erects his Mane, gnashes his Teeth, unsheaths his dreadful Claws, and opens his parch'd and inflam'd Throat. His Eyes were full of Blood and Fire; and he lash'd his Flanks with his Tail. I took him by the Throat, and threw him up­on the Ground. The little Coat of Mail that I wore, according to the Custom of the Egyptian Shepherds, hinder'd him from tearing my Body. Thrice I threw him upon his Back, and Thrice he rais'd himself again, roaring so loud, that he was heard through all the Forests. At last I threw him to the Ground, and Strangled him with my Hands. The Shepherds who were Witnes­ses of my Victory, oblig'd me to [Page 56] wear the Skin of this terrible Ani­mal.

The Fame of this Action, and the wonderful alteration that had hap­pen'd among our Shepherds, spread through Egypt, and came to the Ear of Sesostris. He was inform'd that one of the two Captives, who had been taken for Phenicians, had restor'd the Golden Age to his in­hospitable Deserts. He resolved to see me, for he lov'd the Muses; and his great Soul was affected with whatsoever might be useful to Man­kind. He saw me; he heard me with Pleasure, and discover'd that Metophis had deceiv'd him through Covetousness. He condemn'd him to a perpetual Prison, and siez'd his Riches, which he unjustly pof­sess'd.

From this time Sesostris treated me with a tender Friendship; and resolved to send me back to Ithaca, with a powerful assistance of Ships and Troops, to deliver Penelope from the Persecutions of her Lovers. The Fleet was ready, and we thought of nothing but Embarking. I ad­mir'd the strange Conduct of For­tune, to exalt those on a sudden that she has most depress'd. This Experience made me hope that Ulys­ses might return at last to his King­dom after all his Sufferings; and I thought it not impossible to see Men­tor again, tho' he had been carried into the farthest parts of Ethiopia. Whilst I delay'd my departure to [Page 58] inquire after him, Sesostris, who was very Aged, died suddenly, and his Death brought all my Misfortunes back upon me. All Egypt became sensible of this irreparable Loss. Every Family knew they had lost their best Friend, their Protector, their Father. The old Men lifting their Hands to Heaven, cried out with a lamentable Voice, Egypt ne­ver had so good a King, and never will have one like him. O ye Gods, you should never have shewn him to Men, or never have taken him away: Why do we survive the Great Sesostris? The young Men said, The hopes of Egypt are va­nished. Our Fathers were happy to live under so good a King.

Multitudes of People from the remotest Parts, came running to Thebes during sorty Days. Every one was desirous to preserve the Idea of him; and many to be bu­ried with him. But their Grief was yet farther aggravated: For they knew that his Son Boccoris [Page 59] had neither Humanity for Strangers, nor Affection for Knowledge, nor Esteem for virtuous Men, nor De­sire of Glory. The greatness of his Father had contributed to make him unworthy to Reign. He had been educated in an effeminate Soft­ness, and brutal Pride. He account­ed Men as nothing, believing them made only to be his Slaves, and himself to be of a Nature different from them. He thought of nothing but how he might gratify his Pas­sions; dissipate the vast Treasures his Father had husbanded with so much Care; oppress the People; satiate himself with the Blood of the Unfortunate, and follow the flattering Counsels of young Fools, that he kept about him, whilst he treated with the utmost Contempt all the antient Sages, who had been entrusted by his Father. In a Word, he was a Monster, and not a King. All Egypt groan'd under him; and tho' the name of Sesostris, which was so dear to the Egyptians, made [Page 60] them support the base and cruel Conduct of his Son: Yet he made hast to Ruin; for 'twas impossible that a Prince so unworthy of the Throne, should Reign long.

As for me, I thought no more of returning to Ithaca: I was confin'd to a Tower that stands by the Sea near Pelusium, where I should have imbark'd, if Sesostris had not died. Metophis had been freed from his Imprisonment, and received into Favour by the new King. 'Twas he that caused my Confinement, to revenge the Disgrace I had brought upon him. I pass'd the Days and Nights in the profoundest Melan­cholly. All the Things which Termosiris had foretold, and those that I had heard from the Cave, appear'd to me to be but Dreams. I was ready to sink under the weight of my Grief. I saw the Waves beating at the foot of the Tower where I was Prisoner. I often em­ploy'd my time, in observing the Ships that were overtaken by Storms, [Page 61] and in danger to be split against the Rocks, upon which the Tower was built. Far from pitying these Men, who were threatned with Shipwrack, I envied their Conditi­on. In a short time, said I to my self, they will see an end of all their Misfortunes, or arrive in their own Country. But, Alas! I can hope for neither. Whilst thus I con­sum'd away in useless Regrets, I perceiv'd as a Forest of Masts; the Sea was cover'd with Ships, and the Winds fill'd all their Sails. The Waters turn'd into a Foam under the Strokes of innumerable Oars. I heard a confus'd Noise on every side. I saw one part of the Egyp­tians upon the Shore, terrified, and running to their Arms, whilst others seem'd going to receive the Fleet, which they saw arriving. I soon perceiv'd that part of these Ships were of Phenicia, and the rest of the Island of [...] For my Misfor­tunes began to render me experi­enc'd in every thing that relates to [Page 62] Navigation. The Egyptians were divided among themselves. And I doubted not that the foolish King, had by his Violences caused his Subjects to Revolt, and raised a Civil War. I was Spectator of a bloody Battle from the top of my Tower.

That part of the Egyptians who had invited these Foreigners to their Assistance, having favour'd their Descent, fell upon the other Egyptians, who had the King at their Head. I saw this King en­couraging his Men by his own Example. He appear'd like the God of Battle. Streams of Blood ran down by his side. The Wheels of his Charriot were died with black, thick and foaming Gore, and could hardly move, for the numbers of dead Men that lay in the way. This young King, vigorous of Bo­dy, fierce and haughty in his Looks, had Rage and Despair painted on his Face. He was like a beautiful Horse that has no Mouth. His [Page 63] Courage push'd him on to Danger; but he had no prudence to mode­rate his Valour. He knew neither how to repair a Fault, nor to give the necessary Orders, nor to foresee the Dangers that threatned, nor to manage his Men to the best Advan­tage. 'Twas not, that he wanted Understanding; his Quickness was as great as his Courage; but he had never been instructed by Ad­versity. His Masters had poison'd his good Nature with their Flat­tery: He was drunk with his own Power and Felicity: He thought every thing must yield to his im­petuous Desires. The least Resi­stance put him into a Rage: He consulted his Reason no longer; his Pride transform'd him into a Savage Beast; his natural Good­ness forsook him in an instant; the most faithful of his Servants were forc'd to fly from him, and he con­sider'd none but those who flatter'd his Passions. By this means he al­ways [...] into Extremities, against [Page 64] his true Interest, and made all ho­nest Men detest his foolish Con­duct. His Valour sustained him for a long time against the multi­tude of his Enemies; but at last he was born down with Numbers. I saw him perish; the Arrow of a Phenician pierc'd his Breast: He sunk down in his Chariot, and not being able to hold the Reins any longer, he was overthrown and trampled under Foot by the Hor­ses. A Soldier of Cyprus cut off his Head, and holding it up by the Hair, shew'd it in Triumph to the victorious Army. I shall ever re­member, that I saw the Head smear'd with Blood; the Eyes shut and extinguish'd; the Face pale and disfigur'd; the Mouth half open, and attempting to finish some Words it had begun, a fierce and menacing Air, which Death it self could not efface. This sight will be always before my Eyes to the last day of my Life. And if ever the Gods permit me to Reign, I [Page 65] Shall never forget, after this fatal Example,

Calypso heard with Astonishment these wise Reflections: And that which charm'd her the most, was, to see how the young Telemachus ingeniously related the Faults he had committed, either through Pre­cipitation, or want of Docility for the sage Mentor. She was surpris'd with the greatness and generosity of his Mind; who accused himself, and made so good use of his own Imprudences, to become Wise, Sa­gacious and Moderate. Continue, said she, my dear Telemachus; I long to know how you left Egypt, and where you found the wise Men­tor, [Page 66] whose Loss was so sensible to you.

Telemachus resuming his Dis­course, said; The best of the Egyp­tians, who were most faithful to the King, finding themselves over­power'd, and the King dead, were compell'd to submit to the rest; and another King called **** was establish'd. The Phenicians and the Troops of Cyprus departed from Egypt, after they had made an Al­liance with the new King. All the Phenicians that were Prisoners, were set at Liberty, and I was ac­counted one of them. I departed from the Court; I imbark'd with the rest, and my Hopes began to revive in the bottom of my Heart. Already a favourable Wind fill'd our Sails; our Oars cut the foam­ing Waves; the vast Sea was co­ver'd with our Ships; the Mari­ners shouted for Joy; the Shoars of Egypt [...] from us; the Hills and Mountains diminished; we began to see nothing but the Heavens and [Page 67] the Waters, whilst the Sun sur­rounded with sparkling Flames, seem'd to rise from the bosom of the Sea; his Rays guilded the tops the Mountains, which we could still discover upon the Horizon, and the whole face of Heaven painted with a sable Azur, gave us Hopes of a happy Naviga­tion.

Tho' I had been set at Liberty, as one of the Phenicians; yet none of them knew who I was. Narbal, who commanded the Ship that car­ried me, ask'd me my Name and my Country. Of what City, said he, in Phenicia are you? I am not a Pheni­cian, said I; but the Egyptians took me at Sea in a Phenician Ship. I have been a long time Prisoner in Egypt as a Phenician; under that Name I have suffer'd, and under that Name I am deliver'd. Of what Country art thou then, said Nar­bal? I am, said I, Telemachus, Son to Ulysses King of Ithaca in Greece. My Father made himself famous [Page 68] among the Kings, who beseig'd the City of Troy; but the Gods have not permitted him to return to his Country. I have sought him in many Climates, and Fortune Persecutes me also. You see an unfortunate Person, who desires no other Happiness than to return to his Country, and to find his Fa­ther. Narbal look'd upon me with Astonishment, and thought he saw in my Face some Marks of Hap­piness, that proceed from the fa­vour of Heaven, and are not in the rest of Men. He was by Na­ture sincere and generous. He was mov'd with my Misfortunes; and put a confidence in me, that the Gods inspir'd him with, for my Preservation.

Telemachus, said he, I doubt not the Truth of what you say, nei­ther can I doubt: The lively Ima­ges of Grief and Virtue drawn up­on your Face, will not give me leave to distrust you. I perceive that the Gods which I have al­ways [Page 69] serv'd, love you, and will have me to love you, as if you were my Son. I will give you safe and useful Advice, and for my Recompence desire nothing of you but Silence. Fear not, said I, for I can without difficulty keep any thing secret that you shall trust to my Discretion. Tho' I am young; yet I have grown up in the Habit of not discovering my own Secret, and much more of not betraying under any pretext the Secret of another. How have you been able, said he, to accu­stom your self to keep Secrets in such tender years. I shall be glad to know, by what means you have acquir'd this admirable Qua­lity, which is the Foundation of the wisest Conduct, and without which all other Talents are Use­less.

When Ulysses, said I, departed to assist in the Siege of Troy, he took me upon his Knees and em­brac'd me (for thus I have been [Page 70] told the Story) and after he had kiss'd me in the tenderest manner, he said these Words to me, tho' I could not then understand them.

I am exact in the Repetition of these Words; because care was taken to inculcate them often into me. My Father's Friends made it their Business to exercise me early in keeping Secrets. I was yet in my Infancy, when they trusted me with all the Troubles they sustained, to see my Mother expos'd to the Persecutions of so many that pretended to marry her. Already they treated me as a Man of Reason and Fidelity. They entertain'd me privately of the most important Affairs, and acquainted me with all the mea­sures they took to expel the Pre­tenders.

I was over-joy'd to be trusted in this manner; I never abus'd the confidence repos'd in me; I never [Page 72] let fall one single Word, that might discover the least Secret. The Pretenders often endeavour'd to make me talk, expecting that a Child, who had seen or heard any thing of Importance, would not have been able to conceal it. But I knew how to answer them with­out lying, and without informing them of any thing that I ought not to discover.

Upon this, Narbal said to me; You see, Telemachus, the Power of the Phenicians. They are formida­ble to all their Neighbours by their numerous Fleets. The Trade they drive as far as the Columns of Her­cules, furnishes them with Riches surpassing all those of the most flourshing Nations. The great Se­sostris, who could never have sub­dued them by Sea, did with great difficulty defeat them by Land with those Armies that had con­quer'd all the East, and impos'd a Tribute upon us, which has not continued long.

The Phenicians found themselves too Rich and too Potent, to wear the Yoak of Servitude with Pati­ence. Sesostris was prevented by Death from finishing the War a­gainst us. 'Tis true, we had rea­son to fear the Event, and that much more on account of his wisdom than his Power. But as soon as his Power, without his Wisdom, had pass'd into the Hands of his Son, we concluded we had no more to fear.

In effect, the Egyptians have been so far from returning in Arms to make an intire Conquest of our Country, that they have been con­strain'd to call us to their Assi­stance to deliver them from the Fury of an impious and outragious King. We have been their Deli­verers, and have added the glory of this Action to the Liberty and Riches of our Country. But whilst we deliver others, we our selves are Slaves. O Telemachus, beware of [Page 74] falling into the cruel Hands of Pyg­malion our King. He has already died them in the Blood of Sicheus, his Sister Dido's Husband. Dido, full of Horror and Revenge, is fled from Tyre with many Ships. Most of those who are best affected to Liberty and Virtue have attended her. She has founded a Magnifi­cent City upon the Coast of Africk, and called it Carthage. Pygmalion, tormented with and insatiable Thirst of Wealth, renders himself every day more wretched, and odious to all his Subjects. 'Tis a Crime at Tyre to be Rich. His Avarice fills him with Suspicion, Distrust and Cruelty. He persecutes the Weal­thy, and fears the Poor. Every thing disturbs him, affrights him, preys upon him. He trembles at his own Shadow; he sleeps neither by Night nor by Day. The Gods, to confound him, load him with Treasures which he dares not en­joy. The things he covets to [Page 75] make him happy, are precisely those that make him miserable. He regrets whatever he gives; dreads to loose, and torments him­self with Hopes of Gain. He is seldom seen. He shuts himself up in the remotest parts of his Palace, sad, alone, disconsolate. His Friends dare not approach him, for fear of being suspected. A Guard, terri­ble to see, stands round his House, with Swords drawn, and erected Pikes. Thirty Chambers on a Floar, with Doors of Iron, and six massy Bolts upon each, make up the dreadful Apartment, where he hides himself. No one ever knows in which of these Chambers he lies. 'Tis said, he never lies in any of them two Nights together, for fear his Throat should be cut.

He knows no sweet Enjoyments, nor the sweeter Effects of Friend­ship. If any one speak to him of Joy, he finds it will not come near him, and refuses to enter into his Heart. [Page 76] His hollow Eyes are full of a fierce and savage Fire, incessantly row­ling on every side. He is mov'd at the least Noise; he hearkens at­tentively; becomes pale and de­jected; and anxious Care sits pi­ctur'd upon his wrinkled Face. He sighs; is silent, and groans from the bottom of his Heart. He is unable to conceal the Remorse that rends his Soul. He relishes not the most delicious Food. His Chil­dren, instead of being the Hopes of his Age, are the Subjects of his Fear. He looks upon them as his most dangerous Enemies. He ne­ver thought himself secure one Mo­ment of his Life. He preserves himself only by shedding the Blood of every one he fears.

Foolish Man! who sees not, that his Cruelty which he so much re­lies upon, will be his Destruction. Some Domestick Servant, as suspi­cious as he, will soon deliver the World from this Monster.

As for me, I fear the Gods, and will be faithful to the King they have given me, whatever it cost. I had rather die, than take away his Life, or fail to defend him. For your part, O Telemachus, ac­quaint him not that you are the Son of Ulysses; for he would make you a Prisoner, in expectation of a great Ransom, when Ulysses returns to Ithaca.

When we arriv'd at Tyre, I fol­low'd his Counsel, and found eve­ry thing he had said to be true. I could not comprehend how a Man could make himself so miserable as Pygmalion appear'd to be. Sur­priz'd with a thing so astonishing, and so new to me, I said thus to my self. This Man design'd to be happy, and perswaded himself, that Riches and Arbitrary Power would make him so. He do's what he will, and yet is made miserable even by that Power and those Ri­ches. If he were a Shepherd as I [Page 78] lately was, he would be as happy as I have been: He would en­joy the innocent Pleasures of the Country, and would enjoy them without Remorse. He would not fear either Dagger or Poison. He would love Men, and be belov'd by them. He would not indeed be Possessor of those vast Treasures, which are as useless to him as Sand, since he dares not touch them; but he would really enjoy the Fruits of the Earth, and suffer no manner of want.

This Man seems to do whatever pleases him; but the Case is far otherwise, for he does all that his Passions command. He is compel­led to follow, wheresoever his Co­vetousness and Suspicions lead. He seems to be Master of all o­ther Men; but he is not Master of himself, and has as many Masters and Tormenters as he has violent Desires.

Thus I reason'd concerning Pyg­malion without seeing him; for he was not to be seen. Men only see those lofty Towers, that are sur­rounded Night and Day with dreadful Guards, where he shuts himself up as it were in Prison with his beloved Treasures. I compar'd this invisible King with Sesostris, who was so good, so ea­sie of Access, so Affable, so ready to hear any Stranger, so attentive in giving Audience to all Men, and to find out the Truth which is always conceal'd from Kings. The good Sesostris, said I, feard nothing, and had nothing to fear. He shew'd himself to all his Sub­jects as to his own Children. This Man fears all, and has all to fear. This wicked King is always ex­pos'd to the danger of a violent Death, even within his inaccessible Palace, and in the midst of his Guards. On the contrary, the good King Sesostris was always safe in [Page 80] the midst of the greatest Numbers of his People, as a gentle Father in his own House with all his Fami­ly about him.

Pygmalion gave orders to send home the Forces of Cyprus, who came to his Assistance by virtue of an Alliance that was between the two Nations. Narbal took this Occasion to set me at Liberty. He caus'd me to be muster'd among the Cyprian Soldiers; for the King was jealous to the last degree. The usual defect of easie and thought­less Princes is, to deliver themselves up to the Conduct of crafty and corrupt Ministers. On the other side, the defect of this Man was to distrust the most Virtuous. He knew not how to distinguish Men of Probity and Uprightness, who always act without Disguise. He had never seen an honest Man; for such will never flatter a cor­rupted King.

Besides, he had found in all those who had serv'd him since his Ac­cession to the Crown, so much Dis­simulation and Perfidiousness, with so many horrid Vices disguis'd, and only the bare Appearances of Vir­tue, that he look'd upon all Men without Exception, as living un­der a Mask, and concluded there was no real Virtue in the World.

But to return to my self: I pass'd in the Muster for a Cyprian, and escap'd the watchful Jealousie of the King. Narbal trembled for fear I should be discover'd, which would have cost his Life and mine also. He was under great impa­tience to see us imbark'd; but contrary Winds detained us at Tyre.

I made use of this time to inform my self of the Manners of the Phe­nicians, so famous in all parts of of the known World. I admir'd the happy Situation of their City, [Page 82] which is built upon an Island of the Sea. The Neighbouring Coast is delicious and fruitful, abounding in exquisite Fruits, and so cover'd with Towns and Villages, that they seem to touch one another. The Air is sweet and temperate; for the Mountains shelter that Coast from the scorching Winds which come from the South. The Country is every where refresh'd by the North Wind that blows from the Sea. It lies at the foot of Mount Libanus, which pier­ces through the Clouds, and ad­vances to meet the Stars. His Forehead is cover'd with an eter­nal Ice; and Rivers mingled with Snow, fall down like Torrents from the Rocks that surround his Head.

A vast Forest of ancient Cedars stands near the top, which appear as old as the Earth on which they grow, and shoot their spreading Branches to the Clouds. Under [Page 83] this Forest are rich Pastures, lean­ing on the descent of the Moun­tain. Here one may see the bel­lowing Bulls wandering up and down, and the bleating Yews with their tender Lambs bounding upon the Grass. A thousand Streams of the Clearest Water runs down these charming Fields.

Below these Pastures is the foot of the Mountain, which appears like a Garden on every side. Here Spring and Autumn reign together, and join the Fruits of the one to the Flowers of the other. Neither the infected Breath of the South Wind, that parches and burns up all, or the cruel Blasts of the North­East, have ever dared to deface the lively Colours that adorn this Gar­den. Hard by this beautiful Coast, an Island rises in the Sea, where the City of Tyre is built. This great City seems to float upon the Waters, and to be Queen of all the Sea. The Merchants arrive [Page 84] from all parts of the World; and its own Inhabitants are the most famous Marchants of the Uni­verse.

When Men enter into this City, they cannot think it to be a Place belonging to a particular People, but rather to be a City common to all Nations, and the Center of all Trade. Two great Mole's ad­vancing their Arms into the Sea, embrace a vast Port where the Winds cannot enter. In this Har­bour one may see, as it were a Forest of Masts; and the Ships are so numerous that the Sea which carries them can hardly be discover'd

All the Citizens apply themselves to Commerce, and their vast Riches never divert them from that Labour which is necessary to increase their Treasure. In every part of the City one may see the fine Linnen of Egypt, and Tyrian Purple, twice died, and of a noble Lustre. This [Page 85] double Tincture is so lively, as not to be defaced by Time. 'Tis used upon the finest Cloth, which is to be garnished with Gold and Silver. The Phenicians maintain a Trade with all People as far as the Straits of Gades. Nay, they have pene­trated into the vast Ocean that en­compasses the Earth. They have made long Voyages upon the Red Sea, and visited unknown Islands, from whence they bring Gold, and all sorts of Perfumes, with vari­ous Animals no where else to be seen.

I could not satiate my Eyes with the sight of this great City, where every thing was in Motion. I did not see, as in the Islands of Greece, idle and inquisitive Persons, going about to hear News in the publick Places, and to gaze upon Strangers as they arrive in the Ports. The Men are employ'd in unloading their Ships; sending home their Goods; putting their Magazines in order; [Page 86] selling their Marchandise, and keep­ing an exact Account of what is due to them from Foreigners. The Women are always busy in spinning of Wool, in folding up the richest Stuffs, and in various Works of Em­broidery.

Whence comes it, said I to Nar­bal, that the Phenicians are Masters of the Trade in all parts of the World, and enrich themselves at the expense of all other Nations? You see, said he, the situation of Tyre, how conveniently it lies for Navigation. The Tyrians were the first (if we may believe what is told us concerning obscure Anti­quity) who in a feeble Ship durst commit themselves to the mercy of the Waves; who subdued the Pride of the Sea; who observ'd the Stars, that are so far from the Earth, ac­cording to the Knowledge they had learnt from the Egyptians and Ba­bylonians, and who by these means reunited so many People, that the [Page 87] Sea seem'd to have separated for ever. The Tyrians are Industri­ous, Patient, Laborious, Sober and Frugal; exact in their Civil Go­vernment, and united among them­selves. No Nation has ever been more constant, more sincere, more faithful, more honest, and more kind to Strangers. These, these are the Things that have given them the Empire of the Sea, and all the Advantages of Trade. If they should fall into Divisions and Jea­lousies; if they should emasculate themselves with Pleasures and Idle­ness; if the principal Citizens should come to despise Labour and Fruga­lity; if Arts should cease to be ac­counted Honorable; if they should violate their Faith with Strangers, and transgress, tho' but a little, the rules of free Trade, you would soon see the ruin of that Power you ad­mire.

But pray, said I, instruct me how I may hereafter establish the like [Page 88] Commerce in Ithaca. Do, said he, as you see done here: Receive all Stran­gers kindly; let them find safety in your Ports, with Conveniency, and intire Liberty. Suffer not your self to be possess'd with Covetous­ness or Pride. The true way to gain much, is never to desire to gain too much, and to know how and when to lose: Acquire the love of all Strangers, and suffer small Wrongs from them. Beware of exciting their Suspicions by insolent Behaviour. Be constant to the rules of Trade: Let them be plain and easy: Accustom your self to observe them inviolably: Punish Fraud with Severity: Correct the Negligence and Pride of Marchants, who ruin Trade by ruining them­selves, that carry it on: Above all, never go about to restrain Trade, or govern it by your own Fancy. The Prince must not intermedle with it, for fear of discouraging his People, who as they have the Pains, [Page 89] ought to have the Profit. He will find sufficient Advantages by the vast Riches that will be brought into his Kingdom. Commerce is like certain Springs; if you force them to alter their Course, you dry them up.

'Tis only Profit and Conveniency that invites Strangers. If you ren­der their Trade uneasy and of little Benefit, they insensibly withdraw themselves and return no more; because other Nations taking ad­vantage of your Imprudence, in­vite 'em thither, and accustom them to live without you. I must own that for some time past the Glory of Tyre has been sadly diminish'd. O! if you had seen it, my dear Te­lemachus, before the Reign of Pyg­malion, you would have been much more surpris'd. You find only the dismal remains of a Grandeur that threatens Ruin.

Ounhappy Tyre! into what Hands art thou fallen? The Sea former­ly [Page 90] brought thee the Tribute of all the Nations in the World. Pygma­lion is afraid of all, both Strangers and Subjects. Instead of opening his Ports with an intire liberty to all People however remote, he re­quires constantly to be inform'd, what number of Ships arrive, and from what Country; the Names of the Men on board, the Trade they drive, the nature and price of their Marchandise, and the time they design to stay. He do's yet worse; for he uses all manner of Artifices to surprise the Marchants, and to confiscate their Goods: He contrives to ensnare the most weal­thy under various pretences. He burdens the Trade with innume­rable Imposts: He will be a Mar­chant himself, and all Men are afraid to deal with him.

Thus our Commerce languishes: Foreigners by degrees forget the way to Tyre, which was once so agreeable to them; and if Pygma­lion [Page 91] will not alter his Conduct, our Glory and our Power must in a short time be transported to some other People, who are better go­verned, than we are.

I then demanded of Narbal, by what means the Tyrians had render'd themselves so powerful at Sea: For I was not willing to be Ignorant of any thing that might contribute to the good Government of a Kingdom. We have, said he, the Forests of Libanus, which furnish us with Timber for the building of Ships, and we preserve them with Care for that use. They are never cut but for the publick Service. We have numbers of skilful Workmen, who perfectly understand the Ar­chitecture of a Ship. How came you, said I, to find these excellent Artists.

In this City we honour all such Persons as succeed in any of those Arts and Sciences which are useful to Navigation. We respect a Man that understands Geometry; we esteem an able Astronomer, and bountifully reward a Pilot who surpasses the rest of his Profession. We despise not a good Carpenter: On the contrary, he is well paid, and well used. Men dextorous at the Oar, are sure of a Reward pro­portion'd to their Service. They are fed with wholsome Provisions; they are carefully attended when they are Sick; care is taken of their Wives and Children in their ab­sence; if they perish by Shipwrack, their Family is indemnified; every Man is sent home to his Habita­tion [Page 93] after he has serv'd a cortain Time.

By these means the Tyrians have as many Seamen as they will. Fa­thers are glad, to bring up their Children in so good an Employ­ment, and hasten to teach them in their tender Years to handle an Oar, manage the Tacle, and scorn a Storm.

These Rewards and this good Order leads Men to be useful to the Publick without compulsion:

After this Discourse Narbal con­ducted me to see all the Magazines; the Arsenal, and the several Trades that serve for the building and equip­ping of Ships. I inquir'd into all particulars, even to the minutest Things, and wrote down all that I [Page 94] had learnt, for fear of forgetting any useful Circumstance.

In the mean time Narbal, who knew Pygmalion as well as he lov'd me, was impatient for my depar­ture, fearing I might be discover'd by the King's Spies, who were about the Town Day and Night; but the Winds would not yet permit us to imbark. One Day as we stood viewing the Port, an Officer of Pyg­malion came up to us, and said to Narbal, The King is just now in­form'd by a Captain of one of those Ships which return'd with you from Egypt, that you have brought a cer­tain Stranger who passes for a Cypri­an. 'Tis the King's Pleasure to have him siez'd and examin'd, that he may know who he is. And for this You are to answer with your Head.

In that Moment I was at some distance from Narbal, in order to take a nearer view of the Propor­tions which the Tyrians had observ'd [Page 95] in building a Ship, that was then almost new, and accounted by rea­son of this exact Proportion of all its Parts, the best Sailor that had ever been seen in the Harbour. I ask'd the Builder, who he was that had form'd the design of that Ship.

Narbal surpris'd and terrified with this Message, answer'd; I my self am now looking for this Stranger, who is of Cyprus. As soon as the Officer was gone out of his sight, he run to me, and inform'd me of the Danger I was in. I too well foresaw, said he, what would hap­pen; my dear Telemachus, we are lost; the King tormented Night and Day with his Fears, suspects you not to be a Cyprian. He will have you siez'd, and will take away my Life, if I do not put you into his Hands: What shall we do? O God! Give us Wisdom, to deliver our selves from this Danger. I'le bring you to the King's Palace, where you [Page 96] shall affirm that you are a Cyprian of the City of Amathus, and Son to a Statuary of Venus. I will declare that I formerly knew your Father; and perhaps the King may let you depart without farther Examination. I see no other way to save your Life and mine. I answer'd, O Narbal, suffer me to perish since Fate has decreed my Destruction. I know how to dye, and am too much in­debted to you, to draw you into my Misfortune. I cannot perswade my self to speak a Lye; I am not a Cyprian; I cannot say that I am. The Gods see my Sincerity; It be­longs to them to preserve my Life by their Power. But I will not save it by a Falshood.

Narbal answer'd me, This Fals­hood, O Telemachus, is in all respects Innocent. It cannot be disapprov'd by the Gods; it do's no injury to any one; It saves the Lives of two innocent Persons, and deceives the King, only to prevent him from [Page 97] committing a great Crime. You carry the love of Virtue too far, and are too nice an observer of Truth.

But said I, Falshood is Falshood still; and on that account unwor­thy of a Man, who speaks in the Presence of the Gods, and owes the highest reverence to Truth. He that offends the Truth, offends the Gods, and injures himself, be­cause he speaks against his Consci­ence. Propose no more, O Narbal, that which is unworthy of us both. If the Gods have any pity for us, they know how to deliver us. But if they suffer us to perish, we shall fall the Victims of Truth, and leave an Example to instruct Men to pre­fer unblemish'd Virtue before long Life. My own is already too long, and too unhappy. 'Tis you alone, my dear Narbal, that grieve my Heart: Was it necessary that your Kindness to an unfortunate Stran­ger should prove so fatal to you?

[Page 98] We continued long in this kind of Dispute; till at last we saw a Man quite out of Breath running towards us. He was one of the King's Officers, and sent to Nar­bal by Astarb'e. This Woman was beautiful as a Goddess: The Charms of her Face were attended by the finest Wit. She was Gay, Insi­nuating, Flattering; and under the appearance of Gentleness, she co­ver'd a Heart fill'd with Malice and Cruelty. Yet she knew how to conceal her Designs with the pro­foundest Art. She had conquer'd the Heart of Pygmalion by her Wit and Beauty, and by the Charms of her Voice and Lute: And Pygma­lion blind with Love, had aban­don'd Tapha, his legitimate Wife.

He thought of nothing so much, as how to content the Passions of the ambitious Astarbe. The love of this Woman was little less per­nicious to him than his infamous Covetousness. But tho' he had so [Page 99] great a Passion for Her, she de­spis'd and loath'd him in her Heart; yet understood so well how to cover her private Sentiments, that she seemed to live only for him.

At the same time that she had these Thoughts of Pygmalion, there was in Tyre a young Lydian, called Malachon, of admirable Beauty, but Voluptuous, Effeminate and drown'd in Pleasures. His chief Business was to preserve the delicacy of his Complexion; to comb his Hair that fell down in Curls upon his Shoulders; to Perfume; to Dress nicely; to sing amorous Songs, and play upon the Lute. She lov'd him, and became furiously transported with her Passion. He despis'd her, because he was in Love with ano­ther Woman: And besides, he dreaded to expose himself to the cruel jealousy of the King. Astarbe finding she was scorn'd, abandon'd her self to Resentment. In her De­spair she imagined it possible to [Page 100] make Malachon pass for the Stranger that the King had demanded of Narbal. In effect she soon perswa­ded Pygmalion as she desired, and corrupted all those who were able to undeceive him. For having no Affection for virtuous Men, whom he neither knew nor valued, he was always surrounded by such on­ly as were full of Artifice, addicted to their Interest, and ready to exe­cute his unjust and bloody Orders. These Men feared the Authority of Astarbe, and help'd her to deceive the King, that they might not of­fend this haughty Woman, who intirely possess'd his Confidence.

Thus the young Malachon, tho' known by all the City to be of Crete, passed for the young Stranger that Narbal had brought from Egypt. He was siez'd, and sent away to Prison. Astarbe, who feared Nar­bal might go to the King, and dis­cover her Imposture, had dispatch'd this Officer in hast, and commanded [Page 101] him to say these Words: Astarbe forbids you to discover your Strang­er to the King; she requires nothing of you but Silence, and promises to satisfy him concerning you. In the mean time take care that the young Stranger, who came with you from Egypt, may imbark among the Cyprians with all expedition, and be no longer seen in the City. Narbal overjoy'd to save his own Life and mine, promised to be si­lent; and the Officer pleas'd that he had obtain'd what he demanded, immediately return'd to Astarbé with an account of his Commission.

Narbal and I admir'd the good­ness of the Gods, who had reward­ed our Sincerity, and taken such care of those who had hazarded all for the sake of Virtue. We reflect­ed with Horror upon a King gi­ven up to Voluptuousness and Ava­rice. He deserves to be deceiv'd, said we, who dreads it so excessive­ly: And he is so most frequently [Page 102] and grosly; for he trusts not Men of Honesty, but abandons himself to Villains. He is the only Person who knows nothing of what is do­ing.

See how Pygmalion is made the scorn of an immodest Woman; whilst the Gods make use of wick­ed Men to save the Good, who chuse to part with Life rather than deceive. As we were ma­king these Reflexions, we perceiv­ed the Wind to turn, and be­come favourable to the Cyprian Fleet.

The Gods declare themselves, said Narbal; they resolve to take care of your fafety, my dear Tele­machus. Fly from this unfortunate, accursed Land. Happy he, that could follow you to the remotest parts of the Earth! Happy, who might live and dye with you! But my cruel Fate ties me to my un­happy Country. I must suffer with her, and perhaps be buried in her [Page 103] Ruins. No matter, provided I may always speak the Truth, and my Heart love nothing but Justice. As for you, O my dear Telemachus, I pray the Gods, who lead you as it were by the Hand, to grant you the most precious of all their Gifts, a pure and unblemish'd Virtue to the last Moment of your Life. Live; return to Ithaca; comfort Penelope; deliver her from the Persecutions of her Lovers. May your Eyes see, and your Arms embrace the wise Ulysses; and may he find in you a Son equal to him in Wisdom. But in the midst of your Felicity remem­ber the unhappy Narbal, and con­tinue always to love me.

When he finish'd these Words, my Tears run down so fast, that I was not able to answer him: My Sighs, which I drew from the bot­tom of my Heart, would not suf­fer me to speak: We embrac'd in Silence: He brought me to the Ship. He staid upon the Shoar; [Page 104] and when the Vessel put off, we continued to look upon each other as long as we could.

Calypso, who all this while had hearkn'd with the utmost Attention and Pleasure to the Adventures of Telemachus, interrupted the pursuit of his Narration, that she might perswade him to take some Rest. 'Tis time, said she, after so many Toils to taste the sweetness of Sleep: In this place you have nothing to fear: All that's here is favorable to you: Abandon your Heart to Joy and Tranquility, and receive the Favours of the Gods. To Morrow, when Aurora has open'd the golden Gates of the East with her rosy Fin­gers, and the Horses of the Sun springing from the briny Main, spread the Flames of Light, and drive away the Stars before 'em, we will resume the History of your Misfortunes, my dear Telemachus. No, your Father never equal'd you in Wisdom and Courage. Achilles, [Page 105] who conquer'd Hector; Theseus, who return'd from Hell; the great Alcides himself, who deliver'd the World from Monsters, never shew'd so much Constancy and Virtue. May the softest and profoundest Sleep make the Night seem short to you. But alas! how tedious will it be to me? How I shall long to see you again? To hear your Voice; to make you to repeat what I know already, and to ask you what I know not? Go my dear Telemachus, with the wise Mentor, whom the Favour of the Gods has restor'd to you; go into the Grotto, where every thing is prepar'd for your Repose: May Morpheus shed the sweetest of his Charms upon your falling Eyelids; May he infuse a divine Vapour through all your wearied Limbs, and send you easy Dreams, which hovering about you may flatter your Senses with the most delight­ful Images, and chase away what­ever [Page 106] might disturb your Rest, or awaken you too soon.

The Goddess brought Telemachus to the Grotto, which was separated from her own, but not less agrea­ble, nor less rustick. A Fountain of liquid Christal ran down in one corner, and sweetly murmuring seem'd contriv'd to invite Sleep. The Nymphs had prepared two Beds compos'd of the softest Greens, and had cover'd them with two large Skins, the one of a Lyon for Telemachus, the other of a Bear for Mentor.

Before Slumber had clos'd their Eyes, Mentor spoke thus to Telema­chus. The pleasure of relating your Adventures has carried you too far; you have charm'd the Goddess with the History of those Dangers, from which your Courage and Industry have deliver'd you. By this means you have added to the Flames of her Heart, and are preparing for your self a most dangerous Capti­vity. [Page 107] How can you hope she should suffer you to depart from her Island; you, who have charm'd her with the relation of your Story? Affecta­tion of vain Glory has induc'd you to talk without Prudence. When will you be wife enough, O Tele­machus, never to speak with Vani­ty; and when will you know how to conceal what may commend you, if it be not fit to be said? Others admire your Wisdom at such Years as may want it without blame. But for me, I can forgive you no­thing; I alone know, and love you enough to tell you of all your Faults, How far do you yet come short of your Father's wisdom? But, said Telemachus, could I refuse to relate my Misfortunes to Calypso? No, replied Mentor, 'twas absolutely ne­cessary: But you ought so to have related them, as might only excite her Compassion. You should have told her that you had been some­times wandring in Deserts, then a [Page 108] Prisoner in Sicily, and afterwards in Egypt. This had been enough; and all the rest has only serv'd to augment the Poison, that has al­ready siez'd her Heart. May the Gods grant, that yours may be un­touch'd. But what shall I now do, said Telemachus, in a modest and teachable accent? 'Tis now in vain, replied Mentor, to conceal the rest of your Adventures; she knows enough to secure her from being deceived in that which is to come; any reserve on your part would on­ly serve to provoke her. Finish therefore your Relation to Morrow; tell her all that the Gods have done for you; and learn for the future to speak with Moderation of all Things that may tend to your own Praise. Telemachus kindly received this good Advice, and both lay down to Sleep.

As soon as Phaebus had shed the first Rays of his Glory upon the Earth, Mentor hearing the Voice of [Page 109] the Goddess who called to her Nymphs in the Wood, awaken'd Telemachus. 'Tis time, said he, to shake off Sleep. Come, let us re­turn to Calypso; but beware of the Charms of her Tongue: Never open your Heart to her; dread the insinuating Poison of her Praises. Yesterday she exalted you above your wise Father, above the invin­cible Achilles, or the renowned The­seus, or Hercules himself, who has obtain'd Immortality by his glori­ous Actions. Could you not per­ceive the Excess of this Commen­dation? Or did you not observe what she said? Know, that she be­lieves it not her self. She only com­mends you, because she thinks you weak and vain enough to be de­ceiv'd with Praises far exceeding your Actions.

After this Discourse, they went to the place where the Goddess ex­pected them. She smil'd when she saw them approaching, and under [Page 110] an appearance of Joy, conceal'd the Fears and Suspicions that disturb'd her Heart. For she foresaw that Telemachus, under the Conduct of Mentor, would escape her Hands, as Ulysses had done. Go on, said she, my dear Telemachus, and satis­fie my Curiosity. I thought all the Night, I saw you departing from Phenicia, and going to seek a new Destiny in the Island of Cyprus. Tell me then the success of this Voyage, and let us not lose one mo­ment. They sat down in a shady Grove, upon the green Turf inter­mix'd with Violets. Calypso could not refrain from looking upon Te­lemachus with Tenderness and Pas­sion; nor see without Indignation, that Mentor observ'd her, even to the least motion of her Eyes.

In the mean time the Nymphs stood silent, forming a half-circle, and leaning somewhat forward, that they might both hear and see with more advantage. The Eyes of all [Page 111] the Assembly were unmoveably fix'd upon the young Man. Tele­machus looking down, and grace­fully blushing, thus resum'd the Thread of his Discourse.

Scarce had the Breath of a savo­rable Wind fill'd our Sails, when the Coast of Phenicia intirely disap­pear'd from us. And because I was with the Cyprians, whose Man­ners I knew not, I resolv'd to be si­lent, and to observe all, keeping my self within the strictest Rules of Di­scretion, that I might acquire their Esteem.

During my silence, a soft and powerful slumber seiz'd upon me; my Senses were ravish'd and sus­pended; my Heart was quiet and full of joy. On a sudden I thought I saw Venus launching down from the Clouds in a Charriot, guided by a pair of Doves. She had the same shining Beauty, the same live­ly Youth, and those blooming Graces that appear'd in her, when [Page 112] she arose from the Foam of the Ocean, and dazled the Eyes of Ju­piter himself. She descended with extreme Rapidity, plac'd her self by me, laid her Hand upon my Shoulder, call'd me by my Name, and smilling pronounc'd these Words.

Young Greek, thou art going into my peculiar Empire; Thou shalt soon arrive in that fortunate Island, where Pleasures, Sports and wan­ton Joys abound. There thou shalt burn Perfumes upon my Altar. There I will plunge thee into a Ri­ver of Delights: Open thy Heart to the most charming Hopes, and beware of resisting the most power­ful of all the Goddesses, who re­solves to make thee happy.

At the same time I saw Cupid as a Child, gently moving his little Wings, and hovering about his Mother. He had the tenderest Graces in his Face, and the Smiles of an Infant; yet there was some­thing [Page 113] so fierce in his Eyes, as to make me afraid. He smil'd when he look'd upon me; but his Smiles were malicious, scornful and cruel. He took the sharpest of his Arrows from his golden Quiver; He drew his Bow, and was going to pierce my Heart, when Minerva appear'd, and cover'd me with her immortal Shield.

The Face of this Goddess had not the same effeminate Beauty, nor that passionate Languishing, which I had observ'd in the Face and Po­sture of Venus. On the contrary, her Beauty was natural, unaffected, modest; all was Grave, Vigorous, Noble, full of Power and Majesty. The Arrow too weak to pierce the Shield fell down upon the Ground; Cupid, in a rage, sigh'd bitterly, and was asham'd to see himself over­come. Be gone, cried Minerva, rash Boy, be gone; Thou can'st Conquer none but the Base, who prefer dishonourable Pleasures be­fore Wisdom, Virtue and Glory.

[Page 114] At these Words, Cupid, fir'd with Indignation, flew away; and as Venus re-ascended towards Olympus, I saw her Chariot and Doves, row­ling in a Cloud of Gold and Azur a long time before she disappear'd. When I turned my Eyes towards the Earth, I could no where see Minerva. Methought I was tran­sported into a delicious Garden, as Men paint the Elysian Fields. There I found Mentor, who said to me; Fly from this cruel Country, this pernicious Island, where the Inha­bitants breath nothing but Pleasure. The boldest Virtue ought to trem­ble, and cannot be safe but by Flight. As soon as I saw him, I endeavour'd to throw my Arms a­bout his Neck and to embrace him; but I found my Feet unable to move; my Knees sunk under me, and my Hands attempting to lay hold upon Mentor, follow'd an empty Phantome that would not be touch'd.

[Page 115] As I was making this Effort I waked, and perceiv'd that this mi­sterious Dream was no less than a Divine Admonition. I found in my self a firm Resolution against the Allurements of Pleasure; a watchful Jealousie of my own Con­duct, and a just abhorrence of the dissolute Manners that reign'd in Cyprus. But that which wounded me to the Heart, was, that I thought Mentor dead; that he had pass'd the Stygian Lake, and was become an Inhabitant of those for­tunate Fields, where the Souls of the Just reside. This Thought made me shed a Torrent of Tears. The Cyprians ask'd me why I wept. These Tears, said I, are but too suitable to the Condition of an un­happy Stranger, who has lost all Hopes of ever seeing his Country more.

In the mean time all the Cyprians that were in the Ship abandon'd themselves to the most extravagant [Page 116] Follies; the Rowers who hated to take Pains, fell asleep upon their Oars. The Pilot put a Garland of Flowers on his Head; left the Rudder, and held a vast Flaggon of Wine in his Hands, which he had almost emptied. He, and all the rest of the Crew, inflam'd with the Furies of Bacchus, sung such Verses in the honour of Venus and Cupid, as ought to be abhorr'd by all those who love Virtue.

Whilst they thus forgot the Dan­gers of the Sea, a sudden Tempest arose: The Elements seem'd to mix; The Winds were let loose, and roar'd in every Sail: The Waves beat furiously upon the Flanks of the Ship, which groaned under the Weight of their Strokes. One while we mounted upon the Back of the swelling Waters; ano­ther while the Sea seem'd to steal from under the Vessel, and to pre­cipitate us into the dark Abyss. We saw the Rocks close by our side, [Page 117] and the angry Waves breaking up­on them with a dreadful Noise. Then I found by experience the Truth of what I had heard from Mentor, That Men of dissolute Lives, and abandon'd to Pleasure, always want Courage in time of Danger. All our Cyprians sunk in­to despair, and wept like Women. I heard nothing but lamentable Ex­clamations; bitter Regrets upon the Pleasures of Life; vain and in­significant Promises of Sacrificing abundantly to the Gods, if they should arrive safe in the Harbour. No one had sufficient persence of Mind, either to give necessary Or­ders, or to work the Ship. In this Condition, I thought my self o­blig'd to save my own Life, and the Lives of those that were with me. I took the Rudder into my Hand, because the raving Pilot was utterly uncapable of knowing the Danger we were in. I encourag'd the astonish'd Mariners; I made [Page 118] them take down the Sails; we sheer'd by the Rocks and Quick­sands, and saw all the Horrors of Death staring us in the Face. At last we arriv'd in the Island of Cyprus.

This Adventure seem'd like a Dream to all those, who ow'd the Preservation of their Lives to my care. They look'd upon me with Astonishment. We landed at Cy­prus in the Month of April, which is consecrated to Venus. This Sea­son, say the Cyprians, is most suita­ble to this Goddess, because she seems to revive the whole System of Nature, and to give Birth to Pleasures and Flowers at the same time.

As soon as I arriv'd in the Island, I perceiv'd an unusual Sweetness in the Air, rendring the Body slothful and unactive, but infusing a jovial and wanton Humour. I observ'd the Country, tho' naturally fruitful and delicious, to be almost every [Page 119] where uncultivated, through the Idleness and Negligence of the In­habitants. I saw great numbers of Maids and Women vainly and fan­tastically dress'd, singing the Praises of Venus, and going to devote them­selves to the Service of her Temple. Beauty, Graces, Joy and Pleasure, were equally apparent in their Faces and Gesture. But their Graces were too much affected: There was not that noble Simplicity, nor that love­ly Modesty, which makes the great­est Charm of Beauty. A certain Air of Dissolution; an artful way of adjusting the Face; their vain Dress and languishing Gestures; their Eyes that seem'd in pain to find out the Eyes of Men; their mutual Jealousie, who should raise the greatest Passions: In a word, all that I saw in these Women ap­pear'd vile and contemptible to me. By endeavouring to please me im­moderately, they excited my Aver­sion.

[Page 120] I was conducted to a Temple of the Goddess. She had divers in this Island; for she is particularly ador'd at Cythera, Idalia and Paphos; 'twas to that of Cythera, I was brought. The Temple is built with Marble; 'tis a perfect Peristy­lium; the Pillars are lofty, and so well proportion'd, that they give a majestick Air to the whole Fabrick. At each Face of the Temple stands a Portal with a large Fronton, on which the most agreeable Adven­tures of the Goddess are curiously represent­ed in *Basso rilievo raised Stone­work. Great numbers of People are always at the Gate, attending to make their Offerings. No Vi­ctim ever suffers the Knife within the Precinct of the sacred Ground. The Fat of Bulls and Heifers is not burnt here as in other Places. No Blood is ever shed. The Cattle to be offer'd, are only presented before the Altar; and no Beast may be of­fer'd [Page 121] unless it be Young, White, without defect, and without blem­ish. They are adorn'd with pur­ple Fillets embroyder'd with Gold; their Horns are garnished with bunches of the most fragrant Flow­ers; and when they have been pre­sented at the Altar, they are lead to a private Place without the Wall, and kill'd for the Table of the Priests that belong to the God­dess.

Here also are offer'd all sorts of perfum'd Liquors, and Wines more delicious than Nectar. The Priests are cloathed in long white Robes, with Girdles of Gold and Fringes of the same. The most exquisite Per­fumes of the East are burnt Night and Day upon the Altars, and form a curling Cloud as they mount into the Air. The Pillars are adorn'd with Festons of wreathed Flowers; all the Vessels for the Service of the Altar are of fine Gold; a sacred Wood of Myrtle encompasses the [Page 122] Building; none but Boys and Girls of admirable Beauty may present the Victims to the Priests, or kin­dle the Fire upon the Altars. But Dissolution and Impudence disho­nour this magnificent Temple.

At first I detested what I saw; but it soon began to grow familiar to me; I was no longer afraid of Vice; all Companies inspir'd me with an Inclination to Intempe­rance. They laught at my Inno­cence; and my Modesty serv'd for Sport to this dissolute People.

They forgot nothing that might ensnare me, that might excite my Passions, and awaken in me an Ap­petite to Pleasure. I found my self losing Ground every day. The good Education I had receiv'd, could support me no longer; all my best Resolutions vanish'd away; I wanted Strength to resist the Evil that pressed me on every side; I grew even asham'd of Virtue. I was like a Man swimming in a [Page 123] deep and rapid River: At first he cuts the Waters and mounts vigo­rously against the Stream; but if the Banks are high and perpendi­cular, and he finds no place to rest on either side, he at last tires by degrees; his Force abandons him; his exhausted Limbs grow stiff, and the Torrent carries him down. So my Eyes began to grow dim; my Heart fainted; I could not make use of my Reason, nor call to mind the Misfortunes of my Father. The Dream that shew'd me Mentor in the Elysian Fields, utterly discourag'd me. An easie and dissolute Lan­guishing seiz'd upon me; I already began to love the flattering Poison that crept into my Veins, and pe­netrated through the Marrow of my Bones.

Yet for all this, sometimes I would Sigh; I shed bitter Tears; I roar'd like a Lyon in Fury. O! unhappy Youth, said I! O Gods! that divert your selves so cruelly [Page 124] with the Fate of Men! Why do you cause them to pass through that Age, which is a time of Folly, and resembles a burning Fever? O! why am I not covered with Gray Hairs, bow'd down, and sinking in­to the Grave, like my Grand-father Laertes? Death would be more wel­come to me, than the shameful Weakness I now feel.

Scarce had I utter'd these Words, when my Grief began to abate, and my Heart drunk with a foolish Pas­sion, shook off almost all Shame. After this I found my self plung'd into an Abyss of Remorse. Whilst I was under these Disorders, I went raving up and down the Sacred Wood, like a Hind that has been wounded by a Hunter; she crosses vast Forests to asswage her Pain; but the fatal Arrow sticks fast in her side, and follows her wheresoever she flies. Thus I endeavour'd to run away from my self; but nothing could cure my wounded Heart.

[Page 125] In this Moment, I perceiv'd at some distance from me, under the most shady part of the Wood, the Figure of the Wise Mentor. But his Face was so pale, so sad, and so se­vere, that I knew not how to re­joyce. Is it you then, O my dear Friend? My last, and only hope, is it you? Is it you, your self? Or is a deceitful Image come to abuse my Eyes? Is it you, O Mentor? Or is it your Ghost, still sensible of my Misfortunes? Are you not among the Blessed Spirits, that possess the Rewards of their Virtue, and by the Bounty of the Gods enjoy an Eter­nal Peace, and uninterrupted Plea­sures in the Elysian Plains? Mentor, do you yet live? Am I so happy to see you? Or is it only the shadow of my Friend?

With these Words in my Mouth, I ran to him so Transported, that I lost my Respiration. He stood still unmov'd, and made not one step towards me. O Gods! you [Page 126] know with what Joy I felt him in my Arms. No, 'tis not an empty Shadow; I hold him fast; I em­brace him; my dear Mentor! Thus I cried out; I shed a flood of Tears upon his Face; I hung about his Neck, and was not able to speak.

He look'd sadly upon me, with Eyes full of tender Compassion. At last I said, alas! Where have you been? To what Dangers have you abandon'd me by your absence? And what should I now do without you? But he without answering my Questions, with a terrible Voice cried out; Fly, fly without delay: This Soyl produces nothing but Poison: The Air you breath is in­fected with the Plague: The Men are contagious, and converse with each other only to spread the fatal Venom: Base and infamous Plea­sure, the worst of all those Evils that sprung from Pandora's Box, dissolves them in Luxury, and suf­fers no Virtue in this Place. Fly; [Page 127] stay not a Moment; look not once behind you, and as you run, shake off the remembrance of this Execra­ble Island.

He said, and immediately I felt as it were a thick Cloud dispersing from about my Eyes, and perceiv'd a more pure and beautiful Light. A sweet and noble Joy, accompa­nied with Resolution and Courage, reviv'd in my Heart. This Joy was very different from that loose and foolish Joy which had Poison'd my Senses. The one is disorderly and unquiet, interrupted with extrava­gant Passions and cruel Remorse; the other is a Joy of Reason, at­tended with a Heaven of Happiness. 'Tis always pure, equal, inexhausti­ble. The deeper we drink, the more delicious is the Taste. It ra­vishes the Soul without the least dis­order. I began to shed Tears of Joy, and found a sweetness in Weep­ing. Happy, said I, are those Men who can see the beauty of Virtue! [Page 128] Is it possible to see her without lov­ing her? Is it possible to Love her without being Happy?

Here Mentor interrupted me, and said, I must leave you; I must de­part this Moment; I may not stay any longer. Where, said I, are you going? Into what Desert will I not follow you? Don't think you can leave me; for I will rather Die than not attend you. Whilst I spoke these Words, I held him fast with all my Strength. 'Tis in vain, said he, for you to hope to detain me. The Cruel Metophis sold me to cer­tain Ethiopians or Arabs. These Men going to Damascus in Syria, on the account, of Trade, resolved to sell me, supposing they should get a great sum of Mony for me of one Hazael, who wanted a Greek Slave to inform him of the Customs of Greece, and instruct him in our Arts and Sciences.

This Hazael purchased me at a dear Rate. What he has learnt [Page 129] from me concerning our Manners, has given him a Curiosity to go in­to the Island of Creet, to study the Wise Laws of Minos. During our Voyage, the Weather has forced us to put in at Cyprus, in expectation of a favourable Wind. He is come to make his Offerings in the Tem­ple; see there, he is going out; the Winds call; our Sails are aloft; adieu, dear Telemachus; a Slave that fears the Gods, ought faithfully to serve his Master: The Gods do not permit me to dispose of my self: If I might, they know it, I would be only yours: Farewel, remember the Labours of Ulysses, and the Tears of Penelope; remember that the Gods are just. O Gods, the Protectors of Innocence! in what a Country am I constrain'd to leave Telemachus?

No, no, said I, my dear Mentor, it shall not depend upon you to leave me here; rather Die, than see you depart without me. Is this Syrian Master inexorable? Was his [Page 130] Infancy nourish'd by a Tygre? Would he tear you out of my Arms? He must either kill me, or suffer me to follow you. You exhort me to fly, and will not permit me to fly with you: I'le go to Hazael; perhaps he will pity my Youth and my Tears. He loves Wisdom, be­cause he goes so far in search of it; such a one cannot have a savage and insensible Heart. I will throw my self at his Feet; I will embrace his Knees; I will not let him go, till he has given me leave to follow you. My dear Mentor, I can be a Slave with you; I will offer my Service to him; if he refuses me, 'tis resolv'd; I will deliver my self from this burden of Life.

In this Moment, Hazael call'd Mentor. I prostrated my self before him; he was surpris'd to see an un­known Person in this Posture. What is't you desire, said he? Life, re­plied I; for I cannot Live unless you suffer me to follow Mentor, who [Page 131] belongs to you. I am the Son of the Great Ulysses, the most Wise of all those Grecian Kings that destroy'd the great City of Troy, which was so famous throughout all Asia. I speak not this to boast of my Birth, but only to inspire you with some Pity of my Misfortunes. I have sought my Father in all the Seas, accompanied by this Man, who has been to me another Father. For­tune to make me compleatly unhap­py, has taken him away from me; she has made him your Slave; let me be so too. If it be true, that you are a lover of Justice, and that you are going to Creet to inspect the Laws of the good King Minos, re­ject not my Sighs and my Tears. You see the Son of a King reduc'd to desire Servitude as his only Re­fuge. Formerly I would have cho­sen Death in Sicily to avoid Sla­very; but my first Misfortunes were only the weak Essays of Fortunes Injustice: Now I tremble, lest I [Page 132] should not be receiv'd among Slaves. O Gods! See my Calamity; O Ha­zael, remember Minos, whose Wis­dom you admire, and who will judge us both in the Kingdom of Pluto.

Hazael looking upon me with Kindness and Compassion, put forth his Hand and rais'd me up. I am not ignorant, said he, of the Wis­dom and Virtue of Ulysses. Mentor has often told me of the Glory he has acquir'd among the Greeks; and besides, Fame has not been wanting to spread his Name over all the Nations of the East. Follow me, thou Son of Ulysses, I will be your Father, till you find him, who gave you Life. But tho' I were not mov'd with the Glory of your Fa­ther, his Misfortunes, and your own; yet the Friendship I have for Mentor, would engage me to take care of you. 'Tis true, I bought him as a Slave, but I keep him as a faithful Friend; the Mony he cost, has acquir'd me the dearest and most [Page 133] valuable Friend, that I have in the World: In him I have found Wis­dom; I owe all the Love I have for Virtue to his Instructions. From this Moment he is free, and you shall be so too; I ask nothing of either but your Heart.

In an Instant, I pass'd from the bitterest Grief to the most lively Joy that Men can feel. I saw my self deliver'd from the worst of Dan­gers; I was drawing near to my Country; I had found One to assist me in my Return; I had the Plea­sure of being with a Man, who lov'd me already for the sake of Vir­tue; in Word, I found every thing in finding Mentor; and that which endear'd my good Fortune to me, was, that I feared not to lose him again.

In the mean time, Hazael ad­vanc'd to the Shoar; we follow'd; we Imbark'd with him; our Oars cut the yielding Waters; the Ze­phyrs plaid in our Sails; gave Life [Page 134] and easie Motion to the Ship; the Island of Cyprus soon disappear'd. Hazael, impatient to know my Sen­timents, ask'd me what I thought of the Manners of that Island? I told him ingenuously to what Dan­gers my Youth had been expos'd, and the Combat I had suffer'd within me.

He was tenderly mov'd with my abhorrence of Vice, and said these Words: O Venus! I acknowledge your Power, and that of your Son; I have burnt Incense upon your Al­tars: But give me leave to detest the infamous dissolution of the In­habitants of your Island, and the brutal Impudence, with which they celebrate your Festivals. After this, he discours'd with Mentor of that first Being which form'd the Hea­vens and the Earth; of that pure, infinite and unchangeable Light which is communicated to all with­out any Diminution; of that su­preme and universal Truth which [Page 135] enlightens the Spiritual World as the Sun enlightens the Corporeal. He who has never seen this Light, said he, is as blind as one born without Sight; he passes his Life in a dismal Night, like that of those Regions where the Sun never shines for many Months of the Year; he thinks himself Wise, and is a Fool; he fancies he sees all, and sees no­thing; he Dies without seeing any thing; at most he perceives only false and obscure Flashes, vain Sha­dows, Phantoms, that have no real Being.

Of this kind are all those, who are carried away by sensual Pleasures, and the Inchantments of Imagina­tion. There are no true Men up­on the Earth but those who consult, love and obey this eternal Rea­son. 'Tis she that inspires us when we think well: 'Tis she that re­proves us when we think ill. Our Reason as well as our Life is her Gift. She is as a vest Ocean of [Page 136] Light; the Reason of Men is like little Rivulets emaning from her, which return and lose themselves in her again.

Tho' I did not yet throughly comprehend the Wisdom of this Dis­course, I tasted nevertheless some­thing in it so Pure and so Sublime, that my Heart grew warm, and Truth seem'd to shine in all these Words. They continued to speak of the Original of the Gods, of the Hero's of the Poets, of the Golden Age, of the Deluge, of the first Histories of the World, of the Ri­ver of Oblivion, into which the Souls of the Dead are plung'd, of the eternal Punishments prepar'd for the Impious in the dark Gulph of Tartarus, and of that happy Tran­quility which the Just enjoy in the Elysian Fields without any apprehen­sions of Change.

During this Conversation, we saw great numbers of Dolphins co­ver'd with Scales, that seem'd to be

[Page 137] of Gold and Azure. They play'd in the Sea, and lash'd the Floods in­to a Foam. After them came the Tritons, sounding their wreathed Trumpets made of Shells: They surrounded the Chariot of Amphi­trite, that was drawn by Sea-Horses whiter than Snow. They cut the Briny Sea, and left vast Furrows behind them. Their Eyes darted Fire, and Smoak issued from their Nostrils. The Chariot of the God-dess was a Shell of a wonderful Fi­gure; 'twas more white than the finest Ivory, and the Wheels were all of Gold. This Chariot seem'd to fly upon the surface of the Wa­ters. A Troop of Nymphs came Swimming behind the Chariot: Their lovely Hair hung loose upon their Shoulders, floating at the Plea­sure of the Winds. The Goddess had in one Hand a golden Scepter, with which she commanded the Waves: With the other she held upon her Knee the little God Pale­mon, [Page 138] her Son, who hung upon her Breast. Her Face was so bright and so majestick, that the black Tempests and all the seditious Winds fled from before her. The Tritons guided the Horses, and held the golden Reins. A large Sail of the richest Purple hung floating in the Air above the Chariot; a Multitude of little Zephyrs hover'd about it, and labour'd to fill it with their Breath. In the midst of the Air Eolus appear'd, diligent, restless and vehement; his stern and wrinkled Face; his menacing Voice, his Eye­brows hanging down to his Beard; his Eyes full of a dim and austere Fire, dispers'd the Clouds, and kept the fierce Aquilons silent. The vast Whales, and all the Monsters of the Sea came out of their profound Grot­to's to gaze upon the Goddess, and with their Nostrils made the briny Waters ebb and flow.

After we had admir'd this won­derful Sight, we began to discover [Page 139] the Mountains of Creet, tho' yet we could hardly distinguish them from the Clouds of Heaven, and flowings of the Sea. Then we saw the summet of Mount Ida, which rises above all other Mountains of the Island, as an antient Stag carries his branching Head above the young Fawns that follow him in the Fo­rest. By degrees we saw more distinctly the Coast of the Island, representing the form of an Amphi­theater; as we found the Lands in Cyprus neglected and uncultivated, so those of Creet appear'd plenti­fully cover'd with all manner of Fruits by the Industry of the Inha­bitants.

On all sides we perceived Towns equalling Cities; well-built Villages, and magnificent Cities: We saw neither Hill nor Vale where the Hand of the diligent Husband­man was not stampt; the Plow had left deep Furrows in every part; Thorns, Bryars, and such [Page 140] Plants as are a useless Burden to the Earth, are utterly unknown in this Country. We contemplated with Pleasure the fruitful Vallies, where Troops of Oxen go lowing in the sweet Pastures, that abound with Springs of running Water; the Sheep every where Feeding upon the descent of the Hills; the cham­pion Ground cover'd with Corn, presented with a liberal Hand by the bountiful Ceres; in a Word, the Mountains adorn'd with Vines, and Grapes of a rich purple Colour, promising a plentiful Vintage of the delicious Presents of Bacchus, which charm the Cares of Men.

Mentor told us he had been for­merly in Creet, and informed us of what he knew.

Minos, the wisest and best of Kings, understood this well. All the admirable Things you shall see in this Island are ow­ing to the excellency of his Laws.

[Page 142] The Education he appointed for Children, renders their Bodies strong and healthful. They are accustom­ed from their Infancy to a plain, frugal, laborious Life, because Plea­sure enervates both the Body and the Mind. No other Pleasure is ever propos'd to them but the ac­quisition of an invincible Virtue, and solid Glory. This People do not measure Mens Courage only by despising Death in the hazards of War; but by the contempt of great Riches, and ignominious Pleasures. Three Vices are punish'd here which remain unpunish'd in all other Nations, Ingratitude, Dissi­mulation, Covetousness.

They have no need of Laws to suppress Luxury and dissolution of Manners; for such Things are un­known in Creet. Every Man Works; yet no Man desires to be rich. They think all their Labour sufficiently recompenced with an easy and re­gular Life, in which they enjoy [Page 143] plentifully and quietly all that is truly necessary to Men. Costly Fur­niture, rich Apparel, delicious Feasts and guilded Palaces, are not per­mitted in this Country. Their Cloths are of fine Wool, wrought with Art, and beautiful in Colour, but without Embroidery or any other Ornament. Their Tables are sober; They drink little Wine; good Bread, with excellent Fruits, and the Milk of the Cattle, make the principal part of their Meals.

At the most, their Meat is plain dress'd, without Sauce or Ragou; and they always take care to re­serve the best and strongest of the Cattle to be employ'd in Husban­dry. Their Houses are neat, com­modious, pleasant; but without Or­naments. They are not ignorant of the most magnificent Archite­cture; but that's reserv'd for the Temples of the Gods: They dare not live in Houses like those of the immortal Beings.

[Page 144] The great Riches of this People are Health, Strength, Courage; Peace and Union in Families; the liberty of all the Citizens; plenty of Things necessary, and a contempt of those that are superfluous; a ha­bit of Labour, and an abhorrence of Sloth; a mutual emulation of virtuous Actions; submission to the Laws, and a reverence of the just Gods.

I ask'd him in what the Authori­ty of the King consisted? And he answer'd thus.

Whilst Mentor was speaking we arrived in the Island; we saw the [Page 147] famous Labyrinth, built by the Hands of the ingenious Dedalus, in imitation of the great Labyrinth which we had seen in Egypt. As we were considering this curious Fa­brick, we beheld the Shoar cover'd with People, and Multitudes pres­sing towards a Place that was near the Sea. We ask'd the reason of their hast, and receiv'd this Account from one Nausicrates, a Native of Creet.

Idomeneus, the Son of Deucalion, and Grand-son to Minos, wint with the rest of the Grecian Kings to the Siege of Troy. After the Destructi­on of that City, he set Sail, in order to return to Creet; but was surpris'd by so violent a Storm, that the Pi­lot, and the most experienc'd Ma­riners in the Ship, gave themselves for lost. Every one had Death be­fore his Eyes; every one saw the Abyss open to swallow him up; eve­ry one deplor'd his Misfortune, and had not so much as the wretched [Page 148] Hopes of that imperfect Rest, which the Souls enjoy, that have cross'd the River Styx, after their Bodies have receiv'd Burial. Idomeneus, lifting up his Eyes and Hands to Heaven, invok'd Neptune in these Words. O powerful God! who commandest the Empire of the Sea, vouchsafe to hear the Prayer of the Distressed; if thou deliverest me from the fury of the Winds, and bringest me safe to Creet, the first Head I see, shall fall by my own Hands a sacrifice to thy Deity.

In the mean time his Son impa­tient to see his Father, made haste to meet and embrace him at his Landing; unhappy Youth! who knew not that he was running to his own Destruction. The Father escap'd the Storm, and landed in the Port of Syria. He gave Thanks to Neptune for hearing his Prayers, but soon found how fatal they had been to him. A black Presage of his Misfortune made him bitterly [Page 149] repent his rash Vow. He dreaded his own Arrival; he fix't his Eyes upon the Ground: He fear'd to see whatever was dear to him in the World. But the inexorable God­dess Nemesis, who never fails to punish Men, and especially haugh­ty Kings, push'd him on with a fa­tal and invisible Hand. Idomeneus arrives, hardly daring to lift up his Eyes: He sees his Son: He starts back with Horrour; his Eyes in vain look about for some other Head to serve for his vow'd Sacrifice.

His Son approach'd, and threw his Arms about his Neck, surpris'd to see his Father dissolving in Tears, and making no return to his Tender­ness. O my Father, said he! Whence comes this Sadness, after so long ab­sence? are you displeas'd to see your Kingdom, and to be the Joy of Your Son? What have I done? You turn your Eyes away for fear of seeing me.

The Father overwhelm'd with Grief, made no answer. At last, af­ter [Page 150] many bitter Sighs, he said, Ah! Neptune what have I promis'd? Re­store me to the Winds, and to the Rocks, which ought to have dash'd me in Pieces, and finish'd my wretch­ed Life. Let my Son live! O thou cruel God, here, take my Blood and spare his. As he spoke, he drew his Sword to pierce his own Heart; but those that were about him staid his Hand. The aged Sophronymus, by whom the will of the Gods is convey'd to Men, assur'd him that he might satisfie Neptune without the Death of his Son. Your Pro­mise, said he, was imprudent; the Gods will not be honour'd by Cruel­ty: Beware of adding to the Error of your Promise, the crime of ac­complishing it against the Laws of Nature: Offer a hundred Bulls, white as Snow to Neptune; let their Blood stream about his Altar crown'd with Flowers; let the sweetest In­cense smoak in Honour of the God.

[Page 151] Idomeneus heard this Discourse, in­clining his Head towards the Earth, and answer'd not one Word: Fury sat glaring in his Eyes; his pale and disfigur'd Face chang'd Colour eve­ry Moment, and all his Limbs shook with horrour. In the mean time his Son said to him: My Father, here Lam; your Son is ready to Die, to appease the God: I die content­ed, since my Death will have pre­vented yours. Strike, O my Father, and suspect not to find in me the least fear of Death, or any thing unbecoming your Son.

In that Moment Idomeneus tran­sported with Distraction, and pos­sess'd by infernal Furies, surpris'd all that stood about him with Asto­nishment. He thrust his Sword into the Heart of this Youth, and drew it out again reeking and full of Blood, to plunge it into his own Bowels. But he was once more prevented by those that were present. The Youth fell down into his own Blood; [Page 152] the shades of Death hung upon his Eyes; he open'd them a little to the Light, but could not support its Brightness. As a beautiful Lilly in the midst of the Field, out up from the Root by the Plowshare, lies down and languishes on the Ground. It receives no more Nourishment from the Earth, and the Springs of Life are intercepted; yet the snowy White and noble Lustre in part re­mains. So the Son of Idomeneus, like a young and tender Flower, is cut down in the bloom of his Age. The Father through excess of Grief is be­come insensible, he knows not where he is, nor what he does, nor what he ought to do; he reels to wards the City and demands his Son.

THE ADVENTURES OF TELEMACHUS The Son of ULYSSES. PART. II.

IN the mean time the People be­ing touch'd with Pity for the Son, and full of Horror at the barbarous Action of the Father, cry [Page 2] out, That the just Gods have aban­don'd him to the Furies; Their Rage furnishes 'em with Arms; They lay hold of what Weapons come next to hand; Discord breaths a secret Venom into their Breasts; The Cretans, the wise Cretans for­get their belov'd Wisdom; They will no longer acknowledge the Son of sage Minos; Idomeneus' s Friends know not how to consult his Saftey but by conducting him back to his Ship; They embark with him, and commit their Flight to the Waves. Idomeneus being come to himself, returns them Thanks for carrying him away from a Land he [...] besprinkled with his Son's [...] and which he could no lon­ger inhabit; the Winds waft 'em over to Hesperia, where they lay the Foundation of a new Kingdom in the Country of the Salentines.

But now the Cretans being desti­tute of a King to govern 'em, they resolve to chuse such an one as will [Page 3] keep up the Purity of the establish'd Laws. And these are the Mea­sures they take for that purpose. All the chief Men of a hundred Ci­ties are now to meet at one Place; they begin with offering Sacrifices; they assemble all the most renown'd Sages of the Neighbouring Coun­tries to examine the Wisdom of those who shall be thought worthy of Command; they order publick Games, where all the Competitors are to fight; for the Crown is the Prize which they propose to him who shall excel, both as to strength of Body and endowment of Mind. They will have a King whose Body must be strong and active, and his Soul adorn'd with Wisdom and Virtue: They invite all Strangers to this grand Assembly. Nausicrates having recounted to us this wonde­rous Story, cries out, Haste there­fore, you Strangers, to our Assem­bly; you shall contend with the Rest, and if the Gods decree the [Page 4] Victory for either of you, he shall Reign in this Country. We fol­lowed him, not out of any desire of being victorious, but only out of a Curiosity to see an Election so ex­traordinary.

We arrived at a Place resembling a very large Circus, surrounded with a thick Wood. The middle of this Circus was an Arena (or Pit) prepared for the Combatants; it was surrounded by a large Am­phitheater of green Turf, whereon sat in order an innumerable multi­tude of Spectators. As soon as we came there, we were honou­rably receiv'd; for the Cretans, of all Nations in the World, are the most noble and religious Observers of Hospitality; they desired us to take our Places, and invited us to enter the Lists. Mentor excus'd him­self, upon account of his Age, and Hasael on the score of his Health. My Youth and Vigour left me with­out Excuse; however, I cast a look [Page 5] upon Mentor to discover his Mind, and I perceiv'd he desir'd that I should engage: I therefore accepted their Proposal, and strip'd my self of all my Cloaths; they poured Streams of sweet and shining Oyl on all my Limbs; and being co­vered with Dust, I put in for one among the Combatants. 'Twas said on every Side, that the Son of Ulysses was come to dispute the Prize, and several Cretans, who had been at Ithaca during my Infancy, knew me again. The first Exercise was Wrestling. A Rhodian, about Five and Thirty Years of Age, sur­mounted all those who dared to en­counter him. He had still all the Vigour of Youth; his Arms were nervous and brawny; at the least of his Motions you might discover all his Muscles, and he was no less nimble than strong. He did not think it worth his while to over­come me, and looking with Pity upon my tender Age, he was about [Page 6] to retire, when I offer'd to contend with him. Thereupon we laid hold of one another; squeez'd each other till we were almost out of Breath; clap'd our Shoulders and Feet one against another; distended all our Nerves, and twined our Arms a­bout like Snakes, either of us stri­ving to lift his Antagonist from the Ground. Sometimes he endeavour­ed to trip me over by pushing me on the right side, sometimes he en­deavoured to bend me on the left: But when he had thus spent himself in vain, I gave him such a violent Push as made his Back bend, and so he tumbled down on the Stage; I fell upon him, and tho' he us'd all his Strength to get uppermost, yet I kept him under me without much difficulty: All the People cry'd, Victory to the Son of Ulysses, and so I help'd the dismay'd Rhodian to get up. The Combate with the Cestus was more difficult: The Son of a rich Citizen of Samos having [Page 7] acquir'd a great Renown in this Exercise, all the rest yielded to him, and I alone offer'd to dispute the Victory with him. At first he treated me with such fierce Blows on my Head and Breast as made me spit Blood, and spread a thick Cloud over my Eyes; I stagger'd, he press'd me; I was almost out of Breath, but I was animated by Men­tor's Voice, who cry'd to me, You Son of Ulysses, will you suffer your self to be vanquish'd? Anger sup­ply'd me with fresh Strength, and I avoided several Blows which would have crush'd me down. As soon as the Samian had made a false Blow at me, and that his Arm was stretch'd out in vain, I surpriz'd him in that stooping Posture, and as he began to step back, I lifted up my Cestus that I might fall up­on him with greater force; he en­deavour'd to recover, but whilest he was in this disadvantagious Po­sture, he gave me an opportunity [Page 8] to throw him down. He had scarce touched the Ground, when I reach'd him my hand to raise him; but he got up by himself, cover'd with Dust and Blood, full of confusion and disorder, not daring to renew the Fight.

Immediately after began the Cha­riot-Races: The Chariots were di­stributed by Lot; mine happen'd to be the worst, both as to the lightness of the Wheels, and the mettle of the Horses: We started; a Cloud of Dust flew about us that darkned the very Sky; at first I let all my Com­petitors go before me; a young Lacedemonian, nam'd Creantor, cast off all the rest behind him; a Cre­tan, Policlete by name, follow'd him close: Hippomachus, a Rela­tion of Idomeneus, who aspir'd to o'retake him, giving the Reins to his Horses, who were reeking with sweat, leaned on their loose Mane, and his Chariot-Wheels turn'd so very swift, that they seem'd to be [Page 9] without Motion, like the Wings of an Eagle that cuts the Air. My Horses being animated, and having gather'd Breath by degrees, I out­strip'd most of those who started with so much Fury. Hippomachus, driving his Horses too fast, the most mettlesome of 'em fell down, and by his fall depriv'd his Master of the Hopes of the Crown. Policletes leaning too much upon his Horses, and having no firm sitting, tum­bled down at a Shock, lost his Reins, and 'twas great luck that he escap'd Death. Pisistrates, seeing with Eyes full of Indignation, that I was got up close to him, redoub­led his Eagerness: Now he invok­ed the Gods, promising 'em rich Offerings; then he cheer'd up his Horses with his Voice: He was affraid lest I should pass be­tween him and the *Meta. Mark; for my Horses which I spar­ed at first, were now able to beat his; so that he had no other Hopes [Page 10] left him, than to stop up my Pas­sage: In order to it, he ventur'd to break his Wheel against the Mark, and broke it accordingly. I turn'd about presently to avoid his broken Chariot, and a moment after he saw me at the Goal. The People shouted a second time, and cry'd out, Victory to the Son of Ulysses, 'tis He the Gods have de­stin'd to Reign over us. In the mean time the most illustrious, and the wisest among the Cretans, con­ducted us into an old and consecrat­ed Wood, remote from the sight of prophane Men, where the old Men whom Minos had establish'd to be the Judges of the Peo;le, and Guardians of the Laws, assembled us. We were the same who had contended at the Exercises, no other being admitted. The Sages open­ed the Books wherein all the Laws of Minos are collected. As I drew near those old Men, whom Age rendred Venerable, without im­pairing [Page 11] the Vigour of their Mind, I felt my self seized with an awful Respect and Confusion. They sat in order, and motionless in their Places; their Hair was hoary; some of them had none at all; a calm and serene Wisdom shin'd in their grave Countenances; they spoke with Deliberation, and said nothing beside the purpose; when they happen'd to differ in Opinion, they were so moderate in maintain­ing their Sentiments, that one would be apt to think that they were all of one Mind. This long Experience of past Transactions, and their constant Application and Study, gave them a clear distinct Idea of every Thing: But what most conduc'd to perfect their Rea­son, was the Tranquillity of their Minds, freed from the fond Passi­ons and wild Caprices of Youth; they were acted by Wisdom alone, and the Advantage they reap'd from their accomplish'd Virtue, [Page 12] was, that they had such a perfect Mastery over their Passions, that they enjoy'd without trouble the pleasant and noble Delight of being govern'd by Reason. As I was ad­miring them, I wish'd my Life were contracted, that I might ar­rive on the sudden to so valuable an old Age; I accounted Youth un­happy, for being so remote from that calm and clear-sighted Virtue. The Chief among those old Men, opened the Volume of Minos's Laws, which was a great Book usually kept among Perfumes in a golden Box. All those old Men kiss'd it with great Respect, for they said, That next the Gods, from whom good Laws are derived, nothing ought to be more sacred a­mong Men, than even those Laws themselves which tend to make them Good, Wise, and Happy. Those who have in their Hands the Administration of the Laws for the Government of the People, ought [Page 13] themselves to be govern'd by those very Laws upon all Occasions: 'Tis the Law, and not the Man that ought to Reign. Such was the Dis­course of the Sages. Afterwards he who presided at the Assembly, pro­pounded three Questions which were to be decided by the Maxims of Minos. The first Question was, Which of all Men was most free? Some answer'd, That 'twas a King who had an absolute Power over his Peo­ple, and had conquer'd all his Ene­mies. Others maintain'd, That 'twas a Man who being never mar­ried, travell'd all his Life-time thro' divers Countries, without being ever subject to the Laws of any Nation. Others fancied, That it was a Bar­barian, who living upon Hunting in the midst of Woods, was indepen­dent upon any. Government, and li­able to no manner of Want. Others thought it was a Man newly made Free, who coming out of a rigo­rous Servitude, enjoy'd more than [Page 14] any other, the sweets of Liberty. Others at last ventur'd to say, That it was a dying Man, because Death freed him from all Troubles; and that all Men had no more Power over him. When it came to my turn, I was not puzzled how to answer, because I still remember'd what Mentor had often told me: The most free of all Men, answer'd I, is he who can be free, even in sla­very it self, and in what Condition or Country soever he be; a Man is most free, when he fears the Gods, and none but them: In short, that Man is truly free who disingag'd from all manner of Fear, or anxious Desire, is subject to the Gods and his Reason only. The old Men look'd upon one another smiling, and wonder'd to find that my An­swer was exactly the same with that of Minos.

Afterwards, they propos'd the se­cond Question in these Words; Which is the most unhappy of all Men? [Page 15] Every one answer'd as he thought. One said, 'Tis a Man who has nei­ther Estate, Health, nor Honour. Another said, 'Tis a Man who is Friendless. Others maintain'd, That 'tis a Man who has disobedient, ungrateful, and unworthy Chil­dren. There came a Sage of the Isle of Lesbos, who said, That the most unhappy of all Men, is he who thinks himself so; for Unhap­piness doth not depend so much up­on the Things we suffer, as upon our own impatience and uneasiness which aggravates our Misfortunes. This Speech was highly commend­ed and applauded by the whole As­sembly, and every one thought that this Lesbian would carry the Prize in thus solving this Question; but being ask'd my Opinion, I answer'd according to Mentor's Maxims: The most unhappy of all Men, is a King, who thinks himself happy, when he makes all the rest of Man­kind miserable; His blindness makes [Page 16] him doubly unhappy; for not knowing his Misery, he cannot ap­ply Remedies to it; nay, he fears to be acquainted with it; Truth cannot pierce through the Crowd of his Flatterers, and reach his View; his Passions tyrannize over him; he is a stranger to his Duty; he never tasted the Pleasure of doing good, nor felt the Charms of true Virtue; he is unhappy, and deserves to be so; his Unhappiness encreases daily; he runs to his own Ruin, and the Gods prepare an eternal Punishment to confound him. All the Assem­bly confest I had overcome the wise Lesbian, and the old Men declar'd I had hit upon the true sense of Minos.

The third Question they ask'd, was, Which of the two is to be preferr'd, either a King victorious and invincible in War; or a King less experienced in War, but able to Rule his People wise­ly in Peace? The Majority answer'd, That the King invincible in War [Page 17] was to be preferr'd; What are we the better, said they, for having a King who knows how to govern well in Peace, if he knows not how to defend his Kingdom when a War comes? For then his Enemies will overcome him, and make his People Slaves. Others on the con­trary maintain'd, That the peace­ful King was much better, because he would be affraid of War, and consequently take care to avoid it. Others said, That a conquering King would consult and advance as well the Honour of his People as his own, and make his Subjects Ma­sters of other Nations; whereas a peaceful King would sink their Courage into a shameful Effiminacy. They desir'd to know my Opinion, and I answer'd thus; A King who knows not how to govern, but ei­ther in Peace or in War, and is in­capable to rule his People in both, is but a Demi-King; but if you com­pare a King, who is only skill'd in [Page 18] War, to a wise King, who, with­out being acquainted with War, is able to maintain it upon occasion, by his Generals, I think he is to be preferr'd to the other: A King whose Mind is entirely bent upon War, would always be for making War; and in order to extend his Dominion, and advance his Glory, not care if all his People were ruin'd. What are a People the better for the Conquest their King makes over o­ther Nations, if they are miserable under his Reign? Moreover, long Wars are still attended with great Disorders; the Conquerors them­selves grow loose and disorderly in those Times of Confusion. See at what a dear Rate Greece has tri­umph'd over Troy, she was depriv'd of her Kings for above ten Years; whilst all is ruin'd by War, the Laws grow faint, Agriculture is neglected, all Arts languish and de­cay; even the best Princes, when they have a War to carry on, are [Page 19] oblig'd to commit the greatest of Ills; which is, to tolerate Licenti­ousness, and make use of wicked Men. How many profligate Vil­lains would be punish'd during the Peace, whose Audaciousness must needs be rewarded during the Dis­orders of War? Never had any Nation a conquering Sovereign, but they must suffer much upon account of his Ambition. A Conqueror in­toxicated with his Glory, ruins as much his victorious People, as the Nations he has vanquish'd. A Prince, who wants the necessary Qualifications for Peace, cannot make his Subjects relish the Fruits of a War happily ended; he is like a Man who could defend his own Field against his Neighbour, and usurp even that of his Neighbour himself, but could neither Plow nor Sow his Grounds, and so Reap no Harvest. Such a Man seems to be born to destroy, lay wast, and turn the World topsy-turvy, [Page 20] and not to make the People happy by his wise Government. Now let's consider a peaceful King: 'Tis true, he is not fit for great Con­quests; that is to say, he is not born to disturb the Tranquillity of his own People, by endeavouring to subdue those other Nations who are not his lawful Subject; but he is truly fit to govern in Peace, and is Master of all the Qualifications necessary to secure and protect his People against their Enemies. For he never attempts to do any thing that may disturb the publick Peace; he is religiously Faithful in all his Alliances; his Allies love him, they are not in fear of him, but rather repose an intire Confidence in him. If he happens to have some stirring, haughty, ambitious and trouble­some Neighbour, all the other Kings who fear that stirring Neigh­bour, and in no manner distrust the peaceful King, join themselves in Confederacy with that good King, [Page 21] and keep him from being opprest. His Integrity, Honesty, and Mo­deration make him the Arbiter of all the States that surround his; whilest the ambitious King, is odi­ous to all the rest, and ever expos'd to their Leagues. This peaceful Prince has the Honour of being, as it were, the Father and Guardian of all the other Kings. These are the Advantages he has abroad; those he enjoys at home are still more wonderful: Since he is fit to govern in Peace, 'tis certain he go­verns according to the wisest Laws; he discountenances Pomp, Luxury, and all those Arts that serve only to cherish and foment Vice; he pro­motes and encourages those that are useful, and can supply Mankind with the real Wants of Life; more particularly, he causes his Subjects to apply themselves to Agriculture, and by that means, he procures them Plenty of all Necessaries. This laborious People, plain in their [Page 22] Manners, and thrifty in their way of living, get an easie livelihood by Tilling of their Lands, and multi­ply every day. This Kingdom contains a numberless Multitude of People, but a People sound in Body, vigorous and strong; not softned by Pleasures, exercis'd and inur'd in Virtue, not addicted to the En­joyments of an effeminate luxurious Life; a People that know how to despise Death, and had rather part with their Lives, than with the Li­berty they enjoy under a wise King, who Reigns only by the Dictates of Reason and Justice. Let now a neighbouring Conqueror attack this People, perhaps he may find them not so well us'd to a Camp, rank­ing themselves in order of Battle, or the besieging of a Town; but he will find them invincible by their Numbers, their Courage, their Pa­tience upon hard Duty, their Fami­liarity with Want and Poverty, their Resolution and Obstinace in [Page 23] Fights, and their constant Virtue not to be shaken even by ill Suc­cess and Disasters. Moreover, if the King have not Experience e­nough to Command his Armies in Person, he will easily find those who shall be able to Command them, and will make use of them without losing his Authority. In the mean time his Allies will furnish him with Supplies; his Subjects will ra­ther die than undergo the Yoke of another unjust and tyrannical King, nay, the Gods themselves will fight for him. See how many Helps and Advantages he will find amidst his greatest Dangers: I therefore con­clude, That a peaceful King who is unskil'd in War, is a very imper­fect King, since he cannot discharge one of his most important Fun­ctions, which is to overcome his Enemies; but at the same time, he is infinitely superiour to a conquer­ing King, who wants the necessary Qualifications to govern in Peace, [Page 24] and is only fit for War. I per­ceiv'd a great many in the Assem­bly who seem'd to dislike my Opi­nion; but however, the old Men declar'd I had spoken the Sentiments of Minos. The first of those old Men cry'd out, I see the fulfilling of one of Apollo's Oracles, which is known through all our Island: Mi­nos having consulted the God to know how long his Progeny would Reign, according to the Laws he had establish'd; Apollo answer'd him, Thy Off-spring will cease to Rule when a Stranger coming into thy Island, shall cause thy Laws to Reign. We fear'd lest some Stran­ger should come and Conquer the Isle of Crete, but Idomeneus's Misfor­tune, and the Wisdom of the Son of Ulysses, who best of any Mortal understands the Laws of Minos, do plainly discover to us the meaning of the Oracle; Why do we any longer deferr Crowning of him, whom Destiny appoints to be our [Page 25] King? Thereupon the old Men went out of the sacred Wood, and the first of them taking me by the hand, declar'd to the People, who were impatient to know the Deci­sion, That I had carried the Prize. His words were scarce out of his Mouth, when there was heard a confus'd Noise of all the Assembly, every one giving a shout for Joy; the Shore and all the Neighbouring Hills eccho'd with this general Ac­clamation, Let the Son of Ulysses, who is as wise as Minos, Reign over the Cretans.

I paus'd a while, and then mak­ing Signs with my hand, I demand­ed Silence. In the mean time Men­tor whisper'd me in the Ear: What! will you renounce your own Coun­try? Will your ambitious Desire of a Crown make you forget Pene­lope, who now expects you as her only Hopes, and the great Ulysses, whom the Gods resolv'd to restore to his Family? These words went [Page 26] to my Heart, and check'd my Am­bition of being a King. But now the profound Silence of this tumul­tuous Assembly gave me occasion thus to proceed; Illustrious Cretans, I am not worthy to Command over you. The Oracle you mention'd, shews indeed that the Off-spring of Minos shall cease to Rule when a Stranger comes into this Island, and causes the Laws of that wise King to flourish; but it is not said that that Stranger shall Rule. I will suppose I am that Stranger mark'd out by the Oracle: I have made his Prediction good, I am come into this Island, I have discover'd the true Sense of the Laws, and I wish my Explanation may contribute to make them Reign with the Man whom you shall chuse: For my own part, I prefer my Country, the little Island of Ithaca, before the hundred Cities of Crete, and the Glory and Wealth of this fine King­dom. Suffer me to pursue what [Page 27] Fate hath destin'd; if I entred your Lists here 'twas not with hopes to Rule here, but only to merit your Esteem and your Pity, and that I might be furnish'd by you with Necessaries for my speedy Return into my Native Country; I would rather chuse to obey my Father Ulysses, and comfort my Mother Penelope, than Reign over all the Nations of the Universe: Oh! Cre­tans, you see the bottom of my Heart: I must leave you, but Death alone shall put a Period to my con­tinued Gratitude; yes, Telemachus will love the Cretans, and be as much concern'd for their Honour, as if 'twere his own, as long as he has Breath. I had scarce done speak­ing, when there arose through the whole Assembly a hollow Noise, like that of the Sea-Waves, which dash one against another in a Storm. Some said, Is this a God in an hu­mane Shape? Others maintain'd, They had seen me in other [Page 28] Countries, and that they knew me again. Others cry'd, we must force him to Reign here. At last I resum'd my Discourse, and every one was silent in a moment, not knowing whether or no I was going to accept what I had at first reject­ed; in these words therefore I ad­dress'd my self to 'em:

Suffer me, Oh! Cretans, to tell you my Thoughts; You are the wisest of all Nations, but methinks Wisdom requires a Precaution which you seem to have forgot; you ought to fix your Election, not on that Man who best Discourses about the Laws, but on him who with a most steddy and constant Virtue, puts them in Practice. For my part, I am young, and consequently with­out Experience, expos'd to the Vio­lence of Passions, and more fit to be instructed by Obeying, in order to Command hereafter, than to Com­mand at present: Therefore seek not a Man that has overcome others [Page 29] in those Tryals of Wit and Strength, but one that has overcome himself; look for a Man that has your Laws deeply engraven in his Heart, and whose Life is a continu'd Practice of those Laws; let his Actions rather than his Words, bespeak your Choice.

All the old Men charm'd with this Discourse, and seeing the Ap­plauses of the whole Assembly still encreasing, told me, Since the Gods will not suffer us to hope to see you Reign among us, at least do us the favour to assist us in the finding out a King that will govern according to our Laws: Do you know any Body that can Command with that Moderatiou you speak of? I know a Man, answer'd I, to whom I am beholden for all you have admir'd in me; 'tis his Wisdom and not mine that spoke to you; 'tis he who suggested to me all those Answers you heard just now.

[Page 30] Thereupon all the Assembly cast their Eyes upon Mentor, whom I shew'd to them, holding him by the hand; moreover I told them what care he had taken of me from my Infancy; what Dangers he had rescued me from; what Mis­fortunes had besallen me as soon as I began to neglect his Counsels. At first they took no notice of him be­cause of his plain negligent Dress; his modest Countenance, his being silent almost all the while, and his reserv'd Looks: But when they view'd him more attentively, they discover'd in his Countenance some­thing that bespoke a firm, noble, and elevated Soul; they took no­tice of the liveliness of his Eyes, and how active he was in all his Actions; they ask'd him several Questions, which he answer'd to the Admiration of all; they resolv'd to make him their King, but he ex­cused himself without any concern: He told them he preferr'd the Sweets [Page 31] of a private Life, before the grand Pomp of a Crown; that even the best Kings were unhappy in that they scarce ever did that Good they had a mind to do; and that through Surprize, and the Insinuations of Flatterers, they often did that Mis­chief they never intended. He ad­ded, that if Slaves be miserable, the Condition of a King is no less wretched, since 'tis but servitude in a disguise. When a Man, said he, is King, he is still dependent upon all those whom he has occasion for to support his Authority, and make others obey: Happy is he who is not oblig'd to Command! 'Tis only to ones own Country, when she in­vests a Man with Power, that he ought to offer the dear Sacrifice of his Liberty, in order to consult and promote the publick Good.

At these words the Cretans, still full of wonder and admiration, ask'd him, What Man they ought to chuse? A Man, reply'd he, that's [Page 32] well known to you all, since you must be govern'd by him, and such a one as is affraid to govern you. Whoever desires Sovereignty, is not acquainted with it; and how then will he perform the Duties incum­bent upon his Dignity, if he be a stranger to them? He courts a Crown for himself, but you ought to endeavour after one who accepts it only for your advantage.

All the Cretans, being very much surpriz'd to see these two Strangers resuse a Crown, which a great ma­ny others seek after with eager Am­bition, they enqui'd who came a­long with them. Nausicrates, who had conducted them from the Port to the Circus, where the Games were celebrated, shew'd them Ha­sael, who was come with Mentor and my self from the Isle of Cyprus; but their wonder still encreased, when they heard that Mentor had been Hasael's Slave: That Hasael deeply affected with the Wisdom [Page 33] and Virtue of his Slave, had made him his Counsellor and intimate Friend. That, that Slave made free, was the same who just now refused to be King; and that Hasael was come from Damascus in Syria to make himself acquainted with the Laws of Minos, so much was his Heart pos­sest with the love of Wisdom. The old Men said to Hasael, We dare not to desire you to Rule over us, for we suppose your Thoughts are the same with those of Mentor; you despise Men too much to be willing to take upon you the Conduct of them. Besides, you have so far re­nounc'd Riches, and the vain Pomp of a Crown, that you would not purchase them at the expence of your Liberty, and with the Fatigue and anxious Cares which are insepara­bly attending upon Rule and Go­vernment. Hasael answer'd, Do not understand me, Oh! Cretans, as if I despis'd Men. No: I know too well what great and noble Employ­ment [Page 34] it is to make them good and happy; but that Employment is full of Trouble and Dangers; the Pomp that attends it has but a false Brightness, which can only dazzle the Eyes of Vain-glorious Men. Life is short; Greatness and Eleva­tion do more provoke the Passions, than they can satisfie them: My de­sign in coming so far was not to purchase those false Goods, but only to learn to be easie without them. I must bid you farewel; I have no other Thoughts than to return to a peaceful and retir'd Life, where Wisdom shall fill my Heart, and nourish my Soul; and where the hopes that result from virtue to­wards a better Life, shall comfort me under the Miseries of old Age; if I wish for any thing, 'tis not to be a King, but rather never to be parted from those two Men you see here before you.

At last the Cretans (addressing themselves to Mentor) cry'd out, You, [Page 35] the wisest and greatest of all Mor­tals, tell us then who it is we must chuse to be our King, for we will not let you go till you have deter­min'd our Choice. To which he answer'd, Whilst I was among the Crowd of the Spectators, I took no­tice of a vigorous old Man who shewed no manner of eagerness or concern; I ask'd who he was, and answer was made, he was call'd Aristomedes: Afterwards I heard some Body telling him that his two Sons were amongst the Combatants, at which he exprest no manner of Joy; he said, That as for the one, he did not wish him the Dangers which attend a Crown; and as for the other, he lov'd his Country too well, ever to consent that he should be King. By that I understood that this Father had a reasonable Love for one of his Sons, who is good and virtuous, and that he did not countenance the other in his vicious Excesses. My Curiosity still en­creasing, [Page 36] I enquired into the Life and Conversation of this old Man; One of your Citizens answer'd me, He bore Arms a long time; his Bo­dy is cover'd with Wounds and Scars, but his plain and sincere Vir­tue, entirely averse to Flattery, ren­der'd him troublesome to Idomeneus, which is the Reason that King did not employ him in the Trojan War. He fear'd a Man who would give those wise Counsels, which he was not inclin'd to follow; he was even jealous of the Honour and [...] which he would infallibly have acquir'd in a little time; he forgot all his past Services, and lest him here Poor, and expos'd to the Con­tempt of those base Men, who va­lue nothing but Riches; but con­tented in his Poverty, he lives a pleasant Life in a remote Place of this Island, where he Tills and Ma­nures his. Grounds with his own Hands. One of his Sons helps him in his Work, and they are both [Page 37] happy in their mutual Love. By their Frugality and Labour they have sufficient of all Necessaries for a plain way of Living. That wise old Man distributes to the Sick and Poor of his Neighbourhood, all that he can spare from his own Wants, and his Son's. He sets all young People to work, and incourages, admonishes, and instructs them; he decides all Controversies amongst his Neighbours, and is, as it were, the Father of all Families. His own Misfortune is, that he has a second Son, who would never follow his Advice in any Thing: The Father having born with him a long time, with hopes to reclaim him from his Vices, has at last turn'd him out of his House, since which he has a­bandon'd himself to fond Ambition, and all extravagant Pleasures. This, Oh! Cretans, is what I have been inform'd; you can tell whether that Relation be true: But if that Man be such as he is describ'd to be, [Page 38] what need you celebrate any Games? Why do you assemble so many un­known Persons? You have amongst you a Man who knows you, and whom you know; one who under­stands the War; who has shewn his Courage not only against Darts and Arrows, but against dreadful Poverty, and has despis'd Riches ac­quir'd by Flattery; one who loves Work; who knows how useful Agriculture is to a Nation; who ab­hors Pomp and Luxury; who suf­fers not himself to be unmann'd by a blind Fondness for his Children, and loves the Virtue of the one, and condemns the Vices of the o­ther; in a word, a Man who is al­ready the Father of the People: This must be your King, if so be you desire to see the Laws of wise Minos flourish amongst you.

All the People cry'd out, 'Tis true, Aristomedes is such as you de­scribe him; 'tis he that deserves the Crown. The old Men order'd he [Page 39] should be called; he was found a­mongst the Crowd, undistinguish'd from the meaner Sort; and having appear'd before 'em, clam and un­concern'd, they declar'd to him that they made him King. He answer'd, I cannot consent to it but upon these three Conditions: First, That I shall lay down my Dignity in two Years time, in case I cannot make you better than you are at present, and that you remain refra­ctory to the Laws. Secondly, That I shall be free to continue my plain and frugal way of Living. And Thirdly, That my Children shall have no Promotions; and that after my death, they shall be treated with­out any other distinction than ac­cording to their Merit, like the rest of the Citizens. At these words the Air was fill'd with joyful Accla­mations; the Chief of those old Men who were the Guardians of the Laws, put the Crown on Ari­stomedes's Head; and afterwards [Page 40] they offer'd Sacrifices to Jupiter, and the other great Gods. Aristomedes gave us Presents, not with that Mag­nificence which is usual to Kings, but with a noble Simplicity: He gave to Hasael the Laws of Minos, written with Minos's own Hand; he likewise gave him a Collection of all the History of the Isle of Crete, from Saturn and the Golden Age, down to that Time: He sent Aboard his Ship all kinds of the choicest Fruits that grow in Crete, but are unknown in Syria, and of­fer'd him all the Assistance he had occasion for. Now because we press'd our Departure, he order'd a Ship to be fitted up, and mann'd with a great number of strong Rowers, and arm'd Men; he gave us withal, changes of Cloaths, and all manner of Provisions. At that very instant there arose a fair Wind for Ithaca; this Wind being contrary to Hasael, oblig'd him to stay behind; he saw us go away, and embrac'd us as [Page 41] dear Friends, whom he fear'd he should see no more: However, said he, the Gods are just; they see a Friendship founded on Virtue alone; they will one day bring us together again; and those happy Elysian Fields, where the Good and Just are said to enjoy an eternal Peace after death, shall see our Souls meet, ne­ver to be parted any more. Oh! that my Ashes might be gather'd into the same Urn with yours! As he spoke these last Words, he shed a Flood of Tears, and his Voice was check'd by his deep Sighs: We wept no less than he, and in this solemn Woe he conducted us to our Ship. As for Aristomedes, he told us, 'Tis you made me King; re­member what Dangers you have expos'd me to, and therefore require the Gods that they would inspire me with true Wisdom, and make me as much superior to other Men in Moderation, as I am above them in Authority. For my part I be­seech [Page 42] them to conduct you safe in­to your Country, to confound the Insolence of your Foes, and bless you with the sight of Ulysses, reign­ing in Peace with his dear Penelope. Telemachus, I give you a good Ship full of able Mariners and Soldiers, who may serve you against those unjust Men that persecute your Mo­ther. Oh! Mentor, whose bound­less Wisdom leaves me no room, even to wish you an addition of any Thing: Go both in Peace, and make each other happy; remember Ari­stomedes, and if ever the Ithacians have occasion for the Cretans, de­pend upon me as long as I have Breath. He embrac'd us, and we could not forbear mingling our Tears with our Thanks.

In the mean time the Wind which fill'd our spreading Sails, seem'd to promise a safe Voyage. And now Mount Ida began to decrease in our sight, and look'd like a little Hill; the Cretan Shore disappear'd, and [Page 43] the Coast of Peloponesus seem'd to advance into the Sea to meet us half way: But on the sudden a black Storm over-cast the Sky, and pro­vok'd the boisterousness of the Waves; the Day was turn'd into Night, and ghastly Death hover'd over us. Oh, Neptune, 'tis you, who with your proud Trident, stirr'd up the Rage of the watry Deep! Venus, to be reveng'd upon us, for despising her, even in her Temple of Cythera, went to that God, and spoke to him full of Grief, and with Eyes dissolved in Tears; at least, 'tis what Mentor, who is acquainted with Celestial Things, has assur'd me. Oh! Nep­tune, said she, will you suffer those impious Men to defie my Power unpunish'd? The God themselves are sensible of it, and these rash Mortals have dared to condemn all they have seen in my Island; they pretend to a Wisdom which is proof against all Passions, and look upon Love as a Fit of Madness: Have [Page 44] you forgot that I was born in your Dominions? Why do you delay any farther to swallow up in the deep Abyss of your Kingdom those two Men whom I abhor? She had scarce done speaking, when Neptune made his boisterous Waves rise up to the very Skies, and Venus smil'd, believing our Wreck inevitable. Our Pilot being now beside himself, cry'd out, That he could no longer oppose the violence of the Winds, which fiercely drove us upon some Rocks; a Gust of Wind broke our Main-Mast, and a moment after we heard the bottom of our Ship splitting against the pointed Rocks. The Water comes in at several Pla­ces; the Ship sinks; all the Crew of Rowers fill the tempestuous Air­with lamentable Cries. I embrac'd Mentor, and told him, Death is come at last, we must embrace it with Courage; the Gods have de­liver'd us from so many Dangers only to destroy us this day: Let's [Page 45] die, Oh! Mentor, let's die; 'tis a comfort to me that I die with you; 'twere in vain to contend for our Lives against the Storm. To this Mentor answer'd, True Courage finds always some Remedy or other; it is not enough to expect Death calmly and unconcern'd, unless, without being affraid of it, we use all our Endeavours to avoid it. Let You and I take one of the Rower's Seats, whilest that Multitude of fearful and troubled Men regret the loss of their Lives, without using Means to prevent it; let's not lose one moment to save our selves. Thereupon he took a Hatchet, and cut off the broken Mast, which, leaning into the Sea, made the Ship heel a-port: The Mast being thus sever'd from its Stump, he shov'd it out of the Ship, and leap'd up­on it amidst the furious Waves. Then he call'd me by my Name, and encourag'd me to follow him. And now, as a great Tree, which [Page 46] all the confederate Winds attack in vain, and which remains unmov'd, and fix'd to its deep Roots; so Men­tor, not only resolute and couragi­ous, but also calm and undisturb'd, seem'd to command the Winds and the Sea. I follow'd him: For who would not have follow'd, being en­courag'd by Mentor? And now we are a-drift upon the Mast, which we steer sometimes one way, some­times another: This Mast prov'd a great help to us, for we sate a-stride upon it; whereas had we been forc'd to swim all the while, our strength had soon fail'd us. But the Storm did often over-set that great Tree; so that being sunk into the Sea, we swallow'd great Draughts of the briny Flood, which run af­terwards out of our Mouths, Ears, and Noses; and we were fain to contend with the Waves to get up­permost again. Sometimes also we were over-whelm'd by a Billow as big as a Mountain, and then we [Page 47] kept fast to the Mast, for fear that violent Push should make us lose our Hold of that, which was all our Hopes. Whilest we were in that dreadful Condition, Mentor, as calm and unconcern'd as he is now upon this green Turf, told me; Do you think, Oh! Telemachus, that your Life is abandon'd to the Winds and the Waves? Do you believe they can destroy you unless the Gods have order'd it? No, no, the Gods over-rule and decree all Things, and therefore 'tis the Gods and not the Sea you ought to fear; were you in the deep bottom of the Sea, great Joue's Hand were able to deliver you out of it; and were you on the Top of Olympus, having the Stars under your Feet, he might sink you to the deep Abyss, or cast you down into the Flames of black Tartarus. I listened to, and admir'd his wise Speech, which gave me a little com­fort, but my Mind was not calm enough to answer him. We past a [Page 48] whole Night without seeing one another, trembling and half dead with Cold, not knowing whether the Storm would drive us. At length the Winds began to be paci­fied, and the roaring Sea was like one who having been a long time in a great Passion, has almost spent his Spirits, and feals only a ruffling Motion which draws toward a Calm; thus the Sea grown weary, as it were, of its own Fury, made but a hollow rumbling Noise, and its Waves were little higher than the Ridges of Land betwixt two Fur­rows in a plough'd Field. In the mean time bright Aurora with her dewy Wings came to open the Gates of the Sky to introduce the radiant Sun, and seem'd to promise a fair Day. All the East was streak'd with fiery Beams; and the Stars which had so long been hid begun to twinkle again, but withdrew as soon as Phoebus appear'd on the lighten'd Horizon. We descry'd [Page 49] Land afar off, and the Wind help'd us on towards it. I felt Hopes reviving in my Heart; but we saw none of our Companions. 'Tis probable their Courage fail'd them, and that they sunk with the Ship. Being come pretty near the Shore, the Sea drove us against sharp­pointed Rocks, which were like to have bruis'd us to pieces; but we endeavour'd to oppose to them the end of our Mast, which Mentor us'd to as much advantage as a wise Steers-man does the best Rudder: Thus we escap'd those dreadful Rocks, and found at last a clear and easie Coast, where we swam with­out any hindrance, and came at last to a sandy Shore; there you saw us, Oh! great Goddess, who Reignest in this Island; there you vouchsafed to receive and comfort us.

Telemachus having ended his Speech, all those Nymphs, whose deep Attention had kept them mo­tionless, with Eyes fix'd upon him, [Page 50] began to look upon one another, and enquire among themselves who those two Men were, of whom the Gods took so much care. Who did ever hear, said they, such wonder­ful Adventures? The Son of Vlysses does already surpass his Father both in Eloquence, Wisdom Valour. What a Look! What a Beauty! What Gentleness! What Modesty! But withal, What Nobleness and Majesty! If we did not know him to be the Son of a Mortal, he might easily pass either for Bacchus, Mer­cury, or even the great Apollo. But who is this Mentor, who looks like a plain obscure Man, of mean Ex­traction? When one views him closely, there appears in him some­thing above a Man.

Calypso listened to the Discourse with a Concern which she could not well conceal; her Eyes still wan­dered from Mentor to Telemachus, and from Telemachus to Mentor. Sometimes she would have Telema­chus [Page 51] begin again that long Story of his Adventures; then, on the sudden, she contradicted her self; and, at last rising abruptly from her Seat, she carried Telemachus alone into a Wood of Myrtles, where she us'd all her Arts to know from him if Mentor was Deity under the Disguise of a Humane Shape. Telemachus could not satisfie her; for Minerva, who accompanied him under the Shape of Mentor, had not discover'd her self to him, because of his youth; she did not yet trust his Secrecy so far as to make him the Confident of her Designs. Besides, she had a mind to try him in the greatest Dangers; and had he known that Minerva was his Companion, such a Support had been able to make him despise the fiercest and most dreadful Accidents without any con­cern. Therefore he mistook all a­long Minerva for Mentor; and all the artful Insinuations of Calypso could not discover what she desir'd [Page 52] to know. In the mean time, all the Nymphs crowding about Men­tor, took great delight in asking him Questions; One of them ask'd him the Particulars of his Travels into AEthiopia; another desir'd to be ac­quainted with what he had seen at Damascus; and a third ask'd him, whether he had known Ulysses be­fore the Siege of Troy? He answer'd every one with gentleness and civi­lity; and tho' his Words were plain, yet they were not without their Graces. 'Twas not long before Ca­lipso return'd and interrupted their Conversation; and whilest her Nymphs begun to sing and gather Flowers to amuse Telemachus, she took Mentor aside in order to make him speak and discover who he was. As the soft Vapours of Sleep do in­sensibly glide into the heavy Eyes, and wearied Limbs of a Man quite spent with Fatigue, with the same gentleness the flattering Words of the Goddess insinuated themselves [Page 53] in order to bewitch the Heart of Mentor; but she always found some­thing which baffled her Charms, and disappointed her Endeavours. Just as a steep Rock, which hides its proud Top among the Clouds, and despises the Rage of the insulting Winds; thus Mentor unmoveable in his wise Resolutions, suffer'd him­self to be attack'd by the inquisitive Calipso; nay, sometimes he gave her a Glympse of Hope that she might puzzle him with her Que­stions, and discover the Truth through his dubious Answers. But when she thought her self most sure to satisfie her Curiosity, her Hopes vanish'd away; what she imagin'd to hold fast, gave her presently the slip, and a short Answer from Men­tor renew'd her Uncertainty. Thus she spent whole days; now flatter­ing Telemachus, and then endeavour­ing to take him away from Mentor, whom she hop'd no more to ingage so far as to make him discover who [Page 54] he was; she made use of her fairest Nymph to kindle the Fire of Love in young Telemachus's Heart, and a Deity more powerful than Calypso, came to her Assistance.

Venus still full of Resentment for the Contempt which Mentor and Telemachus exprest of the Worship which was paid her in the Island of Cyprus, was enrag'd to see that these two rash Mortals had escap'd the fury of the Winds and Sea in the late Storm; she complain'd bitterly to Jupiter; but the Father of the Gods, unwilling to let her know, that Minerva, in the Shape of Men­tor, had preserv'd the Son of Ulysses, told Venus with a smile, That he gave her leave to revenge her self on those two Men. She therefore leaves the heavenly Mansions; neg­lects the sweet Perfumes which are burnt on the Altars at Paphos, Cy­thera and Idalia; flies in her Chariot drawn by Doves; calls her Son Cu­pid, and with a Face full of sorrow, [Page 55] but adorn'd with new Charms, she thus speaks to him; Doest thou not see, my Son, those two Men who contemn my Power and thine? Who for the future will worship us? Go and pierce with thy surest Arrows their insensible Hearts; come down with me into that Island, where I shall discourse with Calypso. She said; and cutting the yielding Air in a golden Cloud, pre­sented her self to Calypso, who at that moment sat pensive and alone on the grassy Brink of a Fountain, remote from her Grotto.

Unhappy Goddess, said she to her, the ungrateful Ulysses has despis'd and abandon'd you; his Son still more cruel than his Father, designs to do the same: But Love himself is come to aid your Revenge; I leave him with you; he may remain among your Nymphs, as heretofore young Bacchus was bred among the Nymphs of the Isle of Naxos; Telemachus will look upon him as an ordinary Child; [Page 56] and not mistrusting him, will soon feel his forcible Influence. She said; and being got up again into that golden Cloud from whence she was descended, she left behind her a sweet smell of Ambrosia, which per­fum'd all the sacred Thickets around. Cupid remain'd in the Arms of Ca­lipso, who, tho' a Goddess, began to feel a secret Flame glide into her Breast. To ease her self, she pre­sently gave him to a Nymph who happen'd to come to her at that in­stant, whose Name was Eucharis; but, alas! how often did she re­pent it afterwards? At first, no­thing appear'd more innocent, more gentle, more lovely, nor more grace­ful than this Child; by his spright­ly, flattering, and ever-smiling Looks, one would have thought he could bring nothing but Delight; but as soon as one began to trust his fond Caresses, they were found to be full of a dangerous Venom; that malicious, deceitful Boy never [Page 57] flattered but with a design to be­tray; and never smil'd but when he had done, or was ready to do mischief. He durst not come near Mentor, being frighted away by his Severity; besides, he was sensible that that unknown Man was invul­nerable, and not to be pierced by his Arrows. As for the Nymphs, they soon felt the Flames that were kindled by this treacherous Boy, but they took great care to hide the deep Wounds which fester'd in their Breasts. In the mean time Telema­chus, seeing that Boy playing with the Nymphs, he was surpriz'd with his Beauty and Gentleness; he em­braces him; Sometimes he sets him on his Lap, and sometimes dandles him in his Arms; he feels within himself a secret uneasiness, whose cause he cannot discover; the more he indulges his innocent Play, the more he is troubled and softned with hidden desire. Do you see those Nymphs, said he to Mentor? How [Page 58] different they are from those Wo­men of the Isle of Cyprus, whose ve­ry Beauty was shocking, because accompanied with Immodesty and Lewdness; but these immortal Beauties display a charming Mode­sty and Innocence. At these Words he Blusht, but could not tell why: He could neither forbear Speaking of them, nor go on with his Dis­course; his Words were broken, obscure, incoherent, and sometimes wild and foolish. Whereupon Mentor told him: Oh! Telemachus, the dangers you escap'd in the Isle of Cyprus were nothing if com­par'd with those you are now ex­pos'd to, and which you are not at all aware of; bare-fac'd Lewdness strikes us with Horror, and brutish Impudence raises our Indignation, but a modest Beauty is most dange­rous and surprizing; when we be­gin to love her, we fancy we are in Love with Virtue, and by insensible Degrees we yield to the deceitful [Page 59] Allurements of a Passion, which we can scarce perceive before it is too fierce to be extinguish'd; Fly, my dear Telemachus, fly from those Nymphs who are so modest and discreet only to decoy you into their Snares; fly from the Dangers your Youth exposes you to; but above all, fly from that Boy whom you do not know: He is Cupid, whom her Mo­ther Venus has brought into this Island to revenge your Contempt of those Rites which are perform'd in her Honour in the Isle of Cythera; he has wounded the Heart of Ca­lipso, and made her passionately in Love with you; he had fir'd all those Nymphs that are now about him; and even Telemachus himself: Oh! wretched young Man, you burn without feeling your secret Flame. Telemachus often interrupt­ed the Discourse of Mentor, and told him; but why shall we not stay in this Island? Ulysses is certainly dead, and has been a long time Bu­ried [Page 60] in the Waves; and Penelope seeing that neither he nor I return home, will never be able to resist so many Lovers; and without doubt her Father Icarus has by this time oblig'd her to Marry a new Hus­band. Shall I return to Ithaca to see her ingaged with another, con­trary to the solemn Faith she had given to my Father? The Ithacians have quite forgot Ulysses, and we cannot return thither without run­ning upon certain Death, since Pe­nelope's Lovers are already possess'd of all the Avenues to the Port, the better to make our Destruction sure at our return. Mentor reply'd: Your Discourse is the result of a blind Passion, we are wonderfully indu­strious in finding all the Reasons which seem to favour it, and with no less care we avoid the sight of those which condemn it; we em­ploy all our Wit in deceiving our selves, and stifling those Remorses which give a check to our Desires. [Page 61] Have you forgot what the Gods have done for you in order to bring you back into your own Country? Which way did you come out of Sicily? Those Misfortunes which befel you in Egypt, did they not turn on a sudden to your Prosperi­ty? What unknown Hand dispell'd all those impending Dangers which threatned your Head at the City of Tyre? After so many wonderful Deli­verances can you be doubtful of what the Gods have in store for you? But no, you suppose your self unworthy of their Favours. For my own part I go out of this Island: But you, oh degenerate Son of so wise and noble a Father, you may lead here a soft, inglorious Life amongst Wo­men; and in spite of Heaven do what your Father thought unwor­thy of him. These reflecting Ex­pressions touch'd Telemachus to the very quick; He felt his Heart re­lenting at Mentor's Words; His Griefs was attended with Shame; [Page 62] He fear'd both the departure and indignation of so wise a Person, as one to whom he was so very much oblig'd; but a new-born Passion, with which he was but little ac­quainted, made him quite another Man. What, said he to Mentor, with Tears in his Eyes, Do you reckon for nothing that immortal Life which the Goddess offers me? No: answered Mentor, I make no account of any thing that is incon­sistent with Virtue, and against the supreme Decrees of Heaven, Vir­tue calls you back into your own Country, that you may see and comfort Ulysses and Penelope; Vir­tue bids you not to abandon your self to an extravagant Passion: The Gods, who deliver'd you from so many Dangers, in order to make your Glory shine as bright as your Father's, the Gods, I say, com­mand you to quit this Island. Love alone, that base Tyrant Love, is able to detain you here. Yet, [Page 63] what will you do with an immor­tal Life, bereft of Liberty, Virtue and Honour? Your sort of Life would still be the more wretched, in that it were endless. Telemachus answer'd him only with Sighs: Sometimes he wish'd that Mentor had forc'd him away from Calipso; and sometimes he wish'd that his Departure had rid him of a trouble­some rigid Friend, who ever re­proach'd him with his Weakness. His Heart was continually in sus­pense betwixt various Thoughts, just as the Sea is toss'd by contrary Winds, that sport with its incon­stant Waves. He often lay motion­less on the Sea­shore; sometimes in a lonely and gloomy Covert of a Wood he shed a Flood of bitter Tears, and cry'd like a roaring Li­on. He was grown Lean; his hollow Eyes were full of a devour­ing Fire; and by his pale downcast Looks, and disfigured Face, one could never have thought he had [Page 64] been Telemachus; his Beauty, his graceful Sprightliness, and his noble Aspect were fled from him; he was like a Flower which blows in the Morning, casts forth its fragancy around all the Day, but fades insen­sibly towards Night; its fine Colours decay, its Leaves wither, and its fine Top droops, and bears down the feeble Stalk. Thus the Son of Ulysses was brought to a languishing and dying Condition.

Mentor perceiving that Telemachus was not able to resist the violence of his Passion, he thought on a Stra­tagem to deliver him from so great a Danger. He took notice that Calipso was desperately in Love with Telemachus, and that Telema­chus was no lest taken with the Charms of the young Nymph Eu­charis; for cruel Cupid, the better to torment Mortals, makes them seldom love the Person by whom they are belov'd. Now upon a Day when Telemachus was to go out [Page 65] a Hunting with Eucharis, Mentor, in order to raise Calipso's Jealousy, told her; I find in Telemachus an eager Love for Hunting, which I never perceiv'd in him before; this Recreation makes him slight all other Pleasures; he only delights in Forests and wild Mountains: Is it you, Oh great Goddess! who have inspir'd him with this Passion? Ca­lipso was touch'd to the quick with these Words, and was not able to contain her Resentments. That Telemachus, answer'd she, who de­spis'd all the Pleasures of the Isle of Cyprus, cannot resist the faint Charms of one of my Nymphs. How dares one to boast of so many won­derful Actions, whose Heart is so easily soften'd by shameful, effemi­nate Pleasures, and who seems to be Born only to lead an obscure in­glorious Life among Women? Men­tor was not a little pleas'd to find that Jealousy began to work in Ca­lipso's Heart, but said no more at [Page 66] that time, for fear she should di­strust him; only he express'd his concern by his sad and downcast Looks. The Goddess complained to him about all she saw, and re­new'd her Complaints every Day: This Hunting-match, of which Mentor gave her notice, began to raise her Fury; she was told that Telemachus had no other Design in his Sports than to withdraw from the other Nymphs, in order to en­tertain Eucharis alone; there was also a Talk of a second Hunting­match, wherein she foresaw he would do, what he had done in the first. But to break Telemachus's Measures, she declar'd that she de­sign'd to make one amongst them; and then on the sudden being no more able to contain her Passion, she spoke to him in these Words: Is it thus, Oh young rash Mortal! that thou art come into my Island to escape the just Wreck which Neptune prepar'd for thee, and the [Page 67] Vengeance of those Gods thou hast offended? Didst thou come into this Island, which no Mortal ever dares to approach, only to despise my Power, and the Love I have exprest for thee? Oh! all ye pow­erful Deities of Heaven and Hell, hear the Complaints of an unfor­tunate Goddess: Hast to confound and destroy this perfidious, ungrate­ful and impious Man. Since thou art still more cruel and unjust than thy. Father, may thy Sufferings be likewise more cruel and unpitied than his; mayst thou never see thy Country again, that poor and wretched Ithaca, which thou didst basely prefer before an immortal Life; or rather mayst thou be de­stroy'd in sight of it, in the middle of the Sea; may thy Body become the Sport of the Waves, and be cast on this Sandy-shore without any hopes of Burial; may my Eyes see it devoured by ravenous Vultures; may she whom you Love see it al­so; [Page 68] yes, she shall see it, that Sight will break her Heart, and her De­spair shall be my Bliss and Delight.

Whilest Calipso was thus speaking her Eyes glow'd and sparked with Fire; her wild, distracted Looks were ever unsteady; her trembling Cheeks were full of black and blew Spots; her Colour chang'd every moment; her Face was often o're spread with a deadly Paleness; her Tears did not flow so plentifully as before, their Spring being in a great measure dry'd up by Rage and De­spair; her Voice was hoarse, trem­bling and broken. Mentor observ'd the different Motions of her Passion, and spoke no more to Telemachus; he us'd him as we do a Man despe­rate ill, and abandon'd by the Phy­sicians, and often look'd upon him with Eyes of Pity. Telemachus was sensible how guilty he was, and un­worthy of Mentor's Friendship; he durst not look up for fear he should meet the Eyes of Mentor, whose ve­ry [Page 69] Silence condemn'd him: Some­times he had a mind to embrace him, and confess to him how deep­ly he was sensible of his Fault, but he was hinder'd as well by a mista­ken shame, as by a fear of doing more than he intended, to avoid a Dan­ger which seem'd so pleasing to him; for he could not yet be prevail'd upon by Reason to conquer his fond and belov'd Passion. The Gods and Goddesses of bright Olympus were now met together, and with pro­found silence kept their Eyes fix'd on the Island of Calipso, impatient to know whether Minerva or Cupid should remain Victorious. The God of Love by his sporting and playing with the Nymphs had set all the Island on Fire; and Minerva, un­der the shape of Mentor, employ'd Jealousie, the inseparable Compa­nion of Love, against Love himself. Jupiter was resolv'd to be only a Spectator of this Contest, and to stand Neuter betwixt the Comba­tants. [Page 70] In the mean time Eucharis, who was affraid to lose Telemachus, us'd a thousand Arts to keep him in her Chains: And now she was just ready to go out a second time a Hunting with him; her Dress was exactly like that of Diana; Venus and Cupid had supply'd her with new Charms, insomuch that her Beauty eclips'd then even that of Calypso her self. Calypso seeing her afar off, view'd her self in one of her Chrystal Fountains, and being asham'd of her own Face, she run to hide her self into the remotest Part of her Grotto, and spoke thus to her self. Then 'tis in vain, I have endeavour'd to disturb the Joys of these two Lovers, by declaring that I design'd to be one of the Hunters. Shall I go with them? Shall I be the occasion of her Triumph, and shall my Beauty serve only to heighten hers? Shall Telemachus at the sight of my Charms be still more transported with those of Eucharis? [Page 71] Oh! wretched me! What have I done? No, I'll not go: Neither shall they themselves go; I know well enough how to prevent them. I'll go to Mentor; I'll desire him to carry away Telemachus from this Island, and convey him to Ithaca: But, What do I say? And what must become of forlorn me when Telemachus is gone? Where am I? Oh! cruel Venus, what shall I do? Oh! Venus, you have deceiv'd me; what a treacherous Present you gave me! Pernicious Child! Poi­soning Love! I gave the free en­trance into my Heart, with Hopes to live happy with Telemachus, and thou hast brought nothing into my Heart but Trouble and Despair. My Nymphs have rebell'd against me, and my being a Goddess serves only to make my Miseries eternal. Oh! that I could destroy my self to end my Sorrows! But if I cannot, yet, Oh! Telemachus, thou shalt die; I'll revenge thy Ingratitude; [Page 72] I will strike thy perfidious Heart, and make thy Nymph the Witness of my just Resentment. — But, Whither does my raving Passion hurry me! unfortunate Calipso, why would'st thou destroy a guilt­less Youth, whom thou hast thy self plung'd into an Abyss of Misfor­tunes! I my self have convey'd the fatal Brand into the chaste Bosom of telemachus: How innocent he was before! how Virtuous, how much averse to shameful Pleasures! What made me intoxicate his Heart? — He would have abandon'd me. — Well! shall he not either leave me now, or only live to torture me and and make my Rival blest? No, no: My Punishment is just. Go, dear Telemachus, go, cross the Seas: Leave Calipso, whose Life is a Bur­then to her, and who cannot meet Death to ease her Torments; leave her disconsolate, cover'd with shame and full of despair with the proud Eucharis.

[Page 73] Thus she spoke to her self in her Grotto; but rushing out on the sud­den, transported with impetuous Fury: Oh! Mentor, said she, is it thus you support Telemachus against the Affaults of Vice, to which he is just ready to yield? You sleep whilest Love is full awake to undo him. I cannot bear any longer with that shameful Indifference you shew; How can you calmly see the Son of Ulysses disgrace his Father, and neg­lect the great Things to which he is destin'd? Is it you or me, whom his Parents have entrusted with his Conduct? I endeavour to find Re­medies to cure his distemper'd Heart, and shall you stand idle and uncon­cern'd? There are in the remotest Part of this Forest tall Poplars, fit for the Building of a Ship; there it is that Ulysses built his before he left this Island: You will find in the same Place deep Cave, where­in are all manner of Instruments ne­cessary to cut out, and join together [Page 74] all the different Parts of a Ship.

She had scarce done speaking, when she begun to wish it were in her power to re-call her Words. Mentor did not lose one moment of time; he went down into that Cave, found the Instruments, fell'd the Po­plars, and in one day equip'd and fitted up a Ship for Sea; for Miner­va's Power and Industry require but very little time to bring the greatest Works to Perfection. Ca­lypso, in the mean time was tor­tur'd by a cruel anxiety of Thoughts; she had a mind to see whether Men­tor's Work went forward, but could not find in her Heart to leave the Hunting-match, where Eucharis would have enjoy'd the Company of Telemachus in full Liberty. Her Jealousie never suffer'd her to lose sight of those two Lovers; but at the same time, she endeavour'd to lead the Hunters toward that Place where she knew Mentor was Build­ing the Ship; she heard the strokes [Page 75] of the Hatchets, and the Hammers; and every blow she heard, made her quake and tremble; yet at the same moment, she fear'd her lest minding Mentor should make her lose the sight either of a Sign, a Look, or a Wink from Telemachus to the young Nymph. In the mean time Eucha­ris said to Telemachus, as it were in jest; Are not you affraid of being reprov'd by Mentor for going out a Hunting without him? Oh! how much you are to be pitied for li­ving under so rigorous a Master, whose severe Authority nothing can mitigate. He professes himself an Enemy to all manner of Pleasures, and will not suffer you to enjoy any; he condemns as a Crime, the most innocent Actions; you might in­deed have suffer'd your self to be govern'd by him, when you was not able to govern your self; but after you have shew'd so much Wisdom, why should you be us'd like a Child? These cunning, insinuating Words went deep into Telemachus's Heart, [Page 76] and fill'd it with spite and hatred against Mentor, whose Yoke he was willing to shake off; he fear'd to see him again, and was so perplex'd that he return'd Eucharis no An­swer. Whilest they were a Hunt­ing, every Body was in a continued hurry; but at last, towards the Evening they return'd home thro' that Part of the Forest near which Mentor had been working all day. Calypso saw afar off the Ship ready built, and at that sight her Eyes were over-spread with a thick Cloud, like that of gloomy Death. Her trembling Knees betray'd her sink­ing Body; a cold Sweat over-ran all her Limbs; she let her self fall on those Nymphs that stood about her, and as Eucharis reach'd her Hand to support her, she put it back with a dreadful Frown. Telemachus, who saw that Ship, but did not see Men­tor, who was already gone home, having just finish'd his Work, ask'd the Goddess whose that Ship was, [Page 77] and what she was design'd for? She knew not at first what Answer to make, but a while after she said; I caus'd her to be built to send away Mentor; you'll not be troubled any longer by that severe Friend who thwarts your Happiness, and would grow jealous of you, if you should become immortal. Mentor forsake me! I am undone! cry'd Telemachus, Oh! Eucharis, if Mentor abandons me, I have no Friend left but you. Having let these Words fall in the Transports of his Passion, he saw presently how much his Rashness was to blame, but he was not at liber­ty enough to think on their meaning at first. All the Company was silent and full of surprize: Eucharis blush'd, and cast her Eyes down; she staid behind the rest Speechless, not dar­ing to shew her self: Yet whilest her Face was full of Trouble and Confusion, she felt a secret Joy in her Heart. As for Telemachus, he could not apprehend himself, nor [Page 78] think he had spoke so indiscreetly; what he had done seem'd to him as a Dream, but such a Dream as fill'd him with perplexing and disquiet­ing Thoughts. Calypso, more fierce and wild than a Lyoness that had her Whelps taken from her, run up and down the Forest, without knowing whither she was going. At last she found her self at the En­trance of her Grotto, where Mentor expected her: Go out of my Island, said she, you Strangers, who came hither to trouble my Repose: A way, with that young Fool; as for you, imprudent old Man, you shall feel the Power of an enraged Goddess, unless you carry him away this very moment. I will neither see him, nor suffer that any of my Nymphs should speak to him, nor so much as look upon him; I swear by the Stygian Lake; an Oath which makes the Gods themselves tremble: But know, Oh! Telemachus, that thy Misfor­tunes are not at an end: No, un­grateful [Page 79] Wretch, if I turn thee out of my Island, 'tis only that thou may'st become a Prey to new Disa­sters; then I shall be reveng'd; thou shalt wish again for Calypso, but all in vain; Neptune, still angry at thy Father, who offended him at Sicily, and sollicited by Venus, whom thou didst despise in the Isle of Cyprus, prepares new Storms for thee; thou shalt see thy Father, who is still alive; but tho' thou seest him, yet thou shalt neither know him, nor be known to him. Thou shalt not meet him at Ithaca, before thou hast been the Sport of cruel Fortune; Depart — may all the Celestial Powers re­venge me; may'st thou in the middle of the raging Sea, hang Thunder­struck, on the sharp Top of a Rock, invoking in vain Calypso, whom thy just Punishment will fill with Joy.

Having spoke these Words, her troubled and perplexed Mind was ready to re call what she had said, and put her upon Resolutions quite [Page 80] opposite to the former; Love re­viv'd in her Heart the fond desire of staying Telemachus: Let him live, said she, to her self, let him stay here; perhaps, he may at last be sensible how much I have done for him; Eucharis cannot bestow Im­mortality upon him, as I can. Oh! too, too rash Calipso, thou hast be­tray'd thy self by thy rash Oath; thou art now engag'd, and the Sty­gian Waves by which thou hast sworn, leave thee no manner of hope. These words were heard by no Bo­dy; but one might see the Picture of a Fury in her ghastly Face, and all the pestilential Venom of black Cocythus seem'd to reek out of her Heart. Telemachus was seiz'd with Horror: She perceiv'd it; for what can be hid from a jealous Lover? And the Trouble of Telemachus re­doubled the Transports of the God­dess. Like a furious Bacchanal who fills the Air with frightful Roarings, and makes the Thracian Mountains [Page 81] resound with her Shrieks: Thus Ca­lypso roves about the Woods with a Dart in her Hand, calling all her Nymphs, and threatning to strike any one that shall refuse to follow her; frightned by her Threats, they all crowd after her with speed; even Eucharis advances with Tears in her Eyes, keeping her Looks fix'd at a distance upon Telemachus, but not daring to speak to him any more. The Goddess shiver'd when she saw her, and her Fury redoubled when she perceiv'd that even Grief and Affiction serv'd to heighten the Beauty of her Rival.

In the mean time, Telemachus be­ing alone with Mentor, he grasps his Knees, not daring either to embrace him, or look upon him; he sheds a Flood of Tears; he is going to speak, but his Speech fails him; he knows not either what he does, what he ought to do, or what he would do. At last, he cries out; Oh! my true Father! Oh! Mento, [Page 82] deliver me from my Miseries! I cannot leave you, neither can I fol­low you; Oh! rid me of my Trou­bles, rid me of my self; strike, strike me dead.

Mentor embraces him, comforts him, encourages him, teaches him how to bear with himself, without indulging his fond Passion, and tells him; Oh! Son of the wise Ulysses, whom the Gods have lov'd so much, and whom they love still; 'tis out of that love they have for you, that they expose you to those Miseries which you now undergo; whoever is unacquainted with his own weak­ness, and the violence of his Passions, cannot be call'd wise; for he is still a stranger to himself, and cannot stand upon his Guard against him­self. The Gods have conducted you, as it were by the hand, to the very brink of a Precipice, to let you see the immense depth of it, with­out suffering you to fall into it; therefore conceive now what you [Page 83] could never have comprehended un­less you had experienced it your self. You have been told of the Treache­ries of Love, who flatters in order to destroy; and who, under an out­ward sweetness, conceals the most cruel and unpleasant bitterness; that charming, pernicious Boy is come hither, attended by charming Smiles, and Graces; you have seen him; he has robb'd you of your Heart, and you your self was pleas'd with his Robbery. You labour'd to find Pretences to conceal to your self the [...] Wound of your Heart; you endeavour'd to deceive me and your self; you was affraid of no­thing; see now what your Rashness is come to; you call upon Death as the only Remedy to your Ills; the troubled Goddess is like one of the Furies of Hell; Eucharis is con­sumed by a Fire a thousand times more cruel than all the racking Pangs of Death; all those jealous Nymphs are ready to tear one another to [Page 84] Pieces; and this is the work that Cupid makes, for all he appears so gentle and innocent. Summon all your Courage to your Assistance; consider how much you are belov'd by the Gods, since they furnish you with so fair an opportunity to avoid Love, and to return to your dear native Country; Calipso her self is forc'd to send you away; the Ship is ready; why should we stay any longer in an Island where Virtue cannot be safe? As he spoke these last Words, Mentor took him by the Hand, and pull'd him along to­ward the Sea-Shore. Telemachus fol­low'd him unwillingly, still look­ing behind him, and keeping his Eyes six'd upon Eucharis, who went away from him; and tho' he could not see her Face, yet he view'd with admiration her fine Hair tied behind with a Crimson Ribband, her loose Garments playing with the Wind, and her noble, portly Gate; he'd fain have kiss'd the very Ground [Page 85] on which she went; and even when he began to lose sight of her, he still listened, thinking that he heard her Voice; altho' absent, her living Picture was present to his Eyes; he fancied he spoke to her, and was in such a perplexity and concern, that he did not mind what Mentor said to him. At last, when he begun to recover, as if wak'd out of a profound Sleep, he said to Mentor, I am resolv'd to follow you, but I have not yet taken my leave of Eucharis: I had rather die than thus ungratefully to forsake her; stay, I beseech you, till I have seen her once more, and bidden her an eternal Farewel; at least suffer me to tell her; Oh! Nymph! the cruel Gods, the Gods jealous of my Hap­piness, force me away from you; but they may sooner put a Period to my Life, than ever blot you out of my Memory. Oh! Father! either grant me this last and just Consola­tion, or kill me now with excess of [Page 86] Grief. However, think not I will either stay in this Island, or aban­don my self to Love; I have no such Passion in my Breast; I only feel the Effects of Friendship and Gratitude for Eucharis; I only de­sire to give her Proofs of it once again, and after that I'll follow you without delay.

How much I pity you! answer'd Mentor; your Passion is so very fierce and violent, that you are not sensible of it; you think you are calm and compos'd, and yet you call upon Death; you boast that you are not conquer'd by Cupid, when you cannot leave the Nymph you love; you see, and hear nothing but her, and are blind and deaf to all the rest. You are like a Man who being light-headed, through a vio­lent fever, cries he is not sick: Oh! blind Telemachus, you are ready to renounce your Mother Penelope, who expects you; Ulysses whom you shall see; Ithaca, where you [Page 87] shall be King; and finally, those great Honours, and that high For­tune, which the Gods have pro­mis'd you by those many Wonders they have done in your Favour; you renounce all those Advantages to lead an inglorious Life with Eu­charis. Will you still pretend that 'tis not Love that makes you con­cern'd to leave her? What makes you be willing to die? Why did you speak with so much Transport before the Goddess? I do not charge you with dishonest Love, but I la­ment your Blindness: Fly, Oh! Te­lemachus, fly; for Love is a Foe not to be conquer'd but by Flight; true Courage consists in flying without any deliberation, or so much as looking behind one, tho' at the same time 'tis with fear and reluctancy that one flies. You have not for­got what care I have taken of you since your Infancy, and what Dan­gers you have escap'd by my wise Counsels; either be rul'd by me, [Page 88] or suffer me to leave you; Oh! if you knew how much I grieve to see you run on your own Ruin, and how much I have suffer'd during the time. I dare not mention to you, the Pains which your Mother felt when she brought you forth, which are not to be compar'd with mine. I held my Tongue; I fed upon my own Grief, and stifled my Sighs only to give you time to come to your self again, and acknowledge your Error. My Son, my dear Son, ease my opprest Heart; re­store to me what I hold dearer than my own Life, restore to me my lost Telemachus; restore your self to your self. If your Wisdom can sur­mount your Love, I shall still live happy; but if Love hurries you away from Wisdom, Mentor can no longer live. Whilst Mentor was thus speaking, they went on their way towards the Sea; and Telema­chus, who was not yet confirm'd enough in his new Resolution to [Page 89] follow him of himself, was yet wil­ling to suffer himself to be led away without Resistance. Minerva, who kept still the Shape of Mentor, co­vering Telemachus with her invisible Shield, and surrounding him with Beams of Divine Light, made him feel a resolute Courage, of which he had not been sensible, since his be­ing in that Island. At last they ar­riv'd at a very steep Rock, on the Sea-Shore, which was continually insulted by the foaming Tide; they look'd from thence whether the Ship, Mentor had built, was still in the same Place, but perceiv'd a ve­ry sad Spectacle.

Cupid was nettled to the quick, not only by the unknown old Man's insensibility, but also by his rob­bing him of Telemachus; his Rage drew Tears from him, and made him run to Calipso, who wandred up and down the shady Woods; she fetch'd a deep Sigh as soon as she saw him, and felt all her Wounds [Page 90] bleeding afresh. Cupid told her; You are a Goddess, and yet you suf­fer your self to be conquer'd by a feeble Mortal, who is a Prisoner in your Island! Why do you let him go? Oh! unlucky Boy, answer'd she, I will hear no more of thy pernicious Counsels; 'tis thou hast broke my soft and profound Tran­quility, and cast me into an endless Abyss of Misery: 'Tis now past re­call; since I swore by the Stygian Flood to let Telemachus go. Jove himself, almighty Jove, the Father of the Gods, dares not to break that dreadful Oath: But as Telemachus goes out of this Island, go thou a­way too; for thou hast done me more mischief than he. Cupid hav­ing wip'd off his Tears, with a ma­licious Smile, told her; Truly, this is a mighty Business to be puzzled at! Leave all to my Management; keep your Oath, and do not oppose Telemachus's Departure: Neither your Nymphs nor I have sworn by [Page 91] the Stygian Flood to let him go; I will inspire them with the Design of setting that Ship on fire, which Mentor has built in so much hast; his Diligence which fill'd us with wonder, will be altogether vain; he shall have reason to wonder himself in his turn, and shall have no means left to draw Telemachus from you.

This flattering Speech convey'd pleasing Hopes and Joys into the very bottom of Calipso's Heart, and allay'd the wild Fury and Despair of the Goddess, just as a cooling Breeze, which blows on the grassy Margent of a purling Stream, re­freshes a Flock of Sheep, which was scorch'd by excessive Heat. Her Aspect became clear and serene; the fierceness of her Eyes was softned; those black Thoughts, and carking Cares, which prey'd upon her Heart, fled from her for a moment; she stop'd her wandring Course; she smil'd; she caress'd wanton Cu­pid, [Page 92] and by her Fondness prepar'd new Torments for her self. Cupid highly pleas'd with having persuad­ed Calipso, flew instantly in order to persuade the Nymphs who were wandring and dispers'd up and down the Mountains, like a Flock of Sheep, which the hungry, ravenous Wolves have frighted away from their Shepherd. Cupid gathers them together, and tells them; Telemachus is still in your Hands; haste, and let devouring Flames consume the Ship which the rash Mentor has built to favour his Escape. There­upon they take lighted Torches in their Hands, run to the Sea­Shore, fill the Air with dreadful Roarings, and toss about their dishevell'd Hair like the furious Priestesses of Bac­chus: And now the greedy Flames devour the Ship, which burns the more fiercely as she is made of dry Wood, daub'd over with Rosin; and a Cloud of Smoak, streak'd with Flames, rises up to the very [Page 93] Skies. Telemachus and Mentor be­hold this Conflagration from the Top of the Rock; and as Telema­chus heard the Shoutings of the Nymphs, he was almost tempted to rejoyce at it; for his wounded Heart was not yet well cur'd, and Mentor perceiv'd that his Passion was like a Fire not quite extin­guish'd, which now and then breaks through the Ashes that cover'd it, and cast forth bright Sparks of Fire. Now, said Telemachus, must I re­turn to my former Engagements, since we have no Hopes left to quit this Island. By that, Mentor under­stood that Telemachus was going to relapse into his Follies, and that he had not one moment to lose: He espy'd afar off in the main Sea, a Ship that stood still, not daring to approach the Shore, for all Pilots knew that the Isle of Calipso was inaccessible to all Mortals. At that very instant the wise Mentor gave a push to Telemachus, who sate on the [Page 94] the sharp end of the Rock, cast him down into the Sea, and threw himself down after him. Telema­chus amaz'd and stunn'd by his vio­lent Fall, drunk great Draughts of briny Water, and was for a while toss'd about by the Waves; but at last, coming to himself, and seeing Mentor, who reach'd him his Hand to help him to swim, he thought on nothing but flying from the fatal Island. The Nymphs who expect­ed to have kept them Prisoners, cry'd and howl'd with great Fury, being enrag'd at the disappointment. The disconsolate Calipso return'd in­to her Grotto, which she fill'd with hideous Roarings. Cupid, who saw his Triumph turn'd into a shameful Defeat, shook his Wings, and, through the yielding Air, flew to the sacred Grove of Idalia, where his cruel Mother expected him. The Son still more cruel than the Mother, comforted himself with smiling with her at all the Mischief [Page 95] they had done. As Telemachus went farther off from the Island, he felt with secret Pleasure both his Cou­rage, and his Love for Virtue, re­viving in his Heart. I am sensible, cry'd he to Mentor, of what you told me, and which I could not believe for want of Experience: There's no other way to conquer Vice, but by flying from it. Oh! Fa­ther! How kind the Gods were to me, when they gave me your Assi­stance, though by my Folly I de­serv'd to be depriv'd of it, and be left alone to my self. I fear now, neither the Sea, the Winds, nor the Storm; I only am affraid of my own Passions; but of all Passions, Love is more dangerous than a thou­sand Wrecks.

The Ship that stood still, to­wards which they swam, was a Phenician Bottom bound to Epirus. Those Phenicians who were Aboard her had seen Telemachus in his Voy­age to AEgypt, but could not know [Page 96] him amidst the Waves. As soon as Mentor came within hearing, he lifted up his Head out of the Wa­ter, and with a strong Voice cry'd to them; Oh! Phenicians! You who at all times are ready to give Assi­stance to all other Nations, do not deny your Help to two Men who expect their Safety from your Hu­manity; if you have any Respect for the Gods, receive us into your Ship; we will go along with you where-ever you go: The Comman­der of the Ship answer'd, We will receive you with joy, for we are not ignorant how we ought to re­lieve Strangers in your unfortunate Condition; and so they took them up into their Ship. They were scarce got into her, when their Breath was quite spent; for they had swam a long while, and strug­gled with the fierce Waves. By de­grees they recover'd their Spirits; they had other Cloaths given them, for theirs were soak'd through by [Page 97] asfthe briny Water, which drop'd on every side. As soon as they were able to speak, all the Phenicians crowded about 'em, desiring to know their Adventures. Among the rest, the Commander told 'em; How could you enter the Island from which you now came? It is said to be posses'd by a cruel God­dess, who never suffers any Mortal to land there; besides, it is incom­pass'd by huge craggy Rocks, which are continually insulted by the wan­ton Waves, and not to be ap­proach'd without splitting against them. You say true, answer'd Men­tor, for'twas by a Storm we were cast upon that Coast, and our Wreck gave us Entrance into the Island. We are Grecians; the Isle of Ithaca, which lies near Epirus, (whither you are bound) is our Country. If you are unwilling to touch at Ithaca, which is in your way, we are contented to be car­ried into Epirus, where we have [Page 98] Friends who will take care to fur­nish us with all Necessaries for our short Passage from thence to Ithaca; and we will for ever be oblig'd to you for the blissful Sight of what we hold most dear in the World. All this while Telemachus was silent, and let Mentor speak; for those Faults he had committed in the Isle of Calipso, had made him much wiser; he distrusted his own self; he was sensible how much he want­ed the prudent Counsels of Mentor; and when he could not speak to him to ask his Advice, he consulted his Eyes, and endeavour'd to guess at his Thoughts.

The Phenician Master of the Ship fixing his Eyes upon Telemachus, re­membred he had seen him some where; but 'twas a confus'd Re­membrance which he knew not how to clear: Give me leave, said he to Telemachus, to ask you whe­ther you remember you saw me be­fore, for methinks I am no Stran­ger [Page 99] to your Face, tho' I cannot tell where I have seen you; perhaps your Memory will help out mine. Telemachus answer'd him with joy and surprize. When I first look'd upon you, I was as much puzzled about your Face, as you are about mine; I'm sure I have seen you: I know you again, but cannot call to mind, whether in AEgypt or at Tyre. Thereupon the Phenician, like a Man who wakes in the Morn­ing, and by degrees calls back the Dreams of the Night which begun to fly away, cry'd out on a sud­den; You are Telemachus, for whom Narbal conceiv'd so great a Love, when we return'd from AEgypt; I am his Brother of whom he has undoubtedly spoken to you often, since I left you with him, after the Expedition into AEgypt. My Af­fairs carried me to the last Extre­mity of the Seas, into the famous Betica, near the Herculean Pillars; so that I did but just see you, and [Page 100] 'tis no wonder I was so puzzled to know you again at first sight.

I perceive, answer'd Telemachus, that you are Adoam: I had but a glimpse of you, but I know you by the Discourse I had with Narbal: Oh! how I am fill'd with Joy to hear News from a Man who shall ever be so very dear to me: Is he still in Tyre? Is he no more expos'd to the barbarous Treatment of the cruel Pygmalion? Adoam, interrupt­ing him, said: Know, Oh Telema­chus! that Fortune has entrusted you with one who will take all the Care imaginable of you; I will carry you to Ithaca, before I go to Epirus, and Narbal's Brother will love you no less than Narbal himself. Having thus spoken, he took notice that the Wind, for which he waited, began to blow; whereupon he gave Orders for weighing of the Anchors, and unfurling of the Sails; which done, the Rowers ply'd their Oars amain, and cut the yielding [Page 101] Floods. After that he took Tele­machus and Mentor to entertain them aside: I am going, said he, addres­sing himself to Telemachus, to satis­fie your Curiosity; Pigmalion is no more, the just Gods have rid Man­kind of him; as he trusted no Man, no Man would trust him neither; The Good were contented to groan in silence, and fly his Cruelties, without endeavouring to do him any Mischief; the Wicked thought they had no other way to secure their Lives, than by putting a Pe­riod to his; there was not a Tyrian but was every Day expos'd to fall a Sacrifice to his Distrust; his very Guards were more expos'd than any Body else; for his Life being in their Power, he fear'd them more than all the rest of Men, and up­on the least Suspicion he Sacrific'd them to his Safety; nevertheless he could not find himself safe any where, since those who were the Trustees of his Life, being in a con­tinual [Page 102] Danger, they could not get out of their uneasy Condition, but by preventing the Tyrants cruel Suspicions, and putting him to Death.

The impious Astarbe, whom you have so of often heard mention'd, was the first who resolv'd upon the Death of the King; she was passionately in Love with a young Tyrian, Joazar by Name, a Man of great Wealth, whom she hop'd to place on the Throne. The better to succeed in her Desing, she persuanded the King, that the eldest of his two Sons, nam'd Phadael, impatient to wear the Crown had conspir'd against his Life; she procur'd false Witnesses to prove the Conspiracy, so that the unhappy Father put to Death his innocent Son; the Second, nam'd Baleazar, was sent to Samos, under pretence of learning the Manners, Customs and Sciences of Greece, but indeed because Astarbe gave the King to understand that his Safety requir'd [Page 103] he should be remov'd from Court, for fear he should enter into Com­binations with the Malecontents. As soon as he was embarkt, those who commanded the Ship being cor­rupted by that cruel Woman, took Measures in order to be Ship-wrack'd in the Night, and having cast the young Prince over-board, they sav'd their Lives by Swimming to other Barks that waited for them. In the mean time Pigmalion was the only Person that was unacquainted with Astarbe's Amours; he fancied she would never love any Man but him; and that distrustful Prince, was blinded by Love to such a De­gree, that he reposed an entire Con­fidence in that wicked Woman. Yet at the same time his extreme Avarice prompted him to make a way with Joazar (whom Astarbe lov'd with so much Passion) in order to seize upon his vast Riches. But while Pigmalion was tortur'd by Distrust, Love and Avarice, Astarbe [Page 104] thought it convenient to put him to Death with all speed. She was ap­prehensive of his discovering her infamous Amours with that young Man; and besides, she knew the King's covetous Temper was by its self sufficient to entice him to exercise his Cruelty upon Joazar; therefore she concluded she had not one Moment to lose to prevent him. She saw the chief Officers of his Houshold willing to embrue their Hands in the King's Blood; she hoard every Day of some new Con­spiracy or other, but she was a­fraid of trusting any Body, lest she should be betray'd. At last, she thought most safe to Poyson Pig­malion her self. He was us'd to Diet by himself with her, and dress'd all his Victuals with his own Hands, not daring to trust any Body else; he lockt himself up in the remotest Part of his Palace, the better to con­ceal his Distrust, and that he might not be observ'd whilst he was Dress­ing [Page 105] his Victuals. He depriv'd him­self of all Dainties and Delicacies, being afraid to taste of any thing that was not of his own Cooking. Thus not only all manner of Meats drest by others, but also Wine, Bread, Salt, Oyl, Milk, and all other ordinary Aliments were of no use to him. He liv'd only upon Fruit which he gather'd with his own Hands in his Garden, or Pulse and Roots which he had sav'd. Now his Drink was nothing but Water, which he drew himself out of a Fountain, which was inclos'd within his Palace, and of which he always kept the Key. Altho' he seem'd to confide very much in Astarbe, yet he us'd all possible Pre­cautions against her; he always caus'd her to taste of every thing that was serv'd at his Table, that he might not be poyson'd without her, and that all Hopes of surviving him might be taken away from her. But to baffle his Precaution she took [Page 106] an Antidote, which an old Woman, still more wicked than her self, and the Confident of her Amours, fur­nish'd her with: After that she poyson'd the King with great As­surance in this manner. When they were just going to sit down to take their Repast, the old Woman, of whom I spoke before, came on a sudden and made a great Noise at one of the Doors: The King who was ever in fear of being Assassi­nated, was presently alarm'd and ran to that Door to see whether it was fast enough: The old Woman retired, the King remain'd troubled and speechless, and not knowing what to think of the Noise he had heard, yet he durst not open the Door to be inform'd. Astarbe cheer'd him up, and with fond Ca­resses persuaded him to Eat: Now, whilst the King was gone to the Door, she had Poyson'd his Golden­Cup, and so when he bid her Drink First, she obey'd without any Fear, [Page 107] trusting to the Antidote. Pigmalion drunk after her, and a little while after fainted away. Astarbe, who knew his cruel Temper, and that he would kill her upon the least Suspicion, begins to rend her Clothes, tears off her Hair, and bemoans her self in a most hideous manner; she clasp'd and hugg'd the dying King in her Arms, and bathed him with a flood of Tears; for this cunning Woman had always Tears at Com­mand. At last, when she perceiv'd that the King's Strength and Spirits were exhausted, and that he was ready to give up the Ghost, fearing lest, he should recover, and force her to die with him, she gave over her endearing Fondness, and the tenderest Marks of Love, and ha­ving put on horrid Cruelty, rusht upon him with Fury, and stifled him. Afterwards she pluck'd the Royal Signet off his Finger, took the Dia­dem off his Head, and call'd in Joazar, to whom she gave them [Page 108] both. She thought all those who before made their Court to her, would certainly favour her Passion, and that her Lover would be pro­claim'd King; but those who had been most forward in humouring her, were mean and mercenary Souls, and therefore incapable of a sincere and constant Affection. Be­sides, they wanted Courage and Resoultion; they fear'd the Haugh­tiness, Dissimulation and Cruelty of that impious Woman, so that all wish'd her Death to secure their own Lives. In the mean time, a dread­ful Tumult fills the whole Palace; The King is Dead, the King is Dead, is the general Cry: Some are fright­ed; others run to their Arms; all seem to be in Pain about the Conse­quence of it, but transported with the News; busy Fame carries it about upon her Wings through all the great City of Tyre; every Body speaks of the King's being Poyson'd but not one is found that is concern'd [Page 109] at it. His Death is at once the De­liverance and the general Comfort of the People. Narbal deeply af­fected with so terrible an Accident, deplor'd, like a good Man, the Misfortunes of Pigmalion, who had betray'd himself by committing his Safety to the impious Astarbe; and had chosen to be a dreadful and fierce Tyrant, rather than the Fa­ther of his People, which is a Duty incumbent on a King. He there­fore consulted the good of the State, and hastened to assemble all good and publick-spirited Men to oppose Astarbe, under whom they were like to see a more cruel Government, than that to which she had put a Period.

Baleazar did not Drown when he was cast into the Sea; and those who assur'd Astarbe that he was Dead, did it only upon a meer Conjecture: But by the Favour of the Night, he sav'd himself by Swimming; and some Cretan [Page 110] Fisher-men mov'd with Compassi­on receiv'd him into their Bark. He durst not return into his Father's Kingdom, suspecting, with Rea­son, that his Shipwrack was con­triv'd by his Enemies; and fearing no less the cruel Jealousy of Pigma­lion, than the Stratagems of Astarbe, He remain'd a long while wan­dring and unknown on the Sea­Coast of Syria, where the Cretan Fisher-men had lest him: And to get a Livelihood he was reduc'd to the Condition of a Shepherd. At last he found a way to let Narbal know that he was alive, and what Condition he was in, for he could not but think his Secret and his Life safe with a Man of his undoubted Virtue and Integrity. Narbal, tho ill us'd by the Father, had never­theless a Love and Respect for the Son, whose Interest he all along consulted; but he took care of him only to keep him from being want­ing in his Duty to his Father, and [Page 111] upon that Score he persuaded him to bear patiently with his hard For­tune. Baleazar had sent Narbal Word, that if he thought it safe for him to come to Tyre, he would send him a golden Ring, upon the Receipt of which he would go to meet him. Narbal did not judge it convenient to invite Baleazar to come whilst Pigmalion was alive, for by that means he would have brought both that Prince's Life, and his own into certain Danger, so difficult a thing it was to avoid Pig­malion's Suspicions and Cruelty; but as soon as that wretched Prince had made an end suitable to what his Crimes deserv'd, Narbal sent the golden Ring to Baleazar with all speed. Upon the Receipt of it, Baleazar came away immediately, and arriv'd before the Gates of Tyre, when all the City was in an Up­roar about Pigmalion's Successor. Baleazar was soon acknowledged by the chief Citizens of Tyre, and by [Page 112] the whole People. He was belov'd not upon the account of the late King his Father, who had the uni­versal Hatred, but because of his Gentleness and Moderation. His very Misfortunes serv'd, in a great measure, to give a heightening Brightness to all his good Qualities, and to touch all the Tyrians with a deep sense of Compassion for his past Sufferings. Narbal assembled the chief Men among the People, the old Men of the City-Council, and the Priests of the Goddess of Phoenicia. They saluted Baleazar as their King, and caus'd him to be proclaim'd such by their Heralds; the People answer'd them with re­peated Acclamations, which reach'd the Ears of Astarbe, even into the remotest part of the Palace, where she was lockt in with her base and infamous Joazar. All the wicked Men whom she had made use of during Pigmalion's Life, had alrea­dy forsaken her; for the Wicked [Page 113] do naturally hate and fear the Wick­ed, and never wish to see them in Authority, because they know how much they would abuse their Pow­er, and how far they would extend their Violence. As for good Men, the Wicked think them better for their Turn, because upon occasion they hope to find in them Indul­gence and Moderation. Astarbe had no Body left about her but the most notorious Accomplices of her enormous Crimes, who were con­tinually in fearful Expectation of their deserved Punishment. The Gates of the Palace being broke o­pen, those profligate Wretches durst not make a long Resistance, and on­ly endeavour'd to run away. Astarbe, with the Habit of a Salve, would have made her Escape through the Crowd, but being discovered by a Soldier, she was presently secur'd, and 'twas with much ado that Nar­bal kept her from being torn in pieces by the enrag'd Multitude, who be­gan [Page 114] already to drag her along in the Mire. In this Extremity she desir'd to speak with Baleazar, thinking she might dazzle him by her Charms, and amuse him with the hopes that she would discover some important Secrets to him. At first, besides her Beauty, she display'd such soft and gentle Modesty as would have melted the fiercest Anger. She flatter'd Baleazar with the nicest and most insinuating Commenda­tions; she represented to him how much Pigmalian lov'd her; she con­jur'd him by his Fathre's Ashes to take Pity on her; she invok'd the Gods, as if she had a sincere Adora­tion for them; she shed Floods of bitter Tears; she grasp'd the Knees of the new King, and us'd all her Artifice to render his best affected Servants both suspected and odious to him. She accus'd Narbal of be­ing entred into a Conspiracy against Pigmalion, and endeavouring to withdraw the People from their [Page 115] Obedience to Baleazar, in order to make himself King; she added, that he design'd to Poison that young Prince; and invented such other Calumnies to asperse all the rest of the Tyrians, who were addicted to Virtue. She hoped to have found the Heart of Baleazar susceptible of the same Distrust and Suspicions, which she had found in the King his Father. But Baleazar not being able to bear any longer with the black Malice of that wicked Wo­man; he interrupted her, and call'd for a Guard to secure her. Being sent to Prison, the wisest old Men were appointed to examine all her Actions: They found with Horror that she had poison'd and stifled Pigmalion; and the whole Series of her Life appear'd to be a continual Course of monstrous Villany. They were ready to sentence her to suffer the Punishment which is inflicted on great Offenders in Phenicia, that is to be burnt alive by a lingring [Page 116] Fire; but when she saw she had no manner of Hopes left, she became fierce and mad like a Fury, and swallow'd down a Poison which she us'd to carry about her with design to make away with her self, in case they would put her to ling­ring Torments. Those who guard­ed her, took notice that she was in a violent Pain, and offer'd to give her ease; but she would never an­swer their Questions; only by Signs she let them understand that she would receive no Relief. They mention'd to her the just and aveng­ing Gods whom she had anger'd; but instead of shewing any Trouble or Sorrow that might atone for her Crimes, she look'd upon Hea­ven with Pride and Contempt, as it were to insult the Almighty Powers. An impious Rage over-spread her dying Face; there was not the least remainder of that excellent Beauty which had been the Destruction of so many Men; all her Graces were [Page 117] wholly defac'd; her faint, hollow Eyes roll'd in their Orbits with wild, staring Looks; a convulsive Motion shook her Lips, and kept her Mouth open in a hideous man­ner; all her Face shrivell'd and wrinkled, yielded a ghastly pro­spect by its continual Distortions; a dead Coldness and Paleness had seiz'd all her Limbs; sometimes she seem'd to gather fresh Spirits, and come to her self again; but 'twas only a faint struggle of Na­ture, which spent it self into hide­ous Howlings; at last she expir'd, leaving all the Spectators full of Horror and Fear. Without doubt her impious *Ghost. Manes went down into those Places of Sorrow, where the cruel Danaids do eternally draw Water with Ves­sels full of Holes, where Ixion con­tinually turns his Wheel; where Tantalus flaming with Thirst, can never catch the wanton Water that [...] his eager Lips; where Sisyphus [Page 118] vainly rolls up to the Top of a Mountain a Stone which tumbles down again continually; and where Thitius will for ever feel a Vultur preying upon his growing Liver. Baleazar being deliver'd of that Monster, return'd the Gods Thanks by innumerable Sacrifices. His Con­duct at the beginning of his Reign was quite different from Pigma­lion's; he applies himself to the promoting of Trade, which lan­guish'd and decay'd more and more every day; he consults with Narbal about the most important Affairs, and yet he is not govern'd by him; for he will see every thing with his own Eyes; he hears every Body's Opinion, but reserves the deciding Vote to himself; he is generally be­lov'd by his People, and being Ma­ster of their Hearts he enjoys more Riches than ever his Father heap'd up with his cruel and insatiable Ava­rice; for there is never a Family but what would part with all they have, [Page 119] if he happen'd to be reduc'd to a pressing Necessity. Thus what he suffers them to enjoy is more at his command, than if he should for­cibly take it from them. He needs not use any Precaution, or be solli­citous to secure his Life, for he has still the safest Guard about him, which is the Love of his Subjects; every one them being afraid to lose him, and therefore willing to hazard his own Life to preserve that of so good a King. He lives happy with his People, and all his People live happy under him. He is ever afraid of burthening his Peo­ple, whereas they are afraid of giving him too little a share in their Estates. He lets them live in Plenty, and this Plenty makes them neither re­fractory nor insolent; for they are Laborious, addicted to Trade, and stedfast in the keeping of their an­cient Laws pure and intire. Phe­nicia has now recover'd the height of her Greatness and Glory, and 'tis [Page 120] to her young King, and to Narbal, who governs under him, that she owes all her Prosperities. Oh! Te­lemachus, if he could now see and embrace you, with how much Joy would he load you with Presents! What a Pleasure would it be to him to send you back into your own Country! Am I not then very for­tunate in doing, what he would have done himself, and going to the Isle of Ithaca, and there place on the Thorne the Son of Ulysses, that he may Reign there as wisely as Baleazar Reigns at Tyre?

Adoam having thus spoken, Tele­machus highly pleas'd with his Sto­ry, and much more with the Marks of Friendship he receiv'd from him, embrac'd him with great Tender­ness and Affection; and their re­peated Expressions of mutual Kind­ness being over, Adoam ask'd him what extraordinary Adventure had led him into the Island of Calipso? Telemachus, in his turn, gave him [Page 121] the Story of his departure from Tyre, and his going over to the Isle of Cy­prus: He related to him, his meet­ing again with Mentor; Their Voy­age into Crete; The publick Games for the Election of a new King af­ter Idomeneus's Flight; Venus's An­ger; Their Ship-wrack; The kind and joyful Welcome Calipso had made them; The Jealousie of that Goddess against one of her Nymphs, and Mentor's throwing his Friend into the Sea as soon as he espied the Phenician Ship.

After they had given each other the respective Stories of their Ad­ventures, Adoam caus'd a magnifi­cent Entertainment to be serv'd up; and the better to express his exces­sive Joy, he procur'd all the Plea­sures that could be had whilest they were at Table; during which time they were attended by young Phe­nician Boys clad in white; they burnt the most exquisite Frankin­cense of Arabia; all the Rowers [Page 122] Seats were fill'd with Musitians playing on the Flute. Architoas now and then interrupted them by the sweet Harmony of his Voice and his Lyre, fit to entertain the Gods at their Revels, and even to please the Ears of Apollo himself. The Tri­tons, the Nereids, all the Deities who obey the Command of Neptune, and the Sea-Monsters themselves forsook their watry deep Grotto's, and came in Shoals round the Ship, charm'd by this Divine Melody. A Com­pany of young Phenicians, of an ex­cellent Beauty, and clad in fine Lawn, as white as the driven Snow, danc'd for a long time several Dan­ces of their own Country; after­wards they danc'd after the AEgyp­tain manner; and, last of all, after the Grecian. Now and then the loud Trumpets made the Waves re­sound with their Clangors as far as the distant Shore. The dead of silent Night, the stilness of the Sea, the trembling Light of the Moon which [Page 123] play'd on the surface of the Water, and the Azure Blew of the Skies, studded with bright twinkling Stars, serv'd to heighten the Nobleness and Majesty of the Shew. Telemachus being of a quick and sprightly Tem­per, easily affected with the Impres­sions of sensual Objects, relish'd all those Pleasures with delight; but he durst not indulge himself too far in the enjoying of them, since he had experienc'd to his Grief and Shame in the Isle of Calipso, how ready Youth is to be inflam'd. He was shy and afraid, even of the most innocent Pleasures, and suspe­cted every Thing. He look'd up­on Mentor, and consulted both his Face and his Eyes to know what he ought to think of all those Pleasures. Mentor was not a little pleas'd to see him in that Perplexity, but made as if he did not take notice of it; at last mov'd with Telemachus's Mode­ration, he told him with a Smile: I perceive what you are afraid of; [Page 124] nay, I applaud your Fear; but however, you must have a care not to carry it too far. No Man can ever wish more earnestly than I, that you enjoy those soft and mode­rate Pleasures that will leave you the use of your Reason, and can ne­ver turn you into a furious Brute; 'tis now convenient you should re­fresh your self after all your Trou­bles and Fatigue; relish with a grateful Complaisance to Adoam, all those Enjoyments he offers you; be merry, Telemachus, be merry and rejoyce; Virtue is neither morose, austere, nor affected: 'Tis she yields true Pleasures, she alone knows how to season and temper them, to make them solid and lasting; she knows how to mix Mirth and Sports with the most important and seri­ous Affairs; she prepares us for Plea­sure by Labour, and refreshes the Hardships of Labour by Pleasure; Wisdom it self is not asham'd to be gay and sprightly upon occasion. [Page 125] Having spoke these words, Mentor took up a Harp and touch'd it with such exquisite Art, that Architoas stung with Jealousie, let his drop from his Hands, his Eyes were flaming with spite, his troubled Face turn'd pale, then blush'd, and then turn'd pale again; and every Body would have taken notice of his Pain and Confusion, but that at the same moment Mentor's Harp had ravish'd into Extasie the Soul of all the As­sistants. No Man scarce durst draw Breath for fear of interrupting the profound Silence, and so losing the least Note of the Divine Song; all were still in pain lest he should end it too soon. Mentor's Voice had no effeminate softness, but was flexible, mellow, and strong; and he us'd it with such Art, that he humour'd to admiration every thing he Sung. He at first rehears'd the Praises of migh­ty Jove, the Father and King both of Gods and Men, who with a Nod shakes the whole Universe: After­wards [Page 126] he represented Minerva com­ing out of his Head, that is, Wis­dom, which that supreme God cre­ates within himself, and which issues from him to instruct those Men who are willing to be taught. Men­tor sung all those Truths in such di­vine and lofty Strains, that the whole Assembly thought themselves transported to the very Top of Olympus, before the Face of great Jupiter, whose Looks are as pierce­ing as his Thunder. Next to that, he sung the Misfortune of young Narcissus, whose being fondly [...] with his own Beauty, which he was continually viewing in a Foun­tain, consum'd himself with Grief, and was chang'd into a Flower that bears its Name. Lastly, he sung the fatal Death of fair Adonis, whom a fierce wild Boar tore in Pieces, and whom Venus, being passionately in love with, could never bring to life again, with all the bitter Complaints she put up to Heaven.

[Page 127] None of those who heard him were able to contain their Tears; and every one felt a secret Pleasure in Weeping, when he had done Singing. The Phenicians look'd up­on one another full of Wonder and Amazement: One said, this is Or­pheus, for thus with his Harp he us'd to tame fierce Beasts, and draw after him both Trees and Stones. 'Tis thus he enchanted Cerberus: suspended for a while the Torments of Ixion, and of the Danaids; and mov'd the inexorable Pluto, to let the fair Eurydice go out of Hell. Ano­ther cry'd: No, tis Linus the Son of Apollo; to whom some body answer'd, You are mistaken: this must be Ap­pollo himself. Telemachus's Surprize was little less than that of the rest, for he never knew before that Men­tor could play on the Harp with so much Mastery. Architoas, who by this time had conceal'd his Jealousie, began to give Mentor those Com­mendations he deserv'd; but he [Page 128] could not praise him without blush­ing, neither was he able to make an end of his Discourse. Mentor, who saw what Trouble he was in, be­gan to interrupt him, and endea­vour'd to comfort him by com­mending his Musick. However, his Praises did not comfort Architoas, for he was sensible that Mentor sur­pass'd him yet more by his Modesty, by the Charms of his Voice.

In the mean time Telemachus said to Adoam, I remember you spoke to me of a Voyage you made into Be­tica, fince we came away from AEgypt; and because Betica is a Country of which common Fame relates so many incredible Wonders, Vouchsafe to tell me what we must believe of them. I will be extream glad, reply'd Adoam, to give you Description of that famous Country, which deserves your Couriosity, and which is much beyond what Fame proclaims about it; whereupon he began thus: —

[Page 129] The River Betis runs through a fruitful Land, and under a temper'd and ever-serene Sky: The Coun­try has its Name from the River, which discharges its Waters into the great Ocean near the famous Pillars of Hercules, and about that Place where the furious Sea breaking thro' its Banks, divided heretofore the Land of Tarsis from Great Africa. This Country seems to have pre­serv'd the Delights of the Golden Age; here Winters are Luke-warm, and the fierce Northern Winds ne­ver rage in it; the scorching Heat of the Summer is ever allay'd by re­freshing Zephires, which fan the sweltry Air towards Noon; so that the whole Year is but a happy Hy­men betwixt Spring and Autumn, which seem ever to go Hand in Hand. The Land, both in the Val­lies and the Plains, yields every Year a double Harvest; the Hills are over-spread with numerous Flocks of Sheep, whose fine Wool [Page 130] is a choice Commodity among all Nations of the known World. There are a great many Mines of Gold and Silver in that happy Coun­try; but its rude Inhabitants, con­tented and happy with their Plain­ness, disdain to count Gold or Sil­ver among their Riches, and only value what is really necessary to an­swer the Wants of Humane Nature. When we first began to Trade with that Nation, we found Gold and Silver employ'd among them about the same uses as Iron; as for exam­ple, for Plow-shares, &c. As they had no outward Trade, so they wanted no Coin; most of them are either Shepherds or Husband-men; Artificers and Tradesmen are but few in this Country; for they only tolerate those Arts which procure the Necessaries of Life; and besides, tho' most of the Inhabitants either follow Agriculture, or the tending of Herds and Flocks, yet they are skill'd in those Arts which are ser­viceable [Page 131] for the support of their plain and frugal way of living. The Women spin that silky Wool I told you of; and make extraordinary fine and white Stuffs; they bake Bread; dress Victuals; and all those Labours are easie to them; for in this Country their ordinary Food is Fruit and Milk; out of the Leather of their Sheep, they make thin Shoes for themselves, their Husbands and their Children; they make Tents, some of waxed Skins, and others of Barks of Trees; they wash the Cloaths, keep the Houses in order, and sweet and clean to admiration, and make Garments for all the Fa­mily; those Garments are easily made; for in this sweet and happy Climate, they only wear a thin and light Piece of Stuff, neither cut nor sow'd; and which, for Modesty's sake, every one laps about his Body. in long folds, and in what form he pleases. The Men, besides Husban­dry, and the tending of the Herds [Page 132] and Flocks, have no other Arts to exercise but the Working and Fa­shioning of Wood and Iron; and even in [...] they seldom make any use of Fire, unless it be for Tools necessary for Husbandry. All those Arts which belong to Architecture are altogether useless to them, for they never build Houses; it argues, say they, too great a Fondness for the Earth, the building a Dwelling upon it much more lasting than one self; it is sufficient to have a Shel­ner against the Injuries of the Air. As for all other Arts, so much [...] among the Grecians, the AEgyptains and other civiliz'd Na­tions, they abhor and detest them as the Inventions of Pride and Ef­feminacy. When they hear of Na­tions that have the skill of raising magnificent Buildings; and can make Gold and Silver, houshold Goods, Stuffs adorn'd with Imbroi­dery and precious Stones, exquisite Perfumes, delicious and dainty Di­shes [Page 133] of Meat, and Instruments of Musick, whose Harmony inchants the Soul, they answer in these words; Those Nations are unhappy, thus to have bestow'd so much Time, Labour, and Industry upon the cor­rupting of themselves; those Super­fluities soften, intoxicate and tor­ment the Possessors of them, and tempt those that are depriv'd of them to acquire them by Injustice and Violence: And how can that be called a Good, which serves only to make Men wicked? The Men of those Countries, are they more sound, strong and robust than we? Do they live longer? And are they better united among themselves? Is there Life more free from Cares, more peaceful, and more jovial and merry? Nay, on the contrary, they must needs be jealous of one ano­ther, devour'd by shameful and black Envy, ever disquieted and tortur'd by Ambition, Fears and Avarice, and incapable of enjoying plain, [Page 134] unmixt and solid Pleasures, since they are Slaves to so many sham Necessaries, on which they make all their Felicity depend. Thus 'tis, continued Adoam, that these wise Men speak, who owe all their Wisdom to their diligent Study of Nature; they have an abhorrence for our Politeness, and it must be confest that theirs has something great in their admirable Plainness; they live all together without di­viding the Land; every Family is govern'd by its Chief, who is real King of it; the Father of the Fa­mily has the power to punish any of his Children of Grand-children, that commits a Fault, but before he inflicts the Punishment, he ad­vises with the rest of the Family: 'Tis rare indeed that there is any Punishment; for the Innocence of Manners, Truth, Honesty, Inte­grity, Obedience and Abhorrence of Vice dwell in this happy Place, and it seems as if Astrea, who is [Page 135] said to have retir'd into Heaven, lies yet conceal'd here among these Peo­ple: There is no need of Judges amongst them, for their own Con­sciences Judge'em: All their Goods are in Common; the Fruits of the Trees, the Grain, Pulse of the Earth, the Milk of the Herds are so abounding, that a People so So­ber and so Moderate have no occa­sion to divide 'em; each moving fancily in this happy Countrey, car­ry their Tents from one Place to another, when they have eaten up the Pasturage, and consum'd the Fruits of that part whence they come, so that it is not their Interest to maintain one against t'other; and if they all love one another with a brotherly Love, which nothing can interrupt, 'tis the contempt of vain Riches and of deceitful Plea­sures which confirm 'em in this Peace, Union and Liberty. They are all free, and all equal, and there is no other difference among 'em than [Page 136] that alone which the Experience of the Grave, old Men, or the extra­ordinary Wisdom of some young Men makes, who being accom­plish'd in all Virtue, equal the old Men: The cruel Outcrys of Fraud, Violence, Perjury, Law-suits and Wars are never heard in this Coun­trey cherish'd by the Gods: No hu­man Blood ever stain'd this Land, no, not so much as the Blood of innocent Lambs: When they hear of bloody Battels, devouring Con­quests, of the overthrow of States, which are frequent in all other Na­tions, they are Amaz'd. What, say they, are not Men subject enough to Mortality, without per­cipitating one another to Death! Life that is so short seems to them too long. Are they sent here upon Earth to tear one another in Pieces, and so make themselves mutually Miserable? Nor cou'd these People of Betica imagin why those Conque­rors, who subjugate great Empires, [Page 137] shou'd be so much admir'd: What a Folly 'tis, said they, for a Man to place his Happiness in governing other Men, the government of whom is so very troublesome, if they are govern'd by reason, and according to Justice: But how can he take Pleasure in governing them against their Wills? 'Tis all that a wise Man ought to do, to submit himself to govern a docile People, of whom the Gods have given him Charge, or a People who entrent him to be as a Father or Shepherd to 'em; but to govern a People against their Will, is to make him­self most Miserable, to gain a false Honour for kiiping them in Slave­ry. A Conqueror is a Man whom the Gods, irritated against Man­kind, have sent upon the Earth in their Wrath, to lay Kingdoms wast, spread Terrours, Misery and De­spair every where, and to make as many Slaves as there are free Men. Is it not Glory enough to a Man that [Page 138] thirsts after Fame to rule those with Prudence whom the Gods have put under him? Do's he think that he is not worthy of Praise unless he be­comes Violent, Unjust, Insulting, an Usurper and Tyrannick over all his Neighbours? War shou'd never be thought on but for the defence of Liberty. He is happy, who being a Slave to no Man, has not the vain Ambition to make another Man his Slave. Those mighty Conquerors whom they represent to us with so much Glory, are like those over­flowing Rivers, which appear Ma­jestick, but destroy those fertile Countrys which they shou'd only refresh.

After Adoam had given this De­scription of Betica, Telemachus, charm'd with his Relation, ask'd him several particular Questions: Do these People, said he, drink Wine? They are so far from Drink­ing it, reply'd Adoam, that they ne­ver car'd to make any; not that they [Page 139] want Grapes, since no Country whatever produces more delicious; but they are satisfi'd with eating Grapes as they do other Fruits; for they dread Wine as the Corrupter of Mankind: 'Tis a kind of Poyson (say they) which makes 'em Mad; it does not kill a Man, indeed, but it makes him a Beast: Men may preserve their Health without Wine, whose effect is to destroy good Man­ners. Then, said Telemachus, I wou'd fain know what Laws are observ'd in Marriages in this Na­tion. No Man, replied Adoam, can have more than one Wife, whom he must keep as long as she lives. The Honour of the Men in this Country depends as much on their Fidelity to their Wives, as the Ho­nour of the Wives depends in other Countries on their Fidelity to their Husbands: Never were People so Honest, and so jealous of their Cha­stity; the Wives here are Beautiful and Agreeable, but Plain, Modest [Page 140] and Laborious; their Marriages are Peaceable, Fruitful, and without Blemish; the Husband and Wife seem to be but one Person in Two different Bodies; the Husband and the Wife share the Cares of dome­stick Affairs together, the Husband manages all the Concerns abroad, the Wife keeps close to her Business at home; she Comforts her Hus­band, and seems to be made for no­thing else but to please him; she gains his Confidence, and contri­butes less by her Beauty than her Virtue to heighten the Charms of their Society, which lasts as long as they live: The Sobriety, Tempe­rance, and the Purity of Manners of these People give 'em a long Life, and free from Diseases; here are Men of an Hundred, and of an Hundred and twenty Years Old, who yet are Fresh and Vigorous. I wou'd know now, said Telemachus, how they do to avoid going to War with other People their Neighbours. [Page 141] Nature, continued Adoam, has se­parated them from other People, on one side by the Sea, and on the other side by high Mountains: On the other hand, the neighbouring Nations respect 'em for the sake of their Virtue: Several times the other People falling out among themselves, have made these Judges of their Differences, and have en­trusted the Lands and Towns, for which they disputed, with them. As this wise Nation has never com­mitted any Violence, no Body di­strusts 'em. They Laugh when they hear of Kings who can't govern the Frontiers of their Estates among themselves. Is it to be fear'd, say they, that Men shou'd want Lands? There will ever be more than they can cultivate; as long there re­mains free Lands, we wou'd not so much as defend our own against our Neighbours, who wou'd take 'em from us; nor Envy, nor Pride, nor Falshood, nor a Desire of enlarging [Page 142] their Dominions, was ever known among the Inhabitants of Betica; so that their Neighbours never have occasion to fear such a People, nor can ever hope to make them fear it; which is the reason that they ne­ver molest 'em: These People wou'd sooner forsake their Country, or wou'd deliver themselves up to Death, than submit themselves to Slavery: Thus they are as difficult to be Enslav'd, as itis for them to desire to Enslave others. 'Tis that causes so profound a Peace between them and their Neighbours. Adoam ended this Discourse, with an Ac­count of the menner of Traffick be­tween the Phaenicians and those of Betica: These People, Pursu'd he, were amaz'd when they saw strange Men come from so far on the Waves of the Sea: They receiv'd us very kindly, and gave us part of all that they had, without taking any pay­ment for it; they offer'd us all that [Page 143] was left of their Wooll, after they had sufficiently provided for their own use, and indeed sent us a rich Present of it. 'Tis a Pleasure to them to give their overplus libe­rally to Strangers. As for their Mines, it was no manner of trou­ble at all to have parted with 'em to us, they made no advantage of 'em; they fancy'd Men were not overwise to search with so much Pains in the Bowels of the Earth, what cou'd not make 'em happy, nor satisfy true Necessity. Do not dig, said they to us, so deep into the Earth, content your selves with Ploughing and Tilling it, it will afford you real Goods that will nou­rish you, you will reap Fruits from it that are more valuble than Gold and Silver, since Men desire neither Gold nor Silver only to purchase Necessaries to support Life. We wou'd often have taught 'em Na­vigation, and have carry'd the young Men of their Country in­to [Page 144] Phaenicia; but they wou'd never consent that their Children shou'd learn to Live after our manner. They wou'd learn, said they to us, to have occasion for all those Things that are meerly necessary to us; they wou'd have 'em, and they wou'd forsake Virtue to gain them; they wou'd grow, like a Man who has good Legs, and who having lost the custom of Walking, brings him­self at last to the sad necessity of be­ing always carry'd like a sick Man. Indeed they admire Navigation, because it is an industrious Art; but they believe it is pernicious: If those People, say they, have sufficient of what is necessary to Life in their own Country, What do they seek in another? Are not they contented with what is sufficient to Nature? They deserve to be Shipwrack'd, for seeking Death in the midst of Tempests to satiate their Avarice. Telemachus was ravish'd at Adoam's Discourese, he was highly pleas'd [Page 145] that there was yet a People in the World, who following the true Dictates of Nature, was both so wise and so happy. Oh, how far different are these Morals, said he, from those vain and ambitious Man­ners of those People whom we be­lieve to be the wisest! We are so vitiated that we can hardly think this so natural Simplicity can be real. We look upon the Morals of these People only as a pleasant Fable, and we ought to look upon ours as a monstrous Dream.

Whilst Telemachus and Adoam en­tertain'd one another in this man­ner, negelcting Sleep, and not per­ceiving that it ws already Mid­night; a deceitful Deity, their Ene­my, led 'em far wide of Ithaca, which their Pilot Achamas attempt­ed to make in vain. Neptune, al­tho a Friend to the Phaenicians, cou'd no longer endure to think that Te­lemachus had escap'd the Tempest that had thrown him on the Rocks [Page 146] of the Isle of Calipso. Venus, who was yet more enrag'd to see this young triumphant Hero, who had overcome Love and all its Charms, in the transport of her Grief left Cythera, Paphos, Idalia, and all the Honours which are paid to her in the Isle of Cyprus; and cou'd no longer stay in those Places where Telemachus had despis'd her Power; but mounts to bright Olympus where all the Gods were assembled round the Throne of Jupiter. From this Place they behold the Stars moving under their Feet: Thence they see the Globe of the Earth, like a little lump of Dirt. The vast Seas seem to them only like drops of Water, with which the lump of Dirt is a little moistned: The greatest King­doms are in their Sight but a little Sand which cover the superficies of this Dirt: The innumerable People, and the most powerful Armies, seem but as Ants which contend with one another for a slip of Grass upon this [Page 147] heap of Dirt. The Immortals Laugh at the most serious Affairs that disturb foolish Mortals, and they appear to them like the Sports of Children: What Men call Gran­deur, Glory and Power, seem to the highest Powers nothing but Mi­sery and Folly. 'Tis in this Habi­tation so much elevated above the Earth, that Jupiter has fix'd his im­moveable Throne. His Eyes pierce into the very Abyss, and look even into the most secret corners of all Hearts; his soft and serence Aspects disperse Tranquility and Joy over all the Universe: On the contrary, when he shakes his awful Head, he moves both Heaven and Earth: The Gods themselves dazl'd with the Rays of the Glory that surround him, can't approach him without Trembling; all the celestial Dei­ties were near him at that Moment. Venus presented her self with all the Charms which wanton on her beautiful Bosom: Her loose Gown [Page 148] had more splendor than all the Co­lours that Iris adorns her self with in the dark Clouds, when she comes to promise to affrighted Mortals the end of Tempests, and to proclaim to 'em the return of fair Weather. Her Robe was ty'd with that famous Girdle on which the Graces are re­presented. The Goddess's Hair was negligently ty'd behind by a Locket of Gold. All the Gods were surpriz'd at her Beauty, as if they had never seen her before; and their Eyes were dazl'd like the Eyes of Mortals, when after a long Night, Phoebus returns to enlighten 'em with his Rays, they look one one another with Asto­nishment, and their Eyes return'd and fix'd always on Venus; but they perceiv'd the Goddess's Eyes were bath'd in Tears, and that a deep Sorrow sate on her Face: Mean while she advanc'd towards the Throne of Jupiter with a soft and smooth Pace, like the rapid Flight of a Bird that cuts the vast [Page 149] Space of the yielding Air: He look'd on her with a great deal of compla­cency. and smil'd kindly on her, and, rising, embrac'd her. My drar Daughter, said he, what grieves you? I can't see your Tears with­out concern; fear not to discover your Thoughts to me, you know my Tenderness and Indulgence. Ve­nus answer'd him with a soft Voice, but interrupted with deep Sighs; O, Father of Gods and Men! You who see all things, can't choose but know the cause of my Sorrow; Mi­nerva is not satisfied even with over-throwing the lofty Town of Troy which I defended, and to be reveng'd on Paris who had prefer'd my Beauty to her's but she conducts the Son of Ulysses, that cruel De­stroyer of Troy, over Land and Sea; Telemachus is still accompany'd by Minerva, which occasions that she does not appear here in Place with the rest of the Deities: She led this young Bravo into the Isle of Cyprus [Page 150] to affront me, who not only dis­dain'd to burn Incense on my Al­tars, but he has exprest an abhor­rence of the Feasts which are cele­brated in honour of me; he has shut up his Heart against my Plea­sures; in vain has Neptune rais'd the Winds and the Waves against him at my Request, to punish him. Te­lemachus cast by an horrible Ship­wrack on the Isle of Calipso, tri­umph'd over Love himself, whom I had sent into this Island to soften the Heart of this young Greek; nei­ther the Youth nor the Charms of Calipso, and of her Nymphs, nor the flaming Shafts of Love cou'd over-come the Artifices of Minerva, she has snatch'd him away from that Island: See how I am con­founded, a Stripling triumphs over me!

Jupiter to comfort her, said, 'Tis true, my Daughter, that Minerva defends the Heart of this young Greek against all the Darts of your [Page 151] Son; and she designs him more Glo­ry than ever young Man attain'd to: I am troubled that he has de­spis'd your Altars, but I can't give him up to your Power; but for the love of you, I consent that he shall still wander both by Sea and Land; that he shall live far from his own Country, expos'd to all sorts of Mi­series and Dangers, but the Fates will neither suffer him to perish, nor his Virtue to yield to those Pleasures with which you bewitch Mankind. Be comforted then, my Daughter, to keep so many Hero's and so ma­ny Gods under your Empire. Here, he smil'd on Venus with all the Grace and Majesty of the greatest Deity: A flash of Light like the most piercing Lightnings darted from his Eyes, and tenderly kissing Venus, he dispers'd an Odour of Ambrosia which perfum'd all Olym­pus. The Goddess cou'd not but be sensible of this Caress from the greatest of the Gods; in spite of [Page 152] her Tears and Grief, Joy was visi­ble in all her Face; she let down her Veil to hide her Blushes, and the Confusion in which she found her self: The whole Assembly ap­plauded what Jupiter had said; and, Venus, without losing one moment, hasted to find out Neptune, to con­sult with him the means of reveng­ing her self on Telemachus. She re­peated to Neptune what Jupiter had said to her: I knew long since, re­turn'd Neptune, the irreversible De­cree of the Fates; but tho' we can't swallow up Telemachus in the Waves of the Sea, yet let us not forget any thing that may make him wretch­ed, and retard his return to Ithaca; I cant't yield that the Phenician Ves­sel on which he is Aboard should be lost; for I love the Phenicians, they are my People; no other Nation in the Universe cultivates my Empire as they do; 'tis by their Industry alone that the Sea is become the means of a Commerce between all [Page 153] the People of the Earth; they ho­nour me with continual Sacrifices on my Altars; they are Just, Wise, and Laborious in their Traffick; they disperse Profit and Plenty over all the Earth: No, Goddess, I can't allow that one of their Vessels shou'd be wreck'd; but I will make the Pl­lot lose his Course, and steer wide of Ithaca, whither he is bound. Contented with this Promise, Venus forc'd a malicious Smile, and alight­ed from her flying Chariot on the flow'ry Meadows of Idalia, where the Graces, with Sports and Laugh­ters, express'd their Joy to see her again, dancing about her, on the Flowers that perfume this charming Abode: And Neptune immediately dispatch'd a deceitful Deity, like the God of Dreams, save only that Dreams deceive but during the time of sleep, whereas this Deity enchants Mens Senses when they are awake. This mischievous Deity, attended by a vast multitude of winged Lies and [Page 154] Falsities, which flutter'd about him, came to pour a subtil and enchant­ing Liquor on the Eyes of the Pi­lot. Achamas, who was attentively considering the height of the Moon, the Course of the Stars, and the Port of Ithaca, whose sharp pointed Rocks he had already discover'd near e­nough to him; but in this very mo­ment the Pilot's Eyes cou'd discern nothing truly as it was; another Sky presented it self to him, the Stars seem'd as if they had chang'd their Course, and were returning back again to their Spheres: All the Firmament seem'd to move by new Laws; the very Earth it self was alter'd, and a false Ithaca always in the Pilot's View, to amuse him all the time he was shearing off from the true one: The more he advanc'd towards this deceitful Representa­tion of the Port of the Island, the more this false Representation delud­ed him; nor cou'd he imagin what to make of this Retreat: Sometimes [Page 155] he thought he already heard the noise that is usually made in a Port, and was strait preparing according to the Orders he had receiv'd to go a Shore on a little Island near the great one, to destroy the Lovers of Penelope, who had conspir'd to hin­der the return of this young Prince Telemachus: Sometimes he fear'd the Shelves which are so numerous on the Shoars of that part of the Sea, and he fancy'd he heard the dread­ful Roaring of the Waves which break themselves against these Shelves: Then all on a sudden, he observ'd that the Land appear'd yet more distant; the Mountains seem'd no otherwise to him, so far off, than as so many little Clouds which some­times darken the Horizon, while yet the Sun is set. Thus was Acha­mas amaz'd, and the Impression of this deceitful Deity that had charm'd his Eyes, made him sensible that he was possess'd with something more than ordinary, which 'till then he [Page 156] had not perceiv'd; at the same time [...] he cou'd not believe that he was awake, but that he was deluded on­ly by a Dream. Neptune in the mean time commanded the East Wind to blow, in order to drive the Ship on the Coasts of Hesperia: Tho Wind obey'd him with such a [...] Gale, that the Ship soon [...] at the Port that Neptune had design'd it.

Aurora had already proclaim'd the approaching day; already had the Stars, which fear and are jealous of the Rays of the Sun, hidden their dark Fires in the Ocean, when the Pilot cry'd out, I am out of doubt, for we are just upon the Island of Ithaca: Chear up, Telemachus! Now is the time that you shall see Pene­lope again, and (perhaps) find Ulys­ses reseated on his Throne. Telema­chus, who was till then, fast lock'd in the Arms of a profound Sleep, awaking at these words, rises and comes into the Steerage, embraces [Page 157] the Pilot, and with his Eyes yet hardly open, stedfastly views the Neighbouring Shoar, and sigh'd when he cou'd not perceive his own Country's Shoar. Alas, said he, where are we! Achamas, you are deceiv'd; you are but ill acquainted with these Coasts so far distant from your own Country. No, no, re­ply'd Achamas, I can't be deceiv'd in my Knowledge of the Coasting of this Island: How many times have I come into your Port? I know it to the very least Rocks in it; the Port of Tyre is not more fresh in my Memory: See that Mountain there that advances, and that Rock that rises like a Tower! Don't you per­ceive the Billows that break them­selves against those other Rocks that seem to threaten the Sea by their fall? But don't you take notice of the Temple of Minerva, that cuts the Clouds? Look you, there's the House and Castle of your Father Ulysses. Oh, Achamas! reply'd Te­lemachus, [Page 158] I see on the contrary a re­mote Coast over against me both clear and even; and I perceive a Town, but not Ithaca. Oh, ye Gods! Is it thus you mock poor Mortals? Whilest he was speaking these words, all on a sudden the Eyes of Achamas were clear'd; the Charm was ended, and he saw and knew the Shoar, perfectly what it was, and acknowledg'd his Error.

I am confident, Oh Telemachus! cry'd he, that some envious Deity has bewitch'd my Eyes: I thought I saw Ithaca; the true Prospect of it presented it self intirely to my view; but at that same moment it vanish'd like a Dream: I now see another City, and, doubtless, it is Salante, which Idomeneus flying from, Crete is building in Hesperia: I perceive rising Walls, which are not yet fi­nish'd; and I see a Fort, which is not altogether fortify'd. Whilest Achamas was remarking the several Works newly carry'd on this grow­ing [Page 159] City, and Telemachus was de­ploring his Unhappiness, the Wind that Neptune had rais'd carry'd 'em with full Sail into a safe Road, and just by the Port.

Mentor, who was neither igno­rant of Neptune's Revenge, nor the cruel Artifice of Venus, cou'd not choose but laugh at the mistake of Achamas. When they were in this Road, said Mentor to Telemachus, Jupiter tries you, but will not de­stroy you; and only tries you to shew you the way to Glory. Think on the Labours of Hercules. Let your Father's Actions be ever in your Mind. He who can't suffer has nothing of Courage. By your Patience and Fortitude, you will tire that cruel Fortune which takes delight to persecute you. I am less afraid, for your sake, of the rigo­rous Treatment of Neptune, than I fear'd the flatt'ring Caresses of that Goddess which detain'd you in her Isle. What do we stay for? Let [Page 160] us into the Port! These People are our Friends; we are come among the Greeks. Idomeneus, who has been himself ill treated by Fortune, will have pity on the Miserable. They presently enter'd the Port of Salante, where the Phenician Ves­sel was receiv'd without any diffi­culty; because the Phenicians have Peace and Commerce with the whole Universe. Telemachus, with admi­ration, beheld this growing City, as it were a young Plant, which hav­ing been nourish'd by the sweet Dew of the Night, in the Morning feels the Beams of the Sun which come to imbelish it; it grows, it opens its tender Buds, it extends its green Leaves, it blows its odorife­rous Flowers with a thousand new Colours; every moment it presents it self to the Sight, a new Lustre is found on it; so flourish'd Idomene­us's new City on the Sea's side: Each day, each hour it grows in magni­ficence; and shew'd to Strangers afar off at Sea, new Ornaments of [Page 161] Architecture which reach'd the very Skies. All the Shoar resounded with the cries of the Workmen, and the blows of Hammers; the Stones were hung up in the Air by Cranes with Ropes; all the Nobility en­courag'd the People in their Work, from the very first peep of day; and the King, Idomeneus, himself giving Orders throughout all, made the Works advance with incredible Expedition.

The Phenician Vessel was hardly got into Port, e're the Cretans gave Telemachus and Mentor all the Tokens of a sincere Friendship: They post­ed away to give Idomeneus notice of the Arrival of the Son of Ulysses. The Son of Ulysses! cry'd he, of Ulysses? The dear Friend of that wise and great Hero; by whom, at last, we have levell'd the lofty Walls of proud Troy even to the Ground! Bring him to me, that I may shew him how much I lov'd his Father. As soon as Telemachus was presented to him, said he to [Page 162] him, with a sweet and smiling Countenance, Tho' no body shou'd have told me who you are, I am certain I shou'd have known you; you are Ulysses himself; see his very Eyes full of Fire, his stedy Aspect! See besides, his Air so cold and re­serv'd, which cover'd so much Vi­vacity and so many Graces. Look! Here's his obliging Smile too; his negligent Demean, his soft Speech, plain and insinuating, which per­suaded without allowing time for Suspicion! Yes; you are the Son of Ulysses, but you shall be mine too; my dear Son! What Adventures brought you on these Coasts? Is it in search of your Father? Alas! I never heard from him: Cross Fate persecuted us both; he had the mis­fortune of being driven from his Country, and I that of finding mine, fill'd with Horrors by the Hatred of the immortal Gods against me. Whilest Idomeneus spoke those words he loo'd fixedly upon Mentor, [Page 163] as being no Stranger to his Face; tho' at the same time he was much perplex'd about his Name. In the mean time Telemachus answer'd him, with Tears in his Eyes; Oh! King, Pardon my Grief, which I cannot conceal from you, even at a time when I ought to be full of Joy and Gratitude for all your generous Fa­vours to me. Your Sorrow for the loss of Ulysses, teaches me how deep­ly I ought to be affected by my mis­fortune in not finding my dear Fa­ther; 'tis now a tedious while since I have been in search of him thro' all the known Seas: The angry Gods won't suffer me to hope, ei­ther to see him again, or to return to Ithaca, where Penelope is daily tortur'd with a fruitless Desire of being freed from her troublesome Lovers.

I expected to have found you in the Isle of Crete; I there learnt your cruel Fate, but little thought of ever touching the Coast of Hesperia, [Page 164] where you have founded a new Kingdom: But Fortune, who is pleas'd to sport with us Mortals, who makes me wander from Place to Place, and keeps me still from Ithaca, cast me at last upon your Shore; yet of all the Disasters she has expos'd me to, this I could bear with a contented Mind. For, tho' she drives me away from my Na­tive Country, yet she brings me ac­quainted with the wisest and most generous of all Kings. At these words Idomeneus gave Telemachus a kind Embrace; and having led him into his Palace, who is that wise old Man, said he to him, who ac­companies you, for methinks I have seen him before: 'Tis Mentor, re­ply'd Telemachus; Mentor, Ulysses's intimate Friend, who has taken care of me even from my Infancy, and who best can inform you how much I am beholden to him. Thereupon Idomeneus made towards Mentor, and shaking him by the hand told [Page 165] him; You and I have seen one ano­ther before: You may remember when you went over to Crete, and what good Advice you gave me; but at that time I was hurried away by the heat of Youth, and transport­ed by the Enjoyment of sensual Pleasures; of that my Misfortunes only have been able to teach me Wisdom. Oh! that I had believed your Counsels; Oh! wise old Man! But I am full of wonder to find that Age has made no alteration in you since so many Years; your Face is still fresh and lively, and your Bo­dy strait and vigorous, only your Hair is grown somewhat Hoary. Great King, answer'd Mentor, were I a Flatterer, I would tell you like­wise that you still preserve that youthful Liveliness which smil'd in your Face at the Siege of Troy. But I had rather incurr your Displea­sure, than speak against Truth; be­sides, I find by your wise Discourse that you are averse to Flattery, and [Page 166] that a Man may be sincere with you without running any Hazard: Wherefore I must freely own that you are so much alter'd, that I could scarce have known you again. I plainly see the cause of it, which is your long Misfortunes and Suffer­ings; but the Wisdom you have ac­quir'd makes you sufficient amends for what you have suffer'd; and a Man ought to be easie and uncon­cern'd at the Wrinkles of his Face, whilest his Soul is inur'd to the Pra­ctice of Virtue. Moreover, know, Oh! Idomeneus, that Kings always wear out faster than other Men: For in Adversity, both the Troubles of the Mind, and bodily Labours make them look Old before their Time: In Prosperity, the soft En­joyments of an effeminate Life waste their Strength yet more than the Toils of War, and nothing is more hurtful than excess in Pleasure. This is the Reason why Kings, both in Peace and War, enjoy Pleasures, and [Page 167] are expos'd to such Labours and Hardships as anticipate old Age; whereas a sober, moderate, and plain Life, free from Disquietudes and Passions, regular and laborious keeps all the Limbs of a wise Man in a vigorous Youthfulness, which without these Precautions, flies fast away upon the Wings of Time.

Idomeneus charm'd with Mentor's Discourse, had been longer atten­tive to him, had they not come to remind him of a Sacrifice that he was to make to Jupiter: Telemachus and Mentor follow'd him surrounded by a great multitude of People, who with great earnestness and Curio­sity gaz'd on these two Strangers: They said one to another, these two Men are very different; the young one has an Air admirable and love­ly, beyond Expression; all the Charms of Youth and Beauty are every where dispers'd both over his whole Body; but this Beauty has nothing Languid nor Effeminate; [Page 168] with this tender Flower of Youth, he appears vigorous, strong and in­ur'd to Labour: But this other, tho far older, yet has lost nothing of his Strength; and tho his Mien is not so majestical, and his Coun­tenance less pleasant, yet on a near­er view, in his plainness may be seen the Marks of Wisdom and Virtue, with a surprising Gravity: When the Gods descended to con­verse with Mortals on the Earth, undoubtedly they took Figures like these two strange Travellers.

By this time, they were arriv'd at the Temple of Jupiter, whom Idomeneus, who was the Offspring, had adorn'd with a great deal of Magnificence: He was inviron'd with a double Row of Pillars of Marble like Jasper; the Chapiters were of Silver; the Temple was all lin'd with Marble, with Bass-reliefs, which represented Jupiter trans­form'd into a Bull, the Rape of Europa, and his Passage over the [Page 169] Sea into Crete; they seem'd to re­verence Jupiter, tho he was in a strange Form: Then the Wisdom and Birth of Minos was to be seen; who there appear'd in the heighth of old Age, dispensing Laws to his whole Island, which might make it for ever flourishing. There also Telemachus observ'd, the principal Adventures at the Siege of Troy, where Idomeneus had justly acquir'd the Glory of a great General. In the Representations of these Com­bats Telemachus sought his Father, and found him taking away the Horses of Rhesus, whom Diomedes had just slain; and in another place contending with Ajax for the Arms of Achilles, before all the Commanders of the Greek Army; and at last their coming out of the fatal Horse to destroy the Lives of so many Trojans: In all these fa­mous Actions Telemachus knew him, of which he had so often heard, and which Nestor himself had recounted [Page 170] to him. Here Tears presently gush'd from his Eyes, he chang'd Colour, and Grief appear'd all over his Face: Idomeneus perceiv'd it, tho he turn'd aside to conceal his Trouble. Don't be asham'd, said Idomeneus to him, to let us see how much you are concern'd at the Glo­ry and Misfortunes of your Father. In the mean while the People came in whole Crowds under the vast Portico's made thro' the double row of Columns which surrounded the Temple. There were two Com­panies of young Boys and Girls, who sung Verses in Praise of that God who disperses the Thunder. These Children who were all cho­sen out of the most Beautiful, had their long Hair hanging loose on their Shoulders; their Heads were Crown'd with Roses and Perfumes, and were all Cloath'd in White. Idomeneus offer'd an Hundred Bulls to beg a favourable Success in a War, which he had undertaken [Page 171] against his Neighbours: The Blood of the Victims reak'd on every side, and was seen to stream over the Goblets of Gold and Silver. The old Man Theophanes, dear to the Gods, and Priest of the Temple, during the time of Sacrifice, cover'd his Head with one end of his purple Robe; then he consulted the En­trails of the Victims, which were yet panting, after which, mount­ing the sacred Tripos; O ye Gods! (cry'd he) what are then these Strangers, whom you have sent into these Parts? Without these, the War lately design'd wou'd be dreadful; and Salante wou'd be bu­ry'd in Ruin, 'ere it were rais'd on its Foundations. I see a young He­ro, whom Wisdom still conducts — No Mortal dare say more. — Here his Looks were wild, and his Eyes sparkl'd; and he seem'd to gaze on other Objects than those that were before him: His Face was all a-fire: He rag'd, and grew Di­stracted; [Page 172] his Hair stood an end, he foam'd at Mouth, and his lifted up Arms were immoveable: His Voice was stronger than any humane Voice whatever; he was out o' Breath, and cou'd not contain the Deity which transported him. O happy Idomeneus, cry'd he again, what do I see! What Misfortunes avoided! What soft Peace at Home! But what bloody Wars Abroad! What Victories! O Telemachus! Thy La­bours exceed thy Father's. The haughty and fierce Enemy grovels in the Dust, under thy Sword; the brazen Gates and inaccessible Ram­parts fall at thy Feet — O Great Goddess! That his Father — O Brave Youth, in time thou shalt see — Here his Speech fail'd him, and that Word clos'd his Mouth, and he continued in Spite of his Endeavours, in an amazing Silence. All the People were con­geal'd with Fear: Idomeneus, all trembling, durst not bid him make [Page 173] an end. Telemachus himself aston­ish'd, cou'd hardly understand what he had heard; much ado he had to believe that so great Predictions. were made of him; Mentor alone was unastonish'd at the divine Spi­rit. You understand, said he to Idomeneus, the purpose of the Gods; that against whatsoever Nation you shall lead your Forces, the Victory shall be yours; and that you shall own your good Success of your Arms to your Friend's Son: Be not Jealous therefore, but only make use of what the Gods now give you by his Means. Idomeneus, being not yet re­cover'd out of his Amazement, in vain attempted to Speak; his Tongue re­main'd immoveable. Says Telemachus to Mentor; So much promis'd Glory does not move me: But what can be the meaning of those Words, Thou shalt see again, Is it my Father or only Ithaca that I shall see? Alass! Why did he not make an end of his Prophecy? He left me more [Page 174] perplex'd than I was before: Oh Ulysses! Oh my Father! Is it then possible I shall see you again! But I Flatter my self — Oh! cruel Oracle, thou takest Delight in Sporting with an unfortunate Man; one Word more, and I had reach'd the top of Happiness.

Says Mentor to him, Receive with Reverence what the Gods are pleas'd to reveal, and attempt not to dis­cover what they intend to keep se­cret: A rash Curiosity deserves to be confounded: 'Tis out of a su­pream Goodness and Wisdom, that the Gods keep weak Mortals in dark Ignorance about their Fates. I own 'tis a great advantage to foresee what depends on us, in order to do it well; but 'tis every whit as advan­tageous to be Ignorant of what lies not in our Power, but intirely de­pends on Heaven's irreversible De­crees. Telemachus, touch'd with these Words, contain'd himself, tho not without Reluctancy. As for [Page 175] Idomeneus, having recover'd his sur­prize, be begun to return great Jove Thanks for sending to him young Telemachus, and wise Mentor to make him victorious over his Enemies. And having made a magnificent Feast after the Sacrifice, he Spoke to the two Strangers in these Words.

I confess I was but little acquaint­ed with the Art of Governing, when I return'd to Crete, after the Siege of Troy. You know, dear Friends, what Misfortunes hindred me from reigning over that great Island, since you assure me you were there af­ter I left it. Yet I am too happy if the cruellest strokes of Fortune can serve to teach me to be Master of my Passions: I crost the Seas like a Fugitive, whom the aveng­ing Gods and Men pursue: All my past Honours and Glory serv'd only to make my Fall the more ingnomi­nious and insupportable: I sought a shelter for my houshold-Gods on this desart Coast, where I found [Page 176] nothing but wild, uncultivated Lands, over-run with Thorns and Briars, cover'd with Trees as old as the Earth it self; and huge steep Rocks inaccessible to all but fierce Beasts, which harbour'd under them. Yet such was the Extremity to which I was reduc'd, that I was glad to enjoy, with a few Soldiers and Friends who had been willing to accompany me in my Misfortunes, that wild, savage Land, and make it my Country, having no hopes ever to see again that fortunate Island, whereof I was born King. Alass! said I to my self, what a Change is here! What a dreadful Example am I to Kings! What wholsome Instructions they can draw from my Miscarriages! They fancy there is nothing they ought to be afraid of because of their Elevation above the rest of Men: But oh! 'tis that very Elevation which ought to make them more afraid than others. I was dreaded by my Ene­mies, [Page 177] and belov'd by my Subjects; I Commanded over a powerful and warlike Nation; Fame had spread my Renown as far as the remotest Countries; I reign'd in a fruitful and delightful Island; an hundred Cities paid me a yearly Tribute out of their Riches; my People acknow­ledg'd me to be the Off-spring of great Jupiter, and as I was born in their Country, they lov'd me as the Grand-Son of wise Minos, whose Laws make them so powerful and happy. What could be wanting to my Felicity, except the knowing how to use it with Moderation: But alass! my own Pride, and the Flattery of others, to which I listned but too much, have over-turn'd my Throne, and in the like manner will all Kings fall, who will give up themselves to their own Desires, and the deceitful Counsels of their Flat­terers. In the Day-time I endea­vour'd to put on a Countenance both smiling and full of Assurance, [Page 178] in order to keep up the Courage of those who had follow'd me: Let us build, said I to them, a new Ci­ty that will make us amends for all our Losses; we are surrounded by Nations, whose Example ought to animate us in this Undertaking; we behold Tarentum, which is rear­ing up pretty near us, and 'tis Pha­lantus, with his Lacedemonians, who possesses that new Kingdom; Phi­loctctes builds another great City on the same Coast, to which he gave the Name of Petilia. Metapontus is likewise such another Colony; why then should we do less than those Strangers, who wander like us, since Fortune is no more cross to us than to them? Whilest with these and the like words, I endea­vour'd to alleviate the Troubles of my Companions, I conceal'd a mor­tal Grief in the bottom of my Heart; I felt some Comfort at the with­drawing of the day, when in the gloomy Shade of silent Night, I [Page 179] was at liberty to lament my wretch­ed Fate; my Eyes became two Streams of continual Tears, and sweet Sleep had quite deserted my Bed: The next day I resum'd my Toils with unwearied eagerness, and that's the Reason, Oh! Mentor, you found me so much alter'd by Age. Idomeneus having thus given Telema­chus and Mentor the Relation of all his Misfortunes, he desir'd their As­sistance in the War wherein he was engag'd; I will, said he, take care that you are safely conducted to I­thaca, as soon as the War is over; in the mean time I will send out Ships to the most distant Shoars to learn News of Ulysses; into what Place of the known World he may be cast, either by the stormy Winds or some angry Deity; I will bring him back from thence; may the Gods but grant that he be still alive! As for you, I will send you back in­to your own Country in the best Ships that ever were built in the Isle [Page 180] of Crete; they are made of Trees fell'd on Mount Ida, where great Jove was born; that sacred Wood can never perish in the Waves; the Winds and Rocks both fear and re­verence it; and even Neptune, tho' never so angry, dares not to raise his fierce Billows against it: There­fore be assur'd that you will return to Ithaca with ease and safety, and that no cross Deity shall be able to make you wander on so many Seas any more: The Passage to your own Island is short and easie; send away the Phenician Vessel that brought you hither, and think now on no­thing but on the Honour you shall reap in settling Idomeneus in his new Kingdom, and making him amends for all his Losses. 'Tis by these Actions, Oh! Son of Ulysses, that you will be thought worthy of your Father; and tho' cruel Fate should have already confin'd him within the gloomy Kingdom of Pluto, yet all Greece shall have the Pleasure to find him again in you.

[Page 181] At these words Telemachus inter­rupting Idomeneus, let us, said he, send away the Phenician Vessel: Why do we defer any longer to take up Arms, and attack your Enemies, who are now become ours? Since we were Victorious when we fought in Sicily for Acestes a Trojan, and an Enemy of Greece; can any one doubt but that we will shew a greater Ardour and Resolution, and be more favour'd by the Gods, when we fight for one of those Grecian He­roes, who over-threw Troy, the Ci­ty of Priamus?

Mentor, looking upon Telemachus with a serence and compos'd Counte­nance, and perceiving that he burnt with a noble and eager Desire of Fighting, spoke thus to him: I am very glad, Oh! Son of Ulysses, to find in you so generous and com­mendable a Passion for Glory; but remember that the great Renown your Father got amongst the Gre­cians at the Siege of Troy, was only [Page 182] by approving himself, the wisest and most moderate of them. Al­tho' the fierce Achilles was both in­vincible and invulnerable, altho' he carried Terrour and Destruction where-ever he fought, yet Achilles could not make himself Master of Troy; he fell before the Walls of that famous City, which triumph'd over the Murderer of Hector; but Ulysses, whose Valour was ever guided by Prudence, carried Fire and Sword amongst the Trojans, and 'tis to him the fall of those lofty Towers, which during ten Years, defied whole Greece, is entirely ow­ing. As much as Minerva is above Mars, by so much a discreet and pro­vident Valour surpasses a boisterous, rash and wild Courage: Therefore, let us, First, consider the Reasons and Circumstances of this War, which is to be carried on: I decline no Dangers whatsoever, but me­thinks, Idomeneus, you ought to let us know, First, whether the War [Page 183] you engage in be just; Secondly, against whom you wage it; and, lastly, whether your Forces be such, as you may reasonably hope to over­come your Enemies. Idomeneus re­ply'd: At our first landing on this Coast, we found in it a savage Peo­ple who liv'd in the Woods, and fed upon what they kill'd in Hunt­ing, and the Mast of Trees; they were frighted at the fight of our Ships and Arms, and fled to the Neighbouring Mountains; but the Soldiers being desirous to see the Country, as they were in pursuit of some Stags, they met with those fugitive Savages; thereupon the Leaders of those Savages told them: We have abondon'd the pleasant Sea Shore, and yielded it to you; we have nothing left but wild Mountains almost inaccessible, and it is but just you suffer us to live in them in Peace and Liberty; we have met you wandring and weaker than we, so that nothing could hin­der [Page 184] us from destroying you, and concealing even from your Compa­nions the knowledge of your Mis­fortunes; but we disdain to imbrue our Hands in the Blood of those who are our Fellow-Creatures. Go your ways; remember you are indebted for your Lives to our Sentiments of Humanity; and never forget that 'tis from a People whom you call rude and savage, that you receiv'd this Lesson of Generosity and Mode­ration. Those of our Men, who were thus dismist by the Barbarians, return'd to the Camp, and related what had happen'd to them; our Soldiers were mov'd at it, and asham'd that Cretans should owe their Lives to a despicable Company of wild Men: Thereupon they went out a Hunting in greater Numbers than at first, and provided them­selves with all manner of Arms: 'Twas not long before they met with the Savages, and fell upon them; the Fight was cruel and ob­stinate; [Page 185] the Darts flew on both sides as thick as Hail in a Storm. The Savages were at last forc'd to retire to their steep Mountains, where our Men durst not follow them. A little while after those People sent to me two of their wi­sest old Men who came to sue for Peace, and brought Presents to me, which consisted in Skins of wild Beasts they had kill'd in Hunting, and several sorts of Fruit which the Country yields; having deliver'd their Presents, they addrest them­selves to me in these words: Oh! King, thou seest we hold the Sword in one of our Hands, and an Olive­branch in the other; (for they had both in their Hands) so that you may chuse either Peace or War: We confess we had rather Peace; and 'tis for that Reason we are not asham'd to yield to thee the pleasant Sea-Shore, where the Sun chears the Land with its warm Beams, and makes it produce so many sorts of [Page 186] delicious Fruits; yet Peace is sweeter and pleasanter than all those Fruits; and therefore we retir'd to those high Mountains ever cover'd with Ice and Snow, where we never see either the Flowers of the Spring, or the rich Fruits of the Autumn. We have an abhorrence for that Bruta­lity which, under the fair Names of Ambition and Honour, lays waste whole Provinces, and spills the Blood of Men who are all Brothers and Fellow-Creatures; if thou art Am­bitious of that false Honour, we are so far from envying thee, that we rather pity thee, and beg the Gods to keep us from such a wild Fury. If Sciences, which the Grecians learn with so much study, and the Po­liteness and Civility which they va­lue themselves upon, inspire them with nothing but this detestable In­justice, we think our selves too hap­py in being depriv'd of those Ad­vantages; we will pride in being Barbarians, as long as we are just, [Page 187] human, faithful, disinterested, con­tented with little, and despising that vain Nicety which multiplies our Wants; what we value most is Health, Frugality, Liberty, a sound and vigorous Body and Mind; the love of Virtue, the fear of the Gods, a kind Nature towards our Rela­tions, a constant Affection to our Friends, Faithfulness and Honesty with every Body, Moderation in Prosperity, Constancy in adverse Fortune, a couragious Boldness in speaking the Truth at all times, and an abhorrence for Flattery: These are the People whom we offer to thee for Neighbours and Allies. If the angry Gods blind your Eyes so far as not to let you see your own Interest, and if thou refusest Peace, thou shalt find, but too late, that those People are most to be dreaded in War, who love Peace out of a Principle of Moderation.

While those old Men spoke thus to me, I could not keep my Eyes [Page 188] from being fixt on them; they had long Beards; short hoary Hair; thick Eye-brows; quick and lively Eyes; a resolute Look and Counte­nance; plain and ingenuous Man­ners: The Furs they wore for Cloaths being ty'd negligently over their Shoulders, one might see their Arms more nervous and brawny than those of our Wrestlers. I made answer to those two Envoys, That I was inclin'd to Peace: We settled together by mutual Promise, seve­ral Conditions, invoking all the Gods to be Witnesses of our Trea­ty, and so I sent them back with Presents: But the Gods who drove me from the Kingdom of my Ance­stors, were not yet weary of Per­secuting me: Our Hunts-men, who could not be acquinted so soon with the Peace we had made, met the same day a great Company of those Barbarians, who attended their Ambassadors as they return'd from our Camp; they attack'd 'em with [Page 189] great Fury, kill'd many of 'em, and pursued the rest into the Woods: Thus the War is kindled anew; for those Barbarians think they can­not be safe in trusting either to our Promises or Oaths; they call to their Assistance the Locrians, Apulians, Lucanians, Brutians, those of Cro­tona, Nevitta, and Brundusium. The Lucanians came with Chariots arm'd with sharp Sythes. The Apulians are every one of them cover'd with the Skin of some wild Beast which they have kill'd; they were in their Hands great wooden Clubs full of Knots, and tipp'd with Iron Spikes; they are almost as tall as Giants, and their Bodies become so strong and brawny by the laborious Exercises to which they inure themselves, that their very Looks are dreadful and terrifying. The Locrians, who are come from Greece, do still retain something of their Origin, and have more Humanity than the rest, but they add the exact Discipline of the [Page 190] Grecian Troops to the fierceness and resolution of those Barbarians, and their hard way of living, which renders them invincible: They have long Swords, and a sort of light Bucklers made of twisted and woven Osiers, and cover'd with Skins. The Brutians are nimble-footed like Bucks or Stage; and when they run, one can scarce perceive that the ten­derest Grass is foil'd by their Steps; they hardly leave any print of their Feet on the Sand; they rush on the sudden on their Foes, and disappear with the same rapidity. The Peo­ple of Crotona are very skilful Ar­chers; it is not common among the Grecians, to see ordinary Men know how to draw a Bow, as it is among the Crotonians; and if these would contend in our Games, they would certainly carry the Prizes. Their Arrows are steep'd in the Juice of some venomous Herbs, which are said to come from the Banks of A­vernus, and whose Poison is mortal. [Page 191] As for those of Nevitta, Messapia, and Brundusium, they are endued only with bodily Strenght, and a rude and untaught Valour. At the sight of their Enemies, they rend the Skies with hideous Shrieks; they are pretty good Slingers, and darken the Air with a Shower of Shot­Stones; but they fight without or­der, or minding Ranks. This, Oh! Mentor, is what you desir'd to know: You are now acquainted with the Origin of this War, and with our Enemies. As soon as Idomeneus had given them this Account, Telema­chus being impatient to fight, thought there was no more to do than to take up Arms; but Mentor stop'd him a second time, and spoke thus to Idomeneus: What's the rea­son that the Locrians, who are a People originally come from Greece, unite themselves with the Barbari­ans against the Grecians? How comes it to pass that so many Greek Colo­nies are in a flourishing Condition [Page 192] on this Coast of Tamea, without being ingaged in the same Wars with you? You say, Oh! Idomeneus, the Gods are not yet weary of per­secuting you; but, in my Opinion, they have not yet done instructing you: All those Misfortunes you have undergone, have not taught you yet what you ought to do to prevent a War. What you did your self relate concerning the Honesty of those Barbarians, is enough to shew that you might have liv'd in Peace with them; but Pride and Haugh­tiness kindle the most dengerous Wars: You might have given them Hostages, and taken some of theirs; and it would have been an easie matter for you to have sent some of your Captains along with their Ambassadors to conduct them safe home. Nay, since the renewing of this War, you ought to have paci­fied them, by letting them know that they were attack'd through ig­norance of the Treaty that was [Page 193] concluded with them; you should have offer'd them all the Security they could possibly demand, and ap­point rigorous Punishments for those among your Subjects, who should break the Alliance. But, pray, what hapned since the beginning of this new War?

I thought, answer'd Idomeneus, it would have been a base Submission in us to court those Barbarians, who gather'd in haste all those amongst them who were able to bear Arms, and implor'd the Assistance of all the Neighbouring Nations, to whom they made us odious. Thereupon I thought it most advantageous for our Security, to make our selves Masters of certain narrow Passages in the Mountains which the Enemy kept, which having effected with­out difficulty, we by that means put our selves in a Condition of anoying and harasing those Barba­rians. I have caus'd strong Towers to be built on those Defiles, from [Page 194] whence our Men may over-whelm with their Darts all those among the Enemy, who shall attempt to come down from the Mountains in­to our Country; and at the same time, by the favour of these Towers we may make Incursions into their Country, and lay their chief Settle­ments waste whenever we please. Thus, with Forces much inferiour, we are able to resist that innumera­ble Multitude of Foes that surround us. Now things have been carried to that extremity, that it would be a difficult matter to treat of Peace with them; for we cannot yield those Towers to them, without lay­ing our selves open to their Inroads, and they look upon them as Cita­dels we have raised to bring them into slavery. Mentor reply'd: Oh! Idomeneus, you shew your self to be a wise King, in that you are wil­ling to hear undisguis'd Truth; you are not like those weak Men who are afraid of seeing it, and through [Page 195] their want of Resolution, instead of mending their Faults, only employ their Authority in maintaining what they have done amiss. Know, then that this barbarous People gave you an excellent Lesson, when they came to you for Peace. Was it out of Weakness they sued for it? Did they want Courage or Assistance to oppose you? You plainly see they did not, since they are so inur'd to War, and supported by so many dreadful Neighbours: Why did not you imitate their Moderation? But a mistaken Shame, and a false Honour have cast you into this Mis­fortune. You were afraid of mak­ing the Enemy too haughty, but you did not fear the making of them too powerful by uniting so many confederate Nations against you, by your proud and unjust Carriage. What are those Towers, of which you boast so much, good for, unless it be to create Jealousies among your Neighbours, and reducing them to [Page 196] the Necessity either of destroying you or themselves, in order to avoid the slavery with which you seem to threaten them? You rear'd up those Towers for your Security only, and 'tis by those Towers you have brought your self into an imminent Danger. The surest and firmest Bul­wark of a State is Justice, Modera­tion, Honesty, Plain-dealing, and the Assurance your Neighbours have that you will never incroach upon their Lands. The strongest Walls may fall through a thousand unexpected Accidents; the Fortune of War is capricious and inconstant, but the Love and Confidence of your Neighbours, who have experienc'd your Moderation, renders your State invincible, and deters those Neigh­bours from attacking it. Nay, sup­pose an unjust Neighbour should at­tack it, all the rest who are concern'd in its Safety, take up Arms present­ly for its Defence: The Support of so many Nations, who might have [Page 197] found their true Interest in main­taining yours, would have made you much more powerful than those Towers, which render your Mis­fortunes almost past Remedy: Had you taken care at first to prevent the Jealousie and Suspicions of all your Neighbours, your new-built City would flourish in a happy Tranquil­lity, and you would have made your self Umpire of Hesperia. But now let us consider which way for the future you can rectifie your past Erros; you told me before that there are on this Coast several Greek Colonies; those People must needs be dispos'd to serve you; for sure they have not forgot either the great Name of Minos, Son of mighty Jove, or your Toils before the Walls of Troy, where you did so often sig­nalize your self amongst the Grecian Princes, for the common Cause of all Greece. Why do you not endea­vour to bring those Colonies over to your Party?

[Page 198] They are all resolv'd to stand Neu­ter, reply'd Idomeneus; not but that they were somewhat inclin'd to as­sist me, but the great Noise this City made through all the Regions about us, deterr'd them from it. Those Grecians, as well as the rest, were afraid we had some design up­on their Liberty; they thought that having subdu'd the barbarous Moun­taineers, our Ambition would lead us yet farther: In short, they are all against us; those very People who declare not for an open War, yet wish to see us humbled, and the Jealousie of others keeps us from having any Ally.

Oh! strange Extremity! reply'd Mentor: Whilest you endeabour to appear powerful, you destroy your own Power; and whilest abroad you are the Object both of the Fear and Hatred of your Neighbours, you exhaust your self at home by the vast Expences you must needs be at to carry on the War. Oh! [Page 199] unhappy, doubly unhappy, Idome­neus, whom even this Misfortune has made but half-wise! Do you still want a second Fall to teach you how to foresee the Dangers which threaten the greatest Kings? How­ever, trust to my Management, and only let me know which are those Greek Cities, that refuse to enter in­to your Alliance.

The Chief of them, answer'd Idomeneus, is the City of Tarentum; 'tis now three Years since Phalantus laid the Foundation of it, having gather'd in Cremona a vast Number of young Men, born of Women who had forgot their absent Hus­bands during the Siege of Troy. When the Men came home, their Wives endeavour'd to pacifie them, by disowning the Faults they had committed in their absence. These numerous Youths born out of Wed­lock, knowing neither Father nor Mother, abandon'd themselves to an unbounded Licentiousness; but the [Page 200] severity of the Laws having curb'd their Disorders, they unanimously submitted to Phalantus, a bold, dauntless and ambitious Leader, who by subtle Insinuations knew how to master their Affections. He came to this Shore with those young Laco­nians, who have made of Tarentum a second Lacedemon. On-the other side, Philocletes, who reap'd so much Glory at the Siege of Troy, whither he carried Hercules's Arrows, has raised on this Neighbourhood the Walls of Petelia, a City which tho' less powerful than Tarentum, is yet more wisely govern'd. Lastly, we have near us the City of Metapontus, which the wise Nestor founded with his Pilians.

What! reply'd Mentor, is Nestor in Hesperia, and cou'd not you en­gage him in your Interest? Nestor who saw you so often fight against the Trojans, and who profess'd a Friendship for you? I lost that Friend, answer'd Idomeneus, by the [Page 201] Artifice of those People, who are barbarous only in Name; for they were so cunning, as to persuade him, that I design'd to make my self ma­ster of all Hesperia. We will unde­ceive him, answer'd Mentor: Tele­machus saw him at Pilos before he came to settle his Colony in this Country, and before we undertook our long Voyages in quest of Vlys­ses; undoubtedly he will still re­member that great Hero, and the Marks of Tenderness and Affection he gave his Son Telemachus: But the chief Business is to remove his Di­strust. Those Suspicions you creat­ed in the Minds of all your Neigh­bours, have been the occasion of this War, and the only way to put a stop to it, is to dissipate those vain Fears: Once more leave all to my Conduct.

At these words, Idomeneus em­bracing Mentor, felt a shivering mixt with Tenderness, and remain'd Speechless for a while. At last, with [Page 202] a broken Voice, he utter'd these words: Oh! wise old Man, whom the Gods have sent hither to redress all my Errors; I confess, I would have been angry with any other Mortal that durst be so free with me as you have been: I own you are the only Man that could prevail with me to make me sue for Peace; I was resolv'd either to die, or over­come all my Enemies, but it is rea­sonable to believe your wise Coun­sels, rather than my Passion. Oh! Telemachus, how happy you are in having a Guide, that will never suf­fer you to go astray! Mentor, you may do whatever you think fit; all the Wisdom of the Gods is in you; Minerva her self could not give more wholsome Advice: Go, promise, and give any thing that is in my Power; conclude a Treaty upon what Terms you please; Idomeneus will ratifie all you do.

Whilest they were thus discours­ing together, there was heard on [Page 203] the sudden a confus'd Noise of Cha­riots, neighing of Horses, hideous Shrieks and Howlings of Men, and loud Trumpets which fill'd the Air with martial Clangors: The gene­ral Cry is, The Enemy are come; they have gone a great way about to avoid the narrow Passages guard­ed by Towers; here they are, rea­dy to besiege Salanta. The old Men and the Women are under a deep Consternation: Alas! said they, why did we forsake our dear Coun­try, the fruitful Isle of Crete, and follow an unhappy Prince through so many Seas, to founda a City which is now going to be destroy'd and de­vour'd by Flames like Troy? They saw from the Top of their new­rais'd Walls, the Head-Pieces and Shields of the Enemy shine with so much brightness, that their Eyes were dazled with it; they saw like­wise the bristling Pikes which cc­ver'd the Ground as thick as a plen­tiful Harvest which Ceres ripens in [Page 204] Sicily during the scorching heat of Summer, to recompence the Labour of the Husband-man. And now they perceiv'd the Chariots arm'd with sharp Sythes, and easily dis­cern'd the several Nations that made up their Army. Mentor, the better to discover them, went up to the Top of a high Tower, whither Ido­meneus and Telemachus soon follow'd him. He was hardly come there, when he espy'd Philoctetes on one side, and Nestor with his Son Pisis­trates on the otehr; for Nestor was easily distinguish'd by his venera­ble old Age. What! cry'd Mentor, you thought, Oh! Idomeneus, that Philoctetes and Nestor would be con­tented to remain Neuter, but now you see they have taken up Arms against you; and if I am not mista­ken, the other Troops which march in such good order, and with so fierce a Look, are a Body of Lace­demonians commanded by Phalantus; all are against you; you have made [Page 205] all your Neighbours your Enemies, tho' against your Will.

Having thus said, Mentor comes down in haste from the Top of that Tower, runs to one of the City­Gates towards which the Enemy were advancing, and commands it to be opened, whilest Idomeneus, sur­priz'd with the noble Majesty which accompanies all he does, dares not so much as to ask him what he means to do. Mentor beckens with his hand, that no Body should follow him; then makes toward the Enemy, who wondered to see a single Man com­ing to them; shews them afar off an Olive Branch, as a sign of Peace; and being come so near them, that he might convenienly be heard, he requir'd them to assemble all the Captains; who being met in an in­stant, he thus spoke to 'em.

Oh! generous Men, assembled out of so many Nations which flou­rish in rich Hesperia: I know 'tis the common Interest of your Li­berty [Page 206] that summon'd you together to this Place; I do highly com­mend your Zeal, but suffer me to tell you an easie way to preserve the Liberty and Honour of all your several Nations without spilling hu­man Blood. Oh! Nestor, Oh! wise Nestor, whom I perceive in this As­sembly! You are not ignorant how fatal War is even to those who un­dertake it with Justice, and under the Protection of the Gods; War is the greatest Evil with which the Gods afflict Mankind; you can ne­ver forget how much the Greeks have suffer'd during ten Years be­fore unhappy Troy. How many Divisions have they seen among their Chiefs? What Caprices of Fortune have they been expos'd to? How many of them have fallen by Hector's Sword? What a desolation has been occasion'd in the most pow­erful and flourishing Cities upon ac­count of the War, by the long ab­sence of their Kings? At their re­turn [Page 207] home, some were cast away, and others met a fatal Death in the very Embrace of their Consorts. Oh! Inhabitants of Hesperia, I wish the Gods may never grant you so fatal a Victory: I own, Troy is re­duc'd to Ashes; but it were better for the Grecians, if she was still in her full Glory, and if base Paris should still gratifie his infamous Love with Helena. Oh! Philoctetes, you, who have been so long unhappy, and abandon'd in the Isle of Lemnos, are not you afraid of meeting with the like Disasters in another War? I know the People of Laconia have felt likewise the Miseries occasion'd by the tedious absence of the Princes, Captains and Soldiers who went against the Trojans. Oh! Grecians, you, who came to Hesperia, your coming hither was only a sequel of the Misfortunes which attended the Trojan War.

THE ADVENTURES OF TELEMACHUS The Son of ULYSSES. PART. III.

WHen Mentor had thus spoken he made up towards the Pi­lians, and Nestor (who by that time begun to know who he was) ad­vanc'd [Page 210] to meet and salute him. Oh! Mentor, said he to him, 'tis now a long time since I first saw you in Phocis; but tho' you were at that time but fifteen Years of Age, yet even then I foresaw you would be as wise as you have prov'd to be in your riper Years. Pray, acquaint me what strange Adventure brought you hither? And what Expedient you design to propose in order to prevent this War which Idome­neus has brought upon himself? We are all for Peace; 'twas our common Interest to desire it, but we could no longer live secure with him; he has broke his most solemn Promises with his next Neighbours; he has shewn to all the rest his am­bitious Design of bringing them un­der Slavery, and has left us no other Means to defend our Liberty, than the using our utmost Endeavours to over-throw his new Kingdom. However, if you can find a way to remove our just Fears, and settle a [Page 211] firm and lasting Peace, all those Na­tions whom you see here assembled, will gladly lay down their Arms, and confess that you surpass us in Wisdom.

Mentor answer'd: Wise Nestor, you know Ulysses committed his Son Telemachus to my Charge; this young Man, impatient to know what was become of his Father, went first to Pylos, where you gave him all the kind Entertainment he could expect from one of his Fa­ther's constant Friends, and then order'd your Son to conduct him in his Travels through your Country; He afterwards undertook great Voy­ages; he saw Sicily, AEgypt, and the Isles of Cyprus and Crete; at last the Winds, or rather the Gods, cast him on this Shore, as he endeavour'd to return to Ithaca, and we came here in time to prevent the horrors of a cruel War; 'tis not Idomeneus, but the Son of Ulysses and my Self, who will answer for the Performance of [Page 212] all Promises that shall be made to you.

While Mentor was thus discoursing with Nestor, in the middle of the confederate Troops, Idomeneus and Telemachus, with all the Cretans in Arms, kept their Eyes fixt on them from the top of the Walls of Sa­lenta; they observ'd with great At­tention how Mentor's Proposals would be receiv'd, and wish'd they might have heard the wise Speeches of those two venerable old Men. Nestor ever had the Reputation of the most Prudent, and most Elo­quent of all the Grecian Princes: 'Twas he, who during the Siege of Troy, allay'd and check'd the Passion of fierce Achilles; the haughty Am­bition of Agamemnon; the Pride of Ajax, and the boisterous Courage of Diomedes; soft Persuasion flow'd from his Lips like a stream of Milk and Honey; all those Heroes were attentive to his Voice, and were si­lent assoon as he begun to speak: [Page 213] He alone knew how to appease fierce Discord in the Camp, and tho he began to feel the Infirmities of feeble old Age, yet his Words were still full of Strength and Sweetness. He related Things past in order to in­struct Youth by his consummate Experience, and tho' he was slow of Speech, yet he had a most grace­ful way of telling a Story. This old Man, admir'd by all Greece, seem'd to lose all his Majesty and Eloquence assoon as Mentor appear'd with him; he look'd decay'd and over-born by Years, whereas Age seem'd to bear Respect to Mentor's strong and vigorous Constitution. The Speech of Mentor, tho plain and grave, carried with it an Air of Authority which Nestor's Words begun to want; whatever he spoke was Concise, Pithy, Nervous and to the Purpose; he never us'd vain Repetitions, nor related any thing foreign to the Point in Question. If he was oblig'd to speak often of [Page 214] the same thing, in order to inculcate it, or to perswade others, he did it with a new Turn, and enforcing Similes; and accompanied the whole with kind and complaisant Expressi­ons, adapted to the Wants of others, and fit to insinuate the Truth of what he said. Those two venerable Men yielded a very moving Sight to so many assembled Nations; and while the confederate Army that be­sieged Salenta, crowded to see them at close view, and endeavour'd to hear their wise Speeches, Idomeneus and those about him, with greedy and attentive Looks strove to disco­ver what their Gestures and Coun­tenance meant. In the mean time Telemachus, full of Impatience, steals away from that Multitude of People that surrounded him, and running to the Gate through which Mentor was gone out, commands it to be open'd with an Air of Authority. Soon after Idomeneus, who thought he was still by his Side, wonder'd [Page 215] to see him running cross the Fields, and making towards Nestor. Nestor knew him again, and hastned, tho with slow Steps, to receive him. Telemachus presently flew to embrace him, and hugg'd him a long time without speaking a Word; at last he cry'd out: Oh! Father, for I scruple not to call you so, since my Misfortune of not finding my true Father, and the Kindnesses I have receiv'd from you, entitle me to use that endearing Name. My Father, my dear Father, how blest am I to see you! And oh! That I might see Ulysses also! Yet if any thing could alleviate my Sorrow in being de­priv'd of him, 'tis certainly the finding in you another Self. At these Words Nestor was not able to forbear Weeping, and he felt a se­cret Joy when he perceiv'd those Tears, which, with a wonderful Grace, trickled down Telemaehus's Cheeks. The Beauty, Gentleness, and noble Assurance of this unknown [Page 216] Youth, who without any Precau­tion, went through so many Ene­mies, struck all the Allies with Astonishment. Is not this, said they, the Son of that old Man who came to speak with Nestor? Yes, without doubt; for they have both the same Wisdom, tho with the different Characters of Age; in the one she does but begin to Blossom, whereas in the other she bears a plentiful Harvest of ripe Fruits. Mentor who saw with Pleasure, with what a tender Affection Nestor had receiv'd Telemachus, made use of that happy Disposition. This is, said he to him, the Son of Ulysses, so dear to all Greece, and to your self. Oh! Wise Nestor, I deliver him up to you as the best and surest Hostage for Idomeneus's Promises. You may easily imagine that I should be loath if the lose of the Son should follow that of the Father, and that the wretched and disconsolate Pe­nelope should reproach Mentor with [Page 217] having sacrific'd her Son to the Am­bition of the new King of Salenta. With this Surety, who offers him­self of his own accord, and whom the Gods, who are lovers of Peace, have sent to you, I begin to offer to all these assembled Nations, such Proposals as will establish for ever a solid and lasting Peace.

At this Word of Peace, a con­fused Noise began to spread from Rank to Rank; all those different Nations murmur'd with Anger and Indignation, thinking so much time lost, while they delay'd Fighting, and that all those Speeches tended only to allay their Fury, and rob them of their Prey. Among the rest, the Manducians bore with great impatience, that Idomeneus should ever be in a condition to deceive them again. Therefore they osten attempted to interrupt Mentor, for they fear'd lest his wise Discourse should slacken their Allies; nay, they began to grow Jealous of all [Page 218] the Grecians who were in the Assem­bly. Mentor perceiving this, made it his Business to fortify their Jea­lousy, the better to divide the Minds of those different Nations.

I confess, said he, that the Man­ducians have just reason to complain, and to demand reparation for the Wrongs they have suffer'd; but at the same time, it is not reasonable that the Grecians, who make up the best govern'd Colonies, should be suspected and odious to the Natives. On the contrary, the Grecians ought to be united together, and make themselves respected by others; the only Thing they must observe, is to be contented with what they enjoy, and never to encroach upon their Neighbour's Territories. I know Idomeneus has been so unhappy as to create Jealousies among you, but 'twill be an easie matter to remove all your Suspicions. Telemachus and my Self will become your Hostages: We'll answer for Idomeneus's Fide­lity, [Page 219] and will remain in your pow­er till he has faithfully perform'd all his Promises to you. You are pro­vok'd, Oh! Manducians, because the Cretan Troops have made themselves Masters of your Mountains by sur­prize, and that by that means they are able to make Incursions when­ever they please into the Country, whither you did retire, to leave them the open Country near the Sea-shore. Upon the whole Mat­ter, those narrow Passages which the Cretans have Fortified with high Towers full of armed Men, are the true occasion of this War. Pray, answer me, can you alledge any other? Thereupon the chief of the Manducians advanc'd and thus spoke.

What Means have we not us'd to avoid this War? The Gods them­selves can Witness that we renounc'd Peace, only because it was no longer in our Power to live in Peace, through the stiring Ambition of the Cretans, and the impossibility of trusting to [Page 220] their Oaths again; a senseless Na­tion, who drove us to the hard ne­cessity of running all Hazards, and seeking our safety in their Ruin; as long as they keep those narrow Pas­sages, we shall ever be afraid of their Designs of incroaching upon our Lands, and bringing us under subjection. Had they no other Thoughts than to live in Peace with their Neighbours, they would be contented with what we yielded up to them of our own accord, and would not desire to keep an Entrance into a Country upon which they have no ambitious Design. You are little acquainted with them, oh! wise old Man, but it has been our Misfortune to know them too, too well. Cease, cease for the future, oh! thou beloved by the Gods, cease to put a stop to a just and necessary War, without which a constant Peace can never be settled in Hespe­ria. Oh! Ungrateful, treacherous, and cruel Nation, whom the angry [Page 221] Gods have sent among us to trouble our Repose, and punish us for our Faults. Yet after you have punish'd us, Oh great Gods! You will re­venge us too, neither will you be less just to our Enemies than to our selves.

At these Words all the Assembly was in an Uproar: It seem'd as if Mars and Bellona went from Rank to Rank to kindle in every one's Breast the raging fury of War, which Men­tor endeavour'd to quench. Where­upon Mentor thus resum'd his Dis­course: Had I nothing but Promises to make to you, you might chuse whether you would accept or reject them; but what I offer is real and certain. If you are not contented to have Telemachus and my self for Ho­stages, I will cause Twelve of the most noble and valiant Cretans to be deliver'd up to you. But at the same time it is but just that you should give us Hostages also: For tho' Idomeneus have a sincere desire [Page 222] for Peace, yet he desires it without Fear or Weakness; he seeks Peace just as you seem to desire it, out of Wisdom and Moderation, and not out of a fond Love for a soft and effeminate Life, nor out of fear at the impending Dangers of War. He is ready either to Conquer or to Die, but he prefers Peace to the most glorious Victory; he would be asham'd of being overcome, but he fears the being unjust, and is not ashamed to make amends for what he has done amiss. Tho he offers Peace with Sword in Hand, he would not be thought to impose its Conditions with Imperiousness; for he sets no value upon a forc'd Friend­ship. He would have a Peace, wherein all Parties concern'd may find their mutual Satisfaction; a Peace that may remove all Jealou­sies, stifle all Feuds and Resentments, and reconcile all Distrusts. In a Word, Idomeneus has all the Senti­ments which, I am sure, you desire [Page 223] he should have; my chief Business now is to persuade you of his real Intentions, which I may do with ease, if you will but hear me with animpartial and unprejudiced Mind. Hear me, Oh! Warlike People; and you, Oh! Wise and united Captains, hear what I offer to you from Idomeneus: As it not just that he should have a free Entrance into his Neighbours's Territories, so it were unreasonable that he should be expos'd to the Inroads of his Neigh­bours; therefore he consents that those Streights which he has fortifi­ed with high Towers, may be guarded by Troops that shall stand neuter. You Nestor, and you Phi­loctetes, are born Grecians, yet upon this occasion you declar'd against Idomeneus, and so cannot be suspected of being too favourable to his side. You are mov'd and animated by the common Interest of the repose and liberty of Hesperia, and therefore 'tis fit you should be the Trustees [Page 224] and Keepers of those narrow Pas­sages which have occasion'd this War. You are as much concern'd in hindering the old Inhabitants of Hesperia from destroying Salenta, which is a new Greek Colony, like one of those you have founded, as in hindering Idomeneus from en­croaching upon his Neighbours. You ought to keep an equal Ballance be­twixt both Parties; and instead of destroying with Fire and Sword, a People whom you ought to Love, reserve to your selves the Honour of being Judges and Mediators. I know you would like these Propo­sals, if you could be sure of the Per­formance on Idomeneus's part; as to this, I will give you full Satisfacti­on: For the security of both Parties, there will be those Hostages I men­tion'd before, till all the narrow Passes be deposited into your Hands. Now when the safety of all Hesperia, and even that of Salenta and Idomeneus shall lie at your Mer­cy, [Page 225] will you not then be contented? Of whom can you be afraid, unless it be of your own selves? You dare not trust Idomeneus; and yet Idome­neus is so free from any design of de­ceiving you, that he is willing to trust you. Yes, he will commit to your Charge both the Repose, Lives and Liberty of all his People and himself. If it be true that you on­ly desire an honourable and lasting Peace, how can you now reject her, when she courts you to embrace her? Once more do not think that 'tis Fear that forces Idomeneus to of­fer you these Proposals; no, 'tis Wisdom and Justice which engage him to take these Measures, without reguarding whether you impute to his Weakness what is the effect of his Virtue. In his first attempts he is to blame, and he glories in ac­knowledging his Faults by obviate­ing your Demands. 'Tis Weak­ness, 'tis ridiculous Vanity, 'tis ab­solute Ignorance of a Man's own In­terest, [Page 226] to hope to conceal his Faults, by endeavouring to maintain 'em by a fierce Haughtiness. He who owns his Faults to his Enemy, and who offers to repair 'em, shews by that, that he is become uncapable of committing 'em; and an Enemy cannot be too fearful of so wise and so firm a Conduct, at least if he does not make Peace: Besure you take good heed, that in his turn, he does do you no Injury. If you slight Peace and Justice, which now offer themselves to you, Peace and Ju­stice will take their Revenge. Ido­meneus, who ought to have fear'd that he shou'd have found the Gods provok'd against him, will now find 'em on his side against you. Telemachus and my self will Fight for the true Cause; and I call all the Gods both Celestial and Infer­nal to witness the Justice of those Proposals that I have now made to you.

[Page 227] At these words Mentor rais'd his Arm on high to shew to that great multitude of People the Olive­Branch, the Signal of Peace, which he had in his Hand. The Com­manders, who nearly beheld him, were dazl'd with the divine Light that sparkl'd in his Eyes; he ap­pear'd with such an Authority, and so awful a Majesty, as is never seen in the greatest and most illustrious among Mortals. The Charm of his soft, yet powerful Words, stole away their Hearts: They were like those enchanting Words, which in the deep silence of the Night, do in a moment stop the Motion of the Moon and Stars, calm the raging Seas, hush the Winds and the Waves, and stay the Course of the most rapid Streams. Mentor seem'd in the middle of these furious Peo­ple, like Bacchus when he was sur­rounded by Tygres, which forget­ing their fierceness, by the power of his sweet Words, came and lick'd [Page 228] his Feet, and own'd their Subje­ction by their fawning. All this while there remain'd a profound si­lence thro' all the Army: The Com­manders stood gazing on one ano­ther, and durst not oppose this sin­gle Man, nor imagin who he was. All the Troops stood motionless with their Eyes fix'd on him, and durst not make the least noise, lest he should have something more to say, which that might hinder, tho' they could not imagin that any thing could be added to what he had said: His Discourse seem'd short, and they wish'd he had spoken longer. All he had said, remain'd as it were Engraven in their Hearts; his Speech made him be lov'd; his Speech made him believ'd; every one was greedily attentive both with their Ears and Eyes, to catch the least Syllable that came out of his Mouth.

After a pretty long silence, a kind of a soft noise began to spread it self [Page 229] by little and little on every side, not like the confus'd noise of Peo­ple that begin their Anger with harsh Whispers; but on the contra­ry, it was a kind and gentle Mur­mur. Every one's Face appear'd with a pleasant Serenity and a de­lightful Softness. The Manducians, so highly enrag'd, let their Wea­pons fall out of their Hands. The rugged Phalantus, and the Lacede­monians, were amaz'd to find their Hearts so softned; and the rest be­gan to look for that haypy Peace which lately was in view. Phi­loctetes, whom his own Misfortunes had made more sensible than the rest, could not restrain his Wars. Nestor not being able to speak for the transport into which this Dis­course had thrown him, tenderly embrac'd Mentor, being wholly in­capable of uttering one Syllable; and all the People at once, as if it had been a Signal, cry'd out, Oh, wonderous wise old Man! You a­lone [Page 230] have disarm'd us; Peace, Peace, 'tis Peace we wish for. Presently after this, Nestor would have har­rangu'd 'em; but the Troops were impatient, and fear'd that he would only start some difficulty: Once a­gain, they cry'd out, Peace! Peace! And they were no way to be silenc'd, but by obliging all the Officers of the Army to cry out with them for Peace. Nestor perceiving that he had not then the liberty to make a regular Discourse, was contented only to say; You see, Mentor, what the word of a good Man can do: When Wisdom and Virtue speak, they still all the Passions; our just Resentments turn into Friendship, and desires of a lasting Peace. We accept the Peace you offer us; at which all the Commanders held up their Hands in sign of Agreement. Mentor hasted to the City-Gate to cause it to be open'd, and to speak to Idomeneus to come out of the Ci­ty without any Precaution. Mean [Page 231] while Nestor embrac'd Telemachus with these words; Thou aimable Son of the wisest of all the Greeks, can you be wiser and happier than He! Have you learn'd nothing of his Fate? The Memory of your Fa­ther, whom you so much resemble, has help'd to extinguish our Rage. Phalantus, tho' hard and severe, tho' he has never seen Ulysses, can't but be concern'd for his and his Son's Misfortunes. Here Telemachus was press'd to recount his Adventures, till Mentor return'd with Idomeneus and all the Cretan Youths which at­tended him. At the sight of Idomene­us, the Allies felt their Animosity re­kindled, but Mentor's words stifl'd this Fire, just ready to break out. Why do we delay, said he, the Confirma­tion of this sacred Alliance, of which the Gods will be both Witnesses and Guarantees? May they avenge it, if any impious Wretch dare to violate it; and may all the horrible Plagues of War (not involving the Faithful [Page 232] and Innocent) fall on the perjur'd and execrable Head of that ambiti­ous Man who shall break the holy Sanctions of this Alliance! May he be hated of Gods and Men! May he never reap the Fruit of his Per­fidy! May the infernal Furies, in the most hideous Forms, appear and encrease his Rage and Despair! May he be struck dead without any hope of Burial! May his Body be a Prey to Dogs and Vulturs! May he be in the deep Abyss of Hell for ever, more severely tormented than Tan­talus, lxion, or the Danaids! But no; rather may this Peace be as firm as the Mountain of Atlas, that sup­ports the Heavens! May all these People preserve and enjoy the Fruits of it from Generation to Generation! May the Names of those who shall swear to it be ever mention'd with Love and Reverence, by the last of of our Race! May this Peace, found­ed upon Justice and Integrity, be the Pattern of every Peace hereafter [Page 233] to be made among all the Nations of the Universe! And may all the People who would make themselves happy by re-uniting, take Example by those of Hesperia!

At these words, Idomeneus and the other Kings swore to maintain the Peace on the fore-mention'd Arti­cles. Hostages were given on each side, and Telemachus would needs be one of the Hostages for Idomenus; but Mentor cou'd not be one of that Number, because the Allies desir'd he should continue with Idomeneus, to give an account of his Conduct, and of that of his Counsellors, till the intire execution of the Articles sworn to. An hundred Heifers as white as Snow were sacrific'd be­tween the Enemy's Camp and the Town, together with as many white Bulls whose Horns were gilt and adorn'd with Garlands. The fright­ful Bellowings of the Sacrifices that fell under the sacred Knife, resound­ed over all the neighbouring Moun­tains; [Page 234] the reaking Gore stream'd on all sides; a great abundance of the richest Wine was pour'd out for the Libations; the Aruspices con­sulted the Entrails yet panting. In these Sacrifices was burn'd on the Altar an Incense that ascended like a large Cloud, whose Odour per­fum'd the whole Country. While the Soldiers on both sides throwing off the unkind Aspects of Enemies, began to entertain one another with their Adventures, and already had left off their Labour, and by de­grees tasted the sweetness of Peace: Many of those who had follow'd Idomeneus to the Siege of Troy, knew those who belong'd to Nestor which had been engag'd with them in the same War, and very kindly embrac­ing each other, mutually related what had befall'n 'em, after they had ruin'd that lofty City, the Or­nament and Glory of all Asia: And now they lay down on the Grass, crown'd with Flowers, drinking [Page 235] Wine together that was sent 'em out of the Town in large Vessels, to celebrate so happy a day.

Then said Mentor to the Kings; O ye Captains, assembled under se­veral Names and several Leaders, you shall now be but one People: For thus the just Gods, Lovers of Mankind, have decreed the eternal Tie of their Concord. The entire human Race is but one large Fami­ly dispers'd over the Face of the whole Earth: All Men are Bro­thers to each other, and ought to love as such. Curs'd are those wick­ed Men who seek a cruel Glory in the Blood of their Brethren, which is, indeed, their own. 'Tis true, War is sometimes necessary; but it is a shame to Humanity, that it is inevitable on some occasions. Oh Princes! think not that it ought to be desir'd for the acquisition of Glo­ry! True Glory is not to be found void of Humanity; whoever pre­fers his own particular Glory to [Page 236] the Sentiments of Humanity, is a Monster of Pride and no Man, and can never obtain any other than a false Glory: For true Glory consists only in Moderation and Goodness. He may be flatter'd, indeed, to sa­tisfie his foolish Vanity; but if Men went to speak their real Opinion of him in private, it ought justly to be said, That he has so much the lefs deserv'd Glory, as he has sought it with an unjust Passion: Men ought not to esteem him, because he has so little valu'd Men, and has been so prodigal of their Blood thro' a brutish Vanity. Happy's that King who loves his People, and is belov'd by them; who dare trust his Neigh­bours, and who is trusted by them; who, far from making War against them, prevents any War between them, and gives occasion to all Fo­reign Nations to wish themselves as happy as his Subjects in having him for their King! Resolve then to meet from time to time, O ye Prin­ces [Page 237] of the powerful Cities of Hespe­ria, and hold a general Assembly once every three Years, where all the Kings here present shall concur to continue this Alliance by a new Oath, to confirm this promis'd Friendship, and to concert all your common Interests. As long as you are united, you will enjoy at home in this fine Country both Peace, Honour and Plenty; abroad you will ever be invincible. 'Tis only Discord, the Daughter of Hell, that torments poor distracted Mortals, that has Power to interrupt the Hap­piness the Gods do design you. Ne­stor reply'd, You see by the readi­ness with which we make Peace, how far we are from making War thro' any Vain-glory, or by the un­just greediness of advancing our selves by the depression of our Neigh­bours; but what can we do when we find our selves near a violent Prince, who knows no Law but his Interest, and who takes all occasions [Page 238] to invade the Territories of other States? Think not that I speak of Idomeneus: No; I have no longer such a Thought of him: 'Tis Adra­stus King of the Daunians from whom we ought to fear all Mis­chiess: He contemns the Gods, and thinks that all Men upon the Face of the Earth were born only to promote his Glory by their Slavery: He will have no Subject of whom he may be both King and Father: He must have Slaves and Adorers, and will be worship'd as a God. Hitherto the blind Goddess, Fortune, has favour'd his unjust Enterprizes: We hasted to attack Salanta to de­feat the weakest of our Enemies, who only began to establish himself on this side, at last to turn our Forces against that other more pow­erful Enemy: He has already taken several Towns from our Allies: He has defeated the Cretonians in two Battels, using all Means whatever to satisfie his Ambition; Force and [Page 239] Cunning are alike to him, so he can but weaken his Enemies: He has heap'd up a great mass of Treasure, and his Troops are disciplin'd and inur'd to War; his Commanders are Experienc'd; he is well obey'd, watching himself continually over all those who act by his Order; he punishes the least Faults with Seve­rity, and largely rewards the good Services done him; his Valour su­stains and animates the Courage of all his Troops, and he wou'd be an accomplish'd King if Justice and Ho­nesty guided his Actions: But he neither fears the Gods nor the Checks of his Conscience; nor does he va­lue Fame it self, but looks on it as a vain Phantom, which can affect none but poor spirited Men; he esteems nothing as a real and solid Good, but the advantage of possessing great Riches, to be fear'd and to prostrate all Mankind at his Feet. Shortly you'l find his Army upon our Con­fines, and if the union of so many [Page 240] People do not enable us to resist him, we have certainly lost all hopes of Liberty. 'Tis therefore the Interest of Idomenus as well as ours to oppose this haughty Man, who can suffer nothing free in his Neighbourhood. If we had been overcome, Salenta wou'd have been threaten'd with the same Misfortune. Let us make haste then all together to prevent it.

Whilst Nestor spoke thus, they advanc'd toward the Town: For Idomeneus had invited all the Kings and principal Commanders to enter and pass the Night there: 'Mean while all the Army of the Allies set up their Tents, and all the Field was already cover'd with rich Pa­villions of all sorts of Colours, where­in the weary'd Hesperians expected refreshing Sleep. When the Kings and their Retinue were enter'd the City, they were amaz'd to see, how in so little a time so many magnifi­cent Structures cou'd be rais'd; and that the hurry of so great a War had [Page 241] not hinder'd this growing City from encreasing, and from being beauty­fied all at once.

They admir'd the wisdom and vigilance of Idomeneus, who had founded so brave a Kingdom, and every one concluded that having made Peace with him, the Allies wou'd be very powersul, if he en­ter'd into a League with them against the Dauneans. It was therefore pro­pos'd to Idomeneus to joyn with them in it, who cou'd not reject so just a Proposal, promising'em assistance: But as Mentor was not ignorant of any thing that is necessary that may make a State flourish, he was assur'd that the Forces of Idomeneus cou'd not be so great as they seem'd, where­fore, taking him apart, he thus spoke to him.

You see our care has not been al­together unprofitable to you: Salen­ta is guarded from the Misfortune that threaten'd it: 'Tis now only in your power to raise its Glory high as the Heavens, and to equal the [Page 242] Wisdom of your Gransire in the Go­vernment of your People. I pro­ceed to speak freely to you, believing you wou'd have me do so, and that you hate all manner of Flattery. Whilst these Kings were praising your Magnificence, I was thinking to my self on the Rashness of your Conduct: — At this word Rash­ness Idomeneus chang'd Countenance; his Eyes look'd wildly, he colour'd and was going to interrupt Mentor, who said to him in a modest and re­spectful Tone, but free and bold; I see plainly this word Rashness choaks you, and confess, any one but my self wou'd hardly have us'd it; for we ought to respect Kings and humour their nicety, especially when we reprove'em: Truth alone is enough to offend 'em, without adding rough Expressions; but I was in hopes that you cou'd have permitted me to have spoken to you without Lenitives, to let you see your Errour: My Design has been to accustom you to understand how [Page 243] to call Things by their Names, and to perceive, that when others give you their Advice upon your Con­duct, they never dare tell you all that they Think; and, if you wou'd not be deceiv'd in it, you shou'd al­ways apprehend more than they will say to you, of what relates to your disadvantage. For my part, I shall willingly soften my Words accord­ing to your Business. At these Words Idomeneus, who by this time had recover'd of his passionate Dis­order, seem'd asham'd of his Nicety: You see, said he to Mentor, what the Custom of being Flatter'd does. I desire the welfare of my Kingdom, and there is no Truth, how ungrate­ful soever, but what I shall think my self happy to hear from your Mouth: But pity a Monarch, whom Flattery had poyson'd, and who even in his Misfortunes cou'd not, find a Man brave enough to tell him the Truth. No, I have never found any Body who has lov'd me so well as to displease me in telling me the [Page 244] whole Truth. Here the Tears stood in his Eyes, and he tenderly embrac'd Mentor. Then said the old wise Man, 'tis with Grief that I see my self constrain'd to tell you some hard Things; but can I betray you in tel­ling you the Truth? I suppose your self in my Place; if you have hither­to been deceiv'd, 'twas because you were very willing to be so; 'twas this made you fear to be advis'd. Have you sought for the most disin­teress'd People, and who were most likely to contradict you? Have you made it your Business to choose Men the least found to please you? The most unbiass'd in their Conduct, and the most capable to condemn your unjust Sentiments and Passions? When you have found Flatterers, have you discarded 'em? Have you distrusted your self? No, no; you have not done as those do who love Truth, and who deserve to know it. Let us see if you will hencefor­ward have the Courage to act bet­ter, and to suffer your self to be [Page 245] humbl'd by the Truth that con­demns you. I said, that what ac­quires you so great praise, deserves to be blam'd. While you had so many Enemies abroad, who threat­en'd your Kingdom, yet but ill esta­blish'd, you thought on nothing within your new City, but to raise stately Buildings in it: 'Tis this has caus'd you so many restless Nights, as you your self have own'd to me. You have consum'd your Wealth; you neither thought of encreasing your People, nor of Cultivating the fertil Lands of this side. Shou'd you not have look'd upon these two Things as the two essential Founda­tions of your Power? To have a great number of able Men, and Lands well Cultivated to Feed 'em? There ought to have been a long Peace in these beginnings to favour the encrease of your People. You shou'd have thought of nothing but Husbandry, and the establishment of the most wise Laws. A vain Am­bition has push'd you on to the very [Page 246] brink of a Precipice; and by labour­ing to appear Great, you had like to have ruin'd your true Greatness. Make hast now to repair these Faults; Leave off all your great Works; throw off all Pride which wou'd ruin your new City: Let your People take their Ease, and ap­ply your self to settle 'em in Plenty, to facilitate their Marriages. For, know that you are no longer a King than you have a People to govern; and that you shou'd not measure your Power by the extent of the Lands you possess, but by the num­ber of Men, who inhabit 'em, and who are bound to obey you: Make choice of good Ground, tho but in­different in extent, and fill it with a numerous People, Laborious and Disciplin'd; endeavour to be lov'd by these People, and then you will be more Powerful, more Happy, and more Glorious than all the Con­querors who lay wast so many King­doms.

[Page 247] How shall I deport my self then, said Idomeneus, to these Kings? Shall I own my Weakness to them? 'Tis true, I have neglected Husban­dry and Commerce too, which is so convenient for me in these Parts, having thought on nothing but to build me a stately City. Must I, my dear Mentor, dishonour my self before so many Kings, and discover my want of Power? If I must, I will without any scruple, whatever it costs me: For you have taught me that a true King, who is made for his People, and who owes him­self wholly to them, ought to pre­fer the welfare of his Kingdom to his own Reputation. This Senti­ment, reply'd Mentor, becomes a Father of the People; 'tis by this Goodness, and not by the magnifi­cence of your City, that I percieve the Soul of a true King in you: But your Honour must be maintain'd as well for the Interest of your King­dom: That shall be my Province, I will therefore go tell these Kings, [Page 248] that you have engag'd your self to re-establish Ulysses, if he be yet Liv­ing, or at least his Son, to Ithaca; and that you will drive thence by force all the Lovers of Penelope. They must needs consider that this War will require a grcat number of Troops, and so they will agree that you can afford 'em but small sup­plies against the Daunians.

At these Words Idomeneus ap­pear'd like a Man eas'd of a Burthen not to be born. My dear Friend, said he to Mentor, you will thus save my Honour, and the Reputation of this growing City, whose Weakness you will hide from all my Neigh­bours: But what probability is there that I will send forces to Ithaca, to re-establish Ulysses there, or at least his Son Telemachus, since Telemachus himself is engag'd to go to the War against the Daunians? Don't trouble your self, Sir, replied Mentor, I'll tell 'em nothing but Truth: The Vessels that you send to establish your Trade, shall go to the Coast of [Page 249] Epirus, which will do two Things at one time; one in recalling the foreign Merchants, whom too great Imposts do estrange from Salenta, to your Coast; and t'other in in­quiring News of Ulysses; who, if he be yet alive, can't be far from those Seas that part Greece and Italy; and it is certainly reported that he was seen among the Pheocians: But, if there be no hope of seeing him again, your Fleet will however do a signal Piece of Service to his Son; for they will spread thro' Ithaca, and all the neighbouring Countries, a terrour of the Name of young Tele­machus, who was thought to be dead as well as his Father: The Lovers of Penelope will be astonish'd to hear that he is ready to return with the Succours of a powerful Al­lie; The Ithacans will not dare to shake off the Yoke; Penelope will be comforted, and will ever refuse to make choice of a Husband. Thus you will serve Telemachus whil'st he is in your place, with the Allies on [Page 250] this Coast of Italy against the Dau­nians. At these words, Idomeneus cry'd out, Happy's the King who is supported by wise Counsels! A wise and faithful Friend, is more worth to a King than victorious Armies. But doubly bless'd is the King who is sensible of his Happi­ness, and knows how to profit him­self by the use of wise Counsels: For often it happens, that wise and honest Men, whose Virtue is fear'd, are far remov'd from his trust, that he may give an ear to Flatterers, whose Treason is never fear'd. I am my self fall'n into this Error, and I will relate to you all the Misfortunes that have befall'n me by a false Friend, who flatter'd my Passions, in hopes, that in return, I would flatter his.

Mentor easily made the Confede­rate Kings understand that Idome­neus ought to take care of the Af­fairs of Telemachus, whilest that young Prince went with them. They were very well satisfy'd that [Page 251] they had in their Army the Young Son of Ulysses, and an hundred of the Cretan Youth, whom Idomeneus gave him to accompany him; they were the Flower of the young No­bility which the King brought a­long with him from Crete. 'Twas Mentor who advis'd him to send 'em to this War. You must take care, said he, to increase the People dur­ing this Peace; but lest all the Na­tion should grow soft and effemi­nate, and be ignorant of the Art of War; you must send the young Nobility to the Wars abroad, who will be sufficient to set the whole Kingdom on an Emulation of Glo­ry, or the Love of Arms, on the Contempt of Fatigues, and of Death it self; in short, on the Experience of the Military Art.

The Confederate Kings left Sa­lenta, very well satisfy'd with King Idomeneus, and charm'd with the Wisdom of Mentor. They were very glad that they had got Telema­chus along with 'em; who could not [Page 252] master his Grief when he was to part with his Friend. Whilest the Consederat Kings took their leaves, and swore to Idomeneus that they would keep an eternal Alliance with him, Mentor holding Telemachus lock'd in his Arms, felt himself be­dew'd with that young Prince's Tears. I am insensible, said Tele­machus, of the Joy that I am going in quest of Glory, nothing now fills my Soul but the Grief that I must part from you. Methinks I see again that unfortunate time when the Egyptains snatch'd me from between your Arms, and carry'd me away from you without giving me the least hope of seeing you any more. Men­tor return'd an answer to these words, sweet and obliging, the bet­ter whereby to comfort him: This, said he, is a Separation far differ­ent, this is voluntary and will be short; you go to seek Victory. My Son, you should love me less ten­derly and with a more manly Love. Accustom your self to my absence; [Page 253] you will not always have me with you: Wisdom and Virtue rather than the Presence of Mentor, should inspire you with what you ought to do. Saying this, the Goddess, con­ceal'd under the Person of Mentor, cover'd Telemachus with her Eyes, and breath'd into him the Spirit of Wisdom and Foresight, undaunted Valour and a sweet Moderation, which are so rarely found together. Go, said Mentor, into the midst of the greatest Dangers as often as it is convenient you should go. A Prince dishonours himself much more in shunning the Dangers of War, than in never going to 'em at all. The Courage of him who commands others, ought never to be doubtful. If it be necessary that a People should preserve their Ge­neral and King, it is the more ne­cessary to 'em not to see him in an uncertain Reputation of Valour. Remember, that he who Com­mands, ought to be a Pattern to all the rest; and his Example ought to [Page 254] encourage the whole Army. Ex­pose your self then, O Telemachus, and perish in the Combate rather than expose your self to the Malice of those who could doubt your Courage! But, on the other hand, seek not for Dangers without ad­vantage; for Valour can no longer be a Virtue than it is guided by Pru­dence; otherwise it is a mad con­tempt of Life and a brutish Heat. Desperate Valour is ever uncertain. He who does not command himself in Dangers, is rather Wild than Brave; 'tis necessary that he should be beside himself to put himself a­bove Fear; because he can't sur­mount it by the natural Situation of his Heart: In this Case, if he does not fly, at least he is troubl'd that he loses the freedom of his Mind, which would be necessary to him in using opportunities to rout the E­nemy, or to serve his Country; if he has all the Fire of a Soldiet, he has nor the Discretion of a Captain; and yet more, he has not the true [Page 255] Courage of a private Soldier; for a Soldier ought to preserve a Presence of Mind in the Fight, and a Mode­ration necessary to Obedience. He who rashly exposes himself, disturbs the order and discipline of Troops; gives an Example of Rashness, and often exposes the whole Army to great Misfortunes: Those who pre­fer their vain Ambition to the safety of the common Cause, deserve Pu­nishments, not Rewards. Take good heed then, my dear Son! not to seek Glory with too much impa­tience! The true Means to find it, is quietly to wait a favourable Op­portunity: Virtue causes her self the more to be fear'd, by how much she appears more plain, more mo­dest, and more an Enemy to all Pride. 'Tis by degrees that the ne­cessity of being expos'd to Danger is encreas'd, and that new Succours of Foresight and Courage are requi­site, which always go together. For other Matters, remember that you ought never to draw on you the [Page 256] Envy of any Body. On t'other side, be not jealous of the success of o­thers; be sure first to praise whatso­ever merits any thing of Praise; but praise with discretion, repeating the Good with Pleasure; and think no more of it but with Sorrow. Ben't positive before the old Command­ers, who have gain'd by Experience that which 'tis impossible you should have; harken to 'em with Defer­ence; consult 'em; desire the most able to instruct you, and be not a­sham'd to own how far you have improv'd by their Instructions: In short, never give ear to Discourses by which your Distrust or Jealousie may be rais'd against the other chief Officers; but speak to 'em with frankness and ingenuity: If you think they have not born themselves well to you, open your Heart to 'em, and explain all your Reasons to 'em: If they are capable of under­standing the Generosity of this Con­duct, you will charm 'em, and you will draw from 'em all that you [Page 257] have occasion to expect: On the contrary, if they have not sense e­nough to apprehend your meaning, you will be inform'd by your self how unjust they are, and how to suffer it; and will thence take your Measures to trust 'em no more as long as the War lasts, and thus will have nothing to accuse your self of: But, above all things, never tell any Flatterers, who sow Division, the occasions of Complaints which you believe you have against the Com­manders of the Army to which you belong.

I will stay here, continu'd Men­tor, to help Idomeneus in his Busi­ness, to labour for the Happiness of his People. I will stay for you, O my dear Telemachus! Remember, that those who fear the Gods have nothing to fear from Men! You will be present to your self in the greatest Dangers; but know! that Minerva will never forsake you.

At these words Telemachus thought that he saw the Goddess her self; [Page 258] and he had certainly known that 'twas she who spoke to him, to in­spire him with Bravery, if the God­dess had not re-call'd the Idea of Mentor; saying, Forget not, my Son, the unweary'd Care I have ta­ken of you in your Infancy, that you might be as wise and valorous as your Father; do nothing there­fore unworthy his great Example, and of the Principles of Virtue with which I have endeavour'd to inspire you!

The Sun was already risen, and gilded the Tops of the Mountains, when the King came out of Salenta to re-join the Troops. These Troops encamp'd round the City, began to March under their Commanders; on every side were seen the bright Steel of bristling Pikes; the glitter­ing Shields dazl'd their Eyes. A Cloud of Dust mounted up to the Skies. Idomeneus and Mentor con­ducted the Confederate Kings into the Camp, which was at a good distance from the Walls of the Ci­ty. [Page 259] At last they parted, after ha­ving given the Marks of a true Friendship on each side. The Al­lies no longer doubted that the Peace would last, now they knew the sincerity of the Mind of Idome­neus, which was represented to 'em very different from what it was; for he was Judg'd of, not by his own natural Inclinations, but by the Flat­teries and unjust Counsels to which he had given himself over.

After the Army was gone, Ido­meneus led Mentor into every part of the City, and the neighbouring Country; but Mentor would first see his Naval Forces. Let us (said he) number your Vessels; let us take an exact account of their Bur­then, and how many Saylers you have to Man 'em, either to main­tain a War, or to carry on the Trade of your Subjects, by which your Power is to be measured. Then he went to see the Port, and aboard every Vessel, informing himself of the Country, where each [Page 260] of 'em went to Traffick; what Merchandise it carried, what Goods they took in return; what was the Charge of the Ship during the time she was at Sea; the Loans that the Merchants made one to another; the Companies they set up among themselves, to see if they were e­quitably and faithfully observed. Finally, the hazards of Ship-wreck, and other Mischances of Trade, in order to prevent the Ruin of Mer­chants, who, out of a greedy desire of Gain, do often undertake more than they know how to manage. He ordain'd severe Punishments for all Bankrupts, because their Break­ing is always owing to their Rash­ness, if not to their Dishonesty: At the same time he made several Re­gulations in order to prevent Bank­rupts; and to that end he created Magistrates, to whom the Merchants were to give an Account of their Ef­fects, Profits, Expences, and Ven­tures. They were never suffered to venture another Man's Estate, nor [Page 261] above half of their own. Moreo­ver they carried on by Joint-stock, those Undertakings which they could not have managed singly; and the By-laws of their respective Com­panies became inviolable, through the severe Punishments inflicted on the Infringers of the same. Besides, every one had full liberty of Tra­ding, and instead of over­charging them with Taxes and Duties, there was an Encouragement proposed to all Merchants that could engage a­ny other Nation to trade to Salenta. By this means there was a general resort of People from all Parts; the Commerce of that City was like the flux and reflux of the Sea; Riches continually entred into it like rolling Waves, which are push'd forwards by those succeeding: All manner of Wares were freely Imported and Exported; whatever they brought in was good for something or other; and nothing was Exported that did not introduce other Riches in its Room. Justice alone reign'd in the [Page 262] Port among so many different Na­tions; upright Dealing, Honesty and Candour, from the tops of those high Towers, seem'd to invite all Merchants from the remotest Parts of the Universe. Every one of those Merchants, whether he came from the Eastern Shore, where the Sun rises each Day out of the Bosom of the watry Deep; or whether he came from that great Sea, where that radiant Planet, weary of its Course, extinguishes its Fires and goes to rest; every one, I say, li­ved in Peace and Safety in Salenta, as if it had been his own Country. As for the inside of the City, Men­tor view'd all Store-houses, Trades­mens Shops, and publick Places; prohibited all Foreign Goods that might introduce Luxury and Effe­minacy; and regulated the Apparel, Food, Houshold-stuff, State, and Ornament of Houses, according to the different Conditions and De­grees: He forbad the making and wearing of all Ornaments of Gold [Page 263] and Silver; and told Idomeneus, I know but one way to make your People moderate in their Expences, which is your own Example of Mo­deration; 'tis requisite you should be distinguish'd by an outward shew of Majesty; but your Guards, and the chief Officers which are about you, will be a sufficient Mark of your Authority. Be contented to wear a Garment of super-fine Wool died in Purple; let the Chief Men of your State be clad of the same Wool, and that all the difference be in the Co­lour; and a thin Embroidery of Gold on the Skirts of your Robe. Those different Colours will serve to distinguish the different Degrees, without the expensive help either of Gold, Silver, or Precious Stones. Regulate those Degrees by Birth and Extraction, and let those be plac'd in the first Rank, whose Descent is most Noble, Ancient, and Conspi­cuous. Those, who by their Me­rit shall be advanced to Places of Trust and Authority, will be con­tented [Page 264] to come after those Ancient and Illustrious Families, which for a long time have been in possessi­on of Honour: And such, whose Ex­traction is not so Noble as theirs, will easily give place to them, if so be you do not suffer them to forget themselves in a high and sudden Pre­ferment, and bestow new Honours and Commendations on those who know how to be moderate in Pro­sperity. That distinction which proceeds from a long continuation of Noble Ancestors, is the least ex­posed to Envy; next to that, Vir­tue must be excited and encourag'd, and Men will be ready to serve the State, provided you bestow Crowns and Statues upon great A­ctions, which will be a Spring of Nobility for the Sons of those that have atchieved them. Persons of the first Rank, next to you, shall be clad in White, with a Gold and Silver Fringe on the lower Border of their Garment, and shall wear a Gold Ring on their Fingers. Those [Page 265] of the second Rank, shall be clad in Blue, with a Silver Fringe and a Ring, but no Medal. The Third in Green without Fringe, but with a Medal. The Fourth in deep Yellow. The Fifth in a pale Red. The Sixth in Grisdelin. The Seventh who shall be the meanest of the Peo­ple, in Yellow mixt with White. These are the Colours for the seven different Degrees of Free-men. The Slaves shall be clad in Dark-brown. Thus without any expence, every one's Condition shall be distinguish'd, and all those Arts shall be banish'd from Salenta, which serve only to keep up a vain Pomp, and foment Luxury. All the Artificers who are now employ'd about those pernici­ous Arts, shall either betake them­selves to necessary Arts, which are but few, to Merchandize, or to A­griculture. It shall never be lawful to change either the Manufactory of Stuffs, or the Fashion of Cloaths; for 'tis a shameful Thing for Men destin'd to a serious and noble Life, [Page 266] to spend their time in inventing af­fected Ornaments; or to suffer their Wives, in whom those tristing A­musements are less disgraceful, to be guilty of those Extravagancies.

Mentor, like a skilful Gardiner, who lops the useless Branches off the Trees, endeavoured to retrench vain Pomp and Luxury, which depraved good Manners, and to introduce a noble and frugal Plainness in every thing. He likewise regulated the ordinary Food both of Citizens and Slaves. What a shame, said he, it is for the most eminent Men to make their Grandeur to consist in Ragoos and Kickshaws, by which they effeminate their Minds, and continually impair the health of their Bodies? Whereas they ought to place their Happiness in Modera­tion; in their Authority, which gives them an occasion of doing good to other men; and in the Fame and Reputation they acquire by their good Actions. Sobriety and Tem­perance make the most ordinary [Page 267] Food the most palatable; and with a vigorous Constitution of Body. procure the most constant Pleasures. Therefore let your Tables be fur­nish'd with the best sort of Meats, drest without any Ragoos; for the provoking Mens Appetites beyond the regular craving of their Sto­machs, is but a more refined Art of Poisoning: By that Idomeneus easi­ly understood how ill he had done, in suffering the Inhabitants of his New City, to soften and corrupt their Manners, through the Violati­on of the Laws of Minos about Sobri­ety: But wise Mentor put him in mind, That the reviving of those ve­ry Laws would signifie nothing, unless his own Example gave them that Vigour and Authority, which nothing else could procure them. Thereupon Idomeneus regulated his Table, and order'd that nothing should be served to him besides ex­cellent Bread, delicious Wine of the growth of that Country, but in small quantities, with Meat plainly [Page 268] drest, and such as he us'd to eat with the other Grecians at the Siege of Troy. No Person durst to com­plain of a Law which the King im­posed upon himself, and by that means every body retrench'd the profuseness of Dainties and Deli­cacies, which they began to intro­duce in their Meals.

Next to that, Mentor silenc'd soft and effeminate Musick, as tending to corrupt Youth; and likewise con­demned Tavern-Musick, which ine­briates the Mind no less than Wine it self, and is often the cause of Riot and Impudence in Men's Man­ners. Thus he confin'd Musick to Festivals within the Temples, to celebrate the Praises of the Gods, and of those Hero's, who have left us Patterns of the most excellent Vir­tues. Nor did he permit any of the great Ornaments of Architectures, such as Pillars, Pedestals, and Por­tico's, to be us'd any where but in Temples. He made himself new Draughts of a plain and graceful [Page 269] Architecture, whereby on a small piece of Ground one might build a pleasant and convenient House for a numerous Family, in such a man­ner, that it was expos'd to a whol­some Air; that its several Lodg­ings were independent upon one an­other; and that it might easily be kept in Order and Repair at a small charge. These different Draughts of Houses, according to the num­ber of Persons in each Family, serv'd to embelish part of the City with little Expence, and to make it regular; whereas the other Part, which was already built up accord­ing to the Caprice or Vanity of pri­vate Persons, tho' more magnificent, was yet less pleasant and conveni­ent.

Painting and Carving were Arts which Mentor did not think fit to be laid aside; however he allow'd but few Men in Salenta to profess 'em. He setled a publick School to teach those Arts, and appointed most skilful Masters to examin the [Page 270] young Prentices. Those Arts, said he, which are not absolutely neces­sary, ought not to admit of any thing that's mean or indifferent; and therefore no young Men should be suffer'd to learn them, but those whose promising Genius seems to tend to Perfection: As for others who are Born for less noble Arts, they will be usefully employ'd a­bout the ordinary Occasions of the Commonwealth. The only thing, added he, wherein Carvers and Painters ought to be employ'd, is in preserving the Memory of great Men, and their noble Actions; and for that purpose, Representations and Memorials of what has been At­chieved with an extraordinary In­dustry, ought to be us'd in publick Buildings and Tombs. Moreover Mentor's Moderation and Frugality did not go so far, but that he al­low'd these great Buildings design'd for Horse, or Chariot-Races, Wrest­ling, Fights with Cestus, and all other Exercises, which render the [Page 271] Body both more supple, active, and vigorous. He suppressd a vast number of Merchants and Shopkeepers, who sold figur'd Stuffs of remote Coun­tries; Embroider'd Works of an ex­cessive Price; Gold and Silver Vessels with embossed Figures of the Gods, Men, and Animals; and lastly refined Liquors and Perfumes. He order'd likewise that the Furniture of every House should be plain, strong, and lasting. Thus the Salentines who loudly complain'd of their Pover­ty, began to be sensible how ma­ny superfluous Riches they enjoy'd; but those were deceitful Riches, which made them really poor; and they only became truly Rich, as soon as they had the Resolution to dispossess themselves of them. 'Tis the best way, said they, to grow Rich, by despising such Rich­es as exhaust the Nation, and the reducing all our Wants to the true and necessary occasions of Nature.

Mentor was diligent in viewing the Arcenals and publick Magazines, [Page 272] to see that Arms and all other Things necessary in War were in Order. For, said he, we always must be in readiness to make War, the better to prevent the Misfortune of being first Attackt. Now hav­ving found a great many Things wanting every where, he presently assembled Artificers to work Iron, Steel and Brass: You might have seen burning Furnaces, and Clouds of Fire and Smoak mounting on high like those substerranean Fires which are vomited up by Mount AEtna. The studdy Hammer resounded on the Anvil which groan'd under the repeated Strokes; the neighbouring Mountains and Sea-shore ecchoed to 'em; one would have thought him­self to be in that famous Island where Vulcan cheers up his Cyclopes, and forges Thunderbolts for the Father of the Gods: And by a wise forecast all the Preparations for a War were making in a profound Peace. After­wards Mentor went out of the City with Idomeneus, and found a great [Page 273] Tract of fertile Lands lying waste and uncultivated; others were ma­nur'd but by halves through the Ne­gligence and Poverty of the Hus­bandmen, who wanted more Hands, and bodily Strength to bring Agri­culture to Perfection. Mentor be­holding those desolate Fields, said to the King: This Land is willing to enrich the Inhabitants, but the Inhabitants are wanting to the Land, and to themselves. Let us therefore take all the useless Artificers who are in the City, and whose Trade tends only to debauch Manners, in order to make them till and manure these Plains and high Grounds. I own its a Misfortune that all those Men who have pra­ctis'd Arts which require a seden­tary Life, are not inur'd to hard La­bour; but here is a Remedy for it: We must divide among them all the Lands void of Inhabitants, and call to their assistance some of the Neigh­bouring People who will undertake the hardest Work under 'em, pro­vided [Page 274] they allow them a reasonable share in the Profits of the Lands they shall begin to Plow. Nay, in time they may enjoy a proportion of those Lands, and being thus incorporated with your People, provided they be laborious and submissive to the Laws, they will encrease your Pow­er, and prove the best Subjects. Your City-Tradesmen, now trans­planted into the Country, will train up their Children to Labour, and enure them to the Yoke of a rural Life, and in process of Time, all the Country round about shall be stock'd with strong, vigorous Men, addicted to Husbandry. Now you need not be sollicitous about the in­crease of your People; for they will soon multiply to a Prodigy, if you encourage Matrimony, which you may do with great ease. Most Men have an Inclination to Marry, and 'tis generally Want that keeps them from it. If you do not over-charge 'em with Taxes, they will live at ease with their Wives and Families; [Page 275] for the Earth is never ungrateful; She always yields Fruits to sustain those who cultivate her with Care and Diligence, and only denies her Benefits to those who refuse to be­stow their Labour upon her. The more Children Husbandmen have, the richer they are, provided the Prince study not to make them Poor; for their Children, even from their tenderest Youth, begin to be a help to 'em; the youngest tend the Flocks while they are Feed­ing; those of riper Years begin to drive the great Droves of Cattle; and the most aged guide the Plough­handle with their Father: In the mean time the Mother and all her Family Dress a course Meal for her Husband, and her dear Children, against they come home spent with the Toil of the Day. She takes care to Milk her Cows, and Streams of sweet Liquor fill her cleanly Pails; she lights a great Fire, round which the innocent and peaceful Family divert themselves with Singing mer­ry [Page 276] Lays before they go to rest; she gets ready Cheese, Chesnuts, and Fruits that look as fresh as if new gather'd. In the mean time the Shepherd comes home with his Flute, and Sings to the Family such new Songs as he learnt in the Neigh­bouring Villages. The Husband­man comes in with his Plough, and goads along his wearied Oxen, which walk with slow Steps, and bending Necks. All the Hardships of La­bour end with the Day: The kind Poppies which Morpheus, by the Command of the immortal Gods, scatters all over the Earth, quiet all black Thoughts, charm and lull Nature into a soft Enchantment, and every one falls asleep without fore­casting the Labours of the next Day. Happy are those Men who live with­out Ambition, Distrust, or Disguise, provided the Gods vouchsafe to give 'em a good King, who never di­sturbs their innocent Joys. But what a horrid piece of Cruelty it is, the wresting from their Hands the [Page 277] sweet Fruits of the Earth, which they owe to the Bounty of Nature, and the sweat of their Brows, only to gratifie the Pride and Ambition of one single Man! Nature alone, out of her fruitful Bosom is able to maintain an infinite number of thrif­ty and laborious Men; but 'tis the Pride and luxurious Effeminacy of some Men who reduce so many others to the dreadful pressures of Poverty.

But what shall I do, said Idome­neus, if those Men whom I disperse about a fruitful Country, neglect to Cultivate it? Follow, answer'd Mentor, a Method entirely opposite to that which is generally us'd by others. Greedy Princes, who have no Forecast, make it their Business to lay heavy Taxes on such among their Subjects, who are most Dili­gent and Industrious in the improv­ing of their Estates, because they think they can raise those Duties with more ease; and at the same time they favour and excuse those [Page 278] whom Sloth and Idleness have Im­poverisht. Invert that bad Method, which over-burdens the Good, en­courages Vice, and introduces a su­pine Negligence no less fatal to the King, than to the whole State. Impose Taxes, Fines, nay if need be, more rigorous Penalties on those who neglect the Culture of their Lands; just as you would inflict Punishments on those Soldiers who quit their Post in War: Grant Fa­vours and Exemptions to such Fa­milies as multiply; and augment in proportion the extent of their Pos­sessions. By this means their Fa­milies will soon encrease, and every Body will be encourag'd to Labour; nay, Husbandry being no longer at­tended by so many Hardships, will be so far from being despis'd, that it will become Honourable; the Plough, now in esteem, shall be guided by those very Hands that gain'd Victories over the Enemies of the Country; and the Cultivat­ing ones own Lands will be no less [Page 279] creditable, during a happy Peace, than the securing of the same during the Troubles of War. All the Coun­try will flourish and smile again; Ceres will be crown'd with golden Ears of Corn; Bacchus stamping the Grapes with his Feet, shall cause Streams of Wine more delicious than Nectar, to glide down the shelving Hills; the hollow Valleys shall ec­cho to the rural Consorts of Shep­herds, who along the grassy Banks of purling Brooks shall Sing to their Pipes, both their amorous Pains and Pleasures, whilst their Flocks danc­ing to the Harmony, shall crop the Grass enamell'd with Flowers, se­cure from the ravenous Wolves. Will it not be a great happiness for you, Oh! Idomeneus, to be the Spring of so many Blessings, and to make so many People live in soft re­pose under the Shadow of your au­spicious Name? Is not this Glory more affecting and more to be co­veted, than that of laying the World waste, and spreading every where [Page 280] (nay even at home, in the midst of one's Victories, as well as among the Vanquish'd abroad) Slaughter, Destruction, Horror, Conesternation, cruel Famine, and Despair? Oh! Happy the King, who is so belov'd of the Gods, and has so large a Soul as to undertake to make himself the Delight of his People, and shew to all Ages the charming and won­derous Spectacle of his Reign! The whole Earth, instead of shunning his Power by Fights and Battles, would prostrate her self at his Feet, to beg him to Rule over her.

But, reply'd Idomeneus, when my People live thus in Peace and Plenty, Pleasures will soon corrupt them, and they will bend against me that very Power I have put in­to their Hands. Fear not, said Mentor, any such Inconvenience: That's but a vain Pretence to flatter the Prodigality of those Princes, who over-charge their People with Taxes. Besides, there's a Remedy at hand: Those Laws we have made [Page 281] for Husbandry, will inure them to a laborious Life; and even in Plen­ty, they shall have only Necessaries, because we retrench all Arts which introduce Superfluities. Nay, that Plenty shall be lessen'd by the fre­qent Marriages, and the great en­crease of Families: For every Fa­mily being grown Numerous, and possessing but a competent Portion of Land, shall be forc'd to bestow continual labour upon the Cul­ture of it. 'Tis Effeminacy and Sloth which make the People inso­lent and rebellious. They shall have Bread, I confess; and Bread in a­bundance: But then they shall have nothing but Bread, and the Fruits of their own Land, gotten by the Sweat of their Brows. To keep your People within that just Mode­ration, you must at this very time regulate the extent of Ground which every Family shall be allow'd to possess. You know we distributed all your People into seven Ranks, according to their different Condi­tions: [Page 282] Now you must not suffer any Family, of any Degree, to enjoy more Land than is absolutely neces­sary for the Maintenance of those Persons who depend upon it. This being a standing inviolable Rule, the Nobles shall not be able to purchase from the Poor: All shall have Lands; but every one shall have but a small Share, and by that means shall be excited to Cultivate it well. If in long process of time Lands should grow short here, you might send Colonies abroad, which would encrease the Power of this State. Moreover, I think you ne­ver ought to suffer Wine to be too plentiful in your Dominions; if they have planted too many Vines, command them to be destroy'd; for Wine is a main source of the great­est Mischiefs among the People; it causes Diseases, Quarrels, Seditions, Idleness and Sloth, and Disorders in Families. Therefore let Wine be preserv'd as a kind of Remedy, or as a choice Liquor, to be emply'd [Page 283] only in Sacrifices, or extraordinay Festivals; yet think not that you can bring so important a Rule into Practice, unless you recommend it by your own Example. Further­more, you must cause the Laws of Minos, concerning the Education of Children, to be inviolably observ'd: To which purpose, publick Schools ought to be erected, where they may be taught to fear the Gods, to love their Country, to reverence the Laws, and to prefer Honour be­fore Pleasures, and Life it self. You must appoint Magistrates to over­see the Families and Manners of private Persons: Nay, over-see them your self, since you are King; that is, the Shepherd of the People, on­ly to watch Night and day over your Flock. By that means you will prevent a thousand Crimes and Disorders; and what you cannot prevent, you ought to punish at first with great Severity; for 'tis a piece of Clemency, by early and exem­plary Punishments, to stem the Tide [Page 284] of Wickedness. A little Blood spill'd in time, saves the Lives of Thou­sands, and makes a Prince fear'd without using Rigour too often. But what a detestable Maxim is it, to make one's Safety consist in the oppressing of the People? How bar­barous is it, not to instruct them; not to lead them into the Path of Virtue; not to do any thing to get their Love; to drive them by Ter­ror to Despair; and finally, to im­pose this dreadful Necessity upon 'em, either never to breath in sweet Liberty, or to shake off a Tyrant's Yoke? What Name can one give to such a Government? Is this the Way that leads to Honour? Re­member, that where ever the Com­mand of the Prince is most absolute, there the Prince is least powerful. He takes all, consumes all, and en­joys alone the whole State; but then the whole State is in a languishing Condition; the Country is unculti­vated and desolate; the Cities de­crease, and Trade decays every day. [Page 285] The King, who cannot be a King by himself, and who is only so by his Subjects, annihilates himself by degrees, while he annihilates his People from whom both his Riches and Power are deriv'd; his King­dom is exhausted of Mony and Men, and the loss of these is the greatest and the most irreparable. His despotick Power makes as many Slaves as he has Subjects; they all seem to adore him, whereas they only tremble at his dreadful Looks. But see what will happen at the least Revolution; this monstrous Power, scrued up to a violent Ex­cess, can hold out no longer, she finds no Supplies in the Affections of the People, she has wearied and provok'd all the different Ranks of Men in his State, and by that means forces every Member of that Body to sigh with equal earnestness after a Change. At the very first blow which is made at her, the Idol is thrown down, and trampled under Foot: Contempt, Hatred, Fear, [Page 268] Resentment, Distrust; in a word, all the Passions unite themselves a­gainst so odious an Authority. The King, who during his vain Prospe­rity, could find no Man that durst speak the Truth to him, shall not find in his Misfortune any one Man that will either excuse his Follies, or defend him against his Ene­mies.

These and the like Discourses of Mentor, having prevail'd upon Ido­meneus, he presently distributed the waste Lands among the useless Ar­tificers, and put in execution what had been resolv'd before. And now the Fields which had long been o're-spread with Briars and Thorns, begin to promise plentiful Harvests, and Fruits till then unknown. The Earth opens her Bosom to receive the cutting Plow-share, and pre­pares her Riches to recompence the Labour of the Husband-man. Hope revives and smiles on every side: You might see both in the Val­lies, and on the Hills, numerous [Page 287] Flocks of Sheep, skipping and bleet­ing on the Grafs, and great Herds of larger Cattle, which make the high Mountains resound with their Bellowings. Those Flocks and Herds fatten in the Fields and Meadows; 'tis Mentor who has found the way to procure them, by advising Ido­meneus to exchange with the neigh­bouring Nations all the superfluous Things, which are now prohibited in Salenta, for those Sheep, Cows, and Oxen, which the Salentines wanted.

At the same time both the Cities and Villages round about were full of fine sprightly Youths, who for a long time had languish'd in Misery, and were afraid to marry lest they should aggravate their Woes: But when they saw that Idomeneus be­gan to embrace Sentiments of Hu­manity, and was willing to become their Father, they were no more afraid of Hunger, nor of the other Plagues with which Heaven afflicts Mankind. There were heard every [Page 288] where great Shoutings for Joy; the Shepherds and Plow-men celebrated the Hymeneal Pleasures in their ru­ral Songs; so that one would have thought, that the God Pan with a Chorus of Satrys, Fauns, and Nymphs danc'd to the soft sound of the Flute in the Shady Woods. All was peaceful and smiling; but 'twas a moderate Joy; and as those Pleasures serv'd obly to allay the Hardships of daily Labour, so they were more quick, and more sen­sible. The Old Men surpriz'd to see what they did not so much as hope for, during the long series of their Years, wept through an excess of Joy mixt with Tenderness; and lifting up their trembling Hands towards Heaven: Bless, said they, Bless, Oh! great Jupiter! the King who resembles thee, and is the great­est King thou ever madest. As he is born for the good of Mankind, return him all the good we receive from him. Our Great-grand-sons sprung from those happy Mar­riages [Page 289] which he encourages, shall be indebted to him, even for their ve­ry Brith; and he will truly be the Father of all his Subjects. The young Men and Maidens who mar­ried together, exprest their mutual Joys, in singing the Praises of him who was the Fountain of those Joys' every Mouth, every Heart were con­tinually fill'd with his Praises. The sight of him was accounted a great Happiness; his absence a Misfor­tune; and the losing of him, had been the Desolation of all Fami­lies.

Thereupon Idomeneus confest to Mentor, that he never felt so trus and sensible a Pleasure, as that of being belov'd, and making so ma­ny People happy. I could not, said he, have believ'd what I now see: I thought all the Greatness of Princes consisted only in making themselves to be fear'd; that the rest of Mankind were all made for them: And I look'd upon it as a meer Fable, whatever I had heard [Page 290] of those Kings, who were the De­light and Darlings of their People: I now find the Truth of it, but I must relate to you how, from my tenderest Infancy, my Mind was intoxicated with the Authority of Kings, which was the cause of all the Misfortunes of my Life.

Protesilaus, who is something older than my self, was, of all o­thers, the young Man whom I lov'd most; his lively and bold Temper suited with my Inclinations; he insinuated himself into my Plea­sures and Diversions; flatter'd all my Passions, and gave me a distrust of another young Man, whom I loved also, and whose Name was Philocles. This Philocles fear'd the Gods, and had a great Soul, but full of Moderation: He placed Greatness not in raising, but in con­quering himself, and doing nothing that's Base and Ungenerous. He told me of my Faults with free­dom; and even when he durst not speak to me, his very Looks, and [Page 291] sed Countenance, gave me susfici­ently to understand what he had a mind to reproach me with: I was well enough pleas'd at first with his Sincerity; and I often assur'd him, that I would ever hear him in Con­fidence as long as I liv'd. To secure me against Flatteries, he told me all I ought to do, to tread in the Foot­steps of Minos, and to make my Sub­jects happy; his Wisdom was not so deep as yours, Oh Mento! but I now find by degrees, that his Maxims were good. The cunning Insinuations of Protesilaus, who was Jealous and full of Ambition, gave me a disgust for Philocles: Philocles being indifferent, and free from tow­ring Thoughts, suffer'd the other to get the Ascendant, and contented himself with telling me the Truth, when I was willing to hear it; for 'twas my Good, and not my For­tune that he sought. Protesilaus made me insensibly believe, that Philocles was a morose and proud Censurer of all my Actions; who [Page 292] ask'd no Favours of me, because his Pride would not suffer him to be beholden to me; and that he courted the Reputation of one that is above all Honours that I was able to bestow. He added, that he spoke as freely about my Faults with other People, as he did with my self; that he gave sufficiently to understand, what a small Esteem he had for me; and that his lessening my Reputation, was a Design to o­pen himself a Way to the Throne, by the shew of a rigid Virtue. At first I was unwilling to think, that Philocles design'd to usurp my Crown; for there is a certain Can­dour and Ingenuity in true Virtue, which cannot be counterfeited, and which cannot be mistaken, if consi­der'd with attention: Yet I begun to grow wary of Philocles's Obsti­nacy in condemning my Weakness. The soft complaisance of Protesilaus, and his unexhausted Industry in in­venting new Pleasures to entertain me, made me feel more impatiently [Page 293] the Austerity of his Rival. In the mean time Protesilaus being vexed that I did not believe all he told me against Philocles, resolv'd to speak no more to me about him, and to use something stronger than all his Words to perswade me. Take no­tice how he compleated his Trea­chery. He advised me to give Phi­locles the Command of the Ships which I sent out to attack those of Carpathia; and to induce me to it, he told me: You know my Com­mendations cannot be suspected of Partiality: I own he has Courage, and understands the War; he will serve you best of any Man, and I easily forego my Resentments a­gainst him, when your Service lies at stake. I was glad to find somuch Honesty and Justice in Protesilaus, whom I had entrusted with the Ad­ministration of my Affairs of the greatest importance: I embrac'd him transported with Joy, and thought my self too happy, in ha­ving reposed all my Confidence in a [Page 294] Man, who seem'd to be so much a­bove Passion and Interest. But a­las! How much Princes are to be pitied! This Man knew me better than I do my self. He knew that Kings are generally distrustful, and unattentive: Distrustful by their continual experience of the Artifice of those corrupt Men that are about them; Unattentive, because they are hurried away by the Torrent of Pleasures, and us'd to have Men, whose Business it is to make Refle­ctions and Observations for them, without being at the trouble of it themselves. Therefore Protesilaus easily understood that it would be no hard matter for him to make me jealous of a Man who would un­doubtedly perform great Actions, e­specially while his Absence gave him so fair an Opportunity of un­dermining him.

Before Philocles put to Sea, he foresaw what was like to befall him. Remember, said he to me, that it shall be no longer in my Power to [Page 295] justify my self; that my Enemy a­lone shall have your Ear, and that while I expose my Life for your Ser­vice, I run the hazard of being re­compensed with your Indignation. You are mistaken, said I to him, Protesilaus speaks not of you, as you do of him; nay rather, he com­mends you, he has a value for you, and thinks you worthy of the most important Employments; if ever he offers to speak against you, he shall lose that Trust I repose in him, therefore fear him not, and only take care to serve me well. He went away, and I must now con­fess, he left me in a strange disor­der: I plainly saw how necessary it was for me to have several Per­sons to consult with; and that no­thing was more prejudicial, either to my Reputation, or the success of my Undertakings, than the trust­ing one single Man. I found that the wise Counsels of Philocles had kept me from committing many dangerous Faults, into which the [Page 296] Haughtiness of Protesilaus would have hurried me. I was sensible that Philocles's Mind was adorn'd with Honesty and equitable Prin­ciples, which I did not find in Pro­tesilaus, whom by this time I had suffer'd to assume so peremptory a Tone with me, that I was no more able to contradict him almost in a­ny thing. I was weary of being continually betwixt two Men, whom I could not bring to agree together; and this Lassitude and my Weak­ness made me chuse to hazard some­thing at the Expence of my affairs, that I might enjoy my self at liber­ty. I would have conceal'd from my very self, the shameful Reason of that Course I had embrac'd; but that same shameful Reason, which I was afraid to discover, workt se­cretly in the bottom of my Heart, and was the Motive of all I did. Philocles defeated the Enemy, gain'd a full Victory, and hasten'd his Re­turn, in order to prevent the Ill Of­fices he fear'd from his Rival; but [Page 297] Protesilaus, who had not yet deceiv'd me, wrote to him, that my Desire was, he should follow his Victory, and make a Descent into the Island of Carpathia; for he perswaded me, I might easily make my self Master of that Island. But he order'd it so, that Philocles wanted many ne­cessary things for his Undertaking; and tied him up with such Orders, as occasion'd many Disappointments in the execution of it. In the mean time he made use of a corrupt and treacherous Servant of mine, who observ'd every thing I did, and ac­quainted him with it, altho' they seem'd to speak seldom to one [...] and ever to be at odds. This Servant (Timocrates by Name) came to me one day, and told me as a great Secret, That he had discover'd a very dangerous Business. Philocles, said he, designs to make use of your Sea-Forces, to make himself King of the Isle of Carpathia; the Captains of those Troops are his Creatures, and all the Soldiers are corrupted by [Page 298] his Donatives, and much more by the pernicious Licentiousness which he allows in them. He is elevated with his Victory; here is a Letter he writ to one of his Friends, about his Pro­ject of making himself King; so evi­dent a Proof puts the Thing out of all doubt. I perused the Letter, which seem'd to be writ by Philocles; for Protesilaus and Timocrates, who made this Forgery, had perfectly i­mitated his Hand. That Letter cast me into a strange surprize; I read it over and over, and could not be perswaded it was writ by Philocles, whilst I review'd in my distracted Mind, all the sensible Demonstrati­ous he had given me of his [...] he had given me of his Dsinterest­edness and Honesty. However, what could I do? How could I contra­dict a Letter, which I acknowledg'd to be Philocles's Hand? When [...] perceiv'd I could no longer resist his Artifice, he still carried it on further: Shall I dare, said he to me, with a [...] Voice, to put you in mind of a Word in this Let­ter? [Page 299] Philocles tells his Friends, that he may speak in confidence to Pro­tesilaus, about a thing which he on­ly marks by a Cypher: Certainly Protesilaus must be privy to the De­sign of Philocles; 'tis Protesilaus who prest you to send Philocles against the Carpathians; from a certain time he speaks no more to you against him as he us'd to do; nay, on the contrary, he cries him up, he encou­rages him upon all occasions, and they often pay one another civil Vi­sits. Without doubt Protesilaus has taken his Measures with Philocles, in order to share with him the Con­quest of Carpathia: You may see your self how he put you upon this Enterprize against all Reason, and cares not to expose all your Naval Forces, to gratifie his Ambition. Do you think he would thus be subser­vient to Philocles towring Thoughts, if they were still at odds? No, no; there's no question, but those two Men are reconcil'd, and have join'd Interests to ascend the Throne toge­ther; [Page 300] nay, perhaps to dispossess you of your own. I know, by speak­ing thus freely to you, I expose my self to their Resentment, if, not with­standing my sincere Information, you still leave your Authority in their Hands; But what care I, as long as I tell you nothing but Truth?

These last Words of Timocrates left a deep Impression in me: I call'd no more Philocles's Treachery into que­stion, and begun to distrust Protesi­laus, as one that was his Friend. In the mean time Timocrates told me continually, if you stay till Philocles has made himself Master of the Isle of Carpathia, it will then be too late to put a stop to his Designs; therefore make haste to secure him whilst he is yet in your Power. I shook with horror at the deep Dissimulation of Men, and knew no more whom to trust; for having discover'd Philo­cles's Treachery, I did not see one Man upon the face of the whole Earth, whose Virtue was able to dispel my Fears. I was resolv'd to [Page 301] punish that perfidious Man without delay; but I was afraid of Protesilaus, and knew not what Measures to keep with him: I fear'd to find him guilty, and likewise I fear'd to trust him. At last, being in this dis­order, I could not forbear telling him that I was grown Jealous of Philocles. He seem'd surpriz'd at it, and represented to me how honest, upright, and moderate his Conduct had been; he exaggerated his Ser­vices; in short, he manag'd the Matter so well, that I was persua­ded of their Intelligence. On the o­ther side, Timocrates improved every Circumstance to make me sensible of their good Understanding, and in­duce me to ruin Philocles, while it was yet in my Power to secure him. Mark, dear Mentor! mark the Un­happiness of Princes, and how they are exposed to be made the Property of other Men, even when they lie trembling at their Feet. I thought it was a piece of deep Policy, to break Protesilaus's Measures, send­ing [Page 302] privately Timocrates to the Fleet with Orders to dispatch Philocles out of the way. Protesilaus carried on his Dissembling to the last, and de­ceiv'd me so much the better, as he look'd like one who suffers himself to be deceiv'd. Timocrates put to Sea, and found Philocles hard put to it at the intended Descent: He want­ed every thing; for Protesilaus not knowing whether the suppos'd Let­ter was sufficient to ruin his Enemy, contriv'd at the same time another Plot, to wit, the ill success of an Enterprize which he had so much cry'd up, and which would not fail to provoke me against Philocles. This innocent Man maintain'd so difficult a War by his Courage, his Policy, and the Affection the Sol­diers had for him. Although all the Army was sensible that this Descent was rashly undertaken, and would prove fatal to the Cre­tans; yet all endeavour'd to car­ry it on, as if their Lives and Hap­piness had depended upon the suc­cess [Page 303] of it; and every one was con­tented to venture his Life upon all Occasions under so wise a General, and one who always study'd to make himself belov'd. Timocrates expos'd himself to an eminent Dan­ger, by attempting to make away with that Chief, in the middle of an Army who lov'd him so passion­ately; but being blinded by Ambi­tion, he found nothing difficult whilest he endeavour'd to please Protesilaus, with whom he expected to share the absolute Management of Affairs after the death of Philo­cles. Protesilaus could not endure a good Man, whose very sight secret­ly reproach'd him with his Crimes; and who, by opening my Eyes, might frustrate all his ambitious De­signs. Timocrates engag'd two Cap­tains who were continually near Philocles's Person, and promis'd them great Rewards from me: After­wards he told Philocles, That he came to deliver to him a secret Mes­sage from me, which he was or­der'd [Page 304] not to disclose but in the Pre­sence of those two Captains. Phi­locles having lock'd himself in with them, Timocrates pull'd out a Dag­ger and stabb'd him; but, as For­tune order'd it, the Blow was slant­ing, and did not go deep. Philocles, with undauneed Courage, wrested the Dagger out of his Hand, and us'd it against him, and the other two: At the same time he cry'd out for help; those without run to the Door, and having broke it open, disingag'd Philocles from the Hands of those three Men, who being pre­sently disorder'd, had attack'd him but faintly. They were disarm'd and seiz'd; and such was the Fury and Indignation of the Army, that they would have torn them in pieces in an instant, had not Philocles stopt the Multitude. Afterwards he took Timocrates aside, and ask'd him calm­ly, Who had engag'd him to com­mit so black a Deed? Timocrates, who fear'd Death, shew'd him in­stantly the Order I gave him in writ­ing [Page 305] to dispatch Philocles; and as all Traytors are Cowards, he be­thought himself of saving his Life by revealing to Philocles Protesilaus's Treachery. Philocles amaz'd and frighted to find so much Malice in Men, follow'd a wise Resolution; he declar'd to the Army, That Ti­mocrates was innocent; and having secur'd him from their Violence, sent him back to Crete. Afterwards he resign'd the Command of the Army to Polimenes, whom I appointed in my written Order, to Command after Philocles was kill'd. Last of all he exhorted the Troops to remain faithful to their Duty to me, and in the Night-time went over to the Isle of Samos in a small Bark. There he lives retir'd in peaceful Poverty, making Statues to get his Sustenance, and abhorring to hear any Body speak of unjust and treacherous Men, especially Princes, who of all Mor­tals are the most unhappy and most blind. At these words, Mentor stopping Idomeneus, Well, said he, [Page 306] Was it long before you discover'd the Truth? No, answer'd Idomene­us; I found out by degrees the Ar­tifices of Protesilaus and Timocrates: They fell out a little while after; for wicked Men are seldom long united. By their Division, I per­ceiv'd the Abyss into which they had precipitated me. Well, said Mentor, did you not then resolve to rid your self of either of them? Alas! Dear Mentor, are you igno­rant how weak and perplex'd Prin­ces are? When they have once gi­ven up themselves to Men who have the Art of making themselves ne­cessary, they can no longer hope for Liberty. Those whom they de­spise most, are those whom they use best, and on whom they bestow their Favours; I abhorr'd Protesilaus, and yet I left all my Authority in his Hands. Oh! unaccountable Il­lusion! I was pleas'd with my self, because I knew him, but my Weak­ness would not suffer me to re-take my Power from him. Besides, I [Page 307] found him easie, complaisant, in­dustrious in gratifying my Passions, zealous for my Service; in short, I found Reasons to excuse my Weak­ness to my self. My being unac­quainted with true Virtue, (for want of chusing good Ministers to manage my Affairs) made me be­lieve there was no such thing on Earth, and that Honesty was but a meer Chimera. Why, said I to my self, should I be at the Pains of get­ting out of the Hands of one cor­rupt Man, to fall into those of ano­ther, who shall be neither more free from Self-Interest, nor more sincere than he?

In the mean time the Fleet com­manded by Polimenes, return'd: I laid aside the Thoughts of conquer­ing the Island of Carpathia; and Protesilaus could not dissemble so well, but that I did discover how much he was vex'd to hear that Phi­locles was safe in the Isle of Samos. Mentor interrupted Idomeneus once more, and ask'd him, Whether af­ter [Page 308] so black a Treachery, he had continu'd Protesilaus in the Admini­stration of his Affairs? I was, an­swer'd Idomeneus, too great an Ene­my to Business, and too much di­stracted by Pleasures, as to be able to get out of his Hands. I must have broke the Method I had esta­blish'd for my own Ease, and given Instructions to a new Minister; this I had not the Resolution to un­dertake, and so I chose to wink at the Artifices of Protesilaus; only I comforted my self, with letting some of my intimate Friends understand, that I was not unacquainted with his Dishonesty. Thus I thought I was cheated but by halves, as long as I knew I was cheated. Nay, I now and then made Protesilaus sen­sible of my being uneasie under his Yoke; I was often pleas'd in con­tradicting him, in blaming publick­ly some of his Actions, and in de­ciding Matters against his Opinion; but being acquainted with my Su­pinity and Sloth, he was little trou­bled [Page 309] at my Disgusts, and pursued his Point with Obstinacy. Some­times he us'd pressing, imperious Ways, and sometimes supple and fawning Insinuations. But chiefly when he perceiv'd I was angry with him, he redoubled his Endeavours to furnish me with new Amuse­ments which he thought might sof­ten me, or engage me in some Af­fair, wherein he might be necessary, and make his Zeal for my Reputa­tion appear: And, tho' I stood up­on my Guard against him, yet this way of flattering my Passions, did daily insnare me. He knew all my Secrets, he comforted me in my Troubles: He made the whole Na­tion tremble by the Power he u­surp'd from me: In fine, I could not think of ruining him, but ra­ther of maintaining him in his Post; I put all honest Men out of capacity of shewing me my true Interest; and after that very moment no Man durst freely give me his Advice. All Truth was fled far from me; [Page 310] but Error, which is the fore-runner of the fall of Princes, star'd me in the Face, and I plainly saw how much I was to blame to sacrifice Philocles to the cruel Ambition of Protesilaus: Those very Men who were most zealous for the Govern­ment, and my Person, did not think themselves oblig'd to undeceive me. After so dreadful an Example, I my self, dear Mentor, was afraid lest Truth should pierce through the Cloud, and reach my sight in spite of all my Flatterers; for wanting Resolution to follow it, its Light became troublesome to me; and I was sensible that it would have raised cruel Remorses within me, without freeing me from so fatal an Engagement. My Easiness, and the Ascendent which Protesilaus had gain'd over me, made me almost despair of ever recovering my Li­berty. I was unwilling either to behold my wretched State, or to discover it to others; for you know, dear Mentor, that the vain Pride and [Page 311] false Glory, wherein Princes are brought up, will not suffer 'em ever to be in the wrong. To pal­liate a Fault, they make a hun­dred; rather than own they have been deceiv'd, and give themselves the trouble of forsaking their Er­ror, they'll suffer themselves to be deceiv'd all their Lives long. This is the State of weak and inadvertent Princes; and it was exactly my own. When it was absolutely ne­cessary that I should go to the Siege of Troy, at my departure I left Pro­tesilaus my chief Minister of State, who in my absence rul'd with Haughtiness and Inhumanity: The whole Kingdom of Crete groan'd un­der his Tyranny; but no body durst tell me how the People were op­press'd: They knew that I was a­fraid to know the Truth, and that I left all those to the Cruelty of Protesilaus, who durst attempt to speak against him. But the more it was conceal'd, the more violent was the Evil. He constrain'd me to throw [Page 312] off the valiant Merione, who had follow'd me with so much Honour to the Siege of Troy. At my return he grew jealous of him and of all those whom I lov'd, and in whom appeard'd any sign of Virtue. You must know, my dear Mentor, that thence all my Misfortunes had their rise. 'Twas not so much the death of my Son that caus'd the Cretans to revolt, as the Vengeance of the Gods irritated against my Weakness, and the Hatred of the People which Protesilaus had drawn upon me: When I spilt the Blood of my Son, the Cretans, now weary of a rigo­rous Government, had lost all Pa­tience, and the horror of this Action did only openly shew what had long lain hidden in the bottom of their Hearts. Timocrates follow'd me to the Siege of Troy, and by private Letters gave Protesilaus an account of all that he could pry into. I plainly perceiv'd that I was in sla­very, but I endeavour'd not to think of it, despairing to remedy it. [Page 313] When the Cretans revolted at my Arrival, Protesilaus and Timocrates were the first who fled; and had doubtless left me, had I not been oblig'd to fly almost as soon as they. Know, my dear Mentor, that inso­lent Men in the time of Prosperity are ever weak, and in disgrace; they grow giddy and faint-hearted as soon as ever absolute Power for­sakes 'em; they are then as abject as they are haughty, and, in one moment, they pass from one ex­treme to another.

Said Mentor to Idomeneus, But how comes it then, that knowing these two wicked Men to the very bot­tom, you should still entertain 'em near you, as I see you do? I dont wonder that they follow'd you, since they cou'd do no otherwise for their own safety; and I believe that you have been so generous as to give 'em a Refuge in your new Settlement; but why will you again betray your self to 'em after such dear experience of'em? You don't know, said Ido­meneus, [Page 314] how useless all Experiences are to easy and inadvertent Princes, who live without Reflection; they are discontented with every Thing, and yet have not the Courage to re­dress any Thing. The Habit of so many Years continuance, is as so many Iron-Fetters that chain'd me to these tow Men; they beset me every Hour; and since I have been here, they have put me upon all these excessive Expences that you see: They have lost this growing State; they drew this War upon me, which had inevitably ruin'd me without you; I shou'd soon have found the same Misfortunes at Sa­lenta that I felt in Crete; but you have at last open'd my Eyes, and you have inspir'd me with the Cou­rage which I wanted to throw off this Slavery: I dont know what you have wrought within me, but since you have been here, I find my self quite another Man.

Mentor then ask'd Idomeneus how Protesilaus had behav'd himself in [Page 315] this change of Affairs. No Man with more artifice, reply'd Idomene­us, since your arrival here: He has not omitted the least occasion to fill any Soul with unjust Suspicions. 'Tis true he said nothing against you, but several others buzz'd in my Ears that these two Strangers ought to be narrowly inspected: One of 'em, said he, is the Son of the grand De­ceiver Ulysses, and t'other is a de­crepid Man, and of deep Thought; they are us'd to wander about from Kingdom to Kingdom, and who knows but they have hatch'd some Design against this? These great Adventurers relate themselves that they have caus'd great Troubles in all the Countries they have past thro'; and ours is but a growing State, and scarce yet settled, so that the least Commotion may overturn it. Protesilaus said nothing, but he endeavour'd to make me perceive the Danger and Extravagance of all these Reformations that you make me attempt: He attack'd me with [Page 316] my own proper Interest: If, said he, you let the People live in plenty, the'l work no more, but will grow Fierce, Indocile, and ever ready to Revolt; 'tis only Weakness and Mi­sery that makes 'em humble, and that hinders 'em from disturbing the Government: He has often endea­vour'd to resume his former Autho­rity, to hurry me away, covering it with your desire of easing the pretence of his Zeal to serve me. The People, said he, derogate from the Regal Power, and by that you will do the People themsemlves an irreparable Injury. For there is a necessity that they should always be kept low for their own quiet and safety. To all which I answer'd, That I knew how to keep the Peo­ple in their Duty to me, by making my self belov'd by 'em, and not remit any thing of my Prerogative, tho' I did ease 'em: In short, by giving the Children good Education, and an exact Discipline to all the People, to keep 'em in a plain course [Page 317] of life, sober and laborious. How! said I, are not the People to be kept in subjection without starving'em to death? What Inhumanity is this! what brutish Policy! How many People do we see govern'd with a gentle hand, and yet Loyal to their Princes? That which causes Re­volts is the Ambition and Restless­ness of the Grandees of a State, when once they have got too great a Liberty, suffering their Passions to pass all due Bounds. 'Tis the multitude of great and little, who live at Ease, in Luxury, and in La­ziness: Tis the too great abun­dance of Military Men, who have neglected all useful Employments, which they should take upon'em in the time of Peace: In short, 'tis the Despair of a People ill-treated; 'tis the Severity, the Haughtiness of Princes, and their Indulgence of themselves, that makes 'em unca­pable of watching over every Mem­ber of the State to prevent any Truoble. See here now what cau­ses [Page 318] Revolts? 'Tis not the Bread which the Labourer is suffer'd to eat in Peace, after he has got it by the Sweat of his Brow. When Prote­silaus saw that I was unshaken in these Maxims, he took a quite con­trary course to his former practices, and began to observe those Maxims he could not destroy: He seem'd to Relish 'em, to be convinc'd by 'em, and to own himself oblig'd to me for making 'em so obvious to him; and obviates all my Wishes to ease the Poor: He is the first that represents their Grievances to me, and that cries out against extravagant Expences; you know your self he praises you, that he seems to have great confidence in you, and that he omits nothing that may please you. Timocrates indeed, begins not to stand so well with Protesilaus, and thinks to be independent on any bo­dy but himself: Protesilaus is jea­lous of him, and it is partly thro' their difference that I have disco­ver'd their perfidy.

[Page 319] Mentor smiling, replied thus to Idomeneus: What then if you have been so weak as even to suffer your self to be tyrannized over for so ma­ny Years, by two Traytors, whose Treasons you were acquainted with? Alas! (cry'd Idomeneus) you do not know what Men of Artifice can work on a weak Prince, who has deliver'd himself up to them, in the management of all his Affairs. I told you besides, that nevertheless Protesilaus approves all the Projects for the Publick good. Mentor re­sum'd the Discourse with a great deal of gravity, and said, I see but too well how much the Wicked pre­vail against the Good, especially among Princes, of which you are a sad Ex­ample: But you tell me, I have open'd your Eyes as to Protesilaus, and yet they are so far shut, as to leave the management of the Go­vernment to this Man who is un­worthy to live. Know, that wick­ed Men are not uncapable of doing good; 'tis equally the same thing to [Page 320] them as to do ill, when they can serve their Ambition. It costs 'em nothing to do ill; because no thought of Goodness, nor any Principle of Virtue does restrain 'em; but just so they do well, because the Corrupti­on of their Nature leads 'em to it, that they may seem good, so to de­ceive the rest of Mankind. To speak properly, they are not capable of Virtue, tho' they seem to act by its Principles; but they are capable of adding to all other Vices the most horrible of all Vices, which is Hy­pocrisie. As long as you stedfastly resolve to do good, Protesilaus will be ready to do good with you, to pre­serve his Authority; but if he per­ceives the least lapse from it in you, he will forget nothing that may make you fall again into your Errors, and freely to resume his natural Deceit and Ferocity. Can you live in Ho­nour and Quiet as long as such a Man haunts you Day and Night, and as long as you know the faith­ful Philocles, poor and disgrac'd in [Page 321] the Isle of Samos? O Idomeneus! you know well enough, that the Bold and Deceitful Men, when pre­sent, insnare weak Princes: And you ought to add, That Princes have yet another Unhappiness no whit inferior, which is, easily to forget Virtue, and the Services of a Man at a distance. The Multi­tude of Men who crowd on Prin­ces, is the Reason that there is not one among 'em who can make any deep impression on them; they are not touch'd but by what is present, and by that which flatters 'em; all the rest is soon defac'd. Upon the whole, Virtue touches 'em but little; because, Virtue, far from flattering 'em, contradicts 'em, and condemns their weakness in them. Can we wonder that they are not beloved, when they do not deserve it, and love nothing but their Greatness and Pleasures?

After having thus spoken, Mentor perswaded Idomeneus, that he shou'd turn out Protesilaus and Timocrates, [Page 322] and recall Philocles. That which most stuck with the King as to this was, That he fear'd the Severity of Philocles. I must confess, said he, I cannot chuse but be a little fear­ful of his return, tho' I love and esteem him; but I have ever since my Infancy, been accustom'd to be prais'd. to Courtship, and to Com­plainsance, which I cannot hope to find from this Man. Whenever I did any thing that he dislik'd, his sorrowful Countenance sufficiently assur'd me that he condemn'd me. When he was in private with me, his Maxims were full of respect and moderation, but harsh.

Don't you see, said Mentor, that Princes who are spoil'd by Flattery, think every thing harsh and austere that is free and ingenuous; they are grown so nice, that every thing that is not Flattery offends and provokes 'em. But let us go yet a little fur­ther: I grant that Philocles is really Harsh and Austere; but is not his Austerity better than the pernicious [Page 323] Flattery of your Counsellors? Where will you find a Man without Faults? And ought not you to fear the Fault of one who tells you the Truth a little too freely? What do I say? Is not this a Fault necessary to the Correction of yours, and to cure the loathing of Truth which Flattery has begot in you? You want a Man who loves nothing but Truth, and who loves you better than you know how to love your self; who dare, and will tell you unplea­sing Truths; who will press upon all your Retirements; and this ne­cessary Man is Philocles. Remem­ber that Prince is too happy, when but only one Man of such greatness of Mind is Born in his Reign, who is the most valuable Treasure of his Kingdom; and that the greatest Punishment he ought to fear from the Gods, is to be depriv'd of him, if he renders himself unworthy, for want of knowing how to make use of him. As to the Faults of Good Men, he ought to be acquainted [Page 324] with 'em, and nevertheless make use of their Service: Redress those Faults, deliver not your self blindly up to their indiscreet Zeal, but fa­vourably hear 'em; honour their Virtue; shew the Publick that you know how to distinguish it; and a­bove all, take great care that you be not like those Princes, who only despising corrupt Men, do not how­ever fail to employ and intrust 'em, and to heap kindnesses on 'em; and who pretending to know virtuous Men, give 'em nothing but empty Praises, not desiring to trust 'em in any Employments, nor to admit 'em into their familiar Conversation, nor to bestow any Favours on them. Idomeneus then own'd, that he was a­sham'd he had so long delay'd the deliverance of oppressed Innocence, and the Punishment of those who had abus'd him: Immediately there­fore he gave private Orders to He­gesippus, who was one of the princi­pal Officers of the Houshold, to seize Protesilaus and Timocrates, and [Page 325] to carry 'em guarded to the Isle of Samos, and to leave 'em there, and to bring back Philocles from that place of Exile. Hegesippus, surpriz'd at these Orders, cou'd not forbear weeping for Joy. 'Tis now this moment, said he to the King, that you are going to charm your Sub­jects: For these two Men have caus'd all your Misfortunes as well as those of your People: These Twenty Years have all good Men groan'd under 'em; and 'twas dangerous too to be heard to groan; so cruel is their Tyranny, they oppress all those who endeavour to go to you by any other way but by them. Afterwards Hegesippus discover'd a great many Treacheries and Acts of Inhumanity, committed by these two Men, of which the King never had Informa­tion before, because no body durst accuse 'em: He gave him besides, an Account of what he had discover'd of a Conspiracy against Mentor. The King heard all with Horror; in the mean while Hegesippus hasten'd to go [Page 326] take Protesilaus in his House: It was not so large, nor so commodious, nor so pleasant as the King's, but the Architecture was of a better Model; and Protesilaus had adorn'd it with a great deal of Cost, drawn from the Blood of those whom he had made miserable. Protesilaus was at that time in a Parlour of Marble near his Baths, lying carelesly on a Bed of Purple, embroider'd with Gold: He seem'd weary and spent with his Labours: His Eyes and Eye-brows discover'd an unusual kind of dis­order, and sullen Wildness: The Chief of the Kingdom sate rang'd about him on Carpets, and com­pos'd their Looks to those of Protesilaus, which they observ'd, even to the twinkling of an Eye: Scarce cou'd he open his Mouth, ere all of them were ready to extol with Admiration what he was going to say. One of the principal of the Company repeated to him with ri­diculous Exaggerations, what he had done for the King. Another told [Page 327] him that Jupiter having deceiv'd his Mother, gave Life to him, and that he was Son to the Father of the Gods. Among the rest a Poet sung Verses to him, wherein he recited that Protesilaus being Instructed by the Muses, equal'd Apollo in every performance of Wit; another Poet more Fauning and Impudent, call'd him in his Verses the Inventor of the Liberal Sciences, and the Father of the People, whom he made hap­py; and describ'd him holding the Horn of Plenty in his Hand. Pro­tesilaus hearken'd to these Praises with a surly Look, distorted and disdain­ful, like one who knows well enough that he deserves them, and yet far greater, and who condescends too much in suffering himself to be prais'd. There was another Flat­terer who took the liberty to tell him in his Ear some pleasant Thing against the Regulations Mentor en­deavour'd to establish, at which Protesilaus smil'd; and then the whole Assembly fell a Laughing, [Page 328] tho the greatest part could not yet know what was said; but Protesi­laus resuming his severe and haughty Air, every one of 'em put on their former dread, and became Silent. These Noblemen often watch'd the happy Opportunity when Protesilaus wou'd cast his Eye towards 'em and hear 'em, appearing mute and disor­der'd, because they had some Fa­vours to beg of him: Their dejected Postures spoke for 'em, and they seem'd as submissive as a Mother at the foot of an Altar, when she begs of the Gods that her only Son may be restor'd to his Health. Eve­ry one appear'd contented, full of Tenderness and Admiration of Pro­tesilaus, tho they all had entertain'd an implacable hatred of him in their Hearts. In this very Moment en­ters Hegesippus, seizes his Sword, and tells him that he is come to car­ry him to the Isle of Samos. At these Words, all the Loftiness of Protesilaus fell down like a Rock that breaks off from the top of a sharp-pointed [Page 329] Mountain: Now he throws him­self trembling at the Feet of Hegesip­pus; he cries, he faulters, he stam­mers, he quakes, he embraces the Knees of this Man, whom not an Hour since he wou'd not vouchsafe to Honour so much as with a Look: All those who had but just now Worship'd him, seeing him irreco­verably lost, turn'd their Flatteries into bitter and pitiless Mockeries; and Hegesippus wou'd not allow him so much time as either, to take his last Farewel of his Wife and Fami­ly, or to fetch some private Writ­ings; but all were seiz'd and carry'd to the King. At the same time too Timocrates was Arrested, to his great Amazement; for having fall'n out with Protesilaus he thought he cou'd not be involv'd in his Ruin. They set out then in a Vessel prepar'd for that purpose, and arriv'd at Samos, where Hegesippus left these two mi­serable Wretches, and to compleat their Misery he left 'em together. There, with the greatest Rage, they [Page 330] reproach'd one another with the Crimes they had committed, which now were the cause of their Fall. They were now past hope of ever seeing Salenta more, condemn'd to live far from their Wives and Chil­dren, I can't say far from their Friends; for they had none. They were then in an unknown Land, where they had no means of Living but by their Labour: They who had pass'd so many Years in Delicacies and Pride, were now, like wild Beasts, always ready to tear one ano­ther a Pieces.

In the mean time Hegesippus in­quir'd in what part of the Isle Phi­locles dwelt: He was told that he liv'd a great way from the Town upon a Mountain, where a Cave serv'd him for an House. All the Inhabitants spoke to him with Ad­miration of this Stranger: Never since he has been in this Isle, said they to him, has he offended any Body. Every Man wonders at his Patience, his Labour and Peace of [Page 331] Mind; since, having nothing, he seems always Contented; and tho he be here far from Business, with­out Wealth and without Authority, he ceases not however to oblige those who deserve it, and finds a Thou­sand ways to do all his Neighbours some Service.

Hegesippus went up towards this Grotto, which he found empty and and open; for the Poverty and plain Manners of Philocles, oblig'd him to no necessity of shutting his Door when he went out. A Matt of Rushes serv'd him instead of a Bed: He seldom kindl'd a Fire, because he never eat any Thing dress'd: All the Summer he liv'd upon Fruits newly gather'd; and in the Winter upon Dates and dry Figs. A clear Spring of Water distilling from a Rock, serv'd to quench his Thirst. He had nothing in his Grotto but Instru­ments necessary for Carving, and some few Books which he read at certain Hours; not to adorn his Mind, nor to satisfy his Curiosity, [Page 332] but to instruct him at his spare Hours, and to learn to be Good. He apply'd himself to this Art, on­ly to exercise his Body, and to get a Livelyhood, that he might not be beholding to any Person. Hegesip­pus entring the Grotto, cou'd not but admire the Works that he had begun; he observ'd a Jupiter, whose serene Countenance was so full of Majesty, that he might easily be known for the Father of the Gods and Men; on another side appear'd Mars with a dreadful and menacing Fierceness: But what was most live­lily represented, was a Minerva, who gave Life to these Arts; her Countenance was noble and sweet, her Port lofty and free; she was in a Posture so nearly imitating Life, that one might believe that she wou'd immediately Walk. Hege­sippus having delighted himself with the sight of these Statues, came out of the Grotto, and at some distance off, under a large Tree, he saw Phi­locles Reading on the Grass. He [Page 333] went directly towards him; and Philocles who perceiv'd him, knew not what to think. Is not that He­gesippus there, said he to himself, with whom I liv'd so long in Crete? But what shou'd cause him to come to an Island so far distant? Perhaps 'tis his Ghost that after his Death comes from the Stygian Banks. Whilst he was thus doubting, Hegesippus came so near him, that he cou'd not choose but know him again and embrace him. Is it then indeed you, my dear and old Friend? What Danger, what Tempest has thrown you on this Shoar? Why did you leave the Island of Crete? Is it a Disgrace like mine, which has forc'd you from your Country to our side? Hegesip­pus answer'd him, 'tis no Disgrace; but, on the contrary, the Kindness of Heaven that has brought me hi­ther. Then presently he recounted to him the long Tyranny of Protesi­laus and Timocrates, the Misfortunes into which they had precipitated Ido­meneus, the Fall of that Prince, his [Page 334] Flight to the Coasts of Hesperia, the Founding of Salenta, the arrival of Mentor and Telemachus, the wise Maxims with which Mentor had in­spir'd the King, and the Disgrace of those two Traitours; adding, that he had brought 'em to Samos, to suffer the same Banishment there, which they had caus'd Philocles to undergo, and so finish'd his Dis­course in telling him that he was commanded to bring him to Salenta; where the King, who knew his In­nocence, wou'd trust the manage­ment of his Affairs to him, and heap Riches on him.

Do you see this Cave, said Philo­cles to him, fitter to hide wild Beasts, than to be inhabited by Men? Here I have tasted for these many Years past, more Sweetness and Repose than ever I did in the gilded Palaces of the Island of Crete. Man deceives me no more, for I Converse with no Man; I hear no more their flat­tering and poysoning Discourses; I have no more need of 'em. My [Page 335] Hands inur'd to Labour, give me a wholsome Nourishment, sufficient and necessary; I need no more than this slight Stuff that you see, to cover me; I have no other Want; I en­joy an undisturb'd Rest and a sweet Freedom, of which the Wisdom in my Books teach me to make a good use. What shou'd I go to seek again among suspicious, deceitful and inconstant Men? No, no, my dear Hegesippus, envy not my good For­tune. Protesilaus has betray'd him­self, designing to betray the King, and to ruin me; but, believe me, he has done me no hurt at all: On the contrary he has done me the greatest Kindness; he has deliver'd me from the noise and slavery of Bu­siness; to him I owe my dear Soli­tude, and all the innocent Pleasures that I have enjoy'd here. Return, Hegesippus! Return to the King, help him to Support the Miseries of Greatness, and do for him what you wou'd have me do. Since his Eyes, so long shut against Virtue, have at [Page 336] last been open'd by this wise Man whom you call Mentor; let the King keep him near him. It is dangerous for me after my Shipwrack to quit the Port into which the Tempest had so happily driven me, and to trust my self again to the Mercy of the Winds. Ah! How much are Kings to be pity'd. Ah! How ought they to be pity'd who serve 'em! If they are Wicked, how ma­ny Men suffer by 'em; and what Torments are prepar'd for 'em in the darkest Hell? If they are Good, how many Difficulties have they to overcome! How many Snares to avoid! What Ills to suffer! — Once more my dear Hegesippus, leave me in my happy Poverty! —

While Philocles was thus speak­ing with a great deal of earnest­ness, Hegesippus beheld him with astonishment; he had seen him for­merly in Crete, during the time he administer'd the greatest Affairs of State, lean, languid, and almost spent, his natural Ardour and Au­sterity [Page 337] wasting through Care and Pains: He cou'd not see Vice un­punish'd without the greatest Con­cern: He would have Affairs man­ag'd with such an Exactness as is never known; and thus his great Employments destroy'd his weak Constitution: But at Samos, Hege­sippus found him plump and vigo­rous, for all his Age; his flourish­ing Youth seem'd renew'd in his Face; a temperate, quiet, and la­borous Life had, as it were, given him a new Constitution. You are surpriz'd to see me so alter'd, said Philocles, then smiling; but know, 'tis my Retreat has thus renew'd and restor'd me to perfect Health. My Enemies have given me what I could never find in the greatest of my Fortunes: Would you have me then lose the true Good, to pursue the false, and plunge my self again in­to my former Miseries? Ah! I be­seech you, be not more Cruel than Protesilaus! At least, envy me not the Happiness that I owe to him!

[Page 338] Hegesippus then urg'd to him, but in vain, all that he thought might move him. Are you then insensi­ble, said he to him, of the Pleasure of seeing your Friends and Relations, who wish and sigh for your Return, and whom the hope alone of embrac­ing you over-whelms with Joy? You, who revere the Gods, and who love your Duty, do you think it none to serve King; and to assist him in all the good he designs, in making so many People happy? Is it permitted that a Man should a­bandon himself to a wild and sa­vage Philosophy, to prefer himself to all the rest of Mankind, and to value his own Quiet more than that of his Fellow-Citizens? If these be not the Reasons, 'twill certainly be thought you do it out of spite, that you will see the King no more; who, if he did design any ill to you, 'twas because he did not then know you. It was not the honest, the just Philocles whom he would have destroy'd; no, 'twas a Man [Page 339] quite different from him whom he would have punish'd: But now he knows you, and does not mistake you for another; he feels all his former Friendship revive in his Heart: He waits for you; at this very moment he opens his Arms to embrace you: He is so impatient, he thinks every Hour a Day: And can you be inexorable to your King, and to all your dearer Friends?

Philocles, who at first, grew ten­der at the sight of Hegesippus, re as­sum'd his grave and severe Look, whilest he hearkned to this Dis­course, firm as a Rock against which the Winds fruitlessly contend, and roaring Billows break themselves; he was still immovable, nor his Prayers nor his Arguments could pe­netrate his Heart; but in the mo­ment when Hegesippus began to de­spair to prevail on him, Philocles, having consulted the Gods, found by the Flight of Birds, the Entrails of Victims, and by several Divina­tions, [Page 340] that he must follow Hegesip­pus; wherefore he no longer resisted, but prepar'd to go; but not with­out regret, that he must leave the Desert where he had pass'd so many Years. Alass, said he, O my lovely Grotto, must I quit thee! where peaceful Sleep came every Night to release me from the Labours of the Day! Here the Destinies, in the middle of my Poverty, spun golden Days. Here, weeping, he prostrat­ed himself to adore the Nayade who had so long quench'd his Thirst with her clear Flood, and all the Nymphs that inhabited the neighbouring Mountains. Eccho heard his mourn­ful Farewells, and repeated 'em to all the Deities of the Fields. At last Philocles came to the Town with Hegesippus to embark themselves; not imagining that the miserable Protesilaus, for very shame and an­ger, would have seen him; but he was mistaken, for ill Men have no shame, and can always submit them­selves to the meanest things; Philo­cles's [Page 341] Modesty conceal'd him for fear of being seen by this miserable Wretch; fearing, indeed, to height­en his Misfortune by shewing him the Prosperity of an Enemy who was going to be rais'd on his Ruins; but Protesilaus eagerly sought Phi­locles; he desir'd he should pity him, and beg of the King that he might return to Salenta: But Philocles was too sincere to promise him to labour for his being re-call'd; for he knew better than any Man how pernici­ous his Return would have been: But he spoke very courteously to him, and expressing a great deal of Com­passion, endeavour'd to comfort him, and exhorted him to appease the angry Gods by a pious Life, and by a magnanimous Patience in his Affliction: And having understood that the King had taken from Prote­silaus all his ill-gotten Riches, he promis'd him two things, which at last he faithfully perform'd: One was to take care of his Wife and Children, who were at Salenta, ex­pos'd [Page 342] to the fury of the Multitude; and t'other was to send to Protesi­laus, in this Isle so far distant, some little Supply of Money to alleviate his Misfortunes.

In the mean time, a fair Wind fill'd their spreading Sails: Hegesip­pus, full of impatience, hastens Phi­locles; and Protesilaus sees 'em em­bark'd; his Eyes are fix'd and im­moveable on the Shore; he pursues the Vessel that cuts the Waves, and which the Wind carries farther and farther each Minute; and when at last he could see 'em no more, re­prints the Idea of them in his Mind: In short, raging and vex'd, and gi­ven over to his own Despair, he tears his Hair, throws himself on the Sand, taxes the Gods with their Severity, and in vain calls on cruel Death to help him; who deaf to his Prayers, will not vouchsafe to deliver him out of so great Mise­ries; nor has he the Courage to give it himself.

[Page 343] In the mean while, this Vessel favour'd by Neptune and the Winds, soon arriv'd at Salenta; and as soon as it was told the King, and they were landed at the Port, he ran with Mentor towards Philocles, and kindly embracing him, shew'd a sensible Concern for having perse­cuted him with so much Inju­stice.

This Reception, far from appear­ing a Weakness in a Prince, was look'd upon by the Salentines, as a great Soul, which raises it self above past Faults, in freely owning 'em in order to repair 'em. Every one wept for joy to see this honest Man again, who lov'd the People, and to hear the King speak with so much Discretion and Humanity. Philo­cles receiv'd the King's Caresses with great Respect and Modesty, and was very impatient to be out of the Noise and Acclamations of the Peo­ple: He follow'd the King to the Palace, where presently Mentor and He were as well acquainted, as if [Page 344] they had liv'd together all their Lives long, tho' they had never seen one another before: For the Gods, who have deny'd Eyes to the Wicked to perceive Good, have given Eyes to good Men whereby they know one another. Those who have any Relish of Virtue, can't be together without being united, because they are soon in love with one another. Philocles beg'd of the King that he might retire to some Solitude near Salenta, where he continu'd to spend his days in Poverty, as he had liv'd in Samos. The King and Mentor went daily to see him in his solitary Retreat; where they consulted the Means to strengthen the Laws, and to lay a solid Foundation of Govern­ment for the Publick Good. The two first and principal things they consider'd, were the Education of Children, who belong less to their own Parents than to the Common­wealth, said Mentor: They are the Children of the People, whose Hope and Strength they are; and 'tis too [Page 345] late to Correct 'em when they are corrupted; 'tis too little to exclude 'em from Employments, when they have made themselves unworthy of 'em; 'tis therefore much better to prevent the Mischief, than to be forc'd to punish it. The King, ad­ed he, who is the Father of all his People, is yet more particularly the Father of all the Youth, who are the Flower of the Nation. 'Tis the Blossom that prepares the Fruit; let not the King disdain to watch over 'em, and set Officers to mind the Education of these Children: Let him see that the Laws of Minos be put in Force, which command, That Children be brought up in a contempt of Pain and Death; That Honour be plac'd in a neglect of Pleasure and Riches; That Inju­stice, Lying and Effeminacy be ac­counted Infamous; That from their tender Infancy they be taught to sing the Praises of the Hero's be­lov'd of the Gods, who have brave­ly merited of their Country, and [Page 346] who have signaliz'd their Courage in Battels: Let the Charms of Mu­sick affect their Souls, to soften and purifie their Manners: Let 'em learn to be Affectionate to their Friends, fathful to their Allies, respectful to the Nobility, and just even to their Enemies: Let 'em be taught to fear Death and Torments less than the least thing of their Con­science! If Children are betimes in­spir'd with these great Principles, and if they are sweetly insinuated into 'em, they will, doubtless, be inflam'd with the Love of Honour and Virtue.

Mentor added, That it was abso­lutely necessary to institute Schools to accustom the Youth to hard Ex­ercises of the Body, that they may not learn to grow tender and lazy, which debauches the best Constitu­tion: He farther advis'd, That there should be Plays and Shews fre­quently to animate the People; but above all, that they should exercise their Bodies, to make 'em active, sup­ple, [Page 347] and vigorous, adding a Re­ward to excite Emulation. But what he most desir'd, and tended chiefly to the encouraging of good Manners, was that the People should marry betimes; and their Parents, without any Prospect of Interest, should leave 'em to chuse their Wives, suitable to 'em both in Bo­dy and Mind, with whom they might live continually happy.

THE ADVENTURES OF TELEMACHUS The Son of ULYSSES. PART. IV.

BUT while they were thus lay­ing down the most probable Means to keep their Youth Chaste, Innocent, Laborious, Tractable, and [Page 352] Ambitious of Renown; Philocles, who chiefly delighted in War, said to Mentor, In vain do you employ Youth in all those Exercises, if you suffer them to languish in continual Peace; where they shall neither have Experience in War, nor occa­sion to shew their Valour; by this, you will insensibly weaken the Na­tion, and soften their Courage: Plea­sures will corrupt their Manners, and other warlike Nations will find it no hard matter to vanquish them; and by endeavouring to shun the E­vils of War, they will fall into a miserable Servitude.

Mentor reply'd, The Evils of War never fail to drain a Nation, and put it in danger of Ruin, even while it is most victorious: With how great advantage soever they begin it; they are never sure to end it, without being exposed to the most tragical Chances of Fortune. Sup­pose you engage with never so great a superiority of Force; the smallest [Page 353] Mistake, a panick Fear, a Nothing, snatches away the Victory that was already in your Hands, and puts it into those of your Enemies: And tho' you should hold Victory chain'd in your Camp, you destroy your Self in destroying your Enemies. You dis-people your Country, leave your Ground uncultivated, interrupt Commerce; nay, which is far worse, you weaken your Laws, and suffer Manners to be corrupted. The Youth do not any more apply them­selves to Learning; pressing Wants make you give Way to a pernicious Licentiousness among your Troops; Justice, good Order, every-thing suffers in this Confusion. A King who spills the Blood of so mony Men, and is the Cause of so many Miseries to acquire a little Glory, or to extend the Limits of his King­dom, is unworthy of the Glory he hunts after, and deserves to lose that which he possesses, by endeavouring to Usurp what belongs to another.

[Page 354] But after this manner you must exercise the Courage of a Nation in time of Peace. You have already seen the Exercises of the Body that we have Established; the Prize that excites Emulation, the Maxims of Honour and Virtue, with which we season the Minds of Children, al­most from their Cradle, by Songs full of the great Actions of Heroes; add to those Aids that of a sober and laborious Life. But this is not all: As soon as any of your Allies shall be in War, you must send thither the flower of your Youth, chiefly those in whom you shall observe a War-like Genius, and who are the most likely to profit by Experience: By this means, you shall preserve a high Esteem amongst your Allies; your Friendship shall be Courted, and they shall be afraid to lose it: And without having a War at Home, and at your own Charge, you shall al­ways be provided with a Martial and intrepid Youth. And altho' you [Page 355] your selves enjoy Peace, cease not to treat respectfully those that are Ma­sters of the Art of War; for the true way to avoid it, and preserve a la­sting Peace, is to Cultivate Arms, to Honour Men excellent in that Profession, and to entertain those that are train'd up to it in Foreign Parts, and who know the Force, Discipline, and manner of War in Neighbouring Countries. You shall be equally uncapable of making War to gratify your Ambition, and of being afraid of it through Effemina­cy: And being in a readiness to un­dertake it when Necessity obliges, you can easily find means to prevent it. When your Allies make War upon one another, 'twill be your part to become Mediator: And thus you will acquire a Glory far more solid and sure than that of the Con­querors. You shall gain the Love and Esteem of Strangers, they will all of them stand in need of you; you will strengthen your Authority over [Page 356] your Subjects: You shall become the Confident of their Secrets, the Umpire of Treatises, and Master of their Affections. Your Fame shall fly through the most distant Coun­tries, and your Name shall be like a most delicious Perfume, that diffuses it self far and wide. In such a hap­py State, let a Neighbouring People unjustly attack you, they shall al­ways find you ready to receive them: And what strengthens you still more, they shall find you beloved by all, and succour'd by your Neighbours, who will chearfully Arm themselves for you; being fully perswaded, that the publick Security depends on the Preservation of you. This is a Rampart more secure than the strongest Walls, and most regular Fortifications. This is true Glo­ry.

But how few Kings are there that pursue it? nay rather, how few are there that don't avoid it? They run after a deceitful Shadow, and leave [Page 357] true Honour behind them, because they do not know it. Mentor ha­ving thus spoke, Philocles look'd up­on him with Astonishment; then cast his Eyes on the King: He was charm'd to see how greedily Idome­neus suckt into his very Soul, the Stream of Wisdom which flow'd from the Mouth of that Stranger. Minerva, in the Shape of Mentor, did thus establish in Salentum, the best Laws, and most useful Maxims of Government; not so much for the Prosperity of the Kingdom of Idome­neus, as to give Telemachus a sen­sible Example of what a Wise Go­vernment may do, to make People Happy, and to secure to a good King a lasting Reputation

In the mean time, Telemachus gave Proof of his Courage in the Perils of War: And parting from Salentum, made it his chief care to gain the Af­fection of the Old Captains, who were Men of tried Experience, and established Reputation. Nestor, who [Page 358] had formerly seen him at Pylos, and had always loved Ulysses, treated him as his own Son: He gave him In­structions, enforc'd with divers Illu­strious Examples: He related to him the Adventures of his Youth, and the most remarkable things he had seen performed by the Hero's of the last Age. The Memory of this sage Old Man, who had now seen Three Ages, resembled an History of Ancient Times, deeply engraved on lasting Marble or Brass. Philo­ctetes, at first, had not the same Af­fection for Telemachus; the inveterate Hatred which he bore in his Heart against Ulysses, gave him an Aver­sion to his Son; and it was some uneasiness to perceive how much this Youth seem'd to be the Darling of the Gods, who design'd to make him equal to those Hero's which had laid Troy in Ashes: But the obliging Behaviour of Telemachus, soon over­came the Resentments of Philoctetes, and irresistibly forc'd him to love [Page 359] one who was possess'd with so much Sweetness and Modesty. He often took Telemachus in his Arms, and said to him: My Son, (for I cannot henceforth forbear calling you so) I must own, your Father and I did bear a mutual Hatred, for a long time against one another; and even after we had brought proud Troy to its fatal Period, my Anger was not asswag'd; and though at first sight, I found it hard for me to love you; yet that Sweet and Innocent Virtue, and unaffected Modesty with which you are endued, are not to be re­sisted. Afterwards Philoctetes told him that he would relate to him what it was that had first kindled his Ha­tred against Ulysses.

To begin, says he, my Story a little higher; I accompanied in all his Travels, the great Hercules, who deliver'd the Earth from so many Monsters; who in respect of other Hero's, was as the lofty Oak amidst the tender Roses, or the Eagle a­mong [Page 360] the little Birds. Both that Hero's Misfortunes and my own, proceeded from a Passion which is the Cause of the most terrible. Dis­asters, Unhappy Love. Hercules was subdued by that shameful Passi­on, and became the Spirit of the cruel Boy, Cupid. He could not re­member, without Blushing, that for­merly forgetting all his Glory, he had been brought even to handle the Distaff with Omphale, Queen of Ly­dia, as if he had been the Weakest and most Effeminate of all Men. While he was under the Dominion of his blind Passion, a Hundred times has he owned to me, that this Action had quite tainted his Virtue, and almost defaced the Glo­ry of all his Labours. Nevertheless he was caught a second time in the very same Snares that he so much studied to avoid. Had he been con­stant, he was once too happy in the love of Deianira, his Wife; but too soon the Youth of Iola, in whose [Page 361] Face the Graces themselves were painted, did rob him of his Heart. Deianira, burning with Jealousie, be­thought her of the fatal Garment that the Centaur Nessus had left her at his Death, as an infallible way to awaken the Affection of Hercules, when he seem'd to neglect her, and love another. But alass! this Gar­ment was full of the venomous Blood of the Centaur, and of the Darts which had pierc'd him; for you know that the Arrows with which Hercules kill'd the perfidious Monster, had been dipp'd in the Blood of the Hydra of Lerna, whence they had drawn so strong a Poison, that the Wounds they gave were incurable.

Hercules having put on this Coat, was quickly sensible of the devouring Fire which penetrated into the Mar­row of his Bones. Mount Oeta shook, and the deepest Valleys re­sounded; the Sea it self seemed trou­bled at his Groans; which far sur­pass'd the Bellowings of the most [Page 362] furious Bulls, in their dreadful Com­bats. The unhappy Lychas, who had brought him the Garment from Dej­anira, venturing to approach him; Hercules in the extremity of his Pain, whirl'd him round, as one does a Stone in a Sling, which he is to throw a great distance.

So Lychas being darted from the top of the Mountain by the powerful Arm of Hercules, fell amongst the Waves of the Sea, where he was im­mediately chang'd into a Rock, which still retains its Humane shape, and against which the angry Billows beating, frighten from afar the wa­ry Pilot. After the Misfortune of Lychas, I judg'd it not safe to trust my self to Hercules: I began to think now of hiding my self in the deepest Caverns of the Earth: I ob­serv'd how easily with one hand he pluck'd up by the Roots the lofty Firs, and firm-rooted Oaks; which so many Years had despis'd the most impetuous Storms; and with the o­ther, [Page 363] how he endeavour'd to pull off the fatal Garment; but to no pur­pose; for it was glu'd to his Skin, and as it were, incorporated with his Members, and whilst he rent it, he tore his Flesh: His Blood flow'd in Streams, and moisten'd the Earth; till at last his Vertue overcoming his Pain, he cry'd out, Thou seest, my dear Philoctetes, the Evils which the Gods inflict upon me! they are the just punishment of my Offences: I have violated my Conjugal Love: After having subdu'd so many Ene­mies, I have basely suffer'd my self to be overcome by the Love of a beautiful Stranger: I perish, and am pleas'd that my Ruin will appease the Wrath of the Gods. But alas! my dear Friend, whither dost thou fly? 'Tis true, the extremity of my Pain has made me commit an Act of Cruelty upon the unhappy Lychas, for which I abhor my self. He was ignorant of the Poison which he brought me, and therefore did not [Page 364] deserve what he suffer'd: But couldst thou believe that I should forget the Friendship I owe thee, or that I would take away thy Life? No sure, I shall never cease to love Phi­loctetes: I will breath into his Bo­som, my departing Soul, and he shall gather my Ashes. Where art thou, then my dear Philoctetes, thou only Hope that is left me here below? At these words I ran towards him, whilst he held out his Arms to em­brace me; but he drew them back, for fear he should kindle in my Breast the same raging Flame, with which himself was burnt up. Alas! says he, I dare not embrace thee; the last Consolation is denied me. While he thus spoke, he gather'd to­gether the Trees that he had pluck'd up, and erected them into a Fune­ral Pile, upon the top of the Moun­tain, which he calmly ascended; he spreads the Skin of the Nemean Lyon, which had so long serv'd him for a Mantle, whilst he travel'd [Page 365] from one end of the Earth to the other, to destroy Monsters, and free the Unfortunate: And leaning up­on his Club, he desired me to set Fire to the Pile. My trembling Hand could not refuse him this cruel Piece of Service; for his Life was now so miserable, that it could not any more be reckoned the Gift of the Gods: Yea, I was not even with­out Apprehension, but the excess of his Pain might transport him to do some Action unworthy of that Vir­tue which had been hitherto the Admiration of all the World. When he saw the Flame begin to Catch, he cry'd out, Now it is, my dear Philoctetes, that thou hast given me a Proof of thy sincere Friendship; for thou lov'st my Honour more than my Life, and may the Gods reward thee. I bequeath thee what I have most valuable on Earth; These Arrows which were dip'd in the Blood of the Hydra of Lerna: Thou know'st that the Wounds they [Page 366] give are incurable; by these thou shalt be invincible, as I have been; nor shall any Mortal ever dare to encounter thee. Remember I Die thy faithful Friend; and if thou art mov'd at my Misfortunes, thou mayst give me the last Consolation, by promising never to discover my Death, nor the Place where thou hidest my Ashes. I promised him, yea swore it. Whilst I water'd the funeral Pile with my Tears, a Beam of Joy appear'd darting from his Eyes; but on a sudden he was involv'd in a tour­ing Flame, which stifled his Voice, and rob'd me of the Sight of him: Afterwards I saw him through the Flames, amidst which he appear'd with a Countenance as serene, as if it had been crown'd with Garlands, and cover'd with delicious and festi­val Perfumes in the Company of his Friends. The Fire quickly consumed all that in him was earthly and mor­tal; so that there remained nothing [Page 367] of what he had received in his Birth from his Mother Alcmena; but by the command of Jupiter, it left un­touch'd that subtile and immortal Substance, that celestial Flame, which is the true Principle of Life, and which he had receiv'd from the Father of the Gods; with whom he walk'd along under the gilded Arches of the glittering Olympus, to drink Nectar: Where they gave him to Wife the lovely Hebe, the Goddess of Youth, who used to fill Nectar to Jupiter, before Ganimede was promoted to that Honour. As for the Arrows he left me, with a Design to raise me above all the Hero's, they have been an inexhau­stible Fountain of Mischief; for shortly after this, the confederated Kings had undertaken to revenge Menelaus upon the infamous Paris, for the Rape of Helena; and to over­turn the Empire of Priamus. They were inform'd by the Oracle of Apol­lo, that they were not to expect a [Page 368] happy Issue of the War, unless they got the Arrows of Hercules. Ulysses, your Father, who was always the most clear sighted and industrious in the Management of all their De­signs, took upon him to persuade me to go along with them to the Siege of Troy, and to bring along with me those Arrows, which he believed were in my Possession. 'Twas now a long time since Her­cules had disappear'd, neither did they talk of any new Exploit of that Hero: Monsters and Villains be­gan now to shew their Heads; the Greeks were uncertain what to be­lieve: Some said he was Dead, o­thers, that he was gone under the Northern Bear, to subdue the Segtes; but Ulysses affirm'd he was Dead, and undertook to make me own it. He found me out, when as yet I could not comfort my self for the loss of the great Alcides: It was not an easy matter to come at me; for I could not any more endure the [Page 369] Company of Mankind: I would not suffer my self to be torn from the Desarts of Mount Oeta, where I had beheld the last Fate of my dear Friend: There I entertained my self with the Image of that Hero, which was so deeply imprint'd on my Mind, and with Weeping at the sight of that melancholy Place, which had been the last Scene of his Life. But soft and powerful Elo­quence sat brooding on your Father's Lips; he seem'd almost as much afflicted as my self; he shed Tears; he knew how to gain my Heart in­sensibly, and engage me to confide in him; he begat in me a concern for the Grecian Kings, who were going to Fight in a just Cause, and whose Success depended on me. Yet he could never tear from my Breast the Secret of the Death of Hercules, which I had sworn never to reveal; but taking it for granted, he press'd me to shew him the Place where I had hid his Ashes. I was seiz'd with [Page 370] horrour at the Thoughts of such Perjury, in revealing a Secret which I had promised to the Gods to con­ceal for ever. But what I durst not violate, I was tempted to elude; for which the Gods have punish'd me: I stampt on the Ground with my Foot in the Place where I had hid the Ashes of Hercules. Afterwards I went to join the confederated Kings; who receiv'd me with as much Joy as if I had been Hercules himself. Passing thro' the Isle of Lemnos, I had a mind to shew the Greeks an Experiment of what my Arrows could do, and preparing to pierce a Doe, that was skipping through the Forrest, heedlessly I dropt the Arrow, which lighting on my Foot, gave me a Wound which pains me still. Immediate­ly I felt the same Torments which Hercules had suffer'd: Night and Day I fill'd the Island with my Groans. Black and corrupted Gore issuing from my Wound, infected [Page 371] the Air, and spread thro' the Gre­cian Camp such a Stench as was able to stifle Men of the most vigorous Constitutions. All the Army were seiz'd with Horrour at the sight of me, and concluded that it was a Punishment inflicted on me by the Justice of the Gods. Ulysses, who engaged me in this War, was the first that abandon'd me: I have been inform'd since that he did so, because he prefer'd the common Interest of Greece, and the Victory they so much sought after, to all the Ties of Friend­ship and private Concerns. It was impossible to Sacrifice in the Camp; so much did the horrour and infection of my Wound, and the loudness of my Groans disturb the whole Ar­my: But as soon as I found the Greeks had forsook me, and that even by the advice of Ulysses; this Artifice seem'd to me full of the most barbarous Cruelty and black­est Treachery. Alass, I was blind and did not see that I had deserved [Page 372] to be hated by wise and good Men, as much as by the Gods, whom I had offended. I continu'd, during this whole Siege of Troy, without help, without hope, or any Thing to ease my Pain: Excessively tor­mented, in a desert and savage Island, where nothing was to be heard but the noise of Billows breaking upon the Rocks. In this Retirement, I found a hollow Cave within a Rock, which pointed with a double Head towards the Heavens, and afforded a clear and pleasant Spring. This Cave was the usual retreat of wild Beasts, to whose Fury I was expos'd Night and Day: My Bed was of Leaves which I had gather'd toge­ther: All my Utensils were a Wooden-box, coursely wrought; and some tattered Cloaths, with which I bound up my Wound to stop the Blood, and which I used likewise to clean it: In this Place forsaken of Mankind, and delivered over to the Anger of the Gods, I [Page 373] spent my solitary Hours in darting the Pigeons and other Birds that flew about the Rock: And when I had kill'd any to satisfie my Hun­ger, I was forc'd to crawl along the Ground, with extremity of Pain, to take up my Prey, and with my own Hands to dress it at a Fire I had lighted with a Flint; for the Provisions which the Greeks had left me did not last long. This soli­tary Life, dreadful as 'twas had seem'd pleasant, in so much as it re­mov'd me from the Company of base and deceitful Mankind, if I had not been quite overcome with the extre­mity of my Pain, and the continual remembrance of my last sad Ad­venture. How! said I, to entice a Man from his Native Country, as the only Person that was capable to revenge the Qrarrel of Greece, and then to leave him in a desert Island asleep; for so I was when the Greeks went away. And you may judge of my Surprize when I awak'd, [Page 374] how I wept when I saw their Fleet plough the Deep! Looking about, on all hands, I found nothing but Sorrow in this horrid and desent Island, where there are neither Harbour, Commerce nor Hospitali­ty, nor any that land, but who are driven upon it by Storm: You can hope for no Company but by Ship­wrack; and even such durst not carry me along with them, being afraid both of the Anger of the Gods, and of the Greeks. Thus ten Years did I suffer Pain and Hunger, feeding a Wound which devour'd me; so that Hope it self was quite extinguish'd in my Breast. One day having been in quest of Medicinal Plants for my Wound, on a sudden I perceiv'd in my Cave a young Man, handsome, of a graceful, but haughty Meen, and heroick Stature: Methought I saw Achilles; so much did he resemble him in his Features, Look, and Gate; only the difference of Age made me understand it could [Page 375] not be he. I obsev'd in his Coun­tenance both Pity and Confusion: He was mov'd with Compassion to see with what trouble and slowness I crawl'd along: My piercing and doleful Scrieks, which made all the Echo's along the Coast to ring, melted his very Heart. Seeing him at a distance, O Stranger! said I, what Misfortune has brought thee into this Island? I know that Gre­cian Habit, still so dear to me: O how I long to hear thy Voice, and that Language that drops from thy Lips, which I learn'd in my Child­hood; and for so long a time never could talk to any in this Desart. Be not afraid at the sight of so mi­serable a Creature, whom thou ought'st rather to pity.

Neoptolemus had hardly pronoun­ced these words, I am a Greek, when I cry'd out, O sweet Word, after so many Years of Silence and Sor­row; O my Son, what Misfortune? What Storm, or rather what favou­rable [Page 376] Wind has brought thee hither, to put an end to my Misery? He answer'd, I am of the Island of Sci­ros, whither I am returning; they say I am the Son of Achilles; thou know'st whether it be so or not.

So short an Account did not sa­tisfie my Curiosity. O Son, said I, of a Father whom I so much lov'd, the dear Charge of Lycomedes: How camest thou hither, and from whence? He answer'd me, That he came from the Siege of Troy: Thou were not, said I, in the first Expe­dition. Then, said he, where wert thou? I answer'd him, I see thou art ignorant both of the Name and Misfortunes of Philoctetes: Alass, how unhappy am I, my Persecu­tors insult over me in my Afflicti­on! It encreases my Sorrow to think that Greece is ignorant of that which I suffer. The Atrides have brought me into this Condition, and may the Gods repay them. Afterwards I gave him an Account how the [Page 377] Greeks had left me: As soon as he had heard the Relation of my Mis­fortunes, he thus began his own. After the death of Achilles, said be, (immediatly I stopt him, What! Achilles dead? Pardon me, my Son, if I interrupt your Relation with the Tears I owe your Father.) Neop­tolemus answers, In so doing you oblige me: How I am pleas'd to see Philoctetes bewail my Father! and thus he proceeded: After the death of Achilles, Ulysses and Phenix sought me out, assuring me, that without me they could not over­throw the City of Troy. 'Twas no hard task to persuade me to follow them in this famous War, in which my Grief for the death of Achilles, and a desire to inherit his Glory, did naturally engage me. I no soon­er arriv'd at the Camp, than the Army gather'd round about me; every one could have swore that he had seen Achilles; but, alass, he was no more: Young and without Ex­perience, [Page 378] I could promise my self any thing from those who had be­stow'd on me such large Commen­dations. Immediately I demanded of the Atrides my Father's Armour; to which they made me this barba­rous Reply, Thou shalt have all that belong'd to thy Father, except his Armour, which are destin'd for Ulysses. At this I fell into a most extravagant Passion, my Grief and Anger knew no Bounds; but Ulys­ses calmly told me, Young Man, thou hast had no share in the Perils of this long Siege, and so cannot deserve such a Reward; thou be­gin'st too soon to talk haughtily; rest satisfy'd, thou shalt never have the Armour of Achilles. Thus rob'd unjustly by Ulysses, I return'd to the Isle of Sciros, less incens'd a­gainst him than the Atrides. O Phi­loctetes, I shall say no more, but may the Gods always befriend their Enemies.

[Page 379] Then I ask'd him, how it came that Telemonian Ajax did not hinder such a Piece of Injustice? He is dead, answer'd he. Dead, said I, and Ulysses lives and prospers! Then I ask'd him News of Antilochus, the Son of sage Nestor, and Patrocles, the Favorite of Achilles; they are dead too, said he. Then I cry'd out, alas, What do'st thou tell me? Cruel War, it seems, mows down the Good and lets the Bad stand: Ulysses lives, and Thersytes likewise, no doubt. Is this the Justice of the Gods? And must we still continue to praise them? Whilest I fell out in this Passion against your Father, Neoptolemus continu'd to deceive me, and added these melancholy Words; I am going, says he, to live contented in the desert Island of Seiros, far from the Grecian Army, where Evil prevails above Good: Adieu, I must be gone, may the Gods restore you your Health. Then said I, O my Son, I conjure you by [Page 380] the Ghost of your Father, by your Mother, and by all you hold dear­est in this World, not to leave me alone in this miserable Condition. I am not ignorant how troublesome I shall be; but it will be a shame­ful thing to forsake me: Tie me to the Prow, or the Stern of your Ship; throw me into the Pump, or where I shall incommode you the least. None but great Souls know the Pleasure of being good; don't leave me in a Desart, where there is not the Foot-step of a Man; car­ry me either to your own Country or to Lybia, which is not far from Mount Oeta, and Trachynium, and the agreeable Banks of Sperchius. Bring me to my Father; Alas! I fear he's dead. I desir'd him to send me a Ship; either he's dead, or those that carry'd the Message have not deliver'd it: O my Son, thou art my only Relief; remember the In­stability of humane Affairs: The Happy ought to succour the Unfor­tunate, [Page 381] and be afraid to abuse the Prosperity they enjoy. This was the Substance of what the excess of my Grief made me say to Neoptole­mus; which made him promise to carry me along with him: Then I cry'd out, O happy Day; O dear Neoptolemus, worthy of the Glory of such a Father: Dear companions of my happy Voyage, allow me to bid adieu to this melancholy Abode: See where I have liv'd and imagine what I have suffer'd: I am sure it is what none else could have en­dur'd: But necessity instructed me; Necessity, that teaches Mankind what they would never learn with­out her. Those that have never suffer'd, know nothing: They are ignorant both of Good and Evil: they are Strangers to Mankind, and Strangers to themselves. When I had thus spoke, I took my Bow and Arrows; which Neoptolemus dc­sir'd to kiss, being the famous and sacred Arms of the invincible Her­cules. [Page 382] I can deny thee nothing, said I; 'tis thou, my Son, that restorest to me my Life, my Country, my decrepit Father, my Friends and my Self: Freely touch these Arms and boast, That thou art the only Greek that ever had that Honour. Whilest Neoptolemus enter'd my Grotto to look on my Arms, I was seiz'd with a cruel Pain; I was quite distract­ed, and did not know what I did: I ask'd a Knife to cut off my Foot; I cry'd out, O Death, so much long'd for, Why dost not thou come? O dear Youth, burn me to Ashes, as I did the Son of Jupiter. O Earth, open and receive a dying Wretch, that cannot any more raise himself from thee. [...] on a sudden, as I us'd to do, I fell into a deep Swoon: I was relieved by the Sweat that begun to break out upon me; whilest black and cor­rupted Gore issu'd from my Wound. During my Sleep, it had been easie for Neoptolemus to have carry'd off [Page 383] my Arms; but he was the Son of Achilles, and not born to cheat. When I awak'd, I perceiv'd the Confusion he was in; he sigh'd like one that was not us'd to dissemble, or act against his Conscience. Wilt thou then surprize me? said I. What is the matter, said he, thou must follow me to the Siege of Troy. Then answer'd I, what do'st thou say? my Son, I am betray'd; Re­store me my Bow; don't rob me of that which is dearer to me than my very Life. He made me no re­turn, but look'd on me calmly and unconcern'd. O ye Banks and Pro­montories of this desert Island! O ye wild Beasts, and steep Rocks, to you only I can complain; to you, who are accustom'd to my Groans: Must I be betray'd by the Son of Achilles! Who robs me of the sa­cred Bow of Hercules, and would drag me along with him to the Gre­cian Camp; and does not see that this is only to triumph over a dead [Page 384] Corps, a Ghost, a Fantom. Would he had attack'd me in my Vigour, as now he does basely and by sur­prize! O Son, shew thy self like thy Father, like thy Self. What say'st thou? Nothing! O dearest Rock, to thee I return, naked, mi­serable, forsaken, famish'd; in this Cave I must pine away, wanting my Bow to kill the wild Beasts for my Food, or to defend me from their Fury. What then? But thou, my Son, who dost not appear to be so wicked, tell me what pushes thee on to so black a Villany! Restore me my Arms, and get the gone! Then Neoptolemus, with Tears in his Eyes, was muttering to himself, Would to God I had not departed from Sciros! In the mean time I cry'd out in a surprize, What is it I see! Is not this Ulysses? I knew his Voice. He answer'd, It is I. If the dark Regions of Pluto had open'd, and I had seen the black Tartarus, which the Gods themselves [Page 385] are afraid to behold, I could not have been seiz'd with a greater Horror: I cry'd out, Witness thou Island of Lemnos! O Sun! do'st thou look on and suffer this? Ulys­ses calmly answer'd, I execute the Will of Jupiter. Do'st thou, said I, name Jupiter? Seest thou there that Youth, who was not born to deceive, and to whom 'tis painful to execute thy perfideous Designs? 'Tis neither to cheat nor hurt thee, said Ulysses, that we come hither; 'tis to deliver thee, to heal thy Wounds, to give thee the Honour of destroying the City of Troy, and to bring thee back to thy own Country; 'tis thy Self, and not I, that art the Enemy of Philoctetes. Then did I breath out against your Father all that my Passion could in­spire me with: Since thou left'st me forsaken upon this Shoar, said I, why wilt thou not suffer me to live here in Peace! Go, seek Renown in Battle, and enjoy the Pleasures [Page 386] of Life; thy good Fortune in the company of thy Companions the A­trides: Don't envy me my Misery and Pain, why would you carry me off? I am nothing, I am alrea­dy dead. Hast thou not as much reason to believe now as well as for­merly, that my Shrieks, and the In­fection of my Wound will disturb the Sacrifices? O Ulysses! Author of all my Miseries, May the Gods — But the Gods are deaf; nay, they stir up my Enemy against me. O my Country, which I shall never see again! O ye Gods, if there be any just enough to pity me! Punish U­lysses: Then I shall believe my self Cured of all my Maladies.

While I thus spoke, your Father calmly look'd on me with an Air of Compassion, far from being pro­vok'd; he seem'd like a Rock upon the top of a Mountain, which sports it self with the Fury of the Winds; and lets them spend their rage, while it continues immoveable. So your [Page 387] Father kept silence till my Rage shou'd be exhausted; for he well knew, that to reduce Men to Reason, we must not attack their Passions, but stay till they are weaken'd through weariness. O Philoctetes, said he, what has become of your Reason and Courage? Now is the occasion to use it; if you refuse to go along with us, to fulfil the great purposes of Jupiter concerning your self, farewell; You are unworthy to be the Deliverer of Greece, and the Ruin of Troy: Continue at Lemnos: These Arms which I carry off shall give me the Renown that was de­stin'd for you. Neoptolemus, let us be gone, 'tis in vain to speak to him; our Compassion for one single Man, must not make us neglect the safety of all Greece.

Then methought I was like a Lyo­ness about to be robb'd of her Young; who with her roaring, makes the Forests to tremble. O Cave, said I, I shall never quit thee, thou shalt be [Page 388] my Grave! O thou sorrowful A­bode! I have now no Hope left me, nor means of Subsistence; Who will give me a Sword to stab my self? O! if the Birds of Prey would devour me, they need not any more dread my Arrows? Oh precious Bow, consecrated by the Hands of the Son of Jupiter! O dear Hercules! art not thou sensible of this Indignity? thy Bow is not any more in the Hands of thy faithful Friend, but in the im­pure and treacherous Hands of Ulys­ses. Birds of Prey and wild Beasts, flie no more from this Cave, my Arrows cannot hurt you; come and devour me! Or thou merciless Ju­piter, crush me with thy Thunder!

Your Father having try'd all o­ther means of perswasion, at last, thought it better to restore me my Arms, and made a Sign to Neopto­lemus to give them back. Then, said I to him, thou shewest thy self to be the Son of Achilles. Suffer me to pierce my Enemy to the Heart. [Page 389] And drawing an Arrow against your Father, Neoptolemus stopp'd my Hand, saying, Anger clouds your Reason, and hinders you from see­ing the unworthy action you are go­ing to commit: As for Ulysses, he appear'd as unconcern'd at my Ar­rows as at my reproaches. I was sensibly mov'd with his Courage and Patience, and asham'd for endeavou­ring, in the transport of my Passion, to kill him with the Weapons, which he had caused to be restor'd. But as my Resentment was not as yet appeas'd, I was sorry that I must owe such a Favour to my Enemy. Know, said Neoptolemus, that the Divine Helenus, the Son of Priamus, having come out of the City of Troy, by the Order and inspiration of the Gods, hath unridled the Mysteries of future times. The unhappy Troy, said he, shall fall; but not before it is attack'd by him, who keeps the Arrows of Hercules; nor shall that Man ever be heal'd till he come be­fore [Page 390] its Walls, where the Sons of Esculapius shall Cure him. At that instant I was divided in my Thoughts; I was mov'd with the Ingenuity of Neoptolemus, and his Honesty in re­storing my Bow; but I could not think of submitting to Ulysses; the disgrace of which, kept me in su­spence. Must I ever be seen again in the company of Ulysses and the Atrides? What will the World say of me? Whilst I continu'd in this uncertainty, on a sudden I heard a more than Humane Voice; I saw Hercules in a bright Cloud, encircled with Rays of Glory. I easily knew his Masculine Features, his robust Limbs, and his plain manner; but he appear'd with a Stature and Ma­jesty beyond what he had, when he was Conquering Monsters upon Earth. He said to me, 'Tis Hercu­les whim thou seest and hearest: I have quitted the high Olympus, to make known to thee the Commands of Jupiter: Thou know'st by what [Page 391] Labors I acquir'd Immortality: Thou must likewise go with the Son of Achilles, to trace my Foot­steps in the Path of Renown: Thou shalt be Cur'd, and with my Ar­rows thou shalt pieree Paris, the Au­thor of so much Mischief. Thou shalt send the rich Spoils of Troy to thy Father, on Mount Oeta; there they shall be plac'd upon my Tomb, as a Monument of the Victory ow­ing to my Arrows: And thou, O Son of Achilles! I tell thee, that thou cannot be victorious without Philo­ctetes, nor Philoctetes without thee: Go then like two Lyons who seek their Prey together. I will sent E­sculapius to Troy to Cure Philoctetes. Love, and observe Religion; all o­ther things are mortal, but the Fruits of this endure forever.

When I had heard these Words, I cry'd out, O happy Day! O sweet Light! that after so many Years do'st shew thy self at last. I obey; let me salute the Place, and be gone. [Page 392] Adieu, dear Cave, adieu ye Nymphs of these watry Meadows; I shall hear no more the hollow noise of these Billows; adieu thou Shore, where I have so often endur'd the Injuries of the Weather; adieu ye Hills, where the Eccho has so often repeated my Groans; adieu sweet Fountains, yet who to me have been so bitter; adieu Lemnos, favour my Departure, since I go where I am call'd by the Will of the Gods, and my Friends. So we departed and ar­riv'd at the Siege of Troy; where Machaon and Podalyrus, by the Di­vine Art of their Father Esculapius, did cure me; or at least put me in the Condition you now see me, ha­ving recovered my Vigour, tho' I am still somewhat lame. Paris fell by my Hand, as a fearful Fawn, pierc'd with the Arrows of the Hun­ter. Ilium was reduc'd to Ashes; I need say no more, you know the rest. Nevertheless I retain'd still some aversion to the sage Ulysses, oc­casion'd [Page 393] by the remembrance of the Ills that I had endur'd; and tho' his Virtue could not appease my Re­sentment, yet the sight of a Son, who resembles him so much, and whom I am forc'd to love, softens my Heart towards the Father him­self.

During the Relation of the Ad­ventures of Philoctetes, Telemachus continued immovable; and as 'twere, in suspence, with his Eyes fix'd on the great Man that spoke: All the different Passions that mov'd Hercu­les, Philoctetes, Ulysses, Neoptolemus, as they were represented, appear'd, each in their turn, upon the innocent Countenance of Telemachus: During the Relation, he would sometimes cry out, and interrupt Philoctetes, without thinking; sometimes he would seem thoughtful, and like one concern'd for the sequel of some im­portant Affair; whilst Philoctetes was describing the Confusion of Neoptolemus, who could not dissem­ble; [Page 394] Telemachus seem'd to be in the same disorder: And at that Mo­ment you would have took him for Neoptolemus.

In the mean while, the Confede­rate Army march'd in good Order against Adrastus, King of the Dau­nians, an impious Fellow despised of the Gods, and a Deceiver of Men. Telemachus found some difficulty how to behave himself among so many Kings, jealous of one another; it behoved him to give none of 'em ground of suspicion, but to gain the Favour of them all: He was of a good and honest Disposition, but not very complaisant: He did not trouble himself much with obli­ging others; And tho' he was not covetous of Riches, yet did he not care to part with them. Thus with a Noble and Honest Mind, he seem'd neither obliging, nor very sensible of Friendship, or the con­cern others had for him, nor careful to distinguish Merit. He follow'd [Page 395] his Humour without reflection; in spite of Mentor, his Mother Penelope had brought him up in Pride and Haughtiness of temper, that tainted all his good Qualities. He look'd upon himself as made of other Me­tal than the rest of Mankind, who seem'd to him to be sent by the Gods, only for his Pleasure and Service, and to make every thing subservi­ent to him as a Deity. The Happi­ness of serving him was a sufficient Reward. Where his Pleasures were concern'd, nothing must be impos­sible; the most trivial Delays did ir­ritate his eager Temper. Had any one seen him in his natural Disposi­tion, they would have thought him incapable of loving any thing be­sides himself, being only mov'd by his own Vain-glory, and Pleasure: but this indifference for others, and regard for himself, proceeded from nothing but the continual transport and violence of his Passions; which his Mother had humour'd from [Page 396] his Cradle. He was a remarkable Instance of the Unhappiness of those who are High-born: The Serverities of Fortune which he felt in his ear­ly Youth, had not moderated the impetuosity and haughtiness of his Temper: Tho' destitute, forsaken; and expos'd to so many Miseries, yet he abated nothing of his Pride. It would raise it self, like a supple Palm, after all Attempts to press it down. These Faults did not shew themselves in Mentor's Company, but daily decreas'd; as a fiery Courser, who frisking through the spacious Fields, whom neither Rocks nor Precipices, nor Torrents can stop, is obedient only to the Voice and Hand of one Man, who knows how to tame him: So Telemachus, full of a Noble Ardour, could be kept in by none but the Wise Mentor; one of his Frowns would immediately stop him in his most impetuous Ca­reer: He knew the meaning of each Look, and at that Moment [Page 397] would summon all his virtuous Re­solutions. Wisdom in an instant, would render his Countenance smooth and serene. Neptune does not more quickly appease the hideous Tem­pests, when with his Trident he threatens the proud Billows.

When Telemachus was alone, all his Passions, that seem'd only su­spended for a time, like a Torrent damm'd in, would take their natu­ral Course. He could not endure the Arrogance of the Lacedemonians, nor of Phalanthus, who was at their Head. This Colony, which came with a Design to found the City of Tarentum, was compos'd of young Men, who were Born during the Siege of Troy; who for their ille­gitimate Birth, irregular Manners, and the Licentiousness in which they had been brought up, had something about them that was wild and barbarous: They resem­bl'd more a Company of Robbers than a Grecian Colony. Phalanthus [Page 398] would seek out all occasions to con­tradict Telemachus, despising his Counsels, as those of a Young Man without Experience; and would make him the Subject of his Raillery; treating him as if he had been pusillanimous and effe­minate: He expos'd his smallest Failings to the Captains of the Ar­my, endeavouring to sow Jealou­sie, and to make the haughtiness of Telemachus, odious to all the Confederate Princes. One Day, Te­lemachus having taken some Dauni­an Prisoners, pretended that they be­long'd to him, alledging it was he that had defeated that Party of the Enemies: And that Tele­machus having found the Dau­nians already beat and put to flight, had nothing to do but give them Quarter, and carry them along to the Camp. Tele­machus on the other hand main­tain'd, that he had saved Phalan­thus from being beat, and obtain'd [Page 399] this Victory over the Daunians. Both of 'em pleaded their Cause be­fore the Confederate Kings; where Telemachus was so much transported with his Passion, that he gave Pha­lanthus threatning Language, so that they had gone to Blows, if the By­standers had not interpos'd. Pha­lanthus had a Brother whose name was Hippias, famous thro' all the Army for his Valour, Strength and Address: Pollux, as the Tarentines alledge, was not a better Champion, and he surpass'd Castor himself in managing a Horse. He had almost the Stature and Strength of Hercules, and was redoubted of all the Army, tho he was more quarrelsom and bru­tal than brave. Hippias, when he saw with what Insolence Telemachus had treated his Brother, goes in haste, and carries off the Prisoners to Tarentum, without waiting for the Sentence of the Assembly; which somebody having whisper'd to Te­lemachus, out he went in a Rage, [Page 400] foaming like a Bear, pursuing the Huntsman that had wounded him. You might see him wandring thro' the Camp, endeavouring to spy out his Enemy, and shaking the Dart, with which he resolv'd to pierce him: At last, meeting him, the Sight redoubl'd his Rage; he was now no more the wise Telemachus, instructed by Minerva in the shape of Mentor, but a mad-Man, a furi­ous Lyon. Immediately he call'd out, Stay, Hippias! Thou basest of Mortals! I will try if thou dar'st rob me of the Spoils of my Victory: Thou shalt not carry these Prisoners to Tarentum; I'll send thee down to the gloomy Banks of Styx. This said, he flung his Dart, but with so much Fury, that he could not measure his Stroke, and the Dart miss'd Hippias. Immediately he puts his Hand to his Sword, whose Handle was of Gold, and which Laertes had given him when he part­ed from Ithaca, as a Pledge of his [Page 401] Love. This Sword had won Laer­tes much Honour in his Youth, and was stain'd with the Blood of ma­ny famous Captains of the Epirots, in a War wherein Laertes was Vi­ctorious. Telemachus had hardly drawn his Sword, when Hippias, taking the Advantage of his own Strength, falls upon him, endea­vouring to snatch it out of his Hand. The Sword was broke betwixt 'em, so they grapled and clos'd. They seem'd like Two young Lyons tear­ing one another to Pieces; they dart Fire from their Eyes, they contract themselves, then they stretch, they stoop, they rise again, they dart themselves, and are all over be­smear'd with Blood. Now they come to Handy-blows, Foot to Foot, Hand to Hand, with their two Bodies so twisted together, that they seem'd but one. Hippias, who was already arriv'd at Manhood, seem'd able to crush the weaker and more tender Youth of Telemachus, who [Page 402] already found himself out of Breath, and his Legs begin to fail. Hippias finding him in a staggering Con­dition, doubled his Force. There had been an end of the Son of Ulysses, and he had received the just Punish­ment of his Rashness and Passion, if Minerva, who in her absence watch'd over him, and left him in this Danger only for his Instruction, had not determin'd the Victory in his Favour. She did not leave her Palace of Salentum her self, but sent Iris, the swift Messenger of the Gods; who with nimble Wing, cutting the spacious Air, and leav­ing behind her a Tract of Light, which painted the Clouds with a [...]different Colours; rested at last upon the Shoar where the numerous Army of the Confederates was Encamp'd. She beheld from afar the Strife and Ardor of the two Combatants; she trembled at the sight of the Danger to which the young Telemachus was expos'd: And [Page 403] approaching towards him, involv'd in a bright Cloud, form'd of subtle Vapours, in the very nick of time, when Hippias redoubling his Force, believed himself Victorious, she co­vered the young Charge of Minerva, with the Shield with which the sage Goddess had entrusted her. Im­mediately Telemachus, whose Force was quite spent, began to recover new Vigour, and the more he re­viv'd, the more Hippias was disor­der'd: He felt something, as 'twere Divine, that crush'd and confounded him. Telemachus presses him hard, assaults him sometimes in one Po­sture, sometimes in another: He makes him stagger, leaving him no time to recover himself; at last he throws him, and falls upon him. A lofty Oak of Mount Ida, fell'd with a thousand Blows, which make all the Forest ring, does not make a more terrible Noise in fal­ling: The Earth groan'd, and all Things around him trembled at his [Page 404] Fall. In the mean time, Telemachus, who had recover'd his Wisdom with his Strength, had scarce thrown Hippias, when he begun to be sensi­ble of his Fault, in attacking thus the Brother of one of the Confede­rate Kings, whom he came to Suc­cour. He call'd to mind, with con­fusion, the wise Counsels of Mentor; he was asham'd of the Victory, which he well knew he did not de­serve. In the mean time, Phalan­thus transported with Rage, ran to succour his Brother: He had pierc'd Telemachus with the Dart which he held, if he had not been affraid at the same time to wound Hippias, whom Telemachus kept down. In this Condition, the Son of Ulysses might have easily took away the Life of his Enemy, but his Wrath was asswag'd: He thought of no­thing now but repairing his Fault, by shewing his Moderation: Up he gets, uttering these Words. Oh Hippias! I am satisfied I have [Page 405] Taught thee not to despise my Youth. Live; I admire thy Force, thy Strength and Courage: Yeild to the Power of the Gods that have protected me, and let us think of nothing now but of uniting our Force against the Daunians. Whilst Telemachus thus spoke, Hippias rose up, besmear'd with Durt and Blood, and full of Shame and Rage. Pha­lanthus, who could not take the Life of him who had just now so gene­rously given it to his Brother, was quite beside himself, and knew not what to do. All the Confederate Kings ran to the Place: On one side they carry'd off Telemachus, and on the other Phalanthus and Hippias, who having now lost all his Cou­rage, durst not shew his Face. The Army could not enough admire how Telemachus, at so tender an Age (wherein Men usually do not attain to their full Strength) was able to throw Hippias; who seem'd in Strength and Bulk like to those Sons [Page 406] of the Earth, who in former times durst drive the immortal Gods from Olympus.

But the Son of Ulysses was very far from enjoying any Pleasure in his Victory; and whilst others could not enough admire him, he retir'd into his Tent, asham'd of his Fault, and unable to brook himself. He bewail'd his Rashness: He was sen­sible how unjust and unreasonable he was in his Passion: He found something Vain, Silly, and mean in his excessive Pride: He knew that true Greatness was only to be found in Moderation, Justice, Modesty and Humanity. This he saw clear­ly, but durst not hope that ever he should amend after so many Re­lapses: He was combating with himself, and you might hear him roar like a furious Lyon: Two Days he continu'd shut up in his Tent, unable to endure any Company, and tormenting himself. Alass, said he, dare I ever look Mentor in the [Page 407] Face? Am I the Son of Ulysses, the wisest and most patient of Men? Did I come hither to create Division and Disorder in the Confederate Army? Is it their Blood or that of the Daunians that I ought to have shed? I have been rash; and whilst I lanc'd my Dart unskilfully, put my self upon unequal Terms with Hippias, whereby I could expect no­thing but a dishonourable Fate. But what then? I should not have been any more the inconsiderate Telema­chus; that young Coxcomb that does not profit by any Advice; then my Disgrace should have ended with my Life. Oh, could I hope never to be guilty of that for which I am now so Disconsolate! I should be still too happy; but perhaps before Night I shall repeat the same Acti­ons, which at this time fill me with so much Horrour and Shame. Oh fatal Victory! Oh insufferable Applause! Which art nothing but the bitter reproach of my Folly.

[Page 408] While Telemachus was in this dis­consolate Condition, Nestor and Phi­loctetes came to wait on him. Nestor had resolv'd to make him sensible of his Fault; but this wise old Man finding the Despair the Youth was in, chang'd his grave Reproof into Expressions of Tenderness to miti­gate his Grief.

The Confederate Princes were put to a stand by this Quarrel: They could not march their Army towards the Enemy, till they had reconcil'd Telemachus with Phalanthus and Hip­pias: They were affraid every Mi­nute lest the Tarentine Troops should attack the Hundred young Cretans that follow'd Telemachus in this War: All was in Disorder through Telemachus's Fault; and he finding himself the Author of so much Mis­chief, both present and to come, gave himself up intirely to Grief. The Confederate Princes were in a great strait: They durst not march their Army for fear lest the Cretans [Page 409] and Tarentines should fall foul of one another; nay, they could not keep them from Quarrelling within the Camp, where they were carefully watch'd. Nestor and Philoctetes went backward and forward in­cessantly betwixt the Tent of Tele­machus and that of Phalanthus, who breath'd nothing but Revenge. Nei­ther the soft Eloquence of Nestor, nor the Authority of Philoctetes could prevail upon his implacable Spirit; which was still more provok'd by the irritating Discourse of his Bro­ther Hippias. Telemachus on the other Hand was Mild, but quite overwhelm'd with Grief, which re­fused all manner of Consolation. This Disorder among the Princes, put all the Troops in a Consterna­tion. The Camp appear'd like a desolate House, after having lost the Master of the Family, the support of its Neighbours, or the flattering Hopes of its little Children. During this Disorder and Consternation, on [Page 410] a sudden they heard the terrible Noise of Chariots, Arms, the Neigh­ing of Horses, and Cryings of Men: Some as Conquerours, and Hot in the Pursuit; others Flying, Dying or Wounded: A thick Cloud of Dust cover'd the Sky and involv'd the Camp: To this was join'd a stifling Smoke, which thicken'd the Air; and all were seiz'd with Ter­rour. It seems Adrastus, who was Vigilant and Indefatigable, had sur­priz'd the Allies; having been ad­vis'd of their March, and conceal­ing his own. In two Nights time, with an incredible Expedition, he had march'd round an inaccessible Mountain, of which the Allies had seiz'd all the Avenues: And being possess'd of them, thought they were not only in perfect Security themselves, but pretended, when they should be join'd by the rest of their Troops, by these Passes, to fall on the Enemy on the other side of the Mountain, Adrastus, who gave [Page 411] Mony with both Hands for Intelli­gence, had been inform'd of this their Resolution; for Nestor and Philoctetes, tho' otherwise experi­enc'd and wise Captains, were not secret enough in their Counsels. Nestor in his old Age was too much taken up with the vain glory of re­counting his former Actions: Phi­loctetes spoke less, but he was hasty; and if you but rous'd his active Temper, he would blab out all his Designs. Cunning People, by this means, found the way to his Heart, and the Key to his most important Secrets: Only provoke him, then full of Fire, and beside himself, he would break out in threatning Lan­guage; he would brage of sure Means to accomplish his Designs; if you seem'd never so little to doubt of them, he would proceed inconside­rately to explain them, and to be­tray the most important Secrets. The Heart of this great Captain was like a Vessel made of costly [Page 412] Metal, but Leaky. These Villains that were brib'd with the Gold of Adrastus, did not fail to take ad­vantage of the Weakness of these two Princes. Nestor, they flatter'd continually with vain Applause: They put him in mind of his past Victories, admir'd his Foresight and Conduct: On the other hand, they laid a Trap for the impatient Hu­mour of Philoctetes; they talk'd of nothing to him but Difficulties, Un­seasonableness, Dangers, Inconveni­ences, and remediless Faults: When he was once heated, his Prudence forsook him, he was not any more the same Man.

Telemachus, notwithstanding the Faults we have mention'd, was more close: He had been accu­stom'd to Slavery by his Misfor­tunes, and the Necessity he was in, from his Child-hood, to hide his Designs from the Lovers of his Mo­ther Penelope. He knew how to keep a Secret without telling a Lie, [Page 413] and was free from that reserv'd and mysterious Air, that is so common to close People. He did not seem bur­then'd with the Secret which he kept; you found him always easie, free and open, as one that had his Heart upon his Lips: He would tell you every thing that was of less moment; but knew how to stop nicely, and with­out affectation, at those things which might give any suspicion or broach his Secret. By this means his Heart was inaccessible, and his best Friends knew but as much as he thought fit to discover in order to have their good Advice. Mentor was the only Person for whom he had no Reserve. He had different degrees of Confidence in his other Friends, according as he had ex­perience of their Love and Pru­dence.

Telemachus had often observ'd that their Counsels were too soon spread over the Camp: He advertiz'd Ne­stor and Philoctetes of it; but these [Page 414] two experienc'd Captains did not at­tend sufficiently to so wholsome an Advice. Age is untractable, Habit holds it, as'twere in Chains, so that its Faults admit of no Remedy; as full grown Trees, whose rough and knotty Trunks are hardned by Years, cannot any more be strait'ned, so Men at a certain Age cannot be bent from these Customs which are grown up with them, and, as 'twere, entred into their very Marrow. They know them, but too late: In vain they lament; for tender Youth is the only Age wherein Men have the Power of Correcting their vici­ous Habits.

There was in the Army a Dolo­pian, nam'd Eurimachus, an insinuat­ing Flatterer, who knew how to ac­commodate himself to all the Hu­mours of the Princes, Ingenious and Active to find new ways to please them. Believe him, Nothing was hard. Ask his Advice, he thought upon what would be most grateful: [Page 415] He knew how to break a Jest upon the Weak; but complaisant to those of whom he stood in awe. He could season his Flattery so nicely, as to make it pass with Persons of the greatest Modesty. He was Grave with the Grave, Cheerful with the Cheerful. It was easie for him to put himself in all Shapes. Sincere and virtuous Men, who are always the same, and subject them­selves to the strict Rules of Virtue, can never be so agreeable to Princes, as those who humour their predo­minant Passions.

Eurimachus understood the Art of War, was capable of Business, had follow'd Nestor as one that was push­ing his Fortune, and had got much into his Favour. He could pump any Secret out of his Hcart, which was vain and subject to Flattery: And altho' Philoctetes was more dif­fident of him, yet his cholerick and impatient Temper gave him the same advantage as his Familiarity [Page 416] with Nestor: Eurimachus would contradict him, and so by provoking him, would discover all. This Fel­low had receiv'd great Sums from Adrastus, to inform him of the De­figns of the Allies; besides, he had always a certain Number of Refu­gees in the Confederate Camp, who were one after another to desert from thence, and return to his Army: And when Eurimachus had any im­portant Affair to communicate to Adrastus, he sent off one of these Deserters. The Cheat could not be easily discover'd, because they car­ry'd no Letters; and if they were taken, had nothing about them to make Eurimachus suspected. In the mean time Adrastus prevented all the Enterprizes of the Consederates: A Resolution was no sooner taken in their Council, than the Daunians did that precisely which was neces­sary to hinder the Execution of it. Telemachus was very diligent in searching out the Cause of this, and [Page 417] striving to excite the Jealousie and Mistrust of Nestor and Philoctetes; but to no purpose; for they were blind. Once they had resolv'd in Council to wait for the numerous Troops that were to join them; and they had caused to advance se­cretly in the Night an hundred Ves­sels, the sooner to transport their Troops from a rugged Coast where they were to come, to the Place where the Army was encamp'd. All this while they thought themselves safe, their Troops being possess'd of the Passes of the neighbouring Mountains, which is inaccessible to­wards the Apennines. Their Army was encamp'd on the River Gale­sus, not far from the Sea; in a de­licious Country, abounding in Pa­sturage, and all things necessary for the Subsistence of an Army. Adra­stus was encamp'd behind the Moun­tain, which they reckon'd he could not pass; but he understanding that the Confederates were weak, and [Page 418] expected a great Reinforcement; that the Ships were waiting for their Arrival, and that the Army was divided by Telemachus's Quarrel with Phalanthus, he march'd round with great Expedition, Night and Day, till he arriv'd at the Sea-Coast; where, at break of Day, he sur­priz'd these hundred Vessels. They being ill guared, he seiz'd upon them without much Resistance, and made use of them to transport his own Troops to the Mouth of the River Galesus. Afterwards sailing up the River, the advanc'd Guards believ'd that these were the Ships that had their own Troops on Board; and immediately shouted for Joy. So Adrastus and his Soldiers landed be­fore they were known. They fall upon the Allies, who mistrusted no­thing: They found their Camp en­tirely open, without Order, with­out a Head, and unarm'd. He made his Attack on the Quarters of the Tarentines, where Phalanthus com­manded: [Page 419] The Daunians entred there with such force, that the La­cedemonian Youth being surpriz'd, were not able to resist: While they were looking for their Arms, in the Confusion they hinder'd one ano­ther. Adrastus sets Fire to the Camp: It seizes on the Tents, and mounts up to the Clouds. With its terrible Noise it resemb­led a Torrent which overspreads a whole Countrey, and with its rapid Course, carries it along with it the lofty Oaks with their deep Roots, the Corn, the Granaries, the Flocks and their Stalls. The Wind blows the Flame from Tent to Tent, and in an instant, the Camp look'd like an old Forest burnt down by a Spark of Fire. Phalanthus, tho' near­est the Danger, could not remedy it: He saw clearly that all the Troops must perish in this Fire, if they did not make haste to leave the Camp; but he likewise saw how dangerous such a disorderly Retreat [Page 420] must be before a victorious Enemy: He began to draw out the Lacedemo­nian Youth half Arm'd; but Adra­stus would not give them time to breath. On one Hand a Troop of cunning Archers let fly a shower of Arrows upon the Soldiers of Phalan­thus; on the other, the Slingers hailed great Stones. Adrastus him­self, with Sword in Hand, march­ing at the head of a chosen Com­pany of the bravest Daunians, by the light of the Fire, pursu'd the flying Troops; mowing down with his Sword what had escaped the Fire. Tho' he swam in Blood, he was not satiated with slaughter: Lyons and Tygers, when they worry the Shep­herds with their Flocks, fall short of his Fury. The Troops of Phalan­thus faint, their Courage fails them: Pale Death, led on by an Infernal Fury, with her Head brisled with Serpents, freezes their Blood in their Veins. Their benumm'd Mem­bers grow stiff, and their faint Limbs [Page 421] deprive them even of the Hope of Flight. Phalanthus, whose Shame and Despair had rouz'd up his small remainder of Courage and Vigour, lifting his Eyes and Hands towards Heaven, he saw his Brother Hippi­as fall at his Feet, under the redoub­led strokes of the thundering Hand of Adrastus. There he lay stretch­ed out, and groveling in the Dust, with black and boiling Blood, gush­ing like a Torrent from the deep Wound of his side: He shuts his Eyes, and his furious Soul flies out with the last drop of his Blood. Pha­lanthus besmear'd with his Brother's Blood, and unable to help him, finds himself environ'd with a Crowd of his Enemies, who were endeavouring to run him down. His Buckler was pierc'd with a Thousand Darts, and his Body wounded in several Places. He could not rally any more his flee­ing Troops; the Gods look'd down, and did not pity. Jupiter amidst the Celestial Deities, beheld from O­lympus, [Page 422] the slaughter of the Conse­derates. At the same time he con­sulted the immutable Destinies, and saw all those Captains whose Thread was to be cut that Day with the fa­tal Cissars. All the Gods were at­tentive to discover his Will by his Countenance; but the Father of the Gods and Men, told them with a sweet and majestick Voice: You see to what Extremity the Allies are reduced; you see Adrastus routing the Enemies; but this Sight is fal­lacious. Short is the Glory and Prosperity of the Wicked: The Im­pious Adrastus, and detestable for his Treachery, shall not gain an intire Victory. This Misfortune happens to the Allies, only to teach them to correct their Folly, and keep their counsels more secret. On this occasion, the Sage Minerva is pre­paring a new Triumph for her young Darling Telemachus. Here Jupiter having ended, all the Gods in deep silence continued to behold the Battle.

[Page 423] In the mean time Nestor and Phi­loct tes were advertis'd, that a part of their Camp was already burnt; that the Flame, pusht on by the Wind, was continually advancing; that their Troops were in Disorder; that Phalanthus was not any longer able to sustain the Enemies Attacks. As soon as this fatal News had reach'd their Ears, they run to Arms, assemble their Captains, and com­mand them to retire immediately out of the Camp to shun the Fire.

Telemachus, formerly cast down, and disconsolate, now forgets his Grief; he puts on his Armour, the invaluable Present of the sage Minerva; who appearing in the shape of Mentor, made as if she had got them from a curious Work­man at Salentum; but in reality, he caus'd them to be made by Vulcan, in the fuming Caverns of Mount AEtna. This Armour was as smooth as Ice, and bright as the Beams of the Sun. Upon them was grav'd [Page 424] the famous History of the Siege of Thebes: There you might see the unhappy Laius; who being in­form'd by the Oracle of Apollo, that his New-born Son should be his Fathers Murderer, deliver'd the Child to a Shepherd, to expose him to the Wild Beasts, and Birds of Prey. Then you might observe the Shepherd carry the Child up the Mountain Citheron, betwixt Boetica and Phocis, whilst it seem'd to cry, as sensible of its deplorable Desti­ny. It had in its Countenance, that native Simplicity and Tender­ness, which makes Childhood so lovely. The Shepherd who carrid him up the hideous Rocks, seem'd to do it with Regret, and being mov'd with Compassion, the Tears flow from his Eyes: Irresolute and perplex'd, he pierces the Child'd Feet with his Sword, and thrusting in an Ozier Branch, he hange him to a Tree, neither daring to save him against his Masters Orders, nor to [Page 425] deliver him up to certain Death. After this he leaves him for fear of seeing the little Innocent die, which he lov'd so dearly.

By this time, the Child was rea­dy to perish for want of Nourish­ment; his Feet by which he was hung, were Black and Swell'd.

Phorbas, a Shepherd of Polybus King of Corinth, feeding his Ma­ster's Flocks in this Desert, heard the Cries of the poor Child: He runs and takes him down, delivers him to another Shepherd, to carry him to Queen Merope, who was Childless: She was mov'd with his Beauty, and from his swell'd Feet nam'd him Oedipus; nurses him as her own Son, believing him sent from the Gods. All these different Actions were represented in their proper places. Asterwards you saw Oedipus now grown up, who being inform'd that Polybus was not his Father, travel'd from Country to Country to discover his Nativity. [Page 426] The Oracle told him, that he should find his Father in Phocis: Thither he goes: where finding the People in an Uproar, in the Tumult he kill'd his Father Laius without know­ing him. After that he appears at Thebes, he explains the AEnigma of Sphinx, kills the Monster, and espou­ses Queen Jocasta, his Mother not knowing her, and she believing him to be the Son of Polybus. This detestable Marriage was follow'd by a dreadful Plague, a manifest Sign of the anger of the Gods. Here Vulcan had taken Pleasure to repre­sent Infants dying in their Mothers Bosom, the People languishing, and Death and Sorrow painted on their Countenance; but that which was most frightful, was to see Oedipus, after having for a long time sought out the Reason of the Wrath of the Gods, discover himself to be the Cause. You might see upon the Countenance of Jocasta, Shame and Dread, to unriddle what she was [Page 427] unwilling to know: Despair and Horrour upon that of Oedipus. He plucks out his Eyes, and you see him led about Blind by his Daughter An­tigone. He reproaches the Gods with the Crimes which they had suffer'd him to commit: Then you see him enrag'd against himself, and be­ing unable to endure the Company of Mankind any longer, he retires, leaving his Kingdom to his two Sons, which he had by Jocasta, Ete­ocles and Polynices, on condition that they should reign each a Year by Turns. But the Discord of the Bro­thers was more terrible still than the Misfortunes of Oedipus. Eteocles ap­pears upon the Throne, refusing to come down to let his Brother take his Place: He again having recourse to Adrastus, King of Argos, whose Daughter he had espoused, advan­ces towards Thebes with a numerous Army. Round about all the besieg­ed Town you might see Battles. Here were assembled all the Hero's of [Page 428] Greece; and the Siege of Troy did not seem more Bloody.

There you might know the Un­fortunate Husband of Eryphile, the famous Diviner Amphiraus; who foresaw the Fate which he could not avoid. He hides that he might not be carried to the Siege of Thebes, knowing he was to engage in a War, from which he should never return. Eryphile was the only Per­son he durst confide in; Eryphile his Spouse whom he lov'd so dearly, and by whom he believ'd he was so tenderly belov'd, betray'd her Husband Amphiraus, bribed with a Neck-lace which Adrastus King of Argos gave her. You might see her discover the Place where her Hus­band was hid: And Adrastus carry­ing him to Thebes against his Will. Quickly after his Arrival, he appears swallow'd up of the Earth; which opens on a sudden to plunge him. Amongst so many Combats where Mars exercised his Fury, you might [Page 429] observe with horror, that of the two Brothers, Eteocles and Polynices. There appears something hideous and dis­mal in their Looks: Their Crimi­nal Birth seems written in their Fore­heads, by which you might easily judge, that they were devoted to the Infernal Furies, and the Vengeance of the Gods, who sacrifice them as an Example to all Brethren that should be born in after Ages: And to shew the fatal effects of Discord, which separates those Hearts that ought to be so strictly united; you might see those Brothers full of Rage, tearing one another to pieces; each forgetting to defend his own Life, that he might take away that of his Brothers. They were both Bloody, dying of mortal Wounds, without the least Abatement of their Fury; both of 'em fallen to the Ground, and ready to breath their last; yet would crawl one towards another to have the Pleasure of dying in the last effort of Cruelty and Revenge. All [Page 430] other Combats seem'd suspended at the sight of this. The two Armies were seiz'd with Horror and Con­sternation at the sight of these two Monsters. Mars himself turn'd a­side his cruel Eyes from such a hi­deous sight. At last you might see the Flame of the funeral Pile, on which they placed the two Bodies of these unnatural Brothers. But what was strange to behold! the Flame parts it self in two, and Death it self could not put an end to the implacable Hatred of Eteocles and Po­lynices. They would not burn to­gether, and their Ashes, sensible of the Mischiefs they had done to one another, would never mingle. This was what Vulcan with his di­vine Art, had represented upon the Arms which Minerva gave to Tele­machus.

On the other side of the Shield, was represented Ceres in the fruitful Plains of Enna, which are situated in the middle of Sicily. There you [Page 431] might see that Goddess assembling the Inhabitants, who were disper­sed up and down to get wherewith­al to sustain Nature, by Hunting, or gathering the wild Fruit, which had fall'n from the Trees. She taught those Savages to till the Ground, and to draw their Food from its plentiful Bosom. She shew'd them the Plough, and taught them to yoke the labouring Ox. You might see the Ground open in Fur­rows, clest by the Plow-share; and afterwards you might perceive the Golden Harvest, covering the fruit­ful Plains; and the Reaper with his Sickle cutting down the comsor­table Fruits of the Ground, and thereby repaying his Labour. Iron, elsewhere the Instrument of Destru­ction, was used here only to pro­duce Plenty, and all sorts of Plea­sure.

The Nymphs, crown'd with Garlands, dance together on the Banks of a River, hard by a Plea­sant [Page 432] Grove. Pan play'd on his Flute; the Fawns and wanton Sa­tyrs frisk at a distance by themselves. Bacchus was likewise represented, crown'd with Ivy, leaning on his Spear, and holding in his Hand a Vine-branch, adorn'd with Leaves and Clusters of Grapes; his Beauty was fresh, with something in it lan­guishing and passionate. In this manner it was, that he appeared to the Unfortunate Ariadne, when he found her alone and Forsaken, and overwhelm'd with Grief, on the Banks of a strange River. In fine, you might see on all Hands, a multitude of People; the Old Men carrying the First Fruits of their Harvest into the Temples; the Young Men wearied with Toil and Labour, returning home to their Wives, and these going out to meet them, with the young Pledges of their chaste Love in their Hands. There were likewise Shepherds represented; some singing, others dancing to the sound [Page 433] of their Reed; all was Peace, Plen­ty and Pleasure; and every thing look'd smiling and happy. You might see the Wolves play in the Pastures among the Sheep; and the Lyons laying aside their fierceness, were sporting among the tender Lambs, and the little Shepherd's Crook equally commanded them all. This lovely piece seem'd to bring to mind the Charms of the Golden Age.

Telemachus having put on his Di­vine Armour, instead of his own took up Minerva's dreadful Shield, which she had sent him by Iris, the swift Messenger of the Gods; Ha­ving without his Knowledge carried away his own Buckler, and left this in its room, which is formidable to the Gods themselves. In this Con­dition he ran out of the Camp, to avoid its Flames: He call'd the chief Commanders with a strong Voice, which inspir'd new Courage in their routed Troops, who had given all [Page 434] over for lost. The Eyes of the young Warriour sparkle with a divine Fire; he gives Orders with as much Cau­tion, as an old Man ruling his Fa­mily and instructing his Children, but executes them with all the promptness and vigour of Youth; like an impetuous River, that with its rapid Motion rouls along, not only its own frothy Billows, but with them the vessels of greatest Burthen that float upon it.

Philoctetes, Nestor, and the Com­manders of the Mandurians, and other Nations, found in the Son of Ulysses certain unaccountable Au­thority, which they all found them­selves irresistibly oblig'd to submit to. The Aged trust no more to their Experience, and Counsel and Prudence forsook the commanders: Jealousy and Emulation, so natural to Mankind, are quite extinguish'd in their Minds. They all keep si­lence; they all wonder at Telema­chus, and stand ready to obey his [Page 435] Orders implicitly; as if they had been accustom'd to do so. He ad­vances, and from an Imminence ob­serves the posture of the Enemy; and forthwith judg'd it necessary, with the utmost expedition, to sur­prize them in their present Disor­der, while they were burning the Camp of the Confederates. He fetch'd a compass with great Expe­dition, and was followed by the most experienc'd Commanders. He attack'd the Daunians in the Rear, who doubted nothing of the Allies being involv'd in the Flames of their Camp. This surprize put them in great Disorder, and they fell under Telemachus's Hand, as the autum­nal Leaves of the Forest, when a blust'ring North Wind, bringing back Winter, shakes all the Branches, and makes the very Trunks of an­cient Trees groan. The Ground all about was covered with the Bo­dies of those who had fall'n by Te­lemachus's Hand. With his own [Page 436] Lance he pierced the Heart of Iphycles, the youngest Son of Adrastus, who had the boldness to offer him Combat, to save his Father's Life, who was in danger of being sur­priz'd by Telemachus. These young Combatants were both of them Comely, Vigorous, full of Address and Courage; of the same Stature, the same Age, had the same sweet­ness of Temper, and were equally belov'd by their Parents. But Iphycles prov'd like a full blown Flower in a Meadow, cut down by the Sithe of the Mower. Afterwards Telemachus overthrew Euphorion, the most ce­lebrated of all the Lydians, that came into Etruria. At last with his Sword he slew Cleomenes, who being late­ly Married, had promised his Spouse, to bring her the rich Spoils of the War, or never to return himself. Adrastus foam'd with Rage to see the Death of his son, and of many other Commanders, and the Victo­ry snatch'd out of his Hands. Pha­lanthus, [Page 437] almost knock'd down at his Feet, was like a half-slain Victime, who had escap'd the edge of the sa­cred Knife, and had fled from the Altar. Adrastus had well nigh com­pleated the ruin of Lacedemonian Phalanthus, drown'd in his own Blood, and that of the Soldiers that Fought with him. When he heard the shooting of Telemachus coming up to his relief, in that Moment he gets new Life; and the Cloud that had already over-spread his Eyes is dissipated. The Daunians at this un­expected Attack, leave Phalanthus, to make head against a more formi­dable Enemy. Adrastus seem'd like a Tiger, from whom a Body of Shepherds have snatch'd the Prey which he was ready to devour. Te­lemachus sought him out in the Crowd, endeavouring by one stroke to put an end to the War, by deli­vering the Allies from their im­placable Enemy; But Jupiter grudg­ed [Page 438] the Son of Ulysses, so quick and easie a Victory: And Minerva too had a mind to inure him to Troubles, that he might the better understand how to Reign. Therefore the im­pious Adrastus was preserv'd by the Father of the Gods, that Telemachus might have opportunity to acquire more Glory, and exercise his Vir­tue. A Storm summon'd by Jupi­ter, sav'd the Daunians; a terrible Thunder proclaim'd the Will of the Gods. You would have thought that the eternal Vaults of the high Olympus had been ready to tumble down upon the Heads of weak Mor­tals; the Flashes of Lightning split the Clouds from Pole to Pole; and from the moment that they ceas'd to dazle the Eyes with their darting Flame, all was over-spread with Midnight Darkness. The Rain falling in great abundance separated the two Armies. Thus Adrastus took advantage of the assistance of the Gods, without being mov'd with [Page 439] a sense of their Power: And for his Ingratitude, deserved to be kept for a more dreadful Vengeance. He made haste to march his Army between the Camp that was half burnt down, and a Morass that reacht as far as the River. The Ex­pedition with which he made his Retreat, sufficiently demonstrated his ready Invention and Presence of Mind. The Allies animated by the Valour of Telemachus, would have pursu'd him; but by the favour of the Storm he escap'd, as a swift­wing'd Bird out of the Net of the Fowler. The Allies now thought of nothing but re-possessing their Camp, and repairing their Da­mages: In entring it, they saw the woful Effects of War; the Sick and Wounded not being able to crawl out of their Tents, or to save them­selves from the Fire, appear'd half burnt, sending up towards Heaven their doleful Shrieks and dying Groans. It struck Telemachus to the [Page 440] Heart, nor was he able to contain his Tears: Oft did he turn aside his Eyes, being seiz'd with Horror and Compassion: He could not without groaning, behold these Bodies that remain'd still alive, and destin'd to a long and painful Death. They look'd like the Flesh of Victims, roasted on Altars, whose Smell dif­fuses it self all a-round. Alass! cry'd Telemachus, behold the Mischiefs that attend War! What blind Fury pu­shes on unhappy Mortals? Their Days are so short, and the Misery that attends them so great: Why do they hasten the Fate that is al­ready so near? Why will they add so many Troubles and Afflictions, to the Bitterness which the Gods have mingled with this short Life? Men are all Brethren, and yet they tear one another more cruelly than the savage Beasts. Lyons never make War with Lyons, nor Tygers with Tygers, but exercise their Cruelty upon Creatures of a different Kind. [Page 441] Man alone, in despite of his Reason, does that which Beasts, that are void of it, would never have done. But still, why such Wars? Is there not Ground in the World enough to employ the Labour of all Mankind? How much of it lies desert? More than all Mankind is sufficient to re­plenish. What is it then that makes Princes spread the Flames of War over vast Kingdoms and Countries? A false Idea of Glory, an empty Ti­tle of Conqueror. Thus one Man, whom the Gods in their Anger have sent into the World, render so ma­ny Men miserable: To satisfie his Ambition and Vanity, all must be ruin'd; all must swim in Blood, be destroy'd by Fire; and those who escape the Fire and Sword, must pe­rish by more cruel Want. In a word, one Man sports himself with human Nature, involves all in uni­versal Desolation to gratifie his Hu­mour and Vain-glory.

[Page 442] What monstrous Ambition is this? Can we sufficiently abhor and detest enough such Men, who have forgot all Humanity? No sure, so far are they from being Demi-Gods, that they are to be reckon'd below Men: Their Memory ought to be accursed through all those Ages, in which they thought to have been admir'd. Oh! with how much de­liberation ought Princes to weigh the War they undertake! They ought to be just: Nor is that e­nough, they ought to be Necessary. The Blood of the People ought not to be spilt, but for their Preserva­tion, in the greatest Extremity: But the Counsels of Elatterers, a false Notion of Greatness, ground­less Jealousies, and unreasonable Co­vetousness, cover'd with specious Pretexts, do insensibly engage Prin­ces in Wars, which render them­selves unhappy, make them hazard all when there is no necessity, and in the end prove equally fatal to [Page 443] their Subjects and Enemies. Thus did Telemachus reason; but he did not rest content in deploring the Mise­ries of War, but endeavour'd to mi­tigate them. You might see him visiting the sick and expiring Sol­diers in their Tents, scattering Mo­ney and Medicines among them, comforting and encouraging them by his Discourses, which were full of Friendship and Tenderness, and sending others when he could not visit them himself. Among the Cre­tans that were with him, there were two old Men; one of them were call'd Traumaphilus, the other Nozo­fugus: Traumaphilus had been at the Siege of Troy with Idomeneus, and had learn'd from the Sons of Escu­lapius the Divine Art of curing Wounds: He had an odoriferous Liquor which he injected into the deepest and most envenomed Wounds, that consum'd all the rot­ten and dead Flesh, without being forc'd to make Incisions, causing new [Page 444] Flesh to grow, more sound and more beautiful than the former. As for Nozofugus, he had never seen the Sons of Esculapius, but by the means of Meriones, he had procured a sacred and mysterious Book, which Escu­lapius had given his Sons: And be­sides, Nozofugus was a Favorite of the Gods: He had compos'd Hymns in honour of the Children of Latona: And every day sacrific'd a white Sheep, without blemish, to Apollo, by whom he was oftentimes inspir'd: He no sooner saw a sick Person, than he could tell by his Eyes, his Com­plection, the Disposition of his Bo­dy, and the manner of his Breath­ing, what the source of the Malady was: Sometimes he would give 'em sudorifick Remedies, which by their powerful Effects did demonstrate, how much Perspiration encreas'd or diminish'd, disorder'd or restor'd the Machine of our Body. In languish­ing Distempers, he gave certain Drinks which by degrees re-esta­blish'd [Page 445] the noble Parts, and by sweetning the Blood, renew'd the Vigour of his Patients; but he often alledg'd, that it was the fault of their Virtue and Courage that made Men stand in need so often of Me­dicines. It is a shame, said he, for Men to have so many Diseases; for good Health is the Product of a virtuous Life; their Intemperence, said he, changes into deadly Poison that wholsome Nourishment which was appointed for preserving their Life. Immoderate Pleasures do shor­ten Mens days more than the best Remedies can prolong them. The short Allowance of the Poor pre­serves their Health, while the Rich deprive themselves of it by their ex­cess. Those Nourishments that gra­tifie the Palate most, and which force Appetite, are a poisoning in­stead of nourishing. Medicines in themselves are really mischievous and destroy Nature, and ought only to be used on pressing Occasions; but [Page 446] the Sovereign Remedy that is always harmless, always useful, is Sobriety, Temperance in all our Pleasures, Tranquillity of Mind, and Exercise of the Body: This makes the Blood sweet and temperate, and dissipates all noxious and superfluous Hu­mours. Thus the sage Nozofugus was less admir'd for his Medicines than he was for the Diet he pre­scrib'd to prevent Diseases, and ren­der Remedies effective.

These two Men were sent by Te­lemachus to visit all the Sick in the Army: They cur'd many by their Remedies, but many more by the care they took to make them suc­cessful; for they took care to keep them clean, and by that cleanness to prevent noisome Air; and made them observe an exact Sobriety, and a re­gular Diet during their Cure. The Soldiers were all touch'd with a sense of this seasonable Relief, and thank'd the Gods for sending Tele­machus into the Confederate Army. [Page 447] This is, sure, no Mortal, say they, but some beautiful Deity, in human Shape; or if he is a Man, he is nearer a Kin to the Gods than the rest of Mankind, and is sent into the World only to do good. He is more to be belov'd for his Sweet­ness and Bounty, than for his Va­lour. O that we could have such a King! But the Gods have reserv'd him for a People more happy than we; whom they mind to cherish, and among whom they will renew the Golden Age. Telemachus, while he spent the Night in visiting the se­veral Quarters of the Army to pre­vent the Stratagems of Adrastus, heard these Commendations, which had not the least Suspicion of Flat­tery. As he desir'd no other, so his Heart was mov'd at these, and he found that sweet and pure Pleasure, which the Gods have join'd to Vir­tue alone, and which ill Men, be­cause they have never experiment­ed it, can neither conceive nor be­lieve; [Page 448] but could not remain fix'd in this sort of Pleasure; his for­mer Faults came all thronging into his Mind: He did not forget his natural Haughtiness, nor his indiffe­rent Behaviour towards other Men, and he was secretly asham'd that he was naturally harsh, and yet seem'd so human. He ascrib'd all the Glo­ry that was bestow'd on him, and which he thought was above his Merit, to the Wisdom of Minerva. It is thou, O great Goddess, said he, that gave me Mentor for an In­structor, and a Corrector of my evil Temper: It is thou that hast bles­sed me with Wisdom to make ad­vantage of my Escapes, and to dis­trust my self: It is thou that re­strain'st my impetuous Passions; and it is thou that makest me sensi­ble of the Pleasure of relieving the Unhappy: Without thee I should be hated, and deservedly too: With­out thee I should commit irrepara­ble Faults, and be as a Child, who [Page 449] being insensible of its own Weak­ness, lets go the hold it hold it had of its Mother, and falls the very first step that it makes.

Nestor and Philoctetes were amaz'd to see Telemachus become so gentle, so courteous, so helpful, and so pro­vident. They were puzled what to think; they saw him quite ano­ther Man; and that which surpriz'd them more, was the great care he took about the Funeral of Hippias. He went in Person to bring his bloo­dy and disfigur'd Body from the Place where it lay hid under a heap of dead Men: He shed pious Tears over him, and said, O Shade, thou know'st now how much I esteem'd thy Valour! 'Tis true, thy Haugh­tiness did provoke me; but the heat of thy Youth was to blame for't; and I am not insensible how much that Age wants to be excus'd. We had at last been united in a sin­cere Friendship; I was to blame: [Page 450] O ye Gods, wherfore have ye ta­ken him from me!

Telemachus afterwards caus'd the Body to be Wash'd with an odori­ferous Liquor, and gave Orders con­cerning the funeral Pile. The lofty Pines, groaning under the stroaks of the Ax, came tumbling down from the tops of the Mountains; the Oaks, those Antient Sons of the Earth, that seem'd to threaten Heaven; the tall Poplars, the young Elms with their verdant Tops, and thick leav'd Bran­ches; the Beeches, the glory of the Forest, lay all fell'd on the River Galesus: There were they rais'd into a Pile, resembling a regular Building. The Flame began to ap­pear, and a Pillar of Smoak mount­ed up to the Heavens. The Lacede­monians march'd with a slow and doleful pace, trailing their Pikes, and looking on the Ground; bitter Sor­row stood painted on their War­like Countenances, and the Tears trickl'd down in abundance. After [Page 451] the rest, came the aged Pherecides, stooping not so much under the great number of his Years, as a load of Grieffor surviving Hippias, whom he had brought up from his very Infancy: He rais'd his Hands, and his Eyes that were drown'd in Tears, towards Heaven. Af­ter the death of Hippias, he refus'd all manner of Food, nor could Sleep shut his Eye-lids, or suspend the smartness of his Pain for a Moment. With a trembling pace he walk'd af­ter the Procession, not knowing whither he went; he was speech­less, because his Heart was quite op­press'd; his silence was the effect of Despair and Dejection. But no sooner did he see the Pile kindled, than he cry'd out in a fury, O Hip­pias, Hippias! I shall never see thee again! Hippias is no more, and yet I live still! O my dear Hippi­as! 'tis I that am the cause of thy Death; 'twas I that taught thee to despise it; I believ'd that thou [Page 452] shouldst have shut my Eyes, and suck'd my last Breath. O ye cruel Gods! Why did ye prolong my days, only that I might see the death of Hippias? O my dear Child, that I have brought up with so much care, I shall see thee no more; but I shall see thy Mother, whom Grief will kill, and who will reproach me with thy Death; I shall see thy young Spouse beating her Breast, and pulling off her Hair, and I am the un­happy cause. O dear Shade, call me to the Banks of Styx; for the Light is hateful to me, and 'tis thee only, my dear Hippias, that I wish to see. Hippias, Hippias! O my dear Hippias! I only live now to pay my last Duty to thy Ashes.

In the mean time, you might see the Body of young Hippias stretch'd out in a Coffin adorn'd with Purple, Gold and Silver; Death that had shut his Eyes was not able to deface all his Beauty, and the Graces ap­pear'd still in his pale Face; Around [Page 453] his Neck that was whiter than Snow, but now leaning on his Shoulder, his long black Hair did wave, finer than those of Atis and Ganimede; but which were now to be turn'd to Ashes. You might observe in his Side the deep Wound, through which all his Blood had run out, and which had sent him down into the gloomy Regions of Pluto. Telemachus, sad and dejected, follow'd the Corps at a little distance, strowing Flow­ers. When they came to the Pile, the young Son of Ulysses could not endure to see the Flame seize on the Cloth in which the Body was wrapt, without shedding fresh Tears. A­dieu, said he, O magnanimous Hip­pias! For I dare not call thee Friend: Rest in quiet, O Shade, who hast merited so much renown! If I did not love thee I should envy thy Hap­piness, who art free'd from those Miseries that accompany us and art retir'd by the Path of Honour. How happy should I be, if my End were [Page 454] the same! May Styx ne're be able to stop thy Ghost; may thy Passage be easie into the Elysian Fields; may Fame preserve thy Name through­out all Ages, and may thy Ashes rest in Peace. Scarce had he spoke these Words, which were interrupt­ed with Sobs, when the Army gave a hideous shout; they were mov'd with grief for the loss of Hippias, they were recounting his great A­ctions; and their Grief for his death, brought to their Minds all his good Qualities, and made them forget all those Failings, which the Heat of his Youth, or his bad Education had occasion'd: But they were more mov'd with the tender Affection that Telemachus had for him. Is this, said they, the young Greek, that was so Proud, so Haughty, so Dis­dainful and untractable? See how gentle, how humane, how kind he's now become! Minerva, no doubt, who loved his Father so dearly, has had the same Passion for the Son; [Page 455] doubtless she has bestow'd on him the most valuable Blessing that the Gods can give to Mortals, in afford­ing him, together with Wisdom, a Heart sensible of Friendship.

By this time the Flame had con­sum'd the Body. Telemachus, with his own Hands, besprinkl'd the Ash­es that were yet smoaking, with a Liquor richly perfum'd; then put them into an Urn of Gold, which he crown'd with Garlands, and car­ried to Phalanthus. He lay stretch'd out wounded in several places, and in the extremity of his Weakness, had a glimpse of the melancholy Gates of Death.

Traumaphilus and Nozofugus, whom the Son of Ulysses had sent to attend him, had try'd their ut­most skill for his Relief. They had by degrees brought back his depart­ing Soul; fresh Spirits began insen­sibly to revive his Heart, and cre­ate a penetrating Vigor: The Bal­som of Life gliding from Vein to [Page 456] Vein, had reach'd his Heart; a grateful warmth reviv'd his Limbs; but in the very Moment that the Swooning left him, Grief succeeded; for he began to be sensible of the Loss of his Brother, which, till then, he had not been in a condition to think of. Alas! said he, why all this care to save my Life? Had I not better die, and follow my dear Hip­pias? I saw him fall hard by me: O Hippias! the comfort of my Life, my Brother, my dear Brother, thou art now no more! I can hereafter neither see thee, nor hear thee, nor embrace thee, nor comfort thee in thy Troubles, nor complain to thee of my own. O ye Gods, Enemies to Mankind! Must I forever be depriv'd of Hippias! Is it possible! is it not a Dream? No, it is real, O Hippias, I have left thee, I have seen thee die, and I must live till I have aveng'd thee; I will sacrifice to thy Ghost the Cruel Adrastus, who is stain'd with thy Blood.

[Page 457] While Phalanthus was thus speak­ing, the two Divine Men used their utmost endeavour to appease his Grief, for fear it should increase his Disease, and frustrate the Effects of their Medicines: On a sudden he perceiv'd Telemachus, who came to see him. At first sight, two contra­ry Passions were strugling in his Breast; he harbour'd a Resentment of what had pass'd between Telema­chus and Hippias; his Grief for the loss of Hippias gave it an Edge; he could not forget that he owed the preservation of his Life to Telema­chus, who rescu'd him out of the Hands of Adrastus, all bloody, and half dead. But when he saw the Golden Urn which inclos'd the Ash­es of his dear Brother Hippias, he dissolv'd into Tears; he embrac'd Telemachus, without being able to speak: At last, with a languishing Voice, interrupted with Sighs, he said, O worthy Son of Ulysses, thy Virtue constrains me to love thee; [Page 458] I owe thee the small remainder of my Life, and I owe thee also some­thing that's more dear to me: Had it not been for thee, the Body of my Brother had been a Prey to the Vultures: Had it not been for thee, his Ghost, depriv'd of Sepulture, had wander'd in a miserable Condition, on the Banks of the River Styx, continually pusht back by the pi­tiless Charon. Must I be so far in­debted to one whom I mortally ha­ted? Repay him, O ye Gods, and deliver me from this Miserable Life. And thou Telemachus, pay me the last Duty that thou hast paid to my Brother, that thy Glory may be compleat.

With these Words, Phalanthus was quite spent, and overwhelm'd with excess of Grief. Telemachus staid by him, but durst not speak, waiting till he should recover a little strength. Presently Phalanthus having come out of his Fit, takes the Urn out of the Hands of Telemachus; twenty times [Page 459] he kiss'd it, and water'd it with his Tears, and said; O Dear, O Precious Ashes! When shall mine be inclos'd in the same Urn? O thou Ghost of Hippias! I will follow thee to the Shades below: Telemachus shall a­venge us both.

In the mean time, Phalanthus re­cover'd dayly by the watchful Care of these two Men, who understood the Art of Esculapius. Telemachus was always by them to quicken their Diligence for hastening the Cure; and all the Army was struck with Admiration at his Goodness in re­leiving his greatest Enemy, more than at the Valour and Conduct which he shew'd in Battle, when he sav'd the Confederate Army. In the mean time Telemachus gave Proof how indefatigable he was in the greatest Hardships of War. He slept little, and his Sleep was often interrupted, either by the intelli­gence he received, every Hour of the Night, as well as of the Day; [Page 460] or by viewing all the Quarters of the Army, which he never did twice at the same Hours, that he might the better surprise those that were negligent. Oftentimes he return'd to his Tent, all over Sweat and Dust. His Diet was plain, being the same with that of the Soldiers, that he might set them a Copy of Sobriety and Patience. Provisions being scarce in that Encampment, he judg'd it necessary to prevent a Mu­tiny of the Soldiers, voluntarily to share with them in their Hardships. His Body was so far from being weaken'd by that toilsom Life; that every Day it became Stronger and more hardned. He began to lose the tender Graces of his Face, which are, as 'twere, the bloom of Youth; his Complexion grew Browner and less Delicate, and his Limbs rougher and more nervous.

In the mean time, Adrastus, whose Troops had been considerably wast­ed by the Battle, had posted himself [Page 461] behind the Hill Aulon, to wait the coming of some Reinforcements, and to try whether he could once more surprise the Enemy; just like a famish'd Lyon, bauk'd of his Prey, returns to the shady Forest, and re-enters his Den, where he whets his Teeth and his Claws, and im­patiently waits for a favourable Mi­nute to destroy the whole Flock.

Telemachus having made it his chief Care to observe a strict Disci­pline through the whole Army, he thought of nothing now but putting in execution a Design which he had already conceived, and which he had conceal'd from all the Comman­ders in the Army. For a long time, during whole Nights, his Head had been fill'd with Dreams, that repre­sented to him his Father Ulysses. This Image of Ulysses used always to return when Night was going away, and Aurora began with her dawning Light to chase the wan­dring Stars from the Heavens; and [Page 462] when soft Sleep began to compose the fluttering Dreams. Sometimes he would fancy that he saw him Naked in a fortunate Island, on the Banks of a River, in a pleasant Meadow bedeck'd with Flowers, and environ'd by Nymphs, who threw their Garments on him to cover him. Sometimes he thought he heard him Talking in a Palace, all glittering with Gold and Ivory, where Men, crown'd with Garlands, listen to him with Pleasure and Ad­miration. At other times he would appear to him on a sudden in those Feasts, where Joy shines bright amidst Delights, and where you might hear the soft Harmony of a charming Voice with a Harp, more melodious than the Harp of Apollo, or the Voice of all the Muses.

Telemachus awaking, grew me­lancholy at his pleasant Dream. O my Father! O my dear Father Vlys­ses, cry'd he! The most frightful Dream had been more pleasant to [Page 463] me. These Representations of Hap­piness give me reason to believe that you are already gone down to the abode of blessed Souls, where the Gods reward their Virtue with eter­nal Tranquillity. Methinks I see the Elysian Fields. O how hard a Thing is it to hope no more! What, O my dear Father! Shall I see thee no more, shall I embrace him no more who lov'd me so tenderly, and whom I have sought after with so much Labour and Toil? Shall I never hear Wisdom it self Speak out of thy Mouth? Shall I never again kiss those Hands, those dear, those victorious Hands, by whom so ma­ny Enemies have fallen? Shall they never punish the foolish Lovers of Penelope, and must Ithaca for ever be Ruined?

O ye Gods, who are Enemies to my Father, ye have sent me this Dream to deprive me of all Hope; 'tis to deprive me of Life. No, I cannot live longer in this uncertain­ty. [Page 464] What do I say, Alass! No­thing is more certain than that my Father is no more; I'll go find out his Ghost in the Shades below. Theseus succeeded in this Attempt: The impious Theseus, who durst offer Violence to the infernal Deities! As for me, a pious Motive carries me thither. Hercules hath descended there; I am no Hercules; but 'tis glorious to attempt to imitate him. Orpheus, by the relation of his Mis­fortunes, did sensibly touch the Heart of the inexorable God, and obtain'd the return of Eurydice from thence. I have a juster Claim to Compassion than Orpheus, because my Loss is greater. Who can com­pare a young Girle, not singular for her Beauty, to the sage Ulysses, ad­mir'd by all Greece? Let us go, let us dye, if it must be so: Why should Death be so formidable, since Life is so miserable? O Pluto! O Proser­pine! I'll try e'r it be long whether ye are as pitiless as ye are call'd. O [Page 465] my Father! After all my fruitless Travel over Seas and Land to find you out, if the Gods deny me the Enjoyment of you on Earth, and in the Light of the Sun, I'll go try whether you are gone to the melan­choly Abodes of the Dead. Perhaps they will not refuse me a sight of your Ghost in the Kingdom of Dark­ness. While he was thus Speaking, Telemachus watered his Bed with his Tears; then he arose, to try whe­ther by the Light he could mitigate the sharpness of his Sorrow that his Dream had occasion'd; but this was an Arrow that had pierced his Heart, and which he continually carried about with him. In this Anguish, he essay'd to descend into the infer­nal Regions, by a famous Place not far remov'd from the Camp: It is call'd Acheron, because in this Place there is a dreadful Cave, by which you may go down to the Banks of Acheron, a River by which the Gods themselves are afraid to Swear. [Page 466] The Town stood on a Rock, like a Nest in the top of a Tree. At the foot of the Rock was this Cavern to be seen, which fearful Mortals were afraid to approach. The chief care of the Shepherds was to turn away their Flocks from it: The sulphu­reous Stams which the Stygian Lake incessantly cast forth through this Passage infected the Air. Around it grew neither Herb nor Flower: There no gentle Zephirs fann'd the Air: There you could neither see the blooming Graces of the Spring, nor the rich Blessings of Autumn: There the Ground was all dry and languishing; and there was nothing to be seen but a few Shrubs stript of their Leaves, and the fatal Cypress. All round for a great way, Ceres de­nied the Labourers her Golden Har­vests: In vain did Bacchus seem to promise his pleasant Fruits; the Grapes wither'd instead of ripen­ing. The Sorrowful Nayades could not make the Water run pure; their [Page 467] Streams were always bitter and mud­dy. No warbling of Birds was to be heard in that Desert, that was all bristled with Bryers and Thorns; there was no Grove to shelter them, they went and sung their Loves in a gentler Air. Nothing was to be heard there but the croaking of Ra­vens, and the melancholy Voice of the Owl: The very Herbs were bitter, and the Flocks that pass'd that way did not feed on that plea­sant Pasture which used to make them skip: The Bull loath'd the [...] and the Shepherds forgot their Pipe and Flute.

Out of this Cavern, oftentimes, there issu'd forth a dark and thick Smoke, which made a sort of Night at Mid­day. The neighbouring People redoubled their Sacrifices, to appease the Wrath of the infernal Gods; but oftentimes, Men in the flower of their Age, and in the bloom of their Youth, were the only Victims which these cruel Di­vinities, [Page 468] by a fatal Contagion, took Pleasure to Sacrifice.

It was here that Telemachus re­solved to find out the way into the black Habitation of Pluto. Miner­va, who always kept a watchful Eye over him, and had cover'd him with her Shield, had bespoke Pluto's Favour. Jupiter, at the Request of Minerva, had given Orders to Mer­cury (who went down every Day to the Regions below, to deliver a cer­tain number of Mortals into the Hands of Charon) to desire the King of Shades that he would allow the Son of Ulysses to enter into his Do­minions.

Telemachus secretly withdrew out of the Camp by Night; he travel'd by the Light of the Moon, and in­vok'd that powerful Deity, who in the Heavens appears a bright Star in the Night, on Earth is the chaste Diana, and in Hell is the dreadful Hecate. This Goddess vouchsafed him a favourable Ear, because his [Page 469] Heart was upright, and because he was guided by the pious Love of a dutiful Son. Scarce had he approach'd the entry of the Cave, when he heard the bellowing of the subterra­nean Empire. The Earth trembled under his Feet; the Heavens arm'd themselves with Lightning and Fire, that seem'd ready to fall down. The young Son of Ulysses was shock'd, and his whole Body was bedew'd with a cold Sweat; but his Cou­rage supported him; he rais'd up his Eyes and his Hands towards Heaven. Ye great Gods, cry'd he, I accept this happy Omen: Com­pleat your Work. This said, he re­doubled his Pace, and went forward boldly. Presently the thick Smoke, which rendred the entry to the Ca­vern fatal to all other Creatures that approach'd it, was dissipated; the poisonous Smell ceased for a while, and Telemachus entred alone; for what other Mortal durst follow him? Two Cretans who had accom­panied [Page 470] him to a certain distance from the Cave, and to whom he had entrusted his Design, stood Trembling and half Dead a great way from it, in a Temple, making their Vows, and despairing of ever seeing Telemachus again.

In the mean time, the Son of Ulysses, with his Sword in his Hand, plunges himself in horrible Darkness. Pre­sently he perceiv'd a dim and faint Light, such as we see in the Night Time on Earth. He observ'd the airy Ghosts fluttering about him, whom he warded off with his Sword. Not long after, he came in sight of the melancholy brink of the marshy River, whose muddy and stagnant Waters turn in a continual Whirl­pool. He discover'd upon the Banks of it an innumerable crowd of de­parted Souls who had been depriv'd of Sepulture, making their fruitless Addresses to the pitiless Charon. This Deity, whose perpetual old Age made him morose and fretful, re­turn'd [Page 471] them nothing but Threats and Refusals; but at first sight re­ceiv'd the young Greek aboard his Boat. Telemachus had no sooner en­tred than he heard the mournful Groans of a certain disconsolate Ghost. What is the cause, pray, said he, of your Misery; what was you on Earth? I was, reply'd the Ghost, Nabopharzan, King of proud Babylon; all the Eastern Nations trembled at the sound of my Name. I made the Babylonians pay divine Honours to me in a Temple of Mar­ble, where I was represented by a Statue of Gold; before which, night and day, the most precious Perfumes of Ethiopia were burnt; none ever contradicted me unpunish'd; new Pleasures were daily invented to sweeten my Life; I was then young and vigorous. What Pleasure was there that I did not taste while I sat on the Throne? But an ungrateful Woman, whom I dearly lov'd, convinc'd me that I was not a God; [Page 472] she has poison'd me, and I am no more. Yesternight my Ashes were, with great Solemnity, put into an Urn of Gold; they cry'd, they tore off their Hair, and seem'd as if they would throw themselves into the Flames of my Pile, and share in my death: Some are going still to mourn at the Foot of the magnifi­cent Tomb where my Ashes were laid; but no body does really re­gret my Loss: My Memory is ab­horr'd by my own Family, and here below I am already expos'd to the most dreadful Reproaches.

Telemachus, mov'd at this sight, said to him: But were you truly happy during your Reign? Were you sensible of that calm and gentle Peace, without which the Heart re­mains always, as 'twere, withred and shrunk up amidst the greatest Pleasures? No, reply'd the Babylo­nian, I don't so much as know what you mean. The Sages boast of this Peace, as the only Good; but for [Page 473] my part, I never felt it: My Soul was incessantly agitated with new desires, with fear and with hope: I endeavour'd to intoxicate my self with the tumultuous Motion of my Passions; I was careful to entertain this Frenzy, to make it lasting; the shortest interval of calm Reason had been bitter. Behold, this was the Peace that I enjoy'd; all other seem'd a meer Trifle and a Dream; these are the Blessings that I regret. While the Babylonian was thus speak­ing, he wept like one of a mean Spi­rit, soften'd by Prosperity, and who had never been accustom'd to bear Misfortunes with Constancy. There were hard by him certain Slaves, who had been slain to grace his Fu­neral. Mercury had deliver'd them to Charon with their King, and had given them absolute Power over him whom they had serv'd on Earth. The Ghosts of these Slaves stood now no more in awe of the Ghost of Nabopharzan; they kept him in [Page 474] Chains, offering him the most cruel Indignities. One would say to him, Were not we Men as well as you? How camest thou to be so stupid as to fancy thy self a God, and not ra­ther remember that thou were Cast in the same Mould with other Men? Another insultingly would tell him, Thou had'st reason not to pass for a Man, being a Monster, void of all Humanity. Another would say to him, Well, where are all thy Flat­terers now? Thou hast now no­thing to bestow, poor Wretch; 'tis not in thy Power to do any more Mischief; behold thou art now be­come a Slave to thy own Slaves. The Gods are slow in executing Ju­stice, but at length they have done it. At these hard words he fell flat on his Face, tearing his Hair, in an excess of Rage and Despair. But Charon call'd to the Slaves; Pull him by his Chain, raise him up in spite of his Teeth; he shan't so much as have the comfort to hide his Shame: [Page 475] All the Ghosts about Styx must bear witness to justifie the Gods who suf­fer'd this impious Wretch to Reign so long upon Earth. This is, O Babylonian, but the beginning of thy Sorrow; prepare thy self to be judg'd by the inflexible Minos. Before dreadful Charon had well ended his Discourse, his Boat had touch'd the Borders of Pluto's Empire. The Ghosts came all flocking together to view this living Man, that appear'd among the dead in the Boat; but no sooner had the Foot of Telema­chus touch'd the Land, than they all fled; just as the Shades of Night are dissipated by the first glimpse of the Day. Charon looking on the young Greek with a smooth Face, and less fierceness in his Eyes than usual, said, O Mortal! belov'd by the Gods, since thou art allow'd to enter the Kingdom of Night, inaccessible to all living, make hast to go where the Destinies call thee; go through this gloomy Path to the Palace of [Page 476] Pluto, whom you will find on his Throne; he will permit you to en­ter those Places, the Secrets of which he will not allow me to discover. Telemachus forth with advancing with a swift Pace, was surrounded by multitudes of fluttering Ghosts, in­numerable as the Sands on the Shoar; and amidst the hurry of this num­berless Multitude, he was seiz'd with a Divine Horrour, observing the profound Silence of these vast Places. His Hair stood on end, so soon as he approach'd the gloomy Abode of the pitiless Pluto; his Knees trem­bled, his Voice fail'd him, and it was with much ado that he could utter these words: You see, O ter­rible Divinity! The Son of the un­happy Ulysses; I come to enquire of you, whether my Father is descend­ed into your Dominions, or if he is wandring still on Earth.

Pluto was seated on a Throne of Ebony; his Countenance look'd pale and severe, his Eyes were hollow [Page 477] and sparkling, his Face wrinkled and threatning: The Sight of a liv­ing Man was as odious to him, as the Light is offensive to the Eyes of those Creatures that are accustom'd to lurk in their Retreats till the ap­proach of Night. By his side ap­pear'd Proserpine, who was his only pleasing Object, and who seem'd in some measure to soften his Heart: She enjoyed a Beauty that was al­ways fresh; but her Divine Graces seem'd sullied a little by something harsh and cruel that was borrowed from her Spouse. At the Foot of the Throne was pale and devouring Death, with his sharp-edg'd Sithe, which he whetted incessantly. A­bout him flew, black Cares, cruel Jealousies, Revenges, glutted with Blood, and full of Wounds; unjust Hatreds, Covetousness, gnawing it self; Despair, tearing it self with its own Hands; furious Ambition, that puts all in Confusion; Treason, that feeds upon Blood, and cannot enjoy [Page 478] the Fruits of its Wickedness; Envy, that darts its deadly Venom all round her, and who frets and rages when she's unable to hurt; Impiety, that has digg'd a bottomless Pit, and des­perately thrown her self head-long into it; the hideous Spectres; the Phantomes, that assume the shape of the Dead to frighten the Living; the frightful Dreams and Watchings that are as tormenting as those. With all these dire Spectres was the haughty Pluto environ'd, and with these were his Palace fill'd. He an­swer'd Telemachus, with a hollow Voice, that made the bottom of He­brus roar: Young Mortal, said he, thy Destiny hath made thee violate this sacred Refuge of the Ghosts; follow thy Destiny; for me, thou shalt never know where thy Father is; 'tis enough thou art free to go look for him; since he has been a King upon Earth, thou hast no more to do but to traverse one part of dark Tartarus, where the wicked [Page 479] Kings are punish'd; and on the o­ther, the Elysian Fields where the good Ones are rewarded. But you cannot pass from hence to the Elysian Fields, till you have gone through Tartarus; make hast thither, and get ye out of my Dominions.

Forthwith Telemachus seem'd to fly through those empty and im­mense Spaces; he was so eager to know if he should see his Father, and to remove himself from the Pre­sence of that horrible Tyrant, dread­ful both to the Living and Dead. He quickly found himself on the Borders of gloomy Tartarus; from which there arose a black and thick Smoke, whose infectious Stink would have brought present Death with it, if it had reach'd the Abodes of the Living. This Smoke cover'd a River of flaming Fire; the noise of which, resembling that of the most impetuous Torrents, when they throw themselves down the highest Mountains into the bottom [Page 480] of a Gulf, struck those almost deaf that entred those dismal Places.

Telemachus, secretly animated by Minerva, undauntedly entred this A­byss; at first sight he perceiv'd a great number of Men, who had liv'd in a very mean Condition, and who were punish'd for having heap'd up Riches by Fraud, Treachery and Cruelty. He observ'd there Swarms of impious Hypocrites, who made a Shew of Religion, to serve them for a pretext to cover their Ambition, and to impose upon the Credulous. These Men who had abus'd Virtue it self, (the greatest Blessing that the Gods can bestow) were punish'd as the most execrable of all Mankind. The Children who had kill'd their Fathers or Mothers; the Wives who had embrew'd their Hands in the Blood of their Husbands; the Tray­tors who had abandon'd their Party, after they had violated their most solemn Oaths, underwent a more gentle Punishment than those Hy­pocrites. [Page 481] Such was the Sentence of the three Infernal Judges, and this was their Reason: It was, because the Hypocrites, not thinking it e­nough to be ill, as the rest of the Wicked, would pass for good Men, and by their counterfeit Virtue, make People afraid to trust those that were really so. The Gods, whom they mock'd, and made despicable in the Eyes of Men, take Pleasure to exer­cise their Power in revenging this Affront.

Near to these, appear'd another sort of Men, whom the Vulgar do not believe very culpable, but whom the divine Vengeance punishes with­out Mercy. These are the Ungrate­ful, the Layars, the Flatterers, who commend Vice; the malicicious Censurers, who endeavour to fully the brightest Virtue; in fine, those who have rashly past Sentence, be­fore they consider'd things to the bot­tom, and by that means wrong'd the Reputation of the Innocent; but of [Page 482] all Ingratitudes, that is punish'd as the blackest which one is guilty of against the Gods. What, says Minos, one is reputed a Monster, that fails in his Acknowledgments to his Fa­ther, or to his Friend, from whom he has receiv'd assistance; and yet Men glory in their Ingratitude to­wards the Gods, of whom they hold Life, and all the Blessings that at­tend it. Do not we owe our Be­ing to them more than to our Pa­rents, of whom we are Born? and the more such Crimes go unpunish'd upon Earth, the more they become the Object of implacable Vengeance here below.

Telemachus seeing the three Judges sitting to pass Sentence upon a Man, took the boldness to ask what were his Crimes. Immediately the Cri­minal taking upon him to Answer, cry'd out, I never did any Evil; on the contrary, I placed my greatest Happiness in doing good: I have always been Generous, Liberal, Just, [Page 483] Complaisant, what have they then to object? To which Minos an­swer'd, we have nothing to reproach thee with, in respect of Men; but didst not thou owe them far less than to the Gods? Where is then that Justice of which thou bragst so much? Thou hast fail'd in nothing towards Men, who are indeed no­thing themselves: Thou hast been vertuous, but thou mad'st thy Vir­tue subservient only to thy self, and not to the Gods who gave it thee: Thou hadst a mind to enjoy alone, the Fruits of thy Virtue, and mad'st it center in thy self; thou hast been thy own Divinity; but the Gods, who made all things for themselves, could not renounce their Right; and as thou didst forget them, they will forget thee, and deliver thee over to thy self: Since for thy self thou li­vedst and not for them. Find there­fore, if thou can'st at present, Con­solation in thy own Mind: Lo! thou art now for ever separated from [Page 484] the Company of Men, whom thou studiest so much to please; thou art now alone with thy self, thy own Idol. Learn, that there is no true Virtue, without the reverence and love of the Gods, to whom we owe all: Thy counterfeit Virtue, which for so long has blinded the Eyes of credulous Mankind, shall be now expos'd: Mankind judging of Vir­tue or Vice only with respect to his own conveniency, is blind both as to Good and Evil. But here a divine Light repeals their rash Sentences; condemning what they have ad­mir'd, and justifying what they have condemn'd.

At these Words, the Philosopher, as 'twere, Thunder-struck, could not now be reconcil'd to himself: The Pleasure which he took former­ly in contemplating his Moderation, Courage, and generous Inclinations, were now turn'd into Despair. The sight of his own Heart, so treache­rous to the Gods, was now punisht [Page 485] enough: He saw himself, nor could he refrain from the odious sight: He saw the Vanity of the Opinion of Men, whom in all his Actions, he studied so much to please. There was a compleat Revolution of eve­ry thing within him, as if all his Bowels had been turn'd topsy-tur­vey. He was no more the same Man; his Heart fail'd him; his Consci­ence, formerly so peaceable, rises up against him, and outragiously re­proaches him with his sham Virtues, which had not either for their Be­ginning or End the Worship of the Gods. He is in Confusion, Con­sternation, full of Shame, Remorse, and Despair. The Furies did not torment him, because it sufficed to let him alone to himself; his own Heart sufficiently aveng'd the Gods whom he had contemn'd: Since he could not shun himself, he sought out the obscurest Places to hide him­self from others: He courted Dark­ness, but could not find it; officious [Page 486] Light pursues him every where. E­very where the piercing Rayes of Truth revenge his Contempt of her. What he lov'd formerly, now be­comes hateful, as being the source of all his endless Miseries. He said within himself, O Fool that I am, I have neither known the Gods, nor my self; no, I have been ignorant of every thing, since I never lov'd the only and true Good: All my Steps have been out of the Way; my Wisdom was Folly, my Virtue was nothing but an Impious and Foolish Pride, for I was always my own Idol.

At last Telemachus observ'd those Kings that were punish'd for having abus'd their Power; on one hand a revengeful Fury presented a Mirrour, which shew'd them the deformity of their Vices. There they saw, and could not hinder themselves from seeing their undisguis'd Vanity, greedy of silly Flattery; their hard­heartedness towards Men, for whose [Page 487] Happiness they were made; their in­sensibility of Virtue, their fear of Truth, and Inclination for base Men and Flatterers; their want of Application, their Effeminacy, their Laziness, their Jealousie, their Pride, their excessive Magnificence, found­ed upon the Ruins of their Subjects; their Ambition to purchase Vain­Glory with the Blood of their People. In fine, their Cruelty, which seeks out new Pleasures, amidst the Tears and Despair of so many unhappy Wretches.

In this Mirrour, they saw them­selves continually, more terrible and monstrous than the Chimer a that was vanquish'd by Bellerophon, or the Hydra of Lerna, that was de­stroy'd by Hercules; yea than Cer­berus himself, though he Vomits from his three gaping Throats black and poisonous Blood, capable to infect the whole Race of Mortals living upon Earth.

[Page 488] At the same time, on the other hand, another Fury did insultingly repeat the nauseous Praises that their Flatterers had bestow'd upon them while alive; and presented another Mirror, where they appear'd such as they were Painted by Flattery. The opposition of these Portraits so con­trary, was the Punishment of their Vanity: It was observable that the most wicked of these Kings, were such as during their Life had receiv'd the most magnificent Prai­ses, because the Evil are more dread­ed than the Good; and they exact without shame, the base Flatteries of the Poets and Orators of their time. You might hear them groan in their profound Darkness, where they can see nothing but the Insults and De­risions which they are destin'd to suf­fer. They have none about them, but such as oppose, contradict, and expose them. Whereas on Earth they sported themselves with the Lives of Men, and pretended that [Page 489] all was made for their Service; in Tartarus, they are deliver'd over to the Caprice of certain Slaves, who make them feel in their turn, the Miseries of cruel Bondage. Their Slavery is painful, and there remains no Hope of ever being able to miti­gate their Captivity: Under the lash of these Slaves, now become their Merciless Tyrants, they seem'd like the Anvil under the Hammer of the Cyclops, when Vulcan makes them work in the burning Furnaces of Mount AEtna.

There Telemachus perceiv'd pale, hideous and melancholy Countenan­ces arising from Black Grief, that gnaws these Criminals: They ab­hor themselves, and yet they can no more deliver themselves from this Horror than their very Nature; they want no other Chastisement of their Crimes, than their Crimes themselves; which they incessantly contemplate with their most aggra­vating Circumstances: They pre­sent [Page 490] themselves to them like hor­rible Spectres pursuing them; to defend themselves from them, they call for a Death more powerful than that which separated them from their Bodies; a Death that can extinguish in them all Sense and Thought. They call to the Deeps to swallow them, that they may be snatch'd from the revenging Beams of tor­menting Truth. But in vain, for they are reserved for Vengeance, that drops upon them leasurely, and will never be exhausted. The Truth which they were afraid to see, now becomes their Punishment; they see it, but whilst it flies in their Faces, the sight of it puts them beside themselves: 'Tis like the Thunder, which without hurting the Out-side, penetrates into the inmost parts of the Bowels. The Soul melts in this revenging Fire, as Metal in a burning Furnace. Its texture is destroy'd, and yet there is nothing consum'd: It dissolves it to the [Page 491] very first Principles of Life, and yet it can never die. They are tied to themselves, and can find neither Ease nor Comfort for the least Mi­nute. They subsist only by their re­venge upon themselves, and De­spair, which makes them furious. Among so many Objects which made his Hair stand, Telemachus saw several of the Ancient Kings of Lydia punish'd for having pre­ferr'd the Pleasures of a voluptu­ous Life to that of Application; which ought to be inseparable from Royalty, in order to procure the Ease of their People.

THE ADVENTURES OF TELEMACHUS The Son of ULYSSES. PART. V.

THese two Kings reproach'd one another of Folly and Stupidity: Says one to the other who had been his Son; did not I, [Page 494] when I was Old, and near my Death, often recommend to your Care the reproach of those Mischeifs which my own negligence had occa­sion'd? The Son reply'd, O unhap­py Father! 'Tis you that have ruin'd me; 'twas your Example that habi­tuated me to Pride, Arrogancy and Cruelty to Mankind. While I saw you Reign in so effeminate a manner, surrounded with servile Parasites; I addicted my self to the Love of Flattery and Pleasures; I thought the rest of Men were in respect of Kings, what other Animals are in regard of Men; I say I thought 'em no better than Beasts, and that no other account was to be made of'em, but only what Service they could render, and what advantage might be expected from 'em. This I be­lieved, and 'twas you that made me believe it, and now I endure all these Miseries for imitating your Example. To these Reproaches they added the most dreadful Curses, and were [Page 495] irritated with so much Rage, that they seem'd ready to tear one ano­ther in Pieces. Besides, round about these Kings, there hover'd (like so many Owls in the Shades of Night) cruel Suspicions, vain Allarms and Diffidences, which revenge Subjects on their Kings for their Severity. The unsatiable thirst of Riches, that false kind of Glory which is always Tyrannical, and vile Effeminacy, which redoubles all the Evils they suffer, without being able to give any true and solid Pleasure. Many of these Kings were severely punish­ed, not for the Evils they had done, but for neglecting the Good they ought to have done. All the Crimes of the People, which proceed from Negligence in the execution of the Laws, were imputed to their Kings; and on them were all those Disorders charg'd which spring from Pride, Luxury, and all other Excesses which throw Men into a violent State, and tempt 'em to contemn the Laws in [Page 496] quiring Wealth. Above all, those Kings were treated with extreme Rigour, who instead of acting the part of good and vigilant Shepherds towards the People, thought of no­thing but how to ravage their Flocks, like so many voracious Wolves. But that which rais'd the Conster­nation of Telemachus to the highest Degree, was to see in this Abyss of Darkness and Misery, a great number of Kings, who had past upon Earth for tolerably good Princes, now abandon'd to the Pains of Tartarus, for having suffer'd them­selves to be govern'd by wicked and designing Men. These were punish­ed for the Evils they had suffer'd to be committed by their Authority. Indeed the greatest part of these Kings were neither Good nor Bad; their Weakness was so great, that they never had been afraid of being kept in Ignorance of the Truth, nor ever had a true relish of Vertue, nor took Pleasure in doing Good.

[Page 497] No sooner was Telemachus got out of these dark Regions, but he felt himself as much eas'd as if one had remov'd a Mountain off his Breast; The sense of this made him compre­hend the Misery of those that were shut up in this dismal Place, without hope of being ever releas'd. It fill'd him with Horror to observe how many Kings were more rigorously Tormented than other Criminals. What, said he, so many Endea­vours, so many Dangers, so many Snares, so many Difficulties in com­ing at the Truth, so as to be able to defend ones self against others, and against ones self, and at last so many horrible Torments in Hell, after such Agitations, such Assaults of Envy, and so many Crosses in a short course of Life! O unthinking Man who is desirous of Reigning! And happy he who limits his De­sires to a private and peacable man­ner of Life, wherein 'tis less difficult to be Vertuous. In making these [Page 498] Reflections his Mind was fill'd with Trouble and Horror, insomuch, that he fell into a kind of Conster­nation, which made him feel some­thing of that Despair which racks those miserable Princes whose wretched Condition he had been considering. But in proportion to the degrees of distance he gain'd in retiring from these sad Territories of Darkness, Horror and Despair, his Courage began gradually to re­vive; he regain'd his Breath as he went forward, and soon was enter­tain'd with a distant view of the mild and pure Rays of Light that darted from those blessed Regions where the Heroes reside.

Here dwelt all those vertuous Kings, who had prudently govern'd Men till that time. They were se­parated from other good Men; for as wicked Princes suffer'd Torments in Tartarus, infinitely more violent than those of other Criminals of a low and private Condition; so these [Page 499] good Kings enjoy a Happiness in Elysium, infinitely exceeding that of the rest of Mankind, who had de­voted themselves to Vertue, when upon Earth. Towards these Kings Telemachus advanc'd. They were in odoriferous Groves, on Meadows cover'd with immortal Green, and always deck'd with Flowers; a Thousand little Rivulets water'd this happy Place with their limpid Streams, which refresh'd it after a most agreable manner; an infinite number of pretty Birds made these Groves resound with their sweet Har­mony. Here they see at once the beau­tiful Flowers of the Spring growing on the Turf, under their Feet; and the pleasant Fruits of Autumn hang­ing on the Trees, over their Heads. Here the parching Heat of the fu­rious Dog-star is never felt; here the rough North-Wind never dares to Blow, to make 'em feel the rigours of Winter. Neither War, that thirsts for Blood, nor cruel Envy, [Page 500] that bites with envenom'd Teeth, having twisted Vipers in her Bosom, and wreath'd about her Arms; nor Jealousies, Distrusts, Fears, nor vain Desires, ever approach this blessed Region of Peace. In this happy Place, the Day nere knows an End; and the Night with her bloomy Vail is utterly a Stranger here. A pure and insinuating Light spreads it self round the Bodies of these just Men, and encompasses you with its Rays like a Garment. 'Tis not like that which illuminates the Eyes of miserable Mortals, which in com­parison of this is little better than Darkness. 'Tis rather a celestial Glory than Light; for it penetrates the thickest Bodies, after a more subtile manner, than the Beams of the Sun can pierce the purest Cryst­al: Yet it never Dazzles, but on the contrary, fortifies the Eyes, and produces an unspeakable serenity in the inmost recesses of the Soul. 'Tis this alone that nourishes those blessed [Page 501] Men, it penetrates 'em, and incor­porates it self with 'em: They See it, they Feel it, they Breath it; it causes an inexhaustible Fountain of Peace and Joy to spring up in their Souls. In this Abyss of Joy they plunge themselves, and live in it, as Fishes do in the Sea; they [...] nothing, they have every thing with­out having any thing; for the re­lish of this pure Light appeases the Hunger of their Souls, all their Wishes are satisfied, and their full­ness raises them above all that which Men with empty and hungry Minds so earnestly seek upon Earth. All the Pleasures that surround 'em, are nothing to 'em, because their con­summate Happiness which proceeds from within 'em, leaves 'em void of Sensation, for every the most de­licious Thing they see without 'em. Just as the Gods who are satiated with Nectar and Ambrosia, would disdain to Feed on those gross Meats which would be presented you at [Page 502] the most exquisite Treat that Mor­tals could make 'em. All manner of Evils fly far away from this place of Tranquillity. Death, Sickness, Poverty, Pain, Regrets, Remorses, Fears, and Hopes, too (which often cost us as much as our very Fears) [...] Imaginations, Disgusts, and Vexations can none of 'em find en­trance here. The lofty Mountains of Thrace that thrust their Brows (which have been cove'd with Snow and Ice from the very beginning of the World) into the Clouds of Hea­ven, might sooner be over-turn'd from their Foundation, which is fix'd in the Center of the Earth, than the Hearts of these righteous Men be mov'd in the least degree; only they pity the Inhabitants of this World for the Miseries that oppress 'em, yet 'tis such a sweet and calm kind of Compassion as can't in the least alter their immutable Felicity: An everlasting Youth, an endless Happiness, and a Glory altogether [Page 503] Divine, is conspicuous in their Coun­tenances; but their Joy has nothing in it that is frothy and uncomely. 'Tis a noble Alacrity, sweet and full of Majesty. 'Tis a sublime Gust of Truth and Virtue that tran­sports 'em. They are every mo­ment, without Interruption, in such, a kind of extasie of Mind, as that which seizes a tender Mother at the sight of her beloved Son, whom af­ter a long absence she had given over for dead. But this Rapture which soon retires from such a Mother's Heart, never forsakes the Souls of these Men; it never languishes for so much as an Instant, but always continues fresh and new: They have the Transports of Ine­briation, without the disturbance and folly of it: They entertain one another with Discourses on what they see and taste: They tram­ple under their Feet the sweet De­lights, and vain Pomps of their for­mer Condition, which they in some [Page 504] sort bewail: They reflect with Plea­sure on those sad, but short Years, wherein they were oblig'd to op­pose their own Inclinations; and to stemm the impetuous Torrent of the Persuasions of corrupt Men, to be­come Virtuous: They admire the Assistance which was given 'em by the Gods, who conducted 'em, as it were, by the Hand in the Paths of Virtue, through a multitude of Perils. There is something Divine, which I know not how to express, that runs incessantly through their Hearts like a Stream of the Divine Nature it self, and unites it self to 'em; they see, they taste, they are happy, and feel; they shall always be so; they all sing together the Praises of the Gods, and all of 'em together make but one Voice, but one Thought, but one Heart, but one Felicity, which constantly ebbs and flows, as it were, in these unit­ed Souls. While they enjoy these Divine Raptures, whole Ages glide [Page 505] away more swiftly than Hours do among Mortals here on Earth; and yet a thousand and a thousand Ages when elaps'd, don't in the least di­minish their Happiness, which is al­ways new, and always entire. They all Reign together; not on such Thrones as may be over-turn'd by the Hands of Men, but in them­selves, with a Power that can never be shaken. For now they have no more need to render themselves for­midable by a Power borrow'd from a vile and miserable People; they no more wear those vain Diadems, under whose darling Lustre so ma­ny Fears and melancholy Cares lie hid. The Gods themselves have with their own Hands plac'd Crowns of Glory on their Heads, the beau­ty of which nothing can ever Tar­nish.

Telemachus, who was seeking his Father, and was once afraid of find­ing him in these Regions, was so ravish'd with this Tast he had of [Page 506] Peace, Joy, and Happiness, that he could have wish'd to have met him here; and could not chuse but be troubled to think of being constrain'd himself to return again into the So­ciety of Mortals. This is the Place, said he, where true Life is to be found, and as for ours 'tis but a kind of Death: But that which surpriz'd him with wonder was, that he had seen so many Kings punish'd in Tar­tarus, and so few in the Elysian Fields: He learn'd from this, that there are few Kings whose Minds are firm and couragious enough, to resist their own Power, and to re­ject the Flattery of so many Persons, who make it their Business to excite all their Passions; so that good Kings must needs be very rare; and the greatest part of 'em are so wicked, that the Gods would not be Just, if after having suffer'd them to abuse their Power during their Life, they should not punish them severely af­ter their Death.

[Page 507] Telemachus not finding his Father Ulysses among these Kings, cast his Eyes about to seek at least the Di­vine Laertes his Grand-father. While he was looking round for him, in vain, an old Man, venerable, and full of Majesty, advanc'd toward him. His old Age did not resem­ble that of Men on Earth, when op­press'd with the weight of numerous Years; it only signify'd that he had been old before his death; it was a mixture of all the Gravity of old Age, with all the Graces of Youth; for those Graces revive even in the most decrepid old Men at the very moment of their entrance into the Elysian Fields. This Person ad­vanc'd with speed, and look'd up­on Telemachus with Complacency, as one that was very dear to him. Telemachus, who did not know him, was in pain, and his Thoughts held him in suspense: I forgive thee, O my Son, said the old Man, that thou doest not know me, I am Arcesius, [Page 508] the Father of Laertes; I finish'd my Days a little before Ulysses my Grand­son went to the Siege of Troy, and thou wa'st then a little Infant in thy Nurse's Arms. I even then con­ceiv'd great hopes of thee, and thou hast not disappointed my Expecta­tion; since I see thou art come down into the Kingdom of Pluto to seek thy Father, and yet the Gods sup­port thee in this Enterprize. O happy Child, thou art belov'd of the Gods, who prepares for thee a Glo­ry like that of thy Father! And O how happy am I to see thee again! Leave off looking after thy Father Ulysses in these Regions; he is yet alive; he is reserv'd to advance our Family in the Isle of Ithaca; and Laertes himself, tho' he stoops un­der [...] burden of Age, yet sees the Light, and lives in hope to see his Son return to close his Eyes: Thus Men sade away like Flowers, which in the Morning blow and display their Beauty, and in the Evening [Page 509] are wither'd and trampled under Foot. The Generations of Mortals slide away like the Waters of a ra­pid River; and nothing can stop the Course of Time, which draws after it even those things that seem the most immoveable. Thy self, O my dear Son, my dear Son, thy self, who now enjoy'st a Youth so vigo­rous and capable of Pleasures, thou wilt do well to remember that this gay part of thy Age is but a Flower that will be almost as soon wither'd as blown; thou wilt see thy self in­sensibly change; these smiling Gra­ces, and sweet Pleasures, this Strength, Health, and Gravity will vanish like a pleasant Dream, and will only leave the sad Remembrance of 'em behind. Languishing old Age, that Enemy of Pleasures, will bend thy Body double, infeeble thy trembling Limbs, and dry up that Spring of Joy which now rises in thy Soul, make thee dis-relish what is present, and fear what is to come, and ren­der [Page 510] thee insensible of every thing but Pain and Sorrow. This Time to thee seems distant; but alas! my Son, thou art mistaken, it advances apace, and will soon arrive; that which approaches with so much rapidity, can't be far from thee; the present Time flies away, and is remote al­ready, since it vanishes in the mo­ment we speak of it, and can come near us no more. Therefore, my Son, ne're reckon on the present, but bear up in the rough and diffi­cult Path of Virtue in Prospect of the future. Prepare thy self by a virtuous Course of Life, and the love of Justice, for a place in the happy Regions of Peace. Thou art born to Reign after thy Father Ulys­ses, whom thou shalt at last see Ma­ster of Ithaca in a little time: thou art born to Reign; but alass! my Son, how deluding a thing is Re­gal Power: If you look upon it at a distance, you see nothing but Au­thority, Pomp and Pleasure; but [Page 511] take a near Prospect, and it appears full of thorny Cares and Difficulties. A private Man may without dis­honouring himself, lead a pleasant and obscure Life, but a King de­grades himself if he prefers an easie and unactive Life to the painful Of­fices of Government; he owes him­self to all the People he Governs, and he is never permitted to be his own: His least Faults are of infinite Consequence, because they occasion national Miseries, and that some­times for several Ages: He ought to suppress the Presumption of ill Men, to support Innocence, and dissipate Calumny. 'Tis not enough for him to do no Mischief, but he must do all the Good that is possible for him to do according to the Ne­cessity of the State. 'Tis not e­nough for him to do Good for his own part; he must besides this, hin­der all the Mischief others would do if not restrain'd. Fear, there­fore, O my Son, fear a Condition [Page 512] so perilous; arm with Courage a­gainst thy Self, against thy Passions, and against Flatterers. In speaking these words, Arcesius seem'd ani­mated with a Divine Flame, and shew'd Telemachus a Countenance full of Compassion for the Miseries that accompany a Royal State; when 'tis assum'd, said he, to satisfie ones self, 'tis a monstrous Tyranny; when 'tis taken up, to fulfil the Du­ties that belong to it, and to guide innumerable Multitudes, as a Father governs his Children, 'tis a pressing Servitude, which requires an He­roick Courage and Patience. On the other hand, 'tis as certain that such as have reigned with uncor­rupted Virtue, possess here all that the Power of the Gods can give, to render their Happiness compleat.

While Arcesius express'd himself after this manner, his words enter'd into the very Soul of Telemachus, and were as deeply impress'd on his Heart, like those indelible Characters [Page 513] which an expert Artist engraves on Brass, with a design to have them expos'd to the View of all Poste­rity: His sage Advice pass'd like a subtile Flame, and penetrated into the Heart of Telemachus, so that he felt himself strangely mov'd and in­flam'd. Something Divine, which I know not how to describe, seem'd to melt his Heart within him. That which he carried in the inmost A­partments of his Soul, secretly con­sum'd him; he knew not how ei­ther to contain it, or indure it, or to resist so violent an Impression; it was a sweet and calm kind of Sor­row; a levity and delightful Senti­ment, mix'd with a sort of Torment capable of depriving one of Life.

At length Telemachus began to re­cover himself, and to breath more freely; he discern'd in the Counte­nance of Arcesius, a great Resem­blance of Laertes; he thought too he had a sort of a confus'd Remem­brance, that he had seen in his Fa­ther [Page 514] Ulysses, the same kind Linea­ments, when he parted for the Siege of Troy; these Reflections melted his tender Heart, so that Tears mix'd with Joy, gently trickled from his Eyes; he would fain have embrac'd a Person so dear to him; he at­tempted it several times, but all in vain; the empty Shadow still es­cap'd his Embraces; as a delusive Dream flies from a Man, when he imagines he is possess'd of a real En­joyment: One while his thirsty Mouth pursues a Stream that slides away from him; Another while his Lips move to form Words which his faltering Tongue can­not utter; he earnestly stretches out his Hands, and can take hold of no­thing: Just so it was with Telema­chus, who could not satisfie the ten­der sentiments of his Soul; he sees Arcesius, hears him, speaks to him, but cannot touch him. In fine, he ask'd him, who those Men were, that were round about him. Thou [Page 515] seest, my Son, reply'd this Grave Old Man, those Persons who have been the Ornament of the Ages wherein they liv'd, the Glory and Happiness of Mankind; thou seest the small number of Kings, who have been truly worthy of Royalty, and have faithfully perform'd the Function of Godsupon Earth. These others whom thou seest not far from 'em, but separated by the little Cloud, have a Glory too, but no­thing near so great. These indeed are Hero's, but the Recompence of their Valour, and Military Expedi­tions, is not to be compar'd with that of Wise, Just and Beneficent Kings: Among those Hero's, thou seest Theseus, whose Countenance is somewhat dejected; he has felt the Unhappiness of having too much Credulity for an Intreaguing Wife; and is still afflicted for having so unjustly desir'd of Neptune, the Death of his Son Hippolitus: Hap­py had he been, if he had not so ea­sily [Page 516] and readily given way to the Passion of Anger. Thou also seest Achilles leaning on his Spear, because of the Wound the dissolute Paris gave him on the Heel, which put an end to his Days. If he had been as Wise, Just, and Moderate as he was Intrepid, the Gods would have granted him a long Reign; but they had pity on the Phitiotes and Dolopes, over whom, according to the ordina­ry Course of Nature, he was to have reign'd after his Father Peleus; and they were not willing to leave so many People at the mercy of a vio­lent and furious Man, more easie to be provok'd, than the most unquiet Sea is to be mov'd by a sudden Storm. The fatal Sisters have cut off the Thread of his Life; he was like a Flower scarce fully Blown, that is cut down by the rude Plow-man, and falls before the end of the Day that gave it Birth. The Gods were willing to use him only as they do Floods and Tempests, to punish [Page 517] Men for their Crimes: They em­ploy'd Achilles to beat down the Walls of Troy, to revenge the Per­jury of Laomedon, and the unjust A­mours of Paris: And after having us'd him as the Instrument of their Vengeance, they are appeas'd; and have refus'd the Tears of Thesis, to suffer this young Hero any longer upon Earth, who was fit for nothing but to disturb the World, and to o­verthrow Cities and Kingdoms. But dost thou observe that other Person who looks so fiercely? 'tis A­jax the Son of Telamon, and Cousin to Achilles; to be sure thou art not ignorant what Glory he acquir'd in Battel; after the Death of Achilles, he pretended his Armour ought not to be given to any but himself; but thy Father did not think fit to give him the precedency; and the Greeks gave Judgment in favour of Ulysses. Ajax upon this, kill'd himself in De­spair: Indignation and Despair are still painted on his Countenance. My [Page 518] Son, forbear to approach him, for he would think thou hadst a mind to insult over him, on the account of his Misfortune, which ought to be bewail'd. Dost thou not see that he looks upon us with Pain, and rushes hastily into the dark Grove, because he hates to see us? On the other side thou seest Hector, who had been In­vincible, if the Son of Thetis had not been in the World. But take notice how Agamemnon passes along, still carrying the Marks of Clytemnestra's Perfidiousness. O my Son, I trem­ble to think of the Misfortunes of that Family, of the Impious Tanta­lus; the Contention of the two Bro­thers Atreus and Thyestes, fill'd that House with Horror and Blood. A­las! how one Crime draws a multi­tude of others after it? Agamem­non when he return'd at the head of the Greeks, from the Siege of Troy, had not time to enjoy in Peace the Glory he had acquir'd in War; and this is the Destiny of almost all Con­querors. [Page 519] All those Men whom thou seest there, have been formidable in War; but have not been of an A­miable and Virtuous Disposition, and therefore are only admitted into the second Mansion of the Elysian Fields.

As for these others, who have reign'd with Justice, and had a ten­der Affection for their People, they are the intimate Friends of the Gods. While Achilles and Agamemnon, full of their Quarrels and Battels, still re­tain their Disquietments and natu­ral Defects; while they in vain re­gret the Life which they have lost, and asflict themselves with the Thoughts of being now Impotent and Vain Shadows; these Just Men who are refin'd by that Di­vine Light which nourishes 'em, having nothing more to desire to make 'em happy, Behold, with compassion, the uneasinesses of poor Mortals; and the greatest Affairs that agitate the Minds of Ambitious [Page 520] Men, appear to them like the tri­fling Play of Children; their Hearts are replenish'd with Truth and Vir­tue, which they draw at the Foun­tain Head. They have now no­thing more to suffer either from o­thers or from themselves; no more Wishes, no more Necessities, no more Fears; all is at an end with them, except their Joy which can never end. Consider, my Son, this Ancient King Inachus, who sound­ed the Kingdom of Argos; thou seest how full of Sweetness and Majesty his Old Age appears; the Flowers grow under his Steps; he treads so lightly, that his walking resembles the flying of a Bird; he holds a Golden Book in his Hand, and in an Eternal Transport, sings the won­derful Works of the Gods; from his Heart and Mouth, he Breaths ex­quisite Odors; the Harmony of his Lyre and Voice together is capable of Ravishing the Gods, as well as Men. He is thus rewarded for the [Page 521] Love he bore to the People heaffembled within the compass of his New Walls, to whom he gave excellent Laws. On the other side, thou may'st see a­mongst those Myrtles, Cecrops the E­gyptian, who was the first King of Athens, a City Consecrated to that wise Goddess, whose Name it bears: This Cecrops brought wholesome Laws from Egypt (a Country which has been to Greece a Spring both of Learning and Morality); by this means he polish'd the rough Tem­pers of the Towns of Attica, and u­nited them by the Bands of Civil So­ciety. He was eminent for Justice, Humanity, and Compassion; he left his People in great Prosperity, and his Family but in a middle state; he was not willing to have his Chil­dren succeed him in his Authority; because he judg'd there were others more worthy of that Trust. I must likewise needs shew thee Ericthon, in this little Valley, who invented the Use of Silver for Money; this he [Page 522] did with a Design to facilitate Com­merce among the Cities of Greece; but he foresaw the Inconvenience at­tending this Invention. Apply your selves, (said he, to all those People) to multiply natural and true Riches in your Dwellings. Cultivate the Earth, that you may have great plen­ty of Corn, Wine, Oly, and other Fruits. Get innumerable Flocks, that may nourish you with their Milk, and Cloath you with their Wool. Hereby you will put your selves in a Condition never to be a­fraid of Poverty: The more Children you have, the richer you'l be, pro­vided you inure 'em to Labour and Industry; for the Earth is inex­haustible, and augments her Fecun­dity in proportion to the Number of her Inhabitants, who take care to manure her. She liberally rewards the Labour of 'em all; whereas she is tenacious and reserv'd to them that Cultivate her after a negligent manner. Endeavour therefore prin­cipally [Page 523] to acquire this real Wealth, which Answers the real Necessaries of Mankind: As for Money, no Account ought to be made of it any farther than it is necessary, either to carry on such Wars as you are un­avoidably engag'd in abroad, or in the way of Commerce, for such ne­cessary Commodities as are wanting in your own Countrey; and it were to be wish'd that Trasfick were suf­fer'd to fall to the Ground, for all such things as serve only to maintain Luxury, Vanity, and Effeminacy. The Wise Ericthon would often say, My dear Children, I am much afraid I have made you a fatal Present, in giving you the Invention of Money: I foresee it will excite Ambition, Avarice, and Pride; that it will sup­port an infinite number of pernici­ous Arts, which only tend to debase and corrupt the meanest of Men; that it will make you disrelish that happy Simplicity which makes your Lives so very quiet and secure: In [Page 524] fine, That it will make you despise Agriculture, which is the support of Humane Life, and the source of all solid Riches; but the Gods are my Witnesses, that my Heart was upright, when I imparted this In­vention to you, which indeed is use­ful in it self. But at length when Ericthon found that Money, as he had foreseen, corrupted the People, he for Grief retired into a solitary Mountain, where he lived in Pover­ty, at a distance from Mankind, 'till he became extreme Old, without being willing to meddle with the Government of Cities. Not long after him appear'd in Greece, the fa­mous Triptolemus, whom Ceres had taught the Art of Tilling the Ground, and covering it every Year with a Gilded Harvest. Not that Men were 'till then ignorant of Corn, and the manner of multiplying it by sowing; but they knew not the Art of Husbandry to that Perfection, till Triptolemus, sent by Ceres, came [Page 525] with the Plow in his Hand to offer the Favours of this Goddess to all those Nations who had Courage e­nough to overcome their natural La­ziness, and to addict themselves to assiduous Labour. Triptolemus soon taught the Greeks the way of cleav­ing the Ground with Furrows, and of rendring her fertile in tearing up her Bosom. The sweating and inde­fatigable Reapers, soon made the Ripe standing Corn that cover'd the Fields, fall under their sharp Sicles; even the Wild and Barbarous Peo­ple that were scatter'd up and down in the Forests of Epirus and AEtolia, seeking Acorns for their Food, be­came civiliz'd, and submitted to Laws, when they had learn'd the way of making Corn grow, and of baking Bread. Triptolemus made the Greeks know the Pleasure of ow­ing their Riches to nothing but their Labour, and of finding in their own Fields whatever was necessary to render their Lives commodious [Page 526] and Happy. This simple and in­nocent Plenty entail'd on Agricul­ture, made them remember Ericthon's Counsel, so that they slighted Mo­ney, and all Artifical Riches, that become so only by the Fancy of Men, which tempts 'em to seek af­ter dangerous Pleasures, and divert 'em from Labour, in which they would find all real Wealth, with Pu­rity of Manners in the full Enjoy­ment of Liberty. They were then convinc'd, that a Fruitful and well Cultivated Field, was the true Trea­sure of a Family, that was wise e­nough to be content to live frugal­ly, as their Fathers had done before 'em. And happy had the Greeks been, if they had continued firm and steady in embracing Maxims so pro­per to render 'em powerful: Hap­py Lovers of Liberty and Virtue! But alas! they begin to admire false Riches, and gradually neglect the true; they degenerate from their once admir'd Simplicity. O my Son, [Page 527] thou shalt one Day Reign; and then remember to bring Men back to the Exercise of Husbandry, to Honour that Art, to support those that apply themselves to it, and neither to suffer the People to live in Idleness, nor to employ their Time in those soft Arts that uphold Luxury and Vanity. These two Men that were so wise, when up­on Earth, are here cherish'd by the Gods themselves: Observe it well, my Son, their Glory as far surpas­ses that of Achilles and other He­ro's, who have only excell'd in Battel, as the agreeable Spring ex­ceeds the frozen Winter, and as the Lustre of the Sun out-shines the feebler Light of the Moon.

While Arcesius was thus speaking, he perceived Telemachus had his Eyes continually fix'd on the side of a little Wood of Laurel, by a little River, the Banks of which were painted with Violets, Roses, Lillies, and many other sorts of odoriferous [Page 528] Flowers, whose lively Colours re­sembled those that invest Iris, when she descends from Heaven to bring some Message from the Gods to mor­tal Men. 'Twas the great King Sesostris that Telemachus saw in this lovely Place; he was a thousand times more full of Majesty, than he had ever been when upon the Throne of Egypt; his Eyes emitted mild Rays of Light, which dazzled those of Telemachus; any one that saw him would think he were over­charg'd with Nectar, the Spirit of the Gods had put him into such a Transport above the reach of hu­man Reason, to recompense his Ver­tues. Said Telemachus to Arcesius, O my Father, I know Sesostris that wise King of Egypt, whom I saw not long ago. Ay, there he is, re­ply'd Arcesius, and thou seest by his Example how magnificent the Gods are in rewarding vertuous Princes: But you ought to know, that all this Felicity is nothing in Comparison [Page 529] of what was design'd for him, if too great Prosperity had not made him forget the Rules of Moderation and Justice. The passionate Desire he had to abase the Pride and Inso­lence of the Tyrians, engag'd him to take their City. This Conquest gave him the Ambition to attempt the making of others; so that he suf­fer'd himself to be seduced by the vain-glory of Conquerors. He sub­jugated, or to speak more properly, ravaged all Asia. At his return in­to Egypt he found his Brother pos­sess'd of the Throne, who by an unjust Government, had alter'd the best Laws of the Country. These are the Mischiefs Conquerors bring upon their own States, while they seek to usurp those of their Neigh­bours. This is the Injury, a King otherwise so Just and Beneficent, did to the Laws; and 'tis this that diminishes the Glory which the Gods had prepar'd for him. Dost thou not see that other Person, my [Page 530] Son, whose Wound appears so bright and glorious; 'tis a King of Caria, nam'd Dioclides, who devoted him­self to Die in Battle for his People, because the Oracle had predicted that in the War of the Carians and Licians, that Nation whose King should Perish, should be Victorious. Here is another I would have thee consider; 'tis a wise Legislator, who having given Laws to the Nation under his Conduct, proper to make 'em Vertuous and Happy, made 'em Swear they would never vio­late any of those Laws during his Absence; after which he left his Country, voluntarily exiling him­self, and died Poor in a strange Land, by this means to oblige his People always to observe these use­ful Laws according to their Oath. That other Prince, thou seest, is the eleventh King of the Pylians, and one of the Ancestors of wise Nestor: When the Earth was ravag'd by a Pestilence, which cover'd the [Page 531] Banks of Acheron with a multitude of new Ghosts, he requested of the Gods that they would suffer him to appease their Anger, in satisfying by his Death for so many Thou­sands of innocent Men. The Gods heard his Petition, and gave him here a royal Grandeur, in compa­rison of which all the Pomps of the Earth are but so many vain Sha­dows.

That old Man, whom thou seest crown'd with Flowers, is the famous Belus; he reigned in Egypt, and mar­ried Anchinoe, the Daughter of the God Nilus, who hides the source of his Streams, and enriches the Countries which he Waters by his fruitful Inundations; he had two Sons, Danaus, of whose History thou art not Ignorant, and Egyptus, who gives his Name to that conside­rable Kingdom. Belus thought him­self Richer, by the Prosperity he gave his People, and the love his Subjects bare to him, than by all [Page 532] the Tributes he could have exacted of 'em. These Men, my Son, whom thou supposest to be dead, are alive; and that Life which Men lead amidst many Miseries on Earth, is no bet­ter than Death, only the Names of Things are chang'd. May it please the Gods to render thee Vertuous enough to merit this blessed Life, which nothing can ever either end or disturb. Haste away, 'tis time to go and seek thy Father; before thou shalt find him, alass, how much Blood-shed shalt thou see! But yet what Glory waits for thee in the Fields of Hesperia! Remem­ber the Counsels of the wise Mentor; if thou follow'st them, thy Name shall be great among the Nations, and in all Ages.

Having said this, he presently conducted Telemachus toward the Gate of Ivory, which leads out of the gloomy Empire of Pluto. Tele­machus parted from him with Tears in his Eyes, without being able to [Page 533] embrace him: Being come out of these dark Regions, he made what haste he could to return to the Camp of the Allies, after he had again joyn'd the two young Cretans on the Way, who had accompanied him very near the Cavern, and had lost their hope of ever seeing him again. In the mean time the chief Com­manders of the Army met together to deliberate whether they should possess themselves of Venusia. It was an old Fort which Adrastus had heretofore usurp'd upon his Neigh­bours the Appulians. These were enter'd into the Confederacy against him, to demand Satisfaction for this piece of Injustice. Adrastus, to ap­pease 'em, had put this City by way of Caution, into the Hands of the Lucanians, but had by Money corrupted both the Lucanian Garri­son, and the Person that Command­ed it; so that the 'Lucanians had in reality no more Authority than he in Venusia: And thus the Appulians, [Page 534] who had consented that the Lucani­an Garrison should keep Venusia, were trick'd in this Negotiation: A Citizen of Venusia nam'd Demo­phantes, had made a private Offer to the Allies, to deliver up one of the Gates of the City in the Night. This Advantage was so much the greater, in that Adrastus had sent all the Ammunition, and Provisions to a Castle near Venusia, which could not defend it self if Venusia were ta­ken. Philoctetes and Nestor had al­ready given their Opinion, that such a happy Opportunity ought to be improv'd; all the Principal Com­manders, sway'd by their Authority, and attracted by the Advantage of so easie an Enterprize, Applauded their Sentiment. But Telemachus at his Return, made his utmost Efforts to divert 'em from it. I am not Ig­norant, said he, that if ever any Man deserv'd to be surpriz'd and deceiv'd, Adrastus does, who has so often dealt fraudulently with every [Page 535] body else. I see very well, that in Venusia, you'l only put your selves in possession of a City that belongs to you, since it pertains to the Appu­lians, who are one of our Confede­rate Parties: I confess you may do it with the better colour of Justice, in as much as Adrastus, who has put this City as a Pledge in the Hands of others, has Corrupted the Commander and the Garrison, that he may enter it when he thinks fit: In fine, I understand as well as you, that if you take Venusia, you'l the next Day be Masters of the Castle, where all Adrastus his Provisions are laid up, and so may end this so for­midable a War in two Days time. But is it not much better to Perish, than Conquer by such means as these? Is Fraud to be repell'd by Fraud? Shall it be said, that so many Kings who enter'd into a Confederacy, to punish the Impious Adrastus for his Guile, are become fraudulent like him? If'tis lawful for us to do as [Page 536] Adrastus has done, he is not Guilty, and we are to be blam'd to go about to punish him. What has all Hespe­ria, which is supported by so many Greek Colonies, and by so many He­ro's return'd from the Siege of Troy? Has Hesperia no other Arms against the Perfidiousness and Perjury of Adrastus, than the practice of the same Vices? You have sworn by the most sacred Things, that you would leave Venusia in Trust, in the Hands of the Lucanians: The Lucanian Garrison you say is Cor­rupted with Adrastus his Money; I believe it as well as you, but this Garrison is paid by the Lucanians, and has not refus'd to obey 'em; it has kept, at least in appearance, a Neutrality. Neither Adrastus nor any of his Men have ever enter'd in­to Venusia; the Treaty subsists; your Oath is not forgotten by the Gods; shall we not keep the Promises we have given, but only when we want plausible pretexts to violate 'em? [Page 537] Shall we not be faithful, and religi­ously regard our Oaths, but only when there is nothing to be got in breaking them? If the Love of Virtue, and the Fear of the Gods don't move you, be concern'd at least for your Reputation, and for your Interest. If you shew the World this pernicious Example of violating your Faith, and breaking your Oaths to terminate a War, what Wars will you not stir up by your Impi­ous Conduct? Which of your Neigh­bours will not find themselves con­strain'd to be jealous of you on all occasions, and utterly to detest you? Who will for the future confide in you in the most pressing Exigencies? What Security will you be able to give, if you should have a mind to be sincere, and when it would be of great Consequence to you to perswade your Neighbours of your sincerity? Shall it be a solemn Treaty? when you have trampled such a one un­der your Feet. Shall it be an Oath? [Page 538] when it is known you make no ac­count of the Gods, if you have any hope of gaining an Advantage by Perjury. Peace will give no more Security, in respect of you, than War; all that comes from you will be receiv'd as War, either secret and dissembled, or open and declar'd. You'll be look'd upon as their per­petual Enemies, by all who have the misfortune to be your Neigh­bours; all Affairs that require Re­putation, Probity and Confidence, will become impossible to you. You will have no Means left to make your Promises believ'd: Besides all this, said Telemachus, there is a more pres­sing Interest that ought to touch you very sensibly: If you have any Sense and Foresight left, and that is, that so deceitful a Conduct inward­ly attacks the League in which you are engag'd, and will soon ruin it; and thus by your Perjury you will open away for a Triumph to Adra­stus. At these words the whole As­sembly [Page 539] was mov'd, and ask'd him, how he durst affirm, that an Action which would certainly give the Con­federates a Victory, could ruin the Confederacy? How, reply'd he, will you be able to trust one ano­ther, if you once break the only Bond of Society, and mutual Confi­dence, which is Faith and Sinceri­ty? After you have once established it for a Maxim, That the Rules of Probity and Fidelity, may be bro­ken in Prospect of some great Ad­vantage; How can any one of you put Confidence in any of the rest? For when this last shall find it very Commodious for his Interest to fal­sifie his Word, and impose on you, how will you help your selves? Which of you will not endeavour to prevent the Artifices of his Neigh­bour by Tricks of his own? And what will become of the Confede­racy, when by a common delibera­tion, 'tis agreed among 'em, that 'tis lawful to surprize a Neighbour [Page 540] by such Wiles, and to violate the most solemn Engagements? What mutual Distrust and Divisions will be among you? And what violent Efforts to destroy each other? Adra­stus will have no need then to de­stroy you; you will do your own Business sufficiently, in justifying such Perfidiousness. O wise and magnanimous Princes! who Com­mand with so much Prudence such innumerable Multitudes of People, do not disdain to hearken to the Counsel of a young Man: If you should fall into the most terrible Ex­tremities, into which War some­times precipitates Men, you might be reliev'd by the Vigilance, and the Efforts of your Vertue; for true Courage never suffers it self to be entirely depress'd; but if ever you break the Barrier of Honour and Fidelity, your Loss will become irre­parable; you will never be able to re-establish either that Confidence among you, which is necessary to [Page 441] the success of all important Affairs; nor bring Men back to the Principles of Vertue, after you have taught 'em to despise 'em. Again, what is it you are afraid of? Ha'n't you Courage enough to Conquer with­out using Deceit? Is not your Ver­tue in Conjunction with the Forces of so many Nations sufficient to sup­port you? Let us fight and die, if it must be so, rather than Conquer by such unworthy means. Adrastus, the impious Adrastus is in our hands, provided we abhor to imitate his Baseness and Infidelity.

When Telemachus had finish'd this Discourse, he found that the charm­ing Eloquence which had flow'd from his Lips, had pierc'd their ve­ry Souls. He observ'd a profound Silence in the Assembly: Every ones Thoughts were engag'd in consider­ing, not so much his Person, and the Graces of his Speech, as the Force of Truth that display'd it self so evi­dently in the train of his Reasonings. [Page 542] Astonishment was drawn on their Countenances: At last a low Mur­mur was heard to spread it self by little and little among 'em; they look'd one upon another, and every one was loth to speak first: 'Twas expected that the chief Comman­ders would declare themselves, and each of 'em felt an uneasiness in re­taining his Sentiments. In fine, the grave Nestor deliver'd himself in these words: O worthy Son of the wise Ulysses! The Gods have taught you to speak; and Minerva, who has so often inspir'd your Father, has infus'd into your Soul that wise and generous Advice you have im­parted to us. I don't mind your Youth; I only consider Minerva in all you have been saying: You have spoken on the behalf of Virtue; without which the greatest Advan­tages are real Losses; without which we may draw upon our selves, the Revenge of our Enemies, the Distrust of our Allies, the Horror [Page 543] of all good Men, and the just Dis­pleasure of the Gods; I am there­fore for leaving Venusia in the hands of the Lucanians, and for thinking of no other way of Conquering A­drastus, but by our Courage. No sooner had he spoken, but the whole Assembly applauded the Wisdom of his Words; but in giving this Ap­plause, every one turn'd his Eyes with wonder towards the Son of Ulysses; and all thought they saw that Wisdom of Minerva which in­spir'd him, cast a sparkling Glory upon his Countenance.

There was soon rais'd in this Council of the King's, another Que­stion, in resolving which, he ac­quir'd no less Glory. Adrastus, who was always Cruel and Perfidious, sent into the Camp a Deserter nam'd Acanthus, who was to Poison the principal Commanders of the Army. Above all, he had order to spare nothing to bring about the Death of young Telemachus, who was al­ready [Page 444] become the Terror of the Dau­nians. Telemachus, who had too much Courage and Candor to be in­clin'd to Suspicion, without difficul­ty, kindly receiv'd this Villain, who had seen Ulysses in Sicily, and gave him an account of the Adventures of that Hero. He maintain'd him, and endeavour'd to encourage him un­der his Misfortune; for Acanthus complain'd, that he was deluded and treated unworthily by Adrastus; but this was to cherish and warm in his Bosom a Viper full of Venom, that was ready to give him a mortal Wound. Another Deserter was ta­ken, call'd Arion, whom Acanthus had sent back to Adrastus, to acquaint him with the State of the Confede­rate Camp, and to assure him that the following day he would Poison the principal Kings, together with Telemachus, at a Feast which this last was to make on his Account. Arion being surpriz'd, confess'd his Treason; he was suspected to have [Page 445] Intelligence with Acanthus, because they were intimate Friends; but Acanthus being a profound Hypo­crite, and intrepid, made his De­fense with so much Art, that he could not be convicted; nor the bot­tom of the Conspiracy discover'd. Divers of the Kings were for sacri­ficing Acanthus at a venture, for the Publick Safety. He ought to die, said they; the Life of one Man ought not to stand in competition with the security of the Lives of so many Kings. What if one innocent Man perish, when his Death is de­sign'd for the Preservation of such as represent the Gods among Men? What inhuman Maxim, reply'd Te­lemachus, what barbarous Policy is this? Are you then so prodigal of human Blood? O you that are esta­blish'd the Shepherds of Mankind, and only Rule over 'em to preserve 'em, as Shepherds do their Flocks. You, it seems, then are become cruel Wolves instead of being care­ful [Page 546] Shepherds; at least, you are on­ly such Shepherds as cut the Throats of their Sheep instead of leading 'em into good Pasture. According to you, a Man becomes Guilty as soon as he is accus'd, and Suspicion makes him deserve Death; the Innocent lie at the mercy of Envy and Calumny; and according to your encrease of this tyrannical Jealousie in your Minds, we must have more such Victims sacrific'd. Telemachus ut­ter'd these Words with such Au­thority and Vehemence as captivat­ed their Hearts, and cover'd the Authors of this so unmanly Advice with Shame and Confusion. In fine, he soften'd his words: For my part, said he, I am not so much in love with Life, as to secure it at that rate; I had rather Acanthus should be Vile and Wicked than my self; and would sooner chuse to die by his Treachery, than put him to Death by any unjust Sentence, on­ly founded upon Suspicion. But [Page 547] have a little Patience, O you, who in being establish'd Kings, that is, Judges of the People under your Charge, ought to know how to dis­charge the Function with Justice, Prudence and Moderation; let me examine Acanthus in your Presence. Immediately he interrogated this Man about his Correspondence with Arion; he press'd him with an in­finite number of Circumstances; he often made him believe he would send him back to Adrastus as a De­serter that deserv'd to be punish'd; that he might the better make his Observation, whether he were a­fraid to be sent back or not; but the Countenance of Acanthus still re­main'd calm and even: From which Telemachus concluded that Acanthus might not be Guilty: In fine, per­ceiving he could not thus draw the Truth out of his Breast, says he to him, Give me your Ring, for I'll send it to Adrastus: No sooner was the Ring demanded, but Acanthus [Page 548] turn'd Pale, and was much embar­rassed. Telemachus, whose Eyes were continually fix'd on him, dis­cern'd it; he took the Ring; I'll im­mediately send this, says he to Adrastus, by the Hand of an intreag­ing Lucanian, nam'd Polytropus, with whom you are acquainted; he shall pretend to be come secretly from you; if we can by this means dis­cover their private Intelligence with Adrastus, you shall without Mer­cy be put to Death by the most cruel Torments; if on the contrary you now confess your Fault, you shall be pardon'd, and we'll content our selves only in sending you into an Island, where you shall want no­thing. Upon this Acanthus corfess'd all, and Telemachus obtain'd of the Kings that his Life might be spar'd, because he had given him the pro­mise of it; and he was sent to the Islands call'd Echinades, where he liv'd in Peace. Not long after this a Daunian of obscure Birth, [Page 549] but of a violent and daring Tem­per, nam'd Discorus, Tem­per, nam'd Discorus, came in the Night into the confederate Camp, to make an offer to 'em to kill King Adrastus in his Tent. He was capable of this Attempt; for that Man is Master of the Life of another, who puts no Value upon his own. This Person breath'd no­thing but Revenge, because Adrastus had taken away his Wife, whom he passionately Lov'd, and whose Beauty did not come behind that of Venus her self. He had secret In­telligence whereby he could find a Way into the King's Tent in the Night, and could be favour'd in this Enterprize by several Daunian Cap­tains; but he thought it necessary for the Confederate [...] to attack Adrastus his Camp at the same time, that in the noiseand hurry of Action, he might with greater Facility make his Escape, and carry away his Wife too; and if he could not com­pass this last Thing, after he had [Page 550] kill'd the King, he was content to Die. As soon as Dioscorus had ex­plain'd his Design to the Kings, they all turn'd themselves toward Tele­machus, thereby signifying they de­sir'd a direction in this matter from him. The Gods, said he, who have preserv'd us from Traitors, forbid us to make use of 'em; and if we had not Vertue enough to detest the Treason, our Interest alone would be sufficient to make us reject it; when we have once authoriz'd it by our Example, we shall deserve to have it turn'd against us; and who among us from that Moment will be safe? 'Tis possible Adrastus may escape the Blow that threatens him, and may make it fall upon the Confederate Princes; and then War will become quite another Thing, Wisdom and Vertue will be of no manner of use, and nothing will be seen but Frauds, Treasons and Assassinations; I therefore conclude we ought to send this Traitor back [Page 551] to Adrastus; I cofess the King does not deserve it, but all Hesperia, and all Greece, who have their Eyes up­on us deserve, that we should con­duct our selves so as to gain their Esteem; we owe our selves, and in short we owe the just Gods such a Testimony as this of our Horror of Treachery. Dioscorus was imme­diately sent to Adrastus, who trembled to think of the Danger he had been in, and mightily wonder'd at the Generosity of his Enemies; for ill Men know not how to comprehend what pure Vertue is. Adrastus was oblig'd whether he would or no to admire what he saw, but durst not commend it. This noble Action of the Allies, recall'd the shameful Remembrance, both of all his Trea­cheries, and all his Cruelties; he would fain have extenuated the Ge­nerosity of his Enemies, yet was ashamed to appear Ungrateful, while he ow'd 'em his Life; but Men that are corrupted soon harden themselves [Page 552] against every Thing that touches 'em. Adrastus observing, that the Reputation of the Allies daily aug­mented, thought himself oblig'd to perform some Action against 'em that might make a Noise in the World; and since he could not do a Vertuous one, he was desirous at least of obtaining some great Advan­tage over 'em by Arms, and there­fore made what haste he could to Fight.

The Day of Battle being come, scarce had Aurora open'd the oriental Gates to the Sun in a Path strow'd with Roses, when the young Tele­machus, by his early Care out-stript the Vigilance of the oldest Captains, by throwing off the soft Embraces of Sleep, and putting all the Officers in Motion; already his Helmet co­ver'd with his floating Hair glitter'd on his Head; and his Cuirass dazzled the Eyes of the whole Army; it was the Work of Vulcan, and had besides its natural Beauty, the Lustre of a [Page 553] shining Breast-plate that was plac'd under it: He held a Spear in one Hand, and pointed with the other to the divers Posts that 'twas ne­cessary to possess. Minerva had fill'd his Eyes with a divine Fire, and his Countenance with an awful Majesty, which began already to promise Victory. He march'd, and all the Kings forgetting their Age and Dignity, found themselves at­tracted by a superior Power, which oblig'd 'em to follow his Steps. Weak Jealousie could enter their Breasts no more. Every thing gives way to him whom Minerva insensi­bly Leads by the Hand. His Acti­on had nothing in it that was Impe­tuous or Precipitant; he was Mild, Calm, Patient, always ready to hear others, and to profit by their Ad­vice; but Active, Sagacious, Atten­tive to the remotest Exigences, dis­posing all Things to the best Advan­tage; not embarrasing himself with any Thing, nor perplexing others; [Page 554] excusing Faults, rectifying Mistakes, preventing Difficulties, never re­quiring too much of any one, and every where inspiring Freedom and Confidence; if he gave an Order, it was in the most simple and plain Terms; he repeated it, the better to inform the Mind of him that was to put it in Execution. He saw by his Eyes whether he comprehended it aright. He afterwards made him familiarly express, how he under­stood his Words, and what was the principal Scope of the Attempt. When he had thus made Proof of the good Sense of the Person he sent, and had made him enter into his Designs, he never let him go, till he had given him some Mark of his Esteem and Confidence, to encou­rage him; so that all he sent from him, were full of Zeal to please him, and a fervent Desire to succeed in their Undertakings: But they were not tormented with Fear that he would impute to them their ill [Page 555] Success; for he excused all Faults that did not arise from an ill Dispo­sition of Mind.

The Horizon appear'd Red, and inflam'd with the Sun's Morning­Rays; the Sea was fill'd with the bright Reflection of the rising Day; all the Coast was cover'd with Men, Horses and Chariots, all in Motion; which made a confus'd Noise, like that of the angry Waves, when Neptune stirs up dismal Tempests at the bottom of his deep Territories. Thus Mars began by the Noise of Arms, and the dreadful preparati­ons of War, to sow Rage in every Heart. The Field was full of brist­ling Pikes, thick set like a Crop of Corn that covers a fruitful Field at the time of Harvest; there soon arose a Cloud of Dust, which vail'd both Heaven and Earth from the Eyes of Men; Darkness, Blood­shed, Horror and merciless Death advanc'd apace. Scarce were the first Arrows Shot, when Telemachus [Page 556] with his Eyes and Hands towards Heaven, pronounced these Words. O Jupiter, Father of the Gods and Men! Behold, behold on our side Justice and Peace, which we have not been asham'd to pursue: 'Tis with Regret we Fight; we would willingly be sparing of humane Blood; we do not hate even such an Enemy as this, tho he is Cruel, Perfidious and Sacrilegious; Behold, and give a decision between him and us. If we must Die, our Lives are in our Hands. If we must deliver Hesperia, and humble this Tyrant, it will be thy Power, and the Wis­dom of Minerva, thy Daughter, that will give us the Victory; and the Glory of it will be due to you. 'Tis you that hold the Ballance, and regulate the Fate of Battles; we Fight for you, and seeing you are Just, Adrastus is more your Enemy than ours. If your Cause prove Victorious, before the end of the Day, the Blood of a whole Heca­tomb [Page 557] shall flow upon your Altars. No sooner had he thus spoken, but he push'd on his fiery and foam­ing Coursers into the closest Ranks of the Enemy. He presently met with Periander the Locrian, cover'd with the Skin of a Lyon which he had kill'd in Sicily, when he tra­vel'd thither. He was arm'd like Hercules, with a prodigious Club; in Strength and Stature he was like the ancient Gyants. When he saw Telemachus, he despis'd his Youth, and the Beauty of his Countenance. Is it not, says he, a pretty Business for thee, thou young effeminate Spark, to dispute with us the Glo­ry of Battle? Go Child, get thee among the Shades, to seek thy Fa­ther; in speaking which Words, he lifted up his heavy Club, which was full of Knots, and arm'd with Iron Spikes; it was so big and long, that it look'd like the Mast of a Ship: Every one near was afraid of being crush'd by the fall of it. It [Page 558] most threaten'd Telemachus his Head; but he avoided the Stroke, and flew upon Periander as swiftly as an Eagle cuts through the Air. The Club fell upon the Wheel of a Chariot, near that of Telemachus, and broke it; in the mean time the young Greek struck a Dart into Periander's Throat. The Blood that ran bub­bling out in abundance from the wide Wound, soon suffocated his Voice; his furious Horses no longer felt any restraint from his fainting Hand, but ran madly up and down with the Reins hanging loose upon their Necks; he soon fell from his Chariot, with his Eyes already clos'd from the Light, and pale Death was already painted on his deform'd Visage: Telemachus mov'd with pity towards him, immediate­ly gave his Body to his Domesticks; and kept the Lyon's Skin together with his Club, as a Mark of his Victory. After this he sought for Adrastus in the Body of the Army, [Page 559] and in his way precipitated into Hell a Multitude of Warriours. Hileus, who had his Chariot drawn by two Courses, like those of the Sun, which were fed in those vast Meadows which Aufidus Waters. Dimoleon, who formerly in Sicily had almost equal'd Erix in Com­bat for the embroider'd Girdle. Cranter, who had been the Host and Friend of Hercules, when this Son of Jupiter was going into Hesperia, where he kill'd the infamous Cacus. Menecrates, who was said to resemble Pollux in Wrestling. Hippocon the Salapian, who imitated the peaceful Addresses of Castor in the manage­ment of a Horse. The famous Hun­ter Eurimedes, who was always stain'd with the Blood of Beasts and wild Boars, which he kill'd on the Ridges of the cold Appenine, which are cover'd with Snow; who is said to have been so dear to Diana, that she taught him her self to handle the Bow. Nicostrasius who had [Page 560] quer'd a Gyant, that vomited Fire in the Rocks of Mount Gargan. E­leanthus, who was to espouse the Young Pholoe, Daughter of the Ri­ver Lyris. She had been promised by her Father, to the Person that should deliver her from a Wing­ed Serpent, that was bred on the Banks of the River, and would have devoured her in a few Days, according to the Prediction of an Oracle. This Young Man prompt­ed by an extraordinary love to her, ventur'd his Life to kill this Mon­ster; he succeeded in the Attempt, but could not taste the Fruit of his Victory; for while Pholoe was pre­paring for the Rights of Charming Hymen, and expected Eleanthus with impatience; she was inform'd that he follow'd Adrastus into the Wars, and that the Destinies had cruelly cut off his Days. This News made her fill the Woods and Mountains near the River with her Groans; she drowned her Eyes in Tears, and [Page 561] tore off her lovely Hair. She for­got the Garlands of Flowers she was wont to gather; and accus'd Hea­ven of Injustice, because she inces­santly wept Day and Night; the Gods touch'd with her Complaints, and mov'd by the Prayers of the River put an end to her Sorrow; for she pour'd out such abundance of Tears, that she was instantly turn'd into a Fountain, which run­ning into the Bosom of the River, seeks to join her Waters with those of the God her Father; but the Wa­ter of this Fountain is still bitter; Grass never grows upon the Bank of it, nor is any Shade to be found on the sides of it, but that of mourn­ful Cypress Trees.

But to return: Adrastus perceiving that Telemachus spread Terror on e­very side, sought after him with the utmost diligence, hoping easily to Conquer the Son of Ulysses, in an Age as yet so tender. He was at­tended with Thirty Daunians, of [Page 562] extraordinary Strength, Dexterity, and Boldness, to whom he promis'd very great Rewards, if thy could a­ny way in the World kill Telemachus in Battle. And if they had met him just at this time of the Fight, without doubt these Thirty Men, by surroundings his Chariot, while Adrastus would have attack'd him in the Front, would have found no great difficulty in dispatching him. But Minerva turn'd 'em out of their way. Adrastus thought he saw, and heard Telemachus in a low part of the Plain, at the foot of a Hill, where a great number of Soldiers were closely engag'd. Hither he runs, or rather flies, with an eager Desire to satiate himself with Blood; but in­stead of Telemachus, he finds the A­ged Nestor, who with his trembling Hand, was throwing Darts at a venture, tho' he did little or no Ex­ecution: Adrastus in his fury would have run him through, had not a Troop of Pylians thrown themselves [Page 563] round about Nestor: A Cloud of Darts then soon obscur'd the Air, and cover'd all the Combatants; no­thing was to be heard but the Wo­ful Cries of dying Men, and the clashing of the Arms of those that fell in among the Crowd; the Earth groan'd under Heaps of dead Bodies; Torrents of Blood ran on all sides; Bellona and Mars, toge­ther with the Infernal Furies, cloath'd with Robes all over running down with Blood, glutted their hol­low Eyes with this Spectacle, and incessantly renew'd a Marshal Rage in the Hearts of the Combatants; these Deities, who are the Enemies of Men, chased far away from both Parties, generous Pity, moderated Valour, and sweet Humanity. There was nothing among these confus'd Heaps of Men enrag'd one against a­nother, but Slaughter, Revenge, Despair and brutish Fury. The Wife and Invincible Pallas her self, trem­bled at the sight, and started back [Page 564] with horror. In the mean time Philoctetus march'd on by degrees, with the Arrows of Hercules in his Hands, endeavouring to come to the Relief of Nestor. Adrastus not able to reach the Divine Old Man, had pierc'd several Pylians with his Darts, and made 'em lick the Dust. He overthrew Eusilas, who was so swift a Runner, that he scarce left the print of his Steps upon the Sand, and in his own Countrey, outstript the most rapid Streams of the Eu­rotas, and the Alpheus. At his Feet fell Entiphon, who was more Beau­tiful than Hylas, and as violent a Hunter as Hyppolitus. Pterelas, who had followed Nestor to the Siege of Troy, and whom Achilles himself lov'd for his Courage and Strength: Aristogiton, who by bathing in the Waters of the River Achelous, had friendly receiv'd of this God, the power of assuming all sorts of Forms; in short, he was so supple and nim­ble in all his Motions, that he es­cap'd [Page 565] the Hands of the strongest Warriors; but Adrastus with one thrust of his Spear, depriv'd him of all Motion, and soon let out his Blood and Soul together.

Nestor seeing his most Valiant Captains fall by the Hand of Adra­stus, as the gilded Ears of Corn in time of Harvest, fall under the keen Sickle of the Indefatigable Reaper, forgot his own Danger, and need­lesly expos'd himself. He threw a­way his Old Age, and thought of nothing but how to follow his Son Pisistratus, in keeping his Eyes in­tent on him, who on his side was very warmly engag'd, to keep off Danger from his Father. But the fatal Moment was come, in which Pisistratus was to make Nestor feel how unfortunate a Man may be in living too long. Pisistratus push'd his Spear with such violence against Adrastus, that this Daunian Prince must needs have fallen, but that he avoided the Stroke; and while Pi­sistratus who was somewhat discom­pos'd [Page 566] by the false Thrust he had [...] was recovering his Spear, [...] pierc'd him with a Javesin in the middle of his Folly. His Bowels immediately began to come out with a Torrent of Blood. His lively Colour vanish'd like that of a Flow­er, after the Hand of some Nymph has gather'd it in the Meadow; his Eyes were already almost extin­guish'd, and his Speech falter'd, when Alisius his Governour, who [...] near him, supported him just as he was falling, and had only time to [...] him to his Father, and throw him into his Arms; then he would fain have) spoken, and have given him the last marks of his ten­der Affection, but as he open'd his Mouth to speak, he expir'd.

While, [...] spread Slaugh­ter and Horror round him, in [...] the Efforts of Adrastus; Nestor held the Body of his Son close­ly grasp'd in his Arms, and fill'd the Air with lamentable Cries, not being able to [...] the Light any [Page 567] longer. All unfortunate [...] that I am, said he, that I have been a Father, and lived so long! Alas! ye cruel Destinies, why did you not end my Life, either [...] Hunting the [...] Boar, or in my [...] Voyage, or at the first Siege of [...] Then I should have died with Glory, and without bitterness and Sorrow. Now I carry with me a [...] despiss'd, and impotent Old. Age I now live only to suffer [...] and have no other [...]me, but that of Sorrow. O my Son! my Son! O my dear Son [...] When I lost they Brother [...] [...]wast my [...] but now I have thee no more, now I have no­thing left; nothing can yield me any Consolation more: All is at an End with me. Hope, the only mitigation of Human [...] is an Advantage in which I have no Interest. O [...] O [...] my dear Children, this seems to me the [...] Day wherein I lose you both. The Death of one o­pens again the Wound which that of [Page 568] the other had made in the bottom of my Heart. I shall never see either of you again: Who now shall close my Eyes? Who shall gather up my Ashes? O Pisistratus, thou didst die as well as thy Brother, a Vali­ant Man; 'tis only I that cannot tell how to die. In uttering these Words he would have pierc'd him­self with a Dart which he held in his Hand, if he had not been pre­vented by those that were about him; after which they took from him the Body of his Son; and this unfortunate Old Man falling into a Swoon, they carried him into his Tent, when after he had a little re­cover'd his Spirits, he would have return'd into the Battel, which they would by no means suffer him to do.

In the mean time Adrastus and Philoctetus were searching for each other. Their Eyes sparkled like those of a Lion and a Leopard, that are seeking to devour one another in those Fields which Cocyties waters. Menaces, warlike Rage, and cruel [Page 569] Revenge glitter in their furious Eyes; they bring certain Death wherever they throw their Darts. All the Sol­diers beheld 'em with Terror: And now they see one another: Phi­loctetus held in his Hand, one of those terrible Arrows, which never fail'd to do Execution in his Hands, and made Wounds that were incu­rable. But Mars who favour'd the Cruel and Intrepid Adrastus, would not suffer him to die so soon; having a Desire, by his means, to prolong the Horrors of War, and multiply. Slaughter and Cruelty. Adrastus his Life was yet owing to the Justice of the Gods, as their Scourge to pu­nish Men, and shed their Blood. In the very Moment Philoctetus design'd to attack him, he was himself wound­ed by the thrust of a Spear, given him by Amphimachus, a young Lu­canian, whose Beauty exceeded the famous Niceus, as the Beauty of this latter gave place to none, but that of Achilles among all the Greeks that [Page 570] [...] Wound, but he drew his Bow a­gainst [...] and sent an Arrow to him that pienc'd his [...] The Lustre of his lovely Black Eyes was instantly extinguish'd and cover'd with the Shades of Death; his Vermilion Lips whose Colour excell'd that of the [...] which oising [...]along the Horizon, grew Wan, and a dreadful Paleness [...] his lovely Cheeks: In a word; his tender [...] dolicate Countenance was all on a Asudden disfigur'd. [...] himself could not forbear to pity him. And all the Souldiers that ob­serv'd him, could not chuse but sigh to see this Young Man fall, and roul in his own Blood; his Head of Hair, which, for Beauty, might vie with that of Apollo, all dishe­vel'd and defil'd in the Dust. Phi­loctetus having Conquer'd Amphima­chus, was constrain'd to retire from [Page 571] the Battle; he lost his Blood and Strength, and even his Ancient Wound, seem'd in the heat of [...] on, ready to open again, and [...] his Pain; for the Sons of [...] with all their Divide Art, could not entirely cure it. And now he was just ready to fall among the Heap of bleeding Bodies, that were round about him; when Archiaamus, the holdest and most dextrous of all the Thebalians that he had brought with him to Found Philelia, carried him out of the Battel, in the very mo­ment when Adrastus would have [...] him at his Feet with ease: And now Adrastus finds no farther [...] none daring to resist or retard his Victory. All fall or fly before him; and he becomes like a Tor­rent, which having overflown its Banks, sweeps away with its full­ous Waves, Corn and Cattle, Shep­herds and their Cottages together.

Telemachus hears from far the shouts of the Conquerors, and sees. [Page 572] the Disorders of his Men, who fled before Adrastus, as a Company of timorous Deer, traverse the vast Plains, Woods, Mountains, and e­ven the swiftest Rivers, when pur­sued by the Hunters.

Telemachus sigh'd; Indignation sparkles in his Eyes; he quits the Place where he had been so long fighting, with so much Danger, and Glory, and runs to the Succour of his discouraged Troops. He ad­vances, all besmear'd with the Blood of a multitude of Enemies, whom he had spread upon the Dust. He gives a shout at a distance, that was heard by both Armies: Minerva had put something unexpressibly ter­rible, both in his Eyes and Voice, with which he made the neighbour­ing Mountains eccho. Never did Mars make his own cruel Voice to be heard louder in Thrace, when he call'd upon the infernal Furies, War and Death, to attend him. This shout of Telemachus, inspird the [Page 573] Hearts of his Soldiers with Courage and Boldness, and fills the Souls of his Enemies with Fear and Dread. Adrastus is asham'd to feel himself thus disorder'd. I know not how many fatal Presages fills him with Terror; and that which animates him, is ra­ther Despair, than true Valour, which is accompanied with Tran­quillity of Mind. Three times his trembling Knees began to slip away from under him; three times he stept back without thinking what he was doing; a faint Paleness and a cold Sweat ran through all his Limbs; his hoarse and faltering Voice could not finish any Sentence; his Eyes, full of gloomy Fire, spark­led and look'd as if they would start out of his Head; he seem'd agitated by the Furies, like Orestes; all his Motions were Convulsive; he thought he saw the Gods, irritated against him; and that he heard a whispering Voice proceeding from the bottom of Hell, to call him into [Page 574] black [...] every thing made him sensible there was a [...] and [...] Hand waving over his Head, which was going to [...] its Force, in [...] him [...] Hope was extinguish'd at the [...] of his Heart; his Resolution was [...] and disappear'd like the Light of the Day, when the Sun lies down in the Bosom of the Sea, and the Earth wraps her self in the Shades of the Night. The impious Adrastus, too long suffer'd upon the Earth; too long, if Mankind had not stood in need of such a Scourge, the impious Adrastus, in sine, draws near his last Hour, he runs like a mad Man to meet his inevitablo Fare: Horror, cutting Remorse, Consternation, Fury, Rage, and Despair, march along with him. No sooner does he see Telemachus, but he thinks he sees Avertius open it self; and the rowling Flames of black Phlegethon ready to dovour him. He cries out, and his Mouth [Page 575] remain open without being [...] [...] Man [...] who [...] frightfuli Dream opens his Mouth, and makes attempts no speak but still wants [...] and seeks it in [...] However, [...] with a tremb­ling and [...] Hand, throws his Dart at Telemachus; while the latter, intrepid. and calm as the Minds of the Gods, defends himself with his Buokler; Victory covering. him with her Wings, seems already to hold a Crown over his Head; a sweet and orderly Courage shines in his Eyes; one would have taken him for Minerva her self, he appear'd so wise and regular in the midst of the greatest Dangers. The Dart which Adrastus cast being repuls'd by his Buckler, Adrastus made hast to draw his Sword to hinder [...] Son of the Advantage of taking [...] turn to throw his Dart at him: [...] seeing Adrastus's Sword in his Hand, betakes himself immed [Page 576] [...] to his own, omitting to throw his Dart. When they were seen in this Posture of fighting one another hand to hand; all the rest of the Soldiers laid down their Arms in silence, to look upon 'em with the greatest Attention, expecting from their single Engagement the destiny of the whole War. The two Swords glitter'd like the Lightning which sends forth terrible Claps of Thunder, they often cross one ano­ther, and deal Blows without Ex­ecution on their polish'd Armor, which resounded with the heavy strokes. The two Combatants stretch out and recover themselves, stoop down and rise up all in an instant; and in fine, they fall to grappling: The Ivy that grows at the Foot of a young Elm, does not more straitly wreath its twining Branches about the hard and knotty Trunk, till it climbs up to the lostiest Boughs of the Tree, than these two Comba­tants Clasp and Lock one another. [Page 577] Adrustus had yet lost nothing of his Strength, and Telemachus had not muster'd all his together. Adrastus made several Essorts to surprize his Enemy, and over-set him; he en­deavours to seize the Sword of the young Greek, but in vain; while he attempts this, Telemachus takes him up from the Ground, and throws him flat upon the Sand: Then this impious Prince, that had always contemn'd the Gods, mani­fested an unmanly fear of Death; he is asham'd to beg Life, yet can't help signifying that he desir'd it; he endeavours to move the Com­passion of Telemachus by such words as these: O thou Son of Ulysses, says he, I now at last acknowledge that the Gods are Just; they punish me according to my [...] 'Tis only by Calamities that the Eyes of Men are open'd to see the Truth; I see it, and it condemns me: But let an unfortunate King put you in mind of your Father, who is remote [Page 578] from [...] and let the thoughts of this [...] your Heart.

[...] who was holding him under his Knees, and had his Sword already lifted up to kill him, [...] answer'd, I desire not [...] but Victory, and the Peace of the Na­tions which I came to [...] I have ho [...] in shedding Blood. Live therefore, O [...] but live to make Reparation for your Faults; [...] all that you have [...] re-establish Tranquility and Justice in the Confines of the great Hesperia, which you have defil'd with so ma­ny Massacres and Treacheries. Live and become another Man; learn by your Fall, that the Gods are Just, and that the Wicked are Miserable; that they deceive themselves in seek­ing Happihess, in Violence, Barba­rity and Fraud: In short, that no­thing is so happy and sweet as sim­ple and steady Vertue. Give us for Hostages your Son Metrodorus, with twelve of the principal Nobles of [Page 579] your [...] A those words, [...] suffers him [...]and gives him his Hand, not, suspecting his [...] for [...] threw at-him the [...] time a short [...] which he kept [...] was so [...] and [...] with that force, that it would have [...] Telemachus's Armor, had it not been made by a Divine Hand; at the same time [...] cast himself be­hind a Tree, to avoid the [...] of [...] Upon this, the lat­ter cries out, O [...] the Vi­ctory's ours! This impious Man saves himself. only by his Treachery; he who fears not the Gods, fears Death; on the contrary, he that fears them, has nothing else to fear. In utter­ing these words, he advances to­wards the Daunians, and gives a sign to his Men that were on the other side of the Tree, to cut off the Retreat of the [...] [...] Adrastus fearing he should be taken, makes as if he would return the same [Page 580] way he came, and went to fall up­on the Cretans, that stood ob­struct his Passage; when on a sud­den, Telemachus, swift as the Thun­der which the Father of the Gods shoots from high Olympus upon guil­ty Heads, falls upon his Enemy; he seizes him with his victorious Hand, casts him upon the Ground, as the violent North-wind beats down the tender Ears of Corn that guild the Field He now will hear no more, tho' the impious Wretch once again essays to abuse the Good­ness of his generous Mind; he in­stantly thrusts his Sword into his Bowels, and precipitates him into the Flames of black Cocytus, a Pu­nishment worthy of his Crimes.

Adrastus was scarce dead, when all the Daunians were so far from deploring their Defeat, and the loss of their General, that they rejoyc'd at their Deliverance, and held out their Hands to the Allies in sign of Peace and Reconciliation. Metrodo­rus [Page 581] the Son of Adrastus, whom his Father had educated in Maxims of Dissimulation, Injustice, and Inhu­manity, fled away like a Coward: But a Slave that was an Accomplice of his Infamies and Cruelties, whom he had infranchized and loaded with Favours, and in whose hands alone he trusted himself in his Flight, thought of nothing but how to be­tray him for his own Interest. He kill'd him as he fled, by giving him a Wound in the Back, cut off his Head, and brought it into the Con­federate Camp, hoping to receive a great Recompence for a Crime that finish'd the War: But the Act of this Villain was abhor'd, and he put to Death. Telemachus having seen the Head of Metrodorus, who was a young Prince of wonderful Beauty, and of an excellent natural Temper, tho' corrupted by Pleasures and vitious Examples, could not re­strain his Tears. Alas! cry'd he, here is what the Poison of Prosperi­ty [Page 582] does for a young Prince; the more Elevation and Vivacity of Mind he has, the more he wanders and becomes a Stranger to all Senti­ments of true Virtue; and now it may be my Condition had been like his, if the Misfortunes in which I was born and educated, Thanks be to the Gods, and to the Instructions of Mentor, had not taught me to govern my self.

The assembled Daunians desir'd, as the only Condition of Peace, that they might be permitted to make 'em a King of their own Nation, who might by his Vertues [...] the Reproach which the impious Adrastus had brought upon the Crown. They thank'd the Gods for having cut off the Tyrant, and came in Multitudes to kiss the Hand of Telemachus, which had been em­brew'd in the Blood of that Mon­ster; so that their Defeat was a Tri­umph to 'em. Thus, in a moment, fell that Power without possibility [Page 583] of Recovery which [...] all the rest in Hesperia, and made for many Nations, tremble; like those [...] of made Ground that appear firm and immoveable, [...] by degrees are mouldring below for a great, while the feeble Work of [...] the Foun­dations is derided; nothing appears the [...] for it, all is stable, no­thing so much as shakes, yet all the subterranean Props are gradually de­stroy'd to the Foundation, and all on a sudden the [...] sinks, and opens a prodigeous Pit. Thus an unjust and fraudulent Power, what Prosperity soever it acquires by its Violences, digs a Precipice under its own Feet; Fraud and Cruelty gradually undermine all the firmest Foundations of unlawful Authority. Men admire it, fear it, tremble be­fore it, till the moment it vanishes; it falls with its own weight, and nothing can raise it again, because it has with its own Hands de­stroy'd the true Props of Sincerity [Page 584] and Justice, which attract Love and Confidence.

The chief Commanders of the Army the next Day assembled to grant the Daunians a King. It was a very pleasant Thing to see the two Camps confounded together, by so unexpected a Friendship, so that the two Armies now made but one; the wise Nestor could not assist at this Council, because his Grief, ad­ded to his old Age, had wither'd his Heart, just as a Storm of Rain in the Evening beats down a Flower, and makes it languish, which in the Morning while Aurora was rising, was the Glory and Ornament of the verdant Fields. His Eyes were become two Springs of Tears, that could not be exhausted; soft Sleep that Charms the acutest Pains, fled far away from him. Hope, which is the Life of a Man's Heart, was extinct in him; all Food was bitter to this unfortunate old Man; the Light was odious to him, his Soul [Page 585] desir'd nothing but to Die, and plunge himself into the eternal Night of Pluto's Empire. In vain did all his Friends speak to him; his sink­ing Heart was disgusted with all Friendship, as a sick Man disrelishes the most dainty Meats. To all that could be said to him, to make the deepest Impression on his Mind, he return'd nothing but deep Sighs and Groans. From time to time he was heard to say, O Pisistratus, Pisistratus, Pisistratus, my Son, thou call'st me away, I'll follow thee, thou wilt render Death sweet to me. O my Son! all the Happiness I now desire, is to see thee again on the Banks of Styx. He past whole Hours without uttering one Word, but was still Groaning, and lifting up his Hands and Eyes all drown'd in Tears to Heaven.

In the mean time the Princes be­ing assembled, were expecting Te­lemachus, who was by the Body of Pisistratus; he strew'd handfulls of [Page 586] [...] upon the Corps, to which he added exquisite Perfumes, and pour'd forth bitter Tears; O my dear Companion, said he, I shall never forget how I saw thee at Pilos, and how I follow'd thee to Sparta, how I found thee again on the Coasts of the great Hesperia. I owe thee a Thousand and a Thousand kind Offices; I Lov'd thee, and thou hadst a like Love for me; I knew thy Valour, it [...] that of ma­ny famous Greeks. But alass! 'tis extinguish'd with thy Glory; 'twas thy Valour that has rob'd the World of that improving Vertue of thine, which would have equal'd that of the greatest Men. Yes, thy Wis­dom and thy Eloquence in a riper Age, would have resembled the like Endowments in the most celebrated Men of Greece. Thou hadst alrea­dy acquired that sweet Insinuation, that could not be resisted when thou spakest, those natural and lively ways of relating Matters; that pru­dent [Page 587] Moderation which is a Charm to appease irritated Minds; that Authority which proceeds from Prudence and the force of good Counsels. When thou spokest, eve­ry Ear was attentive; all were pre­possess'd in thy Favour, every one was willing to find Reason on thy side. Thy Speech that was plain and simple, void of Pomp, sweetly instill'd it self into Men's Souls, like the Dew upon the [...] Grass. But alass! all those Advantages which we were in possession of a few Hours ago, are taken away from us for even Pisistratus, whom I embrac'd this Morning, is now no more. We have nothing remaining but the sad remembrance of him. [...] That thou hadst clos'd the Eyes of Nestor; and that we had not all been so un­happy to see thine clos'd; he would not then have seen what he is now forc'd to behold; he would not then have been the most unhappy Fa­ther in the World.

[Page 588] After these Words, Telemachus caus'd the bloody Wound which was in the side of Pisistratus to be wash'd; he order'd him to be laid out upon a purple Bed, where his Head inclining on his Shoulder with the paleness of Death, resembled a young Tree, which having cover'd the Earth with its Shadow, and stretch'd its flourishing Boughs to­wards Heaven, is wounded by the Edge of the Woodman's Axe; it no longer holds by its own Root, nor by the Earth, that fruitful Mother that nourishes her Branches in her Bosom; it languishes, its Verdure decays, and being no longer able to bear up, down it falls; its wide and thick Branches that lately were as a Veil to obscure the Light of Hea­ven; now lye extended in the Dust, wither'd and dry; 'tis now no more than a Trunk fell'd to the Ground, and spoil'd of all its Beauties. Thus Pisistratus being become a Prey to Death, was now carried away [Page 589] by those who were appointed to lay him on the fatal Pile. The Flame already began to ascend toward Hea­ven; a Troop of Pylians with Eyes dejected and full of Tears, and with their Arms revers'd with a slow and mournful Pace attended him. The Body was soon Burnt, the Ashes put into a Golden Urne; and Tele­machus who took care to have all this perform'd, committed this Urne as a great Treasure to Callimachus, who had been Pisistratus his Gover­nour. Keep safely, says he, these Ashes, the sad but precious Remains of him you Lov'd. Keep 'em for his Father, but wait till he recovers Strength enough to ask 'em before you give 'em to him; that which irritates Sorrow at one time allays it at another.

At length Telemachus enter'd the Assembly of the confederate Kings, where every one kept Silence, in expectation to hear him Discourse; when he perceiv'd it he blush'd, and [Page 590] they could by no means engage him to Speak: The Praises that were given him by publick Acclamations, and above all his late Actions aug­mented his bashful Disposition: So that he would have been glad to have hid himself. This was the first time that he appear'd embarrass'd and unsteady; in fine he desir'd as a Fa­vour, that they would desist from speaking in his Praise: 'Tis not, said he, that I do not love Praises, above all when they are given by such good Judges of Vertue, but 'tis because I am afraid of Loving 'em too much; for they are apt to cor­rupt Men, they fill 'em with them­selves, and render 'em Vain and Presumptuous. We ought both to merit 'em and avoid 'em. The justest Praises resemble those that are false and flattering. The most wick­ed of all Mankind, the Tyrians are those that have made themselves prais'd the most by servile Flatterers. What Pleasure is there in being [Page 591] Prais'd like them? Due Praises are such as you will give me in my absence, if I am so happy as to de­serve 'em. If you believe me to be truly Good, you ought also to be­lieve that I am willing to be Modest, and to be afraid of Vanity. Spare me therefore, if you value me, and do not Praise me as if I were a Man fond of Praises.

After Telemachus had thus express'd himself, he answer'd not a Word more to those that continued to ex­tol him to the very Heavens; but by an Air of Indifference he soon put a stop to the Enocomiums that were made on him; till they began to fear they should displease him in commending him. But their Admiration still increased; every one knowing the Tenderness he had manifested to Pisistratus, and the care he had taken to render him the last Devoirs; the whole Army was more touch'd with the Marks of Tenderness and Generosity of his [Page 592] Heart, than with all the Prodigies of Wisdom and Valour, that had been shining so Conspicuously in him. He is Wise, he is Valiant, said they in secret one to another; he is the Friend of the Gods, and the true Hero of our Age; he is rais'd a de­gree above Mankind: But this is only matter of Wonder, all this does no more than fill us with Astonish­ment; he has Humanity and Good­ness, he is a Friend, he is Tender, he is Compassionate, he is Bene­ficent, and entirely theirs whom he ought to Love; he is the Delight of them that live with him; he divests himself of his Dignity, of his Re­pose, and of his Grandeur: This is that which makes him useful; this is that which touches Mens Hearts; this is that which fills us with such tender Affections towards him, and renders us sensible of all his Vertues. This is that which makes us all rea­dy to Sacrifice our Lives for him.

[Page 593] These Discourses were scarce fi­nish'd, when they hasten'd to speak of the necessity of giving a King to the Daunians. The greatest part of the Princes that were in the Coun­cil were of Opinion, that it was best to divide the Country amongst 'em as a Conquer'd Land; and offer'd Telemachus the fertile Country of Arpos, which twice a Year bears the rich Bounty of Ceres, the sweet Pre­sents of Bacchus, and the ever green Fruits of the Olive-Tree, which is sacred to Minerva. This Land, said they, ought to make you forget poor Ithaca with its Cottages, and the frightful Rocks of Dulichia, toge­ther with the savage Woods of Za­chanthus. Ne're persist longer to seek your Father, who was certain­ly lost in the Waves at the Promon­tory of Caphaneus, through the Re­venge of Nauplius and the Anger of Neptune; nor your Mother who is long since in the possession of her Lovers; nor your Country, whose [Page 594] Soil is not favour'd by Heaven, like this we now offer you. He patient­ly heard this Discourse, but the Rocks of Thrace and Thessaly are not more deaf and insensible of the Com­plaints of despairing Lovers, than Telemachus was of all these Propo­sals. For my part, replyed he, I am not mov'd either with Riches or Pleasures; what signifies it to pos­sess a greater extent of Ground, or to Command a greater Number of Men? One has therewith but the more Perplexity and the less Liberty: Life is full enough of Miseries, even for the wisest and most regulate sort of Men, without the additional Trouble of governing other Men, who are Untractable, Unquiet, Un­just, Treacherous and Ungrateful. If one has a Mind to have Dominion over Men, out of Self-love, looking at nothing but one's own Authority, Pleasures and Glory; this is to be Im­pious and Tyrannical, and become the Scourge of Mankind. If on the [Page 595] contrary I have a Mind to govern Men only according to right Rules, for their own Good; I am not so much their Master as their Guardian, I have nothing but the Trouble of it, which is infinite; and this makes me very far from desiring to enlarge the Bounds of my Authority. The Shepherd, who devours not his Flock, but defends it from the Wolves with the hazard of his Life, who watches over it Night and Day, leading it into fat Pastures, has no great Mind to augment the Number of his Sheep, and to seize on those of his Neighbours; this would be but to increase his Trouble. Altho' I have never govern'd, added Telemachus, I have learn'd by the Laws, and by those wise Men that made 'em, how toilsom a thing it is to have the Conduct of Cities and Kingdoms; I am therefore content with my poor Ithaca, tho it be small and mean. I shall have Glory enough, provided I Reign there with [Page 596] Justice, Piety and Courage; and in­deed I shall Reign there but too soon. May it please the Gods that my Fa­ther may escape the Fury of the Waves, and Reign there to extreme old Age, and that I may long learn under him to subdue my Passions, and to know the Art of regulating those of a whole Nation.

Afterward he thus proceeded; Hear, O ye Princes who are here assembled, what I think I ought to tell you for your own Interest. If you procure the Daunians a just King, he'll govern them Justly; he'll make 'em sensible how much it is for their Advantage, to pursue Faith and Sincerity, and never to usurp upon their Neighbours; all which they could never come to un­derstand under the impious Adrastus. As long as they shall continue under the conduct of a just and moderate Prince, you will have nothing to fear from them; they will owe you this good King, whom they have [Page 597] receiv'd from your Hands; they will owe you all the Peace and Prospe­rity which they shall enjoy under his Government. These People will be so far from attacking you, that they will incessantly bless you; both the King and People will be the Work of your Hands. If on the contra­ry, you resolve to share their Coun­try among you; I'll undertake to predict the Mischiess that will ensue. These People driven to Despair, will begin a new War. They will have a just Cause to take up Arms for their Liberty. The Gods, who are mortal Enemies to Tyranny, will fight for 'em; and if the Gods in­termeddle with the Quarrel, sooner or later you will be confounded, and all your Prosperity will be dissipated like Smoke. Counsel and Wisdom will be taken away from your Com­manders, and Courage from your Ar­mies, and Plenty from your Lands: You will flatter your selves, and act with precipitancy in your Enterpri­zes; [Page 598] you will silence Men of Inte­grity, when they go about to tell you the Truth; you will fall on a sudden, and it will be said of you; Are these then the flourishing Na­tions that were to give Laws to all the World, and now they fly before their Enemies? They are the Sport of other Nations, who trample you under their Feet: This is the Work of the Gods; this is what a People of Unjust, Proud, and Inhumane Minds deserve. Besides consider, if you attempt to divide this Conquest among you, you re unite all the Neighbouring Nations against you. Your League form'd to defend the common Liberty of Hesperia, against Adrastus the Usurper, will become odious; and 'tis you that all the World will with good Reason Accuse of having aspir'd to Usurp an Universal Tyranny. But we'll suppose you should prove Victorious both over the Daunians, and all other Nations that shall assist [Page 599] 'em; this Victory will destroy you, and this I'le make out to you. Con­sider, this Enterprize will dis-unite you all; for since 'tis not founded upon Justice, you will have no Rule among you to bound each others Pretensions; every one will have a Mind that his part of the Conquest should be proportionate to his Pow­er: None of you will have Autho­rity enough over all those Nations, to make this Division peaceably; And this will be the source of a War, of which the Youngest of your Children will not see an end. Is it not much more eligible to be Just and Regular, than to follow one's Ambition through so much Dan­ger, and amidst so many inevitable Misfortunes? Are not profound Peace, the sweet and Innocent Plea­sures that accompany it, the Hap­piness of Plenty, the Friendship of Neighbours, the Glory which is in­separable from Justice, the Authori­ty which is acquired, in rendring [Page 600] ones self by Fidelity and Sincerity, the Arbiter of all Foreign Nations; are not these, I say, Advantages much more desirable, than the fool­ish Vanity of anunjust Conquest? O Princes! Oh Kings! you see I speak to you without seeking any Interest of my own: Hearken there­fore to one who loves you so well, as even to contradict and displease you, in setting the Truth before you in a clear Light.

While Telemachus spake thus with an Air of Authority, which they had never seen in any other; all the Princes struck with astonishment and in suspence, admir'd the Wis­dom of his Counsels: There was hear'd a confus'd Noise, which spread it self throughout the Camp, and came to the very Place where the Assembly was held. A Stranger (say they) is come on Shore on these Coasts, with a Troop of Armed Men; this unknown Person is of a lofty Mien; every thing in him ap­pears [Page 601] Heroick; 'tis easie to discern that he has been long harrass'd with Sufferings; and that his great Cou­rage has set him above all his Ca­lamities. At first, the People of the Country who guard the Coasts, would have repulsed him as an E­nemy that was coming to make an Invasion; but after having drawn his Sword with an Air of Intrepidi­ty, he declar'd that he knew how to defend himself if he were attack'd, but that he asked nothing but Peace and Hospitality. Immediately he presented an Olive Branch as a Sup­pliant; upon this he was heard; he desir'd to be brought to those that govern in this part of Hesperia, and therefore he is conducted hither, to speak to the Assembled Kings.

This Discourse was scarce finish'd, but this Stranger was seen to enter with a Majesty that surpriz'd the whole Assembly. One might easily have been induced to believe he was the God Mars, he was so like him [Page 602] when he assembles his bloody Troops upon the Thracian Mountains. He address'd himself to them after this manner.

O ye Shepherds of the People, who without doubt are here assem­bled either for the Defence of your Countries against your Enemies, or to make 'em flourish by your Righ­teous Laws: Hearken to a Man who has been Persecuted by For­tune. (May it please the Gods that you never experience the like Mis­fortune) I am Diomedes King of Eto­lia, who incensed Venus at the Siege of Troy; the Revenge of this Goddess pursues me throughout the Universe. Neptune who can refuse nothing to the Divine Daughter of the Sea, has deliver'd me up to the Rage of the Winds and Waves, which have often dash'd me against the Rocks. The inexorable Venus has depriv'd me of all Hope of ever seeing again my Kingdom, my Family, and the sweet Light of that Country, where [Page 603] I first saw the Day at my Birth; no, I shall never more see what is most dear to me in the World. I now am come, after so many Ship-wracks, to seek on this unknown Shore, a little Repose, and a safe Retreat; if you fear the Gods, and above all, Jupiter, who has a respect for Stran­gers, and takes care of 'em; if you have any sentiment of Compassion, do not refuse me in these vast Coun­tries, some spot of Barren Ground, some desart Shades, or craggy Rocks, that I with my Companions, may Found a City there, which may be at least, the Melancholy Image of our lost Country. We ask but a little Ground in a useless place; we'll live in Peace with you in a strict Al­liance; your Enemies shall be ours; we'll enter into all your Interests; we only desire the Liberty of living according to our own Laws.

While Diomedes spake thus, Tele­machus, who kept his Eyes atten­tively fix'd on him, shew'd all the [Page 604] different Passions in his own Coun­tenance. When Diomedes began to speak of his long Misfortunes, he was in Hope it was his Father. As soon as he had declar'd himself to be Diomedes, Telemachus his Counte­nance languish'd like a Flower which the Envious North-wind had just wi­ther'd with its cruel Blast. The fol­lowing Words of Diomedes complain­ing of the Anger of a Deity, melt­ed him with the Remembrance of the same Disgraces suffer'd by his Father and himself; Tears mix'd with both Grief and Joy, ran down his Cheeks, and he instantly threw himself upon Diomedes to embrace him. I am, says he, the Son of U­lysses, whom you once knew, and who was not unuseful to you, when you took the famous Horses of Rhe­sus; the Gods have treated him as well as you without Pity: If the O­racles of Erebus deceive us not, he is still alive; but alas! he is not alive to me: I have left Ithaca to seek him; [Page 605] and now I cannot see either Ithaca or him again: Judge by my Mis­fortunes, what Compassion I have for others. The Advantage that is gain'd by Calamities, is to know how to sympathize with others in the like Troubles. Tho' I am but a Stranger here, I am able, O Great Diomedes (for in spight of all the Calamities that overwhelm'd my Country during my Infancy, I have not been so ill Educated as to be Ig­norant of the Glory you have ac­quir'd in Battle) I am able, O Prince most Invincible of all the Greeks, next to Achilles, to procure you some Relief. These Princes you see here, are Men of Humanity, without which they know there is no true Virtue, nor Courage, nor solid Glo­ry. Misfortune adds a new Lustre to the Glory of great Men; they still want something, while they know not what 'tis to be Unfortu­nate. Examples of Patience and Firmness of Mind, are, 'till then, [Page 606] wanting in their Lives. Suffering Virtue softens all Hearts that have any vertuous Relish; leave to us therefore the care of consolating you; seeing the Gods have brought you to us, we receive you as a Pre­sent which they make us, and ought to esteem our selves Happy, that we are in a Capacity to alleviate your Afflictions.

While he spake, Diomedes, struck with Wonder, look'd intently on him, and felt a great Emotion in his Heart; they embrac'd one ano­ther, as if they had been united in the strictest Bonds of Friendship. O Worthy Son of the Wise Ulysses, said Diomedes, I discern in you the Sweetness of his Countenance, the Grace of his Discourse, the Force of his Eloquence, the Elevation of his Sentiments, and the Wisdom of his Thoughts. In the mean time Phi­loctetus in the like manner Embra­ces the Son of Tideus; they related to one another their sad Adventures; [Page 607] after which, says Philoctetus to him, without doubt, you will be glad to see the Wise Nestor; he has lately lost Pisistratus, the last of his Chil­dren, and now there remains no­thing more to him in this Life, but a Way of Tears to lead him to his Tomb. Come and try to com­fort him; a Friend under the Frowns of Fortune, is more proper than ano­ther to allay the Sorrows of his Heart. They immediately went into Ne­stor's Tent, who scarce knew Dio­medes, Sorrow had so depress'd his Spirit and Senses. Diomedes present­ly fell to weeping with him, and their Enterview serv'd, at first, on­ly to redouble their Sorrow; but by degrees the presence of this Friend appeas'd the Grief of the good Old Man; and one might easily discern, that his Sorrow was in some measure suspended, by the Pleasure of rela­ting what he had suffer'd, and of hearing on the other side, what had befallen Diomedes.

[Page 608] While they thus entertain'd one another, the Kings assembled with Telemachus, were examining what they ought to do. Telemachus ad­vis'd them to give Diomedes the Country of Argos, and to choose Po­lydamas for King of the Daunians, who was of their own Nation. This Polydamas was a famous Cap­tain whom Adrastus, throught Jea­lousie, was never willing to employ, left the Success, all the Glory of which he promis'd himself alone, should be attributed to the Conduct of this able Man. Polydamas had in particular often advertis'd him that he too much expos'd his own Life, and the Safety of his Country in this War against so many Confe­derate Nations: He would often have engag'd him to keep a more regular and even Conduct with his Neighbours. But those Men that hate Truth, also hate such as have the boldness to declare it to 'em; they are not affected either with their [Page 609] Sincerity, or their Zeal, or their Disinteressedness. A deceitful Pro­sperity harden'd Adrastus's Heart a­gainst his most salutary Counsels. In not following them he every day triumph'd over his Enemies. Pride, Fraud, and Violence still brought Vi­ctory on his side; none of the Misfor­tunes that had been so long threatned by Polydamas, befel him. Adrastus laugh'd at that timorous Prudence, which is always foreseeing Inconveni­ences. Polydamas at length became in­tolerable to him; he remov'd him from all Places of Trust, and left him to languish in Solitude and Poverty. Polydamas was at first over-born with this Disgrace, but it soon yielded him what he wanted; in opening his Eyes to see the Vanity of great Fortunes, he became Wise at his own Cost; he began to congratu­late himself on his Misfortunes; he gradually learn'd to Act, and live in good earnest, calmly to nourish his Soul with Truth, to cultivate in him­self [Page 610] those secret Vertues, which are even more estimable than those that make the greatest show and noise in the World. In fine, to know how to live without Men, He dwelt at the foot of Mount Gargan, in a De­sart, where a vaulted Rock serv'd for his House, a Rivulet that ran down from the Mountain appeas'd his Thirst, some Trees that grew there, yielding him their Fruits; he had some Slaves that cultivated a little Field for him, in which he wrought with them with his own Hands; the Ground recompens'd his Labour with large Increase, not suf­fering him to want any thing; he had not only Fruit and Grain in a­bundance, but all sorts of fragrant Flowers besides. There he deplor'd the Unhappiness of those People that are led to Destruction by the mad Ambition of a tyrannical Prince. There he every day expe­cted that the just Gods, tho' patient for a time, would over-turn the [Page 611] Throne of Adrastus; the more his Prosperity encreas'd, the more irre­coverable he thought his Fall would prove. For Imprudence, when pro­sperous in its failings, and Power when risen to the last excess of ab­solute Authority, are the fore-run­ners of the over-throw of Kingdoms, and their Kings. When he heard of the Defeat and Death of Adrastus, he manifested nothing of Joy; either for having fore-seen it, or for being deliver'd from the Power of this Tyrant; he sigh'd only for fear of seeing the Daunians in a State of sla­very. This is the Man Telemachus propos'd for their King. He had for some time known his Courage and Valour. For Telemachus, ac­cording to the Advice of Mentor, did not cease to inform himself of all the good and evil Qualities of any Person that was in any considerable Employ, not only among the Con­federate Nations, whom he serv'd in this War, but even among his [Page 612] Enemies. His principal care was [...] where to discover and ex­amine Men, who had any particu­lar Talent or Virtue.

The Confederate Princes at first had some reluctancy against placing Polydamas in the Throne. We have had Experience, said they, how for­midable a King of the Daunians is to his Neighbours, when he loves War, and knows how to manage it. Polydamas is a great Captain, and may cast us into very great Dan­gers: But Telemachus reply'd, 'Tis true, Polydamas understands War, but he loves Peace; and these are the two things that ought to be de­sir'd in a Prince. A Man who knows the Miseries, Hazards, and Difficul­ties of War, is much more capable of avoiding it than another, who has no manner of Experience in these Things. Polydamas has learn'd to relish the Happiness of a quiet Life. He condemn'd the Enterprizes of Adrastus; he foresaw their fatal Con­sequences; [Page 613] a weak and ignorant Prince is more to be fear'd by you, than a Man who is able to under­stand and determine every thing himself. A weak and ignorant Prince can see nothing but by the Eyes of a passionate Favorite, or a flattering Minister, who is Turbu­lent and Ambitious; so that a Prince thus blinded, will engage himself in War, when he has no mind to it; and you can never know when you are sure of him, Secause he can ne­ver be sure of himself; he'll falsifie his Word to you, and soon reduce you to that Extremity, that you'll be under a Necessity, either of ru­ining him, or of being ruined by him. Is it not more advantageous, safer, and at the same time more just and noble, faithfully to answer the Confidence the Daunians put in you, and to give 'em a King wor­thy to Command 'em? The whole Assembly was convinc'd by this Speech; and it was order'd that Po­lydamas [Page 614] should be propos'd to the Daunians, who expected an Answer with impatience. When they heard the name of Polydamas, they an­swer'd, We are now well assur'd that the Consederate Princes will act sin­cerely, and make an everlasting Peace with us; seeing they are willing to grant a Man so Vertuous, and so capable of Governing us, to be our King. If a lewd, effeminate, and ill instructed Person had been pro­pos'd to us, we should have believ'd an occasion was thereby sought to destroy us, and to corrupt the Form of our Government; we should have secretly laid up in our Breasts a lively Resentment of so severe and fraudulent a Piece of Conduct; but the Choice of Polydamas discovers to us true Candor: The Confederates, without doubt, expected nothing of us, but what is just and noble; see­ing they allow us a King, who is incapable of doing any thing against the Liberty and Glory of our Na­tion. [Page 615] And we in like manner can protest in the Presence of the just Gods, That the Rivers should sooner re-ascend to their Sources, than we will cease to love such beneficial Na­tions. May our latest Posterity re­member the Favour we receive this day of renewing from Generation to Generation, the Peace of the Gol­den Age, in all the Borders of Hes­peria.

Telemachus, after this, propos'd to give Diomedes the Fields of [...] to found a Colony there. This new People, says he to 'em, will owe their Settlement to you in a Coun­try which you don't Occupy. Re­member that all Men owe one ano­ther Love, that the Earth is too large for 'em all; that you must have Neighbours, and 'tis best to have such as are oblig'd to you for their Establishment. Be mov'd with the Misfortune of a King, who can­not return into his own Country. Polydamas and he being united toge­ther [Page 616] by the Bands of Justice and Virtue, which are the only dura­ble ones, will preserve you in pro­found Peace, and render you for­midable to all the neighbouring Na­tions, that may think of aggrandiz­ing themselves. You see, O Dau­nians, that we have given you and your Nation a King capable of ad­vancing its Glory to the Skies: Do you also give a Piece of Ground that is useless to you, seeing we ask it at your hands, to a Prince who is wor­thy of all kind of Relief.

The Daunians reply'd, that they could refuse nothing to Telemachus, since it was he that had procur'd Polydamas to be their King: And they immediately went to seek for him in his solitary Dwelling, to make him Reign over 'em. Before they went, they gave the fertile Plains of Arpos to Diomedes, for him to found a new Kingdom there. The Allies were extremely pleas'd with it, because this Colony of Greeks [Page 617] would considerably fortifie the Con­federate Party, if ever the Daunians should endeavour to renew the Usur­pations, of which Adrastus gave 'em so ill an Example.

Telemachus, with Teass in his Eyes, took his leave of 'em, together with his Company, after he had tender­ly embrac'd the valiant Diomedes, the wise and inconsolable Nestor, and the famous Philoctetes, the wor­thy Possessor of the Arrows of Her­cules. The brave Son of Ulysses, long'd with impatience to see Men­tor again at Salentum, and to embark with him for Ithaca, where he hop'd his Father might by this time be ar­riv'd. When he approach'd Salen­tum, he was amaz'd to see the Coun­try round, which he had left almost quite uncultivated and desert, ma­nur'd like a fine Garden, and fill'd with industrious Labourers; he knew this must be the work of Men­tor. When he enter'd the City, he observ'd there were fewer Artificers [Page 618] for Luxury and the Pleasures of Life; and to make a great appear­ance of Magnificence. Telemachus was choaked at this, for he natu­rally lov'd all things that carried Pomp and Politeness with them. But his Mind was soon possess'd with other Thoughts. He saw at a di­stance Idomeneus coming toward him with Mentor; this instantly mov'd his Heart with Joy and Tenderness. And notwithstanding all the Success he had had in the War against A­drastus, he was afraid lest Mentor should not be well pleas'd with him; and as he advanc'd, he examin'd his Eyes to see if he could read nothing in 'em that might occasion him to reproach himself. First, Idomeneus embrac'd Telemachus as his own Son; after which Telemachus threw him­self about Mentor's Neck, and wet­ted him with his Tears. Says Men­tor to him, I am well pleas'd with you; you have committed great Faults, but they have serv'd to [Page 619] make you know your self, and to give you a diffidence in your own Performances. Men often derive more Advantage from their Defects than from their great Actions; for these swell the Mind, and inspire it it with a dangerous Presumption, whereas a Man's Faults make him recollect himself, and restore him that Prudence which he had lost in the time of his good Successes. That which remains for you to do, is to Praise the Gods, and not to desire the Praises of Men your self; you have done great Things, but con­fess the Truth, 'tis scarce your self that have done 'em: Did they not enter like something Adventitious that was infus'd into you? And were you not capable of spoiling all by your too great Temerity and Imprudence? Do you not find that Minerva has, as it were, transform'd you into another Man above your self, to perform by you that which you have done? She has held all [Page 620] your desects in suspense, as Neptune does when he appeases the Tempests and suspends the irritated Waves.

While Idomeneus was speaking to the [...] who were return'd from the War, Telemachus listen'd to the wise Counsels of Mentor. After which he look'd on every side with Astonishment, and said, what a Change do I see, the reason of which I cannot comprehend? Is some Ca­lamity befallen Salentum during my absence? Whence is it that that Mag­nificence that reign'd in every part of it at my departure, is not discern­ible at present? I see here neither Gold nor Silver, nor precious Stones. The Habit of the People is plain; and the Buildings that are Erecting are not so magnificent and full of Or­naments; the Arts languish here, and the City is become a Desert.

Says Mentor, smiling upon him, Have you observ'd the Conditions of the Country round about this City? Yes, reply'd Telemachus, I see Hus­bandry [Page 621] is in Repute every where, and the Fields are clear'd and ma­nur'd. Which is best, added Men­tor, a City Proud and Magnificent, with abundance of Gold and Silver, with the Country round it neglected and barren; or a City mean in its Ornaments and modest in its Man­ners, with Fields about it cultivated and fruitful? A great City of Ar­tificers employ'd in soft Arts which corrupt the Manners of Men, by engaging them in a luxurious Course of Life; when 'tis surrounded with a Kingdom that is poor and ill cul­tivated, is like a Monster whose Head is of an extravagant Size, and whose whole Body is extremely thin and depriv'd of Nourishment; so that it bears no proportion to that Head. 'Tis the number of People and plenty of Provisions, in which the true Strength and true Riches of a Kingdom consists. Idomeneus has now a People innumerable and in­desatigable in Labour, who fill the [Page 622] whole Extent of his Country. His whole Country is as it were but one entire City. Salentum is only the Center of it; the more the People multiply, the more are the Fruits of Earth multiplied by their La­bour; this so sweet and peaceable Multiplication augments his King­dom more than a Conquest. Only those superfluous Arts are rejected in this City, which divert the Poor from seeking the supply of their real Wants from the Earth; and corrupt the Rich by casting 'em into a state of Pride and Softness. Thus Ido­meneus is much more powerful than he was when you so much admired his Magnificence. That dazzling Splendor hid under it a Weakness and Misery, which would soon have overturn'd his Empire; now he has a greater number of Men, he pro­vides for 'em more easily; these Men who are accustom'd to Labour and Toil, and to a generous contempt of Life, by the Love they bear to [Page 623] good Laws, are always ready to Fight to defend those Lands which their own Hands have Cultivated. This State, which you suppose un­der a declension, will soon become the Wonder of Hesperia. Remem­ber, O Telemachus, that two Things are very pernicious in the Govern­ment of Nations, and sacrce ever admit a Remedy. The first is an unjust and too violent Authority in Kings; the other is Luxury, which corrupts the Manners of the People. When Kings accustom themselves to know no other Laws but their own Will, and to put no restraint on their Passions, they may do any Thing; but by this Power of doing any Thing, they weaken the Founda­tion of their Authority; they have no certain Rule remaining, nor any Maxims of Government. Every one strives to exceed others in flatter­ing them. Thus they lose their People, and have nothing left 'em but Slaves. Who shall tell 'em that [Page 624] bold Truth that may set Bounds to this Torrent? Every thing gives way to it. The wisest Men fly, hide themselves, and sigh in secret. Nothing less than a sudden and vio­lent Revolution can bring back this exorbitant Power into its natural Channel. Nay, oftentimes the Blow that is design'd to regulate it, overthrows it Irrecoverably. No­thing so much menaces a fatal Fall as an Authority which is push'd too sar; 'tis like a Bow too much bent, which at last breaks all to pieces, if it be not slacken'd. But who shall dare to slacken this overstrain'd Pow­er? Idomeneus lov'd Justice with all his Heart; yet by this so flatter­ing Authority, he had been over­turn'd from his Throne; and would still have remain'd under the Power of the same Delusion, had not the Gods sent me here to undecieve him about this blind and extravagant Power, which does not agree with the State of Men. Nay, there were [Page 625] some kinds of Miracles necessary to open his Eyes. The other almost incurable Mischief is Luxury. As, too great an Authority poysons Kings, Luxury poysons a whole Nation. 'Tis commonly said that Luxury serves to Feed the Poor at the charge of the Rich; as if the Poor could not get their Living more profitably in increasing the Fruits of the Earth, without render­ing the Rich effeminate, by refining voluptous Arts. Thus a whole Nation accustoms it self to look upon the most superfluous Things as the Necessities of Life; and new Ne­cessities of this king are invented every Day. Men can't tell how to Live without Things that were quite unknown thirty Years ago; This Luxury they call the Bon gout, the perfection of Arts. This Polite­ness of a Nation, this Vice which draws so many others after it, is commended as a Vertue, and spreads its Contagion down to the very [Page 626] Mob. The nearest Relations of the King are willing to imitate his Mag­nificence, and the middle sort would fain equal those of great Quality; for who is it that is willing to do himself Justice? The lowest Rank of Men desire to pass for the middle Sort; and every one does more than he is able, some for Ostentation, and to make a show of their Wealth; others from a foolish Shame, and to conceal their Poverty: Even those who are wise enough to condemn so great a Disorder, are not so wise as to dare to begin to stem the Tide, and to give contrary Examples. A whole Nation runs to Ruin, all con­ditions and ranks of Men are con­founded; the passionate Desire of acquiring Riches to support a vain Expence, corrupts the purest Minds; And nothing is sought for but how to become Rich. To obtain this End, Men Borrow, Cheat, and use a Thousand unworthy Artifices: But who shall remedy these Mis­chiefs? [Page 627] The Relish and Habits of a whole Nation must be chang'd, new Laws must be given 'em; and who shall attempt this? Unless the King be so much of a Philosopher as to know how, by the pattern of his own Moderation, to cover all such with Shame who love a pompous Expence; and to encourage the Pru­dent, who are glad to be autho­riz'd in an honourable way of Fru­gality.

Telemachus hearing this Discourse, was like a Man just waking from a profound Sleep. He conceiv'd the Truth of these Things, and they were deeply impress'd on his Heart, by Mentor's Words, as a skilful Sta­tuary cuts whatLiniaments he pleases on a piece of Marble, so that they gave him Affection, Life and Mo­tion. He answer'd nothing, but revolv'd in his Mind all that he had been hearing. His Eyes ran over the Things that had been alter'd in the City; in fine, he said to Mentor, [Page 628] you have made Idomeneus the wisest of all Kings; I now neither know him nor his People. Nay, I confess that what you have done here is infinitely greater than all the Victo­ries we have been Winning. Chance and Strength have a great share in the Successes of War; and these Successes are always Mischievous and Odious. But what I see here is all of it the Work of a celestial Wis­dom; all is sweet, all is pure, all is lovely, all discovers an Authority more than Humane. When Men have a Mind to Glory, why do they not seek it, in thus applying their Minds to do Good? How little do they understand what solid Glory means, who hope to acquire it in ravaging the Earth, and pour­ing out humame Blood? Mentor dis­play'd a sensible Joy in his Face to find Telemachus so happilp undeceived about his Atchievements and Victo­ries, at an Age in which it was so natural for him to be intoxicated [Page 629] with the Glory that surrounded him.

After this Mentor added. 'Tis true, all you see here is good and laudable; but know that 'tis possible to do yet better things than those: Idomeneus governs his Passions, and applies himself to regulate his People, yet he does not fail to commit a great many Faults still, which are the un­happy Consequences of his Ancient Mistakes. When Men have a Mind to forsake an Evil, this Evil seems still to pursue 'em for a long time; Evil Habits, a weak Temper, in­veterate Errors, and almost incurable Prejudices still attend 'em. Happy are they who have never thus wan­der'd, they may be able to do good, after a more perfect manner. O Telemachus, the Gods will require more of you than of Idomeneus; be­cause you have been acquainted with the Truth from your Youth, and have never been deliver'd up to the seductions of too great Prosperity.

[Page 630] Idomeneus, continued Mentor, is Wise and Sagacious, but he applies himself too much to the Detail, and does not enough meditate on the Bo­dy of his Affairs. That Capacity of Governing, which is more than Hu­mane, does not consist in doing all on's self. 'Tis a gross piece of Va­nity, to hope by this means to ob­tain one's end, or to endeavour to perswade the World, one is capable of it. A King ought to Govern in chusing and conducting those who govern under him; he is not to des­cend into every particular Matter; this is to discharge the Function of those whose business it is to labour under him. He ought only to take of 'em an Account of these things; and to know enough of 'em, to be able to enter into the Account with Judgment. There is a wonderful Art in Governing by chusing, and applying those that are under ones Government, according to their se­veral Talents; by Judging of 'em, [Page 631] Correcting 'em, Moderating 'em, and Inspiring 'em with good Con­duct. For a Prince to go about to Examin every thing himself, is to shew Distrust, littleness of Mind, and a Jealousie about mean and mi­nute Matters, which consumes that Time and Liberty of Mind which is necessary for great Things. To form great Designs, there is need of a free and sedate Mind; so as to be able to think at one's Ease in an en­tire disengagement from all Dispatch­es of perplexing Affairs. A Mind exhausted by the detail of Things, is like the Lees of Wine, which is void both of Strength and Pleasant­ness. They who govern by the de­tail, are always determined by the present, without extending their Views to a distant Futurity; they are always taken up with the Affair of the present Day, and that Affair alone possessing them, they are too much impress'd by it; for there is no passing a sound Judgment on [Page 632] Things without comparing 'em all together, and placing 'em in a cer­tain Order, that their Connexion and Proportion may be seen. To omit to follow this Rule in Government, is to be like a Musician who should content himself in finding harmoni­ous Sounds, and never give himself the trouble to Unite and Connex 'em together, to compose sweet and ravish­ing Musick. Or like an Architect that thinks his business done, provi­ded he heap great Pillars, and abun­dance of hewn Stones together, with­out thinking of the Order and Pro­portion of the Ornaments of his Building; at a time when a Parlour is to be made, he thinks not of ma­king a suitable Stare-case; when he works on the Body of the Build­ing, he thinks neither of the Court nor the Portal: His Work is no­thing but a confus'd Collection of Magnificent Parts, which are not made one for the other; such a Work as this is so far from doing him Ho­nour, [Page 633] that it will prove a Monu­ment to eternize his Shame; for it shews, That this Workman had not a sufficient Compass of Thought, to conceive at once, the general Design of his whole Work; which is the Character of a short-sighted and sub­altern Mind. When a Man is Born with a Genius limited to Particulars, he is only proper to execute Affairs under another. Make no doubt of it, O my dear Telemachus, the Go­vernment of a Kingdom requires a certain Harmony like that of Mu­sick, and Just Proportions, as well as Architecture. If you please, I will again make use of the Compa­rison of these Arts, and make you understand how mean those Persons are who Govern by the detail. He who in a Consort, sings only some certain Parts, tho' he sings 'em per­fectly well, is no more than a Sing­er; he only who conducts the whole Consort, and at once regulates all the Parts of it, is the Master of Mu­sick. [Page 634] In like manner he that Carves Pillars, or raises one side of a Build­ing, is but a Carver or Mason; but he only who contrives this whole E­difice, and has all its proportions in his Head is the Architect; so those who are labouring and making Dis­patches, and do the most Business, are such as Govern the least; these are but the subaltern Work-men. The true Genius that conducts a State, is he who while he dies no­thing himself, causes every thing to be done; who Thinks, who De­signs, who sees what is future, who reflects on what is past, who dispo­ses and proportions Things, who makes early Preparations, who in­cessantly makes head against, and grapples with the Obstructions which Fortune throws in his Way; as a Swimmer stems a swist Torrnt of Water. Who gives attention Night and Day, that he may leave nothing to the disposal of Chance. Do you think Telemachus, that a great Pain­ter [Page 635] assiduously labours from Morn­ning to Night, the most speedily to expedite his Work? No, this Sla­very and Subjection would extinguish the Flame of his Fancy; he would no longer work from a regular Ge­nius; all must be done with a kind of Irregularity, and by Sallies, ac­cording as his Gust conducts him, and his Mind excites him. Do you believe that he spends his Time in pounding of Colours, and preparing of Pencils? No, this is the Business of his Servants, and he reserves to himself the Business of Thought and Contrivance; he ponders on nothing but how to make bold Strokes, that may give Sweetness, a Noble Air, Life, and Passion to his Figures. He has in his Head the Thoughts and Sentiments of those Hero's he is a­bout to represent. He is transported into the Ages wherein they lived, and puts himself into all the Cir­cumstances that have attended 'em. To this kind of Enthusiasm, he [Page 636] must join a sort of Wisdom that must restrain him; that all may be True, Correct, and one thing pro­portionable to another. Do you think, Telemachus, that less Eleva­tion of Mind, and Effort of Thought is necessary to make a great Prince, than to make a good Painter? Con­clude then, that the Business of a King is to think, and to make choice of others to labour.

Telemachus reply'd; methinks I comprehend all you have been say­ing to me; but if Things were thus manag'd, a King would be of­ten deceiv'd for not entring him­self into the particularities of Things. No, 'tis you that are deceiv'd, re­plyed Mentor, That which hinders a Prince from being impos'd on, is the General Knowledge of Govern­ment. Those that have not Prin­ciples to guide 'em in Affairs, and have not a true discerning of the Minds of Men, go always as it were, groping in the Dark; and [Page 637] 'tis owing to Chance, if they are not mistaken. They don't so much as know precisely what it is they are seeking for, norwhich way they ought to steer: They only know how to be diffident; and they sooner di­strust those that are so Honest as to contradict 'em, than Deceivers that flatter 'em. On the contrary, they that have Principles of Government, and are well skill'd in Men, know what they ought to aim at, and the Means to attain it; they know at least in gross, whether the Persons they make Use of, are proper In­struments for their Designs; and whether they conceive ther Intenti­ons so far as to be able to tend to the end they propose. Besides, see­ing they do not cast themselves in­to perplexing Details, they have their Minds more free to discover the Body of the Work at one View, and to observe whether it advances towards its Principal End; and if they make any Mistakes, at least they [Page 638] can scarce ever happen to be essen­tial ones. Again, they are above those little Jealousies, that are Signs of a narrow Spirit, and mean Soul; they very well understand, that there is no avoiding being deceiv'd in great Affairs; because 'tis necessa­ry to employ Men in 'em, who so often prove deceitful. But more may be lost by that Irresolution, into which Diffidence casts a Man, than would be lost by suffering one's self to be in some degree deceiv'd. He is very Happy, who is deceiv'd only in Things of a mean Consideration; great ones will not fail to come to an Issue, not withstanding that. And 'tis this only the Mind of a great Man should be concern'd about. He ought severely to repress Deceit, when 'tis discover'd; but 'tis ne­cessary to reckon upon meeting with some Deceit, if a Man would not be really deceiv'd.

[Page 639] In fine, says Mentor to Telema­chus, the Gods love you, and pre­pare you a Reign, which shall a­bound with Wisdom. All that you see here is not so much done for the Glory of Idomeneus as for your In­struction; all these wise Establish­ments, that you admire in Salentune, are but the Shadow of what you shall one Day make in Ithaca, if your Virtues answer the height of your Destiny. 'Tis time for us to think of going hence; Idomeneus keeps a Vessel ready for our Return. Thus Mentor, who regulated the Mo­ments of Telemachus his Life, to raise him to the highest pitch of Glory, stay'd him only so long in each Place, as was necessary to Exercise his Virtue, and furnish him with Experience.

Upon this, Telemachus open'd his Heart to his Friend, tho' with some difficulty concerning an Inclination he had, which made him regret Sa­lentum. You will blame me, said he, [Page 640] for too easily giving way to some engaging Impression or other, in the Places through which I pass; but my Heart would make me continu­al Reproaches, if I should conceal from you that I love Antiope the Daughter of Idomeneus. No, my dear Mentor, 'tis not a blind Passion, like that of which you Cur'd me in the Island of Calypso; I know very well the depth of the Wound Love made in my Soul, in the company of Eucharis; I cannot yet pronounce her Name, without a sensible trou­ble; Time and Absence have not been able to efface it from my Heart. This, fatal Experience has taught me to distrust my self. But as for Anti­ope, what I feel on her Account, has nothing like it; 'tis not a passionate Love; 'tis Judgment, 'tis Esteem, 'tis a Persuasion that I should be Happy in spending my Life with her. If ever the Gods restore my Father to me, and permit me to chuse a Wife, Antiope shall be the [Page 641] Person; that in her which moves me, is her Silence, her Modesty; her Reservedness, her Labour in working of Wool, and Embroi­dery, her Application in the whole Management of her Father's House, since the death of her Mother, her Contempt of vain and gaudy Trimmings, that Forgetfulness, if not Ignorance of her own Beau­ty that appears in her. When Idomeneus commands her to lead the Dances of the young Ladies of Crete, at the sound of Flutes, one would take her for a smiling Ve­nus; she is attended with so many Graces. When he carries her a Hunting with him into the Forest, she appears Majestick and Dextrous at drawing the Bow, like Diana in the midst of her Nymphs; only her self does not know it, while all the World admires her. When she en­ters into the Temples of the Gods, and carries the sacred Offerings on her Head in Baskets, one would [Page 642] think she were the Deity that in­habits those Temples. With what Fear, and with what Devotion have we seen her offer Sacrifices; and avert the Anger of the Gods, when some Fault was to be expiated, or some unhappy Presage prevented? In fine, when one sees her with a Company of her Women, holding a golden Needle in her Hand; one would think Minerva her self were come upon Eaith in a Human form, to inspire Mankind with curious Arts: She excites others to work; she renders tedious Labour pleasant to 'em by the sweetness of her Voice, when she sings all the marvellous Histories of the Gods: She surpasses the most exquisite Painting by the delicacy of her Embroideries. Hap­py will that Man be whom chear­ful Hymen shall unite with her! He'll have nothing to fear, unless it be to lose her, and survive her. My dear Mentor, I here take the Gods to witness, that I am ready to be gone: [Page 643] I shall love Antiope as long as I live, but she shall not retard my return to Ithaca one moment. If another should enjoy her, I should pass the rest of my Days in Sorrow and Bit­terness. But in fine, I am resolv'd to leave her, tho' I know Absence may make me lose her. I am un­willing to declare my Love. either to her, or to her Father; because I think I ought to mention it to none but you, till Ulysses re-ascend his Throne, and give me his Con­sent. You may know by all this, my dear Mentor, how different this Inclination of mine is from that Pas­sion with which you saw me blind­ed for Eucharis.

O Telemachus, reply'd Mentor, I grant there is a difference. Antiope is mild, sincere and wise; her hands disdain not to labour; she forefees Things at a great distance; she makes Provision for every Thing; she knows how to be silent, and acts regularly without Precipitation; [Page 644] she is continually employ'd, but never embarass'd, because she does every thing to good purpose. The good Order of her Father's House is her Glory, and is a greater Ornament to her than her Beauty it self, tho' the Care and Burden of all lies upon her; so that she reproves, refuses, and spares as she pleases; (things which make almost all other Wo­men hated) she has render'd her self amiable to the whole House; 'tis be­cause they find in her, neither Pas­sion, nor Caprice, nor Levity, nor Humour, as in other Women: She knows how to make her self under­stood only with a glance of her Eye, and every one is afraid to displease her. The Orders she gives are Ex­presses, and she commands nothing, but what may be perform'd; she reproves with kindness, and even encourages to do well in the time of her Reproof. The Heart of her Fa­ther rests upon her; as a Traveller upon whose Head the Rays of the [Page 645] Sun have long beaten with violence, takes sweet Repose upon the tender Grass. You are in the right, Tele­machus. Antiope is a Treasure wor­thy to be sought for in the remot'st Countries; her Mind is never deck'd with vain Ornaments any more than her Body; her Fancy, tho' full of Vivacity, is restrain'd by her Discre­tion; she never speaks but when 'tis necessary, and when she opens her Mouth, soft Language, and the Graces, in their native Simplicity, flow from her Lips. When she speaks, every body else is silent; she her self blushes, and could find in her heart to suppress what she was about to say, when she perceives with what Attention she is heard. For our parts, we have scarce heard her speak. You may remember, Te­lemachus, when her Father one day made her come in, how she appear'd with her Eyes toward the Ground, cover'd with a large Veil; and only spoke to moderate the Anger of Ido­meneus, [Page 646] when he was about to in­flict a rigorous Punishment on one of his Slaves. At first she took part with him in his Trouble; then she calm'd him; at last she made him understand what might be alledg'd in excuse of the poor Wretch; and without letting the King know he was too much transported with Pas­sion, she inspir'd him with Sentiments of Justice and Compassion. Thetis when she Caresses old Nereus, does not appease the Floods with more sweetness. Thus Antiope, with­out assuming any Authority, and without making a show of her Charms, will one day manage the Heart of her Husband; as she now touches her Lyre, when she would draw from it the softest harmonious Sounds. Once again, I tell you, Te­lemachus, your Love to her is reaso­nable and just, the Gods design her for you. You love her with a ra­tional Affection; but you must wait till Ulysses grant her to you. I com­mend [Page 647] you for not having discover'd your Sentiments to her; and know that if you had by the by taken oc­casion to let her know your [...] she would have rejected 'em, and ceas'd to have had a value for you. She will never promise her self to any one, but will leave her self to the Disposal of her Father; she will never be married to any one who does not fear the Gods, and who does not demean himself ac­cording to all the strictest Rules of Decency. Have you not observ'd as well as I, that she glances her Eyes less, and inclines 'em toward the Ground more since our return? She knows all the Successes that has attended you in War; she is not ignorant of your Birth, or of your Adventures, or of all that the Gods have confer'd on you; and 'tis this that renders her so modest and re­serv'd. Come, let us go, Telemachus, let us go toward Ithaca; there now remains nothing more for me to do [Page 648] for you, but to bring you to your Father; and to put you into a Condition to obtain a Bride wor­thy of the Golden Age: If she were a Shepherdess in the cold Algidus, as she is the Daughter of a King of Salentum, you would be a very happy Man in the Enjoyment of her.

These words inflam'd the Heart of Telemachus, with an impatient de­sire of returning into Ithaca. The Vessel was ready, Mentor had taken care to cause it to be prepar'd for him presently after his Arrival. But Idomeneus, who could not without a great deal of reluctancy see him prepare for his Voyage, fell into a mortal Sorrow, and a deplorable Melancholy, when he saw these two Guests, who had been so use­ful to him, about to forsake him. He shut himself up in the most se­cret Apartments of his House; where he gave vent to his Grief in sighing and pouring out Floods of Tears; [Page 649] he forgot to Eat, and Sleep could no longer charm his piercing Sor­rows; he consum'd and pin'd away in this uneasie Condition, like a great Tree, whose Boughs are large and thick, when a Worm begins to gnaw the Stock of it in those fine Channels, which convey the Sap to nourish all the Parts of it: This Tree which the Winds could never unsettle, and which the fruitful Earth was pleas'd to nourish in her Bosom; which was never wounded by the Country-man's Axe, cannot chuse but languish, while the cause of its decay remains undiscover'd; 'tis wither'd and stript of its Leaves that were its Glory and Ornament; it has nothing now to shew but its Trunk cover'd with a Back full of Chaps and Flaws, together with dry and sapless Branches. Thus was it with Idomeneus in his Sorrow. Telemachus was melted, but durst not speak to him; he fear'd the day of his Departure; he sought pre­texts [Page 650] to retard it, and would have continued for a considerable time in this uncertainty; had not Mentor spoken to him after this manner: I am glad, says he, to see you so much alter'd; you were naturally rigid and haughty, not suffering your self to be mov'd by any thing but your own Interest and Advantage; but you are at length become humane; and the experience of your own Misfortunes makes you begin to Sympathize with others under like Circumstances. Without this Com­passion a Man has neither Vertue nor Goodness, nor Capacity to go­vern Men; but you must not push it too far, so as to fall into a weak sort of Friendship. I would wil­lingly speak to Idomeneus, to en­gage him to consent to your De­parture; and would spare you the trouble of so perplexing a Dis­course; but I would not have an unbecoming Shame and Rudeness bear the sway in your Mind; you [Page 651] ought to use your self to mix Cou­rage and firmness of Mind with a tender and sensible Friendship; you ought to be afraid of afflicting Men without necessity; you should share with 'em in their Troubles when you can't avoid making 'em uneasy; and moderate that Blow the most you can, which 'tis impossible for you entirely to spare. 'Tis to give such an Alleviation to the Grief of Idomoneus, answer'd Telemachus, that I should choose to have him know the time of our departure from your Mouth, rather than from mine. To which Mentor immedi­ately return'd. You are under mistake, my dear Telemachus. You are like the Children of Kings who are tenderly brought up in Purple; they would have every thing done after their own Fashion, and would have Nature intirely yield Obedience to their Humors, and yet have not Courage enough to oppose any one to his Face. 'This not that they [Page 652] care so much for Mankind; nor that they have so much Goodness as to be afraid of afflicting them; but all they do is for their own Con­veniency. They are not willing to see sad and discontented Counte­nances round about 'em: The Trou­bles and Miseries of Men do not affect them, provided they are not before their Eyes, or sounding in their Ears; for Discourses on such Subjects give 'em Trouble and Uneasiness. To please 'em they must always be told that every thing goes well; and while they are surrounded with Pleasures, they are not willing to see or hear any thing that may inter­rupt their Mirth: If there be occa­sion to reprove, or correct any one, to oppose the Pretensions and Passi­ons of a troublesome Man, they will rather give Commission to another to do it, than speak themselves with a sedate steadiness of Mind. On such Occasions they would be ready to suffer the most unjust Favours to [Page 653] be extorted from 'em, and would spoil the most important Affairs, for want of knowing how to determine against the Sentiments of those with whom they have to do every Day. This Weakness which is found in 'em, puts every one upon thinking only how to make an improvement of it. Thy press and importune 'em; they weary 'em out, and suc­ceed in so doing. Again they flat­ter and extol 'em to the Stars, to in­sinuate themselves the better; but when they are become their Confi­dents, and are plac'd near 'em in Employs of some considerable Au­thority, they lead 'em a great way, they impose the Yoke on 'em, un­der which they Groan, and which they would often shake off, but are forc'd to bear as long as they live. They are so jealous of their Autho­rity, that they can't endure to be thought to be govern'd by others; but in reality are always under ma­nagement; and indeed they know [Page 654] not how to be without it. For they are like those feeble Vines, which are not able to support themselves, and therefore always twist them­selves about the Trunk of some great Tree. I cannot suffer you, O Telemachus, to fall into this Fault, which renders a Man so weak for Government. You who are so ten­der as not to dare to speak to Idome­neus, will be no longer touch'd with his Sorrows, when you are once got out of Salentum. 'Tis not so much his Trouble that softens you, as 'tis his Presence that embarasses you, Go speak to Idomeneus, and learn on this Occasion to be resolv'd and ten­der at the same time. Let him know the Trouble you feel in parting from him; but let him know at the same time by the decisive tone of your Voice, the necessity of your depar­ture.

Telemachus durst neither any long­er oppose Mentor, nor go to Idome­neus; he was asham'd of his Fear, [Page 655] and yet had not the Courage to sur­mount it; he hesitated, made a step or two, and then return'd immedi­ately to alledge to Mentor some new reason of delay. But Mentor's Look alone depriv'd him of Speech, and made all his fair Pretences disappear. And is this, says Mentor smiling, the great Conqueror of the Daunians? The Deliverer of the great Hesperia? The Son of the wise Ulysses, who is to be the Oracle of Greece after him? Who knows not how to tell Idome­neus, that he can no longer defer his return into his Country, to see his Father? O ye People of Ithaca, how miserable will you one Day be, if you have a King whose Mind is under the Dominion of an unbe­coming Shame; and who will sacri­fice his greatest Interests to his Weak­nesses in matters of the smallest Con­sequence! See Telemachus, what a difference there is between Valour in the Field, and Courage in the Court. You have not fear'd the [Page 656] Arms of Adrastus, and yet you are now afraid of the Sorrows of Ido­meneus. This is that which disho­nours Princes who have done the greatest Feats; after they have ap­pear'd to be Heroes in War, they shew themselves the meanest of Men on common Occasions, where­in others support themselves with Vigour. Telemachus convinc'd of the Truth of these Words, and spur'd on with this Reproach, went out hastily, and would no longer give ear to his Affections. But he was scarce come into the Room where Idomeneus was sitting with dejected Eyes, languishing and over­whelm'd with Sorrow, but they were both afraid of each other. They durst not look on one another; they understood one another without say­ing any Thing; and each was afraid that the other would break Silence; both of 'em fell a Weeping, and in fine, Idomeneus press'd with excess of Sorrow, cried out, To what purpose [Page 657] is Vertue sought after if she so ill requites those that Love her? Af­ter my Weakness is remonstrated to me, I am forsaken. If it be so, I must e'ne fall back into all my Mis­fortunes: Speak no more to me of Governing well, I am not able to do it. I am weary of Men. Whe­ther will you go Telemachus? Your Father is Dead. You in vain seek after him. Ithaca is become a Prey to your Enemies, they'll destroy you if you return thither; you'll find that one or other of 'em has married your Mother. Continue here, and Reign with me; at least leave Men­tor with me; who is my only sup­port. Speak, answer me, do not harden your Heart, have pity on the most miserable Man in the World. What do you say, nothing? Ah! I very well perceive how cruel the Gods are to me; I feel it even more severely than I did in Crete, when I was so unhappy as to pierce my own Son.

[Page 658] At last Telemachus answer'd with a disturb'd and timorous Voice, I am not my own, the Destinies call me back into my Country. Mentor, who has the Wisdom of the Gods, commands me in their Name to be gone. What would you have me do? Shall I renounce my Father, my Mother, and my Country, which ought to be dearer to me than my Life? Being Born to Roy­alty, I am not destin'd to a calm and sedate Life, nor to follow my own Inclinations. Did you not promise me to send me back to Ithaca? Was it not upon this Promise that I fought for you against Adrastus with the Confederates? 'Tis time for me to think of retrieving my domestick Misfortunes. The Gods, who have given me to Mentor, have also given Mentor to the Son of Ulysses, to make him fill up the Decrees of the Fates. Would you have me lose Mentor, after having lost every Thing else? I have now neither Estate, nor Re­treat, [Page 659] nor Father, nor Mother, nor Countrey to receive me. I have on­ly a Wise and Virtuous Man left me, who is the most precious Gift of Ju­piter. Judge your self, if I can re­nounce such a Treasure; and so a­bandon my self to my own Conduct. No, I would sooner die. Take away my Life, that does not signifie much, but do not take Mentor from me.

As Telemachus went on to speak, his Voice grew stronger, and his Timorousness vanish'd. Idomeneus knew not what to answer, and could not tell how to consent to what the Son of Ulysses said. When he could no Ionger speak to him, he endea­vour'd, at least by his Looks and Ge­stures, to move his Compassion. At the same moment he saw Mentor ap­pear, who very gravely address'd himself to him in these Terms. Do not afflict your self; we leave you. But Wisdom which presides in the Councils of the Gods, will always continue with you. Only believe [Page 660] that you are very Happy, in that Ju­piter has sent us hither to save your Kingdom, and to reduce you from your Mistakes. Philocles, whom we have restor'd to you, will serve you faithfully; the Fear of the Gods, the Relish of Virtue, the Love of the People, and Compassion for the Mi­serable, will always Reign in his Heart. Hearke to these, and make use of him with Confidence, and without Jealousie: The greatest Service you can desire from him, is to oblige him to tell you your Faults, without any Extenuation. This is that in which the Courage of a good King consists, to seek true friends, who may point out to him his own Defects: Provided you have this kind of Resolution, our Absence can­not hurt you, and you may live hap­pily. But if Jealousie, which insinu­ates it self like a Serpent, should a­gain find a Way to your Heart, to make you distrust the most disinte­rested Counsels, you are undone. [Page 661] Don't suffer your self weakly to sink under Sorrow; but strenuously en­deavour to follow the guidance of Virtue. I have told Philocles all that he ought to do for your assistance, and have caution'd him never to a­buse your Confidence in him: I can undertake to answer for him. The Gods have given him to you, as they have given me to Telemachus. Every one ought Couragiously to follow his Destiny. 'Tis to no purpose to afflict your self: If ever you have need of my help, after I have re­stor'd Telemachus to his Father, and his Country, I will come and see you again; and what can I do that can give me a more sensible Pleasure? I neither seek for Riches, nor Au­thority upon Earth; all that I aim at is, to assist such as are enquiring after Justice and Virtue: And can I ever forget the Confidence you have put in me, and Friendship you have shewn me? At these Words, Idomeneus was quite alter'd, and [Page 662] found his Mind appeas'd, and calm like the Sea, when Neptune with his Trident, quells the tumultuous Waves, and scatters the blackest Tempests. There only remain'd in him a calm and peaceable Sorrow; which was rather a tender senti­ment of Regret, than a lively Passi­on of Grief. Courage, Confidence, Virtue, and the hope of the assist­ance of the Gods began to revive within him. Well then, said he, my dear Mentor, it seems one may lose every Thing, and yet not be discourag'd. At least, remember I­domeneus, when you are arriv'd at Ithaca, where your Wisdom will Crown you with Prosperity: For­get not that Salentum was your Work, and that you have left an Unfortunate King there, who has no Hope but in you: Farewell, O worthy Son of Ulysses, I'le no long­er detain you; I am not willing to resist the Gods, who sent me so great a Treasure. And Farewell Mentor, [Page 663] the wisest and greatest of all Man­kind (if indeed a Human Creature is able to do what I have seen in you, and if you are not some Deity un­der a borrow'd Form, to instruct Weak and Ignorant Men) Go, and conduct the Son of Ulysses, who is more happy in having you with him, than in having been the Con­queror of Adrastus: Farewel both of you, I dare speak no more, for­give my Sighs; Farewel, live, and be Happy; there now remains no­thing more to me in the World, but the Remembrance that I once possess'd you. Oh pleasant Days, too happy Days! Days which I knew not how sufficiently to value; Days that have too swistly glided a­way. You'l hever more return. My Eyes will never again see what they now behold.

Mentor suppos'd this Moment to be expir'd; he embrac'd Philocles, who bath'd him with his Tears, without being able to Speak. Te­lemachus [Page 664] went to take Mentor by the Hand, to take him out of the Hand of Idomeneus; but this last pressing towards the Door, placed himself between Mentor and Telemachus. He look'd upon 'em, he sigh'd; he be­gan to speak, but his Words were cut off in the midst, so that he could not finish a Sentence.

Confus'd Cries were heard on the Shore, which was cover'd with Sea­men; these fall to handling their Ropes, and spreading their Sales. A favourable Wind begins to present. Telemachus and Mentor take their leave of the King, who accompanies them to the Harbour, keeping his Eyes fixt on 'em; and having weigh­ed Anchor, the Land seems to fly from 'em: The Experienced Pi­lot perceives, at a distance, the Leu­catian Mountains, whose Head hides it self in a Cloud of frozen Rime; and the Acroceraunian Hills, which still held up their proud Foreheads [Page 665] to Heaven, tho' they have been so often torn with Thunder.

During this Voyage, Telemachus said to Mentor; methinks I now conceive the Methods of Govern­ment which you have explain'd to me, at first, they seem'd to me like a Dream, but by degrees they unfold themselves in my Mind, and present themselves clearly to me. As all Objects seem cloath'd with Darkness at the first glimmerings of Aurora, and afterwards seem, as it were to come out of a Chaos, when the Light that increases insensibly, distinguish­es them, and restores 'em their na­tural Colours. I am perswaded that the Essential Point of Government is to discern well the different Inclina­tions of the Minds of Men; to know how to make a prudent choice, and apply 'em to Business according to their respective Talents; but I want to know how to do this. He that knows this, is able to be well skill'd in Men. To this Mentor an­swer'd. [Page 666] swer'd. You must study Men if you would know 'em; you must Con­verse and treat with 'em. They that govern ought to treat with their Sub­jects, to make Proof of 'em by small Employments, of which they may make 'em render an Account, to try if they are capable of higher Fun­ctions. How, my dear Telemachus, have you learn'd in Ithaca so much skill in Horses? It was by often see­ing 'em, and by oserving both their Faults and good Properties, with Men that were experienced in 'em. Just so you should be so often speak­ing of the Good and Evil Qualities of Men, with other wise and virtu­ous Persons, who have long studied their Qualifications. You will in­sensibly learn how they are made; and what you may expect from 'em. Who is it that taught you how to know Good and Bad Poets? It was frequent reading, and reflection with snch Persons as had a right Relish of Poesie. Who is it that acquir'd [Page 667] for you that Judgment in Musick? It was the same Application of Mind in observing Musicians. How can any one hope to govern Men well, if he does not know 'em? and how can that be, if he never lives with 'em? To see 'em all in publick, is not to live with 'em, for on such Oc­casions, there is scarce any thing said on one side or other, but about in­different Things, and such as are prepar'd with Art. The great Bu­siness is to Converse with them in private; to draw from the bottom of their Souls all the secret Springs that lie conceal'd there; to handle 'em on every side, and to sound their Maxims. But to judge well of Men, a Man should begin by knowing what they ought to be. He should know what true and solid Merit is, that he may discern those that have it from such as have it not. He ought to have certain Principles of Justice, Reason, and Vertue, by which to know who are Reasonable [Page 668] and Vertuous; he should know the Maxims of a good and wife Govern­ment, that he may know the Men that have these Maxims, and those that wander from 'em through a false Subtilty, In a Word, to take the Dimensions of many Bodies, one ought to have a fix'd Measure; and in like manner to judge well, one ought to have certain Principles to which all is reducible. A Man ought to know precisely what is the Design of Humane Life, and what end ought to be propos'd in govern­ing Men. This only and essential [...] is for a Man never to desire Authority and Grandeur for him­self, which only tends to gratifie a Tyrannical Pride, but to Sacrifice himself in the Infinite Cares of Go­vernment, to render Men Good and Happy. Otherwise he gropes in the Dark, and steps at a venture, through the whole Course of his Life. He goes like a Ship in a high Sea without a Pilot, which can't [Page 669] consult the Stars, and to which all the noighbouring Coasts are un­known, and therefore cannot choose but suffer Ship-wrack. Princes often for want of Knowledge, wherein true Virtue consists, are Ignorant of what they ought to look for in Men. True Virtue has something Rough, Austere, and Independant in it, which frights 'em; and so they turn themselves towards Flattery, and from that time they can find no Sincerity and Vertue; they soon ac­custom themselves to believe, that there is no such thing in reality upon Earth; for tho' good Men very well know Ill Men, yet these do not know the Good, and can't tell how to be­lieve there are any such to be found. Such Princes can do nothing but di­strust every one alike, they conceal themselves, and shut up their Thoughts, and entertain Jealousie on the slightest Occasions; they are afraid of Mankind, they fly the Light; and dare not appear in that [Page 670] posture of Mind that is Natural to 'em. Tho' they desire not to be known, they can't help being disco­ver'd; for the malignant Curiosity of their Subjects penetrates and di­vines every thing: But they know no body; those interess'd Creatures that are about 'em, are extreamly pleas'd to see 'em Inaccessible to o­thers; and delight to blacken, by infamous Reports, all who are ca­pable of opening their Eyes, and by this means, keep 'em always at a distance from 'em. They spend their Lives in a Savage and Barbarous kind of Grandeur: While they are incessantly afraid of being deceiv'd, they are always most certainly im­pos'd on, and deserve so to be. When one speaks only to a small number of People, one is engag'd to receive all their Prejudices and Pas­sions; one is at the mercy of Tale­bearers, a base and malignant Gene­ration of Men, who live upon Ve­nom, and poison the most innocent [Page 671] Things; that magnifie small Mat­ters, and invent Evil rather than they will cease to do Mischief; that for their own Interest, play with the diffidence and unworthy Curio­sity of a Weak and Jealous Prince. Inform your self therefore, O my dear Telemachus; inform your self of Men, Examine them, make them speak of one another; try them gra­dually; deliver your self into the Hands of no Man; make improve­ment of your Experience. When you have been deceiv'd, as sometimes you may happen to be in your Judgment; Learn by that not to Judge too hastily of any one, either in respect of Good or Evil; both are very dangerous: The Evil are too subtil not to surprize the Good by their false Glosses: Thus your past Errors will instruct you with great Advantage. When you have found any considerable Talents, and Vertue in a Man; make Use of him with Confidence. For Men of [Page 672] Honour and Honesty, love to have their Integrity taken notice of; they value Esteem and Confidence above Treasures; but take care you do not spoil 'em, by giving 'em an unlimi­ted Power; many a one might have been Virtuous who is not so, because his Master heap'd on him too much Authority and Wealth. He who is so far belov'd of the Gods, as to find in a whole Kingdom two or three true Friends, that are Men of solid Wisdom and Goodness, will, by their means, soon find other Persons that resemble 'em to fill up inferiour Pla­ces. Thus a Prince, by a few good Men whom he can trust, learns that which it was not possible for him to discern himself alone.

But is it advisable, said Telema­chus, to Employ Ill Men, when they have good Parts; as I have so often heard it is? Yes, says Mentor, Ne­cessity often requires that they should be us'd. In a Nation that is in a Ferment and Disorder; there are [Page 673] often found unjust and politick Men in Authority. They have Employ­ments that can't be easily taken from 'em; they have acquir'd the Confi­dence of some powerful Persons, who ought to be carefully manag'd. These wicked Men themselves must be ma­nag'd with Caution, because there is reason to fear 'em, since they are ca­pable of putting all Things in confu­sion. 'Tis proper therefore to employ 'em for a time, but this still with a Design to render 'em useless by de­grees; as for real and intimate Con­fidence, beware of ever placing it in them, for they may abuse it, and hold you fast by the Secrets you have committed to 'em, in spight of all you can do; this is a Chain more hard to be broken than Fet­ters of Iron. Make use of 'em for trivial Negotiations, treat 'em well, engage 'em by their Passions to be Faithful to you, for you'll never hold 'em any other way: But do not bring 'em into your most secret Deliberations, have some Spring al­ways [Page 674] ready to move 'em at your Pleasure, but never give 'em the Key of your Heart, and the know­ledge of your secret Affairs. When a State comes to enjoy Peace, and good Order, and is under the Conduct of wise and good Men that you are sure of; those ill Men that you were constrain'd to Employ, will gradually become useless; and then you should not cease to treat 'em well; for you never ought to suffer your self to be ungrateful, even to ill Men. But in treating 'em well you ought to endeavour to make 'em Good; and while you tolerate certain Faults in 'em, which may be conniv'd at in humane Frail­ty; those Evils nevertheless ought to be check'd which they would openly commit, if not restrained. After all, there is an Evil in the very Good that is done by ill Men; and tho this Evil often becomes inevita­ble, 'tis however needful to endea­vour to make it cease. A wise [Page 675] Prince, who is pleas'd with nothing but good Order and Justice, will in time come to be able to lay aside corrupt and fraudulent Men. He'll find good Men enough of a suffici­ent Capacity to serve him: But 'tis not enough for him to find good Subjects in a Nation; 'tis necessary he should form such himself. This, reply'd Telemachus, must greatly embarass one. Not at all, reply'd Mentor. Your Application in seek­ing for able and vertuous Men to raise 'em, excites and animates such as have Capacity and Courage, so that every one puts himself forward in vertuous Actions. How many Men are there that languish in an ob­scure and unactive Life, who would become great Men, if they were animated to Business by Emulation, and hope of Success? How many Men are there, who are Tempted, by their Misery and the incapacity they are in, to raise themselves by Virtue, to endeavour to advance [Page 676] themselves by Crimes? If therefore you annex Rewards and Honours to Industry and Vertue, how many good Subjects will conform them­selves? But what a number will you form, in making 'em ascend Step by Step, from the lowest to the highest Employments? You'll here­by exercise their Talents, you'll try the extent of their Understandings, and the sincerity of their Vertue. Those that shall be advanc'd to the highest Places, will be such as have been brought up under your Obser­vation. You will have trac'd 'em all your time; and will judge of 'em not by their Words, but by the whole Train of their Actions.

While Mentor was reasoning thus, they spy'd a Pheacian Vessel, that had put in at a small Island, which was desert and wild, and encom­pass'd with prodigious Rocks. And now the Winds were silent, even the gentle Zephirs seem'd to hold their Breath; the whole Sea became [Page 677] smooth like a Looking glass; the flagging Sails could no longer ani­mate the Vessel; the Rowers than were already tir'd, now Labour'd to little Purpose. 'Twas therefore necessary to make Ashore on this Island, which indeed was rather a huge Rock than a habitable Place. In other Weather less Calm, there would be no approaching it without Danger. Those Pheasians who waited for the Wind, appear'd no less impatient to continue their Voy­age, than the Salentines. Telema­chus advances towards 'em upon this craggy Shore. He asks the first he meets with, whether he had not seen Ulysses King of Ithaca in the Palace.

This Person to whom he acciden­tally addressed himself, was not a Pheacian, but an unknown Stranger, who had a majestick Air, but sad and dejected; he feem'd to be deep­ly musing; and scarce heard Tele­machus his Question at first; but at [Page 678] length he thus answer'd. You are not mistaken, Ulysses has been re­cieved by the King, as he ought to be in a place where Jupiter is fear'd, and Hospitality exercised; but he is not here now, and therefore 'tis to no purpose for you to seek him here; he is gone to see Ithaca again, if the appeas'd Deities will at last suffer him once again to Salute his dome­stick Gods. This Stranger had scarce pronounced these Words with a melancholy Tone, but he threw himself into a little thick Wood that was on the top of a Rock, from whence he view'd the Sea with a sad Aspect; flying from all the Men he saw, and seeming troubled that he could not get away. Telemachus look'd intently on him, and the more he look'd, the more he was mov'd and astonished. This un­known Person, said he to Mentor, has answer'd me, like one that can't hear a Man speak to him without Pain; and seems full of Grief and [Page 679] Anguish. I bewail the Unfortunate, since I am so my self; and I find my Heart strongly engag'd to this Man, tho' I know not why. He has treated me rudely enough, and yet I can't choose but desire he may see the end of his Troubles. Mentor replied smiling, you see what the Miseries of this Life serve for; they render Princes Moderate, and sen­sible of other Men's Afflictions; when they have never tasted any thing but the sweet Poyson of Pro­sperity, they are ready to believe themselves Gods; they would have the Mountains become Plains to sa­tisfie their Humour; they make no Account of Men; they would even sport with whole Nature; when they hear any one speak of Suffering, they know not what it means; 'tis a mere Dream to 'em; they have never seen the distance between Good and Evil. But Misfortunes alone may give 'em Humanity, and change their Hearts of Flint into [Page 680] Hearts of Flesh; for then they feel they are but Men themselves, and that they ought to treat other Men kindly who are like themselves. If a Stranger moves your pity so much, because you find him wandering on this Shore like your self; how much more Compassion ought you to have for the People of Ithaca, if ye shall hereafter see 'em suffer? That Peo­ple whom the Gods will commit to you, as a Flock to a Shepherd, will perhaps become Miserable by your Ambition, or Pride, or Impru­dence; for the People seldom suffer but by the Faults of their Kings, whose Duty it is to watch over 'em, to secure 'em from Misery.

While Mentor was Speaking thus, Telemachus was overwhelm'd with Trouble, and at last reply'd. If all this be true, the Condition of a King is very Miserable. He is a Slave to all those he seems to Command; he is not so much made to Com­mand 'em, as he is made for them; [Page 681] he owes himself entirely to 'em; he is loaded with all their Cares; he is the Man to whom all the People together, and every one in particu­lar, has a Right; he must accom­modate himself to their Weaknesses, Correct 'em like a Father, render 'em wise and happy; the Autho­rity he seems to have is not his own; he can do nothing, either for his own Glory, or his own Pleasure, his Authority is that of the Laws, he must obey them to give a good Ex­ample to his Subjects: In a Word, he is only the Defender of the Laws, to make them Reign; he must Watch and Labour to maintain 'em. He has the least Liberty and Tran­quility of any Man in his Kingdom. 'Tis very true, reply'd Mentor, a King is made King only to take care of his People, as a Shepherd does of his Flock, or as a Father does of his Family. But, my dear Telemachus, don't think it hard for him to go through some [Page 682] Trouble to be in a capacity to do good to so many People. He Re­forms ill Men by Punishments, en­courages good Men by Rewards; he represents the Gods, in thus leading all sorts of Men to Vertue; has he not Glory enough in causing the Laws to be observ'd? That of set­ting himself above the Laws, is but a false Glory, that produces nothing but Horror and Contempt. If he be given to Vice, he can't but be miserable; for he can find no Tran­quillity in his Thoughts, no real Sa­tisfaction; if he be good, he tastes the most pure and solid of all Plea­sures in labouring for Vertue, there­by expecting an eternal Recompense from the Gods.

Telemachus oppos'd to these Rea­sons, Man's Ingratitude. What, said he, to take so much Pains to gain the Love of those Men, who perhaps will never love you, and to shew Kindness to such vile Persons as will perhaps turn the Favours [Page 683] you confer on 'em against you, to do you a Mischief? Mentor answer­ed, You must expect to meet with Ingratitude from Men, and yet not cease to do 'em good: You ought to serve 'em not so much for their own sake, as out of love to the Gods who command it: The good you do is never lost; if Men forget it, the Gods remember and reward it: Besides, if the Multitude be ingrate­ful, there are always some vertuous Men that will be affected with your Vertue; nay, the very Multitude, as changeable as they are, do not fail to do some kind of Justice to Vertue: But would you hinder Men from being ingrateful? Do not endeavour only to make 'em powerful, rich, and formidable by Arms, and happy by Pleasures; this Glory and this Plenty corrupt 'em, they will be but the more wicked, and consequently the more ingrate­ful; but apply your self to inform their Manners, and to inspire 'em [Page 684] with Justice, Sincerity, the fear of the Gods, Humanity, Fidelity, Mo­deration, and Disinteressedness: In making 'em good, you'll hinder 'em from becoming ingrateful: You'll give 'em the true Good, which is Vertue; which if it be solid, will always engage 'em to him who has inspir'd 'em with it. It is to be wonder'd at, that Men should be ingrateful to such Princes as never shew'd 'em the way to any thing but Injustice, Ambition, and Jea­lousie, Inhumanity, Pride, and Treachery, against their Neigh­bours? A Prince ought to expect no­thing of 'em, but what himself has taught 'em. But if on the contra­ry he has labour'd both by his Ex­ample and Authority, to make 'em good, he'll find the Fruit of his La­bour in their Vertues, or at least he'll find enough to consolate him in his own, and in the Friendship of the Gods. During this Discourse, Telemachus often turn'd his Eyes to­ward [Page 685] the Sea, which began to be agitated; the Winds stirr'd up the Waves, and beat 'em against the Rocks, which were whitened with their Foam. The Ship Sails were immediately swell'd with Wind; a confus'd Noise of the Seamen was heard on the Shore, occasion'd by the warmth and impatience they were in to put to Sea. That un­known Person with whom Telema­chus had spoken, had been sometime in the midst of the Island, climbing up to the Tops of the Rocks, and thence viewing all the immense spa­ces of the Sea, with a profound de­jection of Mind: Telemachus had not lost sight of him, but continu­ally observ'd his Motions. In fine, this Man seeing the Vessel he be­long'd to ready to sail, descended from those craggy Rocks with as much speed and agility, as Apollo in the Forests of Lycia, when he has tied up his white Locks, traverses the Precipices with his Arrows to [Page 686] pierce the Stags and wild Boars. This unknown Person soon gets a­board the Vessel, which cuts the brackish Waters, and flies from the Land. A secret Impression of Sor­row seizes the Heart of Telemachus; he afflicts himself without knowing for what Reason. The Tears run down from his Eyes, and nothing seems so pleasant to him as Weep­ing: At the same time he perceives all the Mariners of Salentum lying upon the Grass, and in a sound sleep. They were weary and dispirited; and sweet Sleep had insinuated it self into all their Limbs; the Poppies of the Night were by the Power of Minerva strew'd upon 'em in the middle of the Day. Telema­chus was amaz'd to see this univer­sal Drowziness of the Salentines; while the Phenicians were so dili­gent to make their advantage of a favourable Wind: But he was yet more engag'd in viewing the Pheni­cian Ship, ready to disappear in the [Page 687] midst of the Waves, than in going towards the Salentines to waken 'em. Something or other there was that held his Eyes fix'd on the Vessel that was already parted, of which he could now see nothing but the Sails, whose Whiteness he could just di­stinguish from the azure Sky. He is so intent, that he does not so much as hear Mentor speak to him. He is transported beyond himself, in an Extasie like that of the Me­nades, at the Feast of Bacchus, when they hold the Thyrsus in their hands, and make their frantick Cries eccho on the Banks of the Hebre, and on Mount Rhodopus and Ismarus.

At last he recover'd himself a lit­tle from this sort of Enchantment, and the Tears again began to flow from his Eyes. Upon this, says Mentor to him; I don't wonder, my dear Telemachus, to see you Weep; the cause of your Sorrow, tho' un­known to your self, is not unknown to Mentor. 'Tis Nature that speaks, [Page 688] and makes her self felt; 'tis she that melts your Heart. The Stranger who gave you such a lively Emo­tion, is no other than the great Ulysses; he is going to Ithaca, and is already very near the Harbour, and at last sees again that so long desir'd Place. Your Eyes have seen him, as it was formerly predicted to you, but without knowing who he was. You shall soon see him and know him, and he shall know you; but now the Gods did not think fit to permit you to know one another out of Ithaca. His Heart was mov'd no less than yours; but he is too Wise to discover himself to any Mortal, in a Place where he might be expos'd to Treachery, and to the Pursuits of Penelope's Lovers. Ulys­ses, of all Men, his Heart is like a deep Well, there is no drawing any of his Secrets out of it. He loves Truth, and never speaks any thing that stifles it; but he does not speak it but on those occasions, when Con­veniency [Page 689] and Wisdom require it. He keeps his Lips always clos'd up as it were with a Seal, from utter­ing any useless Word. How often was he moved in speaking to you? How often did he put a restraint on himself, that he might not dis­cover himself to you? And what has he not suffer'd in seeing you? It was this that render'd him so sad and dejected.

During this Discourse, Telema­chus was so melted and troubled, that he could not hinder a Torrent of Tears from gushing out; his Sighs prevented him for a time from returning an Answer, At last he cry'd out, Alass! my dear Mentor, I found something powerful (which I can't tell how to utter) in that Stranger which attracted me to him, and made an Emotion in all my Bowels: Why did you not tell me before he went away, that it was Ulysses, seeing you knew him? Why did you let him go without speak­ing [Page 690] to him, and without signifying that you knew him? What is the Mystery of this? Shall I always be Unhappy? Will the provok'd Gods hold me still in suspense like thirsty Tantalus, who is amus'd and flatter'd by the deceitful Water, which still glides away from his Lips? O Ulys­ses, Ulysses! have you escap'd me for ever? Perhaps I shall never see you more: Perhaps Penelope's Lo­vers will take him by the Ambushes they prepar'd for me. If I had fol­low'd him, I had at least died with him. O Ulysses! O Ulysses! if no Storm dashes you again against some Rock, (for I have every thing to fear from adverse Fortune) I trem­ble lest when you arrive at Ithaca, your Lot should be as fatal as that of Agamemnon at Mycene. But why, dear Mentor, did you envy my Hap­piness? I should now have been em­bracing him, I should have been al­ready with him in the Port of Itha­ca; and we should have fought [Page 691] together to conquer all our Ene­mies.

Says Mentor, smiling; 'Tis to ex­ercise your Patience that the Gods hold you thus in suspense: You look upon this time as lost; but know that 'tis the most useful part of your whole Life; for it exercises you in that Vertue, which of all others is the most necessary for such as are to Govern. You must be Patient, if you would become Master of your self, and of others. Impatience, which seems to be the force and vigour of the Soul, is but a Weakness: He that knows not how to wait and suffer, is like him that knows not how to keep a Secret in his Breast; both of 'em want strength and firm­ness of Mind to restrain themselves; as a Man who runs along in a Cha­riot, and has not a hand strong e­nough to stop his fiery Coursers when he should; so that they no longer obey the Bridle, but run down a Precipice, and the weak [Page 692] Man that cannot check 'em is dash­ed in pieces by the Fall. Thus an impatient Man is hurried along, by his wild and furious Desires into an Abyss of Miseries; the greater his Power is, the more fatal is his Impatience to him; he'll wait for nothing, he will not give himself Time to take any Measures; he forces all Things, to satisfie his Wishes: He breaks the Boughs to gather the Fruit before 'tis Ripe: He breaks down the Gates rather than to wait till they are open'd; he will needs Reap, when the wise Husband-man is Sowing. All he does in haste is ill done; and can have no longer duration than his volatile Desires. Such as these, such as these are the senseless Projects of that Man who thinks he is able to do every Thing; and who gives him­self up to his Desires to abuse his Power. 'Tis to teach you to be Patient, my dear Telemachus, that the Gods exercise your Patience so [Page 693] much. The Good you hope for shews it self to you, and flies from you like a fleeting Dream which vanishes as soon as a Man awakes; to shew you that the very Things you think you possess in your Hands, may escape you in an Instant. The wisest Lessons you can have from the Mouth of Ulysses, will not be so useful to you as his long absence, and the Troubles you undergo in seeking him.

Telemachus heard all this with a Mind full of Anguish; he look'd upon the Sea, but could no longer see the [...] Ship: Then he turn'd his Eyes, flowing with Tears, to­ward Mentor who was speaking to him; when all on a sudden he per­cieved Mentor take a new Form. The Wrinkles of his Forehead vanish'd, as the Shades of Night disappear when Aurora with her rosy Fringes opens the Gates of the East, and in­flames the whole Horizon: His hollow and austere Eyes became [Page 694] Blew and full of heavenly Sweet­ness, and shin'd with a divine Flame; his gray and neglected Beard disap­pear'd; and noble and majestick Li­neaments mix'd with Sweetness and Grace presented themselves to Tele­machus his wondering Eyes. He saw a Woman's Countenance with a Complexion finer than that of a tender Flower when newly Blown before the Sun. He saw the white of Lillies mix'd with the red of blooming Roses, and an eternal Youth with a simple and unaffected Majesty flourishing on this heaven­ly Countenance. The sweet Scent of Ambrosia spread it self from the flowing Hairs of this glorious Per­son, whose Garments shin'd like those lively Colours with which the rising Sun paints the gloomy Arches of Heaven, and the Clouds when he has been gilding them. This Deity did not set a Foot upon the Ground, but lightly glided along through the Air, as a Bird cleaves [Page 695] it with its Wings. In her Hand she held a glittering Spear, capable of making the most warlike Cities and Nations tremble. Mars himself would have been Terrified at it; her Voice was sweet and moderate, but strong and insinuating; all her Words were so many Darts of Fire, that pierc'd the Heart of Telemachus, and made him feel a strange kind of delicious Sorrow. Upon her Helmet appear'd the mournful Bird of Athens; and on her Breast there shin'd a formidable Breast-plate. By these Marks Telemachus knew it was Minerva.

O Goddess, says he, 'tis you then your self who have daign'd to con­duct the Son of Ulysses for his Fa­ther's sake. He would have added more, but his Voice fail'd him; his Lips in vain endeavour'd to ex­press those Thoughts, that came with Impetuosity from his Mouth, and from the very bottom of his Heart. The Presence of a Deity [Page 696] overwhelm'd him; so that he was like a Man in a Dream, oppress'd to that degree, that he loses Re­spiration, and cannot form a Voice by all the troublesome Agitation of his Lips.

In fine, Minerva pronounc'd these Words; O Son of Ulysses, hearken to me this last time! I never in­structed any Mortal with so much Wisdom as I have done you: I have led you by the Hand through Ship­wracks, unknown Countries, Bloo­dy Wars, and all the hard Adven­tures that can terrifie the Heart of Man; I have by sensible Experien­ces, shewn you the true and false Maxims by which you may Reign. Your Faults have been no less use­ful to you than your Misfortunes; for where is the Man who can go­vern wisely, if he has never suf­fer'd any Hardship, or has never gain'd any thing by his Sufferings, into which his Faults have precipi­tated him? You, as well as your [Page 697] Father have fill'd Sea and Land with your terrible Adventures. Go, you are now worthy to follow his Steps; there remains nothing more but an Easie passage for you in­to Ithaca, where your Father is this very moment arriving: Go, fight un­der him with as much Obedience as the meanest of his Subjects; and there­by give others a good Example. He'l procure Antiope for your Bride, and you shall be happy with her, for ha­ving sought her for her Wisdom and Virtue more than for her Beauty. When you come to Reign, make it all your Glory to renew the Golden Age: Hear every body, believe ve­ry few, have a care of believing your self too much; be afraid of imposing on your self; but never fear to let others see you have been mistaken. Love your People, forget nothing that may engage 'em to love you. Fear is necessary when Love is want­ing, but it always should be made use of with regret, as violent and [Page 698] dangerous Remedies are; always consider at a distance, all the Con­sequences of what you are about to undertake. Endeavour to foresee all, the most terrible Incoveniencies; and know, that true Courage con­sists in discovering all Dangers, and in despising them, when they be­come unavoidable. He that is not willing to see them, has not Cou­rage enough calmly to forbear the sight of 'em. He that takes a view of them, and avoids all that can be avoided; and breaks through all the rest without a troublesome Emotion of Mind, is the only Wise and Magnanimous Man. A­void Luxury, Pride, and Profusion; let your Glory consist in sincerity; let your Virtues, and good Works, be the Ornament of the Person, and of the Palace; let 'em be the Guard to surround you; and let all the World learn from you, where­in true Happiness consists. Never forget that Kings do not Reign for [Page 699] their own own Glory, but for the Good of the People: The Good they do, reaches even to the remo­test Ages, and the Evil they do, multiplies from Generation to Ge­neration, even to the latest Posteri­ty. Fear the Gods, Telemachus, this Fear is the greatest. Treasure of the Heart of Man; it will be attended with Wisdom, Justice, Peace, Joy, refin'd Pleasures, true Liberty, sweet Plenty, and spotless Glory.

I now leave you, O Son of U­lysses; but my Wisdom shall never leave you, provided you always remain sensible, that you can do no­thing without it; 'tis time for you now to go alone. I parted from you in Phoenicia, and at Salentum, only to use you to be without the Pleasure of my Company; as they wean Children, when 'tis time to deprive 'em of Milk, to feed 'em with solid Aliment. No sooner had the Goddess finished this Discourse, [Page 700] but she mounted into the Air, and wrapt her self in a Cloud of Gold and Azure, in which she disap­pear'd. Telemachus sigh'd, was struck with Wonder, and in an Extasie, prostrated himself on the Ground; he lifted up his Hands to Heaven, and recovering himself, went to his Company and awaken'd them, hasten'd away, and arriv'd at Itha­ca, where he found his Father with the Faithful Eumenia.