Clelia, an excellent new romance the whole work in five parts, dedicated to Mademoiselle de Longueville / written in French by the exquisite pen of Monsieur de Scudery, governour of Nostredame de la Garde.

CLELIA. The First Part. BOOK III.

THe truth is, Herminius in carrying Hora∣tius back to Ardes, went from-wards Rome with extreme repugnancy; for since Aronces was to be there, he could say that all the object of his friendship and love, was there also; for he had a most passionate affection to the place, he had a Mother there whom he most dear∣ly loved, and he had a friend there in the person of Clelia, whom he esteemed infinite dearly. But for all that, his hatred of Tarquin was so great and well grounded, as it did surmount all the tenderness of his Soul. As for Horatius, the virtues of his Rival were his greatest torments, except the love of Clelia which was above all, and though he did hate Tar∣quin, yet his jealousie was such, that he had rather be a slave of that Tyrant, than to be delivered by his Rival. Again, Aronces as he drew near Rome his thoughts were confused,; for he would never have gone thither, but that by serving Tarquin during the Siege of Ardes, he might oblige him to release Clelia: So as the aversion which he had conceived against that Prince, ever since he would have murthered Clelius at Capua, and since Herminius had related the story of his Life, did cause in him a strange repug∣nancy to execute his design, if the interest of his love had not surmounted it. On the other side, when he thought that Clelia perhaps would be treat∣ed as a slave, and that if ever she were known to be the Daughter of Clelius, her self would be in great danger, then he was almost out of his wits, and gave himself wholly over unto sadness. Nor as a Cordial to himself durst he hope that Clelia had preserved her affection intire for him, or if he had any glimps of such hope, it was so weak, as he was nevertheless miserable. He seared also that he should be obliged to make himself and his quality known unto Tarquin, that he might thereby be the better able to serve Clelia; for he conceived that if he should make his love appear, and that it should be known unto the King his Father, who afterwards would know that Clelia was enemy unto the Daugh∣ter of Tarquin, with whom he had received such a solemn All••ance, that his Father would not approve of his love; but perhaps would make it known un∣to that Prince who she was, purposely to ruine her. Not but that he knew the King his Father to be a Man of much virtue, but yet his love making him to fear every thing, he feared lest the beauty of Cle∣lia should add unto her miseries; for considering how Herminius had described the Eldest Son of Tar∣quin, he thought it impossible but he must fall in love with her, so as the miserable Aronces went to Rome with such unquiet thoughts, as Celeres had much ado to comfort him. The reason why he went to Rome rather then the Camp was, because he heard Hellius had commanded those who conducted the Ladies, to go unto that famous City. But that he might not be there without some acquaintance, Herminius at parting from Aronces, did give him such particular tokens to deliver unto the virtuous Se∣vilia his Mother, as he doubted not but she would be ready to do him any good Office. Since it was not above eighteen Miles betwixt Ardes and Rome, and the place where they parted being near Ardes, they had arriv'd at Rome before the Sun had been up, if they had not lost their way, and been stopped; but having no guide they went much about, and were forced to rest their Horses and them∣selves at least three hours. So as they arrived not at that Gate in Rome, which they then called the Gate Carmentale until the Evening. This Gate was not that, through which they use to go from Rome to Ardes, for that is close by the Capitol, quite con∣trary, but Aronces and Celeres having lost their way, they came in at this Gate, and went to lodge at a place where formerly they lodged, when they were at Rome only out of curiosity. They were no soon∣er alighted from their horses, but they went to en∣quire of Clelia, and to find out Artemidorus, Amilcar, and Zenocrates, whom they thought to be in Rome, because Tarquin was there, though it was told Ce∣leres, that he would set out the morrow after he was there. So as imagining (knowing the humour of Amilcar) that they should find them about the Palace of Tarquin, Aronces went thither with Celeres: but in their way thither, he was much surprized to see two Coachfuls of Ladies, guarded by Soldiers, who entred into Rome at the Port of Janus, and go∣ing to the King's Palace. The cause of his wonder was, that he spyed Clelia in the first of them, it is true he saw her without her seeing him; for she be∣ing very melancholy no objects invited her looks, not imagining that Aronces should be in Rome, for considering the danger wherein she left him, she ima∣gined more probability of his death or being a Pri∣soner, then to be in that place. However, notwith∣standing

all her melancholy, her beauty was of such a lustre, as the people only followed the Coach to look upon her. As for Aronces he no sooner espyed her, But he shewed her unto Celeres, and was joyed be∣yond all imagination. he was joyed to see her and to see her sad, because he thought he had some share in her sadness. But also he was infinitely sad to see her a Captive, and a Captive unto the most mortal ene∣my of Clelius her father. As he was divided between his joys and his sorrows, he saw two Vestals, who walking with all the Ceremonies usual when they go through the Town, they stayed and asked whither they carried those Ladies? and being answered that they were Captives, and carried to be presented un∣to Tarquin, the elder of the Vestals whose name was Verenia, commanded the Officer who had the charge of them to stay the Coaches.

The Vestals being held in great veneration at Rome, the Officer did as she commanded, and speaking very reverently unto Verenia, he asked what her plea∣sure was? My Pleasure is (said she unto him) that according to those priviledges which have been granted unto us from the first Kings of Rome, and which have been confirmed by all their Successors, you set those Ladies at liberty; for since there were any Vestals they never met any prisoners, but they set them at liberty. I once saved the lives of some Criminal persons, and may much better release in∣nocent Prisoners. I do believe (wise Verenia replied the Officer) that your priviledges are such as you say, and that they extend unto Captives as well as unto Criminals; but since you know it is not in me to de∣cide a business of this importance, I beseech you come your self and maintain your right before the King, and let me wait upon you thither, as well as upon these Ladies; for I assure you that if I could release them into your hands without danger of my life, I should do it with joy. Verenia finding the Officer to speak reason, and having consulted a little with her Companion, she went towards the Palace which was not far off. But this contest lasting a little long, there slocked abundance of people about the Vestals, and about these two Coaches; so as Aronces took hold of this opportunity, and pressed so near, that at last the eyes of Clelia found him out, who was so over∣joyed to see him, as she could scareely contain her self, yet since she knew not whether or no it was ex∣pedient to take notice of him, she restrained her self, and was contented with shewing him the thoughts of her Soul by her eyes, also she looked upon Celeres in a most obliging manner. Yet this mute discourse lasted not long, for Verenia going on, the Coaches followed her. And this being a matter of Novelty, all the Croud that was gathered together in that place, did follow also to see what Tarquin would do in the business; so as Aronces and Celeres crouding in amongst the rest, they followed also, and not to be altogether useless, they got as near the Vestals as possibly they could; and as an encouragement unto them to insist more stiffly upon their Priviledges, A∣ronces and Celeres did applaud unto the Heavens their design of delivering these Ladies. Mean time, A∣ronces remembring that Clelius told him he had a Sister who was a Vestal, he asked a Roman next him of what families these two Vestals were? and the Roman answered, that the grand Vestal was Sister unto a banished man whose name was Cle∣lius, and that the other was of the house of Aquilines. So as Aronces now knowing that the grand Vestal was Aunt unto Clelia, he consulted with Celeres whether it were not expedient to make it known unto this Vestal that Clelia was her Neece, before she spoke unto Tarquin? and conceiving she would be more zealous if she knew it, they resolved to trust her with this important secret. To that end, when she came near that great and stately Frontis-piece, before the Gates of Tarquins Palace, and descending from that Chariot wherein she was carried, Aronces after he had asked leave of one that waited upon her, did ad∣dress himself with all reverence unth her, and told her in a low voice and few words, that there was a∣mong the Captives one who was the daughter of her Brother, and conjured her by the name of Clelius to protect her and be silent. Verenia knowing how her Neece was stoln away, she did more easily believe what Aronces told her, and the beauty of Clelia having attracted her looks, she did find in her the Air of her Family; so as promising to be secret, and to insist importantly upon the Priviledge, she ranked her self in the Front of all those Ladies, who came out of their Coaches, and being Ushered in by that Officer who conducted them, she asked to speak with Tarquin, who being then in the Chamber of the cruel Tullia, commanded that the Vestals and the Captives should enter. But though the Curiosity was very great, all those who followed could get no further than the Anti-Chamber, except some few whose minds were too high to be denied entrance into the Kings Chamber. So as Aronces being as handsome a person as any was in the world, he en∣tred and Celeres also. But they were much amazed when they saw Amilcar, Artemidorus, and Zenocra∣tes close by the King; especially to see the first of these in such great familiarity with him, though there were many considerable Romans with him, and that though Collatine and the Prince Sextus were present, yet the King talked only with Amilcar, and that with as much familiarity as if he had known them all their lives, though it was but two days since they came unto him. But as Aronces and Celeres were a∣stonished to see Amilcar, Amilcar was much more at the sight of Clelia, Aronces, and Celeres; also Arte∣midorus and Zenocrates wondred to see Celeres and A∣ronces, yet they concealed their several thoughts, and every one kept their places to see the business. And indeed the business was worthy of Curiosity; for Verenia was a person who had been admirably fair, and yet had a most comely mind, the Vestal who ac∣companied her was not above five and twenty years of age, and one of the most pleasing persons in the World: So as these two Vestals approaching the presence of Tarquin, all the Captive Ladies ranked themselves behind her, in expectation of their doom, whether Liberty or Fetters; so as this was a very de∣lectable Object, for all the Ladies were fair and plea∣sing; it is true the beauty of Clelia did so much dim the Lustre of all the rest, as only she was looked upon. Things standing thus, the grand Vestal began to speak with as much boldness as eloquence, and ad∣dressing her self unto Tarquin, Sir (said she unto him) we address our selves unto you with a Petition so just, as I need only to tell you what our pretensions are, without seeking for any reasons to uphold them; I shall not insist Sir, upon telling you our original; for you who are knowing in all things cannot be igno∣rant that it is much more ancient than Rome. But I must take the liberty to tell you, that since Romulus brought us from Alta unto this day, no Kings that

ever Reigned in this Town, did ever offer to infringe the least of our Priviledges; and that we have ever been so considered by Kings and People, as both the one and the other have looked still upon us as the nearest cause of publick tranquillity. The first of the Tarquins did rather add unto our Priviledges than di∣minish them: We have received no causes of com∣plaint since our first institution neither from People, Senate, or Kings; and I am confident Sir, that you will give us none, but that you will grant liberty unto all these fair Captives, whom I met by chance; for you know Sir, the Law is, that if a Vestal acciden∣tally meets any who are carrying unto execution, she saves his life and releaseth him; provided she will swear that she did not seek to meet him: And Sir, I can safely swear that I never knew of these Ladies, until I accidentally met them. I know you may tell me Sir, that these Ladies are prisoners of War, and not Criminals; but since they are innocent they are more worthy of favour, and according to all Laws and reason, those who can do the greater things can do the less; and therefore I conclude, that since we can save the lives of Criminals, we may save the in∣nocent from imprisonment, and give them liberty. I know also, that the chance never yet was, when Vestals met Prisoners of War, as divers times they have Criminals, but still I say the Law ought to be expounded as I say, and the conjuncture is so favou∣rable for us, as I cannot think you will lose an occa∣sion of doing a thing of so great a glory; for I do not ask the liberty of any heroick Captain, or of a∣ny valiant Soldiers, but only for five or six silly mise∣rable Ladies, who never did any thing against you, nor knows not how if they would. Grant therefore Sir, what we ask, we conjure you unto it, by the sacred fire which we so vigilantly preserve, and by all that is most holy and venerable amongst us. When Verenia had done speaking, Tarquin who heard her with a mocking smile, answered her in these terms. As you are a Vestal (said he unto her) I have willing∣ly hearkned unto you but as you are the Sister of Clelius, all that you say is suspected. It is very pro∣bable, that there is some craft in your Proposition, for being sure that I would deny you, you think that you may justly tell the People, I have infringed the priviledges of the Vestals, that the sacred fire will quickly go out, and that the Gods in revenge will ruine Rome, nor do I know whether out of a preme∣ditated design, you have let it extinguish already. But however it be, I do declare that no Vestal under my Reign shall ever deliver any Prisoners of War, and these Ladies whose Liberty you demand shall not obtain it. Get you gone, and look well to your sa∣cred fire, if you would not be under Guard your self, and in lieu of tteating you as a Vestal, I treat you as Sister unto my most mortal and ancient enemy. As I am a Vestal Sir, (replied Verenia boldly) you ought to respect me; and as I am sister unto Cielius, all the people of Rome ought to arm themselves in my de∣fence; especially since you would have oppressed my Brother, by your unjust violence and power. Though the Laws (replied Tarquin in a fury) do not condemn Vestals to be buried alive, but for one kind of Crime only; yet I shall make you try what punishment it is, for a Crime of another nature, if you continue inso∣lent a little longer. Get you gone I say once more, and look to the sacred fire unto which you are ap∣pointed, and believe it that if Clelius or any that re∣lates uno him, do ever fall into my power, and I send him or them unto execution, you shall not save him though you meet him with all your fellow Vestals; Go, go, Verenia, for I find that if I see you any lon∣ger, the Purple Mantle which you wear, will not hinder me from seeing the Sister of my enemy in the person of a Vestal, nor can I be any longer Master of my own resentments. Oh Sir, (said she unto him) your injustice goes too far; and after I have spoke unto you as a Vestal, I must tell you as the Sister of Clelius, that I think it a greater glory in being the Sister of him who opposed you, than if I wore the Crown of those Kings from whom I am descended. Tarquin seeing the resoluteness of this Vestal, and not daring to follow the impetuosity of his resent∣ments, because there was nothing in greater venera∣tion amongst the people than the Vestals, he only commanded that the Captive Ladies should be car∣ried into a Chamber in the Palace, until he should fur∣ther dispose of them. And without any more regard unto Verema, he addressed his talk unto Tullia, Col∣latine, Artemidorus, Amilcar, and Zenocrates, and scossing at the Vestals, he made it appear, that though the sacred fire did extinguish, yet he should not be troubled at it.

So that Verenia was constrained to retire, and leave her Neece under the power of a Tyrant, who would infallibly put her to death if he knew who she was, and yet there was no remedy. As for Aronces he was troubled beyond measure, and he admired the won∣derful Constancy of Clelia; for though she heard what Tarquin said, yet did she not change colour, but hearkned unto all he said, as if she had no inte∣rest at all in it: and her spirits were so free that as she went out of the Chamber with the rest of the Captives, she did strive to pass handsomly by Aron∣ces, to the end she might the better tastifie by a sign with her head, that she had much consolation in see∣ing him. As for Aronces, he was so sadly afflicted that he was not Master of his own Spirits; and he was so taken up with sorrow, as he followed Clelia when she went out; and if Celeres had not restrained him, he had followed her unto the Chamber where they carried her, and would have made himself known to be of her acquaintance. Mean while, the Prince Sextus who had a general inclination to all beauties, he looked upon Clelia as he was wont to look upon those whom he could not look upon with eyes of indifferency, and his mind was so much upon her, as he went out presently after her, to bid those who had the conduct of those Ladies to treat them very well, and he came to Clelia who walked last; whosoever you are Madam, (said he unto her) I do verily believe you give more heavy Fetters, then those you wear. Be they as light as they can (repli∣ed Clelia) yet they do much trouble me, for I am not used to carry any, and if those which you say I give, do trouble those who wear them, perhaps they are miserable without any merit of pity. Sextus had a mind to say something else, but Clelia being entred with the rest of the Ladies into the Chamber where they were to be, he durst not follow them for fear of incensing Tarquin who was jealous of his Authori∣ty, even in the most trivial things. Mean while, Aronces and Celeres did walk before the Kings Palace, expecting Artemidorus, Amilcar, and Zenocrates, i∣magining they would not stay long before they came out. But in expecting them how full of doleful ex∣pressions was the sad Aronces? Good Celeres (said he) confess by way of comfort to me, that I am the most

miserable man in the World; do but consider how wilful is my wicked fortune, and in what danger Clelia is, were she less fair there was some hopes she would not be known; but being so glorious a star as she is, every one will be gazing and enquiring of her: Methinks also, that though she speak the Ro∣mans Language very well; yet one may know that she hath the accent of an Affrican, though when we were at Capua I did not think so. I am afraid lest those Ladies who are with her, should tell that Horace was with her at Ardes; nor dare I trust unto her great spirit and prudence; for I fear that she will not disguise her name; but that the name of Clelia will make her known to be the daughter of Clelius: for doubtless the Tyrant is still inquiring of him, and would have murthered him at Capua; he knows that he hath a daughter, that she is fair, that her name is Clelia, and that Horace carried her away. Those that are so over Prudent (replied Celeres) are doubt∣less more miserable than any others, for in all pro∣bability Clelia will disguise her name: The Ladies with her perhaps knows not what it is, nor know who Horace is, and therefore the best way were to wait, till time tell you more.

As Celeres said so, Amilcar came out of the Palace, and came to them with Artemido us, and Zenocrates, but he was as blith and jocund in countenance, as Aronces was melancholy in heart. But coming to them, Come, (said he unto him) come and fear no∣thing; I have already tam'd the Tyger which put you all into terror; it shall be long of your self, if you do not see what I say is true, and if you be not ere long in a condition to protect Clelia, if he would offer to hurt her, which I do not at all believe he will; for I am extremely mistaken if he do not think Clelia to be very fair, and if Tullia do not observe it as well as I. I left her telling Tarquin that he did ill in treat∣ing the Vestals so ill; and that since it was only for the delivery of Women; he ought to have consent∣ed unto it. So as since I know that Tullia ••s not over∣scrupulous in matter of Religion, and observing that ••he sees as well as I, how Tarquin thinks Clelia to be the fairest of all the Captives. I must needs conclude, that Tullia will ere long get her released. Tullia is so unaccustomed to make use of any harmless reme∣dies (replied Aronces) as I fear, that if she be jealous she will rather put Clelia to death, than set her at li∣berty. To cure you of any such apprehensions (re∣plied Amilcar. I will get into favour with Tullia. That will not be much difficult (said Zenocrates) for you have already so great familiarity with her, as I believe if you will you may quickly be the Confident of all her Crimes. For my part (said Artemidorus) I do wonder how it is possible Amilcar should in so short a time as since we came hither, do so many things; for he hath shewed us all the Town, he is very much in favour both with Tarquin and Tullia, and much more with the Prince Sextus; the Prince of Pometia and Titus do court him, he knows the names of all the beauties in Rome: The Eldest of the Salians believe him to be a Salian, so well is he versed in all their Ceremonies; and if you had heard his discourse with an Augurer you would have been affrighted. It is not possible (said Celeres) that Amilcar could shew the one half of Rome unto Artemidorus and Zenocrates. To shew you that they tell me no lies (replied he) ask them if I have not shewed them the four Ports of Rome, the Carmental, the Roman, the Pandane or the Romulide, and the Janiculan? ask them if I did not bid them observe how that City was a Quadran∣gle? if I did not shew them the Capitol and the state∣ly Temple which Tarquin built? if I did not shew them the place where the Vestal Tarpea was buried? and if I did not shew them the little Temple of the God Thermes, whom the people would needs adore, maugre all the Power of Tarquin? ask them still whe∣ther I have not shewed them the Mount Palatine and the Mount Quirinal where the Temple of Romulus was built? whether I have not shewed them the Mount Celius, the Mount Aventine, the Mount Vi∣minal, and that of Janicula? ask them still whether I did not let them see the Ruminal Fig-tree, where Remus and Romulus were found? whether I did not let them see the Sublician Bridge? whether I did not exactly shew them all the magnificence of the Amphi∣theater and Cirque? whether I did not carry them unto that Grove which is consecrated unto the Mu∣ses? if I did not tell them in that place some things that were uttered by the Nymph Egeria, such as as∣pired Numa with those admirable things which he did? ask them on, if I did not go with them into the famous Temple of Janus, which is seldom or never open but in times of War? if I did not shew them that Temple which Romulus vowed unto Jupiter when he fought against the Sabines. Further, let them tell you if I did not shew them the first Prison which was ever built in Rome by Ancus Martius? if I did not shew them the sacred street, the street Cyprion∣na, where the Palace of King Numa is, and where Tullia went over the Corps of her Father? if I did not let them see the Bulwarks which Tarquin finished? several Temples of Vesta, of Jupiter, of Hercules, of Diana, and of many other Divinities? For my part (said Celeres) I do not so much wonder you have shewed them so many things in so short a time, as I do to see you in such familiarity with Tarquin and Tullia, and the Princes their Children; for they are almost all of different humours. That which did it (replyed Amilcar) was my remembrance how Hermi∣nius described them; so as going confidently unto Tarquin, in the Prince of Carthage's name, and pre∣senting Artemidorus and Zenocrates to him as two of my friends, not telling their names or who they were, I was so happy as at my first conference to get into some credit with him; for he having a desire of being instructed in the present condition of Carthage, knowing well there was some difference of interest between Sicily and that Common-wealth, I recalled into my memory all the Policies and Intrignes of those who reigned the most absolutely, and all that I had learned upon this Subject in all my Travels and books. I did highly applaud Periander King of Corinth, who knew so well how to make himself obeyed by force; I preferred Semiramis above Cyrus, because she was more stern than that illustrious Conquerour, and mixing some ingredients of half prophanation with my politicks, in an hour I got to be high in the fa∣vour of Tarquin. As for Tullia, when I was alone with her, I let her understand how all the World said that Tarquin was a debtor unto her for the Crown, and that she merited a Million of Praises, for knowing so well how to set her self above her own Sex, by not dorring at such seruples as Ladies of low and common capacities use, who had not hearts so great as hers. As for the Prince Sextus, remem∣bring his inclination unto all women, I talked unto him of nothing but our African Gallantry, and of the pleasingness in Grecian beauties. And knowing

that he was not over Regular in his loves, I made a Satyrical invective unto him, against all such pu∣ling lovers who use to sigh a whole year, before they will tell they love, and who are so constant as to vow their services unto one Mistress. So as he believing these to be my thoughts, he was as open unto me as any voluptuous person who neither believed the Gods nor feared men, could be unto his dearest friend, when he would relate the manner of his life unto him. But he did open himself very pleasantly, for one could never meet with a more amiable Liber∣tine than Sextus; and my greatest wonder was, con∣sidering his quality, that he was acquainted with all the handsome women in Rome, even from the Vestals to the very worst of Slaves. But after you had so well gotten the opinions of Tarquin, of Tullia, and of Sextus, (said Aronces) what did you to enter into the favour of the Prince of Pometia and Titus? these two Princes being of contrary humours to their Bro∣ther (replied Amilcar) they had no commerce toge∣ther; so as seeing them asunder, I talked with them after another manner, and without any blaming of the Prince Sextus for his irregularity of life, I com∣mended them so highly as they had a very good opi∣nion of me; and falling into a discourse of gallantry and love, I quickly observed the heart of the Po∣metian Prince, was full of such great and tender thoughts, as did become a noble Passion: So as tel∣ling him all that I had gathered from others, and was sensible of my self, concerning any amorous matters, he was ready to open his very soul, and to tell me that he was in Love.

As for the Prince Titus, he being naturally of a cold and reserved temper, he did not so freeely open his heart, and yet I perceiv'd that he had a great dispositi∣on to love me. Amilcar did one thing extraordinary more (replied Zenocrates) for there was one of the Kings Nephews, whose name was Brutus, who seem∣ed to be a very Block-head, and in whom one should never find the least glimps of any wit; he being be∣hind those Princes whilst Amilcar talked unto them, did hearken very attentively unto him, and Amilcar talking with a sprightly and agreeable Air, Brutus did laugh twice so pertinently, as it was observed a great wonder and a miracle of Amilcars wit. And a Cavalier did say unto another who stood by him, in a low voice, that Brutus was very happy in giving this sign of his understanding when Tarquin was not present. It is most true (answered the other Cava∣lier) for I am confident that if he had seen him laugh so opportunely and pertinently as he did, he would have put him to death as well as his Brother; for he lets him live only because he thinks him to have no wit nor spirit. I must tell you (said Amilcar then) that Brutus is not so senseless as is believed; for I ha∣ving an universal curiosity to know all things; and sometimes taking as much delight in seeing the seve∣ral follies of men, as their several wisdoms, I began to talk with him a quarter of an hour, and since eve∣ry one had described him to be extremely stupid, I put a hundred foolish questions unto him, which I perceived did displease him, and unto which he would not answer. They say (replied Artemidorus) that he speaks so little, as that it cannot be taken for an effect of his reason, but for an effect of his stupidity; for I have heard of men many times, who could hide their treasures; but I never heard of any who could hide their spirits and wits. However it be (said A∣milcar) he hath more wit than he is thought to have: I know not that (replied Amilcar) but I am sure that you have more than is possibly to be believed. Had you but heard him yesterday you would have won∣dred (added he and spoke unto Aronces) when he discoursed with an Augurer near the place where the Sibyls Books are kept; for he made the man believe that he was far more knowing in matters of Divina∣tions, than himself; and they were so great in fa∣vour together, as he promised to talk concerning the sacred Chickens, and told him that he came from Negrepont, which is the place from whence they say, those come who are most able to presage the truth. But (said Aronces to him) since you are so cunning and happy in all things, I pray what can you do to help me unto a fight of Clelia? It is requisite (repli∣ed Amilcar) that to morrow I present you unto Tar∣quin, under the notion of a man whom I was acquaint∣ed with during my Travels, and as a man of courage who would be glad to serve him in the siege of Ar∣des; but we must endeavour to let Clelia know, that she must give it out and say she was born at Noles, and that Celeres is her Brother: And after this is hinted unto her, I will present Celeres unto Tarquin, who shall beg leave to see his Sister, and we will intercede for him; by this means she will not be thought the daughter of Clelius, but the principal difficulty is to speak unto Clelia. I know not (replied Artimedorus) how is it possible to find a way how to instruct her in all you desire she should know. Perhaps more possi∣ble than you imagine (replied Amilcar) and when I return at night from the Palace, I may chance find out an invention for it. When Aronces heard Amil∣car say so, he conjured him very importunately, to use his best endeavours in doing him this good Office, and Amilcar taking the business upon him, Artemido∣rus, Zenocrates and Celeres went with Aronces to visit the virtuous Sevilia, who at the very name of Her∣minius, did bid them most heartily welcome; and Amilcar went to Tullia, where he found the Prince Sextus, with whom he tampered as if he would be the Confident of all his pleasures. And knowing that he should please his genius if he talked of Ladies, he fell into discourse concerning the fair prisoners, and extolling them to the skies, he asked Sextus if he would make a visit unto them at night? For Sir (said he unto him and laughed) in matter of love, it is good always to be the first man; and therefore if there be any of those Captives which pleaseth your fancy, make hast and tell her that she hath given you Chains more heavy thrn her own. It being an easie matter to perswade Sextus unto a business of this na∣ture, he told Amilcar that he would go presently with him, and accordingly making use of Tullia's name to see them, those who guarded the Prisoners did let them enter; but they found them in several humours, for two of them did so extremely droop in their Captivity, as if they were almost dead; and another who being of a more blith composition, was a looking her self in a Glass, and mending something about her dress, as pleasantly as if she had been in her own Chamber; also there were other two, who were not very melancholy. But as for Clelia, without either the despair of the two first, or the insensibili∣ty of the other three, she was only serious, and grave∣ly sad, and looked as if she were a most perfect Mi∣stress of her self. All this while, Amilcar not desi∣ring to be known, he saluted her after such a manner as at the first made her to understand that she was to take no notice of him. And Sextus at the first entrance

talking to one of those Ladies who came from Ar∣des, and seemed the most considerable, he had time to make such signs unto her, as signified his intenti∣on. And he had so much time also as to ask her in a low voice whether there was any of those Captives whom she durst trust? And Clelia pointing unto one who was called Cesonia, he left her as soon as Sextus came towards her, and he went unto that Lady, to whom she pointed, unto whom he told all that was agreed upon with Aronces, to the end she might tell Clelia. Thus he let her understand that if any ask∣ed who she was, she should say that she was born at Noles, and that she had a Brother whose name was Celeres. But after Amilcar had said all that related unto Clelia, he began to cheer up all the Lady-Priso∣ners, and he was so pleasant in talking unto those who seemed so dejected at their Captivity, as he did suspend part of all their sorrows. Mean while, Sextus, unto whom the beauty of Clelia was infinite∣ly pleasing, let her understand (following the coun∣sel which Amilcar gave him) that he thought her sitter to give Fetters then to wear them. But she answered him in such a manner, as did something cool the impetuosity of his fiery temper. So as this Prince, who till now never loved without hope of obtaining them, and who knew not what either fears or respect did mean, did find his heart so stricken with a reverent and respectful fear, as re∣strained him from talking unto Clelia, as he used to do unto others; so as calling Amilcar to his aid, there began a discourse more general which was ve∣ry pleasant; for as there could be no talk so far from any matters of Love, but Sextus would apply it that way, so after he had pitied the misfortunes of these fair Captives, and protested that he would protect them as much as ever he could, he began to say, he believed their Captivity did make many sad hearts both at Ardes and at Rome. Truth is, Sir (said Amilcar) since there is not one of these Captives, who is not fair enough to make Cap∣tives, I am confident there are many sad Lo∣vers at Ardes, and e're long will be many ill treated ones in Rome.

The Romans have such a reputation of glory (replied that person who indured her Captivity so well, and whose name was Plotina) as it is not credi∣ble there is any one of them that will be a Slave to a Slave. Oh Sir, (said Amilcar after his natural and sprightly freedom) this is the finest opportu∣nity in the World for a Roman that hath a mind to make any gallant declaration of Love, and were I one, I would not let it slip; for certainly there is nothing more difficult then to do it handsomely, and gallantly; at least I am sure that since I was first a Lover, I think I have made a hundred, and a∣mongst them all there is but two which ever plea∣sed me. It is true said Sextus and laughed as well as Plotina) that for these regular Lovers who woe in print, it is difficult for them, to find out such a happy minute, wherein they can, with a good grace, say I love you. But as for my part, I never wooe so; for I am so perswaded that the very thing it self is pleasing, as I cannot believe it will make one angry be it told never so ill-favouredly; and therefore I use to out with it boldly, whenso∣ever any occasion is offered. Were one a great Prince as you are (replied Amilcar) were one hand∣some and had wit at will, then I think indeed, that the difficulty would not be great, to tell you love, and to tell it well; but when one is no Prince, nor handsome, and but of a mean wit, and but indiffe∣rently in love, then I assure you it is a business more difficult then you imagine, to make declarations of Love; unless unto fair Prisoners, for in such a case I find no difficulty. For indeed (added he and smi∣led) these words, Slave, Captive, and Prisoner, do furnish one with a thousand gallant thoughts, and Fetters, Chains, and Torments, are so naturally ap∣plicative unto what one would say, as one shall find out a thousand several ways to express their minds. But when one is but cold in love, and hath no great Talent of Wit, (as I said before) then there is no greater difficulty, then to say I am ready to die for Love. But (replied the pleasant Captive) if one be neither in love, nor have any Wit, why should he ever torment himself with seeking of declarations of Love, and talk of that which he is not sensible off? Alas, fair Plotina (said he unto her) if one should never talk of love, but when the heart is full of it, one should never talk of it above once in all his life; for one cannot be twice violently in Love. And all his discourse would be very cold and lan∣guishing, since to tell you truly, when any one is long with a Woman, he must needs talk either of her love unto others, or her causing others to be in love with her; for I am most confident that the gravest and most demure Matrons of Rome, when they were young would be very weary of the best accomplished Men, if they should never talk unto them of any thing but Divinity, of the Vestal Ce∣remonies, of the Laws of the Land, of the order in their Families, or of the news of the Town: A fair and young Lady takes no delight in hearing one tell that such a one is dead, such a one hath made his will, such a one is married unto such a rich Man, this Man is gone into the Countrey, that Man hath a suit in Law, and this Woman hath a very rich Gown; and therefore it is the only way to be al∣ways talking of Love, be it either in earnest or in jest; for follies of this nature handsomely spoken a∣mongst Ladies, do please them better then any mo∣ral or politick discourse whatsoever, or any news. I am so much of your opinion (replied Sextus) that even in visits of consolation after the death of Friends, I would find out some invention or other to speak of love; for be it unto a Woman who had lost her Husband, whom she most dearly loved; she must be pitied principally because she hath lost him she loved; or be it so that she did not love him; she must be comforted by giving her some hopes of having a Husband whom she shall love. Yet I believe (replied Clelia modestly) that they use to talk of Love less in Rome, then any where else; they use to speak of it more mysteriously (replied Sextus) but for all that it is spoken of in all parts of the World; and it will for ever be spoken of as long as there are such beauties as you are. It were e∣nough to say (replied Amilcar) as long as there are any Men; for since there are very few beauties com∣parable unto her you speak unto, you leave over little room for discourse of Love. Whilst Sextus and Amilcar were talking thus, there was one of those melancholy Ladies, who of her own nature was very proud, and a little capricious, and who not being able to indure any discourse of this na∣ture, she began to quarrel with Amilcar; but being very handsome, and seeming witty, he answered her very civilly, though in a very ingenious way of

Rallery; on the other side, that jocund Lady whom Amilcar had much pleased, she opposed her friend and told her that she was much too blame in offe¦ring to make Amilcar as melancholy as her self, so as there grew a very pleasant contest, yet it lasted not long; for it growing late Sextus and Amilcar went away; but Amilcar having done the business he came for, as soon as he had waited upon Sextus to his Chamber, he returned unto Aronces. Yet be∣fore he went from that Prince, he observed that Clelia had taken his heart; and he made him confess that he thought her very fair; and that the only fault that he could find in her, was that he thought her too good and over wise. However, the friend∣ship which was between Aronces, Amilcar, and Cele∣res, would not suffer them to part Lodgings, but they all three lay together, as Artimedorus and Ze∣nocrates did: Aronces was not looked upon as a King's Son, nor Artimedorus as a Prince, for the state of their fortunes would not permit them; but Amilcar knowing them both, he desired they should know what one another were; So as after he had told Aronces what he had done, and had filled his heart with joy and hopes, he obliged Aronces to dis∣cover himself unto Artimedorus, and Artimedorus to discover himself unto Aronces; who no sooner heard of his true Condition, but he knew him to be a Brother unto the Princess of the Leontines, un∣to whom he was so much obliged; so as imbracing him then with abundance of tenderness, he begged his friendship, and promised his most faithful ser∣vice, not speaking a word of the Princess his Sister, until he knew what opinion he was of, and whether what he thought of the lovely Zenocrates was true or no.

However, it being very late, and having talked away most of the night without any sleep, they si∣lently gave the rest, unto their rest: And in the morning, as it was resolved upon the day before, Amilcar went unto Tarquin, to present Aronces and Celeres unto him, as two friends of his whom he knew very well in his Travels; and as two Men who came to offer their service at the Siege of Ardes: Adding afterwards a most humble petition for the release of Clelia, whom he called by another name before Tarquin, then that she was called at Ardes, saying that she was carried thither by her Lover a∣gainst her will; and that being born at Noles in Campania, and being Sister unto a Man who would die in his service, she deserved to be treated better then the rest of the Captives, who were Daughters Wives, and Sisters unto his enemies. At the first Tarquin received Aronces and Celeres very well, and hearkned unto the Petition which Amilcar made in behalf of the pretended Sister unto Celeres; but Clelia seeming in his eye to be very fair, and having a desire to keep her, he told Amilcar that indeed his petition was very just, and told Celeres that his Si∣ster should not be a Prisoner; but withal told him, that he must desire a savour from him also, which was that she might remain as a Prisoner until after the Siege of Ardes: For (said he) it doth exceed∣ingly concern me, that it should not be thought the Vestals have any right in releasing Prisoners of War, as they have of Criminals; for if this Privi∣ledge should be granted them, there would be in e∣very street a Vestal, when any considerable Prisoners of War were brought into Rome. But Sir (replied Aronces) since this Prisoner for whom we intercede, is no inhabitant of Ardes you may release her, with∣out any thought that it is by virtue of the Vestal Priviledge if you do declare, that you release her only upon this account that she was not born among your enemies. What you say (replied Tarquin) is very judiciously spoken; but for all that the people will think her to be released by the Vestal authority; and therefore it is absolutely requisite, that this fair one stay where she is, until after the Siege of Ardes: But lest her Captivity should be troublesome unto her, or that she should pass under the notion of a slave, I will entreat Tullia to be civil towards her, as perhaps she may like being in Rome, as well as in Campania.

Celeres, Aronces, Amilcar, Artimedorus, and Zeno∣crates, did use many more arguments unto Tarquin, to make him change his mind, but he began to give them such sharp answers, as they fearing to incense him, and make him suspect something of the truth, they did not importune him any further; and Cele∣res carrying himself as Clelia's Brother, he gave Tar∣quin a thousand thanks for promising her to release her after the Siege of Ardes, and in the mean while to treat her well. And indeed Tarquin commanded that some of Tullia's Servants, should the very same hour go and wait upon her, and that they should let any see her who would: So as Aronces making use of that liberty, he went unto her that afternoon, but was carried thither by Celeres, who went to see her as his Sister, Artimedorus, Amilcar, and Zenocra∣tes, went also with them, to the end this visit should not render her in the least suspected.

Clelia was that day in her negligent dress, but yet in the midst of negligence so handsome, as it was ap∣parent that she was naturally so, and so when she had no company. There being then none with her but the Captive Ladies who loved her dearly, she had so much liberty as to receive Aronces as a Man whom she was glad to see; yet she had restrained her self by reason of Artimedorus and Zenocrates, had not Celeres in presenting them unto her, hinted that she needed not to stand in fear of them. So as this meeting, notwithstanding the pitiful condi∣tion wherein they were, was very comfortable un∣to them. And to the end they might have the more freedom of discourse, Amilcar who had seen all the Ladies but the day before, began to talk with them as familiarly as if he had been acquainted all his life, for being between the pleasant Plotina and the lovely Cesonia, who carried out their misfortunes with more constancy than the rest, it was an easie matter for him to turn discourse in a more merry mood. As for Artimedorus, he durst not talk over-much be∣cause he was no Roman: And as for Zenocrates, though when he pleased he could speak the Lan∣guage very excellently well, yet it was never his cu∣stom to talk much upon the first acquaintance; yet he listned with such ingenious attention, as made it apparent that he knew what wit was, and that he was a Master of it himself. As for Celeres he ad∣dressed himself and his discourse unto those Ladies who were of the most melancholy mood; so as by this means Aronces talked with Clelia in private, with whom he had not had a minutes discourse never since that terrible Earth-quake, which separated them upon the Banks of the River Vulturnus; and he was so transported with joy at the opportunity, that it did appear in his eyes, in his actions, and in his voice. I beg your pardon, Madam, (said he un∣to

her) for that joy which perhaps you find in my face; for considering the condition wherein you are, I may seem much too blame to express joys; yet I must needs tell you Madam, that at this time I am not a Master of my own thought; but am so over∣joyed at the sight of you, to see you out of my Ri∣vals power, and to find some sparks of goodness to∣wards me yet in your eyes, as I cannot chuse but a∣bandon my heart and soul unto joys. But Madam, to plump up joys into a fuller strain, I beseech you tell me whether you are any thing joyed at the sight of me, and in seeing me fuller of love then I was, when I had the happy honour to be the most amo∣rous person upon Earth. If the very sight of you did not please me (replied Clelia) truly Sir, I should think my self so unreasonable, as that I should be extremely ashamed at my self. Oh Madam, (said he and interrupted her) I beseech you do not Sir me so, for I am still the very same Aronces, whom the fair Clelia was once pleased to call her Brother, when she began to cast a favourable look upon him as her Lo∣ver; and be confident, Madam, that I shall most joy∣fully renounce the Quality of a King's Son, rather then you should take from me that glorious Title of your Slave. Treat me not therefore, I beseech you in a ceremonious manner; imagine your self to be upon the Throne, and me in Fetters at your Feet, and use no such offensive Sirs unto me; for my thoughts are so tender and so full of respects unto you, as if you do not call me as you were wont to do, my joys at the sight of you will lessen. Since you will have it so, my dear Aronces (said she unto him) I shall live with you as I was wont at Capua, and I can assure you that you are to me no more con∣siderable, since I know you to be a King's Son, then you were before; for truly, fortune in giving you a Crown, hath not given you any thing which I can put in comparison with your virtue. Oh Madam (said he unto her) I beseech you commend me less, and tell me a little more plainly, that you do love me as you were wont to do; and without any telling me of my virtue, tell me only, that the tenderness and constancy of my love, hath moved your heart: That my Rivals hath made no impression in it, and that you would be glad to reign still in mine. In telling you, I am the same in Rome, I was in Capua (replied Clelia modestly) surely I shall tell you as much as you can desire: After this, Aronces used the most tender expressions in the World unto Clelia; and in the transports of this passion, he talked to her of compleating their Marriage, though she was a Prisoner, though Clelius could not come to Rome, nor think of carrying her unto Clusium. Also he himself perceived that his reason was not sound, and was glad that the prudent Clelia did set some limits unto such tumultuous desires, as made him think upon things both unreasonable and impossible.

After which, he gave a short account of all the passages which had happened: And she also did tell him all she knew; for she told him how Horatius went unto the place where the Earth-quake was, which gave him the occasion of his voyage, that was so variously talked of at Capua; she told him how strangely she was amazed when she saw her self without any relief in the hands of Horatius, who yet did treat her with very much respect; she told him afterwards, how when the Earth-quake was ceased, Horatius carried her into a house which was not shaken down, which belonged unto one of those that were with him, when he carried her away; that there he got a Coach, how he procured a Woman to wait upon her; and how after he had written unto Stenius after he was at Capua, he was forced to seek his fortune: She told him afterwards, how Horati∣us resolving upon Perusia for his retreat, he took that way. But Madam (said Aronces to her) when I saw you in a Bark upon the Lake of Thrasimenes, and when Horatius defended himself against the Prince of Numidia who assaulted him, then you were not in the way to Perusia. It is true (replied Clelia) but chance so ordered it, that in this voyage Horatius did meet with the Son of him who com∣manded, in one of the Isles of that Lake, which is beyond that, where they then kept the Queen your Mother; so as contracting friendship with him, and having trusted him with all his secrets, Horatius changed his intention, and resolved to carry me into that Isle, where the Man assured him to find a safe Sanctuary. And accordingly, he did put me into a Bark with him, his Men and with those of him he met, we were no sooner upon the Lake, but the Prince of Numidia appeared upon the Shore with Armed Men, and having found another Bark he and his Men went into it, and fell upon Horatius as you saw; and I am most confident, that if these two had not stood in fear of hurting me, the meeting had proved mortal to them both. But I beseech you Madam (replied Aronces) how came the Prince of Numidia so just in the nick with his Armed Men? I conjecture (answered she) that I was the cause of it; for you must know, that meeting accidentally with a Pencil and some paint, when I fell into the power of Horatius, I writ upon all places where I passed, on doors and walls, both my name and the place where they carried me. And understanding that Morning we should go unto this Isle, I writ these words in a Window.

If any Friend unto Clelius chance to pass this way, let him know, that they carry Clelia unto one of the Isles upon the Thrasimenian Lake.

So as supposing, and with reason, that the Prince of Numidia passing by chance that way, and finding this writing, he took these Men and followed me. However, after the Combat with Horatius, and this Prince who was wounded, we came unto this Isle where he presently recovered. But hearing of that express command which the Prince of Perusia had sent to seek me and Horatius in all his Domini∣ons. He who promised unto Horatius a safe San∣ctuary in this Isle, recalling his word did oblige him to depart; so as then seeking out for a place of shel∣ter from the violence of Tarquin, and for a protecti∣on against all the World, he carried me to Ardes, which he knew was in no correspondency with the King of Reme. And indeed, he was there very well received; but as for my part, melancholy was much my disease: yet I was so happy as to find much com∣fort in the Company of Cesonia, whom you see there with Amilcar, and whom I found to be a most gene∣rous friend; for when Horatius saw that in all pro∣bability Tarquin would be prosperous in the Siege of Ardes, and resolved to get out, Cesonia at my request came out also, and perswaded all the rest of these

Ladies to come with her. As soon as Clelia had said so, the Prince Sextus entred, and caused the discourse to alter; but Amilcar knowing that Clelia pleased the Prince very much, and having a desire to take him off, he went unto him, and speaking in a low voice, Sir (said he) this fair Prisoner whom I see you look upon more then any of the rest, is indeed the fairest of them all; but let me tell you, that the pleasant Plotina, whom you see on my right hand, is far the jocondest, and more easie to be wrought up∣on: It is true (replied Sextus) but her beauty is infi∣nitely more charming then any of the rest: I grant it (replied Amilcar) but the worst is in gaining her, you must sigh, and cry, and cringe, and pule, a long time for it; but in all likelihood the conquest of the other will be obtained with a laugh and a plea∣sant jest.

After this, Sextus sitting down, and finding what Amilcar had said to be very pleasant, he made it the subject of discourse, but in such a manner, as it was taken only for general discourse, wherein none of the Company had any particular interest. After he had stated the Question in hand, it is not (said he) to know whether a fair and merry Mistress, be more amiable than fair and melancholy, or a fair, proud, and capricious Mistress, but the question is, which of them is the most fit to cause Love? Oh Sir (re∣plied Celeres, not knowing Amilcars design) a fair and merry Mistress makes men in love with her, but will not be in love her self, and I know nothing more intollerable than a sprightly blith humour, who will oblige one with a thousand civilities; concur with one in a hundred pleasures, let you tell her what you will, and will her self be very free; who the very first day you see her will laugh, sing, dance, and play with one as freely, as if he were of Twenty years acquaintance, who will desire you to come and see her, who will bid you extremely welcome, and who will give one the greatest hopes in the world, and all to no purpose. And as soon as ever ones back is turned, she will never think on what he said, or what she answered. For my part (replied Amilcar) I wonder why you should complain so; for I conceive nothing more sweet than to find some hopes growing with ones Love; to find some recompence as soon as he begins to profess affection, to meet with that pleasure in the beginning of a Passion, with others never meet with but in the end; and all the while never to shed any tears but those of joy: As to that which you say concerning the forgetfulness of a fair and merry Mistress, I say, pay back oblivion for ob∣livion; and if she will forget what you said, do you forget what she said. Were I of Amilcars temper, (replied Celeres) I should without difficulty do as he says; but I assure you (replied he) the matter is not so easie as you imagine, for I have seen all sorts of Lovers; I have my self loved persons of a blith, jo∣cund, and frolick temper; I have loved melancholy, proud, fickle, fantastical Mistresses, I have loved the little, the great, the black, the brown, the fair, and all sorts. Since so, said the Prince Sextus, you are the most experimentally able to tell us, whether it be more sweetness in loving a pleasant, merry Mistress, or a Melancholy or a fantastical. It is very true (replied Aronces) Amilcar is fitter to speak un∣to the Question than any other; yet he himself is of so pleasant, equal, and merry a composition (said Artemidorus) as I fear his partiality will make more against the melancholy, than against the proud and fantastical fair ones. To shew my freeness from partiality (replied he and laughed) chuse which of these three you will maintain, and I will undertake to defend the other. Oh I beseech you (said the pleasant Plotina) do not forsake the cause of the mer∣ry ones, and let him take part with the merry and fantastical; you will defend that side so well your self, both by your beauty and agreeableness of hu∣mour (replied Amilcar) as you need none to take your part, yet I consent to be the Protector of the fair and merry ones.

For my particular (said the Prince Sextus) I will pretend to judge: As for my part (said Aronces) I will not put that in any doubt which my heart hath been so long resolved upon. And for my part (said Ze∣nocrates) since I am yet much unresolved in matters of Love, I still pretend unto no side, but only to be an Auditor. Since so (said Celeres) I will make choice to defend the melancholy Ladies: And to undertake a task more hard than that (said Artemidorus) I will maintain, provided you will pardon the defects of my Language, that there is more pleasure in being loved by a fair, proud, and fantastical Mistress than any other, though I must thus far agree that there is much more sweetness in being loved by a melancholy beauty who is not fantastical. As for your Grecian accent (replied Amilcar) I will excuse it, but I be∣seech you give me leave to speak first, for I cannot endure to take so much pains as to answer the reasons of others. But consider, I pray, (replied Amilcar) that others had rather reply upon your reasons: Per∣haps (replied Plotina) his reasons will be found so good, as none will be so bold as to reply unto them, or shew their own. Since you are the only she in all the company (replied Cesonica) who can pretend un∣to this quality of mirth, perhaps others will also find their Protection as well as you. I assure you (replied Amilcar) it will not be an easie matter to find it; for to enter in the Argument, hath not love its rise and life out of joys, out of pleasures, and look∣ed upon as the greatest felicity in the World, the most amorous sighers that are, never sigh but for joy, all the sobs and sorrows of a Lover are caused by his hopes of being happy. Is it not much better then to meet with love in delights and joys, than to seek it by sad sighing and difficult ways, in such as will never let one laugh but after they have cried? Had I been called unto Natures Council when she in∣vented all these several sorts of Flowers which she produced, I should never have given any Prickles un∣to Roses; such a Lover am I of all delights as I would have them without any mixture of sorrows; and I am such a professed enemy unto all gloomy and melan∣choly Lovers, who will always go the most painful ways unto love, and had rather sigh with the Turtle, than sing with the Nightingale, as I cannot chuse but sigh to think upon their follies. Oh Amilcar (cried out Plotina and laughed) you defend our cause me∣thinks so faintly, as I fear you have a will to be baffled in it. Experience is so much above all reasons (re∣plied Amilcar) as we shall be able to defend our cause against all the protectors of the proud and melan∣choly Mistresses; and if to give them a most sensible example, you will be pleased to let me love you, and you love me again this will be reason enough, to prove that it is better to be loved by a fair merry Mistress, than either a melancholy or a fantastical. When you have shewed your reasons (replied she and smiled) we shall see whether we shall authorize them

by our example. I must tell you then again (replied he) that I know nothing more vexatious than to Court a melancholy, or a proud fantastical Mistress, nor any thing so sweet as to belov'd by a fair and plea∣sant merry Mistress: For first when one Courts a me∣lancholy Deity, he must be full of all familiarity, he must pay all possible reverence, he must sigh and pule a long time, he must be extremely circumstan∣tial in the declaration of his love, be must pay both great and small services, he must be full of applauds, of sweetness, of tenderness, of rapture, of assidui∣ty, and amongst all these one ingredient of despair. And when all is done, you must either be loved or not loved, if you be not loved then there is abundance of time lost; and if you be loved, commonly it is but a little; for of a hundred melancholy Mistresses, there are not two to be sound who are not both jea∣lous and hard to be obtained, and who does not drive into despair by their continual complaints. So that often one is much more miserable in obtaining their affection then in being denyed it. As for the proud and fantastical (added he) they are yet worse, for one knows not where to find them. At first, they will hardly look upon those hearts which are offe∣red to them, one would say that they wronged them in adoring them, or at least one is infinitely obliged unto them, for doing so much honour as to receive their offering; they will disdainfully turn away their head, because one shall not look them in the face, and will sometimes so behave themselves, as if you were to render them all humble thanks for that they have not killed you. I know very well that there are some good fantasticks, and that some days one shall oblige them, by telling them such things as angred them the day before: I know also, that at another time the same things will displease, which before did please, so as you can never be at any cer∣tainty with them in matter of love; nor be sure you can keep that love which you get the day before; how can one be ever at any quiet, or enjoy any de∣light in them? for my part I cannot endure to be smiled upon one day, and brow-beaten the next; I know these proud ones and fantastical ones, will sometimes go further then others will, but I know withal that they will repent it, and what is gotten with a great deal of pains, is kept but by chance, for one will never enjoy their affection with any tranquill delight. Therefore I do conceive it much better to court the love of a fair, jocund, frolick, and merry Mistress: For first, the Conquest is much more easie, one shall enjoy it in peace; if she should have any tang of jealousie or anger, she is pacified with a serenade, and all quarrels are but trifles which will be reconciled at the next treat, or diversion; I know very well that these merry Mistresses perhaps do not love so zealously; but withal, they do not expect one should love them so extremely; so as gi∣ving as much liberty as they take, both parties will be well agreed. They will require nothing from you but such things as are pleasant in themselves; for they will walk with you, they will laugh, they will rally, sing, and dance, and to do all these for the love of them, are no difficulties: and therefore is it not much better to serve such, then others who are so full of the morals and politicks of love, and who require if you will get their loves that you also do exactly know them, who rank sighs, sobs, and tears instead of pleasures.

I have divers more arguments to use (added Amil∣car) but I shall not stand in need of all my force a∣gainst such enemies, as I fear not, since their cause is so bad, and mine so good. Though I want your e∣loquence (replied Artemidorus) yet for all your Art, I hope Justice will carry it against your specious rea∣sons which have no solidity in them. For the que∣stion is not whether hath most or least trouble in loving a merry Mistress, or a fantastical, or a me∣lancholy; but the question is, which hath most sweets in it. And I do very confidently affirm, that of all the several tempers which a Mistress can be of, none is so fit to move great and sensible delights as she that is fair, proud, and a little fantastical. For it is most evident, that whosoever does take away resistance and all difficulties from Love does murther Love; or at the least doth take away all the sweet and pleasing transports which makes all Lovers hap∣py. And I must also affirm, that to be compleatly happy in Love he must mix with his love, the glory to make it fervent, and must have an amorous kind of ambition, to redouble the violence of that pas∣sion; it is a most high delight after a Man hath been long a slave unto a Mistress, to be at last a Conquerour, and to deserve that glorious title he must have met with such resistance; he will imagine it most glorious to have vanquished that heart which seemed invincible, and he must be able to tell him∣self that he deserves to vanquish.

Moreover, though a resentment of glory were not necessary to render that passion the more ardent, yet it must be confessed that Love is either hot or cold: And it must be concluded as impossible, that those desires which a merry Mistress creates in the heart of a Lover, can ever be so sharp as those in∣spired by a proud beauty, which seem more delicate because they are more difficult to obtain. Not but that a well accomplished Man who is resolute in his Love may be assured to vanquish, if he doth but know how to manage all occasions, and to make use of several favourable and critical minutes which may be met with in the conversation of all proud and fantastical Mistresses; there are some hours when it may be said there is an interregnum in their hearts: I must also maintain that the most sensible favours, are more often obtained by humour, and fancy, then by tenderness and acknowledgements: and a proud fantastical Mistress wins more in an hour, then a merry Mistress can in a year. I grant it (replied Amilcar) but commonly all proud and fantastical Mistresses, do within an hour repent themselves of all the favours they have done; they will even hate themselves for loving you too well: and sometimes they will punish you for what they themselves did voluntarily grant: and their repen∣tance for doing any thing over obligingly moves them unto a thousand more angry words. 'Tis true (replied Artemidorus) sometimes quarrels do arise when one loves a proud beauty; But oh, Amil∣car, how sweet are the reconciliations? and what delight is it to see them repent and pay with usury those favours they suspended; and to confer fresh favours to repair the wrong? what pleasure is it I say, to see this lofty and noble pride to stoop and make excuses, and give many marks of submission? what high delight is it sometimes when they would favour you, to see them vex and fret at themselves, and their hearts out of obliging weakness, to pant so as they are forc'd to be favourable unto you? when one hath obtained any favour from a proud beauty,

her pride will be the sweetest thing in the World unto you: for her pride unto others will make you give hearty thanks, she is not so to you; whereas an equal tempered Mistress who is universally mer∣ry and affable unto all, she does rather vex then please one. Therefore I conclude, that there is more glory and delight in loving a proud fantastical and coy Mistress, then one that is pleasant, merry, and affable, and though perhaps one may be happy, in a melancholy and in a merry Mistress both; yet the conquest of a proud Mistress is more easie, then the conquest of one who gives hopes the very first day that one begins to love them.

If Celeres (replied Amilcar) do defend the cause of fair and melancholy Mistresses, as you have of the proud, I shall stand in need of the fair Plotina's help, to maintain the cause I undertake. Grecians being before all others in eloquence; replied Celeres, and Artemidorus having a most vast will; Perhaps my reasons will not found so well as his; Not that his side and that which I am to defend are much op∣posite, for few proud and fantastical Woman who are very merry; and few also who have not some touch of melancholy; but it is a certain kind of sweet and charming melancholy which makes most violent and tender passions grow in the heart of a Lady. When I speak of a fair and melancholy Mi∣stress (added he) you must not imagine I mean such as are of a gloomy, frowning, fretting and angry humour: for I make a great difference between Sad∣ness and Melancholy. But I mean such a sweet and charming melancholy as is not an enemy unto all pleasures, and gallant diversions. I mean, I say, a melancholy which has a sweet languor and passion in its looks: which makes the heart great, gene∣rous, tender and sensible; and puts into it such a zealous disposition unto love, as those who know not what a melancholy heart is, do not know what love is; and I am confident that a Lover who is acquaint∣ed with all the delicacies of this passion, does find more delight in a certain kind of languishing and passionate lustre in the eyes of his Mistress, then he shall in all the mirth and jollitry in the World: He will not value those eternal laughers who think themselves worthy of pity if they do not laugh from morning to night: and certainly the most sensible delights of that passion, are not those de∣lights which move laughter: And if after a thou∣sand sighs and secret groans, a Mistress afford but one favourable word which gives any spark of hope, a Lover will not hearken unto it with more sensible delight, then unto all the ingenious rallery in the World: not but that he has his joys; but they are such joys as are rather languor then mirth; such joys as are peculiar only unto love, and melancholy is so particularly proper unto that passion, that his very pleasures have a tincture of melancholy. His studies and musings, which seem so dull and heavy, are infinitely pleasing unto him: and at his faintings of spirit are preferrable, before all diversions in the World; and though there appear no blithness in his eyes, nor ever laugh, yet he thinks himself ve∣ry happy. I know very well that at the first ac∣quaintance, a merry person is extremely pleasing: and that it is much easier to get acquaintance with such, then those more serious. For, as Amilcar said very well, one shall get familiarity with them the very first day of acquaintance; they will laugh, sing, dance, and tell a thousand merry stories: whereas on the contrary, one must go more slowly to work, with those whose temper, most take me; for com∣monly, upon the first acquaintance with them, one shall see but the out-side of their beauties and wit, nor will they shew all their ingenuity of a long time; and when you do know all, still you are to seek their hearts; so as discovering every day fresh graces, you have every day fresh delights; but it is otherwise with jocund and pleasant persons; for at the very first they shew you all their beauty, their hearts, and all their affections; and certainly if you love them not at the very first, you will never love them. And also, if she love not you at first, she will never love you, nor afford you any but common fa∣vours.

And the very truth is, they only who have passio∣nate Souls, do know how to take every thing as a favour, who only can invent innocent delights, and can make hope last, after they have given you their affections. For my part, I must ingenuously confess that I do love the merry better then the melancholy; but I must withal tell you, that I would not spend all my life in mirth. I would have my friends of that temper, but not my Mistresses, for there is nothing more cruel then to love one who never minds nor observes any thing but pleasures: It is otherwise with a passionate melancholy Mistress; for if you give any obliging language she remembers it a hun∣dred times, she repeats it unto her self in secret, and she will make you glad to see she remembers it, by hinting something or other handsomely which will let you know it. If you play a lesson on the Lute un∣to her, and there be any passionate Ayrs in it, which seems sutable unto your love of her, she will resent it with tenderness; she will make application unto her self, and answer you with such sweet and lan∣guishing looks, as shall most sensibly delight you: But on the contrary a merry Mistress never minds any passionate Ayr, but begins her self to sing some song or other which signifies nothing. If you send any passionate or amorous Epistles unto her, she runs over it in reading; or if she have any diversi∣on in hand, perhaps she will put it in her pocket and not read it, till she be more at leisure; and when she hath read it. perhaps she will burn it, or may be throw it into her Cabinet, and never read it at all. But when a serious, passionate, and melancholy Mi∣stress receives a Letter from her loved servant, her heart beats when she takes it: she opens it with a blush, and she reads it with care and secresie; she reads it over and over an hundred times, and seri∣ously ponders upon every syllable, and though she remember every word, yet will she read it again and again. The truth is, there is nothing so sweet as when one is loved by such a melancholy virtuous person, to see how she will be troubled in denying any slight favour which you shall ask of her, and will deny it in such an obliging manner, as a merry Mistress would oblige you less in granting it, then she in denying. I do know very well, that such use to love very ardently, and desire also to be ardently loved, and therefore they use to complain very often, but what though? is there anything in this World so sweet as to see a Mistress complain she is not loved enough? can she possibly give you a more apparent testimony of her Love? a merry Mistress indeed complains sometimes that you do not e∣nough divert her, but she will never find fault that your passion is not strong enough; yet quite con∣trary

with a melancholy Mistress, for she will complain she will grieve, and will even be sick for sorrow and anger, she will break off with you by all means though God knows she cannot, and when you have once ap∣peased her, she will fill up your Soul with infinite joys. and you will find in her all the favours and ardency of a new affection, nothing is so sweet as these reconci∣liations in Love.

You shall also have this advantage by loving a Mistress of a serious and passionate temper, as never to hazard any thing as you shall often in loving a merry and fantastical humour, for if you find the last of these in a good mood, when she hath not power to deny her heart unto those who divert her, she will give her heart unto you, but yet she gives it rather by chance than choice: a proud and fantastical Lady will often do the like, and love you more out of an humour than out of any inclination. But a vertuous melancholy Mistress, who hath a tender Soul and a noble heart, she is long in denying you, and will not bestow her affection, but when she cannot chuse but give it, but yet when she doth give it she giveth it freely; and yet she gives it not all at once as the o∣thers do, she shews her heart by degrees; and when you do see the bottom of ir, you shall be so happy as to see none but your self in it. Indeed a passionate and melancholy Mistress, hath love in her head as well as her heart; she can remember and repeat every passage, and wheresoever she is, her mind is still with her Lover, she thinks upon all the places where she hath seen him, and would never be out of his sight, she hath continually a hundred thousand things to tell him, which yet she never does; and there is in this kind of Love such a sweet miscellany of joys and inquietudes; as she is continually in the one or the o∣ther. For not to be mistaken, I must affirm, that to know all the delights of Love, one must know all the bitters of it, and whosoever cannot make a great misery out of a trivial matter, shall never take any great delight in a great favour. But if one will be happy in love, he must pick out great pleasures from slight favours, and must have a heart so sensible, as the very sight of a place where once his Mistress hath been, must fill his heart full of joy, as such joys as must grieve him; his heart must be full of thoughts upon her, he must think upon nothing else; and he must think upon her, sometimes with delight, and sometimes with grief. But the fair and merry Mi∣stress, and also the proud and fantastical never use to have any such tender thoughts, It is onely the char∣ming melancholy which is able to inspire a zealous, lasting, and pleasing Passion; As for a merry Mi∣stress, it may be said she rather lends you her heart than gives it; for she never gives it so absolutely, but she can recal it as often as she finds any one that can di∣vert her more. As for a proud and capricious Mi∣stress, it may he said that one can never get her heart without a ravishment, unless perchance she cast it up∣on you out of anger, rather than give it you of good will; and you can never be so sure in possession of it, but you may lose it again by the same capricious toy which gave it you. But as for a melancholy Mistress, when she gives her heart, she gives it wholly and ab∣solutely, and gives it in such an engaging manner, as (when one knows all the delicacies of this kind of affection which so few do know) it is impossible there should ever be any change in love: And if it were lawful in Rome to use so sacred a comparison with a prophane, I would say, that melancholy is the Vestal which preserves the fire of Love in the heart of a Lover, since without it, a zealous and lasting Love cannot be.

Good Celeres (said Amilcar) say no more, for though I have undertook to be the defender of merry Mistresses, and mirth, yet I think if I were not near the lovely Plotina, you would convert me. The truth is (said Artemidorus) that Celeres and his expres∣sions have tendered my heart. But the wonder is (said Aronces) that Celeres who hath so eloquently discoursed upon Love, yet never had any of those great and violent Passions, is able to instruct others so well. It is true (replied Celeres) and though I was never any more than a pidler in Love matters, yet I am very well acquainted with the Passion: And had I not thwarted my own temper, or had ever met with a lovely Melancholy Mistress who would have loved me, I should have been the deepest in Love of any man living. For my part (replied Amilcar) I can scarcely believe you; for since my first beginnings in matters of love, I have begun a hundred several loves, which have made me so knowing in that Pas∣sion, as I have been loved two or three several times with all imaginable violence. For ought I see (re∣plied Sextus) if one should desire you to tell us the Hi∣story of your life, they should desire more than one single History. True Sir (replied Amilcar and laugh∣ed) and to speak properly, you must desire me to re∣late the History of my Adventures. For my Part, said Plotina then, I have a great desire to know them: I think, added Cesonia, that this curiosity would be general if there were any hopes of being satisfied. For my particular, pursued Clelia, I cannot tell whe∣ther or no I am deceived, but I think Amilcar had ra∣ther relate the adventures of any other than of his own. It is very true Madam, answered he, there is nothing more unhandsome than to relate ones own worth; for if one be modest be will not enough com∣mend himself, and if one be not he will commend himself too much.

But I perceive (said Plotina unto Sextus) That the dispute is ended, and no judgment is given, whether the merry or the melancholy, the proud or the fan∣tastical, have the advantage. Though I took upon me to be Judge (replied Sextus) yet I should be very presumptuous if I should pronounce any sentence be∣fore so many beauties whom I know so little: perhaps there may be more of them merry than I imagine; and those who seem melancholy, are so out of some accidental Cause, and not out of temper; and there∣fore I think it much better to entreat Amilcar that he would be pleased to relate unto us, some of those be∣ginnings in love which he spoke of. Oh Sir, repli∣ed he, I am not fit to be my own Historian: But if you desire to have a Relation of some such Adventure, I have had a hundred friends in my life who have had many gallant and extraordinary adventures; which I am acquainted with as well as my own; and you need only but to tell me what kind of Story you would have. Since it is fitting to divert Prisoners, (replied Sextus) I pray let us have no tragical stories: With all my heart, replied Amilcar: for I am the least acquainted with them; but still I would gladly know a little better of what nature you would have a History. I would if it be possible, replied Sextus, have one that should not end either with a death or a marriage: Oh Sir, replied Amilcar, I can fit you, for I have a friend who has run through adventures e∣now to afford a hundred Stories; which never ended

so. All the Company laughing at what Amilcar said, and at his manner of saying it, they began to press Amilcar unto a Relation of one of these hundred Hi∣stories which he spoke of; so as he thinking it to be good service to Aronces if he kept Sextus from talking unto Clelia, he set himself to relate an Adventure, in which he was very perfect, and which for its singula∣rity deserved to be told unto so noble a company: and therefore with eyes full of jollitry, he began to speak in as free an Air, and little troubled as if he had but three words to speak: But as he was turning towards Sextus, with intentions to address his speech unto him, that Prince desired him to make his address unto all the Ladies in general: And Amilcar obeying him, began thus.

The History of Artaxander.

SInce I was ever very sincere; I must at the first tell you, that the names which I shall name in the Relation of this adventure, are names only suppos'd, That I shall also vary from the true places where the things were done, and that I my self do not well know, whether he whom I shall name Artaxander, was big or little, black or fair. But yet I can assure you, it is not more true, that you are all of you the fairest Prisoners in the world, than it is that all I shall now tell you did really happen in some place of the world or other, and that not long since: For I cannot endure old stories of three Ages ago; but what I am to tell you is an amorous adventure, a new adventure, a gallant adventure, and a most certainly true adven∣ture. I must further tell you, that Artaxander who ere he be, being come to Crete, a Town which har∣boured the most fair and gallant women upon earth, and having quickly gotten the most accomplish'd men and fairest women for his friends, not then having any engagement of love upon his soul; he went out to walk with one of his friends in a Garden out of the Town, which is one of the most delectable places in the Isle, and the Isle you know is one of the best in all the Aegean Sea. And this Garden being from the Town two miles after the Italian measure, they went on horseback. In coming thither they saw two Coaches before the gates; And Artaxander presently enquiring whose they were, he understood that one of them belonged unto a Lady whom I will call Cephi∣sa; and the other unto a Lady who had a Neece which lived with her, whom I will call Pasithea, be∣cause indeed she resembled one of those Graces who owned that name. But he no sooner heard this, then he was very glad of it: for he had heard much talk of Pasithea, though he had never seen her, for she had been in the Country ever since he came to Crete: so as turning towards his friend, whose name shall be Philiontes: well friend (said he unto him) I shall now see her whom I have heard so much of. Doubt∣less you will (replied he) and I am not the most mi∣staken man alive, if she be not as well pleased with the sight of you, as you will be with the sight of her. After this Artaxander whose action was all freeness he entred into the Garden; and no sooner in but he spied five or six women about a Fountain, who talk∣ed very loud and with much joy. Among the rest, Artaxander fixed his eyes upon one who was of a mid∣dle stature, and a most rare beauty: her Action was sprightly, her Garb pleasing, her eyes shining and merry, the smile in her Looks and the blithness of her behaviour, seemed as if she did counterfeit some body as she talked unto one of those Ladies whose name was Cephisa. And indeed, Artaxander and Philiontes staying behind a Hedge and looking upon all this good Company, they perceived that Pasithea was counterfeiting a Lover of the old fashion, who was then in Crete: and one who had a kind of forced ridiculous Air with him, whirh rendred him intolle∣rable, though otherwise he had wit enough. Pa∣sithea did counterfeit him so admirably well, as though Artaxander and Philiontes did not hear the name of him whom she did imitate, yet by her tone, her walk, and her action, they knew very well whom she did so perfectly personate. So as Artaxander, who was excellent good at the same faculty, and who was a particular friend unto all those Ladies ex∣cept Pasithea, he undertook a piece of Gallantry, which hit very happily: for knowing him very well whom Pasithea did counterfeit, he came from behind the hedge, walking as the man used, and putting himself into the same garb and posture as he used, when he would be pleasing: After he had saluted all the Company in general, he accosted Pasithea in par∣ticular, in a language so like that which she was imi∣tating, as all the Company were very pleasingly sur∣prised. But as for Pasithea, she was so astonished and took such delight in this kind of gallantry, that af∣ter she had heartily laughed at this passage; I beseech you Sir (said she unto Artaxander) let me enjoy your friendship and acquaintance; for having a great de∣sire to see my self, and know how I behave my self, and how I speak, I will then entreat you to personate me as well as the man which you now did imitate: As for my friendship Madam (said he in his own or∣dinary tone) I cannot well tell whether you can have it or no: for the truth is, you are too fair for friend∣ship: Oh Sir, replied she, I shall be very well con∣tented with your friendship, and let love alone; and therefore to be my friend is no such difficulty as you imagine: Whatever it be Madam, (said he unto her) let us leave the future unto the will of Love and Fate, and give me leave to tell you thus much, that though I never had the honour to see you until this quarter of an hour, yet I have expected a sight of you this fifteen days with much impatience: And let me tell you fur∣ther, (added he and laughed) you are obliged unto me, for not giving away my heart unto one of these fair ones, until I had the honour to see you: lest I should have been forced to have recalled it when you came: 'Tis very true indeed (said the amiable Cephi∣sa) Artaxander as great a Gallant as he is, has not yet made any addresses of Gallantry unto any of us: I must confess my self much obliged unto him (replied Pasithea) and to return civility for civility, I can as∣sure him that in all my voyage I did not accept of one heart which was offered unto me. And yet I must confess I was somewhat near it, when Cephisa spoke to me in your behalf; for I make no doubt but that you are the same Artaxander, of whom she hath spo∣ken so nobly. Yes Madam (said he unto her) I am the same Artaxander, but the difficulty is how I should make good the commendations of Cephisa, as Madam, you are able to make good those praises which all the world gives you. But Madam, give me leave to tell you, that though I have professed I would not have any to throw away their loves upon me, yet I think my self obliged to give my heart to you in recom∣pence

of your not accepting any heart for my sake. Though I should not give it, yet you have power to take it away from me whether I would or no; and therefore to keep you from theft, I had better be li∣beral and give it. Did you know my good humour (replied she and laughed) you would not speak as you do: for my foolish fancy is to love that which is stoln better than that which is given me: If so Madam, replied he, I beseech you give me my heart again to day, and steal it from me to morrow. After this all the rest of the Ladies and Philiontes also mixing in the discourse, it became extremely pleasant: for Artaxander having a new design of pleasing, and Pa∣sithea the like, they did exceedingly divert themselves and others also. For they did put into practice all that I had said concerning mirth and merry people in the height; and if Artaxander had been acquainted with Pasithea all his life, he could not have been more familiar with her than he was: before they parted, Pasithea and he were whispering their conceits of all the company; he taught her one Song, she him ano∣ther; he composed a Copy of verses ex tempore, up∣on a Posie of Flowers which she gathered and threw unto him; and she again replied. Moreover she gave him her hood and gloves to hold whilst they were at a Collation in a green Arbour; she gave him also some of those fruits which were upon the Ta∣ble; and letting a Ring accidentally fall; which was of no high price, and which he reached up she let him wear it, yet asked it of him at first: but when he told her that he loved to keep that which he found, as well as she did what she stole, she answered him that he should not have it unless he staked something a∣gainst it and won it; then if you please Madam, (said he unto her) I will stake and lay my self against this Ring, that you are the fairest in the world; and be∣cause we will not put it unto chance; Judges shall be chosen to divide the wager. So this pleasant wager was laid, and the Ring was adjudged unto Artaxan∣der. After this, they all went to see the house unto which the Garden belonged, there to rest themselves and where all this fair company did sit down and en¦joyed a pleasant prospect out of a Closet with an open Balcony. But Pasithea entring last because she stayed ••alking with Artaxander, all the places were taken up except two before the Balcony. I perceive (said Pasithea and laughed) they know I am not like those Ladies who will be always in the shade, since they seat me with the Sun in my face. Those who have such a complexion as yours (replied Artaxander) who are so young, so fair, and eyes so sprightly cannot be seated better than you are: especially (added Cephi∣sa and smiled) when they would shew themselves. I must confess indeed (replied Pasithea) that I desire both to see and be seen: but withal I must tell you I am not so affectedly foolish as some Ladies are, who will at any rate be always shewing all the beauty they have, and whose minds run wholly upon such setting them∣selves off as makes them ridiculous to all beholders. And it is very ordinary (said Artaxander) for I never came in any place where I did not find some Ladies in placing themselves in an advantageous light as any would be in placing of a picture. I know one Cretan, replied Philiontes, who is the most ambitions woman upon earth; so very extreme, as I think she would not appear fairer than others, but only out of her ambition, and without the least smack of Gallantry: This Lady was one day put to a pitiful perplexity, for be pleased to know, that this Lady who had a thou∣sand quarrels in her days about matter of place, and would contend for it with such as were much above her quality, this Lady, I say, came one day to one of her friends, whose chamber was so contrived as the highest place in the Room was the worst in the world for a beauty to be in: for the purest complex∣on there seemed to be yellow, by reason of reflecti∣on from a window opposite to a plot of yellow flow∣ers, which caused that yellow reflection. Also the composure of this Ladies face was such, as if she were in an advantageous place, her eyes seemed hollow and ill-favoured, so as knowing this place was not favourable to her, she was then much perplexed be∣tween the interest of her ambition, and the interest of her beauty; for she knew well that if we took up that place, she should look pitifully upon it; and if she did not seize upon it, then another Lady would sit above her: so as not knowing upon a sudden what to do, because it was a thing she could not foresee, for the Chamber was new built, and she had never been in it, she fell into a miserable perplexity. But I pray Sir (said one of the company unto him) if she had never been in that Chamber, how could she know it had that ill quality? The Question is ingeniously asked (replied Philiontes) and as easily answered. For you must know that when this ambitious Lady first entred, she saw one standing in this dangerous place; upon whose face she saw what would reflect upon her own, if she were in her room. So as not knowing whether she should take it or no, to gain a little more time of consideration she stepped back, and seemed as if she had some private business with one behind her, she carried her unto the other end of the Cham∣ber to talk with her; but the best jest was she knew not what secrefie to talk of, insomuch as the other was as much amazed, to hear her talk of so many senseless nothings, as that Lady was in finding out an expedient, how to avoid this disadvantagious place. But at the last, after much talk to no purpose the o∣ther Lady did guess the cause; for she began to find fault with the Chamber, and say her own was far be∣yond it, she said this was ill scituated; she could not find a convenient place to set a bed in it; she would alter all the doors and windows; purposely to make better lights, such as would make her seem fair, and and to satisfie her Ambition, she would turn the very course of the Sun, she would have the whole house pulled down, though it was a most stately Fa∣brick, rather than expose her self unto a light which was disadvantageous unto her beauty. I know a La∣dy in the place from whence I came (replied Pasithea) who would do as much, if the occasion should pre∣sent it self; but I know others at Crete who are as ridi∣culous; for there is a woman whom Cephisa knows as well as I, who because she hath very white hands; is continually doing something or other which may give her an occasion of shewing them. For one while she will be mending somewhat about her own dress, and another while she will be so officious too, to be mending something about her friends; sometimes she will purposely let fall her hood, that she may take it up and so shew her hands; and when she is at any gal∣lant Collation, she will always eat of that which is far off her, and not that which is near, because she would have a pretence to reach forth her hand and arm, and so shew their fairness. Fie, Pasithea, (replied Cephisa) you have said too much: No truly (replied she) I have not said enough yet; for there are some who think themselves so fair, as that they do not on∣ly

shew their hands unto others, but are continually looking upon themselves.

For my part (said Artaxander) I know a Lady who indeed hath admirable white teeth, who most cer∣tainly had never laughed, if her teeth had not been so; for all the composure of her face was serious and melancholy, yet knowing the whiteness of her teeth, she laughed in spight of natures teeth, and got an artificial smile which is the most rediculous thing in the World; for her mouth is alwaies ope∣ned with a laugh though there be no signs of any mirth in her eyes or face; and her lips are so used to shew her teeth, as I am confident that she sleeps open mouthed. All the company laughing at this plea∣sant description which Artaxander made of that La∣dy, it was confessed that such things were often to be found, and that it was a weakness which beauties ought to correct themselves for, since nothing is more ridiculous then affectation. And yet nothing is more ordinary (replied Cephisa) especially amongst young people; nothing is more fantastical than to rowl the eyes by Art, and yet many women consult with their Glasses, only to learn the trick of it, but the truth is, a woman should not use any arts to please, but only such as belongs to the handsome dressing themselves, and chusing such colours as best becomes them, but I cannot endure any should practise to make faces, nor to shew any parts of their beauty with so much affectation as if they had a design to sell them. The Tirian and Sidonia•• Merchants do not use more care in shewing their rich Dies and Tapestries, than many great Beauties in shewing theirs. For my part (said Pasithea) I am resolved none shall ever upbraid me with any fantastical affectation. I believe it (re∣plied Cephisa) but yet you may be upbraided with that jocund humour which will not let you think upon any thing else, they wrong me who think my mind runs not 〈◊〉〈◊〉 upon pleasures (replied she) for indeed I will always love that which pleaseth me, the way then to get your love (replied Artaxander) is always to please you, It is true (said she and laughed) and if you please me always as well as you have pleased me this day, we shall always agree very well. Oh! sweet Pasithea (replied he) I am much joyed to hear you say so; and that you may know me better, give me leave to tell you I am nothing like those men who cannot be Masters of their own minds; who are some∣times merry and sometimes sad, and cannot speak out of their humours: As for me, I have four or five several sorts of spirits, and I am able to chuse which of them I please at any time; therefore since that in which I am this day doth please you, you shall see me in it as long as I live.

And indeed after this, Artaxander and Pasithea grew as intimately familiar as any two in the world. Pasithea told him where she dwelt, Artaxander asked leave to come and see her, she granted, and when he went, he stayed always very long with her. They parted always with so many signs of friendship, that never any growing affection appeared more sensible than between these two. And since the first day of vi••it they were almost always together; for the hu∣nour of Artaxander much delighting Pasithea, and th•• humour of Pasithea much pleasing Artaxander, an 〈◊〉〈◊〉 of pleasure did unite them, and caused them 〈◊〉〈◊〉 continually together; so as in a few days Artax∣ander perceived that his heart was wounded with the ••he p••st darts of Love; it is true, his Passion met with no bitter rubs, but he might in reason and with∣out vanity, have as much hope as love; for Pasithea was so sweet towards him, and he knew so well that he pleased her, as he was almost sure of being loved. And indeed within a few days Pasithea gave him as many signs of affection as she possibly could; she per∣mitted him to talk of his love, and did not forbid him to hope; a while after she let him believe he was beloved: Indeed the hearts of these two were so ac∣customed unto pleasures, as perhaps they did not so sensibly as others, gust the happiness which they en∣joyed; and it must be granted that when any do come out of a state of sorrows into a state of joys, they are the most sensible, but happy they both were, and if Artaxander contrary to his custom had not taken a fantastical conceit in his head, his love of Pasithea had lasted longer. But the better to make you under∣stand the business, you must know, that when Ar∣taxander was most pleased with Pasithea, and most confident of his being pleasing unto her, he fell in talk with Cephisa, who was no hater of him, and ag∣gravating his good fortune, he opened his whole soul unto her; but conceiving this, Cephisa did lend but an hollow ear unto him, nor did think him so hap∣py as he thought himself, he asked her the reason, wondring very much she did no more congratulate his good fortune. For truly, (said he unto her) Pasithea is wondrous fair, her humours are infinitely pleasing, I please my self in pleasing her, she esteems me beyond my merit; she loves me almost as well as I would desire, and we see one another continually. You do very well Sir, (said Cephisa) to mention this last thing, for without it all the rest would not make love subsist. For certainly, if Pasithea were but one month out of your sight, as pleasing as she is she would easily forget you.

Melancholy people (replied Artaxander) are so confidently parswaded that merry people will find Consolation in all conditions, as I can hardly believe what you say, unless you can give me an example of it. If that will convince you (replied Cephisa) I shall easily find one; but since you may perhaps think I disguise the truth, I pray ask Philiontes who is your particular friend, what passed between Pasithea and a most handsome man who died about four months since, and for your further satisfaction desire Pasithea her self to relate the adventure of that illustrious dead man: to the end you may engage your heart no further than she engaged hers. Artaxander was very desirous that she would tell him further, but she kept firm to her resolution, and therefore as soon as he was parted from Cephisa, he went unto Philiontes. As soon as they met, he asked him whether Pasithea had lost a friend or a Lover within this four months? As for a friend (replied Philiontes and laughed) Pasi∣thea can never lose him, for people of her humour can never have any; but as for a Lover, she did lose one whom she loved as well as she could love, and whom she ought to lament as long as she lives: But pray why did you never arquaint me with this Adven∣ture (replied Artaxander) I perceived you so well pleased with Pasithea from the very first, (replied Philiontes) as I thought it not sit to acquaint you with a passage which the knowledge of it could not be ad∣vantageous to you: And I should never have spoke of it had not you spoke first. But I pray (replied Artax∣ander) what was the name of him she loved, and what kind of man was he? he was so very handsome and of so noble a mind, (replied he) as my eye never yet saw a better? his Quality was much above Pasithea's;

they began to love when they were Children play∣ing together; this lovely Lover gave a thousand heroick Testimonies of his Love unto this Lady, he ventured his whole estate for her sake, he ad∣ventured his life for her several times; and it was impossible to express more love then he did to her. Pasithea also, in requital of his affection, an∣swered him in all that virtue would allow; and I am confident that Philocrates, as long as he li∣ved had no cause to complain; for he being con∣tinually in her eye, he did continually please her, yet did not know her heart to the bottom. How (replied Artaxander then) was it Philocrates, whom I saw about four months since? who died in the same place where I was? was it that same Philo∣crates who loved, and was loved of Pasithea? The ve∣ry Philocrates (replied Philiontes) the very same Philocrates, who though he was most dearly lo∣ved all his life, yet was soon forgotten after his death. Oh Philiontes, (replied Artaxander) unless there were some great disgust between Pasithea and him at parting, it is impossible a Man of his merit should be so soon forgotten: you are so far in favour with Pasithea (replied Philiontes) as you may easily make her tell you all passages between them; and therefore I will tell you no more; and in le••d, do what Artaxander could, he could not get Philiontes to tell him any more: so as curiosity augmenting, by the difficulty of finding satisfaction, the fancy took him in his head to go unto her, and know how it was possible she could comfort her self so soon, after the death of a lover who had so much merit. So going unto her, ac∣cording to his custom; and finding her alone, he seemed at the first not to know any thing of Philo∣crates his love to her, but only named him as one who was his Friend. He had no sooner named him, but Pasithea began to speak, how (said she without any extraordinary distemper did you know Philo∣crates? Yes, replied he and he died in my Arms, for whom I much lament, for he was a Man of great parts. For my part, replied Pasithea, he has di∣verted me many a time: but as for you Artaxander, I believe you have no great reason to lament him: for had you seen him in Crete, I believe you would not have been good friends. I understand you ve∣ry well Madam, replied Artaxander, and to speak truth you are in the right; for it is not usual for two Rivals to be friends. You know very much for a stranger (said she unto him) I cannot tell what I know as a stranger (replied he) but I conceive that I know not enough as a Man unto whom you have given your heart; and therefore I beseech you lovely Pasithea, tell me ingenuously all the passages betwixt you and Philocrates until he parted from Crete; and fear not that I shall be jealous, for you may imagine there is no danger of a dead Rival. At the first Pasithea was something shy in satisfying the curiosity of Artaxander; for, said she, I cannot endure to trouble my self with talking of past things unless they were serviceable to things present, or things to come. But at last, being overcome by the perswasion of Artaxander, she began to relate all the passages of Philocrates his love unto her, especially all the Diversions, Treats, Feasts, and Merriments, which he had given her; so as they being all pleasant passages, she laughed as heartily in re∣lating all these things, as if the Man who gave them all unto her, were not dead, at least not dead so lately. But the wonder was, that in this relation, she confessed ingenuously that she did most tenderly love Philocrates; that he never gave her the least distaste, and that they parted as most dear friends, and that she was much obliged unto him after his death, because by his last Testament he had given her a great part of his Estate: Sure then Ma∣dam (said Artaxander to her) the memory of Philo∣crates must needs be very dear unto you; I assure you (said she) I do think upon him sometimes with much delight, for we have laughed together many a merry time; then remembring some things which she had not told before, she began to tell them with such freeness of spirit, as if she never had any inte∣rest in what she told: so that as long as this Relati∣on lasted, Artaxander could not see the least grief or sorrow in her eyes, or face. But on the contrary, there was such extreme joy in her words, in her voice, and in her eyes, that as well pleased as he was to see his Rival's death, did not move the heart of his Mistress, yet he was very sad.

Thus Pasithea supposing that he would think she did too obligingly remember him whose adventures she had related, she affected to shew her insensibility, by shewing her jollitry. And to that end she began to talk of a hundred merry passages; and she rela∣ted to Artaxander some things which her dead Lo∣ver had spoken unto her: He told me the day be∣fore his departure (said she unto him) that though death was alike to him in all places, yet he should grieve more to die far from Crete, then to die near me. Believe me (said I unto him) I do not under∣stand your reason, since I profess unto you, that if you were very sick in danger of death, I would not see you: For what delight soever can be taken in the sighs of a dying Lover, I profess I would not be present at your last groan; and thereforee I cannot see any reason you have to desire dying in Crete, more then the furthest part of Africa. Yes Ma∣dam (said he unto me) if I die in Crete I shall have a Tomb, and I should hope that the sight of my Urn would hinder you from engaging in a new affe∣ction. And therefore, Artaxander (added she and laughed) if you take any care for the burial of your Rival, you do not know that you do a thing against his intention, and a thing which hereafter will be serviceable unto you.

However, since it was his Fate to die, I am very glad it was in Africa; for I should have been trou∣bled in passing by his Monument; and I cannot endure any sad objects; for I do not know any greater folly in the World then to grieve, when it is a thing cannot be helped by grief. Believe me, Madam, (replied Artaxander very discontentedly) in this you are the wisest Woman in the World: You speak in such a tone (said she) as if you took it ill I did not cry for the death of your Rival. I know not, Madam (replied he) whether I should take it well if you should cry; but I confess I think it strange you should so little grieve; and to be plain with you, I will do what I can to perswade my self, that it is my self who gives Consolation to you after his death. But Madam, it is impossible I should ever be so perswaded; for the first time, I had the honour to see you in the Carden, where you were so 〈◊〉〈◊〉 personating that ridiculous Lover, 〈…〉〈…〉 were a•• after the old mode, you had 〈…〉〈…〉 and blithness in your eyes and mind then ever I saw you since; yet it is so

short a time since my Rival died, and as one can hard∣ly imagine him to be dead. Thus I must conclude, with sorrow to my self, that it was not I who did comfort after your loss, but that it is only your own natural temper, which is to love the diversion, and not the divertor, unless it be for such diversions as proceed directly from his person; so as such as think to be tenderly loved by you, will be much de∣ceived, and miserable; for since my Rival could not attain to any perfection of love from you, no Man else can ever pretend unto it; and to be plain with you, I think it wisdom in any person to dis-en∣gage himself from such a one as you, who is not ca∣pable of any violent passion.

Since you think that you have found out a new fantastical, and pleasant way of complaint (replied she) I wonder not you should make your self a lit∣tle merry with it, and since I think my self a little good at Rallery, as if I did believe you spoke your real thought. Seriously Madam (replied Artaxan∣der) I am much afflicted to see you so much incapa∣ble of loving aright, and that you should so little love the most lovely Man upon earth. I assure you (said she) that I loved him as well as ever I could, and that I do not love you better then I did him. I do believe it, Madam (answered he) and believe it easily; for my Rival was a Man incomparably above me in all things, he hath done you a million of servi∣ces; a million of services more then ever I did, and I make no question but that you loved him more than you do me. And therefore you need not think it strange, I should grieve at the small affection which you had unto him. For Madam (I must tell you a∣gain) that I wish I had been the Man who had com∣forted you, and that I had seen you weep the first time I had the honour to see you, in lieu of seeing you laugh, I wish that I had wiped away your tears. But had you seen me crying (replied she and laugh∣ed) you would not have loved me, and so far would you have been from courting, that you would have fled from me, and therefore I see no reason you have to complain. I complain, Madam (replied he) be∣cause you did not well enough love my Rival; for being perswaded that you did not love me so well as him. It much concerns the happiness of my life, to think that you loved him very well; and therefore it is not so santastical as you imagine, that I should grieve that you grieve no more for his loss. I do not tell you (replied she) that I love you less then I loved him; but out of my plain sincerity, I told you that I loved you no better then I loved him. I do believe you, Madam (replied he) indeed I do be∣lieve you, and I do too much believe you for my own tranquillity; for when I do consider that an absent Lover, and a dead Lover are both alike unto Wo∣men of your humour; and when I consider, that as soon as I am out of your sight, you will forget me as one whom you never saw, my vexation is more then I am able to express. Moreover, my imagina∣tion is so weak and apprehensive, as I cannot chuse but think that if I were either dead or absent, you would within one month contract affection with some other, and would relate unto him all our adven∣ture as merrily, as you have related unto me, the ad∣venture of my unfortunate Rival. And therefore to be downright plain with you, I am resolved to the utmost of my endeavours to dis-engage my heart; and considering your extreme insensibility, if I could revive my Rival I would do it, to the end he might upbraid you with your affection unto me. Oh Sir (said she and laughed) if you could work that won∣der, you would put me to it indeed; for then I think I should quit you both together, and perhaps make choice of a third, before either of you two. As Pasithea said so, much company came in, so as the discourse of necessity became ge∣neral.

But as chance would have it, the discourse did fall upon the very same subject; for Cephisa, began to talk of a Lady, who after the Death of her Hus∣band did strange things to testifie the excess of her sorrow, and who afterwards did so chear up self, as if she had quite forgotten him. For my part (said Pasithea then) I think these things the greatest follies in the World; for when any hath received a loss of this nature, all a whole Town will run to comfort the party afflicted: If you chance to meet one of them, and ask whither he is going? they will an∣swer, that they are going to comfort forsooth; ask another, and they will answer the same; and yet those they go to comfort would not be comforted unless they came, as if the tears of others were the Pearls that must inrich them; but there is no greater folly in the World, then excessively to∣grieve when there is no remedy, and the great∣est wisdom is to chear up presently as soon as one can; and I assure you it is my maxim, that when I lose any whom I love, I will do all I can to forget him.

Indeed I have heard say (replied Cephisa craftily) that when Pasithea lost a person whom she loved dearly, and from whom she had his Picture and seve∣ral Letters, she presently burned all his Letters and threw away his Picture. I do confess it (replied Pasithea sharply and blusht) and so both I and all else ought; to what purpose is grief for the dead? And to what purpose is your affection unto a living person, replied Artaxander, since it is a thing im∣possible to be sure of it? Do you think (said she) that the affection of these death-lamenters, is more sure then mine? for I am most confident, they cry, and pule, and lament more out of temper than affe∣ction. I grant they do cry out of their tempers (replied Artaxander) but it must be granted also, that they do love zealously or coldly, by the same rea∣son, and you are of a temper to love nothing but pleasures and joys, you are incapable of any sor∣row or affection. I would gladly know (said a La∣dy in the Company what precise limits are to be al∣lowed unto sorrow: If you will believe Artaxander at this time (said Pasithea) he will tell you, that you ought to live ever upon the grave of the party loved, or at least to cry Eternally, and make Foun∣tains of your eyes. And if you will believe Pasithea (replied he) she will tell you that you may dance upon the grave of your friends that sorrow is a fond weakness, and that the loss of a fair day to take the Air in, deserves to be lamented more, then the loss of the most perfect Lover or the most faithful friend in the World.

For my part (said Cephisa) I love not extreams in any thing: I think a middle way may be taken, and that without either despair or insensibility, we may grieve, and comfort our selves in a reasonable man∣ner. I would gladly know (saith Pasithea) how you mean it, that when one hath lost a Lover, they may know whether they may make another; if when one hath lost a Husband, she may marry again; and

if when one hath lost a friend, one may get another in his Room. You ask many things at once (repli∣ed Cephisa.) And which is most strange (added Artaxander) though you should make the most just Laws in the World. yet she would break them all. Since I cannot deny Pasithea (replied Cephisa) I will indeavour to content her though I am as well as you perswaded that she desires to know more then she would learn, at least put in practice. Though I should break all your Laws (replied she) yet I should do no such work of wonder, since the Laws of the greatest Kings are broken every day: Speak then Cephisa (said she and laughed) and teach me the art of crying handsomely. You know so well how to laugh handsomly (replied Artaxander) that I cannot beleeve you will ever learn to cry: if I had known how to laugh so well as you say, you would have taught it me since I first knew you (replied she) but good Cephisa, answer unto all my questions one after another; and to begin with the first, tel me whether when one hath lost a Lover, one must bury them∣selves with him, or make a vow against being fair, and use ones eyes in nothing but crying? for if it must be so, I promise you I will never permit any to love me, unless he can lay in good security that he is immor∣tal, lest I should be put to die with him, or else lead a life so melancholy as is not worth the living.

To give you my opinion clearly (replied Cephisa) one should never be ingaged in any particular affe∣ction; but since an innocent love is allowed, and one hath the misfortune to ingage the heart to love one whom death takes away, one ought never to in∣gage again, without any excessive sorrow; yet since it is so natural to be so comforted with time in the most sensible sorrows, I will not absolutely condemn one whose heart shall be moved the second time unto a particular tenderness; but if any woman shall go beyond twice, I profess I shall hold her to be neither reasonable nor virtuous. Then you allow one to have a second Lover? replied Pasithea, after one hath lost the first: It were much better never to have any or at least no more but one (replied Ce∣phisa) but to suit my Laws with humane imbecillity, I will allow one to have two Lovers, provided there be a long interval between the death of the first, and the beginning of the second love, also upon condi∣tion that the second Lover be worthy to succeed the first; and that one should defend ones heart a∣gainst the second more resolutely, then against the first; that one should be secretly ashamed of any new ingagement; and that one should not ingage until time and reason, have allowed some comforts: I would not have any new Lover banish the first out of the heart of a Lady: but I would have it to be time and reason which should comfort her, and to put her into a Condition of loving the second time: And I dare boldly say that any woman whosoever which shall ingage her self in any new affection, pre∣sently after the death of the first Lover, as a most un∣faithful person, more unhumane and more insensi∣ble then if she were unfaithful to her living Lover. It is manifest (replied Pasithea, that all your Lovers are living and well; but if you were in fear they would dy before you, then perhaps you would not speak as you do. Yet I am contented with this Ar∣ticle; and therefore tell me whether it is lawful to have two husbands, as well as two Lovers? Since Custome hath allowed it (replied Cephisa) I shall not contrary it; but if you would have me tell you ingeniously what I think, I must positively confess that I would more willingly pardon a woman who admits of two Lovers, then her that admits of two Husbands; for it less wounds a delicate Genius, to bestow the whole heart twice for a time, then to give it for all the life. And indeed, if some strong resentments of Love or Ambition will not excuse a woman that marries twice, she is inexcusable: At least I am sure it is better to be a proud nice Mistress then to be one of those wives who as soon as ever they have buried one Husband are in bed with ano∣ther, and never lament his loss, but in hopes that their tears will prefer them unto another more a∣greeable to their fancy. Yet those who are onely possessed with two innocent passions, they have much more to say in excuse of their imbecillity; for it cannot be denied but that there is some sweetness to reign in the heart of a well accomplished man, and to be zealously loved; and the delight to have a faithful and obedient servant, may in some sort excuse her who after a long lamentation for the loss of the first, does desire to have such another Captive; but I cannot conceive what delight a woman can take in taking a new Master: And I should not be∣leeve it possible, if experience did not every day shew us examples of women, who without any Am∣bition or love or reason for it, do marry themselves again onely to marry, without any other reasons for their marriage. Nor will I ever trust those great mourners, who would shut themselves up in the Tombs of their dead Husbands; for I have seen so many of them so soon comforted, as I like much bet∣ter a sorrow that is more wise and lasting, and will sooner allow a woman two Lovers then two Hus∣bands. As for that (said Artaxander) I beleeve Pasithea will not contradict you: I do confess it (replied she) and I will dispense with her from the pains in telling whether she may take new friends in lieu of others that are dead. I do believe, re∣plyed Artaxander, that you have no mind to know it. I confess that also, said she; but it is because all my friends are well, and I would not trouble my self so far as to consider upon any others. You should have said, replyed Cephisa, that you know well e∣nough already how to use them; for have you not lost Philocrates? 'Tis true (said she without any blush, or shame) and I have taken Artaxander in his place: I know not Madam, replied he, whether I am in the place of Artaxander; but I think his place to seem better then mine, but it is much better to be at rest in a grave, then to be in the heart of such an humo∣red woman as your self.

But methinks (replied Pasithea and laughed) that Cephisa hath not ranked Philocrates aright: For he was my Lover, and she has ranked him amongst my friends. After this the spirit of Artaxander was so incensed against the insensibility of this hard hearted woman, as he returned her a hundred sharp expressi∣ons: And then the company parting, Artexander carried Cephisa to her lodging, who doubtless bore him so much good will, as was very likely to become love; and therefore she was not sorry to see him so incensed against Pasithea: but rather on the contrary did blow the bellows to kindle a grea∣ter dislike; for she acquainted him with an hun∣dred particularities of her former gallantry which Pasithea had not told him, because she did not re∣member them. And indeed Artaxander with all jollities, was much grieved that Pasithea should so

indifferently resent the death of his Rival: and he could not have grieved more if she had loved some other then he was, that she loved not him enough: For truely (said he unto Philiontes) what security can I even have in the affection of Pasithea; since I have it from her own mouth, that she cannot love me better then she did Philocrates, whom she loved not at all since she can be so soon comforted. But you have not loved many others, replied Philiontes. who loved you no better then she doth, and yet ne∣ver torment your self. 'Tis true (said he) but I loved them no better then they loved me: but my affection unto Pasithea, for I intended towards her such a violent passion as might have been set for an example unto all Lovers: yet now I see, my best course is, not to love her at all; and methinks I owe so much respect unto my dead friend, that I ought not to contribute unto the pleasure of one who does so little lament him; Also I should serve Pasithea but right, if I did make her lament Philocra∣tes. The way to know whether this jocund Lady do love you better then she did her first Lover (re∣plied Philiontes and laughed) is to let Artaxander die. Oh Philiontes, (replied he) that remedy is too vio∣lent: when you understand me well, replied he, you will find it a better remedy then you imagine; For my meaning is, that Pasithea shall not find it in you for a certain time, that same Artaxander who loved her, and who had the art to please and divert her. Cease therefore if you will be ruled by me, from be∣ing so complaisant and sweet unto her; never see her unless it be to chide her; be reserved and me∣lancholy; and make that pleasing Artaxander whom she loved to die, and see if she will love him after death, and use all her endeavours to revive him: And indeed Artaxander smothering all his joys, he seemed to be a very sullen and melancholy man, and behaved himself as one who cared not a rush for di∣verting her: he never saw her but with a sour face; he talked not as he was wont: he did not laugh at what she said, he moved no delight, but when he spoke he complained against her, so as Pasithea be∣gan to think it much better if he were dead, then to be present with her in such dumpish humours. And one day she told him her mind; for as he began to upbraid her with her cold affection: I pray Artaxan∣der (said she unto him) either assume your good humours again, or else I shall be worse to you then to Philocrates: for I do but forget him, but I shall hate you most horridly. Oh Madam, said he unto her, I do defie you: for I am confident that you can neither love nor hate: and therefore I cannot hope to be loved, so I do not fear being hated. But Madam, if you will not have Artaxander to trouble you, you must not do more for him then you did for Philocrates. Truly, said she, I cannot; for I did as much for Philocrates as virtue would permit me, and neither will, nor ought do more. Then, Madam (replyed he) I must love no longer, since I cannot be contented with such an affection as you had unto Philocrates. Were I inspired onely with a bare piece of gallantry, a light Love, such as I have seen a hundred in my daies, you should not speak thus: But, to my misery, I was resolved to love you other∣wise than so; and since there is no medium, you must either love me more than you did Philocrates, or else I must not love you at all. Artaxander (said she) as I cannot do as you would have me, so if you can do what you say you would I perceive Madam (said he unto her) that you think I cannot; but perhaps I shall shew you, that it is possible to break any chaines which you can give; and to try whether I am master of my self, I will deprive my self of the happiness in seeing you. And indeed Artaxander did presently rise up, and went away from Pasithea: Al∣so to make it appear, that his design was to break off with her, he sent her back her Picture which she gave him, and went the next morning into the coun∣try with Philiontes, at whose house he lay; for Phi∣liontes being the onely son, and a very well accom∣plished man, he was almost master at home, though he had a Father and Mother, and having a very no∣ble and pleasant house in the Country, he carried Artaxander with him for a month who by the help of himself and the Muses doe cheer up himself after the loss of Pasithea, and all this voyage was as plea∣sant as any man alive. Thus this beginning of love did end, neither by death nor marriage, nor hatred, nor jealousie. But to pass from one into another, you must needs know what accident fell out that same night Artaxander and Philiontes returned un∣to Creet. But first I must acquaint you, that since their departure there was come a Lady to the town, whom Artaxander never had seen, which Lady had a daughter who passed for the onely rare beauty in the world.

This Lady having formerly lodged in the house of Philiontes Father, and had contracted a great league of friendship whith his Mother; they came thither very often in the absence of Artaxander and Philiontes, their house being just over the way. But to come speedily into this other beginning of Love which I promised, and to acquaint you with that which absolutely chased Pasithea out of Artaxanders heart, you must know, that there being much compa∣ny at supper with Philira (for so will I name the Mother of the great beauty whom I will name Cyne∣sia) as ill luck was after all the company was gone, those servants who should have extinguished the lights, and made clean the room, were so negligent, as that within an hour after the house was on fire; and so violent at first, that Philira and Cynesia fearing their lives more than any thing else, went out and went unto the house of Philiontes his Father which was over the way, and so far off the fire, as there was no fear of catching: but by the help of neighbours the fire was quickly quenched, yet Philira and Cynesia durst not go home, for all the houshold stuff was car∣ried out in hast for fear of burning; and the Mother of Philiontes desired Philira and Cynesia to take a lodging in her house: and she with more conveni∣ence offered this piece of civility because Artaxan∣der and Philiontes being out of town, their chambers were ready prepared to receive these Ladies. And so Philira was carried into the chamber of Philiontes, and the fair Cynesia unto that of Artaxander. But as commonly in all such disorders, things are not done regulary, and as Cynesia had not her own wo∣man to wait upon her, so the servants of the house did but half shut her door, and making hast to go in∣to bed and regain the time of sleep which they had lost, they left a candle burning in the chamber of the fair Cynesia, who was not at all sorry for it, be∣cause being frighted with the accident of fire, she thought she should not sleep; but she was mistaken; for silence, rest and weariness, did lul her into a deep sleep as well as all the rest of the house. Mean time, you must know, that the weather being very hot

and night's much better to travel in then daies, Phi∣liontes and Artaxander to avoyd the excessive heat, did take Boat at Sun-set, to return unto Creet, giving order unto their men to come by land the next day; for the Moon shining all night, fancyed much plea∣sure in returning thus; for the night was clear, the sea serene, the boat covered over with Orange and Mirtle branches, which gave a most admirable o∣dour; they had cushions to lean upon, if a desire of sleep came upon them, and the Rowers were excel∣lent at the art, neither was the boat so little, but they might talk and not be hard by the Rowers; so as I have heard both Philiontes and Artaxander say, that they never passed a more lovely night then that; for two such such wits could not want discourse: some∣times they would sing, sometimes muse, sometimes make verses, sometimes rally with the Rowers; they admired the beauty of the Sea which the sparkling of the Stars did silver; they lent a pleasing ear unto the murmur of the waves in the silence of night, and at last harkning to the stroaks of the Oars, which are very apt to cause sleep, they slept; and when they waked they enjoyed the most pleasant prospect in the world at their approach to Creet: also they had slept so soundly, as they imagined they had slept as much as ordinary, and as much as they needed: At last they came to Creet, and the town having no other wals but the sea on that side, they might easily goe to their own house; and they went through all the City and met not a man in the streets, for it was very late, and about an hour after Philira and Cyne∣sia were gon to bed: Mean time, as they could not imagine that their chambers were taken up, so they went directly home; and indeed they were much a∣mazed to see some signs of burning in their neigh∣bourhood. But at last knocking gently at the gate for fear of waking the Master and Mistress of the house, a slave who lay close by, heard the knock, so as imagining that perhaps it was some of Philiraes servants who came to speak with their Mistress, he did rise up, and half awake, and half asleep, he went unto the door; at the which he no sooner was, but knowing the voice of his Masters son, and of Artax∣ander, he opened the door in all hast: As soon as they were entred, this slave would have called up some men to wait upon them and light a candle, but Philiontes would not let him wake any, and the Moon shining as light as day he forbad him, but bade him go to bed again: The slave obeyed, and being one whose office was only to open the door, and beside, a dull fellow, he knew not that Philira and Cynesia had taken up the chambers of Philiontes and Artax∣ander: He knew well that they were in the house, for he saw them come in, but his business not being a∣bove stairs, he never enquired where they lodged, so as Philiontes and Axtaxander parting, because their chambers were not both up the same stairs, they went each of them to their own. But Artaxander was strangly surprised, when coming to his chamber door he saw it open, and a light burning in it; but much more was his wonder, when he saw such night dresses as Ladies use, lying upon the Table; but a∣gain his admiration was incomparably great, when he saw one of the greatest beauties in the world ly∣ing in his bed, who did lye in the most advanta∣geous posture to appear fair, and make Artaxander in love with her; For the weather being very hot, the Purple Curtains about her bed were all drawn open, and gave him the liberty to see and admire her beauty, which seemed the more wonderful, by reason of his surprise at such a fair object. Cynesia; who was of a notable tall stature, did ly upon her right side, and the cloths upon her being very thin, one might see the whole shape of her body; her head leaned upon one arm, and the other lay loose upon the pillow: also having undressed her self in a kind of tumultuous hast, a part of her dresses were unti∣ed, and her black locks lay curled upon her most admirable white neck: As for her left arm, it lay bare upon her Pillow, and shewed its delicacy. Ar∣taxander found every part of her face most rarely excellent; and though her eyes were shut, yet he judged of them by the rest. She slept with a lovely smile; and though complexion does not use to shew it self much in sleeping, yet Cynesias was as fresh as any rose; her lips so red, and her curled hair so black, together with her pure complexion, was the most inviting object in the world. Artaxander be∣ing strangely surprised at this fair apparition, he knew not what to think; and his wonder was the greater because he knew not Cynesia: He judged her to be a person of quality both by her dress, and a Carkenet of Diamonds about her neck, which she had forgotten to put off, and also by a Case of Pict∣ure which was tyed about her left Arm with a black Ribband, though the Case was not a very rich one yet Artaxander knew that none wore any such but people of quality.

Artaxander being then in this Condition, he knew not what to do; for he had a good mind to waken this fair one to see whether her eyes were as fair as he immagined them; but fearing to procure her hatred, if he should affright her when she waked, and sound her with a man in that place, he durst not attempt, but bethought himself of a more re∣spective and gallant a course. For having in his Pocket by chance the case of a Picture, much more rich and handsome then that which Cynesia had tied about her Arm, he went softly towards the fair one, and kneeling down, he untied the black Rib∣band about her arm extreamly nimble, and tying his own case in lieu of that which Cynesia wore, he ne∣ver awaked Cynesia. But I forgot to tell you, that this Case which Artaxander tied upon Cynesiaes Arm, was made to put Pasitheaes Picture in; and ever since he had sent her back the Picture he wore the empty Case: So as having a Silver Pen and Ink a∣bout him, and having a quick fancy, he writ these four Verses within the Case, before he tyed it unto Cynesiaes Arm.

Night's better than the Day Such Mysteries to discover, As you my Love know may And yet not know the Lover.

He had no sooner written these four Lines in the Case and had tyed it unto her fair Arm, but he heard some coming up the stairs. So as fear left he should wake this fair one he went hastily to the place where he heard the noise, and went so gently as he did not awake Cynesia. He was no sooner at the stairs top, but he met his friend, whose adventure was much different from his; for in lieu of finding a great beauty in his bed he had sound the Mother of Cynesia, whom time and age had withred into ex∣tream ugliness. Yet he knowing her, because the Moon shined as light as day in the Chamber, he made

a gentle retreat without any disturbance to her rest, and came to his friend: So as meeting upon the stairs top, and relating to each other their several adven∣tures, Artaxander whose sleeping beauty had weak∣ened his spirits, he intreated his friend to go out a∣gain with him; they commanded the Porter to speak not a word of their returning, went to lye both to∣gether at a friends house. And Philiontes finding it a pleasant conceit, that Cynesia should not know how her Picture Case came to be exchanged, he consen∣ted unto his friends Proposition. And so all was done as Artaxander desired, for they went out of the house; they charmed the Port for speaking of their return out of the Country, and went to lye all night at the house of a Cousin unto Philiontes. But to the end, they should not go to their own house until night, they sent to meet their men who were to come by Land, commanding them not to come to Town till the latter end of the day, and charging them to keep it secret, that they came by Water; but on the contrary to say that they came by Land and with them.

But the most pleasant part of all the adventure was, that Artaxander having slept sufficiently in the Boat, and being very fresh and lively, he fell into discourse with Philiontes concerning his sleeping beauty, and to ask a hundred several Questions. For Heavens sake (said he unto him) do not hinder me from loving her; and you cannot do me a bet∣ter Office any way in the World, then to contribute something which will make me in love: But to tell you truly, I would not have this fair one of Pasithe∣a's humour but would have Pasithea with all her jol∣lities so vexed to see me captivated by another, as she shall grieve more for it then for Philocrates. I assure you friend (replied Philiontes) you have found out any excellent expedient for it: For first all fair ones in generall cannot indure to lose their servants, and Pasithea in particular will be vexed no the Soul if you should love Cynesia. Moreover, be assured that this fair one is of a far different temper from the other; for her temper is melancholy, though she be very pleasant in Company, and hath a most merry Ayr with her: But withal, she is sometimes a little fantastical. Yet having a Passionate Soul and a tender heart, her capricious fancies never last long. Oh my friend (said Artaxander) this is e∣nough; for Cynesia being fair, witty, pleasing, me∣lancholy, and a little fantastical, I shall hope even out of variety onely, for a thousand delights in lo∣ving her; but you do not love her yet (said Phili∣ontes and laughed) Truly friend (replied Artax∣ander) though I do not yet, yet I shall do ere long, and did I but once see her eyes open, I should not doubt but to be in love with her: However (ad∣ded he) I am ingaged to be so, since I told her as much by the Verses which I writ in the Case that I exchanged with her; and therefore though I should not be in love with her, yet I must seem so a while. But if you be not in love with Cynesia said Philiontes) and she keeping your Picture Case, your gallantry will cost you somewhat dear: If she keep it (repli∣ed Artaxander) she will do me such a favour as will make me in love, for I must tell you that favours and beauty have a strong influence upon me. But how can she know (replied Philiontes) that it was you who made the exchange? she may easily guess it (re∣plied he) for I intend this evening to wear the Case which I took from her in such a place as she cannot chuse but see it. In saying so, Artaxander took the Case out of his Pocket which yet he had not opened, because his mind was wholly taken up with this ad∣venture. But he was astonished, when at the ope∣ning he saw the very same Picture of Pasithea which he had sent her back, when he quarrelled with her. At the first he believed that these two Ladies were friends, unknown to him; and that Pasithea had sent Cynesia her Picture whilst he was in the Country; but he was not long in this belief, for Philiontes told him that they were enemies; so as not knowing what to think upon the adventure, he was extream∣ly perplexed. For my part, (said Philiontes unto him) I am apt to believe that Pasithea being of no reserved humour, she hath giving this Picture unto some new Gallant that hath sacrificed it unto Cyne∣sia. But if that be so said Artaxander) it must be concluded that Cynesia hath some Lover whom she doth not hate; for those who take such pledges do ingage themselves as much as they think to in∣gage others. What you say (replied Philiontes) perhaps is but imagination, which I will think to be but upon an ill foundation; for since you are resol∣ved to be in love, at what rate soever, I must take heed of telling you any thing which may hinder you. The truth is (replied Artaxander) love is an excellent Antidote against wearisomeness, in a place where one hath nothing to do; for there the sen∣ding of a common Message, or the receiving of one, doth pass for a whole daies work; if you be in love, you will have no sooner done one thing, but you will be thinking upon another; your own very mu∣sings will please you; and nothing doth so sweetly take up the spirits of a gallant love; as for great and violent passions, they possess them over much. For my part (said Philiontes) I conceive one should either not be in love at all, or else love in good ear∣nest; for certainly the greatest Passions procure the greatest pleasures. It is true (said Artaxander) but withall, they bring with them the greatest sorrows: I must confess it (answered Philiontes) but I am of such an humour, as I would have all or none: I value not those slight affections, which require as much pains about them, as a high Passion; they will take you up as much time, but will not recompence the labour. For a thousand of these half loves will ne∣ver be able to conquer a whole heart; and therefore if you will be ruled by me, either love not Cynesia at all, or else love her in the hight. So I am resolved (replied Artaxander) though it were onely to be revenged upon Pasithea for caring so little to lose me, and bestowing her Picture so quickly upon ano∣ther, as it is very likely she hath. But whilst Ar∣taxander and Philiontes were thus talking, the fair Cynesia slept soundly, and it may be well said, that by her sound sleeping, she prepared new Arms for the Conquest of Artaxander. For when she awaked, her complexion was more fresh, and her eyes more sprightly. But in awaking, she was all wonder to see a Case about her Arm all set with shining Dia∣monds in lieu of her own, and which was incompa∣rably more rich; she no sooner saw this surprizng change but she blusht; and raysing her self upon her bed, the held her Arm out to the light, as if she had been mistaken; but the more ••he looked upon this Case▪ the more sure she was that some came into the Chamber whilst she was asleep, and did imagine it to be a man, thinking such a kind of gallantry could not proceed from any Woman. So as a resentment

of modesty, did for a while raise some inquietudes in her mind. Yet upon second thoughts of the adventure, she concluded, that he who made that advantagious exchange, had a noble heart, so as she hath since confessed, that she was then fuller of cu∣riosity then care. Her greater wonder was that she knew there was not any Man in the house but on∣ly Philiontes Father, who being very old, could not be suspected of such a thing.

She knew very well that he had a Son, for she was acquainted with Philiontes. And she was not igno∣rant that Artaxander also had lodged in the house, for though she knew him not yet she had heard talk of him. But she could not dream of them, because she heard say, that they were in the Countrey, and no speech of their return. As she was in this amaze a particular Friend of hers whose name was Cleophi∣la, came in to see her, and to rejoyce with her that the fire in her Mothers house had done no greater hurt. But as soon as she saw her, and saw her so fair: Oh Cynesia (said she unto her) it appears by your eyes that you have rested very well, for all the trouble of the night: But for my part, had I been in such a fright, I should have hid my self all the day after. For my complexion would have been so dull, my eyes so hollow, and my heart so saint, that I should have swounded with fear; yet I see that you had not the least fear of being burned. It is true (said Cynesia) I have slept as soundly this night, as if no accident had happened, or as if I had not changed my Bed. And to make it appear true, I will tell you of the strangest piece of gallantry, that ever you heard of: After this, Cynesia told Cleophila all the passage, and that she might better see the Case, she held out her Arm, entreating her friend to untie the Ribbond. Cleophila had no sooner untied it, but Cynesia opened it; but she was extreamly sur∣prised at the sight of those Verses which Artaxander had written, and so much, as that she could not read them aloud, but first read them to her self, and then recited them unto Cleophila in this manner.

Night's better than the Day Such Mysteries to discover, As you my Love know may, And yet not know the Lover.

Afterwards, she looked upon Cleophila, who was not less surprised then she: And upon serious con∣sideration, Cleophila concluded, that it must of ne∣cessity be Artaxander. Not that I can discover it by his stile in Verse (said she) for he useth to write much better; but since they were doubtless writ upon a sudden, they may very well be his; for I have known sometimes when ex tempore he hath writ no better; and therefore I will conclude that it was Artaxander who is the Authour: That it was he who saw you asleep, and that it is he who is in love with you. But Artaxander is in the Countrey (re∣plied Cynesia) Artaxander then is in more places then one (replied Cleophila) for I tell you it can be none but he: And I must tell you that to conquer such a heart as his sleeping is no small glory to you. Alas (replied Cynesia) as for his heart I cannot pretend unto it, for hearts are never taken sleeping. I do assure you (replied Cleophila) that though you had fewer charms then you have, yet Artaxander loves you. For this beginning of acquaintance and ad∣venture, is in such a pleasant way, as I make no que∣stion but he will answer it as pleasingly. It vexeth me exceedingly (said Cynesia then) that he who writ those Verses, hath lest me such a ••ox as I will not keep; and the worst is, that the Picture of Pa∣sithea is in it which he took from me. So as those who know not how the case stands, but are igno∣rant that she and I are enemies, will think that I have shewed it out of ma••ice; for as the case is between us, they cannot imagine she would give me her Picture. How? (said Cleophila) had you Pasithea's Picture? and was it in the Case which is taken from you? Yes (replied she) and that is it which most troubles me, for I cannot endure to be suspected of being guilty of any malice: But I be∣seech you (replied she) how came you to that Pi∣cture? Ah Cleophila! (answered Cynesia) I shall blush to tell you; yet know it I must (replied she) if ever you will know any thing of me. Since you will know it (replied Cynesia) I will tell it in two words. So I know it (said Cleophila) I care not whether it be in two, or a thousand words; but lest we should be interrupted, I pray tell me quickly. You know (replied Cynesia) that Clidamis hath a long time born a little good will unto me; and you know also, that all the World has laid it in his dish, that he hath been an unfortunate Lover all his life long. 'Tis true, (answered Cleophila) for Clidamis had been in love with above a hundred Women, and not one of them ever loved him: and yet he is handsome, and has wit and spirit enough: yet I thought that his mis∣fortune would have ended in you, and that you were no hater of him: for I know he has been often with you in the Country. 'Tis true, replied Cynesia, but it is as true also, that the more I saw him, the less I loved him: And in my opinion, the reason why Clidamis makes no better progress in his loves, is, because whosoever sees him one day shall see him e∣ternally the very same: he is always equally hand∣some; always equally civil and respectful; he will never love you more nor less; nor never hath any spirit and wit more one day then another. So as I believe people are so accustomed to see him al∣ways the same, as their opinion of him is also always the same, and he shall be no better lo∣ved at the end of the thousand visits then he was at the first.

But be what he will be (added she) that's no matter, and to return from whence I digressed, know, that Clidamis one day being extreamly ear∣nest with me to tell him why I did not love him, I answered again, that the reason was, because I knew that he was never loved by any. The truth is (Cli∣damis (said I unto him) though I would, yet I dare not love you: for after all your baffles in matter of love: I should be ashamed to be more indulgent then any other unto you: and I am so addicted to do as others do, that I never was the inventer of a∣ny fashion: you may imagine then, that▪ who will not so much as wear a Ribbond which others do not, will never give my heart to an unfortunate Lover, unto whom never any gave any heart unto: And therefore if ever you would have me love you, you must first make your self loved by some other; that having an example to follow, I may the more easily be perswaded to follow: but A adam (said he unto me) should I court another to love me, I should seem as if I did not love you. Seem what you will (said I unto him) but I assure you I shall

never love you unless some do first begin, and un∣less all the World do know it. I believe Madam, said he unto me, that all this is but ingenious ralle∣ry; for you being perswaded that I cannot love a∣ny but you, and that none will ever love me unless I love them, and therefore it will be very difficult for me to procure that example which you require; and though I should procure such an example, yet you would not follow it. Seriously Sir, said I unto him and laughed, I believe I should love you more then I do, if any else had loved you. We'le see that Madam (said he unto me) for I will go immedi∣ately unto Crete, with a full resolution to try whe∣ther I can make any beauty love me, upon condition you will not take it ill, if I do dissemble with her in seeming to love her. Since my aim was only to be rid of Clidamis, and believing that he would not be loved in the future more then in time past. I told him that I consented unto the condition. So he lest me in the Countrey, and went to Crete, just as Ar∣taxander broke off with Pasithea, because she did not lament the death of Philocrates. As chance would have it Clidamis heard of the difference between them, and hearing of Pasithea's humour, he appli∣ed himself to her; and he sound her heart so in∣clinable to him, as either to be revenged of Ar∣taxander, in letting him see she could as readily for∣get him living, as Philocrates dead, or for some o∣ther cause, she received him very well; she gave him her Picture, which he sent unto me yesterday, sum∣moning me to keep my word, and assuring me that Pasithea loved him, and that he still loved me. As chance was, I tied this Picture to my Arm, intending to restore it unto Clidamis the next time I saw him; and so it chanced that it was taken from me in man∣ner as I told you.

I profess, replied Cleophila, it is a most excellent adventure: for if Artaxander have this Picture, as I am confident he hath, it will amaze him to think how you should come by it: for it is not possible he should be ignorant of the enmity between you and Pasithea: Also the Adventure may be more plea∣sant yet: for if Pasithea be drawn with a garland of flowers upon her head, very likely it is the same Picture which she gave him, and which he restored back to her. At least I am sure, the Limner told me that he did draw Pasithea's Picture after the same manner.

I assure you (said Cynesia) the Picture is so drawn, so as if it be Artaxander who took it from me, he will wonder extreamly, to see a Picture which was once his in my hands. However it be (said Cleo∣phila) I am confident you would not be sorry to see Artaxander your Captive. So as it would spite Pasithea (replied she) I must confess I should not be very sorry. Truly, replied Cleophila, though it should spite no body, you could not be sorry, for Artaxander is so brave a Man, as that to conquer such a heart must needs rejoyce one. But I beseech you (said Cynesia) let us talk no more of Artaxander, for perhaps it was not he who came into my Chamber: and though it were, yet perhaps my eyes when he sees them will blast the adventure. Your eyes are so lovely (replied Cleophila) as you may assure your self that though the heart of him who saw them sleeping, was not captivated, yet waking, he will be. However since it is very likely, that you will see him this day, who saw you in the night, I advise you to dress up your self as handsomely as you can. As Cleophila spoke this smilingly, Cynesia smiled al∣so: And as I have been told since, did dress her self with a little more design of being handsome, then if her aim had been only a general design to please every one. But being not at home, as soon as her Mother and she were ready, they returned thanks for their entertainment, and went to their own house. Yet Cynesia did not shew her Mother the Picture Case which Artaxander had left in lieu of her own, lest the adventure should become too publick. Cynesia was most perplexed to think what she should say unto Clidamis, who she imagined would come to see her; for she could not restore Pasithea's Picture unto him. Nor would she have him think that she kept it as a sign of her love. So as to gain time, upon a pretence of setting their house in order after that tummlt of fire, she desired her Mother to pass away that afternoon at a friends house, and not to stay in her Chamber to receive all the visits which would be made after that accident. So as by this means Cynesia was not at home until night, and so Clidamis would lose his labour, if he came. Mean time, Artaxander and Philiontes being advertized that their Men were at the Gates of the Town, they went through a back lane to meet them and crossing over a great plain, it chanced that they passed just before the Gates of that Ladies house, where Cynesia, her Mother and Cleophila did pass a∣way the day: So as these three Ladies came out, at the very same time when Artaxander and Philiontes passed by in their Countrey habits, as Men newly come to Town: Cleophila was much surprized at this; For all she spoke unto her Friend, was only her imagination, yet she shewed her Artaxander, who took no notice of these Ladies no more then Philiontes, because they were talking together very carnestly: So as they being on Horse-back, and the Ladies on Foot, they lost the sight of them: for since it was not far from home they were entred in, before they could come to the door. However, since Cleophila was full of curiosity to know the truth of this adventure, and since the arrival of Ar∣taxander did much perplex her, she got Cynesia to entreat her Mother, to desire Cleophila, that she would lie that night at her house. And indeed so it was, These Ladies had no sooner supped, but Clidamis with other Ladies of the Neighbour-hood came to visit Cynesia and her Mother: And all were no soon∣er set, but Philiontes and Artaxander entred. The first of these presented his friend unto the Mother and the Daughter, as a stranger which their Town had gotten during theis absence▪ Philiontes spoke so highly of Artaxander unto these two, that they re∣ceived him very civilly. But Cynesia was strangely amazed, to see the Picture Case which was taken from her, tyed with a lively coloured Ribbond, and worn by Artaxander in such a place as was most ob∣vious to the eye of Cynesia. But as she was amazed at the sight of it, so Clidamis was much more; for he could not imagine by what adventure, this Case which he had sent unto Cynesia, could come into the hands of Artaxander whom she never saw before, but was presented unto her as a Man absolutely un∣known unto her. However Cynesia could not doubt but that it was Artaxander who came into her cham∣ber when she was asleep, & therefore out of modesty could not chuse but blush; but to hide it, she began to talk with Cleophila in a low voice, who being very glad that she had guessed aright, begun to ask her in

a merry manner how she liked her new Lover? I am so perplexed at the perplexity of Clidamis (replied she) as I have not leisure to answer your foolish que∣stion. Why, said Cleophila, you need not perplex your self about Clidamis; for since he knows that you are a stranger unto Artaxander, he cannot think you to have any hand in this pleasant adventure. After this every one taking their places, Artaxander did so well order the matter, as that he fate next Cynesia, and talked with her, so as Clidamis could not hear what he said; for Philira the Mother of Cynesia having set her self to relate unto him the ac∣cident of fire which happened, and being extreme earnest in telling how frighted she was, he was almost all the night taken up with hearing, and could not put in a word to interrupt her; for she was an eter∣nal talker, and would never give over her tale as long as she had any breath. But whilst poor Clida∣mis was hearkning to her much against his will, and whilst all the rest of the Ladies were hearkning also, Philiontes talked with Cleophila, and Artaxander with Cynesia, whose intention being earnest to restore the rich Case unto Artaxander which he had left with her, and to get back that which he had, that she might restore it unto Clidamis, she was very glad of the opportunity of talking in private with him; hoping to find a fit occasion for compassing her ends; yet it was not so easie as she imagined; for Artaxan∣der turning the talk another way she could not bring it about, and he according to his ordinary jollity, be∣gan to chide her for being so long in the Country, as familiarly as if he had been her most intimate and ancient friend, and he made the most pleasant and satyrical invective against a Countrey life that ever was heard. But (said Cynesia unto him) why should you complain against me? for you knew me not yesterday, and hardly know me to day. That's the reason, Madam, why I complain (replied he) for if I had had the honour to have known you sooner, I should never have had the shame of bearing any other chains but yours, and perhaps by this time, I should have had the glory of getting some place in your heart. But, Madam, that you may not think me one of those common slatterers, who use to talk, and often knows not to whom, I beseech you give me leave to tell you, that you are not so unknown to me as you imagine; and that within these eighteen hours I did admire you, and something more. But first (added he, and looked earnestly upon her) give me leave to rejoyce that I find your eyes more love∣ly than I did imagine them; though I must tell you, I did imagine them to be the fairest in the World; and certainly I had great reason for it; for it was nothing likely that the gods should bellow upon you, so many several excellent beauties, and not give you fair eyes also. And I assure you, most charm∣ing Cynesia, as soon as ever my good fate brought me to the place where I saw the most lovely sleeper that ever eye beheld; I presently conceived you to have the most dangerous and captivating eyes in the World. Oh I beseech you Artaxander (said she and turned away her head) do not make me blush. Oh I beseech you Madam (replied he) think your self beholding to me for staying so long as eighteen hours before I would see your lovely eyes; and as great as my desire was to see them, for being so re∣spective as not to waken you. The truth is (repli∣ed Cynesia, and blushed) your boldness made me more ashamed then ever I was in my life. Ah Ma∣dam (said Artaxander) I was happy then, but not bold; and if you will be so good as to pardon my boldness, in telling you that in all likelihood I shall be extreamly in love with you, I shall acquaint you with the whole adventure. Since I am of opinion (replied she) that there is not so much power in me as to make any in love, I cannot easily believe you have any inclination that way: but I will confess, I would forgive you any thing, upon condition you will ingenuously tell me what made you so liberal when you plaid the theif; yet I must declare unto you before-hand, that the Picture Case which you took from me was none of mine, and that which you left in lieu of it shall never be. I assure you, Madam (replied Artaxander) I know not any thing you have of mine but my heart, which I beseech you seriously not to restore; for I am confident it can never be in better, or more fair hands. Howe∣ver it be (said she) tell me by what enchantment this adventure came about? You phrase it right, Ma∣dam (replied he) in calling it an enchantment: for since the time that Cupid was in his Cradle, never a∣ny fell in love so until now. I pray (replied Cynesia) let Cupid alone with his Mother, and only acquaint me with the accident. So Artaxander began to make her a faithful relation of the whole passage, and so happily for himself, and pleasingly unto Cynesia, as she took some delight in it: yet she always inter∣rupted him, when he told her how fair he thought her. It is enough Artaxander (said she) it is enough; for I desire to know no more then so much as will justifie you; and to make it appear that I am not unjust, I am contented to treat you as an innocent person, and will think my self obliged unto you. Though it would be most glorious unto me to be ob∣liged unto you, Madam, (replied he) and more then for you to be obliged unto me; yet I must assure you that there is nothing in the World which I would not do for your service. If so, said she, then I pray restore unto me the Picture and the Case which you have, and I will restore that which I have unopened; for as I told you before, that which you have is none of mine, and that which I have of yours shall never be. As for the Picture which is in the Case I took from you, Madam (replied he) I shall without much difficulty restore, since it has not the honour to be yours, but upon this condition, that you will tell me whose it is; for I should be very glad to know unto whom Pasithea gave it. But Madam, as for the other Case which you have, since you say you did not open it, I beseech you do; and know that what is written within it, is more true now then when it was writ∣ten. Did I not know Artaxander any other way (replied Cynesia) I should think him to be all Rallery; but since I do know his humour, I will make a better Interpretation of him; and to testifie it (added she) I will trust my self with you, and confess that the Picture of Pasithea, belongs unto Clidamis. How, Madam? replied Artaxander, is Clidamis my suc∣cessor? thanks be to the Heavens he shall never be my Rival, unless he be in love with you. You speak with so little seriousness (replied Cynesia and smiled) as I hardly know whether I did well in trusting you with a confidence of this Nature However, since divers reasons make me desirous to let Clidamis have his Picture again, and to keep him ignorant by what strange accident you come to have it, I entreat you if he talk with you, to tell him, that upon your re∣turn you sound it upon the Table in your Chamber,

where I had forgotten it I will tell him as much, Ma∣dam, replyed Artaxander, provided you will like∣wise tell me, why Clidamis did put this Picture into your fair hands; for he can't be ignorant that you and Pasithea hold no correspondencie of friendship, and so if he be in love with Pasithea, he is very un∣wise to trust you with her Picture. We have been so small a time acquainted (replyed she) that I were out of my wits if I should tell you all you ask. Then Madam (replyed he) you have driven me out of my wits; for though I have known you as little as you have me, yet I am ready to trust you with all the secrets of my heart and soul. But to return unto Clidamis (added he) I perceived that he looked up∣on me from time to time with much curiositie; and he look'd upon after such a manner, as moved to think that if he were my successor in the heart of Pasithea, he might perhaps also be my Rival in the heart of Cynesia. As Artaxander said so, Cleophila, who had gotten Philiontes to tell her all the adven∣ture of the night before she came unto them; and Philiontes joyning also, the discourse between these four persons was very pleasant. For my part (said Artaxander) I am more then ever perswaded of the infallibility of Destiny; for if Fate had ordered, that the fair Cynesia had layn in Philiontes his Cham∣ber, then perhaps it would have been he who should have faln in love with her, and not I. For heavens sake (said Cynesia pleasantly, and inter∣rupted him) do not think your self engaged to say you love me, because you have told it me in four verses; and least you should (added she, and offer∣ed him the case) I pray take it again. But, Madam (said he unto her) you said even now you did not open it. 'Tis true (said she) but as I am willing to pardon all the flattering untruths which you told me, in talking with you, so you may very well pardon me this. Oh Madam, replyed he, I will pardon you with all my heart; provided you will believe I cannot flatter when I speak of you. After this Cynesia still demanding the Case which he took, and offering to restore his, he told her that he could not do that all in one day; but beseeches her to stay the restitution of that which he had from him, untill he had so far advanced himself into her favour, as to obtain her Picture: And indeed, do what Cy∣nesia could, she could not make him take it that day, but was contended with his restoring that which be∣longed unto Clidamis, who was so astonished to see such private discourse betwixt Artaxander and Cy∣nesia, that he knew not what to think upon it. But it bring late, the company parted; and Cynesia being desirous that Clidamis should not be too much trou∣bled at this adventure, she entreated him to wait upon Cleophila home; and that Lady undertook to restore the Picture and Case unto him, and to tell him (as it was contrived) that Artaxander sound it by chance upon the Table in his Chamber; and that he need not trouble himself about it, because Cynesia never told Artaxander that the Picture was his.

As for Artaxander, he found Cynesia more charm∣ing awake then asleep, and returned home with his friend with a strong disposition to love her: And indeed he did easily apprehend this growing passi∣on; for though it was never wont to break his rest, yet now he slept not a wink all that night; for when he fancied himself in the same Chamber where he had seen Cynesia, and in the same bed where he saw that fair one asleep, his imagination did so per∣fectly represent her, as he could not possibly rest although he had some pleasing slumbers. On the other side, Cynesia hearing that Artaxander was ne∣ver hated by any, she thought him more amiable then Clidamis who was hated by all; and she was no∣thing sorry, that she had gotten this new acquain∣tance. But since she was resolved not to keep his case, she sent it unto him the next morning; and so hansomly that he could not chuse but receive it; for she caused it to be left with one of his servants for him, the servant not knowing what, or from whom it was: And Cynesia being a person unto whom such presents were not to be presented: he durst not any further importune her to keep it. This his gal∣lantry passed for a noble piece of Liberality, and cost him nothing; but to speak the truth it cost him something that was dearer to him then the Case; for had he never seen Cynesia, he had not lost his heart and his liberty; yet at the first, he was not sensible of his misery, but on the contrary he thought him∣self so happy in this affection which was growing in his heart, as he could not hide the joyes which she had. Moreover his thoughts of revenge upon Pa∣sithea, did kindle in him much satisfaction; for he had such a hatred unto the follies of that Lady, as made him consider that if Cynesia did not make him quite forget her, it was not impossible but he might renew again with her. On the other side, Pasithea who never looked for any thing in love but what would divert her, and who thought that Clidamis did love her, she valued not the loss of Artaxander, though every hour in the day did allow her one mi∣nute of sorrow for it, because she could not meet with any who could divert her as well as he. As for Clidamis, he was in a most miserable condition; for he was not loved by her whom he did love, and was loved by one whom he did not love. Thus did he receive all the favours which love could confer upon a lover, and yet was not happy. Also he was sensible of all those sorrows which that passion could inflict upon a lover; for he was loved where he would not be, and not loved where he would: He was jealous, and knew not directly the cause: The new acquaintance of Artaxander did fret his heart; he was vexed that Pasithea's Picture had been in his hands: he knew not whether he should cease coun∣terfeiting love, or whether he should seem to cease loving Cynesia, and see whether she would recall him: And indeed his perplexity could not be greater. As for Cynesia, she also had some secret disgust of heart; yet since those disgusts were not very dis-agreea∣ble she was not much disquieted: But for Artaxander, he was so glad at his being in love, as not being able to hide his joyes, he shewed it unto Cynesia within the space of five dayes, from his first acquaintance; And being alone with her he began to give most humble and hearty thanks and that with such earnest expressings, as she did really believe that she had either said or done, something which had obliged him, though she could not remember it. And she began to rub up her memory, and find out the reason why he should so emphatically expresse his gratitude: Upon a recollection of all her thoughts, she could find nothing, unless it were that she ha∣ving spoken much good of him unto some she had conversed withall, he might come to the know∣ledge of it. Yet not thinking this cause enough to oblige unto so many thanks, she asked him, what

she had done for him to deserve them? At the first he would not tell her; for truly, Madam (said he unto her) I am afraid lest you should repent of your goodness unto me, and lest that repentance should lessen my joyes, if I should tell you. It is not my custome (replied she) to repent of any thing done that may please such men as I esteem; and I assure you, the principal reason why I am so desirous to know what it is, is onely to the end, that I may do the same again.

Oh Madam (said Artaxander) then I must tell you what it is you have done for me, not because it will oblige you to do it again; for you cannot chuse but do it whether you will or no, you will do it as long as you live, and the thing which you will do is absolutely the most pleasing thing in the World un∣to me. For Heavens sake Artaxander (said Cyne∣sia then) tell me what it is I have done which so much pleaseth you, and which I cannot chuse but do again? You have made me in love, Madam (re∣plied he) and in so doing you have done me the greatest pleasure in the World, you have delivered me from a most drowsie idleness, and I thank you heartily for it, for otherwise I know not what I should have done in Creet: Thus, Madam (ad∣ded he, and would not give her time to answer) you have infinitely obliged me; for you have rou∣zed my spirits out of a dull sluggishness of mind, which is the most unsupportable thing in the World. Though I should grant, I have caused you to be in love (replied she) yet I cannot confess that you ow me any thanks: For (added she and smiled) un∣less you were sure of a favourable reception, I can∣not see you have any reason for your thanks, which I am sure you cannot know, because I know it not my self. Oh Madam (replied he) it is a most high happiness to love you; and love hath such a secret and charming influence upon me, as I do prefer all its torments, before all other delights whatsoever; and therefore, though I know not whether you will be sweet or sharp unto me, yet I must thank you, for making me in love, as much as for the most obliging favour you could bestow upon Artaxander. Though I know very well (replied Cynesia very sweetly) that it is not handsome for me to entertain any Lo∣vers, yet I think my self obliged to treat you less se∣verely then any other; for since you think that to be in love is sufficient to make you happy: one need not to fear the being too much importuned with your Complaints. I did not say, Madam (replied Ar∣taxander) that to be in love is the height of happi∣ness; but my meaning was, that I should be most miserable if I were not in Love; and that I should be less miserable by being in Love, then by not be∣ing so.

After this Cynesia answered him with all the mo∣desty becoming her Sex, but yet without any bit∣terness or incivility; and though she did forbid him any more talk of his Passion, yet it was in such a man∣ner, and made him not fear being hated, though he did not obey her. And Artaxander did continue his expression of Love, and so often, and handsomely as he perswaded her to hear him. Artaxander as pleasant as his humour used to be, yet he could be of a very serious temper when he would; and he found in Cynesia all qualities requisite to please him: such as expected mirth from her did always find it, they who looked for Melancholy found it in her also, for she could suit her self unto every humour; moreo∣over, she was exceedingly modest, but such a mo∣desty, as did not muzzle up the spirits of men, but allowed the fancy so much civil Liberty, as made her Conversation very pleasing; Sometimes she would have some little and delicate fantastical quirks which did marvellously increase love; but these fantasms never appeared unto any but her Lovers, and not at all in common Conversation. The worst in Cyne∣sia was, she was extream subject unto her own incli∣nations; and so very much, that if she had not been very virtuous, her reason could not restrain her. However, it is without all question, that Cynesia was as amiable a person, as was in the World; and Artaxander loved her extreamly, who hoping to be loved again by degrees, and desiring to spite Pasi∣thea, did use all such indeavours as are expedient to win upon Cynesia, and to be revenged upon his first Mistress. As for Clidamis, Cynesia did treat him so coursely since her acquaintance with Artaxander, as he sought for all occasions to vex her, since he could find none to get her love: And for Pasithea, no ma∣licious stratagem was un-invented, and un-sought af∣ter, to spite both Artaxander and Cynesia. But in lieu of spiting them she did very much delight them; for Artaxander was very glad to find a greater share in Pasithea's heart then he imagined; and Cynesia al∣so was glad that she had gotten a Slave from that mer∣ry fair one. So as joyning all these petty circum∣stances together, they began a most tender, gallant, and publick love between Artaxander and Cynesia. For Clidamis and Pasithea did watch them so circum∣spectly, as that they to vex them did publish every trivial thing that passed between them. They ne∣ver walked together but it was divulged; they ne∣ver held any long private discourse but it was told; and Artaxander was generally as well known by the name of Cynesia's Lover; as by his own, but so far from being vexed that he was very glad of it; for Cynesia being known to be a most illustrious person, her honour was not in any danger; and indeed, she was noble every way, her quality was high, she was admirably fair; she had a most sublime wit, and those who said Artaxander was in love with her, then said also that he was not hated.

Things being upon these terms, a chance happe∣ned which wrought a great change in the heart of Artaxander, who then certainly did love Cynesia most tenderly: But before I directly tell you the cause of it, I must let you know; that there was a man in Creet whose name was Alphidemon, whose mis-fortune was to be esteemed of none; Yet he was not very unhandsome and to speak truly of him he was not worse then a thousand others, of whom people use to speak neither well nor ill. His quality was high enough, to excuse his mediocrity of merit if he had been discreet. But however, he was ranked a∣mongst those who were unpleasing, even by those who were unpleasing themselves, and was not at all esteemed. Artaxander at his coming to Creet had seen him amongst others, and had rallied with him a hundred times, never thinking he should hereaf∣ter have any further interest in him. But Artax∣ander being upon such terms as I told you with Cyne∣sia, he went to walk one evening in a Garden with Philiontes, unto whom he talked concerning the joys he had in loving Cynesia, and of his hopes of being loved, aggravating the great delight he took in having moved the heart of so noble a person. Af∣ter a long time of walking they entred into a green

Arbour, intending to rest themselves; but as they entred they found Cephisia and Pasithea there. At firsts they would have retired as if out of respect; but Pasithea being that evening in her merry and malicious humour both, she called unto Artaxander. I pray, Sir (said she unto him) do not shun Cephi∣sa who is your friend, in expectation of your new Mistress. Since I do not love to molest the plea∣sures of others (replied he and laughed) I would have retired lest you should expect there my Succes∣sor, unto whom I will yield in every thing. I as∣sure you (replied she sharply) it is more honour for you that Clidamis should be your Successor, then for you to be the Successor of Alphidemon: And to be plain with you, it is more advantageous to me, to be upbraid for not loving a brave man, then it is for Cynesia for loving a man of so low a merit: And I think it a greater shame for you to succeed Alphido∣mon; then for you not to be loved more then Philo∣crates was. This discourse did so surprize Artax∣ander that he knew not what answer to make; for he knew, that she durst not be so bold as to speak thus in the presence of Cephisa and Philiontes, if there were not some ground of truth for her accusation which she made against Cynesia. Yet he smothered his resentments and did not appear any thing moved at what she said; Did you know (said he unto her) what advantage I draw from all this you speak a∣gainst Cynesia and me, you would never have told it; but you would rather give Clidamis a thousand commendations, then to blame Cynesia whose merit and virtue cannot be blemished.

I speak not concerning the merit of Cynesia (re∣plied she subtilely) for I know it is much, and that's the reason I blame her, since she loved a man of no merit. As Artaxander was going to answer, though he knew not well what to say (for I know all his thoughts as well as himself) A great company of La∣dies with Alphidemon came into this Arbor. As soon as they were entred, Alphidemon bolted out such poor expressions, as Artaxander was forced out, and went presently to enquire, whether it was true that Cyne∣sia who was a person so full of wit could ever love such a man. As soon as he came into a solitary walk which was not far off, he looked upon Philiontes who followed him: and beginning to speak, I pray Phi∣liontes (said he unto him) deliver me out of this perplexity of mind; and tell me ingeniously, whe∣ther that which Pasithea said concerning Cynesia, have any ground of truth in it? For since I am but a stran∣ger at Creet, I am ignorant in the History of it; and therefore I conjure you by our friendship to tell me whether Cynesia ever loved Alphidemon? All I can say (replied Philiontes) is, that all the town doth say it, and all the world believes it. But Philiontes. how comes it to pass, replied he surlily, that you did not acquaint me with it when I began to be ac∣quainted with Cynesia? because you did earnestly entreat me (replied he and laughed) to say no∣thing unto you which might hinder you from loving her, and told, that I was a very bad friend if I did. And to tell you truly, I did not think it fit to ac∣quaint you with a past adventure which was not ad∣vantagious unto Cynesia whom I esteemed very much, and who is a Lady of infinite merit. And when all is done, though she did love Alphidemon, yet she loves him not now; and scandal it self could never say there was any criminal affection between them two. Oh Philiontes (said Artaxander) a woman of any wit could never be innocent, if she could love such a man as Alphidemon, though she were as modest and chast as Diana: And I had much rather he suc∣cessor to a brave man who had obtained some consi∣derable favours from the person I should love, then to be the successor of a fool: and truly there is some∣thing in this adventure which doth so cruelly wound my imagination, as from this very minute, my heart which was such a subject unto Cynesia, begins to re∣volt. But what does it concern you (replied Phi∣liomes) whom Cynesia did love, so she love you now? It concerns me so much (replied he) as I do not think I can love her, any longer, at least I am sure that having such an opinion as I have of Al∣phidemon, and since Cynesia hath loved him, and all the world knows it, it is impossible she can confess any favour which can oblige me, or be honourable unto me: For when I remember all the fond gros∣sities and foolish absurdities of Alphidemon, and all I have heard say of him, and all I have seen him do, I am so ashamed to succeed him in the heart of Cynesia, that as charming as she is, she ceaseth to be so unto me, as soon as I consider she could love Alphidemon. Truth is, I shall value her heart as a prophane place, wherein I would not raign; nor shall I now think her eyes lovely, since she has looked favourably upon him: And me thinks she has done me a manifest in∣jury in loving me after Alphidemon. I profess (re∣plied Philiontes) this is a most pleasant adventure, that after you have broke off with Pasithea, because she did not enough love a brave man, you should break off with Cynesia; because she did love a fool. Oh Philiontes, replied Artaxander, this last adventure is much worse then the other, for it blasts both honour and love. For to tell you truly, the hatred of Cynesia would be more honourable to me then her love, since she can be∣stow her love where no merit is: and I think that I should suffer less if Cynesia had been perfidious to me by dividing her heart with some of my Rivals, who were a brave man, then I should in her being faithful unto Alphidemon: And if I can but once cure my self of this Passion which I have to her, I will make a vow never to engage my self in love with a∣ny other before I am very well informed whom she hath loved: For to be the successor of a Fool in mat∣ter of affection is the worst quality upon earth. I think it a less shame to have a Fool to ones Father then to succeed Alphidemon: for I cannot help the one; it is none of his fault; but in the other case the fault is all his own; he might have chosen whe∣ther or no he would offer his heart; or he might make a retreat after the offering, if he hear that he cannot be loved unless he be the Successor of a Fool. But since many things are spoken which are not true, I will know from the mouth of Cynesia whether it be so; as I did from Pasithea also the passages betwixt Philocrates and her. So the next morning Artaxan∣der sought for an opportunity of finding Cynesia a∣lone; but as ill luck for her was, he could not find it, for she was not within: so as Artaxander, go∣ing to visit some other of the neighbour-hood in expectation of her return, he heard nothing but speeches very disadvantagiaus concerning Alphide∣mon. One said he was ill-favour'd; others that he was dull; some said his wit was but shallow; others that he was too rough; other that he was a clown; and every one had such a terrible cry upon him, as made Artaxander extreamly sorry: For though com∣monly

men love to hear faults found in their Rivals, and to hear them ill spoken of, yet Artaxander had other resentments, for he thought that all which was spoken in disadvantage of Alphidemon, did re∣flect upon him; and that every ill quality which was attributed unto Alphidemon, was shameful unto himself: so as his mind being extreamly incensed, he went the second time to Cynesia, and found her alone; for Philira was gone another way and not returned; she received Artaxander with all those joys which she used at her first seeing him: but as for him, he had such anger in his eyes, and a kind of fullenness in his humour as quickly moved Cynesia to ask the cause. So as without pumping for any set speech to satisfie her desire, he began to speak: Madam, said he unto her, I do conjure you to be sincere, and promise to answer directly and truly to what I shall ask. I do promise it (replied she and blusht) for I am confident you will ask me nothing, unto which I may not answer. Nay, nay, Madam, said he, do not deceive your self; for the thing which I shall ask is of such a nature as it will never be told unless you be engaged by oath; and there∣fore before I ask the Question, I will have you swear to tell me truely. If you do well consider, replied she, the strange manner of your importu∣nity, you may well think that I will not engage my self by oath, for you tell me that you would have me promise to tell a thing which I ought not to tell unless I be engaged by oath; how can you think then that I should promise to tell you that which reason forbids me to tell? Think better with your self, and without any oaths or obligations upon me to promise any thing, tell me what you would know; and afterwards I will see if I can satisfie your curiosity or no. Oh Madam, (cryed he out) If you were clearly ingenious, I would promise what I desire: but in telling me nothing, you have told me all, and I have no more to ask you. Ar∣taxander spoke all this in such a surly and angry manner, that Cynesia being troubled at it, and knowing that she had done nothing since she was acquainted with Artaxander which could anger him, she promised to tell him truely whatsoever he should ask her. Then I conjure you Madam (said he unto her to tell me ingenuously whether you ever loved Alphidemon? Alphidemon (replied she and blusht) was of my acquaintance so young, as it may well be said, we began to see light, and be acquainted both together. The matter is not, replied he, when you began your acquaintance; but to know whether you loved him or no: what caused you to love him; how it came to pass you loved him no longer? and what reasons did induce you to change your mind? you ask me these Que∣stions with such an arrogant tone, replied she, and they are so troublesome to be answered, as if I were not exceedingly indulgent towards you, I should not answer them at all: but since perhaps you may think I conceal'd some crimes if I do not satisfie your curiositie, therefore I will ingeni∣ously answer to your demands, and tell you that as soon as ever I began to open my eyes, I began to be acquainted with Alphidemon; and I will confess that from the very first dawning of ••ny days, I had a strong inclination towards him and permitted him to love me. And that you may see my great confidence in your discre∣tion, I will confess farther, that the 〈◊〉〈◊〉 and assiduity of his courtships, joyn∣ed with my own inclination, brought me at last to love him; and should have still loved him, had he not been guilty of such a lightness as dam∣ped my spirit, and obliged me to break off with him. And the truth is, though I well enough knew Alphidemon to be a man of no great reputa∣tion in the world; yet should I have continued faithful unto him, had he been so to me. For I must in my own justification tell you, that the world doth much wrong Alphidemon; and that he is much more amiable, then is beleeved, to one he loves; being certainly very sweet, and compla∣cential. Oh Madam (said Artaxander) Alphide∣mon is less amiable towards those he loves then to∣wards those he loves not, because he sees them oftenest; but certainly he is not less amiable towards those of whom he is loved; and that's the reason you find him not so disagreeable as all the world doth. As I have already confessed, that I bore affection to him (replied she) so I must with the same ingenuity tell you, that I do not love him. I would willingly believe it, Madam (replied he) but that you did love him, is enough to make me the most miserable of all men: And such is my mind, as I should think my self much less misera∣ble, if you had loved one who was worthyer of you then I am, to know that you loved the worst, and most unworthy of all the lovers you ever had. I must confess, Madam, I wonder how it was pos∣sible I should win any thing upon your heart, since Alphidemon did; for I am nothing like him, my making is not like his; I do nothing that he does, I speak not like him, nor are my thoughts the same with his; and indeed I know no two greater con∣traries then Alphidemon and Artaxander. How was it possible he should please you and I too? How could you love him and me likewise? I wonder that the man whom of all the world I most des∣pise, should be the man whom you the most of all esteem. As for that, I shall give you satisfaction (said she) by explaning the affection which I had unto Alphidemon, and the affection I bear unto you; for I loved him by inclination only and you by inclination and knowledge. Oh Madam (said he unto her) blot out your inclination to me, for I will have nothing in common with Alphidemon.

I will blot you out of my heart also (replyed Cy∣nesia sharply, being angry at Artaxanders surly tone) for men may render themselves unworthy as well by phantasticalness, as by want of merit. When I began to love you Madam (replyed Artaxander) I gave you most hearty thanks for making me in love, as for a very great favour: But since I under∣stand you have loved Alphidemon I must confess Ma∣dam, that if you should take me out of love again, I should thank you much more; for I know nothing more cruel then to be successor unto Alphidemon. Since certainly Madam, this happy Alphidemon could never have won upon your heart but by telling you a thousand simple and ridiculous fooleries, and as many impertinencies, and by doing the same things before you, which have made all the Town despise him. Judge Madam, I beseech you, what honour it will be unto me to make the same conquest he did? Cynesia being much offended at Artaxander, though she could not give one good reason to excuse her af∣fection unto Alphidemon, yet they quarrelled untill the return of Philira who turned the discourse. At

his going from thence he went unto Cephisa, who as I told you, bore such good will unto Artaxander as was likely to grow over tender, if she had not striven against that growing inclination: So as when Artaxander, who loved her very well, did relate unto her the squabbles 'twixt him and his Mi∣stress: But first, since she had not seen Artaxander, since Pasithea in her presence had vexed him by calling him the successor of Alphidemon, she no sooner saw him come into her Chamber where she was alone, but beginning to smile, Artaxander (said she) you are very much obliged to me; for though that which Pasithea said unto you before me, was enough to make any one laugh, yet I did not laugh at all; but no the contrary, I did chide her for what she had said, and almost fell out with her in your behalf. I do confess my self obliged unto you (replied Artaxander) and should be much more, if you could make me out of love with Cynesia. Oh Artaxander, replied Cephisa, you do not consider what you say. I consider but too much (an∣swered he) for the more I consider, the more I find it a shame to be the successor of Al∣phidemon: And I am so weary of my two last ad∣ventures, as I am almost resolved to alter my course of life. Indeed (pursued he) if you will give me leave to love you with such a tender amity as shall be a medium between love and common amity, and will endure I should turn weather cook, and relate unto you all my follies, I will absolutely renounce all those high passions which they say do only af∣ford great delights: For my part (said Cephisa) I am willing to accept of your offer, but to tell you truly I do not think you are able to do as you say. I am not indeed (replied he) but in all likely∣hood I shall be ere long; for I assure you I cannot find either pleasure or honour in Pasithea's love, since she could not love a man of much merit long enough. Neither can I endure Cynesia's love, since she could love a man unworthy of her affection; and to tell you truly, the affection of a woman to a fool can∣not be innocent: It is men of wit, ingenuity, and gallantry, who can only devise a thousand innocent delights to entertain their Mistress, between the time of their first being in love and the time of con∣summation. As for a fool lover, as soon as ever he has grosly told his Mistress that he loves her, he tels brutishly that he presently expects a recom∣pence of his love, and if he find it not presently, two to one but he casts off his Mistress. Truly Ar∣taxander (said Cephisa) me thinks you go a little to far; for Cynesia is virtuous. I think she is, when I think well upon it (replied Artaxander) but when I do not, I sometimes doubt it; for what can a man of ingenuity say unto such a man as Alphidemon? and what innocent delights can you imagine from a lover that hath no smack of gallantry in him? Ne∣ver ask what delights one can find in love (replied Cephisa) for love brings its delights with it: and as soon as a heart is possest with this passion, the mind is also prepossessed: it cannot see things as they are, but sees them only as love will have them: So Cyne∣sia, being very young, and having a strong inclina∣tion to Alphidemon, love will not let her reason see his faults; not but that I do condemn her; for I can∣not indure one should love that which is not amia∣ble. 'Tis true (replied Artaxander) and if one will love, let them love where they may have rest, and not as I did; though I can say to my comfort, that any other then my self might have been catched; but how could I guess, that those things which do afflict me, should have done so: My fears also at the beginning of my love to Cynesia, were wrong pla∣ced; for I feared her wit would have been too de∣licate and high, that she would have thought me a Man not sufficiently accomplished; that my Gallan∣try would have seemed to her of too merry a strain; and that she would be insensible of my passion; but the truth is, I feared those things which I needed not to fear; and I did not fear that thing which only I ought to fear; 'tis true there was no shadow of a∣ny cause to fear it; for how could I possibly ima∣gine that Cynesia, who stood upon her wit and glory, should ever love Alphidemon, whom all the World despised, and who indeed deserved no esteem? The truth is (said Cephisa) this could not be divined or believed, unless there had been a hundred such cir∣cumstances as would have put it out of all doubt. For my part (said Artaxander) I am better informed then any else; for Cynesia hath confessed to me that she loved Alphidemon, even with the same breath that she spoke kindly unto me; unto me, I say, who does not a jot resemble nor never will, nor will ever have to do with any thing that ever was his.

After this, Artaxander began to walk about the Chamber and muse, as if he had been alone, though Cephisa was with him, naming sometimes Alphidemon, and sometimes Cynesia, as they came into his mind; and he was above a quarter of an hour in this dump; Cephisa would not disturb him, because she thought it good sport, and indeed because she was not sorry that Artaxander's heart was dis-engaged from the love of Cynesia. But at last, perceiving himself, he rouzed out of his study, and had many pleasant conceits upon his being Alphidemon's successor. Af∣ter which, he returned to his Lodging, and in his way he met Alphidemon, whose very sight did much incense him; for he was very unhandsome and slo∣venly, he saluted clownishly, as if he were a Man of poor quality; and when he came to the house of Philiontes his Father, he there heard a hundred sim∣ple passages of Alphidemon. So Artaxander being more and more exasperated, and conceiving that it was not fit he should any longer love a person who could love Alphidemon, he resolved to break off with Cynesia. For (said he unto Philiontes, who would have disswaded him) I shall have this satisfaction that those who will say, she would have made me Alphidemon's successor, will say also, I refused it, and renounced the succession. If you quit Cynesia (re∣plied Philiontes) you will so rejoice Pasithea, as if you be of any vindicative temper, you will not leave her. I am fuller of revenge then you imagine (re∣plied he) but I will not be revenged upon my self; and if I should continue loving Cynesia, only because I will not joy Pasithea, I should be extreamly ashamed of being Alphidemon's successor. But (said Philion∣tes) can Men love when they list, and cease when they will? I know not that (replied he) but I will try. And indeed Artaxander went no more unto Cynesia, but went every day unto Cephisa, chearing up himself with his Amity for the loss of his love. Mean time Clidamis, who quickly heard how squares went between Artaxander and Cynesia, he returned to her and quitted Pasithea; but Cynesia not liking him so well as she did Artaxander, she gave him bee cold entertainment; imagining that Artaxander

would take it well. On the other side Pasithea was vexed to the soul to see Clidamis forsake her, and that it pleased Artaxander whom she would glad∣ly re-call.

As for Cynesia she could not imagine what course to take to cure Artaxander: It was in vain for her to say that she never loved Alphidemon, because she had confessed it: nor would she make Alphidemon more esteemable or esteemed than he was. So as she had no other way, since she stood much upon her ho∣nour, then to seem as if she cared not for Artaxan∣der's slighting her. Mean time Artaxander being quite out with all manner of gallantry, the friend∣ship of Cephisa was a real Cordial to him; for be∣ginning the rules of friendship with her, he found himself in a very good condition, and did not alter as long as he was at Crete: He gave Cephisa an ac∣count of all his follies, and took more delight in telling, then he ever did in the acting them; for Ce∣phisa being of an excellent and pleasing spirit, ha∣ving also much good Will unto Artaxander, and he likewise to her, their Conversation was with such a friendly liberty as made it very agreeable: And when Artaxander left Crete, he was more sorry to part from his friend, then from all his Mistresses; and I am confident he lived in more content with Cephisa, then ever he did with Pasithea and Cynesia with whom he had those beginnings of love which you desired to know, and which I have told you with so little Art, as I have reason to fear that all these Illustrious persons who have heard me, will repent of their curiosity.

For my particular (said Clelia, seeing Amilcar had no more to say) I am far from repenting, for I do think these two beginnings of love worth a whole History. For my part (said the Prince Sextus) I am very affectionate unto Artaxander, because methinks he resembles Amilcar. Truth is (replied Aronces) Artaxander is set out in an excellent Character: I concur with you (said the merry Plotina) but yet me∣thinks if Amilcar had been in Artaxander's place, he would either not have quitted Pasithea so slightly, or else he would have returned to her, after he had quitted Cynesia; for I do not think him so fit for a friend, as for a Mistress. I have yet been so little known unto you, Madam (replied Amilcar) that me∣thinks you judge too rathly. However (said Ceso∣nia) I much desire to know what this Artaxander is? my desire is the same (said Artimedorus) for my par∣ticular (said Zenocrates) I would gladly know both Pasithea and Cynesia; my curiosity is for Cephisa (ad∣ded Clelia) for methinks a friend that gives more comfort then two Mistresses, must needs be of much merit. I profess (said Plotina) I would give any thing to know the true names of all these persons: Truly all your Curiosities are to no purpose (said Amilcar) for if you did know the Names you do not know the persons. If you will (said Celeres in a low voice unto Plotina) I will give you the Key unto this History, upon Condition you will seem as if you had it by Inchantment. Plotina having a pleasant and merry wit, she thought it would make good sport, if Celeres would be as good as his word; so as pressing him very obligingly unto it, he told her the true Names of all those whom Artaxander had introduced in the adventure which he had related; and then retired handsomely from Plotina, of whom Amilcar took no notice when she whispered with Ce∣leres; for his design being to keep Sextus from talk∣ing with Clelia, he applied himself in talk wholly un∣to that Prince: So when Celeres was gone from Plo∣tina, she began again to entreat Amilcar he would be pleased to tell them the true Names of Artaxander, of Pasithea, of Cynesia, of Cephisa, and all the rest of whom he had spoken; and he still persisting in his denial, she told him that she requested a thing from him which she could tell, as well as himself. And to testifie that I sought only to be obliged unto you, if you will promise me to confess the truth, I will engage my self to write such a Key as all the Compa∣ny shall know the true names of every one they de∣sire: Ah lovely Plotina (replied Amilcar) if you can make that good, I will not only engage my self to tell you whether your Key be true, but I will en∣gage to be in love with you as long as I live, though you should too little love another Philocrates, or too much love another Alphidemon. I desire no more (replied she) so taking Pen, Ink, and Paper out of her Pocket, she went unto the Window to write the Names which Celeres had told her. And after she had written them, she gave the Paper unto Zeno∣crates to read: So as all the Company flocking about him, he began to read what Plotina had written, which was in these terms.

The true Key unto the History of Artaxander.

Artaxander.—	Amilcar.
Pasithea.—	Belisa.
Cynesia.—	Lindamira.
Cephisa.—	Liriana.
Alphidemon.—	Phelinix.
Clidamis.—	Alberites.
Philiontes.—	Timaides.
Crete.—	Sydon.

Zenocrates had no sooner done reading, but every one was earnest to tell Amilcar that they knew him to be Artaxander. Well (said Amilcar) I will be Artaxander if you will have me; for I am as merry a Man and Complaisant as lives: But I would glad∣ly know, by what Inchantment Plotina did find it out. After this, Amilcar mused a while, and then looking upon Celeres who could not chuse but smile: Ah Celeres (said he) it is you who have betrayed me, for I have heretofore made you the Confident of my Follies. Yet I would gladly know (said Cle∣lia) why you took so much pains in changing all the Names of all these persons and your own? for we know neither Belisa nor Pasithea. It is true (repli∣ed he) but you do know Amilcar) better then you do Artaxander, and it was for his sake only that I put a guise upon the rest.

But the wonder is, that in my hast of changing names I have committed a merry errour and none takes any notice of it; for I have given a Grecian name unto an Affrican. For my part (said Sextus) I see no reason more than the rest of our Company, why you should conceal your having interest in the Company, why you should conceal your having in∣terest in having what you have related. I told you already, Sir (replied he) before I began to re∣late

the story, that I did not love to be my own Hi∣storian, and I must tell you again, that I never will, and that those who will write such Books as that fa∣mous blind man did, whose works all Greece adores, must always introduce some persons to tell the ad∣ventures of others. For then the Relator com∣mends or condemns those of whom he speaks accor∣ding to their merit. They will impartially des∣cribe the persons whom they do introduce, they will descant upon things, and mingle their own thoughts with theirs; but when any are their own Historians, all that they shall say in their own ad∣vantage is suspected; and it is so difficult to do, that if it be a woman who tels her own tale, she cannot handsomely say, I made him in love with me; and if it be a man, he cannot well say, that he was lo∣ved, or that he was valiant; and therefore it is a thousand times better to have the Story told in the third person then in the first. There is reason in all you say (replied Aronces) yet some men would think it strange that a third person should know so many particulars of things, wherein he himself hath no interest. I am perswaded of what you say (re∣plied Amilcar) but yet it may be an ill grounded perswasion; for some men do better know all the advantages of others then of their own, because they may come to the knowledge of them from the months of persons uninterested, yet true it is, that those who read, ought to enter into the very thoughts of the Writer, and so the relator of the person whose story is related; but upon the whole matter, I cannot indure to hear a Woman tell of all her Conquests, or a man of his exploits; sometimes when they are forced upon it, I will allow them to do as well as they can: and to put in practice what I speak of others, I make a promise unto my self, never to relate any thing that hath happened unto me, unless to one person only at once, and as sel∣dome as possibly I can. I am very glad of this reso∣lution (said Plotina and laughed) for since it is very likely that we shall have some adventures together, I shall be safe, and need not fear that you will ever tell what passeth between us; unless it be under such dis∣guised names as will keep me safe from my dange∣rous interpretations. I do believe (said Cesonia) that you would not be glad to have your adventure told in that manner: but am perswaded that if it were, you your self would find out a key for it as you have done unto the History of Artaxander. For my part; (said one of those melancholly Ladies, who fretted at her captivity) I wonder much at the excessive curiosity which I have observed in all the company to know the true names of the persons whom Amilcar brought into his Story: for since it changeth nothing, neither in the adventure nor in the thoughts, what matter is it whether the persons were Grecians or Affricans? And why should so much ado be about that which cannot afford any real diversion; for my part if Amilcar had said at the be∣ginning of his relation, that he was going to relate an adventure which he had invented, I should have hearkened with as much delight as I did, and should have more admired the ingenuity of him who could so handsomely invent an adventure. Whatsoever you are pleased to say (replied Plotina) certainly there is more pleasure to be taken in hearing a thing which is known to be a truth, then in hearing a known falshood. There are some truths (replied Clelia) which are so unpleasing, and so far from probability, and there are some inventions so full of delight and likely, as it may be said, that some∣times a lye is more pleasing then a truth, and resem∣bles truth, more then truth it self doth. Since e∣very one speaks after the rate of their own beauty, I will not dispute by reason, to uphold that which concurs with his own inclination.

You speak very well (replied Sextus) and there∣fore pleasures are not to be condemned in any who∣soever, and my humour is such as I will never con∣demn them in others; but I cannot endure that o∣thers should condemn them in me. For my part (said Zenocrates) that sometimes I see many things which do not please me; but the natural irksome∣ness which I have to all things which do not delight me, cannot make me condemn them, but pass by, and say nothing. For my particular (said Amil∣car) I always condemn those who condemn others. Certainly (said Aronces) one ought to be very re∣served in giving his opinion upon the pleasures of o∣thers. And yet it is so little used (replied Celeres) that nothing is more subject to censures then plea∣sures. Tis true, replied Artimedorus, but it must be confessed withal, that nothing does better disco∣ver the bottoms of mens hearts; and therefore it is not without cause that some should so accustome themselves to observe them: for in solid and serious affairs, the mind is close, and cannot be known; but in matter of pleasures, ones hearts and spirits lie o∣pen; they are discovered to the bottom: And by them best are mens manners and inclinations known. Tis ordinarily seen (said Clelia) that by little things great ones comes to be known. For my part, said Amilcar, men may be much deceived in judging of me, by my pleasures: For I take them so many seve∣ral wayes; when fortune brings me to a place, where I cannot have them, I make pleasures of my business, rather then want them: The truth is, one cannot live without pleasures; and those who seem never to enjoy any, but are naturally sober and grave, most certainly they find delight even in their own Melan∣choly. After this, Sextus finding by the silence which Clelia and the rest of the Ladies observed, that they thought it time to end discourse, he did rise up; and went away with Aronces, Artimedorus, Amilcar, Zenocrates, and Celeres: Who after they had waited upon Sextus to his lodging, they went every one to their own: But the sweetest part of that night unto Aronces was, that when Sextus did rise up, and Amilcar had cunningly engaged him in talk with Plotina, Aronces found an opportunity of a little talk with Clelia, when none could hear but her self: So as this pretious opportunity made him pass away the night in much delight. Mean while since the siege of Ardes drew on, and since the pre∣sence of Tarquin was necessary he must prepare him∣self for a departure. Yet he had found Clelia so fair, that he could willingly have deferred it some days, if his ambition had not been so prevalent with his heart: For though Tarquin had never any violent inclinations to love, yet he found some∣thing so extraordinary in this fair prisoner, that see her he must in the Morning; giving orders that she should be waited upon very diligently; and confer∣ring many favours upon others for her sake. Mean while, the proud and cruel Tullia, knowing it, she was very importunate in behalf of the Vestals, with Tarquin to release them; she caused Verenia to come the second time unto that Prince: But he was more

moved against her this second visit, then the first: For he told her, that to recompence her endeavours of raising a Rebellion in Rome, he would send to seek her brother all the World over, that he might send him and all his Family into another World. Af∣ter which preparing for his departure, he did de∣part the next morning: Followed by the Prince Sextus, the Prince of Pometia, the Prince Collatin, the young Sons of Brutus, two other young men of quality of the Aquiline Family; all the bravery of Rome, Aronces, Artimedorus, Amilcar, Zenocrates, Celeres and many others. This departure was so sudden that Sextus could not see the prisoners: But Celeres, passing for the Brother of Clelia, he went to her, and carried Aronces with him, who had the happiness to bid her adieu; But this adue was so sad, as it may be said they did onely communicate sorrows, and make an exchange of grief. For when Clelia considered, that she was under the pow∣er of Tarquin who did most horridly hate her Father; when she thought that this proud Tyrant did too fa∣vourably look upon her; that the Prince Sextus did the same: That the cruel Tullia had shewed no civilities unto her: That Aronces was going to the Wars where he might die: The Celeres who passed for her Brother, might perish also as well as Amil∣car; and that she was to be left without any help in the hands of most wicked people, it was impossible but she should be extreamly grieved. On the other side Aronces who more sadly resented the miseries of her he loved, then his own, never considering what might be said of him in the King his Fathers Court, he thought upon nothing but the pitiful con∣dition of Clelia. Yet since Tarquin had promised to deliver her, when the siege of Ardes was ended, this hope did something moderate his sorrows. But the truth is, his fears of her being known to be the daughter of Clelius did take away the greatest sweet∣ness of his hopes. Also the very grief of being from her, and leaving her under the power of that Tiger Tullia, did so extreamly afflict him, as it may be said, this onely was enough to make him worthy of compassion. Also they expressed themselves unto each other, the most sadly that can be imagi∣ned, whilst Celeres and Amilcar who was with them this visit did take their leaves of the other Ladies, But the adieu of Plotina and Amilcar was as merry as the other was Melancholly, and at parting were as full of their pleasant frollicks as ever. Yet Amilcar set a more serious face upon the matter, when he took his leave of Clelia: For maugre all his mirth, he did most obligingly resent the misfortunes of this fair one. But after they had left her, Aronces, Celeres, and he, durst not go and see Verenia, lest if it were known, Tarquin should suspect them: But they went secretly unto the virtuous Sevilia, pur∣posely to oblige her to let Verenia know, that her illustrious Neece had in their persons, some defen∣ders against the Tyrant. After which they went unto that Prince, as well as Artimedorus and Zeno∣crates. Mean time, there might be seen go out of Rome that day; the most magnificent equipage of War, that ever was seen since the first Foundation of that proud Town; for under their former Kings the Romans either out of poverty or moderation, ne∣ver used any superstuities. Moreover Amilcar being equally agreeable unto Tarquin, unto Sextus, unto the Prince of Pometia, and unto Titus, he shared him∣self amongst them during this march; for he was sometimes with one, sometimes with another, and though their humours were all different, yet he plea∣sed them all. As for Aronces, he was so full of sor∣row, that he entertained only himself. Artimedo∣rus he talked with Zenocrates, for they two had e∣nough to talk on in matters wherein none else had any interest; and for Celeres he entertained Collatin in discourse of the siege. However Tarquins Quarter being betwixt Rome and Ardes, the Camp was so near that Famous City: as one might goe and come betwixt them in a day, but reason did forbid Aronces from doing so, lest he should render himself sus∣pected: So as it might be said, that he was as mise∣rable as if he had been further off from Clelia, since he durst not go and see her. But Tarquin was no sooner come to the Camp then he gave out orders concerning the siege; he went to view all the seve∣ral Posts, and would have the strangers with him to the end they might see that the way of Roman War had great congruity with the Grecian and Afri∣can way. As for Aronces he accompanyed Tarquin, he reasoned so rightly, and gave such good advice unto this Prince, he began from that day to look upon him not as an ordinary man: But as Tarquin and this brave Troop were upon a hill which Aronces said was requisite to be made good, they of Ardes made a salley: And so advantagiously for themselves at first, as by the favour of another hill upon the left hand Tarquin was set about before he was aware. So as then he was very happy in having so many brave men about him: For maugre the vigorous assault of his enemies, who doubled them in number, they re∣pulsed them, and did such prodigious things that day, as made all who saw him admire: For know∣ing that Horace was in Ardes, he bore a secret ha∣tred unto those who defended him; yet when he considered that Ardes was the harbour of his noble friend whom Tarquin hated only for his virtue, his heroique heat, which made him do such great ex∣ploits did began to slack; But for all that when he considered that at the end of the siege Clelia was to be delivered, he thought upon nothing, but what might conduce to the taking of this Town; so as bestirring himself that day to defend him who besie∣ged it, he did defend him as if he had infinitely esteemed him, as if he had most dearly loved him, and as if he had been incomparably tender of him, though at the bottom of his heart he had a most hor∣rible aversion against this proud Tyrant. So as desiring to signal him self upon this occasion; he did as I told you before, such marvellous things as made both his friends and enemies admire him. Al∣so all they who followed Tarquin did acts worthy of eternal memory; and one would have said, that the Romans, the Grecians and the Affricans did vie va∣lours with each other in vanquishing those who as∣saulted them. So as all these brave men fighting to∣gether, they beat the other as brave and as strong as they were, and did drive them to their very gates, after they had killed many, and took more prisoners than they themselves.

But amongst those who Aronces took with his own hands; hee found two who told him things very different; for after some of Tarquins Troops were come up to relieve them, and that they could retreat without fear of any sallies, he asked these pri∣soners concerning the state of the town, and the number of men to defend it? Sir, said one of the souldiers, there are men enough to find you work;

and if the valiant Horace doe escape his wounds; as it is hoped, he and Herminius, joyning together, will make you pay dear for your victory. How? (said Tarquin, and blusht for anger) is Horace and Her∣minius both in Ardes? Yes, Sir, replied the coura∣geous souldier; and had they been in the head of those troops you have beaten, perhaps you had found a sharper business of it. Tarquin being incen∣sed at the boldness of this prisoner, commanded him to be put to death; but since it was Aronces that took him; oh Sir (said he to Tarquin with ex∣tream generosity) since this prisoner belongs to me, I beseech your Majesty not to be so cruel unto him, for I think my self obliged to defend his life; and I assure you he did so stoutly defend it, that he me∣rits better usage. I will give him to your valour (replied Tarquin in a rought one) though his inso∣lency deserves death; for how durst he in my pre∣sence commend two of my most mortal enemies and enemies whom I hate as much as Clelius, and Horace and Herminius deserve it.

After this, Tarquin casting his eye upon the other captive, whom Aronces took, he began to ask him who he was? for he seemed to have the ayr of a stranger. Sir (said he in very broken Roman lan∣guage) though I am taken amongst your enemies, yet I am not so; for I belong unto the Prince of Nu∣midia, who sent me into Ardes to know whether a daughter of his who was stoln away was there. He had no sooner said so, but Aronces, Amilcar, and Celeres did know the man, and that he did belong unto the Prince of Numidia, therefore their hearts began to beat extreamly, fearing he would tell some∣thing which might give Tarquin some cause to think that Clelia was the daughter of Clelius; but as good luck was, the man had heretofore been servant to Amilcar, who turning his eyes towards him; he made such signs to hold his peace, and in such a me∣nacing manner, as the poor fellow not knowing what to say, or not to say, he said just nothing. Tarquin seeing him to be a stranger and ignorant in in what he desired to know, he let him go amongst the rest of the prisoners, at which Aronces was very glad; but desiring to know a little more concerning the Prince of Numidia, when Tarquin was gone to his quarters, he went unto him who kept the priso∣ners to speak with this African who might satisfie his curiosity; and he went with Amilcar, who made the man to tell, that the Prince of Numidia desiring to get into that party which was opposite unto that which Horace took, he had a desire to know whether he was in Ardes, as it was reported he was; so as Aronces was likely to see his Rival arrive in the Camp of Tarquin, and to arrive in such a manner as to be known who he was: However he 〈◊〉〈◊〉 dissemble his resentments, and for Clelia's sake comply with all the pleasures of the Prince Sextus, because it was he above all the rest, from whom he was to hope for Clelia's protection, if Tarquin should hear by any ill fortune that she was Daughter unto Clelius; for Sextus being not capable of that poli∣tique hatred which the King his father was, it was to be hoped that Clelia being very fair, and pleased him, he would defend her in case Tarquin should of∣fer either to hurt her or love her too much: for A∣ronces saw she was in danger of these two extreams; so as though he was very melancholy at the heart, yet he was forced to seem merry in the face, and though he was free from any licencious Debauche∣ry, yet he lived as if he were the greatest Libertine of all men upon earth. And since Tarquins design was not to take Ardes by force, but by hunger, the time was likely to be long, and Sextus brought into the Camp a way of life more voluptuous then in Rome, for they did nothing but feast continually from Tent to Tent, and from Quarter to Quarter: However there was a necessity of complying with his humour, though against the hair of ones own; and sometimes is is wisdom not to seem wise. Thus Aronces being both amorous and prudent, did comply with the times, and was at all these tumul∣tuous feasts of which Sextus was the Ring-leader, also he treated this Martial and merry crew, in his own Tent, and treated them in a manner so magni∣ficent as did amaze the Romans, and in such a neat fashion as made all the Grecians admire. Artimedo∣rus, Amilcar, and also Zenocrates did treat them in their turns, as men that knew how to goe through any thing they undertook. But Sextus mixing matters of love in all things, the discourse in all these feasts was commonly either upon Beauty, or the humours of women, either in commending or blaming of them. So as all this merry company was at Supper one night with the Prince Sextus; he began to chide Collatine, because his wife could ne∣ver be seen, though she had the reputation of the fairest woman in all Rome. For inded (said he un∣to Aronces, Artimedorus, Amilcar, Zenocrates, and Celeres though) Collatine be Nephew unto the King my father, and by consequence Lucrecia of quality to be known by all in Rome, yet she is known by none, but her Reputation which seems to be upheld by Enchantment; for since she will not see the Queen because she was once ill treated by her, she will not be seen in any place where her beauty may be judged of; if she do pass through the streets unto the Temple, her Head is always pulled down, and she never frequents any other place. If she do walk, it is in places so solitary as none ever use to come at them; and the truth is, Lucrecia is never seen but by five or six people, whom none ever sees: And yet for all this, she hath the reputation of being the fairest Woman that ever was seen in Rome. But to tell you truly, I do not believe it (added he and laughed) for if she were so fair as re∣ported, I am confident she would shew her beau∣ty, mauger all the Roman austerity, in spite of all the vigilancy of Parents, mauger Collatine himself and all his jealousie; for I must certainly conclude, that if she be fair, he must needs be jealous, since none ever sees his Wife. Oh Sir (said Collatine) you are extreamly unjust in accusing me of any jea∣lousie; and I were the most unreasonable Man li∣ving were I jealous of Lucrecia. I must tell you (re∣plied Amilcar) that a beauty solitary, and a soli∣tude voluntary, is one of the rarest things in the World; and therefore though you be not jealous, yet the Prince Sextus is very excusable in suspecting you to be so. For my part (said the Prince of Po∣metia) I know Lucrecia a little better than you do, and I am sure that the cause of her retiredness pro∣ceeds not from any jealousie in Collatine, but only from her own modesty and from a fancy she hath, that there ought to be a great difference between a fair Mistress and a fair Wife. For my particular (said Sextus) I am not of her fancy, for I think it fit a Wife should be the Mistress of her Husband, and that a Mistress never ought to be the Wife of

her Lover. The truth is (said Artimedorus) a Wife ought not to give over her gallantry towards her Husband, as soon as she is married; and a Mistress should be so familiar with her Lover as to become his Wife, by her little care she takes to please him. And yet it often happens so (replied Aronces.) I would have a Lady rule her Lover (said Amilcar) for if the Husband do cease loving as soon as she is mar∣ried, I would have the Wife cease being his Mi∣stress, and I would not have any such difference made betwixt Gallantry and Love as usually is. I do confess it (said the Prince Titus) for I cannot en∣dure that Men when they see any Ladies, should say, I could like such a Lady for my Mistress, but not for my Wife; and on the contrary, I could affect such a one for my Wife, but would not chuse her for my Mistress; for I conceive what becomes a Wife, be∣comes a Mistress; and what becomes a Mistress renders her to be a charming Wife; and I would have my Wife as charming as my Mistress; and I would not have my Mistress more Cocket then I would have my Wife. Then you would have her as austere as the Sibyls (replied Sextus) and that she be as solitary, salvage, imperious, critical, cen∣suring others, thinking ill upon the least conjectures, and melancholy; that she deprive her self of all pleasures, to have this onely, that she hath the re∣putation of a good Woman and when she will can give over the World. Oh Sir (replied the Prince of Pometia) Lucrecia is none of those; for she is ex∣cellent society though solitary, she is severe and ri∣gid onely to her self; she alwayes thinks well of o∣thers, and she maintains it neither good nor modest for any Women to suspect those of their sex in ge∣neral, of any great weakness; she never condemns pleasures in others, she puts a good construction up∣on every thing, she is not lumpish nor Melancholy; and if she were not solitary she would be adored by all the World. You love her Sister in law so well (replied the Prince Sextus) that you are not to be believed in all you speak to the advantage of Lucre∣tia. If a Husband may be allowed to commend his own Wife (replied Collatine) I would say, that the Prince of Pometia doth not slatter Lucretia; and that the affection he bears unto my Sister, doth not move him to speak against truth. For my part (said Sextus) I do not insist upon such critical for∣malities; and therefore Collatine, without any consi∣deration of being Husband unto Lucretia, I pray you tell me ingenuously, and impartially whether her beauty be comparable to the beauty of that fair Prisoner which you saw when the Vestals demanded her liberty? For my part I must profess unto you, that I never in my life saw any so fair.

The truth is, she is very fair (replied Collatine) yet I know not whether it be because I affect black beauties, better then the fair: But I profess unto you, that I think Lucretia as fair for a black beauty, as that prisoner is for a fair beauty: And of the two I would leave the fair and take the black. For my part (said Aronces) I should not do so; upon this the Prince Sextus having an extream desire to see Lucretia, did becken unto all the young Gallants to second his design, so as every one began to affirm that Lucretia was not so fair as reported. If she be so as she is represented (said Zenocrates then) I am sure she is not so fair as one I have seen in Sicily. For my part (said Artimedorus) I know one that will not yield unto her. For my particular (said Amil∣car) I have met with many Lucretia's, but I know onely one fair prisoner in all the World. Aronces had a good mind to say so also, but he durst not for fear of suspition; so as he let all the rest speak, who all confessed, that though they had Mistresses of their own, yet the fair Prisoner, was the fairest that ever was seen. As for the Prince of Pomctia, he did not say any thing against her great beauty, but only said that Lucretia and his own Mistress could not be compared together, because they were so opposite as two contraries could not be more, the one having fair hair, and grey eyes; and the other black hair and black eyes. Mean time, This feast which Sex∣tus made, having raised the spirits of Collatine to a jolly height, he was that time full of rallary; so as the Prince Sextus, beginning again to chide him for his pretended jealonsie, though he knew well e∣nough that he was not jealous, Collatine did rise up upon a suddain, and looking upon all the company. To make it appear I am not jealous (said he unto them) And to let you know that Lucretia does me∣rit all the reputation of beauty which she hath, I freely offer to take horse immediately, and carry you all unto my house. Collatine had no sooner said so, but Sextus ravished with joy, did take it at his word: So as though it was late, they all took horse, and went to Rome: so came to Collatine where Lu∣cretia was, who not expecting so great a company was working with her Woman, an excellent piece of work she made the business of her solitude. Howe∣ver being alwayes naturally handsome, though she did not think of seeing any that day, yet she was not in such a negligent dress, as did any thing take from her beauty; but on the contrary, her dress was very advantagious. So as all this Company making a great noise at their coming, and hearing that her Husband brought them, she prepared her self to receive them very well. So Lucretia leaving her work, she went to meet them, and not know∣ing that her beauty was the cause of this journey, she shewed it in its full lustre: for she had four slaves who walked before her with lights, which made it at first appear unto all that came, she merited all the reputation of beauty which she had: and that there was none but Clelia who could dispute with her for being the greatest beauty in the whole World.

The Prince Sextus was so blasted, that he stood dumb as he was the first time he saw Clelia; so as A∣milcar observing him, he jogged Aronces, who was very glad to see it, in hopes that perhaps his incli∣nation to Clelia would lessen, by his liking Lucretia. So as Amilcar (after he had asked Aronces pardon for the injustice, I was going to do his Mistress) he began to cry aloud that the fair prisoner was van∣quished; that Lucretia had got the victory, and that Collatine was the happiest man upon Earth. Zeno∣crates also did highly appland the beauty of Lucre∣tia. Artimedorus did the same. The young Sons of Brutus as much. The two young Aquilines no less. The Prince of Pometia asked every one what they thought; the Prince Titus said as others did; and Collatine himself in saying nothing, did yet im∣ply that Lucretia was never fairer then she was that night. All the while, this Wife and Modest Lady was so surprized at their expressions, and at their tumultuous commendations which they gave her, as she knew not what to think. Yet being of an ad∣mirable spirit, and not having forgot the mode of the World in her solitude, she did handsomely re∣tire.

But the Prince Sextus being charmed with the beauty of Lucretia as much as with Clelia, he was something deaf to the motion, and with Amil∣car began to make a long invective against solitude: For truly said Amilcar unto (Lucretia, whilst Collatine was talking unto some others whom he had brought thither) you are infinitely to blame for thus hiding as you do, the greatest beauty upon earth; for take in which way you will, solitude is good for no∣thing. Yes Sir, replied Lucretia, it is good to satisfie those who seek it and love it. But Madam, answered Sextus, those who do love it and seek, if they were as you are they ought not to love or seek it. 'Tis true (added Amilcar) for solitude will not let either beauty or virtue shew it self; and is good for nothing, but to give the World occasion to say that when the Wife is fair and solitary, her Husband is jealous. Though I do not expose my self unto the World, replied Lucretia, yet I do not think that any will say that Collatine is jealous. If they do not say so, replied Sextus, it is in your pre∣sence, when they can say nothing else but that you are the fairest person that ever was seen. But yet, said Amilcar, I would gladly know, what delights can solitude afford? Though no other, but to be sure they will trouble none (replied Lucretia) nor be troubled by any, yet this is a great pleasure; for these are two things which often happen unto such as expose themselves unto the World. Did I see in all your Chambers (said Amilcar) abundance of great and stately Mirrours, which would let you see your self every way, I should not then wonder what pleasure you could take in your solitude, for I am confident you would be infinitely pleased with looking upon your self: but that you should pass a∣way your life poring upon works, and that a piece of several coloured Tissue should take up your eyes and mind, this is a thing above my understanding. I know (added he) that a person who has some secret affection gnawing upon her heart which makes her apt to muse and study, she indeed may easily pass away whole daies in working upon some excellent piece, because that would be a handsome pretence for her entertaining her self, and talking unto none; but that a Woman of Spirit should find any delight in passing away her life with drooping eyes and hands busied in Works like Bees in their Hives; this is a thing which I cannot comprehend. Therefore I must conclude that those who pass a∣way their whole lives so, have either very shallow Spirits; or else have some secret cause of reserved∣ness which doth busie and divert them. For my part (replied Lucretia and blu••••'d) since I have no secret confederacy with any; It must be then con∣cluded that I delight in my works, because my Spi∣rit is very shallow. Oh no Madam; said Sextus, I can never believe that: But perhaps you have a fancy by this way to make all the World believe you have as much virtue as beauty: But Madam, let me tell you, after a long accustomacy unto this kind of life, you will not know how to enter into society again and commonly all your sage beauties, do make them∣selves the most miserable people in the World, by beginning a form of life too severe. But Madam, if you will follow my advice, you shall add nothing to the Roman austerity: Be not more severe then the Vestals; Quit Collatia, and return to Rome, and do not anticipate old age, by a living death: For so I must phrase solitude. For my part, replied Lucre∣tia, I think the life so infinitely sweet, as I cannot give it so terrible a name: And to tell you truly (ad∣ded she and laughed) I think the life so pleasant, as I assure you, I think this is the worst night I passed away ever since I became solitary at Collatia. Lu∣cretia spoke this with such a sprightly Air, as that it was as much as told the Prince Sextus it was late, and time to retire; so he left Lucretia with so much e∣steem of her, as all the company (except Collatine who took no notice of it) did plainly see she had pierced his heart.

The truth is, it was a thing not difficult to do; for the love of Sextus was only of sensual love, where∣in the mind was not much considerable. But at last all the company after they had left Lucretia, in her Chamber they rested themselves an hour; and such repast as hast would permit, they returned to the Camp: But in their return, Artimedorus, Amil∣car, Zenocrates and Celeres, who had a desire to ad∣vance Lucretia in the heart of Sextus, and so chase out Clelia, they did nothing else but commend the beauty of Lucretia, and envy the happiness of Calla∣tine. Also they told Sextus in a low voice, that certainly Lucretia with all her virtue was of a very passionate temper, that her eyes did speak as much; and that she was not so hard to be overcome as Cleli∣a, who was of a more cold temper: So as Sextus, whose nature was impetuous, abandoning his heart to the beauty of Lucretia, and not quite chasing out Clelia, he returned to the Camp, not knowing di∣rectly whether he was more taken with the black or the fair beauty. Truth is, since he had seen Lucre∣tia last it seemed she had the advantage of the other. Also hearing so many cry up the beauty of Lucretia his heart was the deeper wounded; for nothing does more blow the fire of a growing love then ap∣plauds of her who is the cause of it. As for Aronces, though he wished heartily that Sextus would love Lucretia rather then Clelia, yet he could get no fur∣ther expressions from him then that Clelia was less fair than Lucretia. So he returned to the Camp without almost speaking one word; and when they came near the Camp, he rid some twenty pa∣ces behind the rest, because he loved more to muse then mix with such tumultuous discourse, and he observed that all the company stayed; so as coming up to them, he saw one of the King of Romes Offi∣cers, who told the Prince Sextus, that there was come into the Camp an Envoy from the King of Clusium, who came from the King his Master, to advertise Tarquin, that the Prince his Son, who stole out of his Court was unknown in his Camp, and beseeched him that if it was so, he would seeure him, lest he should marry the daughter of a man who was his enemy, with whom he was in love; ad∣ding, that the Ladies name was Clelia, that she was the daughter of Clelius, that she was taken away from Horatius, and that she was lately come out. This (said the Envoy) was no sooner told unto Tarquin, but he imagined that the daughter of Cle∣lius must needs be one of those Ladies captives which were in Rome, and therefore I was sent in all hast with orders that they might be more strictly looked unto; for Tarquin remembring how earnest the grand Vestal was for the liberty of those captives he did not doubt but Clelia was one of them; and he seemed so incensed against her, though he knew not which was she, that he swore he would put her to death; though for no other reason then to hinder the

King of Clusium's Son from marrying her. But (said the Prince Sextus) does the King believe, that the King of Clusium's Son is in his Army? Yes, Sir (replied he, and whispered) for he told that En∣voy there was many strangers with you, whose mind might well become the Sons of Kings; so as this man does very impatiently wait for your return at your Tent door, to spy if any of those who are with you be Son to the King of Clusiam. Though Tarquins Officer spake this in a low voice, yet Aronces heard it, and heard it with unimaginable grief, yet he conceived that it was extreamly expedient for him not to discover his thoughts, and therefore set the best face he could upon the matter: when the Offi∣cer had left the Prince, and was gone away, he ob∣served that Sextus looked sometimes upon Amilcar, sometimes upon Celeres, and sometimes upon him; for he could not imagine Artimedorus or Zenocrates, two Sons unto the King of Clusium, because their Accent was purely Greek, and he knew very well that the King of Clusium's Son was not brought up in Greece. But desiring to talk of this with the Princes his Brothers though they seldome used to talk and converse together, he severed those from the rest, and rid some twenty paces before, not taking any notice of those who followed; for he did not think that the last thing which the King his Fathers Officer had told him, had heen heard; so as Aronces, clo∣sing with this occasion, he beckned unto Celeres, and staying some places behind, they rid softly, so as they were a hundred paces behind the rest when they entred into a thick and dark Wood. So as A∣ronces desiring so much liberty alone as to think what he should do, he took a little blind path way with Celeres, which after a hundred turnings and windings did bring them into a little solitary Valley, where there was four or five poor Shepherds cotta∣ges upon the side of a little Rivulet; no sooner were they there, but they stayed, and imagining that Sextus would send to seek them, Aronces look∣ed upon his friend with eyes so full of sadness, as was enough to melt a heart into sorrow. Now Ce∣leres (said he unto him) what say you now to the cruelty of my destiny? Fortune indeed is very cru∣el unto you (replied Celeres unto whom Aronces had told all he heard) for I must confess I know not what course you ought or can take. I can dye Cele∣res (replied he) and that's the most reasonable course I can take. Consider but my condition well and you will find that I have reason to do so; for as I gathered from the speech of the Officer, Tarquin does almost certainly know that the Daughter of Clelius, is in his Power, and he will be glad to know that Clelia is she that is the Daughter of his Enemy. Moreover if I do return to the Camp, I am sure to be a Prisoner, for I shall be known: If I do not re∣turn they will follow me, and which is most consi∣derable, I shall do an ill Office unto Clelia, since I can∣not return unto Rome: both you and I, and Amilcar also shall pass for cheats and impostors; for we have told Tarquin that you are Clelia's Brother. And yet in not going I see more danger towards her; fot per∣haps by talking unto Tarquin I shall stay his fury a∣gainst that admirable Lady. Your greatest com∣fort is (replied Celeres) that since Tarquin hath some inclination towards Clelia, certainly he will not treat her so cruelly. Oh Celeres (cryed out A∣ronces) what comfort can it be to see a Tyrant in love with ones Mistress? Yet I must confess that now I am angry that the beauty of Lucretia pleaseth Sex∣tus, more then the beauty of Clelia; for I know none fitter then he, to stand between her, and his Fathers fury. But alas unto what a pittiful condition am I brought, who for the safety of Clelia, must wish well unto my most insolent Rivals? As they were thus talking, they heard a great noise which made them look about; and they were no sooner turned, but they espyed coming out of a corner in this Val∣ley, the Prince of Numidia and Horacius who were fighting, and Herminius parting them, though they were both Rivals unto his friend, and though by their death he had been rid of two redoubtful ene∣mies.

This sight did so surprize Aronces thar as the state of his mind then stood, he knew not whether what he saw was true or no; for he could not imagine that Horacius should be so soon recovered. It is true that it well appeared, those two stout Rivals had not all their strength; for though they fought with abundance of animosity and courage, yet one might plainly perceive, that both of them were weak, es∣pecially Horacius; as for the Prince of Numidia it was long since he was well recovered of his Wounds, and therefore had time enough to gather strength, if his melancholy had been no hinderance. But A∣ronces and Celeres seeing this Combate, and seeing Herminius very busie in parting them, Aronces was in sufficient perplexity. However men of great Souls when they see others fighting, have but two wayes to chuse, either to part them, or to take side. Aronces not being able to take the latter of these wayes; because it was hard for him to chuse be∣tween two Rivals, and because he scorned advan∣tages, he went straight towards them with Celeres, whom he accquainted with his intention. But though they went as men whose intentions were to help Herminius in parting them, yet they did not at the first take it so, but recoyling back some paces, they turned both against Aronces, as against him that was most to be feared, and asked him, which of them two he would have to fight with him: But Aronces not hearkening to what they said, cryed out that it was not a time to fight and kill one another, when there might be some use of each other to deliver Clelia; but it was better to suspend their Animosi∣ties, as he would his, until she were free. He had no sooner said so, but he saw the Prince Sextus ap∣pear at the end of the Valley with all his Troops; for he seeing that Aronces did not follow him, he believed therefore that it was he who was Son to the King of Clusium; so as turning back, he for∣tuned to light just upon the place where these three Rivals were together.

Mean time, as things stood, since neither the in∣terests of Aronces nor Horacius was not to fall into the hands of Tarquin, they both of them took a way through the thick of the Wood, and Hermi∣nius followed them. But when Aronces saw that the Prince of Numidia stayed behind them, he hastily bid Adieu unto his friend and his Rival, and turned back, not being able to leave such a terrible enemy as the Prince of Numidia about Tasquin, lest though that Prince should not be so cruel as to put Clelia to death, yet he might be so unjust as to marry her un∣to that Prince. So as finding it more safety for her, to return to Tarquin, since his Rival was to be there: He went to Sextus. And when that Prince asked him who those were which rushed through

the Wood, out of his friendship to Herminius and generosity to Horatious, he said that they were men he knew not, and that as he met them he parted them, imagining that Sextus could not discern them, because their faces were turned the other way.

After this, Aronces presented outo him the Prince of Numidia though his Rival. After which, Sex∣tus taking Aronces apart, he asked him whether it was true, that he was Son to the King of Clusium? I have asked Amilcar, Artimedorus, and Zenocrates (said he unto him) who are all your friends, but they will tell me nothing; yet since I love you, I shall be glad to know it, that I might the better serve you. Aronces was now hard put to it; for considering the inclination which Sextus seemed to have to Clelia, he thought it no prudence to tell him who he was, since it was likely that e're long he would know Cle∣lia was the Daughter of Clelius, whom they would not have him to love. Yet the new inclination of Sextus unto Lucrecia, did take off that objection: and judging also that he could not long hide him∣self, he confessed that he was Porsenna's Son. He had no sooner confessed this, but Sextus blusht; and looking upon Aronces, tell me truly (said he) is this pretended Sister of Celeres, the Daughter of Clelius? I know she is, and therefore will not seek for the reason, why you would not say that Lucrecia seemed fairer in your eye then she. However, (added he, and would not give Aronces time to Answer) I will not advise you to put your self into the hands of the King my Father, unless you will hazard the life of Clelia, but I will promise you to protect her as far as I am able, and also to steal her away if Tarquin should come to the last extremities against her. And therefore when I begin to march steal you away from me the second time, and I will promise none shall follow you. Since what Sextus said, seemed to be very obliging, Aronces thanked him, and with∣out telling him precisely whether he would follow his Counsel, or not, they began to march; but in marching Amilcar being come to Aronces, he gave him an account of all passages: Afterwards march∣ing a little asunder from the rest, he began to exa∣mine the pitiful condition wherein they were, and their ir-resolution what course to take. For truly, said she, he who advises me to keep out of the hands of a violent Prince, he himself knows not what Ju∣stice or Generosity is; he seems to be in love with Clelia, he can love as many beauties as he can see, and consequently may love Clelia and Lucrecia both at once; he tells me of stealing away the Person whom I love, to save her life, and doubtless if he should steal her away, he would not give her unto me.

But on the other side, if I should put my self into the hands of Tarquin, I should be a Prisoner both to him and to the King my Father: I shall perhaps be only an unhelping Spectator of all those punish∣ments, which the Tyrant will inflict upon Clelia, and shall not have so much liberty as to die with her. But alas, if I should flie or hide my self, what can I do that way either for Clelia, or for my self? I durst not go to Rome and endeavour to deliver Clelia, I cannot go into the Camp and kill Tarquin if he in∣tend to put her to death; and which way soever I look, I see nothing but inevitable misery. As A∣ronces said so, and as Amilcar was going to reply, they came to a place in the Wood, where several ways crossed: So as Sextus turning aside his head, he made a sign unto Aronces, as who should say, this is the place where he should separate from him; but that which seemed to prompt him to a resolution, was it which made him more un-resolved, not being able to imagine that Sextus could have so much generosity, as to have no self end in the counsel which he had given him: So as staying in that place with Amilcar not knowing himself which way to wend, his Soul was tumultuously agitated with those various thoughts which Love did raise, as he could not stir a step either backward or forward.