The two Lancashire lovers: or the excellent history of Philocles and Doriclea Expressing the faithfull constancy and mutuall fidelity of two loyall lovers. Stored with no lesse variety of discourse to delight the generous, then of serious advice to instruct the amorous. By Musæus Palatinus.

THE TWO LANCASHIRE LOVERS; OR THE EXCELLENT HISTORY OF PHILOCLES and DORICLEA.

CHAP. I.

Of the Descent and Parentage of Doriclea.

NEare to that antient Towne of famous and time-ho∣noured Gaunt; for her an∣tiquity of Site no lesse me∣morably recorded, then for those eminent actions of her princely progenitors, renowned; there

sometimes dwelled one Audrogeus, a Gentle∣man of approved esteeme: having borne of∣fices of account and quality under his Sove∣raigne: wherein he ever demeaned himselfe to persons of all conditions with such equity and equality, as none knew him, but accoun∣ted him an honour and ornament to his Countrey. This Gentleman tooke to wife one Euryclea, of good descent: a woman ex∣cellently endowed with many choice and se∣lect vertues: so as, those exquisite parts where∣with she was graced, expressed to her Coun∣trey the native worth of that family, from whence shee descended. These two, amongst other worldly blessings, wherewith Gods pro∣vidence had singularly enriched them, were made happy in an hopefull progeny. And of th••se, in a vertuous, discreet and religious Daughter called Doriclea; one, whose fame admitted no blemish; whom as Nature had beautified with many extraordinary graces, so her carefull Parents were no lesse ready to adorne those native se••ds, with such Educati∣on as might accomplish those promising be∣ginnings. For which purpose, They provi∣ded her of such Masters, as might fit her in all generous Sciences. One for musicke, dancing, and a proper or gracefull posture; another for her Needle; another for knowledge of the Tongues. Nothing was awanting her that might conferre the least light or lustre to so faire and well-composed a temper. Nor was

shee lesse apt to receive, nor firme to reteine whatsoever was taught her. For she was of a docile and industrious disposition: affecting nothing more then to learne, nor distasting anything more then to glory in ought that she had perfectly learned.

Nor was it strange that so much care or cost should bee bestowed upon her: conside∣ring, she was the onely daughter, and conse∣quently the darling of her Mother. One, in whom she treasured many faire hopes▪ and for whose future preferment she inlarged a provi∣dent care. For high were the aymes at which they levelled her Fortunes: being as curious in their choice, as shee in her prime flower of youth resolute, never to exchange her estate.

Her desires were confin'd to an harmelesse ambition of knowledge: she measured no day without a line: bestowing so well the Lampe of her life, as she was ever casting forth some light or other to inlarge the Prospect of her inner house. For the highest pitch of her emu∣lation was, in a pious imitation of such as had descended from her house, to accommodate her more knowing abilities. In a faire re∣semblance of that noble Roman Virgin, who made this her resolution:

That her Life and Knowledge should manifest to the world, that shee was the true Daughter of such Parents: and that her house received no derogation from her, from which shee

had her beginning.

Truth is, her Family, as it was worthily to be ranked with the best: so had it brought forth many eminent scienes, whose thriving plantation had conferr'd much honour on their Nation. Amongst which ONE, who though he seemed a pro∣fest Favorite to all youthfull pleasures; and as sociable in his waies, and pleasantly discur∣sive as if he had beene a downe-right Agent of the time, preferring his pleasures before any other private mentall employment: yet did it appeare unto the world, that he en••oy'd more divine parts then a vulgar judgement could either judge or take notice of. For sundry excellent Workes tasting both of Lampe and Judgement were by him com∣posed, though under an others name publi∣shed: which expressed the ability of his pen, and the affected privacy of his mind.

Nor could shee reflect upon the excellence of their parts who had derived their prime beginnings from her House: but out of a ver∣tuous emulation shee held it a derivative duty to imitate them: though not in such exactnesse as might seeme to equall their per∣fection: yet in a well disposed Zeale to fit her∣selfe with the best accommodations and pro∣vision she could, to draw neare them in imita∣tion.

Nor is it to bee doubted, but native seedes and sprinklings of goodnesse propagate themselves to posterity: and beget in their

successors not onely a desire, but ability to imitate and retaine, what their Predecessors in their commendable lives exprest. For though Wit nor Learning be no feffements of Fortune: yet shall we finde in the posterity of prompt and pregnant Parents, most common∣ly resemblances of that quicknesse and prepa∣rednesse in their children, which being secon∣ded by constant and continued desires to imi∣tate whatsoever they see worthily observed, or observably presented: (Will and Power becomming such equall concomitants and assistants) cannot but produce some nota∣ble effect: as might bee instanced in none better then in this our Doriclea; who di∣rected all her actions to the improvement of her honour, as in the whole Course of her Education you shall perceive here∣after.

CHAP. II.

Of the Education of Doriclea.

MInes low laid are ever the richest: yet the purest Ore, retaines something of Earth, till it bee refined. There is no Creature so pregnant, or for native parts so inabled; but wan∣ting the refinement of Education, all that pre∣cious Ore which it derived from Nature is but in the lumpe, till Education have searched, purged and refined it from all those mouldy and brackish mixtures or interveynings of Earth: that native source from whence it produc••t its first forme.

Never did Nature bestow her gifts in an ampler measure nor fuller manner then shee streamed them upon those noble Roman Ma∣trons, Cornelia, Aurelia. Lelia, Paula, Por∣tia, Octavia, Sulpitia, Virginia, Lucretia: Ex∣cellent were their endowments: full of genu∣ine worth their naturall ornaments; yet had

all these lost much of their beauty, had they rested so and derived from Art no lustre to accomplish that beauty.

This moved the Parents of those vertuous Matrons, to ripen these seedes which Nature had so freely bestowed, with these gracefull beamelings of Art, to perfect that which Na∣ture had planted, and accomplish what so loving a mother had moulded.

Never had that brave Berenice wonne so much ground, nor gain'd such command in the eye of her beholder; Neither had that stately presence of majesticke Sophonisba made an imperiall heart captive to her smile; Nor that love-attracting Cleopatra sove∣raigniz'd so much upon such princely Com∣manders: had not something more then the gifts of Nature accompanied them. These, as they had a sufficient portion of beauty to take the Sense: so had their Education so exactly polished those outward parts, as they wrought strangely upon the Conceit. For to be seene in Musicke; to expresse a singular grace in the Carriage of a dance; to discourse with an un∣affected eloquence; to have judgement to di∣stinguish of those divine ayres and active straines of Poesy; Lastly, not onely to relate▪ but to reconcile difference in relations of History; These are they, which farre above all outward Faires attract love, and promise a Continuance so long; as no new Choice may procure •• Change: nor suffer the least

surreptitious Conceit of any forraigne fancy to seaze on their enamoured brests: having made such a vertuous and divine Choice, as it were impiety to dreame of a Change.

These were the principall motives which induced Androgeus and Euryclea, the tender Parents of Doryclea, to provide for her such Masters as might accomplish her by their Principles of breeding, in such distinct know∣ledges as might best suit with her condition; and expresse her with most winning grace in the sight of such with whom shee consor∣ted.

Nor were these, to whose direction shee was committed, more serious in teaching, nor exact in practising, then shee was quicke in receiving, and firme in reteyning.

For her Muslcuke, though naturally shee stood not affected to it▪ being rather addicted to retyrednesse and privacy; yet seeing it was her Parents desire, she declined from her owne will, to satisfie their command to whom shee ought herselfe. And herein shee grew such a proficient, as none with more varietie and lesse affectation ever wrought upon the affe∣ction.

Yet would she never bee moved to discover her perfection in this kinde, in any publicke place: so farre she was from ostentation, and so humbly affected, as whereinsoever shee was praised, shee imputed it to an over esteeme of their opinion who praised her; reteyning

ever that modest conceit, or rather disesteeme of her owne abilities, as ever redounded more to her honour.

To repeate sundry Cantzonets and enlive∣ned measures composed by herselfe (were it not too digressive from the Scope and Object of our Historie) I should here addresse my penne: But my ayme shall be rather briefly to shadow, then to draw out to the full body the presentment of so excellent a piece.

Howsoever, those who were of judgement have confirm'd thus much for her: That ne∣ver was instrument married to voyce with more harmony, then it was, when exercis'd by Doriclea.

Nor was shee lesse gracefull in her Posture or Carriage: retayning such a modest-virgin state; as those who observed her, could nei∣ther taxe her of scorne, nor of too carelesse neglect. Affable she could be without being childish: and keepe her distance without arrogance. Never could there appeare more gracefull state in a more humble heart: de∣siring ever rather to serve others in their ver∣tuous designes, then to observe others ren∣dring her praise for her deserts. Neither was she so carried away with these, as to forget what might better sort with her quality, and what might longer attend her, then these Eare-charming ayres of harmony.

For her Needle, she made Dorcas her Pattern: she was ever tasking herselfe to some worke or

other: wherein she made Charity her object, by preparing for the naked a Cover.

Lastly, for knowledge in Tongues (though most men be of opinion that one is enough for any woman) she profited so exceedingly, as she reteyned the very accent and sound with such propriety, as she became more easily to be admired then imitated; and herein more admired, by how much her Elocution was free, native and unaffected.

Thus in all these became Doriclea an in∣comparable proficient: so that, as she brought with her into the world an excellent disposi∣tion in affecting what was good and meriting applause: so had the improvement of her E∣ducation so accomplish'd her, as no expression received life from her, which deserv'd not due praise.

CHAP. III.

How her Parents, treasuring their hopes, and addressing their Cares on her, sought to bestow her.

NAture is no lesse ready to ad∣vance, then produce; to bring up, then bring forth; to take care for their well-being, then their first being.

This wee see exemplified in every Creature, who out of a tender-native intimacy, prepares for the supportance, suc∣cour and sustenance of those young Ones who are bred of her.

Which Care extends and dilates it selfe more amply to Creatures indowed with reason: who, as they are the noblest of all others in respect of their Image and feature: so are they more apprehensive of the necessi∣ties of their owne by course of Nature.

It is true indeed what that Divine Morall sometimes observed, farre more certaine is

a Parents care then the share of his Comfort; yet, so delightfull is the constancy of this care, being directed to them, and for their improvement whom they so tenderly love, that their Care becomes a Solace, their watch∣full Providence a cheerefull Expence of so ma∣ny choice and select houres for the advance∣ment of their owne.

This induced the Carefull Parents of our accomplished Doriclea, to bestow their best endeavours in providing a Convenient match for their Daughter; in whom they had trea∣sured so rich hopes, as her reverend feare and filiall obedience promised nothing lesse then much comfort to their age, from those prime expressions of her youth. Neither were the favourites of her fame (mounted on the wings of vertue) lesse slow in performing those faire Offices which so excellent a Creature merited. For as her irreproveable demeanure, reteined ever amongst her familiars, passages highly conducing to her honour: So those, who knew her not but by report, retained no lesse strength nor vigour of desire to court so incomparable a Mistris, whom the fame of her vertues with other personall indowments had so fairely displayed.

Beauty, said the antient Lyricke, could not want Corrivals: but when Vertue presents herselfe to make the house beautifull through∣out, it cannot but attract many Surveyers. Un∣lesse the judgements of men become so mise∣rably

deluded and distracted, as that young debaucht Gallants was, who could not en∣dure the presence of his Mistris because shee was vertuous.

But pure and refined judgements who make their Choice not wholly by the outward semblance, or that skinne-deepe beauty, which the winter of age no sooner rivels, then shee surrenders her glory: but by those inward per∣fections, which would make Zenophanes him∣selfe to be a wooer: fixe mainely upon that which makes fancy truly happy. And both these might a stayd affection finde stored and treasured in Doriclea: Being such an one, as to describe her truely, she was faire without art, and in that native beauty, reteyned such a winning favour, as she did nothing but what did infinitely become her. Tall she was not, but of that equall stature, as her well-tempe∣red proportion could neither taxe her of too much, nor accuse Nature of taking her measure too little. To use Hyperboles, I hate it: yea, and in so exquisite a Subiect, as the spreading fame of her owne actions might seeme Hyper∣boles unto others, holding themselves so un∣fit to aspire to such perfections: or too farre short to reteine the least hope of seconding them in any proportionable measure of imi∣tation.

But howsoever, the carefull Parents of Do∣riclea aymed at nothing more then to bestow her on some person of quality, that in an e∣quall

line of love and merit their affections might close: and make every day sound like a marriage day in the joynt Correspondence of their affectionate Choice: Doriclea, ever indowed with a native modesty, pretended to her Parents the tendernesse of her youth, or her indisposition to health, purposely to protract time: whereas, indeed, it was the aversenesse of her mind from a marryed life: desiring rather under the tender tuition of her Parents to bestow her youth, then to fix her fancy on any. For that con∣stant affection shee reteyned to privacy (as I formerly told you) rebaited the heate of Loves assaults. Neither did she desire without much instancy to frequent any publike mee∣ting: but rather to exercise her mind in rea∣ding or discoursing with some of her intimate acquaintance; with whom she lived and con∣versed in such sweet and familiar manner, as their delightfull Society estrang'd her thoughts from the thought of a Lover. But her Parents, ever harping upon one string; ex∣pounded all this aversenesse and declining of hers to a modest bashfull shame, which would in time weare out, and set a better face upon the proffers of Love. And sometimes they would not stick privately to take their daugh∣ter under-hand advising her to entertaine a Fortune whilest it was tendered; and how it was their sole Care that she might bee advan∣ced and preferred to her liking. How they

grew old, and to leave her to the wide World, could not chuse but perplex them. Then would they nominate divers young gentlemen, whose estates and descents might deserve her entertainement. But no Rhetorick could bee more dissorting or discording to her eare. The discourse of a Nuptiall rite was so disrelishing a note, as there was no ayre she affected lesse; apprehending such content in her present vir∣gin state, as to live and dye ther••in, she desired nothing more.

But this must not serve her turne; privacy must give way to fancy: a retyred Lawne to a discourse of Love. By her Mothers provident Care, she must learn to study the care of a Mo∣ther; Otherwise, this estranging her thoughts from giving way to fancy, will be interpreted a peevish kinde of pertinacy.

Suppose her then rather out of an enforced direction, then any freebred affection, entring parley with a Suitor; whose quality how un∣equally it suted or sorted with her dispositi∣on, in whom Art and Nature had wrought such perfection, you shall perceive hereafter.

CHAP. IV.

How Camillus became her Suiter, and how she rejected him through distaste of his breeding.

CHoice begets Care: in which Choice, it many times happens that the best are reiected, while persons of meaner condition are ad∣mitted. You may imagine that Doriclea cannot want for store, be∣ing so excellently accommodated both for outward indowments and promising estate. Where Portion and Proportion meet, they cannot but bee attractive Objects to any one that either affects profit or pleasure. For the Worldling, as his first love-question is, What h'as she? wherein if hee faile in his ex∣pectance, his affection is so weakely feathred, as his flight is but short, because his de∣sires of having were long. So the voluptu∣ous or sensuall Amorist, who makes sense to

usher judgement; his onely question is; Is shee an handsome wench? His fancy is in his eye. Hee cannot have enough of beauty; wherein should the object whereto he is presented, be in any sort defective: his love as it deriv'd his first light from sense: so it expires at first sight. Hee will not give his judgement leave to converse with her; to see what in∣ward beauty may inwardly accomplish her.

A feather of this wing was our penne-fea∣ther'd Camillus, whereof we are now to dis∣course: a right Lapwing, who had left his nest before he ••••ad shaken the shell from his head. Howsoever, on he must to be a Suiter, before he has well learn'd how to spell Lover. Some∣thing of Sense hee h'as in him; and this in∣forms him, that love is a fine thing: but what use to make of that Fairing he knowes not. A fault, I must confesse, so epidemicall, as to many marriages become infected with this Colts-evill. This made that experienc'd Sage complaine so much of these indiscreet haire-brain'd Couplings,

that I wonder, quoth he, that every Age begets not a new Bedlam.

This Camillus, being one whom Fortune had more favoured, then his Parents Education had qualified, became admitted amongst o∣thers of the same List, to this too deser∣ving a Choice for such a Changeling. A right Changeling! Not for Changing his affection to his Choice: for he had never as yet attai∣ned to such happinesse, as to aspire to the Ti∣tle

of a Servant, or to be stiled the deserving favourite of a Mistresse. But in that hee see∣med as if he had beene changed in the Cradle: for so unlike hee was to those from whom hee had descended, as never appeared any Sprigge more ingenerous, derived from so free and fruitfull a Stocke.

This unseemely lover, or amorous Lubber, being put on by his mother to advance him forward to this match; addresseth his ill-speeding course to our incomparable Dori∣clea: and as one, who had never beene bred in the Court of Complement, nor of Manners nei∣ther, in his rusticke way thus accoasteth her: and that I may lesse erre in his dialect or forme of speech, I shall use his owne countrey tone, though I cannot so well personate his posture, which no doubt, conferred on this Swaineling no lesse honour.

Camillus Speech to Doriclea.

YAw, Iantlewoman, with the saffron snude, you shall know that I am Master▪ Camillus, my Mothers anely white boy. And she wad han you of all loves to wad me: And you shall han me for your tougher. We han store of goodly Cattell: for horne, hare, and leather, peepe here and peepe there, aw the wide dale is but snever to them. My

Mother, though shee bee a vixon, shee will blenke blithly on you for my Cause: And we will ga to the Dawnes, and Slubber up a Sillibub: and I will looke babbies in your eyes, and picke silly-cornes out of yaur toes: And wee will han a Whiskin at every rush-bearing; a Wassell Cup at yule; a Seed-cake at Fastens; and a lusty Cheese-cake at our Sheepe-wash. And will not aw this done bravely, Iantlewoman?

How this strange kinde of wooing might promise it selfe any hope of winning, I leave to your judgements who know the Art and Posture of Suting: but how it relished her discreet eare, may sufficiently appeare by this answer to her home-spunne Suiter.

Doricleas answer to Camillus.

PRetty Servant! you tell mee your mo∣ther sent you to wed me; but of all loves you must stay till the banes be askt: and perchance before the third time of ask∣ing you will be of an other mind. Fie young Gentleman, will such a brave sparke as you, that is your Mothers White-boy undoe your hopes, in marrying such a Countrey Ioan as I am?

Besides, what know you but I may prove untoward, and that will bring your Mo∣ther to her Grave; make you (pretty babe) put finger ith' eye, and turne the doore quite off the hinges. Nay, besides all this; how will you brooke to heare shriking of a Child, and rocking of a Cradle? The scouling of a wife, the scoulding of a Nurse, with a pad in the straw, and a nest of hornets buzzing through all the house? Returne then my sweet amorous Servant, the same way you came: be wise before you leape, and then I hope you will not leape at all. Marriage is a madde age, how can it then sort or suite with you, that has so much Sage in your pate? Bee a good Childe, and keepe your selfe from the rodde, and I hope I shall never bring you to so unhappy a Lot.

Simple Camillus tooke this for good Coun∣sell: nor did his weake-fledg'd fancy inspire him with any fresh reply: home hee goes to his mother like a soone-rebaited Suiter: for as his affection received life onely from an others direction: without any preceding grounds of discretion, so it as quickly expi∣red, being so weakely and Childishly groun∣ded.

Vpon whose departure, Doriclea begun thus to expostulate with herselfe not without plea∣sure, this rude encounter of her white-liver'd suiter: descanting on all his uncivill passages in this manner.

What an excellent purchase,* 3.1 Doriclea, mightst thou injoy in this Gooseling? One of competent fortunes; and of a dispositi∣on so pliable, as one might easily mould him to their owne bent. One, that no question, some of our wanton Gallants would not sticke to admit; nor bee dainty to entertaine for a Servant; nay, for a Con∣sort; meerely to shroud their owne shame, or to maintaine their bravery with the re∣venues of his decreasing estate. Hee would supply the place well enough of a servile Vsher, with an affected grace to carry her Misset; open her pue; goe before her in the Street, and keepe his distance; or conduct her more peculiar Servant by a posterne∣gate to her licentious Lodging. But are these the fruits of wedlocke? Must an husband be made a stale to sinne, or an in∣let to his owne shame? O no Doriclea! Vertuous affection cannot incline to such pollution.

Those, who make Choice of Hus∣bands, purposely to make them their slaves, are domesticke Tyrants. Those, who make choice for profit, make filth and ordure their sole object of Conjugall

honour. Those, who receive a Servant in∣to their bosome, because he is eminent in place, make locall precedency the ground of their fancy, which cannot but close in distaste, when an higher Corrivall shall as∣cend his place.

But none of these merit the stile of love. H••avens blesse me! How should the reaso∣nable Soule (unlesse all his prime faculties were drowned and drenched in the lees of sense) affect such a Swad, whose elocution suck't from the dugge, and whose forma∣lity t'ane from the Cow-sheard, taste so lit∣tle of love, as discretion would not endure to bestow on it so pure a name? For say, Doriclea, is it possible to purchase fancy with a sheepish story? or with a foolish relation of. what fortunes had dropt downe upon them? And such was Camillus his encounter: proper ornaments for a Suiter.

Well, if ever fancy seize on me; which is, as yet, farre estranged from mee, I hope to fixe on such a Choice, as these weake re∣spects shall never appeare to bee the sole ayme of my affection. For to love, where Discretion bids me loath, were an unhappy fortune: such a marriage day, were a Tra∣gicke day; introducing no other Scenes then presentments of discomfort to an un∣fortunate Consort. But why doe I suffer my thoughts to converse with love; seeing I

have had so little familiarity with it all my life? Hitherto have I beene devoted to privacy; wherein I have ever reaped such absolute content, as to forgoe it, or with some other condition to exchange it, were to lose my selfe, and deprive an inlarged minde of that freedome which the whole Empire of love cannot afford.

Thus expostulated Doriclea with herselfe, touching this affectionate tender of Camillus. Whose choice indeed her Parents did not much approve; because his shallow Conceipt made him altogether incapeable of love. So as, Doriclea might well enough dispense with this Match: and live in expectance of a more equall and generous Mate.

CHAP. V.

How Mardanes a rich Countrey Chuffe solicited her affection: and how ••e laboured to procure her love by indirect meanes; when the proffers of a faire personall estate could not doe it.

WEalth is ever a strong Agent for enforc'd marriages. Whereon there shines ever an ominous starre; there sits still an heavy fate. But whence comes this; but either from avaritious Pa∣rents, who preferre fortunes before all other more deserving abilities: holding him only worthy to be their sonne on whom the Sunne doe's shine? or from the wanton affection, or too profuse expence of light Mistresses; who make Choice of rich Servants to make Spon∣ges of them? Their long bestowed providence

must be imployed in affording to their dis∣dainfull Consorts, excesse of maintenance.

And these kinds of coy Amorists, for most part, use to articulate and indent with those they intend to marry; in what rank they shall be maintained; how accoutred; in what man∣ner accommodated; what place they may by right challenge. Coach and Caroach gaudily distinguished, must be forthwith provided: a Summer-house sumptuously furnished, with such conveyances, as her rich Chuffe might vi∣sibly see, were not his d••luded eyes ever fixt on his Hidropick Chest, what she intends hereaf∣ter, by those private passages contrived in each corner.

But neither did the Parents of Doriclea stand so much ingaged to any wordly re∣spect, as it had power to attract their affecti∣ons to it; nor was Doriclea so earthly-bred, as to make Fortune the sole and absolute Ob∣ject of her fancy: which might be instanced in nothing more fully then in the entertain∣ment of her next Suitor, whereof we are to discourse as it fals now upon our History, in this manner.

There was one Mardanes, a rich Grazier; one, who had all his time fed on the better side oth' bush. This rich Chrone, who made an Idoll of his Coine, made suit to Doriclea, to obtaine her love. Rich and mighty proffers he made her; pretending to throw himselfe and Fortunes at her feet, so he might enjoy

her. Neither did her discreet Parents much oppose it, nor incline to it, but refer'd all to their Daughters choice: preferring her liking before any other temporary proposition. But how weakly this Mardanes proceeded, and how unprosperously he succeeded, shall ap∣peare by the issue: which fell so crosly to his expectance, imagining his rich and plenteous estate to be an Adamant attractive enough to the dullest fancy, as he inverted the means of proceeding directly, to an odious and impious practise; seeking to procure her love by meanes of Sorcery.

Suppose him then first, after his long sollici∣tancie had received a repulse, contesting in this sort with his affections: the grounds whereof as they were weakly planted, so were they as unhappily closed.

What;* 3.2 rejected Mardanes? Has thy world∣ly policie improved thy fortunes so meanly, as to be contemned in such just and ample proffers of fancie? What would she desire, if any mortall store may raise her to an hap∣pinesse of estate, which she may not enjoy in making her choice of thee? Yea, but there i•• such a disparity in yeares, as her smooth youth cannot endure these deepe furrowes of age. Paritie ever begets best liking be∣twixt either partie. Whereas her fresh flouri∣shing Prime would brook ill to be imbraced by thy seere and saplesse armes. Besides, were she never so loyall to thy bed, rumour would

not be silent: conceits would be working, and jealous feares in every corner stirring. Re∣port would impeach her, were her continent desires never so restrained, nor to thee con∣fined. It becomes her then, as shee tenders her honour, to make choice of such an one who may more equally suit her, and with a fresher and more agile youth better content her.

Well, then this is all that can be objected why thy suit is not received, thy proffers accepted; thou art old and declining, Mar∣danes; this age is a terrible bugbeare in the eye of fancy. The desire may be strong, but the Lampe is quickly in the snuffe. There wants oyle to feed it: and if it should cast forth some sparklings, it is soone extin∣guished.

By this I gather, it were wisely done in my particular, if I laboured to smother this secret flame, before it increase or break forth in more violence. For by marying one who expects more than she can finde, thou maist finde that which thou never expected. Take heed then lest thy own Dogs know thee not when thou comest home. It is thine owne fault if thou fallest into Actaeons fate. Thy blood is yet uncorrupted, yellows has not tainted it. Thou deservest well to lose the libertie of thy present estate, by making thy selfe a Slave to one who holds thee unwor∣thy of her choice.

All this works much with reason; b•• who knowes not, but a small portion o•• reason weighs heaviest in the scale of affecti∣on? I confesse, I am blame-worthy in my pursuit of such a Mistresse, whose fancie 〈◊〉〈◊〉 so farre aliened from me, as she relisheth no aire worse then what I breathe, no place worse then where I remaine, no Motion worse then what I make. I know likewise▪ no Receipt to be more soveraigne, no Cor∣diall more usefull, then that approved Ex∣periment of an amorous Artist: When •• Man bleeds at the nose, and through abun∣dance of blood is brought in danger of his life, the Physitian lets him blood in his arme, to turne the course of the blood an other way. If love issue out in too violent a streame, it is to bee cooled by a temperate expostulation with fancie: or else by fixing our eye upon some more attractive Object, divert the course of that madding passion. An excellent Rule, but who can follow it? The Lover is ever blinded with affection to∣wards his beloved. Nor was there ever yet so discreet an Elder, that could both love and become wise together. Excuse then or condemne mee who will; seeing I am thus farre imbarkt in Loves adventure, though my aged fancie may bear the name of Dote•• age, I will on, or perish with dishonour.

This strong resolution of Mardanes brought him on to a desperate experiment, as the se∣quele

of our History shall discover: meane time, we will returne to our late-solicited Do∣riclea, and see what plight she is in, since the rejection of this violent Suiter.

Doriclea having returned Mardanes her ex∣presse answer; and that with such modesty as beseemed one of her quality; beseeching him to excuse her, in that she could not entertaine so deserving a Servant, to whom she stood in∣finitely obliged for his love, seeing her dispo∣sition was altogether averse from the least thought of marriage: but if ever she affected that state, as her hopes could never aspire to such fortunes as he had proffered, so she meant to fix her fancy where it should with equality of yeares be suited. And so wishing him all happinesse (the highest period of his unhap∣pinesse) retyring to a private A••bour, she dis∣missed her discontented 〈◊〉〈◊〉. In which re∣tirement, recollecting these distinct passages and passions of her two relinquished Lovers, she exprest her selfe thus.* 3.3

Doriclea, thou hast here kindnesse prof∣ferd thee in abundance. One presents his suit, and brings with him plenty of youth, fortunes, folly.

An other, no lesse rich in yeares then estate, cloyes thee with golden Mountaines of inducing promises: but my rest is already set in the neglect of both these. Fortunes, though youth promise them, cannot ingage me, where youth is clothed with folly. Nor

shall proffers of honour or preferment sur∣prize me, where disparity of yeares may be∣get in our mindes the like inequality. As Vertue is my Object: so I doubt not but if ever I change my state, she will finde a Con∣sort for me, that may improve my con∣tent.

By this time had her Mother entred the Garden, into an Arbour whereof her Daugh∣ter had retired: so as, hearing her Mother call her by her name, she came forth unto her; and upon her demand, imparted unto her the an∣swer she had returned to Mardanes: where∣with her Mother, though she seemed at first to dis-relish it, was inwardly well pleased, desi∣ring rather that her Daughter should bestow her selfe on one, whose youth might suit with her content, then such an one, whose fortunes though they were great, yet might his age be∣get in her fancy a contempt.

CHAP. VI.

How Philocles, whom her Parents had entertained for her Schoole∣master, tooke occasion privately, but shadowingly, to impart his af∣fection to her: and with what seeming scorne his motion was re∣ceived.

AMongst others whom the Pa∣rents of Doriclea had entertai∣ned to instruct their Daugh∣ter in good literature, with other usefull Principles sort∣ing well with the accom∣plishment of one of her quality: there was one Philocles commended to them; whose sin∣gular parts deserved approvement with the best. For hee had bestowed much precious time, not without answerable profit and im∣provement, in the University. Where he be∣came

for his time such an excellent Proficient▪ as much was expected from him: nor had he doubtlesse, frustrated their expectance, might he have beene partaker of his desires; in resi∣ding where he wished, and planting where he so much profited. But his course of Acade∣mick Studies became diverted, being call'd back into the Countrey. Where he continued not long, till he was preferred to the Familie of Androgeus. During all which time, he de∣meaned himselfe so commendably, as there was none of what quality so ever, but con∣ceived infinite delight in his company. For his discretion had sufficiently inform'd him in the distinction of times: when to be grave and serious; when pleasant and ingenious. And though he knew how to argue Syllogistically, and play the Sophister wittily: yet so modest was he in the whole time of his reside there, as he was never observed to presse any Argu∣ment, no, though urged, without much in∣stancy.

A rare quality in a Scholar: who, for most part, is apt to make Logick his Subject in each society. Whereas discretion will rather mo∣derate too unseasonable-vehement reasonings in that kinde, then become too forward a Champion in entring the List upon every un∣necessary occasion.

Neither had Philocles, of whom we are now to discourse, possest himselfe more strongly of the opinion and good conceit of the Parents

of Doriclea, who had taken a speciall obser∣vance of the care, ind••••try, and singular mo∣desty of this her Tutor: but that tender tin∣der of affection became likewise to sparkle a little in that pure Virgin-bosome of Doriclea: Albeit, so composed were her thoughts, so divinely moderate her de••ires, as she chused rather to smother, and therein suffer for her fancy, then ingage her unadvised affection to a publique discovery.

In the same manner did our Philocles suffer; for so constantly had his liking seated it selfe on the towardly disposition of Doriclea, as now upon the expiration of the years of her tuition, instead of a severe Master, he becomes a sincere Lover. Long had he expected what the issue would be of her late Suitors affectio∣nate encounters: wherein Doriclea had beene ever desirous to take his advice: whose coun∣sel, doubtlesse, would conduce weakly to their availe: and having now perceived, how light∣ly she entertained such ignoble Servants: and that her discreet fancy seemed rather to aime at personall worth, then the rubbish of Earth: Hee imagines a faire opportunity to be now offer'd him of imparting his minde freely to her, in whose purchase he might finde stored an incomparable treasure. Revenues hee had none to proffer her: having the constant for∣tunes of a Scholer; which like two Lines meet together in one Centre, equally closing in the fate of a younger Brother. Yet observe his

modesty! Many times had hee resolved to discover his love, which some contrary passi∣ons ever prevented. Sometimes hoping hee might prevaile, and enjoy what he sought: other sometimes, wholly despairing to reape what his care had sown. Now would he pre∣pare himselfe for a set speech; but no sooner came he in her presence, then as one driven to an exta••ie, & wholy deprived of the benefit of memory, he only discovered his fancy by the intentive fixing of his eye: other language he could finde none: silent admiration was the sole Orator of his affection. At last, recollect∣ing his love distracted thoughts, and bethink∣ing with himselfe, with that amorous Youth in the Pastorall, how she whose fancie he be∣sought was but a Woman: and that an un∣kinde repulse was the worst entertainment he could possibly expect, he takes to him heart of grace and after many cold qualmes to per∣plexed Lovers best knowne, with the best boldnesse he could, he thus encounter'd her.

Scholer shall I call you,* 3.4 or your Masters Mistresse? Your years of tuition are now ex∣pired: your yeares have taught you now to learne Woman. And shall I receive no guer∣don for my long attendance, save only an acknowledgement of my Service? A great part of the prime of my youth have I here bestowed in your Fathers house; where mine highest care was your proficience: nor did your increase in knowledge fall short of my

expectance. You have read, how Iacob for his seven yeares service, received from Laban his Leah. Wherewith Doriclea interrupt∣ing him, said; And if my Father had any such bleare-ey'd Daughter, you should have my consent to enjoy her. But pray you good Sir (quoth Doriclea) whence commeth this dis∣course, or whereto direct you it? H'as my Father fallen in any manner short of what was promised you; or deducted ought from that annuall Pension hee conferred on you, that you should thus upbraid us in any disre∣gard to your service? No, Mistresse, (an∣swered Philocles) I have amply tasted of his bountie; his liberall exhibition towards me, hath farre exceeded any abilities in mee of requitall. If I have any cause to complaine, the ground thereof ariseth from your neg∣lect, and so you may be pleased to conceive it. From mine, said Doriclea? Good Sir, shew me in what particular, I have neglected any office of respect to your deserving selfe! Of all vices, I must ingenuously tell you, I have ever constantly hated that of ingrati∣tude. Conscious I am, Heaven knowes, of too many; yet of this, my thoughts have been ever so freely cleared, as I cannot remember wherein you may pretend any just cause of taxing mee in this nature. O yes Mistresse, answered he! I have taught you what I per∣ceive you were as apt to forget, as you were at first to get: and in forgoing that one

only Lesson, you have implyed a neglect of my instruction. You may well remember, for it is not so long since you got it by heart, how I told you the signification of Amo, and how you were to decline it. Neither have I forgot it, so farre▪ said she, as I meane to make use of it. For the Active I shall ever generally approve it: but for the Passive, I never mean to entertaine it. What may Amo then signifie, quoth Philocles? I love, said Doriclea; and why do you decline, quoth he, from so sweet a signification? Because (an∣swered she) it was one of your first Lessons to teach me how to decline it. Herein I doe but observe your Lesson, and is this in me any transgression? No, Doriclea, No, said Phi∣locles; but my desire is that you would ex∣ercise the fruit and effect of that Lesson. I will not tell you how much he loves you, who first read that Lesson to you. But were there transparent Lights in his Bosome, you might easily discerne, and consequently affirme, that there were something in him who deserved your affection. Deserved my affection (answered Doriclea) Surely, I doubt not, but my Fathers care has provided a better Jointure then a Schoolehouse for his Daugh∣ter. Trust me Sir, if this be your Guerdon which you expect for your care and serious instruction; I am very likely, for my part to prove unthankfull still: your motion falling so farre short of all hope of promotion. Nay,

I must tell you, Sir, that you have so deceived my opinion, as where before I bore your per∣son all respect, as to a serious and industrious Master; your uncivile presumption (for a bet∣ter title I cannot bestow of it) shall henceforth teach me to dispense with that respect: and if you seasonably desist not, make my Father acquainted with your boldnesse. In such scorn I hold your Motion, as I can finde no passion strong enough to encounter with your indis∣creet affection.

With which words, as one seemingly above all measure, irreconcileably incensed, she departed: leaving her disconso∣late Philocles to converse with the Aire: or like a melancholy Scholer, to enter parley with his own sullen Saturnine thoughts. But so strangely became he divided from himself, as the very Organs of his Tongue had lost the faculties of speech: his eyes, as if affrighted with some Meteor, stood staring, without di∣stinguishing the Object they fixt upon. All was out of order with this amorous Scholer: till at last taking a little breath, he vented his dis-passionate griefs in this manner.

Is it so, unhappie Philocles?* 3.5 Must thy true affectionate care of her honour, receive so harsh an answer? Will she shew no lesse height of hate, then thou reteines heat in thy love? And whence the ground of her disdaine? Thou taught'st her the Rule to love, but shee never means to practise that Lesson. Thou hast that Cloud of a Scholer

hanging over thee Philocles, which darkens the height of love. They must be accommo∣dated in all parts, that shall merit her love. Camillus she could not brook, though young and rich, because he was a Foole. Mardanes shee could not endure, though wise and rich, because he was too old. And Philocles she will discard, though neither too old, nor altogether a Foole, because he is not rich. Well, Doriclea, my desire shall ever be, that thou maist prosper: and enjoy in any complete Gallant whom thou shalt affect, more then thou canst in the society of a Scholer. Yet, me thinks, that name should not be of such contempt, that the ve∣ry tender of my affection should beget thy discontent. It is a strange requitall, to ren∣der hatred for love: c••vill respects deserve freer courtesies. My hopes are not yet so desperate; nor my studies hitherto so unfor∣tunate, that they should expose me to such neglect. Why then should shee bestow on my affectionate devotion, no better title then Vncivill presumption: seeing privacie freed me from the one; and my humilitie from the other? But all this sufficeth her not: her inraged passion mounts yet higher above the banks. She has denounced on thee a sentence, if thou de••••st not from thy suit. Her Father must be made acquainted: and consequently thy future hopes derived from his favour, expired. And herein have you

charm'd me Doriclea; I shall surcease to ex∣presse, what my thoughts shall ever reteifie. Nay, I will turne dissembler with mine own heart: and learne to decline from what I love most. You shall have no cause hereaf∣ter to tax me of boldnesse: in the compa∣ny of those you better love, I shall hold my distance; Rejoice when you are pleased in the presentment of a deserving Su••ter▪ and heartily wish your mindes may close in one harmonious Consort together. And if this will not expiate my offence, I will go further, to regaine my peace. An Acade∣mick life shall receive me, which may in time restore to me that liberty, which since this my occasionall reside in the Countrey be∣comes unhappily estranged from me.

This said, he retired; bearing the clearest countenance that so troubled a minde could bring forth: resolving never to renew his Suit; but if he could not weare out those im∣pressions of love, which had writ such deepe Characters in his heart, to remove the occasi∣on by dividing himselfe from the Object of his affection: and exchanging a Countrey love with an Academicall life.

CHAP. VII.

The discourse Doriclea used next day at Table, being encouraged by her Parents indulgence: alledg∣ing by way of Argument, that she wondred how Julia, Augustus his Daughter could detract so much from her Princely descent, as to entertaine least thought of loving Ovid; and how a Schoolemaster durst attempt the Sollicitancy of an Emperours Daughter.

PErplexed Philocles could not conceive more passion in Doriclea's disesteeme; then Doriclea apprehended mo∣tives of content from the af∣fection Philocles had profest. Yet to cloath fancy with policy, both of these must stand at equall distance: and expresse

not so much as the least beamling of their true zeale in presence. For Philocles, he durst not, being already charm'd with her thre••ts: and for Doriclea, she would not, to try what tem∣per hee was made of. A dangerous hazard, I nust confesse it is, to t••ifle thus with love, and by playing with the flame, to endanger the fndging of their wings: but so well composed was Doriclea, so vertuously loyall her affecti∣on, and that winged with such continent de∣sres, as they ever impaled themselves within tle lists of modesty: Yea▪ she would not stick sometimes to give liberty to the quicknesse of her conceit: by making choice of some dis∣course purposely to amate Philocles: and shadowingly pretend a discovery of his late proffer'd and professed fancy. As it chanced one day, when her Parents and her selfe were at Table together, where through a native ten∣der indulgence which they had ever shown to their Daughter, she had liberty to expresse her conceit upon any Subject. By means of this liberty, which she alwaies used with much modesty, she took occasion to enter into a dis∣course by way of argument, touching the fa∣miliarity which appeared betwixt Augustus his Daughter and the Poet Ovid: wherein she proceeded in this manner.

Amongst all other occasionall Subjects, wherein my small Reading has informed me; there is nothing that occurres unto me more strangely then that boldnesse, which I finde

in that ingenious Ovid, with the Emperour Augustus his Daughter. How a Poet, whō even that wisest of Philosophers, Plato himselfe, had long since banished his Common-wealth; and whose height of fancy some of our anci∣ent Sages have esteemed a meere phrensie; holding Poetry to be the Devils wine: and a Poeticall Dimension such a distraction, as it infatuated the understanding, and deluded the conceipt with deceiving shadowes of opi∣nion; How he, I say, durst attempt an assay of such importance; by imparting his love, where he ought so much of duty: or conceipt himselfe worthy the least beamling or re∣flexion of such a fancy. Againe, how she looking on that imperial House from whence she came; those eminent Allyes with which she sided; those many eyes which darted o•• her; the distaste which so commanding a Fa∣ther could no lesse than apprehend upon so unequall a familiarity; would debase her thoughts so much, as to stoope to so base a Lure: as the highest pitch was but a Poeticall fury, an intranced rapsody, which would suit incompetibly with a Princes fancy. No, what is more, a meere Pedanticall Schoole∣master; for so I have read, he was; whose highest aime was his Soveraignty in correcti∣on: & this ambitious Swad to assume to him∣selfe so much immerited state, as to presse in∣to familiarity with his Emperours Daugh∣ter; or she to entertaine such ignoble thoughts

as to accept of the protests of so undes••••ving a servant, is almost above the pitch of imagi∣nation to conceive; or opinion to beleeve.

Why Girle, said her Father? was it▪ hold you, so contemptible a thing in those dayes to be a Schoolemaster? Pray you tell me, what doe you thinke of some of our most eminent Princes, who have in former times beene Schoolemasters? yea, and with a voluntary dereliction of all regall state, port, and mag∣nificence, preferred that pedanticall state be∣fore the glory of a Diadem? Dennis, Dionysi∣••s, and Seleuchus were in their times equall to most Princes for eminence of state, absolute∣nesse of command; extent in the limit of their Soveraignty; yet did these hold that condi∣tion which you esteeme so despicable, equall in content to that Princely honour which be∣fore they retain'd: yea, incomparably more happy did they account themselves, in relin∣quishing the one for acceptance of the other, then if the most famous Conquest that ever Earth was witnesse of, had recorded their re∣gall names in the Annals of honour.

This it was which moved Seleuchus that victorious Prince, upon reflex had to those many miseries and insupportable cares ac∣companying a Crowne, so confidently to say, that if a Man knew with what cares a Diadem was clogged, he would not take it up though it lay in the street. Nor was this the singular opinion of one; for when the Romans had

despoiled Antiochus of all Asia, so lightly laid he it to his heart, as hee gave them great thanks, saying, they had rid him of many in∣supportable cares: yea, and of many bitte•• invectives beside; being at one time saluted •• glorious Prince, and a furious Tyrant. Nor did these beare those mutable overtures wit•• mindes lesse composed, then if highest for∣tunes with generall voice and vote had been•• on them conferred. So as, a Philosopher per∣ceiving Diony••ius to sit merrily in the Thea•••• after he was expulsed his realm••, condemned the people who banished him.

It is true Father, said Doriclea: but I am halfe perswaded, that none of these whom you have named, would have cared much for a private life, had they not beene depo∣sed. To act the part of King and no King, 〈◊〉〈◊〉 an heavie taske: High spirits can hard•••• brooke it; and for ignoble mindes, wh•• preferre, like an other childish Honorius the safety of Roma their Hen, before th•• safeguard of Roma their City; they are n•• to bee much pitied for what they lose, be∣cause they are altogether insensible of thei•• losse. They who could forgoe a Kingdom•• for a Schoole, never deserved the Title o•• a Prince. Indeed, some of these there wer•• who deprived of their Scepter▪ made•• Schoole-house their harbour; but for wha•• end? Meerly to exercise their tyranny on Chil∣dren, as they had before practised on Men.

Girle, your judgement is too rash, said An∣drogeus; did not Dioclesian, whom you even now named, voluntarily relinquish the flou∣rishing'st Empire in the world? He was nei∣ther expulsed by force, nor deposed by pri∣vate consent: his desertion of an Imperiall life came from his owne choice: being weary of so pressing a burthen, the weight whereof winged his resolves for a private condition. But pray thee Girle, whence came the occasi∣on of this argument? Truly Sir, quoth she, from no great ground; and I am glad at heart, that having taken so slight an occasion, it has so neerely closed it selfe in a digression. For my Argument tooke first breath from the boldnesse of a Schoolemaster in attempting, and the lightnesse of his Scholler in consent∣ing. The one too confident of his own parts; the other too unmindefull of her own worth. The first too opinionate of his owne desert; the latter too forgetfull of her own descent. Which Subject, presuming on your patience and fatherly indulgence, I made choice of, being the very last which occurred to my reading; which mov'd me the rather to revive it, to heare what might materially be oppo∣sed to it.

CHAP. VIII.

The feare Philocles was in, lest Do∣riclea should discover his suit to her Parents. Which Doriclea, though shee made choice of that Argument, only to affright him, never intended, being more affe∣ctionately disposed, then either her appearance made shew of, or any expression had as yet disco∣vered.

IT is not easie to imagine what cold qualmes came over Philocles heart in the dis∣puting of this Subject: so as, if the Parents of Dori∣clea had suspected ought, they might easily have gathered by the going and comming of his colour, that there was

something in the winde that wrough such strange effects in his count'nance and gesture. All which proceeded from an imaginary feare, doubting much that Doriclea had discovered his too bold suit to her Parents: Or if she had not already done it; this very Argument whereof she took so free an occasion to dis∣course, was an introduction of what she meant to discover hereafter. So as, many times in private would hee fall into sundry passions: sometimes reproving his own presumption, in presenting his love to one who was so farre above the spheare of his affection: other some∣times he would minister to his amated spirits some small semblances of hope; as if she were not the same she seem'd; but that her fancy, howsoever shadowed or shrowded for the time, would break forth into other expressi∣ons, then what her virgin modesty could yet impart. Which deceiving opinion (as hee judged it) he would streight labour to divert, and condemne himselfe of egregious folly to promise himselfe hope to obtaine: seeing all passages of prevailing in his inconsiderate suit, were shut up by his Mistresse disdaine. For to impart his thoughts to her any more upon that subject, he resolved fully never to attempt it: desiring nothing more then that his for∣mer folly might be remitted; and all occasion of discovery prevented: upon which conditi∣on hee would willingly surcease from those motives of love, which had so strongly

wrought on the faculties of his minde.

Nor did hee see any means to unrip his thoughts to an other, being so far from hope of successe▪ as now it became a sufficient task for him to prevent danger. For as the bent of his fortunes at that time confin'd themselves only to the spirit of hope: so was his hope probably like to expire, should she whom hee held so deere, make the least discovery of what had passed betwixt him and her. It behoved him therefore to apply himselfe to another designe: and recant his familiarity with love: which might both endanger his fortunes, and deprive him all hopes of aspiring higher.

Thus, as the precious stone Diocletes, though it have many rare and excellent sove∣raignties in it, yet it loseth them all, if it bee put into a dead mans mouth; fared it with Philocles, who though he were excellently in∣dowed, richly qualified, and for elocution generally approved; yet all these disheartned by want of hope, lost all that lustre which they formerly reteined.

For though at retired houres, and at such times as he found his Muse most propitious, he composed diverse amorous Poems, apt mo∣tives to stir up fancy; Yet so much was he dis∣couraged, as what his resolves were sometimes addressed to present, his latter thoughts ever retracted

Howsoever, his melancholly walkes, affect∣ing nothing more then privacy, discovered to

his Mistresse the effects of his fancy, who was so farre from disclosing what might redound to his dishonour; as those arguments whereof she sometimes took occasion to treat, were only urged to affright him, but in no case to prejudice him: being so tender of his welfare, as whatsoever appeared, nothing was by her intended to decline his choice, or to give him just cause of change. For so full of vertuous remorse was Doricleas pious heart, as it was more affectionately disposed, then by any ap∣pearance was yet discovered.

For as the Juniper tree maketh the hottest coale, and the coolest shadow of any tree: For the coale is so hot, that if it be rak't up in ashes of the same, it continueth unextinquishable by the space of a whole yeare: So this divine∣ly sented creature (to hold nearer resemblance with the Juniper) though the heate of her af∣fection had beene long smothered in embers, and discovered no visible flame; yet did it re∣teine her vigour still, and by so much more violent when iffuing, by how much longer before it came to appearing. For love in∣wardly shewes his heat most, when outwardly discerned least. And such was Doricleas case; though she restrained her eye from fixing on that Object which it desired: and her heart to entertaine that guest which of all others she most priz'd, yet could not her discretion make such a foole of love, as wholly to bury her thoughts from more discerning eyes. Truth is, though no profession seem'd more con∣temptible

then that which he held: yet in her conceipt, no vocation more pleasing, being profest by one to her own thoughts so loving; with her owne desires so complying. Little then needed Philocles, to feare that she would discover any thing to her Parents to his pre∣judice: seeing she so inwardly affected and equally approved what he had propounded, as nothing did more infinitely content her, then at vacant hours to recollect those words which he had delivered to her. Neither was it her desire to tyrannize over her late-captiv'd and inchained Servant: whose freedome lay it in her power, should be confirm'd with as ample and authentick a Charter; as true love and constant devotion could enjoyne her.

But all this little allay'd those incessant cares and feares of poore Philocles: who every day expected a discharge, when he should be deprived of the place he bore, and consequent∣ly of all future hopes of renuing his suit, or enjoying that prize which hee so infinitely valued, as the sacrifice of his life he held at a low rate to seaze him of the incomparable purchase of her love.

This mov'd him one day, after a sad recol∣lection of his thoughts, to meditate of his pre∣sent condition,* 3.6 and of the ground of his di∣stemper in this pensive manner.

How is it Philocles! how fares it with thy distracted thoughts! most miserable of all o∣thers is thy condition; meriting most, yet

can partake no compassion. Shouldst thou discover thy griefes, thou exposest thy selfe to danger, and by concealing what thou see∣lest, with fresh fuell thou feedst thy distem∣per, unhappy then art thou in suffering what thou darest not disclose: and no lesse unhappy, in making those thy enemies, on whom thou depends, by discovering what thy intimate thoughts desire to make knowne.

How sweet and safe was thy conditi∣on, when Philosophy was thy mistresse: and and the Liberall Arts those brave Competi∣to••s which contested with thee for preemi∣nence? Light-feather'd Love was then no Lure to catch thee: nor beauty no baite to ensnare thee: Nor all those amorous de∣lights which fancy tenders, motives to de∣lude thee. Spare commons became profest foes to light affections.

Lectures of Philosophy admitted no Audience to loves treaty.

But such is the mu••able disposition of the mind: that no condition relisheth worse then what it presently injoyes. For could man value an Academicke life when he par∣takes it, at that estimate which hee holds it when he foregoes it, hee would not make exchange of that present state with the trea∣sures of the age: nor lose an houres contem∣plation for the injoyment of an Empire. O unhappy Philocles! and by so much more

unhappy, in being once happy. In those prime slourishing dayes, wherein knowledg was the height of thy ambition, thou couldst freely without anxiety, and though rationally, with much liberty, discourse of a disdainefull Mistris. Sleight the frownes of an imperious Dame, and make it a won∣der, how a little painted Earth, more pure∣ly refined then other inferiour mou'd, should surprize a Conceiving soule, by ma∣king the miserable sufferer present himselfe a true Malecontent: with an hat without a band over-brimming his eyes, an unfashio∣nable habit, as if he scorn'd to suit with time, and that unbrush'd: an head, as if new∣ly fetterd with Medusa's locks, and that un∣kemb'd. This made me put on the Counte∣nance of Dem••critus, and weaken my lungs with laughter. And must I play the mad∣mans part, and discover my selfe to be the very same personall Actor! well Philocles; herein thou maist read a Lecture of humility unto others; by disvaluing thy owne strength: and submitting thy selfe to others Censure, who formerly wert so forward to taxe others of the same Error.

Meane time, what powerfull effects have all these fruitlesse passions wrought? In∣crease of disdaine; decrease of esteeme: and feare in thy selfe of discovering thy ayme? Well, Doriclea, did you but know, as your discretion hath sufficiently inform'd and

improv'd your knowledge, what your un∣worthy Servant, unhappy Philocles, has lost in offering his Sacrifice of love unto you; you would suffer the worst of extreames, ra∣ther then suffer him to perish, whose life, freedome and fortune depend all upon your affection. But be it your lot to soveraignize over me, while with resolved patience; and a minde better composed then for any afflicti∣on to shake, I embrace my owne ruine with a smile, while you close the period of my hopes in a frowne.

All this, unknowne to him, did his Doriclea heare; who had much to doe, upon the rela∣tion of his unhappinesse, to hold her peace. But with what an open and affectionate brest she receiv'd his Complaints, and with what constancy shee reteyned them, shall appeare hereafter by those impressive effects which were wrought in her, and derived from her, by them.

CHAP. IX.

The intercursive Letters passing be∣twixt Philocles and Doriclea: and how shee begunne to impart by penne, what she had before concei∣ted in thought: and how she desi∣red nothing so much as the accom∣plishment of their Love, so priva∣cy might give leave.

GOod newes, when they come unexpected, are ever with the best welcome entertained. This our Love-perplexed Philocles well understood, when after so many cold sweats, and distemper'd passions, which the height and heat of his unfained love had brought him to, he begun now at last to per∣ceive, that a storme may beget a Calme: and

that the frowne of a Mistris may arise from the brow without least privity or intention of the heart. Which pleasant and unexpected overture, not to trifle out time, nor delude the conceipt of our amorous Reader, who, no doubt, longs to heare of so faire a Conclusi∣on, to such unpromising premises, happened thus.

Philocles, who had never all his time be∣fore, entred into such a league of familiarity or acquaintance with love: and now fully re∣solved to bid adieu to all such dis-passionate treaties as make fooles of the wisest men: after a melancholy turne or two in a solitary walke, which since the first presentment of his love to Doriclea, at retired hours he usually frequented: entring his Chamber, and casting his eye aside, hee might finde a paper close by his deske, wherein were these words con∣tained.

Doricleas first Letter to Philocles.

Sir;

THe very last time I saw you, me thought you wore your band more like a Scholler then a compleate Lover; which imply'd, that you were lov'd and knew not. Now, I would not that you made too large a construction of this: I am not she that will

tell you she loves you: and if perhaps, I did, you would not believe me. For I have given you no cause as yet to conceit so. Nay, reflect upon your person and profession, and if you be any good Sophister▪ you cannot chuse but conclude from such apparent premises, that it is impossible I should love you. And yet, I would be loath to be accounted such a foole, as to speake all that I thinke. Trust me, Sir, I was once resolv'd never to love, but if I did, never to love you: now what have you done that could alter me? Must I believe, you, because you told me you did love mee? Be all your pro••ests Maxims, that I should hold them for authenticke? And yet Schol∣lers have ever beene accounted simple: were it not a sinne then, not to believe you? That experienced Sage could stile you Foxes in the Schoole, but Sheepe in the world: A••d shall I hold you a dissembler? No; I am per∣swaded you speake as you thinke: but what is all this to me, or wherein may this beget hope in you, seeing you must not have all you love? Well; God forgive you, I will not dis∣semble, whatsoever you do. Let me heare you once againe treate of love, and you shall see how I will sleight you. If your discourse like me, trust me, I will not be angry; howsoever,

it shall not so much offend me, as to make me accuse you to any such wherewith I formerly threatned you. To conclude, though Love be seldome grounded on Reason, returne me but reason why I should love, and why I should make you the object of that love, and as I live, Philocles shall finde me a loy∣all constant Doriclea.

Never did hopelesse Prisoner receive more content from the glad report of an unexpected reprive, after the heavy sentence of death pro∣nounced, then revived Philocles did in the per∣usall of this Letter. He now recollects his dis∣persed and dispacarled spirits: and bethinks with himselfe what were best to bee done up∣on so faire an opportunity offered. Hee re∣solves therefore, to prevent jealous eyes, to addresse his minde to her in writing to this effect.

Philocles answer to Doricleas first Letter.

Mistris;

HOw much those lines sweetned with your character, have transportedme, my indearedst thoughts cannot impart unto you. To give you a reason why you should love mee, I can give you no other, but that

my heart tels me I deserve you: & that hu∣manity injoynet you to love me, seeing I hold my life an easie sacrifice to injoy you. Be it your goodnesse to believe mee; I will sooner surcease to live, then from expressing those loyall arguments of love; which your vertues deserve, and which I with no lesse constancy shall observe. I could never yet dictate either by tongue or penne, what I first conceiv'd not in heart I told you, that your selfe was my booty; the portion I ex∣pected, your vertuous beauty: and if you pleased but to crowne my hopes with your consent, our mutuall choice which should never admit change, might make us both equally happy.

To tell you that either my Fortunes or descent did deserve you, were to labour, and that fruitlesly, to delude you. But let me become an Abject in the eyes of fame, an Ob∣ject of contempt to the world, if my faith∣full devotion & observance supply not that deficience. For my descent, as I will not boast of it, yet whensoever your parents, af∣ter passion digested, shall examine it, they will finde it neither so ignoble as to despise it, nor so meanely strengthened, as to re∣ject it.

But what are these, compared to the pu∣rity of that affection, which combines hearts and hands: And with a sacred cement so knits and contracts mindes: As those who were before divided, by meanes of this holy league became so united, as nothing so much as their presence could content them, then which, nothing before did more di∣staste them! were my fortunes never so poor, yet seeing my fancy appeares so pure, account him worthy to deserve you, who will hold himselfe unworthy of that life, which shall not be imployed to serve you. These are all the reasons of Love, which you can ex∣pect from

Your loyall PHILOCLES.

Thus became Love a present and pregnant Secretary.

This object of fancy made the taske easy. Letters know not how to blush, which cause them commit to paper, what a bashfull tongue could not so well deliver. Besides, this diverted all occasion of jealousie in a meare-looking fa∣mily. Which they before all others most doubted; fearing to be prevented, now when their loves begunne to be ripened and setled: which would so perplexe the Sceane, as this

Comicke introduction might casually close with a fearefull Conclusion.

Albeit, so free from the least suspition of a∣ny light or ungrounded affection which Do∣riclea might any way harbour, were her Pa∣rents; as many times they would give their daughter liberty to ride abroad, and visit her friends. In all which freedomes she expressed such modesty, as Envy could nothatch the least occasion of jealousie from so compos'd a be∣haviour.

Yet, a greater desire shee reteyn'd to stay at home, since her affection begunne to be setled on Philocles, then before: many times preten∣ding an indisposition of health, or some other minted excuse, to prevent her journey, by remaining there where shee had planted her fancy. But so tender were her Parents of their daughter; being, as shee was, indeed, naturally tender: as they desired she should change the ayre, fearing much that her long stay or reti∣rednesse at home might enfeeble her health▪ And this their resolve now and then closed well with her liking, having Philocles assign'd her for her conduct: whose society, out of a modest policy, though she seemed with all in∣differency to admit: yet how much that chee∣red her heart, I appeale to all such constant and affectionate Lovers, whose fancy h'as beene crowned with such opportunity: and whose Iourneyes have beene so incomparably sweetned with the Society of a Mistris; whose

conference had power enough to shorten the houre; allay the difficulty of a troublesome way; and to entertaine every object with such occasionall delight: as nothing could more cheerefully nor intentively worke on the Conceit.

But howbeit Philocles had sometimes the happinesse to attend his Mistris; He was in∣joyned to a short returne, which could not but beget an equall proportion of passion in them both: In him to be divided from her pre∣sence whom he so intirely affected: In her, to be dispossest of those unvaluable joyes which her affection had in his Society treasured. But their personall absence was ever suppli∣ed by other remonstrances, not onely to re∣nue what was already begun, but to prepare way for accomplishment of that, which with joynt consent they desired might be solemne∣ly done. Intercursive Letters were ever passing betwixt them: and that in so quaint and cun∣ning a Character, as interception, though se∣conded with a nimble construction, could hardly extract ought that might discover what they intended: or apply ought that might occasionally prevent what their grounded af∣fections had resolved.

For sometimes, he would write in the per∣son of another Suiter, to free his lines from suspition: sometimes he would feague under the title of that imaginarie Suiter, that he was rejected by her: which to prevent, he would

revive those protests of love hee had formerly professed. And to instance these, and dis∣play the subtilty of a Lover, peruse this Letter, which under the faigned Name of some dis-esteemed Suiter, hee thus addressed to her.

Philocles second Letter to Doriclea.

DEarest, let the presentment of these lines renue my suite; and in the per∣usall of my passions, let this be your maxim: that it rests in your affection or rejection to make me happy or unhappy in my state, your Zeale to goodnesse, amongst these many gusts of extreames, assures me, your pious and well-disposed heart cannot but enter∣taine remorce to a Servant so loyall, as hee holds the intyrest tender of his life, an easy purchase to time, but an easier sacrifice to fate, to purchase your love. Let me joy in en∣joying you, and let me be deprived of all joy if in every subject I close not in your con∣tent, to make our mutuall joyes more truly absolute. Amidst these, hope and feare doe e∣qually encounter me; it is in your discreet brest to banish the one, by returning assu∣rance of the other: and by checking the lat∣ter

with a frowne, to give encouragment to the former with a smile.

Your yeare of mourning is now expir'd; receive him into your bosome, who will hold you so deare, as your comfort shall never ex∣pire. My long neglect of attending you, pro∣ceeded from the discouragement I received from you at my last being with you: but I am perswaded that assurance your owne hand hath plighted me, will induce you to recollect your thoughts, and revive those sacred tyes, which are so firmely united, as by death onely to be dissolved.

Let but one line redart one small beame∣ling of love, and winged speed shall enliven my desires for those parts, and style me in the fruition of you,

Your long trusty, now happy Servant▪

How much these plaide, nay pleas'd the i∣magination of Doriclea, it is not easy to con∣ceive. Smyling with her selfe at the Conceit of Philocles, in seeming to feare what he feared not; and pretending the affection of a Suiter whom he knew not. Nor was Doriclea lesse prompt in addressing her affectionate thoughts to Philocles, but still after his Copy; for either

would she make bold with subscribing Mel∣lida's name to her owne Letter: or counterfai∣ting some other Character, to expresse the intimacy of her desires, and constancy of her vowes to her selectedst Lover. Nor would she inlarge herselfe too much; lest by some Cir∣cumstance or other she might discover what her private thoughts would not have disclo∣sed, for the true and unvaluable estimate of her honour.

Yet did not her penne drop lesse love for the contractednesse of her line: Each Sillable had his Emphasis, as may appeare by this a∣mongst others, which shee sometimes wrote unto him to solace his pensivenesse.

Doricleas second Letter to Philocles.

FAile not, faint not, feare not: I am ever the same I have professed, constant. No line can limit my love; no distance divide my heart. Meane while lodge these lines in thy bosome till I see thee.

Cold North, hot South, cleare East, wet West Shall ne're divide me from thy brest; On this then, Dearest, set thy rest, I am the same that I've profest; Meane time, sweet fancy, use thy charme, Till sleepe enfold us arme in arme.

No day past without some memoriall of this kinde. A strong motive to love; re-con∣veying to the memory, what personall ab∣sence might raze forth without revivall. This it was which wrought so strongly on the en∣livened spirit of Marke Antonie: as there was nothing that made him so great a stranger to armes, which he naturally affected: nor estran∣ged his affection more from his Octavia, to whom by conjugall love he stood obliged: nor divided him more from the care of secu∣ring himselfe, then one line comming from the hand of his Cleopatra. Though her ma∣jestick state begot an admiration in her be∣holders; a strong impression in the wounded hearts of her lovers. Though her eye reteyned a power to command love; and subdue the commandingst Conquerour with a look. All these soveraigniz'd not halfe so much on An∣tonies affection, as those amorous lines he re∣ceived from her, writ in Christall, Amber, Amethist, and Ivory. Not a line but contai∣ned a loves charme. No modell which ever fancy devis'd, or the imagination stampt; which subtile Cleopatra presented not to make a Commander her Thrall; a Conquerour her Slave.

Those secret delights of love which modest eares would scarcely have received; nor shame∣fast eyes perused, were into his conceipt freely instilled: to decline his affection from those, whom hee ought to have loved best: and to

ingage his heart to her, whose embraces hee should have dis-relished most. Thus did she cast forth her lines for lures, to seaze on one of the highest flyers, that ever perch'd Roman stemme: becomming her own witty Secreta∣ry, to ensnare the fancy of her deluded An∣tony.

But more modest were the lines of our two Lovers; and farre more vertuous their aimes. Reason became no captive unto sense. Neither did the conceipt of a Nuptiall night so much transport them, as to deprive their apprehen∣sion of the end for which honourable rites were first ordained. This, Philocles suffici∣ently expressed, when at such time as after Doricleas returne home, having no good op∣portunity to impart his thoughts more freely to her, he commended these lines to paper, which he privately conveyed into her pocket.

Philocles third Letter to Doriclea.

DEare One, what I sometimes profes∣sed, shall be ever in my loyall love to you faithfully expressed. What, though op∣portunity for the present barre us from con∣ference, our eyes shall witnesse that unfei∣ned love that is betwixt us. And in ap∣provement of it, subscribe under these few lines, but these words, I will be ever your

faithfull Consort: And you shall perceive, ere long, that a faire opportunity shall give freedome of enjoyment of our loves. Where we way freely and vertuously enjoy one the other; and with continuall comforts par∣take the benefit of our lawfull loves to Gods honour. Meane time, write these words under this, my dearest choice, so shall my constant love pronounce me yours without change.

The Match is made with joynt consent, Onely subscribe, I am content: Where nought but Death shall e're divide Your dearest consort from his Bride.

Nor need you doubt but Doriclea upon perusall of these lines, was as ready to s••b∣scribe, as hee to propose. So loyall were their chaste loves, so constantly united their minds. Yet were they no such Novices in the Schoole of Love; nor so uncapable of those effects which pure love might bring forth: as not to aspire to some higher degree then yet they had attain'd. Yea, even vertuous Doriclea, who never heard any light discourse without a modest blush: nor had given harbour to a wan∣dring thought without a seasonable reproofe, desired nothing more then the accomplish∣ment of their love, so privacy might give leave. For that tender filiall zeale which shee

bore to her Parents made her resolves more doubtfull; and time more protractive; then her desires, were she her owne Guardian, could freely give way to. Howsoever, to free her faithfull Philocles of all feare; and to confirme him in that which he did most desire: with as much convenient speed as the opportunity of that time would allot, with a prepared hand and an affectionate heart shee subscribed to whatsoever his vertuous requests had pro∣pounded.

CHAP. X.

What Plots Doriclea devised to partake in private Meetings and Treaties with her Philocles: and how by the jealousie of Euryclea, her Mother, she was prevented.

SHort restraints seeme long, where hearts are divided from those Objects which they love. Though at times of re∣past, and some other houres of the day, Doriclea might enjoy the presence of her Philocles, yet through the intercourse of her sundry Suiters, who now like golden showers came daily falling & di∣stilling into our Danaës Lap: they were barred that freedome of discourse their bequeathed hearts so much affected.

Nor could it doe lesse then perplexe the troubled thoughts of Philocles, to see his Do∣riclea so daily courted; ample promises of high preferment, with other titles of ho∣nour, dangerous baits to catch a Woman,

proffered: so as, if she were not all the con∣stanter, howsoever she had largely protested, he was verily perswaded her Mai••en Castle could not long hold out. E••ery kisse was a killing to him; and by that, judge how often he might be killed every day! He many times thought of that Poeticall Proverbe:

L••••s are Loves-portels, to sly Wooers known, Which once surpriz'd, the Fort is quickly wonne.

Yet patient Philocles! he must say nothing, whatsoever hee think. His eyes must partake in the sight of their wooing dalliance; & glad he may do so, to prevent the worst. And some∣times these silken Suiters will vouchsafe him that honour to supply a place in their amorous pastimes; as in making Gooselings in the fire, or drawing of gloves, or such like harmelesse toyes, to passe the night away. Nay, some∣times they imploy'd him further, in return∣ing a message to Doriclea; a task which suit∣ed best with his liking, but no doubt would loose much of his spirit in carrying. For to be a second Porter of Bellerophons Letters could not sort with his disposition, who had casten his lot, and found one equally closing with him ••n affection. But all these servile im∣ployments, as he conceived, were imposed him, purposely to humble him. Albeit, such trials needed little, being one of such temper, as his thoughts were farre above an inferiour Spheare. For as hee beheld nothing in this Theatre of Earth, worthy affecting, but his

Doriclea: so hee conceipted so well of his choice, as he rested confident, such an excel∣lent piece could not finde a brest to entertaine a change. And his opinion was truly groun∣ded: for howsoever his Doriclea might seeme out of a desire to give her Parents content, to converse with these jolly Wooers, and to leave them in suspense, lest an absolute rejection of them might procure their distaste; wee have ever made it a constant Maxim, Where the eye is, there the minde is: which might well ap∣peare by the behaviour of this constant Maid: who, though she seemed amorously to con∣verse with these, had her eye ever fixed on her Philocles. But all this was not sufficient to her, unlesse she might enjoy the presence of her Dearest; from whom to be divided, even in private treaties or parliance, was no small af∣fliction. Suppose her then contriving sundry plots to partake in what she did so infinitely desire. Love is ingenious in devising, but ma∣ny times not so prosperous in succeeding. Private meetings, purposely to relate their af∣fections, with meanes of preventing of what her Parents, for ought that she knew, might be intending; was her aime; further she aspired not: for so pure and undistained were her thoughts, as they hated to mixe themselves with any irregular desire.

Now to bring to passe what she sought; many evenings would she pretend some one businesse or other, to stay below behinde her

Mother: but so light was her occasion, as her Mother perceived, that it made her more jea∣lous of her excuses. Seeing then these would not do; she made use of a Trap-doore within her Chamber; intending to come downe by it, and so enjoy the benefit of time. But none of these plots would hold; for Euryclea, who by some private intelligence, or what other ill office I know not, receiving notice of her Daughters practise; one night when Doriclea suspecting no harme, was to come downe by the Trap-doore, as she had formerly done, was received below by her Mother instead of her Lover. Which how it perplexed this un∣fortunate Doriclea, exceeds the art of any Pen to expresse: being not only deprived of that beneficiall opportunity, with an evening treaty, to crowne their fancy; but ingaged to a just censure or opinion of jealousie. Which her Mother had good cause to conceive; see∣ing what private advertisements had infor∣med, she found so apparently confirmed. Ima∣gine then incensed Euryclea, who prized no∣thing more then her Daughters honour: nor distasted ought more then those imputations which censure might justly cast upon her, ta∣king up her Daughter in this manner.

What Girle, is your modest seeming come to this? H'as our care, our too much care of your preferment, made you forgetfull of your honour? Have you either so meane an opinion of your selfe; or so weak a conceipt

of our love, as to suffer your desires to mount no higher, then to be the affectionate Mi∣stresse of a Schoolemaster? H'as your breed∣ing begot in you a neglect of what you are, or a contempt of that duty which you owe? Be your actions so dark, as they must have the night to shelter them? Must your Fa∣thers Family receive a blemish by your in∣famy? Is this the hope we treasured in you, the comfort we expected from you? Little, did either your Father or I imagine what you meant by that quaint discourse you oc∣casionally vented at the Table; in talking of that immodest love betwixt a wanton Poet and Augustus Daughter. It seemes you delivered that Argument only to try us, whether we stood affected to such a profes∣sion, on which you had pitcht your wilde affection. Simple Girle! conceive remorse in time; do not undoe your Fortunes; there is none yet that can (such is my too indul∣gent hope in you) justly traduce you; unlesse the eyes of this Family. Redeeme their opi∣nion; be more tender of your reputation. There is no portion proportionably com∣parable to the gage of honour: which pe∣rish'd, you are lost for ever. No treasure so precious as a continent soule; nothing more to be lov'd, and nothing harder to be re∣deem'd, being once lost.

It will grieve mee, to heare your selfe griev'd with the relation of an ill report.

You may bee confident I shall take small pleasure in the discovery of this nightwork. Well Girle; those relenting teares promise amendment: how soone is a Mothers an∣ger appeased? I shall be ready to salve all, so I finde a desire in you to amend all. I will not make your Father, your too passionate Father acquainted with it; neither will I shew in publique any displeasing count∣nance towards your too presumptuous Phi∣locles. All shall be carried with that equall and faire temper, as you shall have cause to say, that never indulgent Mother did more ••ender her Daughters honour: nor could use more connivence, where she found the least hope of repentance. Retire then with all privacy into your Chamber; I shall charme your Maide that shee discover no∣thing. Only let this be a warning unto you henceforth, never to expose your honour so freely, as to give occasion to the family to speak lightly of you. For as honest repute is the highest prize; so it merits of it selfe such approved praise: as were your actions never so private, the eye of piety would sur∣vey them and crowne them. Neither can any device finde such a shroud or shelter for vice, as the piercing eye of fame will not dis∣cover it, and display the Actors when they least dreame of it. Be then what you have so long professed, vertuous; you cannot im∣prove the Family from whence you came,

better: nor conferre on your maiden yeares more true honour. This if you observe, it will give us cause to blesse you, and second the continuance of our care, in providing a Match for you that may equall your birth and fortunes: yea, and to close all in one, confirme the opinion of your own fame, by leaving to your posterity a president of your surviving goodnesse.

With these words, seeing her Daughter lodged in her Chamber, she departed: leaving poore disappointed Doricl••a to summe up her discontents, and to ask her Pillow counsell in cases of such extremity, what were best to be done. Whom now you may imagine turn∣ing and tossing in her bed, without taking any rest: desiring rather to be deprived of what re••resheth and nourisheth Nature most, then to be rest of so sweet an opportunity of enjoy∣ing his presence, whom she prized best.

For though she sought her Parents minds to please, Her highest thoughts were fixt on Philocles.

But the day must now supply the night, with our Doriclea: by contenting her selfe with the sight of him, in the presence of her Parents, whom she in private conference so much desired to enjoy. Their distance must admit no conference: all their language now must be delivered by the eye: readie no doubt to expresse by a look, how much their united hearts stood ingaged to love. Those Hesperian Daughters never kept their golden fruit with

more vigilancy, then restrained Doriclea was by her Mothers jealousie. So as, though her unfeined love devised many plots to possesse her of that which she so much desired, yet by her Mothers intelligence was she ever preven∣ted. Howbeit, she ever bore faire with Philo∣cles: never so much as discovering any discon∣tent towards his person: nor at any time re∣proving him for his presumption; in aspiring so high as the procurement of her Daughter•• affection. Albeit, one day taking him aside, she told him; that she conceived it to be a far better course for him, to returne to his former Academick life: and that he lost but his time in the Countr••y: especially, seeing for the present they had no imployments for him, that might any way improve him, nor answer those hopes he expected, nor parts deserved: yet if occasion should afterwards fall forth that it lay in their way to advance him: hee should not faile in obtaining the best meanes that their assistance or furtherance could possi∣bly procure him.

But little wrought these with Philocles: he preferred one Mistresse before nine Muses. His highest of humane Philosophy rested in the affection and contemplation of her on whom he had fixed his fancy. Neverthelesse, he ex∣pressed himselfe thankfull for so unwelcome a tender: pretending ever that he expected daily to receive notice when some place might fall, and then he would neglect no more time

but addresse his course that way; which hee hop'd e're long would offer it selfe in such ample manner and measure, as might highly conduce to the improvement both of his cre∣dit and profit.

Meane time, hee hoped, his demeanure should not be such, as might make any place where he so journed for the time, weary of him. And that he would choose rather to undergo the poorest life, then be confined to that place, where his carriage might not merit love. But little did these reasons satisfie jealous Eury∣clea; who laboured to prevent the worst, by dividing Philocles from her presence whom she tender'd best. To whom we must now re∣turne, and see what extreames she is brought to; who in this her languishing plight inti∣mates her griefes; and in a secret repose, to give more vent to passion, imparts her discon∣tents in this private pensive relation.

CHAP. XI.

The Passions of Doriclea: and how shee conversed with her owne thoughts in the effecting of her love: inveying against such un∣grounded fancies, who measur•• affection by strength of allyance, portion, or any other respect, then the pure effects of love.

GRiefes never come unsecon∣ded: love-surpriz'd Philocles could never lament more the inequality of his fortunes, which made him unworthy the embraces of his endeared Mistresse, in the opinion of her Parents: then this division from him whom she so entirely lov'd, troubled the dis-passionate minde of Doriclea.

Her unsociable disposition now discover'd

her affection. Dark-shady Launes agreed best with her humour, where in some private Spi∣net, conversing with her own thoughts, she used to discourse of the effects of her love, in this manner.

How far art thou divided from thy selfe Doriclea? Are all passages now stopt up, of partaking his society to whom I have ingag'd my heart? Can Children esteeme this for tender love, which deprives them their sight whom they only love? Alas! do they hold it a matter of such indifferency, to dispense with fancy? Admit I have made choice of him for my dearest Lover, whom my Parents provided for my Schoolemaster, must this deserve such strict censure, as to divide me from the presence of my Tutor? This were to make a Truant of a Scholer. Must none marry but with their equals? None rich, match with poore fortunes? What will become then of poore vertue? She may live a single life, and never partake in the society of love. Silken vice, be it ne∣ver so deformed, must be honoured: she can∣not want preferment, nor choice of Suiters, nor variety of Admirers, because wealth h'as advanc'd her above the rank of inferiours. Our Wooers now adayes must be rich, or our Parents will entertaine them with a frowne. Meane time, what discontent at∣tends such hopelesse marriages, where for∣tunes make up the match, while their affe∣ctions

never meet? Do••es Loves essence con∣sist in outward substance? Was it this that made Leander crosse Hellespont, and in∣tombe his dying hopes in the waves? Was it this that moved love-seazed Orpheus to encounter all hazards for his captiv'd Eury∣dice? Was it this which expos'd long-di∣vorced Ithacus to all adventures for his con∣stant Penelope? Was it this which ingaged trusty Telamon to such perils for his Hesione? O no! It was true love which drew them to those extreames. And yet did these rare∣ly ground their affections upon equality of descents or fortunes. Their choice was bet∣ter planted, and therefore continued longer. For alas, what will honour do to a discon∣tented heart? She that is so matched receives small joy from the Title of a Lady, when this naked style h'as bestow'd her on One she cannot fancy. Ungrounded are these affections, and so weakly to be weighed, as I shall ever choose to inveigh against them, who hold it sufficient glory to enjoy prece∣dency: meane time, discontent becomes their Chamberlaine: seeing, neither style nor estate can reconcile an enforced love to a loathed bed. O consider you this, reve∣rend Parents, who enjoyne your Children to live where they cannot love!

This it is, beleeve it, which makes modest mindes too often transgresse, by confort∣ing with unlawfull loves, and mixing with

those, whom sensuall affection h'as made choice of in exchange. Enforced loves be∣get straying eyes. They finde nothing at home worth affecting, which makes them with Dinah to go abroad, and with too pre∣pared a boldnesse to impaune their honour. O retract then your too severe commands, who enjoyne your Children such Tasks, as affection cannot beare, nor freedome of minde embrace, without a resolved distaste! It is better seasonably to forgoe what we cannot like; then seemingly to approve what we cannot effect, and then repent too late. For my resolves, I hope, they shall never close in any other period then this: That it shall be my constant scorne, to mea∣sure affection by strength of allyance, which to divided hearts can afford small as••istance; or portion, which without a love-inducing proportion, begets the enjoyer nought but affliction; nor any other respect, be it never so gracious or specious to the eye; but that only which conveyes pure and effectuall love to the heart. Never let Parents think that any other affection can prosper: seeing it is not grounded on that foundation, which tenders the minde true solace and contentment. Albeit, such who make their choice by the eye, receive only direction by sense; and such a love neither deserves approvement, nor to offer it selfe to others for a president. But where reason and affe∣ction

meet, there such a sweet union and communion of mindes close in the enjoy∣ment of one the other, as nothing can dis∣solve that individuall tye save only the dis∣charge of that debt we owe to Nature. Yea, but will provident Parents say, there is more required in solemnizing a marriage, then only bare love▪ It is true; yet where love is truly grounded, it will ever finde a state competent to the minde, or a minde competent to the state. It is impure love that proves poore. Affection cannot want: a very little sufficeth where love reigneth. Whereas greatest meanes prove meane fortunes, where affectionate mindes are wanting to mannage those fortunes. O let mee then enjoy my choice, and it is not in the world that shall make me desire to change. Rich am I above comparison, enjoying the freedome of my affection. Miserably poore above relation. being deprived of loves fruiti∣on. Either then give me liberty to live where I love; and to become seaz'd where I have ingag'd mine heart: or let me bee restrain'd for ever, rather then so espous'd where I needs must hate. O my dearest Parents! reflect upon your owne condition, when your unri∣per yeares gave first motives to your glowing thoughts of affection. Did you only value meanes? Was portion the on∣only

lure? Could nothing work so strongly on fancy, as fortune or outward ability? Yes, yes; more purely were your undefi∣led loves grounded, and more successive∣ly graced, then with the refuse of Earthy Oare to be only guilded. Look then down upon us; we are of the same mould; if our temper were impu••er, we should lesse deserve the priviledge of your favour. Since we resemble you in our desires, second what we desire, and accompt of us, as you shall value the estimate of our deserts.

Howsoever Doriclea, be it thy assay to reteine the good opinion thou hast pur∣chas'd from thy Philocles; his constancie h'as deserv'd thee; his demeriting parts every way equall with those fortunes thy friends may conferre on thee. Meane time, endure the aversenesse of thy Parents with patience, so may the effect crowne thy hope, and minister thee seasonable reliefe, when all visible meanes denie helpe.

Thus conversed Doriclea with her own thoughts; thus with much privacie discove∣red she her owne passions. Resolved to en∣dure whatsoever fate or fortune might in∣flict, rather then forgoe the choice of her Philocles, whom shee before all others did affect. But how much shee became depri∣ved of all meanes to expresse the love shee professed, and which remained so constantly fixed, as nothing but death

could divide it, the Chapter ensuing will declare: where you shall finde nothing so constant an attendant to love as care: nor no distemper, when brought to extreames, more desperate of cure.

CHAP. XII.

How Doriclea, being deprived all meanes of imparting the constancy of her zeale to Philocles: having neither the benefit of Inke nor Paper, to discover her loyall in∣timate thoughts to her faithfull Lover; shee supplyed that want with her needle, sowing her minde in Letters of gold, and returning them in the border of a hand∣kerchiefe.

SO jealous was Euryclea grown of the love of her Daughter and her amorous Scholer: as, though she prevented all means of familiar conference or treaty one with the other, yet she still doubted the worst: wherefore

finding her Daughter one Evening privately in her Chamber writing, and perceiving the character by the first blush, and too hasty sub∣scription of her Letter: to Doricleas small comfort, she thus encounter'd her.

What, Girle, will this never be left? Will your Mothers instructions receive no place? Is there none for you to love, but whom we dislike? Trust me, Daughter, this will nei∣ther redound to your comfort nor credit? I pray you, what hopes may you look for at his hands? Will his unprocured revenews maintaine you? Or his Philosophy feed you? Or the leane hopes of some fat Ad∣vousion hereafter sustaine you? Las, do you not see how a Scholer is but made an instru∣ment of necessity: and after he h'as done his work, like an old decaied Servingman to be discarded; or if he stay, to be fed with re∣versions; or take his repast without feare of a surfet, at a Philosophers dinner? Prevent then this foolish love: which, lest you should hereafter signifie by the least line, I shall remove all occasion: for Pen and Pa∣per you shall have none to expresse your in∣considerate affection: the period whereof may bring you to a too untimely affliction. Nay more; assure your selfe, that the next time wherein I shall observe the least sem∣blance of your unseasoned love, I shall di∣vide you beyond the distance or limit of any line. No pretended excuse shall satisfie me,

to induce me to suffer him to sojourne any longer within our gates. Resolve then what you meane to doe; fixe not your di∣stemper'd fancy on him whom you cannot have. Submit your affection in all obedi∣ence to our choice. In vaine it is to oppose us, seeing you labour to intercede for that which you can never receive from us. I have hitherto shrouded your too forward fancy: and casten such a vaile before the eyes of the Family, as no dishonour yet h'as touched you. Compassionate my care, and requite it with a constant desire, to effect what we most affect: by setting your rest on such a choice, as may, when God shall send you one, support your charge.

Thus was poore Doriclea deprived all meanes of imparting the constancie of her zeale to Philocles. No treaty could she partake with him. No line of love could she addresse to him. Eyes only were those Messengers of love, which so redarted affection, as the Op∣tick part return'd a legible Lecture of a con∣stant assurance one to the other. Yet would not this suffice loyall Doriclea; now must she skrue her invention to the highest Pin, and by some other meanes supply the expression of her Pen. Which the pregnancy of loves art quickly performes. For having neither the benefit of Ink nor Paper, to discover her loy∣all-intimate though••s to her faithfull Lover, she contrives an other way to expresse what

she did so unfeignedly professe: and in so modest and composed a manner, as the subti∣lest part of jealousie could not unrivet the se∣crecie of such a Letter. Her Plot is then to supplie that want with her Needle, sowing her minde in Letters of Gold, and returning them in a curious border of needle work, so neatly and artificially shadowed, as it was not in the power of art nor strength of fancie to discover it.

And amongst other curious devices which loves invention composed, she addressed this, in that manner we have expressed.

Doriclea to Philocles.

MY Pen a Needle now must be To manifest my love to thee; While every stitch shall sting my heart Till it take harbour where thou art; Where landing, may it dye a shore If e're we live divided more.

What strong and impressive memorials these and such as these were to our constant Philocles; I leave to your judgements, expe∣rienc'd Lovers, who have suffer'd under the malevolent quality of such a Planet: where restrained of all oportunity, your Mistresses invention found way by some ingenious de∣vice or other after this manner, to discover the constancy of their affections. Truth is, as

there is no passion which sooner works di∣straction then a depriving or distancing of us from the object of our affection: so is there no such motive to the conceipt; as this con∣flict of love. How witty it is in contriving? How various in those numerous delights which the height of that fancy is ever work∣ing? No difficulty, but love will encounter it; no extremity, but she can digest it. There is no action meriting honour, that can be at∣chieved without labour. Infinite were those tasks, and those full of jeopardie, which were imposed on Alcydes, before he could be seazed on his tyrannizing Omphale. Nor were the affections of loyall Mistresses of lesse pursuit in their reall expressions to their Servants. What vast unfrequented deserts, unknowne to any other inhabitants but wilde Beasts, have their tender virgin-feet traced, to finde out those whom they loved? What strange dis∣guises have they taken; what eminent fortunes have they forsaken; what honours rejected; what powerfull friends disclaimed; to enjoy one only friend, whom they so highly pre∣ferred, as by their personall seazure they held themselves sufficiently enriched? Instances we might here bring forth such store, as might make up a story of themselves with out any other intervening discourse. But omitting others both forraine and moderne, in reflect∣ing upon our constant Doriclea, we shall finde such noble constancy and masculine spirit in

her, as every Act shall present a sufficient ap∣provement; and publish her by the impartiall verdict of time, worthy that applause which the relation of that age h'as given her.

For as there was none which ever shewed more constancy to those they lov'd; so was there never any who with a more composed temper encounter'd those affronts which ei∣ther friends or fortunes cast upon her. Bear∣ing all occurrents with so sweet and pleasing a smile, as even her very profest enemies (be∣ing, I must confesse very few, though vertue must ever have some) suffered with her, turn∣ing their passion into compassion, the heat of their fury into a relenting admiration of her fancy: which became so equally tempered, as no distaste could alter it: being no lesse ready to enter the List to enjoy her love, then to ob∣taine the conquest of enjoying his love, in whose bosome she desired only to live.

Thus was our Doriclea resolved to suffer, and to joy in her suffering, that she might en∣joy him; to whose affection as her thoughts were devoted, so no houre passed, wherein she was not contriving by one meanes or other, for their honest loves to be clothed and closed with honour.

CHAP. XIII.

Philocles restraint, with those pas∣sionate effects which their enfor∣ced absence one from the other pro∣duc'd. He findes love ever most violent, when furthest divided from his Object: yet amidst these disgusts, he adviseth her to pati∣ence in his restraint. Confirming himselfe so individually hers, as nothing may abridge the accom∣plishment of their desires, but Death.

BUT returne we now to love-re∣strained Philocles: who, as hee was confident to prevaile, so he remained ever jealous of Eury∣cleas affection to him. Nor could that smooth carriage which she preten∣ded,

free him from suspicious thoughts. For in his private retire, when divided from the eyes of men, would he many times recollect himselfe, and argue the promising effects of this amorous task: as if he were made sole Moderator of his own affections. Sometime•• would hee object to himselfe those inevita∣ble perils, whereto he ingaged his hopes and fortunes, by putting himselfe on an assay o•• such difficulty: and which probably might encounter with such diversity of rubbs: as hi•• weak meanes would prove insufficient to re∣move them, and without much patience, the poore mans supportance, too heavie to bea•••• them. Othertimes, he would be so farre fro•• objecting these fears or encounters of friends•• as he stood irrevokeably addressed to go 〈◊〉〈◊〉 with what he had begun. Nothing could di∣vert him; affection had so steeled him; and 〈◊〉〈◊〉 meditation of the worst that might fall ha•• so prepared him; as come what could come▪ he was resolved to slight all difficulties, esteem∣ing the conquest more glorious, by how muc•• the combat seemed more dangerous. Yet a∣gaine would he draw back a little and call 〈◊〉〈◊〉 minde those passages of her Mother Eurycles in labouring to disswade him frō a Countrey life, and advising him to returne to his forme•• Academick condition. Surely, quoth he, thi•• motion aimed at something. It was not 〈◊〉〈◊〉 of a desire of my proficiency in learning, bu•• to divide me from the Subject of loving. Sh••

saw something which she liked not, or such uselesse perswasions had never been delivered. Well, I know not, what to conclude upon such suspicious premises: but sure I am, that a poysonous Snake may lye hid under the sweetest hearbes. Those waters are not from perill freest, which run the smoothest. And too forward a Spring is ever nipt the soonest. Though the Fish Sepia bewray her subtile en∣counter by a black colour, which she casteth out to cover her: others can go lesse disgui∣sed, and consequently lesse suspected, yet more dangerous are these, because they de∣lude most, when they are least feared; surprize soonest, when we are least prepared.

Neither were these diversely perplexed re∣solves of his, without cause, for whether by some ill offices done him, or by some Letters intercepted which came from him, or some other markes or tokens of love observed be∣twixt them, her incensed Parents upon com∣plaint made how Philocles had laboured to inveagle their Daughter, and against the lawes of the Kingdome, sought privately to convey her, he became restrained: which was so farre from amating his spirit, as he applyed all these extreames as soveraigne Cordials: fearing little, but as it was his hard fortune to suffer much for her: so her noble disposition would not be slow in returning a faire requitall, to recompence those many occurrences which he encounter'd for her.

Yet in this restraint, would he many times, and that not without a strong conflict, break out in the discovery of those passionate ef∣fects, which their enforced absence one from the other produc'd.

O, where shall I live, said he, being deprived of her presence whom I only love? O how sweet were this restraint unto me, were I not restrained from her whose presence would give me liberty? How easie are the fetters of love? How un∣welcome that liberty which divides us from those we love? Yet was my former freedome in this more gratefull to me than this re∣straint: in that I was admitted to enjoy the sight of her, from whom I am estranged by restraint. Neither can this dis-passionate censure of her incensed Parents in procu∣ring my commitment, work halfe so effe∣ctually upon mine extasied thoughts; as the griefe I conceive for my dearest Doriclea: who, no doubt, upon the hearing of these newes of my restraint, will become so per∣plexed, as the conceit of her discontent af∣flicts me more, then whatsoever her angry Parents may inflict. For time may appeare their fury, by reflecting on themselves, and weighing the cōstancy of our united fancy: but should my present thraldome beget her distemper, my hopes were lost and perished for ever. And what may I expect lesse from one so truly loyall! No doubt, but she h'as found as well as my selfe the reall proofe of

that experiment. Love is ever most violent, when farthest divided frō his object. So long as we have liberty to enjoy in seeing, what we may not more fully partake by injoying, yet our eyes afford us some solace, to allay those extreames of love with the fruition of their presence. But when deprived of that benefit; and to supply the comfort of such an incomparable Object, we must make Grates and Spider-woven wals our pensive Consorts, would not imagination hold it above humane suffering? No, no; while we live, we are made to be Actors of passio∣nate Scenes on this Theatre of love.

Should all on Earth enjoy what they de∣sire, Earth would become the period of their desires: further, poore mortals would not looke, should they enjoy whatsoever they like. Resolve then Philocles, patiently to beare, what thy impatience cannot cure. And amidst these disgusts, advise her to patience in this thy restraint; that her anguish give not fresh fuell to thy discontent. Be it thy care, that she suffer not in thy cure. One is enough to perish, and too many by one; could misery fix on a lesser Subject then one.

Setting then Pen to Paper, and accommo∣dated by a convenient Messenger, in this man∣ner he imparts his minde unto her.

Restrained Philocles to Doriclea.

GRieve not, my Deare, that I am here restrain'd, Mine heart lives the••e, th••••gh I be here confin'd;

Cloath that is dy'd in graine can nere be stain'd,

Nor can occurre••ts shake a constant minde. Let me in thee but s••ch a freedome fi••de; And ••en let Fates, Fri••nds, Fortunes, all repine, I shall Doriclea's be, Doriclea mine.

Thus confi••ming himselfe so individually hers, (though divided from her, by meanes of hers) as nothing may abridge the accomplish∣ment of their desires, but death: with a cheer∣full brow he dissembles with griefe: imploy∣ing these tedious houres of his restraint in reading the stories of discontented Lovers. Where he found some in the way of enjoying of what they most affected, and suddenly Ixion-like deceived with a Cloud. Others as deeply plunged in despaire of injoying what they loved, and these above expectance found their desires crowned, where their hopes were nearely expired. And of these he made use as occasion serv'd: sometimes to humble his hopes, lest they should mount or aspire above themselves. Againe, were his hopes depressed; with other instances he found them raised: & these were the most usuall consorts where∣with he conversed, in those retyred walkes whereto he was confined. But how heavily his constant Doriclea took his restraint, it is

not easie to expresse: being not only deprived of his presence, the highest benefit which was admitted her: but equally suffering with him, conceiving how those extremities which he now suffered, were inflicted on him by her inraged Parents for the love which he bare her. These wrought strange effects in her pas∣sionate thoughts. Labouring sometimes by meanes of Friends, other sometimes by pri∣vate policies, his freedome from durance: but the issue never seconded her desires: so as, she resolv'd to impose that upon her selfe freely, what her Philocles was enforced to suffer of necessity. But from these extreames we must now descend to other occurrents: and leave these two divided Lovers, to the relation of their own griefes, with this constant resolve; that nothing may divorce their loves, but their graves.

CHAP. XIV.

Doriclea understands by an aged Hermit of Mardanes practise: how he intends to enjoy her by in∣direct meanes: And how the Spels of Spurcina, the Inchantresse with whom Mardanes contracted were ever frustrated, by the de∣vout morning exercise of Dori∣clea, signing her selfe every mor∣ning in her going abroad with the signe of the Crosse; a soveraigne receipt against Spurcina's Charm.

WIth what distaste our ancient Suiter Mardanes took Dori∣clea's rejection, we shall easi∣sily gather by this story which hapned in this manner. This contemptible worldling having sought by all meanes to en∣joy

his Mistresse; who made the object of her thoughts of farre ampler extent then riches; but all in vaine: for besides their inequality of yeares, their disparity of dis••osition would ever run discord, and disrelish nothing more then union: to shew the unworthinesse of his debaucht mind every way, what his faire prof∣fers could not procure, he meanes by indi∣rect wayes to effect. Which by the notice of an aged Hermit became happily discovered.

D••riclea, now in her voluntary retire, used to converse with very few: only sometimes it was her custome to repaire to a pleasant sove∣raigne Spring, to bathe her selfe according to the season of the yeare: neare which there li∣ved an old religious Hermit: a man of a strict and rigid life. To this devout man, had Do∣riclea often resorted, and with him conversed: from whom she had received much comfort, as she her selfe confessed. So as, comming one day occasionally to him, he imparted his minde fully and freely to her; which fell forth hap∣pily for her, as you shall heare hereafter.

Daughter,* 10.1 quoth he, you are now in the prime of your youth; incline then your eare to one who h'as now attain'd ripenesse of age. I have beene young as you are, and no doubt but addicted to like youthfull vani∣ties as others were. All which my aged sor∣row must now rinse with teares. But let me tel you, of all those conflicts which I obser∣ved to be hottest, I founde none more vio∣lent

then the moderation of fancy. This was a Subject fit for youth: for other affe∣ctions, they did not so much as attempt, much lesse taint so faire a feature. Nay, so wilde is fancy, that unlesse it be timely cur∣bed, it incurres that infirmity which cannot be cured: and unlesse seasonably checked, it makes choice of those which deserve most to be rejected. This, I shall little need, Daughter, to apply to you: for your modesty promiseth farre more discretion in fancy. Yet I must tell you, I heare what I abhorre to relate. Wherewith abruptly breaking off, he demanded of her whether she knew not one Mard••nes? Very well, answer'd she; he was pleased sometimes to be my Suiter. It is true, said the Hermit, and he intends ere long to be your enjoyer. Mine, quoth she! Nay be patient, said the Hermit. I must tell you, he h'as ingaged himselfe in a desperate course to enjoy you. Your repulse barr'd him of his aimes; now his practise is to enjoy you by indirect meanes. My Grave shall first re∣ceive me, answer'd Doriclea. Nay, this is the violent straine of a Woman, said the Hermit; you will rather dye in the expressi∣on of a passion, then incline to any receipt to cure that passion. Pray you heare me. This evill Man, whom you so slighted, h'as lately contracted with an hatefull hideous Hag, to practise on your person, by receiving something from you, that may indirectly

procure him your affection. No longer since then yesterday, was it my fortune to be ga∣thering Simples near Penell Hils;* 10.2 near which place to a private Graunge had resorted sun∣dry persons, and some of these of seeming quality, but all of them miserably exposed to that hatefull profession. Where each dis∣covered unto other whither they were to go, and what feats they were to do. Monstrous were their practises: most of them aiming at blood: and meerely for revenge without hope of benefit to themselves. Others, though not so cruell, yet no lesse unjust in their attempts; were to practise plots and projects of love, which in short time should fall into such tragicall hate, as nothing should compose the quarrell, but the Actors life. Amongst which I heard one, whom the rest of that miserable Meniey, as I remember, called Spurcina; an ougly de∣formed Gamar she was: and she disclosed what she intended to do, being what she was perswaded to by one Mardanes; which was, that she should repaire daily to your Fa∣thers house, and by some meanes or other, as by practising on something you might weare, or some money you might bestow, to procure him your love. And this she re∣solved to put in present execution. And this must you prevent by serious devotion. Let not the morning aire breath on you, nor the rising Sunne shine upon you, before that

victorious signe of the Crosse hath arm'd you. Such receipts will frustrate these de∣ceipts: they cannot surprize you, so devo∣tion accompanie you. This armour will shield your honour: and make that Inchan∣tresse faile in her fruitlesse labour. I have now told you what you are to do: thank your selfe if you be deluded: seeing such meanes are proposed to you, to prevent it. Meane time, deare Daughter, my blessing rest upon you, as my prayers shall be for you, my entirest wishes with you. Desi∣ring, that you may finde such a choice as their vertues may cheere you; to which happy choice I commend you.

Thus after a reverend salute, and humble adie•• by Doriclea to this ancient Hermit; they both retired, but severall wayes. He to his Cell, she to her selfe: where imagine her, up∣on a due and serious discussion of every par∣ticular, touching the strange relation of that reverend Father, unloading her troubled brest, full of perplexed passions, after this manner.

Unhappie Doriclea! is thy fortune such, as thou must not only be divided from those thou lovest, but by indirect meanes coopled to those thou loathest? What have I done, that I should thus incense those Su∣periour powers against me? Have I at any time dishonoured their temples: or cloath∣ed my vices with pretended vertues? Have I violated my faith: or where I professed

love, proved false? Have I ••••boured to delude a simple lover: or gloried in the conquest of my inferiour? H••ve I not perform'd those sacred vowes which piety enjoyn'd me: or neglected that office which charitie exacted of me? Were my professions of love di∣rected for lucre, wanton dalliance, or pur∣suit of honour: or have I fashion'd my ha∣bit to the fancy of the time, to please mine own humour? Did I ever cast out any light lures to catch a cock-brain'd lover: or ex∣prest my selfe to the deservingst Suiter, too liberall of mine honour? Have I made the publique street my Gallery: or desir'd unlawfull looks to seaze on my beauty? H'as my example given others liberty of offend∣ing: or afforded least hope to a light wand∣ring eye of purchasing? Have I accompani∣ed any presence with disdaine: or requited any pious office with neglect? Did I ever wish any ones hurt: or requite true love with undeserved hate? Yes, yes, Doriclea, herein hast thou offended. Hadst thou lov'd Mardanes, he had never betaken himselfe to unjust practises. And must I either then love where I cannot affect, or make those I reject, practise what humantiy would detest? Injurious Mardanes! Hadst thou none to exercise thy spels nor inchantments on, but such an one who is not her own? This is impiety above president. What were it to enjoy, where thou canst never partake any

joy: or inforce her thine, whom Magick incantation, no sincere affection h••as confir∣med thine? And this were thy case, Mar∣danes, in enjoying me. It is no sorcery can beget true fancy. Where indirect meanes procure love, tragick events produce hate. Desist then, unhappie man, from these as∣saults, which shall redound to thy shame, and cl••athe thee with infamy in succeeding times. Those hellish consorts, with whom thou conve••sest, nay, miserably contractest, are soone discomfited, when a more com∣manding Power shall countermand it. Pitti∣full practises! where should the innocent'st soule finde succour; or a succourlesse Maide harbour, should these receive effect to the desire of their Author? So limited then is their power, as they can practise nothing that is impure, upon a soule divinely pure. Practise then, Mardanes, what thou canst; thou shalt never enjoy what thou wouldest. I am better fortifi'd then to be so surpri∣zed: stronger fenced then so foiled. Nor shall I cease to render thankes to him by whom I am, and by whom I am so well pre∣pared: next under him to that devout man, by whom I am so well informed. Nor need I feare to be subdued, being so supported: nor relinquished, being so supplyed

.

Nor were her resolves with lesse constancie seconded. Early and late offer'd she up the sacrifice of her Prayers. Constant was she in

her care; to prevent all insuiug harme. Those ••sefull directions which she received from that old Hermit, she freshly reteined. Which so farre prevailed, as by her devout morning Exercise (being the season which the Inchan∣tresse most commonly used, ever hoping to take her unprovided) those odious fruitlesse Spels became ever frustrated. All which, Spurcina the Spell-woman afterwards confes∣sed: when after her conviction for offences of more high and hainous quality, she pub∣liquely attested: that though by the procure∣ment of Mardanes she had sought early and late to practise upon something received from her: yet could she never effect her own de∣sires, though she had matter enough to work on, because Doriclea signed her selfe every morning in her going abroad with the signe of the Crosse: which that ancient Hermit, whose name the Sorceresse could not endure to heare, had prescribed for a soveraigne re∣ceipt against her Charme.

Thus lived Doriclea every way assailed and assaulted; but never vanquished nor discoura∣ged. Farre more did she feare the welfare of her deare restrained Philocles: then the sub∣tilty of these inchantments. His liberty she preferred before her own safety. Yet so farre was she from procuring what she so intirely desired: as the continued jealousie of her Pa∣rents declined•• her hopes from ever effecting what she so much labour'd. For to intercede

her selfe for his liberty, she durst not; le••t it should increase their suspition: and to intru•••• any other in that suit, she had found it so fruit∣lesse, as it made her despaire of all successe. To a private retired walke inclosed with sweet breath'd Sycomours, twice a day she usually repaired: where divided from the noise of the world, she would passionately converse with her own thoughts, and propose sundry devi∣ces for the freedome of her Philocles. Where∣with her fancy became so infinitely pleased: that though none of these took effect, yet i•• contented her to imagine how she might by such meanes procure his liberty: whereof he remain'd deprived for his loyalty. And in thi•• retired shade, o•• Elysian Grove: for Art and Nature had exprest their distinct workman∣ships in it; sometimes should she chance to finde the Witch Spurcina, which confirmed what the Hermit had affirmed: but bein•• demanded by Doriclea, what occasion she had there: her excuses would appeare n•• lesse lame than her selfe. Sometimes pretend∣ing that shee came thither to gather some Hearbes or Sallets: or else perceiving D••••••∣clea to be walking there, she came to beg som•• reliefe at her charitable hands. But neither of these was her errand; but to practise what she intended, by some linnen or wollen tha•• might fall from her: which, though she no lesse maliciously then opportunately recei∣ved, and by them practised, yet were her

Spels ever defeated, her Charmes frustrated by the ince••••ancy of her devotion, as hath been formerly related.

Thus Love's exposed to a twofold harme, A Parents fury, and a Witches Charme: The first she cures by giving way to time; The last she frustrates with an Holy Signe.

THe incomparable Ba••clay in his Mirror of Minde••, c••p. 8. discovering Norway to be a rude Nation, and with most men who have convers'd or commer••••d with them, held infamous for Witchcraft: They, by report, (saith he) can sell Windes, which those that saile from thence doe buy, equalling by a true prodigy the ••abulous story of Vlisses & Ae••••us. And these ••enell P••ggs, have affirmed the like, upon their owne Confession.

CHAP. XV.

How Doriclea practised with Mel∣lida her Maide for her escape: How she sought to delude her Mo∣ther: Her prevention: and how Androgeus her Father became inraged, upon the discovery of her affection.

LOng had Doricleas languish∣ing thoughts breathed after the sight of her restrained Philocles: but her Parents jealousie of the one side, and the distance of miles which divided him from her on the other side, so disheartned her hopes, as what she one houre intended, the next houre she reversed. But yet this would not so content her: love cannot be so satisfied. She findes her selfe divided from her selfe, so long as she becomes removed from

her Philocles. On then she must, though all difficulties shold oppose her: friends disswade her: no hope of obtaining her purpose, en∣courage her. And now to expedite this Assay, she findes none fitter to commend her practise to then her Maide Mellida. A witty Wench, who knew well enough where her Mistresse shooe pinch'd her: which if the Last of her invention could ease, she held it one of the best services that ever she could do her. And to her did Doriclea communicate her thoughts and counsels in this manner.

O Mellida, thou knowest, and I blush that thou knowest, how my affection h'as beene long time fixed on Philocles; and now thou seest, how he, on whom I have set my rest, is divided from me. O advise me then how I may enjoy his presence, whose absence ••s to me death. Alas, thou seest what discontents attend my unhappy state, while I am here by jealous eyes prevented, from enjoying what before all other things I have prefer∣red. Deluded eyes may imagine that I have the world at will; because I am mine own Mistresse: and want in nothing that may outwardly solace me. But little know these, how in enjoying what I have, it augments my discontent being deprived of that which I once had, but now have not. Addresse then the best advice thou hast; to afford me some comfort amidst these extreames. Without hope the heart would burst. Hope

I reteine, but in small measure, 〈◊〉〈◊〉 ••rom thee Mellida, I receive succour. F••r •• am barr'd all opportunity; watchfull eyes be∣ing ever set over me: which continually la∣bour my prevention, for repairing to him who is the ••ole object of my affection Com∣miserate then my case, good Mellida, and devise some meanes or other for me to enjoy his sight, without which I am lost ••or ever.

Lost for ever answered Mellida! God for∣bid Mistresse, that I should suffer that, if it be in my power to prevent. I had thought dying for love had been a thing quite out of request, in these dayes. But since our too kinde hearts are made of such soft temper, some Salve must be provided either to harden them, and so make them lesse sensible: or procure the means to bring them to enjoy what they so much desire, and so make their sufferings more cu∣rable.

Thou examines and searchest the ground of my griefe, and understandest the meanes how thou mai••t make the unhappiest Woman alive infinitely happy. Prepare then by ap∣plying, what thou perceivest may soonest cure: there is no task so difficult which •• shall not with a free embrace susteine, so I may but partake what I so incomparably desire. You do well, answered Mellida, thus to arme your selfe against all difficulties: but surely you shall little need to stand in any great feare of what I shall enjoyne you. I know little yet

what may in time befall my selfe: and then I must submit my selfe to others advice, as you now vouchsafeto do to mine. For indeed the very wisest in businesse of this nature, are ever found the greatest fooles▪ when they come to advise themselves. But Mistresse, you have ever heard, how Love delights in nothing more then in playing the dissembler. Ante∣Masks are ever usher'd in by Whi••••lers. And this part must you act, o•• I know not what way else to supply you. Love is personated with most grace, when it entertaines a dis∣guise. And this habit must you undertake: and now when I think of it, you may furnish your selfe with a convenient disguise; you know Proclus our Page, put upon you his Su••t; I shall procure you it, when he is asleepe. With which you may privately and without suspi∣cion convey your selfe. And if your Mother inquire of you, I shall acquaint her, that you are at rest: and so prevent all present discove∣ry for one night: meane time, by the benefit of silent night, and the conduct of your con∣stant friend Alcaus, you may in time come where you would be: while I am left to the mercy of the winds. For what may I answer for my selfe when you are gone? Well, I will hazard a service for your content and solace: I shall hold my selfe happy in my endeavour, so you ••n this assay do but prosper.

Doriclea needed no quickner to this moti∣on. Winged are her desires to second Mellidas

advice. And having now fitted her selfe with Proclus Suit, towards Alcaus her conducter she hastens her course. Who exprest himself•• very readie to do her any friendly office; be∣comming her Guide, in directing and accom∣panying her to her dearest Friend. But as ill successe often attends best designes, these two were unhappily stayed by the Watch, upon this occasion. A Gentle womans Daughter of good quality and great fortunes that very night chanced to be stolne away: upon which occasion, pursuit was made: and especiall direction given, that if any person should suspiciously or unseasonably passe by the Watch, they should be stay'd and examined. And such was the fate of unfortunate Dori∣clea; who surprized when least feared, must of necessity with her Conducter, remaine un∣der the Constables hands till the next morn∣ing: for truth was, the Officer (by what ac∣cident•• I know not, but you may partly ima∣gine) was held altogether unfit that night to examine them, which of all others, hapned the worst for her advantage. For the very next morning betimes were all places set for staying of Doriclea, by expresse direction•• from her Parents. So as being found upo•• search, the poore amorou•• Girle was stript o•• her Pages habit, and re-attyr'd in her own▪ Neither could Alcaeus, without much meane•• and mediation of friends, procure his peace. You may suppose with what discontent our

disappointed Doriclea returned to her tedious ••••dging•• sorrow was her best melodie; and her choisest musick an incessant Lachrymae. For though her restraint was before sufficient; and her Mothers eyes too too vigilant: yet now were their ••ares and feares more numerous than before, which beget far more intention to this charge then before.

Many times would she relate her gounds of discomfort to her Mellida; who, poore Wench, became so discouraged by the sinister ••••ccesse of her Plot: as the best reply she ••ould now shape to her unhappy Mistresse; was either silence: or,

good Mistris be con∣tent, there is no hope to escape. Learne to forget him, seeing you must not enjoy him.

But this wrought no effect upon her affectio∣nate desires. One assay she holds not suffici∣ent enough to expresse her love to him, whom ••he esteemes so deare. One night therefore, being impatient of her disconsolate restraint, she•• practiseth with an aged Woman, who was her Mothers hen wife: to change apparell with her, hoping to receive better successe under that disguise, then her late Pages ha∣bit. But so well was this old Woman charm'd by her Mother, as she became Doricleas dis∣coverer: so as, her Mother meeting her, and pulling off her Muffler, this device received no better speed then the former. Thus was Do∣riclea ever practising, but never prospering. Nor was her fancy so lightly fixed, as to give

over upon receit of two foiles. As she was constantly planted in her affection; so she made it her usuall task, to labour after the en∣joyment of him, to whom she was so nearely ••ngaged in her loyalty and devotion. Rich ••ooties sweeten the greatest difficulties. A low-creeping spirit, deserves not to enjoy the benefit of fortune. Nor that love which is waited on by pusillanimity, the just reward or recompence of fancy. And this was the resolution of constant Doriclea; who, though none more observant of Parents command; nor tender of her fame; yet her Philocles mu•••• not be forgot.

His restraint from her, and her division from him work such strange effects, as sleep•• becomes a stranger to her. Nightly she as•••• her pillow counsell how she may attain wha•• her longing desires so much affect: and she re∣solves once againe to put in practise what h•• unhappy fortune had hitherto crossed her in▪

Suddenly then one night, when she ima∣••••n'd all the family, save only such as she im∣••loyed in this plot, to be fast asleepe, she pri∣••••ly departed forth of her Chamber ••in∣••••ding by that meanes to make escape. 〈◊〉〈◊〉 ••a••ents eyes are ever vigilant: and their eare•• ••f ••uickest hearing: especially, where th•• ••east jealousie begets in thē a thought of fear••▪ or enjoynes them to a seasonable preventin•• care. This might appeare well in Eurycle•• who the very same houre lying waking, an••

hearing the entry doore creek, presently arose, and lighting of a candle, repaired to her Daughters lodging; where drawing neere to her Daughters bed, instead of her Doriclea she found a Mamme•• or feature so artificially made up in her night attire, as in represented her Daughter to life. Bo••lster'd up was this Puppet with Pillows, as if Doricl•••• had been ••itting up on end in her bed: which at the first ••ight deluded her inquisitive Mother, imagi∣ning that it could be no other but her Daugh∣ter. So as, calling upon Mellida, she resolved to returne to her chamber. Mellida, who all this while lay shaking and trembling in her bed, doubting that she might be call'd in que∣stion, upon Doricleas discovery: as one be∣twixt sleeping and waking, asked who was there? And perceiving it to be E••ryclea: oh Mistresse, quoth she, ••what h'as distemper'd your rest, to be out a bed at this unseasonable time of night? Mellida, said she, y••u take great care of your Mistresse, to suffer her to sit up in bed and ••atch cold after this manner. And drawing neare the bed, to put her Daughters armes and higher part of her body too within sheets: perceiving it not to be her Daughter: but a Baby-clouts only to delude her. It is not easie to declare what extremity of passion she conceived: sometimes accusing Mellida to be guilty of the practise: threatning her with the severest punishments that Law could in∣••••ict, if she told her not forthwith whither her

Daughter was fled. But she, dissembling Girle, pretended that she was never made acquainted with any such plot: seemingly wondring, what time her Mistresse could have for making up any such piece, without her knowledge. And to allay Eury••l••as fury towards her, as one compassionating her case, she admired how any one could practise to delude their Mother in such manner▪ ••having beene ever so tender of her welfare.

While they were thus debating Doriclea's escape, they might heare one rusling below: which Euryclea observing, she runne haftily downe, imagining to finde some of her ser∣vants made priv••e to this plot, and by that means to reskue her Daughter. But far above her expectance, she findes none other but Do∣riclea: who having forgot the key of the Court-gate by which she was to go forth, was turning back to fetch it. Who meeting with her Mother, what an unwelcome encounter she received, I leave to you to judge: being farre above the art of passion to expresse. But Doriclea set as good a count'nance on the matter as possibly she could: telling her Mo∣ther that she did but only this to try her. And that if she intended any such escape, she would have beene better provided then it appeared she was. But all this satisfied her Mother no∣thing: for to encrease the long-grounded jea∣lousie of her Daughters affection towards Phi∣locl••s: whereof sh•• had received so many ap∣pa••ent

arguments and demonstrations, as no∣thing could be more probable, being to every observing eye visible: chancing that very night to search her Daughters pocket, she found a Letter bearing Philocles character, directed to her in this manner.

Philocles second Letter during his restraint.

DEarest, look on me, and with an im∣partiall eye and compassionate heart tell me if any one ever suffer'd more in the delay of her enjoyment whom he prized most: or suffer'd more in the burden of their indignities whom he valued least. What sad omino••s starre is it that so misguides me, or darke sullen cloud that hangs over me, as to live still thus divided; and by an injurious restraint, divorced from that only object where my thoughts are affian∣ced, and the constant zeale of a truly-loyall Servant devoted? I 〈◊〉〈◊〉 daily travelling in pursuit of you, yet fruitlesse in my pur∣suit; some sinister occurrent or other estrangeth me from you. Did he ever live, that did more unfeignedly love; or could more readily and really sacrifice his life for the purchase of his love? And what solace

to recompence so faithfull a service? Shall my harvest, where I expected so good a crop, requite my long-languishing hopes with tares: and close the unhappy Scene of a lingring life with fruitlesse teares? O reflect on these, and expedite his blisse, who never yet could paint out his griefes ••ith deceiving colours; nor delude the Object he affected, and to whose sole choice ••e stood affyed with feined ay-mees: nor di••••ate with to••gue, nor expresse by Pen what hee first conceiv'd not in heart.

Confident I am (nor is my confidence grounded on weak presumptions) that ••••∣ny off••cious Agents, whose parti••ular aimes made them Rhetoricall Counsellours, inter∣posed themselves to divert our choice, and offer to our affections reasons of change: yea, such who applyed these dangerous re∣ceipts to us both: to work their own ends the surer, and ingratiate themselves with us both, under a friendly pretence but for∣ged colour. Our owne bosomes whe•• they shall become unlocked each to other, may one day mutually discover; and smile with pleasure at such a selfe-loving deceiver. B••t the winde, I hope, is got into another Coa••t. So as, I doubt not but your discretion will

henceforth prefer a constant choice, before 〈◊〉〈◊〉 inconstant trust. I have prepared the way (and that by a Reverend one, in whom life and learning do equally shine) to con∣summate whatsoever hath been so long pro∣posed, and as I hope, mutually concluded; so you be but pleas'd only to breathe on these lines with your pious modest assent, and confirme me, which, of all things earthly, may only cheere me, in being, and happy in so being,

inviolably Yours.

So numerous were these private plots, con∣firmed with amorous Letters, as Euryclea could hold no longer from imparting these passages to her passionate Husband Andr••g••us, who became so inraged upon this last disco∣very of her affection, as he could containe himselfe within no bounds of patience. So as Doriclea could not be halfe so serious nor s••••i∣citous after the pursuit of her restrained Philo∣cles; as Androgeus was to chastlse that too much freedome of his inamoured Daughter. It chanced, that as he walked one evening not without much discontent; he might hear•• the voice of his Doriclea, from a private Arbou•• neare adjoyning. Whereto drawing neare and giving good attention, he might understand what griefe she conceiv'd, in procuring her

Parents displeasure so highly against her; wherewith she seemed so infinitely afflicted, as it struck teares in the old mans eyes: so as drawing neerer the Arbour, with purpose to comfort her, he accoasted her in this manner.

How now Doriclea, what meane these teares? Want you ought that may conduce to your content? Is out love either so cold, or our care so light, as either of these should be occasion to you of teares? These, trust me, are no pleasing ayres to the eare of a Father, nor suiting with the condition of a Daughter.

Lachryme, replyed she, should not only be in the eye, but stamps of more retentive sorrow in the heart. A Pilgrims passage is such a passionate progresse, as it cannot be pursued without sobs: nor continued with∣out sighes. I have found sufficient occasion for that Musick: nor can I eye that place, which may afford other melody. A conti∣nuall Sinner and a rar•• sigher promiseth small comfort hereafter. Our dayes are but few and evill. Not an houre without some crime to accompany it. Let the Soule ne∣ver receive her surfet of sorrowing; till she h'as first found in her selfe a loath to sinning. But in these, deare Sir, there is nothing that reteines in it more sense; then the remem∣brance of my disobedience. Your discon∣tent h••as begot in me the deepest impression; nor shall I desire longer to live, then my en∣deavours shall not be directed to regaine

your opinion. Your frowne hath beene ever my greatest feare: which if my too liberall youth h'as too carelessely incurr'd: relin∣quish me for ever, if my penitentiall teares shall not labour to redeeme. More would I speak, if my constant zeale and reverence to your person would permit. Be it yours to command: Doriclea's to obey.

This divine Rapsodie wrought so strong∣ly on Androgeus, as it were hard to say, whe∣ther she was more readie to crave pardon, or he to grant it. Soone was his passion allayed, and to compassionate teares resolved. More he could not wish then she had professed: nor she in the office of obedience performe more then he expected.

CHAP. XVI.

How Mellida one morning lets fall her Glove; whereon Spurcina the Inchantresse practiseth suppo∣sing it to be Doriclea's. Mellida fals in love with Mardanes: and discloseth her passion to her Mi∣stresse: who promiseth her best as∣sistance.

MArdanes all this while de∣sisted not from in••tigating Spurcina to put in practise her impious designe: in pursuit wherof that hide∣ous Hag was no lesse for∣ward, then if the issue or successe thereof solely imported her self. And now at last she holds her selfe perswaded that she h'as got her purpose, which hapned upon this occasion. Having, as her usuall custome

was, many times repaired to that private walke, which Doriclea so much frequented, it chanced one day as this Beldame was entring the walke, she might perceive with her old ••••mmie eyes a Gentlewoman, whom she took ••or Doriclea, hastily leaving the walk, and with more haste than good speed, as one fixt ••pon some present occasion, letting fall her Glove. An happy opportunity, as Spurcina thought, to effect her malicious designe. With much joy therefore she returned, acquainting Mardanes the prime agent in this hellish bu∣••••sse, what good meanes she had now to bring her purpose about: which she promised him to effect with such speed, as his owne desires ••ould not wish more haste: nor his privatest thoughts better successe. For, said she, I shall by my secret art, make her more eager in the pursuit of your love, then ever yet you were in pursuit of hers. Which so transported this love-besotted Mardanes, as his imagination became now wholly fixed and fired in the ••onceipt of his marriage-night. Sometimes thinking what sweet parliance his inchanted Doriclea would use to him; with what amo∣••ous imbraces she would expresse her love un∣to him; with what variety of winning dis∣course she would entertaine him. Surfetting more after this manner with the conceipt of it, then if he had obtain'd the reall fruition of it, wherein his deluded thoughts might seeme to close with that opinion of the Poet:

No doubt, but th' fancy of a marriage-night Presents far more then th' actuall delight.

And so it fared with Mardanes: nothing now pleaseth his palat but the imaginary pr••∣sentment of his Doriclea; of whom he hold•• himselfe as good as possessed, if all prove 〈◊〉〈◊〉 which his Sorceresse h'as professed. But as th•• Devill h'as beene still a Lier, so he present•• himselfe to her a cunning dissembler: Doricle•• must be reserved for an other Owner: a mo•••• deserving and compleat Lover. Howsoeve••, this Inchantresse Spurcina blesseth the morn∣ing that gave her so faire an occasion. And 〈◊〉〈◊〉 she conceives her selfe to have happily found it, so she no lesse speedily practiseth on it: sup∣posing it still to be Doricleas, the sole Obje•••• of rejected Mardanes.

Great and unsearchable is Gods permission•• in suffering practises of this condition. Wh••∣the•• it be to deterre others by these example•• not to be too secure; but ever watchfull, seein•• every houre presents an enemy so deceiptfull▪ Or else to try and search the constancy and faith of his beloved Champions: who, li•••• pure gold, are ever more and more refined; when they are thus tryed, and by Satans Mi∣nisters buffeted. Yet is their power so bo••n∣ded and limited, as though they work on th•• flesh, yet can they not touch nor taint the ••ou•••• whose dignity is such, that as it became re∣deem'd with the highest price, so it become•• secured by adhering to him that bought it••

from the injury of their power. True it is, that some fall away, and that miserably, by lying themselves open and giving way to the Devils ••••btilty: who under many formes and sem∣blances insinuates himselfe to their know∣ledge: and by this meanes seaseth on their de∣luded weaknesse: bringing some to lay vio∣l••nt hands upon themselves: others to re∣••ounce their ••aith: others to labour by all in∣direct meanes how to procur•• the effecting of their unlawfull desires. But who are these, but such who have left God by preferring the counsell of the Witch of Endor, before the divine wisdome of their Maker. And justly do such suffer, by dereliction of their Crea∣tor, and in a violent way exposing themselves to inevitable danger.

Now, what strange effects Spurcina wrought by practising on poore Mellidas scatter'd Glove, shall forthwith appeare. For what private Spels, Charmes, or Incantations she had used, Spurcina and her Familiar know best: But unhappy Mellida must feele the b••unt of it. Poore Wench! She now feeles what she never felt before: a strange rising at her stomack with an infinite desire to see Marda••••s. Whatsoever she sets her eye on, she verily thinks it presents the feature of Mar∣d••nes: and in that lovely manner, as her very heart leapes for joy with the conceipt of en∣joying so accomplish'd a Lover. Poore ac∣complishment! For what part had Marda∣nes

in him that might deservingly beget love; or merit the acceptance of a Mistresse? But s•• so miserably had Spurcina's inchantment•• wrought upon her bewitched fancy: as N••∣cissus, for all his lovely proportion, seemed ••vulgar Object, no, a contemptible Subject▪ being compared to her Mardanes perso•• Which in a passionate expression to her self•• being jealous that none should over-heare h•• she discovered in this manner!

What in love Mellida? Nay, I know no•• it is a thing I was never hitherto acquain•••• with; and if now, too soone. I know 〈◊〉〈◊〉 well what to think on't; but if Mard•••• be not a proper handsome man, I am 〈◊〉〈◊〉 deceived. I remember well he made som•• times love to my Mistresse: and I wond•• much she should so neglect him, being 〈◊〉〈◊〉 compleat a Gentleman as all Europe, in 〈◊〉〈◊〉 conceipt, cannot compare with him. 〈◊〉〈◊〉 what is all this to thee Mellida? Canst th•••• either think so well of thy selfe, or so men••∣ly of him, as to imagine that he will fall 〈◊〉〈◊〉 from the Mistresse to the Maide (a fa•••• must confesse, too common) or step from 〈◊〉〈◊〉 Canopie Curtaine to a Trucklebed? No Mellida; content thy selfe with brown•••• bread: such a dainty dish is reserved fo•• choiser tooth. And yet me thinks, if a goo•• conceipt of my selfe do not mad me; I fin•• something in me that may deserve his lo•••• and merit the title of a Wife. If Marriag••

were only to be made by equality of blood, or fortunes: many good faces would be en∣forc'd to bestow their beauties on poore Husbands: yea, many a well-natur'd Girle might wed this yeare, and beg the next. I have read in my time, how Iove fell in love with his Milke-maide l••; Apollo with Daphne; Neptune with Hesione; Theseus with Ariadne; Perseus with Andromeda; Alcides with Omphale: and is there any such disparity betwixt Mardanes and Mellida? Well; as I meane not to be too confident, neither is there cause that I should utterly despaire. Good fortune h'as before this fallen into many Wenches laps unexpected, and why may not the like befall me? None of these bore more true love to their Suiters, then I do to my Mardanes. And, oh, that I might call him mine! For I feare much, in becomming lesse than mine, I shall become lesse then mine own.

And just as she spake these words came in Doriclea; at whose presence a fresh vermilli∣on dye bestow'd a new complexion on Mel∣lida. Which her Mistresse perceiving, having had experience of the very like p••ssion in her selfe, demanded the cause. And she, though at first seeming dainty, framing many apron-ex∣cuses, but so far from purpose, as she had farre better said nothing: begun at last to disclose her passion to her Mistresse; acquainting her how she was infinitely in love with Marda∣nes.

Whereat Doriclea could not ch••se at f••st but smile, asking her what she could see in him, that should move her to fall in love with him? See in him, answered Mellida! well, Mi∣stresse, quoth she, you made a strange choice, when for Mardanes you took Philo••les in ex∣change. Why, pray thee Wench, said Dori∣clea, doest thou hold him for so proper a man? I trow, I do, answered Mellida; and upon condition I might enjoy him, and purchase his favour; were he the poorest Beggar alive, I would not change my state with the greatest Emperour. Sufficiently could not Doriclea admire this strange humour in her Maide: and the more, in regard she never found her for∣merly affected to love any: but of all others Mardanes, from whose affection she had some∣times disswaded h••r selfe, when he was a Sui∣ter to her. And a purpose she had to have chid her, for her too much forwardnesse: but perceiving pearled teares trickling downe her cheeks, she quickly altered what she intended. She found them both drawing one yoake: to allay then her discontent, she became her Phy∣sitian, who in her own respect was no lesse a Patient.

Nay grieve not woman, quoth Dori••lea, for the matter. Since thou art now f••edg'd in birdlime, thou must seek meanes how to un∣winde thy selfe. Thou hast beene ready in my greatest extreames to afford me thy best advice, and to ••ngage thy selfe to perill for

my sake; so as I cannot chuse but reflect on thee, if at any time I look upon my ••elfe. Two things then I must advise thee to; or never expect successe in this amorous enter∣prise; Silence and Patience. Do not disco∣ver thy affection to any: restraine thy looks when thou art in his companie. Next this, be sure thou shew no impatience, if at any time crossed in thy expectance. Thou seest how many sharpe encounters I have grapled with: and little nearer a conquest then I was at first: yet must I not suffer my hopes to be so extinguished. No task can be long, where hope pretends a purchase of love. Look up then Wench, cheerefully; let not the subtilest Artist draw from thy look, the least blush of love, or line of fancie. Wing thy desires with hope, that hope may crown thy expectance. And proceed in a tempe∣rate pursuit, since thou canst not dispense with thy choice; in which assay I faithfully promise thee my best assistance.

This could not chuse but highly cheer love∣inveigled Mellida•• to finde her Mistresse her directresse: by having her for her adviser who formerly was advised by her. But so strongly did those amorous Spels work upon her, as these rayes of comfort shone not long upon her. Impatient was her unbounded affection of delay, which drove her into passion above measure; as by this sorrowfull 〈◊〉〈◊〉, whose choisest melody is lachryma, you may per∣ceive hereafter.

CHAP. XVII.

Mellida's passionate love.

PAssions of the minde are not wholly suppressed, when they seeme restrained. Of all which, none work with more contrariety, then those which arise from a troubled fancie. Love runs with too strong a current too firce a torrent to be staid at an in∣stant. This, poore love-inthralled Mellid•• felt too well experienc'd in her, when that▪ which so lately seemed to cheere her most, doth now most afflict her: nay, even that which so seem∣ingly afforded her the soveraign'st cure, now becomes the only producer of her care. Such strange effects had these Spels of hatefull Spurcina brought forth; as all was struck out of order, though at the first appearance no∣thing but promised all successe to the under∣taker. But miserable were those distractions which her inchantments bred through the whole family; but principally on Mellida,

who now overcome with a deepe jealousie; imagined, that whatsoever Doriclea her Mi∣stresse had professed, were expressions meerely dissembled. And that her reall love towards Mardanes was such, as she would prove her Corrivall rather than Assistant, by interce∣ding for her selfe in this amorous imploy∣ment. Which groundlesse suspicion of hers received life from that which if her deluded thoughts had not misguided her, might have discovered to her, how infinitely she stood bound to her Mistresse for her love. For dis∣creet Doriclea perceiving the passionate affe∣ction of Mellida; and desiring nothing more then to bring her in a way of enjoying, of what she was so eagerly pursuing; resolved of a course that might expedite this designe: and this was, to expresse all showes of affection to Mardanes: as if she intended nothing more then to reteine him her constant servant, whom she had formerly rejected: and to re∣deeme that neglect with such arguments of love, that the world might take notice that he and none but he was the man whom she affe∣cted. Which relation (so ready is fame to disperse her selfe upon every occasion) no sooner vented it selfe abroad, then her Parents, supposing her love to be now declining from Philocles, infinitely rejoyced. Nor was insna∣red Mardanes lesse transported, hoping e're long to enjoy what his desires had so long pursued. But with this was jealous Mellida

no lesse afflicted: imagining that no hopes could accompany her suit, where her Mi∣stresse affection had taken place. Thus in this Comedy of Errors were all things con∣fusedly carried, and by as doubtfull an issue attended. Mardanes loves Doriclea, and he is loved by M••llida: and Mellida thinks Mar∣danes lov'd by Doriclea; when all her taske is, how she may espouse Mard••nes unto Melli∣da. Againe, Doriclea's Parents think, that their Daughter h'as relinquisht Philocles, and solely fixt her affection on Mardanes; where∣as the show of love she pretends to Mardanes; is only to prepare a way for her enjoyment of Philocles.

But this little contents distressed Mellida: she collects by what she sees, the aime of what she most feares. Her poore simple heart is so farre from dissembling, as she verily thinkes these Love-signes and tokens of her Mistresses, cannot but proceed from the heart, and what hope then left for her to enjoy her Sweet∣heart? The medit••tion of these drove her in∣to such extreames, as in the most disconsolate manner that ever accompanied perplexed Lo∣ver, she discovered her discontent, with as much privacie as the retirednesse of the place could afford; that the Aire might be only wit∣nesse of her griefe, while she became her own relater.

Unhappy Mellida! hadst thou none to make choice of, but one who doth despise

thee? None to impart thy thoughts to, but one who will deceive thee? Alas! thy for∣tunes must not aspire to such happinesse, as to enjoy the imbraces of Mardanes. One of higher state prevents thy suit. He and thy selfe have now got one Mistresse. Poore re∣jected Mellida! What Sanctuary maist thou retire to? Or what affectionate friend maist thou impart thy minde to? It was not done like a loving Mistresse to promise her poore Maide assistance: and to betray her trust, where she reposed most confidence. She might have disswaded thee from thy choice, by acquainting thee how she meant to enjoy him her selfe: and so discouraged thy hopes at the first, rather then thus delude thee at the last. I should have quickly desisted, though the losse of my love had shortned the line of my life, had I but knowne how she stood affected. But under so faire a sem∣blance to shroud a dissembling count'nance, and make a shew of affection, when it is guilded with treason; should I freely remit it, Loves Soveraig••e would not so easily par∣don it. 'Las! what a poore conquest h'as Do∣riclea got, in her competition with Mellida? who had never attempted what she now af∣fecteth; had not Doriclea first rejected, whom she now esteemeth. The ground of Melli∣da's loving, was Doriclea's leaving. And can she now have the heart to love, whom she did sometimes leave, because what she did

so scornefully leave, Mellida begins now faithfully to love? Did her distaste beget my love, and must my love now beget her distaste? Well; this do'es meanely requite me, if she would remember what fidelity she h'as found in me. There was no night so dark, no task so hard; which with a free bo∣some I entertain'd not, so she might enjoy what she had not. Philocles then was the only man in her eye, and I her Agent which she wrought by. Proper parts were the Ada∣mants of her affection: and these she found in none so well to life portrayed as in her Philocles. Mardanes was then a rough-hewen Swaine, whose presence she so much hated, as she estranged her selfe from that place which he frequented. And must he be now entertained, because he is by poore Mellida affected? Well, I am glad that the love of her Maide h'as chang'd her minde, and ad∣vanc'd him to the choice of a Mistresse. Let my losse be his gaine; my deprivall of what I desire most, the enjoyment of her whom he expected least. The ruine of a poor Maide is all that she can have; which cannot re∣dound much to her honour, seeing she, on whom she so much relyed, and to whom her secret'st counsels were imparted, became the only instrument to undoe her.

Doriclea having over-heard some of these distemper'd passions of love-sick Mellida, could containe her selfe no longer; but interrupting

her in this manner, resolved by a contrary cure to allay the extremity of this distemper.

How now Mellida, h'as love so distracted you; or too much liberty of enjoying your own desires so much entranced you; as to become thus forgetfull of what you are, whom you serve, or whose affections you so highly deserve? Must my endevours ad∣dressed for your good be so interpreted? My desire of your advancement so recompen∣sed? Is your conceipt so meane of me, that these expressions of my love and familiar respect to Mardanes proceeds meerely from my own affection, without relation to your selfe? Or, that I did purposely leave him, with a resolution that whensoever you made choice of him, I would love him? Trust me Mellida, this distemper'd fancie tastes of a frenzie. These humours will make your constant'st friends your profest foes. Shake off this jealousie▪ lest it become thy mortall enemy: I am the same I have pro∣fessed, nor will I faile in ought I have pro∣fessed, so thy ill-grounded suspicion divert not my aime; which effect is it produce, blame thy selfe. I know well there is no way for thee to attaine thy desires but by this meanes. He must first take knowledge of their love, who love him not, before ever thou canst enjoy him who loves thee not. Doriclea must take upon her the person of Mellida, and Mellida be taken for Doriclea,

before ever Mardan•••• make his Bride of Mellida. What I intend, I will not yet dis∣cover: only let me advise thee to restraine 〈◊〉〈◊〉 indiscreet humour: perswading thy, selfe that Mardanes had never received a gracefull count'nance from Doriclea, but in hope of advancing Mellida. And that my better thoughts are so farre from domineer∣ing in thy ruine (which were a poore con∣quest indeed) as it shall be my principall ai••e to prevent it, so thy indiscretion crosse not my designe. Let it suffice thee, that though it concerne thee most, thou maist be seene in it least. So present I am in others affaires, so weak in mine own; as I am con∣fident, unlesse some unexpected opposition divert me; in such a successive manner to mannage it, as the issue shall conduce to thy profit, my credit, in so fairely carrying it, as it may expresse the affectionate office of a Mistresse to her ••ervant

.

These last words comforted poore Melli∣da's dejected heart so much, as those seeds of jealousie which she before conceived, are now suppressed. With destilling eyes she acknow∣ledgeth her selfe bound to so kind a Mistresse: who interposeth her selfe for her preferment. She laments nothing more then her late su∣spicion: which, as it was planted on weak grounds, so her humble desire is, that her Mi∣stresse would forgive and forget it, as she seri∣ously vowes never hereafter to harbour it. She

submits her selfe wholly to her direction in this high project of her affection. Wherein, if her endeavours prosper, ••he becomes her ob∣liged creature for ever: if otherwise, she will become humbly thankfull, seeing her affectio∣nate endeavours were no lesse, though they prov'd lesse usefull. This said, they retired, for the closing of the day approached; which gave more freedome to Doriclea's working thoughts to contrive what might close best with these impatient desires of her Maide, and what might procure content to her selfe; which seemed as yet so farre divided from all hope, as there appeared not yet so much as the least opportunity to afford them helpe: though more hope of successe to her Maide then her selfe, wherein she rejoyced no lesse then for her selfe. But strange occurrents op∣pose themselves to her designes: so as, what∣soever at the first view promised no lesse than a prosperous close, became, as you shall hereafter understand, darkned with a Cloud. Albeit. Doriclea's constancy appeared such, as the difficulty of no task, could deterre her re∣solution to attempt.

CHAP. XVIII.

Philocles procures his liberty: and by a faithfull Messenger, though to to his apparant danger, private∣ly acqaints Doriclea with his delivery: and assigning here place whereto she might safely repaire, if she could possibly make escape.

LIttle did Doriclea expect in this her pursuit after Melli∣da's successe, that she should heare such good newes of her Philocles liberty, which he procured upon this occasion. Diverse Persons of good quality were so taken with the pleasing discourse and compa∣ny of Philocles, as they usually resorted to him, being admitted by his Keepers freely to come and converse with him. Now it hapned one day, in these their accustomary visits, that

his visitants were pleased to use a little more freedome in a sociable way, then they had formerly done. Which, whether it was pur∣posely intended or no, I know not: but brim∣••ing healths must go round, and such noble Friends remembred, as in common civility must not bee neglected. Which Philocles, (though naturally most abstemious) observes for company sake, lest he should be taxed of an unsociable disposition, in refusing what was generally entertained. But with such hot pursuit were these Bacchanals exercised, as his Keepers braines were so mudded and in Lethe steeped; that they had farre more desire to take one Nap with Morpheus, then to taste one Cup more with Bacchus. Which strange distemper appearing more in these then any of all the company, some have imputed to Opium, put, as was thought, into his Keepers Cups, to bring them asleepe, and by that meanes to expedite his escape.

Howsoever it hapned, Philocles having first taken his civill adue of those Gentlemen who purposely came to visit him: and to prevent all occasion of their accusation, privately betook him for a little to his Chamber; and after∣wards by the assistance of an under-Porter who ever highly respected and honoured him, he was let out by the Porters Lodge; and shortly arrived where he intended at a friends house of his, where he was kindly and hospi∣tably entertained: having formerly upon di∣verse

mutuall offices betwixt them so strongly ingaged one another, as no respect could be too entire, no undertaking too great, wherein either might tender to other the profest curtsie of a votive Brother. But as there is no earthly sweet but h'as his soure accompanying it: so infranchis'd Philocles could not rejoyce ••o much in his delivery from restraint; as he found cause upon his friends report to con∣ceive just ground of discontent. So strangely be all our inferiour joyes interveyned with griefes: as no day so cleere but it may close in a Cloud. And so it fared with perplex∣ed Philocles, whose late-enjoyed freedome brought him the saddest newes that could ever possibly enter any true Lovers eares: for he heard, how his Doriclea, since his restraint had estranged her affection from him, and fixed it on Mardanes, her sometimes rejecte•• Suiter; and that their nuptials were to be so∣lemnized soone after. Pleasing were his for∣mer Fetters to these tydings: each faculty had lost his function, every Organ his motion, and could finde no answer to such a relation.

Small fears finde teares, which may supply a tongue, Small griefes are speakers, when great griefes are du••be.

But recollecting himselfe, as one u••••illing to give such way to passion, as not to mode∣rate it with reason: after an enforced smile, he addresseth himselfe to his friend in this sort.

Trust me, firme friend, I can scarcely give

my theughts leave to conceipt or harbour the least jealousie of Doriclea's inconstancy. Nay, so well am I perswaded of her loyalty, as I verily think she would rather give way to the extreamest encounters of faith, then admit of the least breach of fate. No; Doriclea's vowes cannot so easily be infirnged; nor those divine vertues which adorne her, so blemish∣ed: nor those strong tyes betwixt us, so dis∣solved. God grant it prove so, answered his friend; as I hope it will. Reports are common∣ly deceiving, so as you do wisely not too cre∣dulously to incline to them. After such dis∣courses as these, his friendly Hoast brought this perplexed Guest to his Chamber; where after some merry passages purposely occasio∣ned to allay his discontents, he left him to his rest.

But he left him to that which he could not get: for on two severall tasks he bestowed this tedious night: the one no lesse pleasing, then the other dis-relishing. For the former part of the Night, he bestowed on the thoughts of that familiar conference, amorous, but harme∣lesse dalliance, sacred vowes, immutable seales, mutually passed betwixt them. These made the houres of sable night, so de∣lightfull, as no Euphuus golden slumber could so infinitely cheere him. He was wholly exta∣fied with the gratefull remembrance of these imaginary fancies. But leaving these, and re∣flecting on those which he so lately heard re∣lated:

he found houres farre longer in their progression, then the other were, running so pleasantly upon that harmonious descant of affection.

Doriclea, false, said he! may that tongue be ever silent that shall utter it; that injuri∣ous conceipt a corrasive to it selfe, that shall believe it. And yet these relations cannot be so generally dispersed without some ground. Opportunity may do much where Parents assent gives way. Thy restraint, Philocles, and discontinuance in thy suit might work strange effects. He is rich who is thy Cor∣rivall: and Women must love to live, aswell as live to love. Thy impoverish'd quality is a mighty eye-sore to fancy. Wealth is a good salve for age: and though she cannot affect him as he is, she may hug him for what he h'as. Marriages go not altogether by joyning of hearts but hands. His store will so highly improve her state, as it will en∣force fancy, and raise her to what thy for∣tunes may not aspire, the title of a Lady. And yet me thinkes all this should little moye the constant and loyall brest of Dori∣clea. Heavens cannot chuse but frowne on breach of faith: which is ever attended by an heavie fate. Yea; but admit she be com∣pelled; what meanes may she finde to resist it? Parents will is a command: and as she h'as ever borne the modesty of a Maide, so h'as she reteined the duty of a Daughter, and

obedience of a childe. Parents command then might far prevaile with her: seeing obe∣dience was ever so much preferred by her: as all feares had been before this time pre∣vented, had not this parentall sacrifice re∣strain'd her. Well; be it so. Patience shall be my Crowne: my prayers for her successe. No griefe, shall so much surprize me, as the desire of her happinesse shall delight me. Meane time, I will suspend my judgement: and expect better then I heare: but if the issue second this report, I hope soone after that an everlasting retire from Earth shall cure my care.

Thus passed Philocles the lingring night, estranged from nothing more then the thought of rest. At last perceiving Aurora's dishevell'd tresses, dispersing her golden beames through every corner of his restlesse roome; he leaps out of bed, and having made himselfe ready, and performed those morn∣ing vowes which his devotion had enjoyned him; He sets Pen to Paper, and like a poeti∣call Lover, in an amorous manner, addres∣seth his last nights supposed vision, to his ••o∣riclea: making a dreame of love, by shadow∣ing those jealous feares for the losse of his love in a Dreame.

Philocles supposed Dreame of Doriclea.

WHat sacred Spels my throbbing heart surprize! Sweet dew of sleepe hath quite forsook mine eyes. Some startling dreams I have, which more appall My Soul••, then if I had no sleepe at all. Sometime I dreaming see, and sigh to see, A Sable-sullen cloude hang over me And menacing a storme: thou full of f••ares This to prevent, resolves to pearled teares: But more thou weep'st, the more provok't thouart, The fight whereof wounds my relenting hart. Now do I see my Danä in a tower Tempted untainted with a golden shower. Now my faire Semele, feeding loves-flame In her pure brest, consumed with the same. Which visions were but shadows of thine, Or meere conceptions of Prometheus shrine, Which once enlivened by an heav'nly fire, Might to a numerous Family aspire. Sometimes, me thought, Isickles sought to sip Ambrosean Nectar from thy roseat lip; And this I check't, and did incensed seeme, Telling Old-age, frost would not suit with greene▪ Which just reproofe, me thought, thou entertain'd With a sweet smile, the gole at which I aim'd. Whence over-joy'd, I cull'd thee, where thou stood, But like Ixion, I embrac'd a cloud.

My sacred Genius succour me, and keepe My waking thoughts frō such an ominous sleep! Yet in these Dreams more comfort did I take, Fed with conceit, then when I did awake; For dreaming, I enjoy'd thee; but that blisse By waking vanish'd; while I breath'd out this: "The Dorian straine was once th' best melodie, "Had I Doriclea now 'twere so with me! But since t' imbrace thee, dreaming still I seeme, O that my life were a continued Dreame!

But this dreaming veine did not hold long with him: he resolves to acquaint her in an other straine; and tell her truly that he was waking when he wrote it. And the Character of this Letter must expresse the benefit of his freedome; signifying unto her, how his late re∣straint was now changed into liberty; which priviledge he had rather for ever lose, then be deprived of the continuance of her fancy. To expedite this affectionate designe, he directs his Letter by the conduct of a faithfull Mes∣senger, though to his apparent danger: ac∣quainting Doriclea with his delivery: and as∣signing her a place whereto she might safely repaire, if she could possibly make escape. De∣lay he holds dangerous: he accompts oppor∣tunity the sweetest companion to fancy: de∣siring nothing more then that she would con∣tinue what she h'as professed, confirme what she h'as vowed, & consummate what both di∣vine decree and their own united hearts have sealed: closing his Letter with an amorous ••assion, after this manner:

Infranchis'd Philocles to restrained Doriclea.

DEare, signe this with your hands, else in a word I saile, aye me, for Ireland with my Lord, Where sayles are righes, Seas, teares, while th' friendly winde Shall bring you word, I left mine heart be∣hinde. But if you shall me for your Consort take, I••le march through ranks of Furies for your sake. Returne me answer then as may become you, "Pistols nor Poniards shall not keep me frō you.

This was a strong Resolution, which 〈◊〉〈◊〉 windes up with as loving a Subscription.

This Tearme from travell am I staid, To make my Consort of a Maid; Confirme then, Deare-one, Heav'ns decree, And make exchange of hearts with me: Which done, this Posie shall he thine, Which is and must be ever mine: "To live, and have no heart were strange, "Yet have I none but by exchange.

Thus writ passionate Philocles, which came shortly after to the hand of his Mistresse, who how joyfully she received the report of his liberty; but how passionately those imagina∣ry grounds of his jealousie, shall appeare in the progresse of our Story.

CHAP. XIX.

Doriclea by the advice and assi∣stance of Mellida gets from her Keepers: and in her flight by night loseth her way: but com∣ming by chance to the Hermits house, where she took that night her repose: as, she had formerly beene directed by him, she recei∣ved much comfort from him: be∣ing conducted to the place which Philocles advised her to.

WHen Doriclea had perused this Letter directed to her by her dearest Philocles, it is not easie to expresse what infi∣nite joy she conceived in the delightfull perusall of those lines which signified unto her the happy occa∣sion

of his liberty: yet could she not chuse but bite the lip when she read those dreaming fancies of his, shadowing forth his jealousie. The comfort the conceived in the former, was made bitter by relation of the latter: which enforced from her this just ground of com∣plaint, which she breathed forth in this man∣ner.

How is it Philocles, that the Heavens should thus look on thee, in freeing thee from restraint, and thou unthankfull for so great a benefit, thus to abuse the priviledge of thy liberty? During thy restraint, for ought that ever I heard, thou harbour'd not the least conceipt of jealousie: and now when thou enjoyest the freedome of ayre, and stands dis••ingaged from a captives care; like an habituate prisoner, whose long re∣straint seldome makes him better, thou picks a quarrell before offence be offered, and hatchest suspicion where none can be justly grounded. For tell me; pray thee, tell me, deare Philocles; wherein have I ever given thee occasion to tax me of inconstancy; or in my bosome desired to lodge any one beside thee? Have I not neglected all my fortunes, nay, my zeale to those whom I preferre be∣fore all fortunes, to bestow my selfe upon a Scholers fortunes? If either rich youth or age could have wrought on Doriclea's fancy, she might long before this, have pre∣vented all grounds of jealousie; and been a

Mistresse of an ample Family. And yet you are cunning Philocles; you will not plainly say you suspect me, for that were to tax you of too palpable jealousie: but you must shadow all under a dreame: and make visi∣ons your arguments of feare where you ima∣ginarily see Old-age courting me; a rich for∣tune besieging me; & my too easie Fort sore straitned by his golden battry. Well, Philo∣cles, God forgive you; you have hither to had sufficient experience, how much my disposition hath scorned to be taken up by such prostitute affection. If Gold would have done it, your loyall Doriclea might be∣fore this have enjoy'd it. No; no; these were no motives to me to inchaine my fan∣cy: or with a yeelding hand, but a dissem∣bling heart, to engage my person to such a subject of folly.

O disburden your selfe, Philocles, of these conceipts: they so ill become you, as no∣thing makes Philocles so unlike himselfe: nor chils my affection more towards him, who is my second-selfe. I have not begged much at your hands, since the time we so firmely united our hearts: all I intreat of you is this, and it will redound to your own hearts-ease as well as mine: to discard these injurious conceipts towards your own, by reflecting on her who can be no lesse then yours, if her own.

And trust me, deare Sir, you may thank

God, that you remaine seazed of such a heart, which is not apt to take offence where such good occasion is offered. Some cauti∣ous Girles, if they had but perceived the least inclination to jealousie in their amo∣rous Suiters, which your own Character h'as sufficiently discovered in you, they would in time have prevented that mischiefe which might have incurred; and collected what domineering jealous Husbands they would have showne themselves being once married, having exprest themselves such su∣spicious Batchlers, when they were unbe∣stowed. But love findes an easie shroud for the highest crimes: nor can Doriclea inter∣pret Philocles Dreame any otherwise then an unbounded affection breaking into ex∣treames: which, when it cannot with suffi∣cient freedome impart her strength by day, borrowes of the night to discover in a dreame. And who can blame such vigilant love; when the eyes though they sleepe, the heart keepes true Centinell, lest fancy should take her opportunity and make her escape? Free leave then do I give thee, Philocles, to dreame still of me; but so, that thy dreames do not suspect me. For so might thy delu∣ded imagination, which is seldome atten∣ded on by reason, present to thee what is false for what is true: and make thee credu∣lously beleeve, that inconstancy may accom∣pany true love. Surcease then from these, as

I shall sooner cease to live, then withdraw my love from Philocles.

Thus discoursed constant Doriclea with her Philocles, in the absence of her Philocles. But least she might forget her selfe by neglect∣ing what her dearest choice expects: after such time as she had rewarded the Messenger, who brought her that Letter, and that to his apparant danger, had not the late conceipt which Doriclea's Parents conceived of their Daughters declining her affection from Phi∣locles secured him, and given him freer accesse unto her: She, I say, prepares to second her Philocles desire, by accommodating her selfe with all conveniencies, and addressing her course to that place, whereto Philocles in his Letter had given her directions to repaire. De∣fist then she must for the present, from spin∣ning Mellida's love-threed: that she might weave up her own the better: for though the furtherance of Mellida's suit was deare unto her: desiring much to have her seazed of those ample fortunes of her undeserving Lo∣ver: yet her own case must be first preferr'd, being urged by such importunity, as she held it fitting then or never to discover those true effects of fancy.

By the advice then and assistance of Melli∣da; whose wits were ever more pregnant in de∣vising for her Mistresse then her selfe, and to whose vertuous love she wished no lesse suc∣cesse then to her selfe; Doriclea gets from her

Keepers, being then more secure of their charge then before, in regard her Parents be∣came lesse jealous of her love to Philocles then before. Dark was the night, which promised her more security: but an inconvenience she findes in it: for in this her flight by night she loseth her way. Up and downe she wand'reth, and wandring, wooeth the Stars, that they would afford a distressed Maide, some small beamelings of their light, to guide her to that place where chaste ••ove had treasured her richest prize. But many by-paths she took, ever travelling, but little nearer approaching the place, at which she aym'd: which deeply perplexed her love-inflamed minde. Till at last, (so propitious were the Stars to their vertuously-grounded loves) comming by chance to the Hermits house, she took that night there her repose.

Next morning early, for little power had sleepe upon her fancy; she acquainted this aged Father with the whole passage of her in∣tendments: F••r••t, how she had received know∣ledge of Philocles liberty, with what desire she had to observe the time which he had li∣mited, with the place which he had propo∣sed for her to repaire to: humbly craving of him, that as she had been formerly directed by him, he would be pleased to continue his care, by affording her his best advice in a case of such necessity, as the issue made her of all others either most fortunate, or most unhap∣py.

And that he would not ••mpute this her private departure from her Fathers house, to any act of immodesty, but to the constancy of her affection, which had expos'd her to all extremity.

The good old man, who had ever tender'd her well-fare; could not forbeare from shed∣ding teares, in hearing her expresse those pas∣sionate overtures and passages of her love: with what desperate adventures she had encoun∣ter'd to partake, what her vertuous desires so unfeignedly sought. But affection must have a mor•• soveraigne balme applyed to her, then any effeminate passion. Eyes compassionate∣ly w••eping without a brain effectually work∣ing, can bestead poore Doriclea nothing. First then, he proposeth the way for her to ob∣taine what she would: which he strengthneth with such able directions, as being well ob∣served, they promised nothing lesse then an happy arrivall at the place whereto she aimed: with a prosperous conclusion to their long de∣layed desires, having there arrived. And to encourage her the more, he applyed these re∣ceipts unto her which so infini••ely cheered her, as her confidence readily winged her en∣livened fancy with an undoubted assurance of successe.

Daughter,* 13.1 it had been well you had made your Parents command the line to have di∣rected your love. But since your affections are so firmely united, as not to be divided: I

hold it an office of piety to effect, what ver∣tuous loves so jointly affect. Thus long have I had experience of you, and I have neith•••• seene nor heard any immodest expression fall from you: this confirmes me, that you are no lesse then what you seeme: not pre∣tending to be what you are not, but in desi∣ring to approve your selfe what you seeme. This those faire out-sides fall short of, who affect nothing more than to appeare most, what they inwardly professe least.

For these whos' ere they be▪ seeme thus to me, They be and seem not, seem what least they be.

For goodnesse-sake estrange your bet∣ter-disposed thoughts from these painted Puppets: who may be aptly resembled to the Zibethum, which naturally yeelds a sweet perfume to others, but reteines a stinking sent to it selfe. Let those preciou•• odours of your vertues not only afford sweetnesse to others, in proposing an exam∣ple worthy imitation: but to your owne heart, which cannot flye from it selfe, but must one day returne as it do'es now reteine, of whatsoever it hath receiv'd, a true naked impression. You have now enter'd the Maine: where you shall graple with many contrary winds, and surging waves. Report, like an ill-winde, will be quickly raised: and this may happily disperse a light fa••••e upon all your actions. As first, this private retire from your Parents, and making your

selfe carver of your own affections without. their consent, may beget you a strange opi∣nion in the world. Men will judge all is ••ot well; more then pure love drove you to ••••ese courses. Waves likewise there will be to menace your ruine. Divided passions to perplexe you, and inthrall your late-enjoy∣ed freedome to the worst of extreames. Yet, what of all these? The roughest windes of infamy to a pure and undefiled minde can do no injury. Nor all those naturall inbred passions which breed distemper'd spirits most disquiets, can annoy the rest of that Soule which is fixt on the exercise of piety: and makes her triumph over her own affe∣ctions, her highest victory. Observe this rule, Deare Daughter, and these intended Spousals of yours shall finde an happy peri∣od: and after so many violent windes of infamous tongues: so many turbulent waves of swelling passions; you shall finde that calmenesse, as neither that lownesse of for∣tune which may hereafter encounter you, shall amate you: nor all those contemps which injurious disdaine may throw upon you, an way disturbe you. I have showne you the best roade, which if you hold di∣rectly, you cannot but arrive safely.

Doriclea having received much comfort f••om these instructions of the Hermit: and encouraged too with the promise of his con∣duct to the place which Philocles advised her

to: after a small repast (being enough for a stomack inflamed with love, to digest) she ad∣dressed her selfe to the short remainder of her journey; which though short, had appear'd long to her longing fancy, had not the diffi∣culty of the way been sweetned with the Hermits company: by whose happy convoy she soone arrived, where her desires were lod∣ged, and where she found her Philocles safely reposed.

CHAP. XX.

The great content and joy which these two long-divided Lovers concei∣ved in one of the others presence: The relation of their former griefs being an addition to their present joyes.

NO calme so cheerfull as after a storme; no harbour so gratefull as after a rough Sea. The least beameling breaking forth of a Cloud appeares like a more full and glorious light. This experimentally felt these long-divided Lovers, who conceived such in∣finite joy and content in the sight of one the other: as their first encounter for want of ex∣pression closed it selfe in silence, wanting a tongue to discover what delight their intran∣ced apprehensions took in one anothers pre∣sence. Looks now were to supply more dis∣cursive Organs: gladly would their affectio∣nate

breasts unfold themselves, and relate those many occurrents which their true loves had passed and with comfort vanquished: but their desires must be first feasted with eying and intentive looking upon one another. This must be the pleasing prelude to a more de∣lightfull Sceane: at last, affection labouring of too strong a passion, to be enjoyned a per∣petuall silence, broke forth on Philocles be∣halfe after this manner.

Ah Doriclea! which taking accent so transported him, as not an other word for a long space came from him. Am I in a Dreame or waking? Can I imagine any mortall capable of such joy? How plea••ing now is the memory of my restraint? My long division from thee, my dearest Dori∣clea, whom I preferred before the world? For to be ever happy so surfets the conceipt, as it dreames of no other state: a small storme to him who hath ever enjoy'd a calme, seemes like a tempest. Whereas my present condition makes me more sensible of my former affliction. I was deprived of thee whom I incomparably loved. From all civill curt'sies, save such as I received from strangers, excluded. All hopes of future ad∣vancement, by thy Parents distaste, estran∣ged. A Grate became my best prospect: the World my story: where I saw no action of sorrow presented more to life, then my own misery. O how the relation of our former

griefs become an addition to our present joyes! Before I had none to converse with, but such pittilesse Guardians, as rejoyced in my restraint. Tedious were the houres of my life, because divided from the object of my love. Terrors I encounter'd with dai∣ly: passions I wrastled with hourely. No re∣ceipt found I to allay my griefe: none to impart my woes to, but such whose hearts were iron-temper'd like my Grate. O what an exchange have I found, in being free'd from what did so inthrall me: and in being restored to her presence, which of all earth∣ly joyes doth only revive me! O my Dori∣clea, how many fearfull visions have startled me! how many distemper'd Dreames have disquieted me! And whence proceeded all these but from that love and feare equally working, and no lesse sundry effects produ∣cing, which had taken such strong possessi∣on of me, as not to be removed without en∣joyment of thee?

At which, Doriclea inter∣rupting him, after a more cheerefull recolle∣ction of her over-joy'd spirits, said unto him.

O my deare Philocles, I am an eye-wit∣nesse of your distemper'd dreames! You know well what the Contents of your last Letter discovered: trust me, I will not chide you, for I can finde no such language in my tongue: but I would not for a world have you think waking, what you suspect dream∣ing.

Philocles calling to min dethe purport of that paper of Verses he had writ unto her: and how much his too affectionate feare had made him transgresse: desiring her pardon, by im∣puting that error to report; acknowledged his fault, and condemned that too liberall re∣lation of erring fame.

What relation might that be, my endeared Philocles, answered Doriclea? H'as fame reported to you, that since your heavie restraint, I have been too liberall of mine honour, or admitted too much freedome to an intrusive Suiter? Have I slighted you in any discourse, or prefer∣red any other in your place? So indeed, re∣port went, replyed Philocles; that your sometimes rejected suiter, rich Mardanes, had obtain'd your affection: and that your marriage was to be shortly solemnized. What, Mardanes, answered Doriclea? Nay, then me thinkes you should have holden your selfe safe enough: for of all men, to engage my fancy to an Earth-worme, whose ambition consists in having, but never in enjoying: and who prefers this poore rub∣bish of Earth before the treasure of a divine minde, my firme resolution hath been ever so farre divided, as I should loathe my selfe to be so matched. Panarchus sometimes propounded a Riddle, and it was this: How a man and no man, can with a stone and no stone, kill a bird and no bird, sitting upon a tree and no tree? And Athenaeus makes the an∣sw••r;

••••at an ••••uch is the man, and a 〈…〉〈…〉 is the bird, Fennell is the tree. Surely, I had rather contract my selfe with the first, and with modesty I speak it, content my selfe with the second, and make Apoll••'s bird of the third, then tye my 〈◊〉〈◊〉 to such a barr•••• tr••••. And howsoever th•• wise Si••onides truly concluded, being one day asked, whether vertue or riches were o•• more reputation; that the vertuous did more frequent the doores of the rich, 〈◊〉〈◊〉 the rich of the vertuous: meaning, that vertues constant attendant was poverty, many times enforced to beg reliefe at the g••te of a vicious but rich family. For thy 〈◊〉〈◊〉 Philocles, did I chuse thee▪ other poore respects were so far from working on my fancy: as they never received entertain∣ment in my thoughts. I have ever accompted poverty a sweet companion, where con••ent was the Guardian; piety her Darling. Vice 〈◊〉〈◊〉 she never so richly ••ndowed, dyes poore: whereas vertue be she never so much impo∣verished, appeares rich. O how much then did my deare Philocles fall short in the merit of his opinion, in imagining his be∣trothed Doriclea could weane her affection where she loved so much, to plant it on one whom she valued so little? But Doriclea h'as an excuse in store for' her beloved Philo∣cles: I know, Deare one, it was thy unfei∣n••d love which begot this feare. Had not

thy thoughts been fixed on me waking, I had been least in thy thoughts when thou wer•• sleeping.

Thus did these two loving Turtles rejoyce in their meeting: wherein the Hermit took no lesse content: observing how their loves were grounded on vertuous ends, which could produce nothing lesse then prosperous effects. With many pleas••nt stories did h•• delight the eares of these two affectionate Lovers: de∣scribing the happy successe of such, who pre∣ferred vertue before wealth: and how love could not want where there was no want of love.

Yes,* 13.2 reverend Fa••••er, said Doriclea; there may be a want in the eye of a worldling. Yea, Daughter, replyed he, but that worlding can∣not be properly said to love. Amphiaraus lo∣ved Eriphile, Eriphile Amphiaraus; but what moved Amphiaraus to loue Eriphile but luc••••; what induced Eriphile to love Amphiaraus but hope of honour? Now, how could these con∣tinue long, being so irregularly planted; where either the ambitious style of a Lady, or desire of money gave first conceptions to their fanoie?

Who makes the object of his fancy Gold, Growes cold in fancy when his mony's told. And she who faignes to love, to live a Lady, Is honours 〈◊〉〈◊〉, I know not what she may be.

Nor is the purity of love to be stained with any earthly thought: many pretend

love, but they cl••athe it with an undeserving name: 〈◊〉〈◊〉 declines from that purity, where∣with it 〈◊〉〈◊〉 endowed, by exposing it selfe to an immodest liberty, from which it should be ••tranged. Love should have staid eyes, to af∣f••••t nothing lesse then wandering. A discreet ••are, to h••are nothing that may to lightnesse be inclining. Achas•••• touch, to embrace no∣tin∣g that may be wantonly moving. A mo∣dest speech, to deliver nothing that may be any way corrupting. And in every part to well composed, so gracefully disposed, as ••n in∣••••••d 〈◊〉〈◊〉 love to piety may be cleerely 〈◊〉〈◊〉 This deserves well the title of love ▪ whatso∣ever transgresseth these bounds, admits no such app••llation, but rather to be dis••layed by that badge, which may best set her forth to her greatest dishono•••• and imputation. This 〈◊〉〈◊〉 rightly weighed, who labouring to deb••a∣zon love and lust in their proper and dist••nct liveries, descanteth th••s upon them, entitling his Poem, Loves Description.

Love, what's thy name? a ph••ensie▪ whence thy birth? From Heaven; how comes it then ••ho•• lives on Earth? I live not there; yet e'ch us••••ps thy name: 'Tis true inde••••, but hence r••dounds their shame! I live not there, ••y Nat••r••'s pure and j••st, But lust lives there, and love's a foe to lust.

It was great pitty, said Philocles, that you, Father, who can discourse so contem∣platively of so divine a subject, would never yet actively practi••e it. So Scholastically to reason of love, and be never a Scholer in the

Schoole of Love, begets in me admiration.

O I confesse, and with trickling teares, said the Hermit, that my youthfull follies excee∣ded all number, so long as I sojourn'd in the world, and became there a wanderer. I could not walke in any street, but I encounter'd many mistresses: for pride, trickt and trim'd up in a gorgeous habit, infinitely took me. Licentious liberty peep'd in at my window when I was at st••dy, and she surprized m••. Luscious fare prepared me delicious viand••, and these estrang'd me from sobriety. Sloth whisper'd to me in my bed, the sluggard•• Lullabe, with yet a little, and yet a little, and this belulled me. Wrath sparkled in my vein••••, and spurr'd me on to revenge, and made me apt enough to forget ought that did most concerne me; but to imprint in my memory, the thought of an injury. Envie revenged her selfe justly on me, and made me pine away at the very sight of an others prosperity. And Covetousnesse, that age-benummed sinne, made me desire most when I needed least, and so be∣sotted me. Nor could I shake off these, till I shak'd off my self by leaving the world, which harbour'd these. But within one halfe Ap∣prentiship, I blushed at those vanities I for∣merly affected: and by a private retire from the world, found what the world was while I was in it. Many were the conflicts I must free∣ly confesse, which I suffered, before I could wholly leave it. Yea, delights above conceipt,

presented themselves to my fancy, solliciting me to love it. And with these I long contested, and at last conquered, but with such difficul∣ty, as I many times failed, and had been quite 〈◊〉〈◊〉, had not a more assisting hand guided me in the ••ignt; and crowned me in the Con∣que••••. Since which time, I have ever in a con∣tented privacy remained: knowne too much to the world to affect it: nor so little to my selfe, but that my in firmities humble me in it. Many, too many, heaven knowes there be, who professe this regular course which I have entertained: but their profession is but how to delude the world: by bleering the eyes of men with a pretended sanctity: and under this vaile cunningly shroud their base hypocrisie. And One of these have mine aged eyes seene in these later times.* 13.3 A profest Gallant in his prime: and one who delighted in nothing more then a phantastick dresse: sufficiently conceipted of his own parts: yet strip him naked, he was neither good Morall, sound Christian, nor Philsopher. Yet did this dainty youth, when fortune begun to frowne on him, and vanity, for want of maintenance, to leave him: pronounce his divorce from the world. In a Rock he imm••res himselfe: Herbes and Rootes must be his Viands: cold Spring wa∣ter his Wines: the Woods his Walkes: Beasts his Consorts, and Birds his Quiristers. None must serve him, but an old decrepit Woman, whom Nature had so disabled, as sh•• could

〈…〉〈…〉

Thus discoursed the Hermit, no•• were his two hearers lesse delighted with this relation of his E••emiticall condition: but the night ••unning now far on, after a little repast they betook themselves to their repose; resolving next morning to conclude of some course, to consummate their love, the very conceipt where of made the lingring night seeme long.

Thus had Loves Cement clos'd their fancies so, As two hearts lodg'd in one, and one in two: And like two lines that in one Centre meet, Though different in motion, took one s••at

CHAP. XXI.

They take the advice of Solinus that faithfull Hermit, what course were best to take in a case of such extremity: he adviseth them pri∣vately to solemnize that Rite, which their long affection had con∣firmed in heart.

SCarcely had Phoebus mounted his Easterne Charriot, or di∣splayed his golden locks to the blushing Morne: till these restlesse Lovers desiring no∣thing more then lawfully to en••oy the fruits of their long-continued loves: repaired to Solinus that faithfull Hermit and their constant Assistant, to receive his advice what course were best to take and securest to pursue in a case of such extremity; the pre∣vention whereof might frustrate their hopes,

••nd with a sullen Cloud darken their fancy. The Hermit they found walking in a private Garden: fixing his thoughts on higher con∣templations then worldly love. Who, upon their comming to him, and hearing them so desirous of his advice, imparted his minde to them, in cropping a sprig of Tyme. This, I do▪ now, said he, may serve you for an usefull Embleme. Time must be taken while Time is. This herbe smels now sweet and redolent: But should it wither, and lose her strength and vi∣gour, it would soone lose her beauty too, which consists in savour. There hath been ever more advantage in dispatch then delay. Since then your hearts are so nearly linked, as no∣thing can divide them: To prevent loose love, which goodnesse hates: and embrace chaste love, on which vertue smiles. As likewise, to secure your affections from surprize: which, no doubt, Doriclea, your Parents will by all means labour to assay: my advice is, that with all privacy, whereto this very place gives opportunity, you solemnize that sacred Rite, to do fancy right, which your long affection, to which my daily Orisons shall wish all suc∣cesse, hath already confirmed in heart. For let me speak freely to you both: fancy be∣comes a frenzie, when it is not restrained by grace. And love too long delayed, may be∣come polluted, and so lose that unstained pu∣rity, which it formerly reteined. Private fa∣miliarity accompanied by opportunity be∣come

dangerous Inlets to youthfull fancie, 〈◊〉〈◊〉, I have knowne in my time, many a loyall Lover deprived of their hopes, by 〈…〉〈…〉 Web, and protracting 〈◊〉〈◊〉 too long. Had too provident Virginius accepted of Ioili••••, hi•• Virginia had never in∣curred that unjust sentence of Appius Clau∣••••. It may be after a little time, when your Parents, Doriol••a, shall see no means to reme∣dy it, they will admit of it. Meane time, you 〈◊〉〈◊〉 prepare your selves to suffer whatsoever the weight of a Fathers displeasure can lay on you. Small hope is there to reconcile you; till time, the best canceller of injuries, attone you. Nor should I have inclined to ingage my selfe in any such advice, as in this private manner to solemnize your Nuptiall Rites without their consent, but that an inconveni∣ence is to be preferred before a mischiefe. Having in this sort delivered his opinion, and by his advice made way for the happy enjoyment of their affection: hee made show as if he would returne back to his Cell; saying: Now, deare Daughter, you need no more the conduct or counsell of your poor Hermit: Nor you, my Sonne, the unnecessa∣ry presence of an Old Man, who can afford you no helpe, should you be pursu'd by hate, nor supply your want, should you need re∣liefe. Privately then, with your leaves, will I retire to my Cell: where, though I be divided from you, my poore devotions shall remember

you. But neither of these true Lovers cou•••• endure to heare of his departure from the•• desiring him, that they might partake his fa∣therly blessing, and enjoy his presence in 〈◊〉〈◊〉 solemnization of those Rites which they in∣tended the next day to consummate, accord∣ing to his advice. For alas, said Philocle, your grave and discreet counsell may be stod us highly both before and after. For us tws, we know only how to love: but how to pro∣vide for our safety in a case of necessity, o•• wits would be to seek: and our braines too shallow, to contrive. I cannot be ignorant, how many pursuing eyes, and revenging de∣sires I have hunting after me. For D••ricle••s Parents cannot be more incensed against 〈◊〉〈◊〉 then those Wardens from whom I escaped, ar•• enraged towards me. No Watch nor Wa•••• must be unlaid to seaze on me: no device▪ un••••∣sai'd to surprize me. And whom have I to 〈◊〉〈◊〉 to, but to the armes of Love; a weak, though willing defence to preserve my life? And wh•••• more, said Solinus, can an aged Hermit do for you; whose staffe is his only strength, and whose prayers the richest presents he can offer for your redresse? And what better Armour, answered Doriclea, in the time of danger? Besides, your advice may usefully import us in directing how and in what manner we may bestow us, to prevent perill, which as my dearest Philocles truly affirmes, is every where inclosing us. I know my Fathers passion to

be hot, but his nature to be good. Our retire for a time▪ may not only for the present secure us: but by the power of interceding friends reconcile us. Which, for the instant were im∣possible to effect: or by the most perswasive wayes, to allay their discontent: seeing my Parents hasty nature, will for the present, ad∣mit no Moderator. The good old Man was perswaded by these reasons, to stay one night longer with them: which he, indeed, the ra∣ther desired to do: wishing some faire conclu∣sion to their resistlesse affection: and to be∣come a witnesse himselfe of the consummati∣on of that Rite, which these two Lovers had in such strong pursuit, accompanied ••ith an eager, but a chaste delight. Nay; this discreet Hermit imployed his conceipt a little further: contriving a course how and where to place them for the present: till the storme were over-blowne, and a calmer season might pro∣mise some respite to their feares. For that private Graunge, wherein they then sojour∣ned, could neither be so secure, as to privi∣ledge them from search: nor so remote from jealous eyes, as to ke••p them any long time un∣knowne. And a neare Ally unto Androgeus dwelled not far off, who, upon the least notice of Doricleas retire to that place, would soone acquaint her Father, and prevent their enjoyment by a speedy sur∣prize.

So serious was the poore He••mits care, as

these two Lovers could not be more faithfull in their fancy, th••n he was carefull for their safety. Nor was it 〈◊〉〈◊〉, that his 〈◊〉〈◊〉 should have beene either lesser, or his advice weaker, amidst such perillo•••• 〈…〉〈…〉 you shall understand hereafter.

CHAP. XXII.

How these constant Lovers were hin∣dred upon the very point of solem∣nization of their marriage, by the intelligence and pursuit of her in∣censed Father Androgeus: who with a strong prepared Troupe en∣t'red the House where these two unfortunate Lovers sojourned: And how, by the Hermits device, Philocles to prevent his fury, was privately conveyed.

NO nights longer then those of Lovers: and of those, none grievouser then that prece∣ding night to their Nupti∣als. Right plea••ing was the Hermits advice unto them: which, next morning, long before any Cano∣nicall

houre, they addressed themselves to put in practise. Those hearts, which had been so long 〈◊〉〈◊〉, expected now, nothing more▪ then to see those Rites accomplished; and which they 〈◊〉〈◊〉, Heavens would propiti∣ously look upon, though her Parents dissen∣ted. Hourely they expected the man that should performe it: who, at last there arrived, to solemnize what they expected. Nothing was wanting that so private a place could af∣ford them. The Hermit must personate her Father, to bestow her on Philocles, her dearest Lover. No Clarks they needed, their own na∣ked breasts would confirme, whatsoever the Priest should pronounce. But heare, O heare, yee dis-passionate Lovers, and hearing, re∣solve your eyes into teares! Then, even then when the•• should hand in hand go up to that sacred place, which admitted no ••eet but thos•• of peace; they might heare resounding in their eares, nothing but allarms an noise of war. This pittifully affrighted that small as∣sembly: howbeit, so strongly steeled with re∣solution was Philocles fancy, as with much confidence he willed the Minister to go on; and if any were to incurre censure, he would be the man, who would interpose himselfe be∣twixt death and danger. But by this time had a strong Guard enter••d the House, the noise of whose ••ury so increased the poore mans Pal∣••••y, as he could go on no further for a world. Thus were these constant Lovers hindred, up∣on

the very point when their Marriage-Rites should be solemnized: which came to passe by the intelligence and pursuit of her incen∣sed Father Androgeus: who with a strong pre∣pared Troupe, well-armed against any one that should make resistance, in a furious inva∣sive manner ent'red the House (Hymens dis∣honou'd house) where those two unfortu∣nate Lovers resided. An unhappy so journall; where such Comicall hopes become wholly Tragicall! And mount will Androgeus with all his company, there is no remedy Which Philocles perceiving, as one resolved rather to imbrace death, then ingage his fame to an ig∣noble life; or to accompany that miserable life with discontent▪ on he intends to go against all assailants, & in the presence of his Doriclea against the daringst Combatant bid defiance. He esteemes him unworthy the pur∣chase of such a prize, who will suffer his thoughts to be seaz'd on by any Panick feare. Death, he knowes, to be the companion of mortality, and to be affraid of that which he must necessarily endure, he holds worthy of no better name then a cowardly care. He ob∣serves, how fortune h'as been ever his profest foe; valour then must be his friend. And ar∣med with this spirit, downe he resolves to go, but is staid by Doriclea; who was now be∣come all Niobe; Limbecks were her eyes of teares; a Furnace was her brest of scalding sighes; a constant Fever surpriz'd her joynts;

yet with these did her sweet condition en∣force a smile and with this, mixed with a pearled ••eare did she beg this Boone of her deare Philocles.

Do not, oh do not, dearest Love, cast your selfe away; by exposing your life to such apparant, nay, inevitable danger. One i•• enough to perish; and let me be that one to secure my Philoaltes If not, let me become an Advocate for my Philocles. A Father•• hand will spare his Daughter: and, per∣chance, for her sake pardon her Lover. Trust me, Phi••ocles, you shall not bouge a foot; your wrastling is in vaine with Doriclea; perish with me you may, without me you cannot. The whole World would exclaime against me, and tax me of a key-cold fancie, should I suffer you even before mine eyes to oppose your selfe against my Fathers fury. Be advised then, my dearest Philocles, you shall not go; trust me, you shall not go. Death and danger with naked breast will I sooner encounter, then ingage your safety to the remorselesse hand of my Father. Retire then, and let me be your Advocate, wherein should I faile, my extreamest fate can be no worse then I expect it.

With which words leaping forth of his armes, with a virile spirit, she went downe staires: where she met her furious Father comming up. Who, upon the very sight of her, was so incensed, as scarce any perswasion

could 〈◊〉〈◊〉 so 〈◊〉〈◊〉 him, as to hold his 〈◊〉〈◊〉 hand form inflicting too seve••e 〈◊〉〈◊〉 punishment on his Daughter. Who, a••pear∣ing as one nothing at 〈…〉〈…〉 and 〈◊〉〈◊〉 above all others to have her 〈◊〉〈◊〉 Philocles secured which she conceived by protracting time in this 〈◊〉〈◊〉 expostulation with her Father, to be best effected: in a com∣posed modest manner after such time, as with 〈◊〉〈◊〉 humble knee she had begged pardon to be∣get more compassion an equall hearer, she in this sort, addressed her selfe to her inraged Father.

Deare Sir,* 13.4 look on me, or I am lost for ever. It is true, I have justly incurred your displeasure: and I am sorry for it, and with the sacrifice of my dearest life, would I seek to redeeme it. I have transgressed those reli∣gious bounds of ohildelike obedience, and not only ingaged my selfe but One, whose welfare I prefer before my selfe, to infinite dangers. Yet cast me not off for this. If you would have me live, let me enjoy him whom I love. Let me but partake in your blessing, I shall expect no other portion: the free fruition of my fancy, shall be unto me an ample fortune. Alas! what comfort would a Father reape in the matching of his Daughter: when an enforced uniting of hands should beget a dividing of hearts: and make her such a miserable Bride, as she shall wish her Bed changed into a Grave? That

Bridall feast, her Funerall, to invite a mourn∣full guest? And this were Doricleas case, to impaune her virgin-state to such a curse. O then, by these unfeined teares, this hum∣ble-bended knee, your poore distressed Daughters prayers, look on me; and make me his, who do'es so entirely love me! And lesse, deare Sir, you cannot make me; since my faith h'as confirm'd me his, which can∣not be dispensed by me. For such Sacred Vowes are too strong tyes to be loosed:* 13.5 be∣ing recorded in Heaven, where such con∣tracts can never be cancelled. Injoyne me what you please, so you injoyne me not to leave Philocles: for sooner may Doricles leave from being her selfe, then leave his love whom choice without changeh'as con∣firm'd my second selfe. If the true obedi∣ence of your lowly Daughter may expiate this offence (and alas this offence is only love) that Task shall not be by a Father imposed, which shall not be by a Daughter freely embraced.

This Speech wrought more remorce in her auditory, then in her Father; as may appeare by his discontented answer.

Doriclea, but my Doriclea, I shall never accompt thee;* 13.6 tell me, canst thou look on thy Father, thy dishonoured Father, and not blush at so egregious an errour? Shall my Family receive an ignorminious brand from my Countrey, through thy loose and

irregular liberty? Is there no remedy, but my gray-haires must be brought with sor∣row to their grave? Have I bred thee, Viper∣like, to destroy me? Go on, and see the is∣sue of it. Prefer the love of Philocles, before the blessing of Androgeus. Disclaime that obedience thou doest owe me; bestow thy selfe on him, who of all others is most con∣temned by me. Thou canst not contract this unhappily spun threed of life, before the Destinies will. Meane time, expect revenge; for believe the indignation of a Father, who intends to take a full revenge of this licenti∣ons affection of that inconsiderate Philocles: and make him glad to relinquish his suit, by entertaining the meanest state, to secure his life. ••eserve then those knees, for whom thou reservest thy selfe; those easie-enforced tears, for him who thou preferrest beforethy self; those undevout prayers, to continue his love, whom thou meanest to make thy se∣cond-selfe. But this fruitlesse expostulati∣on foreslowes my revenge; I will see if I may finde the trace of this bold Libertine; whose pleasing oratory h'as so deluded thee: whom having found, I shall shortly divert the cur∣rent of your fancy, and by a legall course de∣prive him of future liberty.

And presently upon these words, neither Doricleas ••••••yers nor teares, nor the perswa∣sion of his entirest friends could so farre pre∣vaile with him, as to keepe him from ascend∣ing

the staires. But ••uch good opportunity had these passionate debates below given to that discreet Hermit above, as by his device, Philocles, to prevent his funy, was privately conveyed: so as, what Androgeus expected; co••ld not be pursued. None findes he above but the old Hermit, and that intended agent for solemnizing their Nuptials, who was as full offear as Andro••eus was of fury: but wise∣ly pretending himself to be one of the Family, he passed by him without much inquiry.

So unexpectedly was this pleasing Morne darkned with a sullen Cloud. Two friends, then which none more dearer, must be divi∣ded; all occasion of recourse one to another▪ henceforth debarred; this faithfull Hermit, who addressed his discreet care for their cure, to his Cell confined. Thus must me leave all things dis-joynted and out of orders a discon∣tented Father contesting with his Daughter; a dis-passionate Daughter labouring to ap∣pease her Father: all whcih have power enough•• to perplexe a Family, and beget ru∣mou•• in a Countrey, as you may heare here∣after.

CHAP. XXIII.

Androgeus brings back his Daugh∣ter; the entertainment given her by her Mother.

VNwilling was Doricleas mind, but unwinged must not be her speed to depart. Leave her Philocles she must with∣out taking leave. For having laboured (as was formerly expressed) to appease her incensed Father, but all in vaine; she, before she could come into the roome, (that sorrowfull roome) wherein she had left her Philocles, by the device of that discreet Hermit, to prevent Androgeus fury, which admitted no treaty, was he conveyed, and with that privacy, as he became privi∣ledg'd from discovery. Along now must Do∣riclea go with her Father: who, desiring no∣thing so much as to surprize her conveyed Lover, but prevented of what he most expe∣cted,

he holds himselfe for the present suffici∣ently content with the reskue of his Daugh∣ter. Whom he hoped to reclaime from this madding affection (for so he conceipted) by one meanes or other. A dayes journey, at the most, they had scarcely travelled, till Andro∣geus with his Company arrived where he de∣fired: and bringing his perplexed Daughter in his hand to her Mother, to this effect he recommended that charge unto her.

Euryclea, I have brought back at last your dainty Daughter; and prevented what her wilde fancy was incurring: she desired much to be our late Pedant Philocles his Bride: all things were prepared to accomplish what they intended; and had not timely intelligence ••••ustrated this designe, she had to both our discomforts beene unworthily married. It was my aime to have intercepted Philocles; who, since his escape from prison, hath beene more forward in the pursuit of his desires then before: but how, or by what way con∣veyed I know not, him I could not finde, so ready was some f••••end of his to expedite his escape. Now must I recommend this charge to you, Euriclea, as you tender our honour, and the reputation of your Daughter, to re∣teine a more circumspect eye of her Walkes then you have hitherto done. Let such attend her, as will not be deluded by her. Mellida h'as been too much her friend: whose indis∣creet counsell, had it succeeded, had made her

selfe her only foe. Abridge not her liberty, so you be consident of her company. Too much privacy may hurt her health: as too much liberty revive her love. Time may weare out these prints of youthfull fancy. Imployment or delightfull company, being such as may suit with virgin modesty, may finde power to discampe these dangerous Assailants, which so mainly work upon the inward quiet of hte minde. I make little doubt, Euryclea, but your kinde heart will be too tender, to inflict on•• her any heavie censure. Be it as you please, seeing to your charge, care, and cure, ••••••cely recommend her.

So tender-hearted was Euryclea, that at the very first sight of her Daughter she could not refraine from teares: oft did she feine anger, and with a furrowed brow foreshow a tem∣pest: but her teares were in earnest her anger in jeast. Yet desirous to schoole her, and in such manner as her discretion conceiv'd, would leave the deepest impression in her she receives no other entertainment but this from her Mother.

Disobedient Girle, what faire fruits have our deceiving hopes produced? How often have I colour'd thy private escapes, and en∣joyned this whole Family not to publish thy folly? What pleasing promises have I received from thee, that all should be amen∣ded, Philocles undeserving love rejected, and those Suiters entertained, whose fortunes

might raise thy preferment? And what re∣••quit all hast thou given thy Mother, for her care, too ••••nder care, on thee conferred by her? Now it is in vaine to stay the tongue of Rumour: the whole Countrey resounds with the report of Doricle•• and he wan∣dring Lover. And how gladly would I be to still this report▪ to ••ecover thy repute! Well, there appeares yet a little hope, which relyes on this one and o••ly helpe. As good fortune was, all this time Mar∣d••nes h'as been abroad, and so farre remote from us, by reason of his occasions else∣where calling him, as this report of your ••traying course may happily yet be concea∣led from him. Let then that love which you so lately pretended, be continued. Once againe, let a Mothers teares or threats pre∣vaile so farre with you, as to estrange your thoughts from him▪ whom you must not affect. Be perswaded, Girle; let not po∣verty come in at one doore, while love goes out at th' other. Let not your fame receive a blemish from your indiscreet choice: with our blessing you cannot enjoy him. timely then relinquish him: I will not have too strict an hand over you; so tenderly presuming am I of you. An hard, and harsh task were it for me to enjoyne you ought that might deservingly beget your discon∣tent. Tender then a Mothers care, and pre∣vent her feare: her care to procure your

good; her feare lest you should prevent her 〈…〉〈…〉 only re••eeme the time you have lost; but regaine our esteeme, with the ample interest of our love: which you have so strangely forfeited, as it resteth in your obedience on∣ly to repaire it.

CHAP. XXIIII.

Doriclea labours to free her Mo∣ther from all jealousie touching her love to Philocles: pretend∣ing, that he had voluntarily made himselfe a banished man to his Countrey, through feare of the•••• fury and enmity.

NO sooner had Euryclea thus ex∣postulated the cause with her Daughter, then Doriclea, de∣sirous out of a pious duty, to satisfie her Mother; whose passion, tempered by a naturall affection, see∣med something allayed; labours to free her Mother from all jealousie, whereof she had re∣ceived too inducing motives, touching her love to Philocles: and that her defence might appeare ground••d upon sufficient reasons, she proceeds in this manner.

Deare mother,* 13.7 I must confesse, (and with teares of pious sorrow I lament it) that my

indis••reet affection h'as exceeded those bounds which maiden modesty should have ••ept: by giving too free scope to my own fancy: but let not these be any motives to decline your good opinion from me. There is no offence so great, which repentance may not exte••••ate. And now to remove all oc∣casion of jealousie, believe it Mother, that never any arguments of love shall be conti∣nued betwixt us hereafter. For the feare of your fury, h••as diverted our fancy, and made discontented Philocles a banished man, and that by voluntary censure, to his native Countrey. It is true; our amity begot your enmity; our love your hate. But now, be∣lieve the true relation of a Daughter; that ayre which he here breathed, grew distaste∣full to him, through the distaste you concei∣ved against him. A voluntary exule is he be∣come, and h'as constantly vowed to enter∣taine that condition, which shall free his youthfull minde from light affection. In∣deed, had not m•• Fathers seasonable com∣ming prevented what our resolves had mu∣tually intended; Neither might he with∣out my consent have enjoyed that liberty: nor my selfe been so freely at your dispose as now I am. But since the Fates would have it so, I shall not only study to obey your commands, in whatsoever you may be plea∣sed to impose: but infinitely rejoyce in per∣forming whatsoever your Parentall awe shall enjoyne.

Philocles appeared no such 〈◊〉〈◊〉 to my fancie, that might any way make me to foreslow the discharge of my dutie. Yet must I needs confesse, deare Mother, such was his vertuous love as I could not lesse ex∣presse my selfe then tender him a grat••full requitall for such ample testimonies of his constant affection. Then with your favour be it, that I reteine so thankfull a memory of his professed fancie, as for the present to affiance my selfe to none: love, though 〈◊〉〈◊〉 be countermanded, it cannot for the pre∣sent be extinguished. Meane time, as your tender care h'as been and continues ever for my future advancement: and that Ma••••••∣nes must be the man, whom you hold ••••∣tingst for my choice: so far shall my Count∣nance appeare free from strangenesse; my entertainment of him from nicenesse, as he shall finde no cause of dis-respect from me, nor ought that may dishearten his hopes in pursuit of me. Nay, so entire shall be my obedience, as were the disposition of Mar∣danes like that of Margites, of whom it is said, that he never plowed, nor digged, planted, nor reaped, nor in private affaires advised, nor discreetly conversed, nor did any thing all his life long that might tend unto goodnesse, but wholly unprofitable to the world. I should with a free embrace re∣ceive him. because your commendations did present him, and your obedience en∣joyne me to love him.

This ingenuous ac••nowledgement of her offence, and expression of her obedience, in∣finitely over-joyed her Mother; but above all others, the rel••tion of the travell of her Lo∣ver: imagining, that all occasions now were removed: and no feare at all that their loves should be here after re••ued. But whatsoever Doriclea pretended, old love could not be so banished. Love she must, but seeme to dis-af∣fect her Philocles. Ha••e she must, but seeme to affect M••rd••nes. And so far from coynesse must she seem as she must have a smile in readi∣nes whensoever he comes in presence. And the freedome which her Mother gave her, being now secure of Philocles, ministred occasion to Doriclea, to invent many quaint devices to in∣gage more strongly her distasted Lover Mar∣danes to her pretended affection. Whereof he perswaded himselfe to be so firmly possest, as nothing had power to alien her love from him: so as, he began to be so far presuming thereof, as the very least distaste which she might seeme to offer him, received a very harsh construction from him.

This might appeare by one occasion which hapned casually, and it was thus. Doriclea, to allay those pressing discontents which sur∣prized her amorous thoughts; would make it her pleasing task now and then to play with fancie: and to discover sundry apparent argu∣ments of her unfeined good-will towards Mardanes, the better to expedite those de∣sires

of love••••nwreathed Mellid••, and to ••••∣teine that constant zeale which she religiously professed to her Phil••cles: diverse private meetings, accompanied with some of her more familiar Consorts, would she purposely appoint to passe an houre or two away (and tedious had the passage of those houres been▪ had not some merriment allaid it) with her late-created Servant; Marda••es. And one time above the rest, she had prefixed him time and place for giving him a more private meet∣ing; but by what occasion I know not, or whether it was not purposely done to delude him, or to try his temper; but he either mis∣took the Signe where they should meet, or she appointed a place where there was no such Signe: but meet they did not; upon which disappointment being infinitely netled, and presuming whatsoever he writ unto her, would be accepted, in this domineering way, he declared his spirit.

Mardanes Letter to Doriclea.

Mistresse;

HOw injuriously you have showne your selfe to me in this your last dayes faile, my lines can hardly deliver; much lesse ex∣presse that irreparable Discontent which I suffer. Boyes might be easily without of∣fence deluded, as I was by youra 14.1 Signe,

the like whereof was never yet there foun∣ded. But you reply; you were there, but I was gone. Trust me, Mistresse, I stayd there till seven oth, Clo••k, which was a whole ••oure beyond the time limited: and finding no such Signe as you named; you may ima∣gine, if I were sensible of so apparant wrong, it could not chuse but work strongly on me. By this, I seriously vow, you have lost that Love, who would have sooner ceased to live, then fall short in ought that might have conduced to your love. This is the resolu∣tion of

your dis-esteemed Friend.

An other of the same stamp••, bearing the like style and state, was this; wherein, (though in a milder temper) he takes occasion to tax her of neglect, in this manner▪

Dearest;

EIther were your occasions so many as they did strangely perplex you, or else I was strangely slighted by you. Trust me, Deare One, your own businesse could not more trouble you, then your neglect of his service and true affection distasted him, who so firmely dedicates himselfe to you! Believe it, this was an unexcusable ••rrour,

not to deigne 〈◊〉〈◊〉 i•• so much 〈◊〉〈◊〉, as to 〈…〉〈…〉 him with your place of abo••••; the time of your stay in Towne: nor where ••e might with conveniency wait on you, to accommodate your affaires with his bes•• advice and assistance. You cannot possibly conceive lesse, then that this was a grea•• tryall of patience: To appeare there dis∣esteemed, where he stood most fixed. Ad∣mit hee bee aged; grave yeares beauti••i••e with gray haires are more to be honoured then neglected: nor may your privacies be with lesse alacrity seconded, then if they were with more youthfull blood inflamed.

Let your more serious eye look upon these, and I appeale to the justice of your selfe, without any other Referre, whether these have not sensibly and strongly wrought (to your own bosome, I say, I leave it) upon

your truly approved and affectionate Servant.

This was Mardanes Letter to Doriclea▪ which she might rather have taken for some Challenge, then any Love-present. But this wrought no great alteration upon Doriclea's tho••ghts. The los••e of his love with which he threatned her, could not much perplex her, seeing, his hat•• closed best with her desires:

for of all men, whatsoever she pretended, Mardanes she most hated: but in the pursuit of her aymes, she surceased not to discover all expressions of fancie that might any way pro∣mise him successe, that, what she intended for Mellida might be sooner brought to passe. Neither was his spleen so much incensed; n••r his spirit so inraged: but at their next meet∣ing those furrowes which before appeared on Mardanes brow for his disappointment, was quickly smoothed. One smile, & that Heaven ••••owes, enforced, had power enough to clame that storme, and beget in his amorous thoughts a longing desire to please. Many brave presents would he send her; sundry rich gifts would he bestow on her. All which she returned unto Mellida, for happy presages of what was to ensue. And in giving her these Tokens, she would usually say: How now Mellida! This is no leane love. Happy were my poor Mistresse, if she might receive but the least of these remembrances from her Servant. But alas! Mine is too far divided from me: di∣••tance of place barres us all hope of recourse. Why Mistresse? In what better case am I then your selfe? I love one, and he loves me not: ••nd you love one, who hates you not. I may every day see mine, but I am never any whit the nearer enjoying him. You; though you may not see him; in your desires you enjoy him: and partake in more freedome of love with your Philocles, then ever I expect to do

with my Mardanes. Never expect, Wench, replyed Doriclea? Why, pray thee, what ac∣complish'd parts doest thou see in him, that thy love should not deserve him? Didst thou ever heare any one so highly taken with him, but thy selfe? That's no matter, said Mellida: but I am sure a nea••er personage is there not in mine eye, in all the World. And how far would poore Mellida goe, to receive one pleasing smile from him? That were an excel∣lent precious Pilgrimage, answered Doriclea. Surely, Wench, thou wouldest gladly play Pilgrim, to undertake a journey for such a Lossell. But thou doest weil to be constant, nor shall I ever perswade thee to change thy choice. Change my choice, said Mellida•• No, may I sooner change to Earth. Alas! my desires are not great: nor my ambition high. Might I but be entertained to be his Hand∣maid; to attend him; though as his unworthy Consort I might never enjoy him: this would in some measure content me. yea, quoth Do∣riclea, but this perchance, would in time be∣get in thee discontent. Discontent, said Mel∣lida, and be in the presence of my Mardanes; how could that be! By seeing other Creatures of the same Sex, answered Doriclea, received, while thou were't rejected. Indeed, said Mel∣lida, I should hardly endure to see that:

No earthly crosse may halfe so bitter prove, As to admit Corrivals in our love.

And yet, me thinks, I should never love him

worse: seeing, I could conceive no other cause of their too much love, but his perfection▪ And were it reason that I should hate him, because others love him: or fall short in my esteeme, because others did so highly prize him? And yet, I must confesse, I could not well suffer another to become too familiar with him. Patience could beare no more then it could: and a breast I have ready to embr••ace any injury, rather then digest such apparant grounds of jealousie. Thus privately used these two to bestow some houres of the day in discourse: wherein Doriclea ever reteined so admirable a temper: as no extremity of passion was ever seen outwardly to work up∣on her. Love she could, and constantly: forego the presence of her love she could, and modestly. Expectance in this only made her happy: this combate with contrary fortune would not hold out still; she at last hop'd to obtaine a victory: and therein more glorious, in that her bickrings were more grievous. A suspicious sigh must not leape from her; nor an amorous ••eare betray her: her own heart must be the treasur•• of her care, till patience crown her hopes wi••h a more soveraign cure.

Neither was she more discreet in her love, then he perswasive in his line: for now you must suppose him estranged from his Coun∣trey, divided from all thoughts of fancy, and if you will believe his own hand, such a strict Convert, as Doriclea may have small hope to make him 〈…〉〈…〉.

CHAP. XXV.

Philocles writes a Letter to Andro∣geus, as directed from beyond the Seas: wherein he humbly craves pardon, for his too bold attempting his Daughters affection. How his present austere penitentiall life shall witnesse to the World his re∣pudiation of all light love. How his devotions now were reserved for Heaven, and had no communi∣on with Earth. And that the choice he had now made, should during life admit no change.

PHilocles must bee now ac∣compted a forrainer, to his Countrey a stranger; ex∣posed to winds and waves, and divided frō his friends. Nay, since his supposed arrivall, he pretends his in∣duction into so strict a profession, as it pro∣claimes

him to the World an Alien to all youthfull affection. But what Harbour re∣ceived him, or what place this was which har∣bour'd him, or what Profession it was that ad∣mitted him, appeares not fully by any Rela∣tor: howbeit, what he was, and what he re∣solved to continue, may appeare sufficiently by his own Letter.

Philocles Letter to Androgeus.

FOr exiled Philocles to write a Letter to incensed Androgeus: and this to be directed from beyond the Seas, may seem strange; and yet know, noble Sir, that this is true. He, even he, who sometimes affe∣cted irregular love, h'as now betaken him∣selfe to a regular life: and in this his poore mendicant pro••ession, humbly craves par∣don (and be it your generous pity to en∣cline to his suit) for his too bold attempting your Daughters affection. It was l••••e, and that seasoned with as much vertuous con∣stancy, as youth could afford. But know now, deare Sir, that his present austere pe∣••itentiall life shall witnesse to your selfe, whom he h'as so highly offended, and to 〈◊〉〈◊〉 whole world, wherein he h'as too long youth∣fully sojo••rned, his repudiation of all ligl▪••

love. And too long, Heavens know too long, h'as he there lived where true discre∣tion could finde nothing worthy to be en∣tirely loved. For what shall man finde there but a Tragick Theatre hung about with Arras presenting a numerous conflu∣ence of feares and cares? All complete Actors, but their Play-bill beares no bet∣ter style then A Comedy of Errors. To see a Man turne himselfe into all sha••es like a Cam••lion, or as Proteus, transforming himselfe into every prodigious forme: to act twenty parts at once for his advantage; to temporize and vary like Mercury the Planet, good with good, bad with the bad; to forme himselfe to all religions, humours, inclinations; to fawne like a Spaniell, rage like a Lion, bark like a Curre, fight like a Dragon, sting like a Serpent; as meek as a L••mbe, ••nd ••et againe grim like a Tyger, weepe like a Crocodile, insult over others, and yet others insult over him; here to command, there crouch, tyrannize in one plac•• be b••ffled in another; a wise man at home, a foole abroad to make others mer∣ry. Then to reflect upon the indignity of the Age. To see a Scholer crouch and creepe to an illiterate Pesant for a meales meat.

For there is nothing, from which Learning receives more dishonour, then to have her freedome ingaged to anothers Trencher. A Scrivener better paid for an Obligation, then for a studied Sermon; a Faulkner re∣ceive better wages then a Student; a Lawyer get more in a day, then a Philoso∣pher in a yeare; better rewarded for an houre, then a Scholler for a yeares study: He that can paint Thais, play on a Fidle, curle haire, &c. sooner get preferment then a Philosopher or a Poet. And is not this a dainty Theatre to win the heart of a discreet Spectator; where Love and Hate are like the two ends of a Perspective-glasse: one multiplies, the other makes all things lesse? O how rightly did that moderne Sto∣ick invey against those inhumane qualities in Man: which, if he did but see into him∣selfe, he should finde so unmanly, as they made him altogether unlike himself!c 16.1 How shall I know thee to be a Man (said that Golden-mouth'd Divine) whe•• thou kick∣est like an Asse, neighest like an Horse after Women, ravest in lust like a Bull, ravenest like a Beare, stingest like a Scorpion, rakest like a Wolse, as subtile as a Fox, as impu∣dent as a D••g; shall I say thou art a M••n,

that h'as all the symptomes of a Beast? How shall I know thee to be a Man, by thy shape; that affrights me more, when I see a Beast in likenesse of a Man? And what did poore Philocles encounter withall, so long as he conversed with the World, but Creatures of this condition? Well then might mine eye, my strangely deluded eye, be made the sense of sorrow, because the sense of sinne. Nought could I see but did wound me: no pleasing Object but did pollute me. Only my thoughts, deare Sir, were so free from har∣bouring one light conceipt of your vertuous Doriclea: as I saw in her that goodnesse as disheartned any loose attempt. And may your Age receive that comfort in her, as those easie errors which too deservingly bred your distaste, may be redeemed by a fuller furplusage of content. My desire shall be on∣ly this, that you would not decline your af∣fection from her, for her sometimes best∣owing so much undeserving respects on me. Divided am I now from her, and all the World: and who knowes but that I was thus prevented in my love, to the end I might be weined in my love from the World? Admit then my Plea; and let it re∣ceive place: seeing my devotions are now

reserved for Heaven, and reteine no com∣munion with Earth. Love was never to converted Philocles so familiar, as it is now a stranger. It now re••ts, that my best prayers ever accompany you; and that my teares wash off those wrongs I have done you. Be it your piety to have mercy, and to look on Philocles resolve, who h'as set up his rest upon this stake, that the choice he h'as now made, shall during life admit no change.

Philocles.

This good Androgeus expounded, to be that new course of life or religion, or what∣soever else he had so lately professed: but constant Philocles had another meaning, which he ever expected time would bring to perfe∣ction. Howsoever, Androgeus was not a little cheered in the perusall of this Letter: the Contents whereof so well freed his suspitious thoughts from this mortified Lover, as hee could not containe himselfe from expressing the joy he conceived, which to this effect he discovered.

Well done, Philocles! In this course thou hast taken, thou procurest thy selfe peace; and us rest. Thou hast done rightly to dis∣esteeme fancie, and to preferre thy private Study before such a vanitie. There is no

comparison betwixt pure devotion and light affection. Content is of ampler extent then the whole Continent. And if my serious care prevented thy indiscreet love, be it thy love, in thy private devotions, to remember my care. Thou ••aist, thou hast now set up thy rest; and in this thou hast done right. Wordly love and Heavenly contemplation suit ill together. Thou could'st not here en∣joy whom thou lovedst with our consent; thou didst well then to relinquish her love, the purchase whereof might beget thy ensu∣ing discontent. How happy had many bin, if they had been so prevented: for so had they never tasted those miseries which they so unfortunately incurred.

As Androgeus was thus privately discour∣sing of Philocles late profession, which he con∣ceived to be so sincere, as all occasion of fur∣ther renuall of his Daughters love and his was wholly removed: Euryclea came to him, to whom he read the Letter which he had re∣ceived from Philocles. Wherein they equally joyed; while Euryclea related to her Hus∣band the free entertainment which their Daughter, upon her direction, had given to Mardanes; and how she feared not, if they gave approvement to it, but that would be ve∣ry shortly a Match. And though, said she▪ there be a disparity in their yeares; that will beget our Daughter more esteeme. And a good life with an Husband exceeds all youthfull

••ove. And yet I must tell you Husband, said E••ryclea, if his harsh disposition should either ••••get in him a jealousie, or any other unbe∣seeming quality, I should chuse rather to go to her Buriall then her Bridall. For, poore Girle, her good condition would brook so ill that surly humour, as it would discourage her for ever. And I have heard his disposition was none of the best: and what were it then to enjoy all his estate, and want the comfort of a contented life? Our care h'as neither been so weak, nor Gods providence so small; as that the Portion we intend to conferre on her, may not procure her such a Match, as may suit with her desires both for competency of estate and equality of yeares. And for my part Husband, said she, I never knew any Match made up for wealth only, that ever begot comfort to the party. And you your selfe know Husband, that when at first I preferred you in my choice, the very least thing that wrought upon my affection was your wealth: and yet have we had ever enough, & so much the more, in regard we thought love in those dayes to be enough. How is it, Euryclea, said Androgeus, that you ••lead so much in defence of poverty, and would not admit of Phil••cles. who was none of those who had superfluity? One must make a vertu•• of necessi••y, replyed Euryclea. I know Philocles, to be poore enough, and to love Doriclea enough. But our Daughter was not to ground her love on

every poore Lover, for that might have mad•• her a poore Liver: but so to plant her fancie, as neither the undeservingnesse of the ma•• might beget in her a neglect of duty, nor a coldnesse of affection by meanes of poverty. To divert then the current of her love, I made choice of one for her, who had sufficient whereon to live. That by comparing the want of a Scholler, with the wealth of a wordly improver, she might the sooner di••∣cerne her errour, and betwixt these two 〈◊〉〈◊〉 out one, whom she might both approve and love: and expresse himselfe worthy her choice, by his faire and affable temper. Yea, said Androgeus, but it was dangerous to give op∣portunity to fancie; which it seemes you have done to Mardanes already. Alas, good Old Man, answered Euryclea, there is small doubt but his yeares have so tempered him, as in af∣faires of love, his moderate desires rather aim•• at a Consort then a Play-fellow: one to cheere and comfort him, then with light dalliance to solace him. And could you then endure one in the prime of her youth, whose posterity should be the comfort of your age, to close in such unequall imbraces: and by living where the does not love, make her grieve that ever she did live? No, Androge••s; no, replyed Euryclea; my desires are that she may live, where just grounds of discontent may never give her occasion to grieve. And this, I think, she very hardly will finde in Mardanes; for as

〈◊〉〈◊〉 richest treasure closed in a Chest, affords 〈◊〉〈◊〉 small comfort to the Owner; when to his ••wn he becomes a Prisoner: so all outward substance, be it heaped up in never so much ••bundance, can scarcely minister the least por∣tion of content to a minde ingaged to all hea∣••inesse. But our Girle shewes no such thing; for if she dissemble not, (and I verily think her condition will not admit it) since my di∣rection, she h'as profest more love to Marda∣••••s, then any other that ever suited her excep∣ting Philocles. Nay, she will not stick some∣times to say, that her unmannaged youth ••ands in need of such a Tutor: and that since Philocles absence and reliction, reverend age was the most taking Object to her affection. If it be so, said Androgeus, the Girle shall have her minde: but I am perswaded, when fresh youth comes in the presence of age, though she pretend r••verence to age, she will ••incline rather to imbrace youth.

Thus discoursed her Parents of their Daughters love, but were farre from diving into her heart, to search out for whom she re∣served her constant love. But love she must; for tender is their care to bestow her where both person and fortune may give her content.

But all is not Gold that glisters; nor all winners that are Wooers. For though she have an enforced smile for Mardanes, she re∣teines an heart full of care for the safety of her Philocles.

CHAP. XXVI.

Doriclea fals (or seemingly f••ls) into a Fever; each day seemes to increase her distemper: Eschites, an experienc'd Physician is sent for to apply his best art in a case of such extremity: but he, an inti∣mate friend to Philocles, makes show as if he despair'd of her re∣covery. And that no Malady ari∣sing from fancy, could without enjoyment of the Object loved, receive remedy.

WHo knowes not how to dis∣semble, he knowes not how to live. But if that Art 〈◊〉〈◊〉 receive approvement, Love and no other Obj••ct should be the instrument. This 〈…〉〈…〉, who now 〈◊〉〈◊〉 (or seemingly fals)

into a Fever. Long is it now since Philocles absence; but longer to her conceipt then any other: having not as yet heard from him since his departure from her. From the bene∣fit then of fresh aire, which could not chuse but infinitely cheere her, she retires: making her selfe a stranger to those Groves and Gar∣dens wherein she walked; and betakes her selfe to her Bed, where she privately expostulates with fancie, recalling to minde wherein so∣ever she had suffered. A violent Fever within some few dayes after strongly seazed on her: which whether it was seeming, or so indeed, I will not here dispute, but each day to the great griefe of her Parents, seemed to increase her dist••mper. Sleepe was a stranger to her eyes; meat distastefull to her palat, and loath∣ing to her stomack. A great desire she had to be private: pretending, that much talk di∣stemper'd her braine: and willed her Maid to keepe the Curtaines ever closely drawne, say∣ing, that nothing weakned her eyes more then light. Mellida, who knew best next to her own breast, what most disquieted her, when she was at any time sure that none could over-heare them, whether it were to cheere her, or to impart her own griefs unto her, would use in this manner to converse with her.

Good Mistresse rouse up your spirits, do you think lying in Bed will serve the turne? But if you will not be so much a friend to

your selfe, I pray you befriend your selfe for my sake. Alas, all this time while you lye sobbing and fighing here, my Suit to Mardanes growes cold. And I must tell you a secret too Mistresse; but none must know of it, for if they should, it might be a great ble∣mish to my credit. Truth is, as truth ever goes farthest, that since you fell into this di∣stemper I became mine own Solliciter: but I made bold still with your name. And in very deed, (this you may think to be an im∣modest part, but I am sure it came from a lo∣ving heart) I sought in my Letter directed in your name, to know the time when he would make me his own.

Fye, Girle, answered Doriclea, thou hast spoiled all: proffer'd love had never yet good savour. And in the meane time thou hast brought me upon the stage in a dainty fashi∣on: by making Mardanes believe that I am liberall enough of my reputation. But, pray thee, Wench, what answer receivedst thou?

Nay, Mistresse, said Mellida, you shall know all; but I pray you impute it to my too much love, if my love h'as wronged your name. But the harshest answer did I receive from him, that ever poore Wench received from any one, loving so dearly as I did.

And with that, opening her bosome, she pull'd forth a Paper, which she reached to her Mi∣stresse, containing this Answer.

DOriclea, after this manner to importune me suits not with Maiden-modesty; I shall close in an equall-line, sorting with our joynt desires, when I shall see mine own time: and may meet best both with your occasion and mine owne. Meane time, trust me, this importunity ••ather duls then sharpens fancy. So re••••s he, who will ever rete••ne a true estimate of your honour.

Dericlea could not chuse but smile, though her heart were ill at ease, to heare this insult∣ing humour of deluded Mardanes: but at first ••he knew not well whether to be angry at her Maids forwardnesse, or to pitty her weak∣nesse: so as, raising her selfe a little in her ••ed she used these words unto her.

Surely▪ Mellida, thou caust not possibly be so simple as thou makest thee. Thou hast now made a 〈◊〉〈◊〉 hand of it: to make thy own Sweet-heart beleeve that without his love I cannot live. Thou hast brought mine honour unto the Stake: and I must in hope to get thee an Hus∣band, be thought, nay be rumour'd, that I beg one. Nay, it is very likely that he will now out of his Pesantly condition flight my affection, because too freely offered: or con∣ceipt strangely of my modesty, & with much easinesse cashiere me: and what then will be∣come of thee? All wayes then are stopped; all meanes prevented; when I my selfe, who sought by pretending love to him, to match

thee to him, shall be so contemned by him, as he shall hold me unworthy of him.

Alas, Mistresse, answered Mellida, pardon my kinde heart, that could hold no longer then it could. Had I lov'd lesse, my modesty had been more. But truly Mistresse, I am so troubled with phantasies sleeping and wa∣king, that if I have him not, I shall not be long mine own woman. Yet rather Mistresse, then you receive any dishonour by my indiscreet love, I shall write in your name how my mind is altered, and that I never bore him so much love, as now I beare him hate; I care not▪ I will do it, rather then displease you; though it should break my heart.

Doriclea pitied much ••he Girles humour▪ willing her by no meanes to discover the lea•• token or semblance towards Mardanes o•• displeasure. And that so soone as she should be able to leave her Bed, she would spare n•• labour nor profession of favour to purchase her desires. But she held it fit to use some small intermissions to make him sharper: for such Haggards, said she, are soone cloyed; they must then see their Game seldome, and by rare and easie flights become sharpned. Hawks full gorg'd will stoope to no Lure, nor seaze on no Prey. No more will thy ancient Sweet∣heart, if he finde thee too playable to his Call. Nothing cheered Mellida so much, as to heare her Mistresse so well appeased: resolving to be only directed by her: what issue soever should befall of her love.

But as they were thus diseoursing, the Pa∣rents of Doriclea came into the Chamber, bringing with them one Es••••••••es, an Artist of knowne experience, approved judgement, and in his Profession of such honest imployment; as his chiefest 〈◊〉〈◊〉 was his Patients cure: scorning nothing more then to spin out time, or to practise Plobotomy upon his Patients 〈◊〉〈◊〉, or to magnifie his Cures with Moun∣••••bank Bils▪ Such an one was this judicious Physitian, whō they brought to their Daugh∣ter, as to his Profession he was an honour, and to his Countrey under God, a soveraigne suc∣cour. Him therefore they besought to apply his best receipts, and to exercise the height of ••is Art in a case of such extremity: as they ••••ould be ready to grati••ie his care, her cure, with an ample expression of their love. But promises of rewards were the lowest of his ••otives: his greatest gaine was in his accompt to do good. And because delay might preju∣dice his cure: drawing neare to her Bed-side, and taking her gently by the wrest of her 〈◊〉〈◊〉, felt her pulse; which, though for want of naturall rest, discovered some distemper, yet ••ould not he gather either by Pulse, Urine, or any Symptome, that she could be seased on by any violent Fever. Imagining then (and his imagination hit right) that there was some other private distemper which wrought extreamely on her; and purposing to search out the quality of her disease, if either Art or

industry could effect it; he requests her Pa∣rents absence with the rest that were in the roome, pretending that he was to try an expe∣riment, wherein the privacy of his Art would not so fitly comply with their presence.

And now the Room being voyded, Eschi∣tes taking herby the hand,* 16.2 said thus unto her. Mistresse, if I have any judgement, as my long experience should teach me some, you may be a Physitian to your selfe, if you please. Nay, it is in your own hand to kill or cure.

I do not know your meaning (an∣swered Doriclea) but surely, Sir, you have no such strange conceipt of me, as to think my selfe so much my own foe, as not to cure my selfe if I could. I have not, Mistresse, said he, but my skill failes me▪ if you may not do much if you would. I pray you let me ask you one thing, Mistresse; are you not strongly troubled with imaginations? I have a phantasie, quoth she, as others have, and that must needs accor∣ding to the nature of it, be discursively wan∣dring here and there, but never fixed on any one Object. I will burne my Books, said Eschites, if that prove so. Come, Mistresse, I must be round with you; your minde h'as be∣got in your body this distemper: your blood had never beene infected, had not your minde beene first to love affected. Be then so much a friend to your selfe, as either labour to forget him: or by imparting your thoughts more freely to your Parents, to enjoy him. This is

the best receipt that Art can apply to you; which if you reject, dye, and who will pitty you? Doriclea wondred much how Eschites art could possibly so soone make him of her Cab∣binet counsell; as so quickly to discover her infirmity. B••t long it was before her mode∣sty would admit any such discovery. At last, with a winning kinde of reluctancy, after a Vermillion blush, which plaid the shamefast Harbinger to prepare way for what should come after, she disclosed her griefe freely to Eschites,* 16.3 in this manner.

Sir, so presuming am I of your secrecy, as a poore Patient in∣tends to make her Physitian, her Secretary: nor am I lesse confident of your care then your cure: of your care to keepe my coun∣sell; then of your desire to cure my Malady. I shall here relate to you, what I meant to have buried with me. It is true Sir, there is one that I have lodged neare my heart, and remove him I cannot; and enjoy him I may not. Nor will I conceale from you any thing: the Man who h'as taken this place is Philocles, now a banished man to his Coun∣trey; which censure he h'as voluntarily in∣curred and cheerefully imbraced to decline my Parents fury. And his absence it is, Sir, that h'as begot in me this infirmity.

No sooner did Eschites hear Philocles named, then he rejoyced much to have so faire an occasion offered him, both in respect of his Patient whom he desired to recover: as likewise for

the advancement of his friend Philocles, whose former acquaintance had ingag'd his respects more then any other. To palliat all things then with more art: he intends to work a cure without applying any medicinall receipt: and this must be by Argument, for otherwise he knowes not how to effect it. And now a fit opportunity is given him: for this perswa∣sive receipt must not be ministred to his Pati∣ent, but her Parent. Who desirous to heare what the Physitians opinion was touching their Daughter, came in the very instant; which prevented Doriclea from imparting her mind any more at that time to Eschites. Andro∣geus beckning oft to the Physitian, demanded of him what he thought of his Daughter, and whether he had hope to recover her or no. Eschites withdrawing himselfe a little from her bed side, and taking her Parents aside, be∣gun freely to discover his opinion of her in this manner.

Sir,* 16.4 as it h'as never beene my use in the whole course of my profession to delude my Patient with vaine hope, where I found my receipts could afford no helpe: so I must in∣genuously tell you what I think without flat∣tering you: in cases of this extremity, I finde small hope of recovery: unlesse her youth be a meanes to repell the malignity of this hu∣mour. Nature is much weakned in her. Her sleepe, which is the very dew of the braine, h'as left her. Nourishment will she take none,

and if she did, yet by reason of obstructions in the Orifice of her stomack, it would not di∣gest with her. So as, should I apply purgative or ligative medicines unto her, yet would they work small effect, by meanes of those indis∣poed humours which have got dominion over her. Shall I tell you my minde freely? It is not in the vertue of hearbs that may re∣turne her remedy: her malady proceeds from fancy: which must receive 〈◊〉〈◊〉 from the Ob∣ject it loves, or no hope of recovery.

Having delivered his opinion in this sore, he took Androgeus and Euryclea by the hand: desiring to know of them whether their Daughter had not at any time professed love to some Gentleman or other in those parts: or whether she had not discovered so much unto them? yes, answered Androgeus, ••he do∣ted too much upon one Philocles, whom I here reteined for her Schoolemaster: one of knowing parts, but weak fortunes. Then it seemes, said Eschites, you crossed her in her desires. We did indeed, answered Androgeus; for we conceived that such a marriage would 〈◊〉〈◊〉 highly to her dishonour, to marry a poore private Scholler: and therefore sought to decline her affection that way. Which, like an obedient childe, she h'as since that time done; and observed our directions with that care, as an ancient Gentleman, and one whom you well know, whose rising fortunes may highly advance her, h'as lately renued his

suit unto her: whom she with all faire respect entertaines. So as her former indiscreet fancy seemes wholly banished: and consequently her Malady, if it should proceed from any such occasionall fancy, perfectly cured. Alas, replyed Eschites, what your Daughter may pretend is one thing, but what she in∣tends is another. Affection I must tell you will be hardly forced: whatsoever her filiall obedience may enjoyne her; love reteines too much soveraignty to be so countermanded: or to extinguish that heat which it first che∣rished.

Thus he, though he professed no such mat∣ter, but as an Artist should in delivering his opinion touching their Daughter, expressed himselfe an intimate Friend to Philocles, by making show as if he despaired of her recove∣ry, closing his judgement with this Maxime: That no Malady arising from fancy, could without enjoyment of the Object loved, re∣ceive remedy. Which much perplexed her sorrowfull Parents, conceiving by Eschites relation, that the image of Philocles had stamped so deep an impression in their Daugh∣ters affection, as the ground of her distemper arose from being so imperiously divided from her Lover.

CHAP. XXVII.

The Parents of Doriclea conceive incessant griefe for their distem∣per'd Daughter; they ••emoane their neglect of Philocles, and dis-esteeme of his love: But they finde no hope of reliefe to their lan∣guishing Daughter, seeing the meanes of her cure was reported to have enter'd a Regular Order.

DOriclea could not more passi∣onately suffer in this her amorous distemper, then her Parents did for their daugh∣ter. Tender was their love, and incessant was the griefe they did conceive. No meanes was left unas∣said; no cure unpractised, to regaine her health whom they so dearely loved. But all experiments were in vaine: the more they la∣boured,

them ore she languished. So as little could be expected, but that this her encreasing distemper would bring her e're long to pay her debt to nature. This moved Androgeus and Euryclea the tender affectionate Parents of sick Doriclea, to bemoane their neglect of Philocles, and dis-esteeme of his love, which her Father one day discovered with a pensive heart, and passionate voice in this sort.

O Euryclea, how well have we deserved to suffer this affliction, in neglecting Philo∣cles and his honest affection? Admit his for∣tunes were poore, his conversation was ver∣tuous, his life blamelesse, and his love to our Daughter loyall and religious. Were we to contemne him, because Fortune had not so freely imparted her selfe to him? Was love only to be weighed by meanes, without re∣spect to those inward endowments which conferre the best beauty on man? What comfort might wee have reaped in seeing them live in constancy of love: and compo∣sing their mindes to their state; to bestow the residue of their dayes in content? A•• must not be neglected, whom Fortune h'as not favoured. It is blinde love that is dire∣cted by such a deity. And too tyrann•••••• are those Parents to their Children, who la∣bour to enforce their affection.

It may be, said Euryclea, that her distem∣per, for all this opinion of her Doctors, r••∣ceives ground from some other griefe. For I

verily think, Doriclea could not so dissemble with us, as to pretend love to Mardanes, and reteine such a constant remembrance of Phi∣locles. Let us call forth then if you please, her Maid Mellida; who knowes her minde best, and we shall perceive by her, whether her fan∣cy continue towards Philocles or no. Mellida, who sorrowed no lesse for her Mistresse sick∣nesse then any: for her distemper wholly de∣clined her hopes from enjoying her Mard••∣nes: acquainted them, how those little short sleepes she had, were full of distractions: and how ever and anon she called upon Philocles. Which so confirmed them, as they presently gathered that his absence had begot this di∣stemper in their languishing Daughter: which highly aggravated their sorrow. Gladly would they recall him, so they might regaine him, but they finde no hope of reliefe to their weak Daughter; seeing the meanes of her cure (the sole cordiall of her care) was reported to have enter'd a Regular Order. No hope then remain'd for her recovery▪ being so de∣prived of the Object of her fancy.

While they were thus discoursing and de∣scanting of their griefe, one below called for Mellida; which was a Messenger indeed from Mardanes with a Letter directed to Dori∣clea: the issue of whose motion her Parents desired much to partake. So a••, presently up∣on Mellida's going in to her Mistresse to deli∣ver this Letter, they went in after her, but

with that privacy, as upon the delivery and perusall of the Letter, Doriclea knew not they were there. The Contents of this amorous Scroule were these.

DOriclea, you may expect that these lines should have been prevented by ••y personall attendance: and trust me so they had, could I have dispensed with one occasion which requires pre∣sent dispatch. Let not the least conceipt of dis∣loyalty pre-possesse you. I will sooner perchance then your own opinion can assure you, se•• you, to consummate our joyes, which, by how much the longer delayed, in our fruition will be more sweetned.

Alas, good Man, said Doriclea! how he troubles his braines to no purpose? As if his personall presence could do me any good, or procure me ease! No, no; unlesse he were transformed into Philocles; and then the en∣joyment of his feature would do me an infi∣nite pleasure.

Surely, said Mellida, I could with with all my heart that we had them both in their own proper shapes: I know who would be the more pretious pearle in my eye. Well, reply∣ed Doriclea, God send thee much good of him, when thou shalt have him. And if I reco∣ver my health, whereof as yet I finde small hope, I should make little doubt but by a de∣vice I have, to possesse thee of him. I pray God

you may have your health restored you soon, said Mellida; for I am sure you cannot suffer more in your Fever, then I my selfe do, till I be made happy by the free enjoyment of Mardanes favour.

This discourse seemed strange to Doriclea's Parents, for they little knew what their Daughter intended by that device: howso∣ever, they now perceived that the love she pre∣tended to Mardanes was not reall, but dissem∣bling: and that Philocles was the Man who was only interessed in her heart: and that without him she despaired of health. Which could not chuse but strangely perplexe her af∣fectionate Parents; who now, so they might become confident of their Daughters reco∣very, would easily incline to Philocles fancy. But they were out of all hope to procure her health by this meanes: seeing, retired Philo∣cles was now to his Countrey a stranger, and had enter'd a strict religious Order: which as∣sured them, that he had now disclaimed the title of a Lover.

CHAP. XXVIII.

Eschites undertakes, upon promise of their acceptance, to use his best endeavour for calling Philocles homeward; and that he is resol∣ved, how Philocles time of Pro∣bation will bee quickly relin∣quish'd, when he shall beare least hope of enjoying his Doriclea's affection.

WEakned daily became con∣stant Doriclea, by meanes of this her languishing di∣stemper. For now her sto∣mack, by feeding on those fancies which her loyall love to Philocles usually suggested, was so sated: as other nourishment she could admit none: unlesse such Julips or

Cordials as required no strong digestion: so well became Nature sustained with the very conceipt of affection. Nor is this much to be admired; for if that Maide of P••i••tiers could abstaine so many yeares from all sustenance, and be surprized by no such fancy; what may we imagine of Doriclea, whose digestive parts were so well satisfied with the thoughts only of her dearest Philocles, as no repast could comparably delight or refresh decayed Na∣ture, so much as the very conceipt or appre∣hension of his affectionate feature.

Her Parents desirous to try all meanes to allay her griefe, and to banish the memory of her transplanted friend from her distemper'd minde: sent for such neighbouring Maides as formerly kept her company to come to her: and to invent one sport or other to passe away the lingring night, or to tell Tales to solace her troubled braine, which for want of sleepe, was much distemper'd. And many pleasant pastimes would these Countrey Girles finde out, purposely to cheere her. While one amongst the rest drawing ••eare the Bed-side, and taking Doriclea by the hand; Good Lord, Mistresse, said she, what a stirre you make with this love? I am sure for my part I am troubled with a thing as like love as can be, and whether it be downeright love or no I know not: but every night there appeares to my fancy, a dainty proper young Man, but of what Countrey I know not▪ and to my

knowledge, waking I never yet saw him. But trust me Mistresse, I wondrously love him: and if he be no Hob-Thr••sh nor no Robin•• Goodfellow, I could finde with all my heart to sip up a Silly-bub with him in my Fathers Broome-pasture. For I shall on my conscience never love any one halfe so well. And yet I know not whether I shall love him when I am waking so well as when I am sleeping: nor do I know whether I should know him, if I should see him: and yet every night I infinite∣ly love him, and could chuse to live with him, if he be flesh and blood, as I hope he is; for else I should not for all the world endure him.

Doriclea could not chuse but smile within her selfe to heare this simple Countrey Girle discover her imaginary love in this manner. While an other as simple as the former, but a more reall and substantiall lover, stept forth; and as one angry that her fellow should spend so much time in discovery of a Dreame, or a dreaming fancy, she proceeded in this sort. Sister, what makes you thus trouble Mistresse Doriclea's eares with a story of a Cock and a Bull? Dreames are but fanci••s of the braine: and a thousand nights have I had such Dreames: and me thought took great delight in such a yongsters company, that I car••d not a Chip for next morning. But I pray you Mistresse Doriclea heare my Fortune: for I love in good earnest; and if he be a just Man of his word, he loves me too. Climenes is the

Man, I am not ashamed of my choice: a pro∣per Dapper Youth, and h'as wonne the best prizes from Admetus, Melintus, Palemon, and the activest Youths of all our Parish, at our Summer-Games two yeares together. And my Father, good Man, h'as promised him, that if hee come away with the prizes next yeare againe, he will bestow me on him. And I could wish with all mine heart, that I were his now; for a whole yeare will be too long to languish in love. But one thing now above all others, there is, Mistresse, that grieves me; and it is this, Our Neighbours say, he will ne∣ver have a Beard; and what a rivell'd Russet∣ing will he look when he comes to age? But if Nature will not be so bountifull to him, if there be a Beard-maker in all our Countrey, I will want of my will but he shall furnish him. Your case is happy in comparison of mine, said the third Girle; one of you loves, and you know not whom; another loves, and may enjoy whom she loves: but my Fortune is harder: for AEgon profest as much love to me, as ever Suiter did to Woman: and I knew nothing but that he thought as he spake, and would performe what he had promised. But ••waines can dissemble as well as greater Men: for going th' other day to our Parish Church, •• might heare the Banes of Marriage pub∣liquely asked betwixt AEgon and Leucippe: so as, all those professions of love wherein he ••ood ingaged to his M••tilda, must now be

renounced, and a new love entertained. And yet, Mistresse Doricle•• I were a Foole to lay that to my heart, which another lyes to his heele. A disloyall Man should never break the heart of a wise Maid. He that can so easily leave his old Love, may stand in need of the least graine of it if he live. Meane time, I hope if I live, to enjoy one who shall more constant∣ly love. Thus discoursed these Countrey Girles; and much content took Doriclea in this relation of their simple loves. But her Fa∣ther and Mother comming in, prevented all further discourse, for that time. Their Daugh∣ter they found still languishing: small or no hope of recovery ministred least comfort unto them. Many times they wished, that they had not opposed her affection, but inclined to her will; for so they might have enjoyed what now by all probability is very likely to be ta∣ken from them. And as they were thus be∣moaning their sick Daughter, who daily grew weaker in strength, but stronger in her distemper; Eschites came into the Chamber, enquiring how it was with her? Drawing nearer and nearer to her end, answered her Father. Small hope of amends appeares yet. Nor will any probably appeare, to my judge∣ment, said Eschites. No cure can be possibly effected, till the cause be removed▪ And though the cause of her distemper be too far removed, as the case now stands, the cause must be resto∣red, or no recovery to be expected. Androgeus

desiring to know what he meant, requested him to explaine himselfe. To whose satisfa∣ction he willingly inclined, and in a grave de∣mure manner, imparted his minde freely to them: discovering both the grounds first introducing, and receipts most soveraigne for curing her distemper.

Sir,* 16.5 you may remember, how forth of ex∣perienc'd grounds of Art, I sometimes told you, which they shall finde true that have neare relation to you:

That no Malady ari∣sing from fancy,

could without enjoyment of the Object loved, receive remedy. And though love rarely work such effects in these dayes: yet, too neare an instance you have here of your owne, who confirmes what powerfull, nay incurable distempers the quality of love produceth; not only in the affections but constitutions of such who have received such deepe impressions of love, as they must seaze on the person they effect, or cease to live. Too long have you deceived your selves with flat∣tering hopes, expecting that either by strength of Nature, which you may perceive much enfeebled in her, or by Physicall means, which I told you could smally benefit her, she might recover health. And now you see, how farre she is from seconding your hopes: as every day promiseth nothing but a decline from worse to worse. To prevent this, if you expect ever to see her in health againe, give way to my directions: let her enjoy what she

h'as so unfeignedly desired. It is Philocles that must performe this Cure, or effectlesse is our Art, fruitlesse our Care. Let him then be called home, whose returne gives me assured hope of her health.

Alas, answered Androgeus, if that were possible to be done, we should easily encline to such a motion: but as he is not only divi∣ded from us, but enter'd a strict-austere Order, there is small hope that ever his purpose is to returne hither. For since his departure hence, I received a passionate Letter from him: wherein he not only humbly craved my par∣don for his indiscreet pursuit of my Daugh∣ters affection, but advertised me of his late Conversion. And how that course which he had now embraced, had aliened his thoughts from all light love; and that the choice he had now made, should during life admit no change.

Very like, said Eschites; But I pray you how expound you that Clause? His Choice, no doubt, which he meant by was your Daugh∣ter, which he never intended to change. Come Sir, Discourses in affaires of this nature should be used as preparatives of what may succeed after: you desire your Daughters health, and you perceive the meanes to effect it: but out of a scrupulous feare you doubt the way is diverted. What say you unto him that shall expedite the way: and make you happy (if nature be not too much debilitated) in her

recovery? We shall be defective in nothing that may further it, nor ungratefull to whom∣soever shall labour in it, said her Parents. With which words Eschites, who tender'd nothing more then the advancement of his affectionate Philocles, became so encouraged, as he undertakes, upon promise of their accep∣tance, to use his best endeavour for calling Philocles home-ward.

O said Androgeus, fruitlesse will be your endeavour in an assay of that nature! Religi∣ous courses must not be so soone diverted: Fancie can now have no place with him, I am perswaded. So as you may to more purpose desist from any such enterprize, then go on with it. Be not so definite in your opinion, nor so constant in your feares, answered Es∣chites. Admit his thoughts have entertained any such conceipt, it is very likely he is not setled in it: and then I am resolved, how Phi∣locles time of Probation will be quickly expi∣red, and his purpose soone relinquished, when he shall heare the least hope of enjoying his Doriclea's affection. Howsoever, recommend the carriage hereof to my care, and impute the error to my neglect, if I faile in the cure.

CHAP. XXIX.

Androgeus heares how Philocles, besides his other native endow∣ments, was descended of a gene∣rous Family; which enfl••ames his desires more to see him returne in∣to his Countrey. He vowes never to oppose this Solemnity, so his presence may cure her infirmity.

OPportunity now had offer'd it selfe to Eschit••s to befriend his dearely-respected Philo∣cles: and Fortune opened her bounty to Philocles to ingratiate himselfe by the interceding of Eschites. Neither was Andro∣ge••s lesse serious to accomplish what his pro∣mise had ingaged him to performe upon the undertaking of Eschites. And greater reason he findes to comply with such a motion then

before: in regard he heares how Philocles, whom he so much dis-esteemed, as he held it to be a disparagement to his house to incline to any such obscure Match; besides his other native endowments, which well deserved the best of fancie, to be descended of a generous Family, which came to his eare upon this occasion.

A Gentleman of quality chanced to come into those parts to enquire of Philocles: with newes that faire fortunes were lately befal∣len him by death of his Uncle; who had con∣ferred on him his estate, by adopting him for his Heire. And thither was Euphilus, for so was this Gentleman called, directed, to im∣part these tydings to his affectionate Philo∣cles. These newes came to the hearing of An∣drogeus, who desiring to become better satis∣fied touching his descent and fortunes, repai∣red to Euphilus, to whom he addressed him∣selfe in this discourse.

Sir, I understand you are a stranger in these parts, and have taken your journey hi∣ther to enquire after one Philocles: you may be pleased to know that one of that name so∣journed sometimes here with me: but whe∣ther the same whom you desir•• to finde, I know not: but by his description you may become better satisfied.

The Gentleman whom I so much desire to see answered Euphilus, was of a middle sta∣ture, black hair'd, and sanguine complexion;

and to this Coast, as his friends are informed, came he; where he was placed in a Gentle∣mans house, to teach, and educate his Chil∣dren. For though his fortunes promised faire upon some expectance hereafter; yet his pre∣sent meanes were so short, that after some short stay in the University, he retired into the Countrey: for so free-bred and truly ge∣nerous was his nature, that he could not brook beholdingnesse, nor relye on others depen∣dance. And I must tell you Sir, during all that time wherein we remained together, & equal∣ly communicated our Studies one to another, such infinite cōtent we mutually conceived in one & th•• others company, as nothing appea∣red either so gratefull to me, nor so delight∣full to him, as the fruition of this Society. So as in time we became Sworne-Brothers: no lesse friendly then freely imparting what ei∣ther comforted us, or by any other occurrent crossed us, with such confident familiarity to one anothers bosome, as our comforts by partaking one with th' other became highly augmented; and our afflictions, if any such befell, sweetly allayed.

This was an excellent argument of unfei∣ned friendship, said Androge••s, and such as deserves approvement with good men. It is true, replyed Euphilus; but this happy ami∣cable condition of ours could not promise to it selfe any firme nor fixt continuance: for as his disposition became disheartned by some

occurrents, so was he enforced to discontinue those Academick Studies wherein he had so commendably profited; and to embrace a life much different to his humour, by accepting the government of a private charge, as his friends have been since enformed: a course, I must ingenuously tell you, which his nobler thoughts sometimes highly scorned: but there we heare he was planted, and purchased that good opinion of the Family where he resided, as nothing could be accompted too deare for one whom they so dearely loved.

There is none that can more truly witnesse the truth of that relation then my selfe, an∣swered Androgeus. For into my Family (as by your description I am satisfied) he was hospitably received, affably entertained, where he for a time lived, none more beloved. But all this could not content him; for his more ambitious thoughts could not containe him, but out of a presuming confidence from his too familiar entertainment in this man∣ner, he attempted the affection of my Daugh∣ter; my only Daughter; one in whom I had treasured my hopes: and her he solicits with such instancie, as her indisereet affection be∣gun to encline to fancie. Fortunes she had profer'd her, which might highly advance her; Suiters of eminent accompt, approved repute, ancient descent in their Countrey; yet could not all these decline her resolution from that whereon ••he had so strongly fixt and firmely fancied.

Imagine then, good Sir, how this could do lesse then highly perplexe her too carefull Pa∣rents; and consequently incense them against his boldnesse: who out of too much presump∣tion, desisted from those grounds or princi∣ples of education, to work in her easie dispo∣sition moving impressions of affection! This resolves me nothing, replyed Eu••hilus, where now Philogenes may remaine; whose fight I so much desire to partake: and to whom I am to impart such tidings as mainly concerne him, and which by the just decree of Heaven are very like highly to improve him.

I must tell you, said Androgeus, and sorry am I that I must be enforced to tell you so much, that the goodnesse of his nature and sweetnesse of his temper was such, as concei∣ving the distaste we took at this his presump∣tuous attempt to be great, and our indignati∣on irreconciliable: he voluntarily left these parts, and as he h'as since further informed us, devoted himselfe to such a strict-regular course, as now hee dis-esteemes all light fancie, and made devotion his choice.

Your usage, it seemes, answered Euphilus, drove him to these extreames. And unthank∣full you to requite his vertuous affection with such disdaine. For I must tell you Sir, though I make no question but your Family is anci∣ent, your fortunes faire and eminent, yet had you knowne his fame and Family, as well as you were acquainted with his fancie, you

would have held it no dishonour for Philoge∣ues to match with your Daughter.

Androgeus desired much to heare of his de∣scent; which his faithfull friend Euphilus re∣lated in such manner, as it begot teares in the Old-mans eyes; repenting much that he re∣jected one whose nobler parts so well deser∣ved, and whose generous and ancient linage seconded those excellent endowments where∣with he stood graced. And thus continued these two their discourse, till such time as one came to Euphilus, acquainting him how a Page below would speak with him: which broke off their conference for that time: re∣solving next day to meet againe, and to con∣clude of some course, that if too strict a tye had not engaged him, he might be recalled, to enjoy what he so much affected, and what his own fame, family, fortunes, and fancy, so well merited. Whereto sorrowfull Androge∣us replyed, that a Gentleman of good ac∣compt, and eminent in his Profession, meaning Es••hites, had undertaken something to that effect, but whether likely to produce any good end or no he knew not.

Meane time, Euphilus goes downe to the Page which staid below for him; to whom he delivered a Letter written, as this Page pre∣tended, by one Albanus an intimate acquain∣tance unto Euphilus, the Contents whereof were these.

FIrme friend,* 17.1 my resolutions are now fixt for Travell; and something I de∣sired to leave you as an argument of that constant love I beare you. Receive then this Page, and reteine him for his sake, who could not send you a Token which he did more esteeme, nor what his endeavours will more deserve. Your disposition I know to be milde, which will comply well with the easinesse of his condition; and whose ap∣provement may hereafter win more ground on your affection. Trust not Albanus, if your further tryall of him confirme ••ot what I have promised for him. The Winds call me, the Mariners hasten me, so as I must contract my lines while they spread out their Sayles, closing in this our absence, one from th' other, with this constant Subscrip∣tion of

your affectionate Brother.

Now, what was meant by this Letter, our History must not as yet discover. Let it suf∣fice, that this Page was his own Secretary; and had lodged Euphilus so dearely in his thoughts, as he accompted it his highest earthly solace to be admitted to his service.

Returne we now to Androgeus, whom we

may suppose, upon this relation of Philocles Fortunes and Family, to have his glowing desires more inflamed to see him returne into his Countrey. But doubtfull he remaines ever to enjoy so much happinesse: for the Sea, as he understands, h'as divided him; and his late regular profession so confined him: asif his de∣sires stood so affected yet could he see no pos∣sibility to have it effected, seeing those vowes (as he conceived, but herein deceived) could not so easily be dispenced. And highly did Androgeus admire the modesty of Philogenes: who never all the time that he sojourned in his house, would discover so much either touching those possibilities which now his fortunes had conferred on him, or that lineall descent from whence he was derived. An un∣doubted argument, surely, of a noble minde; which desires rather to display his descent by actions of desert: then arrogantly to boast of the House from whence he descended; and by his ignoble expressions to debase that honour which was lineally derived. For what is it to glory in guilded Earth; or to magni∣fie ones selfe in the generosity of his Race: when Vertues, which should be the best Sig∣nals to distinguish a noble Stock, have lost their impressure in him? For better is it to be ignobly derived, and vertuously accompli∣shed; then Nobly descended, and viciously affected. And as every thing reteines his de∣gree of dignity in goodnesse: so holds it the

same degree of ilnesse when it is abused: for honour never looks so unlike it selfe as when it is disparraged. But where descent and desert meet, they present such a comely structure; as it becomes an imitable president of ho∣nour. And in these did Androgeus seirously reflect upon Philogenes. So as, a double respect may seeme mutually to ingage him: a con∣stant care of his Daughters cure: and a desire to have her so matcht, as fame, fortune, and family, with such loyall arguments of fancy may joyntly meet.

He vowes then never to oppose this solem∣nity, so his presence may cure her infirmity. This induceth him to wish all faire successe to Eschites faithfull endeavour; the prospe∣rous issue whereof (though encounter'd with some rubs) you shall understand hereafter.

CHAP. XXX.

Philocles returnes home; and is ac∣cepted by the Parents for their Sonne in law. This revives their seeming distemper'd Daughter; yet fearing still a relapse of her Parents acceptance, she feignes the continuance of her distemper.

NOw had retired Philocles by the meanes of Eschites, recei∣ved word of his dearest Dori∣clea's distemper: and private∣ly, how he conceived that his returne from that fruitlesse retire, would not only free her from further danger, but be a direct way to accomplish his own desires. So as, there was nothing more expected then his speedy repaire by her Pa∣rents: which, (if he intended not to stand in his owne light, and prevent all promising hopes to do himselfe good) he wished him

not to foreslow, least delay might increase her distemper, & consequently abridge his hopes of aspiring higher. But such inducements lit∣tle needed to hasten with winged speed the returne of Phil••cles. Nor could he at first ima∣gine this relation of his friend Eschites to be any thing else but a dreame, or some practise to surprize him: so as he seemed doubtfull what to resolve, protracting so much time till he had expostulated with his own thoughts: by offering unto them a survey of those dan∣gers he might probably incurre, with those incredible comforts, which if these relations prov'd true, he might assuredly partake.

Happy, thrice happy art thou Philocles, if these newes be true which come from thy Eschites! But canst thou expect so present a calme after so rough a tempest? Were not all her friends lately opposed against thee, and so incensed at thee, as nothing could appease their fury but thy captivity, nay thy blood, if they could have seazed on thee? And were these deepe Characters of their boundlesse passion writ in Sand, that they should be so quickly razed: or their vowed revenge so easily forgotten, that it should be so speedily extinguished? Well, I know net what to think on••t! These lines writ by my deare Eschites makes me confident: but those experienc'd practises of her incensed friends and my implacable foes makes me more irresolute. I am assured, that Eschites

would not ingage his Pen to one line, that might endanger my life. And I know this to be his own Character. Besides, to make his relation more probable, he here tels thee of Doriclea's distemper, and how her Fever took her upon thy departure from her: and how thy returne, if his judgement faile him not, may recover her. Be it then unto death, I will encounter with the worst of danger, so my presence may restore her, and cure her distemper. Pretended feares are meere shadowes to loyall fancy. They can∣not strike that heart which is truly struck with love. And I appeale to thee Doricl••a, if mine be not truly wounded. Be my ••eturne then for thy safety, and I shall hold my de∣sir••s crowned in perishing for thee.

This said, in a private disguise he addres∣seth himselfe for his returne; to the end he might with lesse suspicion repaire to his firme friend Eschites, and upon further conference with him, be satisfied whether the Coast were cleare or no. And in short time might he make his returne, seeing, whatsoever he pretended, his distance was not great by meanes of his re∣tire. For as yet he had not crost the Seas, nor taken any other Order then the constant pro∣fe••••ion of a Lover: who had made Doriclea his Saint, to whom he was so devoted, as wheresoever he sojourned; his engaged hear•• could not be divided from that object where∣••••t was so inseparably united.

But the wayes of love, when they promise most smoothnesse, are ever encounter'd with sundry difficulties. This our Philocles felt, who in his returne walking one evening on the Sea-shore, to refresh his spirits with the aire of the Sea, was had in suspicion by some Seafaring-men for a Spy, and restrain'd that night by command; with a purpose next morning to bring him before a Justice, who had given direction upon notice thereof, that he should be safely guarded, and early next morne he would take examination of him: and upon what occasion he took such serious survey of that Coast and Vessels within the Roade. Philocles, as it fortuned, having been formerly acquainted with this Gentleman who should examine him (for they had been Cöacademicks) and fearing much lest these delayes might either be interpreted in him a coldnesse of fancy, or towards his approved Eschites an opinionate jealousie; to hasten his departure thence, he prepared his way to this Justice, in these lines.

Sir,

L Awes which should be lines of life, to direct, to support, and steere the course of an injuried Supplicant, are for most part become Spiderwebs to e••∣wreathe and enwarp the smaller, to give more liberty to a powerfull Offender. See

the misery of time! But to recall my selfe, this is not the errour of time, but of man. Where a direct eye becomes squinted by re∣spect; or bleared by receipt; or quite put out by a prej••dicate conceipt. Dangerous aymes are these to a well-governed State. Where Religion shapes it selfe to Policy, and candid pretences cloze with impiety. As you are Man, observe that Golden∣meane, which returnes the best Character of Man. The fairest path that conducts man to immortality, is ever on this Theatre of Earth, to remember his mortality. And the nearest resemblance that Man can have to his Maker, is to mixe Justice with Mer∣cy, and to reduce them to ••n equall temper: by exhibiting them to all in a proportionable ••easure. ••ilies among Thornes are Beau∣teous Objects. Be you the same in this World of Weeds. So shall your name flourish, and have a report behinde you better meriting praise; then emi••ency of state, or preceden∣••y of place.

These Paper Presents are but weak refle∣xions of stronger affections: yet being the best Sacrifice of a friend and no Spy, (un∣lesse it be in the scrutiny of his own heart) they deserve the higher place in your esteeme.

Meane time, expresse your sel••e what your Countrey expects from you, the State requires of you, and for which all good men will love you: which shall be the most assid••∣ate and affectionate wish of him, who re∣maines

the constant honourer of your vertues, Philocles.

This Letter infinitely pleased the Gentle∣man; but when he found it subscribed to by Philocles, the Character pleased him so much the better. In a word, so farre was he from entertaining him as a Spy, as he familiarly embraced him in the armes of a friend. His Guarders were soone discharged: desiring nothing more then to heare the relation of his fortunes. Which done, after his earnest invi∣tation to stay longer with him, he accommo∣dated him with whatsoever might necessarily befit him: & with a friendly dismission wish∣ed him all happy successe in his love-assay.

The next evening, he privately came to his constant friend Eschites his house; with whom he freely conversed, being satisfied by him that all things were very like to second his ex∣pectation: and how nothing was more desi∣red then his speedy and happy arrivall. Yet, he told him withall, that he held it fitting that he should not presently approach the

presence of his Mistresse, least she, who was not as yet wholly recovered, by being over∣joyed by his presence, might make relapse in∣to her sicknesse: which to prevent, he inten∣ded to prepare her by degrees, to the end his unexpected comming to her, might through an immoderate passion of joy, lesse occasion her distemper. Meane time, while this ap∣proved Artist was preparing way for his se∣curer accesse to his Mistresse, he neglects not that office which amity enjoynes him to per∣forme to his Friend. For having heard where his faithfull friend Euphilus lodged, whom he so intimately loved; and that for his cause he was there arrived▪ he could not chuse but expresse those loyall devotions which his love so much deserved, and what his travaile for his sake had so well confirmed. It is not easie to relate what incredible joy and com∣fort the one conceived in the others presence: wherewith Philo••les seemed so intranced, as in the end not able to containe himselfe any longer, but out of the affluence of his joy, he burst forth in this manner.

Deare Euphilus, I now perceive well that the influence of those Divine Powers, whose eyes are ever fixed on us, knowes best how to attemper our greatest discomforts with rayes of solace. Long it is not since we were divided, yet during that small distance of time, never did poore mortall encounter with more extreames, nor taste lesse of hope,

nor partake lesse in helpe. Injoyned I was to live where I did most loathe; and to be estranged from that place where I did most love. Divided I was not only from my fan∣cy, but restrained of my liberty. Those whom I honoured most for her deare sake whom I loved best, publish'd themselves my profest foes: desiring nothing more then to have me in pursuit; yea, and if the Lawes would extend so farre, to bring me within the compasse of my life to recompence the constancy of my love. Yet behold! how by the Divine Clemency this storme is cleared; these menacing Clouds dispelled; these foggy vapours dispersed; poore Philocles released; his captivity to liberty reduced; what he least expected now freely offered: and that humane comforts might come linked, as my former discomforts came not singled: behold, a double blessing invi∣rons me! The presence of a firme Friend, with the fruition of a faire Mistresse.

Euphilus no lesse rejoyced in the enjoy∣ment of his Philocles; to whom, after he had related the occasion of his repaire to those parts, and mutually solaced themselves in the repetition of their former pleasures and stu∣dies: A Messenger from Eschites cut off their further discourse: for now was Philocles sum∣moned to a more amiable task; the delightfull visit of his Doriclea. The absolute comfort whereof is more easily conceived, then delive∣red:

for in discoveries of this nature, Imagina∣tion ever becomes the best Painter. Let it suf∣fice, that their first salute closed it selfe in si∣lence; discourse was supplyed with long-lan∣guishing looks. Tongues had theit tyes, while affection became sole Prolocutor for the heart. One that had seen Philocles, would have thought that he had been some professed Ar∣tist: and that he was gathering the symp∣tomes of her Malady by the motion of her pulse.

And for Doriclea, though she durst not well forget her Fever for feare of her Father, yet she found in her selfe no such distemper, but she might leave her Bed, and admit the style of a Bride, so this dissembling love-errour might free her from censure. Nor need she much fear her Parents displeasure; for so pro∣pitious a Genius h••as breathed on Philocles, as in this his returne home, Hymen is ready to pron••unce his doome, being so well accepted by the Parents for their Sonne in law. This so revives their seeming-distemper'd Daughter, as her Doctor may safely leave her, seeing Philocles presence secures her from danger.

A silent expression, gives the pregnant'st testi∣mony of a deepe grounded affection;* 18.1 where every l••o•• darts forth love; no other parli∣ance was afforded to these two extasied lovers: unlesse a trickling teare drain'd from the ex∣uberance of love, stole innocently from Dori∣clea, to discover that passionate impression,

wrought in her amazed thoughts through af∣fection: thus were loves lines legible in both their eyes; and their eyes sole intelligencers to their thoughts.

Much had restored Philocles to speak to D••riclea: no lesse, had restrained Doriclea to impart to Philocles. Joyes had their fresh supplyes; as if some golden dreame had im∣paradis'd their thoughts with some glorious vision; the conception whereof could not be delivered, till a sacred Rite had really confir∣med, what their united hearts had mutually vowed.

Yet like a discreet jealous Girle, fearing still a declining of her Parents acceptance, which might beget in her a relapse, or some further inconvenience, she feignes the continuance of her distemper: which soone after becomes clearely removed by her Parents cheerefull approvement of their loves, as you shall heare hereafter.

CHAP. XXXI.

The Marriage is solemnized; and with such privacy as knowne to none but their own Family. Vale∣ria, who was supposed to be Eu∣philus Page, discovers himselfe to be Philocles Sister; with whose consent Euphilus marries, being long before privately a••••i∣anc'd to her.

FAncy, which had beene so long in conceiving, must now come to her full birth & perfection: And that which before breathed only in desires, must now cheerefully a∣spire to action. Suppose we now Doriclea to have shaken off her Fever,

left her Chamber, to prepare her selfe for those loyall and lawfull embraces of her con∣stant ••over. Her Parents to inlarge the ex∣tent of her comforts, rejoyce no lesse in their Sonne, then she in her Spouse.

All things are provided, nothing neglected that may comply with the content of two enlivened spirits so affectionately united Hands could not be wanting, where hearts were so joyntly knitting. Nor could there want a full Consort to cheere their assistants with complete harmony; when these two af∣fectionate Consorts so gracefully appeared in Hymens livery. What would you have more to life expressed? The memory of their for∣me•• discomforts becomes quite, exiled by this presentment. Here might you see loves Meta∣morp••••o••is lively acted, and by such persons, as their ••••••ractive features bestowed an infi∣nite grace on whatsoever they presented. But Love admits no Rhetorick; unlesse it be that which the Orator held the sole ornament and accomplishment of an Oration, which without any other adjunct completely clo∣sed it selfe in Action. To make an abstract then of all, conceive our late distemper'd Do∣riclea now recovered (and perchance her feig∣ned ••ever discovered,) her deare Philocles now resto••ed, and in a new state ready to be inve∣sted, her distasted Parents now attoned, and all things so well composed: as this long-de∣sired Marriage is now to be solemnized; and

with such privacy, as knowne to none but their own Family. Mellida, who every foot, no doubt, thinks of her own Sweetheart must be the only Bride-maide to her Mistresse: and faithfull Euphilus the only choice Consort that must wait on Philocles. The way with flowers is privately paved; no Guest invited but what their owne Family afforded; all things were with much secrecy carried, and to good purpose, as shall be hereafter decla∣red.

To the Temple they come, where these Nuptials are with all privacy celebrated. And here Dorielea's Father takes his Daughter by the hand, and playes the best part that joyfull Doriclea could ever receive from a Father. Which Rite being thus solemnized, and the Married Couple with their few Attendants homeward returned: an other occasion of in∣finite joy unexpectedly arose from this auspi∣cious meeting.

After dinner, Philocles with his dearest Doriclea, took along with them in their com∣pany his loyall and constant friend Euph••lus to recreate their spirits abroad: to whom Philocles imparted himselfe in this sort.

Deare Friend, though every minute of time be this day incomparably precious to me, being only to be imployed in dis∣course with my Choice: yet must I reserve ever some houres for your selfe, from whom I have received not only contentment in my

youth, when our Studies were communica∣ted together, but from that continuate pro∣fession and expression of your love; all which confirme me yours so long as I have life. You have been this day a witnesse of my long-expected happinesse: nor could I have one, to whom I stood more indeared, in all the world to witnesse it. And I should hold my wishes highly crowned might I have you seazed of her whom you sometimes so much affected. I meane Valeria, one, who though my Sister, preferred you in her conceipt farre above her Brother. And I must freely unbosome my selfe to you; it did not a lit∣tle content me to perceive such arguments of mutuall affection betwixt you. But per∣haps, E••philus, your disposition becomes now estranged from those thoughts. Either her meane fortunes could not content you, or some aversenesse in her friends distasted you; or some better hopes of preferment have so possessed you, as Ualeria h'as lost that place in your heart, which she some∣times had, and consequently, poore Wench, must be content against her will to forego, what she so entirely desir'd, and leave you to a Choice whom you better deserv'd.

You reteine a worse opinion of me, Philo∣cles, then my true zeale and affection to your vertuous Sister ever yet exprest. No, my no∣ble friend, Ualeria never found Euphilus in∣constant to this houre. I have preferred her

in my choice, & fortified my resolves against a change. Nor was it a weaknesse in her for∣tunes that declined my love: but the meane estate of a younger Brother which could not supply us with meanes how to live.

This was discreet love, answered Philo∣cles; those who truly love, make it the least of their feares, how they may afterwards live. But if that be the only let, I shall easi∣ly supply that want. I have not prized your love at so low an estimate, as to accompt you worthy so neare a gage as Brotherhood, and then exclude you from sha••ing in my estate. My Uncles providence shall be unto us an equall purchase. Be not so unadvisedly mo∣dest as to refuse it; you shall accept it, with her love to boot who may deserve it. And when your rising hopes shall better furnish you, then may your modesty requite it.

This free and friendly offer forced Euphi∣lus to reply with silence: which Philocles ob∣serving;

What, said he do you take this curtsie so strangely, as if it were not an in∣herent office of amity, for friends to have dependance one of an other in cases of ne∣cessity? Trust me Euphilus, were you in my case, I should make bold upon the same tearmes, to become a sharer with you in whatsoever fortune with a more bounte∣ous hand had bestowed on you. Neither shall your desires be foreslowed; for with your Parents leave, my deare Doriclea, with∣in

few dayes shall our speed be winged homeward, to consummate that which you and my Sister have so long wished, and from which my aged Father hath not much de∣clined.

Delay, answered the Page, breeds danger; and marriages are the merriest, when they come together. Pretty Wagge, replyed Phi∣locles, but where must we finde a Bride? The least feare of a thousand, answered the Page; no doubt, but if my Master will finde a Bride∣groome, and you prove as good as your word, the Page shall finde one to make a Bride. Wherewith, Valeria, who was supposed to be Euphilus Page, discover'd her selfe to be Philocles Sister: with this excuse, how it was fancy, with a feare (for so report told her) of a forraigne Intruder: both which, put upon her that disguise, and prest her to that adven∣ture: and no immodesty (though too inlarg'd a love may weare that Livery) that first put that habit upon her. A generall joy was con∣ceived upon this discovery. For Philocles could not rejoyce so much at the sight of his Sister, as his Sister did in the enjoyment of her Brother: nor Doriclea in this mutuall joy of them both, more then amazed Eu∣philus in this strange Metamorphosis of his Page to his Lover. The relation whereof cheered not a little the old Couple, Androge∣us and Euriclea: who provided a new Festi∣vall for this unexpected Nuptiall. For, with

Phllocles consent, to their incomparable con∣tent, was ••oyall Euphilus married to his lo∣ving Sister; being long before privately affi∣anc'd to her. This occasionall Solemnity, made a second dayes private Jubilee in the whole family.

For the night, we leave it to the free and lawfull embraces of these affectionate Lovers: w•• admit no light lines to disclose the free∣dome of Loves Lawes. If Phidias had a Cur∣taine for his Picture; well might these lively∣lovely features shroud their delights from the too inquisitive eye of a wanton censure.

CHAP. XXXII.

The occasion of this private Solem∣nization: and how Mellida, by advice of her Mistresse Dori∣clea, assuming her name and ha∣bit, writ to Mardanes, how she preferr'd him in the choice of af∣fection before any other; acquaint∣ing him how in a private disguise to prevent danger and her Parents displeasure, she would meet him, when and where in a lawfull Nup∣tiall way, he might enjoy her.

YOu may imagine there was some occasion of the privacy of this Solemnization: and you shall heare the cause which induced it.

Happy Doriclea (for now h'as she attained the height of her desires) was

not altogether forgetfull of poore Mell••da's distresse, in the seazure of her own happinesse Something must be done, or this foolish-en∣••mour'd Girle is quite undone. For you may be confident, Mellida could not play well the Bridemaid, but she must sigh how to be made a Bride. Teares are too sweet a food for affl∣ction. And none ever felt it in an higher de∣gree then she did; who, rather then she would be deprived of that aged Object of her groun∣ded love, could chuse with all her heart to surcease to live. But live she must, and enjoy her love, or her faithfull Mistresse must faile in her designe. Which the better to prepare Doriclea now possest of what she affected most, becomes stronger in her fancy, in regard her conceipt was not now to work for her selfe; for that love-task was done, but for her perplexed Maid who desired nothing more then to enjoy what her Mistresse had done. And protraction is a forture to affecti∣on. Her aime is to expedite her Maids desire: left too much thought of love should weaken the effects of love. The Plot then must be thus carried; and thrice happy M••llida, if not mis∣carried: for if it prosper, Mardanes must enjoy Mellida & Mellida those embraces (aged God wot) but to her more pleasing then the cople∣test Lover. For never was Woman taken more with the affection of such a feature: nor ever favoured any object more, that presented lesse f••vour. But Lovers are blinde, or a blinde God

could not so easily wound them. Mount then must our amorous Mellida to the height of her affections, and in them to an unexpected growth of fortunes by her Mistresse meanes, which she accommodates thus.

Mellida, by the advice of her Mistresse Do∣riclea, by whom she must be directed, or all her aimes are distracted, assuming her name and habit writes to her endeared Mardanes, whom never before beauty lookt upon, much lesse doted on; and his reverend age, which now grew hottest in love, when he grew col∣dest in blood, she thus encounters.

Mellidas Letter to Mardanes.

SIr, Lines cannot blush; so ••s, modesty admits •• freedome to our Pen, which would be taxed immodesty, being delivered by the tongue. I appeale to your selfe, (for your privatest thoughts canot be lesse then conscious of my love) if I have not preferr'd you in the choice of affection before any other: closing with your desires in all things that might not touch mine honour. But it is the Evening crow••es the Day confirme then what you have professed; those vowes wherein I stand ingaged, shall not be neglected. Should

I tell you as much as I write to you, I could not chuse but blush; I love you; and if you lose no time, may live with you. But Pa∣rents I have, and their command must be obeyed; nor do I finde them so well affected towards our loves, what soever they former∣ly professed. Sir, I must freely tell you, lose no opportunity if you hold me an Object worthy of your fancy. To prevent then pry∣ing eyes (affections dangerous spyes) let me acquaint you (nor is it to be conceipted im∣modesty but strength of fancy that thus di∣rects me) how in a private disguise to pre∣vent danger and my Parents displeasure (whose constant aime is to bestow me upon an other) I shall meet you when and where you please in a lawfull N••ptiall way, to ac∣complish both our desires, and divert those approaching feares which surprize me, till you may with all freedome enjoy me, by ac∣compting me your own: which interest I shall preserve with an unstained fame. Nor do I hold any place both for safet•• and con∣veniency more proper then that Elme grove adjoyning to Solinus Cell. If you approve of this Plot, or desire to enjoy Doriclea's love, or to prevent a Corrivall in your love, or to crowne both our desires in our happy fruition

of the effects of love, bring one along with you, who may consu••••mate that Rite, which remaines in vi••late till death dissolve it.

yours or not her own, Doriclea.

When Mellida had writ this Letter to her affectionate Lover, by the direction of her Mistresse; whose pleasure it was that her own marriage the day before should be privately solemnized, that it might not be discovered to Mardanes; she addressed her selfe in this man∣ner to her Mistresse.

Alas Mistresse! But should Mardanes now heare ••it her of your marriage, or take my Mask off to kisse me before he h'as married me; what would become of me? And you know, lip-labour cannot want, where true love h'as once warm'd the heart.

Doubt not Wench, said Dor••clea; for my marriage, it was so privately carried, as ex∣cepting our own Family none knowes of it: which privacy was only intended for thy preferment. But if thou hast no power over thy selfe, but thou must unmask before the watch-word be given, I cannot remedy that.

Nay, Mi••••esse, replyed Mellida, I would do any thing so I might enjoy him; but I feare much I cannot hold when I see him, but I must have an hearty desire to take a taste of him.

Thy virgin-modesty, answered her Mi∣stresse, may dispence with that; so thy indis∣creet fancy bring thee not to a discovery. So∣linus I have prepared to second thee; whose approved zeale h'as infinitely ingag'd me to him. Only then, let me advise thee, be wise in this carriage of thy love: lef•• thy own fol∣ly bring thee to a losse in the pursuit of him whom thou doest love. I am perswaded, the Plot will take, if it be not spoiled by thy own mistake.

Thus encouraged Doriclea her perplexed Mellida; directing her in every passage what to do: and advertising her withall, that if she observed but two particulars, she could not possibly erre in this Project: Silence, and concealing of her count'nance. And this Mel∣lida promiseth to observe: and that she will not kisse him till she h'as married him: nor unmask, till the Mask be done; meaning, till the marriage be finished: unlesse, Mistresse, said she, too much love make me forget, and then I am sure my fame, fancy and fortunes, shall fare the worse for it.

Thus is a way prepared for Mellida's hap∣pinesse, as she accompts it: nor is she ••lower in her care to have this Letter delivered, then she is in her desire to have her affectionate wishes crowned. A Messenger then, and such an one whose fidelity promiseth secrecy, is provided: while every houre seemes a yeare till she heare such an answer, as may breathe

upon her hopes; by affording her that content which she cannot enjoy in a single state.

Forestall our History we must not; the is∣sue of this Plot shall disclose it selfe in this our ensuing and closing discourse: which, as Comick conclusions suit best with love, where vertue drawes the line, makes it the least of our meaning to set in a Cloud, but to cleare all preceding stormes with a cheerefull calme.

CHAP. XXXIII.

The Plot holds; Mardanes rejoy∣ces infinitely at his unexpected happinesse; thanks his Spurcina for her well-spell'd practise; and infeoffes his unknowne B••ide (though much against his will) in his riches.

ZEalous was S••linus of the suc∣cesse of this Device. Neither was he lesse serious in effe∣cting, then Doriclea was in contriving, nor Mellida, whom it concerned most, in expecting. Suppose now Mardanes to have received this Love-letter: which his foure eyes are not content with once reading, nor revising, but examines every love-line. Every accent must be crowned with a blessing: every period with a gracefull acceptance. In••inite∣ly rejoyces he at his unexpected happinesse,

that he should come to enjoy such a Mistresse, whom both youth and fortunes suited for their Bride, but fell short of their hope. Many thankes he gives his Spurcina for her well∣spell'd practise; and commends his own pate for attempting such an enterprize.

He holds it not fitting to spin out any need∣lesse time for effecting his Doriclea's desires. He findes too much passion in her lines, to counterfeit with the disposition of her heart. But there is nothing that makes delay seeme more hatefull to him, nor fuller of danger; then that some may become competitors in his love; and by her Parents choice, leave him in the lurch. This makes him stirre his stumps, and to answer her Letter with such speedy cheerefulnesse, as Mellida can expect no lesse then all successe to her desires, and to her long-languishing hopes assured happi∣nesse. Neither was there any thing which wrought more ple••singly upon his deluded thoughts, then that witty device (as he con∣ceived it) of suting herselfe in a disguise to prevent her Parents aimes: which confirmed the love she profest, and ingagd him to requite her love in that which he esteemed best. And that was his substance; wherein, like a free∣hearted Bridegroome, he resolves so amply to infe••ffe her; as her large Dower might appear a manifest argument of the love he bore her. But indeed this bounty of his proceeded ra∣ther from S••linus advice then his own dispo∣sition:

who cunningly told him, that the on∣ly way to winne her Parents acceptance after the private consummation of their marriage, was to invest her in all his estate before their marriage. Which would not only be a means to reconcile them, but highly to inlarge their bounty towards him. Nothing could be mo∣ved, whereto Mardanes h'as not assented. Nei∣ther is it easie to beleeve how he begins to bur∣nish his crazy carkasse afresh. His crisping and frizling Irons must be used; his bald head with a ru••ling Periwig furnished; a Poman∣der to sweeten his earthy savour prepared; an Orange stuck with Cloves to restore that breath which was wholly mortified. And to publish to the world, that he reteines still some colour of love, he displayes his light fan∣cy in the lightest colours of loves livery. But so improperly suited, as his antick habit pro∣claimes him an unqualified Gallant. Infinite∣ly stands he devoted to his Glasse; and yet me thinks he should not love it for presenting him a face so neare him, which might rather affright him then like him, if he were not too much besotted on it, for his sake that owes it. For so strongly had those amorous lines wrought on his conceipt, as he verily thought there was something in him which deserved more love, then either his age could promise, or the decayes of nature performe. Suppose him them with as much speed as his Snaile∣like pace may afford him, addressing his course

towards the place where his Doriclea is to meet him, to consummate those Rites which incomparably transport him. And meet him she will, but not as a Bride, but a Maide to his Bride: for they have chang'd their habits, to make the Plot passe for currant: that the Mi∣stresse in this mysterious disguise might passe for her Maide, the Maide for her Mistresse. For howsoever, Doriclea was sometimes re∣solved to recommend the whole carriage of this Plot to Solinus, who had exprest many faithfull offices betwixt her selfe and her dea∣rest Philocles; yet being jealous how Mellida would demeane her selfe in the presence of her Mardanes, she desired to become an Agent in the project; which no question was better mannaged by her presence, then it had beene without her assistance.

Love-aged Mardanes omits no time, nor neglects no meane, but provides a Man to ac∣complish that Rite which so equally com∣plyes with both their desires. Who, as they enter'd the Elme-grove neighbouring to So∣linus Cell; they might see two Gentlewomen masked, with one ushering them of grave and reverend aspect. Whom, upon their approach Mardanes saluted; but no conference was ad∣mitted, lest the Plot might be discovered▪ Howsoever, great desire had poore-••namour'd Mellida to bestow a more familiar curtsie on her ancient Bridegroome, but he must not as yet be admitted that honour, for her Mask

without discovery could entertaine no lip∣labour.

To this private Solemnity they go, where∣in Solinus supplyed the place of a Father to Mellida; who was with such observance at∣tended by Doriclea, as no Maid could be more officious. The Rite thus solemnized, and Mardanes seazed of what (as he conceived) he most affected, and Mellida of what she be∣fore all the World preferred; as the Bride∣groome and Bride were lovingly going hand in hand together. Mardanes might perceive this Inscription newly indorsed on the rinde of an aged Elme, as they were to go forth at the West end of the Grove.

Love is a witty thing, and can devise A thousand tricks to blinde a thousand eyes. He loves and weds, but weds not where he loves; She loves and weds, and weds whom she approves. Many before this time have oft assaid The Maid forth' Mistresse, M•••• for the Maid. If you would know the issue of their love, Inquire of Cupids Mask ina 19.1 Venus Grove. A Match well made, she poore, and he is rich, But wed't, she's rich, he poor,—gramercy Witch.

This was ingraven the very morning before by Solinus; the perusall whereof did not a little trouble Mardanes. But no sooner was his Mellida unmask'd, then he needed no Oedipus to expound this Riddle. Then but too late, he findes himselfe deluded: but never too

late, said Doriclea, to be contented: vert••e must be made of a necessity; and a poore ver∣tuous Maid may well deserve your fancy. Not altogether so poore, replyed Solinus; for if she be poore, what will become of Mardanes: who h'as infeoffed her in all his estate, and in∣vested her in all the meanes hee h'as in the world? Nay, said Mellida, he h'as indowed me with the personall estate of himselfe, which I preferre before all the world. And would you have more, answered Doriclea? Trust me, Mardanes, you shall finde more true love in the Maid, then ever you could have found in her Mistresse. The one could give you an hand, but no heart: whereas the other gives you both hand and heart. The one was ingaged; the other free, and to your love devoted. The one might live with you, but never love you; the other can both love you, and live with you. Never then in my opinion did any Witch a better part, then in bestowing an old fortune on a young heart. A spirit that can dispose it, and not scatter it: as your care was to provide and gather it. The Bridegroome stood as mute as a Fish all this time: till at last the Brazen-head spoke, say∣ing; What must be, must be. But he vowed i•• ever it were his fortune againe to match, he would never buy a Pig in a poak, nor wed a Wench in a Mask. But those that were there, thought he might save that labour, for by course of Nature he had married his executor.

After they had accompanied them home; broke the Bride-cake, and brought the un∣weldy Bridegroome to his bed; wishing the Bride good rest (being all she could possibly expect) and advising her to take a good life of that she had, to keep an hank of that she held, and to supply the want of youth with the wealth of age; they departed thence; while Doriclea with many thankes commended So∣linus to his Cell; neare which her dearest Phi∣locles with his constant Euphilus purposely retired to bring her home: who upon relati∣on of these unexpected newes to her Parents and Family, rejoyced highly.

Within some few Moneths, after an heavie leave and hearty blessing, these two married Couples returned into their Countrey; where they were received with great joy by the Gentry, who admired much the relation of their amity: and whose constancy to this day, reteines testimonies of their living memory.

To close then our History, whose ground∣colour is truth, and consequently deserves to be entertained with more trust: as vertue playes her Master-prize in every noble enter∣prize; so by her Princely presence and time∣ly attendance, these lived together lovingly, loved neighbourly, and rejoyced mutually: which happy Period is wished to all faithfull Lovers by the Compiler of this History.

〈 in non-Latin alphabet 〉〈 in non-Latin alphabet 〉

FINIS.

Notes

• * 3.1

  Doricleas expostula∣tion touch∣ing Camil∣lus.
• * 3.2

  Mardanes Passion upon his Repu••••e.
• * 3.3

  Doricleas Resolution.
• * 3.4

  Philocles Speech to Doriclea.
• * 3.5

  Philocles Passion.
• * 3.6

  Philocles relation of the unhappinesse of his condition.
• * 10.1

  The Herm•••••• Speech to Doricle••.
• * 10.2

  In Mapalia, circa oras Penellicollis sito, tetorri∣mae illius regionis veni∣fices conve∣norunt, ubi quò iturse, quid perpe∣traturae, sta∣tuerunt.
• * 13.1

  The Hermits Speech to Doriclea.
• * 13.2

  The Hermits discourse of the purity of Love.
• * 13.3

  ☞
• * 13.4

  〈◊〉〈◊〉 Speech to her Father.
• * 13.5

  Our p••re Vowes of love, are Sign'd above
• * 13.6

  〈◊〉〈◊〉 Answer to his 〈◊〉〈◊〉
• * 13.7

  〈◊〉〈◊〉 speech to her ••other.
• a 14.1

  To prepare a smoother passage to her love-pretended 〈◊〉〈◊〉, She deluded 〈…〉〈…〉 with a coun∣t••••seit S••gne
• c 16.1

  Ch••y••. in Hom. 6. in 2. ••p. ad Cor.
• * 16.2

  Eschites Speech to Doriclea.
• * 16.3

  De••iclea discovers her griefe to Eschues.
• * 16.4

  〈◊〉〈◊〉 opinion of 〈◊〉〈◊〉
• * 16.5

  Eschites Speech to Androgeus.
• * 17.1

  V••l••ria in a disguise, seconded by a counter••eited Letter from Alban••••, presents his Servic•• to Euphilus.
• * 18.1

  ☞
• a 19.1

  Properly, styled, Pla••ti•••••• Elysian Grove, or Erycina's Pa phian La••••••.