She having, with much difficulty, writ this, read it to her trusty

confidante; for this was the only secret of her lady’s she was

resolved never to discover to _Brilliard_, and to the end he might

know nothing of it she sealed the letter with wax: but before she

sealed it, she told her lady, she thought she might have spared

abundance of her blushes, and have writ a less kind letter; for a word

of invitation or consent would have served as well. To which _Sylvia_

replied, her anger against him was too high not to give him all the

defeat imaginable, and the greater the love appeared, the greater

would be the revenge when he should come to know (as in time he

should) how like a false friend she had treated him. This reason, or

any at that time would have served _Antonet_, whose heart was set upon

a new adventure, and in such haste she was (the night coming on

a-pace) to know how she should dress, and what more was to be done,

that she only went out to call the page, and meeting _Brilliard_ (who

watched every body’s motion) on the stair-case, he asked her what that

was; and she said, to send by _Octavio_’. page: ‘You need not look in

it,’ said she (when he snatched it hastily out of her hand:) ‘For I

can tell you the contents, and it is sealed so, it must be known if

you unrip it.’ ‘Well, well,’ said he, ‘if you tell it me, it will

satisfy my curiosity as well; therefore I’ll give it the page.’ She

returns in again to her lady, and he to his own chamber to read what

answer the dear object of his desire had sent to his forged one: so

opening it, he found it such as his soul wished, and was all joy and

ecstasy; he views himself a hundred times in the glass, and set

himself in order with all the opinion and pride, as if his own good

parts had gained him the blessing; he enlarged himself as he walked,

and knew not what to do, so extremely was he ravished with his coming

joy; he blessed himself, his wit, his stars, his fortune; then read

the dear obliging letter, and kissed it all over, as if it had been

meant to him; and after he had forced himself to a little more serious

consideration, he bethought himself of what he had to do in order to

this dear appointment: he finds in her letter, that in the first place

he was to send her the letter from _Philander_: I told you before he

took _Octavio_’. letter from the page, when he understood his lord was

going five leagues out of town to the prince. _Octavio_ could not

avoid his going, and wrote to _Sylvia_; in which he sent her the

letter _Philander_ writ, wherein was the first part of the confession

of his love to Madam the Countess of _Clarinau_: generously _Octavio_

sent it without terms; but _Brilliard_ slid his own forged one into

_Antonet_’. hand in lieu of it, and now he read that from _Philander_,

and wondered at his lord’s inconstancy; yet glad of the opportunity to

take _Sylvia_’. heart a little more off from him, he soon resolved she

should have the letter, but being wholly mercenary, and fearing that

either when once she had it, it might make her go back from her

promised assignation, or at least put her out of humour, so as to

spoil a great part of the entertainment he designed: he took the pains

to counterfeit another billet to her, which was this.

* * * * *

_To_ SYLVIA.

_Madam_,

Since we have begun to chaffer, you must give me leave to make the

best of the advantage I find I have upon you; and having violated my

honour to _Philander_, allow the breach of it in some degree on other

occasions; not but I have all the obedience and adoration for you that

ever possessed the soul of a most passionate and languishing lover:

but, fair _Sylvia_, I know not whether, when you have seen the secret

of the false _Philander_, you may not think it less valuable than you

before did, and so defraud me of my due. Give me leave, oh wondrous

creature! to suspect even the most perfect of your sex; and to tell

you, that I will no sooner approach your presence, but I will resign

the paper you so much wish. If you send me no answer, I will come

according to your directions: if you do, I must obey and wait, though

with that impatience that never attended a suffering lover, or any

but, divine creature, your OCTAVIO.

This he sealed, and after a convenient distance of time carried as

from the page to _Antonet_, who was yet contriving with her lady, to

whom she gives it, who read it with abundance of impatience, being

extremely angry at the rudeness of the style, which she fancied much

altered from what it was; and had not her rage blinded her, she might

easily have perceived the difference too of the character, though it

came as near to the like as possible so short a practice could

produce; she took it with the other, and tore it in pieces with rage,

and swore she would be revenged; but, after calmer thoughts, she took

up the pieces to keep to upbraid him with, and fell to weeping for

anger, defeat and shame; but the _April_ shower being past, she

returned to her former resentment, and had some pleasure amidst all

her torment of fears, jealousies, and sense of _Octavio_’. disrespect

in the thoughts of revenge; in order to which she contrives how

_Antonet_ shall manage herself, and commanding her to bring out some

fine point linen, she dressed up _Antonet_’. head with them, and put

her on a shift, laced with the same; for though she intended no light

should be in the chamber when _Octavio_ should enter, she knew he

understood by his touch the difference of fine things from other. In

fine, having dressed her exactly as she herself used to be when she

received _Octavio_’. visits in bed, she embraced her, and fancied she

was much of her own shape and bigness, and that it was impossible to

find the deceit: and now she made _Antonet_ dress her up in her

clothes, and mobbing her sarsenet hood about her head, she appeared so

like _Antonet_ (all but the face) that it was not easy to distinguish

them: and night coming on they both long for the hour of twelve,

though with different designs; and having before given notice that

_Sylvia_ was gone to bed, and would receive no visit that night, they

were alone to finish all their business: this while _Brilliard_ was

not idle, but having a fine bath made, he washed and perfumed his

body, and after dressed himself in the finest linen perfumed that he

had, and made himself as fit as possible for his design; nor was his

shape, which was very good, or his stature, unlike to that of

_Octavio_: and ready for the approach, he conveys himself out of the

house, telling his footman he would put himself to bed after his

bathing, and, locking his chamber door, stole out; and it being dark,

many a longing turn he walked, impatient till all the candles were out

in every room of the house: in the mean time, he employed his thoughts

on a thousand things, but all relating to _Sylvia_; sometimes the

treachery he shewed in this action to his lord, caused short-lived

blushes in his face, which vanished as soon, when he considered his

lord false to the most beautiful of her sex: sometimes he accused and

cursed the levity of _Sylvia_ that could yield to _Octavio_, and was

as jealous as if she had indeed been to have received that charming

lover; but when his thought directed him to his own happiness, his

pulse beat high, his blood flushed apace in his cheeks, his eyes

languished with love, and his body with a feverish fit! In these

extremes, by turns, he passed at least three tedious hours, with a

striking watch in his hand; and when it told it was twelve, he

advanced near the door, but finding it shut walked yet with greater

impatience, every half minute going to the door; at last he found it

yield to his hand that pushed it: but oh, what mortal can express his

joy! His heart beats double, his knees tremble, and a feebleness

seizes every limb; he breathes nothing but short sighs, and is ready

in the dark hall to fall on the floor, and was forced to lean on the

rail that begins the stairs to take a little courage: while he was

there recruiting himself, intent on nothing but his vast joy;

_Octavio_, who going to meet the Prince, being met halfway by that

young _hero_, was dispatched back again without advancing to the end

of his five leagues, and impatient to see _Sylvia_, after

_Philander_’. letter that he had sent her, or at least impatient to

hear how she took it, and in what condition she was, he, as soon as he

alighted, went towards her house in order to have met _Antonet_, or

her page, or some that could inform him of her welfare; though it was

usual for _Sylvia_ to sit up very late, and he had often made her

visits at that hour: and _Brilliard_, wholly intent on his adventure,

had left the door open; so that _Octavio_ perceiving it, believed they

were all up in the back rooms where _Sylvia_’. apartment was towards a

garden, for he saw no light forward. But he was no sooner entered

(which he did without noise) but he heard a soft breathing, which made

him stand in the hall: and by and by he heard the soft tread of some

body descending the stairs: at this he approaches near, and the hall

being a marble floor, his tread was not heard; when he heard one cry

with a sigh--’Who is there?’ And another replied, ‘It is I! Who are

you?’ The first replied, ‘A faithful and an impatient lover.’ ‘Give me

your hand then,’ replied the female voice, ‘I will conduct you to your

happiness.’ You may imagine in what surprise _Octavio_ was at so

unexpected an adventure, and, like a jealous lover, did not at all

doubt but the happiness expected was _Sylvia_, and the impatient lover

some one, whom he could not imagine, but raved within to know, and in

a moment ran over in his thoughts all the men of quality, or

celebrated beauty, or fortune in the town, but was at as great a loss

as at first thinking: ‘But be thou who thou wilt,’ cried he to

himself; ‘traitor as thou art, I will by thy death revenge myself on

the faithless fair one.’ And taking out his sword, he had advanced

towards the stairs-foot, when he heard them both softly ascend; but

being a man of perfect good nature, as all the brave and witty are, he

reflected on the severe usage he had from _Sylvia_, notwithstanding

all his industry, his vast expense, and all the advantages of nature.

This thought made him, in the midst of all his jealousy and haste,

pause a little moment; and fain he would have persuaded himself, that

what he heard was the errors of his sense; or that he dreamed, or that

it was at least not to _Sylvia_, to whom this ascending lover was

advancing: but to undeceive him of that favourable imagination, they

were no sooner on the top of the stairs, but he not being many steps

behind could both hear and see, by the ill light of a great

sash-window on the stair-case, the happy lover enter the chamber-door

of _Sylvia_, which he knew too well to be mistaken, not that he could

perceive who, or what they were, but two persons not to be

distinguished. Oh what human fancy, (but that of a lover to that

degree that was our young hero,) can imagine the amazement and torture

of his soul, wherein a thousand other passions reigned at once, and,

maugre all his courage and resolution, forced him to sink beneath

their weight? He stood holding himself up by the rails of the

stair-case, without having the power to ascend farther, or to shew any

other signs of life, but that of sighing; had he been a favoured

lover, had he been a known declared lover to all the world, had he but

hoped he had had so much interest with the false beauty, as but to

have been designed upon for a future love or use, he would have rushed

in, and have made the guilty night a covert to a scene of blood; but

even yet he had an awe upon his soul for the perjured fair one, though

at the same time he resolved she should be the object of his hate; for

the nature of his honest soul abhorred an action so treacherous and

base: he begins in a moment from all his good thoughts of her to think

her the most jilting of her sex; he knew, if interest could oblige

her, no man in _Holland_ had a better pretence to her than himself;

who had already, without any return, even so much as hope, presented

her the value of eight or ten thousand pounds in fine plate and

jewels: if it were looser desire, he fancied himself to have appeared

as capable to have served her as any man; but oh! he considers there

is a fate in things, a destiny in love that elevates and advances the

most mean, deformed or abject, and debases and condemns the most

worthy and magnificent: then he wonders at her excellent art of

dissembling for _Philander_; he runs in a minute over all her passions

of rage, jealousy, tears and softness; and now he hates the whole sex,

and thinks them all like _Sylvia_, than whom nothing could appear more

despicable to his present thought, and with a smile, while yet his

heart was insensibly breaking, he fancies himself a very coxcomb, a

cully, an imposed on fool, and a conceited fop; values _Sylvia_ as a

common fair jilt, whose whole design was to deceive the world, and

make herself a fortune at the price of her honour; one that receives

all kind bidders, and that he being too lavish, and too modest, was

reserved the cully on purpose to be undone and jilted out of all his

fortune! This thought was so perfectly fixed in him, that he recovered

out of his excess of pain, and fancied himself perfectly cured of his

blind passion, resolves to leave her to her beastly entertainment, and

to depart; but before he did so, _Sylvia_, (who had conducted the

amorous spark to the bed, where the expecting lady lay dressed rich

and sweet to receive him) returned out of the chamber, and the light

being a little more favourable to his eyes, by his being so long in

the dark, he perceived it _Antonet_, at least such a sort of figure as

he fancied her, and to confirm him saw her go into that chamber where

he knew she lay; he saw her perfect dress, and all confirmed him; this

brought him back almost to his former confusion; but yet he commands

his passion, and descended the stairs, and got himself out of the hall

into the street; and _Sylvia_, remembering the street-door was open,

went and shut it, and returned to _Antonet_’. chamber with the letter

which _Brilliard_ had given to _Antonet_, as she lay in the bed,

believing it _Sylvia_: for that trembling lover was no sooner entered

the chamber, and approached the bed-side, but he kneeled before it,

and offered the price of his happiness, this letter, which she

immediately gave to _Sylvia_, unperceived, who quitted the room: and

now with all the eager haste of impatient love she strikes a light,

and falls to reading the sad contents; but as she read, she many times

fainted over the paper, and as she has since said, it was a wonder she

ever recovered, having no body with her. By that time she had finished

it, she was so ill she was not able to get herself into bed, but threw

herself down on the place where she sat, which was the side of it, in

such agony of grief and despair, as never any soul was possessed of,

but _Sylvia_’., wholly abandoned to the violence of love and despair:

it is impossible to paint a torment to express hers by; and though she

had vowed to _Antonet_ it should not at all affect her, being so

prepossessed before; yet when she had the confirmation of her fears,

and heard his own dear soft words addressed to another object, saw his

transports, his impatience, his languishing industry and endeavour to

obtain the new desire of his soul, she found her resentment above

rage, and given over to a more silent and less supportable torment,

brought herself into a high fever, where she lay without so much as

calling for aid in her extremity; not that she was afraid the cheat

she had put on _Octavio_ would be discovered; for she had lost the

remembrance that any such prank was played; and in this multitude of

thoughts of more concern, had forgot all the rest of that night’s

action.

_Octavio_ this while was traversing the street, wrapped in his cloak,

just as if he had come from horse; for he was no sooner gone from the

door, but his resenting passion returned, and he resolved to go up

again, and disturb the lovers, though it cost him his life and fame:

but returning hastily to the door, he found it shut; at which being

enraged, he was often about to break it open, but still some

unperceivable respect for _Sylvia_ prevented him; but he resolved not

to stir from the door, till he saw the fortunate rogue come out, who

had given him all this torment. At first he cursed himself for being

so much concerned for _Sylvia_ or her actions to waste a minute, but

flattering himself that it was not love to her, but pure curiosity to

know the man who was made the next fool to himself, though the more

happy one, he waited all night; and when he began to see the day

break, which he thought a thousand years; his eye was never off from

the door, and wondered at their confidence, who would let the day

break upon them; ‘but the close-drawn curtains there,’ cried he,

’.avour the happy villainy.’ Still he walked on, and still he might

for any rival that was to appear, for a most unlucky accident

prevented _Brilliard_’. coming out, as he doubly intended to do;

first, for the better carrying on of his cheat of being _Octavio_; and

next that he had challenged _Octavio_ to fight; and when he knew his

error, designed to have gone this morning, and asked him pardon, if he

had been returned; but the amorous lover over night, ordering himself

for the encounter to the best advantage, had sent a note to a doctor,

for something that would encourage his spirits; the doctor came, and

opening a little box, wherein was a powerful medicine, he told him

that a dose of those little flies would make him come off with

wondrous honour in the battle of love; and the doctor being gone to

call for a glass of sack, the doctor having laid out of the box what

he thought requisite on a piece of paper, and leaving the box open,

our spark thought if such a dose would encourage him so, a greater

would yet make him do greater wonders; and taking twice the quantity

out of the box, puts them into his pocket, and having drank the first

with full directions, the doctor leaves him; who was no sooner gone,

but he takes those out of his pocket, and in a glass of sack drinks

them down; after this he bathes and dresses, and believes himself a

very _Hercules_, that could have got at least twelve sons that happy

night; but he was no sooner laid in bed with the charming _Sylvia_, as

he thought, but he was taken with intolerable gripes and pains, such

as he had never felt before, insomuch that he was not able to lie in

the bed: this enrages him; he grows mad and ashamed; sometimes he had

little intermissions for a moment of ease, and then he would plead

softly by her bed-side, and ask ten thousand pardons; which being

easily granted he would go into bed again, but then the pain would

seize him anew, so that after two or three hours of distraction he was

forced to dress and retire: but, instead of going down he went softly

up to his own chamber, where he sat him down, and cursed the world,

himself and his hard fate; and in this extremity of pain, shame and

grief, he remained till break of day: by which time _Antonet_, who was

almost as violently afflicted, got her coats on, and went to her own

chamber, where she found her lady more dead than alive. She

immediately shifted her bed-linen, and made her bed, and conducted her

to it, without endeavouring to divert her with the history of her own

misfortune; and only asked her many questions concerning her being

thus ill: to which the wretched _Sylvia_ only answered with sighs; so

that _Antonet_ perceived it was the letter that had disordered her,

and begged she might be permitted to see it; she gave her leave, and

_Antonet_ read it; but no sooner was she come to that part of it which

named the Countess of _Clarinau_, but she asked her lady if she

understood who that person was, with great amazement: at this _Sylvia_

was content to speak, pleased a little that she should have an account

of her rival. ‘No,’ said she, ‘dost thou know her?’ ‘Yes, madam,’

replied _Antonet_, ‘particularly well; for I have served her ever

since I was a girl of five years old, she being of the same age with

me, and sent at six years old both to a monastery; for she being fond

of my play her father sent me at that age with her, both to serve and

to divert her with babies and baubles; there we lived seven years

together, when an old rich _Spaniard_, the Count of _Clarinau_, fell

in love with my lady, and married her from the monastery, before she

had seen any part of the world beyond those sanctified walls. She

cried bitterly to have had me to _Cologne_ with her, but he said I was

too young now for her service, and so sent me away back to my own

town, which is this; and here my lady was born too, and is sister

to----’ Here she stopped, fearing to tell; which _Sylvia_ perceiving,

with a briskness (which her indisposition one would have thought could

not have allowed) sat up in bed, and cried, ‘Ha! sister to whom? Oh,

how thou wouldst please me to say to _Octavio_.’ ‘Why, madam, would it

please you?’ said the blushing maid. ‘Because,’ said _Sylvia_, ‘it

would in part revenge me on his bold addresses to me, and he would

also be obliged, in honour to his family, to revenge himself on

_Philander_.’ ‘Ah, madam,’ said she, ‘as to his presumption towards

you, fortune has sufficiently revenged it;’ at this she hung down her

head, and looked very foolishly. ‘How,’ said _Sylvia_, smiling and

rearing herself yet more in her bed, ‘is any misfortune arrived to

_Octavio_? Oh, how I will triumph and upbraid the daring man!----tell

me quickly what it is; for nothing would rejoice me more than to hear

he were punished a little.’ Upon this _Antonet_ told her what an

unlucky night she had, how _Octavio_ was seized, and how he departed;

by which _Sylvia_ believed he had made some discovery of the cheat

that was put upon him; and that he only feigned illness to get himself

loose from her embraces; and now she falls to considering how she

shall be revenged on both her lovers: and the best she can pitch upon

is that of setting them both at odds, and making them fight and

revenge themselves on one another; but she, like a right woman, could

not dissemble her resentment of jealousy, whatever art she had to do

so in any other point; but mad to ease her soul that was full, and to

upbraid _Philander_, she writes him a letter; but not till she had

once more, to make her stark-mad, read his over again, which he sent

_Octavio_.

SYLVIA _to_ PHILANDER.

Yes, perjured villain, at last all thy perfidy is arrived to my

knowledge; and thou hadst better have been damned, or have fallen,

like an ungrateful traitor, as thou art, under the public shame of

dying by the common executioner, than have fallen under the grasp of

my revenge; insatiate as thy lust, false as thy treasons to thy

prince, fatal as thy destiny, loud as thy infamy, and bloody as thy

party. Villain, villain, where got you the courage to use me thus,

knowing my injuries and my spirit? Thou seest, base traitor, I do not

fall on thee with treachery, as thou hast with thy king and mistress;

to which thou hast broken thy holy vows of allegiance and eternal

love! But thou that hast broken the laws of God and nature! What could

I expect, when neither religion, honour, common justice nor law could

bind thee to humanity? Thou that betrayest thy prince, abandonest thy

wife, renouncest thy child, killest thy mother, ravishest thy sister,

and art in open rebellion against thy native country, and very kindred

and brothers. Oh after this, what must the wretch expect who has

believed thee, and followed thy abject fortunes, the miserable

out-cast slave, and contempt of the world? What could she expect but

that the villain is still potent in the unrepented, and all the lover

dead and gone, the vice remains, and all the virtue vanished! Oh, what

could I expect from such a devil, so lost in sin and wickedness, that

even those for whom he ventured all his fame, and lost his fortune,

lent like a state-cully upon the public faith, on the security of

rogues, knaves and traitors; even those, I say, turned him out of

their councils for a reprobate too lewd for the villainous society? Oh

cursed that I was, by heaven and fate, to be blind and deaf to all thy

infamy, and suffer thy adorable bewitching face and tongue to charm me

to madness and undoing, when that was all thou hadst left thee, thy

false person, to cheat the silly, easy, fond, believing world into any

sort of opinion of thee; for not one good principle was left, not one

poor virtue to guard thee from damnation, thou hadst but one friend

left thee, one true, on real friend, and that was wretched _Sylvia_;

she, when all abandoned thee but the executioner, fled with thee,

suffered with thee, starved with thee, lost her fame and honour with

thee, lost her friends, her parents, and all her beauty’s hopes for

thee; and, in lieu of all, found only the accusation of all the good,

the hate of all the virtuous, the reproaches of her kindred, the scorn

of all chaste maids, and curses of all honest wives; and in requital

had only thy false vows, thy empty love, thy faithless embraces, and

cold dissembling kisses. My only comfort was, (ah miserable comfort,)

to fancy they were true; now that it is departed too, and I have

nothing but a brave revenge left in the room of all! In which I will

be as merciless and irreligious as even thou hast been in all thy

actions; and there remains about me only this sense of honour yet,

that I dare tell thee of my bold design, a bravery thou hast never

shewed to me, who takest me unawares, stabb’st me without a warning of

the blow; so would’st thou serve thy king hadst thou but power; and so

thou servest thy mistress. When I look back even to thy infancy, thy

life has been but one continued race of treachery, and I, (destined

thy evil genius) was born for thy tormentor; for thou hast made a very

fiend of me, and I have hell within; all rage, all torment, fire,

distraction, madness; I rave, I burn, I tear myself and faint, am

still a dying, but can never fall till I have grasped thee with me:

oh, I should laugh in flames to see thee howling by: I scorn thee,

hate thee, loathe thee more than ever I have loved thee; and hate

myself so much for ever loving thee, (to be revenged upon the filthy

criminal) I will expose myself to all the world, cheat, jilt and

flatter all as thou hast done, and having not one sense or grain of

honour left, will yield the abandoned body thou hast rifled to every

asking fop: nor is that all, for they that purchase this shall buy it

at the price of being my _bravoes_. And all shall aid in my revenge on

thee; all merciless and as resolved as I; as I! The injured

SYLVIA.

Having shot this flash of the lightning of her soul, and finished her

rant, she found herself much easier in the resolves on revenge she had

fixed there: she scorned by any vain endeavour to recall him from his

passion; she had wit enough to have made those eternal observations,

that love once gone is never to be retrieved, and that it was

impossible to cease loving, and then again to love the same person;

one may believe for some time one’s love is abated, but when it comes

to a trial, it shews itself as vigorous as in its first shine, and

finds its own error; but when once one comes to love a new object, it

can never return with more than pity, compassion, or civility for the

first: this is a most certain truth which all lovers will find, as

most wives may experience, and which our _Sylvia_ now took for

granted, and gave him over for dead to all but her revenge. Though

fits of softness, weeping, raving, and tearing, would by turns seize

the distracted abandoned beauty, in which extremities she has recourse

to scorn and pride, too feeble to aid her too often: the first thing

she resolved on, by the advice of her reasonable counsellor, was to

hear love at both ears, no matter whether she regard it or not, but to

hear all, as a remedy against loving one in particular; for it is most

certain, that the use of hearing love, or of making love (though at

first without design) either in women or men, shall at last unfix the

most confirmed and constant resolution. ‘And since you are assured,’

continued _Antonet_, ‘that sighs nor tears bring back the wandering

lover, and that dying for him will be no revenge on him, but rather a

kind assurance that you will no more trouble the man who is already

weary of you, you ought, with all your power, industry and reason,

rather to seek the preservation of that beauty, of that fine humour,

to serve you on all occasions, either of revenge or love, than by a

foolish and insignificant concern and sorrow reduce yourself to the

condition of being scorned by all, or at best but pitied.’ ‘How

pitied!’ cried the haughty _Sylvia_. ‘Is there any thing so

insupportable to our sex as pity!’ ‘No surely,’ replied the servant,

’.hen ‘tis accompanied by love: oh what blessed comfort ‘tis to hear

people cry--“she was once charming, once a beauty.” Is any thing more

grating, madam?’ At this rate she ran on, and left nothing unsaid that

might animate the angry _Sylvia_ to love anew, or at least to receive

and admit of love; for in that climate the air naturally breeds

spirits avaricious, and much inclines them to the love of money, which

they will gain at any price or hazard; and all this discourse to

_Sylvia_, was but to incline the revengeful listening beauty to admit

of the addresses of _Octavio_, because she knew he would make her

fortune. Thus was the unhappy maid left by her own unfortunate

conduct, encompassed in on every side with distraction; and she was

pointed out by fate to be made the most wretched of all her sex; nor

had she left one faithful friend to advise or stay her youth in its

hasty advance to ruin; she hears the persuading eloquence of the

flattering maid, and finds now nothing so prevalent on her soul as

revenge, and nothing soothes it more; and among all her lovers, or

those at least that she knew adored her, none was found so proper an

instrument as the noble _Octavio_, his youth, his wit, his gallantry,

but above all his fortune pleads most powerfully with her; so that she

resolves upon the revenge, and fixes him the man; whom she now knew by

so many obligations was obliged to serve her turn on _Philander_: thus

_Sylvia_ found a little tranquillity, such as it was, in hope of

revenge, while the passionate _Octavio_ was wrecked with a thousand

pains and torments, such as none but jilted lovers can imagine; and

having a thousand times resolved to hate her, and as often to love on,

in spite of all----after a thousand arguments against her, and as many

in favour of her, he arrived only to this knowledge, that his love was

extreme, and that he had no power over his heart; that honour, fame,

interest, and whatever else might oppose his violent flame, were all

too weak to extinguish the least spark of it, and all the conquest he

could get of himself was, that he suffered all his torment, all the

hell of raging jealousy grown to confirmation, and all the pangs of

absence for that whole day, and had the courage to live on the rack

without easing one moment of his agony by a letter or billet, which in

such cases discharges the burden and pressures of the love-sick heart;

and _Sylvia_, who dressed, and suffered herself wholly to be carried

away by her vengeance, expected him with as much impatience as ever

she did the coming of the once adorable _Philander_, though with a

different passion; but all the live-long day passed in expectation of

him, and no lover appeared; no not so much as a billet, nor page at

her up-rising to ask her health; so that believing he had been very

ill indeed, from what _Antonet_ told her of his being so all night,

and fearing now that it was no discovery of the cheat put upon him by

the exchange of the maid for the mistress, but real sickness, she

resolved to send to him, and the rather because _Antonet_ assured her

he was really sick, and in a cold damp sweat all over his face and

hands which she touched, and that from his infinite concern at the

defeat, the extreme respect he shewed her in midst of all the rage at

his own disappointment, and every circumstance, she knew it was no

feigned thing for any discovery he had made: on this confirmation,

from a maid cunning enough to distinguish truth from flattery, she

writ _Octavio_ this letter at night.

SYLVIA _to_ OCTAVIO.

After such a parting from a maid so entirely kind to you, she might at

least have hoped the favour of a billet from you, to have informed her

of your health; unless you think that after we have surrendered all,

we are of the humour of most of your sex, who despise the obliger; but

I believed you a man above the little crimes and levities of your

race; and I am yet so hard to be drawn from that opinion, I am willing

to flatter myself, that ‘tis yet some other reason that has hindered

you from visiting me since, or sending me an account of your recovery,

which I am too sensible of to believe was feigned, and which indeed

has made me so tender, that I easily forgive all the disappointment I

received from it, and beg you will not afflict yourself at any loss

you sustained by it, since I am still so much the same I was, to be as

sensible as before of all the obligations I have to you; send me word

immediately how you do, for on that depends a great part of the

happiness of

SYLVIA.

You may easily see by this letter she was not in a humour of either

writing love or much flattery; for yet she knew not how she ought to

resent this absence in all kinds from _Octavio_, and therefore with

what force she could put upon a soul, too wholly taken up with the

thoughts of another, more dear and more afflicting, she only writ this

to fetch one from him, that by it she might learn part of his

sentiment of her last action, and sent her page with it to him; who,

as was usual, was carried directly up to _Octavio_, whom he found in a

gallery, walking in a most dejected posture, without a band, unbraced,

his arms a-cross his open breast, and his eyes bent to the floor; and

not taking any notice when the pages entered, his own was forced to

pull him by the sleeve before he would look up, and starting from a

thousand thoughts that oppressed him almost to death, he gazed wildly

about him, and asked their business: when the page delivered him the

letter, he took it, but with such confusion as he had much ado to

support himself; but resolving not to shew his feebleness to her page,

he made a shift to get a wax-light that was on the table, and read it;

and was not much amazed at the contents, believing she was pursuing

the business of her sex and life, and jilting him on; (for such was

his opinion of all women now); he forced a smile of scorn, though his

soul were bursting, and turning to the page gave him a liberal reward,

as was his daily use when he came, and mustered up so much courage as

to force himself to say--’Child, tell your lady it requires no answer;

you may tell her too, that I am in perfect good health--’ He was

oppressed to speak more, but sighs stopped him, and his former

resolution, wholly to abandon all correspondence with her, checked his

forward tongue, and he walked away to prevent himself from saying

more: while the page, who wondered at this turn of love, after a

little waiting, departed; and when _Octavio_ had ended his walk, and

turned, and saw him gone, his heart felt a thousand pangs not to be

borne or supported; he was often ready to recall him, and was angry

the boy did not urge him for an answer. He read the letter again, and

wonders at nothing now after her last night’s action, though all was

riddle to him: he found it was writ to some happier man than himself,

however he chanced to have it by mistake; and turning to the outside,

viewed the superscription, where there happened to be none at all, for

_Sylvia_ writ in haste, and when she did it, it was the least of her

thoughts: and now he believed he had found out the real mystery, that

it was not meant to him; he therefore calls his page, whom he sent

immediately after that of _Sylvia_, who being yet below (for the lads

were laughing together for a moment) he brought him to his distracted

lord; who nevertheless assumed a mildness to the innocent boy, and

cried, ‘My child, thou hast mistaken the person to whom thou shouldst

have carried the letter, and I am sorry I opened it; pray return it to

the happy man it was meant to,’ giving him the letter. ‘My lord,’

replied the boy, ‘I do not use to carry letters to any but your

lordship: it is the footmen’s business to do that to other persons.’

’.t is a mistake, where ever it lies,’ cried _Octavio_, sighing,

’.hether in thee, or thy lady----’ So turning from the wondering boy

he left him to return with his letter to his lady, who grew mad at the

relation of what she heard from the page, and notwithstanding the

torment she had upon her soul, occasioned by _Philander_, she now

found she had more to endure, and that in spite of all her love-vows

and resentments, she had something for _Octavio_ to which she could

not give a name; she fancies it all pride, and concern for the

indignity put on her beauty: but whatever it was, this slight of his

so wholly took up her soul, that she had for some time quite forgot

_Philander_, or when she did think on him it was with less resentment

than of this affront; she considers _Philander_ with some excuse now;

as having long been possessed of a happiness he might grow weary of;

but a new lover, who had for six months incessantly lain at her feet,

imploring, dying, vowing, weeping, sighing, giving and acting all

things the most passionate of men was capable of, or that love could

inspire, for him to be at last admitted to the possession of the

ravishing object of his vows and soul, to be laid in her bed, nay in

her very arms (as she imagined he thought) and then, even before

gathering the roses he came to pluck, before he had begun to compose

or finished his nosegay, to depart the happy paradise with a disgust,

and such a disgust, as first to oblige him to dissemble sickness, and

next fall even from all his civilities, was a contempt she was not

able to bear; especially from him, of whom all men living, she

designed to make the greatest property of, as most fit for her revenge

of all degrees and sorts: but when she reflected with reason, (which

she seldom did, for either love or rage blinded that) she could not

conceive it possible that _Octavio_ could be fallen so suddenly from

all his vows and professions, but on some very great provocation:

sometimes she thinks he tempted her to try her virtue to _Philander_,

and being a perfect honourable friend, hates her for her levity; but

she considers his presents, and his unwearied industry, and believes

he would not at that expense have bought a knowledge which could

profit neither himself nor _Philander_; then she believes some

disgusted scent, or something about _Antonet_, might disoblige him;

but having called the maid, conjuring her to tell her whether any

thing passed between her and _Octavio_; she again told her lady the

whole truth, in which there could be no discovery of infirmity there;

she embraced her, she kissed her bosom, and found her touches soft,

her breath and bosom sweet as any thing in nature could be; and now

lost almost in a confusion of thought, she could not tell what to

imagine; at last she being wholly possessed that all the fault was not

in _Octavio_, (for too often we believe as we hope) she concludes that

_Antonet_ has told him all the cheat she put upon him: this last

thought pleased her, because it seemed the most probable, and was the

most favourable to herself; and a thought that, if true, could not do

her any injury with him. This set her heart a little to rights, and

she grew calm with a belief, that if so it was, as now she doubted

not, a sight of her, or a future hope from her, would calm all his

discontent, and beget a right understanding; she therefore resolves to

write to him, and own her little fallacy: but before she did so,

_Octavio_, whose passion was violent as ever in his soul, though it

was oppressed with a thousand torments, and languished under as many

feeble resolutions, burst at last into all its former softness, and he

resolves to write to the false fair one, and upbraid her with her last

night’s infidelity; nor could he sleep till he had that way charmed

his senses, and eased his sick afflicted soul. It being now ten at

night, and he retired to his chamber, he set himself down and writ

this.

OCTAVIO _to_ SYLVIA.

_Madam_,

You have at last taught me a perfect knowledge of myself; and in one

unhappy night made me see all the follies and vanities of my soul,

which self-love and fond imagination had too long rendered that way

guilty; long long! I have played the fop as others do, and shewed the

gaudy monsieur, and set a value on my worthless person for being well

dressed, as I believed, and furnished out for conquest, by being the

gayest coxcomb in the town, where, even as I passed, perhaps, I

fancied I made advances on some wishing hearts, and vain, with but

imaginary victory, I still fooled on----and was at last undone; for I

saw _Sylvia_, the charming faithless _Sylvia_, a beauty that one would

have thought had had the power to have cured the fond disease of

self-conceit and foppery, since love, they say, is a remedy against

those faults of youth; but still my vanity was powerful in me, and

even this beauty too I thought it not impossible to vanquish, and

still dressed on, and took a mighty care to shew myself--a blockhead,

curse upon me, while you were laughing at my industry, and turned the

fancying fool to ridicule, oh, he deserved it well, most wondrous

well, for but believing any thing about him could merit but a serious

thought from _Sylvia_. _Sylvia_! whose business is to laugh at all;

yet love, that is my sin and punishment, reigns still as absolutely in

my soul, as when I wished and hoped and longed for mighty blessings

you could give; yes, I still love! Only this wretchedness is fixed to

it, to see those errors which I cannot shun; my love is as high, but

all my wishes gone; my passion still remains entire and raving, but no

desire; I burn, I die, but do not wish to hope; I would be all

despair, and, like a martyr, am vain and proud even in suffering. Yes,

_Sylvia_--when you made me wise, you made me wretched too: before,

like a false worshipper, I only saw the gay, the gilded side of the

deceiving idol; but now it is fallen----discovers all the cheat, and

shews a god no more; and it is in love as in religion too, there is

nothing makes their votaries truly happy but being well deceived: for

even in love itself, harmless and innocent, as it is by nature, there

needs a little art to hide the daily discontents and torments, that

fears, distrusts and jealousies create; a little soft dissimulation is

needful; for where the lover is easy, he is most constant. But oh,

when love itself is defective too, and managed by design and little

interest, what cunning, oh what cautions ought the fair designer then

to call to her defence; yet I confess your plot----still charming

_Sylvia_, was subtly enough contrived, discreetly carried on----the

shades of night, the happy lover’s refuge, favoured you too; it was

only fate was cruel, fate that conducted me in an unlucky hour; dark

as it was, and silent too the night, I saw----Yes, faithless fair, I

saw I was betrayed; by too much faith, by too much love undone, I saw

my fatal ruin and your perfidy; and, like a tame ignoble sufferer,

left you without revenge!

I must confess, oh thou deceiving fair one, I never could pretend to

what I wished, and yet methinks, because I know my heart, and the

entire devotion, that is paid you, I merited at least not to have been

imposed upon; but after so dishonourable an action, as the betraying

the secret of my friend, it was but just that I should be betrayed,

and you have paid me well, deservedly well, and that shall make me

silent, and whatsoever I suffer, however I die, however I languish out

my wretched life, I’ll bear my sighs where you shall never hear them,

nor the reproaches my complaints express: live thou a punishment to

vain, fantastic, hoping youth, live, and advance in cunning and

deceit, to make the fond believing men more wise, and teach the women

new arts of falsehood, till they deceive so long, that man may hate,

and set as vast a distance between sex and sex, as I have resolved (oh

_Sylvia_) thou shalt be for ever from OCTAVIO.

This letter came just as _Sylvia_ was going to write to him, of which

she was extremely glad; for all along there was nothing expressed that

could make her think he meant any other than the cheat she put upon

him in _Antonet_ instead of herself: and it was some ease to her mind

to be assured of the cause of his anger and absence, and to find her

own thought confirmed, that he had indeed discovered the truth of the

matter: she knew, since that was all, she could easily reconcile him

by a plain confession, and giving him new hopes; she therefore writes

this answer to him, which she sent by his page, who waited for it.

SYLVIA _to_ OCTAVIO.

I own, too angry, and too nice _Octavio_, the crime you charge me

with; and did believe a person of your gallantry, wit and gaiety,

would have passed over so little a fault, with only reproaching me

pleasantly; I did not expect so grave a reproof, or rather so serious

an accusation. Youth has a thousand follies to answer for, and cannot

_Octavio_ pardon one sally of it in _Sylvia_? I rather expected to

have seen you early here this morning, pleasantly rallying my little

perfidy, than to find you railing at a distance at it; calling it by a

thousand names that does not merit half this malice: and sure you do

not think me so poor in good nature, but I could, some other coming

hour, have made you amends for those you lost last night, possibly I

could have wished myself with you at the same time; and had I,

perhaps, followed my inclination, I had made you happy as you wished;

but there were powerful reasons that prevented me. I conjure you to

let me see you, where I will make a confession of my last night’s sin,

and give such arguments to convince you of the necessity of it, as

shall absolutely reconcile you to love, hope, and SYLVIA.

It being late, she only sent this short billet: and not hoping that

night to see him, she went to bed, after having inquired the health of

_Brilliard_, who she heard was very ill; and that young defeated

lover, finding it impossible to meet _Octavio_ as he had promised, not

to fight him, but to ask his pardon for his mistake, made a shift,

with much ado, to write him a note, which was this:

_My Lord_,

I confess my yesterday’s rudeness, and beg you will give me a pardon

before I leave the world; for I was last night taken violently ill,

and am unable to wait on your lordship, to beg what this most

earnestly does for your lordship’s most devoted servant,

BRILLIARD.

This billet, though it signified nothing to _Octavio_, it served

_Sylvia_ afterwards to very good use and purpose, as a little time

shall make appear. And _Octavio_ received these two notes from

_Brilliard_ and _Sylvia_ at the same time; the one he flung by

regardless, the other he read with infinite pain, scorn, hate,

indignation, all at once stormed in his heart, he felt every passion

there but that of love, which caused them all; if he thought her false

and ungrateful before, he now thinks her fallen to the lowest degree

of lewdness, to own her crime with such impudence; he fancies now he

is cured of love, and hates her absolutely, thinks her below even his

scorn, and puts himself to bed, believing he shall sleep as well as

before he saw the light, the foolish _Sylvia_: but oh he boasts in

vain, the light, the foolish _Sylvia_ was charming still; still all

the beauty appeared; even in his slumbers the angel dawned about him,

and all the fiend was laid: he sees her lovely face, but the false

heart is hid; he hears her charming wit, but all the cunning is

hushed: he views the motions of her delicate body, without regard to

those of her mind; he thinks of all the tender words she has given

him, in which the jilting part is lost, and all forgotten; or, if by

chance it crossed his happier thought, he rolls and tumbles in his

bed, he raves and calls upon her charming name, till he have quite

forgot it, and takes all the pains he can to deceive his own heart: oh

it is a tender part, and can endure no hurt; he soothes it therefore,

and at the worst resolves, since the vast blessing may be purchased,

to revel in delight, and cure himself that way: these flattering

thoughts kept him all night waking, and in the morning he resolves his

visit; but taking up her letter, which lay on the table, he read it

over again, and, by degrees, wrought himself up to madness at the

thought that _Sylvia_ was possessed: _Philander_ he could bear with

little patience, but that, because before he loved or knew her, he

could allow; but this----this wrecks his very soul; and in his height

of fury, he writes this letter without consideration.

OCTAVIO _to_ SYLVIA.

Since you profess yourself a common mistress, and set up for the

glorious trade of sin, send me your price, and I perhaps may purchase

damnation at your rate. May be you have a method in your dealing, and

I have mistook you all this while, and dealt not your way; instruct my

youth, great mistress of the art, and I shall be obedient; tell me

which way I may be happy too, and put in for an adventurer; I have a

stock of ready youth and money; pray, name your time and sum for

hours, or nights, or months; I will be in at all, or any, as you shall

find leisure to receive the impatient _Octavio_.

This in a mad moment he writ, and sent it ere he had considered

farther; and _Sylvia_, who expected not so coarse and rough a return,

grew as mad as he in reading it; and she had much ado to hold her

hands off from beating the innocent page that brought it: to whom she

turned with fire in her eyes, flames in her cheeks, and thunder on her

tongue, and cried, ‘Go tell your master that he is a villain; and if

you dare approach me any more from him, I’ll have my footmen whip

you:’ and with a scorn, that discovered all the indignation in the

world, she turned from him, and, tearing his note, threw it from her,

and walked her way: and the page, thunder-struck, returned to his

lord, who by this time was repenting he had managed his passion no

better, and at what the boy told him was wholly convinced of his

error; he now considered her character and quality, and accused

himself of great indiscretion; and as he was sitting the most dejected

melancholy man on earth, reflecting on his misfortune, the post

arrived with letters from _Philander_, which he opened, and laying by

that which was enclosed for _Sylvia_, he read that from _Philander_ to

himself.

PHILANDER _to_ OCTAVIO.

There is no pain, my dear _Octavio_, either in love or friendship,

like that of doubt; and I confess myself guilty of giving it you, in a

great measure, by my silence the last post; but having business of so

much greater concern to my heart than even writing to _Octavio_, I

found myself unable to pursue any other; and I believe you could too

with the less impatience bear with my neglect, having affairs of the

same nature there; our circumstances and the business of our hearts

then being so resembling, methinks I have as great an impatience to be

recounting to you the story of my love and fortune, as I am to receive

that of yours, and to know what advances you have made in the heart of

the still charming _Sylvia_! Though there will be this difference in

the relations; mine, whenever I recount it, will give you a double

satisfaction; first from the share your friendship makes you have in

all the pleasures of _Philander_; and next that it excuses _Sylvia_,

if she can be false to me for _Octavio_; and still advances his design

on her heart: but yours, whenever I receive it, will give me a

thousand pains, which it is however but just I should feel, since I

was the first breaker of the solemn league and covenant made between

us; which yet I do, by all that is sacred, with a regret that makes me

reflect with some repentance in all those moments, wherein I do not

wholly give my soul up to love, and the more beautiful _Calista_; yes

more, because new.

In my last, my dear _Octavio_, you left me pursuing, like a

knight-errant, a beauty enchanted within some invisible tree, or

castle, or lake, or any thing inaccessible, or rather wandering in a

dream after some glorious disappearing phantom: and for some time

indeed I knew not whether I slept or waked. I saw daily the good old

Count of _Clarinau_, of whom I durst not so much as ask a civil

question towards the satisfaction of my soul; the page was sent into

_Holland_ (with some express to a brother-in-law of the Count’s) of

whom before I had the intelligence of a fair young wife to the old

lord his master; and for the rest of the servants they spoke all

_Spanish_, and the devil a word we understood each other; so that it

was impossible to learn any thing farther from them; and I found I was

to owe all my good fortune to my own industry, but how to set it

a-working I could not devise; at last it happened, that being walking

in the garden which had very high walls on three sides, and a fine

large apartment on the other, I concluded that it was in that part of

the house my fair new conqueress resided, but how to be resolved I

could not tell, nor which way the windows looked that were to give the

light, towards that part of the garden there was none; at last I saw

the good old gentleman come trudging through the garden, fumbling out

of his pocket a key; I stepped into an arbour to observe him, and saw

him open a little door, that led him into another garden, and locking

the door after him vanished; and observing how that side of the

apartment lay, I went into the street, and after a large compass found

that which faced the garden, which made the fore-part of the

apartment. I made a story of some occasion I had for some upper rooms,

and went into many houses to find which fronted best the apartment,

and still disliked something, till I met with one so directly to it,

that I could, when I got a story higher, look into the very rooms,

which only a delicate garden parted from this by-street; there it was

I fixed, and learned from a young _Dutch_ woman that spoke good

_French_, that this was the very place I looked for: the apartment of

Madam, the Countess of _Clarinau_; she told me too, that every day

after dinner the old gentleman came thither, and sometimes a-nights;

and bewailed the young beauty, who had no better entertainment than

what an old withered _Spaniard_ of threescore and ten could give her.

I found this young woman apt for my purpose, and having very well

pleased her with my conversation, and some little presents I made her,

I left her in good humour, and resolved to serve me on any design; and

returning to my lodging, I found old _Clarinau_ returned, as brisk and

gay, as if he had been caressed by so fair and young a lady; which

very thought made me rave, and I had abundance of pain to with-hold my

rage from breaking out upon him, so jealous and envious was I of what

now I loved and desired a thousand times more than ever; since the

relation my new, young, female friend had given me, who had wit and

beauty sufficient to make her judgement impartial: however, I

contained my jealousy with the hopes of a sudden revenge; for I

fancied the business half accomplished in my knowledge of her

residence. I feigned some business to the old gentleman, that would

call me out of town for a week to consult with some of our party; and

taking my leave of him, he offered me the compliment of money, or what

else I should need in my affair, which at that time was not unwelcome

to I me; and being well furnished for my enterprise, I took horse

without a page or footman to attend me; because I pretended my

business was a secret, and taking a turn about the town in the

evening, I left my horse without the gates, and went to my secret new

quarters, where my young friend received me with the joy of a

mistress, and with whom indeed I could not forbear entertaining myself

very well, which engaged her more to my service, with the aid of my

liberality; but all this did not allay one spark of the fire kindled

in my soul for the lovely _Calista_; and I was impatient for night,

against which time I was preparing an engine to mount the battlement,

for so it was that divided the garden from the street, rather than a

wall: all things fitted to my purpose, I fixed myself at the window

that looked directly towards her sashes, and had the satisfaction to

see her leaning there, and looking on a fountain, that stood in the

midst of the garden, and cast a thousand little streams into the air,

that made a melancholy noise in falling into a large alabaster cistern

beneath: oh how my heart danced at the dear sight to all the tunes of

love! I had not power to stir or speak, or to remove my eyes, but

languished on the window where I leant half dead with joy and

transport; for she appeared more charming to my view; undressed and

fit for love; oh, my _Octavio_, such are the pangs which I believe

thou feelest at the approach of _Sylvia_, so beats thy heart, so rise

thy sighs and wishes, so trembling and so pale at every view, as I was

in this lucky amorous moment! And thus I fed my soul till night came

on, and left my eyes no object but my heart----a thousand dear ideas.

And now I sallied out, and with good success; for with a long engine

which reached the top of the wall, I fixed the end of my ladder there,

and mounted it, and sitting on the top brought my ladder easily up to

me, and turned over to the other side, and with abundance of ease

descended into the garden, which was the finest I had ever seen; for

now, as good luck would have it, who was designed to favour me, the

moon began to shine so bright, as even to make me distinguish the

colours of the flowers that dressed all the banks in ravishing order;

but these were not the beauty I came to possess, and my new thoughts

of disposing myself, and managing my matters, now took off all that

admiration that was justly due to so delightful a place, which art and

nature had agreed to render charming to every sense; thus much I

considered it, that there was nothing that did not invite to love; a

thousand pretty recesses of arbours, grotts and little artificial

groves; fountains, environed with beds of flowers, and little

rivulets, to whose dear fragrant banks a wishing amorous god would

make his soft retreat. After having ranged about, rather to seek a

covert on occasion, and to know the passes of the garden, which might

serve me in any extremity of surprise that might happen, I returned to

the fountain that faced _Calista_’. window, and leaning upon its

brink, viewed the whole apartment, which appeared very magnificent:

just against me I perceived a door that went into it, which while I

was considering how to get open I heard it unlock, and skulking behind

the large basin of the fountain (yet so as to mark who came out) I saw

to my unspeakable transport, the fair, the charming _Calista_ dressed

just as she was at the window, a loose gown of silver stuff lapped

about her delicate body, her head in fine night-clothes, and all

careless as my soul could wish; she came, and with her the old dragon;

and I heard her say in coming out--’This is too fine a night to sleep

in: prithee, _Dormina_, do not grudge me the pleasure of it, since

there are so very few that entertain _Calista_.’ This last she spoke

with a sigh, and a languishment in her voice, that shot new flames of

love into my panting heart, and trilled through all my veins, while

she pursued her walk with the old gentlewoman; and still I kept myself

at such a distance to have them in my sight, but slid along the shady

side of the walk, where I could not be easily seen, while they kept

still on the shiny part: she led me thus through all the walks,

through all the maze of love; and all the way I fed my greedy eyes

upon the melancholy object of my raving desire; her shape, her gait,

her motion, every step, and every movement of her hand and head, had a

peculiar grace; a thousand times I was tempted to approach her, and

discover myself, but I dreaded the fatal consequence, the old woman

being by; nor knew I whether they did not expect the husband there; I

therefore waited with impatience when she would speak, that by that I

might make some discovery of my destiny that night; and after having

tired herself a little with walking, she sat down on a fine seat of

white marble, that was placed at the end of a grassy walk, and only

shadowed with some tall trees that ranked themselves behind it,

against one of which I leaned: there, for a quarter of an hour, they

sat as silent as the night, where only soft-breathed winds were heard

amongst the boughs, and softer sighs from fair _Calista_; at last the

old thing broke silence, who was almost asleep while she spoke.

’.adam, if you are weary, let us retire to bed, and not sit gazing

here at the moon.’ ‘To bed,’ replied _Calista_, ‘What should I do

there?’ ‘Marry sleep,’ quoth the old gentlewoman; ‘What should you

do?’ ‘Ah, _Dormina_,’ (sighed _Calista_,) ‘would age would seize me

too; for then perhaps I should find at least the pleasure of the old;

be dull and lazy, love to eat and sleep, not have my slumbers

disturbed with dreams more insupportable than my waking wishes; for

reason then suppresses rising thoughts, and the impossibility of

obtaining keeps the fond soul in order; but sleep----gives an

unguarded loose to soft desire, it brings the lovely phantom to my

view, and tempts me with a thousand charms to love; I see a face, a

mien, a shape, a look! Such as heaven never made, or any thing but

fond imagination! Oh, it was a wondrous vision!’ ‘For my part,’

replied the old one, ‘I am such a heathen Christian, madam, as I do

not believe there are any such things as visions, or ghosts, or

phantoms: but your head runs of a young man, because you are married

to an old one; such an idea as you framed in your wishes possessed

your fancy, which was so strong (as indeed fancy will be sometimes)

that it persuaded you it was a very phantom or vision.’ ‘Let it be

fancy or vision, or whatever else you can give a name to,’ replied

_Calista_, ‘still it is that, that never ceased since to torture me

with a thousand pains; and prithee why, _Dormina_, is not fancy since

as powerful in me as it was before? Fancy has not been since so kind;

yet I have given it room for thought, which before I never did; I sat

whole hours and days, and fixed my soul upon the lovely figure; I know

its stature to an inch, tall and divinely made; I saw his hair, long,

black, and curling to his waist, all loose and flowing; I saw his

eyes, where all the _Cupids_ played, black, large, and sparkling,

piercing, loving, languishing; I saw his lips sweet, dimpled, red, and

soft; a youth complete in all, like early _May_, that looks, and

smells, and cheers above the rest: in fine, I saw him such as nothing

but the nicest fancy can imagine, and nothing can describe; I saw him

such as robs me of my rest, as gives me all the raging pains of love

(love I believe it is) without the joy of any single hope.’ ‘Oh,

madam,’ said _Dormina_, ‘that love will quickly die, which is not

nursed with hope, why that is its only food.’ ‘Pray heaven I find it

so,’ replied _Calista_. At that she sighed as if her heart had broken,

and leaned her arm upon a rail of the end of the seat, and laid her

lovely cheek upon her hand, and so continued without speaking; while

I, who was not a little transported with what I heard, with infinite

pain with-held myself from kneeling at her feet, and prostrating

before her that happy phantom of which she had spoke so favourably;

but still I feared my fate, and to give any offence. While I was

amidst a thousand thoughts considering which to pursue, I could hear

_Dormina_ snoring as fast as could be, leaning at her ease on the

other end of the seat, supported by a wide marble rail; which

_Calista_ hearing also, turned and looked on her, then softly rose and

walked away to see how long she would sleep there, if not waked. Judge

now, my dear _Octavio_, whether love and fortune were not absolutely

subdued to my interest, and if all things did not favour my design:

the very thought of being alone with _Calista_, of making myself known

to her, of the opportunity she gave me by going from _Dormina_ into a

by-walk, the very joy of ten thousand hopes, that filled my soul in

that happy moment, which I fancied the most blessed of my life, made

me tremble all over; and with unassured steps I softly pursued the

object of my new desire: sometimes I even overtook her, and fearing to

fright her, and cause her to make some noise that might alarm the

sleeping _Dormina_, I slackened my pace, till in a walk, at the end of

which she was obliged to turn back, I remained, and suffered her to go

on; it was a walk of grass, broad, and at the end of it a little

arbour of greens, into which she went and sat down, looking towards

me; and methought she looked full at me; so that finding she made no

noise, I softly approached the door of the arbour at a convenient

distance; she then stood up in great amaze, as she after said; and I

kneeling down in an humble posture, cried--’Wonder not, oh sacred

charmer of my soul, to see me at your feet at this late hour, and in a

place so inaccessible; for what attempt is there so hazardous

despairing lovers dare not undertake, and what impossibility almost

can they not overcome? Remove your fears, oh conqueress of my soul;

for I am an humble mortal that adores you; I have a thousand wounds, a

thousand pains that prove me flesh and blood, if you would hear my

story: oh give me leave to approach you with that awe you do the

sacred altars; for my devotion is as pure as that which from your

charming lips ascends the heavens----’ With such cant and stuff as

this, which lovers serve themselves with on occasion, I lessened the

terrors of the frighted beauty, and she soon saw, with joy in her

eyes, that I both was a mortal, and the same she had before seen in

the outward garden: I rose from my knees then, and with a joy that

wandered all over my body, trembling and panting I approached her, and

took her hand and kissed it with a transport that was almost ready to

lay me fainting at her feet, nor did she answer any thing to what I

had said, but with sighs suffered her hand to remain in mine; her eyes

she cast to earth, her breast heaved with nimble motions, and we both,

unable to support ourselves, sat down together on a green bank in the

arbour, where by the light we had, we gazed at each other, unable to

utter a syllable on either side. I confess, my dear _Octavio_, I have

felt love before, but do not know that ever I was possessed with such

pleasing pain, such agreeable languishment in all my life, as in those

happy moments with the fair _Calista_: and on the other, I dare answer

for the soft fair one; she felt a passion as tender as mine; which,

when she could recover her first transport, she expressed in such a

manner as has wholly charmed me: for with all the eloquence of young

angels, and all their innocence too, she said, she whispered, she

sighed the softest things that ever lover heard. I told you before she

had from her infancy been bred in a monastery, kept from the sight of

men, and knew no one art or subtlety of her sex; but in the very

purity of her innocence she appeared like the first-born maid in

Paradise, generously giving her soul away to the great lord of all,

the new-formed man, and nothing of her heart’s dear thoughts she did

reserve, (but such as modest nature should conceal;) yet, if I touched

but on that tender part where honour dwelt, she had a sense too nice,

as it was a wonder to find so vast a store of that mixed with so soft

a passion. Oh what an excellent thing a perfect woman is, ere man has

taught her arts to keep her empire, by being himself inconstant! All I

could ask of love she freely gave, and told me every sentiment of her

heart, but it was in such a way, so innocently she confessed her

passion, that every word added new flames to mine, and made me raging

mad: at last, she suffered me to kiss with caution; but one begat

another,----that a number----and every one was an advance to

happiness; and I who knew my advantage, lost no time, but put each

minute to the properest use; now I embrace, clasp her fair lovely body

close to mine, which nothing parted but her shift and gown; my busy

hands find passage to her breasts, and give and take a thousand

nameless joys; all but the last I reaped; that heaven was still

denied; though she were fainting in my trembling arms, still she had

watching sense to guard that treasure: yet, in spite of all, a

thousand times I brought her to the very point of yielding; but oh she

begs and pleads with all the eloquence of love! tells me, that what

she had to give me she gave, but would not violate her marriage-vow;

no, not to save that life she found in danger with too much love, and

too extreme desire: she told me, that I had undone her quite; she

sighed, and wished that she had seen me sooner, ere fate had rendered

her a sacrifice to the embraces of old _Clarinau_; she wept with love,

and answered with a sob to every vow I made: thus by degrees she

wrought me to undoing, and made me mad in love. It was thus we passed

the night; we told the hasty hours, and cursed their coming: we told

from ten to three, and all that time seemed but a little minute: nor

would I let her go, who was as loath to part, till she had given me

leave to see her often there; I told her all my story of her conquest,

and how I came into the garden: she asked me pleasantly, if I were not

afraid of old _Clarinau_; I told her no, of nothing but of his being

happy with her, which thought I could not bear: she assured me I had

so little reason to envy him, that he rather deserved my compassion;

for that, her aversion was so extreme to him; his person, years, his

temper, and his diseases were so disagreeable to her, that she could

not dissemble her disgust, but gave him most evident proofs of it too

frequently ever since she had the misfortune of being his wife; but

that since she had seen the charming _Philander_, (for so we must let

her call him too) his company and conversation was wholly

insupportable to her; and but that he had ever used to let her have

four nights in the week her own, wherein he never disturbed her

repose, she should have been dead with his nasty entertainment: she

vowed she never knew a soft desire but for _Philander_, she never had

the least concern for any of his sex besides, and till she felt his

touches----took in his kisses, and suffered his dear embraces, she

never knew that woman was ordained for any joy with man, but fancied

it designed in its creation for a poor slave to be oppressed at

pleasure by the husband, dully to yield obedience and no more: but I

had taught her now, she said, to her eternal ruin, that there was more

in nature than she knew, or ever should, had she not seen _Philander_;

she knew not what dear name to call it by, but something in her blood,

something that panted in her heart, glowed in her cheeks, and

languished in her looks, told her she was not born for _Clarinau_, or

love would do her wrong: I soothed the thought, and urged the laws of

nature, the power of love, necessity of youth----and the wonder that

was yet behind, that ravishing something, which not love or kisses

could make her guess at; so beyond all soft imagination, that nothing

but a trial could convince her; but she resisted still, and still I

pleaded with all the subtlest arguments of love, words mixed with

kisses, sighing mixed with vows, but all in vain; religion was my foe,

and tyrant honour guarded all her charms: thus did we pass the night,

till the young morn advancing in the East forced us to bid adieu:

which oft we did, and oft we sighed and kissed, oft parted and

returned, and sighed again, and as she went away, she weeping,

cried,--wringing my hand in hers, ‘Pray heaven, _Philander_, this dear

interview do not prove fatal to me; for oh, I find frail nature weak

about me, and one dear minute more would forfeit all my honour.’ At

this she started from my trembling hand, and swept the walk like wind

so swift and sudden, and left me panting, sighing, wishing, dying,

with mighty love and hope: and after a little time I scaled my wall,

and returned unseen to my new lodging. It was four days after before I

could get any other happiness, but that of seeing her at her window,

which was just against mine, from which I never stirred, hardly to eat

or sleep, and that she saw with joy; for every morning I had a billet

from her, which we contrived that happy night should be conveyed me

thus--It was a by-street where I lodged, and the other side was only

the dead wall of her garden, where early in the morning she used to

walk; and having the billet ready, she put it with a stone into a

little leathern-purse, and tossed it over the wall, where either

myself from the window, or my young friend below waited for it, and

that way every morning and every evening she received one from me; but

’.is impossible to tell you the innocent passion she expressed in

them, innocent in that there was no art, no feigned nice folly to

express a virtue that was not in the soul; but all she spoke confessed

her heart’s soft wishes. At last, (for I am tedious in a relation of

what gave me so much pleasure in the entertainment) at last, I say, I

received the happy invitation to come into the garden as before; and

night advancing for my purpose, I need not say that I delivered myself

upon the place appointed, which was by the fountain-side beneath her

chamber-window; towards which I cast, you may believe, many a longing

look: the clock struck ten, eleven, and then twelve, but no dear star

appeared to conduct me to my happiness; at last I heard the little

garden-door (against the fountain) open, and saw _Calista_ there

wrapped in her night-gown only: I ran like lightning to her arms, with

all the transports of an eager lover, and almost smothered myself in

her warm rising breast; for she taking me in her arms let go her gown,

which falling open, left nothing but her shift between me and all her

charming body. But she bid me hear what she had to say before I

proceeded farther; she told me she was forced to wait till _Dormina_

was asleep, who lay in her chamber, and then stealing the key, she

came softly down to let me in. ‘But,’ said she, ‘since I am all

undressed, and cannot walk in the garden with you, will you promise

me, on love and honour, to be obedient to all my commands, if I carry

you to my chamber? for _Dormina_’. sleep is like death itself;

however, lest she chance to awake, and should take an occasion to

speak to me, it were absolutely necessary that I were there; for since

I served her such a trick the other night, and let her sleep so long,

she will not let me walk late.’ A very little argument persuaded me to

yield to any thing to be with _Calista_ any where; so that both

returning softly to her chamber, she put herself into bed, and left me

kneeling on the carpet: but it was not long that I remained so; from

the dear touches of her hands and breast we came to kisses, and so

equally to a forgetfulness of all we had promised and agreed on

before, and broke all rules and articles that were not in the favour

of love; so that stripping myself by degrees, while she with an

unwilling force made some feeble resistance, I got into the arms of

the most charming woman that ever nature made; she was all over

perfection; I dare not tell you more; let it suffice she was all that

luxurious man could wish, and all that renders woman fine and

ravishing. About two hours thus was my soul in rapture, while

sometimes she reproached me, but so gently, that it was to bid me

still be false and perjured, if these were the effects of it; ‘If

disobedience have such wondrous charms, may I,’ said she, ‘be still

commanding thee, and thou still disobeying.’ While thus we lay with

equal ravishment, we heard a murmuring noise at a distance, which we

knew not what to make of, but it grew still louder and louder, but

still at a distance too; this first alarmed us, and I was no sooner

persuaded to rise, but I heard a door unlock at the side of the bed,

which was not that by which I entered; for that was at the other end

of the chamber towards the window. ‘Oh heavens,’ said the fair

frighted trembler, ‘here is the Count of _Clarinau_.’ For he always

came up that way, and those stairs by which I ascended were the

back-stairs; so that I had just time to grope my way towards the door,

without so much as taking my clothes with me; never was any amorous

adventurer in so lamentable a condition, I would fain have turned upon

him, and at once have hindered him from entering with my sword in my

hand, and secured him from ever disturbing my pleasure any more; but

she implored I would not, and in this minute’s dispute he came so near

me, that he touched me as I glided from him; but not being acquainted

very well with the chamber, having never seen my way, I lighted in my

passage on _Dormina_’. pallet-bed, and threw myself quite over her to

the chamber-door, which made a damnable clattering, and awaking

_Dormina_ with my catastrophe, she set up such a bawl, as frighted and

alarmed the old Count, who was just taking in a candle from his

footman, who had lighted it at his flambeau: So that hearing the

noise, and knowing it must be some body in the chamber, he let fall

his candle in the fright, and called his footman in with the flambeau,

draws his Toledo, which he had in his hand, and wrapped in his

night-gown, with three or four woollen caps one upon the top of

another, tied under his tawny, leathern chops, he made a very pleasant

figure, and such a one as had like to have betrayed me by laughing at

it; he closely pursued me, though not so close as to see me before

him; yet so as not to give me time to ascend the wall, or to make my

escape up or down any walk, which were straight and long, and not able

to conceal any body from pursuers, approached so near as the Count was

to me: what should I do? I was naked, unarmed, and no defence against

his jealous rage; and now in danger of my life, I knew not what to

resolve on; yet I swear to you, _Octavio_, even in that minute (which

I thought my last) I had no repentance of the dear sin, or any other

fear, but that which possessed me for the fair _Calista_; and calling

upon _Venus_ and her son for my safety (for I had scarce a thought yet

of any other deity) the sea-born queen lent me immediate aid, and ere

I was aware of it, I touched the fountain, and in the same minute

threw myself into the water, which a mighty large basin or cistern of

white marble contained, of a compass that forty men might have hid

themselves in it; they had pursued me so hard, they fancied they heard

me press the gravel near the fountain, and with the torch they

searched round about it, and beat the fringing flowers that grew

pretty high about the bottom of it, while I sometimes dived, and

sometimes peeped up to take a view of my busy coxcomb, who had like to

have made me burst into laughter many times to see his figure; the

dashing of the stream, which continually fell from the little pipes

above in the basin, hindered him from hearing the noise I might

possibly have made by my swimming in it: after he had surveyed it

round without-side, he took the torch in his own hand, and surveyed

the water itself, while I dived, and so long forced to remain so, that

I believed I had escaped his sword to die that foolisher way; but just

as I was like to expire, he departed muttering, that he was sure some

body did go out before him; and now he searched every walk and arbour

of the garden, while like a fish I lay basking in element still, not

daring to adventure out, lest his hasty return should find me on the

wall, or in my passage over: I thanked my stars he had not found the

ladder, so that at last returning to _Calista_’. chamber, after

finding no body, he desired (as I heard the next morning) to know what

the matter was in her chamber: but _Calista_, who till now never knew

an art, had before he came laid her bed in order, and taken up my

clothes, and put them between her bed and quilt; not forgetting any

one thing that belonged to me, she was laid as fast asleep as

innocence itself; so that _Clarinau_ awaking her, she seemed as

surprised and ignorant of all, as if she had indeed been innocent; so

that _Dormina_ now remained the only suspected person; who being asked

what she could say concerning that uproar she made, she only said, as

she thought, that she dreamed His Honour fell out of the bed upon her,

and awaking in a fright she found it was but a dream, and so she fell

asleep again till he awaked her whom she wondered to see there at that

hour; he told them that while they were securely sleeping he was like

to have been burned in his bed, a piece of his apartment being burned

down, which caused him to come thither; but he made them both swear

that there was no body in the chamber of _Calista_, before he would be

undeceived; for he vowed he saw something in the garden, which, to his

thinking, was all white, and it vanished on the sudden behind the

fountain, and we could see no more of it. _Calista_ dissembled

abundance of fear, and said she would never walk after candlelight for

fear of that ghost; and so they passed the rest of the night, while I,

all wet and cold, got me to my lodging unperceived, for my young

friend had left the door open for me.

Thus, dear _Octavio_, I have sent you a novel, instead of a letter, of

my first most happy adventure, of which I must repeat thus much again,

that of all the enjoyments I ever had, I was never so perfectly well

entertained for two hours, and I am waiting with infinite patience for

a second encounter. I shall be extremely glad to hear what progress

you have made in your amour; for I have lost all for _Sylvia_, but the

affection of a brother, with that natural pity we have for those we

have undone; for my heart, my soul and body are all _Calista_’., the

bright, the young, the witty, the gay, the fondly-loving _Calista_:

only some reserve I have in all for _Octavio_. Pardon this long

history, for it is a sort of acting all one’s joys again, to be

telling them to a friend so dear, as is the gallant _Octavio_ to

PHILANDER.

POSTSCRIPT.

_I should, for some reasons that concern my safety, have quitted his

town before, but I am chained to it, and no sense of danger while_

Calista _compels my stay._

If _Octavio_’. trouble was great before, from but his fear of

_Calista_’. yielding, what must it be now, when he found all his fears

confirmed? The pressures of his soul were too extreme before, and the

concern he had for _Sylvia_ had brought it to the highest tide of

grief; so that this addition overwhelmed it quite, and left him no

room for rage; no, it could not discharge itself so happily, but bowed

and yielded to all the extremes of love, grief, and sense of honour;

he threw himself upon his bed, and lay without sense or motion for a

whole hour, confused with thought, and divided in his concern, half

for a mistress false, and half for a sister loose and undone; by turns

the sister and the mistress torture; by turns they break his heart: he

had this comfort left before, that if _Calista_ were undone, her ruin

made way for his love and happiness with _Sylvia_, but now----he had

no prospect left that could afford any ease; he changes from one sad

object to another, from _Sylvia_ to _Calista_, then back to _Sylvia_;

but like to feverish men that toss about here and there, remove for

some relief, he shifts but to new pain, wherever he turns he finds the

madman still: in this distraction of thought he remained till a page

from _Sylvia_ brought him this letter, which in midst of all, he

started from his bed with excess of joy, and read.

SYLVIA _to_ OCTAVIO.

_My Lord_,

After your last affront by your page, I believe it will surprise you

to receive any thing from _Sylvia_ but scorn and disdain: but, my

lord, the interest you have by a thousand ways been so long making in

my heart, cannot so soon be cancelled by a minute’s offence; and every

action of your life has been too generous to make me think you writ

what I have received, at least you are not well in your senses: I have

committed a fault against your love, I must confess, and am not

ashamed of the little cheat I put upon you in bringing you to bed to

_Antonet_ instead of _Sylvia_: I was ashamed to be so easily won, and

took it ill your passion was so mercenary to ask so coarsely for the

possession of me; too great a pay I thought for so poor service, as

rendering up a letter which in honour you ought before to have shewed

me: I own I gave you hope, in that too I was criminal; but these are

faults that sure deserved a kinder punishment than what I last

received--a whore--, a common mistress! Death, you are a coward----and

even to a woman dare not say it, when she confronts the

scandaler,----Yet pardon me, I mean not to revile, but gently to

reproach; it was unkind----at least allow me that, and much unlike

_Octavio_.

I think I had not troubled you, my lord, with the least confession of

my resentment, but I could not leave the town, where for the honour of

your conversation and friendship alone I have remained so long,

without acquitting myself of those obligations I had to you; I send

you therefore the key of my closet and cabinet, where you shall find

not only your letters, but all those presents you have been pleased

once to think me worthy of: but having taken back your friendship, I

render you the less valuable trifles, and will retain no more of

_Octavio_, than the dear memory of that part of his life that was so

agreeable to the unfortunate

SYLVIA.

He reading this letter, finished with tears of tender love; but

considering it all over, he fancied she had put great constraint upon

her natural high spirit to write in this calm manner to him, and

through all he found dissembled rage, which yet was visible in that

one breaking out in the middle of the letter: he found she was not

able to contain at the word, common mistress. In fine, however calm it

was, and however designed, he found, and at least he thought he found

the charming jilt all over; he fancies from the hint she gave him of

the change of _Antonet_ for herself in bed, that it was some new cheat

that was to be put upon him, and to bring herself off with credit:

yet, in spite of all this appearing reason, he wishes, and has a

secret hope, that either she is not in fault, or that she will so

cozen him into a belief she is not, that it may serve as well to

soothe his willing heart; and now all he fears is, that she will not

put so neat a cheat upon him, but that he shall be able to see through

it, and still be obliged to retain his ill opinion of her: but love

returned, she had roused the flame anew, and softened all his rougher

thoughts with this dear letter; and now in haste he calls for his

clothes, and suffering himself to be dressed with all the advantage of

his sex, he throws himself into his coach, and goes to _Sylvia_, whom

he finds just dressed _en chevalier_, (and setting her head and

feather in good order before the glass) with a design to depart the

town, at least so far as should have raised a concern in _Octavio_, if

yet he had any for her, to have followed her; he ran up without asking

leave into her chamber; and ere she was aware of him he threw himself

at her feet, and clasping her knees, to which he fixed his mouth, he

remained there for a little space without life or motion, and pressed

her in his arms as fast as a dying man. She was not offended to see

him there, and he appeared more lovely than ever he yet had been. His

grief had added a languishment and paleness to his face, which

sufficiently told her he had not been at ease while absent from her;

and on the other side, _Sylvia_ appeared ten thousand times more

charming than ever, the dress of a boy adding extremely to her beauty:

’.h you are a pretty lover,’ said she, raising him from her knees to

her arms, ‘to treat a mistress so for a little innocent

raillery.----Come, sit and tell me how you came to discover the

harmless cheat;’ setting him down on the side of her bed. ‘Oh name it

no more,’ cried he, ‘let that damned night be blotted from the year,

deceive me, flatter me, say you are innocent; tell me my senses rave,

my eyes were false, deceitful, and my ears were deaf: say any thing

that may convince my madness, and bring me back to tame adoring love.’

’.hat means _Octavio_,’ replied _Sylvia_, ‘sure he is not so nice and

squeamish a lover, but a fair young maid might have been welcome to

him coming so prepared for love; though it was not she whom he

expected, it might have served as well in the dark at least?’ ‘Well

said,’ replied _Octavio_, forcing a smile ‘----advance, pursue the

dear design, and cheat me still, and to convince my soul, oh swear it

too, for women want no weapons of defence, oaths, vows, and tears,

sighs, imprecations, ravings, are all the tools to fashion mankind

coxcombs: I am an easy fellow, fit for use, and long to be initiated

fool; come, swear I was not here the other night.’ ‘It is granted,

sir, you were: why all this passion?’ This _Sylvia_ spoke, and took

him by the hand, which burnt with raging fire; and though he spoke

with all the heat of love, his looks were soft the while as infant

_Cupids_: still he proceeded; ‘Oh charming _Sylvia_, since you are so

unkind to tell me truth, cease, cease to speak at all, and let me only

gaze upon those eyes that can so well deceive: their looks are

innocent, at least they will flatter me, and tell mine they lost their

faculties that other night.’ ‘No,’ replied _Sylvia_, ‘I am convinced

they did not, you saw _Antonet_----’ ‘Conduct a happy man’

(interrupted he) ‘to _Sylvia_’. bed. Oh, why by your confession must

my soul be tortured over anew!’ At this he hung his head upon his

bosom, and sighed as if each breath would be his last. ‘Heavens!’

cried _Sylvia_, ‘what is it _Octavio_ says! Conduct a happy lover to

my bed! by all that is sacred I am abused, designed upon to be

betrayed and lost; what said you, sir, a lover to my bed!’ When he

replied in a fainting tone, clasping her to his arms, ‘Now, _Sylvia_,

you are kind, be perfect woman, and keep to cozening still----Now back

it with a very little oath, and I am as well as before I saw your

falsehood, and never will lose one thought upon it more.’ ‘Forbear,’

said she, ‘you will make me angry. In short, what is it you would say?

Or swear, you rave, and then I will pity what I now despise, if you

can think me false.’ He only answered with a sigh, and she pursued,

’.m I not worth an answer? Tell me your soul and thoughts, as ever you

hope for favour from my love, or to preserve my quiet.’ ‘If you will

promise me to say it is false,’ replied he softly, ‘I will confess the

errors of my senses. I came the other night at twelve, the door was

open.-----’ ‘It is true,’ said _Sylvia_----’At the stairs-foot I found

a man, and saw him led to you into your chamber, sighing as he went,

and panting with impatience: now, _Sylvia_, if you value my repose, my

life, my reputation, or my services, turn it off handsomely, and I am

happy.’ At that, being wholly amazed, she told him the whole story, as

you heard of her dressing _Antonet_, and bringing him to her; at which

he smiled, and begged her to go on----She fetched the pieces of

_Brilliard_’. counterfeit letters, and shewed him; this brought him a

little to his wits, and at first sight he was ready to fancy the

letters came indeed from him; he found the character his, but not his

business; and in great amaze replied, ‘Ah, madam, did you know

_Octavio_’. soul so well, and could you imagine it capable of a

thought like this? A presumption so daring to the most awful of her

sex; this was unkind indeed: and did you answer them?’ ‘Yes,’ replied

she, ‘with all the kindness I could force my pen to express.’ So that

after canvassing the matter, and relating the whole story again with

his being taken ill, they concluded from every circumstance

_Brilliard_ was the man; for _Antonet_ was called to council; who now

recollecting all things in her mind, and knowing _Brilliard_ but too

well, she confessed she verily believed it was he, especially when she

told how she stole a letter of _Octavio_’. for him that day, and how

he was ill of the same disease still. _Octavio_ then called his page,

and sent him home for the note _Brilliard_ had sent him, and all

appeared as clear as day: but _Antonet_ met with a great many

reproaches for shewing her lady’s letters, which she excused as well

as she could: but never was man so ravished with joy as _Octavio_ was

at the knowledge of _Sylvia_’. innocence; a thousand times he kneeled

and begged her pardon; and her figure encouraging his caresses, a

thousand times he embraced her, he smiled, and blushed, and sighed

with love and joy, and knew not how to express it most effectually:

and _Sylvia_, who had other business than love in her heart and head,

suffered all the marks of his eager passion and transport out of

design, for she had a farther use to make of _Octavio_; though when

she surveyed his person handsome, young, and adorned with all the

graces and beauties of the sex, not at all inferior to _Philander_, if

not exceeding in every judgement but that of _Sylvia_; when she

considered his soul, where wit, love, and honour equally reigned, when

she consults the excellence of his nature, his generosity, courage,

friendship, and softness, she sighed and cried, it was pity to impose

upon him; and make his love for which she should esteem him, a

property to draw him to his ruin; for so she fancied it must be if

ever he encountered _Philander_; and though good nature was the least

ingredient that formed the soul of this fair charmer, yet now she

found she had a mixture of it, from her concern for _Octavio_; and

that generous lover made her so many soft vows, and tender

protestations of the respect and awfulness of his passion, that she

was wholly convinced he was her slave; nor could she see the constant

languisher pouring out his soul and fortune at her feet, without

suffering some warmth about her heart, which she had never felt but

for _Philander_; and this day she expressed herself more obligingly

than ever she had done, and allows him little freedoms of approaching

her with more softness than hitherto she had; and, absolutely charmed,

he promises, lavishly and without reserve, all she would ask of him;

and in requital she assured him all he could wish or hope, if he would

serve her in her revenge against _Philander_: she recounts to him at

large the story of her undoing, her quality, her fortune, her nice

education, the care and tenderness of her noble parents, and charges

all her fate to the evil conduct of her heedless youth: sometimes the

reflection on her ruin, she looking back upon her former innocence and

tranquillity, forces the tears to flow from her fair eyes, and makes

_Octavio_ sigh, and weep by sympathy: sometimes (arrived at the

amorous part of her relation) she would sigh and languish with the

remembrance of past joys in their beginning love; and sometimes smile

at the little unlucky adventures they met with, and their escapes; so

that different passions seized her soul while she spoke, while that of

all love filled _Octavio_’.: he dotes, he burns, and every word she

utters enflames him still the more; he fixes his very soul upon her

tongue, and darts his very eyes into her face, and every thing she

says raises his vast esteem and passion higher. In fine, having with

the eloquence of sacred wit, and all the charms of every differing

passion, finished her moving tale, they both declined their eyes,

whose falling showers kept equal time and pace, and for a little time

were still as thought: when _Octavio_, oppressed with mighty love,

broke the soft silence, and burst into extravagance of passion, says

all that men (grown mad with love and wishing) could utter to the idol

of his heart; and to oblige her more, recounts his life in short;

wherein, in spite of all his modesty, she found all that was great and

brave; all that was noble, fortunate and honest: and having now

confirmed her, he deserved her, kneeling implored she would accept of

him, not as a lover for a term of passion, for dates of months or

years, but for a long eternity; not as a rifler of her sacred honour,

but to defend it from the censuring world; he vowed he would forget

that ever any part of it was lost, nor by a look or action ever

upbraid her with a misfortune past, but still look forward on nobler

joys to come: and now implores that he may bring a priest to tie the

solemn knot. In spite of all her love for _Philander_, she could not

choose but take this offer kindly; and indeed, it made a very great

impression on her heart; she knew nothing but the height of love could

oblige a man of his quality and vast fortune, with all the advantages

of youth and beauty, to marry her in so ill circumstances; and paying

him first those acknowledgements that were due on so great an

occasion, with all the tenderness in her voice and eyes that she could

put on, she excused herself from receiving the favour, by telling him

she was so unfortunate as to be with child by the ungrateful man; and

falling at that thought into new tears, she moved him to infinite

love, and infinite compassion; insomuch that, wholly abandoning

himself to softness, he assured her, if she would secure him all his

happiness by marrying him now, that he would wait till she were

brought to bed, before he would demand the glorious recompense he

aspired to; so that _Sylvia_, being oppressed with obligation, finding

yet in her soul a violent passion for _Philander_, she knew not how to

take, or how to refuse the blessing offered, since _Octavio_ was a man

whom, in her height of innocence and youth, she might have been vain

and proud of engaging to this degree. He saw her pain and

irresolution, and being absolutely undone with love, delivers her

_Philander_’. last letter to him, with what he had sent her enclosed;

the sight of the very outside of it made her grow pale as death, and a

feebleness seized her all over, that made her unable for a moment to

open it; all which confusion _Octavio_ saw with pain, which she

perceiving recollected her thoughts as well as she could, and opened

it, and read it; that to _Octavio_ first, as being fondest of the

continuation of the history of his falsehood, she read, and often

paused to recover her spirits that were fainting at every period; and

having finished it, she fell down on the bed where they sat. _Octavio_

caught her in her fall in his arms, where she remained dead some

moments; whilst he, just on the point of being so himself, ravingly

called for help; and _Antonet_ being in the dressing-room ran to them,

and by degrees _Sylvia_ recovered, and asked _Octavio_ a thousand

pardons for exposing a weakness to him, which was but the effects of

the last blaze of love: and taking a cordial which _Antonet_ brought

her, she roused, resolved, and took _Octavio_ by the hand: ‘Now,’ said

she, ‘shew yourself that generous lover you have professed, and give

me your vows of revenge on _Philander_; and after that, by all that is

holy,’ kneeling as she spoke, and holding him fast, ‘by all my injured

innocence, by all my noble father’s wrongs, and my dear mother’s

grief; by all my sister’s sufferings, I swear, I will marry you, love

you, and give you all!’ This she spoke without considering _Antonet_

was by, and spoke it with all the rage, and blushes in her face, that

injured love and revenge could inspire: and on the other side, the

sense of his sister’s honour lost, and that of the tender passion he

had for _Sylvia_, made him swear by all that was sacred, and by all

the vows of eternal love and honour he had made to _Sylvia_, to go and

revenge himself and her on the false friend and lover, and confessed

the second motive, which was his sister’s fame, ‘For,’ cried he,’.hat

foul adulteress, that false _Calista_, is so allied to me.’ But still

he urged that would add to the justness of his cause, if he might

depart her husband as well as lover, and revenge an injured wife as

well as sister; and now he could ask nothing she did not easily grant;

and because it was late in the day, they concluded that the morning

shall consummate all his desires: and now she gives him her letter to

read; ‘For,’ said she, ‘I shall esteem myself henceforth so absolutely

_Octavio_’., that I will not so much as read a line from that perjured

ruiner of my honour;’ he took the letter with smiles and bows of

gratitude, and read it.

PHILANDER _to_ SYLVIA.

There are a thousand reasons, dearest _Sylvia_, at this time that

prevent my writing to you, reasons that will be convincing enough to

oblige my pardon, and plead my cause with her that loves me: all which

I will lay before you when I have the happiness to see you; I have met

with some affairs since my arrival to this place, that wholly take up

my time; affairs of State, whose fatigues have put my heart extremely

out of tune, and if not carefully managed may turn to my perpetual

ruin, so that I have not an hour in a day to spare for _Sylvia_;

which, believe me, is the greatest affliction of my life; and I have

no prospect of ease in the endless toils of life, but that of reposing

in the arms of _Sylvia_: some short intervals: pardon my haste, for

you cannot guess the weighty business that at present robs you of

_Your_ PHILANDER.

’.ou lie, false villain-----’ replied _Sylvia_ in mighty rage, ‘I can

guess your business, and can revenge it too; curse on thee, slave, to

think me grown as poor in sense as honour: to be cajoled with

this--stuff that would never sham a chambermaid: death! am I so

forlorn, so despicable, I am not worth the pains of being well

dissembled with? Confusion overtake him, misery seize him; may I

become his plague while life remains, or public tortures end him!’

This, with all the madness that ever inspired a lunatic, she uttered

with tears and violent actions: when _Octavio_ besought her not to

afflict herself, and almost wished he did not love a temper so

contrary to his own: he told her he was sorry, extremely sorry, to

find she still retained so violent a passion for a man unworthy of her

least concern; when she replied--’Do not mistake my soul, by heaven it

is pride, disdain, despite and hate--to think he should believe this

dull excuse could pass upon my judgement; had the false traitor told

me that he hated me, or that his faithless date of love was out, I had

been tame with all my injuries; but poorly thus to impose upon my

wit--By heaven he shall not bear the affront to hell in triumph! No

more--I have vowed he shall not--my soul has fixed, and now will be at

ease--Forgive me, oh _Octavio_;’ and letting herself fall into his

arms, she soon obtained what she asked for; one touch of the fair

charmer could calm him into love and softness.

Thus, after a thousand transports of passion on his side, and all the

seeming tenderness on hers, the night being far advanced, and new

confirmations given and taken on either side of pursuing the happy

agreement in the morning, which they had again resolved, they

appointed that _Sylvia_ and _Antonet_ should go three miles out of

town to a little village, where there was a church, and that _Octavio_

should meet them there to be confirmed and secured of all the

happiness he proposed to himself in this world--_Sylvia_ being so

wholly bent upon revenge (for the accomplishment of which alone she

accepted of _Octavio_) that she had lost all remembrance of her former

marriage with _Brilliard_: or if it ever entered into her thought, it

was only considered as a sham, nothing designed but to secure her from

being taken from _Philander_ by her parents; and, without any respect

to the sacred tie, to be regarded no more; nor did she design this

with _Octavio_ from any respect she had to the holy state of

matrimony, but from a lust of vengeance which she would buy at any

price, and which she found no man so well able to satisfy as

_Octavio_.

But what wretched changes of fortune she met with after this, and what

miserable portion of fate was destined to this unhappy wanderer, the

last part of _Philander_’. life, and the third and last part of this

history, shall most faithfully relate.

_The End of the Second Part._

The Amours of Philander and Sylvia