DIonysius the Sicilian Tyrant had a daugh­ter, for her Celestill beauty named Au­rora, not more faire then unfortunate; & scarse had she compleated the last yeares of her Infancie, when Heaven was plea­sed to let her know that she was beautifull by eclipsing her fortune. For Nature, as if she esteem'd beauty a crime, & not her owne image, doth for the most part punish it: The Mother of Aurora dyed; and Dionysius, although the losse of his wife gave him no reall resent­ment, exprest in feign'd teares how extremely he lov'd her; but within a few days discover'd the hypocrisie of his griefe, receiving in her place Arminda, an Italian Lady of quality, but not worthy of that Crowne, be­cause he had many yeares before kept her as a Mistris. She was of a lively spirit, witty and faire; but of a disposition so harsh, that she gain'd little upon the af­fections of the people, bearing such command over her husbands actions, that sh [...] permitted not any thing to pass in the Kingd [...]me, without first consulting her pleasure; a care proper to su [...]h of small worth, as make ostentation of the power they enjoy, that by this meanes they may dissemble their low beginnings; [Page 2] but the sucesse proves contrary, in regard the injur'd by murmur and complaints discover more then was imagin'd. Aurora, considering that to permit such ex­cesse were to lend wings to her pride, advis'd her not to rely with so much confidence on her fathers affe­ction, since it was not impossible that it might faile, & then would she fall lower for not having treasured the good will of his subjects: adding moreover that shee should remember what shee was formerly, that shee might not vainly be transported with her new estate. These words so incens'd Arminda, that from thence­forward she plotted Aurora's death; and to effect her desire made Dionysius beleeve that shee was jealous, telling him hee lov'd his daughter so passionately, for being the picture of the dead Originall; since as the Phoenix leaves her ashes to perpetuate her suc­cession, so affection useth to leave some living pledges to preserve its memory: and certainely, the neglect he sometimes exprest towards her, was occasion'd by that dead love pictur'd in the beauty of Aurora. Ar­minda urg'd this so earnestly, that Dyonisius making impiety a Complement, resign'd his daughters fault into her hands, allowing her in this cause to be both Judge & Party. Love the common excuse of all extra­vagace did not here acquit Dionisius; for a man is not oblig'd to dispise the pledges of his blood for a wo­man that dissembles when she weepes, and weepes when she pleases. Arminda was satisfied, so that Au­rora were in some remote place out of her sight; whereupon her Father commanded her to depart out of Sicily, chusing rather to live without a daughter, then displease a wife; such was the affection of a [Page 3] blinded Lover, the rashnesse of an unnaturall Father. They conveig'd the faire Princesse to a little Island, seated betwivt (the two Promontories) Pelorus and Pachynum which seem'd as a Garland of Flowers in the Tyrrhen Sea; it was done privately to avoid the mutiny of the people, who lov'd her for her beauty and her vertue: Hee order'd a select number of ser­vants for her attendants, with forfiture of life to any who should discover that Aurora resided in that narrow Pallace. The discreet Lady did with much wisedome beare her Fathers unkindnesse, diverting her minde now with the musick of the little wanton Birds, which hearing her name thought it ever mor­ning, and sung continually: Now with the pleasant wind which sporting upon the smoothnesse of the Christall sea did amorously disquiet it: now with reflecting on her owne misfortunes, for the unhappy are often recreated with the same thing that afflicts them: Now with the Ladies that attended her, espe­cially with Celia, who being of the same age and kindred well deserv'd her privacie; but when all fail'd, and nothing could delight her, she took an In­strument which in her hands might boast it was not dumbe; and weeping sung thus:

Aurora clos'd this sweet Musick with so ma­ny Sighes and Teares, that hee must have had a [Page 6] soule truely insensible, that could heare her without Compassion. One evening as shee entertain'd her selfe with the present prospect of the sea, shee saw a man strugling with the waters, and breaking the waves, though hee relyed more on the mercy of a Planke, then the strength of his armes, endeavouring to recollect his fainting Spirit, till he might approach the shore for preservation of his life. Aurora mov'd with a noble pitty, and tender feare to have him die before her eyes, commanded those few that attended her, to relieve him: who putting to sea in a little Skiffe, took him up and treated him most carefully; (for so Aurora had commanded them) besides the person and civilty of Pausanias (for that was his name) mov'd them to respect and affection. Be­ing recover'd from his rough usage, (which had caus'd him to vomit much water) he shar'd amongst them some Jewells, which hee had preserv'd from the sea in his late danger; telling them that he was nobly descended, and that untill he saw his fortune amended, it was necessarie for him to live conceal'd; and therefore desir'd the company to accept of his service, for that possibly hereafter it might not repent them of that favovr. His gold and person had pur­chas'd the affection of those that heard him: they re­turn'd thanks for the complement, promising to serve him to the utmost of their power. Pausanias was glad, conceiving hee might securely continue there, without being known; for that Island was little ac­quainted with other, then the watchfull Guardians of that beauty, which so unjustly suffer'd▪ Going forth one night when the bright [...] with her beames [Page 7] enlightned the Wood, hee heard a voyce that with a chearefull sweetnesse thus related its griefe to the Birds and Waters:

Pausanius was astonisht as well at the sweetnesse of the voice, as to heare it in so strange a place, won­dring who it could be, whose soul so feelingly deplo­red its owne misfortunes: and as well that he might not be ungratefull for the favour he recived, (though [Page 8] he were ignorant from whom) as to try, if by this meanes he might come to know the divine owner of so sweet a harmony, to the suspence of the listning Nightingales he sung this song.

The same wonder which before seiz'd Pausanias, surpriz'd Aurora, knowing none of her servants were of such extraordinary parts, or could so sweetly com­plaine of the insupportable torment of absence. Au­rora inquisitive to know, and incited by the curiosity that is incident to women, was desirous to see the Orpheus of those Rocks: but the shadow of the [Page 9] trees, the distance of place, and above all, the regard of her quality which detained her, represt this desire, so that she deferr'd it till some other time; and calling one of her attendants, demanded of him, if there dwelt any in that wood, besides those that came with her out of Sicily. The servant answered, she forgot him, whom not long since she commanded them to succour, seeing him in danger of his life. Aurora asked if he knew who he were? Hee replyed, he knew no more then th [...]t he had said he was call'd Pausanias, concealing his quality and country, yet could assure her, that he seem'd to be of noble Paren­tage, or at least his person and spirit deserv'd to bee so. Aurora would not enquire further, lest her curio­sity might breed some suspition; and although it be true, that none can love what he never saw, or con­vers'd with; yet Fame, Vertue, and Desert incite a desire to see whether that satisfie the eye, which had by the eare affected the soule. Wee will not say Aurora was in love, though her solitude might re­quire it, her greatnesse would not consent to it: Yet she had a desire to know the man so well qualifi'd.

Pausanias soone seconded this desire, for not en­quiring the mystery inclosed in the Palace, he con­tinued to frequent the place where he first heard her: and Aurora had the opportunity many evenings of seeing him passe by with such a grace as might endan­ger the liberty of one lesse restrained then she was: for the afflictions of love are not for those that have other misfortunes to resent. Pausanias could not be­hold the faire Aurora, the windowes and lattices de­bar'd him her sight, neither would he discover himself [Page 10] to those hee convers'd with; supposing, that since they kept their businesse so private, the secresie much concern'd them, and therefore he conceal'd what hee desir'd: For it is a rule of discretion to know no more of any man then he is willing to communicate. Ne­verthelesse, desisted not to prosecute his intentions, hoping he might finde opportunity to see that sweet Syren. The morning often found him under her win­dow, not knowing whom he courted, loving in igno­rance; yet confident more then a private Lady was within those Walls. Before the Pallace he us'd seve­rall pastimes and recreations, that hee might thereby obtaine a sight of the Goddesse whose voice had en­chanted his soule.

Pausanias had good successe in all things, having bin brought up in the exercise of arms, he hunted the wild Beasts of that wood so fortunately, that he made their deaths acknowledge him Master of their strength and furie. There was not any in the Pallace but applauded his gallantrie; only Aurora was perplext at his perfe­ctions; for every day he encreas'd her affection by new deserts. And although she lik'd all she saw in him, yet the inequality shee conceiv'd was betwixt them dis­pleas'd her discretion, those that disparage themselves being unexcusable. Hereupon she advised, whether it were not expedient to have him kill'd; for when a meane person may occasion extraordinary mischiefe, his death is esteemed mercy: but shee could not at­tempt it in earnest: For, to take away the life of those we love, because we love them, is no good reason in the state of affection; shee would have him depart the Island, but immediately she repented: For it is [Page 11] hard to put that out of sight which is imprinted in the minde: In effect, seeing that to kill him were cruel­ty to Pausanias, to banish him tyranny to her selfe, she resolv'd to divert her sadnesse, passing her solitary houres with more delight; and that he might never know that it was she that lov'd him, she exchanged names with Celia, to whom she imparted the Plot, that she might assist her in pursuit of it, and with her name dissembling her quality, shee resolv'd to give entertainment to this new affection, untill she might know who he was that had wone so much upon her heart.

Aurora might safely have admitted to her great­nesse the affection of Pausanias, for he was sole heire, to the King of Macedonia; and being enamoured of the fame of Aurora's beauty, which verses and pencills had extoll'd, whilst other Princes by Ambas­sadors solicited her marriage, resolv'd that his fortune should rely upon his owne diligence, and by going to Sicily to be both the Agent and the Lover: This de­sire made him put to sea, and forsake his owne Coun­trey; such is the power of a noble resolution, so did the imagined beauty disquiet the Princes minde, and attract his will and freedome, that he expos'd his life to the perrill of the waves, and his greatnesse to a meane lodging of Planks and Canvas, to see if truth were correspondent to same. But he was lesse fortu­nate then adventrous; for one evening the Sea being angry, or weary to sustain the weight of so high a Ma­jesty in so little room begun to rage furiously, so that the valiant Princes life was in danger; the heavens were darkned, and the Aire so turbulent, that the [Page 12] company expected every minute, should end their lives, and without thought of saving themselves made him leap into the foaming Sea, fearing some worse event; and by embracing a plancke, to use the most difficult meanes for his owne safety: Thus pass'd he two dayes befriended by the weather, at length ar­rived so neare the Island, that Aurora could relieve, and after love him so extremely as we see.

She resolved at last to speake with him, but un­der the feigned name of Celia, which defire was en­creased by Pausanias; for one night he amorously sung these Verses upon the curiosity of his love.

As soone as Pausanias had made an end, Aurora call'd to him and said, (though with some difficulty, by reason that the Balcon's were very high) that he might leave his curiosity, and professe love: For his addresses were not unacceptable. Pausanias remain'd contented with this favour, since although hee had never seene the bestower, yet at least his affections were not so ill plac'd as he before imagin'd; and see­ing it vvas not possible to speak to her, he determin'd to vvrite, transferring his thoughts to the Penne, vvhich useth to bee the discreetest tongue, expressing more then is felt. The Letter vvas short (though the subject did not require it) to leave her vvith the desire of receiving another: and thus it said:

Pausanias repaired thither as hee used to doe, and having first courted her with a Song, which hee had composed that day, as well sung as penn'd, he shew'd her the Paper, saying it was a piece excellent for Musick, and that he should be extreame glad to heare it set to the Gittrah. Aurora understood him, and was pleas'd with the deceit, because that which otherwise would have appear'd lightnesse, now past for civility, (for there are some so discreet in what they demand that by encouraging the crime, they seem to excuse the fault) and throwing downe a string of Pearle, Pausanias return'd it more weigh­ty then before: Aurora read the Paper, and in part to satisfie his expressions, desiring him to expect a while, commanded Celia to write, not that shee could not her self, (for she was extreamely accomplish'd in every thing) but for the danger might ensue, if her hand were knowne; and betwixt them both they fram'd this Answer:

Pausanias kist the Paper, and read it often: for a Lover is never satisfied at the first, & the day follow­ing went to see what hee so much desir'd. Aurora had commanded her servants to retire to another [Page 16] quarter of the house, and being alone with Celia, caused her to attire her selfe richly, and shee stood be­side her. Pausanias beholding, was exceedingly ra­visht, in regard his fancy had come short of the truth; for Celia, besides her slender shape, was of a plea­sing beauty; but her lustre was eclips'd by Aurora's presence, whose eyes were spheres of light, her fore­head a plaine of Lillies, her haire the riches of Ara­bia; in her cheeke Roses, her mouth Pearles, her neck of Alabaster, her breasts of Snow, and hands of po­lisht Ivorie; she was attir'd in greene Tabey, wrought with gold, so that she appear'd like a Diamond encha­sed in Emralds, her Gowne Skie-colour, laid with black Buttons and Loopes: in a word, she was altoge­ther divine, her perfections many, and her yeares few. Pausanias was much astonished, yet fearefull the Sea should see her, lest he should wooe her for one of his waterie Deities; and thanking his own perseverance, hee determined to gaine her that had got his soule, though at the expence of a long absence from his Countrey: for he found that the Picture of Aurora that he had seen was farre un [...]quall to the divine Ce­lia: he esteemed the time well employ'd that he had spent in adoring those Walls, since within them hee had found so much more then expectation had pro­mised.

Whilst Pausanias enjoy'd these favours passing the night with them, and the day with hopes, it happen­ed that Dionysius sent for one of those that waited on Aurora, a [...]d threatned him, that if either through his or his fellows fault, it should be known where his daughter was, they should instantly dye a shamefull [Page 17] death. With this feare he returned to the rest, and gave them notice how much it concerned them that Pausanias would quit the Island, since he might easily at one time or other, as he walked in the wood, see the Princesse, and occasion all their ruines: So easie is it, replyed another, that I thinke he pretends, if he have not already effected it: for I have observ'd, that he looks up very intentively to those Balcones; and she hath enquired of me who he is; and if he persist, hee must of necessity come to know her, and we to lose Dionysius favour. In effect, feare overcame them, and all agreeing that hee should not continue there, they advertis'd him that it concern'd his life to ab­sent himselfe.

Pausanias wondred at their suddaine resoluti­on, and after many conjectures began to suspect that without doubt some one of them lov'd Celia, and would use that meanes to secure his jealousie or envy: and thereupon he determin'd to speake to them all, that he might satisfie him who conceiv'd himselfe in­jur'd, and to beseech them againe not to offer him so great a discourtesie, as to constraine him to depart the Island, untill such time as he had news of his servants, whose lives perhaps the Sea had pardoned. He plainly perceiv'd how difficult it was to reclaime them, see­ing those that before so kindely entertain'd him, now behold him distastefully (for ill will is dis­cover'd by the eyes, countenance, and carriage) and one morning finding them altogether, hee said to them:

Pausanias thought by this to have appeas'd and [Page 19] satisfied them, but the event was contrary, for the knowledge of this secret being their greatest feare, they needed no other information to draw their swords, and assault his life. But before they could dispatch it, Aurora and her gentlewomen hearing the noise, saw the treacherous mischiefe they intended to a single stranger, and forgetting her greatnesse, (for love considers not quality, when that which is estee­med is in danger) sent to command them all to de­sist, and informe her of their quarrell; who comming before her, related what charge her Father had given them, adding, that Pausanias for certaine either had already, or else meant to speak with one of the Ladies that attended her highnesse; which might give occasion to discover what Dionysius intended to keep so secret, that none but heaven and them­selves should know, and therefore to excuse the dan­ger that threatned them, it was necessary to take a­way his life.

With these hopes they were satisfied, and Auro­ra remained in a thousand perplexityes: for she lov'd him so passionately, that there would be but little difference betwixt loosing him and her owne life. And indeed so powerfull was his discourse and con­versation, that although he had been lesse worthy of her beauty, yet to see and heare him would beget affe­ction: And at last she became so resolute, that it would have grieved her to have been freed from her prison, if she should thereby be deprived of his plea­sing conversation: for women, when they once fall in love, are sensible neither of paines or misfortunes which befall them in the company they affect: wherefore she considered by what meanes she might comply with her own affection, and her servants feare. To keep him there against all their wills were to hazard her honour, and to give her enemies an oc­casion of a more severe revenge. Having first adviz'd with Celia, she writ a Letter, wherein she inform­ed him of what had past, entreating him affectionate­ly to preserve his life, and to prepare for departure; two things in appearance contrary. When night was come, the faire Princesse went forth to take leave of Pausanias, and delivering him the Letter, with a little Silver Cabinet wrapt in Taffata, not having power to speake, shee withdrew her selfe, to lament her ensuing misfortunes. Pausanias also re­tir'd, through the suspition of the late quarrell, and kissing the Signature, which said, Your Celia, he read it with much feare, on this manner.

[Page 21] SIr, I have had much care for you this day; I saw you draw your Sword, and I assure you it troubled me: I think it was love, yet unfortunate, since it must dye as soone as borne. We are both the cause of it, because I ghesse our affection hath been discovered. My birth is more noble then you imagine; and it concernes us both that you immediately absent your self, that you lose not your life, nor I my reputation. (Believe mee I am very sensible of it, for in a word, I love you, and must lose you. You may comfort your selfe with this thought, that it was impossible I should ever have been yours, not for love to any other, but for my qualitie too transcen­dent. I send you here a thousand Crowns to serve you in your journey, with a knot of Diamonds and Emeralds, which I did sometimes weare at my breast, that in your Countrey you may remember it was mine, and its owner yours.

[Page 22] Having read and deplor'd the rigorous sentence of his death, hee resolved precisely to obey all that Aurora in it had commanded, and to let her know some part of his regret, he tooke the Pen, and re­turn'd this answer:

I Should have esteem'd it a happinesse if to day I had received death by my ene­mies (since such they were) that I might not have expected it from your hands: Be­fore the mornings light breakes forth, I will absent my selfe from yours, that you may say I knew how to love and to obey you: What I would not doe for my owne life, I will for your honour: I cannot ex­presse what I feele, because I write perplex­ed, and can ascertaine nothing; onely I as­sure you my bloud is so noble, that the King of Syracuse himselfe cannot say hee is my better. I came out of my Countrey to marry in this Kingdome, & for your sake will return back. I give you infinite thanks for your Present, and will not excuse my selfe from repaying it hereafter. The knot [Page 23] I will keepe as your favour; and since you have given me so much cause of griefe, give me time to lament it, though I hope so to resent it, that when you least thinke of it, you will heare newes of his death, who knew how to love you, but had not the happinesse to deserve you.

Aurora with much trembling made an end of rea­ding the Letter, and not able to restraine her eyes, bath'd it in teares. Celia came to her, and tooke out of her hand the occasion of her griefe, but that little avail'd, for she tooke it not out of her breast; so that as she went through a long Gallerie, she wrung her hands, beseeching heaven to increase her Fathers ri­gour, and Arminda's hate, that they might contrive her death. She went to looke towards the Sea, ima­gining that her lost lover was already embarqued; and comming thither, so excessive were her teares and passionat expressions, that Celia fearing she might of­fer some violence to her selfe, amongst other reasons said thus to her.

[Page 25] Celila was attentive to what she said, and compas­sionating her teares, began to consider, if by any meanes shee might come to the sight of Pausanias, without endangering his life; shee had an acute and ready wit, but withall accompanied with so much discretion, that whatsoever shee undertook succeeded happily. After much deliberation shee concluded, that it was requisite (for feare of his enemies) not to see him for that time; but that he should continue some dayes in the thickets of that mountaine, and then might come hither by night having notice gi­ven him by Libanius, (one in whom she reposed trust.)

Aurora was by this much comforted, and embra­ced Celia a thousand times; who by Letter advertis'd [Page 26] Pausanias of her determination, she charged Libani­us to deliver him the Letter, and attend him as a guide. Pausanias had taken the road towards Sicily, to try if hee might finde in that way any of his lost servants. Libanius over-tooke him, and deliver'd the Letter and Message from Celia: Pausanias receiv'd it as one that saw his dead hopes revived, and having read it, & rewarded the welcome newes, Libanius in­formed him of what hee was to doe. So passing through the wide wood, they came to a poore Shep­heards Cottage where Pausanius stai'd, and Libanius return'd to give his Lady notice of what had passed. Hee continued there foure dayes, favour'd and che­rish'd by Aurora, who every day sent Libanus to visit him: and one night, as darke as the wish of any Lover could paint it, he came to the Pallace, (or ra­ther to the sphere of the Sun of that Island) and dismissed Libanius, (for a servant may not bee wit­nesse to every thing) then upon a signe given, Celia and Aurora came forth, and letting downe a Ladder of Cords, Pausanias in a moment got into the Bal­cone, and having kist Aurora's hands as his Mistris, and Celia's as his Mistresse's Lady, they led him through many roomes, so richly furnisht with hang­ings, chaires of State, and pictures, that it shewed no lesse magnificence then what he had forsaken in Ma­cedonia. And comming to a part that excelled the rest, as being furnish'd for strangers, Aurora told him, that he might abide there, intimating how requisite care and obedience were, and that to attempt the con­trary, was to put his life in apparent danger. Then so farre replyed Pausanias, I shall preserve it safe, [Page 27] having no will but your pleasure. Aurora gave him thanks, telling him, that because her Lady was pre­sent, she omitted many things which she reserv'd for more privacie; and taking her leave shew'd him the Balcone by which they might discourse.

Pausanias was well contented with his courteous entertainment, passing the greatest part of the day in contemplating that miracle of beauty; their mutuall affection increased equally (for by conversation love out-growes his infancy) and as one night they were both in dispute, whether lov'd more truly (a quar­rell wherein it grieves none to be overcome) Aurora with some expressions of resentment, said thus:

Pausanias obliged by Aurora's entreaties was rea­dy to have discovered himselfe; but that hee might with lesse difficulty be believed, he answered, that he was onely Son to the Admirall of Macedonias a man so eminent and beloved of the people, and of Time­nides his King, that he possest the first place in his affe­ction, and in the government of that Monarchy. Au­rora remain'd not discontented, since the innequalitie, was not so great as might deface the pleasing hopes she had imprinted in her breast. Onely Pausanias was angrie at himselfe, being conscious that to deceive her who relyed so confidently on him was a kinde of treachery: yet this offence was not inexcusable, in regard it is scarce esteemed a fault to make use of a slight deceit to compasse our desire. He succeeded so happily in his love, and so favour'd by the divine eyes of Aurora, that though he were not naturally distrustfull, yet was he fully perswaded of her affecti­on; and not without reason, since the expressions he had from her of this truth confirmed him in that be­liefe.

Aurora communicated to Celia all that had past; resolving at last to let Pausanias know the true causes of her imprisonment, that he might deliver her out of it, and conveigh her where shee might be secure from her unkinde fathers severity; Yet would shee concea [...]e this happinesse a while, to make triall of his constancy, whereof she had no need to exact so many [Page 29] proofes; for he liued so contented onely in loving her, that hee scarcely employed any other desire, though sometimes he wisht himselfe else-where, that he might enjoy a nearer conversation, yet with all re­spect to her honour. As he continued in this mind, it fortuned that Aurora, through some indispositions could not be seene for foure dayes: Pausanias bearing with much impatience this absence (along one to so true a lover) resolved to see her; and though such boldnesse might violate the promise he had made, he supposed the occasion would excuse him, where­upon one night, forcing the lock, he came with as much feare as silence to the bed where Aurora lay, who had then yeelded to a short slumber. He was a­stonish'd, not without cause, to behold the most per­fect piece of Natures Pencill; and setting down the light he carried upon a little silver Cup-board, began to contemplate that dead beauty, and living patterne of Divinity. Her haire was loose upon her shoul­ders, without more confinement then a green Rib­band; her right hand under her cheek, and her left carelesly upon the bed, which with a lovers timerous­nesse he took and kist. Aurora perceiv'd that some­thing did disquiet her, with her eyes halfe open, like the Sun when he wakens the day, saw a man at her bed side; and as soon as she knew it was Pausanias, warm'd with a modest bashfulnesse, she chang'd the Lillies of her Cheeks to Roses: She asked him angri­ly, why he came thither; He answered to see her: ‘I never thought (replyed Aurora) you had valued me so low as to preferre your own pleasure before my entreaties, & your curiosity before my honour. [Page 30] I warnd you, that to stir forth, concern'd the repu­tation and life of us both; which since you have done, judge what I may justly thinke of you. You will say Love was the cause: Presumption deceives you; you know such testimonies better consist with the hazard of the man then of the woman. Reserve this freenesse, or rather boldnesse, for women of meaner quality: rudenesse is not pardonable with every one: and be assur'd, I am herewith so offen­ded, that you cannot oblige me in all your life so much as you have with this one action displeas'd me. Returne to your lodging, and despaire not of liberty, if you esteem it an imprisonment to be thus lockt up; to morrow I will speak to my Lady, that with her leave you may returne from whence you came; so rash a man is unfit for high designes.’

Pausanias would gladly have replyed to excuse him­selfe, but Aurora would not suffer him, telling him of the danger she incurr'd, if he were discovered. Be­ing thus forced to retire, hee wish't with griefe hee might expiate this enterprize with the losse of life. Aurora was not so much displeas'd as she seem'd: Yet to let him know the respect due to her person, and to refine his affection, she thought it discretion not to see him for a few dayes.

Meane while, the people (in Sicily) impatient of Aurora's absence (whom they extremely lov'd) began to murmur at her Fathers cruelty, saying: what mercy can Subjects expect from him that tyrannizes over his owne bloud? It proceeded so farre, that some with clamours, others with Armes, required the restitution of the Princesse: The peoples insolency [Page 31] affrighted Dionysius, so that to dismisse them, and to comply with the desires of his Subjects, Friends, and Kindred, hee promised they should all suddenly see her: Hereupon he went out privately that night with Clearchus his Favourite, and arriving where Aurora was, excused his unkindnesse, and rela­ted the reason of his comming; hee comman­ded that immediately she and her company should make ready, for they must with all speed goe to Sicily.

Aurora was so dismai'd as might have given oc­casion of suspition: Celia was struck dumbe, and so suddaine was their departure, that Aurora had not time to weep. Neverthelesse, Celia ordered it so that shee spoke with Pausanias, but with so much perplexity and feare, that shee was hard­ly understood, in interrupted expressions shee said thus:

[Page 23] Sad and amaz'd was Pausanias at this accident; Sad, because Celia's words seemed to imply that he must lose her; and amaz'd, as being ignorant of the cause: hee could not apprehend the meaning of what hee had heard; sometimes imagining that hee was sentenc'd to depart in punishment of his late bold­nesse; sometimes that she meant to absent her selfe; and that which held him in greatest suspense, was the reflecting on her words, That one to whom by fortune she was subject, lesse mercifull then his rela­tion required, commanded her not to see him. A thing which she had ever conceal'd from him; but shee referred the discovery of this truth to time, the undeceiving Glasse. The day following past, and neither Celia nor the maid appointed to attend him visiting him; the night came, when making his ac­customed signall from the Balcone, he was answer'd by his owne eccho: then liftning at the doores, and perceiving that all things were in deepe silence hee suspected one of these two things, either some strange accident had happened, or Celia dwelt no longer in that place; having surpast those doubts; he resolved not to suffer himselfe to languish, where­fore opening the first doore with a Dagger, hee went so farre till he came to the Chamber of his absent Mistris, where looking round about, and finding nothing but a dismall solitude, hee began to thinke all was illusion and witchcraft; and therefore con­fidently expected his death: Yet being Master of no lesse valour then discretion, he drew his Sword, and went up and down the Castle to try if hee could free himselfe out of those enchantments: at length [Page 33] comming into a Hall, which to his thinking was the last, he saw a small light, and a little further foure men: Drawing neare them he said, they must ei­ther suffer him to goe out quietly, or prepaire for Death; for hee was so resolute, that their lives seem'd but few to his indignation. They, amaiz'd to see a man where the Sunne (the great Lynx of Heaven) could hardly enter, to doe their office, drew their timorous swords upon him: But hee had endangered all their lives, if one of them, laying hold of a Halbert, had not held it to his breast. The valiant youth was mov'd; for feare his excusable where the multitude of enemies may assault on every side; Yet considering withall, that to render him­selfe, were to runne the hazard of being carried dis­honourably to Sicily, he would rather undergoe the danger, then preserve his life with the stain of Cow­ard; He charg'd them to dispatch him, or else hee would adventure to change fortunes with them. At these words they were all daunted, and through feare had not courage enough to strike. At last they a­greed, not onely to let him depart, but that one should accompany him past danger of the way; because that place was so encompast with Mountaines and woods, that they who were best acquainted with the Desart, often lost themselves.

Pausanias gave them thanks for the curtesie, though it rather proceeded from feare then good will; and taking leave of them, went forth into the wood, with one that held himselfe the most va­liant among them: Before they parted, hee entreated him to tell him who was owner of that Castle; and [Page 34] to oblige him the more, put into his hand a rich Dia­mond Ring; scarce had he receiv'd it, (though with many protestations that hee needed not any reward to serve him) when he confessed that it was a house of Pleasure, where Dionysius us'd to divirt his minde from the cares which attend affaires of State; though it were long since he had resorted thither, by reason his faire daughter Aurora had dwelt there privately, whom last night (mov'd by the importunity of his Subjects) he carried back to Court. ‘Had this Prin­cesse (said Pausanias) no Ladies that attended her? Yes, replyed the timorus Flatterer, but there is onely one, called Celia, who deserves her affection: For, besides that her beauty is as singular as her dis­cretion, she is daughter to the Prince of Arsinda, one of the greatest and most eminent in all Sicily.’ Pa [...]sanias with this information was lesse afflicted: Hee dismiss'd the Man, determining to goe con­ceal'd to Court, to see his deare, though absent, Celia.

Let us leave Pausanias in this Mountaine, whilst Aurora seeks meanes to advertise him of the sud­dainnesse of her departure, and Celia writing (as she us'd) a Letter in her name, gave it to Libanius, commanding him to go where he was, and to bring him thence unperceiv'd if't were possible: It succe­ded not as Aurora and Celia desir'd: For Clearchus a Favourite of the Kings, had long lov'd Celia, and she favour'd him not onely by her eyes and affection, but by the Pen, assuring him by many Letters, that none but hee should ever possesse her beauty. Nei­ther was shee mistaken, in her choice: for Clearchus [Page 35] in every respect was her equall, and had so high a place in the Kings esteeme, that he was never from his side. This love was kept so private, that none but her selfe and Heaven knew of it. Clearchus by chance asking Libanus whither he went, he freely told him, On a Message from Celia. Seeing a Letter in his hand he began to mistrust her constancy: for long absence occasions suspition of injury. Disgui­sing himselfe the best he could, he tooke Horse and went after him; but could not guesse at the end of his journey, because he went directly towards the Sea. It was already night when he entred into a Fisher-Boat; Clearchus quitting his Horse, went over with him: when both were in the Wood, Clearchus bad him deliver what he had about him; Libanius suppo­sing he was a Thiefe, drew forth the Crownes that Celia had given him, and laid them at his feet; then begun to strip himselfe, to shew that he had no­thing else about him. Clearchus finding the Letter, promised him his life, if he would tell for whom it was; and so wrought with him, that poore Li­banus confessed all that he knew. Clearchus confirm'd in his suspition, restor'd him his Crownes, dou­bled; kept the Paper, and charg'd him to returne to Cicily.

Clearchus remain'd solitary, grieving that he thought himselfe undeceiv'd; and finding a poore Shepheards Cottage hard by, hasted thither, where taking a fire-brand in stead of a Torch, he drew out the paper, broke the Seale, and read what fol­lows.

Nothing can expresse the passionate furie, or the Arguments wherewith this misapprehending Lover complain'd of Celia's ill usage, and the injustice to­wards his affection. Hee was about to goe backe, with intent to teare him in pieces who was the cause of this jealousie; but a compassionate Shepheard disswaded him, entreating him to passe the rest of the night under that Shed: for to doe otherwise would shew indiscretion.

[Page 37] Clearchus (though with small content) yielded, and laying himselfe down upon a fresh bed made of Flags and Hay, saw hard by him a man sleeping, who by his shape and person seem'd of the best quality: demanding who he was, the Shepheard answer'd, that foure houres since he came to their Cottage, and desired to rest under that Covert, to avoid the sharpenesse of the night. Pausanias (for it was he that slept so securely, having his grea­test enemy beside him, and had been glad to find this poore Cottage where he might repose himselfe, wearied with Travell) awaking, perceived that he was not alone, but heard him that was by him, with sad complaints curse his Love, Jealousie, and Fortune.

Pausanias listning was troubled at what was said, but much more at the mention of Celia, a name that disquieted his soule. Observing him more dili­gently, he heard him thus discourse to himselfe:

Pausanias hearing this, was in such perplexity that he could not beleeve himselfe to be awake. Impatient that any man should professe himselfe fa­vor'd of Celia (to defend her reputation, and to chastize his foolish arrogance) he arose and told him, that the part of his sorrowes which he had heard troubled him as much as himselfe; but if a sight of Pausanius would allay his anger, the last night he was with a Gentleman of the same name, and perhaps they might find him in the next Wood. ‘I shall not be so happy, said Clearchus, for I know my ill fortune when I desire a thing. Yes, I be­lieve you may replyed Pausanias.’ Then lighting a dry Olive branch he invited him to come after, pro­minng that within a few houres he would bring him to him.

Thus went they forth together, and coming to the most intricate place of the Wood, Pausanias stuck the light upon a Tree, and drawing his sword, reso­lutely said to him:

‘Doe not think (answer'd Clearchus) thy me­naces move me: my heart is form'd for higher en­terprizes, and e're long thou wilt repent this foolish rashnesse. Yet that thou maist know the cause why I sought thee so earnestly, and with what reason I complaine of Celia, heare her falshood, and thou wilt confesse that I have not spoken very extravigantly of her. Celia and my selfe have these many yeares reciprocally exchang'd a pure and secret affection; but shee being necessi­tated to absent her selfe from me for some reasons, I was so unhappy that in that time shee saw and lov'd thee: if she had neglected me for love of thee, I had lesse reason to complaine; but shee was so farre from neglect, that shee never favour'd mee with larger expressions then now; and that thou maist not thinke these calumnies, proceeding rather from jealousie then the truth of one that respects his honour, see whether it bee fa [...]se or no:’ so [Page 40] drawing out of his breast many Letters and Papers, he cast them at his feet.

Pausanias read some of them; amongst others his owne, and another which the same day she had writ­ten to Clearchus. A good while he tooke not his eye off from the Papers, it seeming to him impossible there should be in the world a woman so facile and so cunning: but at last being fully perswaded of her falsehood, he gathered together all the cozening Let­ters, and threw them into the fire, as if hee could consume so many deceits at once. Thereupon Clearchus with his sword in hand bad him, if hee were a Gentleman, prepaire to defend himselfe: for it was not fitting it should bee said in Sicily, that having had his enemy in the field he left him alive. Thou shalt not need to prevent me, answered Pausa­nias, for that was the onely reason why I drew thee out into this wood: and so assaulting him furiously, the Combate began, without any apparent advantage on either side. Clearchus was the more weary, as be­ing lesse dextrous in the exercise of Armes. Pausanias avoiding a blow that he made, falsifi'd another, and wounded him dangerously in the head. Clearchus having his face bathed in bloud, lost not his courage, but enflam'd with revenge, assaulted Pausanias so desperately, that he was forced to use all his skill to guard himselfe. The clashing of their swords di­sturb'd the Shepheards that went whistling their Sheep together. They came in the instant, when the losse of bloud abated strength, but not courage in Clearchus. They all ran in to him, seeing him the more necessitated, and carried him home to their [Page 41] Cottage, where with medicinall Herbes they enter­tain'd and cured him.

The valiant Prince (no lesse astonish'd at the cou­rage of Clearchus, then at the lightnesse of Celia) expected the approach of day, with intent to take shipping, and returne to his Country. He went to­wards the Sea, and discoursing with himselfe on the various events of his fortune, saw a ship, which by its losse of tackling and sailes, shew'd it had suf­fer'd the anger of inconstant Neptune. He observ'd the Armes it carryed, and knowing they were his, drew neerer to satisfie himselfe: but this doubt la­sted not long; for Leontius, Sonne to the Admirall of Macedonia, leaping a shore with his Compa­ny, knew him, and gave thankes to Heaven for the favour it had vouchsaf'd them in preserving his life.

They related to him, how that after a long tem­pest and imminent death, it pleas'd Fortune to ap­pease the Sea: But all of them bewailing their Prin­ces absence, resolv'd not to returne to Macedonia without him, since hee might possibly escape alive. Pausanias gratified their noble resolution with fa­vours and rewards. Hee caused them to repaire their Ship, determining to goe privately into Sici­ly; that they might not returne unsatisfied to Ma­cedonia; to see if the Beauty of Aurora pleas'd him; and to revenge himselfe on the inconstant Celia.

With this resolution hee went to Court; but his arrivall could not be so private, but Dionysius had no­tice of it, and immediately gave him a visit, be­stowing [Page 42] such extraordinary favours upon him, that words sufficed not to expresse his thankfulnesse. Dionisius carried him to see the Princesse; know­ing her beauty to bee the chiefe motive of his com­ming thither.

Pausanias amaz'd when he perceiv'd Celia, to whom he spake, to be by all call'd Aurora, was rea­dy to have accus'd Dionysius of imposture; but Leon­tius (who had beene Ambassadour before in Syra­cuse) assuring him it was Aurora, hee was almost distracted; and not treating with Dionysius any fur­ther in that businesse, he resolv'd to returne to Ma­cedonia, since a woman engaged to another in love, was not fit to be his wife.

Aurora's thoughts were very different from his, for perceiving her good fortune, that Pausanias was every way equall to her, shee thought the time long till shee had some meanes to accomplish her affecti­on.

Celia already was inform'd of the quarrell that had beene betwixt Clearchus and the Prince. And as Aurora was once complaining of him, for not comming to sollicite that which he so much desir'd, Celia told her, that the reason why hee was so coole in his Love, was the deceit of her Letters, and thereupon recounted all that past, advertising her, that this mistake was as well cause of her losing Clearchus, for hee was infected with the same jealousie; so that it concern'd them both to discover the private devise her Love had made use of. Aurora excusing the Princes indifferency, in regard it proceeded rather from his owne honour [Page 43] then neglect of her, called Clearchus, and disco­ver'd to him the whole businesse, that he might not suspect any thing in prejudice of Celia's ho­nour; she commanded him to go visit Pausanias from her, and to let him know the mistake that had de­tained him in jealousie.

Clearchus now freed from all former suspition, obey'd, and having kiss'd the Princes hand, ask'd pardon for drawing his sword against him, though unknown. Pausanias told him, ‘he was engag'd to love his valour, and to desire his friendship. I must requite this honour, answered Clearchus, with welcome news;’ and then related the occasion of Aurorah's living in the Castle; and how imagining he was below her greatnesse, she had dissembled her name, changing it for Celia, untill she were fully inform'd of his condition; how to avoid the danger of having her Letters known, she caused Ce­lia to write for her; how the reason of his going to find him in the Wood, was because he had for many yeares loved Celia, as he had gather'd by his words, and seeing the Letter with her Seale he was confirmed in his jealousie, blaming the affection of guiltlesse Celia.

The Prince was surprized with wonder and joy at this relation of Clearchus, and casting his Armes about his neck, in signe of love and delight, said, the news was so conformable to his wishes, that only time could expresse how highly he esteemed it. Then went he to treat with Dionysius concerning his love; who promised her to him, thereby requiting the com­plement of having left his Countrey; neither was [Page 44] any more worthy of the Princesse, and immediate­ly they writ to Timenides the Princes Father about their agreement.

Pausanias had now opportunity to visit her, and to expostulate the favourable deceit, whereby she had caused his jealousie. Their Espousals were solemnized with the greatest Pompe that Cicily ever beheld, joint­ly celebrating those of Clearchus and Celia, whose constancy merited a successe no lesse fortunate. With­in a few daies they imbarqued for Macedonia, attended by all the magnificence of the Court.

Timenides received them with the joy of a Fa­ther, who supposing his Son lost or dead, found him so much improv'd in all things; Then feeling himselfe burden'd with yeares, and through infirmi­ties unable to be the Atlas of that weight, he trans­ferred the Crown to his Sons head: And that the pleasure of so true an affection might be compleat, Heaven was pleased to bestow on their first yeare a Son. Pausanias and Aurora living and loving so unanimously that every day seemed the first of their marriage.

FRom the top of Caucasus, a Mountain in Armenia, descended a man, savage in ap­pearance, though not in mind; cloath'd with severall skins of wild Beasts, his limbs strong and swarthy, his face scorch'd with the Sun, his haire long; at his shoulder hung a Quiver of Arrowes, at his left side a Wood-knife, and in his hand he carried a young tree, which (being stript of the boughes and leaves) was both his stay and defence; who sitting down upon a Car­pet of sweet though ordinary Flowers, drew out of his breast a beautifull Picture, so lively in the obscure Tablet, that it seem'd to have more soule then it re­ceived from the Pencill; and beholding it as inten­tively as if it had beene the Originall; much trou­bled he thus passionately discoursed to it:

The tender-savage Lover would have proceeded in Discourse to the Picture, had he not been inter­rupted by a young Shepheardesse, who passing by the skirts of a green Mountaine (imagining shee was heard of none but the Birds) as she went along sung thus:

Gesimenes (for so was this prodigie of fortune nam'd) was much astonisht to heare so sweet a voice in a wilde wood unfrequented by any. He arose and called to her, bidding her not feare, for he was a man rationall as others, though his habit expressed no [...] his condition. The timorous shepheardesse, when she saw his savage appearance, giving her selfe for lost, fled from this counterfeit Satyr, till staid by weari­nesse, shee fell at his feet, so affrighted and out of breath, that it pittied him he had overtaken her. When hee beheld her divine beauty, hee thanked Heaven that it had contracted its greatest perfections in a poore Shepherdesse. Neither did this admiration pro­ceed [Page 49] from a forgetfulnesse of his faire Polixena; but the reason which induc'd him to this liking, was her resemblance of the other; such as would confound a Painter in drawing them both: He took her in his armes and carried her to his poore Cave; where, ha­ving first recovered her senses with water, which hee fetch'd in a Tortoise shell from the neighbouring Rock, hee set before her Cakes and dryed fruits; hee assured her that shee was not in danger; that his quality was more gentle then his appearance pro­mis'd; that she might continne there in safety; and, that her beauty had kindled in his breast so just an af­fection, that though he had been savage indeed, hee should not have been so to her: for at the first sight of her an inclination did secretly invade his soul, which oblig'd him not onely to honour, but to engage his life for her. Therefore he entreated her by the great respect which, in so short a time, she had gain'd up­on him, not to leave his company, but rather to help him to passe the tediousnesse of that solitude, then afflict his love by her absence, which hee should infi­nitely resent.

‘Truely, replyed Ismenia, (so was the Shepher­desse nam'd) what you require is not onely just, but due to that civility and protection you promis'd; besides, it concernes my owne interest as well as yours: for I am fled hither to avoid a man, to whom my parents would have married me; one, they say, doth every way equall me; but, to say truth, though I was borne among the; Rocks, and am of a low parentage, yet have I a spirit and thoughts so high, that I am not in my owne opinion inferiour either [Page 50] the heire of Albania, or the King of Armenia. This morning I rose with intent to subdue that self-conceit, and love him in obedience to those that perswaded me; but finding I could not affect him, nor reclaime my stubborne will, I stole away and hid my selfe in this Mountaine, chusing rather to be a prey to the wild beasts, then to one I could not without disdaine behold: though many women are of opinion that conversation may produce affe­ction; yet could not I expose my selfe to so appa­rent hazard, fearing the worst: For the danger is great which she incurs, who out of this confidence undervaluing her owne liberty, marries one that she abhorres. But because I finde within my selfe (besides the thanks I owe your curtesie and enter­tainment) something that moves mee to love and respect you; for though you appear outwardly a son of these Rocks, yet your civill demeanour contra­dicts that appearance; I conjure you therefore by your selfe to tell me who you are, and the reason of your living in this Desart; since we have agreed to dwell together, and I have given you an account of my fortune, it is fit you requite mee with the like.’

Thou maist imagine Ismenia how I receiv'd this Present: My heart was instantly congeal'd at the bold impiety of Lucander, I then foresaw my [Page 55] misfortune, and mixing a Fathers teares with the yet warme bloud, I bath'd the mangled Limbes; dis­sembling my passion as well as I could, I went to see him, and asked him the reason of so strange a Present, which would have moved feare and pitty in the most cruell breast. My treacherous brother, as if he had done me an extraordinary favour, re­lated the sad accident, and told me his designe to ruine me, and persecute the afflicted Polixena.

[Page 58] Here Gesimenes stopt (for the remembrance of his wife drew teares from his eyes) and Ismenia com­ming to him, comforted him, promising not to be a minute from his side; for besides that his person de­served it, a naturall inclination induc'd her to esteem, and to give him as much respect as if he were her Fa­ther: so that to divert some part of his griefes, shee took out of her Scrip an instrument, and sung thus:

The company of Ismenia was an extraordinarie comfort to Gesimenes, who recreated by her beauty and wit passed the houres of the day with lesse anxie­ty; loving each other with so true yet chaste affection as they never entertain'd one loose thought. Thus lived they both secure and contented, especially Isme­nia, because shee was not in love, nor acquainted with any cares that might disquiet her rest. But she could not long boast her liberty: for as one after-noon she beheld her selfe in that Christall Rivolet, when the dying Sunne was giving up his languishing light, [Page 59] she spied a young Gentleman who wearied in the pursute of some wilde beast, having left his horse, slept upon the Flowers, (leaning his cheek on his hand) to the sweet Musick which the water made, playing with the blew pebbles. Having earnestly be­held him, (for his person was warlike, his apparell Majestick, & his forme Divine;) she would have gone away, but could not; for love seizeth on free hearts, and like a flash of lightning suddenly scorches. In briefe, Ismenia found her feet fetter'd, and her soule inclined to stay. Thus suffering her selfe to bee van­quish'd by love, she softly approached him, and draw­ing the sword that hung in his Scarffe, suddenly awaked him, bidding him receive it, and acknow­ledge that he owed his life to her, who could so ea­sily have taken it. Perozes (for that was his name) starting up, and admiring Ismenias exquisite beau­ty, answered,‘that he could not thank her pitty for not giving him death by the sword, if he must re­ceive it from her eyes; that she expressed thus more cruelty then mercy, for asleep he should not have been sensible of the one, but it was impossible for him waking to escape the other.’ Her habit caus'd in him no lesse wonder then her beauty, wherefore he besought her by entreaties and promises to tell him the reason why she liv'd in that Mountaine, en­richt with perfections that might become a Pa­lace; unlesse she were some new Diana, some divine Huntresse, who disdaining to live amongst men, re­solved to spend her time in that wildernesse. Ismenia reply'd, that she came thither to accompany her Fa­ther, one of a noble birth, and excellent qaalities, [Page 60] though throwne down by fortune to a low estate, They were both as much intangled in love as if they had convers'd together many yeares, each of them so delighted with the others company, that Ismenia had no power to retire up the Mountaine to Gesimenes, nor Perozes to descend to the valley to seek his ser­vants, whom that afternoon hee had lost in the chace: but the discreet Shepherdnesse seeing the night threaten them, and being farre from home, thus spake unto him:

[Page 61] With this they tooke leave of each other. The affection of Ismenia dayly encreas'd so much that Gesimenes might easily have perceived it, if hee had suspected there had beene more men in the wood to converse with: nor was Perozes her debtour; for every houre of the day shee was in his mind, and the nights he waited in the Mountaine expecting her; though she could not come downe so often as shee would; for Gesimenes had chid her for comming home so late, little suspecting love to be the cause, but rather her eagernesse of the chase.

Upon a time shee came thither unobserv'd by Gesi­menes, and casting her eye aside found in a crimson Taffata a Picture of a faire Lady wrapt up in Paper, which serv'd for its case: this it seemes Perozes had through negligence the night before let fall amongst the Jesmines: Ismenia perceiving the Inscription was directed to him, moved with the curiosity of a jealous woman, read it, and found it said thus:

Ismenia would not proceed any further, nor indeed could shee for jealousie and anger; a lesse discovery might have been sufficient to have kill'd her: she ac­cused her malicious fortune, and much bewailed the losse of Perozes, apprehending so many inconveni­ences, that it seemed impossible he should ever bee hers. First, his Birth, and the distance between them; next, hee was to marry a Princesse, enrich'd (as the Picture shew'd) with extraordinary beauty; but hearing some body come, she dissembled her griefe, and perceiv'd it was her Enemy, who (as hee came along) sung thus:

An injur'd woman is not sensible of any thing so much as of flattery from him that wrongs her; and Ismenia confident that Perozes love was counterfeit, tooke it more unkindly to bee deceiv'd, then unre­quited; for disaffection may bee naturall, and out of our power, but dissimulation is not, being bred onely in malicious breasts. That Perozes might not boast he had forsaken her first, though for the Princesse of Al­bania, she went to him, and betwixt reason and jea­lousie said thus:

Scarse had the jealous Ismenia ended, when with­out expecting an answer of satisfaction, shee ran a­way into the more envious part of the Wildernesse; Perozes being unacquainted with the place presently lost her, expressing so much passion as might have mollifi'd a Rock, if it could have heard him; but all in vaine; Ismenia would not runne the hazard of re­lenting by hearing what hee could say: for the ten­der disposition of women is perswaded to weepe by seeing others do so: yet was she not without resent­ment; for, retiring to the remotest corner of the Cave shee wept affectionate teares, and taking out the Letter that was directed to her lover, shee kist that name in the superscription which was engraved in her heart. Thus the two Lovers passed two dayes [Page 65] without meeting, not through Perozes neglect, but Ismenia's obstinacy, who saying late one evening at the border of the mountaine to behold a tree, on whose barke both their names were engraven: ‘What availes it (said shee complaining to her selfe) that Peroses writeth himselfe mine on the trees, when the Princesse of Albania may countermand it? what that he flatters mee with such kinde affe­ction in this solitude, if at Court he adores a brigh­ter beauty?’ shee would have said more, had shee not been interrupted by the Musick of a sweet voice from amongst the Poplars: though she knew it was her ungratefull Lover, yet shee was willing to dis­pence a little with her resolution, and hearken to this Song:

[Page 76] Ismenia perceiving by the words and voice it was Perozes, sought to hide her selfe in the bushes, that she might avoid sight and speech with him; not that she was averse from it, but she would not give occa­sion to awake that love which slumbred in absence; but the rushing of the leaves betraid her: Perozes told her, ‘She had no reason (unlesse she had with her habit changed he humanity) to fly from one who had not lost her through any offence of his own: But since he was so unfortunat, that he could not be hers, he entreated her to informe her selfe by that Paper of his extreme passion, that she might at least know how much she was indebted to him:’ so taking leave of her, he left in her hand these Verses, which she imprinted as she read them in her soule.

Ismenia relenting would have read them often, had shee not beene hindred by Gesimenes, who comming to seek her, and glad to have found her, entreated her to divert his continuall Melancholy with a Song; whereupon, more to obey him then please her selfe, (dissembling her griefe) she sung thus:

When Ismenia had ended her Song, it being late, they retired homewards; and as they were going up [Page 68] the Hill, by a Lane fenced on either side with Wil­lowes and white Poplars, they heard a great sound as of something that fell from an high; Ismenia was amazed, and Gesimenes laid hold of his Bow, think­ing it might be some wild beast; they searched all a­bout, but could not find the cause; at last they percei­ved a Barke ( [...]o they were not far from the Sea) neare the Shore; it was covered over, and had nei­ther Helme nor Mariner to guide it; Gesimenes and Ismenia fastned it to Land, and were desirous to know what was in it; scarce were the Sailes and Cover­ture taken off, when such astonishment seiz'd them, that for a good space they did nothing but looke on each other: within it was a man bathed in bloud, and by his sid a beautiful Lady, living, yet so dismaid, that she wanted little of the dead body which lay be­side her: They were both afflicted at so sad a spe­ctacle, especially Gesimenes, who intentively behold­ing the Lady, fancied, he saw in her the face and person of his absent Wife. He gave the dead body buriall in the Sea, since there was no meanes to re­store his life: he tooke the Lady in his armes, and carried her to the homely Palace of his Cave, where he entertain'd her with such care, that in a short time he had good hope of her life.

When she had recovered so much strength as to open her eyes, and found on either side of her a man and woman: At first she was afraid of them, though their behaviour and hospitality had exprest more pie­tie then her severe father and kindred: She wondred much that Gesimenes so constantly fixed his eyes up­on her; and hearing Ismenia sometimes call him [Page 69] by his name, she said to him. ‘Two things hold mee in this suspence, you may do me a favour to instruct me in them: Is it true that you are called Gesimenes? Why since I opened my eyes have you so stedfastly beheld me, often sighing, and sometimes weeping? you may aske the same of mee, because when I first heard your name, it struck mee to the soule; For I loved a Gentleman of the same name, at the expence of so many afflictions, that this hazard of my life was the least; and should I say, that this Gesimenes (whom I call Husband) was son to the King of Albania, truth would not accuse me.’

Gesimenes was so transported with joy, that hee could scarce expresse his mind. ‘If (said hee) I am the unfortunate Sonne of Pharnazes, and thy Husband; if thou art Polixena, and my eyes deceive me not, how can I behold thee without an extasie of content? how can my heart but breake with the apprehension of the misfortunes thou hast suffered for my sake? Polixena, I am Gesimenes; and will be thine, till heaven deprive me of this life, which I esteem now I enjoy thy sight and embraces. Hence­forward I shall desire life, which I thought I should never have done: for during the time I have dwelt among these Rocks, the rising Sunne never found mee not suing to heaven to be eased of it; for life is not a pleasure, but a torment to the unfortu­nate.’

Words are not full enough to expresse the con­tent of these two Lovers; for language is too narrow to cloath great passions; so that with their eyes and soules they congratulated their strange and happy [Page 70] meeting. The beauty of Ismenia and Gesimenes care of her, might well have given Polixena cause of jea­lousie; yet when shee was informed of the occasion which brought her to live with him, shee esteemed her with as much affection as if shee had beene her owne daughter. Thus being all three equally con­tented, Gesimenes desired her to instruct them in the afflictions shee suffered during his absence: for the relation of past miseries in prosperity doth deiight more then disconsolate: wherefore to comply with their request, she said:

Ismenia and Gesimenes congratulated Polixena's good fortune; for though it were Eclips'd with trou­bles and discontents, yet the event being happy it cannot be called adverse. Thus lived Gesimenes with his wife more contented then if he had been Lord of the whole world, enjoying her beauty and company without feare or interruption, endearing to himselfe that blessing which heaven after so many yeares of affliction had reserv'd for him. Ismenia and Perozes past the time with lesse delight, complain­ing each of the others affection; she as thinking he was contracted to another, and he as having the same opinion of her: But Ismenia weary of concealing her jealousie, was unwilling that Perozes should ac­cuse her of inconstancy, when she had just cause to condemne him: wherefore she found him out a­mongst the Lawrels and Jesmines, and shewed him the Pictnre and Letter: She told him, ‘That the rea­son why she had belied her own affection and con­stancy, was not that she lov'd any else, but that she was of opinion he was anothers; that those two witnesses would prove it & that he could not won­der at her cruelty, since his falsehood and ill requi­tall deserved it.’

Ismenia was so well satisfied and pleas'd with Pe­rozes promise, that to confirme what shee had said, she plac'd him so, that he might see Gesimenes in his Wives armes; and as Lovers seldome conceale any thing from one another, notwithstanding she had told him that he was her Father, shee re­lated to him their true story; to which Perozes hearken'd with much content, seeing how nobly his beloved Ismenia was descended if Gesimenes and Po­lixena were her Parents, for then she was Neece to the King of Albania, a good reason to excuse his unadvised love, since he married, though not the Prin­cess, yet one of her bloud. With these joyful hopes Pe­rozes took his leave, but Ismenia was troubled when she considered that she had done ill to feigne her selfe the daughter of Gesimenes, knowing how easie it [Page 74] was to disprove it: for though her affection and re­semblance made it probable, yet she was conscious that their births were extremely different.

Perozes, devoting himself wholly to the affection of Ismenia, and resolving to marry her, refus'd the match with the Princesse of Albania, and sent to give Pharnazes notice he was already married, who was sensible of this affront, believing that this neglect was in contempt of his alliance; and without expecting either Letters or Ambassadors, with his Son Lucan­der he raised a great Army, binding themselves by a solemne Oath not to return to Albania, till they had either taken or slaine Perozes.

On the other side Perozes was not negligent; for having notice of the intention of Pharnazes, he desired of his Father a Commission for that Warre, and leavied sufficient forces to resist the proud Alba­nians. Meane while, visiting Ismenia, he desired her to perswade her Father Gesimenes (who was a great Souldier) to command his Army; as well to protect the cause which was his owne, being his daughters, as to revenge himselfe upon Lucander, who now came insolently with Pharnazes; besides the Albanians might hereby know he was alive, and had power to oppose them. Ismenia was much perplext to fore­see her imposture would be soone discovered; but committing all to time and fortune, she determined to speake to Gesimenes, and thereupon informed him of the Princes affection, the occasion of the Warre, and the opportunity which heaven hath offer'd him to returne from that miserable kind of life to his first estate.

[Page 75] Gesimenes disliked not the meanes which Ismenia in Perozes name offered for obtaining the desired end of his affaires. Hee was willing to serve him; but not therby to injure his father: a relation (though hee were ungratefull) not to bee dispenc'd with. His hope was to bee the instrument of peace, and of the death of his treacherous brother, upon whose death he might returne to Albania and enjoy the Crowne. Ismenia told him, that it would be requisite for some time to acknowledge her for his daughter. Gesime­nes reply'd, that he should not onely for a time, but as long as he lived esteeme her so: For the love he bare her, and the resemblance shee had to Polixena was such, that if her Parentage had not been very meane, it would easily have bin credited. Ismenia brought him to Perozes, the two Princes convers'd together with great expressions of affection. Perozes wondred to behold him so alter'd and different from what he had known him before; and enquiring after Polixena, he intreated him to bring her along that she might beare his sister company. They were honourably received by the Nobility and commons of that Kingdome, with respect due to persons of such eminence. The King conferred the Generalls Staffe on Gesimenes, who changing his Habit, appear'd so gracefull and majestick, that they could hardly perswade them­selves hee was the same whom the day before they had seen in that wilde shape: so much do ornaments adde to exteriour Beauty.

By this time the proud Albanians were come so neare, that the mountaines resounded with the eccho [Page 76] of their Warlike instruments: At night Gesimenes went out in his old habit, to espy in the Campe with what force his father came; he was so well acquaint­ed with that place that hee feared not to lose him­selfe, and wearing so strange a habit it was impro­bable they should suspect him. One night as he went downe from his Cave to the bottome of the Hill, with intent to returne to the Court, hee heard some not farre off consulting privately together; with­drawing himselfe behinde a tuft of Oakes and Pines, hee beheld from them thence a young man in Ar­mour, whom all the rest seemed to respect and ho­nour as their Master; Gesimenes by reason of the darknesse of the night could not discern who he was, but he gather'd that from his words, which sufficient­ly troubled him, for he was speaking to them to this effect:

The Piety of Ges [...]menes could scarce believe the vil­lany which Lucander intended against him to whom he owed his being: but giving thanks to heaven for the favourable opportunity of preserving his Fathers life, hee went that way by which Lucander said hee was to passe. He had not gone farre when hee found him compleatly arm'd, going about to informe him­self of the state of the Camp, who seeing him drew his sword, thinking he was a wild man, & assaulted him to kil him: But Gesimenies in token of peace throwing down the young Tree which he had in his hand, told [Page 78] him that he might see he was a man as himselfe, that he came to advise him, not to go that way, because his sonne with some of his Subjects, who it seemes would be advantaged by his death, lay in wait to kill him.

Pharnazes was amazed at this Speech, and was the sooner enclined to credit it, when he cald to mind the ill disposition of Lucander, and some others that hee convers'd with: he was unwilliug to returne to his Tent before he had satisfied himselfe; wherefore hee descended the bottome of the Hill, and Gesimenes [Page 79] after him, earnestly desiring the Traitors would sally forth, that he might have an occasion to oblige his Father, and be reveng'd for all the injuries had been done him. Lucander, so soon as Pharnazes came neare, gave notice to the rest and assaulted him, crying, Kill the Tyrant of Albania. Pharnazes called to Ge­simenes to performe the promise, and protect his life. He needed not much entreaty, for as soon as he saw the ambush appeare, he came up to him, and so laid about him on every side with the young Oake, that hee dispersed them, and if any oppos'd him, he paid for his boldnesse, by measuring his length upon the ground. Lucander adventured, for the de­ [...]ence of one blow to trust to his Buckler, thinking to get in with his sword; but with such fury did Ge­simenes let fall upon his enemie, that he felled him to the ground: The assistant Conspirators afrighted at his fall, left him and ran away: Pharnazes leading a­way Lucander, sent him to prison, but concealed the cause, fearing the souldiers might mutiny: Then be­ing alone with Gesimenes, entreated him to let him know who he was to whom he owed life. Gesime­nes yet unwilling to be known, answered, he was the son of that mountain; but the reason which oblig'd him to his defence with such earnestnesse was the intimate friendship he once had with one called Gesi­menes, who profest himselfe his unfortunate Son.

‘Alas, said Pharnazes, drowning his face in teares, had he liv'd, this Traitor Lucander durst not have attempted so impious a Treason.’ ‘He not only lives (answered Gesimenes) but ere many daies passe, I [Page 80] shall be able to let you see him, as obedient still, as you had never us'd him unkindly.’ ‘Then believe if me, (replyed Pharnazes) that very instant will I set the Crowne of Albania upon his head; the Kingdome will not be sorrie for it: though they think he be not heire while Lucander lives, yet there is more in this then they know. You are his friend, and will rejoyce at his happinesse: that therefore you may seeke him with greater diligence, bee attentive and and heare what a low condition his Fate decreed him, even before he was borne.’ Gesimenes with won­der observed what his Father said, and giving him time to wipe away the teares of his affliction, heard him proceede in this manner:

Gesimenes was not able to containe his joy, but falling downe at his Fathers feet discovered himselfe, saying he was Gesimenes, and that he was well con­tent with the miseries Fortune had inflicted on him, since he had been banisht from his sight; Now shee had bestow'd on him the happinesse to rescue his gray haires. Pharnazes transported with such joy to see him alive, as the strangenesse of the accident re­quired, embraced him most affectionately, and told him that he should goe along with him, for on the morrow his Commanders should kisse his hand, and his presence would animate the Souldiers, for they all loved him extremely, and knowing his valour would undertake the warre, with the greater reso­lution. [Page 82] In this Gesimenes could not obey, excusing himselfe with the acknowledgement of many favours received from Perozes, of whose Forces he was Ge­nerall, yet that he had taken Armes against his Fa­ther, was not to offend him (as he had shewne) but to be a meanes of peace between both Kingdomes. Gesimenes at parting enquired of him for his Wife Polixena; he much troubled, desired him not to speak of her; for it would afflict his heart to remember the cruelty which her Father and Lucander had us'd in her death.

Let it not grieve you so much, said Gesimenes, For she is living; and although it may seeme impossible, I have long enjoy'd her company in this Desart, for Heaven doth favour innocence, and protect those Lives which Power and Fortune doe unjustly perse­cute.

Hereupon Gesimenes departed joyfully: And Phar­nazes was no lesse glad for having found his son, and with him his owne life, which had that night been lost, had it not been preserved by Gesimenes. Then communicating this strange event to his Counsell, he determined to treat with the King of Armenia, and Prince Perezes concerning Peace, and the former Marriage. The evening following a place of meeting was appointed for the two Kings. The first thing they did was the proclaming of Gesimenes King of Al­bania, and the same day Polixena was confirm'd his Wife; the King and Queen of Armenia offering themselves to give her at the Temple. Perozes told Pharnazes that the reason why he rejected the pro­pounded Marriage with the Princesse, was because he [Page 83] was already married to Ismenia, who was Niece to him, and Daughter to Gesimenes and Polixena. Here­upon, they both to informe him of the truth, replyed that they had no further knowledge of her, then that she had been brought up some years in their compa­ny; that the businesse was now of such consequence, that it would be unjust to deceive him; and though they had reason to love Ismenia as well as if she were their Daughter, yet in truth she was but of poore and meane Parentage.

This struck Perozes, as if he had heard the sen­tence of his death, but it troubled him more, when he understood Ismenia could not be found; for seeing a necessitie that her deceit must bee discovered, and that she must lose Perozes, shame would not suffer her to appeare; so she retired into the woods, flying from him she loved, and intending to end her life in that solitude. The Nuptialls were deferred till they might have news of the lost Ismenia; for the mar­ried couple were so discontented at her absence that their resentment gave occasion to many to suspect she was indeed their Daughter, and that they denyed it onely because they were unwilling to give her to Pe­rozes: The truth was, they lov'd her so extremely, that if Gesimenes had not known Ismenias Parents might have contradicted it, he would have owned her. Perozes in great passion offered a great summe of money to any that should bring newes of her. Ge­simenes calling to minde that shee had often told him the place where she was borne, instantly dispatched Messengers to informe themselves with all diligence of her Parents, and to see whether shee were not re­turn'd [Page 84] to them: After enquirie they found them, and upon examination they confessed, ‘That Ismenia was not their Daughter, thought they had professed her such almost ever since shee was borne; that a Gentleman of Albania named Artaspes one night brought her to their house, to be brough up by them, charging them upon forfeit of their lives, not to re­veale the secret to any; that three yeares agoe having a desire to match her with a Kinsman of theirs, on the day intended for marriage she stole away, since which time they could never know whether shee were alive or dead.’

This encreased the admiration of all; seeing Ar­taspes had brought her thither, they supposed shee must bee his: He being at that time in Albania, they sent for him to declare what he knew concerning Is­menia: Being come hee desired a little privacy with Gesimenes, and thus spake unto him.

Gesimenes amazed to heare these things, doubted whether the prodigie of his owne storie and Ismenia's life were a Dream, or true: for according to the Re­lation of Artaspes she was his Daughter: And her face had been sufficient to prove it, if there had been no other testimony. He flung his Armes about Artas­pes neck, and promised him such requitall, that hee should not repent his curtesie. He presently related all to Pharnazes, Perozes, and Polixena, and as great was the joy of all, as their grief that Ismenia was mis­sing. They went to seek her, Gesimenes as her Father, Perozes as her Husband: Gesimenes went to the Hill where he had formerly lived with her, & at the side of a Wood, he saw a man lying a long upon the gras: comming neare, and asking what hee did there, hee answered, he was a poore Souldier, that hearing a Proclamation, promising ten thousand Crownes to [Page 87] him that should finde Ismenia, out of a desire to better his Fortune he went to seeke her, and was not out of hope to finde her, because he had the same day seene a woman on the top of the mountaine, cloathed with skins of wild beasts, whom hee suspected to be Isme­nia; for as soone as she heard that name, she made a­way so fast, that it was impossible for him to overtake her.

Gesimenes rewarded the Souldier for his informati­on, and both ascending the mountaine, they rested not untill they came to a Spring drest up with Rushes and Flags, where under a Cypresse Tree they found her asleepe. Gesimenes related to his Daughter her happie birth; at which she rejoyced more for being worthy of Perozes, then for being daughter to the Prince of Albania. Returning to Court, she accknow­ledged those for her Parents whom she ever lov'd, as if she had knowne them to be so. And her Marriage with Perozes was immediately Celebrated with much Solemnity.