Since I have vowed you my eternal friendship, and that I absolutely

believe myself honoured with that of yours, I think myself obliged by

those powerful ties to let you know my heart, not only now as that

friend from whom I ought to conceal nothing, but as a rival too, whom

in honour I ought to treat as a generous one: perhaps you will be so

unkind as to say I cannot be a friend and a rival at the same time,

and that almighty love, that sets the world at odds, chases all things

from the heart where that reigns, to establish itself the more

absolutely there; but, my lord, I avow mine a love of that good

nature, that can endure the equal sway of friendship, where like two

perfect friends they support each other’s empire there; nor can the

glory of one eclipse that of the other, but both, like the notion we

have of the deity, though two distinct passions, make but one in my

soul; and though friendship first entered, ‘twas in vain, I called it

to my aid, at the first soft invasion of _Sylvia_’. power; and you my

charming friend, are the most oblig’d to pity me, who already know so

well the force of her beauty. I would fain have you think, I strove at

first with all my reason against the irresistible lustre of her eyes:

and at the first assaults of love, I gave him not a welcome to my

bosom, but like slaves unused to fetters, I grew sullen with my

chains, and wore them for your sake uneasily. I thought it base to

look upon the mistress of my friend with wishing eyes; but softer love

soon furnished me with arguments to justify my claim, since love is

not the choice but the face of the soul, who seldom regards the object

lov’d as it is, but as it wishes to have it be, and then kind fancy

makes it soon the same. Love, that almighty creator of something from

nothing, forms a wit, a hero, or a beauty, virtue, good humour,

honour, any excellence, when oftentimes there is neither in the

object, but where the agreeing world has fixed all these; and since it

is by all resolved, (whether they love or not) that this is she, you

ought no more, _Philander_, to upbraid my flame, than to wonder at it:

it is enough I tell you that it is _Sylvia_ to justify my passion; nor

is it a crime that I confess I love, since it can never rob

_Philander_ of the least part of what I have vowed him: or if his mere

honour will believe me guilty of a fault, let this atone for all, that

if I wrong my friend in loving _Sylvia_, I right him in despairing;

for oh, I am repulsed with all the rigour of the coy and fair, with

all the little malice of the witty sex, and all the love of _Sylvia_

to _Philander_----There, there is the stop to all my hopes and

happiness, and yet by heaven I love thee, oh thou favoured rival!

After this frank confession, my _Philander_, I should be glad to hear

your sentiment, since yet, in spite of love, in spite of beauty, I am

resolved to die _Philander_’. constant friend,

OCTAVIO.

After he had writ this, he gave it to _Sylvia_: ‘See charming

creature’ (said he in delivering it) ‘if after this you either doubt

my love, or what I dare for _Sylvia_.’ ‘I neither receive it’ (said

she) ‘as a proof of the one or the other; but rather that you believe,

by this frank confession, to render it as a piece of gallantry and

diversion to _Philander_; for no man of sense will imagine that love

true, or arrived to any height, that makes a public confession of it

to his rival.’ ‘Ah, _Sylvia_,’ answered he, ‘how malicious is your

wit, and how active to turn its pointed mischief on me! Had I not

writ, you would have said I durst not; and when I make a declaration

of it, you call it only a slight piece of gallantry: but, _Sylvia_,

you have wit enough to try it a thousand ways, and power enough to

make me obey; use the extremity of both, so you recompense me at last

with a confession that I was at least found worthy to be numbered in

the crowd of your adorers.’ _Sylvia_ replied, ‘He were a dull lover

indeed, that would need instructions from the wit of his mistress to

give her proofs of his passion; whatever opinion you have of my sense,

I have too good a one of _Octavio_’. to believe, that when he is a

lover he will want aids to make it appear; till then we will let that

argument alone, and consider his address to _Philander_.’ She then

read over the letter he had writ, which she liked very well for her

purpose; for at this time our young _Dutch hero_ was made a property

of in order to her revenge on _Philander_: she told him, he had said

too much both for himself and her. He told her, he had declared

nothing with his pen, that he would not make good with his sword.

’.old, sir,’ said she, ‘and do not imagine from the freedom you have

taken in owning your passion to _Philander_, that I shall allow it

here: what you declare to the world is your own crime; but when I hear

it, it is no longer yours but mine; I therefore conjure you, my lord,

not to charge my soul with so great a sin against _Philander_, and I

confess to you, I shall be infinitely troubled to be obliged to banish

you my sight for ever.’ He heard her, and answered with a sigh; for

she went from him to the table, and sealed her letter, and gave it him

to be enclosed to _Philander_, and left him to consider on her last

words, which he did not lay to heart, because he fancied she spoke

this as women do that will be won with industry: he, in standing up as

she went from him, saw himself in the great glass, and bid his person

answer his heart, which from every view he took was reinforced with

new hope, for he was too good a judge of beauty not to find it in

every part of his own amiable person, nor could he imagine from

_Sylvia_’. eyes, which were naturally soft and languishing, (and now

the more so from her fears and jealousies) that she meant from her

heart the rigours she expressed: much he allowed for his short time of

courtship, much to her sex’s modesty, much from her quality, and very

much from her love, and imagined it must be only time and assiduity,

opportunity and obstinate passion, that were capable of reducing her

to break her faith with _Philander_; he therefore endeavour’d by all

the good dressing, the advantage of lavish gaiety, to render his

person agreeable, and by all the arts of gallantry to charm her with

his conversation, and when he could handsomely bring in love, he

failed not to touch upon it as far as it would be permitted, and every

day had the vanity to fancy he made some advances; for indeed every

day more and more she found she might have use for so considerable a

person, so that one may very well say, never any passed their time

better than _Sylvia_ and _Octavio_, though with different ends. All he

had now to fear was from the answer _Philander_’. letter should bring,

for whom he had, in spite of love, so entire a friendship, that he

even doubted whether (if _Philander_ could urge reasons potent enough)

he should not choose to die and quit Sylvia, rather than be false to

friendship; one post passed, and another, and so eight successive

ones, before they received one word of answer to what they sent; so

that _Sylvia_, who was the most impatient of her sex, and the most in

love, was raving and acting all the extravagance of despair, and even

_Octavio_ now became less pleasing, yet he failed not to visit her

every day, to send her rich presents, and to say all that a fond

lover, or a faithful friend might urge for her relief: at last

_Octavio_ received this following letter.

PHILANDER _to_ OCTAVIO.

You have shewed, _Octavio_, a freedom so generous, and so beyond the

usual measures of a rival, that it were almost injustice in me not to

permit you to love on; if _Sylvia_ can be false to me, and all her

vows, she is not worth preserving; if she prefer _Octavio_ to

_Philander_, then he has greater merit, and deserves her best: but if

on the contrary she be just, if she be true, and constant, I cannot

fear his love will injure me, so either way _Octavio_ has my leave to

love the charming _Sylvia_; alas, I know her power, and do not wonder

at thy fate! For it is as natural for her to conquer, as ‘tis for

youth to yield; oh, she has fascination in her eyes! A spell upon her

tongue, her wit’s a philtre, and her air and motion all snares for

heedless hearts; her very faults have charms, her pride, her

peevishness, and her disdain, have unresisted power. Alas, you find it

every day--and every night she sweeps the tour along and shews the

beauty, she enslaves the men, and rivals all the women! How oft with

pride and anger I have seen it; and was the unconsidering coxcomb then

to rave and rail at her, to curse her charms, her fair inviting and

perplexing charms, and bullied every gazer: by heaven I could not

spare a smile, a look, and she has such a lavish freedom in her

humour, that if you chance to love as I have done--it will surely make

thee mad; if she but talked aloud, or put her little affectation on,

to show the force of beauty, oh God! How lost in rage! How mad with

jealousy, was my fond breaking heart! My eyes grew fierce, and

clamorous my tongue! And I have scarce contained myself from hurting

what I so much adored; but then the subtle charmer had such arts to

flatter me to peace again--to clasp her lovely arms about my neck--to

sigh a thousand dear confirming vows into my bosom, and kiss, and

smile, and swear--and take away my rage,--and then--oh my _Octavio_,

no human fancy can present the joy of the dear reconciling moment,

where little quarrels raised the rapture higher, and she was always

new. These are the wondrous pains, and wondrous pleasures that love by

turns inspires, till it grows wise by time and repetition, and then

the god assumes a serious gravity, enjoyment takes off the uneasy

keenness of the passion, the little jealous quarrels rise no more;

quarrels, the very feathers of love’s darts, that send them with more

swiftness to the heart; and when they cease, your transports lessen

too, then we grow reasonable, and consider; we love with prudence

then, as fencers fight with foils; a sullen brush perhaps sometimes or

so; but nothing that can touch the heart, and when we are arrived to

love at that dull, easy rate, we never die of that disease; then we

have recourse to all the little arts, the aids of flatterers, and dear

dissimulation, (that help-meet to the lukewarm lover) to keep up a

good character of constancy, and a right understanding.

Thus, _Octavio_, I have ran through both the degrees of love; which I

have taken so often, that I am grown most learned and able in the art;

my easy heart is of the constitution of those, whom frequent sickness

renders apt to take relapses from every little cause, or wind that

blows too fiercely on them; it renders itself to the first effects of

new surprising beauty, and finds such pleasure in beginning passion,

such dear delight of fancying new enjoyment, that all past loves, past

vows and obligations, have power to bind no more; no pity, no remorse,

no threatening danger invades my amorous course; I scour along the

flow’ry plains of love, view all the charming prospect at a distance,

which represents itself all gay and glorious! And long to lay me down,

to stretch and bask in those dear joys that fancy makes so ravishing:

nor am I one of those dull whining slaves, whom quality or my respect

can awe into a silent cringer, and no more; no, love, youth, and oft

success has taught me boldness and art, desire and cunning to attack,

to search the feeble side of female weakness, and there to play love’s

engines; for women will be won, they will, _Octavio_, if love and wit

find any opportunity.

Perhaps, my friend, you are wondering now, what this discourse, this

odd discovery of my own inconstancy tends to? Then since I cannot

better pay you back the secret you had told me of your love, than by

another of my own; take this confession from thy friend----I

love!----languish! And am dying,----for a new beauty. To you,

_Octavio_, you that have lived twenty dull tedious years, and never

understood the mystery of love, till _Sylvia_ taught you to adore,

this change may seem a wonder; you that have lazily run more than half

your youth’s gay course of life away, without the pleasure of one

nobler hour of mine; who, like a miser, hoard your sacred store, or

scantily have dealt it but to one, think me a lavish prodigal in love,

and gravely will reproach me with inconstancy----but use me like a

friend, and hear my story.

It happened in my last day’s journey on the road I overtook a man of

quality, for so his equipage confessed; we joined and fell into

discourse of many things indifferent, till, from a chain of one thing

to another, we chanced to talk of _France_, and of the factions there,

and I soon found him a _Cesarian_; for he grew hot with his concern

for that prince, and fiercely owned his interest: this pleased me, and

I grew familiar with him; and I pleased him so well in my devotion for

_Cesario_, that being arrived at _Cologne_ he invites me home to his

palace, which he begged I would make use of as my own during my stay

at _Cologne_. Glad of the opportunity I obeyed, and soon informed

myself by a _Spanish_ page (that waited on him) to whom I was obliged;

he told me it was the Count of _Clarinau_, a _Spaniard_ born, and of

quality, who for some disgust at Court retired hither; that he was a

person of much gravity, a great politician, and very rich; and though

well in years was lately married to a very beautiful young lady, and

that very much against her consent; a lady whom he had taken out of a

monastery, where she had been pensioned from a child, and of whom he

was so fond and jealous, he never would permit her to see or be seen

by any man: and if she took the air in her coach, or went to church,

he obliged her to wear a veil. Having learned thus much of the boy, I

dismissed him with a present; for he had already inspired me with

curiosity, that prologue to love, and I knew not of what use he might

be hereafter; a curiosity that I was resolved to satisfy, though I

broke all the laws of hospitality, and even that first night I felt an

impatience that gave me some wonder. In fine, three days I languished

out in a disorder that was very nearly allied to that of love. I found

myself magnificently lodged; attended with a formal ceremony; and

indeed all things were as well as I could imagine, bating a kind

opportunity to get a sight of this young beauty: now half a lover

grown, I sighed and grew oppressed with thought, and had recourse to

groves, to shady walks and fountains, of which the delicate gardens

afforded variety, the most resembling nature that ever art produced,

and of the most melancholy recesses, fancying there, in some lucky

hour, I might encounter what I already so much adored in _Idea_, which

still I formed just as my fancy wished; there, for the first two days

I walked and sighed, and told my new-born passion to every gentle wind

that played among the boughs; for yet no lady bright appeared beneath

them, no visionary nymph the groves afforded; but on the third day,

all full of love and stratagem, in the cool of the evening, I passed

into a thicket near a little rivulet, that purled and murmured through

the glade, and passed into the meads; this pleased and fed my present

amorous humour, and down I laid myself on the shady brink, and

listened to its melancholy glidings, when from behind me I heard a

sound more ravishing, a voice that sung these words:

Alas, in vain, you pow’rs above,

You gave me youth, you gave me charms,

And ev’ry tender sense of love;

To destine me to old _Phileno_’. arms.

Ah how can youth’s gay spring allow

The chilling kisses of the winter’s snow!

All night I languish by his side,

And fancy joys I never taste;

As men in dreams a feast provide,

And waking find, with grief they fast.

Either, ye gods, my youthful fires allay,

Or make the old _Phileno_ young and gay.

Like a fair flower in shades obscurity,

Though every sweet adorns my head,

Ungather’d, unadmired I lie,

And wither on my silent gloomy bed,

While no kind aids to my relief appear,

And no kind bosom makes me triumph there.

By this you may easily guess, as I soon did, that the song was sung by

Madam the Countess of _Clarinau_, as indeed it was; at the very

beginning of her song my joyful soul divined it so! I rose, and

advanced by such slow degrees, as neither alarmed the fair singer, nor

hindered me the pleasure of hearing any part of the song, till I

approached so near as (behind the shelter of some jessamine that

divided us) I, unseen, completed those wounds at my eyes, which I had

received before at my ears. Yes, _Octavio_, I saw the lovely

_Clarinau_ leaning on a pillow made of some of those jessamines which

favoured me, and served her for a canopy. But, oh my friend! How shall

I present her to thee in that angel form she then appeared to me? All

young! All ravishing as new-born light to lost benighted travellers;

her face, the fairest in the world, was adorned with curls of shining

jet, tied up--I know not how, all carelessly with scarlet ribbon mixed

with pearls; her robe was gay and rich, such as young royal brides put

on when they undress for joys; her eyes were black, the softest heaven

ever made; her mouth was sweet, and formed for all delight; so red her

lips, so round, so graced with dimples, that without one other charm,

that was enough to kindle warm desires about a frozen heart; a

sprightly air of wit completed all, increased my flame, and made me

mad with love: endless it were to tell thee all her beauties: nature

all over was lavish and profuse, let it suffice, her face, her shape,

her mien, had more of angel in them than humanity! I saw her thus all

charming! Thus she lay! A smiling melancholy dressed her eyes, which

she had fixed upon the rivulet, near which I found her lying; just

such I fancied famed _Lucretia_ was, when _Tarquin_ first beheld her;

nor was that royal ravisher more inflamed than I, or readier for the

encounter. Alone she was, which heightened my desires; oh gods! Alone

lay the young lovely charmer, with wishing eyes, and all prepared for

love! The shade was gloomy, and the tell-tale leaves combined so

close, they must have given us warning if any had approached from

either side! All favoured my design, and I advanced; but with such

caution as not to inspire her with a fear, instead of that of love! A

slow, uneasy pace, with folded arms, love in my eyes, and burning in

my heart----at my approach she scarce contained her cries, and rose

surprised and blushing, discovering to me such a proportioned

height--so lovely and majestic--that I stood gazing on her, all lost

in wonder, and gave her time to dart her eyes at me, and every look

pierced deeper to my soul, and I had no sense but love, silent

admiring love! Immovable I stood, and had no other motion but that of

a heart all panting, which lent a feeble trembling to my tongue, and

even when I would have spoke to her, it sent a sigh up to prevent my

boldness; and oh, _Octavio_, though I have been bred in all the saucy

daring of a forward lover, yet now I wanted a convenient impudence;

awed with a haughty sweetness in her look, like a Fauxbrave after a

vigorous onset, finding the danger fly so thick around him, sheers

off, and dares not face the pressing foe, struck with too fierce a

lightning from her eyes, whence the gods sent a thousand winged darts,

I veiled my own, and durst not play with fire: while thus she hotly

did pursue her conquest, and I stood fixed on the defensive part, I

heard a rustling among the thick-grown leaves, and through their

mystic windings soon perceived the good old Count of _Clarinau_

approaching, muttering and mumbling to old _Dormina_, the dragon

appointed to guard this lovely treasure, and which she having left

alone in the thicket, and had retired but at an awful distance, had

most extremely disobliged her lord. I only had time enough in this

little moment to look with eyes that asked a thousand pities, and told

her in their silent language how loath they were to leave the charming

object, and with a sigh----I vanished from the wondering fair one,

nimble as lightning, silent as a shade, to my first post behind the

jessamines; that was the utmost that I could persuade my heart to do.

You may believe, my dear _Octavio_, I did not bless the minute that

brought old _Clarinau_ to that dear recess, nor him, nor my own fate;

and to complete my torment, I saw him (after having gravely reproached

her for being alone without her woman) yes, I saw him fall on her

neck, her lovely snowy neck, and loll and kiss, and hang his tawny

withered arms on her fair shoulders, and press his nauseous load upon

_Calista_’. body, (for so I heard him name her) while she was gazing

still upon the empty place, whence she had seen me vanish; which he

perceiving, cried--’My little fool, what is it thou gazest on, turn to

thy known old man, and buss him soundly----’ When putting him by with

a disdain, that half made amends for the injury he had done me by

coming, ‘Ah, my lord,’ cried she, ‘even now, just there I saw a lovely

vision, I never beheld so excellent a thing:’ ‘How,’ cried he, ‘a

vision, a thing,--What vision? What thing? Where? How? And when----’

’.hy there,’ said she, ‘with my eyes, and just now is vanished behind

yon jessamines.’ With that I drew my sword--for I despaired to get off

unknown; and being well enough acquainted with the jealous nature of

the Spaniards, which is no more than see and stab, I prepared to stand

on my defence till I could reconcile him, if possible, to reason; yet

even in that moment I was more afraid of the injury he might do the

innocent fair one, than of what he could do to me: but he not so much

as dreaming she meant a man by her lovely vision, fell a kissing her

anew, and beckoning _Dormina_ off to pimp at distance, told her, ‘The

grove was so sweet, the river’s murmurs so delicate, and she was so

curiously dressed, that all together had inspired him with a

love-fit;’ and then assaulting her anew with a sneer, which you have

seen a satyr make in pictures, he fell to act the little tricks of

youth, that looked so goatish in him--instead of kindling it would

have damped a flame; which she resisted with a scorn so charming gave

me new hope and fire, when to oblige me more, with pride, disdain, and

loathing in her eyes, she fled like _Daphne_ from the ravisher; he

being bent on love pursued her with a feeble pace, like an old

wood-god chasing some coy nymph, who winged with fear out-strips the

flying wind, and though a god he cannot overtake her; and left me

fainting with new love, new hope, new jealousy, impatience, sighs and

wishes, in the abandoned grove. Nor could I go without another view of

that dear place in which I saw her lie. I went--and laid me down just

on the print which her fair body made, and pressed, and kissed it over

a thousand times with eager transports, and even fancied fair

_Calista_ there; there ‘twas I found the paper with the song which I

have sent you; there I ran over a thousand stratagems to gain another

view; no little statesman had more plots and arts than I to gain this

object I adored, the soft idea of my burning heart, now raging wild,

abandoned all to love and loose desire; but hitherto my industry is

vain; each day I haunt the thickest groves and springs, the flowery

walks, close arbours; all the day my busy eyes and heart are searching

her, but no intelligence they bring me in: in fine, _Octavio_, all

that I can since learn is, that the bright _Calista_ had seen a vision

in the garden, and ever since was so possessed with melancholy, that

she had not since quitted her chamber; she is daily pressing the Count

to permit her to go into the garden, to see if she can again encounter

the lovely _phantom_, but whether, from any description she hath made

of it, (or from any other cause) he imagines how it was, I know not;

but he endeavours all he can to hinder her, and tells her it is not

lawful to tempt heaven by invoking an apparition; so that till a

second view eases the torments of my mind, there is nothing in nature

to be conceived so raving mad as I; as if my despair of finding her

again increased my impatient flame, instead of lessening it.

After this declaration, judge, _Octavio_, who has given the greatest

proofs of his friendship, you or I; you being my rival, trust me with

the secret of loving my mistress, which can no way redound to your

disadvantage; but I, by telling you the secrets of my soul, put it

into your power to ruin me with _Sylvia_, and to establish yourself in

her heart; a thought I yet am not willing to bear, for I have an

ambition in my love, that would not, while I am toiling for empire

here, lose my dominion in another place: but since I can no more rule

a woman’s heart, than a lover’s fate, both you and _Sylvia_ may

deceive my opinion in that, but shall never have power to make me

believe you less my friend, than I am your

PHILANDER.

POSTSCRIPT.

_The enclosed I need not oblige you to deliver; you see I give you

opportunity._

_Octavio_ no sooner arrived to that part of the letter which named the

Count of _Clarinau_, but he stopped, and was scarce able to proceed,

for the charming _Calista_ was his sister, the only one he had, who

having been bred in a nunnery, was taken then to be married to this

old rich count, who had a great fortune: before he proceeded, his soul

divined this was the new amour that had engaged the heart of his

friend; he was afraid to be farther convinced, and yet a curiosity to

know how far he had proceeded, made him read it out with all the

disorder of a man jealous of his honour, and nicely careful of his

fame; he considered her young, about eighteen, married to an old,

ill-favoured, jealous husband, no parents but himself to right her

wrongs, or revenge her levity; he knew, though she wanted no wit, she

did art, for being bred without the conversation of men, she had not

learnt the little cunnings of her sex; he guessed by his own soul that

hers was soft and apt for impression; he judged from her confession to

her husband of the vision, that she had a simple innocence, that might

betray a young beauty under such circumstances; to all this he

considered the charms of _Philander_ unresistible, his unwearied

industry in love, and concludes his sister lost. At first he upbraids

_Philander_, and calls him ungrateful, but soon thought it

unreasonable to accuse himself of an injustice, and excused the

frailty of _Philander_, since he knew not that she whom he adored was

sister to his friend; however, it failed not to possess him with

inquietude that exercised all his wit, to consider how he might

prevent an irreparable injury to his honour, and an intrigue that

possibly might cost his sister her life, as well as fame. In the midst

of all these torments he forgot not the more important business of his

love: for to a lover, who has his soul perfectly fixed on the fair

object of its adoration, whatever other thoughts fatigue and cloud his

mind, that, like a soft gleam of new sprung light, darts in and

spreads a glory all around, and like the god of day, cheers every

drooping vital; yet even these dearer thoughts wanted not their

torments. At first he strove to atone for the fears of _Calista_, with

those of imagining _Philander_ false to _Sylvia_: ‘Well,’ cried

he----’If thou be’st lost, _Calista_, at least thy ruin has laid a

foundation for my happiness, and every triumph _Philander_ makes of

thy virtue, it the more secures my empire over _Sylvia_; and since the

brother cannot be happy, but by the sister’s being undone, yield thou,

O faithless fair one, yield to _Philander_, and make me blest in

_Sylvia_! And thou’ (continued he) ‘oh perjured lover and inconstant

friend, glut thy insatiate flame----rifle _Calista_ of every virtue

heaven and nature gave her, so I may but revenge it on thy _Sylvia_!’

Pleased with this joyful hope he traverses his chamber; glowing and

blushing with new kindling fire, his heart that was all gay, diffused

a gladness, that expressed itself in every feature of his lovely face;

his eyes, that were by nature languishing, shone now with an unusual

air of briskness, smiles graced his mouth, and dimples dressed his

face, insensibly his busy fingers trick and dress, and set his hair,

and without designing it, his feet are bearing him to _Sylvia_, till

he stopped short and wondered whither he was going, for yet it was not

time to make his visit--’Whither, fond heart,’ (said he) ‘O whither

wouldst thou hurry this slave to thy soft fires!’ And now returning

back he paused and fell to thought--He remembered how impatiently

_Sylvia_ waited the return of the answer he writ to him, wherein he

owned his passion for that beauty. He knew she permitted him to write

it, more to raise the little brisk fires of jealousy in _Philander_,

and to set an edge on his blunted love, than from any favours she

designed _Octavio_; and that on this answer depended all her

happiness, or the confirmation of her doubts, and that she would

measure _Philander_’. love by the effects she found there of it: so

that never lover had so hard a game to play, as our new one. He knew

he had it now in his power to ruin his rival, and to make almost his

own terms with his fair conqueress, but he considered the secret was

not rendered him for so base an end, nor could his love advance itself

by ways so false, dull and criminal--Between each thought he paused,

and now resolves she must know he sent an answer to his letter; for

should she know he had, and that he should refuse her the sight of it,

he believed with reason she ought to banish him for ever her presence,

as the most disobedient of her slaves. He walks and pauses on--but no

kind thought presents itself to save him; either way he finds himself

undone, and from the most gay, and most triumphing lover on the earth,

he now, with one desirous thought of right reasoning, finds he is the

most miserable of all the creation! He reads the superscription of

that _Philander_ writ to _Sylvia_, which was enclosed in his, and

finds it was directed only--’For _Sylvia_’, which would plainly

demonstrate it came not so into _Holland_, but that some other cover

secured it; so that never any but _Octavio_, the most nice in honour,

had ever so great a contest with love and friendship: for his noble

temper was not one of those that could sacrifice his friend to his

little lusts, or his more solid passion, but truly brave, resolves now

rather to die than to confess _Philander_’. secret; to evade which he

sent her letter by his page, with one from himself, and commanded him

to tell her, that he was going to receive some commands from the

Prince of _Orange_, and that he would wait on her himself in the

evening. The page obeys, and _Octavio_ sent him with a sigh, and eyes

that languishingly told him he did it with regret.

The page hastening to _Sylvia_, finds her in all the disquiet of an

expecting lover; and snatching the papers from his hand, the first she

saw was that from _Philander_, at which she trembled with fear and

joy, for hope, love and despair, at once seized her, and hardly able

to make a sign with her hand, for the boy to withdraw, she sank down

into her chair, all pale, and almost fainting; but re-assuming her

courage, she opened it, and read this.

PHILANDER _to_ SYLVIA.

Ah, _Sylvia_! Why all these doubts and fears? why at this distance do

you accuse your lover, when he is incapable to fall before you, and

undeceive your little jealousies. Oh, _Sylvia_, I fear this first

reproaching me, is rather the effects of your own guilt, than any that

love can make you think of mine. Yes, yes, my _Sylvia_, it is the

waves that roll and glide away, and not the steady shore. ‘Tis you

begin to unfasten from the vows that hold you, and float along the

flattering tide of vanity. It is you, whose pride and beauty scorning

to be confined, give way to the admiring crowd, that sigh for you.

Yes, yes, you, like the rest of your fair glorious sex, love the

admirer though you hate the coxcomb. It is vain! it is great! And

shews your beauty’s power----Is it possible, that for the safety of my

life I cannot retire, but you must think I am fled from love and

_Sylvia_? Or is it possible that pitying tenderness that made me

incapable of taking leave of her should be interpreted as false--and

base--and that an absence of thirty days, so forc’d, and so compelled,

must render me inconstant--lost--ungrateful----as if that after

_Sylvia_ heaven ever made a beauty that could charm me?

You charge my letter with a thousand faults, it is short, it is cold,

and wants those usual softnesses that gave them all their welcome, and

their graces. I fear my _Sylvia_ loves the flatterer, and not the man,

the lover only, not _Philander_: and she considers him not for

himself, but the gay, glorious thing he makes of her! Ah! too

self-interested! Is that your justice? You never allow for my unhappy

circumstances; you never think how care oppresses me, nor what my love

contributes to that care. How business, danger, and a thousand ills,

take up my harrassed mind: by every power! I love thee still, my

_Sylvia_, but time has made us more familiar now, and we begin to

leave off ceremony, and come to closer joys to join our interests now,

as people fixed, resolved to live and die together; to weave our

thoughts and be united stronger. At first we shew the gayest side of

love, dress and be nice in every word and look, set out for conquest

all; spread every art, use every stratagem--But when the toil is past,

and the dear victory gained, we then propose a little idle rest, a

little easy slumber: we then embrace, lay by the gaudy shew, the

plumes and gilded equipage of love, the trappings of the conqueror,

and bring the naked lover to your arms; we shew him then uncased with

all his little disadvantages; perhaps the flowing hair, (those ebony

curls you have so often combed and dressed, and kissed) are then put

up, and shew a fiercer air, more like an antique _Roman_ than

_Philander_: and shall I then, because I want a grace, be thought to

love you less? Because the embroidered coat, the point and garniture’s

laid by, must I put off my passion with my dress? No, _Sylvia_, love

allows a thousand little freedoms, allows me to unbosom all my

secrets; tell thee my wants, my fears, complaints and dangers, and

think it great relief if thou but sigh and pity me: and oft thy

charming wit has aided me, but now I find thee adding to my pain. O

where shall I unload my weight of cares, when _Sylvia_, who was wont

to sigh and weep, and suffer me to ease the heavy burden, now grows

displeased and peevish with my moans, and calls them the effects of

dying love! Instead of those dear smiles, that fond bewitching

prattle, that used to calm my roughest storm of grief, she now

reproaches me with coldness, want of concern, and lover’s rhetoric:

and when I seem to beg relief and shew my soul’s resentment, it is

then I’m false; it is my aversion, or the effects of some new kindling

flame: is this fair dealing, _Sylvia_? Can I not spare a little sigh

from love, but you must think I rob you of your due? If I omit a

tender name, by which I used to call you, must I be thought to lose

that passion that taught me such endearments? And must I never reflect

upon the ruin both of my fame and fortune, but I must run the risk of

losing _Sylvia_ too? Oh cruelty of love! Oh too, too fond and jealous

maid, what crimes thy innocent passion can create, when it extends

beyond the bounds of reason! Ah too, too nicely tender _Sylvia_, that

will not give me leave to cast a thought back on my former glory; yet

even that loss I could support with tameness and content, if I

believed my suffering reached only to my heart; but _Sylvia_, if she

love, must feel my torments too, must share my loss, and want a

thousand ornaments, my sinking fortune cannot purchase her: believe

me, charming creature, if I should love you less, I have a sense so

just of what you have suffered for _Philander_, I’d be content to be a

galley-slave, to give thy beauty, birth and love their due; but as I

am thy faithful lover still, depend upon that fortune heaven has left

me; which if thou canst (as thou hast often sworn) then thou would’st

submit to be cheerful still, be gay and confident, and do not judge my

heart by little words; my heart--too great and fond for such poor

demonstrations.

You ask me, _Sylvia_, where I am, and what I do; and all I can say is,

that at present I am safe from any fears of being delivered up to

_France_, and what I do is sighing, dying, grieving; I want my

_Sylvia_; but my circumstances yet have nothing to encourage that

hope; when I resolve where to settle, you shall see what haste I will

make to have you brought to me: I am impatient to hear from you, and

to know how that dear pledge of our soft hours advances. I mean, what

I believe I left thee possessed of, a young _Philander_: cherish it,

_Sylvia_, for that is a certain obligation to keep a dying fire alive;

be sure you do it no hurt by your unnecessary grief, though there

needs no other tie but that of love to make me more entirely

_Your_ PHILANDER.

If _Sylvia_’. fears were great before she opened the letter, what were

her pains when all those fears were confirmed from that never-failing

mark of a declining love, the coldness and alteration of the style of

letters, that first symptom of a dying flame! ‘O where,’ said she,

’.here, oh perjured charmer, is all that ardency that used to warm the

reader? Where is all that natural innocence of love that could not,

even to discover and express a grace in eloquence, force one soft

word, or one passion? Oh,’ continued she, ‘he is lost and gone from

_Sylvia_ and his vows; some other has him all, clasps that dear body,

hangs upon that face, gazes upon his eyes, and listens to his voice,

when he is looking, sighing, swearing, dying, lying and damning of

himself for some new beauty--He is, I will not endure it; aid me,

_Antonet_! Oh, where is the perjured traitor!’ _Antonet_, who was

waiting on her, seeing her rise on the sudden in so great a fury,

would have stayed her hasty turns and ravings, beseeching her to tell

her what was the occasion, and by a discovery to ease her heart; but

she with all the fury imaginable flung from her arms, and ran to the

table, and snatching up a penknife, had certainly sent it to her

heart, had not _Antonet_ stepped to her and caught her hand, which she

resisted not, and blushing resigned, with telling her, she was ashamed

of her own cowardice; ‘For,’ said she, ‘if it had designed to have

been brave, I had sent you off, and by a noble resolution have freed

this slave within’ (striking her breast) ‘from a tyranny which it

should disdain to suffer under:’ with that she raged about the chamber

with broken words and imperfect threatenings, unconsidered

imprecations, and unheeded vows and oaths; at which _Antonet_

redoubled her petition to know the cause; and she replied--’_Philander_!

The dear, the soft, the fond and charming _Philander_ is now no more

the same. O, _Antonet_,’ said she, ‘didst thou but see this letter

compared to those of heretofore, when love was gay and young, when

new desire dressed his soft eyes in tears, and taught his tongue the

harmony of angels; when every tender word had more of passion, than

volumes of this forced, this trifling business; Oh thou wouldst say

I were the wretchedest thing that ever nature made--Oh, thou wouldst

curse as I do--not the dear murderer, but thy frantic self, thy mad,

deceived, believing, easy self; if thou wert so undone--’ Then

while she wept she gave _Antonet_ liberty to speak, which was to

persuade her, her fears were vain; she urged every argument of love

she had been witness to, and could not think it possible he could

be false. To all which the still weeping _Sylvia_ lent a willing

ear; for lovers are much inclined to believe every thing they wish.

_Antonet_, having a little calmed her, continued telling her, that

to be better convinced of his love, or his perfidy, she ought to

have patience till _Octavio_ should come to visit her; ‘For you

have forgotten, madam,’ said she, ‘that the generous rival has

sent him word he is your lover:’ for _Antonet_ was waiting at the

reading of that letter, nor was there any thing the open-hearted

_Sylvia_ concealed from that servant; and women who have made a breach

in their honour, are seldom so careful of their rest of fame, as those

who have a stock entire; and _Sylvia_ believed after she had entrusted

the secret of one amour to her discretion, she might conceal none.

’.ee, madam,’ says _Antonet_, ‘here is a letter yet unread:’ _Sylvia_,

who had been a great while impatient for the return of _Octavio_’.

answer from _Philander_, expecting from thence the confirmation of all

her doubts, hastily snatched the letter out of _Antonet_’. hand, and

read it, hoping to have found something there to have eased her soul

one way or other; a soul the most raging and haughty by nature that

ever possessed a body: the words were these.

OCTAVIO _to_ SYLVIA.

At least you will pity me, oh charming _Sylvia_, when you shall call

to mind the cruel services I am obliged to render you, to be the

messenger of love from him, whom beauty and that god plead so strongly

for already in your heart.

If, after this, you can propose a torture that yet may speak my

passion and obedience in any higher measure, command and try my

fortitude; for I too well divine, O rigorous beauty, the business of

your love-sick slave will be only to give you proofs how much he does

adore you, and never to taste a joy, even in a distant hope; like

lamps in urns my lasting fire must burn, without one kind material to

supply it. Ah _Sylvia_, if ever it be thy wretched fate to see the

lord of all your vows given to another’s arms----when you shall see in

those soft eyes that you adore, a languishment and joy if you but name

another beauty to him;----when you behold his blushes fade and rise at

the approaches of another mistress,----hear broken sighs and unassured

replies, whenever he answers some new conqueress; tremblings, and

pantings seizing every part at the warm touch as of a second charmer:

ah, _Sylvia_, do but do me justice then, and sighing say--I pity poor

_Octavio_.

Take here a letter from the blest _Philander_, which I had brought

myself, but cannot bear the torment of that joy that I shall see

advancing in your eyes when you shall read it over--no--it is too much

that I imagine all! Yet bless that patient fondness of my passion that

makes me still your slave, and your adorer,

OCTAVIO.

* * * * *

At finishing this, the jealous fair one redoubled her tears with such

violence, that it was in vain her woman strove to abate the flowing

tide by all the reasonable arguments she could bring to her aid; and

_Sylvia_, to increase it, read again the latter part of the ominous

letter; which she wet with the tears that streamed from her bright

eyes. ‘Yes, yes,’ (cried she, laying the letter down) ‘I know,

_Octavio_, this is no prophecy of yours, but a known truth: alas, you

know too well the fatal time is already come, when I shall find these

changes in _Philander_!’ ‘Ah madam,’ replied _Antonet_, ‘how curious

are you to search out torment for your own heart, and as much a lover

as you are, how little do you understand the arts and politics of

love! Alas, madam,’ continued she, ‘you yourself have armed my Lord

_Octavio_ with these weapons that wound you: the last time he writ to

my lord _Philander_, he found you possessed with a thousand fears and

jealousies; of these he took advantage to attack his rival: for what

man is there so dull, that would not assault his enemy in that part

where the most considerable mischief may be done him? It is now

_Octavio_’. interest, and his business, to render _Philander_ false,

to give you all the umbrage that is possible of so powerful a rival,

and to say any thing that may render him hateful to you, or at least

to make him love you less.’ ‘Away,’ (replied _Sylvia_ with an uneasy

smile) ‘how foolish are thy reasonings; for were it possible I could

love _Philander_ less, is it to be imagined that should make way for

_Octavio_ in my heart, or any after that dear deceiver?’ ‘No doubt of

it,’ replied _Antonet_, ‘but that very effect it would have on your

heart; for love in the soul of a witty person is like a skein of silk;

to unwind it from the bottom, you must wind it on another, or it runs

into confusion, and becomes of no use, and then of course, as one

lessens the other increases, and what _Philander_ loses in love,

_Octavio_, or some one industrious lover, will most certainly gain.’

’.h,’ replied _Sylvia_, ‘you are a great philosopher in love.’ ‘I

should, madam,’ cried _Antonet_, ‘had I but had a good memory, for I

had a young churchman once in love with me, who has read many a

philosophical lecture to me upon love; among the rest, he used to say

the soul was all composed of love. I used to ask him then, if it were

formed of so soft materials, how it came to pass that we were no

oftener in love, or why so many were so long before they loved, and

others who never loved at all?’ ‘No question but he answered you

wisely,’ said _Sylvia_ carelessly, and sighing, with her thoughts but

half attentive. ‘Marry, and so he did,’ cried _Antonet_, ‘at least I

thought so then, because I loved a little. He said, love of itself was

inactive, but it was informed by object; and then too that object must

depend on fancy; (for souls, though all love, are not to love all.)

Now fancy, he said, was sometimes nice, humorous, and fantastic, which

is the reason we so often love those of no merit, and despise those

that are most excellent; and sometimes fancy guides us to like

neither; he used to say, women were like misers, though they had

always love in store, they seldom cared to part with it, but on very

good interest and security, _cent per cent_ most commonly, heart for

heart at least; and for security, he said, we were most times too

unconscionable, we asked vows at least, at worst matrimony--’ Half

angry, _Sylvia_ cried--’And what is all this to my loving again?’ ‘Oh

madam,’ replied _Antonet_, ‘he said a woman was like a gamester, if on

the winning hand, hope, interest, and vanity made him play on, besides

the pleasure of the play itself; if on the losing, then he continued

throwing at all to save a stake at last, if not to recover all; so

either way they find occasion to continue the game.’ ‘But oh,’ said

_Sylvia_ sighing, ‘what shall that gamester set, who has already

played for all he had, and lost it at a cast?’ ‘O, madam,’ replied

_Antonet_,’.he young and fair find credit every where, there is still

a prospect of a return, and that gamester that plays thus upon the

tick is sure to lose but little; and if they win it is all clear

gains.’ ‘I find,’ said _Sylvia_, ‘you are a good manager in love; you

are for the frugal part of it.’ ‘Faith, madam,’ said _Antonet_, ‘I am

indeed of that opinion, that love and interest always do best

together, as two most excellent ingredients in that rare art of

preserving of beauty. Love makes us put on all our charms, and

interest gives us all the advantage of dress, without which beauty is

lost, and of little use. Love would have us appear always new, always

gay, and magnificent, and money alone can render us so; and we find no

women want lovers so much as those who want petticoats, jewels, and

all the necessary trifles of gallantry. Of this last opinion I find

you yourself to be; for even when _Octavio_ comes, on whose heart you

have no design, I see you dress to the best advantage, and put on

many, to like one: why is this, but that even unknown to yourself, you

have a secret joy and pleasure in gaining conquests, and of being

adored, and thought the most charming of your sex?’ ‘That is not from

the inconstancy of my heart,’ cried _Sylvia_, ‘but from the little

vanity of our natures.’ ‘Oh, madam,’ replied _Antonet_, ‘there is no

friend to love like vanity; it is the falsest betrayer of a woman’s

heart of any passion, not love itself betrays her sooner to love than

vanity or pride; and madam, I would I might have the pleasure of my

next wish, when I find you not only listening to the love of

_Octavio_, but even approving it too.’ ‘Away,’ replied _Sylvia_, in

frowning, ‘your mirth grows rude and troublesome--Go bid the page wait

while I return an answer to what his lord has sent me.’ So sitting at

the table she dismissed _Antonet_, and writ this following letter.

SYLVIA _to_ OCTAVIO.

I find, _Octavio_, this little gallantry of yours, of shewing me the

lover, stands you in very great stead, and serves you upon all

occasions for abundance of uses; amongst the rest, it is no small

obligation you have to it, for furnishing you with handsome pretences

to keep from those who importune you, and from giving them that

satisfaction by your counsel and conversation, which possibly the

unfortunate may have need of sometimes; and when you are pressed and

obliged to render me the friendship of your visits, this necessary

ready love of yours is the only evasion you have for the answering a

thousand little questions I ask you of _Philander_; whose heart I am

afraid you know much better than _Sylvia_ does. I could almost wish,

_Octavio_, that all you tell me of your passion were true, that my

commands might be of force sufficient to compel you to resolve my

heart in some doubts that oppress it. And indeed if you would have me

believe the one, you must obey me in the other; to which end I conjure

you to hasten to me, for something of an unusual coldness in

_Philander_’. letter, and some ominous divinations in yours, have put

me on a rack of thought; from which nothing but confirmation can

relieve me; this you dare not deny, if you value the repose of SYLVIA.

She read it over; and was often about to tear it, fancying it was too

kind: but when she considered it was from no other inclination of her

heart than that of getting the secrets out of his, she pardoned

herself the little levity she found it guilty of; all which,

considering as the effects of the violent passion she had for

_Philander_, she found it easy to do; and sealing it she gave it to

_Antonet_ to deliver to the page, and set herself down to ease her

soul of its heavy weight of grief by her complaints to the dear author

of her pain; for when a lover is insupportably afflicted, there is no

ease like that of writing to the person loved; and that, all that

comes uppermost in the soul: for true love is all unthinking artless

speaking, incorrect disorder, and without method, as ‘tis without

bounds or rules; such were _Sylvia_’. unstudied thoughts, and such her

following letter.

SYLVIA _to_ PHILANDER.

Oh my _Philander_, how hard it is to bring my soul to doubt, when I

consider all thy past tender vows, when I reflect how thou hast loved

and sworn. Methinks I hear the music of thy voice still whispering in

my bosom; methinks the charming softness of thy words remains like

lessening echoes of my soul, whose distant voices by degrees decay,

till they be heard no more! Alas, I’ve read thy letter over and over,

and turned the sense a thousand several ways, and all to make it speak

and look like love--Oh I have flattered it with all my heart.

Sometimes I fancied my ill reading spoiled it, and then I tuned my

voice to softer notes, and read it over again; but still the words

appeared too rough and harsh for any moving air; I which way soever I

changed, which way soever I questioned it of love, it answered in such

language--as others would perhaps interpret love, or something like

it; but I, who’ve heard the very god himself speak from thy wondrous

lips, and known him guide thy pen, when all the eloquence of moving

angels flowed from thy charming tongue! When I have seen thee fainting

at my feet, (whilst all heaven opened in thy glorious face) and now

and then sigh out a trembling word, in which there was contained more

love, more soul, than all the arts of speaking ever found; what sense?

Oh what reflections must I make on this decay, this strange--this

sudden alteration in thee? But that the cause is fled, and the effect

is ceased, the god retired, and all the oracles silenced! Confess--oh

thou eternal conqueror of my soul, whom every hour, and every tender

joy, renders more dear and lovely--tell me why (if thou still lovest

me, and lovest as well) does love not dictate to thee as before? Dost

thou want words? Oh then begin again, I repeat the old ones over ten

thousand times; such repetitions are love’s rhetoric! How often have I

asked thee in an hour, when my fond soul was doting on thy eyes, when

with my arms clasping thy yielding neck, my lips imprinting kisses on

thy cheeks, and taking in the breath that sighed from thine? How often

have I asked this little but important question of thee? ‘Does my

_Philander_ love me?’ Then kiss thee for thy ‘Yes’ and sighs, and ask

again; and still my soul was ravished with new joy, when thou wouldst

answer, ‘Yes, I love thee dearly!’ And if I thought you spoke it with

a tone that seemed less soft and fervent than I wished, I asked so

often, till I made thee answer in such a voice as I would wish to hear

it; all this had been impertinent and foolish in any thing but love,

to any but a lover: but oh--give me the impertinence of love! Talk

little nonsense to me all the day, and be as wanton as a playing

_Cupid_, and that will please and charm my love-sick heart better than

all fine sense and reasoning.

Tell me, _Philander_, what new accident, what powerful misfortune has

befallen thee, greater than what we have experienced yet, to drive the

little god out of thy heart, and make thee so unlike my soft

_Philander_? What place contains thee, or what pleasures ease thee,

that thou art now contented to live a tedious day without thy

_Sylvia_? How then the long long age of forty more, and yet thou

livest, art patient, tame and well; thou talkest not now of ravings,

or of dying, but look’st about thee like a well pleased conqueror

after the toils of battle--oh, I have known a time--but let me never

think upon it more! It cannot be remembered without madness! What,

think thee fallen from love! To think, that I must never hear thee

more pouring thy soul out in soft sighs of love? A thousand dear

expressions by which I knew the story of thy heart, and while you tell

it, bid me feel it panting--never to see thy eyes fixed on my

face--till the soft showers of joy would gently fall and hang their

shining dew upon thy looks, then in a transport snatch me to thy

bosom, and sigh a thousand times ere thou couldst utter--’Ah _Sylvia_,

how I love thee’--oh the dear eloquence those few short words contain,

when they are sent with lovers’ accents to a soul all languishing! But

now--alas, thy love is more familiar grown--oh take the other part of

the proverb too, and say it has bred contempt, for nothing less than

that your letter shews, but more it does, and that is indifference,

less to be borne than hate, or any thing--

At least be just, and let me know my doom: do not deceive the heart

that trusted all thy vows, if thou be’st generous--if thou lettest me

know--thy date of love--is out (for love perhaps as life has dates)

and equally uncertain, and thou no more canst stay the one than the

other; yet if thou art so kind for all my honour lost, my youth

undone, my beauty tarnished, and my lasting vows, to let me fairly

know thou art departing, my worthless life will be the only loss: but

if thou still continuest to impose upon my easy faith, and I should

any other way learn my approaching fate--look to it _Philander_,--she

that had the courage to abandon all for love and faithless thee, can,

when she finds herself betrayed and lost, nobly revenge the ruin of

her fame, and send thee to the other world with SYLVIA.

She having writ this, read it over, and fancied she had not spoke half

the sense of her soul--fancied if she were again to begin, she could

express herself much more to the purpose she designed, than she had

done. She began again, and writ two or three new ones, but they were

either too kind or too rough; the first she feared would shew a

weakness of spirit, since he had given her occasion of jealousy; the

last she feared would disoblige if all those jealousies were false;

she therefore tore those last she had writ, and before she sealed up

the first she read _Philander_’., letter again, but still ended it

with fears that did not lessen those she had first conceived; still

she thought she had more to say, as lovers do, who are never weary of

speaking or writing to the dear object of their vows; and having

already forgotten what she had just said before--and her heart being

by this time as full as ere she began, she took up her complaining

pen, and made it say this in the covert of the letter.

Oh _Philander_! Oh thou eternal charmer of my soul, how fain I would

repent me of the cruel thoughts I have of thee! When I had finished

this enclosed I read again thy chilling letter, and strove with all

the force of love and soft imagination, to find a dear occasion of

asking pardon for those fears which press my breaking heart: but oh,

the more I read, the more they strike upon my tenderest

part,--something so very cold, so careless and indifferent you end

your letter with--I will not think of it--by heaven it makes me

rave--and hate my little power, that could no longer keep thee soft

and kind. Oh if those killing fears (bred by excess of love) are

vainly taken up, in pity, my adorable--in pity to my tortured soul

convince them, redress the torment of my jealous doubts, and either

way confirm me; be kind to her that dies and languishes for thee,

return me all the softness that first charmed me, or frankly tell me

my approaching fate. Be generous or be kind to the unfortunate and

undone

SYLVIA.

She thought she had ended here, but here again she read _Philander_’.

letter, as if on purpose to find new torments out for a heart too much

pressed already; a sour that is always mixed with the sweets of love,

a pain that ever accompanies the pleasure. Love else were not to be

numbered among the passions of men, and was at first ordained in

heaven for some divine motion of the soul, till _Adam_, with his loss

of _Paradise_, debauched it with jealousies, fears and curiosities,

and mixed it with all that was afflicting; but you’ll say he had

reason to be jealous, whose woman, for want of other seducers,

listened to the serpent, and for the love of change, would give way

even to a devil; this little love of novelty and knowledge has been

entailed upon her daughters ever since, and I have known more women

rendered unhappy and miserable from this torment of curiosity, which

they bring upon themselves, than have ever been undone by less

villainous men. One of this humour was our haughty and charming

_Sylvia_, whose pride and beauty possessing her with a belief that all

men were born to die her slaves, made her uneasy at every action of

the lover (whether beloved or not) that did but seem to slight her

empire: but where indeed she loved and doted, as now in _Philander_,

this humour put her on the rack at every thought or fancy that he

might break his chains, and having laid the last obligation upon him,

she expected him to be her slave for ever, and treated him with all

the haughty tyranny of her sex, in all those moments when softness was

not predominant in her soul. She was chagrin at every thing, if but

displeased with one thing; and while she gave torments to others, she

failed not to feel them the most sensibly herself; so that still

searching for new occasion of quarrel with _Philander_, she drew on

herself most intolerable pains, such as doubting lovers feel after

long hopes and confirmed joy; she reads and weeps, and when she came

to that part of it that inquired of the health and being of the pledge

of love--she grew so tender that she was almost fainting in her chair,

but recovering from the soft reflection, and finding she had said

nothing of it already, she took her pen again and writ.

You ask me, oh charming _Philander_, how the pledge of our soft hours

thrives: alas, as if it meant to brave the worst of fate! It does

advance my sorrows, and all your cruelties have not destroyed that:

but I still bear about me the destiny of many a sighing maid, that

this (who will, I am sure, be like _Philander_) will ruin with his

looks.

Thou sacred treasure of my soul, forgive me, if I have wronged thy

love, _adieu_.

She made an end of writing this, just when _Antonet_ arrived, and told

her _Octavio_ was alighted at the gate, and coming to visit her, which

gave her occasion to say this of him to _Philander_.

I think I had not ended here, but that _Octavio_, the bravest and the

best of friends, is come to visit me. The only satisfaction I have to

support my life in _Philander_’. absence. Pay him those thanks that

are due to him from me; pay him for all the generous cares he has

taken of me; beyond a friend! Almost _Philander_ in his blooming

passion, when it was all new and young, and full of duty, could not

have rendered me his service with a more awful industry: sure he was

made for love and glorious friendship. Cherish him then, preserve him

next your soul, for he is a jewel fit for such a cabinet: his form,

his parts, and every noble action, shews us the royal race from whence

he sprung, and the victorious _Orange_ confesses him his own in every

virtue, and in every grace; nor can the illegitimacy eclipse him: sure

he was got in the first heat of love, which formed him so a

_hero_--but no more. _Philander_ is as kind a judge as

SYLVIA.

She had no sooner finished this and sealed it, but _Octavio_ came into

the chamber, and with such an air, with such a grace and mien he

approached her--with all the languishment of soft trembling love in

his face, which with the addition of the dress he was that day in,

(which was extremely rich and advantageous, and altogether such as

pleases the vanity of women,) I have since heard the charming _Sylvia_

say, in spite of her tenderness for _Philander_, she found a soft

emotion in her soul, a kind of pleasure at his approach, which made

her blush with some kind of anger at her own easiness. Nor could she

have blushed in a more happy season; for _Octavio_ saw it, and it

served at once to add a lustre to her paler beauty, and to betray some

little kind sentiment, which possessed him with a joy that had the

same effects on him: _Sylvia_ saw it; and the care she took to hide

her own, served but to increase her blushes, which put her into a

confusion she had much ado to reclaim: she cast her eyes to earth, and

leaning her cheek on her hand, she continued on her seat without

paying him that usual ceremony she was wont to do; while he stood

speechless for a moment, gazing on her with infinite satisfaction:

when she, to assume a formality as well as she could, rose up and

cried, (fearing he had seen too much) ‘_Octavio_, I have been

considering after what manner I ought to receive you? And while I was

so, I left those civilities unpaid, which your quality and my good

manners ought to have rendered you.’ ‘Ah, madam,’ replied he sighing,

’.f you would receive me as I merited, and you ought, at least you

would receive me as the most passionate lover that ever adored you.’

’. was rather believing,’ said _Sylvia_, ‘that I ought to have

received you as my foe; since you conceal from me so long what you

cannot but believe I am extremely impatient of hearing, and what so

nearly concerns my repose.’ At this, he only answering with a sigh,

she pursued, ‘Sure, _Octavio_, you understand me: _Philander_’. answer

to the letter of your confessing passion, has not so long been the

subject of our discourse and expectation, but you guess at what I

mean?’ _Octavio_, who on all occasions wanted not wit, or reply, was

here at a loss what to answer; notwithstanding he had considered

before what he would say: but let those in love fancy, and make what

fine speeches they please, and believe themselves furnished with

abundance of eloquent harangues, at the sight of the dear object they

lose them all, and love teaches them a dialect much more prevailing,

without the expense of duller thought: and they leave unsaid all they

had so floridly formed before, a sigh a thousand things with more

success: love, like poetry, cannot be taught, but uninstructed flows

without painful study, if it be true; it is born in the soul, a noble

inspiration, not a science! Such was _Octavio_’., he thought it

dishonourable to be guilty of the meanness of a lie; and say he had no

answer: he thought it rude to say he had one and would not shew it

_Sylvia_; and he believed it the height of ungenerous baseness to shew

it. While he remained this moment silent, _Sylvia_, whose love,

jealousy, and impatience endured no delay, with a malicious half

smile, and a tone all angry, scorn in her eyes, and passion on her

tongue, she cried--’It is well, _Octavio_, that you so early let me

know, you can be false, unjust, and faithless; you knew your power,

and in pity to that youth and easiness you found in me, have given a

civil warning to my heart. In this I must confess,’ continued she,

’.ou have given a much greater testimony of your friendship for

_Philander_, than your passion for _Sylvia_, and I suppose you came

not here to resolve yourself which you should prefer; that was decided

ere you arrived, and this visit I imagine was only to put me out of

doubt: a piece of charity you might have spared.’ She ended this with

a scorn, that had a thousand charms, because it gave him a little

hope; and he answered with a sigh, ‘Ah, madam, how very easy you find

it to entertain thoughts disadvantageous of me: and how small a fault

your wit and cruelty can improve to a crime! You are not offended at

my friendship for _Philander_. I know you do not value my life, and my

repose so much, as to be concerned who, or what shares this heart that

adores you! No, it has not merited that glory; nor dare I presume to

hope, you should so much as wish my passion for _Sylvia_, should

surmount my friendship to _Philander_.’ ‘If I did,’ replied she with a

scorn, ‘I perceive I might wish in vain.’ ‘Madam,’ answered he, ‘I

have too divine an opinion of the justice of the charming _Sylvia_ to

believe I ought, or could make my approaches to her heart, by ways so

base and ungenerous, the result of even tolerated treason is to hate

the traitor.’ ‘Oh, you are very nice, _Octavio_,’ replied _Sylvia_,

’.n your punctilio to _Philander_; but I perceive you are not so

tender in those you ought to have for _Sylvia_: I find honour in you

men, is only what you please to make it; for at the same time you

think it ungenerous to betray _Philander_, you believe it no breach of

honour to betray the eternal repose of _Sylvia_. You have promised

_Philander_ your friendship; you have avowed yourself my lover, my

slave, my friend, my every thing; and yet not one of these has any tie

to oblige you to my interest: pray tell me,’ continued she, ‘when you

last writ to him; was it not in order to receive an answer from him?

And was not I to see that answer? And here you think it no dishonour

to break your word or promise; by which I find your false notions of

virtue and honour, with which you serve yourselves, when interest,

design, or self-love makes you think it necessary.’ ‘Madam,’ replied

_Octavio_, ‘you are pleased to pursue your anger, as if indeed I had

disobeyed your command, or refused to shew you what you imagine I have

from _Philander_:’ ‘Yes, I do,’ replied she hastily; ‘and wonder why

you should have a greater friendship for _Philander_, than for

_Sylvia_; especially if it be true that you say, you have joined love

to friendship: or are you of the opinion of those that cry, they

cannot be a lover and a friend of the same object.’ ‘Ah, madam,’ cried

our perplexed lover, ‘I beg you to believe, I think it so much more my

duty and inclination to serve and obey _Sylvia_, than I do

_Philander_, that I swear to you, oh charming conqueress of my soul,

if _Philander_ have betrayed _Sylvia_, he has at the same time

betrayed _Octavio_, and that I would revenge it with the loss of my

life: in injuring the adorable _Sylvia_, believe me, lovely maid, he

injures so much more than a friend, as honour is above the

inclinations; if he wrong you, by heaven he cancels all! He wrongs my

soul, my honour, mistress, and my sister:’ fearing he had said too

much, he stopped and sighed at the word sister, and casting down his

eyes, blushing with shame and anger, he continued. ‘Oh give me leave

to say a sister, madam, lest mistress had been too daring and

presumptuous, and a title that would not justify my quarrel half so

well, since it would take the honour from my just resentment, and

blast it with the scandal of self-interest or jealous revenge.’ ‘What

you say,’ replied she, ‘deserves abundance of acknowledgement; but if

you would have me believe you, you ought to hide nothing from me; and

he, methinks, that was so daring to confess his passion to

_Philander_, may after that, venture on any discovery: in short,

_Octavio_, I demand to see the return you have from _Philander_, for

possibly--’ said she, sweetening her charming face into a smile

designed, ‘I should not be displeased to find I might with more

freedom receive your addresses, and on the coldness of _Philander_’.

reasoning may depend a great part of your fate, or fortune: come,

come, produce your credentials, they may recommend your heart more

effectually than all the fine things you can say; you know how the

least appearance of a slight from a lover may advance the pride of a

mistress; and pride in this affair will be your best advocate.’ Thus

she insinuated with all her female arts, and put on all her charms of

looks and smiles, sweetened her mouth, softened her voice and eyes,

assuming all the tenderness and little affectations her subtle sex was

capable of, while he lay all ravished and almost expiring at her feet;

sometimes transported with imagined joys in the possession of the dear

flattering charmer, he was ready to unravel all the secrets of

_Philander_’. letter; but honour yet was even above his passion, and

made him blush at his first hasty thought; and now he strove to put

her off with all the art he could, who had so very little in his

nature, and whose real love and perfect honour had set him above the

little evasions of truth, who scorned in all other cases the baseness

and cowardice of a lie; and so unsuccessful now was the little honest

cheat, which he knew not how to manage well, that it was soon

discovered to the witty, jealous, and angry _Sylvia_: so that after

all the rage a passionate woman could express, who believed herself

injured by the only two persons in the world from whom she expected

most adoration; she had recourse to that natural and softening aid of

her sex, her tears; and having already reproached _Octavio_ with all

the malice of a defeated woman, she now continued it in so moving a

manner, that our _hero_ could no longer remain unconquered by that

powerful way of charming, but unfixed to all he had resolved, gave up,

at least, a part of the secret, and owned he had a letter from

_Philander_; and after this confession knowing very well he could not

keep her from the sight of it; no, though an empire were rendered her

to buy it off; his wit was next employed how he should defend the

sense of it, that she might not think _Philander_ false. In order to

this, he, forcing a smile, told her, that _Philander_ was the most

malicious of his sex, and had contrived the best stratagem in the

world to find whether _Sylvia_ still loved, or _Octavio_ retained his

friendship for him: ‘And but that,’ continued he, ‘I know the nature

of your curious sex to be such, that if I should persuade you not to

see it, it would but the more inflame your desire of seeing it; I

would ask no more of the charming _Sylvia_, than that she would not

oblige me to shew what would turn so greatly to my own advantage: if I

were not too sensible, it is but to entrap me, that _Philander_ has

taken this method in his answer. Believe me, adorable _Sylvia_, I

plead against my own life, while I beg you not to put my honour to the

test, by commanding me to shew this letter, and that I join against

the interest of my own eternal repose while I plead thus.’ She hears

him with a hundred changes of countenance. Love, rage, and jealousy

swell in her fierce eyes, her breath beats short, and she was ready to

burst into speaking before he had finished what he had to say; she

called up all the little discretion and reason love had left her to

manage herself as she ought in this great occasion; she bit her lips,

and swallowed her rising sighs; but he soon saw the storm he had

raised, and knew not how to stand the shock of its fury; he sighs, he

pleads in vain, and the more he endeavours to excuse the levity of

_Philander_, the more he rends her heart, and sets her on the rack;

and concluding him false, she could no longer contain her rage, but

broke out into all the fury that madness can inspire, and from one

degree to another wrought her passion to the height of lunacy: she

tore her hair, and bit his hands that endeavoured to restrain hers

from violence; she rent the ornaments from her fair body, and

discovered a thousand charms and beauties; and finding now that both

his strength and reason were too weak to prevent the mischiefs he

found he had brought on her, he calls for help: when _Brilliard_ was

but too ready at hand, with _Antonet_, and some others who came to his

assistance. _Brilliard_, who knew nothing of the occasion of all this,

believed it the second part of his own late adventure, and fancied

that _Octavio_ had used some violence to her; upon this he assumes the

authority of his lord, and secretly that of a husband or lover, and

upbraiding the innocent _Octavio_ with his brutality, they fell to

such words as ended in a challenge the next morning, for _Brilliard_

appeared a gentleman, companion to his lord; and one whom _Octavio_

could not well refuse: this was not carried so silently but _Antonet_,

busy as she was about her raving lady, heard the appointment, and

_Octavio_ quitted the chamber almost as much disturbed as _Sylvia_,

whom, with much ado they persuaded him to leave; but before he did so,

he on his knees offered her the letter, and implored her to receive

it; so absolutely his love had vanquished his nobler part, that of

honour. But she attending no motions but those of her own rage, had no

regard either to _Octavio_’. proffer, or his arguments of excuse; so

that he went away with the letter in all the extremity of disorder.

This last part of his submission was not seen by _Brilliard_; who

immediately left the chamber, upon receiving _Octavio_’. answer to his

challenge; so that _Sylvia_ was now left with her woman only; who by

degrees brought her to more calmness; and _Brilliard_, impatient to

hear the reproaches he hoped she would give _Octavio_ when she was

returned to reason, being curious of any thing that might redound to

his disadvantage, whom he took to be a powerful rival, returned again

into her chamber: but in lieu of hearing what he wished, _Sylvia_

being recovered from her passion of madness, and her soul in a state

of thinking a little with reason, she misses _Octavio_ in the crowd,

and with a voice her rage had enfeebled to a languishment, she

cried--surveying carefully those about her, ‘Oh where is _Octavio_?

Where is that angel man: he who of all his kind can give me comfort?’

’.adam,’ replied _Antonet_, ‘he is gone; while he was here, he kneeled

and prayed in vain, but for a word, or look; his tears are yet

remaining wet upon your feet, and all for one sensible reply, but rage

had deafened you; what has he done to merit this?’ ‘Oh _Antonet_,’

cried _Sylvia_----’It was what he would not do, that makes me rave;

run, haste and fetch him back----but let him leave his honour all

behind: tell him he has too much consideration for _Philander_, and

none for my repose. Oh, _Brilliard_,----Have I no friend in view dares

carry a message from me to _Octavio_? Bid him return, oh instantly

return----I die, I languish for a sight of him----descending angels

would not be so welcome----Why stand ye still----have I no power with

you----Will none obey----’ Then running hastily to the chamber door,

she called her page to whom she cried----’Haste, haste, dear youth,

and find _Octavio_ out, and bring him to me instantly: tell him I die

to see him.’ The boy, glad of so kind a message to so liberal a lover,

runs on his errand, while she returns to her chamber, and endeavours

to recollect her senses against _Octavio_’. coming as much as possibly

she could: she dismisses her attendant with different apprehensions;

sometimes _Brilliard_ believed this was the second part of her first

raving, and having never seen her thus, but for _Philander_, concludes

it the height of tenderness and passion for _Octavio_; but because she

made so public a declaration of it, he believed he had given her a

philtre, which had raised her flame so much above the bounds of

modesty and discretion; concluding it so, he knew the usual effects of

things of that nature, and that nothing could allay the heat of such a

love but possession; and easily deluded with every fancy that

flattered his love, mad, stark-mad, by any way to obtain the last

blessing with _Sylvia_, he consults with _Antonet_ how to get one of

_Octavio_’. letters out of her lady’s cabinet, and feigning many

frivolous reasons, which deluded the amorous maid, he persuaded her to

get him one, which she did in half an hour after; for by this time

_Sylvia_ being in as much tranquillity as it was possible a lover

could be in, who had the hopes of knowing all the secrets of the false

betrayer, she had called _Antonet_ to dress her; which she resolved

should be in all the careless magnificence that art or nature could

put on; to charm _Octavio_ wholly to obedience, whom she had sent for,

and whom she expected! But she was no sooner set to her toilet, but

_Octavio_’. page arrived with a letter from his master, which she

greedily snatched, and read this:

OCTAVIO _to_ SYLVIA.

By this time, oh charming _Sylvia_, give me leave to hope your rage is

abated, and your reason returned, and that you will hear a little from

the most unfortunate of men, whom you have reduced to this miserable

extremity of losing either the adorable object of his soul, or his

honour: if you can prefer a little curiosity that will serve but to

afflict you, before either that or my repose, what esteem ought I to

believe you have for the unfortunate _Octavio_: and if you hate me, as

it is evident, if you compel me to the extremity of losing my repose

or honour, what reason or argument have I to prefer so careless a fair

one above the last? It is certain you neither do nor can love me now;

and how much below that hope shall the exposed and abandoned _Octavio_

be, when he shall pretend to that glory without his honour? Believe

me, charming maid, I would sacrifice my life, and my entire fortune at

your least command to serve you; but to render you a devoir that must

point me out the basest of my sex, is what my temper must resist in

spite of all the violence of my love; and I thank my happier stars,

that they have given me resolution enough, rather to fall a sacrifice

to the last, than be guilty of the breach of the first: this is the

last and present thought and pleasure of my soul; and lest it should,

by the force of those divine ideas which eternally surround it, be

soothed and flattered from its noble principles, I will to-morrow put

myself out of the hazard of temptation, and divert if possible, by

absence, to the campaign, those soft importunate betrayers of my

liberty, that perpetually solicit in favour of you: I dare not so much

as bid you adieu, one sight of that bright angel’s face would undo me,

unfix my nobler resolution, and leave me a despicable slave, sighing

my unrewarded treason at your insensible feet: my fortune I leave to

be disposed by you; but the more useless necessary I will for ever

take from those lovely eyes, you can look on nothing with joy, but the

happy _Philander_: if I have denied you one satisfaction, at least I

have given you this other, of securing you eternally from the trouble

and importunity of, madam, your faithful

OCTAVIO.

This letter to any other less secure of her power than was our fair

subject, would have made them impatient and angry; but she found that

there was something yet in her power, the dispensation of which could

soon recall him from any resolution he was able to make of absenting

himself. Her glass stood before her, and every glance that way was an

assurance and security to her heart; she could not see that beauty,

and doubt its power of persuasion. She therefore took her pen, and

writ him this answer, being in a moment furnished with all the art and

subtlety that was necessary on this occasion.

SYLVIA _to_ Octavio.

_My Lord_,

Though I have not beauty enough to command your heart; at least allow

me sense enough to oblige your belief, that I fancy and resent all

that the letter contains which you have denied me, and that I am not

of that sort of women, whose want of youth or beauty renders so

constant to pursue the ghost of a departed love: it is enough to

justify my honour, that I was not the first aggressor. I find myself

pursued by too many charms of wit, youth, and gallantry, to bury

myself beneath the willows, or to whine away my youth by murmuring

rivers, or betake me to the last refuge of a declining beauty, a

monastery: no, my lord, when I have revenged and recompensed myself

for the injuries of one inconstant, with the joys a thousand imploring

lovers offer, it will be time to be weary of a world, which yet every

day presents me new joys; and I swear to you, _Octavio_, that it was

more to recompense what I owed your passion, that I desired a

convincing proof of _Philander_’. falsehood, than for any other

reason, and you have too much wit not to know it; for what other use

could I make of the secret? If he be false he is gone, unworthy of me,

and impossible to be retrieved; and I would as soon dye my sullied

garments, and wear them over again, as take to my embraces a reformed

lover, the native first lustre of whose passion is quite extinct, and

is no more the same; no, my lord, she must be poor in beauty, that has

recourse to shifts so mean; if I would know the secret, by all that is

good it were to hate him heartily, and to dispose of my person to the

best advantage; which in honour I cannot do, while I am unconvinced of

the falseness of him with whom I exchanged a thousand vows of

fidelity; but if he unlink the chain, I am at perfect liberty; and why

by this delay you should make me lose my time, I am not able to

conceive, unless you fear I should then take you at your word, and

expect the performance of all the vows of love you have made me----If

that be it--my pride shall be your security, or if other recompense

you expect, set the price upon your secret, and see at what rate I

shall purchase the liberty it will procure me; possibly it may be such

as may at once enfranchise me, and revenge me on the perjured ingrate,

than which nothing can be a greater satisfaction to

SYLVIA.

She seals this letter with a wafer, and giving it to _Antonet_ to give

the page, believing she had writ what would not be in vain to the

quick-sighted _Octavio_; _Antonet_ takes both that and the other which

_Octavio_ had sent, and left her lady busy in dressing her head, and

went to _Brilliard_’. chamber, who thought every moment an age till

she came, so vigorous he was on his new design. That which was sent to

_Octavio_, being sealed with a wet wafer, he neatly opens, as it was

easy to do, and read, and sealed again, and _Antonet_ delivered it to

the page. After receiving what pay _Brilliard_ could force himself to

bestow upon her, some flatteries of dissembled love, and some cold

kisses, which even imagination could not render better, she returned

to her lady, and he to his stratagem, which was to counterfeit a

letter from _Octavio_; she having in hers given him a hint, by bidding

him set a price upon the secret, which he had heard was that of a

letter from _Philander_, with all the circumstances of it, from the

faithless _Antonet_, whom love had betrayed; and after blotting much

paper to try every letter through the alphabet, and to produce them

like those of _Octavio_, which was not hard for a lover of ingenuity,

he fell to the business of what he would write; and having finished it

to his liking, his next trouble was how to convey it to her; for

_Octavio_ always sent his by his page, whom he could trust. He now was

certain of love between them; for though he often had persuaded

_Antonet_ to bring him letters, yet she could not be wrought on till

now to betray her trust; and what he long apprehended, he found too

true on both sides, and now he waited but for an opportunity to send

it seasonably, and in a lucky minute. In the mean time _Sylvia_ adorns

herself for an absolute conquest, and disposing herself in the most

charming, careless, and tempting manner she could devise, she lay

expecting her coming lover, on a repose of rich embroidery of gold on

blue satin, hung within-side with little amorous pictures of _Venus_

descending in her chariot naked to _Adonis_, she embracing, while the

youth, more eager of his rural sports, turns half from her in a

posture of pursuing his dogs, who are on their chase: another of

_Armida_, who is dressing the sleeping warrior up in wreaths of

flowers, while a hundred little Loves are playing with his gilded

armour; this puts on his helmet too big for his little head, that

hides his whole face; another makes a hobby-horse of his sword and

lance; another fits on his breast-piece, while three or four little

_Cupids_ are seeming to heave and help him to hold it an end, and all

turned the emblems of the hero into ridicule. These, and some either

of the like nature, adorned the pavilion of the languishing fair one,

who lay carelessly on her side, her arm leaning on little pillows of

point of _Venice_, and a book of amours in her other hand. Every noise

alarmed her with trembling hope that her lover was come, and I have

heard she said, she verily believed, that acting and feigning the

lover possessed her with a tenderness against her knowledge and will;

and she found something more in her soul than a bare curiosity of

seeing _Octavio_ for the letter’s sake: but in lieu of her lover, she

found herself once more approached with a billet from him, which

brought this.

OCTAVIO _to_ SYLVIA.

Ah, _Sylvia_, he must be more than human that can withstand your

charms; I confess my frailty, and fall before you the weakest of my

sex, and own I am ready to believe all your dear letter contains, and

have vanity enough to wrest every hopeful word to my own interest, and

in favour of my own heart: what will become of me, if my easy faith

should only flatter me, and I with shame should find it was not meant

to me, or if it were, it was only to draw me from a virtue which has

been hitherto the pride and beauty of my youth, the glory of my name,

and my comfort and refuge in all extremes of fortune; the eternal

companion, guide and counsellor of all my actions: yet this good you

only have power to rob me of, and leave me exposed to the scorn of all

the laughing world; yet give me love! Give me but hope in lieu of it,

and I am content to divest myself of all besides.

Perhaps you will say I ask too mighty a rate for so poor a secret. But

even in that there lies one of my own, that will more expose the

feebleness of my blood and name, than the discovery will me in

particular, so that I know not what I do, when I give you up the

knowledge you desire. Still you will say all this is to enhance its

value, and raise the price: and oh, I fear you have taught my soul

every quality it fears and dreads in yours, and learnt it to chaffer

for every thought, if I could fix upon the rate to sell it at: and I

with shame confess I would be mercenary, could we but agree upon the

price; but my respect forbids me all things but silent hope, and that,

in spite of me and all my reason, will predominate; for the rest I

will wholly resign myself, and all the faculties of my soul, to the

charming arbitrator of my peace, the powerful judge of love, the

adorable _Sylvia_; and at her feet render all she demands; yes, she

shall find me there to justify all the weakness this proclaims; for I

confess, oh too too powerful maid, that you have absolutely subdued

_Your_ OCTAVIO.

She had no sooner read this letter, but _Antonet_, instead of laying

it by, carried it to _Brilliard_, and departed the chamber to make way

for _Octavio_, who she imagined was coming to make his visit, and left

_Sylvia_ considering how she should manage him to the best advantage,

and with most honour acquit herself of what she had made him hope; but

instead of his coming to wait on her, an unexpected accident arrived

to prevent him; for a messenger from the Prince came with commands

that he should forthwith come to His Highness, the messenger having

command to bring him along with him: so that not able to disobey, he

only begged time to write a note of business, which was a billet to

_Sylvia_ to excuse himself till the next day; for it being five

leagues to the village where the Prince waited his coming, he could

not return that night; which was the business of the note, with which

his page hasted to _Sylvia_. _Brilliard_, who was now a vigilant

lover, and waiting for every opportunity that might favour his design,

saw the page arrive with the note; and, as it was usual, he took it to

carry to his conqueress; but meeting _Antonet_ on the stairs, he gave

her what he had before counterfeited with such art, after he had

opened what _Octavio_ had sent, and found fortune was wholly on his

side, he having learned from the page besides, that his lord had taken

coach with Monsieur----to go to His Highness, and would not return

that night: _Antonet_, not knowing the deceit, carried her lady the

forged letter, who opened it with eager haste, and read this.

_To the Charming_ SYLVIA.

_Madam_,

Since I have a secret, which none but I can unfold, and that you have

offered at any rate to buy it of me, give me leave to say, that you,

fair creature, have another secret, a joy to dispense, which none but

you can give the languishing _Octavio_: if you dare purchase this of

mine, with that infinitely more valuable one of yours, I will be as

secret as death, and think myself happier than a fancied god! Take

what methods you please for the payment, and what time, order me,

command me, conjure me, I will wait, watch, and pay my duty at all

hours, to snatch the most convenient one to reap so ravishing a

blessing. I know you will accuse me with all the confidence and

rudeness in the world: but oh! consider, lovely _Sylvia_, that that

passion which could change my soul from all the course of honour, has

power to make me forget that nice respect your beauty awes me with,

and my passion is now arrived at such a height, it obeys no laws but

its own; and I am obstinately bent on the pursuit of that vast

pleasure I fancy to find in the dear, the ravishing arms of the

adorable _Sylvia_: impatient of your answer, I am, as love compels me,

madam, your slave,

OCTAVIO.

The page, who waited no answer, was departed: but _Sylvia_, who

believed he attended, was in a thousand minds what to say or do: she

blushed, as she read, and then looked pale with anger and disdain,

and, but that she had already given her honour up, it would have been

something more surprising: but she was used to questions of that

nature, and therefore received this with so much the less concern;

nevertheless, it was sufficient to fill her soul with a thousand

agitations; but when she would be angry, the consideration of what she

had writ to him, to encourage him to this boldness, stopped her rage:

when she would take it ill, she considered his knowledge of her lost

fame, and that took off a great part of her resentment on that side;

and in midst of all she was raving for the knowledge of _Philander_’.

secret. She rose from the bed, and walked about the room in much

disorder, full of thought and no conclusion; she is ashamed to consult

of this affair with _Antonet_, and knows not what to fix on: the only

thing she was certain of, and which was fully and undisputably

resolved in her soul, was never to consent to so false an action,

never to buy the secret at so dear a rate; she abhors _Octavio_, whom

she regards no more as that fine thing which before she thought him;

and a thousand times she was about to write her despite and contempt,

but still the dear secret stayed her hand, and she was fond of the

torment: at last _Antonet_, who was afflicted to know the cause of

this disorder, asked her lady if _Octavio_ would not come; ‘No,’

replied _Sylvia_, blushing at the name, ‘nor never shall the

ungrateful man dare to behold my face any more.’ ‘Jesu,’ replied

_Antonet_, ‘what has he done, madam, to deserve this severity?’ For he

was a great benefactor to _Antonet_, and had already by his gifts and

presents made her a fortune for a burgomaster. ‘He has,’ said

_Sylvia_, ‘committed such an impudence as deserves death from my

hand:’ this she spoke in rage, and walked away cross the chamber.

’.hy, madam,’ cried _Antonet_,’.oes he deny to give you the letter?’

’.o,’ replied _Sylvia_, ‘but asks me such a price for it, as makes me

hate myself, that am reduced by my ill conduct to addresses of that

nature:’ ‘Heavens, madam, what can he ask you to afflict you so!’ ‘The

presumptuous man,’ said she, (in rage) ‘has the impudence to ask what

never man, but _Philander_, was ever possessed of----’ At this,

_Antonet_ laughed--’Good lord, madam,’ said she, ‘and are you angry at

such desires in men towards you? I believe you are the first lady in

the world that was ever offended for being desirable: can any thing

proclaim your beauty more, or your youth, or wit? Marry, madam, I wish

I were worthy to be asked the question by all the fine dancing,

dressing, song-making fops in town.’ ‘And you would yield,’ replied

_Sylvia_. ‘Not so neither,’ replied _Antonet_, ‘but I would spark

myself, and value myself the more upon it.’ ‘Oh,’ said _Sylvia_, ‘she

that is so fond of hearing of love, no doubt but will find some one to

practise it with.’ ‘That is as I should find myself inclined,’ replied

_Antonet_. _Sylvia_ was not so intent on _Antonet_’. raillery, but she

employed all her thought the while on what she had to do: and those

last words of _Antonet_’. jogged a thought that ran on to one very

advantageous, at least her present and first apprehension of it was

such: and she turned to _Antonet_, with a face more gay than it was

the last minute, and cried, ‘Prithee, good wench, tell me what sort of

man would soonest incline you to a yielding:’ ‘If you command me,

madam, to be free with your ladyship,’ replied _Antonet_, ‘I must

confess there are two sorts of men that would most villainously

incline me: the first is he that would make my fortune best; the next,

he that would make my pleasure; the young, the handsome, or rather the

well-bred and good-humoured; but above all, the man of wit.’ ‘But what

would you say, _Antonet_,’ replied _Sylvia_, ‘if all these made up in

one man should make his addresses to you?’ ‘Why then most certainly,

madam,’ replied _Antonet_, ‘I should yield him my honour, after a

reasonable siege.’ This though the wanton young maid spoke possibly at

first more to put her lady in good humour, than from any inclination

she had to what she said; yet after many arguments upon that subject,

_Sylvia_, cunning enough to pursue her design, brought the business

more home, and told her in plain terms, that _Octavio_ was the man who

had been so presumptuous as to ask so great a reward as the possession

of herself for the secret she desired; and, after a thousand little

subtleties, having made the forward girl confess with blushes she was

not a maid, she insinuated into her an opinion, that what she had done

already (without any other motive than that of love, as she confessed,

in which interest had no part) would make the trick the easier to do

again, especially if she brought to her arms a person of youth, wit,

gallantry, beauty, and all the charming qualities that adorn a man,

and that besides she should find it turn to good account; and for her

secrecy she might depend upon it, since the person to whose embraces

she should submit herself, should not know but that she herself was

the woman: ‘So that,’ says _Sylvia_, ‘I will have all the infamy, and

you the reward every way with unblemished honour.’ While she spoke,

the willing maid gave an inward pleasing attention, though at first

she made a few faint modest scruples: nor was she less joyed to hear

it should be _Octavio_, whom she knew to be rich, and very handsome;

and she immediately found the humour of inconstancy seize her; and

_Brilliard_ appeared a very husband lover in comparison of this new

brisker man of quality; so that after some pros and cons the whole

matter was thus concluded on between these two young persons, who

neither wanted wit nor beauty; and both crowed over the little

contrivance, as a most diverting piece of little malice, that should

serve their present turn, and make them sport for the future. The next

thing that was considered was a letter which was to be sent in answer,

and that _Sylvia_ being to write with her own hand begot a new doubt,

insomuch as the whole business was at a stand: for when it came to

that point that she herself was to consent, she found the project look

with a face so foul, that she a hundred times resolved and unresolved.

But _Philander_ filled her soul, revenge was in her view, and that one

thought put her on new resolves to pursue the design, let it be never

so base and dishonourable: ‘Yes,’ cried she at last, ‘I can commit no

action that is not more just, excusable and honourable, than that

which _Octavio_ has done to me, who uses me like a common mistress of

the town, and dares ask me that which he knows he durst not do, if he

had not mean and abject thoughts of me; his baseness deserves death at

my hand, if I had courage to give it him, and the least I can do is to

deceive the deceiver. Well then, give me my escritoire,’ says she; so,

sitting down, she writ this, not without abundance of guilt and

confusion; for yet a certain honour, which she had by birth, checked

the cheat of her pen.

* * * * *

SYLVIA _to_ OCTAVIO.

The price, _Octavio_, which you have set upon your secret, I (more

generous than you) will give your merit, to which alone it is due: if

I should pay so high a price for the first, you would believe I had

the less esteem for the last, and I would not have you think me so

poor in spirit to yield on any other terms. If I valued _Philander_

yet--after his confirmed inconstancy, I would have you think I scorn

to yield a body where I do not give a soul, and am yet to be persuaded

there are any such brutes amongst my sex; but as I never had a wish

but where I loved, so I never extended one till now to any but

_Philander_; yet so much my sense of shame is above my growing

tenderness, that I could wish you would be so generous to think no

more of what you seem to pursue with such earnestness and haste. But

lest I should retain any sort of former love for _Philander_, whom I

am impatient to rase wholly from my soul, I grant you all you ask,

provided you will be discreet in the management: _Antonet_ therefore

shall only be trusted with the secret; the outward gate you shall find

at twelve only shut to, and _Antonet_ wait you at the stairs-foot to

conduct you to me; come alone. I blush and gild the paper with their

reflections, at the thought of an encounter like this, before I am

half enough secured of your heart. And that you may be made more

absolutely the master of mine, send me immediately _Philander_’.

letter enclosed, that if any remains of chagrin possess me, they may

be totally vanquished by twelve o’clock.

SYLVIA.