Astrea. Part 1. a romance / written in French by Messire Honoré D'Urfe ; and translated by a person of quality.

ASTREA.

The First part. Book I.

NEere the Antient Cittie of Lyons towards the West, lieth that part of the Country called Forrests, which in it's little circumference com∣prehends more varities then the rest of France: for being divided into Plaines and Mountaines both of them are so fertile, and seated in such a temperate Aire, that the soile is capable of whatsoever the in∣dustrious Husbandman can expect or desire. In the heart of the Coun∣try is a most Pleasan, plaine circled about, as with a strong wall, by its Neighbour hills, and watered with the River Loyre; which from its (not farre off) originall, glides gently through the midst of it, without any swelling pride. Many other Rivulets doe in divers places bestow their chrystall streams, the chiefe of which is Lignon, which, though extravagant in its course, as well as delectable in its Scource, runs Meander-like through the plaine, neere unto the losty mountaines of Servieres and Chal∣masel, unto Feures, where the Loyre receiving it, and swallowing up its name, carrieth it as tribute unto the Ocean.

Upon the banks of these delighting Rivers, are continually to be seene abundance of shepheards, who though litle beholding to fortune, yet by reason of the aires naturall sweetnesse, and the Soiles fertilitie do live in abundance of contented happinesse.

They would never have envied the golden contentednesse of the first happy age, had Love let them alone to enjoy that felicitie of which the heavens were so prodigall unto them: but slumbering upon the downy beds of ease, they became subject unto Loves flat∣tery, who presently turned his Authoritie into Tyranny. Celadon was one of them who did most feelingly resent it, and who was so captivated with the perfections of Astrea, that the very odium of their Parents could not preserve him from losing himselfe in her. The truth is, that if ever happinesse could be found in the losse of ones selfe, it was by him, in losing himselfe to gaine the favour of the faire Astrea; who being assured of his affection, did scorne ingratitude, and received him and his services with reciprocall affection: so that if any changing bee seene in either of them afterwards, 'tis probable that the heavens did allow it, to shew, that nothing is more constant then inconstancie, which is constant in alteration. For these two having lived together most happily the space of three yeares, even then when they least feared any dysasterous accident, they found themselves betrayed unto the worst of loves misfortunes, by the perfidie of Semyres: so as Celadon to disguise his affection from their Parents, who by reason of an inveterate hatred amongst themselves, did strive to thwart their amorous designes, did seeme as if his addresses to that shepheardesse were rather out of civill course, then any courtship: This umbrage was handsome enough, if Semyres had not made it his stalking horse to betray Astrea, which she since repayed by many a sigh and Teare.

As Fortune was, one day, this amorous shepheard, rising betimes to bid his thoughts

good morrow, and leaving his flocke to graze, he went to rest himselfe upon the banks of the River Lignon, there expecting the appearance of his faire shepheardesse, who was not long behind him: for she out of too much fancy, had scarcely closed her eye that night. The Sunne no sooner begun to gild the top of the mountains of I soures and M••rcillies then this shepheard espied a farre off a flock which he presently knew belonged unto Astrea; for Melampe, a dogge much in favour with his shepheardesse, as soone as ever he saw him, came and fauned upon him: besides, he observed the beloved Sheep of his Mistrisse; though that morning she did not weare her dresse of various coloured Ribands, which her Mistrisse was wont to decke her head with, in the fashion of a garland: for that shepheardesse being much displeased, she did not give her selfe the leasure of dressing it, as usuall. She followed her flock as if her shooes were Lead; and, as might be judged by the garbe, so••thing much troubled her mind, so as being neare her shepheard she did not so much as tur••e an eye to∣wards him, but set her selfe downe upon the bankes of the River. Celadon, not taking any notice of this, beleeving she did not see him, but that she went to the place where he was wont to waite for her, did drive his flock towards her: she sat upon the stumpe of an old Tree, with a drooping head, supported by her hand which leaned upon her kne•• & she sat in so sad a posture that if Celadon had not beene more then halfe blind, he mightplainely per∣ceive that this sorrow could not proceed from any thing but an opinion of a change in his affection, for no other dysaster had power enough to cause such sad thoughts. But an unex∣pected misfortune being far more hard to relish then an other, it seemes fate had a minde to surprise him unawares.

Thus being ignorant of his ill hap, after a choice of the fittest place for the grazing of his flock neare his dearest sheepherdess, he went to bid her good morrow, being extreamly joyed to see her: she returned answer with looks and language so cold, as if a chill winter had frozen every syllable. The shepheard, unaccustomed to such a sight, was infinitly astonish∣ed; and though he could not imagine his dysaster so great as afterwards he found it, yet the very thought of offending her he loved, was enough to cost him his life. Had the shep∣heardess deigned him a look, or had his zealous fancy permitted him to consider what might be the cause of her coldness, certainly his apprehensions had vanished. But Celadon must not be the Phoenix of happiness, as he was of Love; nor will fortune afford him more favour then other men, in matter of content. After a long and pensive extasie, he rowsed up himselfe, and turning towards his shepheardess, he perceived that she looked upon him, but it was with so sad an aspect, that she struck him soulless. They were both so neer the River, that Celadon might easily reach it with the end of his sheephooke; and some showers had so swelled the water above its common marke that it disgorged it selfe with a very impetuous streame, into the River Loure. The place where they sat was a hill, a litle raised above the common levell, against which the waves did beat in vaine, the foundation of it being a Rock covered over with some moss. From this place, the shepheard did beat the waves of water with his sheephook, and those waves were not halfe so turbulent as his thoughts; he sum∣moned up every action of his life, nay not a thought escaped inquisition, and all to find out wherein he had offended: but his innocencie cleering up his conscience, he was enboldned to aske her the reason of her anger. She not observing his actions, or else observing them to his disadvantage, her heart begun to be the more inflamed with choler; so as when he offered to speake, she would not permit him to expresse himselfe without interruption, saying: Is it not enough & too much (perfidious and injurious shepheard) to have deluded her who least deserved it from you; but you must still persist in your wickednesse? how dare you be so im∣pudently bold, as to looke her in the face whom you have so grosly offended? Canst thou without a blush bring that dissembling face into my presence? does not thy double soule tremble at its own villany, before me? Go go, and deceive some other; get thee gone traytor, and imploy thy perfidies in beguiling some that knowes them not; think not any longer to delude me, who am too too well accquainted with thy falsnesse. At this the poore shepheard fals downe upon his knees; lookes pale and wanne, as if blasted with a Thunderbolt. Is it your designe onely to try me, faire shepherdesse, (said he unto her) or else to kill me with despaire? Nay, nay, false man, repli'd she; I need not try thy infidelitie, for I am too well accquainted with it: Oh heavens, said the shepherd. I wish this fatall day had never dawnd: It had beene happy for us both, replied she, if neither of us had ever seen the light, then had thy infidelitie never troubled me. Go, go, perfidious wretch, I charge thee to be gone, and never againe looke me in the face, unlesse I command it. Celadon would have replyed, had not his extafie of love bedeafed him: And as she was going away, he was forced to pull her

by the gowne, saying, I do not stay you deare shepherdesse, to begge a Pardon for my un∣knowne fault; but only to shew you that this is the last day of his life, whom you seeme so much to abhorre: but she being all in a fury, and not so much as looking upon him did violently break away, and left behind her a Riband, upon which by accident his hand did lie; and also a Ring, which her Father had given her, was tyed in that Riband. The sad shep∣heard seeing her depart in such a fury did stand awhile like a stock immovable; scarce know∣ing what he had in his hand, though his eye was upon it. At last recollecting himselfe with a deer sigh and taking notice of the Riband Witnesse, deare Riband, said he, that rather then untie the least knot of my affection, I would lose a hundred lives; when I am dead and my cruell faire one shall happily see thee on my arme, assure her that never any was more faithfull, then I; nor never any more cruell, then she. Then tying it upon his arme, and kissing the Ring And thou, right emblem of true affection, said he, let me enjoy thee to the last, as a pledge of her promised affection to me. He had no sooner uttered these words, but tur∣ning his eyes toward Astrea, he leaped into the River with crossed arms.

Lignon in that place was very deep and violent, & by reason of the Rocke which repulsed the water, there was a kind of whirlpit: so as the shepheard was long before he sunk to the bottom, and longer in comming up to the top againe. And when he did appeare, nothing could be seen, but first a leg, and then an arm: at last being gulfed up by the turning of the waves, he was carried away under the water. Now Astrea runs to the Water side, and seeing him whom she could not chuse but love by her meanes so neer his death; she was so affrighted, that in lieu of lending any help, she falls into a swound and that so neer the wa∣ter, that when she returned to her selfe, at the first motion she fell in, and was in so much danger, as all that some shepheards close by could do was litle enough to save her by pul∣ling her out by her garments; which kept her above the water, and gave them time to draw her unto the side: but life was so farre spent, as she perceived it not. They carried her unto the next shepherds cabbin, whereby accident Phillis was, and where they shifted her cloaths: she all this while was so astonished both at her owne accident and at that of Celadons, that she could not speake. Mean while, Celadon was hurried by the fury of the waves a farre off on the other side of the River, amongst some little trees; but with very little signe of life.

As soone as Phillis heard of this accident unto Astrea she made all haste possible and had not Lycidas met her, nothing else could have stopped her, yet she told him briefly, the danger in which Astrea was; not mentioning a word concerning Celadon, for she knew not any thing of his disaster: this Lycidas was Celadons brother, and these two were tyed faster together in amity then consanguinitie: on the other side, Astrea and Phillis, being Cousens, did love each other so well, as they deserved to be compared with the two bro∣thers: As Celadon had a Sympatheticall affection unto Astrea, so Lycidas had as strong an inclination to serve Phillis, as Phillis had to favour Lycidas.

So it chanced, that as they came into the cottage, Astrea opened her eyes, but you may imagine that they had lost much of their wonted lustre, and looked heavy and dull, and their sprightliness drowned in tears yet such tears, as, flowing from an enflamed heart and lovely eyes moved abundance of love and pitty from all her beholders. When she espied her companion Phillis, she was much moved; but much more when she saw Lycidas and though she was loath to let the people about her know the cause of her disaster; yet she was forced to say, hat his brother was drowned in helping her. Lycidas was so astonished at the newes, that he ran immediatly to the fatall place with all the rest of the shepheards, leaving Astrea and Phillis alone, who presently after, began to follow them, but so sad a pace, that though they had much to say, yet they could not speake one syllable. Meane time the shepheards came to the River side, and looking on every side they could not finde the least signe of what they sought; for only those, who went the lowest downe the River, chanced to find his hat, which the waves had cast up upon some willows and reeds which grew by the water side: this was all the newes they could heare: As for Celadon, he was carried by the water much lower and into a place where it was unpossible for them to find him. for as I told you before, the waves had wafted him over to the other side, and he stucke upon a thick rush of trees, where it was very hard to see him.

When he was even betwixt life and death, there came to the place, three fair Nymphs, with disheavelled haire waving and hanging upon their shoulders, under a garland of se∣verall Pearles; their brests were naked their sleeves turned up to the elbow, and their arms bare, onely covered with purest Lawne to the Wrests, on which they wore

rich bracelets of Orientall Pearls: each of them wore a quiver full of arrows, and in their hands they carried bowes of Ivorie: their petticotes were tucked up so high as permit∣ted their golden buskins to be seene, as high as the knee. It seems they came unto that place upon some designe: for (said one of them) this is the very place, search well the side of the River; See, see! how impetuously it swells it self above its common levell: observ that Tuft of trees, doubtlesse it is the very same which was represented to us in the mirror. 'Tis true, (said the chiefe of them,) but all the rest is nothing resemblant: but me thinkes I see another odd place, more likely to find that which we looke for: its very probable (said the third, who had not yet spoke) for the place is so exactly described, as I beleeve there is not one tree, but you saw in the mirrour. In such discourse as this, they came so neere the place where Celadon was, that nothing but a few leaves did interpose betweene him and their sight. They having exactly survayed every thing, they concluded it to be the place which was shewed unto them, and therefore resolved to sit downe. The principall of these Nymphs as she was sitting downe, espyed Celadon: and supposing him to be some shepheard asleepe and beckning with one hand unto her companions, she pointed to the place with the other; and treading very gently for feare of waking him she stepped forward; but being neerer, she beleeved him to be dead. For his feet did lie in the water, his right arme upon his head, and the left carlesly hanging behind him; his neck awry as if his head were too heavy; his mouth halfe open, and almost full of sand▪ his face pale and dirtie, his eyes almost closed: and his haire which he wore very long, so wet, that the water ran like a stream from it his countenance was the very picture of death; his backe so bended, that it seemed broke: and that made his belly seeme the more swelled. The Nymphs, seeing him in this deplorable con∣dition, were mooved with much pitty; and Leonida, as most officious and pittifull, was the first which laid hand upon him to draw him out of the river. The water, which he had swal∣lowed came from him in such abundance, that the Nimph finding some warmth yet in him, did beleeve him to be recoverable. Then Galathia, who was the chiefe of them, turning to∣wards the other Nymph, who looked on but did not help; Come Sylvia, (said she unto her) why are you so idle? come and help, if not to ease your companions, yet out of pittie to this poore shepheard. I am considering, Madam, (said she) that though he be very much changed, yet me thinkes I should know him. Then taking him by the other arme, and look∣ing upon him more precisely, Certainly (said she) I am not mistaken: Tis he I meane; and beleeve it, he merits all our helps: for he is not only of the first family in all the country, but his merits are so many, as our best indeavours to save him will be well imployed: All this while, the water came from him in such abundance, that the shepheard being more empty, began to breathe: but did not yet open his eyes nor come unto himself. Galathia having an opinion that he was the man, of whom the Druid had spoken unto her, she her selfe did help her companions: and commanded them to carry him unto her Pallace of Isoures, where he might have the best accommodations of help. And accordingly with much adoe, they carryed him to the place, where the litle Merill wood with their chariot, into which they all did get. Leonida undertooke to be their guide; and, because they should not be seene by the guards of the Castle, they went in at a backe secret dore. As soone as they were gone, Astrea reviving from her swounding fit, did fall into the water, as I told you be∣fore: Lycidas and they who went to search for Celadon, could heare no other tidings of him, then, as formerly I told you: so as Lycidas, being but too well assured of his brothers death, he went to Astrea to condole with her their common disaster. She, sad soul, did nothing else but walk mourning along the River side, untill she was so weary that she was forced to sit downe as full of anger griefe and amazement, as a little before, she was of inconside∣ration and jealousie. She was sitting a lone by herselfe; for, Phillis seeing Lycidas returne, went out to heare some newes, as the rest did. This Shepheard when he came, being weary and desirous to know how this misfortune came to passe, he did sit downe by her; and ta∣king her by the hand began to talke; Oh heavens, fair shepherdesse, (said he) what a fatall mischance is this, which hath happned unto us; I say, us, for as I have lost a deare brother so you have lost one who was not himselfe without you. Whether Astreas mind was intent upon some other thing, or whether this discourse was displeasant unto her, I know not, but she returned no answer; At which Lycidas being angry thus said; Is it possible Astrea, that the losse of this unfortunate Son (for so Astrea called him) should so little perplex you, that you cannot afford him one teare? Had he not loved you; or had you been ignorant of his affection, then to resent his misfortune so slightly, had been excusable: but since he loved you infinitly above himselfe and that you could not be ignorant of it; beleeve me, Astrea,

it grieves me to see you, as little concerned at it as if he were a meere stranger unto you.

The shepherdess then looked sadly towards him, and after a little pause of consideration, answered. Shephered, I am much grieved at the death of your brother, not in consideration of any affection which he bore unto me, but in respect of his many other excellent qualities, which might well move any to grieve at his misfortune: for, as for the affection which you spoke of, it was so common unto other shepheardesses my companions, as it was their parts to lament him more then mine. Oh most ungratefull shepherdesse, cryed out Lycidas, I shall thinke the gods unjust, if they do not punish you for your injustice: you have small reason to thinke him unconstant, who, for all the anger of his Parents and cruelty of your rigour, would not diminish the least sparke of his affection to you. This is ingratitude in the height, since all his actions and services could not assure you of the thing, which none living ever doubted of, but your selfe: This am I certaine of, that he would sooner have disobeyed the Supreame gods, then the least of your commands. Then did the shepheardesse in an angry manner answer, that this discourse was disadvantagious to his Brother; for she had sufficient testimonies of his infidelitie. You fill me full of wonder (replied Lycidas,) but I beseech you how came you to the knowledge of it? Shepherd, (answered Astrea) the story is too long and lamentable to be told: satisfie your selfe with this that if you do not know it you are the only one that is ignorant of it: for there is not a shepherd about the banks of Lignon which cannot tell you, that Celadon had a hundred Mistrisses. And, to be short, these eares of mine were no longer then yesterday witnesses of the amorous discourse which he held with his Aminthé (for so he called her) and I had hearkned longer unto it, had I not beene displeased at his perfidie, or, to tell you truly, had I not other businesse which was more advantagious unto me. Lycidas at this, like a man distracted, cryed out: oh now, I see the cause of my brothers death; it was your jealousie, Astrea; your jealousy is the onely cause of this dire disaster. Poore Celadon! I now remember thy Prophetique words, when thou saidest, thy fain'd affection would cost thee thy life. Then addressing himselfe unto her, Is it possible Astrea (said he) that you should forget those commands, which you so often and pressingly, did lay upon him? five or six times at the least, I can witnesse he was down upon his knees, begging a revocation of them: You may remember when he returned from Italie it was your first injunction to dissemble love unto another, which he intreated you rather to bid him die then do. My deare Astrea said he, (I shall never forget his words) though I must & will be perfectly obedient unto all your commands, yet I cannot chuse but throw my selfe at your feet, imploring onely so much favour as to bid me Die, rather then bid me serve any other then Astrea, And you did answer, Nay, Shepheard, far be it from my thoughts to command you to Die; but it is to try your affection, and principally to blind the eyes and stop the mouths of all inquisitive spies, that I do enjoyn this dissimulation upon you. He, not being able to disobey you in any thing, undertooke the difficulty; and indeed difficulty I rightly phrase it. For he never went unto the place, where hee was to put his dissimulation into practice, but he first laid himselfe downe upon his bed, as if a trembling fit of a feaver came upon him. Not above two dayes since, I found him engraving upon a tree, these ensuing verses, whose characters, if you have not quite forgotten both him and his services, you will know, if you please to turne your eyes towards yonder tree on the other side of the River, which containes these lines:

So much surmount my selfe I may Though I am all in flame And burne in love both night and day, Yet to deny the same;

But then to play the Hypocrite And seeme anothers slave, Whilst I adore a starre so bright; A heart I cannot have.

Yet if, to doo't or die, you Doome Then this should bee my choice Just now to chuse death's dismall Roome And in your Doome rejoyce.

Then did Lycidas 'shew her a letter, which Celadon by way of Answer had written unto him some seaven or eight dayes before.

Celandons Answer unto Lycidas.

Brother,

ENquire no further what and how I do; but know, that I am still sick of my former disease; to love and not dare to shew it: Not to love, yet sweare the contrary, deare Bro∣ther, is the continuall course or rather torment of thy Celadon: They say two contraries, can∣not subsist in one thing at one and the same time. And yet, both true and false affection, is ordi∣nary in all my actions: but never wonder at it; for I am forced to the one by the perfections, and to the other by the commands of my Astrea: If this kind of l••fe seeme strange unto thee, consider, that miracles are the common workes of the gods, and why should not my goddesse doe the same in me?

Farewell

Live, and Love thy Celadon.

It was long before Astrea answered a word; for the discourse of Lycidas had almost astonished her: but the sparks of jealousie which yet had some power in her soul, caused her to take the letter, as doubting whether or no it was Celadon which writ it And though she knew it well enough to be his hand, yet according to the humor of many who will often argue against their owne opinions, she disputed it. At the same time, many shepheards came from the quest of Celadon, but had found no other signes of him, then that of his Hat, which was no small grief unto Astrea. She remembring a privat retyring place which love helped them to find out, and which she would not have found out, did becken unto Phillis to take that away: but every one, began to lament, and extoll the poore shepherd, and not one but had some Noble act or other to Trumpet, in his praise. But Astrea who was the most sensible was the least talkative: she was constrained to be mute, and to shew her sorrow the least, knowing that it is the highest point of prudence, in love to conceale affection, or at least never to let it appeare unprofitably: but because the constraint she was in, was great, and she not able to endure it, she came to Phillis and entreated her not to follow her, to the end others might do the like. So taking Celadons hat into her hand, she stole away alone, and followed the first path she lightt upon. Every shepherd in the company knew of Celadons affection to Astrea, though the perversnesse of their Parents did discover it more then his actions: but she did carry the matter with so much discretion, that none knew of hers to him, except Semira, Lycidas and Phillis: And though they knew very well that the losse of Celadon did much perplex her, yet they did attribute it more unto the goodnesse of her nature then her love. However, she continued on her way; and every step had its thought or rather griefe: so as, sometimes doubtfull, sometimes assured of Celadons affection, she knew not whether she should lay the blame upon him or herselfe when she thought upon what Lycidas had said she judged him innocent: when the discourse he had with the shep∣herdesse Aminthé, came into her memorie, she thought him culpable. In this labirinth of thoughts, she went wandring through a wood, without any election of path: but either by fortune, or by the direction of heaven, to manifest the innocence of Celadon, she came to the place where Lycidas said he had engraved some verses, upon a tree: which was so fresh that shee quickly found them out. Oh heavens, how soone she knew them to be Celadons, and how readily she ran to read them! She sat downe upon the ground, and beholding Celadons hat and letter in her lappe, she wrong her hands and looked fixedly upon the re∣liques of her deare shepherd: and seeing his hat to swell a little in the place, where he was wont to put his letters, when he had a designe to convey a letter unto her, she unripped the li∣ning with her fingers, and pulled out a paper which Celadon the same day, had put there: this was a device contrived betwixt them, when their parents had forbidden them any in∣tercourse of language: for, he seeming to throw his hat in jeast unto her, they might easily convey letters unto each other. With a trembling heart and hand, she tooke this letter out, and after she had remooved from her eyes a thousand pearly teares, she read these words.

Celadons Letter unto Astrea.

My dearest Astrea,

IF you did impose this constrained dissimulation upon, me with a designe to kill me with griefe, alas, you might more easily have done it with one single syllable, and have said,

Die. If it was to punish me for my faults, you were too gentle a Judge, in ordaining me a lesse punishment then death: If it was to try what power you had over me, why did you not find out a more speedy way of triall, then this which would be so long before you could be satis∣fied? I cannot think it your intention to umbrage our designe; since I not being able to live long under such constraint, my death will be a deplorable testimony of it. Oh pitty me, my bright∣est Starre, consider that I have endured torment enough; and that it is now full time to be Celadon againe, after so long and lamentable a dissimulation of himselfe.

Oh how these words did wound her soul, when she called to memorie, the command she had laid upon him, and the resolution which they fixed upon, to dissemble their affecti∣on. But see the strange enchantments of love; for though shee grieved extremely at the death of Celadon; yet she was not without some consolation in the midst of her sorrowes, to think that he was not perfidious, though this consideration brought much force with it to torment her: so as having no other remedie to fly unto but teares, as well to lament Cela∣don as her owne losse, she began with a river of teares, and afterwards with a thousand pit∣tifull groanes, and sad sighes: She called to mind the faithfull affection of that shepheard, and the despaire wherein he was at her severe answer: then againe, thinking upon the hap∣py times past, the pleasures and contentments which he formerly afforded her, and now the losse both of him and them, she extreamly condemned her selfe of silly imprudence.

On the otherside, Lycidas being so extreamly displeased at Astrea that he could hardly with patience thinke upon her, he did rise up from Phillis, and went away with eyes so full of teares and so sad a countenance, that his shepherdesse seeing him in that condition, did follow him, not fearing how others might censure her for it: he went away with folded armes, his hat pulled downe but his soul much more downe in sorrow: and pittie obli∣ging the rest of the shepheards to participate of his sorrowes, they followed also and lamen∣ted with him. But these officious complements were only additions to his griefe: for in com∣pany, the soule dares not so freely disburthen it selfe of its load; but when it is once dis∣charged of its venime, then it is capable of consolation. Being in this sad estate, they acciden∣tally found a young shepherd lying upon the graffe and two shepherdesses with him: the one of them holding his head in her lappe, and the other playing upon a L••te whilst he sighed out these verses, with eyes up to heaven and face all tears.

Upon the death of Cleon.

That beautie, once a glorious Sunne Alas it Set and done. Those eyes, once Angelike divine, Againe will never shine Shee's dead, who did all hearts revive Unlesse in mine alive. Perfection from the world is fled, Since shee the owner's dead. What hopes amongst the living left Since we of her bereaft? It seems, deare Saint, your better fate Death did anticipate, And, lieu of Cradle, Coffin sent; Since gone as soone as lent: No, no, it is not you did die But it is rather I: For only you did animate My soul and life create: Both soul and heart, and what is mine Eternally is thine; Thus Love or'e death gets victorie Since still you live in mee Or else (God-like) lets Lovers live Yet them no hearts doth give.

A Sea of Teares from fluent eyes To the, Ile sacrifise; And when those mountaines are growne dry Ile come to thee, and die.

Lycidas and Phillis had a good mind to enquire the cause of this shepherds griefe, if their owne would have permitted them but finding him to stand as much in need of con∣solation as themselves, they would not add the miseries of another unto their owne. And therefore leaving the rest of the shepherds to hearken further, they went on their way and none followed them.

Lycidas was no sooner gon but they heard another voice a far off, which seemed to draw neere them: and setting themselves to hearken, they were interrupted by that shepherdesse who held the head of a shepherd in her lappe, and uttered these complaints; Fie, fie, thou obdurate peece of cruelty, thou pittilesse shepheard; how long will thy heart be marble, and eares stopped to my prayers? Why should one who is not, be preferred before one that is vowed thine? Tircis, Tircis, thou Idolizer of the dead, and enemy of the living; looke upon my poore affection; Love those that are alive, and let the dead rest quiet; trouble not their happie ashes with thy unprofitable teares; take heed, thou dost not draw vengance upon thy selfe, for thy cruelty and injustice. The shepherd, not so much as turning towards her, coldly answered; I wish, faire shepherdesse, that I could give you satisfaction by my death: I would willingly die to rid both you and my selfe from our torments: consider I beseech you Laonice, that you have no reason to urge me to put my deare Cleon twice to death; Its enough, she has once paid the debt due to Nature. If now she is dead, she should once againe revive in me, by force of my affection: would you have me remove her, by enter∣taining a new love into my soul? No, no, shepherdesse, all your arguments are too weake to make me hearken unto any such counsell: that which you call cruelty in me, I tearm fide∣litie; and that which you thinke worthy of punishment, I conceive deserves exceeding com∣mendations: I have already told you, that the sacred memory of my Cleon shall live with me in my grave. I have vowed it a thousand times both unto her and the immortall gods with whom she is; and do you not thinke that they would punish Tircis, if he should breake all those solemne vowes, and become unfaithfull? Yes yes: the heavens shall sooner raine Thunderbolts upon my head, then I will either offend against my vowes, or my deare Cleon. She would have replyed, when the shepheard, which they heard singing came neere and interrupted her with these verses.

The Song of the inconstant Hylas

If ere my Mistrisse me disdaine, then hang me if I ere complaine; Ile ne're be drowned in puling sorrow, but court a new one ere to morrow. It is a toile, would tire a horse, to make a woman Love by force.

Those beauties which are over wise, and our addresses do despise, Have at their hearts a fire more hot, although so close we see it not; Whilst Lovers dote upon such dames, Rivals do warme them at their flames.

Its flat Idolatry, by Jove, to court a cruell beauties Love; Will any man of wit adore Idols that have no help in store? A constant lover is but gull'd and by his Loyaltie befoold;

That simple crue of faithfull Lovers, you'l find them alwayes full of dolors: Compos'd of sighes and cries and teares, they do both sleep and wake in feares. So as a Lovers life is found, the worst that breathes upon the ground.

Such as do child-like Pule and crye, when they have lost some foppery, Cannot be called by the Name of men, who any honour claime; A Loving foole is still most fit for such a silly Amourite;

Such fables I have learnt to fly which nothing bring but misery. I can be wise by others follie, and 'spite of Love, I can be Jollie, I Value not a Rush, if all the Ladies me unconstant call.

At this last verse, this Shepherd was so neare Tircis, that he perceived the teares of Laonice: and, though strangers, yet having a superficiall acquaintance, Hilas knowing how it was betweene Laonice and Tircis, he addressed himselfe thus unto him Disconso∣late shepheard (for so every one did call him by reason of his sadnesse) If I were like unto you. I should thinke my selfe the most pittifull peece of misfortune that lives upon earth. Tircis hearing this, thus answered. And I Hylas, were I like unto you, I should think my selfe more unfortunate then I am. Should I like you, (replied Hylas) drop teares for every Mistrisse that I have Lost, I should teare out my eyes before I had done. Were you like unto me, (answered Tircis you would have but one to drop any teares for. And were you like unto me (said Hilas) you would not drop a teare for any. Thats the reason (replyed the sad shepheard) I do think you miserable; for if love be the only price and reward of Love never any did love you, because you never loved any. How do you know (answered Hilas) that I never loved any? I know it, said Tircis, by your perpetuall changing You and I do differ in opinions (said he) for I ever thought that the more a workman is exer∣cised in his trade, the more perfect he is in it. Tis true, answered Tircis, when he workes by the rules of Art: but if otherwise, he is like unto travellers out of their way, the more they goe, the more they erre, and further from the right way. And as the rowling stone never ga∣thers any mosse, but rather dirt; so your leight inconstancy may get some shame, but never any Love. You must know, Hilas, that the wounds of Love are such as will never heale. Heavens deliver me from any such (said Hilas). You have good reason for your prayer, re∣plied Tircis, For if every time you were wounded with a new beautie, you should receive an incurable wound, I am afraid there would not be one sound part in all your body. Moreover you never can relish any of those sweets and felicities which Love bestowes upon all true Lo∣vers, and that miraculously, like the rest of his actions: for they are cured by the same, which wounds, like the sword of Telephus which both cuts and heales: and I am perswaded that were you once permitted to know the secrets of that god, you would presently renounce your inconstancy. Hilas at this smiled and said. There is very great reason, Tircis, that you should put your selfe in the number of those whom Love useth very well but as for my part, I do with all my heart quit my share in all his sweets: you may keep to your selfe all his felicities and contentments without any feare that ever I shall envie you. 'Tis now a whole month since first we met, and I think we met every day; I do not remember that day, that hour, nay nor that minute in which you were not entertaining your Love forsooth, with that good company of teares: on the contrary, tell me that day, that hour, or that minute in which you hea••d me bid Love welcome so much as with one single sigh? There's no man whose taste is not quite out of tune as yours is, but will find more sweetnesse in the pleasant∣nesse of my life, then in your dolefull sighs and sobs. Then turning himselfe towards the Shepheardesse who complained so of Tircis; And you, faire but unwise Shepheardesse, take courage, and deliver your selfe from the Tyranny of this unnaturall Shepheard: cheere

up and live Will you by your patience make your selfe a complice with him in his crimes? do you not see, that he glories in your teares? know you not, that your supplications doe puff him up with so much arrogancy, as he thinkes you to be highly obliged unto him if he does hearken unto you with disdaine? The Shepheardesse with a deepe sigh answered, It is an easie matter, Hylas, for him that is sound to counsell the sick: but if you were in my stead, you would know that all this advice is in vaine: you might find that sorrow would sooner drive my soule out of my body, then reason can drive this passion out of my soul. For this my beloved Shepheard has such a Soveraigne power over me, that his authoritie can command what he pleaseth: spare then all your sapient advisements Hylas: they will but fester my wounds the more; for I am so wholly devoted unto Tircis, that my will is not my owne How! (said the Shepheard) your will not your owne? to what purpose is it then to Love and serve you? The same (answered the Shepheardesse) that my Love and services are unto this Shepheard. That is as much to say (answered Hilas) that I should lose both all my time and my paines, and that if I should professe my affection unto you, you would only make use of my words to expresse your affection unto Tircis but since such is your humour, and since I have more command over my selfe then you over yours, I will only kisse your hand and take my leave: for I shall be ashamed to serve such a poore and pittifull Mistrisse. Neither you nor I (answered she) shall receive any great losse by it. Were you as sensible of your losse in losing me, said Hilas, as you shew simplicitie in courting him, you would lament the losse of me, sooner then desire the affection of Tircis: but if you care no more for losing me, then I do for losing you, ile warrant you, neither of our sorrowes shall ever hurt us. Then walking merrily away he sung these verses.

A Song.

Love having wings will fly away as well as Time and soone decay; Then let's be wise, and from us banish the thing which of it selfe will vanish. Let's cut Loves cords, and quench its fires, with all exorbitant desires.

That thing let's voluntary do which time at last will force us to: Thus or'e the Gyant Love shall we be victors, most triumphantly.

Had this Shepheard come into the country in a more merry season, doubtlesse with more friends: but Celadons losse did sit so sadly upon the soules of all that neighbour∣hood, that none was in any mood of rallarie; and therefore they left him: some returned to their cabins & others in farther quest of Celadon; some on this side, & some beyond the River Loire; neither tuft nor tree escaped their inquisitive search, yet all in vaine: for no newes could be heard of him. Only Silvander did meet Polemas just at the place, where Galathea and the other Nymphes had a little before taken him up. And because he Governed the country under the Authoritie of the Nymph Amasis the Shepheard, who had often seene him at Marcelles, did render him all possible honour; and acquainted him with the losse of Celadon; at which Polemas was very sorry, being ever a Lover of all Celadons familie.

On the other side Lycidas, who was walking with Phillis, after a long silence, at last he turned towards her; well, faire Shepheardesse (said he unto her) what do you thinke of your companion? she not yet knowing of Astreas Jealousie, did answere him, that she could not be much blamed, if she upon such a sad accident did shun all company; for Phillis thought that he complayned because she went away alone: Nay, nay, replyed Lycidas, that's nothing; but I doe thinke her to be the most ungratefull woman in the world, and the least worthy of any Love: for my brother never intended, nor could he Love any but only she: she knew it well enough, cruell woman that she was: the testimonies he gave her, were too evident to be doubted: he overcame all difficulties, he stopt not at impossibilities: he valued not the anger of Parents, but endured her rigours, her cruelties, and scorns, and all this so long, that I beleeve no other but Celadon was able to do it. And yet for all this, 〈◊〉〈◊〉 did most unworthilie change her mind: her foolish pretences of hatred and jealousy has

eternally exiled him: and being grown desperate, he did chuse death rather then such a piece of crueltie as she. Oh Heavens! Lycidas, (said Phillis in a great amazement) whats this you say? Is it possible, Astrea should ever commit such a crime? It is most certainly true (answered the Shepheard) she has partly told me as much, and I do conjecture the rest by his discourse. She tryumphs in the death of my brother, and her infidelitie and ingratitude can palliate her crime: but I do sweare unto you by all that's sacred, never any Lover was fuller of affection and fidelitie then he: I care not whether or no she ever know her error, unlesse to vexe and grieve her; for now I am as professed an enemy unto her, as ever my brother was faithfull. Thus Lycidas and Phillis discoursed, he being infi∣nitely grieved for the death of his brother, and as much offended against Astrea: and she, very sorry for Celadons death, angred at the anger of Lycidas, and astonished at the Jea∣lousie of her companion would not apply any extreame remedies, at the first; but only some gentle preparatives to mollifie him. She would not by any meanes that the death of Celadon should cost her Lycidas: and she considered that if any hatred was betweene him and Astrea, she must of necessitie breake off with one of the two; yet Love would not yeeld unto friendship. On the other side, Astrea was so swelled in teares and suncke in sorrow: as having not teares enough to wash away her error, nor words enough to expresse her griefe, both her eyes and mouth did leave their offices unto her imaginations so long as both eyes, toung, imagination, and all other faculties being tyred out, she fell asleepe.

Whilst things passed thus amongst the Shepheards and Shepheardesses, Celadon was ob∣served by the three Nymphes in the Pallace of Isoures with all indulgent care: but the hurt which the water had done him was so great, that for all their remedies which they ap∣plied, he could not open his eyes nor give any signe of life, but only by the beating of his heart, passing all the day and a good part of the night, before he came to himselfe; And when he opened his eyes, he was in a great amazement to find himselfe in that place: for he very well remembred what he had done and how a rash despair had made him throw him∣selfe into the water: but he knew not how he came thither. And after he had stayed a long while in this confused thought, he asked whether he was alive or dead. If I be alive (said he) how is it possible that the cruelty of Astrea should not kill me? And if I be dead, why, cruell Love, dost thou torment me in the shades of death? is it not enough that thou hast my life, but thou must receive my old flames out of my dead ashes? And the great perplexi∣tie in which Astrea had left him having now forsaken him, he called into his memory all his former conceptions, and his mind being full of imagination both of his miseries and also of his former happinesse, he fell into such a sound sleepe, that the Nymphes had time enough to come and see him, and finding him fast asleepe, they opened the curtaines and windowes very gently, and did sit downe by him, the better to view and contemplate upon him. Galathea, after a whiles confideration, did in a low voice for feare of wakeing him, say, oh how this Shepheard is changed since yesterday? What a fresh complexion is upon a suddaine come into his face? seriously I do not repent of all the paines I have taken in saving his life; for as you said, sweetheart (said shee, and turned towards Silvia) he is one of the principall in al the country: Madam, (answered the Nymph) most certainly he is; for Alsippes is his Father, and Amarillis his Mother. How? said Galathea, that Alsippe so famous, who to save his freind, did break open the Prison of the Visigotts at Ussum? The very same, (said Silvia) I have seene him severall times at feasts, which are kept by the Townes about Lignon. And because Alsippes seemed unto me most worthy of observation, I looked long upon him: for the formalitie of his beard, and the gravitie of his venerable age, did exact honour and observance from every one.

But as for Celadon I remember, that of all the Shepheards, there was only he and Silvan∣der, who had confidence enough to approach me; by Silvander I knew which was Cela∣don, and by Celadon which Silvander: for both of them, had in their Garbes and discourse somthing more generous, then the name of Shepheard useth to owne. Whilst Silvia spake, Love, in mock age of the subtiltie of Climante and Polemas, who were the cause of Gala∣theas coming to the place where she tooke up Celadon, did begin to kindle new flames in this Nymph; for all the while that Silvia spoke, she had her eyes upon the Shepheard; and the applauds which she gave him, did enter into her soul; and the more easilie, because she was prepared for it by the coming of Climante, who counterfetting himselfe to be a Druide, had foretold her, that the man whom she should meet with, in the place where she found Celadon, should be her husband, unlesse she would be the most miserable woman in the

world; the plot being, that Polemas should go to that place at the hour, to the end that she might more willingly be induced to marry him, which otherwise, the affection she bore unto Lindamor would not permit. But Fortune and Love, are too hard for Prudence; and sent Celadon thither by chance, as I have told you: so as Galathea, intending to fixe Love upon this Shepheard, did thinke him to be extreame Lovely: And seeing he did not wake, she went out as gently as she could, to entertaine her new thoughts.

There was neere his chamber a backe paire of staires, which opened to a low Gallerie, out of which, by a draw bridge one might go into a Garden full of choice varieties, Fountaines, Statues Walkes, Arbors and all that Art could invent; out of this Garden was a dore into a Wildernesse of severall sorts of Trees: in which was severall Labirinthes, wherein one might wander to the losse of ones selfe, yet by reason of the umbrage were very delightfull: In one of which was a Fountaine called The truth of Love, a place in truth marve∣lously pleasing: for by force of Inchantment, a Lover who looked in it might see her, he loved: if he were Loved, he might see his Mistrisse by him if she Loved another, that other would be presented and not himselfe: And because it did discover all the deceipts of Lovers, it was called the Truth of Love. In another, Labirinth was the Cavern of Damon and Fortune; and in another was the denn of an old Mandrake, full of so many wonders and witchcrafts, that every vanitie appeared a fresh miracle. Moreover, in the other parts of the wood, there was severall other Grotts, so well counterfeited, and neere the naturall, as the eye did oft deceive the judgment. It was in this Garden, where the Nymph did walke wait∣ing for the waking of the Shepheard: And because her new desires would not permit her to be silent, she faigned to forget somthing which she commanded Silvia to go and seeke: for she confided lesse in her green youth, then in Leonidas whose age was arrived at more matu∣ritie, though both these Nymphes were her secret confidents. And being alone with Leoni∣da, she thus said unto her; what do thinke, Leonida, has not this Druide a strange know∣ledge of things? Does not the gods freely communicate themselves unto him? for what is future, he knowes as well as the present: The truth is, answered the Nymph, he did very directly shew you in the Mirror, the very place where you found this Shepheard, and also told you the very time; but his words were so ambiguous, that I beleeve he hardly understood them himselfe. Why do you say so, answered Galathea, since he hath particularly told me every thing as perfectly as I my selfe do not now kow them, better than he did before they happened? he only told you, answered Leonida, that you should find in this place a thing of an inestimable value, though formerly it had beene disdayned: Nay, Leonida, said she, he has told me more then that: particularly; Madam, said he, you have two very contrary influences: the one the most unfortunate under the heavens; the other the most happie that can be desired: And it is in your choice to take which you will: And to the end you may not deceive your selfe, be pleased to know, that you are and shall be coveted by many great and Noble personages, where vertues and merits may easily moove you: but if you measure your affection by their meritts, or their Love, and not by what I shall tell you: from the supream gods, I do Prognosticate, that you will be the most miserable woman alive. And to the end you may not be mistaken in your choice, remember that such a day you shall see at Marseilles a Knight in such a habit, who does and will court you for marriage: which if you permit, then I do pronounce your misery. And therefore I advise you to shun such a man and thinke upon him rather as your sad fate, then as your servant: on the contrary, observe well the place which is represented in this Mirror, for on such a day at such an hour you shall there meet a man, in whose affection the heavens has placed all your felicitie: if you can so order it, that he do Love you, never beleeve the gods againe, if you become not more happie then you can desire: but be sure, that the first of you two who shall meet, be the first that shall begin Love. This, Leonida, is as cleere as the Sun at noone, and I do already perceive that his predictions are true. For I seeing this Shepheard first, I must tell you truly, I find some sparkes of affection towards him. Good heavens! Madam (said Leonida unto her) do you intend to place your Love upon a Shepheard? do you not remember who you are? I do so, Leonida, said she, and you must know that Shep∣heards are men as well as Druides and Knights, and their Noblenesse is as great as others, both being sprung from one and the same originall: so as if this Shepheard be well borne, why should I not think him as worthy of me as any other: The truth is Madam, said Leon∣da, disgrace it as you will, he is a Shepheard: The truth is, said Galathea, he is a well ac∣complished man. But Madam, answered Leonida, you who are so high a Nymph, Lady; after Amasis, of all these goodly Countries: can your courage descend so low as to Love a

man of common ranke? a Rustique a Shepheard, a man not worth a straw? Friend, replyed Galathea, remember that Enone became a Shepheardesse for Paris his sake, and when she lost him, She shed many a bitter teare. Madam, laid Leonida, Paris was a Kings sonne; and the error of another, ought not to move you to the like. If it be an error, answe∣red she, the blame is in the gods who advise me unto it by the Oracle of their Druides: but, my freind, Celadon is not so farre off in kindred from Paris: are they not both come from the same originall? Did you not heare what Silvia said of him and his Father? You must know they are not shepheards out of any want, but because they would enjoy that sweet and harmlesse kind of life. But deare Madam, added Leonida, can you thus forget the affection and services of the generous Lindamour? I am not willing, said Galathea that oblivion should be the recompence of his services: but I am unwilling withall, that my affection unto him should be the utter ruine of all my happinesse. Oh Madam (said Leoni∣da) I beseech you remember how full of fidelity he hath ever been. Oh my friend, said Galathea I beseech you consider what it is to be eternally miserable. Certainly, said Leonida, an extream affection, a pure fidelitie, the imployment of a whole age and continuall servi∣ces ought not to be so long entertained, but merited a better requitall then a change. For God sake Madam, consider what impostures all these Fortune tellers are: they vent for truthes the idle imaginations of their fond dreames: they are flat lyars, since of a hun∣dred predictions hardly one happens truly, they are so foolishly ignorant, since for all their businesse in others mens matters they know not their owne fortune: will you bee perswaded by the fantasticall talke of this fellow, to make that man miserable who hath bin so much yours? Look but a little upon his Love; consider what hazards he hath run for you; how he fought with Polemas; what despaire he was then in; what torments you now prepare for him, and how hee will certainly invent some way of death to himselfe when he knowes it. Galathea did shake her head, and thus answered; Leonida, I must not now thinke upon either Lindamor or Polemas as heretofore; but upon my owne eternall either happinesse or misery; the motives you use are very good for your selfe, who will be concer∣ned no further then to a little pittie: but for my selfe they are very dangerous, since the misery does not menace me for a day but for ever. Tis true, were I in your place, and you in mine, perhaps I should give the same advice: but certainly an eternall misery is very ter∣rible: As for the fabulous conjectures of those Divinres which you speak of; I will for your sake beleeve, that perhaps they will not so fall out, and perhaps they will but I beseech you tell me, do you think any prudent person will for the satisfaction of another, conclude all his happinesse or all his misery upon a perhaps? But if you Love me, use no more of this discourse: for if you do, I shall thinke you aime at the satisfaction of Lindamure, more then mine. And as for him, never feare, but he will find out a better way of care then death: reason and time will temper him how many desparato's have you seene, whom a little time has not perfectly cured? These two faire Nymphs thus discoursed, when they saw Silvia returne, and therefore they broke off this discourse; but Galathea said thus unto Leonida, consider that not only my contentment, but all my felicitle is at the stake: Leonida could not reply, beeause Silvia was so neere as to heare their discourse. She being come, Galathea understood that Celadon was awake, for listning at the dore, she heard him sigh and groane: Tis very true, that a little while after their departure from his chamber, he did waken and the Sun shining very splendently upon his bed, as he opened his eyes he was so dazled that being confused with so great a light, he knew not where he was: his last dayes paine had much astonished him, but at that time he was without any pain; so as remembring his fall into the River and the opinion which he had a little before of his be∣ing dead, and now finding himselfe in such a glorious light, he knew not what to thinke, unlesss that Love had ravished him into heaven in recompence of his fidelitie: and that which most induced him to this opinion, was to see the chamber hung with such rich hang∣ings, and admirable pictures, so lively that his yet weake eye could not distinguish them from substances. On the one side, he saw Saturne leaning upon her sithe with her dangling long tresses, her forehead wrinkled, her eyes sullen, her Eagle nose, her mouth besmeared with blood and yet full with a morsell of her children, one of which halfe eaten was an her left hand which by the prints of teeth did emblem cruelty to the life. This little infant was reversed, sprawling with heeles upward and armes hanging downwards, all smeared with blood which trickled from the wound which this hag had made with her teeth, whose long and dangling haire did drop with blood in which it had been steeped her nervous and uglie armes were growne over in many places with griesly haire, as well as her leane and withered

thighes: She trode upon heapes of bones some growne white with antiquitie, others green and halfe fleshy. All about him was nothing but peeces of broken scepters crownes crashed into peeces, ruined edifices, so as only some sleight resemblance of what they had beene re∣mained. A little further off was to be seene the picture of great Jupiter with an enflamed countenance, but grave and full of Majestie, in his eyes, a mixture of benignitie and terror: with a Croune upon his head: in his left hand a Scepter, which he rested upon his thigh where was to be seene the scarre which he gott, when by the imprudence of the Nymph Semele, to save little Bacchus, he was forced to open that place, and carry the marke of it unto the end of his tearme. In the other hand he held his three poynted Thunderbolt, so well represented, that it seemed to fly from thence through the Aire. His feet trampled upon a great Globe: and neere him was a great Eagle which carried in her crooked beak a Thun∣derbolt: upon the back of this bird did ride the little G••mimede, cloathed after the mode of the Inhabitants on the mountaine Ida; fat, plump, faire Golden and curled Lockes: with one hand he stroked the head of the bird; and with the other he offered to take hold of Jupiters Thunderbolt but the bird with her traine did repulse his feeble arme. Close by, stood the Basin and Eure out of which this little Skinker powred out Nectar unto his Master: and this little officer, powring it upon the hands of Jupiter: he let the Eure fall and looked back as if ashamed of his act. At the feet of this God was a great Tun: and all about him the Vowes, Prayers, and Sacrifices of Mortals variously represented; for the Sa∣crifices were figured by smoke intermingled with fire: and vowes and prayers were repre∣sented by such light Ideas, as the eye might know the meaning of them This discourse would be too long, if I should relate every picture particularly: for the chamber was full of them. Venus also in a Sea shell amongst the rest, looked upon the wound which the Grecian gave her in the Trojan warre: and litle Cupid looked upon her by the Lamp of the too curious Psyche; And this so well represented, that the Shepheard could not discerne it from counterfeit. When he was thus deepe in contemplation, the three Nymphes came into his chamber, whose beautie and Majesty, did more plunge him into admiration That which most helped on his conceipt of being dead, was, his fancying the three Nymphes to be the three Graces, especially seeing the litle Merill amongst them whose stature, beautie, plumpnesse, Golden Lockes and Jolly Lookes seemed unto him, a Cupid. And though he was much confused in himselfe, yet his courage which was alwayes above the qualitie of a Shepheard did prompt him unto so much confidence, as to aske them in what place he was. Unto which Galathea answered Celadon you are in a place where the people of it do intend your perfect cure; and we are those who finding you floting in the water, did bring you hi∣ther, where you have full power to command whatsoever you please. Then Silvia, stepped forward & said is it possible Celadon you should not know me? Did you never see me in your Village? I hope faire Nymph (answered Celadon) that the condition I am in, will ex∣cuse the frailty of my memory; Do you not remember Silvia, (said she) and two of her companions, who went to see your sports upon the day which you dedicated to the god∣desse Venus? And after you had won the course, Silvia was she who gave you a Garland of Flowers which you did presently put upon the head of the Shepheardesse Astrea? I know not whether these passages be vanished out of your memorie; but I am sure when you Crowned Astrea with my Garland, every one did wonder at it, by reason of the emnitie which was betweene your two families; particularly betweene your father Alcippes, and Alces the Father of Astrea: And when I enquired the occasion of it, I could not learne any further, then that Amarillis being the Mistrisse of those two Shepheards, they did Rival∣like perpetually quarrell, untill such time as Amarillis married your Father: and then Alces and the prudent Hippolita marrying together, they did both of them harbor an inve∣terate hatred against them: so Celadon, you see I know you, and have given you good testi∣monies of what I say. The Shepheard hearing this, did by degrees recollect into his memorie all she said, but he was so astonished that he knew not how to answere, for knowing Silvia to be the Nymph of Amasis, and by reason of his Rurall life, having no acquaintance with her nor her companions, he could not now imagine how he should come amongst them. At last he replyed; all you say, faire Nymph, is most true, and I remember that upon the Festi∣vall of Venus, three Nymphes did bestow three Garlands: It was my fortune to winne that of running: Lycidas my Brother won, that of leaping, and gave his Garland unto Phillis; and Silvander did winn that of singing, and presented it to the sage Belinda. But truly, I cannot remember the names of those Nymphes the doners, only we contented our selves with knowing that they were the Nymphes of Amasis and Galathea: for we alas, are

Country Inhabitants of fields and woods, and our wits are not Calculated for any higher Meridian, and therefore made no further inquity of you. Have you met with no further knowledge of us since that (said Galathea?) The information that I had (answered the Shepheard) was from the discourse which my Father made of his fortunes, in which I have often observed him to mention Amasis, but I am not at all acquainted with any particulars concerning her, though I have much desired it. Your desire, Shepheard, replyed Galathea, shall be satisfied, and I will tell you, both who Amasis is, and who we are.

Know therefore, welcome Shepheard, that Anciently this Country now called Forrests, all floated with a deepe Abysse of waters, & only the high Mountaines about it was uncove∣red except some hills in the middest of the plaine, as the Rock of Isoures & mount Verdon: so as all the Inhabitants did live upon the tops of the Mountaines. The Ancient families of this Country, have their names engraved upon old ruines, upon the tops of the hills. But about fourteen or fifteen ages since, a Romane who in ten yeares conquered all the Gaules, did cut some of the Mountaines, by which the water rann away and drained our plaines: which seemed so pleasant unto him as he would needs make them habitable: and to that end caused all those who lived on the Mountaines to come and live in the plaines and caused the first building there, to be called after his owne name Julius. And because the humid plaines produced abundance of Trees, some say the country was called Forrests, and the people Forresters; whereas before they were called the Segusians: but those were much deceived. For the name of Forrest did come from Forum, a little Towne which the Ro∣mans built and called Forum Segusianorum, as if they would have said, the place or the marsh of the Segusians, which indeed was onely the place where they kept their Armes whilst they were putting their neighbour Countries into order.

This, Celadon, is the antiquitie of this Province, as some do confidently hold; but there are two opinions quite contrary. The Romans say that when our plaines were all covered with water, the chaste goddesse Diana, thought the place so pleasant that she dwelt there ve∣ry much: for her Driades and Amadriades, did live and hunt in those great woods and high hills, which circled about this great Levell of waters: and because there was no great store of Fountaines, she came hither often with her Naiades which also dwelt here: but when the waters were let out, the Naiades were forced to follow, and go with them into the wide Ocean. So as the Goddesse losing halfe her Nymphs, and not being able to take her full swinge of delight with so small a Traine, she made choice of some daughters of the Princi∣pall Druides and Knights, and joyned them unto the Nymphs which remained, unto whom also she gave the name of Nymphs. But so it hapned, that many amongst them, some being brought up under fond and tender Mothers, others used to the courtship of servants; and not being able to take the paines of hunting, nor lose the memorie of their affectionate servants, they would needs go back to their houses againe and Marrie. At which the Goddesse was so incensed that She forsooke this prophane Country, and did fly from that vice which she so much abhorred. But not to punish the vertues of some for the errours of others, before she departed she did for ever most ignominiously banish out of the Country, all those who had beene faultie, and made choice of one, unto whom she gave the same Authoritie which she had over all the Country, and willed that the Race of this one should have all the Soveraigne power for ever: And ever after she per∣mitted them to marry. Yet expresly forbidding that any man should ever succed her. Since this time there hath been no abuse amongst us, & our Lawes have been since most inviolably observed. But our Druides do tell a quite contrary tale: For they say that our great Prin∣cesse Galathea; daughter unto the King of Celtes, wife of the great Hercules, and Mother of Galathea who gave name unto the Gaules, that were before called Celtes, being infinitly in Love with her husband did follow him whither soever his courage and vertue did invite him against the Monsters and Gyants: At that time, these mountaines which seperate us from A••vergne, and those more on the left hand which are called Cemene and Gebene, were a retreat unto some Gyants, who were terrible unto all the Country. Hercules being adver∣tised thereof, went thither and because he did infinitly love his deare Galathea, he left her in this Country, which was nearest to him, & where she might take much pleasure, either in hunting or in the company of the Country Ladies: and because she was Queen of all the Gaules, when Hercules had vanquished the Gyants, & necessitie of affaires called him away; before her departure, in eternall memorie of the delight she tooke in that Country, she or∣dayned that which the Romans say the Goddesse Diana did. But whether it was Galathea or Diana, yet so it is, as if by a supernaturall priviledge, we have ever since been maintained

in our priviledges, since none ever troubled our tranquillitie. Nay Alaricke King of the Visi∣gots, when with Aquitaine he had conquered all the Provinces on this side Loire, knowing our statutes, did confirme the priviledges, and without any usurpation, did leave us in our antient freedome. Perhaps you will thinke it strange I should so particularly talke of things which transcend the capacity of my age; but you must know that Pimander my Father was very inquisitive unto the Antiquities of this country; so as the most knowing Druides did commonly make it their discourse with him, & I gleaned such fragments from them as most delighted me. Thus I came to know that Amasis my Mother was in a continued line descended from her whom the Goddesse Diana or Galathea did elect: she being sole Lady of all these Countryes, and having one Sonne called Clidaman; She brought up with us many young maides and daughters of Druides and Knights, where being in so good a schoole, they might learne all the vertues which their age and sexe was capable of. The Vir∣gins go habited as you see us, in the same fashion which Diana or Galathea was accustomed to weare, and which in memorie of her we have constantly kept. Now, Celadon, I have acquainted you with our condition; and I am confident that before you part from us (for I would have you see us altogether before you go) you will confesse, that our assembly will not yeild unto any other, either in vertue or beautie.

Celadon now knowing who these Nymphes were, he knew also what reverence was due unto them; and though his conversation had been onely amongst his equall Shepheards, yet his good education had taught him how to behave himselfe unto his superiors. After he had rendred them all the honour which he thought himselfe obliged unto, I cannot chuse but wonder, said he, to find my selfe amongst so many great Nymphs: and I who am but a simple sillie shepheard, to receive so many favours from them. Celadon (answe∣red Galathea) vertue, in what place soever it is will merit both Love and Honour as well when it is shrowded under the cheap habit of a shepheard, as under the rich and glorious Purple of a King; and for your particular, you are in no lesse consideration amongst us, then the greatest of the Druides or Nobles of our Court; for since your merits are as great, our favours shall be no lesse. And as for your wonder at finding your selfe amongst us, know that it proceeds from the Providence of the Gods, who have so ordained it (as at more leasure you may know) either because they would not have so much vertue lost in the For∣rests; or, intending to make you greater then you are, they will by you, make a person who loves you, happy: live then, and be happy, for you need desire no more then your health. Madam (answered the Shepheard who did not well understand this language) If I must desire mine owne health, it shall be only to render you service, in exchange of so ma∣ny favours which you are pleased to conferre upon me: But for my part, I must thinke of no other course but returning to the woods and Pastures; otherwise the solemne vow which our Fathers have made unto the Gods, will accuse us to be unworthy children of such Fa∣thers. What vow is that, sad the Nymph? The History of it would be too long replyed Celadon, but in short this, Madam; All those about the Rivers of Loire, Turan, Argent and all the rest of the Rivers, have severall yeares with one accord, assembled in that great Plaine which is neere Mount Verdum, and considering the Inconveniences which ambition and desire of rule, in that people called Romans, hath brought upon all their Neighbours, they do all by mutuall consent sweare to fly all ambition for ever, and they and their chil∣dren to live peaceably in the habit of shepheards. And ever since it hath been observed (so pleasing was this vow unto the Gods) that whosoever broke this oath, did never prosper. And amongst us, my Father is the most remarkable example: So as now seeing the will of heaven is to have us live in rest, we have a new ratified this vow, with so many sacred oathes, as he that breakes it shall be most detestable. I do professe, answered the Nymph, I am very glad to heare this: for I never knew before, the reason why so many good and antient fami∣lies have forsaken Townes and spend their dayes in woods and solitary places. But, Celadon, if your condition will permit you, I shall be very glad to heare you relate the fortune of your Father Alsippes, and why he betooke himselfe to that kind of life, which he had so long laid aside; for I am most confident, it is most worthy of knowledge. Then the shep∣heard, though not very well, yet constrained himselfe to obey her, and began thus.

The History of Alcippes.

Madam, you command me to relate the most intricate story in the world; and in which one may learne that whosoever contrives the hurt of another must prepare himselfe for a great part of it. In obedience therefore to your commands I shall briefly tel you, what I have gleaned from the ordinary discourse of him, unto whom all the things hapned: for, to make us more sensible of our happinesse in living at rest, my Father hath often related unto us his strange fortunes. Be pleased to know then, Madam that Alcippes, being educated by his Father in the simplicitie of a shepherd, had ever a Genius far different from his education; and any thing that smelt of a Town pleased him much better then a Field: So as when he was a little boy, his delight was in assembling other boys together, and setting them into order; and do what the grave Signiors could, he would still be teaching them how to arme themselves, and shoot in bowes. The Ancients of our village, who observed his actions did Prophesie great troubles to ensue upon their country, and that Alcippes was of too turbu∣lent a spirit to be kept within the compasse of a shepherd. When his age became more virile he fell in Love with the shepherdesse Amarillis, who was then secretly corrted by another shepheard called Alces. And Alcippes having so good a conceipt of himselfe, that he thought any shepherdess would bid his affection welcome whensoever it was offered, he resolved not to use much artifice, in declaring himselfe: so as meeting her at one of the Sacrifices unto Pan. as she was returning home to her village he said unto her; I could never have believed my selfe so weake, as not to resist the blowes of an enemy, who hath woun∣ded me and never thought upon it. She answered him, that he who wounds against his will ought not to be called an enemy. But I do find it otherwise, answered he, and therefore I may very well give this name unto you: who I? replyed she, I was never so, either in thought or act: for I ever set a great valew upon your merit. This is one of the wounds you give me, said he: but I see you can carry Love in your eyes and in your mouth, but will not harbour it in your heart: The shepherdesse then finding her selfe surprised, and that he did meane matter of Love, she answered: I do set such a value upon your vertue Alcippes as I ought to do; but as for any Love, whereof you speak, beleeve me I have none for any, either in my eyes or heart; especially for such pittyfull spirits as can content themselves to live like Savages in woods. It is not the election of love but my destinie which makes me yours, re∣plyed the shepherd; and such a resemblance of humor there is betwixt us, that I have borne a most deadly hatred unto a shepherds life, which you scorne so much, even from my very cradle: I do protest that if changing my condition will promote me into your favour I wil immediatly quit my flock and sheephooke, and live amongst men, not amongst Salvages. You may change your condition, answered Amarillis, but not me; for I am resolved to be still so much my selfe, as not to give my affection unto another. If therefore you would have us live as formerly we have done leave off this discourse of affection and Love, and talke of such things as we were wont, else thinke it not strange that I banish you my presence since it is impossible that Love and the Civilitie of Amarillis should dwell together. Alsippe not expecting such an answer was so confounded that it was a long while before he could answer but, being come to himselfe, he was perswaded, that it was the bashfullnesse of her age and sexe, not want of any good will to him, made her give such an answer: And there∣fore he answered: whatsoever you are pleased to be or say, I shall never be any thing but your devoted servant. And if the command you have imposed upon me were not incompa∣tible with my affection, you may most confidently beleeve, that nothing in the world can make me disobey. But I beseech you excuse and suffer me to continue my designe which is onely a testimony of your merit: for whether you will or no, I am resolved to prosecute it. The shepherdesse then turning her eye smilingly upon him, I know not Alsippe (said she unto him) whether this be for some wager, or out of willfullnesse, that you speake thus. It is both (answered he) for I have laid a wager with my desires to overcome you, or to die: and this resolution is changed into obstinate willfullnesse, since nothing can divert me from that oath which I have taker. I should have been very glad, answered Amarillis, if you had made choice of some other marke for your importunities: Nay, nay, said the shepherd, all this cannot make me alter my designe; Then think not much, replyed Amarillis, if I be as firme in my obstinacie, as you are in your importunitie. The shepherd would have re∣plyed, but he was interrupted by many shepherds comming towards them. So as Amarillis for a conclusion said unto him in a low voice, you will do me a great displeasure Alcippe, if your resolution should be knowne: I can be contented to know your follies, but should,

be much displeased if any other should know them. Thus ended my Fathers first discourse with Amarillis, which did infinitly angment his desire of serving her. As they went along the way they met Celion and Belinda, who were observing two turtles, billing and making Love unto each other, not caring a straw who saw them, which gave Alcippes an occasion to remember the last commands of Amarillis, and to sing these verses; and because his voice was very good, every one did lend a silent eare.

A Song upon the Constraints of honour.

Loook yonder on the open Loves of those two billing turtle Doves! See how this happie little paire, in Love what libertines they are; They kiss, and care not who doth know it, but to the envious world do show it. The Lawes of honour so unjust, like fettred slaves observe we must. This bugbeare Honour which affrights, fond Lovers in their free delights, Will not allow them any blisse, unlesse they steal their happinesse. While these free Lovers of the Aire, what eyes do see them, doe not care. But Love and kisse, and take a pride, in that which honour bids us hide: Honour's a Tyrant then, and we are slaves, whilst turtle doves are free.

Since this time, Alcippes was so transported with Love that he knew no Limits: And Amarillis on the contrary, shewed her selfe all Ice unto him: and one day when he was desired to sing he made this his subject, thus put into verse.

Upon the Coldnesse of Amarillis.

Her heart is Ice, her eyes all flame, mine all contrary to the same; I'me Ice without, within all fire, my hearts inflam'd with hot desire: Love, I beseech thee, change designe, and thaw her heart, or else freeze mine.

At this very time, as I told you before, Alces was a professed servant unto Amarillis: and being a shepheard of very excellent qualities, also held to be exceeding wise, the Father of Amarillis inclined more unto him then unto Alcippes, because of his turbulent spirit: On the contrary, the shepheardesse loved my Father better, because their humours were more sutable: which her Father knowing, and being unwilling to use any violence or absolute authoritie over her, he conceived, that time and absence might worke an alteration in her; and therefore resolved to send her awhile unto Artemis, sister of Alces, who dwelt alone by the River of Allier. When Amarillis understood her Fathers mind, she resolved to acquaint Alcippes with her good will unto him, before she went: and to that end, writ these lines.

The Letter of Amarillis unto Alcippe.

Alcippe,

YOur resolutenesse hath surpassed mine: and mine also far surmounted my selfe, as to accquaint you that tomorrow, I am gone; And if you will meet me today, where we parted yesterday, I will there bid you adieu.

AMARILLIS

It would be too tedious Madam, to tell you all the particular passages betwixt them: let it suffice, to tell you in short, that they met at the place appointed: and there it was, where my Father received the first assurance of the Love of Amarillis: there she perswaded him, to quit a shepherds life, as unworthy of a noble spirit, promising him to be most constant to her resolution of loving him. After they were parted, Alcippes engraved these verses upon a Tree in the wood.

Alcippes, upon the Constancy of his Affection.

When Rocks remove, and Rivers backwards run; when Marble melts; and Glowewormes dim the Sun; And when Impossibilities are done; then may my heart my Amarillis shun.

When it is knowne what is Eternitie; when Gnats o're Eagles getts the victorie; When Fire doth freeze, and the vast Ocean's dry; then may my Love to Amarillis die.

VVhen Swans and Snow are Metamorphos'd black; when Starres do fall; and the two Poles do crack; When loving Turtles do their Mates for sake; Then may my Love to Amarillis slake.

VVhen in the Orient, Sun and Stars do set; when mortals, in a bagge the wind doe get; VVhen Steele the attracting Loadstone will not meet; then Amarillis may I thee forget.

VVhen Shippes do saile full 'gainst the blasting wind; when Light is darknesse, Angells are unkind; VVhen Heavens dissolve; and Time an end does find; then Amarillis, thou art out of mind.

When she was gone; and when he began to resent the horrour of absence, he went to the same place where he bad adieu unto his shepherdesse, and sighed out these verses severall times.

In absence of Amarillis.

Fair Amarillis and the Sun, do hold exact comparison; And both alike dispenseth light, by presence; and by absence, Night. What glorious Summer is it here when she is present in our Sphere? How like to winter lookes the day; when she her Rayes does not display?

When shee's not present, I'me undon, as Earth in absence of the Sun; With Owles, and Bats, and Birds of night; I sit, and sigh away delight; And am society for none, but such a sad companion. Since absence was my dismal doome; my heart, alas, was not at home: My eyes two Fountaines are, which vie with Lignon which should first be dry. All faculties do droop and mourne, till Amarillis do returne. But when the day shall dawne that she, within our Hemisphere shall be; Then VVinter's gone, and Summer's come; I'le bid my heart a welcom home: I'le wipe all teares from swelled eyes, my Batts and Owles, I will despise; And with the joviall birds in spring, to her an Antheme I will sing.

But he, not being able to abide in that place where he was wont to see her, he resolved (whatsoever came on't) to be gone; and as soone as he sought for an occasion, he found it to his hearts desire. A little before, the Mother of Amasis died: and Preparations were in hand to entertaine her in the great Citie of Marselles as their new Lady, with abundance of Tryumph. This solemnity, did draw thither out of curlositie, most of the Country: and amongst the rest, my Father obtained leave to be one: from hence did spring much of his miserie. He was in the prime of his age; faire, beyond any in the Country; his hair flaxen which naturally curled in rings, and which he wore very long; in briefe, Madam he was such a one as I beleeve Love did chuse out for a marke of revenge; and thus it was. There was a certain Lady which had seen him and loved him in such a secret disguise that we could never know her name. When he came first to Marselles, he came as a shepherd, but in a very handsom mode; and to the end he should not run into any extravagancyes, as he did in his owne Hamlet his Father sent two shepherds with him as guardians, the principall of which was called Cleantes, a man whose humour was sutable unto my Fathers, insomuch as he affected him exceedingly. This Cleantes had a Son called Clindor equall in age with my Father, and had a naturall inclination to Love Alcippe.

Alcippe, in retaliation of this affection, did also Love him above any other; which was so pleasing unto Cleantes, that he could not deny my Father any thing and therefore, af∣ter they had observed how other Gallants were habited: how they were armed; and how they fought at Barriers, both of them beseeched Cleantes for such allowance as might put them into the equipage of appearing amongst those Knights and Gallants. Have you so much courage (said Cleantes unto them) as to equal your selves with them? Why not? (an∣swered Alcippes) have I not armes and thighes as well as they? Though you have, (said Cleantes) yet you have not learned the Garbe, and civill deportment of Townes. Tis true (answered he) but such ceremonies are not so difficult as to blast the hopes of quickly lear∣ning them. You have not yet the use of your armes (said Cleantes) nor know how to fence, or fight as they do: Tis no matter replyed Alcippes, we have courage enough to supply that defect. Why would you leave off a country life? Said Cleantes; what should men do in woods (Answered Alcippes) and what good can men learne amongst beasts? It will vexe you, said Alcippe, to be slighted by the Ladies, who will slight and scorne you, and upbraid you with the name of shepheards. If to be a Shepheard be ignominious, (said Al∣cippe) let us own that profession no longer; and if it be not, then the disdain will not hurt us: for if they do, I will indeavour by my actions to get honour and esteem amongst them. At last Cleantes seeing their resolutions to change their lives; well children (said he) since you are thus resolved, let me tell you that though you passe under the notion of shep∣herds, yet your extraction is from the best branch in the Country, and the noblest Knights in all France, have no better a pedigree then you have, though your Ancienters upon some certain considerations, made choice of such a retired kind of life. Never fear, therefore, the

finding a good reception amongst these Cavaliers, since the very best amongst them is of your own blood. These words, did kindle the sparks of their desire unto a flame; and made them more forward to put their resolutions into execution; never reflecting upon the future, nor thinking what inconveniency that kind of life might bring them; nor dorring at the displea∣sure of Alcippes Father. Cleantes provides them all necessaries; they did quickly insinuate themselves into acquaintance, and get love amongst the best; Alcippes was grown so expert in armes; that he was accompted one of the best Knights of his time.

During this feast, which lasted two monthes, a certain Lady as I told you before, had seen my Father, and was so much taken with him that she devised this Stratagem to bring her ends about. Upon a day when my Father was in the Temple; an old woman came and set her selfe close by him: and seeming as if she were at her prayers, she said two or three times, Alcippes, Alcippes, but never looked towards him. He hearing himselfe named, did think to ask her what she would have with him, but seeing her eyes turned another way; he thought she had spoken to some other. She perceiving that he heard her, continued, Alcip∣pes, it is to you I speak, though I did not look upon you; if you will enjoy a better fortune, then ever any Knight in our Court did, meet me in the twilight at the Piazza neere the Pallace, and there I will accquaint you further. Alcippe hearing this, answered her with a regardlesse look, that he would be there: and he failed not. For as soon as night came, he went to the place appointed, where he tarried not long for the old woman, who mufled up in a taffatle hood, took him aside and said unto him, Young man thou art the happiest man a∣live in the affection of the fairest Lady, and greatest beautie in all this Court, whom (upon such conditions as I shall require) if thou wilt, thou shalt enjoy, and receive fullnesse of delight. Young Alcippe hearing this faire offer, asked who the Lady was? First, said she, you must promise never to enquire her name, but to keep your happy fortune extreamly secret; the next condition is, that you let me blind your eyes, when I conduct you to her. Alcippe told her, that as for enquiring her name, and keeping secresy, he would most wil∣lingly consent; but as for his being blinded, he would never suffer it. What dost thou fear man, (said she): I fear not any thing, answered he, but I would have mine eyes at liberty. Fond young man (said the old woman) what a novice yet thou art? Canst thou find a heart to slight such a fair opportunity upon such easie conditions? Come come, never dorr at it, nor doubt any danger: where is the courage that thy presence promiseth? can any ima∣ginary perill affright thee from a most certain happinesse? Then seeing him un willing; Cursed be thy mother (said she) who brought thee forth: thou hast thy countenance & thy courage more from her, then thy father: Young Alcippes could not hear the language of this angry old woman without laughing: and afterwards bethinking himselfe what enemyes he had, he resolved to go along with her, provided she would let him weare his sword; and so he suffered her to hood wink him, and conduct him whether she would. I should be too long and tedious, Madam, should I relate every particular of this night: but after many turnings and windings, and perhaps severall times one way, he was brought into a chamber, where blindfold, he was undressed by this old woman, and got into bed: A little after came the Lady who sent for him, and went to bed unto him, where after the light was ta∣ken away she did unmuffle his eyes: but, do what he could, he could not draw one syllable from her. So as he rose the next morning, and knew not who his bedfellow was, onely he imagined her to be young and fair: and an hour before day she who brought him thither; came to conduct him back again with the same ceremonies: And it was agreed between them, that whensoever he was to come again; he should find a little stone in a corner of the Piazza the same morning.

Whilst these things thus passed, Alcippes Father dyed: so as he was sole Master of himself; and had not the commands of Amarillis restrained him, perhaps he might have retired himselfe into a Country life again. For all the favours of this unknowne Lady could not drive her out of his mind. The great gifts which he often received from her, could not do it: nor could the favours of Pimander and Amasis, which he had obtained, have retained him from the woods. But, it being hard for a young spirit to keep any thing secret long, Clindor his dear friend seeing him spend after a vast rate, he asked him how he was able to maintaine so great an expence? At first he was somthing shie; but afterwards, told him his adventure of this unknown Lady; and how all the art he had, could not discover who she was Clindor advised him the next time he went to cut off a peece of the fringe at the foot of the bed and the next morning to go unto all the houses which he could suspect, and try if he could find any such bed; which he did; and by this trick my Father came to the knowledge

of her who was so favourable unto him. Yet he ever kept it so secret, that neither Clindor, or any of his children could ever know it. But the first time he went to her after this, when he was ready to rise in the morning he conjured her to conceal her selfe no longer, for he knew she was such a one. She, hearing her selfe named, was ready to speak: yet she kept si∣lence, untill the old woman came: then when Alcippes was gone, she terrified her with a thousand meanaces, supposing that she had discovered her unto him; so as the poor old band came trembling to my Father and told him that he had deceived her. Then he in a smiling manner told her his device which he had used, and that it was the invention of Clindor. She, extreamly glad of this discovery, after a thousand denialls of it, went to tell this Lady of it. And when she knew that Clindor was the inventor of this artifice, she turned her anger against him, & easily pardoned Alcippe, whom indeed she could not hate: yet from that day she never sent for him again. And since nothing is so sweet as revenge unto an offended spi∣rit, this woman was never at rest till she had sprung a quarrell between Clindor and one that was Cozen unto Pimander, whom Clindor killed; and though he was pursued, yet by the help of Alcippes, he got into Anvergne and saved himselfe: But Amasis transacted so with Alerick King of the Visigots who was then at Thoulouse, as he did imprison him at Usson with command unto his officers that they should remit him into the hands of Pi∣mander, who intended his death. Alcippe left no stone unturned to obtain his pardon but all in vaine. Wherefore foreseeing the inevitable ruine of his freind he resolved at what rate soever, eyther to save him or die with him. He was then at Usson, as I told you before, a place so strong, as it seemed meere folly to attempt the getting him out: however not being able to live without Clindor, he resolved to be beforehand with those who were to go thi∣ther from Pimander: so as going away in a discontent, he get a dozen freinds, and came to the gates of the Castle, clad like Country fellowes, having under their jackets short swords, and baskets on their armes, as if they came to sell something. I have since heard him say, that there was three Forts all one within another. These resolute Peasants came to the outmost of them, where they found very few of the Visigots upon the Guard: for most of them were gone into the Town, to provide necessaries for the Garrison. Being come so neer, they offered their commodities to sell at so cheap a rate, that almost all within came to buy them. Then my Father, spying his opportunity got him who guarded the gate by the neck, killed him; and at that very instant every one of his commpanions killed his man▪ and en∣tring in, kept the rest out at the swords point: then running to the Prisons they found Clin∣dor and so many others, as being armed they thought able to maintaine the Garrison. To abridge my discourse, I will onely tell you Madam, that though upon the Alarme the gates of the Town were shut, yet they forced them and got out without the losse of one man, though the Governour who was killed there, did make a very brave resistance. Thus was Clindor saved, & Alerick being accquainted, that this enterprize was acted by my Father he was so incensed against him, as he sent to Amasis to demand justice upon him & she unwil∣ling to lose his friendship, sent presently to sease upon my Father: but his friends gave him such timely notice of it, that he got out of the Country, and joyned himselfe with a Nation who a little after entred France and in hostile manner came as farr as the Rosne and Arar, and some part of the Allobroges; and being desirous to enlarge their territories they made a fierce warr upon the Visigots the Ostrogots & the Romans: amongst these was my Father entertained, & being known for a man of valour, was presently honoured with severall Com∣mands. But within a few yeares, Gondioch King of this Nation dying, Gordebert his Sonn succeeded him in the Throne of Bourgundie: and being desirous to settle his affaires in the beginning he contracted peace with his neighbours, marrying his Son Sigismond unto one of the Daughters of Theodorick King of the Ostrogots: and to hold faire with Alerick who was implacably offended against Alcippes, he promised to entertaine him no longer. So as he departed thence, and closed with another people, who from the Reihn•• did sease upon part of France in spight of the Gaules and Romans. But Madam, the discourse would be much too tedious should I particularise every passage of this voyage; for from thence he was forced to London unto King Arthur, who as I have heard did at that time institute the or∣der of Knights of the Round Table: afterwards being hunted out by Alerick, he passed the Seas, and went to Bizantium where the Emperour gave him the command of his Gal∣lies. But the Love to ones own country being above all others, my Father though in great favour with so many Emperours, yet had greater desire to breathe in his own native aire: and Fortune did present the meanes unto him when he least expected it. Alerick died: and Tyherre his Son succeeded him, who having many Brothers, had enough to do in maintain∣ing

his own, without thinking upon his Fathers enemyes. And therefore, being desirous to carry fair withall in the beginning of his Reigne, he published a generall Act of Oblivion, which pardoned all offences committed in his Kingdome. This was a good step to Alcippes returne, if Pimander had once forgot the injurie which he received: yet as the Visigots were instrumentall in his banishment, so Fortune would have them as forward in his repeal•• 〈◊〉〈◊〉 little before, (as I told you) Arthur, King of great Brittaine, had instituted the Knights of the Round Table: an order consisting of a certain number of young vertuous men, who were obliged to go and seek adventures, to punish the wicked, to relieve the oppressed, and to defend the honour of Ladies. Then the Visigots of Spaine which then dwelt in Pampo∣luna, in imitation of this Order, did chuse out a number of Knights, who went into many Countries and shewed their valour. And at that time, there came one of these Visigots, af∣ter a long wandring through many Countries, unto Marselles; where having made his ac∣customed challenge, he vanquished many of Pimanders Knights whose heads he all cut off, and as ensigns of his valour, sent them unto a Lady in Spain whom he courted as his Mistriss Amongst he rest Amarillis lost an Uncle, who, like my Father not relishing a Shepherds life, had betaken himselfe to armes. As soon as Amarillis heard of this sad Accident, she im∣parted the news by letter unto my Father; not with any designe of his comming to her but only to make him a partner in her losse. Love, which ever prompts a noble soul unto a thou∣sand generous designes, would not permit my Father to know of Amarillis losse, and sitt still: but he resolved immediatly upon revenge. Therefore with the Emperors leave he came disguised into Cleantes house, who understanding his resolution, did endeavour to disswade him, but Loves arguments were of more validity then his. One morning when Pimander was going to the Temple, Alcippes armed Cap a pe presented himself before him; and though his helmet was up, yet his beard was so grown since his departure, that he was not knowable. As soon as Pimander understood his businesse, he sent an Herald to acquaint the Visigot with it: To be short, my Father overcame him; and presented his sword unto Pimander, who was exceedingly glad that this cruell Visigot was vanquished. Then, not making him∣selfe known unto any, except Amarillis, who saw him in the house of Cleantes, he returned unto Bizantium, where he found his accustomed entertainment. Mean while Cleantes desi∣ring nothing more then to see him in Forrests at liberty, did discover him unto Pimander, who was extreamly desirous to know the name of that man who fought with the stran∣ger. Pimander at first was amazed; but afterwards being moved by the vertue of this man, he asked whether it was possible he should be still alive? To whom Cleantes made answer, relating all his long voyages and services of so many Kings: Oh, said Pimander, this mans vertue merits reward and not banishment: let him returne, and assure him that his deserts shall find from me a full reward. I freely pardon him all that ever he did against me. Thus my Father, after he had been seaven yeares in Greece, returned into his Country, and was much honoured both by Pimander and Amasis, who conferred upon him one of the greatest offices about their persons. Abundance of any thing cloys and faded desires have no force in them. As soon as my Father, had tasted the favours of Fortune in a full measure, his tast was glutted and he despised them. Some good Angell, intending to draw him out of that Gulfe, in which he had so often been so nigh a shipwrack, did inspire him with such consi∣derations as these Come Alcippe, would he say unto himself, I must take thee under exami∣nation; what doest thou intend to do? Wouldest thou enjoy happinesse before thou dyest? If thou wouldest; be confident, it is not to be found any where but in Tranquillity: if in tranquillity, then it must be farr from businesse: if farr from businesse, then far from the ambition of a Court: hast thou not had sufficient tryall of its inconstancy? Consider well with thy selfe; ambition is a desire to command over many: and that many hath every one of them the same design as well as thee: they propose unto themselves the very same wayes thou dost; and ambition is so narrow a passage, that only one can keep it: so as thou must defend thy selfe against a thousand, who will assault thee by a thousand stratagems, or else thou must die; if thou dost defend thy selfe, what tranquillitie, what rest canst thou expect? Thou must stand day and night upon thy Guard, both against friends and enemies: if thou dost yeild, there is no creature so miserable as a crest-falne Courtier, out of favour. Consi∣der these things Alcippes; thy Father and Ancestors were full as wise as thou art; they well considered these things, and would never trust themselves upon the mutability of Fortune: Returne, returne therefore to thy native soil, cast off thy Purple, and assume thy first habit; turne thy speare into a spade, and thy sword into a sheephook there thou shalt meet with that tranquillity, which thou hast sought for, so many years, and couldst never find it,

and which can never be found any where else. These, Madam, were the considerations which brought my Father unto his first Profession. Wherein he enjoyed the height of happinesse: for he was so much beloved and honored by all his neighbours, that they held him for their Oracle; yet this was not the end: For he was no sooner at home, but Love began to open his first wound: and Amarillis did cost him more misery, then all the rest of his misfortunes. Then did he revive that Device which he bore in all his travells which was in French Pen∣ne de Gray, meaning thereby Peine I'ay; in English, The misery I endure. From this Love of his did grow an inveterate hatred. For Alces, Astreas Father, was also infinitly in Love with Amarillis; and Amaril is, during my Fathers exile, did, by the command of her Pa∣rents, permit it: on the other side Alcippe, though he had cast off his habit of Chivalrie, yet he retained his courage; and not being able to admit of any Rivall, did often fall foule with Alces, who also had courage enough; And it was the thought of everyone, that if the Pa∣rents of Amarillis had not consented to give her unto Alcippes, one of them two had died for it. But though this marriage stopped all quarrells, yet there still remaines such roots of hatred, as will never be quite eradicated so as still there is no familiarity between Alces and Alcippes: Thus much fair Nymph (said he unto Silvia) perhaps you have heard in our Town, when you were there for I am Son unto Alcippes and Amarillis; and Astrea is Daughter unto Alces and Hippolyta.

Thus Celadon ended his discourse, and doubtlesse not without much paine: for speaking was troublesome to him: and this was the reason he did so abreylate his relation. But Galathea was unimaginably satisfied, when she heard of what Parents this Shepherd was descended, whom she so much Loved.

As long as day lasted, these faire Nymphes so entertained Celadon, that had not Astreas change infinitly displeased him, he had found no great cause to be weary of them: for they were very fair, and also full of discretion: Yet as the case was with him, he could not chuse but desire to be alone and foreseeing that would not be till night, which would force them away, he wished for it every minute. When he was most alone, he thought himselfe best ac∣companied: for night being come, and the Nymphes retired to their chambers, his own thoughts came to accompany him with such cruell Memorandums, as made him uncapable of any other companions dismall despaire did look him in the face; for if against the un∣just sentence of his Mistris, he did oppose his innocency, then the suddain execution of it did appear in the eyes of his fancy. And as he was falling from one thought into another his hand fell a cidentally upon the Riband tyed to his arme, in which was Astreas Ring: Oh what horrid memorialls came then into his mind? Then did he fancy the fury which her soul expressed both by words and actions, when she pronounced the sentence of his banish∣ment. Then after a long and sad contemplation upon this last dysaster, he began to think upon the change of his Fortune; how happy he had been, and how she favoured him. Then begun he to think what she had done for him how for his sake she had slighted many well qualified shepherds how little she valued the displeasure of her Father, or anger of her Mo∣ther, when they opposed against her affection: then began he to consider, that Fortune is as fickle in matters of Love as in any thing else: and how few of all her favours remained with him, which was only a Bracelet of her hair tyed about his arme; and a Picture which he wore at his brest, whose Case he kissed many a time: as for the Ring which he wore about the other arme he esteemed that, rather as forced then of any benevolence. Then upon a sud∣dain, he remembred the Letters which she had writ unto him in the happie dayes of his be∣ing in favour and which he alwayes carried about with him in a little bagg. Oh what rap∣ture was he in when he first thought upon them! for he feared lest the Nymphes when they pulled off his cloathes should have seen them. In this doubt he called out aloud for the little Merril: for he allwayes waited in a Lobby close by. The little boy, hearing him call so hasti∣ly two or three times, came to see what his pleasure was. My little officer (saith Celadon) doest thou know what is become of my clothes? for they containe somthing which would much perplex me to lose: Your clothes Sir, said he, are not far from hence, but there is no∣thing in them, for I searched them. Oh Meril (said the Shepheard) thou art much mista∣ken, for there was something which I valued above my life; then turning towards the o∣ther side of the bed he began to make exceeding sad complaints a long while together. Me∣ril hearing him, was on the one side very sorry to heare him lament as he did; and on the other side was in great doubt whether he should tell him all he knew: at last not being able to be longer a witnesse of his sorrowes; he told him that he needed not to trouble himselfe so much for he was sure the Nymph Galathea loved him too wel to keep from him any thing which he so much valued: At this, Celadon turned towards him, and asked whether

that Nymph had them; I beleeve it is the same (said he) at least, I found a litle bundle of pa∣pers, and as I was bringing them unto you, she met me and took them from me. Oh Hea∣vens said the Shepheard, things are worse and worse, then turning on the otherside, he would speak no more. Mean time Galathea did read the Letters for it was true, she did take them from Merill; and as those in Love are alwayes full of curiositie, so she read them but she had strictly charged him to say nothing, because she intended to restore them, as unknown that she had seen them. Silvia held the candle whilst Galathea unloosed the string which tyed them together: we shall see (said Silvia,) whether this Shepheard be such a dull fellow as he would seeme to be and whether or no he be in Love: then Galathea took out the papers gently for feare of tearing them: and the first she laid her hand upon, was this.

Astrea's Letter unto Celadon.

Celadon,

WHat's this you do attempt? Into what a confusion are you about to bring your self? Take my advice, who counsell you as a friend, and leave off this your design of ser∣ving me tis too ful of inconveniency beleeve it; what content Celadon can you hope for? I shal be extreamly intolerable: you may with as much ease attempt an impossibility; you must wait, and suffer, and be patient, and have neither eyes or Love for any but me: for never think, I will share affection with any other, nor accept of halfe-love. I am full of suspitions, extreamly Jealous; I am exceeding hard to be woon, and very easily lost; quickly offended, but abominably hard to be pleased: my will must be destiny it selfe; my opinions must passe for reasons, and my commands must be inviolable Lawes. Shepheard, be wise, and keep out of this dangerous Labyrinth. Cease from a designe which may prove soruinous. I know my selfe better then you do: never think to alter my naturall Genius; I shall certainly break ra∣ther then bend, and if you will not beleeve what now I say, do not hereafter complaine against me.

Never credit me, (said Galathea) if this Shepheard be not in Love. It cannot be doubt∣ed (said Silvia) being so well accomplished. Then Galathea gave her another Letter which had been wet, to hold unto the fire; meanewhile, she took another Letter which contained these words.

Astrea's Letter unto Celadon.

Celadon,

YOu will not beleeve that I Love you, and yet you desire I should beleev you Love me If I do not Love you, what will my credence in your affection profit you? perhaps you thinke, that beliefe will oblige me to it; but alas Celadon, that consideration is too weak, if your merits and services were not more considerable: but this is the state of your condition: I would not only have you know, that I think you Love me; but I would have you know also that I do Love you: and amongst many other, this is an infallible argument of it, that I have valued my Love to you, above my obedience to my Parents. If you consider how great my duty is to them, you may by it value my Love to you, since it is above all duties: Adieu; be not any longer incredulous.

As soon as this Letter was read Silvia brought the other, and Galathea told her with a sad heart, that Celadon was in Love, and which was worse, that he was extreamly loved which grieved her to the very soul: for now she saw that she was to force a Fort, which a victorious enemy was possessor of. For by these Letters she found, that the humour of this Shepherdesse was not to be halfe a Mistris, but would have an absolute command over such as she daigned to accept as her servants and her opinion of this was much fortified, when she read the other Letter which had been wet it was thus penned.

Astrea's Letter unto Celadon.

Celadon,

LYcidas told Phillis, that yesterday you were in a very bad humour. Am I the cause of it? or you? If it be I, it is without occasion: for did I ever desire any more then to Love, and be loved by you? And have you not sworne a thousand times, that you would never desire any more to compleat your happinesse? If your selfe be the cause of it, then you do me wrong, to dispose of that which is mine, without my knowledge; for whatsoever is yours, is by dona∣tion mine: accquaint me how the matter is, and I will consider, whether or no I can allow of these humours; in the meane while, I forbid them.

How imperiously does this Shepherdess carry it, said Galathea? She doth not injure him, (said Silvia) since she told him as much at the first. And truly if it be she, whom I suppose it is, She is one of the fairest and most admirably qualified persons, that ever mine eyes be∣held: her name is Astrea: and that which induceth me to beleeve it is she, is this word Phillis: for those two Shepherdesses are intimate companions. And though, as I told you, her beauty be beyond al comparisons, yet it is the least amiable quality in her for she is so ful of severall perfections, as her beauty is the least considerable. This discourse was but a wider opening of Galatheas wound, since stil greater difficulties appeared in the accomplishment of her designe. And being unwilling to impart any more unto Silvia, she tyed up the papers and went to bed not without a croud of various thoughts, which sleep by degrees did com∣pose. As soon as the day dawned, litle Merill went out of the Shepherds chamber, who had done nothing but lament all the night long: and Galathea having commanded him to have a very strict observance over all the actions of Celadon, and to make a report unto her, he went out to accquaint her with his observations: Galathea was awake, and talking aloud with Leonida, litle Merill knocked at the dore, and came in. Madam, said he, not a wink of sleep have I got all this night: for poor Celadon is even at deaths dore for want of those papers you took from me yesterday: and seeing him in such lamentable despaire, I could not chuse but comfort him a little, by telling him that you had them How? Replied the Nymph, knowes he that I have them? Yes Madam, said Merill, and he told me that he would ask you for them, for he has a great esteem of them: had you heard as I did, how he lamented the losse of them, it would have forced your heart to pitty him. Good Merill, said the Nymph, tell me what he said? Madam, replied he, after he had enquired whether I saw his papers, and I told him that you had them, ••he turned to the other side, as if distracted, and said, Now are all things at the very worst; and after a while silence, thinking me in bed and a sleep, I heard him sigh and say aloud. Oh Astrea, Astrea, must banishment be the recompence of all my faithfull services? If thy affection be changed, why dost thou blame me to excuse thy selfe? If I have been faulty, why is not my fault made knowne unto me? Is there no Justice in Heaven, nor pitty in thy heart? If therebe, why do I find no favour from either? that I might either dy, or obey Astreas comwand. Oh most cruell com∣mand; if I should die, would it not argue rather deficiency of Love, then excesse of courage? Then he paused a while and afterwards began again But whither would my flattering and truycerous hopes transport me? Dare ye once againe appear unto me? what shadow of any hope can possibly be, after so much time spent, after so many services performed so much affection expressed; so many disdaines endured, and many impossibilities vanquished. Must absence be the pittifull reward of all these? No, no, hope rather for a favour from a grave than from her. After much such like discourse, he was silent a long while; then turning himselfe in bed, I heard him begin his lamentations, which continued untill day: and all were complaints against one Astrea, whom he accused of change, and cruelty. Galathea knew so much of Celadons estate, by Astreas Letters, and by Merills report, that it had been better for her, if she had been more ignorant; yet flattering her selfe; she imagined that Astrea's scorne might happily make the way more easie to accomplish her desires: But those are Novists in the School of Love who know not, that Love never dies in a noble & generous heart: and that the root of it, is never quite pulled up. Yet in this hope she writ a note, and put it amongst the Letters of Astrea; afterwards, giving the bundle to Merill, Here Merill said flie, carry this bundle unto Celadon and tel him, that I wish I could as well render him all the contentments which he wants. If he be well and desires to see me, tel him I am not wel this morning. She said this, to the end, he might have the more leasure to peruse his papers,

and to read that which she had writ. Merill he went away; and Leonida being in another bed she did not see the bundle, nor hear the message which Galathea sent; but as soon as he was gone, she called her into the same bed: then began thus to talke: You know Leonida, what discourse we had yesterday concerning this Shepherd; since that, I have met with more intelligence then I could have wished; you heard what Merill said, and what Silvia re∣ported concerning Astreas perfections; so as since the Fort is taken, I foresee a double diffi∣cultie in getting it againe: yet I find that this happy Shepheardesse hath much offended him, and a generous heart cannot brook a disdain with out a resent. Madam, answered Le∣onida, I could wish with all my heart, you could extinguish all these kind of thoughts: for if you continue in them, you will wrong your selfe exceedingly: do you think it possible to carry it alwaies secretly what a blame will it be unto your honour, if it should be knowne? The whole course of your actions will be measured by it; what would you think of another that should lead such a life? You wil answer me perhaps, that you do no ill: Oh Madam, it is not enough for a person of your quality to be free from crime, but they must be also free from scandall. Were he a man worthy of you, I should with some patience allow of it; but Celadon though he be the chiefe of the Country, yet he is a Shepherd, and not known for any more; and this vaine opinion of happy or unhappy can it so far bewitch you, and so degenerate your spirit as to equall sheep-keepers, clownes and halfe-savages with your selfe. For Heavens sake. Madam, consider these things, and be your selfe, Leonida had continued on, if Galathea in a great rage had not interrupted her: I told you before, said she, that I wil not allow any more of such moral doctrine: I am resolved. When I ask your advice, ehen give it: mean time, no more of this discourse, unlesse you will incurre my displeasure. Upon this, she turned away to the other side of the bed in such a fury, that Leonida knew she had much displeased her. Nothing comes neerer the quick, then to object honour against Love; but the reasons of Love will be predominate. A little after Galathea turn'd about, and told her, that she did not, till now, ever think her so arrogant as to be her Governesse: Madam, answered she, such thoughts were never mine, I know my duty better then so: but since you take that ill, which I spoke, out of my affection to you, I shall here∣after never give you any occasion to be angry with me, for that cause. I wonder, replied Galathea, that your opinion should be void of all reason can it ever be knowne that Ce∣ladon is here? Only these are acquainted with it; we three, Meril, and my Nurse his Mo∣ther: as for Merill he never goes out and besides he is very discreet: as for my Nurse her fidelitie is sufficiently known; and besides, the designe of all the whole businesse hath its rise from her: for she reporting what the Druide foretold me, she who Loves me, as if her own child, did advise me to sleight the advice. I beseech you Madam, said Leonida, what is your designe? To carry it so, answered she, that this Shepheard may love me, and till then not to let him go from hence: and if I but get him once to love me, I will leave all the rest to the conduct of fortune. Madam, said Leonida, Heavens swell all your desires with full con∣tent: but I bseeech you, give me leave to tell you only this once, that you will extreamly staine your honour. It will be an age before his grounded affection to Astrea, will be rooted out: whose beautie and vertue has no second. But Leonida, (answered Galathea) Astrea slights him, she is offended at him, and she hath banished him: can you beleeve his spi∣rit so pusillanimous as to endure all this? Oh Madam, replied Leonida, extinguish such vain hopes: if he have no courage at all, then he will never resent these things: and if he have a noble spirit then let me tell you, that a generous minded man will never give over an enter∣prise, because he finds it full of difficulties: for example, remember your coorse entertainment of Lindamor, how cruelly you have treated him, yet how little all those disdaines and cru∣elties do startle him. But admit that Celadon who is a shepheard and whose courage cannot come in compare with Lindamors, admit I say that he should fall off from Astrea; what hopes of any good can you conceive from thence? Do you think a man that's once deceived will ever be deceived a second time by the same subject? No no Madam, he that is once burnt will not come neer the same fire again: perhaps (and herein is your most ad∣vantageous hopes) that time will cure him of his wound, and till then he will never sub∣ject himselfe to be wounded againe by another: how long that may be, Heavens know: mean time is it possible to keep the knowledge of it so long from the Guards in the Court? Either they will see him; for you cannot alwaies keep him mued up in your chamber, or else Me∣ril, as discreet as he is, yet he is but a child & may blab it out Leonida, said she, I charge you to spare your paines upon this subject: I am resolved: & if you will have me think you love me, advance my designe as much as you can: and leave the rest to my care. If Celadon be recovered, you may carry him this morning into the Garden: for I find my selfe a little in∣disposed,

and shall scarce rise out of bed till towards night: Leonida was very sorry that no argument would prevaile and returned no answer: only this, that she would contribute her best endeavours for her satisfaction.

Whilst these two were thus discoursing, Merill did his office and delivered the message: finding the shepherd awake, he bad him good morrow from the Nymph, and presented the papers unto him. Oh how ready he was to rise up and receive them? He caused the window and curtains to be opened in all haste: he opened the bundle after severall ceremonious kisses. Oh my dear papers, said he, how have these strange hands used you? then he sorted them and laid them in order according to the time they were written, and finding another paper a∣mongst them, he opened it, and read these words.

Celadon, I would have you know that Galathea Loves you: and that Heaven hath per∣mitted Astreas disdaine, because they would not have a shepherdesse any longer enjoy that which a Nymph desires: acknowledge your happinesse and do not sleight it.

The Shepheard was all wonder; but seeing that little Merill kept an observant eye over all his actions, he would not suffer his wonder to be seene but tying up all the papers toge∣ther, and laying them in his bed, he asked, who gave them unto him? I took them out of my Ladies closet, (said he) and had I not beene very desirous to ease you of that paine in which I saw you were, I should hardly have dared to have brought them: for my Lady is not very well. Who is with her (asked Celadon): the two Nymphes you saw yesterday (said he) the one is Leonida the Neece of Adamas; the other Silvia the Daughter of the glorious Deanta; and deservedly his Daughter she is; for she is owner of the most stately Mine, that e're eye beheld.

Thus Celadon came to the first notice of Galathea's affection to him. And he foresaw that it would prove an addition of misery unto him: therefore he prepared himselfe for it. Now seeing halfe the day was already spent: and finding himselfe very well, he would not any longer be a prisoner to his bed; conceiving that the sooner he stirred abroad, the sooner he might take his leave of the faire Nymphes Rising therefore with that resolution, as he was going out to walk, he met Leonida and Silvia, whom Galathea had sent to beare him company; for she her selfe would not rise, nor be seene, being ashamed of the Letter she had written. They went into the Garden; and because Caladon would conceale his sorrowes, he constrained himselfe into as blith an humour as he could; and seemed full of curiositie to know every thing he saw. Fair Nymphes (said he unto them) are we not neer the place where the Fountaine of verity in Love is? I do much desire, if it may be, we may see our selves in it. Tis very neer (answered the Nymph) in yonder wood, but it is impossible to be seen for which you may thank that Lady who is the cause of it (said she, and pointed unto Silvia) I know no reason why you should accuse me (answered she): for, ought the sword be blamed if an imprudent man lay his hand upon it, and cut himselfe? Tis very true (said Leonida) but the person who wounds with it, is to be blamed, and beleeue it your beauty is such as cannot be looked upon, without homicide: Be it what it will, (answered Silvia with a little blush) it hath cords strong enough, never to let him go whom once it hath captivated. She said this, as twitting her with the infidelitie of Agis, who once Loved her, and either out of jealousie or some two monthes absence, was quite changed: also upbrai∣ding her with Polemas, who was stolne from her by another beauty which Leonida under∣stood very well and thus replied; I must confesse Sister, that my cords are easily untyed and the easier because I would never take so much paines as to tye them faster. Celadon heark∣ned unto their pretty quarrells with much delight, and to the end, they should not end too soon, he said unto Silvia: fair Nymph, since it seemes you are the cause why this admirable Fountaine cannot be seen, I beseech you oblige us so far, as to tell us, how it came to passe. Celadon, answered the Nymph and smiled, you have businesse enough at home, and need not meddle much in that of others: but if your Love will allow of so much curiositie, Le∣onida if you request her may perhaps tell you the end, as she did undesired, the beginning. Sister answered Leonida, since you permit me, to tell the story, I Love you so well, as I will not let your victories be unknowne, especially those which you so much desire should be knowne. But because I will not tyre this shepherd I will be as brief as possible I can. Not for that reason, I beseech you (said the shepherd) but if you will, because she may have time enough to do the like office for you. Never doubt that (replied Silvia) but according as she useth me, I shall know how to repay her: Thus from their own mouthes, Celadon

was acquainted with all the particulars of their lives: and to the end, he might the better hear as they walked, they placed him in the mindst: and thus Leonida began.

The History of Silvia.

WHosoever saith that Love is sufficient to procure Love againe, never had any experi∣ence either in the eyes or the courage of this Nymph for if they had, they would have known that as water runs from the fountaine, so the Love of such as Love her, run away and never troubleth her. If when you have heard the discourse I intend to make, you do not acknowledge as much, I will freely give you leave to taxe my judgement.

Amasis the mother of Galathea, hath a Son called Clidaman, owner of as many excel∣lent qualities, as any person of his age and ranke is capable of for he is exquisite at any thing which relates either to Arms or Ladyes. About three years agoe, to give some testimonie of his gentle disposition, and by the permision of Amasis, he gave a servant unto all the Nymphs and this not by election, but lot: for having put the names of all the Nymphs into one basin; and the names of all the young Caveliers into another, then in an open assembly, the basin in which the Nymphs were, was presented to the young Gallants: and the basin in which the young Gallants were, was presented unto the Nymphs. Then by the sound of several trum∣pets; the young Clidaman did draw his lot and it chanced to be Silvia afterwards the young Nymph did draw her lot, and it chanced to be Clidaman. Great were the applaudes which every one gave but the behaviour of Clidaman was most extolled who as soon as he had received his lot, went and kneeling down before this Nymph, did kiss her fair hand She out of modesty would not have suffered it without the command of Amasis, who said, it was the least homage she could receive. After her all the rest took their chances: to some it happned according to their desires, and to others, not. Galatheas fortune fel upon a brave Gallant called Lindamor, who then was newly returned from the armie: mine fell upon one, whose name was Agis, the most perfidious and unconstant wethercock that ever was Some of these who took their fortunes did only in appearance like their chances: others did with their hearts ratifie what fortune had done: and those who were most pleased with their chances, were such as before that, had conceived some seeds of affection. Amongst the rest, young Ligdamon was one, whose lot light upon Silera; a Nymph truly very amiable, but not to him, who had already disposed of his heart. And certainly it was happy for him that he was then absent for he would never have performed that faigned homage which A∣masis would have commanded, & that perhaps would have brought him into disgrace. For you must know, that he was brought up amongst us, and was so faire and handsome in all his actions, as every one esteemed him; especially Silvia, they being both of an age. At first their ordinary conversation begot a Love like unto that between Brothers and Sisters: such a Love as their age was capable of; but as Ligdamon grew in years, so he did in affection, so as at fourteen or fifteen years of age, his wil began to change it self into desires; and his desires, by degrees, became passions. Yet he carried the matter so discreetly, that Silvia her selfe had never knowne it, if she had not forced him unto it. Afterwards when he knew his disease, and confidered what smal hopes there was of his cure, then the mirth and pleasantnesse which was wont to be in his lookes and all his actions, was turned into sadnesse, and from sadnesse into such lumpish melancholy, that every one took notice of the alteration. Silvia was not the last of those who asked him the reason; but she could draw nothing from him but heartlesse answers. At last when she saw his dulnesse continued, one day when she was complaining against the coldnesse of his affection, and obliging him to conceale nothing from her, she perceived, that he could not so well constraine himselfe, but that a sad sigh came out in lieu of an answer. This moved her to beleeve, that perhaps Love was the cause of his ill. Did not poor Ligdamon carry the matter very discretly all the while in all his actions, since she could never imagine her self to be the cause. Perhaps the Nymphes humour not liking the businesse, was partly the cause; however his prudence was great that could conceal such ardent affection. Now Silvia begins to urge him more then she did before, and told him, that if Love was the cause she would contribute all her assistance, and do all the good offices, he could desire. The more he denied it, the more desirous was she to know it; at last, not being able to hold any longer, he confessed that it was Love: but said that he had sworn never to tell with whom. Tis most high presumption, said he to love her; but being compelled to it by such an unresistable beauty, I am the more excusable: yet should I name her, what excuse could I find for my rashnesse? The same excuse that your friendship

to me hath, said Silvia. Then Madam; replied Ligdamor, that, and your command together, shall plead my excuse: do but look in that glasse, and you will see what you desire to know. Upon this he took up a little glasse which she wore, and held it before her eyes. You may imagine how she was surprised at this: and she hath since swore unto me, that she verily be∣leeved it to be Galathea whom he adored. Whilst he stood amazed in contemplation of her, she stood amazed at her own simplicity: she was very angry with him, but more with her selfe, that she should be so simple as to force this manifesto of Love from him. Yet all her haughty spirit would not permit her to condemne Ligdamor. but she did rise up upon a sud∣den, and without a word went away full of rage, that any mortall durst presume to Love her. Proud beauty, that thinks none worthy of thee! Faithful Ligdamor stayes still, but with∣out soul, like an immoveable statue. At last recollecting himselfe, he got to his lodging as well as he could, out of which he stirred not a long time: for Silvias cold entertainment of his affection, did so pierce his heart, that he fell sick; and when none hoped for any life, he writ this Letter unto her.

Lygdamors Letter to Silvia.

Madam,

THe losse of my life, had not been sufficient, to discover unto you the rashnesse of your servant without your expresse command. If you conceive that it was my duty to die and he silent, then you must consider that your fairest eyes ought to have lesse power over me: for if at the very first summons, their beauty forced me to surrender up my soul, what power is able to resist, when they do peremptori ie command? Yet, if I have offended in offering my heart unto your beauty; a thing of so poor a value, unto a Deitie of so much merit, I will in satisfaction of the fault, sacrifice my life unto you, and never so much as grieve for the losse of it, since it displeased you.

This Letter was brought unto Silvia when she was alone in her chamber; but I came in immediatly after, and indeed, happily for poor Ligdamor. For observe the humour of this Nymph; she conceived such a hatred against him ever since he discovered his affection to her, as their former friendship is not only out of mind: but she hates him: and is so carelesse of him, that when she heares any, lamenting & desparing of his recovery, she is no more mo∣ved, then if she had never seen him. I who particularly took notice of it, did not know what to think unless that her youth might make her forget absent persons; but at this time, when I saw her refuse the Letter which came from him, then I knew there was some fallings out betweene them. Therefore I took up the Letter which she refused, and which the boy who brought it, had by his Masters command left upon the table; Silvia, lesse subtile then she might have been, ran after me and desired me not to read it. I am resolved to see it (said I) though for no other reason. but because you forbid it. Then she began to blush, and said, deare sister, do not read it, I beseech you oblige me, and let it alone; I conjure you to it by our friendship: what can the businesse be, (answered I) which you thus conceale from me? Beleeve it, Silvia, if you use any dissimulations to hide your matters from me, it will fill me so full of curiositie, as to discover you. Why sister, (said she) may I not hope well in your discretion? No more, said I, then I can in the sinceritie of your affection.

After a long wrangling about this Letter, I made her sweare to tell me all upon condi∣tion of secrecy. Then she told me, what I have told you concerning Ligdamor: and at this very hour, (said she) he troubles me with his Letters: but what have I to do with his com∣plaints, or rather dissimulations? Nay, answered I, they are not dissimulations, but truthes; Suppose they be, said she, what have I to do with his follies? You are obliged, answered I, to help such miserable men, as you have throwne downe a precipice. What helpe can I bring, said she? must I not live in the world? Why, is he where I am? Would you have me run away when he comes in presence? Let him keep at home, and I shall never trouble him. All these excuses, answered I, are of no validitie; for doubtlesse you are an accessary, if not a principal, in his misery: had you fewer perfections; were you lesse amiable; did you not a use so much care in your dresse, beleeve it, he had never been brought to this extremity. Very good, said she and laughed: you are very pleasant in charging me with these faults: what would you have me to be, if you would not have me to be what I am? Do you not know; Silvia, answered I that whosoever sharpens a sword in a mad mans hand is culpable of all the harme he doth? That beauty which the heavens hath bestowed upon you so liberally, hath

had a sharp edge set upon by you, so as no eye can look upon it without a wound; may not you be justly taxed with all the murders which your cruelty commits? Silvia you ought not to be so faire and full of perfections, unlesse you studie to make your selfe as good as you are fair, and get as much sweetnesse into your soul, as heavens have put into your face: but alas you are so farre from healing, that you are full of nothing but rigour and cruelty.

The reason why I was so passionate in defence of Ligdamor, was besides a relation of kindred, never any knew him but loved him, and I had heard, unto what a pittifull con∣dition he was brought. Then after much discourse to this purpose, I opened the Letter and read it aloud, that she might hear it. But it had no more operation upon her, than upon a stone, which I much wondred at, and perceived that I must use some violent reme∣dies, which did induce me to tell her, that whatsoever came on it, I would not have Lig∣damor perish. Well Sister, said she, since you are so pittifull, I may cure him. It is not upon me, answered I, that his cure depends, but you; but I assure you, if you continue towards him as formerly you have, I shall spite you with a very notable displeasure. For Amisis shall know it and I will tell it to every one I meet. In short, I Love Ligdamor, and will not see him dye, if I can hinder it. You say very well, Leonida, (said she in a fret) these are the good offices I ever expected from your friendship. My friendship, said she, shall be as much to you as him, and shall be for you against him if he were in the wrong. Here we made a long pause, and spoke not a word. At last I asked her what her resolution was? What you will, said she, so you will not publish the follies of Ligdamor; for though I cannot be charg∣ed with any crime yet I should be sorry, the businesse should be divulged Oh Silvia, cryed I out this is an excellent humour; you are afraid it should be known, that a man Loves you but you are not afraid to murder a man. Come, come looke a little better on Ligdamor give him as much hope, as may make him recover, then afterwards use him as you please, so you let him live▪ Write two lines of a little comfort to him. I had much adoe to ob∣faine this favour from her, yet I still did threaten to tell all, if she did not; but after a long debate, she writ thus unto him.

Silvia's Answer unto Ligdamor.

Ligdamor,

IF there be any thing in you which can please me, it is your life most, and your death least; the acknowledgment of your fault, hath given me full satisfaction; and I desire no other revenge for your presumption then the paines you have endured. Beware for the time to come Adien, and Live.

And I writ these words at the bottom of her Letter, to the end he might hope the more, having so good a second.

Leonida's Postcript in Silvia's Answer.

LEonida did put the pen into the hand of this Nymph: Love would have it so: your ju∣stice did invite, me to it; her duty did exact it; but her obstinacy made a strong resistance; this is the first favour I ever obtained for your live to enjoy it, and hope well in the interim.

This Letter came very opportunely: for when he had hardly so much strength as to read it, he found a command from Silvia, to live: and when he was resolved never to use any more remedies, yet in obedience to this Nymph, he ordered himselfe so, as in a short time he mended. But for all that, this fair peece of cruelty was still as cold as ice towards him, when he was recovered: the most favorable answere he ever could obtaine from her was, I Love you not: neither do I hate you: let this satisfie you, that of all those who serve me, you displease me the least. When either he or I made any addresses to her, she gave us such cruell language as is unimaginable by any but she, and insupportable to any but Ligdamor.

But to abbreviate this discourse; Ligdamor loved her and courted her ever since with∣out any other appearance of hope, but what I have told you; till Clidaman by Lot be∣became her servant: And had he not known by me, that Clidaman fared no bet∣ter then he in her affection, I know not what would have become of him. But though this did a little comfort him, yet the grandure of his rivall infused some fits of jealousie I remem∣ber, when once I told him, that he need not fear Clidaman, he returned me this answer,

Fair Nymph, said he, I will ingeniously tell you, from whence my jealousie proceeds; and judge you whether or no I am in the right. I have had such long experience of Silvia, as I must needs know, that fidelity of affection nor extremity of Love will never move her: so as doubtlesse such motives will never move her: yet as I have learned from the reverend Ada∣mas your Unckle, every one is subject unto some fatall stroke, which they cannot avoide when they are once touched by it: what can I imagine will subject this fair one, except it be grandure and power? Therefore I do fear, it is the fortune and not the merits of Clida∣man will win her: his grandure and not his affection will carry her. But certainly, in this he was in the wrong, for neither the Love of Ligdamor, nor the grandure of Clidaman, could ever move the least spark of goodwill in Silvia. I beleeve. Love reserves her for an example unto others, intending to punish so much disdaine by some unaccustomed way. At this time, there chanced a very notable testimonie of her beauty; or at least, the power she had to make her selfe loved. Upon that Festivall, which every yeare was celebrated the sixth day of the Moon in July on which Amasis was wont to offer a solemne sacrifice, as well by reason of the feast, as because it was the birth day of Galathea, in the midst of the sacri∣fice there came into the Temple, a number of men in the morning; amongst them was one so full of noble Majesty as it was easy to imagine that he was Master to the rest. He was so sad and melancholy, as it was evident somthing did much afflict his soul. His habit was deep black trayling upon the ground, which did eclipse the handsomenesse of his proporti∣on: his head was bare; his hair fair and curling, as bright as Sun beames, which attracted the eyes of every one upon him. He came up as farre as the lowest step of the Throne, where Amasis did sit; and after an humble reverence, he retired again waiting untill the sacrifice was ended: and whether to his good or bad fortune I know not, he seated himselfe directly opposite unto Silvia. He no sooner cast his eyes upon her but he knew her though he had never seen her before: but for more suerty, he asked one of his servants who knew us all, who answered only with a deep sigh: Afterwards as long as the ceromony lasted, he never took his eyes off her. At last the sacrifice being ended, Amasis returned to her Palace, where when audience was permitted, him he spake thus.

MADAM, Though the mourning you see in my habit, be much blacker in my soul; yet it cannot equall the cause; but though my losse be extreame, yet I do not thinke I am the only loser; for you Madam, from amongst your faithfull servants, are lessed of one, who perhaps was not the least affectionate nor the most unprofitable in your service. This consideration gave me some hopes, of obtaining a revenge of his death against the homicide: but as soon as ever I entred into the Temple, I lost all my hopes, thinking that if the desire of revenge did die in me, who am a Brother to the injured, it would sooner die in you Ma∣dam, who have lesse relation to him. Yet because I see the armes of my Brothers murderer already prepared against me, I shall as briefly as possible, tell you the Fortune of him whom I mourn for.

Though Madam I never had the honour to be known unto you yet I am confident, that at the name of my Brother, who never lived but in your service, you will list me in the catalogue of your most devoted servants. His name was Aristander, both of us Sonnes un∣to the great Clemir, who in your service did so often visit Tiber, Reine, and Danube: I being the younger by nine yeares, as soon as he saw me capable of bearing armes, he sent me into the Armie of the great Merovea, the delight of men, the most pleasing Prince, that ever came in Gaule. I cannot well tell you why he rather sent me to Merovea, then to Thierry King of the Visigots or to the King of the Burgundians. Yet I conceave his rea∣son was because I should not serve a Prince so neer your Dominions, whom Fortune might make your enemy. My fate was this; that Childerick his Son, a warlike Prince and of great hopes, seeing me sutable with him in age, did most particularly favour me with his affection, more then any other: when I came first to him, it was then when the great and prudent Aetius did treat an agreement with Merovea and the Frankes (for so he called all those who followed him) to resist that fatall scourge of Heaven, Attilla King of the Hunnes, who having gathered together in the deserts of Asia an uncredible number of men, even five hundred thousand combatants, he descended like a Torrent, most furiously ravaging all Countries through which he marched and though this Aetius, the Lieute∣nant General of Valentinian in Gaule, came with an intention of making war upon Mero∣vea, who during the Government of Castinus had seised upon part of Gaule; yet he thought it better to make him, the Visigots, and Burgundians also his freinds, rather then hazard a defeat by Attillas, who having already passed Germany, was upon the

banks of Rheyne where he stayed not a long time, before he advanced into Gaule, and be∣seiged the Towne of Orleans, till the comming of Thierry King of the Visigotts, made him raise Seige, and take another way. But being met with by Merovea and Aetius with their confederates in the Cathalaunique fields, he was defeated, more by the valour of the Franks and prudence of Merovea, then any other force. After Aetius was slaine, per∣haps by his Masters command, upon some discontent, Merovea was received at Paris, Orleans, and the neighbouring Townes, as their Lord and King: and all the people ever since, have borne him so much affection, as they called themselves Franks, as more pleasing unto him: and their Country in lieu of Gaule, took the name of France. Whilst I was imployed in the armes of France, the Gaules, the Romans, the Burgundians, the Visi∣gotts and the Hunnes, my Brother was imployed in the Armes of Love; Armes the more dangerous because all wounds light upon the heart: such was his disaster, that being brought up with Clidema, he saw the fair Silvia: and in seeing her he saw his death also, for he never was himselfe since. I never knew the cause of this; for being with Childericke, I en∣joyed all imaginable content, as being very gracious which my Master, loved amongst all my equals, and generally honoured of all, out of a good opinion which they conceived of me in the present affaires; which got me more credit and authoritie over them, then perhaps my age did merit: but hearing of my Brothers languishing condition, I could not stay any longer with Childericke; but taking my leave of him, and promising to returne ere long, I hasted to the place where my affection invited me: as soone as I came there, many did run to tell my Brother that Guyamant was come: for so I am called: when he heard it, his Love to me did give him so much feeble strength as to rise up in his bed, and to em∣brace me with abundance of affection. It is to no purpose, to trouble you Madam, and grieve my selfe, with a relation of all particulars that passed betwixt us; only this, within two or three dayes after, my Brother was in such extremity that he had hardly strength enough to breathe: all he had was only sighes and groanes, and nothing understood to come from him but the name of Silvia. I being extreamly perplexed at my Brothers sad conditi∣on, was such an enemy unto this unknown Silvia, as I could not chuse but curse her: which my brother hearing, and his affection to her being above his malady; he forced him∣self to say thus: unlesse Brother you will become my enemy, cease these imprecations, I beseech you, which ttouble me more then all my misery besides. What will they profit you further then to testifie, that you hate what I do Love? I know my death will grieve you; but since all men are designed to the same, why rather do you not with me thank the fates who have chosen so good a death for me, and the fairest murderer that ever any had? The abundance of my affection, and the abundance of Silvias vertues, are the armes which her beauty made use of, to bring me unto my grave: Can you curse her, whose happinesse I prefer before my own soul's? he would have said more but his strength failed him: I answer'd him thus. Brother, she who thus will ravish you from us, is the most unjust person that ever was: If she be fair, the gods themselves are guilty of injustice in making her so, for they should have changed either her face or her heart. Aristander hearing this, assumed more strength and replied: for Heavens sake Guyamant, give over your blasphemy, and beleeve that Silvias heart is sutable to her face. As the one is all beauty, so the other is all vertue: if I die for Loving her, never wonder at it. As no eye is able to gaze upon the Sun, so my soul is dazled at the rayes of so many Suns as shine in this beauty: it is impossible to gaze upon so many Divinities and live. Then said I unto him, Is it possible Brother; that one single Divinity should be the cause of your death? Brother, answered he, I am in such extremity as I am not able to answer your demand; but Brother (continued he, and took me by the hand) I conjure you, by all that's sacred, to promise me one thing: carry this kisse from me to Silvia, and then he kissed my hand: and when you see that Nymph, tell her I be∣queath you unto her: at this word he expired, and lay cold in my armes.

My resentments of this losse is unimaginable by any but my selfe: but without more con∣doling this disaster, let me tell you Madam, that as soon as my sorrow would permit me, I came to render unto you the homage which is due, and to demand Justice for the death of Aristander: also to present unto her, what he left her by his last will in writing. But as soone as I presented my self before you and would have accused the murderer, I found my Brothers words to be true, and do not only excuse his death, but desire and require the same.

Here Madam, by your permission, will I make my addresse Then making an humble reve∣rence unto Amasis, he chose out Silvia, and kneeling unto her thus said: Fair murderer, if

but one poor tear of pitty do but drop into that fair bosome at the news of his death whom you conquered, your victory will be noble, and entire; but if you think so little water too much for those flames which you kindled in him, then at least receive a zealous kiss which he hath sent you, or rather his soul changed into this kiss, which he presents unto you. Upon this he kissed her hand, and did rise up: then thus continued. Amongst the papers where Aristander had left his last will we found this; and because it was sealed and direct∣ed unto you, I have brought it with a protestation which by his testament he commanded me to make unto you before you open it, that if it be not your pleasure, to grant the re∣quest which he makes, then he beseeched you not to read it, to the end in his death, as in his life, he may not resent your cruelty: then he presented unto her a Letter, which Silvia had refused but for the command of Amasis. I have hitherto, said Guyamant, fullfilled the last will of Aristander: it remaines that I prosecute against the murderer: but as heretofore I have been obedient to my Brothers commands, so Love now commands me to sacrifice my own liberty upon the same Altar which yet reekes with my Brothers blood, who when he lived told me, that all eyes which ever looked upon you did owe their hearts unto you as a just tribute; and that those men were unworthy to live, which did not live in your service. Silvia a little ashamed at this encounter, stood mute a long while and gave no answer: so that Amasis took the Letter, and telling Guyamant that Silvia should returne him an an∣swer, she took her aside, and breaking open the seale, she read these words.

Aristanders Letters unto Silvia.

THough my affection could never render my service pleasing unto you, nor my service my affection: yet I hope, this affection will make you pitty my death, or else my death will assure you of my affections fidelitie: And that, as never any adored one of more perfection, so never any loved and adored with more passion. The last testimony of it that ere I shall render unto you, shall be the gift of that which, next your self, was most dear un∣to me, and that is my Brother: for I am sure he is yours, since I have enjoyned him to see you; knowing very well by experience, that it is impossible to see and not to love you. But fair Murderer, I beseech you, let him not inherit my fortune, but use him kindly. He who writes this, is your dying servant, who having more Love to you in his heart, then it is able to contain and live, will rather die then diminish it.

Amasis calling Silvia to her, asked her what kind of strange cruelties she had used to∣wards Aristander, which had brought him to this extremitie? The Nymph with a blush answered, that she knew not wherein she had done him any wrong. I would have you, said she, entertain Guyamant in his room. Then calling both before her, she asked him whether he would follow his Brothers inclination: He answered, yes with all his heart. Then said Amasis, I shell entreat this Nymph, to admit you to his place and to use you, better then she did him. Guyamant, after a very humble reverence unto Amasis, offered to kiss the hand of Silvia, in signe of servitude: but she so slighted the declaration of his affecti∣on, that unlesse Amasis had commanded her, she would never have looked upon him.

When every one began to retire, Clidaman returned from hunting, and was told of this new servant unto his Mistris. Against which he made such loud complaints, that Amasis and Guyamant did hear them: and since he could not imagine how this should come about, she told him the whole businesse. When she had done Clidaman complained more then before that she should suffer a thing so much to his disadvantage, and told her that she re∣voked the decree of Fate which his lot had given him, and which none should ever ravish from him and live. This language proceeded from a heart full of affection, and was utter∣ed with a bundance of vehemency, for he did Love Silvia extreamly. Guyamant, who be∣sides the edge which his new Love had put upon him, had so good an opinion of himselfe as not to yeild unto any', returned an answer, addressing his speech unto Amasis. Madam, said he, it seemes some would not have me to be a servant unto the fair Silvia: but such are ignorant what Love is, otherwise they would never think, that your ordinances, or the ordinances of all the gods together, have power enough to divert the course of affection: And therefore I do openly declare, that if any shall offer to forbid me that which is already permitted me, I shall disobey and rebell: It is neither duty nor any other consideration can make me change. Then turning towards Clidaman: as for you, Sir, I know what respects I

owe you, but withall, I know what power Love hath over me: as the destinies did give Silvia unto you, so her beauty did give me unto her: Judge you whether of these gifts ought to be most pleasing unto her. Clidaman would have replyed, but Amasis interiupted him. Sonne, said she, you have no reason to complaine, unlesse our ordinances were altred: you were commanded to serve Silvia, but others were not forbidden to do the same. Smells are most odoriferous, when stirred; and a Lover having Rivals has more testimonie's of his merit. Thus Amasis, ordained that both of them should serve her. And thus is Silvia well stored of servants, for Guyamant dressed up his affection in the best trim, and Clida∣man in envie of him, did studie how to outvie him in courtship. Ligdamon, he served her with so much discretion and respect, that, least others should take notice of his affection, he durst seldome come neer her: and in my opinion his courtship was much more pleasing then any of the rest; but once, beleeve it, he was almost past all his patience. It hapned that Amasis had a bodkin in her hand, which was made in the fashion of a sword, and which Silvia was wont to wear in her hair; and Clidaman being neer her, she gave it unto him to carry unto his Mistris: but he kept it all the day, purposely to vex Guyamant, never so much as dreaming upon Ligdamon: but see how one may wound one for another: the poyson which was prepared for Guyamant, did so neerly reach the heart of Ligdamon, that not being able to dissemble he retired to his lodging, where after he had a while ve∣nomed himselfe by his own thoughts, he took pen and writ these verses.

Upon the Sword of Silvia, in the hands of Clidaman.

Love like a Traytor doth me treat, and with a murdering sword, Hath given me a sad defeat in her whom I ador'd.

But justly too, I needs must say, for being never able, My do•••• of services to pay, which were innumerable.

He takes a sword and doth me strike, and all my hopes doth smother, And cunningly he useth me, more like a Souldier then a Lover.

At the lower end of these verses, he added these words.

I cannot chuse, fair Leonida, but resemble Silvia to the Sun; which indifferently doth shine upon the most vile things as well as upon the most Noble.

He himself brought me this coppie: I read it; but though I studied, yet for my life I could not understand it: nordraw any thing from it, unlesse that Silvia had given him a great blow with a sword, but he left me and went away the most lost and undone man alive. Thus you see what a cunning cutter Love is, who with such trifling Armes, can make such deep wounds. He vexed me to see him in this condition, and to enquire further of things I went unto Silvia; but she protested that she knew not what they meant. At last after a reading of these verses two or three times, she lifted up her hand to her head, & finding her bodkin not there, she begun to laugh and say her bodkin was lost, that some or other had found it, and that Ligdamon knew of it: She had no sooner said so, but Clidaman came into the Hall with this murdering sword in his hand. I intreated her to let him have it no longer: I will first try his discretion, said she, afterwards, I will use all the power I have with him. She was as good as her word, for as soone as he came, she said unto him. This sword is mine. He answered, so Madam is he that hath it. I would have it, said she. I wish with all my soul said he, you would have all thats yours. Will you not restore it (said the Nymph) how

can I will any thing, replied ••e, since I have no will at all? What have you done with that which you had (said she)? You Madam have ravished it from me (said he) and at this very minute it is changed into yours. Since it is so (said she) that your will is mine, you must restore the bodkin, because my will is so. Since I would the some that you would (said he) it must of necessity follow that I would have it also. Silvia smiled a little, but at last she said, I would have you give it me. I also, said he, would have you give it me. Then the Nymph put out her hand and took it. I will never deny you (said he) though you would have me and all. Thus Silvia receaved her sword, and I writ this Note unto Ligdamon.

Leonida's Letter unto Ligdamon.

Ligdamon,

THat which you thought to be a favour conferred upon your Rivall, was only ravish∣ed, and when the owner know of it, she took it from him againe. Judge you, how things are; the favours which your Rivall hath, proceed from ignorance, and his disfa∣vours from deliberation.

Thus was Ligdamon cured, not by the same hand, but by the same sword which woun∣ded him. In the meane time, Guyamants affection grew to this height, as it was little short of Aristanders. On the other side, Ligdamon, under the colour of Complement, did suffer a most passion at Love, to plant it selfe in his soul. After that both of them had vyed which should most please Silvia, and found that she did equally favour and frown upon them both, they resolved one day to try which of them was most in favour, and to that end, they both came to Silvia, from whom they both received such cold answeres, that the controversie could not be decided. Then by the counsel of a Druide who was grieved to seetwosuch men, unprofitably lose that time which might better be spent in defence of their countryes, they went unto the Fountain of the veritie of Love. You know, what the property of that wa∣ter is, and how it discovers the most secret thoughts of Lovers: for he who lookes into it, shall there see his Mistris, and if she Love him he shall see himselfe by her: but if she Love another, then that other shall appear. Clidaman was the first which presented himselfe before this Fountain: he kneeled downe upon the ground; kissed the side of the Fountain; and after he had implored the Angell of the place to be favorable unto him, he leaned a little over: immediatly Silvia was seen, so admirably fair, that the transported Lover could not chuse but stoope to kisse her hand: but his contentment was soone cooled when he saw no body by her. He retired with a perplexed mind, and after a discontented pause, he beckned unto Guyamant to come and try his fortune. He, having with all requisite cere∣monies prayed unto the Dietie of the place, did cast his eye upon the Fountain, but he fared no better then Clidaman; for Silvia alone appeared, and with her fair eyes seemed to burn the water. Both of them much amazed at the matter, they went to a Druide who was high∣ly versed in Magique and asked the cause. He answered, that the reason was because Silvia loved neither of them, nor any else, as being capable of burning others but not of burning, herselfe. They who could not beleeve themselves to be so much out of favour, as they look∣ed severally before, so now they would returne and looke in the water both together: and though both of them leand over on severall sides, yet the Nymph appeared alone. The Druide saw them retire, and smiled, telling them that they might certainly beleeve themselves not loved for said he, you must know that as all other waters do represent the body, this represents the spirits. Now the spirit, which is only the will, the memorie, and the judgment, when it loves, is transformed into the thing loved. And therefore when you present your selfe here, it receives the figure of your spirit, and not of your body, and your spirit being changed into Silvia, it represents Silvia, and not you. If Silvia loved you, she would have been changed as well into you, as you into her, and so representing your spirit you should see Silvia, and seeing Silvia changed by Love, as I told you, you should see your selves also. Clidaman listned very attentively unto this discourse, and con∣sidering that the conclusion was an assurance of that which he most feared, he drew his sword and struck two or three times as hard as he could upon the Marble of the Fountain. His sword broke in two, and left no impression, or signs of his blows but still striving to break the stone, like an angry dogge, which bites the stone which is thrown at him, the Druide told him that he lost his labour, for the inchantment of the place would never end

by force, but by extremity of love but if he would make it uselesse, he could inform him of a way. Clidaman had brought up for rarity in great Iron Cages, two Lyons, and two Unicornes, which he often baited with severall sorts of Animals: These the Druide beg∣ged for guards of the Fountain, and so enchanted them, a••, though they ranne at libertie, yet they would never go ••rom the entrance into the grate, nor will they ever offer any hurt, unlesse to such as will attempt upon the Fountain; but such as will be so adventurous, they assault with extream fury; for, the Lions are so great and terrible, their Clawes so long and sharp, they are so nimble and active, and so unimated unto this defence, as is incredible. A∣gain, the Unicomes have Hornes so sharp and strong, as they will pierce the hardest Rock, and do thrust with such force and nimblenesse as none can escape them. Assoon as this guard was placed, Clidaman and Guyamant went to travell, and departed so secretly, that nei∣ther Amasis nor Silvia knew of it, untill they were gotten a great way from them. They went into Merovea and Childerick; for, finding themselves equally treated by Love, they would try whether Armes also would be equally favourable unto them. Thus, courteous shepheard, have we lost the benefit of this Fountain, which did so well discover all Juglers in love, as if all had been like Ligdamon, it had never been lost. When I heard that Clidaman and Guyamans intended to go thither, I advised him to make a third, as∣suring my selfe, that he would finde most favour; but, he made me this answer, Fair Le∣onida, said he, such as are in doubt of their good or bad Fate, may sometimes hatard the enquitie; but, it were most grosse folly for such, as have not the least spark of any hope, to search for that, which they would most unwillingly finde. For my part, I am in no doubt whether Silvia do love me or no; alas, I am too well assured of it: And when I desire to know more, I will never make enquirie of any, but her eyes and actions. However, his love was still the same, and Heavens knowes, how cruelly this rigorous piece of Crueltie it selfe hath ever used him: the time's to come, when ever she looked upon him without disdam and severitie. For my part, I wondered at his patience, for all her actions towards him, are rather injuries then severities.

One day when he met her walking with me, I intreated him to sing; and having an ex∣cellent voice, he sung these lines.

A Song upon Desire.

WHat pain is this that I endure, Which doth resemble fires, And will not let me finde a cure? Oh! 'tis most hot desires, Which to Superlatives aspires.

These hot desires did first proceed From hope, I should obtain: But now, alas, my hopes are dead; Yet, still desires remain, And swells my widdowed soul with pain.

But why should fond desires strive, And beat the Aire in vain, Since now there is no hopes alive, Their ends e're to obtain? The reason for it is most plain.

For since from vertue you proceed, Which recompence doth scorn, Though hope be quite decay'd and dead; Yet you are not for lorn, But live, and love, and sigh, and mourn.

He had no sooner ended, but Silvia repli'd, and said, Ligdamon, since I am not the cause of your misery, why should you lay any blame upon me? I see you do accuse your

own vain desires, and indeed, it is they only which torment you. The passionate Ligda∣mon answered, That it was true indeed; it was desire which tormented him; but, it was not that which ought to be blamed: it was that which caused it, which was the vertues and perfections of Silvia. If desires, replyed she, be not irregular and extravagant, they will not torment; but if they be so unruly, as to transport beyond reason, then they must needs be but Bastards and not the legitimate children of vertue, and are so unlike such a mother, that they do nothing resemble her. All extream desires, Madam, (answered Lig∣damon) are not against reason and vertue; for all excellencies and goodnesse, may with rea∣son be extreamly desired; Beauty, amongst other excellencies, may, with reason, be ex∣treamly and passionately loved: for, it cannot be said to be against reason, but above it. This is a very nice distinction, (replyed this cruell fair one) and I will never allow of any thing, either against or above reason. Then, to take away the opportunity of reply, she went away unto one of her Companions which followed. Upon a time, when Amasis returned from Mount Brison, where the finenesse of the Gardens, and solitude together, had stayed her longer then she intended, night did surprize us in our return to Marcelles; and the night being very cold, I went unto him, purposely to make him talk before his Mistresse, and asked him, if he were not very sensible of the chill evening? To which he answered, that neither heat nor cold could do him much hurt: And asking him why, and what antidote he had against it? he answered, that to the one he opposed his burning de∣sires, and to the other his cold hopes. If it be so, replyed I, how comes it to passe I should so often hear you say, that sometimes you burn with heat, and sometimes freeze with cold? Ah! fair Nymph, answered he with a deep sigh, my disease is not out wardly, but all with∣in, and that so deep, that there is not a corner of my soul, but sadly resents it. And you must know, that in any other person, heat and cold are inconsistent together: But I have in my heart a flaming fire, and also chill ice, and I only, the gods do know, do feel the tor∣ments of it.

Silvia all this while was silent, and used none of her accustomed cruelties; but at last, seeing him turn towards me, and sigh, she also turned, and in a merry manner, and dis∣dainfull, thus she said: Oh! what a happy man is Ligdamon, that can command both heat and cold when he pleaseth? or, at least, neither of them ever troubles him; for, if the coldnesse of his hopes do freeze, his hot desires can cause a thaw; and, if his hot desires do burn him, he can freeze them up with a few cold hopes. It is but necessarie, faire Silvia, (said Ligdamon) that I should use these remedies to keep me alive; otherwise, I should live but a little; but alasse, the Gods do know they are but poor comforts. Nay, nay replyed the Nymph, you can make your disease just as you would have it, either hot or cold. Tru∣ly Madam, answered Ligdamon, to scorch and freez both at once, is none of the least mi∣racles which proceed from you; but, the greater wonder is, that my heat should proceed out of your ice, and your ice proceed out of my heat. Nay Ligdamon replyed the Nymph, the greatest wonder of all is, that a man, who has the reputation of rationall, should have such idle imaginations, and think such impossibilities, as whosoever should credit them, may be taxed with want of as much judgment, as you of wit or truth. I do confesse, Ma∣dam, said he, that my imagination does conceive many impossibilities; but, the cause of it is, either my too much affection, or your too much cruelty, or both. And as this is not one of your I ast effects, so this, wherewith you upbraid me, is not one of my least tor∣ments. I believe, answered she, that your torments and my effects lie most in your tongue. 'Tis very hard, Madam, for the tongue to expresse well, that which is not well resented, answered Ligdamon. 'Tis very hard, replyed the Nymph, to understand all the vain Ide∣as of an idle and a brain-sick fancy. If truth, said Ligdamon, did not accompany this imagination, then should I stand lesse in need of your compassion. No, no, answered the Nymph, men do build their trophees too much over the compassion of us women. Had it not been better said, Madam, answered he, That women do build their Trophees too much over our ruines? I never saw any yet so ruined, replyed Silvia, but like you, they will quickly recover.

The more of this Nymphs cruelties, and Ligdamon's patiences, I do relate, the faster they come into my memorie. When Clidaman, as I told you before, was to travell, Ama∣sis would have the greatest part of the young Gallantry in this Country, to go along with him under the conduct of Lindamour: amongst the rest Ligdamon, being a most accom∣plished Caveliere, he was not omitted: But this cruel Mistrisse would not so much as daigne him an Adien; but faigned her selfe sick. Yet he would by some meants or other first let her know of it, and thereup on writ these verses unto me.

Upon a Departure.

Since Love will have me live and die Within his scorching flames; then why Should I thus fatally depart From her that solely has my heart?

I answered him.

The reason of it is, fond Boy, That thou maist find a fuller joy: Dost thou not know the Phoenix came From Ashes, when he dyed in flame?

He had thought himselfe very happy in this answer: but this cruell one, finding me writing this, and being unwilling to do him any good or suffer another; she snatcht away the paper by force out of my hand, telling me, that these flatteries wherewith I fed Lig∣damon, did make him so full of follie; and that he had more reason to complain against me then her: Then she writ thus unto him.

Silvia's answer.

The Phoenix from the Ashes came, But first he died in the flame; If Presence ineffectnall prove Absence will never conquer Love: Ice will not thaw by cold, when heat No conquest over it cold get.

You may imagine with how much contentment he departed; it was a kind of happiness to him, that he had been so long beforehand accustomed to such blows: and that he remem∣bred this Maxime, that the disfavours of a Mistris, must often passe for favours: I well re∣member that upon this discourse he thought himselfe the happiest lover in the world, ima∣gining that the disfavours of Silvia, were arguments that she held him in her memorie, that she took him to be her servant; and that since she did not treat all the rest of her ser∣vants in the like measure, it was to be thought that this was the coyne in which she payed such as she esteemed hers; and therefore he ought to cherish it, since it had her stamp up∣on it, and upon this subject he sent me these Lines.

A Sonnet.

My Soveraigne beautie does intend to try, The height and depth of my fidelity By things impossible and farre above Performances of any humaine Love: And well; since she will ha'te so, I'me content. For so she'l see the bottomlesse extent Of my affection; which is like a Well That with unfathomable waters swell: The more she strives to pumpe and draw me dry, The more shee'l see my Loves eternitie, The Fountainwhence I draw affection Is her fair selfe and her perfection. Then try me, fairest, to eternity, The more you'l find I Love, the more you try.

Leonida had continued her discourse, had she not seen Galathea comming, who after she had been by her selfe alone a long while, and not being able any longer to be out of her shepherds sight, she dressed her self to as much advantage as her glasse could advise her, and so came without any other company but the little Merill: she was very fair, and worthy to be beloved of any whose heart was not forestalled by anothers affection. At this very time, Celadons stomack began to be very ill, so as they were all constrained to retire, and the shepheard went to bed, which he kept a long time, as being neither very sick, nor very well.

Galathea, who in good earnest was in love, as long as Celadon's sicknesse lasted, she scareely stirred from his bed; and when she was constrained to go away, either to rest her self, or do any other businesse, she left Leonida with him, and charged her to take all occa∣sions, of letting the shepheard know her good-will towards him; thinking by this means to infuse such hopes in him, as his qualitie might perhaps forbid him: And certainly Leonida did not fail her; for, though she wished with all her heart, that Lindamor might thrive in his desires; yet, since the hopes of her advancement depended wholly upon Gala∣thea, her designe was wholly to please and comply with her. But Love, which often useth to make himselfe merry at the prudence of Lovers, and is pleased to thwart their inten∣tions, did make Leonida, by the conversation of this shepheard, to stand more in need of one to speak for her, then she to speak for another. The shepheard quickly per∣ceived it: But his affection to Astrea, for all her harshnesse, would not permit him to suffer this growing affection with patience. This was the reason that he resolved to take his leave of Galathea, assoon as he began to be a little better.

But assoon as ever he mentioned any such offer: How Celadon? (said she unto him) has your entertainment by me been so bad, that you would be gone before you be recovered? And when he answered, That it was, because he was troublesome to her, & because of some businesse of her own, also to assure his Parents and friends of his health; and therefore he desired to return home unto his own Village; Then she interrupted him, saying, No, no, Celadon, never fear any troubling of me; and as for your businesse and friends, it is no mat∣ter; me thinks your greatest businesse should be, to satisfie your obligations unto me; and it will be high ingratitude in you, not to spend each minute of that life which you hold of me, in my service; besides, you must not for the time to come, cast your eyes upon so low a thing as your life past: You must leave your Village and your Flocks to such as want those merits which you have; and for the future, look upon me, who can and will recom∣pence you, to the height, if your actions do not take away my good-will unto you.

Though the shepheard seemed, as if he did not understand the meaning of this lan∣guage, yet he did; and therefore he avoided talking with her in private as much as possi∣bly he could; and he did so much disgust this kinde of life, that being one day almost out of all patience, when Leonida heard him sigh, she asked him the reason, since he was in a place, where nothing was more studied then his contentment? Fair Nymph, answered he, amongst all the miserable wretches of Fortune, I may professe my selfe the most coorsly treated; for others may grieve, and enjoy so much comfort as to complain, but this is de∣nyed me, for my misery is shadowed with a Mask of happinesse; and therefore, in lieu of pittie, I am rather blamed and taxed for a man of shallow judgment: But if you and Ga∣lathea knew, what bitter wormwood I do meet 〈…〉〈…〉 in this place (happy truly unto all but me) I am confident you would bestow some pitty ••pon my life. What is it you would have, said she, that will comfort you? Nothing, 〈◊〉〈◊〉 he, unlesse you will get me leave to depart. Would you have me solicite Galathea for it, (said she)? I beseech you do it, (said he) and I conjure you to it by that which you most love. That then must be your selfe, (said the Nymph, and blusht). And so she went out of the Chamber to seek Gala∣thea, whom she found alone in the Garden, and who already began to suspect, that Leo∣nida was in love with him, conceiving that she had not made any progresse in the charge which she gave her, though she seldome or never stirred from him: Also knowing very well, how charming the shepheard's beauty was, she imagined, that he might as well wound two as one; yet, being constrained to carry fair with her, she continued her usuall affabi∣lity; and seeing her come towards her, she enquired of her how the shepheard did: As they were walking together, Galathea turned her selfe towards Leonida, and said, Well Leonida, tell me, was there ever such a piece of insensibilitie as Celadon, since neither my behavi∣our, nor your perswasions, will work with him? I cannot tell what to think of him. For

my part answered Leonida, I rather think him of a mean spirit, and wants judgment than one that wants apprehension, he wants courage to pretend so high: Your perfections and favours cannot raise his thoughts so high, but the poornesse of his merits and qualitie does more deject him; and no wonder, Vines will bear Grapes, and Okes Acornes, eve∣ry thing will produce according to its nature. Can you imagine, that the courage of a Country Clown can produce any designes, but such as proceed from a base and Pesan∣tique spirit? I do believe (answered Galathea) that the great difference between our qua∣lities may beget a great respect in him; but, I cannot think him so dully ignorant, as not to understand unto what end I treat him so kindly: the greater fear is, that he is already so far engaged to Astrea, that he cannot retire. Assure your selfe, Madam, replyed Leon∣da, it is nothing but a sottish ignorance in him: I do believe as you do, that he loves Astreat but if he had any Judgment, he would slight her for you, who beyond all degrees of comparison does merit more then she. And yet he is so sencelesly simple that whensoever I speak of you, he answers me with his sorrows for being so farre from Astrea, and thinkes his being here, no better then a torment. This very morning hearing him sigh, I asked him the reason, and he made me such an answer as would have moved stones to pitty him: and the conclusion of all was, that I would be a Mediator unto you for his departure. Come come Leonida, (replyed Galathea, even red againe with anger, and unable to dissemble her jealousie) confesse the truth: has he not moved you? Yes Madam (answered she) he has moved me to pitty him and me thinkes, since he has such an extream desire to go you ought not to keep him by force for Love is never whipped into a heart. I do not meane a matter of pitty (replyed Galathea) but tis no matter; perhaps when he is well recovered, he shall feele the effects of that anger which he hath infused into me, as soone as those ef∣fects of Love which he hath infused into you: meane time let me tell you, he shall not go from hence, when he, but when I will: as for you Leonida, (continued she) content you that I say no more only be gone I care not for your company now you know my mind. Thus Leonida was put to silence, and forc'd to go away, taking this affront so to heart, that she resolved to go unto Adamas her Unckle, and never have any more to do with Galatheas secrets. Galathea, at the same time called for Silvia who was walking alone in another Alley. Unto whom, contrary to her designe, she imparted that which she had so closely concealed from her▪ and complayned against Leonida. But Silvia, though young yet full of discretion, did indeavour to excuse Leonida all she could; apprehending very wisely, that if her companion should be angry, and things come to be knowne, they would prove very scandalous unto her Mistrisse. And therefore after many other passages she said thus unto her. You know Madam that you never opened any thing of this businesse unto me; and yet I can tell you so many particulars, as you shall see I was not altogether so igno∣rant as I seemed. But such is my humor, that I never could endure to meddle in matters, unto which I am not called. But perceiving my companion so assiduous about Celadon, I suspected that Love might be the cause, more then her compassion upon his maladie; and because it was a businesse which neerely concerned us all, I resolved before I spoke any more of it, to be a little better assured, and therefore began to observe her actions more narrowly then I was accustomed; so as I got behind the shepherds bed whilst he was a sleep, and pre∣sently Leonida entred, who making a little noise, did waken him: then after much common discourse, she began to talk of his affection unto the shepherdesse Astrea, and of hers to him: but beleeve me shepherd (said she) Astreas Love is nothing in comparison of Galatheas unto you. To me? (said he) Yes to you (replyed Leonida) you need not wonder so at it, for you know how oft I have told you so though all the language I have, cannot set forth the magnitude of it. Fair Nymph, (answered the shepherd) I neither can merit nor beleeve, so great an honour unto me. For what can her designe be upon poor me, who am a silly shep∣herd and will both live and die so? Your birth (replyed my companion) must needs be noble, since you are owner of so many excellent qualities and perfections. Oh Leonida (an∣swered the shepherd then) I cannot chuse but think you Jeere me: can you think me so ignorant as not to know who Galathea is, & who I am 'Certainly, fair Nymph I know, bet∣ter then so how to measure the meanesse of my qualitie with the grandure of her merits: with the measure of duty: Oh shepherd (answered Leonida) do you think that Love useth the same measures that men do? No no, measures are used by such as use to buy and sellt gifts are never measured, and Love being nothing else but a meere gift, is never conferred by measures: never make any question of this truth; but not to faile in your duty, pay unto her as much Love and affection as she bestowes upon you. I do professe Madam, that till

now, I thought Leonida had spoken for her selfe, and her discourse astonished me: but seeing with how much discretion your actions are managed, I did much com∣mend the power you have over them; knowing, that it is a thing of greater diffi∣cultie to command ones selfe, then another. Sweet heart, (answered Galathea) did you but know, how I stand in need of Celadon's amitie, you would commend and advise me unto this designe: For, do you remember the Druide who told us our Fortunes? Yes, Ma∣dam, answered she, my memory is not so bad, as to forget a thing of so late an age. Then you remember (continued Galathea) how many truths he did foretell, both unto you and Leonida; and how he assured me, that if I married any other then Celadon, I should be the most miserable person upon earth: Now since our own experience may well make us credit what he foretells, why should I slight a businesse which so nearly con∣certies me? And therefore I take it very ill from Leonida, that she should offer to sup∣plant me. Madam, answered Silvia, I would advise you not to vex her too much, lest she should be provoked to make a discovery of the businesse. Friend, answered Galathea (and embraced her) I do apprehend your advice to be both faithfull and good, and therefore promise you, to carry my selfe towards Leonida according to your counsell. Whilst they were thus discoursing, Leonida went to Celadon, unto whom she related word for word, all the discourse betwixt Galathea and her; and told him, that though the place where he was, seemed to be a place of freedome, yet, the truth was, it was no better then a Pri∣son: Which newes did so pierce him to the heart, that he fell into a Feavour, and in such a violent degree, that Galathea coming to see him, and finding him so much impaired, she began to doubt his life, especially the next day, when he swounded two or three times in their armes: And though these Nymphs did continually watch with him without any rest, but interrupted slumbers, yet was he but very ill attended, there being in that place no manner of Medicines for one that was sick, nor durst they send abroad for any, lest the matter should come to a discovery; so as the Shepheard did run a hazard of his life, inso∣much as one evening the Nymphs gave him for dead: But at last he returned to him∣selfe, and after an excessive bleeding, he took a little rest; and therefore the Nymphs left him alone with Merill: And being retired, Silvia much affrighted at this accident, ad∣dressed her selfe unto Galathea, and said, Madam, we shall all be brought into strange con∣fusion, unlesse you take some order; in what a case would you be in, if this Shepheard should die in your hands, for want of help? Alas, answered she, I have considered all this, ever since his disease encreased; but what remedie is there? We are here destitute of all necessaries for him, and as for getting them from other places, for my life I dare not, for fear of discovery. Leonida, whose affection made her speak more resolutely then Silvia, said thus unto her; Madam, those fears are very good, so far as they do not concern the life of a man. Suppose this shepheard should die, can any imagine his death can be kept without discovery? the Heavens themselves, as a punishment, will at last lay all open. But, take every thing at the worst, and suppose it were known that this shepheard were here, cannot you cover your act with a mask of compassion? If you will be pleased to trust me with the whole businesse, I will manage it so, as none shall ever know it: For Madam, I have an Uncle in this Country, Adamas, the chiefe of the Druides, as you know very well: No secret in Nature, or vertue in any Plant, is hid from him; he is a man full of wisdome and discretion, and I know, he has a particular inclination to do you service; if you will employ him in the businesse, I am confident, that all things will succeed accor∣ding to your wish. Silvia apprehending this to be the best expedient and conceiving that by the means of the grave Adamas, Galathea might perhaps be diverted from her thoughts of this shepheard; she advised her unto it as the safest course: Unto which Galathea, for want of another, consented. Then Madam (said Leonida) to the end I may keep within the compasse of your commands, I beseech you tell me what is your pleasure I should say, or conceal, from Adamas? Silvia seeing Galathea stand mute, answered, That the only way to move him unto secresy, was, to seem as if he were wholly trusted in the businesse; for nothing will sooner make a secret come out, then mistrust: so as I conceive the way to charm Adamas unto privacy, is, to acquaint him before he comes with every thing, that he may discover when he is here. I am so much besides my selfe, said Galathea, that I know not what to say, and therefore I refer the whole businesse unto your discretions. Thus Leonida departed, with intention, though the night was very dark at first, not to stop, untill she came at her Uncles, whose house was on the side of Marcelles Mountain, towards the Vestalls and Druides of Laigneau; but her journey proved longer then she

expected, for when she came at the break of day unto the house of Adamas, she found that he was gone to Feurs, and would not return, untill three daies, thence; and therefore after halfe an houres rest, she went away; yet, so weary, that had she not been very zea∣lous of her shepheard's cure, she would have stayed untill the return of Adamas: but, after she had gone a mile of her way, she spied afar off in the same way a Nymph all alone, whom a little after she knew to be Silvia: This encounter put her into a sad perplexitie, fearing that Silvia brought the newes of Celadon's death; but it proved quite the contra∣ry, for she brought newes, that since her departure he had rested very well, and that the Feaver had left him; therefore Galathea had sent her, to give a stop unto her proceedings, and to tell her, that since the shepheard was in so good a condition, there was no need of bringing Adamas, or discovering the businesse unto him. It is easily imagined, how glad Lemida was of this newes; and after her thanks to Heaven, she said thus unto her Com∣panion, Sister, I understand, that Galathea has acquainted you with her designe upon this shepheard, and therefore in all freedome of language I will tell you, that this kinde of life doth infinitely displease me, and that I think it dishonourable both for her and us: for she is so passionately humorous, that upon every distaste this shepheard shall give her, she will be halfe distracted; and builds so much upon the predictions of the Druide, as she thinks all her happinesse depends upon loving him: Also, as all Lovers do, she thinks him so lovely, as she believes every one does the like, as if all did look upon him with the same eyes she doth and that's my griefe, for she is growne so jealous of me, that she cannot en∣dure I should come neer him. Now Sister, if this kinde of life come once to be known, as questionlesse it will; since nothing is so secret, but at last is discovered, judge you how the world will censure us: I, for my part, have used all possible arguments to divert from it, but all in vain. The scope of all this my discourse is, that I do think very fit to finde out some good remedie, and that I can conceive no better expedient, then the interposition and mediation of my Uncle, who by his prudence and good counsell, may happily do some good upon her. Sister, answered Silvia I do extreamly like your advice and that you may have more time to bring Adamas unto her, I will return, and tell her, that I have been at the house of Adamas; but found neither him nor you. 'Tis very well, replyed Leonida, and it will not be amisse, if we go and rest our selves under some hedge, that it may seem as if you had been longer seeking me: Also, to tell you truly, I am so tired that if I will get to my journeyes end, I must sleep a little. Come then (said Silvia) and believe, it is a good work for your selfe, if you can get Celadon from amongst us; for I do foresee by Ga∣lathea's humour, that his stay here in a little time may cause you a great deal of displea∣sure. And so looking about for a convenient place, where they might passe away part of the day, they spied a place on the other side of Lignon, which seemed to be very fit for that purpose; so as passing over at the Bridge of Botereux, and leaving Bonlieu, the house of the Vestalls and Druides, on the left hand, and walking down the River, they came to a handsom thicket of wood, where they both slept together. As they were thus reposing themselves, Astrea, Diana, and Phillis did accidentally drive their flocks unto the same place; and never seeing the Nymphs, they sat down by them. And as that friendship which reseth out of adversitie, is often more firme, then that of prosperitie; so Diana had contracted a most firme league with Astrea and Phillis, since the disaster of Celadon; and such a correspondency was grown between them, that they were every day together. And certainly Astrea stood in need of all consolation, for almost at one and the same time, she lost Alces her Father Hippolita her Mother; Hippolita died of a fright, when she heard that Astrea was fallen into the water: and Alces dyed for griefe, at the losse of his deer Wife: But, these losses were a kinde of comfort unto her; for under the umbrage of mourn∣ing for her Father and Mother, she could lament the losse of Celadon. Now as I told you before, Diana, the Daughter of prudent Belinda, to perform the rites of neighbourhood, did go often unto Astrea, and found her humours so pleasing, and she hers, and Phillis both, that they vowed eternall friendship, and never since could seperate. This was the first day Astrea came out of her Chamber since her sad disasters; and she was no sooner set down, but she espied Semires coming towards her. This shepheard had been long in love with Astrea, and knowing that she loved Celadon, he caused this sedition betwixt them, conceiving, that if he could once get rid of Celadon, then he should with ease step into his steed: And now he came unto her, in hopes to advance his designe, but he was much mi∣staken: for Astrea having smelt out his subtletie, she conceived such an inveterate hatred against him, that assoon as she saw him, she put her hand before her eyes, as unwilling to

look upon such a base impostor, and desired Phillis to go and tell him from her, that she could not endure his company: These words were pronounced with so much vehemency, as her companions plainly perceived her great animositie against him, which made Phillis more hasty in running towards this shepheard. When he heard this message, he was so Planet-struck, as he seemed absolutely immovable: At last being conscious, and stung with the bitter sense of his own errour, he said unto her, Discreet Phillis, I must needs ingenu∣ously confesse, that the heavens are most just, in punishing a heart with more griefe, then it is able to endure; I cannot chuse but sadly say, that the chastisement cannot equall the of∣fence, since I have destroyed the most perfect league of friendship that ever was. But, to the end the gods may stop their vengeance, I beseech you tell that fair shepheardesse, I most cordially beg a pardon, both from her, and the ashes of Celadon; and assure her, that the extream affection which I bore unto her, was the only cause of my fault: But, I will go, and all my life long lament I have offended her, and those fair eyes which are so justly in∣censed against me. After these words he went away, so dismally dejected, that his repen∣tance moved some pitty in the heart of Phillis; who being returned to her companions, re∣lated all his answer unto them. Alas, alas, dear Sister, said Astrea, what sad cause have I to flie from this fatall villain? for 'tis he, he only, that is the cause of all my miserie. How Sister (said she) Semires the cause? has he had such power over you? If I durst relate his villanie, and my own simplicitie (said Astrea) I should tell you, that he hath used the most cunning artifice, that ever any subtle wit could invent. Diana believing, that it was by reason of her, that she would not speak more clearly unto Phillis, since their familia∣rity was not above seven or eight daies old, she turned towards the sad Astrea, and said, Fair Shepheardesse, you will give me occasion to think you do not love me, if you use lesse freedome towards me then towards Phillis; for, though I have not been so long happy in your acquaintance as she hath, yet, you may be as confident of my affection as of hers. Phillis then answered, I assure my selfe, that Astrea does speak as freely before you, as to her own selfe, for she cannot be halfe a friend; and since amitie is vowed betwixt your, I believe she will open the very closset of her heart unto you. Most certainly I will (said Astrea) but the reason why I would speak no more of that sad businesse, was only, because I would not too much vex a wound, with too much rubbing upon it. If that be all, re∣plied Diana, I should think, that free imparting a misery unto a friend, is halfe the cure; and if I durst use so much free boldnesse, as to desire it, nothing would give me greater sa∣tisfaction, then to know the Historie of your life; which in requitall, I will repay with a relation of my own, whensoever you shall command it. Since it is your desire, replied Astrea, I shall make you a sharer in my miserable storie; but with much brevitie, unlesse it were fuller of good fortune then it is: So all three sitting round, she thus began.

The History of Astrea and Phillis.

THose who are of opinion, that loves and hates do hereditarilie descend from Father to Son, did they but know what hath been Celadons Fortune and mine, doubtlesse would confesse themselves mistaken. For, Fair Diana, perhaps you have heard of the implacable emnitie that was between Alces and Hippolyta, my Father and Mother; and Alcippes and Amarillis, the Father and Mother of Celadon, and how their hatred accompanied them to their graves, which have caused abundance of trouble amongst the shepheards of this Coun∣try, insomuch as I beleeve, few or none about the fatall River of Lignon are ignorant of it: and yet Love, to shew the greatnesse of his power, did unite two of these enemy-fami∣lies, so firmly, that nothing could dissolve the knots of their affection but only death. For Celadon no sooner arrived at the age of fourteen or fifteen yeares, and I at twelve or thir∣teen, but at an assembly in the Temple of Venus which is upon the top of a high Moun∣tain, neer the Castle of Mount Brison, this young shepheard saw me; and as he since hath told me he had long before an extream desire of it, by some reports he had heard of me: but the jarres which were amongst our Parents was the impediment which hindred him: and I must ingeniously confesse that I think his desire of it, was no greater then mine. For I know not why, but when I heard speak of him, my heart did beat; unlesse it was a presage of those troubles which afterwards befell me by reason of him, When he first saw me, I cannot tell what causes of Love he found in me, but so it is, that since that time he resolved to Love and serve me: and it seemes, that at the first enterview we were both strucken with

the darts of Love, for as soon as ever they told me that he was the Son of Alcippes, I per∣ceived a kind of chang in me, which was not ordinary; then all his actions beg in to please me, and seemed much more agreeable unto me then any other young shepheard whatsoever; and because he durst not yet approach me, also because speaking with me was forbidden him, his looks and eys by their turning to & fro did utter such language unto me as I knew he desired to say more. And indeed at a Braul which was held at the foot of a Mountain under a plump of antient Elmes which cast a pleasant shaddow, he carried it so cunningly, that without any heed of me, and seeming as if it were out of a merry carelessenesse he got me by the hand. For my part, I seemed as if I took no notice of it, but carried my selfe to him as to all the rest, but he in taking my hand, did stoope with his head as if he would kisse his hand but I perceived his mouth upon mine; this did cause some colour to come into my face: but I feigning to take no notice, did turne away my head, as if I only minded the braule which we danced: this caused him to stay a while silent, not knowing I beleeve, how he should begin to speak: at last being unwilling to lose such an opportunitie as this which he had long longed for, he came very neer me and whispering Corilas (who took me out to dance) in the eare, yet so loud (but seeming to whisper) that I did plainly heare what he said, Oh Corilas (said he) I wish with all my soul that the quarrells between this shepherdesses Father and Mine, might be decided by her and me. To which Corilas answered very loud, Nay never wish that, Celadon, for perhaps it is the most dangerous wish, that ever you made. Let the hazard be what it will (answered Celadon very lond) I'le not go from what I have said, though I were to give my heart, as a pledge. And because I seemed to take no notice of their discourses, he addressed himselfe unto me and thus said: And you fair shepheardesse, what opinion have you of this offer? I do not know, answered I, what you speak of. He told me, replied Corilas, that to draw a great good from a great evil, he wishes that the inveterate hatred of your Fathers, were changed into love amongst their Children. How, (answered I, seeming not to know him) are you Alcippes Son? Yes, (answered he) and more then that; I am your most devoted servant. Me thinkes, said I, that it had been more proper for you to have applied your discourse unto some other, who may be more agreeable to you then I: I have heard say, replied Celadon, that the gods do use to punish the sinns of the Fathers upon their Children; but this is not the use amongst men, unlesse your beauty, which is divine, will assume the same priviledges with the gods: and if you do, then like them, you must give pardon when it is asked: how now shepheard (said Corilas) what? Do you begin your combate with crying mercy? In such a combate as this answered he, to be vanquished is a kind of victory: and for my part, I am most wil∣ling to be so, provided she will be pleased to take the spoile. I think, they had continued their discourse longer, had the Brawle, longer lasted: but at last we parted, and every one returned to his place.

Not long after the shepheards used severall exercises, as wrastling, running, leaping, and throwing the barre; and a Garland to be given unto him, who got the better in the severall activities. Celadon, as being too young was admitted only unto that of running, and did win the Garland, composed of divers flowers, which was put upon his head by all the assembly with high commendations, that being so young as he was, he should overcome so many other nimble shepheards. He, not valuing himself did take it from his head, and put it upon mine, saying, This, fair one, is in confirmation of what I said before. I was so surprised at this that I could not return any answer: & had it not been for Artemis, your Mo∣ther Phillis, I had given it unto him again; not but that coming from his hand, it was very acceptable unto me; but it was because I feared Alces and Hippolyta would be angry with me. But Artemis who desired rather, to extinguish then enflame these old grudges, did command me to receive it, and thank him. Which accordingly I did, but in such a hollow manner as made every one think I did it only upon my Aunts command. All that day was thus spent, and the next day also; in both which, the young shepheard lost no opportuni∣ties of manifesting his affection. And it was the custome upon the third day, in the honour of Venus, to represent the judgement which Paris gave of the three goddesses. Celadon re∣solved to put himself amongst the Maides in the habit of a shepherdesse. You know that upon the third day after the banquett, he Grand Druide has a custome to throw a Golden Apple amongst the Maides, upon which are written the names of the three shepheardesses which seem unto him to be the fairest of all the company, with this Motto, Let this be given to the fairest of the three. Afterwards the person that by lot was to represent Paris, does enter into the Temple of Venus with the three shepheardesses; where the dores being

shut, judgement is given upon the beauty of these three seeing them all naked, except for a linnen cover which reacheth from the middle to the knee, and because some abuse had for∣merly been by some shepheards who used to mixe themselves amongst the shepheardesses, it was ordained by publique Edict, that he who should commit the like crime, should with∣out remission be stoned by the Maides at the gates of the Temple: but so it was, that this young Boy, never considering the extream danger of it, did this day dresse himselfe in the habit of a shepherdesse, and putting himselfe into our company was taken for a maide. Then as if fortune was resolved to favour him, my name, and Malthea, and Stella, were written upon the Apple, and when they came to draw the name that was to represent Paris, I heard Orithea named, which was the name that Celadon took upon him. Heavens knowes whether his soul was not infinitly joyed to see his designe thrive so well. At the last, we were conducted into the Temple, where the Judge being set upon his Throne, the dores shut, and we three only within with him, we began, according to the Law, to undresse our selves; and because each apart did go and speak unto the Iudge, and offer, as heretofore the three Goddesses did unto Paris; Stella was the quickest to undresse her selfe, and did first present her selfe whom the Judge did a while contemplate, and after a full hearing what she would say for her selfe, he caused her to retire, and give place un∣to Malthea, who was forwarder in undressing her selfe then I was; for I being much asha∣med to shew my selfe so naked, I trifled out the time as much as I could. Celadon, unto whom time seemed too long, and after he had slightly looked upon Malthea, seeing I did not come, he called me; so, since constrained I went: But, Oh Heavens! how much ashamed am I to think upon it? My haire was dishevel'd, and almost covered me, over which, all the ornament I had, was the Garland which the day before he had given me. When the rest were retired, and he saw me in this then dresse before him, I observed, that he changed colour two or three times; but I could not yet so much as suspect the cause. For my part, shame had so dyed my cheeks with a fresh colour, that he has since vowed unto me, he never saw me fairer, and could have been well contented to have spent the whole day in this contemplation; but fearing to be discovered, he was constrained to a∣bridge his delight: And seeing I said nothing unto him (for shame had tyed up my tongue) Why fair Star (said he unto me) do you think your cause so good, that as the rest have done, you need not plead it before your judge? No Orithia, answered I, I will submit un∣to Stella and Malthea, both as well in beautie, as in Rhetorick; so as had not customobli••ged me to come, I should never have appeared before you, in any hopes to win the prise. But if you do carry it from them both, answered the shepheard, what remuneration may I expect from you? I shall then think (said I unto him,) that, I have more then I do deserve What? (said he) is this all the offer that you make? I know not what to offer (said I, unto him) that deserves a reception; and therfore you must first aske. Then swear unto me, (said the shepheard) that you will give me what I shall aske, and my judgement shall be in your advantage. After I had promised that I would, he asked a lock of my hair, for a Bracelet which I gave him; and after he had lapt it up in a paper he said unto me; now Astrea, I will keep this hair as a testimonie of this oath which you have taken, to the end that if ever you break it, I may offer it unto the Goddesse Venus and beg revenge. That is but superfluous, answered I, since I am fully resolved never to faile in it. Then with a smiling countenance he said unto me, the gods be praised, my fairest Astrea, that my designe hath so happily prospered; for know, that the thing which you have promised is, to Love me better then any in the world, and to receive me as your most fathfull and vowed Servant, who am Celadon, and not Orithea, as you imagine: the very same Celadon, that in spight of all old emnities betwixt our Parents, is so infinitly devoted yours, as he will rather die at the dore of the Temple, then not give a testimony of his af∣fection unto you. Imagine, wise Diana, in what a perplexitie I was now in: Love did for∣bid me from taking revenge; yet shame did animate me against Love: at last after a confused dispute with my self, I could not possibly consent to make him die, because his offence pro∣ceeded only from his excesse of loving me: but now knowing him to be a shepheard, I could not any longer stay in his sight: but without returning any answer, I ran to my compani∣ons, whom I found to be almost dressed; and not well knowing what I did, I dressed my self as soon as possibly I could: But to be short; when we were al ready, the disguised Orithea stood at the threshold of the dore, and having all three about him: I do ordaine, said he, that the prise of beauty be given unto Astrea; in testimonie whereof I do present unto her the golden apple: let none ever doubt of my judgement, for I have veiwed and examined

her, and finds her to be full of all perfection. Upon these words, he presented the apple un∣to me, which I received with a troubled mind: but more, when he said unto me in a low voice, take this apple as a pledge of my affection, which, like it, is pure, and endlesse: To whom I answered be contented, rash youth, that I receive it only to save thy life, which otherwise, comming from thy hand, I would refuse. He could not reply for fear of being heard and known. And because it was the custom, that she who received the Ball, should by way of thankes, kiss the Judge, I was constrained to kisse him. But, I assure you, I was at this ceremonie almost ready to discover him. Then the grand Druide caused me to be carried in a chair, through all the croud with loud applauds and acclamations, so as every one did wonder why I did not enjoy this honour with more alacrity for truly I was so confounded betwixt Love and Anger, that I hardly knew what I did. As for Celadon, as soone as the ceremonies were done, he thrust himself amongst the rest of the shepherds and by little and little without any notice taken, got out of the croud and putting off his bor∣rowed habit, he assumed his own, in which he came presently unto us with such confident lookes, as none could ever suspect him: For my part when I saw him again, my heart was so full of shame and anger, that it would scarcely let my eyes look upon him: but he who did take a seeming regardlesse notice of it, did find an occasion to accost me, and in a loud voice said: The Judge who conferred the prise upon you, hath shewed himself a very right Judge of beauty, and yet, though your cause did merit his sentence, you are in some sort obliged unto him. I think shepheard, answered I in a low voice, that he is more obliged to me then I to him: for he gave me an apple only, which in some degree, I deserve and is my due; but I gave him his life, which for his impudent rashnesse he deserved to lose. This is no more then was before resolved (answered Celadon) for he does not valew his life fur∣ther then to prostrate it at your feet. Were it not more in regard of my self then him, replied I, I should have punished his impudence: but, Celadon, no more; let us leave this discourse: and, know that the reason why I did not cause you to be punished according to your merits is, only because I would not bring my selfe upon the stage, and not for want of any will to see you chastised. If that be the only reason, said he, I beseech you tell me what death you will have me die: And you shall see that I have as much courage to obey you, as I have Love to offend you.

This discourse would be very long and tedious, if I should include every particular. But so it was, he gave me so many testimonies of his affection, that I could not possibly doubt it: but still seeming to be all anger, I said thus unto him Shepheard, consider the emnity that is betwixt our Fathers, & believe that mine to thee shal be the same, if thou dost still thus trouble me with thy follies, which for this time, thy youth and my own honour moves me to pardon. I mentioned a pardon, because I would infuse a little courage unto him: for the very truth is, his beautie, and courage, and affection, did please me; but to the end he should not reply, I turned from him and went to Stella, who was neer me. He all astonished at this answer, went out of the company so sadly dejected as in a few dayes after he was grown not knowable, and kept himself so private that, he frequented no places but the most retired and wild partes of our woods. Of which, I being advertised by some of my companoins, who did in a close manner tell me that I was the only cause; I began to resent his condition, and resolved to find out some way or other to give him a little com∣fort; and because, as I told you, he shunned all manner of company, I was constrained to drive my flock towards that place which he most frequented: and after two or three times being there in vaine, at last after a long search for him, me thought I heard his voice a∣mongst some trees, and I was not mistaken. For going neerer; I found him lying all along upon the ground, his eyes sweld with teares, and hands held up to heaven which seemed to be immoveable. This object moved me to so much pitty, that I was resolved to give him a cordiall for his paine. And therefore, after a whiles consideration, and not willing he should think I sought for him, I retired a little way from him, where seeming to take no notice I began to sing, so loud that my voice reached both his eares and his heart. As soon as ever he heard me, I saw him leap up and turning his eyes towards the place where I was, he stood like a statue still in a ravishing admiration. Which I observing, to give him so much boldnesse as to approch neerer, I seemed as if I slept, yet held mine eyes halfe open to see what he would do. And indeed, he did as I did imagine he would: for drawing neerer me with a soft and gentle tread, he kneeled down as neer me as he could; and after a long stay in this posture I still seeming to be fast asleep, he stooped down and kissed me. Then seeing that he had taken courage enough; I opened mine eyes as if he had wakened me. And rising

up as if in a raging anger, thus said unto him. Uncivill shepherd, how durst you be so bold as thus to interrupt my sleep? He, with a trembling heart, and kneeling still, said thus unto me; It is your selfe fair shepherdesse, that did constrain me, and if I have sinned, then, bright Starre, you must dim your Luster, and punish your own perfections, which are the cause. This is alwayes your excuse for your presumption (said I unto him) but shepheard beleeve it, if you continue in this course of offending me, I will not endure it. If you call it an of∣fence, to love and adore you (answered he) proceed to sentence immediatly, and doome me to what death you please: for I do make a most solemne vow, that I will so offend you as long as my life is in me. It is neither the rigour of your cruelties, nor the emnity of our Parents, no, nor all the impediments in the whole universe conspired together shall ever divert me from this resolution. But, Fair Diana I must abbreviate these pleasing discourses, as being not sutable unto my present disasters, And will only tell you, that being overcome I said thus unto him; shepheard what good can you hope for, when those who have the dis∣pose of you, does disapprove of your beginning? How? Said he, dispose of me? Has Alcippe more power over my wil then I have my self. You may dispence with your own wil (answe∣red I) but never with that obedience which is due unto a Father, without a most horrid crime. The obedience which I owe unto him (said he) must be confined unto possibilities and it is no fault to faile, where power wants to performe: but admit, I must obey in al things, since of two evills, the greater is to be avoided. I will rather faile in my duty to him who is but a man, then in my duty to your fair selfe, who is all Divine. Our discourse lasted so long, and so prevalent he was in it, that I was forced to admit him my servant: and both of us being too young to shadow our designes with any artifice, Alcippe did soone find us out; and being loath this amitie should grow up to any higher pitch, he resolved to send him upon so long a voyage with good old Cleantes, as that absence might wear out this young impression of Love, But the seperation did as little good as all the rest of his artifi∣ces which he used: for Celadon, though yet a Boy, did so fixe his resolution to overcome all difficulties, that though any other would have taken them for torments, yet he looked upon them only as proofes of himselfe, and called them the touchstones of his fidelitie. And because he knew that his voyage would last long, he intreated me leave to bid him adieu. This leave I granted; but, Fair Diana, had you heard how passionatly he begged me to Love him▪ and the vowes he made never to change, doubtlesse you would have concluded nothing more impossible, then that this affection should ever decay. At last since his time of stay was but short, he thus said unto me. My Astrea (for so he phrased me alwaies in pri∣vate) I shall leave with you my Brother Lycidas, from whom I will never conceale any of my thoughts he knowes how I have vowed my selfe unto your service, I beseech you promise me, (if it be your pleasure I should depart with any joy) that you will receive as from me all the services which he shall do you and by his presence renew the memorie of absent Celadon. And truly he had good reason to make this request unto me. For Lycidas during his absence, was so diligent to observe his Brothers commands, that many thought that he succeeded his Brother, in the affection which he bore unto me: this was the reason why Alcippes after he had kept him three yeares out of this Country, did call him home, in a confidence that so long a time had worne away that light impression of Love, which had a little entred into his green heart; and that he being now grown more wise, would weane Lycidas also from my affection. But his returne was an extreame assu∣rance of his fidelitie absence could not extinguish the ardency ot his Love; no nor all the so much admired Romane beauties, could ever startle him. He intreated me by his Brother, that I would give him leave to come unto me: Oh Heavens, how gladly did he come when I gave him licence? I think I have his Letters about me, for alas, I have kept them better then him: then pulling a little bundle out of her pocket, like unto that which Celadon used to carry, or in imitation of him and in which she very charily preserved those which came from him, she took the first, for she kept them in order as they came unto her, then after she had wiped away her pearly teares, she read these words.

Celadons Letter unto Astrea.

Fair Astrea,

MY patience hath vanquished my exile, and heavens grant also that it may vanquish all hinderances of our happinesse: I departed with so much sorrow, and returne with so

much joy; That, not dying neither in going nor coming, it manifests that one cannot dy with too much delight, nor of too much sadnesse. Permitt me I beseech you to wait upon you, that I may relate my fortunes unto her, who is my only happinesse.

Fair Diana, it is impossible to remember all the discourse we then had unlesse I should open those wounds again, which are more dolorous to me then death. During Celadons absence, Artemis my Aunt and Mother of Phillis, did come upon a visit unto us, and brought with her this Fair shepherdesse, Phillis: And because our manner of living, seemed more pleasant unto her then the shepherds of Allier she was pleased to stay with us, which, beleeve it, was no small contentment unto me: for her humours were very pleasing unto me, and I have passed over many tedious hours with her. When Celadon returned his judg∣ment was so good, and he liked her so well, as I may truly say he was the cause of the great League, which ever since hath been twixt her and me. At this time he arrived at the age of seaventeen or eighteen, and I at fifteen or sixteen, and began to manage matters with more prudence: so as, to disguise our loves, I did intreat him, or rather indeed constraine him, to be very familiar with all shepheardesses which could pretend unto any shadow of Beauty; to the end his applications unto me might be taken rather as common, then particular. I say, I constreyned him unto it, for he did severall times upon his knees begge for a revo∣cation of this command; and alas, he had good reason so to do, for he did too well foresee, that from hence would proceed the cause of his death. Excuse me, wise Diana, if a few due teares interrupt my discourse, since I have so much sad cause for them, as it were impiety to stop them: Then after she had dryed her eyes, she began her discourse again.

And because that Phillis was most commonly with me, it was unto her that he first made his addresses unto, according to my command. I could scarsly forbear my smiles, especially when Phillis beleeved him to be in good earnest, and treated him as it is the custome to treat such as begin the like addresses. I remember that when he was once very sharply treated, he sang this Song which he composed upon this subject.

A Song.

CLose by a River cleare, whose bankes were clad With Mossie cussions, and a channell had; Which like a Serpent wreathed, and did glide A long a lovely plaine with swelling pride, Did sit a Shepheard, chanting it in verse, And with his Pipe did these sad Lines rehearse. Cease, Fair one, Cease; cease once your cruelty, Let me enjoy one day before I die.

The torments I endure for loving you Are greater farr, then is for hatred due; If gods be good, and infinitly kind Then Love and Hate a difference will find. Is't possible a pure and perfect Love Should never, never any pitty move? Are animals insensible as stones, Which never moved are with sighes and groanes?

Those amorous glances of your winning eyes, Have oft encourag'd up my hopes to rise, And since they swell with promises so fair If they do violate, they perjured are; Oft have they told me, that your stony heart Would melt; and from severitie depart: Each charming part of your fair face did say, In their false Language, they would ne're betray.

But how? Does shepheardesses eyes out vie, The glistering Court in all its falsitie? Can they who live and only haunt the fields Use any art, but what plaine nature yeilds? Has rurall beauties found a subtile art Though not their faces, yet to paint the heart? Are these the Doctrines that your Schoole affords Only to flatter, and to give good words?

No no, my Fair one, these are fallacies And far unsutable with your fair eyes; Learne to be kind, and banish cruelty; This cometh neerest to a Dietie; Beauty that bringes not sweetnesse with it, might Be likned to an eye that wanteth sight. To her that has no Love and yet is fair, A Corps without a Soul I will compare.

I do very well remember (said Phillis and interrupted her) how his addresses unto me made you laugh: for commonly his discourse, was only a few fragments of words so disor∣dered as they could hardly hold sense: And commonly when he would name me, his thoughts so run upon you, that he would call me Astrea: But see the variety of severall in∣clinations! I know very well that Celadon had some advantages of nature above Lycidas; yet I thought, though I knew no reason for it, Lycidas to be much more agreeable unto my fancy. Sister, said Astrea to her, you bring into my memorle a discourse which once he had concerning you and this fair shepheardesse, (said she and turned towards Diana) Fair shepherdesse (said he to me) the wise Belinda and Artemis your Aunt, are infinitly happy in two Daughters; and our Lignon is much obliged unto them since by their meanes it has the honour to have these two fair ones upon their bankes. And if I have any judge∣ment they only do merit the amitie of Astrea, and therefore I do advise you to love them, for by that short acquaintance I have had with them, I do foresee, you will receive much satisfaction in their familiarity: I wish that one of them would daigne to look upon my Brother Lycidas with as much affection as I do. And then, fair Diana, having but little ac∣quaintance with you, I answered him, that my desire was, he should rather become a ser∣vant unto Phillis: and it hapned as I did wish: for ordinarie discourse between them first begot a familiaritie, and at last a Love in good earnest between them. One day finding fit opportunitie for it, he resolved to declare his affection to her, and to couch the most Love in the fewest words he was able. Fair one (said he to her) I hope you know your selfe so well, as to beleeve, that those who love you must needs love you infinitly: It must be my actions only which must make my affection known unto you; and at the first begge no more then an admittance into your favour. Celadon and I were so neer, as we could hear this de∣claration, and also the answer which Phillis returned, and which indeed was more sharp then I expected from her. For she and I did long before know, by the eyes and actions of Lycidas that he loved her, and she did not dislike of it, that at this time she answered him with so much sharpnesse, that Lycidas was almost desperate: and Celadon who loved his Brother very much, being extreamly angry he should receive such a baffle, he was halfe angry with me, at which I could not chuse but laugh, and at last tell him: Never be so an∣gry Celadon at this harsh answer which Lycidas hath received: Phillis could do no lesse; shepheards of these times, do too much glorie in the easinesse of their Mistrisses: but to the end you may see that I do very well know the humour of Phillis, I will undertake to bring Lycidas into favour with her, provided he will but practise a little patience and continue on his addresses. I must confesse, when first I spake unto her, she was so shie, as I knew not what to think, but still hoped and resolved to win her with time: But Lycidas he was out of all patience, and resolved to give her over, and Love her no longer: upon which occasion he writ these verses.

Upon a resolution not to Love.

WHen I beheld those glorious eyes, Triumphant in their Victories, I did submit unto their darts, As to the only Queen of hearts: So lovely did they look, and kinde, As if no rigour I should finde: But when it plainly does appear, That cruelty it selfe is there, 'Tis time to shrink and fall away, Rather than Tyranny obey, For ever; which will only prove Pusillanimitie, not Love. 'Tis true, her lustre has such arts, As conquer can all human hearts. But when resistance cannot doe, Then flie, and 'tis discretion too: 'Tis better far to make retreat, Then stay, and have a sure defeat.

Lycidas had lost all hopes of ever obtaining; and therefore as Phillis and I were walking according to our custom, by the River side, we found him writing with his Sheep∣hook, these ensuing verses upon a bed of Sand, which when he was gone a little further, (for he saw us not) we read: The verses were these.

Upon no hopes of ever being Loved.

CAn it be thought the wanton winde will stay, And whistle ever, where it does to day? Will any think these Letters in loose sand Can last, and to eternity will stand? If so, then there is hopes my Love may finde Some sure foundation in her fleeting minde. Away, away, with these fond hopes, and think, That sand, and winde, and she, and all will shrink.

Afterwards we heard him break out into these dolefull expressions, lifting up his eyes to Heaven: O ye gods (said he) if you are angry with me, because I do with more devotion adore the work of your hands, then I do you; I hope you will pardon that error, which you your selves have caused: Had it been contrary to your will, that Phillis should be adored, surely you would have made her with fewer perfections, or else infused lesse know∣ledge of them into me. Would it not be prophanation, to offer lesse affection unto a Di∣vinitie of such superlative excellencies, as she is adorned with? I believe this Shep∣heard continued in such discourses, but I could not hear them; for Phillis forcing me by the arme I went with her: And when we were gone a little further, I said unto her, Stony∣hearted Phillis, why have you no more pitty upon this Shepheard, that is ready to die for you? Sister, answered she, the Shepheards of this Country are so full of dissimulation, that their hearts do commonly denie, what their tongues do promise; And if you do well observe this Shepheard here, you will finde him all Artifice; and as for those expressions which now we have heard, I do believe, that when he espied us coming, he set himself in the way purposely, that we might hear his dissembling complaints; otherwise, had they not been better spoken unto us then to the aire and senslesse woods? Sister, said I, you have forbidden him any addresses to you Even this, answered she, is a great argument of his little love to me. Is any command of power enough, to stop the current of a violent affection? Believe it Sister, Love that can bend, is never strong: Do you think I should

have loved him lesse, if he had disobeyed me? But Sister, said I unto her, he has obeyed you, and will you be angry with him for that? It's true Sister, replied she, he has obeyed me; but let me tell you, that I hold this obedience for very great disobedience; and leaving off his adresses to me, argues his passion very indifferent. If I had not interrupted her, I be∣lieve she would have continued her discourse much longer; but because I much desired, that Lycidas might finde better entertainment for Celadon's sake, I told her, that this kinde of discourse did become her towards Lycidas, but not towards me: Towards Ly∣cidas it was allowable, by way of tryall, and I commended it; but towards me, it argued too much distrust, to conceal any secret of her soul. As for my part I would open all my heart unto her, and therefore told her, that since it was impossible, but she must love some or other, she could not make a better choice then of Lycidas, since she might already ga∣ther most certain symptomes of his affection. To which she answered, that she never did, nor would, dissemble or conceal any of her thoughts from me, but should be extreamly sorry I should have any such opinion of her. And since I would have her entertain Lycidas, she would obey me. And hereupon Celadon finding her afterwards with me, brought her this Letter from his Brother, which was indited by my advice.

The Letter of Lycidas unto Phillis.

Phillis,

IT is true, that of late I have lodged my love in my heart, and would not suffer it to ap∣pear, either in my eyes or my words: If in this I have done amisse, then blame your own fair selfe, who commanded it. And if you do not believe I love you, put me to what Test you please, and you shall finde it better, then by all my weak, though reall, expressions of words.

At last, wise Diana after many a perswasive argument, we brought things to that passe, as Lycidas was entertained; and ever since, all foure of us have found much contentment in our lives, and invented many a stratagem to colour our designes, both by discourse and by writing one unto another. Perhaps you have taken notice of a great Rock, in the high way towards Rochell, which without much ado cannot be ascended, but when one is at the top, there is no fear of any eye to discover. And because it was neer the high way, we made choice of it for our rendevouz; if any did meet us, we seemed as if we went on in the high-way; but when the coast was clear, we ascended. 'Tis true, that this Rock being so neer the high way, we were in some danger of being heard by passengers, if we spoke any thing loud and therefore commonly, Lycidas or Phillis were placed as guards, to spie when any came: And because businesse did sometimes so employ us, as we could not every day meet in this place, we used to write one to another, and we made choice of another place of con∣veniercy, in which we laid our Letters one to another. In briefe, wise Diana, we used all possible waies to conceal our selves; and Celadon and I, did so seldome converse together in publick, as many believed that Celadon's will was wholly changed; for assoon as ever he saw Phillis, then he made all his applications unto her, and she again treated him with all possible complacency: Also as soon as Lycidas appeared, I left all other company to talk with him; so as in a short time, Celadon himselfe had a conceit, that I loved Lycidas, and I believed that he loved Phillis: Phillis thought that Lycidas loved me, and Lycidas believed that Phillis loved Celadon: And thus unawares were we so intangled with these opinions, as jealousie began by degrees to kindle amongst us. The truth is (said Phillis) we were then but fresh Schollars in the School of Love; for to what purpose was it to con∣ceal a reall love, and publish a false one? was there not as much cause to fear the divulging of your love to Lycidas, as your love to Celadon? Sister, sister, said Astrea, when a thing is not, we never fear what people think of it: But the contrary, when it is, then the least suspition of it, puts all out of order. But now (continued she, and turned to Diana), jea∣lousie had so seized upon all foure, as I believe our lives had not been long, if some good Genius had not inspired us to make all clear in the presence of one another. It was now seven or eight daies since we saw each other, at our Rocky rendevouz, and the Letters which passed 'twixt Celadon and me, were so different from the usuall strain, as if they were writ by different persons. At last, as I told you, some good Angel having care of us, all foure did meet in one place, where no other company was: And Celadon, whose af∣fection had most vigour in it, began thus to speak, Fair Astrea, did I think that time

would cure a disease that raignes in me, I would wait for that remedje; but since I know, the older it growes, the more it will encrease, I am forced to complain against you for the wrongs which you have done me, and with more alacritie, since I can do it before such Judges as are my peers. When he would have gone on, Lycidas interrupted him, saying, that his pain was greater then his. Greater! said Celadon, that's impossible, for mine is extream: And mine, believe it, said Lycidas, is without any comparison. Whilft the Shep∣heards were thus debating the matter, I was upon Phillis, and said, Do you see, Sister, how these Shepheards complain of us? Yes, answered she; but I believe we have greater cause to complain of them. Though I am much incensed against Celadon, said I unto her, yet, I am much more incensed against you, who under a disguise of friendship, which you seemed to bear unto him, has drawn him from that affection which he bare unto me, so as I may well say, you have stollen him from me. And because Phillis stood silently amazed at this, and knew not what to answer, Celadon addressed himselfe unto me, and said, Ahl fair Shepheardesse, but as sickle as fair; have you so soon lost the memory of all Celadon's services, and your own vowes? I cannot so much complain against Lycidas, as against you; for notwithstanding the consanguinity and amitie betwixt us, your perfections might well make him a Traitor, and forget his duty; but me thinks it should be absolutely impossible, that so long a service as mine, and such a perfect affection, should ever finde the least stain of inconstancy in your soul. But admit, that all in me was too little, to deserve so great a happinesse, how can you so far violate and dispence with your vowes, as before my eyes to entertain a new affection? At the same time Lycidas took Phillis by the hand, and with a deep sigh, said, Oh fair hand, to whom I had given up my soul! can I live, and see thee take possession of any heart but my own? my owne, I say, that did deserve the same happinesse, if ever any did deserve it, by the most sincere and pure affection that ever was? I could not hear any more what Lycidas said, because I was constrained to answer Cela∣don: Shepheard, Shepheard (said I unto him) these words, Fidelity and Affection, are more conversant in your tongue then your heart, and I have more reason to complain a∣gainst you, then hearken unto them: but because now I do not care for any thing that comes from you, I will not take so much pains as grieve at it; that office is more fitly yours, if your dissembling heart would give you leave to do it. But, Celadon, since things are thus love on, love Phillis still and serve her, her vertues will deserve it; and if I do afford thee a blush, it is for anger that I should suffer my selfe to be so grosly deceived, and for over-loving one that is so much unworthy of it as thy selfe. Celadon was so much astonished at this, that he stood stock still a long time, & could not answer one word, which silence gave me leasure to hearken unto that answer, which Phillis returned unto Lycidas: Lycidas, Lycidas, said she unto him, you that can call me sickle, inconstant, and I know not what; you know full well, that these titles are most suitable unto yourselfe, and your own actions: Do you think that because you have got the start, and complain first, you can therefore palliate your faults, and wipe away the wrongs which you have done me? me, I say, not sickle as your selfe is, who have more reason to be ashamed of your changing then I have to be vexed at it: But that which most vexeth me, is, that you should charge me with your own faults, and counterfeit a good occasion for your own infidelity: But 'tis no matter, he that will deceive his own Brother, may well deceive her that is no re∣lation to him. And then turning towards me, And you Astrea (said she unto me) you that have stollen away the heart of a Servant from me; do you think to keep it any longer then the first new object that shall present it selfe' No, no, though I know your perfections have power enough to keep any heart, but such a one as is compos'd of feathers, and has wings to flie away; yet, this light Butterflie will give you the slip. Phillis, replied I, you talk of some perfections that should be in me, but certainly they are much inferiour unto yours, since they are not able to hold Celadon from you. Celadon had now a little recollected himself, and kneeling down, he said unto me, It is not, my Astrea, to undervalue the merits of Phillis, that I make these most solemn vowes before all the most sacred gods, but to con∣vince you, that she did never kindle the least spark of love in my soul; and the wrong you have done me in changing, is not greater, then your taxing my pure affection with incon∣stancy. The story would be too tedious (sage Diana) should I trouble you with every particular of our discourse: But so it was, that before we parted, we were all so well set∣led in our senses again, that all of us did acknowledge, that we had no reason to suspect one another, and gave thanks unto heaven, for this happy meeting all together, without which, I believe, the roots of jealousie had never been eradicated. As for my part, I think

it was impossible ever to have brought me to reason, had I not heard Celadon declare him∣selfe so Ingenuously before the face of Phillis.

After this, we were more discret: but I no sooner got rid of this distemper, then I entred into another no lesse daingerous: for we could not so well disguise the businesse; but Alcip∣pes had a jealousie that the sparkes of his Sons affection were not quit extinguished, and had such a curious eye over all his actions, as observing how Celadon went every day to the place where we were wont to lay our Letters, he himselfe went thither, and observing how the grasse was troden by our often going thither, a kind of tract did lead him to the very place where I had put a Letter for Celadon the night before: it contained these words.

Astreas Letter unto Celadon.

YEsterday we all went into the Temple, where every one assembled to offer Sacrifice un∣to Pan, I would have said, to have kept a holy day, had you been there. But such is my devotion to you, that even divine things themselves without, you are displeasing to me. I am now so full of common businesse, as were it not for the promise I have made to write every day unto you, you should hardly have heard from me. Receive therefore this only as a testimony that I will for ever keep all my promises to you.

When Alcippes had read this Letter, he put it into the place again and hiding himselfe in hopes, that it would be fetched away, his Son came presently after, and having no pa∣per about him, he writ thus upon the back of my Letter.

Celadon's Letter unto Astrea.

YOu oblige and disoblige both at once, but pardon me if this expression offend you: I am not more obliged unto the gods then unto you because you say you Love me, but by say∣ing you would not have written, unlesse because you had promised; this doth infinitly dis∣oblige me; for so I become a debtor only to your promise, and not to your affection: Consider I beseech you, that I am not yours because I have promised: but because I am purely yours, without any other circumstance nor do I wish for any Letters from you which come only upon the conditions which are betwixt us, but only such as proceed from your good affection: I value them not as matters of Covenant and Marchandise, but as testimonies of a pure affection.

Alcippes yet knew not who the shepherdesse was, unto whom this Letter was intended, for it named none: but see what a spirit of contradiction will do; he waited at the least six or seaven houres longer in expectation of her, who was to fetch this Letter, assuring himselfe that it would be before night. It was very late before I came thither: as soon as he espied me, for feare I should not take the Letter, he lay him down as if he were a sleep; and I to avoid all suspition, turned back and took another way: He, well satisfied with his paines, as soon as I was gone, did take the Letter and went home, from whence he intended to send his son immediatly: because he would not upon any tearms, there should be any alliance betwixt us; by reason of the deadly emnity that had been betwixt Alces and him; but on the con∣trary intended to marry him unto Malthea the Daughter of Forelle; To whose house he sent him During this seperation, Olimpia, daughter unto the Shepheard Lupeander, dwel∣ling upon the confines of Forrest, towards the River of Furan, came with her Mother un∣to our Town. This good old woman, did Love Amarillis very well, being brought up to∣gether from the cradle, and therefore came to visit her. This young shepheardesse was not so fair as affected, and entertained so good a conceit of her self, as she thought that all the shepheards which ever looked upon her were in Love with her. And therefore, as soon as she came into the house of Alcippe, she began to busie her selfe with Lycidas, having an opinion, that the cruelties which he had used towards her proceeded from Love: which as soone as Lycidas perceived, he came to ask our advice, how he should behave himself: And we counselled him to cherish this conceit in Olimpia, to the end he might the better umbrage his affection unto Phillis. And a little after, as ill luck was, it happned, that Artemis had some businesse close by the River Allier, and, do what we could, she carried Phillis with her.

During this separation which was sixe or seaven Monthes, the Mother of Olimpia re∣turned and left her Daughter with Amarillis, in hopes that Lycidas would Marry her, because for ought she could see, he loved her very well. And being an advantageous March for her, the Mother advised her, to trim her selfe up in as amarous a dresse as possibly she could: and I assure you, Fair Diana, she did trick up her selfe accordingly, and did court more then she was courted, by much. One day, when he was gone into the woods to seeke a strayed sheep, she met with her beloved shepheard: and after some common discourse, she laid her armes in a loving posture upon his shoulders, and after she had kissed him, thus said Dear shepheard, what displeasing qualities are in me, that I should never find the least demonstration of favour from you? The reason is, answered he and smiled because my fa∣vour is not worth the having: Should those words proceed from any but your selfe, said she, I would say the speaker either wanted judgment or was blind. But dear shepherd how must I Love you, before I obtaine the blisse of being loved againe? How many dayes must I spend in courting you, before I find a returne? I beleeve those shepheardesses who have the hap∣pinesse of your addresses, are not more amiable then my selfe, nor have any advantages above me, unlesse in the enjoyment of your favour. Olimpia uttered these words with so much zealous passion, that Lycidas was startled: and, Fair Diana, as oft as I think upon this passage I cannot chuse but laugh, unlesse my sad disaster forbid it. But however, Phillis had commanded him to counterfeit Love of this Olimpia, who thinking his fa∣vours to be in good earnest, became ever since his scorne; and having made so much use of her as served his own turn, he fell to such a disdaining of her, as that he could not endure to come nigh her. But afterwards he came unto me with so many signes of discontent, as I was perswaded that he did repent of his foolery: but presently after, Olimpia proved to have a bigge bellie, and when she began to perceive it, Phillis returned from her Journey: and as I expected her with much impatience, so I received her with abundance of joy. But as it is ordinary for one to enquire of that which lyeth nearest the heart, so Phillis after the first Salute, asked me how Lycidas did, and how he had behaved himselfe towards Olimpia? Very well, answered I, and I am sure it will not be long before he make his appearance. I did cut off this discourse as soon as I could, lest I should say somthing which might pre∣judice Lycidas, who for his part was not in a little perplexitie, not knowing how to accost his shepheardesse: but at last, resolving to endure any torment rather then a banishment from her presence, he came unto her lodging, where he knew to find me. And when Phillis saw him, she runnes with open armes to salute him. But he retreating, thus said unto her, Fair Phillis, I have not so much boldnesse as to come neer you, unlesse you will first par∣don a fault which I have committed. The shepheardesse, thinking he meant his comming no sooner, thus answered; There's nothing shall debarre me from the Salute of Lycidas, and though his crimes were more then they are, yet I would pardon them all. Upon this word, she went unto him and saluted him with abundance of affection. But her joyes were a little quelled, when he addressed himselfe unto me, and desired me to accquaint his Mi∣strisse with his fault, that he might know unto what punishment she would condenme him: Not, said he, but that my sorrowes for offending her shall accompany me to my grave, but because I would know my sentence. This word made colour come into the face of Phil∣lis beleeving now, that the matter was of more moment then she expected. Of which Ly∣cidas taking notice, Ah, fair one, said he, I have not courage enough to hear your condemna∣tion. But pardon, fair Mistriss, if I leave you; if my life displease you, & my death will satisfie for my crime, then let me live no longer. At this word he went away, and though Phillis called him back, yet he would not returne, but pulled to the dore after him, and left us two alone. You may imagine it was not long before Phillis enquired what the matter was, & why he was in such a perplexity and without any long prologue, I acquainted her, laying all the fault on our selves, who were so much unadvised as not to foresee that it was a piece of difficulty for such a young man to resist such a temptation, also hinting unto her that the sin was not of so horrid a degree, as to be impardonable. At the first I could not mollifie her implacabilitie; nor obtaine the pardon which I desired: but a few dayes after, Lycidas by my advice came, and threw himselfe at her feet; and because she would not look upon him, she ran into another chamber, and out of that into another, still flying from Lycidas who still followed her, and was resolved never to leave her, untill he had obtained either his pardon or his death. At last, when she could go no further, she stayed in her closet, where Lycidas entring and shutting the dores after him, he fell down at her feet speaking not one word, but expecting her sentence. But the importunity of this affectionate begger was more

prevalent, then all my perswasions: For, after she had a long time been there, and not a syl∣lable proceeded from either of them, at last she said thus, Go, go, troublesome man, it is thy importunity and not thy selfe, that has obtained a pardon. Upon this blessed word he did rise, and kiss'd her hand, then came and opened the dore, to shew me that he had got the victory; then was he in as good a condition as ever, and his Shepheardesse did so fully pardon him, as seeing him much troubled to conceal the big belly of Olympia, who now did swell so, as it was visible to the eye, she her self went to visit and assist her all that possibly she could. This indeed (said Diana, and interrupted) is a most strange testimony of affection; this, Phillis, was too much; and I must confesse my courage could never have brooked it. By this you may judge at the height of my affection, said Phillis. It was rather a fault, said Diana, then superabundance of Love, to pardon so easily an injury done a∣gainst the Lawes of Love. Oh Diana, said Phillis, you know better how to make others love you, then how to love. If so, said Diana, I am more obliged unto Heaven for it, then for my life. But however, am I not able to judge of love, unlesse I love my selfe? No, said Phillis, you cannot be a competent judge; for otherwise you will be of too hard a temper, and cannot pardon as love requires: For Love, if it be rightly in tune, resembles Musick consisting of severall parts, which, if all be well tuned, makes a melodious harmony; but, if one part discord, then all is harsh: So, cruell Diana, perhaps you will say, that after one hath gon through a long and pleasing service, the first offence will spoile all the former services. 'Tis very true (said Diana). Oh heavens! (cryed out Phillis) what a hard task hath he who loves you? He who loves me, replyed Diana, must take heed he never offends me in matter of affection; and believe me, Phillis, you have done Lycidas more injury than he hath done you. Then said Phillis, and laughed, heretofore I said, that it was love that prompted me unto this act, but hereafter I will say, it was revenge; and to such as are the most curious, I will say, it was for such a reason as I learned of you. They will judge, added Diana, that heretofore you did love; and now, that you know what it is to love. However, answered Phillis, if it be a fault, it proceeds from ignorance, and not from any defect in Love, for I think my selfe obliged unto it; but you that have been so long mute, I pray tell us, how I assisted to bring this child into the world. Then Astrea replied thus:

Assoon as this Shepheardesse declared her selfe, Lycidas did very confidently accept of her offer, and sent a young Shepheard unto Moin, to bring a Midwife from thence, with her eyes blinded, that she might not know whither she went. Diana then, as being astonished, did put her finger to her mouth, and said, Shep∣heardesse, this is not such a secret as you imagine, for I remember I have heard of it. I beseech you, said Phillis, tell us how you heard it, that we may see how re∣ports do jump. I cannot tell, added Diana, whether or no I do well remember it: the poor Philander was the relator, and assured me, that he had it from Lucina a Midwife. One day as she was walking in the Park, betwixt mount Brison and Moin, with severall of her companions, a young man came unto her, whom she knew not, and at first brought some commendations to her from some of her friends who were at Feurs, and afterwards told her some particulars, purposely to draw her from the rest of her company, and when he had her alone, he told her, that a better occasion brought him thither, and it was, that for all pitties sake she would go and help an honest woman, who, without her aid, was in very great danger. The good woman was a little surprised at this, but the young man conjured her to conceale her wonder, for he would rather chuse a death, then this busi∣nesse should ever be suspected. Lucina being now a little better assured, and promising she would be secret, she asked him the time when she should be ready. Prepare your selfe, said the young man, for a voyage of two months; and to the end you may be no loser by the bargain, here is as much mony as you can get any where else in that time. Then he gave her some pieces of gold in a paper, and asked her if she would go in the night: And the woman finding her wages to be very good, did answer him, that she would go at what time he pleased. About fifteen or sixteen daies after, as she was comming out of Moin, a∣bout five or six of the clock in the evening, she saw him return, with his face quite alte∣red: and coming to her, he said, Mother, the time is come, we must depart, the horses are ready, and necessitie requires haste: She would have gone into her house to have taken or∣der about some businesse, but he would not let her, lest she should tell any: So going into a little private bottom, close by the way side, she saw two horses, and a handsome man in black cloths, who kept them: Assoon as this man saw Lucina, he came to meet her with a

smiling face, and after many thanks, he set her on horseback behinde him who fetched her; then getting upon another horse, they set forward through the fields a good pace; and when they were got a little off the Towne, and night grew dark, this young man pulled a handkercher out of his pocket, and do what Lucina could, he blindfolded her: Then afterwards turning the horse halfe a score times round, to the end she should not know which way they took, they travelled a good part of the night, she not knowing which way they carried her, unlesse as she thought over a River two or three times; then causing her to alight she walked a while on foot, and as she could guesse, through a Wood, where she got a glimpse of light through the handkerchieffe, which presently after they untied, and then she found her selfe in a very fine Tent, hung with Tapestry, and made so close, as no winde could come in; on the one side she saw a handsome young woman lying in a little field bed groaning and crying out very loud, but masked; at the beds feet she saw another woman masked also, who by her habit seemed to be well in years, and held up her hands, with tears in her eyes; on the other side she saw a young Chamber maid masked, holding a candle in her hand: At this Tent dore, stood the man who held the horses, grieving much for the pain this woman was in; and the other man, behind whom she rid, did fetch all things that was necessary. You may easily imagine how much Lucina was amazed at all this; for it is to be thought, that this young woman thus in pain was in Labour, and it was not long before she was delivered of a Daughter; so as she being well brought to bed, and the Child put into a Cradle, Lucina's eyes were again blinded, and after a full reward for her pains, she was carried the same way she came: And all this I received from Philander. Astrea and Phillis harkened unto this tale very attentively, and Phillis could not chuse but laugh, which Diana seeing, asked her the reason: It is, said she, because you have told us a story which we are altogether ignorant of; and for my part, I cannot imagine who this should be, for it cannot be Olympia, but must of necessitie be some other Shephear∣desse. Truly, answered Diana, then I was mistaken; I took that handsom man who held the horses for Lycidas; that old woman, for the Mother of Celadon; and the Chamber∣maid for you; and imagined that you were all masked, because you would passe unknown. I assure you (said Astrea) it was not Olympia; for Phillis used no other artifice, but only to get Lucina unto her house, for, as fortune was, Artemis was then from home: And be∣cause Olympia was with Amarillis, she was to faigne her selfe sick, which, as the case was with her, she might easily do, and desire some change of aire; so she was to come unto Phillis, who would be glad of her company: Amarillis yielded to the desire, and so Phil∣lis came to fetch here And when her time drew neer, Lycidas got the Midwife and blinded her eyes, that she might be ignorant which way she went; but when she was come to the house, her eyes was then at liberty; nor was Olympia or any masked, imagining that the Midwife could not know any of their faces. This was all the artifice that was used; and when Olympia was well again, she returned home: Also we have been told since, that she used a very fine device, for the bringing up of the child: She hired a woman to say that it was hers, and then to lay it to the charge of a young fellow who served her Mother; and because the fellow was altogether innocent, he denyed it; but was so ashamed, that he ran away: The woman pursued even unto Lupeander's Chamber, and there, though the fel∣low still refused it, she set the child down in the midst of the room, and ran her waies. They say, that Lupeander was very angry, and Olympia also at this fellow. But, the con∣clusion was, Olympia turning towards her Mother, However, said she unto her, this child must not be lost, it must not be punished for the fault of another; but it will be an act of charity to see it brought up: Her Mother, who was of a good and charitable disposition, consented unto it. And thus Olympia got her Daughter to be in the house with her.

All this while Celadon was with Forella, and entertained with all possible welcomes; and Malthea, at her Fathers command, did currasse him as much as she in civilitie, could. But Celadon was so displeased at this separation from us; that all these sweets yielded him but a bitter relish; and he lived in such a drooping way, as Forella being very angry, that his Daughter should be so slighted did acquaint Alcippe with it, to the end he should not expect any further progresse in that match: who knowing the resolution of his son, and, as I think, moved unto some pitty, he resolved once more to use some other artifice; and after that, never to trouble him any more. Then, whilst Celadon was with Malthea, Phocion my Uncle, so contrived it, that Corebes, a very rich and honest Shepheard, should apply himselfe unto me: And since he had all the good qualities that were desirable, it was already so divulged, as if the Wedding were resolved upon. Alcippes thinking to make

use of this advantage, devised this trick, which I shall relate. There was a Shepheard cal∣led Squilinder, dwelling upon the borders of the Forrest, in a Town called Argentall, a craftie fellow, and very perfidious, who, amongst the rest of his knavish qualities, had this, that he could counterfeit any hand so exactly, as the writer of the Originall could not know it from his Copy. To this man Alcippe's shewed that Letter of mine which he found, as I told you before, and writ another unto Celadon in my name, which was thus indited.

Astrea's counterfeit Letter unto Celadon.

SInce I am forced to it by the command of a Father, you must not think it strange, if I intreat you to put a period unto that love, which heretofore I conjured you to make eter∣nall. Alces hath bestowed me upon Corebes: The match will be very advantageous to me, if I can but quickly enough forget you. But since it is meer folly to attempt against what must be, I advise you so to forget all passages betwixt us, and to arme your selfe with such resolution, as Celadon may blot Astrea out of his memorie, as Astrea, out of her duty to a Father, must quit the remembrance of Celadon.

This Letter was cunningly conveyed unto Celadon by an unknown messenger. Oh! how his heart was sunk, when he received this sad newes: Now Astrea, (did he say) I see there is nothing in this world that is durable, since all those vowed resolutions betwixt us are so soon vanished. Now I am a sad witnesse, that all women, be they never so full of perfections, can easily return to their naturall inconstancy. Now, life end, since Astrea has lost her affection, and since I can do nothing else, but grieve for my great disaster. Thus did he breathe out abundance of sad complaints, and he was the sooner perswaded to believe such a change in me might be, by the common reports of my marriage unto Corebes. He lay all the day upon his bed, and when night came, he stole out of all company, and got into a thick unfrequented wood, shunning all society like a salvage, and resolved never to come into any company again.

In this desperate resolution, he wandered over all the Mountains of Forrests, and at last found out a desart unfrequented place, where he intended to finish the remainder of his dismall daies. The place was called Lapan, from whence the fatall Lignon hath his Ori∣ginall: Upon the banks of this Spring, he built himselfe a little Cabin, where he made a shift to live above six Months; during which time, his ordinary food was tears and sighs: And his solitude had continued longer, had not Alcippes commanded Lycidas to go and look him out, resolving (since all was in vain) never to crosse his affection more: But Ly∣cidas had look'd long enough before he had found him, but for one accident which happe∣ned that day.

I chanced to be then by the banks of Lignon, looking upon the water, and condoling the losse of Celadon; Phillis and Lycidas looked also in the water as well as I, and we observed somthing which swimmed down the stream; Lycidas, to satisfie the curiosity of his Mi∣stresse, who much desired to know what it was, did step into the River, and with a bough brought it out; and finding it to be only a piece of paper, he threw it away upon the ground, being angry he had taken so much pains for a thing of no more value: Phillis, she took it up, and opening it, we read these words:

Go thou poor piece of paper, more happy than he that sends thee; go and view those banks where my Shepheardesse useth to walk: and if, being accompanied with those tears where∣with I swell this River, thou shalt chance to kisse the shore where the prints of her feet are, stay there where my miserable fate will not suffer me to be: If it be thy chance to come into those hands, which have rob'd me of my heart, and she shall ask thee what I do, tell her, faithfull paper, that I am night and day washing away her infidelity with my tears; and if thou dost move her to so much repentance, as to drop a tear upon thee, tell her of the sin she hath committed against her own faith and my affection; and that my sorrowes are witnesses both before men and gods, that she is both the fairest and the most perfidious woman upon earth; and also, that I am the most faithfull, and the most affectionate adorer of her that ever lived, with this assurance, that I shall never enjoy any contentment, but in death.

We no sooner cast our eyes upon the writing, but we knew it to be the hand of Cela∣don:

this was the cause of Lycidas his gazing up the water to look for him: and he used such diligence that in two or three dayes he found him out in his solitary habitation, so much unlike what he was, that he was not knowable: But when Lycidas told him that he must come to me, and that I did so command it; he could hardly be perswaded but that his Brother would deceive him. At last, the Letter which he gave him from me did so revive him that in a few dayes he cheered up his countenance, and came unto us, yet not so soon but Alcippes: dyed before his return, and Amarillis followed him, a few dayes after. Then had we some hopes that fortune had shot her worst arrowes against us, since they two who did most crosse our designes were dead, but it did not so happen: for the businesse of Corebes so continued, that Alces, Hippolita and Phocion did much trouble my tranquillity; and yet our misery did not proceed from them, though Corebes was partly the cause of it: for when he came to make his addresses to me, being very rich, he brought many shepheards with him, amongst which was Semires; a shepheard truly of many excellent qualities, but the most false and cunning man that ever lived: as soon as ever he saw me, his designe was to serve me, not valuing the friendship twixt Corebes and him and since Celadon and I had a∣greed to dissemble it, the better to colour our loves, he to seeme as if he loved all shephear∣desses, and I to admit patiently of all addresses to me, he presently did think that my good reception of him did proceed from some good affection to him. But he had not so soon knowne of the affection betwixt Celodon and me, had he not by ill luck found some of my Letters: Now though all knew that he loved me, yet few beleeved that I loved him, so cold∣ly did I carry my selfe towards him: and because Alcippes had found our Letters which had cost us so dear, we would not trust them that way any longer but invented another trick which we thought more safe. Celadon was wont to have a hole in the lining of his hat, in which he used to put such Letters as he writ unto me, then he would throw it at me in a jesting manner, or else leave it by me, that I might take it out, and returne mine the same way back againe: I know not how, but one day as ill luck was, I let fall one of my Letters, and Semires took it up; which when he read, he found these lines.

Astreas Letter unto Celadon.

My dear Celadon,

I Have received your Letter with as much joy, as I know you did mine; & there is not a syl∣lable in it, but is a full satisfaction to me, unlesse your thanks: they are neither becomming my affection, nor Celadon, who long since gave me all he had: These thankes you give, are either yours or not yours: if they be not yours, then nothing that was this title, can be accep∣table to me; if they be yours, why do you give me that which you gave me before? Celadon, I beseech you use no more any of these complements, unlesse you will have me think you to be fuller of Civility then Love.

After he had found this Letter, his thoughts were not so much of Love as how to make Celadon and me at odds, and he began thus. In the first place, he beseeched me to pardon him for being so bold, as to lift up his eyes so high, as upon me, whose beauty had constrained him unto it: & that he was so conscious of his own smal merits, that he would never trouble me any more, only beseeched me to forget his rash attempt: afterwards he did so much court the friendship and familiarity of Celadon, as if he had loved him above all the men in the world: And the more to blind me lie never met me, but took an occasion to speak very ad∣vantageously of my shepheard, covering his intentions with such a subtile cloak, that none could imagine he had a designe it it; his commends of the person whom I loved, did, as I said before, so deceive me that I took great delight in talking with him: & thus two or three Monthes passed very happily both for Celadon and me. But I think it was to make me the more: sensible of of my ensuing misery, which I shall never remember but with warry eyes: here she stopped and in lieu of words, did by her tears represent her sorrowes unto the com∣pany, that neither she nor they durst open their mouthes fearing to augment her teares: for the more one thinkes to stop the current of teares by reason, the more they will flow. At last she began to pursue her former discourse: Alas, wise Diana, said she, I cannot remember this fatall disaster without a tribute of sad teares, Semires now had gotten such familiarity both with Celadon and me, as we were seldome asunder. And when he thought he had sufficiently insinuated himselfe into credence, and thought he could perswade me to what he would, one day after we had long talked of severall infidelities, which shepheards

used towards shepherdesses whom they faigned to Love. I wonder said he, that so few shepherdesses should take warning by so many examples, though otherwise they are very discreet and wise. The reason is, answered I, because Love hath blinded their eyes: 'Faith I think so, replied he, for otherwise it is impossible but you should see somthing which con∣cernes your self. Then holding his peace, and seeming as if he could say more, but repen∣ted of what he had said, Semires, Semires, (said he, turning his back) what dost thou do? Dost thou not see that she will be displeased at the knowledge of it? Why wilt thou then torment her? And then addressing himself unto me, he went on: I see, fair Astrea, that my talk had like to have displeased you, but pardon me I beseech you, since it was only my zeal to your service, that I said so much: Semires, said I unto him, I am much obliged to you for your good will to me, and should be much more if you would finish that dis∣course which you begun: Oh shepheardesse, (answered he) I doubt I have said too much already, but perhaps time will tell you more, and then you will know Semires to be your faithfull servant. Oh deceitfull man, how good did he make his wicked promises unto me? For since that I have known but too much, to know it with any desire of living: at that time he would tell me no more, purposely to whet my desire of knowing it: but when he thought that my desire was now eager enough, & after I had very importunately urged him to tell it, he answered me thus. Fair shepheardesse, you seem to be so very desirous, that I should think it a fault in me if I did disobey you: but truly, I am much afraid it will more displease you. Then after I had assured him there was nothing could much displease her, he knew so well how to perswade me that Celadon loved Aminthea Daughter unto the Sonne of Cleanthes, that jealousy, the usuall companion of all Soules who Love truly, began to make me think this might be true, forgetting the command which I had imposed up∣pon him, to faine all love unto all shepheardesses. However, to disguise my displeasure, I answered Semires that I never did nor would beleeve, Celadon did more particularly apply himself unto me then unto others; and that the familiarity which was between them, was only the consequent of a long acquaintance: but as for any matters of love, and addresses of that nature, that they were altogether indifferent unto me. Then this subtile man answered me thus, I thank the gods that your humour is such; and since it is so, you will take some delight in hearing some of those passionate expressions, which he bestowed upon his deare Aminthea. I must confesse, wise Diana, when I heard Aminthea called, his, I changed colour: and because he offered to relate their discourse, I seemed willing to heare more of the in∣fidelity of Celadon, though alas more faithfull, then I was well advised. So I accepted of his offer, and indeed he made good his promises. For a little after, he came running unto me, and told me, he had left them together not farre off and that Celadon's head did lie in Amintheas lap, and she holding his head; relating these particulars purposely to nettle me the more. Then I followed him, though I neither knew which way I went, nor what I did, until we came very neere, though they neither heard nor saw us. I have since thought, that it was because they cared not who either saw or heard them; but so it was, that I heard Celadon answer her, Beleeve me, fair shepheardesse, never did beautie make a deeper impression in any soul, then it hath in mine: but Celadon answered Aminthea, It is not possible a heart so young as yours, should long retaine that impression which love hath made in it. Incredu∣lous shepheardesse, (replyed my Celadon) let us leave off these reasons; do not measure me by the yard or weights of another: but bless me with your favour, and you shall see whether or no my young heart can preserve them as long as it lives: Celadon, Celadon, replyed Amin∣thea, you would be but deservedly punished, if your dissimulations should become truthes, and if heaven in my revenge should make you love Aminthea in earnest, whom now I know you do but jeast with. Hitherto, all was well enough: but Oh heavens what a strange an∣swer of dissimulation did he returne? Fair shepheardesse, answered he, if I do mock or jeast with you, may Love turne all my mockery upon my self, & if I have merited it that he would punish me with your menaces. Aminthea, not being able to reach the intention of his dis∣course did answer him only with a sigh and in such a manner, as I in my language did inter∣pret, that she would not have rejected him, if she could have credited his language. But that which most perplexed me, was, that after Celadon had been a while silent, he fetched a deep sigh which presently she answered with another: and when he did rise up to speak unto her she covered her eyes with her hand & blusht, as being ashamed that this sigh had escaped her: and after a little pausing silence, Aminthea said thus unto him. Come Celadon, are you so soone weary of my company? I rather feare (said he) that I shall weary her, whom I extreamly desire to please and therefore since you command it, I will stay. I dare not use

commands (replied the Shepheardesse) where intreaties perhaps will be too indiscreet. Use what termes you please, replied the Shepheard, but I am much your servant. So he set himselfe down, and began thus.

A Madrigall Upon a resemblance 'twixt his Lady and him.

WEll may one say, that our two hearts Are like a Rock that never starts: A Rock in Constancy isimine, A Rock insensible is thine.

Fair Diana, I was not able to stay any longer in this place, but stealing gently away, I returned to my flock, so sad, as all that day I could not utter one word, and passed away the night with a thousand sad conceits, and cryed as long as I had any tears. I do admire I should be so blinded; for had I retained the least spark of judgment, I should have re∣membered, that it was my command he should faigne love: But the next morning when he came unto me, I gave him such harsh entertainment, as made him desperate, and caused him to throw himselfe into that gulph, where he and all my joyes were drowned toge∣ther.

At this word she looked as pale as death, and had not Phillis revived her, taking her into her armes, she had swouned.

The noise which they made at Astrea's swouning was so great, that Leonida waked, and hearing some talk so neer her, her curiosity invited her to know who they were. And because these three Shepheardesses were risen up to go away, all she could do was to wake Silvia, to shew them unto her. Assoon as she saw them, she knew Astrea, though the disaster of Celadon had much altered her. Leonida asked her, who were the other two? The one of them, said she, who is on the left hand, is Phillis, her deer companion; and the other is Diana, daughter to the sage Relinda and Celion: I am very sorry we have slept so long, for I am confident we should have received some newes from them; for it is likely they came into this place so far from company, purposely to talk with more freedome. I must ingenuously confesse (said Leonida) that I never in all my life saw any fairer then Astrea, she has the advantage of all others. Consider then, said Silvia, what hopes Gala∣thea has to divert the affection of this Shepheard from her. This consideration did touch Leonida so to the quick, that she did resent it more for her own cause than Galathea's: However, Love, which never leaves a Lover without some sweet hopes, would not treat this Nymph worse then others; and therefore, though with small probability, yet, she promised her selfe thus much hope, that, perhaps absence from Astrea, together with her own kindnesse, mightwork an alteration in him. Then, after some other such dis∣course, these two Nymphs parted, Leonida towards Feurs, and Silvia towards Isoures, whilst the three Shepheardesses retired to their Cabins.

No sooner had they set foot in the great meadow, where of late they used to meet, but they espied Lycidas talking with Silvander; yet, assoon as ever this Shepheard saw Astrea, he grew so pale and altered, that least Silvander should take notice of it, he broke from him with a hollow excuse; but striving to avoid meeting with them, Phillis with Diana crossed the way to overtake him, and when she came at him, she said unto him, If you thus flie your friends, Lycidas, what would you do to your enemies? The company you keep so much, Phillis, answered he, does not deserve the title of friend. She whom you so much complain of (answered Phillis) does endure more torment for her offending of you, then you your selfe doth. There is no way to cure the wound (answered the Shep∣heard) but by breaking the weapon which gave it. By this time Astrea was come up, who addressed her selfe unto Lycidas, and said unto him, I am so far, Lycidas, from thinking your hatred of me unjust, as I must confesse, you cannot hate me so much as you have cause for; yet, if the memory of him, who causeth me to give you this sad satisfacti∣on, be yet as fresh in your minde, as it is, and ever shall be, in mine, you will also remem∣ber, that I was she whom he loved above all the world. Lycidas would have answered, and perhaps, according to his passion, very sharply; but Diana stopped his mouth with her hand, and said, Lycidas, Lycidas, if you do not accept of this satisfaction, both I, and all the world, will say, you are unreasonable. Astrea, not insisting upon what Diana said, and taking away her hand from before his mouth, she said, No, no, wise Shepheardesse, do not constrain Lycidas, let him use all the harsh language he pleasth, I know they are

effects of a most just sorrow; yet, I know withall, that his losse is not greater then mine. Lycidas hearing these words, and not being able to command himselfe, he went away: Phillis followed, and knew so well how to represent the griefe of Astrea, and the villany of Semires, that at last she reconciled him to the Company.

But though Leonida made all the haste she could; yet, because she slept so long, she could get no further then Ponsins; her Host being a very honest man, lodged her in the best lodging he had: In the next room unto hers, were lodged two other strangers, there being only a thin partition betwixt their two Chambers; so as Leonida could hear all that they said, and hearkening at the partition, she heard one of them say unto the other, What should I say more unto you, only, that Love has made you thus impatient. Leoni∣da thought she should know the voice, but she could not well remember it, untill the o∣ther spake, saying, But that, Climanthes, is not it which troubles me; for, the attempt shall never so much dismay me, but I will still hope for a good issue of our Enterprise. That which I most fear, and which makes me fit upon such thornes, as you see me, is, that you have not made her well understand what we have determined to do, or else, that she does not give any credit unto your words. Leonida hearing this discourse, and know∣ing very well who it was which spoke, being both amuzed, and desirous to know more, she setled her selfe so neer the partition, that she lost not a word of what was spoken: And then she heard Climanthes say, I have oft told you, that the businesse is impossible. Yes, said the other, only in your judgment. Truly, answered Climanthes, to make you confesse it, and to ease you of your pain, I will once more make you a repetition of the whole bu∣sinesse. Then he began thus.

The History of the Falsities of Climanthes.

AFter we were all parted, and you had by your discourse made me acquainted with Galathea, Silvia, Leonida, and all the Nymphs of Amasis, as afterwards you did by a sight of them, I conceived, that the next principall thing which might further our de∣signe, was, to know how Lindamor was habited the day of his departure: For, you know, that Clidaman and Guyamant being gone into Merovea, Amasis commanded Lindamor to follow him, with all the brave Cavaliers of this Country, to the end that Clidaman might appear in more lustre. And it seemed, as ill luck was, that Lindamor intended to change the Livery of his servants; but so it was, that I having an observant eye of every thing, one night as he was in the street, I heard him command one of his men to go unto his Taylor, and fetch the Coat that he had made against the day of Rendevonz, that he might try how it fitted him: And since he had charged the Taylor to let none see it, he gave this servant a Ring as a token, that he came from his Master: I followed the servant so close, that I knew the lodging and the name of the Taylor: The next morning betimes I went unto him, and told him that I came from Lindamor, to see in what forwardnesse his clothes were: for Amasis was so pressing to have him go, and his fears of his cloths not being finished in time, made me come to bring him the certain truth, for he would not trust him; he would have given his Ring for a token (said I) but he told me, this would be suf∣ficient that I tell you, he sent last night for the Coat, and he who came for it, brought it again. Thus I deceived the Taylor, and took notice of his cloths as well as possibly I could. Then I seeming to hasten him with his work, he told me, that he had time enough; for, he had seen a Letter which Amasis did write unto the Maior of the Town, comman∣ding him to summon all the gallantry of the Town against such a day, on which Linda∣mor, and such as went with him, were to depart. By this means I came to know the day of Lindamor's departure; and moreover, then you were in this country, which was an ac∣cident that fell out very happily for the furthering our designe, which you had already been advertised of. In order to this, I retired my selfe into the great wood of Savignieu, neer a little River which ••••ns through it; there I erected a little Hut of boughes, so close, that many passed by never espying me; and this I did, that it might be believed I had long dwelt there; for you know, that none in this Country knew me. And to make it seem I had long inhabited there, the leaves and boughes which covered my Cabin were all wi∣thered. I decked up a Table with a Looking-glasse upon it, setround with Ivy, Misletoe, and Holline, and strewed my room with Rushes, Vervin and such like: I set my Looking∣glasse in the most dark part of the room, to the end my Art might not be so soon disco∣vered; and opposite to this mirrour, I placed my painted Paper, wherein I had so exactly

drawn the place which I intended to shew Galathea, as none could distinguish between the Originall and the Copy. Above this glasse did hang a plank, upon which an ugly grim visage was painted, and hanged by a small thred, which, with the obscurity of the place, could not be discerned; at the bottom of this plank was fixed a steel, which, when the plank fell, the steel did hit against a piece of flint, purposely so set, as it never failed of fire; about which place I had set a composure of Sulphure, and Salt-peeter, which, when fire did fall into it, did break into strange kinde of flames, in such a strange manner, and with such celeritie as might well cause wonder. All this I invented, that it might be thought either some Divinity, or else some Witchcraft. After all things were thus ordered, I did sometimes expose my selfe to sight, but very seldome; and assoon as I perceived any saw me, I presently retreated into my Cell, where I made a show, as if I lived only upon roots herbs, and air, though in the night I changed habit, and provided all things necessary. Within a few daies many took notice of me, and my fame was so great, that it reached the ears of Amasis, who used often to come and walk in the Gardens of Mount-Brison. Upon a time, Sildres, Silvia, Leonida, and severall others of their company, did walk along the banks of my little River, where then I seemed, as if I were gathering some herbs: assoon as I perceived they saw me, I ran hastily into my Cabin; they being full of curiosity to see me, and to talk with me, did come after me through the wood: I, by that time had got upon my knees, and when I saw them look through my dore, I went towards it, where the first that met me was Leonida; and because she had thrust open the dore, and was ready to enter, I sharply reprehended her, saying, Leonida, the Deities whom I adore, does command you not to prophane their Altar. Upon these words she was a little surprized, and retreated for, my habit of a Druide got me reverence, and my naming (Deitle) did strike with terror: But, aften a little recollection of her selfe, she said thus unto me, The Altars of your Deities be they whom they will, cannot be profaned, by receiving my de∣votion, which came hither only to render that honour which the heavens demands of us. The heavens indeed (answered I) doth expect both devotion and honour, but not diffe∣rent from such as they ordain. If any zeal to the divinity whom I adore, has brought you hither, then you must observe what she commands. What is her commandements (said Silvia)? Silvia, (said I unto her) if you come with the same devotion that your companion doth, then do as I shall bid you, and your devotion will be acceptable unto my deitie. Before the Moon does enter into her decrease, wash your right thigh as low as your knee, and your right arm as low as your elbow, before day, in this River, which runs before this sacred Cave; and afterwards come hither with a Chaplet of Vervine up∣on your head, and a Girdle of Fern about your middle; then shall I declare unto you the mysteries of this holy place. Then taking her by the hand, I said thus unto her, Would you have me (for a testimony of that favour, which the deities are pleased to confer upon me) tell you some passages of your life past, and some that are to come? No, not I (said she) for I am not so full of curiosity: but you my Companion (said she, and turned to∣wards Leonida) I have known you heretofore full of such curiosity. And so I am still (said Leonida, and presented her hand unto me). Then calling to memorie what you told me concerning these Nymphs in particular, I took her hand, and asked her, whether she was born in the night, or in the day time; and understanding that it was in the night, I took her left hand, and after a considering pause, I said unto her, Leonida, This Line of Life being handsome, well marked, and long, does demonstrate, that you must live long, and free from any corporeall maladies; but this little Crosse upon the same Line, almost at the top of the Angle, does portend some maladies of Love, which will hinder you from being so sound in minde as in body: and these five or six little Points, which are sowed like little grainee here and there, upon the same Line, do signifie, that you will never hate them that love you, and will much delight in being courted. Then look upon the other Line, which takes its root from that which we spoke of before, which passing through the midst of the hand, does raise it selfe up towards the hill of the Moon, it is called the middle natu∣rall Line; These fractions which you see and seem so little, do signifie, that you are easi∣ly angred, even against those, over whom Love has given you authoritie: And this little star which turnes against the rising of the pulse, doth shew, that you are full of goodnesse and sweetnesse, and that your anger is soon over. But observe that Line which we call the Table Line, which joynes it selfe with the middle naturall Line, so as both do make an Angle, this doth demonstrate various troubles in matter of Love, and which will of∣ten render your life very displeasing, and tells me, that it will be very long or never, before

your desres come to a conclusion. I would have continued, when she pulled back her hand and told me, that this was not that which she did ask of me, but she defired to know what would become of that designe which she had in hand, and that I would not speak so generally as before, but come to particulars. To which I answered, that the Divine powers did keep the future to themselves, unlesse somtimes out of their goodnesse they revealed them unto their servants and that somtimes for the publique good, somtimes to satisfie the servent prayers of those who do often importune them at their Altars: and very often to show that nothing is hid from them; but alwayes unto such as are prudent and discreet: for the secrets of the gods would not be made common, or divulged, but upon speciall occasi∣ons. I tell you this, that your curiositie may rest contented, though I have not so clearely discovered things unto you, as you desire. Nor is it either expedient or necessary, I should tell you any more: but to the end you may know, that the gods are not niggards of their favours but speak familiarly unto me. I will tell you of such things as have happened unto you, by which you may very well Judge, that I do know them.

In the first place, fair Nymph, you know that though I never saw you before, yet at the very first entrance I called you by your names; which I did, that you might beleeve me to be above the common degree of knowledge, not that I do ascribe any glory unto my selfe, for that would be high presumption, but unto the gods whom I do adore in this place. Then you beleeve that all I say, I learned from my master. (And in this I lyed not, for it was you Polemas who told me all) But, continued I, particularities will make my dis∣course very long; it were convenient, if we went under some of those shady trees. Upon this we went, and then I began thus; Truly, Clemanthes (said Polemas to him and interrupted him) you could not carry out this beginning with more artifice. You shall judge, answered Cleanthes, whether I did not continue it with as much or more prudence: Then thus I began, Fair Nymph, it is now about three yeares since the noble Agis in a full assembly was given unto you for a Servant. At the first, you were very indifferent; for then the un∣ripenesse of both your ages, had not made you capable of such passions as Love did conceive: but since that time, your beautie in him, and his addresses unto you, did by degrees kindle those sires which nature at the first had laid a foundation for: so as that which at the first was but indifferent in you both, became now particular; and Love did furnish his soul with all such passions as usually do accompany it: likwise you began to bear him so much good will as to accept of his affection and services above others. The first time he ever made any overtures unto you, was when Amasis did walk in the gardens of Mount-Brison, when he took you by the hand, and after a long pause, upon a suddain he broke into these expressions: Fair Nymph I will no longer dispute with my selfe, whether I should or I should not declare, the thoughts of my soul unto you, for now my soul begins to be angry with me, and constraines me to it. Here I stopt, and said, unto her; Leonida, will you have me repeat the very same words to a syllable, that you used in answer to him? Beleeve me, (said Polemas them) you run a great hazard to be discovered. No no, answered Cleanthes, and to give a testimonie that I have not lost my memorie, I wil repeat unto you the same words: But replyed Polemas, perhaps I might either forget or mistake them: Oh never doubt that (said Cleanthes) for I beleeve she herself cannot remember her own very words; so as having an opinion that I recieved mine from the gods, doubtlesse she would have beleeved them the same, though you had never been familiar with her. But remembring that you served her long, and that your services were alwayes well received untill you changed affection and addressed it unto Galathea, and upon that reason she took part with Lindamor against you, therefore I spoke more confidently of the past passages, knowing well that Love wil not let a lover conceal any thing from the party loved; but to returne to the purpose, she an∣swered me; I see you can tell us what you wil, but we can believe what we please, this she said, as being a little nettled in that which perhaps she would have concealed from her compa∣nions: however I went on True, Leonida, (said I,) you may beleeve what you please, but I am sure tell you nothing but what you know is true: you answered Agis, as if you did not understand his meaning, whatsoever it be, Agis (said you unto him) out with it: for dissimulation misbecomes all men, especially such as you. This advice (answered he) to∣gether which my own passion constraines me to tell your Fair Nymph, That the inequali∣ty of my merits compared with yours is not able to stop the violence of my affection but if the will of a giver be more to be looked unto, then the quality of the gift, I dare boldly say, that mine is not a despisable sacrifice. For the heart which I do give, I do give it with all the affections, with all the faculties, and with all the power of my soul; and this so abso∣lutely,

as hereafter, it is not mine, I do disavow and renounce it as a thing that does not be∣long unto me: untowhich you answered; Agis, I shall beleeve these words, when time and your services has told as much as your tongue: This, Leonida, was the first declaration of affection which you received from him, which afterwards he did prosecute with many ad∣dresses and quarrells which he underwent against many when he was jealous. It was now the time, Leonida, when you, as you were curling your haire with hot Irons, you burned your cheek, upon which subject he composed these verses.

Agis, Upon the burning of Leonida's cheeke.

AS Love was sporting in the fuire And lovely tresses of your haire, A sparkle of his fire did seek; To kisse the beauty of your cheeke. And being full of hot desire, He kissed it as hot as fire.

Judge cruell Nimph, by this, what pain Poor lovers by Lov's fire sustaine: Since but apittance, or a part Of his great fire, can cause such smart.

The scorching Luster of your eyes, So full of flaming cruelties Against my heart a hundred sends Whilst only one, your cheek offends; But had Love bit aright the mark Upon your heart had light the spark.

Judge cruell Nymph, by this, what pain Poor Lovers by Loves fire sustain: Since but a pittance, or a part Of his great flame, can case such smart.

Now, Leonida, to make it appear, that I do know al these things from a Divinitie who never lies, and whose eye and eare does look into the very center of all hearts; I will tell you one thing which none did ever know but your self and Agis. She was now afraid, lest I should discover some secret which would anger her, and indeed it was my design to make her have that apprehension and therefore with a troubled mind, she said thus unto me; man of God, though I do not fear that you or any other can say any thing which will much preju∣dice me, yet the discovery of secrets is a thing of so tender a concernment as be they touched by never so gentle a hand, yet it wil annoy: therefore I beseech you let this discourse have an end; she uttered these words with so much alteration in her lookes, and in such a faint tone, as to cheere her up, I was forced to say thus; you need not think me of so shallow discreti∣on, but that I know how to conceale any thing which will offend you: and therefore fince you will know no more, I know how to be silent; also it is time for me to returne to that Divinity who calls me: then I did rise up, and bad them adieu. Then after I had cere∣moniously washed my hand in this River, upon my knees, I said, Oh Soveraigne Dietie which resides in this place, behold how in this water I wash away, and purifie my self from all the prophanitie which the conversation with men might have defiled me withall, since I came out of thy holy Temple. At this word, I washed my hands, my head, my feet, and all parts over, so entred into my cabin, not speaking a word after unto her: and because I did imagine, that their curiositie would invite them to come and see what I did, I went unto my Altar, and kneeling down; I let down, the plank which had the steel in it, and which immediatly fell upon the flint, and fired my composition. The Nymphs first seeing my looking glasse which cast a very resplendent Luster, and after such a flaming combustion upon a sudden, they returned home with a great opinion of my sanctitie, and reverence towards the Divinitie whom I adored. Could matters be better executed then

this? No certainly, answered Polemas, for I believe any one that was not acquainted with it, might have been deceived as well as the Nymphs.

Whilst Climanthes talked thus, Leonida who heard him, was so ravished out of her selfe, as she hardly knew whether she was awake or asleep, for she found all he related to be very true; and yet she could not well believe that it was so: But whilst she was thus in dispute with her selfe, she heard Climanthes begin again thus, Then these Nymphs went away, and what reports they made of me, I know not; but I conjecture they talked very highly of me, and such strange things, that all the Court was full of me: for, as fame al∣waies encreaseth by passing from mouth to mouth; so an infinite number came to see me, some out of curiosity, others to know their Fortunes, and many to see whether all reports of me were true; so as I was put to all my shifts for maintaining my reputation. To avoid some, I said, that this was a day on which the deitie would not hear nor answer; to others I said, that some had offended the divinity, and therefore they would give no return, un∣till I had appeased them by fasting; to others, I did prescribe a long pennance before I could undertake them: And when all was done, I said, they had either done too much, or too little, of that which I did impose upon them, and so I alwaies gained time: As for such as I knew any thing of their businesse, I dispatched them readily enough; and that was the rea∣son, why all others, who desired to know as much as they, did wholly submit unto what∣soever I did impose upon them. At the last, Amasis her selfe came to see me, and brought Galathea with her; after I had satisfied Amasis in all her demands, which in sum was, whether Clideman should be prosperous in his voyage: and I answered her, that he should run through much varietie of fortune, that he should be wounded, and that he should be in three Battles with the Princes of France; but that at last, he should return with much glory; Then she went away well satisfied, and desired me to recommend her son unto the tuition of the deitie whom I adored. But Galathea much fuller of curiosity then her Mo∣ther, taking me aside, thus said unto me, Good Father, I beseech you oblige me so far, as to let me know, what Fate I must expect. Then I did bid her shew me her hand, I looked her in the face, I made two or three circles on the ground, and turned towards the same; then I took the measure of her hand, of her foot, of her neck, and many other ceremonies did I use. At last, looking stedfastly upon her, I said, Galathea, You are infinitely happy, if you can but know how to take the advantage of one houre; and you are extreamly mi∣serable, if either out of carelessnesse, or out of love or out of fear, you let this houre slip: But, the very truth is, unlesse you would make your selfe uncapable of that happinesse, un∣to which the heavens destined you, you cannot attain unto greater felicity; all your hap∣pinesse, or all your misery, depends upon Love. Be advised therefore, and take a strong resolution, not to be intangled by the allurements of love; let neither the counsell of Friends, nor command of Parents, stagger you; for if you do, then there is none under heaven will be more miserable then your selfe. Oh heavens! (said Galathea then) how you amaze me. Nay, never wonder (said I unto her) for this which I tell you is only for your good: and to the end you may carry your selfe with more prudence, I will discover unto you, as much as the deitie will permit me; but be sure you keep all I shall say most secret, and do not impart it to any upon earth. After she had promised me so to do, I proceeded on. Daughter (said I) for so my divine office allowes me to call you, you shall be courted and sued unto, by many noble Cavaliers, whose vertues and merits may haply move you to cast an eye upon some of them: but, if you do measure your affection, either by their me∣rits, or by their loves, and not by what I shall say unto you, then you will become as mi∣serable, as one, that is out of the favour of the gods, can be. As for me, who am the in∣terpreter of their will, by thus telling you, I do deprive you of all excuses, which can be drawn from ignorance. You know, that heaven requires obedience and submission above all other sacrifices, therefore be sure you remember what I say. Upon the Bacchanalian feast day, when men are swell'd with the enthusiasms of their god, you shall be in the great Town of Marcelles, where many Gallants will see you; but, take good heed of him who shall wear a suit made of green cloth of gold: If you do love him, I shall lament your sad fate, for you shall be the Butt of all disasters and misfortunes. Father, said she unto me, I do know a good remedie against all these, and that is, to love none at all My Child (said I unto her) there is danger also in this remedie; for, you may as well offend the gods, in not doing that which they would have you do, as in doing that which they would not have you do; therefore take heed of that. How then must I behave my selfe (said she)? I have already told you what you must not do, (answered I); And now I will

tell you what you must do: In the first place you must know, that all corporeall or sphitu∣all bodies, have their sympathies and antipathies from the lesser we may come to the proof of the greater. My aim is, to make you understand, that you have both a good and a bad Genius waiting upon you, one contrary to the other; and to avoid the bad, you must court the good, who will make you infinitely happy, did you but know to hit your houre Oh Father! (said she) I do conjure you by the divinity whom you adore to tell me what I should do. There is another person, (answered I) whom if you do marry, you will enjoy more felicitie, then ever any mortall did. I beseech you, said Galathea, who is it? That, fair Nymph (said I) must not come from me, but only from Hecathe whom I a∣dore, so as if I do not satisfie you in that, do not think it is for want of any good will, but because she hath not yet revealed it unto me; may be, because I had not so much curiosity as to enquire it. But if you would know, then observe what I shall say unto you, and then you shall know as much as is necessary: for, as the Gods do liberally dispence their be∣nefits unto men when they please, so they would be acknowledged Gods: The sacrifices of mortalls are pleasing unto them, as testimonies, that they are not ungratefull for the bene∣fits which they receive. The Nymph much ravished then, answered, That she desired no more, and that she would punctually observe whatsoever I should ordain. Now then is the time, said I unto her, for the Moon is now at the full, or very neer it; and if you should let her decrease, it would for ever after be too late. Then I did command her to do the same things I did Silvia and Leonida, to wash her selfe before day in this little River, both thighes and armes, and to come thus, with a Chaplet of Vervine, and a Girdle of Mosse or Fem, before my Cell, and that I would prepare all things necessary for the sacri∣fice. Well, said she, I will come, and bring two of my Nymphs with me, and so privatly, that none shall ever know of my coming but they: but, be sure you be well advised what you speak before them of this businesse, for they wil endeavour all they can to divert me. I was very glad of this caution, having my selfe the same fears; and because I perceived, that she resolved to follow my counsell, otherwise she would not have cared who had known it. Thus she went away, with a full resolution to return the third day after. The reason why I said, that it must be before the Moones decrease, was, to the end, that if any came to me in the mean time, I might put them off with an excuse, that the Mocil was not yet at the full. Also I said, that it must be before day, to the end I might have fewer people come to trouble me And as for the Bacchanalian Feast, I had computed it to fall upon the same day, on which Lindamor was to take his leave of Amasis at Marcelles, and conse∣quently of Galathea; and also, that he should wear this day a green suit. All things then being thus resolved upon, and prepared, I took order for the sacrifice: and though I was not well versed in that mystery, yet, I shewed all the skill I had, lest they should finde me ignorant in any thing.

The morning being come, and day within little of dawning, I found her in the same posture I appointed, with Silvia and Leonida. I wished with all my soul, Polemas, that you had been there, that you might have enjoyed the happinesse to have seen this fair one, in such a lovely mode; you had seen how the wanton winde did play with her lovely locks, which hung loose in curious curles upon her alabaster shoulders, and had no other cover, but the Chaplet of Vervine. There you might have blessed your eyes with a sight of her naked armes and ••••ighes, no show so white; and her pretty little feet might have shamed Thetis.

I must ingenuously confesse, that I wished the wings of time had been clipped, that I might have looked longer upon these beauties, who, as I told them, must needs be well per∣fumed with the finest Aromatique smells, lest the visions of the deity of Styx should offend them, and to that end shewed them a place more private, where they could not easily be seen.

Upon the side of a hill from whence this little River runs, there was a very close and thick thicket of wood, whose branches were so enterwoven with leaves, they did make most close and delightfull umbrage; so as the penetrating Sun-beams could not reach into the hollow vault under it: This gloomy shade did encourage them unto much boldnesse, but yet their curiosity to be informed of what they defired, much more: There then it was where these three Nymphs began to undresse themselves, and use all such necessary per∣fumes as I prescribed; and I knowing the place very well, did steal my selfe so neer, as I could easily see them naked. I must confesse, I never saw so lovely a sight in all my life; but above all, I found Leonida most admirable, both in the straight proportion of her bo∣dy,

in the purely whitenesse of her skin, in the smoothnesse and plumpnesse of every part she excelled them all by much; so as I began to discommend your judgment, and think you a man unexpert in hidden beauties, since you quitted Leonida for Galathea: who, it is true, has somthing that is fair in her face; but, her other parts are so fat short, of what by her face might be expected, as she may be truly called a deceiver. Oh heavens! Climan∣thes (said Polemas, who could not endure to hear her whom he so loved thus spoken of) leave off this discourse, for Leonida's face is not worthy to come in comparison with Ga∣lathea's. Well sir, (answered Climanthes) think what you please, but I am sure Leonida's face is the least fair part about all her body. Then I would advise her (said Polemas) to hide her face, and shew us what is more fair: But I believe, Climanthes, your eyes were not competent judges; for the obscurity of the place, perhaps, would not suffer you to see them perfectly. But i beseech you let this discourse alone, and go on with your story. Le∣onida, who heard all this, and seeing with what scorn Polemas did speak of her, she be∣gan to be so much offended with him, as she resolved never to pardon him. On the con∣trary, though she hated these impostures of Climanthes, yet she could not chuse but love to hear her selfe so much commended: for nothing does more tickle a young Lady, than ap∣plauding her beauty, especially, when there is no suspition of flattery. Whilst she was in these thoughts, she heard Climanthes continue his story, on thus, Then these three Nymphs came unto me, where they found me before my Cell, and preparing all things for the sacrifice I lighted up three candles, and I burned incense three times round the room then I took off their Chaplets of Vervine, and crowned them with Poppy, and put some falt into their mouths, and bad them chew it: Then I took three black Heifers, the best I could chuse, and nine Ewes which had never taken the Ramm, whose black and long wool resembled silk, so soft and smooth it was I cut off the hair which grew between their hornes, and cost it into the fire, sprinkling upon it milk, wine, flower, and honey; and after I had called upon Hecathe three times, I thrust my knife into the hearts of these Ani∣mals, one after another, and took their blood in a great bason: Then falling upon my knees, I called again upon Hecathe; afterwards I rose up, and seemed as if I were transported, say∣ing unto the Nymphs, See, see, the deitie! it is time, it is time, it is time! then taking Gala∣thoa by the hand, I stared with my eyes, shook my head, gaped with my mouth, made my breast to pant, and all my body trembled, as if I were in a holy rapture: Then being neer the altar, I said, Oh holy deitie, who resides in this place, give unto me power to satisfie this Nymph in her demands with all truth. The room was dark, and had no light, but such a hollow gloominesse as the candles gave; but the day being now light, and the Sun up, it shined upon the painted paper, and made it represent it selfe much better in the Loo∣king glasse; afterwards I addressed my selfe unto Galathea, saying, Oh fair Nymph! thou art the favourit of heaven, thy prayers are heard, and thy sacrifice is received▪ It is the pleasure of the deitie, that not only by the ear, but also by the eye, thou maist know the place where thou shalt finde thy happinesse. Come neer this altar, and say after me, Oh, most mighty Hecathe, whose habitation is in the Stygian Lake, at whom the churlish Dog with three heads never barks; may thy altars ever smoak with acceptable sacrifices, which I do vow annually to pay, so as, great goddesse, thou wilt let me see what I desire. At this word I let down the plank which had the steel in it, which being fallen upon the flint, the fire did flash presently, so as Galathea was surprised with fear: But I did say un∣to her, Fear not fair Nymph, it is Hecathe who shewes you what you desire. Then the smoak by degrees vanishing, the Looking glasse was to be seen; and, as good luck was, the Sun shined so clearly and directly upon it, as made the painted paper most plainly appear in it: After they had a while beheld it, I said unto Galathea, Know Nymph, that Hecathe by me does let thee know, It is in this place which you see in the Glasse, where you shall finde a jewell, halfe lost and despised, out of a thought that it is false; and yet it is of an inestimable value, take it and keep it carefully. This River which you see in it, is Lignon: that Grove of Willowes beyond it is towards Mount Verdan. Observe well the place and remember it. Then taking Galathea aside, I said unto her, You have, as I told you before, a Genius, that swells with abundance of malevolent influence; and another, the most benign and sweet, as possibly can be desired From the evill influence guard your selfe, if you do love your own contentment: the good influence is that which you do see in the mirrour. Observe well the place which I have let you see, and to the end you may the better remember it, I bid you go and see it, and observe it well; for, when the Moon shall be just of the same age, that this day she is, a little sooner, or a little later, you shall

finde him whom you most love: If he see you before you see him, he shall love you, and you with much a do will love him: On the contrary, if you see him first, he shall be hard∣ly brought to love you, but you will love him immediately: But however, you must over∣come your selfe and love him, yea, and overcome him also, if need be; for doubtlesse you will at last bring it to passe: If you do not meet him the first time, then go again the next Moon, upon the same day, and same houre, and so to the third; for come he will, though Hecathe will not assure me of the day. Then taking a little branch of Hollin in my hand, I went unto the Looking-glasse, and with the end of it, shewed her all these places: Look, (said I) see where the Mountain of I soures is; see where Mount Verdun is, see where the River Lignon is, see, a little beyond it, where the Meadow is, through which you have oft gone to hunt: All these places you may perhaps know, but I do not know them. Now Nymph, the sacred deitie of this place commands me to tell you, that if you do not pun∣ctually observe what I say, and what you have promised, she will augment all the mise∣ries which your destiny does threaten you with all: For my part, I do think my selfe hap∣py, that before my departure I have given you this advice: for, though I am not of this Country; yet, your vertue and piety does oblige me to love you, and to pray unto Heca∣the to make you fully happy: And with this prayer I will take my leave of you; for the goddesse whom I adore hath commanded me to depart before the day, to morrow. An this word I did put them all out of my Cabin, after I had taken from them their Vervine, Ferne, and Hollin Chaplets, which I did burn in the fire.

I did prefix her three Moones, to the end, that if you failed one day, you might be there another. I told her that if she saw you first, then she should easily love you; and if you saw her first, the contrary; only because I knew very well you would be first there so as she would finde in her selfe the truth of my prediction, for you know, she loves Lin∣damor. I told her that I was to depart before to morrow, to the end she should not think strange at my departure, if out of some fresh curiosity she should come again: For having now done as much as my aimes did drive at, my best way was to haste away, lest some Druide should hear of me, and punish me, which, you know, was alwaies my fear. Do you think, Polemas, I have omitted any materiall circumstance? No certainly said Polemas, only me thinks you gave her too large a time; I would you had confined her to one day, and then I should have been sure to have met with her. For my part, said Climanthes, I know not what to think, but that she hath counted the age of the Moon wrong; and I do verily believe, that but for this Shepheard who was drowned, and who caused many peo∣ple to seek about for him, you had met with him that day: But let us have a little pati∣ence, for I am confident, that the same reason which made you retreat, did also make her do the like. But, me thinks it is time to rise, to the end we may depart. Then opening the window, he perceived it to be bright day. Away, away, make haste (said Climanthes to Polemas) the houre will be past else; you had better be many houres too soon, then a minute too late. Would you have me go thither now (said Polemas)? do you think she will come, since it is fifteen daies past the prefixed time? No matter (answered he) per∣haps she has miscounted the dayes, who can tell? and therefore let us go.

Leonida was afraid least Polemas and Climanthes should see her, and therefore durst not rise till they were gone: but when they were out of the house she dressed herself. And after she had taken leave of her host, she continued on her Journey so confused at the cunning ar∣tifice of these two persons, as she almost never minded her way and she was touched so to the quick, that Polemas should so despise her beauty, that to be revenged of him, she would make Lindamor acquainted with his treachery, which she thought she could not better do then by the meanes of her Uncle Adamas unto whom she intended to communicate the, matter. And in this resolution, she made all the haste she could unto Feurs, where she thought to find him; but she came too late, for he went homwards betimes in the morning, having the day before, finished all ceremonies belonging to the sacrifice: as he went the day was very hot, therefore when he was in the plain of Mount Verdun, he turned out of the way where he saw a handsom shade of trees, to rest himself a while. And he was no sooner come at it, but he espied a shepheard comming and seeming as if he intended to take the same conveniency of shade. And because when he came neere, he seemed to be exceeding pensive, he would not take any notice of him, lest he should disturbe his thoughts, but shaded him∣selfe purposely to heare what he would say: at last, he heard him break out thus: Why should I be so simple as to love this wethercock? in the first place her beauty cannot much move, for she has so little as all she has cannot merit the name of Fair: moreover, there are

no other considerations that can help out her merits, or retaine any man of parts in her service: Again, her affection is all that can possibly oblige me, and that is of such a mutable temper, as if she have any impression of Love in heart, I beleeve it is but like unto wax and wax so soft as will easily take any new impression and deface the old: at the most, if I do love her, I must confesse it is meerly because I think she loves me. This shepheard had gone on his discourse, had not a shepheardesse overtaken him, who it seemes followed after him: and sitting down by him thus began to say: Come, Corilas, come, what new disgust is it, that makes you thus pensive' The shepheard returned as disdaining an answer as he could, and never so much as turning his head towards her, answered thus; I am thinking what a trick of Legerdemaine you have used, to get away from them whom even now you loved; why Corilas (said she) can you think I Love any but your self? Than you? Said the shepheard, can you think I beleeve you Love me? What then do you beleeve of me (said she) I beleeve you are a foole, (said he) to love one that hates you. You have a very strange opinion of me (said she): And you (said Corilas) have strange effects in yourself Oh heavens (said the shepheardesse) what kind of a man have I met withall? I have more reason to say in so meeting with Stella, answered he, what kind of a woman have I met withall? For never was any more incapable of amity then you; you I say, who de∣lights in nothing more then deceiving those who trust you; who imitates Hunters, that with abundance of toyle does hunt the game, and then gives it, as a reward, to the dogges. There is so litele reason in all you say (said she) as those have lesse that wil stay to answer you. I wish (said the shepheard) that I had alwaies as much reason in my soul, as there is at this time in my words, then should I not grieve so much as I do. Afterwards both of them being silent a long while, at last she began to sing and thus in singing to ex∣presse her self unto him. Also he, because he would not sit mute without returning answer, thus replyed unto her.

The Dialogue between Stella and Corilas.

Stell.

COme shepheard come and tell me why For want of Love thou dost me fly?

Cor.

Because to follow such a light And ayrie spirit, is a flight, Which must be followed with wings, And men do never use such things.

Stell.

I do remember well the time When Loving me, you thought no crime;

Cor.

Of passed time no talking spend, He lives but ill that does not mend; Time past, is past recovery; And so with it, my memorie:

Stell.

To Love, I fear, you do not know Only can make a loving show:

Cor.

Why do you lay on me the blame When you are guilty of the same? You Love by false opinions voice And not by any prudent choice:

Stell.

By heaven, I Love you, and lament You unto changing thus are bent;

Cor.

Where once my Love becomes a due I am unalterably true, And think me not in Love like you Who every day does love a new;

Stell.

No no, I find thee faint and hollow And can a new affection follow;

Cor.

If any time you pleased me Then did I think you fair to be; T'was only thought; the troth is this, You did no beauty e're possesse:

Stell.

Perfidious Lover; canst thou find A heart to kill her, that is kind?

Cor.

You charge me when your self offends; Must he that's injur'd make the mends? But I ne're Lov'd; and tak't from me, What never was, will never be:

Stell.

Nay, once you lov'd me; but 'its strange That you so cruelly can change:

Cor.

When loving you, a crime I find, 'Tis wisdom sure to change my mind; Repentance late is better farre Then never turne, when one does erre;

Stell

Tis fitter far you did regret Your infidelity so great;

Cor.

What you call infidelity Discretion is, and policie: And this is all that can be said All Love betwixt us two is dead.

The shepheardesse seeing he had all his replyes so ready, she left off her singing, and said thus unto him, why Corilas is there no manner of hope in you? No, said he, no more then there is in your fidelity. Never think that all your flattery and fair language can make me change my resolution; for, beleeve it, I am most firmly fixed. It is meer vanitie to make use of any armes or charmes against me, they are all too weak. I would advise you Stella to imploy them and your time upon some other, who not knowing you, will not perhaps sleight you as I do▪ Noveltie is pleasing you know: and perhaps you may meet with some, whom heaven having a designe to punish, may Love you: The shepheardesse was in good earnest nettled at this yet turning it into a seeming Jeast, she smiled and said: Oh Corilas I cannot chuse but laugh at your cholerique humor, but ere long▪ I shall see you in a better mood: Nay I know, replyed the shepheard, that it is your humour to laugh at those who love you, but I assure you, that you may laugh long enough at me before I do Love you; Thus these two enemies parted: and Adamas knowing by their names of what families they were he had a desire to know more of their businesse: and calling Corilas by his name, he came unto him; and causing him to sit down by him, he thus said, my Son (for so I may call you out of the affection I ever had unto your familie) you need not be sorry that you have spoken so freely unto Stella before me: I am very glad to see you so discreet: but I do desire to know further of your businesse, to the end I may give you my faithfull advice. As soon as Corilas saw the Druide, he remembred that he had often seen him officia∣ting in severall Sacrifices: but since he had never spoke to him before, he had not the confi∣dence to relate the passages twixt Stella and him; that he was ever willing that all the world did know the Justice of his cause, and the perfidy of Stella: which Adamas perceiving, by way of encouragement told him that he was partly acquainted with the businesse al∣ready, and that to his comfort many did speak in his behalfe. I am afraid, Father (said Cori∣las) that the trifles of our villages will be very tedious unto you. No No: replyed Adamas, a relation of this businesse will much please me, and time also will be well imployed by so spending away the heat of the day.

The History of Stella and Corilas.

SInce, Father, you command it so (said the Shepheard) I will relate the whole matter unto you. Stella is the Widow of a Husband which Heaven gave her, rather for a name then ought else: for, besides his sicknesse: his age, which was above sixtie six, had so impaired his strength, that he left her a lusty young Widow, before she was almost married: And the affection she had unto him was not so much, as to make her grieve too much for her losse; nor indeed was her humour such, as to take any thing too much to heart. When she saw her selfe ridd of two heavy yokes, both almost at once to wit, a rid∣dance from an old, crasy, and peevish Husband, and from that strictest observance which is expected from Ghildren to Parents, she then began to shew her selfe, and ruffle in the world with a great noise: And as she was none of those killing beauties, that make them∣selves loved by force, so her affectednesse did not at all please any that looked upon her. Her age was some seventeen or eighteen, an age that is apt to commit much folly, when liberty is given unto it. This was the reason that Saliam her Brother, a very honest and discreet Shepheard, not being able to endure the expensive courses which she drew upon him, and in some sort to restrain her, did get her out of his village, into such a place, where she might live in lesse danger of scandall: in order to which, he intreated Cleanthes, that he would be pleased to let her accompany his Daughter Amintha, because they suited so well in age, though Stella had a little the start of her: And Cleanthes being content, there grew such a familiarity betwixt these two Shepheardesses, and they lived such pri∣vate lives and contented, as they were never out of sight of one another. Many did wonder, that these two being of such different tempers, yet they did so well comply; but the sweet and loving disposition of Amintha, and the supple and easie nature of Stella, were the cau∣ses; so Amintha never crossed the designes of her Companion, and Stella never thwarted whatsoever Amintha desired; so as they kept such a correspondency together, as nothing was hid from each other. But at last, Lysis, the Son of the Shepheard Genetian, leaving the frozen valleyes of Mount Luna, and coming into our more pleasant plaines, and see∣ing Stella at an assembly in the Temple of Venus, when Astrea did carry away the prise of beauty, he fell so in love with Stella, as I do not well know whether or no, it hath not sent him to his Grave: And she was so compliant to him, as after severall journeyes and messages, things were come to that passe, as Lysis moved her to marriage, unto which she gave as favourable an answer as he could desire. At this time, Saliant was constrained unto such a far off journey, as he knew nothing of this treaty: besides, she did now take upon her selfe such absolute authority, as she did not communicate her matters unto him. On the other side, Amintha seeing her so soon resolved upon marriage, did often ask her, whether or no she was in good earnest; and told her, that it was a matter of so great im∣portance, as required very great and serious consideration. Amintha, answered she, never trouble your selfe, for I am not gon so far, but I can easily make a retreat. Mean time, Lysis did make himselfe so sure of marriage, as that he set down the day, invited many of his friends, and was at such charges, as are usuall upon such occasions. But Stella, accor∣ding to the custome of many women, who are proud of their own libertie, started from her first intentions, and broke all off by such unreasonable demands, as she knew the Pa∣rents of Lysis would never consent unto: But, his love being above all difficulties and sa∣tisfying all her unreasonable demands, she was at last forced to break off with him upon no other pretence, but the slendernesse of his affection to her. You may easily imagine how Lysis resented this affront; but however, he could not yet master his love: And I remem∣ber upon this subject, he composed these Verses, which afterwards he gave unto me.

Upon Anger against Love.

IS Anger mad, in making me to go Gainst such a fatall and puissant foe? Must I conducted be into the field By such a Captain, as is sure to yield? A Leader in such lamentable armes, Gainst love that's arm'd with arrowes and with charmes.

Can faint and feeble Anger ever think Victorious Love to conquer, and make shrink? No, no, the wafting of his wing will shatter Thy Squadrons all, and will thy Bulwarks batter. Love hath of anger such infinite of odds, As with his fore-works he can conquer Gods: Resistance will but add unto his glory, And being conquer'd, make more sad my story. I'le therefore mercy ask, and quarter cry, Which if my fairest shepheardesse deny, Then triumph in Elizian shades will I, And my own death shall be my victory.

The cause of Stella's change in her affection, was the courtship of another Shepheard called Semires, which did imprint it selfe very deep in her soul, and which Lysis did per∣ceive the last of all men, for she did conceal it more from him than any other. This Shep∣heard Semires was of all men that my conversation ever met with, the most dissembling and crafty; that he was otherwise a man of very excellent parts, which caused this Shep∣heardesse to go against her own promise, and reject the match with Lysis, and to confer all her favours upon her new Lover, who yet did not long triumph in this victory. For so it happened, that Lupeander making a great Feast at the marriage of his Daughter Olympia, Lysis and Stella were invited thither; and I being a kinsman unto the Bride, I would not sail to be there also. I know not whether Love did it cut of revenge, or whether it was the naturall giddinesse of Stella's wavering temper; but so it was, that she no sooner saw Lysis, then she had a minde to recall him into her favour; and in order to that, spruced up her selfe in all her affectednesse which nature had very imprudently been prodigall of unto her: But, the offended spirit of this Shepheard had armed him with so much courage, as to hide all his affection to her, though he could not extinguish the flames of love. Towards night, when every one prepared for dancing, and to apply themselves unto those persons most su∣table to their liking; Stella did so pursue Lysis; that he being in a corner of a window, he could not handsomely avoid her, but was forced to receive the assaults of his loving ene∣my. Semires all this while observing how she pursued Lysis; all the evening, according to the naturall temper of all Lovers, he began to be sprinkled with jealousie, knowing well, that a candle newly extinguished, will soon light again: And seeing her so close to Lysis, he got so neer, as seeming to talk unto another, he heard her ask Lysis, why he shunned her so much? To which Lysis replied, The reason is, because you do so impudently pursue me. But Shepheard, replyed Stella, I know from whence your discontents proceed, and I believe, not from him whom you imagine. For gods-sake (answered Lysis) let me alone in quietnesse; it is enough that thy offence proceeds from your hating me, and your hatred from your own levity: But 'tis no matter, all's forgotten, and now I have no minde to love. Well, well, (answered she) I know from whence all your anger proceeds, and certain∣ly you have some seeming reason for it; but, I beseech you consider it a little better. Is it such an impardonable injury, not to take a man to a husband, as soon as ever he hath asked the question? Is it not the custome of our Country, that he should ask that question twice? The truth is, if I had marryed another, I had done you an injury: But, what likelyhood is there, that I should ever refuse a man so constant, that hath loved me almost these three months? The offended spirit of Lysis not suffering him to love her, and his affecti∣on not suffering him to hate her, he did not know in what termes to answer her; and yet, to stop the torrent of words, he thus said unto her: I have had sufficient experience, Stella, that you know better how to say then do, and that you abound much more in words than reason: but, take this for an unalterable certainty, that look how much I loved you here∣tofore, so much, or more, do I hate you now, and shall do as long as I live; so as there shall not be a day, in which I will nor divulge you unto all the world, for the most un∣gratefull and consening woman under heaven. Upon this, forcing his affection and the arme of Stella away, he broke from her, and left her alone in the window, whilst he went amongst the rest of the Shepheards. Semires, who, as I told you, heard all this discourse, was both so amazed and ill satisfied with her, as he resolved ever since to make no more addresses unto such a wavering weathercock; which resolution was much more confirmed by me; for, I having long looked for an opportunity of speaking to her, and seeing Lysis had

left her alone, I accosted her; for I must confesse that her allurements had some power upon my soul, and so much as the affronts which she had put upon Lysis would not let me see her imperfections, and fleeting disposition. And as every one is apt to flatter himselfe in his own desires; so I supposed that what the merits of Lysis could not obtaine from her, my good fortune might. As long as Lysis courted her, I would not let my affection appeare, for besides consangunity, there was a great league of amitie betwixt us: but when I saw he was off, and thinking the place vacant (for I never took notice of Semires) I thought it a fit time to open my self, before she entertained any other so addressing my selfe unto her, and finding her all pensivenesse, I said unto her, that certainly it was some great occasion which thus had altered her; for sadnesse was seldom seen in her pleasant humour. It is that troublesome Lysis (answered she) who has put me in mind of old stories, and still upbraids me with the refusing of him: Does that trouble you, (said I unto her?) can it chuse (answered)? how she for affection is not so soon put off as ones cloaths are but because I did a little delay his desires, he took it for an absolute discharge: Truly (said I) Lysis did not deserve the honour of your favour: for what he could not compasse by his merits, he ought to have tryed what all his services accompanied with a long patience would do, but his boyling temper, together with perhaps his too little love would not permit him. Had the same happinesse hapned unto me as unto him, with what affection should I have entertained it? And with what patience should I have waited for it? You would think it strange (reverend Father) to heare me tell you, how suddenly this shep∣heardesse changed: yet I protest she entertained the overture of my Love, as soon as ever I made it: and in such a manner, as, before we parted, she permitted me to call my self her servant. You may easily conceive that Semires, who heard all this, was no better satisfied with me then he was with Lysis: but ever since he hath discontinued his addresses, yet so discreetly as many think Stella to be the cause, for she seemed not to care for it, because the place of her affection was possessed with the new hopes she had of me, which was the cause that I received many favours from her and which Lysis quickly perceived. But Love which alwaies will tryumph over freindship, did keep me from speaking unto him, lest I should offend the shepheardesse: and though he was much offended that I should thus conceale my my selfe from him, yet I never did speak unto him without Stella's leave, who also seemed desirous it should be so. But I who then was ignorant of her tricks, and strived at nothing but how to content her, one night when Lysis and I were together, I had this discourse with him: I must confesse Lysis (said I unto him) that I have not so clearly opened my self unto you, as our freindship required; but now you must help me out, or else I am undon: I (answered Lysis) why you may be assured that I will never faile the part of a friend, though your mistrust of me might alter the case: and yet do not think but I do know of your Love▪ but your silence so offended me, that I said nothing of it: Since you did know it, replied I, and never spoke to me of it, I have the greater cause to be offended: for I do confesse, that I have somthing failed in point of freindship by my silence: but you must consider that a lo∣ver is not himselfe, and his disease is an excuse for all his errours: but you who are not troubled with the same passionate disease, you have no excuse for your failings in point of freindship. Lysis hearing my reasons, began to smile and said. You are very pleasant Corilas, and I will not contradict you, but I pray you tell me, how I may make amends for my fault: In doing that for me, said I, which you could not: for your self, which is that I may obtain the affection of Stella: Oh heavens (cryed out Lysis then) unto what a dangerous preci∣pice have you brought your self: Shun it, Corilas, shun it, for it is a most dangerous passage, which ruines all those which ever took it: I speak unto you by experience; you know it, I know, that from any other, your merits can obtaine more then mine; but it is grosse folly to hope for any thing from this perfidious woman, whom neither vertue nor reason will move; to which I answered that to hear him say so, was no smal contentment: for, said I, until now I was afraid you had retained some thoughts for your self, & therefore I was so reserved but since, thāks be to the fates, it is not so, I wil in this business put you to the tryal of friendship: I know that the hatred which succeeds Love is alwaies measured according to the grandure of its predecessor: and that you once loving this shepheardesse: and now comming to hate her your hatred will be far greater then if you had never loved her: Yet understanding from Stella her self, that I can never arrive at my desires but by your meanes, I do conjure you Lysis by our friendship to aide me, either by advising or speaking for me or any other way. I will take it as a most extream proof of your fidelity. Lysis was extreamly surprised at this desire, expecting any other prayer frō me then this; by which, besides his dislike from this of

speaking unto Stella, he had lost a freind whom he loved most. Yet he answered thus unto me; Corilas, I will do as you desire, you can expect no more from me: but still remember that in messages of Love such persons should be imployed as are not hated. Thus poor Lisis in lieu of a lover became a messenger of Love: a difficultie which his affection to me made him undertake, and he had full intentions to serve me, though afterwards he changed his mind; but the violence of his Love must plead his excuse, for Love hath a most predomi∣nate power over men: and truly his affection to me is to be both commended and admired, since he was once willing to part from her he loved to let me enjoy her. One day watch∣ing an opportunitie of speaking unto her, he found her at home by herself, none being by to interrupt their discourse: then calling to memorie the affronts he formerly had received he so armed himself against her charmes, as Love at this time could have no hope of overcom∣ming. And though the shepheardesse studied alwaies to tryumph over him, yet he did so oppose his spleen against her and his freindship to me, that at this combate he was con∣querer Before he began to speak she went to meet him, and pumped for some of her affected language; What new happynesse is this, said she, that hath brought back my long'd for Ly∣sis to me? What an unexpected favour is this? Come come, since you are returned I will be∣gin to hope againe for I dare swear that never since you left me, have I enjoyed a minute of content; to which the shepheard answered: More eloquent then faithfull shepheardesse, I am better satisfied with this your ingenuous confession, then if I had not been offended at your in fidelity; but let us leave off this kind of discourse, and forget it for ever: answer me only to such demands as I shall make unto you. Are you still resolved to deceive all those who shall ever Love you? For my part, I must beleeve you are; for none of your humours are un∣knowne unto me: but I came to see and ask how many adorers: you have, and whether you did not say and protest and swear unto them, that none should ever be deceived by you; for if you did, certainly they are in my predicament and rank. The shepheardesse did not expect these reproaches yet she answered him, and thus. Shepheard, though you came only with designes to wrong me, yet I give you thanks for the visit, and confesse that you have reason to complaine against me. I complaine (answered he)? no I pray you let that alone; I will neither wrong you nor complain against you: but am so farre from it, that I will rather commend your humour: for had you seemed to love me any longer, I had been longer delu∣ded: And I pray God, the losse of your Love bring me no more hurt then it doth sorrow, you shall never heare that I complain of you: for injurie and truth cannot subsist together, no more then you & fidelity: can but take this for a most certain truth, that you are the most deluding and ungrateful shepheardesse in all Forrests. Me thinks, discourteous shepheard, (answered Stella) that this language would become any other mouth better then yours. Then Lysis began to addresse himself in another dialect: Hitherto (said he) I have borrowed my language from the just anger of Lysis; but now I will borrow it of one that hath more to do with you then Lysis hath; & that is from a discreet shepheard who loves you, and who values nothing upon earth comparable to your favorable acceptance of him & his services. She thinking that Lisis mocked her, answered him thus; Leave off this discourse, Lysis: it is enough that you once did Love me without any reviving of the memorie of your errors; 'Tis very true, said the Shepheard, they were errors indeed that moved me to love you; out you erre as much as I did, if you think that I do love you now, or that I speak for my selfe: No, no I speak in behalfe of poor Corilas, who is so wholly your devoted, as nothing can draw him off: I told him how I had tried you, and what little assurance there was to be found in your soul and words: I swore unto him, that you would certainly de∣ceive him, and that I was sure you would keep me from being forsworn: But, the poor, miserable, loving thing, is so blinded, as he thinks, what I cannot obtain, his merits can; and yet to undeceive him, I told him, that merit was the greatest impediment to obtain any thing from you. And to the end you may believe what I say, I pray read this Letter which he hath sent you. But because Stella would not read my Letter, Lysis did open it, and read it aloud unto her.

The Letter of Corilas unto Stella.

Fairest Shepheardesse,

IT is most impossible, that any eye should look upon you, and not love; and as impossible to love you, and not be extream in his affection: If you please but to consider this truth, when this paper shall be presented unto your most lovely eyes, I assure my selfe, that the gran∣dure

of my pain will, out of pitty, finde a pardon for aspiring unto such a height as your merits, though this presumption does justly merit punishment. In expectation of your doom, I beseech you give my thoughts leave to kisse your fair hands a hundred thousand times, not being able within the compasse of that number, to include those sorrowes, which the deniall of this supplication will give me, nor those joyes which will swell me, if you receive me, as most truly I am

Your most affectionate and most faithfull Servant.

Assoon as Lysis had read this Letter, he went on with his discourse: Come Stella, (said he) what death must he die, or how must he live? For my part, I pitty him with all my heart, and wish you could do the like. I pray consider how bitter your deniall will be to him. This discourse did touch this Shepheardesse to the quick, and seeing how far Lysis was from loving her, she interrupted him in this manner, Me thinks Lysis (said she) if Corilas were in such a minde as this paper speaks him, he was very ill advised to employ you, since your mediation is more like to procure him hatred then love, and you rather a messenger of war then peace. Stella, it's true, answered he, he was very ill advised in his choice; but if he had shewed as much judgment in the rest of his actions, as in this, he would not have stood in need of your help; he has had tryall of your dissimulations, he knowes what force your charmes have; and what friend could he have made choice of, without the danger of a competitor, unlesse my selfe, whom you hate even unto death? But, let us leave this discourse, and pray tell me plainly and in good earnest, whether or no you will shew him any favour; for the truth is, I dare not return to him, unlesse I carry a good answer with me, unto which I do conjure you, both by his affection that now is, and mine that was: Unto this, the Shepheard added so many arguments, and importunate prayers, as the Shepheardesse believed him to be in good earnest; and her own naturall dis∣position did easily encline her to it; for, it is the custome of such as easily love, to believe as easily that they are loved but Lysis at this time could obtain no further from her, then that the affection of his cousin for want of his, should not be disagreeable unto her; but time should advise her farther. And since this, Lysis has severall waies so solici∣ted her, that he got from her as much assurance as he desired; and because he was well ac∣quainted with her levitie, he obtained from her a promise in writing under her hand, and knew so well how to turn her, that he obtained of her whatsoever he desired. Thus he re∣turned to me, and gave me an account of all he had done, except of this promise: for, knowing Stella's humour, he alwaies doubted she would deceive him, and that if he shew∣ed me this paper, it would imbarque me the more, and be harder to get me off. All this was unknown unto Amintha, from whom Stella concealed it more, then from any o∣ther. After I had received so much assurance, as I could desire no more, and after I had given her all humble and hearty thanks, I began, by her permission, to take orders for the marriage, and spake it very freely and openly, though Lysis alwaies foretold me, that in the end I should be deceived. But, the very shadow of that good which we desire does so flatter us, that we lend but a deaf ear unto any that shall tell us the contrary. Whilst this Marriage was preparing, and publickly divulged, Semires, who, as I told you, discontinu∣ed his addresses by reason of Lysis and me, he being netled with the discourse which went of him, resolved, at what rate soever, to infinuate himselfe into her favour, with a designe to quit her afterwards, and make it appear, that this separation proceeded from himselfe: There needed no great artifice to bring this about, for her sickle humour, according to its fleeting temper, did at the very first assault, quit me for Semires as a little before she had quitted Semires for me: But for all that, the promise which she had given under her hand, and which she could not deny, did exceedingly stick in her stomack. At last, the Marriage day being come, and I had assembled together all my Parents, my Friends, and Neigh∣bours, I held my selfe so sure, as I thought upon nothing but bidding them welcome. But she, whose thoughts were quite another away, when we came to the very point of Marri∣age, she started back, and formed excuses far worse then her first; at which I was so extream∣ly offended, that I went away without ever bidding her adieu; and ever since I held her in such disdain, that she could never infinuate her selfe again into my esteem.

Judge (reverend Father) whether or no I had good reason to hearken to her, and whe∣ther those who speak in my disadvantage be not wrongly informed. Truly, answered Adamas, she is a woman that is unworthy of her name; and I do wonder, since she has de∣luded so many, that any man will ever trust her. Nay Sir, said Corilas, I have not yet told

you all; for after every one was fallen from her except Lysis, all her artifice was, how to get the promise which he had out of his hands, because she saw, that it was a great thorn in her side: Therefore with an impudent and dissembling brow, she thus spoke unto him, Is it possible Lysis, (said she) you should have lost all that affection which you have so often vowed unto me? Is there no spark of love yet left in you? In me, (said Lysis)? no, I'le sooner die. Upon this word, he went out of the house; but she followed him so close, as she got hold of his hand, and holding it between hers, she brought him back in such an amo∣rous posture, as any would have judged them to be very loving; and though he knew her deluding humour well enough, yet could he not chuse but be pleased with her flatteries, although he gave no faith unto them; and therefore thus said unto her, Oh heavens, Stella! why do you so abuse those favours, which the heavens have so prodigally bestowed upon you? Did but that fair body contain a soul that had any neer resemblance unto it, who could possibly resist it? She who knew well enough what charms were in her carresses, did use all the artifice of her eyes mouth, tongue, and all the invention she had to make him melt, insomuch as he was almost out of himselfe; And at last she came out with these words, Lovely Shepheard, (said she) if you be the same Lysis who was once so sweetly affectionate unto me; I beseech you hearken unto these words, and believe them: and if you do finde any cause of complaint, I will make it evidently appear, that this which you esteem as a second fault, was committed only as a remedy for the first, which I will repair with all possible and desirable satisfaction. These smooth words wrought upon Lysis, and did over∣come him; yet, not to shew himselfe so simply weak, he answered thus: Stella, I am so in∣credulous of all you say, as I believe not a syllable; and if I knew any thing which would displease you, I would do it. If you would displease me, said the Shepheardesse, then come into the house. With that intention, I will, (answered he). Thus when they were entred into the house, and stood neer the fire, she began thus; Now Shepheard, will I unmask the Riddle of all my dissimulations with you, and make it most apparent, that poor Stella, whom you have accounted such a leight huswife, is much more constant then you imagine her, and will let you plainly see, that in satisfaction of those wrongs you have done me, that you have reason to confesse them, and be sorry: But, said she, upon a suddain, what have you done with that promise which once you had of me, in favour of Corilas? for, if you have given it unto him, it will extreamly crosse our designes. Who could possibly imagine, but that after all this, she had loved Lysis? So this Shepheard having an opinion, that she would do that for him, which she had refused me, he restored back unto her that promise, which he had so closely kept from me. Assoon as ever she saw it, she took it, and tore it all in pieces then threw it into the fire: Afterwards, turning towards Lysis, & laughing, she thus said unto him, Honest Shepheard, you may now be gon when you please, I know none that will hinder you, and it is very late. Oh heavens! (cryed out Lysis, seeing him∣selfe over-reached) is it possible I should be so simple, as to be gulled three times by one and the same person? What reason have you to say, said Stella, that you are gulled? Oh! most perfidious woman, (said he) did you not tell me, that you would make it appear, that your second fault was committed, only to give satisfaction for the first? and to shew me that you were constant, you would discover your very heart and intentions to me? Lysis, said she, you are still harping upon the wrong string; pray tell me, wherein have I wronged you, if I did never love you, am I not constant, in not loving you still? And do I not discover my heart and intentions to you, since now I have gotten that from you which I desired, I give you free libertie to go home in peace? Could you think that all my words which I have given you for this houre together, tended to any other purpose, but to get this paper from you? and now I have it, I will bid you good-night, good Lysis. You may imagine what crestfallen Shepheard Lysis was, when he heard all this; he was so damped, that he sneaked away, and never gave one word. But since this, Semires revenged all our quarrells, and he who, as I told you was the cause of my misery, or indeed, my happinesse (for so may my separation from her be called) he, I say, resenting still the first affront which she put upon him, and considering her extream levity, as Lysis and I were served, so served he her, and broke off the Marriage with her in the midst of the Congrega∣tion which gave many an occasion to say, That often she who hurts another, receives her punishment by the same armes.

Thus Corilas concluded: and Adamas in a smiling manner said thus unto him, The best counsell I can give you is to fly this deluder; to beware of her fallacies, and to please your Parents who do so much desire to see you married. When any good match is offered take

it, and never insist upon the circumstances of Love; for nothing will sooner wash off these istains which this giddy woman has cast upon your honour, nor sooner purchase esteem a∣mongst your neighbours, then to marry your self not by Love but by Reason: for that is the greatest action of your life; Upon which depends all the happinesse or misery of man. Upon these words they parted towards their severall homes, for it began to be late.

Againe, Leonida not finding Adamas at home, she went away again as soon as ever she had dined: and because she was resolved to stay all that night, with those fair shephear∣desses which she had seen the day before, out of a desire she had to be more intimately ac∣quainted with them, she went to the place where she found them before; and there she espied one a farre off, but could not discerne who it was: yet drawing neere she perceived it to be the same she looked for. She might very well esteem this as a happy meeting: for all these shepheardesses, as chance was, were come out of the Town purposely to pass away all the rest of the day together, to the end they might more freeely impart their secrets unto each other out of the reach of all eares. So as Leonida could never have come in a more opportune time to satisfie her curositie, then she did: and stealing neer them she heard Astrea, say unto Diana; Now wise shepheardesse I hope you will performe your promise unto Phillis and me, in acquainting us with your story, since we have imparted ours unto you.

Fair Astrea, answered Diana, my promise doubtles obligeth me unto it, but much more the amity that is betwixt us; knowing well that amongst friends it is a crime impardonable to conceale any corner of their soules from each other: the only reason why it is so long before I have given you that satisfaction, beleeve it dear shepheardesse, was, because time and leasure would not permit it: And though I am certain, that I cannot relate the follies of my youth unto you without many blushes: yet that dificulty will easily be over come when I consider that it is to please you: Why should you blush at all (answered Phillis) since it is no crime to Love? If it be not one (replied Diana), yet it is such a shadow of one, and so resemblant as one is oft taken for the other. Such as are so deceived (answered Phillis) sure have very ill eyes. Tis very true indeed, (said Diana) but this is our misery, that there is more bad eyes then good ones: we shall be very angry, said Astrea, if you think ours such. The Love I beare unto you both (answered Diana) may assure you that I cannot make a wrong judgement of you: and I dare trust you with my very soul: But should I impart my self so freely unto some, I should find my actions meet with a wrong construction: And therefore since it is your pleasure and command, that I should relate my life unto you, I do conjure you both, by all the sacred Lawes of friendship, never to speak of it again. Then both of them protesting to bury all in eternall silence, she thus began her discourse.

The Historie of Diana.

IT will be very strange Fair and discreet shepheardesses, if this discourse which you desire should be related, do not prove tedious unto you, since the relation I shall make, has not so many words it it, as it hath cost me teares: but since it is your pleasure I should revive the sad remembrance of them, I beseech you give me leave to make it as short as I can. I do assure my selfe, that though you have never seene either Celion or Belinda, yet you have heard that they were my Father and Mother; and perhaps have heard of the crosses which they met withall for the Love of one another, which shall spare me the relating of them, though they were presages of my ensuing miseries. And be pleased to know, that after the heats of Love were a little cool'd by marriage, to the end they might not be idle, they be∣gan to look narrowly into the businesse of their estate, and had envolved themselves into so many suites of Law, as they were forced to compose some of them, by mediation of friends. Amongst the rest, a neighbour of theirs called Phormion, did so trouble them, that to stop all those gaps, their friends advised them to make some alliance with him: and because neither of them had any children (neither having been long married) they both swore by Theutates upon the Altar of Belinus, that if they had but one Son and one Dauyhter, they should Marry together: and this promise was confirmed by so many sacred oathes, as he who broke them was the most perjured man in the world. A little after, my Father had a Son, who perished when the Goths and Ostrogoths did ravage this Province. A little after that, I was born, but in such an unhappy houre for me, that my Father never saw me, he dying before I was born. Phormion, seeing my Father dead, and my Brother lost, (for

those barbarians, took him away, and either killed him, or let him starve for want) and that my Uncle Diamis was gone away in displeasure at this losse, he resolved if he had a Son, to accomplish their former promise. It happened a little after, that his wife was brought to bed, but it was of a Daughter, and fearing lest he should have no more chil∣dren by his wife, he caused it to be rumored, that it was a Son, and carried it so cunningly that none knew the contrary. And it was the more easie to be don, because none believed that he would use any such tricks: also, the better to colour the matter, he caused her to be named Philidas. Whom, when she was grown to an age of practising such excercises as young shep∣heards use she was not ill at them. Phormions designe was, that seeing me without Father, Brother and Uncle, to make himself Master of my estate, by this dissembled marriage: and when Philidas and I were growen bigger, then to marry me unto one of his Nephews whom he loved very well: and truly he was not frustrated in his designe: for Belinda was too reli∣gious to be wanting in any duty to her husband. But yet, she seeing me ravished away and gotten into their hands (for presently upon this pretended marriage, I was seised into Phor∣mions custody) she did so dislike this course, as not being able to endure it, she left the Country, and went into the Lake Lemane, to be Mistresse of the Vestalls and Druides of Emenes as the aged Cleontine did Prophesie by her Oracle. Meane while I was in the hands of Phormion, who presently sent for his Nephew, •• upon whom he intended to bestow me, whose name was Amindor: here did begin my griefes: For Phormion his Uncle did let him understand that by reason of our nonage, the marriage of Philiduss and me, was not so assu∣red, but that if we two did not well agree, he could well enough break it off: and that if such a thing should be, he had rather she should marry me then any other; therefore he advised him to carry it with so much discretion as none should take any notice of it, but still to win upon my affection as much as he could, to the end I might bestow my self upon him when I was free. This young shepheard did so take this designe to heart, as he neglected no manner of courtship and complacency towards me. At the same time Daphnis a very handsom and discreet shepheardess returned from the confines of Furan, where she had lived many yeares: and because we were neigbours, our conversation made us such friends as I began to be lesse discontented then I was wont: for I must confesse that the humour of Phi∣lidas was so displeasing unto me, as I could hardly endure her: also her feares of my grow∣ing more knowing, made her so jealous of me, that I could hardly speak unto any. Things being upon these tearms, Phormion fel suddenly sick, and was so soon stuffed with a cattarh that he could neither speak, nor give any order either about his own businesse or mine. Philidas at the first was a little troubled; but afterwards seeing that she was absolute Mis∣tresse of her self and me also, she resolved to keep up this authority, considering that the libertie which the name of Man doth carry with it, was much more pleasing then the ser∣vitude of our sex. Nor was she insensible of that wonder which would be over all the Coun∣try, when she should declare her selfe to be a woman: upon these reasons, she continued in the same name and notion, which she did when her Father was alive; and fearing more then ever, lest some should discover what she was, she kept me so neer her, as she was sel∣dom or never without me. But, Fair shpheardesses since you must know all my young fol∣lies. I must first begge your excuses, and that you will know, I had so great an inclination to Love, another way: but that my heart was so hardned against Philadis and Amindor as love had not armes or arrowes strong and sharpe enough to peirce so much as my skin. But alas, it was the shepheard Filander, who had my heart; Filander who having given me some as∣surance of his love, and now not being, has carried with him all that was mine; surely (said Astrea, and interrupted her) either Filanders affection was very little, or else you did carry it with a great deale of prudence▪ for I never so much as heard of it. Which is a thing very strang. That it was not talked of, answered Diana, I am more obliged unto your good intentions then our prudence. And as for the affection of this shepheard, you may judge what it was, by my ensuing discourse. And the heavens, who know our pure and cleere intentions, had a mind to favour them. The first time I ever saw him, was upon that day which we celebrated unto Apollo and Diana, when he came into those sports in the company of a Sister, so extreamly like him that the eies of all the assembly were upon them. And because he was neerely allyed unto my dear friend Daphnis, as soone as I saw her, I did so imbrace and carresse her as ever since she thought her self obliged to love me; Her name was Callirea, and was married unto a shepheard called Gerestan, upon the confines of Fu∣ran, whom she had never seen untill the very day she married him, which was a reason why there was but a very flender affection between them. My complacence to the Sister gave oc∣casion

unto the Brother to stand by me, as long as the sacrifice lasted; and I cannot tell, whether to his good or bad fortune, but I had that day dressed up my selfe in my best trim, conceiving that my very name upon this feast, did more particularly oblige me to it, then any other. And he, being a stranger, and having no other acquaintance amongst the Shepheards and Shepheardesses, than such as his Sister brought him, did not leave us all that day: So as, I conceiving my selfe in some sort obliged to entertain him, I did what I could to please him, and my labour was not lost; for, from that time, this poor Shepheard did begin such affection to me as did not end till he died: And I am most confident, that if the dead have any remembrance of the living, he loves me still; and in his ashes preserves that pure affection which he vowed unto me. Daphnis took notice of this, the very same day, and at night told me of it; but I did so long reject any such thoughts, as she was forced to say thus unto me. I see, Diana, you will not believe me; but, be assured, that Filander does extreamly love you. This advertisment did so imprint it selfe in my minde, as the next day made me observe somthing, which induced me to be of her opinion: For, in the afternoons, we were accustomed to assemble under some shady tree, and sitting round, to sing. It chanced, that Filander having no acquaintance but Daphnis and me, he did sit down between us, which Amindor taking notice of, did swell with such a pittifull fit of jealousie, that he, in a fuming chafe, left the company; and first looking upon me, as if it were I that he meant, he went away, singing this Catch.

Amindor's Catch against Levitie.

God, in his mercy, may do much, and save her; But he that commeth next is sure to have her. Can any be so blinde, As think to get her Love; Who wavers like the winde, Which wantonly doth rove? No, God in's mercy may do much and save her, But he that cometh next is sure to have her.

A Weather-cock can move At every blast of winde; And she at any love, Can turne her fleeting minde. So God in's mercy may do much and save her; But he that commeth next is sure to have her.

One Nail drives out another, And he that next does kisse her, Will quite drive out the other, And make the first to misse her. God, in thy mercy, I beseech thee make her In Love more constant; else, the Devill take her.

I had so much power over my selfe, as not to seem any thing troubled at this song; and Daphnis out of her discreet affection unto me, never staying the end of this Catch, did in∣terrupt him, and begun another song, addressing her selfe unto me.

The Madrigall of Daphnis, upon the affection she bore unto Diana.

SInce, fair Diana, I do finde you prove The Center, unto which all hearts do move: Then, why not mine? why should I not adore Her, that of beautles hath the greatest store.

And since they say, the purest Love of all, Hath from resemblance its Originall: Then our affections needs must be extream, Since both our Sexes are the very same.

Then, the better to cover the colour of my cheeks, and to make it seem, I took no notice of Amindor's invective Catch; assoon as Daphnis had done, I answered her thus.

A Madrigall, upon the same Subject.

WHy such a wonder should it seem, that I And you, though both be women, yet should vie Affection? Is't a miracle to see, That women well as men should Lovers be? But if impossible; Oh, then be you The Shepheardesse, and I the Shepheard true.

After us, every one sung their own fancies; and Filander when it came to his turn, he did sing these ensuing Verses with an excellent voice.

Filander, upon the begining of his Love.

THough I foresaw my expectation high, And my desires; were swell'd with vanity: That Love was full of flaming fire and pain; And though I lov'd, should not be lov'd again: Yet still I hoped, and at her I aim'd, Only because I would be more inflam'd.

'Twas so decreed by fate, and 'twas not I That could anticipate my destinie: No wonder then; that in obedience Unto this dire and fatall Ordinance, I should adore her, and, I hope, no crime: A heart that's base so high could never clime.

But as the fading Marygold doth die, And wither only by the world's fair Eye: So I, like it, did say, Oh! glorious Sun, Let me be scorched, till my daies be done: For in that death, this pleasure I shall have, No fire but thine could burn me to my grave.

When as the Phoenix, by an art so rare, And nature, both together, doth prepare; To make her Cradle in her Tombe, she saies Unto the fire, wherein her corps she laies, By dying in thy flame I will assume My glory out of ashes, now my Tombe.

Many more did then expresse their severall conceptions in verse, but I have forgotten them: But so it was, that me thought Filanders words were aimed at me, and I cannot well tell, whether it was the hint which Daphnis had given me, or the language of his eyes, which spoke much more plain then his tongue: I cannot tell, but either the one, or both, made me apply this song to my selfe; and as these verses did give me a little light of it, so his discretion did a little after, much more plainly testifie it unto me: For, it is the principall effect of a true affection, to carry it discreetly, and never to let it be known, but by those effects which cannot be hid. This young Shepheard knew of Amindor's humour, and love had taught him so much curiosity, as to finde out, that his jealousy was no lesse than that of Philidas; and therefore he conceived, that the best way to blinde both their

eyes, was, to court their friendship: and Love had made him so subtle and prudent, that in the carriage of the matter, he did not only deceive Amindor's, but almost all eyes else; for he would never come where we were, but suffered us alwaies to come unto him. 'Tis true, that crafty Daphnis did presently finde it out; for, said she, Amindor is not a man of such agreeable parts, as to attract unto him such a well accomplished Shepheard as Filan∣der, but there must needs be some farther reach in all Filanders addresses to him; she in∣deed did prompt me to take the first notice of it, and I must confesse, that his discretion did so please me, that if I would suffer any to love me, it should be him; but, the time was not yet come, that I could be wounded this way, although his actions and carriage did please me, and though I did in some fore approve of his designe. When we at any time took our leaves of him, he would alwaies wait upon us a long way; and at parting, I never heard such expressions of friendship, as he used to Amindor; nor such offers of service, as he ten∣dred unto Philidas: Then would slie Daphnis whisper me in the ear, and say, All these expressions are meant unto you, and you do him wrong if you do not answer him. And when he thanked Amindor for any favour, she would say, Oh what a fool is he, to think, that these offerings are intended to his Altar? And he so well knew how to dissemble, that he serued himselfe into the very heart of Amindor: And Philidas was so tickled with his high commendations of her, as she would often send, to desire him he would come & see her. Heavens knowes, how oft he had solicited for this opportunity, for it was as much as he could desire, thinking his designe could not possibly have a better beginning. As fortune was, one day when Daphnis and I were walking under some shady trees, and talked our selves almost quite out of discourse, we heard a voice, which at the first we thought to be of some stranger; the desire of knowing who it was, made us draw towards the place, and Daphnis going first, she espied Filander before me, and beckned unto me, that I should tread gently; and when I was come neer her, she named Filander in a low voice, who was laid down, leaning his head against a tree, and began thus, I should defie and scorn Love, and all his policies and charms, did he not make use of my fairest Diana's armes against me. And so went on.

When I heard my selfe named, fair Shepheardesses, I trembled, and trode upon the ground, as if a Serpent were under my feet; and without any longer stay, I went away as gently as I could, lest I should be seen, though Daphnis, in hopes to make me come again, did let me go by my selfe: At last, she seeing I continued on my way she also stole softly off, and afterwards ran after me as fast me as fast as she could, and, when she could hardly draw her breath, she chid me in a very interrupted manner; but when she had recovered her wind and could speak plain, she thus said unto me: As I live Diana, if the heavens do not punish you, I shall think they are unjust: Could you be so cruell, as not so much as to lend him a hea∣ring? What good could I do unto him, (said I) by staying any longer there? You might have heard what hurt you have don him, said she unto me. I do him hurt, answered I? you do me wrong, in saying I could hurt one whom I never thought upon. Therein, said she, you hurt him most; for, did you ofter think upon him, you could not chuse but be moved unto pitty. I blushed at that word, and the changing of my colour did make Daphnis be∣lieve, that I was offended with her, and therefore in a smiling manner, she said unto me, I did but jeast, Diana, and do not believe he thought upon you; and as for using your name, I believe he meant some other of the same name that yours is. Thus we went on talking and walking we knew not whither, untill another path had brought us unto the same place, where Filander was; and though I did it out of heedlessnesse, yet Daphnis perhaps did it out of designe, however, I was forced to look upon him lying upon the ground, leaning his head upon his arme, and seeming as if he were awake; for he had a Letter before him, all wet with tears which trickled down his cheeks: but, indeed he was asleep and we were more assured of it, when Daphnis, more consident then I, stooped gently down, and brought me the Letter, all steeped in tears, which sight did much move me to pitty, and much more the Letter, which was thus written.

Filanders Letter unto Diana.

THose who have the honour to see you, do run a most dangerous piece of fortune: If they do love you, then they are too bold; and if they do not, then they have no judgment, your perfections being such, as, with reason, they can neither be loved nor not loved; and

I being constrained to fall into one of these two errors, have chosen that which is most con∣gruent to my humour, and from it, it is impossible to retreat. Do not take it ill, fair Diana, that since it is an absolute impossibility to look upon you, and not love, that since I have seen you, I do so. If my rashnesse do merit punishment, remember, that I had rather love you, and die, than live, and not love you. But alas! why do I say, I had rather? as if it were in my choice; for I must out of a fatall necessitie be your most humble servant, and you must be what you are, which is, the fairest Shepheardesse that ever lived: So as without any Ra∣thers, I must both live and die under this fatall, Must.

I had no sooner read this Letter, but, with a trembling hand, I returned it, and Daph∣nis did gently put it in the place where she found it: she came softly off without waking him, and coming unto me, who stood a pretty distance off; I pray, sweet Diana, said she unto me, give me leave to speak freely unto you. Our friendship Daphnis (answered I) does give you that power without the asking. Then, Diana, said she, I must tell you, that I do pitty Filander with all my heart, for most certainly he loves you; and your own soul, I'me sure cannot deny it. Daphnis, (said I unto her) let the faulty do the penance. If so, said she, then I'me sure that Filander must not: for, I cannot allow it any fault to love you, but, I believe, his fault had been much greater if he had not loved you; for fair ones were made only to be loved. I dare appeal unto your judgment, answered I, whether I can pretend unto that title. But however, I do conjure you by our friendship, not to let him understand that I have any knowledge of his intention; and if you do love him, advise him never to mention it unto me: For esteeming both him and Callirea his Sister, as I do, I should be very sorry to banish him our company, which, you know, I should be for∣ced unto, if ever he speak of it unto me. How then would you have him to live, said she unto me? I would have him live, replied I, as he did before he ever saw me. But that he cannot do, replied she, for then he was not scorched with those flames which now do burn him. Then, said I, let him seek some remedy to quench those flames, without offending me. The fire is great, added she, and will not be quenched. Be the fire as great as it will, said I, it will not burn him, if he will not come neer it. Although, answered she, the bur∣ned use to flie the fire; yet, if he do flie, he will carry his fire with him, and the pain too. In conclusion I told her, that if it was so, then let him burn on, for I could not help him. With such discourse as this we returned towards our flocks, and at night to our lodgings, where we found Filander so carressed by Philidas, and Amindor also, that Daphnis be∣lieved he had bewitched them, it not being their humours to use others so. He stayed many daies amongst us, and all that while, he made not the least shew of any thing unto me, but lived in such a discreet manner, that had not Daphnis and Iseen, what we did, we had never entertained the least suspition of his intention. At last he was forced to depart, and not knowing what to resolve upon, he went unto his Sisters house, for he loved her, and had as great a confidence in her, as in himselfe. This Shepheardesse, as I told you, was married by force, and had no other contentment, but in the friendship of her Brother: As soon as ever she saw him, after the first salute, she was very inquisitive to know from whence he came: and he answering, that he came from Philidas, she asked him how Daph∣nis and I did: And he telling her also, speaking very highly in my commendations; she whispered him in the ear, and said, I am afraid Brother, that you do love her better then you do me. He answered, that indeed he did love me, as my merits did oblige him to do. Then I have guessed right, (said she) for I know not a Shepheardesse in the whole world, that is owner of more merit; and I must confesse, that were I a man, I would, whether she would or no, devote my selfe her servant. May I believe Sister, said he, that you speak this in good earnest? Yes truly Brother, answered she, I will swear it, by that which is most dear unto me. Then I do believe, replied he, that if you were a man, you would have a hard task in hand; for, I perceive her to be of an humour that is not easily bended: More∣over, Philidas and Amindor are so deadly jealous of her, as one or both of them are never out of her sight. Oh deare Brother (cryed she out) I plainly see that you are taken, since you have so precisely observed these particulars, I do beseech you conceal it no longer from me: for Love, if it be a fault is very pardonable: and she was so importunate, that, after a thousand protestations and suplications never to impart it, he confessed it unto her, and in such passionate expressions, as she could not possibly doubt it. And when she asked him how I received this declaration? Oh heavens, said he unto her, did you but know her humour you would say that never any did undertake a more difficult peece of businesse. All

that I have done hitherto, is to blind the eyes of Philidas and Amindor, making them be∣leeve there is none in the world more theirs then I am; and I have so well thriven in my designe upon them, as they were never well but when I was with them: then he made a re∣port of all the passages unto her. But said he, though I did intend to discover unto Diana, how much I was hers, yet such an awing power she had over me, as I never durst, and I am afraid I never shall, only unlesse a long continued practise should embolden me, for other∣wise it cannot be, but Philidas and Amindor will take notice of it: So as, deare Sister, to tell you my condition, it is to tell you, that I am the very next dore unto despair. Cal∣lirea who loved her Brother above all the world, was so sensible of his pain, that after she had a while thought upon it, she said thus unto him. Brother, will yoube pleased to let me contribute my good will towards your satisfaction, and render you a testimonie of my forwardnesse to serve you? Dear Sister, answered he, though in this or any other busi∣nesse, I make no doubt of your good will: yet I am afraid of the successe; how ever I shall entertaine any thing which comes from you.

Then Brother, said she, I will go this way to work; you know what a resemblance there is between our faces, our statures, and our speech, and were it not for a difference in habit, even those that are continually with us, will take the one for the other: Now since the best way to compasse your design, is to keep about Diana without suspition, can a more easie and secret way be devised, then for you to be taken for a woman? So may you keep Di∣ana company without giving the least suspition of jealousie unto Philidas, and I may re∣turne unto Gerestan in your habit unto whom I will make an excuse and say that Daphnis and Diana kept you with them by force. All the difficulty will be to get his leave to go un∣to them, which I doubt will be very hardly obtained. Dear Sister, said Filander, I never made any doubt of your wit or dearness to me; and now I find you to be the best Sister that ever man had, since you are pleased to take this paines upon you, which I most humbly be∣seech you to do, and know, that it is the only way that can keep a Brother alive who loves you above himselfe. Then did he imbrace her with all possible acknowledgments of obliga∣tion, which made her more willing to serve him then before: at last, she said thus unto him: Sweet Brother let us leave words to them that love lesse, and let us think how to put our businesse into action. I hope, said he, it will easily be effected, if you can but obtain your Husbands leave, which I hope will also be effected, if you pretend that your journey is only with intentions to bring the match about, betwixt Amindor and his Neece, which he does very much desire, and telling him that you make no doubt, but that you with the help of Daphnis shall in time bring it to passe. But what course shall we take with our hair? for yours is too long, and mine too short, and therefore I doubt will much trouble us: Never take care for that, said I unto him: for yours is long enough to be dressed up like mine; and I will circumcise mine into your cut. But, dear Sister, said he unto her, will it not grieve you to part so with your hair? No Brother, answered she, there is nothing so dear unto me, which I would not part with to procure your contentment, though it were my very skin. At this word he imbraced her, and told her that next unto god she would be his great deli∣verer from his torments. Then Filander, to lose no time, tooke the first opportunitie that of∣fered it selfe, of talking with Gerestan, representing unto him the advantage and feasibilitie of bringing this match about: and because Filander desired so much time as to let his hair grow a little longer, he pretended a journey about the dispatch of some business, and would shortly return. But Philidas no sooner heard of Philanders return, than she went to visit him accompanied only with Amindor, and would not part with him before they brought him unto us, where he stayed seaven or eight dayes and was not any bolder to declare himselfe unto me than at the first.

During which time, to shew how hard a thing it is to constrain nature long; although Philidas did counterfeit the Man as well as she could for her life, yet was she forced to re∣sent the passions of a woman: and the addresses and merits of Filander wrought such effects in her, as he desired they had wrought in me.

Thus the poor Philidas was so much besides her self, that she could not live out of Filanders fight, and did apply her selfe so unto him, as did amaze him, and had not his desires of being neer me restrayned him, he would never have endured that kind of life. At last when he thought his hair was reasonably well grown, he returned to Gerestan, and told him that he had already broken the Ice of the businesse, but Daphnis, did think it expedient to see his Neece before she spoke in the businesse, and likewise that Amindor also saw her, and therefore she thought the best course was to let Callirea carry her thither, and she to

shew her selfe as complaisant as she could unto Amindor and the rest.

Gerestan who desired nothing more then to be rid of his Neece did hearken unto this proposition with a very willing eare and did peremptorily command his wife to make her self ready for the voyage, who to make him more eager upon it, did seem to be a little unwilling, and shewed some signes of sorrow to part from her Husband, saying that such businesse as this, might be wel enough effected without her, and that it would take up a great deale of time, which might better be spent in her houshould affaires. But Gerestan who would have her will to yeeld to his in all things, was so extreamly hot upon the mat∣ter, that three dayes after, she departed with her Brother and her Neece. The first dayes Jorney was to Filanders, where they changed habits, which so well fitted each other, that even those in their company could not perceive the change: And I must confesse I was deceived as wel as they, and found no manner of difference betwixt them. But well might I be deceived, when Philidas was, who looked upon him with the eyes of Love, which they say are more observant then all the eyes of Linx: for as soon as they came, she left the faign∣ed Callirea, I mean Filander, and carried the true into a chamber to rest her self. All the way as they came, Filander instructed his Sister in all passages, and how she should find the persons with whom she was to transact; now though Callirea was resolved to undergo all difficulties, for her Brothers contentment: yet thinking Philidas to be a man, it went much against the hair of her mind to talk with her. As for us, when Daphnis and I were retired, we treated Filander with all the civilities that are used amongst women, I mean, such as either amitie or privacie requires, which that shepheard did receive with much Jollitie; and as he hath since sworn to me, he was almost transported besides himselfe. Had I not been a meer child in matter of observation, certainly his actions and behaviour would have dis∣covered him unto me: but the truth was, shee did counterfeit the matter so exceeding well, that Daphnis was deceived as well as I: while we retired into our chambers after supper Callirea and Philidas did walk into the chamber. I know not what their discourse was, but ours was nothing but assurance of amitie and cordiall expressions of affection, which Filander used in such a passionate way as it was easie to judge, that though she would have said nothing, yet he could not be blamed for want of any good wil, but for the want of boldnesse.

For my part I was extreamly free in my expressions also; for beleeving him to be a wo∣man, I thought my selfe to be obliged unto it, by his expressions of good will to me, by his merits, and by the kindred of her and Daphnis.

From this time, Amindor, who before bore me much good will, began to change his af∣fection & to love the faigned Callirea: And Filander fearing his demeans would not please this young man, did strive as much as possibly he could to comply with him: and the fleet∣ing humour of Amindor, would not let him receive such favours, without being in Love. Which I do not at all think strange: For the beauty, the judgement, and deportment of Filander was such, as that he came nothing short in the perfections of a woman, so as he might well delude any man.

Observe what a wanton Love is; and how he sports and spends his time! He made Philidas who was a woman to love a woman, and Amindor who was a man to love a man, and that so extream passionatly that this very particular was subject enough to dis∣course of. Filander he knew how to play the woman most admirably; and Callirea did so well counterfeit her Brother, and neither of them wanted prudence to carry out the matter.

That cold demeanure which Callirea shewed unto me, removed all causes of jealousie out of Philidas, and besides Philidas did love her; and I must confesse, that seeing her so fall off from Philidas, from Daphnis, and from me, we had an opinion, that Filanders mind was changed: at which I much rejoyced, by reason of the amity I bore unto his Sister. Seaven or eight dayes were thus spent, and none did think them one jot too long; for, every one of us had a particular designe. But Callirea, who feared, lest her Husband should be angry at this long stay, did solicit her Brother to make known his design unto me, telling him, that it was not likely I should refuse his service, since he bad been so fa∣miliar with me: But for all that, he had not yet the confidence to declare himselfe: Yet, to delude Gerestan, he desired her to go unto her Husband in that dresse wherein she was, assuring her, that he could not finde any difference between them; and to let him under∣stand that by the advice of Daphnis, she had left Callirea with Philidas, to treat with Amindor about the marriage of his Niece.

This proposition at the first did astonish his Sister; for, her Husband was a piece of angry flesh, and the least disgust would move him unto passion. At the last, her desires to con∣tent her Brother in every thing, did move her to yield unto the motion: And to render this excuse more colourable, they did speak unto Daphnis concerning Amindors marriage, which, for divers considerations, she rejected; but, knowing that this businesse was their pretence, under which they got leave to come this journey, and without which they never had obtained it; Daphnis, who was well pleased with their company, did communicate the matter unto me; and we all agreed, that the best way was, to seem, as if the project were feasible: And in order to that, Daphnis did write unto Gerestan, advising him to let his Wife to stay a little longer amongst us, the better to effect the businesse, and that she hoped all things would be brought to a happy issue.

Upon this Embassie, and thus clad, Callirea went unto her Husband, who being be∣guiled by her dresse, as well as the rest, he took her for her Brother, and liked the cause of his wifes stay so well, that he willingly consented unto the motion upon those termes. Judge, fair Shepheardesses, whether I might not well be deceived, since her own Husband was, and could not distinguish them.

Now, Filanders affection grew to that height, that he could no longer conceal it, do what he could; and therefore he told me, that though he was a woman, yet he could not chuse, but be extreamly in love with me, and should be much more, were he a man; and expressed himselfe so very passionately, that Daphnis, who loved me very well, did say, that untill then, she never knew it; but that she her selfe was also in love me: which was no stranger, then that Philidas should love Filander. And this disguised Callirea prote∣sted, that the chiefe reason why she did constrain her Brother to go, was this match which was propounded; for which many so reasons were shewed me, that I easily believed it to be so. Being thus satisfied with this excuse, she spoke of her passion unto me, without any difficulty, but still as a woman and vowing unto me, that the very same resentments and passions which use to be in men that were in love, were in her, and that it was a great con∣solation unto her to expresse them.

Twelve or fifteen daies thus passed, with so much delighting satisfaction unto Filan∣der, as he hath since sworn unto me, that he never spent his daies more happily, although his desires did swell him with abundance of impatiency, which yet did daily augment his passion: And pleasing himself in these thoughts, he would very often walk alone to entertain them: Now, because he was seldome from us in the day time, he would often make use of the night, when he thought all asleep, and go into the Garden, where, under some trees, he would enjoy his thoughts; and using often to go out thus, Daphnis took notice of it, who lay in the same Chamber: And as commonly the worse, rather then the better, is su∣spected, she was jealous of Amindor and her; but, for her satisfaction she would watch; and watched so, that seeing the disguised Callirea go out of his Bed, she followed him by the light of the Moon into the Garden, where just under my Chamber window, she saw him sit down, and lifting up his eyes unto heaven, she heard him say thus aloud:

Even as the Moon doth quite outshine, And dimn another star; So my Diana, most divine, Transcends all beauties far.

Though Filander uttered these words loud enough, yet Daphnis was so far off, that she could not hear, but here and there a word, and therefore she stepped neerer as gently as she could, though he was so taken up with his own imagination, that, had she walked be∣fore him, he had hardly seen her, as since he told me. Assoon as she had gotten her selfe neer him, so as she could hear him sigh, she heard him say in a low voice to himselfe, How unreasonable is my partiall fate, that hath made her worthy of all services, and yet me not worthy to serve her? And that she should not accept of their affections who do love her; yet, to inspire them with extream passions. Ah Callirea! how pernitious proves thy plot unto thy tranquillitie? and how art thou punished for thy bold presumption? Daphnis did hearken unto Filander very attentively; but though he spoke loud and di∣stinct enough, yet, her prejudicated conceit of his being Callirea, would not suffer her to comprehend his meaning: But afterwards her curious ear heard him utter these words, But Oh, presumptuous Filander, what excuse caust thou finde for thy fault? and what pu∣nishment

can equall thy offence? Thou dost love this Shepheardesse, yet, how durst thou be so imprudently bold, as to offer this injury unto her? At this word he stopt; but still his eyes and his sighs did expresse the extremity of his passion: And to divert his sad thoughts, or rather to flatter them, he started up upon a suddain to walk, and spied Dapl∣nis, though she, to conceal her selfe, did run away; but, because he was resolved to know who it was, he ran after her, and at the corner of the little wood overtook her; and think∣ing that now she had discovered all, which he had so closely concealed, in a kinde of halfe anger, he said unto her, What, Daphnis, makes you so full of curiosity, as so to spie out my actions in the night? It is (answered Daphnis in a smiling manner) to get that out of you by craft, which otherwise I could not: And this she thought she had spoken unto Callirea, not having yet discovered that he was Filander. Well then (replied Filander, thinking he had been discovered) what great Novelties have you learn'd by it? All, said Daphnis, that I desire to know. Then (said Filander) your curiosity is sufficiently satisfied. So well, answered she, that I see, all your diligence about Diana, and all the great affecti∣on which you make a shew of unto her, will in the end be repayed with grief and vek∣ation. Oh heavens! (cryed out Filander) I see I am discovered: But wise and discreet Daphnis, since you do now know the cause of my being here with Diana, you have in your hands both my life and my death: But surely if you do consider how much I am yours, and how ready I was ever to serve you upon all occasions, I hope you rather wish my contentment and happinesse, than my despair and ruine. Daphnis still thought it to be Callirea that spoke, and had a conceit, that all these fears proceeded from Gerestan, who would have taken it very ill, his Wife should do any such office for her Brother; but to satisfie him, she said, Callirea, you need not to make any question of me; for, I am so well acquainted with your businesse, that I would have contributed my best counsell and assistance, though you had never spoke unto me; but, that I may the better serve you, I beseech you acquaint me with the whole businesse, to the end your freedome towards me, may the more oblige me, and your mistrust of me may not offend me. I will, dear Daph∣nis, said he, upon condition you promise me to say nothing unto Diana, untill I consent unto it. This request, answered the Shepheardesse, might have been well spared; for such is her humour, that I would never advise you to trust her with it. Hence is my griefe, said Filander; for I do already so well know it, that I do think my designe almost an im∣possibility: For at the first, when my Sister and I resolved to change habits, she assuming mine, and I hers, I did then foresee that all the advantage I should get by it, was, that I might with more freedome be neer her a while in that disguise, and not be taken for Fi∣lander. How's this (said Daphnis, all amazed) for Filander? Are not you Callirea? The Shepheard, who thought she had known him before, was now very sorry that he had so rashly discovered himselfe; but seeing it was now past, and that there was no revocation of his words, he bethought himselfe how to make the best use of it he could, and therefore said thus unto her, You see Daphnis, that I do cleerly trust you with all my hopes, and have freely discovered the greatest secret of my soul unto you; a secret of such importance, that if any besides your selfe should know it, all my hopes are dead fore ever; therefore I do put my selfe, and all my happinesse into your hand, so, as you must either become my friend, or else I must die. Know therefore Daphnis, that here you see before you Filander, in the habit of his Sister; and that love in me, and compassion in her, hath caused us thus to disguise our selves. Afterward he related unto her his extream affection, his compli∣ance with Amindor and Philidas, the invention of Callirea, her resolution to go unto her. Husband in a mans habit: and, in short, all the passages, with all possible demonstrations of love: So as though Daphnis did wonder at the bold attempt of him, and his Sister; yet, she saw the grandure of his affection, which might well lead him unto such follies: Yet, had she been of their counsell at the first, she would not have advised unto this enterprize; but, seeing things did hit so happily, she resolved to aid him all that possibly she could, and to spare no pains nor care to effect his desires: After which promises, with many as∣surances of amitie, she gave him the best advice she could, which was, to insinuate himselfe by degrees into my affection For, said she, the very word of Love does more offend a wo∣man, than the thing it selfe doth; and it is alwaies very welcome unto any, so the name of it be hid. Therefore I think them to be well advised, who do make themselves loved of their Mistresses, before ever they speak of Love; for Love is a thing displeasing only in the name, though in it selfe it be agreeable unto all. And therefore, that you may finde a more favourable reception from Diana, you must not so much as name Love, no, nor to let her see

it, but must carry the matter so discreetly, that she may first love you, as soon as ever she shall know that you love her; for, she being once embarqued, she cannot afterwards re∣tire to the Port, although she should see a storm in coming. Me thinks hitherto you have carried it with very much prudence, but you must still continue it: The seeming to be in love with her, although you seem a woman, is to very good purpose; for certainly, any Love that is once suffered, will in the end produce a reciprocall return.

We see, that we do many things with much facility, which would seem full of diffi∣culty, if the custome of doing them, did not render them easie unto us. Meats unaccustomed, are often at the first disgusted, which afterwards are pleasant by use. An ear that is accu∣stomed to Musick, will tune the voice higher or lower unto a right harmonious caden∣cy; when one that is not used to the Art, will make a jar. So a Shepheardesse, who often heares the well tun'd talk of a Lover, will, in time, make her soul ply unto the harmoy of it and in time, will incline insensibly to the resentments of Love; my meaning is she will love the company of that person, and by little and little begin to pitty his pain and at last, before she be aware, will love him. Judge Filander, by these instructions, whether or no I love you, and have pitty of you, since I do discover unto you the secrets of our School: and receive this advice as an earnest of what I desire to do for you.

With such discourse as this, the day beginning to draw on, they returned into the house, laughing at the love of Amindor, who took him for a woman: And falling asleep again, to recompense the last nights losse, they did lie in bed long in the morning, which gave the young Amindor an opportunity of surprising them; and had not I entred at the same time into the chamber, I believe the jugling had been discovered: for, he going to the supposed Callirea's bed-side, his love began to be a little too licentious, and his rash & indis∣creet hands had like to have gon too far; but, Daphnis desired me to take him off, & to part them; which I did, with no small contentment to Filander, who, by way of thanks, kissed my hand so affectionately, as if I had any sense in me, I might have known him to be re∣ally in love. Afterwards, bidding them good morrow, I carryed Amindor away with me, that they might have time to dresse themselves. And because they intended to put their proposed designe into execution, presently after dinner, when we all, according to our custome, assembled under a shade of trees, to enjoy the cool air; although Amindor was there, yet, Daphnis conceived the opportunity to be good: for, to hear such discourse in his presence •• would remove all manner of suspition, and he would not think it strange, if afterwards he should by chance hear Filander speak like a man unto me. Daphnis then beckening unto Filander, to the end he should second her in the de∣signe, she thus said unto him, What is it, Callirea, that makes you so mute in Diana's company? The reason is, answered he, because I am thinking what wishes I should make, that might make me more servicable unto my Mistresse; and amongst the rest, I had one, which, I think, I ought not to desire. What is it, said Amindor? It is, said Filander, that I were a man that I might render more acceptable service unto the fair Diana. Why, said Daphnis, are you in love with her? Yes, answered Filander, and infinitely more then I am with all the world besides. I should sooner wish (said Amindor) that you were a woman again, both for my sake, and for Philidas. It is not the consideration of either of them (said Filander) shall make me change my wish, Why, (said Daphnis) do you think that Diana would love you better? I should hope so, said Filander, and the Lawes of Na∣ture would oblige her to it; unlesse, as in her beauty she transcends her power, so she should in, her humour disdain her ordinances. You may think what you please of me, (said I unto him) but if you will believe me, there is not a man upon earth that I do love more then you. Also, replyed he, there is none that breathes, which is more devoted to your service then I But fair Diana, that happinesse you mention, will last no longer, then untill you shall discover the poornesse of my merit; or, untill some better object present it selfe. Do you think me, replied I, of such a wavering temper? It is not, Fairest, that I think you guilty of the sin of inconstancy, replied he; but it is because I am conscious, that the fault is in my selfe. The fault is more on my side, answered I: And upon this word, I did embrace him, and kisse him, with as much sincere affection, as if he had been my sister. Hereupon Daphnis smiled in her selfe, to see me so deceived. But Amindor, jea∣lous (as I think) of us both, did interrupt us; I think (said he) that all this is in good ear∣nest, and that Callirea does not dissemble. I dissemble, said he? Heaven punish me more then ever perjury was punished, if ever any love was more passionate or sincere, than mine to Diana. If you were a man, (said Daphnis) do you think you could expresse your passion

in the language of a man? Though I must confesse (said he,) that my wit and elo∣quence is but very shallow; yet I beleeve I should not stand mute upon such an occasion, for my extream affection would prompt me, & supply all other defects. I beseech you, fair one' (said Amindor) let us see how you could behave your selfe upon such an occasion. If my Mistris will give me leave (said Filander) I will; but yet upon condition that she will grant me three requests: The first is, that she will answer unto what I shall ask her: The second, that she will not think, what I shall present unto her under another person then Cal∣lirea, to be fained, but take them as most reall and true, though impuissant passions. And the last is, that she will never permit any but my selfe to serve her in this kind. I seeing every one delighted with the motion, and also really loving Filander under the notion of his Sister, did answer him, that for his second and last request, they were granted as soon as desired; but as for the first, I was so unaccustomed to answer all questions, as I was sure they would be but unpleasing. Yet because I would not be refractory in any thing, I said that I would acquit my selfe as well as I could. Upon this word he took me by the hand, and began thus.

I could never have beleeved, Fair Mistris, considering the transcendency of your perfecti∣ons, that any mortall durst have loved you, had I not experimentally found in my selfe, that it is impossible to look upon you and not Love. But knowing the heavens to be more Just than to impose impossibilities upon any, I tooke it for granted, that they would have you loved, because they suffered you to be seen. In this beleefe, I assumed the boldnesse to look upon you, which I had no sooner done, but my heart immediatly submitted. The Law permits one to goe and dispose of their own; take it not ill, Fair shepheardesse, that I give you my heart, which if you refuse, I shall for ever disavow it to be mine. Here he stop∣ped, to see if I would answer him; but in such a manner, that had not his habit disguised him, I could not have doubted but that he was in good earnest. And because I would be as good as my promise, I answered him thus; Shepheardesse, were all these high applauds which you bestow upon me true, perhaps then I should think they proceeded from your af∣fection to me; but knowing them to be meer flatteries, I must needs think the rest no better then dissimulation. This, Fair one, said he, does too much disparage your judgement for it is impossible to make any doubt of your perfections and merit, but I rather think, that per∣haps you are used with such excuses to deny such things as you are not pleased to grant. But I am able and with all truth to swear, by Teutates, and all thats holy (and you may know I am not forsworne) that you did never in all your life refuse any thing that was given you with a more sincere and perect good will. I do know very well, answered I, that the shepheards of this Country are accustomed to such language as has little truth in it, nor do they think that the gods will punish all the perfidious oathes of seeming lovers. Whe∣ther or no it be the peculiar vice of your shepheards (said he) I referre it unto your knowledge. But for my selfe who am not of this country, I am not guilty either of their shame or crime: but will out of your most cruell words draw some satisfaction to my selfe. If the gods do punish the oaths of perfidious lovers, and if I be guiltiy, then the gods will send the punishment of perjurie upon me: and if they do not, then you must be forced to confesse, that since I am not punished, I am no lyer. And if I be no lyer, then you must confesse I am your lover. So let your wit turne it which way you will, it cannot be denyed but that you are the fairest upon earth, or else there is none in it; and that your beauty is infinitly adored, by that shepheard who presents himselfe before you, and who implores your favour, which he thinks he may merit, if a most perfect love could ever do it. Whe∣ther I am fair or no, replyed I, I will be judged by any indifferent eyes: but how ever you cannot deny that you do dissemble and are perjured: and I must tell you Callirea, that these expressions which you have used as a man shall make me resolve, never to credit any words, since you being a woman do know how so wel to dissemble. Why Diana do you in∣terrupt the discourse of your Servant? (said he and smiled:) do you wonder that Callirea should expresse so much affection to you? No no, it is absolutly impossible to diminish or increase, for it is most violent & shall be eternall. I will in spite of opposition love you, & Love you to my grave, and in my grave also if it be possible; as Tirisias being a woman, be∣came a man, why may I not hope, that the gods may as well change me? Beleeve it (Fair Di∣ana) that since the gods never made any thing in vaine, it is not likely they should inspire me with a most perfect affection to no purpose. Daphnis seeing this discourse went a little too farr, and was daingerous, because this Lovers passion had a little transported him, and might discover him unto Amindor: she did interrupt him, and said; Doubtlesse, Callirea,

your love is not in vain, since it is imployed to serve this shepheardesse, no more then a candle consumes it selfe in vaine, which gives light unto all about it: For all the world adores her as well as you, and you do most excellently imploy your time if it be in her service. Come come (said Amindor) let us leave this discourse, see where Philidas comes who though he be a man, yet he will take no delight in it: Then Philidas came, and every one rose to salute him. But Ami••dor, who was pittifully in love with the disguised Callirea when his cosin came, tooke an opportunitie to draw her aside. Then taking her by the arme and seeing none within hearing began to say thus unto her: Is it possible, fair Callirea, that the language wherein you expressed your selfe unto Diana, should proceed from your heart? Or did you use them only to shew the acutenesse of your wit? Beleeve me, Amindor, answered Filander, I am no lyer, and the expression of my affection to her, was the very thoughts of my heart, and if there be any want of truth in it, it was only want of words to expresse my resentments. Unto which with a deep sigh, he answered thus. Since it is so, fair Callire••, and that you are sensible of the same wounds, I cannot but thinke you can be also very sensible of that affection which others bear unto you. And therefore I shall use no other language to expresse my selfe unto you but what you used unto Diana; only add this consideration unto you, to the end you may know the grandure of my Love, that if the blow may be judged of by the strength of the arm that gave it, then my wound must needs b•• the deeper, since the beauty of Diana is not comparable unto yours & if you do love her so extreamly, Judge how great the affection of Amindor must needs be that loves Callirea? For hee knowes not how to declare it better unto you, but by making a comparison of it with your own. Shepheard, answered Filander your declarations of any Love to me, are both unjust and very offensive unto me, who have a husband that will not with pati∣ence suffer such affront if he knew it. Moreover, since you speak of Diana, unto whom, I have wholly dedicated my selfe, I must tell you, that if you will have me measure your affection by mine, according to the causes which we have to love, I cannot beleeve you have much; since what you call beauty in me, is not worthy to retain the name of it, if compa••••ed with hers. Fair shepheardesse, (said Amindor then) I could never have beleeved it an offence to love you; but since it is, I do confesse that I merit punishment, and am ready to receive what doome soever you please; but you must resolve to put altogether, and punish me for loving you as long as I live, for it is impossible I should liv••, and not Love. But never think, I beseech you, that the displeasure of Gerest••••n can at all divert me: he who feares neither dainger nor death it self: can never feare a man. But as to your selfe, I must ••e••ds confesse my selfe to blame in comparing Diana unto you since doubtlesse she comes infinitly short, which if you can be so good as to pardon, I will protest never to com∣mit the like error againe. Philander who had an opinion that Amindo. loved me, and who did love m•• himselfe, could hardly endure to heare me thus un lervalued; but having a designe not to discover himself, he had so much power over himself as to put it up and thus answered him. How is it possible Amindor (said he.) that your tongue should so much bely your heart? Can you think I do not know that you dissemble? And that all this while your affection is devoted unto Diana? My affection (replyed he, as if surprised) Nono, that is wholly yours: may never any love me, if I love any but you: I cannot say but heretofore I have wished her well, but her humour is so full of inequalitie, somtimes all fire, and somtimes all Ice, that now I am very indifferent towards her. I wonder said Filan∣der, how you dare to say so, for I know she loves you, and you still love her? I will not deny said Amindor but that she may love me, but who cares. This was right according to Amindors humour, which was ever full of vanitie, and would have all men beleeve, that he could have many good fortunes: At this time Filander found out his artifice: and had he not feared the discovery of himselfe, he was so incensed against him in my behalfe, that I beleeve he would have given him the lye. However he could not chuse but give him a very sharp answer. Amindor (said he) you are the most unworthy Shepheard that ever lived and not fit for any good society: Can you find a heart to speake thus of Diana, unto whom you have professed so much amitie? and unto whom you are so much obliged? What can we hope for from you, since you will not spare her who transcends us infinitly in merit and perfection? As for me, I think you the most daingerous person that lives, and such as would live in rest, must fly you as from the Plague. At this word Filander left him, and came to us with a countenance so inflamed with anger, as Daphnis knew that he was offended at Amindor: who was so astonished at the seperation that he knew not what to do. At night Daphnis asked Filander what their discourse was; and because she thought

this might much increase my amitie towards the disguised Callirea. The next mor∣ning she related it all unto me, with such bitter invectives against Amindor, and so ad∣vantageously for Filander, that I must confesse, that I could never since forbid my selfe from loving him when I knew him, conceiving, that his reall good-will unto me, did oblige me to it.

But Daphnis, who knew that, if I loved him as Callirea, I should also love him as Fi∣lander, did advise him to discover himselfe unto me, telling him, that though at the first I might perhaps repulse him, and be angry; yet, in the end, all would be well: and for her part, she would so solicite in his behalf, that she feared not but to bring all unto a good con∣clusion: Yet all her perswasions could not infuse so much courage into him: so as Daph∣nis resolved to do it her selfe without him, or his knowledge; for, she foresaw, that Gere∣stan would ere long have his Wife home again, and then all the plot was spoiled.

With this resolution she came one day unto me, when she found me alone, and after much other-common discourse, she began thus: Diana, said she, what should be the mea∣ning of Callirea's folly? I verily believe she will run out of her wits; she loves you so ex∣tream passionately, as, I think, she will not live; All day long she is in your Chamber, and all nights in the Garden; and so pleaseth her selfe with her own melancholy fancy, that I cannot shake her out of her musings. I would I could give her any consolation, (answered I) but what would she have me do? do I not repay affection for affection? do I not make it appear in all my actions? am I failing in any point of courtesy or duty towards her? All this is true, replied Daphnis; but, did you hear her discourses to her selfe, I believe you would extreamly pitty her: and I beseech you, unknown to her, let us go one night and hear her. I did promise her, that I was very willing, and would go with her assoon as she would; for Philidas would ere long make a visit unto Gerestan, and then would be the fittest time.

A few daies after, Philidas, according to his intentions, went to see Gerestan, and car∣ried Amindor with him, resolving not to return of seven or eight daies: When he was gone, Filander, according to his custome, went into the Garden halfe dressed, when he thought every one was a sleep. Daphnis, who went to bed the first, as soon as he was gone, did come to me, and told me: I put on my clothes as fast as I could, and followed her, untill we came into the Garden. When she found where he was, she beckened unto me, to come a little after her; and when we were so neer as to hear, we sat our selves down upon the ground: Presently after I heard him say, But why should I put my selfe to all this patience? what will all these delayes do me good? Shall I die, before I discover my maladie to the Chi∣rurgeon? Then staying a while, he began again with a most profound sigh, Why should I fear that she will banish me her presence, and doom me to death? for, if I should die, it is a comfort to shorten such a miserable life, and my death would satisfie for the fault I have committed; if death do not fall upon me, from the incensed brow of the fair Diana, will not the violence of my affection cause it? What then should I do, and what shall I say unto her? Alas, I would not offend her, if I could possibly help it: And why should I keep silence, since my death will give her most certain knowledge? What then, shall I offend her? Ah! alas, injury and amitie are never together. Rather die, there's an end: But, if I should die, do I not deprive her of the most faithfull servant ever that she had? Is it possible, I should offend in adoring her? I will then tell her, and at the same time open my breast, that the sword may more easily punish my crime, if she condemn me to it. Thus then will I say unto her, Here, fairest Shepheardesse here is Filander in the habit of Callirea, who, in lieu of beg∣ging your favour, lookes for nothing but your sury: Revenge your selfe then, Oh fairest, and punish him, and be confident, that if his death will please and satisfie you, it is most welcome to him.

Faire Shepheardesse, when I heard Filander thus expresse himselfe, my amazement was so great, that I knew not what in the world to do: I was so vexed, and trembled so extreamly, that I would have gon away, and never have looked upon this impostor any more: But Daphnis, to compleat her treason, held me by force; and, as I told you, being neer this Shepheard he turned his head at the noise which we made; and thinking it was only Daphnis he came unto us: But, when he spied me, and thought I heard him, Oh heavens, said he, what torment is little enough for me? Oh Daphnis, who could ever have expected this treason from you? At this he ran away, as if he had been distracted, though Daphnis called him two or three times by the name of Callirea; but fearing to be heard by others and more fearing, that Filander might do some hurt unto himselfe, she left me alone,

and followed him, saying unto me in an angry manner at parting, Well Diana, if Filan∣de, do perish, you will resent it as long as you live. Judge, fair Shepheardesses, if I was not astonished at this accident: But so it was, that I could not hit the way out of the Gar∣den a long time; at last, groping on every side, and recollecting my spirits, I found my Chamber, where, lying me down upon my Bed, and trembling, I could not close an eye that night. As for Daphnis, she searched for Filander so long, that at last she found him more dead than alive: and after she had chid him, for not closing with so good an oppor∣tunity; and yet assuring him, that I was not so much troubled at the accident as he was, he took a little heart to himselfe; but yet not so much as to embolden him the next morning to come out of his Chamber.

I, on the other side was extreamly offended against them both, and was forced to keep my bed, lest I should make my displeasure seen unto those about us, and particularly unto the Niece of Gerestan; but, as good fortune was she had no more wit then there was need of, so as we did easily hide from her this scurvy businesse, which was almost impossible to do, especially for Filander, who had her company almost continually. Daphnis, she was not a little busied in the matter and perplexed, for, at the first, I would not look upon her and her excuses: but at the last, she did so overcome me that I promised to forget the in∣jury she had done me, yet vowing, that Filander should never look me in the face again: and I do think, he had gone away without a sight of me, had he not feared the danger which Callirea would have incurred; for she had a Husband, that was extreamly per∣verse and peevish, and it was this very consideration that restrained him. But for all the ar∣guments that Daphnis could use, I never stirred out of my bed, feigning my self sick, for five or six daies. And had I not heard that Philidas and Amindor, with Callirea, were retur∣ned I had no seen him of a long time: but my fears, that Philidas would take notice of it, and lest th••s secret should come to be divulged all over the Country I did resolve to see him, upon condition, that he should never make the least shew of what was past, though I had not so much power over my selfe, as not to shew my displeasure ••he promised me, that he would observe my commands, and kept his promise; for, he durst not so much as turn an eye towards me; and if he did at any time by chance give a glance upon me, it was in such a submissive manner, as did assure me his love was extream. Presently after, as for∣tune was, Philidas, Amindor and the disguised Filander, came into my Chamber, where, the windowes being close, we could the better hide the disorders in our faces. Filander had acquainted his Sister with all passages, and that was the reason, that the stay of Philidas was not so long as he intended; for she telling him, that her Sister was sick, they re∣turned.

But this discourse would be very tedious, if I should not omit many of our triviall quarrells. But so it was, that Callirea being acquainted with all passages, sometimes turning them into rall••rie, and sometimes into seriousnesse, she so brought it about by the assistance of Daphnis, that I consented unto Filanders stay, untill his Sisters hair was grown unto its length again knowing, that it would ruine both her and my self, if I should hasten her returne. And so it fell out, (as Daphnis did well enough foresee) that during the time Callirea's hair was growing, the discreet carriage of Filander, and the knowledge of his great affection, began so to flatter me, as I did of my selfe excuse his disguise; so, as be∣fore he went, he obtained what he so much desired, which was, that I would forgive and forget his Imposturisme; and promised him, that as long as he kept himselfe within the compasse of his duty. I would accept of his good will, and cherish his merit as it deser∣ved. His contentment upon this did much confirm my opinion of his affection, for it was so great as he could not dissemble it. Whilst we were upon these termes, Philidas, whose love did still increase, now resolved to discover himselfe unto the disguised Filander: and in order to this one day when they were walking together under a shade of Trees in the Garden, she spoke thus unto him, Well Filander, said she, cannot all my affection to you become so happy, as to obtain your affection again? Callirea answered her, I do not know Philidas, what affection you would have, nor how it should be greater unto you than it is, unlesse you your selfe do instruct me. Ah! said she were your will like mine, I should quickly instruct you. I do wonder Philidas (said Callirea) that you having had sufficient triall of me you should make any doubt. Do you not know, said Philidas, that extream desire is alwaies followed by doubting. If you will swear that you will never fail me in point of amitie, I will declare unto you something, that perhaps will make you wonder. Callirea was a little surprised at this, not knowing what Philidas should mean;

yet, being desirous to know the conclusion, she answered him thus, I will swear Philida whatsoever you would have me, nor can I any waies expresse my desires of doing you service. Upon this, by way of thanks, and being transported together, Philidas took her about the neck and kissed her, with that vehemency, as Callirea blusht, and pushing him away with her hand very angrily asked him, what scurvie fashion that was? I do know, answered Philidas, that my action makes you wonder; but, if you will have a little pa∣tience to hear me, I assure my selfe, that you will rather pitty, than have any ill opinion of me. Then she began to relate unto her all the passages betwixt Phormion and Celion our Fathers; the subtletie of her Father, to let her passe for a man, although she was a wo∣man; and all that I have related already unto you, and then continued in this manner, Now, that which I do require in performance of your promise, is, that knowing my ex∣tream affection to you, you would take me to be your Wife, and I will marry Diana unto Amindor, whom my Father hath brought up in his house, purposely to that end: And hereupon she added so many arguments to perswade him, that Callirea, amazed be∣yond all expression, answered him, That it was true indeed, he had told her most strange things, and such as she could hardly believe, unlesse she had some other assurance than words. Then he, unbuttoning his doublet, did shew him in her breasts, a convincing to∣ken of her being a woman. Oh heavens! said she, for shame shew me no more. Callirea then, that she might have the more time to consult with us, did seem, as if she were glad of the motion; but pretended, that she had Parents from whom he expected all his ad∣vancement, and, without whose advice, she could not resolve upon a businesse of this im∣portance; and therefore she charged him, to keep the businesse secret; for, divulging of it, would give the world an occasion to talk: and assured him, that if nothing was wanting but her consent, she would give him good testimony of her good-will. With such discourse as this they ended their walk, and returned to their lodging, where all that day, Callirea durst not come unto us, lest Philidas should think she should speak unto us; but, at night, she acquainted her Brother with all the discourse and afterwards, both of them went unto Daphnis, and acquainted her. You may imagine how great the wonder of every one was; but Filander was most pleased, conceiving it conduced much unto the accomplish∣ment of his desires. In the morning, Daphnis desired me to go and see the feigned Calli∣rea, and the reall one stayed with Philidas, to the end she should not suspect any thing. The heavens know, how I was astonished at this newes; I protest unto you, my admira∣tion was so great as I knew not whether I was awake or asleep. Daphnis, she complained against me, for concealing it so long from her: to which I answered, That I knew nothing of it untill this houre; and when I told her, that though we were Children together, yet, I thought all men to be like Philidas. She laughed untill her sides did ake at my ignorance. At the last, lest Belinda should dispose of me according to her pleasure, or, that Philidas should put me upon Amindor, and he have rash attempts upon me, I promised Filander, at the solicitation of Daphnis and Callirea, to marry him. This was the reason why (after he had assumed his own habit, and assured Philidas, that he would make the motion un∣to his Parents) he returned so soon with his Sister unto Gerestan, who never had the least suspition of this disguise. Since that time, I permitted Filander to write unto me; and he conveyed his Letters so finely unto me, that neither Philidas nor Amindor ever knew of them.

Hitherto, fair Shepheardesses, this businesse had no bitternesse in it. But alas, that which followed was so full of wofull wormwood, that I shall never relish any sweet again as long as I live. It chanced, to my fatall misfortune, that a stranger travelling through this Country, did finde me asleep, neer the Fountain of Sicomores, whither I was invited by the coolnesse of the shades, and the murmuring of the spring, to sit me down, and so fell asleep; he no sooner had cast his eye upon me, but he found somthing that pleased him. Oh heavens what kinde of man, or rather, what kinde of monster, he was! His face was as black as hell; his hair ruffine like, resembling wool, but much longer, and more disor∣dered; his beard like grisly mosse about his chin; his nose crooked and long, his mouth big, and his lips hanging over his chin like unto tripes; but, nothing was so horrid as his staring eyes in all his face there was not one bit of white to be discovered. This lamenta∣ble Lover was designed me by destiny, and to take from me all thoughts of ever loving again: For, being ravished at the sight of me, and transported with leud desires, he could not chuse but come neerer to kisse me but, being armed, and onhorseback, the noise awak∣ned me, and so, that as he was slooping to satisfie his hellish desire, I opened my eyes:

And seeing this Monster so near me, I first cryed out, and afterwards did strike him upon the face with all my force. He being half up and half down, and not expecting such resist∣ance, was so surprised at the blow, as he leaned on the other side, so as I had time to rise. When I was up, he did rise, and being very heavily armed, and fear adding wings to my heels, he could not overtake me on foot, and therefore he leaped suddenly into his saddle, and galloped after me; and when I was almost quite out of breath, poor Philidas who was not far off, hearing my voice, did come running unto me, and saw this cruel fiend pursue me with a drawn sword in his hand; for his anger at this blow which made him stagger, made him also forget all love. Philidas did most generously oppose his fury, ma∣king it appeare by this last act, that her Love unto me was as great as her Sex would permit. At the first she got hold of his bridle, which so incensed this Barbarian, that with enequalled inhumanity, he ran her through the body, and she died immediatly, fall∣ing between his Horses feet, who fell so to bound and curvet, that he threw his Rider. And because Philidas upon the first receipt of her wound did cry out aloud, and named Filan∣der; he not being far off, did hear the voice, and seeing her in so sad a condition, he was much moved but much more when he saw this Barbarian running after me with a naked sword in his hand, and I, as I told you, so out of breath, that I could hardly set one foot before another. How doe you think this poor Shepheard did now behave himself? I doe not think ever any enraged Lioness robbed of her young ones, did run so fiercely after him that carried them away, as Filander did after this cruel Monster; and he being heavily clogged with his Arms, the poor Shepheard soon overtook him, and cryed out. Stay Knight, stay, doe not offer any violence unto her that deserves rather to be adored. And because he still stayed not, either because his fury had stopped his ears, or because he did not understand the Language, Filander took up a stone and threw it at him, which hit him such a blow upon the head, that he fell to the ground, and which without his Armour had certainly killed him; but getting up again immediatly, he forgot his anger against me, and turned it so furiously upon poor Filander, as he having nothing in his hand for de∣fence but onely a Shepheards hook, he could not avoid that fatal blow which he received upon his body: But yet, feeling his enemies sword already entred, such force and courage did his natural generosity give him, that in lieu of recoyling, he advanced, and so far, as till the sword was up to the hilt, and gave his cruel enemy such a blow on the fore∣head with his Shepheards hook that he felled him to the ground, and seizing upon his throat with his hands and teeth he made a shift to kill him. But, alass, this victory was dearly bought for as this Fiend fell dead on one side, Filander fell on the other, but so, that the point of his sword hitting upon a stone, the weight of his body made it come out of the wound. I, who alwaies was looking behind me to see whether this Monster did o∣vertake me, when I saw him wounded so dangerously, forgetting all manner of fear, I stopped; and when I almost dead as well as he did see him in this lamentable state, sat down upon the ground calling him in a most sad tone by his name; and using all my diligence to help him but hee had lost so much blood, that hee could not answer: Yet see the force of a pure affection; I who had used never to see so much blood without a Faint had now the courage to put my handkerchief into his wound, and to tear my other linnen to stop the course of blood on the other side: This officious diligence did him some service for he having his head in my lap, he opened his eyes, and began to speak: and seeing me all in tears, he forced himself to say thus unto me; If ever I hoped for a more favourable End than this, fair Shepherdess. I pray the hea∣vens never to have pitty upon me: I did alwaies foresee, that the meaness of my merit could never bring me to my desired happiness; and my fears alwaies were lest despair should drive me unto some cruel resolution against my self. The Gods who do know what is good for us, better then we do our selves, did very well know that I had not lived so long but for you; and therefore they would have me also to dye for you. Judge then what contentment it is to me, since I do not onely die for you, but also to preserve that which is most dear unto you, your Chastity. Oh my most fair and dearest Mistris, there wants no∣thing now, but one thing, to compleat my contentment: And that my soul may sing an Anthem unto you in the Elizian fields, I doe most humbly beg it. He uttered these dying words with much pain; and seeing him in that sad condition, I gave him as satisfactory an answer as his heart could desire: Dearest friend (said I) surely the Gods never in∣spired you with such a sweet and pure affection, to extinguish it so soon: I hope yet they will lend you so much life, as may give me opportunities to let you see, that I will not yeeld

unto you in point of amity no more than you doe unto any in point of merit. And for a testimony of my unfeigned affection to you, ask what you will of me, and obtain it; for there is nothing that I will deny you. At these words he took my hand, and drawing it nearer him, I doe kiss this fair hand (said he) with a thankful soul, for all the favours it hath done me. But ah, fairest Mistris, since I doe suffer the pangs of death for your sake, I doe conjure you by my most pure affection, and by your own good promise, to let me carry so much contentment with me out of the world, as to say, I am your Husband, and then my soul, dye when it will, will be at ease. I do vow unto you, fair Shepherdesses, that these words did so pierce my heart, that I was hardly able to sustain myself; and it was onely my desire of pleasing him which gave me courage; and therefore as soon as he had made his request, I said thus unto him. Filander, I do consent unto what you doe require of me; and doe swear unto you before all the Gods, and particularly the deities of this place, that Diana receives you for her Husband, and with her whole heart and soul gives her self unto you. In speaking these words, I kissed him. And I, said he, do give my self and soul unto you, thinking my self most happy in the glorious Name of Husband unto the fair Diana. Alass, this word Diana, was the last he ever breathed; for drawing me towards him to kiss me, he expired, leaving his last breath upon my lips. What should I now doe, fair Shepherdess, since he is dead? for I did love him with most perfect affection. I fell upon him, and without either pulse or any motion was carried home. Oh heavens, how I did resent this loss! and have ever since preserved so lively a memory of him in my soul, that me thinks I see him every hour before my eyes; and me-thinks I heare him every minute bid me love him still: And so I do, fair soul, with an eternal love. And if thou hast any knowledg of what is don here below, receive, dearest friend, these tears which I do offer unto thee, as a testimony, that as long as Diana lives, she wil love her dear Filander. Astrea, to interrupt the grieving language of Diana, said thus unto her; I beseech you, fair Shepherdess, who was this monstrous piece of cruelty that was the cause of this dire disaster? Alass, said Diana, I know not what they call him, but I am sure he is the cause of my eternal tears. But yet, answered Astrea, is it not known who he was? They say, replied Diana, that he came out of a certain barbarous country beyond the Straits, which (I know not whether I term it right) is called Hercules Pillars; and the cause of his coming, so unfortunately for me, was because he was in love with a Lady in that Country, who commanded him to search all Europe over, and to see if he could find any so fair as her self; also, if he met with any Lover, that would defend the Beauty of his Mistris, he was obliged to fight with him, and to send his head, together with his Mistresses Picture over unto her, and her Name. Alass, I would to the Gods, that I had not run away when he followed to kil me, that my life might have saved poor Filander. Upon these words she shed such abundance of tears, that Phillis to divert her, turned the discourse, and did rise up. Me thinks (said she) you have sit too long, it would be better to walk a little. Upon this, all three did rise up, and went towards their village. Leonida, who as I told you, was within hearing, did not lose a syllable of what was said; and the more she heard, the more desirous she was to hear. But when she saw them gone, without any mention of Celadon, she was very angry; yet in hopes to discover somthing more if she stayed a while amongst them, when shee saw they were gone, shee came out of her Bush, and followed them, but at a distance; for, she would not have them think, that she over-heard them. Phillis by chance turning about did see her, and also knowing her, did shew her unto her compa∣nions who stayed, and seeing she came towards them, they went back to meet her, and to do those civilities her quality did merit: so they met and saluted: Leonida full of courtesie, after the first complements, addressed her self unto Diana, and said unto her; Wise Diana, I came purposely this morning from the house of Adamas my Uncle, to wait upon you and the rest of these fair Shepheardesses, and to see whether the reports of your virtue Diana, of your beauty Astrea, and your merit Phillis, be answerable unto what Fame hath trum∣petted in your commendations. Diana seeing her Companions referred it unto her, she re∣turned this answer. Great Nimph, perhaps it had been much better for us, that fame had been more silent, and not raised your expectation to too great a height; however, since you are pleased to do us this honour, we do receive it as is our duty, in all humble grati∣tude: At these words, they conducted her into Diana's village, where she was entertained with such welcome, and so much civility as she wondred how it was possible to find people so accomplished in Woods and Pastures.

The Afternoon was spent in several questions which Leonida asked of them and amongst

the rest she enquired what was become of a Shepheard called Celadon, that was the son of Alcippes? Diana answered that not long since he was unfortunately drown'd in the Ri∣ver Lignon. And his brother Lycidas, said Leonida, is he yet married? No, said Diana, nor doe I think he is in any haste; for the loss of his brother is yet too fresh in his memory. But I pray, said Leonida, by what mischance was he lost? by endeavouring to help this Shepheardess (said Diana) who fell into the River first: And then she pointed unto Astrea.

The Nimph, though not seeming, yet taking notice of Astrea's actions, did see that her complexion changed and to hide her blushes she covered her face with her hand and therefore concluded that she did love him really: And to make a further discovery she con∣tinued her questions. And was his body never found, said she? No, said Diana onely his hat was found, and as it was swiming down the River was stayed by some bushes. Phillis knowing if this talk continued it would draw tears from the eyes of her companion, shee interrupted. I beseech you, great Nimph, said she, what good fortune for us was it, that brought you unto this place? I told you at the first (said she) it was to be acquainted with you, and to enjoy the happiness of your good company. Since it is so, said Phillis, it would not be amiss, so it suit with your pleasure, to goe out with us unto our accustomed exercises, so will you best be acquainted with our way of living, and also that you give us leave to use the freedom of our villages before you. With all my heart, said Leonida, for I know that constraint is never agreeable and Ile assure you, that I did not bring with me any intentions of displeasing you. Thus Leonida taking Diana by one hand, and Astrea by the other they walked out, untill they came unto that wood which extends it self as far as the banks of Lignon. They were no sooner set down, but they heard one sing not far off, and Diana who knew the voice turned towards Leonida, and said, Great Nimph, will you please to heir the discourse of a young Shepheard, who has nothing of Rural about him but his Name and Habit? For being educated in great Cities, and amongst persons of civility he smels not at all of the Country. Who is it (said Leonidas) It is the Shepheard Silvander (answered Diana) who hath not been amongst us much above a year. I beseech you said the Nimph, of what Family is he? It is a question very hard to be resolved, answered Diana: for he himself knows not who were his Father and Mo∣ther, onely has some far fetcht conception, that they were of Forrests, and therefore he came hither with a resolution to stay. And truly our Lignon would have a great loss should he••d part; for I do not think a more compleat Shepheard ever came into the Coun∣try. Your commendations of him, said the Nimph, is invitation sufficient to goe and see him, and therefore let us go to him. If he do see us, said Diana, and thinks he shall not be troublesome unto you, he will be sure to wait upon you presently: And as she was say∣ing so, he came. For, as fortune was, the Shepheard as he walked espied them, and came to them; but because he did not know Leonida he seemed as if he would have passed by, when Diana said unto him; What Silvander, is it the civility of Cities to interrupt good company by passing by them, and saying nothing? The Shepheard smiled and answered; Since I have sinned in interrupting you, the less will I stay in my sin. That's not it, said Diana, which makes you so soon gone, but rather because you think there is not merit e∣nough amongst us to stay you; yet if you doe but cast your eye upon this Nimph, I am confident that if your eyes have any judgement you will finde more merit than any where else That which draws another thing unto it self (replied Silvander) must have some at∣tractive sympathy with that which it doth draw; but since there is no such sympathy be∣twixt your high merits Great Nimph, and my poor imperfections, you need not wonder if your perfections did not attract me unto you.

Your modesty, Sir (said Lemida) does onely make the dissimilitude betwixt us: Doe you think it is in your body, or your soul? If in your body, your face and the rest of your parts argues the contrary: if in the soul, me thinks, if you have one that is reasonable, it is not different from ours Silvander found that now he had not to deal with Shephear∣desses, but with one of a higher strain and therefore he resolved to answer her with more solid reasons than he used amongst Shepheardesses, therefore thus replied: Every thing in the whole universe, fair Nimph, must be valued according to its own proper quality; for o∣therwise, Man who is of highest esteem, would be the lowest, since every animal excels him in some particular thing or other; one in strength, another in swiftness, another in sight, another in hearing, another in smelling: and so in many priviledges of body. But when it is considered, that the gods have made all these Animals for the service of Man,

and man for the service of the gods, it must needs be confessed that the gods are above all; from hence I argue, that to know the true value of every thing, it must be looked into, to what service the gods did make them, and it is they that set the value upon things: nor surely the gods could never be so much mistaken, as to equall your merit and mine, and yet make you a great Nymph, and me but a poor silly shepheard. Leonida did in her mind much commend the wit of this Shepheard, who could put so good a glosse upon a bad matter. And therefore to give him more subject to continue, she said thus unto him. But allow all this in regard of me, yet why could not these shepheardesses invite you, since ac∣cording to your own argument, there is the same proportion and simpathy betwixt you and them? Sage Nymph, answered Silvander, the lesse does alwayes submit unto the greater part and where you are, these sherheardesses must do the same why disdainful Shep∣heard (said Diana) do you so little esteem of us? I did say so, said Silvander, because I did esteeme you so much: for if I had an ill opinion of you, I should never have said that you were a part of that great Nymph, since thereby I do not make you her inferiour. Only in that she deserves to be loved, for her merits, for her beauty, and for her quality & you only for your merits and for your beautie. I should be glad Silvander (said Diana) that I had so much merit or beauty either, as to obtain the Love of so wel an accomplished Shepheard as you are. She spoke this, because he was so far from any thoughts of Love that he was called amongst them The insensible man: and she was very desirous to make him speake of it. Unto whom he answered, think and beleeve what you please, so you will confesse you want one of your principall parts. And, which is that? (said Diana): Your wil, replyed he, for it and the effects of it are contrary. No no (said Phillis and interrupted him) for I be∣leeve Silvander loves her as much as her will would have him. The Shepheard hearing her say so, turned towards Astrea, and said that they did him wrong to be two to one. The wrong, said Diana, is offered unto me, for this shepheardesse seeing me in combate with a strong enemy; and suspecting my courage and strength, would needs aid me.

That is not it which does offend you, fair Shepheardesse said he, for she has more judge∣ment then to make any doubt of your victory; but that which does offend you is, that she seeing me already vanquished, she must needs steal the victorie, and the honour of it in offe∣ring to give me a blow at the latter end of the combate: but I do not know how she did intend it; for I assure you, if you had not medled, she had not so easily gotten the glory as she thought. Phillis who had a good natural and pleasant wit, & who resolved to spend that day with Leonida, as pleasantly as she could, did answer him in a haughty manner, Tis very well Silvander (said she) that you thinke it a thing so desirable and honorable to me, to vanquish you; but let me tell you, I rank the victory amongst the meanest, that ever I got. Neither ought you to despise it (said the Shepheard) since it is the first you ever got of me. As it is honorable, replyed Phillis, to be the first, where there is merit; so it is a shame, where there is none Ah Shepheardesse, (said Diana) never say so of Silvander: for if all Shepheards who are inferior to him in merit, should be scorned, I know not who should be loved. This, this is the very blow that will overcome him, (said Phillis) nay doubtlesse he is yours: Uncivilized and wild spirits are to surprised at the very first at∣tracts: for not being accustomed to such favours, they recieve them with such a gust, as they are not able to make any resistance. Phillis spoke thus in way of mockery; but the gratious defence of Diana had such an influence upon this Shepheard, that he thought him∣selfe obliged by the Lawes of courtesie to serve her and in that opinion, the perfections of Diana had so much power over him, that he conceived such seeds of love, as time and pract∣ice did increase to a great heights; as afterwards I shall tell you. This dispute passed amongst these Shepheardesses with much delight unto Leonida who admired their quaint wits. then Phillis turning towards the Shepheard, said unto him: Come, come Shepheard, words are but wind; come to the test, and tell me truly, Who is the Shepheardesse which particularly is your adored Saint? Even she, answered he, whom you see me adore. That is as much to say, said Phillis, that you adore none but that proceeds, alas from want of cour∣rage. Rather, replyed Sylvander, from want of wil. But you, fair one, who doe so much des∣pise me, I pray tell me, Who is the Shepheard whom you do particularly Love? All such, answered she, as have any wit or courage: And he that sees a perfect beautie, and cannot love; certainly wants wit or courage or both.

This is an answer too generall said Silvander, pray come to particulars, and tell us that one whom you do love? I wish, said she, there were any so forward as to attempt it. Then, added Silvander, it is for want of courage. Then Silvander, said she it is for want of

will. Why said Silvander, would you have any to think that it is more want of will in you then me I would those actions which are decent in you, (said the shepheardesse) were permitted me, do you think it handsome in me to leap and run as you do? But let us dispute no longer let Diana be Judge in the businesse and thereby you may see what confi∣dence I have in my cause, since I make choice of a partiall Judge. I shall judge according to reason (said Diana). Then said Phillis, since words cannot justifie a businesse, is it not re∣quisite to come to proofes? Doubtlesse it is (said Diana). Condemne then this shepheard, replyed Phillis, to render some proofs of that merit which he saith is in him; and that he undertake to serve and love a shepheardesse, in such a manner as she be constrained to confesse that he merits to be loved againe; and if he cannot do that, then, that he inge∣nuously acknowledge his unworthynesse. Leonida and the shepheardesses thought this proposition so agreeable to reason that with one common voice he was condemned: Not, said Diana, that he should be constrained to love, for that must ever proceed from a free vo∣luntary genius and not from constraint, but I do ordain that he do serve and honour, as you do say. My Judg answered Silvander, though you have condemned me without hea∣ring me, yet I will not appeal from your sentence; only I require that she whom I must serve, do merit and ackowledge my service.

Silvander, Silvander, said Phillis because you want courage, you fly unto evasions: but I shall prevent you by a proposition which I shall make. I do propound unto you one, against whom there is no exceptions, either in matter of wit, courage, or beauty, and that is Diana. For my part, said Silvander, I do accept of the motion, provided it be with the approba∣tion of all these beauties. Diana would liave answered, and made some excuse but at the request of Leonida and Astrea, she consented upon condition that this essay should not last above three monthes.

This courtship being Silvanders sentence, he kneeled down and kissed the hand of his new Mistrisse, as if he had taken his oath of fidelitie, and afterwards rising up, he said thus; Fairest Mistriss; I do in all humility submit unto your ordinance, but I do most humbly beseech you to let me make one proposition. And when Diana said that he had free liberty, he went on. As I have been justly condemned to make this proof of my selfe for speaking too highly of my own merits, against a person who despised me: So, I beseech you why should this vain glorious Phillis who infinitly outswells me in vanitie, and who was the first cause of this dispute, why I say should not she be sentenced to render the like testimo∣ny? Astrea not staying for Dianas answer, said, that she thought the motion so just as she was consident it would be granted, and Diana asking the Nymphs opinion, who was of the same mind, she condemned the shepheardesse as was requested. I did never expect a more favorable doome said Phillis; but well, what must I do? You must get the favour of some shepheardesse, (said Silvander.) That, said Diana is not reasonable, She must do more then that: For I do ordaine that she do love and serve a shepheardesse; and so as she do cause her selfe to be loved, and, he or she of you two, who shall be least unto her you serve, shall be constrayned to yeild unto the other. Then my desire is, said Phillis that I may serve Astrea. Sister, said she, you are about a work which is already done to your hand: but it were much better you made choice of Diana, not only for the two reasons which you alledged unto Silvander, which was, her merits and wit, but also because she is best able to judge of both your services, if they be both addressed unto her; This did car∣ry such a sound of reason with it, that it was immediately consented unto: then after Diana had taken an oath, that without any regard but truth, the should do equall justice at the three months end, It was very pleasant to observe the passages of this new love. For Phillis was a very excellent servant, and Silvander feigning to be one, became one in good earnest, as afterwards you shall heare. Diana on the other side did so well know how to play the Mistrisse that any would have thought it to be in reall earnest. As they were thus discours∣ing, and Leonida thinking this kind of life to enjoy more happinesse then any other, they saw two Shepheardesses and two Shepheards, comming along the meadow, who by their habits seemed to be strangers; and when they were a little neerer, Leonida who was very inquisitive to know the names of the Shepheards and Shepheardesses of Lignon, did aske who they were? To which Phillis answered that they were strangers, to which Silvander said, that surely he should know one of them particulary, whose name is Hylas, a merry shepheard, and one that loves all he lookes upon; but the best is, he who receives the blow has the plaister; for as he can soon love, so he can soon forget; and he has the maddest and most extravagant arguments, to prove his inconstant humour to be the best, as it is im∣possible

to heare them and not laugh: truly said Leonida, his company will be very good, & let us put him upon that discourse as soon as he comes. That's easily don, said Silvander, for he will alwaies be talking of it: but as this is his humour, so there is one with him of a quite contrary disposition, for he does nothing but pule and grieve for the death of a Shep∣heardesse whom he loved; he is a s••ber and discreet man, but so sad and lumpish, as nothing proceeds from him but expressions of a melancholy soul is he this country man said Leoni∣da? Fair Nymph, said Silvander, I do not know, but if you please I will ask them: at this word, they were come so neer that they heard Hylas chanting out these verses.

Hylas his catch upon Inconstancy.

IF any beauty constant make me, 'Tis more her honour, so to take me. I love to change by Jove, and must Unto my liberty be just: And why should any be so shy To shun me for Inconstancy? Since if a beauty constant make me, 'Tis more her honour so to take me.

It argues beautie in the height To make a crooked Lover streight, And 'tis a miracle more high To make my heart all Constancy: Therefore if any Constant make me, '••ie more her honour so to take me.

To stay a stone that still doth stand Is easie worke for any hand: But 'tis a matter much more high To stop an Eagle in the skie. Therefore if any constant make me 'Tis more her honour so to take me.

But why should any think it strange, That I should for the better change? Will any that have wit, or eyes, Not after for a better prize? Then if a beauty constant make me 'Tis more her honour so to take me,

Come then, dear Mistrisses, that faine▪ The prize of beautie would obtain, Settle my wanton wavering mind By Carrassing and being kind. For she that can ere constant make me Has got the honour; Let her take me.

Leonida smiled at Silvander and told him, That this Shepheard was none of those de∣luders that use to disemble their in perfections, since he did put them into a Ballet. The reason is, answered Silvander, because he does not think it any vice, but glories in it. Assoon as they were come, and all saluting complements performed, Silvander remem∣bred the Nymphs question concerning these Shepheards, and therefore he addressed him∣selfe unto Tircis, for so was the mourning Shepheard called, and said thus unto him, Tircis, if it be not troublesome to you, I beseech you tell us, what inducements brought you into this Country of Forrests, and who it is which stayes you here? Tircis then knee∣ling down upon the ground, and holding up his hands and eyes towards heaven, he thus said, Oh infinite goodnesse, who by thy wise providence, does govern the whole Uni∣verse,

be thou for ever praised, for what thou hast been pleased to take from me. Then ri∣sing up, and admiring the Nymph and the rest of the company, he addressed himselfe by way of answer unto Silvander, Worthy Shepheard (said he unto him) you asked me what it was which brought and retained me in this Country; and I must answer you, that it is your selfe it is you only that I have so long looked for Me? said Silvander, how can that possibly be, since I do not know you? That's partly the reason, said Tircis, why I have looked for you. Since it is so, said Silvander, and since you have been long a∣mongst us, why would you never speak unto me? Because, answered Tircis, I had no ac∣quaintance with you; but, to give you a fuller satisfaction, when you are all set down, be∣cause the discourse will be long, I will, if you please, give you a full relation.

Mistr••sse said Silvander is it your pleasure to sit down under these shady trees? You ought to addresse your self with that question unto Leonida, said Diana. I do know very well, fai∣rest Mistresse, said he, that civility commands it so, but love does enforce me unto you. Then Leonida taking Diana by her hand, and Astrea in the other, she did sit down be∣twixt them, telling Silvander, that he was in the right; because that love, which hath any consideration of respect above it selfe, is not right love. And after all the rest of the Shep∣heardesses and Shepheards were set round, Tircis turned towards the Shepheardesse which came with him and said unto her: Now, Laonice is the happy and so much desired time, which we have with so much impatience expected, ever since we came into this Country It rests only upon you to do according to the Oracle Then the Shepheardesse, without any reply unto him, addressed her selfe unto Silvander, in this manner.

The History of Tircis and Laonice.

I Have heard say, and I think truly, that of all amities, there is none more affectionate, than that which begins in Infancy because, that custome which is taken in that age, does by degrees become a nature which growing up with years, growes solid and unalterable. This Prologue, generous Shepheard, must plead for an excuse, since I am forced to tell you that I do love Tircis: I sucked in this affection almost with my milk, and my soul being ever since nourished with this food, did receive, as its own, the accidents of this pas∣sion Neighbours we alwaies were the amity of our Parents, the equalitie of our ages, and the sweet disposition in Tircis his younger years, were so many sweet allurements, to make me his. But, cursed Fate would have it so, that almost at the same time Cleon was born, and perhaps with more graces than I, but certainly, with much better fortune for, as soon as she began to open her eyes, the heart of Tircis was inflamed by them, for h•• began to love her in the Cradle About that time I was some six years of age, he ten But see how the heaven disposed of us against our wills; assoon as ever I saw him I loved him, and assoon as ever he saw Cleon, he loved her: And though these were yet but green affections, such as the age was capable of yet, were they not so small, but they knew how to make a diffe∣rence amongst us: Afterwards, growing up with time, they came to such a height, that, I believe never any exceeded them.

In the Infancy of my Love, you may think, I took no great notice of his actions; but, being grown unto a more observing age, I found such coldnesse of good-will towards me, tha•• I resolved to divert my self some other way; A resolution, which many malecon••ented persons may fancy, but never any true Lover could execute, as afterwards I found by a long and sad experience: However, my offended spirit had power enough to make me dissemble; and if I could not by any means attract him, then to try at the least if I could take my leave of him My greatest wonder was, that I could never finde, that Tircis af∣fected any other Shepheardesse; and as for Cleon, she raised no suspition, by reason of her youth, since then not above nine yeares old▪ but when she was grown, and could be sen∣sible of Loves Arrowes; she could so withdraw her selfe from him, as any would think, such a separation were enough to heal up all wounds: But Love more subtle then she, did stil so wound her heart with the merits, affection and services of Tircis that she had no other remedy to run unto, but dissimulation; not that she hoped thereby to avoid the blowes of Love, but only to hide them so, as neither her enemy, nor any other, should see them. This disguise was armes indifferent, as long as her skin was only a little scratched; but, when the wound was great, then no way, but to throw them away, and acknowledge her selfe vanquished Thus was Tircis happy in the love of his Cleon, and enjoyed all the plea∣sant

fruites of it, though at the beginning he hardly knew what his disease was, as appea∣red by some Verses which he composed at that time.

A Sonnet.

WHat new distempers does disturb my soul, My heart, and all my faculties controul? Feavers have intervalls, and sometimes burnes, And sometimes cold, and have their fits by turnes. But min's an ague of that strange condition, As never meets with any intermission. Cleon so fair, so full of flaming fire Has kindled in my soul such hot desire As cannot die, nor live in any rest; My heart, my mind, and all is so possest With her, who, though the Author of my pain, I think a pleasure of the highest strain. 'Tis strange, that pain and pleasure should subsist, And harbour'd be within the selfe-same breast But this is true, this my distemper is, To scorch in pain, and yet to think it blisse. You cannot under stand it, 'tis above The reach of any, that is not in Love.

Assoon as ever Tircis found out the good-will of his happy Cleon, he received it with so much contentment, as his heart was not able to contain his joyes, but his eyes also did share in the happinesse, and were so much altered from what they were, as they could not chuse but send forth signes of their too much joy. Cleon's discretion was such, that she conferred no more favours upon Tircis, in the eye of the world, than ordinary; but, being jealous of her honour, she desired him to counterfeit a love unto me, to the end all eyes might be upon me, and off her; and me sooner than any other, it being long observed that I loved him. He, who was all obedience unto whatsoever Cleon commanded, did accor∣dingly apply himself unto me: Oh heavens! when I think upon the sweetest expressions he used unto me, I cannot chuse, though they were all false, but cherish them, and wish, since I can be no otherwise happy, that I were so deceived again. And certainly, Tircis had no hard task to perswade me, that he loved me: For, I did not think my selfe so disagree∣able, but that a long continued practice, together with my endeavours to please him, might work upon him; at which, the vain-glorious Cleon, did oft make her selfe sport with Tircis: but, had Love been just, and turned the love of Tircis to me into earnest, her mockery might have lightt upon her selfe. This life of dissimulation was so tedious to him, that he was not able to endure it any longer; and had not Love blinded the eyes of all Lovers, certainly I should have perceived it, as well as most did who saw us together; but I would not lend any believing ear unto them, no more, than unto my most mortall enemy. And because Cleon and I were very familiar, this subtle Shepheardesse was afraid, lest time should discover my error unto me, which to prevent, she invented this stratagem: Her designe was, as I told you before, to conceal that affection which Tircis bore unto her, under his cloak of seeming to love me; and it was effected accordingly, for every one talked aloud of the love of Tircis unto me: But Cleon as I told you before, fearing this stratagem would be discovered, did invent another full as subtle as the other: She advised Tircis to make me believe, that the world talked very broad of our amitie, and put wrong con∣structions upon it; and therefore it was necessary, to stop all scandalous tongues by pru∣dence: and in order to that, he would counterfeit a love unto Cleon, and tell her (said she) that you make choice of me rather than any other, because of your conveniency, in being neer me, and speaking to me. I, who was all sinceritie, and no subtletie, did think this counsel to be very good, so as from thence forwards, with my permission, when we were all three together, he talked with Cleon as he was wont, without any difficultie: And cer∣tainly, it was good sport to them, and would have been to any other, that had known the dissimulation: For, when I saw him so officious about Cleon, I thought he had all that while but mocked her, and had much adoe to forbear laughing: On the other side, Cleon

observing my actions, and knowing how I was deluded; she could hardly contain her thoughts of mirth. But see how good natur'd I was, I did extreamly pitty her, for the griefe she would resent, when she came to know the truth: But alas, afterwards I found, that the pitty belonged unto my selfe; and who, as well as I, might not as well have been deceived? for Love, assoon as ever he takes entire possession of a soul, does presently expell all diffidence of the party loved. And this dissembling Shepheard did personate his part so well, that had I been in Cleons room, perhaps I should have doubted, whether he acted a fiction or a truth: Sometimes, when he was betwixt us both, and had given Cleon some notable demonstration of affection, presently he would turn to me, and ask me in my ear, whether he did not act his part well: but, his grand craft rested not in such a trifle; I be∣seech you hear what an Arts-Master he was in his Art, he talked with Cleon in private more often then with me, he would kisse her hand, be down upon his knees two houres together before her, and never hid any passage from me, for the reasons aforesaid: But in publick, he never stirred from me and courted me with so much dissimulation, that most had the same opinion of our Loves: which he did upon designe, desiring, that I only should see his courtship unto Cleon, because he knew I did not believe it; but, would not by any means, that any others should be witnesses. And when I told him, that we could not remove that opinion which the people had of our amitie and that none would believe he loved Cleon; then would he answer me, Why, how should they ever believe a thing which is not, no, nor well enough dissembled? But, said, he, whatsoever we do, we must deceive Cleon, let others think what they will; for, if she be but handsomely deluded, our designe is almost compleated: Hereupon he desired me, that I would speak unto her in his behalfe, and become as it were, his confident: She, said he, who has that opinion alrea∣dy, will the more gladly receive the messages, that you shall bring, and so we shall live in more assurance, and freer from all suspition. Oh! what a miserable fortune do we often follow? For my part, I thought, that if Cleon did believe I had loved this Shepheard, I should destroy that beliefe, by desiring her to love him, and by speaking for him as his confident. But Cleon, knowing the discourse between the Shepheard and me, and living in a kinde of constraint, she thought that by this means, she might most conveniently re∣ceive all her Messages and Letters from him; and therefore she bade the proposition which I made unto her very welcome, and after this treated me as one she loved: And thus I was made use of, only as a Letter Carryer between them. Oh Love! what a misery didst thou put me upon? But, I am not the first who has done the like offices for another in thinking to do it for themselves. At that time, the Franks, the Romans, the Goths, and the Burgun∣dians, being all up in Armes, we were constrained to live in Townes; and there being a huge concourse of people from all parts, also wanting their Country-accommodations, a pestilent disease did so raign in the Town, as most of the people died of it: so it chanced, that Cleons Mother was infected; and though the disease was so contagious, that hardly either Parent or kindred, would stay with the party infected; yet, such was the naturall affection of Cleon to her Mother, that she would never part from her, but would still stay, notwithstanding all the perswasion of friends, who told her, that she offended the gods, in running into a wilfull danger; unto whom she still returned this answer, If you love me never use any more of this discourse; for, do I not owe my life unto her, who gave me mine? and will the gods be offended with me for helping her, who taught me to serve them? In this pious and filiall resolution, she would not forsake her Mother, but shut her selfe up with her, and was as busy in helping her, as if the disease had not been at all con∣tagious. Tircis stood all the day at the dore, and wooed to come in; but Cleon would up∣on no termes permit him, lest if she had, it might have been scandalous unto her: But still he waited at the dore and caused all manner of necessaries to be brought unto them: yet, so the heavens would have it, that Cleon, notwithstanding all antidotes and preservatives which Tircis brought unto her, was infected. When the Shepheard heard that, it was im∣possible to keep him from entring into the house; since now it was not a time to think up∣on dissimulations, or to fear any teeth of detractors; but he set all things in order, dispo∣sed of his estate, and declared his Will; afterwards, putting it in the charge of a friend to help him, he entred, and shut himselfe up with the Mother and the Daughter, resolving to run the same fortune with Cleon. It is not materiall to relate unto you, what good offi∣ces he did them, and how officious and servicable he was unto the Mother, for the Daugh∣ters sake: But at last the Mother dyed, and when none was left in the house but he and his Mistresse, whose maladie still increased, I do not think the poor Shepheard got one minute

of rest; he held her continually in his armes, and dressed her. She, on the other side, al∣waies loving him did take this last action for such an evident testimony of his love, that hers augmented much more; and her greatest griefe was the danger he was in for her sake. He, on the other side, had so much satisfaction, as to rejoyce as much as a sad occasion would permit, that he had the means to testifie his good will. so it hapned that this Shep∣heardess being in a condition to be cut, a Physician could not be procured, that would ven∣ture to touch her, for fear of danger: Tircis, whose affection prompted him unto any thing, being taught how to do it, he took the Lancer, and lifting up her Arm, he did cut it, and dressed it when he had done. To be brief, all things of most danger and difficulty, were easie and sweet unto him, in hopes of doing her some good. But her malady still encreased, and brought his beloved Cleon into such a sad condition, that she had no more strength left than to utter these words; I am very forry Tircis that the gods are not pleased to draw the thread of my lamentable life a little longer, onely to testifie my extreme gratitude: but though I should live as many yeares, as I have already done dayes, I should never bee able to satisfie you for the abundance of your affection to me. These words were uttered with much pain; but her affection to this Shepheard gave her power to utter them. Unto which Tircis answered, My dearest Mistris, all I have done, and all I can ever do; is all far short of my will to do any real service; beleeve me, dearest Cleon, my obligations to you are greater than a thousand lives can pay. The heavens which gave me a being only to be yours, would accuse me of mispending my time, should I employ one mi∣nute of my life otherwise then in your service. He would have continued longer but the Shepheardess finding her self extreamly ill did interrupt him: Cease my dear friend and leave talking to me, that I may imploy that little time I have to live, in assuring you that I can love you as much as ever my soul is capable of: So seeing my time is very near, I bid thee eternal adieu, and desire three things of you; To love thy Cleon for ever; to enterre my corps near my Mothers, and when you do pay the debt which is due unto humanity, let your corps be layd near mine, that though our bodies could not be united alive, yet they may in death. To which he answered; The Gods would be unjust, if after they have begun so perfect an amity as ours, they should so soon destrov it: But I hope they will preserve you, at least take me away before you: But if they will not, I will onely beg as much life as to fulfill those commands you have laid upon me, and then to let me fol∣low you. Be assured, dearest soul, that unlesse they alwaies tye up my hands, I will not be long after you. Friend, answered she, I command you to live as long as the Gods have ordained, that so whilst I am chanting our perfect amity in the Elizian Fields, you may publish it unto the living: And so both the dead, and they living will honour ou•• memory. But, friend, I perceive my malady is forcing me to leave you: Adieu, adieu, the most perfect Lover left amongst the living. At these words she dyed, leaning her head in the bosom of her Shepheard. To repeat his sorrows, would but open his wounds, and make them bleed afresh. Oh most fatal death (cryed out Tircis) that hath robbed me of the better part of myself, either restore that life which thou hast taken from me, or else take the rest. Then, to give way unto those tears and sighs which this remembrance did revive in his heart, he stood silent untill Silvander told him, that to grieve for what there was no remedy, was but a testimony of weakness. Oh, said Tircis, I doe grieve because there is no remedy; for if there were, I should not grieve. Laonice then continued on: This happy Shepheardess being dead, and Tircis having performed the last office of amity, he procured her to be interred next her Mother; but the carelesness of those who had it in charge was such, as they layd her corps in another place. As for him, his sorrows were such, as he never stirred off his bed, as if he lived only to obey her commandements. Some few dayes after, enquiring of those who came to see him, where they had laid his beloved corps, he understood that she was not enterred by her Mother; at which he was infinitely displeased; and for a great sum of mony hired some to take it up again, and lay it by her Mother, which accordingly was done: They went unto the place, uncovered the earth, and four of them took up the corps, but having carryed it a little way, the Infection was so violent that they were forced to leave it by the way, and could carry it no further: whereof Tircis being advertised, after he had made great offers unto them to go on, and seeing they would by no means undertake it; What Tircis (said he) didst thou think the love of gain could work more with them than thy affection with thee? Fie, sie, Tircis, this is too great an affront offered unto thy amity. So, as if he were transported, he ran to the place where the corps lay; and though it had layn in the earth three dayes, and smelt extreamly, he took it up in his arms, and carried it unto the Tomb of her Mother, which was already

covered. Then after this high testimony of affection, he returned to the Town, and would not be seen of any. When all these passages were known unto me, but yet onely hearing Cleon was dead, I went unto his chamber, to enquire of all particulars: When I came at the chamber door, which stood half shut, and half open, me-thought I heard him sigh; and was not mistaken, for looking in at a chink of the door, I saw him lying upon his bed with eyes and hands lifted up to heaven, and his face swimming all in tears. Judge ge∣nerous Shepheard, whether or no I was astonished; for I did not think he had loved her, but came rather with intentions to rejoice with him, than to condole. Then, after I had seen him in this sad condition, I heard him utter these words:

Upon the Death of CLEON.

Tears turn to Rivers; never hide But swel your selves into a flowing tide: She's dead, who whilst she liv'd did lustre give To as much virtue as did ever live: No faigning now my Love; my grief will show No hopes are left for Lovers here below: All that are left are lodged in her grave; And he that has no hopes, no fears can have. She liv'd in me, I liv'd in her; and both So twisted were together by an oath Of faithful Love, as both, though two, but one: And now my Cleon dead is, I am none. But stay; me thinks she is not dead; her heart To live in me did from her self depart; Her body's onely dead; And now I see My spirits dy'd in her, hers live in me.

Oh heavens! what a weeping statue was I turned, when I heard him utter these words! My astonishment was so great, as leaning against the door, it opened; at which he turning his head, and seeing me, he put out his hand, and bade me sit down upon the bed by him; and when he had wiped away some tears from his swelled eyes, he spoke thus unto me: A∣lass, Laonice, poor Cleon is dead, and we are left here below to lament her loss. And be∣cause my grief would not suffer me to return an answer, he continued on. I know Shep∣heardess, that you seeing me in this condition, doe much wonder, that the feigned amity, which I professed unto her, should make me mourn so excessively for her loss. But, alass, remove your error, I beseech you; for I think it is too great a sin against Love to conti∣nue any longer under the cover of dissimulation, which my affection forced me to assume. And know Laonice, that all this while, I did love Cleon, and all my addresses unto you were but coverings of that love. And therefore if you did ever love me, for Gods sake Lao∣nice, turn that love into pitty, and condole with me this sad disaster, which at one blow has cut off all my hopes. If ever I did offend you, I beseech you, pardon me, since it was committed onely because I could not fail in my duty to my dearest Cleon. I was so trans∣ported at these words, that I went out, and could hardly hit the way to my own home, where I kept my chamber a long time, lamenting this sad disaster: And I did with Tircis, whom I still loved, excuse all those Treasons he had committed against me and pardoned the dissimulations whereby he offended me thinking them no dissimulations nor treasons, but onely violencies of love. I was the more easily induced to pardon him, since Love, as a Consederate with his faults, did flatter me with some hopes of succeeding Cleon in his af∣fection. As I was thus soothing my self in these thoughts one came to tell me, that Tircis was gone, and none knew whither, or where he was. This surcharge of sorrow, so surpri∣sed me as I did immediatly resolve to follow him. And to the end none might hinder me, I departed, so secretly at the beginning of the night, as before morning I was gotten farre off. Whether I was astonished when I was alone in the dark, the heavens do know, unto whom my complaints were addressed; but however, Love, who was my secret compani∣on did inspire me with courage enough to go through with my design: Following then on my voyage, and taking the path my feet first trod upon; for I know not which way Tir∣cis went, nor my self neither; I went wandering like a Vagabond for three months toge∣ther,

and never heard the least syllable of him. At the last, passing over the Mount Dor, I met with this Shepheardess (said she, and pointed unto Madonche) and with her this Shepheard called Thersander, sitting under a shady Rock to pass away the heat of the day; And it being my custom to enquire of all I met concerning Tircis, I understood by some signs which they gave me, that he was in those desarts, and went wandring and la∣menting the loss of Cleon. Then I related unto them, all the same story which I have told unto you, and conjured them to give me the best directions they could. Madonche moved with pitty, did give me such a sweet answer, as I judged her to be sick of the same disease I was, and I was not mistaken; for I heard, since, the story of her sorrows, by which I found, that Love wounds as well in the Court as Country. And because there was much resem∣blance in our fortunes, she desired we might both goe together, since both were upon the same quest. I did with open arms embrace the motion, and thought it better to enjoy such a sad companion, than to be alone. But this discourse is impertinent, since I intend onely to relate the story of Tircis, and my self. Well, generous Shepheard, after three months quest in this Country, I met with him; and so contrary to his expectation, that hee was extreamly surprised. At the first, he looked upon me with a loving eye; but afterwards, when he saw the occasion of my voyage was my Love to him, hee openly declared the af∣fection which he still bore unto Cleon, and that it was not in his power to love me. Love, I beseech thee (and not this ungrateful man) If there be any justice in thee, let me have some recompence for all my pains.

Thus Laonice ended, and addressed her self in a sad posture unto Silvander, as if she courted his favour for Justice in her cause. Then Tircis began to speak in this manner; Though the story of my misfortunes be, as this Shepheardess hath related them, yet my sorrows are infinitely more pittifull, which I will not relate, lest I should too much trouble you, and all this company; onely with this, that when we could not support our sorrows, we did with common consent address ourselves unto the Oracle to know our dooms from it; and we received this answer from the mouth of Arontine.

THE ORACLE.

Look, Lovers, 'mongst the Shepheards that abide Where Lignon like a Serpent there doth glide, There shall you find one Learned in the Laws Of Love, and Justice; he shall Judge your Cause.

And though we have long resided in these parts, yet you are the first that asked us of the state of our fortunes: And therefore we do in all humility submit our selves and for∣tunes unto your doom; beseeching you to determine the difference between us. And to the end all things might be done according to the will of the Gods, the old Matron who deli∣vered the Oracle told us, that both of us were to chuse our Advocate amongst the company by Lot; the first Lot to plead for Laonice, and the last for me. Upon this he entreated them all, that they would be pleased to take these offices upon them, unto which they all consented. The first Lot fell upon Hylas, and the last upon Phillis. Hylas he smiled, and said thus; If I were now, as heretofore I was, a servant unto Laonice, I should very hardly be perswaded to argue in her behalf, that Tircis ought to love her; but now at this time, since I am all for Madonche, I am very willing to obey that God who so ordained it. Shep∣heard, said Leonida, you may by this observe the great Providence of this Divinity, who to move one unto change, hath committed the charge of it unto unconstant Hylas, as unto one who best knows the way; and to move one to a faithful amity, hath cast the Lot up∣on a Shepheardesse that is firm and constant in her actions: Also such a Judge is chosen as will not be partial: For Silvander is the most fit, since he is neither constant nor unconstant in his affection, because he never loved. Then Silvander began to speak, and thus said unto them: Since, Tircis and Laonice, you are both willing that I should be the Judge of your differences, I shall require you both to swear, that you wil inviolably observe my Sentence, for otherwise the Gods may be the more incensed, and all our labours lost. Which both consented unto, and then Hylas began in this manner.

The Oration of Hylas in behalfe of Laonice.

Most wise and impartiall Judge

WEre I to plead before some hard harted and unnaturall person, I should feare lest perhaps the defects of my capacity, should prejudice the justice of my Clients cause. But since I am to argue the businesse before you who has the heart of a man (I mean, who knowes the duties of a man well born) I cannot chuse but be confident of a favourable judgment, and take it for almost certain, that if you were in the roome of Tircis, you would be extreamly ashamed to be branded with such a crime. I wil not strive for any far fetcht reasons, to approve that which is so abundantly cleere in it selfe: only shall hint thus much unto you, that the very name of man, does oblige him unto a confession of his error. And the Lawes and ordinances both of heaven and nature, do all command him to dispute no further in the cause. Does not the rules of courtesie and gratitude require, a re∣taliation for benefits received? Does not heaven it selfe say, that all services ought to be remunerated with some wages? And does not nature force him to love a faire woman who loves him and to abhor rather then to dote upon dead corps? But this man is a grand offend eragainst all these sacred Laws: for in lieu of all the great favour he hath received from Laonice he has returned high discourtesies; in lieu of all those services which he him∣self confesseth she hath done him, serving him so long for a cloak of his amity to Cleon, he does pay her the wages of ingratitude: and for that dear affection which she ever bore him even from her cradle, he answers her only with scorne. If thou beest a man Tircis, make it appeare thou dost adore the gods, and recompence this fair shepheardesse, who has run so many hazards and miseries for thy sake. And if thou beest a man, then surely thou hast the qualitie of one, which is, to love the living and not the dead: If thou dost acknowledge the gods, dost thou not know they use to punish such as despise their ordinances? and that

Love never pardons crimes betwixt a Lover and a Loved.

If thou doest confesse that she hath served and loved thee even from her very cradle, Oh heavens, is it ever possible such a long affection and agreeable service should be payed with scorne?

But admit, and suppose that this affection and service being voluntary in Laonice and not courted or desired by Tircis: yet surely I cannot beleeve, Oh just and wise Silvander, but you wil decree that a deceiver ought to make satisfaction unto the party deceived; and so by consequence Tircis who has so long deluded this fair Shepheardesse by his dissimula∣tions and trickes, ought he not to repair the injury done her with a reall and unfaigned af∣fection? He has long used lyes and falsities, let him at last use truths and honesty; nor can I ever think you will decree that Tircis should Love and live with a dead person and not a living: but will rather doome his Love to be bestowed upon me that can love him again, rather then upon a few could ashes in a coffin. But, good Tircis, tell me what thy designe is: when thou hast drowned the sad reliques of poor Cleon in a flood of teares, dost thou think that it and all thy sighes and groanes can ever raise her up again? Alas, Caron ne∣ver wafts any over but once, and is ever after deaf to all cries and calls; No no, Tircis, 'tis flat impiety to trouble the tranquillitie of those whom the gods have called to themselves: Amitie is ordained for the living, and coffins for the dead: do not then so preposterously, give thy affection unto the dead Cleon, and a coffin unto the living Laonice. This does not get thee the name of constant, for Cleon now has no interest in thee: must one alwaies go naked because their first cloathes are worne? And that is no more ridiculous then to heare you say, that because Cleon your old Mistrisse is worn away, therefore you will never have a new one. Fie fie; call your selfe to accompt: acknowledge your error; cast your self at the feeet of this fair one, acknowledg unto her your fault, and so avoid that sentence unto which our just Judge by this sentence will doom you.

Hylas thus ended with much con∣tentment unto every one, except Tircis, whose teares did testifie the grandure of his griefe. When Phillis by the command of Silvander began to answer Hylas, thus.

The Answer of Phillis in the behalf of Tircis.

Oh Fair Cleon, who out of heaven hears the injury that is offered unto thee, inspire me with thy Divinity, for so I may wel esteem thee, if vertue couldever make any humane person divine: and so furnish me with soliditie of reasons as I may make it most apparant that Tir∣cis ought never to love any but thy perfections. And you, prudent Judge, whose wisdom is infinitly above my shallow conceptions, I beseech you, let the abundance of reason which is in my cause, supply those wants that are in me. And, to begin, Let me tell you Hylas, that all those reasons which you have instanced for a proof that the loving party ought to be loved again, though they be fals, yet shall be allowed as good. But how can you conclude from them, that Tircis ought to betray the amitie of Cleon, by beginning a new love of Laonice? These are impossibilities, and contradictions: Impossible, because none is ob∣liged unto more then they can do. How would you have this Shepheard love when he has no will? You laugh Hylas, when you heare me say he has none. Faith, I do so, said Hylas, I pray what has he done with it? He that loves answered Phillis doth give his soul, it self & all its faculties unto the party loved; and so by con; equenee his wil is not in his power. But this Cleon, replyed Hylas, being dead has nothing, and therefore Tircis ought to to take his own again.

Ah Hylas, Hylas, answered Phillis, you talke like an ignorant in Love; for such gifts as are disposed on by Loves authoritie are for ever irrevocable. Pray then, said Hylas, what is become of this will, since the death of Cleon? The lesse followes the greater, repli∣ed Phillis, if pleasure be the object of the will, if that cease to be a pleasure, where's the will? And so it hath followed Cleon: if Cleon be not, then there is no will; for he had never had it but for her. But if Cleon be in some certain place, as our Druids hold, that she is, then this will is in her hands, so contented in the place where she is, that if she her selfe would chase it away, she cannot returne it to Tircis, as knowing well it would be in vain, but it goes into the grave, and rests with her beloved Ashes: this being so, why do you tax the faithful Tircis with ingratitude, if it be in his power to love any other? Also you do not only require things impossible, but also things in themselves contraries; for if every one ought to love the party that loves, why should he not then love Cleon, who never failed him in amitie? And as for the recompences which you demand, for the Services and Let∣ters which Laonice carried: pray let her remember the contentment she received by them, and how merry she made herselfe as long as this fallacie lasted, who otherwise would have droned out a dull and melancholy life. So as if she balance the payment which the service, I assure my selfe she will think her selfe very well payed▪ You say, Hylas that Tir∣cis deceived her; but I say it was no deceipt, but a just punishment of love, who returned her own blows upon her selfe, for her intention was not to serve him, but to delude Cleon. Thus Silvander have I briefly answered the false reasons of this Sheapheard: and there remaines no more, but to make Laonice confesse, that she injured Tircis in her unjust pur∣suing of him; which I shall easily do, if she will be but pleased to answer me. Fair Shep∣heardesse, pray tell me, do you love Tircis? Shepheardesse, answered she all that knowes me knowes I do. If he were forced to be absent, replyed Phillis, and another in the mean time should court you, would you not change affection? No, answered she, for I would still hope he would returne. If you heard that he would never return (said Phillis) would you then cease to love him?

No certainly, answered she. Then, Fair Laonice answered Phillis, think it not strange that Tircis who knowes that his Cleon is in heaven, that she sees all his actions, and re∣joyceth in his fidelity, should not change the affection he bore unto her: nor let this di∣stance of place seperate their loves, since all the hindrances of life could never do it. Do not beleeve what Hylas said, that none ever returnes over the River Acheron; many that have been beloved of the gods, have both gone and come; and who knowes, but Cleon who was adorned with so many excellencies of soul, may find the same favour from Love: Oh Laonice! were but your eyes permitted to look upon Divinitie; you would see that Cleon to defend her own cause is in this place, and whispers these words into my eares, which I ut∣ter in her defence. Then would you confesse, that Hylas was in the wrong when he said, that Tircis was mad to love her cold ashes. Me thinks I see her in the midst of us, and in lieu of a fragile body, subject unto humane accidents, she is cloathed with glorious imor∣tality;

and chiding Hylas for the blasphemies he had breathed against her. What wouldst thou answer, Hylas, if thy happy Cleon should say thus unto thee? Wilt thou offer, O thou inconstant wretch, to stain my Tircis with thy own insidelity? If he did heretofore love me, dost thou think it was my Body? If thou shouldst answer, Yes, I would then reply, that then he ought to be condemned to love the ashes which I have left in my Coffin, as long as they will last: For, a Lover never ought to retreat from a Love once begun. If thou dost confesse that it was my Soul he loved, which was my principall part: then, Oh thou fond and unconstant sinner, why should he now change his will, since she is now more perfectly glorious than ever she was? Otherwise, (such is the misery of the living) I should be jealous I should be vexed, and I should be seen by many eyes as I am by his: But now I am delivered from such mortall imperfections, and am no more capable of any in∣firmities. And wouldst thou, Hylas, with thy sacrilegious perswasions, divert him from me, in whom I only lived upon earth? and, by a most barbarous cruelty, endeavour to give me a second death? Oh! most horrid to hear: These words, wise Silvander, do make such a Turring sound in my ears, as, I do believe, they will make your heart resent them as well as mine. And therefore, to let this divinity argue the cause in your soul, I will be si∣lent only let me hint thus much unto you, that Love is so just, as you your selfe ought to stand in awe of his punishing hand, if Laonice's pitty, rather then Cleon's reasons, should move you.

At this word Phillis made a low congee, intimating thereby, that she had no more to say in the behalfe of Tircis. Laonice offered to answer further, but Silvander would not suffer her, saying, that now she was to hear the sentence, which the gods would pronounce by his mouth. Then after he had weighed the reasons on both sides, he pro∣nounced this Doom.

The Judgment of Silvander.

THe principall point in the cause debated before us, is, to know whether Love can die, by the death of the party loved Unto which I say, that the Love which is perishable is not right Love; for, it ought to follow the subject which gave it life; and therefore those who love only the Body, ought to enclose their love of that body in the same Coffin where it is; but, such as love the Soul, ought, with their love, to flie after this loved Soul, as far as the highest heavens, and no distance ought to separate them. All these things therefore well considered, I do ordain, that Tircis do love his Cleon still; and that the two Loves which are in us, the one do follow the Body into the grave, and the other the Soul into heaven. That Tircis do not any more disturb the rest of Cleon's Soul, by any compliance unto the importunities of Laonice. This is the Will of the gods pronounced by me.

Having thus given Sentence, not staying to hear the complaints of Laonice and Hylas, he made a low congie unto Leonida and the rest of the company, and went away without any company, but Phillis, who would not tarry to hear the sad resentments of this Shep∣heardesse. And because it was late, Leonida went that night unto Diana's house, with all the rest of the Shepheards and Shepheardesses, except Laonice, who was so extreamly of∣fended at Silvander and Phillis, as she swore, she would not go out of that Country be∣fore she had done them some remarkable displeasure. It seemes fortune did conduct her as she desired; for having left the company, and sitting down in the wood where she might with more liberty lament her disasters, her better Genius did represent before the eyes of her fancy, the insupportable disdain of Tircis, how he was unworthy of her Love, and was so ashamed of his fault, as she vowed a thousand times to hate him, and, for his sake, both Silvander and Phillis. Whilst these things thus passed in her memory, it hapned, that Ly∣cidas, who, of late, was displeased with Phillis, for some coldnesse towards him, espied Silvander and her talking together. 'Tis true, this Shepheardesse was not altogether so full of triviall expressions of Love to him, as 'she was before her frequent association with Diana for that new amitie together with the delight which Astrea, Diana, and she took in being together, did so much take her up, as she minded not those fond trifles of affecti∣on, which nourished the love of Lycidas; so as he had a conceit, that the reason why she was not so conversant with him as before, was some new Love which had diverted her from him: and not being able to imagine who it should be, that she now loved, he went wandring up and down in places most melancholy and unfrequented, that he might with more freedome lament his miseries: And as ill luck was, he spied, as I told you before,

Silvander and Phillis in discourse together, which sight did not a little increase his jea∣lousie; for, knowing the merits of the Shepheard and Shepheardesse, he easily believed, that Silvander, who never yet loved any, had bestowed himselfe upon her; and that she, according to the humour of her Sex, did willingly accept of the gift.

These considerations did much stir up his suspition; but much more, when they pas∣sing by him, and not seeing him, be heard, or thought he heard, the words of a Lover; and those perhaps were only some repetition of Silvander's sentence. But, to put himselfe out of all patience, it happened, that having let them passe by, he did rise out of the place where he was, and because he would not follow them, took the contrary way, and as fortune would have it, he did sit down neer the place where Laonice was, who all this while never saw him. After he had a while nursed upon his mishaps, and being transpor∣ted with the thoughts of them, he cryed out aloud, Oh Love! is it possible thou shoul∣dest suffer such an injury to passe unpunished? Wilt thou recompense wrongs and services with equall favours? Afterwards, being a while silent, with crossed armes, and eyes turned up to the skies, he breathed out many a sad sigh, and then began again.

I plainly see, that there is not any constancy in any woman: Phillis, because she will shew that she is of the same Sex, and though otherwise full of perfection, yet in this she is subject to her Sexes naturall inconstancy. Phillis, I say, of whose affection I have been heretofore more assured, than of my own will. But Oh, my Shepheardesse, am I not the very selfe∣same Lycidas that I was before, and whose affection has been so welcome unto you? Must I now be cast off, and Silvander succed in my happinesse? a stranger a vagabond, a man that all the world despiseth, and cannot own him for any possessor of any part in it. Laonice, who overheard, hearing him name Phillis and Silvander, and being desirous to know more, she began to hearken more attentively, so as she heard him utter the most se∣cret thoughts, both of himselfe and Phillis: and from thence she resolved to sooth him up in his opinion, assuring her selfe, that if Phillis loved Lycidas, she should make him jea∣lous; and if she loved Silvander, she would so divulge it to the world, that every one should know it. So when Lycidas was gone, for his tormented minde would not let him belong in one place, she came out of her lurking place, and following after, she overtook him as he was talking to Corilas, whom he met upon the way; and faigning to enquire some newes of a disconsolate Shepheard, they answered, that they knew of no such. He is a Shepheard, said she, who wanders up and down lamenting a dead Shepheardesse; and I am told he useth to be every afternoon in the company of the fair Shepheardesse, Phillis, and her Servant. Her Servant, answered Lycidas, who is that? I know not, said she, but it is such a name as Silander or Silvander, or some such like; he is of a middle stature, his face something long, and of a very pleasing humour when he will. But who told you, replied Lycidas, that he was her Servant? Both their actions, answered she; for I know what I have both seen and heard of them: But, I pray tell me, if you know any way how I should meet with him I look for? Lycidas was so surprised, that he could not answer a word; but Corilas told her, that if she followed on that path, it would bring her through the wood into a Meadow, where they used to assemble; and lest she should lose her way, he would be her companion if she pleased. She seemed as if she did not know the way, and was very glad of his courteous offer: So bidding goodnight unto Lycidas, went along with her companion. But Lycidas was so much out of himselfe, that he stood still immovable a long while; but at last, recollecting himselfe, he ruminated upon the words of this Shep∣heardesse, unto which he could not chuse but give much credit. It would be too long to relate his dolefull expressions and injuries he did unto the faithfull Phillis. But all the night long he wandred in the thick wood, and in the morning he was so tired out with his woes and walking, that he was forced to lie down under a tree, and with eyes swelled with tears, at the last he fell asleep.

Assoon as day did break Diana, Astrea, and Phillis did rise, to the end they might be ready to wait upon Leonida, as soon as she was up; but she was so much taken with their sweetnesse and courtesy, that she had dressed her selfe by the first dawning of the day, that she might not misse a minute of their company, whilst she stayed with them; so as these Shepheardesses, when they opened her Chamber dore, did all wonder at her earlinesse; and after all had done their morning complement, they went out of the house, to begin the same exercises which they had the day before; and assoon as ever they came into the mea∣dow, they espied Silvander, who, under the colour of a faigned courtship of Diana, began to be really in earnest, and in love with her: He was so intent upon this new growing love,

that he had not closed an eye all the night, but still passed away the time in thinking upon the discourse and gestures of Diana, which he had seen and heard the day before; so as Aurora no sooner began to visit his window, but he was up, and waited for the coming of his new Mistresse; and as soon as he saw her, he sung these Verses as he met her.

Upon High Desires and Hopes.

HOpes, that Ixion like do swell so high, As levell at the heavens supremacy, Are too audacious, and do aim much higher, Than does become their duty to aspire.

Prometheus when he filch'd Celestiall fire, And so provoked all the gods to ire: My joyes (said he) amidst my torments are, That I have done what none before did dare.

Fond Icarus, with his faint feathers plum'd, Like Eagles in the air, to stie presum'd: But yet in spite of danger, he did aim At Altitudes, and did attempt the same:

As Eccho for the love of fair Narcisse, Did tell the Rocks how great his torment is: He cheered up himselfe, and said, if she Do not me love, no other lov'd shall be.

Although she be all soveraignty, As high as heaven, and be a deitie: Yet still my high-blown hopes will have the glory, To enterprise an Act beyond all story.

Phillis being of a very merry and pleasant humour, resolved to undertake the task that was imposed upon her; therefore turning off towards Diana, Mistresse (said she) you must take heed what this Shepheard saies unto you; for, yesterday he did not love you, but to day he is ready to die for love of you: he should have begun sooner to serve you, or else have stayed longer, before he used any such language as this. Silvander was so neer as to hear this: and therefore said, I beseech you fairest Mistresse, stop your ears from the detra∣cting language of my enemy. Must you needs, Phillis, build up your own happinesse by the ruine of mine? Dare you, Silvander, (answered Phillis) be so bold, as to speak of hap∣pinesse before Diana's face? I wonder what impudent phrases you will use behinde her back, who assume to your selfe so much before her face? Would you have my Mistresse to think, that it is not my happinesse to serve her (said Silvander)? and why, I pray, should I not tell it is so, since it is nothing but a most certain truth? You may as well say, said Phillis, that she does love you, and cannot live out of your sight. I do not say so, answe∣red Silvander; but, let me say unto you by way of answer, that I wish with all my heart, it were so: But, do you think it so strange, I should say, that I think it a happinesse to serve my Mistresse? If you do, I pray let me ask, what happinesse do you finde in serving her? Though I should think it a happinesse, replyed Phillis, yet surely, I would not brag of it. It is ingratitude, replyed Silvander, to receive a benefit and not to give thanks for it; and how is it possible to love a person that is ungratefull? From hence I judge (said Leonida, and interrupted) that Phillis does not love Diana. Most will concur in that judgment, an∣swered Silvander, and I believe, Diana her self does think so. I beseech you, shew your reason for this opinion, said Phillis, if you think to bring me into it. The Affirmative part, said Sil∣vander, must alwaies be proved, and not the Negative: The question is, whether or no you do love Diana? You affirm, and I deny it; and therefore it is your part to prove it. Phillis was at a stand for an answer, when Astrea said, Sister, do you hear and allow of what the Shepheard saies? I do hear, but not allow of it, answered she, for I should be put upon a

hard task to prove it. If so (said Diana) I must think you do not love me: for, Silvander demands nothing but what is reason. Upon this, the Shepheard addressed himselfe unto Diana, and said unto her, Most fair, and no lesse just, Mistesse, it is now impossible my ene∣my can be so impudent as to say, that I have not an infinite happinesse in serving you, you are pleased to give such a favourable answer in my behalfe. By Diana's saying, that Phillis does not love her, said Astrea, she does not thereby say, that you do love her, or that she loves you. Should I but hear such heavenly words, answered he, come from the mouth of my Mistresse, as, I do love you, or, You do love me, I should not only think this a happinesse, but be ravished with joy, and yet since she is silent, it argues a consent unto what she heares: Why therefore may I not say, that she confesseth she loves me? Did Love consist in words, replyed Phillis, you are more in love than all men I know, put together; and you can argue a bad Cause better than any Lawyer. Leonida was so delighted with the discourse of these Shepheardesses, that had she not been troubled for Celadon, she could have stayed amongst them as long as she had lived: And that was the reason she desired them to walk with her towards the River-side, homewards; and they were very ready to wait upon her: for, besides the complement of common courtesie, they were much delighted in her company.

So then, she taking Diana on the one side and Astrea on the other, they walked along; but Silvander was further from Diana than Phillis, she having taken that place which he desired; at which the vain-glorious Phillis was not a little glad, and laught at the Shep∣heard, saying, that her Mistresse might easily judge which of them was most ready to serve her, since she had applied her selfe so officiously to be near her, and he never cared. My Mistresse, answered he, did admit you to the honour of that place, for your importu∣nities sake, and not your affection for had you loved her, you would have suffered me to enjoy that place which you do. Nay rather the contrary, answered Phillis, if I had let any come neerer her than my selfe: For, a Lover thinks he can never be neer enough the person Loved. That Lover, answered Silvander, who regards his own particular contentment more, then the contentment of the party Loved, does not deserve the title of a Lover so as you regarding your own delight, in being so neer your Mistresse, more then her satisfacti∣on, it cannot be said you do love her, but your selfe only; for, were I in your room, I should lead her, and help her to walk, whereas you do only trouble her. Did my Mistresse scold with me as you do, replyed Phillis, I know not whether I should love her or no. I am most certain, said the Shepheard, that, were I in lieu of your Mistresse, I should never love you. How dare you offer such an affront, as to say, you think you should not love her upon any condition? This, Phillis, is a grand maxime in the Law of Love, that those who can think they cannot love upon any conditions, are no Lovers: for, Love does not admit of any Ifs or Conditions, but is alwaies absolute.

Mistresse, I demand justice, and require it on the part of Love, that you punish this crime of so high a nature, and that you will remove her from that place which is too ho∣nourable for her, that thinks she shall not love; and place me in the room, who lives on∣ly to love you. Mistresse, said Phillis, I perceive, that this envier at my happinesse will ne∣ver let me alone, untill I quit the place; and I fear he will, with his smooth language, move you to consent unto it: and therefore, with your favour, I will leave it unto him, upon condition, that he tell you one thing which I shall ask him. Silvander never staying for the answer of Diana, said unto Phillis, The condition is easie, and I will never refuse it; since without it, I should never conceal any thing which she desires to know. Then Phillis did yield him the place, and said unto him, Envious Shepheard, though the place is not to be bought and sold, yet, you have promised more for it than you are aware; for, you are obliged to tell us who you are, and what occasion brought you into this Country: for, you have been long amongst us, and we are all ignorant of what you are. Leonida, who was very desirous to know who Silvander was, said unto Phillis thus, Believe me, Phillis, you have shewed much prudence in this proposition; for I believe none here, but does much desire the same satisfaction. I wish, said Silvander, that I could satisfie your desires; but Fortune hath so denyed it unto me, as I may well say, that I am more desirous, and almost as igno∣rant of it as you are: For, Fate only sent me into the world, lets me know that I do live, but conceals from me all other knowledge of my selfe: And that you should not believe that I am any thing unwilling to perform my promise, I do swear unto you by all the gods, and by the beauty of Diana, that I will truly tell you all that I know of my self.

The History of Silvander.

WHen Aetius was Lieutenant General in Gaul unto the Emperour Valentinian, hee thought it very dangerous unto the Romans, that Gondeoch the first King of the Burgundians should be possessed of the greatest part, and therefore resolved to drive him out, and drive him on the other side of the Rhine, from whence he came a little before, when Stilico, for the good service he had done the Romans against Radagrise the Goth, gave him the ancient Provinces of the Authunois, and Seguinois, and Allobroges, whom he named Burgundy, without the command of Valentinian: and it is to be thought he did it, onely to get all the Forces of the Empire into his own hands: But the Emperour, ha∣ving his hands full of many enemies, as the Goths, the Huns, the Vandals, and the Franks, who were ready to fall upon him in several places, he commanded Aetius to let them a∣lone in peace which was not so soon put into execution, but first the Burgundians had al∣ready received great routs, and their enemies made such ravage and waste, as they carried away with them all they found.

I then being some five or six years of age, was with many others carried away unto the utmost Town of the Allobroges, by some Burgundians, who out of revenge went into those Countries that were confederate with their enemies, and committed the same disor∣ders which they had received. I cannot tell you why they took me, unlesse in some hopes of money for a ransom; but my fortune was so kind unto me, as I fell into the hands of an Helvetian, who had an old and very rich Father, and who taking a liking to me, either for my physiognomy, or some pleasing answer which my young Genius gave him, did take me unto himself, with intention to educate me in Literature: And though the Son was much against it, yet the Father continued his design, and spared no cost or care to instruct me in all Learning, sending me unto the Universities of the Mussilians, in the Province of the Romans. So as I may very well say, that I had been lost if I had not been lost. However though nothing was more sutable to my Genius than Learning, yet was it a continual tor∣ment unto me, to be ignorant from whence and who I was; thinking still this to bee a greater misfortune than hapned unto any other. And being much troubled at it, a friend advised me to enquire the truth from the Oracle, for I was so young when I was first taken, that my memory could not inform me any thing of my birth, or parents, or place from whence I came; but this friend had such a perswasive power over me, that both of us went together unto the Oracle, and the answer which we received was this.

THE ORACLE.

Born thou wert within a Land Where Neptune lately did command. To know the place which gave thee birth Thou canst not, till Silvanders death. This from thy cradle is thy Fate, To which thou art Predestinate.

Judge (fair Diana) what satisfaction I received from this answer. For my part, I resol∣ved to sit still and enquire no further, since it was impossible to know any more, unless I dyed; but lived afterwards in much more tranquillity of mind, referring my self unto the conduct of heaven, and applying my self unto my studies, in which I was so good a profi∣cient, that old Abariel (for that was the name of his Father who took me away) had a longing desire to see me before hee dyed. Being come unto him, and entertained as well as I could wish, one day when I was alone with him in his chamber, he spoke thus unto me.

My Son (for so have I ever esteemed you, since the rigour of War brought you into my hands) I do not think you to be so ignorant of what I have done for you, as to make any

doubt of my good will towards you. Yet if my cares to instruct your youth have not given you a knowledge of it, I will; because I do intend very well towards you. You know that my Son Ahazides, who took you, and brought you to me, hath a Daughter as dear unto me as my self: And because I desire to spend those few dayes I have to live, in rest and tranquillity, I do intend to 〈…〉〈…〉 you unto her, and to bestow upon you such a portion of my estate, as I may live with you as long as it shall please the Gods. Doe not think, that this is a leight and random design, but a thing of mature and long deliberation; for having by a well experienced knowledge found, your inclinations sutable unto my mind, I resolved to establish the tranquillity of my old age in you, and therefore sent you to the Universities, knowing that nothing renders a soul more capable of reason than lear∣ning and knowledge doth: And in your absence I have so disposed my Grandchild to mar∣ry you, as she out of her complacency to me, is contented, and desires it as much as my self. 'Tis very true, she much desires to know, what, and from whence you are; and for her satisfaction. I have often enquired of Azahides who took you, but he could give no o∣ther answer, but that he found you about the River Rosne and out of the Province of Vie∣noise; but perhaps you might better remember, since you were then some five or six yeares old: And asking him, whether your habit could not give him any knowledge of your Parents, he answered, No; and that you were so young, that there was no ghessing at your Quality by your habit. So as, my Son, if your own memory cannot give you any light un∣to our knowledge, none else can.

Then the good old Abariel took me by the hand, and prayed me to tell him, all that I knew, or could remember of my self. To whom, after many expressions of gratitude and obligations to him for my education, and this proposal of Marriage, I answered him, that truly I was so very young when I was taken, as I could not remember any thing either of my Parents or Quality. I am extreamly sorry for it (replied the good old man); but since it cannot be helped, I will not so much as mention my design unto Azahides, until I know how you approve of this my design. And I answering him, that I should be too ungrate∣full if I did not wholly obey him in all things, he caused me to retire, and sent for his Son, to acquaint him with his intentions, who did absolutely reject the motion, and would by no means hear of it. Afterwards, the good old man, since he could not obtain his con∣sent freely told him thus much; Ahazides (said he unto him) if you will not bestow your Daughter upon whom I would, I will bestow my estate upon whom you would not: Therefore either marry her unto Silvander, or else I will make him my heir. Ahazides, who was of a very covetous disposition, and feared to lose the estate, seeing his Father so peremptory, did seem to bend a little, and desired some daies of consideration, which the good old man did consent unto, desiring to doe all things by sweetness and lenity, and af∣terwards to acquaint me, but he needed not; for I found it by the eyes and discourse of his Son, who begun to chide and use me so ill as I was not able to endure it. Then during the time of consideration which was prefixed, he commanded his daughter, who was much better than her father, upon pain of death (for he was a man of a bloody and murtherous temper) to seem unto the good old man, as if she were very sorry her father was not confor∣mable unto his will, and that she therefore would obey him, and would be ready to marry me privately: And all this was only a design to murder me. The poor Grandchild was extreamly perplexed; for on the one side the menaces of her cruel father did terrifie her; on the other side, her affection unto me would not permit her tender years to such a piece of cruelty, so as in a trembling manner she came to the good old man, and told him, that she would marry me secretly: And then it was so concluded upon. So as the good man did absolutely command me to be ready, and I, notwithstanding all my doubts, durst not disobey.

The Plot was so laid, that I should climb up to the window of her chamber, and there marry her secretly. The house was seated upon the Lake Lemane, where the waves did beat against it, and then fell into the Rosne, which runs through the middle of it. The design of Azahides was to draw me up with a rope to the middle of the wall, and after∣wards to let me fall into the Lake: where being drowned, no news would be heard of me: for, the Rosne, which runs with a monstrous impetuosity, would have carried me quite away. A thousand to one, but his design had been executed; for I was fully resolved to obey the good old Abariel, had not his poor Grandchild moved with compassion, and horrour of the fact, acquainted me with it, the very day before it should have been done: And in a trembling manner said thus unto me: You see, Silvander, that in saving your

life, I do run the hazard of my own death; for I know that Ahazides will never pardon me, but however, I had rather die innocent, than live guilty of your death. After my many thanks, I told her, that she needed not to fear the fury of Ahazides; for I would take a course both for her safety and my own, but told her that she must be sure to be secret. Against the appointed night I provided my self 〈◊〉〈◊〉 the mony I could get, unknown to A∣bariel: And when the appointed hour was come▪ 〈…〉〈…〉 had taken my leave of the good old man, who came with me to the water side, I went into the little Boat which hee had provided for me. Then going under the window, I made a shew as if I had tyed my self unto the rope, but it was only my clothes stuffed full of Sand; then pushing my self a little on one side to see what would be done, I heard it presently fall into the Lake, where, with my Our I beat the water, that they hearing the noise, might think it was I who was flut∣tering in the water: But I was quickly forced to put further off; for they cast down so ma∣ny stories, as I came hardly off with my life. Presently after I saw a light in the window, and fearing to be discovered, I layd my self all along in the Boat; and so they did not see me, but thought the Boat floated away of it self. Then, when every one was gone from the window. I heard a great noise by the water side where I left Abariel: and as I thought, I heard his cry, caused by my fall into the water, and fearing I was drown'd; but I did re∣solve not to return, though extreamly sorry that I should not serve the good old Abariel in his old age: But being assured of Ahazides his ill will unto me, I knew that though not at this time, yet at some other he would execute his murtherous intention: So as com∣ing to Land at the place where I had layd other clothes, and the best of my things, I took them, and leaving my Boat. I betook my self to Land, and travelled so long, that, extream∣ly weary, I arrived at Evians at the break of day, and was forced there to rest my tyred limbs all the day; where not being known, I went, as many others did upon urgent occasi∣ons to ask advice of the sage Belinda, who was Mistris of all the Vestals about the Lake; and who, as since I understand, is Mother unto my fair Mistris. Having acquainted her with all my disasters, she consulted with the Oracle, and the next day told me, that the gods did command me not to wonder at my afflictions, and that if I would ever come out of them, it was necessary I should look into the Fountain of the Verity of Love, because in that water was my onely remedy. And that as soon as I saw my self in it, I should know my Father and my Country. And asking her in what place that Fountain was, she told me it was in this Country of Forrests. Then she told me the property and inchant∣ments of it, so courteously, as I thought my self infinitely obliged unto her.

Upon this, I resolved to come hither, where at my first coming I met with Celadon, from whom I had information where this admirable Fountain was: But as I was in my way to it, I fell so sick, as I was forced to keep my chamber six months: And when I was wel, I understood from some about that place, how a Magician, at the instance of Clida∣mas, had set two Lyons and two Unicorns to guard it, and that the Inchantment could not be disinchanted but by the death of two of the most perfect Lovers that ever came into this Country.

Heavens know how much I was grieved at this news, since it had so prevented me in my so much desired hopes. However, since this was the Country which the Heavens had de∣signed to give me knowledge of my Parents, I thought it best for me to stay in it; hoping that at last these two Lovers so faithful, might be found out: But certainly it was so rare a thing to be found, as I had little reason for my hopes. But with this design I put my self into the garb of a Shepheard, that I might more freely enjoy the company of those a∣bout the River Lignon: And to be the more acceptable unto them, I bestowed the rest of my mony in a flock of Sheep, and building a little Cabin.

This, fair Leonida, is all I doe know of my self: And this is the price of that Room which I have bought of Phillis. I am very glad to know so much (answered Leonida) & do hope your fortune will be good, since the gods doe seem to have a care of it by their Ora∣cles: and for my part, I am a very zealous wisher of it. So am not I (said Phillis) nor do I wish he may ever come to the knowledge of his Parents: For if he should perhaps their merits might work much upon my Mistris: For matter of Estate and Alliance, is more considered in Mariages, than the love or merit of the party. See said Silvander, how you understand it; you are not so much against me, but that I hope by your means to come un∣to the knowledge of that which I so much desire. By my means, said she, how can that be? Yes by your means, said Silvander; for since the Lyons must be quelled by the blood of two faithful Lovers, why should not I beleeve that you and I are they? Well may I

be faithfull, answered Phillis, but I am sure I am not valiant, I shall love my Mistrisse as much as any in the world; but as for matter of life, I pray you pardon me; for what ser∣vice could I do unto her if I were dead. I assure you, answered Diana, I do value both your lives infinitly above your deaths, and had rather be my selfe in dainger of death, then to see either of you so for my sake.

Whilst they were thus discoursing and comming neer to the bridge of Boutresse, they espyed a man a far off comming very fast; and when he was neerer, Leonida knew him to be Paris, Son to the great Druide, Adamas, who being returned from Feurs, and hearing that his Neece was to look for him, did send his Son to acquaint her that he was returned: also to know what occasiō moved her to come so alone, it not being her custom to go with out company. As soon as she knew Paris, she named him unto the Fair Shepheardesses, and they according to their habituall civility, when he came neere them did salute him with abundance of courtesie so as had not the carresses of Leonida a little diverted him, he could hardly have concealed his sudden surprise. Yet after the first complements were past, and after he had delivered his Message unto her. But Sister (said he for so Adamas would have them call one another) how came you to meet with such Fair and good company? Truly Brother, answered she, A good fate brought me to them and I have been two dayes together, neverlesse weary in my life then with them. This said she, and pointed to Astrea, is the Fair Shepheardesse so famed, and deservedly for her beauty. Her name is Astrea: and that, poynting at Diana, is the Daughter of Belinda and Celion: The other is called Phillis: and This Shepheard is the unknowne Silvander, whose merits yet are so known as all the Country does love him. I swear, said Paris, my Father feares of your falling into ill company, were groundlesse and had he known you had been so well, I am sure he would not have been so much disquieted as he is.

Generous Paris, said Silvander a person that is owner of so much vertue as this Fair Nymph is, can never be ill accompanied especially being amongst so many wise and fair Shepheardesses as these. Upon these words he looked upon Diana, who conceiving her selfe invited to it, answered; it is impossible, noble Paris, to add any thing unto that which is already compleat, but yet, said Paris, I had much rather be with her, when she is with you, than when she is alone. This, Sir, proceeds from the fluency of your courtesie, answe∣red she that are pleased to use such language unto strangers: You cannot say that you are strangers unto me, said Paris, unlesse you say that I am a stranger unto you, which indeed is a shame unto me, that I should be so neer a neighbour unto so many beauties of so much merit, and yet should scarcely know them: but I am most extreamly sorry for my fault and shall for the future endeavour to repaire it: As he said so, he turned towards the Nymph, and, you Sister, said he, though I came alone, and intended to wait upon you from hence to Adamas, yet I must needs stay here untill night. I should be glad, said she if I could do the like: but I am now forced to go about my businesse, yet I am re∣solved so to settle all my affaires, as to live amongst these wise and fair Shepheardesses: for I cannot think any life upon earth, so happy as theirs. With such expressions as these she took leave of the fair Shepheardesses, after a hundred imbraces and promises to returne a∣gain very shortly; and went away so very well contented, as she resolved to quit the vani∣ty of the Court, for the simplicity of this life: but her greatest inducement unto it, was her designe of getting Celadon out of Galatheas hand, and because she thought he would pre∣sently returne unto this town, where she intended to work upon him under the shadow of these Shepheardesses.

This was the voyage of Leonida, who in her progresse, saw the beginning of two great loves; that of Silvander under the umbrage of a wager, and that of Paris both unto Diana: for Paris did ever since this day, fall so extreamly in love with her, that to get more fami∣liarity with her, he quitted his accustomed life, and put on the habit of a Shepheard, and would be called so purposely to render himselfe more amiable in the eye of his Mistris, who for her part did honour him, as his merits and good inclination to her did oblige her: but because we have much to say of them, in the sequell of our discourse, therefore we will say no more of them now.

Returning then unto the Town as they passed through the plain where commonly their flocks did feed, they espy'd a far off Tircis, Hylas, & Lycidas, the two first of which see∣med by their actions to be in a very earnest argument: for the head, the arms, & every part of Hylas did speak as much: As for Lycidas, he was all in himselfe, his hat pulled down o∣ver his eyes; his armes foulded, and looking upon his feet, did shew there was somthing which much affected his soul. And when they were within the ken of each other, Hylas

espying Phillis amongst the Shepheardesses; he left Tircis and went to her, then without any salute unto the rest of the company, he took her by the hand, and according to the usuall freedom of his humour; in plain tearmes he told her, how great a desire he had to serve her. Phillis being glad to passe away the time with him, said thus, I do not know Hylas, from whence this desire of yours should grow. For there is nothing in me which can invite it: if you do beleeve what you say, answered he, then you are so much the more beholding to me; and if you do not beleeve it, then you must think me to be a man of judgement, and knowes who deserves my service, and so you must the more esteem me for it. Never doubt, said she, but however I shall esteem you, and accept of your amitie accor∣ding to the merits of its desert, were it for no other consideration, but because you are the first that ever loved me.

As fortune was, Lycidas came in, just as these words were spoken, whose jealousie was already grown to such a height, as it did surpasse his affection; and as ill luck was, he came time enough to hear the answer which Hylas returned unto Phillis, which was this: I know not, Fair Shepheardesse, whether you will continue unto me the same goodnesse you have begun; but if you do, I am sure Silvander will forbid the banes; and, if to please you, he do not, yet I am sure, that all those who saw him yesterday with you, will testi∣fie, that he is your servant: I cannot tell whether or no he left his love under his Pillow, but if he did not, you are his Mistresse. Silvander never thought of Lycidas his love unto Phillis, but thinking it were a shame for him to disavow what Hylas said, also concei∣ving he should offend Phillis if he should; especially before her face; he answered thus unto him: Shepheard, you need not seek for any other testimony in this matter, but my self: Never think, that the Shepheards of Lignon can so soon put on & off their affection they are dull and grosse, and slow in all they do; but, as the bigger the Naile is the greater weight it sup∣ports, and is harder to be pulled out, so the more grosse we are in our affections, the longer do they stay in our souls So as if you have seen me the Servant of this fair Shepheardess, very likely you shall see me so again; for, we do not use to change every time we sleep; but, if you use to do so, who have a hot brain, as the baldnesse of your head, and curling of your hair doth shew, you must not judge of us, by your own more nimble and stirring inclination. Hylas hearing this Shepheard's freedome of language, and so pat to his own humour, did think, that either Tircis had told him something, or else, that he had known him formerly: And therefore, Shepheard, said he, have you heretofore seen me, or do you speak this of me by hearesay? I did never see you before, said Silvander; but your physiognomie and discourse does prompt me unto what I say: For, one shall hardly suspect another of that fault, whereof themselves are clear. Therefore, said Hylas, you cannot be exempt from unconstancy, since you do suspect me. Suspition, replied Silvander, proceeds either from some little appearance, or from no appearance but our own imagination: but, what I say of you is not upon any suspition, but upon a certain assurance. Do you call it suspition, when I heard you say that you once loved Laonice, and then quitted her for another, that other for a third, and that third for Phillis, who doubtlesse you will quit upon the first sight of any new commer? Tircis hearing this discourse, and seeing Hylas at a non-plus, began to fall thus upon him: Hylas said he, you are now plainly discovered, and it boots you not to conceal your selfe any longer; the discerning eyes of this Shepheard can find out your inconstancy; and therefore your best way is, to confesse the truth, against which, if you contend, you will finde, that she will prove you a lyar, and so you will quite lose your reputation: Confesse it therefore freely and to encourage you, I will break the Ice and begin; Know, generous Shepheard, that this Hylas is the most inconstant, the most disloyall, and the most perfidious Shepheard that ever promised affection. Then added Phillis He does much oblige those whom he does not love. What Mistresse, answered Hylas, will you be also against me? Can you give any credit to the impostures of this malitious man? Do you not see, that Tircis, thinking himselfe obliged unto Sil∣vander, for the sentence which he gave on his side, does think to repay it back, by infu∣sing an ill opinion of me into you? What does that argue, (said Phillis unto Silvander)? What does it argue, said the inconstant Shepheard? do you not know, that it is a greater difficulty to take a place which is already possessed, than one which is not taken up by any? His meaning is, added Silvander, that as long as you love him, it will be hard for me to get into your favour. But, my friend Hylas, I believe you are much mistaken; for, though I see, she daignes to cast her eye a little upon you, yet, am I very confident of her amitie; for, out of a sound judgment I do know, that she will alwaies make choice of the

better. To which Hylas answered, Perhaps you think, vain-glorious Shepheard, that you have some advantage of me; but, I pray, where does it lye? none can see it, nor does my Mistresse believe it. What kinde of a silly thing is he, that never had the courage or con∣fidence, to love and serve above one Mistresse? and that too, so faintly and simply, as you would swear he mocked her: whereas I, that have loved as many Beauties as I have seen, I have been bid welcome by them all. What pittifull service is to be expected from him, that knowes not where to begin? But I, that have courted and served all sorts, of all ages, conditions and humours, I can turn, and winde, and do any thing to please or displease: And, for a proof of what I say, I pray give me leave to catechise him a little, that you may see his sillinesse. Then turning towards Silvander, he asked him, what that was, which would most oblige a fair Shepheardesse to love? It is, said Silvander, to love only her. And what is it, said Hylas, which will most please her? It is, answered Silvander, to love her extreamly. Do you see (said Hylas) what a simplician this is: Why, this is the way together scorn and hatred; for, to love her only gives her an occasion to think, that it is for want of courage that you dare not attempt to love any else, and therefore she will scorn such a faint hearted Lover: whereas, did you love all you look upon, she would not think you come to her, because you knew not whither to go else; but, she will then prise you the higher, and will be obliged to love you, especially, if you particularize her above any other, and tell her some stories which you have gleaned from others; then, once a week come and professe your service, or may be oftner, if a good occasion require, this will ren∣der you more pleasing, and invite her to cherish your company. This is the way, fond No∣vice, to oblige her unto love; but, to pule and please her continually, is the only way to make her look asquint at you: Nothing is so tiring and tedious, as these huge and ex∣tream affections; such as love, so, must needs be perpetually imprisoned, never at liberty, alwaies present, continually talking to her; she cannot stir a foot but you must do the like. To be briefe, you are abominably troublesome to her. But, the Devill of all is, if she chance to be at any time ill, and do not smile upon you, nor please you forsooth, then must you put the finger to eye and cry; cry tears, insomuch as you force her to flie you. Do you think this to be the way to make her love you: No, no, it is in Love as in all things else, the Mean is the best Measure; so as to avoid all these frivolous follies, the only way is to love but indifferently; and the best way to please her, is to be pleasant, merry, and jocund; and, above all, never to be mute before her. This, Silvander, is the way to make a Shep∣heardesse love you, and to get her favour. And you, fairest Mistrasse, may by this see how to value my affection. She would have answered, but Silvander beseeched her to give him leave to speak▪ And then he did examine Hylas upon these Interrogatories. What is it, Shepheard, that you desire most when you do love? To be loved again, answered Hylas. But when you are loved, replied Silvander, what do you desire or expect from this ami∣ty? that the person whom I love, answered Hylas, do prize me above all others, that she trust me, and endeavour to please me. Do you use poyson to preserve your life, said Sil∣vander? how can you ever expect she should trust you, when you are not faithfull unto her? Oh, said Hylas, she shall never know it. Then I see, said Silvander, that you will do that by treachery, which ought to be done with sincerity: As long as she does not know that you love another, she thinks you faithfull, and so you shrond your selfe under this false shadow: You talk of scorn, can any thing provoke a generous spirit more unto it, than to imagine, that this man whom I see so submisse at your feet, adoring you, should have his lips blistered with the kisses of others; and those eyes which seem to adore you, ready to sparkle love at every woman they look upon? What should any woman of any Soul, have any thing to do with a thing common? He will do no more for you, than he will for any one that has the resemblance of a woman; when he speaks to you, his minde is a hundred Leagues off, and is thinking of such a one, that a thousand to one is ten thou∣sand degrees your inferiour; the words he makes use of are some fragments gleaned from another, such as his heart never ownes: Oh! how horrid a scorn deserves such a man! As to the next point, which he urged to obtain love by, which is, To be jolly, and gal∣liard, and alwaies laughing: Truly, that is a principall quality for a Buffon, or one that has nothing at his heart; but, for a Lover to be of that temper, is absurd, unlesse, Hylas, such a Lover as your selfe. Again, you say that a mean in Love is the best; but let me tell you, that he who is but halfe faithfull, is not faithfull at all; and he that loves not in the highest point of extremity, does not love one jot, he who can be indifferent, and love all alike, cannot love one as he ought to do. Valourand Love are resemblant, and he that

can measure them, or thinks any greater than his own, is neither valiant, nor a lover worth a Rush. So, Hylas, you see, that to injoyn a mediocrity in Love, is to impose an impos∣sibility: And when you love so, you do as those melancholly fools do, that think they are expert in all Sciences, and know nothing: 'Tis just your case, in thinking you love, when you doe not. But be it so, that one can love a little; Do you not know, that Ami∣ty hath no other Harvest but Amity, and all that is sowed, is onely to reap some fruit? How can you, that sow but a little, ever expect to reap much? Ah, Hylas, you little know what belongs to Love: For those effects which belong to an extream love, and which you call Troubles, are so indeed, to such as you, who know not how to love; but such as are really, and in good earnest in love, and know what sacrifices and duties belong unto the Altars of Love, they are so far from calling those effects, troubles, as they think them feli∣cities, and perfect contentments. But, Hylas, I will tell you what it is to love; It is to dye in ones self, that he may live in another: Never to love any thing but what is pleasing and agreeable unto the party loved. The will must be absolutely transformed into a Mi∣stris: And can you think, that one who loves thus, will ever be troubled with the presence of her whom he loves? The knowledge she hath of being loved, is a thing so infinitely pleasing, as all things else in comparison of that, have no relish. And if you do but know what it is to love, you will never think that he who loves, can do any thing to displease. All his actions are marked with the sweet character of love, and cannot be displeasing. If he chance to commit any fault the fault it self pleaseth, considering with what intention it was committed. The very desire of being amiable has such vigour in a right Lover, as though he cannot chuse but be rough to all the world in general, yet will he be sure to smooth and spruce up himself towards her he loves. And from hence is the reason, that many, who are not at all rellished by most in general, are yet loved and esteemed by some one in particular.

Do you see, Hylas, that hitherto you have been ignorant in the Laws of Love, and have only abused the Name of it, and deceived those whom you thought you had loved? How, said Hylas, Have I not loved all this while? What then have I done unto Carles, A∣muranthe, Laonice, and a hundred more? You must know, said Silvander, that in all sorts of Arts, there are both good and bad proficients in them: And so in Love; for some do love well as I do, and some ill as you: So as I may be termed the Master, and you the Changling of Love.

At this every one smiled, except Lycidas, who hearing all this discourse grew higher in his jealous apprehensions, which Phillis did not observe, thinking it rather an effect of his affection to her, since in reason he could never doubt her. One that is ignorant, and knows not that Jealousie in Love is a sucker which draws unto it self that nutriment which should go into the branches and good fruit, does not know that the greater it is, the more doth it argue the kindness of the place, and vigour of the plant.

Paris, who admired the neat wit of Silvander, did not know how to judge of him, but thought, that were he more conversant amongst civilized people, he would be unparaleld; since living amongst Shepheards, he was such as he found him: And therefore he resolved to contract friendship with him, to the end he might more freely enjoy his company; and to make them proceed in their disputation, he addressed himself unto Hylas, and said unto him, It seems, Hylas, your cause is naught, since you are so mute, and has not a word more to say in the defence of it. No wonder, said Diana; for I beleeve he is pricked in consci∣ence. Hylas knowing that he argued all this while against the truth, & only to put a hand∣som gloss upon his fault, he would not reply a word, but looked very attentively upon Phillis, who was got near unto Lycidas, and talked with him in a low voice; and because Astrea would not have him hear what she said, she did often interrupt him, and so often, as she forced him to say, that if Phillis were as troublesom as she was, he should not love her. Truly Shepheard, said she, purposely to keep him from hearing, If you should be as uncivil to her, as you are to us, she will make no great accompt of you. And because Phil∣lis never heeding this talk, continued on her discourse, Diana said unto her, what Phillis is this all the duty you will pay unto me? Will you let me go, and entertain a Shepheard in discourse? To which Phillis upon a sudden answered, No, no, I beseech you, Mistris, but pardon my error; for I thought that the jolly discourse of Hylas would have kept you from taking any notice of me, who in the mean time, was talking of a business which this Shepheard desired some satisfaction in. And indeed, she spoke but truth; for she was much troubled at the faint and cold behaviour of Lycidas. Well, well Phillis (answered

Diana, in the language of a real Mistris) you alwaies think to cover your faults with ex∣cuses; but pray take notice, that these frequent negligences are so many testimonies of your small affection, and that when time and place serves, I shall remember how you use me. Hylas had the hand of Phillis in his, and not knowing how things were betwixt Silvan∣der and her, he wondered to hear Diana say so; and therefore seeing her ready to begin an excuse, he interrupted her, saying, What does my fairest Mistris say unto this imperious Shepheardess who treats you in such coorse language? Will you yeeld unto her in any thing? Commit no such sin, I beseech you; for though she be indeed fair, yet you have beauty enough to make your party good enough with her, if not excell her. Oh Hylas, said Phillis, did you but know against whom you use this language, you would rather bee dumb all your daies, than displease this fair Shepheardess who, did you love her, were a∣ble with the least glimpse of her eye to make you the most wretched thing that ever loved. Make me so, said the Shepheard; No, no, she may doe what she will with her eyes, open or shut them, and never hurt me; my misery or happiness depends not upon her flames, neither in her eyes, face, nor any part else, but I doe love you, and more than that, inspite of her will love you. If you do love me, said Phillis, and I have any power of you, then surely she hath much more. I may be moved by your affection and services not to treat you ill: But this fair Shepheardess having no services or love from you, will have no pitty up∣on you. What have I to doe with her pitty? said Hylas, am I at her mercy? Yes cer∣tainly, said Phillis, you are at her mercy; for my will is her will, and I can doe nothing but what she is pleased to command. She is the Mistris whom I do love, serve, and adore. So as she; and she onely is all my affection, all my service, and all my devotion. See there∣fore, Hylas, how you have offended her, and what mercy and pardon you stand in need of. Then Hylas, throwing himself at Diana's feet, after a little time of consideration, thus said unto her: Fair Mistris ormine, if he that loves could have eyes to see any thing but the thing loved, certainly, I had seen that it is the duty of every one to honour and reverence your merits. But since my eyes were shut against all but my fair Phillis, I shall think you too full of cruelty, if you doe not pardon a crime, which I confess, and beg a mercy for. Phillis, who had a mind to be rid of this man, that she might talk unto Lyci∣das, did interrupt Diana in her answer, and told him, that Diana would not pardon him, unless upon condition to relate all his Courtships and Adventures which he had ever since he first loved: For it was impossible but that discourse should be very delightful, since he had such variety of Mistresses. Certainly Phillis, said Diana, you can divine my thoughts; for I did intend not to pardon, but upon the same condition: And therefore Hylas, if you expect any mercy from me, resolve upon it. How, said Hylas, will you force me up∣on such a Rock, as may chance to split me; and constrain me to relate the story of my life before my Mistris? What opinion will she have of me when she hears, that I have had a∣bove a hundred; some of one complexion and humour, and some of another; what will she think of me? No worse than she does, answered Silvander; for she knows you to be an extravagant peece, and light as the wind. 'Tis very true, said Phillis, but because I will not spoyl any sport, I shall desire that I may go about some business which I have with Astrea, whilst Hylas is obeying the commands of Diana. So upon this she took Astrea by the Arm, and did lead her to the side of the Wood, where Lycidas was gone before; and because Silvander over-heard her answer, he followed at a distance to see what his de∣sign was, and the evening was very favourable to him; for it began to be dark, so as hee might follow unseen, and stole from tree to tree so near them, as he heard Astrea say un∣to Phillis, what strange humour is this in Lycidas, that he should desire to speak with you at such a time, in such a place as this? I cannot tell, answered Phillis, but he hath been ve∣ry sad all this evening, and conjured me to come hither; let me entreat you to walk here a little whilst we are together: But it was his special charge that I should be alone. I shall do what you please, said Astrea, but take heed that he be not more displeased at you for meeting him at such undue hours, and alone in such a dark place. Upon that considera∣tion, answered Phillis, I do entreat you to take the pains of comming hither: And, I beseech you, walk so near us, that if any chance to come, he may think we are all three to∣gether.

Whilst they were talking thus, Diana and Paris pressed Hylas to relate the story of his life, and obey the commands of his Mistris: And though he seemed to be very unwilling, yet at last he began thus.

The History of Hylas.

WILL you needs have it so, fair Mistris of my Mistris, and you noble Paris, that I must tell all my fortune ever since I began first to Love? I pray doe not think that the refusal which I made, was because I had nothing to say: For, beleeve me, I have loved too many to want subject; but it was because me-thinks we want day. I doe not mean to tell you all, but to tell you one of my Adventures; for all would require a little Age before the story would be ended. Yet in obedience to your commands, I will begin, and beseech you to consider, that every one is subject unto some superiour Power, against which there is no resistance: That predominate Power unto which I am so violently devoted, is Love: otherwise perhaps you will wonder, that there should be no chain, either of duty or obli∣gation strong enough to hold me. I must freely confess, that as every one has a natural in∣clination, that mine is unto Inconstancy, for which I ought not to be blamed, since it is the decree of Heaven upon me. Amongst all the fine Scituations which the River Rosne doth in his impetuous course visit, after it hath taken in Arar, Iseres, Durance, and several o∣ther Rivers, it dasheth it self against the old walls of the Town of Arles, the Metropolis of its Country, the best peopled, and richest of all the Roman Provinces: Near unto this good Town did encamp (as I have heard our Druides say) the great Commander, called Caius Marius, a little before that signal Victory which he obtained against the Cimbres, the Cimmerians, and the Celts, at the foot of the Alpes, who being gone through the Scy∣thique Ocean with intentions to sack Rome, were so defeated by this great Captain, that not one of them came off with life: And if the Roman Arms did spare any, the barbarous fury of their courage did turn their own hands against themselves, and being ashamed to live, killed one another. Then, the Roman Army, for the security of their Allies and Friends, came to encamp before this Town; and according to the custome of that Nation, did circle about their Camp with a most profound and deep Trench, which extended to the very banks of Rosne, whose impetuous source was such, as entring into those Trenches, did divide its chanel into two wales: The ancient River ran its old course, and the new had such a pass by these Trenches, as did equal the greatest Rivers, and made a most plea∣sant & fertile Island between them: And because of the Trenches of Caius Marius, the people call it corruptively, Carmargue; and these two Armes of Rosne running into the Medi∣terranean Sea, they call the Isle between them Camargue. I should not have derived the Pe∣digree of this place so high, had it not been the place which gave me birth, and where my Ancestors have long continued: Where by reason of the places abundant fertility, many Shepheards resort; and my Predecessors ever held a considerable rank amongst them; al∣wayes esteemed both rich and virtuous; and when they dyed, left me enough to live up∣on; and indeed too soon for me did my Father dye, since it was the very same day that I was born; and my Mother, who had the education of me, did doat upon me as her only child, or rather spoyled me. Judge what a fine Master of a house I was: Amongst the rest of my young imperfections, I could not avoyd that of Pride, thinking that all the Shepheards in Camargue ought of duty to reverence me: And when I was grown to ri∣per years, I thought every Shepheardess was in love with me, and that any of them would bee beholding to me for my affection. I was most fortified in that opinion by a fair and wise Shepheardess, my neighbour, called Carlis, who carressed me extreamly. I was yet so young, that the pangs of Love could not much torment me, so as I did onely resent the sweetness of her favours, and that was all. My age did not permit me to know whether or no it was Love; but however I was infinitely pleased in the company of this Shephear∣dess, and used such courtship as they doe who are in love: So as this continual practice made many think that I knew more than my age permitted: And therefore when I arri∣ved at eighteen or nineteen years of age, I found my self deeply engaged to serve her: But since I never affected that vainglorious humour which most Lovers use to attri∣bute to themselves, which is, to be reputed constant; the kind treatment of Carlis obliged mee much more than that imaginary duty. And therefore, one of my chiefest and familiariest friends took an occasion to divert mee from her; his name was Hermantes, who, ere I was well aware, was so deeply and desperately in love with Carlis, that hee had no felicity or contentment, but in being near her. I being but a Novice in Love, never perceived this new affection, nor had I subtlety e∣nough

to finde it out: He was something older then I, and consequently more cunning, and knew so well how to dissemble, as I did not think any suspected such a thing: But, his greatest trouble was, that the Parents of this Shepheardesse desired this match betwixt her and I should proceed, because they thought it advantageous to her, of which, Hermantes being advertised, and finding, by his discourse with the Shepheardesse, that she did love me, he conceived, that she would fall off from me, if he could procure me to fall off from here He knew well enough, that I would change assoon as a good occasion offered it selfe; and after he had well considered with himself how he should begin his designe, he thought, that if he could infuse an opinion into me, that I deserved a better match, I should easily disdain her And indeed, he found that no great piece of difficulty; for first, I had a very good opinion of him as my dearest friend; and next I had a conceit, that there was nere a Shepheardesse in all Camargue, but would be glad to entertain me. Upon these grounds, I dispossessed Carlis from any share in my thoughts, and made choise of one whom I thought more deserving: and doubtlesse I was not mistaken, for she was one that had beau∣ty enough to make one love her, and prudence enough to behave herselfe, her name was Still ana, esteemed to be the fairest and wisest in all the Isle, and such a one as did draw me out of my former error. But, see the fondnesse of my proud fancy, because she had been courted by very many, and all of them bastled, I did the more willingly fall on, to the end my merits might be the more noted. Carlis, who did really love me, wondred at the alteration, not knowing what occasion I could have for it; but to reduce me to her ser∣vice, she began to cast about, and use all manner of allurements she could devise; yet, I be∣ing now upon the main Ocean, could not think upon any landing so soon. But, though she was much displeased at this separation; yet, she was shortly after revenged, by the ve∣ry same that caused her misery. For, imagining with myselfe, that assoon as I gave Stillia∣na any assurance of my love, she would freely resigne herselfe unto me; therefore the first time that I met her at a dancing meeting, I said thus unto her as we danced together; Fairest Shepheardesse, I cannot tell what power it is which you have, nor what kinde of charmes they are which sparkle from your fair eyes: but, I am sure Hylas is so much your servant, that no mortall can be more. She thought I mock'd her, knowing how I loved Car∣lis, and therefore in a smiling manner, answered thus: Is this the language, Hylas, that you learned in the School of Carlis? I would have answered, when by the order of the Ball we parted, so as I was constrained to stay till the assembly parted; then seeing her go out the first, I stepped to her and took her by the hand At the first she smiled, afterwards said thus unto me, Is it, Hylas, out of resolution, or out of command, that you apply your selfe this night unto me? I beseech you, said I, why do you ask that question? Because, said she I see so little reason for it, as I must needs think it one of these occasions. It is, said I, out of a resolution never to love any but the fair Stilliana, and your beauty commands me never to love any other. I believe, answered she, that you are mistaken, and does not think you speak unto me, or else you do not know me but, not to let you run on any longer in your error know, that I am not Carlis, but my name is Stilliana. He must be blinde, an∣swered I, that takes you for Carlis, she comes infinitely too much short of you, to take her for you, or you for her: But I do know, too well for my liberty, that you are Stilliana; and it would be more my tranquillity if I knew it lesse. Thus I talked her to her lodging, not knowing whether I was welcome to her or no. It was no sooner day the next morning, then I went unto Hermantes, to tell him the passage of the last night. I found him in Bed; and perceiving me to be netled at something, Well, said he, what newes? is the victory gotten before the combat? Ah friend, said I, I have been pittifully bafled, she disdaines me mocks me, and at every word sends me to Carlis she will treat me as a cruell Mistresse, and laughs at me. But Hermantes knowing my fleeting disposition, and fearing that indeed I would return to Carlis, also that she would entertain me, he answered me thus, Why, friend, did you ever expect any lesse from her? would you esteem her worthy of your love, if she give herselfe unto you, before she knowes whether you do really love her? How could she pos∣sibly, at the very first, give any credit to you, since all the Isle knowes, you heretofore loved Carlis? Certainly, she were very easily vanquished, if so small an attempt should win her. But friend, said I unto him, is it not first requisite I acquaint her with my slighting of Car∣lis, before I do declare my love unto her? It seemes, answered Hermantes, that you are ignorant in Love▪ I must tell you, Hylas, that when a declaration of Love is made unto a Shepheardesse, she never well believes it at the first, because it is the common custome and garb of all Shepheards, to be courteous and civill, and the weaknesse of their Sex, does

oblige men to serve and honour them in generall. On the contrary, upon the least appea∣rance of any hatred, they do easily think themselves to be hated; because amitie is natu∣turall, and enmity the contrary. From hence I argue, Hylas, that it is much more easie to make Carlis believe you hate her, than to perswade Stilliana, that you love her. And be∣cause you finde, that your affection unto Carlis does stick upon her stomack, your best way is, to make her know that you do not love this Carlis, which you must do by some action, made known, not only unto Carlis, but unto Stilliana and many others. To be briefe, fair Shepheardesse, he knew so well how to turn me any way he pleased, that I writ this Letter unto the poor Carlis.

Hylas his Letter unto Carlis.

I Do not write now, Carlis, to let you know, that I do love you, for you have but too much believed that; but it is to assure you, that I will never love you any more. I am sure you will wonder at this declaration, since you alwaies loved me more then ever I desired. I must be plain and tell you, that it is your bad fortune, which cannot keep within the compasse of our amitie; and my good, which will not let me stay any longer, where it is not worth the staying. And to the end you may not complain of me, I bid you adieu, and give you free li∣berty to make the best of your fortune you can, for of me there is no hopes.

When she received this Letter, she chanced to be in very good company; and as fortune was, Stilliana her selfe was there amongst them, and did so much disapprove of this acti∣on, as none in all the company more: which Carlis perceiving, I beseech you all, said she unto the company, oblige me so far, as to help me with an Answer for me. For my part, said Stelliana, I will be the Secretary: Then taking Pen, Inke, and Paper, she writ, as altogether indited, in the name of Carlis.

The Answer of Carlis unto Hylas.

HYLAS, Too great a conceipt of your selfe, is it which perswades you that I do love you; and the knowledge I have of your humour, together with my own will, which ne∣ver relished you, is it which ever kept me from loving you: so as all the affection I ever had, have, or shall have, to you, is only in your own conceit. And therefore if you do think, that either my bad fortune, or your good, did consist in any Love I had unto you, you were most grosly mistaken. I do swear unto you, Hylas, by all those merits which you think you have, and have not; that I never cared a straw for you. And this ad∣vantage I shall get by all this, that for the future, I shall be freed from being troubled with you. And because I will not be quite ungratefull, for the pleasure you have done me in this, I shall wish the heavens will continue you in this resolution, to my contentment, as before they put you upon me, to my trouble. In the mean time, live contentedly; which if you doe, as well as I shall, being delivered from such a trouble, believe it, Hylas, you are happy, and so farewell.

This Letter, I must confesse, did a little nettle me; for, my Conscience told me, I had wronged this Shepheardesse; but my new affection unto Stilliana would not let me ac∣knowledge it, but did prompt me to lay the fault upon her; for, said I to my selfe, Since she is neither so fair nor pleasing as Stilliana, why should I any longer love her? Am I to be blamed for her imperfections? For my part, I cannot mend her; all I can do, is to condole with her, her poverty; but yet, that shall not hinder me from desiring and adoring the riches of another. Upon these motives, I endeavoured to drive Carlis from my heart; and thinking, that now I had nothing to do but to court Stilliana, whom I thought already mine; I desired Hermantes to carry a Letter from me to her, and also to shew her a Copy of that I writ unto Carlis, to the end, she might not question my love to her. Hermantes being truly my reall friend, in any thing which related not unto Carlis, did, without any difficulty, take it upon him, and chusing a convenient time when she was alone in her lodging, presented my Letters unto her, and smilingly said thus: Fair Stilliana, if the fire do burn him that shall approach too neer it, if the Sun do dazzle that eye, which dares look upon its lustre, and if the Sword do wound him that thrusts it to his heart, you must

not wonder, if the miserable Hylas, comming too neer you, be scorched; if, in beholding you, he be dazled; and if, in receiving the fatall dart of your fair eyes, he resent the mor∣tall wound in his heart. He would have gone on had not she, in a furious impatiency, inter∣rupted him: No more, no more, good Hermantes, (said she) you trouble your selfe in vain; Hylas has neither merit enough, nor you eloquence sufficient, to perswade me unto any minde of changing my contentment for his; nor do I wish my selfe so much ill, nor Hylas so much good, as to believe your words: 'Tis well, Hermantes, that I am acquain∣ted with the humour of Hylas, at the cost of another, and not mine own; it is too much that Carlis hath been so basely deluded by him, and let him not make you instrumentall in the ruine of another: As you do love Hylas, so I do love Stilliana; and if you will ad∣vise him as a friend, counsell him as I do, never to love Stilliana, nor Stilliana to love Hylas, and if he will not believe you assure him, that all his labour will be lost: And as for this Letter which you bring me from him, I care not if I do take it, for I am so well armed against him, that I do not fear his charmes. Upon this, she opened the Letter, and read it aloud: It was only an assurance of my affection, that I had quitted Carlis for her sake, and an earnest imploring her to love me. When she had read it, she smiled, and tur∣ning towards Hermantes, asked him, whether he would have her return an Answer; and he answering, that he did passionately desire it; she said, she would; and did, in these Termes.

Stilliana's Answer unto Hylas.

SEe Hylas what a simple man you are, in thinking I should Love you, because you have left Carlis; whereas there is nothing could more invite me to hate, then that. You say you do love me: Truly, if any other more just then your self, had said it, perhaps I should have beleeved him, because I do in some sort deserve it: but I do assure you, and beleeve it, that I neither do nor will Love you: for it would argue in me a most simple judgement, to love any such contemptible humour as yours. If you think this Language a little too ruffe and harsh; consider, Hylas, that I am forced to it, to the end you may never expect the least quittance of any love from me. Carlis has told me the mind of Hylas; and Hylas may now tell her mine, if he please. If this answer please you, thank the importunity of Hermantes for it: And if it do not, blame your selfe that deserves no better.

Hermantes had not seen this Letter, when he gave it unto me: and though he imagi∣ned that it would prove, some cold and faint deniall: Yet he did not think she would have been so sharp: but he did not wonder at it, so much as my selfe: for I was almost stark mad tearing the Letter in peeces, and throwing it upon the ground: then recollect∣ing my selfe a little, I pulled my hat over my browes, looked upon the ground, crossed my armes over my breast, and walked in the chamber without speaking a word unto Herman∣tes. He stood all the while like a stock, and still fixed his eyes upon me. Thus did we con∣tinue mute a long while at last, I clapped my hands together upon a sudden & leaped into the middle of the room. The Devill take her, said I aloud, let him love her that will for me, there are Shepheards enough in Camargue as fair as she, that will be glad Hylas would Love them. Afterwards, addressing my selfe unto Hermantes. Oh what a foole Stilli∣ana is, (said I unto him) if she think that I will Love her by force? Why should I be so silly as ever to think any more upon her? Does she think there are none to love but she? I am sure, Hermantes, she twinkled with her eyes, and bit her lipps when she talked with you: but I cannot chuse but laugh at her simplicity, if she think I care for her more then I do for the veryest stranger in all Gaule: She must needs twit me with Carlis; yes, I did love her; and wil love her again in spite of a thousand Stillianas, and I am confident that ere long she will repent of her fillinesse: but its no matter, let her repent her heart out for Hylas; he will be hanged before he ever love her again As I used these expressions I observed that Her∣mantes changed colour; but then I was ignorant of the cause not imagining that it proceeded from his fears of my reingratiating my self into the favour of his Mistriss but however he laughed it out, & said that he wondered at this alteration. Yet no sooner was this course re∣solved upō but I thought of a speedy excecution: with this intentiō I went to Carlis, of whom I begg'd a thousand pardons for the Letter which I writ unto her, assuring her that it was not my fault, but only a rapture of my affection. She who was highly offended as you may

think, after a patient hearing, gave me this answer. Hylas, if these assurances of your good will to me were true, I should be satisfied: but if they be only lyes, never think I will re∣nue with you, since I do find so much dainger in your humour: she would have continu∣ed on, if Stilliana had not come to shew her the Letter I had writen, and to visit her. When she saw me with Carlis, Do I wake or do I dream? said she in a great amaze Is this Hylas that I see, or is it a Spirit? Carlis being very glad of this encounter, thus answered; Yes yes dear companion it is Hylas, you are not mistaken; and if you please to come a little nearer, you may heare in what quaint Language he cryes me mercy, and how he repents of all he writ unto me, submitting himselfe unto what punishment I shall inflict upon him. Let his punishment be, said Stilliana, to continue in his affection unto me. To you? said Carlis, why he swore unto me, just as you entered, that he loved only me I am sure, said Stilliana, that Hermantes brought a Letter to me from him within this two houres. and to put all out of doubt, I pray read this, and see whether or no I lie. I protest, Fair Shepheardesse, I was not able to open my mouth, or speak one syllable in my own defence And to dash me the more out of countenance, many other Shepheardesses came in, at the same time, who were all witnesses against me, so as I was not able to tarry any longer: but slinking away without giving a syllable to any, I went unto Hermantes, and acquainted him with my adventure, who laughed as long as he could, as the subject did very well deserve. The noise of this was so spread throughout all Camarque, that I could not open my lips unto any Shepheardesse, who did not hit me in the teeth with it of which I was so much ashamed that I resolved to quit the isle for a certain time. You may see, I was but young when I was ashamed to be called the Inconstant Lover: surely at this age I should not move a foot for any such-reproaches: you see (said Paris) that one must be an appren∣tice before he be a Master; tis very true, answered Hylas, and the worst is, he often payes for his apprentiship. But to returne to our discourse. I not being able any longer to en∣dure the perpetuall clamours against me, I gave order for my houshold as secretly as I could, and referred the managment of it wholly unto Hermantes, and afterwards took boat amongst many others. I had then no other design but to travell, and passeway the time, not caring any more for either Carlis or Stilliana, then if I had never seen them for I had so lost the memorie of them, in losing the sight of them, as I never gave one sigh for them both. But see how difficult a thing it is to turne the tide of ones inclination I had no sooner set my foot in the Boat, but I saw a new subject for my Love. There was amongst other pas∣singers, one old woman who was going unto Lions, to pay some vowes unto the Temple of Venus which she had made for her Son: and brought along with her, her fair Daugh∣ter for the same occasion and with reason had she the name of Fair, since she equalled Stilli∣ana, and transcended Carlis: her name was Aymea, who in age could not be above ninteen or twenty: and though Camargue was her Country, yet she did not know me, because her jealous Husband (as commonly all old men are that have young and fair wives) did keep her in so close, as she never came into our publique assemblies. As soon as ever I saw her, she pleasedme, and do what I could, must needs love her. But I suresaw it would be trouble enough unto me to delude the Stepmother, and win the Stepdaughter. How∣ever, not to stick at any difficulties. I summoned all the wit I had to my ayd; and conceiv∣ing the best way would be to begin by the Mother, I thought it most expedient to make my self knowne unto her, and that some old love between our families, or someoutient alliande or other, would beget me some familiarity with her: and I was not deceived in this opini∣on: For as soon as I told her who I was, and had given her some seurvy excuse or other for my being disguised, which she took for good; also assured her, that I would never have discovered my selfe unto her, but only that she might the more freely accept of my service: My Son, answered she, I do not wonder at your good will to me for your father did love me so well, as you should have degenerated too much, if you had not some sparkes of that affection remaining in you: Oh my dear Child, you are Son unto a man that was the richest and most amiable man in all Camargue: As she spoke these words, she took my head and closed it to her breast, and kissed my forehead and her kisse did put me in memorie of a chimney which yet retaines a little heat, after all the fire is taken away: for my Father, though he missed marrying her, yet served her too much for her reputation, as as I have heard since: but I, who cared not a rush for all her carresses, further then they conduced to my designe, seemed to receive them with much obligation, and thanked her for her affection to my Father, beseeching her to let it descend upon his Son: and since the heavens had made me heire unto all his estate, I hope she would not disinherit me of that which I estee∣med

most, which was the honour of her favour and that for my part I would succeed my Father in all devotion and service to her. To be brief, Fair Shepheardesse, I flattered up this old woman with such candid language, that she loved me, none better; and to gra∣tifie me, she did contrary to her custom, command her Daughter in Law to Love me also. Oh that she had been so well advised as to follow her counsell? But I never met with any so cold in all her actions; so I was severall dayes with her; and never had the confidence to breake my designe unto her in words; for Stilliana had put me much out of conceipt of my self: besides, she was alwayes at the old hagges elbow who twattled continually unto me, of old done deeds, all the day long. It hap••ied, that this great company of passengers with whom we went and most of them Merchants, they were to touch upon an Island neere Avignion, and take in some commodities; and we who were in their company and unac∣customed to such voyages, being weary with sitting so long, whilst these Merchants were about their business, we went a shore to walk & amongst the rest this Stepmother unto Ay∣mea was one of the troope. As soon as my Shepheardesse was in the Isle, she went along the water side with other women of her age, and I thrust my selfe amongst them in hopes of an opportunity, whilst the old Beldam was walking with some others of her own gang. By fortune, Aymea, being parted from her companions and was gathering flowers by the water side, I stepped to her, and took her by the hand: then after I had walked with her a little further, I began thus to expresse my selfe; I should be ashamed fair Shepheardesse, to be so long mute, did I not feare my speech would more offend you, then my silence. I do not know Hylas, said she unto me, what occasion you should have either to be silent or to speak: Oh Fairest, said I, my affection does so secretly burne me, and gives me such an occa∣sion to declare my pain, that I cannot be silent; on the other side my affection puts me in such fear, of offending her I Love by declaring it unto her, that I dare not speake: so as the same affection which should furnish me with words, denyes them, when I am with you: Me? (replyed she presently) pray Hylas be well advised what you say. Yes you, Fairest, replyed I, I do very well know what I say. Did I think this to be in earnest, said she, I should answer you after another straine: If you make any doubt of my being in earnest, said I, I beseech you consider your own perfections, and they will perfectly inform you. Then, with a thousand protestations and oathes, I vented the whole thoughts of my heart unto her: She, without any dismay, coldly answered, Hylas, never charge me with any of your follies; if you do, I shall know how to remedy them, and then you shall want a subject to work upon: If my Mothers affection to you, nor the condition wherein I am, will not give a check unto your injuri∣ous intentions, I assure you, what duty will not do in you, it shall in me, and I will so take away all occasion from you, as you shall see, that I am what I ought to be. You see how calmly I speak, not, but I do abominate your indiscretion, but it is to let you see, that passion transports me not, but that reason is the rule of my tongue, and makes me speak so mildly: And if I do finde, this moderate course will not divert you from your de∣signe, then will I have recourse unto extream remedies. These words uttered so calmly, did touch me so to the quick, that I knew not what to say; not that I intended to give over, for I knew that the first assaults are commonly thus repulsed: But, as Aymea saw me thus mute and 〈◊〉〈◊〉, and went away, there was one of her company, that seeing me muse in that manner, came towards me, and making some kinde of amorous signes, looking at one through her fingers, she passed by, as if she did invite me to follow: At the first I fol∣lowed not, seeming to take no notice but when she came the second time, I did: and after she had made two or three turnes toward her company, she seemed as if she were out of breach, and did sit down upon a green tuft of grasse: I, who followed without any de∣signe, seeing her upon the ground, and in a place where none could see us, began to sport with her, and she made little kinde of resistance, but such as shewed, that this privacy was not displeasing unto her; for she did, as I think, purposely uncover her neck, that the whitenesse of her skin might be seen better than could be in her face: At last, rising up, she said unto me; I did not think, Hylas, you had been such a ruffling companion, for if I had, I should not have left my company. If it do displease you, said I, I will begg your pardon; but, if it do not, I was never in my life better payed for my indiscretion then now. What do you mean said she unto me? I do mean, fair Floriante, said I, that I did never see any so fair as now I do. See how you can lie, said she; and then striking me gently upon the cheek, she ran to her company. This Floriante was the daughter of a very brave Cavaller, who was then sick, and dwelt upon the coast of Ara, and she hearing of his sicknesse, was

going to him, having been with one of her Sisters, who was married in Arles. For matter of beauty she was well enough; but she was so full of gawderies, and of such a galliard hu∣mour, as I must confesse, all my good-will to Aymea was forgotten, and so suddainly, as I never at all resented any displeasure at parting from her; for, this new commer furnished me with content enough, to cast away all care. Thus then I left Aymea, as I thought, and was all for Floriante: I do say [as I thought] for it was not entirely, since very often, when I saw her I took delight in talking with her, though my affection to the other did draw me a little more violently: But, the truth is, when I had well considered with my selfe, I found, that in lieu of one, I loved both. Indeed it was no great trouble to me; for when I was with Floriante, I never so much as remembered, whether any such a woman as Aymea was in the world; and when I was with Aymea, Floriante was a hundred miles out of my memo∣rie: Nothing troubled me so much, as when I was far from them both, for then I grieved for both. Thus, generous Paris, did I spend my time, till I came to Vienna, where being in our lodging, (for we landed every night at some good Town or other) a Shepheardesse came, and desired the Master of the Ship or Boat, to give her room in it as far as Lyons; pretending that her Husband had been wounded in the Warres, and had sent for her. The Master of the Boat being very civill, did very kindly receive her; and so the next morning she went into the Boat with us: She was fair, and so modest and discreet, as she was no lesse commendable for her vertue than her beauty; but, so sad and melancholly, as she moved all the company to pitty her: And I being ever very compassionate towards the afflicted, I did, amongst the rest, extreamly pitty her also, and cheered her up as much as possibly I could: at which Floriante was nothing pleased, nor Aymea neither. Now, generous Paris, you must consider, that though a woman do put a fained glosse upon it, yet, she cannot for her life choose, but resent the losse of any Lover, as thinking it an affront unto her beau∣ty; and beauty being a thing most deer unto that Sex, it is the most sensible thing that is in them. However, I, that began to blend a little Love with my compassion, not seeming to regard these two Shepheardesses, did continue on my discourse unto this; and amongst otherthings, to the end we should not let down discourse, and also to have more acquain∣tance with her, I did intreat her to tell me the occasion of her sadnesse; and she being fluent in courtesie, began thus:

The compassion which you seem to have of my griefe, obligeth me, courteous Shep∣heard, to give you that satisfaction which you desire; and I should think it a great crime to refuse so small a thing: But yet, I do beseech you to consider the condition I am in, and excuse me, if I do abbreviate my discourse into as little room as possibly I can. Know then, Shepheard, that I was born upon the coast of the River Loire, where I have been educated with as much tender care, as possibly one of my quality could be, untill the fifteenth year of my age. My name is Cloris, my Father's Leonces, Brother to Gerestan, into whose hands I was transferred after the death of my Father and Mother. And here I began to resent the blowes of fortune; for, my Uncle having more care of his own Children than of me, did think himselfe overcharged with me. All the comfort I had was in his Wife, whose name was Callirea, for she loved me, and furnished me with all things that I wanted, unknown to her Husband. But the heavens had decreed to afflict me; for, when Filander, Callirea's Brother, was killed, she took his death so sadly, that within a few daies after she died, and I was left, with her two Daughters, so young, as could afford me no con∣tentment. It happened, that a Shepheard of the Province of Viennoise, called Rosidon, came to visit the Temple of Hercules, which is upon the coast of Furan, seated upon a high Rock, which elevates its head above all the rest of the Mountains: That day on which he came thither, was a day of great solemnitie, and many Shepheards and Shep∣heardesses were there also. It would be impertinent to relate all passages, and the manner how he declared his Love unto me: but so it was, that ever since that day he has so de∣voted himselfe to me, as he became wholly mine. He was young and handsome; and as for his Estate, it was much better than ever I could hope for: Moreover, his Spirit and his Body were so resemblant and sutable, as did make up a most perfect composure. His courtship continued four years, in all which time, I cannot say, he ever did or thought any thing, which he did not render me an account of, and asked my advice This extream submis∣sion and long continuance, did assure me of his Love and merits, and obliged me to love him extreamly. We lived and loved thus above a year, in as much perfect amitie, as could possibly be between two Lovers, and at last, our joyes were compleated in our Marriage. Now were we as happy as Mortalls could be, conducted we were to the Temple, the Songs

of Hymen did sound on all sides; and being returned to our lodgings, nothing was to be heard but Instruments of joy; and when we were in the height of felicity, we were sepa∣rated by the most averse fate that ever chanced unto any. We were then at Vienna, where the greatest part of Rosidor's Estate did lie. It hapned, that some debauched young fellowes of those Townes about Lyons, where our Druides use to keep the missltoe which they got in the great Forrest of Mars, would needs commit some disorders, which my Husband could not brook but after some gentle disswasions, did hinder them in the execution; at which they were so incensed, that (thinking they could not anger Rosidor worse, then to affront me) one of them offered to throw a glasse of Inke in my face: but, I seeing the blow coming, turned aside my head, so as I had none of it light upon me but in my neck, the marks whereof are yet very fresh. My Husband seeing my breast full of Inke and blood, did think that I was wounded, and therefore drew his sword, and ran it through the body of him that gave me this affront, and afterwards, with the help of some friends, did drive them away. Judge, Shepheard, how much I was troubled; for, I thought my selfe worse wounded than I was, and when I saw my husband all bloody, with a wound which he re∣ceived on his shoulder. But, after this first fray was parted, and his wound searched, he had no sooner dressed himselfe, but Officers came to seize upon him, and carried him away with such violence, that they would not permit me so much as to bid him adieu; but, my affection was so much above their denyall, that I did come unto him, and held him about the neck so fast, that they could hardly pull me off. On the other side, he seeing me in this condition and chusing rather to die, than to part from me, did so shew both his love and courage, that though wounded, yet he broke from them, and got out of the Town: This kept him from an Imprisonment, but it made his cause worse in the eye of Justice, which caused severall Proclamations to issue out against him: During all which time, his greatest griefe was, that he could not be with me; and his desire of seeing me being very great; he disguised himselfe, and in the night came unto me, and there stayed: God knowes how great my joyes were, and also how great my fears for, I knew, that his pursuers, knowing his love to me, would have all eyes about the house, and do all they could possible to ap∣prehend him: And it hapned as I alwaies feared: for there he was taken, and carried to Lyons, whither presently I followed, and very opportunely for him: for, the Judges, whom I continually solicited, had so much pitty of me, that they shewed him favour: and so, maugre all the pursuit of his enemies, he was delivered. As I had abundance of trouble in the businesse, so, courteous Shepheard, I had abundance of joy to see him out of all danger: But, because his Prison had made him very sick, he was forced to stay a few daies in Ly∣ons, and I with him, endeavouring to cheer him up as well as possibly I could. At last being out of danger, he entreated me to go unto his house, and prepare all things for the enter∣tainment of his friends, whom he would invite to rejoyce with him, for his good successe in his businesse: When I was gone, these debauched fellowes seeing they could not revenge themselves by Law, they resolved to murder him in his bed and entring into his lodging, gave him two or three stabbs with a Dagger, and leaving him dead as they thought, fled. Judge, kinde Shepheard, what cause have I to grieve at this fatall accident.

Thus ended Cloris her story, with eyes swimming in tears, which dropped upon her fair breast like links of Pearl. Now, generous Shepheard, this which I am now about to tell you, is a fresh gale of Love: The sorrowes which I saw in this Shepheardesse, moved me unto so much compassion, that though her face perhaps was not able to cause love, yet plain pitty touched me so to the quick, that I must confesse, neither Carlis, Stilliana, Aymea, Floriana, nor all of them together, ever tyed me in such strong chaines, as this poor desolate Cloris; not that I did not love those, but because there was yet a place void in my soul for this Thus see me resolved upon Cloris as upon the rest; but I knew it was to no purpose to mention my love unto her, untill Rosidor were either dead or recovered, for her sorrowes had taken up all her soul. Thus came we to Lyons, where every one parted, and my new affection unto Cloris moved me to wait upon her to her lodging, where I did visit Rosidor, purposely to be acquainted with her; for I knew, the way to get into the favour of the Wife, was, to begin with the Husband. She thought, he had been much more wounded than she found him, (for what one fears, is alwaies apprehended in the worse sense) and changed colour when she saw him up, and walking about the Chamber. But see how things happen, the sorrowes of Cloris in the Boat was the ground of my affection; and now her joyes and contentment makes it die, which argues, that a disease may be cured by its contraries: for, I entred into the house a captive, and went out a man of liberty, and

Master of my selfe: But, considering this accident, I called Aymea and Floriante into my memory again. Now am I presently in quest of their lodgings, and enquiring of every one I met with; at last by fortune, I found them both together. The next morning was the great Feast of Venus, and according to the custome of the day, the preceding day unto the Festivall, the Maids do sing in the Temple Authems, unto the honour of that goddesse, and remain there untill midnight: I heard, that the Step-mother of Aymea would be then there in performance of her vow; Floriante, at the earnest request of Aymea, promised to be there also: And I resolved to disguise my selfe in the habit of a Virgin, and to get in when it was dark: and when I was in, I stayed in the most blinde and least frequented cor∣ner of the Temple till it was nine or ten of the clock. Then was the dores shut, and not a man but my self in, unlesse some that might be as full of curiosity as my selfe and so dis∣guised: but when the Hymnes began, then came I out of my lurking corner: And because the Temple was very large, and had no lights but such as was about the Altar, I might the more safely mingle amongst the rest of the Virgins, without fear of being knowne. Then looking about me where Aymea was, I saw her carry a taper unto a young Virgin, who rising up, aprpoached the Altar; and after some certain ceremonies she began to sing some staves, which at the end of every stave was answered by all the company as a Chorus: I know not whether it was the dimnesse of the light. (For it does often hide the imperfections of a complexion) or what it was, or whether she was really very faire, but so it was, that as soone as ever I saw her, I loved her. Some affirme that Love proceeds from the eyes of the party loved but this cannot be; for her eye never looked upon me, nor did mine see her so much as to know her againe; and this was the reason that I thrust in amongst the Shepherdesses that stood neerest her. But, but as ill luck was, after I had with much dain∣ger gotten neere her, she ended her Anthem, and carried her taper into its wonted place, so as it became so darke that though neere her, yet could I not well see her. Yet in hope that eyther she or some other would ere long sing again, I stayed there a little longer, but I perceived the light was carried into another Quire, and presently after, one that was there began to sing, as my new, and unknown Mistriss had done before: the difference betwixt them both in voice and face, was very great, for neither was comparable unto her that I be∣gan to love: so as not being able to hold out any longer, I addressed my selfe unto a Lady was the further off from any company, and counterfetting my voice as well as possible I could, I asked her who it was that sung the last before. Certainly, said she, you are a meere stranger that askes this question, and does not know her. Perhaps, said I, I should know her, did I heare her named. Who does not know that, said she, by her face, does ask that question in vain; but to satisfie you, her name is Cyrcenna, the fairest Virgin that is in all the Country, and so known unto every-one, that if you do not know her, certainly you are of another world. Hitherto I counterfeited my voice so well, that as the night deceived her eyes, so my words did her eares, but not forgetting my selfe I told her, that in recompence of that favour she had done me no man could be more her servant then my selfe. How's this said she unto me, who are you that useth any such lauguage unto me? then observing me a little more neerely, she found by my dresse and Garb, what I was▪ Then in a great amaze she said unto me? how durst you be so bold, as thus to break the holy lawes of this sacred place? do you not know, that you must expiate this crime with the losse of your life? The truth is I did not think the punishment had been so great: but seeming unto her, to be a stranger, and ignorant of their statutes, she took pitty upon me and said that it was a thing impossible to obtain a pardon, so rigorous was the law. Yet seeing that I did not come with any bad intention, she would do what she could to save me. And in order to that, I must not stay untill th•• midnight bell did ring, for then all the Druides would come unto the Temple dore with Torches or candles and look upon all their faces. But now the dore was shut, yet she would try if she could get it open; then putting a vaile upon my head and lending me her Mantle, it did so muffle me up as in the night none could know whether I was man or woman: being thus equipped, she told one of her neighbours that came with her she was not well so they went both together to desire the key of the dore upon that oc∣casion. And going all three together unto the dore with a little candle, which she almost covered with her hand, for feare of the wind, we crowded out altogether, and so by her fa∣vour I escaped that dainger: Then the better to disguise the matter, also out of a desire to know unto whom I was so much obliged, I went amongst the rest, unto her lodging.

But fair Shepheardesse, (said Hylas, and addressed himselfe unto Diana) this discourse is not yet at the halfe; and me thinks the Sunne is low, therefore I conceive it convenient

to referre the sequell untill another opportunitie. Tis very true, courteous Shepheard, said she, we must not spend all we have at once. And therefore will save some against ano∣ther time: besides, Paris who has a long way home, would be put upon the night, should he stay any longer▪ I can never think the time long, said he, as long as it is spent in your com∣pany. I wish Sir, said Diana, there were any thing in me worth your acceptation and I should most willingly devote it to your service: for your merit and civility obliges every one unto it. Paris would have answered, when Hylas interrupted him by saying; I would to god, generous Paris, that I were you; and Diana, Phillis, that I might have the honour of such language from her: If it were so said Paris, you could not be more obliged to her, then both you and I am. Tis true, said Hylas, but I did never feare being more obliged, unto those who already have entirely obliged me; your obligations Hylas, said Diana are none of the longest dates, for you can break loose from them when you please. It's good, an∣swered he, to have two strings to a bow, for if one fail the other may do service: and I do be∣leeve that Phillis is glad I am of that humour, for otherwise she might sleight my service. With such discourse as this Diana, Paris, and severall other Shepheardesses, came to the great Plain where they alwaies used to assemble, before they parted; and then Paris bidding good night unto Diana, and the rest of the company, he went towards Laigneu.

All this while Lycidas was talking with Phillis; and his jealousie of Silvander did so torment him, that he was not able to bear the weight of it upon his heart untill the mor∣ning: he was so much out of himselfe, as he never minded whether any eares could overhear; but thinking he was alone with her, after a hundred deep sighes, he thus began to ease himselfe. Is it possible, Phillis, (said he unto her) that the heavens should preserve my life so long as to make me resent your infidelity? The Shepheardesse who expected any other discourse sooner than this, was so surprized at it, that she could not answer; and the Shepheard seeing her mute, and thinking it was onely to pump for some excuse, conti∣nued on: You have reason indeed, fair Shepheardesse not to give me any answer; for your eyes do too well speak the truth to let me ever hope for any happinessie: and your silence does but too well answer and assure me of what I desire to know. The Shepheardesse being extreamly offended at this language, did in a very angry maner give him this answer Since my eyes can speak so wel for me, why would you have me answer you any otherwise? & if my silence can so wel inform you of my infidelity, that all my former actions cannot assure you of my affection, do you think I can ever hope that words wil be a better testimony? but I perceive, Lycidas, that you would gladly make an honest retreat: you have a designe som∣where else, and not daring it without some colorable excuse of your levitie, you faign these Chimeras of displeasure, that your fault may reflect upon me. But, Lycidas, bring out your reasons to the Test, let us see what they are; and if you will not, then get you gone and do not accuse me with your own crimes: let your continuall complaints wherewith you trou∣ble both heaven and earth, reflect upon some body else not me, who am most mortally dis∣pleased at them. My doubts did much displease me, replyed the Shepheard, but this assurance which your tart language gives me, makes me die. I pray you said the Shepheardess, what are your feares? Not little ones, answered he, since the complaints which proceed from them does trouble both heaven and earth, as you do upbraid me. And if you would know them I will in few words tell you, that I fear Phillis does not love Lycidas. Is it so Shepheard, re∣plyed Phillis; can you think that I do not love you. Yet remember what you did for me and Olimpia? Is it possible you should consider my former actions, yet make any such doubts? I do know, answered the Shepheard, that you did love me; and had I doubted it, my griefe had not been so great as it is: but I feare a great wound though it do not kil, yet it wil leave a scarr: and that which love made in you, does only leave a mark that it was a wound.

Phillis turning her head aside at these words, with a discontented gesture answered him thus; since Shepherd I see, that all my good offices and testimonies of affection, have no better operation, I do assure you that the greatest griefe I will have, shall be the pains and time I have bestowed. Lycidas saw, that he had much offended his Shepheardesse; but he himselfe was so full of jealousie, that he could not chuse but returne this answer; This an∣ger, Shepheardess (said he) is but a fresh confirmation of my feares: for to be angry when you are put in mind of a great affection, is a signe it never was accepted. Phillis hearing this reproach, turned aside and answered; Lycidas dissimulation in all manner of persons, did ever displease me, especially in those I would lust withall; can Lycidas tel me that he doubts my affection and I not think he dissembles? What testimonies can I give more than I have already? Shepherd, Shepherd, these words beleeve me makes me suspect those assu∣rances,

which heretofore you have given of your affection, for it may be that you would de∣ceive me in your Love, as it seemes you do your selfe in mine. Shepheardesse, answered Lycidas, were my affection of the common strain, as to consist more in shew then realitie, I should condemn my selfe, for suffering the violence of it to transport me beyond the li∣mits of reason; but, since it is not of so low an ebb; but, as you know, did flow like an Ocean, you must think, such an extream love is never without some fears, though they have no cause, those fears do turn themselves into jealousie, and jealousie into grief, or ra∣ther into such a frenzie, as you may perceive in me.

Whilst Lycidas and Phillis were talking thus, thinking these words were heard only by themselves, and that Trees have no ears, Silvander was behind a Tree, and lost not a syllable: Laonice also, who was asleep there, she wakened at the beginning of their dis∣course, and knowing them both, was very glad she was there so opportunely, assuring her selfe, that before they parted, they would impart many secrets unto each other, which she might employ to their ruine; and it happened according to her hopes, for Phillis hearing Lycidas say, that he was jealous, asked him, Of whom? and Why? Oh Shepheardesse, answered the wounded Lycidas, do you ask me this question? I beseech you tell me, from whence proceeds all that faint and hollow coldnesse, which you have used towards me of late? and that great familiarity with Silvander, unlesse your affection to me had been withdrawn and conferr'd upon him. Ah Shepheardesse, you must not think, but my heart is very sensible of such blowes, since it hath resented those from your fair, but false eyes: how came you to fall off from me? why would not you speak as familiarly unto me as you were wont? where is all the care which heretofore you used, in enquiring how I did? and your griefe, when I was at any time absent? You can remember, when the name of Lyci∣das founded sweetly in your ears? and I do remember, when out of the abundance of your heart, you named him when you should have named another: But now, who but Silvan∣der, Silvander is in the same heart and tongue, where Lycidas had once a considerable room; but now, the veriest stranger in all the Country, is preferred before him, that is still the same Lycidas that ever he was, and was born only unto Phillis, whom he now suspects.

The extream displeasure of Lycidas did force out so many words, as Phillis could not put in one by way of interruption; for, if she opened her mouth to speak, he still continued on with more vehemency, not considering, that the more he complained, the more his misery encreased, and that if any thing could cure him, it was that answer which he would not hear: And, never considering that it was his torrent of words which hindred the Shepheardesse from answering, he conceived, that her silence proceeded from her guilt, so as every action that she used, did more and more augment his jealousie. The Shephear∣desse all this while was so amazed and offended, that she had not time to convince him of his error; but, though something dark, he saw her blush, at least thought so, which then did put him out of all; taking that for granted now, which he did but doubt of before. Thus, after he had called upon the Gods, that were just punishers of all infidelitie, he ran away from her through the wood, and would not hear her, when she call'd him back; she followed, intending to convince him of his error, but it was in vain; for, he ran so fast, as she quickly lost the sight of him in the thick wood. In the mean time, Laonice was very glad that she had discovered this affection, and to see so good a beginning of her designe, and therefore she retired: Silvander on the other side, seeing Lycidas was so apt to be jealous, he resolved for the future to be the bellowes, that would blow it into a greater flame, and would seem, as if he loved Phillis in earnest, the next time he saw him with her.

Leonida in the mean time came to the house of Adamas, and letting him understand, that Galathea had extraordinary businesse with him; he resolved to set out as soon as the Moon began to shine, which would be about an houre before day, and accordingly they did so: When they were come to the bottom of the Hill, and had only a long plain to go through, before they came to the Pallace of Isaure, the Nymph, at the request of her Uncle, began to relate the businesse thus.

The History of Galathea and Lindamor.

DO not wonder, I beseech you, Father (for so she called him) I should entreat you to hear me with patience, and when you see occasion, to remember, that it is the very same Love which is the cause of all this, which in former times has driven you upon the like, if not stranger accidents. I durst never have spoken to you about it, had I not had both permission and a command to do it: But Galathea, whom the business concerns, doth earnestly desire, since she hath made choice of you for the Physician to cure her, that you should be acquainted with it, both the beginning and progress, and that it may be kept secret from all the world. The Druide (who knew what reverence was due unto his Lady (for so he reputed her) did answer, that his Prudence taught him to conceal any thing that concerned Galathea, and therefore any promise concerning that, was super∣fluous. Upon that assurance (said Leonida) I shall acquaint you with the businesse. It is a long time since Polemas first begun to love Galathea: To tell you how it came to passe, is to no purpose; but so it was, he did love her. This love proceeded so on, that Gala∣thea her self could not be ignorant of it, but did many times in private make it appear, that his service was not displeasing unto her: And truly he was a man of very high deser∣vings. As for his Pedigree, it is, as you know, derived from the ancient Line of Surieu, which in Noblenesse is not inferiour unto Galathea her self. As for his Person, he is very handsom; every way so composed, as to move Love. Above all, he is a great Scholar, and in any Learning can silence the greatest Doctors. But, Father, all these things are known unto you, better than I can relate them. But so it was, that these qualities did so recommend him unto the consideration of Galathea, that she was more favourable unto him, than unto any in the Court of Amasis; yet it was with so much discretion, that none could ever take any notice of it. Then Polemas, having such a favourable wind, did sail so contentedly in the sea of his hopes, as no man could live more happily than hee. But this inconstant Love, or rather inconstant Fortune, would have Polemas, as well as the rest of the world, feel the sharpness of those Arrows which are shot from his Bow. You may remember the time when Amasis permitted Clidaman to bestow servants upon us all. Upon that occasion, Love, like swarms, did rise both in Court and Country; & amongst the rest, Lindamor's lot did fal upon Galathea. His merits also were very high; yet she did look as shily upon him, as the ceremony of that Festivall would permit her. But he, who per∣haps had before that some such intention, though he durst not let it break out beyond the limits of his discretion was very glad of this occasion, under which he might veyl his real passions, as under a fiction. As Polemas did stomack this new Amity at the first, so the progress of it proved much more vexatious to him. Though Galathea did receive him with some shew of sweetnesse, by way of common courtesie, and after the example of all the o∣ther Nimphs, yet this in any reason could not be offensive to him, because she was obliged to it both by the Law, and the example of others. But when this Courtship went further than the bounders of courtesie and civility, then did he perceive it to be in good earnest; and then did he resent such pangs of Jealousie, as are usuall in a soul that is really in love.

Galathea for her part, never thought of any such thing, or at the least did not beleeve, it was so far on: But occasions, which, like drops of rain, do follow one another did so apparently appear, that Polemas might well be excused for suffering himself to be woun∣ded by so sharp a Sword as Jealousie. Lindamor was Generous and Noble, and adorned with all desirable qualities, that a person well born could possible be: as courtly amongst Ladies, as brave in Martial matters, and as full of Courage and Valour, as any that our Court produced many years. He had arrived to the age of five and twenty yeares, before ever he felt any such effects as Love useth to produce in hearts of his age. Not but that he was, of his natural inclination, a much devoted servant unto Ladyes but being continually exercised in businesses much different from idleness, he had not leisure to let Love sow any seeds in his soul; for ever since hee was able to bear Armes moved by a Generous instinct, which invites Noble spirits unto dangerous enterprizes, he was perpetually in Wars, where he did most heroickly signalize himself. Afterwards, coming to see Clidaman, and to pay that homage unto which he was obliged, at one and the same time he devoted himself unto two: To Clidaman as his Lord, and to Galathea as his Lady; comming to Court, with∣out

any design upon either. But the sweet affability of the young Clidaman, and the merits of the fair Galathea, were Loadstones of such attractive virtue, as did draw him to their service. Thus did Lindamor begin to love, and so that he could not umbrage his affection under the veil of courtesie and complement. Polemas, as one that had interest, did present∣ly perceive it; yet being friends, he seemed to take no notice, but stil courted his friendship, to the end he might ruin him by Artifice, as afterwards he attempted: And having, as I told you, made profession of amity already unto him, it was the more easie to continue it. At this time Clidaman, began to affect Tilting and Justs, wherein for a beginner he got some honour. But Lindamor was the man that still carried away all the glory and applause of all. At which Polemas was so stung at the heart, that he could no longer dissemble his grudge; so as hee would needs have a turn with him at Tilting, thinking that he being elder, and having a stronger Arm, he might wel enough undertake his Rival, and get the glory; but he proved to be only a foil unto Lindamors lustre. The last day of the Baccha∣nals, when the young Clidaman held a Turnement in maintaining the beauty of Silvia, Guyemant and Lindamor did get as much glory as mortal men could do, but especially Lindamor, who had the favour and good fortune that though Galathea was not the Judge, yet, In spite of Love, shee gave sentence against Polemas. The Nimph, whose eyes could hardly look upon any but Polemas, could not now chuse but highly applaud Lindamor: And observe how Love does play and mock at the Prudence of Lovers; that which Polemas imagined, would get him the advantage of Lindamor, did most hurt him, and made him almost his inferiour; for, every one spending their judgments, and comparing the actions of the one with the other, did finde such a difference between them, that it had been better for him to have sit quietly at home. That same night, Lindamor inspir'd by some good Genius (which makes me believe, that there are some daies fortunate, some unfortunate) declared himselfe in good earnest a Servant unto the fair Galathea, and such opportunities did fall upon him, as he could not wish for better: For, dancing a kinde of a Dance, which the Franks had newly brought out of Germany, in which, every one catched her whom they most fancyed; Lindamor guided by Love, but, as I think, thrust upon it by Fate, did steal away Galathea from Polemas, who being more intent upon his discourse than dancing, never heeded it, but went presently, and twitted the Nymph with her affection unto Lindamor. She, who did not yet think Lindamor to be in earnest, was much of∣fended at his discourse, and took his language so ill, that it made Lindamor more pleasing unto her: also, thinking upon some revenge for his jealousie. I am the freer to speak it, for none was better acquainted with all these passages than my selfe, who was destined to be a witnesse of all the businesse: For, assoon as all were retired to their lodgings, & Galathea in bed, she commanded me to stay by her & hold a Candle, whilst she read some Letters of im∣portance which came to her. This night desiring to be alone, she dismissed all the rest of the Nymphs and when they were all gone, she commanded me to shut the dore; afterwards she made me sit down upon her Bed; then, after a little smiling to her self, she said thus unto me, I cannot chuse but laugh, Leonida, at an encounter which I met with this night at the Ball, you know that Polemas has long professed himself my servant and (let me tell it unto you, from whom I wil conceal nothing) that as long as he behaved himself towards me with ho∣nour & respect, his service was not displeasing unto me, but I received him into more favour, then any other in this Court; yet, not out of any love on my side, I will not say, but perhaps love did flatter him with some hopes of obtaining what he desired; but, the very truth is, I never yet found any thing in him which could force me so far as Love: I know not what may be in the time to come, but hitherto there is no likelyhood of it. Now Polemas, seeing I allowed him freedome of talk, and heard him with patience; also observing, that I did not expose my selfe so freely unto any other he is grown so bold, that he knowes not what he does, so much is he transported besides himselfe: This very night he danced with me, in such a dull musing manner, that I could not chuse but rashly ask him, what he ailed. Shall it not displease you, said he unto me, if I should tell you? No, said I, for I never use to ask a thing which I would not know. Upon this, he went on: I cannot chuse, Madam, (said he) but be extreamly sad at some passages, which are very frequently in my eyes, and which touch me so to the quick, that had I but halfe as much assurance as I have suspition, I know nothing that is able to keep that life which yet is in me. I do prorest, I was so ill advised, that I could not imagine what he meant; yet, conceiving that his former amitie obliged me a little unto a farther curiosity, I asked him, what passages those were which touched him so to the quick? Then looking ghastly upon me a long while, Is it possible,

Madam, (said he upon a suddain) you should ask me any such question? Why not, (an∣swered I)? Because, replied he, all these things are addressed unto you, and it is only from you that they do proceed. Then seeing me stand silent, for I did not know his meaning, he begun to walk and say; I do wonder you should not blush, and I must tell you as much, though at the rate of my life: You know, Madam, with what zealous affection I have striven to make my self appear a most reall servant unto Galathea, ever since the hea∣vens devoted me to become hers you may well say, that hitherto you never saw the least or greatest of any action, that did not tend unto your service that was the mark which all my thoughts did aim at: so as unlesse fortune be extreamly averse unto me you cannot chuse, but afford me so much satisfaction at the least, as to confesse, that I am solely yours, and none but yours: And since it is so, I beseech you judge how great my griefe must needs be, when I see, contrary to all reason in Love, and when I might well have expected some re∣ward for my affection; when, I say, I see in my room another Favourit, and heir possessed of my estate before I die: I beseech you excuse the expression, which flowes from the extre∣mitie of my passion, and forceth just complaints from my soul, which cannot any longer hold silent, seeing one triumph over me, that hath got the victory, more by destiny than merit: It is Lindamor I mean, Lindamor, I say, whose services you entertain and favour above mine; my griefe is not to see him so happy as he himselfe can wish, but to see him happy in my raine. I beseech you Madam excuse me, or rather excuse the grandure of my affection, if I do complain, since it is only an argument of that power which you have over your most humble servant. I speak thus, to observe unto you, Madam, that you use the very same language, and treat him in the very same manner, you were wont to use towards me, at the beginning of your goodwill to me, and at that time, when, me thought you knew my affection: This puts me beyond all patience, and so much beyond my selfe, that I am not able to command those extravagancies which proceed from my soul, and tran∣sport me beyond the limits of my discretion. He would have talked on, but his violent passion did so stop his breath, that he was not able to continue any longer. Judge you, whether I was not much offended at these words, for they were so full of vanitie and rash∣nesse, as were not to be endured: yet, because I would not give any knowledge of it into such, who have no eyes, but to prie into the actions of others, I was forced to give him an answer lesse tart than otherwise I should, and said thus unto him: Polemas, whatsoever you are, and whatsoever I be, I never doubted, but that you were my servant, as long as you dwelt in my Mothers house, and did my Brother any service but I must needs wonder at those foolish termes you use in your discourse of Heir, and your Estate truly I know not by what night you can pretend so much unto my amitie, as to call it youre. My intentiond, Polemas, were ever to love and esteem you according to your merits, and never with you any more. And as to what you say concerning Lindamor, let me draw you out of that error for, if I did behave my selfe towards him as I did to you, I would have you think, I did no more then what I will do unto all such as shall merit it: for without any further designe, I must and will love and esteem worth wheresoever I do finde it. Why Madam, said I unto her, and interrupted her, do you think this to be so mild an answer? I cannot tell how in any civility it could have been more sharp: 'Tis true I must confesse that he is a little too presumptuous, but it cannot be denied, that this presumption in him is not with∣out some colour of reason. Of reason? said the Nymph presently, why, what reason can he alledge for it? Very many, Madam, (said I unto her) but to be silent in all but one, I must tell you, that you have permitted him to serve you with more particularitie, then any other. It was, replyed Galathea, because he pleased me better, then any of the rest of my Brothers servants. I confesse it, answered I, and therefore when he saw himselfe more favoured than any other, could he hope for lesse, than to obtain you love? He hath heard of many examples of Love between persons of unequall degree, and might therefore very well flatter himselfe with the like hopes; and I do remember some Lines which he compo∣sed upon this subject, and sang them before you, when you commanded him to conceal his affection: The Lines were these.

A Sonnet.

WHy Fair one, should you ever finde A fault, for being known so kinde?

Is any thing but Deitie, So glorious as Amitie?

Why should you such a vertue smoother, As linketh soules to one another?

All enmitie from human hearts, When it begins to shine, departs.

But if, proud Beauty, you complain, And, as inferior, me disdain;

Consider Dido, she did deem A Pirate worthy of esteem.

Poor Paris, but a common Swain, Yet his Oenone he did gain.

Diana had compassion Of her belov'd Endymion.

Love never lookes at Grandure high, Or values Inequalitie.

A Sheephook and a Scepter are Within the compasse of compare.

Degrees are equall, all's alike, Where hearts do once affection strike.

Then Adamas asked her this question, How comes it to passe, Leonida, (said he) that this Galathea by her words, seemes to sleight Polemas, and yet by these Verses, one would judge she loves him, and that he cannot endure she should dissemble it. Father, (answered Leonida) it is most true that she did love him, and did give him so many proofs of it, as he had been but a very shallow man, had he not seen it: And though she would have dis∣sembled it with me, yet, I do know, that she drew him in, by such artifices and hopes of her goodwill towards him, that I seeing demonstrable assurances given him, did think her wholly his. But, he does most justly merit this punishment, for that perfidie which he hath used towards a Nymph, whose beguiled affection had just cause for revenge, which Love at the last did execute upon him. The truth is, he is the basest impostor, the most ungratefull, and the most unworthy to be loved, that is under heaven, for his ingratitude; and if he do resent that pain which others have endured for him, he deserves no pitty.

Adamas, seeing her so exasperated against Polemas, asked her, who that Nymph was which he had deceived; for, said he to her, she must needs be one of your friends, since you are so sensible of the offence which was done unto her. She now saw, that her passion had carried her too far, and that she had unawares bolted out a thing, which had been kept long a secret: yet, having a quick wit, she so dissembled the businesse, as Adamas took no notice of it. Do you not know, Daughter, (said Adamas) that the aimes of all men is, to overcome and compasse the designe which they attempt; and the amitie which they shew unto you women when they love you, is but to make the way more easie: You see, Leoni∣da, all Love is but a desire of something which is wanting; that desire being sadded and cloyed, is no more desire; and there being no more desire, there is no more love; and therefore those that would be loved long, are those that give least satisfaction unto the desires of their Lovers. But, said Leonida, she whom I do speak of, is one of my intimate friends, and I know, she never treated Polemas, but with all the coldnesse she could. That, replied Ada∣mas, did stifle desire; for, desire is nourished by hopes and favours: As, a Lamp, when Oyle is wanting, doth extinguish; so does desire die, when that which should nourish it, is taken away: Thus does many Loves die, some, by too many, some, by too few, favours. But let us returne unto the discourse betwixt Galathea and you, What was it which she did say unto you? She said thus, answered Leonida, If Polemas had been so discreet, as to measure himselfe aright, as he was presumptuous in loving me, he had taken these favours

as flowing from my courtesie, and not love: But this is nothing to the passage that happen∣ed at that time, for I had no sooner made an answer unto Polemas, but Lindamor, accor∣ding to the order of the Dance, came, and stole me away; and so dexterously, that Polemas could not avoid it nor by the same means answer me, but with his eyes; but truly, he made such a sour•• face at me, as I could not for my heart but laugh; as for Lindamor, he either took no notice of it, or else would not make it appear; but presently after, he talked to me after such a manner, as was enough to make Polemas mad, had he heard it: Madam, said he, is not this a fatall exchange? What do you mean, said I unto him? I mean, said he, that in this Dance I have stolne you, and in the very truth, you have stollen my soul and my heart. Then blushing at this, I returned this seeming angry answer, Fie, Lindamor, what strange language is this? do you not consider who you are, and who I am? I do so, Madam, said he, and that does invite me to this language: for, are not you my Lady, and I your servant? Yes, answered I, but not so as you do intend it; for, it is your duty to serve me with reverence, and not love; or, if it be with any affection, it must be such as proceeds from your duty. To which he presently replyed, Madam, if I do not serve you with all humble reverence, never was any deitie reverenced by any mortall; but this reve∣rence must be either the Father or the Child of my affection; and, call it what you please, I am resolved to serve you, to love you, and to obey you; your merits, your perfections, and my own fate has made me eternally yours he that sees and does not love you, deserves not the name of Man: and Clidaman's Lottery, though it was some cause, yet was it only a cover of my soules affection. These expressions were uttered with a vehemency, as made it plainly appear, that his heart and tongue agreed; and I beseech you observe one plea∣sant passage; for, said Galathea to me, I never took any notice of this affection, thinking it to be only in jeast, and I never had perceived it, untill the jealousie of Polemas did hint it unto my thoughts; but ever since, I have so set my thoughts upon Lindamor, and I have sound him as well capable of causing love as jealousie; and Polemas ever since that time hath so displeased me in all his actions, as I could hardly endure him: On the contrary, all Lindamors actions did seem so plausible unto me, as I wondred that I should ob∣serve them no sooner; so as the jealousie of Polemas did quench my love of him, and trans∣ferred my affection upon Lindamor. This change had such an operation upon Polemas, as ever since caused him to look asquint upon me, and I am sure my eyes did not look up∣on him as they were wont. When Galathea spoke thus against him, I was not at all sorry, by reason of his ingratitude; but, on the contrary, the more to prejudice him, I said thus unto her, I do not at all wonder, Madam, that Lindamor should win more upon you than Polemas, for their qualities and parts are not comparable, and every one that sees them, are of the same judgment you are: It is true indeed, I do foresee much jangling will arise; first, betwixt them two; and secondly, betwixt you and Polemas. And why, said Gala∣thea to me, do you think he has such an influence upon my actions or Lindamors? That is not it, Madam, that I do mean, said I unto her; but, I am so well acquainted with the humour of Polemas, that he will try all manner of waies leave no stone unturned, and will conjure both heaven and earth, to ingratiate himselfe unto that happinesse which he hath lost; and will commit such grosse follies, as will be visible unto all, but such as will not see them, and such as will offend both you and Lindamor. No, no, Leonida, an∣swered she, if Lindamor do love me, he will do as I shall command him; and if he do not love me, he will never care what Polemas does: And as for Polemas, I know how to or∣der him. Upon these words she commanded me to draw the Curtain, and took her rest, at least, as well as these new designes would permit her. But when the Ball was ended, Lindamor observing the discontented looks of Polemas, when he took Galathea from him, he had an opinion that he did love her; yet, having never observed it by any former pas∣sages, he resolved to ask him, and if he did finde him in love, then to disswade him from it and this he thought himselfe obliged unto by their former friendship: therefore comming unto him, he desired to speak a word with him in private. Polemas being as subtle as ever was any, did colour his countenance with a glosse of good will, and said, What is it which Lindamor is pleased to command me? Oh Sir, said Lindamor, I never use com∣mands where intreaties may prevail, and at this time I will make use of neither; but only as a friend ask you a question, which our friendship obliges you to answer. Be it what it will, replied Polemas, you may be certain, I shall answer you with as much freedome, as you can desire. It is this then, said Lindamor, After I had served Galathea a good while, according to the Ordinance of Clidaman, I was at last forced to do it by the commands

of Love; for the truth is, after I had served her according to the dispose of fortune, who cast me upon her great merits, she had such an influence upon my affection, as I did ratifie it by the dedication of my self unto her; and therefore must assume to my selfe so much bold∣nesse, as to say, that I do love her: yet, that friendship, which is betwixt you and me, being contracted long before this love began, I resolved to tell you, that if it be so, that you do Love her, and have any pretentions unto her, I hope that I have so much command over my selfe, as to make a retreat, and make it appeare that my love is lesse then my friendship, and that the follies of the one ought to give place unto the wisdome of the other: Tell me therefore, freely, how your soul is affected, to the end the lawes of friend∣ship between you and me may be observed: My intention is not to discover your secre∣cyes; and since I do thus ingenuously open my selfe unto you, I conceive you need not feare doing the like: for it is not out of any curiositie, but onely a desire to preserve our friendship, that I ask you this question. Lindamor spoke unto Polemas in such a dialect as did become a friend, but like an ignorant lover, that thought such a thing as a friend was to be found in matter of Love But Polemas the Grand dissembler answer'd thus: Lindamor, this fair Nymph you speak of, deserves the Love and adoration of the whole universe: but as for me, I have no pretentions unto her But withall I must tel you, that for matter of Love, I conceive every one ought & wil do what he can for himself. Lindamor did now repent himself of his cour∣teous and civill language, since he had received such an od answer: and resolved to do what he could to advance himselfe into the favour of this Nymph, yet he answered him thus: Since Polemas, you have no pretentions unto her, I will endeavour to preferre my selfe, unto a happinesse, which to recede from, would be death it selfe unto me. For my part, said Polemas, my pretentions unto her in matter of Love, are only with an eye of reve∣rence and respect, such as we are all obliged to render unto her. For my part, replyed Linda∣mor, I do honour Galathea, as our great Lady; and also do Love and adore her as my fairest Mistris: I do think my fortune may wel pretend unto such a height, as to cast my eyes upon her, and do conceive it is no offence unto a Divinity, to Love her. With such discourse as this they parted, both of them very ill satisfied with one another: but upon different grounds: for Polemas was stung with jealousie, and Lindamor displeased at the perfidie of his friend; from this day they lived at a distance: for though indeed they were alwaies together, yet they did hide and disgnise their desigues and actions, one from another: but Lindamor did not neglect a minute that could be imployed to make his affection appear unto this fair Nymph: and certainly he did not lose eyther his time or paines; for it was so aceptable unto her, that though much love did not appear in her eyes, yet she was ful of it in her heart; and because it was a hard matter to conceale so great a fire but some flame will be flashing out, do what they could, therefore Galathea resolved to talke to Lin∣damor as little as possible she could, and to devise some way or other, for conveying letters secretly betwixt them: And in order to that, her designe was upon Flurial Nephew un∣to the Nurse of Amasis, and Brother unto hers, whose good will unto her, she had been long accquainted with for he being the Gardiner at Mount-Brison as his father was before him, when Galathea was brought thither to walk, he would often take her in his armes, and gather her what flowers she pleased: and you know that such infant amities as are suckt in with the milk, do become almost naturall: also she knowing that all old people are covetous, she was so liberal unto him that she made him wholly hers. One day, when she was got some distance from us, she called him unto her, as if the businesse was to enquire the names of some flowers, which she had in her hand, and after she had asked him severall such questions, she said thus unto him, in a low voice; Come hither Flurial dost thou Love me? Madam, answered he, I were the vilest varlet that ever breathed, if I did not Love you above all the world: May I be sure of this thou sayest? said the Nymph. May I never live a minute, replyed he, if I had not rather neglect my duty to Heaven then to you How? Said Galathea, without any exception? suppose it were a thing that would offend Amasis or Clidaman? I care not whom it would offend, said Flurial, if you Ma∣dam command it, I will never enquire further for I am wholly yours; and though my Lady do pay me my wages; yet it is from you that my service is conferred upon me: and be∣sides, I have ever from your very Infancy so loved you, that I did at the very first dedicate my self wholly unto you But Madam, I beseech you why so many words? I shall never be truly happy untill you put me to the tryall. Then said Galathea to him, hark thee, Flurial; if thou continuest in that resolution and wilt be secret, thou shalt be the happiest man alive of thy qualitie, and what I have done for thee in times past, is nothing in comparison of

what I intend for the Future: but be sure thou beest secret; and remember that if thou beest not, I shal become thy most mortal enemy; and assure thy self nothing lessthen thy life shal satisfy me. Go unto Lindamor and do as he shall direct thee; and beleeve it, I will reward thy vice beyond thy hopes, but still be sure thou dost forget thou hast a tongue. Upon these words, Galathea came to us and laughing told us, that Flurial and she, had been in a long discourse of Love; but, said she, it was upon love of the Garden, and the love of Sim∣ples. Flurial, for his part, after two or three turnes in the Garden, seeming as if he had some imployment, went out, with a mind full of this businesse: for he was not so ignorant, but he knew well enough the dainger he should incurre from Amasis, if he were discovered, and from Galathea, if he did not execute her commands; imagining the businesse, to be a matter of Love: and he had often heard say, that all offences against Love do wound the very heart; At last, his affection to Galathea and desire of gaine together, made him resolve, since he had promised to keep his word, and thereupon went presently to Lindamor who expected him For the Nymph told him that she would send Flurial unto him, and by him he might let her understand any thing he pleased. As soon as Lindamor saw him, he seemed as if he knew nothing, but asked before the company, if he had any businesse with him? Unto which he answered aloud, that he came to beseech him, he would be pleased to ac∣quaint Amasis with his long service, and the little wages he had received which was due unto him, and thereby he would create him his vassal: then in a low voice he acquainted him with the businesse he came about, and offered to do him what service he was pleased to command him. Lindamor, gave him thankes, and, acquainting him freely what he should do, he conceived the way was handsomly contrived. So as from hence forward, when Lindamor would write unto her, Flurial seemed to present a Petition unto the Nymph and when she would returne an answer, she would give it unto him lapped up in that order, which Amasis appointed in the businesse upon the Petition. And because it is ordinarie for many old Servants to have many things to Petition for; he wanted not occasion to pre∣sent every hour a Petition unto her, who often obtain'd such advantageous answers to them as were beyond all hopes. All this while the affection of this Nymph unto Polemas, did so wither, that she could hardly speake unto him without disdaine: which he not being able to endure, and knowing well enough that all did proceed from her Love of Lindamor, he was so transported that though he durst not speak much against Galathea, yet he gave out many disadvantageous speeches against Lindamor; and amongst the rest, he said, that though Lindamor was a very brave man, and accomplished with many remarkable quali∣ties, yet his over good opinion of himselfe did not take his measures aright, since he was so presumptuous as to lift his eyes so high as Galathea; and that not only to Love her in his heart, but also to vaunt and bragge of it, in his discourse. Which language came at last to the eares of Galathea; and indeed had so spread it selfe that all the Court was ac∣quainted with it. The Nymph was so much offended at this, as she resolved to treat Linda∣mor so for the future, as he should have no occasion to publish her vanities & this was the reason she would not speake unto him, and those who observed her actions and behaviour, were perswaded that there was no such thing as Love betwixt them: And Lindamors de∣parture presently after did much help on that belief; for Amasis sent him upon a businesse of great importance, as far as the banks of the River Rhine: Yet his departure was not so suddain, but he found an opportunity of talking with Galathea, before he went to know the cause of her change: and watching for his time that morning when she went un∣to the Temple with her Mother, he came to her, when she was so in the midst of us, that Amasis could hardly see him. As soone as she saw him, she would have changed place, had he not held her by the Gown, and said thus unto her: Madam, what is my offence? and why this alteration in you? She answered as she was going away: There is neither any offence in you nor alteration in me: for I am still the same Galathea, and you are still the same Lindamor, a subject too low for me to be offended with. His actions did make it appear, how these words went to his heart for though he was just upon his departure, yet he could not give any orders of any businesse, so much was his mind taken up with the thoughs of this matter: At last, finding himselfe cleerely innocent, he writ this Letter un∣to her.

Lindamor's Letter unto Galathea.

I Do not, Madam, bid my pen complain against you, but only to deplore that fatall mishap which hath rendred me so scorned by her, who was wont to treat me far otherwise. I am indeed the very same Servant, who ever did adore you with all possible reverence and hu∣mility; and you are the very same Lady, that first was my adored Saint: Since you did me the honour to take me for yours, I am not growne lesse, nor you greater: and if so, then why do you not think me worthy of the same treatment? I have called my Soul to an ac∣compt for all its action; when you please I shall display them all before you: As for me I cannot taxe it without fault: and if when heard you can, it will not be a small comfort unto a poore condemned sinner, to know the cause of his punishment.

This Letter was brought her, as the custom was, by Flurial and at such a time, that though she would, yet she could not refuse it, because we were all about her: and the truth is, it is impossible any should carry the businesse better then Flurial did. For he presented his Petitions with such reverent and pittiful language, so sutable unto the thing petitioned for, as he might deceive any whosoever; as for me had not Galathea acquainted me, I should never have taken any notice of it. But it being very hard or indeed impossible, for the young heart of this Nymph to endure without some Confident, unto whom it might impart it selfe amongst the rest she did me the honour to make choice of me, as most affectionate, & as she thought most secret. So that as soon as she receiv'd this Letter, she seeming to have forgotten something in her closset, she went thither and called me, telling the rest of the Nymphs, she would returne presently to them again. She stayed a good while in her closset, and spoke not a word, so as I perceived somthing did much trouble her: but yet I durst not aske her for feare of vexing her: Yet she did sit down, and cast Flnuials pettion up∣on the table, saying unto me, this fool Flurial is continually troubling me with Letters from Lindamor: I pray Leonida tell him that I would have him bring no more: I was a little astonished at this charge: yet I knew that Love cannot be long without some triviall quarrells, which in the end does but prove a pair of bellowes to blow the fire into a grea∣ter flame: therefore I said thus unto her: When did he give you any, Madam? Not long replyed she, do not you know of it? No certainly Madam, said I unto her; Then with a frowning brow she told me that indeed it was true, he was much in her favour; but now he had so much abused her favour, by his rashnesse and presumption, that she was quite out with him. I beseech you said I unto her, what is his fault? The fault, said the Nymphs, is no great businesse, yet it displeaseth me more then if it were of greater importance. What a grosse peece of vanitie was it in him to report it, that he was in love with me, & that he had professed it unto me? Oh, Madam, said I unto her, this can never be true; his enemies certainly have invented it, onely to ruine him, both in your favour and the favour of Amasis. This may be, replied she; but Polemas, reports it every where, & yet he is silent and gives a check unto none of these reports, But suppose he do hear the report how can he help them? Said I unto her, what remedy would you have him use against them? what remedy? said the Nymph, why a sword, and death to the reporter. Truly Madam, said I unto her, I have heard say that matters of love are so subject unto censure, that the lesse it is medled with, it is the bet∣ter. These, said she, are but excuses, but might he not very well have asked me, what course he should take? Had he done so I should have been satisfied. Have you seen the Let∣ter Madam, said I unto her, which he writ unto you? No, said she: and more then that, let me tell you, that I never will; but will avoid all occasions of ever speaking unto him. Then, I took the Petition of Flurial and read it aloud unto her; then said thus; but good Madam, ought you not to love one that is wholly devoted unto you? and can you be so easily offended against him, that perhaps never offended you? Come, come, said she, if he does love me, I will make him pay deare interest for the pleasure he takes in vaunting of our love: if I have heretofore given him any occasion to think I ever loved him, I shall for the future give a stop unto all such conceipts; and, to begin, I pray charge and com∣mand Flurial, that he never presume to bring me any thing from this rash and vain glo∣rious man. Madam, said I unto her, I shall do whatsoever you are pleased to command me; but give me leave to tell you, that I think it requisit to consider a little better upon the businesse; for you may do your selfe an injury by thinking to spite another: you know what kind of fellow this Fluriall is, whose wit cannot reach beyond his Garden; should you let

him know of this passage betwixt Lindamor and you; I am afraid he should discover the businesse unto Amasis, to excuse himselfe: For gods sake, Madam, consider what a displea∣sure this would be unto you; were it not much better you did expostulate the matter with Lindamor? or, if that do not please you, then let me do it; for I assure my selfe, he will give you satisfaction, or else you may tell him your selfe when he departs, the occasion o•• your breaking off with him, without making it known unto Fluriall. As for spea king with him, said she, I cannot do it, my courage will not permit it; nor will I permit any other, for I wish him not so well. When I saw her so incensed against him, I told her, that she could do no lesse than write unto him. By no means, answered she, too many of my Letters has made him thus presumptuous. At last when I could obtain no more from her: she permitted me to lap up a piece of paper in the manner of a Letter, and to put it into Flurialls Petition; so he to carry it unto him, and this purposely, that Fluriall might not perceive this dissention: Oh, how Lindamor was amazed, when he opened this blank paper; but the greatest affliction to him was, that he must depart in the morning betimes, unto a place, where the affairs of Amasis and Clida∣man did of necessity oblige him to stay a long time: to defer his journey he could not, and to go upon these tearmes was even death unto him. At last, he resolved to dispatch ano∣ther Letter to her presently, more as a thing of hazard, than any hopes of good fortune. Fluriall did his best indeavour to deliver it presently unto Galathea, but he could not do it, because she being extreamly vexed at this fraction, was forced to go into her bed, and did not rise out of it many daies. Fluriall seeing Lindamor was gone, took upon him so much boldnesse, as to go into her Chamber; and because I was, I must confesse, an ill-willer unto Polemas, I used my best invention, to piece up this affection between Lindamor and her, and therefore gave Fluriall an opportunity to enter. Judge you, whether or no Galathea was surprised when she saw him, for she expected nothing lesse then this; yet, she was for∣ced to set a good face upon the matter, and to take what he presented unto her, which in appearance was only a Posie of flowers. I would by all means be present, that I might put in the best advice I could in the behalfe of Lindamor, and certainly my being there, was not unprofitable to him; for after Fluriall was gone, and Galathea was alone, she called me unto her, and told me, that she had thought not to be any more troubled with Letters from Lindamor, now he was gone; but, for ought she saw, he was as impudent as ever. I, who was a reall well-wisher unto Lindamor, though he knew it not, seeing the Nymph in an humour of talking to me, did seem to be very slack in the businesse, knowing, that to contradict her at the first, was the way to spoile all, and that to sooth her in all she said was the only way to bend her: And though she was much displeased at him, yet Love was still the most predominant in her minde, and she her selfe was glad that I took Lindamor's part, that she might have occasion of talking of him, and give the anger of her soul some vent: So as having all these considerations in my minde, I was silent when she talked of him; at last, she not being pleased at my silence, said thus unto me: Leonida, what do you think of the presumption of this man? Madam, said I unto her, I know not what no say or think, farther then this, that if he have offended, he will be extreamly sorry for it. But what can I think of his rash impudency, said she? has he no other subject for his discourse but me? Then (looking upon the Letter which he writ) were it not a madnesse in me, if I should suffer him to continue his Letters unto me? To this I answered nothing. And when she saw me a long while silent, she said thus unto me, What's the rea∣son, Leonida, you do not answer me? have I not good reason for all my complaints? Ma∣dam, said I unto her, will you give me leave to speak my minde freely? With all my heart, said she. Then said I unto her, I must tell you, that I think you to be reasonable in all things, but in looking for reason in Love, for you must know, that to reduce Love unto the Lawes of justice and reason, is to take away its principall prerogative, which is to be a subject only unto its selfe; so as I conclude, that if Lindamor have failed in matter of Loving you, he is to blame; but if he have failed only against the Lawes of reason and pru∣dence, then it is you that deserve to be punished, for offering to bring Love, which is free, and commands all others, under the servitude of a Superior. But why said she, I have heard, that if Love be laudable, it is vertuous, and if so, then it is subject unto the Lawes of ver∣tue. Love, answered I, is above that vertue whereof you speak, and gives Lawes unto it self, without any subserviency unto any: But, Madam, since you command me to speak freely, I beseech you tell me, are not you more culpable than he is of that whereof you ac∣cuse him, and of matter of Love? For say he were so bold as to tell it, that he loved you,

you your selfe is the cause of it, since you permitted him. Though I had, answered she; yet out of discretion, he should have concealed it. Then, said I, complain of his indiscre∣tion, and not of his Love; but, believe me, he hath more occasion to complain against your love, since upon the very first report, and before you can justly tax his affection, you have repulsed that Love he bore unto you. Excuse, Madam, the freedome of my language, if I tell you, that you do him the greatest wrong in the world, in treating him thus, and condemning him before he have answered for himselfe, and is convinced of his crime. She stayed a good while before she answered, and at last said thus unto me, Well Leonida, there is time enough to make him amends when he returnes; not that I am in any minde to love him, or let him love me, but then I shall tell him wherein he is faulty, and in that, satisfie you, and oblige him to trouble me nomore, unlesse he be impudence itselfe. Per∣haps, Madam, said I unto her, you may deceive your selfe, in thinking that his return will be time enough for all this; for, did you but know the violencies of Love, you would never think delaies unto a Lover so tolerable as unto others; therefore the least you can do, is to see his Letter. That is to no purpose, answered she; But, to satisfie you, give it me. Upon this, she took it, and found it thus penned.

Lindamor's Letter unto Galathea.

BEfore, it was love, now, despair, that dictates to my pen; which must, if it bring me no comfort, be changed into a Sword, so will it be a thorough, though a cruel cure. This white paper which you have sent me by way of Answer, is an emblem of my innocency, and argues, you had no accusation against me to write in it: yet alas, it is a too plain Assurance of your disdaign, for from whence else could your silence proceed? If there do yet remain in you any memory of my faithfull service, let me out of pitty beg from you a Sentence, either of life or death. I am now departing, the most desperate forlorn man, that ever had once any reason for hope.

This alteration in Galathea's courage, was an effect of Love; for I plainly perceived her heart to melt, but withall, it was no small argument of her high spirit for, since she would not give any knowledge of it unto me, and not being able to hold her countenance, which grew pale, she did so tie up her tongue, that she did not utter one word, which did argue any inclination to bend, but went out of her Chamber into the Garden, and spake not one syllable of this Letter: for the Sun began to grow low, and her maladie, which was a dis∣ease of the minde, might better divert and solace it selfe abroad, than in bed; so as after she had sleightly dressed herselfe, she went into the Garden, and would have none but me with her: I asked her, by the way, whether she pleased to return any answer unto his Letter? And she answering, No: Will you then Madam, said I unto her, be pleased, to give me leave to write unto him? You, said she, what will you write? What you please to com∣mand me, said I. Nay, what you will, said she, so you will not mention me. You shall see, Madam, what I will write, said I unto her. Having gotten this leave, whilst she was walking, I writ, in an Arbour, what I thought most pertinent, and least offensive. But she, that would by no means see it, yet could not have so much patience as to let me finish, but she read it whilst I writ.

Leonida's Answer unto Lyndam or, in the behalfe of Galathea.

DRaw from your misory the knowledge of your happinesse; if you were not loved, but set at a small esteem, you should not have known so much; you cannot know your offence, untill you be present; but however, I bid you hope well in your affection and your return.

She did not like the Letter should run thus; but I did over-rule her, and gave it unto Fluriall, with a command, to deliver it into no hand, but Lindamors only: but, drawing him aside, I opened the Letter, and added these words, unknown unto Galathea.

Leonida's Postscript unto Lindamor.

I Understand that you are gone, & very pitty of your misery moves me, to acquaint you with the occasion of your disaster: Polemas hath published, that you do love Galathea, and that you do make it your common boast: Such a high spirit as hers, cannot put up so great an offence without resentement: The same prudence you were wont to be a Master of, must can∣duct you in this businesse. Because I do love you, and pitty your misery, I cannot chuse but grieve for you, unto whom I promise all the favour and assistance that I can.

I sent him this hint, as I told you, unknown unto Galathea; but believe me I did after∣wards repent it, as I shall tell you. It was now above a Month since Fluriall went, when there arrived a Knight armed Cap a pe••, and a Herauld of Armes with him; and the better to disguise himselfe, his face was covered. The Herauld at the Gates of the Town, desired to be conducted unto Amasis; and every one, out of curiosity to hear what newes, went along with him. The Guards of the Town did let them in, and after Amasis was ac∣quainted, they were conducted unto her, who had sent for Clidaman to entertain these strangers: After the Knight had made a low Reverence unto Amasis, and kissed the hand of Clidaman, the Herauld spoke these words in a kinde of a strange language: Madam, this Knight whom you see here, being one of the highest qualitie in all his Country, hea∣ring that any man of honour, might freely demand satisfaction of any that should wrong him he comes here to ask the same favour from you, which you never denyed unto any, which is, to permit him in your presence, and in presence of all these fair Nymphs, to draw a satisfaction from the man that hath injured him, by such waies, as are allowed unto persons of his qualitie. Amasis, after a little consideration with herselfe, returned this answer, That it was true, this way of defending honour had ever been the custom of her Court; but she, being a woman, never permitted any to try the matter by Armes: yet notwithstanding, her Son being now at an age able to decide a greater businesse than this, she would refer it wholly unto him. Clidaman never staying for the Herauld's reply, said thus unto her: Madam, this is the way, not only to be honoured by all those who inhabit in those Provinces, over which the gods have placed you the great Lady, but it is also most just to punish such as are faulty, and to honour such as do deserve it; and the best way of all, is that of Armes, especiallly in such cases, as cannot otherwise be decided: so as if you do not allow of this most just way of discovering the villanies of wicked men, you will encourage all wickednesse, and base men will not care what villany they commit, so they can do it secretly. Moreover, these strangers, who are the first that ever had recourse unto you, would have great reason to complain, if they should be the first that are refused and denied justice: And therefore, since you are pleased to refer the businesse unto me. I shall give this Knight free liberty, to accuse and defie whom he will, and will promise him a fair tryall in the field. The Knight then kneeled down, kissed his hand, and gave him humble thanks. Sir, said he, since you are so noble, I must acquaint you, that the Knight I am in quest of, his name is Polemas, whom I beseech you to produce, that I may accom∣plish my end that I came for. Polemas hearing himselfe named, stepped forward, and in his lofty garb, said, Who is he that is in quest of me? I am the man he looks for. Then the unknowne Knight went to him, and gave him his Gauntlet, and the Herauld said, Sir, this Knight presents that unto you as a gage, promising, that tomorrow morning by Sun∣rise he will meet you, and prove, that you have most villanously invented all those lyes which you have spoken of him. Herauld, said Polemas, I do accept the gage, and though I do not know this Knight, yet I am certain to have justice on my side, since I am sure, that I never said any thing against Truth, and let tomorrow be the day to try it. Then the Knight, after a low reverence unto Amasis and all the Ladies, went unto his Tent, that he had caused to be set up without the Gates of the Town. You may well imagine, how this filled all the Court with discourse, especially Amasis and Clidaman, who loved Polemas very well, and were very sorry to see him in this danger; however, a promise had obliged them to allow the field. As for Polemas, he, like a man of great courage, prepared himselfe for Combat, not knowing his enemy. And for Galathea, who had almost forgotten the injury that Polemas had done unto Lindamor, she thinking, that he did not know his harm came from thence, she never thought of Lindamor, nor I neither, who thought him to be a hundred miles off; and yet it was he, who having received my Letter, resol∣ved

to seek revenge this way. But to be short, for I am no good fighter, and therefore can make but a bad relation of the Combat; but let me tell you as well as I can, that after a long Combat, wherein both sides had equall advantages, and both of them so full of wounds, that death was much more likely to be both their shares, than life, insomuch as every one began to pitty the losse of two such valiant men, Amasis told Clidaman, that it was best to part them, and none could be thought more fit for it, than Galathea; she being also much moved unto pitty, was glad to do the good office, and so with three or foure of us, she went into the lists: When she first entred, the victory seem'd to incline more unto Lindamor, and Polemas was reduced into such a bad condition, as he was almost quite spent. Unto Lindamor she addressed her selfe, and pulling him by the Scarfe which hung behinde him she drew him a little back: When he felt himself touched, he turned suddenly about, thinking he was betrayed, & with such fury, as the Nymph recoyling, for fear of being hurt, was intangled in her Gown, and fell in the midst of the Lists. Lindamor, who knew her, ran presently to take her up: But Polemas, without regard unto the Nymph seeing this ad∣vantage, gave Lindamor two or three such blowes upon the head behind, as made him stoop to the ground; but he got up again so incensed against his enemy, that maugre all Galathea's prayers, he would not leave him, till he laid him under his feet: then getting upon him, he disarmed his head, and when he was ready to give him his dispatching blow, he heard the voice of his adored Lady crying out, Oh Knight, I do conjure you by her whom you love most, to give me the life of this Knight. I will, said Lindamor unto her, upon condi∣tion, he will confesse, that he hath falsly reported things of me, and of her, by whom you conjure me. Polemas being as he thought, at the last gasp of life, did confesse what they would. Thus Lindamor got the day, and went away, after he had kissed the hand of his Mistris, who knew him not, though he spoke unto her, his Helmet, and her own fears, kept her from taking any notice of his voice; but, as he passed by me, he said thus unto me in a low voice, Fair Leonida. I am too much obliged to you to conceal my selfe, and there∣fore see the effect of your Letter. Then without any more stay, he got on Horseback, though much wounded, and galloped presently out of sight: this over-much stirring of his body by riding, did him much hurt, and brought him to that extreamity, that being come into the house of Eluriall's Aunt, where he resolved to lodge, in case he was wounded, he was so weak, that it was three weeks before he could stirr out of his bed. In the mean time, Galathea was extreamly angry with this unknown Knight, for not leaving the Combat when first she desired him, being more offended at his refusall, than obliged by what he had given her. And Polemas being, as you know of a high rank, Amasis and Clidaman caused him with much griefe to be carried off the field, and dressed with all possible care, insomuch as they began to be in some hopes of his life.

Every one was extreamly desirous to know who this unknown Knight was, whose cou∣rage and valour had got him the esteem of very many; Galathea was the only person that had an ill opinion of him: for this proud Beauty remembred the offence, and forgot the courtesie; and because it was to me only, that she used to vent her most secret thoughts, assoon as she saw me in private with her: Do you know this discourteous Knight, said she unto me, unto whom Fortune, and not his Valour, hath given the advantage of the Com∣bat? Madam, said I, I do know him to be both a valiant and a courteous Knight. He has not shew'd it in this action, said she; for if he had, he would have left fighting at my first request. Madam, answered I, you do blame him for that, which you ought to esteem him for, since in doing honour unto you, he thereby was in danger of his life. But, said she, he would not leave sighting when I desired him. Had he not all the reason in the world, said I unto her, to chastise the base act of Polemas, who would not first ceafe: for my part, I think he did very well, and Lindamor could not in honour do less then he did. How, said she, was it Lindamor who fought? The truth is, I was sorry that I had unawares named him, but seeing it was out, I thought best to tell her; Yes, Madam, (said I) it was Lin∣damor, who being offended at the report of Polemas, would try the truth of them by Armes. She was extreamly astonished at it, and after she had awhile considered upon this accident, she said thus unto me; Then I see it is Lindamor who hath done me this dis∣courtesie, that is so shallow in his respects unto me: Was he so inconsiderate, as to put my Honour to the hazard of Fortune and Armes? Upon this she was silent, and extreamly vexed. And I, who would by any means make her know, that Lindamor was in no fault, did thus answer her; Is it possible, Madam, that you should thus complain against Lindamor, and not see the wrong you do your selfe? What discourtesy has he done you? Has he not

vanquished Polemas your enemy? How, my enemy, (said she) Lindamor is much more for he gave Polemas the first cause. Oh heavens, Madam, said I then unto her, what do you mean? Lindamor more your enemy, who has no soul but to adore you, nor one drop of blood that he would not spend in your service? And can he be more your friend, who by his subtle discourse endeavours to stain your honour? But Leonida, replied she, Who knowes whether Lindamor, out of his accustomed arrogance and pride, did not speak those words, wherwith Polemas did tax him. But Madam, answered I, how much are you ob∣liged unto Lindamor, for making your enemy confesse, that he did invent them? Oh Ma∣dam, I beseech you pardon me, if I do accuse you of great ingratitude, when Lindamor hazzards his life, to make it appear Polemas lyed: You accuse him of inconsideration, and his making the Lyar to confesse his Lye; you tax him with discourtesie: Had he not taken himselfe to Armes, how should the truth ever have appeared? and had he left fighting when first you commanded him, Polemas had then never confessed what you and every one heard. Ah, poor Lindamor, how I pitty thy fortune? What canst thou possibly do to please, since the most signal services are looked upon as offences and crimes. Well, well, Madam, perhaps you will not have long to use these cruelties; for I beleeve, death, more pittifull than you, will put an end unto your ingratitude and his torments; and may be, at this very hour he is dead, which if he be, then the Nimph, Galathea, is the cause of it. Why do you accuse me? (said she.) Because, replied I, when you went to part them, and fell upon the ground, he helped you up, and in the mean while the courteous Polemas whom you ex∣tol so highly, did most basely wound him in two or three places; and I saw Lindamors blood run upon the ground after it; but if he doe die upon it, it is the least evil he hath re∣ceived from you for, to be scorned after so much duty, is, me-thinks, a misery never equal∣led. But, Madam, I pray remember, the time was, you said there was no way to stop these reports of Polemas, but by sword and blood: He has done what you deemed the best, and yet you must needs tax him for doing ill. Had not Sylvia, and some other Nymphs interrupted us, I beleeve I should have somewhat tempered the animosity of this Nymph: But seeing so much company coming in, we changed discourse; yet my words were not without their effect, though she would not make it appear unto me; but yet I saw it by a thousand symptomes. For since that day, I resolved to speak unto her no more, un∣less she first asked me. She on the other side expected that I should begin: And thus eight dayes passed, and not a word passed betwixt us of this business. In the mean time, Linda∣mor was not without his cares, to know what reports went of him at Court, and what Galathea thought. He sent Flurial unto me upon the same business, and to bring me a short Letter: And Flurial was so ingenuous, that he did his business, and Galathea never took any notice of it. The Letter was this.

Lindamor's Letter unto Leonida.

Madam,

THose that do doubt of my innocency, are no small offenders against truth: Yet as some that shut their eyes, and will not see the light, though never so resplendent; so I am afraid, Madam, that Galathea, to my grief, does shut her eyes against the clearness of my cause. Oblige me, I beseech you, in assuring her, that if the blood of my enemy will not wash away the stain that he hath put upon me, I will most freely adde my own; for I value not my life, since she does not.

I enquired very particularly of Flurial how he did, and whether any knew him: I un∣derstood he had lost much blood, and that did most retard his cure, but that he was not in any danger. I perceived he could not be known, because his Herald was a Frank of Mero∣via's Army, far off; and those about, were not permitted to stir out of the house: And that Flurials Aunt knew no more of him but that he was the unknown Knight that fought with Polemas, whose valour and bounty, made them all very diligent about him. Also that he had commanded Flurial to come and know of me, how reports went at Court, and what he should do. I commanded him to tell Lindamor, that all the Court was full of his valour, though he was unknown; that he should rest himselfe, and have a care of his cure, and that I would study his contentment as much as I could: But, I told him, it was convenient before he went, 'to ask Galathea's leave, pretending to see his Aunt. So

the next morning when Galathea was in the Garden, Flurial made a low reverence unto her, and offered to speak with her: But Galathea, thinking it was to deliver some Letter unto her from Lindamor, was so confused, as she grew as pale as death it selfe: and, lest Flurial should take any notice of this alteration in her face, I stepped forward and said unto her, Madam it is Flurial who hath been with his Aunt that is sick and beseecheth you will be pleased to give him leave to go againe unto her for some certain dayes. Galathea then turned towards me and asked what she was sicke of: and I answered, that it was a disease of many yeares continuance, and such a one as was out of all hopes of any cure. Then she addressed her selfe unto Flurial and said unto him. Go Flurial & return again assoon as you can, but not before your Aunt be recovered, for I ever loved her very well, for her constant good affection to me, Then she continued on her walk, I talked with him and seemed as if I were displeased, though I was not, that the Nymph might take notice of me: but said I unto him be sure Flurial, thou beest both secret and prudent; for there upon depends either thy happiness or thy ruine; & above al be sure thou dost, whatsoever Lindamor commands thee: after a promise of al fidelity, he went away, & I began to put on a face of extream sorrow: And when I was in any place; where, the Nymph might heare me, I would seem to sigh, lift my hands pu to heaven, & clap them both together; & used all the gestures I could possible de∣vise, to seeme the most grieved soul that ever breathed. She hearing me often mention Lin∣damor untomy self, & never so much as name him unto her, but on the contrary did shun all occasions of it; and in lieu of that frolique humour I used in all company, to be on∣ly a lump of melancholy, she began by degrees to be of that opinion I wished, but not ful∣ly: for my design was to make her beleeve, that Lindamor, as he went off from the combate, was so wounded that he dyed, to the end that pitty might obtaine from this proud soul, what affection and service could not. Now my plot was so handsomly carried, that it took almost according to my wish for though she set as good a face upon it as she could, yet she was touched to the very quick for Lindamor. So as perceiving me thus mute and sad, she imagined him to be very ill, or worse; and was so extreamly troubled in this conceipt that she was not able to hold any longer.

Two dayes after Flurial was gone, she called me into her closset, and seeming to talk of something else, she asked me, whether I knew how Flurials Aunt did? I answered, that since he went I heard nothing. Truly, sayes she, I should be very sorry if that good old wo∣man should dye. You have reason Madam, said I unto her, for she ever loved you and was alwaies very serviceable to you. If she live, answered Galathea, I shal requite her; and if she die I shall love Furial for her sake. Then I answered that indeed it was very true, the ser∣vices both of the Aunt and Nephew deserved recompence, especially Flurial, for his fide∣litie and affection could not be corrupted. 'Tis very true, said she: but for Flurial, what long and sad discourse was that which you had with him when he went away? I answe∣red in a faint and sad tone, nothing but desired him to commend me to his Aunt. Recom∣mendations, said she, do not use to be so long. Then she came neare me, and laying her hand upon my shoulder, Tel me truly, said she, did you talke of nothing else? What should I talke of else except that, replyed I; for I have no other businesse with him? Now do I know, said she, that you do dissemble. Why do you say, you have no other businesse with him? have you none that concernes Lindamor? Oh Madam, said I, I did not think, you could have any memorie now of one that was so unfortunate; then standing in a silentand dejected posture, I sighed very profundly two or three times. What is it, said she, that causeth you to sigh thus? Tell me truly, where is Lindamor? Lindamor, said I, alas, he is not now a man of this world. How, cryed she out, is Lindamor dead? Yes certainly, an∣swered I, and your cruelty did kill him more then the blowes of his enemy. For going off from the combate, and knowing by severall reports how ill you were satisfied with him, he would never suffer himselfe to be dressed; and if you will needs know it, this was the dis∣course I had with Flurial, whom I commanded to try, if he could handsomly get away those Letters which you have written unto him, that you might burn them, and the me∣morie of him both together. Oh my god, said she then unto me, what sad story is this you tell me? is it possible he should be thus lost? you should have said, replyed I, that it was your selfe that kil'd him, and that it is you that has the losse: for as for him, he is a gai∣ner by his death, & he finds that rest there which your cruelty would never let him enjoy a∣live. Ah Leonida said she, I hope all this is onely to vex me, Tel me truly, is he alive? I would he were, answered I, but why should you be so inquisitive? I am sure life and death was both a like indifferent to you. And since your love to him was so little, me thinks you should

be glad to be rid of that trouble which he was unto you. For you must think that had he lived he would have been perpetually giving you such testimonies of his affection, as this with Polemas was. Truly, said the Nimph, then I do most heartily lament the loss of poor Lindamor, and swear unto you, that his death wounds me deeper than I could have belee∣ved it would. But tell me, had he no remembrance of us at his last end? And did hee ex∣press no sorrows to leave us? This question, Madam, said I unto her, is somthing strange; he dyed for the love of you, and yet you ask, whether he had you in his memory? Alass, alass, his memory, and his sorrows, were too much for his health; but I beseech you let us talk no more of him: I am confident he is in a place where he receives the wages of his fidelity and where, perhaps, he will see revenge upon you. You are angry, said she unto me. I beseech you pardon me, Madam, said I unto her. I have some reason for what I say; for there is none can give a better testimony of his affection and fidelity than my self, and of your ingratitude wherewith you have recompenced so many services. Let us leave that, answered the Nymph; for I do acknowledge you are in the right but I beseech you by the affection you have unto me, to tell me whether he had any remembrance of me in his last speech? and what words he used? Will you needs triumph, Madam, in his last breath, said I, as you have in all the rest of his life? If you would I will give you full satisfaction. As soon as ever he heard, that you did endeavour by your words to blemish the honour of his Victory, and that in lieu of pleasing you by his Combat, he had gotten your hatred, he pulled off all clothes that lapped his wounds, and leaving them all open, hee would never suffer the hand of any Chirurgeon to come near them. His wounds were not mor∣tal; but when they were putrified, so soon as he felt he could not live any longer, he called for Flurial, and when he was alone with him, he said thus; Flurial, my good friend, thou must now lose one that had a desire to doe thee some good, but thou must arm thy self with patience, since it is the will of heaven. I would request one peece of service more from thee, which is the best thou ever didst me: And having got a faithful promise from him that hee would doe it, he went on with his discourse. As soon as ever I am dead, open my breast, take out my heart, carry it unto the fair Galathea, and tell her, I sent it, to the end, that after my death I may not retain any thing which was not my own. As as soon ever these words were spoken, he lost both speech and life. Now this fool Flurial, in performance of his promise unto him he loved so dearly, brought hither the heart of Lindamor, and, but for me, would have presented it unto you. Ah Leonida, said she then, is it certain he is dead? Oh heavens, I should never know of his sickness? Would none tel me of it? Oh Leonida, you were much too blame. Madam, answered I I did not know any thing of it; for Flurial stayed all the while with him because he brought none of his own servants with him: But if I had known of it, I think I should never have acquainted you, since I knew you to be so averse unto any thing that came from him. Then leaning her head upon her arm, she commanded me to leave her by her self, as I think, that I might not see her tears, which began already to trickle from her eyes: Yet I was no sooner gone, but she called me back, and never looking up, bade me command Flurial to bring what Lindamor had sent unto her; for she would by any means have it. Then I went out in sure hopes that my plot would take effect according to my expected desires. Mean while, when Flurial was returned unto Lindamor, he found him full of impatient longing for him, but my Letter gave him full satisfaction. It was thus penned.

Leonida's Answer unto Lindamor.

YOur Justice is so apparent, that the most dim eyes cannot deny its splendor. Content your self with this, that those whom you most desire should see it, do confess it. As the wounds of the body may be far from being healed, though the danger be over, and there∣fore must have time for it: So it is with the wounds of the mind; the danger being remo∣ved by your valour and prudence, you must refer the rest unto time, remembring the wounds which close too hastily are subject to fester, which afterwards becomes more dangerous than the wound it self. Hope well, for the accomplishment of your desires; for you may do it with reason.

I writ thus unto him, purposely that his grief might not be a prejudice unto his wounds, and that they might the sooner heal: Presently after, he writ back thus unto me.

Lindamors Reply unto Leonida.

Fairest Nimph,

SInce you command it so, I must, and will hope; and must confess that all my happinesse and hopes of it have their dependency upon you. Yet Love, which is alwaies accompany∣ed with doubting, commands me to tremble. But let heaven do what it pleaseth, I know at will not deny me a Grave.

My answer in short was, because I will not trouble you with too many Letters, that as soon as he found himself able to travail, he should finde some way or other to come and speak with me; and as briefly as I could I let him understand all the discourse between Ga∣lathea and me; also how she resented the news of his death, and desired to have his Heart. But observe the force of a great affection: Lindamor, that had so many severall wounds, and lost so much blood, as did narrowly endanger his life; yet, beyond all hopes of Chi∣rurgeons, assoon as he received my last Letter, he did rise out of his bed, dressed himselfe, and within two or three dayes after got on Horseback to come unto me; and because he durst not come by day, for fear of being seen, he put himselfe into the habit of a Gardiner, cal∣ling himselfe Cousen unto Fluriall, and resolved to come into the Garden, and there be∣have himselfe as occasion should require: Telling the Aunt of Fluriall, that he had made a vow before the Combat, and must needs go and perform it, before he went out of the Country; and fearing the friends of Rolemas, he disguised himselfe in such a habit, and desired her not to speak of it: The good old woman would have disswaded him, and ad∣vised him to defer his voyage untill another time. But he being inflamed with zealous de∣votion, told her, that if he did not perform it before he went out of the Country, he should think himselfe subject unto all the curses of all the gods. So to prevent meeting with any, he went in the night, and came so happily into the Garden, as he was unseen of any. Fluriall carried him into the house, in which there was then none but a drudge that helped him to dig, whom he made believe that Lindamor was his Cozen, whom he would teach the trade of a Gardiner. Thus Lindamor expected the morning with a longing desire, and the night seemed longer than ordinary unto him, that waited for effecting his desires. Morning was no sooner come, but Lindamor was in the Garden with a spade in his hand: Had you but seen him with this tool in his hand, and how aukwardly he handled it, you would have known, that he was not much versed in it, but knew better how to wield a Spear than a Spade; and I have heard him since swear a hundred times, that he was never in all his life so ashamed, as when he did present himselfe before his Mistresse in that habit, and that he was in two or three mindes, whether he should return or no: but at last, Love surmounted the shame, and kept him there untill we came.

As fortune was, the Nymph came that day into the Garden, with many of my Com∣panious; assoon is she spied Flurial, she trembled like an Aspen leaf, and cast her eye up∣on me, but though I endeavoured to speak with him, yet I could not, because this new Gar∣diner was so neer him, who was so altered in his habit, that none of us knew him. As for me; I might as well as any of the rest be excused, for since he never acquainted me with his designe, I should never have believed he would have attempted it, untill he had first ac∣quainted me; but he has since told me, that he did conceal it from me, because he knew I would not have permitted him to come thither in that manner. Dreaming then of any o∣ther than him, I did as inquisitivly ask Flurial who this stranger was, as any in the com∣pany; and he answered me in a faint voice, that he was his Aunts son, whom he intended to instruct in the trade of Gardening. Upon this answer, Galathea, as inquisitive, but not so couragious, as I, seeing me in discourse with him, came to us, and hearing that he was Fluriall's Oozen, did ask him how his Mother did? Now was Lindamor put to his shifts, fearing least his tongue, though not his habit, should betray him; yet, counterfeiting his Tone as well as he could, he answered in a Country-like language. That, blessed be God, she was now past the worst, and then made such a Leg, so like his Language, that all the Nymphs could not chuse but laugh: but he seeming to take no notice of them, nor stirring his cap, but giving it a scurvy remove with both his hands, he fell ill-favour'dly to his work••••. Galathea, in a smiling manner, told Fluriall, that if his Consen were as good a Gardiner, as he was an Oratour, he would be very usefull unto him. Madam, said Fluri∣al,

he can speak no better than he was taught; Country people all speak so, Yes, yes, said the Nymph, and perhaps he is held for a prime fellow amongst them. After this, she re∣turned to her walk. This gave me an opportunity of talking to Flurial, for my com∣panions were all got about Lindamor, and every one had their questions to him, unto which he answered, but so ill-favour'dly, that he forced them all to laugh, for it was in such a manner, as made them all believe he was in good earnest; and though he did answer unto every question, yet hee never stirred his cap nor head, but seemed very intent upon his work. In the mean time, I asked Flurial, how Lindamor did And he answered, that truly he was yet very ill; for Lindamor had commanded him to tell me so. But where lies his sicknesse, said I unto him, for thou sayest, his wounds are almost whole? You will know, Madam, said he unto me, by this Letter which he hath writ unto my Lady. His Lady, answered I, hath an opinion that he is dead, but give me the Letter, and I will carry it unto her. I dare not indeed Madam, answered he, for he hath expresly forbidden me, and tyed me unto it by an Oath. How, said I does Lindamor mistrust me? No, said she, but on the contrary, desires you to make the Nymph still believe that he is dead: But, it will be both advantageous unto him and me, that I do deliver it with my own hands. I was now very angry with him, and had continued in longer discourse with him, had I not feared notice would have been taken: Yet, I could get nothing more out of him; but for a conclusion, the Nymph must receive it from his hand: But when I told him, that he had been long with the Nymph, and he might have presented the Letter unto her: He an∣swered me only with a shake of his head, whereby I perceived, that he would not give it unto me. Galathea perceiving our long discourse, and desirous to know upon what subject it was, did leave her walk sooner then usuall, and calling me unto her, asked me what it was? I told her freely the resolution of Fluriall; but, in lieu of the Letter, I told her it was the Heart of Lindamor, and how he was sworn to deliver it to none but her, unlesse he should betray the trust of the dead. Then Galathea answered me he may de∣liver it unto me, under colour of presenting me with a Basket of Fruit, in which the Heart may be put in the bottome. I answered, that this might well be done; but I know, Fluriall the fool will deliver it with his own hands, in expectation of some reward for the services he hath done you. Oh, said she, if that be all, let him ask what he will, and I will give it unto him. This, Madam, said I, will seem a kinde of ransome, with which you redeem the heart. No, no, answered she, the Ransome I am to pay for it, is Tears, and those drawn from my hearts blood. Perhaps she was sorry for saying so much; but however, so it was, she commanded me to speak unto Flurial, which I did, and used all the lan∣guage I had to get this Letter from him, even as far as threatnings, but all in vain for he told me once for all, that neither heaven nor earth should make him forsworn: If my Lady, said he, will have it, let her come in the evening to the bottom of the back staires which comes from her Chamber into the Garden, the Moon shines, the way is not so far, and I have known her come the same journey as late; when she heares me, I am confident she will allow of my reasons. When I heard this, I was extreamly an∣gry at him, and told him, it was his duty to obey Galathea before Lindamor, that she was his Mistris, and that it was in her power to do him good or harm: and to be short, that it was not likely she would take so much paines for it: but he still resolutely told me thus; Nymph, it is not Lindamor whom I do obey in this; but it is my oath which I have vowed unto the gods; and if I cannot performe it, there is no, remedy; I can returne to the place from whence I came. When I saw him thus resolute, I was almost out of all patience: for had I been acquainted with Lindamor's designe, since it was gone so far, doubtlesse I should have seconded him; but being ignorant of it, I thought Flurial so far from all reason, as I knew not what to say: At last, I returned to the Nymph with his answer, who was so extreamly angry at him, as she could have found in heart to have turned him out of her Mothers service, had I not hinted unto her the danger that might have ensued by his discovery. Three or foure daies passed thus, before the Nymph would be brought to do as Flurial desired: At last, Love, that commands all, forced her to tell me in the morning, that she had no rest all night, that Lindamor's Ghost haunted her all the night, and told her, that it was the least thing she could do for his memory, to go down a pair of stairs, to get his heart out of the hands of another; and that I should acquaint Fluri∣al, she would be there that night. Oh heavens! what joy was this unto the new Gardi∣ner, he hath since told me, his heart was never in his life so swell'd with joy, as then; for he began to despair of his plot taking effect, and seeing the Nymph never came into the

Garden, he feared that she knew him. But when Flurial acquainted him with the reso∣lution that was taken, this was such a resurrection of Love, as if one should die to make another mourn, and revive to make them rejoyce. The night being come, and every one retired to their lodgings, the Nymph did put her selfe into her night dresse, and causing me to open the dore, she went first; and, I swear, she trembled so, that she had much ado to go; she told me, that she had such an unusuall beating at her stomack, as took away all her strength; whether it was her being in the dark without light, or her going out at an undue time, or her apprehension of Lindamor's heart, I know not; but whatsoever it was, she was much unlike her selfe: At last, growing a little more confident, we came to the bottome of the staires, where we presently found Flurial, who had waited long for us: The Nymph went before, and going into a Jessemine Arbour, which was so close, as to keep out the Moon-shine, or any sight from the windowes of the house, she began to say thus to Fluriall in a great rage: 'Tis very well, Flurial, are you grown so stiffe in your own opinions, that you will not do what I command you? Madam, answered he undaun∣tedly, it was to obey you that I have failed in this, if it be a fault; for did not you com∣mand me, that I should punctually do whatsoever Lindamor commanded me? Now, Ma∣dam, besides your command, I am obliged by oath unto Lindamor, to put his heart into no hands but yours. Well, said she, and sighed, where is his heart? Here Madam, said he; if you please to come hither into this corner, you will better see it than where you are. When she came to the place, she saw a man standing upon his feet, and without speaking a word, bowed himselfe unto her. Oh heavens! said the Nymph, what's here? Flurial, see, here's a man. Madam, said Flurial, and smiled, it is a heart that is presented unto you. How? said she, a heart: Then would she have run away for fear; but he took hold of her Gown, kissed it, and held her. I hearing these words, came neerer, and presently knew him to be the same that Fluriall called Gozen. Upon a suddain I knew not what to think: I saw Galathea and I my self with two men, the one of which was unknown unto us; so as we knew not what to do. Cry out, we durst not; fly, Galathea could not; to put any hopes in our own strength, we could not. At last, all I could do, was, to lay hold on his hand that held Galathea by the Gown, and not able to do more, I began to scratch and bite him, which I did so upon a suddain, that the first thing he saw was his hand bitten. Oh sweet Leonida (said he then unto me) how would you use your enemies, if you use your servants thus sharply? Though I was almost quite out of my selfe, yet me thought I should know that voice, and asked him, who he was? I am, said he, one that comes to bring Lindamor's Heart unto this fair Nymph. Then kneeling down upon the ground, he thus addressed himselfe unto her: I must needs confesse Madam, that this presumption is great, but yet not equall unto that affection which produceth it. Here, Madam, is the heart of Lindamor, which I present unto you; I hope the present will finde as good a reception from the hand of the Donor, as from a stranger. But, if my diasterous Fate do deny me that which Love doth promise me, having offended against a Divinity whom I only adore, then condemn this heart which here I do bring unto you, unto what cruell tortures you shall please; for, so his pain may please you, he will endure with contentment, since you do ordain it unto him. Now I knew him to be Lindamor, and Galathea also, but not without abundance of wonder to us both, to see at her foot him, whom she thought dead; and I, in lieu of a Gardiner to finde a Cavalier, who yielded unto none in all the Country. Perceiving Ga∣lathea so surprised that she could not speak, I began to talk unto him, and said: Is it so Lindamor, that you delight to surprise and affright Ladies? this is not an Art, that be∣comes such a Cavalier as you professe your selfe. I must needs confesse unto you, sweet Nymph, said he unto me, that it is not a becomming act of a Cavalier, but it is of a Lo∣ver, and I am no lesse. Love that instructs all, has taught me to be a Gardiner. Is it possible, Madam, said he unto Galathea, that this extream affection which you have caused, should beso displeasing unto you, as you must needs delight more in the death of him that owes it, then his life? Will not this heart I have brought, finde as good a reception a∣live as dead? But, if you will needs have me die, here's a Ponyard will do that, which no time can ever do, for it will put an end to all. The Nymph answered nothing unto all this, but said, Oh Leonida, have you betrayed me? Upon this, she went in to another Walk, where she did sit down; for she was so much transported out of her selfe, as she knew not what she did. Then Lindamor did fall upon his knees again, and I went to her, and said, Why Madam, do you say, I betrayed you? how can you accuse me for this? I vow unto you, that I knew nothing of the businesse: but it is Flurial that hath deceived us both.

But, I thank God, we are all deceived the better way. Thanks be to God, here that heart of Lindamor which Flurial promised; he is here also ready to do you any service: And have you not good reason to be glad of this Treason? It would be over tedious to relate all our discourse at this time: out at the conclusion, peace was made between all parties, and so, as this Love was tyed with a harder knot then ever it was before; but upon this condition, that he should at this very houre depart unto the place, whither Amasis and Cli∣daman had sent him. This departure went hard, yet obey he must; and so after a parting kisse of Galathea's fair hand, he went away, in full assurance to finde her the same he left her. But it would be impertinent to particularize every circumstance: Lindamor returned to his charge, did his businesse and with the permission of Amasis and Clidaman, returned unto Forrests, where giving a good account of his Commission, he was honoured and car∣rassed according to the merit of his vertue. But all this did not halfe so much revive his soul, as the favourable aspect which this Nymph did afford him, who ever since his last departure so increased in affection to him, as Lindamor might well say she did equall him in Love: And this Courtship came to that height, as one night, when they were in the Garden together, he did often move her for leave, to ask the consent of Amasis unto their Marriage, being confident, that so many services as he had done, both unto her and her Son would invite her to grant him that favour. To which she answered; You have more reason to doubt their good-will than your own merit; and be lesse assured of your own deservings, then my good will: But yet, I would not have you mention it unto them, till Clidaman be married I am younger than he and I may well stay so long. You may per∣haps, Madam, answered he, but so cannot the violence of my passion: But, if you will not grant me this remedy, yet grant me another, if your affection be such as you say unto me. If I can without prejudice to my selfe, said she, I will. Then after he had kissed her hand; Madam, said he unto her, Promise me, before Leonida and the gods, who are witnesses of our discourse, that you will be my Wife, as I do vow, by all that is sacred, to be your Husband, and never look upon any other. Galathea was surprised at this, yet seeming as if it were by my perswasion, though indeed it was by her own affection, she gave him that satisfaction, and swore unto him; upon condition, that Lindamor, to avoid suspition, should never return into the Garden, untill their Marriage was declared. Now was Lin∣damor the most contented man that ever was, being full of hopes, and wanted nothing but the promised conclusion of all his desires. But Love, or rather Fortune, did most ex∣treamly thwart him. Oh Lindamor, how vain are all thy purposed hopes? At that time Clidaman went with Guyemant, to try their fortunes in Armes, and went into Me∣rovea's Army but though he went away secretly, yet was he quickly discovered. And be∣cause Amasis would not let him be there in that sort, she levied all the Forces she could, to send unto him, and committed the charge of them unto Lindamor, constituting Pole∣mas the Governour under her in all the Provinces, untill her Son's return; and this she did, as well to satisfie two such eminent men, as to sever them; for since Lindamor's return, they were alwaies jarring. Polemas was very well contented and Lindamor went not with an ill will: The one was glad he was to stay with his Mistresse, and the other hoped by his services so to oblige Amasis, as to facilitate the way unto that happinesse, which he aspired unto. But Polemas finding himselfe in disfavour of his Mistresse, and that his Ri∣vall had robbed him of all, he put no confidence in any of his services or merits, but had recourse unto cunning and artifice: In order to this, he procured the most crafty fellow that ever was of that trade, whom he acquainted with every one about the Court, shewed him in secret Amalis, Galathea, Silvia, Selires, my selfe, and all the rest of the Nymphs; and did not only shew him their faces, but acquainted him with all the secrets which he knew betwixt any of them: And after a full information of all passages, he desired him to take upon him to seem a great Druide, and a most learned Conjurer: He seated himselfe in the great wood of Savignew, neer the pleasant Gardens of Mount Brison, and close by a little River which runs through the Wood: He stayed some certain daies, giving himselfe out to be the greatest Diviner that ever was; insomuch as his fame reached unto us, and Galathea went unto him to know her fortune. This crafty Impostor did know so well how to carry himselfe, and delude others, with so many circumstances and ceremo∣nies, as I must confesse, he deceived me as well as the rest. The main aime and conclusion of all his craft was, to tell Galathea, that the influence of the heavens had given her choice of a great happinesse, or a great misery, and that it must be her own prudence that was to distinguish betwixt them; that both these two extreams did depend upon Love; that if

she contemned his advice, she would be the most miserable woman in the world: And on the contrary, the most happy, if she followed his counsel. Then looking in her hand, and then her face, he said unto her, Such a day when you are in Marcelles, you shall see a man clothed in such a colour; if you marry him, you will be the most miserable woman upon earth. Afterwards he shewed her in a glass, a certain place upon the banks of the River Lig∣non, and said unto her, See here is the place, go unto it such an hour and then and there you shall find a man, whom if you marry, will make you infinitely happy.

Now this Climanthes (for that was this Conjurers name) had subtilly got knowledg of the day that Lindamor was to depart, and the colour of his clothes he would wear; and his design was, that Polemas under a colour of going to Hunt, should goe unto the place which he had shewed her in the glass. Now hear, I beseech you, how things hapned. Lin∣damor was clothed as Climanthes told her, and Galathea remembring it, was so astonish∣ed, that she could not give him one word by way of any answer. Poor Lindamor thought it to bee his departure which made her so sad, and so kissing her hand, hee went his wayes better contented than his fortune allowed him any reason for.

Afterwards, the day approaching on which Climanthes told her she should meet with the man that would make her all happinesse, upon the banks of the River Lignon, shee would not fully acquaint me with her design, but only said she would try whether the pre∣dictions of the Druide were true. So shee took with her onely Silvia and me, her Nurse, and little Meril. The Nurse was she that most fortified her in opinion of these predictions, as commonly all old women are very superstitious in such things▪ So as this Nymph ob∣serving the day that Climanthes told her of, she prepared her self the night before to goe unto that place, and in the morning dressed her self to the best advantage she could, and also commanded us to make our selves ready. Thus we went in a Chariot to the place appoin∣ted, where being come at the very same hour that Climanthes named, we found a Shepheard almost drowned, whom the waves had cast upon our side. This Shepheard was one Cela∣don, who accidentally was fallen into the River, and had doubtlesse been drowned, if wee had not saved him: So Galathea apprehending him to bee the man that was to make her happy, began then to love him so, that shee would needs have us carry him in the Chariot unto the Palace, before he revived; for then the sand and mud had so choaked him, that he looked as pale as death, and had no kind of motion or beauty in him. For my part, I cur∣sed the Conjurer, and did foresee we should be put to abundance of trouble with him; for I swear unto you, I was never so put to it in all my life: But since the Shepherd revived, & his complexion came into his face▪ he appeared to be a very handsom man, and of a wit above the capacity of a Shepheard. I never saw any in our Court more civiliz'd, nor more deser∣ving love: So as no wonder Galathea should be so desperately in love with him, as shee cannot be absent from him either night or day. But certainly she is much mistaken in him; for he is most desperately in love with a Shepheardess called Astrea: So as all these things make not a little against Lindamor: For the Nimph finding all true that this Impostor told her, she is resolved rather to dye than to marry Lindamor, and studies all waies to win upon the affection of this Shepheard, who does nothing even in her very presence but sigh for his absence from Astrea. I know not whether his imprisonment be the cause (for shee will not let him goe out of the Palace) or whether it be the abundance of water which hee swallowed when he was in the River; but so it is, he is fallen into a most violent Feaver: So as not knowing what to doe for his health, Galathea commanded mee to come in all haste unto you, to the end you might see him, and tell us what was best for him.

The Druide stood very attentive unto this discourse, and had several conceits according to the subject of his Neeces words; and perhaps, some not far off the truth; for he percei∣ceived that she was not altogether exempted either from love or blame. Yet he did very discreetly dissemble it, and told her he was very glad to serve either Galathea or Celadon, whose Parents he ever loved; and who though he was a Shepheard, yet he was descended from the best of our Knights, whose Ancestors made choice of that kind of life as more tranquill and happy, than that of the Court, and therefore he honoured him, and would be glad to serve him. But yet this kind of living with him was neither safe nor honourable for either Galathea or her. And when hee came to the Palace and saw their deportments, then he would tel her how she should demean her self. Leonida being a little ashamed, answe∣red him, that she did intend long since to tell him of it, but truly she had neither the con∣fidence nor the conveniency to do it: Yet of a truth, Climanthes was the cause of all this. Oh, answered Adamas, could I but catch him, I should with usury pay him for falsly usur∣ping

the title of a Druide. That Sir, said the Nymph, will be an easie matter by the means that I shall finde out: For he told Galathea, that she should come four or five times to the place where she was to meet with this man that would make her happy, in case she did not meet with him the first day: And I know that Polemas and he coming too late the first day, will not fail to be there the dayes following: And whosoever will catch this Conju∣rer, must hide themselves in a place where I shall direct, and they will be sure to find him. As for the daies of his comming, I can bee informed from Galathea, though for my part I have forgotten them.

With such discourse as this, the Druide and the Nymph beguiled the length of the way, and they were both so attentive, as they were at the Palace of Isaures before they were a∣ware. But the Druide extreamly disliking this kind of life they led, did instruct Leonida what she should say unto Galathea, but whatsoever shee did, not to let her know that hee disapproved any of her actions: for, said hee, such courages and spirits as the Nymphs must be wonne upon by sweetness and lenity, not by rigour and force. And you Neece, I pray consider and remember your duty, and know that these follies of love are dishonou∣rable both for those that own them, and those that favour them. He had continued on his Instructions had they not met Silvia at their Palace gates, who conducted them unto Galathea: At that time she was walking in the Garden whilst Celadon reposed himself: As soon as ever she saw them, she went unto them; the Druide kneeled down, and kissed her hand; Leonida did the same. Afterwards the Nymph embraced them both and thank∣ed Adamas for his paines in comming to her, promising requital upon the first occasion. Madam, said he unto her, all my services are but just duties, and the very best of them can∣not merit half this expression: I am sorry onely that I want occasions to make the gran∣dure of my affection known unto you, and if I have not at any time been deficient, it was onely want of opportunities, not of any will to serve you. Adamas, answered the Nimph, the service which you have done unto Amasis, I take as done unto my self: And what I have received from your Neece, I accept of as from you: And therefore, considering all circumstances, I have had sufficient tryal of your goodness. I do acknowledge your services past to be great, but this which I am now to imploy you in, is the greatest, and will be the most acceptable unto me, for no greater cure can be than of a wounded spirit. We wil talk more of it at leasure; in the mean time goe and rest your self: Silvia will conduct you to your chamber, whilst Leonida does give me an accompt of what she hath done. Thus the Druide was dismissed, and Galathea carrassing Leonida more than usual, asked her what she had done in her journey? Unto which Leonida gave her a satisfactory answer: Madam, said she I thank the gods that I have found you more joyful than I left you. Friend, said the Nimph, Celadons recovery is the cause: for you must know, that you were not gone a mile from hence before the Feaver left him, and ever since he hath so mended, as he himself hopes within two or three daies hee shall be able to rise. This, answered Leonida, is the best news I could desire, and had I known as much, I should not have brought Adamas hi∣ther. But to the purpose, said Galathea, What does he say to this accident? For I assure my self you have acquainted him with it. Pardon me, Madam, said Leonida, I told him no more than what I thought could not be concealed from him when he came: He knows of the affection you beare unto Celadon, which I told him was onely an effect of your pitty. Hee knows the Shepheard very well, and all his family, and is confident he can per∣swade him unto what he pleaseth: For my part, I think, that if you doe imploy him, hee will doe you good service, but then you must be ingenuous and speak freely and openly un∣to him. Oh my God, said the Nymph, do you think this possible? Certainly when hee understands the whole story he will never apprehend it unto my contentment; for his pru∣dence and judgement is so great, as I doubt he will rather condemn, than further the busi∣nesse. Madam, said Leonida, I do not speak without some ground; you shall see if you do imploy him, what service he will doe you. Thus the Nimph was the most contented person in the world, fancying her self already at the very top of all her desires. But whilst they were thus discoursing, Silvia and Adamas were talking of the same business: For this Nymph being at the first very familiar with him, did at the first speak openly unto him. Adamas much desiring to know whether all his Neece had related was true, he en∣treated her to relate unto him all she knew, which Silvia did without any dissimulation, and as briefly as she could, in this manner.

The History of Leonida.

KNow, that for the better understanding of what you desire, I am forced to touch up∣on all the particulars of Leonida's life, whose Destiny seems to twist together all her designes with those of Galathea. What I shall say concerning her, is not by way of re∣prehension or blame, nor with any intention to divulge her faults; for in telling them unto you, I think them to be as secret as if they had never been told. You must know then, that the beauty and merits of Leonida, had long since gotten the affection of Polemas; and the merits of that Cavalier being very high, your Neece gave his affection a kind reception, yet behaved her self with so much discretion, that it was long before Polemas knew it. I know that your self have loved in your time, and knows better than I doe, how hard a thing it is to hide love. And so it was, that the vaile being taken away, both of them did know that both of them were lovers and both loved. However, they durst not of a long time declare it. After the Festivall which Amasis did Solemnize every yeare, as her day of Marriage with Pimander: So it was, that after dinner we all walked in the Garden at Mont-brison, and she and I set our selves down under some Trees to shelter our selves from the heat of the Sun. No sooner were we set, but Polemas came to us, seeming as if but accidentally; though I observed, that he followed us by the eye, a good way distant. And because we sat silent a long while together, also he having an excellent good voice, I told him he would much oblige us if he would sing. I shall do so, said he (pointing at Leonida) if this fair one wil be pleased to command me. Commands, said she, would shew indiscretion; but if you have any Song that is new, I shall think my entreaties very well bestowed. I shall, answered Polemas; and moreover, I will promise you, that this which you shall hear, is so new, as it was made during the time of the Sacrifice this morning, whilst you were at your Prayers. How said I unto him, is my companion the subject of the song? Yes certainly, answered he, I am a witness of it, and then he began thus.

Upon a Lady at her Prayers.

A Saint in Sacred Temple paid Devotion to the Gods, and pray'd: She that all humane hearts adores, Adores the gods, and help implores; And she whose mercy may men save, With eyes and voice doth mercy crave.

Although she does her eyes disarm, And will not suffer any charm In either voice or eye to glance, As might their lustre more advance, Such charming influence still they have, As must all eyes and ears enslave.

Her eyes with holy Zeal inspir'd, Half shut, as high as heaven aspir'd, And courted it, with such a glance, As if her soul were in a trance. Such raptures of Coelestial Love Must needs both Earth and Heaven move.

Great God (said she) I do implore Mercy from thy abundant store. Have mercy on me too (said I) Oh fairest female Dietie. Religion bids you to impart To others with a willing heart.

Since thou art pleas'd, O God (said she) To call us Children, O then be A Father, not a Judge severe. Since you the worlds fair Mistris are Oh then be mine, and kind, (said I) Resembling so a Dietie.

Consider Lord (said she) how I Have Essence from thy Majesty: 'Tis onely Thou I doe adore, And shall doe so for evermore. So it is onely you, said I, VVhom I adore eternally.

Measure thy Mercy, Lord (said she) According to thy Love, not me. Measure your pitty then, said I, According to my Amity. Here then she stopt, and went not on Only in Contemplation.

Her prayers were heard; but mine, alass Rejected were as poor and base: Yet I dare confidently say, Mine were as full of Zeal as they: She onely by her Faith obey'd, I saw the Saint to whom I pray'd.

Her Prayers did find an easie task; Who could deny when she did ask? But I poor silly mortal must Return a sinner to my dust, And never any mercie find, Since she disdaineth to be kind.

Wee were both very attentive unto his air, and perhaps I should have heard more, had not Leonida feared lest Polemas should out with something which she desired should be kept secret; and therefore as soon as ever he had done singing, she began to speak. I dare lay a wager, said she, that I doe know her of whom this Song was made; then whispering him in the ear, as if she would name her, she bade him take heed what she said before me. He very cunningly answered aloud, No, no, you are mistaken, I swear it is not she whom you named. Then I perceived, that she did conceal her self from me; and therefore seeming as if I would goe and gather some flowers, I parted from them, but not so farre distant but still I held an eye upon their actions. Now since Polemas and she fell off, he hath con∣fessed all unto me, but when they were in league together, I could never make her tell mee any thing. But being then together, they fell to discourse, and she did first begin it. Come, come, Polemas, said she, why doe you jest thus with your Friends? Tell mee truly, upon whom was those Verses made? Fair Nymph, said he, your own soul can tell you as well as I, for whom they were made. How should I know, said she, do you think I can divine things? Yes certainly, answered Polemas, and I doe think you one of those who does not obey that god who speaks by your mouth, but rather will be obeyed by him. How do you explain this aenigma? (said the Nymph) I do explain it thus, replyed he; The god of Love doth speak by your mouth, otherwise your words could not be so full of Fire, as to kindle so many flames as they doe in the hearts of all those that hear them: And yet you do not obey that god when hee commands, That all those who love, should be loved again; but you, all disobedience, doe make all those who love you, to think you infinitely fair, but not at all loving, no not so much as pittifull. I speak, Madam, for my own particular, and can safely swear, without the least danger of perjury, that never any beauty under the Sun

was, and is more loved than you by me. When he uttered these last words, he blusht, and with a smile she answered thus; Polemas, Polemas, old Souldiers can shew their valour by wounds and never use to brag of it, but you that talk so much of yours, would be put to your shifts to shew them, if Love your Captain General should ask you where they are. Cruel Nymph, said Polemas, you are much mistaken; for I would onely bid him look up∣on the fair eyes of my enemy, and fully satisfie him; for then he would receive such wounds as I have in my heart, and never complain of me. However, it is my glory to have such a worthy author for my wounds. Should Love enter into argument with me, I should sooner satisfie him than you; for he would be sensible of my pain, which you never can, because a fire cannot burn it self. You can never be so sensible of our tears, who are so full of rigour, that though we do adore you as fair, yet we can hardly commend you as humane. Leonida did love Polemas, but as yet shee would not let him know it: On the other side, she feared, that if she should put him quite out of hope she should then quite lose him; and therefore she answered him thus; Polemas, if your affection be such as you say, then time will give me better knowledge of it, than all your well spoken words can, which are too eloquent to proceed from affection; for I have heard say, that affection cannot be without passion, and passion will not permit a spirit the freedome of discourse: But, when time has told me as much as you have done, you may think, I am not such a stone, but I shall be sensible of your merits, and your amity may perhaps finde a favourable reception; untill then, never hope for any more from me, then what you may from all the rest of my Com∣panions in generall. Polemas would have kissed her hand, by way of assurance, but she forbad him, saying, Cavalier, be discreet, many eyes are upon us; if you use any such things, you will lose me. Upon this she rose up, and came to us, who were gathering flowers. Thus was the first overture of any affection between them, which gave occasion unto Galathed, to intermeddle in the businesse; for seeing this passage in the Garden, and having a designe upon Polemas, she would know that night what had passed between Le∣onida and him. And being ever very familiar with your Niece, she durst not absolutely de∣ny the truth of this addresse; but Galathea pressed the matter further, and would needs know the very same words which passed between them; unto which your Niece did partly answer truth, and partly dissemble; but she said enough to exasperate Galathea so much, as from that very day she resolved to get his love, and went to work with so many arti∣fices, as it was impossible he should resist. First she began with Leonida, and charged her, to let this love betwixt Polemas and she, go no further; then told her, that it was her best policy to root it out for she knew, that Polemas had another aime, and made use of her only to laugh at: Further, if Amasis should come to know of it, she would be much offen∣ded. Leonida who then had no more subdety in her than a little Child, received the words of the Nymph us from her Mistresse, and never penetrated into the depth of her designe, but was for some daies so strange unto Polemas, as he could not chuse but wonder what the matter was. This, at the beginning, made him more hot upon this addresse, as it is or∣dinary for young spirits to be most violent upon that which is most difficult unto them. And indeed, he did so continue his courtship that Leonida had much ado to dissemble the affection which she bore unto him, insomuch as Polemas perceived well enough that she loved him. But see how love had ordained it: After three or foure months continuance, in his most violent prosecution: of his courtship, and when he had attained to as much as∣surance, as almost he could desire, his affection began to slack, and lose its violence, and by degrees grew so faint and bold, as it was quite dead.

The Nymph did not take any notice, that she was single in this affection; the truth is, Galathea was partly the cause; for having a design upon Polemas, she did use such artifice, and was so indulgent towards him as it may be said, she did insensibly steal him: for when Leonida was shurp with him, Galathea was sweet; when the one did flie his company, the other carrassed him; and all this so long together, and so openly, that Polemas began to cast his eyes upon Galathea, and a little after, his heart followed; for, he seeing himselfe favoured by the greater, and sleighted by the inferiour, he began to embrace the smiling fortune. But Oh! wise Adamas, see how it pleaseth Love to play with hearts. At this time, Agis, at the motion of Clidaman, became a Servant unto your Niece, not so much, as you know, by election, as by instigation. At the first, this new Cavalier did apply himselfe in all becomming courtship unto his new Mistresse, and she was still wholly devoted unto Polemas: Agis, who like a Miser, that has still his eye upon his treasure, did take notice of it, and complained unto his Mistresse, but her faint and hollow answers, in lieu of ex∣tinguishing

his jealousie, did by little and little stifle his love: for, considering what loose hold he had of her soul, he resolved to let it go, and be gone himselfe. The best receipt (as I have heard say) for the cure of a Lover. For, as Love has its beginning from the eyes, so its decay must needs be, from not seeing them; which cannot be but in absence, where obli∣vion swallowes up all memory of the party loved: And so it did in Agis, he was no sooner gone but all love vanish'd out of his soul, and entertained disdain in lieu of it, so as Leo∣nida, in striving to get Polemas, lost him, who perhaps would have been entirely hers. But the rallerie of Love rested not here, Polemas must have his share as well as the rest; for just about this time, the affection of Lindamor began to break out; and, as Leonida had lost Agis for Polemas, and polemas Leonida for Galathea; so Galathea cast off Polemas for Lindamor. It is a task too hard to relate all their particular follies: but so it was, that Polemas seeing himselfe paid in the same coin that he payed your Niece, would not for all that, be out of either hope or love; but on the contrary, did use all inventions to ingrati∣ate himselfe, but all to this very houre in vain; But yet, this satisfaction he found, that he, who was the cause of his misery, did not enjoy that happinesse he aimed at: For, whether it was by reason of his stratagems, or the will of the gods, I know not, but Lindamor is out of favour as well as he: And it seemes, Love could never finde any rest in the breast of Galathea, the memory of one was no sooner out, but another was presently in; and now, at this very time, her thoughts are all upon a Shepheard, whose qualities as a Shepheard may indeed merit much, but never to be Galathea's Servant; and yet she is so extreamly passionate and tender of him, that if his-sicknesse should continue, I know not what would become of her; for I never saw one so carefull, nor so troubled, as she hath been, ever since he was ill. But this is not all, most wise Adamas; Your Niece is also so taken with Celadon, as I know not whether Galathea or she be more, and hereupon great jealousie is grown betwixt them: and though I qualifie the matter as well as I can, yet so it is, that I do de∣spair of it for the future: And therefore I thank the gods that you are come; for really with∣out you; I know not how to carry my selfe betwixt them. Excuse me in speaking thus free∣ly unto you, since it is upon a businesse that concerns you; the affection I do bear unto you, constraines me to it.

Thus did Silvia end her discourse, with abundance of demonstration of her hatred, against this kinde of life, for which Adamas did much esteem her. And to begin the cure of this Shepheard, and these Nymphs (for the last of these was the greater difficulty) Ada∣mas asked her advice. For my part, said she, I would first take away the cause, which is this Shepheard, and the effects may of themselves follow; but this must be done with much artifice, else Galathea will never let him go. 'Tis very true, answered the Druide; but in the mean time, untill that can be handsomly contrived, care must be taken, that he do not fall in love with them; for there is such a sympathy between Youth and Beauty, that if they should conjoyne affections once, all separations will be in vain. Oh Adamas! said Silvia, did you but know Celadon as well as I do, this would be the least of all your fears; for he is so rooted in the love of Astrea, that all the beauty in the world except hers cannot shake him, especially now he is sick, for his care may well be more of his cure than any thing else. Fair Silvia, answered the Druide, you speak as one that is ignorant in Love, and never knew the force of it; this little god can do such miracles, that when there is least appearance of any effects, even then will he shew his power: Be not therefore so secure, for there is no kinde of vertue whatsoever, that is Armour-proof against Love. Chastity it selfe cannot do it, witnesse Endymion. Away, away, said Silvia. Oh! wise Adamas, why do you terrifie me with so great a dysaster? Because, said he, I would have you arme your selfe against the forces of this god, lest being too secure in your opinion of that which you judge impossible, you should be surprised before you be prepared. I have heard say, that Celadon is so handsome, so discreet, and so every way accomplished, as he is furnished with all perfections which cause Love, and therefore there is danger: Trea∣sons of Love are so hard to be discovered, that not one of a thousand can see them. Nay, nay, said Silvia, let me alone for that, and tell me only what I should do in this businesse, that we have already discovered. I do conceive, said the Druide, this cure must be wrought very much by the eye; and when I have seen how the world goes, we shall order things to the best advantage we can, and in the mean time, let us keep our design secret. Hereupon Silvia left Adamas to his rest, and went to Galathea, who with Leonide was by Cela∣don's bed side; for they hearing he was awake, they could neither of them hold from him: He esteemed Leonida very much, her carrasses did oblige him to it; but Silvia's humour

pleased him much better. A litter after, they fell into discourse of Adamas, much extol∣ling his wisdome, prudence, and goodnesse: Upon which, Celadon asked, whether it was not he who was son unto great Pelion, of whom so many wonders are reported? The very same, said Galathea, and he is come hither purposely to be your Physician. Oh Madam, answered the Shepheard, he must have abundance of Art if he can cure my disease: but, I am of opinion, that when he knowes it, he will so despair of my recovery, as he will not undertake the cure. Galathea thought, that he had spoke of the disease in his body: But is it possible, said she, that you should finde your selfe so ill? I am confident, that if you would but help your selfe, you would be able to quit your bed in two or three daies. Per∣haps not, Madam, said Leonida, for some are so inwardly sick, as they themselves do not know of it, untill it be at the height. Their discourse had lasted longer, had not the Druide come, to see how squares went; and he found him well enough disposed in body, for the Malady was past the height, and in its Decline; but when he talked with him, he found the disease to be most in the minde, though he did not believe it was for any of these Nymphs: Yet like a prudent Physician, he would feel how the pulse of his minde did beat: and there∣fore to begin the cure, he would try how he stood affected first to Galathea; and in order to this, when all the Nymphs were retired he shut the dores, and began thus: I see, Cela∣don, said he, that your astonishment is not little, to finde your selfe exalted so suddenly unto such a height of fortune, as this you enjoy; for I am confident it was above your hopes, since being born a Shepheard, and brought up in a Village, you are now carrassed, che∣rished, and waited upon by Nymphs, and such as are accustomed to command; and more then that, such as command the whole Country: You have great reason to be thankfull unto the gods for it, and pray, that it may continue. Adamas spoke in this manner, pur∣posely as an invitation, to make him speak the truth of his affection, thinking by this means, & seeming to approve of it, he would discover himself. Unto which the Shepheard answered with a deep sigh; Father, said he, if this be such a high fortune, then certainly my mouth is out of tast; for I did never in all my life relish more bitter Wormwood than this, which you call good-fortune, and since I came into this condition wherein you find me. Why, (said the Druide, the better to discover his subtlety) is it possible you should be so insensible of your happinesse, as not to see the Grandure unto which you are advanced? Alas, alas, said Ce∣ladon, all this does but shew me a Precipice and menace me with the greater fall. Are you afraid, said Adamas that this good fortune will not last? I fear (said the Shepheard) that it will last longer than I would have it. Why should Sheep languish and die in a great wa∣ter, where Fishes thrive and play? Because, answered the Druide, it is against their Na∣ture. And do you think, Father, (said the Shepheard) that it is not against the nature of a Shepheard, to live amongst so many great Nymphs? I was born a Shepheard, and so habituated to a Village-life; as nothing but things of my own condition and quality can please me. But is it possible, said the Druide, that Ambition, which is so naturall unto men, cannot invite you to quit your woods? Cannot beautie allure a young heart unto it, and divert you from your first intentions? The ambition which every one ought to have, answered the Shepheard, is, to do that well which is their duty to do, and in that, to be the prime amongst those of their own rank; and that beauty which becomes us to look upon, and ought to attract us, is that which we may love, and not that which we ought to reverence, nor look upon, but with eyes of respect only. Why do you imagine, said the Druide, that there is any such Grandure amongst men, which merit and vertue may not arive at? Because, answered the Shepheard, I know, that all things ought to keep themselves within the limits and bounds that nature hath placed them: A Ruby, though never so excellent in its kinde, can never become a Diamond; and he that hopes to elevate himself too high, or, to say better, to change his nature, and to make himselfe more then he is, will but spend both his paines and his time in vain. The Druide now amased at the wise considerations of this Shepheard, and very glad to see him so far from any thoughts of Galathea, began to deal with him in this manner: Son, said he, I am extream∣ly glad to find so much wisdome in you, and do assure you, that as long as you continue in this minde, the heavens will shoure all manner of felicities upon you. Many are so taken up with vanities, and transported with them, that they run out of their wits, and that upon much vainer hopes than these I propound unto you: And what becomes of them at last? just nothing, unlesse after long and intolerable paines, a sad repentance, for suffe∣ring themselves to be so long deluded. You have reason to thank the heavens, that have endued you with this knowledge, before you come to repentance; and you have great rea∣son

also to pray, that they will preserve you in the same minde, in the same tranquility, and sweetnesse of life, in which you have hitherto lived. But since you do not aspire unto any Grandure nor Beauty, what is it then, Celadon, that will stay you here amongst these Nymphs? Alas, answered the Shepheard, there is nothing can stay me by my good will; it's only Galathea that keeps me here in the nature of a Prisoner, and the truth is, I would have tryed all waies to make an escape, had not my sicknesse prevented me; and if no way would have hit, I should have been so unmannerly, as to have gone away by force When I would speak unto Galathea about it, she seemes so extreamly angry, as I must confesse; I durst not mention it any more unto her: But, in the mean time, my stay here has been so tedious unto me, that I do accuse it to be the principall cause of my malady. And therefore, Father, if ever you will compassionate the miserable condition of an extreamly afflicted per∣son, I do conjure you by the great gods, whom you do most reverence and adore, by your own good genius, by the memory of your worthy Father, great Pelion, that you will take some pitty upon my life, and by your prudence, added unto my earnest desire, to help me out of this wearisome Prison, for so I shall call it as long as I stay here. Adamas extreamly glad to hear how passionately he expressed himselfe, did embrace him, and after he had kissed his cheek, said thus unto him: Yes, dear Son, be confident I will do as you desire; and assoon as your disease will permit, I will use all possible means to facilitate your get∣ting out of this place; continue only in this minde, and recover as soon as you can. Then after much other such discourse as this, he left him, so much contented, that if Adamas would have suffered him, he would have quitted his bed that very houre.

In the mean time, Leonida, who would not suffer Galathea to run on any longer in that errour, which Climanthes had infused into her, one night, when Silvia and the little Me∣rill were retired, she sat down by her beds-side, and after some common discourse, she said thus unto her; Madam, I have met with some newes in my journey, newes that concernes you, and I would not upon any termes conceal it from you, because I shall thereby ex∣treamly undeceive you. What is it, said the Nymph? It is, said Leonida, the most subtle piece of knavery that ever Love invented, and I believe, you will not be sorry for my voy∣age, though it were for nothing else, but the discovery of it. This Druide that resided here, is the most wicked fellow, and the cunningest knave, that ever deluded any one. Then did she relate all that she heard, from the mouth of Climanthes and Polemas, and all the plot that was invented, only to dispossesse Lindamor, and ingratiate Polemas in his room. At the first, the Nymph was astonished; afterwards, the love of this Shepheard did so flatter her, that she was perswaded, Leonida spoke this out of designe, to divert her affection from this Shepheard, and to enjoy him her selfe; so as she did not give any credit to what she said; but on the contrary, turning it into laughter, said thus unto her: Go, go, Leonida, go to bed, and to morrow perhaps you will be more subtle, and know how to disguise your tricks better: Then she smiled, and turned to the other side. This did so extreamly offend Leonida, as she resolved, whatsoever came of it, to set Celadon at liberty: In order to this designe, she went the same night unto her Uncle, unto whom she used this lan∣guage; Father, said she, you see Celadon is now recovered, why should he stay any longer here? I pray consider what prejudice it may bring upon us all hereafter. I would gladly have undeceived Galathea, and divert her from the perswasions of the impostor Climantes; but she does so dote upon Celadon, as whosoever shall motion his departure, is her de∣clared enemy: but I do conceive, the surest way is to get him gone, which we can never do without you; for her eye is so continually upon me, as I cannot stir a foot, but she takes notice of it, and suspects me. Adamas did a little wonder to hear his Niece say so, and had an opinion, that she was afraid that he perceived the good-will she had unto this Shep∣heard, and therefore she would blinde him: However, conceiving to cut up Love by the roots, the best way would be, to get Celadon away; he told his Niece, that he did very much desire the same, but knew not how. The way, said she, is the easiest in the world: Get the habit of a Nymph, put it upon him, he is young, and has not a beard; this way he may get out, unknowne who helped him, nor can Galathea tell whom to blame. Ada∣mas found this invention to be good, and the sooner to put it in execution, would presently go and get this habit made, under colour of going to fetch some Physick for Celadon, let∣ting Galathea to understand, that though he was out of a Feavour, yet he was not out of danger to relaps, which he could easily prevent; and did communicate the designe unto Sil∣via, who did very well approve of it, so he would not stay too long before his return. Cela∣don was no sooner awake, but Galathea and Leonida went into his Chamber, under pre∣tence

of seeing how he did. Adamas perceiving how assiduously indulgent these Nymphs were, did think delay to be very dangerous; and after some ordinary questions concerning his disease, he turned towards Galathea, and desired her to give him leave to enquire of some particulars, which he durst not do before her. Galathea supposing it to be something that related to his sicknesse, withdrew, and gave Adamas an opportunity to acquaint the Shepheard with his designe, and promised him to return within two or three daies at the furthest. Celadon conjured him unto it, by all possible intreaties, knowing, that without him his imprisonment would last long. After he had assured him that he would, he took Galathea aside and told her, that though the Shepheard was at that present very well, yet there was great fears of a relaps, and therefore it was requisite to prevent it in order to which, he would go and provide such Medicines as were proper for it, and return again. The Nymph was very glad of this; for, on the one side, she desired the Shepheards cure; and on the other, the presence of Adamas began to be very troublesome unto her, foreseeing, that she could not be so free with her friend Celadon in his presence. Adamas knew her minde well enough; however, assoon as dinner was done, he went his way, leaving the Nymphs in perplexity enough; for all three had different designes, and each of them aiming at their severall ends, of necessitie they must deceive one another: And this was the rea∣son, that they were commonly all three about his bed together, but especially Silvia, pur∣posely to keep them from talking with him in private; but for all her vigilancy, Leonida found a time to tell him the resolution of her and her Uncle, and had this further talk with him: I hope, Celadon, (said she unto him) that when you are at liberty, you will not be so ungratefull, as to forget this good office, but will then consider of it, and of the affecti∣on which now I do bear unto you; at least, you will remember the injuries I have recei∣ved from Galathea for your sake: And if Love which in any other would produce a reci∣procall love again, have not the same effects in you; yet I shall be extreamly glad to hear from your mouth, that I am not disagreeable unto you. Celadon, who already knew of this growing affection, had a desire to stifle it in the cradle; but fearing, lest if he should displease her, she should fall off from that course which she had resolved upon with her Uncle, he would give her such an answer, as should still keep her in the same minde; and therefore said thus unto her: Fair Leonida, what a strange opinion would you have of me, if forgetting Astrea, whom I have so long served▪ I should begin a new affection unto you? I speak very freely to you, because I know, you are not ignorant of my devotion to her. Oh Celadon, answered Leonida, you need not hide it from me, for I know as much of your affairs as you your selfe does. Then, Fair Nymph answered Celadon, since you do know it so well, how can you think I should force my love from her, that has the sole power of my soul, my life, my selfe, and all I have? I pray, look upon all the actions of my life, and then tell me how I should give you satisfaction, and what I should do. Leonida could not hide her fears at this discourse; yet, being wise, and considering how against her duty it was to live in this manner, also that all would be in vain, she resolved to become a Mi∣stresse of her own will; but this being a work of greater difficulty, than to be done as soon as thought upon, she thought it best to take a little time, and consult with her pillow upon it: In this resolution, she spoke thus unto the Shepheard; Celadon, said she, I cannot now take that counsel with my self which is necessary, I had need to have a little time to mu∣ster up all the powers of my soul before I can resolve. Their discourse had continued longer, had not Silvia interrupted, and said unto Leonida, Doe you not know Sister (said she) that Flurial is come? and hath so escaped the guards of the gates, and came to Galathea before any of us knew of it? Hee gave her some Letters: I know not from whence they came, nor from whom, but I am sure they made her change colour two or three times. Leo∣nida presently imagined that it was from Lindamor, and therefore she left Silvia with Ce∣ladon, and went to Galathea to be satisfied. Silvia then seeing her selfe alone with him, shee began to talke so kindly unto him, that if any there could have made him in love, doubtless it had been she. And see how Love is pleased to thwart our designes: The other two Nymphs who courted him with all possible artifice to make him in love, could not do it; and this who never aimed at it, did come nearer the mark than either of the rest: By which is to be observed, That Love must bee free, and will not be obliged by any, but it self and whom it pleaseth.

Whilst Celadon was in these thoughts, Silvia, who thought upon nothing but occasions of discourse, because she was much pleased with his conversation, and delighted to hear him speak, she said thus unto him; You cannot believe, Shepheard, how much I am pleased

with your company; and I swear, that if Galathea be of my mind, we will have more of it than formerly we have; for I finde by you there is abundance of delight to bee taken in your villages, and in your honest freedom, since you are exempted from all ambition, and by consquence from envy; and doe live without any artifice and slander, which are the four Pests of our Court-life. Wise Nymph, answered the Shepheard, all this is most true, if we were out of the power of Love; but you must know, that the very same effects which Am∣bition produceth in Courts, Love does produce in the Country; the envy of a Rival is no less than a Courtiers; and the Artifices of Lovers and Shepheards are nothing inferiour unto my others; and so detraction and censuring of others is as rise amongst us as you. The truth is, we have this advantage of you; for in lieu of two enemies which you have, which are Love and Ambition, we have but one of them. And from hence it is that there are some particular men amongst us which may be called happy; and none, I believe amongst you Courtiers: For, such as doe escape being in Love, doe not escape the allurements of Am∣bition; and such as doe escape Ambition, have not such frozen souls, as can resist the flames of so many Fair eyes; whereas wee that have but one enemy, may the more easily resist him, as Silvander hath hitherto done; a Shepheard truly full of excellent perfections, but more happy than wise; for he having yet never met with any beauty that pleased, or could attract him, he never holds familiarity with any Shepheardess, which is the reason that he preserves his liberty; for my part I beleeve, that unless one do love some where else, it is impossible to be long with an amiable beauty, and not love her. Silvander answered, I am so little versed in this science, that I submit unto what you say; yet I doe believe it is some∣thing else than beauty which causeth Love, otherwise one Lady that is loved of one man should be loved of all. There are (answered Celadon) severall answers to this po∣sition. All beauties are not looked upon with one and the same eye: Colours, some please one eye, some another none all: So of Beauties, all eyes do not judge alike; but Silvan∣ders reason me-thinks is above all. If any ask him why hee never was in Love, he will an∣swer, that he has not yet found his Loadstone; and when he has found it, then he shall in∣fallibly love as others do. What does he mean, said Silvia, by his Loadstone? I know not, replyed Celadon, whether I can well inform you; but hee is a man very well studyed, and held amongst us for a good Scholar: Hee sayes, that when great Jupiter first formed man, and all souls he touched every one with a several peece of a Loadstone, and afterwards put all the peeces in a place by themselves: Likewise the souls of women, after he had touched them, he put them in a Magazine by themselves: Afterwards when he sent the souls into bo∣dies, he brought those of the women to the place where the Loadstones were, which touched the soules of the men, and likewise the souls of the men into the place where the loadstones were which touched the women, and made every one to take one peece: If there were any theevish souls, they took several pieces and hid them. Now when that man meets with that woman that has that piece which touched his soul, it is impossible but hee must love her; the Loadstone shee hath, doth attract his soul: And from hence proceeds the severall effects of Love: For those who are loved of many, are those theevish souls who took many peeces of the Loadstone: If any doe love one who loves not him again, that was one who took her Loadstone, but she not his. Many questions upon this were put unto him, unto which hee answered very well: Amongst the rest I put this, How comes it to passe (said I) that one Shepheard loves many Shepheardesses? Thus, answered he, the peece of Loadstone which touched him being amongst the rest, when Jupiter did mingle them all together, it broke; and being in several peeces, all those who have them, doe attract his soul; but perhaps those who are taken with so many several Loves, will never love much, because those little bits cannot have so much force as if it were a whole one. Moreover, said he, from hence it comes to passe, that we do often see some persons love others, who in our eyes are nothing amiable. Also from hence proceeds those strange loves which sometimes fall out; As that a Gaule brought up amongst many beauties, should fall in love with a barbarous stranger. Diana asked him, what he could say for Timon the Athenian, who never loved any, nor any loved him? His Loadstone (answered he) is either still in Jupiters Magazine, or else she who took it, dyed in her cradle: So as when we doe see any one who does not love, wee use to say, his Loadstone was forgotten. But, sayd Silvia, what could hee say unto this, that none did love Timon? That sometimes (answered Celadon) Jupiter did count the pieces that re∣mained, and finding the number come short, because some theevish souls had taken more than they should, he sent those souls into their bodies without stones; and hence it comes to passe that many Shepheards and Shepheardesses, who are accomplished with many ex∣cellent

qualities, yet are disfavoured, and none loves them. But Corilas put this question to him; One loves another a long time, How comes hee to quit her, and love another? Sil∣vander answered unto this, That his Loadstone, who changed, had been broken; and hers, whom hee loved last, was a greater peece than the other; as wee see a peece of Steel between two Loadstones, will goe to that which hath the greater force, and so the soul will goe to that party who hath the most attractive power. Truly said Silvia, this must needs bee an admirable Shepheard, that is full of such fine conceptions; But, I beseech you, tell me, Who is he? I shall hardly tell you that, Madam, (said Celadon) for he cannot tell himself; yet by the judgement we can make of him by his good qualities, he is from somegood place; for you must know that he came into our village not long since with a very short pittance of estate, and without any acquaintance onely this hee said, that hee came from about the Lake Lemane, where he had been brought up of a child, Since he has got acquaintance, every one is ready to help him: Besides, being an excellent Herbalist, and having great know∣ledge in the nature of Animals, his Flock so increases under his hands, and he thrives so well, as at this hour he may be called Rich, at least in content. And, fair Nymph, it is no great difficulty to attain unto so much wealth; for Nature is contented with a little, and we who live according to her Rules are Rich, if contented; and our contentment being easily obtained, our Riches are quickly gotten. You are, said Silvia, much richer in happiness than we are. But you spoke of Diana; I know her onely by sight; Pray tell me, who was her Mother? The Mother was Belinda, answered he, Wife unto the sage Celion, who dyed young. And Diana, said Silvia, who is she, and what humour is she of? She is, said Ce∣ladon, one of the fairest Shepheardesses about the River Lignon, and let mee but except A∣strea, and I will say, she is the fairest: for, besides those that are obvious unto the eye, she has so many beauties of mind, as no more can be said or desired than is in her. Oftentimes we have been three or four of us Shepheards together, looking and admiring her, and alwayes concluded, that there was no perfection which could be wished, but was to be found in her. And though her genius be not very inclinable to love, yet she is such a sincere lover of Vir∣tue, as shee does oblige more that way, than others doe by their most violent affections How comes it to passe said Silvia, Has she not many servants? No, answered Celadon; she will not entertain any: The deceit which the Father of Philidas did put upon her, does hinder her. And truly it was the most notorious trick that ever I heard of. Were it not too much trouble to you, said Silvia, I should bee very glad to understand it from you, and also to know who Celion and Belinda were. I feare, answered Celadon, that the story will bee so long as to weary you. No, no said the Nymph, we cannot better employ the time, whilst Galathea is reading her Letters. Then, in obedience to your command, answered hee, I shall do it as briefly as possibly I can: And thus he began.

The History of Celion and Belinda.

IT is most certain, fair Nymph, that Virtue, be it never so naked, is yet most lovely in it self; and has so many attracting Adamants in it, that as soon as any soul is touched with it, it must needs love and follow it. But when this virtue meets with a fair body, it is not onely lovely, but admirable; all eyes and spirits are ravished at the lustre of such a glorious vision. And this will bee apparently seen by the discourse I intend to make you of Belinda. Be pleased to know, that not far off hence, about the River Lignon, there was a very excellently well quallified Shepheard, called Philemon, who after a long Mariage had a Daughter whom he named Belinda, and who being grown up to ripe years, appear∣ed in beauty both of body and mind, admirable. Not far off her house inhabited ano∣ther Shepheard, called Leon: As neighbourhood had contracted a firm league of Amity betwixe these two houses, so Fortuns would have some equality also between them, and bestowed one Daughter upon Leon, whose youth promised much beauty for the future, her name was Amaranthe: The amity of the Fathers begat a frequency of Society between the Daughters. They were from their cradles brought up together; and since, did alwayes keep their Flocks together also: As they grew in stature, so in beauty: Many young Shepheards courted their amities, but all their services and fair professions of affection could obtain no more from them, but a civil and courteous reception. It hapned that Celion a young Shepheard about these parts, having a Sheep that strayed, he came to look for it in Belinda's Flock, where she her self was: She restored the Sheep with so much kindnesse, as the finding of this strayed Sheep, proved the losing of himself; and from that time hee be∣gan

to be sensible, that fair eyes have power to offend; for before he was so ignorant, that no such thought could ever enterunto his soul: but, be his ignorance what it would, he so carried the matter, as knowing his disease, he made it known unto that Physician, from whom only he could expect a cure. Belinde, by his actions knew his disease almost as soon as himselfe, for at the first, he could not tell her his minde; but his affection growing with his age, it came to such a Grandure, as he did resent it in good earnest, and was constrai∣ned to change his childish Pasti••••es, into a very curious Courtship, Belinde, on the other side, though she was c••urted by severall other Suitors yet she entertained Celion's affecti∣on better han any of the rest; but yet, no otherwise, then a Sister to a Brother, which she did plainly make appear unto him one day when he thought to have declared his minde unto her: She kept her flock by the River side and was c••nt••mplating her own beauty in the water The Shepheard took this opportunity and holding his hand before her eyes, in an amorous manner, he said thus unto her: Take heed fair Shepheardesse, l••ok not in the water, lest you should incur the same danger, that others have done by the like action. Why do you say so, said Belinde who did not understand him? Oh fair Shepheardesse, said Celion, you see more beauty in this River, than ever Na 〈◊〉〈◊〉 did in the Fountain. At these words, Belinde blush'd, which did the more advantage her beauty; yet she answe∣red him: How long, Celion, have you wished m•• so well? I have wish••d you well very long, said the Shepheard, and believe it, this good-will is confined unto no other time then the end of my life. Then the Shepheardesse, bowing towards him, told him that she never made any question of his affection, but ever received it with as much benevolence, as she offered her own unto him. To which Celion presently answered: I do kisse this fair hand by way of thanks, for so great a favour, and by way of promise of that faithfull service which Celion vowes unto you, as long as he lives. Belinde perceived by the zealous utterance of his words, and the kisse which he passionately imprinted upon her hand, that he meant of another kinde of affection then she intended and therefore would not let him go on in his errour: Celion (said she unto him) you are very far off that which you do fancy to your selfe you can finde out no readier way to banish me your company than this; if you do de∣sire I should continue the same affection to you, which I promised, continue you also with∣in the same compasse, which your vertue did ever promise me; otherwise I will break off all manner of familiarity with you, and protest never to love you: I could (as the custome of those that are loved is) chide and brawl with you, but I will not, because I would free∣ly have you know that if you behave yourselfe otherwise than becomes you, you can ne∣ver have any hopes in my affection. She added many other bitter expressions, which did so astonish Celion, that he knew not what to answer; only he cast himselfe upon his knees at her feet, and without any capitulation, but submission, asked pardon, and protested, that his affection should proceed no further; but, as she did cause it, so she should regulate it. If you do behave your selfe so, said Belinde, you will oblige me to love you, otherwise, the contrary Fair Shepheardesse, replyed he, my affection is now born, and such as it is it must live; for it cannot die but with me, so as I cannot remedy it, but with time but I will promise to give it such a check, as you shall command; and let me never be blessed with any favour from you, if you finde any action of my life that can displease you. To con∣clude, she permitted him to love her upon these termes. And thus these two Lovers lived long in such contentment, as they had good cause to thank their Fates for it: Sometimes he would send Letters unto her, by his Brother Diamis who presented them unto her, un∣der a colour of presenting her with some fruit. She would often return him such satisfacto∣ry answers, as he had some reason to be contented with And this affection was carried with so much prudence as few perceived it; Amaranthe her selfe, though she was continually with them had been ignorant of it, had she not accidentally found a Letter, which her companion had lost: And see I beseech you the consequences of it, with this Note, That it is very dangerous for any young soul to come neer the fire of Love. Till now, this Shepheardesse never had the least resentment of any love, no, nor so much as any minde of being loved; but, as soon as she saw this Letter, whether out of envie to her companion, whom she thought no superiour in beauty; or because she was of that age which is most apt to take fire; or whether this Letter contained such hot and servent expressions, as would thaugh a piece of Ice: so it was, that she began to swell with desire, not only to love, but to be loved again, by this Shepheard: And then she read over the Letter again severall times, which was thus penned.

Celion's Letter unto Belinde.

Fair Shepheardesse,

IF your fair eyes, were as full of truth, as they are of motives to love, the sweetnesse which at the first they do promise, would then make me adore them with as much contentment, as they do now produce in me vain hopes; but they are so far from making good their delu∣ding promises, as they will not so much as confesse them; and are so far from curing my wounds, as they will not so much as say they are the causers of them. The truth is, they can hardly deny them, if they do but consider, that no other Beauty but theirs, could ever make them so great. However, as if you intended to make your cruelty to equall your beauty, you ordain that affection, which you inspired, may cruelly die in me. Oh heavens! was there ever such a mercilesse Mother, as to murder her own child. But I, that am more dear of any thing that comes from you, than of my life, will never suffer such a piece of injustice; and therefore I am resolved, to carry this affection along with me to my grave, hoping still, that heaven, considering my patience, will once move you to be as pittifull unto me, as you are now dear and hard-hearted.

Amaranthe read over this Letter severall times, and ere she was aware, sucked in the sweet poyson of Love, as a weary person by degrees falls asleep; If her imagination brought the face of this Shepheard before her eyes, Oh how full of beauty and handsomnesse she fancyed him? His behaviour and mind was agreeable, his wit rare and every part so ex∣quisite, as she thought her companion infinitely happy in his love. Then would she read the Letter over again, and when she came to the end of it, she flattered her desires (being blown by the bellowes of vain hopes) with an opinion, that Belinde did not yet love him, but that she her selfe might perhaps easily get him; but this poor fond Lover never took notice, that this was the first Letter he writ unto her, and that since this, much alteration might be. Belinde's friendship sometimes gave her a check; but love presently surmounted friend∣ship. In conclusion, she writ this Letter unto Celion.

Amaranthe's Letter unto Celion.

YOur Perfections may well excuse my error, and your Civility may as well receive that affection which I do offer unto you. May I perish, if I love any that is inferiour unto you, but such is your merit, as I make it my glory to love you, and my shame to stoop so low, as to love any other. If you do refuse this offer, it will be for want of will or courage; and which of the two soever it be, it will be more dishonourable to you than me, that you re∣fused me.

She gave this Letter her selfe unto Celion, who not imagining what it should be as soon as he came to a private place, he read it, but not with more wonder than scorn; and had he not known her to be the dear friend of his Mistresse, he would not have daigned her an answer: yet, fearing left she should some way or other prejudice him, he sent her this Letter by his Brother.

Celion's Answer unto Amaranthe.

I Cannot tell what is in me, that can move you to love me: However, I do think it to be as great an honour, that such a Shepheardesse should daigne to look upon me, as I do think it a misfortune, that I cannot receive such an happinesse. Oh! that it would please my De∣stinies, to let me give my selfe unto you, Fair Amaranthe; I should think my selfe the hap∣piest man alive, if I could live in your service; but since it is not in my power, I beseech you excuse me, and blame neither my wit nor my courage for that, which is hindred by a compulsive Necessitie. It would be abundance of happinesse and glory unto me, to be in your favour, but it would be as much griefe unto you, to finde a continuall impediment in my affection; so as I am forced most humbly to beseech you, even by your vertue, to temper your too hot passion, by a moderate affection, which I shall with all my heart entertain, for there is no impossibility in that; but whatsoever is in me, that is within the compasse of possibility, is wholly at your service.

This answer had been sufficient to have diverted her, if Love of its own nature, were not like unto Gun-powder, which the more it is restrained, the greater force it hath: Her apprehensions did oppose against these difficulties, some shadowes of reason, as that Celion could not so soon cast Belinde off; that it would argue too great a levity in him, if he should upon the very first Summons deliver up the Fort. But time told her to her cost, that this was but a meer shadow of reason; for ever since that day, this Shepheard did to disdain her, that he shunned her company, and often chose rather to be without Belinde', then have hers with it. Now perceiving her selfe to be imba••qued upon a Sea so full of dangers as was impossible to avoid a Ship-wrack, and finding her selfe not able to brook so great a displeasure, she grew so sad, as she shunned all company and places, where any pleasure was to be found; and at last fell sick in good earnest: Her dear friend, Belinde, came presently to visit her, and not dreaming of any thing, desired Celion to come with her; but the sight of a happinesse which one cannot have, augmenteth the desire of it the more, and this visit did but more fester the disease of Amaranthe. Night being come, all re∣tired to their lodgings except Belinde, who was very much troubled at her companions misery, though she did not know what it was; for when she asked her any question, she was answered only by sighs at which Belinde was astonished. And at last, a little offended at her, she said: I did not think, Amaranthe, that you had loved Belinde so little, as to conceal any thing from her; but I see I was deceived: And whereas hitherto I could say that I loved you, now I can only say, that I love a dissembler. Amaranthe, whose mouth was closed with very shame, when she saw Belinde alone with her, and being prompted unto it by the violence of her affection, she resolved to make tryall of the most desperate reme∣dies that might cure her disease. Laying shame aside therefore, as well as she could she opened her mouth two or three times, to declare the whole businesse but the word died as soon as it was on her lips, all the could do, was to profer some interrupted words but at last, holding her hands before her eyes, as not daring to look her in the face whom she spoke unto: My dear Companion, (said she unto her for so they called one another) our friendship will not permit me to conceal any thing from you, knowing very well, that whatsoever is spoken unto you, will be ever kept as secret, as if locked up in my own heart; but I beseech you excuse an extream error, which; to satisfie the Lawes of friendship, I am forced to open unto you. You ask me where my pain is, and from whence it proceeds? Know that it is Love, which ariseth from the perfections of a certain Shepheard. But alas, being at this word overcome with shame and sorrow, she turned her head to the other side, and was silent, but turned her silence into a torrent of tears. Belinde wondred and knew not what to think; but, to cheer her up, I could not believe (said she unto her) that a passion so common unto every one, should so much trouble you. To love is a thing most ordinary; but, to love the perfections of a Shepheard, argues an act of judgment. I pray tell me, who this happy Shepheard is. Amaranthe fetched a sigh from the very root of her heart, and said: Alas, alas, this Shepheard loves another. But who is he, said Belinde? Since you will needs have it, said Amaranthe, it is your Celion; I say, yours, my friend; for I know he loves you, and disdaines me. Excuse my follies, I beseech you, and without notice taken leave me alone to endure my own torment.

The wise Belinde hearing this, was so ashamed of her companions error, that though she loved Celion as well as possible, yet she resolved, upon this occasion to render a strange testimony of her friendship, and turning towards Amaranthe, said thus unto her: Truly, Amaranthe, I am extreamly troubled, to see you thus transported with this affection. And though our Sex has not an absolute authority over Love, yet thanks be to the gods see∣ing you in this condition, I have, and wil give you a cleer testimony of my being your faith∣full friend. I do love Celion, I will not deny it; yet it is as a Sister may love a Brother: But I do love you also as my Sister, and will have him to love you more then me, (for I know he will obey me). Rest therefore your selfe contented, rely upon me, and when you are well recovered, you shall see how much Belinde is yours.

After much other such discourse, night called upon Belinde to retire, leaving Amaran∣the so full of contentment, as, forgetting all sorrow, in a few daies she recovered her former beauty. In the mean time, Belinde was not a little troubled, but seeking for an opportunity to acquaint Celion with her designe, at last, she met with one as fit as she could desire: By fortune, she found him playing with his Ram, in that great Plain where Shepheards do commonly feed their Flocks: this Animall was the leader of the flock, and was so well taught, that he seemed as if he understood his Master when he spoke unto him; in which

the Shepheardesse took so much delight, that she stayed longer there; at last, she would try whether the Ram would obey her as well as him, and he seemed much more obedient: What do you think, Brother, said she unto him, of the acquaintance betwixt your Ram and me? I think, fair Shepheardesse, (said he) that he is yours, if you will be pleased to do me the honour to accept of him; but it is no wonder he should be so obedient unto you, for he knowes, that if he had not, I should have disowned him for mine, having heard me often say and sing, that, All I had was more yours than mine. 'Tis very well, said the Shepheardesse, I will try whether I have so much power over you, as you seem to give me; and will not only command, but earnestly entreat a thing from you. There is nothing, answered the Shepheard, which you may not more absolutely command. Then Belinde, seeing this fit opportunity, began to open her minde thus: Since that day we first began our friendship, Celion, I have ever thought my selfe obliged to love and honour you, more than any person living and I would not have you think I do intend to lessen this love, for it shall accompany me to my grave; and yet perhaps you would make it diminish, did I not advertise you before hand, that my life and my friendship shall lessen together. These expressions made Celion admire, not knowing what she intended: At last he told her, that he waited to know her pleasure in much joy and much fear: Joy, because he could think upon no greater honour then her commands; and Fear, because he knew not what she meant yet, death it selfe should be welcome, if it came by her command. Then Belinde went on thus: You have ever, as well as now, given me such full assurance of your obedi∣ence, that I cannot doubt of it; and therefore I shall not only intreat, but conjure Celion, by all the amity he bears unto Belinde, that he will obey her in this one thing: I will not impose any impossibilities upon him, nor to lessen the love which he bears unto me, but on the contrary, would have him rather to augment it. But before I go any further, I pray you let me know, whether your affection was ever of any other quality then it is at this time. Then Celion, looking more cheerfully than before, answered, That heretofore he did love her with such affection and passions, and with the same designes, that youth u∣seth to produce in hearts, most transported with Love, and in this, he would not except one that did exceed him; but since, that her commands had such power over him, as he hath moderated his passion; and his friendship has so surmounted his love, as he hath had no thoughts of her, but such as would not offend a Sister. I protest, Brother, replyed she, for so I will hold you to be as long as I live; you could never have obliged me more than by this. Know then what it is I do desire from you, only this, that preserving still inviola∣bly this affection which you do now bear unto me, you will place your love upon one of the fairest Shepheardesses about Lignon Perhaps you will think this a strange office from Belinde, but your wonder will vanish, when I tell you, that she is one whom I do most love; for it is Amaranthe: Her, I do command you to love, by all the power that I have over you, for she has earnestly begg'd it of me. She was thus hasty in her command, because she feared, that if she should have retarded it any longer, she should not have had power to resist his supplications, which she foresaw he would make. What do you think, fair Nymph (said Celadon to Silvia) became of poor Celion? he looked as pale as death it selfe, and so much out of himselfe, as he could not speak one single syllable: But at last, when he had a little recovered the use of his languishing tongue, and in a Tone, like one in the midst of Torment, he cryed out: Oh cruell Nymph! have you preserved my life hitherto, thus inhumanely to ravish it away? This command is too ful of cruelty, to be heard & live; and my love is too great, to let me die without despair. Alas, if I must die, let me die faithfull; and if there be no other way to cure Amaranthe, but by my death, I will most freely sacrifice my selfe unto her health, so you will but change the doom of your com∣mand, and bid me die loving only you. Belinde was much startled at this, but not altered: Celion, said she unto him, leave off all these vain expressions, you will give me cause else not to believe what you told me, if you do not satisfie me in the first command that I do impose upon you. Cruell Shepheardesse (said the sad Celion) must you needs com∣mand me impossibilities? for though I dare not love you beyond your commanded limits; yet, command what you will, I cannot love any other.

Pitty did begin a little to melt her heart, and it was abundance of content unto her, to see, that he whom she loved most, did most certainly love her: And this perhaps had al∣tered her resolution, had she not been resolutely fixed to take away all thoughts from Amaranthe, that she was stung with the same disease; therefore she constrained all her pitty to retreat, which began already to draw tears into her eyes; and to the end they

should not be seen, she went away, and at parting said unto him; Think well upon it, Ce∣lion, and be certain, I will never see you again, unlesse you will effect my entreaty, and your own promise. Whether Celion had a sad dejected soul seeing himselfe so far from any consolation or resolution, let them, that ever loved, judge; He was two or three daies like a man lost, he ran into the Woods, and shunned all manner of company: at last, an old Shepheard that was an intimate friend of his Fathers, and one that was very wise also loved Celion very well, seeing him in this condition, and perceiving, that nothing but ef∣fects of Love could thus distract him, he was some comfort unto him by his counsell; For in his younger daies, he himselfe had been in the like straits; and began to mock Celion, for being so much troubled for so poor a businesse, demonstrating unto him, that the reme∣dy was easie, and so very easie, as he was ashamed, that Celion, who was reputed wife, and a man of courage, should not hit upon it I know, said he, that to fulfill this command of Belinda's is at the first a matter of some difficulty, and she will think your affection to be extream, but that will oblige her the more to love you; yet, since you have made such professions of obeying her, it will content her, if you do dissemble, and seem, as if you did obey what she has commanded. This counsell sounded well in the ears of Celion, and was accordingly executed. But before this, he had writ this Letter unto Belinde.

Celion's Letter unto Belinde.

HAd I merited so ruffe a Treatment as this which I have received from you, I should sooner have dyed than endured it; but since it is for your contentment, I shall enter∣tain it with a little more willingnesse, then if in exchange you had hidden me die: Since I have wholly dedicated my selfe unto you, it is but reasonable you should have the whole disposure of me: But I beseech you consider, that as long as this constraint lasts, so many daies are navished from my life; for I cannot call those daies life, that are full of sorrow and death: Shorten them therefore, Oh most severe Shepheardesse, if there be but one spark of pitty remaining in you.

It was impossible that Bolinda should not resent these expressions, which she knew pro∣ceeded from a most perfect affection; withall, it was impossible any thing could divert her from her designe She did advertise Amaranthe, that Celion would love her, and that she would know it as soon as she was recovered: Which advertisment did so hasten her reco∣very, as she did make it appear, that to the cure of the body, the cure of the minde is not unprofitable. But Oh! what a lamentable constraint did Celion live in, and how intolerable was his torment? He grew so lean, and was so altered, as he was not knowable. But see the extream severity of this Shepheardesse, she was not contented with what she had done; but because she thought Amaranthe had some jealousie of their affection, she was resol∣ved to drive the Naile so to the head, that neither of them should think, she jeasted The Shepheards addresse unto Amaranthe was observed by every one, for it was openly decla∣red; the Father also of this Shepheard being acquainted with the commendable vertues of Leon, and knowing his family to be honourable, he did not disapprove of this Match. Belinde her selfe did propound the Marriage, and it was almost made up before Celion knew of it but when he heard of it, he could not forbear speaking unto Belinde, and was so plain with her, that she was halfe ashamed: but the Shepheard seeing words would not do, he resolved upon another course, and a better way, which was, to apply himselfe unto his Father: Sir, said he, I should be very sorry to disobey you in anything, and more in this than any other thing. I see, Sir, that you do like of this alliance with Amaranthe, and as becomes me▪ I have made addresses to her, and I do know no Shepheardesse more affectionate than she: But, Sin, give me leave to tell you, that I do love her better for a Mistresse than a Wife; yet I do humbly beseech you, command me not to tell you my rea∣son. Upon this, the Father had some suspition, that he knew of some ill quality in the Shepheardesse, and did heartily commend the prudence of his Son, who he thought had such a command over his own affections. Thus this Match was broken off, and the for∣mer passages being publickly known, many did ask the question, from whence this cold∣nesse of the businesse should proceed: The Father, he could not hold from speaking of it unto his familiar friends, and they unto others, so as Amaranthe at the last came to hear of it, who at the first was much grieved; but afterwards seeing her own folly, in thinking to make her selfe loved by force, she did by degrees fall off, resolving to entertain the next

motion of marriage that was offered. Thus were these Lovers eased of an intolerable bur∣then, but it was to be loadned with one much more heavie.

Belinde was now at an age full fit for Marriage, and Philemon very desirous to see her well bestowed; he would have been very glad to entertain Celion; but Belinde, hating marriage as much as death, had charged him not to speak unto her; yet promising him, that whensoever she saw her selfe forced to marry, she would acquaint him, to the end, that then he might put in for a share of her, and demand her in Marriage: And this was the reason, that Philemon perceiving the coldnesse of Celion, he would not offer her unto him. In the mean time, Ergastes the prime Shepheard of all the Country, and one who was generally esteemed for his many vertues, did make an overture of Marriage with her; and because he would not have the businesse talked of, untill he was sure of speeding, he, who did treat about the matter, did carry it so closely, that a promise was made of the Marriage as soon as asked; for Philemon making himselfe sure of his Daughters obedience, did first passe his word, and then acquainted her. At the first, she could not resolve what to do because he was a man whom she had never seen: However, this lofty spirit, that ne∣ver would sink under the burthen of any misery, did presently rouse up it selfe, and did not seem the least discontented at it for her own sake, which was more than she could do for Celion; and now her error of obstinate hatred against marriage, must be washed away with tears. So it was, that to be as good as her promise, she acquainted poor Celion, that Philemon intended to marry her. As soon as Celion had this so much desired permission, he did so solicite his Father, that the very same day he made the motion unto Philemon; but it was too late, for which Belinde's Father was very sorry for he loved Celion much better then Ergastes. Oh heavens! what griefe, when he heard the doom of his misfortune; he went immediately out of the house, and never rested till he found Belinde. At his first accost, he could not speak, but his looks did sufficiently tell what was Philemon's answer. Though she stood in as great need of some good counsell as he, and strength to support this blow: yet she would shew her selfe so stout, as not to stoop to any dysaster: but she would not shew her selfe so insensible, as not to shew how she resented the Shepheards misery, but made it appear unto him, that it did displease her: Whereupon she asked him, how her Father relished the motion? The Shepheard related the very same answer which Philemon gave, adding so many sighs and sad lamentations, that she had been a very Rock, had she not been moved at them; yet she did interrupt him, surmounting her selfe with as much vertue as possible, and told him, that lamentations were only for poor weak spirits, and did not become persons of courage; and therefore he did both himselfe and her wrong, if he used any such expressions. Celion, (said she) where is that brave resolu∣tion, which you said, you had armed your selfe withall, against all accidents whatsoever, except at the change of my affections can any thing else make you stagger? Consider, that words do no good at all, only make those that hear them, think worse both of you and me? For heavens sake, do not stain my honour with that pusillanimity, which hitherto I have with so much pain avoided; and since there is no better remedy be patient as I am: perhaps the heavens will hereafter contrive things better to our contentment, then we at this time ought to desire▪ For my part, I will avoid the misfortune as much as I can possi∣bly; and if there be no better remedy, we will resolutely fly from it, and leave one another. These last words made him almost desperate, imagining, that her great courage proceeded from the faintnesse of her affection. Could I as easily resolve upon this accident as you, (answered the Shepheard) I should think my selfe unworthy of your Love; for a hollow faint affection deserves not such a happinesse. For a reward of all my services you bid me resolve to lose you and does implicitely bid me not despair, if I see you, Another's. Ah Belinde! with what face can you look upon your new friend? with what kinde of heart can you love? and how can you ever carrasse him, since you have promised a thousand times never to love any but me, since your heart has so often sworn never to be any but mine? Well, you do command me to leave you, and to obey you, I will do so; for the last minute of my life, shall be the first of my disobedience. I pray the heavens, you may be as happy in your new choice, as I shall be miserable. Live and enjoy all contentment with Ergastes; and may you enjoy as much good fortune together, as I have will to do you service; may this new affection swell with all delights, and last as long as life, whilst I am sure my most faithfull affection will be smoothered with extream griefs. Belinde did let Celion speak so long together because she feared, that if she spoke, her tears would do the office of words, and that would argue too little power over her selfe. Oh proud beauty, that had rather be

censured for want of love than resolution? But at last, finding her selfe confident enough▪ she said thus unto him: Celion, you think that all this is an argument of your affection▪ but I think the contrary; for how can you love me, and have such an ill opinion of me? If you took this opinion up since this last accident, it is to be believed, that that affection is not very great which can so suddenly change: If you have not an ill opinion of me, how can you possibly think, that once I did love you, and now do not? Consider how unlikely it is, that Celion, whom I loved above all the world, and whose humours were ever as agreeable to me, as my own, should be changed for Ergastes? whom I never saw, and whom rather then I will marry, I will marry a Grave. If I be forced, it is by the commands of a Father, whom neither in duty nor honour I ought to disobey. But is it possible you should so soon forget all those vowes and protestations which I have made unto you, never to marry? How comes this change to passe? For if you did love me without marrying me, why can∣not you love me still without marrying me? And when I have a Husband, who can forbid me to love a Brother still, with as much affection, as is due unto a Brother? Adieu, adieu, my Celion, live, and love me, who will love you to the last, whatsoever becomes of Belin∣de: At this word she kissed him, which was a greater favour than ever yet she did him, and left him so much out of himselfe, that he could not utter one syllable. When he re∣turned to himselfe, and considered that love ought to bend unto duty, and that there was not one spark of hope left, which could help him out of his griefes, like a man that ravel∣led in his resolutions, he wandred up and down Woods and unfrequented places, where he did nothing but lament his cruell dyfaster; do what all his friends could, they could not perswade him from this errant life.

Thus he lived many daies, in which he moved the very Rocks unto pitty. And to the end, she who was the cause of his misery, might a little resent it, he sent her these Verses.

Celion, upon the Marriage of Belinde and Ergastes.

'TIs hard, by Jove, that after so much love, And service paid, you should anothers prove. Must I, that serv'd a Prenti hip of sorrow, See you anothers joy and blisse to morrow? And have no other wages for my pains, But sad remembrance of anothers gains?

You once did love me well, 'tis very true: But Oh, this fatall, Did, does griefe renew. What am I better for a Love that's past, When you are in another's a mesembrac'd? When you are once anothers halfe, not mine, Away my soul with sorrow needs must pine.

Had he more merit or more love than I, Then were I silenc'd in my misery. But this is cruell Martyrdome, that he In one short day should finde felicity Without desert and I denyed am, Who long had lov'd and merited the same.

Oh cruell memory of happinesse that's past? Out of my thoughts, since hope is quite defac'd: There is no reason you should harbour there, Where nothing is but horror and despair.

Although he seemed by his actions to be quite out of any hope, yet there was a little spark left, because the Contract of Marriage was not yet past; and he knew, that some Matches have been broken off, which were believed to be as currant as this: But when he understood, that the Writings were Signed and sealed on both sides; Oh! in what a dismal

despair was he then; then did he wring his hands together, scratch his head, tear his hair, beat his stomack; and, in short, was so transported and besides himself, that he was in a hundred minds to go and kill Ergastes; and when he was upon the very point of putting it into execution this consideration amidst his fury did come into his minde, that this per∣haps would offend Belinde; unto whom, for all his madnesse, he writ severall Letters full of love and reproaches which she could hardly read without tears; and, amongst the rest, he sent her this.

Celion's Letter unto Belinde, in his Transport.

WHat, inconstant Shepheardess! must my misery equall my affection? must I still love you, when I see you clasped in the armes of another? Surely, the gods do punish me for loving you too much, or rather indeed, for not loving you enough, yet I do love you as much as ever any other in the world can: And yet, for gods-sake tell me, why I should love you, since you do love a person whom I do not? And then again? why should I not love you, since I did once love you so well? Faith, me thinks I have no reason to love you, because you are ungratefull, your soul is a very stone, and is insensible of any love. But, be you what you will, you are still Belinde; And can Belinde be, and Celion not love her? Should I love you then, or should I not love you? pray, Shepheardesse, be judge your selfe. As for me, my spirit is so much troubled, that I cannot discern any thing, but that I am the most afflicted person in the world.

At the lower end of this Letter, he writ these Verses.

I never can excuse Such fond inconstancy, As you, it seemes, do use In changing Amitie.

To change for better, may Be called Prudence good; But for the worse, I say, Is madnesse understood.

When Belinde received this Letter and Verses, she had a good minde to send him one of hers; for hearing what a strange kinde of life he lived, and what language he used against her, she was much displeased at it, considering that it gave occasion of discourse unto such, as have no ears nor tongues, but to hear and talk of the businesse of others: Her Letter to him was this.

Belinde's Letter unto Celion.

IT is impossible I should any longer indure the injuries, which your strange kinde of life does both your selfe and me. I cannot say, but that you have reason to complain against our fortune; but I must needs also say, that any wise person cannot, without abun∣dance of blame, play the fool: Though your raptures and transport does let all the world know, that you are ready to die for the love of me; yet, you do thereby force me to believe, that in reality and truth you do not love me; for if you aid, you would never thus displease me. Do you not know, that death it selfe cannot be more horrour unto me, than that opinion which you do raise in every one, of our Amity? Take heed therefore, dear Brother, I in∣treat you, and by that name conjure you, to have a care how you blemish my honour. If you cannot endure this dysaster, without divulging it to the censorious World, then I conjure you to go away, that my name may no more be brought into question. If you do satisfie me in this, then you will make me believe, that it is a superfluitie, and not defect, of Love, which hath made you erre thus against me: And this will oblige Belinde to keep in memo∣ry her dear Brother, whom, in spite of all these in supportable injuries, she loves.

Although Celion was so transported, that he was hardly capable of any reason that his friends could urge unto him; yet his affection did so open his eyes, as he saw, that Belinde

advised him well. So as resolving upon travel, he took order for his departure, and the day before he was to goe, he writ unto his Shepheardesse, intimating his intentions of obeying her, and desiring so much favour onely, as to take his leave of her before he went. The Shepheardesse, who did really love him though she did foresee that this would but augment his sorrows, yet would not deny him his request, but appointed him to meet her the next morning at the Fountain of Sicamours.

Day did no sooner dawn, but the disconsolate Shepheard did drive his Flock towards this Fountaine, where staying by the side of it, and fixing his eyes upon the course of this streame, he waited for his Shepheardesse, and after a long silence, sighed out these Verses.

The comparison of a Fountaine unto his Griefs.

THis restless River that doth run Wave after wave as it begun, Is like my Sorrows, that doe flow Upon my soul woe after woe.

As like a Vagabond it wanders, Murmuring it self into Meanders. So I must glide away, and rove, Murmuring against my Fate and Love.

Whilst this Shepheard was thus talking to himself, and so troubled at this dysaster, as he talked loud enough to be heard a long way off, Belinde, who had not forgot the time and place of appointment, as soon as ever she had rid her self of her company, shee came unto him, so troubled at the thought of losing him, as she could not so hide her sorrows, but some appeared in her face. Ergastes, who was that morning got up betimes to walk, by fortune spied her afarre off, and seeing shee was by her self, as if she sought for some close place, hee had a minde to see whither shee intended to goe; and following her at a distance, he saw she went towards the Fountaine of Sicamours; then looking a little further, hee saw, though it was very early, a Flock feeding: Ergastes not being ig∣norant of all passages betwixt his Shepheardesse and Celion, had a conceipt that it was his Flock, and that Belinde was going unto him. Although hee did not suspect the Chastity of his Mistris; yet he was easily induced to beleeve that she did not hate him, imagining that so large a Courtship had never been, if it had been disagreeable unto her. And so, to satisfie his curiosity, as soon as he saw her amongst the Trees, so as she could not perceive him he crept nearer, and hid himself in a bush, from whence he could see the Shep∣heardesse sitting upon the grassie seats about the Fountain, and Celion upon his knees be∣fore her. Oh how he was startled as soon as he saw this! Yet because he would hear what they said, he crept close under the hedge which was about the Fountain, and so heard every syllable what the Shepheardesse said. What, Celion, said shee, is this your profession to please mee? Hath this accident more force upon you, than the power which you have gi∣ven me, hath? Where is your courage Celion, or indeed where is your affection? Have you not out of your love to me surmounted greater difficulties than this? Where is your affe∣ction? What is become of those resolves which you once professed? Would you have me beleeve that you have lesse affection unto me now, than at that time? Oh Shephead, rather rob mee of my life, than of that good will which you long since have promised unto mee. How comes it to passe that hitherto I have had as much power over you as I could desire? And why should I have any lesse for the future? Ergastes heard also what Celion answered. Is it possible, Belinde (said hee) that you can make any question of my affection, or the power you have over me? Can you be so forgetfull of all those testimonies which I have ren∣dred you of it? And must I survive that good opinion which you ought to have of mee? Can you, Belinde, tax mee in any of my actions, or ever doubt of my obedience unto all your commands? I pray, before you doe entertain any such ill opinions of mee, aske Ama∣ranthe what she thinks: Nay, ask Belinde her self, if ever she imposed any difficulty upon mee, which my affection has not surmounted? Even at this very time, when I see you are giving your selfe unto another, I am ready to leave you in the arms of one more happy than my selfe, by putting an end to my dysasterous love, and banishing my selfe for ever

from you. Alasse, can you say, that this is any want of affection or will to obey you, since I doe resent it more dismally than death it self? Oh Shepheardesse, what strange misunder∣standings are betwixt you and me? For if you doe doubt of my affection because I support this dysaster and live, I will tell you that your extreme resoluteness is too certain an argu∣ment of your small affection. But to what purpose should I retain any hopes of you, since another (O fatal word) another must enjoy you. At this word, the poor Shepheard, with∣out any strength or thought leaned upon Belinde's knee, and there swooned: Whether Be∣linde was toucht to the heart at this, I leave you to judge, fair Nymph, since she did love him as well as was possible to love, and seemed onely as if shee did not resent this sad sepa∣ration. When she saw him in this swounding fit, and thought there was no witness but the Sicamours and Fountain, she would not conceale from them what shee had kept so se∣cret from her all companions: Alass (said she and held up her hands) Oh ye soveraigne powers, either deliver me from this misery or from my life; either remove this cruel dysa∣ster, or let this cruel dysaster remove me. Then casting her eyes upon Celion, and thou, O too faithfull Shepheard (said shee) who hadst not been so miserable if thou hadst not loved me, Oh that the heavens would either give thee that contentment which thy affection de∣serveth, or else take mee out of the world, since I am the onely cause that thou endurest these miseries, which thou doest not deserve. Then pausing a while, she went on; O how hard a thing it is to love well, and be wise both together? I know very well that my Fa∣ther has good reason to bestow me upon the prudent Shepheard Ergastes, because the Al∣liance is convenient for him; but alass, what's that to mee, as long as my love and affe∣ction lookes another way. I know Ergastes deserves very well, and I could never hope for a more advantageous match than him; but how should I give my selfe unto him, when as Love hath disposed of me unto another? Reason is on my Fathers side, but Love is on mine: And not a love newly begun, but a love even from my cradle, by a long continu∣ance hath so insinuated it self into my soul, that he is more my soul than my soul it self is. Oh heavens! Is it possible to lose my soul and live? Tell me, Belinde, wilt thou not be utterly undone, when it is gone? As she uttered these words, a river of tears ran from her eyes, and fell upon the hands and cheeks of the Shepheard, who coming to himselfe by little and little, caused the Shepheardess to be silent, and wipe away her teares from her eyes lest hee should take any notice of them: And changing her countenance and voice, spake thus unto him; Shepheard, I must needs confesse I am very sensible of your pain, and did I doubt of your affection, I were the most ungreateful person in the world. But, alass, what will my acknowledgements and sensibilitie avayl, since heaven hath subjected mee unto the will of him who gave mee my being? Would you wish me to requite him with disobedience? But admit I should suffer my affection to transport me beyond my du∣ty, Will that, Celion, set us in any more tranquillity? Can it be any contentment unto you if you doe love me, to see me grieve and mourn away all my dayes? Doe you thinke my disobedience to my Father will not be a terrour to my conscience as long as I live? Yes, yes, and more unto me than any other, who have ever disallowed it in others; and I can∣not for very shame fall into that sinne my self. Let us arme our selves therefore, O Shep∣heard, with this resolution, that as hitherto, our loves though extream, could never make us commit any crime against our duties, so for the future let us never suffer it to force us un∣to it: Besides, where there is no remedy, complaints are but unprofitable: My Father hath bestowed mee upon Ergastes, and this gift can never be revoked but by Ergastes himselfe: And what small hopes is there in that? But since I had disposed of my affection before my Father, I doe promise you, and vow before all the gods, especially before them of this place, that in affection I will be yours unto my grave: And neither Father, nor Husband, nor the Tyrant, Duty, shall ever be able to make me break my Vow. Heaven has given me unto a Father, this Father has given my body unto a Husband, and my Duty commands obedience unto my Father; but neither Heaven, nor Father, nor Husband can hinder mee from having a Brother, whom I will love, as I have promised you, whatsoever becomes of me. Upon these words, foreseeing that Celion would break out into complaints and teares, shee did rise up, and kissing his cheeks as shee bade him Adieu, said thus unto him, I beseech the gods, Shepheard, give you as much contentment in your voyage, as I shall want when you are gone. Celion had neither power to answer, nor courage to follow her, but lifting up his hands, and looking after her as long as he could see her, at last the trees interposed: Then lifting up his watry eyes unto heaven, after many a deep and sad sigh he turned the other way, not caring what became of either Flock, nor any thing he had

left in his Cabin. Ergastes, who lay hid all this while under a thick bush, heard all their discourse, and was more satisfied with the vertue of the fair and wise Belinde, and more admired the strength of her courage, and excellency of her resolution, then is possible to expresse. After he had been a long time in a ravishing contemplation of all these passages, and considering upon the extream affection that was between these two Lovers; he thought, that it would be an act unworthy of himselfe, if he should be the cause of their separation, and that heaven had brought him so opprotunely to this sad farewell, purposely to let him see that errour which unawares he was going to commit. Being then resolved to la∣bour their contentment, as much as possibly he could, he began to follow Celion; but he was already so far gon, that he could not overtake him; but thinking to finde him in his Ca∣bin, he took a little path which conducted to it: but Celion was gone another way, and without speaking to any of his kindred or friends, he wandred up and down like a vaga∣bond many daies, without any designe, unlesse to shun all men, and to gather such wild fruits, as extream hunger made him gather in the woods. Ergastes seeing his designe fru∣strated that way, after a day or two's search after Celion, he came unto Belinde, hoping to understand from her which way he went, and as good fortune was, he found her in the same place where she bad adieu unto Celion, being alone by her selfe at the Fountain∣side, and thinking upon the last accident in that place, which had drawn into her eyes abundance of tears even from the very root of her heart. Ergastes, who saw her afar off, came neerer and neerer as closely as he could, purposely to surprise her; and seeing tears trickle from her eyes like two Fountains, this sight moved so much pitty in him, as he swore, not to sleep, untill he had given a remedy to her griefs; and to lose no time, step∣ping to her, he saluted her very kindly. She being-thus surprised, with tears flowing from her eyes, to dissemble the matter, faigned, as if she were washing her selfe at the Fountain, and putting her hand presently into the water, she washed her face; so as if Ergastes had not seen her tears before, he could hardly have known she had cryed: That which made him most admire her vertue was, that presently she put on a countenance of laughter, and turning towards him in a very courteous manner, she said thus unto him: I had thought, kinde Shepheard to have been alone: but I see you are come hither upon the same occasi∣on as I did, I mean, to take the fresh air, and wash your hands and eyes at this clear Foun∣tain, and truly it is the best and clearest Spring in all the Plain. Wise and fair Shephear∣desse, answered Ergastes, and smiled, you have good reason to say, that the same occasion brought us both hither, for it is very true; but in saying, that both of us come hither with intention to wash our selves in this water, I must needs contradict you, for it was neither of our designes. As for me, said the Shepheardesse, I hope you wil give me leave to tel you, that none knowes better than my self with what intention I came. I do agree, said Ergastes, that you do know it better than any other; but for all that, you cannot make me believe, that the same occasion which you say brought you hither, was really and truly the occasion. What then, said she, do you think it was? As she asked this question, she put her hands be∣fore her face, seeming as if she rubbed her forehead; but indeed, it was to hide that colour, which she perceived came into her face: Which Ergastes taking notice of, and being de∣sirous to put her out of that pain, in which he saw she was, did answer her thus: Fair and discreet Shepheardesse, never think to dissemble any longer with me, who knowes as well as you do the very secrets of your soul; and that you may the better believe me, I will tell you, that you were now thinking upon the last farewell which you gave unto Celion in this place. Who I? said she, in a great amazement. Yes, you answered Ergastes, but never be sorry that I know it: for I do so much esteem your vertue and merit, as I will do all I can to give you full contentment. I know of all the services this Shepheard hath done you, and with how much honour he hath courted you; I know with how much affection he hath continued it this many years and more then that, how you have affected him. The know∣ledge of all these things makes me desire death, rather then be any cause of your separa∣tion. Do not imagine, that any matter of jealousie makes me speak thus, for I never had the least suspition of your vertue; especially since with these ears, I heard all the wise discourse you had with him. Neither think but that I believe, I shall lose my best fortune in loving you; but the only reason which reduceth me to give you unto him, whose you ought to be, Oh wise Belinde, is because I will never suffer my contentment to be with your eternall griefe. And, because I should think my selfe culpable both to god and man if I should be a cause, why so pure and vertuous a Love should be broke betwixt you; I must also tell you, that in thus doing, I deprive my selfe of the best alliance I ever could have, and shall lose

my own content, for the satisfaction of yours. Me thinks I do in this, but what my duty commands me, and it will be no small satisfaction unto me, to think, that if Belinde be contented, Ergastes is an instrument of it. Only this I shall require, and in it you will ob∣lige me, that since I am a cause of your reunion, you will be pleased to take me in, as a Third amongst you two; and that I may have the same share in your affection, which you promised unto Celion, when you thought to have married Ergastes, so as both of you may receive me as a Brother. I am not able, fair Nymph, (said Celadon) to expresse the joy of this disconsolate Shepheardesse; nor do I think, that she her selfe did know what language to use, for the expression of her thanks; but taking him by the hand, and sitting down by the Fountain side, she told him all the whole story that had passed betwixt Celion and her selfe, and after a million of thanks, she entreated him to go himselfe to Celion; for the transport of this sad Shepheard was such, that he would not return with any else that should go and seek him, because he would never believe this story, if he heard it from any other. Ergastes, who would by all means finish the good work he had begun, resolved to go the next morning with Diamis, Celion's Brother, promising not to return, untill he had found him, and brought him back.

Being thus gone, and taken the first way their feet light upon, they wandred up and down in quest of Celion; and long had they looked in vain, if he himselfe, transported with fury, had not returned into Forrests, with a designe to kill Ergastes, and with the same sword, reach the heart of Belinde, not being able to live, and let another enjoy her. In this rage he set forward; and because he fed upon nothing but roots and herbs which he found in the high way, he was grown so weak, that he could hardly walk; and had not his rage supported him, he would have fallen down: needs therefore must he rest himselfe very oft, especially in the heat of the day. Being thus weak and weary, he sat down under some shady Trees, close by a fountain; and after he had a while resented his affliction, he fell asleep. Fortune, that was now weary with afflicting him had a minde, it seemes, to make him compleatly happy, and directed Ergastes and Diamis just to the same place, and by chance Diamis walked first. As soon as he saw his Brother he knew him, and looking be∣hinde him, told Ergastes, who being much rejoyced at it, would needs go and embrace him but Diamis would not suffer him, saying, I beseech you, Ergastes, do not acquaint my Brother too suddenly with this newes, lest it should cause his death by excessive joy; therefore I conceive it better, to let me acquaint him with it by little and little: and because perhaps he will not believe me, you may come after, and confirm him in what I said. Er∣gastes thinking this advice to be good, he went behinde some Trees, where he could not be seen, and Diamis went forward It may be said, he was inspired with some good spirit; for had Celion seen Ergastes first, perhaps his desperate rage might have proved fatall to him. As soon as Diamis came up, his Brother waked, and began to fall into his accustomed complaints; and, after he had saluted him, he said thus: I thank the gods, Brother, that I have so happily found you, to deliver a message which Belinde hath sent unto you. Be∣linde, (said he presently) What! can she have any memory of me, now she is in the armes of Ergastes? Ergastes, said Diamis, has none of Belinde in his armes; and I hope, if you have any resolution, never shall. Do you doubt, Brother, said Celion, that my resolution will fail me upon such an occasion? I would say, Prudence, replied Diamis. I fear no pru∣dence will serve, answered Celion, to alter that course which Destiny hath resolved upon. Destiny, said Diamis, is not so much your enemy as you do imagine, nor are your affairs upon such bad termes as you do think them: for, Ergastes has refused Belinde. How, said Celion, Ergastes refused Belinde? It is most certain, (said Diamis) and that you may the more believe it, Ergastes himselfe will tell you as much. Celion hearing this newes, was so amazed, that he stood still, and could not answer of a long time; but at last, recol∣lecting himselfe, he said thus unto him: Surely, Brother, you mock me. No, said Diamis, I do swear by the great Theatates, Hesius, and Thamaris, and by all that is sacred unto us, that I tell you truth, and that ere long you shall hear it from Ergastes himselfe. Then Celion lifting up his hands and eyes unto heaven, Oh gods, said he, unto what happy end have you reserved me? Then his Brother, to interrupt him, said thus: Never talk any more, Brother, of misery and death, but of joy and contentment; and above all, prepare your selfe to thank Ergastes, for the favour he hath done you, for I see him coming to∣wards us. At this word, Celion rose up, and seeing him neer, he ran to embrace him, with as much good will, as a little before he intended ill: But, when he heard the truth of the whole businesse, he fell upon his knees before Ergastes, and would have kissed his feet. I

shall omit all their discourse, Fair Nymph (said Celadon), and onely tel you, that Ergastes when he was returned, gave Belinde unto him, and with the consent of him and her father, he married her; only, desiring both Celion and Belinde to accept of him as a third in their sincere affection, he devoted himself intirely unto them, and would never marry.

This, fair and wise Nymph, said Celadon, is their Fortune, which was extreamly hap∣py unto them all three, as long as the gods permitted them to live together; for a little while after a Sonne was born unto them, whom they named Ergastes, because of the af∣fection which they bore unto the kind Ergastes, and to preserve him longer in their memo∣ry: But it hapned that in the cruel Plunder and Ravage which some strangers committed in the Provinces of the Sequanois, Viennois, and Seguntians, this little childe was lost, and doubtless dyed for want. A few years after they had a Daughter which was called Diana. But neither Celion nor Ergastes, had much joy of this childe, because they both dyed pre∣sently after in one day. And this Diana, of whom I speak, is shee who is held amongst us for one of the fairest and wisest Shepheardesses in all Forrests.

Celadon was thus relating unto the Nymph the History of Celion and Belinde, whilst Leonide and Galathea were discoursing upon the news which Flurial brought; for as soon as the Nymph saw Leonide, she took her aside, and told her, that she would not have Flurial see Celadon; for, said she, he is so much a creature of Lindamors, as he will tell him all hee sees: Keep him therefore in discourse, till I have read my Letters, and when I have done, I wil acquaint you what news. Upon this, the Nymph went out of the cham∣ber, and carried Flurial with her: Then, after some other talk, Well Flurial, said shee, what news dost thou bring unto thy Lady? Very good, answered he, and such as both you and she will be glad to hear; for Clideman is well, and Lindamor has done such wonders in a Battle, that Merovia and Childericke doe esteem him as his virtue deserves: But here is a young man with me that would speak with Silvia, and is denyed entrance by the Guards, hee can relate all particulars better than I; for hee came from thence, and I but from my Aunts, where one of Lindamors men brought these Letters, and stayes for an answer. Dost thou not know, said Leonida, what his business is with Silvia? No, answered he, he would never make me of his counsel. He must enter, said the Nymph; so going unto the doore, she remembred that she had seen him with Ligdamon, and supposing her companion desi∣red the businesse should be secret, shee would not ask him any questions, seeming as if shee knew him not; onely told him she would acquaint Silvia. Afterwards, drawing Flurial aside. D••st thou know, Flurial (said she unto him) the misfortune that is faln upon Lin∣damor? No, said hee, wee all think him to be extreamly happy; for hee has got so much Glory, that Amasis at his return cannot deny him Galathea. Oh Flurial said she, didst thou know how all things goe here, thou wouldest confesse, that the voyage of our Friend is to him a voyage of death, and I beleeve when he returns he will dye of grief Oh my good God said Flurial, what's the matter? It is as I tell thee, Flurial, said she, and there is no remedy against it unlesse it comes from thee. From me, said he, if that will doe, be confident there is nothing in the world which I will not doe. Then, said the Nymph, bee sure thou beest secret; I will tell thee more anone, but now I must see what the poor absent man has writ unto me. He sent them, said Flurial, by a youngman unto my Aunts, and she hath sent me hither with them, and here is one directed unto you. She opened it, and found these words.

Lindamor's Letter unto Leonida.

ALthough I find that distance and absence has but little power upon my soul, yet I am afraid it hath too much upon yours, whom I adore. My Faith bids me hope wel, but my Fortune menaces me with the contrary. However, the assurance that I have in my prudent Confident, makes me live in less fear: Remember therefore, that you doe not deceive the hopes I have in you, nor fail the assurance which I have of your friendship.

Well, said the Nymph; Flurial, I would have thee goe this night to the neerest Lodging thou canst find, and return to me in the morning betimes; for then I will acquaint thee with a story that shall make thee wonder. Then she called for the young man that would speak with Silvia, and carried him as far as Galathea's Anti-chamber, where bidding him to stay, she entered, and told the Nymph what she had done with Flurial. Here Leonide,

said shee, pray read this Letter which Lindamor hath written unto me: Which shee did, and found these words.

Lindamor's Letter unto Galathea.

NEither the length of my voyage, nor the horrours of VVar, no nor all the beauties of Gaule, are able to make the memory of your most faithfull servant, for get you, Ma∣dam, one minute. So as not being able to deny my affection the curiosity of knowing how my most adored Lady doth; after I had kissed your feet a thousand times, I doe present unto you, all the good fortune which Armes have favoured me withall, and lay them at your feet, as a Divinity unto whom I owe them. If you will but be pleased to accept of them, I shal think myself more honoured thereby, than by all that Renown which Fame can trum∣pet in my praise.

I care not a straw, said Galathea, neither for him nor his victories: He would oblige me much more if he would forget me. For Gods sake, Madam, said Leonide, do not say so; did you but know what a high esteem both Merovia and Childerick have of him, I cannot thinke but you would set a higher value upon him than upon this Shepheard: A Shepheard that does not love you, but even before your face, sighs for a Shepheardesse who has his heart. You will say, perhaps, that all this I say is said out of some cunning Artifice. It is very true, answered Galathea. Well Madam, answered she, you may think and say what you please, but I doe swear unto you by all that's sacred, that what I told you con∣cerning the Impostor Climanthes, and the crafty Polemas, is most true. Leonide (said Gala∣thea) you doe but lose your time: I am fully resolved what to doe, and therefore talke no more. I shall do, Madam (said Leonide) as you command me, if you will give me but leave to ask you one question, and it is this, What do you intend to do with this Shepheard? I will have him love me, answered she. How, I beseech you, do you think this love will end, said Leonide?. How eager you are, said Galathea, to know future events? Let him but once love me, and we will afterwards see how it will end. Although we cannot know fu∣ture events, said Leonide, yet every one does propose unto themselves an end at which they aym. I have no other end, said Galathea, but that of Love, nor aym at any thing else, but that he should love me. That certainly is all that you can aim at, replyed Leonide; for there is no likelyhood you should ever marry him; and if you should not marry him, what then will become of your honour? Your honour, I say, which you have ever been so tender of, will be extreamly endangered. This new affection cannot surely so blinde you, but you must needs see what wrong you do yourself, to have a man your Lover, whom you would not have your Husband. And you, Leonide, said she you that make such a scruple of it, have you any desire to marry him? I? Madam, answered she, I beseech you; do you think me so low in my own thoughts, as to look upon such a silly fellow as he? But if e∣ver there were a man that was within the compass of causing me to love, the respect I owed you, made me retreat if I did love him. When? said Galathea. Do you remember Madam, answered Leonida, when you commanded me to make no more account of Polemas? Oh, very well remembred to no purpose, said Galathea; But did you never love Celadon? Ma∣dam, answered she, I doe not love Celadon any otherwise than as a Brother; and in that she said true; for since the Shepheard and she had the last discourse, she resolved to change her love into friendship. Well Leonide, said the Nymph, let's leave this discourse both of him and Lindamor, for we have had too much of it. But what answer, said she, will you return to Lindamor? Nothing, said she, but silence. Must hee then whom he sent hither, said she, return without any answer? Let him take his own course, said Galathea. As for me, I am fully resolved, that neither for his sake, nor any others, will I make myself mise∣rable. Is it not necessary then said Leonide, that Flurial comeback? No, said she. Leonide then told her that there was a young man who desired to speak with Silvia, and that shee thought it was from Ligdamon, because he would deliver his Message unto none but Sil∣via herself. Then tell him where she is, said the Nymph; we need but draw the Curtains of Celadons Bed; for I doe assure my selfe he will bee glad to hear what Ligdamon hath writ, since I beleeve you have already acquainted him with their love. 'Tis very true, said Leonide but Silvia is of such a haughty spirit, that I am confident she will be much offended, if this Messenger should speake unto her before Celadon. Let it surprise her, said

Galathea, and go you before to bid the Shepheard, that he speak not, and draw the Cur∣tains, whilst I conduct the messenger into the Chamber. Thus these Nymphs went out, and Galathea, remembring she had seen this man with Ligdamon, asked, From whence he came, and how his Master did; also, what newes he brought from him? I come, Ma∣dam said he, from Merovea's Army; and as for any thing from my Master, I have it in my Commission to tell it only unto Silvia. You are very close it seemes, said Galathea; But do you think, that I will permit you to say any thing unto my Nymphs, unknown to me? Madam, said he, I will deliver my message before you, if you please, for I had it so in command especially before Leonida. Come then, said the Nymph: And so they came into Celadon's Chamber, where Leonida had before set all things in order, not acquainting Silvia with it, who, at first, was astonished; but afterwards, seeing Galathea with the young man, she presently imagined, that it was to keep Celadon from being seen. Silvia's surprise was very great, when she saw Egides, for so was the young man called, whom she knew presently for though she was not down-right in love with Ligdamon, yet was she not exempted from much good-will unto him; she did imagine, that he brought some newes from him, yet would not ask him. But Galathea addressing herselfe to the man: If you will deliver your message unto Silvia, said she, here you may, since she and Leonida are both here. Madam, said Egides, addressing unto Silvia, Ligdamon my Master, and the most faithfull of all the Servants which your merits acquired, hath commanded me to acquaint you with the state of his fortune desiring nothing else from heaven in recom∣pence of his fidelity, but that your heart might be moved unto some sparks of pitty, though Love could never come neer the Ice of it. What, said Galathea, and interrupted him, you speak, as if he had made his Will: How does he? Madam, said the man, addressing unto Galathea, I shall tell you, if you will please to give me leave: Then addressing himselfe unto Silvia, he began thus.

The History of Ligdamon.

AFter Ligdamon had taken his leave of you, he departed with Lindamor, and pro∣mised to himselfe, to obtain that by this voyage, which his services could not do at home; hoping either so to signalize his nameby his acts of valour, that he might become agreeable unto you; or else in dying, to make you grieve for his losse. In this designe, they came into the Army of Merovea, a Prince adorned with all Perfections requisite in a Conquerour; and came so opportunely, as the Battle was to be fought the seventh day af∣ter; so as all the young Cavalrie had no other cares, but to burnish up their Armes, and get their horses in good order. But it is not of them I am to speak, therefore passing all them over in silence, only what relates unto Ligdamon, give me therefore leave to tell you, that the assigned day of Battle being come, the two Armies drew out of their Camps, and in sight of each other ranked themselves into Battalia. Here a Squadron of Horse, there a Battalion of Foot; here the Drums, there the Trumpets; on one side the neighing of Horses, on the other side the voices of men, did make such a noise, as if B••llona had roared in the field, and displayed her most horrid Banners. As for me, I never having been before in the like service, I was so deasned with the noise, and dazled with the shining of Armes, that the truth is, I knew not where I was; yet my resolution ever was, not to abandon my Master, though nothing was to be seen but Engines of Death. But, all this was nothing, compared to that horrible confusion, when all these Squadrons met, and when the word of Combat was given.

The Cavalrie and Infantry: Men, Armes, Horses, and Engines, made a most affrighting thunder. After we had received severall clouds of Arrowes, I cannot tell you, how I came to be with my Master in the midst of his enemies, where I did nothing but admire the mi∣racles of his sword. I swear, fair Nymph, one wonder makes me forget another, so many did Ligdamon perform; and such was his valour, that Merovea desired to know his name, having observed him above all the rest of the Cavaliers. The first Squadron was al∣ready victorious, and ours rallied to fall upon the second, when the Enemy with his whole Body marched upon them, and so suddenly, that Merovea could not relieve them in time. And certainly, if he had found a Captain lesse experienced than this, he had ef∣fected his designe: But this great Souldier, imagining the despair of his Adversary, sent presently three fresh Squadrons, two, unto the two wings, and the third in the arrear of the

first; and so well, as they sustained a great part of the first shock; yet we, who were ad∣vanced, were much oppressed with numbers. At the same time, both Bodies of Infantry being joyned, that of Merovea had the better; and look, how much we gained ground upon the Horse, so much the Infantry of the Enemy lost. So it was, that upon the ene∣mies first Charge, many of our men were troden down, besides those whom Arrowes had at the first un-Horsed; amongst the rest, Clidaman was one, his Horse being killed under him with an Arrow. Ligdamon, who ever had an eye upon him, assoon as he saw him up∣on the ground, did ride up, and lay about him so couragiously, that he made a Wall of dead bodies about Clidaman, who, in the mean time, had leasure to recover himselfe from under his Horse, and who doubtlesse, without my Masters help and valour, had been tro∣den to pieces; for Ligdamon lighted from his Horse, and set Clidaman on the back of him, whilst he himselfe was so wounded and pressed with enemies, that he could not get upon that Horse which I led. Now was our party forced to recoile, wanting the invincible Arme of my Master; and we were in such a desperate condition, and we were amidst so many enemies, as there was no hopes of any life. However, Ligdamon would never render him∣selfe; and though he was wounded and weary, yet there was not an enemy, seeing what deadly blowes came from his Arme, that was so bold as to lay hold of him: At the last, five or six came galloping up with all their fury, and he having run his sword into the first Horse, it broke at the very bilt, and the horse, being run through the heart, fell up∣on him: I ran to help him up, but halfe a score more that was fallen upon him, hindred me. Thus both of us halfe dead, were carried away; and the accident was the more dyla∣sterous, because almost at the very same time, our Party recovered what they had lost, by the reliefe which Childerick brought from the Rear guard, and were Masters of the Field, burning all the enemies Hutts, most part of them being taken or killed. As for us, we were carried unto their principall City, called Rhotomages, where my Master was no sooner arrived, but many came to visit him; some said, they were his Cosens▪ others his friends, though he knew not one of them: For my part, I knew neither what to say nor think of it, when I saw so many strangers carrassing, and making so very much of him: yet much more was our amazement, when a Lady, well attended, came to visit him, saying, he was her Son, with so many demonstrations of affection, as he was almost out of himselfe; and much more, when she said, Oh Lydias my Child, how great are both my joyes and fears, at the sight of you in this place? Alas! how am I afraid to see you in this cruell Town, since your enemy Arontes, is dead of those wounds which you gave him, and since you are condem∣ned to death by Justice? For my part, I know no other way but to ransome you presently, and hide you, till you be able to get away. Ligdamon was extreamly amazed at all this, and knew that he was taken for some other; but he could not answer her, because at the very same instant, he who took him, came into the Chamber, with two Officers of the Town, to take a list of the names and qualities of the Prisoners; for many being taken they intended to exchange them. The poor Lady was much affrighted, thinking they came to seize upon him, and carry him to Prison; and hearing them ask his name, she told them her selfe but my Master said, his name was Ligdamon, a Segusian: She had an opinion, that he would dissemble his name; and to remove all suspicion, went presently to her house, with a resolution to ransome him before he was known. The truth was my Master did so resemble Lydias, that every one did take him for the same. This Lydias was a young Gallant of that Country, and being in love with a great Beauty, had fought with Arontes, his Rivall, and killed him, yet had time enough to escape the hands of Justice; but, after the death of Arontes, was so prosecuted by his friends, that Lydias, though absent, was condemned to death. Ligdamon was so wounded that he could not think of these things. I foreseeing what danger might ensure, still pressed the Mother to ransome him, which she did, yet not so secretly, but the Enemies of Lydias were acquainted with it; so as the very same day that this good Lady paid the ransome, and carried him to her house, the Offi∣cers of Justice came and carried him to Prison, say what Ligdamon could. Thus being by every one taken for Lydias, he was in very great danger: but much more the next mor∣ning when he was examined upon such interrogatories, of which he was so ignorant, that he knew not what to answer. However, the Judges persisted in their former judgment, and confirmed it, giving him no longer term than the healing of his wounds. The noise was presently all about the Town, that Lydias was a Prisoner, and condemned to die, not on∣ly as a Murderer, but as a Rebell, being taken in Armes for the Franks; and therefore, as the custome of that time and place was, for such an offence, he was to be put into a Den

of Lions; nothing else was talked of through all the Town: At last, it came to my ears; upon which I disguised my selfe, and with the help of that good Lady, who had paid his ransome, I came to Paris, unto Merovea and Childerick, whom I acquainted with the accident at which they were much astonished, thinking it almost impossible, two persons should resemble so much as to finde no difference; but to prevent any danger, they present∣ly sent two Heraulds of Armes, to acquaint the enemy with their errour. But all this conduced to no purpose, but confirmed them in their opinion, and rather hasted the exe∣cution of the Sentence than otherwise. The wounds of Ligdamon were now healed, so as they pronounced the Sentence, That he should die by Lions, which should be his Exe∣cutioners; yet, being of a noble Family, they would do him so much favour, as to let him wear his Sword and Dagger, as Armes belonging to a Cavalier; with which, if he had so much courage, he might defend himselfe, or at least, generously revenge his death. At that time they returned unto Merovea, that thus they alwaies punished their own Country∣men, who were Traitors unto their Country. Thus see poor Ligdamon in most pittifull danger; yet, his Courage that never fainted, unlesse in matters of Love, seeing there was no other remedy, resolved to defend himselfe as well as he could. Lydias being one of the best Families of the Neustrians, almost all the Citty assembled to behold this Spectacle. When he was ready to be put into this close horrour, his only request was, that he might fight with these Lions one after another. The people hearing this just demand, did ap∣prove of it by their acclamations and clapping of hands, in spite of the prosecutors. Now, see Ligdamon alone in a great Court, and the Lions seeing their prey through some Bars, did roar so horridly, as would have chilled the blood of any, but him; who taking notice which dore first opened, lest he should be surprised, he saw a huge hungry Lion come out, who at the first, pawing with his foot upon the ground, and striking himselfe with his taile, he began to stretch forth his paw, and open his clawes, as if he would shew him what death he should die. Ligdamon seeing no safety but in his own valour, assoon as ever he saw him begin to walk, he darted his Dagger so dexterously to the Lions breast, as the point of it pierced his heart, and the beast fell dead immediately. Great was the shout of the people! for every one observing his courageous behaviour, his valour and dexterity, they did wish him well in their very hearts. But he, that knew the severity of the Judges would not be thus satisfied, he ran presently to take his Dagger again, which he had no sooner got into his hand, but another Lion, no lesse furious then the first, came running furiously upon him, so as Ligdamon was like to be surprised, but he stepped a little aside out of this raging Animal's full carrier, and cut him over the eyes; upon which, the furious beast turned so short upon him, that Ligdamon stepping back to fetch another blow, he fell; but so, that in falling, the Lion coming over him, he ran him into the belly, and so mortally, as he fell dead as soon as the first did. Whilst Ligdamon was thus fighting for his life, a Lady, one of the fairest of all the Neustrians, kneeled down before the Judges, beseeching them to stay Execution untill she had spoken unto them; her name was Ame∣rina, the very same for whom Lydias had killed Arontes, and who, though much asha∣med, yet, spake thus unto the Judges: Sirs, Ingratitude is a sin as great as Treason, and I deserve a punishment as great as his, did I not save his life, as he formerly ventured his to save my honour. Therefore I do present my self before you, and claim the Priviledge, which is, That any condemned Person shall be delivered, if any Virgin do come and ask him for her Husband: Assoon as I heard of your judgment, I came with as much haste as I could, to demand him; and since I am now come yet in the nick of time, I hope you will not deny me justice, and him to be my Husband. The people hearing this, shouted for joy, and cryed, Favour, Favour; and though the enemies of Lydias did urge the contrary, yet it was conclu∣ded, that the Priviledge should be observed: But alas! Ligdamon came out of one danger, to enter into another, and greater; for being brought before the Judges, they let him understand the custom of the Country, which was such, That any man who was condem∣ned for any crime, should be released from execution of Justice, if any Virgin came and de∣manded him for her husband: so as if he would marry Amerina, he should be released to live with her. Ligdamon, who did not know her was extreamly put to it for an answer: Yet seeing no other remedy to avoid the danger wherein he was, he promised that he would, hoping that time would finde out some expedient to get out of this Labyrinth. Amerina, who knew that Lydias alwaies loved her, was not a little amused to see him so faint & cold in the businesse; yet thinking that the terror of the danger in which he was had made him so, she pittyed him the more, and carried him into the house of Lydias Mother, who pro∣cured

this Marriage, knowing there was no other way to save her Sons life, which caused her to presse on this Marriage as soon as it was possible, thinking that it would the more please her Sonne, whom she knew was in love with Amerina. But, alass, all this was to hasten his death. Oh my dear Master, When I think upon thy last words which you spake unto me, I cannot chuse but wonder, how it is possible I should live. All things being ready for the Marriage, and the time of Ceremony being come, he took me aside, and said thus unto me; Oh Egides, my friend, Didst thou ever see such a peece of Fortune as this, that they would make me beleeve I am not my self? Sir, said I unto unto him, me-thinks your fortune is not bad; Amerina is fair and rich, every one sayes her Parents are of the best Families in all the Country, What can you desire more? Oh Egides, said he, thou talkest merrily; but didst thou know the condition I am in, thou wouldst pitty me: I know thy fidelity, and therefore I trust and conjure thee to carry this Letter unto the fair Silvia, and tell her all thou hast seen: And tell her further, that I did never love any but her, nor will I ever love any other: Upon these words hee gave mee this Letter, which I have carefully kept ever since that morning when he went unto the Temple, and when he called me, ma∣king me swear again, that I would the next day come in all haste unto you; Then came a Messenger to conduct him to the Nuptial Chariot, in which Amerina already was, with one of her Uncles, whom shee honoured as her Father. Shee fate in the middle betwixt Ligdamon and Caristes (so was her Uncle called). Before the Chariot went all their own Family, and after it followed their Kindred, Friends, and Allies. In this Triumph went they unto the Temple, and when they came there, they were led up to the Altar of Hymen, upon which five Torches were lighted; on the right side of Hymen was placed Jupiter and Juno, on the left side Venus and Diana: As for Hymen, he was crowned with Flowers and sweet Marjerome, held in his right hand a Torch, and in his left, a Vail, of the same colour of Amarine's. When they came first into the Temple, the Mother of Ly∣dias and Amarine lighted their Torches. Then the chiefe Druide comming unto them, addressed his speech unto my Master, and asked him this question: Lydias, will you have Amarine to be the Mother of your Family? It was long before Ligdamon would speak; but at last, he was forced to say, Yes. Then the Druide turning towards her: And you Amarina, Will you have Lydias for the Father of your Family? And she answering, Yes, he then taking their hands, and putting them together, he said: And I, in the steed of the great gods, do give you one unto another; for ever after, eat your bread together. And then taking the Barley-cake, my Master broke it, and, according to the custome, they did eat of it together. Now there rested no more to be done to compleat the Ceremony, but to take the Wine and drink: Then he turned towards me, and said: I do conjure you, Friend, as the best service you ever did me, to give me the Cup: Which I did, and alas, too soon. Assoon as he had it in his hand, he said in a loud voice: O ye great gods, who know that I am not Lydias, do not revenge my death upon this fair Lady, whose errour, in taking me for some other, more happy than my selfe, hath redeemed me from one kinde of death, to give me unto another: Upon this word, he drank up all that was in the Cup; which was contrary to the Custome, for the Husband should have drunk one halfe, and the Wife the other: Upon which, she smiled, and said unto him: It seemes, Lydias, you have forgot the Custome, for you should have left me a part. God forbid, wise Amarina, said he, for it is poyson, which I have chosen to finish my life withall, rather then fail in my promise to you, and in my affection which I owe unto the fair Silvia. Oh my god, said she is this possible? And then thinking that he was Lydias, but that during his absence, he had changed his minde, and not desiring to live without him, she ran with the Cup in her hand to the Bottle, where the poysoned wine was, and before Ligdamon was aware, had drunk it off; for the Apothecary, whom Ligdamon had prepared had filled the Bottle full: Afterwards returning to him, she said; You cruell man, had rather have death then me, and I, rather then be without you. Oh Amerina, said Ligdamon, I confesse, that I had offended, if I had been him you took me for: but, believe me, now I am upon my last breath, I am not Lydias, but Ligdamon, and time will discover the error: However, I choose death, rather then break my promise made unto the fair Silvia, unto whom I have consecrated my life, since I am not able to satisfy both. Then he continued: Oh fairest Silvia accept of this good will I now offer unto thee, and of all my actions, let this last be best received, since it is imprinted with the noble character of Fidelity. The Poyson now began to work by degrees upon the spirits of these two new-marryed persons, so as he could hardly breathe, when turning his head towards me, he said, Go, go, my friend, go,

and do thy businesse, relate what thou hast seen, and that death is more welcome unto me than life, which would have stained that Fidelity, which I have vowed unto the fair Sil∣via. Silvia was the last word he ever spake, for as he uttered it, his Soul departed out of his Body into the Elizian fields, where if ever any Lover was happy, it is he, in expecta∣tion of seeing you there with him. Is it then certainly true, (said Silvia) that Ligdamon is dead? Alas! too true, answered he. Oh ye gods! cryed out Silvia. All she was able to do, was, to lie down upon the bed, for her heart quite failed her; where after she had been awhile, she called for Leonida, to take Ligdamon's Letter, and to tell Egides, that she would have him serve her. Thus Egides with-drew, with eyes swimming in tears. Now did Love shew his power; for this Nymph, who never much loved Ligdamon alive, now she heard of his death, she expressed as much griefe, as was possible for any Lover. Upon this occasion, Galathea talking unto Celadon, she said, That hereafter she would think it impossible, that a woman should never in her life love any one; for, said she, this Nymph hath been too cruell unto all those that loved her, that some have dyed for very griefe, others have been banished out of her sight by despair; and this very man, whom she now la∣ments for, she did heretofore drive into such extremity, that but for Leonida, he had then dyed also so as I durst have sworn, Love would have sooner harboured in the most snowie part of the Alps, than in her heart; and yet you may see, unto what she is reduced now. Do not think this to be Love, Madam, said Celadon, but rather Pitty; for, she had been the hardest piece of Marble that ever was, had she not been extreamly perplexed at this re∣port. For my part I think Ligdamon more happy, than if he were alive, since he loved this Nymph so extreamly, and she was so hard hearted unto him: For what greater hap∣pinesse can be, then to be at the end of misery, and to enter into felicity? How joyed would he be, to see Silvia mourn for him, and set a value upon his affection? No, no, Madam, Ligdamon is not to be mourned for so much, as Silvia; for you shall see, that all her minde and fancy will run upon Ligdamon: The discourse, the garb, the affection, the va∣lour, and briefly, every action of this Lover, will, in revenge of her cruelty, continually torment her minde, and will in revenge, be the Executioner of Love's justice. This dis∣course was spoken so loud, and so neer Silvia, that she heard it all, and it did but increase her griefe: so as she went out of this Chamber into her own, where she could no longer restrain her tears: for, shutting the dore after her, and desiring Leonida to leave her, she threw her selfe upon the bed, where, with watry eyes, and folded armes, she called to minde all the former life of Ligdamon, how great his love was, how patiently he endured all her rigour, with what discretion he served her, how constant he was in his love, and in the end, said she, all this is now enclosed in a little piece of earth. Then calling to minde her own demeanor, her discourses, her farewells, her impatiencies, and a thousand more particulars, she was forced to say, Oh fatall memory, let the ashes of my dear Ligdamon rest in peace; if thou dost torment me thus, I know he will not be contented with it. At last, after she had been a while mute; Well, said she, it is resolved upon, be my life long or short, as it shall please the Fates, I will never cease loving my dear Ligdamon, nor forget his affection or vertues. Galathea in the mean while opened Ligdamon's Letter, which was in Leonida's hands, and found in it these words.

Ligdamon's Letter unto Silvia.

IF you are offended at my over-boldnesse in loving you, my death will revenge your Qua∣rell: If you stood neutrall and indifferent, I am confident, this last act of affection will have such an operation upon your soul, as will gain me some more esteem; which if it do, I shall cherish my resemblance of Lydias more, then my own birth; since by the one, I was but a trouble, and by the other, acceptable unto you.

These are the great revenges of Love, said Celadon: And I do remember another, though upon another subject, how a Shepheard writ this Epitaph upon a jealous Husband,

An EPITAPH. Upon a Jealous Husband.

HEre, in this durty Dungeon, lies One of god Cupid's enemies. The wages of his crime was death, Who troubled all, whilst he had breath.

This Tyrant ever made a Theft Of Love, which ought to be a gift. This was the man, who, Argos ey'd, More faults than ever was, espi'd.

And out of his depraved Minde, Still look'd for what he would not finde. But Love at last did stop his breath, And in revenge did send him death.

Love injur'd, though he make no haste, Will be revenged yet at last.

It is most true, answered Galathea, Love never suffers an offence committed against him, to escape unpunished; and hence it is, we see so many strange accidents in all human acti∣ons. And therefore Celadon, I wonder that you po•• not tremble for feare, and every moment expect an Arrow of revenge from that god. Why should I fear, said the Shepheard, since it is I that am the offended party? Ah Celadon, said the Nymph, were all things equally ballanced, you would finde your offences committed much grea∣ter, then those you have received. This is the very height of misery, said Celadon, that a person afflicted should be thought happy, and when his pain is palpable, yet not to be pit∣tied. But I pray tell me, Shepheard, said the Nymph, does not Ingratitude, of all crimes and offences that are accounted great, hold the first place? Doubtlesse it does, answered the Shepheard. If it do, said Galathea, how can you clear your selfe, since for all the love and affection I have shewed unto you, I receive nothing but a hollow faintnesse and disdain from you? This for all; considering what I am, and considering what you are, I cannot conceive, how I have any waies offended against Love, that he should punish me with so much rigour. Celadon was extreamly sorry for beginning this discourse; but since it was already on foot, he resolved to clear himselfe, and therefore said thus unto her: Madam, I know not how to give an answer unto your speeches, but by blushes; yet Love, which makes you speak, constraines me to answer. That which you call ingratitude in me, I must call Duty; and if you shall please to ask me my reason, I shall give it. What reason can you give, said Galathea, unlesse that you do love another, and that your faith is ob∣liged to her? But let me tell you, that the Law of Nature is before all others, and that Law commands us, to seek and prefer our own good before anothers: And can you desire a greater good than my affection? Whom have you in the Country like me, who can do as I can for you? These are meer mockeries, Celadon, to insist so much upon these follies of Fidelity and Constancy; termes invented only by old women and ugly to keep such within their Pales, as their faces has set at liberty. They say, all the Vertues are chained together; Constancy cannot be without Prudence: And can it be any Prudence to let go a certain good, only to avoid the bare name and title of Inconstant? Madam, (answered Celadon) Prudence never taught us to thrive by any shamefull means; nor did the Lawes of Nature ever command us to build, before we have a sure foundation. Is there any thing more dis∣honest and shamefull, than not to observe and be punctuall in promises? Is there any thing fuller of levity, than a Minde, that like a Bee, flying from flower to flower, is still in quest of new sweetnesse? If Fidelity be once lost, Madam, what sure foundation can I have in your affection? Since you follow the Law which you speak of, I shall remain no longer in this happinesse, then you stay in a place, where there is no Man, but my selfe.

The Nymph and the Shepheard discoursed thus, whilst Leonida went into her Cham∣ber, to dispatch a Letter unto Lindamor, which was, to invite him home with all haste,

otherwise to despair for ever: And the next morning, when Flurial came again, after she had given him her Letter, she said thus unto him: Go Flurial, let thy love to Lindamor be seen in thy haste; for delay may be no lesse then death unto him. Go, or rather, flie; bid him return with all speed, and in his return, go straight to the house of Adamas, whom I have gain'd to him; there he shall finde the most notable treachery in Love that ever was invented; but if it be possible, let him come unknown. Thus Flurial departed, so desirous to serve Lindamor, that he would not go unto his Aunts, because he would lose no time. Thus three or foure daies passed on, during which time, Celadon began to long for the return of the Druide, in hopes, that when he came, he should then get out of this place; and to make the time seem lesse tedious, he went sometimes into the Garden, and sometimes into the Woods; but never without the company of one of the Nymphs, and often all three: Silvia's humour pleased him best, as most sympathizing with his own, and therefore he courted her as much as he could.

It hapned one day, being all four together, that they passed by the Grotto of Damon and Fortune; and because the entrance seemed to be very fair, and made with much art, the Shepheard asked, what it was? To whom Gaelathea answered, Will you see, Shepheard, one of the greatest proofes of Love's power, that ever was? What is that, said the Shep∣heard? It is, said the Nymph, the Loves of Mandrague and Damon; as for the Shephear∣desse Fortune, that is ordinary. Who is that Mandrague, said the Shepheard? If one may know what the Worker is, by the Work, said Galathea, you will finde her to be one of the greatest Magicians in all Gaul; for 'twas she, who by her enchantments, made this Grotto, and many other Rarities that are within it. Then entring in, the Shepheard was ravished with the curiosity of the work; the entrance was very high and spacious; on both sides, in lie•• of Pillars, were great Statues, which with their shoulders, supported the Arches of the Portall: The one represented Pan, the other Syringes, which were most industriously car∣ved into hair, veines, eye-browes, and beard; also the hornes of Pan were excellently wrought: The Arch without was of Rustick work, and the Vault, both without and within, was adorned with abundance of excellent Statues, which being hollow within, conveyed water into severall Fountains, and every one of them represented some effect of the puissance of Love. In the midst of the Grotto was a Tombe, some twelve or fourteen foot high; and all about it hung such pictures, as the sight of them deceived the judgment: The space betwixt every piece was filled up with a Demi-columne of black polished Mar∣ble, and at the top was a Cornish of white Marble, unto which the severall pictures were chained. After Celadon had contemplated them in generall, he was so full of curiosity, as he desired to know more of the particulars, and therefore to give an occasion to the Nymph to say something more upon every part, he commended the Invention and Art of the worker. These are the spirits of Mandrague, (said the Nymph) who were left here, to testifie, that Love does not pardon either old or young, fair or foul; and to relate unto those who come hither, the unfortunate Loves of Damon and she, and of the Shephear∣desse Fortune. But, said Celadon, is this the Fountain of Love's Verity? No, said the Nymph, but that is not far from hence: But would I had so much ingenuitie, as to interpret these Pictures unto you, for the story is very well worthy of your knowledge. As she was beginning to expound them, she saw Adamas enter, who being returned, and not finding the Nymphs within, imagined that they were gone to walk; and after he had hid the clothes which he brought, he came after them. Galathea no sooner saw him, but she cryed out, Oh Father, you are come in excellent good time to help me out; and then addressing unto Celadon, Here's one, Shepheard, said she, that will satisfie you in the story of these Pi∣ctures. Then after she had asked him how he did, and after salutations on all parts, Ada∣mas, in obedience to the Nymphs commands, and to satisfie the Shepheards curiosity, going with them neer the Tomb he began thus.

The History of Damon and Fortune.

AS the Work-man is pleased to make his work, and form it into what he pleaseth, so likewise the great gods, by whose hands we are all formed, are pleased to make us act such parts upon the Theater of this world, as they have put upon us: But amongst all, there was none that had such fantasticall imaginations as Love; for he makes the old grow young, and the young old, and all in the twinkling of an eye. This History, which is

fuller of truth than I wish it were, will make this so evident, that it cannot be denyed, as by the sequell of my discourse you will finde.

The first Picture.

BEhold there a Shepheard, sitting upon the ground, with his back against an Oake, 〈◊〉〈◊〉 legs acrosse, and playing upon Bag-Pipe. That is the Shepheard Damon, whose perfection of face gives him the title of Fair. This young Shepheard fed his Flock upon the banks of Lignon, descended from one of the best Families about Mount Verdam, and nor far off in kindred from the old Cleontine, and Leonida's Mother, so consequently my Allie. Observe how his face, besides the beauty of it, does lively represent a person, whose cares are only to content himselfe; for you cannot finde the least cloudy imagination in his brow. Then on the contrary, remove your eye, and observe those Shepheardesses that are about him, then you will judge by their composure of face, that they are not without much paines: For, as Damon's spirit is quiet and free, so these Shepheardesses have hearts extreamly passionate towards him; and yet you see, he will not daigne to bestow a look upon them: And therefore there is placed by him on the right hand, that little boy, with a Bow, and a Torch in his hand, his eyes bound up, his back winged, and upon his shoul∣ders a Quiver. This is Love, who being much offended at the disdain of this Shepheard to these Shepheardesses does swear that he will be revenged of him. And for the imbellish∣ment of the piece, observe well the shaddowes and proportions of every part; observe how the arme of the Shepheard, does as it were, stir and blow his Bag-pipe which is betwixt his arm and body, and how the Pipes end at which he blowes, hath a little lost his co∣lour; the reason of it is, because the mouth of the Shepheard hath worn it away. Look up∣on the left hand, and see how his Flocks doe feed; see how some lie down in the shade, and those two Ra••••••s running against each other with all their force. The duty of the Dogs is not to be passed by unobserved, how like Centinels, they are placed upon hills, and ready to run upon any necessity. Do but look well upon the curious industry of the Painter, for whereas Dogs that are dull, and sleep without care use to lie round, and hide their heads often under their pawes; these here do lie after another manner, to shew, they do not sleep, but rest themselves only; for they do lie upon their four feet, with their nose upon them, and eyes alwaies open. But let us look upon the other Picture.

The second Picture.

THis is quite contrary to the other; for that is all Disdain this Love: That shewes only pride and scorn, in this appeares nothing but humility and sweetnesse; And this is the cause of it: Look well upon yonder Shepheardesse, which sitteth under that shade, how fair she is, and handsomely drest. Look how the gentle winde whistles her hair backward, and makes it spread upon her shoulders: It is the fair Shepheardesse Fortune, in whose fa∣vour Love promiseth revenge upon Damon, who is that Shepheard which is next her, lea∣ning upon his Sheephook.

Observe those little Cupids which are all so busie about them, and each of them atten∣tive upon what he doth; see how one of them is taking measure of the Shepheardesse's eye∣brow, and gives it unto another, who having stollen some of that Beautie's hair is ma∣king a Bow string of it for his Companion; see how he sits upon the ground and twines it betwixt his finger and his thumb; and that he may the better twine it a third fetches him a handfull of a Lovers tears, to wet his fingers. See how another is bending his Bow, setting the one end of it to the ground, the other to his breast, and leanes upon it to make it bend. Cupid, who is a little higher, having in his left hand a Bow, and right hand be∣hinde his ear, as if he were ready to let an Arrow flie; see how he drawes back his arme, lifts up his elbow, his three first fingers open, and the rest close, and so levells at a mark, which he hits: for the poor Shepheard, whom he shot at, was so wounded, that nothing but death can cure him. But look on the other side, and see how Anteros, with Violets and Roses, dresses the arme and head of the fair Shepheardesse Fortune, and tying a Chain about the neck of the Shepheardesse, gives the end of it unto the Shepheard. This represents unto us, that the merits, love, and services of this Shepheard, which are deno∣ted by those flowers, do oblige Fortune unto a reciprocall love of him. And if you think it strange, that Anteros here should be represented bigger than Cupid, it is to let you un∣derstand,

that Love which proceeds from Love, is alwaies greater then that from which it doth proceed. But lee us passe to the third.

The third Picture.

LOok here upon your pleasant River of Lignon, see how it has a double source, the one comming from the Mountaines of Cervieres, and the other from the Chilmasell hills, and meet a little below the Merchants Town of Boinge. How well the Channell is drawn? how the River runs crooked, and the banks full of Offers? Do you not know the Wood there, which joynes to the great Plain, where the Shepheards use to feed their Flocks? If that tuft of Trees on the left hand, where the River cringles it selfe like unto a Serpent, and makes a halfe Moon in another, seem strange unto your eye, and is not so at this houre, you must know, that the Picture notwithstanding is true; for since it was drawn, some Trees are decayed, others cut down, and others growne in their room. Then look a little lower the River, and behold a flock of sheep feeding in the shade; that is the flock of Damon, whom you may see there in the River up to the Middle: Observe how that young copps of Trees do bid resistance to the Sun, and as it were, rejoyce, that they have another under them and yet, such is the piercing curiosity of the Sun, that it findes a passage be∣tween some leaves, for some of its rayes: Take notice how well the shade and the rayes are represented. But certain it is, that the Shepheard cannot be surpassed in beauty; look wel upon the delicate proportion and symmetry of his face; his tall and proper stature; and see how every part is painted in the height of perfection; although he stoopes a little to reach the water, and with his right arme washeth his left, yet for all that, you may easily perceive his perfect beauty. Then cast your eye upon the other side of the River, and there you may behold uglinesse in its height, as on this side you did beauty: for there amongst those dirty Rushes, you may see the Sorcerene Mandrague, looking upon the Shepheard as he is bathing himselfe; see how she is drest, as it were, in spite of those that look upon her: her rufled hair, her foul and naked arme, and her pittifull petticoat, tucked up higher then her ugly knee: I believe, and so would any that she was going to conjure. But see here the strange effects of Beauty. This old Hag, with one hip in her grave, with her little, lean, wrinckled, and meager face, and hair as gray as old age could make it; she is not ashamed to fall in love with this young and lovely Lad: If there be any sympathy in Love, as they say there is, I wonder where it could be betwixt Damon and her; look what an extasy she is in, how she lifts up her hoary head, and withered hands, and intending to smile makes a miserable mouth: But be she as ugly as she is, she intends to love and court this Shepheard. Then lift up your eyes a little higher, and see how Venus and Cupid in that cloud, looking upon this new Lover do seem as if they laughed at it. Certainly this was some wager, which that little god had laid with his Mother, that he could make this wither'd stump bestir her selfe in Love; or if it were not upon a wager, it was to shew by this old hag, that dry wood burnes better and sooner then green; or else, to shew his power upon this aged Monument, he would try what heat was in his Torch, with which, it seemes, he can inspire new soules; and, in a word, make life revive, and come out of the grave.

The fourth Picture.

PAsse then unto the next, and you shall see night very well represented; See how in that gloomy shade, some Mountains do a little appear, but so, as you can hardly tell what they be. Observe how these stars do seem as if they twinkled; there is Ursa major, which though it have seven and twenty stars belonging to it, yet the judicious workman has re∣presented clearly unto us but twelve; and of that twelve, but seven that shine clear. There again is Ursa minor; And consider, that though all these seven stars do never hide them∣selves, yet one of them is of the third Magnitude, and foure of the fourth; and yet to us, they seem all of the same proportion. There is also the Dragon, unto which belongs thir∣ty and one stars; yet thirteen only to be seen, five of which are of the fourth Magnitude, and eight of the third. There again is Adrian's Crown, which hath in it eight stars, whereof one is more splendent then the rest. Behold there the Milkie way, by which, the Romans say, that the gods used to go and come from heaven. How well those clouds are represented? how in some places they cover the sky with a dusky thicknesse, in others lesse,

as they are more or lesse in height, so in clearnesse. Now let us consider the Story of this Picture: Look upon Mandrague in the midst of a Circle, with a wand in her right hand, and an old worm-eaten book in her left, with a candle of green wax, and a pair of rotten spectacles on her nose; see how she seemes to mutter her mouth awry, her browes like clouds, and every action seemes to groan out her affection: Observe how her feet, her arms, her left side is naked, being on the same side with her heart: All those phantasmes which you see about her, are Demons and Spirits, which she conjures up unto her by her charms, to know of them what she should do to make Damon love her▪ They tell her of his affecti∣on unto Fortune, and that there is no better way, then to tell him, that this Shephear∣desse loves another and not him; and in order to that, it is requisite, she should presently change the vertue that is in the Fountain of Loves verity. Before you go any further, ob∣serve the art of the Drawer; see the effects of Mandrague's candle in the dark, how light it is on her left side, and how dark it is on the other side of her face, as if it were two diffe∣rent complexions. Then see what a difference the shadow of this candle makes amongst the Demons, some in darknesse, some in light, as she does turn her selfe. Observe again the Painters art in drawing his distances, somethings at hand, and some afar off; Mandrague here is far off at the Fountain of Loves verity. But for your better understanding, be plea∣sed to know, that a little before, there was a fair Shepheardesse, the Daughter of a very cunning Magician, was secretly desperately in love with a Shepheard. Whether it was, that the charmes of Magick had no influence upon the charmes of Love, or that he was so attentive upon his studies, that he did not minde her; but so it was, that after a most extream affection, and disdain of the Shepheard, she took it so to heart, that she dyed, and all her Fathers skill could not help her: At which the Magician being extreamly sorry when he understood the occasion, to eternize her memory, he changed her Tombe into a Foun∣tain; which he called the Verity of Love, because whosoever looked in it, he should see his Mistresse, and if she did love him, he should see her and himselfe together; and if she did not love any, then she should appear alone. And this is the vertue that Mandrague would change, to the end, that when Damon came to look into the Fountain, he might finde that his Mistresse loved another, and so his affection unto her might die, and she her selfe might possesse it. See how she did inchant it, what Characters she makes about it, what Circles, what Triangles, and od Figures she useth. Before she began to conjure, she called all her Divells about her, to her aide; yet Love being stronger then all they, they durst not attempt any thing against him, only counselled her, to betray these two faithfull Lovers, and to forbear that qualitie for a certain time. Now since the vertue of this Fountain did sust come unto it by a Magician; Mandrague, who excelled all her Predecessors in that Science, might easily obtain that request. But let us passe to the next Picture.

The fift Picture.

THis Piece contains two actions: The first is Damon, when he came unto this Foun∣tain, to be satisfied in those doubts into which an angry Dream had put him. The other, when being deceived by the art of Mandrague, and saw that the Shepheardesse Fortune loved another, in despair, he killed himselfe. Now let us see how these things are represented: See Damon there with his Faulchion, for he was in his hunting equipage; observe how his Dog followes him, look how that observant Animal eye's his Master; for whilst he looked in the Fountain, the Dog fixed his eye upon him, as if he were desirous to know what it was which so amazed him. Mandrague had in a dream let him see Ma∣radon, a young Shepheard, who taking one of Cupid's Arrowes, opened Fortune's breast, and took away her heart. Damon, as all Lovers are, being in much doubt, as soon as ever he waked, got up, and went to the Fountain, to see whether his Mistresse still loved him. I beseech you observe very well his amazement, if you compare his face which is in all the other three Pictures, with this, you shall finde a strange alteration. Those two faces which you see in the Fountain, is the Shepheardesse Fortune's, and the other the Shepheard Ma∣radon's, which the Witch caused to be represented rather then the other: and so Damon believed his Shepheardesse loved Maradon, which beliefe made him resolve upon death. Do you see how the water seemes to tremble, that is caused by poor Damon's tears, that had dropped into it. But let us pass on to the second Action: The dead man whom you see lying upon the ground, is poor Damon, who being desperate, killed himself with

his Falchion. His action is very naturally done, with one Arm engaged under his body, being surprised with the suddennesse of the fall, and having no strength to recover himself; his head hanging over his right shoulder, his eyes half shut, and half turned upwards; his mouth open, his teeth apparent, and so all signes of a sudden death: A man quite dead is not represented, but a man betwixt life and death, as if there were a medium. Look how the blood is running out of his wound; I do not think you ever saw any thing more natu∣rally represented. But let us see what is in the other peece.

The sixth Picture.

NOw be pleas'd to look upon the sixth and last Peece; which containes four actions of the Shepheardesse Fortune: The first is a Dream which Mandrague caused her to have; The other, how she went unto the Fountain to clear her doubts: The third, how she complains against the Inconstancy of her Shepheard: And the last is, how she dies, which is the conclusion of this Tragedy. Let us look upon all these particulars: Look upon the Rising of the Sun, observe how long the shadows are; how the sky is not so clear on the one side; see how clouds and mists are expelled; and how those little Birds do dresse and prune themselves against its approach. Passe your eye a little further, and see the Shep∣heardesse Fortune asleep in her bed and how the Sun shines through the window upon her naked breast: Also the sleeve of her smock being loose, the beauty of her Arm as high as the Elbow is to be seen. See how the Daemons of Morpheus doe hover about her; all which are so many servants unto Mandrague, and inspire her with a minde to goe unto the Fountain of Loves verity; which accordingly shee did, having dreamed that her Shep∣heard was dead; and therefore shee came to the Fountaine of Loves verity, to know the truth: She had no sooner cast her eye upon the water, but she saw Damon; but, alass, she saw by him the Shepheardess Melinde, a fair Shepheardess, and one who was never suspe∣cted to love Damon: yet, though hee neither did love her, shee was by this Sorcery to appear: See how Fortune bewails the accident in the very same place, where Damon was almost dead. Behold how sadly she sits against yonder Rock; her arms crossed upon her breast: It seems as if she sighed, and her heart panted, her eyes looking up to heaven, ask∣ing revenge upon the Persidie which shee beleeves Damon to bee guilty of; and because her passion was extream, she complained against him in a very loud tone: And Damon, who you see near her, though hee was at the last gasp, yet hearing the lamentation of his Shep∣heardess, and knowing her voice, did call unto her. She hearing a faint hollow voice, went towards him. Oh heavens! how the sight of him did amuse her? and forgetting the occa∣sion of her comming thither, when she saw him in that condition, she asked who had used him so: It is, said hee unto her, the change of my fortune: It is your Inconstancy which hath deceived me with a shew of affection. To be brief, it is the happiness of Maradon, whom I saw in the Fountain next you; and doe you thinke it possible I should live and see you love another? Fortune hearing this, Oh Damon, said shee, this Fountain is an errant Lyar; for it hath also shewed me Belinde next you, whom I see dying for the love of me. Thus these two Lovers found out the falsity of this Fountain, and being more assured than ever of each others affection, they dyed in each others Armes; Damon of his wound, and Fortune for griefe of his death. Behold there the Shepheardesse sitting against a massie Rock, and Damon leaning his head in her lap, taking his last farewel, and bidding her, A∣dieu. See how indulgent she is about tying up his wound, and stooping to kisse him, whilst her lap is full of blood. That old hagg which is next them, is Mandrague the Witch, who finding them both dead, cursed her Art, hated all her Daemons, tore her hair, and extreamly grieved at the death of these two faithful Lovers, and her own contentment. Look a little further off, and see how Cupid weeps, his Bow and Arrows broken, his Torch extinguished, and his eyes swimming in teares for the losse of these two faithfull Lovers.

Celadon was all this while very attentive unto the discourse of the sage Adamas, and often blamed himself for want of courage in not using the same remedy Damon did. And because these considerations made him very mute, Galathea taking Celadon by the hand, and going out of the Grotte, she said thus unto him; What doe you think, Celadon, of the effects of Love? I doe think, said he, that the effects of Love are simplicity and folly: And it is a popular errour, wherewith every one is apt to cover their ignorance or excuse their faults, alwaies to attribute those effects unto some Divinity, when they do not know

the causes. Why, said the Nymph, doe you think, there is no Love? If there be, replyed the Shepheard, it must be nothing but sweetness: But bee it what it will, Madam, you speak of it unto one that is the most ignorant person that lives: For, besides my qualities, which will not permit me to know much, my dull capacity, renders me incapable. Then the said Silvia replyed unto him, Celadon (said she) I have seen you in a place where all in it have thought you not so ignorant in matters of Love. Fair Nymph, answered hee, in what place soever that was, there was much beauty in it, if you were there: but as too great a fire rather burns than warms, so your beauties are too high for our Rustique hearts; for they do rather make us admire than love, and adore rather than serve. With such dis∣courses as this, all this faire company went homeward, where Dinner waited for them.

As soon as day did break, Leonida, according as it was resolved upon over night by A∣damas, her companion, and Celadon; did come unto the Shepheards chamber, to dresse him in those clothes which her Uncle had brought. But the little Merill, who by Galathea's command did alwayes stay with Celadon, as well to be a spye over the actions of Leonida, as to wait upon the Shepheard, did a long while hinder their design. At last, some noise or other that was made in the Court, made Meril run out to see what the matter was. Then Celadon did rise immediatly, and the Nymph (see what love will doe) did help to dresse him for without her hee knew not how to put his clothes on handsomly. Presently after Meril returnes, yet Celadon hearing him, went into a Wardrobe, and hee was no sooner entred but Meril asked where Celadon was? He is in the Wardrobe, said the Nymph, and will come out presently, what wouldst thou have with him? I would tell him, sayd the boy, that Amasis is coming hither. Leonida was a little surprised, that she could not fi∣nish what she had begun; yet that she might goe and give Celadon some counsel she sayd unto Meril, Go little Meril, run and acquaint thy Lady, lest she be surprised: The Boy ran as fast as he could, and Celadon came out laughing at the news: Oh why do you laugh, said the Nymph, her comming will hinder your going out? Come, come, said hee, make haste and dresse me; for amongst so many Nymphs I shall the more easily steal away. But whilst they were very busie at their work, Galathea entred, and upon such a sudden, that Celadon could not get into the Closet. You may well imagine how both Leonida and Ce∣ladon were surprised at this accident: Yet the crafty Leonida seeing Galathea enter, she held Celadon, and would not let him hide himself but turning towards Galathea, and see∣ming much troubled Madam, said she, if you doe not use some means that my Lady come not hither, we are all undone; for my part I am doing what I can to disguise Celadon in a womans habit, but I am afraid I shall not have time enough. Galathea, who knew not at the first what to think of this Metamorphosis, did much commend this witty invention of Leonida's, and when she saw Celadon so well disguised she could not chuse but laugh, and said unto Leonida, Friend, but for you we had been all undone; for we could never have hidden Celadon amongst so many Nymphs as will come with Amasis; but now wee are well enough, and may safely shew him unto all your companions, who will take him for a woman. Thus Galathea, after it was agreed upon that Celadon should say he was Cosen unto Adamas, and called Lucinde, went out to meet her Mother. I must ingenuously con∣fesse (said Celadon, after she was gone) I was never in my life so astonished as at these three accidents. First, at the coming of Amasis. Secondly, at Galathea's surprising us; and thirdly, at your sudden invention. Shepheard, said Leonide, what I do, proceeds from my desires to rid you out of your pain; and I would to the gods you knew my heart, then would you find what happinesse I wish you. By way of gratitude for so great an obligation, said the Shepheard, I cannot chuse but tender you my life, since you have preserved it. Thus they talked till Meril came into the Chamber, and seeing Celadon almost drest, hee was ravished, and said no live person could know him; for hee that was continually with him, had he not seen him dressing, should have been mistaken. Who told thee, said Cela∣don, that I was disguised? My Lady, said he, and commanded me to say your name was Lucinde, the Cosen of Adamas, and to acquaint the Druide with it, who could not chuse but laugh when hee heard it, and promised to doe as my Lady commanded him. In the mean time, Amasis was come out of her Coach, and met Galathea at the stairs foot, with Silvia and Adamas. Daughter, said she unto her, me-thinks you have been too long in so∣litude, and I am come to disorder you a little. The good news I have received from Cli∣daman and Lindamor, does so rejoyce mee, that I cannot contain my joyes alone, and therefore I am come to make you a participant with me, and would have you goe with me

unto Marcelles, where Bonefires shall be made through every street. I doe much rejoice at your happinesse, Madam, said Galathea and wish it may continue eternally: But truly, Madam, this place pleaseth me so well, that I have no desiring Genius to leave it. No more you shall long, replyed Amasis, but because I will not goe thither untill night, let us walke together, and I will acquaint you with the news I have received. Then Adamas made a low reverence, and said, Certainly, Madam, your news is very good, since you are stirring so early to impart it unto your Daughter. I have received it (said shee) two or three daies since, but found that I could not enjoy the contentment of it alone, and truly the news deserves to be divulged. Thus they talked until they came into the Garden: when as they began to walk, Amasis took Galathea on one side, and Adamas on the other, and then she proceeded thus.

The History of Lydias and Melandre.

Considering the strange variety of accidents which are caused by Love, me-thinkes it must needs be confessed, that the Wheel of Love does turn about as fast as the Wheel of Fortune, and that Passion causeth as many changes and alterations in humane affairs; as any thing else. The examples of these are so frequently before our eyes, that it is imper∣tinent to instance them: And yet when you have heard this which I intend to relate, you will confess you never heard of any more remarkable. It is known unto you, how Clida∣man by hazard and Lot became a servant unto Silvia, and how Guyemant in bringing a Letter unto her from his Brother fell in love with her. And since that, I believe you are not ignorant of their design in departing both together to goe unto Merovea: Nor how I sent a great number of the young Cavalrie under the conduct of Lindamor after them: But I beleeve, you do not know what they have done since they went. And therefore I do at this time intend to make a relation of their voyage unto you, for it is worthy of know∣ledge. As soon as Clidaman came unto the Army, Guyemant who was known, brought him to kisse the hands of Merovea and Childerick, under the notion of a young Cava∣lier, descended from a noble Family, who desired to serve them. Hee was received with open Armes, especially coming at a time when the enemy did menace them with a Battle. But when Lindamor came, and it was known who Clidaman was, he was honoured and carrassed beyond all expressions; for he had already so signalized himself, that both friends and enemies did know and esteem him. Amongst other Prisoners which he and Guyemant took (for they alwayes went out together in any enterprise) there was one amongst them that came out of Great Britane, so handsome, but so sad, that he moved Clidaman to pitty him. And because his imprisonment made him seem extreamly sad, one day he sent for him; and after he had asked him several questions of his Being and Quality, he asked him the cause of his sadnesse, telling him that if it did proceed from his imprisonment, hee ought like a man of courage to endure it, and thank the heavens that he fell into their hands, since he was in a place where he had all civil treatment, and that his want of liber∣ty proceeded onely from the command of Merovea, who had charged that no prisoners should yet be ransomed, yet hee would doe his best endeavour to procure him his liberty. The young man thanked him, but it was with a deep sigh; which Clidaman more won∣dering at, did aske him the cause. Unto which he answered; Sir, this sadnesse which you see in my face, and those sighs which so often steal from my breast, doe not proceed from my imprisonment which you speak of, but from another more strict than it; for my ran∣some will ere long disoblige me from this, but nothing lesse than death can bring me out of the other. I should also endure it with patience did I not foresee my own death, and the ruin of the person who keeps me so close in prison. Clidaman did by his speech ima∣gine that it was Love which troubled him, and by himselfe considering the pain of his prisoner, his pitty moved him to promise him that he would procure his liberty as soon as possible, knowing by experience what passions and perplexities of mind useth to accom∣pany them that are deeply in love. Sir, said hee unto him, since you know the power of Love, and that your noble Country makes mee beleeve, that what knowledge soever you have of mee, you will not alter your good will unto mee; therefore upon a promise not to discover mee, I will tell you a thing which will make you wonder. Then Clidaman pro∣mising secresie, he began thus.

Cavalier, bee pleased to know, that this habit which you see mee wear is not my own;

but Love, that is able to metamorphise women into men, hath made me assume this dresse; for I am not a man, but a woman, one that is descended from as good a Family as any is in Brittain, and my name is Melandre, who, conducted by strange fortune, is fallen into your hands. There was a man whose name is Lydias, that fled out of his own Country, and came to London, having killed a man in Duell, and, to avoid the rigour of the Law, was forced to forsake his Country. Being in London, as it is the custom of our Nation, he found so much civility and courtesy, that there was not a house of any noble note, where he was not familiar; and amongst the rest, he was as free to my Fathers house, as he could be unto his own. Now because he intended to stay there, untill he could safely return into his own Country, he intended (the better to conform himselfe unto the British humour, where every one has a particular Mistresse) to seem as if he were in Love: And in this resolution, (I cannot tell whether good or bad) he fixed his eyes upon me; and either out of affection or convenience, he began to professe himselfe my servant. I will not tire you with a long discourse upon those dissimulations, those courtships, and those oathes; that he used unto me: But so it was, that after a long addresse of courtship, (for he stayed there two years) his handsomness, his courtesy, his discretion, and his valour, had such an in∣fluence upon me, that I did love him without any dissimulation. I should blush to confess thus much, did I not think you a person that hath tryed the force of Love; or to tell you, that the beginning of my love was the end of my tranquillity. Things being thus, it hap∣ned, that the Franks, after they had gotten the better in so many Battles against the Ro∣man Emperours, against the Goths, and against the Gaules, they turned their Armes a∣gainst the Neustrians, and brought them unto such termes, as they were foroed to send unto London, their antient Allie, to demand aid, who, according to the Alliance made between them, did grant them aid, by the consent of the King and States. This newes was presently divulged throughout all the Realm, and we, who were in the chiefe City, first heard of it. Lydias began to think upon his return the very first houre, assuring himselfe, that his Countrymen, being in need of such as he, would easily absolve him from the death of Arontes: Yet, because he ever promised me, that if he went, he would carry me with him, he concealed his designe from me, either as intending to deceive me, or else fearing I should hinder his departure. Yet, as there can be no fire so closely covered, but there will be some smoak; so he could not so closely hide his hot desire of departure, but I heard of it. Assoon as I came to the knowledge of it, the first time I saw him, I took him aside: Well Lydias, said I unto him, are you then resolved I shall not know your inten∣tions of leaving me? Do you think my affection so feeble, that it is not able to follow the worst of your fortune? If your affairs do urge you to return into your Country, why should you not let me go with you? Ask my Fathers consent unto our Marriage, I am confident he will be glad of our alliance; for I know he loves you. But, Lydias, do not per∣jure your selfe so much, as to leave me here desolate behinde you; for if you do, the gods will punish you. Unto all this, he faintly answered, That he had no thought of returning, but that he valued his presence with me above all affairs, and that I did him wrong to doubt of it; but his actions should force me to confess it. Yet, for all these fair words, this perjur'd man went away within two or three daies after, with the first Forces that went out of great Brittain, and took his time so justly, that he came to the Sea-side just as they were Embarquing themselves, and so he Embarqued with them. We were presently adver∣tised of his departure; yet, I was so perswaded that he loved me, as I was the last that did believe it, so as he was gone eight daies before I could ever believe, that a man so well de∣scended as he was, could be such a deluder and ungratefull man: but at last, many daies being past, and I never seeing nor hearing of him, I began to think my selfe deceived, and that he was really gone. You may well imagine I was much troubled at it, when falling sick upon it, I was in such a condition, as the Physicians not knowing my disease, gave me over for dead: But Love having a minde to shew himselfe a better Doctor than Aescu∣lapius, did cure me by a most strange Antidote; and see how contrary his effects are unto our resolutions. When I knew of the flight of Lydias, for so it may be called, I found my selfe so offended, that after a thousand invocations of the gods, as witnesses of his perfi∣dies, I swore, that I would never love him, as often as he swore that he would love me; so as it may be said, both of us were perjured; for when my hatred was in the height of fury, a Ship coming in from Calice, to bring newes of the Armies happy landing, I heard, that Lydias passed over, with intention, to fight under the Banners of the Brittish Forces; but as soon as the Governour of that place, who was a Cozen unto Arontes, was advertised

of it, he did imprison him, as being already a person condemned, and that he was quite undone; for the Governour had very great credit amongst the Neustrians. That indeed there was a way to save him, but it was so difficult, that none durst attempt it; and it was this: As soon as Lydias was seized upon, he asked the Governour the reason, why a Cavalier of so great a reputation as he was, would not rather revenge his quarrells by the way of Arms, rather then by the way of Justice? For, it is not the custome of the Gaules to have any re∣course unto Justice, but unto Combat, in points of honour; and such as do not so, are re∣puted cowards and dishonourable. Lypandas, for so was the Governours name, did answer him, that were he not already condemned by Justice, he would try it with him by Arms; but it being a dishonour to him, to fight with a man that was dead in the Law, if he had any friend that would undertake the Quarell for him, he would fight with him upon this score, that if he were overcome, he would set him at liberty; and if not, then Justice should have its course: And that his kindred or friends might have the more time to prepare them∣selves, he would keep him a month in his power; if none came to present themselves in that time, then he should be delivered up to be punished according to his merits. And that no advantage might be on either side, the Combat should be with Sword and Dagger in their shirts. Now Lypandas, being reputed one of the valiantest men of all Neustria, there was none so stout as to undertake this Combat: also the friends of Lydias not being advertised of it, they could not do him this good office. Oh Sir, what strange apprehensions had I, when I heard this newes? I must confesse, I was never in all my life so confused in my thoughts, no, not when this perfidious man left me. But though I knew, waves do beat in vain a∣gainst a sturdy Rock, yet, I must pay the tribute due unto Love, and arme my selfe in this quarrell, though it did cost me both honour and life: And after I had long, but in vain, lamented the losse of the unfaithfull Lydias; at last, I must think upon his preservation And in order to that, being transported with this new Fury, or rather, this old Love newly revived, I resolved to go unto Calice, and advise with the kindred and friends of Lydias about it. Then taking order, as secretly as possibly I could, for my voyage, one night I stole away in this habit you now see me have; but so bad was my luck, that I tarried above a formight for a ship The heavens know what became of Parents when they heard of my departure, for I never heard of them since: great is my fear, that my Father's old age will never brook this crosse; for he loved me as tenderly as himselfe, so as I have since wondred a hundred times, I should ever undertake this voyage: but, the truth is, it was Love, not me, that was the cause. But to return to our discourse, after I had waited above fifteen daies for a passage, at the last I met with a ship which went for Calice, when there was not above five or six daies of Lydias his tearm to expire. I was so sea-sick, as I was forced to keep my bed two daies; so as there was but a very little time left, to consult with the friends of Lydias, not knowing where to finde one of them, nor where they dwelt. Ima∣gine how this did trouble me, so as I thought my selfe rather come to see him die, than any way to help him to live. Oh ye gods! how will ye dispose of us? Tears did night and day flow from my eyes. At the last, the very day before the expiration of the tearm, being resolved to die with Lydias, or before him, I resolved to enter into Combat with Lypandas. What a resolution, or rather despair, was this? I had never handled a sword in my life, nor did well know in which hand I should hold the sword, and in which the dagger; yet was I fully resolved to enter the Lists against a Cavalier, whose profession was fighting, and had gotten the title of Brave and Stout: But all these considerations were nothing unto me, who was resolved to die before him, whom I loved above my life; and though I knew that I could not save him, yet was it some satisfaction to me, that I should give some testimony of my affection. One thing did exceedingly trouble me, which I endeavoured to avoid, which was, that if I should be known unto Lydias, this would hinder my designe, for we were to fight without Armour; which to remedy, I writ a note unto Lypandas, by way of challenge, and desired him, that since we were both of us Cavaliers, it would be hand∣some, if we used such Armes as Cavaliers do, and not to fight naked like desperate peo∣ple. To which he answered, That in the morning he would be in the field, and that I should come Armed, as he would; yet, it should be in his choice which way they should fight. The next morning I presented my selfe in the field, armed Cap a pe, but so loaded, that I could hardly stir; those who saw me stagger, did think it either fear of fighting, or weakness, as indeed it was. Presently I saw Lypandas come prancing, as if he would kill me with his looks; but I was not astonished, untill Lydias was brought upon a Scaffold, to see the fight. I did so extreamly pitty him when I saw him in that condition, as I stood

stock still a great while, and could not stir: At last, the Judges carried me unto him, to know, whether he would accept of me for his Champion. He asked me who I was? Then counterfeiting my voice as well as I could, I said unto him, Let it satisfie you, Lydias, that I am the onely One that will undertake this Combat for you. Since it is so, replyed he certainly you are a person of great valour, and therefore I do accept of you. So when I was going away, he said unto me, Cavalier, be confident, that your quarrel is most just. Then I retired, with such full resolution for death, that I stayed for nothing but the sound of the Trumpet, to summon us unto the Combat. Upon the first sound, I set out but my Horse did so jog me, that in lieu of carrying my Lance as I should have done, I let it fall which way fortune would, and it fell so luckily upon my Horses neck, that in lieu of hit∣ing Lypandas, it ran his Horse into the body, who being wounded ran presently away in spite of his Master and fell dead under him. Lypandas was so over-eager of doing bravely, that he missed his blow. As for me, my Horse ran even whither he pleased; for I had enough to do in holding me by the Pommel, lest I should fall. And hearing Lypandas bid∣ding me turn again, and upbraiding me for killing his Horse, I turned my horse back, after I had got my sword in my hand, as well as I could though with much ado: But my Horse, assoon as he was turned having more courage then his Rider, began of himselfe to gallop, and ran furiously upon Lypandas; and he stepping aside, ran his sword into my Horses body as he passed by, and presently I perceived him to shrink under me; and having lost my stirrups, he fell under me, and so far off Lypandas, that I had time enough to get out of the Saddle, and recover my selfe from my Horse: Then came Lypandas towards me, with his sword up ready to strike at me: and I must tell you that had not Love born up my Armes better then my selfe did, he had dispatched me; but seeing him so furiously make his blow at my head, Nature had taught me to hold up my left arme, for otherwise, I had never remembred my buckler that was upon it; but his blow upon it was with such fury, as it struck it against my face, and made my eyes to sparkle. When he saw me stagger, he offered another blow more heavie then the first; but such was my fortune, that holding up my sword, his and mine clashed together: and both of them broke. Lypandas seeing both of us upon the same advantages, did say unto me, These Armes are equally favoura∣ble unto us, I will try whether others will do the like, and therefore let us cast off our hea∣vy Armour, and fight in our shirts, for I will have the Combat so decided. Cavalier, said I unto him, by what is past, you may see your selfe in the wrong; our quarrell is not mortall, therefore release Lydias, and let the Combat alone. No, no, said Lypandas in a rage, both Lydias and you shall die. Then I will try, said I, whether I can retort that Sen∣tence upon your own head. Then getting as far off Lydias as I could, for fear of being known, I put off my Armour, with the help of those who brought us two other swords and daggers. And when my doublet was off, I took a sword and a dagger, and went into the middle of the Lists: I must tell you, that I had much ado to hide my breasts; for my shirt, do what I could, did not so hide them, but the fulnesse of my Papps were palpable to be seen; but that was the farthest off every ones imagination and as for Lydias, he could not know me; for being in mans habit, and the weight of my Armour having put me in o a very high colour, I was much altered. At last Lypandas and I were within ten or twelve paces one of another. Now did I look for nothing but death, being assured, he would run me through at the very first push: But the fortune of Lydias was so good, for it was his life I only feared, that this high-minded Lypandas running extream violently at me, he chanced to stumble, and his head fell at my feet, and at this fall he received two wounds, with his own weapons; the one with his dagger, that ran him through his right arme, and the other with his sword, which cut him just over the eyes. As for me, I was so frigh∣ted with this fall, that I thought my selfe dead and him too; and therefore stepping back two or three paces, without doing him any hurt, I thought to vanquish him more by my courtesie then valour, and said unto him: Rise Lypandas. I will not hurt you when you are down. He being much stunnyed with his fall at first, did afterwards rise, thinking to run upon me with all the strength he had: but one of his wounds had blinded him, and the other took away the use of his arme, so as he could neither see nor hold his sword: Which I perceiving, I took courage, and lifting up my sword I ran unto him, saying: Yield thy selfe, Lypandas or else thou dyest. Why should I yield my selfe, said he, for the con∣ditions of our Combat were not so; let it suffice, I set Lydias at liberty. Then the Judges comming in, and Lypandas having ratified his promise, they led me out of the Lists in triumph: But fearing lest I should receive some wrong in a place, where Lypandas had all

the power, after I had put my Armour on again, I went to Lydias, with my Helmet pulled down, and said unto him: Lydias, render thanks unto the gods for my Victory; and if you desire to have any discourse with me, I will go unto the Town of Regiaque, where I will stay for you fifteen daies, for after that terme, I must go about some businesse, which will carry me far from hence. You may enquire for the sorrowfull Chavelier, for under that name and notion I passe. But I beseech you, said Lydias, shall I not now know unto whom I am so much obliged? No, said I unto him, it will not be good neither for you nor me: And so I left him. Then providing my selfe another Horse, I came to Regiaque, where I stayed. As soon as I was gone, this false Lypandas did imprison Lydias more close than before; and when he was charged with his promise unto me, he did evade it, by saying, That it is true, he promised me liberty, but he did not tel me when: and therefore it should not be this twenty years, unlesse upon a condition, that I should become a Prisoner in his room, and so pay the ransome of his liberty with the losse of my own. Lydias told him, that this was the height; both of ingratitude and perfidie. This did so offend him, that he swore, unless I came within fifteen daies, and put my selfe into his hands, he would transfer him over into the hands of Justice. And when Lydias instanced his perjury to him. I have long since, said he, sworn unto the Neustrian Lords, to maintain Justice, and I am more obliged to keep my first oth, than my second. The first day passed on, & I did not think much; but when I heard no newes of Lydias, I sent a man to enquire of him: by him I un∣derstood what Lypandas had done and the term he had set: And though I did foresee his cruelties, yet I resolved to get Lydias out of his hands, nothing being so dear unto me, as his preservation; and by fortune, the very same day you took me Prisoner, I was going unto him; and all the sadnesse you see in me, and those deep sighes you have observed to escape from me, did proceed, not from your imprisonment, (for that is sweet unto me, compared with my expectations of the other) but they proceed from my fears, that this unworthy Lypandas will put Lydias into the hands of his enemies, who gape for his life; for of those fifteen daies that were prefixed, ten of them are already past, so as I am out of all hopes to do this good office for my poor Lydias. Upon these words, her tears hindred her tongue, and she was forced to be silent, with so many apparent signes of sorrow, that Clidaman was moved unto compassion, and to comfort her, said thus unto her: Coura∣geous Melandre, do not let your spirit droop for this, but rouse up the generosity of your soul: The gods, who have preserved you in greater dangers, will not let you sink under lesse. You may assure your selfe, that I will use my utmost power to give you your de∣sired contentment. But since I am under a Prince whom I would not displease, I must ob∣tain your liberty from him, and will promise you, to solicite him with all my power. So upon these fair promises, he went immediately to Childerick, and beseeched him, he would be pleased to favour him so far, as to mediate unto the King his Father, for the li∣berty of this young Prisoner. The young Prince, who loved my Son, and knew that his Father would be glad to oblige Clidaman, went presently to Merovea, who granted his Sons request. Then, because the time was short, he went immediately unto Melandre, and having drawn her aside, said thus unto her. Sorrowfull Cavalier, I hope now you will change that Epithite, since better fortune begins to shine upon you: The heavens begin now to smile upon you; and in testimony of what I say, know, that now you are at liberty, and may dispose of your selfe as you please; the Prince of the Franks hath given me the dispose of you, and the duty of a Cavalier obliges me, not only to give you your liberty, but to offer you all the assistance I am able. Melandre hearing this unhop't for language, did leap up for joy, and casting her selfe at his feet, did kisse them by way of gratitude: and when she saw that she was to pay no ransome, which she could never have paid in the compasse of that fifteen daies: Noble Cavalier, (said she) you do make it appear, that you do know what it is to Love, since you are so pittifull unto such as are possessed with it: I pray the heavens to make you as happy, as you are courteous and worthy of all good for∣tune. Needs would she have gone away that very night, but Clidaman would not per∣mit her, because it was dark; yet the next morning, as soon as day did appear, away she went, and never stayed, untill she came at Calice, where, by good fortune, she arrived the very day before the expiration of the time. She had made her comming known unto Ly∣pandas that very night, had she not been jealous of his perfidie, whom she was to deal with∣all; and she stayed untill the morning, to the end, there might be more witnesses of the wrong he should do her, in failing of his promise. The day being come, and past noon, when all the principall men of the Town, to honour the Governour, came unto his house,

in comes the sorrowfull Cavalier, and presents himselfe unto him: At the first, he was not known, for none had ever seen him but in the Combat, where fear had altered his counte∣nance; and now every one drew neer to hear what he would say. Lypandas, said he, I come here to summon you, to be as good as your promise, from the friends and kindred of Ly∣dias; otherwise they tell you by mee, that they will publish you unto the world, for a false and perfidious promise-breaker. Stranger, answered Lypandas, go and tell them, that Ly∣dias is yet better then he shall be within these few daies; for before this day be don, I will transfer him over unto such hands, as will revenge my quarrell. As for my promise, I think my selfe to be absolved from it, by putting him into the hands of Justice. As for any new conditions I do insist upon my first, which is, that he with whom I fought, do put him∣selfe into my hands, to the end, I may have my will of him, and release Lydias. What will you doe with him, said he, when you have him? When I once have him, answered he, and when I am to render you an account of my actions, then you shall know. Since it is so, said the sad Cavalier, send for Lydias, and him whom you desire shall put himselfe into your hands. Lypandas, who did extreamly desire to be revenged upon his enemy, sent for Lydias: Lydias, who knew this to bee the last day for his terme, did thinke this sending for, had been to transferre him over into the hands of the Law: But though hee did foresee a certaine death, yet hee did rather desire it, than to see him who had fought in his cause, in any danger. When hee came before Lypandas, he said thus unto him; Lydias, this is the last day that is prefixed you to bring your Champion into my hands: The young Cavalier is come hither to that end, which if he do then you are at liberty. Melander all this while did so turn her face from Lydias, that he could not know her and so said thus; Yes Lypandas I have promised, and I will perform: I would you would be as punctual in all your promises: But 'tis no matter, I am he whom you de∣sire, and who values not any cruelty or rigour you can use against me, so my friend here may be out of his pain. Then every one fixed their eyes upon her, and remembring the actions she used when she fought, they knew her to be the same. Her beauty her youth, and her affection moved every heart unto pitty, but Lypandas, who being extreamly incensed a∣gainst her commanded her presently to prison, and to let Lydias go. Lydias seeing him∣self so infinitely obliged, would not suffer it, but Melander came to him, and said in his ear, Go Lydias; as for me, I know how to get out easily when I will; Go and serve Mero∣vea, and particularly Clidaman, who is the procurer of your liberty; and tell him you came from me. 'Tis impossible I should goe, said Lydias, before I know who you are. I am the sorrowfull Cavalier, said shee, and that's enough, and you need know no more.

Thus Lydias went with an intention to serve the King of the Frankes, since hee who twice saved his life would have it so: But in the mean time Lypandas did expresly com∣mand, that Melander should be well guarded, and shackles put upon her hands and feet, not caring if shee had dyed with the misery. Judge in what a sad condition this young woman was; her victuals were bad, her lodging miserable, and all accomdations want∣ing: So as if her affection had not been some comfort unto her, it was impossible shee should have lived so long in that misery. In the mean time it was divulged throughout all Neustria, that Lydias by the procurement of a friend was released from his imprisonment at Callice, and was gone to serve the King Merovea, and thereupon was declared a Traitor of his Country. Yet he failed not to go unto Merovea's Camp, where he found out which was Clidamans Tent. As soon as Lindamor and Guyemant saw him, they ran to him, and embraced him with abundance of love and courtesie, at which hee was extreamly asto∣nished; for they took him for Ligdamon, who a little before was lost in the battle which they had with the Neustrians, and was so extreamly like him, that any one would have taken the one for the other. At the last, being known to be Lydias, Melanders friend, he was recommended unto Merovea, before whom Lydias related the whole story of his im∣prisonment, and the courtesie which he had received from an unknown Cavalier: Also how he came by this unknown Cavaliers command to serve him, especially Clidaman. After the King had received him, and given him thanks for his good wil unto him; Clida∣man spoke to him, and said, Is it possible, Lydias, you should not know him that has fought for you and is now in prison to release you? No certainly, said hee, I doe not know him. This is the strangest thing I ever heard of, said Clidaman, did you never see any that did resemble him? Not that I remember, said Lydias, and wondered. Then said Clidaman, I shall relate unto the King a story, the most worthy of compassion that Love ever caused:

Then he related how Lydias went into Great Brittaine, the courtesies he received there, the affection of Melandre to him the promises hee made to carry her into Neustria with him when he went away, his flight, and his imprisonment at Callais. Poor Lydias was so a∣stonished to hear so many particulars of his life, that he knew not what to thinke: But when Clidaman related Melandres resolution to assume mans habit, and to sight a Duel with Lypandas, and all that I have formerly related, every one was ravished. Oh heavens! said Lydias, is it possible I should be so blind? What should I doe to answer this obliga∣tion? You can doe no lesse, said Clidaman, than give that life to her which shee has pre∣serv'd. That is little, answer'd he, unlesse accompanyed with affection. Whilst they were thus in discourse, every hearer concluded, this noble act of this Womans, deserved, that this great Army should goe and assault Callais for her sake. I protest, said Merovea our Army cannot be better employed than in the rescue of so virtuous a Lady. Night being come, Lydias told Clidaman, that whilst he was at Callais a prisoner, he discovered a weak place in the Walls of the Town, where had he but a few men, he could infallibly enter. This being reported unto Merovea, it was approved of. So Lydias had given him five hundred Archers, and three hundred Men at Armes for the execution of this enterprise. In conclu∣sion (for I will not relate all particulars) Callais was taken, Lypandas imprisoned, and Melandre released out of her captivity. But, I know not how it came to passe, nor why, yet as soon as all was quiet, after the Town was taken, Lydias and Melandre went away, and it was never since known what became of them. In the mean time, poor Ligdamon hath been most miserably tormented for Lydias; for, being taken prisoner by the Neustrians, he was mistaken for Lydias, and condemned to death. Clidaman procured Merovea to send two Heralds at Armes, purposely to let them know that they were mistaken, but they would not beleeve it. Thus was Ligdamon put into a den of Lyons, where they say hee did things beyond Man: but doubtlesse he had dyed amongst them, had not a fair Lady demanded him for her Husband, which custome did at that time save him, but hee dyed presently after; for hee loving Silvia, would not marry that Lady, but chose death rather than her for, just upon the very Marriage, he poysoned himselfe; and shee also, 〈…〉〈…〉 to be Lydias, did poyson her selfe in the same Cup. Thus poor Ligdamon dyed, so lamented by every one, that his very enemies did pitty him: But Love had a most notable way of Revenge upon Lypandas; for when hee knew Melandre to be a woman, and remembring her virtue, beauty, and affection, hee fell so desperately in love with her, that the poorman had no other consolation but to talk of her. My Sonne sent me word, that he endeavoured to get his release and hoped to obtain it.

Thus see, said Amasis, how they live in the plenitude of Honour, and none in all the Army more esteemed than they. I pray heavens to continue their good fortune, said A∣damas: And whilst they were thus talking they saw Leonida, Lucinde, and the little Me∣ril coming towards them; I say Lucinde, for so it was agreed Celadon should be called. Amasis, who knew her not asked who she was? It is one that is Cosen unto Adamas (an∣swered Galathea) her name is Lucinde, one that is so fair, and every way so virtuous, as I desired her to stay with me some certaine dayes. She seems, said Amasis, as good as fair. I doe beleeve, Madam, said Galathea that her disposition would be very pleasing unto you, and if you think good she shall goe with us unto Marcelles. By this time Leonida was come so near that Lycinde bowed her self, and kissed the hand of Amasis with so good a grace, as any one living would have taken her for a woman: Amasis did her the honour to kisse her, and said that any who had a relation to Adamas were as dear unto her as her own children. Then Adamas began to speak lest if the disguised Lucinde should have answered, her voice might betray her; but hee needed not to feare that; for shee knew so well how to feigne her voice, as it did rather help to deceive them. However at this time she suffered Adamas to answer, and after a low reverence shee went amongst the o∣ther Nymphs, watching her opportunity how to steal away. At the last, Dinner time be∣ing at hand, Amasis went into the house, where finding meat upon the Table, every one dined with a merry heart, except the fair Silvia, who did most sadly resent the death of her dear Ligdamon.

When Dinner was done, some of the Nymphs had a minde to play; others to view the house; some to walk in the Gardens, and others to fit and discourse in the Chamber of A∣masis: Leonida seeming as if she would make her self ready for her going with Amasis, went out of the Chamber, and presently after Lucinde followed; and then seeming as if they would walk, they went out of the Castle, having most of the Shepheards clothes un∣der

their Petticoats, and when they were got into the thick of the Wood, the Shepheard undressed himself, and putting on his own cloathes, he thanked the Nymph for her good assistance, offering her in exchange, his life & all that did depend upon it. Then the Nymph with a deep sigh said unto him, Well, Celadon, have I not performed my promise? I pray remember yours also. I should think my selfe, sayd Celadon, the most unworthy man that lives, if I did not perform all my promises unto you. Then, Celadon, said she, remember what you swore unto me; for I am resolved to put you to the Test this very hour: Fair Nymph, answered Celadon, dispose of me as far as I am able, as freely as you can of your self; for I am fully resolved upon obedience. Have you not made a promise unto me, re∣plyed the Nymph, that I should search into all your life past, and if I found any thing which you could doe for me, you would doe it? And he answering that it was true, then Celadon, said she, I have done as you did bid me, and though they say Love be blind yet I have so much light left in me, as to know that you ought to continue that love which you have so often promised unto your Astrea; for disgusts of love will not allow any one to be perjured or unfaithfull, and therefore ye ought not to fail in your duty, though they have treated you ill. The faults of others can never excuse or wash away our own. Love therefore the fair and happy Astrea, with as much sincerity of affection as ever you did: serve her, adore her, and more if it bee possible; for Love requires extreames in his sacri∣fice. But yet, I know, that the good offices which I have done you, does deserve some∣thing. And because Love can never be payd but with Love, you are obliged to pay mee in the same coyn, if no impossibilities doe intervene. But since one heart is not capable of any more but one love, let me be paid with what it can: And since you cannot love me as your Mistris, I would have you love me as your Sister; and ever hereafter to love mee, cheerish me, and treat me in that manner. Celadons contentment cannot be expressed, after hee heard this language; for he confessed it was infinitely his own desire: And therefore, after he had given the Nymph a Million of thanks for her affection, hee vowed to receive her as his Sister, and under that notion to doe whatsoever shee commanded him. And so they parted extreamly well contented and satisfied one with another. Leonida returned to the Castle, & the Shepheard to his voyage, shunning all such Plains where he thought he might meet with any Shepheards of his acquaintance. And leaving Mount Verdun on the left hand, he went unto a little rising ground, from whence he could view most of those places where hee was accustomed to feed his Flock, where Astrea was wont to come unto him, and where they used to shade themselves from the scorching Sunne in the heat of the day. Briefly, this Prospect presented to his eye, all those contentments which hee had been so long deprived of: And in contemplation of them hee sate down under a shady tree, and sighed out these Verses.

A Prospect.

YOnder's the place my fairest Sun Did bliss mee, 'fore the day begun: Whilst th'other like a sluggard slept, Or out of drousie bed was crept; She crown'd with Violet and Rose, Did there her early self repose, And with her self such light did bring As made those fields appear a Spring.

The other Sun with his hot rayes Such over-scorching heat displays, As dryes and withers every plant, And makes the Ploughmans heart to pant. My Sun with influence so sweet Such onely as have souls doe greet; On those she never heat imparts, But burneth onely Lovers hearts.

Yonder's the Fountain which doth claim From Sycamors, a borrowed Name;

There did my Shepheardesse Divine, Whilst her fair hand was linkt in mine. Answer my Love in equal flame, Celadon shall ne'r forget the same. For there he vow'd to her, and swore Eternally her to adore.

Under yond spreading leaved tree, Which shaddowed both her and me, Purest vermilion there did seek For harbour in her lovely cheek When she did blush for shame, to hear A Shepheard swear, that she was fair. No, no, said she to me, for I Fair would be onely in thy eye.

But O, thou hollow Rock, where we So oft have been in secrecie: Where is that Love which we did vow, And what becometh of it now? Did she and I the gods adore, And all in vain their help implore? Have I not reason to complain, Since she does pay me with disdain?

And thou old Tree, whose barkie leather Defends thee from the stormy weather, To thee I doe address my plaint, And doe this sad divorce lament. How oft did we our Letters hide Within thy old worm-eaten side? But now, alass, too plain I see Both thou and she all changed bee.

These thoughts and imaginations had kept Celadon longer in that place, but for the coming of a disconsolate Shepheard, who pittifully lamenting his losse, came towards him, sighing out these Verses.

Upon too over-soon a Death.

YOu that my weeping eyes do see, Did you but know what misery Has swell'd my heart, In lieu of blaming me you would Adde all the sorrows that you could, And take my part.

Within the gloomy shade of death The fairest that had ever breath Inhabits now. VVhy should not destiny, so tart, As well my body as my heart, That place allow.

No sooner she her self did show Amongst us mortals here below, But she was gone:

So as it seemeth she was sent Onely to make us all lament, And her bemoan.

As loving I vy clings about A wither'd Tree when life is out, Even so would I: And live contentedly I could, If close to her but cling I could Untill I dy.

Celadon having no mind to be seen by any that could know him, when hee spied this Shepheard a good distance off, he concealed himself behinde a thick bush, and when hee was past, he followed him at an unseen distance, untill he saw him sit down, and then hee crept so neare that hee could heare all his sad complaints. The humour of this unknowne Shepheard sympathizing with his own, it swelled him with a curiosity to know somthing from him both concerning his own Mistris, and his also. Therefore going to him, he be∣gan to speak thus, Sad Shepheard, I doe wish thee joy with all my heart, since I can doe no more, I hope thou wilt take my wish in good part; and in requital of my love, I pray thee tell me whether thou doest know Astrea, Phillis, and Lycidas; and if thou dost, then tell me all thou knowest of them. Kinde Shepheard, answered hee, thy civil language obliges me to pray, that thou mayst never have any such occasion of sorrows as I have: And I will freely tell thee all I doe know concerning those persons you mention, although my own grief forbids me to meddle in any other businesse but my own. It is about a month or six weeks, since I came into this Country of Forrests, not as many doe, to try what the Fountain of Loves verity will shew me; for I am but too certain of my sad fate; but by the commandment of the gods, who from the fertile banks of the famous Siene, sent mee hither with assurance that I should here finde a remedy against my miseries: And ever since I came, I have taken up my lodging in such Villages as seemed most agreeable to my condi∣tion and humour, with a resolution to stay as long as the heavens shall permit me. This design hath moved me to enquire of all the Shepheards and Shepheardesses of these parts: I am able to satisfie you in any thing you desire to know of them. All I desire to know, said Celadon, is to be satisfied how they doe. All of them, said he, are well; but they are all troubled very much at one act of blind and fickle Fortune; and that is, at the losse of one Celadon (a Shepheard altogether unknown to me) who was the Brother of Lycidas: This lost Shepheard was so loved and esteemed of every one, that he is generally lamented by all, especially by those three persons whom you named unto me. It was conceived that this Shepheard was a devoted servant unto Astrea, and it was the enmity of their Parents which hindered them from Marriage. How is it reported, said Celadon, this Shepheard was lost? It is variously reported, answered he; Some speake as opinion leads them, o∣thers according to circumstances and appearance; and some, as others doe report: So as it is divers wayes related. As for me, I came hither into these quarters the very same day he was lost; and I doe remember that every one was so affrighted at the accident, as none knew how to make a perfect relation of it. In conclusion (and that is the best received o∣pinion because Phillis, Astrea, and Lycidas themselves doe say it) that this Shepheard slee∣ping close by the River side, he fel in, and Astrea also, but her clothes did save her. Cela∣don imagining that they had prudently invented this report, to take away occasion of talk∣ing ill upon the accident, he was very glad; for his feares alwayes were, that reports would reflect much upon Astrea's honour, and therefore hee asked him further; But what doe they think, said he, is become of this Shepheard? That hee is dead (answered the sad Shepheard) And I assure you, Astrea takes it so sadly, that though shee puts the best face of it she can, yet every one saies, it is almost incredible, that shee should be so much changed; however, for ought I see, she is so fair that (except Diana hinders her) I never saw any fairer, except my dearest Cleon, and indeed they three may well be compared to∣gether. Every one, said Celadon, will speake well of his own Mistris; and Love has a quality, not onely to blind, but to change the eyes of Lovers; so as there was never any Lover that thought his Mistris ugly. This, answered the Shepheard, were something, if I were in love with Astrea or Diana; but since I am ever incapable of that, I may be a

competent judge: And you who seem to doubt of this Shepheardesses beauty, you must needs be either a stranger, or else some ill-willer. I am neither of those two, said Cela∣don, but truly I am the most miserably afflicted Shepheard that is in the whole world. I shall never grant that, said Tircis, unlesse you except me: For if your misery proceed from any thing else but Love, the pain cannot be so great as mine, since the heart is the most ten∣der part we have, and is most sensible of any sorrows: And though your misery doe pro∣ceed from love, yet it must needs submit unto mine; for of all the miseries in love, de∣spair is the most intolerable; disdain, anger, hatred, jealousie, absence, or any thing is short of death; for this pale Goddesse with her fatall hand, does cut away both hope and life; so as I the most miserable amongst all men living, doe complain of a misery without any remedy or hope. Celadon answered with a deep sigh, Oh Shepheard, how much doe you erre in your opinion? I doe confess that the greatest miseries are those which doe pro∣ceed from Love, of which I have had a full experience: But I cannot by any means allow that those miseries which are without hope are the most sad; nor indeed doe they deserve to bee resented; for it is a meer act of folly to weep for a thing which cannot bee help∣ed. And Love, answered hee, what is that but a meer folly? I will not enter upon that, said Celadon, before we have done with the other; for that alone will take up much time. But I pray tell me, Doe you lament this death out of love, or not? Certainly out of love, answered he. If it be out of love, answered Celadon, then I have heard Silvander, and all our learned Shepheards say, that Love is nothing but a desire to enjoy that beauty which you find in the person loved. 'Tis very true, said the stranger: Then, replyed Celadon, Will any reasonable man desire a thing which cannot bee had? No certainly, said Tircis. Then, said Celadon, the death of Cleon ought to be the cure of all your grief; for since you confesse that desire never ought to be where there is no hope of obtaining; and that Love is nothing else but a desire; Death, which puts you out of all hopes to enjoy, ought by consequence to put you out of all desire; and desire being dead, all Love should die with it. The sad Shepheard answered, that whatsoever he said, he was sure that his misery was most extream; and because he would not revive the memory of his dead Cleon, hee would not argue the matter any longer, onely thus farre hee said, Shepheard, that which comes under sence is more certain than that which is onely in opinion: And therefore all those reasons which he alleged could not convince him of that which he was so sensible of: So recommending him unto the tuition of Pan, Celadon and he parted: And Solitude be∣ing most suitable to a Lovers thoughts, Celadon went on through the Woods untill hee came to the Bridge of Boutresse: and passing over the River there, he was in doubt which way to wend; but this was his full resolution, to obey Astrea, who had forbidden him to see her, untill she did command him. At last, being come near Bonleiu, the habitation of the chast Vestals, hee was ashamed that he had so rashly approached that place; and there∣fore intending to goe farther off, hee went into a Wood, so thick and boggy, that hee had much adoe to get out again. This forced him to draw nearer the River; for the thinne gra∣vel was lesse troublesome to him than the thick mud: So walking along, untill hee was weary, hee looked for a convenient place to rest upon, intending to keep so close untill night that none should see him: At the last, hee cast his eye upon a little Cave, whose en∣trance on one side towards the River the water had washed; and the other side was so co∣vered with Trees and Bushes, as those in the way could not see it; nor had he himselfe ta∣ken notice of it, had hee not gone along the River side. The place did so please him, that he resolved to passe away the rest of the day in it, and not to come out of this Grotto untill night: And therefore hee beganne to trim it up as well as he could, removing the Rubbish which the River had brought into it. The place was nothing else but a Rock, which the water beating upon, had by degrees worn away, and made a Cave, and that in such vari∣ous Rooms, as if it were done on purpose; so as stooping a little, hee entred into a room like a Bed-chamber: the place was about six or seven paces in length, and as much broad: It was about the height of a man, though in some places, the points of the Rock were troublesome, which the Shepheard did by degrees break off with a Flint: Hec contrived himself a place like a bed, which he covered with Mosse; and having fitted all things in this manner, he laid his coat, and such things as troubled him, upon his bed, and then looking upon the ground, he found a Letter, which he knew to be from the fair Astrea, which hee did let fall. Hee rouzed up himselfe, as out of a deep sleep, and came into the entrance of the Cave, where looking upon the dear paper which he held in his hands, after a hun∣dred zealous and amorous kisses, hee said; Oh thou most deare paper, heretofore my great

joy, and now the occasion of my most bitter sorrowes: Upon this, opening it, the first thing that presented it selfe to his eye, was Astrea's Character joyned with his: This did so freshly revive the memory of his former happinesse, as now he was reduced almost unto tearms of despair. Oh ye Characters, (said he) too true testimonies of my misfor∣tune, why are you not separated from mine, to wait upon the will of my fair Shephear∣dess? Time was, when you might have done me good service; but now, that such fatall dysasters have separated us, why are you here? Perhaps it is to make it appear, that the hea∣vens showre all their dysasterous influences upon me, but can never make my will distinct from Astrea's. Upon this, he sat down upon a great stone, which he had rouled out of the River, to the entrance into the Grotto; and then, after he had wiped away all the tears from his eyes, he read these ensuing words.

Astrea's Letter unto Celadon.

HEavens grant, Celadon, that those assurances which you have given me of your affection, may continue for ever: And I do passionately desire you to believe, that I do hold you more dear than if you were my Brother, and am yours to my very grave.

These few words of Astrea's, caused abundance of misery unto Celadon; for after he had many times read them over, they did make his wounds to bleed afresh; for, he re∣collected into his memory one after one, all the favours that ever this Shepheardesse did him, which moved him unto so much regreet, as had not night approached, he had not suffered his eyes to cease from crying, or his tongue from complaining, against what his heart suffered; but darknesse caused him to enter into his Cave, and being very weary with walking and grieving, he fell asleep. Two daies were past, before this sad Shepheard ever thought of eating; for he was so taken up with sad thoughts, and his mind was so full of melancholly, as he never thought upon any meat, but was so distempered with tears, that his eyes seemed two Fountains: and had he not feared offending the gods, in causing his own death, and wore, in thereby losing the Idea of his fair Astrea, doubtlesse he had ended the course of his life; but seeing he was constrained unto it, he did visit that bag of victualls which Leonida had furnished him withall, which provision lasted him ma∣ny daies; for he did eat as little as possible he could: At last, he was constrained to have recourse unto roots and fallads. All the day long, if he saw none neer his solitary habita∣tion, he would walk upon the gravelly shore, and often engraved the cause of his sorrowes upon the bark of Trees; sometimes he would engrave Astrea's Characters and his own; then upon a sudden would he deface them, saying, Thou art deceived, Celadon, this is not a time for Characters: for thou art still constant, and, to thy grief all things else are chan∣ged. Let all those testimonies of past happiness alone; and if thou wilt needs be writing in Characters, engrave with them thy tears, thy sorrowes and thy death, as most suitable unto thy condition. When night came, then his sad thoughts came fresher into his me∣mory for darkness being more sit for it, his imagination was the stronger; nor did he ever retire, unless it was night and if the Moon shined, he would walk all night long, and sometimes sinde himselfe asleep under a tree in the morning. Thus this sad Shepheard, leading this disconsolate life, he was grown so pale and lean, that he was not knowable; and sometimes when he went unto a Fountain to drink, he would wonder to see himselfe in the water; his hair was grown all into disorder, his eyes shrunk, his nose sharp and long, so as it was a wonder he should live. Oh! had Astrea seen him in this sad condition, what abundance of content would it have been unto her, to see by undeniable argu∣ments, that she was perfectly loved by the most faithfull and compleat Shepheard of all Lignon.

The Moon had been twice at the full, since Celadon escaped out of Galathea's hands; and still, in obedience to the commands of Astrea, he durst not present himselfe unto her, but senlked himselfe in his Grotto: And though three months were compleatly past since his losse, yet, the resentments of it were so fresh in the soul of his Shepheardesse, that all her prudent circumspection was not able to conceal it, from such as had any observance over her. It seems, heaven, as a punishment upon her, denyed her that remedy, which Time usually affords unto those that are subject unto sorrow; for, in lieu of allaying the bitternesse of it, she did daily discover new occasions, and matter for her griefe, and when any resentments did divert her memory of them, her eyes would then six themselves upon

no objects, but such as were sad; which to avoid, she kept her selfe most commonly in her Cabin: But, her greatest affliction was, she was deprived of that consolation, which is found, even in the greatest misfortunes; I mean, she could not lay the fault upon any but her self, nor could she find out any excuse to turn it another way: And certainly, it had bin absolute∣ly impossible for her to have lived under such a load of griefs, if the society of Diana & Phil∣lis had not helped her to bear the burthen; for the presence of reall friends, is doubtlesse one of the most soveraigne remedies that griefe can receive; and these two reall friends not being ignorant of it, they had so great a care of her, that one or both of them were conti∣nually with her; they would pull her out of her Chamber by force, and carry her in∣to the most unfrequented places, for unto others they would not, lest they should meet with some accidents, which might bring Celadon afresh into her memory; so as these kinde Shepheardesses did sweeten many an houre, and stole many a bitter minute from Astrea.

Silvander on the other side, under pretence of a faigned addresse unto Diana, did fall so extreamly in reall love with her, as he hath been an excellent example unto all the Coun∣try, and, at his own expences taught them this Doctrine, that Love will not be jeasted withall. He findes now so many compulsive causes of love in that Shepheardesse, as he ad∣mires he should be acquainted with her so long, and love her no sooner: And though this task of courtship which he had undertaken, was the Origen of his disease; yet, he made no complaint, because Diana, without any offence, allowed him liberty to expresse his passi∣on; for such was the violence of his love, that if it had not been allowed some vent, it would have broke him, and he could not possibly have lived without it. When he con∣sulted with himselfe, he plainly saw, that he had made a disadvantageous change, especi∣ally when he remembered how happy he was, an absolute Master of himselfe; oft did he muster up all his arguments drawn from reason, to rid himselfe from this new servitude; and when he found that reason was too weak to do it, he would arme himselfe with vio∣lent resolutions against it. But alas! look how oft he tryed all these waies so oft did he see, that it is in vain for any man to strive aganst the ordinances of heaven; and that whoso is wise, will rather comply and submit his will thereunto. And therefore every morning and night, when civility denyed him Diana's company, he used to retire himselfe from all manner of company, as well, because all the world without her was irksome unto him, as to consult more freely with himselfe, and to consider, which way he had best take, to ef∣fect his desires: And though he saw many impossibilities in the pursuit of his affection yet, for all that, he could fix upon no resolutions, which concluded not in advantage of his love: If at any time he started a designe to make a retreat, Oh, how suddenly would his heart give a check unto himselfe? If he determined to pursue, Oh, what difficulties, what rubs, and how many Martyrdoms did he foresee? What shall we do, Silvander, (would he say to himselfe) since both pursuit and retreat are equally impossible? Then would he say in answer to himselfe: Thy best way is to do, as the heavens they would have thee. Can it be imagined, that the heavens would ever have made her so admirably fair, but only, that all those who see her, should love her? And since in going both forward and backward, thou findest equall impossibility, chuse that course which is most agree∣able to the will of heaven and to thy selfe. She is made so fair, purposely to be loved and adored; and for my part, I will far sooner quit my life, then her service. What then needs any further consultation, since the will of heaven and my own, do so well agree upon it?

As he was in discourse with himselfe, he chanced to be neer the pleasant River of Lig∣non, opposite to a Rock, which resounded an Eccho, that distinctly answered to the last syllable of every sentence: And therefore, after much turbulency of spirit, he roused up himselfe, as if awakned out of a dream, and said, Why should I thus turmoile my selfe in so many ravelled contrarieties? The Eccho which inhabits in this place, will tell me what it hath heard from the mouth of my fairest Shepheardesse; and therefore it is the most in∣fallible Oracle which I can consult withall. Then clearing up his voice, he began to en∣quire thus of it.

ECCHO,

TEll me, where goes my cries and care, Thou blabbing Daughter of the Air? To the Air. Do'st think my heart, which Torments nurse, A better End will meet, or worse? Worse. What then doth mean that charming eye, Which seemes to love eternally? A Lie. If so, then what will me recover, And from my Errour me deliver? Leave her. How! leave her, saist thou, to another? How can I leave her, when I love her? Love her. The best advice that thou couldst frame: But, did Diana say the same? The same. Had she but said, that she did Love, Oh! then I should most happy prove? Happy prove. And so I should, could I but finde, That thou wert sure this is her minde? This is her minde.

Although Silvander knew well enough, that he was his own Answerer, and that the Aire being beaten by his voice into the concavities of the Rock, was reverberated into his ears; yet could he not chuse, but resent great consolation from the auspicious Answers which he received; conceiving, that nothing was governed by Chance, but all by an All∣wise Providence, and therefore he believed those words which the Rock returned to his ear, were inspired into his tongue by some good Demon, that loved him; so as in this opi∣nion, he followed the custome of all Lovers, who use to flatter themselves in what they desire, and find such hopes out of very bare appearances, in which there in no appearance of reason. After he had given thanks unto the Genius of the Rocks, and to the Nymphs of Lignon, he intended to go and present himselfe unto his Shepheardesse, at the field of Mercury, for there she used to call, in her way to Astrea; and as he winded his course that way, he espied afar off the Nymph Leonida, and the generous Paris, who hearing his voice turned towards him, as well to enquire of the Shepheardesses Astrea Diana, and Phillis, as to enjoy his good company: For though Paris did well enough know what af∣fection he bore unto Diana; yet did he love and esteem him very much, because he could never believe, that that wise and discreet Shepheardesse could prefer him before himselfe, by reason of the grandure of Adamas, who for his quality of Grand Druide, was, next unto Amasis, the most honoured by all the Country: never considering, that Love useth not to measure by the Ell of Ambition or Merit, but by opinion only. Silvander, whose education in the Phocencian and Massellian Universities, had compleatly civilized, though the meeting of Paris was but halfe pleasing to him, yet he turned to the Nymph and him, to salute them. I need not ask you (said Leonida unto him, and smiled) what thoughts en∣tertained you in this solitary place, for I am sure, that Diana was the chiefe: But I would gladly know, why you do prefer the thoughts before the fight of her; and what oc∣casions does invite you from her presence? I will not deny, Madam, said he unto her, but that those pleasing thoughts whereof you speak, were my deer companions, as well in this place as every where else, when I am absent from Diana: But, that I should think them more deer unto me then the sight of her, give me leave to tell you, that though it ought to be so, yet I have not obtained so much Mastery of my selfe; and though you now see me without her, it is only to passe away more sweetly in contemplation those houres, which her r••past does constrain me to be absent from her: And indeed, I was just now going unto

her, at the field of Mercury: for now's the time she useth to be there, in her way to Astrea, and my intention was to wait upon her. And we (answered Leonida) came with resolu∣tions, to spend the remainder of this day with those fair Shepheardesses; and therefore I beseech you, Shepheard, conduct us thither; and by the way, tell us, why the thoughts of her you adore, ought to be more dear unto you then her presence, which is the first cause of them? For my part, I conceive it so discordant to reason, that I cannot imagine how it should be.

Silvander, in obedience to her commands, shewing a Path-way which was a nearer cut thorough a great Meadow, began thus to reply; The question, Great Nymph, is of no such great difficulty to be understood, if it be but taken as it ought; for it is most certain that the eyes are the doores by which Love first enters into our soules. If any doe fall in love upon report of beauty and perfection of absent parties, that is either a love not lasting: nor violent, being rather a shaddow than any real love; or else the soul which received it, had some grand defect in it self; for reports having commonly as many falsehoods as truths, that judgement which builds upon any such uncertain foundation, cannot bee found, nor proceed from a well-tempered soul; but as that which produceth a thing, is not the same which gives it nutriment, and makes it grow up to perfection, so it may be rightly said of Love. Our Ewes bring forth their Lambs, who at first doe seek a little nutriment from their Milk, yet it is not that Milk which brings them up unto perfecti∣on, but it is a more solid nutriment which they receive from the grasse which they feed upon: So likewise the eyes may conceive and produce a green infant-affection, but there must be something more solid and substantial to make it grow unto perfection, and that must be by a knowledge of the virtues, beauties, merits, and a reciprocal affection of the party loved. Now this knowledge does take its originall indeed from the eyes, but it must bee the soul which must afterwards bring it to the rest of judgement, and by the testimonies both of eyes and eares, and all other considerations, concoct a verity, and so ground upon it. If this verity bee to our advantage, then it pro∣duceth in us such thoughts, whose sweetnesse cannot be equalled by another kinde of contentment than the effects of the same thoughts. If it be onely advantageous to the party loved, then doubtlesse it doth augment our affection, but yet with violence and inquietude: and therefore no question but absence doth augment love, so it bee not so long as that the very image of the party loved be quite effaced; Whether it be that an absent Lover never represents unto his fancy but onely the perfections of the person loved; or whether it bee, that the understanding being already wounded will not fancy any thing but what pleaseth it; or whether it be that the very thought of such things does adde much unto the perfecti∣ons of the party loved: Yet this is infallibly true, that he does not truly love, whose af∣fection does not augment in absence from the person loved. For my part (answered Leoni∣da) My judgement is much different from yours, and I have ever been of opinion, that ab∣sence is the greatest, and most dangerous enemy which Love hath. Presence, replied the Shepheard, is without comparison much more, as wee may see by dayly experience; for you shall find a hundred loves that change in presence, for one in absence; and to demon∣strate, that presence is more enemy unto love, consider, that if one absent cease loving, its cessation i•• without any violence of strugling, and the change is onely because the memory is by degrees smothered with oblivion, as a fire is with its own ashes; but when love breaks off in presence, it is never without a noise and extream violence, and (which is a strange argument ••o prove my assertion) converts that love into a greater hatred than if the love had never be••n▪ And that proceeds from this reason; A lover is alwaies either loved or hated, or held in a degre of indifferency; if he be loved, as abundance is apt to glut, so love being loaden in presence with too many favours, grows weary: If hee be hated, then hee meets with so many demonstrations of that hate every minute, as at length he is forced to ease himself If hee be in a degree of indifferency, and finds his love still slighted, he will at length, if he be a man of any courage, make a retreate, and resist the continuall affronts which are put upon him; whereas in absence, all favours received cannot by their abun∣dance glut, since they do rather set an edge upon desire: And the knowledge of hatred en∣tring into our souls onely by the ear, the blow smarts not so much as that which is received by sight: and likewise disdain and slight, bee much more tolerable in absence than in pre∣sence; doubtlesse therefore absence is much more fit to preserve affection than presence is. I must needs confesse (answered the Nymph) that there happens many accidents in presence which destroyes love, that absence is exempted from. But for all that, you cannot per∣swade

me, but that I must needs think the sight of the party loved, does augment love much more, than by not seeing her; for carresses and favours are the food of love; and those which are conferred in presence, are far greater, and more sensibly obliging, than any others. I thought, Madam (answered the Shepheard) that I had already sufficiently an∣swered your demand; but since it is your pleasure to desire more clear reasons, I shall en∣deavour to give them. It hath already been said, that Love doth first begin at the eyes, but it is not the eyes that doth nourish it: Beauty and goodnesse without any more, give it a growth in us, when they are once known: Now the knowledge of this Beauty indeed comes first by the eyes; but when that knowledge is once in our souls, wee may love after∣wards without the help of eyes, which you will easily grant if ever you were in love: Con∣sider, and tell mee, would you lose your love if you lost your eyes? No, certainly, and therefore you must needs confesse, it is not your eyes which does preserve your love. As for the knowledge of goodness it is produced either by actions, or by words, both which doe stand in need of presence, to be first known, but afterwards not at all; for that knowledge is afterwards preserved in the secret Cabinet of the memory, whereupon a soul does after∣wards sufficiently feed. Then I beleeve you know, Madam, that the more knowledge one hath of the party loved, the more doth love encrease; but then, it is apparent, that the turbulent motion of the senses, doe infinitely hinder the clearnesse of the understanding; and as the plummets of a Clock, the one cannot ascend unlesse the other doe descend, so when the senses are up, the understanding part must needs bee down and so the contrary, when the senses are absent, the Intellectuals are best present, and does work more perfectly than they would if they were disturbed by any objects of the eye, which is able to doe no∣thing else but look, and desire, and sigh. If you would think seriously upon any matter, has not wise Nature taught you to put your hand upon your eyes to the end that the sight should not divert the understanding another way? And therefore hence you must needs conclude with me in my argument, and confess, that Love digests it self better in absence than in presence. But if it be so, said Paris, how comes it to passe that all Lovers should so passionately desire the sight of them they love? It proceeds from ignorance, answered Sil∣vander: He cannot attribute unto himselfe the name of a Lover, who thinkes his love so great that it is impossible it should augment: If any be of that opinion, he will never seeke after any means to increase it, nor bee in any quest of further knowledge, but rests himselfe contented with as much onely as his eye can afford him, without any deeper contemplati∣on. But, O great Nymph, what a vast difference there is betwixt a love that is nourished by the eyes, and a love that is nourished by the understanding? As much doubtless as the soul is superiour to the body, so much is the understanding to be preferred before the eyes. And absence in such is so far from diminishing love, that it augments and begets fresh and violent desires to augment it; and contemplation of a Beauty does imprint it deeper into the fancy than any eye can. If it be so, said Paris, I wonder you doe not absent your selfe from Diana, to the end you may the more love her. I told you before (answered Silvan∣der) that I ought to doe so, but that I have not yet obtained so much mastery over my self; for, generous Paris, we are all but men, I mean all imperfect; and the imperfections of humanity are not upon a sudden removed: We are all sensitively inclined, and love to see, tast, smell, and touch, and must needs hanker after these corporal senses. This is the point unto which I have not yet arrived, and unto which I ought. Reason will forbid such considerations, and bid us act all by the intellectual faculties: Nature bestowed the senses upon us onely for instruments, by which the soul may receive the knowledge of things, but not to be our companions in the pleasures and felicities of them, as being alto∣gether incapable of so great a good.

This discourse had continued longer, if they had not by chance heard Phillis sing neare the field of Mercury: Shee was sitting with another Shepheardesse under a shady tree, looking upon their Flocks as they were feeding untill the heat of the day was over. As soon as Silvander heard her tone hee turned his head that way and knowing them, hee turned his head again so suddenly, that Leonida could not chuse but smile. What doe you hear and see said she, which causeth you to turn your head so quickly away? I have seen, Madam, said he, her whom I never see without sorrow: Phillis I meane, the most cruel of my enemies, since she is the cause of my servitude. At the very same time, Lycidas was walking the same way, and was upon them before he was aware. Jealousie which made him fly all company, made him shun Silvander more than any other; but now Civility constrained him to sa∣lute Leonida and Paris, and being invited to follow them, though at first he would have

desired their pardon with some frivolous excuses: But Leonida, who loved him for Ce∣ladous sake, was so importunate with him, that he was forced to make one in the company: And Paris, who was very desirous to know where Diana was, did ask him, if he knew who it was that was with Phillis under that shady Tree. Lycidas, who had not yet taken no∣tice of them, looked, and then answered, that it was Astrea. Then going on their way, Leonida resumed the discourse, which she had begun with Silvander; And why Shepheard, said she unto him, are you so offended against that Shepheardess? for though shee be the cause of your love, yet is shee also the cause of your becoming a more accomplished man: And I beleeve you will confess that love is able to adde much ornament unto our soules; and if it be so you are rather much obliged unto her. I must needs confesse, answered Sil∣vander, that I believe without Phillis, I had not fallen in love; but I must tell you withall, that she is the cause that I have lost my liberty, and am lesse my own than hers whom I a∣dore: And I must also tell you, that liberty is of so high a price, that I am not so much obliged to her for making me more accomplished, as I am disobliged to her for the losse of my dear and desirable freedom. But, added the Nymph, by her means you may perhaps obtain the affection of her whom you adore and love. And a well born soul, as yours is, will set such a value upon that, be it at any rate whatsoever, as he cannot complain against her who is the cause of it; A well born and generous soul, replyed he, will not upon any termes thank her who is the cause of her servitude; for servitude, be it in what degree it will, is still servitude. At the first when Lycidas heard Phillis named, he stood still with much attention, but after he had heard all the discourse and replyes of Silvander, he did beleeve that he really loved her; and not being able to hide his Jealousie as he desired, he could not chuse but say unto him, I beseech you, Shepheard, tell mee, Doe you indeed love this Shepheardesse so much as you seem to doe? Silvander, who never thinking of Lycidas, had talked thus unto Leonida, and knowing that this question did proceed from Jealousie, hee had a minde to keep him still in his doubt, and therefore would not either deny, or confesse what he asked, but onely said thus unto him; I beseech you, Lycidas, tell mee what you doe think? I see answered he, so many dissimulations, that my judg∣ment cannot determine any certainty upon them. Since my dissimulations, said Silvan∣der, doe blind your judgement, I beseech you tell me, what is your desire? My desires, an∣swered Lycidas are not any thing dependant upon you, whose actions are very indifferent unto me: and therefore, I referre them unto your own imaginations. Since you are not pleased to acquaint me with your will, said Silvander, if I doe any thing which shall displease you, blame your self only, and arm your self with patience. Lycidas would have replyed, and perhaps somewhat sharply, if Leonida, who foresaw it, had not hindred him with an excuse that she was desirous to hear Phillis sing; for they were so neare as to hear her words, which were these,

A Song against Jealousie.

CUpid with left hand shot awry, His Bow did start, his Arrows fly Most commonly too low or high, And fayleth in his Archery.

Or if he hit the mark, I fear That all his Arrows poyson'd were, In lieu of Love did Frenzy bear; For Jealousies no other are.

If Lovers needs must Jealous be, And from such venome ne'r be free, Then fie upon't, my Prayer shall be, From Love good Lord deliver me.

Silvander intending to make Lycidas as Jealous as possibly he could, and seeing Phillis very attentive upon her Song, also Astrea upon those thoughts which this Song revived in her memory, he left Leonida, and ran unto her; fell down upon his knees, kissed her hand,

then rose up and acquainted her with the comming of Leonida and Paris. Phillis had not so much leasure as to check him for his rude intrusion, because Leonida was so neer, that she was forced to rise, and pay that civill duty which was due unto her. Silvander offered to lead her by the arme, but she seeing Lycidas in the company, did repulse him, which was no smal wound in the soul of the jealous Lycidas, who perceiving that Phillis saw him, did believe, that she repulsed him only, because it was in his presence. But after all complements of all sides were performed, all of them sat down under a shady tree, and Silvander resolving to add fewell unto the jealousie of Lycidas he fell down upon his knees before Phillis: Well, my fair shepheardesse, said he unto her, how long is it your pleasure our war shall continue? What terme have you limited unto my services? How long will you delight in those pains which you have caused me to endure? Though you do imploy all your Art and Armes against me, yet, I hope in the end the victory will be mine. Phillis knew well enough, that this shepheards speeches had relation only unto the wager that was between them, who should love Diana best, and therfore received his expression, in that sence they ought to be understood. But Lycidas, who thought that this wager was only an invention betwixt them, to umbrage their affection, he took it in another sence. Which she plainly perceiving, she cast her eyes alwaies upon him, and to undeceive him in his opinion, answered Silvander in this manner: Shepheard, Shepheard, there is no such necessity of using all my power to vanquish you, in the wager that is be∣twixt us, and therefore I dare assume so much confidence as to tell you, that I shall get the victory. Silvander knew what Phillis designed, and therefore, by way of contradiction, answered her: None can be ignorant of your power and Silvander, the least of any Shep∣heard about L••gno••, since he hath so often resented the effects of your beauty. If it be so, replyed she, you are like unto those that blinde themselves with looking at the Sun, when as the Sun is not in any fault, nor ever mindes them. Ah Shepheardess, answered he, who∣so does behold the Sun-shine of your eyes, and is not blinded, is unworthy to behold it. I cannot tell (said Phillis, and blushed at his words) what your designe is in speaking thus, but I am sure, our Mistress shall be acquainted with these dissembling expressions, which, since the wager is to be determined very shortly, I am very confident will cost you very deer, and then you will feel the smart of over late repentance. Do not think, Shephear∣dess, said he, that I shall ever repeat of any expressions of my affection to you, but on the contrary, I ought rather to be sorry, that I have been so long without any declaration of it, and ought not to fear the menaces wherewith you threaten me. Phillis knew well e∣nough, and Astrea also, that he mocked her; but that was no satisfaction to the suspition which these words did kindle in the minde of Lycidas, who perceiving how Phillis was netled at them, was the more fortified in his opinion. At the last, she said unto him. I think, Silvander, that you have laid a wager, that you would displease me with this language; or else you come to practise upon me what you shall say unto your Mistress. If that be his aime, said Astrea, his best way would be, to be plain, and speak unto you, as if you were Diana her selfe, and not to dissemble so unto you. Nay, nay, said Silvander, that's all one, my aime is to let her understand the qualitie of my affection. And then he prepared himselfe to proceed. I conjure you said Phillis, by her, whom of all the world you love most, to let me be quiet, and content your selfe, that I do know more of your affection, then you can expresse. These conjurations, said he, are too powerfull to be contradicted, and the declaration which you have made too advantageous, not to content me; and there∣fore since it is your pleasure, I am silent. You do oblige me by it, said Phillis, for I cannot endure your language; it is more fit you went and helped Diana, whom I left in her Cabin, much troubled about her beloved Lamb Floretta, which is dead, or neer it. If you com∣mand me, replyed Silvander, and will undertake the charge of my flock till I return, I will go unto her. Nay, said Phillis, if that be all, I do command you; and will undertake the charge of your flock. Then Silvander, as if he durst not disobey what she commanded, went unto the place where Diana was, leaving Phillis very glad of his departure, and Ly∣cidas the most jealous Shepheard in all the Country: For, though Silvander's language did much displease, yet, the displeasures which he observed in Phillis, were much more stinging; and her conjuring him by the person whom he most loved, was most of all offen∣sive to him: But her taking the charge of his flock upon her, this action pierced him to the very heart and yet the poor Shepheardesse did all this, only because she thought Silvan∣de••'s language was offensive unto Lycidas. Thus see, how our designes do sometimes pro∣duce effects quite contrary to our intentions.

Mean time Silvander coming to the Cabin of his Shepheardesse, he found all that Phil∣lis had said was true; for he found Diana sitting upon the ground, with her beloved sheep in her lap, which seemed to be dead, sometimes rubbing it, sometimes putting salt into its mouth, but all to no purpose, for the sheep tumbled upon the ground, and lay for dead, which grieved the Shepheardesse very much, for she loved it above all the rest. When she was out of all hopes, and perhaps accused some of her neighbours of Witchcraft, for looking upon it with some malevolent eye; Silvander came in, and after a salute asked her, what she did upon the ground? You may see without asking me, said she if you do but look in what a condition my dear Floretta is in. The Shepheard kneeled down, looked seriously upon it, and stopped its nose with one of his fingers, to hinder it from breathing: But assoon as it was let alone, after a little faint sneez, it began to turn round about untill it fell. Silvander having discovered its disease, looked very jocundly upon Diana: Trou∣ble not your selfe, fair Mistresse said he unto her, your beloved Floretta will recover again; it▪ disease is not caused by any Witchcraft, but rather by the heat of the Sun, which ha∣ving offended the brain, hath caused this disease, which is called the Vertigo, a convulsion of the nerves, which have their scource from the brain, and causeth them to go round. Time doubtlesse will cure it, without any other Physick; but yet I know a Simple, which growes in the next Meadow, which will be an infallible cure, which, if you please to give me leave. I will apply. Please (said the Shepheardesse, glad of the good newes) yes with all my heart; and that I may be acquainted with that herb against another time, I will go with you. I shall be most glad of that, replyed he, in a double respect; the one, in doing you an acceptable piece of service; the other, in having your company, which I shall think the best bestowed part of my time. Upon this, they left the sheep in custody of those in the Cabin, and went to gather this Plant: Diana all the way gave the Shepheard thanks for his good will: And Silvander having by chance observed the Plant as he came, he went presently to it again, and gathering a good quantity, they squeezed the juice of it into the ears of the Sheep, which had no sooner received it, but it immediately began to shake its head, and after two or three sneezes, it began to bleat, and call for the rest of his fellowes, and began to eat. But Silvander taking it by the neck, did put it into a room by it selfe, and wished Diana not to let it come out all that day, by reason of the Sun's heat. Diana not contenting her selfe with the cure of her beloved sheep, and with the knowledge of the herb, would yet by any means know the name of it. The Plant, replyed Silvander, hath many names; some give it the name of Cla••e, others Cleer-eye, or All-good; and we call it Scarliol, or wild End've. But I beseech you, why are you not as carefull to preserve all that is your, as this beloved sheep? When I see them ill, said she, I will apply the re∣medy, not only unto my own, but unto any's else, assoon as I can. I would you were as willing to do so, replyed he, as I see you are the contrary. Good Silvander, replyed Dia∣na, do not spoil the courtesy you have done me in curing my deer Floretta, by injuring me with such a thought: but we had better go, and seek out my Companions, who doubt∣lesse are all in much trouble for me. Upon this, she went to the field of Mercury, full of joy for the cure of her sheep; and by the way she understood, that Leonida and Paris were with those Shepheardesses, unto whom she went: Presently after, she saw them all com∣ming towards her; for Paris hearing of Diana's griefe, desired all the company to go unto her, and try if they could give any good advice for the cure of her sheep: But when they saw her comming afar off, they stayed, supposing the sheep to be either cured or dead; and as chance was, it was just in the field of Mercury, where foure waies met: And because the basis on which the statue of Mercury did stand, was raised above the levell three steps, they sat round about it, and some looking one way, some another, Leonida espied two Shepheards and a Shepheardesse, coming, as it were from mount Verdun, who seemed to be at some odds; for the actions of their hands, armes, and all parts, did shew them to be in some passionate dispute, especially the Shepheardesse, who thrust from her sometimes the one, and sometimes the other, and would not hear them: sometimes they stood still and held her, as if they were desirous to make her the judge of their controversy; but she still struck away their hands on both sides, and then ran away from them, untill they overtook her again. Had they not sometimes kneeled down before her, and otherwhiles submissively kissed her hands, to stay her; one would have thought by her flight, that they would have offered some violence unto her. And drawing neer this statue of Mercury, without taking any notice of the good company that was about it, Leonida shewed them unto all the company, and asked, if any knew them? I have often seen them, said Lycidas, in the

Town next adjoyning unto mount Verdun: They are not originally of that place, but strangers, whom the fortune of their Parents constrained to come and dwell in this Coun∣try. If you desire to see a young springing beauty, give great hopes of rare perfection, look but that Shepheardesse in the face; and if you could by any means invite them to relate the difference that is betwixt them, I am confident it would prove an excellent diversion: for they are both in love with that Shepheardesse, and she will not entertain either: It was once my chance to hear some of their disputes from their own mouths, and in my judg∣ment it was worthy of notice. The Shepheardesse is called Celida, he that is the taller on the right hand, is called Thamires, and the other Calidon. Lycidas had no sooner said this, but the strangers were so neer them, that every one perceived the reports of Lycidas concerning Celida to be most true; for the lustre of her beauty was so admirable, as it at∣tracted all eyes upon her; and though there might be found some nice defect in her beauty, yet any one might judge that time would bring it unto exact perfection. Whilst every one was in a censorious contemplation of her, Leonida, prompted by the report of Lycidas, was very desirous to know their difference; therefore she advanced towards them, and after a civill salute, invited them in the name of all the company, to sit down and rest themselves upon the stairs where they did sit. Celidea, who was full of civility, and knew what re∣verence was due unto the Nymph, and also very glad to avoid the importunities of the two Shepheards, she did most willingly accept of Leonida's offer: And when all were taking their places, Diana came unto them, and after all civill salutations, she sat down amongst the good company. Lycidas not being able to endure, that Silvander should sit next Phil∣lis; he stole out of the company before any took notice of him, and went to entertain his own sad thoughts in the thick of the wood. Then Leonida, having caused Celidea to sit next her on one hand, and Astrea on the other, Diana sat next the stranger, and Paris next her. And because Phillis had taken her place next the sad Astrea, Silvander was with Thamires and Calidon; and though they did not sit about the statue, yet their backs were towards the fair Shepheardesses, and could not see them. Paris and Phillis did sit a little turning from them yet so, as by a little turning their bodies, they could both see and speak unto them. Being thus ranged, Leonida seeing Celidea's modesty would not permit her to speak, and intending to inspire her with more confidence, she thus broke silence Although, fair Celidea, you were unknown unto us by sight; yet the fame of your beauty hath rea∣ched all our ears, which swells us all with extream curiosity, to know both you and your fortune. Lycidas hath partly acquainted us with the difference that is betwixt you and these two courteous Shepheards; but since there goes various reports of it, we should be extreamly glad to hear the truth from your own mouth. Madam, answered the stranger, I shall be very loath to requite your civility with a tedious History of our dissentions; but, if the knowledge of it will any way contribute unto your service, I shall most freely do it. Although the relation and remembrance of things past, be nothing pleasing unto me; Yet, great Nymph, I cannot chuse but desire, that you might entertain the time with some other, and some better discourse. Madam, said Calidon, since this shepheardesse is unwil∣ling to undertake the satisfaction of your knowledge, I beseech you impose the task upon me; let me be the Relator both in the presence of her and Thamires, to the end they may correct me, if I deviate from the truth. Great Nymph, said Thamires, since it is I that am most interressed in the businesse, it is most reasonable you should receive it from my mouth. Upon that account, replyed Celidea, it belongs most unto my selfe to be the rela∣ter, for you are both combined against me. I finde no reason in that, said Calidon; for though, fair Celidea, you are against us both, yet both of us are for you: And as for Tha∣mires, I would have him know, that he who has most wrong, has most reason to com∣plain: And, great Nymph, it is most peculiarly proper unto me, to inform you, of the ex∣tream injury that is done me; for it is I whom the fair Celidea hath injur'd, in refusing me, and it is Thamires that hath wronged me, in offering to ravish that from me, which Love hath ordained unto me, and he himselfe hath give me. To return your own arguments upon your selfe, said Thamires, it is I that ought to speak, being the most injured; I, that have reason to complain against Celidea, because she did once love me, and now does not; and against Calidon, because he is the most obliged unto me, and yet the most ungratefull. And I, great Nymph, replyed Celidea, have most reason to complain, because I am the But, at which both their importunities and vexations are shot at, and both of them are re∣solved to vex me to death, rather then let me enjoy any quietnesse; so as if the party most interressed, must most complain, it is both their parts to be silent, and give me the liberty

to tell my dolefull tal••. The dispute had lasted longer, if Leonida, in a smiling manner, had not put an end unto it: and imposing silence, she proposed, that the difference might be decided by Lot; and all being contented, the Lot fell upon Thamires, so as all fixing their looks upon him, after an humble reverence, he began thus:

The History of Celidea, Thamires, and Calidon.

SInce it hath pleased the great Tautates, to make choice of me for a relater of the dissen∣tions that are betwixt us, I do professe, that though it be the custom of all interressed persons to speak only what is to their own advantage; yet I will not conceal and disguise the truth in the least manner, upon this condition, that when every one hath said all they can for themselves, I may have liberty to alledge my own reasons apart. Be pleased to know then, great Nymph, that though both Calidon and my selfe do dwell in that Town which adjoynes unto mount Verdun, yet we are not of that Country; our Fathers and their Pre∣decessors are Boyens, who heretofore came out of Gaul, with the King of Beloveses, and went to seek out new habitation beyond the Alpes; who, after they had planted themselves there, and continued many ages, were in the end expulsed out of those Townes which they had built, by a people called Romans; some being plundred of all their goods, went into Hircania; others returned into their own ravaged Country; our Ancestors came into Gaul, and at last, linked themselves by Marriages unto the Segusians. Thus, wise Nymph, I do present unto your knowledge, that you may the better judge, how great the amity betwixt Calidon and me ought to be; for, being both of us Boyens, both descended from the same stock, and are Cosens, both strangers, and heretofore both friends; all these cir∣cumstances are so many inviting arguments to love one another. Also, I do ingenuously confesse, that I did ever affect him as dearly, as if he were my own son; I may well be al∣lowed to use that phrase, for I have done him the offices of a kinde and good Father, ha∣ving educated him with as much indulgent care, as his own Father, who was my Uncle, could; even in his Infancy, when he had not so much knowledge as to discern good from bad, then, and ever since, was my indulgency over him. This fair Celidea was brought up by the prudent Cleontines, a neer neighbour unto my habitation; and though she was then of an age far unlikely to cause love, (being scarce nine years of age) yet I must confesse, that her Infantine actions did much please me, and did take me in such an unaccustomed manner, as I suited my selfe to her own young sports; and though I was an age of years a∣bove her, yet I played with her, as if I were as young as she: How oft have I wisht us of an equall age, and that her time might go forward, and mine backward? How many times have I striven to withdraw my selfe from this vain affection? But not having power to do it, when she came at ten years old, her beauty did put forth such hopefull budds, as I was then not ashamed at my loving an Infant: And I remember, upon this subject, I com∣posed these Lines.

Upon a young Beauty.

AURORA, usher to a day, The fairest in the month of May, Did never promise one so gay.

And would you early Roses pick, And Lillies, that are timely, seek? Behold them springing in her Cheek,

The Sun did never rise so cleer, No•• halfe so radiant all the Year, As she, in budding, does appear.

But if her Morning be so bright, Her Noon, when Beauty is at height, Will quite eclipse the Sun of light.

If Beauty do begin so soon, And charme i'th Bud, before well grown, What will it, when the Bud is blown?

I'le venture ods, that then she shall Enflame both gods, and men, and all And Mistresse be Imperiall.

Heaven, I beseech thee, let us finde Her heart like to her eyes, both kinde; Else make our hearts and eyes both blinde.

Now because I did foresee, that this Beauty would be the object of many eyes, and that my heart would not burn alone, I resolved to be the first that should insinuate himselfe into her minde: And considering, that her age was not yet capable of any solid affection, I cour∣ted her with childish toyes, and sometimes talked of Love, of Passion, of Desire, and of Flame; not that I thought her able to resent such things yet, but my end was, only to ac∣custome her to those phrases, which commonly does more offend the ears of shepheardesses, then the effects themselves do. I continued this life above a year, during which time, I would sometimes steal a kisse, sometimes put my hand into her bosome, and indeed, great Nymph, so tampered with her, that I did extreamly win upon her affection; for, when she came to be eleven years of age, she loved me, as she her selfe said, as well as she did her Father; and her affection growing every day, she vowed unto me, that she loved me much above the degree of either Father or Brother: And when she accomplished the age of twelve, she loved me above all the world. And indeed, she was so void of all malice, and so easy to be wrought upon at that age, as I could have engaged her unto any thing, if I had not designed to marry her when she was a little older: But that consideration, together with the reall affection I did bear unto her, did restrain me from all manner of evill thoughts. But, because her simplicity made me fear, lest any other should deceive her, since many began already to court her, I was continually laying before her that high esteem which every one did set upon constancy and fidelity; how contemptible those were, that loved many; how almost all Shepheards are unfaithfull and deceivers, and there was no credit to be given to their words; nay, that it was a grand fault in any young woman to hear them. But one day, when she answered me, That if this be a fault, then she ought not to suffer me to speak as I did; I perceived, that she was still in her innocent Infancy, since she did not know my aim; and therefore I read her a loving Lecture upon Love and Amitie, telling her, that we came purposely into the world to love; that without this vertue, there was no delight in life; that it was Love which made all bitter sweet, and paines easie; that whosoever was without that quality, were extreamly miserable, because none could ever love them; that she saw before her eyes the example of her Father and Un∣cle; her Mother did Love her Father, and her Aunt her Uncle; but such as love above one, are scorned by every one. But I beseech you, replyed she, are shepheards also obliged to love but one? Doubtlesse they are, answered I: And do you not see, that I do love only you? But I beseech you, tell me, said she, did you never love any one before I was born? and if I should die, would you not love some other? I could not chuse but laugh at this down∣right demand, and in answer to it: Know, my Fairest, (said I unto her) that I did never love any till you did come into the world; and if you should die before me, my love would die with you, and never live again for any other. And if you should die before me said she, must I of necessity do the like? If I must, pray Father teach me how I must bury my Love in your Coffin. Daughter, said I unto her, and smiled, you must still let your love of me live in your memory, as I should of you, if you did die before me. But how, said she, should I love one that is dead? When you did at any time kisse me, and put your hand into my breast, if I did ask you, why you did so you alwaies answered, that it was, because you loved me: And when you are dead, must I do the same? Fair Daughter, (said I unto her, taking her in my armes, and kissing her) shepheardesses never use to hang upon the necks of those shepheards whom they love, nor use any such carrasses as testimo∣nies of their loves unto them: It is enough for them to suffer, and not act such things. I beseech you tell me, replied she, is suffering ones selfe to be kissed and carrassed in this manner, a testimony of love? Doubtlesse it is, (said I unto her) and therefore they ought

not to suffer any so to do, unlesse such as they do love. And how do shepheards expresse their loves, said she unto me? As I do, answered I, when I kisse you, and take delight in playing with you. It seemes, said she, that when one would kisse me, and play in that man∣ner with me, I may by that know he loves me.

I do relate the simplicities of this young Shepheardesse unto you, Madam, that you may the better know, of what nature that affection was which she bore unto me, and with what indulgent care I brought her up, more like a Father then a Lover; you may hereby conceive, how much beholding she ought to be unto me, for not loving her after a vicious manner, nor working upon the simplicity of her age and disposition; for you may perceive by her Questions and Answers, that her minde might have been tempered into what Mould soever I would. Perhaps you will wonder, that I, who was of more solid years, could take any delight in the conversation of one who was so very young; but if you will please to consider, that Love is alwaies a childe, and takes most delight in youth, you will not think it strange, that since I must love with a most pure and sincere affection, an innocent and harmless beauty should be most agreeable unto mee. And the very truth is, it was not I that was the author of this affection to her, but it was heaven that forced mee to love her whether I would or no. For I did often absent my self from her, and opposed all manner of arguments that reason could suggest against it, but that did rather augment than diminish my affection, which in the end grew to a most extreame height. About this time Calidon returned out of the Boyen Province, and was some eighteen years of age, or thereabouts. He was taller than usually that age allows any; handsomly proportioned; his complexion, for a brown, extreamly fair; his mind, his garb, and his discourse, was higher than perhaps his quality required, but yet not at all proud nor vain-glorious. I must confesse, that when I saw him so much improved, I loved him better than I did before: For before, I did love him onely in consideration of Consanguinity, and upon the recommendation of my Uncle; but when I found him to be so amiable, so extreamly well accomplished, and every way so well improved, that I having neither Wife nor Child, or then intending to marry, resolved to make him my Heir, after my death, unto all my estate, which perhaps was not very inconsiderable. And to oblige him unto a reciprocal good will unto me, I declared as much unto all my Kindred and Neighbours. Now because I did foresee that dwelling in my house, it was almost impossible but he should fall in love with the fair Celidea, I gave him a most strict charge to look upon her onely with the eyes of a Brother, and not of a Lover: He protested with a thousand asseverati∣ons and oaths, that he would obey me in this, and all things else, and would not doe any thing in the world that should displease me: Yet before the Moon had run a full course, he was charmed with Celidea; and not daring to declare it unto her or me, or any else, after he had languished a while, hee was forced to keep his bed; his eyes shrunk into his head, his complexion grown yellow, and grown so lean and altered, as he was not knowable. I brought the most knowing and experienced Physicians in all the Country unto him: If Fame cryed up any man, I spared neither cost nor pains till I got him. I caused Sacrifices to be offered upon every Altar of the Country to appease Tautates, Hesus, Tharamis, and Belinus, if Calidon by chance had offended them. I sent to enquire of every Oracle and Augurer: I sent for all the Bardi to come and pray with him: I sent also for the best Mu∣sicians, to try if Musick would allay the Melancholly which oppressed his soul. To bee short, there was not one sage Sarronide which at my request did not come to visit him, and give him wise precepts against grief and sorrow. But all these had no operation; nor could all the teares which I shed by his beds side, get him to tell me the cause of his disease. Thus languishing in this manner, and no remedies could doe any good upon him, there was an old Physician, a friend of mine, who hearing of my sorrows for Calidon, came unto me, to comfort me in my affliction; and after as good and wise advice as any humane Prudence could give, hee bade me resign Calidon and my own will into the hands of Tau∣tates, and to believe, that if I did it unfeignedly, I should receive more comfort than I could from all men living. When he was ready to goe away, he desired to see Calidon: We went both into his chamber, he fell into talk with him, and considered him very seri∣ously he felt his pulse, observed his actions and gestures; turned him every way to finde out his disease: And after hee had been two hours with him; Young man, said hee unto him, chear up, and bee assured that you shall not dye of this disease; I have found out the cause, and I have known many sick of the same, but never knew one dye of it. Then go∣ing out of the Chamber, he took me aside, and said thus unto me; The age I have attai∣ned

unto, is great, and though I have not employed all my time very well, yet not all un∣profitably: I have studyed the art of Physick very long, and have attained unto no meane reputation; I have been employed by many of the best quality amongst the Boyens, the Se∣guanonans, and the Allobrogians: Long experience have I had in my Art, which makes me speak with more assurance than any that is younger than my self can. Let me tell you, that Calidons disease proceeds not from the body but the mind; and if his body be sick, it is because of the near union it hath to his sick mind, which makes it resent the pain as if it were its own, as we see one friend sensible of the pain of another. And though these kinde of maladies be very painfull, yet are they not so dangerous as those of the body; for the mind is not subject to corruption, or dissolution of parts, but onely to change its quality. I tell you this, that you may not despair of the young mans cure, whose Malady, I think I have very rightly discovered; And by all symptomes, I finde that he is extreame passio∣nately in Love, and is either sleighted, or else dares not declare it. As soon as ever the Phy∣sician said so, I presently apprehended, that certainly it was with the fair Celidea; and because of my forbidding him, hee durst not speak of it. When the Physician perceived me sad, in lieu of rejoycing at the matter, hee asked mee the reason, to whom I answered, that I was more in fear of him than ever, because his malady was without the compasse of my cure, and he might love one I had no power over, or else a stranger, or perhaps some enemy, and therefore I saw no reason to rejoice. There is a remedy, said he, against any thing but death, and therefore never fear but I shall keep Calidon alive; and if you will please to give me leave to be with him a few dayes, I shall discover well enough whether he be in love with any that has any dependance upon you, or with a stranger. You cannot hope, said I unto him, ever to get it from his own mouth. No, no, said he, that's not the way; but fear not, I shall bring it about: Matters of Love be they never so close, may easily be discovered, if prudent artifice be used.

But, great Nymph, I should be extreamly tedious if I should relate every trivial pas∣sage, therefore for brevities sake, I shall onely tell you, that this Physician was for seven or eight daies never from Calidons bed side. In the mean time, he advised me to get all the young Shepheardesses in the neighbourhood to come and see him, under pretence of sorrow for his sicknesse. As for the Physician, hee was alwaies holding him by the arme, and felt his Pulse, to know when any caused an extraordinary motion in him. So it was, that Ce∣lidea at that time was gone a journey with Cleontine, and stayed away five or six daies, and therefore she was almost the last of all the visitants, though the nearest neighbour: I con∣trived it so, that all my friends and neighbours sent both their Sisters and Daughters to my house; & when we were almost out of all hope to discover what I desired to know this way, one came to tell us, that Celidea was at the door. As fortune was, the Physician held him by the arm at that time; and his pulse did beat a slower pace than it had done all the day; but as soon as ever he heard Celidea named, it began to beat as if he were in a most high Feaver. The Physician finding this, did look him in the face, and saw his eyes more quick and lively than ordinary; his complexion came into his cheeks, and he saw so great an alteration every way, as hee would hardly stay till Celidea entred for better assurance; but when she entred, his pulse then did keep a mad mans time, and all parts were different from their ordinary temper. Therefore drawing me aside, Thamires, said he, It is not Ce∣lidea which enters into the Chamber, but it is Calidons Wife, if you would have him live. Oh heavens! how those words pierced me to the heart? They struck me dumb, I was not able to speak one word. Afterwards, when I had a little recollected my self; I asked him, whether considering the condition he was in, it were fit to marry him? No, said he, it will be enough if you can procure the Shepheardess to give him some knowledge of her affection; and in the mean time you may talk with Clcontine, who being wise, will not bee against a match so advantageous.

The Physician went away, and left me in a worse condition than his patient. Oh what strange contrarieties were in my soul? One side bade mee yeeld Celidea unto Calidon, for friendship sake; Love, on the other side forbade the banes. But, said Friendship unto me, Calidon will dy if you doe deny her; and there is no Physician but this, can cure him: And Love answered, how canst thou live thy self, if thou doest not enjoy her? Canst thou not sur∣mount a vain passion (said Friendship) and be ruled by the Laws of Reason? What reason is it, replyed Love, to dye thy self, to make another live? Doe you not consider (replyed Friendship) that Calidon is young, and therefore lesse able than thy self to master his un∣ruly passion? Wilt thou that art arrived at grave and stayed yeares, shew thy self weaker

than he, or, to express it a little better, wilt thou buy a little transitory pleasure, that is past almost as soon as had, at so deare a rate as the death and eternal losse of Calidon? Away, away, change thy minde, consider not what thou art, but what thou shouldst be: Think how the Father of that young Shepheard will reproach thee: Did he not with his last dying breath recommend his young childe then in his cradle unto thy indulgent care? Didst thou not swear he should be as dear unto thee as thy self? Doest thou not remember the many good offices thou receivedst from him? Oh Thamires do not buy thy repentance at so dear a rate: Repent, repent for shame of an act so unworthy an ancient Boyen, from whence it is thy boast to be descended, and let not thy soul be continually gnawed upon by an evil conscience?

I must confesse, that these considerations had such a prevalency with me, as I did once resolve to part with Celidea, and resign her unto Calidon. But, O Madam, what extream difficulties did I finde in the execution of it? First, to the end this young Shepheard might recover his health, I begun with him, and acquainting him with my knowledge of his disease, I shewed him my extream desire of his cure: At the first, he denyed it unto me, but at last hee did confesse it with watry eyes, and asked me forgivenesse, with so many apparent signes of sorrow, that seeing his errour was by a most compulsive power of Love, I could not chuse but take his fault upon my selfe. But the grand difficulty was to speake unto Celidea for shee was so farre from loving him, that shee did down right hate him. And certainly this hatred proceeded from an Antipathy in Nature, since she had not the least shaddow of any cause for it; and the Shepheard had so many excellent good qualities, that in all reason they should rather have gotten love than hatred: And yet shee would alwaies say unto me, that Calidon of all men shee knew, should be the last man she would love. But being resolved to make this overture, so contrary both unto her will and my own, I was at an extream puzzle where, and how to begin. At last, I thought it best to break the Ice by degrees for to bid her downright to love Calidon, was not the way, both in respect of her affection to me, and disaffection to him. I went therefore to work by degrees, and now she was not to be treated as a child: I hinted unto her my extreame sorrows for the Shepheard; how dear his life was unto me, and how I should never enjoy any delights if I lost him; That Physicians and all knowing persons told me his malady proceeded from nothing else but sorrow; and not knowing what was the cause, I could not chuse but de∣sire all them that loved mee, to study how to make him merry, or at least to finde out the cause of his sicknesse: And that she being one whom I loved and honoured most, shee was in some sort obliged more than any to endeavour the cure of this Shepheard for my sake: Therefore I conjured her by our friendship, to see him as often as she could, and to carrasse and cheer him up, to keep him from that melancholly which would kill him. She who did really love me, did promise to doe it so oft as she conveniently could: And indeed did so, which on the one side did content me, and on the other did so grieve me, as I did thinke I should not live. I had a conceit that her familiarity with him would in time engage her to liking of him, which afterwards might the more easily make her bee perswaded unto love: Shee having no other design, did onely as shee promised, but did not change her minde. However this wrought good effects upon Calidon, who receiving so many favourable vi∣sits, and being so kindly carrassed above his expectation, did in a short time begin to re∣cover: And though he was not presently cured, yet there was apparent signes of amend∣ment. Now because that shee was weary of this life, and because I saw my design did not take according to my thoughts, I intended to oblige her another way. I addressed my self unto Cleontine, acquainted her with my affection unto Calidon, with my intention of ma∣king him my Heir; I represented unto her the quality of this young Shepheard, his virtues, and to be brief, with the love he had unto Caledon, and used all manner of arguments that might advance the match. Judge great Nymph, if I went not very farre, and whether he be not much obliged unto me. Cleontine thinking the Match to be advantageous, did thank me for my good will unto Celidea, then gave me her word that she would use all her endeavours in favour of Calidon; but that the young Shepheardesse had a Mother who lo∣ved her exceedingly well, and shee could not dispose of her without her consent: But she would motion it unto her and in the mean time prepare Celidea as wel as possibly she could. Thus, Madam, you see how miserable my fortune was: I invented all possible ways to de∣prive my selfe of the onely good that could render my life pleasing unto me; and I did foresee, that though I did bring it passe, yet I should reap no contentment by it. Had I ob∣tained for Calidon that which I did endeavour, what could I ever have hoped for in my

life? Had I not obtained it, how should I have grieved for that Shepheard, who was asdea•• unto me, as if he had been my own child? This being my condition, which I knew not whether to tearm a death or a life one day after I had received Cleontine's answer, I went unto Celidea, with whom I was not so familiar as formerly: My dear and fairest Daughter, (said I unto her) Cleontine has acquainted me with her intention, and I conceive, that you ought to approve of it. Then fearing she should ask me what it was, I seemed to have earnest and suddain businesse to do, and went away, leaving her in a great doubt what it was: But I went away with a sad heart; for, strive what I could against my own will, I could not blot her out of my soul; and as often as I fancyed Celidea in the armes of ano∣ther, I must confesse, that I had not resolution enough to endure the very thought of it. Imagine in what condition I should have been, if the Marriage had taken effect, which tru∣ly I did most vigorously endeavour for Calidon's fake?

Then Cleontine, thinking my proposition advantageous for Celidea, she took her aside, and broke the matter unto her: Then, before she asked her opinion of it, she told her what was he••••; and the more to induce her, told her, how much she was obliged unto me, for motioning it unto her. That Shepheardesse Madam, can best tell you, how she started at the motion, especially when she heard that it came from me: but so it was, that she had much ado to conceal her anger in Cleontin's presence; yet, giving her a very modest answer, though it were very far from her thoughts, she referred her selfe unto her judgment, and the pleasure of her Mother, unto whom she was never disobedient. In conclusion, being re∣solved to marry a Grave rather then Calidon, she came unto me. Assoon as ever I saw her, I perceived that something did trouble her, for her eyes trembled in her head; her eye-lids frowning and her colour higher than ordinary. But I could not imagine that she should be offended against me, nor believe, that Cleontine had told her the motion came from me. As fortune was I was under a great Elme alone, which stood by it selfe almost in the midst of Mount Verdun's plain, neer the high way. As soon as ever I saw her I did rise up, and holding her hand as I was went, I was amazed to see her pul back her arme, and look upon me with an angry eye: Thamires, said she, how dare you take her hand, whom you have given to another? Was it not enough, and too much, that you have abused me as long as ever the innocence of my age could endure it? Do you think your selfe so subtle, and me so simple, that now, being past a child, I cannot see your cunning perfidie? When she saw me stand amazed, and did not answer: Nay, nay, Thamires, said she, never think to deceive me any more by your words, nor assurances of amity; I am now grown more crafty, and I wish to god I had alwaies been so then I should not have now so much reason to complain of you. But go, ungratefull person and cruell, (yea, I may most justly call you both ungratefull and cruell, since you have so ungratefully forgotten the reasons you had to love me, and since you have so cruelly abused my innocency by your craft). Away ungrateful and cruell man! What did you ever finde in me, that should give you any occasion to use me thus? Was there ever any old enmity between our Parents that you would revenge upon me? Did I ever attempt against your life? Have I ever spoken against you or any of your friends? Did I ever fail in my word or friendship? Have you ever found any fault in me, that did invite you to cast me off? Or, do you now think me not wise, or rich, or fair enough, for you? If it be to revenge the fault of a Father upon a Daughter, me-thinks it, should be an act unworthy of Thamires? If I did ever attempt against your life, why did you not take mine away at a blow, but put me into the power of an enemy, with whom I should live a dyinglife every minute? If I be not fair enough, nor so vertuous as to please you, good Thamires, go and seek out a better. But alas, why must I as a pennance for a fault in nature, be put into the hands of him, whom nature it selfe makes me abhor? For gods sake leave me in the same liberty you found me, when by your craft you began to deceive me, and content your selfe with those sorrowes I shall have all my life, for not knowing your designe sooner. If ever I failed in friendship, I must confesse, you are just in doing the like. But, Thamires, I beseech you, lay it in my dish and tell me, wherein I ever failed. Ah! most unnaturall Shepheard, you are mute, and cannot speak a word; Is it for the sham: for the wrong you have done me? or, have you any new piece of subtlety against silly Celidea? Go, go, perfidious and disloyall Thamires. This act hath put me out of opinion, that ever you loved me. The knowledge of your tyranny shall keep me for ever from subjecting my selfe unto any man in the world. Never think, that all you can do, shall ever make me Calidon's. Death shall be more welcome unto me, then the most accomplished Shepheard in all this Country. Let the memory of this be a sad stain upon

thy soul to eternity: And I am confident, the just gods will see me revenged. In offering to give me unto Calidon, you have for ever deprived your selfe of the truest and most faith∣full affection that ever was; and never hope it will revive, unlesse an universall conflagra∣tion should set the whole world a fire, and so kindle this love in me again. Away, away, there is not a man upon the face of the whole earth, but Monsters, and Tigers, that would devour me. Upon this, taking from her neck a platted Chain which I gave her, as she gave it into my hand, she broke it in pieces: Thus, said she, is our love to one another for ever broken, and never to piece again. She had no sooner spoken these words, but she ran away with a piece of the chain in her hand, and left the other in mine, who was in such an extasy, that I was not able to speak one word by way of excuse, nor follow her one step I must confesse Madam, that these words did sting me to the very heart; and when I did seriously consider what good reason she had to speak them, I could not lay the blame upon her, but wholly upon my selfe: However, I kept my selfe still constant to my resolution, of endeavouring the contentment of Calidon. He, knowing that I had spoken of it unto Cleontine, and hearing the report of their Marriage publickly divulged, he did not much wonder, that his Shepheardesse should never see him; but when Cleontine came to visit him, conceiving it but fit for her so to do, since their Marriage was so much spoken of; so as in a few nights he recovered his former health, and got out of his bed, and a little after out of his Chamber. In the mean time, Celidea was much perplexed and ha∣ving no other hopes, but in the tender affection of her Mother, since she saw I had gained Cleontine, assoon as ever she saw her, she fell down upon her knees, and would not rise, untill she had obtained a promise, never to marry her against her will. Celidea was so exceedingly contented with this assurance, as shcould not rest, untill she had advertised us of it, thinkinking her desires not compleatly satisfied till then. It is very hard to say, great Nymph, whether I was more sorry, or more pleased; for on the one side, I feared Calidon's relaps; and on the other, I was glad that none should enjoy Celidea. But when I saw Calidon, though something sad, yet in health, I must confesse, that I was extreamly pleased at Celidea's repulsing him, and did in my heart commend her prudence and reso∣lution; for I had a conceit, that all she did was only to reserve her selfe for me, not imagi∣ning her anger against me was so high, as utterly to extirpate the affection which she bore unto me; so as recollecting my selfe, I did confesse, that the injury which I had done her, was not with a designe to extinguish my love unto her, (for I never had any such inten∣tion, nor could ever hope to be so much Master of my selfe) but only had a minde to sa∣crifice it unto Calidon's health. So then must the act which I would have done be phrased: for my aim was only at the saving of his life, and not at the satisfaction of his pleasures. These considerations being often in my minde, Love began to be more violent in me then ever; and easily it might, for having resigned this fair one unto Calidon, only to save his life, and seeing that he lived still, though she was not his self, I conceived, that my quitting her having wrought its intended effect, I might very justly fall on upon my own score as I fell off for Calidon's. Upon this account, I went to the shepheardesse, I shewed her the reason why I dealt so with her, and why I did now dedicate my selfe wholly to her service, be∣feeching and conjuring her, to pardon and forget the fault, if she thought it to be one. To be briefe, I used the best arguments and eloquence I could devise, to advance my cause; but I found her to be so exceedingly altered, that all my arguments, excuses, and reasons, could not move her more then they could a Rock, nor obtain the least glance of a favoura∣ble look upon me As fortune was whilst I was speaking to her, Calidon comes in, and think∣ing to finde me a very good second, he advanced towards us, to speak to her for him∣selfe; but when he heard my words, never man was more amazed: he durst not then ap∣braid me with breach of faith and abusing him; but stepping back three or foure paces, with folded armes: Oh heavens! said he, is there any loyalty in any man living? Is it he that brought me up, lie whom I call Father, and he, who hitherto hath done me all in∣dulgent offices▪ is it he, I say, that puts a dagger into my heart, and sends me to my grave? Unto which I returned a faint answer, shewed him the reasons why I quitted Celi∣dea, and why I did again apply my selfe to her. But Love did so transport him into such violent raptures, that there could be no bitter invective, wherewith he did not asperse me. But the shepheardesse did laugh at us both: Nay, nay, said she, never strive for Celidea, for neither of you have the least share in her: Not you, (said she, and turned to Celidon) for I never did love you: Nor you, (said she, and turned to me) because you are extreamly unworthy of that love, which once I did bear unto you. Then she left both in a confused

amazement: We also parted. And ever since, that shepheard hath continued with one of his Kinsmen, and never came at his own Cabin. Three Moones have changed since this separation, and do both he and I what we could, we could not obtain one good word from her; but, the more violent we are in our loves, the more violent she is in her hatred. In the mean time, such is my extream affection to her, that it will not admit of the least diminu∣tion, but does still more and more encrease: so as did she but know it, I do believe, that since she did love me before, out of an opinion I loved her, she would love me much more now, because I do love her now much more than I did then, and more than any man living can.

Thus Thamires ended his relation; and after a while of silence, he began again. Now, Madam, said he, as chance was, we met this shepheardesse upon the banks of the River Lignon; and because love continues in us and disdain in her, we both of us shewed her the best reasons we had, to convince her, that she ought to love one of us. I pleaded, that it was I upon whom her election ought to be.: Calidon, on the other side, whom I have so much obliged by many good offices, he very opinioatively maintaines, that it belongs to him. Now knowing that your wisdome can much better understand reason, then I can ex∣presse, I would with all my heart, to put an end to our long dissentions, (for we are alrea∣dy grown the common talk of our Town) that you, great Nymph, would be pleased to hear our reasons and arguments from our own mouths, and ordain what you shall con∣ceive to be just, for I shall most freely submit my selfe unto your judgment: It would be a work well worthy of your selfe, it would be acceptable to the gods, and would infinitely oblige us all unto you. Leonida thanked him for the pains he had taken, in the relation of of the matter; and did assure him, that if he, and all those who had any interest in the businesse, did think her able to be the Judge, she would most willingly arbitrate the mat∣ter, according to the best of her judgment, upon condition they would all promise to ob∣serve it otherwise, all their labour would be but lost. Thamires kneeled down upon his knees, and said: Oh, great Nymph, I do refer my life, my death, and the contentments of them, unto your wise judgment; if I do disobey your doom, let our Druides excommu∣nicate me from ever assisting them at their holy sacrifices, and forbid me for ever coming into the sacred groves, or our celestiall woods. For my part; said Calidon, if I do not the same, may the Misleto of the ninth year be never wholsome unto me, let the great Tautates animate all his furies against me, and never let me be at rest, if I do not submit unto your judgment as proceeding from the great god. And because Celidea stood silent, Astrea said unto her. Are not you pleased, fair Shepheardesse, to be rid of all the importunities which you receive from these two Shepheards, and refer your selfe unto the judgment of this great Nymph? I am most willing to be rid of them answered she; but I am afraid to fall into a greater misery: And certainly, I should refer the hazard of this judgment unto any, if the gods had not advised me the last night in a dream, to take another course: For, presently after midnight, me-thought I saw my Father, who hath been long dead, open my breast, take out my heart, and cast it as a stone in a sling over the River Lignon; then spoke these words unto me: Go, my child, unto the other side of the fatall River Lignon, there thou shalt finde that heart which so much torments thee, or else a full satis∣faction and rest, untill thou comest unto me. Upon this, I awaked and therefore I am re∣solved to passe over the River, to see if I can finde that tranquillity which is promised un∣to me. However, Madam (said she, and addressed her selfe unto Leonida) you may be certain, that I shall never disobey any command which you shall impose upon me, since I do believe that the gods will speak by your mouth. Since it is so, said Leonida, I do pro∣mise you all three, to give as just a Judgment, as I my selfe would receive upon the like occasion: And that I may not erre in my judgment, Paris and these fair Shepheardesses and Silvander, shall help me with their advice, before I pronounce the Sentence. And there∣fore Calidon, said she, shew me your reasons, why you conceive Celidea ought to be yours, and not Thamires's, who hath so long been her Guardian, and brought her up as his own? That Shepheard then rising up, and after a low reverence, he began in this manner.

The Oration of the Shepheard Calidon.

OH great god of Love, who by thy unresistable puissance hast ravished from me all that reason was wont to have over my will, hearken I beseech thee, unto the suppli∣cation of the most faithfull soul, that ever resented the power which beauty, by thy means, hath over the hearts of men; and inspire me with such language and reason, as thou didst, when I was weary of Celidea's scorn, and was resolved to decline from her service. Let this great Nymph be moved with my arguments; let her, whom thou hast given me, and who was also given me by him that had the greatest interest in her, be preserved and kept for me, both against her own scorn, and against the violencies of him that would ravish her from me. Were it not in hopes of assistance from this divinity whom I invoke, I durst not, great Nymph, open my mouth against a person, whom of all men in the world I am most obliged unto: For I must needs ingeniously confesse, that Thamires, by his sweet indul∣gency towards me, has more obliged me, than my Father, who gave me life; the one gave me only a being, but the other a well-being. Thamires has been troubled with all the ve∣xations of my child-hood, and hath brought me up even from my Cradle; he hath spared no paines nor cost in my education, nor care nor prudence in causing me to be well in∣structed; so as the Appellation of Father is in all reason his due, and I must acknowledge my selfe his Child, having received from him all those indulgencies, which those names require. And in confessing all these obligations, how can I open my mouth against him, without incurring the ugly brand of ingratitude? If this dispute did depend only upon my selfe, I had rather be in my grave sleeping with my fathers, and wish that my Cradle had been my Coffin, rather then oppose Thamires in any thing: Thamires, I say, who hath made me what I am: Thamires, unto whom I owe all I have: Thamires, in whose service, when I have spent all my life, yet halfe my obligations are not cancelled. But alas, it is all long of himselfe; it is Love which commanded me; he himselfe also commanded me. Let Thamires tell me, whether it be possible, that a heart which Love hath touched to the quick, can disobey him in any thing? If he have found this to be true by experience, then I do conjure him by the god of Love, who hath such power over his soule, to pardon that fault which I have been forced to commit against him; and that he give me leave to maintain, that all reason ordaines Celidea to love me, and that there is none but my selfe that can pre∣tend unto her. For to begin with the first point, what can Calidea answer if I call her before the Throne of Love, and if in the presence of this equitable company, I do complain against her in this manner? This is the fair one, Oh great god of Love, which presents her self before thee▪ This is she whom thou hast commanded me to love and serve, upon hopes of such re∣ward as thou usest to give unto those that follow thee. If from the first minute of my begin∣ning, unto this instant, I did ever contrary thy will, if I have notalwaies continued in a full resolution to spend my whole life in thy obedience; Then, Oh Love, who lookest into all hearts, and seest all my designes, let me be punished as a perjured villain, and let all the thunderbolts of the great Tharamis fall upon me, as a perfidious person. But if truth and my words agree, and if never any loved like me, why dost thou suffer her to deceive my hopes? why does she not make good thy promises? and why wilt thou let her laugh at all those miseries, which thou hast made me to endure for her? Assoon as ever I saw her, I loved her, and assoon as ever I loved her, I did dedicate my selfe and soul to adore her. But perhaps this affection is unknown unto her, or I have only acquainted the solitary Woods and Rocks with it. No, no, Oh Love, she hath heard my complaints, she hath seen my tears, she knowes of my affection, somthing from my own mouth, more from Thami∣res, Cleontina, and other of my friends; but most of all from the effects of my passion. Has she not seen me in the bed of death for her? has she not held me by the hand, and pul∣led me from my grave, saying unto me, Live, live. Calidon, thy pretensions are not hope∣lesse? And since I had suffered the very pangs of death, why did she call me from that rest, which my grave would have given me? If it was to make me die again without pitty, it was extream cruelty? Must I be punished with a second death, for obeying and adoring her? But perhaps she will say, that I ought to measure her by my own Ell, and consider, that as I have not power to quit her and love another; so she being engaged another way, she cannot disengage her selfe to love me. Oh Love, these are only words, bare excuses Let her shew the contract of this engagement, and if thou dost not presently adjudge it to be false,

then let me be condemned. She never loved any, but the shepheard Thamires, as she hath told me; but I dare say farther, and maintain, that she never loved this Thamires. Did she love him? Alas, when? Even when she was not able to love, when her hands and mind were wholly taken up with childish Gew-gawes; when her desires could not reach any higher then to be a little Fine, or to make a Baby, and dresse it, and talk to it. Was she not whol∣ly ignorant what Love was? or if she did at that age love Thamires, or thought it to be love; must she needs love him still? Alas, alas, such young green affections as that is like our clothes, to be cast off when we will. Oh! puissant god of Love, how ignorant was she, or rather, how did she despise all thy statutes and ordinances? Is it not by thy Lawes de∣clared a most capitall crime, to think, that ones Love shall ever end? What then shall we think of this shepheardesse, who could not so much as think, because she was uncapable of desire, but who is really retreated from that love, which she bare unto him, as she her selfe told Thamires? Can it besaid, Oh great deity, that she was ever one of thy subjects? Wilt thou acknowledge her, or let her enjoy those priviledges which she pretends unto, or suffer her to oppose me? But if it be so, that thy super-abundant goodnesse, which transcends the goodnesse of all other deities, will allow her to enjoy the benefit of true Lovers, because she flies unto thee for sanctuary, and may plead, that loving Thamires will not love me, no, nor so much as look upon me, how can she answer this, that she her selfe hath con∣fessed, she would not love Thamires any longer? With what excuse can she palliate her im∣piety? And why dost thou not punish this high disobedience? If thou dost not, then she is the only one, that despising, is not punished; and I the only one, who adoring thee, does not finde the reward of thy accustomed goodnesse.

I do believe, Oh great Nymph, that Celidea being thus accused before the Throne of this great deity, she can hardly answer, nor avoid being condemned, to give me satisfaction for all the paines I have taken, and to render love for love, whilst Thamires cannot oppose me with any particular interest: For what interest can he claim in that, which he hath freely given me? He hath estated the whole title upon me, and is so far debarred from any right, that he ought in reason rather to defend and maintain my title, against all men li∣ving, since it was from him I derived my title. But perhaps he will say, that it was his meer free and voluntary act, without any consideration, but his own love to me, and there∣fore is not obliged unto any warrantie. But why, Thamires, do you call that a meer vo∣luntary act, which you have confessed before your Judge, that you were obliged unto it by your promises, unto my dying Father, unto whom you were much obliged for severall benevolences? Do you call that a meer free act of your will, which you were constrained unto to be quit of so many obligations? Do you think you do oblige your Creditors, by paying your due debts? I must confesse, great Nymph, that Thamires hath paid both principall and interest, which renders him not to be ungratefull; but I do absolutely deny, that there was nothing in this act which did oblige his will. But admit it so, that it was an act of his own meer free will, and that he did it of himselfe; did not the effect of this will aime at his own peculiar satisfaction? If he do but consider the debt due unto the me∣mory of my Father, and his aime of obliging me by this act, of giving Celidea unto me, he will finde, that it was not an act of pure and meer free will, but a way to satisfie him∣selfe, by paying that debt which was due to my Father, and a way to purchase my obli∣gations unto himselfe; so as what he hath done is but a loan, which I must perpetually pay interest for, and which he may claim as an obligation upon me to pay: If I should sail in paying my acknowledgments, he might justly call me ingrate; but he cannot say that he gave me Celidea freely, since in consideration of himselfe, and by the rules of human pru∣dence, he was obliged unto it, and hath so debarred himselfe, as he is obliged to maintain my claim unto her, against any that shall hinder me from enjoying her. The god of Love be my witnesse, Father, (for so I will call you as long as I live unlesse you forbid me) the great god of Love be my witnesse, I say, whether it grieves me not to the very foul, I should oppose you in this businesse. You your selfe doe know, in what a sad condition you have seen me: You know, how Love had almost brought me to my grave, and you must needs confesse, that it was the power of Love which compelled me to displease you; such was the force upon me, that I had no free will unto it at all but was forced by a com∣pulsive necessity unto it: Nothing else under the Sun could have made me contradict your commands; if there be let the gods punish me as the most ungratefull person that ever breathed. But Father, since there was an unresistable force upon me, I beseech you pardon my weaknesse, and do not you your selfe help me to complain against you; for, were not

you the cause of all this? For since it was wholly in your dispose, why did you bring me from amongst the Boyens before you had married Celidea? Could you think, that being your Kinsman, I should not sympathize with you, and so be in danger to love her as well as you? But perhaps you will say, that you thought your command upon me not to love her, was enough to keep me within the bounds of my duty, and make me look upon her onely as my Sister. But, wise Thamires, I doe wonder you should not remember the follies of youth; and that it is the nature not onely of all those of that age, but generally of all men whatsoever, to think things that are most forbidden to be most sweet: I admire you should forbid me loving her before ever I saw her, as if you had a minde to make me love her by the ear, before she was seen by the eye. What was this, but to awaken my desires, and to kindle a fire; like a Flint which is strucken, which before was cold, and had no appea∣rance of heate in it.

But perhaps again you will say, that you did allow me to love her in the degree of a Si∣ster, and so limit my desires as I should neither offend you nor my selfe; you in not con∣straining me too much, and me in not confining me too narrowly, but allowing me to keep within your prescribed limits.

But, O great Nymph, consider, I beseech you, what kind of command this was: Tha∣mires shewes me a beauty of an infinite lustre, allows me converse with her; commands me to love her, but will not have my love stir one foot beyond his limit, nor love her above the quality of a Brother. Oh heavens! what did he think I was made of? Can Love that thinkes the whole universe too narrow a compasse to be confined unto, and who disposeth of all our wills according to his pleasure be hemmed up in such strait limits as hee pre∣scribes? Will Love be ruled and governed by the will of any but himselfe? But what in the name of Heaven does Thamires thinke of me? Does hee conceive that I have more power than either Men or Gods, or the whole World hath? It had been but just to have measured me by himself; and if he could have tamed his own affections and passions, then might he have had some reason to impose the like task upon me: But that hee who had ex∣perience of his own strength, and of Loves power, for him, I say to command a thing which he himselfe could not observe, whose age and experience had great advantage over my green years, this was too much, too unreasonable. Perhaps again he wil complain, that I have not payd him such respect as is due unto a Father, & that his great indulgency towards me might very well oblige me unto much more than all this. Alass, alass, does he not con∣sider, that what I did was done by compulsion; and that I had rather dye than fail in any point of duty to him? The torments I did endure, when I was in the very Arms of death, is a sufficient testimony of all this. The grave Physician found it by my Pulse, and altera∣tion in my complexion: Let him consider, that such was my respect of him, that I chose death rather than I would discover the cause of my Malady. If he will blame any, he must blame Nature, for not giving me power to command my Interior motions, as well as my Tongue and exterior actions and parts: Alass, I would never have received life from him but on condition that Celidea might be mine: I doe confesse that never man was more ob∣liged unto another than I am to him; I know that never Kinsman received more indulgent kindnesse from another Kinsman; nor ever any Child greater testimo∣nies of affection from a Father than I did from Thamires when he resigned Celidea unto me: But now at this time, since he offers to ravish her from me, May I not rightly say, that never man received greater injury from another? never Cosen more unkindness from a Cosen, nor child more tyrannique treatment from a Father, than Calidon from Thami∣res? So as now all my former obligations to him, are cancelled and changed into so ma∣ny injuries: For, Thamires, though it is true, you had a care of mee in my very cradle, though you have brought me up with all indulgent care; though you have declared mee your Heir, yet for all these, if you doe deprive mee of that thing which farre above all the world is most dear unto me, and which you your self did give me, doe you not give me a death much worse than that which you preserved me from? And if I doe not enjoy that which you would ravish from me; your estate, your education, nay, my life it self is of no value unto me. Consider, wise Thamires, that to take back a gift by force, doth more offend him that did receive it, than if being asked it had been denied him; and therefore, wonder not if I say that this act hath cancelled all my obligations unto you. Which to prevent, I beseech you joyn with me, and own what I shall say unto Celidea on your behalf; How is it possible, my fair Daughter (would I have you say unto her) that Calidons ex∣tream affection should find no acceptance from you? Will all my perswasions and recom∣mendations of him reach no farther than your eares, and have no effectual influence upon

your soul? Have you not often promised that I should have the absolute dispose of you? If it be so, why doe you not make good your promise? Did I ever propose any unto you who was not worthy to be loved? Is he whom I doe now motion unto you such a one, or unknown to you, or without kindred or friends? I beleeve there is not a Shepheardesse in all the Country, that would not thinke his amity to be advantageous unto her. The wise Cleontine thinks it so, and so does your Mother, though out of an over-fond tender∣nesse she will not command you any thing against your mind: But perhaps you say, that, Thamires, it is you only whom I love, and cannot love any other; unto you have I wholly given my self; you have the absolute power over me, and may do any thing with me but giving me unto another. The heavens doe know, my fair Daughter, how pleasing this declaration of yours is unto me, and that there is nothing under heaven can be more ac∣ceptable unto me: But if you doe indeed love me, you will endeavour to preserve my ho∣nour, and love me under the name of Calidon, who is my very self, and of my very blood. As for his soul, he loves you as I doe, so as there is a sympathy betwixt us: And since a∣mongst friends, all things are in common, so since I love him, I have nothing he hath not a share in as well as my self: So as if I have any share in your affection, as you say I have, he must of necessary consequence be a participant with me. Doe not complain against me for this, and say, that I break faith with you, and change you for another; for I am fully re∣solved never to love any but you; you, you onely were the beginning, and shall bee the end of my affection. But since Destiny forbids me to enjoy you, and constrains mee to be∣queath you unto another, both by the Laws of Duty and Nature, I shall think it, faire Daughter, an infinite contentment to see you his whom I have made choice of, whom I have brought up, whom I love, and whom I have chosen, not onely for my Heir, but also for my Companion in all the estate which the Heavens and Fortune hath, or for the future shall give me. You are obliged unto this by our Friendship, as well as I am by my duty. Love therefore my Calidon, if ever you loved me, and make it thereby appear, that you are but a Lover, and Religious towards the Gods, who certainly would never have given me liberty to part with you against my will, had they not so decreed it in their infallible Destinies.

Great, and wise Nymph, this is the language which Thamires doth, or ought to use, of which I am onely the instrument; And which, as I conceive, is so just, and so worthy of himself, as I hope he will not disown it. And therefore, after I have vowed by the great Tautates, that Calidon doth infinitely love Celidea, and that there never was a more faithfull Lover than he, I will use no other arguments or reasons but his own, and so re∣ferring my life, my death, my happinesse, my misery, and my All unto your wise discretion I pray unto the Gods to endue you with all Wisdom and Justice.

Calidon concluding thus with a low and humble reverence, he went unto Celidea, and falling down upon his knees before her, hee waited for her answer. Thamires he proferred to speak, but Leonida told him that Celidea was to speak before him, since he had already spoke unto the matter: So, that Shepheard going againe to his place, Celidea, by the Nymphs command, began thus.

The Answer of the Shepheardesse Celidea.

I Am so unaccustomed, great Nymph, to speak upon such a subject as this, especially be∣fore so much company, that though I doe blush, and express my self with a trembling tongue, yet I hope it will be no prejudice to the justice of my cause. Were I not most con∣fidently assured that my reasons not to love this Shepheard, are in themselves so clear, that they need no manner of artificial dresse to illustrate them unto you, I durst not be so bold as to open my mouth upon this subject: I perceive the eloquence of Calidon is much a∣bove mine; I want both wit, spirit, and eloquence to glosse a matter as he can: My words are onely simple, and sutable to my reasons; which though not many, yet valid enough to make it manifest unto you, that since I never did love Calidon, I ought not to beginne at this instant, nor continue that affection which once I had unto Thamires, since I have so many reasons to the contrary.

But where shall I begin? What Divine Powers must I ask assistance from, in this dangerous combat? I am assaulted, not by Love but by Monsters of Love. A combat ful of danger in∣deed, since my wel or ill being depends upon it: And Monsters of Love indeed they are, since

they will make me love by force, and compel me to love and hate according to their wills.

I have heard our great and wise Druids say, that Hercules, whom we see erected upon our Altars, with a Club in his hand, and a Lyons skin upon his shoulders, was in his time a great Hero, who by his strength and valour quelled Monsters, and was a great Patron of Truth. From whom therefore in this extream necessity should I implore aid, sooner than from this valiant Hero? And the rather, because as I have heard, hee loved a Lady of Gaùle; and doubtlesse will for her sake afford me the aid I implore. To him therefore do I addresse my self to subdue these monstrous spirits, and to furnish me with so much elo∣quence and audacity as may make my reasons apparent unto my Judges. I beseech thee therefore, by thy valour, O great Hercules, and by the fair Galathea our Princesse, I con∣jure thee to deliver me from these monstrous Lovers, and so to cleare my reasons unto this Nymph, that she may give a just judgement, and keep me from loving both Thamires and Calidon.

And to begin, what dost thou mean, Calidon, by calling me before the God of Love, whom thou dost make both thy Judge and thy God? Dost thou think, that he hath any power over us, who are ashamed that his Name should be in our mouths, though it do reach our ears? A Maid, Calidon, who ever scorned to have any thing to do with this Love, is now summoned to appear before his Throne to receive her doom: And canst thou expect I will make any other answer, but that let this God of Love doom what he will I will not obey him? But I prethee tell me, when I have observed his statutes, and am constrained to live according to his will, what recompence may I expect from him? onely this, to be called the most amorous Maid in all the Country. A very brave and honourable title indeed for a maid of any quality, and one that desires to live without a blemish upon her honour. Therefore, Oh Shepheard, never summon mee before his Tribunal whose Power and Jurisdiction I will not acknowledge, and unto whom I doe declare my self to bee an enemy.

If you will have me give an answer, let us both appeal unto Virtue and Reason, and certainly wee need not goe any farther than this great Nymph, who is pleased to take so much pains to hear our differences. Before her I shall answer unto any thing you have or can object; which as I conceive may be reduced unto three heads: First, that I ought to love you, because you love me, and because I knew it: Secondly, because the favours which you received from me in your sickness, and which, as you say, caused your cure, have ob∣liged me: And lastly, because Thamires hath given me unto you.

But, Madam, that I may give full answers unto all these objections, I beseech you com∣mand him to answer unto my questions, that you may come to the knowledge of the Truth out of his own mouth. I ask you, Calidon, what allurement did I use, to make you in love, the first time you begun to love me? When she saw he stood silent, and gave no answer, she addressed her self unto the Nymph; Madam, said she, I beseech you command him to answer me: And Leonida appointing him so to doe; You ask me a question said he, which you your self can best resolve; but since you will needs have it from my mouth, I will tell you; It was the favour which I received from you, in being pleased to shew your self unto me at the Sacrifice which was celebrated at the sixth of the month. Was I the onely woman that assisted at the Sacrifice (said Celidea) and were you the only Shep∣heard of the Town that was there? No, answered hee, for almost all the Shepheardesses and Shepheards of the Town were there also. What one act was it, I beseech you, replyed she, that did attract your affection? In this, answered Calidon, you must acknowledge that my love was the decree of heaven; You did no sooner turn your eyes towards me, but as soon as ever I saw you, I loved you, as if I were forced unto it by some interior power, which it was impossible to resist. But perhaps (said the Shepheardesse) when I knew you did love me, did I use any art to cherish it, or augment it by any fresh favours? No, said he, my affection did beginne without you, continue without you, and augment with∣out you, I mean without your contributing any thing unto it but by being your self. But on the contrary, the first time you knew it (for though I did not discover it by my words, yet I knew you did perceive it) Oh what harsh treatment did I receive from you? And what extreame dislike have you since shewed? So as if I be as you say, a Monster of Love, I am so, because it is a thing most monstrous that a Lover should so long preserve his affecti∣on maugre so many rigorous affronts and causes of hatred; for I may safely say, that eve∣ry one of your actions towards me deserves no other name but of Rigour and Hatred: So

as it is apparent when you came to visit me in my sicknesse, your design was to save my life, onely that afterwards you might murder me more cruelly. Then Celidea replyed thus; You see, great and wise Nymph, by Calidons own mouth, that if hee did love me, it was without any contributing to it by me, unlesse by being my self; and against that, what re∣medy can I invent? What would he answer if I should ask him these questions before the Throne of Reason and your self: Since Shepheard I never did consent unto any of your addresses, why would you have me participate in your own troubles, shame, and errours? Is it not enough that I have all this while endured your importunities without revenge? You doe love me you say, and because you love me, I must love you again: But pray hear what Reason saith; You have loved Celidea, and in loving her, you have offended her, and what other recompence can you expect from her but hatred? The truth is, Shepheard, that being unwilling to be revenged of you, as in reason I might, I contented my self with hating you in my very soul, and for Thamires his sake I pardoned the rest. If you doe ob∣ject that I doe know of your love by your teares, and by your sicknesse: Alasse, this does not oblige mee one jot the more to love you, but rather to hate you more ex∣treamly.

Tell me, Calidon, since Thamires hath taken so much care to bring you up in literature, and travails, in what part of the world have you seen it decent for a young maid as I am, to love, or suffer her self to be loved? If it bee not the custome in any place of the world, but where Vice is held for Virtue, doe you not infinitely offend in tempting mee to that which is contrary to my duty? You love me, you say, because you cannot chuse but doe so. Good friend, how am I obliged unto you, for doing that, which you cannot chuse but do? You do excuse your selfe to Thamires, for loving me against his will, by saying, that you are not to blame, because you are forced unto it. Can you think your self exempt from blame, in sinning by compulsion? and do you think your selfe worthy of recompence, for being forced unto a thing, whose contrary deserves a recompence? Either confesse your selfe culpable towards Thamires, or else cease seeking a recompence for your forced service, But if you do love me against my will, am I to be punished for it? Did I ever entreat you to it? did I ever give you any occasion? You say, No. Will your love be any contentment or advantage unto me? Shall I become more fair, more vertuous, or ever the better by it? Oh heavens! Calidon, where are your wits? Are you mad, to ask a recompence, where a pu∣nishment is deserved? Or rather, what an impudent affront is this, before this great Nymph, to demand ••••vour and wages of me, in lieu of a pardon, and in lieu of repenting for your faults. I believe you will say, that I should not have flattered you in your errour, nor kept you alive when you were sick by giving you good language. But, Calidon, have I not good cause to say, you are an ungratefull man and does not acknowledge the good office I did you, in misconstruing of it, and taking it in another sense then you ought. Did a guilty person ever finde or think his Judge too milde or sweet? or, did any offendor ever com∣plain, that in lieu of punishment, he received favour and courtesy? Because I wished not your death, am I blamable for saving your life? You accuse me for having pitty upon you, and shewing favour instead of revenge, and would have me punished for it. Judge, Madam, how his understanding is out of the way, and how he takes reason the wrong way. But Shepheard, neither blame me, nor commend me for my act, since according to your own argument, it was an act forced upon me, which ought neither to be recompensed nor pu∣nished. It was my affection to Thamires, who conjured me unto it by all the obliging arguments he could devise, which induced me unto it. I see, Calidon, that you do smile, that I should say, it was my affection unto Thamires, which moved me to treat you in that manner, because you conceive, that she who a little before did declare her selfe such an enemy to Love, cannot now well say, that Love had such an influence upon her soul. But Shepheard, you are much mistaken, if you think, that in being an enemy unto Love, I am so also unto Amity and friendship, or void of that vertue, which makes us think of things as they ought to be. I have heard say, great Nymph, that one may love two manner of wayes; the one according to reason; the other, according to desire. That which hath reason for its rule, is called vertuous and honest Amity; and that which suffers it selfe to be transported with desire, Love. With the first of these we do love our Parents, our Kindred, our Friends, our Country, and both in generall and particular, all those in whom any vertue shines. As for the other, those that are infected with it, are transported and distem∣pered, as with a frenzy Feavour, and do commit so many grosse faults, that the name of it is as infamous amongst persons of honour, as the other is good and laudable.

I shall without a blush then confesse, that I did love Thamires, but withall I must tell you, it was for his vertue. If Calidon do ask me, how I can distinguish and discern between these two kinds of affection, since the one does commonly appear in the habit of the other? I shall answer him, that the wise Cleontine teaching me how to behave my selfe in the world, did give me the difference: Daughter, said she, my age hath furnished me with ex∣perience in many things, and hath taught me, that things are the most certainly known by their effects; and the better to discern after what manner we are loved, consider the actions of those that love us; if you finde them to be irregular, and contrary to reason, vertue, or duty, flie them as dishonourable; if on the contrary you finde them to be moderate, and not ramping beyond the limits of honesty or duty, then cherish them, and esteem them as ver∣tuous. This sapient lesson, Shepheard, teacheth me to cherish the affection of Thamires, and to flie yours: For what effect does the love of Calidon produce? Violencies, raptures, transports, and despairs, were never the effects of vertue. If the love of Thamires be consi∣dered, we shall finde it to be all vertue: When did he begin to love me? At a time, when there was no likelyhood any vice could invite him to it. How has he continued this affe∣ction? So, as neither duty nor honesty could take the least exception against it. But why did he give over? For the reasons which he himselfe hath given. Whether reason do not appear in all this, I refer my selfe, Madam, unto your judgment. These considerations moved me to entertain the affection of Thamires, and reject the love of Calidon. And this Amity, and nothing else, did enforce me to visit this Shepheard when he was sick; to give him such good words as might recover him; and all this, as well to satisfie Thamires, as out of a naturall compassion, which all ought to have one unto another. If I did fail in my love to Thamires, Calidon, for your satisfaction, I will confesse it and repent, with a pro∣testation, to love Thamires no more, nor fall into the like fault. But I cannot believe, that therefore I am obliged to love you; for if I should, it would be to correct one errour by committing another, which is worse. Perhaps you will alledge against my defence, that having given the whole disposition of my selfe unto Thamires, and he transferring me into your hands, I cannot contradict his disposall of me. This is an excellent conclusion indeed: I chuse you for my husband presently after you may give me unto another; this is very fine Logick. You must know, Calidon, that the reason why I gave Thamires all the power of my selfe, was, because I did love him, and he loved me; and therefore if he have any power over me, he must love, that is the implicite condition of his power; but if he do not, then, the cause ceasing, the effect must needs cease: and therefore if he do not love me, he hath no power over me. But haply you will reply, that he swears he does continue loving me still, and that it is reason, not want of affection, which made him transfer me over unto ano∣ther. I must answer both him and you, Shepheard, that I do not believe him; and yet, if reason can so well perswade with his affection, why should not reason have as much power over my affection? Is there any reason I should love him, whom nature and reason both forbids me to love? Nature forbids the banes, for since the first houre I ever sa•• you, there was such a contrariety in my heart, and such a secret antipathy in it against you, that I disliked every thing I saw you do. Believe it, Calidon, what I say, proceeds not from any scorn of you, but from the very truth; I had rather chuse to rest in my grave, then live with you: not but I do know and confesse, you deserve a much better fortune; but the rea∣son is, because Nature does hold me from you with abundance of violence, and without any cause: And since it is so, upon what pretence can you desire I should be yours since Nature does forbid it, and Reason likewise, which neverthwarts Nature? Go, go, Cali∣don, live in quietnesse; do not wilfully endeavour to make two persons miserable; for the truth is, you will be as miserable by it as my selfe. If you do love me, let it suffice, that your love is most troublesome to me, and do not strive to surcharge me with an intolerable burthen, by forcing me to love you. And be assured of this, that Lignon shall sooner run backward, then you shall finde any place in the affection of Celidea.

This, Madam, is the Answer, which I shall give unto the shallow reasons of Calidon. But now, I have another more dangerous enemy to encounter withall, who has better Armes, and who gives more smarting blowes: I mean, the ungratefull Thamires; Thami∣res, whom I did really love, and whom I thought had loved me as well as any possibly could. But alas, what would he have now? Can he expect any thing from her, whom he hath betrayed into the hands of her most cruell enemy? Does he yet hope for any love from her, whom he hath most ungratefully wronged? Whan colour, and upon what ground can he desire me to love him? Is it, because he did love me, or because I loved him? This,

Madam, had been some reason at that time; but now, since he has left loving me, and would force me to love another and not himself, why does he urge unto me the time past, which is not, nor ever will return? The memory of that time is an argument to hate him the more, since I do finde him at this present so unworthy. I do confesse I did love him; but, when he resigned me unto another, he did demonstratively shew, that he neither did nor does love me: And therefore let him not think it strange that since my affection did proceed from his mine should cease as well as his; for his was the cause, and mine the effect, and the cause ceasing, the effect must follow. Why did he cut up a Tree, from which he expected fruit? He hath done me more wrong then I him, since he was the first offendor, and yet I am satisfied, I complain not, I can quit him with a very good will, and cannot wish he should court me again, because it is a thing impossible to obtain me. What is it he would now have? Does he not know, that as long as our love was mutuall, I was his, and he was mine, and then by the Lawes of Amity he might dispose of me as his own? If he have given me unto Calidon, how can he pretend me to be his? If he have any thing to require from me, he must addresse himself to him unto whom he hath given me; if he can have his consent, I will afterwards consider what I have to do; if he cannot, why does he complain of me? or ask me, for what he has given away? He hath sacrificed me, as he saith, to Calidon's health, manifesting thereby, that Calidon was dearer unto him, than I was, and in very good time: But can he not be contented, that his sacrifice is accepted, and that his deer Calidon is recovered from death? Would he so sacrilegiously recall, what he has dedicated unto the gods? Remove, Thamires, all such thoughts out of your soul, lest the gods do punish you for it; and do not hope, that since I have been offered un∣to the gods for the health of Calidon, I will ever stoop so low as men again. The truth is, since I have been so ill treated by the man whom I most esteemed, it would be extream im∣prudence in me, to put my selfe into his hands again, who knew not how to make any better use of me Perhaps Thamires would have me again, that he might som other time save the life of some friend or kinsman; or else courts me now, to keep me against Calidon fall sick again: But be assured, that my own life is much deerer unto me, then his life is unto whom you have given me; and therefore I have all the reason in the world to look unto my selfe before any other. If I did bestow some tears at thy departure Thamires, I will laugh at your return. Oh, how liberall you are, to give away that which is anothers? But, Oh you hea∣vens, how just you are, since when you saw me offended by these two Shepheards, and knowing my innocency, you would vouchsafe to take me into your protection, and have revenged my quarrell, even by my enemies themselves. What displeasure does this perfi∣deous man receive, even from him unto whom he hath given me? And what torments does this importunate persecutor of my rest receive, even from him, who gave him all the right he has to pretend unto me? What lesse can be expected upon them, than divine vengeance? And I make no question, Madam, but you will ratifie the doom of heaven, and give sen∣tence on my side.

Thus Celidea ended, and by making an humble reverence unto the Nymph, did shew, that she had no more to say: And therefore Leonida commanded Thamires to give his reasons, so as he began thus.

The Answer of the Shepheard Thamires.

I Perceive, great Nymph, it happens to me, as unto him that made a sword for one, who thrust it into his heart; for I, that educated this Shepheard and Shepheardesse with as much indulgent care as was possible; I that taught them to speak, and how to live in the world; yet these two do wound me to the very heart and soul, so as I have no hopes left, but in your favourable judgment. It seemes, they make me the very Butt of their ingrati∣tude, and would have me bear all their own faults; but, though these aspersions do deeply wound me, yet, I had rather be the offended, then the offending party: And truly, I am naturally such a deadly hater of ingratitude, which is the bane of all humane society, that I had rather receive the blow from the hand of another, then give it.

Perhaps by acknowledging the faults which you both have committed, you will be ashamed, and repent of the wrongs you have done me, in requitall of all my indulgency towards you: And then, all your gilded language which you have employed to my ruine, will be a shame unto your selves, since I do still love you both, and since my affection is

yet much above all the injuries you have done me. Now, my children, I doe pardon you, and passe by the follies of your youth; but then, I do expect you should confesse your faults, and acknowledge my favours, and that you doe confesse a lesse affection than mine, could never pardon such ingratitude. I perceive, Madam, that I doe speake unto deafe ears, and spend my advice upon stones which hear me not. I have hither to applied the most milde medicines, to see if sweetnesse would cure them, but since Lenitives will not doe, Corro∣sives must; and since they continue still obstinate, I must pursue them with Fire and Sword.

These are the most substantial reasons which Calidon hath alleadged: You have given Celidea unto me, and you are obliged unto it by the confidence which my Father did put in you, by the affection which you professed unto me, and by your hopes of obliging me. And you have offended me much more in offering to take her from me after the gift of her; than if you had at the first denyed her unto me: This, great Nymph, is all he hath said with such a huge flourish of words, both against mee, against himselfe, and against reason.

Ungratefull Shepheard, wilt thou thus trample upon my goodness and indulging over thee? You say that I did give Celidea unto you; and why I beseech you, did I give her? was it was because I was weary of her, or onely to please you? No, no, say you, it was only to save my life. Well then, you must confesse you owe your life unto me; and are you not extreamly ungratefull in offering to take his life away that preserved yours? If I did give her unto you onely to save your life, what wrong is it to aske her againe, now your life is saved, and you well? But haply you will say, that though you are recovered, yet it was onely in hopes that Celidea should remaine with you; what though you have recovered your health, since now you are not in any danger? Courtesie and discretion teacheth us, that when in cases of necessity wee make use of any thing which is our friends, we should restore it with the interest of thanks. It seems you are very farre from so much courtesie and discretion, since when I gave you some hopes of Celideas favour, and gave you thereby your life, now you are recovered you would take her and them for your own, and endeavour by glosing language to cover your ingratitude. But, Madam, perhaps he wil say, that if I do take her from him, he shall fall into the same danger he was before: No, great Nymph, you see by experience that now he is assured Ce∣lidea will never be his, he onely grows a little more melancholly; but his life is not at all in danger, and therefore to save his life being the reason of my act, and not the satisfying of his pleasure; since his life is saved, I may without offence take her back unto my self. But admit his life were at the stake, would not my life be the same? For should I bee de∣prived of this fair one, death would be more certain unto me than life. Judge, Madam, I beseech you, whether I ought not to have a greater care of my self than him. If he con∣ceive that I ought to yeeld Celidea unto him, to save his life because his Father loved mee, and recommended him unto me, why does he not as well conceive himself obliged to yeeld her unto me, since my life is as well concerned, and that upon the very same consideration of amity which his Father professed unto me; Is it not his duty to have as great a care of my life as I had of his? He knows, ungrateful man that he is, I cannot live if I be denyed her, and is he not extreamly ungratefull if he doe deny her unto me? Is hee not unwor∣thy the title of Son unto him that hath so much loved him? Can he think, that because I loved him, therefore I am obliged to part from the thing which is most of all the world dear unto me? Is he not unworthy the name of Kinsman, since he does not value my life? Nay, may I not disown him for a Friend, since he will not doe the same offices for mee in my necessity, which I did for him? Nay more; May I not account him the most cruel ene∣my I have, since he pursues me against all reason, with such violent arguments to my very death? The very thought of Ingratitude from such as we have obliged, is so extreamly odious unto all, as I cannot possibly give punctual answers unto every particular instance of this Shepheard, who hath so extreamly offended me. Give me leave, I beseech you, Madam, to present this offer unto him in a few words; As he ows his life unto mee for yeelding Celidea unto him, I will release him of that obligation, so he will yeeld her again unto me. And to make it appear that he is out of all danger, he cannot deny but that it is above a month since Celidea refused him: She told him that she would never love him; she let him know that her Mother promised not to marry her against her consent, and at the same time told him, that heaven and earth should meet before she would contract any affection with him; yet for all this, ye see he lives, and strives to take away the life of him

that did preserve him. Since he is most certainly assured that Celidea will never be his, is he not the most ungratefull person in the world, in offering to hinder mee from obtaining her? There is not any hopes for him, and hee would also ruin all mine. Should he desire that another should enjoy this happinesse before me, the whole world would never know the like Ingratitude. I gave him that which was mine, and hee will not let me have that which is not his: I saved his life by depriving my self of that which was most deare unto me, and he will refuse that unto me which never was his. But, great Nymph, all these hot disputes 'twixt him and me, are me-thinks, to no purpose, since his misfortune, and my too much affection unto him, hath taken from us both, that happinesse which we are disputing about. What right can you have unto Celidea, since she does not love you? You will say no other, but from your affection to her, and from my gift. But, Shepheard, what pre∣tence can you have from your affection, since you see she disdains and refuseth you? And what can you pretend unto by my gift, since I gave you no more than what I had my self to give? Now all the right that I had, depended upon her own will, and if this will be contrary unto mine, what power or right had I in it? Therefore, Shepheard, you can have none, nor make the least shaddow of pretence unto any. Now, I beseech you, let us see what right I my self can pretend unto. Oh heavens, how great would it be if there was no Calidon in being? An affection begun in the Cradle, so long carefully continued; a courtship so full of pure intentions; an affection so violent, and so long in possession of favours; all these would make my cause very strong, if Calidon were not in the world, or had no eyes, or else if he could have guided them according to reason.

I must needs confess, fair Celidea (and so I do with teares in my eyes, and sorrow in my heart) that you have more reason to complain of me than all your words and mine can expresse. I acknowledge, that never did any affection receive a greater affront than yours hath by my imprudency; yet who should endure, nay overcome great difficulties, but those who have strength and courage? 'Tis true, I have extreamly wronged you, but may not you make this an occasion to shew how highly you can love, by passing by and pardoning such an offence? What testimonies of your love have you heretofore promised me? What is it which you have not said you would surmount for my sake? I do now summon you unto your promises, and put you to the Test; And what greater testimony can you give, then by this occasion which I now offer unto you? When I did oblige you by my services, by my affection, and by all manner of obsequious observancie, you did continue your affe∣ction unto me: But this is no testimony of affection, it is rather an acknowledgement of a debt: It had been a right testimony of your affection, if you had continued when I did hate you. Fortune would have this occasion to present it self, though I am extreamly sor∣ry for it, to put you to the tryal of your affection; and as a summons to keep your word: I hope you are not like unto those, who vaunt that they doe not fear dangers, yet at the very first encounter of an enemy, will submit without resistance. But you objected against me, How can you hope, Thamires, to gather any fruits from love, since you have cut up the Tree? Oh fair Celidea let me tell you, I had rather cut away my life than that deare Tree of Love: Nay, though I should offer it, yet it would be impossible for me to do it. But admit that I had imprudently cut it up, you know that the Mirtle is the Tree of Love, and why would you have it to be the Cypress? The Mirtle is of a nature, that the more it is cut, the more branches it puts forth. Oh that I could see this effect in your soul, that I might beleeve there is growing in you this Tree of Love, and not a Tree of Mourn∣ing.

But admit my fault, in guilting you, to bee so great as you make it, must my fault make you to commit the like? If you think so, then you must confesse, that you catch at bad examples, and not at good ones, unlesse, as I doe leave you, so you leave me, and when I doe return unto you, you doe return unto me also: Otherwise, you are more moved with an offence than with a full satisfaction for it; and evil hath a greater predominancie in you than good: But this is unworthy of Celideas soul, which promiseth all goodnesse and sweetnesse.

But you say, that since I have given you unto Calidon, if I would have any thing of you, I must ask him. This would puzzle mee to answer, if I had not heard you say, that it was impossible for me to give you unto him. Now the matter is brought to that passe, as you must be either his or mine: If you will not be mine, because I have imprudently given you away, then Celidea you must be Calidons. Consider whether this change be pleasing unto you: If on the contrary, you will not be Calidons, then you cannot deny but you must be

mine, since having been mine before, and my gift taking no effect, all right in the world is, that the thing given should revert unto the first possessor: And you ought not to be offen∣ded with me for offering you as a Sacrifice for Calidons recovery, because Sacrifices which are offered unto the gods, are alwaies of the best and most precious things we have. Nor doe not think that by continuing to love you afterwards, I doe commit any sacrilege, nor doe prophane any sacred or holy thing, since we doe all love the gods themselves: The greatest command which they doe impose upon us mortals, is to Love them. But for Gods sake doe not say that I ask you onely to sacrifice you again for the recovery of some other: For my desire is onely to have you again for my own sake. I doe confesse my fault, and will not insist upon any other argument or reason, but my extream affection; and will not argue with her any where but before the Throne of Love. I doe here prostrate my self upon my knees, and vow by all eternity, never to rise as long as I live, unlesse I be ingratiated into Celideas favour again.

As he pronounced these words, he kneeled down, and his eyes flowed with such a River of Tears that all the company did pitty him, Celidea her self was a little moved, and put∣ting her hand before her face, did turn her head the other way.

Then the Nymph, seeing they had no more to say, did rise up, and taking Paris, Silvan∣der, and the Shepheardesses aside, did ask their opinions upon this difference: Their opi∣nions did much vary, some to one side, some to another: At last, and after a long and se∣rious debate, they all returned to their places, and Leonida pronounced her sentence in this manner.

The Judgement of the Nymph Leonida.

THree things doe present themselves unto us, upon the difference betwixt Celidea, Tha∣mires, and Calidon: The first, Love: The second, Duty: The third, an Offence. In the first, we observe, three great Affections; in the second, three great Obligations; in the third, three great Injuries. Celidea hath loved Thamires from her Cradle, Thamires hath loved Celidea, though he be elder; and Calidon hath loved her from the first time hee ever saw her. Celidea hath been much obliged unto the virtuous affection of Thamires; Thamires much obliged unto the memory of Calidons Father; and Calidon much obli∣ged unto the Indulgency of Thamires. Again, Celidea hath been extreamly offended with Thamires, for giving her unto Calidon; Calidon no lesse offended with Thamires and Ce∣lidea: Thamires offended with Calidon for refusing to doe the same courtesie he received; And Celidea offended with Calidon for offering to constrain her will, and making her to lose him whom she did love. All these things being long debated, and seriously conside∣red, we conceive, that as those things which Nature produceth, are alwaies more perfect then those that are produced by Art, so the Love that comes by a natural inclination, is greater, and more estimable than those affections that doe proceed from designes or obliga∣tions. Furthermore, those obligations which we receive in our own persons, being greater than those in the behalf of another; so it is certain, that a benefit obligeth more than a memory. An offence which hath any tincture of ingratitude, it is much more hainous than a bare offence without it, and deserves a greater punishment. Now, we do find that the Love of Thamires does proceed from a natural inclination; for commonly such loves are reciprocal, and so he loving Celidea, he was loved again: But so is not the love of Ca∣lidon, whose sterile affection produceth nothing but hatred and scorn. Moreover, the good offices which Calidon hath received from Thamires, doe render him more obliged, than Thamires can be upon the score of an Uncle. Again, Calidons offence against Tha∣mires having a stain of Ingratitude upon it, is much greater than the offence of Thamires against Calidon, since Thamires may almost cover it with the name of Revenge or Cha∣stisment. Therefore, in the first place, we doe ordain that the love of Calidon do sub∣mit unto the love of Thamires: That the obligation of Thamires be esteemed lesse than the obligation of Calidon; And the offence of Calidon greater than the offence of Tha∣mires. And as for that which concerns Thamires and Celidea, we do declare, that Celi∣deas obligation unto Thamires is above the offence of Thamires, in respect of his pure and innocent love; and in respect of his carefull and indulgent education of her, so as shee would be ingrateful if she did not think her self much obliged: 'Tis true, his offence is not small, when in disadvantage of his affection, he would needs satisfie the obligations

which he thought he owed unto Calidon. And yet in consideration there is no offence but may be pardoned by a person that truly loves, we doe ordain, with the advice of all those who have heard the difference, That the Love of Celidea shall surmount the offence which shee hath received from Thamires; And that the Love which Thamires for the future shall bear unto her, shall surpasse that affection which hitherto he hath born unto her; for such is our Judgement.

This was Leonida's Sentence, which hath since been observed by all three; though the poor Calidon received it with so much disgust, that but for the extream disdain of Celi∣dea, he should hardly have supported it. But his malady at this time proved to be his re∣medy, when from a more sound judgement he considered how much he was obliged unto Thamires, and how great his folly was, in thinking to make Celidea love him by force. But at the first, these considerations had not so much power upon him, as to cut off all his hopes at one blow: which the Nymph wisely foreseeing, and to avoyd the complaints and teares of this Shepheard, as soon as ever she had pronounced the last word of her Sentence, she did rise up, being partly invited unto it by the night which came on apace, and she had no more day left than to carry her unto her Uncles house. Therefore, after shee had saluted all the fair Shepheardesses, she and Paris entreated Silvander to conduct them through the Wood of Bonlieu, lest they should lose their way, it being very late, and too troublesom for the Shepheardesses to accompany her.

Thus they parted; and presently after, the Nymph and Paris dismissed Silvander, and came unto the house of Adamas, as he was ready to goe unto his supper. Silvander as he returned, left Bonleiu on his left hand, a Temple where many Vestals, and chast Daugh∣ters of Druids doe inhabit, under the charge of the venerable Chrisante, and hee went through a Wood so thick, that though the Moon was up and shined, yet hee could not hit his way. And indeed his own wandring thoughts as well as the darknesse of the Wood, did put him besides his aym: For hee was so wholly taken up with Diana, that he minded nothing else; And walking on, he came at last upon an open place, where hee saw the Moon, she was a little past her Full, and shined very clearly. The Shepheard fell down upon his knees, to adore her; and because of the conformity in Names between Diana and her, he loved that Starre above all the rest in the Cope of Heaven. Having thus adored her, and Diana in her, hee stood up, and fixing his eyes upon her, he uttered these Lines.

A Comparison between DIANA and the Moon.

MOst glorious Star that shines so clear And radiant in the spangled Sphear, As makes the Night like Day appear, Just so does my Diana fair.

Like to thy self so chast, her breast With so much cruelty is drest, As it is fond Acteons best To court her with no loose request.

Of all the Tapers in the Night, 'Tis thou that gives us greatest light: Of all the Beauties, none so bright, Diana is the prime delight.

Yet when Diana I think upon, You doe not hold comparison; For you had one Endymion, But my Diana ne're had one.

Oh heavens, (cryed he out then) what then will become of thy Silvander, since she will not admit of any Endymion? Can it possibly be, that Nature, who cannot chuse but be pleased with her workmanship, should not finde one in all her Treasury worthy of her? Can she possibly bestow so much beauty upon this Shepheardesse, and make her incapable of Love? However, they have no eyes; that are not delighted with so rare a piece of ex∣cellency. Does not the gods allow, that as our hearts receive the greatest blowes, so our hearts should resent the greatest contentment? Did they make her so fair, and not to be loved? Or if we do love her, did they make her to consume us? Ah! alas, I see, that as this beauty was made to be loved so it is for her own glory, and for the torment of those who love her as I do. This thought gave him such a stop, that he left walking; and after a long agitation of thoughts, he uttered these Lines.

That no Consideration whatsoever, can hinder him from loving his Mistresse.

WHy does my thoughts suggest, And bid me not to love her, But set my heart at rest, She's aimed for another?

If for a Mortall, why Not I, as any other? If for a god? then I Will worship and adore her.

'Mongst mortalls there is none Can equall flame with me; Nor 'mongst the gods not one That can more zealous be.

What though this cruell soul Disdains all them that love her? Love will at last control, Or Reason needs must move her.

If Reason will but do't, By Merit I'le her gain: If Love will bring her to't, I'le love and love again.

The Moon then, as if purposely to invite him to a longer stay in that place, did seem to lend him a double lustre. And because he had left his flock with Diana's, and assured him∣selfe, she would out of her curtesy take all requisite care over it, he resolved to spend part of the night there, according to his usuall custome; for he took abundance of delight, in entertaining himselfe with his new thoughts, that retiring from all company, he used to get into some private valley, or some solitary wood; and day would oftentimes overtake him, before he began to think of any sleep, making his long and amorous thoughts see both the evening and the morning. Thus at this time did he wander, chusing that path which by chance his foot did fall into; and after he had fancyed a thousand Chimera's, he found himselfe in the midst of a thick wood, and knew not where he was; and though at every step almost he stumbled against something or other, yet could he not give over his pleasing thoughts; all that he saw, furnished his fancy with some conceit, and fed his ima∣gination. If he chanced to stumble upon any thing: I found greater rubs (would he say) in my desires. If he heard the leaves shake when they were moved by some blast of winde: I tremble more for fear (would he say) when I am by her, and when I would acquaint her with my reall passions, which she thinks to be fained. If he look'd up and saw the Moon, he would say: The Moon in the heavens, and my Diana upon earth. This solitary place, silence, and the pleasing light of the night, caused this shepheard to walk so long with the

sweet entertainment of his thoughts, that being got into the thick of the wood he lost the light of the Moon, which was 〈◊〉〈◊〉 by the leaves of trees, and desiring to get out of that gloomy place, he no sooner looked about to make choice of a good path, but he heard one not far off talking; and though he made choice of that place for privacy, yet his curiosity invited him to know who those were that passed away the night without sleep, assuring himselfe, that they were some that were sick of his own disease; and making it appear by this, that every thing lookes for its like, and that curiosity hath a great power in Love, since, when he was so sweetly taken up with his own thoughts, that he despised all the world in comparison of them, except the sight of Diana; yet was he content to forsake them, to see who these were; so as quitting them for a time, and giving way to his curio∣sity, he turned that way from whence he heard the voice. He had not gone above fifteen or twenty paces, but in the most obscure part of the wood, he found himselfe close by two men, whom he could not possibly know, as well by reason of the darknesse, as because their backs were towards him; yet he knew by their habits, that one of them was a Druide, and the other a Shepheard.

They were set under a Tree, which spread its leaves over a chrystall fountain, whose pleasing murmur invited them to spend part of the night in that place. When Silvander was mostdesirous to know them, he heard one answer the other, thus: But, Father, it is ve∣ry strange, and I cannot sufficiently admire it, that you should by your discourse intimate as much, as if it must be confessed, that there are many other beauties more perfect, then the beauty of my Mistresse; which truly I cannot believe, without an unpardonable of∣fence: For certainly, every one does think his own the fairest; and to confesse she is not, is a crime, both against his Mistresse, and against Love. Then he heard the Druide answer in this manner: My Son, there is no doubt of what I say, nor any fear of offending her Beauty, or Love; and I am confident, that I shall in a few words make you understand it: You know, that all beauty proceeds from that soveraign goodnesse which we call God, it is a Ray of himselfe, and transcends all his other creatures; and as the Sun, which we see, does enlighten the Aire, the Water, and the Earth, with the same beams; so also the eternall Sun, does enlighten the angelick Understanding, the rationall Soul, and the Mat∣ter. But, as the cleernesse of the Sun appears more bright in the Air than in the Water, and in the Water then in the earth: so the illumination of God appears with greater lustre in the Angelick Understanding, then in the Rationall Soul; and in the Rationall Soul, more then in the Matter. Into the first, he hath infused Ideas; into the second, Reason; and into the last, Formes. The Druide would have gone on, had not the shepheard interrupted him in this manner: Your discourse, Father, is a little too high, and you do not consider the capacity of him unto whom you speak; my wit is too dull to soar so high: But if you will please to make me understand, what the Angelicall Understanding is, what the Rationall Soul is, and what the Matter is, of which you speak, perhaps I shall understand something more. My Son, said the Druide, Angelicall Understanding is that pure Intellect, by which they see that Soveraign Beauty, and are adorned with all kinde of Ideas. The Rationall Soul is that, by which men are distinguished from beasts; it is it by which we come to the knowledge of things which is called Rationall. The Matter, is that which falls under the Senses, which is imbellished with divers forms that are given unto them, and by which you may judge, whether she whom you love, has in perfection the two last beauties, which we tearm Corporeall and Rationall, and which we may without any offence say, that there is in others greater beauties then in hers; which you will understand by a comparison of Bottles, full of water; for, as the greater do hold more then the little ones, and yet the little ones are as full as the greater: so it may be said of all things capable of beauty; for there are substances, which by their perfection of Nature, can receive much more beauty then others, which yet cannot be termed imperfect, because they have as much perfection as they can receive. And under this notion comes the beauty of your Mistresse, whom you may say is perfect, and yet without offence confesse, that she hath lesse beauty then these pure Intellectualls which I speak of. If you be not too much transported with young and imprudent affections, and set too great a price upon the beauty of her face, you will set your whole affection upon the beauty of her minde, in which you will finde something so lasting fair, as will give you as much delight and satisfaction, as the beauty of a face gives you sorrow, and perhaps despair. I have heard much discourse upon this subject, answe∣red the Shepheard, but it so much displeased me, that I did not remember it. But I remem∣ber, that one of you Druides endeavoured to prove, that the minde, the eye, and the ear,

have only their parts in Love: For, said he, Love is only a desire of Beauty; and there being three sorts of Beauties, that of the fight, of which the eye is the only judge; that of har∣mony, of which the ear is only capable; and that of reason, which the minde can only discern, it must follow, that the eyes, the ears, and the minde, have only their satisfacti∣ons. If any other Senses do intrude, they resemble those impudent guests, that come unto Marriages before they be invited. Oh Son, said the Druide, this is a Doctrine which per∣haps is understood by many, but certainly followed by very few; and therefore no won∣der, that so many vexations and misfortunes do fall out amongst Lovers. For Love, which most certainly is the greatest, and most holy of all the gods, seeing himselfe so many waies offended by such as call themselves his Votaries, either in contemning his ordinances, or prophaning his purity, does very often chastise them, to the end they may know their faults. For, my Son, what are jealousies, disdains, slanders, quarrells, infidelities, and all breaches of amity, but punishments of that great god? Did our desires stretch no further then discourse, no further then the sight, nor no further then the ear, why should we ever be jealous? why disdainfull? why angry? why enemies? why treacherous? and briefly, why should not all love, and be loved, since, then, the possession of another would not one jot lessen our happinesse? Then Silvander heard the Shepheard interrupt the Druide with a deep sigh, in this manner: Alas, Father, how true is your discourse unto all Lovers, but my selfe? for my love is full of purity and chast desires, as it cannot offend the most de∣mure Vestall. Let the god of Love be the most severe of all the gods, yet I am sure, he can finde no fault with my affection; and yet for all this, never was Lover so rigorously trea∣ted as I am. Son, said the Druide, many things do produce different effects, according to the subjects they meet withall. A Line which is streight, is not made only to draw another straight Line by, but often to know what is not straight. Those dysasters which you re∣sent, though in others they are called punishments, yet in you, they may be termed testi∣monies, and proofs of your love and vertue, which will at last so turn to your advantage, as you may with reason say, that you had never been happy, unlesse you had been mise∣rable. And in the interim be assured, your Mistresse will repent of her fault, and the wrong she does you. After this, because it was very late, he rose up, with intention to go away, and took the shepheard by the hand, who as he followed answered thus.

I beseech you, Father, and conjure you, by your love unto me, not to say my Mistresse is in any fault, much lesse that she does me wrong; for she having power to dispose of me as much as my selfe, you will offend the most perfect piece that ever nature produced, and will more disoblige me by such language, then your assistance can please me. Silvander hearkened very attentively unto their discourse, and though he did very precisely observe all their actions, yet such was the obscurity of the place, that he could not know them: and though he thought he knew the Druide, yet, seeing only his back, he was not certain. As for the shepheard, he was altogether unknown unto him, so as he did not remember he ever heard his voice before. This incertainty therfore caused him to follow them, hoping for a better discovery by the Moon, when they were out of the woods; but keeping at a good distance, lest he should be seen by them, he lost them amongst the Trees, and never since could tell what became of them, which being very sorry for, he left not his quest of them untill most of the night was spent; but wearinesse at the last made him look for a place to rest in not knowing how to hit the way unto his Town. When Silvander was asleep, he waked not untill the Sun was very high. The Shepheard that discoursed with the Druide in the night, was as early as Aurora; and the place of his dwelling being very neer, as he was taking his usuall morning-walk, he espied Silvander asleep: He having not been above a month in the Country, and having no acquaintance with any Shepheard, he was very desirous to know who Silvander was, and therefore went very softly to him. He no sooner set his eye upon Silvander's face, but he knew him to be his most intimate friend; the remembrance of their former acquaintance, and of the pleasing life they had lived to∣gether, caused his eyes to flow in tears: Then retiring back a few paces, and hiding him∣selfe behinde a great Tree, lest if Silvander waked, he should spie him, he looked upon him very seriously, and in a low voice uttered these words: Oh, my dear friend, and most faithfull companion, Silvander, how glad, and how sad both, doth this meeting with thee make me? Our friendship, that now sees thee so sad, will not let me rejoyce at the sight of thee; and yet the sight of thee brings into my memory that happy life I lived, ever since I was first acquainted with thee, untill that fatall sentence which my Shepheardesse pro∣nounced against me; a sentence which I cannot remember, but with a sad heart I must needs

call for death to relieve me, finding experimentally the Proverb to be most true, That none are so miserable, as those that have been happy, and now are not. Who is able without a flood of tears to think upon my past felicity, and to see my present misery? Upon this, he was silent; and going further back, because he saw Silvander stir a little, and looking a∣bout him, said these words: Oh fairest Shepheardesse, how cruelly do you treat this poor Shepheard? The stranger knew he was asleep; but not knowing who was the Shepheard that he spoke of, he went neerer him; and when he looked him in the face, he found it all tears, which found a passage through his eye lids, though they were close. Then did he conclude, that it was himselfe he spoke of, which he thought to be very strange, when he remembered, that his humour was wont to be extreamly averse unto Love, insomuch as he was commonly called, The Shepheard without affection: But considering what power Beauty hath, he believed that now he was no more exempted from the wounds of Love, than other shepheards of his age; and he was the more confirmed in this opinion, when he remembered, that some had told him of the wager that was between him and Phillis. This consideration made him look upon him and say: Ah Silvander! I see thou art now far unfit to give any counsel unto others, and for ought I see, standst in need of counsel thy selfe My friendship cannot chuse but pray, that Love would be more pitifull unto him, then it hath been unto me, and make him more fortunate then I have been. Then going gently away, he went unto the place where he lodged; and he was no sooner set upon his bed-side, but thinking upon his encounter, Silvander's affection unto him came into his minde, what great familiarity had been between them, and what fortune it was should bring him into this place. It is, said he, to give a beginning unto a better life, and to put an end unto my torments. Alas that cannot be, for nothing can make me lesse miserable then I am, unlesse it be death. Perhaps the heavens, foreseeing the end of my daies, condu∣cted Silvander, my best friend, unto me, to bid me my last Adien, in the name of himself and all the rest of my friends. This consideration took up his thoughts a good while, and at last made him resolve upon a thing which never came into his minde before, which was, to write unto his Mistresse; for her severe banishment of him had so damped his spirit, that he durst not assume so much boldnesse: But now verily believing, that his course of life was neer an end, he conceived himselfe obliged to take his leave of her in some sort or other, before he went out of the world. Then he took pen and inke, and writ a Letter, and after he had folded it up, he superscribed it, Unto the fairest, and most loved Shepheardesse in the whole Universe. Then he went unto the place where he left Silvander, and going gently to him, after he had kissed the Letter two or three times, he put it into his hand: Oh happy Paper (said he) if thy good Fate do bring thee into the hands of her, upon whom all my contentment depends, touch her to the heart; and if thou canst not move her to any pitty, yet force her to believe, that though she be changed from me, yet my affe∣ction shall ever be the same to her. And thou Silvander (said he, putting the Letter into his hand) if love will yet give thee leave to look upon the beauty of her, unto whom this Letter is directed, give it unto her: Good shepheard, I beseech thee do this good office for thy friend, as the last that he can hope to receive from thee or any else Then this shepheard went away with folded armes, and dejected eyes, untill he came to his lodging. Presently after, Silvander awaked; and because he saw the Sun of a great height, he looked about which way he should take homeward; and rubbing his eyes after his sleep, he made use of that hand in which the Letter was; he wondred extreamly when he saw it, but much more, when he read unto whom it was directed. Do I sleep, (said he) or do I wake? Is it a dream, or is this a Letter which I see? Then looking well upon it: No, no, said he, I do not sleep, but I have a Letter in my hand, which is directed unto the Fairest, and most loved shepheardesse in the whole Universe. But, if I be not asleep, why am I ignorant who gave it unto me? Had I it before I fell asleep? No, no, I had it not. It must of necessity be, that some did put it into my hand when I was asleep: This may very well be, for there is not one of all the gods that has not loved the beauties of the earth; the god of Love him∣selfe, who wounds others, has not been exempted; so as it seemes, they think our shep∣heardesses more fair then their goddesses. Why should I not think, that some of these Im∣mortalls, or some Faun, or Demi-god, having seen my fair Diana, is fallen in love with her? Then considering a little with himselfe: But, said he, who is it unto whom this Letter is sent? Let us see, certainly it will tell us. Then unfolding the paper, he read it from the beginning to the ending; but, when he found the conclusion of the Letter to be thus sub∣scribed, The most unfortunate, yet, the most faithfull of your servants: Oh! cried he, there

is no doubt to be made, but it is my selfe who writ this Letter: It must of necessity be, that my good Angell that has a care of my life, having read the thoughts of my soul, has wri∣ten them in this paper, that I might shew them unto Diana. The very truth is, there is not any beauty that can cause such violent passions, as this which I do read, unlesse the beauty of my Mistresse; no Lover is able to conceive so much affection, unlesse it be Sil∣vander: So as there is no doubt to be made, but that this Letter being directed, Unto the fairest, and most loved shepheardesse in the Universe, I ought to give it unto Diana; and being written, by the most faithful and unfortunate shepheard, it must be Silvander. Thus Silvander went away in a perswasion, that this Letter was directed unto Diana; and de∣siring she should see it, after humble thanks given unto his kinde Angel, from whom he had received this good office, he went that way which he thought the shortest cut unto his Town, with a design, that if he did not meet her, to go in quest of her assoon as he had dined; so as not meeting her, he dispatched his repast assoon as possibly he could, hee let forth his flock out of the fold, which had too long waited for him, and took the path that conducts to the Fountain of Siccanours, hoping there to heare of her; and he was not deceived in his hopes, for as soon as he entered into the meadow adjoyning to it, he saw her sitting under a thick bush with Astrea. Love swell'd him immediately with a de∣sire to hear their discourse unseen, since they seemed to be very serious at their work; and in order to this design, he crept from Tree to Tree, and from Bush to Bush, till he got so neer them unperceived, that he could hear what they said, having left his flock a little be∣hinde him in the wood, under the tuition of his Dog. In the mean time, Astrea talked thus unto Diana: Certainly Phillis does not deserve so much favour from you; and I must confesse, that I am a little jealous of her, though I have laid no wager with her, as Sil∣vander hath; for I would not have her, or any else in the world, have a greater share in your favour then my selfe. Fair Astrea, answered Diana, it belongs unto me to beg the favour of your affection, which I do with abundance of zeal, so as in this I will not yield unto Phillis, of whom you speak. Dearest Sister, replyed Astrea, your merits do so much transcend all others, as they do render you much above the common rate of Love. But, how comes it to passe, said Diana, I should be so long with you, before I could obtain this happinesse? I must needs confesse, answered Astrea, that I was either blinde, if I had been with you so long, and not loved you; or else I must confesse, we are not Mistresses of our own wills, but that there is some supream power which disposeth of us all as it pleaseth: Diana blushed at these words, and sweetly casting down her eyes, answered her: Your language, dear Sister, would put me to the blush, if I were not wholly devoted to be yours; but this will, which you mention, makes me take all that comes from you for favours, though if they should come from any other, I should esteem them no better then moc∣keries. If you should take my expressions in that sense, said Astrea, you would injure that affection which I do bear unto you, and that which you have promised unto me. This mutuall affection, said Diana, is too holy and too sacred to be injured; and therefore to obey you, and please my selfe, I will believe, that your expressions are commendations of me, which does proceed not so much from truth, as from your affection to me, which makes things seem to be greater, then truly they are, and casts a mist before your eyes. Un∣lesse, dear Sister, said Astrea, you hold me for one of a very weak judgment, you will believe, that they do proceed both from truth, and from my affection also. As for truth, said Diana, I do set a high estimation upon it; and as for your affection, I do desire it above any thing upon earth. Upon these words, they both embraced and kissed each o∣ther, with abundance of zealous affection; which Silvander seeing, he wished himselfe Astrea a hundred times, that he might have received the like favours. After this, they set themselves down again, and falling unto their work again, he thought that he heard them name him; and therefore, that he might hear the better, he crept neerer unto them, and saw, that his Mistresse was making a bracelet of her hair. When he was beginning to be jealous, lest any but himselfe should wear it, he heard Astrea say: Silvander would be very jealous, if he saw his enemy in greater favour than himselfe. I do believe, said Diana, that she did ask it of me with that designe. I do think so also, said Astrea; but you do wrong the shepheard in it, if you do favour the one more than the other; you are not as good as your word, because you have promised the contrary. The advantage which I seem to confer upon Phillis, said Diana, nor the wager it selfe, is not of any great impor∣tance; besides, the shepheard did never request me for it, as she did. But I do beseech you, (said Silvander, shewing himselfe unawares) if he do request one, I hope you will be plea∣sed

to bestow it. The shepheardesses hearing him speak, were much amazed; and their won∣der was so great, as they were a long time before they spake one word, only gazed upon one another, fearing he had heard the discourse they had a little before he came.

At last, Astrea began to speak, and told him thus: Fie, Silvander, I wonder your discretion should be no more, then to harken unto the secrets of others. Do you so little respect your Mistresse, as to steal a hearing, when she would not have any hear but me? I do not know what secrets you mean (answered Silvander) but I am sure, that the cu∣riosity which invited me hither, was, only to hear my own secrets from the mouth of my fairest Mistresse; it is from her that I must be informed and I am very sorry I came no soo∣ner, since all that I heard informes me no further, then concerning a Bracelet, which, with much injustice, is intended for Phillis. You need not be sorry, shepheard, (said Astrea) for comming no sooner, since if you had, your crime, in offering thus to steal the secrets of your Mistresse, had been no lesse then his, that stole fire from heaven; and in reason, you could not expect a more milde chastisement.

Oh! answered Silvander, it is not any fear of punishment which can give a stop unto my just curiosity; for I do so much esteem the means of rendring her proofes of my affe∣ction, as all manner of punishments are sweet unto me, upon that account. Good Sil∣vander, (said Astrea unto him) how can you think to give her any testimonies of affe∣ction this way? I will tell you, fair shepheardesse, (said Silvander) should I not render her a most infallible testimony, if knowing what she desires should be secret, I should con∣ceal it? For we now live in an age, when every one does not only tell all they know, but all that they do imagine. In so doing, shepheard, (answered Astrea) you do make your dis∣cretion appear. But more affection, said he. As for discretion, said Astrea, I will allow it; but as for affection, I will refer my selfe unto her, to whom it is addressed. I will make answer for her, said he. Would you have Silvander, who heretofore was a declared enemy to Love, yet now must love and adore; would you, I say, have him make his love known? But how comes it to passe, fair Mistresse, (said he, and addressed himselfe unto Diana) that you would not answer unto what I say, but seemes, as if my discourse did not con∣cern you? Perhaps the reason is, answered Diana, because I must not be your Mistresse above fourteen or fifteen daies. If that do trouble you, said he, you may easily finde a re∣medy, by obliging me by your favours to continue in your service, as your beauty and perfections have hitherto most really constrained me.

Ah Silvander, answered Diana, let us talk no more of any favours and service, since the terme of three Months prescribed for your faigned affection, is almost past; it would be too great a trouble to you, to constrain your naturall inclination any longer.

Fairest shepheardesse, answered Silvander, I would not have you believe I do think your service any trouble; but I'le assure you, that it is abundance of delight unto me, to do any service upto a person of so great a merit; insomuch, as though my Nature were contrary unto Love more then it is, yet should I with abundance of delight, continue in such a service.

Although, shepheard, you should (said Diana, and smiled) yet it is agreed upon but by one party; for though your naturall Genius do incline that way, yet, you can never hope, that I will. These words did touch Silvander's heart so to the quick, since he perceived by them, that he had gained a small influence upon her good-will, as he was not able to hide his sad resentments of them; but his countenance did plainly discover them by chan∣ging colour: Which Astrea perceiving: How now, Silvander, said she unto him, what! does your heart fail you? It were strange, replyed he, if such cruell language from my Mistresse, should not extreamly trouble me; yet, do not think my heart shall ever fail me, though she and the heavens have the disposure of all my hopes and life. Is not this, an∣swered Astrea, rather rashnesse in you, then courage? and are you not too presumptuous, in denying such powers? No, replied the shepheard, it is a most true, reall, perfect, and most faithfull love which makes me speak so. By these and the like expressions, Diana perceived, that Silvander did really love her. Silvander, he did foresee abundance of diffi∣culties, and very small hopes unto himselfe. And Astrea did conceive, that Love had laid a foundation of an exquisite and lasting affection. And though they all three had different thoughts, yet were they all true, as afterwards you shall perceive. But Silvander inter∣rupting the subject of this discourse, addressed himselfe unto Diana: I hope, fairest Mistresse, said he, that this Bracelet of your fair hair, which you have made for Phillis, is only to be rid of her importunities; and if it be so, you are obliged to favour Silvander

as much as her; and lest you should be taxed with partiality, you ought to treat us both with equall favour, though the affection which you have caused in my soul, cannot be equall'd by any other. And why not, said Astrea, taking the part of Phillis, since both sour affections do proceed from the same cause; one grain of corn produceth severall ears: Allthough the cause of our affections be the same, said Silvander, yet the effects may be different. But experience shewes the contrary, said Astrea, for the affection of Phillis hath obtained that favour, which is denyed yours. This is not: or want of any love, an∣swered the shepheard, but for want of good fortune: yet, since the dropping of water upon the hardest Marble, will, in continuance of time, pierce it; why may not I as well hope, that my Love and fervency of prayers long continued, may as well work upon the marble heart of this fair one? Then, after he had looked upon her, or rather adored her a long while, be fell down upon his knees: If Love, my fairest Mistresse said he unto her have any influence upon beauty, and if prayers caused thunderbolts to fall out of the band of Ju∣piter, how is it possible, that the extream affection of Silvander, and his most zealous sup∣plications cannot obtain as much favour, as the shallow affection and troublesome im∣portunities of Phillis hath obtained from you? If it cannot, I may with as much reason say, that the way to obtain love is not to love; and the way to overcome an obdurate heart, is not, by prayers and earnest supplications; but only by dissimulation, and vexing importunities.

Silvander used many other such expressions as these, by which the shepheardesse ga∣thered more assurance, that love had taken root in him. And Astrea knowing Diana's minde not to be very averse, from granting Silvander what he asked, would needs oblige them both by one act; and therefore joyned her prayers unto Silvander's, and she pre∣vailed so with Diana, that the Bracelet which was intended for Phillis, was bestowed upon this Shepheard; yet, upon a condition, that he should keep it no longer, then the end of the terme which he was to serve her, which she meant was to end within a few dayes; which the shepheard with some difficulty assented unto; but remembring, that though the time of his faigned service would soon expire, yet he remembred also: that the time which he was to serve her 〈…〉〈…〉 earnest, would last as long as his life. It is impossible to expresse the thankfulnes•••• 〈◊〉〈◊〉 Silvander's soul, but much more his satisfied resentments: Let it suffice, that he, who heretofore was wont to despise all manner of favours from Love, and who could not imagine any could finde any contentment in such follies (as he called them) that he does now confesse, that there is no felicity comparable unto this fa∣vour which he now resented. And when he was in the midst of his sweet imaginations, it seemes, Love had a minde to compleat his joyes, in making the shepheardesse Phillis to enter: For he, whose happinesse is unknown to any but himselfe, cannot be said to be compleatly happy; but the more it is known, the more happy he is, and much the more, when this happinesse does not come by Fortune, but by Merit. Assoon as Silvander saw her, he ran unto her, and in a most jocund manner, shewed her the arme, on which he had already put his most beloved Bracelet, and passed it often before her eyes, saying: Here, Phillis, here is the earnest of my ensuing Victory. Phillis, who had been seeking Lycidas, with a desire to convince him of his jealousie, and could not finde him, was so sad and so weary, as she needed not to counterfeit any anger, nor change any countenance to testifie her displeasure and sorrowes, which this favour might have caused in her. And because Silvander was very troublesome unto her, not only in this Act, but in being the bellowes, which did blow up the jealousie of Lycidas, she said unto him in as sharp a manner as she could: This earnest, shepheard, which you shew me, is rather an argument of your little merit, then of any ensuing victory; for so it is usuall to do, only to make all even. What do you mean by that, said the shepheard? I mean, replyed she, that on that end which is too leight, they use to put some weight to counterpoise it, untill the journey be ended; but when they are arrived there, then they throw away that which was only to make an equall ballance. So till we are arrived at the end of our terme, Diana does wisely ballance that side which is the leighter, by her favours; but afterwards, she will give her judgment without any regard unto the weight of my affection, or the levity of your little love: And then, God knowes on whom the victory you speak of will fall. Sil∣vander smiled, and answered: It is rather the custome of miserable people to be envious, and lessen the happinesse of others, which they infinitely esteem by their language.

Phillis, without any further reply, left him, and went unto the two shepheardesses, and was extreamly offended at them: And because Diana laid the fault upon Astrea, and

Astrea could not well excuse her selfe, Silvander began to speak for them both, addressing himselfe unto Diana: I beseech you, fairest Mistresse, said he, consider how prudent Love is, and how wisely he governes the actions of those he is pleased withall. You thought hither∣to that Phillis loved you, and indeed I know none, but have in some sort been deceived by her dissimulations. Love, who knowes all the interiour faculties of the soul, and pur∣posing to undeceive you, hath caused you to favour me with this Bracelet of your hair, not onely as a mark of my affection, but also to discover the hollow affection of this de∣luder by her jealousie: For as it is a thing impossible, that two contraries should be at the same time in one place; so much more, that love and jealousie should be at the same time in one and the same heart. Silvander's aim was, only to torment Phillis the more; for knowing how jealous Lycidas was, he doubted not but to trouble her, by proposing, that Love and Jealousy are inconsistent: And she being touched to the quick could not chuse but answer him thus: Pray, Shepheard, what reasons and arguments have you to maintain so bad an opinion? Such, said he, as will make you confesse your selfe of the same; at the least, if you know what the reason is. Love is nothing but a desire and every desire is hot: Jealousie is nothing but a fear, and all fear is as cold as ice; and how can you imagine such a cold Child should be the issue of such a hot Parent? We see, said Phillis, that flint, which is cold, will send sorth sparks that are hot. Most true, answered Silvander; but fire never produceth cold. Yet by your favour, replied Phillis ashes, that are cold, do proceed from fire. Yes, answered the shepheard but when the ashes are cold, the fire is not in them. Phillis was almost non-plust at this reply; and much more, when Diana spoke. So likewise, said she, when cold jealousie begins, Love, that is hot ends. Mistresse, replyed Phillis, my enemy may well get the victory, if he have so good a Second as your selfe. Then turning her selfe towards Astrea: And you, fair shepheardesse, said she I may justly think you a very ill friend, if seeing me assaulted by two, you will not take my part. Astrea answered very sadly: I do hold it for a thing so certainly true, that jealousy may proceed from love, as not to bring it into any doubt. I will not dispute it, lest I should be forced to confess, that I my selfe did not love, because I was jealous as I do see you are forced to confess, that being jealous of Diana, you do not 〈◊〉〈◊〉 her; or at the least, being in doubt whether jealousie may proceed from love, you are not well assured whether you love her or no. I do kiss the hand of this fair and just shepheardess, said Silvander, who, without respect of persons, speaks with so much truth in my advantage. If you be obliged unto me, said Astrea, then surely you do think, that I did speak partially in your favour; for none are beholding unto him that speaks truth, more then to him that payes a debt justly due. Most true, answered Silvander, if it be taken in the rigour of justice but we do live in an age, wherein so few do follow vertue simply and cleerly, as we may think our selves obliged unto those, that will but acknowledge any benefit, although they are obliged unto it. But what can you argue against that experience which we daily finde, said Phillis unto him? For I know a shepheard, who after he had loved long, and fell into extream jealousie: yet afterwards recovering out of it, did continue his affection long after: Can you say, that this was a fire extinguished, which produced these ashes? It is not impossible, (answered Silvander) but one that is well may fall sick, and after that sickness, grow well again; nor, that a fire may be put out, and afterwards kindled again. Affection that was long hot, may be put out by cold jealousie, and that jealousie being gone, it may be∣come as hot as ever it was before: But it cannot be, that health and sickness, hot fire and cold ashes, love and jealousie, should be in the same subject at the same time. And for a full clearing of this truth, let us observe the effects of love and jealousie, and by them judge, whether the causes from whence they proceed, have any conformity together. The effects of Love is an extream desire in our soules, to see the person loved, to serve her, and to please her, as much as possibly we can. The effects of jealousie, is a fear to meet her whom we love, a carelessness to please her, and a disdaining to serve her: And who can think such contrary effects can proceed from one and the same cause? If we do, we must confess, that nature will destroy her selfe, if she will have contraries to consist together. Phillis would gladly have answered, but she was so non-plust, as she knew not where to begin; at which Diana could not chuse but laugh, especially when she considered the jealousie of Lycidas. And to add more matter for her perplexities, she did purposely speak in this manner: Jealousie is a signe of love, as old ruines are signes of ancient buildings, which are the greater, the more magnificent the Edifice was: And therefore, a great jealousie cannot proceed from a little love. But, as we cannot give the name of buildings unto these ruines,

so jealousy cannot be called love. And if I may judge by my own humour, if I did love, I should not have power to be jealous. And what would you be, said Phillis, if he whom you should love, should love another? His enemy, answered Diana, I would say, hate him: And though I do foresee that such an accident would displease me, yet, it would be more, for being deceived so long, then for being so soon forgotten. But, if that shepheard should be jealous of you, said Phillis, what then would you do? I would use him so, answered Diana, that he should never love me again. But suppose you should desire he should love you, said Phillis, what way would you take? The way of a Precipice, answered Diana; for I should then think my selfe worthy to end miserably, if I should love one, whom I knew did not love me. Oh! Diana, said Phillis, how freely you speak? Nay, Phillis, said Diana, how passionately you dispute? If you have need of a remedy against this malady, either take that which I would give you, or arme your selfe with patience to endure any displeasure that can befall you, and be assured, the number of them will not be a few.

Thus these fair and discreet Shepheardesses discoursed with Silvander, And because A∣strea thought that if it continued any longer, it might breed some distaste, she had a mind to interrupt them; therefore she rose up, and seemed very desirous to walk, so as taking Diana by one hand, and Phillis by the other, she motioned to walk, saying, they had been sitting too long. Then Silvander as he was officious in waiting about his Mistris he scattered the Letter which was put into his hand in the Night time: and Phillis having still her eye up∣on him, It sell no sooner upon the ground, but she took it up, hee not perceiving her; and carrying it unto Astrea, would needs read it before she would restore it to him again. But as soon as ever she and the sad Shepheardesse did cast their eyes upon it, they conceived it to be the hand of Celadon. This apprehension did touch Astrea so to the heart, that lea∣ving Diana with Silvander, and taking Phillis aside, she was constrained to sit down upon the ground. Phillis seeing her countenance much changed asked her how she did, and what was the cause of her so suddain alteration? Oh my good Sister, said Astrea, what a strange trembling hath surprised me? and what a perplexity hath the sight of this Letter put me into? Did you not observe how every Character does resemble the writing of my poor Celadon? Suppose it be (said Phillis, who desired not that Silvander should take no∣tice of her disorder) why should you wonder so at it? Perhaps it is one of his Letters which Love will restore unto you by the hand of Silvander, as being most due unto you. Alasse, my dear Sister, said Astrea, me-thought I saw him this very last night so sad, and so pale, that I started, and so awaked out of my sad Dream: She would have gone on, when Diana and Silvander came unto them, very sorry to see her face so much and so soon al∣tered. But Phillis, who would by all meanes hide this surprise from that Shepheard, did make a sign unto Diana, and then addressing her self unto Silvander, Shepheard, said she, Astrea hath a very great desire to impart her minde freely unto Diana, if you were not present. Oh my enemy, answered he, our hatred is not so great as to make me uncivil un∣to Astrea: I know it is not fit that Shepheards should heare all the secrets of Shephear∣desses, and therefore I will retire into the next Grove, and wait there untill you call me. And so making an humble reverence unto Diana, he went into the Wood. And not to bee idle, he took his knife, and began to cut Letters upon the barks of trees. In the mean time, Diana understood from Phillis, how the sight of a Letter, which fell from Silvander, and seemed to be the hand of Celadon, had troubled Astrea: Then shewing it unto her, and she looking upon it a long time very seriously; It would be very welcome news which Sil∣vander hath brought, said Diana, if it was Celadon that writ this Letter; for most certainly it is very newly written, it is so fresh, as if it were written this very hour; so as if this be Ce∣ladons hand, be assured he is not dead: But let us see what is within, perhaps we shall learn more in it. Then opening the Letter, they found these words.

To the most Faire, and most loved Shepheardesse in the whole Universe, the most unfortunate, and the most faithful of all her Servants wisheth that happiness which Fortune hath denyed unto himself.

MY superabundant affection will never consent I should give the name of pain and tor∣ment unto that which your command hath caused me to suffer. But I may say, that the condition wherein I am, which perhaps another would finde intolerable, does content me, since it comes with an injunction from you. If it be your pleasure to continue your sharp commands any longer, I shall be still all obedience: So as though I cannot assure you of my fidelity in this life, yet all the blessed souls in the Elizian fields do know, that I am the most faithfull, yet the most unfortunate of all your servants.

Ah my dear Sister, said Astrea, It is Celadon who writ those words: I know it by his style and manner of writing; but perhaps it is long since it was written. It beares no date (answered Diana, who held it in her hand) but I see by the writing that it is very fresh; you may see the dust how it sticks upon the Ink still, as if it were newly cast upon it. Sister, said Phillis, there is no better way, if it bee discreetly carried, than to know from Silvander the place where he found it, or who gave it unto him. Sister, said Diana unto the sad Shepheardesse, if you can but hold your countenance, that he may not see the altera∣tion in it, I am confident we shal learn all from him. And because it will be difficult to re∣collect your selfe upon a sudden, I will goe my selfe and talke with him, and you may follow after me. So shee went unto Silvander, whom she found engraving Anacrosticks upon the Names of his Mistresse and himself, upon the first tree he found. But before he be∣gan to work in bark, he had engraven upon a soft stone at the Root of a Tree, a Dial, whose trembling Needle was turned towards the North, with this Motto, I am touched; signifying thereby, that even as the Needle of a Dial being touched with an Adamant, does alwayes turn that way, because, as some Philosophers hold, the Element of the Load∣stone is there and by a puissant and natural sympathy doth attract every part of it self un∣to it selfe; so his heart, being touched with the beauty of his Mistresse, doth turne it and all its thoughts towards her: And the better to explain his conception, hee ad∣ded these Verses.

The Needle of a Dial Northward turnes, If touch'd by Adamant: My Heart touch'd by Diana, burnes, And after her does pant.

When she was come unto him, he had just finished these Characters; and when he saw her, he turned himselfe in a very jocund manner towards her, and said: Oh my fairest Mistresse, what good Fate sent you hither unto me? Better Fate then you could expect, an∣swered she; for I am not only come my selfe unto you, but I have left behinde me two of your greatest enemies. Since it is so, answered he, I do much more fear your blowes. My blowes, said the shepheardesse, do not offend; or if they do, it is only such as would have them do so. It is very true, said Silvander, they do indeed offend none, but those as would have them do so: but yet that's the reason, why there are so many wounded; for all those that see you, do desire to receive your wounds. The blowes which are desirable, replyed Diana, need not be feared. Your wounds, answered Silvander, are desired, but not desi∣rable; and are terrible, but not terrifying. When I did say, that I feared them, it was rather to shew what I ought to do, then what I did. I shall but laugh at you, said Diana, if you know your own good, and will not follow it. But to leave this discourse, pray tell me, shepheard, from whom this Letter is, and to whom it is directed? Silvander not knowing how he lost it, returned this answer: My heart, and your eyes, if they did but look in a glasse, would answer for me, that it is directed unto you, as, Unto the most fair, and

the most loved shepheardesse in the whole Universe: And your severity and my affection may tell you, that it comes from me, The most unfortunate, yet the most faithfull, of all your servants. But, (said Diana unto him, and then Astrea with Phillis came to them) if this Letter came from you, why did you not write it? Because, said he, I found a better Secretary than my selfe; and I must needs ingenuously confesse, that there is something supernaturall in it, since I found my own conceptions in it, without writing them; and since you have it, and I never gave it unto you: But, my good Angell, who was my Scribe, seeing I was too slow in presenting it unto you, did steal it from me, though I did stay on∣ly for an opportunity of privacy to present it. And why so, said Diana? Do you think I will receive any Letters in private, which I would refuse in publick? My intention of pri∣vacy, replyed Silvander, was in consideration of my selfe, and not of you, because I had rather receive a denyall from you without a witnesse, then before the face of my enemy: But I see, that he who assumed the boldnesse to write of me, has found out a way to let you see it. I shall receive your excuse, (said Diana) upon condition, you will tell me, who was your Secretary. This last night, (answered the shepheard) after a long medita∣tion and entertainment of my own thoughts, I chanced to fall asleep in a wood not far distant hence; and in the morning when I awaked, I found this Letter in my hand: At the first, I was much amazed at it; but after I had read it, I conceived, that some good Angell which loved me, and had read the same thoughts in my imagination, did write them in this paper for me, to present them unto you. Phillis, who had wit at will, seeing Diana mute, did ask him, if he knew the way unto the wood. No, said he, if there be none but you that would go unto it: but, if it be the pleasure of my Mistresse, I will wait upon her unto it; and I assure my selfe, that the Trees which heard me almost all the night, will re∣late the discourse which I had with my selfe amongst them. Astrea being very desirous to see the place, did make a signe with her eye unto Diana, that she should take him at his word; who thereupon asking, whether they had time enough to go and return, and being answered, Yes, she intreated him, to conduct them all thither. Silvander, who was full of civility, and who desired nothing more passionately, then to do any service unto his fair Diana, did freely consent to shew them the way. So Diana turning towards the shepheardesses, purposely to umbrage Astrea's designe, did very particularly intreat them, they would be pleased to go along with her, and they should command her as much another time. Astrea, who was very glad, that Silvander took Diana to be the Author of this designe, did answer, That she would most willingly follow her, whithersoever she was pleased to go. So committing the charge of their flocks unto one of their neighbours, who came accidentally, Silvander took the shortest way to the wood, and conducted them thither.

Where the way was narrow and bad, Silvander alwaies went before; but assoon as they came into the Meadow, which is often watered by the River Lignon, he waited upon his Mistresse, and led her by the arme. She, who had Phillis on the other side, who was be∣twixt her and Astrea, did accept of her shepheards service with a very good will, lest the length of the way should weary her; and giving him her left arme: You, Silvander, (said she) I make use of you in this voyage as my Servant; and of you, Phillis for my Compa∣nion. Phillis desiring to make Silvander talk, that the company might be the lesse weary, and who would not have a word, so much to her advantage pronounced by Diana, to pass unobserved, she addressed her selfe unto the shepheard, and asked him, what he thought of this favour? That it is greater, answered Silvander, then we deserve. But, replyed Phil∣lis, how do you take the difference that she puts betwixt us? As a faithfull Servant ought to take what is pleasing unto his Mistress, said Silvander. But you, said the shepheardess, who are so great a stickler against jealousie, have not you some sparks of it your selfe, in seeing the great favour which your Mistresse hath conferred upon me? I do perceive, said he, that you measure my affection by your own, since you think any thing that pleaseth my Mistress, can displease me: But however I were a meer simplician in matters of Love, if I did not think the favour she hath done me, to be a very great honour unto me, and disadvantageous unto you. Diana hearing this answer, smiled; and Phillis, who ex∣pected another kinde of an answer, was so surprised, as she knew not what to say, but loo∣ked earnestly upon him: yet, he beginning to walk; Phillis, said he, that smile is only a cloak for your ignorance; I have not yet made you understand, neither by my words nor my actions, any of Love's mysteries; but I do not accuse any, except the defects that are in your affection. If I do not understand these mysteries, said Phillis, you might accuse me

of ignorance, but not of defect in affection, since understanding is not an act of will, as affe∣ction is. You are mistaken, said the shepheard, and this is one of those mysteries you are ignorant of, and whereof I do not accuse either your understanding facultie, or your will, but this fair Diana. How, said Diana, do you make me culpable of the ignorance of Phil∣lis? I do not think you culpable, fair Mistress (replyed Silvander) but I do say, you are the cause (as I have learned from an antient Oracle) by which I understand (said he, and turned towards Phillis) that I am better loved by our Mistress then you are. Astrea, who had not yet spoke: This discourse (said she) is the most obscure, and the reasons the most intricate, that ever I heard. Will you but please to give me leave, said Silvander, I am confident I shall cleer them unto you, and make you confess them as well as my selfe: And for your better understanding, I say once again that the reason why Phillis does not un∣derstand the mysteries of Love, is because she does not love enough, and that for this de∣fect in her love I ought not to accuse her will but Diana onely, as an ancient Oracle tells us, by which I know, that she loves me more then she doth Phillis; and this is the reason: When you desire to know what is the will of the gods, unto whom do you use to address your selves, to come to the knowledge of it? Doubtless, said Phillis, unto those that are Priests in their Temples, and whose office it is, to wait at their Altars. And why do you not rather address your selfe, said Silvander, unto those that are more knowing than unto those Ministers of the Temple, who commonly are ignorant in every thing else but their Office? Because, said Phillis, the gods do more freely communicate them∣selves unto those that are entred into those mysteries, and more familiar about their Altars, than unto any strangers, though they be more knowing. See (said Silvander then) the power of Truth, which constraines you to speak it against your intention: For if you do not understand the mysteries of the god of Love, is not that a signe you are a stranger unto him? For you confesse, that the gods do communicate themselves more freely unto those who serve in their Temples, and wait at their Altars. But which way should they serve at the Altar of the god of Love, unlesse it be by Loving? Hearts are the only sacrifices which are acceptable unto that deity▪ Do you not see then Phillis, that if you be ignorant in these mysteries, it is not a fault in your understanding, but in your love▪ And if it should be so, (said Phillis) which I will never grant, how can you accuse Diana for any defects in my affection? Is she not fair enough? or, are not her merits sufficient to make her selfe loved? This, said Silvander, is a second mystery of that god which I will explain unto you. Diana has no defects neither in beauty nor merit, but she is all perfection; the defect is only in your selfe, that you do not love enough, and that your love does not equall those admirable excellencies which you see in her: But, it is im∣possible you should love her in that height, because she does not love you, according to the Oracle of which I spoke. Venus seeing her Son so little, did ask the gods, what she should do to make him grow: To which question she received this answer, That she should get him a Brother, and then he would grow to full proportion; but as long as he was alone, he would never grow. Do you not see, Phillis, that this answer was given against you, and in favour of me? For, if your love be little, and a dwarfe, the reason is, because it hath not a Brother. If mine, on the contrary, do excell the highest, it is, because Diana, my most fair Diana, hath given it one, whom he loves, whom he honours: nay, whom he adores. And do you think, Silvander, replyed Phillis, that she does love you better then she does love me? It can be no more doubted, answered the shepheard, then truth it selfe The gods do never lie, Oracles are the interpreters of their will. How dare you tax an Oracle with any untruth? No, no, Phillis, since I do love this fair Diana better then you do, most certainly she does love me better then she doth you; otherwise, the gods would be impostors, and not gods. Many have been deceived, said Phillis, in the un∣derstanding of Oracles. 'Tis true, answered Silvander, but when that is, the contrary event doth presently discover it and so they remain not long undeceived: But, the Oracle of which I speak, is answered by such conformable effects, both in you and me, that it would be impiety to doubt it; since, do what you can, you cannot make your love so great as mine: And to confirm it the more, is it not a common received opinion, that whosoever will be loved, must love? Why, shepheard, (said Phillis, and interrupted him) do you think by loving much, to make your selfe much loved? If you would give me leave to ex∣pound this mystery unto you, said Silvander, perhaps you would be as ready to confesse it, as you have been to interrupt me; but this is all I will say, if the way to get love be to love, then there is no doubt, but that Diana, who constraines me to love her with such ardency

of affection, doth love me extreamly. Phlllis was dumb at this, not knowing what to an∣swer the shepheard, who indeed defended his cause but too well. Astrea whispered Diana in her ear: Never credit me again, (said she in a whisper) if this shepheards jeast do not turn to earnest, and if he do not, like children, who play so long with their finger a∣bout the candle, that at last they burn themselves. Diana answered, that such a thing might perhaps be, if I were as capable of burning, as he is of being burned; but, since he himselfe is only in the fault, let him only bear the punishment: as for me, I do not intend to participate with him. This talk had continued longer, if Phillis had not interposed, and chid them for taking Silvander's part. We did not take his part, answered Diana; but we may well say, that you are too weak to argue with him, for his knowledge is much a∣bove yours. But I would gladly know, said Phillis, how he can conceive, that what you said unto him at the beginning, was more advantageous to him than to me; for, I do ap∣prehend it to be a greater honour unto me, since you did thereby chose me to be your Companion. She did confer that honour indeed upon you, answered the shepheard, but her affection upon me. No, no, replyed the shepheardesse, under the name of Companion is both affection and honour comprehended, for they do almost signifie the same thing. You may as well assert, answered Silvander, that affection and flattery are the same, and not contrary. If that person whom you love best should tell you, that your perfections do transcend any goddesse, would you not say, this is grosse flattery? And why, poor de∣ceived thing that you are, do you not think the same of Diana, when she sayes, that you are her Companion? For, as you your selfe expound it, that Companion signifies, one like her selfe; and her perfections are so transcendently above all other women, as there cannot be a greater difference between men and gods, then betwixt you and her. Poor blinded Phillis, do you not see, that this sweet word which is so pleasing to you, is only pure flattery, which my Mistresse is pleased to put upon you, to acknowledge in some sort that shallow affection which you bear unto her? For, since she cannot love you, she will give you satisfaction in this coyne. In taking you for a Companion, she shewes flattery, and flattery shewes small affection: On the contrary, in taking me for her Servant, she shewes the good will she bears unto me, since I am capable of that favour, if any mortall man be. Oh impudence! (cryed out Phillis). Oh love! answered Silvander. Why, replyed the shepheardesse, do you think your selfe worthy to serve her, whose merits are above all mortalls? The greatest gods, said the shepheard, are served by men, and are pleased with their service and duty: Then why, if I be a man, as I hope you do not question, will you not permit me to serve and adore my goddesse, especially, since she her selfe requires this holy duty from me? Phillis standing mute, and considering well of Silvander's reasons, she knew not how to answer one word, but did really think, that Diana did confer a grea∣ter favour upon Silvander, then upon her; and therefore addressing her speech unto her: Mistresse, said she, upon consideration of my enemies reason, I finde, that he is in the right, and that you have conferred more favour upon him than me: Is it possible, you should do it intentionally? If you did, I shall have a just occasion of complaint, and take it ill, he should be so much advanced above his merit. I see, said Diana coldly, that opinion hath a greater power of you then truth, and you are guided only by it: Within this quarter of an houre, you were boasting of the favour which I did you, in preferring you before Silvander: And now, this opinion being changed, you complain of the contrary, so as I am afraid, that your affection also is nothing but opinion. No question of it, said Silvan∣der; for every word she hath spoken is an argument of it. Is it any argument of Love, Phillis, to finde fault with the actions of your Mistresse? If they be to my disadvantage, said she, would you have me to think well of them? It were but your duty to conform your selfe, and strive to get more love then you have, said Silvander. Would you have Diana conform her selfe unto your will, or ought you to conform your selfe unto hers? I wish to the gods, said she, that I had as much advantage over her, as it seemes she hath given you over me. If it were so, said Silvander, pray tell me, which of you two should be the Mistresse and which the Servant? Truly, shepheardesse, I do not think you ever re∣ceived the least scratch in Love's War. Astrea, who silently heard their difference, was at last constrained to say thus unto Diana: I think, wise shepheardesse, that this shepheard will take away from Phillis the use of her tongue. No, said Silvander, it is rather Love; for hitherto she thought that she had loved, but now she sees the contrary.

Thus those fair Shepheardesses deceived themselves in the length of the way; and the Sun shining very hot, they asked Silvander, how far it was yet unto the place which he

conducted them unto; and understanding that they were about the mid way, they resol∣ved to rest themselves at the next Fountain, or the next good shade they come unto; and Silvander told then, that they should presently come unto such a one, where they should finde a Cherry tree full of ripe fruite: In order to this resolution, they doubled their pace; but meeting with Laonice, Hylas, ••••••cis, Manduates, and Thirsander, they stayed awhile. These shepheards and shepheardesses were walking together, seeking for cool shades, and pleasent Fountaines, for they were strangers; and having no flocks to keep, they passed away the time as pleasantly as possibly they could: And intending not to part that day they walked up the banks of the delectable River of Lignon. Now these two Companies being met, Hylas presently left Laonice, and came to Phillis, and she left Astrea and Diana, and went to him; at which Silvander was not sorry, thinking himselfe in more absolute possession of his Mistresse. Tircis seeing Astrea alone, for Thirsander did lead Maduntes, he addressed himselfe in a humble manner unto her, and offered his service in leading her: She, having a great esteem of that shepheard, especially because there was a conformity betwixt their fortunes, did very willingly accept of his offer; so as every one had a Companion, except Laonice, who, as I told you formerly, having an extream de∣sire to be revenged of Phillis and Silvander, all her aime was, to watch an occasion of do∣ing them some mischiefe: And to compasse her designe, she kept a spying eye upon all their actions, hearkn•••• unto all their discourse, especially when they spoke low, or in secret; and when 〈…〉〈…〉 by their gestures, that they spoke any thing affectionately. She had formerly 〈…〉〈…〉 partly a cause of the jealousie of Lycidas, and had since learned much of Sil•••••••••••• and other shepheardesses, yet more from her own suspicions then any else: But 〈…〉〈…〉 much more, and became so knowing, as it may be said, she knew all 〈…〉〈…〉 as well as themselves. Also, there being none in the company who suspected her designe, she had more free accesse to hear, none taking any notice when she 〈◊〉〈◊〉 them. After she had 〈◊〉〈◊〉 upon all the shepheards and shepheardesses, and 〈…〉〈…〉 Companion to divert her she got as neer as she could unto Silvander, who led Diana; 〈…〉〈…〉 to whom she wished most ill, and having already an opinion of their being in love the passionately desired to discover more. Diana, who had no designe at all upon Silvander, though she did wish him better then any shepheard of Lignon, did not care whether her words were heard or no: And Silvander took no heed, because he was so attenive unto what his Mistresse said, as he did hardly see the ground he trod upon, which gave Laonice a better opportunity to hearken. Silvander then, assoon as he was alone with his Mistresse: Well, my fairest, (said he unto her) what do you think now of Phillis and me? I do think, answered she, that Phillis of all persons in the world, is the worst lyar; and that of all the shepheards I know, Silvander is the best dissembler: for certainly, you can counterfeit a passionate part the best of any living Ah shepheardess! replyed Silvander, it is an easy matter to counterfeit what one does really resent. This, replyed Diana, is that which confirmes what I say: I could never believe, that a feigned passion could be glossed with words and actions, so resemblant unto truth. Ah Diana! said he, how far short are both my actions and my words of declaring the truth of my affe∣ction? Could you but see my heart as wel as my face, you would have a better opinion of me. I must confess, the wager betwixt Phillis and me hath been a cause, that I have had the ho∣nour to be often 〈◊〉〈◊〉 you: But, I cannot keep my selfe within the confines of our wager. Oh my fairest Mistresse, do not be here it possible I should: Your perfections are too high to be loved, only by a seeming to love. Heavens be my witnesse, and I attest all the sacred duities of these solitary places, that I do love you with a most reall, perfect, pure, and eter∣nall affection.

The reasons why this shepheard spoke thus, was, because he saw, that within a few 〈◊〉〈◊〉 his terme of 〈◊〉〈◊〉 months would end, and that after it, he should finde more difficul∣ty to express his affection, knowing the humour of this shepheardess well enough, so as he resolved to make use of his time: And though it did but further his designe very little, yet was it not altogether in vain; for by this he had accustomed his shepheardess unto such dis∣course which perhaps i•• not one of the least acts, whereof an advised Lover ought to make use for custome renders things easy, which at the beginning astonish us, and which we think impossible. Diana hearing this language, though she thought it true, yet would she not seem to believe it; but continuing as she begun, This, shepheard, said she, does more confirme main the opinion I had of you; and you may believe what I say to be true, if you do observe how faintly I hear and answer you; for did I give any credit unto your

words, be certain, that the first word you should speak unto me, should be the last word that I would hear. Silvander would have answered, had he not been prevented by an en∣counter. Astrea and Tircis went first, Phillis and Hylas next, Mandonte and Tersander after them, Diana and Silvander the next; and after them, the slie Laonice. In this order, they followed the path which Silvander shewed them, and without much noise they came into a very pleasant Wood which was in their way. The discourse of Astrea and Tircis being only upon things indifferent, they espyed in the thick of the wood, under a shade, three shepheardesses, with the generous Paris, the son of Adamas: the shepheardesses were unknown unto Astrea; as for Paris, he was of late grown so familiar amongst all that company, as there was none in all that Town, which did not both know and love him. His love unto Diana brought him unto that acquaintance, and to make himselfe more plausible, as often as he came to see his Mistresse, he put on the habit of a Shep∣heard, and with his hook in his hand, frequented that company, as if he had been of the same quality: Such power hath Love, to free the most generous soules from all ambition. And because one of those shepheardesses did at that time sing, Astrea and Tircis stopt, and turning towards those which followed them, did make a signe, that they should make no noise: But because the Song was almost ended, they heard only this last verse of it.

By Thought or Deed did I offend? By Deed, I neer did condescend: And if by Thought I did amisse, Ple swear my thought a Traitor is.

The voice of this shepheardesse was so ravishing, that all the company were very sorry they came not till her song was ended: But Hylas leaving Phillis, to get a little neerer, he no sooner set his eyes upon them, but he kn••w them: Had any observed him, they might easily have seen, that these shepheardesses were not unknown unto him; yet, that he might hear what they said, he constrained himselfe as well as he could: Then he heard her that sung, say; Generous Paris, since we have satisfied your curiosity and desire, we hope you will acquit your selfe of your promise made unto us. I shall never deny you (answered Pa∣ris) any thing, that is within the compasse of my power. Then taking a Lute, which these shepheardesses had, he sung this Song unto that Instrument.

A Song.

1.

WHen Hylas did the splendid eye Of Phillis, his fair Mistresse, spy: Was ever such a glorious Queen, (Said he) unlesse in heaven seen?

2.

Fair Phillis, with a blushing Aire, Hearing these words, became more fair: Away, said he, you need not take Fresh Beauty, you more fair to make:

3.

Then with a winning smile and look; His candid flattery she tooke. Oh stay, (said he) 'tis done I vow, Hylas is captivated now.

4.

If he for liberty complain, Let him (said she) take it again. 'Tis more divine (said he) in you, That conquer can, and pardon too.

5.

A captive Prisoner is blest, When he does fear to be releast: That Lover's happy, who does cry, When any does his bonds unty.

Assoon as this Song was ended, these strangers asked him, who Phillis, and who Hy∣las was? If you did ever hear, said Paris, of the Plain that is called Forrests, and in it, of the delectable River of Lignon, certainly you have heard the names of the fair Shepheardesses, Diana and Astrea: This Phillis, of whom you enquire, is a deer Companion unto them; as for Hylas, I can tell you nothing, unlesse it be, that he is a stranger, but of the sweetest and most jocosive humour, that ever my conversation cop'd withall; for he was never tired with the service of any shepheardesse, but still will quit her after six daies courtship, before any distaste shall be on any side. Did he not dwell in a place called Camargue (said one of these strangers) which is in the Roman Province? And Paris answering, Yes; Oh then, said she, you need not tell us any more, since we know both his Name and Country; as for all his other conditions, we know them well enough to our own costs: And after she had pau∣ed awhile, she began again in this manner.

The History of Palinice, and Cercenea.

I Shall never think any thing strange, generous Shepheard, when I remember Hylas, and consider, that most things do consist only in Opinion. For nothing is so directly contrary unto each other, as vertue and vice; and this man, taking the one for the other, doth shew us, that it is meerly opinion which puts the price upon all things: And doubt∣less he is the most unconstant piece that ever thought himself in Love; and he will go about to prove by arguments and reasons, that it is a vertue to change, or love many at once; and that this is no inconstancy. Also, it is questionless, that he speaks as he thinks, and his arguments and reasons are the issues of his heart. I remember that when he came from Camargue unto Lyons, he got into the Temple amongst the women, at the grand Feast; and if Palinice had not shewed much compassion upon him (for so is the name of this my Companion) certainly he had payed very dear for his curiosity: but she finding, that his fault proceeded from folly, and not malice, disguised him with a vail, and got him out of the Temple, then carryed him to his lodging, which was in a demi-Isle, betwixt the Rosne and the Arar. This courtesy was enough to oblige Hylas, unto a gratefull visit of Pali∣nice: and her modesty was such, as would have given a check unto any but Hylas, from moving any matters of Love unto her: Yet, before the third visit was paid, he acquainted her with his minde, and was as familiar, as if he had been brought up with her from his cradle. You have, fair one, (said he unto her at the very first accost) preserved my life, and good reason it should be imployed in your service; and I will do it, though only out of gratitude: And not to detract from your first favour which you have done me, I beseech you accept this offer of my service, and believe, that there is no person upon earth that can love you better then I, nor whose heart is swell'd with more affection. My Compani∣on, who was unaccustomed to any such expressions, did, at the first, answer him very cold∣ly; but seeing he persisted, she grew angry, and would not suffer him to use any such lan∣guage: At the last, when by his continuall visits she found his humour, she did nothing but laugh at him, which did not offend him at all; for he had this good quality, that as he was free with every one, so he allowed every one to be free with him. How∣ever, his Love did so increase, that my companion did grow weary of him; not but that Hylas is certainly a man of much merit, and is owner of many qualities which deserve Love; but she being a Widow, and not intending to marry, this courtship could not but be very disadvantageous to her. It seemes, that the Heavens had pitty upon Palinice, and at the same time sent her a Companion, and presently after that another, to help her to support a burthen so heavie. Palinice had a Brother, who had been long a devoted Servant unto Cercenea, my companion, who now sits next me. And respect being most in the hearts of those that love most, Clorian (for that was the name of Palinice's brother) had not yet the confidence to acquaint the fair Circen••a with his affection: She, on the other side, was yet too young to discover it by his actions: so as Clorian loved, and in vain, be∣cause his love was not known. Hylas in the mean time, continued his frequent visits unto Palinice; and as he said himselfe, it being one of Loves chief precepts, to get the favour of the kindred friends, and servants of the party loved, he courted the friendship of Clorian with all obsequious offers he could make, which was no difficulty to obtain, because the young man was all civility and sweetnesse, and had an affection to get the love of all: But Hylas being more subtle and crafty, as being older, and having travelled, he faigned,

what Clorian did in good earnest; so as he was only a superficiall friend, whilst the other loved him as his Brother; and the ensuing story will make this appear: For Clorian's af∣fection unto Cercenea daily augmenting, and not daring to make it known unto her, Hy∣las took notice of it. Cercenea took a journey to see her Father, who was sick in a Town, within the Country of the Sebusians, towards the Allobrogians by reason whereof, Cer∣cenea was long absent from our Town and consequently from Clorian. And because, as I have heard say, there is no greater comfort to a true Lover then to think often of the par∣ty Loved, Clorian did often retire himselfe into a house which he had in that Town, that stood upon the top of a hill, towards the Sebusians: From this place might be viewed the Rosne on one side, and Arar on the other; and one might also see the Forrest of Mars, called 〈◊〉〈◊〉: and if the tops of high Trees did not obstruct the eye, questionless it might see further from thence, then any other place. When he turned towards the Temple of Ve∣nus, I•• might see as far as the Segusian Mountains; when he looked towards Arar, he might behold the 〈◊〉〈◊〉; and when towards the Rosne, he might see as far as the huge hills of 〈◊〉〈◊〉, beyond the plains of the Sebusians. And certainly it was a most lovly prospect every way. It was to this place whither Clorian did commonly retire himselfe, and looking towards the Sebusian plains, did ravish himselfe with thoughts of his fair Cercenea. It hapned, that Hylas being very familiar with him, and not finding him in the house, he made no question but he was gon unto this Mount; and being jealous, that his Companion was in Love, (for he knew, that this solitude, and melancholly musing, could proceed from no other cause) he went up the stairs as softly as he could, and finding the dore halfe open, he saw him looking out of that window towards the Sebusians, so ra∣vished in his own thoughts, that he could not hear it thunder, and therefore could not hear the noise which Hylas made, in opening the dore and entring; but he himselfe spoke so loud, that Hylas could hear these words.

A Discourse unto the Winde.

MIld Zephyrus, that wantonly Amongst all fragrant flowers doth file, Filching from them that sweetest are; Thou dost by theft perfume the Air.

If ever pitty did thee move, Waft o're these plaines unto my Love; And blow my thoughts into that breast, Where they can only finde a rest.

But carry with thee on thy wing, Those amorous Sighs I sadly sing. Tel her, in this my sad restraint, She is my fair and only Saint.

Those lovely Twins, her lips, will yield Odors more sweet then all the field: But when thou thus perfumed art, Return and let me have a part.

Have I taken you, Clorian, (said Hylas, taking him about the neck, and kissing him) I must confesse, you are the closest Lover that e're I knew; yet, you cannot hide your selfe from me. No more I will not, (said Clorian, after a little considering with himselfe) for neither at this time, nor any other, will I ever hide any thing from you. I am satisfied al∣most, said Hylas, upon condition, you will ingenuously confesse, what I do already know. What is it, replied Clorian, which you desire to know of me? I will not ask, said Hylas, what your malady is, but only from whence it proceeds. Oh Hylas, (said he, and sighed) you need not ask me who the cause is: But, I would to the gods, you could as easily give me any comfort, as I can freely satisfie your curiosity. So sitting down upon a Couch, he told him of his affection, and how the love he bare unto Cercenea was so great, as he durst never acquaint her with it.

When Hylas heard the name of Cercenea, he thought he had heard of it before, though he could not well remember when or where, and therefore he asked him, which of all those he had seen, was she? Since you do not know her name, answered Clorian, I believe you never saw her; for her beauty is such, that it is impossible you should see her, and not enquire her name, and make you remember her: But when I calcu∣late the time of your comming unto this Town, I believe you never saw her. I came, said Hylas, at the last F••ast which was celebrated unto Venus. Clorian, after a whiles conside∣ration, answered him, That he could not see her, unlesse he came that very day, because the morning after, she went away unto her Father who was sick in the Province of the Sebusians, and never returned since. Well, said Hylas, though she be never so fair, do you think, that she would not be loved? Can you believe, that those only who are ugly, will permit it? No, no if such should be told, they are loved, they would think themselves jeer'd. I do not think, said Clorian, that if Beauties b•• told they are loved, they will be offended, but their modesty may. How, said Hylas? let her be as modest as she can, do you think she will be angry at being loved? Ah Clorian! their modesty is not any sorrow for being loved, but only because they doubt, whether what is said be true. And indeed, where is that woman, who when she is assured of a mans affection, is not extreamly well pleased with it, and gives him no testimony of her satisfaction? No no, Clorian, of all the actions which we do, next unto those that preserve life, there is none so naturall as this of Love: And can you imagine women such enemies to Nature, that they will hate what is naturall? Come, come, let me give you advice, which unlesse you be a very Novice in Love, you will follow, and finde, that I am my Arts Master in such things. Let Cercenea know, that you do love her, and that assoon as possibly you can; for, the sooner she knowes it the soo∣ner will she love you. May be at first she will turne her head aside, and bid you talk no more of any Love: Perhaps shee'•• seem to be in a great fury, and will not speak to you: But however, do you continue and be assured, that if you be but assiduous, you will win her. When they give us these peevish answers, and refuse the affection which we present unto them, they put me in minde of those Physicians and Lawyers, that refuse the Fee, yet put out their hand. I am older then you are, I have run through some parts of the world, and let me tell you, I have loved many; this gives me encouragement to speak the more freely unto you, and you must not take any exceptions. Be certain that never any faint hearted Lover sped well: And in matters of Love, no fault is so great, as, being too respectfull. He that will speed well, must dare attempt, ask, begg importune, presse, take; nay, he must ravish. Did you never know the humour of women, Clorian? Hearken unto the great Oracle, which in our time spoke thus.

Shee'l flie away, and yet would fain With all her heart be overta'n. She will deny, yet seem to daunt A Lover, when she fain would grant. She will resist, that you at length May seem to vanquish her by strength. For thus her honour does ordain, She should resist, and yet but faign.

He that has no courage to do thus, let me advise him, to take upon him some other trade then that of Love, for he will never thrive by it. Clorian, therefore my counsell is, that you do assume so much confident boldnesse as not only to declare your love unto her, but to hope, that she will love you again, so you will but let her know your minde. I cannot, generous shepheard, remember all the documents and amorous advises which Hy∣las gave; but I understand since from Palmice, who heard her brother relate them, that he did make himselfe appear to be his Arts Master in such things. But, the conclusion of all was, that since Clorian had not so much confidence, as to declare his Love unto his Mi∣stresse; as soon as she returned, which would be within a few daies, Hylas should be his Advocate, and speak for him. Hylas did very willingly accept of the imployment; for, said he, I shall oblige two at once by it; to wit, Clorian, in doing him the good office, and Cercenea, in bringing her such good newes. It hapned that presently after, my Compani∣on returned to the Town; and though the death of her Father had put her into a mour∣ning habit, and though her own sadnesse was suitable unto it; yet all her sorrowes had not

at all lessened her beauty, but had added such a kinde of sweetnesse unto her countenance, as invited all that saw her to love her, by reason of a certain attractive compulsion, which rendred her much more pleasing. Hylas, in prosecution of his promise, no sooner heard of her return, but he courted all opportunities to see her, in which Palinice was not un∣willing to help him, because her Brother desired it. She, who knew nothing of their de∣signe, and believed it to be only out of curiosity, was glad to satisfie her Brother, though she cared not for the company of Hylas. As fortune was, Cercenea's Mother would offer a sacrifice unto the gods, for the soul of her Husband, and did invite Palinice as one of her best friends; thither she went, and with her Hylas: But see, if he be not as good a friend as a faithfull Lover: he no sooner saw Cercenea again, but he was deep in love with her: I say, saw her again because looking upon her, he remembered, that he had seen her before in the Temple of Venus, when Palinice saluted her; and because he then found some sparks of good will unto her, his first flames did kindle again in his heart, as easily, as any Sulphure at the fire. Looking upon her therefore very seriously, he began by degrees to re∣member, that Cercenea was she whom he saw in the Temple, and remembring how excellently she could sing, and all that Love could make him apprehend at the first sight, he quite forgot his promise unto Clorian, and thought only how to speak for him∣selfe. Thus you may see how dangerous a thing it is, to imploy a Second in such a busi∣nesse. He accosted her, afterwards saluted her: And she, out of sweet civility, returned him a salute again. Then both being in the Temple, and every one going to their devotion, he said thus unto her: I see, fair Cercenea, that the sight of you is fatall unto me, and com∣ming hither to be an assistant unto your sacrifices, I am become a sacrifice my selfe. She, who knew not the man, or ever heard of him, did look him in the face; and then, after a little consideration, she concluded him to be a stranger, both by his language and habit; because, though they were made according to the garb of our Town, yet he did wear them in that manner, as was plain he was a stranger: For strangers, though they do dis∣guise themselves in our fashion; yet, they have some trick or other in their Air, by which one may see, they are not of the same Country. And I do believe, that this difference is lesse found amongst the Franks, then any other Nation. Now Circenea not knowing Hylas, she thought, that he had taken her for some other; and therefore, after she had looked up∣on him, she turned sleightly another way, and gave him no answer.

Hylas not satisfied with this, he pulled her by the Gown, and said: What, fair one, no answer to a civill question? I thought, said she, that you had not spoken unto me, or that you had addressed your speech unto some other; for I do not know what you mean, by your fatall sight and your sacrifice. It is to you only, fair one, whom I speak, said he, and to none other but your selfe: that is, to the fairest, and most Angelick beauty, that e're my eyes did see, whose first sight of you, had like to have cost me my life, and so doubt∣lesse will the second, if I do not finde you as kinde and favourable, as Palinice was at that time. I pray, said she, how kinde was Palinice unto you? She sav'd my life, answered he, when the night before the Feast of Venus, your beauty kept me so long in the Temple, that I knew not how to get out. I do not remember any such thing, said Cercenea, or that I ever saw you. Whether you did or no, replyed Hylas, yet love you I must; and in lieu of assisting at your sacrifice, as I did intend to do, I have assisted at that sacrifice, which Love hath made of me unto you: However, I should think my selfe extreamly happy, if I could finde any room in your affection. I see, said she, you are a stranger, and doe not know me; and I do believe, that my affection is very indifferent unto you. Upon this, she turned away, and one of her Companions comming accidentally into the Temple, she gave her place unto her, as if out of courtesy, and got as neer her Mother as possibly she could; and all the while that the sacrifice lasted, she would not come neer him. But Hylas ha∣ving broke the Ice, he would go through, and was not a man that would sit down in the mid way.

He found a way, by the means of Palinice, to come into Cercenea's Chamber, and in conclusion, grew very familiar, making Clorian believe all this while that it was for his sake he frequented her company so much. But such was the humour of Hylas, as he did not think it enough to deceive his friend, and to love both Palinice and Cercenea; but, one night as we were walking together, he expressed himselfe as fair unto me as unto them, and that before he knew my name.

Hylas, who as I told you before, was hearkning, he could not chuse, though it was contrary to his designe, but shew himselfe, and say: Why, fair Florice, do you think it

was your name that I was in love withall? Hylas repented he had so rashly shewed him∣selfe; but these strangers were exceedingly astonished, when they saw him so surprisedly; and though they looked fully upon him, yet by reason of his alteration in habit, they knew him not at the first. But Astrea was very glad, who thought the discourse of this stranger to be very long, and that it hindred her from that satisfaction which she hoped for, in this voyage; yet, she seemed to be sorry, and with the rest, all shewed themselves. But Hylas seeming, as if he had purposely interrupted Florice, did run to her, and em∣braced her, and afterwards saluted the rest; then turning to her again: Well, fair Histori∣an, said he, must you needs renew my sorrowes, and make those wounds which you gave me to bleed afresh? Oh, said Florice, you need not fear any wounds, since you have so ma∣ny remedies, 'Tis true, answered Hylas, if all wounds were cured with the same remedies. But, to let this discourse alone, I beseech you tell me, what designe brought you unto this place? The design, said Florice, was not to meet you here. If it had, said 〈◊〉〈◊〉, it had been but an act of civility and my services perhaps might merit as much: But I see, I have sow••d upon an ungratefull piece of ground, which does not render a profit worth the pains. Somtimes, said Cercenea, good land may bring forth weeds in lieu of corn, because the feed may be naught or sowed out of season, and the sower may be worst of all; and per∣haps some of these may be the cause of that sterilitie wherewith you tax us. I know, Cer∣cenea, said he, that you have beauty enough to make men love you, but withall, you want no dis••••in and scorn for those that do adore you. And I do know, said Palinice, that as you have been ever very fertile in new desires, and fresh affections, so you never wanted words wherewith to accuse others of your own faults. Then Hylas stepping back two or three paces; This is too much, said he, to fight against three at once; Hercules himselfe would not undertake two. Upon this, Astrea, Diana, Phillis, and the rest of their com∣pany came in and caused the dispute to end.

It was the custome of all Lignon shepheards, when they met any strangers, to use them with all possible assistance, conceiving themselves obliged unto it by the Lawes of Hospi∣tality: This custome of civility invited Astrea, Diana, and their company, to treat these strangers accordingly, and afterwards to ask them the occasion of their voyage? Unto which Florice answered in the name of all, That being sent into this Country by dire∣ction of their gods, who had forbidden them to reveal the cause, they durst not disobey them, and therefore they could not give them satisfaction. Then enquiring who those shepheardesses were, and Phillis telling her their names, 〈◊〉〈◊〉 addressed her selfe unto Astrea: I must needs confesse (said she) that I am angry with my selfe, for not knowing you to be the shepheardesse Astrea, whose beauty being too high to be consined unto so narrow a Country as Forrests, the lustre of it hath shined into the Countries all about it: But I do beg your excuse and confesse, that now I am dazled and confused with ad∣miration, at so much lustre as is in you and Diana: And I do begin to hope, that our voyage will be prosperous, since it meets with so happy a beginning. Astrea all civility, did answer her in as good language as possible; and then kissing them, Hylas interrupted: Good Florice, said he, what do you think of our Villages? did you ever see any greater Beauties in your Cities, with all their Arts? Have not I good reason to quit them all for these fair shepheardesses, since the simplicity of my humour and spirit doth more sympa∣thize with their naturall beauty, then with those artificiall tricks which are used in your Townes? If ever you did order your actions with judgment (said Florice) I must confesse it is in this; but nor for any conformitie of humours that is betwixt these fair shephear∣desses and you, for in that, you are far different: but because Hylas having been all his life very wavering in his affection unto all others, will become more constant here, if at the least perfection of beauty be able to do it: and for my part, I do believe he is, since not finding any better in any other place, he is forced to rest here. It does concern me, said Phillis, to answer, because Hylas is my servant; yet believe it, I will not answer for his fidelity, since I must needs think, that having once loved so great a Beauty as yours, and falling off, that it is not beauty which makes him in Love. What then, said Hylas, can it be? An humour of changing, said Florice, and a certain levity of minde, that will not let you continue foure and twenty houres in one opinion. Oh! said Hylas, you are a partie, and therefore your judgment may be suspected. If you mean, answered she, that I am the party offended, I do freely forgive the injury, and do think my selfe more obliged unto you for your changing, then I should have received satisfaction in your constancy: And if you think me a party, that does pretend any thing unto you, believe it, Hylas, I will with

all my heart quit all my pretensions, unto any that will have them, who, if they will re∣ceive them, they will more oblige me by it, then they will finde benefit by the gift. You have reason to dispose thus of me, said Hylas, halfe angry; for you may as freely dispose of me, as of the stars.

All this while, Paris had addressed himselfe unto Diana, whom after he had saluted; This, said he, is a more happy encounter, than I could ever have hoped for, since I did the least expect you here. It is indeed happy for me, said Diana, since we shall enjoy your com∣pany, unlesse these fair strangers do deprive us of it. At this word she blush'd, knowing that Paris loved her. As this blush did please Paris, so it had a contrary effect in Silvan∣der, who knowing that Paris loved her, could not defend himselfe against some stings of jealousie, when he saw the good reception of his Rivall; and this experience taught him to confesse, that jealousie might proceed from love. The shepheardesse, who had no incli∣nation to hate Silvander, took notice of it, and so did Laonice, though the shepheard did dissemble it as well as he could; and they had known it better, if Astrea had not parted them; for, desiring most passionately to finish their journey, she broke company: And be∣cause Paris had taken Diana by the arme, Silvander went towards Phillis, who seeing him comming: It seemes (said she unto him) that we are too too many, and that, though we were absent, they could entertain themselves. I cannot deny it, said Silvander; I must shrug my shoulders patiently, and pay this kinde of tribute without murmur. When he would have answered farther, Hylas came to them, and not caring for these strangers, ran unto Phillis, and lest Palinice, Cercenea, and Florice, as if he had never loved them. Diana, who could not chuse but admire this humour in him, did make a signe unto Phillis by way of wonder. Phillis, who did esteem him as an excellent man to make sport, after she had looked upon him: But Hylas, (said she unto him) can I believe you to be in earnest? Can you doubt it, said he, ••••nce I have left all these whom I did love, to wait up∣on you. That is an excellent argument indeed, said she; but, I pray tell me, did you ever love these strangers whom you have left to come unto us? You may gather as much, said he, from Florice's own mouth. I had some reason (said she) to ask this question; for if you did ever love them, how could you finde a heart to leave them so soon, in a place where they are strangers? Even as I have heretofore left others for them, said Hylas, so now I do leave them for you; and I must needs confesse, that if my affection unto you were not much above all termes of civility; I should have thought my selfe in some sort obliged to wait upon them. Doubtlesse, said Phillis, you do very much oblige me; but I do admire, that since you did love them, you should now make so little account of them. I did love them, 'tis true, said Hylas, but I will do so no more, my love to them is now dead; and me-thinks this should be no such great piece of wonder, to see a man free, when the cord which tyed him is broken. I do believe, said Silvander, that Hylas did never love these strangers; for if he had, he would have loved them still, since the cords of Love cannot be broken. Though they cannot be broken, said Hylas, yet I am sure they may be untied. No, said Silvander, all Love knots are Gordian knots. If they be, said Hylas, I have a sword as well as he, who when he could not untie them, did cut them, and I am sure I have done so severall times.

Never believe you did love them, said Silvander; for if you had, you would have loved them still. Shall I not believe what I do know, said Hylas? But, to do you a pleasure, I will not believe it. But pray trouble neither me nor your selfe any further; keep your selfe to your own melancholly humour, and vex me no more with your impertinent opi∣nions.

Phillis, who was discreet, and seeing Hylas in his angry altitudes, to interrupt him, said thus: However, Hylas, I must needs be angry with you, for hindring me from knowing some things which these strangers had begun to relate. Mistresse, answered he, I had rather never have loved them, then you should misse of your satisfaction by any means of mine. I know, answered Phillis, that the love you bear unto them, and the satisfaction you speak of, will not trouble you; for, since you do not love them now, what will it concern you, whether you did or did not love them? Why, my Fairest, said Hylas, do you not esteem past con∣tentments? If my contentment do not continue, said Phillis, the remembrance of it does but grieve me the more. The services then that were done you a week since, said he, are va∣nish'd; if it be so, the worse for Hylas. Silvander answered in the behalfe of Phillis: Your Mistresse, said he, does not speak of services, but of contentments received; and before you complain, it is requisite to know of her, whether your services be in that rank. Hylas

answered: Those who mistrust their own merits, as you do, may make that doubt, but not I. Silvander, who knowes that Love cannot be paid but by Love again, and she, unto whom I devote mine, hath more goodnesse, then not to acknowledge it, and more judg∣ment then not to esteem it. Silvander would have answered but Phillis interposed: I do esteem Hylas, said she, as I ought to do, and do acknowledge, his merits are very wor∣thy to beloved; nor need he think his services are forgotten; for, he continuing to love me, they are all esteemed as present: And if this declaration do please him, I will request one thing of him which he ought not to deny me, unlesse he would have me think, that he does not love me. Command, fairest, said Hylas, what you please, but two things; that I die, or that I cease loving you; and I obey: for if I die, I cannot love you, and if I do not love you, I cannot delight in any life. May you, and your love to me, said Phillis, be immortall, and so they shall before they die, by my command. But my desire is, to have a relation of that from your own mouth, which you hindred Florice from imparting to us. Diana hearing this request, and being much offended with the extremity of the Suns heat, did say, she would be a very willing Auditor, so they could finde out an umbrage from the Sun's heat; for she believed, the discourse of Hylas would be very pleasant.

Astrea, who longed to go about their businesse, did think as much, and therefore in compliance unto Diana's will, she said, that she would make one. So, said Hylas, it shall not stick upon me; and I should think my selfe to be very bad company, if I were not very willing to give you satisfaction, and my selfe also, for I do believe, there is as much de∣light in thinking upon old and past Loves, as if they were present; for the delights of Love are commonly more in the imagination, then in the thing it selfe; and in relation of things past the soul doth cast her eye upon those images which remain in the fancy, and looks upon them as if they were present. And therefore let us look out for a convenient shade, from the rayes of the Sun. It is impossible, said Silvander, to finde a more convenient place in all the Wood, then by this little brook which you see; for the coolnesse of the shade, and murmure of the water, is very inviting; besides, it is nothing out of our way. All the company concur with him; and when they came unto it, every one began to wash their hands, and sit round the Fountain of it, unlesse Silvander, who got into a great Cherry Tree, which made part of the shade unto the Fountain, and brought some of the best Cherries unto Diana, who gave some to Paris and the shepheardesses, and picking out some of the best, she gave them unto Silvander, saying; Here Silvander, I must needs give you some, who gave them unto me. I would to god (said he, and kissed the hand that gave them) you would receive all I give you with as good a will as this. Then taking his place as neer her as he could, Hylas, when they had eaten all their Cherries, be∣gan his discourse thus.

The History of Parthenopea, Florice, and Dorinde.

I Have often laughed in my thoughts, at all those who condemn inconstancy, and are pro∣fessed enemies against it, considering, that they themselves are not able to be as they say, nor more constant, then those, whom they brand with that vice; for, when they do fall in love do they not fall in love with Beauty, or something they think that is pleasing unto them? Now when this Beauty doth fade, as time doubtlesse will make all Beauty do, are not they inconstant, in still loving those faces that are now grown ugly, and retain nothing of what they were, but only the very name of a face? If to love that, which is contrary unto that which was loved, be inconstancy; and if uglinesse be contrary unto beauty: then he that did love a fair face, and continues loving it when it is ugly, must be concluded inconstant. This consideration makes me think, that the way to avoid inconstancy, is al∣waies to love beauty, and when it fades, farewell love; finde some other that is fair, and still love beauty, and not its contrary, unlesse you be unconstant to your first love. I know full well, that this is point blank against the opinion of the vulgar: But, by way of answer, let me tell you, that the Heard of people, the vulgar, is but a heard of rude and ignorant beasts and in this, they give a true testimony of it.

Do not think it strange, fairest Mistresse, nor you generous Paris, if in relating the story of my life you hear of many such changes: For, I am so carefull not to decline from this constancy, that I had rather quit all those whom hitherto I have loved, then recede from it. You have formerly been acquainted with the cause, why I came out of Camargues,

how I came unto Lyons, why I loved Palinice and Cercenea. And when I interrupted Flo∣rice, she would have told you, how she began to captivate me; but because she forgot some things which are requisite you should know, I shall speak out that, which she did so subtlely conceal, and then relate the story of my life, if we have time enough.

Be pleased to know, then, fairest Mistresse, that Clorian was very ill advised, in employ∣ing me to be his spokes-man unto Cercenea; in such a businesse as that, it is dangerous to make choice of a friend, that is better accomplished then himselfe; a hundred to one, but in lieu of Friend, he becomes a Lover; and he that sent him, not loved; for, if his Mistris have any wit, she will chuse the better. The truth is, when I went with Palinice unto Cercenea, in the behalfe of Clorian, my intention was to serve him as a friend, and to use all possible addresses, which might conduce unto his contentment; but, assoon as I saw this Beauty, I remembered, that I my selfe was in love with her, ever since I saw her that night in the Temple; so as now the state of the question was whether I should stifle Friendship, or stifle Love; and after a long debate with my selfe unto which I should yield, I concluded, that the last commer must give place unto the first. Love told me, that it had taken possession of my soul almost assoon as I was born, and that my affection unto Cercenea, was before my love of Palinice, which was the cause of my friendship with Clorian; and therefore my friendship coming after my love, it is injustice if I let it keep still in possession. No surely, thought I, we see the Lawes allow primogeniture in Children, and Nature it selfe seemes to approve of it. This was the reason why I applyed my selfe unto Cercenea, as Florice hath told you. And I beseech you judge, whether I am obliged to endeavour the contentment of another, before my own. Why should she upbraid me with the name of Traitor to my friend? For, if of two evills, the lesser be alwaies to be chosen; if killing ones selfe be the worst of murders, who, that is in his senses, will say, but I had better betray friendship then love, and have a greater regard unto the preservation of my own life and content∣ment, then the life and contentment of Clorian? Clorian loved me, and I loved Cercenea; Clorian desired me to speak for him, and my affection bad me speak for my selfe: If I did not satisfie Clorian, I offended against my friendship to him; if I did not satisfie my affe∣ction, I offended against Cercenea and Hylas. I do love Clorian, and I do love Hylas also. Put selfe and another in the scales, and selfe, I dare say will out-weigh: So I and Clorian. The gods did favour my designe, so as Cercenea, after some courtship, did love me may be, as well as I loved her, and when you know what assurances of it she did give me, I believe you will say as much as I. But because there was some unto whom she owed duty, and particularly her Mother, she desired me to let her faign as if she loved Clorian, be∣cause there was already some probability of a Marriage betwixt them, being both of one Town, and one quality. Moreover, Clorian being very rich, her Mother would doubtlesse like well of the Match; whereas if my love unto her had been discovered, being a stranger, and perhaps had a wife in some other place, she would have disallowed of it, and perhaps charged her daughter not to see me.

I was very glad of the motion, because I knew not with what language I could put Clo∣rian off any longer, having worn out all my excuses, till they were thread-ba••e, so as he seeing me so much with Cercenea, and yet doing nothing for him, began to be in some doubt of me. Then I acquainted Cercenea with all passages betwixt Clorian and me, and how he had employed me to speak unto her. But, fairest Mistresse. I told her by way of mocking him, lest if I should have set forth unto her his affection as it was, she should en∣tertain any sparks of love unto him; but, I did it so dexterously, that Cercenea had a grea∣ter minde to make use of him as a cloak for her love of me, with lesse suspition and told me. That her Mother had often proposed him unto her for a Husband, and that she knew he had some good will unto her. Then I went unto Clorian, unto whom I faigned a long Prologue, as an introduction of what I intended to say; I related unto him the speeches, answers, and replyes, that I made in his behalfe, and did assure him, that I had made a way for his affection to finde a welcome. Oh! what thanks did he give me, and what pro∣mises to serve me upon the like occasion: for which I thanked him, but did not desire to be in his hands as he was in mine. At the last, he took heart, and according to my advice, he resolved to speak of it unto Cercenea; but, with more fear and heart-beating, then if he were to fight with the most valiant man alive: Yet, the courage which I had infused in∣to him, and assurance that he should be welcome to her, did make him surmount those fears which had solong silenc'd him; and finding an opportunity, he acquainted her with his intentions in the best language he could invent, the effect of which was, that he bore unto

her so much humble respect, as, without me, he never had durst to declare his affection un∣to her; that it was all purity and vertuous desires. Truly (answered she) you have a very good friend of Hylas, and you may well think him so, and by all meanes preserve such a Jewell; for he hath done nothing above a month, but continually talk in commendation of you: Also, you may understand from him, that I am not so obdurate as you imagine, but does think my selfe obliged to entertain a man of your merit, when you come with honest and pure designes of Marriage, as your friend tells me you do; and therefore I am contented to live with you, according to the purity of such affection; but I shall be very glad to have Hylas a witnesse of all that passeth betwixt us, that he may arbitrate all mat∣ters betwixt us. I must be briefe, my fair Phillis, otherwise an age would not serve, to re∣late all the accidents that befell me. But be pleased to know, that ever since this day, Clo∣rian was so far ingaged, that he could not retreat; and because their Parents began to take notice of it, I did acquaint her Mother, that Clorian did intend to marry her Daughter, and that, because I thought it an advantageous Match unto Cercenea, I had contributed all my endeavours to bring it about; but, since I had not yet spoken of it unto his Father and Mother, I desired, that the businesse might be kept secret. Cercenea's Mother knowing Clorian to be rich and well born did heartily thank me for my endeavours, and did de∣sire, that if Clorian had any such minde, he would speak unto her, and she would keep it as secret as he pleased; but she desired, to have that satisfaction from himselfe. I assured her, he should; and accordingly, within a few daies after, we went unto her again, and Clorian told her more then I had done. Thus all things went very well; for my part, I was wel∣come to the Mother, more welcome to Clorian, but most of all to Cercenea. You see in∣to what a passe I was brought: to seem as if I did not love this fair one, I was forced to quit my place unto Clorian, and to speak for him. When there was any company, I stood before them, that Clorian might unseen kisse her hand; but, it vexed me to the soul, when he kissed her mouth, as often he did in my presence: And though it did displease me very much, and Cercenea more, yet we did constrain our selves, that she and I might have some opportunities sometimes of privacy: For the Mother, believing me to be a mediator only for Clorian did give me all the liberty I could desire. Nay more, I brought her Letters from Clorian, and oftentimes did answer them my selfe, for she did only write them, and god knowes, not without much laughter and jearing of him.

Thus did I live, the most contented man alive, till Fortune upon a sudden turn'd the wheel and yet it went not so neer my heart, as it would anothers, because I had so good a receipt against all such maladies. The Facchanalian Feasts being at hand to be celebra∣ted. Clorian and I resolved to maintain a Tournement. Clorian took for his device a Pi∣cture of Circe (with Circenea's face) amongst the Companions of Ulysses, with this Mot∣to, To her had fewer Charmes. But I not daring to declare my selfe as he did, I did a little disguise her name, and painted a Syren, and Ulysses tyed to the Mast of his Ship, with this Motto, What B••nds would be sufficient? I thought that I had done very well, and that she was infinitely obliged unto me for it: But see the Fate. As chance was, there was a young Beauty in Lyons, whose name was Parthenopea, a neer neighbour unto my lodging, with whom, how ever it came to passe, I had no great familiarity; for it was not my hu∣mour to have any fair neighbours, and not to visit them. When I was in the Lists, those that were curious, began to interpret our devices; as for that of Clorian, every one could easily understand it, Circenca's face, and the clinch of her name, did sufficiently discover it: But, as for mine, none could give it a meaning. At the last an old Knight that was up∣on the Scaffold, amongst the Ladies where Cercenea was, and Parthenopea, and whose age excused him from being in Armes, he said, that it was easie to discover his meaning; and then addressing himselfe unto Parthenopea: It is for you, fair One, said he, that he enters into the Lists. At this, she blush'd and thinking her selfe wrongfully accused, did answer: If it be for me, he is very secret in his matters, for he never spoke to me. Take heed (said Cercenea, who thought her selfe concerned) that you do not dissemble, and carry it more close then he doth. It is an easy matter, said she, to carry that secret which I do not know. If you please to know the reason of my opinion (said the old Knight) I shall tell you, and I am confident your judgments will agree with mine. I shall be very glad, said she, to understand this secret from you. You see then (replyed the old Knight) that he bears a Syren upon his Shield, with this Motto, What Bonds would be sufficient? he could not more plainly name you, then by the painting of a Syren; for the Ancients say, that the Syrens were three Daughters of Achiloes, by the Nymph Calliope; and were called Ly∣gra,

Leucosia, and Parthenopea; and your name being Parthenopea, he could not more clearly expresse his meaning then by a Syren, and Ulysses tyed to the Mast of a Ship, mea∣ning, that nothing can hinder him from being yours, if by your favours you will be his. Then all the company cryed out; Oh Parthenopea, how closely have you kept it? But you had now better to confesse then deny it. For my part, said she, it is all one whether it be so or no, for it concernes me but a little. I hope then said Circenea, you will not be angry if we call him your Knight. I do not care said she, but have a care you do not call him wrong. The report went presently amongst the Ladies that I was the Syren's Knight, and Clorian Cyrenea's. For my part, I knew nothing of it, but took notice, that as I passed under the Scaffold, Cercenea cryed out unto me, Adieu the Knight of Parthenopea, but I knew not what she meant.

At last, the Tourney being ended, every one retired; and Clorian and I thinking we had behaved our selves very well, assoon as we had put off our Armes, we went unto Cercenea; but she being infinitely incensed against me, did not look upon me with her usuall sweet∣nesse, but when I spoke to her, she would give no reply, but, Let me alone, Knight of the Syren, and in a scorning manner, turned away from me. I was so innocent in what she accused me of, that I knew not what to think, unlesse that I had ill acquitted my selfe in this Tournement, which I undertook to maintain: But not conceiving, that I had done any worse then my Companion; and seeing that she cherished him, I could not imagine what to think.

That night I retired, unsatisfied; for I could not obtain so much favour, as to speak with her in private, but went away much displeased at my fortune. But the next morning, a chance happened, which spoiled all my affairs. Being that morning in the Temple, I saw there Parthenopea, with one of her Aunts; and seating my selfe by chance by her, I per∣ceived she did not look upon me with the eye of an enemy: She was fair, and consequently one of those, who by the Lawes of Constancy, I was obliged to love; and therefore I got a little neerer unto her, and watching for an opportunity of speaking unto her, she leaned towards me, and said How Sir, do you like the Tournement? It is my part, said I, to ask you that question, since it is the office of such Beauties as your selfe to judge. I do not ask you, said she, how you did behave your selfe, for every one can witnesse, none could do better; but I would gladly know, whether you be not weary after all the pains you took? Since, fair one, said I, you have given such an advantageous judgment for me, it is impossi∣ble I should be weary. We were in a place where long discourse was not handsome, and therefore she answered me only with a smile, and turned the other way When prayers and devotions were done, she went out of the Temple; and I conceiving my selfe obliged by her language to wait upon her to her lodging, which was neer, I took her by the hand, and by the way I understood how it was the opinion of every one, that I maintained the Tournement as her Knight. I being glad to umbrage my affection unto Cercenea, and moreover taken with the favours of Parthenopea I answered her, that it was true and that not daring to declare it by my words, I made choice of that way. After much discourse, and when we were come unto her lodging she took off her Scarfe, and laid it upon the ta∣ble; afterwards her Mask, and standing to the fire, she talked unto me and I perceived, that what I had done, was not displeasing unto her, because she still renewed the discourse up∣on it: And the more I saw my service pleased, the more fell I in love with her. In conclusi∣on, before I parted, I took her Scarfe which lay upon the Table, and though she made a little resistance, yet I put it about my neck, and told her, That since I undertook a Tour∣nement for her, without any mark of my affection, it was reasonable I should have that, as a testimony of my being hers; her resistance was not great, and therefore I carried it a∣way, and wore it about my neck all the rest of the day. However, because I would not lose Cercenea, I would not go into any place where she was in probability of seeing me: But he whom I doubted the least, which was Clorian, told her, not intending any hurt unto me, that I was the most contented man in the world, with the favours of Parthenopea, and thereupon told her of the Scarfe. Oh how this went to her very heart, for she did really love me, and yet she made no shew of any discontent. But the next morning when I went unto her, and Clorian not there: Oh Knight of the Syren, said she, what have you done with your fine Scarfe? I must tell you that I did love Cercenea much better then I did Par∣thenopea, and would not lose her upon so small an occasion; and therefore I swore a thou∣sand oaths that when I undertook the Tournement, I had not the least thought of Par∣thenopea; but upon the word of Syren only, which had a resemblance unto Cercenea.

But, said she, why did you not tell me of it? Because, answered I, I thought the thing so plain, that you would know it this way. And what do you (said she) concerning this Scarfe? I must confess, said I unto her, that I took it from Parthenopea yesterday, being de∣sirous to disguise my affection unto you under that vail. Cercenea stood silent a while, and then began thus: Well Hylas, I wil believe all you tell me provided you will give me satisfa∣ction in one thing. It shall be impossible (said I) if I do not. Give me the Scarfe, replyed she, which you took from Parthenopea, and in exchange, I shall give you another which is better. I was very loath to do it, and would gladly have come off with an excuse, but it was impossible.

As soon as she had it, she put it upon her arme, and gave me another, which indeed was much better; and the same day, knowing that I was not in my lodging, she went with some of her friends (under colour of walking) unto my lodging, and sent to see if I was not within: A servant of mine, whom she knew, came to her, and told her, that I was not in my lodging. This good company and my selfe (said she) were desirous of his company to walk with us: But prethee do me the favour to go and tell Parthenopea, that we stay here for her to that end; and in reward of thy service, take this Scarfe, and wear it all this day for my sake. Then she put about his neck that Scarf which I had from Parthenopea. This varlet thought himselfe mighty brave, and much honoured in this favour, and gave her most humble thanks; and to shew his ready obedience, ran as fast as he could to deliver his message unto Parthenopea, who seeing her Scarfe about the fellowes neck, she had an opinion, that I caused him to wear it in scorn of her, and hearing his err••nd, did know very well, that it came from Cercenea, and that I had given it unto her; which did so extreamly offend her, that I could never since renew with her, and much lesse with Cerce∣nea, who absolutely declined me, although she plainly saw, that I did love her better then I did Parthenopea. But practising this Maxime, that one must hate them whom they have offended, so she knowing her treason to be great, she would never conside in me again. I was constrained to return unto Palinice, but stayed not long; for it being then the spring∣time of the year, these Ladies would many in a company, enjoy the sweetnesse of the aire, and go into the Country in a Barge, up the calm and smooth River of Arar, passing away the time, one while in musick of Instruments, another while in that of Voices and some∣times landing, would dance upon the dazie Meadowes. As ill luck was, I had no acquain∣tance amongst all this good company, but only Palinice and Cercenea; however, I thrust in amongst them, and undertook to entertain them all: I saw they all whispered, and asked who I was and Palinice had a great deal of trouble in telling my name unto all that asked her: But presently after, I was as well known as any in the company, for, holding dis∣course with the first that did offer any, they found my humour so pleasing, that all of them desired my friendship. As long as the Barge went upward, although the River ran so si∣lent, as one could not tell which way it ran; yet, sometimes it would make such a noise against the stream, as they could use none but Instruments: but when it went downward, the waves made only a little dashing against the Barge, and then those who had good Voices, did sing what came into their fancies. Amongst this assembly of Beauties, there was many Knights, and children of Druides, to keep them company, and passe away the evening with more delight. This was the first time I ever saw Theombres: This man had almost passed the Autumne of his age, in such a good opinion of himselfe, as he thought all Ladies like to die for the love of him: For my part, I never could observe any taking quality in him; yet certainly, he had some features, which was not displeasing unto some: Amongst the rest, Florice was one, who might come into the catalogue of those who are called Fair: Indeed she was fair, all her features pleasing, but above all her eyes were so sweet and alluring as I must confesse, I never saw such; her stature was tall, and her minde so majestick, as one might easily see, she was above vulgar extraction; and indeed she was of that Family, who vaunts to be descended from the great Ariovistes. And though this fair Lady was such, as there was not one in all the Country, but did, and ought, to yield unto her, both in merit and beauty: Yet, Theombres was more in her affection, then any in the Town. And because it was long since this Love began, and hung in a kinde of lan∣guishing continuance, Theombres thought it best to awake it, by some sparks of jealousie; and therefore seemed as if he were in love with a young Beauty, called Dorinde, who in∣deed was Mistresse of some beauty, but yet yielded in all unto Florice: Now Dorinde being gone out of the Town unto one of her Uncles, Theombres, to continue his dissimulation, did alwaies, when he sung, take Dorinde for the subject, and, as I remember, one Verse of

it was, that when she departed, she vowed to keep him continually in her memory, which he took to be so great a happinesse unto himselfe, that he would not change fortunes with any Angell in heaven. The fair Florice did think her selfe much concern'd in this, and it being spoke in her presence, she was the more offended; and therefore in defence of Dorinde, who was some waies allied unto her, she answered him in this manner.

A Song.

DORINDE did but only play, And fool you, when she so did say; Knowing without a wrong, she may False coine, to such as false are, pay.

Perhaps the vainesse of your minde Does make you brag, that she is kinde; To shew, that favour you can finde, From one so fair and well inclin'd.

If such a promise shee did vow, 'Twas only to be rid of you: So being but a parting blow, Shee's not oblig'd to think on't now.

This retort upon Theombres by Florice did so please me, that ever since, I resolved to love her, and add her unto Palinice and Cercenea. And presently after, rowing by a ve∣ry pleasant Meadow, it was the generall vote to land in it, and enjoy the beauty of the place: Some began to sing, others to dance, and others to gather flowers, or to walk. Florice was one of those, whose Genius was to make Nosegayes and Garlands; she had separated her selfe from company, and set down upon the grasse, perhaps in some thoughts of what Theombres had said. I accosted her, not with an intention to fall on, but to try her, and as I found her tractable, so to go on, or make a retreat; also my conceit was, that Cercenea being made thereby a little jealous, might be moved to repentance: but it hapned quite otherwise, as you shall understand. However, I fell upon my knees by her, and was very officious in helping her to gather flowers: She, very civilly, took them at my hands, but wondred, that having never seen me before, that I should take so much paines. I perceived it well enough, but still waited, till her words gave me an occasion to let her know, that I loved her. My reason, why I treated her at such a distance of respect, was, the grandure and state that she kept, which in truth was such, that of all I ever loved before, I never stood in such reverentiall fear, as of her. It hapned as I hoped for after she had recei∣ved many of the flowers which I gathered, she told me, I had taken too much paines, and that I would think her to be uncivill, if she suffered me to continue. To which I an∣swered, That I thought every one obliged to do her all service, since she had so excellently well defended her friend in her absence. Do you mean Dorinde, said she unto me? The very same said I, in whose person you have obliged all others. Truly, said she, I could not en∣dure the vanity of Theombres; for you see what he is, and yet he thinks, we are all ready to die for the love of him. Then certainly, said I, Ladies must needs be either very loving, or of very little judgment; for I think him to be rather a remedy against Love, then of any capacity to cause it. I am clearly of your opinion, said she; for, if I had an inclination to love, this man of all men living should be the last I would chuse. If you should love him, said I, it would be a grand offence against the gods, who having adorned you with so much beauty, you would that way profane it. I cannot tell (said she) what beauty there is in me: but I am most sure, that I could never love him. Cannot you tell what beauty there is in you, said I? then you cannot tell what all the world doth see; but, perhaps it is only your modesty, which makes you seem ignorant of it. No, no, said she, I do really be∣lieve, that there is nothing in my face which can merit that name you give it: But, be it what it will, pray let's talk no more of it, for more would be out of season, and little de∣lighting. I shall obey you, said I unto her, but it shall be with this protestation then, that I will never speak again what I think, and what you have forbidden to be in my mouth, shall as long as I live rest in my heart. We had discoursed longer, had not the company

called us away, for they were already gone into the Barge. Then she rose up without ma∣king any answer, and putting her flowers in a corner of her Gown, I took her hand, and conducted her to her company, where not daring to revive the discourse which we left, lest I should be too bold (for so much forwardnesse in the first declaration of Love, is a signe of but little affection) I contented my selfe at this time with what I had already said. At last, the generall genius of the company was all for singing, and when it came to my turn, I sung these ensuing Verses, to assure Florice, that all which I had said, was true.

A Song. Amorous Oathes.

FAirest, you murder my desires, Which yet, to none but you aspires.

I swear by your fair eyes, that are More splendid then the Sun by far.

I swear by my own heart and soul, Which you imperiously controul.

I swear by your own sweetnesse, which Does all my faculties bewitch.

I swear by your disdain and scorn, Intolerable to be born.

I swear by all that amorous fire, Which makes men love you and admire.

By all my hopes, and all my fear, And all my hot desires I swear.

I swear by your fair selfe, that is The Center of my happinesse.

I swear by all that life affords, And yet you credit not my words.

Thus, fair Phillis, was a good foundation laid; for, since the very first time I saw Flo∣rice, it was impossible for me to make a retreat; yet it angred me, that I should lose Pali∣nice, as well because I was obliged unto her, as because she was really a woman of much merit. Moreover, the love of Cercenea much grieved me; for this young Beauty being of∣fended she sleighted all the reasons I could bring in to convince her. However, though she did not love me, yet it vext her to see, that Florice should have a more absolute power over me, then ever she could have, thinking this to be an argument, of her being inferiour in beauty: And this was the reason why she did me all the ill offices she could both to Pa∣linice and Florice. But so it hapned, that her malice did me no harm, but did more for me, then all my services perhaps of a long time could have done; for Florice presently found, that Cercenea, did speak it out of a passionate partiality, and therefore she gave no credit unto her: And on the contrary, considering and observing my actions more neerly, she began to finde them agreeable, and by little and little to please her; so as Love, like a slie and subtle spie, did insensibly insinuate himselfe into her soul. However, I being very desirous to keep my selfe in Palinice's favour, I was a little vexed.

But learn this from me, Silvander, (said he, and turned towards that Shepheard) that there is none whom women esteem more, then those who are in love with them. Nor none whom they more despise, said Silvander, then those that leave them, and love another. But upon this consideration, said Hylas, I endeavoured to keep fair with all, if it was possible, but all in vain; for Florice was too full of vanitie, and had too over good an opi∣nion

of her own merits, to entertain a heart in which any other had a share. And this proud soul resolving to be sole Mistresse and to love none but me, she did one day do me so much favour, as to assurence of her love. But, said I unto her, what shall we do with Theombres, (thinking to upbraid her with him)? She presently answered me in my own element. Let us give him unto Palinice. I understood her meaning well enough and there∣fore I swore unto her never to love any but Florice and that if she would banish Theom∣bres out of her sight, I would promise her, never to look upon Palinice again. Nor because you desire it, said she but because he does extreamly displease me, I will swear and protest unto you, that I will never love him, and that if it were handsome, I would banish him out of my sight; for when you consider that action well, you will finde it to be a greater wound unto me, then it can be satisfaction unto you. Since this time, she gave her selfe wholly unto me, and I, contrary to my own nature, did give my selfe wholly unto her, and declined all others. From morning untill night I never stirred out of her lodging: un∣lesse she went; and if any came upon visits, they must be persons of great eminency, if they did interrupt our discourse. At every word, I was in her mouth, and she in mine, and we could not speak, unlesse the one called the other as a witnesse. Judge yet, whether Pali∣nice and Cercenea had not enough to talk off. This was the reason, why all the Town made it their common talk; and reports alwaies encreasing by going, they went so much in disadvantage of Florices honour, that at last they came to her ears, by a friend who ac∣quainted her. She repented her selfe of the imprudent carriage of the businesse, though too late: She acquainted me and told me, that we must be more circumspect in our expressions of good will; and the better to hide it for the future she willed me not to come unto her, but at night, and so give a stop unto reports if it were possible. To give her satisfaction, I refrained comming for a while; but because she was as much displeased with the depriva∣tion of my company, as I of hers, it was resolved betwixt us, to finde out some way or other, to avoid the censure of the world, and yet be together. After consideration she ad∣vised me to seem as if I loved some, who used to be familiarly with her, and under that shaddow, I might come unto her: And upon serious thoughts, none deemed more fit for this purpose then Dorinde, as well, because she was her cosen, and frequently familiar, as because she was fair, though not very subtle: And though she was not so fair as Florice, nor so rich, nor so well descended; yet, she did excell the most, both in beauty and merit. The day that I declared my selfe Dorinde's servant, was that, upon which the people ce∣lebrated a Feast, in memory of the restauration and building of their Town by Nero, after that most terrible fire, which in one night consumed it to the ground. At this time of publick joy, every one did strive to appear as fine as possibly they could, as well to assist at the sacrifices offered unto Jupiter, the Restaurator, and to the Titular gods, as to be seen in the Theaters and publick Shewes. Dorinde, desirous to be seen and observed, did set out her beauty with all the illustrations that Art could devise. Before the day en∣ded, I did so accost Dorinde with my expressions of that affection I had unto her, that she did believe them. At that time and day, I became acquainted with a young Cavalier called Periander, a man indeed full of civility, discretion, and sweetnesse: This man see∣ing me so obsequious to Dorinde, and finding my humour agreeable unto his own, resol∣ved to make me his friend: And I, on the other side, being desirous of acquaintance in that place, where I intended to stay, since Love did so oblige me to it; I thought him to be a man of merit, and therefore was glad to have him my friend. This encounter of friend∣ship, which proceeded from one and the same sympatheticall cause, was sooner contracted betwixt him and me, then betwixt me and Dorinde, although Florice, the better to dis∣guise her own love, did contribute all that possibly she could unto it: But poor Florice did not foresee, how she was sharpning a sword which gave her a deep wound she did not know, how it was alwaies my humour, never to see any Beauty, but I must needs love her a little; so as ere I was aware, I was in Love with Dorinde as well as with Florice: yet, I did love Florice better, she being more fair, and of a higher rank. Two months were spent in this manner, and the friendship betwixt Periander and me grew to that height, that we were commonly called the two Friends; and because we both desired a continua∣tion of it, we took reciprocall oathes, of a most faithfull and perfect friendship, calling the gods to witnesse to the oath which we had taken, and to be punishers of him, who should violate the Lawes of friendship. After this protestation, nothing was in the soul of one, but it was discovered unto the other. It hapned one morning (for commonly we lay both together) after much discourse upon the Beauties of the Town, he asked me, whether

there was any of them which I loved: And answering him; Yes: He told me, that before he would ask me who my Mistresse was, he would tell me who was his I desire, said I un∣to him, to be the first in that freedome, because you were the first that asked the que∣stion. Then I related unto him all the addresses which I had made unto Dorinde, since the last two months, but would not by any means mention Florice, as well, because I lo∣ved her more and desired that that Love should be kept secret, as because I knew that one of his consens did court her in Marriage. As soon as I had named Dorinde: How, (said he) do you love Dorinde? Dorinde, the Daughter of Arcingentorix. The very same, said I; and I do assure you, that I have courted her above this six months. Oh heavens! cried he, how cruelly doth love treat me? And after he had paused a while; I do swear, said he, and protest, that it is she whom I have long loved. Could a greater misfortune befall me! I had rather die then retreat, and if I continue, I shall offend against the Lawes of Amitie. I was much astonished to hear him say thus; for, though I loved him, yet it went against my heart to leave Dorinde unto whom Love had kindled new desires in me: And there∣fore, after I had held my eyes up to heaven, as one that was much troubled, I said thus un∣to him: Brother, since our Loves did begin in us before our Friendship, it argues a sympa∣thy in our humours, which forceth us to love the same; but however, let the Lawes of Friendship be inviolable; since we have thus far agreed, let our prudence endeavour to continue so for the future; and in order to that, let us see whom this Lady most affects: To think that our friendship should make us quit her the one unto the other, this would be rather tyranny then friendship; and to think, that we can continue Rivalls and Friends, is Folly. What then should we do? Let us refer all to Reason, and see which of us she loves most. Tell me, I do conjure you by the Oath which we have taken, whether it be true, that she doth love you, and what testimonies of it she hath given you? I do swear, Brother, (answered he) that I will not tell you a lie, either in this, or any thing you shall ask, I will first die a hundred deaths. Know then, that it is impossible I should give you any assurance that she loves me, since her discretion and modesty keeps all close in her own soul: Then (said I unto him) since we are both in one condition, let us swear by our friendship one unto another, and call all the divinities to punish most rigorously the perjured, that he who can obtain most affection from her and give a testimony of it unto the other, he shall only enjoy her: By this means we shall not offend against the Lawes of Friendship it being most reasonable, that he whom she loves most, should enjoy her, and the other quit her. I conceive your Proposition to be very just, (said Periander) and I swear by all the gods not to swerve from it.

I beseech you, generous Paris, consider the Natures of most men. Before Periander de∣clared his affection unto me I did love Dorinde; but much lesse then since: And as a fire is augmented by the agitation of the winde; so my affection was much more violent, be∣ing opposed by the affection of Periander. This was the reason, why I devoted my selfe unto her more then before. But having spent some daies in courting her without effect, and fearing that Periander being of that Town, and having many kindred of good rank, should make a farther progresse into her favour then my selfe. I resolved to use the subtlety of the Fox, where the strength of a Lion would not prevail: I had recourse then unto Policie, thinking that in Love, subtleties were lawfull and just. I caused a little Mirror to be made, no bigger then the plain of my hand, but as rich as possibly Art could make it, both in the curiosity of the Gold work, and in the Enamell, which added much to the value and beauty; afterwards I put my own Picture, which was drawn to the life, between the Glasse, and the table of Gold which held it; so as when the Mirror was opened, nothing could be seen but the Glasse and work about it. Afterwards I went to an old woman, who got her living, by carrying Jewells and other pieces of curiosity, unto private houses to sell; and told her, that I desired to turn this Mirror into Money, and therefore she would do me a great pleasure, if she could sell it for me. She promised, she would do her best. But I told her, that I had present use of money, and would let it go at any reasonable rate. She answe∣red me, that things done in haste were never well done; but still she would do her endea∣vour. So she went away with my Mirror, yet, she was no sooner gone out of my lodging, but I sent for her back, and told her, that my occasions were so pressing, as if she could but get halfe the worth, or lesse, she should let it go; but advised her, before she went any whither else, to carry it into the house of Arcingentorix: I know, said I unto her that he hath a Daughter whom he loves very well, perhaps he will be glad of such a present for her. Indeed, answered the woman, I did intend to offer it unto him before any other,

because it was long since I was at that house Go then, said I unto her, and before you car∣ry it any whither else, let me know what the Father or the Daughter will give for it. I will not trouble you with all the goings and commings of this woman: but so it was, that my plot took effect, and Dorinde bought it, as well for its curiosity of workman∣ship, as for the cheapnesse; not giving the third part of the worth for it. Things being thus ordered about five or six daies after, I saw it hanging by her side, and she making very much of it. Then I thought it requisite to accomplish my plot as soon as I could; for it was to be feared, that because the glasse was so extreamly thin and fragil, it might break, and then my picture would be seen; to prevent which danger, I went unto Perian∣der, and asked him, Whether he had any thing advanced himselfe into Dorinde's fa∣vour? To which he very ingenuously answered, That he was not one jot more in her fa∣vour, than the first day he saw her, that he knew not whether he should accuse her Nature, or his deficiency in Merit, or his hard Fortune; yet, all his contentment was, that he saw she treated him as well as any other. No, no, Brother, said I unto him, do not accuse your own Merits, not the Nature of Dorinde; for your Merits are much above your For∣tune; nor is she insensible of Love's Darts; but that affection which possesseth her, is the cause of all this coldnesse, both towards you and all others: And to shew you your errour, though I know it will vex you at the first, yet I will tell you the truth▪ Believe it, Bro∣ther, (said I and embraced him) that I am in such possession of her, as she cannot see but with my eyes. The truth is, I did never in all my life meet with so close and so discreet a Lover as she is; for she is so afraid her passion should be known, as she will not in publick so much as look upon me, unlesse forced unto it by the Lawes of civility; but, when we are in private, if you did but see how passionately she does carrasse me, you would admire the strange command she hath over her selfe, in not making demonstrations of it any where else. And to the end you should not think this to be a forged tale, I will give you such certain knowledge, as shall undoubtedly assure you of all I say. But, I do conjure you, by all the sacred Lawes of Friendship, (since what I shall tell you, is only to unde∣ceive you) that you do never discover me, for it will nothing at all profit you, but may ruine me in her opinion. Then vowing he would not, I continued; Did you never take no∣tice of a Mirror (said I unto him) which of late daies she hath worn by her side? And he answering, Yes. Then know (said I unto him) she weares it for my sake, and the love of me. Now, to put you out of all doubt, the first time you see her, take out the glasse, and then take out a little paper which is between the glasse and it, and you shall finde my Pi∣cture. There is no question, but she will be very sorry that you saw it; but however, my friendship obligeth me to discover this secret unto you, rather then let you run on in your errour. Periander hearing this, stood as if immovable, and stared, as if he had seen the face of Medusa: But after he had considered upon what I said, he concluded, that if it was so, then he would quit her unto me, and absolutely fall off. And to know the truth, said he, though I do not suspect your words, yet, I would go out of her service, by letting her know the cause, so as she should not accuse me of levitie. So he went immediately unto her lodging, where he found Dorinde by her self, who stayed at home to entertain two La∣dies which intended a visit unto her. She, who did really love Periander better then all those that courted her, did yet make very little shew of it; and as soon as she saw him, she went to meet him, according to her accustomed sweetnesse and civility. But he, who came with a bad opinion of her, and conceiving all her kindnesses to be but dissimulations, he began to look upon her and all her actions with disdain. Almost as soon as he, these expected Ladies came also, but went presently away again. Periander could not chuse but wonder at her freenesse to him and all others: But having no minde to carry any longer in a place, where he thought him selfe so unworthily treated and betrayed, he would see, whether all that was said was true; and therefore took the Mirror in his hand, seeming as if he much admired it; and as he offered to take out the Glasse, it broke, at which he started, as if it had been done by chance, and seeing the glasse broken: Mistress, said he, I beg your pardon, I am obliged to make amends, and put in another Glass. She answered him, that it was a small matter, and not worth the pains; upon this word, she held out her hand to take it again; but he, thinking that she would not let him have it, lest he should see the Picture in it, he was the more backward in restoring it: and in this dispute, he took out the Glass, then the paper, and then he found what I had said was true. Although he did believe me before, yet when he saw my Picture, he was so surprised, that he could not speak of a long time; and the amazement of Dorinde was no less. Periander, who stood

mute, looking sometimes upon the Picture, and sometimes upon Dorinde, and considering her amazement also, had an opinion, that she only seemed so, to be thought ignorant of it; therefore he was extreamly transported with anger: Let me tell you, said he unto her, that both in well loving, in secresy, and in dissimulation, you are the most admirable, that ever I knew. Periander, said she, I do protest by all that's sacred, that I am ignorant of it. Take heed, said he, how you invoke things that are sacred; but, since you are not the first whose humour hath deceived me, I will leave the place to another, that I may have so much contentment, as not to be the last whom you will deceive. Upon this, he went away in an extream fury. Dorinde did all she could to undeceive him, but that did more augment his opinion of her dissimulation. Thus he left her, and to observe the Lawes of friendship, he resolved upon Travell, not knowing any better way to overcome Love then absence, which yet would not do, as I shall tell you afterwards.

Now look upon me as arrived at the port of my designe, having the place free unto my selfe. But Oh! generous Paris, when I went to see Dorinde, Oh how she was displeased at me? She had sent for her who sold her the Mirror, and forced her to confesse of whom she had it; and finding it to be my selfe, I cannot expresse unto you the greatnesse of her an∣ger: Perfidious Impostor (said she unto me) why would you so mortally offend one, that never gave you any. occasion for it? How durst you, after so great an injury, be so impu∣dent as to come in my sight? I had before han I prepared my selfe for a chiding, yet could not endure it without a blush; but knowing, that the only way to stop an impetuous tor∣rent of fury, was, to let her just anger cool a little, before I gave any answer; therefore I stayed mute untill she had vented all she had to say, and then I answered her thus: I must needs confesse, that all your reproaches are just; but alas, I cannot complain against you for it, only against Love, who having inflamed my soul towards you, did freez yours to∣wards me. Had Love been just, it would in some sort have cooled my too ardent affection, and then I should not have been forced to offend you, and needed not have used any tricks, to drive away my Rivall from you. But alas I see that I am a very Novist in Love, since I look for any reason in any thing it doth. But for all that, fair Dorinde, you do me wrong in complaining against my actions, since being but effects of Love, yet you should expect them to be squared according to any rules of Reason. I must confesse, that I have sinned against the rules of Reason, but not against Love; and I beseech you take me not as ra∣tionall, but as amorous, and most extreamly wounded with the darts of Love.

I expressed the extremity of my affection with so much dejected humility, and passio∣nate language, as it had a good melting influence upon her soul, so as within a few daies after, she began to smile upon me, and pardon my offence; and see how an ill chance is sometimes profitable, for that which was the cause of her anger, was it which augmented her good will unto me: and considering the artifice which I had used, she had an opinion that I did most certainly love her. And this consideration caused Thcombres to misse his Mistresse; for she devoted her selfe wholly unto me, so as it may seem, that I did love her only to make her hate him: And yet for all this, I loved Florice much more then I did Dorinde: Truth is, that when Dorinde's favours did flow more then usuall upon me, I did begin to love her more; for nothing doth kindle affection and augment it so much, as favours.

Living then thus ambodexterously with Florice and Dorinde, Florice began to enter in∣to some suspition of me, and the common brute of this affection was blown all over: Therefore one day she spoke unto me as if she were quite altered; and I, who did really love her, did vow and swear, that all my courtship of Dorinde, was but an effect of her own command to cover thereby my affection unto her: That if she would, I would never look upon Dorinde again, and told her, that if she would but look her selfe in a glasse, and look upon Dorinde, that sight would give her better assurance of my service and affection, then all my words could. To be brief, with good language I brought her into a good o∣pinion of me; yet I was forced to promise, that I would give her all the Letters which Dorinde writ unto me. Take heed, said she unto me, lest you should promise and not per∣form, for that would for ever lose me, if I come to know it. I will never fail in any thing I promise (said I unto her) and much lesse unto Florice, then unto the gods. Thus were we upon better termes then ever. And because none was so dear unto me as Florice, yet had I a corner in my heart for Dorinde, and was much delighted in her company; she conferred many favours upon me, and I courted her so close with severall Letters, that she answered me in Letters again, which I presently carried unto Florice, who read them, and kept them carefully.

Hylas seeing Silvander sit neer Diana, and whispering, then laughed together, he broke off his discourse, to answer what he had a conceit they said. I believe you laugh, Silvander, said he unto him, at my loving Florice, and yet held correspondency with Do∣rinde. If I do meet, in my way unto the happinesse of Florice, with any delights in the conversation of Dorinde, do I contradict the Lawes of reason, if I do receive them? Should I refuse that good which the gods do send me, and which your unnaturall austerity dis∣allowes? Now because Silvander would be no interruption, he would not return an an∣swer: And Hylas seeing him silent, after he had shook his head, he fell into the discourse from which he had digressed.

See now, said he, the issue of these Loves; the frequent conversation which I had with Dorinde, began to encrease my love unto her the more. And in as much as the conferring of one favour drawes on another, that is greater, so she did every day give me cleerer evi∣dences of her love, which was a cause, that our Letters began to alter style, and became more affectionate and passionate then usuall. This was a reason, why I gave them unto Flo∣rice but seldome, and then only those which had fewest expressions of affection, and crafti∣ly kept the rest to my selfe.

Thus I lived for a while in a sea of delights, being welcome unto both; but it was too high to hold, and this happinesse did not last long: For it hapned one day, that as I pul∣led some things out of my pocket, in the presence of Florice and other company, she espied two or three little Letters, lapped up after the very same manner as Dorinde's were, which I had given unto her: She began presently to suspect the truth, and many daies pas∣sing, and I not giving them unto her, she concluded her selfe to be deluded, and resolved to steal them from me; and because I took no notice, she easily got them out of my pocket, whilst I was talking unto others, who did what they could to abuse me, and give her a better opportunity to play the thief, thinking she did it only to make me seek them. She took them out so dexterously, that I perceived not; she went away immediately, and was no sooner come unto her lodging, but locking her selfe up in her closet, she threw them all upon the Table, and found five; some very freshly written, and others of a longer date. The first she took, which was last writ, contained these words.

Dorinde's Letter unto Hylas.

I Have here sent you the picture which you desired of me, not to make you lose the person whom you have wone, as heretofore you did with the like-present; but to assure you, that you have as much power over her that sent it, as you have of the Picture when it is in your hands. If it were permitted me, I should be as often with you as it is; and though it be in that more happy then I am, yet it is less, in not knowing the happiness it enjoyes, which I should esteem infinitely above my life.

Then throwing this Letter upon the Table with an angry look, and pushing away the rest further from her, she went back a pace or two. Then folding her armes, and lifting up her eyes: Oh heavens! said she, can this possibly be true? Hast then betrayed me, Hylas? Couldst thou so long fool me, and I never see thy treason? Then standing silent a long while, at last, she struck both her hands upon the Table, and said: Well Traitor, thou shalt not passe unpunished, I will discover thee unto her whom thou hast betrayed as well as me, and perhaps we shall both grow a little wiser by thy follies. She had no sooner fixed upon this resolution, but she lapt up all her Letters, and went to Dorinde, and desired her to go into her Closet, and then shutting the dore: Sweet cosen (said she unto her) I am come to manifest my affection unto you; but upon condition, that when I have discovered a secret unto you, that you do prudently conceal it. I know that Hylas hath long courted you, and that you have long thought he loved you; but I come now out of my true affection to you to undeceive you, and to let you see, that he hath deceived you. Up∣on this Dorinde blush'd, and seemed a little shie. No, no, said Florice, do not think, Co∣sen, to hide that, which I do know better then your selfe: I say, better; for you only know your own intentions, and not his, but I do know both. If you do, said Dorinde, I must con∣fesse you to be very knowing; but what, I beseech you, do you know of mine? I know, said she, that you do love him, and sent him your picture, and receives all his addresses.

Dorinde being touched to the quick, she had not so much impudence as to deny it, but looked down, and blushed more, holding her hands before her face for shame. Do

not vex, Dorinde, said she, that these things should be thus known, but rather rejoyce they are fallen into my hands, & not anothers who lesse loves you; if you love your own honour, withdraw your affection for the 〈◊〉〈◊〉 from this man, who courts you only to get such favours from you as he brags of. There hath been heretofore some familiarity betwixt him and me, and that is the reason (which you have reason to be glad of) that he hath addres∣sed himselfe unto me. I do not think you ever spoke one syllable unto him, which he hath not told me; and because it would be too long to repeat them, see here most of the Letters you have written unto him, which you may do well to burn, lest he should make use of them hereafter to your disadvantage. Dorinde both seeing and knowing them, she did ingenuously confesse, that she did believe I loved her, and therefore thought her selfe ob∣liged unto what she did; but, for the future, she would hate me a thousand times more then ever she loved me: She thought her selfe infinitely obliged unto Florice, for this discovery, and commended her for the best friend in the world. Then both of them began to inveigh against me with all possible bitternesse, especially Dorinde who thought her selfe the most offended. Florice having revenged her selfe upon me according to her desires, returned unto her lodging, fully resolved never to love me again, no, nor ever to see me again if it were possible: But, when the heat of her anger was a little cooled, and when she began to recall into her memory the discourse which Dorinde and she had, she remembered, that what af∣fection soever I had unto Dorinde, yet I had never acquainted her with the affection I had unto Florice, nor of any favour I ever received from her; concluding from hence, that I loved her more then I did Dorinde, so as she began to repent of what she had don; for she did believe, that if I 〈◊〉〈◊〉 discoursed any thing concerning her, she should certainly have heard of it upon this occasion. The more this came into her minde, the more she repented of her too much haste, or, said she, what though he did visit her? I my selfe was the cause: If he did court her, I did command him so to do: If he did love her, it was, because she was amiable: If he did receive her favours, it was the better to cloak that affection which he bore unto me▪ And the truth is, being young, very few of his age would have refused such a fortune. If he did dissemble with me and not shewe me how much he was favou∣red, it was, because he thought I should be angry at it; and all men of reputation, will pre∣serve the honour of those who do oblige them, but most certainly he loved me more then her, since he never spoke of our affection. These thoughts made her condemne what she had done, and extreamly repent of the fault which she had committed, and earnestly desire a reconciliation.

On the contrary, Dorinde justly incensed against me, and swelling with anger, after a flood of tears, flowing upon her cheeks and breast, she went into her Closet, and vented all the bitternesse and animosity that her sorrowes could inspire into her tongue: And as for∣tune was, just as she was wiping the tears from her eyes, I came to her house, and when she heard me walking, she ran and pulled to the dore, which she had left open when Florice went out, and which, her minde being upon other things, she had forgot to shut; yet, she could not do it so suddenly, but I saw how red her eyes were with crying; and when I wondred, both at her tears, and that she should deny me entrance, she opened her Closet, and standing in the dore: Perfidious Traitor (said she, and called me by my name) are you come with any designes of injury unto me?

And because I answered nothing, being so surprised that I could not speak: Perhaps, ungratefull wretch, said she, you will deny your villany? Ah most wicked person! (said she, and shewed me her Letters, here are all the testimonies of my too easy beliefe; but know that there is not one of thy treasons which is not known unto me; and be certain, that thou hast made me forever thy most mortall enemy. Then she pushed me out of the dore and shut it so suddenly, that I could not hinder her. Thus, fairest Mistris, seeing she would not open the dore, I went away the most ashamed man in the world, but so incensed against Florice, that revenged I would be at what rate soever; for it was she, I knew, that took my Letters, & I saw it was she that gave them unto Dorinde, purposely to displease me. I did imagine, that it was envie or jealousie, which made her commit this crime against our amity; and conceiving, that nothing would more vex her, then to seem, as if I had quitted her for Dorinde, I resolved to break off entirely with her, and devote my selfe wholly unto the other. The greatest difficulty was, to appease Dorinde; but I armed my selfe with a full resolution, to endure all manner of disdain and anger, rather than not be revenged upon Florice.

Within a few daies after, I went in this designe, unto Dorinde in her Closet; for the dis∣pleasure

which she had received, made her more retired then usuall; and offering to shut the dore upon me, I fell down upon my knees so suddenly, as she could not avoid me; then, after I had begged a thousand times for a pardon, I told her all the truth; to wit, how Florice having long loved me, and to keep our affections more secret, she commanded me to faigne a courtship of her; which accordingly I did, both at the first, and when I gave her all those Letters; but afterwards, comming to love her in good earnest, I then gave Florice no more. Oh! yar, said she unto me did you not carry her the last which I writ al∣so? 'Tis true, (said he) that she hath them, but she stole them from me; and if you will not believe me, ask of those who helped her to play the thiefe. Then I named two, who had seen her steal them, and told me of it; and therefore, when Florice sound her selfe pu∣nished by her own invention, she acquainted you with all that could break off your affecti∣on from me. But is not Love just, in making her suffer that harm which she prepared for you? Why should she make your beauty the cloak for all her designes? May the gods never be favourable unto me, if I do not hate such things most abominably, and if I do not love you above all the world, and into whose favour I do desire most to ingratiate my selfe. Let not her jealousie and slander of me, have a greater influence upon you, then my affection hath, and let not her anger, at my disdaining her for you, prejudice me in your good opi∣nion. I used many such expressions, which at the first did not operate according to my de∣sires and expectance; but so disposed her, that when I made the theft of Florice manifest unto her, she would pardon me: And presently after, we renewed love upon st••icter obliga∣tions, then ever before, which took me off from Florice as much, as if I had never seen her; and I did it without any constraint: for it is most true, she was fairer then Dorinde, and of a higher rank and quality; yet, my anger against her had so changed my eyes, as this Beau∣ty did not at all please them, but made me sleight her.

Florice for a while did endure all this, seeming not to care a jot what became of me, as if all my actions were very indifferent unto her but at length she repented, and extreamly grieved that she had so lost me; and being assured, that I did once love her also thinking, that a reall affection could not so easily extinguish, she conceived, that if she did seem, as if she loved some other, doubtlesse it would have so much influence upon me, as would make me return again unto her: And in order to this designe, she could not think of any more fit to fool then Theombres, because she thought his disposition was amorously in∣clined, and because he had formerly loved her. Then she began to carrasse Theombres with all imaginable expressions, and shew, as if all he said or did, did please her especially when I was within compasse of taking any notice, and then she would talk to him, and whisper, as if she had made choice of him, for the only Cabinet of all her secrets. I presently observed this redintegration, and told Dorinde, who could not chuse but laugh, when she heard how Theombres was embarqued. Florice seeing I did not return unto her according to her expectance, did the more multiply her favours upon him, insomuch as many did dislike her behaviour, and acquainted her Parents with it; for, she was so free and open in the dispensation of her favours, as in lieu of hiding them, as is usuall, she exposed them to the view of every one, nay, studied how to make them seen, otherwise I had not come to the knowledge of it for I never saw her but in publick, and when I was with her in any pub∣lick place, I shunned her. Now her Father, as I have told you, being advertised of this Love, did exceedingly reprehend her, and much more her Mother, who for honour and chastity was an eminent example to all the Country. At the first, sh•• would have glossed the matter with an excuse; but afterwards, seeing excuses would not do it, she did confesse it, and said, that it was true, Theombres did court her, and that she could not chuse but love him. But her Mother, who could not upon any termes approve of her behaviour, did tell her in a very angry manner, That Theombres did not give so many testimonies of his love to her, as she of her love to him. To which Florice, in much disorder answered, That Theombres did court her in the way of honour; and since his End was only at Marriage, she could do no lesse then allow of him. If it be so, said her Father, let him acquaint us with his intentions, otherwise we shall think, you only invented this, thereby to excuse your selfe. She, who had a very reverentiall respect and fear of her Father and Mother, and who besides, had ever lived in great reputation, did think it expedient, that Theom∣bres should make some overtures of Marriage unto her Parents, yet not intending to go any further, then a meer motion; for she hoped, that it might be easily broken off: There∣fore she spoke unto Theombres concerning it, who was joyed at it beyond all expressions; and not to lose a minute of time, he entreated two of his Uncles to make the motion un∣to

Florice's Father and Mother; which accordingly they did, with so many fair offers, as they were received as well as they could desire; for he was very rich, and an advantageous Match unto Florice, which being known and considered by her Parents, they would not prolong time, but did conclude the Marriage that same day, and the more willingly, be∣cause they believed it agreeable unto the liking of their Daughter. Thus is Florice's Mar∣riage with Theombres made up, all things agreed upon, Writings sealed, and nothing wan∣ting but a Priest to Marry them. But Oh! what a wonder was all this unto Florice, when she heard of it? Her Father thinking she would be very glad of it, would himselfe be the messenger of the newes: But, when he told her how all things went, though she would have faigned, yet she could not, but broke out into a deluge of tears, at which her Father was much amazed: How, Daughter, said he unto her, this is very strange; does Florice cry at what she her selfe desired? I told you, Father (said Florice all in tears) that Theombres courted me in way of Marriage, but I never told you, that I did desire it. Were not you the cause, said the Father, which moved Theombres to make the motion? It was upon your command, replied she, and not upon my own desire; and I did believe, you would have given me some time to consider upon it. Come, come, (said he in an angry manner) you knew well enough how such businesses use to be carried. Resolve with your selfe, that since they have gone thus far, they shall go on. What! would you be further courted, and give all the world an occasion to talk of you? Would you have further time, to make me more ashamed? No, no, Florice, content your selfe, I have blush'd enough for you already, when your friends acquainted me with your behaviour, and I will prevent it for the fu∣ture if I can. Upon this, he left her alone, and went to his Wife, who hearing what dis∣course had passed, came to her with all the sharp language which she could invent, and for a conclusion told her, that nothing but death could hinder that Marriage from taking effect, and therefore she must resolve upon it. Thus, poor Florice was in a worse condition than ever; for, she had not only lost me whom she loved, but was likely to be enjoyed by another, whom she loved not, but hated worse then a death. Imagine in what a wildernesse of thoughts she was and what various combats was in her soul: In conclusi∣on, she resolved, that death should be the remedy against all her restlesse afflictions; not that she had so much courage as to kill her selfe, (for the thought of such a cruelty made her to tremble) but because she thought her life was not able to endure so many sad and tormenting miseries. But see the strange consequents of Love; she did not so much grieve for the losse of me, and at her being anothers whom she loved not, as to think, that I should put a bad construction upon that affection which she expressed unto me: For, though she was angry at me, because of Dorinde; yet, she did love me, and excused me for loving her no more, accusing her selfe with the offence which she had committed against me. Being thus perplexed, and since she could not avoid her Marriage with Theombres, she resolved to give her selfe so much satisfaction at the least, as to let me know, that her minde was not changed, and that her affection should for ever be the same as I had found it: Her Letter was thus written.

Florice's Letter unto Hylas.

WHen you look upon this hand, perhaps you will remember, that you have seen it heretofore, when you loved her that writ it, and that now so much offended you. Consider how great my affection is unto you, since after so great an injury, I take pen in hand, to let you know the condition she is in, whom once you so much loved, and who loves you still infinitely above all the world, maugre all the injuries you have done me. Know, that by the rigorous Lawes of Marriage, I am now going to be anothers, and that there is no other remedy, unlesse you will this very houre prevent it: Assuring my selfe, that my Parents woudl be better pleased with your Alliance, then that of Theombres, unto whom, alas, I am destined, unlesse you do love me as well as I love you.

When this Letter was brought unto me, I was sorry at those frequent reports of this Marriage; and though I was resolved to be wholly Dorinde's, yet I could not chuse but resent the losse of Florice; for I esteemed her lost, in the alliance of Theombres. And see the subtlety of Love: He knew well enough, that to assault me openly was in vain, because I was still in mine anger, and therefore he would go another way with me. First, he pro∣pounded unto me my hatred of Theombres, how undeserving he was of this advantage,

and how happy he would be in Florice. Then he represented unto me, the beauty and merits of Florice, what pitty it was that such a man should enjoy her; and brought into my memory all those favours which I had received from her: To be briefe, he did so im∣print these considerations in my soul, that ere I was aware, I was more in love with her, then with Dorinde; so as when her Letter came unto my hands, and considering with a sound judgment, the beauty, the quality, and the merits of the Writer, I did acknowledge that I had done her wrong, in quitting her for another much inferiour; and repenting of it, I intended to return to her again. Truth is, when I considered the remedy which she propounded, to break off her Marriage with Theombres, I knew not what to resolve up∣on; for I hated that fatall Tie of Marriage more then I can expresse; not with Florice in particular, but with any woman in generall; conceiving that there was no greater tyran∣ny nor slavery amongst the sons of men, then that of Marriage. Thus was I in a Labyrinth of ravelled resolutions; for on the one side, Dorinde was not displeasing unto me; on the other side, I could not endure, that Theombres should enjoy Florice, especially in the way of Marriage: But, after a long contest with my selfe, I resolved to renew that love which was betwixt us, and to do all that possibly I could to prevent Theombres. And in order to this resolution, I seemed, as if I had not received the Letter which she had writ unto me, which I might easily do, because he who brought it, left it for me at my lodging, I not being then within: So taking pen, inke, and paper, I writ thus unto Florice.

Hylas his Letter unto Florice.

ARe you mad to marry Theombres? Have you so soon forgot Hylas and his affection, that you should prefer this man before him? Can you content him, and make me grieve for you? Oh ye gods! will ye permit it? or if ye do permit it, will you no! punish the ungrate∣full Florice?

The reason why I seemed, as if I had not received her Letter, was, because she should not think it was her invitation, but my own affection, which made me return unto her; for, had I come upon her summons, she would have thought my love lesse, which I would not have her think. When she received my Letter, she was extreamly joyed, to finde that I lo∣ved her, and was sorry, when she saw I had not received hers, therefore she writ unto me again, to let me know, that she had advertised me of a course which I should take, to free her from that misery which was prepared for her. And because she feared her Letter was lost, she repeated it again in this. But I, without returning any answer unto it, seemed as if I was gone out of the Town, as not being able to endure the sight of her Marriage with Theombres; and to the end she might believe it, I gave order, that almost at the very same time, another Letter from me should be carried unto her. It was thus indited.

Hylas his Letter unto Florice.

SInce it is impossible, but Florice must needs follow the course of her fatall destiny, I must needs also depart the Town, not being able to endure a sight so deplorable unto my selfe: I had rather take the unhappy success by my ears, then by my eyes, which I do reserve to swim in tears at such sad newes. The gods give you as much content, as you have left me little, and may it continue as long, as my smarting misery will last, which will be to my grave, where I will lament your inconstancy, and my own sad fate.

Now, fair Phillis, I writ this Letter unto her, to the end she should think, I had not re∣ceived hers; for otherwise, I had been obliged unto an answer, unlesse I had utterly de∣clined her, and rather consented unto a death then to marry her; not, but that I did in∣finitely esteem her, but these bonds of Marriage were most horrid unto me, and I had so good an opinion of my selfe, as I thought it certain she would not be denyed me, if I as∣ked her of her Parents: And least she should be troubled about her Letter which she had written unto me, I caused it to be carried back unto her by one of my servants, who was instructed to let her know, that I was gone out of the Town two or three daies before; and since he knew not whither I was gone, nor when I would return, he brought it back unto her, lest it should be lost. She did not know that it had been opened, for it was sealed with

the same seal, both she & I having long since each of us a Seal as like one another as possibly could be made. Shee took the Letter with a sad sigh, and afterwards enquired, why I went away, and what urgent occasion had constrained me to be gone so soon? He answered her according to my instructions, That he knew nothing; only, he never saw me so sad in all his life as I was at my departure. Ah me! (said she then, with a most profound sigh) I am afraid he will return too late for my contentment. Then, to hide the tears which trickled from her eyes, she turned the other way. When this man returned, he told me all that she said and did; and I must needs confesse, I pittyed her, but I could not for my life resolve to marry her: Therefore I kept my selfe close untill the Marriage were past, and sent the man every houre to hearken newes: At the last, I heard that all was concluded. I should be too tedious, fairest Mistris, if I should relate all the artifices which she used; but let me only tell you, that the night before the Marriage, she writ these words unto me.

Florice's Letter unto Hylas

Could I send you my life in this paper, as well as the truth of my intention, I should not complain at heavens injustice in destinating me to fail, both in my love and in my duty. Tomorrow is the last day of my life, if I may call that a death which takes away all my contentment. If Hylas do love me, miserable as I am, and will accompany my sorrowes with his, let him resort to my grave.

Judge, whether this Letter did not touch me to the quick, since I did really love her: but, seeing no remedy but to marry her, I must confesse, my affection was not of force e∣nough, to bring my will unto it.

The next morning she was constrained to signe the Contract, and to agree unto all that her Father and Mother would have her; but, with such incredible griefe and trembling, that her legs were not able to bear her, nor her hand to guide the pen, wherewith she sub∣scribed her name. Oh ye gods! said she unto one of her Companions what a most cruell Law is this, that ordaines the innocent to signe their own death? But when she went to the Temple, and through the street where my lodging was lifting up her eyes to the win∣dowes, she said thus unto her selfe: Why, Oh happy lodgings, are not the gods as favoura∣ble unto me as you? And, as fortune was, I being at the window, which I held halfe open, to see her passe by, she espied me: But, Oh ye gods, how this vision went to her heart? she fell into a swoond, and lay in the armes of those that went with her: And lest I should do the like, I was constrained to lie down upon my bed, and stirred not from it most part of that day At the last, she was married with so many tears, as every one pittyed her. And because I feared, lest she having seen me, she should think; I did but only give out that I was gone away, I procured an intimate friend that same night to let her understand, that I was departed, only because I would not see this unhappy Marriage, and that my in∣tention was, never to return again; but, since my affection would not give me leave to be so far distant, I was constrained to return, but arrived in the most unfortunate minute that could be; and that it was absolutely impossible I should live, unlesse she gave me some assu∣rance, that her affection was not changed. She, as if she never heard him, took a Ring off from her finger, and put it into his hand: This Diamond, said she may assure him, that it hath lesse constancy, then the affection which I promised unto him.

Now hear, I beseech you, what hapned: That very same night, and, I believe, about the very same houre, when Theombres had her in his armes, I was in my bed, and held my hand upon my breast, having the Ring upon my finger. I know not how, but it cut me, and made so deep a wound, that my shirt and sheets were all bloody, and ever since, hath left a mark upon my side, neer my heart. Oh heavens! (cryed I out upon a suddain, thinking upon the wrong which I had done Florice, and Theombres had done me) how sensible am I of the offence and injury that is done unto my affection. Perhaps I have insisted too long upon these particulars; but I beseech you excuse Hylas, since he was never so touched to the heart by any other, except by you, my fairest Phillis. Or except any in this Company, said she. But, pray tell us how you left Dorinde? Unto which Hylas replyed thus: When I was in the depth of my perplexities (for indeed I did love Florice, as well because she was fair, as because I thought Dorinde loved another) the heavens helped me out with as good an occasion as I could desire. Periander, who, as I told you, was constrained to quit Dorinde unto me, and, not being able to see me enjoy her, was gone out of the Town,

was at length forced to return, as not being able to endure so long out of her sight; and though he did foresee, his sorrowes would be greater in seeing, then in hearing, of our af∣fection; yet could he not chuse but return, thinking it would be some consolation unto his wound, to see the hand that gave it. And because he came at the first to see me, assoon as he came, I resolved to give, as they say, two blowes with one stone, to rid my selfe of Do∣rinde, and to oblige Periander. Two or three daies passed on, and he never talked one word unto me concerning Dorinde; and one time, being separated from the Company, I said thus unto him: Periander, it is impossible for my affection unto you, to suffer my selfe to be a cause of that melancholly which I have observed in your face, any longer; I love you too well, than to see you suffer for my sake: You do not doubt of my affection unto Do∣rinde, but you shall lesse doubt of the affection I have unto you; And to give you evident testimony that it is not a little, I release this Dorinde unto you, whom my good fortune took from you; and the affection I bear unto you, shall surmount the love I bear unto her: Receive her, therefore, Periander, from me, and be assured, that I shall lesse grieve to part with her, then to see you thus sad for my sake, or be deprived of your presence. If ever any condemned person was joyed when a Pardon came, Periander was as much, when he heard this; and yet his discretion and affection unto me, made him at the first refuse it; but when he saw I persisted in this minde, he received it with so many thanks, as I was constrained to tell him, that she was justly his due, knowing very well, that he did sur∣mount me in love, as my good fortune and cunning surpassed his

Then I retired by little and little from Dorinde, and Periander on the contrary ad∣vanced. But, in the mean time, I attempted upon Florice, I found out the means to speak unto her, and assured her of my affection. To be briefe, I contrived it so, as there was never better correspondency betwixt us; and that which most helped me, was, the hollow-hear∣ted affection which she bore unto Theombres: 'Tis true, she had alwaies some suspition of Dorinde, and therefore after she thought that she had made me hers, she told me peremp∣torily, that she would have me so clearly and openly break off with Dorinde, as she should never be in any doubt of it afterwards; otherwise, she should live in a continuall incertain∣ty of my affection, and that she had rather part fair with me, then live in such continuall apprehensions. I desired, that my breach with Dorinde might be done by some civill way, and least offensive unto her. But she would needs have it done by some rude and publick affront, and she would not be perswaded otherwise At the last, I resolved upon it.

Upon the sixt of July, all the Gallantry of the Town went with the Druides to gather the sacred Misletoe, in the Forrest of Mars, called Erieu; and then Florice charged me to satisfie her request. All the Ladies were trimmed in their gayest dresses, and every one in the Athenian habit. The sacrifice being ended, and publick rejoycings beginning, I took Periander apart, to the end he should not be offended at what I did; I told him how I saw Dorinde had some hopes yet in me, and therefore she did not receive his service; so well as she ought; but I would undeceive her, and dash all her hopes. Then seeing her with Florice, and in the midst of the best company, I went to her, and after some common dis∣course, I said unto her so loud, as all about her might hear Now I see Dorinde, that what is told me of you, is true. What's that, (said she, and smiled, little expecting such an an∣swer as I gave)? That you have (replyed I) the best opinion of your selfe, of any person in the world. Then she blush'd, and asked me the reason of my judgment. Because, said I, you measuring others by your selfe; as you do love all you look upon, so you think every one is in love with you; and I know you are in that errour concerning me thinking that I am ready to die for the love of you: but, I would have you know, that your merits are too mean to make me such a fool; if you think otherwise, undeceive your selfe, and be assured, that Hylas is ashamed he ever loved you; or if he was such a fool, that he is wiser now. Imagine, noble Paris, how blank Dorinde was: For my part, I would not exchange a syl∣lable more with her, but went away, and left her most pittifully out of countenance. Ever since, Florice was the most satisfied that is imaginable, and wholly devoted her selfe un∣to me And as Theombres stood for a Husband, so I enjoyed her as a Friend. But Dorinde, extreamly incensed against me, resolved to do me all the mischiefe that possibly she could, and discovering the intimate familiarity betwixt Florice and me, she designed to thwart it: And because I did not see her, though I was sorry for it, for I did love her, though lessethen I did Florice, she thought Periander would be a fit instrument to work her ends by; there∣fore she began to shew him more countenance then accustomed, and, by degrees, seemed to love him better; at which Periander was so joyed, that he almost never stirred from her:

Having lived a while thus with him, she acquainted him with the deceit I had used, in putting my Picture in the Mirror, and that he should not doubt it, she sent for the woman who brought it to sell. To be brief, she told him so much in my disadvantage, as she cooled his affection unto me; and all this out of a designe, to get by his means, some of Florice's Let∣ters from me; & therfore continuing her discourse: He is (said she unto him) wholly devoted unto Florice, but it is only, untill some other passe before his eyes; for he is the veryest knave, and arrantest weathercock that ever was. But (said she unto him, and held his hand in hers) will you do me one very great pleasure? And he answering, that he would do any thing to serve her. She made him swear, he would be as good as his word. Then went she on: You know, that Florice and I are friends and allies, I cannot believe that she does love him: I be∣seech you tel me all you know. Undeceive your self in that, said he unto her, assure your self she does love him, and there is hardly a day, but he hath a Letter from her. Oh my god, said she, can you not help me to the sight of one of her Letters? Very easily, answered he, for he is very carelesse of them. In this, Periander said right; for the truth is, I know not what I did with all those she writ unto me, nor was I angry with my selfe for my carelessnesse. Well, said Dorinde, now I shall see, whether or no you be a man of your word, and whether you love me; for if you do, and this be so, you will presently bring me one of them. Pe∣riander, without any regard unto our friendship, whether it was by vertue of Dorinde's command or out of revenge upon me, for putting that trick upon him, but he came that very night to lie with me, as he often used, and stole away one which I received in his presence, and the next morning, as soon as he could get into Dorinde's Chamber, he brought it unto her: It contained these words.

Florice's Letter unto Hylas.

THe man who is in the world only for our torment, goes tomorrow out of the Town: If you come, all the night shall be ours, and the rest of the time I spend in absence of him I love, I cannot call mine.

You know, generous Paris, that upon such Letters, they never any use to write Superscriptions, lest the Writer should be discovered by the Direction; and therefore Do∣rinde, after a thousand thanks to Periander, went into her Closet, and superscribed it, Unto Theombres, afterwards sealed it up very handsomely with a Seal, and giving it unto a creature of her own, instructed him what he should do, and commanded him to carry it unto Theombres in all haste, because she understood, that he was to go out of Town the same day: The fellow did as he was directed, and so nimbly, that whilst Theombres was reading the Letter, he slipt away, and came to Dorinde, and told her what he had done. I refer it unto your imagination, fairest Mistresse, whether the Husband was not amazed, when he saw his Wife's Letter, and much more, when he read it: It wrought this influence upon him, that whereas before he should have gone out of the Town single, now he must go double, and carry his wife with him; but not before he had shewed the Letter unto her, and had shreudly reprehended her for it. She excused her selfe as well as she could, telling him, it was long since this Letter was writ, and that it was Dorinde who had now written the superscription of it. To which Theombres answered, that when∣soever she writ it she was to blame, and could not be excused. She replyed, that Dorinde and she being intimate friends, did often use to write such unto each other, and invite themselves thereby to come and visit one another; and that Dorinde being angry with her, and knowing that he was to go out of Town, had, in revenge upon her, sent him this Letter, which truly, said she, you may well believe to be so, since the superscription is written with Dorinde's own hand; and that if she would, she could shew severall others of the like nature, as I might of hers had I been as carefull in keeping them as she is. The∣ombres was something satisfied with this excuse, yet not so, but he constrained her to go with him out of Town, and would not let her have more leasure, then to write one word unto Hylas, and left it in the hands of her Maid, in whom she had good assurance of her fidelity. For my part, I thought she had stayed at home, and that Theombres had gone by himselfe therefore I went at night to the usuall place of meeting. But this Maid opening the dore, she gave me Florice's Letter, and shut the dore again immediately a∣gainst me. and would not speak one syllable unto me: This made me fear some dysasterous accident had hapned, and therefore returned to my lodging, where as soon as ever I got a

light, I read this Letter with extream impatiency, and found in it these words.

Florice's Letter unto Hylas.

SHe who writes now unto you, is the most mortall enemy you have, intimating unto you, that neither Dorinde nor your selfe, have villany enough to make me die, but that the heavens will let me live, to be revenged upon you both. In the mean time, for get my name, as you have done all my favours:

Oh heavens! how this Letter went to my heart, I was in such a strange confusion of thoughts that I could not imagine why Florice should write thus, I spent all that night in walking up and down my Chamber, and as soon as it was day, I sent a servant to finde out a way, how I might speak with her who gave me the Letter; but it could not be, all that day: When night came, I understood all from her, how Florice had an opinion, that I had given this Letter unto Dorinde, which made her believe, that I did only dissemble, when I seemed to cast off Dorinde, and did it only to delude her. I put my hand presently into my pocket, and not finding my Letter, I did suppose, that Periander had stollen it from me: After a thousand protestations of my innocency unto this Maid, I went away with resolutions of revenge: But when I met my friend, and with a frowning brow taxed him with his theft, he answered me, with a smile; If I have displeased you, said he, I am sorry; but you may well forget it, if you do but consider, that now we are upon eeven termes, for your stealing of Dorinde from me by your artifice of the Mirror. But friend, said I unto him, I have restored your Mistresse unto you, and you have caused me to lose mine. I know not answered he, how to give you satisfaction in that, unlesse by restoring her unto you, in acquainting her with my theft. Truth is, I did love Periander, and perhaps as much as I did any of these Ladies; therefore I received his excuse, conceiving it to be the only means to reingratiate my selfe into Florice's favour: And therefore turning all into rallarie, we waited for Florice's return. But, Theombres being but halfe satisfied with his Wife's ex∣cuses, he resolved to stay a while in the Country, the better to discover who made any addresses unto her, and to finde out her humour; and he stayed so long, that I was in the interim past my patience; therefore I went to see Criside, and seeing her, loved her; and the truth is, she did deserve it, for I never in all my life, saw a more lovely and attractive stranger.

Astrea had taken much delight in the discourse of Hylas, had it been at any other sea∣son but being extreamly desirous to be at the place where Silvande: found Celadon's Letter, she was impatient at any thing which gave a stop unto it: And this was the reason, why upon the first occasion which presented it selfe, she made a signe unto Phillis, that it was time to be gone, and that she was weary of so long a stay. When she saw that Phillis did not understand her meaning, and likewise saw Hylas offering to continue his dis∣course of Criside, she prevented him with these words: I did not think, that the beauty of Phillis could have had so much power over so free a spirit, as to hold him in one discourse above an houre; but, since her rigour does not consider his constraint, let us shew our selves more kinde and discreet, in interrupting him; for, the heat of the day being over, walking will be more delightfull then talking. Upon this, she rose up, and the rest of the Company followed her.

Hylas taking Phillis under the arme: I am very glad, fairest Mistresse (said he) that she, who is the most insensible, does resent some of that pain which you put upon me, and does see the love I have unto you. He meant this by Astrea, whom he thought to be a person that never had loved any: And see how commonly our judgments are deceived by ap∣pearances and shewes; for, Phillis desiring to leave him in that opinion. Those, said she, who do love well, do never use to give testimony of their affection by the report of persons, who do not know how to love, but by their own obsequious services. And as for that pa∣tience which you have been put to, in speaking so long, I believe you are as sufficiently payed for it, by my hearing you so long. This, said Hylas, is the intolerable arrogance and ingratitude of all the Shepheardesses in this Country. And because Phillis would fol∣low the rest of her Companions, he lead her by the arme, and continued thus: Because you will not be obliged unto me, you will not only deny me the merit of my patience but you think I am beholding unto you for hearing me: By what Law, I beseech you, is this? The same, said she, that a Lord doth impose upon his Slave. Nay, rather, said he, a Tyrant

upon his People. Why, replyed Phillis, do you take me for a Tyrant? Surely there is this difference betwixt us that I do not use any force or violence against you. Can you say so, said Hylas, and not blush? Do you think it is not by force, that Hylas hath continued so long under your power? I pray, said she, where are my Fetters, my Manacles, my Com∣pulsions, and my Prisons? Ah! most ignorant, and too much dissembling shepheardesse, said Hylas, your Chains are so strangely indissolvable, that I would not be delivered from them, for all the freedome and liberty in the world. Judge, if your Manacles be not very strong, since Hylas cannot break them; Hylas, I say, whom a thousand Beauties could ne∣ver hold, nor keep him from breaking loose from them all. In the mean time, Paris ha∣ving taken Diana by her hand, Silvander, out of his discretion kept a distance; for he would force his affection, and in his respect unto his Shepheardesse, give place unto Paris, as all the shepheardesses were very ready to pay all due respects unto him, who for their sakes; had quitted the grandure and eminency of his quality. As fortune was Mandonte was alone, and because I hersander was taken up with Laonice, Silvander took her hand, and resolved to wait upon her during all the voyage; and though he made this addresse unto her at the first, because he knew not where to finde a better; yet afterwards, he was well pleased with his choice, for this shepheardesse was both fair and discreet, and had some features in her face and actions, which did much resemble Diana; not that she was so fair as she, nor so like being together; but if assunder, they had much one of the other, in their resemblance.

Silvander, since he could not be with Diana, was very glad his lot fell upon one that had any thing like her; but much more, when by discourse with her, he found a neerer re∣semblance in her Tone; and therefore, ever since this day, he was much pleased with her company; yet a little after, he payed very dear for his delight. Tireis waited upon Astrea, Paris upon Diana, and Hylas upon Phillis, so as Thersander seeing his place was taken up by Silvander, he was forced to fall upon Laonice. She, who kept her eyes continually upon Phillis and Silvander, did observe how that shepheard was much pleased with Man∣donte, and that she might know more, she desired Thersander to go neerer them, which his jealous apprehensions prompted him very easily to do; yet, they could not hear any thing, but common discourse. They had not walked above a quarter of an houre in a long Meadow, but Silvander shewed them the Wood, unto which he would conduct them. Presently after, they entred into a thick Cops; and because the Path was very narrow they were constrained to go in file. At last, Silvander, who, as their conductor, walked first, he much wondred, to see some boughes of trees heaped one upon another, in the fashion of an Arbour, which obstructed his passe. All the Company going through this Arbour, came up to him, to know why he stayed, and seeing no path: How now Silvander, (said Phillis) do you that undertook to be our Guide, conduct us thus? I must confesse, said he, that I have lost the way which I went the last morning; but, I believe this to be a nee∣rer and better. The way, said Hylas, is very good, if you had conducted us to Hunt, for I see nothing but Wood. Silvander was vexed that he lost his way, but he was more amazed then before, when hesaw another more spacious Arbour in the form of a Temple: at the en∣try, there was some Verses written, which Silvander stayed to read. All the Company being weary they called upon him severall times. He, in a great amazement, turned towards Diana: Mistresse, said he, do not repent your selfe of the pains you have taken, in comming hither; for, though you are a little digressed of the way, yet, you shal see here a wonder of the Wood: Then taking her hand, he conducted her to the entry: the rest of the Shepheards and Shepheardesses followed in sile, and longed to see this rarity of which Silvander spoke. Before the entrance was a Court of green grasse, about thirty paces square, environed with thick wood on three sides, so as none could see them. A chrystall Fountain, which took its originall opposite to the Porch, or rather, Arbour, of this Temple, did, Meander like, run by the one side, which rendred the place most delectable. This Grove was ever a place, that had been dedicated as sacred unto the great Heseus, Tentates, and Taramis: And there was no shepheard that ever durst presume to drive his Flock neer this Thicket; and the reason why it was never frequented, was, lest they should disturb the solitude and sacred silence of the Nymphs, Pans, and Egipans. The grasse was never sullied, the wood never felt the axe, nor was broused by any cattle, and the Fountain was never defiled by any foot: so as this little Grove, dressed into the fashion of an Arbour, or rather a Temple, did plainly demonstrate, that it was dedicated unto some deitie: And therefore all these Shepheards approaching the entrance with reverence, before they passed any further, they

did read the Verses which were written upon a Table of wood over the Porch: They were these.

Unless with sacred Love you be enflam'd, Unto this sacred place, be all asham'd To enter: Here's the Grove, where, every day, A Heart, that is all Love and Zeal, doth pay Religious duty; here he doth implore, And here divine Astrea doth adore.

The Shepheards and Shepheardesses stood amazed at this Inscription, and looked up∣on one another, as if they were desirous to know, whether any of the Company did either know, or had seen this before. Diana addressed her selfe unto Silvander; Is this the place, Shepheard, (said she) unto which you did intend to bring us? No, answered he, I never saw this place in my life before.

It is evident, said Paris, that these boughes have been lately lopped and put into this order, for the leaves of them are yet green. However, said he, we must go in▪ But, lest we should offend the deitie, unto whom the place is consecrated let us enter in with all possible reverence; and first, let us make our selves as clean as we can.

Every one consented, except Hylas, who answered, That for his part, he had no∣thing to do there: For said he, since all those are forbidden to enter, that are not enflamed with an holy Love, I know not whether or no I ought to enter: I know that I am enflamed with Love, but, whether it be holy or no, faith I am not sure. How, Servant, (said Phillis, and smiled) a defect in your Love! What do you in our company? For my part, answered he, I have abundance of affection after my own fashion; but, what know I, whether it be such affection as these Verses means? And I have heard say, that it is not good jeasting with the gods. See, Hylas, said Silvander, what a shame your impure affection doth bring up∣on you in this good Company. You say very true indeed, said Hylas, but did you take this act as you ought to do, you would rather commend me for it for, in being obedient unto the commands of the divinities which are adored in this place, I do make it appear, by my great reverence of them, that I do reverence them as I ought to do; whereas you, who despise their commands, do prophane the sacred place by your presumptuous bold∣nesse: for, your own soul, if it would not dissemble, can tell you, that your affections are not so sacred as is required. I shall answer you presently, said Silvander. Then he and all the company washed their hands, put off their shoes, and with bare feet entred into the Arbour. Then Silvander turning towards Hylas: Hearken, Hylas, said he, and be a wit∣nesse of my words. Afterwards reading the Verses again, and lifting his eyes up to heaven, and kneeling: Oh great deity (said he) who is adored in this place, I here enter into the sacred Grove, being most assured, that I do not contradict thy will, knowing my love to be so holy, and so pure, that thou wilt be pleased to accept the vowes and supplications of a soul so amorously sanctified as mine; and it this profession which I here make, be not true, punish, O great deitie, this my perjury and presumption.

After this, with hands lifted up, and head bare, he entred into the Arbour, and all the rest after him, except Hylas. The place was spacious, some sixteen or seventeen paces round, and in the midst, a great branch-soreading Oake; at the root of this Tree was e∣rected a grassy Table, in the form of an Altar upon which stood a Picture, & in it two Cupids drawn, who did strive with one another for a branch of Mirtle and Palm wreathed toge∣ther. As soon as this devout company was entred, every one fell upon their knees and after they had in private adored the deity of the place Paris approaching the Altar, and taking upon him the office of a Druide, having gathered some Oake leaves: Accept (said he) O great deitie, that is adored in this place, the humble devotion of all this zealous Compa∣ny. I do with all humility and devotion, offer unto thee in their names, a few leaves of this blessed Tree, under whose shade it pleaseth thee to be ador'd. Then every one arose, and went unto the Altar, to look upon the Picture which was upon it; in which they saw two Cupids, as I told you, who holding in both their hands a branch of Mirtle and Palm wreathed together, the one did strive to take it from the other. The Limner was ex∣quisite in his Art; for these little lovely Boyes were plump and fat, yet, their Muscles and Nerves might be seen which by reason of their striving seemed to be raised up; both their right thighes were advanced, and their feet almost touched each other; both their armes

were stretched out, and their bodies leaned backwar I, as if they knew, that the further off a weight is, the heavier it is; and the weight of their little bodies, lent more strength unto their striving armes. Their faces were both fair, but blushing, by reason of the blood which came into them by striving, which the great veins upon their temples and fore∣heads did sufficiently testifie. And the Artist had been so carefull, and wrought it with such industry, that though he did represent an action, which made it appear, that both of them would vanquish; yet, one might perceive by their countenances, that there was no enmity betwixt them, having, for all their Combat, mixed a kinde of sweetnesse and smiling in their eyes, and about both their mouths. Their Torches which were on each side of them, which they had let fall, by chance, fell one against another, so as they united toge∣ther, and made but one, by this means added lustre to each other, and gave the greater light with this Motto, Our Wills are but one. Their Bowes were so linked and twisted one with the other, that they could not draw them but both together; their Quivers, which were hung upon their shoulders, were full of Arrowes; but by the colour of their feathers one might know, that those which the one had, belonged unto the other, because in the gilded Quiver, were silver feathered Arrowes, and in the silvered Quiver, gilded Arrowes. The Company had looked long, and not understood this piece, i the shepheard Silvande, at the request of Paris, had not interpreted the signification These two Cupids (said he) do signifie the Lover and the Loved; this Palm and Mirtle-wreath doth expresse the victory of Love, for the Palme is an emblem of Victory, and the Mir••e of Love. The Lover and the Loved do strive, which shall be victorious; that is, which shall be most lo∣ving. Those Torches, whose flames are joyned together, and by this union, more splendent, doth sh••w, that reciprocall Love doth augment affection. The Bowes inter∣twisted and linked so together, that one cannot draw them without the other, do teach us, that all things are so in commun betwixt friends, as the puissance of the one is that of the other, so as neither can do any thing, unlesse his Companion contribute his, which the changing of the Arrowes doth more illustrate. One may also see by this conjunction of Bowes, and Flames, and change of Arrowes, and union of two Wills into one, that the Lover and the Loved are but one: So as I perceive, this Picture represents unto us that the endeavours of two Loves to get the victory one over the other, their contest is not, who should be best Loved, but who should best Love, giving us to understand, that the perfection of Love consists, in striving how to Love, and not how to be Loved. Now if this be so, fairest Mistresse, said he and turned towards Diana, you may see, how much you are in my debt. I must ingenuously confess, (said she) that after this rate I had rather be in your debt, than have you in mine. Hylas, who stood at the en∣trance, and durst go no further, though he had a great desire unto it, and the more, when peeping in, he saw the grassy Altar, and Picture upon it: And because he could not well see, he employed his ear with all attention, to hearken unto Silvander's discourse, and heard what he said unto Diana. I perceive, fairest Mistress, said Silvander, that neither you nor I are represented in this piece, since they in it are both Lovers and Loved; you are loved, but do not love; and I do love but am not loved, and all this more by ill fortune, then by reason.

There is no difference betwixt us, said Diana, but in words; for I call that reason, which you do call ill fortune, and yet it is the same thing. If all the difference (said he) were only in words I would not care; but the worst is, that which you call reason and I ill fortune, fills me full of all miseries, and its contrary would make me the most happy shep∣heard in the whole Universe Afterwards he turned towards the Picture and as Diana would have answered: I beseech you, my Fairest (said he) do not talk any more of your small affection to me, but let me see what is yet more rare in this Picture. Then taking her by the hand, he read these words, thus written in the bottom.

The twelve Statutes, containing the Lawes of Love, which, upon pain of his high displeasure he com∣mands all Lovers to observe.

The first Statute.

HE that's a perfect Lover, and a just, And as he ought; love infinitely must. Extreames in Love allowed are, as best, Mediums will never make a Lover blest, But odious are: All Mediocrity, Signe is of Treason, not fidelity.

The second Statute.

Let him th' puissant god of Love adore, And let him love some One, and not one more: Above one Object, never let his eye Once look upon, or wantonly espie. It is decrced by Loves Emperiall Law, That he his Blisse from this one Fountain draw.

The third Statute.

Unto this fair One and her service, he Must dedicate himselfe and liberty; He must his heart and all delights resigne To her, and only her, himselfe consine. The rate he sets upon himselfe, must be, According as she loves him, so must he:

The fourth Statute.

If he advancement to himselfe does seek, Let his ambitious aime be at the cheek, Which gave his love a life; let him confesse, She is the center of his happinesse, Which he does only aim at, and aspire To set the lustre of her glory higher.

The fifth Statute.

Let his affection to his Mistris, be So dear, so chaste, so full of purity, As he fruition of her shall despise, Before a stain upon her honour rise. If hers and his come in comparison, Let him prefer hers far before his own.

The Sixt Statute.

If any offer to asperse the fame, Or cast a blemish on his Mistris name, Let him unsheath his anger, give the lye To him that offers such a calumny. If any dure to put affronts upon her, Let him then die, or vindicate her honour.

The seventh Statute.

Then let his love arrive at such a height; As he esteems her 'bove all mortall weight.

The Sun, the Stars, and glories of the skies, He value must inferiour to her eyes. Perfection in the abstract he must deem her, And think him guilty, that does less esteem her.

The eighth Statute.

He must inflamed be with fits of Love, So violently hot, as they must move His pulse to beat a mad-mans temper: He Must sigh, must languish, and halfe dead must be, And ever in such violencies swell, As, ask him what he ailes, he cannot tell.

The ninth Statute.

He must forsake his habitation, His soul must ever live by love alone. He must no being have, but on the score Of her, whom he does worship and adore. So into her transformed he must be, As that without her eyes he cannot see.

The tenth Statute.

Those daies that in her presence are not past, He must esteem as absolutely lost: Court all occasions, Let him spare no pain, To bring him back into his heaven again: And whilst his body does a distance finde, Let him be present with her in his minde.

The eleventh Statute.

For her, he must depart even from his reason, Bid welcome unto Manacles and Prison: In sharpest torments, think himselfe at ease, So he thereby his fairest Saint shall please. And all without expectance of rewards: To love her is the honour he regards.

The twelfth Statute.

He must not think it possible his Love, Should sooner then the firmest Rock remove. If any, such advice to him shall use, Let him as Heterodox the same refuse. Who so shall ever such an errour move, He is a very Schismatick in Love.

Hylas hearing what Silvander read: I do not think, Silvander, said he, that one word of all this is written in that Picture which you have in your hand, but you, having long since composed them after the rate of your melancholly genius, do now, to give them the more authority, and the more easily to delude the Company, do put them upon the score of that Picture. That might have been, said Silvander, if there was none here but my selfe that could read; or if these Lawes were contrary unto Reason, or the antient Statutes of Love. If it were not as I say, said Hylas, you would bring me the Picture hi∣ther, that I might see it. If you do think, said Silvander, that this sacred place would have been profaned by your body, I have greater reason to think, that these holy Lawes would be polluted, if, by your reading, your soul should have any communication with them. This moved all the Company to laugh; and this unconstant Lover would have re∣plyed, yet could he not be heard: For, Silvander having set the Picture upon the Alar, and done reverence unto it, every one followed Paris, who opening a little dore made of

Osyers, he passed out of this Arbour into another more large: over the dore was written on a table of wood, these Verses.

If through Loves Temple you dare boldly venter, The sacred Temple of Astrea enter, Where Love, by his commanding Law, decrees, I should adore her ever on my knees. As unto her I dedicate my daies; So likewise nights, my sorrowes to her payes.

Astrea was she, who was most concerned at this; whether it was, because of the name, in which she thought her selfe most interessed; or whether because she heard speak of the dedication of dayes and sorrowes; so it was, she did apprehend, that by it was meant the fortune of the poor and unfortunate Celadon. She looked, and long pondered upon this inscription, and in the mean time, the rest of the company going a little farther, and find∣ing a Vault like to the first, but much bigger, they all fel down upon their knees, and having paid their particular devotions in silence unto the deity, to whom that place was consecra∣ted, Paris, as he did before, so now, offered for all the Company, an Oaken bough upon the Altar. It was of grasse, like unto the other, but made triangular; and in the midst stood a goodly Oake, whose top surveyed all the Trees of this sacred Grove. It seemed by this Tree, that Nature was wanton in her production of it, having from one stock sent forth three severall branches, three severall wayes, yet most admirably united at the top, without the help of any Artifice; on one branch was written upon the bark Hesius, upon another, Belinus, and on the other Tharamis; upon the stock which sent forth these three branches, Tautates, and at the top where they reunited, Tautates again.

These things, which were according to the customes of their Religion, did not much astonish them, for they did use to worship god under Oakes; but that which they saw on the left hand, amazed them very much; it was another Altar, of grasse also, with two great Pots of earth out of which did grow two stocks of Mirtle, betwixt which was a Picture, over which the two Mirtles twisted their branches, into a resemblance of a Crown. This was apparently visible not to be Naturall, but wreathed in that manner by Art. The Picture represented a Shepheardesse; at the top of it was written, This is the god∣desse ASTREA; and at the bottome, this:

More worthy of our Adoration, than we of her.

As soon as Diana looked upon it, she turned towards Phillis: Did you never see any (said she) whom this Piece resembles? Resembles, said she? it is the very substance of A∣strea: I never saw Picture so exquisitely done, nor more like, in all my life: Is not that the very same sheephook, which Astrea hath in her hand? Observe the Letters C and A which are upon it, and intertwisted together with knots. You are in the right, said Diana; and see, there is Melampus lying at her feet: that Dog is very knowable by his Marks, halfe his head white, the other black; and upon the black ear, a white spot: Observe also the white list about his neck in fashion of a coller, and the silver halfe Moon upon his sable coat; al∣so the black and white list along his legs. Silvander came to her, and Phillis, and said un∣to them: Amongst all the Flock there, I have found which is that that Astrea loved best; There it is, all white, except the ears, which are black. Astrea hearing all this discourse, stood astonished and mute, and, with admiration, beheld all she saw; yet going neerer the Altar, and finding severall pieces of paper lapped up upon it, she took one of them and opening it with a trembling hand, she found these Verses.

Wanting the Substance, Shaddowes comforts be.

IF any passenger do ask, who, in this Grove, Gave me this Picture? Know, that it was Love 'Tis all my joy, my sole felicity: Wanting the Substance, Shaddowes comfort be.

My drooping soul, swel'd to the brim with grief, And like to break, did beg of it reliefe. Although thou art not halfe, said I, yet see, Wanting the Substance, Shadowes comfort me.

To render homage unto thee, I dwell. Within the confines of this shady Cell. Be so indulgent, as to say to me, Wanting the Substance, Shadowes comfort thee.

Though by a fatall, dire, and dismall doom, Unto thy Substance I must never come: Yet, this fair figure may a witnesse be, VVanting the Substance, Shadowes comfort me.

Oh! Fairest figure e're was left in pawn, Or ever was by any Pencill drawn. No Lover ever loved, as I Thee; VVanting the Substance, Shadowes comfort me.

I do adore thee then, without Idolatry, Not as an Image, but a deity. For by experience I do plainly see, VVanting the Substance, Shadowes comfort me.

Astrea retiring her selfe, she read and pondered these verses; and the more she looked upon the Hand, the more she thought it did resemble Celadons; so as after a long combat in her selfe, she could not possibly restrain her tears, and to hide them, she turned her selfe towards the Altar. But Phillis, who was as full of wonder as any in the Company, having taken up another paper, she went unto her supposing, that the reason why Astrea did thus separate her selfe from the Company, was, because she knew this Picture, and these Papers were Celadons. And Diana also following her, Phillis beckned unto her to go back, lest Silvander and Paris should follow her also; which signe she quickly understood, and therefore turning towards Astrea's Picture, she opened some of those papers which lay upon the Altar: The first she laid her hand upon, was this.

Upon the Eyes of a Picture.

PAinter, I ask thee, what they are, That spark les in those Eyes so fair? VVhat are they soules or flames that fly, And hover so about that Eye? They are flames, which death to foules do give, Or rather soules, that makes Love live. 'Tis strange, that from the selfe same eyes A Life and Death should both arise. The works of gods all wonders are, And so these Sun•• seemes sure as rare. To think them human is a sin, Since reverence from the gods they win To love them they command thy heart, Since thou to look allowed art. 'Tis true, but yet my heart doth bear In it, such reverentiall fear, As bids devotion pay, not Love, To one that equalls gods above. But star, the gods, who blessings shoure, VVill not require above our power. But try, I say, and thou wilt prove, Thou canst not look, but thou must love.

Whilst Diana, to amuse the company, did read these Lines aloud, and these being en∣ded, took others, of which the Altar was full, Phillis addressed her selfe unto Astrea: Oh heavens! dear Sister, (said she unto her) how I am amazed at all I finde in this place? For my part, answered Astrea, I am so much out of my selfe, as I know not whether I be asleep or awake Look upon this Writing, and then tell me, whether you ever saw the like unto it? This, answered Phillis, is Celadon's writing, or else I am not Phillis. There is no doubt of it, answered Astrea; and I do very well remember, that he writ this last line, VVanting the Substance, Shadowes comfort me, upon a little Picture which he had of me, and which he wore about his neck, in a little bag of persumed Leather. I pray see, said Phillis, what is in this paper, which I took up from under your Picture.

Stay, stand, and gaze, did e're eye see A Saint so pure, so fair as she? Can any be so dully dumb, As not Idolater become? And rather all the gods give o're, Then not so fair a Saint adore.

But soft: ere I devotion pay, Let me consider what I say. These flaming Beauties are not eyes, Only a Picture which I prize: It is not reall, only shade, By an in genious Artist made.

Are they not eyes? Can any Art, Like them, so captivate a Heart? Sure Pictures, be they ne're so like, So mortally can never strike. But be they what they will, I'me sure, No Mortall can the blowes endure.

Since by their power, I wounded am, I'le flie them, to avoid the same. But why, fond Lover, wilt thou flie, From such a fatall piercing eye? Thy heart's already wounded by it, What e're it be, 'tis vain to flie it.

Oh Sister, said Astrea, it is most certainly Celadon that writ these Verses, it is without any manner of doubt: for, about three years since, he did write them upon my Picture, which my Father had of me to give unto my Uncle Focion. Upon this, tears flowed from her eyes. But Phillis, fearing the rest of the Company would see her: Sister, said she, this is rather a cause of rejoycing then sorrow; for, if Celadon did write it as I do believe he did, certainly he is not dead, although you think he was drowned; and if it be so, what grea∣ter cause of joy could you have. Ah Sister (said she, turning the other way, and pushing her from her) for gods sake do not torment me with any such language, Celadon is too certainly dead, by my folly; and I am most miserable in the losse. I see the gods are not yet contented with those tears, that I have already shed for him, since they have brought me hither, to give me a fresh subject for more: But, since they will have it so, I will turn my selfe wholly into tears; and though I cannot wholly wash away my offence by them, yet, I will never cease, untill I have lost either my eyes, or my life, or both. I do not tell you, said Phillis, that Celadon is alive; but I must tell you, that if he did write these Verses, I must of necessity conclude, that he is not dead. Sister, said she, our Druides tell us, that we have soules which never die, although our bodies do; and so in that sence he may live. I have heard say, answered Phillis, that it is our duty to give a buriall unto the dead, and to put a piece of mony in their mouths, to pay the Ferry-man, for wafting them over the Stygian Lake; and that such as are deprived of buriall, are a hundred years wan∣dring about the places where they lost their bodies; and how can you tell, but that the

soul of Celadon having lost his body, and being denyed that charitable office, may be wandring about the fatall River of Lignon, and still retain the same affection and thoughts which he had before? Ah Sister, said Astrea, these are but meer phantasms; Ce∣ladon is certainly dead, and these are the testimonies of his affection, and my folly. What I do say, answered Phillis, is grounded upon more then phantaims and Chimeraes, and I hint then upto you, out of my desire to contribute unto your tranquillity. I do know it, Sister replyed Astrea; but consider, that if I should think Celadon alive, and afterwards finde him to be dead, nothing could preserve my life; this would be, to see him die twice: and the gods, and my own heart do know, how near his first death did bring me to my grave. Yet, you may receive this satisfaction by it, answered Phillis, as to know, that death could not extinguish the affection which he bore unto you. That, said Astrea, conduceth unto his glory and my punishment. Nay rather, said Phillis, this construction may be made of it, that he being dead, does cleerly and without a cloud see, the pure and entire affection which you bear unto him, and that the jealousie, which caused your an∣ger against him, did proceed only from the superabundance of your love; for I have heard say that our soules separated from the bodies, do still see and behold them. This, answe∣red Astrea, would be the greatest satisfaction that I can receive; for I do not doubt, but as my imprudence did give him great cause of griefe, so this sight of my affection would give him contentment: For, if I did not love him above all the world, and if I do not continue stil in the same affection may the gods never love me. These two Shepheardesses were talking thus, whilst Diana entertained the rest of the Company, sometimes in reading the pa∣pers which she found upon the Altar and sometimes a king Paris, Tircis, and Silvander, what was their thoughts of these things. There is not any here but knowes, said Paris, but this Picture was made for Astrea and conceives, that he who put it in this place, does not only ••ove, but adore her. For my part, said Silvander, if Celadon were not dead, I should believe these Characters to be his. How said Tircis, Celadon who was drowned some three or four months since in the River Lignon? The same, answered Silvander. Did he, said Tircis, love Astrea? I have heard say, that there was a most inveterate enmity betwixt their Families.

The beauty of this shepheardesse, answered Silvander, was greater then their hatred; and since he is dead, I hope there is no danger in saying so. Nor do I believe there would, said Diana, if he were alive; for, he being so discreet and Astrea so wise, their affection could not offend any. Astrea hearing what they said of her, though her eyes were not yet dry, she could not chuse but answer them: These tears, said she, which I cannot hide, do testifie, that Celadon did love me; but these Manuscripts do testifie, that Astrea hath rather offended against Love then Duty: But, to give him satisfaction after his death, I will in∣genuously confesse, more then decency would permit me when he was alive, and say, I did love him. Upon these words, all the company came to her, and Diana shewing her the papers which she had in her hand: Is this said she, Celadon's writing? Doubtlesse it is, answered Astrea. Then, said Diana it is a signe he is not dead. Unto which Phillis an∣swered, That is it of which we have been speaking; but she tells me, that Celadon's soul, which wonders about the River Lignon, did write them. Why, said Tircis, was he not buried? That's the reason, said Astrea, why he wanders thus; for they never made him a Tombe. This, said Paris, was most carelesly done, to let so brave a soul as Celadon's suffer so long pain for want of a little care. You may see, said Tircis, how little those that are alive do care for the dead; so as I esteem them to be wise, who bury themselves alive. Indeed, said Diana, it is very strange, that this shepheard; so much loved and lamented, not only by all his Kindred, but by all the Neighbourhood, should not have that chari∣table office done him, which many have, who are lesse loved. Perhaps said Thorsander, the gods did so ordain it, to the end, he should not so soon have that place he had so much loved, and being recompensed with his love, he had rather stay some while neer her he had adored. However, I conceive, said Tircis, that even as our bodies cannot be in the Aire, Water, or Fire, without much pain, because being ponderous and heavy, they must perpetually be unquiet, as long as they are in such pure Elements, as have no solidity in them to rest upon; so the soul, seperated from the body, not being in its proper Element, as long as it is amongst us, is in continuall pain, untill it enter into the Elizian fields, where it will finde another Earth, another Aire, another Water, and another Fire, more perfect, proper, and suitable unto its nature, then unto our dull, and grosse bodies. And there∣fore when my dearest, and so much loved Cleon, dyed, I was in a resolution not to bury

her, that I might have retained her dearest soul the longer about me; but, our Druides con∣vinced me of that error, and told me, as I have told you. For my part, said Sivander, since for went of buriall, men shall stay some time longer in the place where they dyed, I heartily desire all my friends, that if I do die in this Country not to bury me, that I may the longer look upon my fairest Mistresse; for, there are no joyes in the Elizian fields com∣parable unto that blessed vision, nor any pains that a soul can suffer, by being out of its pro∣per Element, but are recompensed by it.

That would do very well, said Tircis, if after we be separated from our bodies, we did retain our affections: but, our Sages tell us, that our passions are only ••ibutes of huma∣nity, and the gods did bestow them upon us, to the end, the race of men should not fail; but after death, soules being immortall, and not in a capacity of engendring, our Passions and our Loves are lost in it, even as our desires of eating, or drinking, or sleeping. But, said Silvander, if Celadon did write these Papers, it is not likely he hath lost his affection & love unto this Shepheardesse. Who knowes, said Tircis, but that the gods, who are infinitely just, were pleased to give him that particular satisfaction, in recompence of that pure and sacred affection which he had unto that shepheardesse? If so, said Silvander, why should not I hope to finde the gods as just and favourable unto me, as him, since my affection shall not yield unto him or any other, either in purity or zeal? But, said Astrea if the gods do shew him this as a favour, would it not be impiety, to deprive him of that contentment, by endeavouring to give him a buriall, and so set him out of this world? No, said Tircis, for the gods do favour him in it, only as a comfort in the pains which he is continually in, being constrained to be absent from heaven, so contrary to its nature.

The Shepheards were thus discoursing, when Phillis, espied a place, which seemed, as if some had been upon their knees, for such marks were imprinted upon the earth; and be∣cause it was just opposite to the Altar, and she also spying a piece of Parchment close by it, she went to see what it was, and opening it, she found these words.

A Prayer unto the goddesse Astrea.

OH great and puissant goddesse, although your perfections cannot be equal'd, and though all our sacrifices come infinitely short of your merits; yet, I beseech thee, let them be acceptable in thy sight, since if you should receive none, but such as are worthy of you, the gods themselves must be the Victim. This which I here most humbly offer unto your divinity, is a Heart, and a Will, which were never dedicated unto any, but only your selfe. If this offering be acceptable, look with the eyes of pitty upon that soul, who ever found them full of love, and by an act worthy of your selfe, ••rid it out of that pain, in which it hath long languished. I do most heartly beg this favour by the name of Celadon, if ever the name of your most faithfull and affectionate servant, can merit from your di∣vinity so much glorious satisfaction.

Phillis making a signe with her hand, and calling Astrea: Come hither, Sister (said she) see what Celadon asks, and you will finde what Tircis said, to be true. Then, all comming neer, she read aloud this prayer, whilst Astrea did accompany every word with a tear, though she did strive all that possibly she could to restrain them. When Phillis had ended: Truly, said Astrea, I shall satisfie his most just demand; and if his Parents will not build him a Sepulcher, which they are obliged unto by Consanguinity, he shall receive one from me as his friend. Upon this word, going from that place, all the Company went back to Hylas, who was not idle all the while; for, seeing them all very serious and intentive in the other Arbour, he came into that where was the twelve Statutes of the Lawes of Love; and taking the Picture in his hand, he read them, then altered them according to his own humour; and having a quick and ready Wit, he changed them thus.

The twelve Statutes of Love, falsified by the Inconstant Hylas.

The first.

HE that's a perfect Lover, and a just, And true, never love infinitely must. Extreames in Love are never counted best, Mediums will ever make a Lover blest, And happy bee: All Mediocrity, Signe is of prudence and fidelity.

The second.

Let him no puissant god of Love adore, But let him love some One, and many more: Above one Object, alwaies let his eye Still look upon, and wantonly espie. It is decreed by Loves licentious Law, That he his Blisse from many Fountains draw.

The third.

To many fair Ones, and their service, he Must dedicate himselfe and liberty; He must not heart and all delights resigne To one, and only her, himselfe confine. The rate he sets, upon himselfe, must be, As many love him, so himselfe must he.

The fourth.

If he advancement to himselfe does seek, Then let it be, in loving every cheek, Which can give love a life; let him confesse, In loving many is his happinesse, Which he does only aim at, and aspire, To make the lustre of his glory higher.

The fifth.

Let his affection to his Mistris, be So dear, so sweet, so full of amity, As the fruition of her he shall prise, Above all stains of honour that can rise. If hers and his come in comparison, None must be dearer to him than his own.

The sixt.

If any offer to asperse the fame, Or cast a blemish on his Mistris name, Let him conceal his anger•• give no lye To him that offers such a calumny. If any dare to put affronts upon her, Let him not die, to vindicate her honour.

The seventh.

Then let his love arrive at such a height; As that his judgment may be pure and streight

All Suns, and Stars, and glories of the skies, He value must superiour to her eyes. Perfection in the abstract do not deem her, Nor think him guilty, that does less esteem her.

The eighth.

He must inflamed be with fits of Love, So temperately hot, as they may move His pulse to beat a gentle temper: He Must never sigh, and pule, and halfe dead be, Nor ever with such violencies swell, As, ask him what he ailes, he cannot tell.

The ninth.

He must not quit his habitation, Nor think his soul can live by love alone. He must some being have, besides the score, Of her, whom he does worship and adore. Not into hor transformed so to be, As that without her eyes he cannot see.

The tenth.

Those daies that in her service are not past, He must not think as absolutely lost: Some good occasion may reward the pain, Though it ne're bring him to that heaven again: And when his body does a distance finde, Let him contented be within his minde.

The eleventh.

For her, he must not derogate from reason, Or welcome bid to Manacles and Prison: Can he intorments, think himselfe at ease, Though he thereby the fairest Saint should please.? Since all without expectance of rewards, The honour vain to love her, he regards.

The twelfth.

He must not think it impossible his Love, Should sooner then the firmest Rock remove. If any, such advice to him shall use, Let him as Orthodox the same peruse. Who so shall ever such advice o're move, He's far from any Schismatick in Love.

Hylas made all the haste that possibly he could, in altering these twelve Statutes, and that the alteration might be lesse discemed, he first erased out what he thought fit with the point of his knife, then did polish it with the haft of his knife, then did write upon it what he had changed; and when all was done, he set it in its place again, and went out, unperceived by any; so as when they came out, he was found sitting at the entry, as if he were fast asleep: and because sad Astrea, going out the first, did take no notice of him, he lay still, and would not stir; but when Phillis, who came after, spied him in this lazy po∣sture: How now, Hylas, (said she unto him) how have you spent your time, whilst we have been viewing the greatest rarities, that are in all the Country? Faith, I have some

thoughts (answered Hylas, rising up lazily, and rubbing his eyes) which trouble me, more then ever I did imagine they could. What are they, said Phillis? I will tell you, said he, if you will promise to do one thing forme, which I shall ask. I will not engage my word, said she, before I know what it is. You may do it, said Silvander by adding con∣ditions, that he shall ask nothing which is unfitting for a wife and vertuous shepheardesse to grant. Upon that condition, said Phillis, I will. Know then, fairest Mistresse, (said Hy∣las) that I do believe, this place to be really a sacred Grove, which is dedicated unto some great divinity; for, ever since I heard Silvander read the Lawes of Love, I have had such inward remorse, as I cannot be at quiet within my selfe; conceiving, that I have hitherto lived in a most grosse errour, and contrary unto those Statutes, which the god, who is adored in this place, hath commanded unto all those who will love; insomuch as I am ready to abjure my errour, and submit my selfe unto the Lawes which he hath ordained: There was only one thing which hindred nie from doing it, whilst you were within the sacred Grove, and I will declare it unto you: You know, fairest Mistresse, that ever since there was any sympathy betwixt my heart and you, and since Hylas first called himselfe your servant, I never found in all this Country a more contradicting spirit, nor an hu∣mour more antipathyous unto mine, then that of Silvander; upon all occasions he hath thwarted me, and used all artifice to subvert whatsoever I intend; as in that unjust Sen∣tence which he gave against Laonice, only because I spoke for her; otherwise he could not be so grosse as to prefer one that was dead, before so fair and accomplished a shephear∣desse. Calling these things into my memory and consideration, I had a conceit, that he read the Ordinances of this god after another manner then they are written, and only to crosse me: Therefore I do conjure you, not only by your promise, but the honour you owe unto Love, and the deity of this place, that you will take so much paines as to fetch me hither those Lawes, that I may read them my selfe, be satisfied in my doubt of Silvan∣der, and follow those Lawes all the rest of my life. Is this request uncivill, Silvander, and unfit to be made unto a wise and vertuous shepheardesse? No, said Silvander; but I rather think it in vain. No, said Hylas; but let us make another promise to one another. Pro∣mise me before all this Company, that you will follow those Statutes which are there written, as long as you live, and I will do the like. I shall, said he, most willingly; for I have long since promised the same unto the gods. You do promise then, said Hylas. I do, said Silvander, and that without any reciprocall promise; for, I love you better, then to make you perjured. For my part, answered Hylas, I do swear unto you, calling to wit∣nesse the gods of this place, and let them punish, which of us two shall first fail. I do as∣sure you, said Phillis, that seeing so great a change in Hylas, I shall most willingly let him see the twelve Statutes. Then going into the Arbor, and making an humble reverence, she took them, and brought them unto this unconstant Lover, who, with bare head and knee upon the ground, did say, I do receive these sacred Lawes, as comming from a god, and brought by a goddesse, protesting and vowing unto the great gods or this sacred Grove, and calling all this Company as witnesses, that I will all my life observe them as religi∣ously, as if the god Hesius, Tautates, and Tharamis had ordained them. Then rising up, still bare headed, he kissed them, and being invironed with all the Company, he be∣gan to read them with a loud voice. But when Silvander heard him read, that one ought not to love infinitely: Fie, shepheard, said he, read truly, and you will finde it otherwise. I think I do, said he, and shewed them unto Phillis, who read them as he did. This can∣not be, (aid Silvander); then comming neerer, he desired to see them. I see, said Hylas, that he who useth to deceive others, does think, others will deceive him: I doubt you will read them otherwise then they are writ. I shall read them truly, said Silvander; but pray let me see them. Me-thinks (said Hylas) it may suffice, that Phillis saw them, and you may very well trust her. I swear (said Phillis) that Hylas read as was written, and no otherwise: I cannot believe it said Silvander, unlesse I see. Then read them your selfe, said Hylas, so you will read them truly. Then Silvander took them, and swearing he would read them without any alteration, he began to read: But, when be found Hylas was in the right, he knew not what to think; and wondered more, when looking further, he found the sense of every Verse altered. Now Mistris, said Hylas, what do you think? had I not good reason to suspect Silvander, since, you see, he read quite contrary to what was wri∣ten? Come, Shepheard, said he to Silvander, what do you say to all this? Will you be a man of your word, or will you be false? Silvander answered not a word but was more amazed at this, than any adventure he ever met with; but still looking upon the Sta∣tutes,

Diana came unto him, and looking also upon them, was also amazed: Silvander, said she, tell me upon your faith, and confesse the truth, when you readd them at the first, were they written as they are now? I protest, fairest Mistresse, said he, when I readd them, they were not as they are now. Then Diana taking them into her hand, did look upon the writing a little neerer; which Hylas perceiving and fearing his jugling should be dis∣covered. Come, come, Silvander, said he what needs all this talk? I am ready to keep my word, and will you be perjured? You take me very short, said Silvander; and believe it; I have some great suspition of knavery; for I am sure, that the Statutes which I saw, were as then I read them, and now I see they are quite contrary: so as I am much in doubt, that there is some fallacy. This is but a very bad excuse, said Hylas; how do you think a new Table could be made upon such a suddain? As they were thus talking, Diana, who looked upon them very narrowly, she found, that though the Inke was alike, yet there was some difference on some Characters, and then rubbing them with her finger, the new written went off, and the rasure appeared; then holding the Parchment betwixt the Sun and her eye, all the rasures and old writing easily appeared, which having found out: Now, said Diana, I can end both your disputes, for in one and the same place, you may finde what you both seek for; you, Silvander, may finde it written as you did read, and you Hylas, as you did correct it. Then comming to them, she did demonstrate it unto them both; for betwixt the Sun and the eye one might plainly see, where the Parchment had been scratched, and might, though dimly, see, what had been old written, and what newly. Every one of the Company did confirm what she said, and all flocking about Hylas: Come, shep∣heard, said they, tell us truly how you did this. Hylas seeing himselfe discovered by the strict observance of Diana, was almost forced to confesse the truth; yet, not before he had sworn many an oath that it was the injustice of those Lawes, which moved him unto it; for, said he, they are so very unreasonable, as I could not possibly forbear correcting them as they ought to be. None could forbear laughing, to hear him talk so, but more, when they considered, into what a damp Silvander was struck at the first. And because it grew very late, and they had stayed very long in that place, Phillis would have carried back the Statutes to the place from whence she had them: But all were of opinion, that it was fit they should first be corrected as they were at first; and that Hylas, to extenuate some part of his offence, in entring into that place which he was forbidden, and for da∣ring to falsifie the Statutes of Love, he was censured to erase all that himselfe had writ∣ten, which accordingly he did: More, said he in obedience unto my Mistresse, then to ap∣pease the anger of Love or Silvander. Take heed, said Silvander, that this be not too much presumption and infidelity Had Hylas heard these last words doubtlesse he would have replyed; but he being gone into the Arbour, no answer was given. In the mean time, all the company went their waies, and took a little path which Silvander had chosen. And because Astrea was out of hopes to hear any more newes of Celadon; that could please her, she had a minde to return back, and in order to that, she left Tircis, and came to him Me-thinks shepheard, said she unto him it is too late to go any further, and night will surprise us, before we can return to our Cabins. That's true, said the shepheard; yet that, me-thinks, should not hinder you from going on, since we are so neer the end of our journey; and though you should return, the day would not serve you above halfe the way. But, said Astrea, where should we lie? The place unto which I shall conduct you, said Silvander, is not far from the Temple of the good goddesse and I am sure the venerable Chrisante will bid you all very welcome. I would know, answered Astrea, whether this be agreeable unto my Companions. And then staying till the way was a little broader, she made Silvander's proposition unto them. There was not one, who did not very well approve of it, since it was impossible to return unto their Townes by day light.

In this resolution then, they went on and Silvander not quitting Astrea, did shew her the Wood where he found the Letter, which caused this voyage. This said Astrea, is a place very retired to receive any Letters in. You will more think it so, said he, when you are there; for, it is the most salvage and rude place, and the least frequented, of any about all the River Lignon. So as none could hit the way said Astrea, except you and Love. For my part, said he, I know what it is, and as for Love. I will be silent; for, I have heard say, that sometimes when he would throw flames into a heart, he has burnt himselfe; and who can tell whether he did not so, by the beauty of my Mistris? and if any thing cure him, it is doubtlesse the Fillet which he hath before his eyes. Ah Silvander! (said the Shepheardesse) that Fillet does not hinder, but he can see when he pleaseth, and his Ar∣rowes

hit so right upon the mark they are aimed at, as it is not likely one that's blinde did shoot them. I have seen, wise shepheardesse (said Silvander) a blind man, who could hit the way unto every house, and turn at every turning in the Town, having gotten it by a long custome. And why may we not well say, that Love, who is the prime and eldest of all the gods, hath by a long accustomacy, learned to hit the hearts of men, though he be blinde; and to shew you, that it is more by custome then skill, observe, that he loves us only in the eyes, and yet hits our hearts: If he were not blinde, do you think he would wound with Love so many unequall persons, Superious with Inferiours, and Shepheards with Queens. But I speak this as a person interested, for I, that does not know what I am, it hath caused me to love Diana, whose merits are above the degree of any shepheards, and it hath made Paris, who is Son unto the Prince of Druides, to love a shepheardesse. As for your merits answered Astrea, you do equall the perfections of Diana, and Diana, by her vertue, doth transcend the grandure of Paris; so as the inequality is not so great, as to make you accuse Love of blindnesse. Silvander stood mute at this reply; not, but that he could easily have answered, but because he was sorry, he had by his words given know∣ledge of his affection, and repented of them, fearing it would offend Diana, if she should know of it. But by good fortune, his words were well addressed; for Astrea, knowing what pure and sincere affection he bore unto Diana, she would most willingly have left him all assistance. And the nature of all such as know how to love well, is, never to preju∣dice the Love of another, unlesse it be prejudiciall unto their own:

By this time, they were come unto the Wood, and therefore Silvander said unto her: This, wise shepheardesse, is the Wood which you have so much longed to see, but being already Sun-set, we have not time to view it. If we do finde in it, said she, as many rarities, as we did in that from whence we came, I shall think our journey and time very well im∣ployed. With such discourse as this, they entred into the Wood, and it grew so dark, as they could not see one another, nor follow, but by the voice; then going further into the Wood, he so lost his way, as he was forced to confesse, that he knew not where he was: The cause of this was a Plant over which he walked, which they of the Country do vul∣garly call Wander-weed, because it hath a quality, to make those that tread upon it to wander out of their way, and, as the common bruit was, there was much of it in that Wood. Whether this be true or false, I cannot tell; but so it was, that Silvander and all the Company could not finde their way again all that night, though he turned and winded almost through all the Wood, and at the last, they were all so wildred, as they were con∣strained to follow one another, by taking hold of each others clothes; for the night was so dark, as if it were so purposely, to hinder them from getting out of the Wood. Hylas, who by chance was got betwixt Astrea and Phillis: I begin, Mistresse, said he, to hope well in the service which I have done you. Why, said Phillis? Because, said he you are very much afraid to lose me and whereas I was wont to follow you, now you follow me.

'Tis true, said she; but you must thank Silvander for it, whom you say is your greatest enemy. I cannot tell said Hylas, whether I should more thank him for the favour I re∣ceive from you, or chide him, for the pains I have taken. You may judge of that after∣wards, said Phillis, when you have put the pleasures and the pains which you have re∣ceived, both into a ballance. I wish, Mistris, said Hylas, that you would hold the bal∣lance, and judge which was the heavier. Every one did laugh at the good-will of Hylas; and Silvander, who heard it, answered him only thus: I confesse, Hylas, that I am a blind man, who leads many others. But the worst is, said Hylas, they are blind only be∣cause they trusted too much unto your eyes. If you had been out of the Company, said Silvander, we had not been so blinde. Why, said Hylas, did I put out your eyes? No, said Silvander, but you did take away our means of seeing, holding us so long in dis∣courses of your inconstancy, and by falsifying the sacred Lawes, which did put us upon the night. Silvander, said Hylas, you put me in minde of those, who when they had found good Wine, did blame it, because they were drunk: Good friends (may the Wine say) why did ye drink so much? And good friend, Silvander, why did you hearken to me so long? Did I nail your ears to any post? No, said Silvander, there were stronger chaines in that company and place, then yours. But be it as it will, we are now so wandred out of the way, either by reason of the night, of by going over the plant Wonder-weed, as there is no hopes of getting into the way again, untill it be day, or at the least, untill the Moon do shine. What's then to be done, said Paris? No better course, said Silvander, then to rest ourselves under one of these Trees, untill the Moon do shew her selfe. Every one

approved of the motion: And the shepheards spreading all their Coats upon the ground, under the dryest Tree, the shepheardesses did sit upon them, and so rested altogether till the Moon appeared.

Although the night was already far spent, when these shepheardesses did sit themselves down upon the Coats of the Shepheards; yet, being unaccustomed to such a Canopy as the Cope of heaven, and unused to sit upon the grasse in the night, they talked a long while, before any sleep did seize upon their eyes: And because the horrour of the night did possesse them with fears, they laid themselves close upon an heap. Diana being next Mandonthe, did ask her, what fortune brought her into that Country? Wise Diana, answered she, the story of it is both too long and too tedious; let this, I beseech you, serve for all, that the same Love that is so Regent in your Villages, hath as great a Soveraignty over Ladies and Knights; and it is it which brought me hither into this state, although my quality hath raised me above it. If it be only your fears of being tedious to us, said Phillis, I dare undertake for all the Company, that this objection ought not to hinder you, from giving us a relation of it; for we have all longed to have the satisfaction from you: And I con∣ceive no time more convenient than now, since we are without the hearing of any shep∣heard. The reason, said Diana, why I in particular do desire it, is, because those who see us assunder, do say, that we resemble one another very much so as me-thinks, I am as much concerned in your fortune as my own, and obliged to enquire after it. It would be great glory unto me, said Madonthe, to resemble such a Beauty as yours; but I wish, for your tranquillities sake, that your fortunes may never resemble mine. I am much obliged unto you, said Diana, for your good will; but every one hath their own loads, and knowes best where the shoe doth pinch them, and others are not concerned further then by way of compassion: Therefore I beseech you give satisfaction unto our request Then I beseech you give me leave, said Mandonthe, to speak in a low voice, that the shepheards, who are neer us, may not hear; for, I should be extreamly ashamed, they should be witnesses of my errours, especially Thersander, for some reasons which you shall understand by the sequell of my discourse. Then she began in this manner.

The History of Damon and Mandonthe.

IT is best for me, wise and discreet Company, to relate the story of my life unto you by night, that darknesse may shadow my shame in relating my follies, for so must I praise those occasions, which made me quit the quality unto which I was born, and assume this in which you see me: For, though I am now in this habit, with a sheep-hook in my hand, yet, I am no shepheardesse, but descended from Parents more noble. My Father, following the fortunes of Thierres, had gotten such reputation of a Souldier, that in his absence, he commanded all his Armies; not because he was a Visigot as he was, but because he had great authority among the Aquitains. This King did so love and honour him, that he was obliged to dedicate himselfe wholly unto him; in whose service, besides the Estate which he inherited from his Ancestors, he so enlarged his possessions, as there was none in all Aquitain that could vie with him in riches. Having lived thus many years, his grea∣test griefe was, that he had no other Child but me. And though his death was suddain, yet it was with so much honour, as I hold it to be the best piece of his fortune: For, after he had raised the Siege of Orleans, and pursued Attiles as far as the Cathalaunique Coun∣try, Thierres, Merovea, and Etius, gave him Battle. As fortune was, my Father fought that day upon the right hand of his King, who had the left Wing, and Merovea the Right; and almost the whole strength of Attiles was upon Thierres side. After a long fight, the King of the Visigots was killed, and my Father also, who, after he had received a hundred wounds, was found upon the body of his King, to defend whom, he received those blowes which were made at him; which Torrismond, his Successor and Son, did take so well, as he buried his Father and mine both in one Tomb; and after the Battle was won engraved most honourable Inscriptions, to his eternall memory. When my Father dyed, I was about seven or eight years of age, and began then to resent the rigours of Fortune: For Leontidas, who succeeded my Father in his Charge, and whom Torrismond loved above all the Cavaliers in Aquitain, did use such artifice, as I was committed un∣to his Guardianship, and almost ravished from my own Mother, under a pretence, which they called, Reason of State saying, that having such great possessions, and so many places

of strength he would see, that I married my selfe unto such a one, as was very well affected unto the service of Torrismond. Thus was I deprived both of Father and Mother, the one, by death; the other, by reason of State: Yet, Fortune was so favourable unto me, in the honesty and sweetnesse of Leontidas, that I could not desire better offices then those I re∣ceived from him, nor wanted he any thing, but the name of a Father. But his Wife was of another nature, for she used me so cruelly, as I may say, I could not hate death more then she.

Now Leontidas his designe was, to educate me, untill I was at Marriage estate, and af∣terwards to bestow me upon his Nephew, whom he intended to adopt his Heir, having no Children of his own. But constraint being the greatest means to hinder a generous spirit from complacency, it hapned so, as his Nephew had never any affection unto me, nor I to him, both of us conceiving our Fortunes so noble, as we needed not any additions to make them greater. These considerations, and some others more secret, did hinder our affections unto one another: But, when I came unto age of more discretion, I found greater impediments then these: For, the Courtship of many young Gallants, who addressed themselves with abundance of honour and respect, made me think, the faint and hollow love of Leontidas his Nephew did dishonour me. On the other side, he being vexed, that I should so sleight him, he retreated, so as I never saw him, but as a stranger, of which I was not a little glad. And though the respect which every one did bear unto Leontidas, by reason of the extraordinary favours which Torrismond shewed him did stave off many from openly declaring themselves; yet, there was a Cavalier, a neer Kinsman unto Leon∣tidas, who, notwithstanding all those considerations did undertake to serve me, though he had but small hopes to obtain. At the first, he had no designe to embarque himselfe in good earnest, but only to keep himselfe out of idlenesse, and to make it appear, he had both merit and courage enough, to love and court the love, of her, that was esteemed the highest Match in all the Court. When this young Gallant began to serve me, he was a man without any respect, violent, and quick, and so couragious, that the praise of Teme∣rity was more his due, than that of Valiant. But, since Love took him into discipline, he changed all his imperfections into so many. Vertues, and made him so amiable as since, he is grown the very pattern of civility and gallantry, unto all the Cavaliers of Torrismond. His name was Damon, neer kinsman unto Leontidas, of whom the King had at the first no good opinion; but since he began to change, the King also changed his minde. But Leon∣tidas being one, that was extreamly observant of every ones actions, he took such notice of his designe, that he could not endure him, because he thwarted his aimes, of giving me unto his Nephew: And to give a stop unto this new courtship, he did so peremptorily for∣bid me from seeing him, and him, from speaking unto me, as both of us were extreamly offended at him. We, loving better because forbidden had ever since a greater desire to see each other than before, so as you may believe, that this prohibition was it only, which did oblige me to it. When Damon began first to court me, his humour was so displeasing unto me, as I could not endure him; but, after Leontidas with menaces and harsh lan∣guage did expresly forbid me seeing him, and seemed to distrust me: he vexed me so ex∣treamly, as I resolved with my selfe never to love any other: And therefore I did with all possible diligence correct his vices, which his nature did most incline him unto; sometimes blaming them in others and sometimes telling him, that my humour was not to love those that were addicted to them. Thus forming him into a new modell, when I saw the conditions of this young Cavalier were changed, I loved him much more, then if he had begun to serve me with the same qualities and perfections; for, every one is much better pleased with the works of their own hands, then any others: yet, I did carry my selfe so discreetly towards him as none could perceive that I did love him, and stood so upon my guard, as he had not so much boldnesse, as to declare his minde unto me by his words: But at last, thinking that all his service was lost, if I did not know his intentions he resol∣ved to take more heart, and put it to the venture: and because he thought it more expedient to do it by Letter then Tongue, after a long disputation in his minde, he writ this.

Damon's Letter unto Mandonthe.

MADAM, It is extream temerity, to love an owner of so eminent perfections; but, I conceive it my duty to serve and adore them. And if you will extinguish the affe∣ction

of those who love you, you must also extinguish those perfections which cause you to be loved; which if you will not, do not think it strange you should be disobeyed; for, force does alwaies excuse an offence, that is committed against their will; and necessity does not acknowledge those Lawes, which the gods themselves do impose.

He was not a little perplexed, how he should bring it to passe, that I should see this Let∣ter, for he knew, that I would not receive it unless by some Artifice. And see what in∣ventions Love hath. He came unto me seeming to entertain me with some Court-newes, and told me two or three passages which hapned very lately: at the last, he told me, that he had discovered a new League of Love, but feared to tell me the Parties; because the La∣dy was one of my friends, and the Cavalier one of his. Why, said I unto him, do you think me to be so indiscreet, as I cannot conceal what is not fit to be known? Oh no, said he; but my fear is, lest you should be an ill willer unto my friend.

And why so, answered I? a pure and honest Love cannot offend any one. I plainly saw; (sweet shepheardesses) that he was perplexed, and knew not what to do; but I could not imagine, that it was any businesse concerning his own particular, since if he had any such minde, he might have spok unto me long since, having had opportunities to do it: And therefore I was very urgent with him, and more perhaps then I ought to be. And at the last he told me, that as for their names, he durst not tell them for severall considerations, but he would let me see a Letter which he had found that morning. Upon this, he put his hand in his pocket, and shewed me the Letter which he had writ unto me, which, with∣out any scruple, I took and read, but knew not his hand, because I had never seen it be∣fore. But as I had before a little desire to know their names, so after the reading of it, my desire was extream, and was more urgent then before: At which he smiled, and put me off with some bad excuses. Why Damon, said I, will you not give me so much satisfaction, as to tell me what I ask? I am affraid (said he) that I shall offend you, if I should obey; for she; unto whom this Letter is addressed is very much a friend of yours. Nay, certainly, said I, you will much more offend me by your disobedience. Then I am (said he) be∣twixt two great extreams; but, since the fault which I shall commit is by your command, it will be the lesse, and therefore I will obey. Then taking the Letter, he read it aloud; but when he came to the end, he stopt, and named no body. See, fairest Shepheardesse, the strange effects of Love; sometimes it hurries the poorest and basest spirits into incre∣dible impudence, and other times it makes the highest courage to tremble at such things, as the meanest person would not dorre at.

Damon serves for an example of this; since he, whom no dangers could make start, had not so much courage, as to tell his name unto a woman, and a woman, whom he knew, wished him no harm. But, as his courage failed him, so my understanding more; for I might well have known by his fear, that it neerly concerned him; and I well believe, that it was Love which did infatuate me, intending by us, to make his puissance the better known unto others; otherwise, certainly I had seen it since I did love him, and since, they say, the eyes of Love looks though stone-walls. However it was, I must confesse, I did not apprehend it; and seeing him stand silent: What, Damon, said I, must I know no more? Truly I did think, that I had a greater power over you then I see I have. From thence it is, answered he, that my silence proceeds; for, your too much power over me; makes me mute, and yet what I have said might have sufficed you; for what can I declare more, after I have read the Letter, and you heard my voice? How, Damon, (said I to him, extreamly amazed) was't your selfe that writ it? It was I, said he and he'd down his head and looked upon the ground. Then I beseech you tell me, said I, unto whom it is directed? Since it is your pleasure to know it (said he directly) it is unto the fair Mandonthe. Upon this word, he was silent, purposely, as I believe, to see how I would receive his declaration. I must confesse, I was much surprised, for I expected any other answer then that; and though I did love him, and that with a resolved will; yet honour which ought to have the first place in our soules, did make me think, his words did offend me: And though I knew, that I my selfe was the cause of his boldnesse, yet would I not excuse him upon that, conceiving, that notwithstanding he ought to have held his peace. The truth is, the love I had unto him was a good Advocate for him, and though it could not quite qualifie my resentments of honour, yet it did infinitely sweeten them. At the last I answered him thus: Damon, I did little expect this treason from you, in whom I durst have trusted, as in my selfe; but, by this act, you have taught me never

to trust in any young and rash person; yet, I will not lay the whole blame upon you, be∣cause I my selfe am partly guilty, in living with you heretofore as I have don: but, your over boldnesse shall cause me to be more advised for the future; I shall hereafter take heed, both of you, and all that resemble you. Madam, said he unto me, if you call it treason to love you, I must confesse, I have betrayed you, and shall do as long as I live, knowing, that neither you, nor any in the world, can imagine the grandure of my affection: And if you do think, that my youth made me so bold, I shall maintain it against all men, that never was age more prudent then this youth, nor ever any prudence more wise then this temerity, which you blame me for. If I have failed, and that you are guilty of it, your manner of living with me is not the cause, but because being so admirably fair, and full of all perfection, it is impossible any should look upon you, and not commit the same fault. Alas, did you not tell me, that a pure and perfect Love could not offend any? And why should you now judge otherwise against me? But, if my words do offend you, here's Da∣mon that spoke them, offers his breast unto you, and the heart that adores you; chastise him as you shall please, and if he refuse any thing you shall doom him unto (unlesse forbidding him to serve you) hold him for the worst of Traitors, and the most unworthy of your favours of any man alive. Had you been contented (said I unto him) to have given me some testimonies of your affection, by your humble respect, and not by such impudent lan∣guage, I had then found some reasons to love you, as now I do to hate you. Do you think, Damon, I can put up these injuries without revenge? Do you not remember who my Father was? Have you been ignorant of my life, and what care I have had, not only to be as I ought to be, but also to preserve my fame from all manner of scandall? Consider these things, and if you do continue, you will make me persecute you by all the waies I can in∣vent Madam (answered he presently) never set before me any pains you can imagine; he that can endure the anger of your fair eyes, need not to fear all the torments in the Uni∣verse. Do not think I am ignorant who you are, nor from whom you are descended; your vertues are too deeply engraved on my soul, and I am too much obliged unto those, who gave you a beeing in the world, ever to lose the memory of them. But if I have only of∣fended you in words, and not out of any designe, but to do you service, forget, Madam, I beseech you, and forgive my tongue; command me to be dumb, so you will let me a∣dore you in my heart, and I will never speak again. But, if you think your reputation, of which you are so justly tender, would be blemished, by my telling the world that I love you, you would take the only way to force me unto it, if you should do according to your menaces; for, it would be impossible, but my affection would break out, and so that which I now tell you in private, would be published all over the Court; and, would not that much more offend you? Before you pronounce your doom against me, I beseech you, Madam, consider well upon what I have said, and that if my fault have displeased you, why should you do worse, in publishing it unto all the world?

It would be a hard task for me (wise shepheardesses) to repeat all the reasons which Damon alledged, and though I cannot expresse them well, yet I assure you he did. I must confesse, I do approve of their counsell as very good, who say, that a Lover ought not to declare his affection unto any Lady, before he have obliged her unto some kinde of good will unto him, for then the offence which she receives by the declaration, will be mi∣tigated; and she will hearken unto his words with a more favourable ear. I did approve of it, I say, at this time by experience; for, I could not possibly part from him, though I did resent the injury which he did me. And on the contrary, before our discourse ended, I did consent he should love and serve me, so it was with honour and discretion. And be∣cause Leontidas had his eye perpetually upon us, I commanded him not to see me so often; and, to deceive him, to dissemble as well as possible he could. I do remember, that at that time, Leontidas, though a great and a wise Captain, yet was possessed with the love of some woman, who seeming to love him, did get what mony they could from him, yet in secret favoured others. Damon composed some Verses, which he sent unto me: And be∣cause we feared, lest if our Letters should be lost, our names would make known, what we desired should be secret: I called him Brother, and he me Sister. I think that I remember the Verses yet, which were these.

Although he belch out envy at my blisse, And vomit venome at my happinesse.

Although by looking in our eyes, he see, VVhat he does think within our soules to be. Although that I am not my selfe, he knew, Having no life, dear Sister, but from you. Although he plot, to make us jealous be, And stain our actions with black calumny. Although he should divorce me from my joy, And all my dearest happinesse destroy. Yet, spite of fate, and him, and all that's ill, Do what they can, yet I shall love you still. Maugre his malice, spite of all the lies, That bitter tongues against us can devise. Tortures and torments, all is one to me, Even in my grave, still yours I vow to be. I wish this irksome Argus would employ His hundred eyes (and not us thus annoy) In watching of his Mistresse, whom, they say, Another loves, and yet he does her pay.

But to return from whence I digressed. Ever since, Damon did so regulate and conform himselfe unto my will as I could not deny, but that I did love him; and indeed, he was such a one, as it was hard to do otherwise, especially considering, how his affection unto me, had made him change his vices into vertues. And because, to delude the eyes of Le∣ontidas, we did not speak together, unlesse as we accidentally met, and never in the pre∣sence of any; many had an opinion, that the generous spirit of Damon would not long endure the disdain which I used towards him, and that he was quite fallen off from me. Leontidas himselfe was also deceived, though his Wife, who was of a very suspicious na∣ture, did still assure him of the contrary; and because he did most passionately desire to bestow me upon his Nephew, to satisfie his minde, he set over me a Woman, whose office was, to be a spie over all my actions, without making any shew of it; her name was Leri∣ana, and well in years, yet of a very pleasing nature, but withall, as subtle and crafty as ever lived. I was not so quick-sighted as Damon, for presently he discovered the designe of Leontidas. But I, finding her to be very good company, and one that did strive all she could to please me, I could not believe she had any bad intention. He, continually telling me, that she would deceive me, and bidding me to take heed of her, we resolved to go more subtlely to work: And because it was not in our dispose to turn her away, we thought it most expedient to seem, as if her company was very pleasing and welcome un∣to us: By this artifice we thought we should oblige her, not to do all the ill offices she could, but to make Leontidas think, that we had no designes, but what we were willing he should know.

Oh how well advised had we been, if we had put this determination into execution, after a more solid consideration. Leriana seeing what carrasses I used, did shew her selfe so desirous to please me, that at the last, I began insensibly to love her: And she on the other side, taking notice of the applications which Damon made unto her, did believe, that he loved her; and this beliefe, together with the beauty of this young Cavalier did quickly invite Leriana to love him, so as there was none of us, but poor Damon, who was not deceived; yet he payed the dearest for our errours, though he knew all this from the first, yet could he not help it. I shall as long as I live remember the words he used, when he said unto me: Sister, you do love Leriana, but take heed she deserve it; I am afraid you will finde it, when it is too late her designe is naught, both against you and me; for, the Wife of Leontidas sets her over you, only as a spie: And believe it, the carrasses which you have commanded me to use unto her, has made her believe, that I love her, and there∣fore she wisheth me no harme. So much the better, Brother, (said I unto him) for I know you cannot be in love with her, nor shall I be jealous. However, the good will she bears unto you, will perhaps keep him within compasse, and hinder her from doing you any hurt. Pray heavens, Sister, said he, it falout so; but I am in fear, this affection will end quite contrary; for, it is impossible I should continue my carrasses long unto her then, when she finds her selfe deceived and sleighted. Oh heavens, what mischiefe will she not be apt to do unto me? No, no, said I unto him, she can never think to win upon you by:

force. I pray god, replyed he, that I prove a bad diviner, and that she do not do all she can to do us mischiefe. I did see, that this woman was very kinde unto him, but I could not imagine, she could be in love with him, only thought, that her application to him, was out of her desire to be complaisant. Now though Leontidas did treat me with all possible sweetnesse, yet, the harsh usage of his Wife, made me almost weary of my life. I told Damon, that he ought to consider the miserable life which I led; that I had no con∣tentment, but in him, nor consolation, but in Leriana; that I did not think, Leontidas and his Wife had any intentions of setting Leriana as a spy; or if they did, I thought they might be deceived, and that this woman thought her selfe so obliged by my carrasses, as I am almost sure she loves me. Damon seeing me in this opinion, could do nothing but shrug his shoulders, and durst never since speak of it unto me, for fear of displeasing me. And see what force this good opinion which we have of a person, hath over us: I did plainly see her applications unto Damon, but could not imagine it was with any bad in∣tentions conceiving it to be only out of complacency. Oh how the vizard of dissimulati∣on does disguise vices, and makes us mistake them for vertues? And upon this ground, I was very angry with Damon very often, conceiving he did not treat Leriana as he ought, since I had told him that I loved her, and that this was the least thing he could do for me, to make much of those whom I cherished. This Damon knew well enough, and durst not complain, lest he should make the matter worse, only nourished in his heart an extream hatred against her which he had much ado to hide. On the contrary, Leriana did so grow every day in affection to him, that seeing he took no notice of it, she could not chuse but write a Letter unto him, so full of passionate expressions, that Damon could not dis∣semble, but did put herso out of hopes, as she did not only stifle her love to him, but en∣tertained a most deadly hatred in its room: Could she have proved what she knew of our affection, doubtlesse she would have done it, in accusing him unto Leontidas; but our happiness was, that what familiarity soever was betwixt us, I never spoke the least thing of it before her; but, since that I found her so subtle and crafty, as I did believe, if she could not have made any proofes, yet she would notwithstanding inform; but that which restrained her, as I thought, was her Letter which she writ unto Damon, by which Le∣ontidas might have seen her to be but a bad woman; yet, this consideration was nothing, because she might say that she did seem to love Damon, only to insmuate her selfe into the more credit: And doubtless Leontidas and his Wife had believed her, having entertained so good an opinion of her, as they thought her to be one of the gravest and wisest Matrous in all Gaul. But as I was mistaken in my affection to her, so also Damon was much to blame; for, had he shewed me the Letter which Leriana writ unto him, doubtlesse he had shewed me my errour, and we had not fallen into those misfortunes, in which since we have lived; and the reason, as I think, why he did not, was, because of his sharp answer which he returned, fearing, if I saw it, I should be angry with him. But however, he kept it so secret as I knew nothing of it.

Now Leriana plotting revenge upon this Cavalier, she conceived no way would bring it about, but such occasions as I should give her, thinking, that keeping in familiari∣ty with me, it was impossible but some occasions would present themselves, which would fit her purpose; and in order to that, she courted me, and followed me as close as my own shadow. She having a most notable piercing wit, which would dive into the very thoughts of persons, she found, that Thersander did love me; I say, this same Thersander whom you see here with me. It is requisite (sage Shepheardesses) that I acquaint you with his condition, as for his person, you see what it is; Be pleased to know therefore, that his Father following mine in all his martiall expeditions, they were both killed the same day Thierres dyed: And this Thersander being brought up of a child in my Fathers house; he conceived such affection to me, as the difference of our qualities could not restrain him from looking upon me otherwise then he ought; and perhaps I might ignorantly be the cause of it, for the great inequality betwixt us, made me receive his services, not as a Lo∣ver, but as a domestick. But Love, who is blinde, did make him entertain such thoughts, as were far from any grounds of reason: yet Leriana, who was far more subtle then I, having cast her eyes upon him, and found out his intentions, she thought him a fit subject for a begining of her revenge: She knew very well, that amongst all the bitters of Love, there is none so sharp as that of jealousie, nor so easily infused into a soule that loves well; she began therefore to insinuate her selfe into familiarity with him, expressing much good∣will unto him, offering him all the assistance that lay in her power; and briefly, did by

degrees get him access unto me, and opportunities to speak with me: But finding, that his modesty would not permit him to declare his affection unto me, she resolved to infuse more courage into him: And in order to that, one day when they were together, after some far-off discourse, to be a prologue unto the main businesse, she told him, that she and I had often wondered, he should never make choice of any Mistress, and that I should say, I could not imagine the cause; that it could not be for want of will, for his age would not permit that; and therefore it must needs be want of courage, though if he did set himselfe out, he might get the favour of the fairest Lady in all the Court; and therefore that I could see nothing but that, or that he thought none worthy of him. Ther∣sander, who believed her, and who was touched to the very soul: Alas, alas, said he, both my Lady and you, have but ill observed my actions, since you have not found out my follies. Alas, I do love, and do love in such a place, that it is better for me to sit still in silence, then declare it, in any hopes of obtaining. Slie Leriana knowing his meaning very well, yet seeming not to understand him, did still turn and winde her discourse so, as she got out of him the name of Mandonthe, but with so many excuses, as she saw it very requisite to continue her designe, in infusing more courage into him; and therefore she told him, That she saw no such inequality betwixt me and him, but that he might very well go on; that though Fortune did not favour him with any great Estate, nor could derive his Pedigree from any great Ancestours; yet, his vertues did supply those defects, and made him equall to me in merit. All this she told him, to make him the more confident of him∣selfe, and much more which she invented; as, That she knew by my words, that I did very much esteem him, nay, love him, and was weary of Damon for his sake, and would often say unto her, that Damon was changed into Thersander. Thus did she infuse as good a conceipt of himselfe as possibly she could. Having, thus laid a foundation for her treason, she would now found how I stood affected; and sometimes naming Damon, as if by chance, she would still be harping upon Thersander, and something in his commendati∣ons. All this I did not understand, for I had never cast any eye upon him: And finding me to speak of him as of a person indifferent, she had an opinion, that I would receive Letters, if they were handsomely given unto me. The time of the year was at hand, when it was customary to present New-years gifts: She conceived, that a pair of perfumed Gloves would be a handsome cover for a Letter, and therefore procured one from Thersander, and put it into the finger of a Glove, and when she saw her time, that the best and most company was with me, she presented her New-years gift unto me. By fortune, Damon was present; and because she feared, lest meeting with it, I should not make it known un∣to every one, she told me, that there was a seam unripped, and she would mend it: Upon this, she took that wherein the Letter was, leaving the other in the hands of those that desired to smell at it. But I finding the Paper in the finger, I asked what it was? To which she answered, that it was the seam which rippeed when I tryed them. I, who did not un∣derstand this piece of subtlety, replyed, that it could not be so. She, with incredible im∣pudence, answered, that she her selfe had ripped it, and that I could not have it untill it was mended. I perceived, that there was something which was to be dissembled amongst so much company; but I was too young and simple to apprehend it, or to dissemble: Yet Damon, who had his eyes alwaies upon us, and who knew by experience how ingenious Love makes men, he presently conceived, that there was some Letter in the Gloves, which must be concealed from him, but he could not devise from whom it should be; as for Ther∣sander, he was out of all suspition, yet, now he began to have some thoughts of him. For my part, though I had a desire to do nothing but what was fitting; yet I had a great de∣sire to know, what it was which was in this Glove, and therefore retired as soon as I could. When I was alone, I took out the Letter, and opening it, I found these words.

Thersander's Letter unto Mandonthe.

AS being constrained, & not as esteeming my self worthy, I do assume so much boldness, MADAM, as to call my selfe, Your most humble Servant. If you will be served by none but such as are worthy of you, such then only must have the honour to see you. Though we have not merits, yet we have desires, which are more intolerable to us, because they are lesse accompanyed with any hopes. But, if Love, continuing his ordinary miracles, shall make an extream affection pleasing unto you, I shall then, Madam, esteem my selfe infinitely happy, and you be most faithfully served: For I do know, that though all the

hearts in the world should joyne their forces together, to love and adore you, yet, they could not all equall the grandure of my Passion.

The flatteries of this Letter did please me, but comming from Thersander, I was asha∣med of them, wondring that such a one as he should dare to look upon me in this way: I was also offended with Leriana, thinking it strange she should be the bringer of any such Letters; and I was long in consultation with my selfe, whether I should complain of her, or take no notice of it: I resolved at the last to tell her, that I had throwne it into the fire, and never read it; and because I would flie all occasions, as well to stop all reports, as because I would have no occasion to put away Leriana, whose humour was very agree∣able unto me; and though I knew she was in a fault, yet my youth, and the affection I had unto her, constrained me to forget it, and to seek for excuses in her behalfe. A few daies after, she came unto me; and because I did not wear the Gloves which she gave me, ha∣ving an opinion they came from Thersander, as well as the Letter, she asked me, what I had done with them? I have given them away, said I unto her, because they were not fit for my hand. And the Paper within them, said she, what have you done with it? I threw it into the fire, answered I; was it of any importance? Did you not read it, said she? And I answering, No: She said, that she was very glad of it, because she was deceived by one whom she trusted but she thanked god, that the fire had purged away the fault.

What was it, (said I unto her)? You shall never know from me, said she; and I assure you, that since I did know what it was, which was within this houre, I was extreamly afraid you should have read it, and came now purposely to hinder you. This crafty wo∣man did think, that I had read it; but finding me not so well disposed as she desired, she thought it necessary to imprint a good opinion of her selfe in me, and to dissemble as well as I. And because she knew I loved Demon, she accused me with it, and condemned it; thinking that she could not build her designes upon a better foundation, then the ruines of that affection which I bare unto this Knight; and therefore she turned her wits wholly to ruine it: And because she knew very well, that I had no ill opinion of my selfe she fan∣cied, that Damon's affection unto me, was the cause of mine unto him; her designe was therefore, to put me into some doubts of him, conceiving there was no better way then jealousie, and that a generous spirit does more resent disdain, then any other offence: And though jealousie may proceed from severall causes, yet the principall is, when a Lover sees the party Loved, loves another, taking this new affection for an argument of disdain, and conceiving, that as she whom he loved did merit all his love, so also he ought to have all hers; in which she failing, he doth attribute it unto disdain.

But when she went about to execute her designe, she found it to be a piece of no small difficulty, since this Cavalier did not look upon any woman but my selfe; besides, it was requisite, that Leriana should have some power over her, of whom she should make me jealous, to the end, she might the better mould her unto her ends; moreover, that such a one be secret, and fair, and of such a quality, as might seem probable she deserved to be loved; it was very hard for her to finde all these qualifications in one person: But she, whose acute wit never found any thing impossible, after many a daies quest, in vain; at last, resolved upon a Niece, whom she brought up, and to supply all defects by her sub∣tlety. This was a young wench, whose name was Ormanthe young, both in age and spi∣rit, who indeed was owner of a fair face, but so shallow in all attracts of Love, as very few deemed her fair; yet notwithstanding, Leriana had an opinion, that she could so in∣struct her, that where nature was defective, her art would supply. In order to this, she took Ormanthe to task, chid her for the little care she had of her selfe, told her, she might be ashamed to see all her Companions courted and loved, who were much lesse fair then she was, and that she could not oblige the meanest Cavalier to love her; she told her, all this proceeded from her carelessnesse and want of wit, and that for her part if she did not resolve upon better courses, she would send her home to her Mother; for, if she stayed any longer in the Court, she would arrive at no other title, but an old Maid. Ormanthe, fearing that her Mother would give her but coorse treatment, if Leriana should send her home, she fell down upon her knees, with tears in her eyes, and beseeched her to pardon all her faults, and promised, that for the time to come, she would wholly conform her selfe unto her will. Leriana seeing so good a beginning, continued: Ormanthe, said she, all these tears and protestations will be in vain, if I do not see you change your behaviour and way of living; all your Companions are courted, and you are the only one that is

not. Do you think it is not a great griefe unto me, to see all the young Beauties in the Court waited upon, and when they walk, every one hath her Gallant to lead her, nay, some two or three, and you the only one that none looks upon? This, believe it, is a great disgrace unto you. Those who look you in the face, and finde it fairer then most of your Companions, must needs say, that if you be not courted, it must be, because you are poor, or that there is some fault, either in your Race, or in your Person: And truly, all this proceeds from your carelessnesse, and from your rude and rustick nature, which makes every one to shun you. And indeed, I know that Damon has a good minde to love you; I know it, because he has got some of his friends to tell me as much, and yet he can never finde a way how to approach you, you are so inaccessible, and because your retired humour will never give him an opportunity; he is the greatest Gallant in all the Court, and this would be a great honour unto you. Should this good fortune present it selfe unto any one of your Companions, Oh! how welcome it would be? What industry and artifice would they use to bring it to passe? Ormanthe, let me tell you this once for all, if I do keep you here in Court any longer, I shall expect, and desire you shall give, all occasions unto Da∣mon to love you, and do not fear, to let others see the favours you do him; for his de∣signe being to marry you, he will not think them disadvantageous to him. This was the lecture which Leriana read unto this young Wench: And truly, it was seed not sowed in barren ground, but produced plentifull effects. Ormanthe being naturally of a free and affable humour, without any dissimulation, and being put forward by Leriana's instru∣ctions, she did ever since that day apply her selfe with so many carrasses unto Damon, that he and all that saw it did wonder: The noise of it went so far, as I came to hear of it, and that by the artifice of Leriana, who by the means of Thersander, caused it to be spoken of in a place, where I might come to know of it; and to the end I should think there was no jugling in the businesse, Thersander never spoke of it, but caused some of his friends. However, I could not believe, Damon could love this foolish Wench better then me; since me thought, her beauty did not equall mine, as my Glass assured me: Moreover, when I considered my extraction and Ormanthe's, I could not imagine, he should be so inconsi∣derate in his choice, as to sleight me for such a one; which this crafty Leriana knowing very well, she was put upon a greater piece of artifice. There was an old woman, Aunt unto Leriana, who had lived all her life in much honour and reputation: Leriana did contrive the matter so, as this good old woman was acquainted with the carrasses, which Ormanthes used unto Damon, which were such, as when she heard of them, she could not rest untill she sent for Leriana; and she sent for her, to meet her in my Chamber, purposely that I might see when she spoke unto her. Their discourse was long, and the anger that I observed in them, made me desirous to know (when this good old woman was gone) what the matter was. She seemed very unwilling to tell me, and stood a long time with∣out an answer: At the last, because I was very urgent with her, she said thus unto me. See, Mistresse (for so she called me) how subtle Damon is; but yet, not so subtle as my selfe: he thought, that by his feigning love to you I should not see the affection which he bears unto Ormanthe: This subtlety had been good, had it been unto any other but my Niece; but, this doth so neerly concern me, that I must needs look neerly unto it; and he hath carried the matter so far beyond all prudence, as he must needs be blind that doth not see it. I think, that I have been told of it by above a hundred persons, and this good old woman came hither purposely to tell me of it; it is growne the common talk, and so dishonourable to my Niece, as I were to blame if I did suffer it, since she is under my charge. I have chid Ormanthe many times for it, but I think he hath bewitched her: For my part, I know not which way she takes him; for, though she be my Niece, yet, I must needs say, there is not any one more unlikely to make one in love with her, then she. Oh! how these words went to my heart? I retired into my Closet, whither this crafty woman followed me, being too well experienced in such accidents, to be ignorant of the operation these words had in me. And because I did put my whole confidence in her when we were alone, it was impossible for me to restrain my tears, or conceal from her my af∣fection, which I had so long hid. Oh! what extream contentment Leriana received by this declaration: And though her whole designe was only to divert me from the love of Damon; yet, she knew it was not yet time to strike, but must first weaken it a little more, before she did down-right attempt it: And in order to that, she would needs make me be∣lieve, that she was very much a friend unto that Cavalier, purposely, because I should not mistrust her; and therefore she spoke thus unto me: I must confesse, Mistresse, that you

have eased my heart; yet I am sorry, I should buy my ease at the expence of your sorrowes. Had I thought that Damon had loved you, I should never have feared his loving my Niece; he is a man of better judgment, then to change you for any other, it is only but some flash of youth, which makes him go a little astray from you, he will return again, I warrant you; and therefore let not this withdraw your affection from him: However, I make no doubt, but this act does much afflict you, and displeaseth you as much, as if it were some grand injury; and the reason is, because Love is a child, and is offended at a trifle. But, Mistresse, let it not trouble you any more; if you will but use a remedy which I shall prescribe, you shall both be presently cured, I will warrant you. Do you not know, that an over great light doth dazle? and that too great a noise doth deaf? So perhaps the beams of your affection, shining too freely upon him, hath lessened his love; for my part, I am apt to believe it so: I know, young spirits are ordinarily subject unto such things, and being too well assured of what they enjoy, they grow carelesse, and kick at abundance, which does beget in them new desires. But against this disease, as against many others, contraries must be applied. I am confident, that if you did but seem a little to withdraw from him, he will presently return to his duty, and cry you mercy for his fault. You may believe, Mistresse, that I do love you, because I use this language unto you; and I do give you the same counsell, as, if it were my case, I would take my selfe. In conclusion, this cunning Piece of subtlety so dissembled the matter, as, with many thanks, I promised to follow her counsell. It hapned, that Damon finding me something faint towards him, and laying the blame upon the carrasses which Ormanthe used towards him, did by de∣grees withdraw from her, and shunned her as much, as if he had been the Woman, and she the Man. Leriana took notice of it as well as I; and not to let slip any good occasion, one day, when we were by our selves in my Closet, she asked me, whether her counsell was not good? and whether I would not believe her another time? And I answering, Yes: She continued; Then, Mistress (said she) we-must do as good Physicians use to do, who having prepared the humours by some sleight medicines, do afterwards draw them quite away by remedies more strong. I will acquaint you with an art, which I have seen much used amongst Lovers. There is nothing which a Lover does more sharply resent, then paugs of jealousie, nor which awakens him more, nor will sooner make him return to his duty: If Damon were a little touched with it, you should see how soon he would return, how he would cast himselfe at your feet, and acknowledge his offence. I could not chuse but laugh when I heard these words, thinking, that I was not able to obtain so much power over my selfe; yet considering, what good effects her first counsell produced, I resolved to believe her in this: But, (said I unto her) of whom shall we make use of for this businesse? She durst not propound Thersander unto me, because of the former passages, but she had a desire it should proceed from me, and therefore she answered me thus: This question, Mi∣stresse, is very pertinently asked, and it must be advisedly thought upon; for, he must be such a one, as will not hurt your reputation, and therefore I do conclude, he must be one, of whom you may absolutely dispose, and one, so far inferiour to you, as you may with∣draw when you please, and he not dare to be offended, or that every one should believe you did but fool him. Then looking upon the ground, and scratching her head, as if she were much puzled to finde out one, upon a sudden she looked upon me, and said; Why should we look so long for one that is so neer? who better then Thersander, you may do what you please with him, and he dare not be offended; besides, he is discreet, and has no small affection unto you already; so as I cannot imagine one more fit for such a purpose then he. When she named Thersander, I remembered the sormer passages, and did think, that she made choice of him sooner then any other, because she loved him; but also I knew, that his quality and discretion was such, as were very suitable for the businesse which I in∣tended him for: And though my high spirit did forbid me to cast my eyes upon one of so mean a rank; yet, my affection unto Damon, and my desire to recall him, did make me condescend unto Leriana's counsell: And therefore I began to look with a more favourable aspect upon Thersander, and to talk with him; but it was with much shame, when I per∣ceived any saw me. Damon, whose affection was extream, did presently perceive this alceration. And Leriana told Thersander, that his discreet and humble carriage unto me, had wrought such good effects, as that I loved him almost as well as he loved me. The least shadow of a favour from me, seemed to be great and substantiall; and though I did behave my selfe to him in a way of indifferency, yet, the least syllable I spoke, was a fa∣vourable sentence; and this made him to brisk up himselfe, and look bigger then ordi∣nary,

and all by the false hopes which this subtle woman had infused into him: So as Da∣mon soon observed all this; & calling to minde the Letter which he saw me receive in a pair of Gloves, and from thence drawing many disadvantageous couclusions, both against himselfe and me, he did believe, that through the solicitations of Leriana, I had enter∣tained the affection of Thersander, and rejected him. After he had patiently endured thus a while, in hopes of some change, but finding none, he being not able to endure it any lon∣ger, resolved to upbraid me with it; and because Leriana was continually with me, he could not possibly finde any opportunity of speech with me, unlesse in the Chamber of Leontidas: And therefore, as I was rising from the Table, and far off this woman, he seeing that he could have no better occasion, did close with it, and said unto me: Is all this, be∣cause you have a minde to kill me, or because you would try, how a person that loves infinitely can endure rigour? I answered him faintly, Your death does concern me no more, then my rigours concern you. He would have replyed, but Leriana came to us, and by her presence, constrained Damon to be silent; and besides, I turned towards her, and did not give him the leasure. This crafty woman looking upon me, did make a signe, that this was an effect of her advice, and afterwards whispering in my ear; This said she, is a very good beginning, continue your sleighting him, and you shall see a strange operation. Ah, most subtle woman! she had good reason to say, a strange operation; for it did operate so, as made me as miserable a woman as ever was. So, sage Shepheardesses, I did continue sleighting him, and would not daigne so much, as to turn towards this Ca∣valier, who went out of the house so much out of himselfe, as he was ready to sheath his Sword in his own breast; and I believe, had not his intention of killing Thersander re∣strained him, he had executed this strange resolution against himself: And that which hindred him from falling presently upon Thersander, was his fear of displeasing me, knowing that it would be a great wound unto my reputation, if, upon that account, he should assault him; and therefore, when the sury of his passion was a little cooled, he went on, and studied for some other pretence of quarrell. When he met Ormanthe, who accor∣ding to her custome, came, and took him about the neck he was in no very good humour, did push her a little back, and told her, That he wondred she was not afraid of that cen∣sure, which all people would give upon such actions. Whom should I fear, or care for, (said she) so I be but pleasing and welcome unto you? Were it of no other, said Damon, yet you ought to stand in fear of Leriana. Of Leriana (said she and laughed)? Damon, you are deceived, for I am sure, that I cannot please her better, then to carrasse and make much of you. This Cavalier knowing, that Leriana wished him ill and hearing these words, did presently suspect some treason; which to prevent, and taking Ormanthe aside, he desired her to tell him, how she knew, that Leriana would be pleased with her for this? Ormanthe, who was far from a deep Polititian, and who thought, to excuse her selfe, by laying the fault upon her Aunt, she told him all the discourse of Leriana, and the com∣mands she had laid upon her so to do.

Damon, who was very wise, after he had a little thought upon it, did plainly see, that the change in my affection did proceed from an opinion, that he loved this Wench; and seeming to take no notice of it, he left her, with a resolution to tell me, let Leriana say what she would. Fortune, it seemed, favoured him with a fit opportunity; for the same day, Torrismond intended to hunt; and because the Queen was wont to accompany him, I, with the rest of my Companions, took horse, and waited upon her. The Stag being roused, and all the Doggs following full cry after him, all the Company full speed fol∣lowed after the Chase. Now began all the Hunters to part; those who had the flightest Horse, left the rest behinde them. Damon, who was well mounted, kept his eye still upon me, and seeing me separated from all the Company, he took into a way which he thought I would passe; and feigning that his Horse had fallen upon him, he seemed as if he had hurt his leg; and to procure the more beliefe of it, he dirtyed his head and shoulder on the one side and his Horse also, giving his Man charge to keep at a distance. When I was pas∣sing the way, he crossed it, and taking my Horse by the Bridle, he stayed him; at which I was much surprised, fearing, that his love had transported him beyond his discretion: but fearing, that if I should seem too fearfull, he would grow more bold; I made a vertue of necessity, and spoke to him in a confident tone, saying: What do you mean, Damon? how dare you be so bold as to interrupt me in my way? Necessity, Madam, answered he, which hath no Law, hath constrained me to commit the fault: if, after you have heard me, you shall deem it worthy of punishment, I will promise you to receive it, or any thing

that shall give you satisfaction. Then lifting his eyes up to heaven: Oh ye gods, (said he) who hear and see the secrets of all dissembling hearts, be witnesses unto what I shall say unto this fair One, and if I do not say truth, you are not just, if you do not punish me before her fair face. Then turning towards me; I will not at this time, fair Mandon∣the, (said he) either excuse my selfe, or accuse you, for the choice you are pleased to make of Thersander before me, and your forgetting so many vowes and oaths which you in∣voked the gods to witnesse: But I must needs complain against my fortune, which will not let me avoid that misery, which I do foresee. As soon as ever Leriana came to you, me thought some Daemon foretold me, of the harm which she would do me; you know, how oft we resolved never to confide in her; but, my bad destinies, more strong then all our resolutions, hath made you change your minde, and would needs have you to love her: If you do but finde any contentment in it, though I endure the most cruell torments that ever soul suffered; I shall thank the gods, and pray them to continue it. But, it being a thing impossible for me to leave you in any doubt of my fidelity; and though I know it will be in vain, and that you will not credit it; yet, I must needs tell you, how maliciously and craftily she hath ruined all my happinesse. Then he told me, how Leriana loved him, how she had carrassed him, how he rejected her, and how deadly she did hate him for this refusall; and to verifie what he told me, he shewed me the Letters which she had written unto him, and acquainted me with the counsell and instructions she gave Orman∣the, to apply her selfe unto him, only to make me believe, he was in love with her; and acquainted me, how he came to the knowledge of all this, and how this malicious woman did not value the honour of her Niece, so she could thereby ruine me, and make you love Thersander, which she knew she could never do, but by ravishing from me the honour and happinesse of your favour. But Oh ye gods! is it possible she should ever bring it to passe? can I so much as ever doubt it, since I saw the Letter in the Gloves, and since I see you so kinde unto him, that is so much unworthy of you? But, what better evidence then your own words, can I have to assure me, that I am most miserable, that I am condem∣ned, and that I am for ever lost?

Well, Mandonthe, since it is my bad fortune to be a cause, that the generous spirit which I ever knew to be in you, is not only stained with Inconstancy, but with a choice that is base and dishonourable; I am resolved not to survive your affection, but will make it appear, that I have love enough to wash away your offence with my blood. Imagine, wise Diana, how I was amazed at this expression; I was so struck with fear, as I could not answer him, or speak one word of a long time. And when I began, with intention to give him all the satisfaction he could desire, I saw the Chase comming upon us, and it was so neer us, as, not to be seen alone with Damon, I was constrained to part from him, and had not time to say any more but this: Truth shall alwaies prevail. Then switching my Horse, I rid into the Wood, very sorry that I could not give him a better answer. I would have commanded him to follow me if I durst, but I was afraid any should see us together, and therefore referred it untill a better occasion. Now observe, I beseech you, how the gods does mock at mortall prudence; I made choice of the next morning, to put poor Damon out of his pain, and it was that day which brought him more torment.

I need not tell you how he passed away that night, it is easily imagined that he had not any good rest; but, as soon as day came, he went out of his Chamber; and it being about the houre I was used to rise, he went to walk in a Gallery, out of which, he might see into my Chamber, when the dore was open, intending to go in, as soon as he under∣stood that I was out of my bed. But, as fortune was, I awaked very late that morning, as well, because I was weary with hunting the day before, as because I sat up very late, rea∣ding and musing upon the Letters which Leriana writ unto him, and he had given unto me: In which I found such supplications and expressions, as were most unworthy of any woman; for in the conclusion of one of them, I found these words: Accept, Oh dearest and lovely Damon, the prayers of her, that wholly gives her selfe unto you, upon no other condition, but only to be yours; and this, if not out of Love, yet, I beseech you, out of Pitty. Truly I was extreamly astonished at it, and I vexed so, that I should be so extreamly deceived, as I could not close my eyes a long time after I was in bed. But whilst Damon, as I told you, was walking in this Gallery, Leriana, who saw him there, would try, whether a Lover could be put to death by displeasure; for, having found Thersander al∣so at the same time, she carried him unto a window, just under that on which she saw Da∣mon leaned sometimes, when he was weary with walking; and having observed, that he

was there at that time, she spoke thus unto Thersander, in a voice loud enough, and pur∣posely to be heard: And to the end you may know, dear Brother, that Mandonthe does really love you, and that she does but laugh at all those, who think she loves them, she commanded me yesterday, when she came from Hunting, to give you this Ring, which she caused to be made purposely for you: She desires you to love her, and to wear it as a symbol of your affection; she hath another, which she wears her selfe, just like it, which she will alwaies wear, as an assurance, that her will shall never differ from yours, more then the Ring she sends you differs from hers. Oh heavens! what treason is this? Is it pos∣sible such villany should be invented by any human spirit? For the truth is, I had a Ring just like that which she gave him, and had worn it long; and this wicked Devill got an∣other to be secretly counterfeited, purposely for this end. Damon, who, as I told you, leaned upon the window, and hearing her voice, did presently know it, and leaning his head further out of the window, to hearken more attentively, he heard all these words that I have told you: And because she did put her arme out of the window, purposely that Damon might see the Ring, he remembered very well, that he had seen me have such ano∣ther. And whilst he was thus leaning himselfe out of the window, he heard Thersander answer her: I swear by all the gods (said he) that this Ring is so beyond all expressions welcome unto me, as I do wish Mandonthe may never love me, if I do not wear it to my grave, as a testimony, that I am eternally hers, and that it is infinitely dearer unto me, then my own heart. Upon this, he took it, and after many kisses, he put it upon his finger.

Whether or no Damon was transported, and whether he had not reason to transgresse the limits of duty, I leave you to judge, wise Diana; and yet, he had so much power over himselfe in his anger, as he neither did nor said any thing, which could give any know∣ledge of it, lest if any knew it, he might be hindered in the execution of his designe. At the same time, the Queen went into the Temple, to be present at the sacrifices which were offered almost every morning; and because Lcontidas's Wife never left her, I went also, as the rest of the Court Ladies did; of which, Damon not being advertised untill we were all in our Coaches, he took Horse, and overtook us, as we were entring into the Temple. And see how unfortunate we were, I was fully resolved to admit of all his excuses, and to assure him that I did love him, what demonstrations soever I had given to the contrary; and to make good my words, I would have broke off all friendship with Leriana, and all familiarity with Thersander, and sought out for opportunity to tell Damon as much. But he, being abused by the treason of false Leriana, when he saw me, he looked with such an angry brow, and so sleighted me, as I became offended with him, not knowing or i∣magining what cause he should have so to do; yet, presently after, remembring how I had made him jealous, I did excuse him. We all went into the Temple, and the sacrifice be∣gun, during which, I observed, that he looked upon me very often, but, with such angry eyes, and brow beating frownes, as plainly spoke him to be very much transported. But hear, I beseech you, into what an extasie this passion did hurry him: When the sacrifice was offered, and every one in the midst of their zeal and devotion upon their knees, he rose up, and with a loud voice uttered these words: Oh great god, who art adored in this sacred place, by all this devout assembly; if thou beest just, why dost thou not punish a soul, that is the most perfidious, and most cruell, in all the world? I demand justice of thee in her presence, to the end, that if she have any thing to alledge in her defence, she may: but, if she cannot, and thou not punish her, I will say, thou art either unjust, or im∣puissant.

You may imagine, wise Shepheardesse, in what a case I was in, and how fearfull I was, lest he should say more, and make it known, that it was I of whom he spoke. All the Assembly turned their eyes towards him, as well, because he spoke with a voice full of terrour, as because of his unaccustomed way of doing it. But he, after this, said no more, only kneeled down upon his knees, and seemed very zealous at his devotion. This moved many unto various censures; and it was well for me, that I had a Hood over my face, which kept it from being seen; for doubtlesse, my very blushes would have betrayed me, and told all the congregation, that it was I he meant, His friends and kinsmen thought this prayer to be very unseasonable, and as soon as all divine service was done, they sought for him, to tell him their opinions; but, they all missed of their aimes, for he thrust himselfe into the croud, and slipt away to his lodging; where, after he had set all his businesse in order, he writ a Letter unto me, and put it into his pocket; then writ these words unto Ther∣sander.

Damon's Challenge unto Thersander.

IF the injury I have received from you were of that nature, as could be satisfied with any thing but blood, I should not desire, Thersander, to see you alone with a sword in your hand: But, since I can no other way receive satisfaction, and being assured, your cou∣rage will not be more backward in fighting then offending, I send this man unto you, whom you know to be my servant, and who will conduct you to the place where I am, without any other Armes, then as we usually wear by our sides; promising you, by the honour of a Cavalier, that you shall finde none to defend your selfe from, but him, whose name is Damon.

He gave command unto a young man, whose name was Halladine, who served him, and whom he loved very well, both for his affection and ingenuity, that he should bring him a Horse to the out-side of the Town-walls, and another for himselfe, and this in all haste, and so secretly, as none should see Halladine did as he was commanded. And when they were thus both out of the Town, Damon left the high-way, and chusing out a place fit for his purpose, and out of the common passage, he acquainted Halladine with his intention, gave him his instructions and the Letter which he writ unto Thersander. The young man, desirous to serve his Master according to his commands, found out Thersander, and delivered his message so handsomely, as none took any notice of it. But, why should I spend any more time upon this subject? Thersander went, they fought, Da∣mon was Conquerour, and left Thersander bleeding upon the place, with three dangerous wounds in his body: 'Tis true, Damon was but in little better condition; but he had strength enough to take the Ring, which Leriana gave to Thersander, off his finger, whilst he was in a sound; and getting upon his horse, he rid away, commanding Halladine to follow him.

As for my part, I had a great desire to give this Cavalier all contentment, and looked about for him with as searching eyes as any in the company, wondring I could not see him. After dinner and not dreaming of this mischance which hapned, as I and one of my Companions was walking in the Garden, I saw Halladine comming, who addressing him∣selfe unto me, asked, if Leriana was not here lately? And causing her to be called, he ad∣dressed himselfe unto her in this manner.

Leriana, My Master knowing how welcome the newes I bring would be unto you, hath commanded me to tell it unto you, not for any affection that is betwixt you, but because knowes Mandonthe loves you. Then he related the whole passage of the Com∣bat, and afterwards continued on: When he was got on Horseback again, said he, and when I saw him ride into places least frequented, I wondred; for he was much wounded, and I could not chuse but cell him, that I thought it more necessary to seek out a good Chirurgion, to dresse his wounds. He answered me, we shall finde one presently Halla∣dine, never fear it. I thought he had said true, and believed him, following him still, with abundance of pitty, for he had lost a great abundance of blood. At last, he came to the banks of the River Garrone, and to a place where there was such a Precipice, as was a ter∣rour to look down. Being come unto this place, he would light from his Horse; but he was so weak with the losse of so much blood, as I must needs help him to alight. Then leaning his back against the Rock, he pulled a Paper out of his pocket, and holding it in his hand, said unto me: This Letter is directed unto the fair Mandonthe, be sure you give it unto her. Then pulling out the Ring which he took from Thersander; Give her this also, said he unto me, and assure her from me, that death is very welcome to me, since I have given a testimony, that I did deserve it better then he unto whom she gave it; and since my sword hath sent him out of the world, whom she thought so worthy of it: con∣jure her by her own merits, and the affection she once vowed unto me, that she never be∣stow it hereafter upon one, whose Love is dishonourable to her, and who could no better keep it. I took the Letter and the Ring which he gave me; but seeing he had not strength enough to sustain himselfe, and that he grew very pale, I took him under the arme, bad him be of good heart, and not thus be a murderer of himselfe: And pulling out my hand∣kerchiefe, I would have stopped that wound which bled the most But he, taking it hastily out of my hand: Stay, stay, Hallidane, said he, never think of living, now I am out of Mandonthe's favour. Then holding my handkerchiefe under his wound, be received the

blood as it ran out; and when it was almost full, he held it to me, and spoke these words: Make it appear, Halladine, upon this last occasion, that my love to thee, and my choice of thee for thy fidelity, was deserved: And as soon as I am dead, carry this Letter and this Ring unto Madonthe, and this handkerchiefe full of blood unto Leriana, and tell her, that since she could never be satisfied with doing me hurt as long as I lived, I have sent her this blood to stop her insatiable malice. Oh Sir, (said I unto him) shall I live to see you die for any woman living? Rather command me to sheath my sword in their hearts, and to let them know, they are not worthy to use such a noble Cavalier in this manner But, see the height and strength of his affection! though he was in such a pittifull weak con∣dition, that he could hardly speak; all he was able to do, was, to lean against the Rock: yet, when he heard me utter these words, he started up in fury, took his sword in his hand, and doubtlesse had killed me, had I not saved my selfe by nimblenesse. And seeing he could not reach me: Away, away, thou wicked and disloyall Servant, (cryed he out) darest thou speak so irreverently of the most deserving Woman in the whole Universe? If I live, thou shalT die by no other hand but mine. Then finding extream feeblenesse to seize upon him, he endeavoured to get near the point of the Rock: You do lose, this day, Oh fairest Madonthe, (said he) him, whose affection is onely worthy of your merits. Then, (Oh heavens!) he leaned over the Rock to throw himselfe down, and was almost quite gone, when I suddenly took hold of his Helmet; but, his weight, and the terrour of the Precipice, was more likely to pull me after him, than I to pull him out of it; and, I must confesse, that fear of death made me let go my hold, to save my own life. I ran to the bottom of this Precipice, fetching a great compasse round about, in hopes to finde him there swimming down the stream: But alas! I could never see, nor ever finde more, of the body of my poor Master. When I had done all I could, and all in vain, I thought it my last duty to fulfill his last commands, and therefore I came hither. It is to you, Madam, (said he) that this Letter and this Ring is due••; and though they be sprinkled with his blood, yet, be not afraid to take them, for, it is the most noble and generous blood that ever came out of a man. And this is thy due (said he to Leriana, and gave her his handkerchief full of blood) take it, and glut thy damned rage; and be sure, that if the gods be just, they will shoure vengeance upon thee. Upon this word, he threw the handkerchiefe at her seet, and beginning to cry, he went away in a sad and desperate sury, and would not give one word more.

I need not tell you, how this message went to my heart. I cannot, if I would, expresse my sad apprehensions; I was so quite past my selfe, as they carried me to my Chamber; and, as fortune was, I met those that brought Thersander, who was not quite dead. When I was come to my selfe again, and my spirits a little better setled, I cast my eye upon the Ring which Halladine brought me; I took it to be the same I did ordinarily wear, and comparing them together, I found no difference, but that it was a little newer and bigger. I could not imagine why they should be made so just alike, nor who gave it unto Ther∣sander. At last, I read the Letter, and found it to be thus written.

Damon's Letter unto Madonthe.

MADAM,

SInce Leriana's malice is more predominant in you, than my true affection, and hath caused you, in lieu of being favourable unto me, to cast your eye upon a person, who is so much unworthy of you, and to confirm your good acceptance of him by the gift of a Ring: I am resolved to make it appear by Armes, that he, upon whom you confer these favours, is not able to preserve them against him, whom you have so unjustly refused: And that if either Valour or affection can merit them, none can pretend unto them more then my selfe. Yet, conceiving my selfe not worthy to live, and love one that can disdain me for a man of such mean merit and valour; if the fate of Armes do favour me, as I do not doubt but they will, I promise you, that the sight of me shall never make you desire any revenge, for taking away from you your dear Thersander; if either Sword, or Water, or Fire, can give death to a most miserable man.

These expressions, so full of extream transport, did make a most strange wound in my soul; such an odd stupification of sorrow seized upon me, as I cannot tell you what I either said or did. So it was, that being got to bed, I lost my witts, thinking alwaies that Da∣mon

followed me, and the handkerchiefe of blood was still before my eyes; so as it was no more then requisite I should have one alwaies by me, to add some consolation. Leriana, who thought that I was ignorant of all her wicked devices, would needs be with me, as usuall, and the better to dissemble it, came crying to my bed-side: But, as soon as ever I saw her, I must confesse, I had not so much power over my selfe, as to dissemble my ha∣tred of her, and indeed, I thought it in vain, since Damon was dead: Away, away, most wicked and perfidious wretch, (said I unto her) away, thou very Pest of all human so∣ciety, come not near me with thy damned and hellish tricks, had I as much strength as will, I would strangle thee with my own hands, and tear thy heart in pieces. Those who were in the Chamber, being ignorant of the cause I had for these expressions, were infi∣nitely astonished at them. But she, who had the readiest wit in her wickednesse, of any that ever breathed, went from me, holding up her hands and eyes, and told them, that, to hee great griefe, I was mad, and quite out of my wits, which they easily believed, having heard me utter some odd expressions; and thus she went out of my Chamber with this excuse.

In the mean while, Thersander recovered, for his wounds were not mortall, and the losse of blood only was the cause of his sounding. Presently after, I also began to be my selfe again and to enquire, what reports went of me at Court: I understood, that every one talked according to their severall fancies, but that all in generall blamed me for the death of Damon, and how every one thought, that Leriana had told many a tale unto Leontidas and his Wife; and at the same time, I saw Thersander come into my Chamber: The very sight of him made me start, and having no minde to speak with him, when he fell down upon his knees at my beds side, I turned my head the other way. 'Tis very true, Madam, said he) you have no reason to look upon a man, who, of all men in the world, is the most unworthy of your aspect; for, I must needs confesse, I merit that lesse, then any man that lives, since I have given you so much cause to hate me. But, if your goodnesse will be pleased to daigne me a hearing, perhaps you will not deem me so culpable as now you do. And because I answered him very sharply and would not give him leave to speak, my Nurse, who was with me, took his part, and told me, that I ought to hear him; for, if he were not in fault, I had no reason to treat him so; and, if he were in fault, then I might, after a hearing, with more reason banish him my presence. Well, well, said I, what do you think he will, or can, alledge? I know as well as he, he will say, that the affection he bears unto me, hath forced him to do what he did: But, what have I to do with his affection, if it be so prejudiciall to me? I shall not, Madam, (said he unto me) insist only upon that affection you speak of, though perhaps to any other, that might be a better plea and excuse, as you think it; but, I shall go further, and tell you, that never any were so perniciously & subtlely consened, as you and I have been by Leriana. And hereupon he told the whole story of her jugling artifice, how she infused so much confidence into him, as to look upon me, to speak unto me, to aspire unto my favour; how she puffed him up by reports unto him of favours from me, what stratagems she invented against Damon, how she made the world believe he loved Ormanthe, how she instructed silly Ormanthe for that purpose, and how she gave him a Ring from me, which he conceived to be the cause of the quarrell betwixt Damon and him. Now Madam, (said he, and con∣tinued) do you think it possible, but that such hopes as she infused into me, should swell the most prudent soul that ever was? Alas, I dare not so much as wish so great a happiness; but me-thinks, I may in reason be excused, since I was meerly drawn in, and possed up with vain hopes by the artifice of Leriana, with whose persidie I thought fit to acquaint you, that you may hereafter beware of her, and her wicked devices, with which she has cheated both you and me. Then he let me understand, how this wicked woman, seeing she could no longer deceive me and him, and being also reprehended by Leontidas and his Wife, for having so little care of me; she, to excuse her selfe, had told them all that her subtle imagination could devise against us; how I was in love, and how I was loved by many, and so many, as she could hardly number them: and amongst those whom she na∣med, Damon and Thersander were not forgotten. At which, Leontidas was so angry, and his Wife more, both against me and against him, as he thought it fit to acquaint me with it, to the end, I might take the best course I could. And lastly, he made such humble sup∣plications, that I would pardon him, for daring to love me, and such serious protestations, to live for the future as he ought, that I was constrained by the intreaties of my Nurse, to pardon him.

But now, wise Shepheardesses, I shall acquaint you with one of the greatest villanies that ever was invented against an innocent person. I told you before, how Ormanthe, by Leriana's command, was extreamly fond of Damon; and you must know, that she was not so ill favoured, nor so disgusted, but her kindnesses to him were well accepted, so as she proved to be with Child. The poor silly Wench presently acquainted her crafty Aunt with it, who at the first was much astonished and offended at it; but afterwards having recourse to her accustomed subtlety, she plotted and intended to make use of this occasion, to make Damon believe, that I had this Child by Thersander; and therefore she expresly charged Ormanthe, to tell no body of it in the world; and afterwards, because her belly began to swell, she taught her how to dresse her selfe, that it might best deceive the worlds notice. But when Damon was dead; and that all things were changed, yet she resolved to pursue her plot, and make use of it to my ruine; and thus she went to work. Since this sad accident of Damon, I kept my bed almost continually unlesse in the afternoones I rose, and shut my selfe up in my Closet, and there stayed till nine or ten of the clock at night, en∣tertaining my own melancholly thoughts alone, and none knew where I was, except my Nurse and some Maides that waited upon me, whom I had charged, to tell none in the world where I was. And because it might be thought strange I never went to the Queen, if it were known I was not sick, I faigned my selfe to be so; and to deceive the Physicians, I did not complain of a Feavour or any other known disease, but sometimes of a Megrim, othertimes of my Teeth, of the Collick, and such like. And because my friends would sometimes send to visit me, not daring to come themselves, for fear of offending Leontidas and his Wife, who were very potent with the King and Queen, I commanded my Nurse to put some of the Maides into my bed, who should receive the messages for me, and who faigning to be unwilling to speak, my Nurse should make the answer; the Windowes being close shut and the Curtains drawn, no light almost came into the Chamber, so as none could tell whether it was I or no. Leriana knew by her Niece, that it was my constant custome to shut my selfe up in my Closet, every afternoon: And because I was no hater of Ormanthe, though she had been simply instrumentall in my misery, therefore I permitted her to be alwaies amongst my Maides: for, what she had done, was not out of any malice unto me: And at this time, she told Leriana all passages concerning me, more out of simplicity, then any hatred unto me. But her Aunt, whose aime was absolutely to ruine me and my reputation, nay, even to take away my life, lest I should make known all the villany unto Leontidas, she thought, that she had met with a fit occasion to effect her wicked desires. And because she was sure, Thersander had acquainted me with her arti∣fices and tricks, which she had used against Damon and me she turned all her affection to him into mortall hatred. And there being never in this world a spirit so full of subtlety and malice, as this woman, she aimed to be revenged upon Thersander and me both at once; and thus she had laid her plot. She asked Ormanthe, how long she thought her selfe to have been with Child? and upon reckoning up of the time, she found, that she was within a month of her Account; of which Leriana was very glad: And after she had bid her be of good courage, she commanded her, to keep her big belly very close, and that as soon as e∣ver she found any throwes of Labour to be upon her, then to acquaint her; and in the mean time to get into my bed in my room as oft as she could. And making this to be the foun∣dation of her treason, she went unto the Wife of Leontidas, and falling down upon her knees, most humbly beseeched her to pardon her carelessnesse in observance of me. And because she knew, that the aimes of this Lady were more at my Estate then me, and since there was no likelyhood, that her Nephew would marry me, she added these words: If you will be pleased, Madam, to take me into your favour again, I shall shew you a most infallible and just way to make all Madonthe's Estate yours. The Lady hearing this pro∣position, so suitable to her humour, she began to hearken unto it, and asked her, what way was it that she meant? I shall in few words acquaint you, (said this wicked devill) but, Madam, upon condition, that you will pardon a new fault which I shall acquaint you withall. And commanding her to speak freely, Leriana thus continued: Madonthe, (in the person of whom, god, Madam, seemes to love you, since he would not let her be in your house) is the most miserable and lost woman in all Aquitain; and I must confesse, I never thought, that one so young as she could have deceived one of my age; her modest be∣haviour, her high looks her family from whence she is descended, and those good exam∣ples which she had of you, might well move me to answer for her chastity as for my own; and yet for all this, I have discovered, that she is with Child, How! Madonthe,

with Child, said the Lady? Yes, Madam, (answered Leriana) and more then that, she is ready to be brought to Bed. But how, replyed she, and from whom do you know this? Madam, said she, I most humbly beseech you to pardon me, and to believe that I was not so carelesse in the charge which you gave me, as you imagine: Considering her demeanour, I might easily be deceived, and could never imagine, she should ever look so low, as to love such a man as Thersander. I see now, that jealousie has clearer eyes then any pru∣dence; for Damon found this out, which my eyes could never see. At last, I came to know it by the means of a Midwife, unto whom she had addressed her selfe for a Medicine, to make her selfe miscarry: But, the good woman being vertuous, and hating such wicked∣nesse, did answer her, That she could not, because now the Child was entirely formed, nay, ready to be born; but, she would do thus much for her, she could make her labour so easie and speedy, as none should ever know any thing. Now this woman came and ac∣quainted me. And because I was very desirous to know who the father was, I asked her, if she could suspect any person? Very hardly said she unto me, unlesse it be Thersander, for, as oft as I looked upon her belly, or she thought upon the danger she was in she would say nothing else, but, Ah Thersander, thy affection will cost me dear. This makes me judge it to be him. Now Madam I beseech you consider, how could I keep her from this man? a domestick, a base man, infinitely her inferiour: Could I ever imagine, she should look so low as him? But, since she hath rendred her selfe unworthy of your alliance, let her be punished accor∣ding to her merits, and make her an example unto all of her age, whilst you do enjoy that Fortune and Estate, which she is unworthy of; and this is the way: You know, Madam, that by our Lawes, every woman who offends in Chastity, is to die by fire. We shall very easily convict her of this crime, since she hath a witnesse of it in her own belly. And because those who are thus condemned, do not only lose their lives, but their Estates are also consiscate to the King, be you the first that shall beg Mandonthe's. Leontidas came into the Room, and finding Leriana there: How (said he to his Wife) can you endure the sight of her, who is the cause of our displeasures? His Wife, full of desire to be Mistris of my Estate, went to him, and took him to the window, there told him how the case stood: And though he was a person of honour, and a generous minded man; yet, she wrought so with him, that at the last he consented unto what she desired: So calling Leriana, he commanded her to tell him the truth, and be sure to say no more, then what she could justifie. She, with an incredible impudence, repeated all, that before she had told unto his Wife, and farther told him, that if he would not believe her, let him finde out any Midwife, so she were one that was unknown to me, and let him receive the truth from her report. Leontidas thought this to be a good way & the next morning he sent for one. It hapned so, as that day her Niece, by her command, was in my place in bed; and to keep my Nurse for taking any notice of what she intended to do, she sent for her unto her Chamber, under pretence of some earnest businesse with her, so as there was none in my Chamber of any judgment; and so Leriana going in with the Midwife, and having fully instructed her Niece what she should say, she went unto her, and said: Madam I promised to bring one unto you, who would administer some comfort unto you; I have now kept my word. Ormanthe, in a low voice, answered, that she was very welcome. Are you pleased, Madam, said the Midwife, that I should see in what condition you are in? Yes, said Ormanthe. Then she put her hand into the bed, and upon her belly, and did such things as are usuall upon such occasions: and as fortune was, the Child stirred, so as the pains of Labour were presently upon the poor Wench; and in lesse then two houres, she was, without any noise, or any in the Room that could take any notice, brought to bed. Leriana seeing things fall out so well according to her designe, she sent the two Maids who were in the Cham∣ber upon two severall errands, and so was alone in the Chamber; she caused her Niece within an houre after to rise, and in the mean while, they held the little Child unto the fire. Then to compleat her treason, she, with the Midwife, carried it stark naked unto Le∣ontidas, being very desirous that every one should see it as she went out of my Chamber and Lodgings: I heard it cry into my Closet where I was, but never mistrusting any such villa∣ny, I would not be diverted from my sad thoughts. She addressed her self first unto the Wife of Leontidas, and this testimony, together with the Midwife, did give her such assurance, as she did believe it, and Leontidas also. But the better to cover her treason, she beseeched the Lady to content her selfe with my Estate, and that if she would be pleased to spare my life, she was confident, considering the fault I had committed, that I would be willing to cloister up my selfe all the rest of my daies, amongst the Druides Daughters or Vestalls:

and that this would be acceptable unto god, to save my life, and not to stain so noble a Family as mine with an act so infamous. That though my fault was great yet she could not forget the affection she once did bear unto me, as long as I did behave my selfe as I ought; and therefore she could not chuse but make this request. The Wife of Leontidas having no designe upon my life, but only upon my Estate, did consent unto it; but Leontidas him∣selfe, being a man of honour, was long before he could consent unto it: But at last the importunities of his Wife, together with the dissembling tears of Leriana, and the remem∣brance of his obligations unto my Father; all these did so work with him, as they both commanded Leriana to perswade me, unto what she had proposed.

But this not being the designe of this devillish woman, she desired them first to let some daies passe, and beseeched Leontidas and his Wife, to let some go with her, to see in what condition I was: Which they did, commanding an old Lady, and an old Cavalier, in whom they had good assurance, to wait upon Leriana. She, with the Midwife, after the Child was put to Nurse, conducted them into my Chamber, went to my bed, and when she found me not in it, she seemed amazed; she turned up the clothes, and shewed them the signes of a Woman in Child-bed; and faigning not to know where I was, did seek about for me, and at last found me in my Closet: She called them unto her, and shewed me unto them through the chincks of the dore. All this while I knew nothing, but was then laid down upon a little Couch, with my hand under my head, musing upon the miserable fate of Damon, so as they might easily see the sad thoughts of my heart by my face. This wicked wretch made them believe, that my being ill proceeded from my being newly brought to bed, which they, seeing my sad posture, did very easily believe: And being thus deceived, they returned, and made their report unto Leontidas and his Wife. In the mean time, Leriana staying alone with the Midwife, did change the sheets of my bed, and all things, that might give any knowledge of what had passed. Afterwards conjured the woman not to speak of it, but to observe the time and the place very precisely; and then they went out of my Lodging. My Nurse presently after returned, and finding no∣thing altered in my Chamber, did wonder at nothing, but not to see Ormanthe in my bed; but, supposing she had some businesse, she made no great matter of it. Night being come, and the usuall time of my going to bed, I went into it, and slept till the morning, without any manner of imagination of these things. In the mean time, Leriana had in∣vented strange Messages and Orations in my name, telling Leontidas and his Wife that I did most humbly beseech them to have pitty upon me; that I did acknowledge my life to be in their hands; that I did wholly give my selfe unto them, and that I desired no more, but to be shut up in some retired place, where none could see me; that as soon as I was able to stir abroad, I would come and beg pardon for the fault which I had committed, and desire leave to sequester my selfe from the world. To be briefe, wise Shepheardesses, this hellish woman did so well manage her wickednesse, that six weeks passed thus on. In the mean time, Ormanthe was so well recovered, as if she were a Maid again, and so, as none could imagine she had been with Child, but was fairer then before. Leriana had so well instructed her, that when I asked her, why she went away without telling me? she answered, That she durst not knock at my dore for fear of disturbance, and that when she went, she thought, that she should not have stayed away above two or three daies at the most, and so thought to have returned, before I should take notice she was gone, though her businesse with her Aunt did keep her longer. I received her excuse, and only told her, that she might well have asked leave.

Things being in this condition, Leriana feared nothing now, but the being convinced of a lie, and therefore resolved to execute her malicious designe. She had two Cosen germans which were Souldiers, and had gotten the reputation of the most valiant Blades in all the Court of Torrismond; moreover, they were poor, and had no other hopes, but in being Heires unto Leriana's estate. She, intending to make use of their valour did oblige them both by presents, and by giving them fresh hopes of her Estate; which did tie them so unto her, that she could not command any thing which they would not execute. After she had made her selfe sure of them, she began to change her tale with Leontidas and his Wife, telling them, that I took courage; that I did not now think any more of leaving the World, but that I had quite forgotten my duty unto them. To be briefe, within a few daies after, she told them, that now there was nothing to be hoped from me, but by force, and that I did deny all; and in saying so, she seemed to be so much offended at me, as she confessed, I was not worthy of that favour which they would shew me. And because the

Wise of Leontidas gaped still after my Estate, she asked her, how she could convince me? We have, said she, very good witnesses; but, though we had not, yet since truth is on our side, I have some that will maintain it by Armes against any whosoever shall maintain the contrary: And you know, Madam, that such things as are dubious, and cannot be made apparent by convincing proofes, the truth of them is to be tryed by Armes. Leon∣tidas, who was a person of honour, and who began to be very angry at the craft which he conceived I used: No, no, said he, I am very certain she is in a fault; it shall be my selfe who will accuse her, and I will maintain it against all men whomsoever. Leriana, who had made her selfe sure of her two Cosen-germans and who above all desired to seem very affectionate unto Leontidas, she turned towards his Wife: Madam, said she unto her, I had rather die, than my Lord should enter into Armes upon this occasion; I beseech you di∣vert him from it, or else I protest I will meddle no more in the matter: I have Leotaris, my Cousen german, and his Brother, who will undertake the charge; and indeed it is most fit they should, for it is not handsome to beg the Estate of one, whom he doth accuse. Leontidas persisted in his will; but his Wife would by no means see him in so much danger, and thinking it not handsome he should be my accuser, and at the same time beg my Estate of the King, she so prevailed with him, that he referred it unto the Kinsmen of this woman. This being the resolution, Leriana spake unto Leotaris, promised him her Estate, made an assurance of it by Writing; and briefly, so obliged him and his Brother, as they would have attempted either against heaven or hell; and, right or wrong, would arme themselves against me. Leriana being assured on this side, backed by the opinion of very many, and also with the authority of Leontidas, she presented her selfe before the King, accused me, offered to prove her accusation, and sett forth the businesse so colourably, as every one believed it to be true: And lest Thersander should discover all her wicked devices and forgeries, she made him a party in the accusation, saying, he was the Father of the Child purposely to disable his testimony against her.

The Queen, who was a Princesse full of honour and vertue, did joyne her prayers with the accusation of this wicked woman, and did require I should be punished according to the rigour of the Law. Leontidas is called, who being ashamed of the businesse, made the same request. This act being to the dishonour of his family, his wife beseeched the Queen, to become a mediator for the Estate, which the King did freely grant: And yet this good Prince calling to memory, the good service which my Father had don Thierres his Fa∣ther, he was very sorry for this dysaster. The first newes I heard of all this, was, when the Officers of Justice came to seize upon me locked up my Chamber and Closet and carried me before the King, never telling me for what. Oh heavens, in what a case was I in, when I heard the words of Leriana? it was long before I could speak; at last, recollecting my selfe, I kneeled down before the Queen, beseeched her not to believe this wicked woman; I protested unto her by all that is sacred, there was no such thing, that there could be no proofe against my chastity, and beseeched her out of pitty to favour the cause of a most innocent. The King was more moved at my words then the Queen; whether it was, be∣cause he remembered the services of my Father, or because my youth and face moved him to pitty; but so it was, that turning towards Leriana: If you do aver (said he) any thing which is not true, I do vow by the soul of my Father, that you shall suffer the same pu∣nishment which you have prepard for others. Sir, (said she, with an impudent brow) I will prove what I say, both by Witnesses and by Armes. And both, said the King, are allowed you. Then causing us to be separated, I was committed to safeguard, and Thersander also; and it was commanded that witnesses should be produced: Then the Midwife and the Nurse of Ormanthe's Child, did testifie their knowledge in the businesse; the old Cavalier and the old Matron of whom I spoke, did the like; she produced severall witnesses, who saw her go out of my Chamber with the Child. To be briefe, the proofes were such, as if god had not preserved my innocency, I had been condemned. By fortune, the Judges being in my Chamber, and reading the Depositions against me, I knew not what to do in this affliction but only to have recourse unto the gods; and then, lifting up my hands and eyes to heaven, I prayed; Oh! ye most omnipotent gods who do see into my heart, and know, that I am innocent of all this which I am accused of, be my supporters, and declare my innocency. And then, as if inspired by some good angell, I turned my selfe towards the chimney, and addressing my speech unto the Judges: If these accusations (said I unto them) be true. I beseech the gods that I may never breathe again; and if they be fals, I beseech them, that this hot coal may not burn me: Then presently stooping, I took up a

great coal of fire, and held it in my hand naked, till it was extinguished, not being at all burned. The Judges amazed at this proof, would needs touch the coal, to try whether it was cold, but they quickly withdrew their hand; then they looked into my hand, to see if there was any signe of burning, but they found it no more touched, then if it had never touched fire; you may imagine whether they were astonished or no: But so it was, they made a report of this unto the King, who ordained, that Leriana should be acquainted with it, to see, if this testimony of my innocence, would make her decline her accusation: But she alledged, that I had procured some receipt, which kept the fire from burning me, and that her Witnesses which she produced were without exception, and that this proofe by fire might perhaps have been allowed, if it had been ordained and appointed by the Judges; but, since it proceeded from my own will, it was to be suspected of much artifice. To be briefe, sage Shepheardesses, she smoothed over her villany with so many colourable arguments of truth, as all the favour I could obtain from the King, was, to ordain, that the matter should be tryed by Armes, and that within fifteen daies, we should finde out the Cavaliers, which should enter into the lists for us.

The newes of all this was quickly dispersed throughout all Aquitain, so as my Mother heard of it as well as others; and because Leriana had produced so many Witnesses, she be∣lieved, as almost all others did, that I had committed the fault whereof I was accused; and she having lived alwaies in great honour and same, it grieved her so much, as she fell sick, and being old withall, she died within ten or twelve daies after she first heard of it; but, in such a bad opinion of me, as she would never send to see me nor assist me in my justification. And see how many severall waies the gods were pleased to afflict me; for, this grieved me more, then I am able to expresse. Thus was I without Father or Mother, destitute of all friends, and universally blamed by every one. I must confesse, I did many times intend to throw my selfe out of the window, to rid my selfe out of so many sorrowes; but, still the gods preserved me in hopes that my innocency would at last appear, putting into my minde, that if I should die so, I should leave all Aquitain in a bad opinion of me. But, when Leriana offered Leotaris and his Brother for her Champions, and when neither Thersander nor I could name any, as well, because we were not prepared for it, as, be∣cause no man would enter into so bad a quarrell, as every one thought this was: I must confesse I was astonished, and now more then ever grieved for poor Damon, assuring my selfe, that had he been alive, I could not have wanted a Champion. Thersander, on the other side, he must defend his cause by fighting, both with Leotaris and his Brother, one after another. But the terme being past, the King in favour allowed us eight daies longer, and they being past, he added three more: without any further delay, at the expiration of which, we were brought into the Lists, I all in mourning, and without any other com∣pany, but the Officers of justice; and Leriana, on the contrary, all triumphant, and in the company of many Gallants; she was upon another Scaffold, opposite to that where I was. Leotaris and his Brother were already in the Lists, armed Cap apé, and bravely mounted vaunting the more, because they believed to finde no Antagonist but Thersander, for none else could we finde, because Leontidas, who was the Kings favourit, did take Leriana's part; and those who heretofore had made addresses of Love unto me, and would have undertaken a hundred such Combats for me, were now all cold and backward, because I had sleighted them for Thersander. Thus you may see, a falshood is hardly to be known from truth, when it is subtlely disguised with a handsome glosse. At last, Thersander enters the Lists against them both, hoping, that the justice of his cause would bear him out. It was ordained by the Judges, that if during the Combat, any Cavalier would pre∣sent him selfe for me, he should be received; and that Leotaris and his Brother, might fight with Thersander, both together, or severally, if they would. These two Brothers were men of great courage, and persons of honour, so as they would undertake him one after another; but Leriana would not by any means suffer it, so as they ran both of them to∣gether against him. Judge, sage Shepheardesses, in what a condition I was; I do assure you, that I was so much out of my selfe, as I could not see any thing. I looked at. At last, the command was given, and the Trumpets sounded. Thersander, who was couragious e∣nough, putting his confidence in the gods, and justice of his cause, set spurrs to his Horse, and with his Lance, hit the Brother of Leotaris, and doing him no hurt, brake it; but he himselfe at the same time, was dismounted by two Lances, with the sadle betwixt his legs. Leriana seeing so great an advantage on her side, she was all joy; I, on the contrary, all fear. Thersander seeing himselfe in this extremity, did not for all that lose his un∣derstanding,

but running to his Horse, he pulled the bridle off from his head, before his Antagonists could return upon him: The Horse being of a high spirit, and finding himselfe without either bridle or sadle, began to run up and down the place, and, as if the gods had inspired him, came to Leotaris and his Brother, and began to paw with his feet, and bite with his teeth, kicking and bounding, and did so fiercely assault them that they, in lieu of fighting with Thersander, had enough to do to defend themselves from this Ani∣mal: This did amuse them a while, because they could not kill him so soon as they did imagine because of his nimblence and perpetuall motion; but at the last, they dispatched him, and being animated the more against Thersander, resolved to dispatch him also presently; and therefore falling both upon him in the heat of their fury, he had no other way but to run close to his dead Horse, which lay gasping in the end of the Lists, and which did him some service after his death; for the Horses of his enemies did boggle so at him, that their Riders could hardly come neer him, and this prolonged the Combat: At the last, Leotaris seeing he could not get his Horse any neerer he alighted from him, and so did his Brother from his; and leaving their Horses both loose in the place, went both up to Thersander, and fell upon him, who certainly did as much as one man could well do, but having to deal with two of the stoutest Cavaliers in all Aquitain, at once, it was im∣possible for him to make any long resistance. He had received severall wounds, and lost so much blood, as he had not strength to defend himselfe any longer, when the gods, out of pitty unto me, did send a Cavalier, who desired entrance into the Lists, in defence of me and Thersander: The dore was presently opened unto him; and because he saw Thersander in great extremity, he spurred his Horse furiously up unto them; but when he was come neer, he stooped, and cryed out unto them; Hold Cavaliers, and do not any longer offend against the Lawes of Chivalrie; come off that wounded man, and fall both upon me, who am sent hither purposely to punish you. Leotaris and his Brother hearing his voice, did recoile, and were sorry that they were both on foot, and therefore ran towards their Hor∣ses: But the stranger rid up to them, and told them, That if they had their Horses, they should receive it as a courtesy from him, and not from their own nimblenesse. But get up, said he, I scorn to take the advantage of my Horse against you. They both did infinitely esteem this generous act of this stranger; but I was very sorry for it, conceiving, that he might very well have taken all advantages against those, who had fallen both at once upon Thersander. But this stranger had more noble thoughts, and would not let that which was blamable in others, be any example unto himself. Whilst I was in these thoughts, Leo∣taris and his Brother had both mounted themselves, who never considering the courtesie they had received, fell both at once upon him; but they found a stronger arme to deal with, then Thersanders. I cannot, sage Shepheardesses, particularize this Combat unto you, for my fears were such, as I hardly saw it; let it suffice I tell you, that this stranger shewed such wonderfull strength and valour, that Leriana thought him a devill, and not a mor∣tall man. After they had fought a while, I perceived, that though he was single, yet he had the advantage of them. As for Thersander, he was so weak, as he was not able to rise. But this stranger, to the wonder of all the spectators, did give the Brother of Leotaris such a fatall blow, that he struck his head from his shoulders. Leotaris seeing this, his fury swelled with revenge: But the stranger, having now to do with no more but him, did wound him in so many places, that he was so weak with the losse of blood, as he fell from his Horse to the ground, and falling with his head foremost, the weight of his body and his armes broke his neck. The stranger alighting from his horse, and seeing him dead, he went unto Thersander, helped him to rise, and set him upon one of the Horses of his enemies; and then taking his own, he addressed himselfe unto the Judges, and as∣ked them, if he had any more to do? And they answering, No: Then he required that I should be set at liberty, which was commanded that very minute. Then he came unto me, and asked me, if he could do me any further service? Yes, Sir, said I unto him, in two things; the one, to conduct me home, and rescue me from the tyranny of those, who have ravished me from my dearest Mother; and the other is, that I may know the name of him, unto whom I owe both my life and my honour. As for my name (answered he) I shall take it as a favour, if you will not force me to make it known; And as for waiting upon you, unto the place where you desire to be, I shall do it, so it may be presently.

Whilst things went thus on my side in this place, the gods did evidence, that they never forsake the innocent; for it hapned, that my poor Nurse, having not so much courage as to see me die, and thinking it impossible, that Thersander could maintain it out against two

such Cavaliers, she stayed in my Chamber, crying and making most lamentable moan. Ormanthe, who had received all the courtesies she could desire, both from her and me, was exceedingly moved at it, and being very simple without any subtlety, she could not chuse but tell her, how her Aunt alwaies assured her, that I should not die, but only de∣sired, that I should be beholding unto her for my life, to the end, I should be a better friend unto her. Ah! sweetheart, said the Nurse, it is most certain our Mistresse must die, if Thersander be overcome, the King himselfe, according to the Lawes, cannot save her. Alas, alas, said Ormanthe, shall my Lady be burned? Nay, nay, said my Nurse, it is too sure. Ah me! most miserable wretch that I am, replyed the Wench, how can I ever expect that the gods will pardon me for her death? Why, said my Nurse, are you any waies guilty of her death? Oh Mother! said Ormanthe, if you will promise me to tell no body, I will tell you a strange accident. And my Nurse promising secresie, she told her, that it was she who had the Child, and told her all that I have related unto you. Sweetheart, sweetheart, said my Nurse presently, let us go presently and save her life; believe it, the gods will be well pleased with it; and moreover I will undertake, you shall have what you will of my Lady. Thus was the truth discovered.

The Wench followed my Nurse, who, to be briefe, addressed herselfe to the Queen, and acquainted her with the whole businesse, whilst the stranger was talking unto me.

The wickednesse of Leriana being thus discovered, both by Armes, and the confession of this Wench, the King commanded, she should be burned in the same fire that was pre∣pared for me; though she did inveigh against her Niece, saying, That my Nurse had suborned her, and that she was not of age to be a competent Witnesse, especially against her above all others, because she had chid and chastized her for these vices. But all these alle∣gations were invalid, the truth was evident enough, by the particulars and circumstances which this Wench did speak of, and by the report of the Midwife, who confessed, that she never saw her face. Every one began to clap their hands and the people seeing the villany of Leriana, began to throw stones at her. The King commanded justice should be executed, and she seeing her selfe ready to be throwne into the fire, being much moved at the memory of all her wickednesse, she confessed the truth; she desired audience, declared all her wicked practices, asked me pardon, and then voluntarily threw her selfe into the fire, where she ended her daies, to the contentment of all those, who heard of her wicked and mali∣cious waies.

Whilst these things were thus in agitation, the Cavalier who had delivered me, desiring not to be known (as it is thought) retired himselfe, and none took notice which way; and I not finding him, was extreamly grieved, he should depart with so few thanks for what he had done: I used all the means I possibly could to hear of him; but after all enquiry, all I could hear, was the next morning from a Country man, who met him, and whom he desired to come unto me from him, and let me know, that had he not been urged by ex∣tream importancy, he would have stayed longer, and waited upon me whither I had com∣manded him; but he had promised some assistance to a Lady, who lived towards the Town of Gergovia; and that if I had any more service to command him, I might hear of him at the Golden Mount; and that he might be known, he would not change the Device which was upon his Shield. Then asking the man, what it was, because I was so astonished the day before, that I took no notice of it? He told me, that it was a Tiger feeding upon the Heart of an Human body, with this Motto, Thou givest me a Death, and I maintain thy Life.

Now, discreet Shepheardesses, to abridge my story, it was ordered, that I should be free from the Guardianship of Leontidas, because his Wife had begged my Estate, and be set clearly at liberty. The poor silly Ormanthe, since she was only seduced by the subtlety of her Aunt, she was shut up in one of those houses designed for such punishments, where the women there do live very well, only they must never come out. I shall now make a strange relation unto you: I did still love Damon most extreamly, and the memory of him since his death was so imprinted in my soul, that he was commonly alwaies before my eyes: But since this accident, and since I saw this strange Cavalier, I know not how, but I began to change my first affection, and placed it upon him; and though I never saw his face, yet, I must confesse, I love him, so as it may be said, I was in love with a face of Armour: I know not whether my obligation to him was the cause of it, or whether his valour and courage, and noble minde, forced me unto it; but so it is, I never loved any since that day, but this unknown Cavalier; and in testimony of it, after a long expectance

of his return, and hearing no newes of him, I resolved to go my selfe unto Gergovea, and the Golden Mount: After I had consulted with my selfe about this designe, I acquainted Thersander with it, who offered me all his assistance; and I addressed my selfe unto him, rather then unto any other, because since the day he fought for me, he had wholly dedi∣cated himselfe unto my service; and because I had often heard him say, that he was infi∣nitely desirous to know that valiant Cavalier, who had so bravely relieved us. I gave out therefore, that I would go and visit my Estate; I prepared my Train, I left the Court, and came to my own house, where leaving all my retinue, I took with me only my Nurse for a companion, and Thersander to defend me, and so setforwards towards the Golden Mount. The Country was extreamly rough and mountainous, almost never without snow and ice; my poor Nurse dyed there, and having interred her, I was much grieved to be alone with Thersander; but I presently met with Tircis, Hylas, and Laonice, whose company pleased me so much, that, not to lose it, I resolved to put on the habit of a Shepheardesse, as now you see me, and Thersander in the habit of a Shepheard. Then af∣ter we had stayed a while amongst the Mountains, in hopes to hear some newes of him I was in quest of, I resolved to come into this Country, since he appointed us to make that way, thinking, that when I came to Gergovea, I should haply finde this Cavalier, unto whom I was so much obliged.

Madonthe was thus telling her story, and not without bedewing her cheeks with tears, whilst Paris and the rest of the shepheards were talking together; for their mindes were possessed with that malady, which above all others is an enemy to sleep. For Tircis, he loved his deceased Cleon, although he was out of all hopes of ever seeing her again. And because there was none of them so free as the inconstant Hylas, he bore it out the best of any in the company, and was least troubled with his Love. Tircis, thinking upon his dear Cleon, he could not chuse but sigh very loud, and Silvander at the same time did the same. See, said Hylas, what difference there is betwixt these two sighes. What is the difference, said Paris? The difference is, said Hylas, that Silvander doth sigh so, to cool the fire which scorcheth him; and Tircis sighes and blowes, to kindle that fire which here∣tofore did scorch him. Hylas had said very well, said Tircis, if he had said, he had thought so; for this is only a meer imagination of a soul that knowes not how to love. How now, Tircis, said Hylas, do you also upbraid me, that I know not how to love? I thought there had been none but that fantasticall Silvander, who had been of that opi∣nion. If you would judge according to reason, said Tircis, you would be of our opinions. Why, said Hylas, is it requisite, that to love well, I must needs Idolize one that's dead, as you do? Did you but know how to love, aright, (said Tircis) questionlesse, if you should meet with so great a misfortune as mine, you would think your selfe obliged in duty so to do. How, how, said Hylas, in love with a Grave, a Coffin? believe it, shep∣heard, I will never be in love with any such Mistresses: But, come a little to reason, what contentment, and what end do you aime at in such a love? Love, said Tircis, is a great god, which can aime at or desire nothing but himself; he is his own Center, and has no aime or inclination, but what begins and ends in himselfe: Love is like a Ring, it begins where it ends, and ends where it begins; it is perpetuall, it aimes at no ends, but is pleased and contented with its own nature. These are delicate dreames indeed, said Hylas; for my part, I believe them to be all fables, invented by some silly women. What is it, Hylas, (said Tircis) which you think so far from truth? All that you say, answered Hylas, is so palpably grosse, as I were mad if I did not see the simplicity of them.

You say, Love desires nothing but it selfe, and I say, we see the contrary; for we never desire any thing, but that which we have not. If you did understand, answered Tircis, how by the infinite power of Love, two persons becomes but one, you would know, that a Lover can desire nothing but himselfe; for as soon as you do understand, how a Lover is transformed into the person Loved, and the person Loved into the Lover, and both be∣comes but one, though being Lover and Loved they are two, you would finde, Hylas, and confesse, that since the Lover desires nothing but the person Loved, and since he is himselfe both the Lover and the Loved by this conjunction, he can desire nothing but himselfe. See, said Hylas, how the old Proverb is truly verified, one Errour begets a hun∣dred. You would perswade me into a beliefe of things impossible, as, that the Lover be∣comes the person Loved: why, by this argument, I am Phillis, for I do love her, and yet I am Hylas, and I do desire her. The conclusion, said Silvander, is not good, for you do not love her: Had you said, that I, in loving Diana, were transformed into her, you had

said right. Well, said Hylas, are you then Diana? is your Cap there changed into a Coyfe, and your Coat into a Gown? My Cap, said Silvander, does not love her Coife. Very good (said the inconstant Hylas) if you be changed into Diana, you should then dresse your selfe in the habit of a woman: It is not handsome, that so wise a shepheardesse as you are, should disguise your selfe thus in the habit of a man. There was none in all the com∣pany could forbear laughing at the pleasant expressions of this merry shepheard; Silvan∣der himselfe could not hold: But afterwards, he answered him thus: I will, if I can, con∣vince you of your errour: Know therefore, that there are two parts in a man, the one is the Body, which we see and touch, and the other is the soul, which we cannot see nor touch, but is known by words and actions; for neither words nor actions are parts of the Body, but of the Soul, which makes use of the Body only as an instrument and organ; for the body does not see of it selfe, nor understand, it is the Soul which does it; and so by consequence, when we do love, it is not the Body which loves, but the Soul; and so it is only the Soul which transformes it selfe into the person Loved, and not the Body. But, said Hylas, I do love the Body as well as the Soul; and so, if a Lover be changed into the thing Loved, my Soul should be changed as well into the Body of Phillis, as into her Soul This said Silvander, does thwart the Lawes of Nature; for a Soul, which is spi∣rituall, cannot become a Body, no more then a Body can become a Soul. If it be so, said Hylas, that the change be but in part, and that part be the Soul, it is that part which I do least care for. In this, said Silvander, you do make it evidently appear, that you do not love; or at least, that you do love against reason: For the Soul ought not to debase it selfe, unto that which is interiour unto it selfe; and therefore they say, that Love ought to be betwixt equalls; that is a Soul to love a Soul, which is its equall, and not the Body which is its inferiour, and which Nature gave him only as an instrument. Now to make it appear, that the Lover becomes the party Loved, and that if you do love Phillis, Hylas is Phillis; and if Phillis love Hylas, Phillis is Hylas, consider what the Soul is; It does consist, Shepheard, of the Will, the Memory, and of the Understanding: Now Philosophers do hold, that we can love only that, which we do know; and if the knowledge, and the thing known, be one and the same thing, it must consequently follow, that the knowledge of him who Loves, and her who is loved, is the same. That if the Will of a Lover, ought not to differ from the Will of the person Loved, and if he do seek her by his thoughts, which is onely an effect of the Memory, as well as by his corporeall eyes, who can doubt, but that the Memory, the Understanding and the Will, being changed into the person loved, his Soul, which consists of these three faculties, is changed also. By Tautates (said Hylas) you fetch it very high; and though I have been long a Student in the Massilian Schooles, yet I cannot reach you. It was there, said Silvander, where I learned this Philosophy. Though you have puzzled my brains with your discourse, said Hylas,, yet you cannot demonstrate unto me, that a Lover is changed into the Loved, since there is one part left out, which is the Body. The Body, said Silvander, is not a part, but only an organ or instrument of the Soul; and if the Soul of Phillis were separated from her Body, would it not be said, there is the Body of Phillis, and not Phillis her selfe? And if that be properly spoken, then it must be understood that Phillis is somewhere else; and if you do love aright, it is into that Phillis into which you should be transfor∣med; so as if this be so, you can have no desire out of your selfe: for, comprising all your love in your selfe, you do also comprize all your desires within your selfe. If it be so, (said Hylas) that the Body is but the instrument, which Phillis maketh use of, I will give you that Phillis, and let me have the rest, and see whether you or I shall be better contented. But to end all our differences, it were good if we could get a little sleep. Upon this, he was silent, and would not give any further answer: Also all the Company by little and little fell asleep, except Silvander, whose soul being swelled with abundance of reall affection, he could not close his eye of a long time after.

In the mean time, Madonthe, as I told you before, had related the story of her fortune unto these fair shepheardesses; and because a great part of the night was already spent, sleep did by degrees steal into the eyes of Phillis, and her: But Astrea, who could not sleep, still talked with Diana, who for her part, seeing how extreamly Silvander loved her, she began also to love him, although her affection to him did insensibly begin, she not taking any notice of it: At the first, it was no more, then a meer acknowledgment of his merit, (so requisite is Knowledge before Love) and afterwards, ordinary conversation with him, did win her to a liking of his company; at last, his addresses unto her, with so

much reverence and discretion, made her love him; yet without any designe or intention so to do. Astrea, who entertained the same thoughts of Celadon, not being in dispose to sleep, and seeing Phillis and Madouthe both fast, also thinking that none could hear her, she spoke thus unto Diana: Sister, I must confesse, that one imprudent act doth draw ma∣ny sorrowes after it, and when one fault is once committed, it requires abundance of wisdome to repair it. Consider, I beseech you, how this crime which I committed against the affection of Celadon, hath hurried me into a sea of sorrowes; I do verily believe, that as long as I live, nay, and after my death too, if the dead have any knowledge of past acti∣ons as I believe they have, I shall never cease my grief, for my offending against the fidelity of Celadon; yet, you see unto what a passe this fault hath brought me: This love, which with so much paines and care I have so long kept secret, and would hardly acquaint my dearest companions with it; see, I say, how I do at this houre my selfe discover it unto strangers, who are not any waies in the world obliged unto me. Ah! could I recall that happinesse which I have lost, me-thinks I could manage it with more prudence. Sister, said Diana, all human imbecillity hath this property, that the malady can very hardly be known untill it be present; the gods themselves only will be esteemed perfect and wise: And you must think, that if the losse of Celadon which you caused, had not fallen out that way, doubtlesse it had some other; for, there is nothing firme and truly solid amongst men. I cannot say, but perfect prudence may a litle foresee, and mitigate these accidents; but believe me, Sister, we must know withall, that we are all but human, and full of im∣perfections. You see, answered Astrea, how some do passe their lives: more sweetly than others, or at the least, their actions are not seen or known unto the world; and I need not go any further for an instance, then in your misfortune in Philander; but who can blame you for it? Ah Sister! said Diana, there is no sharper reproofes of our faults, then the knowledge that we our selves have of them. It is very true, said Astrea, but you must needs confesse, that as any good which we do enjoy; is better and greater for being known; so also the sorrowes and pains, when they are known, are far more bitter and smarting: And hence it is, that every one strives to hide and conceal the afflictions which befall them, and oftentimes had rather they were greater and secret, then lesse and publick. Now, Sister, there is one thing, which my affection to you prompts me to advertise you of, unto which me thinks your prudence ought to apply some remedies; and I am sure, if before my misfortune did befall me, I had met with a friend who had freely spoken unto me, I should not have been so sadly ashamed as I am. Sister, said Diana, this is a great argument of your good affection to me; and you will infinitely oblige me, if not only now, but alwaies, you will tell me your opinion of all my actions, freely, and clearly, and espe∣cially now, when all are asleep.

Although these two Shepheardesses did think, that none did hear them, yet they were deceived; for Laonice, who was in the company, although she seemed to be asleep, yet she was awake; and being extreamly desirous to hear more, that she might, according to her designe do them a displeasure, she listened with a most attentive ear. On the other side, Silvander seeing all his company asleep, and hearing the sheph eardesses talking, he thought that he heard the voice of Diana; and having an itching desire to hear their dis∣course, he stole so gently neer them upon his hands and knees, as he could hear them very distinctly; and by fortune, he came just as Astrea did begin to say thus.

Do you remember what I said unto you yesterday in you ear, when Silvander disputed with Phillis? Was it not (said Diana) concerning the affection of that shepheard towards me? The very same, answered Astrea; and be pleased to understand, that since, I have dis∣covered it more plainly by the discourse which I have had with him, and you may most infallibly expect a most extream and violent affection from him: If this affection be dis∣pleasing unto you, it is requisite you keep him at a distance from you, though I cannot tell whether that will do any good, since his humour is of such a nature, as the more it is crossed, the more violent it will grow; but if it be pleasing unto you, it is most requisite you use abundance of discretion, that it may not be known unto any but your selfe. Si∣ster, (said Diana, after she had a while considered upon it) I see you make your love unto me most evidently appear, and will keep any thing secret which I shall say; I will therefore open my very heart unto you, but with a hearty desire, that what e're I shall say may go no further, no, not to Phillis her selfe, if it be no offence to the friendship that is betwixt you. I should think, answered Astrea, my selfe unworthy of your love, if I should impart any secret which you shall trust me withall, unto any other; nay, I should think my selfe

to be a most horrid Traitor: And as for Phillis, be confident, Sister, that as I would not do any act which might wound that affection I bear unto her, so she shall never make me offend against the love I have vowed unto you. Not that I have any diffidence in the dis∣cretion of Phillis, (said Diana) but because I would, if I could, hide it from my own selfe. Upon this, she paused a while, and then continued: When I lost Philander, (as, Sister, I have told you) I was so exceedingly grieved at it, that for a long time after, I resolved never to love any again, but to spend all the rest of my mourning daies in an eternall wi∣dowhood: For, though Philander was not my Husband, yet I do verily believe he had been, if he had survived Philidas. In this resolution, I may most safely and truely protest unto you, I have lived hitherto, so insensible of any love, as if I had neither any eyes or ears, to see or hear any motion that was presented unto me in that kinde; Amidor, kins∣man unto Philidas, can testifie as much, who, though of a wavering humour, had parts sufficient to make himselfe loved, and who before he married Alf••runte, did often offer to take me upon what conditions soever I should require: Witnesse also the poor Nican∣der; I call him poor, because of the strange course which he took after my refusall. To be briefe, witnesse all those, who since that day have made addresses of love unto me. The memory of Philander has unto this very day so defended me against all others, as I have not had so much as any thought of love. But I must needs confesse, that since the faigned addresse of Silvander, I perceived my selfe much changed: I know, this shepheard at the first, did only court me for a wager; and yet as soon as he began, his addresses did please me. On the contrary, the generous Paris did very really love me, and quitted the grand∣ure of his quality for my sake and yet for all his merits, I could finde in my selfe no other love unto him, then that of a Sister unto a Brother. To finde out the reason of all this, is a thing impossible, but yet it is most certainly true. Now, Sister, if I do say, that I do love Silvander after another manner, mistake me not; do not think that I am in love with him, but that I do resent the very same beginings, which I remember I resented at the be∣ginning of my affection unto Philander. I beseech you, Sister, (said Astrea unto her) what is it which pleaseth you best in him? First, (said Diana) I perceive, he never loved any be∣fore; and this cannot be attributed unto any stupidity of his understanding, since he does plainly evidence the contrary by his discourse: Then he does so handsomely submit him∣selfe, and gives me such an absolute power over his will, as he never speaks a word, but he fears the offending me. Then again, there is a continued and constant discretion in all the actions of his life, you shal never see him either too much or too little in any thing he does: and lastly, which is the prime cause of my amity, I do think him to be an honest, plain, open-hearted man, and without vice. I do assure you, Sister, (said Astrea) I do observe the same qualities to be in this shepheard; and for my part, I do think, that if ever the heavens do destinate you to love any, you will be very happy in him. But let me tell you, that if you will avoid displeasures, you must use all your prudence. I do wonder, Sister, said Diana, why you should use this expression unto me; for know, that though I do love him better then any other I ever saw, since the losse of Philander; yet, I would not have him to know it, or that I have any intention to let him serve me; and that if he should be so bold, as to declare it unto me, I do assure him, I would treat him so, as he should never dare to speak of it twice unto me. But, Sister, said Astrea, what is then your intention? To punish us both, answered Diana; I mean to chastise him for his presump∣tion in loving me, and also to punish my selfe, for my fault in liking him, to the end, we may both be more just, and better advised. But, Sister, said Astrea, this designe in my apprehension is very pernicious; for by this, you bring your selfe no satisfaction, but much sorrow, and perhaps extream shame. Take heed, lest in holding a flint, you strike fire, if you strike it against any thing which is harder, and so the hidden fire discover it selfe. Young spirits and hearts, if they do love well, and if they be prudent, they will discreetly hide their affections, and not disclose them unto any of their acquaintance; but, when they are strucken, I mean, when they are rigorously used, then they are so transported with their passions, as it is impossible they should dissemble. And this, believe it, cannot be without abundance of vexation and sorrow, in the soul of her that is concerned; for, on which side soever the reports go, they cannot be advantagious to the woman. Your wisdome, Sister, does enable you, to give very good counsell unto any other; but the wisest eyes are often blinde in their own case: And this invites me to ask you, Whether do you love this shepheard? or you do not love him? for if you love him not, then break off all manner of conference, and all correspondency with him, and so entirely and speedily,

that he may not have one spark of any hopes from you: And in this, do not flatter your selfe and say, that a woman cannot help it, if men will needs love her, no more then she can hinder them from looking upon her; this is an excuse to fool some silly person with∣all: For, at the very first, the fire must be quenched, all hopes must be taken from him, not in part, but totally and entirely. If there be found sometimes some opinionative and obstinate man, it is only for a few daies; for certainly, Love, no more then all other Mor∣talls, cannot live without nutriment, and the proper nutriment of Love, is Hope. But then, if you do love, as you say, and as indeed he deserves, then, Sister, me thinks it is a great folly, to deprive your selfe of that which pleaseth you. Sister, said Diana, that which plea∣seth is not alwaies honourable, nor reasonable; and since they are not, vertue commands us to shun them; and, for my part, I had rather die, than do otherwise. I make no question of it, answered Astrea, for I am most confident of Diana's vertue. But pray let us see whether this act be contrary unto reason or honour. Is it any way in the world contrary to reason, to love a generous, wise, handsome, and discreet Shepheard? For my part, it seemes unto me so full of reason, as I can see no contrariety in it. Now any thing that is reasonable, cannot be dishonourable; and since it is not, why should you not love him? It is an easy matter to conclude in the advantage of this shepheard, said Diana, as long as none does contradict it; but to argue thus: Is it reasonable that Diana, who hath ever held a good repatation amongst the shepheards and shepheardesses of this Country, should mar∣ry an unknown shepheard? one, who has nothing but himselfe, and what his ingennity acquires? I believe you will decline from your first opinion upon this consideration: And upon this cause, I am fully resolved to suffer his addresses and affection no longer, then I can faigne and seem not to believe it: But, if be should bring me to that passe, as I could not umbrage my selfe under this shadow, I do protest I will presently discard him and never permit him to see me; or, if he did either see me, or speak to me, or love me, I will treat him in such a manner, as he shall believe me in good earnest, and, I think love me no longer. And what will you your selfe do, said Astrea, in the mean time? Doubtlesse I will love him, answered Diana, and I will punish my selfe for my offence in so doing. I do foresee, said Astrea, that this vain Chimera will afford you but false contentment, and that this designe will beget in you many a mortall displeasure.

Whilst these shepheardesses were thus discoursing, and thinking that none did hear them, Laonice was so attentive, that not to lose one syllable of what was said, she durst hardly breathe, for, there was nothing which she did so passionately desire, as to discover this which she heard. But Silvander was ravished, and when he heard at the beginning those favourable expressions of Diana, Oh! how happy did he think himselfe? Afterwards, when he heard the counsell which Astrea gave her, and how she took his part, how much did he think himselfe obliged? But when at last, he heard Diana's dire resolution: Oh heavens! in what a dump was his soul smother'd? It was well for him, that these shep∣heardesses had a disposition to sleep, otherwise it had been impossible, but he should have discovered himselfe to be there, by some of his deep and groaning sighes; for, he could not obtain so much of himselfe, as to go further and sigh at ease, so desirous was he to hear the end of their discourse; and therefore I say, it was well for him, that after they had bid goodnight unto each other, they presently fell asleep; for then he retired, and went to his companions, looking whether any of them were awake; and finding them to be all fast asleep, he began to entertain his own thoughts, and lifting up his eyes, he con∣templated upon the Stars, and the various Chimaeraes which were formed in the Clouds; but he found none amongst them so various as his own thoughts, upon the discourse which he had heard, buying his knowledge, that Diana loved him, very dear, making a doubt, whether he was more obliged to his curiosity, which let him know she loved him, or dis∣obliged unto it, for hearing that cruell resolution which she had taken. This imagination held a long debate in his soul: At last, Love, out of very pitty, closed his eyes, and suffe∣red him to fall asleep.

But now it is full time to return unto Celadon, whom we have long left in his Cell, without any company but his own thoughts, which had no other subject for themselves, but his past happinesse, and his present misery. Fifteen or sixteen daies passed thus on, with so little care of his life, that sorrowes nourished him more, then any other thing which he eat: All his delight was in his imaginations in which he passed away his daies and nights, which were all one to him, since being so distant from the eyes of Astrea, all seemed dark. There was not one passage in all his life which came not then into his me∣mory;

and to his misery, he alwaies stayed longest upon those, that were most sad, as most suitable to his present condition: If at any time he had any more pleasing, he presently gave them a check, as not seasonable for so sad a soul, to see any contentment. Thus spending his time in such sad exercises, and his food being very bad, his countenance was so altered, as it was not knowable; and certainly he could not have lived long, if the heavens, (who perhaps reserved him for some better fortune) had not sent him some consolation.

The same day that he escaped out of Galathea's hands, by the help of Adamas, Silvia, and Leonida, Galathea was constrained to wait upon her Mother unto Marcelles, because of some publick ceremonies of joy which they were to perform, for the happy successe which Clidaman had in the Army of the Francs. But when she came there, and heard that Celadon was escaped, she was in such a fury against Leonida, that she forbid her to come into her presence: This fair Nymph being weary of the Courts noise, she retired to the house of her Uncle Adamas, who was as tender of her, as if she had been his own Daughter, as well by reason of Consanguinity, as because she was recommended unto him by Belizar his Brother, before his death. And though she lost all hopes from her past ser∣vices, yet, she was very glad to recover her liberty at that rate; but much more, in hopes to see Celadon again, supposing he would be near Astrea; and though she believed, his af∣fection unto Astrea would dash all her hopes in him, yet she thought it would be a most pleasing satisfaction unto her, to spend all her time neer him: And therefore finding Paris to be very well disposed unto such a visit, about some two daies after she came unto her Uncles, they went both together unto the Townes where these shepheardesses frequen∣ted; but when she came there, and enquired of Celadon, and heard that he was not yet re∣turned, but that they all believed him to be dead, she was extreamly astonished: However, in satisfaction of Paris, who was an adorer of Diana, and in pleasing her selfe with their good company; she was a frequent visitant, and grew into such familiarity with these shepheardesses, that they did infinitely love her, and she them, and lived with them as if she were a shepheardesse, with which kinde of life, she was so pleased, that she would often go unto them with Paris, and it being not above a mile betwixt both their habi∣tations, she would often go by her selfe; and the way was so pleasant, by reason of the delectable River of Lignon, and the delightfull Groves which she went through, as it was impossible she should be weary. It hapned then, that resolving one day to go alone, she passed over the Bridge, and walking along the River side; though there was no path, yet the way was delightsome, by reason of the pleasure she took in looking at the fishes, which flocked by troopes unto the River side; and so delighting her selfe along the water side, she came unawares unto the Fountain, where Celadon used to gather his VVater-Cresses, which was his food. As fortune was, that shepheard being laid down, was fallen asleep a little before. When the Nymph first spied him, she took him for Lycidas, because those two Brothers were both of a stature and proportion, and used to habit themselves both alike; and though Celadon was a little bigger, and had a more full and pleasing face, yet comming neerer him, she was mistaken, as well, because she thought Celadon was not in that Country, as, because his face was much changed; or else because she thought, that Lycidas being full of jealousie, as she knew he was, might very well be retired from all company into that solitary place: And therefore she sett her self down by Celadon, think∣ing him to be Lycidas; but seeing he did not wake, she resolved to go on her voyage, and leave him to his rest: but before she rose, she espied a little bag, wherein he was wont to keep his Letters, which hung a little out of his pocket; she gently took them, without any disturbance to his sleep, and after this piece of theft, she went away, leaving the shep∣heard asleep, who presently after awaked; and because the Sun began to be hot, he went for shade unto the thickest part of the Wood: But the memory of his shepheardesse being the Center of all his thoughts, he opened a little Case which he wore about his neck, in which was the Picture of Astrea; and after he had a while contemplated it, he read these words, which formerly he had written upon the side of it.

VVanting the Substance, Shaddowes comfort me.

Alas poor miserable Celadon, said he, how canst thou now say, that being deprived of the true good, the false ones should comfort thee? The good thou hast is meerly imaginary, and the true good is ravished from thee, by her who is the owner of it. Afterwards loo∣king seriously upon the Picture, and speaking unto it, as if to Astrea her selfe: Is it possible

Oh my fairest Shepheardesse, (said he) that I should thus displease you? But is it possible, that having displeased you, I should yet live? If I did displease, it is absolutely impossible that it should be with my will; nor is it possible, I should desire to live after such a crime. If she would have me live, Oh! why does she banish me from that place in which I can only live? And if she would have me die, why does she not positively command it? But alas, what more expresse command can I expect, then her command never to come into her presence? She knowes, that the sight of her is my life; and in forbidding me to see her, does she not command me to die? This, doubtlesse, were enough to make me seek a death, did I not know, how that which is reasonable in the judgment of others, is without any sha∣dow of reason in her. All others think it a thing most just, to love those that love her, and that amity ought to be rewarded with amity; but she thinks it reasonable, to hate those who do love and adore her. Why then should I not think, that this command of living from her, is rather to make me live and suffer the more, then to abridge my pain by an anticipated death? But that cannot be it which she requires of me; for she knowes well enough, that I am not able to live so. Did she ever demand of me any proofes, but such as are impossible? witnesse this command from her own mouth, and those Letters, by which she commanded me to counterfeit affection unto another. Then shutting up that dear Picture to read those Letters which she had sent him: Well, said he since I must not live to my own contentment, I will live to her glory. Then putting up the little case into his breast, he put his hand into his pocket, to take the Letters which were in a little bag, but when he could not finde them, he turned out all that he had in both his pockets, and not yet finding them, he went to his Cave, thinking that he had left them there; but not fin∣ding them neither, there was not a tust in all the Cave, nor betwixt the Cave and the Fountain, nor between the fountain, and all the places he had been at that day, but he turned it over and over; nay, not a leaf which was likely to hide them, but he sought un∣der it; so vexed was he at the losse, and so desirous was he to finde them: For, as these Let∣ters were infinitely dear unto him, as being written by the fair hand of his dearest shep∣heardesse; so he loved them, as the witnesses of his fidelity, and as the sweetest entertain∣ment that he had in the miserable life which he led. At last, seeing all his laborious quest to be in vain, and that there was no hopes of finding these beloved Letters: Alas, alas, (said he, lifting his eyes up to heaven) what unjust Daemon hath ravished from me that little remnant of contentment which I had? for a Daemon certainly it must needs be, since no mortall ever useth to come hither; or if they did, they would never have been so cruell. Well, well, Celadon, said he, yet thou art happy in this thy miserable life, though thou hast lost those happy testimonies of thy past felicity; comfort thy selfe in thy losse, and render thanks unto heaven, that hath made thee so conformable unto the will of thy dea∣rest shepheardesse, and make it appear, that neither her rigour, nor the force of Fate, can ever make thee weary in obeying her, nor ever separate thee from the thoughts of her; it is but sit, that since thou hast lost her good-will, thou shouldest also lose all manner of consolation.

In the mean time, Leonida rejoyced very much in her Larcenie, and having got a good distance from this shepheard, she opened the little bag which contained these Letters, which she believed had been written by the hand of Phillis; and being out of measure de∣sirous to see into the secrets of that shepheardesse, she poured them out into her lap, and the first which she light upon, was this.

Astrea's Letter unto Celadon.

THat you do love me, I believe, and you may know it by this, that I am well pleased you should give me assurance of it. If you have as much understanding, as you have resentment of Love, you may know, that I do love you; by my permitting you to tell me, that you do love me: And by this, you may assure your selfe, that you have from me as much, as it seemes you wish to make you happy. If after this declaration you are not contented, I shall say, that you do not love Astrea, since Amitie ought to desire nothing, but Amity again.

When Leonida saw the name of Astrea, she stopped, and lifting the paper neerer her eyes, she read that word two or three times over. At last, remembring the jealousie that had been betwixt Celadon, Lycidas, Astrea, and Phillis, she believed, that perhaps it was

not ill grounded, but that Astrea did love Lycidas; and therefore lapping it up, she put it in her bosome, and took another, which she found to be thus written.

Astrea's Letter unto Celadon.

MUst it not needs be now confessed, that I do love you more then you love me, since I have sent you my Picture, and could never obtain yours by all my prayers? But, Love is just in it, since he knowes, that he alwaies ought to help those, that are in greatest necessity. The faintnesse of your affection hath more need of such a remembrancer, than mine hath. Receive it therefore as a testimony of your own fault. But, what do you think of me, Ce∣ladon? Can you believe, I love you, and yet doubt of your affection? No, no, I do but feast, Shepheard; for, had I that opinion of you, I would not desire, you should have that beliefe in me, and therefore never doubt it; but be most certainly assured, that as long as I make it appear, that I have a memory of you, I do think my selfe truly loved by my Son.

Surely (said Leonida, extreamly astonished) Lycidas has found these Letters, amongst some of his Brothers things, after his death; me-thinks if it had been so, he should not have carried them about him, for fear of losing. Then she took another, which she found thus written.

Astrea's Letter unto Celadon

IT seemes, my Son, that you have lesse courage then I have: You say, that it is a signe, that I do love the lesse, but see how I prove the contrary: That which makes me surport all the miseries which I endure for your sake, is certainly the affection which I bear unto you. Now that affection which makes me surmount the greatest miseries, must needs be great; and therefore this courage which you blame in me, is a mark of my great affection. Never be startled at the threats of our common Enemies (for so, Celadon, I call call them, and not Parents) if you will have me think your affection equall unto mine; which, for your sake, does not only surmount, but scorn, all manner of miseries and afflictions.

Leonida read this Letter, not well knowing what she did: Now she began to suspect, that it was Celadon and not Lycidas; and much more, when she remembered, that Ga∣lathea had spoken to her of some such Letters. Oh heavens! said she, certainly it is Celadon: Where was my eyes, that I could not know him when I saw him? Then she lap∣ped up the Letters, and went with all speed unto the Fountain, where she left him; but extreamly angry she was with her selfe, when she found him not there, and broke into many expressions of griefe: Then she turned about every way, to see if she could finde any relicks of him; but he was retired into his Cave, after his long and laborious search, for what she had stolne. At the last, Love, which is alwaies very circumspect, prompted her to take notice, that the grasse about the Fountain was troden, and that there was a new Path, not halfe beaten; she imagined very aptly, that this Path would conduct her to the place where the shepheard was: And indeed, Celadon using to passe between his Cave and that place, had made a kinde of a Path. Leonida then taking it for her guide; she had not followed it foure or five hundred paces, but she came to the Rock, where Celadon made his retreat; yet, the trees and bushes being very thick about it, she was afraid to approach neer, lest it should prove the den of some Wolfe or wilde Boar, or at the least, of many Serpents. As she was standing thus in suspence, she thought that she heard him breathe, which assured her, that some was there; but knowing, that Serpents do sometimes hisse in the same manner, she therefore trode very circumspectly and cautiously, and so softly, that Celadon never perceived her: And though she did afterwards make some noise, yet the shepheard was so attentive upon his own thoughts, that he took no notice of her. Now she was got so neer the entrance, that she heard him breathe plainly, and sometimes speak, yet she could not understand the words; but comming a little neer, and putting her head a little into the entrance, she heard him say thus: Now heart begin to hope well; for, as the snuffe of the Lamp ceaseth to burn, when the flame hath consumed all the Oyle; so may I hope my miseries will cease,

having by little and little consumed all the comforts and contentments that I have. Oh happy losse! how I would cherish thee, if by thy means, I go out of this miserable life which I lead? Oh my dearest Papers! how I would blesse the day on which you were ra∣vished from me, if my grieving for your losse would end 〈◊〉〈◊〉? For, alas! there is no hopes left, that my sorrowes should ever end, but with my life. Leonida hearing this, was moved with much compassion knowing him now to be Celadon; and was also surprised with such a sudden joy, that though she had a great desire to let him complain on, and hearken longer what he said; yet, she was constrained to go to him with open armes, and cry unto him: Ah Celadon, away with these lamentations and sorrowes, you have had too many of them; 'tis time now to change your course of life, and enjoy some pleasant dayes. You may easily imagine, that Celadon was extreamly surprised, when he heard this voice upon a sudden, and seeing her come unto him, for he had not seen any of a long time; and his spirits being wholly retired into his thoughts, she had spoken all this, before he heard or knew what she said. He started up upon a sudden, but the life which he had lived, and bad food together, had so weakened him, that he was constrained to sit down again presently. Then the Nymph gave him leasure to recollect himselfe, and sitting down by him, took him by the hand.

Well Celadon, (said she unto him) did you so impatiently desire to get out of Gala∣thea's hands, only to live thus? Is it possible, our company should be so displeasing to you, that you had rather be amongst senslesse Rocks and wild Woods? The Shepheard having recollected his spirits, did faintly answer: You see, fair Leonida, unto what Love hath brought me, and what power you have over those that love you. How is it possible, said she, that Love should make you thus neglect your own preservation? Is it possible, answe∣red the shepheard, that you, who vaunts to know what Love is, should doubt, but that my affection can endure the greatest extremities? However, replyed the Nymph, if I were condemned to die, I would at the least ask him that condemned me, the reason why I am condemned. What better reason can be given, said Celadon, then that she, who has the soveraigne power over me, will have it so? so as the reason of my ill-being is, because my well-being displeaseth her. Oh Celadon! (said the Nymph, and pittyed him) in what a miserable condition you are? See, sage Nymph, said he, how you are mistaken, I cannot desire more happinesse, then the misery which I endure; for, can I wish a greater happi∣nesse, then to please her? If my misery please her can I grieve for it? No, no, I must rejoyce at whatsoever is pleasing unto her. Oh happy Celadon (said he) and in one thing the more happy, that Astrea does not know that thou art happy. Leonida hearing these expressions, stood astonished, and looked upon him with admiration: At last, after she had been a long while mute, she said unto him: I must needs confesse, shepheard, that if this be the way to love, there is only you amongst all men living, that can follow it. But, shepheard, take heed, that as many good things are corrupted and spoiled with abuse, so your melancho∣ly and obstinacy do not corrupt your affection. I care not for all the accidents that can come, said the shepheard, so my Love be not offended. But, said Leonida, do you love Astrea? You aske me a question, answered he, unto which you are able to give an answer your selfe. If you do love her, (said the Nymph) you ought to love all that's hers, and if so, then you ought to love your selfe, since you are so entirely hers, that you are not your own. Since I do love Astrea, replyed the shepheard, I ought to hate all that she hates: Astrea hates the miserable Celadon, why then, fair Nymph, should not I? Every one, said she, is obliged, to have a greater care of their own preservation, then of the love or hatred of any other. That Law, said the shepheard, is good and allowable amongst Men, but not amongst Lovers. Why, said the Nymph, do they cease to be Men, when they be∣come Lovers? If you do mean a man, said he, that is subject unto all sorts of miseries and inquiotudes, I do confesse, that a Lover remaines a Man still; but, if that Man have any will of his own, and judges of things as they are, and not according to the opi∣nion of another I deny, that a Lover is a man, since as soon as ever he becomes a Lover, he does so dispossesse himselfe of his will and judgment, as he neither willeth nor judgeth, but as she willeth and judgeth whom he loves. Oh, the miserable condition of a Lover! (said the Nymph). But much more miserable (answered the shepheard) is he, that loves not, since he cannot enjoy the most perfect and highest happinesse, that the world affords; for, the very least of Loves joyes, does exceed all others that the world hath without it. Is there any pleasure comparable unto those, that consist in the thought? When a Lover thinks upon the beauty of her that he loves; nay, when he does but remember any one of

her actions, nay, even the very place where he last saw her; do you think he would change his contentment, for any diversion in the whole Universe? He is so jealous, and so care∣full to entertain this very thought, that lest he should make any a sharer with him, he will retire into the most solitary and unfrequented places, that he can finde; he cares not for the society of men, or all the delights that men can devise, and use to court with such care, so he may but enjoy his own thoughts. Now, Leonida, since the contentment of thoughts are such, is it possible, the weaknesse of any human heart should think to endure so much blisse, as to enjoy the sight of her whom he loves, to hear her speak, to kisse her hand, to hear her own mouth pronounce the word, I love you? Is it possible he should hear this, and not be ravished, and be disordered with too much felicity and delight? I do not mention those great and last assurances, which one receives when he is loved, nor those languishments in the breast of the person loved; for, these are contentments of so high a nature, as they cannot be gusted without transport, and absolute ravishment out of our selves, nor can they be expressed by any words, unlesse imperfectly. Now tell me, fair Nymph, whether the condition of a Lover be so miserable now, I say, when you know what high felicities he does enjoy? I do confesse, (said the Nymph, after she had heard him with admiration) that Celadon does love, if to love be, to be out of his wits, and to live only upon bare thoughts. Alas! I cannot chuse but think his condition extreamly mise∣rable, in finding such contentments in such vain imaginations and Chimeraes; and I am so far from thinking them felicities, as my opinion of the contrary is much fortified. But Shepheard, let us leave this discourse, since I see it will do you no good, and tell me, how you have lived since I left you? Wise Nymph, answered Celadon, as I have lived since you met me, so have I lived since I parted from you; for, as soon as ever I left you, I shut my selfe up in this place, expecting untill either Love or Death released me. But why, Celadon, said she, do you not go unto your own Town, where your friends and kindred do so much grieve for you? Astrea, said he, who has a far greater power over me, than either any Parents or friends, hath forbidden me ever to see her, untill she command; and therefore, as I told you, I have shut my selfe up in this Cell, untill either Love or Death release me. But, if my adored Shepheardesse had commanded me never to see her again, doubtlesse I had shut my selfe up in my grave with death: And as soon as I came to my selfe again, after my fall into the River, I knew, that Lignon would not give me a death, because she did not peremptorily command it; but, remembering her words, and that her banishment of me was not for ever, only untill she commanded me to return, I have lived in this manner as you see, expecting till Love recall me, as it seemes she hath promised; or else untill death do it for her, which shall be welcome unto me in this life which I live. But poor deceived shepheard, replyed the Nymph, how can you ever hope she should re∣call you, as long as she is ignorant where you are? Love, answered he, which conducted me hither, knowes the place well enough where I am, and does daily visit me; and since it is by it, that I do hope she will recall me, there is no doubt, but it will without me let her know the place, unto which it hath conducted me. If your imaginations, replyed the Nymph, had an influence upon others, as they have upon your selfe, all this you say might perhaps be; but believe it, shepheard, the gods will never help those, who will not help themselves; and do not think, that I speak without good reason, for I am very certain, that if Astrea did know you were alive, she would passionately desire your company. How fair Nymph, (said he presently) do you know that? I know it, said she, by that sadnesse which sits in her face. Perhaps, said the shepheard, that proceeds from some other cause. But where have you seen her since we parted? I shall be very glad, said she, to entertain you with a discourse upon this subject, and to relate unto you all that hath hapned since we parted, so I can but by it cheer you a little up, and rouse you out of this dull kinde of life. Believe it (said Celadon) that the sight of you does bring me more content, then any thing in the world could, except Astrea; and since I am deprived of her, your discourse will be very pleasing unto me. Then Leonida began thus.

The History of Galathea.

SInce, Celadon, you do desire to know, how I have lived since I parted from you, which is some fifteen or sixteen daies since, I will very willingly make a relation of it unto you, upon a condition that if you be weary with the length of the discourse, we may

break it off, and finish it another time, when any convenient opportunity shall present it selfe. Know therefore, that in my return from conducting you, I came into the Palace of Issoures, at the same time when Amasis was taking Coach, to go unto Marcelies, and carrying Galathea with her; because being desirous to render thanks unto Hesius, for the happy successe of her Son Clidaman, which he had in the Battle against the Neustrians, she would by all means have Galathea with her, purposely to render the solemnity more celebrated. And because retardment in such actions as these, does in some sort resemble oblivion; and oblivion, ingratitude; she departed so soon, that she scarcely gave the Nymph time to tell us what we should do with you; and though she was extreamly trou∣bled at it, yet she durst not let it appear, lest Amasis should take notice of it, who al∣waies held her by the hand, not out of any suspition, but only the more to carrasse her. she being thus constrained to go with her into the Coach, all that she could do, was to say thus unto me: You, Silvia, and Lucinde, come after us in my Coach, and follow us with all the haste you can. I made a low reverence, and shewed by my actions, that I did understand what she said; but I did not intend to obey her, because my aimes were only upon you: And though I did well enough foresee her anger, yet, I preferred the good of∣fice which I intended to you, above it, chusing rather to fail in my duty to that Nymph, then in my affection to you. However, faigning as if my going out were in obedience to my Uncle, I met Silvia, who was in quest of me, and I told her, how you was escaped, whilst none took any notice of you. But I was never in all my life so surprised, as when in my return from you, I met Amasis and Galathea, as they were taking Coach; for, I had been utterly undone, if they had spied me out of the dores. But I did addresse my selfe unto my Uncle and Silvia: Father, said I unto him, and smiled, and you my dear Companion, you must needs both of you help me out in this businesse. Daughter, answered Adamas, never fear any blame for what you have done, as long as it is but what you ought to do, nor ever grieve upon such occasions; the gods, upon whom all events depend, are so just, as they will ever bear you out; and if at any time the contrary seem to happen, take speciall notice, Daughter, that it is to redouble the contentment, and as if they hapned only to augment your joyes. And because it is very expedient, you en∣deavour to preserve your selfe in the favour of your Mistresse, Silvia shall testifie, that you did not any thing, but what she knowes of very well; and to make the matter more easie for you, I am contented, that you shall both of you have some suspition of me; for, I shall not be sorry that he should think, that I do hate any thing which is contrary unto vertue: and I would permit you to charge me down-right with the act, but that it is necessary I should be something in her esteem, only to draw her off from those foolish and false ima∣ginations, which Climanthes hath infused into her. With such discourse as this, my Un∣cle did encourage us to continue in this laudable designe: Afterwards he went home∣wards, and we towards Marcelles; but first consulted together, what Answers should be given unto Galathea, lest we should contradict one another, knowing very well, that no eye is so quick and penetrating, as the eye of Jealousie. In the mean time, Galathea's minde was only on her dear Lucinde, commending my wit and subtlety in putting you into that habit, hoping, that under that shadow, she might without any suspition have you al∣waies with her; not, shepheard, that she had ever any unchast or unworthy thoughts, but designing to marry you, and not daring to declare it as long as Amasis lived, she thought she might alwaies have you in her presence under that umbrage. And though she could not doubt of the affection which you had unto the fair Astrea, yet flattering her selfe she hoped, that the sight of so much grandore and magnificence, would easily with∣draw your love from that shepheardesse; so as hugging her selfe in these thoughts, she was the most contented woman in the world, and nothing seemed tedious into her, but the length of the way: But, when she came to Marcelles, and did not see her dearly beloved Lucinde amongst the rest of her Nymphs, Oh! how she was disordered? and what haste did she make in going to her Chamber, and from her Chamber into her Closet? I, who plainly foresaw this storme, did follow her, but not with that alacrity as usuall; and I must needs confesse, that being in some sort guilty of treason, I did fear her presence; and yet, lest she should suspect me, as soon as she did call, I ran unto her, and commanding me to shut the dore: Well Leonida, (said she unto me) what's become of Celadon? Madam, (said I unto her, seeming much astonished and displeased) I cannot tell; for, as soon as ever you were gone, Silvia and I looked for him all over the Palace, and not finding him, we cannot devise what should become of him, unlesse Adamas can tell us. How's this, (said

Galathea, surprised at this unexpected answer) do you know no more of him? And seeing I did not answer: Did not I command you, said she, to have extraordinary care of him? Am I no better obeyed than thus? Go, go, Leonida, go immediately to your Uncle; if Celadon be there, bring him hither, or otherwise, never come again into my presence; and assure your selfe, I shall make you fell the smart of this offence, as well as my selfe. Seeing her so angry, and fearing, that replies would but aggravate, I made her a low and humble reve∣rence, I went away, to acquaint my Companions with it. Silvia not being far off, fol∣lowed me out of the Chamber, and I acquainted her with all the discourse of Galathea, and how she commanded me to retire. I knew, said Silvia, that it was impossible this businesse should end, without making her extreamly angry; but I should have imagined any thing, rather than this course she hath taken: What will every one think of your de∣parture? How can she hide it from Amasis? Well, my dear Companion, (said she unto me) I see, all the blame is laid upon you, though I have equally contributed to the same fault, (if that which we have done deserve not praise) but since it is so, I shall use all my best endeavours, to have you recalled as soon as possible: In the mean time, if any enquire of me the cause of your absence, I shall say, That Adamas desired Galathea, to let you be with him for a certain time, in hopes that some affection may grow betwixt his Son Paris and you; and I shall say this as a secret, to the end it may make the lesse noise in the world. After this, we kissed, and recommended each other to the tuition of the gods: And so I went unto my Uncle, unto whom I related the whole passage.

In the mean while, Galathea being alone in her Closet, and seeing all her hopes, and all her designes blasted, she was so surprised with sorrow, as she laid her selfe down upon a green Bed, and could scarcely breathe: At last, she started up with a deep sigh, and ca∣sting her eyes upon a great Glasse which was over against her, she saw the tears that trick∣led down her cheeks: Alas, alas, Galathea, said she, what is thy Beauty worth, which hath caused so many Idolaters, since it is not able to captivate him, whom thou most desirest to please? a poor despisable Shepheard despiseth it. Am I not the most unfortu∣nate woman in the world, since a mean and ungratefull Shepheardesse is able to do more then I am? Oh! how pleasing and sweet were my designes, at the first; and at the last, how bitter and vexatious are they all turned? Then being silent for a while, she broke out a∣gain: But is it possible, Celadon, thou shouldst not love me? Can I no way wean thy affe∣ction from a silly shepheardesse? Can a rustick country Beauty have a greater influence upon thee than mine? Has the heavens, to torment me, made thee so pleasing and so silly? She had continued longer in these exclamations, had not Silvia knocked at the dore, and ac∣quainted her, that Amasis her Mother was comming to see her. She presently drying up her tears as well as she could, and lying down upon the bed, she put a handkerchiefe over her face, feigning to be asleep; and therefore Silvia went to meet Amasis at the dore, and acquainted her, how Galathea was not well, telling her, that she thought her disease to be nothing but a little head-ach, which a little rest would cure. Amasis did easily believe it, when going neerer Galathea, she saw her face red, and burn like fire. The Nymph, at the comming of her Mother, seemed as if she were asleep, and starting up, did her reve∣rence unto her; and holding her hand before the eyes, she confirmed what Silvia had said. Amasis advised her to go into bed, and to rest that night, that she might be better dis∣posed to be a spectator of the publick Bone-fires of joy, which were to be made, and last two or three daies. After this, she retired, purposely to give her the more time of rest. Galathea was very glad of this excuse to be along; and when all was gone out of her Chamber she undressed her selfe, and went to bed, suffering none to be in the Chamber but Silvia, whom she commanded to stay by the bed side, that she might near if she cal∣led. Silvia, who knew her disease, prepared her self with remedies accordingly; but she was mistaken, for the Nymph stayed untill it was night, and never gave one word, ex∣pecting that Silvia should first begin. At last, when it was supper time: Go Silvia, said she, go to supper, and send some other in you room; as for me, I will not eate any thing. Madam, answered Silvia, I beseech you give me leave to stay with you; for, my meat will not do me any good, as long as you are not well. Sweet-heart, said the Nymph, I thank you, and believe it, I take you good-will unto me very kindely, in spite of the ingrati∣tude which I finde in others. But tell me freely and ingenuously, I intreat you (said she, and drew the Curtains) did you ever observe, that Leonida helped Celadon to escape? Madam answered Silvia if she did, I must needs say, she is the most subtle woman that ever lived, for she never stirred one step without me; and if you will be pleased to let me tell you

what I think, I will assure you, Madam, that if any helped him to escape, it was Adamas; for I observed, that as soon as ever you were set at dinner, he took Celadon apart, and talked with him very passionately a long time. Moreover, I observed, that after you were gone, when he saw us searching all about, and much troubled, he smiled two or three times and told us, that it had been well, if Celadon had never come there. How, said Galathea, is it so then, that Leonida never consented unto it? Madam, (answered Silvia, very discreetly) I will not swear she is innocent, but I dare swear, that I think she is not; and that if any be to blame, besides that ungratefull shepheard, it is Adamas. Do not tell me thus, said she, to excuse your Companion; I know that you are very good, but had she any advantage over you, she would make use of it against you; she is the craftiest and most jealous, that ever I saw of all those that are about me, and especially when I speak of you. Madam, answered Silvia, the consideration of any of my Companions, shall never make me fail in the duty which I do owe unto you; and as for their envie and jealousie, it shall never make me start or recoile from my well wishes unto Leonida; for I believe that if she did not love you, she would never be jealous of any that comes about you. Sweet-heart, said Galathea, and kissing her, I do finde you so discreet for your age, as for your sake, I will recall Leonida, whom I have forbid my house; but with this intention, that you shall be alwaies neerest unto me, and unto you I will impart all my secrets; your young years hath hitherto kept me something reserved from you, but now I finde, that though you be young in years, yet you are old in wisdome and discretion: and therefore from henceforth keep as near me as you can; and though I do not call you, yet enter freely in∣to what place soever I am, for I would have it so. And to the end Leonida should think her selfe obilged unto you, send her word what you have done for her, and bid her re∣turn. Madam, (answered Silvia, and making low reverence) the honour which you do me is so great, that I shall never forget it, and shall not think, that any merits of my own, but only your free goodnesse, did invite you to do me this honour; I shall receive it as the greatest blessing: of heaven, and do vow, Madam, that I will never fail in that fidelity, which is owing unto your service, more then I will in my duty to the gods themselves. And as concerning Leonida, would it not be expedient, that you stayed untill the day of publick joy, when Adamas will be there, to the end, you may seem as if you remitted the offence for his sake? But, sweet-heart, answered she it is Adamas that I am angry with∣all, for it is he that hath offended me. Madam, replyed Silvia, give me leave to tell you, what counsell my Mother gave unto me when I left her: Daughter, (said she unto me) whensoever any of your Companions does you any injury, remember that you never shew as if you wished them any ill, untill you have found the means how to be revenged; for, if you do it at another season, and shew teeth before you be able to bite, it will but exasperate them the more against you. So, Madam, you should not shew your selfe dis∣pleased at Adamas, untill you can make him resent your displeasure, lest when he sees himselfe out of your favour, he should either say or do something, that may more displease you. Thus by the prudence of this Nymph, Galathea's anger against me, was partly mi∣tigated, and she resolved to make no shew of any displeasure to my Uncle, untill times changed; of which, Silvia did presently advertise me, to the end, Adamas might be at the Feasts, which Amasis prepared.

But in the mean time, Polemas was not without abundance of vexation; for he saw, that by every Letter which came from the Army, L••ndamor was highly extolled, and the Trumpet of Fame sounded his name louder then any's else, and thereby extreamly eclipsed the glory of his Rivall; But that which vexed him to the heart, was, The Impo∣sture of Climanthes did not operate unto his advantage, and not knowing what was be∣come of him, he was the most blanked man that ever was, yet, though he did daily see the Nymph, and often talk with her, he never seemed to take any notice of it; so as one day as Galathea was talking with him, to try whether what I had told her concerning the stra∣tagem of Polemas and Climanthes was true, he seemed to know so little concerning it, that the Nymph believed, I had invented all those tricks to the advantage of Lindamor, as I heard since by the report of Silvia, to whom Galathea imparted every thing.

However, I lived a life in the mean time not disagreeable to my minde, had I had the happinesse which now I have, of seeing you. For, Celadon, you must know, that Paris is so extreamly in Love with Diana, as he, quitting his former garb, is now in the habit of a shepheard, and affects no exercises, but such as belongs to them. Do you mean that Diana, (said Celadon) which is Daughter unto the wise Belinde? The same, answered

the Nymph. I assure you, said the shepheard, she is one of the fairest, the wisest, and most accomplished shepheardesses, that I know, and one who deserves a good fortune; and I pray unto Tautates, that she may enjoy all the good fortune in the world. I am of your opinion, said the Nymph; but I do not believe, that she will marry Paris, for she has told me, that truly she does love and honour him, that she knowes what an honour it is he should make any addresses unto her, and what a great advantage such a Match would be to her; but yet, though she knowes not why she cannot love him otherwise then as a Brother, and that though she knowes him to be a man of great merit, yet she can love him no otherwise. How, (said Celadon, and interrupted her) does she speak of these things so familiarly unto you? I assure you, I think it very strange, when I remember her hu∣mour, which was wont to be so reserved and close, even from her best beloved Compani∣ons, Astrea and Phillis, that they knew very little of her intentions. Oh shepheard! (answered the Nymph) there is great alterations within this three or foure Months, since you have been there; for Astrea, Diana, and Phillis are all one, they are alwaies together; and since your supposed losse, Diana may be said to succeed in your room. Moreover, if you remember Silvander, whom they called, the Shepheard without affection, he is now so deeply in love, that except Celadon, none is comparable to him; and it came thus to passe: Phillis and he fell into some difference concerning their merits; and because that shepheard, being educated in the Massilian Schooles, and having an excellent acute wit, did produce better and more valid reasons, then that shepheardesse could, she, out of a pleasant humour, propounded, that Silvander, to give a testimony of his merits, should court and serve Diana with as much obsequious observance, as if he did really love her. The shepheard accepted of the proposition, upon condition, that Phillis should be con∣strained to do the same. After much discussion, Astrea, Diana, and I, did ordain, that both of them should court and serve the same shepheardesse, and that at the three months end, that shepheardesse should judge, which of them two had most merits to make them∣selves loved. This being thus resolved, Diana was made choice of to be their Mistresse; so as since this time, Phillis hath acted a passionate part so very well, as no shepheard could better acquit himselfe. Now, see what is the issue of this fiction, Silvander, who, as I told you, was all insensibility, is become by his counterfeiting so desperately in love with Diana, as every one does plainly see that he goes farther then the bounds of a siction; and I know, that Diana will give her judgment on his side; for, though she is a shepheardesse of great modesty and wisdome, yet it is well enough known, that this courtship does not displease her; and for my part, I must confesse, that I know no shepheard, except Celadon, who is more worthy to be loved. And because of this faigned courtship, Phillis is almost continually with Diana, and Silvander leaves her as seldome as possibly he can. Lycidas, your Brother, thinks, that there is a matter of Love betwixt Phillis and Silvander, and is so fully perswaded of it, as he is so jealous, that he cannot endure they should be together. And since Phillis cannot banish her selfe from the company of Astrea, and since Diana is alwaies with Astrea, and Silvander with Diana, poor Lycidas, not being able to en∣dure it, never sees Phillis, unlesse at such meetings when he cannot avoid it. This is a great alteration indeed (answered the sad Celadon) and I must confesse they are all much to be pittyed, especially Lycidas, who is fallen into the very worst disease of Love; but I do not think it strange, for I know, the nature of my Brothers temper was alwaies apt to take such impressions: For my part, I must protest, that we are not Brothers in that: I can∣not deny, but that I was once jealous, but I think it is, because all Lovers are once in their lives subject unto it, as they say little Children are, of a certain dangerous malady, which never comes unto them but once. Phillis also is to blame, who, having given so many as∣surances of her good-will unto Lycidas, will suffer him to enter into any doubt of her af∣fection; but I do believe, that she knowing this jealousie of my Brother does proceed from an excesse of Love, she suffers it with more patience. As for Silvander and Diana, I must confesse, it is impossible, that two subjects for love should be more equally met; for, as Diana does surpasse Silvander in Beauty and Estate, so the vertue and merits of the shep∣heard, do equally ballance the Scales: Yet, I do infinitely pitty them both, for I know them most absolute Masters of themselves and actions; but now I know by experience, in∣to what a Chaos of confusion and troubles they are plunged so as I must needs pitty them, for making such a disadvantageous change. Thus, wise Nymph, we may see, that there is no assured happinesses amongst mortalls. Celadon, answered the Nymph, you would be Tautates himselfe, if you could perswade them, that they are not much happier

then before; nay, Silvander himselfe thinks so, whose company is much more pleasant then it was wont to be, as I have heard from those who knew him before. For my part, said Celadon, I am of that shepheards opinion; for, though there be some pains in the life of Love, I pray tell me, in what kinde of life there is not so as well? But if you do consider those contentments which a Lover receives, in loving and being loved, I believe you will agree with me, that there is no happier life then that of Love. Ah Celadon! (said the Nymph, with a great sigh) how dearly are those contentments bought, I refer it unto your own selfe, if you would but ingenuously confesse your passion. Every one that loves, replyed Celadon, does not meet with Astrea's. But, said Leonida, since you are of this opinion, why do you say, you pitty them? Because, answered Celadon, as it is a pleasing thing to conquer, so the contrary, to be conquered; therefore I fear, that there being a∣bundance of labour and pains to be taken in Love, lest they should be overcome or asto∣nished at the difficulties, and retire, before they have surmounted them. And therefore, have I not good reason to pitty those, who I see do enter into a danger, the issue whereof is so uncertain? But I do much wonder, how you should know so much of Diana, whom I know to be alwaies the most reserved and secret of all our Shepheardesses. The love of Paris, answered she, is the cause of it, who hath made me see her ofter then otherwise I should. I had a good inclination of my own to go unto your Town, in hopes to finde you there; and when I was thinking upon some good excuse for it, I met with Paris, who, that night I returned, spoke thus unto me: Sister, (said he, for Adamas would have us call Brother and Sister) do you remember how much contentment we received that night, we lay in the Town of Astrea and Diana, and how pleasing their conversation was? I, who knew very well he had been oft there since, did answer him thus: I do, Brother, said I; but I do believe, you have a better memory then I, and, as I have heard, have bet∣ter reason. It is true, said he unto me; and I cannot deny, but that the merits of those fair and discreet Shepheardesses, have much invited me to get their friendship, and more then I make appear. Brother, said she, you tell me more then I aske. 'Tis no matter, re∣plyed he, and smiled, I will ingenuously tell any thing unto you, in hopes, that you will not deny me one request that I shall make unto you, and which I do conjure you unto by our friendship. Aske what you will Brother, (said I unto him) for I cannot deny you any thing upon that conjuration. I beseech you then, (said he) that since you do not return unto Marcelles, you will be pleased to walk sometimes upon the banks of Lignon, and passe away some afternoones in the company of those fair and discreet Shepheardesses, and give me leave to wait upon you: you will think this place here to be very dull, having been accustomed so long to the Court; but the banks of Lignon have shades so cool and pleasant, as it is impossible you should be weary: you shall see the silver streams so clear, and so filled with all sorts of fishes, as you will admire; you shall hear all sorts of Birds make the Woods Eccho, with a thousand varieties of voices; you shall finde such clear, cool, and curious Fountains, as will invite you to drink of them. To be briefe (said I unto him, and smiled) we shall meet there the fairest and sweetest Shepheardesses in all the Country. 'Tis very true, said he, and I hope all these will invite you to go thither. All these invitations, said I unto him, do not move me so much, as the desire you have of go∣ing thither; you are my Brother, and my friend, and under that notion I will fulfill what∣soever you shall desire: But since your desire is to see those Shepheardesses, I would gladly know which of them you love best, I mean, Astrea or Diana. Sister, said he, you are growne very inquisitive of late. I confesse it, said I unto him; but if you put me to ask the question twice, I will say, you are grown very secret of late; for even now, you told me more then I asked. But, Sister, said he, which of them do you think I may in justice addresse my selfe unto? I understand your meaning, said I unto him; you think I will say, Astrea, but, Brother, take heed, lest Diana do not make your desires devour you. I pro∣test unto you, Sister, said he unto me, I would with all my heart be in danger to be devou∣red by my own Dogs, as Acteon was, upon condition, I had the happinesse to see this Diana naked Is it possible, said I unto him, that you should value your life so little? Nay, said he, I esteem my life at a high rate; but I do esteem the sight of so much beauty infi∣nitely higher, since I must die, and perhaps soon, before I can enjoy any contentment equall unto this; have I not reason to venter it betimes, to enjoy so high a felicity whilst I may? For my part, answered I, though I think these desires a little too loose and extra∣vagant, yet I will not blame you; but I am afraid, they will cost you much pain and sor∣row. I will venter that, said he; but, Sister, tell me freely, will you, for my sake, become

a Shepheardesse one houre in the day? How do you mean, (said I unto him) would you have me take the habit of a Shepheardesse, as you do of a Shepheard? No, no, said he un∣to me, that would be too troublesome to you, and nothing conducing to my ends; I only desire you to be with those Shepheardesses, and let me accompany you. I shall do, Bro∣ther, what you would have me, said I unto him; but take heed, this way do not prejudice your designe; for in seeing Diana, under colour of keeping me company, she may perhaps think her selfe not obliged unto you for your visit. Diana, said he unto me, is not a person who insists upon such ceremonious vanities, but is able out of her judgment to discern my actions, and discerning them, commend my discretion.

This resolution then was fixed upon amongst us; and that very night, Paris told Ada∣mas, that if he thought good of it, he would wait upon me the next day a hunting, and that I much desired it. Whithersoever she please, said Adamas unto him; for such was my love to her Father, as I can never sufficiently acquit my selfe of it unto his Daughter. This declaration did answer the expectation of Paris, and therefore the next day, as soon as we had dined, we went down the Hill of Lacquier, and passing over the River Lig∣non, at Trelin Bridge, we followed the River-side, untill we were over against Boutreux, we left the Temple of the good goddesse on the right hand, and came unto a little rising hill, from whence we might see all the turnings and windings of Lignon, and the Plaines, where the Shepheards and Shepheardesses did drive their Flocks to feed: Then, by a little path, we descended into the plain: See, Brother, said I unto him, and pointed with my finger, yonder upon the right hand, is that tuft of Trees, where I first saw Astrea, Diana, and Phillis; and had you been with me in Silvia's room, perhaps we had observed more then we did; for, we being weary with walking, we fell asleep, and in the mean time, these three shepheardesses came, and sat down close by us, and not spying us, doubtlesse they did not sit in silence; but as ill-fortune was, when we awaked, they were gone. 'Tis true, that since I came by my selfe, and it was then when you met me, and when I heard all the story of Diana. Ah Sister, (said he up on a sudden) I remember the time very well; it was then when I began to love another above my selfe. But, Sister, I conjure and beseech you, by all obligations of friendship, to tell me all that you know: Does she love any one? See, said I, and smiled, how jealous you are already? What did it concern you, if I knew more? Be contented, that I tell you what I think is requisite and necessary for you to know. Ah cruell Sister, said he unto me, you use me as they do Children, shew them an Apple, to make them the more desire it, and then not give it them. Lovers indeed, said I, are little different from Children. But, Sister, said he, can you not tell me, whether she loves me or no? It is more to be feared, that she will not love you, (said I unto him) then that she will love any other. Although you threaten me extreamly, said he, yet I am more glad of the assurance which you give me, that she loves no other; then I am sorry for the doubt which you make, that she will not love me. Why, answered I, will you not enjoy a good, if another have any share with you? Before I can give you a full answer, said Paris, I must make a long distinction of Goods; but I will briefly tell you, that there are some, which the more communicable they are, the better they are; and others, which are more to be esteemed, the lesse they are communicable: and in this last order, must I rank the Goods of Love. I think, answered I, that if I were in a capacity of loving, I should be of the same beliefe. But, let not this fear diminish the favours you receive; for you may be most certainly assured, that those favoure you receive from her, (if ever you arrive at that Good) they will not be common.

Now, Celadon, I have made this long discourse unto you, to the end you may judge, how deeply Paris is in Love. Now I shall tell you something concerning Silvander and Lycidas. Walking thus down into the Plain, we espied Silvander, who sitting under a Tree, was so intent unto the Musick of his Bag-pipe, as he took no notice how Diana, knowing his voice, stole gently behinde a Bush to hear him, and not be seen; and Diana was so desirous to hear, that she did not see Astrea and Phillis, who seeing her, and having the same curiosity, did steal on the other side, unseen either by Diana or Silvander; but we were most pleased at Lycidas, who being upon a little Hill, looked upon Phillis, as she crept gently upon the ground, lest Silvander should see her; for having an opinion, that the love which she bare unto that Shepheard, was the cause of her desire to hear him, he stood with crossed armes, and eyes so fixed upon her, as if he were a Statue; I had not known him at that distance, but for Paris, who saw him often. Now as we were walking down the Hill, we saw your Brother pul down his Hat upon a sudden, and turning his

back upon his Shepheardess, he came stamping towards us, and never saw us; but still as he went, scratched his head, stamped upon the ground, struck himselfe upon the breast, and lifted his eyes often up to heaven. These passionate actions made us very desirous to hear what he said, and therefore hiding our selves behinde a great Bush which was by the way side, we took notice, that upon a suddian he fell down, as if he had been troubled with a fit of the falling sickness: We stole neerer and neerer unto him, untill we could hear him sigh out a hundred symptomes of jealousie, saying, That he had all the reason in the world to be jealous, and that all oaths, and former assurances of affection, should never perswade him to the contrary; but that he was jealous with judgment, since he saw Phillis upon her knees before him she loved. Then after a hundred such expressions, we saw him rise up, and look backward, to see what Phillis did, and a little after, went neerer her, then returned again to the place from whence he came. He did not perceive us, be∣cause he was so totally taken up with his thoughts of Phillis, so as I think, if we had stood directly before his eyes, he could not have seen us. We followed him; and when he had couched himselfe close by Phillis, we couched behinde him, and heard Silvander sing these Verses.

Love's World.

1.

GRand Fabricator Love, the form hath laid, And out of me another World hath made: The Earth is my Fidelity, which stands Immovable, by any mortall hands. And as the World upon the Earth is founded, So this, on my fidelity is grounded.

2.

If any sits of jealousie do make This Earth of my fidelity to shake, And cause my constant heart to quake and tremble, Imprison'd windes exactly they resemble, Which being in the earth enclos'd, they make, All hearts to tremble, and the earth to quake.

3.

My Tears the Ocean is; as soon you may Empty the Sea, as them dry up or stay. My Tears so many storms are, which rebell, And makes this Sea to bluster and to swell. The flowing Rivers of my eyes do pay Their constant Tribute to this swelling Sea.

4.

The Air my VVill is, which is pure and free, And alwaies waits on my Fidelity. The VVinde is my Desire, which moves my VVill, As wanton Aire by winde is moved still. And as in caverns we do see the Winde, So my Desire is in my heart confin'd.

5.

That Fire invisible, which in the Aire, Those secret Flames which burn my heart up, are▪ And as this Element no eye doth see, Even so my Flames with in me smother'd be. But as all flames some nourishment do crave, So must mine die, or nourishment must have.

6.

My Hopes the Moon is, which doth still encrease, Or else diminish alwaies more or lesse: And I do find it by experience true, She has no light, but borrowed from you.

For if you do not, like the Sun to th'Moon, Some lustre lend, then all my hopes are done.

7.

The Sun is your incomparable eye, VVhich does out-lustre any in the skie: As th' other Sun life to the VVorld doth give, So Lovers die, unlesse you bid them live. 'Tis day when you appear, and it is night, Most dismall dark, when you are out of sight.

8.

My Summer is my joy, when you do please To shine upon me, and my heart to ease. My VVinter is my fear, when you with-draw, And is not pleas'd my frozen fear to thaw. But now, alas, what fruit can Autumn bring; VVhen I can finde no flowers in my Spring.

Thus Silvander ended his Song, but not his thoughts; but on the contrary, descanting upon the last Verse of it; Alas! said he, though Love will not let my Autumn bring any fruites, yet he might very well let my Spring afford me some flowers. Is it not thy custome, (Oh thou little god) to nourish hopes in many, whom thou never meanest to content, and why does thy custome faile in me? But still I must needs say, thou art just, for thou couldst not chastise my presumption with a lesser punishment. Yet, I must needs com∣plain; for though the punishment be just, yet it smarts; and though I am culpable, yet I am sensible withall. After these expressions, he was silent, and whilst he was turmoiling himselfe in a sea of various thoughts, he gave Diana leasure to cast her eye upon her com∣panions; and seeing they perceived her, she was ashamed; therefore stealing gently unto them, she said thus unto Phillis: I pray, Servant, whilst Astrea and I get a little off, stay you here, that if the Shepheard do hear us, you may amuse him; for I would not upon any termes have him know, that I heard him. So Phillis making a signe that she would, Di∣ana and Astrea went away. I observed, that Lycidas supposed, these two Shepheardesses would have perswaded Phillis to go with them, but that her love, which he supposed she had unto Silvander, would not let her leave him: The actions of his head, hands, and feet, perswaded me in this opinion. In the mean time, Silvander began to sing this Song.

That to adore Diana is the only Happinesse. A Song.

SIt still, Silvander, ne're complain, Against thy fate or any pain: For, such a Mistris is thy lot, As never man a fairer got. Be thankfull, Man, and think it honour, To sacrifice thy selfe upon her. For never since the world was made, VVas so much light without a shade. Put heaven to boot, the Angells there, (Compar'd with her) they are not fair. Cease then complaints, and think it sweet, If thou from her thy death do meet: A better death thou canst not die, Then murder'd by so fair an eye. Love on, Silvander, never faint, But still adore so fair a Saint. 'Tis perfect Martyrdome to die, For such a sweet Idolatry.

This Shepheard perhaps had continued longer, if Driope, Diana's Dog, had not broke loose from her, and run fawning upon Silvander, for he was wont to make very much of him for his Mistresse's sake. The Shepheard presently rose up, and looked round about, but could not see her; yet, he saw Lycidas hearkening, and Phillis, who seeing him rise, went to him, as Diana desired; but as she went towards him, she espied Lycidas, which made her change her intention; for she knowing, that he was jealous of Silvander, she turned another way: and this made Lycidas the more suspect her, thinking she did it pur∣posely to hide it from him. Silvander, who knew both their hearts, and being resolved to augment the jealousie of Lycidas, he faigned, as if he did not see Lycidas, and ran unto Phillis, and taking her hand, did imprint two or three zealous kisses upon it; afterwards asked her, how Diana and Astrea did? The Shepheardess was very sorry that Lycidas did see all this, and so perplexed at it, as she knew not how to answer him. Paris and I, who intended to follow Astrea and Diana, we now went unto Silvander and Phillis. Lycidas, extreamly ill satisfyed with all this, turned another way, as if he had never seen us. We foure being together, we went that way Astrea and Diana went, after Silvander had taken order, both for his ownflock, and that of Phillis's. This was a sore heart-burn unto Lycidas, and his jealousie was much more increased by it, when he saw that Shep∣heard so carefull about the flock of Phillis, so as your Brother was continually turning his head towards us, to see what we did.

I profess (said Celadon, and interrupted her) he is much to be pittyed; for I have found, by my little experience of it, that jealousie is one of the most extream fortunes of a Lover. But, fair Nymph, what became of him afterwards? I cannot tell, answered she, for I saw him not all the day after: and as for us, we went unto Diana and Astrea, who, as I be∣lieve, stayed for our company: and we spent all that day together with much contentment: Paris, he applyed himselfe unto Diana; Silvander, unto Phillis; and I unto Astrea, whom indeed I finde to be most worthy of Celadon's affection. Fair Nymph, said Cela∣don, I beseech you give me leave to be a little more inquisitive. What is it, said Leonida, that you desire to know of me? Did you ever hear, said Celadon, so sweet a voice as hers? has she not a kinde of an harmonious accent in her pronunciation, which charmes the ear? Certainly she has, said the Nymph, and that which most takes me, is, that she useth no art or affection in her language, but all her expressions are plain, and full of modesty and civility. But I beseech you, sweet Nymph said Celadon, did she never speak of me? She did, said I, but it was my selfe who began the discourse; for I knew, the reason why she spoke so little of you, was, the opinion which every one had of your affection to her. For heavens sake, sweet Leonida, (said the shepheard) tell me what discourse you had together? It was not much, (said she unto him) yet I know not whether I shall remember it or no: I was very desirous to hear what was become of you; and when Paris desired me to go unto your Town, I had not the confidence to speak of you: And when I saw Paris so deeply in love with Diana, as he minded nothing but her, and not finding you amongst the shepheardesses, I was extreamly troubled. At last, after some other discourse, I told her, how I did not think, that the shepheards of Lignon had been so civilized as I found them: The first time I stayed with them, was purposely to see, whether the reports I had heard were true; and Silvander that day confirmed them all. I must confesse, (answered Astrea) that Silvander is a very well accomplished shepheard. But, Madam, had you come at another time, I believe you would have found better satisfaction; for there was a time, when we had a most excellent company of shepheards. What is become of them, answered I? Some, said she, are dead, as the poor Celadon; others are so grieved for the losse of him, as they are grown so many lumps of melancholly, and frequent none, but solitary places, as Lycidas; and some are so astonished at the accident, as they have quite left the fatall Lignon: and indeed, we are all so sad ever since, as we do not seem the same we were. Celadon, replyed I, was not that he whom I heard talk off, when I was last here? The same, (said she unto me, with a deep sigh) Was he your Cozen (said I unto her)? No, answered she, but on the contrary, his Father and mine were most mortall enemies: But, Madam, he was the most gentle and finest shepheard in all the Country; and though there was a most deadly enmity between our two families, yet his sweet and good condi∣tions constrained me, and every one that knew him, to resent his losse. At this she chan∣ged colour and putting her hand before her eyes, she seemed as if the rubbed her forehead. I perceived by this discourse, that you were not yet returned unto her, since I left you; and knowing, that she could not tell me any thing, that could satisfie my longing desires

of seeing you, and that such talk would only grieve her, I changed discourse; and present∣ly after, it being late, Paris and I retired. It was then I heard from Silvander of your Brother's jealousie; for walking by the River side, I asked him the cause of your Brother's sadnesse, and why we could never see him? And he told me, that Lycidas being a devoted servant unto Phillis, he was jealous of her and him; and that he, to torment him the more, did seem as if he were in love with Phillis, and gave out all the demonstrations of it that possibly he could. Thus, Celadon, did we spend that day; and since that, because I could not hear any newes of you, I visited this Company every day, thinking, that being in the company of those whom you loved, I was in some sort with you. This was the reason, that when Amasis, after great preparations of joy, was constrained to leave them, be∣cause of the newes of Merovea's death, though Silvia, by the command of Galathea, did let me know, that I might return unto Marcelles when I would, yet I would not go, because I took abundance of delight in the society of these discreet shepheardesses. Why (said Celadon) did Amasis grieve so, for the death of that King? Because (as I believe) Clidamant was with him, (answered I). Now, lest my Uncle should make me return un∣to that Nymph, I did conceal Silvia's Letter from him. But, Celadon, tell me truly, do you not envie me, for seeing Astrea, and speaking with her as oft as I would? I shall not be sorry at any thing that pleaseth you, answered he; but I could wish my selfe a share in the happinesse. And why (answered the Nymph) do you deprive your selfe of it? Ah Leonida! (said he) could you but look into my heart, you would see I do not; but I can take no delight in seeing her, and in seeing her displeased. But why (said the Nymph) do you think she will be displeased with seeing you? Because (answered the shepheard) she hath commanded me never to see her, untill she command otherwise. How can she com∣mand otherwise (said Leonida) if she never see you, nor knowes where you are, but thinks you to be dead? Ah Nymph, (said the shepheard) Love is a most puissant god; and as he has blindely found out a way to banish me her presence, he may also finde a way to recall me when he pleaseth. Are you then resolved (said Leonida) not to present your selfe before her? I had rather die, answered he, and therefore let Love do as it lists. Upon this, he arose, purposely to change discourse, and taking the Nymphs hand, he came to the dore of his Cave; but when she saw him in the light, and perceiving him so extreamly altered, she could not restrain her tears; which Celadon seeing: Nay, nay, sweet Nymph, said he, never grieve at the alteration which you finde in my face, for it is a signe, that ere long I shall have a long rest. It would be too tedious to relate all their discourse. But, to be briefe, all her arguments and perswasions could obtain from him no more, then this, that he would suffer her to visit him sometimes. At the last, the Sun being almost set, she was constrained to leave him, with a promise to see him very often.

For all Leonida's resolution, of not loving Celadon, yet could she not extinguish the flames of her first affection to him; so difficult a thing it is to expell this passion, when it has once taken deep root in a heart which entertains it; and therefore this meeting with him was no small contentment unto her; but her sorrowes, to see him in such a miserable condition, were as great, and the greater, when she thought upon his strange resolution; so as her joyes to finde him, and her sorrowes to finde him thus, did a little puzzle her which to adhere most unto: All the way she went, she was inventing what course she should take, to disswade him from this course of life: Sometimes she was in a minde, to acquaint the shepheardesse Astrea with it, in hopes, that her influence might effect it. But this minde changed, as soon as she considered, that this was the way to put her selfe out of all hopes to get his love, knowing very well, that if Astrea once knew he was alive, and could finde him, she would give him such sweet demonstrations of her good-will un∣to him, as would blast all her hopes of him. Changing therefore this opinion, and having heard, that Adamas had been a great lover of Celadon's Father, she thought it expedient to acquaint him with his course of life, assuring her selfe, that he would do all that was requisite and fit. Yet notwithstanding, when she considered, that the place where Celadon was, was as fit a place as she could wish, to enjoy his company alone, and to expresse her own passion, she conceived the best way was, to acquaint none as yet, but to try what time would doe, and to divert him from his sad thoughts as much as she possibly could; and if she found, that her presence and artifice could not work upon him, then it would be time enough to acquaint her Uncle. This then was the course she fixed upon; and to effect it, she failed not to visit him every day. The shepheard knowing, that all this could not proceed from any thing but love, he was displeased at it, thinking, that if he suf∣fered

so much indulgency from this Nymph, he did offend against the promise of fidelity un∣to his shepheardesse: Besides, he thought all those houres that were spent in these visits, were lost, because they kept him from entertaining his own dear and sweet thoughts; so as in lieu of growing more joyfull, he became more sad; which the Nymph perceiving, and seeing that he did every day grow leaner and paler; she consulted with her selfe, and at last resol∣ved, to have recourse unto the sage advice of the grave Adamas; but to acquaint him with it in such a manner, as he should be sure not to suspect any thing, to her dis∣advantage.

Being therefore one evening in a better humour then ordinary, she went unto her Uncle, whom she found walking upon a Tarrasse, which had the prospect of all that plain from whence she came: After salutation, the Druide asked her, where she left Paris? To which she answered, that all the shepheardesses were so kinde and civill, as to accompany them as far as the Temple of the good goddesse, and Paris went to conduct them back again: But, Father, said she, I have met with a fine encounter, which stayed me so long, that I thought Paris would have been back before me. What is it said the Druide? It is Celadon, answered Leonida; you must know, that since he went from the Palace of Issaures, in lieu of going to his kindred and friends, he has retired himself into a Cave, where he so hides himself from all his acquaintance, as every one yet thinks him dead. Why, said Adamas, does he so? I believe, answered sh, that he is very sick in minde, and will not live long, for he can scarcely go; he eats nothing but grasse, and is grown so lean and sad, as you can∣not know him. Why, think you, said the Druide, that it is in his minde? I conceive so, said she, because he speaks after an interrupted manner, and so little, as it is easie to see, that discourse displeaseth him; I do believe, the love he bears unto Astrea is the cause of it. If it be so, answered Adamas, he is the more like unto his Father; for, Alcippe was once so very much transported with his love unto Amarillis, that I did never in all my life see one commit greater follies; and therefore it was, that he left a Country-life for the Court, and continued long in the exercises of Chivalry. Is it lawfull for them, said Le∣onida, thus to change their quality? Child, said the Druide, neither Celadon nor any of these shepheards about the banks of Lignon, nor most of those about the Loire and Furan, are of a worse extraction then you your selfe are; you must know, that their Ancestours made choice of this kinde of life, as most sweet, and least subject unto inquietudes. Indeed, this Celadon, of whom you speak, is your neer kinsman: For, the House of Laigneau and his, did branch both out of one stock, so as Lindamor and he are your Cosens in the same degree: My Grandfather, and the great Grandfather of Lindamor and Celadon, were Brothers. Leonida hearing how neerly they were allied, was astonished, fearing lest this con∣sanguinity should forbid the banes of her loving him, as Love commanded her to do; yet, lest her Uncle should take any notice of her fears, she said unto him; That since they were so neerly allyed, they were the more obliged to have a care of him, and that the savage life he led was such, as she verily believed he could not live long. It is very fit, said the Druide, that we have all the care of him that possibly we can; and therefore, to shew my indulgency towards him, I will go unto the Cave of the old Cleontine, and consult with her about him: Perhaps the heavens have a care of him, and keep him thus hid, to prevent some great misfortune; for I have known some others, that have been so preserved from divers blasts of malignant fate, which did threaten them. Whilst they were thus talking, Paris came in, and interrupted them, for they would not acquaint him with it, so as Adamas and Leonida went betimes to bed, that they might be the more early up in the morning, to go unto Cleontine.

Mount Verdun is a great Rock, resembling a pointed Diamond, which stands in the midst of the plain towards Mount Brison, between the River Lignon, and the Mountain Issaures; were it a little more upon the right hand towards Laigneau, then Marcelles, Issaures, and Mount Verdun, did make a perfect Triangle. It seemes Nature took delight in imbellishing this place above all others in the Country; for, it being elevated in the very heart of this Plain, so equally on all sides, it raised it selfe by such eeven degrees, and at the top did leave just room for a Temple, which was dedicated unto Tautates, Hesius, Tharames, and Belinus; and being the most famous in all the Forrests, it is here where the Lubages, the Sarronides, the Vaces, and the Bardes, do dwell in Grattoes, which they have made about the Temple, in which they assemble themselves when the Druides com∣mand them. But that which is most admirable, is, that this great Rock, which is above foure thousand paces about, when it begins to rise from the levell, and above foure hun∣dred

paces high, and at the top above five hundred paces broad; yet, it is so covered with earth, planted with Vines, so full of grasse, and so green, that those of the Country cor∣rupting its name, do call it Mount Verdun, or green Mountain, in lieu of Mount Vatodun, which signifies the Mountain and dwelling of Priests or Sacrifices; for in the language of the Celts, Dunum signifies Fortresse; and Vates, in the Roman language, signifies Priests, Pro∣phets, or such as give Oracles; and since the Gaules had any communication with the Romans, they have not only mixed their language, but also their manner of sacrificing, complying themselves with a victorious people, so made such a miscellany, as they do retain unto themselves equally halfe Roman, halfe Celt. This Mountain became thus peo∣pled with Bardes, Eubages, Surronides, and others, by Dryus, the first Institutor of the Druides, who inspired this place with a certain kinde of divinity, and left a mark of it un∣to Posterity. This Rock, which, for its magnitude, may well be called a Mountain, is naturally so hollow, as within it is but one vast Vault; it hath three entrances, so spa∣cious, that a Coach may enter; they are commonly kept shut, and opened only when the Oracle is to be consulted with, and then a Druide, after a sacrifice, opens the dore, and askes the question: Presently there issues an impetuous winde, which comming from the concavities of this Vault, makes a strange confused noise, seeming to be a kinde of ill pronounced voice. The Druide holding his head as far in as he can, stayes there, with his mouth open as long as the noise continues; afterwards comes away, with his hair dis∣ordered, his eyes staring, his face changed, and voice altered from what they were, and with actions, as if transported, does give the Oracle, which very often, the pronouncer her selfe does not understand.

Now these three entrances, are dedicated unto three of their gods, or indeed, unto one god under three severall names; the one unto Hesius, whom they consult with in matters of War; the other unto Thamaris, when future events would be known; and the other unto Belinus, unto whom all Lovers do addresse their sacrifices and supplications. And these three entrances are never all open at a time, but upon the sixteenth day of July, when having gathered abundance of Misleto, they come and strew it all about the Vault. At this time, if the Soveraigne Lady of the Province have a Daughter, she may enter, and make choice of him whom she will have for her Husband; with whom, and the grand Druide, they may view all that is in this Cave, and see all the wonders which the great Druide left in it.

This was the place unto which Adamas with Leonida did resort in the morning, to consult with Thamaris; and after the sacrifice of a white Bull, according to the cu∣stome, and after Cleontine had dressed her selfe in Vervin, and sprinkled the blood of the sacrifice at the entrance, she put a piece of Lawrell in her mouth and chewed it; then touch∣ing the dore with a branch of Misleto, presently it opens with a great noise, and she ta∣king hold of the hinges, leanes all her body in, and opening her mouth to receive the winde which comes out of the Cave, she stayes there a good while, and at last, comes unto the place of sacrifice, where the Druide and all the rest do stay upon their knees, and bare-headed, praying unto Tentates. When she is come back, she goes unto the Altar, and there, with an afrighted visage, and hair staring, with a strange hoarse voice, she uttered these words.

The ORACLE.

SAge Adamas, the heavens decree, You by your prudence must be he, That must help out his Infancy.

The gods themselves do it ordain, When he his Mistresse does obtain, Your age shall happy be again.

Adamas, after thanks unto Thamaris, and beseeching him to make him understand his will, lest by ignorance he should erre, he went away, fully resolved to assist Celadon all that possibly he could, since the gods did promise to make his age happy, if he obtained his Mistresse. He had before a very good inclination towards him, as well because of the neer consanguinity betwixt them, as because of that shepheards merits; but much more,

since this answer from the Oracle, evidencing hereby, that a person interested, is much more solicitous in any businesse, then one that is only obliged by duty. Taking the way there∣fore towards Lignon, he asked Leonida, where Celadon's habitation was? And she shew∣ing him the way, they came at last to the bush which covered the entrance into the Cave, where he took up his habitation; and fearing, lest if he saw them, he should flie them, they went as softly as they could to surprize him. As fortune was, he lay just at the entrance in∣to his Cave, so near the River, that as he leaned upon a hillock, and saw his tears drop into the River, they heard him utter these words.

Celadon comparing himselfe unto the River Lignon.

HOw I increase this Chryst all River, Which of my sorrowes is a mirrour: I may my selfe compare to thee, And thou of me resemblance be.

From Scources two thou dost arise, VVhich may be from my flowing eyes; More swelling waves thou never had, Then I misfortunes great and sad.

As thou dost glide without designe, So without hope away I pine. Thy scource from Mountains high doth flow, From Beauty high proceeds my woe.

Through Rocks so hard thou find'st a way, Through Rocks of griese I pass each day. Though our resemblances be such, Yet, in one point we differ much.

Thy waves increase by falling snowes, And frist addes tears unto my woes: And yet, (which I do most admire) Thou art all Cold, and I all Fire.

Ah! River, River continued he, thou that art a witnesse, how I am now the most miserable, as formerly I was the most happy, shepheard in the world, why wast thou so mercilesse, as to save my miserable life when it was in thy power to put an end unto all my sorrowes, by taking this pittifull life away? Will things that are insensible conspire against me, and deny me that, which naturally they bestow upon others? But perhaps thou art loth to lose thy third scource, knowing that my tears did more abundantly swell thy Chanell, then both those from whence thou hast thy originall: If this was the motive that moved thee unto this cruell pitty, I'le assure thee, thou art not deceived since as long as I live, my tears shall never fail thee. Upon this last word, a most profound sigh gave a stop unto his voice, so as for a while his tongue was silent; and as he was beginning again, Leonida unawares stirred. He turning his head that way, he was extreamly surprised, to see Adamas with her in that place; he presently arose, and came to salute the Druide, who advanced towards him. The thin and pale looks of Celadon did not a little astonish Ada∣mas. And having former experience of the force of Love, he conceived, that this violent malady might reduce him unto a more dangerous condition, if no remedies were ap∣plyed. Therefore after common saluations and discourse, he took him by the hand and caused him to sit down and then began this discourse unto him: Son, what a strange condition is this, in which I finde you? Was it to live thus, that you requested me to help you out of the pain that you were in, within the Palace of Issaures? Did you intend to shut your selfe up in this Cave, and live like a salvage from the society of men? You are born, Celadon, unto a better fate, the great Thamaris tells me as much; he has bestowed upon you great Flocks, and large Pastures; and do you think your selfe not obliged to render an account of them? All under the cope of heaven is his, we are all but his Stew∣ards, and questionlesse he will exact a particular accompt; and, Soh, when that time

comes, what will you then answer? Although he hath submitted these things unto our wills; yet, our very wills are not our own, and we may expect a severe punishment, if we dispose of our selves otherwise than as we ought. How can you think it reasonable to live without any care of Flocks, or Friends, or Kindred, or Men? Dare you contemn those remedies, which that great god hath upon this occasion put into your hands? Perhaps you will say, that your affection unto the shepheardesse Astrea, does force you unto it. But, Son, consider well with your selfe, that if you have offended her, all your services cannot wipe away the offence, as long as you keep at distance from her; and if you have not offended her, how can you ever hope or think she should know your innocency, if she never see or hear of you? Now, my Son, I do grant, that for the time past, you had some reason to absent your selfe from her presence, nay, from all the world, to the end she may see, what power she hath over you, and that you value the losse of her favour as the losse of your reason. But now that time is expired, you must now return unto your selfe again, and make it appear, that you are both in Love, and that you are a man. Though your sorrowes may deprive you of your reason, yet, now reason ought to revive, that she may not repent of having a Servant who is not a Man. Unto this Celadon returned this cold answer: I would to god, Father, that your sapient advice were addressed unto one capable to receive it; as for me, I must confesse, there remaines nothing of a man in me but my me∣mory, having lost both my understanding and my will; and I believe, this memory that remains with me, is only as a nourishment of my sad thoughts; so as he whom you now see before you, is not Celadon the Son of Alcippes and Amarillis, whom the great Druide Adamas heretofore did honour with his friendship; but he is only one, that the heavens conserves here amongst the Woods, as a testimony, that Celadon knowes how to love. In answer unto all you object, let this serve for all, I love: For, sage Adamas, if I do love, I need not fear, that Tharamis will be offended at me, for doing that which Love com∣mands, since he would have me, or at least permits me, to love. Now those who do per∣mit a thing, they permit all that depends upon it; and who can deny, but that this mise∣rable life which I lead, is a dependency of this love? Can he be called a Lover, who has eyes that will look upon any thing but that he Loves? Ah! Father, doubtlesse I do love, and I am blinde unto all Flocks, and Friends, and Kindred, and all Men living. If the heavens, as you say, have given me any thing, why should it exact an account of me, since I do resigne them back again as freely, as ever they were bestowed upon me? If any ac∣count be required of Celadon, it must be required of her whose Celadon is; as for me, I have nothing to account of, for I have resigned all, the heavens would have it so, for it is by destiny that I do love, and the heavens do know it: As soon as ever I had any will, I gave my self wholly unto her, and have continued so ever since. To be briefe, the heavens are plea∣sed with it, otherwise I had not been so happy as I was many years. If therefore the hea∣vens would have it so, do know it, and were pleased with it; how can they in justice pu∣nish me, for doing that, which I cannot chuse but do? Do what thou wilt with me, Oh great Thamaris let what will become of my flocks, let my Friends and Kindred have what opinion of me they please; they all ought to be satisfied with this answer, that, I do love. But, answered Adamas, will you alwaies live thus? The election (answered the shepheard) does not depend upon him, that hath neither will nor understanding.

If you do, (said Adamas) you will cease to be a man. That (replyed the shepheard) has been a long time the least of my cares. But, if you do love, said the Druide, why do you not enforce your selfe to see her whom you love? If I do love, answered he, do you think I will displease or disobey her whom I love; nay, do you think, that I do not re∣ceive extream contentment and delight in pleasing and obeying her? But, said the Druide, she does not know that you do obey her. It is no matter, answered he, whether she do or no, I must do my duty. The Druide knew not whether he should esteem him for the acutenesse of his wit in these answers, or blame him, for the errours he was in: but con∣ceiving, that his malady was not yet at the height, therefore he would not apply any vi∣olent remedies, untill he had tryed some more milder; and therefore, after a while of silence, he said thus unto him: Now, Celadon, what I have said, was, because I thought my selfe obliged unto it by the Lawes of friendship, and duty of my charge, and not to contrary you in any thing; only one favour I shall desire from you, which I hope you will not deny, since it will conduce much unto my contentment: You must know, that I have a Daugh∣ter, whom I love above all the blessings, which the goodnesse of Tharamis hath bestowed upon me; I have long wanted my greatest contentment, in wanting her, and I am afraid,

it will be longer before I shall see her again. Now the first time I saw you at the Palace of Issoures, 'tis true, I loved you for Alcippe's and Amarillis's sake, but much more, for your great resemblance of my dearest Daughter; therefore I conjure you, by her that hath most power over you, to be pleased, that I may sometimes interrupt your solitude, that I may in your face see the Picture of her, whom I love above all the world. The shepheard, who was full of courtesy, answered, That he would take it for a very particular favour, if he would be pleased to take the paines; and that he thanked Nature for favouring him so much, as to give him a resemblance of any he loved; and that if he had not excluded him∣selfe from all the world, he would come to his house and present him his service. To be briefe, Adamas resolved to visit this shepheard very often, hoping by degrees to draw him out of his melancholly Cell. True it was, that Alexis his Daughter had a little resem∣blance of this shepheard; and she being by their Lawes to stay amongst the Druides Daughters, in the Cells of Carnutes, untill she was forty years of age, Adamas did take delight in seeing Celadon, who had a kinde of resemblance of her. It had been ordained by Dis Samothes, and since confirmed by great Druis, the first Institutor of the Druides, that those Priests which had any Sons, should send the eldest of them unto the Schooles of Carnutes, where they spent ten years in learning their Science, ten years more in teaching others; and ten years more yet, they officiated in the publick Sacrifices and Judgments: and afterwards they might return to their homes, and exercise the charge of Druides throughout all Gaul. If they have none but Daughters, they are constrained to send their eldest, after ten years of age, unto the same place; where they are instructed, do instruct, and at last, judge, as I told you before. For, the Gaules do build very much upon the judgment of these Female Druides: And these times being expired, they may return to their Fathers, and may marry.

Now this course being resolved upon, Celadon was he that reaped the most profit by it; for Leonida did at the first restore unto him those Letters, which she stole from him, which was a good presage of better fortune, having often heard say, that as one misfor∣tune seldome comes alone, so also one good fortune drawes on another. And he being very often visited, sometimes by Leonida, and sometimes by the Druide, he was much di∣verted from those sad thoughts, which would quite have consumed him; besides, the care of Adamas was such, as he sent him victualls very often secretly, which much revived his drooping spirits.

The affection of this Nymph, and the goodnesse of Adamas, was a happy encounter for Celadon, for both of them were carefull of him beyond measure, and indeed beyond their duty and quality; but, the greatest comfort unto this shepheard, was, that this Nymph furnished him with Pen, Inke, and Paper, because being alone, he did employ himselfe much in putting his passionate thoughts into writing, which gave him much contentment in the reading them. For, the wounds of Love are of such a nature, that the more they are smothered and kept in, the more they fester; and talking of them is as so∣veraigne a remedy, as can be received in absence. Now Adamas conceived, that too much thinking did but fester and rancle the melancholly of this shepheard, and therefore he ad∣vised him to passe away his time, sometimes in the sacred Groves, which were neer, and there engrave some fancies upon the barks of Trees, and furnished him with tooles fit for the purpose. This Shepheard having gotten a little more strength, and recovered some of his former complexion, also reassuming his understanding facultle, he was sensible of this good counsell which Adamas gave him, to shun this carelesse and idle kinde of life wherein he lived; and therefore he took his advice, and fell to work. Adamas in this did, like a good Physitian, consider the disease which he was to cure, and there seasoned all his counsells with some designes of Love. You see, Son, said he unto him, that though according to our Statutes, we ought not to erect Temples unto Teutates, Hesius, Belinus, and Tharamis our god; yet, since the Romans, by their Armes, brought in strange gods unto Gaul, and losing our antient freedome, we were constrained to sacri∣fice after their fashion, we have Temples, in which our god is adored amongst us; and because the custome of it is become a Law, it is lawfull for you, Celadon, to dedicate part of this Grove, not only unto the highest and prime divinity, but as a most perfect work of that divinity, unto your fair Astrea, which our great god will as well allow, as those Temples that are dedicated by strangers, unto the goddesse Fortune, unto the god∣desse Sickness, or the goddesse Fear. Therefore, said he unto him, let me advise you to prime and dresse up this goodly Oake, to cut away the thick underwood, and make a

place, which we will dedicate unto Amity. At the root of the Oake, cast up a bank of grass, in form of an Altar, upon which I will set a Table, which shall be an emblem of Amity. When this is finished, we will make another more spacious, which shall be under that Oak, which truly is one most admirable; for out of one stock three branches do grow, and afterwards reunite themselves into the same bark.

You see, (said he unto him) that this is a most lively symbol of Teutates, Hesius, Belinus, and Tharamis our god. How, Father (said Celadon) you name foure, and yet you say, our god? you should have said, gods; and I have observed, that you have used the same expression more then once. Son (said the Druide) this is one of our greatest mysteries in divinity; and though we Druides ought not to reveal it unto any, but such as are in∣structed in our Schooles, yet I shall declare unto you as much, as you are capable to understand.

Know therefore, my Son, that the great Dis, Samothes, presently after the division of men, by reason of the confusion of Languages, being well instructed by his Grandfather, both in the worship of the true God, and in other Sciences, he came by the Armorick Sea into this Country, which yet unto that very day we called Gaul, and which a little after, changed it for the name of France: Who afterwards peopling it, he setled his Scepter there, planted the Religion of his Fathers, and instructed some of the best Wits amongst them with his own Documents and Sciences, who ever since after his own name were called Samothes. This man was the first King of the Gaules, who was so pleasing both unto god and men, that he had a long, prosperous, and peaceable Raigne; and after him his Posterity in such renown, as all the world did ring with his, and the valour of the Gaules. Afterwards the Romans usurped the Dominion of the Gaules, by reason of our own civill dissentions, who being full of animosity and faction amongst our selves, did invite them amongst us, and asked aide of them, whose ambition hath since devoured us; teaching us, but too late, that no strangers will ever love us better than we do our selves. But that great god, whom Samothes taught us to adore in purity of heart, not desiring to continue his anger against us for ever, after we had been a while under the Dominion of these strangers, did deliver us from them by the Armes of the Francks, who say them∣selves to be descended from the ancient Gaules. Now to return unto our discourse. The fourth King which raigned in Gaul, who descended from the great and holy Samothes, was the wise and learned Dryus, from whom the Druides took their denomination. But those are mistaken, as well as the over-bold Greeks, who boast, that they were so called from their word Drys, which signifies an Oake; for, before Letters or Learning ever came into Greece, we called them Druides, and the Sciences were in Gaul before they did know so much as how to read, as the name of Druide teacheth us, which in the Language of Sa∣mothes's Grandfather does signifie, Contemplator, from the word Drissim; and, as you know (my Son) our principall part of Profession, consists in contemplation of the works of God.

Now this great Dis, Samothes, and after him, our holy Dryus, did command us to worship god, not according to the erroneous custome of Nations, but as they had been taught by their Fathers, and because the dull ignorance of the people was such, as they could not comprehend that supream goodnesse and infinite power, which they called Thau, comprehending all, they gave him three names; Hesius, which signifies Strong; Belinus, which signifies Man god; and Tharamis, which signifies Preserver, teaching us by these three names, that god is the omnipotent Creator and Preserver of men. But since, through the alteration of time, and ignorance of people, which changeth all things, espe∣cially names, in lieu of Thau, they say Thauta, and Thautes, and Theutates. In lieu of Jehus, Belenas, and Thaharamis, the aspiration in the middle being harsh to pronounce, they say, Hesus, Belinus, and Tharamis: And the people had such a power over the more knowing part of men, as they, to be understood, were forced to call them as the people did, and consent unto their errour.

But, Father, said the shepheard, are not Teutates, Hesus, Tharamis, and Belinus, the same gods which are called Mercury, Mars, Jupiter, and Apollo? Are all these but one god? Son, said the Druide, I wish I were able to make you understand what you ask; but where your understanding will not reach, let the beliefe which you have in me supply. Know therefore, that strangers seeing how the Gaules adored and called upon Thautates in all their affaires, when they took any journey, and in all their actions; moreover con∣sidering, that they were naturally lovers of eloquence, they thought, that it was Mercury

whom they called upon, saying, that he was the god of Eloquence, the director in Voy∣ages, the inventor of Arts, and the Protector of all Merchants and Traffick. Afterwards observing, that in our Wars we invoked Hesius, they thought him to be Mars, who was by them held to be the god of Armes. And when we desired to be purged from our sins, they saw us call upon Thamaris, & they thought him to be Jupiter, from whom they expect all chastisement, by reason of the thunderbolts that are attributed unto him. Besides, they conceiving, that pardon of sins being to be had from the greatest of all the gods, they said he must needs be Jupiter, because he was the greatest and most puissant. Then, because we had recourse unto Belinus, when we wanted health for our selves or friends, or desired to have children, they perswaded themselves, that it must needs be their Apollo, whom they thought to be the first inventor of Physick; besides, attributing unto him the guidance of the Sun; nay, very often taking the one for the other; and knowing, that the Sun gave life unto all Animalls, and moreover, that Man and the Sun did generate Man, they had som reason to think, that it was our Belinus.

But most certain it is (dear Son) that there can be but one god; for, if one be not omnipotent and all puissant, he is not god: if there were two omnipotents, or two pu∣issants, the omnipotency and the puissancy would be divided. Moreover, they must needs be either alike or dislike; if they be alike in all things, they must be the same, and so only one; if they be dislike, then good must be different from good, which cannot be. I instance only in these familiar arguments, because I will not puzle your understanding with such as are more obscure and more sublime, although they be stronger and more pressing. I did ever believe (said Celadon) that there was but one god and one lord over us all, and above all the rest of the gods; but, I believed also, that as amongst Men, we see, that Kings have their subordinate Officers, so that there are inferiours or petty gods un∣der him, which is the supream and great one of all, whom we call Tautates, and the others, Hesius, Tharamis, and Belinus, which, next to him, are to be adored. This beliefe (answered the Druide) hath some colour and reason in it, yet it is a great errour; for those whom you named last are not gods, but only denominations of the great Tau∣tates: But, though I must confesse, he hath subordinate Officers under him, as Terrestriall Kings have; yet, you must understand, that worship and adoration is due only unto one god. Why then, Father, said Celadon, are they placed in our Temples so neer the great Tautates? Son (said Adamas) I told you before, that the Romans mixed their Religion with ours: You must know, that by our Lawes, it is forbidden to make any image of god; for, an Image being a representation of something, and there must needs be some proportion betwixt the thing representing and the thing represented; we do conceive, that there is nothing amongst men, which can hold any proportion or resemblance with god, and therefore we do expresly forbid it; and indeed, we do disallow of any Temples, thinking it most grosse ignorance to imagine, an infinite immense deitie within any walls can be confined; and think it a most presumptuous boldnesse to imagine, any house can be worthy of him. And therefore, after the manner of the Antients, the Father and Grandfather of the great Samothes, did command us to adore god in Groves and in Fields; yet, Groves were consecrated unto him, by the devotion of the people, lest they should be profaned: And in those places, they made choice of great Oakes, under which god was worshipped. And hereupon it was, that the Romans entring into our Country, and seeing our sacred Groves and manner of our Sacrifices, did with amazement say, that we, amongst all men, had the greatest knowledge of god, and that the Gaules were the most religious and fullest of devotion, of any people in the world. But the Conquerors alwaies giving what Lawes they list unto the Conquered, they did most tyrannically usurp, not only upon our Land, but our Souls also; changed our ceremonies, made us worship their gods, forced us to build Temples, and to receive their Idolls, to represent Tautates, Hesius, Belinus, and Tharamis, under the figures of their Mars, Mercury, Apollo, and Jupiter. And because this went much against the consciences of our Druides, one of their Emperors by publick Edict in Senate, banished and abolished our Religion, and chased the Druides out of the Empire: But for all that, the great Tautates permitted this only, to make tryall of their vertues, and not to abolish them; manifesting, that he never does entirely forsake the good. So as maugre the malice and tyranny of these stran∣gers, we have still preserved some purity in our Sacrifices, and worship god as he ought to be, and even in this Country, we have ever acknowledged the power of these usur∣pers, out of the respect they alwaies had unto Diana, of whom they think our great

Nymph is a representation. And now at this time, the Francks have brought with them their Druides, and making it appear they were formerly Gaules, our authority and sacred customes are revived again in splendor. But, Father (said Celadon) I have seen in our sa∣cred Groves, Images of great Dis and of Hercules. The reason of that was, (answered Adamas) because they were men and not gods; and being but men, they may be repre∣sented. But (replyed Celadon) if they be not gods, why do you set them upon Altars? You must know, (answered Adamas) that they were men, who for their vertues were like unto gods, and as such, we ought to honour them, and preserve their memory, to the end, others may take them for paternes of vertue: But strangers, who were ignorant of our intentions, did think, that we did adore and worship them, and say, that Dis was Pluto, from whom we say we are descended; and gave unto Hercules the sirname of Gaulois, be∣cause we much honour his memory, as well because he was full of heroick vertues, as be∣cause he married the fair Galathea our Princesse, and Daughter of Celtes our King. You tell me things, said Celadon, which do much ravish me, and I beseech you, Father, go on, and tell me what I shall do, when I shall enter into those Temples, where I shall finde the Images of Jupiter, Mars, Pallas, Venus, and such like gods and goddesses. Son, answe∣red Adamas, you must be very well advised when you do go thither: and above all, be sure you do not take them for gods, but only Vertues Puissances, and Effects of one onely god. In Jupiter, you must adore the omnipotency and majesty of god; in Mars, his power; in Pallas, his wisdome; in Venus, his beauty, and so of all the rest: By this means, you will render unto our great Tautates, that worship which is his due, and shew your selfe just unto those vertuous Persons and Heroes, in honouring them dead, as you would have done if they had been alive. And so much for this time; and if you do frequent my company, I shall acquaint you with more. Now, Child, leaving this discourse, let us make the form of a Temple here in this Grove, which was long since dedicated unto Teu∣tates our god: It being in a Grove, we shall observe our antient Ordinances; and because a Temple, we shall obey these strangers. I will write upon this miraculous Oake, the sa∣cred name of Teutates; and upon the three branches, that on the right hand, I will write Hesius, on that in the middle, Tharamis, and on that upon the left hand, Belinus; and then upon the top of all, where they are united together, we will engrave the sacred name of Teutates, to shew, that we mean only one god, under the notion of these three words or nominations.

If I durst discover unto you the sacred and profound mysteries of our religion, I should acquaint you with an Interpretation, which Samothes, the most knowing man, did leave unto us, and which, by tradition from Father to Son is come unto us, how that these three names do signifie three persons, which are but one god, god the mighty, god the man, and god the preserver; the father, the son, and the preserver; and all these three, do make but one Tautates, which is god: And it is unto the Mother of this god man, unto whom our Druides, twenty ages ago, did dedicate an Altar in the Cave of Carnutes, with the statue of a Virgin upon it, holding a Child in her armes, with this Inscription: To the Virgin, who shall bring forth a Child. But these mysteries are too high for your capacity, and lest we should profane them, it is better to be silent. Let us go on with our work. Perhaps some learned Druide may come into this sacred Grove, and will adore Teutates in purity of heart as we do; he will commend our work, and approve of our good intentions.

Thus did the Druide discourse upon the hidden mysteries of his religion; and because they were above the understanding of the shepheard, he would say no more. But as soon as those three names were engraved upon the Tree, they kneeled down and adored them, and never approached them, but with abundance of reverence. Now lest Celadon should be tired in his devotion by working, he called the Temple by the name of the goddesse Astrea: And, Son, said he, this is no offence unto the great god, so you honour this Astrea only, as the most perfect piece of work that ever they shewed unto men. Celadon did easily consent unto this, and with incredible zeal, he worked so assiduously, as within a few daies he finished the Temple, according to the Druide's appointment, who com∣mending his diligence and industry, and the more to encourage him, did bring him the Lawes of Love, and the Embleme of reciprocall Amity. But approaching the Altar of Astrea he knew not what to set upon it; yet after he had a while thought upon it: If you were a good Limner, said he unto him, I am sure the features of the fair Astrea's face is very fresh in your memory, you may draw her Picture, and set it upon this Altar, which

is dedicated unto her; but since you are not yet so good an Artist, I will cause a Table to be made, and only write her name upon it. To which, the shepheard returned this answer: You have some reason, Father for your beliefe, for the features of her fairest face are not only im∣printed fresh in my memory, so as me thinks I alwaies see her; but also her speech, her garb, her attire, and all her actions, are so lively in my soul, as me-thinks I do continually see them. But, though I am no Artist in Limning, yet I am able to shew you her resem∣blance, upon condition, you will restore it unto me again: Upon a promise of which, he unbuttoned his breast, and opening the Case which he wore about his neck, he shewed him Astrea's Picture: But, Father, (said he) if you do lose it, or not restore it unto me again, most certainly I shall die, no excuse or consolation can save me. After Adamas had vowed by Tautates, that he would restore it, the shepheard, after a most zealous kisse of it, did trust it into his hands. The Druide looking upon it: Truly, Son, (said he) I must needs confesse, I never saw a face more fair, nor in which I discover so much modest love and sweet severity; happy is the Father of such a Child, and happy the Mother who bare her, happy the eyes who see her; but infinitely happy he that must enjoy her. Afterwards he put it up into the Case, with a promise to restore it very shortly, which he did accor∣dingly, within five or six daies.

It was in this place, where Astrea and all the Company did finde so many Verses and Writings of Celadon's; for he was so pleased with his works, that he was continually before the Image of his shepheardesse, and adoring her in his very soul; As imaginations and fancies came into his head, he writ them down, and laid them upon the Altar, as offerings unto the goddesse Astrea. It was this shepheard and Adamas whom Silvander saw in the night; for the Druide, by frequenting him so continually, did make him forget most of his sad thoughts; and the shepheard also, did think him selfe so exceedingly obliged unto him, for his indulgent assistance, as he did infinitly honour him. Leonida, since this, went not so oft to visit the shepheardesse as she was wont. In the mean time, Celadon lived thus, sometimes more, sometimes lesse afflicted, even as his thoughts gave him leave, untill he met with Silvander, into whose hands he put the Letter which he writ unto the shepheardesse Astrea, who since, caused all these shepheardesses and shepheards to come into this place, where having lost their way, they were constrained to rest themselves, with intention to depart as soon as the Moon began to appear; but the paines and toile which the shepheardesses had taken all the day, and a great part of the night, had so tired them, that they slept longer than they intended; for when the Moon was up, and very light, the shepheards themselves were all asleep. But on the contrary, the sad Celadon, ac∣cording to his custome, was up betimes, purposely to entertain his own thoughts, and none met him, for his use was, to walk most out when others slept, and shut up himselfe all the day. The Sun did not yet appear, when it was his fortune to walk towards the place where this company was; and being wholly taken up with his sad thoughts, never minding any thing about him, never man was so planet-struck as he was, when upon a sudden he espied Astrea: she had a thin handkerchief upon her eyes, which did a little cover her face, one arme under her head, and the other by her side, her petticoat a little ruffled up, so as one might see the delicate proportion of her leg; the admirable purenesse of her neck was plainly seen, the azure veins upon a snowy skin did ravish; and because she was a little strait laced, she unlaced her selfe, and the rich treasure of her breasts ap∣peared; her hair was loose and lay negligently upon her lovely cheeks. Oh! what a vision was this unto Celadon? he was so amazed, that he stood stock still, without any pulse or breath, or any signe of life, but the beating of his heart, and his sight which was fixed upon this fair object. It was with him, as with those who have been long in darknesse, and come suddenly into the rayes of the Sun, and are dazled with too much light, and cannot see. Presently after, having a little recollected himselfe, he began to consider what he saw; looking sometimes upon her lovely face, sometimes upon her breast, whose trea∣sures were never before discovered; and he wished, Argos-like, that he had a body all of eyes. But in the midst of this pleasing contemplation, a thought came into his minde, which blasted all his joy. Retire, retire, unfortunate shepheard (said he) retire from this blessed place, let it be no longer profaned with thy unhallowed eyes: Hast thou so soon forgot her commands? Dost thou not remember, it is not lawfull for thee to present thy selfe before her eyes? Away, away, for shame offend no longer. Thus he went away, with folded armes, and eyes lifted up to heaven, as if he had left heart soul life, and all behinde him: His thoughts and his way were much different; for the further he went from Astrea,

the more his thoughts followed him. When he was out of sight, he was so troubled, as he was forced to stay: To go on, said he, I cannot; to return, I dare not; and to stay here, is to no purpose: What then should I do? Go, go, said he, and receive that favour, which the heavens, unasked, does bestow upon thee. But how can I contradict the command of her, whom I did never disobey? But, answered he, it is not contradicting her command; for she did not command me, not to see her, for then I should put out my eyes; but her command was, that I should not come in her sight; and how can she see me when she is asleep? Take Love therefore for thy guide, and under his conduct go and adore her. Be∣ing moved with this consideration, he turned back, and went as softly as he could, lest he should awake her; as soon as he came so neer as to see her, he kneeled down, adored her, and presented this prayer unto her, in a whispering voice.

Oh great and puissant goddesse! since it is more god-like to pardon then to punish, I most devoutly prostrate my selfe upon my knees before you. I will not argue the matter with you, nor aske, whether my torments, which I have suffered through my sins, be not above the grandure of them, since I sinned ignorantly; only I beg for pitty. Shew your selfe all divine in pardoning, and remitting me to my lost felicity; for my submission may as well move you to pardon, as my unknown offence unto punishment.

This was the prayer of the sad shepheard, not daring hardly to let the words go out of his lips, for fear of waking her, unto whom they were addressed. Then he arose and went neerer to her, the better to look upon her: As he was deeply in his contemplation, Phillis turned her selfe from one side to the other, yet not opening her eyes, nor waking. This put Celadon in such a fright, that he ran as fast as he could unto his sad habitation, where he no sooner was, but thinking upon this encounter, and that of the day before, he knew not whether he should take it as a good or a bad presage. At the last, thinking upon that Letter which he put into the hand of Silvander, (for he supposed Astrea did know of it) he resolved to hazard another; and therefore, to lose no time, he went to write it; lest he should be too late, and the shepheardesses awake. He superscribed this as he did the first, and went with all haste to the place where he left his shepheardesse; but being afraid she should be awake when he came neer her, he crept behinde some Trees, and looking every way, he knew they were still asleep; but he found the company was greater then he perceived at the first, because then he did not see the shepheards, of whom we spoke be∣fore; and, to see whether any of them was of his acquaintance, he went gently towards them; the first he saw was Silvander: Oh faithfull friend, (said he, in a low voice) how much am I obliged unto thee, for doing more for me then I durst ever ask? Then turning his eyes upon the other foure shepheards, he knew none of them; yet he thought, he had seen Tircis heretofore. Finding them all thus asleep, he went towards the shepheardesses. The Sun was already a good height, and finding passage through the leaves, it began to shine in some places upon them, so as if this shepheard had been as impartiall a Judge of Beauty, as he was a perfect Lover, he could hardly have told unto which of all these he should have given the prize of Beauty: But as the long griefs of Astrea had then made her yield something unto Diana, so the affection of this shepheard did supply that defect, and gave judgment on Astrea's side. Then looking particularly upon Astrea, he kneeled down, and could not chuse but kisse her fair hand, afterwards did put the Letter into her breast; and being transported with love, he could not chuse but kisse her mouth: Oh how the shepheard was ravished! he had almost quite forgot all fears of waking her, and lea∣ned so upon her, that she began to awake, and opened her drousie eyes, when he was halfe risen up; and had not the Sun-beams, which shined upon her face, dazled her eyes, doubt∣lesse she had known him; this was the reason she could not see him, but as a shaddow, and when she began to look after him, her hair was so intangld with a few rushes that was under her head, that they did hinder her; so as she could not chuse but cry out aloud Phillis started up and asked her what the matter was? But Astrea was so astonished, that she could not speak, but still untangled her hair. Phillis seeing Astrea up, and let a paper fall, she arose also, and was very officious to take it up, following her some twenty paces from the place where they lay. Then Astrea sat down under a Tree, extreamly pale, and ready to swound, which Phillis seeing, she helped her all she could; and when she was a little come unto her selfe: Oh dear Sister, (said she unto Phillis, with a deep sigh) what is this which I have seen? Then she was silent a long while, and could not speak for sighing; a little after,

she began with a very great sigh, and said: Oh Sister, I have seen Celadon, I mean his Ghost. At this word [Celadon] her voice failed, and her tongue could not do its office; but she joyned her hands together, and listed her eyes up to heaven, as if from thence she begged help. Phillis seeing her in this condition believed, that she had been in some afrigh∣ting dream: Sister, said she unto her, there is no credit to be given unto any dreams, they are no more but the working of the fancy and imagination, upon such subjects as have been seen or thought upon; nor are they any presages of things future, only images and fancies of things past. Ah Sister, said Astrea, this was no dream; I saw him with these eyes, and as soon as ever he saw I looked upon him, he vanished into aire. Perhaps, Sister, (said Phillis) you did but think your selfe to be awake, for so it often happens in sleep. No, no, (said Astrea) I was awake. And how did you see him, said Phillis? I was (said Astrea) betwixt sleeping and waking, when I heard some sighing about me, even about my face; and when I opened my eyes, I saw the soul of Celadon before me: but, Oh hea∣vens! how glorious and full of light it was? the Sun it selfe had no more splendent lustre; And, Sister, I was even dazled at the sight of it, untill I came hither; but as soon as ever I did cast my eye upon him, he vanished like lightning. Oh glorious Soul! thou hadst good reason not to let the sight of her fully thee, who was so undiscreetly carelesse of thy life. How infinitely am I obliged unto thee, who having so much reason to hate me, yet makes it appear, that thy love continues. Phillis, with much amazement, did now believe, that certainly it was the soul of Celadon, and therefore said thus unto her: All we can do for those who are departed this life, is to preserve their memory, to talk often of their ver∣tues, and to render them the last office of pitty, which is buriall; therefore I am of opini∣on, that it is requisite, for your own contentinent, and satisfaction of this soul, who so much loved you, that you do cause a Tombe to be built, in which it may rest, and to preserve the memory of him amongst us as long as possibly we can. That shall I do, said Astrea, as long as any life is in me. But, Sister, (said Astrea) would it not be taken ill, that I, who am not a kin unto him, should render him this last office of a Sepulcher? What can be said, (answered Phillis) but that his kindred neglecting their duty, you have done what they ought to have done? Were he alive, there might some doubt be made of it; but being dead, they may well imagine, that your past amity, which is known as well as your name, would require so much of you. As Phillis was thus talking to her, she held in her hand the paper which she took up, and Astrea casting her eye accidentally upon it, and knowing it to be Celadon's hand, she asked her, what Letter that was which she held in her hand? Phillis answered, that she took it up, seeing it fall from her as she arose. I did feel something (said Astrea) fall from my breast; but I was so much out of my selfe, that I never minded it. Then taking it, and reading the Superscription, she said, it was that Letter which Silvander found. That cannot be, (said Phillis) for I have that in my pocket; and putting her hand into it, she pulled it out. What should it then be, said Astrea? I am sure it is the same hand. Then reading it, she found these words.

Celadon's Letter unto the Shepheardesse Astrea

IF the occasion of your comming into this place, where all that remaines of Celadon yet is, was only to see what power you have over him, it was too much paines for a thing of so little value. If any sparks of compassion brought you hither, what services can merit so great a recompence? If fortune only, without any designe, was your conductor, it was too kinde unto one that is so miserable: So as whatsoever the occasion was, there was no rea∣son for it. That affection which I had unto you, was beyond all bounds of reason, and there∣fore it is most just, that reason should disdain him, who disdained reason. However, I thank you, as the vam shadow of a man can do, (for truly ••am no more) for comming to see what power you have over me, for it is one of my greatest desires to live in your memo∣ry. I thank you also, that you would permit pitty to bring you hither; for though it be very late, yet consolation is better late then never. Also I do thank you, For ••o lowing for∣tune into this place, since I know by it, that it was only long of her, I did no sooner resent the effects of your sweetnesse. This last consideration moves me to say, that as you are the fairest Shepheardesse in the whole Universe; so since fortune and my own constancy wi•••• have it so, I am the must unfortunate, but the most affectionately faithfull, of all your Servants.

Now did these shepheardesses believe, that Celadon was dead indeed, and Love made Astrea resolve, to render him the last duty of her amity. Then she went to wake Diana and the other shepheardesses, because it was late; when they came, they found Silvander looking upon Diana as she slept; and, gazing like an immovable Statue, he uttered these words in a very loud voice: Oh! how this fair one deprives me of that rest which she takes her selfe? See how many Cupids play about her lovely face! Who can chuse but love her, and lose that rest which she findes? To look upon her and to love her, is one and the same thing. And if she captivate thus when she is asleep, and without designe, what is she able to do when shee's awake, and will use her power?

He spoke thus loud, because he was not afraid of awaking her, since she commanded him so to do, as soon as the Moon shined. But Celadon's good fortune would not have it so, to the end he might enjoy the happinesse of seeing his Mistresse in that place. After Silvander had uttered these words, he kneeled down to kisse her hand; but fearing to be seen by these two shepheardesses, who he saw were not in their places, he rose up, very sorry he had done so much, if he were seen. In the mean time, these two shepheardesses looked upon him, and Phillis, who was very desirous to divert Astrea; Never trust me, Sister (said she unto her) if this shepheard do not love Diana, and is not so subtle as he thinks himselfe. I spoke yesterday with Diana (answered Astrea, very sadly) and for ought I could perceive, he can expect nothing but much sorrow; for, she will neither love him, nor suffer him to love her. That resolution (said Phillis) may in a short time bring Silvander into the same condition with Celadon, and Diana into the same state with Astrea. Ah Sister, (said Astrea) Silvander may run that fortune; but as long as Diana is free from love, her fortune will never be so bad as mine. I do confesse (replyed Phillis) that if she be really exempt from love she is not in that danger; but, if she be exempt only out of dissimulat••••••, what think you then? That she will be happy only in opinion, said Astrea, and in deed and truth miserable. But there is no likelyhood of that, Dia∣na's humour, and Silvander's perfections, being such, that neither the shepheardesse nor he, can be subject unto such dysasters. Upon this, Phillis took her by the hand and wal∣ked towards Diana; yet answered her; Oh Sister (said she) you are deceived, if you be of that opinion: for, as concerning the merits of Silvander, believe it, that when a shepheard has a designe to please, he spruseth himselfe up, and is quite another man from what he really is: And hence it is, that we often wonder to see some shepheards loved and welco∣med, who are thought not at all pleasing or handsome; and from hence, I believe, the Proverb came, that, Love makes all seem handsome: Nay, I will say more, I never yet saw any shepheard displeasing unto her he courted, if there were not some other occasion of hatred then his love; for, their courtship and desire to please, does make them dresse up themselves in the smoothest garb they can, purposely to render themselves complaisant: as this is the quality of all in generall, so more specially in Silvander, whose wit, and handsome composure by nature, may easily supply all defects. And as for the humour of Diana, her affection unto Philander is an infallible argument, that she hath not been al∣waies insensible of Love; and why may not that which was once, be again. For my part, I do believe, Love is as good an Archer as ever he was, and has not forgotten the skill he used, the first time he wounded her: and Silvander may have the same fortune Philan∣der had. In this (said Astrea) you and I do differ in opinion, and I do think it impossible, Diana should ever love again; for I think, a Maid, who never was in love, may easily be allured by the pleasing flatteries of it; but impossible, that a stayed person, who did once love, and lost the person loved, should ever let love take any root again in her soul: And me-thinks the Cypresse-Tree is a right emblem of my affection, which, when once cut, never puts out branch again. As soon as she had said so, they were come so neer unto Diana, that Phillis could make no other answer but this: Sister, we shall quickly see, which of our opinions is the right.

Whilst these shepheardesses were thus talking, Paris, Hylas, Tircis, and Thersander, being awakened by Silvander, they came to the shepheardesses, and spoke so loud, that they awaked Diana. She was much ashamed, to see her selfe almost quite undrest, amongst all that good company; and therefore holding her hair with one hand, and covering her breast with the other, she went further from them behinde some Trees: Astrea and Phillis followed her, and whilst she dressed her selfe, related unto her Astrea's vision, how the Letter fell from her breast, and how Astrea had resolved to build a Tombe for the soul of Celadon, since his Kindred neglected it.

This office (answered Diana) is indeed full of piety and pitty, and for my part, I should not disapprove of it, if it would not be an occasion of much talk and wonder, that the enmity of your Parents should be changed into so much good-will. What wonder will it be, replyed the sad shepheardesse? It would be more strange, if this enmity should conti∣nue after death. If Celadon were alive, doubtlesse I should not let the affection which I bear unto him, be known. But, alas! since to my soules eternall sadnesse, he is not alive, I would not have both earth and heaven ignorant of it. And upon this reason, I do ground my resolution; my friends will never finde fault with any thing that shall please me, and as for the rest, I will never deprive my selfe of my contentment, to content them. Since you are resolved upon it, answered Diana, I conceive, that the sooner you do it, the better; and if you will take my counsell, it shall be before you depart hence. But (said Phillis) where will you finde things necessary for it, unlesse we first go unto our Town? The Temple of the good goddesse (said Diana) where the Druides Daughters, and the Ve∣stalls do inhabit, is not far from hence, and they will not deny any thing that is requi∣site for so good a work. But let us call Paris and the shepheards, and ask them their ad∣vice. Upon this, Phillis called them, and they came unto her. Then Diana taking Paris aside, acquainted him with the vision and designe of Astrea; and because, said she, detra∣ction and calumny is apt to asperse the purest innocency, I desire this courtesie from you, that this Tomb may be erected in your name, though intended by the shepheardesse. You may command me all that is within the compasse of my power, said Paris, for I am devoted wholly unto your service. After Diana had given him very hearty thanks, she desired him to acquaint all the Company with this intention; which he did, so discreetly, as every one, except Silvander, believed, that this designe proceeded from him; but that shepheard, not being ignorant of Astrea's affection unto Celadon, did suspect this to be an handsome umbrage: And because he highly esteemed Astrea's ••he, he himselfe helped in the dissimulation, and offered to go unto the Temple of the good goddesse, to borrow such things as were necessary for it. Astrea her selfe would go also, thinking that her presence would prevail much, because of the affection which Chrisante, the Go∣vernesse of the Druides Daughters, had unto her. She therefore desired Phillis and Lao∣nice to stay there with Diana, whilst Madonthe and she went with Silvander and Ther∣sander unto the Temple, which was close by, with a promise to be back again, as soon as Paris and the other shepheards had raised up a bank of grassy Tur••es, and prepared flowers and all things necessary. Thus went the shepheardesse Astrea away; and Paris beginning to work, made choice of a place neer that where they slept, which was a little plain, void of Trees, where abundance of severall sorts of flowers did grow, as if it were purposely re∣served for such a businesse. Tircis and Hylas, with the iron of their sheephooks and knives, for want of better Tooles, did cut the Sods of grasse, and pilde them one upon ano∣ther, in the modell of a Tombe, whilst Diana, Phillis, and Laonice, did gather variety of flowers to strew upon it, when the ceremony was to be performed; every one was so diligent in their severall charges, that they finished it in a little time. Now there wanted nothing but a columne to be set upon it, which should demonstrate the place where Ce∣ladon dyed, and contain his Epitaph: but having no Hatchet to cut it, nor Inke to write withall, they were at a great stand. At last, Tircis remembered, that at the Temple of the goddesse Astrea, Hylas had found some way to write, when he falsified the Lawes of Love, and therefore doubtlesse he left the pen and ink there; therefore they desired him to go and fetch it. He, in obedience to the commands of his Mistresse, went imme∣diately, and promised to return presently. Paris, desirous to have all things ready, ad∣dressing himselfe unto Diana, he told her, that it was requisite to make choice of a Pole to support the Piramis, that they would try if they could cut it with their knives; and lest they should be wanting when Astrea came, they would go to look for one that way which she was to come. Leaving therefore the River upon the left hand, they went into the Wood, to look for this Pole amongst the young Trees: But they went through the Wood, and never minded this Pole; for Diana, she thought, that Paris did look out for one that was fit, but Paris was so taken up with the thoughts of her, that he never minded either North or South-Pole, nor any else; which Diana perceiving, she said unto Tircis: I thought, that we should not have been so curious in our choice of this Pole, as not to finde one in all this Wood. I conceive (answered Tircis) that there are many good ones for the purpose. It must be a very great one (said Paris) otherwise it will not serve. But it must not be too great and tall (said Tircis) lest the winde should presently blow it

down; so as if it be about twenty foot long, it will be big enough. 'Tis very true answe∣red Paris; but I must needs confesse, that my thoughts were so much upon another thing, as I never minded or looked for one. How, said Diana, and smiled, have you made us lose all our labour? Then Paris turning towards Tircis, desired him to make choice of one that was fit, and said unto Diana: Blame me not, I beseech you, fair Diana, for the fault which I have committed, for it is absolutely impossible to be so neer you, and think upon any thing else. That excuse (answered Diana) might be mine as well as yours; for I be∣ing so neer you, my thoughts also might have been as much of you. If your merits and mine were equall, (answered Paris) or our wills the same, then perhaps it might have been your excuse as well as mine. If there was any fault, it was on my side, answered Diana. Yes, said Paris presently, for there was nothing in me which could take up your thoughts. I do not apprehend that to be the cause, said Diana, for I do esteem and ho∣nour you as I ought to do. I would to god, Diana, (answered Paris) that you were as just as you are fair. Wherein do you think me unjust, (said Diana) for how should I esteem and honour you more then I do? This esteem and this honour, of which you speak (said he) is not that which I demand; but if you would be pleased to change this esteem into affection, and this honour into familiarity, I should be fully contented and satisfied. I know you (answered she) more reasonable, then to desire any more: Content your selfe, generous Paris, that I do love and esteem you as much, as if you were my Brother: I know, that I being a shepheardesse, and you as you are, I ought not to go any further; but I had rather offend against the Lawes of civility, than displease you, since it is your pleasure to have it so. This, replyed Paris, is a beginning of what I desire, but not all. In this (answered Diana) as in all things else, your desires must be ruled by reason. Is it not reasonable (said Paris) that Diana should make choice of one, whom she will create happy, and with whom she may live happily? This choice (replyed Diana) is a piece of great difficulty, and I will ever refer it unto those, that are wiser than my selfe. Who are they, said Paris? Who should they be, answered Diana, but my Mother and my Uncle? Paris would have replyed, if Tircis had not interrupted him, and told him, that he had found out a fit Pole. Diana was very glad of this, for this discourse began to vex her. Paris, on the contrary, was very sorry; for he desired to know of her, whether she would be pleased to let him speak unto them concerning it. But Diana fearing it, she desired Phillis not to be so far from her as she had been, lest Paris should fall into this discourse again: But having made choice of a Pole, they tryed to cut it; but their knives not being strong enough, they were constrained only to mark it, and stay till Astrea returned, believing, that Silvander would not forget any thing that was requisite for the businesse. Walking therefore towards the Temple of the good goddesse, and Paris still hoping to fall into his discourse again, they espyed, as they were going out of the Wood, a shepheardesse, sitting under a shady Sycamour, and her hair being very long and curled, as it covered her almost all over as she sat, they could not imagine what it should be; but approaching a little neerer, they knew her to be a shepheardesse; yet, since her dishevelled hair would not let them see her face, they were very desirous to approach neerer: And as they were looking upon her, they saw a young shepheard come, and fall upon his knees before her, who sur∣prised her before she had time to rise: Neither this shepheard nor shepheardesse were known unto any of this Company, although they were both inhabitants in their neigh∣bouring Town. As for the shepheardesse, she might well be said to be fair, and the ne∣gligence of her hair and habit, rather added then took away from her handsomnesse. But this Company was most of all amazed, to see another shepheard, who espying them, did look upon them with a strange discomposed action, yet had a desire to conceal it, and himselfe both; sometimes he thrust his head out of the bush which covered him, and hearkened what they said with a most attentive ear; othertimes he did shake and scratch his head, and upon a sudden hold both his hands up to heaven, then let them fall again in a passionate posture. To be briefe, he was so impatient to see them together, that abun∣dance of passion appeared in all his actions. On the other side, the shepheardesse seemed so displeased with the sight of him that kneeled before her, as she would not daigne him a look, but made all the haste she could in dressing her selfe, that she might be gone from that place. Diana and her Company seeing the beauty and disdain of this shepheardesse, also the affection and submission of him that kneeled before her, and the passionate ap∣prehensions of him that looked on, they had a great desire to know more of the businesse; and therefore, untill Astrea returned, they approached as neer as they could unseen unto

them, & then they heard the shepheard with a deep sigh say thus unto her: Is it possible, fair shepheardesse, that neither my desire to serve you, nor the power you have to make your self adored, should have any prevalence with you? I know not (answered she disdainfully) what your desires are, nor what my power is; but I am sure, that any thing which comes from you can never please me. This (answered the shepheard) is the worst of misfortunes that ever could befall me. If custome (replyed the shepheardesse) do make things difficult to be easily supported, me thinks you should not so deeply resent the misfortunes of it, since you have been so long accustomed unto it; for, ever since the first houre you decla∣red your minde unto me, I did so cleerly acquaint you with mine, as you might that first time have known as much, as you have since found, or ever shall do. Oh Doris, (answered the shepheard) if my soul were as regardlesse of your disdaines, as your heart is of my prayers, certainly I should never have resented them: But alas, this custome ren∣ders me more sensible, as he, who has a heavy burthen upon his back, the longer he car∣ries it, the more insupportable it is. The shepheardesse was a long while without reply, and was intent only upon dressing her selfe; but seeing he offered to begin again, she inter∣rupted his speech: Adrastes, said she, all your language is to no purpose; and let me tell you this once for all, that I will neither love nor be loved; and unlesse you will have me most abominably hate you, trouble me no more. Oh ye gods! (said the shepheard) what dismall doom is this? Then turning towards her: Is it possible, said he unto her, that the gods should be weary of being adored by mortalls, and that you should be weary of being so by me? Nay, Adrastes, said she, never wonder at it, for I am no goddesse; or if I were, any sacrifice should be more acceptable unto me than yours; and I had rather be without any temples or altars, then have such adorers. Upon this last expression, she had done dressing her selfe, and therefore she took up her sheephook and went away, leaving this poor shepheard so sadly afflicted, that he had not power or boldnesse to fol∣low her.

Diana seeing her depart thus, she had a minde to call upon her; but seeing also that she went towards the other shepheard, she thought it better to stay, and hear more: And in∣deed, the other shepheard seeing her comming towards him, he went to meet her, and held her by the gown, lest she should go away; she desired to be out of his hands, but the shepheard presently kneeled down, and begged pardon for his fault. It is not your fault only in thus holding me, that you ought to repent of, said she; but, shepheard, because of that fault, which hath quite extinguished all the good-will which I did bear unto you. As for that, answered he, in lieu of language, I will expiate it with my blood and life; but dare not beg, unlesse in silence and submission, since indeed I do not well know what it is Palemon, replyed she, there is none so ignorant, as he that will not know when he may: But that is all one to me, for I am so perfectly cured of the wound, that there is not any mark of it remaines. It is an easie matter, said the shepheard to cure a wound that was but very smal. I will not tell you, answered she, how it began to fester, lest I should increase your vanity; but let me tell you, that I had rather die, then relapse into that disease out of which I am recovered; and I had rather never see any whilst I live, then see you in the con∣dition and state in which you were wont to be: Also, I charge you to talk no more of it, nor to retain me by any force. Since you are pleased, said he, to forbid me speaking; yet, I beseech, permit me to sing, what my heart does sadly resent. Then he sighed, and sung out these Verses; which she, to vex him, answered.

A Dialogue, between Palemon and Doris.

Pal.

IF I do any love but you, may I Be damn'd, and tortur'd be eternally.

Dor.

May I a Statue turn, and never move, If any other but my selfe I love.

Pal.

Love or love not, yet you l'le still adore, That you my constancy may see the more.

Dor.

Love or love not, faith all is one to me: But that I love you, you shall never see.

Pal.

Though heaven and earth conspire to crosse my will, Yet will I vanquish them, and love you still.

Dor.

My heart is so averse to love, that I, Rather than love, a hundred deaths will die.

Pal.

Your pride, in scorning all men living, must Be punished in you, if heaven be just.

Dor.

If heaven be just, as none deny it dare, It will us keep both in the mindes we are.

Pal.

It is most just, if you, to love, it move, But most unjust, in taking hopes from love.

Dor.

If you to love, and me to hate, it move, 'I will punish you, and will revenge my love.

Though Doris was very tart in all her answers, yet the shepheard did take some kinde of delight in seeing and hearing her talk, but she, desiring to avoid his company, she came towards the place where Diana was, who seeing she could not hide her selfe any longer, she and her company advanced towards this shepheardesse, and after common salutations, said unto her: I wonder not, sweet Doris, that these shepheards whom I see with you, should be so much captivated with your beauty, since it is such, as those must needs be blinde, that do not admire it; but, I must needs wonder at the cruelty you use towards them, since you are the only she, who disdaines that which is their own, and which you have gotten by such fair and deer armes. Whilst Diana was saying so, Palemon came to them, and heard Doris return this answer.

Sage shepheardesse, that beauty, which out of your complaisance you are pleased to call mine, is most really and truly your own, and to be admired by all such as see you: And I do not know with what armes I have captivated these you speak of unlesse such as are very unhappy in making such a conquest. Beauty, said Diana, does well become all women, but pride and presumption does much eclipse beauty. Did you know, answered Doris, the occasion which makes me speak thus, you would wonder at the power which I have over my selfe, in being able so much as to look upon this shepheard. Upon this, Palemon kneeled down, and with his hat in his hand, addressed himselfe thus unto Dia∣na: I do beseech and conjure you, Oh most wise and discreet shepheardesse, by the person whom you most do love, and by that sweetnesse which your eyes do promise, to take so much pains as to hear our difference; if you shall think me culpable, I will not value my life; but if, on the contrary, she be in the wrong I shall only aske leave to serve her as long as I live.

Diana would have answered, when she saw Astrea returning from the Temple, with a greater company than she carried with her; for the Nymph Leonida was there, and Chrysante, the Governesse of the Druides, with some of the Virgins, who came to ho∣nour the Funeralls of Celadon, bringing with them the Priest of that place, who did officiate in the daily sacrifice of the Town, in the Temple of the good goddesse. This Priest brought thither all that was necessary for the empty Tombe of Celadon; the Druides Daughters were loadned, some with flowers, others with milk, and others with wine and water, and did drive before them the sheep and young bulls requisite for the sacrifice. Lyci∣das also, being come that morning unto the Temple of the good goddesse, to pay some vowes, and make some prayers, which haply his jealousie prompted him unto, he like∣wise came, being acquainted with the designe of Paris, for the Rest, of his Brothers soul, though it went to his heart to see Phillis and Silvander there; and having made choice of a great Sowe to sacrifice, according to the custome, unto Ceres and the Earth, he gently followed after this Company.

Diana therefore seeing this great company following Astrea, she could not give an∣swer either to the shepheard or shepheardesse, only this, that the Nymph Leonida, who was comming with so many Druides, would beglad to hear their difference; and after the Ceremony was ended, at which they would do an act of pitty, if they would be

present she could compose all the businesse betwixt them. So, not staying for any answer, she with Paris advanced, and went to salute the Nymph and Chrysante. After some com∣mon discourse, the Priest asked, where Celadon's Tombe was erected, and being condu∣cted thither by Paris, he went about his work: But first, he began with the Sowe which Lycidas brought, as a sacrifice unto Ceres and the Earth; then killing the Sheep and young black Bulls, he kept the blood of them in bowles; he ordered the Druides Daughters ac∣cording to the Ceremony, unto some he gave the sacred Milke, unto others the Wine, and made choice of Lycidas to carry the Altar-water. Then going to the Tombe, he sprinkled all these things with a little bough of Cypresse, calling divers times upon the soul of Celadon. Then they poured the Water, the Wine, the Milk, & the Blood upon the Tomb, calling still upon the soul of Celadon. Then all the Druides Daughters and others, with their hair disheveled begun with tears & sad condolings to lament the loss of Celadon: When they had continued a while in this pittifull office, the Priest began to go round about the Tomb three times, and every one following, & strewing Roses and Flowers upon the grass, he said in a loud voice: Adieu, CELADON, adieu, for ever adieu; may thy soul rest, and the earth be light upon thee. The Nymph Leonida did the like, strewing Flowers upon the Tomb, though she knew well enough he was not dead. Paris followed her, and all the shepheards and shepheardesses in a file after him. Whilst the Druides Daughters were singing this sad Hymne, and lamenting the loss of this shepheard, every one, according to the custome told what they knew of his life and actions, how generally he was loved, how he honoured his Father and Mother, how affectionate he was unto all his Kindred, how often he had vanquished all those that contentended with him at any Exercise, usuall amongst shepheards, and how every one lamented his untimely death, as a great loss unto all the Country. It was well for Astrea, that all these shepheards and shepheardesses went about Celadon's Tombe in a confused order, and bad eternall adieu unto him; for had she gone by her selfe alone, she had given them all a knowledge of her sorrowes, which, being amongst others, did not at all appear. Now all these Ceremonies being performed, there remained no more but the erecting this Pole, in resemblance of a Columne, inti∣mating the place where Celadon dyed; which the Priest not knowing, Astrea was to in∣form him, which was no small renewing of her sorrowes; this Column then being erected, there remained no more, then to fix upon it Celadon's Epitaph, which Silvander had writ in a Table which the Priest had brought; for Hylas was not yet returned from fetch∣ing the Inke and Pen from the Temple of the goddess Astrea. The Epitaph and Inscripti¦on which Silvandar writ, was this.

To the Eternall memory of the most beloved Shepheard about the River Lignon.

Love, that had imprudently been a cause of CELADON's death, hath payed his repentant tears, broke his Bow and Arrowes, and extinguished his Torch.

Full of sorrowes and lamentation for so sad a losse, he leaves them upon his Tombe, as an eternall testimony of his tears, who having lost so amiable a Subject will never imploy his Arrowes and his Torch again, in vain.

Every one applauded the Genius of Silvander, especially Astrea and Diana, concei¦ving, that had he known their mindes, he could not have composed a better Epitaph. When all their lamentations were ended, Leonida took Chrisante by her hand, and went with her out of the Wood, all the Company following them. And it seemes, Diana had forgotten Palemon's request, when Adrastes and he beseeched her, to move Leonida and Chrisante unto a hearing of their complaints, and to judge as they thought reasonable. Diana therefore addressed her selfe unto Leonida: Great Nymph, said she, a little before

your comming, these shepheards, offended against this shepheardess, would have referred their differences unto me; but I advised them to stay, untill this ceremony was ended, and then to address themselves unto you and the wise Chrisantes, if you would be pleased to take so much paines as to hear them, assuring my selfe, that the judgment which you two should give, would be so just, as they would willingly be concluded by it. The Nymph, who was all civility, did lend a willing eare unto this shepheardess, and these two shepheards: Chrisante did the like, and when she offered to speak, Palemon and Adrastes falling upon their knees, said thus unto her: If any Lovers ever merited any pitty upon their paines, believe it, Madam, these two are they that may best claime it; so as you do an act worthy of your selfe, if you will be pleased to hear their difference, and to ordain, not as reason, but as love inspires you; for it is only from Loves justice, and not from any other of the gods, that we expect or desire reliefe. Truly, said the Nymph, if you, fair shepheardess, do think, that the venerable Chrisante and my selfe, are able to hear and determine your differences, we shall be very glad to settle you all in tranquility, if we can. Doris, with a sweet and reverend modesty, answered thus: Great Nymph, these shepheards here, will but abuse that favour which you do them, in hearing them, and do make unto you a supplication, which is very disadvantageous unto themselves, ma∣nifesting, that they know not what they ask for if you should be pleased to take so much pains, as to hear us, you will discover the knavery and infidelity, and the soolery and troublesomness of the other. However, Madam, since your goodness does infinitely sur∣pass our follies, I will refer unto the judgment of you and the reverent Chrisante, upon condition, that both they and I be obliged, to obey and abide whatsoever you shall doom. I do vow, said Palemon, that I will rather disobey the gods, then your com∣mands. And I, said Adrastes, do protest, that I will love you as long as I live, what doom soever be made to the contrary; but I do protest withall, by the holy Misleto, that if I be doomed to quit you, you shall never be troubled with my affection. And by this you may know, that the affection of my Rivall is inferiour unto mine Adrastes, Adrastes, (said Palemon then) you are much mistaken, if you think, I will obey the doom of this great Nymph, if it command lesse then the end of my life; so as you intending to live af∣ter the sentence, and I to die my passion being greater then yours, I am superiour to you in true affection. Adrastes faintly answered: Since you can so absolutely dispose of your life, and of your death, it argues, that you have a power over your selfe. But alas! my affection is so wholly Mistresse of my will and soul, as it will not let me dispose of my selfe so freely as you do.

If Leonida had not interrupted them, they had not so soon ended their dispute, so ex∣ceedingly desirous they were to shew unto Doris the grandure of their love. But the Nymph, taking the venerable Chrisante by one hand, and Doris by the other: Let us (said she) finde out a place convenient for us to sit down in, that we may with more ease hear the reasons which each will alledge. Upon this, every shepheard took a shephear∣dess by the hand; Tircis, Astrea; Paris, Diana; and Silvander, seeing his place taken up, and observing, how Lycidas looked asquint upon Phillis, and would not come neer her, he resolved to augment his misery, since he was without any reason jealous of him; and therefore he addressed himselfe unto Phillis, and would by all means take her hand: But she, who observed the eye of Lycidas, turned away to avoid him, seeming as if she went to call some of her companions. But for all that, Silvander was resolute, and turned as well as she. Phillis, durst not publickly refuse him, lest those who saw her should take it ill; and not enduring he should thus follow her, she said unto him: Do you think, Silvander, that I am at all obliged unto you, for being thus officious about me for want of ano∣ther? Silvander knew very well why she said so, but, as if he were ignorant, he came to her eare, and seeming to whisper, he presently went away from her, and seemed very an∣gry that Lycidas saw him. This went to the very heart of Lycidas, for he thought, that he left Phillis only because of him, and that certainly there was a close corespondency betwixt them; and therefore, not being able to endure this sight, he endeavoured by little and little to retire.

But Phillis being very desirous to be reconciled unto him, and seeing him slinking a∣way: Lycidas, said she, will you go away? I pray you come hither, and hear the discourse of these strangers. There is very good Company without me, answered he, since there is too much constraint where I am. Were I of your counsell, said Phillis, I would advise you to value your own contentment above any others. I see, said Lycidas, that you give

me such counsell as you do follow your selfe, and I am very sorry I cannot do the like; but truly, I have not so much power over my selfe. Phillis did very well understand what he meant, and was netled to the very soul: yet, faigning otherwise, she answered him thus: I believe, Lycidas, that if the Nymph should undertake to agree all differences in the Company, you and I should not be out of the number. I do believe the same (said the shepheard, and blushed for anger) but it would be Silvander that were the fittest judge. And why Silvander, said the shepheardess? Because, said he, there is none that is better informed. Upon this, not staying for any answer, he flung away into the Wood as fast as he could. This passage did so sting the soul of Phillis, that one could not get a good word from her all that day.

Whilst Leonida and the venerable Chrisante were in quest of a convenient place to sit down in, they espied some shepheardesses in the Wood, comming towards them; for, the Trees being at a good distance from one another, without any underwood, one might see a great way, both through and beyond it. When Leonida asked who they were, none could tell her; but when they were a little neerer, Hylas, who was amongst them, was known to be one; and presently after, the shepheardesses were also known to be Palinice and Florice, with whom Hylas met upon the way, and stayed with them, never thinking upon the Inke which he went to seek; and had they not asked him whither he went, and from whence he came, he had not remembered what he went about; but this question putting him in memory, he desired them to stay a little, till he went for the Inke, and he would return to them. Then he acquainted them with the Ceremony of Celadon's Tombe, unto which they came to be assistants; but they came too late. Leo∣nida not knowing who they were, she desired to see them. And Hylas, whose tongue was never mute, came on a jolly pace, singing these verses.

That he is a Fool, who loves and is not loved. A Song.

WHen I a Lover pale do see, Ready to faint and sickish be, With hollow eyes, and cheeks so thin, As all his face is nose and chin:

When such a Ghost I see in pain, Because he is not lov'd again; And pute, and faint, and swound, and cry: Oh! There's your loving Fool, say I.

For, love with love should be repaid, And equally on both sides laid. Love is a load, a Horse would kill, If it do hang on one side still.

But, if he needs will be so fond, As rules of reason go beyond, And love, when he's not lov'd again, Faith, let him take it for his pain.

These strangers were so neer Leonida and Chrisante, that the Nymph knowing Hylas, she rose up to salute them, and Chrisante also, being informd by her who they were, she did the same. And because Phillis laughed at Hylas, for not bringing the Inke: Do you think, shepheardesse, said he unto her, that I came into Forrests to do any service for the dead? Thircis, that has nothing else to do, may do well to employ his time in such me∣lancholly moods; but as for Hylas, he is of another temper: And therefore do not think it strange, if by an honest leave I tell you, that if you do not like me as I am, you must never think to finde any alteration in me when I am old. Phillis, who had other matters in her head, did thus answer him: I swear, Hylas, if you were of any other temper then what you are, I shall not love you so well as I do. But, as I must not hope to change you, so you must not think to make me any other then what I am; and therefore, when I

would laugh, let me laugh, and let me be silent when I have no minde to talk, and I will allow your humours the like liberty; so in this freedome we shall live both contentedly, and without any trouble to one another: Oh Mistresse, said he, how dearly do I love you, nay, rather adore you, for this humour; I did never think to meet with such a jolly one: And in saying so, he hugged her, and would have carried her in his armes, but she would not let him. Every one laughed at the anger of Phillis, and the humour of this shepheard. In the mean while, Leonida and Chrisante having found out a convenient place, they took their places; as for Paris, he kept alwaies close unto Diana, which was no small displeasure unto Silvander, since he durst not, out of respect, approach: This was the reason, that being deprived of the happinesse in talking with her, he would en∣joy the happinesse of seeing her and therefore seated himselfe just over against her. Every one being set, Palemon and Adrastes kneeled down before Doris, and, say what the Nymph and Chrisante would, they would not rise. At last, the shepheardesse, by com∣mand, began thus.

The History of Doris and Palemon.

I Have ever been of opinion, great and wise Nymph, and you, venerable Chrisante, that if there be any obligations amongst Mankinde, to tye one unto another, it is Amity: Whether this be so or no, I refer it unto the judgment of any who were ever loved. I being thus in this beliefe, after I had been long loved by this shepheard, I thought my selfe in some sort obliged, to render him amity for amity. The truth is, this amity at the first, had but a very slender and faint beginning, and I could not imagine, it should ever grow into that magnitude it did; it did insensibly take so deep a root by long continued conversation, as when I perceived it, I found it was not in my power to root it out; and so, as I never questioned his affection, nor could he desire any thing of me, which he ob∣tained not, atleast, in any reason. Yet notwithstanding, I know not how, to my misfor∣tune, when he was in full assurance of me, he did even then mistrust me, so as he was not contented, I should leave frequenting all those whom I was accustomed to see, but would needs have others deprived of seeing me; so as not being contented with my not visiting any of my Companions, but if any of them came to see me, it was a thing intolerable un∣to him.

Have I not all the reason in the world to be offended at him, for this bad opinion of me, which his jealousie hath infused into him? For gods-sake judge, into what extream tyranny is his amity changed: Yet neverthelesse, rather then displease him, I chose ra∣ther to lose the good-will of all my friends, neighbours, and acquaintance, rather then he should receive any dis-satisfaction from me. God knowes, in what a strange con∣straint I lived; and though I did strive to be as agreeable to his humour as I could, and to content him, and though it was pleasing to me so to do; yet, my strange retirednesse from all shepheards and shepheardesses, from all my friends and acquaintance, as if I were sick of some infectious disease, was extreamly hard unto me. If this jealousie of his did pro∣ceed from his affection unto me, was not he as much obliged to do as much for me, as he constrained me to do for him? But he was so far from that, as during all this time, which I may well terme a salvage life, (for truly so was mine become, only to be suitable unto his humour) he would not visit me above halfe a quarter of an houre in a day, visits so short, as I could do no more then see him, but hardly speak one word unto him. Judge; I beseech you, whether I have not good reason to say, that his affection is turned into tyranny, since he was growne like unto those, who at the first, under a colour of good husbandry, do afterwards grow so niggardly, both unto themselves, and those that de∣pend upon them, as they will not allow a sufficient competency to live upon. For, I do believe, his life was no more pleasing unto him, then mine unto me, unlesse in this, that his was voluntary, and mine constrained. But see, whether I was not very good unto him, and loved him very well: I endured all his tyranny without the least murmur; and had not he himselfe released me, I my selfe never had. The last testimony which I gave him of my obedience (for so I may phrase it, better then affection) was such, as was enough to qualifie all his perverse and odd humours.

Be pleased to know, great Nymph, that I lived very young without Father or Mother, under the tuition of a Brother, who being elder then I, was ever so affectionate

and indulgent towards me, as he did very well supply the want of Father, both in the education of my Person, and management of my Estate, and abundantly officious, in doing me the offices of a very Father. He being thus good unto me, common reason, be∣sides other considerations, commanded me, to conform my selfe unto his will, as much as possibly I could, and contrary him in nothing. Palemon, without any consideration of all this, would needs have me absolutely to break off from him; not that I should go out of his house, for he knew not whither else I could go, but that I should not have any corespondency with those whom he loved; nay that I should forbid them the sight of me. Those who live under the authority of another, do know, whether this be feasable or no. Yet, to let him see, how ready I was, to give him any testimony of my affection, I did attempt to give him satisfaction in this. My Brother, amongst the rest of his neighbours, did love a shepheard whose name was Pantesmon, a man, truly, who was qualified with all good conditions to render him amiable and pleasing; he was wise, civill, respective, affable, couragious, and a good friend, and amongst shepheardesses, he was the most dis∣creet in all the Town. These qualities did invite my Brother to love him, and there grew so greet a familiarity between them, that they were never assunder. Now I must needs confesse, that as he loved my Brother very well, yet I know not, whether he observed any thing in me which pleased him, or whether it was, that he bore good will unto the Sister for the Brothers sake; yet so it was, that I knew he loved me. Now you shall see, whether I did not behave my selfe as I ought to do with Palemon: As soon as ever I knew this, I told him of it, and related unto him all passages, and all the demonstrations of af∣fection which I observed in him. If I had had any designes, you may imagine, I would ne∣ver have done thus. Oh heavens! what reverence, what honour, and what submission did this shepheard render unto me? His merits and affection were so worthy of all entertain∣ment, together with my Brother's friendship, that as I did understand since, he did intend to marry us together. But I, notwithstanding the relation of a Brother's friend, did receive his addresses with more saintnesse, then any other: For knowing he loved me, I thought it an injury unto the affection of Palemon, if I gave him any countenance, though civility in any other might have done it without offence. This was the man, whom Palemon charged me not to see. And how do you think it was possible for me to obey him? Pan∣tesmon had a greater desire to obey me, then Palemon had reason for his request; for, how could I give him satisfaction? which way should I forbid him my Brothers house, who perhaps loved him better then he loved me? However, I took Pantesmon aside, and ac∣quainted him with my will. I will manifest my affection unto you, said he, not only by the effects of my affection, but also by the effects of your hatred: You are pleased, without any re••son, to banish me your presence; and the wrong which you do me, shall evidence my love, since to shew what power you have over me, I will without the least murmure obey your commands, though most unjust; to give you contentment, I will deny it unto my selfe, and retire out of your sight: Though I lose this happinesse, yet shall I not lose the least of my affection to you, but will preserve it entire as long as I live, though without all hope; for your merits bid me to love, because you are your selfe, and not to leave lo∣ving, because you do not love me. Pantesmon, (said I unto him) this power which you give me over you, does make me extreamly sorry to banish you from me, and that I am not in a condition to dispose of my own will; and I do assure you, that your merits, and that affection which you expresse, makes me grieve, that I can do no more for you; but I beseech you, believe it for a most certain truth, that it is not without some reason, and much griefe, that I do make this request unto you. If you could have any hopes in me, you had the more reason to be angry; but since you cannot, what pleasure can you take, in rendring me miserable by loving me, without any hopes, but in my displeasure? You need not use any more words to perswade me (answered he; my affection, which is whol∣ly devoted unto your will, prompts me unto more then you can say: I shall, untill the very last minute of my life, do whatsoever you shall command me, without any other aime, end, or designe, but only to obey you. Yet, if my affection, my services, and obedi∣ence, can merit so great a favour, I shall beseech and conjure you, by him you love most, and who perhaps is the cause of my banishment, that when I bid you my last and eter∣nall adieu, you will permit me so much honour, as to aspire unto a kisse of your lip. I cannot chuse, Oh great Nymph, but blush in my relation: But however, I must confesse the truth, I did permit him, conceiving, that his goodness did oblige me unto as much. Pre∣sently after, he departed, and I never found him since in any place, where it was probable I should see him.

Now, I beseech you, were not all these testimonies of my affection enough, to oblige this ungratefull shepheard for ever unto one? But I found him quite contrary; for after∣wards, he would never see me, neither in the way of a Lover, no, nor so much as in the way of a Friend. I much desired to know the cause of his retreat, and therefore I did em∣ploy a faithfull friend to go unto him from me: But no other answer could be gotten, but this, that, Love drives out Love, as one naile dxives out another. Upon this, I had two conceptions: First, that he was fallen in love with some other shepheardesse, and this second love had driven out the first unto me. Secondly, that by his sleighting of me, he gave me counsell to do the same. Being thus abandoned and forsaken, though it was ex∣treamly requisitie to use my best armes against such an accident, yet would I not make use of any such, as my enemy sent me; for scorning them as his, I thought them unworthy of my selfe, and I esteemed them perfidious, because I esteemed their Inventor so. I had re∣course therefore unto other remedies, which, though more slow, yet more certain in their effects, which was, Time: Time, I say, was my Armes, and it which taught me the use of them; it was both my Physician and my Physick. And truly, as most things that are slow, are yet most sure, so the cure it wrought, was through; not for a day, but I thank god, for all the rest of my life. I say, I do thank god, for indeed I had abundance of reason; for great Nymph, when I call into my memory the life I lived, as long as this perfidious man seemed to love me, and compare it with that which I do live now, I must needs con∣fess, that I am more obliged unto him for betraying me, then I am unto Pantesmon for o∣beying me For then, (I cannot call it a life, but a slavery) my affection was not affection, but obedience; and his love was not love, but tyranny. Now this disloyall man, being (as I believe) envious at my happy life, or else not contented with once triumphing, he must needs make a second attempt: And, as at the first, he surprised me by submission, and great demonstrations of a violent affection, so he thinks now to catch me with the same bait: And therefore, Oh great and wise Nymph, you see him here on his knees before me, using such language and expressions, as they do who are really in love. But he does not consider, that finding my selfe weakest on that side, I have more strongly fortified it: I am fully resolved to hold him out at armed end, let him attempt as long as he will; his dissimulations, in lieu of love, have renewed such extream disdain of him in my soul, that I cannot endure the very sight of him: And if his designe was to displease me, I must needs confess, he hath brought it to passe; but if that be not his designe, (as he swears, and would make me believe, it is not) but that, as a just punishment from heaven, he hath revived his flame, that he himselfe was the only author of his own misfortune, and that he is prepared for punishment; I must then confesse, that in giving me this occasion of revenge upon the wrong he hath done me, he is a just man, but still no good Lover. But yet, why does he tell me of his misfortunes and miseries? me, I say, who would not so much as remember that he is in the world. Or why does he take up such Armes, as thinking to hurt me with them, he wounds himselfe? He cannot ever have any hopes to obtain any thing from me, whose soul smarts with the memory of what is past, as oft as I look upon him. Let him therefore let me alone, and leave me, to enjoy that happinesse which he conferred upon me by a contrary designe. If the heavens, as often they do, have converted that unto my happinesse, which he prepared for my misery, why is he sorry I should enjoy it? I know better how to make use of these favours from heaven, then he hath of those, which I have done him heretofore. Let him acknowledge and confesse, that the heavens have most justly maintained my cause, and defended my innocent affection against the most ungratefull and perfidious person, that ever pretended to be a Lover. If, like a losing gamester, he ask any thing for his last hand, this, great and wise Nymph, is all I can do for him; I will confesse my selfe satisfied for his ingratitude, and forgive it; I will pitty him, upon condition, he will never see me, nor trouble me any more; and this shall be all the revenge I will take, for all his injuries.

Thus the shepheardesse ended, with so much colour in her face, as rendred her fairer then she was wont to be. Then Leonida perceiving, she had no more to say, she commanded Palemon to speak, what he had to say for himselfe. Then the shepheard rising up, after an humble reverence unto the Nymph, he began thus.

The Answer of the Shepheard Palemon.

GReat Nymph, I acknowledge that to be most true, which I have often learned from divinity, That gods and goddesses do never come into any place, without doing some good. You, who in your merits and quality, are a representation of them amongst us, were no sooner come into this place, but you may 〈◊〉〈◊〉 me undeceived, and convinced of that errour wherein I have long lived, if I can call that a life, which hath brought me more torments then death it selfe. I do most ingenuously confesse, all that this fair shep∣heardesse hath related unto you, is most true, and that I am infinitely more obliged unto her then either she or I can expresse. But having heard her reproach me, for complaining, that the heavens, as envious of my blisse, hath kept me from it, I should think this to be a greater occasion of sorrow, and to accuse it of injustice, did I not know, that all men are in the like condition, and that there is no perfect contentment here below. I cannot chuse but beg leave to grieve, for the wrong this fair shepheardesse hath done unto that affection, which she hath promised me, by misinterpreting mine, and taking that for an injury, which she ought to take for the greatest assurance and demonstration of my af∣fection. But, Oh great god of Love! how dare I complain against her, since thou hast com∣manded me to think all well that she doth? I will therefore use no complaints against her, for my heart will not give me leave to contradict her in any thing. But, Oh wise Nymph, I will endeavour to let you see, by telling the truth, that Palemon doth love, and that Do∣ris has no reason to believe the contrary. And, to be as briefe as I can, she does confesse, that I did love her, and that she did love me; but why does she upbraid me with any in∣fidelity? Her reason is, because I was jealous, and I confesse I was. But if she did love me as she saies she did, for loving her, why should my affection be pleasing to her, and not the effects of my affection? If all that looked upon her, made me jealous, if their con∣versation, their words, nay, their very lookes, made me suspitious, was not this a most certain testimony, that I did infinitely love her? She hath often told me, that to doubt of her, was to offend her, and to make a sinister construction of her. Ah great Nymph, did this fair shepheardesse know as well how to love, as her eyes do to make her adored, she would say, that this was rather extream love, and the high opinion of her, which made me doubt her. Had I not thought her most worthy to be served by every one, I should ne∣ver have thought, that every one had served her. And had I not been of that beliefe, how could I have been jealous of every one? Jealousie therefore, Oh fair Doris, is not a lesser signe of affection and violent love, then sighes and tears are; for, it hath its originall from the knowledge one hath of the perfections in the person loved; but sighes and tears do of∣ten proceed from her cruelty only, and from the torments which they resent by reason thereof. She therefore knowing, (Oh great Nymph) that I was jealous, ought she not therefore to encrease her affection, in some sort to ballance the weight which mine endured? but on the contrary, she rewards me with cruelty, she her selfe unties the knot of that amity, which so many services and demonstrations of a perfect affection, ought to have made indissolvable. And to give some colourable pretence for all this, she alledgeth faint∣nesse and coldness on my side, and negligence and carelessenesse, which, alas, was only in her own opinion. She alledgeth, that at that time, I absented my selfe from her. Indeed, when I consider this allegation, I must confesse, that all actions may be suspected, when the effects produce contrary semblances, or are not known unto those, that have interest in them. If I should ask you, fair Doris, what opinion you had of me, when my fortune had brought me into your acquaintance, I am confident you will say, that I loved served, ho∣noured, and adored you, with as much faithfull zeal of true affection, as ever any shep∣heard could. And let it not displease you, if before this great Nymph and reverent Druide, I beseech and conjure you to tell them, who that shepheardesse is, that ever I adressed my selfe unto, except you; or you ever heard of? If you do not know, nor ever heard of any, but must needs confesse, my affection was never placed any where else, why do you com∣plain of me? and why should you suspect, and put a misinterpretation upon my actions? Me-thinks it is but very ill Logick, to conclude, that Palemon did love me; but because he sees me not so oft as he was wont, therefore he does not love me. Were it not a better piece of sophistry in the Schooles of Love, to argue thus? Palemon does not see me so oft as he was accustomed, but I know there is some urgent occasions which keeps him away. Had you been thus compassionate upon the torments I endured, in being absent from you,

and judged others by your selfe, you had never so cruelly offended him, who did never offend against the affection which he promised. But perhaps you will ask me, what I did mean by so many minute visits, whereas formerly whole daies would not content me? I shall tell you, Oh sage Nymph; and when you have heard me, you will not make such a sinister construction of my actions, as this fair one doth of my fidelity; only I beseech you to consider, the kinde of life which I led at that time, and amongst what company I lived. I can, and truly, say, Oh great Nymph, that never man lived a more salvage life then I; no, not such, whose profession is to inhabit amongst Rocks and Desarts, excepting only, when my affection constrained me once a day to see her; for, as soon as day began to dawn, I went out of my Cabin, and shunning all manner of company, I did not re∣turn untill dark night, retiring my selfe, sometimes into the most close and unfrequented Caves, and other times upon the tops of the highest Mountains, so solitarily alone, as nothing but my own thoughts could finde me out; but they still kept me so good company, as they did often invite me unto some such place, from whence I might see her habitation, thinking the very sight of the happy walls where she dwelt, to be no small con∣solation unto me. Nothing could withdraw me from this kinde of solitary life; no, not the friendship of Neighbours, nor duty to Parents, nor care of my Flocks, nor any thing in the world else, but only my desire of seeing her every day once, and that in such short visits, as, to my sorrow alwaies when I returned, I thought I did but only go thither, and not see her. Now my extream affection unto her was the cause, why I did not acquaint her with my reason for this kinde of life.

Now, great and wise Nymph, it was ever my opinion, that he who loves as he ought to do, ought to be more tender of her honour whom he loves, then of his own content∣ment. The malice of ill disposed men is never so weak nor drousie, but it may alwaies finde out some subject to asperse those that are most vertuous: And at this time, our frequent visits were eyed, and gave occasion unto those malignant spirits, to spit their venome, and talk very broadly; and yet, so closely, that all the diligence I could use could never bring me to know, who were the authors of these poysonous Impostures. What should I do in such a case? To undertake a long voyage, I could not, because I was not a free Ma∣ster of my own actions; and to cease to love her, had been to cease to live. Since our great familiarity was it, which gave a colour for their calumny, what could I better do, then stop the black mouthes of scandall, by abridging my selfe of my own content∣ment, in not being so frequently with her? For, I thought my selfe obliged to preserve her honour and reputation, at any rate whatsoever. If she complain, that I did not acquaint her with this untill now, she may as well complain against my extream love of her; for, the reason why I did not impart it unto her, was, because I was loath to make her a part∣ner in my sorrowes; for I know, that she, who was ever so carefull to keep her honour free from all calumny, could not endure to hear of these, without extream vexation, and sad resentment.

Now, great Nymph, I beseech you to consider, by this most true relation, whether such effects are usuall amongst vulgar affections, and from thence you may perceive the quality of mine; and being such, as gives a manifest proof of its grandure, why may I not, and with reason, aske as well some proofes of hers, since love is never requited but with love again. As for the businesse of Pantesmon, which she alledgeth as a great matter of complaint a∣gainst me, I conceive, my apprehensions of him did not proceed from an ill grounded jealousie, as she termes it, but from abundance of reason; for this shepheard, as she her selfe confesseth, being such a one as he is, it was probable, she would rather love him then scorn him. Moreover, the friendship betwixt her Brother and him, was no small ground for my suspitions; but especially, the favourable eye which she cast upon him, which indeed was such, as knowing of my jealousie, she was more to be blamed, for behaving her selfe so, then I, for thinking so: And indeed, their Marriage was openly spoken of, so as from hence I had strong grounds for jealousie; and she, to cleer her selfe, had good reason to do as I requested. If friendship have a priviledge above love, she might well have denyed my re∣quest; if it have not, why should she think it strange, my love should desire a preheminen∣cy above that amity, which she had unto her Brother?

From hence it was, great Nymph, that all our miseries had their originall; for when I was angry with her, for the countenance which she gave unto this shepheard; she an∣swered me, that her Brothers affection unto him was the cause of it. But when I replyed, that the report of her Marriage unto him was so common, as it was impossible I could en∣dure

to hear it: What would your fantasticall suspicion (answered she, with an angry look) have me to do? You may call it what you please, (said I unto her) but I shall never be at rest, untill I see him banished from you. Well, (said she, with a more angry eye) I will give you satisfaction this time; but I wish this may be the last of your odd humours. she expressed her selfe in such a manner, as made me more suspect her, then if she had de∣nyed me with some handsome excuse. This made me resolve to look more narrowly into the matter, and trust unto no eyes but my own. Oh most unhappy diffidence! Oh what an abominable resolution was this, which hath cost so much sorrow, such extream tor∣ment, and so many tears? In order therefore unto this designe, I spied out a time, when Pantesmon went unto her Chamber; for, as fortune was, either for displeasure, or for some ill disposednesse, she kept her bed that day: And going up a back pair of staires, which conducted to her Lodgings, I came through a Lobby into a little Closet, which had a dore over against her bed. Such was my misfortune, as I could, through the key-hole, see all they did, but being at too far a distance, I could not hear one word.

I saw, and too plainly for my contentment, this shepheard sit by her bed-side; I saw him take her hand, and kisse it several times; I saw him talk bare-headed, and at last, kisse her lip, without any resistance; and for ought I could observe, she answered him with no words of anger. Oh heavens! what a dagger was this to my heart? I knew not what to do with my selfe; I knew not how I should suffer this and live. But, such was my extraor∣dinary affection unto her, that though I had these bitter resentments, yet it made me con∣stantly to endure any thing, which I thought pleasing unto her. Pantesmon went away, and I also; he, very ill satisfied with me; and I, absolutely mad at him. Thus did Love drive us both away.

Now, I beseech you, great Nymph, tell me: Would you have thought I had loved her, had not this gone to my very soul? Could my resentment be lesse, then to retire my selfe? or, Could it be carried with more discretion, then never to speak of it unto any? I do confesse, I did endeavour to regain my liberty; and when I found abundance of difficulty, in unloosing the cords wherewith she held me, I said severall times to my selfe, That I would cut those I could not untie. And when I was thus striving with my selfe, it is true, she sent one of her friends unto me. But what could I think of her message more, then that it was a continuation of her delusions? Could I possibly give the lye unto such dear wit∣nesses, as my own Eyes? So, being full of anger, I made that answer which she thus com∣plaines of, which was, That one Nail drives out another. Now, since I had a beliefe, that she had thus ungratefully betrayed me, how could I give her a milder check? I was obliged unto as much by the Lawes of my affection, which would not let me lie now, no more then before. If she took it in any other sense then I intended it, her innocence was the cause of it, and my error made me say so. She does not know of any other Love, that ever driv my love of her out of my heart; and yet, my fears of displeasing her, hath even untill this time, deprived me of my greatest contentment. When I at any time resolved to up∣braid her for all this, Love, which had ever a great prevalence in my soul, restrained me, and gave me a check, telling me, that this would too much offend her, whom I once lo∣ved so well; that it was not handsome to twit her with her faults, and make her ashamed of them; but that I should be well contented, with being loose from those perfidious ob∣ligations, in which I had been so long entangled. Oh! this advice was most pernicious unto me; for doubtlesse, had I at the first told her what I had seen, she would have related unto me all that she had done; and so I should have received as much satisfaction, happi∣nesse, and contentment, as I have since suffered torments and miseries. But absenting my selfe wholly from her, it was long before I knew, that Pantesmon had left her: And the worst was, I durst not so much as enquire, lest I should hear something, which would en∣crease my griefe. At last, my love being stronger then my resolution or my anger, I did by degrees go neer her, and at the very first sight, forgetting all the wrongs which, as I thought, I had received, I applyed my selfe more unto her then ever before. But how did I finde her? she had the same eyes, the same mouth, and the same beauty; but she was not the same Doris, who, when I left her, loved none but Palemon, esteemed none but Pale∣mon, and carrassed none but Palemon. At this sad return, I saw nothing but disdain, found nothing but hatred and resented nothing but rigour and anger; so as untill very now, it was impossible for me to let her know, the cause of my retirement, because she would never let me tell her, but still interrupted my speech.

Now, Oh great Nymph, if these things be not testimonies of a most faithfull and vi∣olent

love, I will not desire her favour; though the favour which I ask, is not a pardon of any fault committed against love, but only, for loving her too much, perhaps more then she would have me, or more then she believes. If Love would let me complain against her, as in reason I may, I should tell her, that the hath done abundance of wrong, both unto Love, unto Doris, and unto Palemon: For, Love may complain, that she hath extingui∣shed that fire, which blazed with so pure a flame, that Vertue it selfe could not be offended with its heat; and in lieu of it, she has kindled flames of anger and spleen, so smothered with black smoak, that in lieu of enlightning her soul, they fill it full of darknesse and confusion. But Doris has greater reason of compliant, that so sleight a ground should make her perjured, and break so many reiterated Oathes, sworn unto that unfortunate shep∣heard, never to change her minde. And what can she answer Palemon, if he should say unto her: Is it possible, unthankfull shepheardesse, that so many years service, so many testimonies of affection, so many assurances of my fidelity, should not make you have a better conceipt of me? 'Tis true, I was jealous; but was it not a fruit of Love? I beseech you, why not jealous, if amorous? Who should I be jealous of, but of her I love? But, admit it be a fault, and ought to be punished; is it not the rigour of justice, to equall the punishment to the crime? But admit, that it ought to equall it, and that an eye for an eye, and an arme for an arme, ought to expiate the sin; yet, why should you punish me for being jealous of you? for then, the same punishment ought to be inflicted upon you, since you were also jealous of me. Is this an act glorious, and worthy of a Lover? But per∣haps you will say unto me, You cast me off, and quitted me, and has therefore rendred your selfe unworthy of any favour. Well, suppose I did cast you off; you must therefore cast me off also; and perhaps you have done it already. Suppose us to be both upon equall tearmes, I have cast you off, and you have cast me off. But now, when I return again, with abundance of repentance and sorrow for what is past; are not you obliged by the Law of Like, to do the like? Here I am upon my knees before you, with as many bitter tears of repentance, as ever Lover had; and can your anger extend so far, as not to re-ad∣mit me into my former happinesse. Forgivenesse is the greatest glory of the gods, and it has this operation, that it converts the greatest offenders into the greatest lovers.

Thus Palemon ended, and Leonida and Chrisante prepared themselves to give Judgment, when the other shepheard desired to be heard, what he could say for him∣selfe.

The History of the Shepheard Adrastes.

I Beseech you, great and puissant Nymph, and you, venerable Chrisante, to stay your judgment, untill you have heard me, that you may have the better conusance of our differences, and be able to put a just conclusion unto all our miseries and inquietudes. I have loved this shepheardesse, even from her very Cradle; I have never since ceased loving her, but still encreased in my desires to do her service: I have endured all her disdaines, and patiently suffered her, to place all her affection upon another, before my face. Length of time has not lessened my love, nor diverted my designe; her rigours could never afright me, and yet hitherto, I could never make her leave the least of her cruelties. She equally ballanced her selfe with favours unto Palemon, and disfavours unto me, and ever most cruelly scorned both my love and patience. But all was one, all her affronts did but the better enure me, to endure the intolerable burthen of them; they were so far from diverting me from her service, that the more difficulties and miseries I met with, the more did they confirme the violence of my love. Oh heavens! can any man, infected with this disease, be wise? Can he look for any cure, when his will cannot consent unto it? All such as give me any counsell against Love, are my declared enemies; and though all manner of hopes were blasted, yet my affection was unalterable, it was never in the least degree start∣led or lessened. No, great Nymph, I had rather die, then diminish the least spark of that flame, which burned me. She has seen me severall times swim in tears before her; she has seen me fall at her feet, out of my wits. But neither my tears, nor danger of my life, could ever obtain any thing from her, but scorn and mockery: A just resentment whereof had been revenged upon Palemon, if my love could have consented unto any thing, that might displease this cruell one. But this passion of revenge was so unable to make me un∣dertake such a designe, as I am sure, she cannot taske me with the least blemish in my affe∣ction; and whatsoever she is pleased to say of me, I may truly, without any ostentation,

give my selfe the name of, A Lover without a fault; for jealousie could never finde any harbour in my soul, as it did in this too happy shepheard; nor did I ever think any ill, or finde any fault with any of her actions. Love can be my witnesse, that even her very rigours were welcome to me, when I considered, that they were pleasing unto this fair Doris. And though I am not so far out of Fortunes favour, but any other shepheardesse would perhaps look upon me with a favourable eye; yet most certain I am, that I never professed any fidelity to them, but abundance unto her. But Love, not to let so much dis∣dain go unpunished, and not to forsake a Love so pure as mine, hath suffered her to resent the bitternesse of disdain, by the divorce betwixt her and this shepheard. But before Pale∣mon ever loved her, I did; yet, for all her bitter treatment, she never saw the least altera∣tion in me. I was the first that served her, I am the only one that has continued constant, and shall be for ever in the same minde. I do not set these things before her eyes by way of reproach, but for truthes-sake only; yet such truths, as shall not put her unto any sad remembrances, for so I must needs phrase my past services. And though her cruelty hath been such unto me, yet must I in some sort excuse her, since being engaged unto Palemon, perhaps she had offended against her fidelity, in doing otherwise. But now, when, thanks be to the Fates, she hath quitted him, what reason or colour can she have for her cruelty, since she tells you, that she loved Palemon, because she thought it reasonable, to love him who loved her. Upon her own ground, reason, and judgment, I do appeal unto you, great Nymph, swearing unto you by her fair selfe, for a greater oath cannot be, that never did any Beauty cause a greater, more sincere, or more faithfull love, then that of Adrastes unto the fair Doris.

Thus Adrastes ended his Oration, with so many demonstrations of a perfect love, as all that heard him were partners in his resentments. And the shepheardesse Doris, seeing he had said all he could, after an humble reverence, answered thus.

Great Nymph, I am very sorry for this shepheard's sake, that all he hath said is true; for, since he loves me so well, it grieves me, that he should be ill treated; yet, you may per∣ceive by what hath been said, that the fault is not in me, but it is himselfe only, that pur∣sues his ill fortune. The first time he declared his minde unto me, we were both so young, that neither knew what Love was; so as what he said unto me, moved me no more, then a person who was nothing at all concerned. Afterwards, he travelled, and when he re∣turned, he found me not mine own, for I had given my self unto Palemon: So that, as at the first time, he might complain of my ignorance in love; so at this second, he might much more complain of my too much knowledge in it. But he has no reason at all to complain against me; for, shepheard, can you complain against me, who was not capable of love, for not loving you? Lay the blame upon Nature; accuse those Lawes unto which she hath submitted us all. Then, can you think it strange, I will not love you, when my will was not my owne? Alas, I have but one heart, and one soul, and one will. You may with more reason complain, (and that me-thinks is the only plea you have) that you did addresse your selfe unto me too soon, and returned too late. You say that I never looked upon you, but with scorn, but was ever very averse from shewing any favour unto you. Truly, Adrastes, if you rightly interpret my actions, you will finde, that you are more obliged unto me for that, then if I had done otherwise For, had you received any satisfaction from me, unto what a strange extremity would your love have been driven, that was so great, maugre all my rigours? Consider, Adrastes, that favours from me, would rather have been aggravations, then any consolations in your misery: Besides, I could not have shew∣ed them, without much offence unto that sincere affection, which I had promised Pale∣mon. I must needs confesse, that it is just to love one that loves us; but I do not say, it is injustice, not to love all those, that have any affection unto us; for if it were, there would be no fidelity nor assurance in love; if it were so, you your selfe were obliged, to render a reciprocall love unto the shepheardesse. Bebliena, who is ready to die for you. But I mean, that a woman being free from all other affection, may, without blame, love him that loves her, if there be no other reason of hatred, but his love. Now this case is nothing resemblant unto that betwixt you and me; for I being engaged another way, I cannot con∣tract any new affection with you, without a ruine of that which I have contracted al∣ready. Had I dissembled with you, or held you in hopes with any smooth language, you might with reason complain against me; but, if I did ever tell you my minde plainly and freely, are you not obliged unto me for it? Have I not a thousand times over entrea∣ted, conjured, nay, commanded, as far as I had any power over you, that you should

extinguish your affection to me? And have you not alwaies answered me, that you would, if you could do it and live? And when you did continue on was it not for your own sake, and not mine? But, great Nymph, see how that which, as I gather from his word••, he thinks to be his advantage, does deceive him. Doubtlesse he thinks, that my affection unto Pa∣lemon was the only cause, which kept me from giving entertainment unto his. And in∣deed, he no sooner heard of the dissentions betwixt that shepheard and me, but presently he was blowne up with hopes to effectuate his desires; and, to lose no occasions of pro∣moting them, he hath ever since that time so importunately pressed me, that I may, and with reason, call him, rather my enemy then my friend. But he is much deceived in these thoughts, and does not consider, that if ever this affection of mine do cease, I shall with it so cease from ever any other love, as I shall never resent any effects of it again.

Thus ended Doris. Adrastes would have replyed, but Leonida commanded silence; and taking Chrisante, Astrea, Diana, Phillis, Madonthe, and Laonice aside, she asked them their opinions and advice. But being long in consultation, and the shepheards, who were not called to counsell, being impatient, and could not be idle, Hylas addressed himselfe unto Doris: I do admire said he unto her, that you should be angry for being too rich. How do you mean, answered she? I mean, said Hylas, that you ought to enter∣tain, not only these two shepheards, who love you; but also, as an evidence of your beau∣ty, all those that would offer themselves unto you: For, it is a womans honour to be loved and courted by many, besides the benefit she may get by it. I do believe, (answered Doris, very carelesly) that this would be a good way for those, who would be esteemed fair, and are not; or, for such as prefer that vanity, before tranquillity and solid content∣ment. If it be a Good to be loved, replyed he, the more that love you, the more good you have. And if it be ill, replyed Doris, the more I am loved, the more ill it is. True, replyed Hylas, but how can it be ill, to be loved by many? They will hate us in the end, answered she. Yes, replyed he, if you do not content and entertain them. How should one satisfie and content many replyed Doris, when it is impossible to satisfie and content one? But, said Hylas, is it not good to have many Servants? They will in the end become our ene∣mies, said she, and in loving me, they will more trouble then benefit me. You must have a care, said he, to keep them your friends. The paines, replyed the shepheardesse, is above the pleasure. The gods, said the shepheard, do never think themselves troubled, that many should bring offerings unto their Altars. Most true, answered she, but it is a peculiar pri∣viledge of the gods, to do good unto many, without any trouble to them. Me-thinks, said Hylas, that since love depends upon the will, and since the will does extend it selfe to all it pleaseth, there should be no great pains in loving severall persons. The Lovers of this age, answered she, are not contented with matter of will, but they would enjoy it in the effects; an I therefore I think it impossible, that the will should be divided amongst severall persons at one time. Every one of them, replyed he, must but have a part. This, answered the shepheardesse, I do think to be most impossible: But, suppose it might, since the love of one is so painfull, what would a great multitude be? Then it seemes, said he, that you will love but one. One, answered she, is too many, and therefore I will love none at all. And you, shepheards, (said Hylas unto Palemon and Adrastes) what do you say to this? We (said Palemon) do make it appear, that we think one to be enough. How said Hylas, must one love but one? Nay, fewer, answered Palemon, since we are two, and love but one. The discourse of Hylas had continued longer, if the Nymph had not re∣turned with all her company and stopped him: She therefore, and every of them, taking their places again, she spake thus.

The Judgment of the Nymph Leonida.

ALthough we do observe in this difference before us, severall accidents which seem contrary to one another, yet none of them are contrary unto Love; for, it is not more naturall for Fire to flame and burn, then for Love to produce such dissentions a∣mongst Lovers; and those who go about to take them away, do attempt a thing, no lesse impossible, then to take away heat from fire, or keep it from flaming. On the other side, considering, that he does not love, who does not wholly and entirely dedicate himselfe unto her he loves, we conceive it, to be a kinde of treason, to let any other have a share in his affection. And though we do expresse our selves only in the Masculine person, yet it

doth hold as well in the Feminine. Therefore, all things being long and seriously debated and considered, we do conclude, that it would be unjust, that love should be extinguished by a thing, that is so naturall unto it selfe; or to divide it amongst many, upon any consi∣deration whatsoever. And we do declare, that these fallings out, and little quarrells, are only renewings of love, and that to divide or change affection, is a crime of the highest nature that can be committed against Love. Upon this ground, we do ordain, that Doris shall love Palemon, and that Palemon being assured of her affection, shall for the future give her some better testimonies of his love, then by those of jealousie; though we do con∣clude, that jealousie be a signe of love, but it is a signe of love, as sicknesse is a signe of life; for, as one cannot be sick, unlesse he live, so one cannot be jealous, unlesse he love; but, as sicknesse is a signe of an ill tempered life, so jealousie is an argument of an ill tem∣pered love. Doris shall pardon, and receive Palemon into her favour again, and forget all former displeasures, considering, that Love is a most violent passion; and makes one com∣mit many things, which are not allowed of by him that committed them, nor ever would be, had he not been infected with that disease. And to avoid those displeasures which she hath resented for the time past, we do ordain, that as Doris shall treat Palemon as the person whom of all the world she loves best, so likewise Palemon shall submit him∣self unto the will of Doris; for, if he will be free, it will at last fall into tyranny. And as for the patient and unfortunate Adrastes, we do ordain, that it shall be in his choice, whether he will continue an example of a faithfull and unfruitfull affection, by loving Doris still, without any hopes of being loved again; or whether he will, by breaking the cords of his first love, by violence, by anger, or by despair, satisfie the affection of her, who loves him, and is ready to die for him.

This was the judgment of the Nymph, which produced three very different effects in these three persons; in Palemon, an extream contentment; in Doris, so great an asto∣nishment, as she stood speechlesse; but in Adrastes, such a suddain stupification of spirits, that he fell down as dead. So as whilst Palemon, in an extasie of joy, and with a thou∣sand confused expressions, endeavoured to thank his Judge, for so favourable a judgment; Doris said not a word, but fixed her eyes upon the ground, as not knowing whether she should be glad or sad: and Adrastes, lying all along without any sense, did move all that saw him unto so much griefe, that Doris her selfe did pitty him. All the Company flocked about him, and lent him all possible assistance. When he came unto himselfe a∣gain, Leonida, accompanyed with Astrea and all her Companions, left them all three together, but they continued so, not long; for presently after, Palemon taking Doris under the arme, went towards Mount Verdun; and Adrastes following them with his eye, and losing the sight of them amongst the Trees: Farewell (said he) you happy and most per∣fect Lovers; go and enjoy, both your happinesse and mine, whilst I, by this most unjust Ordinance, do all my life lament the losse of that felicity which you enjoy. These were the last words he uttered out of a sound judgment, for a long time; for ever since, his spi∣rits were so troubled, that he lost his wits, and committed such absurd follies, that even such as could not chuse but laugh at him, could not chuse also but pitty him.

Hylas, finding no justice in this Judgment which the Nymph had given, did main∣tain his opinion against all those, who conceived, that this difference could not be better determined. And because Leonida & Paris were not ignorant of his humour, they were very desirous to passe away the time in talking with him; and in order thereunto, Paris began thus: Me-thinks, Sister (said he) that you have done poor Adrastes abundance of wrong, and might have well given a milder sentence for him. Are not you of that opinion, Hy∣las? For my part, (answered he) I believe, the heavens had a minde to punish the fool Adrastes; for otherwise it was not likely, they would have suffered him to be thus con∣demned; but I must needs confesse, that his fond and foolish passion, does not deserve a lesse punishment. You, Hylas, and I, (answered the Nymph) are of very different opi∣nions; for his love unto Doris, continued with so much constancy and resolution, me-thinks, is so far from deserving any punishment that I do much commend him for it; and therefore I gave him leave to continue it still, if he would. A very fine leave indeed, said Hylas: Why? you might as well give him leave to live all his life in misery; for my part, I think you were very rigorous in it; and I am sure, that were it my case, I would revoke your judgment. What judgment would you have given, (said the Nymph, and smiled) if you had been in my room? I should have contented them all three, answered he. I

am sure (said Silvander, and interrupted them) that this Ordinance proceeds from a solid and well disgested judgment. I am sure, (said Hylas) that such as are of Silvander's me∣lancholly temper, are not fit to be Judges of Love; but if you will solidly and seriously consider the reasons why one should love, you will say, that I am in the right, and that Doris, Adrastes, and Palemon, might have been all three contented and satisfied. How could that possibly be, said the Numph? By ordaining (replyed Hylas) that Doris should love them both, and that both of them should serve her; for by this means, they would have had what they desired, which was, that she should love them, and she would have been better served.

There was none in the Company that could refrain from laughing, when they heard this judgment, especially Leonida. Which Hylas seeing: It seemes, great Nymph, said he, that I have made you all very merry, and that you mock me. Nay rather, (answered she) it seemes, Hylas, that you mock us. Excuse him, Madam, said Silvander, for he speaks as he thinks. If your thoughts (said he unto Silvander, almost angry) be different from mine, you think but very ill; and I would gladly know what arguments you have, to blame my judgment in this. Silvander answered very carelesly; Common sense tells us, that what many have a share in is entirely possessed by none: If many have shares in the love of Doris, Adrastes and Palemon can have but their parts; and he that has but a part in love has nothing of it at all. But why (said Diana unto Silvander) do you speak thus unto Hylas? do you not know, how he does not understand that language? Truly (said Hylas) you do very well to put in your vie also; for perhaps Silvander alone is not Babell enough, to confound all the World. Then addressing himselfe unto Leonida: Did you ever Madam, hear such an absurd opinion, (said he) as this of Silvander's, that if one have but a part of a thing, he hath nothing at all: Will any one think, that there is no water in a River, because the Sea is not in it? I would gladly know what this Common Sense is, which teacheth such false Doctrines. Silvander answered: If Love could be divi∣ded, and still remain Love, as Water may, and still be Water, I should yield unto you. Water is of such a nature that the least drop is Water, as well as the whole Sea; but Love, on the contrary, is no longer Love, if the least part be wanting; and to prove this to be a truth, Love does consist principally in an extream affection, and perpetuall fidelity; if you take either of these parts from it, it is love no longer, & I believe, there is none in the Compa∣ny, except Hylas, but will confesse it; for, if the extream be wanting in the affection, or if fi∣delity be wanting, it is treason, and not love; if fidelity be in it, and not perpetuall, it is not fidelity but perfidie: So as, Hylas, I must conclude, that who so hath only one part of Love, hath nothing of it at all. If it be so, that Love is a thing individuall, it had been a∣gainst reason to enjoyne Doris, to divide her love, partly to Palemon, and partly to Adrastes. Upon this Paris began to speak: Me-thinks, Hylas, said he, that we have reason of our side, but Silvander has by his discourse gotten the favourable opinion of all the Company; and let me tell you, that if you do not answer him, I shall acknowledge what he saith. Generous Paris, (said Hylas) whatsoever Silvander saies, or whatsoever you think, yet truth will never change; and for my part, I am sure, experience is more certain then all manner of words, for there is no arguing against it. Now Silvander has nothing, but a few smooth handsome words, to prove what he saith; but I have found what I say, by so many effects, and familiar experience, that I will never seek any further then my selfe for any arguments: For, I have loved many at once, and say what he will or can, I am sure I did truly love them; and therefore may not Doris do the same? Many (replyed Silvander) do think, they do things, when they do them not: All Artificers, but more especially those that do addict themselves unto the Arts and Sciences, which are not Me∣chanicall, have a very great opinion of what they do, and very few, but think their own works much better and more perfect then any others, when as it is apparent, they do but deceive themselves, and very often, great imperfections are seen in them by others: Selfe-love is ever blinde, but alwaies open to the eyes of others. Hylas thinks he loves, and that he loves well, though he be but a very bad workman; and therefore, whosoever would love aright, and not erre, must never take him for a pattern. Who, then (said Hylas) my selfe? If any, (answered Silvander) believe it, Silvander is he? See (said Hylas) one of the greatest pieces of presumption that ever selfe-love produced: Do you think, none but your selfe can love well? I say, (answered Silvander) that my affection is pure and perfect, that you cannot tax it with any fault; nay more, that you cannot name me ano∣ther, that excells me. So, so, (said Hylas) was ever any so over-weened and arrogant as

this shepheard? Is he the only one that knowes how to love? Came he from heaven? Is he the great pattern unto men, and gives them the Lawes of Love, and can measure the grandure and perfection of our wills? Fair Nymph, if it would not be too tedious unto you, I beseech you give me leave to shew him his error. Then cocking his Beaver with one arme a kembow, and the other accompanying by its gesture the vi∣olence of his speech, he spoke thus: I observe two things, Silvander, in your speech; the one, that your affection is pure, and perfect, and unalterable; the other, that I cannot name another more accomplished. Can any thing be added unto that which is perfect? I am confident, you will say, No; for, if it would admit of any addition, then it wants something, and cannot be perfect. That thing unto which nothing can be added, must be arrived at its extremity, and therefore it must be confessed, that whatsoever is perfect is extream. Now, if your affection be perfect, then nothing can be added unto it, nor can it be made greater then it is, nor more accomplished. Now tell me presently, What is Love? Is it not a desire of beauty, and of a good which you want? But your love is a desire of a good which you want: Therefore it must consequently be confessed, that something may be added unto your Love, which it hath not. Moreover, you say, that your affection cannot be taxed with any crime: If I should ask you, whom it is you do love, you would answer, that it is Diana. If I should aske further, who this Diana is, you would reply, that she is the most perfect shepheardesse in the world. Then answer I, If this shepheardesse be so perfect as you esteem her, are you not very bold, in daring to love one that is so full of perfection? For, there must alwaies be some proportion, betwixt the Lover and the Loved; and I cannot believe, that all your presumption can perswade her, that you are so perfect as you think your selfe. Perhaps you will charge me with the same fault, in lo∣ving Phillis, who, you will say, hath much more perfection then I. But I am of a contra∣ry beliefe unto you; for I do not hold her for such a one, as you do your Diana: I do con∣fesse, she is owner both of beauty and merit; and am I without? She has wit, so have I: She is wise, I am no fool: She is a shepheardesse, I am a shepheard: She is Phillis, and I am Hylas. Is there not an eeven conformity and equality betwixt us? So as in answer unto all you can aske, I propose it as a more perfect love then yours; so as if one desire to love aright, Hylas, and not Silvander, must be the pattern. For, to what purpose is it to love, unlesse to have contentment? But what contentment or pleasure can these drooping me∣lancholly Lovers have, who are perpetually musing and fretting at their hearts, against this Bug-bear and Chimaera of Constancy. Diana, does Silvander say, does not love me; alas, she loves another, and scornes me; but for all that, I will love, and serve, and adore her, lest I should be taxed with inconstancy. Phillis, does Hylas say, does not love me, she loves another, and scornes me; why should not I change this ungratefull woman for another, that will love me, and scorn some other for my sake? Shall this Bug-bear, of being taxed with inconstancy, hinder me? Ah friends, I pray tell me, what kinde of Beast is this Inconstancy? Who did it ever devour? What disease did it ever breed? Did any ever die of it? How many have you seen in mourning by reason of it? No, no, it is a meer imagination, a fancy, a chimaera, or rather an invention of some subtle Lover, who seeing her selfe growne ugly, or ready to be changed for some other, that was fairer then her selfe, did broach this opinion, and made it to be thought a mortall sin, to be Incon∣stant. Will any man, in his witts, be thus deluded? Can he be so silly, as to consume all his life without any comfort? Do you call this Love, forsooth, and Constancy? May it not with much more reason be called madnesse and folly? What! languish in the lap of an old, ugly, and ungratefull Mistresse! Fie, fie, it is an errour far unworthy of a man, that pretends unto any wit or courage. Let not Silvander therefore ask any more, where∣in I can taxe his Love, or where I can finde one that is more perfect; for I am confident, there is not one in the Company who will not say, that Hylas loves, and Hylas alone loves, as a man of wit and courage ought to do.

Thus ended this inconstant shepheard, so moved with his own arguments, that he was as hot as any fire. Every one smiled, and looked upon Silvander, in expectation of what he would say; and he, to give them satisfaction, very sleightly answered thus.

I thought, Madam, I should have encountred with a Shepheard, in the presence of La∣dies and Shepheardesses; but for ought I see, I shall finde him an Athenian Oratour, so much is Hylas transported with his eloquence: Yet, I wish, (so confident I am in the good∣nesse of my cause) that he, of us two, who shall be condemned, may be so severely cha∣stised, for speaking so boldly before such sacred Altars, as he shall either give his Oration

the lie, or else be plunged in the River Resne. That is not reasonable, said Hylas, unlesse I had been advertised of it, before I began to speak, or might have such Judges, as I did not suspect of partiality. Why, said the Nymph, do you suspectus? Because, said Hylas, you believe all that Silvander saith, to be an Oracle; and because he has been a while at the Massilian Schooles, you admire all he saies, and think him to be alwaies in the right. No, no, Hylas, said Silvander, never refuse to abide the judgment of this great Nymph, and the venerable Chrisante; never fear, shepheard, I see they are not disposed unto rigour: and the worst will be, but an acknowledgment of your errour. And therefore I will begin.

You say, Hylas, that there is no perfect love, without an acquisition of some desired good because Love is only a desire of some good which it wants. But, Madam, I humbly beseech you, before I answer this shepheard, to pardon me, if, for the discovery of his subtleties, I use some termes, which are not frequently used amongst us. Therefore, answer me, shepheard: Does any desire that, which they do possesse? You will say, No; because desire is only of something wanting: But if Love, as you say, is only a desire, do you not see, that to possesse what one desires, is to quench Love, since none does desire that which they possesse? Why, said Hylas, doth not one love that which they possesse? If they do not, I had rather you should love; and that I should not love, to the end, you may desire, and I may possesse. I do not say so, (said Silvander) but I say, that Love is not only a desire to possesse, as you would perswade; but on the contrary, possessi∣on and enjoyment does rather make it die then live. If enjoyment do not make it live, re∣plyed Hylas, yet it is enjoyment which gives it perfection. No, neither, said Silvander, for enjoyment is not at all necessary, to make a perfect Love. A Diamond is as perfect a Diamond before it be wrought, as after the Artist hath polished it. For, if the perfection of Love did depend upon this Enjoyment, it would not be in the power of him that loves to love perfectly, since the enjoyment does not depend upon him, but upon the consent of another: And yet, Love, being an act of the Will, which is guided as the Understan∣ding thinks good, and the Will being free in all that it does, this act of his Will cannot depend upon any other then himselfe.

But admit, that Love be nothing but a desire, must it be concluded from thence, that Love may be encreased, by the enjoyment of that which one desires? If you consider it well, you will say, that Love is rather lesse by it; for, our soules do in this resemble a Bow, the more the string is stretched, with more violence doth it shoot its Arrowes. So our soules do shoot out more violent desires, when the thing desired is hard to be accomplished, than when it is easie and in our power. If desires do lessen at things easily accomplished, much more when it is glutted: And if Love be only a desire, how can you think, that desires will be augmented by enjoyment, which do diminish and glut them? Therefore, Hylas, do not say, that my Love being a desire, cannot be perfect without enjoyment: And do not accuse of arrogance, because there ought to be an equall proportion betwixt Diana and me; unlesse you will deny, that men may love the gods, for then I shall yield unto you: But if you confesse, that to love the gods be the greatest commandment upon us; then I ask you, shepheard, whether there be a greater disproportion betwixt Diana and me, then betwixt Thautates and Hylas. And to convince you of your errour, it is requi∣site, I explain this secret mystery of Love unto you. We cannot love, unlesse we do know the thing which we do love. Oh, said Hylas, how false is that position? For, I do love above a hundred Ladies and Shepheardesses, and yet I never knew one of them well; for, as soon as I found them to be peevish and disdainfull, I left them, and was angry with my selfe, for thinking otherwise of them then I found them. This reason, (answered Silvan∣der) ought to make you confesse what I do say: For, you did love that which you knew not; that is, having an opinion, that they were full of perfections, you judged them ami∣able, you loved them; but finding out the truth, you left loving them; and by this you see, that the knowledge of the persons, was the originall and source of your love; and truly, if the will from whence love begins, be never moved unto any thing, but what the judgment thinks good, there being no likelyhood, that the understanding can judge upon a thing, of which it hath no knowledge; I do wonder how you can imagine, one should love that which he doth not know. I do confesse, that as the eye may sometimes be de∣ceived, so may the understanding, and may judge that amiable which is not: But yet, Love must come from knowledge, be it true or false. Now this being so, have you not learned in the Massilian Schooles, that understanding, and the thing understood, are but one and the same thing? What! still harping upon the same string, said Hylas, are you

Diana, Silvander, as you were the other day? Truly, Diana, (said he, and turned to∣wards her) you are a very pretty Boy: And you, Silvander, (said he, and turned towards him) you are a very handsome Wench. Believe me, shepheard, you are excellent good company, and will ere long be as pleasant a Fool, as ever was in Forrests. Every one be∣gan to laugh at this, Silvander himselfe could not hold, hearing how he interpreted what he had said, and his way of speaking; and therefore he continued thus: You may very well, shepheard, said he, make your selfe merry with me, since I had no more wit then to prophane these mysteries, by communicating them unto you; nor should I have done it, had we been alone, but I was constrained unto it, because I would not leave those that hear us, in an errour. But, though you will not allow what I say for Orth••dox, yet per∣haps you will hearken unto what your selfe said, concerning Phillis: I mean, that you did alledge the good opinion which you had of your own merits, and the merits of Phillis, as a good argument, and that you did not esteem he••s such, but that yours might equall them. Now if you had this beliefe of your selfe, why will you not allow me to take the same advantage of selfe conceit; for I do think, that the same proportion that is betwixt the fire, and the wood which the fire burnes, is betwixt Diana and me. Now if you de∣ny this to me good friend, why do you take more priviledge to your selfe? But I dare with assurance affirme, that Hylas does not love Phillis; I shall maintain it to be absolutely impossible: For the chiefe Ordinance of Love, is, That a Lover do think all things most perfect in the person Loved. And truly, it is a Law most just, and grounded upon great reason; for, if a Lover ought to love his Mistresse above all things in the whole Universe, ought he not to esteem her above all things, since his will directs him alwaies unto that, which his understanding tells him is best? But it does plainly appear, that it is Hylas you love, and not Phillis, by saying, that none loves, but for their own content∣ment. Now the pains which Lovers do voluntarily take, only in doing service unto those they love, does plainly make the contrary appear. And have you not heard say that we live more where we love, then where we breathe? I shall never believe that, answered Hy∣las; this is nothing but talk, that comes from such idle imaginations as yours. Had you said (replyed Silvander) that the talk came from such a wounded imagination as mine, you had said right for the imagination of a Lover is so: We see some ready to die upon the wound of one little word, upon the cast of an eye; nay, sometimes upon very suspition: Sometimes you shall see a Lover deny unto himselfe all manner of rest and contentment, only to enjoy the sight of the party loved, for one minute. But, Hylas, did you know what a felicity it is, to be a fool in such occasions, you would confesse, that all the wis∣dome of the world is not comparable to this pleasing folly: Were you able to comprehend it, you would never aske, what pleasure and contentment those faithfull Lovers, whom you phrase melancholly and pensive, do receive; for you then would know, that they are so ravished in contemplation of the party whom they love and adore, as, scorning all that is in the whole Universe, they do not repent of any thing more, than the losse of that time which they spend any where else; and their soules not being well able to contain the grandure of their contentment, they stand astonished at so much treasure, and so many felicities, which transcends their knowledge. Know, that the happinesse which Love doth recompense unto faithfull Lovers, is the same that he may give unto the gods: And these Lovers, raising themselves above the nature of men, do almost make themselves gods; for all other pleasures which you do so highly prise, are such only, as a bastard-Love does afford, unto such Animals as are without reason; and such men as are only taken with them, they do degenerate from the nature of Men, and become almost Animals, deprived of all reason. Into such a Monster, Hylas, do you degenerate, when you do love other∣wise then as you ought; such a Monstrositie, I say does appear in you, since there is no proportion in it, and, like Monsters, it cannot produce its like; and, to be briefe, like a Monster it cannot live long. On the contrary, my love is every way so perfect, as nothing can be added or diminished, without an offence to reason; for, both in grandure and quality, I can, without any vanity, say, that it is arrived at perfection. In saying, that my affection could not be blamed or taxed, I had great reason to say so; for she, from whence it doth proceed, did never produce any thing, but what was most perfect. And I know, that the gods would chastise me, if I should dare to offer unto a soul so perfect as hers, an affection that could any waies be blamed.

Silvander would have continued, when Hylas, not being able to be patient any lon∣ger, interrupted him in this manner: Silvander, how long do you intend to abuse the

patience of those who hear you? How long will you fill their ears with your vanities and fond imaginations? And how long, do you think, I can endure the impertinences of your language. All the Company were surprised to hear Hylas come out with his expressions in so loud a voice, as every one began to laugh so loud, that he was forced to be silent. And because the day was almost spent, and Leonida was to return unto Adamas, to re∣late unto him all these passages; as Hylas was beginning to speak, she said thus unto him: No, no, you have disputed long enough, Hylas, for one time; the reverend Chri∣sante is not accustomed to be so long from the Temple of the good goddesse: Let it suf∣fice, shepheard, that we know, you have very good arguments against Silvander, but we entreat you to refer them untill another time; in the mean time, we will go away in this be∣lief, that if you had had time to express your self, you would have gotten the better of him, as yet he hath got the better of you. See, (said Hylas, halfe angry) how there will be still some imperfections or other in our natures. What do you say, replyed the Nymph? I say, an∣swered Hylas, that though you be a Nymph, yet you make it appear, you are but a woman, and has not patience to hear out the truth, but is pleased with the tickling flatteries of this shepheard, who does but deceive you. You do not at all offend me, (said Leonida, & smiled) in calling me a woman; for truly I am so, and would be so, and would not change sexes with the most accomplished man in the Country: But I know not why you should ac∣cuse me with the fault that Silvander hath committed, in alledging very good reasons; and with the fault which Hylas hath committed, in answering him so very ill.

Questionlesse Hylas had replyed, if he had heard the Nymph; but he being gone away in a chase, he did not hear these last words. And Leonida seeing it was very late, she went with Chrisante and the Druides Daughters, unto the Temple of the good goddesse, and afterwards went to Adamas, Paris not following her; for his affection unto Diana was such, as he enjoyed no felicity but in her presence. Thus the Nymph went unto her Uncles, and Paris taking the contrary way, went unto the fair shepheardesses, and stayed with them a long time.

Leonida desired very much to relate unto her Uncle, all that had been done for Cela∣don; and by fortune she met him, walking upon a Tarrasse, which was shadowed with Sicamours, before the house. He wondred to see her return so soon, and she telling him the cause, he could not chuse but laugh, that every one should be so deceived. I think, said Leonida, that it will be a good inducement unto him, to leave this kinde of life which he lives; for, if he should be acquainted, that his shepheardesse loves him, and laments his losse, doubtlesse he would take a resolution to see her; but I do not conceive it so fit for me to tell him, as for you, assuring my selfe, that the amity and respect he bears unto you, will have better operation upon him, then all the Rhetorick I can use, for your words have more weight and solidity in them, then mine have. I shall tell Celadon, (said the Druide) but I know not what effects my speaking will produce; for I know he loves me, and bears much respect unto me in all things, but concerning his affection: And I must confesse, that I had long since acquainted the shepheardesse Astrea where he was, knowing that she loved him, had I not feared it would have been a means, to make him go unto some other salvage and retired place, where I could not finde him again; but my fears of losing him did restrain me. It is now two daies since we saw him, and therefore it will not be amisse, if tomorrow we give him a visit, and do the best we can to prevail with him.

In this resolution therefore, they went to bed, and in the morning, day did no sooner appear, but Leonida got up, and Adamas also, so that as soon as they were dressed, they set forward. That morning, the shepheard was not gone out of his Cave, but was beyond measure pensive at the passages of the preceeding day; yet very glad, and wel pleased with his fortune, that had given him leave to see the fair Astrea once more before he dyed: And considering, that he had never received such a favour from her, as at that encounter, ex∣cept when he was a young Child, when he saw her in the Temple of Venus; he cryed out: Oh most happy misfortune, that hath been more favourable unto me, then my best for∣tune! Oh the goodnesse of Love, which in his greatest torments gives the greatest con∣tentments! Who would ever retire himselfe from thy obedience, since thou haste so great a care of all that are thine? Whilst this shepheard was thus entertaining himselfe, Ada∣mas and Leonida came to him. And because Celadon's face did testifie the contentment which he received, the Druide and the Nymph, after common salutations, told him, that they much rejoyced to see him look better then he did, and hoped, that he had received some

kinde of comfortable courage. The comforts which you do finde in my countenance, an∣swered Celadon, are like unto Suns in Winter, which rise late and set early, and which indeed do give some light; but it is through so many muddy clouds, that neither the light nor the heat do much warm. Then he related to them his encounter with Silvander; how he had put a Letter into his hand; how he saw Astrea with all the shepheardesses, and had put a Letter into her breast. But alas, Father, (said he) this happinesse was too great for me, and I am afraid, that it was only to make me more sensible of my sorrowes; and that heaven, to make me more sad in my miserable condition, did only let me see her, whose I ought to be, if there were any justice in Love.

No, Childe, answered the Druide, Love having care of you, and intending to make you more happy then you are, hath given you this small contentment, lest you should be driven out of one extremity into another knowing very well, that such sudden changes are very dangerous. And in confirmation of what I say, Leonida will tell you what she hath seen, and what declarations of amity she has seen the fair Astrea make. Then the Nymph acquainted him with the empty Tombe, that was erected for him, with the ce∣remonies, the tears, and discourse of every one, and particularly of Astrea; and that you may give credit unto what I say, (said the Nymph) let us go and see Celadon's Tombe, for it is so neer this place, that perhaps you heard the voices of the Druides Daughters, and the Priest. You tell me such stories, (said Celadon) that I should hardly believe them, had they come from the mouth of any other. I would not have you, replyed the Nymph, give more credit unto me, then to the veryest stranger in the world; but come, and believe your own eyes. Upon this, the Druide and Leonida got him out of his Cave, and con∣ducted him into the Wood, where his empty Tombe was erected: Oh! how astonished he was, and how presently he began to read that Inscription which Silvander had set upon it? and having read it three or foure times over: I must needs confesse, (said he) that you told me truth. But having received so great a contentment, would it not be want of love, if I should have any desire, since I must not see her? Doubtlesse (said Adamas) if you should live a Recluse, and never see her, it would argue want of courage and love in you. Want of Love! (answered the shepheard presently) Ah no: I confesse, it might argue want of courage, which upon this occasion might fail me, because I have such abundance of Love. I should believe, (answered Adamas) that you do not love Astrea, if knowing that she loves you, and you may see her, you absent your selfe from her presence.

Love, answered the shepheard commands me to obey her, and since she hath comman∣ded me not to see her, do you call it want of love, if I observe her commandment? When she laid that command upon you, (said the Druide) she did hate you; but now she loves you, and grieves for you, not only as absent, but as dead▪ Be it as it will, answered Cela∣don, she Commanded me; and be it as it will, I will Obey her. Yet, replyed Adamas, as perfect an observer as you are of her commands, you have already disobeyed, since you have seen her, and were present before her eyes. She did not forbid me (said Celadon) from seeing her, but only not to come in her sight; and how could she see me, when she was asleep? Since it is so, said the Druide, I will finde out a way, that you shall see her every day, if you please, and she shall not see you. I conceive that, (said Celadon) to be very difficult, for she must either be asleep, or else I must be close hid in some place. No, replyed the Druide; for more then that, you may speak to her also if you please. This cannot be, (replyed the shepheard) unlesse I be in a very dark place. You shall (said A∣damas) be in the open light, and see her, if you have but courage, or if Love have the power to make you attempt it. Do not think, Father, (answered Celadon) that there shall be either want of love or courage in me, provided I do not disobey her commands. Now see (said the Druide) how I do intend to contrive it. It is the goodnesse of the great Tautates, to give me a Daughter, whom I deerly love above my own life: This Daugh∣ter, according to the rigour of our Lawes, is educated amongst the Druides Daughters, in the Monosteries of Carnutes; it will be above the expiration of eight long years, be∣fore I can have any hopes of her comming out. Perhaps you may remember, how I told you, how there is a great resemblance betwixt you and her, both in age and face. Now I do intend to give it out, that she has been sick, and upon such an occasion, the antient Druides will allow her to retire, untill such time as she be able to officiate in the necessa∣ry Exercises: A few daies after, you shall assume her habit, and I will receive you into my house, under the notion and name of my Daughter Alexis: And it is very requisite

to give out that she is sick; for, your way of living these last two Months, hath so altered your face, and taken away that fresh colour which was wont to be in your cheeks, as any that sees you would be deceived. And though the resemblance which is betwixt you be not so great, but that when you are both together, a great difference may be found, it is no matter; for it is so long since any in this Country saw her, that though the resem∣blance were lesse, yet when they hear me call you Daughter, they will certainly take you for her. I see nothing in all this, but one inconvenience, which is, that every year we all use to assemble our selves at Dreux, a place so neer the Carnutan-Monastery, that the Druides and Priests may come to discover, that my Daughter is not gone from thence: But this shall be no stop; for it will be two months before these Druides do assemble, and they must stay there two months more, and god knowes, whether before that time you may not have changed your habit and life. Now, Celadon, consider, whether all this be not very feasable. Ah! Father, (said Celadon, after he had a while thought upon it) do you think, that Astrea by this means will not see me? Do you think, andswered the Druide, that she can see you, when she does not know you: How can she know you, when you are in such a habit? But, Father, (replyed Celadon) let me be habited as you will, I shall be still Celadon in reality; so as I shall thereby disobey her. That you are still Cela∣don, is true, answered Adamas but still you do not by this disobey her command: For, she has not forbidden you to be Celadon, but only, that she shall not see this Celadon. Now when she sees you, she does not see Celadon, but Alexis. And, for a conclusion of all, if she do not know you, you do not offend her; and though she should know you, and be angry, and command you to die; yet, were not such an end better, then to languish to death in this manner? This, Father, said the shepheard, is a good reason, and I will ground upon it; therefore, Father, I will put my selfe, my life, and my contentment, all into your hands; dispose of me therefore as you please.

Thus did Adamas work upon the obstinacy of Celadon; and to the end he should not change his minde, he returned that very houre to take order for what was necessary, and especially to spread abroad a report, that his Daughter was sick, and was to return home. For it was the custome of Druides Daughters, when they were sick, to come out of their Monasteries; and if their Parents were negligent, the Ancients of the Monastery would send unto them, for they held it as a great misfortune, if any dyed there. Therefore he gave out, that the Antients had sent unto him, that his Daughter was to come home, and that he expected her every day. Adamas and Leonida were very busie, in providing all things necessary for Celadon, who, in the mean time, had leasure to bid adieu unto Lignon, and to take his leave of his Woods, and of his Cell, but especially of the Temple of the goddesse Astrea. And when he was tricked up in the habit of a Nymph, (for so the Druides Daughters of that Country were dressed, when they returned from their Monasteries) and was ready to depart, they thought it expedient to stay till night, to the end, none might see him come alone; and in the mean time, Adamas iustructed him, what to answer unto each, who enquired how the Druides Daughters lived, or of their Ce∣remonies, Sacrifices, Schooles, or Sciences; but, said he, the best way is, to speak as little as possibly you can, especially before such, as are knowing in the affairs of the world; as for others, it matters not, for they will believe any thing you tell them. Now the day being almost done, they went from that place at the entrance, into which Celadon had engraved these Lines with the point of his knife upon a Rock, with much paines and time, having begun them that very day, he resolved first to leave the place, for an eternall memory of his being there. The Lines were these.

Within this hollow, dark, and rocky Cell. Disdain and Love a long time both did dwell. Before you enter, if their wounds you fear, Turn back and flie, there's no abiding here. For, as a Coal is hot, though it seem dead, After the flame is quite extinguished: Even so, Disdain and Love, though absent be, Yet relicks of their fire may leave for thee.

This businesse was carried on by Adamas with so much prudence, that Paris himselfe could not discover any thing, resolving to deceive him if he could, sooner then any other,

to the end, that he might the better deceive others: He therefore took this supposed Alexis for his Sister, whom afterwards we will no longer call Celadon. As good luck was, when Adamas came home, Paris was not there, and therefore he could not see how she came alone. As soon as she came there, Adamas got her to bed, giving out, that she was weary, by reason of travell and her sicknesse; so as Paris saw her not untill the next morning; and Adamas and Leonida would not suffer her to come out of her Chamber, whose windowes were so shut; that the little light hindred him from discovery, what they desired to keep close, and they continued thus severall daies: Though this Artifice was superfluous, be∣cause she knew so well how to carry her selfe, so that none could suspect her; yet, this did give her better confidence, because in this condition, she received the visits of neighbours, who went all away in a full beliefe of her being Alexis.

Some daies passed on, in this manner; at the last, she began to walk up and down the house, and to go abroad, pretending, that the fresh aire would conduce to her health. the seituation of the place was very pleasing and delectable, having a view both of the Mountaines and Plaines, and the pleasant River of Lignon, from Boen as far as Feures. This was the reason, why Pelion, the Father of Adamas, did chuse that place to build in. And since that, Adamas had caused a very sumptuous Tombe to be built, in memory of his Brother Belizar, and planted a pleasant Grove, which almost joyned to the house, and extended it selfe towards the Mountaines. In this place, Alexis and Leonida went often to walk, because of the pleasant walks and prospect; and because they were to walk up a rising Hill in the Woods, Alexis would sometimes take Leonida under the arme, when they were not seen. And one time amongst others, when they were up betimes in the morning, and Alexis did offer her that service: This (said the Nymph, and smiled) is a piece of service, which you had rather do unto another, who perhaps wishes you not so well as I do. Oh Nymph, (said Alexis, and sighed) I beseech you for gods-sake, not to renew the remembrance of my miseries; do you think I can forget them, having such a deep resentment of them as I have? Thus they discoursed till they were in the Grove, which being higher then the House, did better discover all the plain, so as there was not a turn of the River Lignon, from Boen, where it fell from the Mountains, unto Fcurs where it fell into Loire, which they did not easily discover. This prospect had such an operation upon the supposed Alexis, that she could not chuse but say aloud: Oh my sad eyes! how can you live, and endure the sight of this happy River, where you have left all your contentment. Leonida desiring to interrupt her I believe, said she, of all that ever loved, you are the only one, who does not delight to see the place, where you have had so much pleasure: The memory of past miseries is pleasing to the thoughts, much more should the memory of happinesse received. The sad Alexis answered; That which ren∣ders the memory of miseries past, to be pleasing, is it, which makes the memory of happinesse to be full of intolerable wormwood; for the consideration of having past the miseries, doth rejoyce; and the consideration of having no more happinesse, doth make one sad. But my greatest grief is, that I do not know the occasion of my misery; this consideration, I swear unto you, Leonida, does wound me to my very soul: I have made a most exact examination of all my life, but I cannot finde one act which I can condemn. To think, that a light humour, or any designe of changing her affection, were in her, is too great an offence, and would give the lie unto those convincing testimonies which I have to the contrary. To believe, that she treats me thus without any reason, that would argue in me too little knowledge of her, of whose least actions I have had full experience. What then can be the cause of my misery? Oh ye gods! I think, that the tongue not being able to expresse the misery, nor the thoughts able to comprehend the grandure of it, you will not let the understanding have a knowledge of it. Then continuing in these sad thoughts: Do you see, great Nymph, said she, a little Isle which Lignon makes, close by yonder Town, which is beyond the River, a little neerer Mount Verdun, and a little distant from Julicu? There it was we passed over, by throwing great stones into the water, to step upon, because at that time we sought out for the most secret places, to avoid the sight of our Parents, especially my Father; who finding no remedy against this affection, which he saw encrease before his face, he intended to send me out of Gaul over the Alps, to see the great Cities, thinking, that distance and absence would have that operation upon me, which all his forbiddings and charges to the contrary could not effect: And because we were advertised of it, we sought out for the most obscure and unfrequented places that we could finde, there to spend that short time we had to be together, in free discourse; some∣times

because of the conveniency of the place, we went into yonder Rock which you may see is something neerer us, which is hollow, and left Lycidas or Phillis as Centinells, to advertise us when any passengers came by because being neere a high way, we might be heard. At one time above the rest, we passed over by great stones into this little Isle of Lignon: And though we had already taken leave of one another severall times, lest we should be surprised (for my Father concealed from me the day of my departure) yet still we were taking leaves and bidding adieus to the last. When we were there, and could per∣ceive no body, she sat downe upon the ground under a Tree: I kneeling before her, tooke her hand; kissed it, washed it with my teares; and as soone as I could speake, I sayd thus unto her.

Now my fairest Astrea, I must be at a fatall distance from you, and will not die, be∣cause you bid me live: but how shall I be able to do it since the very thought of this di∣stance is so intolerable, that it is ready to take away my life, as oft as I thinke upon you: To this she answered nothing, but pulled me by the arme and made me sit besides her, purposely because I should not see those teares which stood in her eyes, and af∣terwards gushed out. And because I expected she should say something, I was a while mute: she in the meane time wiped her eyes, and me thought I heard some imprisoned sighes which she restrained and would not let have a vent, lest I should heare them. I all this while, considering in silence my future fatall misery, at last spoke thus unto her. Alas, my Astrea, will you not, will you not pitty a poore shepheard, whose cruell Father and fate will banish him from you? She answered me with a deepe sigh: Can you have any memorie, Sonne, of my past life, and make any doubt, but that I shall most sadly resent any thing that shall displease you? Beleeve it Celadon, I will make it apparent that I do love you, and shall give cleerer testimonies of it. I raised my selfe up, to see what testimo∣ny this would be that she would give me of her affection; but she turned her head the o∣ther way, and with her fair hand pushed me into the place where I sat before, to the end I should not see her teares, of which she was in point of honour, ashamed. Perhaps, said Leonide, it was her lofty spirit, which would not let any know, that Love could conquer her.

Whatsoever it was, said Alexis, she made it evident unto me, that she did love me. But why, my Fairest Astrea, (said I unto her) do you not command me to stay with you, if my absence be displeasing unto you? Can you think that the Command of a Father, or any thing upon earth can make me disobey what you ordaine? Sonne, said she then unto me; I had rather die, then divert you from your voyage; It would be too great an offence both against your duty and my owne honour. Do not think I make any doubt of that absolute power which I have over you: I judge of you by my selfe whom I am sure, neither the power of Father, authority of Mother, desire of Kindred, or salutation of Friends, shall ever make me do any thing against that affection which my heart has unto you. And to the end you may depart from me with some contentment, carry this assu∣rance with you, I do vow and promise in the presence of all the gods whom I call to wit∣nesse, and by this soul which you love so well (said she and layd her hand upon her Brest) that neither heaven nor earth shall ever make me love any but Celadon, nor keep me from loving him eternally. Oh most strange Language? (said Alexis then and sighed) strange indeed they should be spoken unto him who since was so out of favour.

A few dayes after, I departed, and passed over the affrighting Precipices of the Sebucians, Caturgians, Bravomecians and Carrocleans as farre as the Seguisians, where the very horrour of death did often appeare unto me, yet all these were not able to divert me from my thoughts. And having passed these, I desired to avoyd the dangerous Mountain of Caturiges; therefore taking into the Rosne, I resolved to go down that Lake, whose waves do beat against the ragged Rockes of this hideous Mountaine; but alas I found no more comfort by water then by Land; but on the contrary was in much greater dan∣ger of death by blustering winds and waves, dashing us against the Rockes: but all this while, my thoughts were still the same.

At the going out of this Lake, I crossed through the great wood of Caturiges: And after I was past Iseres, a River which comes from Centrons, I crossed the straight vallyes of Carroclees and Bramovices which conducted me as farre as the Cotian Hills▪ Leonide being very desirous to divert him from his sad thoughts: I beseech you, said she unto him, Relate what you have seene rare in your voyage: That, (answered Alexis) would be too long: for Italy is the very wonder of the world: But I shall relate unto you, one

very pleasant adventure which I met withall. And I beleeve we shall have time enough for it.

The History of Ursaces and Olimbres.

BE pleased to know therefore Madam, that Alcippes intending to send me far enough from Astrea, he commanded me to lay aside the habit of a shepheard, that I might be more fit to keepe good company; for in those Countryes persons of any quality do all live in great Townes which they call Cittyes, where their Pallaces of Marble, and mag∣nificence of furniture is able to amaze beholders: And none but vile persons and Peasants do live in the Country. Yet every one of the Province was extreamly affrighted at the comming of a Barbarian by Sea into Italy, who plundered almost all the Province, especially Rome. I was so extreamly desirous to render my selfe amiable, as hoping there∣by to make Astrea love me the better, as I was strangely swelled with curiosity to learne and enquire of every thing. Comming therefore neere the Appennine Hills, I heard that there was some Mountaines which burned continually: And that I might be the better able to give an account of them at my returne, I would needs see them But in my way thither, I met with an encounter which gave a stop to my designe: For I had not gone up the hills above two thousand paces, or two miles as they call them there, but I heard a voyce which pittifully lamented, and because I had a conceipt that happy it might be some who stood in need of helpe, I turned that way as my eare guided me. And I had not gone a hundred paces but I spyed a man lying all along upon the ground, who not seeing me, broke out into these expressions. Should I live, or should I die, amidst so many fatall misfortunes? If I live, how can I endure so many torments: And if I dye, alas I shall ne∣ver see her again? Into what a miserable condition has my fate hurryed me? Since I cannot be happy either in life nor death? Oh most miserable Ursaces, (said he) how long wilt thou suffer thy selfe to be thus flattered by vaine hopes? Why should they let thee passe away thy dayes in such cruell torments? And how canst thou preserve a life that is so un∣worthy of thy actions and thy corrage? Thou that hast a heart so daring as to lift thy eyes so high as Caesars wife, thou that hadst so much corrage as to revenge thy love, and embrue thy hands in the blood of both, art thou now growne so faintly timerous as to live and see the deare Eudoxe in the hands of a Vandall, who has carried her into the heart of Affrica and perhaps has a designe upon her chastity? Oh heavens, how canst thou suffer such a beauty, who deserves all adoration, to be so unworthily used and made the prey of a cruell Barbarian? Canst thou endure that so divine a beauty, should run the most miserable fortune that ever humane did? Thou hast seen it, Ursaces; thou hast seen it with thy owne eyes, and yet thou art alive: Thou art still the same Roman Ursaces who loved this divine Eudoxe: And thou hast revenged and delivered the Empire and the faire one from the Tyranny of Maximus? Oh Die, Die for shame, man; Let thy sword do that which griefe will not, and by that Signall act, wash away the dishonour of sur∣viving the liberty of Eudoxe.

Thus passionately did this stranger expresse himselfe; and being transported with fury he drew a short sword which hung by his side, and doubtlesse had run himselfe to the heart, if a companion of his had not run in and taken hold of his arme, just as he was ready to give the mortall thrust; but in saving the life of his friend his hand was very dangerously cut: For Ursaces perceiving himselfe seized upon, and his mind being prepossessed with the thought of death he made his thrust, and gave his friend a very great wound: So as this friend not being able to hold him with that hand, and fearing he should execute his cruell designe, he fell upon him, saying, Ursaces shall never die as long as Olimbres lives: A brave resolution of a friend: At the name of Olimbres, I saw the other man who was before so passionatly transported, presently come to himselfe, and as if he had got a fall from the top of a high precipice was astonished at the coming of the other. Friend (said he) what Daemon did conduct you to this unfrequented place to hinder me from following my adored Eudoxe: For follow her I will, either with Ursaces, or with his Ghost? Ur∣saces, said he unto him, the Gods who are preservers of friendship, and no ill Daemon have prompted me to seeke you this three dayes, not to hinder you from following Eu∣doxe, if it be your contentment, but to accompany you: for my friendship would not allow me to let you make that voyage alone: And therefore, if you will needs execute

your designe, first thrust that sword in thy hand into the heart of thy friend, and after∣ward, when it is red, and reeking with my blood, execute thy designe, or do what thou wilt. Ah Olimbres, said he, this request is incompatible with our friendship: Can you think, my hand has any power to hurt Ursaces's friend? Think me not so cruell, as ever to consent unto the death of him, whose life was ever deerer to me then my own. But, if you have any compassion upon my misery, I conjure you by our pure friendship, to let me go out of this miserable life. Can you think, said Olimbres, that I will not immedi∣atly follow you? Have I not courage enough, to take away my life, that I may follow yours wel as you follow Eudoxe? Do you think Death to be good or bad? If it be bad why wil you give it unto him, whom Olimbres, your friend, loves deerer then himselfe? If it be good, why will you not let Olimbres, whom you love, be a partaker with you? Oh, no, answe∣red Ursaces, Olimbres shall live to eternity, before he die by the hand of Ursaces: ••bl••, it will be a great testimony of friendship, to let me execute my designe, which only can wipe off my shame, in surviving my happinesse. In saying these words, he endeavoured to draw out his arme, which his friend had engaged under his body: Which I perceiving, and fearing, that he who was wounded had not strength to hinder him, I went gently up to them, and taking the hand of Ursaces, I forced open his fingers, and seized upon his sword. And Olimbres's striving, had caused him to lose much blood. He presently perceived himselfe to faint; and apprehending, that the losse of his blood was the cause, he arose from off his Companion, and shewed him his hand: Friend, said he unto him, I am ready to wait upon you to Eudoxe; and if you will die, I shall think my selfe happy to follow you. Then presently he fainted, and fell into his friends bosome. Ursaces fearing the losse of him, he left off all thoughts of killing himselfe, to help his friend, and run∣ning unto a Fountain which was close by, he brought some water in his hat, to throw in his face. In the mean time, I knowing that his disease proceeded from losse of blood, I took a little mosse, for want of a better remedy, and applying it to the wound, I tyed it up with my handkerchiefe, and had not done, when Ursaces returned, who sprinkling the face of his friend with told water, and calling upon him with a loud voice by his name, he brought him to himselfe a∣gain. When he opened his eyes: Alas friend, (said he) why did you call me? Let my soule go contentedly out of the world, and let it attend you wheresoever you go: Have this beliefe, I beseech you, that she cannot close up her daies more happily, then by your hand, and in doing you service. Olimbres, said Ursaces, if you do depart to follow me, I must go before you; and therefore never think, that my hand shall make any passage for your soul, untill it hath with the same sword sent mine out of this miserable habitation. Upon this, he looked about for the sword which I had taken away; Which I perceiving: Do not think, Ursaces, (said I unto him) to execute your cruell determination with this sword; heaven hath sent me hither to tell you, that there is nothing in this world so desperate, which it cannot remit unto its former condi∣tion, when it pleaseth; and hath also sent me to hinder you, from making any attempts upon the life, either of your selfe or your friend, for your life is his, not yours: But if you do attempt any thing against your life, I tell you from the great god, that in lieu of fol∣lowing this Eudoxe, which you do so passionately desire, he will lead your soul into in∣fernall obscurity, and quite take away your very memory. I shall now, Nymph, (said Alexis) relate unto you a most strange effect. Olimbres hearing these words, was so ra∣vished with joy, that he would needs rise, and fall upon his knees before me; but his weak∣nesse hindred him, only he turned towards me, and held up his hands: But Ursaces did prostrate himselfe at my feet: Oh thou welcome messenger from heaven, (said he unto me) I know thou art so, both by thy voice and countenance; here I am, most ready to obey, whatsoever thou commandest. Perhaps (said Leonida) they took you for Mercury, be∣cause they use to represent him young and fair, as you are 'Tis true, answered Alexis, they did take me, either for Mercury, or some Celestiall Messenger. I know not why, but to keep them in that opinion, I gave this answer unto Ursaces: god, O Ursaces, doth com∣mand thee, and Olimbres also, to live and hope. Upon this, taking out of my pocket a little leather Bottle of strong-Water, after the fashion of the Visigots, I caused Olimbres to drink a little, and giving him my hand, I said unto him: Stand up, Olimbres, the heavens will quickly cure thee of this wound, and therefore let us go unto the next Town. It was very strange, to see what effects this conceit did produce in this man; for, thinking that I was sent from heaven, and thinking, that the hot Water which I gave him, was

something that was divine, he took such heart and strength, that he followed me almost as well, as if he had received no hurt; yet I fearing lest he should faint again, I turned to∣wards Vrsaces, and said unto him: Although the heavens are able to give such strength to your friend as is necessary, yet it would not be amisse, that you took him by the arme, and holped him to walk; for god is pleased to see men help one another, through the effects of his goodnesse. Upon this, Vrsaces went to his friend, and desired him to lean upon him; so as we came to the next Town, where by fortune we found a Chirur∣gion, who dressed the hand of Olimbres, and appointed him to keep his bed for a certain time.

As for me, I retired my selfe into another Lodging, very glad that I had done this good office, although it was a hinderance unto my designe; for the day was so far spent, that I had not time enough to go and see those burning Mountains. Ursaces was very sorry when he saw me depart, for he had a great desire to accompany me; but the Lawes of friendship would not let him leave his friend in that condition. I did plainly perceive his desire, and to take him off it, I told him; That he must needs stay with his friend, and not to stand upon the circumstance of complement; for, as for me, the gods would reward me, for the assistance I had brought them. If I would have suffered it, I think he would have throwne himselfe at my feet, by way of thanks; but I forbad him, and presently re∣tired my selfe into another Lodging. But Ursaces following me, he observed the place where I entred, and hearing me ask for Lodging, he returned to his friend, to tell him, that though I was gone out of their Lodging, yet I was not gone out of the Town, therefore hoped I would see them again: For, great Nymph, they had such an assured confidence in me and my assistance, as they assured themselves, that by my help, they should ere long see Eudoxe. But Ursaces finding his friend asleep, he presently returned to the place where I was; and seeing me at my repast he stood a little amazed; but when the cloth was taken away, and we two alone together, I bad him shut the Chamber dore: Afterwards, though with much ado, I caused him to sit down, and to put him out of his errour, I said thus unto him: I perceive, noble Cavalier; that the assistance which you have received from me, has made you think me something above a man; and I am not sorry that you have this opinion, to the end I might divert you from your horrid intention. But now, since I see you reduced unto former reason again, I will no longer keep you in your errour. Know therefore, that I am a Celt, whom you do call a Gaul, born in a Country, the Inhabitants whereof are called Segusians and Forrestians: Certain occasions, which would be too long, and uselesse to you, to relate, have brought me out of my native-Country, and invited me to remain here in Italy for a certain time. Yet, I do take it for a particular providence from heaven, that I was so happily conducted to the place where you were, since such good effects ensue upon it: I give heaven most humble and hearty thanks for it, and you are obliged to the like; for, you may be most certainly assured, that god would not have rescued you so strangely from the very brink of death, if he had not reserved you for something, either to his glory, or your own honour & contentment. I saw, that Ursaces grew pale at these words, and changed colour two or three times, seeing himselfe mistaken in his hopes, that it had been some divine assistance. I must confesse, said he unto me, that I was deceived; for, seeing you in a habit different from ours, your face so fair, hearing your voice so sweet, and your speech so grave; moreover, you com∣ming invisibly upon us, and in such a nick of time, I must needs confesse, I took you for some messenger from the great god: But, since I understand from your own mouth, that you are but a man, mortall as we are, I do believe it; yet believe withall, that you were sent by that great god, only to preserve the life of two most faithful friends. And though in my first opinion, I hoped for some extraordinary assistance from heaven; yet now, in this opinion wherein I am, I will not be quite out of hopes in you, since it cannot be denyed, but that there was some extraordinary and particular care of us and our lives, which comes from some great god, or great angell, who has made you the Instrument of it. Do not doubt, said I unto him, but that you are reserved for some better fortune, since you are in so strange a manner preserved from eminent danger; for, the gods never do any thing, but for our good. And because I am a stranger to you, and altogether ignorant of that fortune, which you did so much condole, I should be very glad to hear it from your own mouth, that I may know who it is whom the gods have sent me to preserve. Then with a a deep sigh, he answered me thus: The heavens had reason to punish me, as the most un∣gratefull person that ever breathed, if I should deny the relation of my whole life unto

him that hath preserved it. I shall therefore most willingly satisfie your curiosity, upon a promise of secresie; for being discovered, it may cost the losse of that life, which you have preserved. And upon assurance of secresie, he continued thus.

Alexis would have continued her discourse, and related all that Vrsaces told her, but the comming of Adamas gave a stop unto her; for both Leonida and she were con∣strained to rise, and render that honour unto him which was due. The sage Druide, ta∣king one in one hand, and the other in another, he began to walk in a Laund, which though shaded from the Sun, yet had a most delicious prospect towards the Wood of Issoures: And whilst they were discoursing upon severall subjects, one came to acquaint them that Silvia was arrived, and already entred into the house. Alexis was very shie, and would not be seen, lest she should be known; but considering, how willing that Nymph was to help her out of the Palace of Issoures, she hoped she was not changed: Yet Adamas had no minde that Silvia should see her, fearing, lest the young years of that Nymph, and the favours which she lately received from Galathea, should make her speak more then she should; he would have kept the matter so close, that if he could, he would have kept it from his very selfe. Therefore he commanded Leonida to go unto her Companion, but be sure, that if she desired to see Alexis, to tell her, that they were bu∣sie together concerning their Offices, and that she being to return very shortly unto Car∣nutes, and finish out her terme, she would not be seen, but as little as possibly she could. So Leonida thus instructed, went to Silvia, who when they met, kissed and embraced each other, as if they had not met of seven years before. After these first complements, Silvia told her Companion, that the Country had not a jot blasted the fresh comple∣xion of her cheek. And Leonida, in requitall, told her, The Court Beauties were alwaies above the Country Complexions, as plainly appeared, by comparing theirs together. Afterwards, Silvia said thus unto her.

The sequell of the History of Lindamor.

THough, Sister, I had no businesse to invite me unto a visit; yet, my desires of seeing you are invitations sufficient. But I must tell you, that at this time, that desire was not only my conductor, but also some businesse I would impart unto you, and, if you think good, unto Adamas also; a business which I thought fit to let you know, because Gala∣thea and we may receive much contentment, or much displeasure by the result of it. Know therefore, Sister, that Flurial is returned from the place whither you sent him, and hath brought Letters from Lindamor; and wondred much, not to finde you at Marcelles, and would have come hither; but Galathea took notice, that he talked unto me, and suspe∣cting that you sent him to me, for she knew of the journey which you had commanded him to make, she called him to her, asked him, from whence he came, and what was his businesse to me. He, thinking he had don well, without concealing any thing, answered her, that he came from Lindamor; and presently shewed her some Letters which he had. She asking, who sent him that voyage: He answered, that it was you, since we were at the Palace of Issoures. Galathea then turning towards me, and shaking her head: Do you see, said she, what humour your Companion is of? And, refusing the Letters, she com∣manded him to give them unto me, to send unto you. Afterwards she went into her Chamber, and commanded me to follow her. This was the reason, that I could not say any thing unto Fluriall, but only taking his Letters, I bad him stay there, till I had done talking with the Nymph. What do you think of your Companion, said she unto me? is she not fully resolved to do me all the mischiefe she can? Madam, said I unto her, I cannot tell what to say unto it, she must be talked with, to know what her businesse and designe was. I know it (replyed she) better then she will tell you, for she will not confesse unto you the truth; she has acquainted Lindamor with my love unto Celadon. Can it be possible, Madam, answered I, that she should take so much pains, as to write that newes so far, and by such a dangerous way? See what is in Lindamors Letters, (said she unto me) and I believe you will finde, that I do not lie. Then taking the Letters out of my hand, she broke open the Seales and read them: The first was directed unto you, and ha∣ving brought them, you may read them. Then putting her hand into her pocket, she pulled them out, and gave Leonida that Letter which was directed unto her, which was in these terme

Lindamor's Letter unto Leonida.

IT seemes, you conceive my presence to be requisite, and I think the like, but in a diffe∣rent manner then as you expect. Doubtlesse it is requisite two waies: The one, to bring me out of this miserable life wherein I am, it being impossible for me to live, and see such an alteration in my Lady. And the other, in taking revenge upon him, that is the cause of my misery: I vow by all the gods, that the blood of this perfidious Rivall is the only sa∣tisfaction I can take for so great an offence, I shall, to these ends, come to you, within the compass of that time, which the bearer hereof will tell you. In the interim, if you think it convenient, let my Lady see the Letter which I have writ unto her, importing, that the end of my life, and the death of that Villain, shall testifie unto her, that I cannot live, with∣out a fulfilling of her promise; nor die, till I have taken revenge.

See, said Galathea unto me, (continued Silvia) what I alwaies most feared: The imprudence of Leonida, or rather, her malice, is so great, that she has told Lindamor of my affection unto Celadon; and this report is the cause, that he will come and kill him. I had rather die, then that shepheard should receive the least harm for my sake. Alas, how easily may hee do it, since the poor shepheard never thinks upon it, nor has any Armes, but his sheephook? Can there be a more pernicious malice then hers, in procuring his death, who never displeased her? I believe rather, it is rage; for she loves him, and because he sleights her, she will be revenged. Madam, answered I, I cannot believe, that my Compa∣nion has committed this fault, though perhaps she may as great; for, upon reading of Lindamor's Letter, I cannot think he speaks of Celadon, but Polemas; for why should he phrase Celadon perfidious? And why not Celadon, (replyed she presently) as well as Polemas? Because, Madam, said I unto her, she has acquainted Lindamor with the Ar∣tifice, which Polemas practised with the false and counterfeit Druide. And why, Silvia, (said she unto me) do you yet believe, that Leonida told you or Lindamor truly, concer∣ning that Druide? Do you not know, that it was meerly a device of her own pernicious invention, to make me cast off Celadon, that she her selfe might solely enjoy him? Now let me tell you, if you do not know it already, that she is so extreamly in love with him, that she cannot endure I should look upon him: And had she as much power over me, as I have over her, she would never have suffered me to come into the place where she was. Did you never observe Silvia, how she feeds upon him with her eyes, if I may so expresse my selfe, and to look off him, is a death unto her? To see me neer him, struck her to the heart, and swelled every vein with jealousie. I have many a time observed, the variety of passions that are in her; I have seen her sometimes, no fire hotter, and immediately upon a sudden, as pale as death; sometimes she would be all talk, and afterwards as mute as if she had not tongue. I have often seen her so fix her eyes upon him, as if she would have look'd him through, and I have laughed at her in those extasies and ravishments. And she, desiring to engrosse him wholly to her selfe, and take me off, has invented this tale she hath told you, which is as false, as the gods are just and true. Upon this, she took another of Lin∣damor's Letters, which was directed to her selfe, which you may read, (said Silvia): Which Leonida took, and found in it these words.

Lindamor's Letter unto Galathea.

SInce my fatall absence does not only deprive me of your presence, but also ravish from me the honour an•• happiness of your favour, I do vow, that I will live only to render a testimony, that I do better deserve that happiness which you have promised unto me, than that perfidious man, who is the cause of my disgrace. This wicked Villain shall never a∣spire unto that honour, either by Love, or by Armes, or by Artifice, as long as I do live: He shall ere long confess what I do say, or else that sword, which he hath already felt the sharpness of, shall cut his throat, who lives now too happily, for the miserable and unfor∣tunate Lindamor to endure.

When Leonida had read this Letter: I assure my self, Sister, said she, that Galathea did finde, that her so deerly beloved Celadon was not in any danger of his life, by any means

of mine: but rather that Traitor Polemas, who is the cause of all our misery. May He∣sius punish him by armes, and Tamaris by Thunderbolt, that my Lady may know, I did not lie when I related unto her the wickednesse of Climanthe and the cosening Lover For every syllable I said unto her is true: If I did lye let the Sacred Misleto never be Salubrious unto me. To be brief, Sister, I sweare by all thats Sacred that this is true: And though I do not care for returning unto Marcelles as long as she conti∣nues in this humour, yet I shall be very glad you would take all occasions and use your best endeavours to let her see her errour. Not for any other end, but because I would vin∣dicate my honour, and live within the compasse of my owne quality without reproach. Sister, said Silvia, you need not use so many othes to assure me of the subtility of Polemas, For I did ever beleeve it, both from what you told me, and from my owne observation of his actions. And you may beleeve, I will take all occasions, use my best Arguments, and not leave one stone unturned to perswade the Nymph of the truth. But I must not flatter you in this; For I cannot hope either any words or perswasions will work with her, untill her minde be better settled, which perhaps will be too late, unlesse God send some unlookt for meanes: For I see that Polemas hath a bad designe, which he would not hide, but for his feares that he hath of Clideman and Lindamor, whom he knowes to be armed, and so much in favour with King Childerick who is successor unto the great Meroveus and who has a very great particular love unto Clideman and Lindamor, especially unto Guyemant, so as he cannot be without them. Polemas being subtile and crafty, does feare that if she should attempt any novelty in the State, these Frankes would by force ruine all his designes. But to let Matters of State alone which should be medled with by more able persons then we are: Let me tell you, Sister, that when Galathea read Lindamors Letter, she plainly found that Celadon was not in danger: therefore halfe of her anger was over. Did I not tell you Madam (said I unto her) That Lindamor did meane Polemas? Tis very true, (said she unto me) and I confesse that I accused Leonida wrongfully: but it was my compassion unto that poore shepheard which moved me unto that language. Madam sayd I, I beseech you beleeve, that Leonide would willingly never do you that displeasure; but she knowing very well that you did not love Polemas, she had good reason to desire that Lindamor might obtaine the happinesse of your favour; because there is a neere relation of Kindered betwixt her and him. For be pleased to know Madam, that Lindamor is of the illustrious blood of Lavieu, and she of Fieur, which have bin so long linked together by alliances that those two families seeme but one. On the contrary, there was ever emnity betwixt the house of Surieu and that, so as she may well be excused, if she did desire and endeavour to defeat Polemas from the happy∣nesse which he pretended unto. I do know (answered Galathea) that there hath beene great emnity betweene the house of Lavieu and Surieu: and since the combate betwixt Lindamor and Polemas, there hath been no amity betwixt them: And I must needs con∣fesse, Leonida has reason for what she did, for it is Naturall to desire that the Family from whence any do derive themselves, may flourish and be advanced. And had I knowne it sooner, I should not have taken her protection of Lindamor so ill, whether it was against Polemas or against Celadon: Also when I consider upon what you tell me, I am apt to beleve that it was Adamas who helped Celadon to escape, to the end that Lin∣damor being as you say his cosen might arrive at his desire, and I do think Leonida to be innocent in the matter. Therefore in that consideration, and because she did not send unto Lindamor any of our passages in the Pallace of Issoures, I will pardon her: yet, said she, we must make further use of her in a businesse, which by her meanes may be effected. Here Silvia stopt; and leaving her discourse upon that subject, said thus unto Leonide: You see Sister, that I do hide nothing from you, because our friendship bids me be open unto you, but if you should discover me, I am utterly ruin'd: And therefore I beseech you be as secret in it as possible you can: I had rather I were eternally dumb, (said Leonida) then I should commit such a fault. Know then (continued Silvia) that Galathea after she had well bethought herselfe, said thus unto me; you see, Silvia, how extreamly I am troubled with these two men, I meane Lindamor and Polemas; and I must confesse that whosoever would rid me of them, would infinitly oblige me. For I am sure they will never let me be in any quietness, nor suffer Celadon to be neere me: And therefore I would try if I could be shut of one by meanes of the other, which may be effected by the mediation of Leonide, whom I would have you counsell, to acquaint Lindamour with all that Climan∣the said concerning him: but to take especiall care that she do not thinke I have any thoughts of Celadon. And to the end she may thinke, if I have not quite forgotten that

shepherd you may tell her that the presence of Lindamor who is a man of so much Merit will make me forget him: by this meanes Lindamor will either destroy Polemas, or Pole∣mas him. So shall I be rid of one, at the least, and both if good fortune's favour be so much, as that one kill theother. I do not desire this should be by death, but rather be rid of them some other way. But I am so extreamly pestered with them, and do love Celadon so well, that if there be none other remedy, I consent unto it, so it be not by my hand, or knowne that it proceeds from me.

I must confesse Sister, that when I heard these words, I was astonished, and resolved to acquaint you, not to incite you unto what she desires, but rather to divert you. I answe∣red the Nymph, that it was first requisite to know of Flurial what time Lindamor said he would come; which she thought to be expedient, and therefore commanded me to call him: which I did: but before he spoke unto her, I charged him not to tell Gala∣thea the time of his comming nor the place where he would be: and that if she asked him, he should say, that he would come much latter then the time he told him. Though the fellow had no great matter of wit, yet he had some apprehensions which made him stagger at my perswasions; yet at last he harkened unto them: then I brought him to her, and he lyed so confidently, that she beleeved him. And because she thought it expedient that I should come unto you, to get you to write unto Lindamor, or at least to let him know what Polemas had done against him; I thought good to bring Flurial with me, that he might tell you more then perhaps he would me but he feares that you are angry with him for so simply giving your Letters unto Galathea, that he dare not come in your sight. Now me thinks that though he did very simply in it, yet he ought not to be so chid for it as to lose him. True (said Leonide) and perhaps he hath not done so much hurt as he thinkes, since by his meanes Galathea hath read Lindamors Letter which I should not have dared to present unto her, least she should have banished me as she hath already. As∣sure him therefore, that I am not at all angry with him but rather pleased, Silvia upon this, went out and called for Flurial whom she told what she had done; and afterwards brought him unto Leonida who looked upon him very kindly, and assured him that she was nothing displeased with him: Then asking him every particular of his voyage, he be∣gan to answere thus.

I was afraid, Madam, that I had committed a fault, and therefore beseeched Silvia to make my excuse but since, thankes be to Cod, it proves otherwise, I am most heartily glad of it, and thinke it to be the greatest happinesse that could come unto me: For I have vowed my selfe so much unto the service of Lindamor that though he may perhaps find me failing in my wit and discretion, yet never in my fidelity and affection. Therefore as soon as I had your commands upon me to go unto him, I went with as much haste as possi∣bly I could and came unto a City called Paris, where Meroveus then was, being returned from the Neustrian Country: This City is seated in an Isle, so as the walls about it are washed with a River which runs round on all sides of it: And so as there is no comming to it but by bridges. As soon as he saw me, I observed a great alteration in his counte∣nance but he being in bed then, and having many persons about him, he could not speak un∣to me, nor aske me the occasion of my voyage: But when he was alone, he called for me: and asking what businesse brought me thither, I told him, that he would be best informed by your Letter. Is there none (saith he presently) from my Lady? You will know all (answered I) by that Letter. He changed colour when I said so unto him: thinking that certainly there was some great alteration or other in the wind, but when he had read your Letter I never saw a man so amaz'd I cannot tell what was in that paper, but it was like to have cost him his life. I do remember, said Leomda, the very words: they were but short, and therefore Sister, I would have you heare them, that you may acquaint Galathea with them, if you think it requisite.

Leonida's Letter unto Lindamor.

AS I have heretofore told you, that you might trust in me; so I must tell you now that you must trust to your self: not that the least thought of my affection to your service is diminished: but because the subtility of Polemas is such, as that it hath taken away all my power to serve you. Your business goes so very badly on, as you must not expect any good suc∣cessunless you speedily returne. I cannot say any more unto you unless it were by word of

mouth, it not being fit any but your selfe should know of that, which none but your selfe can remedy.

You gave him, said Silvia, a very hot alarme, and I do not wonder he should blush when he redd it; for, such newes might very well cause the like effects. How could I write any lesse, said Leonida, is it not true? For my part, I cannot tell a lie, especially to my friends, and such as trust in me. Your words replyed Flurial, were very effectuall. By fortune, there was none with him, unlesse a young man who waited upon him in his Chamber. He had such a command over his sorrowes, as he restrained his complaints, till he had commanded this young man and my selfe to retire, and wait in his Wardrobe, untill he called for us: Then causing the Curtains to be drawn, he began to sigh so loud, that though the dore was shut, yet we could hear him. Then I enquired, what was the cause of keeping his bed, and I understood, that it was by reason of some wounds he had received in a skirmish, wherein the Neustrians were defeated by the valour of Clidaman and Lindamor; and because I was very inquisitive after newes, and desired to know all passages, the young man made this relation to me.

I believe, Fluriall, (said he unto me, for he knew my name, having often seen me in the Gardens of Mount-Brison, and in his Masters Chamber, when you sent me to him) that you have heard of the Battles that have been wone from the Neustrians by the King; yet, with the assistance of Clidaman and my Master. I assure my self also, that you have heard talk of a Lady, (he did name her (said he unto Leonida) but I have forgot it) who putting her selfe into the habit of a man, did follow beyond the Sea a Neustrian, whom she loved, and who resembled Ligdamon so much, who was taken for him, and dyed, because he would not marry a woman, for whom that man fought, and killed a man, for which Murther being banished, he fled into a Country beyond Sea, I cannot hit upon the name of it; and afterwards upon his return, was Prisoner, by a kinsman of him that was killed: And had it not been for this Lady of whom I mean, he had been put into the hands of Justice; but she fought for him, and stayed in Prison her selfe to re∣lease him.

This intricate tale of Flurial's, made the Nymphs to laugh; though Silvia, in memo∣ry of Ligdamon, and Leonida also, had a good minde to help him out: Thou dost mean, Flurial, said Silvia, the fair Melander. True, true, said he, that's her name. And Ly∣dias, continued the Nymph, who was kept in Calice by Lypandas, because of Arontes his death. The very same, (said Fluriall, and clapped his hands together) but I shall never remember their names, and therefore I shall finish my relation, upon condition, that you will help me out. Now, this Lady (continued he) was the cause of Calice being taken by the Francks, and Lypandas (I cannot tell whether I name him right) was made a Pri∣soner. As for Melander, who was in Prison, as soon as ever she was released, she would go unto Lydias, thinking that Ligdamon, who was in the hands of his enemies, had been Lydias, as every one reported him to be. As soon as Lydias heard of this Ladies depar∣ture, he followed after her, not fearing any severity of enemies, nor rigour of justice. But Lypandas, who was in Prison, knowing that he had kept a Woman Prisoner, and that he had fought with her, he fell so in love with her, that he never left soliciting, till he obtained his liberty, and then went as fast as he could to the Town whither she was gone; I have quite forgot the name of it, for it was a very hard word. Was it not Rho∣thomages, said Leonida? The very same, said Flurial. Oh god, what fine stories could I tell you, if I had a good memory. But so it was, that the King's Son fell upon some of the Enemies, and defeated them, after a long Combat, in which Lindamor was so woun∣ded, that he was forced to keep his bed. Truly, said Leonida, you are an excellent story∣teller, and therefore I pray proceed. My memory, said he, is not so as I wish it; but I had rather not tell many things, then lie.

Now whilst this young man told me these things, Lindamor sighed, and sometimes spoke; but I could not possibly hear what he said, because the dore was shut: At the last, I heard him call me, and not drawing the Curtains, he said unto me: Fluriall, I would have thee return to morrow, and I would be before thee, if I could endure a Horse-back, but I will presently follow thee; tell Leonida, that I will come to the house of Adamas, and it shall be within this twenty nights at the least, if my wounds will give me leave. Upon this, he commanded me to take my rest. But I was much astonished, when they told me that very same night, that they thought him dead two or three times, and

that his wounds were so much changed upon a sudden, that he was in great danger of his life. I do believe, that the Letter which you writ, was the cause: He continued long in this condition, so as I could not be dispatched of a month after, within which time, he grew better, and not in so much danger. Besides his wounds, he had such a Feavour, as caused him very often to talk lightly, and ordinarily name Galathea, Leonida, and Polemas; Love, revenge death. At the last he recovered, but not so well, as to go out of his bed; and the Physicians told him, that he must not stir out of his Chamber, at the least of fifteen nights: And therefore he dispatched me, saying, that before the sixteenth of the next Month, he would be here, and gave me the Letters which you have seen; comman∣ding me to tell you many fine words, which did only signifie thanks, and which, in good faith, Madam, I have quite forgotten.

The Nymphs could not chuse but laugh at Fluria's discourse, and good memory: And because they would talk together, they commanded him to go out, and stay till Silvia returned, especially to have a great care he told none, when Lindamor would be back. Then being alone together, they resolved to tell Galathea plainly, the truth of that voyage, hoping, that perhaps the merits of Lindamor would make her more considerate; but by all means to conceal from her the time of his comming, lest if she should know it, she should advertise Polemas; not out of any good-will unto him, but only that he might stand upon his guard, and that Lindamor intending to kill him, they might be both in a possibility of dying; or that so acquainting him with the designe of Lindamor, he might challenge him the field, and there die. This then being the designe, Silvia thought it ex∣pedient, to communicate the matter unto the sage Adamas; and to know his opinion: But Leonida told her, that she would acquaint him with it at leasure; but now, he was very busie with his Daughter. And shall not I see her, said Silvia? It will not be conve∣nient at this time, said Leonida; for they are both exceedingly busie, because it is not much above a month, before the Druides assemble at Dreux: And I do believe, that for this year, my Uncle will be exempted, because of his Daughter, whom he will be con∣strained to bring back, whose presence he would enjoy as long as possible he can: Yet, if you please I shall acquaint them, for I know they will be extreamly glad to see you. No, no, said Silvia, I am very glad, that Adamas resolves to stay at home this year; for I believe, his presence will be more necessary unto us then we imagine: I will not by any means di∣sturb them; it sufficeth me to know, that they are well. Then, after some other discourse, Silvia took her leave, and returned unto Marcelles, where Galathea was, in a longing expectation for her, desiring to know what discourse Leonida and she had; but, above all, to know what newes of Celadon, assuring her selfe, that Leonida could tell. But when she understood, that the shepheard was not in his Town, and that none knew where he was, she was not a little perplexed, but knew not how to accuse Leonida; for she imagined, that if this shepheard had escaped by her contrivance, she would never have suffered him to go out of the Country. After she had considered with her selfe, she said, That per∣haps Leonida is not accessary to Celadon's departure, because he went away out of the Country in that manner. Truly (answered Silvia) I believe, she never so much as thought of any such thing, and I dare answer for her, almost as much as for my selfe. But, if she were not (replyed Galathea) why should she not come again, when you sent unto her from me? Madam, (said Silvia) I beseech you, give me leave to tell you plainly, what answer she gave unto me. I do not only give you leave, said the Nymph, but I command you, to tell me. Be pleased to know then, Madam, said Silvia, that after she had read my Letter, she answered: That she knew very well what honour it was, to do you any service, especially to be about your person, not being ignorant, that we are all obliged, both by nature and your merits, to devote both our services and lives unto you: But when she considered the strange opinions you have entertained of her; and the bad treatment, those opinions have caused her to receive from you, she had rather lose the happinesse of your presence, then to be in danger, of farther incurring your disfavour, and become the talk of all the Court: That a Maid has nothing more deer unto her, then her honour and re∣putation, and your suspitious of her, have caused many disadvantagious reports to go of her: That she alwaies courts occasions, to obtain the honour of your favour, by all possible services she is able to do; yet, most humbly beseecheth you, not to take it ill, that she does not return again. At this time when I spake unto her, she gave me the same an∣swer; adding many vowes and protestations, that what she had told you concerning Polemas and Climanthes, was true; so as I must needs ingenuously confesse, that I do be∣lieve

her. Do you think, said Galathea, that this can be? Madam, answered Silvia, I see no impossibilities in it; for it is most certain, Polemas does love you, and has subtlety e∣nough to invent this trick: Now I am the more apt to believe it, because the very same day you found Celadon, Polemas was seen alone in the same place, walking there very long, manifesting thereby, that he had some designe in it. How do you know this, said the Nymph? I have learned it, said Silvia, from severall persons, being very inquisitive to discover the truth; so as enquiring where Polemas was that day, I understood at the first, that he was not at Marcelles: Afterwards, searching more narrowly into the truth, I discove∣red, he went out of Fours, having only one man in his company, whom none did know, of whom he made very extraordinary much of. At last, I understood from many, that those who searched for Celadon along the River Lignon, found him alone, walking in the same place where you found the shepheard. Truly, (said Galathea) this tale does not a little trouble me; so as if it be true, I must needs say, I have wronged Leonida, in treating her as I have; for, till now, I thought this to be a meer trick. Madam, (answered Silvia) I assure you, that Polemas was long in that place at that time, as well as many daies en∣suing, without any company: Now, judge you, what could his businesse be there. I must now confesse, said Galathea, that Polemas is a knave; and could I discover the truth, I would make him repent of his knavery. Mean time, I would have you get Leonida to re∣turn unto me, assuring her, that she shall have my love, so she will live with me and you, as she ought to do.

On the other side, Leonida, as soon as her Companion was gone, returned to Adamas, relating part of the newes which she heard, and handsomely concealing what she thought he might take ill. Now, because it was dinner time, the Druide, Alexis, and she, retired unto their Lodgings.

Twelve or fifteen daies being past, since Alexis left her sad habitation and most of the Neighbours had payed all their civill visits unto Adamas, a Servant came and told him, a certain number of shepheards came to speak with him, amongst the rest, one, whose name was Lycidas. At the name of Lycidas, Alexis started: Which Adamas observing, lest Paris should do the same, he sent him to see who they were. Paris undertook this Com∣mission with a very good heart, because he was in fear of his dear Diana's welfare▪ In the interim, Adamas looked upon Alexis, saying: I am afraid Daughter, lest your hatred un∣to this Brother should discover, what we desire so much to conceal. It is impossible re∣plyed she, but I should be surprised at this unexpected newes; therefore, if you please, I will withdraw into the next Chamber, till these shepheards be gone. No, said Adamas, for doubtlesse they come hither to see you: Besides, it is not good to put Paris himselfe in any doubt. Alexis did not reply, because she heard the voice of Lycidas at the stairs foot. Presently after, all the Company came into the Hall, where the Druide received them with extraordinary demonstrations of love. The most eminent amongst them was Diamis, Diana's Uncle; Phoceon, Uncle to Astrea; Lycidas, Silvander, Coridus, Amidor: And though Tircis and Hylas were not of that Country; yet, having sojourned foure or five months in their Towne, they came with them for loves-sake, and good company. Phoceon, the mouth of all the rest, presented their good affections to the Druide, together with their cordiall desires to do him service: Afterwards told him, that two occasions had principally invited them thither: The one, to congratulate with him in his joyes, of seeing his Daughter Alexis: The other, to acquaint him, that it had pleased the great Tauta∣tes, to send some Misleto into the Grove belonging to their Town; therefore they came to beseech him, he would be pleased, according to their custome, to take so much paines, as to come and make a sacrifice of thanks. Then the Priest addressed himselfe: Sir, said he, what I shall relate unto you, is very strange: As I was searching out Misleto for the new year, I found things, that are no lesse then wonders, in the sacred Grove of Hesius, Ta∣ramis, Belinus, our great god Theutates. First a Temple of Hazells and young Oakes, so twisted and plaited to a great Oake in the midest, as there is an arched Vault, so spa∣cious, as to contain many people: In the midst, is a bank of Grasse, in form of an Altar, upon which stands a Picture, representing reciprocall Amity, together with the twelve Statutes of the Lawes of Love. Within this, we found another Temple, dedicated unto the goddesse Astrea. Oh Sir! I cannot chuse but admire the mystery. There are in this, two Altars, the chiefe of which is Triangular, under the most wonderfull Oake that ever was; for, having but one stock, it divides it selfe into three branches, then rejoynes them∣selves into one bark again at the top, in such an admirable manner, as that they make

but one Tree, and spreads it selfe above all the Trees in the Grove. There we found the falubrious Misleto, so fresh, and well growne, as by the report of all the Priests, none in all the Country is comparable unto it. There the sacred name of the great Tautates is en∣graven, with the names of Hesius, Tharamis, and Belinus, upon the three branches, which doth evidence unto us, that god loves the place, and would be there adored.

Thus the Priest related these things unto the Druide, who knew them better then him∣selfe, being the Inventor of them. It was a custome amongst the Gaules, that a Month be∣fore the sixteenth of July, they searched throughout all the Country for an Oake that had the finest Misleto; then to make a report of it unto the grand Druide, to the end it might be ceremoniously gathered: To that end, all the Priests assembled, seeking for it in all the groves; then when they found it, they gave it a mark. Now thinking it to be a signe of gods love, that it should be found in the Grove next their own Town, the People of it were wont to offer a particular sacrifice of thanks, where the grand Druide used to officiate, if he was pleased to favour them so much. Now, forasmuch as Adamas did very much love these men, besides his designe upon Alexis, upon whose contentment, he thought, his own depended, according to the Oracle; therefore he promised to go with them, whensoever the Priest would advertise him. The Shepheards returned their thanks in the best expressions that possibly they could. Although (said Adamas, and smiled) I have some reason to be sorry, that the shepheardesses of your Town are the only neigh∣bours, who have not favoured me with a visit, in congratulation of my Daughters re∣turn; yet, I must needs let them know, that I do esteem them above any in the Country. Paris desiring to excuse his Mistresse with the rest, did humbly make addresse unto him: Father (answered he) I beseech you excuse them, for I have heard them resolve, to come and see my Sister; but Astrea being so sick, as forced to keep her bed, hath a little deferred it, because they desire to have her company. Since it is so, said Adamas, I am satisfied with the excuse; otherwise, I should take it a little unkindly. Phoceon then addressing himselfe: It is most true said he, that my Niece hath of late been very sickly; so as I con∣ceive her best Physick will be to marry. You may do very well (said Adamas) to let it be your indulgent care, for she is now of a fit age for it.

Whilst Adamas was thus talking with these shepheards, Leonida and Alexis enter∣tained others. But as soon as Lycidas fixed his eye upon his Brother, it was long before he could draw it off; for, he thought he saw the very face of Celadon: then considering it a little more precisely, he admired, that two persons should resemble one another so much; yet, the setled opinion of his death, the authority of the Druide, who said, she was his Daughter; the habit of a Nymph, together with a little alteration in the face of Alexis, did make Lycidas give the lie unto his own eyes. After a little longer looking upon her, he could not chuse but say thus: Madam, If I did as much resemble him, whom you love most, as you do the person whom I love and honour most, I should hope ere long to en∣gratiate my selfe into your favour. Kinde Shepheard, (answered Alexis) I am glad I have any resemblance of the person whom you love; for, knowing from my Father how he esteemes you, I shall take any occasion to continue that amity you bear unto him. The obligations we do owe unto the Father, (answered Lycidas) together with the merits of the Daughter, commands us to do you all service; but me above all others, who does see him live again in your face, whose life was deerer to me then my own. These were the first complements which passed between the two Brothers.

Though Leonida constrained her selfe as much as possibly she could, yet she could not chuse but smile, to see how Lycidas was deceived; but fearing, lest Alexis should not at the first, act a womans part very well, she interposed, seeming to be very zealous in enquiring, how all the shepheardesses her friends did: Therefore, good Lycidas, (said she) leave off your fine complements, and tell me, how all my dear friends do. Some (answered Lycidas) are merry, others sad, and some neither merry nor sad, but do glide away time smoothly, without extreams Who is it, (said Leonida) that is so insensible either of mirth or sor∣row, as she resents neither? It is the shepheardesse Diana, answered Lycidas; for, she loving none, is neither merry nor sad since if these do not proceed from love, they do not deserve the name. I do believe, said Leonida, that you do think as you speak; but every one is not of your opinion. Those that think otherwise (said he) are like unto those Antients, who thought Water and Akehornes to be the finest food, when they knew not what Wine and Wheat was; but now, we think that to be food only for Beasts: So those who have tryed the sweets and bitters of Love, will confesse, that all others are nothing in comparison. Do

you think (said Leonida) that Diana never did love any, nor does love any yet? For what is past (said Lycidas) I will not answere; but for the present, I beleeve she lets all matters of love alone; you tell me ill newes for Paris (replyed Leonida). This, said the shepheard is the folly of our Towne, for I verily beleeve that Diana is not sensible of the honour which Paris doth her: yet if I be deceived, I am not the first that is mistaken in Women Well: said Leonida, let us leave Diana for this time, and tell me who is she that is the sad one? It is Astrea (answered Lycidas) for Phoceon a covetous Uncle, who, as most old men do, thinkes there is no happinesse but in marrying his Neece richly, will needs bestow her upon a Boyen shepheard called Calydon, whom she never saw above one minute at the most, and whom she does not love, yet for my part I beleeve the old fellow will bring the match about.

Is not this Calydon, (said the Nymph) Nephew unto Tamares? The very same (an∣swered he). But (replyed Leonida) has he forgot his love unto Celidea? Oh Madam, (said he) Celidea is not the same she was: the accident of her losse was indeed very strange. Why, said the Nymph, is Celidea lost? she may be termed so (answered he) and the heart of Tamire is now wholly upon marrying Calydon. Though Alexis was talking with Corilas, Hylas, and Amidor, yet she lent an eare unto Lycidas, whose words went so to her heart, that every one tooke notice of her, because at the first she blushed, then presently after grew as pale as ashes: This caused Leonida to aske her how she did, and to say that this was a relique of her old disease, therefore desired her to sit downe. Hylas who from the first sight of her had a good mind to her, so as Phillis was almost quite out, and this in his heart, he took her by the arme and made her sit downe as it were by force; then sitting by her, his eyes were never off her face. In the meane time Leonida and Lycidas went unto the window, there continued on their discourse: but Lycidas still eying Alexis, he first said; I cannot chuse but looke upon the faire Daughter of Adamas; for she has such a resemblance of my poore Brother, both in her features and Aire, as I can finde no difference betweene them, but in habit. Is it long (said Leonida) since he dyed? It is (answered he) about four monthes since. I have heard so many good reports of him (said Leonida) that I am sorry I never saw him. As for his Interiour parts, I cannot de∣scribe him unto you (said Lycidas). But as for his face and actions, looke upon Alexis who is the just picture of him: The very same eyes, the same mouth, the same symmetrie of every part. Alexis all this while did suffer all that Hylas said, but it was with much adoe: Oh heavens? (said Lycidas) the very same smile! the same turne of his head! Was there ever such a resemblance as this? Leonida fearing that his consideration of her resemblance unto Celadon, might discover that she was Celadon indeed, she said thus unto him. But Lycidas to returne unto our former discourse; when Paris erected his Tombe I heard that Astrea did infinitly love him, and could not chuse but breake out into many expressions of it: I would it had pleased the gods (answered Lycidas with a deep sigh) that she had never loved him, for then my brother had bin now alive. Why, said Leonida, do you accuse her for his death? I have heard that she has so grieved his losse, as she her∣selfe hath been in danger. The story (said Lycidas very faintly) would be too long and tedious to relate now; but if she be unhappy in marrying Calydon, who loves her not, It is the just revenge of love upon her for the death of Celadon who adored her, of which she is too guilty: Is it long since Celadon was lost (said Leonida). It is about twelve or fifeene dayes since, (answered he). Then (said the Nymph) it was presently after she re∣ceived our judgement: Ten or twelve dayes after, said the shepheard, I assure you all that knew her, laments her losse, For my part, said the Nymph, I never heard of it untill now, yet beleeve me I do deeply resent it: but pray Lycidas tell me, how it came to passe.

The Sequell of the History of Celidea.

I Had thought Madam (answered Lycidas) that you had heard of this pittifull story, because it was an accident so strange, as every one reported it, as a great wonder. But since I perceive you have not, Be pleased to know, that poore Calidon being by your sen∣tence condemned, he grieved beyond thought: Yet after a long condoling of his sad fate, reason began to take place. He setting before his eyes his duty unto Thamire, the disdaine of Celidea, and his oath to obey your doome, he rooted that domineering passion out of his soul, and set his heart at rest.

In the mean time Thamires acquainting Cleontine with his designe and especially Celi∣deas Mother, within a fortnight all things were in that forwardnesse, as there wanted no∣thing to consummate the marriage but going to bed together. That night being come, the house was all joy in hopes of that support which all Celideas friends expected by her mari∣age with this rich man. Untill just now, Calidon obeyed your doome; But when he be∣gan to thinke that this very night Celidea was to be in the armes of another, and not his, all his resolutions failed: his eyes saw that, they never saw before, and his heart began to have other thoughts. He retyred himselfe to a corner of the chamber, and there drooped in his owne thoughts whilst every one was dancing. Thamires who loved him as his owne Sonne did doubt from whence this sadnesse proceeded, so as out of pitty he went gent∣ly to him, and heard him uttering these words.

A Lover cannot live and see, His mistress any other's be, For he that loves can never yeild, Another master of the Field.

But though I dye, I shall retaine A memory of mourning paine, So when I have resign'd my breath, Sorrowes will follow after death.

So whether I do live or dye, My fate is onely misery And sadder Fate sure none can have, As not to rest within a grave.

Thamires hearing this, did exceedingly pitty him, and more, when after these words he saw him lift up his hands and eyes, and so swel'd with teares, that he was not able to speak, he withdrew gently to tell Celidea in what condition she found him, desi∣ring her to give him some consolation. The shepheardesse was very willing to obey Tha∣mires, nor was she desirous to lose Calidons favour, since she was to live with his Unckle, therefore she went unto him, whom finding in that condition, How now shepheard, said she unto him, what all alone when we are in dancing? Ah shepheardesse, answered he, you may well allow me that liberty, since all your mirth is at my cost; but I wish it were without offence to god or you, that I might end my sad dayes, before this night came to put me out of all hopes of any contentment. What do you meane? (said the shephear∣desse) my meaning is, replyed he, that did I not offend the great Tautates in putting my selfe to death, and you, in making you to lose a most faithfull servant, this very hand should dispatch my life, before that night come in which I shall see Thamires enjoy her whom my affection onely can merit. Celidea seeming to take no notice of any such things; I thought said she, that you had forgotten all those follies, and I do wonder they should be still in your memorie. How? (replyed Calidon with a deep sigh) can Calidon ever for∣get Celidea? are you not afraid Thamires will punish you for an offence so great against my love? Take heed your offence be not greater (answered she) when you call to minde the promise made unto Leonida to observe the sentence she should pronounce: have you so soone forgot it? or do you think the gods ever will? How can you ever hope that the Misleto of the new yeare, should ever be salubrious unto you, since you swore by it to obey your doome? Ah shepheardesse (replyed Celadon) Do not think I have forgot the unjust judg∣ment of that pittilesse Nymph (pardon me Madam for repeating his words) The memo∣ry of it is too sadly fresh, to be so soone forgotten; nor do not thinke I am of opinion that the gods forget my oath; no nor that I care whether the Misleto of the new yeare, be Salubrious or no, since in loving you, there is nothing in this world that I do care for. Yet, Do you not stand in feare (said she) of the justice of the gods after your death? The gods, said she, can inflict no more paine then I suffer in my life: For there are not more cruell torments then those I endure. Yet not withstanding do not thinke me so ill an observer of what I have promised: you may remember my vow was, to observe the Nymphs judgement, as long as I lived: well (said she) do you not disobey it by these expressions unto me? No, answered he, for do you not perceive that I have been dying

ever since that doome was pronounced? For life is not to live, but to live well. Now ever since that fatall moment, I have beene so far from living well, as I have not onely lost my happynesse, but all my hopes of it. If you call languishing a life, I say againe, let the Sa∣cred Misleto be never Salubrious unto me. When no hopes are left, let life go whither it will, for nothing can do me good since you are gone. If the gods will but heare the pray∣ers of a most desolate man, I shall soone die. What advantage can you hope for (said she) in dying? From it (said he) I expect all my felicity: for none is to be hop't for here, since I cannot love you unlesse I offend the gods, or you whom I do feare. But, most cruell shepheardesse, what was your designe in coming unto me? Was it to tryumph once more over poore Calidon? or are you like those merry minded people, who when they have killed a poore miserable Innocent that never did them harm, they come to see how great the wounds are which they gave him. That, sad shepheard, said she, was not the cause which invited me hither: but it was to trye if I could divert you from your sad thoughts: so as if I could without offence to the will of the gods, I would give you some consolati∣on. How? (said he presently) does it not suffice you, that I dy•• by the cruell hand of fate and by the injustice of men, which has taken from me all that I can call life, but you must also add a vaine compassion, which you seeme to have of me, onely to make me die with more griefe? Would you have me think you pitty me? Nay nay, never talke to me of any pitty, or health, or remedy, or any hope, for I am as incapable of any good, as you are of will to do it.

It was now late; so as the Ball being ended, Celidea according to Nuptiall customes was conducted to bed, and afterwards Thamires unto her; Calidon he went both out of the chamber and the house; and by fortune did lye downe under some great Elmes by the way side neere unto the house. Where after he had a while considered the happinesse of Thamires, and then his owne sad fate, his heart so failed him, as he fell into a swound, and continued in it, till Cleontine and her company coming out of the house, found him lying all along as if he were asleep. But offering to wake him, and seeing he did not stirre, Cleontine herselfe tooke his hand; which finding to be very cold, because all the naturall heat of the outward parts was retired to the heart, she cryed out, Oh, Calidon is dead. Many that heard her voyce did run unto her: So as when they saw him in that condition, the cry was so loud as it caused all the neighborhood to resort thither: many ran into the house still, crying out aloud Calidon was dead, Calidon was dead: In so much as Thamires heard the noise; and hearing nothing named but Calidon and Death, he doubted some disastrous accident: Therefore leaping out of bed, he run to the dore to call some of the house, and at last was told that Calidon was dead. Thamires loved him as dearely as if he had been his owne Sonne: So as at this sad newes he fell down the staires to the bottom: his servants tooke him him up, and carryed him to his bed: his pulse failed and he by de∣grees grew so cold, as if he had not been well looked unto he had been in as bad a condition as Calidon: but the application of good remedies together with Celidea's care, did do him much good. Whosoever had seen this faire and young Bride thus all undrest washing the face of her brid-groome with her teares, and had not been mooved unto pitty, doubtlesse his heart was made of Marble. The loosenesse of her garments together with the negligent care of herselfe, added much unto her beauty: She having recovered him unto his senses did bathe her kisses in a flood of teares. But the poor shepheard being unsensible of any passion, but sorrow of his friends losse, did faintly receive her kisses, and pushed her away with his hand, as if he did not care for them: he would hardly look upon her, onely still asked what newes of Calidon: but hearing none that was good, I see, said he, that as he dyed for the contentment which I have, so I must dye for the griefe which he had. Then rising up in a fury, halfe naked, he run to the place where poore Calidon lay along as if he were absolut∣ly dead. Every one gave place unto him, as well out of respect, as compassion at his greife which doubtlesse was very great, since he had left Celedea, and disdained that happinesse which he had so long and so zealously desired. When he saw Calidon, thinking him to be dead, he fell upon him but so unfortunately, as he hit his forehead against a sharp stone, on which they had laid the head of Calidon; his face was immediately all blood and there he remained in a swound. Those that were about them, did heare the blow which Tha∣mires had, and had an opinion, that he was hurt. But did not think he was hurt so much as he was. Had they not observed him so long without either motion or speech, they had taken notice of it too late. Now, cryes began againe a fresh, and the clamours of all those who beheld this lamentable spectacle, grew very loud. Judge what horror this was

unto Colidea, when she saw her Husband and his Nephew lie together like dead men. By fortune, as they carried Calidon in a chair into his Chamber, he revived. Then seeing so many people about him, and all smeered with the blood of Thamires he knew not what to think, but that he was in a dream. When he saw them carrying his Uncle, who was yet senslesse, with a great wound in his head, he imagined, that some body had wounded him; therefore transported with rage, he rose up and asked, who was the murderer: He took up a stone, and held up his arme, as ready to throw it at him, who had done the the homicide: But, when he heard how it was; How, said he, am I my selfe the murderer? Is not revenge as well due to me as to another; nay, more, since there was more obligations upon me. Upon this, he lifted up his arme, intending to knock himselfe in the head with the stone; but he was prevented by friends, who held his arme, took away the stone, and never let him go, till he was better setled in his reason.

In the mean time, Thamires, by reason of the loud clamours, and the good remedies which were applyed unto him, he was no sooner dressed and put into bed, but he came out of his swound: When his eyes were open, and he could speak, the first word was, the name of Calidon, asking where his body was. Calidon (answered one) is much better then you are. How, said he, is not Calidon dead? Oh my friends, I pray do not mock me. He is alive, said another; and if you will not fall into a swound again when you see him, we will bring him hither very well recovered. Oh god! said Thamires, if this be so, use all your best remedies to cure me also. Upon this, he offered to rise, but the Chirurgions would not suffer him. Now because Calidon was as impatient to see Thamires, it was thought requisite for the setlement of their spirits, to let them see each other, though they feared, it would cause the wound of Thamires to bleed afresh; but conceiving, this inconveniency would be lesse, then that which might arise by restraining them, they brought Calidon to the Chamber, who seeing Thamires in that condition, and having heard all the passages, he kneeled down before him, and asked him pardon, for the griefe and pain which he had put him unto: Excuse, good Father, said he unto him, the little power that I had to command my selfe; I come to aske you pardon upon my knees, and beseech you to believe, that I will never rest, till I have given satisfaction for my fault. Son, (said Thamires) rise up, and let me embrace thee Had I thought, that Celidea would have ever been thine, she should never have been mine: My greatest griefe is now, that heretofore there was one impediment unto thy desires, and now there is two: The first is, her will, which was ever so averse unto thee, that she would never consent to be thine: The other is, the Marriage of her and me. Could her will change as well, as I could remedy the last of these impediments, believe it, Calidon, my death should be wel∣come to me, so I could thereby render thee contentment. Calidon would have answered, but he could not, because Thamires at the same time, addressed his speech unto Celidea; And you; Celidea, said he, who sees how extreamly Calidon does love you; is it possible, you should not change your will, and affect him? Cannot his affection, his merits, and my prayers, obtain so much from you? Was Celidea born to kill both Calidon and Tha∣mires, both with love and sorrow? Celidea, all in tears, would have answered, but Calidon prevented her: Father, said he, the ordinance of heaven, and the will of this fair One, must be as it is; Tautates knowes what is fit, better then we our selves: There is no reason, that two persons, who merit all manner of good fortune, as Thamires and Celidea do, should change their fortune for my most miserable sake. For my part, I do vow, and cal heaven and earth to witness, that I wil never whilst I breathe contradict the judgment, which the heavens have given by the mouth of the Nymph. What then, said Thamires, do all these tears, these complaints, and these swoonings signifie? They are testimonies, answered Calidon, that I am but a man. As good Chirurgions will not take their hand from the wound, though the Patient complain and cry; so you ought not to cease from that good work, which it hath pleased Tautates to ordain. I desire no other favour, but leave to complain, and to cry out when the pain torments me. Nay, nay, (said Celidea, in a very violent and passionate manner) let neither of you put your selves unto that trou∣ble; the great god Tharamis, will secretly inspire me with a means, how to set both your hearts at rest: It is not reasonable, that all your prayers and demonstrations, should any longer be without producing some effects; but withall, the will of Tautates must be done, nor must the good opinion I had of you from my very cradle, shew out no sparks of will towards you. And you, Calidon, it is not fit you should consume away your life in this manner: No, no, live both of you contentedly; give me only leave to think upon

it foure or five daies, and you shall see, how heaven will direct me unto means, to ease you both of your sorrowes. Upon this, she entreated Thamires, he would be pleased to excuse her from lying with him for foure or five nights, to the end, she might the better contrive the way, how to accomplish her designe. Thamires, who begun to be sensible of the smart which his wounds caused, who would have consented unto his own death; to save the life of Calidon, he did freely grant her request. Then after some other discourse upon this subject, the Chirurgions seeing, that the hopes which Celidea had put them into, would conduce unto their rest, and consequently unto their recovery, they advised all the company to withdraw. Calidon caused a bed to be brought into the Chamber of Tha∣mires, because he would not leave him. On the other side, Thamires was so pleased with the expressions of his Nephew's affection to him, as he much desired to have him alwaies with him. Celidea was the most perplexed of any, for she would not impart her deter∣mination unto any one, lest she should be prevented in her designe, though she did not yet know how to effect it: Her designe was much different from the humours of all wo∣men whatsoever; for knowing, that it was the beauty of her face, which was the cause of the passionate love, both in Thamires and his Nephew; also considering, that it only was the cause of the divorce betwixt them, she resolved to make it so ugly for the future, as that they should hereafter grow as cold at her deformity, as heretofore they were enflamed at her beauty; hoping by this means, to bring Calidon to his senses again and to give sa∣tisfaction unto the world, that she never consented unto these follies. After she had long thought upon the way, and not liking the way of a knife, by reason of the blood and cruelty, unto which her courage could not consent; at last she addressed her selfe unto her Nurses Mother, whom taking aside, she let her understand, that she had a most deadly hatred unto a shepheardesse her neighbour, who had infinitely wronged her; that she was fully resolved upon revenge; that her hatred went not so far as death, but only de∣sired a revenge upon her face, as upon the thing which she most valued. In order to this, she desired her, to acquaint her with some Plant or other Receipt, which would so mar the face of this Maid, as it should never recover its beauty again. The good woman, who loved Celidea very well, did very discreetly answer: That any such cruell desires of re∣venge was unhandsome, and did not become her: That if the other had wronged her, the best way was, to refer revenge unto Hesius, who had power to do it: That if she did her selfe take revenge, it was to be feared, that she unto whom it was done, would pay her back double in her owne coyne. To be briefe, she used all possible arguments and perswa∣sions, to divert her from this designe. But Celidea, whose designe was different from what she made appear, did still resolutely persist in her request, telling the woman, that she up∣on whom she would be revenged, was not a person that could revenge again; besides, it should be carried so secretly, as she should never know from whence it proceeded; there∣fore conjured her in all love, to satisfie her request; protesting that if she did not, she would cause her to attempt something that was much worse. The good woman answered, that she should be very sorry, to be a cause of any worse accident, therefore within two or three daies she would give her an answer. Do not fail me then, said Celidea; for if you do, you will be the cause of a far greater mischiefe. The terme being expired which this good woman took, only to passe on time, she desired a longer. But Celidea, who knew that this was only delay, yet she seemed to believe her, whilst in the interim, she would take the best way she could to accomplish her designe; setting a face of beliefe in the good old woman upon it, lest she should discover her intention unto Cleontine. Celidea then seeking out for any way to dissigure her selfe, as ill luck was, she came in the morning unto Cleontine's Chamber, when she was in bed; and because Cleontine was accustomed to wear a pointed Diamond upon her finger, as a token, that she was dedicated unto Theu∣tates, as you know, Madam, it is the custome of all our Druides, she used every night, when she went into bed, to put it off, and to take it again in the morning. So it hapned, that Celidea taking up this Ring, she put it upon her finger, and from one to another, trying which it would best fit, perhaps not thinking what she did; which Cleontine per∣ceiving Daughter, said she, are you willing to wear that Ring, upon the same conditions that I do? If I were able, answered Celidea, there is nothing in the world I should more desire. How then can you think, said Cleontine, to satisfie both Thamires and Calidon, as you have promised? That answered she, would be the best remedy of all others; for, they are so religiously disposed, as if I were once dedicated unto Theutates, neither of them would offer to have me out again. Love, said Cleontine, is above either duty of

religion: But pray, Daughter, tell me, which way do you think to give them both sa∣tisfaction; for truly, I cannot understand, which way you can do it? For in the first place, you are Wife unto Thamires; therefore if you would, you cannot dedicate your selfe unto Theutates, without his leave: But, suppose you were a Druide, do you think that would content them both? No surely, but rather discontent them both, since, then, both are de∣prived of you. Mother, (answered Celidea) the great gods will doubtlesse inspire me with some way or other, and by their aide, I do not doubt but I shall effect it; for in them I put my whole trust. Daughter, (said Cleontine) the gods do never fail those that trust in them, and therefore since you make them your confidence, I shall believe you may bring it to passe. Cleontine would have continued on her discourse; but Celidea by accident, did give her hand such a scratch with the Diamond, that she cryed out; at which Cleontine star∣ting: What have you done, said she, have you cut your selfe with the Diamond? A small scratch, answered Celidea, though the pain of it did make me cry out. You think it small, said Cleontine, but you are deceived; for the mark will never out, and the cut is very hard to be healed. Then looking into her hand, and seeing it much scratched: Be∣lieve it, Celidea, said she, you have a mark as long as you live, and had it been upon your face, it had been quite spoiled. How, said Celidea, is a Diamond so venomous? The mark of it, said Cleontine, will never out; and that's the reason, why I leave it off every night, when I go to bed. Oh! how glad was this young shepheardesse, when she heard of this secret? she thought that the gods had purposely taught it her, to accomplish her designe. I shall now acquaint you Madam, with the strange resolution of this young woman. It was already five or six daies since Thamires received his hurt; and his wound not being dangerous, he recovered so fast, that he began to go out of his Chamber. Calidon and Tha∣mires both did summon Celidea to the performance of her promise. She, with a smiling brow, told them, That tomorrow she would give them both content. At night, when her Aunt was in bed she stole her Ring; and when she came into her Chamber, she caused all to go to bed, and shut the dore: Then she set her selfe down by a Table, upon which stood a Glasse, in which, against all Festivalls, she was wont to dresse her selfe: As soon as ever she saw her fair face in it; Oh Mirrour (said she) with whom I was wont to con∣sult with so much care and circumspection, how to adorn this face? How different is the occasion now, that makes me take thy counsell? I was wont by thy advice, to make my selfe more fair; but now I come to know, how I shall blast this beauty, which was former∣ly so deer unto me. Upon this, opening the Glasse, and seeing her face all swell'd with tears: Oh eyes! said she, you were not human, did you not lament the losse of that beauty, which heretofore did swell you with so much delight. Afterwards being silent a while, and considering particularly her beauty, her grace, the just proportion of her parts, the lively and sweet lustre of her eyes, the freshnesse of her rosie complexion, the composure of her mouth, and briefly, all the pleasing parts of her face: I know very well, said she, Oh my most precious and dearly loved treasures, how valuable you are; but alas, what are you worth unto me, if I cannot enjoy any contentment in preserving you? I have formerly e∣steemed this beauty as my highest and richest jewell, I know how much I have been cour∣ted for your sake; but when I shall charge you before the Throne of Reason, to have been the cause of all the torments I have endured: when I blame you, for the dissention that is betwixt the Uncle and the Nephew; nay, when I charge you, as guilty of their blood and ruine; nay more, perhaps of their death, what can you say in your own defence? what rea∣sons can you alledge, why I should still retain and preserve you? Perhaps you will say, that it is a very sweet thing to be fair; but tell me, how bitter are those effects, which that sweet doth produce, and how I should avoid them, by preserving you? Perhaps you will reply, that love is the effect and consequent of beauty, and nothing in the world is more pleasing, then to be loved and carrassed. Perhaps again you will say, that whilst I am fair, every one will adore me, and when I am foul, every one will disdain me. But for all that, let me tell thee by way of answer, that in doing so strange an act, every one will ad∣mire me, and be apt to believe, that there is some hidden perfection in me, which does transcend this outward beauty. Also in defacing thy luster, I shall but anticipate time of a few minutes: For, this beauty which we so much prize, for all our carefull preservati∣on, will quickly fade, a few years more will ravish it from me: Is it not therefore better to part from it voluntarily, having so good an occasion, and to sacrifice it unto the tranquil∣lity of Calidon, who hath born me so much affection? What will the worst consequence be of it? Why, when I am ugly, fewer persons will love me; I cannot hope to finde any

affection, but from Thamires: Now if the affection of Thamires be grounded only upon my beauty, it will quickly fall off when my beauty decayes; but, if he have 〈…〉〈…〉 any other basis for his love, certainly he will love me the more, because I have made my selfe wholly his, since none else will yet look upon me. To be briefe, it is this beauty, which hath caused all the miseries, both of Calidon, Thamires, and my selfe. I will ease them therefore and my selfe too, by parting from that, which would of it selfe ere long part from me: I will set them both at liberty, and my selfe at rest. Now, Madam, I shall relate unto you a most strange and generous act: Celidea, as soon as she had said so, took the Diamond, and with a resolute hand, did cut the skin of her fair face in severall places; though the pain of it was extream, yet she cut on, still gnashing her teeth, till she had made five or six long and d•••••• gashes in her cheeks and forehead, so as all her beauty was quite defaced. Imagine, Madam, how sadly she must needs resent this act; but she did not at all seem to be sorry for it, only put a cloth about her head, put out the Candle, went into her Aunts Chamber, laid the Ring in its place, and went to bed; you may easily imagine, she took no greatrest that night. But when morning was come, and every one awake and up, Cleontine wondered she did not see her Niece; and fearing she had not been well, she went softly to her bed-side; but when she saw her all bloody, she cryed out, thinking she had been dead: All the house ran up to her, and found her kissing Celidea, though her face was nothing but wounds, and congealed blood: Oh heavens! Daughter, (said the good old woman) who has thus inhumanly used you? What barbarous hand could finde a heart to spoil this fair face? Celidea, in a low voice, beseeched her, to let her rest, and she should know who had done it, as soon as Thamires and Calidon were come. Chirurgeons were immediately sent for, and Thamires, hearing in what condition Celidea was, he ran presently to her Chamber; but when he saw her, he stood immova∣ble, and gave no signes of life, but only by tears in his eyes. At the last, after a little re∣collecting of himselfe: Is this Celidea, whom I see in this sad plight, said he? Could the gods ever permit such a piece of cruelty? What Tiger, in the shape of a Man, could have a heart to do it? Was ever so much inhumanity executed? Celidea turning gently towards him: Thamires, said she, though you have lost the face of Celidea, yet she hath preserved all the rest of her selfe; if you will permit me to take revenge, I will tell you who hath done this unto me. Calidon upon this came into the Chamber, which hindred Thamires from returning answer; and Calidon hearing of this accident, he had run himselfe so out of breath, that he could not speak, yet one might hear him utter vowes, that the villain who had thus injured Celidea, should not live till night. Oh Calidon, said she, do not swear, lest you should be perjured; perhaps it may be such a one, as you had rather die then keep your oath. I do swear still by Hesius, replyed Calidon, and by my own soul, who ere he be, except Thamires, he shall die. Upon this, he kneeled down by her bed side, and offering to kisse her hand, she pushed him back: Calidon; said she, why should you offer to kisse my hand? Look upon my face, and take notice, that I am not now the same Celidea, whose beauty you so much esteemed. The shepheard was so transported with fury, that he had not yet looked upon her; but when he fixed his eyes upon her, and saw her so gastly transformed, he stood more astonished then Thamires: Then laying his hand upon his eyes, and turning his head the other way, it was impossible for him to en∣dure the sight, and stared like a man that had been frighted. She all the while was not at all angry, but with incredible courage endured it. Then holding out her hand unto Thamires: Friend, said she unto him, I hope this will be contentment unto you, to see, that I am all yours, and that none now can or will ever pretend unto me: This face thus disfigured, was only done, to make me only yours. I cannot believe, Thamires, but that your affection unto me was built upon a better foundation, then a fading face. Now be∣cause I see you desirous to know, who it was that made me thus; know, Thamires, that it was Calidon: And you, Calidon, know, that it was Thamires. Did you put her into this condition, cried they both out? Yes, said she, it is Calidon, and Thamires, that have thus wronged Celidea: But have a little patience, and you shall hear, how. Every one did wonder at these words, but especially the two shepheards. And when Calidon offered to speak, she interrupted him thus: Calidon, do not go about to excuse your selfe; for, though Thamires and you both be the cause, yet you are more to blame then he. There is none that knowes me is ignorant, how Thamires hath loved me from my infancy, and hath ever since continued his affection to me; this affection became reciprocall, as soon as ever I was capable of Love; and as his addresses unto me did invite me to love him, so the

good entertainment that he found from me, invited him to continue it: And indeed how happily had we lived unto this very day, if Calidon had not cast his eye upon me; so as I may say, and Thamires knowes it, that never two loved each other better, than Thamires and Celidea: But as soon as Calidon came, all our happinesse and contentment was bla∣sted; first, by his sicknesse; afterwards, by the gift which Thamires made of me unto him, which I could never consent unto. Truth is, after I had long endured the faintnesse of Thamires, I and the fiery affection of Calidon, I rejected them both, as in reason I might, since Calidon had made me lose Thamires, and Thamires without cause, had resigned me to Calidon. Afterwards, when I was wholly adjudged unto Thamires, by the Sen∣tence of the Nymph Leonida, yet still was I tormented by him; when he was in all reason obliged to decline me, both out of duty of a friend, and the Nymphs command; yet still he persisted, and would needs die. On the other side, the kinde nature of Thamires, see∣ing his Nephew in that condition, did leave me in bed, and made it appear, that his af∣fection unto Calidon was greater, then his love to me, whom he had courted with so much earnestnesse and passion. I was extreamly astonished at this accident, when I was told, that both my Husband and his Nephew were brought in chaires as dead. I must confesse, that when I saw them, and heard how all was, I knew not what to resolve upon. But afterwards, considering the whole state of the matter, I lifted up my heart unto Thara∣mis, beseeching him to advise me what course to take, to compose this businesse. Doubt∣lesse he did inspire me with the means. This therefore, Oh shepheards, was the holy in∣spiration: Consider (said that god unto me) the violent affection of Calidon, and be assu∣red of this, that he will never leave you, as long as you are fair; never think, that either religion to the gods, or any duty to men, will restrain him: Nor can you imagine, that Tha∣mires, though he be your Husband, and love you above his life, can ever enjoy any con∣tentment, as long as he sees his Nephew so tormented. As for your part, What kinde of life can you hope to live, as long as you are the cause of both their miseries? To give your selfe unto Calidon, your own will cannot consent unto it; besides, you are already devoted unto Thamires, that nothing can separate you, but death. The violent passion of Calidon will not suffer you to be quiet with Thamires; nor can the kinde nature of Thamires, endure the continuall displeasures of his Nephew. What then, Celidea, caust thou do? Put on a generous resolution, and deprive thy selfe of that, which is the root of all this dissention. Caust thou think it any thing else, but the beauty of thy face? 'Tis true, answered I; but in losing that beauty, I shall also lose the love of Thamires as well as Calidon; and if so, I had better die. You are deceived, answered he, the love of these two shepheards is different; Thamires loves Celidea, and Calidon adores the beauty of Celidea. If your fears should prove true, you had better die presently, then live long; and be assured, that when age has made you unhandsome, Thamires will cease to love you. But, let that be the least of your fears, Thamires loves Celidea, and let Celidea become what she will, still Thamires will love her.

This, Shepheards was the sacred counsell, which the gods did inspire into me, unto which I durst not be disobedient, and therefore sought out for means to put it in execution; so as having heard my Aunt say, that the wounds which were made by a Diamond, would never heal, I intended to sacrifice that beauty which was in my face, unto your tranquillity and union. But, Oh my Thamires! I hope you will not cease loving Celidea, though she has not the same face she had; for, what she has done, was only to satisfie the desires of Calidon, that she might be entirely yours. Thus ended Celidea, leaving all that heard her full of admiration at her generous act. It would be too long and tedious to relate Calidon's reproching her, the displeasure of Thamires, the sorrowes of Cleontine and Celidea's Mother, with all those that considered her condition. But so it was, that when the Chirurgions had dressed her pittifull sacrificed face, they all concluded, that she would never recover her beauty again; for the cuts were so deep, and in such places, that they had for ever spoiled all her delicate features and proportion. So it falls out, that Calidon seeing her so deformed, his fiery flaming passion did quite extinguish; and Tha∣mires, as she hoped, continues his love; so as she has ever since lived in abundance of sa∣tisfaction and quietnesse, and so much esteemed and honoured by every one, as she hath vowed, that she never in all her life received halfe that contentment from her beauty, as she has since from her deformity.

You have related (said Leonida) the most generous and commendable act, that ever was done by a woman; and I am extreamly glad to hear, that such a vertuous resolution

should proceed from one, so neerly allyed unto me, as Celidea is; I beseech the gods, to make her as happy in Thamires, as Thamires has reason to love her, and esteem her ver∣tue. Now (continued Lycidas) Thamires thinking he shall never have any Children, he would gladly make a match between Calidon and Astrea; and to invite Phocion unto it, he offers to give him all his Lands and Flocks. Astrea, who grieves so for the losse of Celadon, and resolves never to love any again, she will not upon any termes hear of it; and when her Uncle made the motion unto her, she did nothing but weep; insomuch as when he pressed her unto it, she answered, That she would spend all the rest of her daies amongst the Vestalls and Druides: so as in order unto that, she desired me to speak unto the venerable Chrisante about it. Do you think, said Leonida, that Chrisante will re∣ceive her, without the consent of her Parents? I asked her the very same question, answe∣red Lycidas, but she answered me, that Astrea having neither Father nor Mother living, she might dispose of her selfe; and that if she could not dispose of her selfe this way, she would then enter into her grave. I perceive, said Leonida, that she is excessively afflicted: But I pray tell me, who is contented? Would I durst tell you, answered the shepheard. Why should you make more difficuly in telling me that, replyed the Nymph, then in telling me the rest? There are many reasons for it, replyed he, but, since I have gone so far, I will venter to go a little farther, therefore, Madam, be pleased to know, that it is Phillis whom I mean: But, I most humbly beseech you, to ask me no farther. I cannot chuse, said she, but swell with a strange curiosity at your request, and do wonder, why you should so conceal that, which I do so extreamly desire to know: For, loving Phillis as I do, why would you not have me enquire of her contentment? But I perceive, you do strictly observe the Lawes of Love, the chiefe of which is, to Conceal and be silent. And because he would needs seem, as if it did not concern him: Nay, nay, said she, never think to hide your selfe from me; for, shepheard, I do know more of you, then you imagine: Can you think, I could frequent the company of all your shepheards and shepheardesses, and not hear, how you are a servant unto Phillis; and how, after a long continued ser∣vice, you are at the last growne jealous of Silvander? Certainly I should have been of a very dull composition, if seeing so compleat a shepheard as Lycidas, and loving Phillis as I do, I had not enquired of your life. If I did seem, shepheard, as if I were ignorant, it was only out of discretion, for I do know as much of your affaires, as you do almost your selfe; and if you will, I will tell you such particulars, as shall make you confesse it. Lycidas hearing her say so, he was extreamly confused, and thought, that all her know∣ledge came from Astrea and Phillis. I perceive, said he, that you are acquainted with my follies, and that things are not so secretly carried, as I wish they were: But to make it appear, that I am as much your servant, as your Informers can be, I will tell you more then they could, since they are passages which hapned, since they had the honour to see you; still beseeching you to be secret. I have so great an esteem, answered the Nymph, both of the versue of Phillis, and of your merits, as you may be most certain, I shall be secret in any thing that concernes either of you: And you may see, I can be silent, since I was so long before I imparted unto you what I did know. But when you told me, that Phillis was contented, I wondred, because I knew her to be much troubled at your faintnesse and jealousie. Oh great Nymph, (said Lycidas, and smiled) great alterations have been, since I had the honour to see you: Oh how oft have I been upon my knees? Believe it, Madam, Phillis knowes how to bring me into my senses, and can make me know my duty: Had I but time to tell you the whole series of the story, you should see what abundance of dif∣ference there is, betwixt a Lover and a Wiseman. I do not know any thing, replyed the Nymph, which I more desire to know; and as for leasure, you may have time enough, since Adamas, Phocion, and Diamis are entred into discourse; for old men will never have an end of their old stories. The Nymphs chiefe end in holding him thus in discourse, was, in consideration of Alexis, lest he should take too much observance of her; and con∣ceiving the first time to be the most dangerous, because when the opinion was once fixed, it would better passe afterwards for currant, therefore she desired him to proceed. Lycidas thinking it would be pleasing unto the Nymph, began thus.

The History of the jealous Lycidas.

YOu know Madam that the familiar conversation which was between Phillis and Silvander by reason of their striving which should make Diana love them best, was the cause of my jealousie. A jealousy, which I may well say, was within a small de∣gree of madnesse. Insomuch as I have often wondered, how it was possible I should live in that torment: The paines of death could not be greater: Every houre, some accident or other added fresh tortures: my eye could not turne itself without findingout some new aggra∣vation of misery: And worst of all, when I had greatest curiosity to find out the causes of my displeasures: Nay my imagination would fancy things so beyond all manner of rea∣son; as I wonder how it was possible my judgement should be perverted. When she spoke any thing freely unto Silvander, Oh how every accent pierced me to the heart. When she was silent, and did not speake at all, I concluded she dissembled; when she carrassed me, I thought she had a designe to deceive me; when she slighted me, I said this was a signe of a change in her affection: when she shunned Silvander, I thought she did so, lest I should see her; if she applyed her selfe unto him, then I thought she was desirous to vexe me, and shew how well she was contented in her new affection. If she was not at any time sad, then I said there was some amorous quarrell fallen out betwixt them. To be briefe, every thing she did offended me: And when there was nothing to ground my displeasure upon, I should accuse my judgement for being so simple, as not to see their dissimulations. How oft have I wisht my selfe no eyes, that I could not see neither Silvander nor Phillis. But to what purpose would that be (said I presently after) for though I were blind, yet they would love? But, said I, it were much better to lose my love, since the thought of it doth thus torment me, and ever will, till I be in my grave. See unto what extremity I was driven, since in lieu of loving Phillis, I did hate her. I could have wished her ugly, and yet I should have been very sorry if she had lost the least part of her beauty and handsom∣nesse. And this I found presently at the same time: for she having had three or foure fits of an ague, which had caused a little alteration in her face, I was so displeased at it, that she herselfe observed me. Living therefore, or rather languishing in this manner, and almost reduced unto an absolute despaire, the gods had pitty upon me. One Night Silvander chanced to fall asleep in the wood, neere unto the Temple of the good goddesse: when he awaked he found a Letter in his hand; not knowing how it came. Upon his returne he shewed it unto Diana, and the shepherdesse Astrea: they thought it to be writ by the hand of Celadon: and they hoping to heare more of him in the place where this Letter was found, they entreated Silvander to conduct them thither. When they were there, night so surprised them, that they were forced to stay there, untill it was day. During this short time, Astrea fell asleep, and had such dreames and visions as caused her to think that Celadon was in pain, and that his Ghost walked, because he had not received the last office of a buriall: she therefore resolved to erect an empty Tombe for him, but thought it more expedient to be done in the name of Paris then her owne; these cere∣monies were so long and the shepheardesses so weary, that at their return they went into their owne cabins to rest themselves. For my part I left them betimes, and after I had di∣ned retired my selfe into a thick covert neere the way which conducts to our Towne: It is so thick with underwood, as, though it joyne upon the high way, yet it was impossible I should be seen. And yet I could plainy see all passengers going or comming. After a long en∣tertainment of my owne thoughts, sleepe did so surprise me, that I did not waken untill the Sun was almost set. And intending to retire, I would first see whether any were in the medow, that I might avoyd meeting with Philis. By fortune I espyed Astrea and her, who having rested themselves in their Cabins, came to walk in the fresh Aire of that place. On the other side, I saw Silvander following them, thinking, (as I beleeve) that Diana would come unto them, I hid my selfe againe in the covert, desireous to see what they did, and beleeving they would give me some fresh knowledge of their affection. But it happened, that Silvander seeing them sit downe under the covert where I was, he came to sit amongst them. Phillis she quitted her place and went some twenty paces from them. Then I heard Astrea call her, and Silvander beseech her to come unto them. Oh what smarting wounds did these words make in my heart? Yet Phillis came not: but shewed herselfe to be very much discontented at the Shepheard. But whereas this might well have

contented me, it did the more offend me, conceiving that there are alwayes such pretty quarrells amongst lovers, as do but renew love. Phillis was some twenty paces from them, as I told you, and would not come neere them, but still walked alone by herselfe: At which Silvander began to smile, and at last he could not hold but laugh very loud. Phil∣lis hearing him and being much enflamed with anger against him; Silvander (said she un∣to him) your behaviour towards me, does make me hate you even to death: and be∣leeve it, if ever any occasion of revenge offer it selfe unto me, I will lay hold upon it. The shepheard hearing her utter these words with so much passion, he burst out into such a violent fit of laughter, that he could not give any answere. Well well (said Phillis) laugh on, uncivill shepheard, do your worst to offend me, perhaps I shall one day finde an opportunity of revenge, and if I do not take it, never trust Phillis againe. When Astrea saw this, she took part with Phillis: I did not think (said she) that Silvander whom I ever found discret and full of civility, would offer to offend Phillis without any cause. Phillis hearing Astrea say so, she was more animated against the shepheard: He cares not a straw (said she) for offending me; but he has good reason for it, for he knowes I never cared for him, nor can he well incense me more against him, then I was before. Oh how this dissention did please me? and yet I could not chuse but be angry he should so slight her. Silvander, he adressed himselfe unto Astrea. Are you, faire shep∣heardesse (said he) so angry against me? I thought that you would have taken my part. I can never take part against reason (answered Astrea) but me thinkes you might do much better then to give my companion so much occasion to hate you. Truly (said he in serious earnest) although you are partially biassed on Phillis side, yet I am contented you should be the judge of our difference. Provided she wil before you, declare the occasion of her anger against me; and when you have heard us both, I will presently submit unto what pu∣nishment you shall please to sentence: Who I, said Phillis, should I reason any businesse with you? No no, I had rather I were dumb as long as I lived then to have any thing to do with h you. For all this, replyed he, I would tell you somthing which perhaps would make it appeare that Silvander is more your servant then you imagine. Then turn∣ing towards Astrea, he beseeched her to intreat Phillis to sit downe, which she did: not, said she, that I have any desire to heare you, but only because I will do whatsoever Astrea commands me. Silvander without any reply unto her, began thus. I beleeve Phillis you do not think me so ignorant in the affaires of the world, as that I should never hear of that af∣fection which is betwixt you and Lycidas. Nay perhaps you will wonder I should know so much and seeme so ignorant. So as you will not judge this Silvander whom you wish so ill, was so little your servant as you think him. But so it is shepherdesse that I did know all particulars, from such as are inquisitive into the businesses of others, and afterwards I knew both from your self and Lycidas. Do you not remember how one day when you retired your selfe from much company, you commanded Hylas to relate the story of his life and the adventures of his severall Loves? Do you remember when you went away, you desired Astrea to go along with you? Have you forgotten how you went into the wood to speak with Lycidas who waited there for you? and how Astrea told you that you should take heed lest he tooke it not ill? also how you answered her, that he was so importunate that you could not deny him, but therefore you tooke Astrea with you? Now, shepheardesse, think well upon the discourse which you had with him: you need not tell it unto me, for I know it all as well as if I had heard it.

At this, they both blushed, and stood so amazed that they could not speak but looked upon each other. Nay, never be troubled (said Silvander) that I do know all these things, for I am discreet enough to conceale any thing: but if you please, faire Astrea, I will tell you how angry Lycidas was against you, and what paines you tooke to qualfie him; you may see, I do almost know as much of your businesses as you your selves do: Know Phillis that I was not ignorant either of the jealousie of Lycidas, or the cause of his jealousie. I am sure (replyed my shepheardesse and looking him in the face) that you have so behaved your selfe towards me, as hath extreamly troubled both Lycidas, and me, and your selfe also. Oh, shepheardesse (answered he) you are more obliged unto me, then you imagine; for what would you have me to do? Since you knew (said she) that Ly∣cidas was jealous of you, you should have absented your selfe from me. You bid me do things impossible, (replyed he) and such as had been infinitly prejudicall unto you, if I had done them Impossible, because I having undertaken to serve Diana and you being conti∣nually with her, it was impossible for me to be absent from you unlesse I had been absent,

from both. Had you been so good a friend to me as you might (said Phillis) you would rather have absented your selfe from Diana, and hazard the losse of your wager, then have made Lycidas so jealous, and me so sad: for that shepheard was much your friend, and I had never given you any occasion to be mine enemy. I perceive shepheardesse, (answe∣red Silvander) that you never considered the hurt which you would have done me: nor how impossible it was for me to do it. If I did do you any hurt, said Phillis, it was out of ignorance, for I did not intend it: However, replyed he, you did do me hurt, and I was very sensible of it. I beseech you which way (said Phillis) are not you the cause of my undertaking to serve Diana? (answered he) What then (said Phillis) why do you accuse me? I do accuse you (said Silvander) of all the miseries that ever I resented. For in lieu of counterfeiting love, I do love in good earnest. Upon this, the shepheard made a stop, as if he were sorry he had said so much: which Astrea perceiving. Never vexe, said she, nor blush at the confession of a truth; perhaps these words are not the first that gave us knowledge of it. I am not ashamed, answered he, that I should say, I am Diana's servant, but much ashamed of mine owne immerits of that honour. If Diana (answe∣red Astrea) were to be wone by merits, I know none that may better pretend unto her then Silvander.

I wish with all my soul, Faire shepheardesse, replyed he, that every one were of the same opinion. Oh Madam, said Lycidas, how pleasing were these words unto my soul? How, said Leonida, is it possible Silvander should love Diana in earnest? Doubtlesse he doth, said he, and I shall tell you more another time; but for the present, I shall onely tell you how I was delivered from my tormenting jealousie. I heard therefore how Silvander continued his discourse thus: Now not being able to be absent from you, because of your continuall presence with Diana, what would you have had me done? be you your selfe the Judge. You ought not, answered Phillis, to have given Lycidas any occasion of jea∣lousy, at the first: and afterwards, when you saw how jealous he was, though you could not be absent from me by reason of Diana, yet you might very well have behaved your selfe more modestly and coldly to me, when Lycidas was present: Oh what a No∣vist in love you are, said he, did you take notice of the minute when Lycidas grew first jealous? No said she, and do you think, said Silvander, that I should perceive it better then you? Diseases in love, do beginne like other diseases, insensibly, and none can have knowledge of them: So as I could not give a stop unto the originall of his jealousy no more then you could: As for the progresse, I think that I have infinitely obliged you by it: because had I then declined you, or spoke lesse affectionately to you, what might he have thought? only that the cause of my declining you and behaving my selfe otherwise then usually, I did intend to delude him, and held a private corespondency with you? would he not have bin more enflamed with jealousie. Believe it Phillis, it was very requisite I should continue my carriage towards you as I begun it; otherwise, he would certain∣ly have suspected it dissimulation, and concluded Dissimulation to be a co-incident unto Love.

I being now put out of all my long and tormenting doubts, and plainly finding that there was no love betwixt them, I cryed out, Oh Phillis, Silvander is in the right: Then I ran and fell downe upon my knees before them, at which they were both so asto∣nished as they looked upon one another and could not speak. For my part I was so over joyed at my fortune, as I knew not what words to chuse whereby I might thank love for the favor. At the last I addressed my self unto her in this manner, my fairest Shepheardesse, I must needs confesse my fault deserves punishment no pardon: I am here upon my knees at your mercy: Doome me to what punishment you please, so you will but forget my crime. Such expres∣sions as these I used unto her. At which without any returne of answer, she turned to∣wards me, and looked upon the ground. Both she and I standing mute, Silvander would needs be a cause of my contentment as he had been of my sorrowes. Therefore, shephear∣desse (said he) as I have been a witnesse, that Lycidas hath been jealous without cause, so shall I witnesse that you are fuller of revenge then love, if you do not accept of this satisfaction which he offers. Never study any longer what you have to do, pardon him as you ought; His affection deserves it, and yours commands it. Sister, said Astrea, Silvander sayes very truly: and you may be certain of this, that it was rather excesse then any defect of love which hath caused Lycidas to commit this errour: and if it be a fault, he repents and hath done sufficient pennance. Then Phillis looking upon me: Lycidas (said she) you have so extreamly offended me, that it is very hard to passe it over: but

since Astrea will have it so, I pardon you, but with a vow, that if ever you relapse into the like fault, you shall lose all hopes of ever recovering my affection again. Fie, fie, Lycidas, continued she, could you be so weak, and think me so light, as to love every one I looked upon: Were the assurances which I had given you of my affection, so small, as that you should so easily doubt them? Doubtlesse she had continued on, (for I was not able to speak) if Astrea had not interrupted her: Sister, said she unto her, you have said enough, Lycidas is all penitence and submission, and you will sin against the goodnesse of your own nature, if you insult too much upon him. Phillis, after a little considerati∣on, addressed her selfe unto her Companion, in this language: Sister, I will not only par∣don the offence, but also forget it, provided, that for the future, he never give me any oc∣casion to remember it. Thus, Madam, was I cured, thus was my crime pardoned; and Silvander and I, have lived since in so kinde a familiarity, that, next my poor Brother, I never loved any man better. And are you not afraid, (said Leonida) that Silvander and Phillis being so much together, should make you jealous again? For, he that loves is naturally subject unto suspition. No, said Lycidas; for first, I have full assurance in the affection of Phillis; and secondly, Silvander's love of Diana, who I know cannot admit of a Companion.

Thus Lycidas and Leonida discoursed, whilst Hylas entertaining Alexis, began by little and little to be in love with her. And she having an opinion, that this would be a meanes to make it more believed, that she was a woman, she endeavoured to kindle his flame as much as she could; and though she had never seen him before, yet Leonida and Paris had acquainted her with his pleasant humour. Hylas, according to his free hu∣mour, cryed out upon a sudden: Phillis, I have thought upon it, I must now fairly bid you Adieu; all that I can do, is, to give you the same liberty, that I take my selfe. Silvander and Corilas hearing this suddain resolution, and seeing that Alexis could not speak for laughing, they could not chuse but take the part of Phillis, purposely to begin occasion of some pleasant discourse. Why, shepheard, (said Corilas,) do you cast off the fair Phillis in this manner? She has reason to observe this, as one of her black and fatall daies. What can I help it, said Hylas? Why is shee not as fair as Alexis? Oh heavens, (replyed Corilas) who can hereafter have any assurance in your affection? That may this most lovely Nymph, answered he, who is fairer then Phillis. But, said Corilas, is not this a most manifest signe of your levity and ficklenesse? Not at all, answered he, but rather an argument of the great beauty in Alexis. If beauty be the matter, said Corilas, Phillis is not defective in it. She hath lesse then Alexis, said Hylas, for she is not able to hold me, now I have seen the other; and therefore I must fairly take my leave of her. Silvander, who had been long silent, seeing Corilas did not reply, he undertook the discourse for him: It is not any de∣fect in the beauty of Phillis, said he, which moveth this shepheard to make his retreat, but it is his owne naturall inconstancy. Very well, (said Hylas) do you call it incon∣stancy, when one goes on step by step, unto the place where they intend to arrive? No, said Silvander. And yet, said Hylas, such a one does set his foot, sometimes upon the ground, sometimes in the air, sometimes before, sometimes behinde: And is not this in∣constancy as well as that which you lay in my dish? For, intending to arrive at a perfect beauty, I do set one foot before another, and never leave changing, till I arrive at my in∣tended place. Even so have I done, by all I have hitherto loved, untill I found Alexis, who I finde to be the most perfect beauty of all. This might hold good, answered Sil∣vander, if you could demonstrate to us, that you do merit to love Alexis: For, as you have gotten the name of Inconstant, by loving so many; so now, you will get the name Presumptuous, in loving Alexis. Alexis was long silent, taking great delight in the dis∣course of these shepheards; but when she heard her selfe so highly commended, she thought it fit to speak: Did I as much merit the affection of Hylas, said she, as I am willing to entertain it, certainly he should have no small reason to love me. Then tuming her selfe in a smiling manner towards Hylas: Servant, said she unto him, take heed, lest the lan∣guage of this shepheard should divert you; for, you would wrong both your selfe and me, if it should: It would be a shame for you, to attempt an enterprise, and so soon give it over; and it would be too evident an argument of my little merit, if you should so soon quit me. But, Hylas, said Silvander, do you not dread the displeasure of Teupates, in addressing your selfe unto one, who is consecrated unto him? Ignorant Silvander, said Hylas, the gods do command us to love themselves; and how can they be angry with

us, for loving that which is theirs? You see, said Alexis, that this shepheard hath some designe upon us, he would cunningly turn you from me by artifice; for he knowes well enough, that if I will, I can leave off that profession, which I have taken upon me.

Whilst these shepheards were thus talking, Adamas was entertaining Phocion, Dia∣onis, and Tircis; and because he esteemed them very much, both for their age, their ver∣tues, and for his designe, in making a Match between Celadon and Astrea, he did all that possibly he could to bid them welcome: And because Tircis was a stranger, and had never seen the raritles of his House, he asked him, if he would take so much paines as to walk, and see it: And hearing him answer, that he did infinitly desire it, he took him by the hand, and willed Paris to do the like unto Hylas and the rest of the shepheards, if they had a minde. Alexis, with the help of Hylas, who led her by the arme, followed Ada∣mas, with the rest of the Company. The House was very fine, and furnished with many excellent singularities; but because the discourse of it would be too long, we will speak no more of it, then what is pertinent to our purpose. They entred then into a large Gallery, which had a prospect of Plaines on the one side, and Mountains on the other, which made it very delectable and pleasant. The sides was Wanscot fretted, and, betwixt the win∣dowes, hung with Maps of the severall Provinces of Gaul: At the higher end, hung Pi∣ctures of severall Countries, Kings, and Emperours, and amongst them, the Portractures of severall very beautifull Women. The top was adorned with Gold and Azure, very richly imbossed, with many severall devices. Every one fixed their eyes upon that, which was most agreeable unto their fancies: But Hylas, whose heart was all for beauty, loo∣king upon a Picture which contained two Ladies: See, (said he) two very delicate faces; Which of these two should one judge to be the fairer? Adamas, who heard him: That (said he) on the right hand, is the Picture of the Mother in Law; and the other on the left, the Daughter in Law: Both of them were two Princesses, as fair and as wise as ever any, and as much tossed and turmoiled by the stormes of Fortune, as any in our Times. This, which seemes the more aged, is the wise Placidia, Daughter unto the great Theo∣dosius, Sister unto Arcudius and Honorius, Wife unto Constantius, and Mother unto Valentiniaen, all five Emperours, whose Pictures are a little farther off. The other is the Picture of Eudoxe, Daughter unto Theodosius the Second, and Wife unto Valentinian, whom Genserio carried into Affrica. They were two Princesses (said Tircis) of great beauties, and as great extractions: But wherein was their Fortunes so averse? I shall briefly tell you, (replyed Adamas) and shall thereby acquaint you with some of these Pieces which you see here. Then, after a while of silence, he began thus.

The History of Placidia.

THEODOSIUS, the first of that name, Emperour of the East, one of the greatest Princes the World had, since Augustus; he had three Children: One, Arcadius, who after him, was Emperour of the East: Another, was Honorius, who was Emperour of the West: And the third, was the wise Placidia, whose fortune was so various, that we see in her, how Vertue is ordinarily crossed: For, she being at the dispose of her Brother Honorius, and he under the government of Stilicon, unto whose Guardianship the great Theodosius had committed him, during his nonage, she was so variously tossed and tormented by severall accidents, as if Fortune had made choice of her, to shew the power it hath in all human things, of which Stilicon was the greatest cause, who having great power over the person of Honorius and the whole Empire, his ambition aspired at more absolute authority, and aimed to make himselfe sole Emperour, as when his designes were discovered it did plainly appear. He being a man of a deep reach, and managing his matters so, as might most condure to his desired end and grandure, he thought it ex∣pedient for him to make use of policy and subtlety, where it was impossible for him to compasse it by force. His way was therefore at the first, to stretch his authority to the highest pitch before he made his intentions known, and afterwards, to fortifie himselfe, by marrying his Daughter unto young Honorius; for the very name of Father in Law to an Emperour looked big, and procured him a great honour and fear. Afterwards, he held secret intelligence and correspondency with all such, as he thought fit instruments for the advancement of his designe: And lastly, resolved to weaken the Forces of the Em∣perour as much as possibly he could, that when opportunity served, he might the more easily seize upon him.

At that time, all the world looked at Rome with an envious eye, and made it the butt of their Armes: The Goths, the Fruncks, and Burgundians, in Gaul; the Vandats and Almaines in Spain; the Anglois and the Picts in Britany; the Hunnes and the Gi∣pides in Pannonia; To be briefe, every part of the whole Empire was so divided, as no part was entire but Italy. It fortuned, that Alarick King of the Goths, would not suffer it to enjoy more tranquillity, then Its neighbours of the West; and therefore fell into it with such a vast number of People, as it was impossible for Honorius to resist him; inso∣much as to get him out again, he was advised to make a Peace with him, upon what termes soever he could get; unto which, he being of ho Warlick disposition, but above all things loving tranquillity, he lent a willing ear. Peace then being propounded, it was so prudently managed, that Alarick consented to retire beyond the Alpes, into some Pro∣vinces which were assigned him by the Emperour. At which, Stilicon, being malecontent, as thinking this agreement prejudiciall to his designes, he so tampered with an Officer, then in pay under the Emperour, that he procured him to charge some of Alarick's For∣ces, as they were marching away without any mistrust: At which, Alarick was so in∣censed against Honorius, that he returned to Rome, besieged it, and, at the end of two years, took it, and entirely sacked it: Although Honorius, to make it appear, that he never consented unto this perfidie, did put the Traitor Stilicon to death, as soon as ever he heard, that he was the author of it. Thus this ambitious man came to a miserable end, but not before he had put all Italy into a most miserable flame: For Alarick, after he had plundered and burned this great City, and not yet loadned with spil, he pillaged all the Country about it, and laid it so sadly waste, as would have moved any Barbarian unto pitty. But that which was most deplorable, besides the ruine of so many Temples, and the losse of so many rarities, with which the Emperours had erected and adorned this City, was the miserable fortune which befell this wise Princesse, who through the care∣lessenesse of a Brother, was destitute of all succour. She, who by extraction was Daughter unto the Cesars, and Sister unto two Emperours, was, through the fault of another, a Captive in the hands of these Barbarians, her Country burned, the Temples prophaned, and she in danger to lose her life, or, that which was more deer unto her; had not Ataul∣fus, a Prince of Alarick's blood, been taken with her beauty and vertue, and thought her worthy to be his Wife. But this Prince, seeing her so fair and so wise, and knowing her to be Daughter to the great Theodosius, he fell so passionately in love with her, that he courted her in Marriage; and presently after, by Alaricks consent, did marry her. You may imagine, what force this wise Princesse did use upon her selfe, before she consented unto this Marriage and Alliance, and how prudent she had need to be, in behaving her selfe amongst such a rude and barbarous people, so wisely as she did; god did in this make it appear, that he had pitty upon miserable Rome; for, had it not been for this Alliance, it had been utterly ruined for ever. For it so fel out, that Alarick dyed at Corsienses, and the Prince Ataulfus was by the common voice of the Army chosen King. If you look upon that Piece next unto Placidias, you will imagine him to be a sterne and salvage person, more delighted in blood and war, then peace; and he had no sooner gotten the absolute power, but he went to Rome, with a designe to burne and utterly demolish it, thinking, that as long as the Walls of this Town stood, there would be still a Roman Emperour; which name was so odious unto him, that he would absolutely destroy the very memory of it. When this prudent Princesse understood his intention, she was resolved to do all that possibly she could to prevent him, the utter ruine of her Country wounding her to the very soul. At the first, she shewed her selfe swelled with abundance of griefe and sorrow, tears did abundantly flow from her fair eyes, she refused her rest and meat, and never ceased tormenting her selfe, but when Ataulfus was by her, and then she constrained her selfe to put as good a face upon it as she could. This Prince, who loved her so well as to marry her, could not long endure to see her live thus, but he must needs aske her the cause of her discontents; unto which she made this answer; I have done all that I possibly could O great King, to hide my excessive sorrowes from you, fearing I should but the more vex and trouble you with them: but, since nature will not permit me to conceal the sadnesse of my soul any longer, and since the goodnesse of Ataulfus unto the wretched Placidia is such, as to ask me; I do most humbly beseech you, take it not ill, if I shed my tears in lieu of my blood, for my Country's sad desolation; and if, to stop the ruine of it, I could effect it, I would much more willingly shed my blood then my tears. My Country, Oh great Sir, my native Country that gave me breath, it bleeds, and it is ready to bleed

to death; and can you think, I would not most willingly part with my life to stop the wounds' Alas, it would be better imployed that way, then in your service. Since you are pleased to do me so great a favour, as to aske me the cause of my sorrowes, I beseech you give me leave in all humility to aske you, What advantage will the ruine of Rome and all Italy be unto you? Does the riches and the treasures of it, invite you to it? Surely those are things too low, and unworthy of your high courage; besides, those are things that cannot be expected out of an already ruined and plundered Country, or a demolished and halfe burned Towne, which hath been already ravaged by a vast Army: Is it any glory that you expect to get by it? I cannot believe it; for, what glory can be ad∣ded unto that, which you have already; or, what hopes is there to get, in ruining those Walls, which are already demolished; in massacring a naked and disarmed people, who cannot be brought into greater submission then they are? If it be a shame to wound a dying man, what honour can you expect, in giving fresh wounds unto a dying people? If you think to strengthen your Dominion by it, be pleased, Oh great Sir, to let me tell you, that it would be most horrid cruelty to do it, by exterminating all the people of Italy. Should you put them all to the sword, you would be in lesse security then you are; for, you would thereby incense and raise against you, the Armes of all Asia, of all Affrica, and of all the rest of Europe, whereof Italy is but a poor pittance. Judge, great King, what likelyhood there is, that you, or any human upon earth, should withstand so many Provinces, conquer so many Kings, and get to himselfe so many Worlds, for so may the Kingdomes and vast extent of the Roman Empire be called; so as the ruine of Italy will bring upon you the hatred of god and man: Men will revenge the wrong, done unto the capitall City upon earth; the gods will be offended at the ruine of that Towne, which is the miracle of the world, and which they have raised to that height, to please themselves, and astonish men.

If you will but be pleased, to take all these things into your wise, and serious conside∣ration, you will finde it much better, to make your selfe friends, and to oblige my two Brothers and their Empires, confirming, by a good correspondency with them, that al∣liance which is already betwixt you. Why, Sir, did you honour me, to make me your Wife? Was it, to make my two Brothers your enemies? was it, to ruine my Country? was it, to see my friends and kindred carried away Captive into a strange Country? Oh! What a sad and fatall marriage was this unto me? Had it not been much better for me, that the first day the Towne was taken, had been the last of my life? Upon this, that wise and prudent Princesse fell down all tears at the feet of Ataulfus, and kissed them, with so many sighes and groanes, as the Kings pitty did surmount the cruelty of his na∣ture, so as he took her up, kissed her, and said unto her: Cease cease, all your tears and sighes, my dearest Placidia, I do freely give unto you, your City and Country; and to make it appear, how much I do desire your contentment, I do vow and swear by the soul of my dead Father, that I will never turne my armes against any of your Brothers, whose friendship and amity, for your sake, I will by all waies court.

The King of the Gothes thus mollified and vanquished, he concluded a Peace with Honorius, and went out of Italy into those Provinces, which were agreed by Alarick his Predecessor, he should have. But his people, who were of a martiall temper, and had lived many years in Armes, they could not endure to hear upon any tearmes of Peace; and therefore by a publick sedition, did put him to death.

Now was Placidia in no lesse danger, then at the taking of Rome; for a popular tu∣mult is like a torrent, that carries away all that will stop its fury; Yet, this wise Princesse, who foresaw such a danger long beforehand, she obliged the prime Officers in the Army, by all the good offices that possibly she could imagine; and indeed, as long as she was a∣mongst them, she was honoured and loved more then ever any Queen was.

This generous spirit did not shrink from her zeal and love unto her Country and her Brothers, in the least manner, by the death of her Husband; but, after she had a while la∣mented her sad mishap, she transacted the matter so, that a Grandee Prince amongst the Gothes, of whose amity she was well affored, was chosen King, his name was Segerick. This new King acknowledging his obligations unto Placidia, and thinking the amity of the Roman Emperours very necessary, for the establishment of his Crowne, he shewed himselfe so affectionate unto it and her, as he procured unto himselfe the odium of the Army, who presently after did murder him, as they had done before Ataulfus. But this generous Queen, who could never be daunted by any misfortue, nor weary with any

paines for the good and security of the Empire, she brought it so to passe that Vulius was chosen King. This Vulius was a great and a wise Commander, who having before his eyes the example of two Kings his Predecessors, he resolved by prudence to avoyd the like end▪ At his first comming to his Crowne, therefore, he made a shew as if he were a professed enemy unto the Empire, made great preparations against it, and faining to be farre out with the wise Placidia, he sent to denounce warre against her Brother. Who being advertised underhand by his Sister, he spread abroad reports of a puissant Army, which he would raise against the Goths, and so frighted these Barbarians by the aide of Vulius, that in conclu∣sion the people demanded peace; which was concluded to the great contentment of Placidia. Who now seeing the Empire setled, and secured on that side, desired to be out of their hands, and went into Italy. Where she was received by her Brother, and the people, as if she had been a great Generall, unto whom the tryumph belonged. It seemes now fortune was wea∣ry of tormenting this wise Princess: And she was so beloved and honoured by every one especially Honorius himselfe, as remembring the cares and paines she had taken in deliver∣ing the Empire from the Tyrannique Arms of the Goths; and how much both he and all Europe was beholding to her: They resolved seeing he had no Children, to marry her unto one whom he would allie unto the Empire, to the end she might after him, be Mi∣stresse of those Dominions, which she had so long and so prudently preserved.

In order unto this designe he look't upon one of the greatest Captaines in all the Armie, whose valour, and wise conduct did render him most worthy of a great command: his name was Constantius; a man of a very antlent Familiy, and high vertue: His Picture is next unto that of Placidia, in whose aspect you may observe such a grandure of spirit and corrage as is not commone. And indeed he was one of the greatest Personages, that the Empire had a long time before. This was he, unto whom Honorius gave his Sister: And at the same time sent him into Spaine with a great Armie against the Almaines, the Swedes, and the Vandals. The good King Vulius, hearing that Constantius was hus∣band unto the wise Placidia, he assisted him with all his forces, and followed him∣selfe in person. This was the reason why Constantius at his returne gave Aquitaine unto the said Vulius, where he lived quietly and in good corespondency with the Ro∣mans.

This great Constantius got the better of the Almanes, killed their King called Acatius and afterwards vanquished the Swedes. And doubtlesse the Vandals had been driven out but for the revolt which Attalus had caused in Rome, intending to declare himselfe Emperor, because Honorius had no Children, nor had named any successor For Constan∣tius leaving his Enterprise in Spaine unperfect, he came to Rome, and seizing upon the rebell he confined himselfe unto the Hippodrome: At which Honorius was so well pleased that he made him his associate, and declared him Augustus. Fortune who commonly seconds one favour with another; did so by Constantius: So as now behold him a conquerer in Spaine, Tryumphant at Rome, and an Associate in the Empire. One great favour more she added unto all these which was not inferiour to any of the precedent: And gave him two children by his dearest and so highly beloved Placidia, the one called Va∣lentinian, and the other Honoriques of whom I have been very curious in getting their pict∣ures. This peece is Valentian's next unto Eudoxe, his wise; Daughter unto the Emperour Arcadius: And that peece is Honoriques next Attilia, who, after she married him, fol∣lowed him into Pannonia.

Now behold Placidia and Constantius at the highest step of their felicity. But it seems fortune had onely made truce with this wise Princesse, not a lasting peace. For when her husband had prepared a formidable army, to reduce Spaine entirely unto the Empire, he fell sick of a violent disease, and a few dayes after dyed. All the comforts that this wise Prin∣cesse now had, was in the lamentations and love of the whole Empire: And also in the two Children, which her husband had left her, whom she educated with all possible care.

There was at that time a very wise and valiant Captaine in the army whose name was Aetius, Sonne unto the great Gaudentius who was slaine in Gaule. I must needs confesse that I am very partiall towards him: for having made long warre in the neighbor Provin∣ces, we never received any harme by him, or his Army. But on the contrary, I have known him, so careful for our preservation, that indeed all the Gaules are obliged unto him I was therefore very carefull in getting his Picture which I have placed next that of Attilia, because it was he who held this scourge of god from the Gauls. Observe in his Aquiline

nose his Generosity: in his large forehead full of wrinkles, his Prudence: and his quick and sparkling eyes, his Vigilance and Celerity. Indeed he was one of the most prudent, and most valiant men of his time: he could foresee things, before there was any sha∣dow of appearance unto others; he was infinitly courteous: and so liberall, as in imita∣tion of Alexander he reserved nothing to himselfe but Hope. This was he who was made choice of, by Honorius to prosecute the Enterprise in Spaine, in whom the advice of Placi∣dia had a great stroake. But how miserable is the man that lives by the opinion of others! for if he have no reputation, he is scorned: and if he have reputation, and do not present∣ly answere that opinion which men have of him, he is suspected too light in the ballance. And the worst is when he meets with such as have no experience. It was the misfortune of this great person, who thinking to go into Spaine without any stay in Gaule, he was much deceived: For finding the Burgundians ready to seize upon the Country of the Heduois and Seguanois: and that the Frankes under the conduct of Pharamond their King had passed over the Rhine and would quarter in Gaule, he was forced by this at home, to make head against them, before he passed any further; which he did, so happily, that he sent back the Burgundians to the place from whence they came; and forced back the Franks over the Rhine where they stayed: yet not without many dangerous skirmishes, as you may imagine. For the rankes, of all the Northerne people are the most hardy and warlick, and have a great conformitie with the Gaules, both in their Lawes, Policies, and Religion: which argues that formerly theywere all but one people and that the Franks originally were Gaules. But however, Pharamond went back over the Rhine, and by the prudence and valour of Aetius was forced to stay there: Now though Aetius was victorious, yet was he so much weakned that when he passed into Spain, he found himselfe weaker then those he was to undertake, for the Vandals fortifying in the Betique, under the the conduct of Gense∣rick, were growne very puissant. The Swedes and Almaines entered into Meridea, and there quartered: And the Gothes after the Death of Vualius having lost all good will unto the Romane Empire, and not contented nor contianing themselves within their limits in Aquitaine; they enlarged them in Spain, so as what the Romans had, was the least part: Which constrained this great Captaine, seeing his enemies stronger then himselfe, to use prudence more then the sword, and to make them enemies amongst themselves: so as he thought it most expedient to temporize with them till he espied his advantage, and to run no hazards in the meane time.

But Aetius having already chased the Burgundians and the Franks away, Honorius ex∣pected that as soon as he was arrived in Spain, he should presently heare newes of the defeat of the Vandals, Swedes, Almaines; and Goths: And seeing the newes was long in comming, he suspected him, and had an opinion that he was slack in his enterprises. This Prince was timerous and having never been in armes, he was ignorant in matters of warre: So as he knew nothing by sight, but measured every thing by the happy success of the great Theodosius, and Constantius: In so much as mistrusting Aetius, he called him back, and sent Castinus in his roome.

This Castinus was a great freind of Aetius: And therefore the affaires of the Empire went the better, because Aetius gave him the best instructions that he could, opening unto him all their designes and the meanes to put them in execution. In the mean time he returned to Rome, where he gave an account of his actions unto Honorius. But finding that the Emperour had some jealousie of him, he retired unto his owne house, and lived a private person afterwards: seeing these jealousies did daily increase, and that they would question him for his life, he was forced to save himselfe in Pannonia amongst the Hunnes and Gepi∣des; And it it was a very prudent consideration which moved him to fly unto them rather then any other: For had he gone to the Franks, Burgundians, Gothes, Vissigots or Van∣dals, It might have been said that the Emperor had just cause to suspect him, and that he had held a compliancy with them. But this could not be said of the Hunnes and Gepides, because they were scarcely knowne unto the Romane people. Placidia being extreamly angry with her Brother, as well for the losse of Aetius, as for the bad carriage of every thing else, she resolved to retire unto Constantinople to her Nephew Theodosius, whither she had gone long before, had not Arcadius her Brother, lying upon his death bed, com∣mitted his Sonne Theodosius unto the Protectorship of Isdigerdes King of the Persians: & Parthians. For though he was his friend and confederate, yet the people had beene long ene∣mies of the Empire, and therefore she did not like that any strangers should have the govern∣ment of her Nephew. Yet Isdigerdes shewed himselfe a very good man, in the businesse:

And because he could not go in person, he sent a very great Captain unto Constantinople, to govern the person and the state of this young Prince, who was then about eight years of age. The name of this Parthenian was Antiochus, a man who did acquit himselfe so well of the charge committed unto him, as his administration was clear and blamelesse. If you will turne your eye that way, you may see the Picture of Isdigerdes, neer that of Arcadius; next him, is Theodosius the second; and next that, his wise and honest Gover∣nour Antiochus; you may perceive by his physiognomy, that he was a downright honest man, free from ambition. When Theodosius was out of his Guardianship, Placidta re∣solved to go unto him, and carry her Children with her. Now, this prudent Princesse being infinitely beloved, and the young Valentinian began to promise great hopes of him∣selfe, many Senators and Knights of Rome preferred their Sons unto his service. Placidia was very glad, that she could thus oblige the principall Senators of Rome unto her Chil∣dren, amongst the rest Ursaces, Son unto a prime Roman Knight; I do name him, because he did revenge the death of Valentinian.

Silvander then interrupting the Druide: I beseech you, Father, pardon my interrup∣tion; If you do mean that Ursaces, who killed Maximus, there is none in the Company can give you a more particular account of him, then my selfe; for, I being then at the Massilian Schoole•• fortune, his Ship ran ashore, where, I believe, both he and his friend Olimbres had dyed, but for the help which I and my Company gave him; and afterwards, staying untill his ship was trimmed, he related unto me the particulars of his life, which was hard to be known from any but himselfe.

That is the very same (said Adamas) of whom I speak; and when you have heard out what I shall tell you concerning the fortune of this wise Princesse, I assure my selfe the Company will be very glad to hear a relation of Ursaces from you. But, to return from whence we left. Know, that whilst Honorius lived in this manner Aetius lived in Pano∣nia, but was not idle: for, Revenge being the sweetest thoughts of an injured person, and being very sensible of the wrong Honorius had done him, he studied how to make him repent the unjust usage of him in this manner: And being a man, whose name and repu∣tation was every where famous, he easily perswaded these Barbarians unto what he would, representing unto them, how easie a matter it was, to make attempts against Italy, espe∣cially, by means of that intelligence which he held there; and setting them a longing after their Riches and treasures. This people, who desired nothing more then changing their cold habitation, hearing of the fertility and riches in Italy, they burned with desire to enter into it. When they had raised a vast number of men, and were ready to enter, it seemes, god had some pitty upon the Empire, and allaid this storme by the death of Ho∣norius. Aetius, wishing no ill unto Italy, but only unto Honorius, hearing newes of his death, did presently change designe; and told the Barbarians, that it was necessary he should go first unto Rome, to see how things stood, and what Forces they had. They presently approved of what he said, and promised him all possible reliefe and assistance. He returned therefore in confidence of Castinus his friendship, with a designe to make him∣selfe Emperour; but finding the faction of Honorius to be very great, and standing in fear of a great Captain, called Boniface, who had the command of the Affrican Forces, but much more of the young Emperour Theodosius, he thought it better to put it upon one John, who was the principall Secretary unto Honorius, with whom he ever had good correspondency; therefore he made him to take the title of Emperor upon him, and under his name ordered and disposed of all things: and certainly, he shewed a great deal of prudence in it; for, Theodosius not approving of this John, declared Valentinian, his co∣sen-german, the Emperour of the West: And knowing, that the Sword was the best prop of the Scepter, he raised a very great Army, and sent it into Italy, under the conduct of a very experienced Souldier, called Artabures; and this Souldier made his knowledge in martiall matters, very well appear unto Castinus: Yet, the Sea was so contrary to his designes, that a storme cast him upon the coast of Ravenna, the rest of his Fleet was dis∣persed into severall places: But Aspar, the Son of Artabures, who accompanied his Fa∣ther in this expedition, being by fortune not in the same ship: when the storm was over and heard of his Fathers fortune, he rallied together all the Fleet that possibly he could, and landing in the night, entred Ravenna with all his Forces, through the negligence of the Guardes; and when day was come, he took John, cut off his head immediately, and delivered his Father.

The wise Placidia came to Ravenna, with the young Emperour her Son, almost at

the same time; and within a few daies after, things succeeded as well as she could wish: For, Castinus comming out of Spain, not knowing of this John's accident, he thought to joyne his Forces with those of his friend Aetius, and their Emperour, and to that end, made very long Marches; of which, Placidia being advertised, she sent Artabures to stop his way, who met him at Verceill, gave him Battle, defeated his Army, and brought him Prisoner to Ravenna. And, as if heaven would entirely settle the Empire upon Va∣lentinian, Aetius, who was at Rome, expecting the Forces of Castinus, and also from the Hunnes and Gepides, he was taken Prisoner by the adherents unto the Faction of Ho∣norius, who brought him to Ravenna unto Placidia.

In this occasion, this great Princesse shewed her selfe, to be of a most generous and prudent spirit; for, in lieu of taking revenge upon these two great persons, by putting them to death, she thought, it would be a greater advantage unto Valentinian, if she could make them his faithfull Servants. As for Castinus, she did not much care for him, so as perhaps she would have handled him more roughly, had it not been in consideration of his friend Aetius, whose judgment, experience, and valour, she knew, and thought would be very usefull unto her Son, by reason of the great reputation he had with the Hunnes and Gepides, who, at his instigation, had made great preparations to enter into Italy, and were already upon their March. Moreover, she considered that Honorius, by his suspitions of him, had given him just occasion to leave his servic•••• and therefore, to save himselfe, he went amongst those Barbarians, whose Forces, she feared, might infi∣nitely impede the event of her Son's Empire.

All these things therefore well considered, she thought that if she did punish Castinus, she should extreamly offend Aetius, by reason of the amity betwixt them; and therefore, in keeping Castinus in safetie, she conceived it would keep the other the more unto his duty, almost forcing him unto it, to save the life of his friend. In this resolution, she put Castinus a Prisoner into the Hippodrome, from whence a few daies after she released him, purposely to oblige Aetius the more, unto whom, in the mean time, she gave liberty, and in lieu of punishment, conferred favours upon him, excusing all he had done upon the ill grounded jealousie of Honorius She procured Valentinian to send him generall into Gaul, against severall Nations that possessed it. Before he went, in proof of his fidelity, he trans∣acted so with the Hunnes and Gepides, that when they had set foot in Italy, they returned back, and went into Pannonia. As soon as he came into Gaul, he raised the Siege of Ar∣chilla, which Thierry, the Son of Vualius, the good friend unto the Empire, had sur∣rounded, and relieved the place, when it was reduced unto great necessity. Afterwards, making head against the Burgundians, he driv them back unto the limits, unto which the Emperour had confined them. As for the Francks, though he could not at that time keep them from making some progresse under their King Clodion, yet, he kept them out of Gaul, so as they got nothing on that side the Rheine. And because the Britaines were not able to resist the Picts, though the Romans had made there a strong Rampart, in form of a Wall to defend the Brittaines from the incursions of their neighbour-people and ene∣mies, he sent Galucon thither, with a Legion which was then in Paris.

Hitherto all things went according to the wish of the wise Placidia, and the Emperour her Son: But Boniface was the first, who ruining himselfe, made them be of the losing hand, both in Affrica and Spain. This Boniface was Governour in Affrica, who was an inveterate hater of Castinus, and by consequence of Aetius: He hearing how Placidia treated them, and of the great power she had conferred upon Aetius, in making him a Patriarch, and in giving him the charge of all Gaul, he resolved to withdraw himselfe from under his obedience; and therefore not following his commands, he would not ac∣cording to order return to Rome. At which Placidia being offended, she procured Ma∣hortius to be sent thither with a great Army. Some had a suspition, that this was the ar∣tifice of Aetius, to ruine him in the opinion of Placidia and the Emperour. However it was, Mahortius being defeated by Boniface, Valentinian sent Sisulphus thither, whose Picture you may see next that of Valentinian I was very desirous to have it, as well for his valour and prudence, as for his constant fidelity unto his Master, conceiving that his excellent qualities, rendred him worthy to be placed amongst so many illustrious persons. This Sisulphus, at the first, seized upon Carthage, and forced Boniface to fly into Mau∣ritania, where finding no safety for himselfe, he called in Genserick, King of the Vandalls, who then was in the Betique. This Vandal was very glad to come out of Spain, because the Goths, under Thierry their King, having not room enough for themselves, did so

presse upon the Vandals, and tormented them, that they were not able to defend them∣selves. When Boniface offered Genserick to share Affrica with him, he was reduced un∣to such a passe, as he knew not which way to turn himselfe; but he took that part which Boniface presented unto him. He left the Betique, which was ever since called Vandalusia, and went into Affrica with his Wife and Children; but he learned from Boniface, what it was to trust unto Barbarians; for, as soon as he came unto Affrica, he seized upon Mauritania, and confined poor Boniface unto the inaccessable Mountains; afterwards, he made his peace with the Romans, upon condition, he might keep what he had gotten from Boniface. Valentinian willingly consented unto it; and thinking, that all the rest of Affrica was secured unto him, by this new Peace made with this Vandal, he called the valiant Sisulphus from Carthage, to employ him in Italy and Gaul. But Genserick kept his word no better with him, then he had done with Boniface; for, Sisulphus was no soo∣ner in Italy with all his Forces, but the Vandal seized upon Carthage, and drove the Romans quite out of Affrica; so as this great City was separated from the Empire, untill the valiant Scipio reduced it unto the Common-wealth.

At that time, there lived in an Affrican Towne called Iponne, a great and vertuous person named Augustine, a very friend unto Boniface and one that adored only one god; and though he did differ from the Religion that we professe, yet was he much neerer it, then the antient Romans; for, he offered sacrifices of Bread and Wine as we do, and would not upon any termes admit of any plurality of gods; but above all, he reverenced the Virgin who was to have a Child, unto whom we have for many ages dedicated an Altar in the Carnutan Monostarie. But to return unto our discourse. It seemes, that at that time it pleased the great god to change the people of one Country into another, and to make great revolutions, especially in Europe: For, the raigne of the Vandals begun to be∣gin in Affrica, the Visigots in Spain; for as soon as the Vandals were gone, they planted themselves there. The Anglois seated themselves in Brittain, because Galicia being called away by the Emperour, to be sent into Affrica, the Picts did so torment that Kingdome, that the Brittaines were forced to call the Anglois to their aid, who ever since rendred themselves Masters of it. The Francks, under Clodion and afterwards Merovius, did plant themselves where now they are. Thus, wise shepheards, do the heavens when they please, make revolutions, changes, and alterations in Kingdomes and Dominions.

Now the wise and prudent Placidia, being grown into great years, and having had great experience of fortune's variety, seeing her selfe unable to support that great weight of affairs which she foresaw would fall upon Valentinian, she did extreamly desire to see him married, as it had been long before resolved upon, unto the Daughter of her Nephew Theodosius, who ever had the same intention. And things were so managed, that Valenti∣nian went unto Constantinople, where the Marriage was solemnized, to the great con∣tentment both of Theodosius and Placidia; of Theodosius, because his Daughter was to be an Empresse, which he most desired; and of Placidia, because she conceived, this alli∣ance would be a great strength unto her Son against his enemies, and would oblige The∣odosius to help him upon all occasions, as he did, before her Son returned from Constan∣tinople; for, he sent with his Daughter Eudoxe, a great Army, to be employed which way soever Valentinian pleased.

Thus, sage shepheards, have I acquainted you with the life of her, who has run through variety of fortunes, so as it may be said, that Placidia was all her time the very Butt, both of good and bad fortune: For, she had been Daughter, Sister, Wife, Mother, and Aunt unto Emperours; and she had been taken Captive by Barbarians, and lived, to la∣ment the death of most of those, whom she most loved. However, we may conclude her happy, since she dyed at Rome, a Mother unto an Emperour, who loved and honoured her, and infinitely lamented throughout all the Empire; for she dyed, presently after her Son was returned into Italy with his Wife.

Thus Adamas ended his discourse, which caused all the company to fix their eyes up∣on the Picture of this great Princesse, considering every lineament of her face, and admiring her vertue. But Alexis remembring what Silvander had said, concerning the fair Eu∣doxe, and desirous to know, whether he had heard a relation of the story, as she had, from the mouth of Ursaces, which she had begun to relate unto Leonida, when Adamas in∣terrupted them, she desired that Nymph in a low voice, to put Silvander in minde of his promise. But it was so late, that Adamas would not suffer the old shepheards to go away

untill the next morning. Leonida desiring to please Alexis in all things possible, and very desirous also to hear the story of Eudoxe, she summoned him to the performance of his promise. He offering to excuse himselfe, because it was late, Adamas answered, that this should be no excuse for him for he would not suffer them to go away that night. Diamis, Phocion, and Tircis, made some dorre at it; but Hylas was very forward to accept of his invitation, saying, Let those that will go, go, and those that will stay, stay; for his part, he was all for the stayers, and would with all his heart stay, as long as Alexis was there. Adamas smiled at this and after thanks, he so intreated all the rest, that it was impossible they should deny him, therefore all sitting down, Silvander began thus

Since it is your desire, sage Adamas, and you, great Nymph, that I should relate the fortune of the fair Eudoxe, be pleased to give leave, that I tell you, how I came to know it, and from whom I heard it, to the end, you may give the more credit unto the relation. Now, though you see me in a shepheards habit, and though I have long had the charge of a little Flock, where these sage shepheards do dwell; yet for all that, I am not this Country-man, nor was I brought up a shepheard; but on the contrary, such indul∣gent care was had of my education, that to render me the better accomplished, I was brought up in the best Exercises and Arts, that Youth could be employed in; so as if I did not much benefit my selfe and my understanding, it was long only of my dull capa∣city. To this end therefore, I was sent unto the Phocensian and Massilian Schooles, where I spent much time in study; and there being much good company, we used many exercises for recreations sake, in the intervalls of our studies; sometimes we should go upon the Sea, sometimes play upon the Lute, sometimes Run, Leap, and Pitch the Bar, or some other recreation to keep us from idlenesse, which is the rust of Life and Mother of all Vice.

It hapned in Summer time, that five or six of us in company, after we had wearied our selves with the Book, we went to bathe our selves; and to that end, went out of the Towne towards Liguria, unto the point of a Rock, which shot it selfe into the Sea, from whence we were accustomed to leap with head formost into the water, and should oft times touch the bottome with our hands. At this time, being upon this Rock, and undressing our selves, we were prevented by a sudden storm of Wind and Rain, which was presently seconded with Lightning and Thunder; the heavens grew immediately of a dusky colour, and the waves began to rise so high, that we were hardly safe upon the top of this high Rock, with such fury and violence did the waves dash against it. It was terrible to see, how suddenly the day was turned into night, to hear the strange roaring of the Sea, and to consider the Chaos and hideous confusion of this raging Element; and certainly, this blustering storme had forced us away, if some good Genius had not stayed us: We did imagine, that many ships would suffer much dammage by it; and because the winde did blow towards us, we resolved to stay till the storme was over, to see, if by fortune we could be helpfull unto any Sea-beaten passengers, but, to shelter us a little from the rain and winde, we crept into a little corner of the Rock, where we were wont to hide our clothes when we bathed our selves. The storme had lasted above two houres, when we begun all to be weary; and when we were upon the point of going away, the sky be∣gun to cleer up, and it left raining. Then we came out of our Rock, and going up to the top of it, we began to look, whether we could discover any thing upon the Sea. The winde wafted away all the cloudes, and the Sun began to shine; yet, the waves ceused not, because the winde continued still as great and high, as any time before. As we were discoursing amongst our selves, upon the boldnesse of Marriners, especially of him that first adventured to Sea, how terrible the enraged Sea was, and that a wise man would never trust himselfe with it, one of our company, who was more observant of the Sea, then of our discourse: Hold, (said he) me-thinks I see a ship. Upon this, we arose, to see whether what he said was true. At the first, none but himselfe could see any thing; but presently after, something might be discerned: The winde was so high, that it wafted these ships presently neerer us, and then every one plainly discerned them. There was nei∣ther Sailes, nor Mast nor Tackling to be seen, the storm had constrained the Marriners to take them all downe, and nothing made use of but the Rudder, which was scarcely able to resist the Tempest. The sight was very pittifull, for the winde was so high, as they could not keep themselves from justling one against the other. The cries of those that were within, which the winde wafted unto us, was lamentable to hear; they were all on the Deck, upon their knees, holding up their hands to heaven: Most of them, seeing the shore,

were undrest, hoping, if the ship came any neerer, to save themselves by swimming. As for∣tune was, a boysterous wave dashed them against our Rock; the great rush which the first gave against it, made it recoil back with such a violence, as meeting with another which followed it, it broke a great part of the Poop and Prow of the other; and when the Sea was ready to swallow them up, another wave came, which dashed them with so great a force against the same Rock, as the ships were quite overwhelmed: Oh god, what a la∣mentable spectacle was this! Some laid hold upon the points of the Rock, and strove to get footing, till some help came; others seized upon the roots, which grew in the Rock, and so hung by the armes; and some, who had laid hold of such roots, they breaking both fell into the Sea, till the waves brought them back; some got upon boards and poles, and such like, but most were drowned. That which moved most compassion, was to see some women, who had no other help for themselves, but their cries. I must confesse, this moved me so much, as being halfe undrest, I hasted to strip my selfe naked; and though the dan∣ger was great, by reason of the windes and waves, I would do that to relieve them, which I had often done for my pleasure, I leaped from the Rock into the Sea; and being in the water, I saw two women embracing each other, ready to sinke; I took one by the hair, and swimming with my other hand, I drew them both ashore, where leaving them halfe dead, I went again into the water, to help two men, whose amity moved me to compassion; for one of them, who could swim, had got the other upon his back to save him; but his load was so heavy, or else he that was upmost, who was younger then the other, did hang so about the neck of his friend, for fear of drowning, as he having neither strength nor breath left, had already sunk two or three times into the water: I took him that could not swim by one hand, so as easing the other, he took heart, so as we got to shore. All my Companions, after my example, did the like, so as we saved many of them. And because I thought the gods commanded me to have a particular care of those, whom I had saved from shipwrack, after I had put on my clothes, I went unto them, and assisted them all that possibly I could; after I had gotten some of the water which they had swallowed, from them, they began to be reasonable well, especially the women, who had been in most danger. They thought themselves so obliged to us, that they desired to know our names, and of what Country we were; and when they heard me say, that I thought my selfe either a Segusian or a Forestian: Oh god, (said one of them) the men of such a Country, as one of them, are destined to recall us from death. I asked them, why they said so, seeing it was not a fit time for it, since they were so amazed with the shipwrack, that they were scarce∣ly able to breathe, nor do any thing, but hold up their hands, and lift up their eyes, in admiration of their miraculous escape: And because they were almost all naked, I thought it fit, before I carried them to the Town, to get them some clothes to cover them, for it had not been decent to have carryed them otherwise. I went unto the Town, and met with so many persons, who being very compassionate, relieved me with cloths for them, as I had relieved them with life; and when I brought them to the Town, they were quar∣tered in such Bourghers houses, as used to have compassion upon men in the like case. For my part, I defired those two whom I had saved, to go with me, becaused they seemed to be men of merit. We cannot part, said they, from these two women whom you have sa∣ved, both because they are committed unto our charge, and because perhaps it would be inconvenient for you. Not at all, (said I unto them) so you will be contented with the littlenesse of your lodgings; but it would rather be a great satisfaction unto me, if you would do me the favour. So they all foure followed me. And because I had a friend in the Town, who had better lodgings then my selfe, I carried them unto the house of a rich Townsman with whom I had familiar intimacy, knowing his liberality and pitty to be such, as he would bid such men in such a condition very civilly welcome; and so he did, for he did accommodate them with all things necessary. Now you must know, that these men whom I had thus saved, were two principall men in Rome, the name of the one was Ursaces, and of the other Olimbres; so as they sent presently to their houses, and furnished themselves with mony and many servants. But, in satisfaction of my promise, be pleased to know, that whilst they expected a return from Rome, these two Cavaliers would not be without me; so as quitting my study, I accompanyed them unto all such places, unto which their curiosity invited them, in which I took much delight, for their conversation was very sweet and pleasing. At the last, desiring much to know who they were, unto whom I had done so good an office, one night, when I was alone with them in their Chamber, (for the two women commonly retired, as soon as supper was done) I entrea∣ted

them to tell me, why they should say, when they heard I was a Segusian, that those of that Country were destined to save them from death? Unto which, the elder of them thus replyed.

The History of Eudoxe, Valentinian, and Ursaces.

COurteous Silvander, (said one of them, for he heard I was so called) your desire is most just, and I am obliged to give you satisfaction; it is all the reason in the world you should know the lives of them, whom you have saved, and the conditions of such, as are so much obliged to you. Nor had we deferred it so long, had we not been in some fears, that if we were known, we might receive some displeasure from some secret ene∣mies. And therefore we intreat you to be close, and take no notice of us, lest all the pains you have taken in saving our lives, should be lost; also, lest any should hear us, I beseech you shut close the dore. Which being done, we all sat down, and he began thus.

Know, that Theodosius, Son unto the Emperour Arcadius, and Granchild unto the great Theodosius, being Emperour of the West, he married Eudoxe, the Daughter of Le∣ontinus, an Athenian Philosopher. Although this Ladies extraction was not so illustrious, as equalized the Majesty of an Emperour, yet, such was both her beauty and vertue, as she deserved to be raised unto the highest degree of honour amongst men. Theodosius had but one Daughter by her: and because he did most passionately love his Wife, he called his Daughter after her name, so her name was Eudoxe; and as if beauty and all excellen∣cies were fatall unto that name, this young Princesse in the very budding of her years, did appear such a beauty, as she excelled her Mother; and every one confessed, that nature had made her so perfectly fair, as it was impossible, any higher degrees of it could be added unto her. At this time, Placidia being but ill satisfied with her Brother Honorius, she went unto Constantinople, to her Nephew Theodosius, for she was Daughter unto The∣odosius the great, and Sister unto Arcadius. She carried along with her Valentinian and Honorique, her two Children. I was at that time preferred very young unto Placidia, to be brought up with her Sons, as many other of the Roman Senators Children of my age were; and when she left Italy, there was so great affection between Valentinian and me, that the one could not be without the other.

The Emperour Theodosius seeing his Uncle Honorius had no Children, he resolved to bestow his Daughter upon Valentinian, and to make him Emperour of the West, after the death of Honorius. The wise Placidia, who saw this Match would be advantagious to her Son, she commanded him to apply himselfe as much as he could unto this Princesse. But see what constraint in love produceth! Valentinian could never love her, though she was the fairest Princesse in the world: yet, because he would not displease Placidia, nor his Cosen-german, upon whom all his fortunes depended, he dissembled the matter so, that every one thought him really in love with her.

I being brought up with this young Princess, I must confesse, that I did very inconside∣rately cast my eye upon her, and fell so fatally in love, as it was impossible for me to make a retreat. Should I say the sight of her was a happinesse unto me, that hath cost me so much sorrow and pain? But why should I make any doubt in the question, since not∣withstanding all my paines and sorrowes, never was man more happy in such a generous designe, then my selfe? So then, I became a servant unto this Princesse. And there being then Tournements held in the Hippodrome, at which Eudoxe was present as Valentinian entred the Lists, under the notion & name of the fair Eudoxe's Cavalier, it may wel besaid, I did the same, being so captivated with her beauty and vertue, that never man was more. At the same time there was a young Lady, of the best Families in all Greece, preferred un∣to the young Eudoxe, to be brought up with her, her name was Isedore, and it must needs be confest, that there was none in all the Court (alwaies excepting Eudoxe) which was comparable unto her. Valentinian no sooner cast his eye upon her, but he fell pre∣sently in love with her: But, she was so charie of her honour and reputation, as knowing, that Valentinian could not marry her, she would not allow of his addresse, but at the first, did refuse it in as milde a manner as she could; but afterwards, did reject it in a more harsh manner, then perhaps the quality of Valentinian deserved: And though he was very hot in pursuance of his affection, yet did she behave her selfe so, as she forced him to re∣treat in appearance, because she vowed, that if he continued, she would acquaint Theo∣odosius

and Placidia with it. This young Prince fearing to displease the Emperour and his Mother, did so conceal his desires, as none could see them, except Eudoxe and my selfe. In the mean time, my affection still encreased, though this young Princesse did not per∣ceive it. The priviledge of my youth permitted me to see her when I pleased, without sus∣pition, and I was so perpetually assiduous and diligent about her person, as she employed me ofter, then any other of my Companions. And though at that time I hardly knew what Love was, yet I took such infinite delight in being neer her, in receiving her com∣mands, serving her, and sometimes kissing the thing which she gave unto me, as she did attribute it unto my civility. I remember, one day as she was walking in a Gallerie, where there was abundance of rare Pictures, there was amongst the rest, that of Icarus, whose wings failing, fell into the Sea Ursaces, (said she unto me) what does these scattered feathers, and this man falling into the Sea, signifie? Madam, (said I unto her) he was a young man, who being inflamed with a generous courage, would not he contented to flie so low as his Father, whom you see by him; and because his wings were set on with wax, the heat of the Sun melted them, so as he was forced to fall, as you see him. Truly, an∣swered she, he was very rash and inconsiderate. However, replyed I, he was of a most ge∣nerous and noble spirit To what purpose, said she since it brought him to his death. Death, (answered I) is very welcome, when it leaves a brave memory behinde it. What! said she unto me, do you commend his act? I do so much commend it, Madam, said I, as I would not refuse to die, upon conditions of the like glory. This Princesse was at this time about some twelve years of age, and I about fifteen or sixteen; an age, yet hardly capable of Love's resentments, and yet I was not absolutely free; however, I had not so much bold∣nesse, as to discover any thing unto her. I perceive, said she, that you do esteem your life but very little. Doubtlesse, Madam, (said I unto her) there are many things which I do esteem much more. What! said she, for when we are once dead, all that we leave be∣hinde us concernes us not. Honour and Love, answered I. What is this honour, said she unto me? It is an opinion, replyed I, which we do leave of our selves, and of our courage; and Love, is a desire to enjoy something, that is great and noble; and therefore, Madam, I should not refuse to die in any generous acts or in doing you service; first, for the glory I should have by it; and secondly, for my affection unto you. How, (said she, Unto me? like a very childe) have you any love to me? How do you know it? By the effects, an∣swered I; for, when I am out of your sight I burn till I see you again; and when I do see you, I am vexed that I shall not see you long enough. How did you come by this disease, (said she unto me) and what is the cause of it? Your perfections, Madam, (said I unto her) and your beauty, hath caused this disease, by staying long with you. Were I as you (an∣swered she) I would stay as little as possible could be: but, is there no remedy for the cure of this disease? Yes, (said I unto her) if you please to love me as well as I love you. How! (said she presently) would you have me burn when I see you not? Good Ursaces, look for some other Receipt, for, believe it you shall not have this. I remember, that when I have burned my finger, I was in so much pain, as I will hardly undergo so much again for your cure. I durst not reply, because there were many Ladies and Knights talking together in the Gallery, and took no notice of us, though they were there to accompany the young Prin∣cesse; but her childhood, and my youth, permitted me to be with her without suspition.

But afterwards, she grew more knowing, and I grew more in love then before: Va∣lentinian, whose whole designe was upon the fair Isidore, did hold Tournements as oft as he could; for, having a good agility in that exercise, he thought by that means, to insi∣nuate himselfe into the favour of that wise Lady, still seeming, as if all he did was for Eudoxe. Now, because he commonly took such as were of his own age, and there being not above two years difference betwixt him and me, I was alwaies of his party. Fortune it seemes had a minde to favour me, and conferred the Prize very often upon me, which seeming as if it were in behalfe of Valentinian, I alwaies carried unto Eudoxe; and when she received it, she permitted me to kisse her hand Oh, how well did I think all my pains bestowed? Yet, I carried the matter with so much discretion, as she could not possibly be offended, although she did sometimes remember the discourse which I had formerly with her; for, conceiving them to be but imprudencies of Infancy, she passed by them, thinking that age would better instruct me in my duty. The first time that she suspected the con∣trary, was, one day when she was walking in the Emperours Garden; after she had weari∣ed her selfe with walking, she set her selfe down in the shade, and fell asleep in the lap of Isidore. There was a great knot of young Cavaliers discoursing together, not far off the

Arbor where she slept, when a Bee, did rest it selfe upon her faire lippe, and after it had suck∣ed it a while, it did sting it very much. The paine caused her to start up, and laying her hand upon her paine, she complained against Isidore for the little care which she had off her▪ Valentinian who was walking in the Garden, hearing her cry, and when he was come, seeing her chide Isidore, he told her, that I had a receipt that would presently cure her, and that he had seene the experience of it upon many, and particularly upon my selfe within this two dayes. What will he do? said she unto him, he will speake some certaine words (answered Valentinian) upon the place which is pained, and the paine will imme∣diatly cease: Then she asked me, whether it was true, and I answered, yes, and that it ne∣ver used to faile me, nor did I think fortune would be lesse favourable to me in curing her, then she hath been in curing others: It vexed her extreamly that I should bring my mouth so neere hers, and giving me her hand, she commanded me to try upon it. But I drew my mouth neerer her lippe, and touched it; she took away her hand and pulled back her head, telling me that this was a kisse and not a receipt, and would not permit me to use it; but the raine did so much increase, as it forced her to bid me teach it unto Isidore, and she should use the charme upon her lip: This was much against my will; for I did extream∣ly long to have the celestiall happinesse of kissing her lip, though I was very sorry for the paine she endured. Love did advise me to teach other words unto Isidore, to the end that finding no ease by them, she might have recourse unto me: My designe did take according to my wish; for she muttering a few grosse idle words which I taught her and using o∣ther ceremonies, the paine ceased not. At which Valentinian laughing, Do you think Mistresse (said he) that any one can administer this receit? For my part, I professe un∣to you, I have tryed it, and I found a present ease? Now if it do you no good it is because Isidore hath omitted something: Upon this going out of the Arbor, he returned againe, and brought in with him all the young Cavaliers. Her pain did exceedingly encrease, and her lip began to swell, when she turning towards me, Will you say upon your faith, Ursaces, (said she) that the receit is good? I do sweare unto you Madam (said I unto her) by that honour which I owe you, that I never knew it faile, and I am sorry Isidore knowes not how to do it aright: but I wish I were for this once a woman, that I might do you this service. I know not, Madam, said Isidore, why you should be so scrupulous but I am con∣fident that if you did see how your mouth is swelled, you would use any remedy to help it. But pray tell me, Ursaces, replyed Eudoxe, will you be long in applying your receipt? As little a time as I can Madam, answered I. Then going to her, she went into the most obscure part of the Arbor as being ashamed to be seene, and the excessive pain forced her to let me use my Enchantment.

Was ever any Sorcerer so happy as my selfe? I spoke the words upon her lippe: but when I tooke hers, between mine, and as I sucked it did presse it a little; certainly if ever any did dye of delight it would have been Ursaces. She went away from me and blushed for shame; This (said she) is the strangest receipt that ever was: But Madam (said Isidore) Do you finde any amendment? Me thinkes, answered she, that I do. Your paine Madam (said I unto her) will presently be gone; but I shall have it all my selfe. How Ursaces (said she), must you have it all your selfe? yes Madam (answered I) the condition of this receipt is such, that he who cures, must have the paine: she who did not understand it, or at least seemed so; Truly Ursaces (said she) I am very much obli∣ged unto you, for taking my pain upon you. Madam, answered I, could I as well take upon me all the paine that ever hereafter you shall endure, be confident, it should never trouble you. Isidore smiled and said, Madam if you have as much good will unto him, as he has unto you, you must presently cure him of his paine, as he hath yours. I had rather, in this be beholding unto him (answered she) than he unto me; and I am sure he is so civill and courteous, that he will not now give me that paine againe which he hath taken from me: Most true Madam (said I unto her) but I must tell you my paine is not so much in my lippe as my heart. She understood my meaning very well, though she seemed not to heare me, and had not Isidore beene present, I had talked more unto her.

I should be too tedious (Silvander) should I relate the whole Series of my affection, from the beginning; I shall therefore tell you onely what is necessary for you to know, and omit the rest. Love did at the last render me so hardy, as I resolved to declare unto her the resentments of my soul: yet I was long in dispute with my selfe whether it should be by Letter or by word of mouth: at last I concluded it better to use my tongue then pen, having long since learned, that to write where one may speake, argues too much feare,

and those who aske any thing fearefully, do teach how to deny: besides, I saw there was much difficulty in the conveying of Letters unto her: But, Oh heavens, how oft did I turne back againe, after I was gone out of my lodging with this resolution? But heaven at the last favoured my designe, and afforded me an opportunity.

Eudoxe used very often to frequent the Emperors Gardens: And I was alwayes very offi∣cious & ready to be imployed in her service; though it were but to gather her a flower in a day, I was well centented with it and having long since learned that love does as often begin by trifles as by things of greater importance which very seldomfall out, & that those services which oblige much, doe rather produce emnity then love, but that nothing winnes more upon another then affection; therefore I was very assiduous in serving her upon every triviall occasion. Not one of her servants was so officious as my selfe. It happened one day, that Valentinian followed her, for Isidores sake, into the Garden; and Isidore being a little weary, they seperated: Eudoxe continued walking, and Isidore went into an Arbour, where she found seates of grasse, covered over with boughes: she had not beene there long but Valentinian who was walking with Eudoxe, began to complaine of wearinesse, and made that his pretence for going to sit downe in the same Arbour: Isidore offered to go out, but he held her by the gowne: Eudoxe seeing this, looked upon me and could not chuse but smile: I thinking this to be a fit opportunitie to put my intended resolution into execution, I would not let it slippe. I smiled therefore as well as she, and she asked me why I did so; to which I answered very freely that it was because Valentinian had left her to go unto Isidore. And why, Ursaces, (said she unto me) do not you the same? I Madam (said I unto her) do you think I have so little judgement? Me thinkes (said she) that you ought to do it, because it is fitter that you should do her service then Valentini∣an. I know very well Madam (said I) that there is much more equality betwixt Isidore and me, then betwixt Valentinian and her, but I must needs confesse that I had rather com∣mit a fault contrary unto that of Valentinian. How do you meane? (said she) I meane Madam (said I) that rather then serve one who is equall unto my selfe as Isidore is, I would dye for the love of one who is above me as you are: How me? answered she, do you Ursaces, know what you say? I say Madam (answered I) that I had rather dye adoring You, then live and love Isidore: and that the vast inequality betwixt us could never put me out of this mind since the first day I had the glory to see you. Surely (said the Princesse) you are out of your wits, otherwise you would never talke thus to Me. Do not thinke so Ma∣dam (said I unto her) for I am sure I never spoke more truly, nor with a sounder judge∣ment. She stood still and looked stedfastly upon me, and afterwards said, Is this lan∣guage, Ursaces, in earnest or in jeast? I do sweare Madam (said I unto her) by that ser∣vice which I owe you, that I did never in my life utter words more unfainedly, nor with a more resolved will then these; and take them as you will, hate or treat me as you please, I shall never change.

Ursaces, (said she unto me) I am very sorry for your folly: I have esteemed you and your service above any that have been educated under the Emperor my Father: But since you are growne so beyond all bounds of reason impudent, and quite forgot your duty and distance, be assured, that if ever you use the same liberty of language againe to me, I will make you repent of your rashnesse, and acquaint both Valentinian and the Emperor with it. Madam (answered I) did I not feare that those who are in the garden would observe me, I would aske pardon upon my knees for my presumptuous crime: but I beseech you give me leave to say, that all your menaces cannot prevaile with my will: this affection is rivetted into it, heaven and earth cannot dissolve it: and therefore there is no hope that any feare of the Emperor, or any consideration of Valentinian can divert me. 'Tis true, I may be silent, and languish away for the love of the faire Eudoxe: and so I beleive I shall. Now for a proofe of this and not to offend you any longer with my impertinent talke, I do sweare unto you by that eternall humble service which I owe you, that I will never speak to you of it againe. But remember this, that as oft as I do you any reverence, or bid you good morrow, my heart then sayes unto you Madam, that Ursaces is dying for the love of you, and tacitly tells you that you will never have a more faithfull servant then he: And when I take my leave of you, or bid you good night, then do I say, how long is it your plea∣sure I shall be miserable? and how long will your rigour last? And to begin (said I sadly to her) permit me to take my leave of you and bid you good night. Upon this I made a low reverence and retired, lest I should too much offend her with my words: but as I went, I observed that she turned the other way and smiled; which gave my heart no little hope.

Thus, kind stranger, have I lived ever since with her, never making any semblance of what was past except by my good morrowes and good nights; which when none could see her, she would often answere with a ••••ake of her head, as if she were still offended at the memory of that which I hinted unto her. Above sixe Months passed on this manner, and all the while she shewed not the least kind of any reception of my affection. At the last I vanquished: one morning when Valentinian was leading her to the Temple, I went to her, and making an humble reverence I said, good morrow Madam. At which she smiled, and turning towards me; Ursaces, (said she) your good morrowes are very kindly accepted. Oh heavens? how can I expresse my joyes? I protest I never hoped for any happinesse, especially when no∣thing was talked of but the mariage of Valentinian and her. Yet I understood since, how that, which I believed would have ruined my hopes, was that which obliged her, more un∣to me: For she perceiving how his affection to Isidore encreased, and all his expressions unto her, were onely to please the Emperor, she resolved to entertaine my love, rather then to be the wife of an Emperour, and to accept of my service, since Valentinian was wholy devoted unto the service of Isidore. I knew her resolution presently after: for upon the first opportunity which presented it selfe, she told me, that my constancy, and Valentini∣ans affection unto Isidore had overcome her: And that if I did continue still in my discreet behaviour she would continue her affection to me: So as ever since that day, she permit∣me to call her in private, my Princess; and she called me her my Cavalier. Judge, Silvander, whether ever man was more happy then my selfe. For Eudoxe was absolutely the fairest Princess in the whole world; aged about scaventeene or eighteen yeares, and never loved any one but I.

Whilst we lived thus in this manner, Honorius who marryed the Daughter of Stilicon, dyed without Issue: And because a Roman whose name was John, his Principall Secreta∣ry was elected Emperour by the meanes of Castinus and Aetius, the Emperour Theodo∣sius intending to make his cosen Germaine Valentinian, Emperour of the West, he would send him thither with his Mother Placidia. I made a florish as if I were desirous to make one in this voyage but indeed my desires were to stay for the gaurd of Eudoxe: For though the desire of glory did invite me into Italy, yet love kept me at Constantinople, by stron∣ger tyes: for this faire Princess did so second her promise, as her affection was no lesse to me, then mine to her. At the first, I believed her intention was not to go so farre But love in this resembles death; for as one cannot dye, so one cannot love, by halves. Now as I was pumping for a good excuse to stay at home, the Emperour received inetlligence of a great Army which was marching towards Constantinople. This newes invited many to stay, who otherwise in point of honour and duty would have gone under the conduct of Artabures, who carryed a very great Army by Sea; having with him, Aspar his Son; a very valiant and fortunate Commander, as afterwards he made it evidently appeare by taking John in Ravenna, and delivering his Father. Now though I was not jealous of Valentinian, for all Eudoxe's favourable aspect upon him, because I knew it was onely to please Theodosius, yet I seemed as if I were, and seemed to rejoyce very much at his depar∣ture.

I shall not now relate unto you, the voyage of Valentinian, for I believe you have heard it by many: But so it was, that after all things were set in good order in the West, he re∣turned to Constantinople. Where he was received by Theodosius as if he were his Sonne: And by the solicitation of Phacidia who stayed in Italy, the marriage of the faire Eudoxe was concluded upon. It is imposible I should expresse my sad resentments upon this occa∣sion: I could not believe it, and was so surcharged with feares and sorrow, that, but for Eudoxe, I had not been able to have supported them. But she who was wise and prudent, though it grieved her to the very soul that she was to be his whom she did not love, yet she surmounted her sorrow by resolution. And because she saw in what paine I lived, she gave me the opportunity of speaking to her in her closset, when none was present but Isidore, whom she did infinitly love Well my Cavalier (said she unto me) I see you still doubt of my affection; and complaine against me.

My fairest Princess, (said I unto her) had I not been accustomed to receive more fa∣vour from you than I can any way merit, you might have had some reason to say so now, when I do receive so high a one, as transcends all degrees of gratitude, to acknowledge sufficiently. But why will you not give me leave to complaine of my fortune, who shew∣ing me the good which she may give, me gives it unto another, whose merits in matter of love are inferiour unto mine? my Cavalier, answered she, live contentedly, and be assured,

that Ursaces enjoyes all that a violent affection can obtaine: And what favour I shew un∣to any other is more out of duty then love, and since it is so, what reason have you to complaine against your fortune? My reason for it, replyed I, is as great as my obligation unto you for this assurance. Why (my fairest Princess) should I not complain of her who in lieu of favouring my affection, does deprive me of that which onely can bring me unto the happinesse which I desire? Oh Cavalier (said she) you do offend me. What? would you not have loved me, but onely to obtaine that of me which my duty desires you? What did you think of me, and how little did you love me, if you have so bad an opi∣nion of me? I was not able to answer her, seeing how she took it; but kneeling down, with a deep sigh, I stopped my mouth by holding her hand upon it. At the last, I rose up again, and answered her: I must needs confesse, my fairest Princesse, that I do love you more then you would, and more then reason would; but who can love you lesse? I must confesse, that neither reason nor duty, can measure the grandure of my affection; and if I do offend you in it, I beseech you pardon me, considering, that to love you lesse, would be to prophane your beauty. Also, I beg your pitty, who have so much courage, & yet want so much merit. And yet you might well winke at these faults, if love had a little more force in you. I do not understand you, said she unto me. Alas! replyed I, how hard a matter it is to make you understand it by my words, if love will not make you conceive it? But, I mean, my Princesse, that if love had a little more power over you, this duty which you speak of would have lesse; the too-happy Valentinian would enjoy what he is in quest of, and I, what I desire. Oh Cavalier (said she, with a deep sigh) did you but know the resentments of my soul, and what restraint it is in, you would know, that Love hath as much power over me, as it can have over any heart: If I do deny you any testimony of this power, consider my birth, and unto what Lawes it obliges me. Had I been the Daugh∣ter of the Athenian Leontine, as my Mother was, I might have disposed of my selfe and my affection; but being Daughter unto the Emperour Theodosius, Grandchild unto the Emperour Arcadins, and having Theodosius the great unto my great Grandfather, do you not see, I am not my owne but theirs, who gave me my beeing? It is the Tribute of humanity, and the Law of divinity, to submit unto Emperours and Grandure; Reason of State, as well as Love, is to be considered. This is no newes either to you or me, we both foresaw this long since; and when I first set my eyes and affection upon you, it was still with a resolution to marry Valentinian; I am confident you had the same thoughts, the first day you began to love me. What is it then which now troubleth you? What acci∣dents have hapned, which should divert us from our first principles? These words touched me so to the quick, that I could not permit her to go on without interruption: Can you think, Madam, said I unto her, that these are considerations of Love? Can love be confi∣ned to any Lawes of duty? Oh heavens! how infinitely are you and I mistaken? You, in thinking that you love; and I, in thinking that you loved me. Then, stopping a little, I began again, when I saw she offered to speak: The Lawes of Love, Madam, are far different from those you mention, and if you would know what they are, read them in me, and you will finde, that as the great inequality which is betwixt us, could not keep me from lifting up my eyes so high as my fairest Princesse, so it should not divert you from looking so low, as your poor Cavalier; for, there is no more difference betwixt you and me, then betwixt me and you. And as to what you alledge concerning your birth, since it is so high, that it is in the superlative degree, and can admit of no higher then you are, why should you not in lieu of looking at Grandure, which can receive no addition in you, cast your eyes upon your own contentment, to the end, that as you are by birth the greatest Princesse in the world, so you may be, by your choice, the most contented Princesse that ever was? You say, that I began to serve you, in the opinion, that Valentinian should be your Husband: Oh, Madam, I must confesse, that when I first devoted my selfe unto your service, I thought my selfe able to support that opinion; but, since my affection is so encreased, that it is absolutely impossible for me to endure it, what can you answer me, but that your affection is weak, since it is not augmented more then it was at first? I wonder, my fairest Princesse, how you can deny your favours unto me, who adores you, and confer them upon one, who does not love you. Can you ever con∣sent, that your beauty, which without all dispute, may be the recompence and perfect fe∣licity of any true Lover, should be enjoyed by one that disdaines it, and does not value it? How can you endure his carrasses, and not pitty the pain of your poor Cavalier? Isidore, who heard our discourse, and was very desirous to favour us, not out of any ami∣ty

she bare unto me, or any desire she had to have any hand in such businesses, but out of a hope, that this affection might passe so far, that perhaps it might break off the Marriage of Valentinian and Eudoxe; and to give us more opportunity of talking together, she withdrew her selfe into a little Closet, in which at the last she fell asleep. I presently per∣ceived it, though I had my back towards her, because passing betwixt the candle, I saw her shadow against the wall, which made me observe her when she went away. The Prin∣cesse, who was leaning upon her arme in the Couch, and was very attentive upon what I said unto her, never observed her, though she went close by her. And because my last words touched her to the quick, she stayed a long while before she answered, and still loo∣ked upon the ground: At the last, she raised her selfe up, and with a deep sigh, said thus: Oh my Cavalier, how cruelly do your words wound my soul? But what can I do? What will become of me? If I do not marry Valentinian, what will be thought of me? And if I do marry him, unto what a torment am I destined? At these last words, I saw tears trickle down her cheeks, and she durst not speak more, lest her words should too much betray her own weaknesse. These tears moved me to much pitty, giving me no small assurance, and much augmenting my courage. I must confesse, (kinde Silvander) that I never hoped to bring this Princesse unto this; but finding more love in her then I did imagine, I took upon me more boldnesse then ever I intended. I approached therefore a little neerer unto her then before, and seeming, as if I would only support her drooping head in my breast, my mouth was just betwixt her eyes; I durst not at the first kisse her, only seemed, as if what I did, was not done intentionally; but seeing she said nothing, I descended by little and little, untill my mouth met hers; and because she gave me no check, I put my hand into her breast, but with so much ravishment, that I trembled like a leafe shaken with the winde. Since that time, I have been in many dangers, and severall deep-fought Battles, but I was never so sensible of fear, as upon this occasion. Thus she permitted me this free∣dome; but when I grew to be a little bolder, she said thus unto me: Fie, fie, my Cavalier, what do you mean? Isidore will see you. It is long since, my fairest Princesse, (said I unto her) she left us alone. How, (said she, and started up) is not Isidore here? she is very much to blame in leaving us alone. Why, Madam, said I, we have no businesse for her. Perhaps not you, replyed she, but I have; and if you do love me, as you say you do, be con∣tented with these favours which I have permitted, and presse me not to confer more upon you, then I ought or can. I thought, that the presence of Isidore would have restrained you from offering any thing, but what decency allowed; and could have wished, it might have been she, and not I, that should have given you the check, to the end, you may see how willing I am, to give you full assurance of my affection; but since she is gone, and since you cannot keep within the limits of what you ought, I am constrained to tell you, that if you make any attempts against my honour, I will permit you, but upon condition, that I have, a naked Dagger in my hand, to pierce my heart presently, for the fault which you should constrain me to commit: If you would have me live, then constrain me not, I beseech you to permit that, which I ought not to do, unlesse I die. I must confesse, these words did put me into such a confusion, that rising from the place where I was, and falling down upon my knees, I protested unto her, that I would never seek for any further testimonies of her affection, nor satisfaction to my desires greater, then those she hath been pleased to shew unto me. If you do so, said she unto me, I will as long as I live allow you the same pri∣vacy you have received; and this proof of that affection which you bear unto me, shall be pleasing unto me, knowing, that right love can keep within the limits of decency. Upon this, she took my head in both her hands, and kissed me, as an earnest of her promise, and we spake so loud, that we awaked Isidore. Now because the night was far spent, and the candles almost out, Eudoxe called her, and asked what a clock it was. 'Tis time, Ma∣dam, said she, that we go to bed, for every one is asleep except you. Do you think, Isi∣dore, said the Princesse, that Valentinian is not now awake for his Mistresse? I know not what he does, said Isidore; but I am sure, if I were in bed, I should sleep soundly. I an∣swered her, That it was in bed where he would finde her. What! answered she, would you be any where else? The Princesse laughed, and said unto her: What do you think on, Isidore? I believe you are yet asleep. What would you have me do, (said she, and rubbed her eyes)? Ursaces makes a fool of me.

Now because it was late, Eudoxe rose up, kissed me, and commanded me to retire, which I did, but not without using the priviledge of kissing her, which she had given unto me: And because she saw, that Isidore observed her, and said nothing, Eudoxe said thus

unto her: What do you look at, Isidore? I look, Madam (answered she) whether the Bee have much strng you. What Bee, said the Princesse? The Bee in the Garden, answered she, against which this Cavalier hath so often given you a Receipt. Upon this, taking the Candle which was upon the Table, she lighted me down the stairs into the Court; but not before Eudoxe smiled, and said unto her: Take heed, lest being alone with him, he do apply the same Receipt unto you. Neverfear, Madam, (said she) that Receipt will not do any effect upon me, because I do not believe in his words.

See upon what termes I was, when Valentinian married this fair Princesse, whom presently after he carried into Italy. I shall passe over my sorrowes and displeasures I had, especially the marriage night. But those of the fair Eudoxe were no lesse, as afterwards she told me; and Isidore, whom she carried with her, when she left Greece, because of the great confidence she had in her. You may imagine, that Valentinian did not contrary her in it. But as this first night was almost intollerable to me, so I needed not to seek out for an excuse, in not following this fair Princesse; for, I was fallen extreamly sick, upon the great displeasure which I conceived, when Valentinian departed. After I had recovered my health, I begged leave of the Emperour to follow Ariobindes and Asilas, two great Commanders, which he preferred unto Valentinian, with an Army, to assist him against the innundation of the barbarous people, who threatned from all sides to fall upon the Empire. My age and my just request, easily obtained what I asked. But, as ill luck was, this Army was countermanded back, because Attilas, with the Hunnes, Almaines, and Gepides, and an infinite world of people, were upon their March towards Constantinople. This countermand was no sooner brought unto Ariobindes and Asilas, but they heard of the death of Theodosius, who being infected with the Plague, dyed suddenly, without Issue-male. I had no disposition to carry this sad newes unto the fair Eudoxe, but be∣sought Ariobindes, that I might accompany the Messenger whom he sent, seeming very desirous to see Italy, before I returned; which request he easily granted unto me. In our way, we came to Naples, and from thence to Rome, where I was welcomed with all de∣sirable carasses. Eudoxe did sadly resent the death of her Father, as nature required of her; and during the dayes of mourning, Valentinian received intelligence, that Pulcheria, the Sister of Theodosius, who had married an old Generall, called Marcianus, had gotten him to be elected Emperour. This Marcianus was he, whom Genserick King of the Van∣dalls, having him Prisoner in Affrica, did see the Eagle flie, and with whom he after∣wards contracted a great league of friendship. And because he was a very great Com∣mander, and of high reputation, he quickly forced Attilas to retreat into Pannonia, where envying his Brother Bledas, he traiterously murdered him, that he might remain sole King over all those barbarous People. When I had intelligence of the election of this new Emperour, and that Attilas was repulsed, I conceived, that then there was nothing which could invite me out of Italy; but that, War being on all sides, it was better to stay where my Love invited me. As I was in these considerations, the Emperour was adverti∣sed, that this Attilas, who may well be phrased, the scourge of god, had taken Gaul for his first designe: and having by his Armes subjected Valamer and Ardarick, Kings of the Ostrogots and Gepides, he constrained them to joyne with his Forces, which were composed of Erulians, Almains, Turingians, Marcomances, and of some Francks, who remained in their old habitations beyond the Rhein, when under the great Pharamond, this warlick Peo∣ple forced their passage, and possessed themselves of that Country, which now they hold in Gaul, and which began then, from the name of Francks, to be called France. As soon as this newes was made certain, the Emperour re-inforced the Army of the Patriarch Aetius, who was one of the best and greatest of all the Roman Captains, and who had the charge of the Gaules. Now though it went much against my minde to leave the fair Eudoxe, yet, go I must: and when I asked leave of her: Why, my Cavalier, (said she unto me) will you be so far distant from me? What cause have I given unto you? Have you so slender affecti∣on, as to leave me thus? My fairest Princesse, said I unto her, if I should not go in this expedition, wherein all the Gallantry of the Court are employed, what will the world think of my courage? What will they think, if I stay at home? Nay, what would your selfe think of me? Unto which she answered, with a smile: I remember, that before my Marriage, none of these excuses were urged. What! do you love me lesse now then be∣fore? Believe it, though I will keep within compasse of my duty, yet I do love you as well now as then, and shall be very sorry to part from you. Then she kissed me: Remember

(continued she) that you return quickly, and be still faithfull. Thus I left her, and went unto Aetius.

In the mean time, Valentinian, who was infinitely in love with the wise Isidore, con∣tinued still his addresses, but with abundance of warinesse and discretion; and thinking, that her denyall proceeded only from some fears, as commonly young women have, that it would spoil her Marriage, if it should be known, that she was loved: Therefore he re∣solved to marry her; and thinking with himselfe, who in all the Court was most fit for her, he pitched upon Maximus, a Roman Knight; of great authority; he was thought the fittest person for the businesse, as well, because he was often in Rome, so by conse∣quence he might easily see her; as because he was very ambitious, and by doing him ho∣nours, he might the more easily deceive and abuse him. Maximus, who desired to mar∣ry, and who expected his advancement from the Emperour, received this offer as a very great honour; for, the Lady was very fair, and of an illustrious Family; also, had as good a reputation as any in the Court. Isidore, on the other side, was not against it; for Ma∣ximus was as rich as any in Rome, and had been twice Consul. Also the Empresse, who infinitely loved this Lady, was very glad that she was to be married in Rome so advan∣tageously. There being therefore no obstruction in this Match, Marriage was presently consummated, to the contentment of them both. But when the Emperour, some few daies after, offered some addresses unto the wise Isidore, he found her more slack and cool in her affection, then before; at which the Emperour was so vexed, as he resolved to have no longer any recourse unto supplications. It hapned then, that he and Maximus being at play, as they often used, fortune was so averse to Maximus, that he lost all his mony; and having nothing about him to make stake, but a Ring which he usually sealed withall, he pulled it off from his finger, put it to the stake, and lost it. The Emperour conceiving, he had met with a good occasion to accomplish his designe, he pretended some important business, and leaving one in his room, he bad him play on upon credit, till Maximus had quitted all he had won; which he did, only upon designe to amuze him the more. In the mean time, he sent to the wise Isidore, in her Husbands name, commanding her to come and visit the Empresse, and as a token of his desire, shewed unto her the Ring of her Husband. She giving credit to the Messenger, and suspecting nothing, went, and was conducted into the Garden being told that the Empresse was there: Being brought into the most retired place of all the Garden, you may imagine how astonished she was, when she saw her selfe in the hands of Valentinian: She began presently to look very pale upon it, and to tremble. The Emperour seeing it, took her by the hand, and would have carried her to sit downe in an Arbour, which was in the midst of the Garden; but seeing her selfe alone with him, she refused to enter; yet, he taking her by the arme forced her in, and shut the dore after them. Oh heavens! Silvander, in what a terrible affright was poor Isidore, when she saw this violent beginning; it was as great, as if she had been brought to the place of execution. But the Emperour, thinking to vanquish her by fair words, and thinking, that no woman would deny him, he sat down by her, and spoke in this manner: I make no doubt, fair Isidore, but you think this stratagem which I have used, very strange, and, perhaps, are angry with me for it; but I hope, when you consider the violence of my affection, how long it hath continued, and how neither my owne reasons, nor your rigour, can quench it, I hope, I say, that you will pardon my boldnesse, that you will not think this action strange, but will render my affection some satisfaction, before you depart from hence: Every thing does invite us to it; first, my unequal'd affection; next, the quality of him who loves you, who being Emperour, you may aspire unto the Empire, if you will render me as much satisfaction, as my love deserves; and lastly, the consideration of Maximus may move you unto it, since you may see by his Ring, that he does not only consent unto it, but desire it. What then, my fair Isidore, should hinder you, from giving satisfaction to my longing desires? Then offering to kisse her, she turned her head the other way, and would not permit him, but beseeched him, to sit down and hear her, desiring if it were possible to overcome him by sweetnesse: I must needs confesse, Sir, (said she unto him) that I am infinitely amazed, to see my selfe alone with you, in this dark and solitary place, and so much against my minde, since upon it, depends the ruine of my honour and my life; but, I have a great confidence, that you will do nothing against reason, or my will, especially when I do consider, who you are, and who I am. Considering you as your selfe, why should I fear, being in the hands of the

great Valentinian, Son to the generous Emperour Constantius, the most accomplished of any that ever wore the name of Cesar? Valentinian, I say, whose Mother was the wise Placidia, the honour and patterne of all Ladies. Can you think, great Sir, that I am affraid of you, whose wisdome is known throughout all the world, and whose prudence every one admires; also one, from whom Justice is generally expected. I should shew my selfe too ignorant of my Emperour's excellencies, did I doubt his goodnesse, or fear any harm from him in this solitary place, where I am alone with him: No, no, I dare trust my selfe any where, in the hands of my honoured Emperour: but I must needs confesse, I think it strange that I should be brought hither by the consent of Maximus: It vexeth me to the soul that he should thinke me so unworthy, and that I should have one to my hus∣band who is the very shame, and scorne of men.

Now Sir, I will not aske what it is you would have of me, nor what occasion brought you to this place. That Traytor who is the owner of this Ring, and your owne discourse does but too plainly tell it. But I do most humbly beseech you, great and good Sir, to con∣sider that I have no more honour when this is gone, and if you love me, let me live worthy of great Cesars love: Consider Sir, that you trample under your feet, the honour and the life of her you love, and will so much injure your owne honour and reputation, as well as mine, as I know it will be impossible for you, to repaire it againe. You tell me that in rendering you this satisfaction, I may pretend unto the Empire: Oh heavens? can you think me worthy so much as to live after so great a crime, and staine unto mine honour? If you do beare any good will unto me, preserve me unstained untill you can make me such as you say, and stay till it shall please the gods to bring it to passe. If there be any truth in your words, that you do love me. And if you do love me, never offer that which will make me exteamly hate you. Can you imagine, I shall ever love him that ravisheth away my honour, which is much dearerto me, then my life? No, no, Sir; I never can. But I be∣seech you, think upon Constantius your Father, think upon Placidia your Mother, and think upon God, who hath miraculously seated you in the Throne: he hath given you power to vanquish John, by the hand of young Aspar: John I say, who otherwise had possessed the Empire: he hath overcome for you, the valiant Castinus, by the valour of Artabures, who a little before was a prisoner in Ravenna: he hath subjected unto you, the Prudent Aetius, by the meanes of those who hardly knew you: He hath defeated Boniface the Usurper of Affrica; he hath made the Puissant Genserick King of the Van∣dals your friend: To be briefe, what has not this great God done for you? And how thankfull ought you to be unto him? Now Sir, the very same god who has done all these for you, does at this very instant see you, and observes what cause you will give him either to continue his favours, or to send you punishments: Consider what miserable acci∣dents and fatall tragedies, have heretofore besalne this Empire, upon the like occasions as this.

Oh most omnipotent Diety, rather showre downe all thy thunderbolts upon me, and hide me in the profundity of the earth, then suffer me to be any cause of moving thy wrath against this Emperour. Upon this, she kneeled downe, and continued; And you, great Sir, I beseech you rather put me to death, then ravish from me, that which makes me worthy of your love, or before you make me instrumentall to bring the odium both of god and men upon you. Now Sir, shew, that you are truly Cesar, and be as well a com∣mander over your passions, as you are victorious over your enemyes.

Valentinian seeing her upon her knees, he tooke her up, and was so moved with her ex∣pressions as he was ashamed of what he had done, and wished that he had never attempted it. Her words did so flow with reason as fast as her eyes with teares: so as working upon her good nature, they forced him into a resolution of overcoming himselfe, and promised her with an oath, that he would never use any force against her. But he beseeched her to take his affection into her consideration, to forget what he would have attempted, and that when Maximus and Eudoxe dyed, she should marry him. The wise Isidore hearing these words, began to take: heart; to promise him all that he desired, and to beseech him, he would permit her to depart. Upon this Valentinian kissed her hand, and with a deep sigh, called unto him Heracles the Eunuch, whom he trusted most of any in the Court and whose counsell he most followed: This Eunuch, was a very wicked man, nothing pleasing, only faithful. But he was the most coveteous wretch, and the greatest flatterer that ever breathed. This was he who carried the Ring of Maximus unto Isidore, and conduct∣ed

her into the Garden: Now because the Emperor desired that this businesse might be carried with all secresy that was possible, he tooke none with him but this man, whom he commanded to stay behind the Arbor, and to come unto him when he called. He∣racles, hearing the Emperors voyce, ran presently unto him, thinking that because Isidore would not consent unto the Emperours will, he called him to helpe: but when he heard, that he was commanded to conduct her back: Is it impossible Sir, (said he) that words should so farre prevaile, as to let so faire an opportunity to slippe? and to let her go with∣out one touch? Shall a little feare make you lose so faire an opportunity? Do you think she would have given you such sweet language, but onely to get out of your hands? Do you insist upon what will be said concerning your selfe, or her? The worst report that can be, will be only this, that you were infinitly in love with a faire Lady. What hurt is there in all that? the worst will be but nine dayes wonder. Whatsoever you do, will be done in secret betwixt you two, and what wound will that be to any reputation. As for any matter of conscience alas Sir god knowes, that though you be Cesar yet you are but a man and will excuse it as a humane slip as well in you as in others. If he should pardon none that are guilty of such a crime he would be alone in heaven; few mortalls would ever come there: lose not therefore such an opportunity, which you will repent, if you let it slip and make no use of it.

The wise Isidore, seeing the Emperor lend an eare unto the wicked perswasions of Hera∣cles, offered to answere unto what he had urged, but the Eunuch being afraid, did inter∣rupt her thus: Sir, (said he) do not hearken unto the voyce of this Syren who speakes onely against her owne conscience, and would be glad to be forced unto that which she de∣nyes: beleeve it, if you let this opportunity slip, she will disesteeme you, and mock you: and if you will give me leave to hold her, she will thank me: and you shall see whether or no, I say true: Then offering to lay hands upon her, she gave him such a blow upon the face, as blood immediately gushed out of his nose: but the Eunuch being accustomed unto such encounters, and seeing the Emperour said nothing, did get behind her, and foulded her armes within his, so as she could not stirre. Then she began to cry out, and make the best defence she could; but all to no purpose: for the Emperour, by the helpe of Heracles had what he desired of her. Ah Valentinian (said she unto him) thou hast done an act unworthy of thy selfe; and I will dye, but I will be revenged; Then she fell upon He∣racles and with her nailes and teeth, hurt him in a hundred places, and not being able to do him any more hurt, she ran out of the Arbor to seeke for something wherewith she might kill both Valentinian and herselfe: but as fortune was she found nothing, she still thinking upon this injury, would gladly have killed herselfe, she struck her selfe upon the face, tore her haire, and used all the actions of one transported. When Valentinian saw her in this condition; he began to perswade her, to aske her pardon, to accuse the Eunuch, and promising to do for her whatsoever she would aske. She being hardly able to stand, for wearinesse and sorrow, sat downe upon a seat, so much out of her selfe as she was hardly able to speake. Valentinian came to her, did set himselfe downe by her, con∣tinued his supplications, and told her that her husband knew nothing of it; and then related to her how he came by the Ring.

The Emperour told her this, to the end she should not tell Maximus and to give her some consolation in knowing that her husband was ignorant of it: for her greatest dis∣pleasure was, to think that her husband should consent unto it. But when she heard that he was innocent, she was much better satisfyed, hoping now, that he would revenge her wrong. After she had sat sadly a long while and spoke not a word, she constrained her∣selfe so, that Valentinian thought her a little better satisfied: for she seemed much con∣tented that Maximus knew nothing of it, and conjured him to keep it secret both from him and all the world, to the end she might live still in the good opinion of every one. The Emperour, who did most passionatly love her, & who but for the Eunuch had never used any force, he promised her with a thousand oathes that he would do whatsoever she desired: and charged the Eunuch that he should never speake the least syllable of it to any in the world. After she had tyed up her haire, and dressed herselfe as well as she could, she went home, where she expected the comming home of her husband, whom Valentinian found still at play, and had recovered some part of his losses: Night being come, he went home, where he was no sooner come, but according to his custome he went to see his wise and deare Isidore: she was in her closet all alone, so swel'd with teares, as when he saw

her he was astonished and entreating him to sit downe by her, husband (said she unto him) do not wonder to see me in this condition: I have so much occasion for it, that I will live no longer: but, before I die, satisfie me so farre as to sweare, that you will re∣venge my death. Maximus, who did extreamly love this Lady, both for her wisedome and beauty, he came to her as his custome was, to kiss her and to know what it was which so much troubled her. But she recoyled, and said unto him: It is not reasonable, Maximus, that you should come any neerer unto this defiled body; I am not now the same Isidore, whom you have so much loved, and who never loved any but you. I am another woman, who dares not call you Husband. The most wicked and cruell Ty∣rant that ever was, hath defiled me, and I will not live any longer, since I am not worthy to be your Wife. Upon this, she related the whole passage unto him, and shewed him the blood of Heracles, which dropt upon her, as he held her. I should be too long and tedious, if I did relate all the complaints which passed betwixt Maximus and her.

But so it was, that Revenge was resolved upon; but he desired her, upon any termes, not to shorten her daies, lest she should incense the gods against her, telling her, that he would carve her so much revenge, as should give her satisfaction: He told her, that since there was not an act of her will consenting, he should not think her the lesse chaste, nor lesse worthy of being his Wife then before: And that in order to his designe, he would have her assure Valentinian, that she had never acquainted any with it, to the end, he might think himselfe the more secure. She carried the matter so, that the Emperour never made question of it, and she gave him back her Husbands Ring, the better to perswade him. About this time, Eudoxe was brought to bed of a Daughter which was called Eudoxe, after her own name; and about a year after, was delivered of another, who bore the name of her Grandmother, Placidia.

In the mean time we were in Gaul, expecting Attilas, where Aetius was making all necessary preparations. This Barbarian, having gathered together a very vast Army, as I told you, he intended to fall upon Constantinople; but being prevented in that by the wise conduct of Marcianus, and not being able to maintain that world of People which followed him, either in Pannonia or Germany, which was growne almost de∣sart, by the passage of so many Nations through it, he determined to fall upon the Western Empire, which was already well shaked, and begun to totter. The assistance which Genserick King of the Vandals promised unto him, was no small spur unto his designe. This Vandal having gotten the Daughter of Thierres King of the Goths, in marriage unto Honorius his Son, he had a conceit, that she would poyson him, and under this pretence, he cut off her nose, and sent her back into Gaul unto her Father; and stan∣ding in fear of his anger, he thought it most expedient for him to fortifie himselfe, with the friendship of the Hunnes, by promising them all manner of assistance. Attilas who promised unto his ambition no lesse then all the Western Empire, having recruited and put his Army into good equipage, he marched towards Gaul; but first dispatched an Envoy unto Thierres, then the most puissant King of all those that possessed it; for, he held almost all Spain, and a great part of Gaul, that is to say, from the Piren∣nian Mountains unto the Loyre. And because Attilas feared the grandure of this pu∣issant Barbarian, he let him understand, that his comming into Gaul was only against the Romans, and that they two would divide the Empire betwixt them, as soon as it was overthrowne. He sent the same message unto Gondioch, King of the Burgundians, and unto the valiant Merovius, King of the Francks, and successour unto Clodion, the Son of Pharamond. He treated and transacted so secretly with Singiban King of the Almaines, as he promised to take his part. But Aetius, who was as wise a Captain, as was in the whole world, knowing his subtlety, did discover it unto these Kings, giving them to understand, that when the Romans were defeated, Attilas would turn all his forces against them, and make them Tributaries to himselfe, as he had already done Valamer and Ardarick, and the rest of his Neighbours; and that the amity of the Emperour Valentinian, was more necessary and honourable for them: Necessary, in respect that the Roman Empire was so great, and surely established, that it was im∣possible for them, having so puissant a Neighbour to their enemy, to sleep quietly in their houses. As for Attilas, he was but a storme, which looked foul, but would quick∣ly be blowne over. That the Amity of the Emperour was more honourable unto them,

because Valentinian was a great Prince, and a good, and that they were already linked in amity with him. That he had given the Burgundians their habitations where they dwelt; and that the amity of Vualius, with Constantius, the Father of Valentinian, had gotten the Visigots all that they held in Gaul. Briefly, That they had experience al∣ready of the Roman Empire, which might put them out of all doubt: Whereas it would be a mad solly in them, to trust Attilas, whose ambition was such, as that against all rights, both divine and human, he would not suffer his Brother Bleda to be his partner, but miserably put him to death. These Remonstrances caused the Francks, the Visigots, the Burgundians, and the Almaines, to confederate themselves with Aetius against Attilas, who, after some years, fell into Gaul, with five hundred thou∣sand fighting men: The first he fell upon was the Francks, plundering and firing al∣most all their Townes; but it was only of such, as had not the courage to passe over the Rheine with the first, who took up their habitations in Gaul. At the last, he came to a Citty of Carnutes, called Orleans, which he besieged, and doubtlesse had taken it, if the Francks and Visigots had not appeared with such an Army, as constrained him to rise and go away. This Army, and that of Aetius, was composed (as well as the Army of Attilas) of severall Nations, as of Francks Visigots, Sarmatians, Al∣maines, Armoriguans, La••esiuns, Burgundians, Saxons, R••barolds, Auvergnians, Heduois, and severall other people of Gaul, together with Lombardian Auxiliaries. Attilas, mistaken in his attempt (for he thought, that Sig••ban, King of the Almaines, would have put Orleans into his hands) not knowing well whether he should fight or return, retreated unto the plain of Mauriack, when enquiring of the Priests what would be the issue of the Battle, they answered, that he should lose it; but the chiefe of the enemies side should be killed. Attilas, who thought, that this must needs be Aetius, he resolved to fight not caring which way it went, so this great Captain might dy, hoping afterwards to recruit another Army, when his enemies wan∣ting such a Conductor, he would presently make the Roman Empire a Tributary. The next morning therefore, Battle was given. I could give you a particular relation of all the Fight, for I was in it, and fought next Aetius that day; but it would be too long, and not pertinent to our discourse: But so it was, that Attilas was over∣come, and forced into his Camp, which he had fenced about with his Carriages: And because he had an opinion, the Enemy would fall upon him there, he caused a great heap to be made, of all the Saddles and Baggage of the Army, intending to set it on fire, and to burne there, rather then to fall into the hands of his enemies. I saw him that day, and the next morning also; and one might plainly see, by his minde and garb, the vanity which was in the soul of that man. But Priseus, Secretary unto Valentinian, who was sent into Syria, before he came into Pannonia, he told me, that he never in all his life saw a more imperious or haughty minded man, aiming at no lesse, then the Monarchy of the whole world; and then gave himselfe the title of King of the Hunnes, Medes, Goths, Danes, and Gepides. He also took upon him the title of, The terrour of the world and, the scourge of god. And because I asked him, whether his stature was equall to his courage: he answered me, That he was rather low then tall; that he had a large breast, a great head, little eyes, but quick and sparkling; his nose flat, his hair browne; his strutting pace shewed the pride of his minde, and the whole Symmetry of his face, spoke him to be a lover of War.

Moreover, he was subtle; and though he was couragious, yet seldome used to fight in person, unlesse in great extremity, reserving himselfe alwaies for a great necessi∣ty. As he was very cruell and inhumain to his enemies, so was he very sweet and courteous to such as submitted, or having offended, asked pardon; unto whom he would alwaies keep promise inviolable, and defend them against all whom∣soever.

This character which Priseus gave of Attilas, at his return to Rome, did cause Honorica, Sister unto Valentinian, to desire a Marriage with him, as afterwards I shall tell you. But in the mean time, to return unto Aetius, be pleased to know, kinde Silvander, that this great Captain being out of Attilas's danger, yet he knew, that he was entring into a greater; for, should the Francks, Burgundians, and Visigots, come to know their own strength, they might much offend the Empire. To keep them therefore in some fear, he thought it expedient to save Attilas, thinking, that the fear

they would have of so great an enemy, would keep them alwaies united to the Em∣perour And because Thierres. King of the Visigots, was slain in this Battle, and Tho∣rismond and Thierres, his Children, in revenge of their Father, would needs force Attilas in his Camp, he seemed to love them much more, then he hated Attilas, and advised them to return in all haste unto Tholouse, with the rest of their Army, lest their Brothers who were left there, should seize upon the King dome in their absence. Thorismond, who was of a distrustfull nature, and knowing that he had three other Brothers in the Country, called Frederick, Rotomer, and Honorick, also taking Aetius for his friend, without more delay, he took the Body of his Father, and went in all haste into Aquitain, where he was very well received, his Brothers having no such intention, as Aetius perswaded him. These Forces being thus separated from our Army, it remained so weak, that every one was of opinion, that it was best to let Attilas go away; and that a prudent Captain will make a Bridge of gold sometimes for his enemy to passe over. Thus therefore this enemy of the Empire escaped the hands of Aetius; and though this great Souldier had a good intention in it, yet afterwards, the Emperour took it very ill.

I alwaies followed Aetius in all this last expedition, and durst not leave the Army, as well because severall occasions of fighting presented themselves, as because the fair Eudoxe commanded me so to do, being desirous I should be absent from her, lest any should take notice of my familiarity with her: god only knowes how much it was against my will, and how often I resolved to depart, setting all considerations of duty and discre•••• behinde me; but, when I remembered the expresse command which she had laid upon me, I could not disobey it. Yet I stayed therefore in the Army about twelve years, at the end of which time, this Battle which I have told you of was fought. 'Tis true that in this long exile, I received many Letters from Eudoxe, by which she did still continue unto me assurances of her favour. And because I had a great desire to do some∣thing, which was worthy the amity of so great a Princesse, I let passe no occasion of signalizing my selfe, and giving testimonies of my courage; by this means I got much reputation in the Army, but more in the opinion of the fair Eudoxe, who comming to the knowledge of it, by Letters which Aetius writ unto the Emperour, she rejoyced at it. I shall as long as I live remember a Letter which I received from her, after this great Battle; it was thus written.

Eudoxe's Letter unto Ursaces.

IT is only my Cavalier, that can astonish his enemies by his arme, and his friends by his valour. Twice, to relieve the Roman Eagle, and recover it from the Francks and Gepides; thrice in one day, to set Aetius upon his Horse, when he was ready to be trodden in pieces by his enemies, are actions most worthy of him, who has my heart. Since for∣tune hath hitherto seconded your valour, I do forbid you to venture your selfe so far for the future, as you have done for the time past: And I command you to preserve your selfe, not as your own, but as mine; have a care therefore of that which I give you to keep. And when Aetius leaves the Army, come you also, and give me an account of it; that as you have shared with him in his pains and dangers you may share also with him in that honour and welcome, which all Italy will give him, and which I will prepare for you.

During the time I was in the Army, I fell into a great intimacy with a young Ro∣man Cavalier, called Olimbres, the same you see here; many good Offices passed be∣twixt one another, as in such places many occasions fall out, which tie such knots of friendship, as never are loosed, so as nothing ever since could separate us. This Cava∣lier, in respect of the amity betwixt us, was so much in favour with Eudoxe, that he was called to the Senate, and created a Senator: And certainly, next her, he prised my friendship at the highest rate, unlesse Placidias; for you must know, that the intimacy of affection which was betwixt us, would never let us part, since the first beginning of our acquaintance, unlesse it were in the service of each other. So as he seeing me resolved upon a return for Rome, when Aetius returned, he would needs come with me; and

since, nothing could be so secret, which was not communicated unto one another; I freely acquainted him with my affection to Eudoxe, and her favours to me, yet im∣posed a strict injunction of secrecy upon him, and to take no notice of it lest she should be offended at me. This declaration was a cause, that he growing into familiarity with Eudoxe, he presumed so high, as to cast his eye upon Placidia, her Daughter, and began to court her, when she was not above twelve years of age, shewing in this a sym∣pathy of humour betwixt him and me; for, it was at the same age when I began to court her Mother, whom this her Daughter did much resemble. Olimbres was younger then I, being then not above seven and twenty years of age, and I about thirty five, and the fair Eudoxe about thirty. The fair Eudoxe and I took notice of this growing affection, and Placidia did not give it any check. And though Olimbres was neither King nor Emperour, yet Eudoxe was not offended against this affection, because Olimbres was very rich, and of as illustrious a Race, as any in Rome, his Father, Grand∣father, and great-Grandfather, being all Senators, and oftentimes Consulls; so as upon these considerations, so it came not to the eye of the Emperour, she was not against it, especially for the friendship sake, that was betwixt him and me.

I thought fit to acquaint you with these things, before I related my reception by the fair Eudoxe, lest I should be constrained to interrupt my discourse.

Know therefore, kinde Silvander, that we returning with Aetius, we were wel∣comed into Italy with all possible honour and thanks; the Roman-people made such acclamations, when this great Captain entred into the Town, that never was a greater triumph. But the Emperour had no great liking unto all this; for, this grandure of courage which was in Aetius, the prudence wherewith he managed all ••is actions, the applaud which the people gave him, and the honour which all Italy rendred him, did make Valentinian so jealous of the grandure of Aetius, as he ever after looked a∣squint upon him, and was apt to hearken and consent unto any ill counsell that was given him. But for my part, who looked after no matters of State, but was wholly in∣tent upon the favour of the fair Eudoxe, as soon as I arrived with Aetius, and had kissed the Emperours hand, I went unto the Empresse, where, pretending I had some businesse with her from my Generall, I saw her in private, and received such a welcome, as my twelve years seemed well imployed, since army return I received such extraor∣dinary favours. Being at the last constrained to go out of her Closet, lost my too long stay should beget suspicion, I went unto the wise Isidore, as to one, whom, next Eu∣doxe, I loved and honoured most; but, I found her so changed from what she was wont to be, as I wondred at it: I asked her the cause, but all the answer I could get, was tears, at which I wondred more: I thought at first, that cares of Marriage might perhaps be the cause; or else perhaps, her Husband was very sharp with her, or else dis∣dained her for some other; and this doubt made me shorten my visit sooner then I would: But when afterwards I observed, that Maximus did love her, and infinitely carrassed her; and when I looked upon the riches and plenty of his house, I was quite out of my first opinion, and could not imagine what should be the cause of her sad∣nesse. But one night, as I was talking with the fair Eudoxe, I understood, that she came very seldome at Court, and was so altered, as she hardly knew her. I began presently to suspect the businesse, though not all, yet in part; and enquiring whether the love of Valentinian continued; unto which she answering, that she never took any notice of it: Believe it, my Princesse, said I unto her, that there is some ill understanding betwixt them; the Emperour hath done her some displeasure, or would do, and that keeps her from comming to the Court; for, you have not driven her away by any disfavour, her Husband is not unkinde, Domestick affairs cannot trouble her; and therefore her griefe must proceed from some higher cause: Were it any malady of body, it would appear. I do believe, (said she) that you are in the right; for, she never sees me, but with tears in her eyes; and when the Emperour comes where she is, I shall see her change pre∣sently, and go away as soon as possibly she can: I have often asked her the reason, but I could never get her to tell me. Upon these considerations, she commanded me to go unto her from her, and use my best endeavours to discover the cause; but all my labour was lost, and I could finde out nothing, but a great animosity against the Emperour. When I made this report unto Eudoxe, I advised her to seem, as if she knew something concerning Valentinian, and that perhaps would make her discover more. And it hap∣ned

as I did imagine; for, being one night all three in the Closet of the Empresse, and Isidore falling into her usuall tears, Eudoxe seemed unto her, as if she knew the cause; upon which, she began to confesse unto us, the injury which the Emperour had done her, and fell into such passionate expressions against him, as the fair Eudoxe could not chuse, but accompany her in her tears. I did extreamly compassionate this good Lady, and I must confesse, that had it been any but the Emperour, I should have offered her my hand and sword, in revenge of the wrong do 〈…〉〈…〉 to her: but against him, whom I acknowledged for my Lord, unto whom I had pro〈…〉〈…〉 my fidelity, and from whom I had received many benefits and much honour, 〈…〉〈…〉ld sooner have dyed, then enter∣tained any thought of such a thing, or attempted any thing against him or his Estate. When they had condoled together a long while, and that I could speak unto Eudoxe: Madam, said I unto her, me-thinks you have now a good occasion offered to make me the most happy man alive. How, answered she? You may, my fairest Princesse, said I unto her, revenge your selfe, by the same armes you are injured, and do three or foure actions worthy of your selfe: First, you will be revenged upon him that hath wronged you; next, you will give some satisfaction to your dear Isidore; and you will recom∣pence me, and make me the most contented man upon earth. The wise Isidore, who had not spoke a long time, by reason of her tears, did reply before the Empresse: Madam, (said she, and fell upon her knees) I protest unto you, I conceive, that this is the most just revenge and best, that I can any way receive; nor is it reasonable, that he who does so ill requite a happinesse, which the heavens have given him, should enjoy it without the same measure that he useth unto others. Madam, he is unworthy of you, and you are unjust, if you continue any longer his: The injury which he hath done unto you, his ingratitude unto the Emperour your Father, the dishonour he hath done unto your House, and the affront put upon the miserable Isidore, whom you have heretofore loved, does invite you to grant the request, which Ursaces makes unto you: What harm can come unto you by it? You do love this Cavalier, he is dis∣creet, none can ever know it, and you may this way sweetly revenge an injury, which is any other way irreparable. The Empresse smiled, and answered us: Persons that are interrested, are not compleat judges; you do both of you advise me to a revenge, which will offend me much more then before: If the Emperour have committed a fault, 'tis true, I do receive an injury by it; but since I have not the dispose of his actions, I am not culpable of his crime. Now should I commit the same fault, I should be culpable as well as he. Fairest Princesse, (said I, and interrupted her) there is a great deal of diffe∣rence betwixt the cases; for, you shall never hear me complain of any force, which you have used upon me. I do believe, answered she, that it would be an act of your free will; yet, let me tell you, that if you will be truly my Cavalier, you must make it an act against your will; for, that title does oblige you, to preserve my honour as deerly as my life. Madam, answered I, I know not why you may not take this revenge, nor can I see which way it should concern your honour, since none shall ever know it. If none do know it, answered she, then where is the revenge, for that which is never known, nor resented, is as if it never were? But, my Cavalier, I should be glad of revenge, so it could be without any injury unto my selfe; and since this way cannot be, but upon that score, let us talk no more of it, and turn our thoughts upon something else. The wise discourse of this great Princesse, did stop both our mouths; All we were able to an∣swer her, was, that she deserved a better Husband then Valentinian, or else, Valentini∣an a worse Wife then Eudoxe.

However, the refusall of this way of revenge, which perhaps had contented the minde of this offended Lady, was a cause, that Isidore, never letting her Husband rest, did continually solicite him to revenge the injury, which both he and she had received. Maximus, who had not forgot it, but only seemed so, that he might the more home-ly execute his Designe, he studied night and day which way he should bring it to passe: At last, aiming at no lesse revenge then the life of the Offender, he thought, that if he did attempt any thing against the Emperour, his Forces that were in the hands of Aetius, and the authority and prudence of that great Captain, might be his own ruine; therefore he thought it much conducible unto his designe, to take Aetius out of the world, and Valentinian being weak on that side, might be the more easily ruined: But when this course was resolved upon, all the difficulty was, to execute it; for, the great

power of this valiant Commander was such, as it was a very hard matter to hurt him by force; and his prudence and circumspection was so great, that any policy could not deceive him. He thought therefore, that there could be no better instrument of his ru∣ine, then Valentinian himselfe, whom he knew to be of a very jealous nature, guided by vile and unworthy persons, and feared the very shadow of any danger. He addressed himselfe unto Heracles, who ever since, as a secret punishment of heaven, did bear the marks of Isidore's nailes in his 〈…〉〈…〉 he acquainted him with the suspicious grandure of Aetius, the honour all Ita•••• 〈…〉〈…〉 him at his return, the applauds which every one gave him, the love which the people bare him, the affection of the Souldiers, the ri∣ches he had gotten in Gaul, his liberality, or rather prodigality towards all the credit he had amongst strangers, the correspondency he held with the Empire's enemies; and briefly, to confirm all suspition, he instanced, how when he might have quite ruined Attilas, he saved him, and gave him passage, with a promise probably of assistance in his pernicious designe: That since, he hath made unto himselfe a friend, not only of the Visigots and Burgundians, who are already in Gaul, but also of the Francks and Vandals, by the means of whom, he hath ruined the affaires of the Empire, both in Affrica and Spain: Also by tampering with the Angles, hath lost Brittain and almost all America; and that his ambition was so great, that if he be not prevented, much dange may be expected to ensue. That for his part, he concluded, that for the publick safty, it was expedient to banish him, not only out of the Empire, but out of the World, because a man so ambitious as he was, would never be won, either by fair means or soul. Heracles, who was naturally pusillanimous and effeminate, and con∣sequently very suspitious and cruell, was easily perswaded, that Aetius had some ill designes, and that it was requisite he should be prevented. In this opinion, after thanks unto Maximus, for his care of the Empire and publick good, he went unto Va∣lentinian into whom he infused such aprehensions of great and sudden danger, that he caused Aetius to be killed the very same day by his Eunuchs; an act, which rendred him so odious unto every one, as from that time, he almost ceased to be Emperour, being obeyed only as a Tyrant; and certainly, he sound presently after, that Prox∣mus, a Roman Knight, answered him very truly, when he asked him, whether he had not done well in killing Aetius: As for that, (answered he) I leave it unto your own judgment; but I know very well, that your left hand hath cut off your right. For, Ait∣las moved by the love of Honorica, who had sent him her Picture, and being ill trea∣ted by her Brother, desired to be out of his hands, and to marry this Barbarian King: Moreover, being exasperated by his ambition, seeing his grand enemy Aetius dead, he put his Army into a posture, and fell upon Italy so furiously, that our first Forces which opposed him were defeated, and none but Townes held head against him, a∣mongst the rest Aquilea, which, after a three years Siege, he took, and pulled it down to the ground. The Padoans at the same time, and a People called the Venteians, flying from the fury of Aetilas, retired themselves into some little Isles of the Adriatick Sea, with their Wives, Children, and Goods, and all that was pretious unto them, where draining the Lakes and Marishes which they found there, did plant themselves. At the first, they called the place Rialte, meaning, as I think, Rive-al••e, which signifies a high Bank, because the place there is higher then the rest. And since finding the place con∣venient, they rested there, and afterwards called it Venice, and the Inhabitants Vene∣tians. As soon as Aquilea was demolished, all those that could save themselves, did run to these Isles which were about Rialte, and there built Guards. Those of Concor∣de Gaorly, those of Altine Vorcelly; briefly, those of Vincentia, of Bresse, of Mantua, of Bergame, of Millaine, and of Pavia, seeing how safely these first lived in those pla∣ces, they retired thither also; and building together as well as they could, they became such friends, that since, they make but one People, who being composed of severall Na∣tions, could not agree upon the election of a King; but, to remove all jealousie, did agree upon common Lawes, and began to live in the way of a republick, distinct, and separate from the Empire.

The reason why I have so long insisted upon this, is, because all Astrologers, who have calculated the fate of these fugitives, do say, that never was Republick founded upon so happy a point as this; not for any great and large extent of Dominion, but for its long continuance, which seemes, as if it would never have an end, untill all things

sublunary must have an universall change; their lives are very pleasant their Lawes are very good, and they are excellent both in Peace and War; their Armies have been victorious; God has given them the Sea for their Walls, and does in every respect fa∣vour them, so as there is great likelyhood of future Grandure. These Isles do not now appear to be Isles, but a great City, built upon an infinite number of Bridges; the Sea is their streets, which running through in so many parts with so much art is admirable as well as their originall. But to returne to our 〈◊〉〈◊〉 from whence I digressed, after Attilas had taken Aquilea, he made towards Rome: and doubtlesse had sacked it, if Valentinian for want of corrage had not rendred himselfe Tributary; and con∣sented that his Sister Honorica, should be his wife. But this dishonorable peace being made, he retired into Pannonia, where upon his marriage night, and after abundance of wine and banquet, being gone to bed he was found dead in it, in the morning Some said it was by bleeding at the nose which choaked him: others, that he was killed by one of his wives: which way soever it was, he dyed the very night of his marriage eas∣ing the Empire, by this meane, both of feare and Tribute. Valentinian in this necessity, found what a fault he had committed in killing Aetius, having not one Captaine that could stop this Barbarian nor any that cared for doing him service, since he had shew∣ed himselfe so bad a pay master. For my part, I was ashamed to be in Italy, and see things in such strange desolation; and would have tryed to have ruined my selfe with it, had I not by Valentinians and Eudoxes command beene sent unto the Emperour Marcian to demand ayde, as soone as Aquilea was besieged: but I found Marcian very faint towards Valentinian, as well because of Aetius his death, as because Attiles sent him word, that his coming into Italy was onely to obtaine Honorica, with whom he was in love. And knowing that Valentinian did obstinately deny her unto him, he would not relieve him in this necessity into which he had brought himselfe by his ill government, and without reason. Whilest I was negotiating this businesse, I fell so sicke, that every one left me for dead and some told Eudoxe that they saw me buried. You may imagine how she mourned for me: for I may truly say that never any loved more then she me: my disease was very dangerous being a spotted Fever and I con∣tinued in it, above eight moneths, and a friend of mine did write unto Isdore inti∣mating my condition, for I was not able to write my selfe. In conclusion, having stay∣ed in Constaninople some eighteene or twenty months to no purpose, I resolved to take ship for Ravenna, where Valentinian was retreated with Eudoxe for his safety.

Italy, being thus settled in peace Petronius Maximus the husband of wise Isidore. began to think upon his revenge, all things seeming to second his designe. He was a man of great Authority in the Empire; For he was Patriarch, and having a designe of revenge, and happily to make himselfe Emperour, he had long beforehand gotten the love of the people and the Souldier; of the one by his liberality for he was very rich; and of the other by his popularity in seconding all requests which was made for the ease and freedome of the people. And to render Valentinian odious unto every one, he advised him secretly not to recompence the Souldiers either with honours or benefits, and to lay such a load of taxes upon the people, as should alwayes keepe them poore, and unable to attempt any novelty; and the better to accomplish his designe, he exaspe∣rated all the friends of the great Aetius, as much as possible he could, and courted himselfe into intimat familiarity with them. The Emperour never doubted of any of these things, for he knew Maximus was of opinion that it was best to ruine Aetius: be∣sides it was now so long since the murder was committed, that he beleeved every one had forgotten it. And as for his injury done unto the wise Isidore, he beleeved she had not acquainted her husband with it, since in so many yeares he never made shew of any discontent Briefly, he lived in such a carelesse security, that he permitted the greatest friends of Aetius to be about his person. Which Maximus having long observed, and seeking for a meanes how to satisfie the wise Isidore, who was continually putting him in minde of it, one day taking Thrasiles apart who was one of the grea∣test friends which Aetius had, and who then had the guard of the Emperours person, he set before his eyes the untimely death of his freind, and the carelessnesse of Valenti∣nian, intimating what an easie matter it was to take revenge upon him; in so much as he moulded him unto his owne will: And not being content with revenge only, he went further, and resolved to usurpe the Empire: Maximus told Thrasiles that when

this was come to passe, he should find full satisfaction and contentment. This resolu∣tion being taken, it was not long before it was put in execution: For Thrasiles had the opportunity when he would, being alwayes neere the person of the Emperour. One day therefore when Valentinian dyned in private, Thrasiles and Maximus; did mise∣rably murder him and Heracles the Eunuch, not for any offence that he made, but for the counsell which he gave the ••••perour when the wise Isidore was forced. Thus dyed Valentinian after he had raign•• ••••irty yeares. Had I been neere his person at that time, doubtless I had dyed in defence of him: For though the act which he had committed against Isidore was wicked; yet there can be no cause whatsoever, for lifting up a hand against a Soveraine. Advise one may, but never chastise, much lesse take that life a∣way, which to save he ought to lose his owne. I was then at the sacrifice with the faire Eudixe, where the tumult was so great, that for safety of herselfe she was forced to go out of Rome. For Maximus having committed this homicide he knew that wickednesse must never be done by halves; and therefore finding the power in his hands, by the meanes of Thrasiles, and some whose friendship he had gotten, and also being assured of the peoples consent, he presently caused himselfe to be elected and proclaimed Emperour: and all this without the least opposition though the Towne was full of tumult. Isidore was presently advertised of it, both by her husband, & by the common report of Valentinians death. And she had such an inveterate hatred of him, that she could not believe unless she saw him dead. Therfore she left her house & went to the Palace, and seeing his corps without a head, she washt her hands in his blood, & received such a strange contentment in his death, that for very excesse of joy, she fell downe dead. I was then, as I told you, with the faire Eudoxe, and would not leave her in such a dysastrous fortune; but waited upon her whither soever she pleased, in testimo∣ny of my affection and fidelity. The haste we made was such, that we hardly tooke any with us. And losing our way in the night we were forced to take up lodging in a wood: She had none with her but her two Daughters, Olimbres, and two young men who usually followed us, and who were much troubled in looking to our horses: So as there was none with her all the night but these two young Princesses; Olimbres, and my selfe. I did lye downe upon the ground, and she laid her head upon my breast, her two Daughters lay at her feet; and thus passed away the night as well as we could. Our intention was to get out of Italy, and to go unto Constantinople to Marcianus: For since Maximus had killed the Emperor, and had taken upon him the title of Augu∣stus, we feared he would be revenged upon her for the injury done unto Isidore. Though the night was very dark, and sad to the faire Eudoxe, yet I must confesse it was the sweetest night unto me, that ever I had in my life: for I had my hand conti∣nually in her bosome, and her lips close unto mine. Love knowes how I was thus tran∣sported, and how oft I was ready to cast off all respect. Which she perceiving, and find∣ing her Daughters to be both asleep, she whispered me in my eare, and said thus unto me: Fie, fie, my Cavalier, do you think the gods are not enough incensed against me, but you must needs provoke them more by mooving me to commit fresh offences? After this she was silent, and giving me a kiss, she laid her head where it was before: this was a sufficient testimony that she loved me, and after this favour I laid my mouth unto her eare, and said thus unto her. But, my fairest Princesse, what offence would it be, since now you are nobodies but your owne? Would you have me stay untill ano∣ther shall enjoy you before my face? Is it possible you should reserve your selfe for one who never loved you, or for one that can never love you so well as I? Then she set her mouth unto my eare: My Cavalier, (said she unto me) do not offer to offend against god or my honour: and, to put you out of all these doubts, receive this Vow. I doe vow and sweare unto you Ursaces, by the great god whom I adore, that I will never marry any man but you: and if what I have been, would permit me freely to dispose of my selfe, I would take you to my husband this very houre: I do beleeve your affection such unto me that after I have been Empresse you would not have me hold a lesse degree: Fortune perhaps will so dispose of you, that I may with honour give you contentment, and then, curse me if I prove false. In the meane time, live with this satisfaction, that I will never marry any but you: and for assurance of what I sweare, take this kiss, and then joyning her lips to mine, she continued very long up∣on them: Judge, kind stranger, whether I did receive the oathes with all my heart,

since I never desired any thing more passionately. Then I answered her thus: My fair∣est Princess, I receive this promise with such a thankfull heart, and affectionate soul that in exchange I do entirely give you my selfe. And I do vowe and protest that I will never revoke my gift: but give me leave to sweare by that great God, before whom you have made this promise that if ever it happen with your consent or otherwise, that any one do enjoy you as a husband, I will kill him with the same hand which now you hold in yours: Unto which she said in mine eare, I shall hold you for a faint hearted Traitor, if you do not: After this, she laid downe her head, and we passed away the night as we begun it: But alas I did not long enjoy this happinesse of being with her, no more then my friend. Olimbres the happinesse of being with Placidia: For the next morning, the Tyrant Maximus hearing that Eudoxe and her two Daughters were escaped, he sent so many men several wayes, as at the last they found us, and carryed us back, do what Olimbres and I could in defence of ourselves: Who after severall wounds, and I more then Olimbres, we were carryed to this Tyrant: who not being contented with the murder of Valentinian and usurping the Empire, but would take a full revenge or rather a confirmation of his usurpation, and, to give it a glosse, would marry the faire Eudoxe: Oh heavens? what would she not have done to prevent it? But, Oh heavens! how did I resent it? I was so wounded both in my thigh and in my right arme, that I was not able to stirre out of my bed: so as I was disabled from doing her any service. In conclusion, the Tyrant seeing that Eudoxe would not consent unto his will by faire meanes, he used her so coorsly that within twelve dayes after the death of Valentinian, he forced Eudoxe to be his wife. I heard the newes of it by Olimbres who was already recovered, and who never stirred from my beds side. And when I knew not how to judge of this Act, but was in doubt of Eudoxes consent, I re∣ceived a Letter from her which was this.

Eudoxes Letter unto Ursaces.

IF Eudoxe be not miserable, then never any in the world was. I am in the hands of a bloody Tyrant, who hath forced me unto an unjust marriage: I call the great God by whom I sware unto you for a witnesse that I never did nor wil consent unto it with my heart or will: I summon you to the promise which you made at that time. If you permit me to lament my sad fortune to see my selfe in his hands, who hath so unjustly ravished me from you, I shall curse you, and accuse you with want of affection: Keep therefore your word as I will mine, and let sate do her worst.

What attempts would I not have dared, if my power had been equall to my will? or if my wounds had permitted me? But alas I was in a condition farre unfit to do any thing to another, when I was not able to run my selfe through with my sword, when I heard Eudoxe was to be enjoyed by a Tyrant: and but for Olimbres, perhaps I had served my owne turne, for he was so carefull of me that I could not do any thing to my selfe; but gave me so many diverting reasons to the contrary, that he kept me alive nine or tenne dayes till I was so happy as to see the wise and faire Eudoxe enter into my chamber. She had obtained this leave of Maximus, telling him it was but reaso∣nable to see him who had been wounded in her defence: Maximus who desired to gaine me by faire meanes if possible, and having no suspition of me, so handsomely did we carry the matter, and so discreet and faithfull was Isidore unto her Mistresse, that Maximus permitted her. So she came to see me, and leaving all her followers at the dore, she brought with her none but the little Princesse Placidia, knowing that Olimbres would so entertaine her in discourse, as she would not mind what she said. She came to my beds side, and sitting downe offered to speake, but could not: At last seeing teares flowe from mine eyes, and that I was not able to utter one word, she turned herselfe, so that none should observe our griefe. Thus silently we sat along while; and spoke not one word. At last having tooke a little courage I spoke these words. For ought I see Madam, there is none losers by the bargain but Valentinian and Ursaces: He in losing his life his Empire and his wife: and I the favour of the faire Eudoxe. But alas his losse is nothing unto mine, for being dead he has lost all sensibility of

misery, and I that am alive can onely be called miserable because I do resent my misery. She answered me, first with her teares which she could not restraine, and then by her words: Will you, my Cavalier, help to augment my griefe, and in lieu of giving me some comfort and pitty, will you by your reproaches make me more miserable? But it is well done; I am contented to be killed, since I see Ursaces does not love me. Oh heavens, cryed I, as loud as I could, being offended at her words, and sorry I had cryed so loud, for two or three came running to me to know what I ayled, to whom I answe∣red that my wounds pained, (but the paine was gone) and when they were gone also I began to speake againe. How Madam? Does not Ursaces love you? Can you say it, and not blush? are you not afraid the heavens will punish you for the wrong you do me? Ursaces not love you Madam? how long have you knowne him changed? was it be∣fore Valentinian dyed? No, you have writ the contrary. Was it since his death? No surely, you cannot chuse but remember my vowes and promise. But perhaps it is since the wrong you have done me in giving your selfe unto this cruell Tyrant. If so, tis time indeed to change my miserable life for a happy death: but you may thank Olim∣bres that I live, for he onely has hindred me from dying. But since I live, you may be certaine, that you shall live no longer then till I recover so much strength as to take a life away: though you do not love me yet you might well have rendred me some testi∣mony of pitty. But what pitty or compassion can I expect from the wife of a Tyrant? how can I ever think you any thing but a peece of ingratitude? if you would live and en∣joy your tyranicall husband: do you your selfe reach me my sword, that you may save your own life and his, and see that it is not want of will but strength that keeps me alive. She not being able to endure I should continue any longer, coming neerer answered me thus In saying that Valentinian and you are the only losers, you might very wel have put me into the number, for since you do not love me, my loss is the greatest of all: Did I not feare our discourse would be observed, I would say more, and sweare that I love none but you, and beseech you to beleeve that as you are kept alive by force, so revenge keeps me, for I do not take this Maximus either for husband or Emperour; but for the most cruell Tyrant that ever was in Rome: Were it not in desire and hopes of this re∣venge, I would not live a minute, and see you thus wounded. But heaven which is just does promise me revenge for the blood of Valentinian, and for the wrong which is done unto Ursaces and the miserable Eudoxe. In the meane time (my Cavalier) take corrage and recover of your wounds as soone as you can, for there is no other meanes to come unto our desired ends, but that. This declaration was comfort enough to my soul, in so much as I recovered of my wounds very suddainly: For this time, she would say no more, but went away, to prevent all suspition of our designe. But about three or four dayes after, she came to see me againe, told me the manner how Maximus had killed Valentinian, and how he intended to marry her, as he said himselfe, at which she was so extreamly offended as she resolved to dispatch him some way or other, out of the world. Oh my Princesse, (said I unto her) you must do nothing imprudently, for if you once failn your enterprise, you can never after hope to attempt it without abundance of danger to your selfe; besides, you would do me very great wrong, if you employ any other hand but mine in the blood of him who is the Parricide of my Soveraine, and the ravisher of you. This is the course which I conceive best to be taken: Valentinian, long before Attilas turned his armes against Italy, had concluded a peace with Genserick King of the Vandals, and left all that he had in Affrica unto him, upon condition he should be his friend and confederate. This Barbarian hath ever since made great de∣monstrations of love unto the Emperour, and would never take part with any that were his enemyes: Make knowne unto him the wicked machinations of Maximus; ac∣quaint him with the murder of Valentinian; shew him how he hath usurped the Em∣pire: complaine unto him of the force he offereth unto you, and summon him unto the promise upon which Affrica is his: Feare not but he will relieve you: for though he be a Barbarian, yet he is generous, and it is their Nationall vertue to keep promise unto death, and more unto the dead then unto their loving friends: Now, to make sure work, because all these Barbarians are naturally greedy and covetous, offer him the Empire, that he may be more eager upon it: tell him what friends and meanes you can make for him in Italy. And that you are able to make his way easy unto him, by the assistance of those who are adherents unto you against the murderer of the Emperor: now though I

must need say, it is hard to endure, that any Barbarian should ever Lord it in Italy; yet better so, then to be without revenge. Eudixe considering a while upon what I said, did answer me, that all the difficulty in the businesse would be, how to treat so se∣cretly and speedily with this Barbarian, that he might be in Italy before it was dis∣covered; and considering my present condition, she knew not whom to employ, that would be quick enough in the expedition; that she had rather die a hundred deaths, then ever Bed with this Tyrant; that she could put it off a while, by counterfeiting sicknesse, but that could not be long. I advised her to continue her counterfeiting and the better to delude the eyes of those who saw her, that she should every morning use the some of Brimstone to her face and hands, which would make her look so pale, that every one would believe her really sick. As for dispatching into Affrica, it was my misfor∣tune to be in such a case, that I could not; and besides, I had made a vow never to go out of Italy, untill I had killed the Tyrant: But that she might very well trust my dear friend Olimbres, who, I was sure, would be both faithfull and diligent in her commands, and that I would answer for his fidelity and capacity. She, who desired nothing more then revenge, and to be out of this Tyrants power, referred the whole management unto me, and desired me to dispatch him with instructions, which I did; and Olimbres shewed himselfe so wise and diligent, that within fifteen daies he arrived at Carthage, negotiated so with Genserick, as he disposed him unto Revenge, unto Usurpation, and to the Plunder of Rome; insomuch as within two months after, he set foot in Italy, with three hundred thousand fighting men, composed of Affricans, Moors, and Vandals, which put such a terrour into the City and all the Province, that every one fled to the Mountains, Woods, and Rocks. And because we did solicite him to come straight to Rome, that he might take the Tyrant, he made all the haste that possible he could, without any halt, or stay in any Townes by the way.

This put Maximus into such a fright, as without seeking to make any resistance, he permitted every one to shift for themselves as well as they could, and for his part, he fled into the Mountains with the rest. I was by this time well recovered of my wounds; and had not the fair Eudoxe charged me to the contrary, I had executed my designe; but she still restrained me, untill for more safety, the Vandal was neerer the Town. But now, seeing that in lieu of defending his usurped Estate, he left it as a prey unto the Barbarians, I was affraid lest he should save himselfe, and that when Genserick had left Italy, he would then returne againe unto his Tyranny. This was the reason why I followed after him, with some of my friends, and overtook him upon the banks of Tiber; and though most of my Company was tired out, yet I resolved to charge him, and let him go no farther. I challenged him therefore, and charged him with his wickednesse, in the death of the Emperour, in the usurpation of Italy, and in the force used against Eudoxe; and being guilty of all, he refused to fight with me, but spurred away as fast as he could: At which his own men were so ashamed and animated, that all joyning with my friends, they rid after him, and by chance, my Horse having better heeles then the rest, I first overtook him, and gave him such a blow upon the head, that he fell to the ground, where those that came after me, dispatched him out-right, so much was every one incensed against him, for his perfidie and cowardise. Thus ended this Tyrant, so hated by his own men, as when he was dead, they cut him in pieces, and threw him into the River, as if they would wash away his crimes in that manner; but all the water in the River Tiber could not wash away halfe of those which he had committed, against the Emperour, against the fair Eudoxe, and against the State.

I have hitherto related the miserable accidents which befell Eudoxe and me but these which I have now to relate, are much more dysastrous; for alas; they have brought me into this miserable condition in which you see me. Now did Genserick enter the City and he found no resistance, not so much as a dore shut against him. Eudoxe received him, gi∣ving him the title of Augustus, and telling him, that the Empire owed their liberty unto him; and, briefly, did him all the honour, and gave him all the thanks, that was possible. But this Barbarian, in lieu of being more gentle and affable by these fa∣vours, they made him more haughty and intolerable; In lieu of friendship, he proved an enemy, and carried himselfe, not as a Prince who came to relieve a distressed Prin∣cesse,

but as a Conquerour, who by force of Armes, after a long War, had conquered an enemies Country. He gave up the Towne for plunder, and making no difference be∣tween sacred and prophane things, he pillaged the Temples of all their Vessells and Treasures, and of all those Rarities, which the people and Roman Emperours for ma∣ny ages, had, out of their devotion, presented unto them. And after this sad confusion had lasted fifteen daies, he ran over most part of Italy, till he came to Parthenopea, where he did nothing but waste and spoile the Country; and when he was even glutted with spoile and rapine, he returned into Affrica, having loadned his Ships with the ri∣ches and rarities that he found in the City. But alas, not being contented with these inanimate things, he ravished away with him such persons, as he thought might be usefull to him, and amongst the rest, Oh heavens! he carried away the fair Eudoxe and her two Daughters, Eudoxe and Placidia: I was then close by this desolate Princesse, when he sent her word, that she was to prepare for her departure within three daies after: She fell into a swound at the message, and was very neer death; but I wish to heaven, that she and I had both dyed, rather then carried captives into Affrica. Oh heavens, how can I remember this accident and live? I went out of Rome with some of my friends, not acquainting any with my designe, not so much as my deer friend Olimbres, with whom I could not speak when I went, because he was with Genserick, who had taken him into his friendship, since his Affrican voyage, and who by Eudoxe's com∣mand never stirred from him that he might save the Town as much as possible; so as at his request, he did many favours unto severall persons. I sent afterwards to him, to the end he should assure Eudoxe, that I would either get her out of these barbarous hande or die. She, who had a very solid and sound judgment, did know very well, that my enterprise was impossible by reason of that numerous body of men that Genserick brought with him, which exceeded the number of three hundred thousand men: Had she known where I was, doubtlesse she had kept me from executing my designe; but, lest I should be surprised by the Vandals, I never stayed a whole night in a place I had rallied together about a thousand Horse, and if I had had a little more time perhaps I had got up such an Army, as should have eased these Barbarians of our spoils, which they were carrying into Affrica, or at least, should have felt the weight of a Roman Arme; but I had only eight daies time. And not being able to endure they should car∣ry away Eudoxe, I resolved to fight this great and terrible Army, with this little hand∣full of men, thinking my life could not end upon a more noble account, nor in a better cause. Having ambuscado'd my selfe in a Wood, neer the way of Hostia, I saw some part of this great Army march in very bad order; but my aime being only at Eudoxe, I kept my selfe still close, till I saw some Chariots comming, in which I perceived some Ladies; and supposing them to be the same I did expect, I encouraged my men, telling them, that this would be an act worthy of a Roman name. Upon setting spurs to my Horse, and they most couragiously following me, we charged these Chariots, whose Guard was above ten thousand Barbarians. I shal not relate the passage of this charge, for it is impertinent: But so it was that we routed them; and had Eudoxe been there, as I thought she was doubtlesse I had delivered her out of these barbarous hands: but, as ill luck was she was still behinde; and those Ladies which I saw, were such, as had been taken in the City and Country, and were to be carried with the rest of the Booty into Affrica. Oh heavens! how was I grieved, when I saw my selfe thus mista∣ken? and had all the Army on my back; for, upon this Tumult, the Vanguard recoyled, and the Reerguard advanced and drew into Battalia; so as I was environed on all sides with so great a number of enemies, as we could expect nothing but ruine: Some ran away, others stayed; for my part I laid me down amongst the dead, and was stripped of my clothes as they were; and it was happy for me, for my clothes being carried by a Souldier, Eudoxe knew them and shewed them unto Olimbres, who would not leave her. All that she said, was: I see, Ursaces, at the last hath met with that Rest, which Fortune ever denyed him. Upon this expression, she swouned in her Chariot. Olimbres running after him who had my clothes, he asked where he got them; and being told the place, he went presently unto it, and sought till he found me; how sad was he, when he saw me! However, he got leave of the Vandal, to do me the last office of buriall: He would needs return to Rome, and have me carried also upon Boughs. I was so jogged

in the carriage, that I gave some signes of life. Olimbres seeing this, was beyond all measure glad, and brought me into the first house they came unto, where I received such Cordialls, as I recovered out of my long swoun. You may imagine, Silvander, how glad I was, when carrying my friend to his grave, I found him alive; those who saw me did plainly see, that his life was as deer unto me as my own; yet, we had both been happy had we ended our daies then, for then I should not have grieved at the absence and ravishment of the fair Eudoxe, nor Olimbres, at parting from his dear Placidia. This consideration made me resolve upon death, as soon as I heard this persidious Genserick had carried Eudoxe and her two Daughters away; but the great care which my friend had of me, kept me from the execution of my designe, as long as my wounds kept me in bed. But when I had recovered my selfe of these wounds, and was able to get upon a Horse, I stole away as secretly as possibly I could from him; and ta∣king the way towards Tuscany, I hid my self in the Appennine Mountaines, intending to die with hunger or some such hardship, not being willing to shed my blood, for fear of offending the great god, who punisheth Homicides. At the last, the languishment of this life, made me resolve upon a more sudden death; and when, casting off all conside∣ration of heaven, I would have run my sword to my heart, my dear Olimbres came, and stayed my arme, so by this means, gave me a life the second time. Then afterwards, when I still persisted in my resolution to effect my intentions, a young man came in, whose beauty and wisdome did make us think, that comming in such a nick of time, he was some messenger sent from god, purposely to divert me from my designe. I must confesse, that at the first I thought him so, and was so obedient to his words, that I had no minde to kill my selfe, hoping to receive from him some supernaturall aid; so as being thus deceived, we all three went unto the next Town, to get Olimbres dressed of a great wound which I gave him, when he offered to take the sword out of my hand, where with I would have killed my selfe. But when I understood, that this young man was a Segusian, as you are, and that he came to the place where I was, by meer chance, I confesse, I took a stronger resolution of dying then before, and doubtlesse had, but for this young man, whose name was Celadon, as afterwards he told me, who used such strong arguments, and gave me such good reasons, that I resolved to stay till the reco∣very of Olimbres. There was in this place an old and grave Chirurgeon, (who dressed the wound of my friend) whose age and travells in severall Countries, had got him great knowledge and experience: this man took speciall notice of our sorrowes; and as one word may sometimes discover what we desire to keep secret; so I did not so well dissemble the matter, but he did partly suspect my designe; so as one day he took me aside, and said thus unto me: Think it not strange, Sir, that I, unasked, intrude my selfe to give you some counsell; my age, your merit, and my duty to god, invites me to it; take therefore in good part what I shall say. I know, that you are seized with extream sorrowes, and that you have a designe against your own life. Do not offer it, for god, after your death, will most severely punish all murderers of themselves. And besides, to kill ones selfe, argues a defect in courage, as if you durst not look a dysaster in the face; and as those who fly for fear of their enemies, so such as kill themselves for fear of any dysaster, do flye out of the world for want of courage, and because they dare not abide one of fortune's blowes. God hath given unto man judgment and pru∣dence, to make his election by solid and sound reason; and because man, being possessed with passion, can neither judge nor chuse aright, he hath given him a communicative soul, to the end that making choice of one or more friends, he may ask counsell of them, in all matters of importance. And because friends are very often interested in their friends businesse, this god, not leaving man without a good guide, hath given him Judges and Kings, to order and decide all manner of doubts and controversies.

This great Creator of men, loving them as his Children, would furnish them with all that is necessary both to live and to die; and to that end hath inspired the Massi∣lians, to constitute prudent Judges; it seeming unto them, that death is no injury, but a tribute of nature, and therefore it would be unjustly done to deny that remedy unto such, as with reason do demand it: And therefore they have erected a publick Theater in their City, where they use to keep poyson, and will give it unto him to drink, who shall desire to die, if it be so, that the Councell of six hundred do adjudge that his reasons why he desires death; be good.

I do hint this unto you, Sir, that if you be oppressed with any sad dysaster, you may rid your selfe from the tyranny of it, by the judgment of so many, worthy, wise, and prudent persons. For my part, because you shall not think I give you such coun∣sell, as I will not take my selfe, I am resolved within these few daies to make my addresse unto them, being incited thereunto by a contrary opinion unto yours; for, I have lived along age, full fourescore and nineteen years, in great felicity, according to my rank and quality; rich, in the gifts of fortune, above any of my profession; happy in Chil∣dren, beloved of my Neighbours, esteemed of every one; and as I have lived, so I would die happily; I would not stay so long, as untill my hundreth year, lest I should tempt some dysaster, to make me die miserable; having learned, that if Priamas had dyed a little before the losse of his Town, he had been the greatest Prince of all Asia.

This good old man used this language unto me, which had no small operation upon my thoughts; for, as soon as I came to Olimbres, I made this relation unto him: and the result was, that we would all three for company go unto this place, and put an end unto our daies. But heaven would not have it so, for he dyed when you relieved us. These two Women which you saved, were his two Daughters, who came along with him, to close his eyes, if the Councell of Six Hundred had granted him the poy∣son. We thought our selves obliged to assist them, and not to forsake them, till they had found the Corps of their dead Father, and given their last duty unto him, who never had any misfortune in his life; and to the end, that after his death he might be happy also, in being interred by the hands of his own Children.

But to return unto that which concernes us. We were fully resolved to prosecute our designe, and to make it appear, that it was not the losse of Estate, or shipwrack, or any such, did move our wills unto it, being very rich, and owners of great pos∣sessions, we sent unto our houses for our servants to come unto us, with a considerable summe of many.

Thus Ursaces ended, moving me infinitely to compassionate his fortune and Eu∣doxe's. And having answered, that I have seen many, who had petitioned the Coun∣sell of Six Hundred for this poyson, and that it was granted unto some, and refused unto others. He desired in all favour to keep it secret, lest some friend unto Maximus should prevent them, and hinder their death. Then he asked me, how the Request or Petition used to be presented, in what termes, and what ceremonies were used. To which I answered, that the thing was very easy; one to addresse himselfe unto a Ma∣gistrate, especially appointed to receive such Petitions: That he would make report of it unto the Councell of Six Hundred: That none ever used to name themselves, be∣cause there should be no respect of persons, and the Petition must be in this Forme.

A Petition, Presented unto the Councell of Six Hundred, de∣manding the Poyson.

THe high and soveraign Councell of six Hundred, are humbly requested to grant unto the Petitioner, the favourable Cure of all human miseries, by vertue, and according to the sage and generous Lawes of the Massilians, who are ordained Judges upon earth betwixt Fortune and Men. And to that end, he humbly beseecheth, that a certain day may be assigned, on which he may produce his reasons and argu∣ments before you. And so god preserve and augment your Grandure.

They desired a Copy of this, to the end they might not mistake; and having pro∣mised one unto them, I continued. After they have assigned you a day, (said I unto them) and after you have laid before them the occasions, which move you unto a de∣sire of death, which must be done in as clear and short a method as you can, without naming your selves or any other: If they finde your matter just, they will grant your request. When I had spoken these last words, I plainly saw by the tears of Ursaces, that he did desire death; but I perceived, that Olimbres was invited unto it, only out of affection unto his Companion, from whom he would never part.

After a few dayes, thus spent, their servants came unto them out of Italy being many in number, and bringing abundance of riches with them. All things being then in ready∣nesse, they entreated me to accompany them before the Judges, and to do them this last and lamentable office. Which I did with much sorrow, for I loved them, and was afraid the Councell would think their request just. They presented their Petitions, and were assigned the third day after; for that was the terme which was given them, in which they might change their minds. But Ursaces was constant, and resolute in his opinion: and with Olimbres presented themselves both being very well habited and at∣tended: And being called before the Councell, they were asked their reasons, why they would dye; Ursaces briefly answered thus.

The Request of Ursaces.

I Desire to dye, Massilian Lords, because life is displeasing, unprofitable, and sham∣full unto me; displeasing, because loving and being loved by a most faire and vertuous Lady, she is carried away a slave into a strange Country; unprofitable, because the ravisher is infinitely puissant above my strength: And shamfull; because, having sworne a thousand times unto this Lady, that as long as I lived, he should not wrong her: It is a most abominable shame for me to live and suffer it. Now the great God having given life unto men, for their good, there is no reason it should be enjoy∣ed if it be bad. For this cause, sage Sirs, I do present my self before you, in hopes to obtaine that comfort which you do not use to refuse unto miserable men: and be most certaine of this, that you did never grant it to any more miserable, nor who desired it more then my selfe.

The speech of Ursaces, caused every one to fixe their eyes upon him, admiring his constancy and resolution of language▪ for he did not alter either in voyce or complexi∣on. Then Olimbres addressed himselfe in this manner.

The Request of Olimbres.

I Desire to dye, Massilian Lords, for the same reasons which my freind hath formerly alledged; for as he, so I, have lost her I love; and more, because I see that he my friend desires to dye. For loving him above all the world, all the world is nothing to me if he leave it. Amity is nothing but an union of two wills; and I do not love him, should I consent unto a disunion. It is against the duty of any man of honor, to cease loving, where once he is with reason fixed: all reason constraines me to this amity: for he is transcendently vertuous: an unparalelled friend, and I owe him my life. Were it not an absurd contradiction of reason, if I should faile in poynt of friendship? There∣fore, grave and wise Sirs, since heaven has ordained you for a comfort unto the afflicted, deny not this remedy unto me, lest you should contradict your owne lawes and ordi∣nances, which you have for many ages adjudged to be so just and sacred.

Every one admired the resolution of this constant friend. The Councell, after a long debate was in doubt whether they should grant or deny their demands, untill the Prin∣cipall of the Councell by the advice of them all, asked Ursaces, whether he would per∣mit his friend to dye? Unto which he answered, No. And why? (asked the wise Massilans.) Because (answered Ursaces) he ought to live and comfort, if he can, his unfortunate Lady and mine. Have you (said the Massilian) permission from the Lady that you love, to dye because you are not able to relieve her? I have not (answered Ursaces) for I never saw her since this misfortune happened: But I dare assure you, that her generous heart would consent unto it; and if she were in my place she would make the same request which I do. The Lords of the Councell after this, did long argue the matter amongst themselves: And it was resolved and agreed upon; and the Prin∣cipall with a grave and audible voice gave this Judgement.

The Judgement of the Councell of Six Hundred.

UPon the request presented unto us by these two Petitioners to obtain the consolation of all humane miseryes, the Councell doth ordaine that before it be granted unto the first Petitioner, he shall procure the permission of the Lady whom he loves, to dispose of his life, and upon a certificate of the same, his desire shall be granted. As for the other; since his friend will not consent unto his death he is declared incapable of obtaining the favour. And because both of them are lovers and loved, and because a lover ought not to live for himselfe, but for the Person whom he loves, therefore by consequence he neither can nor ought to dispose of his life, without the permission of her whose he is.

Oh heavens? (cryed out Ursaces having heard this doome) how shall I passe away my sad dayes and nights? Then making an humble reverence to the Lords, he went from the Councell, but so sad that he could not obtaine his demand, as every one did admire the constancy and firme desire of death. Olimbres was not so eager of it, be∣cause his desire of death was onely to accompany his friend: and therefore was very glad of the denyal. Then they retyred to their lodgings, much lamenting their miserable fortunes. And the noyse was spread not onely all over the Towne but also through the Country, that two great Roman Persons were come purposely to demand the poison. Upon this, a great Astrologer, who was desirous to know who they were, came to visit them. This man was very old, and had wholly addicted himselfe unto that science, so as he was growne very admirable in predictions. This man being adverti∣sed of their designe, fearing that their corrages disposing them so eager of death, and the poison being denyed them, that they would have recourse unto the sword, he desired he might advise them according to the rules of his Art. With this intention he went unto them one morning when they were alone in their chamber. He desired me to be his conducter because we had some acquaintance, when I was a student there. I shall not make any relation of the particular discourse which they had, for they were very long. But so it was that punctually knowing the time of their Nativities: having long contemplated upon their Physiognomies and hands, and having drawne some lines in paper which he parted, and then joyned together; he said thus unto them. Sirs, live, and preserve your selves for a better season, which the heavens do promise unto you. As for you (said he unto Ursaces) you shall recover her whom you have lost, by the meanes of a man whom of all the world you love best: you shall enjoy full contentment and possesse her many yeares, in the same Towne where your love first begun. And you (said he unto Olimbres) you shall marry her whom you love: you shall bring her back unto her Country with her Mother; you shall not dye till an Emperour of the West be made. These things which I tell you are infallible, and nothing can divert them.

The reputation of this man, had such an influence upon Ursaces that he resolved to believe him, and follow his counsell; and conjured him by the great God whom he adored, to assist him with his best advise. Then he propounded unto him the hatred of Genserick, and the danger he should incurre by going into Affrica. You must, (said he) send back all your domestiques into Italy, and make a shew as if you would kill your selfe, to the end the report of your death may be spread abroad: some few dayes after, you must designe your selfe in the habit of a slave and put your selfe into the ser∣vice of your friend, who may carry you into Affrica where he shall meet Genserick, and doubt not but that being thus unknowne, you will compasse your desires. I would advise you to go unto Constantinople, there stay till Olimbres come to you with Eu∣doxe and Placidia: for I finde by my observations that he will bring them thither. But I have three reasons to say that you must go into Affrica. First because I do foresee that you must be taken for a slave, and you cannot avoyd it: Secondly, that perhaps your stay there will be very vexatious to you in being so long without your friend, and not seeing her you love and lastly that you may assist Olimbres with your counsell, who will have occasion to stand in need of it. Moreover, it is very necessary that you make •• report run, that you are dead, to take away all suspition from Genserick, and all the

ill will that he may conceive against Olimbres; if you stay either in Greece or in Italy, it is impossible, but some or other will discover you. Thus did this wise man advise him, and after he had committed him to heavens custody, he went home to his house.

Ursaces having consulted long with himselfe what to do, at the last resolved to ob∣serve him punctually in every thing; and therefore one evening, having gotten a bladder full of blood close to his side, under his clothes, he went to walk by the Sea-side, with most of his domesticks following him, and many others of the Towne, where after he had made a long and sad discourse of his miseries, and complained extreamly against his refusall of poyson, faigning that he would not live any longer, he thrust a knife into his side, and made the blood in the bladder run out in great abundance, so as every one thought him dead. Then getting from amongst them, he threw himselfe into the Sea, leaving us his Cloak in our hands, Olimbres and I seeming, as if we endeavoured to hold him. It was now twilight, and he could swim very well, so as plunging him∣selfe over head, and swimming under water, we presently lost the sight of him. Every one was stricken with wonder, Olimbres lamented extreamly, purposely to make it be believed, that his friend was dead: Then telling what his name was, the newes of his death was divulged far and neer. In the mean time, I went unto the place where I knew he would retire himselfe, and bringing him the habit of a Slave, and lodging him in a poor house, I accommodated him with all things requisite.

It hapned the next morning, Olimbres seeming to search for the body of his friend, found the Corps of the good old Chirurgion, and bringing it unto his two Daughters, they rendred him the last office of a Sepulcher, as if heaven would not let this happy old man want any dues that belonged unto men, after his death: His Daughters ere∣cted him a Tombe, and I, at their request, did write his Epitaph, which was fixed upon it. A few daies after, Olimbres sent all his Domesticks, together with those of Ursaces's, and the two Daughters of the old Chirurgion, into Italy; and taking others, he went with his friend, disguised like a Slave, into Affrica, much desiring my company: But, since my destiny was, to obey him who brought me up, I would not disobey his will.

This, Madam, (said Silvander unto Leonida) is all that I know concerning the for∣tune of Ursaces, who for his fidelity, deserves all manner of contentment. Leonida would have answered, if Hylas had not stept in and interrupted her: Did you ever hear (said he) of such a fool, the veryest fool that ever made profession of any love? What! serve all his life for no other contentment, but to be called, My Cavalier, and to call her, My fairest Princesse, or at the best, to have but some few dry and miserable kisses? And this, forsooth, must be thought enough, to make him run so many hazards of his life, to spil so much of his blood, to demand poyson, and at last to turn slave. For my part, I think he is rightly served, and let him take all his labour for his paines; let him wear the habit of a slave into Affrica, for all his life has been nothing but a slavery. Adamas and all the Company could not chuse but laugh at the opinion of Hylas, and had it not been supper-time, I believe he had not passed without an answer. But the Druide rose up, and taking Tircis by one hand, and Phocion by the other, he took a turne or two in the Gallery, whilst supper was setting upon the table, and every one observed what he thought most rare; and amongst the rest, Tircis looking upon a King, armed with many Pennons and ornaments hanging about him, with a countenance full of gravity: Father, (said he unto him) I beseech you tell me, who is this, who bears upon his Shield of Gules, three Diademes, Or? It is Pharamond, said the Druide; the first King of the Francks, who made the Romans feel the weight of his victorious Armes in Gaul. And who is that, continued Tircis, that is next unto him, that beareth Azure, a Cat, Argent, armed Gules? It is (said Adamas) Gondioch, King of the Burgundians, who took this Animall for his Armes. And, who the other, (said Tircis) who bears Or, three Ravens,, with their wings displayed, Proper, and purple Tallons? It is (answered Adamas) the King of the Gepides, called Ardarick. Who is he, re∣plyed Tircis, who bears Gules, a Falcon, with wings displayed, Or, crowned Argent? I need not ask you, for you have already told me, that he is called Attilas, King of the Hunnes. It must needs be confessed, that you have been very curious, not only in get∣ting the Pictures of so many illustrious persons, but also in adorning them, and arming them as they were wont to be.

In the mean time, Hylas, who held Alexis by her hand, he was discoursing upon other subjects; for, being growne desperately in love with her, he could not upon any termes leave her. Adamas, who took notice of it, and was very glad that he was so mistaken, because it would more delude others. When he was going out of the Gallery, he turned towards Hylas: Well, shepheard, (said he unto him) which is the Piece whom you think fairest in the place? Hylas made present answer, that it was Alexis. But, said Adamas, I mean, of the Pictures which you have seen. Have seen! said Hylas, nay, I have no eyes to look upon any thing but Alexis: And if you look for any satisfaction to that question, you must aske Tircis; for those are Pictures only of dead persons, and he loves such above any that are alive. I am able to answer for my selfe, said Tircis, that I do see none fairer then Alexis, nor which pleaseth me better. How (said Hylas, who began to be jealous) Hylas, I see then, is not the only inconstant man in the Com∣pany, since you are growne a liker of any. But Mistresse, (said he unto Alexis) let it not trouble you, for he is better for being inconstant. Why, Servant, (said Alexis) do you say so? Because, said he, that he was wont to love none but dead people. Do you not see, replyed Tircis, that if I love death, I must needs love Alexis, since her beauty is able to kill as many as death it selfe? Ah! (replyed Hylas) if you take it in that sense, I have done: But to make us both contented, let her give death unto Tircis, and life unto Hylas. Both you and I shall be very well contented, replyed Tircis, in recei∣ving either a life or a death so sweet. Upon this word, every one going out of the Gal∣lery, they sat down to supper, which being ended, and a good part of the night spent in discourse, they were all conducted to their Chambers, where having rested themselves, they went the next morning to their own Homes, so satisfied with the courteous ci∣vility of Adamas, and with the beauty and good behaviour of Alexis, that every one did highly commend them; but especially Hylas, who not being able to hold from extolling the perfections of his new Mistresse, by fortune they met with Astrea, Dia∣na, and Phillis, in the great Meadow, with Madonthe, Laonice, Pallinice, Cyrcinea, and Florice, which expected their return, to hear a report of the beauty of Alexis, which they had already heard of. And Phillis addressing her selfe unto Lycidas: Well, shepheard, said she unto him, how do you like this so much cryed up Beauty? I will not answer you, said he, untill you have asked Hylas. Well, Servant, said she unto Hylas, what reports will you afford us? And because he answered not: What, Servant, said she not speak unto your Mistresse? You my Mistresse, said he, and I your Servant! No, no, if you think it, believe me, you are mistaken; for I assure you, I think of no∣thing lesse. How! Servant, (said Phillis, and seemed to be troubled) will you not have me to be your Mistresse? Good shepheardesse, said he, do not use the word, Servant, and the word, Mistresse, so familiarly, for they are not seasonable amongst us. At what Game (said she) have I lost you, Hylas? At the Game of the Fairest, answered he. Do you not know, that it was alwaies my custome, to leave those I loved, as soon as I found one that was fairer: Aske Florice, Cyrcenea, Palliuice, Madonthe, and Laonice, if I did not so by them: If none of these will tell you, then ask Phillis, your very good friend; for if she will confesse the truth, she will tell you, how I have left her for Alexis, who indeed is the fairest and most lovely, that ever I saw. Every one did laugh heartily at the discourse of Hylas, and Phillis amongst the rest, who said thus unto him: Why, shepheard, are you then fully resolved to love me no longer? It is possible, you should quit me for a Druide? But my comfort is, it will be long, before you can have any fru∣ition of your love; for Alexis cannot marry, untill her time with the Carnutans be expired. Hylas smiling and shaking his head at this: I assure you, shepheardesse, said he, you tell me a thing, that would make me in love with Alexis, if I were not so be∣fore; for ever since I began to look upon women, I never loved any yet so, but I began to hate her, as soon as ever I thought of marriage: So as if Alexis be not content with her time, I will give her as much more, and yet love her. Now let me tell you, there is an odd kinde of ambition in my love, which I must by all means strive to satisfie. I have already loved Maides, Wives, and Widowes: I have courted my Inferiours, my Equalls, and my Superiours: I have served fooles, crafty ones, and good ones: I have met with severity, courtesy, and insensibility, to either love or hatred: I have tried old ones, middle aged, and very children: I have liked the fair, the black, and the browne, beau∣ties: I have made addresses unto some, that did love me; unto others, that did not love me: I have tryed all conditions, and all humours, that can be in women. But I must

confesse, I never courted a Druide or a Vestall before, I have been hitherto a Novist in that holy Tribe; and I think, the gods have sent me this fair Alexis, to the end, I may make it my boast, that I am the most perfect and experienced Lover that ever was None in the Company could forbear laughing. Florice, she addressed her selfe unto him: Hylas, said she, are you not afeard, that Tharamis will blast you with lightning from heaven, for offering to court one that is dedicated unto him? Oh! Florice, said Hylas, you that are so religiously devoted unto the gods, have not you dedicated your selfe unto Tharamis, and yet you have had Theombres in your armes a thousand times, and never feared any blasting with lightning from heaven? 'Tis true, (said Florice, very faintly) but things that are absolutely forbidden, do more offend the gods, then those which are indifferent. A very fine excuse indeed, said Hylas, and well found out; pray tell me, where do you finde, that the gods did ever forbid it? If you had ever seen a Druide or a Vestall received into their Orders, by their Antients, said she, you would not have asked me this question. Oh, Oh, said Hylas, I do now understand you very well; it is the old drie Druides that does forbid them, but yet they are no gods: It is a Law made only by men, men that are old, and not able to enjoy the pleasures of youth, and therefore are envious, and deny unto youth what their age is deprived of. Fie, shepheard, (said Tircis) mingle not things prophane with things sacred, and consider, that the gold of Apollo's Temple, which cost us Gaulians so dear, was dedicated unto him by men. Oh my good friend Tircis, said Hylas, how long is it since you became so amorous? You, I say, who were not wont to be contented with the Living, but would rake the Tombes and Monuments for one, whom it pleased the gods to take unto themselves from amongst men; you, that were not wont to be conversant amongst the living, but the dead, do you now come to talk of the gods, and of things that be∣long to living men? Oh, Hylas, (said Tircis, and sighed) how infinitely you wrong me; I do confesse, that I do love Cleon, and I shall rather lose the memory of my selfe, then of her and her perfections. But wherein do I offend the gods, or in my duty to∣wards men? Would it not be infinite ingratitude to the gods, not to honour their most perfect work? And he were not a man, that would not love or forget that thing, which above any in the world is most worthy of love and memory.

Thus these Shepheards discoursed, whilst Lycidas related unto Phillis and the fair Astrea, what he had seen in the house of Adamas, and how fair Alexis was. Truly, said he, I hope, that I may without offence tell you, that she is the very perfect resem∣blance of my dear and dead Brother, when he was in his greatest beauty; for, I did ne∣ver in all my life see two faces, no, nor any Glasse, represent a more exact resemblance. Is it possible, said Astrea. So true, said Lycidas, that I know no difference between them, but in their habit; and to tell you truly, me thought Alexis to be a little fairer of the two. Oh heavens! said Astrea, can you favour me so far, as to help my eyes unto this long'd for sight? Then turning to Diana, and whispering her in the ear: I promise you, Sister, said she, that if I can obtain the favour, I will go with her, and turn Druide. Oh god, Sister, said Diana, never think of such a sad separation, or else resolve, to take Phillis and me with you. Oh, said Astrea, that is too unreasonable, for it would be too great a wrong unto Silvander and Lycidas. Diana would have replyed, but Astrea made a signe unto her to be silent, lest they should be heard. After this, all the Compa∣ny retired to their own homes, resolving to visit Adamas and the fair Alexis within three daies after: A terme, which Astrea thought to be an age, so extreamly did she long for a sight of this so much beloved resemblance. In the mean while, Celadon was as impatient for a sight of her.

The end of the two first Tomes of Astrea, according to the Originall.

FINIS.