Part II.

At the end of the first part of these letters, we left _Philander_

impatiently waiting on the sea-shore for the approach of the lovely

_Sylvia_; who accordingly came to him dressed like a youth, to secure

herself from a discovery. They stayed not long to caress each other,

but he taking the welcome maid in his arms, with a transported joy

bore her to a small vessel, that lay ready near the beach; where, with

only _Brilliard_ and two men servants, they put to sea, and passed

into _Holland_, landing at the nearest port; where, after having

refreshed themselves for two or three days, they passed forwards

towards the _Brill_, _Sylvia_ still remaining under that amiable

disguise: but in their passage from town to town, which is sometimes

by coach, and other times by boat, they chanced one day to encounter a

young _Hollander_ of a more than ordinary gallantry for that country,

so degenerate from good manners, and almost common civility, and so

far short of all the good qualities that made themselves appear in

this young nobleman. He was very handsome, well made, well dressed,

and very well attended; and whom we will call _Octavio_, and who,

young as he was, was one of the _States_ of _Holland_; he spoke

admirable good _French_, and had a vivacity and quickness of wit

unusual with the natives of that part of the world, and almost above

all the rest of his sex: _Philander_ and _Sylvia_ having already

agreed for the cabin of the vessel that was to carry them to the next

stage, _Octavio_ came too late to have any place there but amongst the

common crowd; which the master of the vessel, who knew him, was much

troubled at, and addressed himself as civilly as he could to

_Philander_, to beg permission for one stranger of quality to dispose

of himself in the cabin for that day: _Philander_ being well enough

pleased, so to make an acquaintance with some of power of that

country, readily consented; and _Octavio_ entered with an address so

graceful and obliging, that at first sight he inclined _Philander_’.,

heart to a friendship with him; and on the other side the lovely

person of _Philander_, the quality that appeared in his face and mien,

obliged _Octavio_ to become no less his admirer. But when he saluted

_Sylvia_, who appeared to him a youth of quality, he was extremely

charmed with her pretty gaiety, and an unusual air and life in her

address and motion; he felt a secret joy and pleasure play about his

soul, he knew not why, and was almost angry, that he felt such an

emotion for a youth, though the most lovely that he ever saw. After

the first compliments, they fell into discourse of a thousand

indifferent things, and if he were pleased at first sight with the two

lovers, he was wholly charmed by their conversation, especially that

of the amiable youth; who well enough pleased with the young stranger,

or else hitherto having met nothing so accomplished in her short

travels; and indeed despairing to meet any such; she put on all her

gaiety and charms of wit, and made as absolute a conquest as it was

possible for her supposed sex to do over a man, who was a great

admirer of the other; and surely the lovely maid never appeared so

charming and desirable as that day; they dined together in the cabin;

and after dinner reposed on little mattresses by each other’s side,

where every motion, every limb, as carelessly she lay, discovered a

thousand graces, and more and more enflamed the now beginning lover;

she could not move, nor smile, nor speak, nor order any charm about

her, but had some peculiar grace that began to make him uneasy; and

from a thousand little modesties, both in her blushes and motions, he

had a secret hope she was not what she seemed, but of that sex whereof

she discovered so many softnesses and beauties; though to what

advantage that hope would amount to his repose, was yet a disquiet he

had not considered nor felt: nor could he by any fondness between

them, or indiscretion of love, conceive how the lovely strangers were

allied; he only hoped, and had no thoughts of fear, or any thing that

could check his new beginning flame. While thus they passed the

afternoon, they asked a thousand questions, of lovers, of the country

and manners, and their security and civility to strangers; to all

which _Octavio_ answered as a man, who would recommend the place and

persons purely to oblige their stay; for now self-interest makes him

say all things in favour of it; and of his own friendship, offers them

all the service of a man in power, and who could make an interest in

those that had more than himself; much he protested, much he offered,

and yet no more than he designed to make good on all occasions, which

they received with an acknowledgement that plainly discovered a

generosity and quality above the common rate of men; so that finding

in each other occasions for love and friendship, they mutually

professed it, and nobly entertained it. _Octavio_ told his name and

quality, left nothing unsaid that might confirm the lovers of his

sincerity. This begot a confidence in _Philander_, who in return told

him so much of his circumstances, as sufficed to let him know he was a

person so unfortunate to have occasioned the displeasure of his king

against him, and that he could not continue with any repose in that

kingdom, whose monarch thought him no longer fit for those honours he

had before received: _Octavio_ renewed his protestations of serving

him with his interest and fortune, which the other receiving with all

the gallant modesty of an unfortunate man, they came ashore, where

_Octavio_’. coaches and equipage waiting his coming to conduct him to

his house, he offered his new friends the best of them to carry them

to their lodging, which he had often pressed might be his own palace;

but that being refused as too great an honour, he would himself see

them placed in some one, which he thought might be most suitable to

their quality; they excused the trouble, but he pressed too eagerly to

be denied, and he conducted them to a merchant’s house not far from

his own, so love had contrived for the better management of this new

affair of his heart, which he resolved to pursue, be the fair object

of what sex soever: but after having well enough recommended them to

the care of the merchant, he thought it justice to leave them to their

rest, though with abundance of reluctancy; so took his leave of both

the lovely strangers, and went to his own home. And after a hasty

supper got himself up to bed: not to sleep; for now he had other

business: love took him now to task, and asked his heart a thousand

questions. Then it was he found the idea of that fair unknown had

absolute possession there: nor was he at all displeased to find he was

a captive; his youth and quality promise his hopes a thousand

advantages above all other men: but when he reflected on the beauty of

Philander, on his charming youth and conversation, and every grace

that adorns a conqueror, he grew inflamed, disordered, restless,

angry, and out of love with his own attractions; considered every

beauty of his own person, and found them, or at least thought them

infinitely short of those of his now fancied rival; yet it was a rival

that he could not hate, nor did his passion abate one thought of his

friendship for Philander, but rather more increased it, insomuch that

he once resolved it should surmount his love if possible, at least he

left it on the upper-hand, till time should make a better discovery.

When tired with thought we’ll suppose him asleep, and see how our

lovers fared; who being lodged all on one stair-case (that is,

Philander, Sylvia, and Brilliard) it was not hard for the lover to

steal into the longing arms of the expecting _Sylvia_; no fatigues of

tedious journeys, and little voyages, had abated her fondness, or his

vigour; the night was like the first, all joy! All transport!

_Brilliard_ lay so near as to be a witness to all their sighs of love,

and little soft murmurs, who now began from a servant to be permitted

as an humble companion; since he had had the honour of being married

to _Sylvia_, though yet he durst not lift his eyes or thoughts that

way; yet it might be perceived he was melancholy and sullen whenever

he saw their dalliances; nor could he know the joys his lord nightly

stole, without an impatience, which, if but minded or known, perhaps

had cost him his life. He began, from the thoughts she was his wife,

to fancy fine enjoyment, to fancy authority which he durst not assume,

and often wished his lord would grow cold, as possessing lovers do,

that then he might advance his hope, when he should even abandon or

slight her: he could not see her kissed without blushing with

resentment; but if he has assisted to undress him for her bed, he was

ready to die with anger, and would grow sick, and leave the office to

himself: he could not see her naked charms, her arms stretched out to

receive a lover, with impatient joy, without madness; to see her clasp

him fast, when he threw himself into her soft, white bosom, and

smother him with kisses: no, he could not bear it now, and almost lost

his respect when he beheld it, and grew saucy unperceived. And it was

in vain that he looked back upon the reward he had to stand for that

necessary cypher a husband. In vain he considered the reasons why, and

the occasion wherefore; he now seeks precedents of usurped dominion,

and thinks she is his wife, and has forgot that he is her creature,

and _Philander_’. vassal. These thoughts disturbed him all the night,

and a certain jealousy, or rather curiosity to listen to every motion

of the lovers, while they were employed after a different manner.

Next day it was debated what was best to be done, as to their conduct

in that place; or whether _Sylvia_ should yet own her sex or not; but

she, pleased with the cavalier in herself, begged she might live under

that disguise, which indeed gave her a thousand charms to those which

nature had already bestowed on her sex; and Philander was well enough

pleased she should continue in that agreeable dress, which did not

only add to her beauty, but gave her a thousand little privileges,

which otherwise would have been denied to women, though in a country

of much freedom. Every day she appeared in the Tour, she failed not to

make a conquest on some unguarded heart of the fair sex: not was it

long ere she received _billets-doux_ from many of the most

accomplished who could speak and write _French_. This gave them a

pleasure in the midst of her unlucky exile, and she failed not to

boast her conquests to Octavio, who every day gave all his hours to

love, under the disguise of friendship, and every day received new

wounds, both from her conversation and beauty, and every day confirmed

him more in his first belief, that she was a woman; and that confirmed

his love. But still he took care to hide his passion with a gallantry,

that was natural to him, and to very few besides; and he managed his

eyes, which were always full of love, so equally to both, that when he

was soft and fond it appeared more his natural humour, than from any

particular cause. And that you may believe that all the arts of

gallantry, and graces of good management were more peculiarly his than

another’s, his race was illustrious, being descended from that of the

Princes of _Orange_, and great birth will shine through, and shew

itself in spite of education and obscurity: but _Octavio_ had all

those additions that render a man truly great and brave; and this is

the character of him that was next undone by our unfortunate and fatal

beauty. At this rate for some time they lived thus disguised under

feigned names, _Octavio_ omitting nothing that might oblige them in

the highest degree, and hardly any thing was talked of but the new and

beautiful strangers, whose conquests in all places over the ladies are

well worthy, both for their rarity and comedy, to be related entirely

by themselves in a novel. _Octavio_ saw every day with abundance of

pleasure the little revenges of love, on those women’s hearts who had

made before little conquests over him, and strove by all the gay

presents he made a young _Fillmond_ (for so they called _Sylvia_,) to

make him appear unresistible to the ladies; and while _Sylvia_ gave

them new wounds, _Octavio_ failed not to receive them too among the

crowd, till at last he became a confirmed slave, to the lovely

unknown; and that which was yet more strange, she captivated the men

no less than the women, who often gave her _serenades_ under her

window, with songs fitted to the courtship of a boy, all which added

to their diversion: but fortune had smiled long enough, and now grew

weary of obliging, she was resolved to undeceive both sexes, and let

them see the errors of their love; for _Sylvia_ fell into a fever so

violent, that _Philander_ no longer hoped for her recovery, insomuch

that she was obliged to own her sex, and take women servants out of

decency. This made the first discovery of who and what they were, and

for which every body languished under a secret grief. But _Octavio_,

who now was not only confirmed she was a woman, but that she was

neither wife to _Philander_, nor could in almost all possibility ever

be so; that she was his mistress, gave him hope that she might one day

as well be conquered by him; and he found her youth, her beauty, and

her quality, merited all his pains of lavish courtship. And now there

remains no more than the fear of her dying to oblige him immediately

to a discovery of his passion, too violent now by his new hope to be

longer concealed, but decency forbids he should now pursue the dear

design; he waited and made vows for her recovery; visited her, and

found _Philander_ the most deplorable object that despair and love

could render him, who lay eternally weeping on her bed, and no counsel

or persuasion could remove him thence; but if by chance they made him

sensible it was for her repose, he would depart to ease his mind by

new torments, he would rave and tear his delicate hair, sigh and weep

upon _Octavio_’. bosom, and a thousand times begin to unfold the

story, already known to the generous rival; despair, and hopes of pity

from him, made him utter all: and one day, when by the advice of the

physician he was forced to quit the chamber to give her rest, he

carried _Octavio_ to his own, and told him from the beginning, all the

story of his love with the charming _Sylvia_, and with it all the

story of his fate: _Octavio_ sighing (though glad of the opportunity)

told him his affairs were already but too well known, and that he

feared his safety from that discovery, since the States had obliged

themselves to harbour no declared enemy to the _French_ King. At this

news our young unfortunate shewed a resentment that was so moving,

that even _Octavio_, who felt a secret joy at the thoughts of his

departure, could no longer refrain from pity and tenderness, even to a

wish that he were less unhappy, and never to part from _Sylvia_: but

love soon grew again triumphant in his heart, and all he could say

was, that he would afford him the aids of all his power in this

encounter; which, with the acknowledgements of a lover, whose life

depended on it, he received, and parted with him, who went to learn

what was decreed in Council concerning him. While _Philander_ returned

to _Sylvia_, the most dejected lover that ever fate produced, when he

had not sighed away above an hour, but received a billet by

_Octavio_’. page from his lord; he went to his own apartment to read

it, fearing it might contain something too sad for him to be able to

hold his temper at the reading of, and which would infallibly have

disturbed the repose of _Sylvia_, who shared in every cruel thought of

_Philander_’.: when he was alone he opened it, and read this.

OCTAVIO _to_ PHILANDER.

_My Lord_,

I had rather die than be the ungrateful messenger of news, which I am

sensible will prove too fatal to you, and which will be best expressed

in fewest words: it is decreed that you must retire from the United

Provinces in four and twenty hours, if you will save a life that is

dear to me and _Sylvia_, there being no other security against your

being rendered up to the King of _France_. Support it well, and hope

all things from the assistance of your

OCTAVIO.

_From the Council, Wednesday_.

_Philander_ having finished the reading of this, remained a while

wholly without life or motion, when coming to himself, he sighed and

cried,--’Why--farewell trifling life--if of the two extremes one must

be chosen, rather than I’ll abandon _Sylvia_, I’ll stay and be

delivered up a victim to incensed _France_--It is but a life--at best

I never valued thee--and now I scorn to preserve thee at the price of

_Sylvia_’. tears!’ Then taking a hasty turn or two about his chamber,

he pausing cried,--’But by my stay I ruin both _Sylvia_ and myself,

her life depends on mine; and it is impossible hers can be preserved

when mine is in danger: by retiring I shall shortly again be blessed

with her sight in a more safe security, by staying I resign myself

poorly to be made a public scorn to _France_, and the cruel murderer

of _Sylvia_.’ Now, it was after an hundred turns and pauses,

intermixed with sighs and ravings, that he resolved for both their

safeties to retire; and having a while longer debated within himself

how, and where, and a little time ruminated on his hard pursuing fate,

grown to a calm of grief, (less easy to be borne than rage) he hastes

to _Sylvia_, whom he found something more cheerful than before, but

dares not acquaint her with the commands he had to depart----But

silently he views her, while tears of love and grief glide

unperceivably from his fine eyes, his soul grows tenderer at every

look, and pity and compassion joining to his love and his despair, set

him on the wreck of life; and now believing it less pain to die than

to leave _Sylvia_, resolves to disobey, and dare the worst that shall

befall him; he had some glimmering hope, as lovers have, that some

kind chance will prevent his going, or being delivered up; he trusts

much to the friendship of _Octavio_, whose power joined with that of

his uncle, (who was one of the _States_ also, and whom he had an

ascendant over, as his nephew and his heir) might serve him; he

therefore ventures to move him to compassion by this following letter.

PHILANDER _to_ OCTAVIO.

I know, my lord, that the exercise of virtue and justice is so innate

to your soul, and fixed to the very principle of a generous

commonwealth’s man, that where those are in competition, it is neither

birth, wealth, or glorious merit, that can render the unfortunate

condemned by you, worthy of your pity or pardon: your very sons and

fathers fall before your justice, and it is crime enough to offend

(though innocently) the least of your wholesome laws, to fall under

the extremity of their rigour. I am not ignorant neither how

flourishing this necessary tyranny, this lawful oppression renders

your State; how safe and glorious, how secure from enemies at home,

(those worst of foes) and how feared by those abroad: pursue then,

sir, your justifiable method, and still be high and mighty, retain

your ancient Roman virtue, and still be great as _Rome_ herself in her

height of glorious commonwealths; rule your stubborn natives by her

excellent examples, and let the height of your ambition be only to be

as severely just, as rigidly good as you please; but like her too, be

pitiful to strangers, and dispense a noble charity to the distressed,

compassionate a poor wandering young man, who flies to you for refuge,

lost to his native home, lost to his fame, his fortune, and his

friends; and has only left him the knowledge of his innocence to

support him from falling on his own sword, to end an unfortunate life,

pursued every where, and safe no where; a life whose only refuge is

_Octavio_’. goodness; nor is it barely to preserve this life that I

have recourse to that only as my sanctuary, and like an humble slave

implore your pity: oh, _Octavio_, pity my youth, and intercede for my

stay yet a little longer: yourself makes one of the illustrious number

of the grave, the wise and mighty Council, your uncle and relations

make up another considerable part of it, and you are too dear to all,

to find a refusal of your just and compassionate application. Oh! What

fault have I committed against you, that I should not find a safety

here; as well as those charged with the same crime with me, though of

less quality? Many I have encountered here of our unlucky party, who

find a safety among you: is my birth a crime? Or does the greatness of

that augment my guilt? Have I broken any of your laws, committed any

outrage? Do they suspect me for a spy to _France_! Or do I hold any

correspondence with that ungrateful nation? Does my religion,

principle, or opinion differ from yours? Can I design the subversion

of your glorious State? Can I plot, cabal, or mutiny alone? Oh charge

me with some offence, or yourselves of injustice. Say, why am I denied

my length of earth amongst you, if I die? Or why to breathe the open

air, if I live, since I shall neither oppress the one, nor infect the

other? But on the contrary am ready with my sword, my youth and blood

to serve you, and bring my little aids on all occasions to yours: and

should be proud of the glory to die for you in battle, who would

deliver me up a sacrifice to _France_. Oh! where, _Octavio_, is the

glory or virtue of this _punctilio_? For it is no other: there are no

laws that bind you to it, no obligatory article of Nations, but an

unnecessary compliment made a _nemine contradicente_ of your senate,

that argues nothing but ill nature, and cannot redound to any one’s

advantage; an ill nature that’s levelled at me alone; for many I found

here, and many shall leave under the same circumstances with me; it is

only me whom you have marked out the victim to atone for all: well

then, my lord, if nothing can move you to a safety for this

unfortunate, at least be so merciful to suspend your cruelty a little,

yet a little, and possibly I shall render you the body of _Philander_,

though dead, to send into _France_, as the trophy of your fidelity to

that Crown: oh yet a little stay your cruel sentence, till my lovely

sister, who pursued my hard fortunes, declare my fate by her life or

death: oh, my lord, if ever the soft passion of love have touched your

soul, if you have felt the unresistible force of young charms about

your heart, if ever you have known a pain and pleasure from fair eyes,

or the transporting joys of beauty, pity a youth undone by love and

ambition, those powerful conquerors of the young----pity, oh pity a

youth that dies, and will ere long no more complain upon your rigours.

Yes, my lord, he dies without the force of a terrifying sentence,

without the grim reproaches of an angry judge, without the soon

consulted arbitrary----guilty of a severe and hasty jury, without the

ceremony of the scaffold, axe, and hangman, and the clamours of

inconsidering crowds; all which melancholy ceremonies render death so

terrible, which else would fall like gentle slumbers upon the

eye-lids, and which in field I would encounter with that joy I would

the sacred thing I love! But oh, I fear my fate is in the lovely

_Sylvia_, and in her dying eyes you may read it, in her languishing

face you will see how near it is approached. Ah, will you not suffer

me to attend it there? By her dear side I shall fall as calmly as

flowers from their stalks, without regret or pain: will you, by

forcing me to die from her, run me to a madness? To wild distraction?

Oh think it sufficient that I die here before half my race of youth be

run, before the light be half burnt out, that might have conducted me

to a world of glory! Alas, she dies=-the lovely _Sylvia_ dies; she is

sighing out a soul to which mine is so entirely fixed, that they must

go upward together; yes, yes, she breathes it sick into my bosom, and

kindly gives mine its disease of death: let us at least then die in

silence quietly; and if it please heaven to restore the languished

charmer, I will resign myself up to all your rigorous honour; only let

me bear my treasure with me, while we wander over the world to seek us

out a safety in some part of it, where pity and compassion is no

crime, where men have tender hearts, and have heard of the god of

love; where politics are not all the business of the powerful, but

where civility and good nature reign.

Perhaps, my lord, you will wonder I plead no weightier argument for my

stay than love, or the griefs and tears of a languishing maid: but,

oh! they are such tears as every drop would ransom lives, and nothing

that proceeds from her charming eyes can be valued at a less rate! In

pity to her, to me, and your amorous youths, let me bear her hence:

for should she look abroad as her own sex, should she appear in her

natural and proper beauty, alas they were undone. Reproach not (my

lord) the weakness of this confession, and which I make with more

glory than could I boast myself lord of all the universe: if it appear

a fault to the more grave and wise, I hope my youth will plead

something for my excuse. Oh say, at least, it was pity that love had

the ascendant over _Philander_’. soul, say it was his destiny, but say

withal, that it put no stop to his advance to glory; rather it set an

edge upon his sword, and gave wings to his ambition!--Yes, try me in

your Councils, prove me in your camps, place me in any hazard--but

give me love! And leave me to wait the life or death of _Sylvia_, and

then dispose as you please, my lord, of your unfortunate

PHILANDER.

* * * * *

OCTAVIO _to_ PHILANDER.

_My Lord_,

I am much concerned, that a request so reasonable as you have made,

will be of so little force with these arbitrary tyrants of State; and

though you have addressed and appealed to me as one of that grave and

rigid number, (though without one grain of their formalities, and I

hope age, which renders us less gallant, and more envious of the joys

and liberties of youth, will never reduce me to so dull and

thoughtless a Member of State) yet I have so small and single a

portion of their power, that I am ashamed of my incapacity of serving

you in this great affair. I bear the honour and the name, it is true,

of glorious sway; but I can boast but of the worst and most impotent

part of it, the title only; but the busy, absolute, mischievous

politician finds no room in my soul, my humour, or constitution; and

plodding restless power I have made so little the business of my gayer

and more careless youth, that I have even lost my right of rule, my

share of empire amongst them. That little power (whose unregarded loss

I never bemoaned till it rendered me incapable of serving _Philander_)

I have stretched to the utmost bound for your stay; insomuch that I

have received many reproaches from the wiser coxcombs, have made my

youth’s little debauches hinted on, and judgements made of you

(disadvantageous) from my friendship to you; a friendship, which, my

lord, at first sight of you found a being in my soul, and which your

wit, your goodness, your greatness, and your misfortunes have improved

to all the degrees of it: though I am infinitely unhappy that it

proves of no use to you here, and that the greatest testimony I can

now render of it, is to warn you of your approaching danger, and

hasten your departure, for there is no safety in your stay. I just now

heard what was decreed against you in Council, which no pleading, nor

eloquence of friendship had force enough to evade. Alas, I had but one

single voice in the number, which I sullenly and singly gave, and

which unregarded passed. Go then, my lord, haste to some place where

good breeding and humanity reigns: go and preserve _Sylvia_, in

providing for your own safety; and believe me, till she be in a

condition to pursue your fortunes, I will take such care that nothing

shall be wanting to her recovery here, in order to her following after

you. I am, alas, but too sensible of all the pains you must endure by

such a separation; for I am neither insensible, nor incapable of love,

or any of its violent effects: go then, my lord, and preserve the

lovely maid in your flight, since your stay and danger will serve but

to hasten on her death: go and be satisfied she shall find a

protection suitable to her sex, her innocence, her beauty, and her

quality; and that wherever you fix your stay, she shall be resigned to

your arms by, my lord, your eternal friend and humble servant,

OCTAVIO.

_Lest in this sudden remove you should want money, I have sent you

several Bills of Exchange to what place soever you arrive, and what

you want more (make no scruple to use me as a friend and) command._

After this letter finding no hopes, but on the contrary a dire

necessity of departing, he told _Brilliard_ his misfortune, and asked

his counsel in this extremity of affairs. _Brilliard_, (who of a

servant was become a rival) you may believe, gave him such advice as

might remove him from the object he adored. But after a great deal of

dissembled trouble, the better to hide his joy, he gave his advice for

his going, with all the arguments that appeared reasonable enough to

_Philander_; and at every period urged, that his life being dear to

_Sylvia_, and on which hers so immediately depended, he ought no

longer to debate, but hasten his flight: to all which counsel our

amorous hero, with a soul ready to make its way through his trembling

body, gave a sighing unwilling assent. It was now no longer a dispute,

but was concluded he must go; but how was the only question. How

should he take his farewell? How he should bid adieu, and leave the

dear object of his soul in an estate so hazardous? He formed a

thousand sad ideas to torment himself with fancying he should never

see her more, that he should hear that she was dead, though now she

appeared on this side the grave, and had all the signs of a declining

disease. He fancied absence might make her cold, and abate her passion

to him; that her powerful beauty might attract adorers, and she being

but a woman, and no part angel but her form,’.was not expected she

should want her sex’s frailties. Now he could consider how he had won

her, how by importunity and opportunity she had at last yielded to

him, and therefore might to some new gamester, when he was not by to

keep her heart in continual play: then it was that all the despair of

jealous love, the throbs and piercing of a violent passion seized his

timorous and tender heart, he fancied her already in some new lover’s

arms, and ran over all these soft enjoyments he had with her; and

fancied with tormenting thought, that so another would possess her;

till racked with tortures, he almost fainted on the repose on which he

was set: but _Brilliard_ roused and endeavoured to convince him, told

him he hoped his fear was needless, and that he would take all the

watchful care imaginable of her conduct, be a spy upon her virtue, and

from time to time give him notice of all that should pass! Bid him

consider her quality, and that she was no common mistress whom hire

could lead astray; and that if from the violence of her passion, or

her most severe fate, she had yielded to the most charming of men, he

ought as little to imagine she could be again a lover, as that she

could find an object of equal beauty with that of _Philander_. In

fine, he soothed and flattered him into so much ease, that he resolves

to take his leave for a day or two, under pretence of meeting and

consulting with some of the rebel party; and that he would return

again to her by that time it might be imagined her fever might be

abated, and _Sylvia_ in a condition to receive the news of his being

gone for a longer time, and to know all his affairs. While _Brilliard_

prepared all things necessary for his departure, _Philander_ went to

_Sylvia_; from whom, having been absent two tedious hours, she caught

him in her arms with a transport of joy, reproached him with want of

love, for being absent so long: but still the more she spoke soft

sighing words of love, the more his soul was seized with melancholy,

his sighs redoubled, and he could not refrain from letting fall some

tears upon her bosom----which _Sylvia_ perceiving, with a look and a

trembling in her voice, that spoke her fears, she cried, ‘Oh

_Philander_! These are unusual marks of your tenderness; oh tell me,

tell me quickly what they mean.’ He answered with a sigh, and she went

on--’It is so, I am undone, it is your lost vows, your broken faith

you weep; yes, _Philander_, you find the flower of my beauty faded,

and what you loved before, you pity now, and these be the effects of

it.’ Then sighing, as if his soul had been departing on her neck, he

cried, ‘By heaven, by all the powers of love, thou art the same dear

charmer that thou wert;’ then pressing her body to his bosom, he

sighed anew as if his heart were breaking--’I know’ (says she)

’.Philander_, there is some hidden cause that gives these sighs their

way, and that dear face a paleness. Oh tell me all; for she that could

abandon all for thee, can dare the worst of fate: if thou must quit

me----oh _Philander_, if it must be so, I need not stay the lingering

death of a feeble fever; I know a way more noble and more sudden.’

Pleased at her resolution, which almost destroyed his jealousy and

fears, a thousand times he kissed her, mixing his grateful words and

thanks with sighs; and finding her fair hands (which he put often to

his mouth) to increase their fires, and her pulse to be more high and

quick, fearing to relapse her into her (abating) fever, he forced a

smile, and told her, he had no griefs, but what she made him feel, no

torments but her sickness, nor sighs but for her pain, and left

nothing unsaid that might confirm her he was still more and more her

slave; and concealing his design in favour of her health, he ceased

not vowing and protesting, till he had settled her in all the

tranquillity of a recovering beauty. And as since her first illness he

had never departed from her bed, so now this night he strove to appear

in her arms with all that usual gaiety of love that her condition

would permit, or his circumstances could feign, and leaving her asleep

at day-break (with a force upon his soul that cannot be conceived but

by parting lovers) he stole from her arms, and retiring to his

chamber, he soon got himself ready for his flight, and departed. We

will leave _Sylvia_’. ravings to be expressed by none but herself, and

tell you that after about fourteen days’ absence, _Octavio_ received

this letter from _Philander_.

PHILANDER _to_ OCTAVIO.

Being safely arrived at _Cologne_, and by a very pretty and lucky

adventure lodged in the house of the best quality in the town, I find

myself much more at ease than I thought it possible to be without

_Sylvia_, from whom I am nevertheless impatient to hear; I hope

absence appears not so great a bugbear to her as it was imagined: for

I know not what effects it would have on me to hear her griefs

exceeded a few sighs and tears: those my kind absence has taught me to

allow and bear without much pain, but should her love transport her to

extremes of rage and despair, I fear I should quit my safety here, and

give her the last proof of my love and my compassion, throw myself at

her feet, and expose my life to preserve hers. Honour would oblige me

to it. I conjure you, my dear _Octavio_, by all the friendship you

have vowed me, (and which I no longer doubt) let me speedily know how

she bears my absence, for on that knowledge depends a great deal of

the satisfaction of my life; carry her this enclosed which I have writ

her, and soften my silent departure, which possibly may appear rude

and unkind, plead my pardon, and give her the story of my necessity of

offending, which none can so well relate as yourself; and from a mouth

so eloquent to a maid so full of love, will soon reconcile me to her

heart. With her letter I send you a bill to pay her 2000 patacons,

which I have paid _Vander Hanskin_ here, as his letter will inform

you, as also those bills I received of you at my departure, having

been supplied by an _English_ merchant here, who gave me credit. It

will be an age, till I hear from you, and receive the news of the

health of _Sylvia_, than which two blessings nothing will be more

welcome to, generous _Octavio_, your

PHILANDER.

_Direct your letters for me to your merchant_ Vander Hanskin.

* * * * *

PHILANDER _to_ SYLVIA.

There is no way left to gain my _Sylvia_’. pardon for leaving her, and

leaving her in such circumstances, but to tell her it was to preserve

a life which I believed entirely dear to her; but that unhappy crime

is too severely punished by the cruelties of my absence: believe me,

lovely _Sylvia_, I have felt all your pains, I have burnt with your

fever, and sighed with your oppressions; say, has my pain abated

yours? Tell me, and hasten my health by the assurance of your

recovery, or I have fled in vain from those dear arms to save my life,

of which I know not what account to give you, till I receive from you

the knowledge of your perfect health, the true state of mine. I can

only say I sigh, and have a sort of a being in _Cologne_, where I have

some more assurance of protection than I could hope I from those

interested brutes, who sent me from you; yet brutish as they are, I

know thou art safe from their clownish outrages. For were they

senseless as their fellow-monsters of the sea, they durst not profane

so pure an excellence as thine; the sullen boars would jouder out a

welcome to thee, and gape, I and wonder at thy awful beauty, though

they want the tender sense to know to what use it was made. Or if I

doubted their humanity, I cannot the friendship of _Octavio_, since he

has given me too good a proof of it, to leave me any fear that he

has not in my absence pursued those generous sentiments for _Sylvia_,

which he vowed to _Philander_, and of which this first proof must be

his relating the necessity of my absence, to set me well with my

adorable maid, who, better than I, can inform her; and that I rather

chose to quit you only for a short space, than reduce myself to the

necessity of losing you eternally. Let the satisfaction this ought to

give you retrieve your health and beauty, and put you into a condition

of restoring to me all my joys; that by pursuing the dictates of your

love, you may again bring the greatest happiness on earth to the arms

of your

PHILANDER.

POSTSCRIPT.

_My affairs here are yet so unsettled, that I can take no order for

your coming to me; but as soon as I know where I can fix with safety,

I shall make it my business and my happiness: adieu. Trust_ Octavio_,

with your letters only._

This letter _Octavio_ would not carry himself to her, who had omitted

no day, scarce an hour, wherein he saw not or sent not to the charming

_Sylvia_; but he found in that which _Philander_ had writ to him an

air of coldness altogether unusual with that passionate lover, and

infinitely short in point of tenderness to those he had formerly seen

of his, and from what he had heard him speak; so that he no longer

doubted (and the rather because he hoped it) but that _Philander_

found an abatement of that heat, which was wont to inspire at a more

amorous rate: this appearing declension he could not conceal from

_Sylvia_, at least to let her know he took notice of it; for he knew

her love was too quick-sighted and sensible to pass it unregarded; but

he with reason thought, that when she should find others observe the

little slight she had put on her, her pride (which is natural to women

in such cases) would decline and lessen her love for his rival. He

therefore sent his page with the letters enclosed in this from

himself.

OCTAVIO _to_ SYLVIA.

_Madam_,

From a little necessary debauch I made last night with the Prince, I

am forced to employ my page in those duties I ought to have performed

myself: he brings you, madam, a letter from _Philander_, as mine,

which I have also sent you, informs me; I should else have doubted it;

it is, I think, his character, and all he says of _Octavio_ confesses

the friend, but where he speaks of _Sylvia_ sure he disguises the

lover: I wonder the mask should be put on now to me, to whom before he

so frankly discovered the secrets of his amorous heart. It is a

mystery I would fain persuade myself he finds absolutely necessary to

his interest, and I hope you will make the same favourable

constructions of it, and not impute the lessened zeal wherewith he

treats the charming _Sylvia_ to any possible change or coldness, since

I am but too fatally sensible, that no man can arrive at the glory of

being beloved by you, that had ever power to shorten one link of that

dear chain that holds him, and you need but survey that adorable face,

to confirm your tranquillity; set a just value on your charms, and you

need no arguments to secure your everlasting empire, or to establish

it in what heart you please. This fatal truth I learned from your fair

eyes, ere they discovered to me your sex, and you may as soon change

to what I then believed you, as I from adoring what I now find you: if

all then, madam, that do but look on you become your slaves, and

languish for you, love on, even without hope, and die, what must

_Philander_ pay you, who has the mighty blessing of your love, your

vows, and all that renders the hours of amorous youth, sacred, glad,

and triumphant? But you know the conquering power of your charms too

well to need either this daring confession, or a defence of

_Philander_’. virtue from, madam, your obedient slave,

OCTAVIO.

_Sylvia_ had no sooner read this with blushes, and a thousand fears,

and trembling of what was to follow in _Philander_’. letters both to

_Octavio_ and to herself, but with an indignation agreeable to her

haughty soul, she cried--’How--slighted! And must _Octavio_ see it

too! By heaven, if I should find it true, he shall not dare to think

it.’ Then with a generous rage she broke open _Philander_’., letter;

and which she soon perceived did but too well prove the truth of

_Octavio_’. suspicion, and her own fears. She repeated it again and

again, and still she found more cause of grief and anger; love

occasioned the first, and pride the last; and, to a soul perfectly

haughty, as was that of _Sylvia_, it was hard to guess which had the

ascendant: she considered _Octavio_ to all the advantages that thought

could conceive in one, who was not a lover of him; she knew he

merited a heart, though she had none to give him; she found him

charming without having a tenderness for him; she found him young

and amorous without desire towards him; she found him great,

rich, powerful and generous without designing on him; and though she

knew her soul free from all passion, but that for _Philander_,

nevertheless she blushed and was angry, that he had thoughts no more

advantageous to the power of those charms, which she wish’d might

appear to him above her sex, it being natural to women to desire

conquests, though they hate the conquered; to glory in the triumph,

though they despise the slave: and she believed, while _Octavio_ had

so poor a sense of her beauty as to believe it could be forsaken, he

would adore it less: and first, to satisfy her pride, she left the

softer business of her heart to the next tormenting hour, and sent him

this careless answer by his page, believing, if she valued his

opinion; and therefore dissembled her thoughts, as women in those

cases ever do, who when most angry seem the most galliard, especially

when they have need of the friendship of those they flatter.

SYLVIA _to_ OCTAVIO.

Is it indeed, _Octavio_, that you believe _Philander_ cold, or would

you make that a pretext to the declaration of your own passion? We

_French_ ladies are not so nicely tied up to the formalities of

virtue, but we can hear love at both ears: and if we receive not the

addresses of both, at least we are perhaps vain enough not to be

displeased to find we make new conquests. But you have made your

attack with so ill conduct, that I shall find force enough without

more aids to repulse you. Alas, my lord, did you believe my heart was

left unguarded when _Philander_ departed? No, the careful charming

lover left a thousand little gods to defend it, of no less power than

himself; young deities, who laugh at all your little arts and

treacheries, and scorn to resign their empire to any feeble _Cupids_

you can draw up against them: your thick foggy air breeds love too

dull and heavy for noble flights, nor can I stoop to them. The

_Flemish_ boy wants arrows keen enough for hearts like mine, and is a

bungler in his art, too lazy and remiss, rather a heavy _Bacchus_ than

a _Cupid_, a bottle sends him to his bed of moss, where he sleeps

hard, and never dreams of _Venus_.

How poorly have you paid yourself, my lord, (by this pursuit of your

discovered love) for all the little friendship you have rendered me!

How well you have explained, you can be no more a lover than a friend,

if one may judge the first by the last! Had you been thus obstinate in

your passion before _Philander_ went, or you had believed me

abandoned, I should perhaps have thought that you had loved indeed,

because I should have seen you durst, and should have believed it

true, because it ran some hazards for me, the resolution of it would

have reconciled me then to the temerity of it, and the greatest

demonstration you could have given of it, would have been the danger

you would have ran and contemned, and the preference of your passion

above any other consideration. This, my lord, had been generous and

like a lover; but poorly thus to set upon a single woman in the

disguise of a friend, in the dark silent melancholy hour of absence

from _Philander_, then to surprise me, then to bid me deliver! to pad

for hearts! It is not like _Octavio_, _Octavio_ that _Philander_ made

his friend, and for whose dear sake, my lord, I will no farther

reproach you, but from a goodness, which, I hope, you will merit, I

will forgive an offence, which your ill-timing has rendered almost

inexcusable, and expect you will for the future consider better how

you ought to treat

SYLVIA.

As soon as she had dismissed the page, she hasted to her business of

love, and again read over _Philander_’., letter, and finding still new

occasion for fear, she had recourse to pen and paper for a relief of

that heart which no other way could find; and after having wiped the

tears from her eyes, she writ this following letter.

SYLVIA _to_ PHILANDER.

Yes, _Philander_, I have received your letter, and but I found my name

there, should have hoped it was not meant for _Sylvia_! Oh! It is all

cold--short--short and cold as a dead winter’s day. It chilled my

blood, it shivered every vein. Where, oh where hast thou lavished out

all those soft words so natural to thy soul, with which thou usedst to

charm; so tuned to the dear music of thy voice? What is become of all

the tender things, which, as I used to read, made little nimble

pantings in my heart, my blushes rise, and tremblings in my blood,

adding new fire to the poor burning victim! Oh where are all thy

pretty flatteries of love, that made me fond and vain, and set a value

on this trifling beauty? Hast thou forgot thy wondrous art of loving?

Thy pretty cunnings, and thy soft deceivings? Hast thou forgot them

all? Or hast thou forgot indeed to love at all? Has thy industrious

passion gathered all the sweets, and left the rifled flower to hang

its withered head, and die in I shades neglected? For who will prize

it now, now when all its I perfumes are fled? Oh my _Philander_, oh my

charming fugitive! Was it not enough you left me, like false

_Theseus_, on the shore, on the forsaken shore, departed from my fond,

my clasping arms; where I believed you safe, secure and pleased, when

sleep and night, that favoured you and ruined me, had rendered them

incapable of their dear loss! Oh was it not enough, that when I found

them empty and abandoned, and the place cold where you had lain, and

my poor trembling bosom unpossessed of that dear load it bore, that I

almost expired with my first fears? Oh, if _Philander_ loved, he would

have thought that cruelty enough, without the sad addition of a

growing coldness: I awaked, I missed thee, and I called aloud,

’.Philander_! my _Philander_!’ But no Philander heard; then drew the

close-drawn curtains, and with a hasty and busy view surveyed the

chamber over; but oh! In vain I viewed, and called yet louder, but

none appeared to my assistance but _Antonet_ and _Brilliard_, to

torture me with dull excuses, urging a thousand feigned and frivolous

reasons to satisfy my fears: but I, who loved, who doted even to

madness, by nature soft, and timorous as a dove, and fearful as a

criminal escaped, that dreads each little noise, fancied their eyes

and guilty looks confessed the treasons of their hearts and tongues,

while they, more kind than true, strove to convince my killing doubts,

protested that you would return by night, and feigned a likely story

to deceive. Thus between hope and fear I languished out a day; oh

heavens! A tedious day without _Philander_: who would have thought

that such a dismal day should not, with the end of its reign, have

finished that of my life! But then _Octavio_ came to visit me, and who

till then I never wished to see, but now I was impatient for his

coming, who by degrees told me that you were gone--I never asked him

where, or how, or why; that you were gone was enough to possess me of

all I feared, your being apprehended and sent into _France_, your

delivering yourself up, your abandoning me; all, all I had an easy

faith for, without consulting more than that thou wert gone--that very

word yet strikes a terror to my soul, disables my trembling hand, and

I must wait for reinforcements from some kinder thoughts. But, oh!

From whence should they arrive? From what dear present felicity, or

prospect of a future, though never so distant, and all those past ones

serve but to increase my pain; they favour me no more, they charm and

please no more, and only present themselves to my memory to complete

the number of my sighs and tears, and make me wish that they had never

been, though even with _Philander_? Oh! say, thou monarch of my

panting soul, how hast thou treated _Sylvia_, to make her wish that

she had never known a tender joy with thee? Is it possible she should

repent her loving thee, and thou shouldst give her cause! Say, dear

false charmer, is it? But oh, there is no lasting faith in

sin!----Ah--What have I done? How dreadful is the scene of my first

debauch, and how glorious that never to be regained prospect of my

virgin innocence, where I sat enthroned in awful virtue, crowned with

shining honour, and adorned with unsullied reputation, till thou, O

tyrant _Love_, with a charming usurpation invaded all my glories; and

which I resigned with greater pride and joy than a young monarch puts

them on. Oh! Why then do I repent? As if the vast, the dear expense of

pleasures past were not enough to recompense for all the pains of love

to come? But why, oh why do I treat thee as a lover lost already? Thou

art not, canst not; no, I will not believe it, till thou thyself

confess it: nor shall the omission of a tender word or two make me

believe thou hast forgot thy vows. Alas, it may be I mistake thy

cares, thy hard fatigues of life, thy present ill circumstances (and

all the melancholy effects of thine and my misfortunes) for coldness

and declining love. Alas, I had forgot my poor my dear _Philander_ is

now obliged to contrive for life as well as love, thou perhaps

(fearing the worst) are preparing eloquence for a council table; and

in thy busy and guilty imaginations haranguing it to the grave judges,

defending thy innocence, or evading thy guilt: feeing advocates,

excepting juries, and confronting witnesses, when thou shouldst be

giving satisfaction to my fainting love-sick heart: sometimes in thy

labouring fancy the horror of a dreadful sentence for an ignominious

death, strikes upon thy tender soul with a force that frights the

little god from thence, and I am persuaded there are some moments of

this melancholy nature, wherein your _Sylvia_ is even quite forgotten,

and this too she can think just and reasonable, without reproaching

thy heart with a declining passion, especially when I am not by to

call thy fondness up, and divert thy more tormenting hours: but oh,

for those soft minutes thou hast designed for love, and hast dedicated

to _Sylvia, Philander_ should dismiss the dull formalities of rigid

business, the pressing cares of dangers, and have given a loose to

softness. Could my _Philander_ imagine this short and unloving letter

sufficient to atone for such an absence? And has _Philander_ then

forgotten the pain with which I languished, when but absent from him

an hour? How then can he imagine I can live, when distant from him so

many leagues, and so many days? While all the scanty comfort I have

for life is, that one day we might meet again; but where, or when, or

how-thou hast not love enough so much as to divine; but poorly leavest

me to be satisfied by _Octavio_, committing the business of thy heart,

the once great importance of thy soul, the most necessary devoirs of

thy life, to be supplied by another. Oh _Philander_, I have known a

blessed time in our reign of love, when thou wouldst have thought even

all thy own power of too little force to satisfy the doubting soul of

_Sylvia_: tell me, _Philander_, hast thou forgot that time? I dare not

think thou hast, and yet (O God) I find an alteration, but heaven

divert the omen: yet something whispers to my soul, I am undone! Oh,

where art thou, my _Philander_? Where is thy heart? And what has it

been doing since it begun my fate? How can it justify thy coldness,

and thou this cruel absence, without accounting with me for every

parting hour? My charming dear was wont to find me business for all my

lonely absent ones; and writ the softest letters--loading the paper

with fond vows and wishes, which ere I had read over another would

arrive, to keep eternal warmth about my soul; nor wert thou ever

wearied more with writing, than I with reading, or with sighing after

thee; but now--oh! There is some mystery in it I dare not understand.

Be kind at least and satisfy my fears, for it is a wondrous pain to

live in doubt; if thou still lovest me, swear it over anew! And curse

me if I do not credit thee. But if thou art declining--or shouldst be

sent a shameful victim into _France_--oh thou deceiving charmer, yet

be just, and let me know my doom: by heaven this last will find a

welcome to me, for it will end the torment of my doubts and fears of

losing thee another way, and I shall have the joy to die with thee,

die beloved, and die

Thy SYLVIA.

Having read over this letter, she feared she had said too much of her

doubts and apprehensions of a change in him; for now she flies to all

the little stratagems and artifices of lovers, she begins to consider

the worst, and to make the best of that; but quite abandoned she could

not believe herself, without flying into all the rage that

disappointed woman could be possessed with. She calls _Brilliard_,

shews him his lord’s letters, and told him, (while he read) her doubts

and fears; he being thus instructed by herself in the way how to

deceive her on, like fortune-tellers, who gather people’s fortune from

themselves, and then return it back for their own divinity; tells her

he saw indeed a change! Glad to improve her fear, and feigns a sorrow

almost equal to hers: ‘It is evident,’ says he, ‘it is evident, that

he is the most ungrateful of his sex! Pardon, madam,’ (continued he,

bowing) ‘if my zeal for the most charming creature on earth, make me

forget my duty to the best of masters and friends.’ ‘Ah, _Brilliard_,’

cried she, with an air of languishment that more enflamed him, ‘have a

care, lest that mistaken zeal for me should make you profane virtue,

which has not, but on this occasion, shewed that it wanted angels for

its guard. Oh, _Brilliard_, if he be false--if the dear man be

perjured, take, take, kind heaven, the life you have preserved but for

a greater proof of your revenge’----and at that word she sunk into his

arms, which he hastily extended as she was falling, both to save her

from harm, and to give himself the pleasure of grasping the loveliest

body in the world to his bosom, on which her fair face declined, cold,

dead, and pale; but so transporting was the pleasure of that dear

burden, that he forgot to call for, or to use any aid to bring her

back to life, but trembling with his love and eager passion, he took a

thousand joys, he kissed a thousand times her lukewarm lips, sucked

her short sighs, and ravished all the sweets, her bosom (which was but

guarded with a loose night-gown) yielded his impatient touches. Oh

heaven, who can express the pleasures he received, because no other

way he ever could arrive to so much daring? It was all beyond his

hope; loose were her robes, insensible the maid, and love had made him

insolent, he roved, he kissed, he gazed, without control, forgetting

all respect of persons, or of place, and quite despairing by fair

means to win her, resolves to take this lucky opportunity; the door he

knew was fast, for the counsel she had to ask him admitted of no

lookers-on, so that at his entrance she had secured the pass for him

herself, and being near her bed, when she fell into his arms, at this

last daring thought he lifts her thither, and lays her gently down,

and while he did so, in one minute ran over all the killing joys he

had been witness to, which she had given _Philander_; on which he

never paus’d, but urged by a _Cupid_ altogether malicious and wicked,

he resolves his cowardly conquest, when some kinder god awakened

_Sylvia_, and brought _Octavio_ to the chamber door; who having been

used to a freedom, which was permitted to none but himself, with

_Antonet_ her woman, waiting for admittance, after having knocked

twice softly, _Brittiard_ heard it, and redoubled his disorder, which

from that of love, grew to that of surprise; he knew not what to do,

whether to refuse answering, or to re-establish the reviving sense of

_Sylvia_; in this moment of perplexing thought he failed not however

to set his hair in order, and adjust him, though there were no need of

it, and stepping to the door (after having raised _Sylvia_, leaning

her head on her hand on the bed-side,) he gave admittance to

_Octavio_; but, oh heaven, how was he surprised when he saw it was

_Octavio_? His heart with more force than before redoubled its beats,

that one might easily perceive every stroke by the motion of his

cravat; he blushed, which, to a complexion perfectly fair, as that of

_Brilliard_ (who wants no beauty, either in face or person) was the

more discoverable, add to this his trembling, and you may easily

imagine what a figure he represented himself to _Octavio_; who almost

as much surprised as himself to find the goddess of his vows and

devotions with a young _Endymion_ alone, a door shut to, her gown

loose, which (from the late fit she was in, and _Brilliard_’. rape

upon her bosom) was still open, and discovered a world of unguarded

beauty, which she knew not was in view, with some other disorders of

her headcloths, gave him in a moment a thousand false apprehensions:

_Antonet_ was no less surprised; so that all had their part of

amazement but the innocent _Sylvia_, whose eyes were beautified with a

melancholy calm, which almost set the generous lover at ease, and took

away his new fears; however, he could not choose but ask _Brilliard_

what the matter was with him, he looked so out of countenance, and

trembled so? He told him how _Sylvia_ had been, and what extreme

frights she had possessed him with, and told him the occasion, which

the lovely _Sylvia_ with her eyes and sighs assented to, and

_Brilliard_ departed; how well pleased you may imagine, or with what

gusto he left her to be with the lovely _Octavio_, whom he perceived

too well was a lover in the disguise of a friend. But there are in

love those wonderful lovers who can quench the fire one beauty kindles

with some other object, and as much in love as _Brilliard_ was, he

found _Antonet_ an antidote that dispelled the grosser part of it; for

she was in love with our amorous friend, and courted him with that

passion those of that country do almost all handsome strangers; and

one convenient principle of the religion of that country is, to think

it no sin to be kind while they are single women, though otherwise

(when wives) they are just enough, nor does a woman that manages her

affairs thus discreetly meet with any reproach; of this humour was our

_Antonet_, who pursued her lover out, half jealous there might be some

amorous intrigue between her lady and him, which she sought in vain by

all the feeble arts of her country’s sex to get from him; while on the

other side he believing she might be of use in the farther discovery

he desired to make between _Octavio_ and _Sylvia_, not only told her

she herself was the object of his wishes, but gave her substantial

proofs on it, and told her his design, after having her honour for

security that she would be secret, the best pledge a man can take of a

woman: after she had promised to betray all things to him, she

departed to her affairs, and he to giving his lord an account of

_Sylvia_, as he desired, in a letter which came to him with that of

_Sylvia_; and which was thus:

PHILANDER _to_ BRILLIARD.

I doubt not but you will wonder that all this time you have not heard

of me, nor indeed can well excuse it, since I have been in a place

whence with ease I could have sent every post; but a new affair of

gallantry has engaged my thoughtful hours, not that I find any passion

here that has abated one sigh for _Sylvia_; but a man’s hours are very

dull, when undiverted by an intrigue of some kind or other, especially

to a heart young and gay as mine is, and which would not, if possible,

bend under the fatigues of more serious thought and business; I should

not tell you this, but that I would have you say all the dilatory

excuses that possibly you can to hinder _Sylvia_’. coming to me, while

I remain in this town, where I design to make my abode but a short

time, and had not stayed at all, but for this stop to my journey, and

I scorn to be vanquished without taking my revenge; it is a sally of

youth, no more--a flash, that blazes for a while, and will go out

without enjoyment. I need not bid you keep this knowledge to yourself,

for I have had too good a confirmation of your faith and friendship to

doubt you now, and believe you have too much respect for _Sylvia_ to

occasion her any disquiet. I long to know how she takes my absence,

send me at large of all that passes, and give your letters to

_Octavio_, for none else shall know where I am, or how to send to me:

be careful of _Sylvia_, and observe her with diligence, for possibly I

should not be extravagantly afflicted to find she was inclined to love

me less for her own ease and mine, since love is troublesome when the

height of it carries it to jealousies, little quarrels, and eternal

discontents; all which beginning lovers prize, and pride themselves on

every distrust of the fond mistress, since it is not only a

demonstration of love in them, but of power and charms in us that

occasion it. But when we no longer find the mistress so desirable, as

our first wishes form her, we value less their opinion of our persons,

and only endeavour to render it agreeable to new beauties, and adorn

it for new conquests; but you, _Brilliard_, have been a lover, and

understand already this philosophy. I need say no more then to a man

who knows so well my soul, but to tell him I am his constant friend.

PHILANDER.

This came as _Brilliard_’. soul could wish, and had he sent him word

he had been chosen King of _Poland_, he could not have received the

news with so great joy, and so perfect a welcome. How to manage this

to his best advantage was the business he was next to consult, after

returning an answer; now he fancied himself sure of the lovely prize,

in spite of all other oppositions: ‘For’ (says he, in reasoning the

case) ‘if she can by degrees arrive to a coldness to _Philander_, and

consider him no longer as a lover, she may perhaps consider me as a

husband; or should she receive _Octavio_’. addresses, when once I have

found her feeble, I will make her pay me for keeping of every secret.’

So either way he entertained a hope, though never so distant from

reason and probability; but all things seem possible to longing

lovers, who can on the least hope resolve to out-wait even eternity

(if possible) in expectation of a promised blessing; and now with more

than usual care he resolved to dress, and set out all his youth and

beauty to the best advantage; and being a gentleman well born, he

wanted no arts of dressing, nor any advantage of shape or mien, to

make it appear well: pleased with this hope, his art was now how to

make his advances without appearing to have designed doing so. And

first to act the hypocrite with his lord was his business; for he

considered rightly, if he should not represent _Sylvia_’. sorrows to

the life, and appear to make him sensible of them, he should not be

after credited if he related any thing to her disadvantage; for to be

the greater enemy, you ought to seem to be the greatest friend. This

was the policy of his heart, who in all things was inspired with

fanatical notions. In order to this, being alone in his chamber, after

the defeat he had in that of _Sylvia_’., he writ this letter.

BRILLIARD _to_ PHILANDER.

_My Lord,_

You have done me the honour to make me your confidant in an affair

that does not a little surprise me; since I believed, after _Sylvia_,

no mortal beauty could have touched your heart, and nothing but your

own excuses could have sufficed to have made it reasonable; and I only

wish, that when the fatal news shall arrive to _Sylvia_’. ear (as for

me it never shall) that she may think it as pardonable as I do; but I

doubt it will add abundance of grief to what she is already possessed

of, if but such a fear should enter in her tender thoughts. But since

it is not my business, my lord, to advise or counsel, but to obey, I

leave you to all the success of happy love, and will only give you an

account how affairs stand here, since your departure.

That morning you left the _Brill_, and _Sylvia_ in bed, I must disturb

your more serene thoughts with telling you, that her first surprise

and griefs at the news of your departure were most deplorable, where

raging madness and the softer passion of love, complaints of grief,

and anger, sighs, tears and cries were so mixed together, and by turns

so violently seized her, that all about her wept and pitied her: it

was sad, it was wondrous sad, my lord, to see it: nor could we hope

her life, or that she would preserve it if she could; for by many ways

she attempted to have released herself from pain by a violent death,

and those that strove to preserve that, could not hope she would ever

have returned to sense again: sometimes a wild extravagant raving

would require all our aid, and then again she would talk and rail so

tenderly----and express her resentment in the kindest softest words

that ever madness uttered, and all of her _Philander_, till she has

set us all a weeping round her; sometimes she’d sit as calm and still

as death, and we have perceived she lived only by sighs and silent

tears that fell into her bosom; then on a sudden wildly gaze upon us

with eyes that even then had wondrous charms, and frantically survey

us all, then cry aloud, ‘Where is my Lord _Philander_!----Oh, bring me

my _Philander_, _Brilliard_: Oh, _Antonet_, where have you hid the

treasure of my soul?’ Then, weeping floods of tears, would sink all

fainting in our arms. Anon with trembling words and sighs she’d

cry----’But oh, my dear _Philander_ is no more, you have surrendered

him to _France_----Yes, yes, you have given him up, and he must die,

publicly die, be led a sad victim through the joyful crowd--reproached,

and fall ingloriously----’ Then rave again, and tear her lovely hair,

and act such wildness,--so moving and so sad, as even infected the

pitying beholders, and all we could do, was gently to persuade her

grief, and soothe her raving fits; but so we swore, so heartily we

vowed that you were safe, that with the aid of _Octavio_, who came

that day to visit her, we made her capable of hearing a little reason

from us. _Octavio_ kneeled, and begged she would but calmly hear him

speak, he pawned his soul, his honour, and his life, _Philander_ was

as safe from any injury, either from _France_, or any other enemy, as

he, as she, or heaven itself. In fine, my lord, he vowed, he swore,

and pleaded, till she with patience heard him tell his story, and the

necessity of your absence; this brought her temper back, and dried

her eyes, then sighing, answered him----that if for your safety you

were fled, she would forgive your cruelty and your absence, and

endeavour to be herself again: but then she would a thousand times

conjure him not to deceive her faith, by all the friendship that he

bore _Philander_, not to possess her with false hopes; then would he

swear anew; and as he swore, she would behold him with such charming

sadness in her eyes that he almost forgot what he would say, to gaze

upon her, and to pass his pity. But, if with all his power of beauty

and of rhetoric he left her calm, he was no sooner gone, but she

returned to all the tempests of despairing love, to all the unbelief

of faithless passion, would neither sleep, nor eat, nor suffer day

to enter; but all was sad and gloomy as the vault that held the

_Ephesian_ matron, nor suffered she any to approach her but her

page, and Count _Octavio_, and he in the midst of all was well

received: not that I think, my lord, she feigned any part of that

close retirement to entertain him with any freedom, that did not

become a woman of perfect love and honour; though I must own, my lord,

I believe it impossible for him to behold the lovely _Sylvia_, without

having a passion for her. What restraint his friendship to you may put

upon his heart or tongue I know not, but I conclude him a lover,

though without success; what effects that may have upon the heart of

_Sylvia_, only time can render an account of: and whose conduct I

shall the more particularly observe from a curiosity natural to me, to

see if it may be possible for _Sylvia_ to love again, after the

adorable _Philander_, which levity in one so perfect would cure me of

the disease of love, while I lived amongst the fickle sex: but since

no such thought can yet get possession of my belief, I humbly beg your

lordship will entertain no jealousy, that may be so fatal to your

repose, and to that of _Sylvia_; doubt not but my fears proceed

perfectly from the zeal I have for your lordship, for whose honour and

tranquillity none shall venture so far as, my lord, your lordship’s

most humble and obedient servant,

BRILLIARD.

POSTSCRIPT.

_My lord, the groom shall set forward with your coach horses tomorrow

morning, according to your order_.

Having writ this, he read it over; not to see whether it were witty or

eloquent, or writ up to the sense of so good a judge as _Philander_,

but to see whether he had cast it for his purpose; for there his

masterpiece was to be shewn; and having read it, he doubted whether

the relation of _Sylvia_’. griefs were not too moving, and whether

they might not serve to revive his fading love, which were intended

only as a demonstration of his own pity and compassion, that from

thence the deceived lover might with the more ease entertain a belief

in what he hinted of her levity, when he was to make that out, as he

now had but touched upon it, for he would not have it thought the

business of malice to _Sylvia_, but duty and respect to _Philander_:

that thought reconciled him to the first part without alteration; and

he fancied he had said enough in the latter, to give any man of love

and sense a jealousy which might inspire a young lover in pursuit of a

new mistress, with a revenge that might wholly turn to his advantage;

for now every ray gave him light enough to conduct him to hope, and he

believed nothing too difficult for his love, nor what his invention

could not conquer: he fancied himself a very _Machiavel_ already, and

almost promised himself the charming _Sylvia_. With these thoughts he

seals up his letters, and hastes to _Sylvia_’. chamber for her farther

commands, having in his politic transports forgotten he had left

_Octavio_ with her. _Octavio_, who no sooner had seen _Brilliard_ quit

the chamber all trembling and disordered, after having given him

entrance, but the next step was to the feet of the new recovered

languishing beauty, who not knowing any thing of the freedom the

daring husband lover had taken, was not at all surprised to hear

_Octavio_ cry (kneeling before her) ‘Ah madam, I no longer wonder you

use _Octavio_ with such rigour;’ then sighing declined his melancholy

eyes, where love and jealousy made themselves too apparent; while she

believing he had only reproached her want of ceremony at his entrance,

checking herself, she started from the bed, and taking him by the hand

to raise him, she cried, ‘Rise, my lord, and pardon the omission of

that respect which was not wanting but with even life itself.’

_Octavio_ answered, ‘Yes, madam, but you took care, not to make the

world absolutely unhappy in your eternal loss, and therefore made

choice of such a time to die in, when you were sure of a skilful

person at hand to bring you back to life’--’My lord----’ said she

(with an innocent wonder in her eyes, and an ignorance that did not

apprehend him) ‘I mean, _Brilliard_,’ said he, ‘whom I found

sufficiently disordered to make me believe he took no little pains to

restore you to the world again.’ This he spoke with such an air, as

easily made her imagine he was a lover to the degree of jealousy, and

therefore (beholding him with a look that told him her disdain before

she spoke) she replied hastily, ‘My lord, if _Brilliard_ have

expressed, by any disorder or concern, his kind sense of my

sufferings, I am more obliged to him for it, than I am to you for your

opinion of my virtue; and I shall hereafter know how to set a value

both on the one and the other, since what he wants in quality and

ability to serve me, he sufficiently makes good with his respect and

duty.’ At that she would have quitted him, but he (still kneeling)

held her train of her gown, and besought her, with all the eloquence

of moving and petitioning love, that she would pardon the effect of a

passion that could not run into less extravagancy at a sight so new

and strange, as that she should in a morning, with only her night-gown

thrown loosely about her lovely body, and which left a thousand charms

to view, alone receive a man into her chamber, and make fast the door

upon them, which when (from his importunity) it was opened he found

her all ruffled, and almost fainting on her bed, and a young blushing

youth start from her arms, with trembling limbs, and a heart that beat

time to the tune of active love, faltering in his speech, as if scarce

yet he had recruited the sense he had so happily lost in the amorous

encounter: with that, surveying of herself, as she stood, in a great

glass, which she could not hinder herself from doing, she found indeed

her night-linen, her gown, and the bosom of her shift in such

disorder, as, if at least she had yet any doubt remaining that

_Brilliard_ had not treated her well, she however found cause enough

to excuse _Octavio_’. opinion: weighing all the circumstances

together, and adjusting her linen and gown with blushes that almost

appeared criminal, she turned to _Octavio_, who still held her, and

still begged her pardon, assuring him, upon her honour, her love to

_Philander_, and her friendship for him, that she was perfectly

innocent, and that _Brilliard_, though he should have quality and all

other advantages which he wanted to render him acceptable, yet there

was in nature something which compelled her to a sort of coldness and

disgust to his person; for she had so much the more abhorrence to him

as he was a husband, but that was a secret to _Octavio_; but she

continued speaking--and cried, ‘No, could I be brought to yield to any

but _Philander_, I own I find charms enough in _Octavio_ to make a

conquest; but since the possession of that dear man is all I ask of

heaven, I charge my soul with a crime, when I but hear love from any

other, therefore I conjure you, if you have any satisfaction in my

conversation, never to speak of love more to me, for if you do, honour

will oblige me to make vows against seeing you: all the freedoms of

friendship I will allow, give you the liberties of a brother, admit

you alone by night, or any way but that of love; but that is a reserve

of my soul which is only for _Philander_, and the only one that ever

shall be kept from _Octavio_.’ She ended speaking, and raised him with

a smile; and he with a sigh told her, she must command: then she fell

to telling him how she had sent for _Brilliard_, and all the discourse

that passed; with the reason of her falling into a swoon, in which she

continued a moment or two; and while she told it she blushed with a

secret fear, that in that trance some freedoms might be taken which

she durst not confess: but while she spoke, our still more passionate

lover devoured her with his eyes, fixed his very soul upon her charms

of speaking and looking, and was a thousand times (urged by

transporting passion) ready to break all her dictates, and vow himself

her eternal slave; but he feared the result, and therefore kept

himself within the bounds of seeming friendship; so that after a

thousand things she said of _Philander_, he took his leave to go to

dinner; but as he was going out he saw _Brilliard_ enter, who, as I

said, had forgot he left _Octavio_ with her; but in a moment

recollecting himself, he blushed at the apprehension, that they might

make his disorder the subject of their discourse; so what with that,

and the sight of the dear object of his late disappointed pleasures,

he had much ado to assume an assurance to approach; but _Octavio_

passed out, and gave him a little release. _Sylvia_’. confusion was

almost equal to his, for she looked on him as a ravisher; but how to

find that truth which she was very curious to know, she called up all

the arts of women to instruct her in; by threats she knew it was in

vain, therefore she assumed an artifice, which indeed was almost a

stranger to her heart, that of jilting him out of a secret which she

knew he wanted generosity to give handsomely; and meeting him with a

smile, which she forced, she cried, ‘How now, _Brilliard_, are you so

faint-hearted a soldier, you cannot see a lady die without being

terrified?’ ‘Rather, madam,’ (replied he blushing anew) ‘so

soft-hearted, I cannot see the loveliest person in the world fainting

in my arms, without being disordered with grief and fear, beyond the

power of many days to resettle again.’ At which she approached him,

who stood near the door, and shutting it, she took him by the hand,

and smiling, cried, ‘And had you no other business for your heart but

grief and fear, when a fair lady throws herself into your arms? It

ought to have had some kinder effect on a person of _Brilliard_’.

youth and complexion.’ And while she spoke this she held him by the

wrist, and found on the sudden his pulse to beat more high, and his

heart to heave his bosom with sighs, which now he no longer took care

to hide, but with a transported joy, he cried, ‘Oh madam, do not urge

me to a confession that must undo me, without making it criminal by my

discovery of it; you know I am your slave----’ when she with a pretty

wondering smile, cried--’What, a lover too, and yet so dull!’ ‘Oh

charming _Sylvia_,’ (says he, and falling on his knees) ‘give my

profound respect a kinder name:’ to which she answered,--’You that

know your sentiments may best instruct me by what name to call them,

and you _Brilliard_ may do it without fear----You saw I did not

struggle in your arms, nor strove I to defend the kisses which you

gave----’ ‘Oh heavens,’ cried he, transported with what she said, ‘is

it possible that you could know of my presumption, and favour it too?

I will no longer then curse those unlucky stars that sent _Octavio_

just in the blessed minute to snatch me from my heaven, the lovely

victim lay ready for the sacrifice, all prepared to offer; my hands,

my eyes, my lips were tired with pleasure, but yet they were not

satisfied; oh there was joy beyond those ravishments, of which one

kind minute more had made me absolute lord:’ ‘Yes, and the next,’ said

she, ‘had sent this to your heart’----snatching a penknife that lay on

her toilet, where she had been writing, which she offered so near to

his bosom, that he believed himself already pierced, so sensibly

killing her words, her motion, and her look; he started from her, and

she threw away the knife, and walked a turn or two about the chamber,

while he stood immovable, with his eyes fixed on the earth, and his

thoughts on nothing but a wild confusion, which he vowed afterwards he

could give no account of. But as she turned she beheld him with some

compassion, and remembering how he had it in his power to expose her

in a strange country, and own her for a wife, she believed it

necessary to hide her resentments; and cried, ‘_Brilliard_, for the

friendship your lord has for you I forgive you; but have a care you

never raise your thoughts to a presumption of that nature more: do not

hope I will ever fall below _Philander_’. love; go and repent your

crime----and expect all things else from my favour----’ At this he

left her with a bow that had some malice in it, and she returned into

her dressing-room.--After dinner _Octavio_ writes her this letter,

which his page brought.

OCTAVIO _to_ SYLVIA.

_Madam_,

’.is true, that in obedience to your commands, I begged your pardon

for the confession I made you of my passion: but since you could not

but see the contradiction of my tongue in my eyes, and hear it but too

well confirmed by my sighs, why will you confine me to the formalities

of a silent languishment, unless to increase my flame with my pain?

You conjure me to see you often, and at the same time forbid me

speaking my passion, and this bold intruder comes to tell you now, it

is impossible to obey the first, without disobliging the last; and

since the crime of adoring you exceeds my disobedience in not waiting

on you, be pleased at least to pardon that fault, which my profound

respect to the lovely _Sylvia_ makes me commit; for it is impossible

to see you, and not give you an occasion of reproaching me: if I could

make a truce with my eyes, and, like a mortified capuchin, look always

downwards, not daring to behold the glorious temptations of your

beauty, yet you wound a thousand ways besides; your touches inflame

me, and your voice has music in it, that strikes upon my soul with

ravishing tenderness; your wit is unresistible and piercing; your very

sorrows and complaints have charms that make me soft without the aid

of love: but pity joined with passion raises a flame too mighty for my

conduct! And I in transports every way confess it: yes, yes, upbraid

me, call me traitor and ungrateful, tell me my friendship is false;

but, _Sylvia_, yet be just, and say my love was true, say only he had

seen the charming _Sylvia_; and who is he that after that would not

excuse the rest in one so absolutely born to be undone by love, as is

her destined slave,

OCTAVIO.

POSTSCRIPT.

_Madam, among some rarities I this morning saw, I found these trifles_

Florio _brings you, which because uncommon I presume to send you._

_Sylvia_, notwithstanding the seeming severity of her commands, was

well enough pleased to be disobeyed; and women never pardon any fault

more willingly than one of this nature, where the crime gives so

infallible a demonstration of their power and beauty; nor can any of

their sex be angry in their hearts for being thought desirable; and it

was not with pain that she saw him obstinate in his passion, as you

may believe by her answering his letters, nor ought any lover to

despair when he receives denial under his mistress’s own hand, which

she sent in this to _Octavio_.

SYLVIA _to_ OCTAVIO.

You but ill judge of my wit, or humour, _Octavio_, when you send me

such a present, and such a billet, if you believe I either receive the

one, or the other, as you designed: in obedience to me you will no

more tell me of your love, and yet at the same time you are breaking

your word from one end of the paper to the other. Out of respect to me

you will see me no more, and yet are bribing me with presents,

believing you have found out the surest way to a woman’s heart. I must

needs confess, _Octavio_, there is great eloquence in a pair of

bracelets of five thousand crowns: it is an argument to prove your

passion, that has more prevailing reason in it, than either _Seneca_

or _Tully_ could have urged; nor can a lover write or speak in any

language so significant, and very well to be understood, as in that

silent one of presenting. The malicious world has a long time agreed

to reproach poor women with cruel, unkind, insensible, and dull; when

indeed it is those men that are in fault who want the right way of

addressing, the true and secret arts of moving, that sovereign remedy

against disdain. It is you alone, my lord, like a young _Columbus_,

that have found the direct, unpractised way to that little and so much

desired world, the favour of the fair; nor could love himself have

pointed his arrows with any thing more successful for his conquest of

hearts: but mine, my lord, like _Scæva_’. shield, is already so full

of arrows, shot from _Philander_’. eyes, it has no room for any other

darts: take back your presents then, my lord, and when you make them

next be sure you first consider the receiver: for know, _Octavio_,

maids of my quality ought to find themselves secure from addresses of

this nature, unless they first invite. You ought to have seen advances

in my freedoms, consenting in my eyes, or (that usual vanity of my

sex) a thousand little trifling arts of affectation to furnish out a

conquest, a forward complaisance to every gaudy coxcomb, to fill my

train with amorous cringing captives, this might have justified your

pretensions; but on the contrary, my eyes and thoughts, which never

strayed from the dear man I love, were always bent to earth when gazed

upon by you; and when I did but fear you looked with love, I

entertained you with _Philander_’., praise, his wondrous beauty, and

his wondrous love, and left nothing untold that might confirm you how

much impossible it was, I ever should love again, that I might leave

you no room for hope; and since my story has been so unfortunate to

alarm the whole world with a conduct so fatal, I made no scruple of

telling you with what joy and pride I was undone; if this encourage

you, if _Octavio_ have sentiments so meanly poor of me, to think,

because I yielded to _Philander_, his hopes should be advanced, I

banish him for ever from my sight, and after that disdain the little

service he can render the never to be altered

SYLVIA.

This letter she sent him back by his page, but not the bracelets,

which were indeed very fine, and very considerable: at the same time

she threatened him with banishment, she so absolutely expected to be

disobeyed in all things of that kind, that she dressed herself that

day to advantage, which since her arrival she had never done in her

own habits: what with her illness, and _Philander_’. absence, a

careless negligence had seized her, till roused and weakened to the

thoughts of beauty by _Octavio_’. love, she began to try its force,

and that day dressed. While she was so employed, the page hastes with

the letter to his lord, who changed colour at the sight of it ere he

received it; not that he hoped it brought love, it was enough she

would but answer, though she railed: ‘Let her’ (said he opening it)

’.ow she hates me: let her call me traitor, and unjust, so she take

the pains to tell it this way;’ for he knew well those that argue will

yield, and only she that sends him back his own letters without

reading them can give despair. He read therefore without a sigh, nor

complained he on her rigours; and because it was too early yet to make

his visit, to shew the impatience of his love, as much as the reality

and resolution of it, he bid his page wait, and sent her back this

answer.

OCTAVIO _to_ SYLVIA.

Fair angry _Sylvia_, how has my love offended? Has its excess betrayed

the least part of that respect due to your birth and beauty? Though I

am young as the gay ruddy morning, and vigorous as the gilded sun at

noon, and amorous as that god, when with such haste he chased young

_Daphne_ over the flowery plain, it never made me guilty of a thought

that _Sylvia_ might not pity and allow. Nor came that trifling present

to plead for any wish, or mend my eloquence, which you with such

disdain upbraid me with; the bracelets came not to be raffled for your

love, nor pimp to my desires: youth scorns those common aids; no, let

dull age pursue those ways of merchandise, who only buy up hearts at

that vain price, and never make a barter, but a purchase. Youth has a

better way of trading in love’s markets, and you have taught me too

well to judge of, and to value beauty, to dare to bid so cheaply for

it: I found the toy was gay, the work was neat, and fancy new; and

know not any thing they would so well adorn as _Sylvia_’. lovely

hands: I say, if after this I should have been the mercenary fool to

have dunned you for return, you might have used me thus----Condemn me

ere you find me sin in thought! That part of it was yet so far behind

it was scarce arrived in wish. You should have stayed till it

approached more near, before you damned it to eternal silence. To

love, to sigh, to weep, to pray, and to complain; why one may be

allowed it in devotion; but you, nicer than heaven itself, make that a

crime, which all the powers divine have never decreed one. I will not

plead, nor ask you leave to love; love is my right, my business, and

my province; the empire of the young, the vigorous, and the bold; and

I will claim my share; the air, the groves, the shades are mine to

sigh in, as well as your _Philander_’.; the echoes answer me as

willingly, when I complain, or name the cruel _Sylvia_; fountains

receive my tears, and the kind spring’s reflection agreeably flatters

me to hope, and makes me vain enough to think it just and reasonable I

should pursue the dictates of my soul----love on in spite of

opposition, because I will not lose my privileges; you may forbid me

naming it to you, in that I can obey, because I can; but not to love!

Not to adore the fair! And not to languish for you, were as impossible

as for you not to be lovely, not to be the most charming of your sex.

But I am so far from a pretending fool, because you have been

possessed, that often that thought comes cross my soul, and checks my

advancing love; and I would buy that thought off with almost all my

share of future bliss! Were I a god, the first great miracle should be

to form you a maid again: for oh, whatever reasons flattering love can

bring to make it look like just, the world! The world, fair _Sylvia_,

still will censure, and say----you were to blame; but it was that

fault alone that made you mortal, we else should have adored you as a

deity, and so have lost a generous race of young succeeding heroes

that may be born of you! Yet had _Philander_ loved but half so well as

I, he would have kept your glorious fame entire; but since alone for

_Sylvia_ I love _Sylvia_, let her be false to honour, false to love,

wanton and proud, ill-natured, vain, fantastic, or what is worse--let

her pursue her love, be constant, and still dote upon _Philander_--yet

still she will be the _Sylvia_ I adore, that _Sylvia_ born eternally

to enslave

OCTAVIO.

This he sent by _Florio_ his page, at the same time that she expected

the visit of his lord, and blushed with a little anger and concern at

the disappointment; however she hasted to read the letter, and was

pleased with the haughty resolution he made in spite of her, to love

on as his right by birth; and she was glad to find from these positive

resolves that she might the more safely disdain, or at least assume a

tyranny which might render her virtue glorious, and yet at the same

time keep him her slave on all occasions when she might have need of

his service, which, in the circumstances she was in, she did not know

of what great use it might be to her, she having no other design on

him, bating the little vanity of her sex, which is an ingredient so

intermixed with the greatest virtues of women-kind, that those who

endeavour to cure them of that disease rob them of a very considerable

pleasure, and in most it is incurable: give _Sylvia_ then leave to

share it with her sex, since she was so much the more excusable, by

how much a greater portion of beauty she had than any other, and had

sense enough to know it too; as indeed whatever other knowledge they

want, they have still enough to set a price on beauty, though they do

not always rate it; for had _Sylvia_ done that, she had been the

happiest of her sex: but as she was she waited the coming of

_Octavio_, but not so as to make her quit one sad thought for

_Philanders_ love and vanity, though they both reigned in her soul;

yet the first surmounted the last, and she grew to impatient ravings

whenever she cast a thought upon her fear that _Philander_ grew cold;

and possibly pride and vanity had as great a share in that concern of

hers as love itself, for she would oft survey herself in her glass,

and cry, ‘Gods! Can this beauty be despised? This shape! This face!

This youth! This air! And what’s more obliging yet, a heart that

adores the fugitive, that languishes and sighs after the dear runaway.

Is it possible he can find a beauty,’ added she, ‘of greater

perfection----But oh, it is fancy sets the rate on beauty, and he may

as well love a third time as he has a second. For in love, those that

once break the rules and laws of that deity, set no bounds to their

treasons and disobedience. Yes, yes,----’ would she cry, ‘He that

could leave _Myrtilla_, the fair, the young, the noble, chaste and

fond _Myrtilla_, what after that may he not do to _Sylvia_, on whom he

has less ties, less obligations? Oh wretched maid----what has thy

fondness done, he is satiated now with thee, as before with

_Myrtilla_, and carries all those dear, those charming joys, to some

new beauty, whom his looks have conquered, and whom his soft

bewitching vows will ruin.’ With that she raved and stamped, and cried

aloud, ‘Hell----fires----tortures----daggers----racks and

poison----come all to my relief! Revenge me on the perjured lovely

devil----But I will be brave----I will be brave and hate him----’ This

she spoke in a tone less fierce, and with great pride, and had not

paused and walked above a hasty turn or two, but _Octavio_, as

impatient as love could make him, entered the chamber, so dressed, so

set out for conquest, that I wonder at nothing more than that _Sylvia_

did not find him altogether charming, and fit for her revenge, who was

formed by nature for love, and had all that could render him the

dotage of women: but where a heart is prepossessed, all that is

beautiful in any other man serves but as an ill comparison to what it

loves, and even _Philander_’. likeness, that was not indeed

_Philander_, wanted the secret to charm. At _Octavio_’. entrance she

was so fixed on her revenge of love, that she did not see him, who

presented himself as so proper an instrument, till he first sighing

spoke, ‘Ah, _Sylvia_, shall I never see that beauty easy more? Shall I

never see it reconciled to content, and a soft calmness fixed upon

those eyes, which were formed for looks all tender and serene; or are

they resolved’ (continued he, sighing) ‘never to appear but in storms

when I approach?’ ‘Yes,’ replied she, ‘when there is a calm of love in

yours that raises it.’ ‘Will you confine my eyes,’ said he, ‘that are

by nature soft? May not their silent language tell you my heart’s sad

story?’ But she replied with a sigh, ‘It is not generously done,

_Octavio_, thus to pursue a poor unguarded maid, left to your care,

your promises of friendship. Ah, will you use _Philander_ with such

treachery?’ ‘Sylvia,’ said he,’.y flame is so just and reasonable,

that I dare even to him pronounce I love you; and after that dare love

you on----’ ‘And would you’ (said she) ‘to satisfy a little short

lived passion, forfeit those vows you have made of friendship to

_Philander_? ‘That heart that loves you, Sylvia,’ (he replied) ‘cannot

be guilty of so base a thought; _Philander_ is my friend, and as he is

so, shall know the dearest secrets of my soul. I should believe myself

indeed ungrateful’ (continued he) ‘wherever I loved, should I not tell

_Philander_; he told me frankly all his soul, his loves, his griefs,

his treasons, and escapes, and in return I will pay him back with

mine.’ ‘And do you imagine’ (said she) ‘that he would permit your

love?’ ‘How should he hinder me?’ (replied he.) ‘I do believe’ (said

she) ‘he’d forget all his safety and his friendship, and fight you.’

’.hen I’d defend myself,’ (said he) ‘if he were so ungrateful.’ While

they thus argued, _Sylvia_ had her thoughts apart, on the little

stratagems that women in love sometimes make use of; and _Octavio_ no

sooner told her he would send _Philander_ word of his love, but she

imagined that such a knowledge might retrieve the heart of her lover,

if indeed it were on the wing, and revive the dying embers in his

soul, as usually it does from such occasions; and on the other side,

she thought that she might more allowably receive _Octavio_’.

addresses, when they were with the permission of _Philander_, if he

could love so well to permit it; and if he could not, she should have

the joy to undeceive her fears of his inconstancy, though she banished

for ever the agreeable _Octavio_; so that on _Octavio_’. farther

urging the necessity of his giving _Philander_ that sure mark of his

friendship she permitted him to write, which he immediately did on her

table, where there stood a little silver escritoire which contained

all things for this purpose.

OCTAVIO _to_ PHILANDER.

_My Lord_,