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Title: Love-Letters Between a Nobleman and His Sister

Author: Aphra Behn

Release Date: July, 2005 [EBook #8409]
[Yes, we are more than one year ahead of schedule]
[This file was first posted on July 8, 2003]

Edition: 10

Language: English

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*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK LOVE-LETTERS ***




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and The Online Distributed Proofreading Team




Love-Letters Between a Nobleman and His Sister

by

Aphra Behn




The Argument



In the time of the rebellion of the true Protestant _Huguenot_ in
_Paris_, under the conduct of the Prince of _Conde_ (whom we will call
_Cesario_) many illustrious persons were drawn into the association,
amongst which there was one, whose quality and fortune (joined with
his youth and beauty) rendered him more elevated in the esteem of the
gay part of the world than most of that age. In his tender years
(unhappily enough) he chanced to fall in love with a lady, whom we
will call _Myrtilla_, who had charms enough to engage any heart; she
had all the advantages of youth and nature; a shape excellent; a most
agreeable stature, not too tall, and far from low, delicately
proportioned; her face a little inclined round, soft, smooth and
white; her eyes were blue, a little languishing, and full of love and
wit; a mouth curiously made, dimpled, and full of sweetness; lips
round, soft, plump and red; white teeth, firm and even; her nose a
little _Roman_, and which gave a noble grace to her lovely face, her
hair light brown; a neck and bosom delicately turned, white and
rising; her arms and hands exactly shaped; to this a vivacity of youth
engaging; a wit quick and flowing; a humour gay, and an air
irresistibly charming; and nothing was wanting to complete the joys of
the young _Philander_, (so we call our amorous hero) but _Myrtilla_'s
heart, which the illustrious _Cesario_ had before possessed; however,
consulting her honour and her interest, and knowing all the arts as
women do to feign a tenderness; she yields to marry him: while
_Philander_, who scorned to owe his happiness to the commands of
parents, or to chaffer for a beauty, with her consent steals her away,
and marries her. But see how transitory is a violent passion; after
being satiated, he slights the prize he had so dearly conquered; some
say, the change was occasioned by her too visibly continued love to
_Cesario_; but whatever it was, this was most certain, _Philander_
cast his eyes upon a young maid, sister to _Myrtilla_, a beauty, whose
early bloom promised wonders when come to perfection; but I will spare
her picture here, _Philander_ in the following epistles will often
enough present it to your view: He loved and languished, long before
he durst discover his pain; her being sister to his wife, nobly born,
and of undoubted fame, rendered his passion too criminal to hope for a
return, while the young lovely _Sylvia_ (so we shall call the noble
maid) sighed out her hours in the same pain and languishment for
_Philander_, and knew not that it was love, till she betraying it
innocently to the overjoyed lover and brother, he soon taught her to
understand it was love--he pursues it, she permits it, and at last
yields, when being discovered in the criminal intrigue, she flies with
him; he absolutely quits _Myrtilla_, lives some time in a village near
_Paris_, called St _Denis_, with this betrayed unfortunate, till being
found out, and like to be apprehended, (one for the rape, the other
for the flight) she is forced to marry a cadet, a creature of
_Philander_'s, to bear the name of husband only to her, while
_Philander_ had the entire possession of her soul and body: still the
_League_ went forward, and all things were ready for a war in _Paris_;
but it is not my business here to mix the rough relation of a war,
with the soft affairs of love; let it suffice, the _Huguenots_ were
defeated, and the King got the day, and every rebel lay at the mercy
of his sovereign. _Philander_ was taken prisoner, made his escape to a
little cottage near his own palace, not far from _Paris_, writes to
_Sylvia_ to come to him, which she does, and in spite of all the
industry to re-seize him, he got away with _Sylvia_.

After their flight these letters were found in their cabinets, at
their house at St _Denis_, where they both lived together, for the
space of a year; and they are as exactly as possible placed in the
order they were sent, and were those supposed to be written towards
the latter end of their amours.

Love-Letters




Part I.



_To_ SYLVIA.

Though I parted from you resolved to obey your impossible commands,
yet know, oh charming _Sylvia_! that after a thousand conflicts
between love and honour, I found the god (too mighty for the idol)
reign absolute monarch in my soul, and soon banished that tyrant
thence. That cruel counsellor that would suggest to you a thousand
fond arguments to hinder my noble pursuit; _Sylvia_ came in view! her
irresistible _Idea_! With all the charms of blooming youth, with all
the attractions of heavenly beauty! Loose, wanton, gay, all flowing
her bright hair, and languishing her lovely eyes, her dress all
negligent as when I saw her last, discovering a thousand ravishing
graces, round, white, small breasts, delicate neck, and rising bosom,
heaved with sighs she would in vain conceal; and all besides, that
nicest fancy can imagine surprising--Oh I dare not think on, lest my
desires grow mad and raving; let it suffice, oh adorable _Sylvia_! I
think and know enough to justify that flame in me, which our weak
alliance of brother and sister has rendered so criminal; but he that
adores _Sylvia_, should do it at an uncommon rate; 'tis not enough to
sacrifice a single heart, to give you a simple passion, your beauty
should, like itself, produce wondrous effects; it should force all
obligations, all laws, all ties even of nature's self: you, my lovely
maid, were not born to be obtained by the dull methods of ordinary
loving; and 'tis in vain to prescribe me measures; and oh much more in
vain to urge the nearness of our relation. What kin, my charming
_Sylvia_, are you to me? No ties of blood forbid my passion; and
what's a ceremony imposed on man by custom? What is it to my divine
_Sylvia_, that the priest took my hand and gave it to your sister?
What alliance can that create? Why should a trick devised by the wary
old, only to make provision for posterity, tie me to an eternal
slavery? No, no, my charming maid, 'tis nonsense all; let us, (born
for mightier joys) scorn the dull _beaten road_, but let us love like
the first race of men, nearest allied to God, promiscuously they
loved, and possessed, father and daughter, brother and sister met, and
reaped the joys of love without control, and counted it religious
coupling, and 'twas encouraged too by heaven itself: therefore start
not (too nice and lovely maid) at shadows of things that can but
frighten fools. Put me not off with these delays; rather say you but
dissembled love all this while, than now 'tis born, to die again with
a poor fright of nonsense. A fit of honour! a phantom imaginary, and
no more; no, no, represent me to your soul more favourably, think you
see me languishing at your feet, breathing out my last in sighs and
kind reproaches, on the pitiless _Sylvia_; reflect when I am dead,
which will be the more afflicting object, the ghost (as you are
pleased to call it) of your murdered honour, or the pale and bleeding
one of

_The lost_ PHILANDER.

_I have lived a whole day,
and yet no letter from_ Sylvia.

       *       *       *       *       *

_To_ PHILANDER.

OH why will you make me own (oh too importunate _Philander_!) with
what regret I made you promise to prefer my honour before your love?

I confess with blushes, which you might then see kindling in my face,
that I was not at all pleased with the vows you made me, to endeavour
to obey me, and I then even wished you would obstinately have denied
obedience to my just commands; have pursued your criminal flame, and
have left me raving on my undoing: for when you were gone, and I had
leisure to look into my heart, alas! I found, whether you obliged or
not, whether love or honour were preferred, I, unhappy I, was either
way inevitably lost. Oh! what pitiless god, fond of his wondrous
power, made us the objects of his almighty vanity? Oh why were we two
made the first precedents of his new found revenge? For sure no
brother ever loved a sister with so criminal a flame before: at least
my inexperienced innocence never met with so fatal a story: and it is
in vain (my too charming brother) to make me insensible of our
alliance; to persuade me I am a stranger to all but your eyes and
soul.

Alas, your fatally kind industry is all in vain. You grew up a brother
with me; the title was fixed in my heart, when I was too young to
understand your subtle distinctions, and there it thrived and spread;
and it is now too late to transplant it, or alter its native property:
who can graft a flower on a contrary stalk? The rose will bear no
tulips, nor the hyacinth the poppy, no more will the brother the name
of lover. Oh! spoil not the natural sweetness and innocence we now
retain, by an endeavour fruitless and destructive; no, no,
_Philander_, dress yourself in what charms you will, be powerful as
love can make you in your soft argument--yet, oh yet, you are my
brother still.--But why, oh cruel and eternal powers, was not
_Philander_ my lover before you destined him a brother? Or why, being
a brother, did you, malicious and spiteful powers, destine him a
lover? Oh, take either title from him, or from me a life, which can
render me no satisfaction, since your cruel laws permit it not for
_Philander_, nor his to bless the now

_Unfortunate_ SYLVIA.

_Wednesday morning_.

       *       *       *       *       *

_To_ PHILANDER.

After I had dismissed my page this morning with my letter, I walked
(filled with sad soft thoughts of my brother _Philander_) into the
grove, and commanding _Melinda_ to retire, who only attended me, I
threw myself down on that bank of grass where we last disputed the
dear, but fatal business of our souls: where our prints (that invited
me) still remain on the pressed greens: there with ten thousand sighs,
with remembrance of the tender minutes we passed then, I drew your
last letter from my bosom, and often kissed, and often read it over;
but oh! who can conceive my torment, when I came to that fatal part of
it, where you say you gave your hand to my sister? I found my soul
agitated with a thousand different passions, but all insupportable,
all mad and raving; sometimes I threw myself with fury on the ground,
and pressed my panting heart to the earth; then rise in rage, and tear
my heart, and hardly spare that face that taught you first to love;
then fold my wretched arms to keep down rising sighs that almost rend
my breast, I traverse swiftly the conscious grove; with my distracted
show'ring eyes directed in vain to pitiless heaven, the lovely silent
shade favouring my complaints, I cry aloud, Oh God! _Philander_'s,
married, the lovely charming thing for whom I languish is
married!--That fatal word's enough, I need not add to whom. Married is
enough to make me curse my birth, my youth, my beauty, and my eyes
that first betrayed me to the undoing object: curse on the charms you
have flattered, for every fancied grace has helped my ruin on; now,
like flowers that wither unseen and unpossessed in shades, they must
die and be no more, they were to no end created, since _Philander_ is
married: married! Oh fate, oh hell, oh torture and confusion! Tell me
not it is to my sister, that addition is needless and vain: to make me
eternally wretched, there needs no more than that _Philander_ is
married! Than that the priest gave your hand away from me; to another,
and not to me; tired out with life, I need no other pass-port than
this repetition, _Philander_ is married! 'Tis that alone is sufficient
to lay in her cold tomb

_The wretched and despairing Wednesday night, Bellfont._ SYLVIA.

       *       *       *       *       *

_To_ SYLVIA.

Twice last night, oh unfaithful and unloving _Sylvia_! I sent the page
to the old place for letters, but he returned the object of my rage,
because without the least remembrance from my fickle maid: in this
torment, unable to hide my disorder, I suffered myself to be laid in
bed; where the restless torments of the night exceeded those of the
day, and are not even by the languisher himself to be expressed; but
the returning light brought a short slumber on its wings; which was
interrupted by my atoning boy, who brought two letters from my
adorable _Sylvia_: he waked me from dreams more agreeable than all my
watchful hours could bring; for they are all tortured.----And even the
softest mixed with a thousand despairs, difficulties and
disappointments, but these were all love, which gave a loose to joys
undenied by honour! And this way, my charming _Sylvia_, you shall be
mine, in spite of all the tyrannies of that cruel hinderer; honour
appears not, my _Sylvia_, within the close-drawn curtains; in shades
and gloomy light the phantom frights not, but when one beholds its
blushes, when it is attended and adorned, and the sun sees its false
beauties; in silent groves and grottoes, dark alcoves, and lonely
recesses, all its formalities are laid aside; it was then and there
methought my _Sylvia_ yielded, with a faint struggle and a soft
resistance; I heard her broken sighs, her tender whispering voice,
that trembling cried,--'Oh! Can you be so cruel?--Have you the
heart--Will you undo a maid, because she loves you? Oh! Will you ruin
me, because you may?----My faithless----My unkind----' then sighed and
yielded, and made me happier than a triumphing god! But this was still
a dream, I waked and sighed, and found it vanished all! But oh, my
_Sylvia_, your letters were substantial pleasure, and pardon your
adorer, if he tell you, even the disorder you express is infinitely
dear to him, since he knows it all the effects of love; love, my soul!
Which you in vain oppose; pursue it, dear, and call it not undoing, or
else explain your fear, and tell me what your soft, your trembling
heart gives that cruel title to? Is it undoing to love? And love the
man you say has youth and beauty to justify that love? A man, that
adores you with so submissive and perfect a resignation; a man, that
did not only love first, but is resolved to die in that agreeable
flame; in my creation I was formed for love, and destined for my
_Sylvia_, and she for her _Philander_: and shall we, can we disappoint
our fate? No, my soft charmer, our souls were touched with the same
shafts of love before they had a being in our bodies, and can we
contradict divine decree?

Or is it undoing, dear, to bless _Philander_ with what you must some
time or other sacrifice to some hated, loathed object, (for _Sylvia_
can never love again;) and are those treasures for the dull conjugal
lover to rifle? Was the beauty of divine shape created for the cold
matrimonial embrace? And shall the eternal joys that _Sylvia_ can
dispense, be returned by the clumsy husband's careless, forced,
insipid duties? Oh, my _Sylvia_, shall a husband (whose insensibility
will call those raptures of joy! Those heavenly blisses! The drudgery
of life) shall he I say receive them? While your _Philander_, with the
very thought of the excess of pleasure the least possession would
afford, faints over the paper that brings here his eternal vows.

Oh! Where, my _Sylvia_, lies the undoing then? My quality and fortune
are of the highest rank amongst men, my youth gay and fond, my soul
all soft, all love; and all _Sylvia_'s! I adore her, I am sick of
love, and sick of life, till she yields, till she is all mine!

You say, my _Sylvia_, I am married, and there my happiness is
shipwrecked; but _Sylvia_, I deny it, and will not have you think it:
no, my soul was married to yours in its first creation; and only
_Sylvia_ is the wife of my sacred, my everlasting vows; of my solemn
considerate thoughts, of my ripened judgement, my mature
considerations. The rest are all repented and forgot, like the hasty
follies of unsteady youth, like vows breathed in anger, and die
perjured as soon as vented, and unregarded either of heaven or man.
Oh! why should my soul suffer for ever, why eternal pain for the
unheedy, short-lived sin of my unwilling lips? Besides, this fatal
thing called wife, this unlucky sister, this _Myrtilla_, this stop to
all my heaven, that breeds such fatal differences in our affairs, this
_Myrtilla_, I say, first broke her marriage-vows to me; I blame her
not, nor is it reasonable I should; she saw the young _Cesario_, and
loved him. _Cesario_, whom the envying world in spite of prejudice
must own, has irresistible charms, that godlike form, that sweetness
in his face, that softness in his eyes and delicate mouth; and every
beauty besides, that women dote on, and men envy: that lovely
composition of man and angel! with the addition of his eternal youth
and illustrious birth, was formed by heaven and nature for universal
conquest! And who can love the charming hero at a cheaper rate than
being undone? And she that would not venture fame, honour, and a
marriage-vow for the glory of the young _Cesario_'s heart, merits not
the noble victim; oh! would I could say so much for the young
_Philander_, who would run a thousand times more hazards of life and
fortune for the adorable _Sylvia_, than that amorous hero ever did for
_Myrtilla_, though from that prince I learned some of my disguises for
my thefts of love; for he, like _Jove_, courted in several shapes; I
saw them all, and suffered the delusion to pass upon me; for I had
seen the lovely _Sylvia_; yes, I had seen her, and loved her too: but
honour kept me yet master of my vows; but when I knew her false, when
I was once confirmed,--when by my own soul I found the dissembled
passion of hers, when she could no longer hide the blushes, or the
paleness that seized at the approaches of my disordered rival, when I
saw love dancing in her eyes, and her false heart beat with nimble
motions, and soft trembling seized every limb, at the approach or
touch of the royal lover, then I thought myself no longer obliged to
conceal my flame for _Sylvia_; nay, ere I broke silence, ere I
discovered the hidden treasure of my heart, I made her falsehood
plainer yet: even the time and place of the dear assignations I
discovered; certainty, happy certainty! broke the dull heavy chain,
and I with joy submitted to my shameful freedom, and caressed my
generous rival; nay, and by heaven I loved him for it, pleased at the
resemblance of our souls; for we were secret lovers both, but more
pleased that he loved _Myrtilla_; for that made way to my passion for
the adorable _Sylvia_!

Let the dull, hot-brained, jealous fool upbraid me with cold patience:
let the fond coxcomb, whose honour depends on the frail marriage-vow,
reproach me, or tell me that my reputation depends on the feeble
constancy of a wife, persuade me it is honour to fight for an
irretrievable and unvalued prize, and that because my rival has taken
leave to cuckold me, I shall give him leave to kill me too;
unreasonable nonsense grown to custom. No, by heaven! I had gather
_Myrtilla_ should be false, (as she is) than wish and languish for the
happy occasion; the sin is the same, only the act is more generous:
believe me, my _Sylvia_, we have all false notions of virtue and
honour, and surely this was taken up by some despairing husband in
love with a fair jilting wife, and then I pardon him; I should have
done as much: for only she that has my soul can engage my sword; she
that I love, and myself, only commands and keeps my stock of honour:
for _Sylvia_! the charming, the distracting _Sylvia_! I could fight
for a glance or smile, expose my heart for her dearer fame, and wish
no recompense, but breathing out my last gasp into her soft, white,
delicate bosom. But for a wife! that stranger to my soul, and whom we
wed for interest and necessity,--a wife, light, loose, unregarding
property, who for a momentary appetite will expose her fame, without
the noble end of loving on; she that will abuse my bed, and yet return
again to the loathed conjugal embrace, back to the arms so hated, and
even strong fancy of the absent youth beloved, cannot so much as
render supportable. Curse on her, and yet she kisses, fawns and
dissembles on, hangs on his neck, and makes the sot believe:--damn
her, brute; I'll whistle her off, and let her down the wind, as
_Othello_ says. No, I adore the wife, that, when the heart is gone,
boldy and nobly pursues the conqueror, and generously owns the
whore;--not poorly adds the nauseous sin of jilting to it: that I
could have borne, at least commended; but this can never pardon; at
worst then the world had said her passion had undone her, she loved,
and love at worst is worthy of pity. No, no, _Myrtilla_, I forgive
your love, but never can your poor dissimulation. One drives you but
from the heart you value not, but the other to my eternal contempt.
One deprives me but of thee, _Myrtilla_, but the other entitles me to
a beauty more surprising, renders thee no part of me; and so leaves
the lover free to _Sylvia_, without the brother.

Thus, my excellent maid, I have sent you the sense and truth of my
soul, in an affair you have often hinted to me, and I take no pleasure
to remember: I hope you will at least think my aversion reasonable;
and that being thus indisputably free from all obligations to
_Myrtilla_ as a husband, I may be permitted to lay claim to _Sylvia_,
as a lover, and marry myself more effectually by my everlasting vows,
than the priest by his common method could do to any other woman less
beloved; there being no other way at present left by heaven, to render
me _Sylvia_'s.

_Eternal happy lover and I die to see you_.

PHILANDER.

       *       *       *       *       *

_To_ SYLVIA.

When I had sealed the enclosed, _Brilliard_ told me you were this
morning come from _Bellfont_, and with infinite impatience have
expected seeing you here; which deferred my sending this to the old
place; and I am so vain (oh adorable _Sylvia_) as to believe my
fancied silence has given you disquiets; but sure, my _Sylvia_ could
not charge me with neglect; no, she knows my soul, and lays it all on
chance, or some strange accident, she knows no business could divert
me. No, were the nation sinking, the great senate of the world
confounded, our glorious designs betrayed and ruined, and the vast
city all in flames; like _Nero_, unconcerned, I would sing my
everlasting song of love to _Sylvia_; which no time or fortune shall
untune. I know my soul, and all its strength, and how it is fortified,
the charming _Idea_ of my young _Sylvia_ will for ever remain there;
the original may fade; time may render it less fair, less blooming in
my arms, but never in my soul; I shall find thee there the same gay
glorious creature that first surprised and enslaved me, believe me
ravishing maid, I shall. Why then, oh why, my cruel _Sylvia_ are my
joys delayed? Why am I by your rigorous commands kept from the sight
of my heaven, my eternal bliss? An age, my fair tormentor, is past;
four tedious live-long days are numbered over, since I beheld the
object of my lasting vows, my eternal wishes; how can you think, oh
unreasonable _Sylvia_! that I could live so long without you? And yet
I am alive; I find it by my pain, by torments of fears and jealousies
insupportable; I languish and go downward to the earth; where you will
shortly see me laid without your recalling mercy. It is true, I move
about this unregarded world, appear every day in the great
senate-house, at clubs, cabals, and private consultations; (for
_Sylvia_ knows all the business of my soul, even in politics of State
as well as love) I say I appear indeed, and give my voice in public
business; but oh my heart more kindly is employed; that and my
thoughts are _Sylvia_'s! Ten thousand times a day I breathe that name,
my busy fingers are eternally tracing out those six mystic letters; a
thousand ways on every thing I touch, form words, and make them speak
a thousand things, and all are _Sylvia_ still; my melancholy change is
evident to all that see me, which they interpret many mistaken ways;
our party fancy I repent my league with them, and doubting I'll betray
the cause, grow jealous of me, till by new oaths, new arguments, I
confirm them; then they smile all, and cry I am in love; and this they
would believe, but that they see all women that I meet or converse
with are indifferent to me, and so can fix it no where; for none can
guess it _Sylvia_; thus while I dare not tell my soul, no not even to
_Cesario_, the stifled flame burns inward, and torments me so, that
(unlike the thing I was) I fear _Sylvia_ will lose her love, and lover
too; for those few charms she said I had, will fade, and this fatal
distance will destroy both soul and body too; my very reason will
abandon me, and I shall rave to see thee; restore me, oh restore me
then to _Bellfont_, happy _Bellfont_, still blest with _Sylvia_'s
presence! permit me, oh permit me into those sacred shades, where I
have been so often (too innocently) blest! Let me survey again the
dear character of _Sylvia_ on the smooth birch; oh when shall I sit
beneath those boughs, gazing on the young goddess of the grove,
hearing her sigh for love, touching her glowing small white hands,
beholding her killing eyes languish, and her charming bosom rise and
fall with short-breath'd uncertain breath; breath as soft and sweet as
the restoring breeze that glides o'er the new-blown flowers: But oh
what is it? What heaven of perfumes, when it inclines to the ravish'd
_Philander_, and whispers love it dares not name aloud?

What power with-holds me then from rushing on thee, from pressing thee
with kisses; folding thee in my transported arms, and following all
the dictates of love without respect or awe! What is it, oh my
_Sylvia_, can detain a love so violent and raving, and so wild; admit
me, sacred maid, admit me again to those soft delights, that I may
find, if possible, what divinity (envious of my bliss) checks my eager
joys, my raging flame; while you too make an experiment (worth the
trial) what 'tis makes _Sylvia_ deny her

_Impatient adorer_,

PHILANDER.

_My page is ill, and I am oblig'd to trust_ Brilliard _with these to
the dear cottage of their rendezvous; send me your opinion of his
fidelity: and ah! remember I die to see you_.

_To_ PHILANDER.

Not yet?--not yet? oh ye dull tedious hours, when will you glide away?
and bring that happy moment on, in which I shall at least hear from my
_Philander_; eight and forty tedious ones are past, and I am here
forgotten still; forlorn, impatient, restless every where; not one of
all your little moments (ye undiverting hours) can afford me repose; I
drag ye on, a heavy load; I count ye all, and bless ye when you are
gone; but tremble at the approaching ones, and with a dread expect
you; and nothing will divert me now; my couch is tiresome, my glass is
vain; my books are dull, and conversation insupportable; the grove
affords me no relief; nor even those birds to whom I have so often
breath'd _Philander_'s, name, they sing it on their perching boughs;
no, nor the reviewing of his dear letters, can bring me any ease. Oh
what fate is reserved for me! For thus I cannot live; nor surely thus
I shall not die. Perhaps _Philander_'s making a trial of virtue by
this silence. Pursue it, call up all your reason, my lovely brother,
to your aid, let us be wise and silent, let us try what that will do
towards the cure of this too infectious flame; let us, oh let us, my
brother, sit down here, and pursue the crime of loving on no farther.
Call me sister--swear I am so, and nothing but your sister: and
forbear, oh forbear, my charming brother, to pursue me farther with
your soft bewitching passion; let me alone, let me be ruin'd with
honour, if I must be ruin'd.--For oh! 'twere much happier I were no
more, than that I should be more than _Philander_'s sister; or he than
_Sylvia_'s brother: oh let me ever call you by that cold name, 'till
that of lover be forgotten:--ha!--Methinks on the sudden, a fit of
virtue informs my soul, and bids me ask you for what sin of mine, my
charming brother, you still pursue a maid that cannot fly: ungenerous
and unkind! Why did you take advantage of those freedoms I gave you as
a brother? I smil'd on you; and sometimes kiss'd you too;--but for my
sister's sake, I play'd with you, suffer'd your hands and lips to
wander where I dare not now; all which I thought a sister might allow
a brother, and knew not all the while the treachery of love: oh none,
but under that intimate title of a brother, could have had the
opportunity to have ruin'd me; that, that betray'd me; I play'd away
my heart at a game I did not understand; nor knew I when 'twas lost,
by degrees so subtle, and an authority so lawful, you won me out of
all. Nay then too, even when all was lost, I would not think it love.
I wonder'd what my sleepless nights, my waking eternal thoughts, and
slumbering visions of my lovely brother meant: I wonder'd why my soul
was continually fill'd with wishes and new desires; and still
concluded 'twas for my sister all, 'till I discover'd the cheat by
jealousy; for when my sister hung upon your neck, kiss'd, and caress'd
that face that I ador'd, oh how I found my colour change, my limbs all
trembled, and my blood enrag'd, and I could scarce forbear reproaching
you; or crying out, 'Oh why this fondness, brother? Sometimes you
perceiv'd my concern, at which you'd smile; for you who had been
before in love, (a curse upon the fatal time) could guess at my
disorder; then would you turn the wanton play on me: when sullen with
my jealousy and the cause, I fly your soft embrace, yet wish you would
pursue and overtake me, which you ne'er fail'd to do, where after a
kind quarrel all was pardon'd, and all was well again: while the poor
injur'd innocent, my sister, made herself sport at our delusive wars;
still I was ignorant, 'till you in a most fatal hour inform'd me I was
a lover. Thus was it with my heart in those blest days of innocence;
thus it was won and lost; nor can all my stars in heav'n prevent, I
doubt, prevent my ruin. Now you are sure of the fatal conquest, you
scorn the trifling glory, you are silent now; oh I am inevitably lost,
or with you, or without you: and I find by this little silence and
absence of yours, that 'tis most certain I must either die, or be
_Philander_'s

SYLVIA.

_If_ Dorillus _come not with a letter, or that my page, whom I have
sent to this cottage for one, bring it not, I cannot support my life:
for oh_, Philander, _I have a thousand wild distracting fears, knowing
how you are involv'd in the interest you have espoused with the young_
Cesario: _how danger surrounds you, how your life and glory depend on
the frail sacrifice of villains and rebels: oh give me leave to fear
eternally your fame and life, if not your love; If_ Sylvia _could
command_, Philander _should be loyal as he's noble; and what generous
maid would not suspect his vows to a mistress, who breaks 'em with his
prince and master! Heaven preserve you and your glory_.

       *       *       *       *       *

_To_ Philander.

Another night, oh heavens, and yet no letter come! Where are you, my
_Philander_? What happy place contains you? If in heaven, why does not
some posting angel bid me haste after you? If on earth, why does not
some little god of love bring the grateful tidings on his painted
wings? If sick, why does not my own fond heart by sympathy inform me?
But that is all active, vigorous, wishing, impatient of delaying,
silent, and busy in imagination. If you are false, if you have
forgotten your poor believing and distracted _Sylvia_, why does not
that kind tyrant death, that meagre welcome vision of the despairing,
old and wretched, approach in dead of night, approach my restless bed,
and toll the dismal tidings in my frighted listening ears, and strike
me for ever silent, lay me for ever quiet, lost to the world, lost to
my faithless charmer! But if a sense of honour in you has made you
resolve to prefer mine before your love, made you take up a noble
fatal resolution, never to tell me more of your passion; this were a
trial, I fear my fond heart wants courage to bear; or is it a trick, a
cold fit, only assum'd to try how much I love you? I have no arts,
heaven knows, no guile or double meaning in my soul, 'tis all plain
native simplicity, fearful and timorous as children in the night,
trembling as doves pursu'd; born soft by nature, and made tender by
love; what, oh! what will become of me then? Yet would I were
confirm'd in all my fears: for as I am, my condition is more
deplorable; for I'm in doubt, and doubt is the worst torment of the
mind: oh _Philander_, be merciful, and let me know the worst; do not
be cruel while you kill, do it with pity to the wretched _Sylvia_; oh
let me quickly know whether you are at all, or are the most impatient
and unfortunate

SYLVIA's.

_I rave, I die for some relief._

       *       *       *       *       *

_To_ PHILANDER.

As I was going to send away this enclos'd, _Dorillus_ came with two
letters; oh, you cannot think, _Philander_, with how much reason you
call me fickle maid; for could you but imagine how I am tormentingly
divided, how unresolved between violent love and cruel honour, you
would say 'twere impossible to fix me any where; or be the same thing
for a moment together: there is not a short hour pass'd through the
swift hand of time, since I was all despairing, raging love, jealous,
fearful, and impatient; and now, now that your fond letters have
dispers'd those demons, those tormenting counsellors, and given a
little respite, a little tranquillity to my soul; like states
luxurious grown with ease, it ungratefully rebels against the
sovereign power that made it great and happy; and now that traitor
honour heads the mutineers within; honour, whom my late mighty fears
had almost famish'd and brought to nothing, warm'd and reviv'd by thy
new-protested flames, makes war against almighty love! and I, who but
now nobly resolv'd for love, by an inconstancy natural to my sex, or
rather my fears, am turn'd over to honour's side: so the despairing
man stands on the river's bank, design'd to plunge into the rapid
stream, 'till coward-fear seizing his timorous soul, he views around
once more the flowery plains, and looks with wishing eyes back to the
groves, then sighing stops, and cries, I was too rash, forsakes the
dangerous shore, and hastes away. Thus indiscreet was I, was all for
love, fond and undoing love! But when I saw it with full tide flow in
upon me, one glance of glorious honour makes me again retreat. I
will----I am resolv'd----and must be brave! I cannot forget I am
daughter to the great _Beralti_, and sister to _Myrtilla_, a yet
unspotted maid, fit to produce a race of glorious heroes! And can
_Philander_'s love set no higher value on me than base poor
prostitution? Is that the price of his heart?--Oh how I hate thee now!
or would to heaven I could.--Tell me not, thou charming beguiler, that
_Myrtilla_ was to blame; was it a fault in her, and will it be virtue
in me? And can I believe the crime that made her lose your heart, will
make me mistress of it? No, if by any action of hers the noble house
of the _Beralti_ be dishonour'd, by all the actions of my life it
shall receive additions and lustre and glory! Nor will I think
_Myrtilla_'s virtue lessen'd for your mistaken opinion of it, and she
may be as much in vain pursu'd, perhaps, by the Prince _Cesario_, as
_Sylvia_ shall be by the young _Philander_: the envying world talks
loud, 'tis true; but oh, if all were true that busy babbler says, what
lady has her fame? What husband is not a cuckold? Nay, and a friend to
him that made him so? And it is in vain, my too subtle brother, you
think to build the trophies of your conquests on the ruin of both
_Myrtilla_'s fame and mine: oh how dear would your inglorious passion
cost the great unfortunate house of the _Beralti_, while you poorly
ruin the fame of _Myrtilla_, to make way to the heart of _Sylvia_!
Remember, oh remember once your passion was as violent for _Myrtilla_,
and all the vows, oaths, protestations, tears and prayers you make and
pay at my feet, are but the faint repetitions, the feeble echoes of
what you sigh'd out at hers. Nay, like young _Paris_ fled with the
fair prize, your fond, your eager passion made it a rape. Oh
perfidious!--Let me not call it back to my remembrance.--Oh let me
die, rather than call to mind a time so fatal; when the lovely false
_Philander_ vow'd his heart, his faithless heart away to any maid but
_Sylvia_:--oh let it not be possible for me to imagine his dear arms
ever grasping any body with joy but _Sylvia_! And yet they did, with
transports of love! Yes, yes, you lov'd! by heaven you lov'd this
false, this perfidious _Myrtilla_; for false she is; you lov'd her,
and I'll have it so; nor shall the sister in me plead her cause. She
is false beyond all pardon; for you are beautiful as heaven itself can
render you, a shape exactly form'd, not too low, nor too tall, but
made to beget soft desire and everlasting wishes in all that look on
you; but your face! your lovely face, inclining to round, large
piercing languishing black eyes, delicate proportion'd nose, charming
dimpled mouth, plump red lips, inviting and swelling, white teeth,
small and even, fine complexion, and a beautiful turn! All which you
had an art to order in so engaging a manner, that it charm'd all the
beholders, both sexes were undone with looking on you; and I have
heard a witty man of your party swear, your face gain'd more to the
League and association than the cause, and has curs'd a thousand times
the false _Myrtilla_, for preferring _Cesario_! (less beautiful) to
the adorable _Philander_; to add to this, heaven! how you spoke, when
ere you spoke of love! in that you far surpass'd the young _Cesario_!
as young as he, almost as great and glorious; oh perfidious
_Myrtilla_, oh false, oh foolish and ingrate!--That you abandon'd her
was just, she was not worth retaining in your heart, nor could be
worth defending with your sword:--but grant her false; oh
_Philander_!--How does her perfidy entitle you to me? False as she
is, you still are married to her; inconstant as she is, she is still
your wife; and no breach of the nuptial vow can untie the fatal knot;
and that is a mystery to common sense: sure she was born for mischief;
and fortune, when she gave her you, designed the ruin of us all; but
most particularly _The unfortunate_ Sylvia.

       *       *       *       *       *

_To_ Sylvia.

My soul's eternal joy, my _Sylvia_! what have you done, and oh how
durst you, knowing my fond heart, try it with so fatal a stroke? What
means this severe letter? and why so eagerly at this time? Oh the day!
Is _Myrtilla's_ virtue so defended? Is it a question now whether she
is false or not? Oh poor, oh frivolous excuse! You love me not; by all
that's good, you love me not; to try your power you have flatter'd and
feign'd, oh woman! false charming woman! you have undone me, I rave
and shall commit such extravagance that will ruin both: I must upbraid
you, fickle and inconstant, I must, and this distance will not serve,
'tis too great; my reproaches lose their force; I burst with
resentment, with injur'd love; and you are either the most faithless
of your sex, or the most malicious and tormenting: oh I am past
tricks, my _Sylvia_, your little arts might do well in a beginning
flame, but to a settled fire that is arriv'd to the highest degree, it
does but damp its fierceness, and instead of drawing me on, would
lessen my esteem, if any such deceit were capable to harbour in the
heart of _Sylvia_; but she is all divine, and I am mistaken in the
meaning of what she says. Oh my adorable, think no more on that dull
false thing a wife; let her be banish'd thy thoughts, as she is my
soul; let her never appear, though but in a dream, to fright our solid
joys, or true happiness; no, let us look forward to pleasures vast and
unconfin'd, to coming transports, and leave all behind us that
contributes not to that heaven of bliss: remember, oh _Sylvia_, that
five tedious days are past since I sigh'd at your dear feet; and five
days, to a man so madly in love as your _Philander_, is a tedious age:
'tis now six o'clock in the morning, _Brilliard_ will be with you by
eight, and by ten I may have your permission to see you, and then I
need not say how soon I will present myself before you at _Bellfont_;
for heaven's sake, my eternal blessing, if you design me this
happiness, contrive it so, that I may see no body that belongs to
_Bellfont_, but the fair, the lovely _Sylvia_; for I must be more
moments with you, than will be convenient to be taken notice of, lest
they suspect our business to be love, and that discovery yet may ruin
us. Oh! I will delay no longer, my soul is impatient to see you, I
cannot live another night without it; I die, by heaven, I languish for
the appointed hour; you will believe, when you see my languid face,
and dying eyes, how much and greater a sufferer in love I am.

My soul's delight, you may perhaps deny me from your fear; but oh, do
not, though I ask a mighty blessing; _Sylvia_'s company alone, silent,
and perhaps by dark:--oh, though I faint with the thought only of so
bless'd an opportunity, yet you shall secure me, by what vows, what
imprecations or ties you please; bind my busy hands, blind my ravish'd
eyes, command my tongue, do what you will; but let me hear your
angel's voice, and have the transported joy of throwing my self at
your feet; and if you please, give me leave (a man condemned eternally
to love) to plead a little for my life and passion; let me remove your
fears; and though that mighty task never make me entirely happy, at
least it will be a great satisfaction to me to know, that 'tis not
through my own fault that I am the

_Most wretched_

PHILANDER.

_I have order'd_ Brilliard _to wait your commands at_ Dorillus_'s
cottage, that he may not be seen at_ Bellfont: _resolve to see me
to-night, or I shall come without order, and injure both: my dear,
damn'd wife is dispos'd of at a ball_ Cesario _makes to-night; the
opportunity will be lucky, not that I fear her jealousy, but the
effects of it._

       *       *       *       *       *

_To_ PHILANDER.

I tremble with the apprehension of what you ask: how shall I comply
with your fond desires? My soul bodes some dire effect of this bold
enterprise, for I must own (and blush while I do own it) that my soul
yields obedience to your soft request, and even whilst I read your
letter, was diverted with the contrivance of seeing you: for though,
as my brother, you have all the freedoms imaginable at _Bellfont_, to
entertain and walk with me, yet it would be difficult and prejudicial
to my honour, to receive you alone any where without my sister, and
cause a suspicion, which all about me now are very far from
conceiving, except _Melinda_, my faithful confidante, and too fatal
counsellor; and but for this fear, I know, my charming brother, three
little leagues should not five long days separate _Philander_ from his
_Sylvia_: but, my lovely brother, since you beg it so earnestly, and
my heart consents so easily, I must pronounce my own doom, and say,
come, my _Philander_, whether love or soft desire invites you; and
take this direction in the management of this mighty affair. I would
have you, as soon as this comes to your hands, to haste to
_Dorillus_'s cottage, without your equipage, only _Brilliard_, whom I
believe you may trust, both from his own discretion, and your vast
bounties to him; wait there 'till you receive my commands, and I will
retire betimes to my apartment, pretending not to be well; and as soon
as the evening's obscurity will permit, _Melinda_ shall let you in at
the _garden-gate_, that is next the _grove_, unseen and unsuspected;
but oh, thou powerful charmer, have a care, I trust you with my all:
my dear, dear, my precious honour, guard it well; for oh I fear my
forces are too weak to stand your shock of beauties; you have charms
enough to justify my yielding; but yet, by heaven I would not for an
empire: but what is dull empire to almighty love? The god subdues the
monarch; 'tis to your strength I trust, for I am a feeble woman, a
virgin quite disarm'd by two fair eyes, an angel's voice and form; but
yet I'll die before I'll yield my honour; no, though our unhappy
family have met reproach from the imagined levity of my sister, 'tis
I'll redeem the bleeding honour of our family, and my great parents'
virtues shall shine in me; I know it, for if it passes this test, if I
can stand this temptation, I am proof against all the world; but I
conjure you aid me if I need it: if I incline but in a languishing
look, if but a wish appear in my eyes, or I betray consent but in a
sigh; take not, oh take not the opportunity, lest when you have done I
grow raging mad, and discover all in the wild fit. Oh who would
venture on an enemy with such unequal force? What hardy fool would
hazard all at sea, that sees the rising storm come rolling on? Who but
fond woman, giddy heedless woman, would thus expose her virtue to
temptation? I see, I know my danger, yet I must permit it: love, soft
bewitching love will have it so, that cannot deny what my feebler
honour forbids; and though I tremble with fear, yet love suggests, it
will be an age to night: I long for my undoing; for oh I cannot stand
the batteries of your eyes and tongue; these fears, these conflicts I
have a thousand times a-day; it is pitiful sometimes to see me; on one
hand a thousand _Cupids_ all gay and smiling present _Philander_ with
all the beauties of his sex, with all the softness in his looks and
language those gods of love can inspire, with all the charms of youth
adorn'd, bewitching all, and all transporting; on the other hand, a
poor lost virgin languishing and undone, sighing her willing rape to
the deaf shades and fountains, filling the woods with cries, swelling
the murmuring rivulets with tears, her noble parents with a generous
rage reviling her, and her betray'd sister loading her bow'd head with
curses and reproaches, and all about her looking forlorn and sad.
Judge, oh judge, my adorable brother, of the vastness of my courage
and passion, when even this deplorable prospect cannot defend me from
the resolution of giving you admittance into my apartment this night,
nor shall ever drive you from the soul of your

SYLVIA.

       *       *       *       *       *

_To_ SYLVIA.

I have obey'd my _Sylvia_'s dear commands, and the dictates of my own
impatient soul; as soon as I receiv'd them, I immediately took horse
for _Bellfont_, though I knew I should not see my adorable _Sylvia_
'till eight or nine at night; but oh 'tis wondrous pleasure to be so
much more near my eternal joy; I wait at _Dorillus_'s cottage the
tedious approaching night that must shelter me in its kind shades, and
conduct me to a pleasure I faint but with imagining; 'tis now, my
lovely charmer, three o'clock, and oh how many tedious hours I am to
languish here before the blessed one arrive! I know you love, my
_Sylvia_, and therefore must guess at some part of my torment, which
yet is mix'd with a certain trembling joy, not to be imagin'd by any
but _Sylvia_, who surely loves _Philander_; if there be truth in
beauty, faith in youth, she surely loves him much; and much more above
her sex she is capable of love, by how much more her soul is form'd of
a softer and more delicate composition; by how much more her wit's
refin'd and elevated above her duller sex, and by how much more she is
oblig'd; if passion can claim passion in return, sure no beauty was
ever so much indebted to a slave, as _Sylvia_ to _Philander_; none
ever lov'd like me: judge then my pains of love, my joys, my fears, my
impatience and desires; and call me to your sacred presence with all
the speed of love, and as soon as it is duskish, imagine me in the
meadow behind the grove, 'till when think me employed in eternal
thoughts of _Sylvia_, restless, and talking to the trees of _Sylvia_,
sighing her charming name, circling with folded arms my panting heart,
(that beats and trembles the more, the nearer it approaches the happy
_Bellfont_) and fortifying the feeble trembler against a sight so
ravishing and surprising; I fear to be sustain'd with life; but if I
faint in _Sylvia_'s arms, it will be happier far than all the glories
of life without her.

Send, my angel, something from you to make the hours less tedious:
consider me, love me, and be as impatient as I, that you may the
sooner find at your feet your everlasting lover, PHILANDER.

_From _Dorillus_'s cottage._

       *       *       *       *       *

_To_ PHILANDER.

I have at last recover'd sense enough to tell you, I have receiv'd
your letter by _Dorillus_, and which had like to have been discover'd;
for he prudently enough put it under the strawberries he brought me in
a basket, fearing he should get no other opportunity to have given it
me; and my mother seeing them look so fair and fresh, snatch'd the
basket with a greediness I have not seen in her before; whilst she was
calling to her page for a porcelain dish to put them out, _Dorillus_
had an opportunity to hint to me what lay at the bottom: heavens! had
you seen my disorder and confusion; what should I do? Love had not one
invention in store, and here it was that all the subtlety of women
abandon'd me. Oh heavens, how cold and pale I grew, lest the most
important business of my life should be betray'd and ruin'd! but not
to terrify you longer with fears of my danger, the dish came, and out
the strawberries were pour'd, and the basket thrown aside on the bank
where my mother sat, (for we were in the garden when we met
accidentally _Dorillus_ first with the basket) there were some leaves
of fern put at the bottom between the basket and letter, which by good
fortune came not out with the strawberries, and after a minute or two
I took up the basket, and walking carelessly up and down the garden,
gather'd here and there a flower, pinks and jessamine, and filling my
basket, sat down again 'till my mother had eat her fill of the fruit,
and gave me an opportunity to retire to my apartment, where opening
the letter, and finding you so near, and waiting to see me, I had
certainly sunk down on the floor, had not _Melinda_ supported me, who
only was by; something so new, and 'till now so strange, seiz'd me at
the thought of so secret an interview, that I lost all my senses, and
life wholly departing, I rested on _Melinda_ without breath or motion;
the violent effects of love and honour, the impetuous meeting tides of
the extremes of joy and fear, rushing on too suddenly, overwhelm'd my
senses; and it was a pretty while before I recover'd strength to get
to my cabinet, where a second time I open'd your letter, and read it
again with a thousand changes of countenance, my whole mass of blood
was in that moment so discompos'd, that I chang'd from an ague to a
fever several times in a minute: oh what will all this bring me to?
And where will the raging fit end? I die with that thought, my guilty
pen slackens in my trembling hand, and I languish and fall over the
un-employ'd paper;----oh help me, some divinity,----or if you did,--I
fear I should be angry: oh _Philander_! a thousand passions and
distracted thoughts crowd to get out, and make their soft complaints
to thee; but oh they lose themselves with mixing; they are blended in
a confusion together, and love nor art can divide them, to deal them
out in order; sometimes I would tell you of my joy at your arrival,
and my unspeaking transports at the thought of seeing you so soon,
that I shall hear your charming voice, and find you at my feet making
soft vows anew, with all the passion of an impatient lover, with all
the eloquence that sighs and cries, and tears from those lovely eyes
can express; and sure that is enough to conquer any where, and to
which coarse vulgar words are dull. The rhetoric of love is
half-breath'd, interrupted words, languishing eyes, flattering
speeches, broken sighs, pressing the hand, and falling tears: ah how
do they not persuade, how do they not charm and conquer; 'twas thus,
with these soft easy arts, that _Sylvia_ first was won; for sure no
arts of speaking could have talked my heart away, though you can speak
like any god: oh whither am I driven? What do I say? 'Twas not my
purpose, not my business here, to give a character of _Philander_, no
nor to speak of love; but oh! like _Cowley_'s lute, my soul will sound
to nothing but to love: talk what you will, begin what discourse you
please, I end it all in love, because my soul is ever fix'd on
_Philander_, and insensibly its biass leads to that subject; no, I did
not when I began to write, think of speaking one word of my own
weakness; but to have told you with what resolv'd courage, honour and
virtue, I expect your coming; and sure so sacred a thing as love was
not made to ruin these, and therefore in vain, my lovely brother, you
will attempt it; and yet, oh heavens! I gave a private assignation, in
my apartment, alone and at night; where silence, love and shades, are
all your friends, where opportunity obliges your passion, while,
heaven knows, not one of all these, nor any kind of power, is friend
to me; I shall be left to you and all these tyrants expos'd, without
other guards than this boasted virtue; which had need be wondrous to
resist all these powerful enemies of its purity and repose. Alas I
know not its strength, I never tried it yet; and this will be the
first time it has ever been expos'd to your power; the first time I
ever had courage to meet you as a lover, and let you in by stealth,
and put myself unguarded into your hands: oh I die with the
apprehension of approaching danger! and yet I have not power to
retreat; I must on, love compels me, love holds me fast; the smiling
flatterer promises a thousand joys, a thousand ravishing minutes of
delight; all innocent and harmless as his mother's doves; but oh they
bill and kiss, and do a thousand things I must forbid _Philander_; for
I have often heard him say with sighs, that his complexion render'd
him less capable of the soft play of love, than any other lover: I
have seen him fly my very touches, yet swear they were the greatest
joy on earth; I tempt him even with my looks from virtue: and when I
ask the cause, or cry he is cold, he vows 'tis because he dares not
endure my temptations; says his blood runs hotter and fiercer in his
veins than any other's does; nor have the oft repeated joys reaped in
the marriage bed, any thing abated that which he wish'd, but he fear'd
would ruin me: thus, thus whole days we have sat and gaz'd, and
sigh'd; but durst not trust our virtues with fond dalliance.

My page is come to tell me that Madam the Duchess of ---- is come to
_Bellfont_, and I am oblig'd to quit my cabinet, but with infinite
regret, being at present much more to my soul's content employ'd; but
love must sometimes give place to _devoir_ and respect. _Dorillus_ too
waits, and tells _Melinda_ he will not depart without something for
his lord, to entertain him till the happy hour. The rustic pleas'd me
with the concern he had for my _Philander_; oh my charming brother,
you have an art to tame even savages, a tongue that would charm and
engage wildness itself, to softness and gentleness, and give the rough
unthinking, love; 'tis a tedious time to-night, how shall I pass the
hours?

       *       *       *       *       *

_To_ SYLVIA.

Say, fond love, whither wilt thou lead me? Thou hast brought me from
the noisy hurries of the town, to charming solitude; from crowded
cabals, where mighty things are resolving, to lonely groves; to thy
own abodes where thou dwell'st; gay and pleas'd among the rural swains
in shady homely cottages; thou hast brought me to a grove of flowers,
to the brink of purling streams, where thou hast laid me down to
contemplate on _Sylvia_, to think my tedious hours away in the softest
imagination a soul inspir'd by love can conceive, to increase my
passion by every thing I behold; for every sound that meets the sense
is thy proper music, oh love, and every thing inspires thy dictates;
the winds around me blow soft, and mixing with wanton boughs,
continually play and kiss; while those, like a coy maid in love,
resist, and comply by turns; they, like a ravish'd vigorous lover,
rush on with a transported violence, rudely embracing their
spring-dress'd mistress, ruffling her native order; while the pretty
birds on the dancing branches incessantly make love; upbraiding duller
man with his defective want of fire: man, the lord of all! He to be
stinted in the most valuable joy of life; is it not pity? Here is no
troublesome honour, amongst the pretty inhabitants of the woods and
streams, fondly to give laws to nature, but uncontrolled they play,
and sing, and love; no parents checking their dear delights, no
slavish matrimonial ties to restrain their nobler flame. No spies to
interrupt their blest appointments; but every little nest is free and
open to receive the young fledg'd lover; every bough is conscious of
their passion, nor do the generous pair languish in tedious ceremony;
but meeting look, and like, and love, embrace with their wingy arms,
and salute with their little opening bills; this is their courtship,
this the amorous compliment, and this only the introduction to all
their following happiness; and thus it is with the flocks and herds;
while scanted man, born alone for the fatigues of love, with
industrious toil, and all his boasting arts of eloquence, his god-like
image, and his noble form, may labour on a tedious term of years, with
pain, expense, and hazard, before he can arrive at happiness, and then
too perhaps his vows are unregarded, and all his sighs and tears are
vain. Tell me, oh you fellow-lovers, ye amorous dear brutes, tell me,
when ever you lay languishing beneath your coverts, thus for your fair
she, and durst not approach for fear of honour? Tell me, by a gentle
bleat, ye little butting rams, do you sigh thus for your soft, white
ewes? Do you lie thus conceal'd, to wait the coming shades of night,
'till all the cursed spies are folded? No, no, even you are much more
blest than man, who is bound up to rules, fetter'd by the nice
decencies of honour.

My divine maid, thus were my thoughts employ'd, when from the farthest
end of the grove, where I now remain, I saw _Dorillus_ approach with
thy welcome letter; he tells, you had like to have been surpris'd in
making it up; and he receiv'd it with much difficulty: ah _Sylvia_,
should any accident happen to prevent my seeing you to-night, I were
undone for ever, and you must expect to find me stretch'd out, dead
and cold under this oak, where now I lie writing on its knotty root.
Thy letter, I confess, is dear; it contains thy soul, and my
happiness; by this after-story of the surprise I long to be inform'd
of, for from thence I may gather part of my fortune. I rave and die
with fear of a disappointment; not but I would undergo a thousand
torments and deaths for _Sylvia_; but oh consider me, and let me not
suffer if possible; for know, my charming angel, my impatient heart is
almost broke, and will not contain itself without being nearer my
adorable maid, without taking in at my eyes a little comfort; no, I am
resolv'd; put me not off with tricks, which foolish honour invents to
jilt mankind with; for if you do, by heaven I will forget all
considerations and respect, and force myself with all the violence of
raging love into the presence of my cruel _Sylvia_; own her mine, and
ravish my delight; nor shall the happy walls of _Bellfont_ be of
strength sufficient to secure her; nay, persuade me not, for if you
make me mad and raving, this will be the effects on't.----Oh pardon
me, my sacred maid, pardon the wildness of my frantic love--I paused,
took a turn or two in the lone path, consider'd what I had said, and
found it was too much, too bold, too rude to approach my soft, my
tender maid: I am calm, my soul, as thy bewitching smiles; hush, as
thy secret sighs, and will resolve to die rather than offend my
adorable virgin; only send me word what you think of my fate, while I
expect it here on this kind mossy bed where now I lie; which I would
not quit for a throne, since here I may hope the news may soonest
arrive to make me happier than a god! which that nothing on my part
may prevent, I here vow in the face of heaven, I will not abuse the
freedom my _Sylvia_ blesses me with; nor shall my love go beyond the
limits of honour. _Sylvia_ shall command with a frown, and fetter me
with a smile; prescribe rules to my longing, ravish'd eyes, and pinion
my busy, fond, roving hands, and lay at her feet, like a tame slave,
her adoring

PHILANDER.

       *       *       *       *       *

_To_ PHILANDER.

Approach, approach, you sacred Queen of Night, and bring _Philander_
veil'd from all eyes but mine; approach at a fond lover's call, behold
how I lie panting with expectation, tir'd out with your tedious
ceremony to the God of Day; be kind, oh lovely night, and let the
deity descend to his beloved _Thetis_'s arms, and I to my
_Philander_'s; the sun and I must snatch our joys in the same happy
hours; favour'd by thee, oh sacred, silent Night! See, see, the
enamour'd sun is hasting on apace to his expecting mistress, while
thou dull Night art slowly lingering yet. Advance, my friend! my
goddess! and my confidante! hide all my blushes, all my soft
confusions, my tremblings, transports, and eyes all languishing.

Oh _Philander_! a thousand things I have done to divert the tedious
hours, but nothing can; all things are dull without thee. I am tir'd
with every thing, impatient to end, as soon as I begin them; even the
shades and solitary walks afford me now no ease, no satisfaction, and
thought but afflicts me more, that us'd to relieve. And I at last have
recourse to my kind pen: for while I write, methinks I am talking to
thee; I tell thee thus my soul, while thou, methinks, art all the
while smiling and listening by; this is much easier than silent
thought, and my soul is never weary of this converse; and thus I would
speak a thousand things, but that still, methinks, words do not enough
express my soul; to understand that right, there requires looks; there
is a rhetoric in looks; in sighs and silent touches that surpasses
all; there is an accent in the sound of words too, that gives a sense
and soft meaning to little things, which of themselves are of trivial
value, and insignificant; and by the cadence of the utterance may
express a tenderness which their own meaning does not bear; by this I
wou'd insinuate, that the story of the heart cannot be so well told by
this way, as by presence and conversation; sure _Philander_
understands what I mean by this, which possibly is nonsense to all but
a lover, who apprehends all the little fond prattle of the thing
belov'd, and finds an eloquence in it, that to a sense unconcern'd
would appear even approaching to folly: but _Philander_, who has the
true notions of love in him, apprehends all that can be said on that
dear subject; to him I venture to say any thing, whose kind and soft
imaginations can supply all my wants in the description of the soul:
will it not, _Philander_? Answer me:--But oh, where art thou? I see
thee not, I touch thee not; but when I haste with transport to embrace
thee, 'tis shadow all, and my poor arms return empty to my bosom: why,
oh why com'st thou not? Why art thou cautious, and prudently waitest
the slow-pac'd night: oh cold, oh unreasonable lover, why?--But I grow
wild, and know not what I say: impatient love betrays me to a thousand
follies, a thousand rashnesses: I die with shame; but I must be
undone, and it is no matter how, whether by my own weakness,
_Philander_'s charms, or both, I know not; but so it is destin'd,--oh
_Philander_, it is two tedious hours love has counted since you writ
to me, yet are but a quarter of a mile distant; what have you been
doing all that live-long while? Are you not unkind? Does not _Sylvia_
lie neglected and unregarded in your thoughts? Huddled up confusedly
with your graver business of State, and almost lost in the ambitious
crowd? Say, say, my lovely charmer, is she not? Does not this fatal
interest you espouse, rival your _Sylvia_? Is she not too often
remov'd thence to let in that haughty tyrant mistress? Alas,
_Philander_, I more than fear she is: and oh, my adorable lover, when
I look forward on our coming happiness, whenever I lay by the thoughts
of honour, and give a loose to love; I run not far in the pleasing
career, before that dreadful thought stopp'd me on my way: I have a
fatal prophetic fear, that gives a check to my soft pursuit, and tells
me that thy unhappy engagement in this League, this accursed
association, will one day undo us both, and part for ever thee and thy
unlucky _Sylvia_; yes, yes, my dear lord, my soul does presage an
unfortunate event from this dire engagement; nor can your false
reasoning, your fancied advantages, reconcile it to my honest,
good-natur'd heart; and surely the design is inconsistent with love,
for two such mighty contradictions and enemies, as love and ambition,
or revenge, can never sure abide in one soul together, at least love
can but share _Philander_'s heart; when blood and revenge (which he
miscalls glory) rivals it, and has possibly the greater part in it:
methinks, this notion enlarges in me, and every word I speak, and
every minute's thought of it, strengthens its reason to me; and give
me leave (while I am full of the jealousy of it) to express my
sentiments, and lay before you those reasons, that love and I think
most substantial ones; what you have hitherto desired of me, oh
unreasonable _Philander_, and what I (out of modesty and honour)
denied, I have reason to fear (from the absolute conquest you have
made of my heart) that some time or other the charming thief may break
in and rob me of; for fame and virtue love begins to laugh at. My dear
unfortunate condition being thus, it is not impossible, oh
_Philander_, but I may one day, in some unlucky hour, in some soft
bewitching moment, in some spiteful, critical, ravishing minute, yield
all to the charming _Philander_; and if so, where, oh where is my
security, that I shall not be abandon'd by the lovely victor? For it
is not your vows which you call sacred (and I alas believe so) that
can secure me, though I, heaven knows, believe them all, and am
undone; you may keep them all too, and I believe you will; but oh
_Philander_, in these fatal circumstances you have engag'd yourself,
can you secure me my lover? Your protestations you may, but not the
dear protestor. Is it not enough, oh _Philander_, for my eternal
unquiet, and undoing, to know that you are married and cannot
therefore be entirely mine; is not this enough, oh cruel _Philander_?
But you must espouse a fatal cause too, more pernicious than that of
matrimony, and more destructive to my repose: oh give me leave to
reason with you, and since you have been pleas'd to trust and afflict
me with the secret, which, honest as I am, I will never betray; yet,
yet give me leave to urge the danger of it to you, and consequently to
me, if you pursue it; when you are with me, we can think, and talk,
and argue nothing but the mightier business of love; and it is fit
that I, so fondly, and fatally lov'd by you, should warn you of the
danger. Consider, my lord, you are born noble, from parents of
untainted loyalty; blest with a fortune few princes beneath
sovereignty are masters of; blest with all-gaining youth, commanding
beauty, wit, courage, bravery of mind, and all that renders men
esteem'd and ador'd: what would you more? What is it, oh my charming
brother then, that you set up for? Is it glory? Oh mistaken, lovely
youth, that glory is but a glittering light, that flashes for a
moment, and then disappears; it is a false bravery, that will bring an
eternal blemish upon your honest fame and house; render your
honourable name hated, detested and abominable in story to after ages;
a traitor! the worst of titles, the most inglorious and shameful; what
has the King, our good, our gracious monarch, done to _Philander_? How
disoblig'd him? Or indeed, what injury to mankind? Who has he
oppress'd? Where play'd the tyrant or the ravisher? What one cruel or
angry thing has he committed in all the time of his fortunate and
peaceable reign over us? Whose ox or whose ass has he unjustly taken?
What orphan wrong'd, or widow's tears neglected? But all his life has
been one continued miracle; all good, all gracious, calm and merciful:
and this good, this god-like King, is mark'd out for slaughter,
design'd a sacrifice to the private revenge of a few ambitious knaves
and rebels, whose pretence is the public good, and doomed to be basely
murdered. A murder! even on the worst of criminals, carries with it a
cowardice so black and infamous, as the most abject wretches, the
meanest spirited creature has an abhorrence for. What! to murder a man
unthinking, unwarn'd, unprepar'd and undefended! oh barbarous! oh poor
and most unbrave! What villain is there lost to all humanity, to be
found upon the face of the earth, that, when done, dare own so hellish
a deed as the murder of the meanest of his fellow subjects, much less
the sacred person of the king; the Lord's anointed; on whose awful
face 'tis impossible to look without that reverence wherewith one
would behold a god! For 'tis most certain, that every glance from his
piercing, wondrous eyes, begets a trembling adoration; for my part, I
swear to you, _Philander_, I never approach his sacred person, but my
heart beats, my blood runs cold about me, and my eyes overflow with
tears of joy, while an awful confusion seizes me all over; and I am
certain should the most harden'd of your bloody rebels look him in the
face, the devilish instrument of death would drop from his
sacrilegious hand, and leave him confounded at the feet of the royal
forgiving sufferer; his eyes have in them something so fierce, so
majestic, commanding, and yet so good and merciful, as would soften
rebellion itself into repenting loyalty; and like _Caius Marius_, seem
to say,--'Who is it dares hurt the King?'--They alone, like his
guardian angels, defend his sacred person: oh! what pity it is,
unhappy young man, thy education was not near the King.

'Tis plain, 'tis reasonable, 'tis honest, great and glorious to
believe, what thy own sense (if thou wilt but think and consider) will
instruct thee in, that treason, rebellion and murder, are far from the
paths that lead to glory, which are as distant as hell from heaven.
What is it then to advance? (Since I say 'tis plain, glory is never
this way to be achiev'd.) Is it to add more thousands to those fortune
has already so lavishly bestow'd on you? Oh my _Philander_, that's to
double the vast crime, which reaches already to damnation: would your
honour, your conscience, your Christianity, or common humanity, suffer
you to enlarge your fortunes at the price of another's ruin; and make
the spoils of some honest, noble, unfortunate family, the rewards of
your treachery? Would you build your fame on such a foundation?
Perhaps on the destruction of some friend or kinsman. Oh barbarous and
mistaken greatness; thieves and robbers would scorn such outrages,
that had but souls and sense.

Is it for addition of titles? What elevation can you have much greater
than where you now stand fix'd? If you do not grow giddy with your
fancied false hopes, and fall from that glorious height you are
already arrived to, and which, with the honest addition of loyalty, is
of far more value and lustre, than to arrive at crowns by blood and
treason. This will last; to ages last: while t'other will be ridicul'd
to all posterity, short liv'd and reproachful here, infamous and
accursed to all eternity.

Is it to make _Cesario_ king? Oh what is _Cesario_ to my _Philander_?
If a monarchy you design, then why not this king, this great, this
good, this royal forgiver? This, who was born a king, and born your
king; and holds his crown by right of nature, by right of law, by
right of heaven itself; heaven who has preserved him, and confirmed
him ours, by a thousand miraculous escapes and sufferings, and
indulged him ours by ten thousand acts of mercy, and endeared him to
us by his wondrous care and conduct, by securing of peace, plenty,
ease and luxurious happiness, over all the fortunate limits of his
blessed kingdoms: and will you? Would you destroy this wondrous gift
of heaven? This god-like king, this real good we now possess, for a
most uncertain one; and with it the repose of all the happy nation? To
establish a king without law, without right, without consent, without
title, and indeed without even competent parts for so vast a trust, or
so glorious a rule? One who never oblig'd the nation by one single act
of goodness or valour, in all the course of his life; and who never
signaliz'd himself to the advantage of one man of all the kingdom: a
prince unfortunate in his principles and morals; and whose sole,
single ingratitude to His Majesty, for so many royal bounties,
honours, and glories heap'd upon him, is of itself enough to set any
honest generous heart against him. What is it bewitches you so? Is it
his beauty? Then _Philander_ has a greater title than _Cesario_; and
not one other merit has he, since in piety, chastity, sobriety,
charity and honour, he as little excels, as in gratitude, obedience
and loyalty. What then, my dear _Philander_? Is it his weakness? Ah,
there's the argument: you all propose, and think to govern so soft a
king: but believe me, oh unhappy _Philander_! Nothing is more
ungovernable than a fool; nothing more obstinate, wilful, conceited,
and cunning; and for his gratitude, let the world judge what he must
prove to his servants, who has dealt so ill with his lord and master;
how he must reward those that present him with a crown, who deals so
ungraciously with him who gave him life, and who set him up an happier
object than a monarch: no, no, _Philander_; he that can cabal, and
contrive to dethrone a father, will find it easy to discard the wicked
and hated instruments, that assisted him to mount it; decline him
then, oh fond and deluded _Philander_, decline him early; for you of
all the rest ought to do so, and not to set a helping hand to load him
with honours, that chose you out from all the world to load with
infamy: remember that; remember _Myrtilla_, and then renounce him; do
not you contribute to the adorning of his unfit head with a diadem,
the most glorious of ornaments, who unadorned yours with the most
inglorious of all reproaches. Think of this, oh thou unconsidering
noble youth; lay thy hand upon thy generous heart, and tell it all the
fears, all the reasonings of her that loves thee more than life. A
thousand arguments I could bring, but these few unstudied (falling in
amongst my softer thoughts) I beg you will accept of, till I can more
at large deliver the glorious argument to your soul; let this suffice
to tell thee, that, like _Cassandra_, I rave and prophesy in vain;
this association will be the eternal ruin of _Philander_; for let it
succeed or not, either way thou art undone; if thou pursuest it, I
must infallibly fall with thee, if I resolve to follow thy good or ill
fortune; for you cannot intend love and ambition, _Sylvia_ and
_Cesario_ at once: no, persuade me not; the title to one or t'other
must be laid down, _Sylvia_ or _Cesario_ must be abandon'd: this is my
fix'd resolve, if thy too powerful arguments convince not in spite of
reason, for they can do it; thou hast the tongue of an angel, and the
eloquence of a god, and while I listen to thy voice, I take all thou
say'st for wondrous sense.--Farewell; about two hours hence I shall
expect you at the gate that leads into the garden grove--adieu!
Remember

SYLVIA.

       *       *       *       *       *

_To_ SYLVIA.

How comes my charming _Sylvia_ so skilled in the mysteries of State?
Where learnt her tender heart the notions of rigid business? Where her
soft tongue, formed only for the dear language of love, to talk of the
concerns of nations and kingdoms? 'Tis true, when I gave my soul away
to my dear counsellor, I reserved nothing to myself, not even that
secret that so concerned my life, but laid all at her mercy; my
generous heart could not love at a less rate, than to lavish all and
be undone for _Sylvia_; 'tis glorious ruin, and it pleases me, if it
advance one single joy, or add one demonstration of my love to
_Sylvia_; 'tis not enough that we tell those we love all they love to
hear, but one ought to tell them too, every secret that we know, and
conceal no part of that heart one has made a present of to the person
one loves; 'tis a treason in love not to be pardoned: I am sensible,
that when my story is told (and this happy one of my love shall make
up the greatest part of my history) those that love not like me will
be apt to blame me, and charge me with weakness, for revealing so
great a trust to a woman, and amongst all that I shall do to arrive at
glory, that will brand me with feebleness; but _Sylvia_, when lovers
shall read it, the men will excuse me, and the maids bless me! I shall
be a fond admired precedent for them to point out to their remiss
reserving lovers, who will be reproached for not pursuing my example.
I know not what opinion men generally have of the weakness of women;
but 'tis sure a vulgar error, for were they like my adorable _Sylvia_,
had they had her wit, her vivacity of spirit, her courage, her
generous fortitude, her command in every graceful look and action,
they were most certainly fit to rule and reign; and man was only born
robust and strong, to secure them on those thrones they are formed (by
beauty, softness, and a thousand charms which men want) to possess.
Glorious woman was born for command and dominion; and though custom
has usurped us the name of rule over all; we from the beginning found
ourselves (in spite of all our boasted prerogative) slaves and vassals
to the almighty sex. Take then my share of empire, ye gods; and give
me love! Let me toil to gain, but let _Sylvia_ triumph and reign; I
ask no more than the led slave at her chariot wheels, to gaze on my
charming conqueress, and wear with joy her fetters! Oh how proud I
should be to see the dear victor of my soul so elevated, so adorn'd
with crowns and sceptres at her feet, which I had won; to see her
smiling on the adoring crowd, distributing her glories to young
waiting princes; there dealing provinces, and there a coronet.
Heavens! methinks I see the lovely virgin in this state, her chariot
slowly driving through the multitude that press to gaze upon her, she
dress'd like _Venus_, richly gay and loose, her hair and robe blown by
the flying winds, discovering a thousand charms to view; thus the
young goddess looked, then when she drove her chariot down descending
clouds, to meet the love-sick gods in cooling shades; and so would
look my _Sylvia_! Ah, my soft, lovely maid; such thoughts as these
fir'd me with ambition: for me, I swear by every power that made me
love, and made thee wondrous fair, I design no more by this great
enterprise than to make thee some glorious thing, elevated above what
we have seen yet on earth; to raise thee above fate or fortune, beyond
that pity of thy duller sex, who understand not thy soul, nor can ever
reach the flights of thy generous love! No, my soul's joy, I must not
leave thee liable to their little natural malice and scorn, to the
impertinence of their reproaches. No, my _Sylvia_, I must on, the
great design must move forward; though I abandon it, 'twill advance;
it is already too far to put a stop to it; and now I am entered, it is
in vain to retreat; if we are prosperous, it will to all ages be
called a glorious enterprise; but if we fail, it will be base, horrid
and infamous; for the world judges of nothing but by the success; that
cause is always good that is prosperous, that is ill which is
unsuccessful. Should I now retreat, I run many hazards; but to go on I
run but one; by the first I shall alarm the whole cabal with a
jealousy of my discovering, and those are persons of too great sense
and courage, not to take some private way of revenge, to secure their
own stakes; and to make myself uncertainly safe by a discovery,
indeed, were to gain a refuge so ignoble, as a man of honour would
scorn to purchase life at; nor would that baseness secure me. But in
going on, oh _Sylvia_! when three kingdoms shall lie unpossess'd, and
be exposed, as it were, amongst the raffling crowd, who knows but the
chance may be mine, as well as any other's, who has but the same
hazard, and throw for it? If the strongest sword must do it, (as that
must do it) why not mine still? Why may not mine be that fortunate
one? _Cesario_ has no more right to it than _Philander_; 'tis true, a
few of the rabble will pretend he has a better title to it, but they
are a sort of easy fools, lavish in nothing but noise and nonsense;
true to change and inconstancy, and will abandon him to their own fury
for the next that cries Haloo: neither is there one part of fifty (of
the fools that cry him up) for his interest, though they use him for a
tool to work with, he being the only great man that wants sense enough
to find out the cheat which they dare impose upon. Can any body of
reason believe, if they had design'd him good, they would let him
bare-fac'd have own'd a party so opposite to all laws of nature,
religion, humanity, and common gratitude? When his interest, if
design'd, might have been carried on better, if he had still
dissembled and stay'd in Court: no, believe me, _Sylvia_, the
politicians shew him, to render him odious to all men of tolerable
sense of the party; for what reason soever they have who are
disoblig'd (or at least think themselves so) to set up for liberty,
the world knows _Cesario_ renders himself the worst of criminals by
it, and has abandon'd an interest more glorious and easy than empire,
to side with and aid people that never did, or ever can oblige him;
and he is so dull as to imagine that for his sake, who never did us
service or good, (unless cuckolding us be good) we should venture life
and fame to pull down a true monarch, to set up his bastard over us.
_Cesario_ must pardon me, if I think his politics are shallow as his
parts, and that his own interest has undone him; for of what advantage
soever the design may be to us, it really shocks one's nature to find
a son engag'd against a father, and to him such a father. Nor, when
time comes, shall I forget the ruin of _Myrtilla_. But let him hope
on--and so will I, as do a thousand more, for ought I know; I set out
as fair as they, and will start as eagerly; if I miss it now, I have
youth and vigour sufficient for another race; and while I stand on
fortune's wheel as she rolls it round, it may be my turn to be o'th'
top; for when 'tis set in motion, believe me, _Sylvia_, it is not
easily fix'd: however let it suffice, I am now in, past a retreat, and
to urge it now to me, is but to put me into inevitable danger; at best
it can but set me where I was; that is worse than death. When every
fool is aiming at a kingdom, what man of tolerable pride and ambition
can be unconcerned, and not put himself into a posture of catching,
when a diadem shall be thrown among the crowd? It were insensibility,
stupid dullness, not to lift a hand, or make an effort to snatch it as
it flies: though the glorious falling weight should crush me, it is
great to attempt; and if fortune do not favour fools, I have as fair a
grasp for it as any other adventurer.

This, my _Sylvia_, is my sense of a business you so much dread; I may
rise, but I cannot fall; therefore, my _Sylvia_, urge it no more; love
gave me ambition, and do not divert the glorious effects of your
wondrous charms, but let them grow, and spread, and see what they will
produce for my lovely _Sylvia_, the advantages will most certainly be
hers:--But no more: how came my love so dull to entertain thee so many
minutes thus with reasons for an affair, which one soft hour with
_Sylvia_ will convince to what she would have it; believe me, it will,
I will sacrifice all to her repose, nay, to her least command, even
the life of

_(My eternal pleasure) Your_ PHILANDER.

_I have no longer patience, I must be coming towards the grove, though
it will do me no good, more than knowing I am so much nearer to my
adorable creature._

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

       *       *       *       *       *

_To_ SYLVIA. _Writ in a pair of tablets._

My charmer, I wait your commands in the meadow behind the grove, where
I saw _Dorinda_, _Dorillus_ his daughter, entering with a basket of
cowslips for _Sylvia_, unnecessarily offering sweets to the Goddess of
the Groves, from whence they (with all the rest of their gaudy fellows
of the spring) assume their ravishing odours. I take every opportunity
of telling my _Sylvia_ what I have so often repeated, and shall be
ever repeating with the same joy while I live, that I love my _Sylvia_
to death and madness; that my soul is on the rack, till she send me
the happy advancing word. And yet believe me, lovely maid, I could
grow old with waiting here the blessed moment, though set at any
distance (within the compass of life, and impossible to be 'till then
arriv'd to) but when I am so near approach'd it, love from all parts
rallies and hastens to my heart for the mighty encounter ,'till the
poor panting over-loaded victim dies with the pressing weight. No
more,--You know it, for it is, and will be eternally _Sylvia_'s.

POSTSCRIPT.

_Remember, my adorable, it is now seven o'clock: I have my watch in my
hand, waiting and looking on the slow pac'd minutes. Eight will
quickly arrive, I hope, and then it is dark enough to hide me; think
where I am, and who I am, waiting near_ Sylvia, and her Philander.

_I think, my dear angel, you have the other key of these tablets, if
not, they are easily broke open: you have an hour good to write in,_
Sylvia _and I shall wait unemployed by any thing but thought. Send me
word how you were like to have been surpris'd; it may possibly be of
advantage to me in this night's dear adventure. I wonder'd at the
superscription of my letter indeed, of which_ Dorillus _could give me
no other account, than that you were surpris'd, and he receiv'd it
with difficulty; give me the story now, do it in charity my angel.
Besides, I would employ all thy moments, for I am jealous of every one
that is not dedicated to_ Sylvia's Philander.

       *       *       *       *       *

_To_ PHILANDER.

I have received your tablets, of which I have the key, and heaven only
knows (for lovers cannot, unless they loved like _Sylvia_, and her
_Philander_) what pains and pantings my heart sustain'd at every
thought they brought me of thy near approach; every moment I start,
and am ready to faint with joy, fear, and something not to be
express'd that seizes me. To add to this, I have busied myself with
dressing my apartment up with flowers, so that I fancy the ceremonious
business of the light looks like the preparations for the dear joy of
the nuptial bed; that too is so adorn'd and deck'd with all that's
sweet and gay; all which possesses me with so ravishing and solemn a
confusion, that it is even approaching to the most profound sadness
itself. Oh _Philander_, I find I am fond of being undone; and unless
you take a more than mortal care of me, I know this night some fatal
mischief will befall me; what it is I know not, either the loss of
_Philander_, my life, or my honour, or all together, which a discovery
only of your being alone in my apartment, and at such an hour, will
most certainly draw upon us: death is the least we must expect, by
some surprise or other, my father being rash, and extremely jealous,
and the more so of me, by how much more he is fond of me, and nothing
would enrage him like the discovery of an interview like this; though
you have liberty to range the house of _Bellfont_ as a son, and are
indeed at home there; but when you come by stealth, when he shall find
his son and virgin daughter, the brother and the sister so retired, so
entertained,--What but death can ensue? Or what is worse, eternal
shame? Eternal confusion on my honour? What excuse, what evasions,
vows and protestations will convince him, or appease _Myrtilla_'s
jealousy; _Myrtilla_, my sister, and _Philander_'s wife? Oh God! that
cruel thought will put me into ravings; I have a thousand streams of
killing reflections which flow from that original fountain! Curse on
the alliance, that gave you a welcome to _Bellfont_. Ah _Philander_,
could you not have stay'd ten short years longer? Alas, you thought
that was an age in youth, but it is but a day in love: Ah, could not
your eager youth have led you to a thousand diversions, a thousand
times have baited in the long journey of life, without hurrying on to
the last stage, to the last retreat, but the grave; and to me seem as
irrecoverable, as impossible to retrieve thee!--Could no kind beauty
stop thee on thy way, in charity or pity; _Philander_ saw me then. And
though _Myrtilla_ was more fit for his caresses, and I but capable to
please with childish prattle; oh could he not have seen a promising
bloom in my face, that might have foretold the future conquests I was
born to make? Oh! was there no prophetic charm that could bespeak your
heart, engage it, and prevent that fatal marriage? You say, my
adorable brother, we were destined from our creation for one another;
that the decrees of heaven, or fate, or both, design'd us for this
mutual passion: why then, oh why did not heaven, fate or destiny, do
the mighty work, when first you saw my infant charms? But oh,
_Philander_, why do I vainly rave? Why call in vain on time that's
fled and gone? Why idly wish for ten years' retribution? That will not
yield a day, an hour, a minute: no, no, 'tis past, 'tis past and flown
for ever, as distant as a thousand years to me, as irrecoverable. Oh
_Philander_, what hast thou thrown away? Ten glorious years of
ravishing youth, of unmatch'd heavenly beauty, on one that knew not
half the value of it! _Sylvia_ was only born to set a rate upon it,
was only capable of love, such love as might deserve it: oh why was
that charming face ever laid on any bosom that knew not how to sigh,
and pant, and heave at every touch of so much distracting beauty? Oh
why were those dear arms, whose soft pressings ravish where they
circle, destin'd for a body cold and dull, that could sleep insensibly
there, and not so much as dream the while what the transporting
pleasure signified; but unconcerned receive the wondrous blessing, and
never knew its price, or thank'd her stars? She has thee all the day
to gaze upon, and yet she lets thee pass her careless sight, as if
there were no miracles in view: she does not see the little gods of
love that play eternally in thy eyes; and since she never received a
dart from thence, believes there's no artillery there. She plays not
with thy hair, nor weaves her snowy fingers in the curls of jet, sets
it in order, and adores its beauty: the fool with flaxen-wig had done
as well for her; a dull, white coxcomb had made as good a property; a
husband is no more, at best no more. Oh thou charming object of my
eternal wishes, why wert thou thus dispos'd? Oh save my life, and tell
me what indifferent impulse obliged thee to these nuptials: had
_Myrtilla_ been recommended or forc'd by the tyranny of a father into
thy arms, or for base lucre thou hadst chosen her, this had excus'd
thy youth and crime; obedience or vanity I could have pardon'd,--but
oh--'twas love; love, my _Philander_! thy raving love, and that which
has undone thee was a rape rather than marriage; you fled with her. Oh
heavens, mad to possess, you stole the unloving prize!--Yes, you lov'd
her, false as you are, you did; perjur'd and faithless. Lov'd
her?--Hell and confusion on the word; it was so--Oh _Philander_, I am
lost--

_This letter was found torn in pieces._

       *       *       *       *       *

_To_ Monsieur, the Count of--

_My Lord_, These pieces of paper, which I have put together as well as
I could, were writ by my lady to have been sent by _Dorinda_, when on
a sudden she rose in rage from her seat, tore first the paper, and
then her robes and hair, and indeed nothing has escaped the violence
of her passion; nor could my prayers or tears retrieve them, or calm
her: 'tis however chang'd at last to mighty passions of weeping, in
which employment I have left her on her repose, being commanded away.
I thought it my duty to give your lordship this account, and to send
the pieces of paper, that your lordship may guess at the occasion of
the sudden storm which ever rises in that fatal quarter; but in
putting them in order, I had like to have been surprised by my lady's
father; for my Lord, the Count, having long solicited me for favours,
and taking all opportunities of entertaining me, found me alone in my
chamber, employ'd in serving your lordship; I had only time to hide
the papers, and to get rid of him, having given him an assignation
to-night in the garden grove, to give him the hearing to what he says
he has to propose to me: pray heaven all things go right to your
lordship's wish this evening, for many ominous things happen'd to-day.
Madam, the Countess, had like to have taken a letter writ for your
lordship to-day; for the Duchess of ---- coming to make her a visit,
came on a sudden with her into my lady's apartment, and surpris'd her
writing in her dressing room, giving her only time to slip the paper
into her combbox. The first ceremonies being pass'd, as Madam, the
Duchess, uses not much, she fell to commend my lady's dressing-plate,
and taking up the box, and opening it, found the letter, and laughing,
cried, 'Oh, have I found you making love;' at which my lady, with an
infinite confusion, would have retrieved it,--but the Duchess not
quitting her hold, cried--'Nay, I am resolved to see in what manner
you write to a lover, and whether you have a heart tender or cruel?'
At which she began to read aloud, my lady to blush and change colour a
hundred times in a minute: I ready to die with fear; Madam the
Countess, in infinite amazement, my lady interrupting every word the
Duchess read, by prayers and entreaties, which heightened her
curiosity, and being young and airy, regarded not the indecency to
which she preferr'd her curiosity, who still laughing, cried she was
resolv'd to read it out, and know the constitution of her heart; when
my lady, whose wit never fail'd her, cried, 'I beseech you, madam, let
us have so much complaisance for _Melinda_ as to ask her consent in
this affair, and then I am pleas'd you should see what love I can make
upon occasion:' I took the hint, and with a real confusion, cried--'I
implore you, madam, not to discover my weakness to Madam, the Duchess;
I would not for the world--be thought to love so passionately, as your
ladyship, in favour of _Alexis_, has made me profess, under the name
of _Sylvia_ to _Philander_'. This encouraged my lady, who began to say
a thousand pleasant things of _Alexis_, _Dorillus_ his son, and my
lover, as your lordship knows, and who is no inconsiderable fortune
for a maid, enrich'd only by your lordship's bounty. My lady, after
this, took the letter, and all being resolv'd it should be read, she
herself did it, and turned it so prettily into burlesque love by her
manner of reading it, that made Madam, the Duchess, laugh extremely;
who at the end of it, cried to my lady--'Well, madam, I am satisfied
you have not a heart wholly insensible of love, that could so express
it for another.' Thus they rallied on, till careful of my lover's
repose, the Duchess urg'd the letter might be immediately sent away;
at which my lady readily folding up the letter, writ '_For the
Constant_ Alexis', on the outside: I took it, and begg'd I might have
leave to retire to write it over in my own hand; they permitted me,
and I carried it, after sealing it, to _Dorillus_, who waited for it,
and wondering to find his son's name on it, cried 'Mistress,
_Melinda_, I doubt you have mistook my present business; I wait for a
letter from my lady to my lord, and you give me one from yourself to
my son _Alexis_; 'twill be very welcome to _Alexis_ I confess, but at
this time I had rather oblige my lord than my son:' I laughing
replied, he was mistaken, that _Alexis_, at this time, meant no other
than my lord, which pleas'd the good man extremely, who thought it a
good omen for his son, and so went his way satisfied; as every body
was, except the Countess, who fancied something more in it than my
lady's inditing for me; and after Madam the Duchess was gone, she went
ruminating and pensive to her chamber, from whence I am confident she
will not depart to-night, and will possibly set spies in every corner;
at least 'tis good to fear the worst, that we may prevent all things
that would hinder this night's assignation: as soon as the coast is
clear, I'll wait on your lordship, and be your conductor, and in all
things else am ready to shew myself,

_My Lord,_

_Your lordship's most humble
and most obedient servant,_

MELINDA.

Sylvia _has given orders to wait on your lordship as soon as all is
clear._

       *       *       *       *       *

_To_ MELINDA.

Oh _Melinda_, what have you told me? Stay me with an immediate account
of the recovery and calmness of my adorable weeping _Sylvia_, or I
shall enter _Bellfont_ with my sword drawn, bearing down all before
me, 'till I make my way to my charming mourner: O God! _Sylvia_ in a
rage! _Sylvia_ in any passion but that of love? I cannot bear it, no,
by heaven I cannot; I shall do some outrage either on myself or at
_Bellfont_. Oh thou dear advocate of my tenderest wishes, thou
confidante of my never dying flame, thou kind administering maid, send
some relief to my breaking heart--haste and tell me, _Sylvia_ is calm,
that her bright eyes sparkle with smiles, or if they languish, say
'tis with love, with expecting joys; that her dear hands are no more
employed in exercises too rough and unbecoming their native softness.
O eternal God! tearing perhaps her divine hair, brighter than the
sun's reflecting beams, injuring the heavenly beauty of her charming
face and bosom, the joy and wish of all mankind that look upon her: oh
charm her with prayers and tears, stop her dear fingers from the rude
assaults; bind her fair hands; repeat _Philander_ to her, tell her
he's fainting with the news of her unkindness and outrage on her
lovely self; but tell her too, I die adoring her; tell her I rave, I
tear, I curse myself,--for so I do; tell her I would break out into a
violence that should set all _Bellfont_ in a flame, but for my care of
her. Heaven and earth should not restrain me,--no, they should
not,----But her least frown should still me, tame me, and make me a
calm coward: say this, say all, say any thing to charm her rage and
tears. Oh I am mad, stark-mad, and ready to run on business I die to
think her guilty of: tell her how it would grieve her to see me torn
and mangled; to see that hair she loves ruffled and diminish'd by
rage, violated by my insupportable grief, myself quite bereft of all
sense but that of love, but that of adoration for my charming, cruel
insensible, who is possessed with every thought, with every
imagination that can render me unhappy, borne away with every fancy
that is in disfavour of the wretched _Philander_. Oh _Melinda_, write
immediately, or you will behold me enter a most deplorable object of
pity.

When I receiv'd yours, I fell into such a passion that I forc'd myself
back to _Dorillus_ his house, left my transports and hurried me to
_Bellfont_, where I should have undone all: but as I can now rest no
where, I am now returning to the meadow again, where I will expect
your aid, or die.

_From_ Dorillus _his cottage, almost nine o'clock._

       *       *       *       *       *

_To_ PHILANDER.

I must own, my charming _Philander_, that my love is now arrived to
that excess, that every thought which before but discompos'd me, now
puts me into a violence of rage unbecoming my sex; or any thing but
the mighty occasion of it, love, and which only had power to calm what
it had before ruffled into a destructive storm: but like the anger'd
sea, which pants and heaves, and retains still an uneasy motion long
after the rude winds are appeas'd and hush'd to silence; my heart
beats still, and heaves with the sensible remains of the late
dangerous tempest of my mind, and nothing can absolutely calm me but
the approach of the all-powerful _Philander_; though that thought
possesses me with ten thousand fears, which I know will vanish all at
thy appearance, and assume no more their dreadful shapes till thou art
gone again: bring me then that kind cessation, bring me my
_Philander_, and set me above the thoughts of cares, frights, or any
other thoughts but those of tender love; haste then, thou charming
object of my eternal wishes, and of my new desires; haste to my arms,
my eyes, my soul,--but oh, be wondrous careful there, do not betray
the easy maid that trusts thee amidst all her sacred store.

'Tis almost dark, and my mother is retired to her chamber, my father
to his cabinet, and has left all that apartment next the garden wholly
without spies. I have, by trusty _Dorillus_, sent you a key _Melinda_
got made to the door, which leads from the garden to the black-stairs
to my apartment, so carefully locked, and the original key so closely
guarded by my jealous father: that way I beg you to come; a way but
too well known to _Philander_, and by which he has made many an escape
to and from _Myrtilla_. Oh damn that thought, what makes it torturing
me,----let me change it for those of _Philander_, the advantage will
be as great as bartering hell for heaven; haste then, _Philander_: but
what need I bid thee, love will lend thee his wings; thou who
commandest all his artillery, put them on, and fly to thy languishing

SYLVIA.

_Oh I faint with the dear thought of thy approach._

       *       *       *       *       *

_To the Charming_ SYLVIA.

With much ado, with many a sigh, a panting heart, and many a
languishing look back towards happy _Bellfont_, I have recovered
_Dorillus_ his farm, where I threw me on a bed, and lay without
motion, and almost without life for two hours; till at last, through
all my sighs, my great concern, my torment, my love and rage broke
silence, and burst into all the different complaints both soft and mad
by turns, that ever possessed a soul extravagantly seized with frantic
love; ah, _Sylvia_, what did not I say? How did I not curse, and who
except my charming maid? For yet my _Sylvia_ is a maid: yes, yes, ye
envying powers, she is, and yet the sacred and inestimable treasure
was offered a trembling victim to the overjoyed and fancied deity, for
then and there I thought myself happier than a triumphing god; but
having overcome all difficulties, all the fatigues and toils of love's
long sieges, vanquish'd the mighty phantom of the fair, the giant
honour, and routed all the numerous host of women's little reasonings,
passed all the bounds of peevish modesty; nay, even all the loose and
silken counterscarps that fenced the sacred fort, and nothing stopped
my glorious pursuit: then, then, ye gods, just then, by an
over-transport, to fall just fainting before the surrendering gates,
unable to receive the yielding treasure! Oh _Sylvia_! What _demon_,
malicious at my glory, seized my vigour? What god, envious of my
mighty joy, rendered me a shameful object of his raillery? Snatched my
(till then) never failing power, and left me dying on thy charming
bosom. Heavens, how I lay! Silent with wonder, rage and ecstasy of
love, unable to complain, or rail, or storm, or seek for ease, but
with my sighs alone, which made up all my breath; my mad desires
remained, but all inactive, as age or death itself, as cold and
feeble, as unfit for joy, as if my youthful fire had long been past,
or _Sylvia_ had never been blest with charms. Tell me, thou wondrous
perfect creature, tell me, where lay the hidden witchcraft? Was
_Sylvia_'s beauty too divine to mix with mortal joys? Ah no, 'twas
ravishing, but human all. Yet sure 'twas so approaching to divinity,
as changed my fire to awful adoration, and all my wanton heat to
reverent contemplation.--But this is nonsense all, it was something
more that gave me rage, despair and torments insupportable: no, it was
no dull devotion, tame divinity, but mortal killing agony, unlucky
disappointment, unnatural impotence. Oh! I am lost, enchanted by some
magic spell: oh, what can _Sylvia_ say? What can she think of my fond
passion; she'll swear it is all a cheat, I had it not. No, it could
not be; such tales I've often heard, as often laughed at too, of
disappointed lovers; would _Sylvia_ believe (as sure she may) mine was
excess of passion: what! My _Sylvia_! being arrived to all the joy of
love, just come to reap the glorious recompense, the full reward, the
heaven for all my sufferings, do I lie gazing only, and no more? A
dull, a feeble unconcerned admirer! Oh my eternal shame!--Curse on my
youth; give me, ye powers, old age, for that has some excuse, but
youth has none: 'tis dullness, stupid insensibility: where shall I
hide my head when this lewd story's told? When it shall be confirmed,
_Philander_ the young, the brisk and gay _Philander_, who never failed
the woman he scarce wished for, never baulked the amorous conceited
old, nor the ill-favoured young, yet when he had extended in his arms
the young, the charming fair and longing _Sylvia_, the untouched,
unspotted, and till then, unwishing lovely maid, yielded, defenceless,
and unguarded all, he wanted power to seize the trembling prey: defend
me, heaven, from madness. Oh _Sylvia_, I have reflected on all the
little circumstances that might occasion this disaster, and damn me to
this degree of coldness, but I can fix on none: I had, it is true, for
_Sylvia_'s sake, some apprehensions of fear of being surprised; for
coming through the garden, I saw at the farther end a man, at least I
fancied by that light it was a man; who perceiving the glimpse of
something approach from the grove, made softly towards me, but with
such caution, as if he feared to be mistaken in the person, as much as
I was to approach him: and reminding what _Melinda_ told me, of an
assignation she had made to _Monsieur_ the Count--imagined it him; nor
was I mistaken when I heard his voice calling in low tone--'_Melinda_'
--at which I mended my pace, and ere he got half way the garden
recovered the door, and softly unlocking it, got in unperceived, and
fastened it after me, well enough assured that he saw not which way I
vanished: however, it failed not to alarm me with some fears on your
dear account, that disturbed my repose, and which I thought then not
necessary to impart to you, and which indeed all vanished at the sight
of my adorable maid: when entering thy apartment, I beheld thee
extended on a bed of roses, in garments, which, if possible, by their
wanton loose negligence and gaiety, augmented thy natural charms: I
trembling fell on my knees by your bed-side and gazed a while, unable
to speak for transports of joy and love: you too were silent, and
remained so, so long that I ventured to press your lips with mine,
which all their eager kisses could not put in motion, so that I feared
you fainted; a sudden fright, that in a moment changed my fever of
love into a cold ague fit; but you revived me with a sigh again, and
fired me anew, by pressing my hand, and from that silent soft
encouragement, I, by degrees, ravished a thousand blisses; yet still
between your tempting charming kisses, you would cry--'Oh, my
_Philander_, do not injure me,--be sure you press me not to the last
joys of love,--Oh have a care, or I am undone for ever: restrain your
roving hands,----Oh whither would they wander?----My soul, my joy, my
everlasting charmer, oh whither would you go?'--Thus with a thousand
cautions more, which did but raise what you designed to calm, you
made me but the madder to possess: not all the vows you bid me call
to mind, could now restrain my wild and headstrong passion; my raving,
raging (but my soft) desire: no, _Sylvia_, no, it was not in the power
of feeble flesh and blood to find resistance against so many charms;
yet still you made me swear, still I protested, but still burnt on
with the same torturing flame, till the vast pleasure even became a
pain: to add to this, I saw, (yes, _Sylvia_, not all your art and
modesty could hide it) I saw the ravishing maid as much inflamed as I;
she burnt with equal fire, with equal languishment: not all her care
could keep the sparks concealed, but it broke out in every word and
look; her trembling tongue, her feeble fainting voice betrayed it all;
sighs interrupting every syllable; a languishment I never saw till
then dwelt in her charming eyes, that contradicted all her little
vows; her short and double breathings heaved her breast, her swelling
snowy breast, her hands that grasped me trembling as they closed,
while she permitted mine unknown, unheeded to traverse all her
beauties, till quite forgetting all I had faintly promised, and wholly
abandoning my soul to joy, I rushed upon her, who, all fainting, lay
beneath my useless weight, for on a sudden all my power was fled,
swifter than lightning hurried through my enfeebled veins, and
vanished all: not the dear lovely beauty which I pressed, the dying
charms of that fair face and eyes, the clasps of those soft arms, nor
the bewitching accent of her voice, that murmured love half smothered
in her sighs, nor all my love, my vast, my mighty passion, could call
my fugitive vigour back again: oh no, the more I looked--the more I
touched and saw, the more I was undone. Oh pity me, my too I too
lovely maid, do not revile the faults which you alone create. Consider
all your charms at once exposed, consider every sense about me
ravished, overcome with joys too mighty to be supported, no wonder if
I fell a shameful sacrifice to the fond deity: consider how I waited,
how I strove, and still I burnt on, and every tender touch still
added fuel to the vigorous fire, which by your delay consumed itself
in burning. I want philosophy to make this out, or faith to fix my
unhappiness on any chance or natural accident; but this, my charming
_Sylvia_, I am sure, that had I loved you less, I'd been less
wretched: nor had we parted, _Sylvia_, on so ill terms, nor had I left
you with an opinion so disadvantageous for _Philander_, but for that
unhappy noise at your chamber-door, which alarming your fear,
occasioned your recovery from that dear trance, to which love and soft
desire had reduced you, and me from the most tormenting silent agony
that disappointed joy ever possessed a fond expecting heart with. Oh
heavens! to have my _Sylvia_ in my power, favoured by silence, night
and safe retreat! then, then, to lie a tame cold sigher only, as if my
_Sylvia_ gave that assignation alone by stealth, undressed, all loose
and languishing, fit for the mighty business of the night, only to
hear me prattle, see me gaze, or tell her what a pretty sight it was
to see the moon shine through the dancing boughs. Oh damn my hardened
dullness!--But no more,--I am all fire and madness at the thought,--
but I was saying, _Sylvia_, we both recovered then when the noise
alarmed us. I long to know whether you think we were betrayed, for on
that knowledge rests a mighty part of my destiny: I hope we are not,
by an accident that befell me at my going away, which (but for my
untimely force of leaving my lovely _Sylvia_, which gave me pains
insupportable) would have given me great diversion. You know our fear
of being discovered occasioned my disguise, for you found it
necessary I should depart, your fear had so prevailed, and that in
_Melinda_'s night-gown and head-dress: thus attired, with much ado, I
went and left my soul behind me, and finding no body all along the
gallery, nor in my passage from your apartment into the garden, I was
a thousand times about to return to all my joys; when in the midst of
this almost ended dispute, I saw by the light of the moon (which was
by good fortune under a cloud, and could not distinctly direct the
sight) a man making towards me with cautious speed, which made me
advance with the more haste to recover the grove, believing to have
escaped him under the covert of the trees; for retreat I could not,
without betraying which way I went; but just at the entrance of the
thicket, he turning short made up to me, and I perceived it _Monsieur_
the Count, who taking me for _Melinda_, whom it seems he expected,
caught hold of my gown as I would have passed him, and cried, 'Now
_Melinda_, I see you are a maid of honour,--come, retire with me into
the grove, where I have a present of a heart and something else to
make you, that will be of more advantage to you than that of _Alexis_,
though something younger.'--I all confounded knew not what to reply,
nor how, lest he should find his mistake, at least, if he discovered
not who I was: which silence gave him occasion to go on, which he did
in this manner: 'What not a word, _Melinda_, or do you design I shall
take your silence for consent? If so, come my pretty creature, let us
not lose the hour love has given us;' at this he would have advanced,
leading me by the hand, which he pressed and kissed very amorously:
judge, my adorable _Sylvia_, in what a fine condition your _Philander_
then was in. What should I do? To go had disappointed him worse than I
was with thee before; not to go, betrayed me: I had much ado to hold
my countenance, and unwilling to speak. While I was thus employed in
thought, _Monsieur_----pulling me (eager of joys to come,) and I
holding back, he stopped and cried, 'Sure, _Melinda_, you came not
hither to bring me a denial.' I then replied, whispering,--'Softly,
sir, for heaven's sake' (sweetening my voice as much as possible)
'consider I am a maid, and would not be discovered for the world.'
'Who can discover us?' replied my lover, 'what I take from thee shall
never be missed, not by _Alexis_ himself upon thy wedding
night;--Come--sweet child, come:--'--'With that I pulled back and
whispered--'Heavens! Would you make a mistress of me?'--Says he--'A
mistress, what would'st thou be a cherubin?' Then I replied as
before--'I am no whore, sir,'--'No,' cries he, 'but I can quickly make
thee one, I have my tools about me, sweet-heart; therefore let us lose
no time, but fall to work:' this last raillery from the brisk old
gentleman, had in spite of resolution almost made me burst out into a
loud laughter, when he took more gravity upon him, and cried--'Come,
come, _Melinda_, why all this foolish argument at this hour in this
place, and after so much serious courtship; believe me, I'll be kind
to thee for ever;' with that he clapped fifty guineas in a purse into
one hand, and something else that shall be nameless into the other,
presents that had been both worth _Melinda_'s acceptance: all this
while was I studying an evasion; at last, to shorten my pleasant
adventure, looking round, I cried softly, 'Are you sure, sir, we are
safe--for heaven's sake step towards the garden door and see, for I
would not be discovered for the world.'--'Nor I,' cried he--'but do
not fear, all is safe:'--'However see' (whispered I) 'that my fear may
not disturb your joys.' With that he went toward the house, and I
slipping into the grove, got immediately into the meadow, where
_Alexis_ waited my coming with _Brilliard_; so I, left the expecting
lover, I suppose, ranging the grove for his fled nymph, and I doubt
will fall heavy on poor _Melinda_, who shall have the guineas, either
to restore or keep, as she and the angry Count can agree: I leave the
management of it to her wit and conduct.

This account I thought necessary to give my charmer, that she might
prepare _Melinda_ for the assault, who understanding all that passed
between us, may so dispose of matters, that no discovery may happen by
mistake, and I know my _Sylvia_ and she can find a thousand excuses
for the supposed _Melinda_'s flight. But, my adorable maid, my
business here was not to give an account of my adventure only, nor of
my ravings, but to tell my _Sylvia_, on what my life depends; which
is, in a permission to wait on her again this ensuing night; make no
excuse, for if you do, by all I adore in heaven and earth I'll end my
life here where I received it. I will say no more, nor give your love
instructions, but wait impatiently here the life or death of your
PHILANDER.

_'Tis six o'clock, and yet my eyes have not closed themselves to
sleep:_ Alexis _and_ Brilliard _give me hopes of a kind return to
this, and have brought their flute and violin to charm me into a
slumber: if_ Sylvia _love, as I am sure she does, she will wake me
with a dear consent to see me; if not, I only wake to sleep for ever_.

       *       *       *       *       *

_To My Fair_ CHARMER.

When I had sealed the enclosed, my page, whom I had ordered to come to
me with an account of any business extraordinary, is this morning
arrived with a letter from _Cesario_, which I have sent here enclosed,
that my _Sylvia_ may see how little I regard the world, or the mighty
revolution in hand, when set in competition with the least hope of
beholding her adorable face, or hearing her charming tongue when it
whispers the soft dictates of her tender heart into my ravished soul;
one moment's joy like that surmounts an age of dull empire. No, let
the busy unregarded rout perish, the cause fall or stand alone for me:
give me but love, love and my _Sylvia_; I ask no more of heaven; to
which vast joy could you but imagine (O wondrous miracle of beauty!)
how poor and little I esteem the valued trifles of the world, you
would in return contemn your part of it, and live with me in silent
shades for ever. Oh! _Sylvia_, what hast thou this night to add to the
soul of thy

PHILANDER.

       *       *       *       *       *

_To_ the Count of----

I'll allow you, my dear, to be very fond of so much beauty as the
world must own adorns the lovely _Sylvia_: I'll permit love too to
rival me in your heart, but not out-rival glory; haste then, my dear,
to the advance of that, make no delay, but with the morning's dawn let
me find you in my arms, where I have something that will surprise you
to relate to you: you were last night expected at----It behoves you to
give no umbrage to persons whose interest renders them enough jealous.
We have two new advancers come in of youth and money, teach them not
negligence; be careful, and let nothing hinder you from taking horse
immediately, as you value the repose and fortune of,

_My dear_,
_Your_ CESARIO.

_I called last night on you, and your page following me to my coach,
whispered me--if I had any earnest business with you, he knew where to
find you; I soon imagined where, and bid him call within an hour for
this, and post with it immediately, though dark._

       *       *       *       *       *

_To_ PHILANDER.

Ah! What have I done, _Philander_, and where shall I hide my guilty
blushing face? Thou hast undone my eternal quiet: oh, thou hast ruin'd
my everlasting repose, and I must never, never look abroad again:
curse on my face that first debauched my virtue, and taught thee how
to love; curse on my tempting youth, my shape, my air, my eyes, my
voice, my hands, and every charm that did contribute to my fatal love,
a lasting curse on all--but those of the adorable _Philander_, and
those----even in this raging minute, my furious passion dares not
approach with an indecent thought: no, they are sacred all, madness
itself would spare them, and shouldst thou now behold me as I sit, my
hair dishevelled, ruffled and disordered, my eyes bedewing every word
I write, when for each letter I let fall a tear; then (pressed with
thought) starting, I dropped my pen, and fell to rave anew, and tear
those garments whose loose negligence helped to betray me to my
shameful ruin, wounding my breast, but want the resolution to wound it
as I ought; which when I but propose, love stays the thought, raging
and wild as it is, the conqueror checks it, with whispering only
_Philander_ to my soul; the dear name calms me to an easiness, gives
me the pen into my trembling hand, and I pursue my silent soft
complaint: oh! shouldst thou see me thus, in all these sudden
different changes of passion, thou wouldst say, _Philander_, I were
mad indeed, madness itself can find no stranger motions: and I would
calmly ask thee, for I am calm again, how comes it, my adorable
_Philander_, that thou canst possess a maid with so much madness? Who
art thyself a miracle of softness, all sweet and all serene, the most
of angel in thy composition that ever mingled with humanity; the very
words fall so gently from thy tongue,--are uttered with a voice so
ravishingly soft, a tone so tender and so full of love, it would charm
even frenzy, calm rude distraction, and wildness would become a silent
listener; there's such a sweet serenity in thy face, such innocence
and softness in thy eyes, should desert savages but gaze on thee, sure
they would forget their native forest wildness, and be inspired with
easy gentleness: most certainly this god-like power thou hast. Why
then? Oh tell me in the agony of my soul, why must those charms that
bring tranquillity and peace to all, make me alone a wild, unseemly
raver? Why has it contrary effects on me? Oh! all I act and say is
perfect madness: yet this is the least unaccountable part of my most
wretched story;--oh! I must never behold thy lovely face again, for if
I should, sure I should blush my soul away; no, no, I must not, nor
ever more believe thy dear deluding vows; never thy charming perjured
oaths, after a violation like to this. Oh heaven, what have I done?
Yet by heaven I swear, I dare not ask my soul, lest it inform me how I
was to blame, unless that fatal minute would instruct me how to
revenge my wrongs upon my heart,----my fond betraying heart, despair
and madness seize me, darkness and horror hide me from human sight,
after an easiness like this;----what to yield,--to yield my honour?
Betray the secrets of my virgin wishes?--My new desires, my unknown
shameful flame.--Hell and Death! Where got I so much confidence? Where
learned I the hardened and unblushing folly? To wish was such a fault,
as is a crime unpardonable to own; to shew desire is such a sin in
virtue as must deserve reproach from all the world; but I, unlucky I,
have not only betrayed all these, but with a transport void of sense
and shame, I yield to thy arms----I'll not endure the thought----by
heaven! I cannot; there is something more than rage that animates that
thought: some magic spell, that in the midst of all my sense of shame
keeps me from true repentance; this angers me, and makes me know my
honour but a phantom: now I could curse again my youth and love; but
oh! When I have done, alas, _Philander_, I find myself as guilty as
before; I cannot make one firm resolve against thee, or if I do, when
I consider thee, they weigh not all one lovely hair of thine. It is
all in vain, the charming cause remains, _Philander's_ still as lovely
as before; it is him I must remove from my fond eyes and heart, him I
must banish from my touch, my smell, and every other sense; by heaven
I cannot bear the mighty pressure, I cannot see his eyes, and touch
his hands, smell the perfume every pore of his breathes forth, taste
thy soft kisses, hear thy charming voice, but I am all on a flame: no,
it is these I must exclaim on, not my youth, it is they debauch my
soul, no natural propensity in me to yield, or to admit of such
destructive fires. Fain I would put it off, but it will not do, I am
the aggressor still; else why is not every living maid undone that
does but touch or see thee? Tell me why? No, the fault is in me, and
thou art innocent.--Were but my soul less delicate, were it less
sensible of what it loves and likes in thee, I yet were dully happy;
but oh, there is a nicety there so charmed, so apprehensive of thy
beauties, as has betrayed me to unrest for ever:----yet something I
will do to tame this lewd betrayer of my right, and it shall plead no
more in thy behalf; no more, no more disperse the joys which it
conceives through every vein (cold and insensible by nature) to kindle
new desires there.--No more shall fill me with unknown curiosity; no,
I will in spite of all the perfumes that dwell about thee, in spite of
all the arts thou hast of looking, of speaking, and of touching, I
will, I say, assume my native temper, I will be calm, be cold and
unconcerned, as I have been to all the World,--but to _Philander_.--
The almighty power he has is unaccountable:--by yonder breaking day
that opens in the east, opens to see my shame--I swear--by that great
ruler of the day, the sun, by that Almighty Power that rules them
both, I swear--I swear, _Philander_, charming lovely youth! Thou art
the first e'er kindled soft desires about my soul, thou art the first
that ever did inform me that there was such a sort of wish about me.
I thought the vanity of being beloved made up the greatest part of the
satisfaction; it was joy to see my lovers sigh about me, adore and
praise me, and increase my pride by every look, by every word and
action; and him I fancied best I favoured most, and he past for the
happy fortune; him I have suffered too to kiss and press me, to tell
me all his tale of love, and sigh, which I would listen to with pride
and pleasure, permitted it, and smiled him kind returns; nay, by my
life, then thought I loved him too, thought I could have been content
to have passed my life at this gay rate, with this fond hoping lover,
and thought no farther than of being great, having rich coaches,
shewing equipage, to pass my hours in dressing, in going to the operas
and the tower, make visits where I list, be seen at balls; and having
still the vanity to think the men would gaze and languish where I
came, and all the women envy me; I thought no farther on--but thou,
_Philander_, hast made me take new measures, I now can think
of nothing but of thee, I loathe the sound of love from any other
voice, and conversation makes my soul impatient, and does not only
dull me into melancholy, but perplexes me out of all humour, out of
all patient sufferance, and I am never so well pleased when from
_Philander_, as when I am retired, and curse my character and figure
in the world, because it permits me not to prevent being visited; one
thought of thee is worth the world's enjoyment, I hate to dress, I
hate to be agreeable to any eyes but thine; I hate the noise of
equipage and crowds, and would be more content to live with thee in
some lone shaded cottage, than be a queen, and hindered by that
grandeur one moment's conversation with _Philander_: may'st thou
despise and loathe me, a curse the greatest that I can invent, if this
be any thing but real honest truth. No, no, _Philander_, I find I
never lov'd till now, I understood it not, nor knew what those sighs
and pressings meant which others gave me; yet every speaking glance
thy eyes put on, inform my soul what it is they plead and languish
for: if you but touch my hand, my breath grows faint and short, my
blood glows in my face, and runs with an unusual warmth through every
vein, and tells my heart what it is _Philander_ ails, when he falls
sighing on my bosom; oh then, I fear, I answer every look, and every
sigh and touch, in the same silent but intelligible language, and
understood, I fear, too well by thee: till now I never feared love as
a criminal. Oh tell me not, mistaken foolish maids, true love is
innocent, ye cold, ye dull, ye unconsidering lovers; though I have
often heard it from the grave and wise, and preached myself that
doctrine: I now renounce it all, it is false, by heaven! it is false,
for now I love, and know it all a fiction; yes, and love so, as never
any woman can equal me in love, my soul being all composed (as I have
often said) of softer materials. Nor is it fancy sets my rates on
beauty, there is an intrinsic value in thy charms, who surely none but
I am able to understand, and to those that view thee not with my
judging eyes, ugliness fancied would appear the same, and please as
well. If all could love or judge like me, why does _Philander_ pass so
unregarded by a thousand women, who never sighed for him? What makes
_Myrtilla_, who possesses all, looks on thee, feels thy kisses, hears
thee speak, and yet wants sense to know how blessed she is, it is want
of judgement all; and how, and how can she that judges ill, love well?

Granting my passion equal to its object, you must allow it infinite,
and more in me than any other woman, by how much more my soul is
composed of tenderness; and yet I say I own, for I may own it, now
heaven and you are witness of my shame, I own with all this love, with
all this passion, so vast, so true, and so unchangeable, that I have
wishes, new, unwonted wishes, at every thought of thee I find a
strange disorder in my blood, that pants and burns in every vein, and
makes me blush, and sigh, and grow impatient, ashamed and angry; but
when I know it the effects of love, I am reconciled, and wish and sigh
anew; for when I sit and gaze upon thy eyes, thy languishing, thy
lovely dying eyes, play with thy soft white hand, and lay my glowing
cheeks to thine----Oh God! What language can express my transport! All
that is tender, all that is soft desire, seizes every trembling limb,
and it is with pain concealed.--Yes, yes, _Philander_, it is the fatal
truth, since thou hast found it, I confess it too, and yet I love thee
dearly; long, long it was that I essayed to hide the guilty flame, if
love be guilt; for I confess I did dissemble a coldness which I was
not mistress of: there lies a woman's art, there all her boasted
virtue, it is but well dissembling, and no more--but mine, alas, is
gone, for ever fled; this, this feeble guard that should secure my
honour, thou hast betrayed, and left it quite defenceless. Ah, what's
a woman's honour when it is so poorly guarded! No wonder that you
conquer with such ease, when we are only safe by the mean arts of base
dissimulation, an ill as shameful as that to which we fall. Oh silly
refuge! What foolish nonsense fond custom can persuade: Yet so it is;
and she that breaks her laws, loses her fame, her honour and esteem.
Oh heavens! How quickly lost it is! Give me, ye powers, my fame, and
let me be a fool; let me retain my virtue and my honour, and be a dull
insensible--But, oh! Where is it? I have lost it all; it is
irrecoverably lost: yes, yes, ye charming perjured man, it is gone,
and thou hast quite undone me.--

What though I lay extended on my bed, undressed, unapprehensive of my
fate, my bosom loose and easy of access, my garments ready, thin and
wantonly put on, as if they would with little force submit to the fond
straying hand: what then, _Philander_, must you take the advantage?
Must you be perjured because I was tempting? It is true, I let you in
by stealth by night, whose silent darkness favoured your treachery;
but oh, _Philander_, were not your vows as binding by a glimmering
taper, as if the sun with all his awful light had been a looker on? I
urged your vows as you pressed on,--but oh, I fear it was in such a
way, so faintly and so feebly I upbraided you, as did but more advance
your perjuries. Your strength increas'd, but mine alas declin'd;'till
I quite fainted in your arms, left you triumphant lord of all: no more
my faint denials do persuade, no more my trembling hands resist your
force, unregarded lay the treasure which you toil'd for, betrayed and
yielded to the lovely conqueror--but oh tormenting,----when you saw
the store, and found the prize no richer, with what contempt, (yes
false, dear man) with what contempt you view'd the unvalu'd trophy:
what, despised! Was all you call a heaven of joy and beauty exposed to
view, and then neglected? Were all your prayers heard, your wishes
granted, and your toils rewarded, the trembling victim ready for the
sacrifice, and did you want devotion to perform it? And did you thus
receive the expected blessing?----Oh--by heaven I'll never see thee
more, and it will be charity to thee, for thou hast no excuse in store
that can convince my opinion that I am hated, loathed,--I cannot bear
that thought--or if I do, it shall only serve to fortify my fixed
resolve never to see thee more.--And yet I long to hear thy false
excuse, let it be quickly then; it is my disdain invites thee--to
strengthen which, there needs no more than that you let me hear your
poor defence.----But it is a tedious time to that slow hour wherein I
dare permit thee, but hope not to incline my soul to love: no, I am
yet safe if I can stop but here, but here be wise, resolve and be
myself.

SYLVIA.

       *       *       *       *       *

_To_ PHILANDER.

As my page was coming with the enclosed, he met _Alexis_ at the gate
with yours, and who would not depart without an answer to it;--to go
or stay is the question. Ah, Philander! Why do you press a heart too
ready to yield to love and you! Alas, I fear you guess too well my
answer, and your own soul might save me the blushing trouble of a
reply. I am plunged in, past hope of a retreat; and since my fate has
pointed me out for ruin, I cannot fall more gloriously. Take then,
_Philander_, to your dear arms, a maid that can no longer resist, who
is disarmed of all defensive power: she yields, she yields, and does
confess it too; and sure she must be more than mortal, that can hold
out against thy charms and vows. Since I must be undone, and give all
away; I'll do it generously, and scorn all mean reserves: I will be
brave in love, and lavish all; nor shall _Philander_ think I love him
well, unless I do. Take, charming victor, then, what your own merits,
and what love has given you; take, take, at last, the dear reward of
all your sighs and tears, your vows and sufferings. But since,
_Philander_, it is an age to night, and till the approach of those
dear silent hours, thou knowest I dare not give thee admittance; I do
conjure thee, go to _Cesario_, whom I find too pressing, not to
believe the concerns great; and so jealous I am of thy dear safety,
that every thing alarms my fears: oh! satisfy them then and go, it is
early yet, and if you take horse immediately, you will be there by
eight this morning; go, I conjure you; for though it is an unspeakable
satisfaction to know you are so near me, yet I prefer your safety and
honour to all considerations else. You may soon dispatch your affair,
and render yourself time enough on the place appointed, which is where
you last night waited, and it will be at least eight at night before
it is possible to bring you to my arms. Come in your chariot, and do
not heat yourself with riding; have a care of me and my life, in the
preservation of all I love. Be sure you go, and do not, my
_Philander_, out of a punctilio of love, neglect your dear
safety----go then, _Philander_, and all the gods of love preserve and
attend thee on thy way, and bring thee safely back to

SYLVIA.

       *       *       *       *       *

_To_ SYLVIA.

Oh thou most charming of thy sex! Thou lovely dear delight of my
transported soul! thou everlasting treasure of my heart! What hast
thou done? Given me an over-joy, that fails but very little of
performing what grief's excess had almost finished before: eternal
blessings on thee, for a goodness so divine, oh, thou most excellent,
and dearest of thy sex! I know not what to do, or what to say. I am
not what I was, I do not speak, nor walk, nor think as I was wont to
do; sure the excess of joy is far above dull sense, or formal
thinking, it cannot stay for ceremonious method. I rave with pleasure,
rage with the dear thought of coming ecstasy. Oh _Sylvia_, _Sylvia_,
_Sylvia_! My soul, my vital blood, and without which I could as well
subsist--oh, my adorable, my _Sylvia_! Methinks I press thee, kiss
thee, hear thee sigh, behold thy eyes, and all the wondrous beauty of
thy face; a solemn joy has spread itself through every vein, sensibly
through every artery of my heart, and I can think of nothing but of
_Sylvia_, the lovely _Sylvia_, the blooming flowing _Sylvta_! And
shall I see thee? Shall I touch thy hands, and press thy dear, thy
charming body in my arms, and taste a thousand joys, a thousand
ravishments? Oh God! shall I? Oh _Sylvia_, say; but thou hast said
enough to make me mad, and I, forgetful of thy safety and my own,
shall bring thy wild adoring slave to _Bellfont_, and throw him at thy
feet, to pay his humble gratitude for this great condescension, this
vast bounty.

Ah, _Sylvia_! How shall I live till night? And you impose too cruelly
upon me, in conjuring me to go to _Cesario_; alas! Does _Sylvia_ know
to what she exposes her _Philander_? Whose joy is so transporting,
great, that when he comes into the grave cabal, he must betray the
story of his heart, and, in lieu of the mighty business there in hand,
be raving still on _Sylvia_, telling his joy to all the amazed
listeners, and answering questions that concern our great affair, with
something of my love; all which will pass for madness, and undo me:
no, give me leave to rave in silence, and unseen among the trees,
they'll humour my disease, answer my murmuring joy, and echoes flatter
it, repeat thy name, repeat that _Sylvia_'s mine! and never hurt her
fame; while the cabals, business and noisy town will add confusion to
my present transport, and make me mad indeed: no, let me alone, thou
sacred lovely creature, let me be calm and quiet here, and tell all
the insensibles I meet in the woods what _Sylvia_ has this happy
minute destined me: oh, let me record it on every bark, on every oak
and beech, that all the world may wonder at my fortune, and bless the
generous maid; let it grow up to ages that shall come, that they may
know the story of our loves, and how a happy youth, they called
_Philander_, was once so blest by heaven as to possess the charming,
the adored and loved by all, the glorious _Sylvia_! a maid, the most
divine that ever graced a story; and when the nymphs would look for an
example of love and constancy, let them point out _Philander_ to their
doubted swains, and cry, 'Ah! love but as the young _Philander_ did,
and then be fortunate, and then reap all your wishes:' and when the
shepherd would upbraid his nymph, let him but cry,--'See here what
_Sylvia_ did to save the young _Philander_;' but oh! There never will
be such another nymph as _Sylvia_; heaven formed but one to shew the
world what angels are, and she was formed for me, yes she was--in whom
I would not quit my glorious interest to reign a monarch here, or any
boasted gilded thing above! Take all, take all, ye gods, and give me
but this happy coming night! Oh, _Sylvia, Sylvia_! By all thy promised
joys I am undone if any accident should ravish this night from me:
this night! No not for a lease of years to all eternity would I throw
thee away: oh! I am all flame, all joyful fire and softness; methinks
it is heaven where-ever I look round me, air where I tread, and
ravishing music when I speak, because it is all of _Sylvia_----let me
alone, oh let me cool a little, or I shall by an excess of joyful
thought lose all my hoped for bliss. Remove a little from me; go, my
_Sylvia_, you are so excessive sweet, so wondrous dazzling, you press
my senses even to pain--away--let me take air--let me recover breath:
oh let me lay me down beneath some cooling shade, near some refreshing
crystal murmuring spring, and fan the gentle air about me. I
suffocate, I faint with this close loving, I must allay my joy or be
undone--I will read thy cruel letters, or I will think of some sad
melancholy hour wherein thou hast dismissed me despairing from thy
presence: or while you press me now to be gone with so much
earnestness, you have some lover to receive and entertain; perhaps it
is only for the vanity to hear him tell his nauseous passion to you,
breathe on your lovely face, and daub your garments with his fulsome
embrace; but oh, by heaven, I cannot think that thought! And thou hast
sworn thou canst not suffer it--if I should find thee false--but it is
impossible.--Oh! Should I find _Foscario_ visit thee, him whom thy
parents favour, I should undo you all, by heaven I should--but thou
hast sworn, what need _Philander_ more? Yes, _Sylvia_, thou hast sworn
and called heaven's vengeance down whenever thou gavest a look, or a
dear smile in love to that pretending fop: yet from his mighty fortune
there is danger in him--What makes that thought torment me now?--Be
gone, for _Sylvia_ loves me, and will preserve my life----

I am not able, my adorable charmer, to obey your commands in going
from the sight of happy _Bellfont_; no, let the great wheel of the
vast design roll on----or for ever stand still, for I will not aid its
motion to leave the mightier business of my love unfinished; no, let
fortune and the duller fools toil on----for I'll not bate a minute of
my joys with thee to save the world, much less so poor a parcel of it;
and sure there is more solid pleasure even in these expecting hours I
wait to snatch my bliss, than to be lord of all the universe without
it: then let me wait, my _Sylvia_, in those melancholy shades that
part _Bellfont_ from _Dorillus_'s farm; perhaps my _Sylvia_ may walk
that way so unattended, that we might meet and lose ourselves for a
few moments in those intricate retreats: ah _Sylvia_! I am dying with
that thought----oh heavens! What cruel destiny is mine? Whose fatal
circumstances do not permit me to own my passion, and lay claim to
_Sylvia_, to take her without control to shades and palaces, to live
for ever with her, to gaze for ever on her, to eat, to loll, to rise,
to play, to sleep, to act over all the pleasures and the joys of life
with her--but it is in vain I rave, in vain employ myself in the
fool's barren business, wishing--this thought has made me sad as
death: oh, _Sylvia_! I can never be truly happy--adieu, employ thyself
in writing to me, and remember my life bears date but only with thy
faith and love.

PHILANDER.

_Try, my adorable, what you can do to meet me in the wood this
afternoon, for there I will live to-day._

       *       *       *       *       *

_To_ PHILANDER.

Obstinate _Philander_, I conjure you by all your vows, by all your
sacred love, by those dear hours this happy night designed in favour
of you, to go without delay to _Cesario_; 'twill be unsafe to disobey
a prince in his jealous circumstances. The fatigue of the journey
cannot be great, and you well know the torment of my fears! Oh! I
shall never be happy, or think you safe, till you have quitted this
fatal interest: go, my _Philander_----and remember whatever toils you
take will be rewarded at night in the arms of

SYLVIA.

       *       *       *       *       *

_To_ SYLVIA.

Whatever toils you take shall be rewarded in the arms of
_Sylvia_----by heaven, I am inspired to act wonders: yes, _Sylvia_,
yes, my adorable maid, I am gone, I fly as swift as lightning, or the
soft darts of love shot from thy charming eyes, and I can hardly stay
to say----adieu----

       *       *       *       *       *

_To_ the Lady----

_Dear Child_,

Long foreseeing the misery whereto you must arrive, by this fatal
correspondence with my unhappy lord, I have often, with tears and
prayers, implored you to decline so dangerous a passion: I have never
yet acquainted our parents with your misfortunes, but I fear I must at
last make use of their authority for the prevention of your ruin. It
is not my dearest child, that part of this unhappy story that relates
to me, that grieves me, but purely that of thine.

Consider, oh young noble maid, the infamy of being a prostitute! And
yet the act itself in this fatal amour is not the greatest sin, but
the manner, which carries an unusual horror with it; for it is a
brother too, my child, as well as a lover, one that has lain by thy
unhappy sister's side so many tender years, by whom he has a dear and
lovely off-spring, by which he has more fixed himself to thee by
relation and blood: consider this, oh fond heedless girl! And suffer
not a momentary joy to rob thee of thy eternal fame, me of my eternal
repose, and fix a brand upon our noble house, and so undo us
all.----Alas, consider, after an action so shameful, thou must obscure
thyself in some remote corner of the world, where honesty and honour
never are heard of: no, thou canst not shew thy face, but it will be
pointed at for something monstrous; for a hundred ages may not produce
a story so lewdly infamous and loose as thine. Perhaps (fond as you
are) you imagine the sole joy of being beloved by him, will atone for
those affronts and reproaches you will meet with in the censuring
world: but, child, remember and believe me, there is no lasting faith
in sin; he that has broke his vows with heaven and me, will be again
perjured to heaven and thee, and all the world!----He once thought me
as lovely, lay at my feet, and sighed away his soul, and told such
piteous stories of his sufferings, such sad, such mournful tales of
his departed rest, his broken heart and everlasting love, that sure I
thought it had been a sin not to have credited his charming perjuries;
in such a way he swore, with such a grace he sighed, so artfully he
moved, so tenderly he looked. Alas, dear child, then all he said was
new, unusual with him, never told before, now it is a beaten road, it
is learned by heart, and easily addressed to any fond believing woman,
the tattered, worn out fragments of my trophies, the dregs of what I
long since drained from off his fickle heart; then it was fine, then
it was brisk and new, now palled and dull by being repeated often.
Think, my child, what your victorious beauty merits, the victim of a
heart unconquered by any but your eyes: alas, he has been my captive,
my humble whining slave, disdain to put him on your fetters now; alas,
he can say no new thing of his heart to thee, it is love at second
hand, worn out, and all its gaudy lustre tarnished; besides, my child,
if thou hadst no religion binding enough, no honour that could stay
thy fatal course, yet nature should oblige thee, and give a check to
the unreasonable enterprise. The griefs and dishonour of our noble
parents, who have been eminent for virtue and piety, oh suffer them
not to be regarded in this censuring world as the most unhappy of all
the race of old nobility; thou art the darling child, the joy of all,
the last hope left, the refuge of their sorrow, for they, alas, have
had but unkind stars to influence their unadvised off-spring; no want
of virtue in their education, but this last blow of fate must strike
them dead; think, think of this, my child, and yet retire from ruin;
haste, fly from destruction which pursues thee fast; haste, haste and
save thy parents and a sister, or what is more dear, thy fame; mine
has already received but too many desperate wounds, and all through my
unkind lord's growing passion for thee, which was most fatally founded
on my ruin, and nothing but my ruin could advance it; and when, my
sister, thou hast run thy race, made thyself loathed, undone and
infamous as hell, despis'd, scorn'd and abandon'd by all, lampoon'd,
perhaps diseas'd; this faithless man, this cause of all will leave
thee too, grow weary of thee, nauseated by use; he may perhaps
consider what sins, what evils, and what inconveniencies and shames
thou'st brought him to, and will not be the last shall loathe and hate
thee: for though youth fancy it have a mighty race to run of pleasing
vice and vanity, the course will end, the goal will be arrived to at
the last, where they will sighing stand, look back, and view the
length of precious time they've fool'd away; when traversed over with
honour and discretion, how glorious were the journey, and with what
joy the wearied traveller lies down and basks beneath the shades that
end the happy course.

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

_Dearest child,_

_Your affectionate Sister._

       *       *       *       *       *

_To_ PHILANDER.

Ask me not, my dearest brother, the reason of this sudden change, ask
me no more from whence proceeds this strange coldness, or why this
alteration; it is enough my destiny has not decreed me for
_Philander_: alas, I see my error, and looking round about me, find
nothing but approaching horror and confusion in my pursuit of love: oh
whither was I going, to what dark paths, to what everlasting shades
had smiling love betray'd me, had I pursued him farther? But I at last
have subdued his force, and the fond charmer shall no more renew his
arts and flatteries; for I'm resolv'd as heaven, as fix'd as fate and
death, and I conjure you trouble my repose no more; for if you do
(regardless of my honour, which if you loved you would preserve) I
will do a deed shall free me from your importunities, that shall amaze
and cool your vicious flame. No more--remember you have a noble wife,
companion of your vows, and I have honour, both which are worth
preserving, and for which, though you want generous love, you will
find neither that nor courage wanting in _Sylvia_.

       *       *       *       *       *

_To_ SYLVIA.

Yes, my adorable _Sylvia_, I will pursue you no farther; only for all
my pains, for all my sufferings, for my tormenting sleepless nights,
and thoughtful anxious days; for all my faithless hopes, my fears, my
sighs, my prayers and my tears, for my unequalled and unbounded
passion, and my unwearied pursuits in love, my never-dying flame, and
lastly, for my death; I only beg, in recompense for all, this last
favour from your pity; That you will deign to view the bleeding wound
that pierced the truest heart that ever fell a sacrifice to love; you
will find my body lying beneath that spreading oak, so sacred to
_Philander_, since it was there he first took into his greedy ravished
soul, the dear, the soft confession of thy passion, though now
forgotten and neglected all--make what haste you can, you will find
there stretched out the mangled carcase of the lost

PHILANDER.

_Ah_ Sylvia! _Was it for this that I was sent in such haste away this
morning to_ Cesario_? Did I for this neglect the world, our great
affair, and all that Prince's interest, and fly back to_ Bellfont _on
the wings of love? Where in lieu of receiving a dear blessing from thy
hand, do I find----never see me more--good heaven--but, with my life,
all my complaints are ended; only it would be, some ease, even in
death, to know what happy rival it is has armed thy cruel hand
against_ Philander's _heart_.

       *       *       *       *       *

_To_ PHILANDER.

Stay, I conjure thee, stay thy sacrilegious hand; for the least wound
it gives the lord of all my wishes, I'll double on my breast a
thousand fold; stay then, by all thy vows, thy love, and all thy
hopes, I swear thou hast this night a full recompense of all thy pains
from yielding _Sylvia_; I do conjure thee stay----for when the news
arrives thou art no more, this poor, this lost, abandoned heart of
mine shall fall a victim to thy cruelty: no, live, my _Philander_, I
conjure thee, and receive all thou canst ask, and all that can be
given by

SYLVIA.

       *       *       *       *       *

_To_ PHILANDER.

Oh, my charming _Philander_! How very ill have you recompensed my last
lost commands? Which were that you should live; and yet at the same
moment, while you are reading of the dear obligation, and while my
page was waiting your kind return, you desperately exposed your life
to the mercy of this innocent rival, betraying unadvisedly at the same
time my honour, and the secret of your love, and where to kill or to
be killed, had been almost equally unhappy: it was well my page told
me you disarmed him in this rencounter; yet you, he says, are wounded,
some sacred drops of blood are fallen to the earth and lost, the least
of which is precious enough to ransom captive queens: oh! Haste
_Philander_, to my arms for cure, I die with fear there may be
danger----haste, and let me bathe, the dear, the wounded part in
floods of tears, lay to my warm lips, and bind it with my torn hair:
oh! _Philander_, I rave with my concern for thee, and am ready to
break all laws of decency and duty, and fly without considering, to
thy succour, but that I fear to injure thee much more by the
discovery, which such an unadvised absence would make. Pray heaven the
unlucky adventure reach not _Bellfont; Foscario_ has no reason to
proclaim it, and thou art too generous to boast the conquest, and my
page was the only witness, and he is as silent and as secret as the
grave: but why, _Philander_, was he sent me back without reply? What
meant that cruel silence----say, my _Philander_, will you not obey
me?----Will you abandon me? Can that dear tongue be perjured? And can
you this night disappoint your _Sylvia_? What have I done, oh
obstinately cruel, irreconcileable----what, for my first offence? A
little poor resentment and no more? A little faint care of my gasping
honour, could that displease so much? Besides I had a cause, which you
shall see; a letter that would cool love's hottest fires, and turn it
to devotion; by heaven it was such a check----such a surprise----but
you yourself shall judge, if after that I could say less, than bid
eternally farewell to love--at least to thee--but I recanted soon; one
sad dear word, one soft resenting line from thee, gained love the day
again, and I despised the censures of the duller world: yes, yes, and
I confessed you had overcome, and did this merit no reply? I asked the
boy a thousand times what you said, how and in what manner you
received it, chid him, and laid your silent fault on him, till he with
tears convinced me, and said he found you hastening to the grove,--and
when he gave you my commands----you looked upon him with such a wild
and fixed regard, surveying him all over while you were opening
it----as argued some unusual motion in you; then cried, 'Be gone--I
cannot answer flattery'----Good heaven, what can you mean? But 'ere he
got to the farther end of the grove, where still you walked a solemn
death-like pace, he saw _Foscario_ pass him unattended, and looking
back saw your rencounter, saw all that happened between you, then ran
to your assistance just as you parted; still you were roughly sullen,
and neither took notice of his proffered service, nor that you needed
it, although you bled apace; he offered you his aid to tie your wounds
up----but you replied--'Be gone, and do not trouble me'----Oh, could
you imagine I could live with this neglect? Could you, my _Philander_?
Oh what would you have me do! If nothing but my death or ruin can
suffice for my atonement, I will sacrifice either with joy; yes, I'll
proclaim my passion aloud, proclaim it at _Bellfont_, own the dear
criminal flame, fly to my Philander's aid and be undone; for thus I
cannot, no, I will not live, I rave, I languish, faint and die with
pain; say that you live, oh, say but that you live, say you are coming
to the meadow behind the garden-grove, in order to your approach to my
arms: oh, swear that all your vows are true; oh, swear that you are
_Sylvia's_; and in return, I will swear that I am yours without
reserve, whatever fate is destined for your

SYLVIA.

_I die with impatience, either to see or hear from you; I fear it is
yet too soon for the first----oh therefore save me with the last, or I
shall rave, and wildly betray all by coming to_ Dorillus _his farm, or
seeking you where-ever you cruelly have hid yourself from_

SYLVIA.

       *       *       *       *       *

_To_ SYLVIA.

Ah, _Sylvia_, how have you in one day destroyed that repose I have
been designing so many years! Oh, thou false----but wondrous fair
creature! Why did heaven ordain so much beauty, and so much perfidy,
so much excellent wit, and so much cunning, (things inconsistent in
any but in _Sylvia_) in one divine frame, but to undo mankind: yes,
_Sylvia_, thou wert born to murder more believing men than the unhappy
and undone _Philander_. Tell me, thou charming hypocrite, why hast
thou thus deluded me? Why? oh, why was I made the miserable object of
thy fatal vow-breach? What have I done, thou lovely, fickle maid, that
thou shouldst be my murderer? And why dost thou call me from the grave
with such dear soft commands as would awake the very quiet dead, to
torture me anew, after my eyes (curse on their fatal sense) were too
sure witnesses of thy infidelity? Oh, fickle maid, how much more kind
it had been to have sent me down to earth, with plain heart-breaking
truth, than a mean subtle falsehood, that has undone thy credit in my
soul? Truth, though it were cruel, had been generous in thee; though
thou wert perjured, false, forsworn----thou shouldst not have added to
it that yet baser sin of treachery: you might have been provoked to
have killed your friend, but it were base to stab him unawares,
defenceless and unwarned; smile in my face, and strike me to the
heart; soothe me with all the tenderest marks of my passion----nay,
with an invitation too, that would have gained a credit in one that
had been jilted over the world, flattered and ruined by all thy
cozening sex, and all to send me vain and pleased away, only to gain a
day to entertain another lover in. Oh, fantastic woman! destructive
glorious thing, what needed this deceit? Hadst thou not with unwonted
industry persuaded me to have hasted to _Cesario_, by heaven, I had
dully lived the tedious day in traversing the flowery meads and silent
groves, laid by some murmuring spring, had sigh'd away the often
counted hours, and thought on _Sylvia_, till the blessed minute of my
ravishing approach to her; had been a fond, believing and imposed on
coxcomb, and never had dreamt the treachery, never seen the snake that
basked beneath the gay, the smiling flowers; securely thou hadst
cozened me, reaped the new joys, and made my rival sport at the
expense of all my happiness: yes, yes, your hasty importunity first
gave me jealousy, made me impatient with _Cesario_, and excuse myself
to him by a hundred inventions; neglected all to hasten back, where
all my joys, where all my killing fears and torments resided--but when
I came----how was I welcomed? With your confirming billet; yes,
_Sylvia_, how! Let _Dorillus_ inform you, between whose arms I fell
dead, shame on me, dead--and the first thought my soul conceived when
it returned, was, not to die in jest. I answered your commands, and
hastened to the grove, where----by all that is sacred, by thyself I
swear (a dearer oath than heaven and earth can furnish me with) I did
resolve to die; but oh, how soon my soft, my silent passion turned to
loud rage, rage easier to be borne, to dire despair, to fury and
revenge; for there I saw, _Foscario_, my young, my fair, my rich and
powerful rival, he hasted through the grove, all warm and glowing from
the fair false one's arms; the blushes which thy eyes had kindled were
fresh upon his cheeks, his looks were sparkling with the new-blown
fire, his heart so briskly burnt with a glad, peaceful smile dressed
all his face, tricked like a bridegroom, while he perfum'd the air as
he passed through it----none but the man that loves and dotes like me
is able to express my sense of rage: I quickly turned the sword from
my own heart to send it to his elevated one, giving him only time
to----draw--that was the word, and I confess your spark was wondrous
ready, brisk with success, vain with your new-given favours, he only
cried--'If _Sylvia_ be the quarrel--I am prepared----' And he
maintained your cause with admirable courage I confess, though chance
or fortune luckily gave me his sword, which I would fain have rendered
back, and that way would have died; but he refused to arm his hand
anew against the man that had not took advantage of him, and thus we
parted: then it was that malice supported me with life, and told me I
should scorn to die for so perfidious and so ruinous a creature; but
charming and bewitching still, it was then I borrowed so much calmness
of my lessening anger to read the billet over, your page had brought
me, which melted all the rough remaining part of rage away into tame
languishment: ah, _Sylvia_! This heart of mine was never formed by
nature to hold out long in stubborn sullenness; I am already on the
excusing part, and fain would think thee innocent and just; deceive me
prettily, I know thou canst soothe my fond heart, and ask how it could
harbour a faithless thought of _Sylvia_--do--flatter me, protest a
little, swear my rival saw thee not, say he was there by chance----say
any thing; or if thou sawest him, say with how cold a look he was
received----Oh, _Sylvia_, calm my soul, deceive it flatter it, and I
shall still believe and love thee on----yet shouldest thou tell me
truth, that thou art false, by heaven I do adore thee so, I still
should love thee on; should I have seen thee clasp him in thy arms,
print kisses on his cheeks and lips, and more----so fondly and so
dotingly I love, I think I should forgive thee; for I swear by all the
powers that pity frail mortality, there is no joy, no life, no heaven
without thee! Be false! Be cruel, perjured, infamous, yet still I must
adore thee; my soul was formed of nothing but of love, and all that
love, and all that soul is _Sylvia_'s; but yet, since thou hast framed
me an excuse, be kind and carry it on;----to be deluded well, as thou
canst do it, will be the same to innocence, as loving: I shall not
find the cheat: I will come then----and lay myself at thy feet, and
seek there that repose, that dear content, which is not to be found in
this vast world besides; though much of my heart's joy thou hast
abated; and fixed a sadness in my soul that will not easily
vanish----oh _Sylvia_, take care of me, for I am in thy power, my
life, my fame, my soul are all in thy hands, be tender of the victims,
and remember if any action of thy life should shew a fading love, that
very moment I perceive the change, you shall find dead at your feet
the abandoned

PHILANDER.

_Sad as death, I am going towards the meadow, in order to my approach
towards_ Sylvia, _the world affording no repose to me, but when I am
where the dear charmer is_.

       *       *       *       *       *

_To_ Philander _in the Meadow_.

And can you be jealous of me, _Philander_? I mean so poorly jealous as
to believe me capable of falsehood, of vow-breach, and what is worse,
of loving any thing but the adorable _Philander_? I could not once
believe so cruel a thought could have entered into the imaginations of
a soul so entirely possessed with _Sylvia_, and so great a judge of
love. Abandon me, reproach me, hate me, scorn me, whenever I harbour
any thing in mind so destructive to my repose and thine. Can I
_Philander_, give you a greater proof of my passion; of my faithful,
never-dying passion, than being undone for you? Have I any other
prospect in all this soft adventure, but shame, dishonour, reproach,
eternal infamy and ever-lasting destruction, even of soul and body? I
tremble with fear of future punishment; but oh, love will have no
devotion (mixed with his ceremonies) to any other deity; and yet,
alas, I might have loved another, and have been saved, or any maid but
_Sylvia_ might have possessed without damnation. But it is a brother I
pursue, it is a sister gives her honour up, and none but _Canace_,
that ever I read in story, was ever found so wretched as to love a
brother with so criminal a flame, and possibly I may meet her fate. I
have a father too as great as _Aeolus_, as angry and revengeful where
his honour is concerned; and you found, my dearest brother, how near
you were last night to a discovery in the garden. I have some reason
too to fear this night's adventure, for as ill fate would have it
(loaded with other thoughts) I told not _Melinda_ of your adventure
last night with _Monsieur_ the Count, who meeting her early this
morning, had like to have made a discovery, if he have not really so
already; she strove to shun him, but he cried out--'_Melinda_, you
cannot fly me by light, as you did last night in the dark--'She turned
and begged his pardon, for neither coming nor designing to come, since
she had resolved never to violate her vows to _Alexis_: 'Not coming?'
cried he, 'not returning again, you meant, _Melinda_; secure of my
heart and my purse, you fled with both.' _Melinda_, whose honour was
now concerned, and not reminding your escape in her likeness,
blushing, she sharply denied the fact, and with a disdain that had
laid aside all respect, left him; nor can it be doubted, but he
fancied (if she spoke truth) there was some other intrigue of love
carried on at _Bellfont_. Judge, my charming _Philander_, if I have
not reason to be fearful of thy safety, and my fame; and to be jealous
that so wise a man as _Monsieur_ did not take that parly to be held
with a spirit last night, or that it was an apparition he courted: but
if there be no boldness like that of love, nor courage like that of a
lover; sure there never was so great a heroine as _Sylvia_. Undaunted,
I resolve to stand the shock of all, since it is impossible for me to
leave _Philander_ any doubt or jealousy that I can dissipate, and
heaven knows how far I was from any thought of seeing _Foscario_, when
I urged _Philander_ to depart. I have to clear my innocence, sent thee
the letter I received two hours after thy absence, which falling into
my mother's hands, whose favourite he is, he had permission to make
his visit, which within an hour he did; but how received by me, be
thou the judge, whenever it is thy fate to be obliged to entertain
some woman to whom thy soul has an entire aversion. I forced a
complaisance against my nature, endured his racking courtship with a
fortitude that became the great heart that bears thy sacred image; as
martyrs do, I suffered without murmuring, or the least sign of the
pain I endured--it is below the dignity of my mighty passion to
justify it farther, let it plead its own cause, it has a thousand ways
to do it, and those all such as cannot be resisted, cannot be doubted,
especially this last proof of sacrificing to your repose the never
more to be doubted

SYLVIA.

_About an hour hence I shall expect you to advance._

       *       *       *       *       *

_To_ the Lady----

_Madam,_

'Tis not always the divine graces wherewith heaven has adorned your
resplendent beauties, that can maintain the innumerable conquests they
gain, without a noble goodness; which may make you sensibly
compassionate the poor and forlorn captives you have undone: but, most
fair of your sex, it is I alone that have a destiny more cruel and
severe, and find myself wounded from your very frowns, and secured a
slave as well as made one; the very scorn from those triumphant stars,
your eyes, have the same effects, as if they shined with the continual
splendour of ravishing smiles; and I can no more shun their killing
influence, than their all-saving aspects: and I shall expire
contentedly, since I fall by so glorious a fate, if you will vouchsafe
to pronounce my doom from that store-house of perfection, your mouth,
from lips that open like the blushing rose, strow'd over with morning
dew, and from a breath sweeter than holy incense; in order to which, I
approach you, most excellent beauty, with this most humble petition,
that you will deign to permit me to throw my unworthy self before the
throne of your mercy, there to receive the sentence of my life or
death; a happiness, though incomparably too great for so mean a
vassal, yet with that reverence and awe I shall receive it, as I would
the sentence of the gods, and which I will no more resist than I would
the thunderbolts of _Jove_, or the revenge of angry _Juno_: for,
madam, my immense passion knows no medium between life | and death,
and as I never had the presumption to aspire to the glory of the
first, I am not so abject as to fear I am wholly deprived of the glory
of the last: I have too long lain convicted, extend your mercy, and
put me now out of pain: you have often wrecked me to confess my
promethean sin; spare the cruel vulture of despair, take him from my
heart in pity, and either by killing words, or blasting lightning from
those refulgent eyes, pronounce the death of,

_Madam,_

_Your admiring slave_,

FOSCARIO.

       *       *       *       *       *

_To_ SYLVIA.

_My Everlasting Charmer_,

I am convinc'd and pleas'd, my fears are vanish'd, and a heaven of
solid joy is opened to my view, and I have nothing now in prospect but
angel-brightness, glittering youth, dazzling beauty, charming sounds,
and ravishing touches, and all around me ecstasies of pleasure,
inconceivable transports without conclusion; _Mahomet_ never fancied
such a heaven, not all his paradise promised such lasting felicity, or
ever provided there the recompense of such a maid as _Sylvia_, such a
bewitching form, such soft, such glorious eyes, where the soul speaks
and dances, and betrays love's secrets in every killing glance, a
face, where every motion, every feature sweetly languishes, a neck all
tempting--and her lovely breast inviting presses from the eager lips;
such hands, such clasping arms, so white, so soft and slender! No, nor
one of all his heavenly enjoyments, though promised years of fainting
in one continued ecstasy, can make one moment's joy with charming
_Sylvia_. Oh, I am wrapt (with bare imagination) with a much vaster
pleasure than any other dull appointment can dispense--oh, thou
blessing sent from heaven to ease my toils of life! Thou sacred dear
delight of my fond doting heart, oh, whither wilt thou lead me, to
what vast heights of love? Into extremes as fatal and as dangerous as
those excesses were that rendered me so cold in your opinion. Oh,
_Sylvia, Sylvia_, have a care of me, manage my overjoyed soul, and all
its eager passions, chide my fond heart, be angry if I faint upon thy
bosom, and do not with thy tender voice recall me, a voice that kills
out-right, and calls my fleeting soul out of its habitation: lay not
such charming lips to my cold cheeks, but let me lie extended at thy
feet untouched, unsighed upon, unpressed with kisses: oh, change those
tender, trembling words of love into rough sounds and noises
unconcerned, and when you see me dying, do not call my soul to mingle
with thy sighs; yet shouldst thou abate one word, one look or tear, by
heaven I should be mad; oh, never let me live to see declension in thy
love! No, no, my charmer, I cannot bear the least supposed decay in
those dear fondnesses of thine; and sure none ever became a maid so
well, nor ever were received with adorations, like to mine!

Pardon, my adorable _Sylvia_, the rashness of my passion in this
rencounter with _Foscario_; I am satisfied he is too unhappy in your
disfavour to merit the being so in mine; but it was sufficient I then
saw a joy in his face, a pleased gaiety in his ooks to make me think
my rage reasonable, and my quarrel ust; by the style he writes, I
dread his sense less than his person; but you, my lovely maid, have
said enough to quit me of my fears for both----the night comes on--I
cannot call it envious, though it rob me of the light that should
assist me to finish this, since it will more gloriously repay me in a
happier place--come on then, thou blest retreat of lovers, I forgive
by interruptions here, since thou wilt conduct to the arms of
_Sylvia_,--the adoring

PHILANDER.

_If you have any commands for me, this weeder of the gardens, whom I
met in going in thither, will bring it back; I wait in the meadow, and
date this from the dear primrose-bank, where I have sat with_ Sylvia.

       *       *       *       *       *

_To_ PHILANDER.

_After the happy night._

'Tis done, yes, _Philander_, it is done, and after that, what will not
love and grief oblige me to own to you? Oh, by what insensible degrees
a maid in love may arrive to say any thing to her lover without
blushing! I have known the time, the blest innocent time, when but to
think I loved _Philander_ would have covered my face with shame, and
to have spoke it would have filled me with confusion--have made me
tremble, blush, and bend my guilty eyes to earth, not daring to behold
my charming conqueror, while I made that bashful confession--though
now I am grown bold in love, yet I have known the time, when being at
Court, and coming from the Presence, being offered some officious hand
to lead me to my coach, I have shrunk back with my aversion to your
sex, and have concealed my hands in my pockets to prevent their being
touched;-a kiss would turn my stomach, and amorous looks (though they
would make me vain) gave me a hate to him that sent them, and never
any maid resolved so much as I to tread the paths of honour, and I had
many precedents before me to make me careful: thus I was armed with
resolution, pride and scorn, against all mankind; but alas, I made no
defence against a brother, but innocently lay exposed to all his
attacks of love, and never thought it criminal till it kindled a new
desire about me, oh, that I should not die with shame to own it----yet
see (I say) how from one soft degree to another, I do not onlyconfess
the shameful truth, but act it too; what with a brother--oh heavens! a
crime so monstrous and so new----but by all thy love, by those
surprising joys so lately experienced----I never will----no, no, I
never can----repent it: oh incorrigible passion! oh harden'd love! At
least I might have some remorse, some sighing after my poor departed
honour; but why should I dissemble with the powers divine; that know
the secrets of a soul doomed to eternal love? Yet I am mad, I rave and
tear myself, traverse my guilty chamber in a disordered, but a soft
confusion; and often opening the conscious curtains, survey the print
where thou and I were last night laid, surveying it with a thousand
tender sighs, and kiss and press thy dear forsaken side, imagine over
all our solemn joys, every dear transport, all our ravishing repeated
blisses; then almost fainting, languishing, cry--_Philander_, oh, my
charming little god! Then lay me down in the dear place you pressed,
still warm and fragrant with the sweet remains that thou hast left
behind thee on the pillow. Oh, my soul's joy! My dear, eternal
pleasure! What softness hast thou added to my heart within a few
hours! But oh, _Philander_--if (as I've oft been told) possession,
which makes women fond and doting, should make thee cold and grow
indifferent--if nauseated with repeated joy, and having made a full
discovery of all that was but once imaginary, when fancy rendered
every thing much finer than experience, oh, how were I undone! For me,
by all the inhabitants of heaven I swear, by thy dear charming self,
and by thy vows----thou so transcendest all fancy, all dull
imagination, all wondering ideas of what man was to me, that I believe
thee more than human! Some charm divine dwells in thy touches; besides
all these, thy charming look, thy love, the beauties that adorn thee,
and thy wit, I swear there is a secret in nature that renders thee
more dear, and fits thee to my soul; do not ask it me, let it suffice,
it is so, and is not to be told; yes, by it I know thou art the man
created for my soul, and he alone that has the power to touch it; my
eyes and fancy might have been diverted, I might have favoured this
above the other, preferred that face, that wit, or shape, or
air----but to concern my soul, to make that capable of something more
than love, it was only necessary that _Philander_ should be formed,
and formed just as he is; that shape, that face, that height, that
dear proportion; I would not have a feature, not a look, not a hair
altered, just as thou art, thou art an angel to me, and I, without
considering what I am, what I might be, or ought, without considering
the fatal circumstances of thy being married (a thought that shocks my
soul whenever it enters) or whatever other thought that does concern
my happiness or quiet, have fixed my soul to love and my _Philander_,
to love thee with all thy disadvantages, and glory in my ruin; these
are my firm resolves--these are my thoughts. But thou art gone, with
all the trophies of my love and honour, gay with the spoils, which now
perhaps are unregarded: the mystery is now revealed, the mighty secret
is known, and now will be no wonder or surprise: But hear my vows: by
all on which my life depends I swear----if ever I perceive the least
decay of love in thee, if ever thou breakest an oath, a vow, a word,
if ever I see repentance in thy face, a coldness in thy eyes (which
heaven divert) by that bright heaven I will die; you may believe me,
since I had the courage and durst love thee, and after that durst
sacrifice my fame, lose all to justify that love, will, when a change
so fatal shall arrive, find courage too to die; yes, die _Philander_,
assure thyself I will, and therefore have a care of

SYLVIA.

       *       *       *       *       *

_To_ PHILANDER.

OH, where shall I find repose, where seek a silent quiet, but in my
last retreat, the grave! I say not this, my dearest _Philander_, that
I do or ever can repent my love, though the fatal source of all: for
already we are betrayed, our race of joys, our course of stolen
delight is ended 'ere begun. I chid, alas, at morning's dawn, I chid
you to be gone, and yet, heaven knows, I grasped you fast, and rather
would have died than parted with you; I saw the day come on, and
cursed its busy light, and still you cried, one blessed minute more,
before I part with all the joys of life! And hours were minutes then,
and day grew old upon us unawares, it was all abroad, and had called
up all the household spies to pry into the secrets of our loves, and
thou, by some tale-bearing flatterer, were seen in passing through the
garden; the news was carried to my father, and a mighty consult has
been held in my mother's apartment, who now refuses to see me; while
I, possessed with love, and full of wonder at my new change, lulled
with dear contemplation, (for I am altered much since yesterday,
however thou hast charmed me) imagining none knew our theft of love,
but only heaven and _Melinda_. But oh, alas, I had no sooner finished
this enclosed, but my father entered my cabinet, but it was with such
a look----as soon informed me all was betrayed to him; a while he
gazed on me with fierceness in his eyes, which so surprised and
frighted me, that I, all pale and trembling, threw myself at his feet;
he, seeing my disorder, took me up, and fixed so steadfast and so sad
a look upon me, as would have broken any heart but mine, supported
with _Philander_'s, image; I sighed and wept--and silently attended
when the storm should fall, which turned into a shower so soft and
piercing, I almost died to see it; at last delivering me a
paper--'Here,' (cried he, with a sigh and trembling-interrupted voice)
'read what I cannot tell thee. Oh, _Sylvia_,' cried he, '--thou joy
and hope of all my aged years, thou object of my dotage, how hast thou
brought me to my grave with sorrow!' So left me with the paper in my
hand: speechless, unmov'd a while I stood, till he awaked me by new
sighs and cries; for passing through my chamber, by chance, or by
design, he cast his melancholy eyes towards my bed, and saw the dear
disorder there, unusual--then cried--'Oh, wretched _Sylvia_, thou art
lost!' And left me almost fainting. The letter, I soon found, was one
you'd sent from _Dorillus_ his farm this morning, after you had parted
from me, which has betrayed us all, but how it came into their hands I
since have understood: for, as I said, you were seen passing through
the garden, from thence (to be confirmed) they dogged you to the farm,
and waiting there your motions, saw _Dorillus_ come forth with a
letter in his hand, which though he soon concealed, yet not so soon
but it was taken notice of, when hastening to _Bellfont_ the nearest
way, they gave an account to _Monsieur_, my father, who going out to
_Dorillus_, commanded him to deliver him the letter; his vassal durst
not disobey, but yielded it with such dispute and reluctancy, as he
durst maintain with a man so great and powerful; before _Dorillus_
returned you had taken horse, so that you are a stranger to our
misfortune--What shall I do? Where shall I seek a refuge from the
danger that threatens us? A sad and silent grief appears throughout
_Bellfont_, and the face of all things is changed, yet none knows the
unhappy cause but _Monsieur_ my father, and _Madam_ my mother,
_Melinda_ and myself. _Melinda_ and my page are both dismissed from
waiting on me, as supposed confidants of this dear secret, and
strangers, creatures of _Madam_ the Countess, put about me. Oh
_Philander_, what can I do? Thy advice, or I am lost: but how, alas,
shall I either convey these to thee, or receive any thing from thee,
unless some god of love, in pity of our miseries, should offer us his
aid? I will try to corrupt my new boy, I see good nature, pity and
generosity in his looks, he is well born too, and may be honest.

Thus far, _Philander_, I had writ when supper was brought me, for yet
my parents have not deigned to let me come into their presence; those
that serve me tell me _Myrtilla_ is this afternoon arrived at
_Bellfont_; all is mighty close carried in the Countess's apartment. I
tremble with the thought of what will be the result of the great
consultation: I have been tempting of the boy, but I perceive they
have strictly charged him not to obey me; he says, against his will he
shall betray me, for they will have him searched; but he has promised
me to see one of the weeders, who working in the garden, into which my
window opens, may from thence receive what I shall let down; if it be
true, I shall get this fatal knowledge to you, that you may not only
prepare for the worst, but contrive to set at liberty

_The unfortunate_ SYLVIA.

_My heart is ready to break, and my eyes are drowned in tears: oh_
Philander, _how much unlike the last will this fatal night prove!
Farewell, and think of_ Sylvia.

       *       *       *       *       *

_This was writ in the cover to both the foregoing letters to_
Philander.

Philander, all that I dreaded, all that I feared is fallen upon me: I
have been arraigned, and convicted, three judges, severe as the three
infernal ones, sat in condemnation on me, a father, a mother, and a
sister; the fact, alas, was too clearly proved, and too many
circumstantial truths appeared against me, for me to plead not guilty.
But, oh heavens! Had you seen the tears, and heard the prayers,
threats, reproaches and upbraidings--these from an injured sister,
those my heartbroken parents; a tender mother here, a railing and
reviling sister there--an angry father, and a guilty conscience--thou
wouldst have wondered at my fortitude, my courage, and my resolution,
and all from love! For surely I had died, had not thy love, thy
powerful love supported me; through all the accidents of life and
fate, that can and will support me; in the midst of all their
clamours and their railings I had from that a secret and soft repose
within, that whispered me, _Philander_ loves me still; discarded and
renounced by my fond parents; love still replies, _Philander_ still
will own thee; thrown from thy mother's and thy sister's arms,
_Philander_'s still are open to receive thee: and though I rave and
almost die to see them grieve, to think that I am the fatal cause who
makes so sad confusion in our family; (for, oh, 'tis piteous to behold
my sister's sighs and tears, my mother's sad despair, my father's
raging and his weeping, by melancholy turns;) yet even these
deplorable objects, that would move the most obdurate, stubborn heart
to pity and repentance, render not mine relenting; and yet I am
wondrous pitiful by nature, and I can weep and faint to see the sad
effects of my loose, wanton love, yet cannot find repentance for the
dear charming sin; and yet, should'st thou behold my mother's
languishment, no bitter words proceeding from her lips, no tears fall
from her downcast eyes, but silent and sad as death she sits, and will
not view the light; should'st thou, I say, behold it, thou would'st,
if not repent, yet grieve that thou hadst loved me: sure love has
quite confounded nature in me, I could not else behold this fatal ruin
without revenging it upon my stubborn heart; a thousand times a day I
make new vows against the god of love, but it is too late, and I am as
often perjured----oh, should the gods revenge the broken vows of
lovers, what love-sick man, what maid betrayed like me, but would be
damned a thousand times? For every little love-quarrel, every kind
resentment makes us swear to love no more; and every smile, and every
flattering softness from the dear injurer, makes us perjured: let all
the force of virtue, honour, interest join with my suffering parents
to persuade me to cease to love _Philander_, yet let him but appear,
let him but look on me with those dear charming eyes, let him but
sigh, or press me to his fragrant cheek, fold me--and cry--'Ah,
_Sylvia_, can you quit me?--nay, you must not, you shall not, nay, I
know you cannot, remember you are mine--There is such eloquence in
those dear words, when uttered with a voice so tender and so
passionate, that I believe them irresistible--alas, I find them
so--and easily break all the feebler vows I make against thee; yes, I
must be undone, perjured, forsworn, incorrigible, unnatural,
disobedient, and any thing, rather than not _Philander_'s--Turn
then, my soul, from these domestic, melancholy objects, and look
abroad, look forward for a while on charming prospects; look on
_Philander_, the dear, the young, the amorous _Philander_, whose very
looks infuse a tender joy throughout the soul, and chase all cares,
all sorrows and anxious thoughts from thence, whose wanton play is
softer I than that of young-fledged angels, and when he looks, and
sighs, and speaks, and touches, he is a very god: where art thou, oh
miracle of youth, thou charming dear undoer! Now thou hast gained the
glory of the conquest, thou slightest the rifled captive: what, not a
line? Two tedious days are past, and no kind power relieves me with a
word, or any tidings of _Philander_--and yet thou mayest have
sent--but I shall never see it, till they raise up fresh witnesses
against me--I cannot think thee wavering or forgetful; for if I did,
surely thou knowest my heart so well, thou canst not think it would
live to think another thought. Confirm my kind belief, and send to
me----

There is a gate well known to thee through which thou passest to
_Bellfont_, it is in the road about half a league from hence, an old
man opens it, his daughter weeds in the garden, and will convey this
to thee as I have ordered her; by the same messenger thou mayest
return thine, and early as she comes I'll let her down a string, by
which way unperceived I shall receive them from her: I will say no
more, nor instruct you how you shall preserve your

SYLVIA.

       *       *       *       *       *

_To_ SYLVIA.

_That which was left in her hands by_ Monsieur, _her father, in her
cabinet._

_My adorable_ Sylvia,

I can no more describe to thee the torment with which I part from
_Bellfont_, than I can that heaven of joy I was raised to last night
by the transporting effects of thy wondrous love; both are to excess,
and both killing, but in different kinds. Oh, _Sylvia_, by all my
unspeakable raptures in thy arms, by all thy charms of beauty, too
numerous and too ravishing for fancy to imagine--I swear----by this
last night, by this dear new discovery, thou hast increased my love to
that vast height, it has undone my peace--all my repose is gone--this
dear, dear night has ruined me, it has confirmed me now I must have
_Sylvia_, and cannot live without her, no not a day, an hour----to
save the world, unless I had the entire possession of my lovely maid:
ah, _Sylvia_, I am not that indifferent dull lover that can be raised
by one beauty to an appetite, and satisfy it with another; I cannot
carry the dear flame you kindle to quench it in the embraces of
_Myrtilla_; no, by the eternal powers, he that pretends to love, and
loves at that coarse rate, needs fear no danger from that passion, he
never was born to love, or die for love; _Sylvia_, _Myrtilla_ and a
thousand more were all the same to such a dull insensible; no,
_Sylvia_, when you find I can return back to the once left matrimonial
bed, despise me, scorn me: swear (as then thou justly may'st) I love
not _Sylvia_: let the hot brute drudge on (he who is fired by nature,
not by love, whom any body's kisses can inspire) and ease the
necessary heats of youth; love is a nobler fire, which nothing can
allay but the dear she that raised it; no, no, my purer stream shall
never run back to the fountain, whence it is parted, nay it cannot, it
were as possible to love again, where one has ceased to love, as carry
the desire and wishes back; by heaven, to me there is nothing so
unnatural; no, _Sylvia_, it is you I must possess, you have completed
my undoing now, and I must die unless you give me all----but oh, I am
going from thee----when are we like to meet----oh, how shall I support
my absent hours! Thought will destroy me, for it will be all on thee,
and those at such a distance will be insupportable.----What shall I do
without thee? If after all the toils of dull insipid life I could
return and lay me down by thee, _Herculean_ labours would be soft and
easy----the harsh fatigues of war, the dangerous hurries of affairs of
State, the business and the noise of life, I could support with
pleasure, with wondrous satisfaction, could treat _Myrtilla_ too with
that respect, that generous care, as would become a husband. I could
be easy every where, and every one should be at ease with me; now I
shall go and find no _Sylvia_ there, but sigh and wander like an
unknown thing, on some strange foreign shore; I shall grow peevish as
a new wean'd child, no toys, no bauble of the gaudy world will please
my wayward fancy: I shall be out of humour, rail at every thing, in
anger shall demand, and sullenly reply to every question asked and
answered, and when I think to ease my soul by a retreat, a thousand
soft desires, a thousand wishes wreck me, pain me to raving, till
beating the senseless floor with my feet----I cried aloud--'My
_Sylvia_!'--thus, thus, my charming dear, the poor _Philander_ is
employed when banished from his heaven! If thus it used to be when
only that bright outside was adored, judge now my pain, now thou hast
made known a thousand graces more--oh, pity me----for it is not in thy
power to guess what I shall now endure in absence of thee; for thou
hast charmed my soul to an excess too mighty for a patient suffering:
alas, I die already----

I am yet at _Dorillus_ his farm, lingering on from one swift minute to
the other, and have not power to go; a thousand looks all languishing
I've cast from eyes all drowned in tears towards _Bellfont_, have
sighed a thousand wishes to my angel, from a sad breaking heart--love
will not let me go--and honour calls me--alas, I must away; when shall
we meet again? Ah, when my _Sylvia_?--Oh charming maid--thou'lt see me
shortly dead, for thus I cannot live; thou must be mine, or I must be
no more--I must away--farewell--may all the softest joys of heaven
attend thee--adieu--fail not to send a hundred times a day, if
possible; I've ordered _Alexis_ to do nothing but wait for all that
comes, and post away with what thou sendest to me----again adieu,
think on me----and till thou callest me to thee, imagine nothing upon
earth so wretched as _Sylvia_'s own

PHILANDER.

_Know, my angel, that passing through the garden this morning, I met_
Erasto----_I fear he saw me near enough to know me, and will give an
account of it; let me know what happens----adieu half dead, just
taking horse to go from_ Sylvia.

       *       *       *       *       *

_To_ PHILANDER.

_Written in a leaf of a table-book_.

I have only time to say, on Thursday I am destined a sacrifice to
_Foscario_, which day finishes the life of

SYLVIA.

       *       *       *       *       *

_To SYLVIA_.

_From_ Dorillus _his farm_.

Raving and mad at the news your billet brought me, I (without
considering the effects that would follow) am arrived at _Bellfont_; I
have yet so much patience about me, to suffer myself to be concealed
at _Dorillus_ his cottage; but if I see thee not to-night, or find no
hopes of it----by heaven I'll set Bellfont all in a flame but I will
have my _Sylvia_; be sure I'll do it--What? To be married--Sylvia to
be married--and given from _Philander_--Oh, never think it, forsworn
fair creature--What? Give _Foscario_ that dear charming body? Shall he
be grasped in those dear naked arms? Taste all thy kisses, press thy
snowy breasts, command thy joys, and rifle all thy heaven? Furies and
hell environ me if he do----Oh, Sylvia, faithless, perjured, charming
_Sylvia_--and canst thou suffer it--Hear my vows, oh fickle
angel--hear me, thou faithless ravisher! That fatal moment that the
daring priest offers to join your hands, and give thee from me, I will
sacrifice your lover; by heaven I will, before the altar, stab him at
your feet; the holy place, nor the numbers that attend ye, nor all
your prayers nor tears, shall save his heart; look to it, and be not
false----yet I'll trust not thy faith; no, she that can think but
falsely, and she that can so easily be perjured----for, but to suffer
it is such a sin--such an undoing sin--that thou art surely damned!
And yet, by heaven, that is not all the ruin shall attend thee; no,
lovely mischief, no----you shall not escape till the damnation day;
for I will rack thee, torture thee and plague thee, those few hours I
have to live, (if spiteful fate prevent my just revenge upon
_Foscario_) and when I am dead--as I shall quickly be killed by thy
cruelty--know, thou fair murderer, I will haunt thy sight, be ever
with thee, and surround thy bed, and fright thee from the ravisher;
fright all thy loose delights, and check thy joys----Oh, I am
mad!----I cannot think that thought, no, thou shalt never advance so
far in wickedness, I will save thee, if I can----Oh, my adorable, why
dost thou torture me? How hast thou sworn so often and so loud that
heaven I am sure has heard thee, and will punish thee? How didst thou
swear that happy blessed night, in which I saw thee last, clasped in
my arms, weeping with eager love, with melting softness on my
bosom----remember how thou swor'st----oh, that dear night,--let me
recover strength--and then I will tell thee more--I must repeat the
story of that night, which thou perhaps (oh faithless!) hast
forgot--that glorious night, when all the heavens were gay, and every
favouring power looked down and smiled upon our thefts of love, that
gloomy night, the first of all my joys, the blessedest of my
life--trembling and fainting I approach your chamber, and while you
met and grasped me at the door, taking my trembling body in your
arms-remember how I fainted at your feet, and what dear arts you used
to call me back to life--remember how you kissed and pressed my
face--Remember what dear charming words you spoke--and when I did
recover, how I asked you with a feeble doubtful voice--'Ah, _Sylvia_,
will you still continue thus, thus wondrous soft and fond? Will you be
ever mine, and ever true?'--What did you then reply, when kneeling on
the carpet where I lay, what _Sylvia_, did you vow? How invoke heaven?
How call its vengeance down if ever you loved another man again, if
ever you touched or smiled on any other, if ever you suffered words or
acts of love but from _Philander_? Both heaven and hell thou didst
awaken with thy oaths, one was an angry listener to what it knew
thou'dst break, the other laughed to know thou would'st be perjured,
while only I, poor I, was all the while a silent fond believer; your
vows stopped all my language, as your kisses did my lips, you swore
and kissed, and vowed and clasped my neck--Oh charming flatterer! Oh
artful, dear beguiler! Thus into life, and peace, and fond security,
you charmed my willing soul! It was then, my _Sylvia_, (certain of
your heart, and that it never could be given away to any other) I
pressed my eager joys, but with such tender caution--such fear and
fondness, such an awful passion, as overcame your faint resistance; my
reasons and my arguments were strong, for you were mine by love, by
sacred vows, and who could lay a better claim to _Sylvia_? How oft I
cried--'Why this resistance, _Sylvia_? My charming dear, whose are
you? Not _Philander_'s? And shall _Philander_ not command his
own----you must----ah cruel----' then a soft struggle followed, with
half-breathed words, with sighs and trembling hearts, and now and
then--'Ah cruel and unreasonable'--was softly said on both sides; thus
strove, thus argued--till both lay panting in each other's arms, not
with the toil, but rapture; I need not say what followed after
this--what tender showers of strange endearing mixtures 'twixt joy and
shame, 'twixt love and new surprise, and ever when I dried your eyes
with kisses, unable to repeat any other language than--'Oh my
_Sylvia_! Oh my charming angel!' While sighs of joy, and close
grasping thee--spoke all the rest--while every tender word, and every
sigh was echoed back by thee; you pressed me--and you vowed you loved
me more than ever yet you did; then swore anew, and in my bosom, hid
your charming blushing face, then with excess of love would call on
heaven, 'Be witness, oh ye powers' (a thousand times ye cried) 'if
ever maid e'er loved like _Sylvia_--punish me strangely, oh eternal
powers, if ever I leave _Philander_, if ever I cease to love him; no
force, no art, not interest, honour, wealth, convenience, duty, or
what other necessary cause--shall ever be of force to make me leave
thee----' Thus hast thou sworn, oh charming, faithless flatterer, thus
betwixt each ravishing minute thou would'st swear--and I as fast
believed--and loved thee more----Hast thou forgot it all, oh fickle
charmer, hast thou? Hast thou forgot between each awful ceremony of
love, how you cried out 'Farewell the world and mortal cares, give me
_Philander_, heaven, I ask no more'--Hast thou forgot all this? Did
all the live-long night hear any other sound but those our mutual
vows, of invocations, broken sighs, and soft and trembling whispers?
Say, had we any other business for the tender hours? Oh, all ye host
of heaven, ye stars that shone, and all ye powers the faithless lovely
maid has sworn by, be witness how she is perjur'd; revenge it all, ye
injured powers, revenge it, since by it she has undone the
faithfullest youth, and broke the tenderest heart--that ever fell a
sacrifice to love; and all ye little weeping gods of love, revenge
your murdered victim--your

PHILANDER.

       *       *       *       *       *

_To_ PHILANDER.

_In the leaves of a table-book_.

On, my _Philander_, how dearly welcome, and how needless were thy kind
reproaches! Which I will not endeavour to convince by argument, but
such a deed as shall at once secure thy fears now and for the future.
I have not a minute to write in; place, my dear _Philander_, your
chariot in St _Vincent's_ Wood, and since I am not able to fix the
hour of my flight, let it wait there my coming; it is but a little
mile from _Bellfont_, _Dorillus_ is suspected there, remove thyself to
the high-way-gate cottage--there I'll call on thee----'twas lucky,
that thy fears, or love, or jealousy brought thee so near me, since
I'd resolv'd before upon my flight. Parents and honour, interest and
fame, farewell--I leave you all to follow my _Philander_--Haste the
chariot to the thickest part of the wood, for I am impatient to be
gone, and shall take the first opportunity to fly to my
_Philander_----Oh, love me, love me, love me!

_Under pretence of reaching the jessamine which shades my window, I
unperceived let down and receive what letters you send by the honest
weeder; by her send your sense of my flight, or rather your direction,
for it is resolved already._

       *       *       *       *       *

_To_ SYLVIA.

_My lovely Angel_,

So careful I will be of this dear mighty secret, that I will only say,
_Sylvia_ shall be obeyed; no more----nay, I'll not dare to think of
it, lest in my rapture I should name my joy aloud, and busy winds
should bear it to some officious listener, and undo me; no more, no
more, my _Sylvia_, extremes of joy (as grief) are ever dumb: let it
suffice, this blessing which you proffer I had designed to ask, as
soon as you'd convinced me of your faith; yes, _Sylvia_, I had asked
it though it was a bounty too great for any mortal to conceive heaven
should bestow upon him; but if it do, that very moment I'll resign the
world, and barter all for love and charming _Sylvia_. Haste, haste, my
life; my arms, my bosom and my soul are open to receive the lovely
fugitive; haste, for this moment I am going to plant myself where you
directed. _Adieu_.

       *       *       *       *       *

_To_ PHILANDER.

_After her flight_.

Ah, _Philander_, how have you undone a harmless poor unfortunate?
Alas, where are you? Why would you thus abandon me? Is this the soul,
the bosom, these the arms that should receive me? I'll not upbraid
thee with my love, or charge thee with my undoing; it was all my own,
and were it yet to do, I should again be ruined for _Philander_, and
never find repentance, no not for a thought, a word or deed of love,
to the dear false forsworn; but I can die, yes, hopeless,
friendless--left by all, even by _Philander_--all but resolution has
abandoned me, and that can lay me down, whenever I please, in safe
repose and peace: but oh, thou art not false, or if thou be'st, oh,
let me hear it from thy mouth, see thy repented love, that I may know
there is no such thing on earth, as faith, as honesty, as love or
truth; however, be thou true, or be thou false, be bold and let me
know it, for thus to doubt is torture worse than death. What accident,
thou dear, dear man, has happened to prevent thee from pursuing my
directions, and staying for me at the gate? Where have I missed thee,
thou joy of my soul? By what dire mistake have I lost thee? And where,
oh, where art thou, my charming lover? I sought thee every where, but
like the languishing abandoned mistress in the _Canticles_ I sought
thee, but I found thee not, no bed of roses would discover thee: I saw
no print of thy dear shape, nor heard no amorous sigh that could
direct me--I asked the wood and springs, complained and called on thee
through all the groves, but they confessed thee not; nothing but
echoes answered me, and when I cried _'Philander'_--cried--
_'Philander'_; thus searched I till the coming night, and my
increasing fears made me resolve for flight, which soon we did, and
soon arrived at _Paris_, but whither then to go, heaven knows, I
could not tell, for I was almost naked, friendless and forlorn; at
last, consulting _Brilliard_ what to do, after a thousand revolutions,
he concluded to trust me with a sister he had, who was married to a
_Guidon_ of the _Guard de Corps_; he changed my name, and made me
pass for a fortune he had stolen; but oh, no welcomes, nor my
safe retreat were sufficient to repose me all the ensuing night, for I
had no news of _Philander_, no, not a dream informed me; a thousand
fears and jealousies have kept me waking, and _Brilliard_, who has
been all night in pursuit of thee, is now returned successless and
distracted as thy _Sylvia_, for duty and generosity have almost the
same effects in him, with love and tenderness and jealousy in me; and
since _Paris_ affords no news of thee, (which sure it would if thou
wert in it, for oh, the sun might hide himself with as much ease as
great _Philander_) he is resolved to search St _Vincent_'s Wood, and
all the adjacent cottages and groves; he thinks that you, not knowing
of my escape, may yet be waiting thereabouts; since quitting the
chariot for fear of being seen, you might be so far advanced into the
wood, as not to find the way back to the thicket where the chariot
waited: it is thus he feeds my hope, and flatters my poor heart, that
fain would think thee true--or if thou be'st not--but cursed be all
such thoughts, and far from _Sylvia_'s soul; no, no, thou art not
false, it cannot be, thou art a god, and art unchangeable: I know, by
some mistake, thou art attending me, as wild and impatient as I;
perhaps you thinkest me false, and thinkest I have not courage to
pursue my love, and fly; and, thou perhaps art waiting for the hour
wherein thou thinkest I will give myself away to _Foscario_: oh cruel
and unkind! To think I loved so lightly, to think I would attend that
fatal hour; no, _Philander_, no faithless, dear enchanter: last night,
the eve to my intended wedding-day, having reposed my soul by my
resolves for flight, and only waiting the lucky minute for escape, I
set a willing hand to every thing that was preparing for the ceremony
of the ensuing morning; with that pretence I got me early to my
chamber, tried on a thousand dresses, and asked a thousand questions,
all impertinent, which would do best, which looked most gay and rich,
then dressed my gown with jewels, decked my apartment up, and left
nothing undone that might secure 'em both of my being pleased, and of
my stay; nay, and to give the less suspicion, I undressed myself even
to my under-petticoat and night-gown; I would not take a jewel, not a
pistole, but left my women finishing my work, and carelessly and thus
undressed, walked towards the garden, and while every one was busy in
their office, getting myself out of sight, posted over the meadow to
the wood as swift as _Daphne_ from the god of day, till I arrived most
luckily where I found the chariot waiting; attended by _Brilliard_; of
whom, when I (all fainting and breathless with my swift flight)
demanded his lord, he lifted me into the chariot, and cried, 'a little
farther, _Madam_, you will find him; for he, for fear of making a
discovery, took yonder shaded path'--towards which we went, but no
dear vision of my love appeared--And thus, my charming lover, you have
my kind adventure; send me some tidings back that you are found, that
you are well, and lastly that you are mine, or this, that should have
been my wedding-day, will see itself that of the death of

SYLVIA.

Paris, _Thursday, from my bed, for want of clothes, or rather news
from_ Philander.

       *       *       *       *       *

_To_ SYLVIA.

My life, my _Sylvia_, my eternal joy, art thou then safe! And art thou
reserved for _Philander_? Am I so blest by heaven, by love, and my
dear charming maid? Then let me die in peace, since I have lived to
see all that my soul desires in _Sylvia_'s being mine; perplex not thy
soft heart with fears or jealousies, nor think so basely, so poorly of
my love, to need more oaths or vows; yet to confirm thee, I would
swear my breath away; but oh, it needs not here;----take then no care,
my lovely dear, turn not thy charming eyes or thoughts on afflicting
objects; oh think not on what thou hast abandoned, but what thou art
arrived to; look forward on the joys of love and youth, for I will
dedicate all my remaining life to render thine serene and glad; and
yet, my _Sylvia_, thou art so dear to me, so wondrous precious to my
soul, that in my extravagance of love, I fear I shall grow a
troublesome and wearying coxcomb, shall dread every look thou givest
away from me--a smile will make me rave, a sigh or touch make me
commit a murder on the happy slave, or my own jealous heart, but all
the world besides is _Sylvia_'s, all but another lover; but I rave and
run too fast away; ages must pass a tedious term of years before I can
be jealous, or conceive thou can'st be weary of _Philander_--I will be
so fond, so doting, and so playing, thou shalt not have an idle minute
to throw away a look in, or a thought on any other; no, no, I have
thee now, and will maintain my right by dint and force of love--oh, I
am wild to see thee--but, _Sylvia_, I am wounded--do not be frighted
though, for it is not much or dangerous, but very troublesome, since
it permits me not to fly to _Sylvia_, but she must come to me in order
to it. _Brilliard_ has a bill on my goldsmith in _Paris_ for a
thousand pistoles to buy thee something to put on; any thing that is
ready, and he will conduct thee to me, for I shall rave myself into a
fever if I see thee not to-day--I cannot live without thee now, for
thou art my life, my everlasting charmer: I have ordered _Brilliard_
to get a chariot and some unknown livery for thee, and I think the
continuance of passing for what he has already rendered thee will do
very well, till I have taken farther care of thy dear safety, which
will be as soon as I am able to rise; for most unfortunately, my dear
_Sylvia_, quitting the chariot in the thicket for fear of being seen
with it, and walking down a shaded path that suited with the
melancholy and fears of unsuccess in thy adventure; I went so far, as
ere I could return to the place where I left the chariot it was
gone--it seems with thee; I know not how you missed me--but
possessed myself with a thousand false fears, sometimes that in thy
flight thou mightest be pursued and overtaken, seized in the chariot
and returned back to _Bellfont_; or that the chariot was found seized
on upon suspicion, though the coachman and _Brilliard_ were disguised
past knowledge----or if thou wert gone, alas I knew not whither; but
that was a thought my doubts and fears would not suffer me to ease my
soul with; no, I (as jealous lovers do) imagined the most tormenting
things for my own repose. I imagined the chariot taken, or at least so
discovered as to be forced away without thee: I imagined that thou
wert false----heaven forgive me, false, my _Sylvia_, and hadst changed
thy mind; mad with this thought (which I fancied most reasonable, and
fixt it in my soul) I raved about the wood, making a thousand vows to
be revenged on all; in order to it I left the thicket, and betook
myself to the high road of the wood, where I laid me down among the
fern, close hid, with sword ready, waiting for the happy bridegroom,
who I knew (it being the wedding eve) would that way pass that
evening; pleased with revenge, which now had got even the place of
love, I waited there not above a little hour but heard the trampling
of a horse, and looking up with mighty joy, I found it _Foscario_'s;
alone he was, and unattended, for he'd outstripped his equipage, and
with a lover's haste, and full of joy, was making towards _Bellfont_;
but I (now fired with rage) leaped from my cover, cried, 'Stay,
_Foscario_, ere you arrive to _Sylvia_, we must adjust an odd account
between us'----at which he stopping, as nimbly alighted;--in fine, we
fought, and many wounds were given and received on both sides, till
his people coming up, parted us, just as we were fainting with loss of
blood in each other's arms; his coach and chariot were amongst his
equipage; into the first his servants lifted him, when he cried out
with a feeble voice, to have me, who now lay bleeding on the ground,
put into the chariot, and to be safely conveyed where-ever I
commanded, and so in haste they drove him towards _Bellfont_, and me,
who was resolved not to stir far from it, to a village within a mile
of it; from whence I sent to _Paris_ for a surgeon, and dismissed the
chariot, ordering, in the hearing of the coachman, a litter to be
brought me immediately, to convey me that night to _Paris_; but the
surgeon coming, found it not safe for me to be removed, and I am now
willing to live, since _Sylvia_ is mine; haste to me then, my lovely
maid, and fear not being discovered, for I have given order here in
the _cabaret_ where I am, if any inquiry is made after me, to say, I
went last night to _Paris_. Haste, my love, haste to my arms, as
feeble as they are, they'll grasp thee a dear welcome: I will say no
more, nor prescribe rules to thy love, that can inform thee best what
thou must do to save the life of thy most passionate adorer,

PHILANDER.

       *       *       *       *       *

_To_ PHILANDER.

I have sent _Brilliard_ to see if the coast be clear, that we may come
with safety; he brings you, instead of _Sylvia_, a young cavalier that
will be altogether as welcome to _Philander_, and who impatiently
waits his return at a little cottage at the end of the village.

       *       *       *       *       *

_To_ SYLVIA.

_From the_ Bastille.

I know my _Sylvia_ expected me at home with her at dinner to-day, and
wonders how I could live so long as since morning without the eternal
joy of my soul; but know, my _Sylvia_, that a trivial misfortune is
now fallen upon me, which in the midst of all our heaven of joys, our
softest hours of life, has so often changed thy smiles into fears and
sighings, and ruffled thy calm soul with cares: nor let it now seem
strange or afflicting, since every day for these three months we have
been alarmed with new fears that have made thee uneasy even in
_Philander_'s arms; we knew some time or other the storm would fall on
us, though we had for three happy months sheltered ourselves from its
threatening rage; but love, I hope, has armed us both; for me--let me
be deprived of all joys, (but those my charmer can dispense) all the
false world's respect, the dull esteem of fools and formal coxcombs,
the grave advice of the censorious wise, the kind opinion of
ill-judging women, no matter, so my _Sylvia_ remain but mine.

I am, my _Sylvia_, arrested at the suit of _Monsieur_ the Count, your
father, for a rape on my lovely maid: I desire, my soul, you will
immediately take coach and go to the Prince _Cesario_, and he will
bail me out. I fear not a fair trial; and, _Sylvia_, thefts of mutual
love were never counted felony; I may die for love, my _Sylvia_, but
not for loving--go, haste, my _Sylvia_, that I may be no longer
detained from the solid pleasure and business of my soul--haste, my
loved dear--haste and relieve

PHILANDER.

_Come not to me, lest there should be an order to detain my dear_.

       *       *       *       *       *

_To_ PHILANDER.

I am not at all surprised, my _Philander_, at the accident that has
befallen thee, because so long expected, and love has so well
fortified my heart, that I support our misfortunes with a courage
worthy of her that loves and is beloved by the glorious _Philander_; I
am armed for the worst that can befall me, and that is my being
rendered a public shame, who have been so in the private whispers of
all the Court for near these happy three months, in which I have had
the wondrous satisfaction of being retired from the world with the
charming _Philander_; my father too knew it long since, at least he
could not hinder himself from guessing it, though his fond indulgence
suffered his justice and his anger to sleep, and possibly had still
slept, had not _Myrtilla_'s spite and rage (I should say just
resentment, but I cannot) roused up his drowsy vengeance: I know she
has plied him with her softening eloquence, her prayers and tears, to
win him to consent to make a public business of it; but I am entered,
love has armed my soul, and I'll pursue my fortune with that height of
fortitude as shall surprise the world; yes, _Philander_, since I have
lost my honour, fame and friends, my interest and my parents, and all
for mightier love, I'll stop at nothing now; if there be any hazards
more to run, I will thank the spiteful Fates that bring them on, and
will even tire them out with my unwearied passion. Love on,
_Philander_, if thou darest, like me; let 'em pursue me with their
hate and vengeance, let prisons, poverty and tortures seize me, it
shall not take one grain of love away from my resolved heart, nor make
me shed a tear of penitence for loving thee; no, _Philander_, since I
know what a ravishing pleasure it is to live thine, I will never quit
the glory of dying also thy

SYLVIA.

Cesario, _my dear, is coming to be your bail; with_ Monsieur _the
Count of----I die to see you after your suffering for_ Sylvia.

       *       *       *       *       *

_To_ SYLVIA.

BELIEVE me, charming _Sylvia_, I live not those hours I am absent from
thee, thou art my life, my soul, and my eternal felicity; while you
believe this truth, my _Sylvia_, you will not entertain a thousand
fears, if I but stay a moment beyond my appointed hour; especially
when _Philander_, who is not able to support the thought that any
thing should afflict his lovely baby, takes care from hour to hour to
satisfy her tender doubting heart. My dearest, I am gone into the city
to my advocate's, my trial with _Monsieur_ the Count, your father,
coming on to-morrow, and it will be at least two tedious hours ere I
can bring my adorable her

PHILANDER.

       *       *       *       *       *

_To_ SYLVIA.

I was called on, my dearest child, at my advocate's by _Cesario_;
there is some great business this evening debated in the cabal, which
is at _Monsieur----_ in the city; _Cesario_ tells me there is a very
diligent search made by _Monsieur_ the Count, your father, for my
_Sylvia_; I die if you are taken, lest the fright should hurt thee; if
possible, I would have thee remove this evening from those lodgings,
lest the people, who are of the royal party, should be induced through
malice or gain to discover thee; I dare not come myself to wait on
thee, lest my being seen should betray thee, but I have sent
_Brilliard_ (whose zeal for thee shall be rewarded) to conduct thee to
a little house in the _Faubourg St Germain_, where lives a pretty
woman, and mistress to _Chevalier Tomaso_, called _Belinda_, a woman
of wit, and discreet enough to understand what ought to be paid to a
maid of the quality and character of _Sylvia_; she already knows the
stories of our loves; thither I'll come to thee, and bring _Cesario_
to supper, as soon as the cabal breaks up. Oh, my _Sylvia_, I shall
one day recompense all thy goodness, all thy bravery, thy love and thy
suffering for thy eternal lover and slave,

PHILANDER.

       *       *       *       *       *

_To_ PHILANDER.

So hasty I was to obey _Philander_'s commands, that by the unwearied
care and industry of the faithful _Brilliard_, I went before three
o'clock disguised away to the place whither you ordered us, and was
well received by the very pretty young woman of the house, who has
sense and breeding as well as beauty: but oh, _Philander_, this flight
pleases me not; alas, what have I done? my fault is only love, and
that sure I should boast, as the most divine passion of the soul; no,
no, _Philander_, it is not my love's the criminal, no, not the placing
it on _Philander_ the crime, but it is thy most unhappy circumstances,
thy being married, and that was no crime to heaven till man made laws,
and can laws reach to damnation? If so, curse on the fatal hour that
thou wert married, curse on the priest that joined ye, and curst be
all that did contribute to the undoing ceremony----except
_Philander_'s tongue, that answered yes--oh, heavens! Was there but
one dear man of all your whole creation that could charm the soul of
_Sylvia_! And could ye--oh, ye wise all-seeing powers that knew my
soul, could ye give him away? How had my innocence offended ye? Our
hearts you did create for mutual love, how came the dire mistake?

Another would have pleased the indifferent _Myrtilla_'s soul as well,
but mine was fitted for no other man; only _Philander_, the adored
_Philander_, with that dear form, that shape, that charming face, that
hair, those lovely speaking eyes, that wounding softness in his tender
voice, had power to conquer _Sylvia_; and can this be a sin? Oh,
heavens, can it? Must laws, which man contrived for mere conveniency,
have power to alter the divine decrees at our creation?--Perhaps they
argue to-morrow at the bar, that _Myrtilla_ was ordained by heaven for
_Philander_; no, no, he mistook the sister, it was pretty near he
came, but by a fatal error was mistaken; his hasty youth made him too
negligently stop before his time at the wrong woman, he should have
gazed a little farther on--and then it had been _Sylvia_'s lot----It
is fine divinity they teach, that cry marriages are made in
heaven--folly and madness grown into grave custom; should an unheedy
youth in heat of blood take up with the first convenient she that
offers, though he be an heir to some grave politician, great and rich,
and she the outcast of the common stews, coupled in height of wine,
and sudden lust, which once allayed, and that the sober morning wakes
him to see his error, he quits with shame the jilt, and owns no more
the folly; shall this be called a heavenly conjunction? Were I in
height of youth, as now I am, forced by my parents, obliged by
interest and honour, to marry the old, deformed, diseased, decrepit
Count _Anthonio_, whose person, qualities and principles I loathe, and
rather than suffer him to consummate his nuptials, suppose I should
(as sure I should) kill myself, it were blasphemy to lay this fatal
marriage to heaven's charge----curse on your nonsense, ye imposing
gownmen, curse on your holy cant; you may as well call rapes and
murders, treason and robbery, the acts of heaven; because heaven
suffers them to be committed. Is it heaven's pleasure therefore,
heaven's decree? A trick, a wise device of priests, no more----to make
the nauseated, tired-out pair drag on the careful business of life,
drudge for the dull-got family with greater satisfaction, because they
are taught to think marriage was made in heaven; a mighty comfort
that, when all the joys of life are lost by it: were it not nobler far
that honour kept him just, and that good nature made him reasonable
provision? Daily experience proves to us, no couple live with less
content, less ease, than those who cry heaven joins? Who is it loves
less than those that marry? And where love is not, there is hate and
loathing at best, disgust, disquiet, noise and repentance: no,
_Philander_, that's a heavenly match when two souls touched with equal
passion meet, (which is but rarely seen)--when willing vows, with
serious considerations, are weighed and made, when a true view is
taken of the soul, when no base interest makes the hasty bargain, when
no conveniency or design, or drudge, or slave, shall find it
necessary, when equal judgements meet that can esteem the blessings
they possess, and distinguish the good of either's love, and set a
value on each other's merits, and where both understand to take and
pay; who find the beauty of each other's minds and rate them as they
ought; whom not a formal ceremony binds, (with which I've nought to
do, but dully give a cold consenting affirmative) but well considered
vows from soft inclining hearts, uttered with love, with joy, with
dear delight, when heaven is called to witness; she is thy wife,
_Philander_ he is my husband; this is the match, this heaven designs
and means; how then, oh how came I to miss _Philander_? Or he his

SYLVIA.

_Since I writ this, which I designed not an invective against
marriage, when I began, but to inform thee of my being where you
directed; but since I write this, I say, the house where I am is
broken open with warrants and officers for me, but being all undressed
and ill, the officer has taken my word for my appearance to-morrow, it
seems they saw me when I went from my lodgings, and pursued me; haste
to me, for I shall need your counsel_.

       *       *       *       *       *

_To_ SYLVIA.

My eternal joy, my affliction is inexpressible at the news you send me
of your being surprised; I am not able to wait on thee yet--not being
suffered to leave the cabal, I only borrow this minute to tell thee
the sense of my advocate in this case; which was, if thou should be
taken, there was no way, no law to save thee from being ravished from
my arms, but that of marrying thee to some body whom I can trust; this
we have often discoursed, and thou hast often vowed thou'lt do any
thing rather than kill me with a separation; resolve then, oh thou
charmer of my soul, to do a deed, that though the name would fright
thee, only can preserve both thee and me; it is--and though it have no
other terror in it than the name, I faint to speak it--to marry,
_Sylvia_; yes, thou must marry; though thou art mine as fast as heaven
can make us, yet thou must marry; I have pitched upon the property, it
is _Brilliard_, him I can only trust in this affair; it is but joining
hands--no more, my _Sylvia_,--_Brilliard_ is a gentleman, though a
_cadet_, and may be supposed to pretend to so great a happiness, and
whose only crime is want of fortune; he is handsome too, well made,
well bred, and so much real esteem he has for me, and I have so
obliged him, that I am confident he will pretend no farther than to
the honour of owning thee in Court; I'll time him from it, nay, he
dares not do it, I will trust him with my life--but oh, _Sylvia_ is
more--think of it, and this night we will perform it, there being no
other way to keep _Sylvia_ eternally

PHILANDER's.

       *       *       *       *       *

_To_ SYLVIA.

Now, my adorable _Sylvia_, you have truly need of all that heroic
bravery of mind I ever thought thee mistress of; for _Sylvia_, coming
from thee this morning, and riding full speed for _Paris_, I was met,
stopped, and seized for high-treason by the King's messengers, and
possibly may fall a sacrifice to the anger of an incensed monarch. My
_Sylvia_, bear this last shock of fate with a courage worthy thy great
and glorious soul; 'tis but a little separation, _Sylvia_, and we
shall one day meet again; by heaven, I find no other sting in death
but parting with my _Sylvia_, and every parting would have been the
same; I might have died by thy disdain, thou might'st have grown weary
of thy _Philander_, have loved another, and have broke thy vows, and
tortured me to death these crueller ways: but fate is kinder to me,
and I go blest with my _Sylvia_'s, love, for which heaven may do
much, for her dear sake, to recompense her faith, a maid so innocent
and true to sacred love; expect the best, my lovely dear, the worst
has this comfort in it, that I shall die my charming _Sylvia_'s

PHILANDER.

       *       *       *       *       *

_To_ PHILANDER.

I'LL, only say, thou dear supporter of my soul, that if _Philander_
dies, he shall not go to heaven without his _Sylvia_--by heaven and
earth I swear it, I cannot live without thee, nor shall thou die
without thy

SYLVIA.

       *       *       *       *       *

_To_ SYLVIA.

SEE, see my adorable angel, what care the powers above take of divine
innocence, true love and beauty; oh, see what they have done for their
darling _Sylvia_; could they do less?

Know, my dear maid, that after being examined before the King, I was
found guilty enough to be committed to the _Bastille_, (from whence,
if I had gone, I had never returned, but to my death;) but the
messenger, into whose hands I was committed, refusing other guards,
being alone with me in my own coach, I resolved to kill, if I could no
other way oblige him to favour my escape; I tried with gold before I
shewed my dagger, and that prevailed, a way less criminal, and I have
taken sanctuary in a small cottage near the sea-shore, where I wait
for _Sylvia_; and though my life depend upon my flight, nay, more, the
life of _Sylvia_, I cannot go without her; dress yourself then, my
dearest, in your boy's clothes, and haste with _Brilliant_, whither
this seaman will conduct thee, whom I have hired to set us on some
shore of safety; bring what news you can learn of _Cesario_; I would
not have him die poorly after all his mighty hopes, nor be conducted
to a scaffold with shouts of joys, by that uncertain beast the rabble,
who used to stop his chariot-wheels with fickle adorations whenever he
looked abroad--by heaven, I pity him; but _Sylvia_'s presence will
chase away all thoughts, but those of love, from

PHILANDER.

_I need not bid thee haste._


_The End of the first Part._





Love-Letters Between a Nobleman and His Sister




Part II.



At the end of the first part of these letters, we left _Philander_
impatiently waiting on the sea-shore for the approach of the lovely
_Sylvia_; who accordingly came to him dressed like a youth, to secure
herself from a discovery. They stayed not long to caress each other,
but he taking the welcome maid in his arms, with a transported joy
bore her to a small vessel, that lay ready near the beach; where, with
only _Brilliard_ and two men servants, they put to sea, and passed
into _Holland_, landing at the nearest port; where, after having
refreshed themselves for two or three days, they passed forwards
towards the _Brill_, _Sylvia_ still remaining under that amiable
disguise: but in their passage from town to town, which is sometimes
by coach, and other times by boat, they chanced one day to encounter a
young _Hollander_ of a more than ordinary gallantry for that country,
so degenerate from good manners, and almost common civility, and so
far short of all the good qualities that made themselves appear in
this young nobleman. He was very handsome, well made, well dressed,
and very well attended; and whom we will call _Octavio_, and who,
young as he was, was one of the _States_ of _Holland_; he spoke
admirable good _French_, and had a vivacity and quickness of wit
unusual with the natives of that part of the world, and almost above
all the rest of his sex: _Philander_ and _Sylvia_ having already
agreed for the cabin of the vessel that was to carry them to the next
stage, _Octavio_ came too late to have any place there but amongst the
common crowd; which the master of the vessel, who knew him, was much
troubled at, and addressed himself as civilly as he could to
_Philander_, to beg permission for one stranger of quality to dispose
of himself in the cabin for that day: _Philander_ being well enough
pleased, so to make an acquaintance with some of power of that
country, readily consented; and _Octavio_ entered with an address so
graceful and obliging, that at first sight he inclined _Philander_'s,
heart to a friendship with him; and on the other side the lovely
person of _Philander_, the quality that appeared in his face and mien,
obliged _Octavio_ to become no less his admirer. But when he saluted
_Sylvia_, who appeared to him a youth of quality, he was extremely
charmed with her pretty gaiety, and an unusual air and life in her
address and motion; he felt a secret joy and pleasure play about his
soul, he knew not why, and was almost angry, that he felt such an
emotion for a youth, though the most lovely that he ever saw. After
the first compliments, they fell into discourse of a thousand
indifferent things, and if he were pleased at first sight with the two
lovers, he was wholly charmed by their conversation, especially that
of the amiable youth; who well enough pleased with the young stranger,
or else hitherto having met nothing so accomplished in her short
travels; and indeed despairing to meet any such; she put on all her
gaiety and charms of wit, and made as absolute a conquest as it was
possible for her supposed sex to do over a man, who was a great
admirer of the other; and surely the lovely maid never appeared so
charming and desirable as that day; they dined together in the cabin;
and after dinner reposed on little mattresses by each other's side,
where every motion, every limb, as carelessly she lay, discovered a
thousand graces, and more and more enflamed the now beginning lover;
she could not move, nor smile, nor speak, nor order any charm about
her, but had some peculiar grace that began to make him uneasy; and
from a thousand little modesties, both in her blushes and motions, he
had a secret hope she was not what she seemed, but of that sex whereof
she discovered so many softnesses and beauties; though to what
advantage that hope would amount to his repose, was yet a disquiet he
had not considered nor felt: nor could he by any fondness between
them, or indiscretion of love, conceive how the lovely strangers were
allied; he only hoped, and had no thoughts of fear, or any thing that
could check his new beginning flame. While thus they passed the
afternoon, they asked a thousand questions, of lovers, of the country
and manners, and their security and civility to strangers; to all
which _Octavio_ answered as a man, who would recommend the place and
persons purely to oblige their stay; for now self-interest makes him
say all things in favour of it; and of his own friendship, offers them
all the service of a man in power, and who could make an interest in
those that had more than himself; much he protested, much he offered,
and yet no more than he designed to make good on all occasions, which
they received with an acknowledgement that plainly discovered a
generosity and quality above the common rate of men; so that finding
in each other occasions for love and friendship, they mutually
professed it, and nobly entertained it. _Octavio_ told his name and
quality, left nothing unsaid that might confirm the lovers of his
sincerity. This begot a confidence in _Philander_, who in return told
him so much of his circumstances, as sufficed to let him know he was a
person so unfortunate to have occasioned the displeasure of his king
against him, and that he could not continue with any repose in that
kingdom, whose monarch thought him no longer fit for those honours he
had before received: _Octavio_ renewed his protestations of serving
him with his interest and fortune, which the other receiving with all
the gallant modesty of an unfortunate man, they came ashore, where
_Octavio_'s coaches and equipage waiting his coming to conduct him to
his house, he offered his new friends the best of them to carry them
to their lodging, which he had often pressed might be his own palace;
but that being refused as too great an honour, he would himself see
them placed in some one, which he thought might be most suitable to
their quality; they excused the trouble, but he pressed too eagerly to
be denied, and he conducted them to a merchant's house not far from
his own, so love had contrived for the better management of this new
affair of his heart, which he resolved to pursue, be the fair object
of what sex soever: but after having well enough recommended them to
the care of the merchant, he thought it justice to leave them to their
rest, though with abundance of reluctancy; so took his leave of both
the lovely strangers, and went to his own home. And after a hasty
supper got himself up to bed: not to sleep; for now he had other
business: love took him now to task, and asked his heart a thousand
questions. Then it was he found the idea of that fair unknown had
absolute possession there: nor was he at all displeased to find he was
a captive; his youth and quality promise his hopes a thousand
advantages above all other men: but when he reflected on the beauty of
Philander, on his charming youth and conversation, and every grace
that adorns a conqueror, he grew inflamed, disordered, restless,
angry, and out of love with his own attractions; considered every
beauty of his own person, and found them, or at least thought them
infinitely short of those of his now fancied rival; yet it was a rival
that he could not hate, nor did his passion abate one thought of his
friendship for Philander, but rather more increased it, insomuch that
he once resolved it should surmount his love if possible, at least he
left it on the upper-hand, till time should make a better discovery.
When tired with thought we'll suppose him asleep, and see how our
lovers fared; who being lodged all on one stair-case (that is,
Philander, Sylvia, and Brilliard) it was not hard for the lover to
steal into the longing arms of the expecting _Sylvia_; no fatigues of
tedious journeys, and little voyages, had abated her fondness, or his
vigour; the night was like the first, all joy! All transport!
_Brilliard_ lay so near as to be a witness to all their sighs of love,
and little soft murmurs, who now began from a servant to be permitted
as an humble companion; since he had had the honour of being married
to _Sylvia_, though yet he durst not lift his eyes or thoughts that
way; yet it might be perceived he was melancholy and sullen whenever
he saw their dalliances; nor could he know the joys his lord nightly
stole, without an impatience, which, if but minded or known, perhaps
had cost him his life. He began, from the thoughts she was his wife,
to fancy fine enjoyment, to fancy authority which he durst not assume,
and often wished his lord would grow cold, as possessing lovers do,
that then he might advance his hope, when he should even abandon or
slight her: he could not see her kissed without blushing with
resentment; but if he has assisted to undress him for her bed, he was
ready to die with anger, and would grow sick, and leave the office to
himself: he could not see her naked charms, her arms stretched out to
receive a lover, with impatient joy, without madness; to see her clasp
him fast, when he threw himself into her soft, white bosom, and
smother him with kisses: no, he could not bear it now, and almost lost
his respect when he beheld it, and grew saucy unperceived. And it was
in vain that he looked back upon the reward he had to stand for that
necessary cypher a husband. In vain he considered the reasons why, and
the occasion wherefore; he now seeks precedents of usurped dominion,
and thinks she is his wife, and has forgot that he is her creature,
and _Philander_'s vassal. These thoughts disturbed him all the night,
and a certain jealousy, or rather curiosity to listen to every motion
of the lovers, while they were employed after a different manner.

Next day it was debated what was best to be done, as to their conduct
in that place; or whether _Sylvia_ should yet own her sex or not; but
she, pleased with the cavalier in herself, begged she might live under
that disguise, which indeed gave her a thousand charms to those which
nature had already bestowed on her sex; and Philander was well enough
pleased she should continue in that agreeable dress, which did not
only add to her beauty, but gave her a thousand little privileges,
which otherwise would have been denied to women, though in a country
of much freedom. Every day she appeared in the Tour, she failed not to
make a conquest on some unguarded heart of the fair sex: not was it
long ere she received _billets-doux_ from many of the most
accomplished who could speak and write _French_. This gave them a
pleasure in the midst of her unlucky exile, and she failed not to
boast her conquests to Octavio, who every day gave all his hours to
love, under the disguise of friendship, and every day received new
wounds, both from her conversation and beauty, and every day confirmed
him more in his first belief, that she was a woman; and that confirmed
his love. But still he took care to hide his passion with a gallantry,
that was natural to him, and to very few besides; and he managed his
eyes, which were always full of love, so equally to both, that when he
was soft and fond it appeared more his natural humour, than from any
particular cause. And that you may believe that all the arts of
gallantry, and graces of good management were more peculiarly his than
another's, his race was illustrious, being descended from that of the
Princes of _Orange_, and great birth will shine through, and shew
itself in spite of education and obscurity: but _Octavio_ had all
those additions that render a man truly great and brave; and this is
the character of him that was next undone by our unfortunate and fatal
beauty. At this rate for some time they lived thus disguised under
feigned names, _Octavio_ omitting nothing that might oblige them in
the highest degree, and hardly any thing was talked of but the new and
beautiful strangers, whose conquests in all places over the ladies are
well worthy, both for their rarity and comedy, to be related entirely
by themselves in a novel. _Octavio_ saw every day with abundance of
pleasure the little revenges of love, on those women's hearts who had
made before little conquests over him, and strove by all the gay
presents he made a young _Fillmond_ (for so they called _Sylvia_,) to
make him appear unresistible to the ladies; and while _Sylvia_ gave
them new wounds, _Octavio_ failed not to receive them too among the
crowd, till at last he became a confirmed slave, to the lovely
unknown; and that which was yet more strange, she captivated the men
no less than the women, who often gave her _serenades_ under her
window, with songs fitted to the courtship of a boy, all which added
to their diversion: but fortune had smiled long enough, and now grew
weary of obliging, she was resolved to undeceive both sexes, and let
them see the errors of their love; for _Sylvia_ fell into a fever so
violent, that _Philander_ no longer hoped for her recovery, insomuch
that she was obliged to own her sex, and take women servants out of
decency. This made the first discovery of who and what they were, and
for which every body languished under a secret grief. But _Octavio_,
who now was not only confirmed she was a woman, but that she was
neither wife to _Philander_, nor could in almost all possibility ever
be so; that she was his mistress, gave him hope that she might one day
as well be conquered by him; and he found her youth, her beauty, and
her quality, merited all his pains of lavish courtship. And now there
remains no more than the fear of her dying to oblige him immediately
to a discovery of his passion, too violent now by his new hope to be
longer concealed, but decency forbids he should now pursue the dear
design; he waited and made vows for her recovery; visited her, and
found _Philander_ the most deplorable object that despair and love
could render him, who lay eternally weeping on her bed, and no counsel
or persuasion could remove him thence; but if by chance they made him
sensible it was for her repose, he would depart to ease his mind by
new torments, he would rave and tear his delicate hair, sigh and weep
upon _Octavio_'s bosom, and a thousand times begin to unfold the
story, already known to the generous rival; despair, and hopes of pity
from him, made him utter all: and one day, when by the advice of the
physician he was forced to quit the chamber to give her rest, he
carried _Octavio_ to his own, and told him from the beginning, all the
story of his love with the charming _Sylvia_, and with it all the
story of his fate: _Octavio_ sighing (though glad of the opportunity)
told him his affairs were already but too well known, and that he
feared his safety from that discovery, since the States had obliged
themselves to harbour no declared enemy to the _French_ King. At this
news our young unfortunate shewed a resentment that was so moving,
that even _Octavio_, who felt a secret joy at the thoughts of his
departure, could no longer refrain from pity and tenderness, even to a
wish that he were less unhappy, and never to part from _Sylvia_: but
love soon grew again triumphant in his heart, and all he could say
was, that he would afford him the aids of all his power in this
encounter; which, with the acknowledgements of a lover, whose life
depended on it, he received, and parted with him, who went to learn
what was decreed in Council concerning him. While _Philander_ returned
to _Sylvia_, the most dejected lover that ever fate produced, when he
had not sighed away above an hour, but received a billet by
_Octavio_'s page from his lord; he went to his own apartment to read
it, fearing it might contain something too sad for him to be able to
hold his temper at the reading of, and which would infallibly have
disturbed the repose of _Sylvia_, who shared in every cruel thought of
_Philander_'s: when he was alone he opened it, and read this.

OCTAVIO _to_ PHILANDER.

_My Lord_,

I had rather die than be the ungrateful messenger of news, which I am
sensible will prove too fatal to you, and which will be best expressed
in fewest words: it is decreed that you must retire from the United
Provinces in four and twenty hours, if you will save a life that is
dear to me and _Sylvia_, there being no other security against your
being rendered up to the King of _France_. Support it well, and hope
all things from the assistance of your

OCTAVIO.

_From the Council, Wednesday_.

_Philander_ having finished the reading of this, remained a while
wholly without life or motion, when coming to himself, he sighed and
cried,--'Why--farewell trifling life--if of the two extremes one must
be chosen, rather than I'll abandon _Sylvia_, I'll stay and be
delivered up a victim to incensed _France_--It is but a life--at best
I never valued thee--and now I scorn to preserve thee at the price of
_Sylvia_'s tears!' Then taking a hasty turn or two about his chamber,
he pausing cried,--'But by my stay I ruin both _Sylvia_ and myself,
her life depends on mine; and it is impossible hers can be preserved
when mine is in danger: by retiring I shall shortly again be blessed
with her sight in a more safe security, by staying I resign myself
poorly to be made a public scorn to _France_, and the cruel murderer
of _Sylvia_.' Now, it was after an hundred turns and pauses,
intermixed with sighs and ravings, that he resolved for both their
safeties to retire; and having a while longer debated within himself
how, and where, and a little time ruminated on his hard pursuing fate,
grown to a calm of grief, (less easy to be borne than rage) he hastes
to _Sylvia_, whom he found something more cheerful than before, but
dares not acquaint her with the commands he had to depart----But
silently he views her, while tears of love and grief glide
unperceivably from his fine eyes, his soul grows tenderer at every
look, and pity and compassion joining to his love and his despair, set
him on the wreck of life; and now believing it less pain to die than
to leave _Sylvia_, resolves to disobey, and dare the worst that shall
befall him; he had some glimmering hope, as lovers have, that some
kind chance will prevent his going, or being delivered up; he trusts
much to the friendship of _Octavio_, whose power joined with that of
his uncle, (who was one of the _States_ also, and whom he had an
ascendant over, as his nephew and his heir) might serve him; he
therefore ventures to move him to compassion by this following letter.

PHILANDER _to_ OCTAVIO.

I know, my lord, that the exercise of virtue and justice is so innate
to your soul, and fixed to the very principle of a generous
commonwealth's man, that where those are in competition, it is neither
birth, wealth, or glorious merit, that can render the unfortunate
condemned by you, worthy of your pity or pardon: your very sons and
fathers fall before your justice, and it is crime enough to offend
(though innocently) the least of your wholesome laws, to fall under
the extremity of their rigour. I am not ignorant neither how
flourishing this necessary tyranny, this lawful oppression renders
your State; how safe and glorious, how secure from enemies at home,
(those worst of foes) and how feared by those abroad: pursue then,
sir, your justifiable method, and still be high and mighty, retain
your ancient Roman virtue, and still be great as _Rome_ herself in her
height of glorious commonwealths; rule your stubborn natives by her
excellent examples, and let the height of your ambition be only to be
as severely just, as rigidly good as you please; but like her too, be
pitiful to strangers, and dispense a noble charity to the distressed,
compassionate a poor wandering young man, who flies to you for refuge,
lost to his native home, lost to his fame, his fortune, and his
friends; and has only left him the knowledge of his innocence to
support him from falling on his own sword, to end an unfortunate life,
pursued every where, and safe no where; a life whose only refuge is
_Octavio_'s goodness; nor is it barely to preserve this life that I
have recourse to that only as my sanctuary, and like an humble slave
implore your pity: oh, _Octavio_, pity my youth, and intercede for my
stay yet a little longer: yourself makes one of the illustrious number
of the grave, the wise and mighty Council, your uncle and relations
make up another considerable part of it, and you are too dear to all,
to find a refusal of your just and compassionate application. Oh! What
fault have I committed against you, that I should not find a safety
here; as well as those charged with the same crime with me, though of
less quality? Many I have encountered here of our unlucky party, who
find a safety among you: is my birth a crime? Or does the greatness of
that augment my guilt? Have I broken any of your laws, committed any
outrage? Do they suspect me for a spy to _France_! Or do I hold any
correspondence with that ungrateful nation? Does my religion,
principle, or opinion differ from yours? Can I design the subversion
of your glorious State? Can I plot, cabal, or mutiny alone? Oh charge
me with some offence, or yourselves of injustice. Say, why am I denied
my length of earth amongst you, if I die? Or why to breathe the open
air, if I live, since I shall neither oppress the one, nor infect the
other? But on the contrary am ready with my sword, my youth and blood
to serve you, and bring my little aids on all occasions to yours: and
should be proud of the glory to die for you in battle, who would
deliver me up a sacrifice to _France_. Oh! where, _Octavio_, is the
glory or virtue of this _punctilio_? For it is no other: there are no
laws that bind you to it, no obligatory article of Nations, but an
unnecessary compliment made a _nemine contradicente_ of your senate,
that argues nothing but ill nature, and cannot redound to any one's
advantage; an ill nature that's levelled at me alone; for many I found
here, and many shall leave under the same circumstances with me; it is
only me whom you have marked out the victim to atone for all: well
then, my lord, if nothing can move you to a safety for this
unfortunate, at least be so merciful to suspend your cruelty a little,
yet a little, and possibly I shall render you the body of _Philander_,
though dead, to send into _France_, as the trophy of your fidelity to
that Crown: oh yet a little stay your cruel sentence, till my lovely
sister, who pursued my hard fortunes, declare my fate by her life or
death: oh, my lord, if ever the soft passion of love have touched your
soul, if you have felt the unresistible force of young charms about
your heart, if ever you have known a pain and pleasure from fair eyes,
or the transporting joys of beauty, pity a youth undone by love and
ambition, those powerful conquerors of the young----pity, oh pity a
youth that dies, and will ere long no more complain upon your rigours.
Yes, my lord, he dies without the force of a terrifying sentence,
without the grim reproaches of an angry judge, without the soon
consulted arbitrary----guilty of a severe and hasty jury, without the
ceremony of the scaffold, axe, and hangman, and the clamours of
inconsidering crowds; all which melancholy ceremonies render death so
terrible, which else would fall like gentle slumbers upon the
eye-lids, and which in field I would encounter with that joy I would
the sacred thing I love! But oh, I fear my fate is in the lovely
_Sylvia_, and in her dying eyes you may read it, in her languishing
face you will see how near it is approached. Ah, will you not suffer
me to attend it there? By her dear side I shall fall as calmly as
flowers from their stalks, without regret or pain: will you, by
forcing me to die from her, run me to a madness? To wild distraction?
Oh think it sufficient that I die here before half my race of youth be
run, before the light be half burnt out, that might have conducted me
to a world of glory! Alas, she dies=-the lovely _Sylvia_ dies; she is
sighing out a soul to which mine is so entirely fixed, that they must
go upward together; yes, yes, she breathes it sick into my bosom, and
kindly gives mine its disease of death: let us at least then die in
silence quietly; and if it please heaven to restore the languished
charmer, I will resign myself up to all your rigorous honour; only let
me bear my treasure with me, while we wander over the world to seek us
out a safety in some part of it, where pity and compassion is no
crime, where men have tender hearts, and have heard of the god of
love; where politics are not all the business of the powerful, but
where civility and good nature reign.

Perhaps, my lord, you will wonder I plead no weightier argument for my
stay than love, or the griefs and tears of a languishing maid: but,
oh! they are such tears as every drop would ransom lives, and nothing
that proceeds from her charming eyes can be valued at a less rate! In
pity to her, to me, and your amorous youths, let me bear her hence:
for should she look abroad as her own sex, should she appear in her
natural and proper beauty, alas they were undone. Reproach not (my
lord) the weakness of this confession, and which I make with more
glory than could I boast myself lord of all the universe: if it appear
a fault to the more grave and wise, I hope my youth will plead
something for my excuse. Oh say, at least, it was pity that love had
the ascendant over _Philander_'s soul, say it was his destiny, but say
withal, that it put no stop to his advance to glory; rather it set an
edge upon his sword, and gave wings to his ambition!--Yes, try me in
your Councils, prove me in your camps, place me in any hazard--but
give me love! And leave me to wait the life or death of _Sylvia_, and
then dispose as you please, my lord, of your unfortunate

PHILANDER.

       *       *       *       *       *

OCTAVIO _to_ PHILANDER.

_My Lord_,

I am much concerned, that a request so reasonable as you have made,
will be of so little force with these arbitrary tyrants of State; and
though you have addressed and appealed to me as one of that grave and
rigid number, (though without one grain of their formalities, and I
hope age, which renders us less gallant, and more envious of the joys
and liberties of youth, will never reduce me to so dull and
thoughtless a Member of State) yet I have so small and single a
portion of their power, that I am ashamed of my incapacity of serving
you in this great affair. I bear the honour and the name, it is true,
of glorious sway; but I can boast but of the worst and most impotent
part of it, the title only; but the busy, absolute, mischievous
politician finds no room in my soul, my humour, or constitution; and
plodding restless power I have made so little the business of my gayer
and more careless youth, that I have even lost my right of rule, my
share of empire amongst them. That little power (whose unregarded loss
I never bemoaned till it rendered me incapable of serving _Philander_)
I have stretched to the utmost bound for your stay; insomuch that I
have received many reproaches from the wiser coxcombs, have made my
youth's little debauches hinted on, and judgements made of you
(disadvantageous) from my friendship to you; a friendship, which, my
lord, at first sight of you found a being in my soul, and which your
wit, your goodness, your greatness, and your misfortunes have improved
to all the degrees of it: though I am infinitely unhappy that it
proves of no use to you here, and that the greatest testimony I can
now render of it, is to warn you of your approaching danger, and
hasten your departure, for there is no safety in your stay. I just now
heard what was decreed against you in Council, which no pleading, nor
eloquence of friendship had force enough to evade. Alas, I had but one
single voice in the number, which I sullenly and singly gave, and
which unregarded passed. Go then, my lord, haste to some place where
good breeding and humanity reigns: go and preserve _Sylvia_, in
providing for your own safety; and believe me, till she be in a
condition to pursue your fortunes, I will take such care that nothing
shall be wanting to her recovery here, in order to her following after
you. I am, alas, but too sensible of all the pains you must endure by
such a separation; for I am neither insensible, nor incapable of love,
or any of its violent effects: go then, my lord, and preserve the
lovely maid in your flight, since your stay and danger will serve but
to hasten on her death: go and be satisfied she shall find a
protection suitable to her sex, her innocence, her beauty, and her
quality; and that wherever you fix your stay, she shall be resigned to
your arms by, my lord, your eternal friend and humble servant,

OCTAVIO.

_Lest in this sudden remove you should want money, I have sent you
several Bills of Exchange to what place soever you arrive, and what
you want more (make no scruple to use me as a friend and) command._

After this letter finding no hopes, but on the contrary a dire
necessity of departing, he told _Brilliard_ his misfortune, and asked
his counsel in this extremity of affairs. _Brilliard_, (who of a
servant was become a rival) you may believe, gave him such advice as
might remove him from the object he adored. But after a great deal of
dissembled trouble, the better to hide his joy, he gave his advice for
his going, with all the arguments that appeared reasonable enough to
_Philander_; and at every period urged, that his life being dear to
_Sylvia_, and on which hers so immediately depended, he ought no
longer to debate, but hasten his flight: to all which counsel our
amorous hero, with a soul ready to make its way through his trembling
body, gave a sighing unwilling assent. It was now no longer a dispute,
but was concluded he must go; but how was the only question. How
should he take his farewell? How he should bid adieu, and leave the
dear object of his soul in an estate so hazardous? He formed a
thousand sad ideas to torment himself with fancying he should never
see her more, that he should hear that she was dead, though now she
appeared on this side the grave, and had all the signs of a declining
disease. He fancied absence might make her cold, and abate her passion
to him; that her powerful beauty might attract adorers, and she being
but a woman, and no part angel but her form,'twas not expected she
should want her sex's frailties. Now he could consider how he had won
her, how by importunity and opportunity she had at last yielded to
him, and therefore might to some new gamester, when he was not by to
keep her heart in continual play: then it was that all the despair of
jealous love, the throbs and piercing of a violent passion seized his
timorous and tender heart, he fancied her already in some new lover's
arms, and ran over all these soft enjoyments he had with her; and
fancied with tormenting thought, that so another would possess her;
till racked with tortures, he almost fainted on the repose on which he
was set: but _Brilliard_ roused and endeavoured to convince him, told
him he hoped his fear was needless, and that he would take all the
watchful care imaginable of her conduct, be a spy upon her virtue, and
from time to time give him notice of all that should pass! Bid him
consider her quality, and that she was no common mistress whom hire
could lead astray; and that if from the violence of her passion, or
her most severe fate, she had yielded to the most charming of men, he
ought as little to imagine she could be again a lover, as that she
could find an object of equal beauty with that of _Philander_. In
fine, he soothed and flattered him into so much ease, that he resolves
to take his leave for a day or two, under pretence of meeting and
consulting with some of the rebel party; and that he would return
again to her by that time it might be imagined her fever might be
abated, and _Sylvia_ in a condition to receive the news of his being
gone for a longer time, and to know all his affairs. While _Brilliard_
prepared all things necessary for his departure, _Philander_ went to
_Sylvia_; from whom, having been absent two tedious hours, she caught
him in her arms with a transport of joy, reproached him with want of
love, for being absent so long: but still the more she spoke soft
sighing words of love, the more his soul was seized with melancholy,
his sighs redoubled, and he could not refrain from letting fall some
tears upon her bosom----which _Sylvia_ perceiving, with a look and a
trembling in her voice, that spoke her fears, she cried, 'Oh
_Philander_! These are unusual marks of your tenderness; oh tell me,
tell me quickly what they mean.' He answered with a sigh, and she went
on--'It is so, I am undone, it is your lost vows, your broken faith
you weep; yes, _Philander_, you find the flower of my beauty faded,
and what you loved before, you pity now, and these be the effects of
it.' Then sighing, as if his soul had been departing on her neck, he
cried, 'By heaven, by all the powers of love, thou art the same dear
charmer that thou wert;' then pressing her body to his bosom, he
sighed anew as if his heart were breaking--'I know' (says she)
'_Philander_, there is some hidden cause that gives these sighs their
way, and that dear face a paleness. Oh tell me all; for she that could
abandon all for thee, can dare the worst of fate: if thou must quit
me----oh _Philander_, if it must be so, I need not stay the lingering
death of a feeble fever; I know a way more noble and more sudden.'
Pleased at her resolution, which almost destroyed his jealousy and
fears, a thousand times he kissed her, mixing his grateful words and
thanks with sighs; and finding her fair hands (which he put often to
his mouth) to increase their fires, and her pulse to be more high and
quick, fearing to relapse her into her (abating) fever, he forced a
smile, and told her, he had no griefs, but what she made him feel, no
torments but her sickness, nor sighs but for her pain, and left
nothing unsaid that might confirm her he was still more and more her
slave; and concealing his design in favour of her health, he ceased
not vowing and protesting, till he had settled her in all the
tranquillity of a recovering beauty. And as since her first illness he
had never departed from her bed, so now this night he strove to appear
in her arms with all that usual gaiety of love that her condition
would permit, or his circumstances could feign, and leaving her asleep
at day-break (with a force upon his soul that cannot be conceived but
by parting lovers) he stole from her arms, and retiring to his
chamber, he soon got himself ready for his flight, and departed. We
will leave _Sylvia_'s ravings to be expressed by none but herself, and
tell you that after about fourteen days' absence, _Octavio_ received
this letter from _Philander_.

PHILANDER _to_ OCTAVIO.

Being safely arrived at _Cologne_, and by a very pretty and lucky
adventure lodged in the house of the best quality in the town, I find
myself much more at ease than I thought it possible to be without
_Sylvia_, from whom I am nevertheless impatient to hear; I hope
absence appears not so great a bugbear to her as it was imagined: for
I know not what effects it would have on me to hear her griefs
exceeded a few sighs and tears: those my kind absence has taught me to
allow and bear without much pain, but should her love transport her to
extremes of rage and despair, I fear I should quit my safety here, and
give her the last proof of my love and my compassion, throw myself at
her feet, and expose my life to preserve hers. Honour would oblige me
to it. I conjure you, my dear _Octavio_, by all the friendship you
have vowed me, (and which I no longer doubt) let me speedily know how
she bears my absence, for on that knowledge depends a great deal of
the satisfaction of my life; carry her this enclosed which I have writ
her, and soften my silent departure, which possibly may appear rude
and unkind, plead my pardon, and give her the story of my necessity of
offending, which none can so well relate as yourself; and from a mouth
so eloquent to a maid so full of love, will soon reconcile me to her
heart. With her letter I send you a bill to pay her 2000 patacons,
which I have paid _Vander Hanskin_ here, as his letter will inform
you, as also those bills I received of you at my departure, having
been supplied by an _English_ merchant here, who gave me credit. It
will be an age, till I hear from you, and receive the news of the
health of _Sylvia_, than which two blessings nothing will be more
welcome to, generous _Octavio_, your

PHILANDER.

_Direct your letters for me to your merchant_ Vander Hanskin.

       *       *       *       *       *

PHILANDER _to_ SYLVIA.

There is no way left to gain my _Sylvia_'s pardon for leaving her, and
leaving her in such circumstances, but to tell her it was to preserve
a life which I believed entirely dear to her; but that unhappy crime
is too severely punished by the cruelties of my absence: believe me,
lovely _Sylvia_, I have felt all your pains, I have burnt with your
fever, and sighed with your oppressions; say, has my pain abated
yours? Tell me, and hasten my health by the assurance of your
recovery, or I have fled in vain from those dear arms to save my life,
of which I know not what account to give you, till I receive from you
the knowledge of your perfect health, the true state of mine. I can
only say I sigh, and have a sort of a being in _Cologne_, where I have
some more assurance of protection than I could hope I from those
interested brutes, who sent me from you; yet brutish as they are, I
know thou art safe from their clownish outrages. For were they
senseless as their fellow-monsters of the sea, they durst not profane
so pure an excellence as thine; the sullen boars would jouder out a
welcome to thee, and gape, I and wonder at thy awful beauty, though
they want the tender sense to know to what use it was made. Or if I
doubted their humanity, I cannot the friendship of _Octavio_, since he
has given me too good a proof of it, to leave me any fear that he
has not in my absence pursued those generous sentiments for _Sylvia_,
which he vowed to _Philander_, and of which this first proof must be
his relating the necessity of my absence, to set me well with my
adorable maid, who, better than I, can inform her; and that I rather
chose to quit you only for a short space, than reduce myself to the
necessity of losing you eternally. Let the satisfaction this ought to
give you retrieve your health and beauty, and put you into a condition
of restoring to me all my joys; that by pursuing the dictates of your
love, you may again bring the greatest happiness on earth to the arms
of your

PHILANDER.

POSTSCRIPT.

_My affairs here are yet so unsettled, that I can take no order for
your coming to me; but as soon as I know where I can fix with safety,
I shall make it my business and my happiness: adieu. Trust_ Octavio_,
with your letters only._

This letter _Octavio_ would not carry himself to her, who had omitted
no day, scarce an hour, wherein he saw not or sent not to the charming
_Sylvia_; but he found in that which _Philander_ had writ to him an
air of coldness altogether unusual with that passionate lover, and
infinitely short in point of tenderness to those he had formerly seen
of his, and from what he had heard him speak; so that he no longer
doubted (and the rather because he hoped it) but that _Philander_
found an abatement of that heat, which was wont to inspire at a more
amorous rate: this appearing declension he could not conceal from
_Sylvia_, at least to let her know he took notice of it; for he knew
her love was too quick-sighted and sensible to pass it unregarded; but
he with reason thought, that when she should find others observe the
little slight she had put on her, her pride (which is natural to women
in such cases) would decline and lessen her love for his rival. He
therefore sent his page with the letters enclosed in this from
himself.

OCTAVIO _to_ SYLVIA.

_Madam_,

From a little necessary debauch I made last night with the Prince, I
am forced to employ my page in those duties I ought to have performed
myself: he brings you, madam, a letter from _Philander_, as mine,
which I have also sent you, informs me; I should else have doubted it;
it is, I think, his character, and all he says of _Octavio_ confesses
the friend, but where he speaks of _Sylvia_ sure he disguises the
lover: I wonder the mask should be put on now to me, to whom before he
so frankly discovered the secrets of his amorous heart. It is a
mystery I would fain persuade myself he finds absolutely necessary to
his interest, and I hope you will make the same favourable
constructions of it, and not impute the lessened zeal wherewith he
treats the charming _Sylvia_ to any possible change or coldness, since
I am but too fatally sensible, that no man can arrive at the glory of
being beloved by you, that had ever power to shorten one link of that
dear chain that holds him, and you need but survey that adorable face,
to confirm your tranquillity; set a just value on your charms, and you
need no arguments to secure your everlasting empire, or to establish
it in what heart you please. This fatal truth I learned from your fair
eyes, ere they discovered to me your sex, and you may as soon change
to what I then believed you, as I from adoring what I now find you: if
all then, madam, that do but look on you become your slaves, and
languish for you, love on, even without hope, and die, what must
_Philander_ pay you, who has the mighty blessing of your love, your
vows, and all that renders the hours of amorous youth, sacred, glad,
and triumphant? But you know the conquering power of your charms too
well to need either this daring confession, or a defence of
_Philander_'s virtue from, madam, your obedient slave,

OCTAVIO.

_Sylvia_ had no sooner read this with blushes, and a thousand fears,
and trembling of what was to follow in _Philander_'s letters both to
_Octavio_ and to herself, but with an indignation agreeable to her
haughty soul, she cried--'How--slighted! And must _Octavio_ see it
too! By heaven, if I should find it true, he shall not dare to think
it.' Then with a generous rage she broke open _Philander_'s, letter;
and which she soon perceived did but too well prove the truth of
_Octavio_'s suspicion, and her own fears. She repeated it again and
again, and still she found more cause of grief and anger; love
occasioned the first, and pride the last; and, to a soul perfectly
haughty, as was that of _Sylvia_, it was hard to guess which had the
ascendant: she considered _Octavio_ to all the advantages that thought
could conceive in one, who was not a lover of him; she knew he
merited a heart, though she had none to give him; she found him
charming without having a tenderness for him; she found him young
and amorous without desire towards him; she found him great,
rich, powerful and generous without designing on him; and though she
knew her soul free from all passion, but that for _Philander_,
nevertheless she blushed and was angry, that he had thoughts no more
advantageous to the power of those charms, which she wish'd might
appear to him above her sex, it being natural to women to desire
conquests, though they hate the conquered; to glory in the triumph,
though they despise the slave: and she believed, while _Octavio_ had
so poor a sense of her beauty as to believe it could be forsaken, he
would adore it less: and first, to satisfy her pride, she left the
softer business of her heart to the next tormenting hour, and sent him
this careless answer by his page, believing, if she valued his
opinion; and therefore dissembled her thoughts, as women in those
cases ever do, who when most angry seem the most galliard, especially
when they have need of the friendship of those they flatter.

SYLVIA _to_ OCTAVIO.

Is it indeed, _Octavio_, that you believe _Philander_ cold, or would
you make that a pretext to the declaration of your own passion? We
_French_ ladies are not so nicely tied up to the formalities of
virtue, but we can hear love at both ears: and if we receive not the
addresses of both, at least we are perhaps vain enough not to be
displeased to find we make new conquests. But you have made your
attack with so ill conduct, that I shall find force enough without
more aids to repulse you. Alas, my lord, did you believe my heart was
left unguarded when _Philander_ departed? No, the careful charming
lover left a thousand little gods to defend it, of no less power than
himself; young deities, who laugh at all your little arts and
treacheries, and scorn to resign their empire to any feeble _Cupids_
you can draw up against them: your thick foggy air breeds love too
dull and heavy for noble flights, nor can I stoop to them. The
_Flemish_ boy wants arrows keen enough for hearts like mine, and is a
bungler in his art, too lazy and remiss, rather a heavy _Bacchus_ than
a _Cupid_, a bottle sends him to his bed of moss, where he sleeps
hard, and never dreams of _Venus_.

How poorly have you paid yourself, my lord, (by this pursuit of your
discovered love) for all the little friendship you have rendered me!
How well you have explained, you can be no more a lover than a friend,
if one may judge the first by the last! Had you been thus obstinate in
your passion before _Philander_ went, or you had believed me
abandoned, I should perhaps have thought that you had loved indeed,
because I should have seen you durst, and should have believed it
true, because it ran some hazards for me, the resolution of it would
have reconciled me then to the temerity of it, and the greatest
demonstration you could have given of it, would have been the danger
you would have ran and contemned, and the preference of your passion
above any other consideration. This, my lord, had been generous and
like a lover; but poorly thus to set upon a single woman in the
disguise of a friend, in the dark silent melancholy hour of absence
from _Philander_, then to surprise me, then to bid me deliver! to pad
for hearts! It is not like _Octavio_, _Octavio_ that _Philander_ made
his friend, and for whose dear sake, my lord, I will no farther
reproach you, but from a goodness, which, I hope, you will merit, I
will forgive an offence, which your ill-timing has rendered almost
inexcusable, and expect you will for the future consider better how
you ought to treat

SYLVIA.

As soon as she had dismissed the page, she hasted to her business of
love, and again read over _Philander_'s, letter, and finding still new
occasion for fear, she had recourse to pen and paper for a relief of
that heart which no other way could find; and after having wiped the
tears from her eyes, she writ this following letter.

SYLVIA _to_ PHILANDER.

Yes, _Philander_, I have received your letter, and but I found my name
there, should have hoped it was not meant for _Sylvia_! Oh! It is all
cold--short--short and cold as a dead winter's day. It chilled my
blood, it shivered every vein. Where, oh where hast thou lavished out
all those soft words so natural to thy soul, with which thou usedst to
charm; so tuned to the dear music of thy voice? What is become of all
the tender things, which, as I used to read, made little nimble
pantings in my heart, my blushes rise, and tremblings in my blood,
adding new fire to the poor burning victim! Oh where are all thy
pretty flatteries of love, that made me fond and vain, and set a value
on this trifling beauty? Hast thou forgot thy wondrous art of loving?
Thy pretty cunnings, and thy soft deceivings? Hast thou forgot them
all? Or hast thou forgot indeed to love at all? Has thy industrious
passion gathered all the sweets, and left the rifled flower to hang
its withered head, and die in I shades neglected? For who will prize
it now, now when all its I perfumes are fled? Oh my _Philander_, oh my
charming fugitive! Was it not enough you left me, like false
_Theseus_, on the shore, on the forsaken shore, departed from my fond,
my clasping arms; where I believed you safe, secure and pleased, when
sleep and night, that favoured you and ruined me, had rendered them
incapable of their dear loss! Oh was it not enough, that when I found
them empty and abandoned, and the place cold where you had lain, and
my poor trembling bosom unpossessed of that dear load it bore, that I
almost expired with my first fears? Oh, if _Philander_ loved, he would
have thought that cruelty enough, without the sad addition of a
growing coldness: I awaked, I missed thee, and I called aloud,
'_Philander_! my _Philander_!' But no Philander heard; then drew the
close-drawn curtains, and with a hasty and busy view surveyed the
chamber over; but oh! In vain I viewed, and called yet louder, but
none appeared to my assistance but _Antonet_ and _Brilliard_, to
torture me with dull excuses, urging a thousand feigned and frivolous
reasons to satisfy my fears: but I, who loved, who doted even to
madness, by nature soft, and timorous as a dove, and fearful as a
criminal escaped, that dreads each little noise, fancied their eyes
and guilty looks confessed the treasons of their hearts and tongues,
while they, more kind than true, strove to convince my killing doubts,
protested that you would return by night, and feigned a likely story
to deceive. Thus between hope and fear I languished out a day; oh
heavens! A tedious day without _Philander_: who would have thought
that such a dismal day should not, with the end of its reign, have
finished that of my life! But then _Octavio_ came to visit me, and who
till then I never wished to see, but now I was impatient for his
coming, who by degrees told me that you were gone--I never asked him
where, or how, or why; that you were gone was enough to possess me of
all I feared, your being apprehended and sent into _France_, your
delivering yourself up, your abandoning me; all, all I had an easy
faith for, without consulting more than that thou wert gone--that very
word yet strikes a terror to my soul, disables my trembling hand, and
I must wait for reinforcements from some kinder thoughts. But, oh!
From whence should they arrive? From what dear present felicity, or
prospect of a future, though never so distant, and all those past ones
serve but to increase my pain; they favour me no more, they charm and
please no more, and only present themselves to my memory to complete
the number of my sighs and tears, and make me wish that they had never
been, though even with _Philander_? Oh! say, thou monarch of my
panting soul, how hast thou treated _Sylvia_, to make her wish that
she had never known a tender joy with thee? Is it possible she should
repent her loving thee, and thou shouldst give her cause! Say, dear
false charmer, is it? But oh, there is no lasting faith in
sin!----Ah--What have I done? How dreadful is the scene of my first
debauch, and how glorious that never to be regained prospect of my
virgin innocence, where I sat enthroned in awful virtue, crowned with
shining honour, and adorned with unsullied reputation, till thou, O
tyrant _Love_, with a charming usurpation invaded all my glories; and
which I resigned with greater pride and joy than a young monarch puts
them on. Oh! Why then do I repent? As if the vast, the dear expense of
pleasures past were not enough to recompense for all the pains of love
to come? But why, oh why do I treat thee as a lover lost already? Thou
art not, canst not; no, I will not believe it, till thou thyself
confess it: nor shall the omission of a tender word or two make me
believe thou hast forgot thy vows. Alas, it may be I mistake thy
cares, thy hard fatigues of life, thy present ill circumstances (and
all the melancholy effects of thine and my misfortunes) for coldness
and declining love. Alas, I had forgot my poor my dear _Philander_ is
now obliged to contrive for life as well as love, thou perhaps
(fearing the worst) are preparing eloquence for a council table; and
in thy busy and guilty imaginations haranguing it to the grave judges,
defending thy innocence, or evading thy guilt: feeing advocates,
excepting juries, and confronting witnesses, when thou shouldst be
giving satisfaction to my fainting love-sick heart: sometimes in thy
labouring fancy the horror of a dreadful sentence for an ignominious
death, strikes upon thy tender soul with a force that frights the
little god from thence, and I am persuaded there are some moments of
this melancholy nature, wherein your _Sylvia_ is even quite forgotten,
and this too she can think just and reasonable, without reproaching
thy heart with a declining passion, especially when I am not by to
call thy fondness up, and divert thy more tormenting hours: but oh,
for those soft minutes thou hast designed for love, and hast dedicated
to _Sylvia, Philander_ should dismiss the dull formalities of rigid
business, the pressing cares of dangers, and have given a loose to
softness. Could my _Philander_ imagine this short and unloving letter
sufficient to atone for such an absence? And has _Philander_ then
forgotten the pain with which I languished, when but absent from him
an hour? How then can he imagine I can live, when distant from him so
many leagues, and so many days? While all the scanty comfort I have
for life is, that one day we might meet again; but where, or when, or
how-thou hast not love enough so much as to divine; but poorly leavest
me to be satisfied by _Octavio_, committing the business of thy heart,
the once great importance of thy soul, the most necessary devoirs of
thy life, to be supplied by another. Oh _Philander_, I have known a
blessed time in our reign of love, when thou wouldst have thought even
all thy own power of too little force to satisfy the doubting soul of
_Sylvia_: tell me, _Philander_, hast thou forgot that time? I dare not
think thou hast, and yet (O God) I find an alteration, but heaven
divert the omen: yet something whispers to my soul, I am undone! Oh,
where art thou, my _Philander_? Where is thy heart? And what has it
been doing since it begun my fate? How can it justify thy coldness,
and thou this cruel absence, without accounting with me for every
parting hour? My charming dear was wont to find me business for all my
lonely absent ones; and writ the softest letters--loading the paper
with fond vows and wishes, which ere I had read over another would
arrive, to keep eternal warmth about my soul; nor wert thou ever
wearied more with writing, than I with reading, or with sighing after
thee; but now--oh! There is some mystery in it I dare not understand.
Be kind at least and satisfy my fears, for it is a wondrous pain to
live in doubt; if thou still lovest me, swear it over anew! And curse
me if I do not credit thee. But if thou art declining--or shouldst be
sent a shameful victim into _France_--oh thou deceiving charmer, yet
be just, and let me know my doom: by heaven this last will find a
welcome to me, for it will end the torment of my doubts and fears of
losing thee another way, and I shall have the joy to die with thee,
die beloved, and die

Thy SYLVIA.

Having read over this letter, she feared she had said too much of her
doubts and apprehensions of a change in him; for now she flies to all
the little stratagems and artifices of lovers, she begins to consider
the worst, and to make the best of that; but quite abandoned she could
not believe herself, without flying into all the rage that
disappointed woman could be possessed with. She calls _Brilliard_,
shews him his lord's letters, and told him, (while he read) her doubts
and fears; he being thus instructed by herself in the way how to
deceive her on, like fortune-tellers, who gather people's fortune from
themselves, and then return it back for their own divinity; tells her
he saw indeed a change! Glad to improve her fear, and feigns a sorrow
almost equal to hers: 'It is evident,' says he, 'it is evident, that
he is the most ungrateful of his sex! Pardon, madam,' (continued he,
bowing) 'if my zeal for the most charming creature on earth, make me
forget my duty to the best of masters and friends.' 'Ah, _Brilliard_,'
cried she, with an air of languishment that more enflamed him, 'have a
care, lest that mistaken zeal for me should make you profane virtue,
which has not, but on this occasion, shewed that it wanted angels for
its guard. Oh, _Brilliard_, if he be false--if the dear man be
perjured, take, take, kind heaven, the life you have preserved but for
a greater proof of your revenge'----and at that word she sunk into his
arms, which he hastily extended as she was falling, both to save her
from harm, and to give himself the pleasure of grasping the loveliest
body in the world to his bosom, on which her fair face declined, cold,
dead, and pale; but so transporting was the pleasure of that dear
burden, that he forgot to call for, or to use any aid to bring her
back to life, but trembling with his love and eager passion, he took a
thousand joys, he kissed a thousand times her lukewarm lips, sucked
her short sighs, and ravished all the sweets, her bosom (which was but
guarded with a loose night-gown) yielded his impatient touches. Oh
heaven, who can express the pleasures he received, because no other
way he ever could arrive to so much daring? It was all beyond his
hope; loose were her robes, insensible the maid, and love had made him
insolent, he roved, he kissed, he gazed, without control, forgetting
all respect of persons, or of place, and quite despairing by fair
means to win her, resolves to take this lucky opportunity; the door he
knew was fast, for the counsel she had to ask him admitted of no
lookers-on, so that at his entrance she had secured the pass for him
herself, and being near her bed, when she fell into his arms, at this
last daring thought he lifts her thither, and lays her gently down,
and while he did so, in one minute ran over all the killing joys he
had been witness to, which she had given _Philander_; on which he
never paus'd, but urged by a _Cupid_ altogether malicious and wicked,
he resolves his cowardly conquest, when some kinder god awakened
_Sylvia_, and brought _Octavio_ to the chamber door; who having been
used to a freedom, which was permitted to none but himself, with
_Antonet_ her woman, waiting for admittance, after having knocked
twice softly, _Brittiard_ heard it, and redoubled his disorder, which
from that of love, grew to that of surprise; he knew not what to do,
whether to refuse answering, or to re-establish the reviving sense of
_Sylvia_; in this moment of perplexing thought he failed not however
to set his hair in order, and adjust him, though there were no need of
it, and stepping to the door (after having raised _Sylvia_, leaning
her head on her hand on the bed-side,) he gave admittance to
_Octavio_; but, oh heaven, how was he surprised when he saw it was
_Octavio_? His heart with more force than before redoubled its beats,
that one might easily perceive every stroke by the motion of his
cravat; he blushed, which, to a complexion perfectly fair, as that of
_Brilliard_ (who wants no beauty, either in face or person) was the
more discoverable, add to this his trembling, and you may easily
imagine what a figure he represented himself to _Octavio_; who almost
as much surprised as himself to find the goddess of his vows and
devotions with a young _Endymion_ alone, a door shut to, her gown
loose, which (from the late fit she was in, and _Brilliard_'s rape
upon her bosom) was still open, and discovered a world of unguarded
beauty, which she knew not was in view, with some other disorders of
her headcloths, gave him in a moment a thousand false apprehensions:
_Antonet_ was no less surprised; so that all had their part of
amazement but the innocent _Sylvia_, whose eyes were beautified with a
melancholy calm, which almost set the generous lover at ease, and took
away his new fears; however, he could not choose but ask _Brilliard_
what the matter was with him, he looked so out of countenance, and
trembled so? He told him how _Sylvia_ had been, and what extreme
frights she had possessed him with, and told him the occasion, which
the lovely _Sylvia_ with her eyes and sighs assented to, and
_Brilliard_ departed; how well pleased you may imagine, or with what
gusto he left her to be with the lovely _Octavio_, whom he perceived
too well was a lover in the disguise of a friend. But there are in
love those wonderful lovers who can quench the fire one beauty kindles
with some other object, and as much in love as _Brilliard_ was, he
found _Antonet_ an antidote that dispelled the grosser part of it; for
she was in love with our amorous friend, and courted him with that
passion those of that country do almost all handsome strangers; and
one convenient principle of the religion of that country is, to think
it no sin to be kind while they are single women, though otherwise
(when wives) they are just enough, nor does a woman that manages her
affairs thus discreetly meet with any reproach; of this humour was our
_Antonet_, who pursued her lover out, half jealous there might be some
amorous intrigue between her lady and him, which she sought in vain by
all the feeble arts of her country's sex to get from him; while on the
other side he believing she might be of use in the farther discovery
he desired to make between _Octavio_ and _Sylvia_, not only told her
she herself was the object of his wishes, but gave her substantial
proofs on it, and told her his design, after having her honour for
security that she would be secret, the best pledge a man can take of a
woman: after she had promised to betray all things to him, she
departed to her affairs, and he to giving his lord an account of
_Sylvia_, as he desired, in a letter which came to him with that of
_Sylvia_; and which was thus:

PHILANDER _to_ BRILLIARD.

I doubt not but you will wonder that all this time you have not heard
of me, nor indeed can well excuse it, since I have been in a place
whence with ease I could have sent every post; but a new affair of
gallantry has engaged my thoughtful hours, not that I find any passion
here that has abated one sigh for _Sylvia_; but a man's hours are very
dull, when undiverted by an intrigue of some kind or other, especially
to a heart young and gay as mine is, and which would not, if possible,
bend under the fatigues of more serious thought and business; I should
not tell you this, but that I would have you say all the dilatory
excuses that possibly you can to hinder _Sylvia_'s coming to me, while
I remain in this town, where I design to make my abode but a short
time, and had not stayed at all, but for this stop to my journey, and
I scorn to be vanquished without taking my revenge; it is a sally of
youth, no more--a flash, that blazes for a while, and will go out
without enjoyment. I need not bid you keep this knowledge to yourself,
for I have had too good a confirmation of your faith and friendship to
doubt you now, and believe you have too much respect for _Sylvia_ to
occasion her any disquiet. I long to know how she takes my absence,
send me at large of all that passes, and give your letters to
_Octavio_, for none else shall know where I am, or how to send to me:
be careful of _Sylvia_, and observe her with diligence, for possibly I
should not be extravagantly afflicted to find she was inclined to love
me less for her own ease and mine, since love is troublesome when the
height of it carries it to jealousies, little quarrels, and eternal
discontents; all which beginning lovers prize, and pride themselves on
every distrust of the fond mistress, since it is not only a
demonstration of love in them, but of power and charms in us that
occasion it. But when we no longer find the mistress so desirable, as
our first wishes form her, we value less their opinion of our persons,
and only endeavour to render it agreeable to new beauties, and adorn
it for new conquests; but you, _Brilliard_, have been a lover, and
understand already this philosophy. I need say no more then to a man
who knows so well my soul, but to tell him I am his constant friend.

PHILANDER.

This came as _Brilliard_'s soul could wish, and had he sent him word
he had been chosen King of _Poland_, he could not have received the
news with so great joy, and so perfect a welcome. How to manage this
to his best advantage was the business he was next to consult, after
returning an answer; now he fancied himself sure of the lovely prize,
in spite of all other oppositions: 'For' (says he, in reasoning the
case) 'if she can by degrees arrive to a coldness to _Philander_, and
consider him no longer as a lover, she may perhaps consider me as a
husband; or should she receive _Octavio_'s addresses, when once I have
found her feeble, I will make her pay me for keeping of every secret.'
So either way he entertained a hope, though never so distant from
reason and probability; but all things seem possible to longing
lovers, who can on the least hope resolve to out-wait even eternity
(if possible) in expectation of a promised blessing; and now with more
than usual care he resolved to dress, and set out all his youth and
beauty to the best advantage; and being a gentleman well born, he
wanted no arts of dressing, nor any advantage of shape or mien, to
make it appear well: pleased with this hope, his art was now how to
make his advances without appearing to have designed doing so. And
first to act the hypocrite with his lord was his business; for he
considered rightly, if he should not represent _Sylvia_'s sorrows to
the life, and appear to make him sensible of them, he should not be
after credited if he related any thing to her disadvantage; for to be
the greater enemy, you ought to seem to be the greatest friend. This
was the policy of his heart, who in all things was inspired with
fanatical notions. In order to this, being alone in his chamber, after
the defeat he had in that of _Sylvia_'s, he writ this letter.

BRILLIARD _to_ PHILANDER.

_My Lord,_

You have done me the honour to make me your confidant in an affair
that does not a little surprise me; since I believed, after _Sylvia_,
no mortal beauty could have touched your heart, and nothing but your
own excuses could have sufficed to have made it reasonable; and I only
wish, that when the fatal news shall arrive to _Sylvia_'s ear (as for
me it never shall) that she may think it as pardonable as I do; but I
doubt it will add abundance of grief to what she is already possessed
of, if but such a fear should enter in her tender thoughts. But since
it is not my business, my lord, to advise or counsel, but to obey, I
leave you to all the success of happy love, and will only give you an
account how affairs stand here, since your departure.

That morning you left the _Brill_, and _Sylvia_ in bed, I must disturb
your more serene thoughts with telling you, that her first surprise
and griefs at the news of your departure were most deplorable, where
raging madness and the softer passion of love, complaints of grief,
and anger, sighs, tears and cries were so mixed together, and by turns
so violently seized her, that all about her wept and pitied her: it
was sad, it was wondrous sad, my lord, to see it: nor could we hope
her life, or that she would preserve it if she could; for by many ways
she attempted to have released herself from pain by a violent death,
and those that strove to preserve that, could not hope she would ever
have returned to sense again: sometimes a wild extravagant raving
would require all our aid, and then again she would talk and rail so
tenderly----and express her resentment in the kindest softest words
that ever madness uttered, and all of her _Philander_, till she has
set us all a weeping round her; sometimes she'd sit as calm and still
as death, and we have perceived she lived only by sighs and silent
tears that fell into her bosom; then on a sudden wildly gaze upon us
with eyes that even then had wondrous charms, and frantically survey
us all, then cry aloud, 'Where is my Lord _Philander_!----Oh, bring me
my _Philander_, _Brilliard_: Oh, _Antonet_, where have you hid the
treasure of my soul?' Then, weeping floods of tears, would sink all
fainting in our arms. Anon with trembling words and sighs she'd
cry----'But oh, my dear _Philander_ is no more, you have surrendered
him to _France_----Yes, yes, you have given him up, and he must die,
publicly die, be led a sad victim through the joyful crowd--reproached,
and fall ingloriously----' Then rave again, and tear her lovely hair,
and act such wildness,--so moving and so sad, as even infected the
pitying beholders, and all we could do, was gently to persuade her
grief, and soothe her raving fits; but so we swore, so heartily we
vowed that you were safe, that with the aid of _Octavio_, who came
that day to visit her, we made her capable of hearing a little reason
from us. _Octavio_ kneeled, and begged she would but calmly hear him
speak, he pawned his soul, his honour, and his life, _Philander_ was
as safe from any injury, either from _France_, or any other enemy, as
he, as she, or heaven itself. In fine, my lord, he vowed, he swore,
and pleaded, till she with patience heard him tell his story, and the
necessity of your absence; this brought her temper back, and dried
her eyes, then sighing, answered him----that if for your safety you
were fled, she would forgive your cruelty and your absence, and
endeavour to be herself again: but then she would a thousand times
conjure him not to deceive her faith, by all the friendship that he
bore _Philander_, not to possess her with false hopes; then would he
swear anew; and as he swore, she would behold him with such charming
sadness in her eyes that he almost forgot what he would say, to gaze
upon her, and to pass his pity. But, if with all his power of beauty
and of rhetoric he left her calm, he was no sooner gone, but she
returned to all the tempests of despairing love, to all the unbelief
of faithless passion, would neither sleep, nor eat, nor suffer day
to enter; but all was sad and gloomy as the vault that held the
_Ephesian_ matron, nor suffered she any to approach her but her
page, and Count _Octavio_, and he in the midst of all was well
received: not that I think, my lord, she feigned any part of that
close retirement to entertain him with any freedom, that did not
become a woman of perfect love and honour; though I must own, my lord,
I believe it impossible for him to behold the lovely _Sylvia_, without
having a passion for her. What restraint his friendship to you may put
upon his heart or tongue I know not, but I conclude him a lover,
though without success; what effects that may have upon the heart of
_Sylvia_, only time can render an account of: and whose conduct I
shall the more particularly observe from a curiosity natural to me, to
see if it may be possible for _Sylvia_ to love again, after the
adorable _Philander_, which levity in one so perfect would cure me of
the disease of love, while I lived amongst the fickle sex: but since
no such thought can yet get possession of my belief, I humbly beg your
lordship will entertain no jealousy, that may be so fatal to your
repose, and to that of _Sylvia_; doubt not but my fears proceed
perfectly from the zeal I have for your lordship, for whose honour and
tranquillity none shall venture so far as, my lord, your lordship's
most humble and obedient servant,

BRILLIARD.

POSTSCRIPT.

_My lord, the groom shall set forward with your coach horses tomorrow
morning, according to your order_.

Having writ this, he read it over; not to see whether it were witty or
eloquent, or writ up to the sense of so good a judge as _Philander_,
but to see whether he had cast it for his purpose; for there his
masterpiece was to be shewn; and having read it, he doubted whether
the relation of _Sylvia_'s griefs were not too moving, and whether
they might not serve to revive his fading love, which were intended
only as a demonstration of his own pity and compassion, that from
thence the deceived lover might with the more ease entertain a belief
in what he hinted of her levity, when he was to make that out, as he
now had but touched upon it, for he would not have it thought the
business of malice to _Sylvia_, but duty and respect to _Philander_:
that thought reconciled him to the first part without alteration; and
he fancied he had said enough in the latter, to give any man of love
and sense a jealousy which might inspire a young lover in pursuit of a
new mistress, with a revenge that might wholly turn to his advantage;
for now every ray gave him light enough to conduct him to hope, and he
believed nothing too difficult for his love, nor what his invention
could not conquer: he fancied himself a very _Machiavel_ already, and
almost promised himself the charming _Sylvia_. With these thoughts he
seals up his letters, and hastes to _Sylvia_'s chamber for her farther
commands, having in his politic transports forgotten he had left
_Octavio_ with her. _Octavio_, who no sooner had seen _Brilliard_ quit
the chamber all trembling and disordered, after having given him
entrance, but the next step was to the feet of the new recovered
languishing beauty, who not knowing any thing of the freedom the
daring husband lover had taken, was not at all surprised to hear
_Octavio_ cry (kneeling before her) 'Ah madam, I no longer wonder you
use _Octavio_ with such rigour;' then sighing declined his melancholy
eyes, where love and jealousy made themselves too apparent; while she
believing he had only reproached her want of ceremony at his entrance,
checking herself, she started from the bed, and taking him by the hand
to raise him, she cried, 'Rise, my lord, and pardon the omission of
that respect which was not wanting but with even life itself.'
_Octavio_ answered, 'Yes, madam, but you took care, not to make the
world absolutely unhappy in your eternal loss, and therefore made
choice of such a time to die in, when you were sure of a skilful
person at hand to bring you back to life'--'My lord----' said she
(with an innocent wonder in her eyes, and an ignorance that did not
apprehend him) 'I mean, _Brilliard_,' said he, 'whom I found
sufficiently disordered to make me believe he took no little pains to
restore you to the world again.' This he spoke with such an air, as
easily made her imagine he was a lover to the degree of jealousy, and
therefore (beholding him with a look that told him her disdain before
she spoke) she replied hastily, 'My lord, if _Brilliard_ have
expressed, by any disorder or concern, his kind sense of my
sufferings, I am more obliged to him for it, than I am to you for your
opinion of my virtue; and I shall hereafter know how to set a value
both on the one and the other, since what he wants in quality and
ability to serve me, he sufficiently makes good with his respect and
duty.' At that she would have quitted him, but he (still kneeling)
held her train of her gown, and besought her, with all the eloquence
of moving and petitioning love, that she would pardon the effect of a
passion that could not run into less extravagancy at a sight so new
and strange, as that she should in a morning, with only her night-gown
thrown loosely about her lovely body, and which left a thousand charms
to view, alone receive a man into her chamber, and make fast the door
upon them, which when (from his importunity) it was opened he found
her all ruffled, and almost fainting on her bed, and a young blushing
youth start from her arms, with trembling limbs, and a heart that beat
time to the tune of active love, faltering in his speech, as if scarce
yet he had recruited the sense he had so happily lost in the amorous
encounter: with that, surveying of herself, as she stood, in a great
glass, which she could not hinder herself from doing, she found indeed
her night-linen, her gown, and the bosom of her shift in such
disorder, as, if at least she had yet any doubt remaining that
_Brilliard_ had not treated her well, she however found cause enough
to excuse _Octavio_'s opinion: weighing all the circumstances
together, and adjusting her linen and gown with blushes that almost
appeared criminal, she turned to _Octavio_, who still held her, and
still begged her pardon, assuring him, upon her honour, her love to
_Philander_, and her friendship for him, that she was perfectly
innocent, and that _Brilliard_, though he should have quality and all
other advantages which he wanted to render him acceptable, yet there
was in nature something which compelled her to a sort of coldness and
disgust to his person; for she had so much the more abhorrence to him
as he was a husband, but that was a secret to _Octavio_; but she
continued speaking--and cried, 'No, could I be brought to yield to any
but _Philander_, I own I find charms enough in _Octavio_ to make a
conquest; but since the possession of that dear man is all I ask of
heaven, I charge my soul with a crime, when I but hear love from any
other, therefore I conjure you, if you have any satisfaction in my
conversation, never to speak of love more to me, for if you do, honour
will oblige me to make vows against seeing you: all the freedoms of
friendship I will allow, give you the liberties of a brother, admit
you alone by night, or any way but that of love; but that is a reserve
of my soul which is only for _Philander_, and the only one that ever
shall be kept from _Octavio_.' She ended speaking, and raised him with
a smile; and he with a sigh told her, she must command: then she fell
to telling him how she had sent for _Brilliard_, and all the discourse
that passed; with the reason of her falling into a swoon, in which she
continued a moment or two; and while she told it she blushed with a
secret fear, that in that trance some freedoms might be taken which
she durst not confess: but while she spoke, our still more passionate
lover devoured her with his eyes, fixed his very soul upon her charms
of speaking and looking, and was a thousand times (urged by
transporting passion) ready to break all her dictates, and vow himself
her eternal slave; but he feared the result, and therefore kept
himself within the bounds of seeming friendship; so that after a
thousand things she said of _Philander_, he took his leave to go to
dinner; but as he was going out he saw _Brilliard_ enter, who, as I
said, had forgot he left _Octavio_ with her; but in a moment
recollecting himself, he blushed at the apprehension, that they might
make his disorder the subject of their discourse; so what with that,
and the sight of the dear object of his late disappointed pleasures,
he had much ado to assume an assurance to approach; but _Octavio_
passed out, and gave him a little release. _Sylvia_'s confusion was
almost equal to his, for she looked on him as a ravisher; but how to
find that truth which she was very curious to know, she called up all
the arts of women to instruct her in; by threats she knew it was in
vain, therefore she assumed an artifice, which indeed was almost a
stranger to her heart, that of jilting him out of a secret which she
knew he wanted generosity to give handsomely; and meeting him with a
smile, which she forced, she cried, 'How now, _Brilliard_, are you so
faint-hearted a soldier, you cannot see a lady die without being
terrified?' 'Rather, madam,' (replied he blushing anew) 'so
soft-hearted, I cannot see the loveliest person in the world fainting
in my arms, without being disordered with grief and fear, beyond the
power of many days to resettle again.' At which she approached him,
who stood near the door, and shutting it, she took him by the hand,
and smiling, cried, 'And had you no other business for your heart but
grief and fear, when a fair lady throws herself into your arms? It
ought to have had some kinder effect on a person of _Brilliard_'s
youth and complexion.' And while she spoke this she held him by the
wrist, and found on the sudden his pulse to beat more high, and his
heart to heave his bosom with sighs, which now he no longer took care
to hide, but with a transported joy, he cried, 'Oh madam, do not urge
me to a confession that must undo me, without making it criminal by my
discovery of it; you know I am your slave----' when she with a pretty
wondering smile, cried--'What, a lover too, and yet so dull!' 'Oh
charming _Sylvia_,' (says he, and falling on his knees) 'give my
profound respect a kinder name:' to which she answered,--'You that
know your sentiments may best instruct me by what name to call them,
and you _Brilliard_ may do it without fear----You saw I did not
struggle in your arms, nor strove I to defend the kisses which you
gave----' 'Oh heavens,' cried he, transported with what she said, 'is
it possible that you could know of my presumption, and favour it too?
I will no longer then curse those unlucky stars that sent _Octavio_
just in the blessed minute to snatch me from my heaven, the lovely
victim lay ready for the sacrifice, all prepared to offer; my hands,
my eyes, my lips were tired with pleasure, but yet they were not
satisfied; oh there was joy beyond those ravishments, of which one
kind minute more had made me absolute lord:' 'Yes, and the next,' said
she, 'had sent this to your heart'----snatching a penknife that lay on
her toilet, where she had been writing, which she offered so near to
his bosom, that he believed himself already pierced, so sensibly
killing her words, her motion, and her look; he started from her, and
she threw away the knife, and walked a turn or two about the chamber,
while he stood immovable, with his eyes fixed on the earth, and his
thoughts on nothing but a wild confusion, which he vowed afterwards he
could give no account of. But as she turned she beheld him with some
compassion, and remembering how he had it in his power to expose her
in a strange country, and own her for a wife, she believed it
necessary to hide her resentments; and cried, '_Brilliard_, for the
friendship your lord has for you I forgive you; but have a care you
never raise your thoughts to a presumption of that nature more: do not
hope I will ever fall below _Philander_'s love; go and repent your
crime----and expect all things else from my favour----' At this he
left her with a bow that had some malice in it, and she returned into
her dressing-room.--After dinner _Octavio_ writes her this letter,
which his page brought.

OCTAVIO _to_ SYLVIA.

_Madam_,

'Tis true, that in obedience to your commands, I begged your pardon
for the confession I made you of my passion: but since you could not
but see the contradiction of my tongue in my eyes, and hear it but too
well confirmed by my sighs, why will you confine me to the formalities
of a silent languishment, unless to increase my flame with my pain?

You conjure me to see you often, and at the same time forbid me
speaking my passion, and this bold intruder comes to tell you now, it
is impossible to obey the first, without disobliging the last; and
since the crime of adoring you exceeds my disobedience in not waiting
on you, be pleased at least to pardon that fault, which my profound
respect to the lovely _Sylvia_ makes me commit; for it is impossible
to see you, and not give you an occasion of reproaching me: if I could
make a truce with my eyes, and, like a mortified capuchin, look always
downwards, not daring to behold the glorious temptations of your
beauty, yet you wound a thousand ways besides; your touches inflame
me, and your voice has music in it, that strikes upon my soul with
ravishing tenderness; your wit is unresistible and piercing; your very
sorrows and complaints have charms that make me soft without the aid
of love: but pity joined with passion raises a flame too mighty for my
conduct! And I in transports every way confess it: yes, yes, upbraid
me, call me traitor and ungrateful, tell me my friendship is false;
but, _Sylvia_, yet be just, and say my love was true, say only he had
seen the charming _Sylvia_; and who is he that after that would not
excuse the rest in one so absolutely born to be undone by love, as is
her destined slave,

OCTAVIO.

POSTSCRIPT.

_Madam, among some rarities I this morning saw, I found these trifles_
Florio _brings you, which because uncommon I presume to send you._

_Sylvia_, notwithstanding the seeming severity of her commands, was
well enough pleased to be disobeyed; and women never pardon any fault
more willingly than one of this nature, where the crime gives so
infallible a demonstration of their power and beauty; nor can any of
their sex be angry in their hearts for being thought desirable; and it
was not with pain that she saw him obstinate in his passion, as you
may believe by her answering his letters, nor ought any lover to
despair when he receives denial under his mistress's own hand, which
she sent in this to _Octavio_.

SYLVIA _to_ OCTAVIO.

You but ill judge of my wit, or humour, _Octavio_, when you send me
such a present, and such a billet, if you believe I either receive the
one, or the other, as you designed: in obedience to me you will no
more tell me of your love, and yet at the same time you are breaking
your word from one end of the paper to the other. Out of respect to me
you will see me no more, and yet are bribing me with presents,
believing you have found out the surest way to a woman's heart. I must
needs confess, _Octavio_, there is great eloquence in a pair of
bracelets of five thousand crowns: it is an argument to prove your
passion, that has more prevailing reason in it, than either _Seneca_
or _Tully_ could have urged; nor can a lover write or speak in any
language so significant, and very well to be understood, as in that
silent one of presenting. The malicious world has a long time agreed
to reproach poor women with cruel, unkind, insensible, and dull; when
indeed it is those men that are in fault who want the right way of
addressing, the true and secret arts of moving, that sovereign remedy
against disdain. It is you alone, my lord, like a young _Columbus_,
that have found the direct, unpractised way to that little and so much
desired world, the favour of the fair; nor could love himself have
pointed his arrows with any thing more successful for his conquest of
hearts: but mine, my lord, like _Scaeva_'s shield, is already so full
of arrows, shot from _Philander_'s eyes, it has no room for any other
darts: take back your presents then, my lord, and when you make them
next be sure you first consider the receiver: for know, _Octavio_,
maids of my quality ought to find themselves secure from addresses of
this nature, unless they first invite. You ought to have seen advances
in my freedoms, consenting in my eyes, or (that usual vanity of my
sex) a thousand little trifling arts of affectation to furnish out a
conquest, a forward complaisance to every gaudy coxcomb, to fill my
train with amorous cringing captives, this might have justified your
pretensions; but on the contrary, my eyes and thoughts, which never
strayed from the dear man I love, were always bent to earth when gazed
upon by you; and when I did but fear you looked with love, I
entertained you with _Philander_'s, praise, his wondrous beauty, and
his wondrous love, and left nothing untold that might confirm you how
much impossible it was, I ever should love again, that I might leave
you no room for hope; and since my story has been so unfortunate to
alarm the whole world with a conduct so fatal, I made no scruple of
telling you with what joy and pride I was undone; if this encourage
you, if _Octavio_ have sentiments so meanly poor of me, to think,
because I yielded to _Philander_, his hopes should be advanced, I
banish him for ever from my sight, and after that disdain the little
service he can render the never to be altered

SYLVIA.

This letter she sent him back by his page, but not the bracelets,
which were indeed very fine, and very considerable: at the same time
she threatened him with banishment, she so absolutely expected to be
disobeyed in all things of that kind, that she dressed herself that
day to advantage, which since her arrival she had never done in her
own habits: what with her illness, and _Philander_'s absence, a
careless negligence had seized her, till roused and weakened to the
thoughts of beauty by _Octavio_'s love, she began to try its force,
and that day dressed. While she was so employed, the page hastes with
the letter to his lord, who changed colour at the sight of it ere he
received it; not that he hoped it brought love, it was enough she
would but answer, though she railed: 'Let her' (said he opening it)
'vow she hates me: let her call me traitor, and unjust, so she take
the pains to tell it this way;' for he knew well those that argue will
yield, and only she that sends him back his own letters without
reading them can give despair. He read therefore without a sigh, nor
complained he on her rigours; and because it was too early yet to make
his visit, to shew the impatience of his love, as much as the reality
and resolution of it, he bid his page wait, and sent her back this
answer.

OCTAVIO _to_ SYLVIA.

Fair angry _Sylvia_, how has my love offended? Has its excess betrayed
the least part of that respect due to your birth and beauty? Though I
am young as the gay ruddy morning, and vigorous as the gilded sun at
noon, and amorous as that god, when with such haste he chased young
_Daphne_ over the flowery plain, it never made me guilty of a thought
that _Sylvia_ might not pity and allow. Nor came that trifling present
to plead for any wish, or mend my eloquence, which you with such
disdain upbraid me with; the bracelets came not to be raffled for your
love, nor pimp to my desires: youth scorns those common aids; no, let
dull age pursue those ways of merchandise, who only buy up hearts at
that vain price, and never make a barter, but a purchase. Youth has a
better way of trading in love's markets, and you have taught me too
well to judge of, and to value beauty, to dare to bid so cheaply for
it: I found the toy was gay, the work was neat, and fancy new; and
know not any thing they would so well adorn as _Sylvia_'s lovely
hands: I say, if after this I should have been the mercenary fool to
have dunned you for return, you might have used me thus----Condemn me
ere you find me sin in thought! That part of it was yet so far behind
it was scarce arrived in wish. You should have stayed till it
approached more near, before you damned it to eternal silence. To
love, to sigh, to weep, to pray, and to complain; why one may be
allowed it in devotion; but you, nicer than heaven itself, make that a
crime, which all the powers divine have never decreed one. I will not
plead, nor ask you leave to love; love is my right, my business, and
my province; the empire of the young, the vigorous, and the bold; and
I will claim my share; the air, the groves, the shades are mine to
sigh in, as well as your _Philander_'s; the echoes answer me as
willingly, when I complain, or name the cruel _Sylvia_; fountains
receive my tears, and the kind spring's reflection agreeably flatters
me to hope, and makes me vain enough to think it just and reasonable I
should pursue the dictates of my soul----love on in spite of
opposition, because I will not lose my privileges; you may forbid me
naming it to you, in that I can obey, because I can; but not to love!
Not to adore the fair! And not to languish for you, were as impossible
as for you not to be lovely, not to be the most charming of your sex.
But I am so far from a pretending fool, because you have been
possessed, that often that thought comes cross my soul, and checks my
advancing love; and I would buy that thought off with almost all my
share of future bliss! Were I a god, the first great miracle should be
to form you a maid again: for oh, whatever reasons flattering love can
bring to make it look like just, the world! The world, fair _Sylvia_,
still will censure, and say----you were to blame; but it was that
fault alone that made you mortal, we else should have adored you as a
deity, and so have lost a generous race of young succeeding heroes
that may be born of you! Yet had _Philander_ loved but half so well as
I, he would have kept your glorious fame entire; but since alone for
_Sylvia_ I love _Sylvia_, let her be false to honour, false to love,
wanton and proud, ill-natured, vain, fantastic, or what is worse--let
her pursue her love, be constant, and still dote upon _Philander_--yet
still she will be the _Sylvia_ I adore, that _Sylvia_ born eternally
to enslave

OCTAVIO.

This he sent by _Florio_ his page, at the same time that she expected
the visit of his lord, and blushed with a little anger and concern at
the disappointment; however she hasted to read the letter, and was
pleased with the haughty resolution he made in spite of her, to love
on as his right by birth; and she was glad to find from these positive
resolves that she might the more safely disdain, or at least assume a
tyranny which might render her virtue glorious, and yet at the same
time keep him her slave on all occasions when she might have need of
his service, which, in the circumstances she was in, she did not know
of what great use it might be to her, she having no other design on
him, bating the little vanity of her sex, which is an ingredient so
intermixed with the greatest virtues of women-kind, that those who
endeavour to cure them of that disease rob them of a very considerable
pleasure, and in most it is incurable: give _Sylvia_ then leave to
share it with her sex, since she was so much the more excusable, by
how much a greater portion of beauty she had than any other, and had
sense enough to know it too; as indeed whatever other knowledge they
want, they have still enough to set a price on beauty, though they do
not always rate it; for had _Sylvia_ done that, she had been the
happiest of her sex: but as she was she waited the coming of
_Octavio_, but not so as to make her quit one sad thought for
_Philanders_ love and vanity, though they both reigned in her soul;
yet the first surmounted the last, and she grew to impatient ravings
whenever she cast a thought upon her fear that _Philander_ grew cold;
and possibly pride and vanity had as great a share in that concern of
hers as love itself, for she would oft survey herself in her glass,
and cry, 'Gods! Can this beauty be despised? This shape! This face!
This youth! This air! And what's more obliging yet, a heart that
adores the fugitive, that languishes and sighs after the dear runaway.
Is it possible he can find a beauty,' added she, 'of greater
perfection----But oh, it is fancy sets the rate on beauty, and he may
as well love a third time as he has a second. For in love, those that
once break the rules and laws of that deity, set no bounds to their
treasons and disobedience. Yes, yes,----' would she cry, 'He that
could leave _Myrtilla_, the fair, the young, the noble, chaste and
fond _Myrtilla_, what after that may he not do to _Sylvia_, on whom he
has less ties, less obligations? Oh wretched maid----what has thy
fondness done, he is satiated now with thee, as before with
_Myrtilla_, and carries all those dear, those charming joys, to some
new beauty, whom his looks have conquered, and whom his soft
bewitching vows will ruin.' With that she raved and stamped, and cried
aloud, 'Hell----fires----tortures----daggers----racks and
poison----come all to my relief! Revenge me on the perjured lovely
devil----But I will be brave----I will be brave and hate him----' This
she spoke in a tone less fierce, and with great pride, and had not
paused and walked above a hasty turn or two, but _Octavio_, as
impatient as love could make him, entered the chamber, so dressed, so
set out for conquest, that I wonder at nothing more than that _Sylvia_
did not find him altogether charming, and fit for her revenge, who was
formed by nature for love, and had all that could render him the
dotage of women: but where a heart is prepossessed, all that is
beautiful in any other man serves but as an ill comparison to what it
loves, and even _Philander_'s likeness, that was not indeed
_Philander_, wanted the secret to charm. At _Octavio_'s entrance she
was so fixed on her revenge of love, that she did not see him, who
presented himself as so proper an instrument, till he first sighing
spoke, 'Ah, _Sylvia_, shall I never see that beauty easy more? Shall I
never see it reconciled to content, and a soft calmness fixed upon
those eyes, which were formed for looks all tender and serene; or are
they resolved' (continued he, sighing) 'never to appear but in storms
when I approach?' 'Yes,' replied she, 'when there is a calm of love in
yours that raises it.' 'Will you confine my eyes,' said he, 'that are
by nature soft? May not their silent language tell you my heart's sad
story?' But she replied with a sigh, 'It is not generously done,
_Octavio_, thus to pursue a poor unguarded maid, left to your care,
your promises of friendship. Ah, will you use _Philander_ with such
treachery?' 'Sylvia,' said he,'my flame is so just and reasonable,
that I dare even to him pronounce I love you; and after that dare love
you on----' 'And would you' (said she) 'to satisfy a little short
lived passion, forfeit those vows you have made of friendship to
_Philander_? 'That heart that loves you, Sylvia,' (he replied) 'cannot
be guilty of so base a thought; _Philander_ is my friend, and as he is
so, shall know the dearest secrets of my soul. I should believe myself
indeed ungrateful' (continued he) 'wherever I loved, should I not tell
_Philander_; he told me frankly all his soul, his loves, his griefs,
his treasons, and escapes, and in return I will pay him back with
mine.' 'And do you imagine' (said she) 'that he would permit your
love?' 'How should he hinder me?' (replied he.) 'I do believe' (said
she) 'he'd forget all his safety and his friendship, and fight you.'
'Then I'd defend myself,' (said he) 'if he were so ungrateful.' While
they thus argued, _Sylvia_ had her thoughts apart, on the little
stratagems that women in love sometimes make use of; and _Octavio_ no
sooner told her he would send _Philander_ word of his love, but she
imagined that such a knowledge might retrieve the heart of her lover,
if indeed it were on the wing, and revive the dying embers in his
soul, as usually it does from such occasions; and on the other side,
she thought that she might more allowably receive _Octavio_'s
addresses, when they were with the permission of _Philander_, if he
could love so well to permit it; and if he could not, she should have
the joy to undeceive her fears of his inconstancy, though she banished
for ever the agreeable _Octavio_; so that on _Octavio_'s farther
urging the necessity of his giving _Philander_ that sure mark of his
friendship she permitted him to write, which he immediately did on her
table, where there stood a little silver escritoire which contained
all things for this purpose.

OCTAVIO _to_ PHILANDER.

_My Lord_,

Since I have vowed you my eternal friendship, and that I absolutely
believe myself honoured with that of yours, I think myself obliged by
those powerful ties to let you know my heart, not only now as that
friend from whom I ought to conceal nothing, but as a rival too, whom
in honour I ought to treat as a generous one: perhaps you will be so
unkind as to say I cannot be a friend and a rival at the same time,
and that almighty love, that sets the world at odds, chases all things
from the heart where that reigns, to establish itself the more
absolutely there; but, my lord, I avow mine a love of that good
nature, that can endure the equal sway of friendship, where like two
perfect friends they support each other's empire there; nor can the
glory of one eclipse that of the other, but both, like the notion we
have of the deity, though two distinct passions, make but one in my
soul; and though friendship first entered, 'twas in vain, I called it
to my aid, at the first soft invasion of _Sylvia_'s power; and you my
charming friend, are the most oblig'd to pity me, who already know so
well the force of her beauty. I would fain have you think, I strove at
first with all my reason against the irresistible lustre of her eyes:
and at the first assaults of love, I gave him not a welcome to my
bosom, but like slaves unused to fetters, I grew sullen with my
chains, and wore them for your sake uneasily. I thought it base to
look upon the mistress of my friend with wishing eyes; but softer love
soon furnished me with arguments to justify my claim, since love is
not the choice but the face of the soul, who seldom regards the object
lov'd as it is, but as it wishes to have it be, and then kind fancy
makes it soon the same. Love, that almighty creator of something from
nothing, forms a wit, a hero, or a beauty, virtue, good humour,
honour, any excellence, when oftentimes there is neither in the
object, but where the agreeing world has fixed all these; and since it
is by all resolved, (whether they love or not) that this is she, you
ought no more, _Philander_, to upbraid my flame, than to wonder at it:
it is enough I tell you that it is _Sylvia_ to justify my passion; nor
is it a crime that I confess I love, since it can never rob
_Philander_ of the least part of what I have vowed him: or if his mere
honour will believe me guilty of a fault, let this atone for all, that
if I wrong my friend in loving _Sylvia_, I right him in despairing;
for oh, I am repulsed with all the rigour of the coy and fair, with
all the little malice of the witty sex, and all the love of _Sylvia_
to _Philander_----There, there is the stop to all my hopes and
happiness, and yet by heaven I love thee, oh thou favoured rival!

After this frank confession, my _Philander_, I should be glad to hear
your sentiment, since yet, in spite of love, in spite of beauty, I am
resolved to die _Philander_'s constant friend,

OCTAVIO.

After he had writ this, he gave it to _Sylvia_: 'See charming
creature' (said he in delivering it) 'if after this you either doubt
my love, or what I dare for _Sylvia_.' 'I neither receive it' (said
she) 'as a proof of the one or the other; but rather that you believe,
by this frank confession, to render it as a piece of gallantry and
diversion to _Philander_; for no man of sense will imagine that love
true, or arrived to any height, that makes a public confession of it
to his rival.' 'Ah, _Sylvia_,' answered he, 'how malicious is your
wit, and how active to turn its pointed mischief on me! Had I not
writ, you would have said I durst not; and when I make a declaration
of it, you call it only a slight piece of gallantry: but, _Sylvia_,
you have wit enough to try it a thousand ways, and power enough to
make me obey; use the extremity of both, so you recompense me at last
with a confession that I was at least found worthy to be numbered in
the crowd of your adorers.' _Sylvia_ replied, 'He were a dull lover
indeed, that would need instructions from the wit of his mistress to
give her proofs of his passion; whatever opinion you have of my sense,
I have too good a one of _Octavio_'s to believe, that when he is a
lover he will want aids to make it appear; till then we will let that
argument alone, and consider his address to _Philander_.' She then
read over the letter he had writ, which she liked very well for her
purpose; for at this time our young _Dutch hero_ was made a property
of in order to her revenge on _Philander_: she told him, he had said
too much both for himself and her. He told her, he had declared
nothing with his pen, that he would not make good with his sword.
'Hold, sir,' said she, 'and do not imagine from the freedom you have
taken in owning your passion to _Philander_, that I shall allow it
here: what you declare to the world is your own crime; but when I hear
it, it is no longer yours but mine; I therefore conjure you, my lord,
not to charge my soul with so great a sin against _Philander_, and I
confess to you, I shall be infinitely troubled to be obliged to banish
you my sight for ever.' He heard her, and answered with a sigh; for
she went from him to the table, and sealed her letter, and gave it him
to be enclosed to _Philander_, and left him to consider on her last
words, which he did not lay to heart, because he fancied she spoke
this as women do that will be won with industry: he, in standing up as
she went from him, saw himself in the great glass, and bid his person
answer his heart, which from every view he took was reinforced with
new hope, for he was too good a judge of beauty not to find it in
every part of his own amiable person, nor could he imagine from
_Sylvia_'s eyes, which were naturally soft and languishing, (and now
the more so from her fears and jealousies) that she meant from her
heart the rigours she expressed: much he allowed for his short time of
courtship, much to her sex's modesty, much from her quality, and very
much from her love, and imagined it must be only time and assiduity,
opportunity and obstinate passion, that were capable of reducing her
to break her faith with _Philander_; he therefore endeavour'd by all
the good dressing, the advantage of lavish gaiety, to render his
person agreeable, and by all the arts of gallantry to charm her with
his conversation, and when he could handsomely bring in love, he
failed not to touch upon it as far as it would be permitted, and every
day had the vanity to fancy he made some advances; for indeed every
day more and more she found she might have use for so considerable a
person, so that one may very well say, never any passed their time
better than _Sylvia_ and _Octavio_, though with different ends. All he
had now to fear was from the answer _Philander_'s letter should bring,
for whom he had, in spite of love, so entire a friendship, that he
even doubted whether (if _Philander_ could urge reasons potent enough)
he should not choose to die and quit Sylvia, rather than be false to
friendship; one post passed, and another, and so eight successive
ones, before they received one word of answer to what they sent; so
that _Sylvia_, who was the most impatient of her sex, and the most in
love, was raving and acting all the extravagance of despair, and even
_Octavio_ now became less pleasing, yet he failed not to visit her
every day, to send her rich presents, and to say all that a fond
lover, or a faithful friend might urge for her relief: at last
_Octavio_ received this following letter.

PHILANDER _to_ OCTAVIO.

You have shewed, _Octavio_, a freedom so generous, and so beyond the
usual measures of a rival, that it were almost injustice in me not to
permit you to love on; if _Sylvia_ can be false to me, and all her
vows, she is not worth preserving; if she prefer _Octavio_ to
_Philander_, then he has greater merit, and deserves her best: but if
on the contrary she be just, if she be true, and constant, I cannot
fear his love will injure me, so either way _Octavio_ has my leave to
love the charming _Sylvia_; alas, I know her power, and do not wonder
at thy fate! For it is as natural for her to conquer, as 'tis for
youth to yield; oh, she has fascination in her eyes! A spell upon her
tongue, her wit's a philtre, and her air and motion all snares for
heedless hearts; her very faults have charms, her pride, her
peevishness, and her disdain, have unresisted power. Alas, you find it
every day--and every night she sweeps the tour along and shews the
beauty, she enslaves the men, and rivals all the women! How oft with
pride and anger I have seen it; and was the unconsidering coxcomb then
to rave and rail at her, to curse her charms, her fair inviting and
perplexing charms, and bullied every gazer: by heaven I could not
spare a smile, a look, and she has such a lavish freedom in her
humour, that if you chance to love as I have done--it will surely make
thee mad; if she but talked aloud, or put her little affectation on,
to show the force of beauty, oh God! How lost in rage! How mad with
jealousy, was my fond breaking heart! My eyes grew fierce, and
clamorous my tongue! And I have scarce contained myself from hurting
what I so much adored; but then the subtle charmer had such arts to
flatter me to peace again--to clasp her lovely arms about my neck--to
sigh a thousand dear confirming vows into my bosom, and kiss, and
smile, and swear--and take away my rage,--and then--oh my _Octavio_,
no human fancy can present the joy of the dear reconciling moment,
where little quarrels raised the rapture higher, and she was always
new. These are the wondrous pains, and wondrous pleasures that love by
turns inspires, till it grows wise by time and repetition, and then
the god assumes a serious gravity, enjoyment takes off the uneasy
keenness of the passion, the little jealous quarrels rise no more;
quarrels, the very feathers of love's darts, that send them with more
swiftness to the heart; and when they cease, your transports lessen
too, then we grow reasonable, and consider; we love with prudence
then, as fencers fight with foils; a sullen brush perhaps sometimes or
so; but nothing that can touch the heart, and when we are arrived to
love at that dull, easy rate, we never die of that disease; then we
have recourse to all the little arts, the aids of flatterers, and dear
dissimulation, (that help-meet to the lukewarm lover) to keep up a
good character of constancy, and a right understanding.

Thus, _Octavio_, I have ran through both the degrees of love; which I
have taken so often, that I am grown most learned and able in the art;
my easy heart is of the constitution of those, whom frequent sickness
renders apt to take relapses from every little cause, or wind that
blows too fiercely on them; it renders itself to the first effects of
new surprising beauty, and finds such pleasure in beginning passion,
such dear delight of fancying new enjoyment, that all past loves, past
vows and obligations, have power to bind no more; no pity, no remorse,
no threatening danger invades my amorous course; I scour along the
flow'ry plains of love, view all the charming prospect at a distance,
which represents itself all gay and glorious! And long to lay me down,
to stretch and bask in those dear joys that fancy makes so ravishing:
nor am I one of those dull whining slaves, whom quality or my respect
can awe into a silent cringer, and no more; no, love, youth, and oft
success has taught me boldness and art, desire and cunning to attack,
to search the feeble side of female weakness, and there to play love's
engines; for women will be won, they will, _Octavio_, if love and wit
find any opportunity.

Perhaps, my friend, you are wondering now, what this discourse, this
odd discovery of my own inconstancy tends to? Then since I cannot
better pay you back the secret you had told me of your love, than by
another of my own; take this confession from thy friend----I
love!----languish! And am dying,----for a new beauty. To you,
_Octavio_, you that have lived twenty dull tedious years, and never
understood the mystery of love, till _Sylvia_ taught you to adore,
this change may seem a wonder; you that have lazily run more than half
your youth's gay course of life away, without the pleasure of one
nobler hour of mine; who, like a miser, hoard your sacred store, or
scantily have dealt it but to one, think me a lavish prodigal in love,
and gravely will reproach me with inconstancy----but use me like a
friend, and hear my story.

It happened in my last day's journey on the road I overtook a man of
quality, for so his equipage confessed; we joined and fell into
discourse of many things indifferent, till, from a chain of one thing
to another, we chanced to talk of _France_, and of the factions there,
and I soon found him a _Cesarian_; for he grew hot with his concern
for that prince, and fiercely owned his interest: this pleased me, and
I grew familiar with him; and I pleased him so well in my devotion for
_Cesario_, that being arrived at _Cologne_ he invites me home to his
palace, which he begged I would make use of as my own during my stay
at _Cologne_. Glad of the opportunity I obeyed, and soon informed
myself by a _Spanish_ page (that waited on him) to whom I was obliged;
he told me it was the Count of _Clarinau_, a _Spaniard_ born, and of
quality, who for some disgust at Court retired hither; that he was a
person of much gravity, a great politician, and very rich; and though
well in years was lately married to a very beautiful young lady, and
that very much against her consent; a lady whom he had taken out of a
monastery, where she had been pensioned from a child, and of whom he
was so fond and jealous, he never would permit her to see or be seen
by any man: and if she took the air in her coach, or went to church,
he obliged her to wear a veil. Having learned thus much of the boy, I
dismissed him with a present; for he had already inspired me with
curiosity, that prologue to love, and I knew not of what use he might
be hereafter; a curiosity that I was resolved to satisfy, though I
broke all the laws of hospitality, and even that first night I felt an
impatience that gave me some wonder. In fine, three days I languished
out in a disorder that was very nearly allied to that of love. I found
myself magnificently lodged; attended with a formal ceremony; and
indeed all things were as well as I could imagine, bating a kind
opportunity to get a sight of this young beauty: now half a lover
grown, I sighed and grew oppressed with thought, and had recourse to
groves, to shady walks and fountains, of which the delicate gardens
afforded variety, the most resembling nature that ever art produced,
and of the most melancholy recesses, fancying there, in some lucky
hour, I might encounter what I already so much adored in _Idea_, which
still I formed just as my fancy wished; there, for the first two days
I walked and sighed, and told my new-born passion to every gentle wind
that played among the boughs; for yet no lady bright appeared beneath
them, no visionary nymph the groves afforded; but on the third day,
all full of love and stratagem, in the cool of the evening, I passed
into a thicket near a little rivulet, that purled and murmured through
the glade, and passed into the meads; this pleased and fed my present
amorous humour, and down I laid myself on the shady brink, and
listened to its melancholy glidings, when from behind me I heard a
sound more ravishing, a voice that sung these words:

  Alas, in vain, you pow'rs above,
       You gave me youth, you gave me charms,
  And ev'ry tender sense of love;
       To destine me to old _Phileno_'s arms.
  Ah how can youth's gay spring allow
  The chilling kisses of the winter's snow!

  All night I languish by his side,
       And fancy joys I never taste;
  As men in dreams a feast provide,

       And waking find, with grief they fast.
  Either, ye gods, my youthful fires allay,
  Or make the old _Phileno_ young and gay.

  Like a fair flower in shades obscurity,
       Though every sweet adorns my head,
  Ungather'd, unadmired I lie,
       And wither on my silent gloomy bed,
  While no kind aids to my relief appear,
  And no kind bosom makes me triumph there.

By this you may easily guess, as I soon did, that the song was sung by
Madam the Countess of _Clarinau_, as indeed it was; at the very
beginning of her song my joyful soul divined it so! I rose, and
advanced by such slow degrees, as neither alarmed the fair singer, nor
hindered me the pleasure of hearing any part of the song, till I
approached so near as (behind the shelter of some jessamine that
divided us) I, unseen, completed those wounds at my eyes, which I had
received before at my ears. Yes, _Ociavio_, I saw the lovely
_Clarinau_ leaning on a pillow made of some of those jessamines which
favoured me, and served her for a canopy. But, oh my friend! How shall
I present her to thee in that angel form she then appeared to me? All
young! All ravishing as new-born light to lost benighted travellers;
her face, the fairest in the world, was adorned with curls of shining
jet, tied up--I know not how, all carelessly with scarlet ribbon mixed
with pearls; her robe was gay and rich, such as young royal brides put
on when they undress for joys; her eyes were black, the softest heaven
ever made; her mouth was sweet, and formed for all delight; so red her
lips, so round, so graced with dimples, that without one other charm,
that was enough to kindle warm desires about a frozen heart; a
sprightly air of wit completed all, increased my flame, and made me
mad with love: endless it were to tell thee all her beauties: nature
all over was lavish and profuse, let it suffice, her face, her shape,
her mien, had more of angel in them than humanity! I saw her thus all
charming! Thus she lay! A smiling melancholy dressed her eyes, which
she had fixed upon the rivulet, near which I found her lying; just
such I fancied famed _Lucretia_ was, when _Tarquin_ first beheld her;
nor was that royal ravisher more inflamed than I, or readier for the
encounter. Alone she was, which heightened my desires; oh gods! Alone
lay the young lovely charmer, with wishing eyes, and all prepared for
love! The shade was gloomy, and the tell-tale leaves combined so
close, they must have given us warning if any had approached from
either side! All favoured my design, and I advanced; but with such
caution as not to inspire her with a fear, instead of that of love! A
slow, uneasy pace, with folded arms, love in my eyes, and burning in
my heart----at my approach she scarce contained her cries, and rose
surprised and blushing, discovering to me such a proportioned
height--so lovely and majestic--that I stood gazing on her, all lost
in wonder, and gave her time to dart her eyes at me, and every look
pierced deeper to my soul, and I had no sense but love, silent
admiring love! Immovable I stood, and had no other motion but that of
a heart all panting, which lent a feeble trembling to my tongue, and
even when I would have spoke to her, it sent a sigh up to prevent my
boldness; and oh, _Octavio_, though I have been bred in all the saucy
daring of a forward lover, yet now I wanted a convenient impudence;
awed with a haughty sweetness in her look, like a Fauxbrave after a
vigorous onset, finding the danger fly so thick around him, sheers
off, and dares not face the pressing foe, struck with too fierce a
lightning from her eyes, whence the gods sent a thousand winged darts,
I veiled my own, and durst not play with fire: while thus she hotly
did pursue her conquest, and I stood fixed on the defensive part, I
heard a rustling among the thick-grown leaves, and through their
mystic windings soon perceived the good old Count of _Clarinau_
approaching, muttering and mumbling to old _Dormina_, the dragon
appointed to guard this lovely treasure, and which she having left
alone in the thicket, and had retired but at an awful distance, had
most extremely disobliged her lord. I only had time enough in this
little moment to look with eyes that asked a thousand pities, and told
her in their silent language how loath they were to leave the charming
object, and with a sigh----I vanished from the wondering fair one,
nimble as lightning, silent as a shade, to my first post behind the
jessamines; that was the utmost that I could persuade my heart to do.
You may believe, my dear _Octavio_, I did not bless the minute that
brought old _Clarinau_ to that dear recess, nor him, nor my own fate;
and to complete my torment, I saw him (after having gravely reproached
her for being alone without her woman) yes, I saw him fall on her
neck, her lovely snowy neck, and loll and kiss, and hang his tawny
withered arms on her fair shoulders, and press his nauseous load upon
_Calista_'s body, (for so I heard him name her) while she was gazing
still upon the empty place, whence she had seen me vanish; which he
perceiving, cried--'My little fool, what is it thou gazest on, turn to
thy known old man, and buss him soundly----' When putting him by with
a disdain, that half made amends for the injury he had done me by
coming, 'Ah, my lord,' cried she, 'even now, just there I saw a lovely
vision, I never beheld so excellent a thing:' 'How,' cried he, 'a
vision, a thing,--What vision? What thing? Where? How? And when----'
'Why there,' said she, 'with my eyes, and just now is vanished behind
yon jessamines.' With that I drew my sword--for I despaired to get off
unknown; and being well enough acquainted with the jealous nature of
the Spaniards, which is no more than see and stab, I prepared to stand
on my defence till I could reconcile him, if possible, to reason; yet
even in that moment I was more afraid of the injury he might do the
innocent fair one, than of what he could do to me: but he not so much
as dreaming she meant a man by her lovely vision, fell a kissing her
anew, and beckoning _Dormina_ off to pimp at distance, told her, 'The
grove was so sweet, the river's murmurs so delicate, and she was so
curiously dressed, that all together had inspired him with a
love-fit;' and then assaulting her anew with a sneer, which you have
seen a satyr make in pictures, he fell to act the little tricks of
youth, that looked so goatish in him--instead of kindling it would
have damped a flame; which she resisted with a scorn so charming gave
me new hope and fire, when to oblige me more, with pride, disdain, and
loathing in her eyes, she fled like _Daphne_ from the ravisher; he
being bent on love pursued her with a feeble pace, like an old
wood-god chasing some coy nymph, who winged with fear out-strips the
flying wind, and though a god he cannot overtake her; and left me
fainting with new love, new hope, new jealousy, impatience, sighs and
wishes, in the abandoned grove. Nor could I go without another view of
that dear place in which I saw her lie. I went--and laid me down just
on the print which her fair body made, and pressed, and kissed it over
a thousand times with eager transports, and even fancied fair
_Calista_ there; there 'twas I found the paper with the song which I
have sent you; there I ran over a thousand stratagems to gain another
view; no little statesman had more plots and arts than I to gain this
object I adored, the soft idea of my burning heart, now raging wild,
abandoned all to love and loose desire; but hitherto my industry is
vain; each day I haunt the thickest groves and springs, the flowery
walks, close arbours; all the day my busy eyes and heart are searching
her, but no intelligence they bring me in: in fine, _Octavio_, all
that I can since learn is, that the bright _Calista_ had seen a vision
in the garden, and ever since was so possessed with melancholy, that
she had not since quitted her chamber; she is daily pressing the Count
to permit her to go into the garden, to see if she can again encounter
the lovely _phantom_, but whether, from any description she hath made
of it, (or from any other cause) he imagines how it was, I know not;
but he endeavours all he can to hinder her, and tells her it is not
lawful to tempt heaven by invoking an apparition; so that till a
second view eases the torments of my mind, there is nothing in nature
to be conceived so raving mad as I; as if my despair of finding her
again increased my impatient flame, instead of lessening it.

After this declaration, judge, _Octavio_, who has given the greatest
proofs of his friendship, you or I; you being my rival, trust me with
the secret of loving my mistress, which can no way redound to your
disadvantage; but I, by telling you the secrets of my soul, put it
into your power to ruin me with _Sylvia_, and to establish yourself in
her heart; a thought I yet am not willing to bear, for I have an
ambition in my love, that would not, while I am toiling for empire
here, lose my dominion in another place: but since I can no more rule
a woman's heart, than a lover's fate, both you and _Sylvia_ may
deceive my opinion in that, but shall never have power to make me
believe you less my friend, than I am your

PHILANDER.

POSTSCRIPT.

_The enclosed I need not oblige you to deliver; you see I give you
opportunity._

_Octavio_ no sooner arrived to that part of the letter which named the
Count of _Clarinau_, but he stopped, and was scarce able to proceed,
for the charming _Calista_ was his sister, the only one he had, who
having been bred in a nunnery, was taken then to be married to this
old rich count, who had a great fortune: before he proceeded, his soul
divined this was the new amour that had engaged the heart of his
friend; he was afraid to be farther convinced, and yet a curiosity to
know how far he had proceeded, made him read it out with all the
disorder of a man jealous of his honour, and nicely careful of his
fame; he considered her young, about eighteen, married to an old,
ill-favoured, jealous husband, no parents but himself to right her
wrongs, or revenge her levity; he knew, though she wanted no wit, she
did art, for being bred without the conversation of men, she had not
learnt the little cunnings of her sex; he guessed by his own soul that
hers was soft and apt for impression; he judged from her confession to
her husband of the vision, that she had a simple innocence, that might
betray a young beauty under such circumstances; to all this he
considered the charms of _Philander_ unresistible, his unwearied
industry in love, and concludes his sister lost. At first he upbraids
_Philander_, and calls him ungrateful, but soon thought it
unreasonable to accuse himself of an injustice, and excused the
frailty of _Philander_, since he knew not that she whom he adored was
sister to his friend; however, it failed not to possess him with
inquietude that exercised all his wit, to consider how he might
prevent an irreparable injury to his honour, and an intrigue that
possibly might cost his sister her life, as well as fame. In the midst
of all these torments he forgot not the more important business of his
love: for to a lover, who has his soul perfectly fixed on the fair
object of its adoration, whatever other thoughts fatigue and cloud his
mind, that, like a soft gleam of new sprung light, darts in and
spreads a glory all around, and like the god of day, cheers every
drooping vital; yet even these dearer thoughts wanted not their
torments. At first he strove to atone for the fears of _Calista_, with
those of imagining _Philander_ false to _Sylvia_: 'Well,' cried
he----'If thou be'st lost, _Calista_, at least thy ruin has laid a
foundation for my happiness, and every triumph _Philander_ makes of
thy virtue, it the more secures my empire over _Sylvia_; and since the
brother cannot be happy, but by the sister's being undone, yield thou,
O faithless fair one, yield to _Philander_, and make me blest in
_Sylvia_! And thou' (continued he) 'oh perjured lover and inconstant
friend, glut thy insatiate flame----rifle _Calista_ of every virtue
heaven and nature gave her, so I may but revenge it on thy _Sylvia_!'
Pleased with this joyful hope he traverses his chamber; glowing and
blushing with new kindling fire, his heart that was all gay, diffused
a gladness, that expressed itself in every feature of his lovely face;
his eyes, that were by nature languishing, shone now with an unusual
air of briskness, smiles graced his mouth, and dimples dressed his
face, insensibly his busy fingers trick and dress, and set his hair,
and without designing it, his feet are bearing him to _Sylvia_, till
he stopped short and wondered whither he was going, for yet it was not
time to make his visit--'Whither, fond heart,' (said he) 'O whither
wouldst thou hurry this slave to thy soft fires!' And now returning
back he paused and fell to thought--He remembered how impatiently
_Sylvia_ waited the return of the answer he writ to him, wherein he
owned his passion for that beauty. He knew she permitted him to write
it, more to raise the little brisk fires of jealousy in _Philander_,
and to set an edge on his blunted love, than from any favours she
designed _Octavio_; and that on this answer depended all her
happiness, or the confirmation of her doubts, and that she would
measure _Philander_'s love by the effects she found there of it: so
that never lover had so hard a game to play, as our new one. He knew
he had it now in his power to ruin his rival, and to make almost his
own terms with his fair conqueress, but he considered the secret was
not rendered him for so base an end, nor could his love advance itself
by ways so false, dull and criminal--Between each thought he paused,
and now resolves she must know he sent an answer to his letter; for
should she know he had, and that he should refuse her the sight of it,
he believed with reason she ought to banish him for ever her presence,
as the most disobedient of her slaves. He walks and pauses on--but no
kind thought presents itself to save him; either way he finds himself
undone, and from the most gay, and most triumphing lover on the earth,
he now, with one desirous thought of right reasoning, finds he is the
most miserable of all the creation! He reads the superscription of
that _Philander_ writ to _Sylvia_, which was enclosed in his, and
finds it was directed only--'For _Sylvia_', which would plainly
demonstrate it came not so into _Holland_, but that some other cover
secured it; so that never any but _Octavio_, the most nice in honour,
had ever so great a contest with love and friendship: for his noble
temper was not one of those that could sacrifice his friend to his
little lusts, or his more solid passion, but truly brave, resolves now
rather to die than to confess _Philander_'s secret; to evade which he
sent her letter by his page, with one from himself, and commanded him
to tell her, that he was going to receive some commands from the
Prince of _Orange_, and that he would wait on her himself in the
evening. The page obeys, and _Octavio_ sent him with a sigh, and eyes
that languishingly told him he did it with regret.

The page hastening to _Sylvia_, finds her in all the disquiet of an
expecting lover; and snatching the papers from his hand, the first she
saw was that from _Philander_, at which she trembled with fear and
joy, for hope, love and despair, at once seized her, and hardly able
to make a sign with her hand, for the boy to withdraw, she sank down
into her chair, all pale, and almost fainting; but re-assuming her
courage, she opened it, and read this.

PHILANDER _to_ SYLVIA.

Ah, _Sylvia_! Why all these doubts and fears? why at this distance do
you accuse your lover, when he is incapable to fall before you, and
undeceive your little jealousies. Oh, _Sylvia_, I fear this first
reproaching me, is rather the effects of your own guilt, than any that
love can make you think of mine. Yes, yes, my _Sylvia_, it is the
waves that roll and glide away, and not the steady shore. 'Tis you
begin to unfasten from the vows that hold you, and float along the
flattering tide of vanity. It is you, whose pride and beauty scorning
to be confined, give way to the admiring crowd, that sigh for you.
Yes, yes, you, like the rest of your fair glorious sex, love the
admirer though you hate the coxcomb. It is vain! it is great! And
shews your beauty's power----Is it possible, that for the safety of my
life I cannot retire, but you must think I am fled from love and
_Sylvia_? Or is it possible that pitying tenderness that made me
incapable of taking leave of her should be interpreted as false--and
base--and that an absence of thirty days, so forc'd, and so compelled,
must render me inconstant--lost--ungrateful----as if that after
_Sylvia_ heaven ever made a beauty that could charm me?

You charge my letter with a thousand faults, it is short, it is cold,
and wants those usual softnesses that gave them all their welcome, and
their graces. I fear my _Sylvia_ loves the flatterer, and not the man,
the lover only, not _Philander_: and she considers him not for
himself, but the gay, glorious thing he makes of her! Ah! too
self-interested! Is that your justice? You never allow for my unhappy
circumstances; you never think how care oppresses me, nor what my love
contributes to that care. How business, danger, and a thousand ills,
take up my harrassed mind: by every power! I love thee still, my
_Sylvia_, but time has made us more familiar now, and we begin to
leave off ceremony, and come to closer joys to join our interests now,
as people fixed, resolved to live and die together; to weave our
thoughts and be united stronger. At first we shew the gayest side of
love, dress and be nice in every word and look, set out for conquest
all; spread every art, use every stratagem--But when the toil is past,
and the dear victory gained, we then propose a little idle rest, a
little easy slumber: we then embrace, lay by the gaudy shew, the
plumes and gilded equipage of love, the trappings of the conqueror,
and bring the naked lover to your arms; we shew him then uncased with
all his little disadvantages; perhaps the flowing hair, (those ebony
curls you have so often combed and dressed, and kissed) are then put
up, and shew a fiercer air, more like an antique _Roman_ than
_Philander_: and shall I then, because I want a grace, be thought to
love you less? Because the embroidered coat, the point and garniture's
laid by, must I put off my passion with my dress? No, _Sylvia_, love
allows a thousand little freedoms, allows me to unbosom all my
secrets; tell thee my wants, my fears, complaints and dangers, and
think it great relief if thou but sigh and pity me: and oft thy
charming wit has aided me, but now I find thee adding to my pain. O
where shall I unload my weight of cares, when _Sylvia_, who was wont
to sigh and weep, and suffer me to ease the heavy burden, now grows
displeased and peevish with my moans, and calls them the effects of
dying love! Instead of those dear smiles, that fond bewitching
prattle, that used to calm my roughest storm of grief, she now
reproaches me with coldness, want of concern, and lover's rhetoric:
and when I seem to beg relief and shew my soul's resentment, it is
then I'm false; it is my aversion, or the effects of some new kindling
flame: is this fair dealing, _Sylvia_? Can I not spare a little sigh
from love, but you must think I rob you of your due? If I omit a
tender name, by which I used to call you, must I be thought to lose
that passion that taught me such endearments? And must I never reflect
upon the ruin both of my fame and fortune, but I must run the risk of
losing _Sylvia_ too? Oh cruelty of love! Oh too, too fond and jealous
maid, what crimes thy innocent passion can create, when it extends
beyond the bounds of reason! Ah too, too nicely tender _Sylvia_, that
will not give me leave to cast a thought back on my former glory; yet
even that loss I could support with tameness and content, if I
believed my suffering reached only to my heart; but _Sylvia_, if she
love, must feel my torments too, must share my loss, and want a
thousand ornaments, my sinking fortune cannot purchase her: believe
me, charming creature, if I should love you less, I have a sense so
just of what you have suffered for _Philander_, I'd be content to be a
galley-slave, to give thy beauty, birth and love their due; but as I
am thy faithful lover still, depend upon that fortune heaven has left
me; which if thou canst (as thou hast often sworn) then thou would'st
submit to be cheerful still, be gay and confident, and do not judge my
heart by little words; my heart--too great and fond for such poor
demonstrations.

You ask me, _Sylvia_, where I am, and what I do; and all I can say is,
that at present I am safe from any fears of being delivered up to
_France_, and what I do is sighing, dying, grieving; I want my
_Sylvia_; but my circumstances yet have nothing to encourage that
hope; when I resolve where to settle, you shall see what haste I will
make to have you brought to me: I am impatient to hear from you, and
to know how that dear pledge of our soft hours advances. I mean, what
I believe I left thee possessed of, a young _Philander_: cherish it,
_Sylvia_, for that is a certain obligation to keep a dying fire alive;
be sure you do it no hurt by your unnecessary grief, though there
needs no other tie but that of love to make me more entirely

_Your_ PHILANDER.

If _Sylvia_'s fears were great before she opened the letter, what were
her pains when all those fears were confirmed from that never-failing
mark of a declining love, the coldness and alteration of the style of
letters, that first symptom of a dying flame! 'O where,' said she,
'where, oh perjured charmer, is all that ardency that used to warm the
reader? Where is all that natural innocence of love that could not,
even to discover and express a grace in eloquence, force one soft
word, or one passion? Oh,' continued she, 'he is lost and gone from
_Sylvia_ and his vows; some other has him all, clasps that dear body,
hangs upon that face, gazes upon his eyes, and listens to his voice,
when he is looking, sighing, swearing, dying, lying and damning of
himself for some new beauty--He is, I will not endure it; aid me,
_Antonet_! Oh, where is the perjured traitor!' _Antonet_, who was
waiting on her, seeing her rise on the sudden in so great a fury,
would have stayed her hasty turns and ravings, beseeching her to tell
her what was the occasion, and by a discovery to ease her heart; but
she with all the fury imaginable flung from her arms, and ran to the
table, and snatching up a penknife, had certainly sent it to her
heart, had not _Antonet_ stepped to her and caught her hand, which she
resisted not, and blushing resigned, with telling her, she was ashamed
of her own cowardice; 'For,' said she, 'if it had designed to have
been brave, I had sent you off, and by a noble resolution have freed
this slave within' (striking her breast) 'from a tyranny which it
should disdain to suffer under:' with that she raged about the chamber
with broken words and imperfect threatenings, unconsidered
imprecations, and unheeded vows and oaths; at which _Antonet_
redoubled her petition to know the cause; and she replied--'_Philander_!
The dear, the soft, the fond and charming _Philander_ is now no more
the same. O, _Antonet_,' said she, 'didst thou but see this letter
compared to those of heretofore, when love was gay and young, when
new desire dressed his soft eyes in tears, and taught his tongue the
harmony of angels; when every tender word had more of passion, than
volumes of this forced, this trifling business; Oh thou wouldst say
I were the wretchedest thing that ever nature made--Oh, thou wouldst
curse as I do--not the dear murderer, but thy frantic self, thy mad,
deceived, believing, easy self; if thou wert so undone--' Then
while she wept she gave _Antonet_ liberty to speak, which was to
persuade her, her fears were vain; she urged every argument of love
she had been witness to, and could not think it possible he could
be false. To all which the still weeping _Sylvia_ lent a willing
ear; for lovers are much inclined to believe every thing they wish.
_Antonet_, having a little calmed her, continued telling her, that
to be better convinced of his love, or his perfidy, she ought to
have patience till _Octavio_ should come to visit her; 'For you
have forgotten, madam,' said she, 'that the generous rival has
sent him word he is your lover:' for _Antonet_ was waiting at the
reading of that letter, nor was there any thing the open-hearted
_Sylvia_ concealed from that servant; and women who have made a breach
in their honour, are seldom so careful of their rest of fame, as those
who have a stock entire; and _Sylvia_ believed after she had entrusted
the secret of one amour to her discretion, she might conceal none.
'See, madam,' says _Antonet_, 'here is a letter yet unread:' _Sylvia_,
who had been a great while impatient for the return of _Octavio_'s
answer from _Philander_, expecting from thence the confirmation of all
her doubts, hastily snatched the letter out of _Antonet_'s hand, and
read it, hoping to have found something there to have eased her soul
one way or other; a soul the most raging and haughty by nature that
ever possessed a body: the words were these.

OCTAVIO _to_ SYLVIA.

At least you will pity me, oh charming _Sylvia_, when you shall call
to mind the cruel services I am obliged to render you, to be the
messenger of love from him, whom beauty and that god plead so strongly
for already in your heart.

If, after this, you can propose a torture that yet may speak my
passion and obedience in any higher measure, command and try my
fortitude; for I too well divine, O rigorous beauty, the business of
your love-sick slave will be only to give you proofs how much he does
adore you, and never to taste a joy, even in a distant hope; like
lamps in urns my lasting fire must burn, without one kind material to
supply it. Ah _Sylvia_, if ever it be thy wretched fate to see the
lord of all your vows given to another's arms----when you shall see in
those soft eyes that you adore, a languishment and joy if you but name
another beauty to him;----when you behold his blushes fade and rise at
the approaches of another mistress,----hear broken sighs and unassured
replies, whenever he answers some new conqueress; tremblings, and
pantings seizing every part at the warm touch as of a second charmer:
ah, _Sylvia_, do but do me justice then, and sighing say--I pity poor
_Octavio_.

Take here a letter from the blest _Philander_, which I had brought
myself, but cannot bear the torment of that joy that I shall see
advancing in your eyes when you shall read it over--no--it is too much
that I imagine all! Yet bless that patient fondness of my passion that
makes me still your slave, and your adorer,

OCTAVIO.

       *       *       *       *       *

At finishing this, the jealous fair one redoubled her tears with such
violence, that it was in vain her woman strove to abate the flowing
tide by all the reasonable arguments she could bring to her aid; and
_Sylvia_, to increase it, read again the latter part of the ominous
letter; which she wet with the tears that streamed from her bright
eyes. 'Yes, yes,' (cried she, laying the letter down) 'I know,
_Octavio_, this is no prophecy of yours, but a known truth: alas, you
know too well the fatal time is already come, when I shall find these
changes in _Philander_!' 'Ah madam,' replied _Antonet_, 'how curious
are you to search out torment for your own heart, and as much a lover
as you are, how little do you understand the arts and politics of
love! Alas, madam,' continued she, 'you yourself have armed my Lord
_Octavio_ with these weapons that wound you: the last time he writ to
my lord _Philander_, he found you possessed with a thousand fears and
jealousies; of these he took advantage to attack his rival: for what
man is there so dull, that would not assault his enemy in that part
where the most considerable mischief may be done him? It is now
_Octavio_'s interest, and his business, to render _Philander_ false,
to give you all the umbrage that is possible of so powerful a rival,
and to say any thing that may render him hateful to you, or at least
to make him love you less.' 'Away,' (replied _Sylvia_ with an uneasy
smile) 'how foolish are thy reasonings; for were it possible I could
love _Philander_ less, is it to be imagined that should make way for
_Octavio_ in my heart, or any after that dear deceiver?' 'No doubt of
it,' replied _Antonet_, 'but that very effect it would have on your
heart; for love in the soul of a witty person is like a skein of silk;
to unwind it from the bottom, you must wind it on another, or it runs
into confusion, and becomes of no use, and then of course, as one
lessens the other increases, and what _Philander_ loses in love,
_Octavio_, or some one industrious lover, will most certainly gain.'
'Oh,' replied _Sylvia_, 'you are a great philosopher in love.' 'I
should, madam,' cried _Antonet_, 'had I but had a good memory, for I
had a young churchman once in love with me, who has read many a
philosophical lecture to me upon love; among the rest, he used to say
the soul was all composed of love. I used to ask him then, if it were
formed of so soft materials, how it came to pass that we were no
oftener in love, or why so many were so long before they loved, and
others who never loved at all?' 'No question but he answered you
wisely,' said _Sylvia_ carelessly, and sighing, with her thoughts but
half attentive. 'Marry, and so he did,' cried _Antonet_, 'at least I
thought so then, because I loved a little. He said, love of itself was
inactive, but it was informed by object; and then too that object must
depend on fancy; (for souls, though all love, are not to love all.)
Now fancy, he said, was sometimes nice, humorous, and fantastic, which
is the reason we so often love those of no merit, and despise those
that are most excellent; and sometimes fancy guides us to like
neither; he used to say, women were like misers, though they had
always love in store, they seldom cared to part with it, but on very
good interest and security, _cent per cent_ most commonly, heart for
heart at least; and for security, he said, we were most times too
unconscionable, we asked vows at least, at worst matrimony--' Half
angry, _Sylvia_ cried--'And what is all this to my loving again?' 'Oh
madam,' replied _Antonet_, 'he said a woman was like a gamester, if on
the winning hand, hope, interest, and vanity made him play on, besides
the pleasure of the play itself; if on the losing, then he continued
throwing at all to save a stake at last, if not to recover all; so
either way they find occasion to continue the game.' 'But oh,' said
_Sylvia_ sighing, 'what shall that gamester set, who has already
played for all he had, and lost it at a cast?' 'O, madam,' replied
_Antonet_,'the young and fair find credit every where, there is still
a prospect of a return, and that gamester that plays thus upon the
tick is sure to lose but little; and if they win it is all clear
gains.' 'I find,' said _Sylvia_, 'you are a good manager in love; you
are for the frugal part of it.' 'Faith, madam,' said _Antonet_, 'I am
indeed of that opinion, that love and interest always do best
together, as two most excellent ingredients in that rare art of
preserving of beauty. Love makes us put on all our charms, and
interest gives us all the advantage of dress, without which beauty is
lost, and of little use. Love would have us appear always new, always
gay, and magnificent, and money alone can render us so; and we find no
women want lovers so much as those who want petticoats, jewels, and
all the necessary trifles of gallantry. Of this last opinion I find
you yourself to be; for even when _Octavio_ comes, on whose heart you
have no design, I see you dress to the best advantage, and put on
many, to like one: why is this, but that even unknown to yourself, you
have a secret joy and pleasure in gaining conquests, and of being
adored, and thought the most charming of your sex?' 'That is not from
the inconstancy of my heart,' cried _Sylvia_, 'but from the little
vanity of our natures.' 'Oh, madam,' replied _Antonet_, 'there is no
friend to love like vanity; it is the falsest betrayer of a woman's
heart of any passion, not love itself betrays her sooner to love than
vanity or pride; and madam, I would I might have the pleasure of my
next wish, when I find you not only listening to the love of
_Octavio_, but even approving it too.' 'Away,' replied _Sylvia_, in
frowning, 'your mirth grows rude and troublesome--Go bid the page wait
while I return an answer to what his lord has sent me.' So sitting at
the table she dismissed _Antonet_, and writ this following letter.

SYLVIA _to_ OCTAVIO.

I find, _Octavio_, this little gallantry of yours, of shewing me the
lover, stands you in very great stead, and serves you upon all
occasions for abundance of uses; amongst the rest, it is no small
obligation you have to it, for furnishing you with handsome pretences
to keep from those who importune you, and from giving them that
satisfaction by your counsel and conversation, which possibly the
unfortunate may have need of sometimes; and when you are pressed and
obliged to render me the friendship of your visits, this necessary
ready love of yours is the only evasion you have for the answering a
thousand little questions I ask you of _Philander_; whose heart I am
afraid you know much better than _Sylvia_ does. I could almost wish,
_Octavio_, that all you tell me of your passion were true, that my
commands might be of force sufficient to compel you to resolve my
heart in some doubts that oppress it. And indeed if you would have me
believe the one, you must obey me in the other; to which end I conjure
you to hasten to me, for something of an unusual coldness in
_Philander_'s letter, and some ominous divinations in yours, have put
me on a rack of thought; from which nothing but confirmation can
relieve me; this you dare not deny, if you value the repose of SYLVIA.

She read it over; and was often about to tear it, fancying it was too
kind: but when she considered it was from no other inclination of her
heart than that of getting the secrets out of his, she pardoned
herself the little levity she found it guilty of; all which,
considering as the effects of the violent passion she had for
_Philander_, she found it easy to do; and sealing it she gave it to
_Antonet_ to deliver to the page, and set herself down to ease her
soul of its heavy weight of grief by her complaints to the dear author
of her pain; for when a lover is insupportably afflicted, there is no
ease like that of writing to the person loved; and that, all that
comes uppermost in the soul: for true love is all unthinking artless
speaking, incorrect disorder, and without method, as 'tis without
bounds or rules; such were _Sylvia_'s unstudied thoughts, and such her
following letter.

SYLVIA _to_ PHILANDER.

Oh my _Philander_, how hard it is to bring my soul to doubt, when I
consider all thy past tender vows, when I reflect how thou hast loved
and sworn. Methinks I hear the music of thy voice still whispering in
my bosom; methinks the charming softness of thy words remains like
lessening echoes of my soul, whose distant voices by degrees decay,
till they be heard no more! Alas, I've read thy letter over and over,
and turned the sense a thousand several ways, and all to make it speak
and look like love--Oh I have flattered it with all my heart.
Sometimes I fancied my ill reading spoiled it, and then I tuned my
voice to softer notes, and read it over again; but still the words
appeared too rough and harsh for any moving air; I which way soever I
changed, which way soever I questioned it of love, it answered in such
language--as others would perhaps interpret love, or something like
it; but I, who've heard the very god himself speak from thy wondrous
lips, and known him guide thy pen, when all the eloquence of moving
angels flowed from thy charming tongue! When I have seen thee fainting
at my feet, (whilst all heaven opened in thy glorious face) and now
and then sigh out a trembling word, in which there was contained more
love, more soul, than all the arts of speaking ever found; what sense?
Oh what reflections must I make on this decay, this strange--this
sudden alteration in thee? But that the cause is fled, and the effect
is ceased, the god retired, and all the oracles silenced! Confess--oh
thou eternal conqueror of my soul, whom every hour, and every tender
joy, renders more dear and lovely--tell me why (if thou still lovest
me, and lovest as well) does love not dictate to thee as before? Dost
thou want words? Oh then begin again, I repeat the old ones over ten
thousand times; such repetitions are love's rhetoric! How often have I
asked thee in an hour, when my fond soul was doting on thy eyes, when
with my arms clasping thy yielding neck, my lips imprinting kisses on
thy cheeks, and taking in the breath that sighed from thine? How often
have I asked this little but important question of thee? 'Does my
_Philander_ love me?' Then kiss thee for thy 'Yes' and sighs, and ask
again; and still my soul was ravished with new joy, when thou wouldst
answer, 'Yes, I love thee dearly!' And if I thought you spoke it with
a tone that seemed less soft and fervent than I wished, I asked so
often, till I made thee answer in such a voice as I would wish to hear
it; all this had been impertinent and foolish in any thing but love,
to any but a lover: but oh--give me the impertinence of love! Talk
little nonsense to me all the day, and be as wanton as a playing
_Cupid_, and that will please and charm my love-sick heart better than
all fine sense and reasoning.

Tell me, _Philander_, what new accident, what powerful misfortune has
befallen thee, greater than what we have experienced yet, to drive the
little god out of thy heart, and make thee so unlike my soft
_Philander_? What place contains thee, or what pleasures ease thee,
that thou art now contented to live a tedious day without thy
_Sylvia_? How then the long long age of forty more, and yet thou
livest, art patient, tame and well; thou talkest not now of ravings,
or of dying, but look'st about thee like a well pleased conqueror
after the toils of battle--oh, I have known a time--but let me never
think upon it more! It cannot be remembered without madness! What,
think thee fallen from love! To think, that I must never hear thee
more pouring thy soul out in soft sighs of love? A thousand dear
expressions by which I knew the story of thy heart, and while you tell
it, bid me feel it panting--never to see thy eyes fixed on my
face--till the soft showers of joy would gently fall and hang their
shining dew upon thy looks, then in a transport snatch me to thy
bosom, and sigh a thousand times ere thou couldst utter--'Ah _Sylvia_,
how I love thee'--oh the dear eloquence those few short words contain,
when they are sent with lovers' accents to a soul all languishing! But
now--alas, thy love is more familiar grown--oh take the other part of
the proverb too, and say it has bred contempt, for nothing less than
that your letter shews, but more it does, and that is indifference,
less to be borne than hate, or any thing--

At least be just, and let me know my doom: do not deceive the heart
that trusted all thy vows, if thou be'st generous--if thou lettest me
know--thy date of love--is out (for love perhaps as life has dates)
and equally uncertain, and thou no more canst stay the one than the
other; yet if thou art so kind for all my honour lost, my youth
undone, my beauty tarnished, and my lasting vows, to let me fairly
know thou art departing, my worthless life will be the only loss: but
if thou still continuest to impose upon my easy faith, and I should
any other way learn my approaching fate--look to it _Philander_,--she
that had the courage to abandon all for love and faithless thee, can,
when she finds herself betrayed and lost, nobly revenge the ruin of
her fame, and send thee to the other world with SYLVIA.

She having writ this, read it over, and fancied she had not spoke half
the sense of her soul--fancied if she were again to begin, she could
express herself much more to the purpose she designed, than she had
done. She began again, and writ two or three new ones, but they were
either too kind or too rough; the first she feared would shew a
weakness of spirit, since he had given her occasion of jealousy; the
last she feared would disoblige if all those jealousies were false;
she therefore tore those last she had writ, and before she sealed up
the first she read _Philander_'s, letter again, but still ended it
with fears that did not lessen those she had first conceived; still
she thought she had more to say, as lovers do, who are never weary of
speaking or writing to the dear object of their vows; and having
already forgotten what she had just said before--and her heart being
by this time as full as ere she began, she took up her complaining
pen, and made it say this in the covert of the letter.

Oh _Philander_! Oh thou eternal charmer of my soul, how fain I would
repent me of the cruel thoughts I have of thee! When I had finished
this enclosed I read again thy chilling letter, and strove with all
the force of love and soft imagination, to find a dear occasion of
asking pardon for those fears which press my breaking heart: but oh,
the more I read, the more they strike upon my tenderest
part,--something so very cold, so careless and indifferent you end
your letter with--I will not think of it--by heaven it makes me
rave--and hate my little power, that could no longer keep thee soft
and kind. Oh if those killing fears (bred by excess of love) are
vainly taken up, in pity, my adorable--in pity to my tortured soul
convince them, redress the torment of my jealous doubts, and either
way confirm me; be kind to her that dies and languishes for thee,
return me all the softness that first charmed me, or frankly tell me
my approaching fate. Be generous or be kind to the unfortunate and
undone

SYLVIA.

She thought she had ended here, but here again she read _Philander_'s
letter, as if on purpose to find new torments out for a heart too much
pressed already; a sour that is always mixed with the sweets of love,
a pain that ever accompanies the pleasure. Love else were not to be
numbered among the passions of men, and was at first ordained in
heaven for some divine motion of the soul, till _Adam_, with his loss
of _Paradise_, debauched it with jealousies, fears and curiosities,
and mixed it with all that was afflicting; but you'll say he had
reason to be jealous, whose woman, for want of other seducers,
listened to the serpent, and for the love of change, would give way
even to a devil; this little love of novelty and knowledge has been
entailed upon her daughters ever since, and I have known more women
rendered unhappy and miserable from this torment of curiosity, which
they bring upon themselves, than have ever been undone by less
villainous men. One of this humour was our haughty and charming
_Sylvia_, whose pride and beauty possessing her with a belief that all
men were born to die her slaves, made her uneasy at every action of
the lover (whether beloved or not) that did but seem to slight her
empire: but where indeed she loved and doted, as now in _Philander_,
this humour put her on the rack at every thought or fancy that he
might break his chains, and having laid the last obligation upon him,
she expected him to be her slave for ever, and treated him with all
the haughty tyranny of her sex, in all those moments when softness was
not predominant in her soul. She was chagrin at every thing, if but
displeased with one thing; and while she gave torments to others, she
failed not to feel them the most sensibly herself; so that still
searching for new occasion of quarrel with _Philander_, she drew on
herself most intolerable pains, such as doubting lovers feel after
long hopes and confirmed joy; she reads and weeps, and when she came
to that part of it that inquired of the health and being of the pledge
of love--she grew so tender that she was almost fainting in her chair,
but recovering from the soft reflection, and finding she had said
nothing of it already, she took her pen again and writ.

You ask me, oh charming _Philander_, how the pledge of our soft hours
thrives: alas, as if it meant to brave the worst of fate! It does
advance my sorrows, and all your cruelties have not destroyed that:
but I still bear about me the destiny of many a sighing maid, that
this (who will, I am sure, be like _Philander_) will ruin with his
looks.

Thou sacred treasure of my soul, forgive me, if I have wronged thy
love, _adieu_.

She made an end of writing this, just when _Antonet_ arrived, and told
her _Octavio_ was alighted at the gate, and coming to visit her, which
gave her occasion to say this of him to _Philander_.

I think I had not ended here, but that _Octavio_, the bravest and the
best of friends, is come to visit me. The only satisfaction I have to
support my life in _Philander_'s absence. Pay him those thanks that
are due to him from me; pay him for all the generous cares he has
taken of me; beyond a friend! Almost _Philander_ in his blooming
passion, when it was all new and young, and full of duty, could not
have rendered me his service with a more awful industry: sure he was
made for love and glorious friendship. Cherish him then, preserve him
next your soul, for he is a jewel fit for such a cabinet: his form,
his parts, and every noble action, shews us the royal race from whence
he sprung, and the victorious _Orange_ confesses him his own in every
virtue, and in every grace; nor can the illegitimacy eclipse him: sure
he was got in the first heat of love, which formed him so a
_hero_--but no more. _Philander_ is as kind a judge as

SYLVIA.

She had no sooner finished this and sealed it, but _Octavio_ came into
the chamber, and with such an air, with such a grace and mien he
approached her--with all the languishment of soft trembling love in
his face, which with the addition of the dress he was that day in,
(which was extremely rich and advantageous, and altogether such as
pleases the vanity of women,) I have since heard the charming _Sylvia_
say, in spite of her tenderness for _Philander_, she found a soft
emotion in her soul, a kind of pleasure at his approach, which made
her blush with some kind of anger at her own easiness. Nor could she
have blushed in a more happy season; for _Octavio_ saw it, and it
served at once to add a lustre to her paler beauty, and to betray some
little kind sentiment, which possessed him with a joy that had the
same effects on him: _Sylvia_ saw it; and the care she took to hide
her own, served but to increase her blushes, which put her into a
confusion she had much ado to reclaim: she cast her eyes to earth, and
leaning her cheek on her hand, she continued on her seat without
paying him that usual ceremony she was wont to do; while he stood
speechless for a moment, gazing on her with infinite satisfaction:
when she, to assume a formality as well as she could, rose up and
cried, (fearing he had seen too much) '_Octavio_, I have been
considering after what manner I ought to receive you? And while I was
so, I left those civilities unpaid, which your quality and my good
manners ought to have rendered you.' 'Ah, madam,' replied he sighing,
'if you would receive me as I merited, and you ought, at least you
would receive me as the most passionate lover that ever adored you.'
'I was rather believing,' said _Sylvia_, 'that I ought to have
received you as my foe; since you conceal from me so long what you
cannot but believe I am extremely impatient of hearing, and what so
nearly concerns my repose.' At this, he only answering with a sigh,
she pursued, 'Sure, _Octavio_, you understand me: _Philander_'s answer
to the letter of your confessing passion, has not so long been the
subject of our discourse and expectation, but you guess at what I
mean?' _Octavio_, who on all occasions wanted not wit, or reply, was
here at a loss what to answer; notwithstanding he had considered
before what he would say: but let those in love fancy, and make what
fine speeches they please, and believe themselves furnished with
abundance of eloquent harangues, at the sight of the dear object they
lose them all, and love teaches them a dialect much more prevailing,
without the expense of duller thought: and they leave unsaid all they
had so floridly formed before, a sigh a thousand things with more
success: love, like poetry, cannot be taught, but uninstructed flows
without painful study, if it be true; it is born in the soul, a noble
inspiration, not a science! Such was _Octavio_'s, he thought it
dishonourable to be guilty of the meanness of a lie; and say he had no
answer: he thought it rude to say he had one and would not shew it
_Sylvia_; and he believed it the height of ungenerous baseness to shew
it. While he remained this moment silent, _Sylvia_, whose love,
jealousy, and impatience endured no delay, with a malicious half
smile, and a tone all angry, scorn in her eyes, and passion on her
tongue, she cried--'It is well, _Octavio_, that you so early let me
know, you can be false, unjust, and faithless; you knew your power,
and in pity to that youth and easiness you found in me, have given a
civil warning to my heart. In this I must confess,' continued she,
'you have given a much greater testimony of your friendship for
_Philander_, than your passion for _Sylvia_, and I suppose you came
not here to resolve yourself which you should prefer; that was decided
ere you arrived, and this visit I imagine was only to put me out of
doubt: a piece of charity you might have spared.' She ended this with
a scorn, that had a thousand charms, because it gave him a little
hope; and he answered with a sigh, 'Ah, madam, how very easy you find
it to entertain thoughts disadvantageous of me: and how small a fault
your wit and cruelty can improve to a crime! You are not offended at
my friendship for _Philander_. I know you do not value my life, and my
repose so much, as to be concerned who, or what shares this heart that
adores you! No, it has not merited that glory; nor dare I presume to
hope, you should so much as wish my passion for _Sylvia_, should
surmount my friendship to _Philander_.' 'If I did,' replied she with a
scorn, 'I perceive I might wish in vain.' 'Madam,' answered he, 'I
have too divine an opinion of the justice of the charming _Sylvia_ to
believe I ought, or could make my approaches to her heart, by ways so
base and ungenerous, the result of even tolerated treason is to hate
the traitor.' 'Oh, you are very nice, _Octavio_,' replied _Sylvia_,
'in your punctilio to _Philander_; but I perceive you are not so
tender in those you ought to have for _Sylvia_: I find honour in you
men, is only what you please to make it; for at the same time you
think it ungenerous to betray _Philander_, you believe it no breach of
honour to betray the eternal repose of _Sylvia_. You have promised
_Philander_ your friendship; you have avowed yourself my lover, my
slave, my friend, my every thing; and yet not one of these has any tie
to oblige you to my interest: pray tell me,' continued she, 'when you
last writ to him; was it not in order to receive an answer from him?
And was not I to see that answer? And here you think it no dishonour
to break your word or promise; by which I find your false notions of
virtue and honour, with which you serve yourselves, when interest,
design, or self-love makes you think it necessary.' 'Madam,' replied
_Octavio_, 'you are pleased to pursue your anger, as if indeed I had
disobeyed your command, or refused to shew you what you imagine I have
from _Philander_:' 'Yes, I do,' replied she hastily; 'and wonder why
you should have a greater friendship for _Philander_, than for
_Sylvia_; especially if it be true that you say, you have joined love
to friendship: or are you of the opinion of those that cry, they
cannot be a lover and a friend of the same object.' 'Ah, madam,' cried
our perplexed lover, 'I beg you to believe, I think it so much more my
duty and inclination to serve and obey _Sylvia_, than I do
_Philander_, that I swear to you, oh charming conqueress of my soul,
if _Philander_ have betrayed _Sylvia_, he has at the same time
betrayed _Octavio_, and that I would revenge it with the loss of my
life: in injuring the adorable _Sylvia_, believe me, lovely maid, he
injures so much more than a friend, as honour is above the
inclinations; if he wrong you, by heaven he cancels all! He wrongs my
soul, my honour, mistress, and my sister:' fearing he had said too
much, he stopped and sighed at the word sister, and casting down his
eyes, blushing with shame and anger, he continued. 'Oh give me leave
to say a sister, madam, lest mistress had been too daring and
presumptuous, and a title that would not justify my quarrel half so
well, since it would take the honour from my just resentment, and
blast it with the scandal of self-interest or jealous revenge.' 'What
you say,' replied she, 'deserves abundance of acknowledgement; but if
you would have me believe you, you ought to hide nothing from me; and
he, methinks, that was so daring to confess his passion to
_Philander_, may after that, venture on any discovery: in short,
_Octavio_, I demand to see the return you have from _Philander_, for
possibly--' said she, sweetening her charming face into a smile
designed, 'I should not be displeased to find I might with more
freedom receive your addresses, and on the coldness of _Philander_'s
reasoning may depend a great part of your fate, or fortune: come,
come, produce your credentials, they may recommend your heart more
effectually than all the fine things you can say; you know how the
least appearance of a slight from a lover may advance the pride of a
mistress; and pride in this affair will be your best advocate.' Thus
she insinuated with all her female arts, and put on all her charms of
looks and smiles, sweetened her mouth, softened her voice and eyes,
assuming all the tenderness and little affectations her subtle sex was
capable of, while he lay all ravished and almost expiring at her feet;
sometimes transported with imagined joys in the possession of the dear
flattering charmer, he was ready to unravel all the secrets of
_Philander_'s letter; but honour yet was even above his passion, and
made him blush at his first hasty thought; and now he strove to put
her off with all the art he could, who had so very little in his
nature, and whose real love and perfect honour had set him above the
little evasions of truth, who scorned in all other cases the baseness
and cowardice of a lie; and so unsuccessful now was the little honest
cheat, which he knew not how to manage well, that it was soon
discovered to the witty, jealous, and angry _Sylvia_: so that after
all the rage a passionate woman could express, who believed herself
injured by the only two persons in the world from whom she expected
most adoration; she had recourse to that natural and softening aid of
her sex, her tears; and having already reproached _Octavio_ with all
the malice of a defeated woman, she now continued it in so moving a
manner, that our _hero_ could no longer remain unconquered by that
powerful way of charming, but unfixed to all he had resolved, gave up,
at least, a part of the secret, and owned he had a letter from
_Philander_; and after this confession knowing very well he could not
keep her from the sight of it; no, though an empire were rendered her
to buy it off; his wit was next employed how he should defend the
sense of it, that she might not think _Philander_ false. In order to
this, he, forcing a smile, told her, that _Philander_ was the most
malicious of his sex, and had contrived the best stratagem in the
world to find whether _Sylvia_ still loved, or _Octavio_ retained his
friendship for him: 'And but that,' continued he, 'I know the nature
of your curious sex to be such, that if I should persuade you not to
see it, it would but the more inflame your desire of seeing it; I
would ask no more of the charming _Sylvia_, than that she would not
oblige me to shew what would turn so greatly to my own advantage: if I
were not too sensible, it is but to entrap me, that _Philander_ has
taken this method in his answer. Believe me, adorable _Sylvia_, I
plead against my own life, while I beg you not to put my honour to the
test, by commanding me to shew this letter, and that I join against
the interest of my own eternal repose while I plead thus.' She hears
him with a hundred changes of countenance. Love, rage, and jealousy
swell in her fierce eyes, her breath beats short, and she was ready to
burst into speaking before he had finished what he had to say; she
called up all the little discretion and reason love had left her to
manage herself as she ought in this great occasion; she bit her lips,
and swallowed her rising sighs; but he soon saw the storm he had
raised, and knew not how to stand the shock of its fury; he sighs, he
pleads in vain, and the more he endeavours to excuse the levity of
_Philander_, the more he rends her heart, and sets her on the rack;
and concluding him false, she could no longer contain her rage, but
broke out into all the fury that madness can inspire, and from one
degree to another wrought her passion to the height of lunacy: she
tore her hair, and bit his hands that endeavoured to restrain hers
from violence; she rent the ornaments from her fair body, and
discovered a thousand charms and beauties; and finding now that both
his strength and reason were too weak to prevent the mischiefs he
found he had brought on her, he calls for help: when _Brilliard_ was
but too ready at hand, with _Antonet_, and some others who came to his
assistance. _Brilliard_, who knew nothing of the occasion of all this,
believed it the second part of his own late adventure, and fancied
that _Octavio_ had used some violence to her; upon this he assumes the
authority of his lord, and secretly that of a husband or lover, and
upbraiding the innocent _Octavio_ with his brutality, they fell to
such words as ended in a challenge the next morning, for _Brilliard_
appeared a gentleman, companion to his lord; and one whom _Octavio_
could not well refuse: this was not carried so silently but _Antonet_,
busy as she was about her raving lady, heard the appointment, and
_Octavio_ quitted the chamber almost as much disturbed as _Sylvia_,
whom, with much ado they persuaded him to leave; but before he did so,
he on his knees offered her the letter, and implored her to receive
it; so absolutely his love had vanquished his nobler part, that of
honour. But she attending no motions but those of her own rage, had no
regard either to _Octavio_'s proffer, or his arguments of excuse; so
that he went away with the letter in all the extremity of disorder.
This last part of his submission was not seen by _Brilliard_; who
immediately left the chamber, upon receiving _Octavio_'s answer to his
challenge; so that _Sylvia_ was now left with her woman only; who by
degrees brought her to more calmness; and _Brilliard_, impatient to
hear the reproaches he hoped she would give _Octavio_ when she was
returned to reason, being curious of any thing that might redound to
his disadvantage, whom he took to be a powerful rival, returned again
into her chamber: but in lieu of hearing what he wished, _Sylvia_
being recovered from her passion of madness, and her soul in a state
of thinking a little with reason, she misses _Octavio_ in the crowd,
and with a voice her rage had enfeebled to a languishment, she
cried--surveying carefully those about her, 'Oh where is _Octavio_?
Where is that angel man: he who of all his kind can give me comfort?'
'Madam,' replied _Antonet_, 'he is gone; while he was here, he kneeled
and prayed in vain, but for a word, or look; his tears are yet
remaining wet upon your feet, and all for one sensible reply, but rage
had deafened you; what has he done to merit this?' 'Oh _Antonet_,'
cried _Sylvia_----'It was what he would not do, that makes me rave;
run, haste and fetch him back----but let him leave his honour all
behind: tell him he has too much consideration for _Philander_, and
none for my repose. Oh, _Brilliard_,----Have I no friend in view dares
carry a message from me to _Octavio_? Bid him return, oh instantly
return----I die, I languish for a sight of him----descending angels
would not be so welcome----Why stand ye still----have I no power with
you----Will none obey----' Then running hastily to the chamber door,
she called her page to whom she cried----'Haste, haste, dear youth,
and find _Octavio_ out, and bring him to me instantly: tell him I die
to see him.' The boy, glad of so kind a message to so liberal a lover,
runs on his errand, while she returns to her chamber, and endeavours
to recollect her senses against _Octavio_'s coming as much as possibly
she could: she dismisses her attendant with different apprehensions;
sometimes _Brilliard_ believed this was the second part of her first
raving, and having never seen her thus, but for _Philander_, concludes
it the height of tenderness and passion for _Octavio_; but because she
made so public a declaration of it, he believed he had given her a
philtre, which had raised her flame so much above the bounds of
modesty and discretion; concluding it so, he knew the usual effects of
things of that nature, and that nothing could allay the heat of such a
love but possession; and easily deluded with every fancy that
flattered his love, mad, stark-mad, by any way to obtain the last
blessing with _Sylvia_, he consults with _Antonet_ how to get one of
_Octavio_'s letters out of her lady's cabinet, and feigning many
frivolous reasons, which deluded the amorous maid, he persuaded her to
get him one, which she did in half an hour after; for by this time
_Sylvia_ being in as much tranquillity as it was possible a lover
could be in, who had the hopes of knowing all the secrets of the false
betrayer, she had called _Antonet_ to dress her; which she resolved
should be in all the careless magnificence that art or nature could
put on; to charm _Octavio_ wholly to obedience, whom she had sent for,
and whom she expected! But she was no sooner set to her toilet, but
_Octavio_'s page arrived with a letter from his master, which she
greedily snatched, and read this:

OCTAVIO _to_ SYLVIA.

By this time, oh charming _Sylvia_, give me leave to hope your rage is
abated, and your reason returned, and that you will hear a little from
the most unfortunate of men, whom you have reduced to this miserable
extremity of losing either the adorable object of his soul, or his
honour: if you can prefer a little curiosity that will serve but to
afflict you, before either that or my repose, what esteem ought I to
believe you have for the unfortunate _Octavio_: and if you hate me, as
it is evident, if you compel me to the extremity of losing my repose
or honour, what reason or argument have I to prefer so careless a fair
one above the last? It is certain you neither do nor can love me now;
and how much below that hope shall the exposed and abandoned _Octavio_
be, when he shall pretend to that glory without his honour? Believe
me, charming maid, I would sacrifice my life, and my entire fortune at
your least command to serve you; but to render you a devoir that must
point me out the basest of my sex, is what my temper must resist in
spite of all the violence of my love; and I thank my happier stars,
that they have given me resolution enough, rather to fall a sacrifice
to the last, than be guilty of the breach of the first: this is the
last and present thought and pleasure of my soul; and lest it should,
by the force of those divine ideas which eternally surround it, be
soothed and flattered from its noble principles, I will to-morrow put
myself out of the hazard of temptation, and divert if possible, by
absence, to the campaign, those soft importunate betrayers of my
liberty, that perpetually solicit in favour of you: I dare not so much
as bid you adieu, one sight of that bright angel's face would undo me,
unfix my nobler resolution, and leave me a despicable slave, sighing
my unrewarded treason at your insensible feet: my fortune I leave to
be disposed by you; but the more useless necessary I will for ever
take from those lovely eyes, you can look on nothing with joy, but the
happy _Philander_: if I have denied you one satisfaction, at least I
have given you this other, of securing you eternally from the trouble
and importunity of, madam, your faithful

OCTAVIO.

This letter to any other less secure of her power than was our fair
subject, would have made them impatient and angry; but she found that
there was something yet in her power, the dispensation of which could
soon recall him from any resolution he was able to make of absenting
himself. Her glass stood before her, and every glance that way was an
assurance and security to her heart; she could not see that beauty,
and doubt its power of persuasion. She therefore took her pen, and
writ him this answer, being in a moment furnished with all the art and
subtlety that was necessary on this occasion.

SYLVIA _to_ Octavio.

_My Lord_,

Though I have not beauty enough to command your heart; at least allow
me sense enough to oblige your belief, that I fancy and resent all
that the letter contains which you have denied me, and that I am not
of that sort of women, whose want of youth or beauty renders so
constant to pursue the ghost of a departed love: it is enough to
justify my honour, that I was not the first aggressor. I find myself
pursued by too many charms of wit, youth, and gallantry, to bury
myself beneath the willows, or to whine away my youth by murmuring
rivers, or betake me to the last refuge of a declining beauty, a
monastery: no, my lord, when I have revenged and recompensed myself
for the injuries of one inconstant, with the joys a thousand imploring
lovers offer, it will be time to be weary of a world, which yet every
day presents me new joys; and I swear to you, _Octavio_, that it was
more to recompense what I owed your passion, that I desired a
convincing proof of _Philander_'s falsehood, than for any other
reason, and you have too much wit not to know it; for what other use
could I make of the secret? If he be false he is gone, unworthy of me,
and impossible to be retrieved; and I would as soon dye my sullied
garments, and wear them over again, as take to my embraces a reformed
lover, the native first lustre of whose passion is quite extinct, and
is no more the same; no, my lord, she must be poor in beauty, that has
recourse to shifts so mean; if I would know the secret, by all that is
good it were to hate him heartily, and to dispose of my person to the
best advantage; which in honour I cannot do, while I am unconvinced of
the falseness of him with whom I exchanged a thousand vows of
fidelity; but if he unlink the chain, I am at perfect liberty; and why
by this delay you should make me lose my time, I am not able to
conceive, unless you fear I should then take you at your word, and
expect the performance of all the vows of love you have made me----If
that be it--my pride shall be your security, or if other recompense
you expect, set the price upon your secret, and see at what rate I
shall purchase the liberty it will procure me; possibly it may be such
as may at once enfranchise me, and revenge me on the perjured ingrate,
than which nothing can be a greater satisfaction to

SYLVIA.

She seals this letter with a wafer, and giving it to _Antonet_ to give
the page, believing she had writ what would not be in vain to the
quick-sighted _Octavio_; _Antonet_ takes both that and the other which
_Octavio_ had sent, and left her lady busy in dressing her head, and
went to _Brilliard_'s chamber, who thought every moment an age till
she came, so vigorous he was on his new design. That which was sent to
_Octavio_, being sealed with a wet wafer, he neatly opens, as it was
easy to do, and read, and sealed again, and _Antonet_ delivered it to
the page. After receiving what pay _Brilliard_ could force himself to
bestow upon her, some flatteries of dissembled love, and some cold
kisses, which even imagination could not render better, she returned
to her lady, and he to his stratagem, which was to counterfeit a
letter from _Octavio_; she having in hers given him a hint, by bidding
him set a price upon the secret, which he had heard was that of a
letter from _Philander_, with all the circumstances of it, from the
faithless _Antonet_, whom love had betrayed; and after blotting much
paper to try every letter through the alphabet, and to produce them
like those of _Octavio_, which was not hard for a lover of ingenuity,
he fell to the business of what he would write; and having finished it
to his liking, his next trouble was how to convey it to her; for
_Octavio_ always sent his by his page, whom he could trust. He now was
certain of love between them; for though he often had persuaded
_Antonet_ to bring him letters, yet she could not be wrought on till
now to betray her trust; and what he long apprehended, he found too
true on both sides, and now he waited but for an opportunity to send
it seasonably, and in a lucky minute. In the mean time _Sylvia_ adorns
herself for an absolute conquest, and disposing herself in the most
charming, careless, and tempting manner she could devise, she lay
expecting her coming lover, on a repose of rich embroidery of gold on
blue satin, hung within-side with little amorous pictures of _Venus_
descending in her chariot naked to _Adonis_, she embracing, while the
youth, more eager of his rural sports, turns half from her in a
posture of pursuing his dogs, who are on their chase: another of
_Armida_, who is dressing the sleeping warrior up in wreaths of
flowers, while a hundred little Loves are playing with his gilded
armour; this puts on his helmet too big for his little head, that
hides his whole face; another makes a hobby-horse of his sword and
lance; another fits on his breast-piece, while three or four little
_Cupids_ are seeming to heave and help him to hold it an end, and all
turned the emblems of the hero into ridicule. These, and some either
of the like nature, adorned the pavilion of the languishing fair one,
who lay carelessly on her side, her arm leaning on little pillows of
point of _Venice_, and a book of amours in her other hand. Every noise
alarmed her with trembling hope that her lover was come, and I have
heard she said, she verily believed, that acting and feigning the
lover possessed her with a tenderness against her knowledge and will;
and she found something more in her soul than a bare curiosity of
seeing _Octavio_ for the letter's sake: but in lieu of her lover, she
found herself once more approached with a billet from him, which
brought this.

OCTAVIO _to_ SYLVIA.

Ah, _Sylvia_, he must be more than human that can withstand your
charms; I confess my frailty, and fall before you the weakest of my
sex, and own I am ready to believe all your dear letter contains, and
have vanity enough to wrest every hopeful word to my own interest, and
in favour of my own heart: what will become of me, if my easy faith
should only flatter me, and I with shame should find it was not meant
to me, or if it were, it was only to draw me from a virtue which has
been hitherto the pride and beauty of my youth, the glory of my name,
and my comfort and refuge in all extremes of fortune; the eternal
companion, guide and counsellor of all my actions: yet this good you
only have power to rob me of, and leave me exposed to the scorn of all
the laughing world; yet give me love! Give me but hope in lieu of it,
and I am content to divest myself of all besides.

Perhaps you will say I ask too mighty a rate for so poor a secret. But
even in that there lies one of my own, that will more expose the
feebleness of my blood and name, than the discovery will me in
particular, so that I know not what I do, when I give you up the
knowledge you desire. Still you will say all this is to enhance its
value, and raise the price: and oh, I fear you have taught my soul
every quality it fears and dreads in yours, and learnt it to chaffer
for every thought, if I could fix upon the rate to sell it at: and I
with shame confess I would be mercenary, could we but agree upon the
price; but my respect forbids me all things but silent hope, and that,
in spite of me and all my reason, will predominate; for the rest I
will wholly resign myself, and all the faculties of my soul, to the
charming arbitrator of my peace, the powerful judge of love, the
adorable _Sylvia_; and at her feet render all she demands; yes, she
shall find me there to justify all the weakness this proclaims; for I
confess, oh too too powerful maid, that you have absolutely subdued

_Your_ OCTAVIO.

She had no sooner read this letter, but _Antonet_, instead of laying
it by, carried it to _Brilliard_, and departed the chamber to make way
for _Octavio_, who she imagined was coming to make his visit, and left
_Sylvia_ considering how she should manage him to the best advantage,
and with most honour acquit herself of what she had made him hope; but
instead of his coming to wait on her, an unexpected accident arrived
to prevent him; for a messenger from the Prince came with commands
that he should forthwith come to His Highness, the messenger having
command to bring him along with him: so that not able to disobey, he
only begged time to write a note of business, which was a billet to
_Sylvia_ to excuse himself till the next day; for it being five
leagues to the village where the Prince waited his coming, he could
not return that night; which was the business of the note, with which
his page hasted to _Sylvia_. _Brilliard_, who was now a vigilant
lover, and waiting for every opportunity that might favour his design,
saw the page arrive with the note; and, as it was usual, he took it to
carry to his conqueress; but meeting _Antonet_ on the stairs, he gave
her what he had before counterfeited with such art, after he had
opened what _Octavio_ had sent, and found fortune was wholly on his
side, he having learned from the page besides, that his lord had taken
coach with Monsieur----to go to His Highness, and would not return
that night: _Antonet_, not knowing the deceit, carried her lady the
forged letter, who opened it with eager haste, and read this.

_To the Charming_ SYLVIA.

_Madam_,

Since I have a secret, which none but I can unfold, and that you have
offered at any rate to buy it of me, give me leave to say, that you,
fair creature, have another secret, a joy to dispense, which none but
you can give the languishing _Octavio_: if you dare purchase this of
mine, with that infinitely more valuable one of yours, I will be as
secret as death, and think myself happier than a fancied god! Take
what methods you please for the payment, and what time, order me,
command me, conjure me, I will wait, watch, and pay my duty at all
hours, to snatch the most convenient one to reap so ravishing a
blessing. I know you will accuse me with all the confidence and
rudeness in the world: but oh! consider, lovely _Sylvia_, that that
passion which could change my soul from all the course of honour, has
power to make me forget that nice respect your beauty awes me with,
and my passion is now arrived at such a height, it obeys no laws but
its own; and I am obstinately bent on the pursuit of that vast
pleasure I fancy to find in the dear, the ravishing arms of the
adorable _Sylvia_: impatient of your answer, I am, as love compels me,
madam, your slave,

OCTAVIO.

The page, who waited no answer, was departed: but _Sylvia_, who
believed he attended, was in a thousand minds what to say or do: she
blushed, as she read, and then looked pale with anger and disdain,
and, but that she had already given her honour up, it would have been
something more surprising: but she was used to questions of that
nature, and therefore received this with so much the less concern;
nevertheless, it was sufficient to fill her soul with a thousand
agitations; but when she would be angry, the consideration of what she
had writ to him, to encourage him to this boldness, stopped her rage:
when she would take it ill, she considered his knowledge of her lost
fame, and that took off a great part of her resentment on that side;
and in midst of all she was raving for the knowledge of _Philander_'s
secret. She rose from the bed, and walked about the room in much
disorder, full of thought and no conclusion; she is ashamed to consult
of this affair with _Antonet_, and knows not what to fix on: the only
thing she was certain of, and which was fully and undisputably
resolved in her soul, was never to consent to so false an action,
never to buy the secret at so dear a rate; she abhors _Octavio_, whom
she regards no more as that fine thing which before she thought him;
and a thousand times she was about to write her despite and contempt,
but still the dear secret stayed her hand, and she was fond of the
torment: at last _Antonet_, who was afflicted to know the cause of
this disorder, asked her lady if _Octavio_ would not come; 'No,'
replied _Sylvia_, blushing at the name, 'nor never shall the
ungrateful man dare to behold my face any more.' 'Jesu,' replied
_Antonet_, 'what has he done, madam, to deserve this severity?' For he
was a great benefactor to _Antonet_, and had already by his gifts and
presents made her a fortune for a burgomaster. 'He has,' said
_Sylvia_, 'committed such an impudence as deserves death from my
hand:' this she spoke in rage, and walked away cross the chamber.
'Why, madam,' cried _Antonet_,'does he deny to give you the letter?'
'No,' replied _Sylvia_, 'but asks me such a price for it, as makes me
hate myself, that am reduced by my ill conduct to addresses of that
nature:' 'Heavens, madam, what can he ask you to afflict you so!' 'The
presumptuous man,' said she, (in rage) 'has the impudence to ask what
never man, but _Philander_, was ever possessed of----' At this,
_Antonet_ laughed--'Good lord, madam,' said she, 'and are you angry at
such desires in men towards you? I believe you are the first lady in
the world that was ever offended for being desirable: can any thing
proclaim your beauty more, or your youth, or wit? Marry, madam, I wish
I were worthy to be asked the question by all the fine dancing,
dressing, song-making fops in town.' 'And you would yield,' replied
_Sylvia_. 'Not so neither,' replied _Antonet_, 'but I would spark
myself, and value myself the more upon it.' 'Oh,' said _Sylvia_, 'she
that is so fond of hearing of love, no doubt but will find some one to
practise it with.' 'That is as I should find myself inclined,' replied
_Antonet_. _Sylvia_ was not so intent on _Antonet_'s raillery, but she
employed all her thought the while on what she had to do: and those
last words of _Antonet_'s jogged a thought that ran on to one very
advantageous, at least her present and first apprehension of it was
such: and she turned to _Antonet_, with a face more gay than it was
the last minute, and cried, 'Prithee, good wench, tell me what sort of
man would soonest incline you to a yielding:' 'If you command me,
madam, to be free with your ladyship,' replied _Antonet_, 'I must
confess there are two sorts of men that would most villainously
incline me: the first is he that would make my fortune best; the next,
he that would make my pleasure; the young, the handsome, or rather the
well-bred and good-humoured; but above all, the man of wit.' 'But what
would you say, _Antonet_,' replied _Sylvia_, 'if all these made up in
one man should make his addresses to you?' 'Why then most certainly,
madam,' replied _Antonet_, 'I should yield him my honour, after a
reasonable siege.' This though the wanton young maid spoke possibly at
first more to put her lady in good humour, than from any inclination
she had to what she said; yet after many arguments upon that subject,
_Sylvia_, cunning enough to pursue her design, brought the business
more home, and told her in plain terms, that _Octavio_ was the man who
had been so presumptuous as to ask so great a reward as the possession
of herself for the secret she desired; and, after a thousand little
subtleties, having made the forward girl confess with blushes she was
not a maid, she insinuated into her an opinion, that what she had done
already (without any other motive than that of love, as she confessed,
in which interest had no part) would make the trick the easier to do
again, especially if she brought to her arms a person of youth, wit,
gallantry, beauty, and all the charming qualities that adorn a man,
and that besides she should find it turn to good account; and for her
secrecy she might depend upon it, since the person to whose embraces
she should submit herself, should not know but that she herself was
the woman: 'So that,' says _Sylvia_, 'I will have all the infamy, and
you the reward every way with unblemished honour.' While she spoke,
the willing maid gave an inward pleasing attention, though at first
she made a few faint modest scruples: nor was she less joyed to hear
it should be _Octavio_, whom she knew to be rich, and very handsome;
and she immediately found the humour of inconstancy seize her; and
_Brilliard_ appeared a very husband lover in comparison of this new
brisker man of quality; so that after some pros and cons the whole
matter was thus concluded on between these two young persons, who
neither wanted wit nor beauty; and both crowed over the little
contrivance, as a most diverting piece of little malice, that should
serve their present turn, and make them sport for the future. The next
thing that was considered was a letter which was to be sent in answer,
and that _Sylvia_ being to write with her own hand begot a new doubt,
insomuch as the whole business was at a stand: for when it came to
that point that she herself was to consent, she found the project look
with a face so foul, that she a hundred times resolved and unresolved.
But _Philander_ filled her soul, revenge was in her view, and that one
thought put her on new resolves to pursue the design, let it be never
so base and dishonourable: 'Yes,' cried she at last, 'I can commit no
action that is not more just, excusable and honourable, than that
which _Octavio_ has done to me, who uses me like a common mistress of
the town, and dares ask me that which he knows he durst not do, if he
had not mean and abject thoughts of me; his baseness deserves death at
my hand, if I had courage to give it him, and the least I can do is to
deceive the deceiver. Well then, give me my escritoire,' says she; so,
sitting down, she writ this, not without abundance of guilt and
confusion; for yet a certain honour, which she had by birth, checked
the cheat of her pen.

       *       *       *       *       *

SYLVIA _to_ OCTAVIO.

The price, _Octavio_, which you have set upon your secret, I (more
generous than you) will give your merit, to which alone it is due: if
I should pay so high a price for the first, you would believe I had
the less esteem for the last, and I would not have you think me so
poor in spirit to yield on any other terms. If I valued _Philander_
yet--after his confirmed inconstancy, I would have you think I scorn
to yield a body where I do not give a soul, and am yet to be persuaded
there are any such brutes amongst my sex; but as I never had a wish
but where I loved, so I never extended one till now to any but
_Philander_; yet so much my sense of shame is above my growing
tenderness, that I could wish you would be so generous to think no
more of what you seem to pursue with such earnestness and haste. But
lest I should retain any sort of former love for _Philander_, whom I
am impatient to rase wholly from my soul, I grant you all you ask,
provided you will be discreet in the management: _Antonet_ therefore
shall only be trusted with the secret; the outward gate you shall find
at twelve only shut to, and _Antonet_ wait you at the stairs-foot to
conduct you to me; come alone. I blush and gild the paper with their
reflections, at the thought of an encounter like this, before I am
half enough secured of your heart. And that you may be made more
absolutely the master of mine, send me immediately _Philander_'s
letter enclosed, that if any remains of chagrin possess me, they may
be totally vanquished by twelve o'clock.

SYLVIA.

She having, with much difficulty, writ this, read it to her trusty
confidante; for this was the only secret of her lady's she was
resolved never to discover to _Brilliard_, and to the end he might
know nothing of it she sealed the letter with wax: but before she
sealed it, she told her lady, she thought she might have spared
abundance of her blushes, and have writ a less kind letter; for a word
of invitation or consent would have served as well. To which _Sylvia_
replied, her anger against him was too high not to give him all the
defeat imaginable, and the greater the love appeared, the greater
would be the revenge when he should come to know (as in time he
should) how like a false friend she had treated him. This reason, or
any at that time would have served _Antonet_, whose heart was set upon
a new adventure, and in such haste she was (the night coming on
a-pace) to know how she should dress, and what more was to be done,
that she only went out to call the page, and meeting _Brilliard_ (who
watched every body's motion) on the stair-case, he asked her what that
was; and she said, to send by _Octavio_'s page: 'You need not look in
it,' said she (when he snatched it hastily out of her hand:) 'For I
can tell you the contents, and it is sealed so, it must be known if
you unrip it.' 'Well, well,' said he, 'if you tell it me, it will
satisfy my curiosity as well; therefore I'll give it the page.' She
returns in again to her lady, and he to his own chamber to read what
answer the dear object of his desire had sent to his forged one: so
opening it, he found it such as his soul wished, and was all joy and
ecstasy; he views himself a hundred times in the glass, and set
himself in order with all the opinion and pride, as if his own good
parts had gained him the blessing; he enlarged himself as he walked,
and knew not what to do, so extremely was he ravished with his coming
joy; he blessed himself, his wit, his stars, his fortune; then read
the dear obliging letter, and kissed it all over, as if it had been
meant to him; and after he had forced himself to a little more serious
consideration, he bethought himself of what he had to do in order to
this dear appointment: he finds in her letter, that in the first place
he was to send her the letter from _Philander_: I told you before he
took _Octavio_'s letter from the page, when he understood his lord was
going five leagues out of town to the prince. _Octavio_ could not
avoid his going, and wrote to _Sylvia_; in which he sent her the
letter _Philander_ writ, wherein was the first part of the confession
of his love to Madam the Countess of _Clarinau_: generously _Octavio_
sent it without terms; but _Brilliard_ slid his own forged one into
_Antonet_'s hand in lieu of it, and now he read that from _Philander_,
and wondered at his lord's inconstancy; yet glad of the opportunity to
take _Sylvia_'s heart a little more off from him, he soon resolved she
should have the letter, but being wholly mercenary, and fearing that
either when once she had it, it might make her go back from her
promised assignation, or at least put her out of humour, so as to
spoil a great part of the entertainment he designed: he took the pains
to counterfeit another billet to her, which was this.

       *       *       *       *       *

_To_ SYLVIA.

_Madam_,

Since we have begun to chaffer, you must give me leave to make the
best of the advantage I find I have upon you; and having violated my
honour to _Philander_, allow the breach of it in some degree on other
occasions; not but I have all the obedience and adoration for you that
ever possessed the soul of a most passionate and languishing lover:
but, fair _Sylvia_, I know not whether, when you have seen the secret
of the false _Philander_, you may not think it less valuable than you
before did, and so defraud me of my due. Give me leave, oh wondrous
creature! to suspect even the most perfect of your sex; and to tell
you, that I will no sooner approach your presence, but I will resign
the paper you so much wish. If you send me no answer, I will come
according to your directions: if you do, I must obey and wait, though
with that impatience that never attended a suffering lover, or any
but, divine creature, your OCTAVIO.

This he sealed, and after a convenient distance of time carried as
from the page to _Antonet_, who was yet contriving with her lady, to
whom she gives it, who read it with abundance of impatience, being
extremely angry at the rudeness of the style, which she fancied much
altered from what it was; and had not her rage blinded her, she might
easily have perceived the difference too of the character, though it
came as near to the like as possible so short a practice could
produce; she took it with the other, and tore it in pieces with rage,
and swore she would be revenged; but, after calmer thoughts, she took
up the pieces to keep to upbraid him with, and fell to weeping for
anger, defeat and shame; but the _April_ shower being past, she
returned to her former resentment, and had some pleasure amidst all
her torment of fears, jealousies, and sense of _Octavio_'s disrespect
in the thoughts of revenge; in order to which she contrives how
_Antonet_ shall manage herself, and commanding her to bring out some
fine point linen, she dressed up _Antonet_'s head with them, and put
her on a shift, laced with the same; for though she intended no light
should be in the chamber when _Octavio_ should enter, she knew he
understood by his touch the difference of fine things from other. In
fine, having dressed her exactly as she herself used to be when she
received _Octavio_'s visits in bed, she embraced her, and fancied she
was much of her own shape and bigness, and that it was impossible to
find the deceit: and now she made _Antonet_ dress her up in her
clothes, and mobbing her sarsenet hood about her head, she appeared so
like _Antonet_ (all but the face) that it was not easy to distinguish
them: and night coming on they both long for the hour of twelve,
though with different designs; and having before given notice that
_Sylvia_ was gone to bed, and would receive no visit that night, they
were alone to finish all their business: this while _Brilliard_ was
not idle, but having a fine bath made, he washed and perfumed his
body, and after dressed himself in the finest linen perfumed that he
had, and made himself as fit as possible for his design; nor was his
shape, which was very good, or his stature, unlike to that of
_Octavio_: and ready for the approach, he conveys himself out of the
house, telling his footman he would put himself to bed after his
bathing, and, locking his chamber door, stole out; and it being dark,
many a longing turn he walked, impatient till all the candles were out
in every room of the house: in the mean time, he employed his thoughts
on a thousand things, but all relating to _Sylvia_; sometimes the
treachery he shewed in this action to his lord, caused short-lived
blushes in his face, which vanished as soon, when he considered his
lord false to the most beautiful of her sex: sometimes he accused and
cursed the levity of _Sylvia_ that could yield to _Octavio_, and was
as jealous as if she had indeed been to have received that charming
lover; but when his thought directed him to his own happiness, his
pulse beat high, his blood flushed apace in his cheeks, his eyes
languished with love, and his body with a feverish fit! In these
extremes, by turns, he passed at least three tedious hours, with a
striking watch in his hand; and when it told it was twelve, he
advanced near the door, but finding it shut walked yet with greater
impatience, every half minute going to the door; at last he found it
yield to his hand that pushed it: but oh, what mortal can express his
joy! His heart beats double, his knees tremble, and a feebleness
seizes every limb; he breathes nothing but short sighs, and is ready
in the dark hall to fall on the floor, and was forced to lean on the
rail that begins the stairs to take a little courage: while he was
there recruiting himself, intent on nothing but his vast joy;
_Octavio_, who going to meet the Prince, being met halfway by that
young _hero_, was dispatched back again without advancing to the end
of his five leagues, and impatient to see _Sylvia_, after
_Philander_'s letter that he had sent her, or at least impatient to
hear how she took it, and in what condition she was, he, as soon as he
alighted, went towards her house in order to have met _Antonet_, or
her page, or some that could inform him of her welfare; though it was
usual for _Sylvia_ to sit up very late, and he had often made her
visits at that hour: and _Brilliard_, wholly intent on his adventure,
had left the door open; so that _Octavio_ perceiving it, believed they
were all up in the back rooms where _Sylvia_'s apartment was towards a
garden, for he saw no light forward. But he was no sooner entered
(which he did without noise) but he heard a soft breathing, which made
him stand in the hall: and by and by he heard the soft tread of some
body descending the stairs: at this he approaches near, and the hall
being a marble floor, his tread was not heard; when he heard one cry
with a sigh--'Who is there?' And another replied, 'It is I! Who are
you?' The first replied, 'A faithful and an impatient lover.' 'Give me
your hand then,' replied the female voice, 'I will conduct you to your
happiness.' You may imagine in what surprise _Octavio_ was at so
unexpected an adventure, and, like a jealous lover, did not at all
doubt but the happiness expected was _Sylvia_, and the impatient lover
some one, whom he could not imagine, but raved within to know, and in
a moment ran over in his thoughts all the men of quality, or
celebrated beauty, or fortune in the town, but was at as great a loss
as at first thinking: 'But be thou who thou wilt,' cried he to
himself; 'traitor as thou art, I will by thy death revenge myself on
the faithless fair one.' And taking out his sword, he had advanced
towards the stairs-foot, when he heard them both softly ascend; but
being a man of perfect good nature, as all the brave and witty are, he
reflected on the severe usage he had from _Sylvia_, notwithstanding
all his industry, his vast expense, and all the advantages of nature.
This thought made him, in the midst of all his jealousy and haste,
pause a little moment; and fain he would have persuaded himself, that
what he heard was the errors of his sense; or that he dreamed, or that
it was at least not to _Sylvia_, to whom this ascending lover was
advancing: but to undeceive him of that favourable imagination, they
were no sooner on the top of the stairs, but he not being many steps
behind could both hear and see, by the ill light of a great
sash-window on the stair-case, the happy lover enter the chamber-door
of _Sylvia_, which he knew too well to be mistaken, not that he could
perceive who, or what they were, but two persons not to be
distinguished. Oh what human fancy, (but that of a lover to that
degree that was our young hero,) can imagine the amazement and torture
of his soul, wherein a thousand other passions reigned at once, and,
maugre all his courage and resolution, forced him to sink beneath
their weight? He stood holding himself up by the rails of the
stair-case, without having the power to ascend farther, or to shew any
other signs of life, but that of sighing; had he been a favoured
lover, had he been a known declared lover to all the world, had he but
hoped he had had so much interest with the false beauty, as but to
have been designed upon for a future love or use, he would have rushed
in, and have made the guilty night a covert to a scene of blood; but
even yet he had an awe upon his soul for the perjured fair one, though
at the same time he resolved she should be the object of his hate; for
the nature of his honest soul abhorred an action so treacherous and
base: he begins in a moment from all his good thoughts of her to think
her the most jilting of her sex; he knew, if interest could oblige
her, no man in _Holland_ had a better pretence to her than himself;
who had already, without any return, even so much as hope, presented
her the value of eight or ten thousand pounds in fine plate and
jewels: if it were looser desire, he fancied himself to have appeared
as capable to have served her as any man; but oh! he considers there
is a fate in things, a destiny in love that elevates and advances the
most mean, deformed or abject, and debases and condemns the most
worthy and magnificent: then he wonders at her excellent art of
dissembling for _Philander_; he runs in a minute over all her passions
of rage, jealousy, tears and softness; and now he hates the whole sex,
and thinks them all like _Sylvia_, than whom nothing could appear more
despicable to his present thought, and with a smile, while yet his
heart was insensibly breaking, he fancies himself a very coxcomb, a
cully, an imposed on fool, and a conceited fop; values _Sylvia_ as a
common fair jilt, whose whole design was to deceive the world, and
make herself a fortune at the price of her honour; one that receives
all kind bidders, and that he being too lavish, and too modest, was
reserved the cully on purpose to be undone and jilted out of all his
fortune! This thought was so perfectly fixed in him, that he recovered
out of his excess of pain, and fancied himself perfectly cured of his
blind passion, resolves to leave her to her beastly entertainment, and
to depart; but before he did so, _Sylvia_, (who had conducted the
amorous spark to the bed, where the expecting lady lay dressed rich
and sweet to receive him) returned out of the chamber, and the light
being a little more favourable to his eyes, by his being so long in
the dark, he perceived it _Antonet_, at least such a sort of figure as
he fancied her, and to confirm him saw her go into that chamber where
he knew she lay; he saw her perfect dress, and all confirmed him; this
brought him back almost to his former confusion; but yet he commands
his passion, and descended the stairs, and got himself out of the hall
into the street; and _Sylvia_, remembering the street-door was open,
went and shut it, and returned to _Antonet_'s chamber with the letter
which _Brilliard_ had given to _Antonet_, as she lay in the bed,
believing it _Sylvia_: for that trembling lover was no sooner entered
the chamber, and approached the bed-side, but he kneeled before it,
and offered the price of his happiness, this letter, which she
immediately gave to _Sylvia_, unperceived, who quitted the room: and
now with all the eager haste of impatient love she strikes a light,
and falls to reading the sad contents; but as she read, she many times
fainted over the paper, and as she has since said, it was a wonder she
ever recovered, having no body with her. By that time she had finished
it, she was so ill she was not able to get herself into bed, but threw
herself down on the place where she sat, which was the side of it, in
such agony of grief and despair, as never any soul was possessed of,
but _Sylvia_'s, wholly abandoned to the violence of love and despair:
it is impossible to paint a torment to express hers by; and though she
had vowed to _Antonet_ it should not at all affect her, being so
prepossessed before; yet when she had the confirmation of her fears,
and heard his own dear soft words addressed to another object, saw his
transports, his impatience, his languishing industry and endeavour to
obtain the new desire of his soul, she found her resentment above
rage, and given over to a more silent and less supportable torment,
brought herself into a high fever, where she lay without so much as
calling for aid in her extremity; not that she was afraid the cheat
she had put on _Octavio_ would be discovered; for she had lost the
remembrance that any such prank was played; and in this multitude of
thoughts of more concern, had forgot all the rest of that night's
action.

_Octavio_ this while was traversing the street, wrapped in his cloak,
just as if he had come from horse; for he was no sooner gone from the
door, but his resenting passion returned, and he resolved to go up
again, and disturb the lovers, though it cost him his life and fame:
but returning hastily to the door, he found it shut; at which being
enraged, he was often about to break it open, but still some
unperceivable respect for _Sylvia_ prevented him; but he resolved not
to stir from the door, till he saw the fortunate rogue come out, who
had given him all this torment. At first he cursed himself for being
so much concerned for _Sylvia_ or her actions to waste a minute, but
flattering himself that it was not love to her, but pure curiosity to
know the man who was made the next fool to himself, though the more
happy one, he waited all night; and when he began to see the day
break, which he thought a thousand years; his eye was never off from
the door, and wondered at their confidence, who would let the day
break upon them; 'but the close-drawn curtains there,' cried he,
'favour the happy villainy.' Still he walked on, and still he might
for any rival that was to appear, for a most unlucky accident
prevented _Brilliard_'s coming out, as he doubly intended to do;
first, for the better carrying on of his cheat of being _Octavio_; and
next that he had challenged _Octavio_ to fight; and when he knew his
error, designed to have gone this morning, and asked him pardon, if he
had been returned; but the amorous lover over night, ordering himself
for the encounter to the best advantage, had sent a note to a doctor,
for something that would encourage his spirits; the doctor came, and
opening a little box, wherein was a powerful medicine, he told him
that a dose of those little flies would make him come off with
wondrous honour in the battle of love; and the doctor being gone to
call for a glass of sack, the doctor having laid out of the box what
he thought requisite on a piece of paper, and leaving the box open,
our spark thought if such a dose would encourage him so, a greater
would yet make him do greater wonders; and taking twice the quantity
out of the box, puts them into his pocket, and having drank the first
with full directions, the doctor leaves him; who was no sooner gone,
but he takes those out of his pocket, and in a glass of sack drinks
them down; after this he bathes and dresses, and believes himself a
very _Hercules_, that could have got at least twelve sons that happy
night; but he was no sooner laid in bed with the charming _Sylvia_, as
he thought, but he was taken with intolerable gripes and pains, such
as he had never felt before, insomuch that he was not able to lie in
the bed: this enrages him; he grows mad and ashamed; sometimes he had
little intermissions for a moment of ease, and then he would plead
softly by her bed-side, and ask ten thousand pardons; which being
easily granted he would go into bed again, but then the pain would
seize him anew, so that after two or three hours of distraction he was
forced to dress and retire: but, instead of going down he went softly
up to his own chamber, where he sat him down, and cursed the world,
himself and his hard fate; and in this extremity of pain, shame and
grief, he remained till break of day: by which time _Antonet_, who was
almost as violently afflicted, got her coats on, and went to her own
chamber, where she found her lady more dead than alive. She
immediately shifted her bed-linen, and made her bed, and conducted her
to it, without endeavouring to divert her with the history of her own
misfortune; and only asked her many questions concerning her being
thus ill: to which the wretched _Sylvia_ only answered with sighs; so
that _Antonet_ perceived it was the letter that had disordered her,
and begged she might be permitted to see it; she gave her leave, and
_Antonet_ read it; but no sooner was she come to that part of it which
named the Countess of _Clarinau_, but she asked her lady if she
understood who that person was, with great amazement: at this _Sylvia_
was content to speak, pleased a little that she should have an account
of her rival. 'No,' said she, 'dost thou know her?' 'Yes, madam,'
replied _Antonet_, 'particularly well; for I have served her ever
since I was a girl of five years old, she being of the same age with
me, and sent at six years old both to a monastery; for she being fond
of my play her father sent me at that age with her, both to serve and
to divert her with babies and baubles; there we lived seven years
together, when an old rich _Spaniard_, the Count of _Clarinau_, fell
in love with my lady, and married her from the monastery, before she
had seen any part of the world beyond those sanctified walls. She
cried bitterly to have had me to _Cologne_ with her, but he said I was
too young now for her service, and so sent me away back to my own
town, which is this; and here my lady was born too, and is sister
to----' Here she stopped, fearing to tell; which _Sylvia_ perceiving,
with a briskness (which her indisposition one would have thought could
not have allowed) sat up in bed, and cried, 'Ha! sister to whom? Oh,
how thou wouldst please me to say to _Octavio_.' 'Why, madam, would it
please you?' said the blushing maid. 'Because,' said _Sylvia_, 'it
would in part revenge me on his bold addresses to me, and he would
also be obliged, in honour to his family, to revenge himself on
_Philander_.' 'Ah, madam,' said she, 'as to his presumption towards
you, fortune has sufficiently revenged it;' at this she hung down her
head, and looked very foolishly. 'How,' said _Sylvia_, smiling and
rearing herself yet more in her bed, 'is any misfortune arrived to
_Octavio_? Oh, how I will triumph and upbraid the daring man!----tell
me quickly what it is; for nothing would rejoice me more than to hear
he were punished a little.' Upon this _Antonet_ told her what an
unlucky night she had, how _Octavio_ was seized, and how he departed;
by which _Sylvia_ believed he had made some discovery of the cheat
that was put upon him; and that he only feigned illness to get himself
loose from her embraces; and now she falls to considering how she
shall be revenged on both her lovers: and the best she can pitch upon
is that of setting them both at odds, and making them fight and
revenge themselves on one another; but she, like a right woman, could
not dissemble her resentment of jealousy, whatever art she had to do
so in any other point; but mad to ease her soul that was full, and to
upbraid _Philander_, she writes him a letter; but not till she had
once more, to make her stark-mad, read his over again, which he sent
_Octavio_.

SYLVIA _to_ PHILANDER.

Yes, perjured villain, at last all thy perfidy is arrived to my
knowledge; and thou hadst better have been damned, or have fallen,
like an ungrateful traitor, as thou art, under the public shame of
dying by the common executioner, than have fallen under the grasp of
my revenge; insatiate as thy lust, false as thy treasons to thy
prince, fatal as thy destiny, loud as thy infamy, and bloody as thy
party. Villain, villain, where got you the courage to use me thus,
knowing my injuries and my spirit? Thou seest, base traitor, I do not
fall on thee with treachery, as thou hast with thy king and mistress;
to which thou hast broken thy holy vows of allegiance and eternal
love! But thou that hast broken the laws of God and nature! What could
I expect, when neither religion, honour, common justice nor law could
bind thee to humanity? Thou that betrayest thy prince, abandonest thy
wife, renouncest thy child, killest thy mother, ravishest thy sister,
and art in open rebellion against thy native country, and very kindred
and brothers. Oh after this, what must the wretch expect who has
believed thee, and followed thy abject fortunes, the miserable
out-cast slave, and contempt of the world? What could she expect but
that the villain is still potent in the unrepented, and all the lover
dead and gone, the vice remains, and all the virtue vanished! Oh, what
could I expect from such a devil, so lost in sin and wickedness, that
even those for whom he ventured all his fame, and lost his fortune,
lent like a state-cully upon the public faith, on the security of
rogues, knaves and traitors; even those, I say, turned him out of
their councils for a reprobate too lewd for the villainous society? Oh
cursed that I was, by heaven and fate, to be blind and deaf to all thy
infamy, and suffer thy adorable bewitching face and tongue to charm me
to madness and undoing, when that was all thou hadst left thee, thy
false person, to cheat the silly, easy, fond, believing world into any
sort of opinion of thee; for not one good principle was left, not one
poor virtue to guard thee from damnation, thou hadst but one friend
left thee, one true, on real friend, and that was wretched _Sylvia_;
she, when all abandoned thee but the executioner, fled with thee,
suffered with thee, starved with thee, lost her fame and honour with
thee, lost her friends, her parents, and all her beauty's hopes for
thee; and, in lieu of all, found only the accusation of all the good,
the hate of all the virtuous, the reproaches of her kindred, the scorn
of all chaste maids, and curses of all honest wives; and in requital
had only thy false vows, thy empty love, thy faithless embraces, and
cold dissembling kisses. My only comfort was, (ah miserable comfort,)
to fancy they were true; now that it is departed too, and I have
nothing but a brave revenge left in the room of all! In which I will
be as merciless and irreligious as even thou hast been in all thy
actions; and there remains about me only this sense of honour yet,
that I dare tell thee of my bold design, a bravery thou hast never
shewed to me, who takest me unawares, stabb'st me without a warning of
the blow; so would'st thou serve thy king hadst thou but power; and so
thou servest thy mistress. When I look back even to thy infancy, thy
life has been but one continued race of treachery, and I, (destined
thy evil genius) was born for thy tormentor; for thou hast made a very
fiend of me, and I have hell within; all rage, all torment, fire,
distraction, madness; I rave, I burn, I tear myself and faint, am
still a dying, but can never fall till I have grasped thee with me:
oh, I should laugh in flames to see thee howling by: I scorn thee,
hate thee, loathe thee more than ever I have loved thee; and hate
myself so much for ever loving thee, (to be revenged upon the filthy
criminal) I will expose myself to all the world, cheat, jilt and
flatter all as thou hast done, and having not one sense or grain of
honour left, will yield the abandoned body thou hast rifled to every
asking fop: nor is that all, for they that purchase this shall buy it
at the price of being my _bravoes_. And all shall aid in my revenge on
thee; all merciless and as resolved as I; as I! The injured

SYLVIA.

Having shot this flash of the lightning of her soul, and finished her
rant, she found herself much easier in the resolves on revenge she had
fixed there: she scorned by any vain endeavour to recall him from his
passion; she had wit enough to have made those eternal observations,
that love once gone is never to be retrieved, and that it was
impossible to cease loving, and then again to love the same person;
one may believe for some time one's love is abated, but when it comes
to a trial, it shews itself as vigorous as in its first shine, and
finds its own error; but when once one comes to love a new object, it
can never return with more than pity, compassion, or civility for the
first: this is a most certain truth which all lovers will find, as
most wives may experience, and which our _Sylvia_ now took for
granted, and gave him over for dead to all but her revenge. Though
fits of softness, weeping, raving, and tearing, would by turns seize
the distracted abandoned beauty, in which extremities she has recourse
to scorn and pride, too feeble to aid her too often: the first thing
she resolved on, by the advice of her reasonable counsellor, was to
hear love at both ears, no matter whether she regard it or not, but to
hear all, as a remedy against loving one in particular; for it is most
certain, that the use of hearing love, or of making love (though at
first without design) either in women or men, shall at last unfix the
most confirmed and constant resolution. 'And since you are assured,'
continued _Antonet_, 'that sighs nor tears bring back the wandering
lover, and that dying for him will be no revenge on him, but rather a
kind assurance that you will no more trouble the man who is already
weary of you, you ought, with all your power, industry and reason,
rather to seek the preservation of that beauty, of that fine humour,
to serve you on all occasions, either of revenge or love, than by a
foolish and insignificant concern and sorrow reduce yourself to the
condition of being scorned by all, or at best but pitied.' 'How
pitied!' cried the haughty _Sylvia_. 'Is there any thing so
insupportable to our sex as pity!' 'No surely,' replied the servant,
'when 'tis accompanied by love: oh what blessed comfort 'tis to hear
people cry--"she was once charming, once a beauty." Is any thing more
grating, madam?' At this rate she ran on, and left nothing unsaid that
might animate the angry _Sylvia_ to love anew, or at least to receive
and admit of love; for in that climate the air naturally breeds
spirits avaricious, and much inclines them to the love of money, which
they will gain at any price or hazard; and all this discourse to
_Sylvia_, was but to incline the revengeful listening beauty to admit
of the addresses of _Octavio_, because she knew he would make her
fortune. Thus was the unhappy maid left by her own unfortunate
conduct, encompassed in on every side with distraction; and she was
pointed out by fate to be made the most wretched of all her sex; nor
had she left one faithful friend to advise or stay her youth in its
hasty advance to ruin; she hears the persuading eloquence of the
flattering maid, and finds now nothing so prevalent on her soul as
revenge, and nothing soothes it more; and among all her lovers, or
those at least that she knew adored her, none was found so proper an
instrument as the noble _Octavio_, his youth, his wit, his gallantry,
but above all his fortune pleads most powerfully with her; so that she
resolves upon the revenge, and fixes him the man; whom she now knew by
so many obligations was obliged to serve her turn on _Philander_: thus
_Sylvia_ found a little tranquillity, such as it was, in hope of
revenge, while the passionate _Octavio_ was wrecked with a thousand
pains and torments, such as none but jilted lovers can imagine; and
having a thousand times resolved to hate her, and as often to love on,
in spite of all----after a thousand arguments against her, and as many
in favour of her, he arrived only to this knowledge, that his love was
extreme, and that he had no power over his heart; that honour, fame,
interest, and whatever else might oppose his violent flame, were all
too weak to extinguish the least spark of it, and all the conquest he
could get of himself was, that he suffered all his torment, all the
hell of raging jealousy grown to confirmation, and all the pangs of
absence for that whole day, and had the courage to live on the rack
without easing one moment of his agony by a letter or billet, which in
such cases discharges the burden and pressures of the love-sick heart;
and _Sylvia_, who dressed, and suffered herself wholly to be carried
away by her vengeance, expected him with as much impatience as ever
she did the coming of the once adorable _Philander_, though with a
different passion; but all the live-long day passed in expectation of
him, and no lover appeared; no not so much as a billet, nor page at
her up-rising to ask her health; so that believing he had been very
ill indeed, from what _Antonet_ told her of his being so all night,
and fearing now that it was no discovery of the cheat put upon him by
the exchange of the maid for the mistress, but real sickness, she
resolved to send to him, and the rather because _Antonet_ assured her
he was really sick, and in a cold damp sweat all over his face and
hands which she touched, and that from his infinite concern at the
defeat, the extreme respect he shewed her in midst of all the rage at
his own disappointment, and every circumstance, she knew it was no
feigned thing for any discovery he had made: on this confirmation,
from a maid cunning enough to distinguish truth from flattery, she
writ _Octavio_ this letter at night.

SYLVIA _to_ OCTAVIO.

After such a parting from a maid so entirely kind to you, she might at
least have hoped the favour of a billet from you, to have informed her
of your health; unless you think that after we have surrendered all,
we are of the humour of most of your sex, who despise the obliger; but
I believed you a man above the little crimes and levities of your
race; and I am yet so hard to be drawn from that opinion, I am willing
to flatter myself, that 'tis yet some other reason that has hindered
you from visiting me since, or sending me an account of your recovery,
which I am too sensible of to believe was feigned, and which indeed
has made me so tender, that I easily forgive all the disappointment I
received from it, and beg you will not afflict yourself at any loss
you sustained by it, since I am still so much the same I was, to be as
sensible as before of all the obligations I have to you; send me word
immediately how you do, for on that depends a great part of the
happiness of

SYLVIA.

You may easily see by this letter she was not in a humour of either
writing love or much flattery; for yet she knew not how she ought to
resent this absence in all kinds from _Octavio_, and therefore with
what force she could put upon a soul, too wholly taken up with the
thoughts of another, more dear and more afflicting, she only writ this
to fetch one from him, that by it she might learn part of his
sentiment of her last action, and sent her page with it to him; who,
as was usual, was carried directly up to _Octavio_, whom he found in a
gallery, walking in a most dejected posture, without a band, unbraced,
his arms a-cross his open breast, and his eyes bent to the floor; and
not taking any notice when the pages entered, his own was forced to
pull him by the sleeve before he would look up, and starting from a
thousand thoughts that oppressed him almost to death, he gazed wildly
about him, and asked their business: when the page delivered him the
letter, he took it, but with such confusion as he had much ado to
support himself; but resolving not to shew his feebleness to her page,
he made a shift to get a wax-light that was on the table, and read it;
and was not much amazed at the contents, believing she was pursuing
the business of her sex and life, and jilting him on; (for such was
his opinion of all women now); he forced a smile of scorn, though his
soul were bursting, and turning to the page gave him a liberal reward,
as was his daily use when he came, and mustered up so much courage as
to force himself to say--'Child, tell your lady it requires no answer;
you may tell her too, that I am in perfect good health--' He was
oppressed to speak more, but sighs stopped him, and his former
resolution, wholly to abandon all correspondence with her, checked his
forward tongue, and he walked away to prevent himself from saying
more: while the page, who wondered at this turn of love, after a
little waiting, departed; and when _Octavio_ had ended his walk, and
turned, and saw him gone, his heart felt a thousand pangs not to be
borne or supported; he was often ready to recall him, and was angry
the boy did not urge him for an answer. He read the letter again, and
wonders at nothing now after her last night's action, though all was
riddle to him: he found it was writ to some happier man than himself,
however he chanced to have it by mistake; and turning to the outside,
viewed the superscription, where there happened to be none at all, for
_Sylvia_ writ in haste, and when she did it, it was the least of her
thoughts: and now he believed he had found out the real mystery, that
it was not meant to him; he therefore calls his page, whom he sent
immediately after that of _Sylvia_, who being yet below (for the lads
were laughing together for a moment) he brought him to his distracted
lord; who nevertheless assumed a mildness to the innocent boy, and
cried, 'My child, thou hast mistaken the person to whom thou shouldst
have carried the letter, and I am sorry I opened it; pray return it to
the happy man it was meant to,' giving him the letter. 'My lord,'
replied the boy, 'I do not use to carry letters to any but your
lordship: it is the footmen's business to do that to other persons.'
'It is a mistake, where ever it lies,' cried _Octavio_, sighing,
'whether in thee, or thy lady----' So turning from the wondering boy
he left him to return with his letter to his lady, who grew mad at the
relation of what she heard from the page, and notwithstanding the
torment she had upon her soul, occasioned by _Philander_, she now
found she had more to endure, and that in spite of all her love-vows
and resentments, she had something for _Octavio_ to which she could
not give a name; she fancies it all pride, and concern for the
indignity put on her beauty: but whatever it was, this slight of his
so wholly took up her soul, that she had for some time quite forgot
_Philander_, or when she did think on him it was with less resentment
than of this affront; she considers _Philander_ with some excuse now;
as having long been possessed of a happiness he might grow weary of;
but a new lover, who had for six months incessantly lain at her feet,
imploring, dying, vowing, weeping, sighing, giving and acting all
things the most passionate of men was capable of, or that love could
inspire, for him to be at last admitted to the possession of the
ravishing object of his vows and soul, to be laid in her bed, nay in
her very arms (as she imagined he thought) and then, even before
gathering the roses he came to pluck, before he had begun to compose
or finished his nosegay, to depart the happy paradise with a disgust,
and such a disgust, as first to oblige him to dissemble sickness, and
next fall even from all his civilities, was a contempt she was not
able to bear; especially from him, of whom all men living, she
designed to make the greatest property of, as most fit for her revenge
of all degrees and sorts: but when she reflected with reason, (which
she seldom did, for either love or rage blinded that) she could not
conceive it possible that _Octavio_ could be fallen so suddenly from
all his vows and professions, but on some very great provocation:
sometimes she thinks he tempted her to try her virtue to _Philander_,
and being a perfect honourable friend, hates her for her levity; but
she considers his presents, and his unwearied industry, and believes
he would not at that expense have bought a knowledge which could
profit neither himself nor _Philander_; then she believes some
disgusted scent, or something about _Antonet_, might disoblige him;
but having called the maid, conjuring her to tell her whether any
thing passed between her and _Octavio_; she again told her lady the
whole truth, in which there could be no discovery of infirmity there;
she embraced her, she kissed her bosom, and found her touches soft,
her breath and bosom sweet as any thing in nature could be; and now
lost almost in a confusion of thought, she could not tell what to
imagine; at last she being wholly possessed that all the fault was not
in _Octavio_, (for too often we believe as we hope) she concludes that
_Antonet_ has told him all the cheat she put upon him: this last
thought pleased her, because it seemed the most probable, and was the
most favourable to herself; and a thought that, if true, could not do
her any injury with him. This set her heart a little to rights, and
she grew calm with a belief, that if so it was, as now she doubted
not, a sight of her, or a future hope from her, would calm all his
discontent, and beget a right understanding; she therefore resolves to
write to him, and own her little fallacy: but before she did so,
_Octavio_, whose passion was violent as ever in his soul, though it
was oppressed with a thousand torments, and languished under as many
feeble resolutions, burst at last into all its former softness, and he
resolves to write to the false fair one, and upbraid her with her last
night's infidelity; nor could he sleep till he had that way charmed
his senses, and eased his sick afflicted soul. It being now ten at
night, and he retired to his chamber, he set himself down and writ
this.

OCTAVIO _to_ SYLVIA.

_Madam_,

You have at last taught me a perfect knowledge of myself; and in one
unhappy night made me see all the follies and vanities of my soul,
which self-love and fond imagination had too long rendered that way
guilty; long long! I have played the fop as others do, and shewed the
gaudy monsieur, and set a value on my worthless person for being well
dressed, as I believed, and furnished out for conquest, by being the
gayest coxcomb in the town, where, even as I passed, perhaps, I
fancied I made advances on some wishing hearts, and vain, with but
imaginary victory, I still fooled on----and was at last undone; for I
saw _Sylvia_, the charming faithless _Sylvia_, a beauty that one would
have thought had had the power to have cured the fond disease of
self-conceit and foppery, since love, they say, is a remedy against
those faults of youth; but still my vanity was powerful in me, and
even this beauty too I thought it not impossible to vanquish, and
still dressed on, and took a mighty care to shew myself--a blockhead,
curse upon me, while you were laughing at my industry, and turned the
fancying fool to ridicule, oh, he deserved it well, most wondrous
well, for but believing any thing about him could merit but a serious
thought from _Sylvia_. _Sylvia_! whose business is to laugh at all;
yet love, that is my sin and punishment, reigns still as absolutely in
my soul, as when I wished and hoped and longed for mighty blessings
you could give; yes, I still love! Only this wretchedness is fixed to
it, to see those errors which I cannot shun; my love is as high, but
all my wishes gone; my passion still remains entire and raving, but no
desire; I burn, I die, but do not wish to hope; I would be all
despair, and, like a martyr, am vain and proud even in suffering. Yes,
_Sylvia_--when you made me wise, you made me wretched too: before,
like a false worshipper, I only saw the gay, the gilded side of the
deceiving idol; but now it is fallen----discovers all the cheat, and
shews a god no more; and it is in love as in religion too, there is
nothing makes their votaries truly happy but being well deceived: for
even in love itself, harmless and innocent, as it is by nature, there
needs a little art to hide the daily discontents and torments, that
fears, distrusts and jealousies create; a little soft dissimulation is
needful; for where the lover is easy, he is most constant. But oh,
when love itself is defective too, and managed by design and little
interest, what cunning, oh what cautions ought the fair designer then
to call to her defence; yet I confess your plot----still charming
_Sylvia_, was subtly enough contrived, discreetly carried on----the
shades of night, the happy lover's refuge, favoured you too; it was
only fate was cruel, fate that conducted me in an unlucky hour; dark
as it was, and silent too the night, I saw----Yes, faithless fair, I
saw I was betrayed; by too much faith, by too much love undone, I saw
my fatal ruin and your perfidy; and, like a tame ignoble sufferer,
left you without revenge!

I must confess, oh thou deceiving fair one, I never could pretend to
what I wished, and yet methinks, because I know my heart, and the
entire devotion, that is paid you, I merited at least not to have been
imposed upon; but after so dishonourable an action, as the betraying
the secret of my friend, it was but just that I should be betrayed,
and you have paid me well, deservedly well, and that shall make me
silent, and whatsoever I suffer, however I die, however I languish out
my wretched life, I'll bear my sighs where you shall never hear them,
nor the reproaches my complaints express: live thou a punishment to
vain, fantastic, hoping youth, live, and advance in cunning and
deceit, to make the fond believing men more wise, and teach the women
new arts of falsehood, till they deceive so long, that man may hate,
and set as vast a distance between sex and sex, as I have resolved (oh
_Sylvia_) thou shalt be for ever from OCTAVIO.

This letter came just as _Sylvia_ was going to write to him, of which
she was extremely glad; for all along there was nothing expressed that
could make her think he meant any other than the cheat she put upon
him in _Antonet_ instead of herself: and it was some ease to her mind
to be assured of the cause of his anger and absence, and to find her
own thought confirmed, that he had indeed discovered the truth of the
matter: she knew, since that was all, she could easily reconcile him
by a plain confession, and giving him new hopes; she therefore writes
this answer to him, which she sent by his page, who waited for it.

SYLVIA _to_ OCTAVIO.

I own, too angry, and too nice _Octavio_, the crime you charge me
with; and did believe a person of your gallantry, wit and gaiety,
would have passed over so little a fault, with only reproaching me
pleasantly; I did not expect so grave a reproof, or rather so serious
an accusation. Youth has a thousand follies to answer for, and cannot
_Octavio_ pardon one sally of it in _Sylvia_? I rather expected to
have seen you early here this morning, pleasantly rallying my little
perfidy, than to find you railing at a distance at it; calling it by a
thousand names that does not merit half this malice: and sure you do
not think me so poor in good nature, but I could, some other coming
hour, have made you amends for those you lost last night, possibly I
could have wished myself with you at the same time; and had I,
perhaps, followed my inclination, I had made you happy as you wished;
but there were powerful reasons that prevented me. I conjure you to
let me see you, where I will make a confession of my last night's sin,
and give such arguments to convince you of the necessity of it, as
shall absolutely reconcile you to love, hope, and SYLVIA.

It being late, she only sent this short billet: and not hoping that
night to see him, she went to bed, after having inquired the health of
_Brilliard_, who she heard was very ill; and that young defeated
lover, finding it impossible to meet _Octavio_ as he had promised, not
to fight him, but to ask his pardon for his mistake, made a shift,
with much ado, to write him a note, which was this:

_My Lord_,

I confess my yesterday's rudeness, and beg you will give me a pardon
before I leave the world; for I was last night taken violently ill,
and am unable to wait on your lordship, to beg what this most
earnestly does for your lordship's most devoted servant,

BRILLIARD.

This billet, though it signified nothing to _Octavio_, it served
_Sylvia_ afterwards to very good use and purpose, as a little time
shall make appear. And _Octavio_ received these two notes from
_Brilliard_ and _Sylvia_ at the same time; the one he flung by
regardless, the other he read with inifinite pain, scorn, hate,
indignation, all at once stormed in his heart, he felt every passion
there but that of love, which caused them all; if he thought her false
and ungrateful before, he now thinks her fallen to the lowest degree
of lewdness, to own her crime with such impudence; he fancies now he
is cured of love, and hates her absolutely, thinks her below even his
scorn, and puts himself to bed, believing he shall sleep as well as
before he saw the light, the foolish _Sylvia_: but oh he boasts in
vain, the light, the foolish _Sylvia_ was charming still; still all
the beauty appeared; even in his slumbers the angel dawned about him,
and all the fiend was laid: he sees her lovely face, but the false
heart is hid; he hears her charming wit, but all the cunning is
hushed: he views the motions of her delicate body, without regard to
those of her mind; he thinks of all the tender words she has given
him, in which the jilting part is lost, and all forgotten; or, if by
chance it crossed his happier thought, he rolls and tumbles in his
bed, he raves and calls upon her charming name, till he have quite
forgot it, and takes all the pains he can to deceive his own heart: oh
it is a tender part, and can endure no hurt; he soothes it therefore,
and at the worst resolves, since the vast blessing may be purchased,
to revel in delight, and cure himself that way: these flattering
thoughts kept him all night waking, and in the morning he resolves his
visit; but taking up her letter, which lay on the table, he read it
over again, and, by degrees, wrought himself up to madness at the
thought that _Sylvia_ was possessed: _Philander_ he could bear with
little patience, but that, because before he loved or knew her, he
could allow; but this----this wrecks his very soul; and in his height
of fury, he writes this letter without consideration.

OCTAVIO _to_ SYLVIA.

Since you profess yourself a common mistress, and set up for the
glorious trade of sin, send me your price, and I perhaps may purchase
damnation at your rate. May be you have a method in your dealing, and
I have mistook you all this while, and dealt not your way; instruct my
youth, great mistress of the art, and I shall be obedient; tell me
which way I may be happy too, and put in for an adventurer; I have a
stock of ready youth and money; pray, name your time and sum for
hours, or nights, or months; I will be in at all, or any, as you shall
find leisure to receive the impatient _Octavio_.

This in a mad moment he writ, and sent it ere he had considered
farther; and _Sylvia_, who expected not so coarse and rough a return,
grew as mad as he in reading it; and she had much ado to hold her
hands off from beating the innocent page that brought it: to whom she
turned with fire in her eyes, flames in her cheeks, and thunder on her
tongue, and cried, 'Go tell your master that he is a villain; and if
you dare approach me any more from him, I'll have my footmen whip
you:' and with a scorn, that discovered all the indignation in the
world, she turned from him, and, tearing his note, threw it from her,
and walked her way: and the page, thunder-struck, returned to his
lord, who by this time was repenting he had managed his passion no
better, and at what the boy told him was wholly convinced of his
error; he now considered her character and quality, and accused
himself of great indiscretion; and as he was sitting the most dejected
melancholy man on earth, reflecting on his misfortune, the post
arrived with letters from _Philander_, which he opened, and laying by
that which was enclosed for _Sylvia_, he read that from _Philander_ to
himself.

PHILANDER _to_ OCTAVIO.

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

In my last, my dear _Octavio_, you left me pursuing, like a
knight-errant, a beauty enchanted within some invisible tree, or
castle, or lake, or any thing inaccessible, or rather wandering in a
dream after some glorious disappearing phantom: and for some time
indeed I knew not whether I slept or waked. I saw daily the good old
Count of _Clarinau_, of whom I durst not so much as ask a civil
question towards the satisfaction of my soul; the page was sent into
_Holland_ (with some express to a brother-in-law of the Count's) of
whom before I had the intelligence of a fair young wife to the old
lord his master; and for the rest of the servants they spoke all
_Spanish_, and the devil a word we understood each other; so that it
was impossible to learn any thing farther from them; and I found I was
to owe all my good fortune to my own industry, but how to set it
a-working I could not devise; at last it happened, that being walking
in the garden which had very high walls on three sides, and a fine
large apartment on the other, I concluded that it was in that part of
the house my fair new conqueress resided, but how to be resolved I
could not tell, nor which way the windows looked that were to give the
light, towards that part of the garden there was none; at last I saw
the good old gentleman come trudging through the garden, fumbling out
of his pocket a key; I stepped into an arbour to observe him, and saw
him open a little door, that led him into another garden, and locking
the door after him vanished; and observing how that side of the
apartment lay, I went into the street, and after a large compass found
that which faced the garden, which made the fore-part of the
apartment. I made a story of some occasion I had for some upper rooms,
and went into many houses to find which fronted best the apartment,
and still disliked something, till I met with one so directly to it,
that I could, when I got a story higher, look into the very rooms,
which only a delicate garden parted from this by-street; there it was
I fixed, and learned from a young _Dutch_ woman that spoke good
_French_, that this was the very place I looked for: the apartment of
Madam, the Countess of _Clarinau_; she told me too, that every day
after dinner the old gentleman came thither, and sometimes a-nights;
and bewailed the young beauty, who had no better entertainment than
what an old withered _Spaniard_ of threescore and ten could give her.
I found this young woman apt for my purpose, and having very well
pleased her with my conversation, and some little presents I made her,
I left her in good humour, and resolved to serve me on any design; and
returning to my lodging, I found old _Clarinau_ returned, as brisk and
gay, as if he had been caressed by so fair and young a lady; which
very thought made me rave, and I had abundance of pain to with-hold my
rage from breaking out upon him, so jealous and envious was I of what
now I loved and desired a thousand times more than ever; since the
relation my new, young, female friend had given me, who had wit and
beauty sufficient to make her judgement impartial: however, I
contained my jealousy with the hopes of a sudden revenge; for I
fancied the business half accomplished in my knowledge of her
residence. I feigned some business to the old gentleman, that would
call me out of town for a week to consult with some of our party; and
taking my leave of him, he offered me the compliment of money, or what
else I should need in my affair, which at that time was not unwelcome
to I me; and being well furnished for my enterprise, I took horse
without a page or footman to attend me; because I pretended my
business was a secret, and taking a turn about the town in the
evening, I left my horse without the gates, and went to my secret new
quarters, where my young friend received me with the joy of a
mistress, and with whom indeed I could not forbear entertaining myself
very well, which engaged her more to my service, with the aid of my
liberality; but all this did not allay one spark of the fire kindled
in my soul for the lovely _Calista_; and I was impatient for night,
against which time I was preparing an engine to mount the battlement,
for so it was that divided the garden from the street, rather than a
wall: all things fitted to my purpose, I fixed myself at the window
that looked directly towards her sashes, and had the satisfaction to
see her leaning there, and looking on a fountain, that stood in the
midst of the garden, and cast a thousand little streams into the air,
that made a melancholy noise in falling into a large alabaster cistern
beneath: oh how my heart danced at the dear sight to all the tunes of
love! I had not power to stir or speak, or to remove my eyes, but
languished on the window where I leant half dead with joy and
transport; for she appeared more charming to my view; undressed and
fit for love; oh, my _Octavio_, such are the pangs which I believe
thou feelest at the approach of _Sylvia_, so beats thy heart, so rise
thy sighs and wishes, so trembling and so pale at every view, as I was
in this lucky amorous moment! And thus I fed my soul till night came
on, and left my eyes no object but my heart----a thousand dear ideas.
And now I sallied out, and with good success; for with a long engine
which reached the top of the wall, I fixed the end of my ladder there,
and mounted it, and sitting on the top brought my ladder easily up to
me, and turned over to the other side, and with abundance of ease
descended into the garden, which was the finest I had ever seen; for
now, as good luck would have it, who was designed to favour me, the
moon began to shine so bright, as even to make me distinguish the
colours of the flowers that dressed all the banks in ravishing order;
but these were not the beauty I came to possess, and my new thoughts
of disposing myself, and managing my matters, now took off all that
admiration that was justly due to so delightful a place, which art and
nature had agreed to render charming to every sense; thus much I
considered it, that there was nothing that did not invite to love; a
thousand pretty recesses of arbours, grotts and little artificial
groves; fountains, environed with beds of flowers, and little
rivulets, to whose dear fragrant banks a wishing amorous god would
make his soft retreat. After having ranged about, rather to seek a
covert on occasion, and to know the passes of the garden, which might
serve me in any extremity of surprise that might happen, I returned to
the fountain that faced _Calista_'s window, and leaning upon its
brink, viewed the whole apartment, which appeared very magnificent:
just against me I perceived a door that went into it, which while I
was considering how to get open I heard it unlock, and skulking behind
the large basin of the fountain (yet so as to mark who came out) I saw
to my unspeakable transport, the fair, the charming _Calista_ dressed
just as she was at the window, a loose gown of silver stuff lapped
about her delicate body, her head in fine night-clothes, and all
careless as my soul could wish; she came, and with her the old dragon;
and I heard her say in coming out--'This is too fine a night to sleep
in: prithee, _Dormina_, do not grudge me the pleasure of it, since
there are so very few that entertain _Calista_.' This last she spoke
with a sigh, and a languishment in her voice, that shot new flames of
love into my panting heart, and trilled through all my veins, while
she pursued her walk with the old gentlewoman; and still I kept myself
at such a distance to have them in my sight, but slid along the shady
side of the walk, where I could not be easily seen, while they kept
still on the shiny part: she led me thus through all the walks,
through all the maze of love; and all the way I fed my greedy eyes
upon the melancholy object of my raving desire; her shape, her gait,
her motion, every step, and every movement of her hand and head, had a
peculiar grace; a thousand times I was tempted to approach her, and
discover myself, but I dreaded the fatal consequence, the old woman
being by; nor knew I whether they did not expect the husband there; I
therefore waited with impatience when she would speak, that by that I
might make some discovery of my destiny that night; and after having
tired herself a little with walking, she sat down on a fine seat of
white marble, that was placed at the end of a grassy walk, and only
shadowed with some tall trees that ranked themselves behind it,
against one of which I leaned: there, for a quarter of an hour, they
sat as silent as the night, where only soft-breathed winds were heard
amongst the boughs, and softer sighs from fair _Calista_; at last the
old thing broke silence, who was almost asleep while she spoke.
'Madam, if you are weary, let us retire to bed, and not sit gazing
here at the moon.' 'To bed,' replied _Calista_, 'What should I do
there?' 'Marry sleep,' quoth the old gentlewoman; 'What should you
do?' 'Ah, _Dormina_,' (sighed _Calista_,) 'would age would seize me
too; for then perhaps I should find at least the pleasure of the old;
be dull and lazy, love to eat and sleep, not have my slumbers
disturbed with dreams more insupportable than my waking wishes; for
reason then suppresses rising thoughts, and the impossibility of
obtaining keeps the fond soul in order; but sleep----gives an
unguarded loose to soft desire, it brings the lovely phantom to my
view, and tempts me with a thousand charms to love; I see a face, a
mien, a shape, a look! Such as heaven never made, or any thing but
fond imagination! Oh, it was a wondrous vision!' 'For my part,'
replied the old one, 'I am such a heathen Christian, madam, as I do
not believe there are any such things as visions, or ghosts, or
phantoms: but your head runs of a young man, because you are married
to an old one; such an idea as you framed in your wishes possessed
your fancy, which was so strong (as indeed fancy will be sometimes)
that it persuaded you it was a very phantom or vision.' 'Let it be
fancy or vision, or whatever else you can give a name to,' replied
_Calista_, 'still it is that, that never ceased since to torture me
with a thousand pains; and prithee why, _Dormina_, is not fancy since
as powerful in me as it was before? Fancy has not been since so kind;
yet I have given it room for thought, which before I never did; I sat
whole hours and days, and fixed my soul upon the lovely figure; I know
its stature to an inch, tall and divinely made; I saw his hair, long,
black, and curling to his waist, all loose and flowing; I saw his
eyes, where all the _Cupids_ played, black, large, and sparkling,
piercing, loving, languishing; I saw his lips sweet, dimpled, red, and
soft; a youth complete in all, like early _May_, that looks, and
smells, and cheers above the rest: in fine, I saw him such as nothing
but the nicest fancy can imagine, and nothing can describe; I saw him
such as robs me of my rest, as gives me all the raging pains of love
(love I believe it is) without the joy of any single hope.' 'Oh,
madam,' said _Dormina_, 'that love will quickly die, which is not
nursed with hope, why that is its only food.' 'Pray heaven I find it
so,' replied _Calista_. At that she sighed as if her heart had broken,
and leaned her arm upon a rail of the end of the seat, and laid her
lovely cheek upon her hand, and so continued without speaking; while
I, who was not a little transported with what I heard, with infinite
pain with-held myself from kneeling at her feet, and prostrating
before her that happy phantom of which she had spoke so favourably;
but still I feared my fate, and to give any offence. While I was
amidst a thousand thoughts considering which to pursue, I could hear
_Dormina_ snoring as fast as could be, leaning at her ease on the
other end of the seat, supported by a wide marble rail; which
_Calista_ hearing also, turned and looked on her, then softly rose and
walked away to see how long she would sleep there, if not waked. Judge
now, my dear _Octavio_, whether love and fortune were not absolutely
subdued to my interest, and if all things did not favour my design:
the very thought of being alone with _Calista_, of making myself known
to her, of the opportunity she gave me by going from _Dormina_ into a
by-walk, the very joy of ten thousand hopes, that filled my soul in
that happy moment, which I fancied the most blessed of my life, made
me tremble all over; and with unassured steps I softly pursued the
object of my new desire: sometimes I even overtook her, and fearing to
fright her, and cause her to make some noise that might alarm the
sleeping _Dormina_, I slackened my pace, till in a walk, at the end of
which she was obliged to turn back, I remained, and suffered her to go
on; it was a walk of grass, broad, and at the end of it a little
arbour of greens, into which she went and sat down, looking towards
me; and methought she looked full at me; so that finding she made no
noise, I softly approached the door of the arbour at a convenient
distance; she then stood up in great amaze, as she after said; and I
kneeling down in an humble posture, cried--'Wonder not, oh sacred
charmer of my soul, to see me at your feet at this late hour, and in a
place so inaccessible; for what attempt is there so hazardous
despairing lovers dare not undertake, and what impossibility almost
can they not overcome? Remove your fears, oh conqueress of my soul;
for I am an humble mortal that adores you; I have a thousand wounds, a
thousand pains that prove me flesh and blood, if you would hear my
story: oh give me leave to approach you with that awe you do the
sacred altars; for my devotion is as pure as that which from your
charming lips ascends the heavens----' With such cant and stuff as
this, which lovers serve themselves with on occasion, I lessened the
terrors of the frighted beauty, and she soon saw, with joy in her
eyes, that I both was a mortal, and the same she had before seen in
the outward garden: I rose from my knees then, and with a joy that
wandered all over my body, trembling and panting I approached her, and
took her hand and kissed it with a transport that was almost ready to
lay me fainting at her feet, nor did she answer any thing to what I
had said, but with sighs suffered her hand to remain in mine; her eyes
she cast to earth, her breast heaved with nimble motions, and we both,
unable to support ourselves, sat down together on a green bank in the
arbour, where by the light we had, we gazed at each other, unable to
utter a syllable on either side. I confess, my dear _Octavio_, I have
felt love before, but do not know that ever I was possessed with such
pleasing pain, such agreeable languishment in all my life, as in those
happy moments with the fair _Calista_: and on the other, I dare answer
for the soft fair one; she felt a passion as tender as mine; which,
when she could recover her first transport, she expressed in such a
manner as has wholly charmed me: for with all the eloquence of young
angels, and all their innocence too, she said, she whispered, she
sighed the softest things that ever lover heard. I told you before she
had from her infancy been bred in a monastery, kept from the sight of
men, and knew no one art or subtlety of her sex; but in the very
purity of her innocence she appeared like the first-born maid in
Paradise, generously giving her soul away to the great lord of all,
the new-formed man, and nothing of her heart's dear thoughts she did
reserve, (but such as modest nature should conceal;) yet, if I touched
but on that tender part where honour dwelt, she had a sense too nice,
as it was a wonder to find so vast a store of that mixed with so soft
a passion. Oh what an excellent thing a perfect woman is, ere man has
taught her arts to keep her empire, by being himself inconstant! All I
could ask of love she freely gave, and told me every sentiment of her
heart, but it was in such a way, so innocently she confessed her
passion, that every word added new flames to mine, and made me raging
mad: at last, she suffered me to kiss with caution; but one begat
another,----that a number----and every one was an advance to
happiness; and I who knew my advantage, lost no time, but put each
minute to the properest use; now I embrace, clasp her fair lovely body
close to mine, which nothing parted but her shift and gown; my busy
hands find passage to her breasts, and give and take a thousand
nameless joys; all but the last I reaped; that heaven was still
denied; though she were fainting in my trembling arms, still she had
watching sense to guard that treasure: yet, in spite of all, a
thousand times I brought her to the very point of yielding; but oh she
begs and pleads with all the eloquence of love! tells me, that what
she had to give me she gave, but would not violate her marriage-vow;
no, not to save that life she found in danger with too much love, and
too extreme desire: she told me, that I had undone her quite; she
sighed, and wished that she had seen me sooner, ere fate had rendered
her a sacrifice to the embraces of old _Clarinau_; she wept with love,
and answered with a sob to every vow I made: thus by degrees she
wrought me to undoing, and made me mad in love. It was thus we passed
the night; we told the hasty hours, and cursed their coming: we told
from ten to three, and all that time seemed but a little minute: nor
would I let her go, who was as loath to part, till she had given me
leave to see her often there; I told her all my story of her conquest,
and how I came into the garden: she asked me pleasantly, if I were not
afraid of old _Clarinau_; I told her no, of nothing but of his being
happy with her, which thought I could not bear: she assured me I had
so little reason to envy him, that he rather deserved my compassion;
for that, her aversion was so extreme to him; his person, years, his
temper, and his diseases were so disagreeable to her, that she could
not dissemble her disgust, but gave him most evident proofs of it too
frequently ever since she had the misfortune of being his wife; but
that since she had seen the charming _Philander_, (for so we must let
her call him too) his company and conversation was wholly
insupportable to her; and but that he had ever used to let her have
four nights in the week her own, wherein he never disturbed her
repose, she should have been dead with his nasty entertainment: she
vowed she never knew a soft desire but for _Philander_, she never had
the least concern for any of his sex besides, and till she felt his
touches----took in his kisses, and suffered his dear embraces, she
never knew that woman was ordained for any joy with man, but fancied
it designed in its creation for a poor slave to be oppressed at
pleasure by the husband, dully to yield obedience and no more: but I
had taught her now, she said, to her eternal ruin, that there was more
in nature than she knew, or ever should, had she not seen _Philander_;
she knew not what dear name to call it by, but something in her blood,
something that panted in her heart, glowed in her cheeks, and
languished in her looks, told her she was not born for _Clarinau_, or
love would do her wrong: I soothed the thought, and urged the laws of
nature, the power of love, necessity of youth----and the wonder that
was yet behind, that ravishing something, which not love or kisses
could make her guess at; so beyond all soft imagination, that nothing
but a trial could convince her; but she resisted still, and still I
pleaded with all the subtlest arguments of love, words mixed with
kisses, sighing mixed with vows, but all in vain; religion was my foe,
and tyrant honour guarded all her charms: thus did we pass the night,
till the young morn advancing in the East forced us to bid adieu:
which oft we did, and oft we sighed and kissed, oft parted and
returned, and sighed again, and as she went away, she weeping,
cried,--wringing my hand in hers, 'Pray heaven, _Philander_, this dear
interview do not prove fatal to me; for oh, I find frail nature weak
about me, and one dear minute more would forfeit all my honour.' At
this she started from my trembling hand, and swept the walk like wind
so swift and sudden, and left me panting, sighing, wishing, dying,
with mighty love and hope: and after a little time I scaled my wall,
and returned unseen to my new lodging. It was four days after before I
could get any other happiness, but that of seeing her at her window,
which was just against mine, from which I never stirred, hardly to eat
or sleep, and that she saw with joy; for every morning I had a billet
from her, which we contrived that happy night should be conveyed me
thus--It was a by-street where I lodged, and the other side was only
the dead wall of her garden, where early in the morning she used to
walk; and having the billet ready, she put it with a stone into a
little leathern-purse, and tossed it over the wall, where either
myself from the window, or my young friend below waited for it, and
that way every morning and every evening she received one from me; but
'tis impossible to tell you the innocent passion she expressed in
them, innocent in that there was no art, no feigned nice folly to
express a virtue that was not in the soul; but all she spoke confessed
her heart's soft wishes. At last, (for I am tedious in a relation of
what gave me so much pleasure in the entertainment) at last, I say, I
received the happy invitation to come into the garden as before; and
night advancing for my purpose, I need not say that I delivered myself
upon the place appointed, which was by the fountain-side beneath her
chamber-window; towards which I cast, you may believe, many a longing
look: the clock struck ten, eleven, and then twelve, but no dear star
appeared to conduct me to my happiness; at last I heard the little
garden-door (against the fountain) open, and saw _Calista_ there
wrapped in her night-gown only: I ran like lightning to her arms, with
all the transports of an eager lover, and almost smothered myself in
her warm rising breast; for she taking me in her arms let go her gown,
which falling open, left nothing but her shift between me and all her
charming body. But she bid me hear what she had to say before I
proceeded farther; she told me she was forced to wait till _Dormina_
was asleep, who lay in her chamber, and then stealing the key, she
came softly down to let me in. 'But,' said she, 'since I am all
undressed, and cannot walk in the garden with you, will you promise
me, on love and honour, to be obedient to all my commands, if I carry
you to my chamber? for _Dormina_'s sleep is like death itself;
however, lest she chance to awake, and should take an occasion to
speak to me, it were absolutely necessary that I were there; for since
I served her such a trick the other night, and let her sleep so long,
she will not let me walk late.' A very little argument persuaded me to
yield to any thing to be with _Calista_ any where; so that both
returning softly to her chamber, she put herself into bed, and left me
kneeling on the carpet: but it was not long that I remained so; from
the dear touches of her hands and breast we came to kisses, and so
equally to a forgetfulness of all we had promised and agreed on
before, and broke all rules and articles that were not in the favour
of love; so that stripping myself by degrees, while she with an
unwilling force made some feeble resistance, I got into the arms of
the most charming woman that ever nature made; she was all over
perfection; I dare not tell you more; let it suffice she was all that
luxurious man could wish, and all that renders woman fine and
ravishing. About two hours thus was my soul in rapture, while
sometimes she reproached me, but so gently, that it was to bid me
still be false and perjured, if these were the effects of it; 'If
disobedience have such wondrous charms, may I,' said she, 'be still
commanding thee, and thou still disobeying.' While thus we lay with
equal ravishment, we heard a murmuring noise at a distance, which we
knew not what to make of, but it grew still louder and louder, but
still at a distance too; this first alarmed us, and I was no sooner
persuaded to rise, but I heard a door unlock at the side of the bed,
which was not that by which I entered; for that was at the other end
of the chamber towards the window. 'Oh heavens,' said the fair
frighted trembler, 'here is the Count of _Clarinau_.' For he always
came up that way, and those stairs by which I ascended were the
back-stairs; so that I had just time to grope my way towards the door,
without so much as taking my clothes with me; never was any amorous
adventurer in so lamentable a condition, I would fain have turned upon
him, and at once have hindered him from entering with my sword in my
hand, and secured him from ever disturbing my pleasure any more; but
she implored I would not, and in this minute's dispute he came so near
me, that he touched me as I glided from him; but not being acquainted
very well with the chamber, having never seen my way, I lighted in my
passage on _Dormina_'s pallet-bed, and threw myself quite over her to
the chamber-door, which made a damnable clattering, and awaking
_Dormina_ with my catastrophe, she set up such a bawl, as frighted and
alarmed the old Count, who was just taking in a candle from his
footman, who had lighted it at his flambeau: So that hearing the
noise, and knowing it must be some body in the chamber, he let fall
his candle in the fright, and called his footman in with the flambeau,
draws his Toledo, which he had in his hand, and wrapped in his
night-gown, with three or four woollen caps one upon the top of
another, tied under his tawny, leathern chops, he made a very pleasant
figure, and such a one as had like to have betrayed me by laughing at
it; he closely pursued me, though not so close as to see me before
him; yet so as not to give me time to ascend the wall, or to make my
escape up or down any walk, which were straight and long, and not able
to conceal any body from pursuers, approached so near as the Count was
to me: what should I do? I was naked, unarmed, and no defence against
his jealous rage; and now in danger of my life, I knew not what to
resolve on; yet I swear to you, _Octavio_, even in that minute (which
I thought my last) I had no repentance of the dear sin, or any other
fear, but that which possessed me for the fair _Calista_; and calling
upon _Venus_ and her son for my safety (for I had scarce a thought yet
of any other deity) the sea-born queen lent me immediate aid, and ere
I was aware of it, I touched the fountain, and in the same minute
threw myself into the water, which a mighty large basin or cistern of
white marble contained, of a compass that forty men might have hid
themselves in it; they had pursued me so hard, they fancied they heard
me press the gravel near the fountain, and with the torch they
searched round about it, and beat the fringing flowers that grew
pretty high about the bottom of it, while I sometimes dived, and
sometimes peeped up to take a view of my busy coxcomb, who had like to
have made me burst into laughter many times to see his figure; the
dashing of the stream, which continually fell from the little pipes
above in the basin, hindered him from hearing the noise I might
possibly have made by my swimming in it: after he had surveyed it
round without-side, he took the torch in his own hand, and surveyed
the water itself, while I dived, and so long forced to remain so, that
I believed I had escaped his sword to die that foolisher way; but just
as I was like to expire, he departed muttering, that he was sure some
body did go out before him; and now he searched every walk and arbour
of the garden, while like a fish I lay basking in element still, not
daring to adventure out, lest his hasty return should find me on the
wall, or in my passage over: I thanked my stars he had not found the
ladder, so that at last returning to _Calista_'s chamber, after
finding no body, he desired (as I heard the next morning) to know what
the matter was in her chamber: but _Calista_, who till now never knew
an art, had before he came laid her bed in order, and taken up my
clothes, and put them between her bed and quilt; not forgetting any
one thing that belonged to me, she was laid as fast asleep as
innocence itself; so that _Clarinau_ awaking her, she seemed as
surprised and ignorant of all, as if she had indeed been innocent; so
that _Dormina_ now remained the only suspected person; who being asked
what she could say concerning that uproar she made, she only said, as
she thought, that she dreamed His Honour fell out of the bed upon her,
and awaking in a fright she found it was but a dream, and so she fell
asleep again till he awaked her whom she wondered to see there at that
hour; he told them that while they were securely sleeping he was like
to have been burned in his bed, a piece of his apartment being burned
down, which caused him to come thither; but he made them both swear
that there was no body in the chamber of _Calista_, before he would be
undeceived; for he vowed he saw something in the garden, which, to his
thinking, was all white, and it vanished on the sudden behind the
fountain, and we could see no more of it. _Calista_ dissembled
abundance of fear, and said she would never walk after candlelight for
fear of that ghost; and so they passed the rest of the night, while I,
all wet and cold, got me to my lodging unperceived, for my young
friend had left the door open for me.

Thus, dear _Octavio_, I have sent you a novel, instead of a letter, of
my first most happy adventure, of which I must repeat thus much again,
that of all the enjoyments I ever had, I was never so perfectly well
entertained for two hours, and I am waiting with infinite patience for
a second encounter. I shall be extremely glad to hear what progress
you have made in your amour; for I have lost all for _Sylvia_, but the
affection of a brother, with that natural pity we have for those we
have undone; for my heart, my soul and body are all _Calista_'s, the
bright, the young, the witty, the gay, the fondly-loving _Calista_:
only some reserve I have in all for _Octavio_. Pardon this long
history, for it is a sort of acting all one's joys again, to be
telling them to a friend so dear, as is the gallant _Octavio_ to

PHILANDER.

POSTSCRIPT.

_I should, for some reasons that concern my safety, have quitted Ms
town before, but I am chained to it, and no sense of danger while_
Calista _compels my stay._

If _Octavio_'s trouble was great before, from but his fear of
_Calista_'s yielding, what must it be now, when he found all his fears
confirmed? The pressures of his soul were too extreme before, and the
concern he had for _Sylvia_ had brought it to the highest tide of
grief; so that this addition overwhelmed it quite, and left him no
room for rage; no, it could not discharge itself so happily, but bowed
and yielded to all the extremes of love, grief, and sense of honour;
he threw himself upon his bed, and lay without sense or motion for a
whole hour, confused with thought, and divided in his concern, half
for a mistress false, and half for a sister loose and undone; by turns
the sister and the mistress torture; by turns they break his heart: he
had this comfort left before, that if _Calista_ were undone, her ruin
made way for his love and happiness with _Sylvia_, but now----he had
no prospect left that could afford any ease; he changes from one sad
object to another, from _Sylvia_ to _Calista_, then back to _Sylvia_;
but like to feverish men that toss about here and there, remove for
some relief, he shifts but to new pain, wherever he turns he finds the
madman still: in this distraction of thought he remained till a page
from _Sylvia_ brought him this letter, which in midst of all, he
started from his bed with excess of joy, and read.

SYLVIA _to_ OCTAVIO.

_My Lord_,

After your last affront by your page, I believe it will surprise you
to receive any thing from _Sylvia_ but scorn and disdain: but, my
lord, the interest you have by a thousand ways been so long making in
my heart, cannot so soon be cancelled by a m