The history of Polexander in five bookes / done into English by VVilliam Browne, Gent. ...

THE THIRD PART OF POLEXANDER. The Fourth Booke.

THe Sea and Winde which seem'd to have had silence impos'd them for the not disturbing Almaid, broke it, assoone as he had ended his relation; and as if they had been sensible of Almanzaira's suffe∣rings and impatiency, would not make her languish any longer in expectation of her happinesse. The calme therefore giving place to a more favourable season, the vertuous Queene's ship was dri∣ven from North Southerly with a great speed, and the third day entred a Gulfe, made by two overtures, through which the river of Senega emptieth it selfe into the Sea. Almanzaira troubled with hope and feare, every moment changed countenance, and shewing the love she bore her husband, by her trem∣blings and disquiets, oftentimes question'd Almaid of such things as he could not reply to: and sometimes holding her eyes fix'd on Polexander, My deare deliverer (said she) I begin to doubr of those things which your presence hath made me hitherto hold for in∣fallible; and feare lest I come too late to restore the unfortunate Almanzaira to her deare Zabaim. Put out of your thoughts Madam (repli'd Polexander) such thoughts as proceed from nothing, but the long custome of your hoping for nothing. Zabaim lives yet, or to say better, Zabaim is no more; and in lieu of him you shall finde that faire and generous Palmira, who neither feared the severity of the King your father, nor the rigour of your Countreys Lawes, nor death it selfe, to merit the honour of entring the prison whereinto you were shut. Almanzaira sighing to remember her former felicities; That pleasant time (said she to Polexander) is for ever slid away: it will no more returne then my youth; nor doe I wish for it, but onely that I might once againe enjoy the sight of my deare Lord, and not be altogether unpleasing unto him. Whilst they thus inter∣tain'd themselves, their ship floated up the river of Senega with the tide, and flew (as I may say) so swiftly, that in lesse then foure and twenty houres, it came within sight of that stately City which hath given name to all the Province of Senega. Night was far come on when Almanzaira, Polexander, Almaid, and their people went a shore. They fail'd not to make an end of their voyage; and that which made them most desire it, was a great light, which flying high in the aire above the walls of Senega, made the City seeme as it had been all on fire. When they came to the gates, they found them open, and no∣ted when they were come in, that there was as much people stirring in the streetes, as it had been mid-day. Some stood in one place as amated with griefe, others walked along in a slow pace, as expressing the excesse of their sadnesse; and all by their sighes and la∣mentations said, there had some mournefull and dismall chance betided in their City. Almanzaira having cross'd many streets, and finding her selfe weary (yet lesse of her way then of her feare) set her downe on the staire of a Pyramis which was in the midst of a crosse-way, and besought Polexander to send some one so farre as into the Palace Court to learne the newes. Almaid would needs goe himselfe, and according to his manner (that is very wisely and promptly) did what the Queen desir'd, and returned to her. Ma∣dam

(said he) I doe not thinke you can credit what I have to tell you; for mine owne, I confesse, I do not: yet have I not this newes from two or three, but from above a hundred Citizens, and even the Courtiers confirm'd it to me. Almanzaira trembling, intreated him to put her out of her paine, and tell her what those incredible things were. Since 'tis your pleasure (repli'd Almaid) I will satisfie your Majesties command. Know then that the King seeing Zelopa dead, carried her body into one of the garden Pavillions, and there abode many dayes, not to be gotten away, either by the remonstrances of his chief Officers, or the stench of that carion. The high Prelates and Priests of Mahomet, the Muhazzimins which vaunt the commanding of Spirits, and the Interpreters of the Law of Eshari, being advertised of this prodigy, assembled in their Temples, there made their publike prayers, and then came to the Palace to try by their exorcismes to vanquish the power of the Devills. In came they to the King, and the noysomnesse proceeding from Zelopa's corps assoone drove them out againe. The Calif, Sensul, Maharif, who pas∣seth for a Saint in his Religion, spight of all the stench, entred the chamber, and found the King glew'd on the mouth of that miserable carion. Transported with a just fury, and a more ardent zeale, he tooke Zelopa by one arme with an intent to plucke her off the bed where she lay. Zabaim rose up in choler, and rudely thrust off the Calif; who persevering in his charity, told the King the horrible estate of his soule, and drew againe Zelopa's corps with an intent to throw it out at window. The King oppos'd him the second time with fearfull threatnings, but the holy man would not give over; yet having not strength enough to resist Zabaim, he fell, and in falling pluck'd with him a Ring that was upon one of the Sorceresse fingers. Attend to, Madam, (if you please) a thing which is not credible: Assoone as the Ring was from any touch of the body, the King made a wonderfull outcry, and fell into so long a swoune, that they had time to carry him into his chamber; and to cause that carion to be dragg'd to the common Laystall of the town. All the rest of that day, they held him for dead, so was he watch'd all the night follow∣ing, and all the Priests abiding in prayers about him, deplor'd his mishap, and implor'd the assistance of heaven and Mahomet. At breake of day Zabaim recover'd, and casting himselfe out of his bed as one furious, began to run about the chamber, tore all he had on, and cry'd he was all on fire. The Muhazzimins made their conjurations, staid him, and taming his fury by vertue of their charmes, declar'd aloud, that the Spirit which tormen∣ted the Prince, was of the first Order. In the meane while the Gentlemen of the Kings chamber, got him againe into his bed, and by direction from the Priests, took off a little golden boxe which hung about his necke. In taking of which away, all the force of characters and command the Spirits had over Zabaim, ended. He knew and wondred at himselfe, remembred all he had done since your banishment, lamented yours and your sonnes death, and melting into teares at the remembrance of his faults; Zelopa, miserable Zelopa, cry'd he, into what fearfull offences hast thou hurried my unhappy Spirit? His Priests comforted him as well as they could; but he growing desperate, cry'd out, 'Tis resolved on; there is no pardon for me: for that pity which you say is infinite, should be more unjust, if by an eternall chastisement it did not avenge the innocent bloud I have shed. His Priests hearing that blasphemy, forbad him to speake, by the power which Ma∣homet had given them; and moystning his hands with their tears: Sonne (said they with a great deale of affection) acknowledge by your despaire the malice of that enemy to whom you have given your selfe over. After he had cast you downe the precipice, he would keep you from rising againe. The blasphemies you utter, are his artifices he u∣seth to hold you for ever under his tyranny. He hath not left you but outwardly: he go∣vernes yet within, and heaven suffers it, to chastise you for your long obduratenesse. The Priests have not since that time given over to exhort him thus, and otherwise. I have heard, that in shew Zabaim beleeves them and followes their admonitions; but in effect, every one holds, that he persevers in his despaire, and if he be not carefully look'd after, will quickly follow his wives and childrens destiny. Almanzaira, sighing to heare these strange accidents; Have not you (said she) learnt what the cause is of these peoples going up and downe? That's it I have yet to tell you Madam, repli'd Almaid. Zabaim, resol∣ving to give you your last rites, and to witnesse publikely his resentment for so great a losse, hath given command to all the inhabitants of this City, to kindle fires, to meet to∣gether

in all the Temples, and to pray for the rest of your soule, whilst himselfe and all his Court shall be shut up in the principall Mosquy for the same effect. I ask'd, why this solemnity was done by night, and I was answered, Zabaim had sworne never to see the day more, nor the Sunne; and that indeed the windows of his chamber were alwayes shut, and that he would not indure any other light (since he came to his senses) then that of candles and torches. Almanzaira sigh'd againe at this pitifull relation, and arising even quell'd with sorrow: Let us goe (said she) to Polexander, and free the King of this anguish. The Prince confirm'd her in the resolution, and got her to walke apace to have the better meanes to enter the Temple before Zabaim came. She got in among the croud, and Polexander with the rest followed her, and rank'd themselves in a place where they might be conceal'd. 'Tis true the Mosquy was so full of lights, that but for the blackes wherewithal it was hung from the high vaults to the feet of the pillars they had infallibly been knowne. Assoone as the King came they began their prayers, and Almanzaira, all alive, seeing her funeralls perform'd, and notwithstanding Mahomets forbidding to re∣ceive such honours as are reserv'd for men onely, wept as much for joy as griefe, and even ravish'd to see how deare her memory was to Zabaim. When the prayers were ended, Zabaim arose from his place (as pale and wan as he had been ready to give up the ghost) and made a signe that he would speake. Presently there was a great silence, and the Prince beginning his speech with teares, continued with these words: I should rather let you know by the effusion of my bloud then my teares how guilty I am. All that former ages have seen of cruelty, of barbarisme, of inhumanity, cannot parallel but the least part of my actions. I have violated all manner of Lawes: I have by execrable courses blotted out the Character which heaven had imprinted on my brow, and the Majesty of Kings which hath been hitherto the love and safety of all Nations, is become, by being commu∣nicated to me, the terrour of Innocents, and abomination of all men. 'Twas I, my friends, 'twas I, who thrust the sword into the bosome of the incomparable Almanzaira. I am the unnaturall father who consented to the death of him to whom I gave life. Yes, I have depriv'd you of your legitimate Prince: I pluck'd him out of his Nurses armes, and to glut the ambition of a wicked woman, have not trembled to abandon that Inno∣cent to the outrages of fortune. Had I alone contributed to his birth, as I have to his mi∣sery, I would esteeme you happy in being delivered from the race of such a monster as I. But alas! Almanzaira gave him you, and you beleeve as well as my selfe, she being the perfect rendezvous of all royall vertues, could produce nothing but what was worthy to governe. Lament therefore and bewaile that great losse: make the Author of your mis∣fortunes feele your just anger. Remember how dearly Almanzaira lov'd you, and suffer not her executioner to be any longer your master. At that word Zabaim was constrained to stop, because his weaknesse being neither answerable to the vehemency of his action, nor the excesse of his griefe, he stood suddenly without voyce or motion. This accident causing a great trouble among the people, every one arose to help the Prince, and the noise increasing with the opinion they had of his death, Almanzaira left her place, and thrusting her selfe in amongst the prease, without any other consideration then to get neere the King, made so good shift, that she came close to the Kings throne when he came out of his faintnesse. Every body seeing him recover'd, tooke their places againe, and Al∣manzaira hiding her selfe behinde some of the Guard, would attend till her Lord descen∣ded, to cast her self at his feet. He in the meane time all dying and wet with teares: What my friends (said he) have you no resentment? Will you let me live since Almanzaira is dead? She is not (cry'd out the Queene) breaking forth from behinde those which hin∣dred her from being seen: she is not; for heaven would not suffer her to be so soon depriv'd of her Lord. Zabaim affrighted to heare that voyce, and to see a woman come creeping on her knees towards him, arose from his chaire, and presently fell backe againe, and there lay long without stirring. In the meane while, those who were neerest the King, look'd on Almanzaira, and knew her, though she seem'd to them much chang'd, and ask'd one another, if what they saw, were not some new inchantment of Zelopa. Whilst Za∣baim came out of his insensibility, and that all the world press'd and cry'd out to see the Queene; Almaid declar'd himselfe, and intreated them to make way for him. At this new cause of astonishment, the multitude redoubled their acclamations, throng'd together,

and seeing Almaid could not passe, lifted him up, and from hand to hand carried him to the King. Art thou descended from heaven (deare Almaid) said Zabaim, to confirme the good newes I heare, and dare not beleeve? He staid not for an answer, but certainly cre∣diting that she before him could be none other then Almanzaira; he fell on his knees, and taking her by the hands, Doe I then (said he) see you againe deare Almanzaira, and have your enemies been lesse cruell to you then I? But do you not return to upbraid me of my inhumanity, and aske Justice for it from all the World? My Lord (repli'd the Queen) forget (if you please) the griefes I have throwne on you, and let me see that my returne and life is not displeasing to you. All the assistants lifted their hands to heaven, throng'd about the King and Queen, to congratulate so miraculous a re-union; and understan∣ding it was an effect of Almaid's fidelity, they call'd him aloud the Redeemer of Senega. This worthy Favorite, to satisfie the King his master, and the rest of the company, de∣clar'd in few words all that we have knowne before. At which recitall their admirati∣on increased, and the multitude which takes pleasure in framing to themselves causes of astonishment, added miracles and prodigies to Almanzaira's adventures; to the end, to give new nourishment to their greedinesse of deceiving themselves. In the meane time, the Priests changed their prayers and requests into giving thankes. They praised Hea∣ven for this happy and unexpected successe, and sent backe Zabaim with as much comfort and joy, as he had of despaire and sorrow when he came into the Temple. Almanzaira for all her being re-established in her former fortune, and environ'd with such glory as any other but her selfe had been lost in it, forgot not Polexander. She besought the King he might be look'd after, to render him what she ought, as the person whom the eternall Providence had made use of, to denounce the end of her miseries. Polexander straight presented himselfe, and doing reverence to the King, without making knowne who he was, follow'd him to the Palace with Almaid, and many others of the chiefe in Court. The people, on their parts renew'd with their fires the joy they had so long smother'd, and running (as their manner is) from one extreame into another, spent the rest of that night in sports, in feastings, in musicke and other jocundnesse. Zabaim spent it more se∣riously; for assoone as he had bid good night to all the Court, he shut himselfe in his privy chamber with Almanzaira, Polexander and Almaid; and accusing himselfe in their presence, of all those crimes his love had made him commit; ask'd the Queen pardon a thousand times, and mov'd her so much by his submissions, as she thought (so good she was) there was no body guilty but her selfe. But to divert Zabaim from his sad thoughts, My Lord (said she) the same Goodnesse which hath preserv'd your Almanzaira from the power of all the Devills, hath not onely had care of the true Almanzor's life, but hath many times sent him you as a tutelar Angell to defend you against your ill-affected Sub∣jects Rebellion; and to re-conquer those Countries which divers tyrants had usurped from you. 'Twas he who appear'd in your Court under the name of Perseus, and who by a youthfull folly, renounc'd (but in appearance only) the amity he promis'd us. Is it pos∣sible, cry'd Zabaim, that Perseus is my sonne, and that even he whom I would have smo∣thered in his cradle, hath had so generous a spirit as to re-establish me thrice in my throne, and twenty times to save my life? Truly Almanzaira I beleeve it, when I consider the ex∣cesse of your affection; and since the effects take much after their causes, Almanzaira is such, as there can come nought from her but what is extraordinary. But where is he, our deare Almanzor? when shall I imbrace him, and settle on his head all those Crowns which through a just indignation he refuseth? The Queen to increase his astonishment, answered thus: Know, Sir, that love hath made a Pirate of your sonne, and hath made you know him for such under the name of Baiazet, which he now carries. O! my son cry'd Zabaim againe, how heroicall is thy vertue! how great thy courage! and how ma∣ny extraordinary things are to be reserv'd for thy wonderfull fate! Yes Almanzaira, I have knowne him under the name of Baiazet, and but for the assistance he gave me to quench a Rebellion worse then the former; you had seene Zabaim amongst the number of those unfortunate Kings with whom there is left no remainder of royalty, but the griefe of being despoyled of it. But let us not suffer (my deare Almanzaira) that the heire, or to say better, the conquerour of so many Kingdomes continue any longer the Cap∣taine to a company of theeves. Almaid presented himself to carry the Prince news what he

was, and what had lately hap'ned. Zabaim besought him to undertake the voyage, and to restore againe the person he had so happily stolne from him. Polexander offered to accompany him if need were; and, I dare believe without vaine-glory, (said he) that Almanzor loves me so well as he will not deny me such things as I shall intreat from him. In this manner ended the first converse (now) betwixt Zabaim and Almanzaira, and so presently withdrew, giving congey to Polexander and the faithfull Almaid. The publique rejoycings (the while) being sufficiently made shew of, by all manner of liber∣ties, left all the City of Senega in so sound a tranquillity, that two or three dayes fol∣lowing were not onely festivall dayes, but wholly consecrated to rest. Zabaim having satisfied his conscience, and made an eternall peace with Axiamira, began to purge his Kingdomes of all those pernicious spirits which Zelopa had made use on for the esta∣blishment of her unjust authority. All the Peeres of the Kingdome came to the Palace to congratulate the returne of their good Queene, and renew'd even to Zabaim the as∣surances of their inviolable fidelity. Almanzaira, now free, went through all the Temples to give thanks to heaven, and to be seene of the people, which earnestly de∣sired it, was carried (after the manner of that country) through all the streets of Se∣nega. When she had satisfied the Subject, she would give content to her selfe, and thinking there was an infinite obligation due to Polexander besought Zabaim to make him proffers great enough in acknowledgement of what he had done for her sake, and to keepe him in his service. The King, who had no other will then that of his ad∣mirable wife, presented such things to Polexander as were capable to tempt the most moderate of the world But Polexander, astonish'd, and amaz'd to see himselfe so well treated: I (said he) have never serv'd you Zabaim; and you know, the Queene is so good, that she makes no distinction betweene the wishes and the effects, and by con∣sequence is perswaded I have serv'd her because I had a will to it. Yet believe not, be∣cause I doe not accept your Present, that I will avoid all occasions of ingaging my selfe. No, Sir, I owe you all I refuse, and the possessing so great a fortune as you present me, would nothing adde to my affection of doing you service. Whensoever you shall have occasion, I will expose my life and those of my friends; and be ready to go whither you will call me on so emergent a consideration. But now, (when the love of your subjects, and the feare of your neighbours gives you time to taste in peace the fruits of your con∣quests, and that the Queenes returne invites you to sit downe without any new under∣taking) be pleas'd I may retire home, and after that voyage, carry the Prince Alman∣zor newes of his good fortune. Almanzaira was present when Polexander spake thus to Zabaim. She did what in her lay to stay him, but being just as she was, she gave con∣sent to his depart; and would not (to please her selfe) that Polexander should receive any the least discontent. He had sent his trusty Alcippus to the Port to looke for Diceus and advertise him of his coming. Assoone as he heard from them, he tooke his leave of the King and Queene, and bidding farewell to all his friends, and particularly to Al∣maid, departed from Senega to the Sea side. He had not been two howres aboard his ship when an unknowne man entred her, and intreated he might speake with him in private. Polexander led him into his Cabin, and shutting the doore, Speake freely, (said he) you are in a place where none but I can heare you. The stranger forgetting nothing of what civility instructs a Gentleman to practise; Knight (said he) Almaid having made profession of a generosity which cannot passe by the least wrongs, would thinke he had absolutely renounc'd it, if he tooke no resentment of the injury you have done him. He therefore hath sent me to intreat you before you go hence, that he may see you with your sword in your hand: and to the end you may not doubt of what I have spoken; see here a paper which he commanded I should deliver you. Polexander be∣leeving the Messenger tooke him for some other; Sir, (said he) you are mistaken. I have nothing to decide with Almaid. I am his humblest servant, and ready to give him all kinde of satisfaction if I have chanc'd (through any imprudency) to offend him. Almaid verily thought (replied the Gentleman) you would make me that answer; and confes∣sed to me he should not be extravagant or thought giddy braind enough, to demand ought of you, if it concern'd none but himselfe: but since it toucheth the honour of a Prince (whose adorer he is) he resolves to avenge it on his enemies. Be pleased therefore

to read this paper, and satisfie Almaid by the way of armes, since I assure you that your excuses will not content him. Polexander smiled at the counsell he gave, and taking the paper, found this.

Almaid a Prince to the Christian Knight.

WIth an extreame griefe I am obliged to be your Enemy. I have knowne so much valour and vertue both in your words and actions, and your person hath so many charmes, that it is almost impossible to be an honest man, and at discord with you. But when I call to minde that you have offended Polexander, and by I know not what secret Envy, indeavour'd to rob him of his victory o'rethe false Almanzor; all your rare endow∣ments slip out of my memory, and I finde my self capable of nought but revenge. You may say I have a long time conceal'd my resentment. It is true: but the consideration of Al∣manzaira whom I preferre before all others, forbad me to make it knowne till this time. Now when I may without troubling her quiet satisfie my passion, I intreat you to ap∣prove of it, and to beleeve all he shall say who brings you this Note.

Polexander having receiv'd this Challenge, wondred at the fantasticalnesse of his for∣tune, and Almaid's humour. But it came presently into his minde that Almaid might have learnt his name of Alcippus, or some other, and this was but an invented match to bring him backe to Court. Well (said he to himselfe) be it what it may be, I will not reveale my selfe; nor will I commit an unsteady action to satisfie Almaid. After he had taken this resolution, he spoke thus to him that brought the Challenge. You may tell your friend, that for the present it is not in my power to give your friend the con∣tentment he desires; I will send him my excuses and answer his Letter. With that hee opened the dore, and calling Diceus, commanded for paper and inck, and all sitting be∣ing brought, he wrote this Answer.

The Christian Knight to the Prince Almaid.

I Am Polexander's friend, but I am more the friend of truth. Doe not any more ac∣cuse me for being jealous of his fame. I beleeve he is courageous, but I shall never be so observant as to give him an honour he hath not deserved. Truly he is too much oblig'd to you for your love to him; and if any occasion present it selfe wherein you may need his service, I shall have a farre lesse esteeme of him then I have now, if he doe not as free∣ly expose his life for you, as you would have done yours for him. In the meane time, take it not amisse that I come not where you expect me, and truely you shall be unjust, if you be not contented with my Declaration.

Polexander, having seal'd his Letter, would have put it into the African's hands, but he often refus'd it, and would not have taken it at all, if Polexander had not assur'd him he would not depart thence till he had newes from Almaid. Upon that promise the stranger went away, and within an houre after return'd to Polexander, and told him, how Almaid more offended by his Letter, would see him with his sword in his hand, and follow him to the worlds end rather then faile of his satisfaction. Let's goe then said Polexander, and make Almaid know we are not so hardly to be perswaded as he. Here∣upon he call'd for Alcippus and Diceus, and enjoyning them that his ship might be rea∣dy to set saile presently upon his returne; descended into a shalop with the African, and so went on shore. Assoone as he was there, he follow'd his guide, and after he had wal∣ked a mile, met with Almaid in a little valley, who expected him with a great deale of impatiency. He ran to him with open armes, and imbracing him almost whether hee would or no; How now (said he) my deare Almaid, will you for a Polexander whom you know not but by anothers report, lose a person who perfectly honours you, and

whom you thinke not absolutely unworthy of your friendship. Almaid putting on a more serious countenance, I know (repli'd he) Polexander better then you imagine; and that Prince's reputation is so great, that envie it selfe strives to increase it as often as she goes about to diminish it. Polexander should be very happy (answered the Prince) if all the world had so good an opinion of him as you, and his fortune were equall to his re∣putation. Pardon me Almaid if I tell you, I know Polexander very well, and he is no∣thing lesse then what you would have him go for. How! (replied Almaid) 'tis too much, I must quit all respect and vindicate the honour of so great a Prince from the outrages of envy. With that he drew his Symetar, and compelled Polexander to do the like. What (said he, in warding) would you have me bely my conscience? Almaid, you are too teasty a friend. Thinke what you are doing, and ingage me not to commit either a folly in flattering my selfe, or an injustice in defending me against so deare an enemy. Almaid for all that, still pressed on and would needs oblige him whether he would or no to esteeme himselfe above all other men. But whilst with too much fervency he prose∣cuted the Prince who recoyl'd, he tooke not good heed to his footing, but sliding on the grasse, fell so rudely that his Symetar flew out of his hand. Polexander straight stept to him, and helping to raise him: Confesse (said he) that your affection is much blin∣ded, and to make you know it, fortune hath reduced you to such an estate as you cannot contradict it. I will dye a thousand times if it be possible (replied Almaid) rather then lessen the esteeme I ought to have of Polexanders incomparable vertue. But (said our Heroe) the law of Armes is, that the vanquish'd should conforme himselfe to the will of the vanquisher. 'Tis true, (replied Almaid) but I account not my selfe overcome, though I be at your mercy. Fortune, by your owne confession hath given you the ad∣vantage over me; and I hold you too generous, to imploy any other arme then your owne in the subduing your enemy. Live then invincible, (said the Prince in restoring his Symetar) and since it pleaseth you, continue in an errour which is so extreamely ad∣vantageous to Polexander. Almaid, mov'd with so high a generosity, confess'd he ow'd him his honour and his life, and asked pardon for the extravagancy whereinto a most just affection had drawne him. But if it be true, (said he) as I will not doubt it, that my folly hath nothing lessened your love, I beseech you to affect Polexander, since he should be the love of all eminent men, and to let me know to whom I am so much in∣debted. It should be no hard thing (replied the Prince) to satisfie you in those your two requests. I have a particular ingagement not to hate him whom you would have me love: and as for my fortune, beleeve me, I have more desire to tell it you then you to know it. But (that it may not be done unseasonably) I beseech you be pleased I may returne where I have left my servants, and that your friend may goe with me, who shall bring you in writing what I am not permitted to deliver you by word of mouth. Al∣maid yeelding to so just a request, said many things to Polexander, to perfwade him, that next to Polexander, he was the man whom he most esteemud in the world. Our Heroe often imbrac'd him, and having much adoe to hide his resentment: and I (said he) Almaid promise to love you above all the men I know, and even more then your Polexander. With that he tooke his leave of him, and taking his friend along, came to his ship; where assoone as he was in his Cabin he call'd for paper and Inke, and writ to Almaid the letter following.

I Should be unworthy the affection you beare me, if I freed you not of your trouble, and did not rid you of that errour which the too advantageous opinion of Polexan∣der hath cast you in. Assure your selfe, my deare Almaid, he is farre beneath what you value him. You have suffered your selfe to be perswaded by fame, and yet you know she is a foole, who following the inconstancy of her humours, raiseth meane things, overthrowes high ones, takes away the honour from those that deserve it, and prosti∣tutes it to them who have not courage enough to make use with advantage of that blind ones injustice. But I must speake more plainly to you, and to testifie that I am not jealous of Polexanders reputation, I tell you, I am the same Polexander. It may be you will thinke me very cunning in concealing my selfe so long, and very ingrate∣full

in departing from you without rendring thanks for the obligation I owe and shall doe all my life to your credulity. But that only is guilty of my faults. 'Twas that which made me conceale my name from you whilst I could not my selfe, and would force me to hide it yet, if my cruell destiny did not seeme to presage to me, that I shall never see you more.

After the Prince had sealed this letter he gave it to the African, and unwilling he should go away ill satisfied, bestow'd on him a Diamond of a great value, for an in∣gagement to remember his liberality. The African amaz'd and ravish'd with so good a fortune; witnessed by his submissions and talke, his covetous inclination, and so tooke leave of his benefactor to depart to Almaid. Polexander presently set saile, with an intent to search yet for Alcidiana's Island, or at least to meet with some of her Pilots. But the end of his misfortunes was not yet come. He had suffered but illustrious af∣flictions, and it was resolv'd in heaven he should feele the most shamefullest. The season, which was not yet very proper to saile in the Atlantick Sea, threw him under the Line, and had almost cast him away on a desert Island directly against Guinea. Yet he found a haven betweene the sholes of that Isle, and perceiv'd on the point of a rock (which on all sides was beaten by the Sea) some body, who, I know not by what white thing which he turn'd in the ayre, seem'd to implore his succour. He sent Diceus, who taking him into his Shallop, with a great deale of compassion assur'd him he had met with friends, and brought him to the Ship. Assoone as he came aboord he swounded through weakenesse, and so lay a long time. By divers remedies they brought him againe, and assoone as he had recollected his spirits; O insatiable hunger of riches, (cried he) to what misery art thou able to bring us! By those words Polexander knew he was a Ca∣stilian, and conjectured him to be one of those whom the ambitious Isabella sent under the conduct of Columbus to rob the treasures of the new world. Though his curiosity urg'd him to question the Spaniard, he forbore, and had the charity to call for some∣thing for him to eate, to shift his cloathes, and to disburthen him of two great chaines of rootes and black barks he had about his neck. After he had beene fitted with all things needfull Polexander intimated a desire to know his fortune, and ingaged him to begin it thus: I am a Spaniard, my fathers name Alphonso de Padilla, and mine Gar∣zias. We were of the first among the inhabitants of old Castile, and so much the hap∣pier, that being rich we were unknowne. A desire to equalize such, who having no higher a birth then we, had a farre greater fortune; made us resolve to imploy the fa∣vour of our friends, in obtaining from our Queene the permission of discovering that part of the world which lay beyond the Islands of Jamaiqua and Cuba. Wee got that unfortunate grant; and imbarking our selves, had so good a voyage, that we discove∣red the Continent of the West Indies. But it cost the lives of the greatest part of our company, for the Inhabitants of the countrey where we landed, were a bloudy and furious people which made continuall warre with their neighbours, and laid waste all the provinces they passed thorough. Their countrey is not lesse dismall then themselves. Theayre, the soyle, the trees, the herbes, the waters and the very fishes kill such stran∣gers as know not their malignity. My father there lost his sight, by sleeping in the shade of some pestilentious trees, and I was taken by the Caribs (so are those savages called) and reserv'd to be sacrific'd to their gods, which are no lesse cruell then them∣selves. My poore blinde father, afflicted for my losse, retir'd into an Island neerest hand, and imployed his utmost both of meanes and industry, to recover me from the hands of those savages. Yet was I detain'd there above two yeares, and though I have brought nothing from that long servitude but those black rootes you saw about my neck, I should neverthelesse esteeme my selfe more rich and happy then Columbus him∣selfe, if the mischance of my being shipwrack'd, had not hindred me from rendring to the best father of the world, that which I owe to his love and his care for my delive∣rance. I had wherewithall to restore that sight which he lost by the venemous shade, and wherewith to perswade him by the example of his owne mishaps, that there is no condition so miserable as theirs who are not content with their fathers fortune. Po∣lexander lik'd the Spaniards wit, and glad to passe some time with him; Your mis∣fortunes

(said he) have beene very profitable to you, since they have given you so perfect a knowledge of humane vanities, and owe to them a secret which is hidden from all men else. 'Tis true, (replied the Castilian) I am bound so much to my miseries: and if I can ever returne home with that deare father which is all the felicity of my life; I would thinke my selfe a thousand times richer in finding the secret of contemning gold, then if I had found that, of possessing all there is in the new world. He had scarce ended his Speech, when they heard strange shoutes from the Island, and noyses like those which men make when they are at blowes. Polexander drawne by the clamour, and spurr'd on by his owne noblenesse, landed; and hastning right to the noyse, met with twenty or thirty men, which divided in two troupes equally shew'd their courage. When he was about to part them, an old man full of majesty and sorrow presented himselfe, and intimating that his life was lesse deare to him then the lives of the Combatants: If it be possible (said he to him) keepe these men from killing one another. I am the sad cause of their quarrell. Some of them would have my life, the others are resolv'd to dye ra∣ther then consent to the fury of their companions. Polexander not desirous to informe himselfe any further of the cause of that combate, thrust among them, with Alcippus, Diceus and his other domestîcks, yet could not doe it so well, but eight or ten fell be∣fore he could part them; of which number, two were of those that stood in defence of the venerable old man, and the rest were of his enemies. The five or six which remain'd of the worser side, laid downe their armes, cast themselves at his feet whom they would lately have murdred, and expressing to him an extraordinary griefe for their attempt: Command (said they to him) O thou our visible Deity, that we be aswell chastis'd as our companions, since we are as guilty. Have no pity on us! and though your goodnesse hath alwayes gloried in pardoning the most enormous offences, at last let such miscreants as we feele that you can punish them. The aged man in stead of fol∣lowing those wretches counsell, cast himselfe on their necks, weeping, and assuring them he already thought no more of their fault, To pronounce you guilty (said he) is to accuse my selfe. I commanded you to obey the ingratefull Perseus, and not to wit∣nesse your loyalty towards me but in being faithfull to him. Polexander at that name of Perseus, remembred what Almaid had related; and conjecturing, the old man might be Abrinzias, Shall I beleeve (said he) that the unnaturall Perseus would attempt against the life of his father, as he did against that of Almanzor? Ah! (replied the old man) whoever you be, that know too well the misfortunes of our family; do not oblige me to tell you I am the unfortunate father of a child so ill borne. But if you desire I should confesse it; be pleased likewise that I make an end of accusing my selfe, and relate to you all the miseries have betided me, since Almanzor left me to follow a person which he cannot meet with whilst he is out of Benin. Polexander surpris'd at this discourse, would have demanded many things at once from the venerable Abrinzias; but some just considerations sotting his inquisitivenesse, he intreated that Prince to leave the de∣solate Island, and refresh himselfe in his ship. Abrinzias consented; but before he went aboard, he reconcil'd the vanquish'd with the vanquishers; and intreated both parts to abolish for ever the memory of an act, black enough to make their nation execrable to all others. Every one promising to observe his prohibition, Abrinzias and Polexander left the desert Island; and our Heroe giving him the honours of his ship, welcom'd the good King with all the Ceremonies a Subject could yeeld his Soveraigne. Abrinzias being well refresh'd, and desirous to pay his Host for so kinde an entertainement: I cannot chuse (said he) but make to you a generall confession of my faults, and though I doubt you know a part of them, I will neverthelesse tell you all, since I am sure that those who spoake to you of me have stroven to conceale such things as might blemish my reputation. I will therefore begin by the greatest of my crimes, which were in∣dulgency, fond love, and voluntary blindnesse. They have hindered me from knowing the defects of miserable Perseus, or at least from correcting them. I alwayes looked on him with dazeld eyes, and tooke him for such as my irregular affection made me imagine him. His insolency seem'd to me greatnesse of courage, and contempt of meane things; his impiety, strength of wit; his pride, majesty; in briefe, his vices ap∣peared to me vertues, and I was so witlesse, that in stead of reproving I flattered him in

his most wicked customes. The eternall Justice let me alone a long time in my errors, suffered me not to know the malice of that serpent I fostered in my bosome, but by the mortall stings it gave me. I hop'd, the example and conversation of great Almanzor would have quell'd the pernicious inclinations of Perseus, but he grew to hate what he could not imitate, and confirming himselfe in all vice, in despite of vertue, had an in∣tent (alas! must I speake it?) to murther Almanzor. Polexander interrupting, to oblige him, Leave (said he) that action out of the number of such things as have betided, and do not imbrue your memory with the recitall of that assassinate: I know all that pas∣sed, and how Almanzor would not you should ever know of it. 'Tis true (pitifull stranger) replied Abrinzias, and I had beene all my life time without the hearing of such a prodigy, if a second reviving the former, had not brought it to my knowledge. Two months after Almanzors departure, the miserable Perseus by the search and dex∣terity of his accursed spyes, discovered Iphidamanta in the most retired part of the Temple, where with the consent of Andromeda and my selfe she had withdrawne and shut her selfe up. How (my Lord) said Polexander, did not the Pirates take her away the same night when they forc'd your palace? Abrinzias beginning againe with a tone farre different from his former speaking: I have (said he) unawares told too much, but h•…•…ven hath suffered it for some cause I know not, and therefore I will not feare to disclose to you a secret which is hid from all save Andromeda, Iphidamanta and my selfe. Some few dayes before the Pirates came to disturbe the profound tranquilli∣ty of my Country, Iphidamanta whom we may call the accomplish'd and perfect image of vertue, made my wife perceive that she had receiv'd some sensible displea∣sure. Andromeda tooke her apart, and conjuring her by the extraordinary affe∣ction she bore, not to conceale the cause of her griefe. Madam, (said she) were not your goodnesse infinite, and did it not seeme to invite me to the boldnesse I take of troubling you with the accidents of my sad fortune; I should (me thinks) have had power enough o're my selfe to undergoe them without making them knowne. But since you have alwayes permitted me to complaine, and that even on persons which are most deare to you, I will not feare to intreat your protection against the pursuites of Almanzor. Osmin and his Lady who till now have given me so great proofes of their amity, and who many a time have hazarded their lives for the safeguard of mine honour, have beene won by Almanzors allurements, and they give him such freedome as begins to be insupportable to me. You will (may be) wonder Madam, that (being reduc'd to the unfortunate estate I am in, and who may rather be taken for some bold deceiver, then for a Princesse) I should finde fault with the actions of the Prince your Son. But I erre in having so ill an opinion of so eminent a vertue as yours. No Madam you will not mislike my disapproving of your Sons inticing discour∣ses, nor that I tell you his respects and civilities make me suspect him. Lady, (replied Andromeda) I have already long since discover'd Almanzors affection, but his discreti∣on and your vertue being equally knowne to me, I thought there was no need of advi∣sing the taking heed either to him or your selfe. I humbly kisse your Majesties hands, (replied Iphidamanta) and am too much oblig'd for your noble beliefe of me. I will strive Madam to give you cause to continue it, and not to deferre so good an intent, I beseech you humbly by these knees I embrace (with that she fell downe at her feet) to free me hence, to take me from the sight of men, and to shut me up in some place where their humorous affection, how extravagant soever, dare not trouble my repose. But how happy, Madam, should I thinke my selfe, if by some invention which would carry probability, I might be feign'd to be lost, and by that meanes absolute get me from the knowledge of Almanzor. Andromeda, ravish'd at Iphidamanta's resolution, promis'd to second her, and getting her leave to communicate the businesse to me, dismissed her with a promise to travell without intermission for the accomplishment of her just desires. My wife and my selfe were eight or ten dayes deliberating what way we should take to bring it to passe without giving Almanzor cause to complaine of us: and indeed we were not smally troubled; when the eternall providence (which never loseth an occasion of favouring them which serve it as they ought) would make use even of the villany of a company of theeves to place the innocency of Iphidamanta in surety.

Whilst therefore Almanzor was in fight with the Pirates, Andromeda dispos'd all things for the faigning Iphidamanta's carrying away and the businesse succeeded so wel, that in the same instant when the theeves assaulted the Palace Iphidamanta was taken from the eyes of Osmin and his wife, and secretly conveyed by Andromeda alone, into the Temple of their god of Purity. Almanzor in the meane time return'd after he had knock'd back our enemies into their vessels, and met with Osmin and his wife, who un∣advisedly enough told him of Iphidamanta's losse. The Prince who lov'd her beyond thought, return'd to the Sea, cast himselfe into a ship, and inconsiderately made after the supposed ravishers of that Princesse. Since that time I have not heard of him; but feare lest his love and valour have cost him his life. Never trouble your self, (quoth Po∣lexander) for Almanzor lives; and now enjoyeth all the Crownes which Zelopa's am∣bition hath so often striven to deprive him of. But, Sir, (said he) goe on if you please in what you have begun, and I will relate afterwards, (if you thinke fit) the strange revo∣lutions have betided in Senega. Abrinzias began againe; and hastening to know Za∣baims alteration: Perseus (said he) being no more restrain'd by his feare of Almanzor, overflow'd with so prodigious an excesse, that he drew me out of the errour I had long liv'd in, and made me see, when I would have bridled his fury, it was not then able to be suppressed. Admonitions profited as little as threatnings, and severity mov'd him no more then mildnesse. Andromeda who never till then thought him guilty, was strooke halfe dead when she heard of it, and being generous suspended her motherly love, to let that authority worke which heaven hath given to parents over their children. I like∣wise became of the same just opinion though with a great deale of griefe. But we must confesse to both our shames we were not able to persever, but after a few slight cor∣rections abandon'd Perseus to his former brutishnesse. Nay we did farre worse, for ima∣gining, by imploying his minde in the communication of businesse, he might be drawne from his debauches, we proclaim'd him King of Zanphara, the patrimony of Andromeda. Wee quickly repented us for giving him that authority. He made no other use of it then to sinne more licenciously, and to make his faults more great and eminent. He return'd to Benin with the most desperate and abominable spirits that ever Africa produc'd; and imploying his dayes and nights in dishonouring the best fa∣milies, grew to such a height of abomination, that he broke the sacred grates, and vio∣lated the sanctity of our Temples. He forc'd at midday all the gards and defenders of the Virgins consecrated to Purity, upon the assurance some had promis'd him of his finding Iphidamanta; and he was already gotten into their Cloyster with his Compli∣ces, when I came in with a greater power, and hindred the violences of that detestable route. I caus'd some fifty of the principall to be taken, and to avenge our violated Religi∣on and give the more terrour to such miscreants, commanded them to be cast the next day into the den of Lions. Perseus fled with an intent (as the event shew'd) to revenge his Confederates deaths by those of his father and mother. He got an Army of vaga∣bonds, of theeves, and in a word, of the most imbrued and greatest murtherers amongst the Arabians. The inundation of these Monsters was in all likelihood to have ruined my Estate; but heavens Justice, and my Subjects resolution, in part, exterminated that publique infliction. Yet was it not without the effusion of much bloud. All the chiefe of my Kingdome dyed in the field, and had it not beene for my guard who rescued me out of the midst of mine enemies, I had beene involv'd in the same ruine. Perseus, (though much weak'ned) gave not over pursuing me, but knowing I was gotten into the City of Benin, resolv'd to besiege me there. Andromeda thinking to allay his fury, went out of the towne with her principall Ladies, and meeting her Son in the head of his troupes: Whither goest thou? (said she) What Perseus, art thou become such an enemy to thine owne greatnesse, that thou wilt exterminate by fire and sword those who glory in being borne to serve thee? What wilt thou get by the destruction of Be∣nin? Certainely a misery so great and so visible, as I wonder at that blindnesse which makes thee not see it. In stead of reigning over free borne men, thou shalt be no more then a companion of rascals which follow thee, and when thou hast no more for them to prey upon, thou thy selfe shalt be the quarry of their insatiable avarice. Come home to thy selfe Perseus! let the horrour of thy offence disswade thee from continuing in it.

Hearken to Nature, hearken to bloud. Respect thy fathers age, and intend not to pro∣ceed, unlesse thou wilt trample under thy horses feet this weake and languishing body, to whom thou owest both thy birth and thy Crowne. Perseus as furious as he was, yet was detained by those words: but the Arabians passing the bounds of their wonted bru∣tality and ordinary barbarisme, hurried him away farre from Andromeda, and enforc'd him to keepe on his journey. His Mother seeing her selfe so ill respected, with much difficulty returned to the City, and relating to me in what ill case our affaires stood, found no kinde of comfort but in bewailing the absence of Almanzor. In the meane time a great number of those Arabian theeves which wander up and downe Africa, hea∣ring Benin was besieg'd, ran thither for pillage. I, who foresaw the lamentable successe of that warre, shipp'd Andromeda, Iphidamanta, the Nunnes, and other chiefe Ladies of Benin, to the number of towards eight hundred, and sent them downe the River to a fortresse, which for its being built on a rock encompassed by the Sea, hath by our Predecessors beene called the Palace of Safety. Within a few dayes after the towne was taken (through the trechery of some Arabians who dwelt in it) and I reduc'd to a condition more miserable then death it selfe. I presented my selfe to my ingratefull Perseus assoone as he entred the towne, and opening my breast, Sheathe here, (said I to him) sheathe here, barbarian, the murtherous steele which reekes yet with thy brothers bloud. I deserve that punishment, since I am the author of thy life; and I beg it from thee as a favour, rather then to see thee cut the throats of so many innocents, for whose preservation thou art bound to expose, nay to lose thine owne life. The inraged Perseus was about to grant my request, but as he lifted his arme, a white Slave which Alman∣zor had given me, stept before me, and with his Symeter strooke Perseus such a blow on the head, that he fell from his horse; and presently addressing his speech to that wretches Souldiers: Come ye infamous and cruell rabble, (cried he) come and imbrew in my bloud your hands accustomed to so many murthers. Imitate your accursed Lea∣der, and permit not vertue to be one sole minute in safety before you. The unnaturall Perseus is not content to have drench'd his ponyard in the breast of Almanzor, but he would have the King his father try the same steele, and that his rage should be glutted on him, since it could not be satiated on his brother. But heaven cannot suffer these hor∣rible murders. It makes use of the most weake instruments to instruct us, that it can at pleasure confound the malice of the most strong, and is continually the avenger of un∣fortunate parents. This Slaves speech had beene powerfull enough to have mitigated Lions and Tigers, had they beene capable of understanding; but it wrought nothing on mine enemies. They fell on that trusty and generous Slave, ran him through and through, and after they had hack'd him in peeces, tooke up Perseus who was sorely wounded, and to make my thraldome more ignominious, loaded me with irons, and so brought me back to the palace. There was I strictly guarded till Perseus was healed. Some few dayes after by his command, I was taken out of prison, and brought to the Isle we came from. 'Tis three months since I arriv'd, and was already resolv'd to end my miserable life there, without laying the fault on any other then my self, or bewailing any of my losses but that of my deare Andromeda. This morning, walking by the Sea side, I saw those men land whom you have parted. They had order to kill me, but there was one∣ly one part who came to execute that barbarous command. Of thirty (which they were) fifteene of them intended (as they told me) not onely to save my life, but to take me out of that desolate Island, and carry me either into Congo or Guinea. Assoone as they came on shoare, they hastned to me, and made knowne Perseus command. But when they were all come to the place where you found them, those who had agreed to save my life, put themselves before me, and made knowne their resolution to their Companions. That made them enemies, and brought on the Combat which you have ended. In these few words (brave Knight) you have the recitall of my long afflictions: I can accuse none but my selfe for them. Perseus their author, is lesse guilty then I. My negligences, my flatteries, and my blinde affection have beene the fosterers of that young mans most vicious inclinations, and bred him up in the practise of all wickednesse. Finish then, O heaven, finish my punishment! adde new torments to those I have suf∣fered! I will accept them with thanks, provided they satisfie thy Justice, and that they

be great enough to expiate the offences I have committed either by my selfe or the to be deplored Perseus. Abrinzias could not make an end without teares: for notwith∣standing his great courage, and the intire resignation he made appeare, yet was he af∣flicted; not with the thought of his miseries, but the griefe for deserving them. Po∣lexander to wipe off his teares, gave his word not to forsake him, till he had brought Perseus to an accompt, and made him quit the throne he had so brutishly usurped. These promises might have comforted some other unfortunate Prince, but they could worke nothing with Abrinzias. He continually call'd to minde the ill breeding of his Son, and repenting his more care taken for his fortune then vertue, lifted every mo∣ment his eyes to heaven, and begg'd from thence afflictions proportionable to the enor∣mity of his offences. Polexander, thinking it was impossible to stop this torrent, let it run over with all its violence; and when he saw a remarkeable diminution, My Lord, (said he to Abrinzias) you are not the sole father which resents the impiety and fury of his children. The King of Morocco for being too indulgent like you, hath as you, lost his Crownes and liberty. The undutifull Nephisus hath no lesse attempted against him then Perseus against you; but by some mysteries which are not knowne but above, that Prince in striving to satisfie his lascivious desires, is falne under the avenging sword of your deare Almanzor. Doubt not then, but Perseus leading the same life will meet the like end, if heaven touch not his heart and draw him from this obduratenesse. Let's hence presently (if you will be advis'd by me) and suffer not your subjects, and (may be) your Queene to be any longer expos'd to the fury of that unnaturall Son. Abrinzias thought he resisted the will of heaven in not consenting to Polexander, and therefore besought him to do what he thought fittest. Polexander, who had businesse otherwhere, presently commanded his Mariners to steere for Benin, and in the meane while con∣sulted with Abrinzias, but farre more with himselfe, to finde meanes for the speedy terminating the warre betwixt the father and the son, and redeeme his Sister from those barbarous parts. Two dayes was he in these consultations, and the third he de∣scried the rock on which was seated the Palace of Safety. When he was neere enough to distinguish of objects, he perceiv'd the rock to be inviron'd with a great many little boates. He shew'd it Abrinzias, and told him that Perseus for certaine had besieg'd the place. With that he went throughout his ship, and commanded his Gunners to shoote betwixt winde and water, and not make an unprofitable shoote. Next he gave order amongst his Souldiers, and giving them advantagious and thick plancks, with holes in the middle for their shot to play through, told them for their incouragement, they were to fight but with poore Arabians and other vagabonds, which had neither skill to de∣fend themselves, nor courage to assaile any resolute Souldiers. After he had fitted all, he return'd to Abrinzias, and unperceivably getting him into his Cabin, there left him when they were ready to fall on. The Enemy no sooner descryed his great vessell but they thought themselves lost. Their confusion was great, but nothing in comparison with that the Cannon made when it began to thunder amongst them. The more vali∣ant made a little resistance, but the one halfe part of them being slaine, and the rest mightily terrified, they abandoned their boates and the Siege, and retir'd towards Be∣nin. Perseus hastning along with the run-awayes, strove to get to the City; yet could not make so much haste but the rumour of it was quicker, which had publisht in Benin, how Almanzor was return'd with a mighty Army to reestablish Abrinzias in his throne, to free the Queene his mother, and to punish Perseus his rebellion. These newes being easily beleev'd, because they were exceedingly long'd for, put generous resolutions into the inhabitants of Benin. They all instantly tooke armes, and making the word Liber∣ty to resound againe, hack'd in pieces those whom Perseus had left them in Garrison, and shut their gates against him when he would have entred Benin. Polexander in the meane time with winde and tide at will came up the River even to the towne, and be∣ing taken for Almanzor, was invited to enter, by the shouts and acclamations of all the people. Abrinzias presently coming out of his Cabin, was acknowledg'd & receiv'd by his Subjects with all the demonstrations of love & joy, which the returne of so good a King could cause in his people. In the most convenient place he landed and followed by Po∣lexander and all his, ascended (without effusion of bloud) the throne which Perseus had

besmear'd with so many massacres. Polexander leaving him there, got together some thousand or twelve hundred men of the towne, and joyning them to his owne Compa∣ny, (few, but invincible) went and charg'd Perseus before he was recover'd from his astonishment. He defeated the remainder of his Arabians, and as he pursued those that fled, Perseus was brought to him all bloudy and distracted. Those by whom he was ta∣ken had disarm'd him, and minding more his rebellion then his birth, dragg'd him along as an offender ready to be sacrific'd to the publique vengeance. Polexander made them give over their violences, and desir'd to consider and looke on the Prince, to see whether he might so come to know whence proceeded the irregularity of his minde. Soone he perceiv'd that Perseus had nought in him of those famous ambitious ones, which have introduc'd into the world (amongst others) this pernicious Maxime, that all lawes whatsoever are to be violated for a Kingdome. On the contrary, he found in him a great deale of weakenesse and stupidity. His looke or countenance was rather that of a thiefe which feares the hangman, then of one valiantly ambitious who can indure no Superiour. Polexander, who would have setled him, and had an intent to subdue his barbarous disposition; bid him be of good courage, and expect from the King his fathers goodnesse, that pardon which he had obtain'd from him as often as he had desir'd it. When by this speech he had a little recollected his spirits, he brought him to the Palace, and thinking it not fit to present him to Abrinzias, left him in his lodging in the keeping of Alcippus and Diceus. That done, he went to the King and coming up to him with the mirthsomenesse of a man that brings good newes, You have no more enemies, said he, nor will the Arabians any more vaunt the devastation of your Coun∣trey. Abrinzias at those words waxing pale, But what is become (said he) of the unfor∣tunate Perseus? He is out of danger (replied Polexander) and could you but worke so much on your selfe as not to see him yet these fifteene dayes, I am perswaded you would finde a great alteration in him. I can do more then that (replied the King) for a farre lesse happinesse then what you propose to me. Leave then (said Polexander) the ma∣naging of a businesse so nice as this is to me. Send you (if you please) to the Queene the while, and advertise her of your returne, and let me goe my selfe to conduct her from a place, where she cannot have beene so long without a great deale of inconveniency. Abrinzias after many thanks and excuses, gave way to Polexanders request, and went along himselfe with the Prince, to the place where he was to imbarke for the Fort of Safety. Our Heroe tooke none with him save his owne servants, but Gartias the Casti∣lian, and arriv'd the same day at the Fortresse. When they within had notice that he came from Abrinzias, he had freedome of entrance; and being brought before Andro∣meda, he accosted her with that grace and sweetnesse, which instantly made him ever to command o're those minds that were the most untractable. Madam, (said he) I bring your Majesty such newes as questionlesse will be most welcome to you. The King is in the City of Benin, and in that little time since he returned, hath not onely inforc'd his enemies to raise their siege from before this place, but defeated them in the open field, and may now say, there is no King of Benin but himselfe. Andromeda receiv'd this newes as she ought, but the remembrance of her Son repelling that joy which had seis'd her: What (said she) poore Perseus is then falne with those traitors that ruin'd him? Heaven loves you too well (replied Polexander) to afflict your Majesty with so dismall an accident. Perseus is safe, and if it be true that maladies are ordinarily cured by their contraries, your Majesty may hope that your Son will finde his recovery in his adverse fortune, since his prosperity hath beene the cause of his ruine. Whilst Polexander was talking thus, Iphidamanta (in spight of her selfe) kept her eyes fix'd on him; and thinking she knew him, blushed and grew pale almost altogether. For himselfe, he knew her at first, and had much adoe to containe himselfe, and make his affection give place to his respect. Iphidamanta who passionately lov'd her brother, came neerer An∣dromeda, and scarce being able to speake, Madam (said she) you would never pardon me the fault I should commit, if I conceal'd my joy any longer, and did not tell you that Abrinzias Embassadour is my brother. At which newes Andromeda's overjoyed∣nesse was no lesse then Iphidamanta's. She saluted Polexander as a King, and retir'd with her Ladies, to give the brother and sister leave to witnesse to one another the con∣tentment

they receiv'd in that happy meeting. Assoone as their first transports and mutuall imbracings were ended, Andromeda came againe to Polexander, and presen∣ting Iphidamanta to him, I restore to you (said she) this amiable one halfe of my selfe, but give me to tell you, 'tis with a great deale of griefe. This Princesse vertues, and her attractive wit, are the happinesse of all that know them; and I confesse to you, though my afflictions have beene extraordinary, yet through her company I have not almost beene sensible of them. Both my sister and my selfe (replied Polexander) are infinitely obliged to that extreame goodnesse wherewithall you hindred the sequell of our mis∣fortunes. I say ours, Madam, because those of my sister being farre more mine then mine owne, you have made me happy in not permitting her to be disastrous. Andro∣meda replied to these complements. Iphidamanta thereto added, with a great deale of wit; and Polexander who was as well the example of courtesie as valour, made the Queene confesse, she had never knowne two so perfect and so like. Her content yet was cross'd by her longing to see Abrinzias; and the tide no sooner began to make the River navigable, but she went aboord Polexanders ship with Iphidamanta and all her Ladies; and by the favour of a fresh gale; came the next day to the King her hus∣band. That good King, after he had long held her in his embraces; My deare wife, (said he) for your seeing me againe after so cruell an exile, for your Enemies defeate, for your owne Liberty, for being unpersecuted againe by Perseus, and (if it so happen) for the finishing the rest of our dayes in peace, you must attribute it, and give thanks for it to this invincible Knight. You should say King (said Andromeda.) I see well, you are ignorant of the Author of your happinesse, and therefore you seeme to be yet in doubt of the truth of such things as he hath done. But your doubts and astonishments will end when you know this is Polexander, the Conquerour of so many Nations, whom heaven, good and mercifull, hath as it were miraculously sent to save at once the father, the mo∣ther, the son and their kingdome. Abrinzias, ravish'd at so rare an adventure, in stead of congratulating with Polexander, addressed himselfe to the Princesse his Sister, and spoake to her all that a wise and gratefull Prince could expresse on so extraordinary an occasion. The time for rest separating these Princes and Princesses, Polexander with∣drew to his lodging and went to Perseus, who during his absence had beene kept rather like a sick Prince then a captive Enemy. He related to him all that had pass'd, and lay∣ing before him the excessive goodnesse of Abrinzias and Andromeda, assured him of a generall pardon from them, and to restore him to their loves, assoone as he should make knowne he desired it. That black and brutish soule was no way mov'd with these hopes. On the contrary, he became the more proud and savage, and shewing his stupidity by his reply, answer'd Polexander, that he was not so guilty, but that he should be better used then hee was; and that the King and Queene did so little affect him, as they would bee glad of his death to establish Almanzor in the throne. You little know (said Polexander) either of their inclinations; and that's your misery: for your perni∣cious Counsellours had never wonne you to those facts you have committed, if you had not beene absolutely ignorant who they were against whom they perswaded you to turne you Armes. Now, since you finde to your displeasure how detestable their coun∣sels were, I intreat you to hearken to better, and to fit you for it, I will cure you of that jealousie which your selfe confessed to me hath beene the cause of all your unrulinesse: Know, that Almanzor is not your brother, and the King your father never intended for his sake to deprive you of what is yours by birthright. Almanzor is borne King of many kingdomes, Guinea, Melly, Senega, and many other Territories watered by the River Niger, already acknowledge him for their Lord. Leave then your envy and cho∣ler, and acknowledging the offences your flatterers have made you perpetrate, goe and cast your selfe at the King and Queenes feet, and beseech them (now you ought no more to wrong them) to continue the testimonies of their love and clemency. Perseus by this was not wholly converted, but at last he made shew he was likely to be so. Po∣lexander, who was not wont to conquer by halves, redoubled his perswasions, added consideration to consideration, and so lively imprinted in Perseus thought the feare of losing both Crowne and life, if he did not reconcile himselfe to his father, that he promis'd him to submit to all he would command him. Our Heroe to continue and

confirme him in that minde, lay with him, and handled him with that dexterity, as I might say he tamed him; and by the vertue of his eloquence made a man of a furious beast. The next day he would needs see whether Perseus were constant in his good re∣solution, and finding him absolutely setled, went to carry Abrinzias and Andromeda the best newes they could ever receive. There needed no choise words to perswade them. Those who love well, are easily wonne to believe such things as are advantageous to what is beloved. Polexander seeing in them an intire disposition to resettle him in their favours, went to fetch him, and instructing him by the way of what, he had to do, brought him to Abrinzias and Andromeda. Presently he fell at their feet, and speak∣ing onely by his teares, made appeare by their excesse that they were not counterfeit. The King and Queene being as unable to speake as he, fell on his neck, and wept so long, that Polexander was compelled to stop that overflowing of naturall love. Abrinzi∣as recollected himselfe, and addressing him to our Heroe, There remain'd (said he) onely this miracle for you to doe, to take you wholly from the condition of men. Yes Polexander, you are something more; and I shall not thinke I blaspheme, should I say that heaven seem'd to have given you a nature more approaching its owne then is that of mankinde. And to remarke and consider things well, who would beleeve, without beleeving you a Semi-god, that in so little time you have beene able to cure a spirit in∣fected with so many distemperances, as they were judg'd incurable, so inveterate were they? With that he fell againe on his Son, and bedewing him againe with his teares, Arise my Son, said he, and let us together give this Prince the thanks he meriteth from our acknowledgement. 'Tis he truly that should be called thy father. I have given thee so ill a birth, as I confesse thou hast cause to hate me; and Polexander having al∣ter'd thee as he hath done, hath given thee one so transcendent, that he binds thee to serve him more then thine owne father. Andromeda interrupting the King her hus∣band, made appeare by her discourse that a mother speakes from the intrails, and that their affections are more quick and tender then those of the father. This private recon∣ciliation being ended, Abrinzias desired the joy for it might be publique. He com∣manded therefore all his Subjects to give thanks to heaven, for so many happinesses be∣falne him in so small time, and for the better example, he himself went on foote from his Palace to the great Temple of Benin. Perseus was betwixt him and Polexander, and drew on him the benedictions even of those who not long before with just cause had ardently besought heaven for the punishment of his offences. Andromeda and Cydaria came after the three Princes, and were followed by all the Court and people. These actions of piety being ended, they proceeded to their rejoycings. The City and Court of Benin were two Theaters, where many dayes together was presented, all that a hearty joy was able to be made invented by men endowed with the greatest happinesse. Their joyes were increased by the newes Abrinzias receiv'd from Zabaim; and but for Po∣lexander and Cydaria's departure they had farre longer continued. Osmin and his La∣dy imbark'd with their deere daughter, and though they promis'd to themselves farre lesse then they should have expected from Polexanders noblenesse, yet they were con∣fident that after so many troubles and agitations their old age would at last finde a safe harbour. Our Heroe in that voyage found, that fortune is not lesse inconstant in her hatred then in her love. He sail'd along all the coast of Guinea with as favourable a gale as he could wish, and assoone as he needed it, the winde which was Easterly changed and became South. Whilst he went off from the Continent to get to the Isles of Cape Verd, he entertain'd himselfe sometimes with Cydaria, sometimes with Osmin, and then with the Castilian Gartias. But these diversions were not prevalent enough to master his longings. Alcippus who knew his melancholy, besought him to remember the promises which so many eminent and extraordinary men had made him; and to beleeve that at last Alcidiana's Isle would be no longer Inaccessible to him. I will no more flatter my selfe with these vaine hopes, replied Polexander. All thy false Pro∣phets (my friend) have in their predictions consulted with no other heavens or Stars then our two desires. In this only they have beene good Divines; they have foreseene, that to please me, they must necessarily deceive me. They have done't; and simple as I am, I have contributed as much as they to that delusion. Thou seest too Alcippus what

is come of it. I am brought to that passe as not to dare even to attempt such things as seeme not to me absolutely impossible. Sir, said Osmin, whilst you give way to such a timerous and distrustfull passion as love is, you shall be perpetually assaulted with new troubles and new feares. I have seene Almanzor in his fits. I have mark'd how he tor∣mented himselfe even then when he had cause to thinke him very happy; and by that great example, I have knowne, that Lovers are a particular kinde of men which are con∣demn'd to deceive themselves eternally. Adde to it (said Polexander) and to passe their whole lives in effective paines and imaginary pleasures. This discourse had continued longer, but Osmins Lady came to them much troubled, and said in an affrighted man∣ner that Cydaria was extreamely sick. Polexander ran to the Princesse Cabin, and found her not much better then Osmins wife related. She had neither pulse nor heate, and her eyes halfe turn'd in her head witness'd how much nature was oppressed. She was almost five or sixe howres in these imperfect convulsions, and but for Dicens remedies she had not (may be) gotten out of them. He imployd all his skill for her comfort, but all he did could not take away the disease. When she had recover'd her senses, and overcome the malignity of such vapours as infected the heart, she fell into a violent fe∣ver. After three dayes Diceus judged by the redoublings, it would be very dangerous and long; and besought the King his Master (to avoid the danger wherein the Princesse his Sister was) to land on the first Isle he should discover. Polexander oppos'd not so good an advise. He was too good a brother, not to lay by all his own occasions for the preservation of his Sister. He made his will knowne to the Pilot, and the next day he cast anchor in a roade of an Isle which some Geographers put amongst the Hesperides. Presently he sent some of his Officers ashoare, with all was needfull to lodge, and him∣selfe landing, set up his pavilions in a very commodious place. That done, he went for Cydaria, and causing her to be very gently brought on shore, carried her into the Tent he had provided for her. For seven or eight dayes he stirr'd not farre from the sick La∣dy. But seeing her fever begin to yeeld to Diceus experience, he walk'd into the Island with Alcippus, Osmin and Gartias. One part of it he discover'd, and finding no other Inhabitants there but wilde beasts; (to passe away the time) he began to make warre with them. Almost every day he came to a wood which was not above three short miles from his tents, and under pretext of hunting, got away apart to meditate more at liber∣ty. Now one day straying too farre in the wood, he was faine to passe there all the night. After he had long ruminated on his misfortunes, he lay downe and slept at the foot of a tree, but startlingly awaking, he thought that he heard some one bewailing, to which lending an eare, he heard these words: Weary thy selfe at last with so much unprofitable sorrow, and leave all sighes and teares to those which are unhappy, but not desperate like thy selfe. If thou couldest one day finde some remedy for the malady whereof thou so much languishest, I would advise thee to endure longer, and enterprise nothing against thy life. But since the gods and men are incapable of comforting thee; breake through this hard straite, and at last give over the being an uselesse Spectator of thy Princesse miseries. What sayest thou cowardly and disloyall Enemy to thy duty? Wouldst thou (to free thy selfe from the paines thou indurest) abandon a personage which should be more deare to thee then thy selfe? Live then, since thou canst not dye without being perfidious: but live as an offender should, who onely knowing his of∣fence, is also alone both his owne Judge and hangman, and boldly executes on himselfe the punishment to which he is by his owne conscience condemned. The man had no sooner ended his lamenting, but he arose and made thence so fast, that Polexander could not stay him. He therefore ran after, and often call'd to get him tarry. But all his hal∣lowing and calling was as bootelesse as his footing. At last, wearied with so long and vaine a walke, he lay downe againe under a tree till 'twas day. O how to his content did he imploy that time! He thought continually on faire Alcidiana. He blest his la∣bours, since they proceeded from so noble a cause. He wish'd he might yet endure more; and pondering every foote the sentence of death she had pronounc'd against him: By what action, illustrious enough, (said he) faire Alcidiana, can I merit the punishment wherewithall your goodnesse rather then your Justice will recompence my most humble servitude? Why am I not permitted to finde a way to attaine to that supreame

happinesse? But, miserable vagabond that I am, I may well wish, and make knowne my longings, but I shall never obtaine the favour of dying before her faire eyes! By this time 'twas day, yet was it not able to bring Polexander out of his meditations. Alcippus after his searching for him all night, by chance found him and disturbed his cogitations. Presently he arose and returned to his tents, where he found a great a∣mendment in his Sister; and to divert her, recounted the adventure he had met with∣all. Cydaria tooke pleasure in it, and wish'd him to send five or sixe men into that wood to discover the aboade of that unfortunate man which had such brave thoughts. Polexander having spent almost all the day with her, withdrew, and accompanied with Alcippus and Gartias, return'd to the wood with an intent to lye there once more rather then not satisfie his curiosity. He came to the same place (at least he thought so) where he had heard him he sought after, and passing through many pathes, at last met with an alley so covered that in the greatest heate of day, there was coolenesse enough not to be incommodated under so burning a climate. When he came to the end of it he saw the Sea, and perceived two women which with a slow pace were walking on the sands. He would have gone to them, but assoone as he was discover'd, one of them began to cry out as loud as she could, and drawing her Companion after her, made her run whether she would or no. Polexander seeing it, stopp'd short. Presently there ap∣pear'd at the end of the alley a man, who going right to the women, and understanding from them the cause of their flight, straight left them, and came towards our Heroe with his sword drawne, who put himselfe in a posture to receive him. But assoone as he was neere enough to be knowne, he gave a great shout, and running to him with open armes, shew'd an extraordinary contentment in meeting him. The other instantly cast downe his sword, and imbracing our Heroe with a gentilenesse and meekenesse shew∣ing his admirable temper: Doe you (said he) yet know an unfortunate man, who had beene more so then he is, but for your exceeding pity? Polexander imbracing him a∣gaine, By what chance (said he) doe I meet you in a place so farre distant from that where I thought you? When I left you (replied the other) my intent was to get to this Island, where I found the party I sought: but to the end you may know my com∣plaints have beene alwayes just, come and see how extraordinary their cause is. With that he tooke up his sword, and led Polexander to the place where the two women were retired. When he came neere them, he addressed his speech to the youngest, and before Polexander saluted her: Madam, (said he) here is that Prince, without whose help I had never had the happinesse of seeing you againe. This is he of whom I have so often spoken to you, and whose misfortunes are able in their repetition to put off a while the feeling of your owne. At those words the Lady lifted up her eyes, and Polexander noted, that though they were very faire, yet she was blinde. He made no shew of re∣marking it, but admir'd her wit and judgement by the Speech she made him: At least he who was her Interpreter, spake in her name so excellently to our Heroe, that he was ravish'd at it; and witness'd it aloud by the answer he made her, and intreated his friend to interpret. This intertainement having lasted above a quarter of an howre, the faire blinde Lady stood a while silent, and thinking it time to retire, tooke leave of the two friends, and left them in an equall admiration of her vertue, and almost a like sorrow for her misfortune. Polexanders griefe was on the point of breaking out, but seeing the plenty of teares which fell from his friends eyes, he suppressed his owne compassion, that he might not increase the others sorrow, and be inhumane, by being desirous to appeare sensible. You should (said he) accustome your selfe to your misery, and thinke for your consolation that it is farre lesse then you imagine it, since you have recovered the best part of what you thought was all lost. I should be ingratefull (replied Zelmatida) both towards the gods and Izatida too if I did not confesse, I am infinitely bounden to them, and that they have extended their excessive bounty in that which concernes my owne person. Nor is it mine owne mishap I bewaile. 'Tis Izatida's misery that drawes these teares from mine eyes, and forbids me the sensibility of that contentment which is gi∣ven me by the happinesse of seeing her againe. No, no, Izatida, I shall never be happy whilst thou art not so; and the pleasure of being neere thee will never have power enough over me, to divert those sorrowes which thy blindnesse hath cast upon me. How

doe I abhorre thee, thou accursed aboade, which hast for ever clouded with darknesse the onely light of my soule! Those last words touching Polexander in a particular man∣ner, O heaven, cried he, where is my minde, and what is become of my memory? With that he left Zelmatida, and running to Gartias, was a while talking with him: which done, he return'd to Zelmatida, and shewing by his countenance, he brought him good newes: I have call'd to minde one thing (said he) which may (if the heavens will so fa∣vour you) make a great alteration in your fortune. But not to give you any hopes, which proving false, may make you more afflicted then you are; goe to Izatida, and intreate her she will make triall of a remedy which comes from that very place where she lost her sight. How Polexander! (replied Zelmatida) that cannot bee a remedy coming from so venimous a place, 'tis rather some new poyson, which doubtlesse will cause me to lose the remainder of Izatida. I do not condemne your feare, (said Polexan∣der) but I will accuse you for not contributing all that you can for your owne comfort, if you doe not hazard on my word, a remedy, which can do Izatida no other wrong then to leave her as she is. Zelmatida, loath to contradict Polexander, for feare of fayling Izatida, and hu•…•…ing himselfe, went to the Princesse, and besought her by the greatnesse of her courage and excesse of her patience, to try a remedy which Polexander had propos'd to him for infallible. You both deserve (said she) that I should give you that vaine contentment. Yes Zelmatida, you shall have your request. Give your reme∣dy to my Governesse, and I promise you, this night we will make experiment of it. Zelmatida hereupon return'd to Polexander, and he had scarce told him that Izatida had yeelded to his petition, but Gartias came to them with a violl of very cleare water. He had beene at Polexanders ship to make the receipt, and omitted nothing of what he had seene practis'd by the Savages of the new world. He instructed the Prince how he should apply that water, and so gave it him; who presently went to Izatida's lodging, and suffer'd himselfe to be so flatter'd by his owne desires, that forgetting quite what he had spoken against that remedy, he durst assure Izatida, that it would infallibly restore her sight. She smil'd at his credulity, and to send him away satisfied, you shall see to morrow (said she) the operation of your medicine. Zelmatida straight gave the old Mexican the violl, and conjur'd her with an extreame affection that she would not faile to put some of that water on Izatida's eyes so soone as she should be laid. The gods grant (said the Mexican) that your medicine have as much vertue as I will have care in applying it. Thereupon the Princesse bad•…•… him good night, and prepar'd her self though she hoped for nothing from it, to suffer the incommodity which accompanies all kinde of medicines. Zelmatida the meane while came back to Polexander, and earnestly in∣treated, to tell him from whom he had his receipt, and what assurance he had of its vertue. Our Heroe who knew by his owne experience, how dangerous and cruell it is to give false hopes to those which are (as it were) accustomed to hope for nothing: Be∣fore I will satisfie your curiosity, (said he) let us see what effect the water hath. If it have good successe, Gartias shall give you all the light of it you can desire; if not, you may well passe by the knowing the particularities of a thing which hath but wrong'd you. But Polexander (replied Zelmatida) if this remedy should have the vertue of re∣storing the sight, if it could cure Izatida, how happy should I be, and how great my ob∣ligation to your assistance? Truly I will presently ingage my selfe, to raise to you in Cusco a Temple even more stately then that of the Sun, and to make your name as ve∣nerable amongst our Nation, as the names of those whom they adore. Yes Polexander, you shall be a Deity to me, and in all places where Fortune leads me, I will leave eter∣nall remembrances of your blessed act and my acknowledgement. Our Heroe inter∣rupting Zelmatida, What (said he) are you not afraid that the jealous Deity which heares you should punish your impiety? and to be avenged on your Idolatry, suspend not the vertue of that remedy whereof it is the Author? Zelmatida affrighted with these menaces, intreated Polexander to appease the anger of that Deity, and obtaine the remission of his offence, since he had committed it out of ignorance. This confession (replied Polexander) will be of more efficacy then my prayers. Before that Power which is not lesse pitifull then jealous, he may be term'd innocent who repents for his misdeed. Go on in it, and resigning your selfe to the will of that Soveraigne Being

which is solely to be adored, be assured your fortunes and my remedy will have a happy successe. Zelmatida, converted by this Speech, solemnely renounc'd his zeale to all his imaginary Divinities, and made a vow, if Izatida recover'd her sight, for ever to adore that Deity which Polexander had learnt him. This while it grew to be night, and that parted the two Princes. Zelmatida went to Izatida's Co•…•…e, and was all night waiting about the doore, not daring (so respectfull he was) to inquire of that which he expected with so much impatiency. Polexander who long'd as much as he, passed all the night very restlesse, and returned the next day to heare newes of his Receipt. He found Zel∣matida softly walking and attending the howre of the Princesse waking. They conti∣nued their walke together, and their discourse having brought them into a geeat alley which was right against Izatida's lodge, there they made some turnes. At the fourth, they saw the Princesse come forth. She held the old Mexican by the band, and leant on the head of little Galtazis. At which sight Zelmatida became cold and wanne, and scarce being able to stand, Alas! Polexander, said he, your remedy hath beene no bet∣ter then the rest, and that Deity whom I have offended, will not have thanks from a tongue so prophane as mine. Izatida is as she was yesterday. You imagine all that you say, (replied Polexander) let's goe neere and see whether your feares and griefes are just or no. Zelmatida would have walk'd, but his legs so trembled under him that he was forc'd to leane against a tree, and do Polexander what he could to resettle him, yet his fainting still increased. By little and little he lost all sense, and so swounded and fell downe on the grasse. Alcippus and Diceus ran to Polexanders call, and went for water to recover Zelmatida. Galtazis perceiving the stirre, imagin'd straight what the mat∣ter was. Something (said he to the Princesse) is misbefalne Zelmatida. All his friends are troubled, and run (questionlesse) for some remedy. I infinitely bewaile that poore Prince, said Izatida. The agitations which his heate of spirit brings on him, are the onely enemies which he yet could never vanquish. But let us not suffer him longer in paine since we canfree him from it. With that she kept on her way, and came to the Prince before Diceus had recover'd him from his swound. Polexander who was on his knees to hold up the others head, arose when he saw the Princesse within some twenty paces of him, and going to meet her, noted so much neatnesse and grace in her dres∣sing, that he conjectur'd what was betided. She had on a robe and bodies of those faire Mexican stuffes which by the shadowings of feathers mingled with silver and gold threads resembled to the life all kinde of flowers. [This garment after the fashion of Mexico came but to the halfe of her leg, which had nothing on but buskins imbroide∣red with pearles and rubies.] Her sleeves were of a kinde of silver tiffany cut in bands, and joyn'd together with Diamond buttons. Her breast was cover'd with a very thin and white cobweb Lawne, on which her haire waved black and full. Her head dressing not so rich as delicate, was of ropes of pearle and plumes, which making a kinde of crowne on the top of her head, fell backward and on the sides with so much gracefulnesse, that it seem'd to make Art dispute with Nature for those advantages she had bestow'd on that Princesse. Polexander could not looke on her without admiration, and did to her the same civilities he would have done if he had certainely knowne she was not blinde. But being not able to make himselfe understood, he spake to her by signes, and invited her to goe neerer the Prince. Garruca who was come to aide his Master, perceiving the Princesse so adorn'd: My Lord (cried he in Zelmatida's eare) open your eyes, and see the wondrous remedy which heaven hath sent you. O what happy moments do you lose! Izatida bade Garruca be silent, and inly touch'd with the Princes affliction, Must (said she very softly) this Prince be for ever in woe and misery, and must that which he most wisheth for, no lesse torment him then what he most feares? With that she intreated Garruca to let her know how this fit befell his Master, and he having heard it from Po∣lexander, Madam, (said he) assoone as my Master saw you betweene Mexiqua and Gal∣tazis, he thought Polexanders receipt had taken no effect, and that beliefe brought him into the case you now see him. Izatida answered not Garruca, but turning away her head strove to hide those teares which just pity drew from her eyes. In the meane time Diceus with much pains got Zelmatida's spirits from their deep dulnesse, and gave them part of their usuall function. The Prince opening his mouth sooner then his eyes, let

them know by a confused talking what disorder'd things (during his fainting) had pre∣sented themselves to his sick imagination. 'Tis then resolv'd (said he) that your faire eyes shall be for ever shut up in darkenesse, and that my soule which had no other day but what it receiv'd thence, must vainely hope to see the period of that night where∣with it is inveloped. O thou Prophet of my misfortunes, how true are thy predictions! and what monstrous Imposters were they, who assured me that I should one day re∣cover that treasure which Quasmez hath lost! Thou seest not at all, Izatida, and perfidi∣ous that I am, I take pleasure in light. Garruca hindring the prosecution of his dis∣course; My Lord, (said he) come out of those imaginations wherein your misfortune retaines you; come to your selfe, and looke on the Princesse who assures you of her re∣covery. Those words wrought so great an effect on Zelmatida's spirit, that he arose, and perceiving Izatida, cast himselfe at her feet, to render thanks for her care of him. The Princesse raysing him, At last (said she) your prayers have beene heard, and Polexanders remedy hath restor'd you that sight which you have so long wish'd for. I see Zelmatida, and to witnesse how deare all is to me that concernes you, I have dressed my selfe ex∣presly to bring you that good newes. Doe you then see Madam? (said Zelmatida) O that happinesse is too great to be believ'd. With that he grew pale, and his excesse of joy causing new troubles in his spirit, depriv'd him instantly of his sight, strength and knowledge, and so he fell againe into his former fainting. But since the resentments occasioned by griefe, grapple more strongly with our soules then those of joy; Zelma∣tida was lesse while in this swoune then in the former. He came absolutely to himselfe; and looking on Polexander, with eyes which were not onely witnesses but Compani∣ons of his contentment: Yes, (said he) you shall have those Temples I promis'd you, and shall be adored as a Deity in all places where the Yuca's reigne over the minds of men. That Soveraigne Being, whose Justice you have made me feare, would be avenged of my ingratitude, if (having made me happy by your meanes) I should not looke on you as the Dispenser of its favours, and a supernaturall Instrument by which it worketh miracles. He gave not Polexander time to answer him, but return'd to Izatida, and spake to her words so neere approaching impiety, that she thought heaven would pu∣nish them by a second blindnesse, yea even by some worse chastisement. But that Eter∣nall providence which knowes all humane frailty, and hath suffer'd them, for the exer∣cise of its love and pity (which holds there the place of Justice) towards us mortals, would not punish such faults, as were more worthy compassion then anger. Yet would it by new disquiets which it cast into Zelmatida's thoughts, hinder the continuation of his errors, and temperate the excesse of his contentment. Scarce therefore had the Prince time to taste the joy he receiv'd in Izatida's recovery, but Quasmez afflictions & Xaira's captivity coming to his remembrance he fell into his former displeasures. He felt in himselfe, that he had not, either his violent griefe, or that urging despaire which Iza∣tida's blindnesse threw on him; yet he suffered very much, and the remembrance of Quasmez and his daughter tooke from him the most delectable sense of his felicity. Izatida tooke notice of this alteration, Polexander was too cleere sighted not to per∣ceive it, and the aged Mexiqua standing opposite to him, not onely had heard him sigh, but thought she had understood him pronounce the name of Quasmez. Presently she came to Izatida, and intimating she would discover some important secret to her. Give me audience (said she) and quickly preparing your selves to believe a verity which at first will seeme to you incredible, drive farre from you all heavinesse and griefes wherewithall an ancient error hath so many yeares crossed the happinesse of your dayes. And thou O Prince which art arriv'd to that fatall point, where thou shalt see the intire recompence of thy long fidelity, (with that she turn'd to Zelmatida) put an end to those conflicts which the love of Izatida, and thy hearty well-wishing to Quas∣mez renew in thy minde. I here make knowne, that you shall all three have your de∣sires; and that the same day wherein Izatida was to recover her •…•…ight, Quasmez was to have his daughter againe, and Zelmatida equally satisfie both the one and the other. Do not thinke I invent fine fictions to divert your sorrowes. If Montezuma were here, he would confirme what I tell you; and if you, Izatida, call to minde the last words of cruell

Hismelita, you will not doubt of the verity of mine. Is it not true, that a while after you were imprisoned in the lake of Mexico, she came to tell you, and calling you the fatall torch that should set all her Empire on fire: Goe (said she) thou stranger, goe, and lose thy life by other hands then mine, since the Power I worship will not have me imbrew them in thy bloud? This Speech savouring nought of a mother, how inhumane soever, makes it appeare plainely, that Hismelita never consider'd you otherwise then as an enemy on whom her gods would not permit her to be avenged. But I am too slow in contenting your longings, and publishing your happinesse. Know then that Izatida is the same Xaira, who being stolne away in her cradle by Montezuma's servants, was delivered to my custody assoone as she was brought to Mexico. Zelmatida heard this narration with such a trouble and such an over-joy, that after she had done, he thought he had dreamt of the wonders he had heard. He tried to speake, to intreate Mexiqua that shee would relate it him over againe, but hee could not frame a word; and a while stood so extreamely tortur'd with his happinesse that Polexander pittied him. For Izatida she shew'd her joy, (but with a great deale of moderation) for not being Montezuma's daughter, and lifting her eyes to heaven, her eyes that were not yet well accustomed to revive the light; O incomprehensible Wisdome (said she) which by admirable secrecies, and counsels of love and sweetnesse disposest soveraignely of all thy creatures fortunes; give thy selfe thanks for the benefits I have received thence; for I am as unable to doe it, as I was unworthy to receive them. These are effects of thy eternall power, which in one day hath redeem'd me out of all my blindnesses. I know now to whom I owe my life; and by that knowledge, see those feares dissipated which Hismelita's maledictions threw on me. I did ever believe (quoth Zelmatida, interru∣pting her) that weake Montezuma and cruell Hismelita had contributed nothing to your birth. She is too faire to come from them—As he was going on Izatida stopp'd him, and her goodnesse not induring any should speake ill, no not of her very enemies, Confesse (said she) that Montezuma hath been very mercifull, and Hismelita had much power over her selfe, since they suffered not themselves to be transported by the just causes they had to hate me; but rather chose to hazard their Crowne then deprive me of my life. 'Twas brutishnesse and superstition (replied Zelmatida) which restrain'd Hismelita's fury, or rather, 'tis the hand of all powerfull heaven, the Protector of In∣nocence which hath disarm'd that of our enemies. The threatnings they had from the mouth of their Prophets, were too terrible for Hismelita not to be affrighted at them, or not defist from her cruell resolution. I am obliged (said Izatida) to publish every where, that I doe not onely owe her my life, but the quality of Princesse, since she might (if she had listed) have given me no other breeding then the worst of her Slaves. Zelmatida perceiv'd well that he was not to goe further with that discourse. He there∣fore replied not out of respect and complaisancy, but turn'd to Polexander to invite him to take part in his joy. Our Heroe forgot his owne disasters, to be sensible of his friends contentment. Garruca had told him the cause in interpreting to him Mexiqua's nar∣ration, and wonne him to receive this great and good chance as a presage that he should not be alwaies unfortunate. Zelmatida discoursing a while with him, began againe to intertaine Izatida, and finding himselfe stung and put on by so•…•…e new desire which he durst not discover to the Princesse; to give her some notice of it, Doe not (said he) suffer a Prince and Princesse (to whom I owe almost as much as to your selfe) languish any longer. The good Quasmez is my father aswell as yours, and if the Queene your mother had not looked on me as her Son, the great Guina Capa would never have ac∣knowledged me for his. Your desires are just, (replied the Princesse) and mine which should have prevented them intreate their accomplishment. Restore to Quasmez that Xaira which hath cost you so much trouble, and hasten as much as you can to discharge your selfe of a burthen which should now begin to be troublesome unto you. Zelma∣tida had not beene without an answer on so faire an occasion, but that the Princesse (the second time) impos'd him silence. Polexander, unwilling to leave these lovers any longer in their great solitarinesse, invited them to walke to his 〈◊〉〈◊〉: and the more to egge on Izatida, told her (by Garruca) all that had betided him in the kingdome of

Benin, and the accident which had ingaged him •…•…o la•…•…d on t•…•… Island. No soo•…•… •…•…id she heare of Cydaria's sicknesse, but shewing her 〈◊〉〈◊〉 and 〈◊〉〈◊〉, 〈◊◊〉〈◊◊〉 goe with them and assist •…•…er. When she sa•…•… 〈◊〉〈◊〉 make so•…•… 〈◊〉〈◊〉 of •…•…i∣ving her proffer, she intreated 〈◊〉〈◊〉 to g•…•… •…•…is conse•…•…, •…•…o telling 〈◊〉〈◊〉 that his civilities were unjust, he obeyed after many 〈◊〉〈◊〉 •…•…o 〈◊◊〉〈◊◊〉. S•…•…e pass'd the way from her li•…•…le Cote to Cydaria's 〈◊〉〈◊〉 with an i•…•…edible co•…•…, •…•…d received a great deale more, when (after the fir•…•…t complement•…•…) she k•…•…w •…•…hat Cy∣daria was no lesse discreet then faire. Her arrivall gave so great comfort to the sick Lady, that after three or foure dayes of her company she found her selfe perfectly re∣cover'd. They were yet ten or twelve dayes together, and not onely tasted such in∣credible sweetnesse in their communication, but made the two Princes partake so much of it, that Polexander might have term'd himselfe happy, if he could have beene so, and beene out of hope of reseeing Alcidiana. Zelmatida (in the meane time) thought of his returne, and how extraordinary soever his joy was, he never gave him self so much absolutely over to it, but that he hast'ned his workemen to put his ship in case, to make once againe a voyage to the new world. But before he parted, he would needs try (by Polexanders meanes) an affaire, which he thought of himselfe he was not able to resolve on. To that end, he besought our Heroe, to fit his Sister so (by an Interpre∣ter) as she might sound into Izatida's minde, and (if it could be possible) get her a little to unfold her selfe. Polexander promis'd him to doe his utmost for his contentment; and indeed put it on so earnestly and with so much affection, that Cydaria yeelded to what he desired. One day therefore being with Izatida, she made her by little a•…•… little fall into Zelmatida's discourse, and passing from the greatnesse of her birth to that of her happinesse, told her that she wanted but two things to make her perfectly hap∣py. The one was, to be with her father and mother after so long an exile, and the other, to end her life in the company of Zelmatida. For the first, (replied Izatida) 'tis so necessary to my happinesse, that in fayling of that, I sh•…•…ll never be so. For the other, I confesse, that without ingratitude, I can finde nothing which should trouble me in the company of a personage, who for these five yeares hath done nothing, nor thought of nothing but for me. But when I call to minde, that to satisfie him, I must prepare my selfe to lose my parents, assoone as I have found them, I cannot be of your opinion. Izatida thus ended, when the two Princes came in where they were. At sight of them, she repented her of what she had said, for feare lest if Zelmatida should come to the knowledge of it, he might finde new cause of affliction. She was therefore desirous to prevent that mischiefe, and Polexander giving a faire occasion of explicating her thoughts: I take to witnesse (said she to Zelmatida) that Deity which with his presence fils all the parts of nature, that I wish your contentment with the same fervency of affection wherewithall I desire to see those who gave me life. Next to them two, you shall have the first place in my heart. I will beare you the same respect, and hold you in the like esteeme as Nature injoynes me for them: and promise you in presence of this Prince and Princesse, that I will beseech them (assoone as it shall be fitting) never to dispose of me, unlesse that disposition be first pleasing to you. Zelmatida transported with joy at such obliging promises, fell at Iza∣tida's feet, and I (said he) here sweare by the same Deity you invok'd, never to wish any thing more then to see you perfectly contented. Polexander and Cydaria, much pleased that their negotiation had so good an issue, congratulated with the one and the other the union of their affections. And would needs before they parted, celebrate the feast of these spirituall Nuptials. For two dayes together there was nothing else done: but on the third, a new sorrow succeeded their joy. They were to part. Po∣lexander and Zelmatida, though they were to take leave, never to see one another againe, found in their discretions, and in the strength of their soules, so much constan∣cy as was necessary for so cruell a separation. But the two Princesses being of a more milde nature, and lesse capable of a high resolution, had all the paines that could be to winne themselves to it. A hundred times they bad farewell, and as often weeping,

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renew'd the same •…•…ents, and had the same irresolutions. At last the winde, and the Mariners shouts, inviting both to their last Adieu•…•…, they imbrac'd one ano∣ther, and moystning their cheeks with their teares, bewaild as much as if they had beene to be led to their deaths. Polexander tooke his Sister out of Izatida's armes; and Zelmatida having lead his Princesse to the Sea, and then over a bridge the Mariners •…•…d made, the more easily to imbarke her: one same winde, separating the vessels of those foure admirable personages, Zelmatida steered West, and Polexander North-Easterly.

The end of the fourth Part of the third Booke.